AN:

Cheire1012 – Yeah I feel the same way. I know everybody hates Clovis but I just see a guy who made some bad decisions and lacks strong character. A bit pathetic in some ways. I just need him for the drama :D

Angie – Thank you so much! I really appreciate that. I'm always hoping their behaviours come across the way I want them to in writing. I love Sabe's reaction to them in the living room too. And yeah it's definitely taken a toll on Anakin hiding what he did every single day... He was better toward the end with Padme that's true.

Sunmoonwindandstars – Yeah a story without the Miraj parts – and without murder for once lol. You're not far off – it's not like they've concocted some plan but yes there is a connection between the Clovis and the women. And the last chapter was like days after Miraj's death. Funny you bring up passage of time because now we're jumping ahead in this one :D And guilt trip it is! Exactly! It is eating him alive. You're also right about Sabe leaving because of Palpatine but there's still time til we dig into that :D

Natosi Pranja – yes it is dark lol. As for where it's going... I have two different endings and I'm attached to both now so I'm probably going to post both :D

A Song of Tears, Laughter, Pleasures

Baby, can't you see I'm calling?

A guy like you should wear a warning

It's dangerous, I'm falling

There's no escape, I can't wait

I need a hit, baby, give me it

You're dangerous, I'm lovin' it

ONE AND A HALF YEARS LATER

"Anakin, I've got to get to work!" Padme whined as Anakin tried to lure her back into bed. She was dressed for work – her classic white blouse and navy blue dress pants; she even had her pump heels on already. He wore nothing but a smile and black sweatpants, and his full, glowing eyes were busy stirring the pot, drawing her in and capturing her. "I have a meeting in an hour."

Anakin, holding onto her arms, brought her back down on the bed. He knelt up in front of her, took hold of one of her legs and straightened it to rest on his shoulder. "I don't need an hour." With feathery fingers he slowly slipped her shoe off her heel. He planted a small kiss on her ankle before taking off the other shoe and sliding her slacks off as well.

There was this terrible appeal in his fingers as they worshipped her bare legs, grazing every square inch of her thighs. His tongue soon followed their trail along her inner thigh, making her aware of every move and sound they made. Those attentive fingers left goosebumps on their path. His hand then slithered over between her legs and she jolted at the touch. He cupped the thin fabric of her panties, and he could feel that she was willing and wanting more. She felt her heart in her throat as he rubbed over the cotton fabric with tiny movements. Her body quivered under the hand that anchored her. She felt primed, prepped to give him anything and everything.

His fingers slid under the sides of her underwear and slowly glided them over her knees and past her toes. He could hear her breathlessness. It was like he had stolen her inhalations from her lips as he blew softly on her raw, blushing, pretty pink vulva. The light air had her closing her eyes, drawing all her senses out, everything zeroing in on the throbbing, ringing sensitivity. Finally, a little relief came when she felt the flick of his tongue.

The lightest stroke of a teasing tongue made her vision blurry – it came in and out of focus. She was somewhere between awake and asleep, the brain had switched off but her body was alive and searching – for stability, for fulfillment. But he remained gentle. Too gentle. Purposely gentle. He had barely touched her and it was driving her mad, making her struggle, strain for a more tangible touch. Her hips lifted and lowered with an unconscious cadence. They screamed for his mouth. His whole mouth. Her hips rose again, as her leg wrapped around his head, and this time they stayed hovering above the bed. He straightened up and unwound her leg from his neck.

"What are you doing?" He said, a smug, snide reprimand with a hint of a smirk. "What are you doing? You have work..."

Her expelled breath echoed her frustration. "Anakin." She groaned weakly, tugging at the waistband of his pants and pulling him toward her. His arms broke his fall. His eyes fixed on her with hypnotic power and he saw in hers this gleam of light, a fire, an order. He remained at a safe distance with a grin, and a playfulness in his gaze.

"Open your shirt for me." He spoke so softly. Strong arms crowding her with a visible vein popping out. She couldn't help but smile back, incapable of resisting. He could take whatever he wanted as long as he gave in to her.

She began to unfasten her shirt buttons, and he watched with interest her fingers making their way down until her bra was on full display. She pushed the material down the sides of her body. He licked his lips as she revealed her smooth, glistening skin. She was stunning.

"Take it off." His uttered with that sweet-sounding voice.

She leaned up, propping herself up to let her blouse fall off her shoulders. Her face close to his. He grew mesmerized at the look of her glossy lips, her eyelashes curling up with her eyes almost shut, her cheeks a hot pink. He traced kisses along her precious cheekbone to her nose, while she unhooked her bra and flung it over the nightstand. He paused when he reached her lips. Their mouths agape, as they lightly brushed along each other's lips, breathless in the delirium of desire, wanting to dissolve in the flavour of each other. Their lips were barely touching but they were one, connected. She was waiting for his mouth to close on hers, her brain had fogged in the anticipation, in the exchange of urgent exhales, dazed, hoping for a release, but his mouth never took hers. Instead he moved away and she felt his warm breath lowering further... until he plastered his lips on her neck. The rough strands of his hair felt like satin against her heightened, prickling skin. Each strand was tickling, provoking as he made his way down her body.

She lied back down and the sheet felt cool beneath her, like a bouquet of fine, crisp flower petals.

His hands and mouth were all over her. Graceful fingers walked over her collarbone, then they traced her breasts, and what followed was a line of kisses he pressed onto her silky flesh along the way. He could hear her heartbeat thump under his fingertips. A sexual, visceral calling, making her too aware of every sensation, and her teeth dragged over her lip. She was shivering at the feel of his fingertips now circling her navel and down to her hips, and round again. She swallowed hard. It was unbearable and words had evaporated at the tip of her tongue, along with all her good sense. He wasn't playing fair at all, neglecting the one part of her body that grew slippery in the tragedy pulsing between her thighs.

He inhaled deeply when his head reached the most tender part of her. He lifted her hips slightly and basked in the sight of her body openly begging for him.

The gentle strokes of his tongue returned between her legs. And she gripped onto his gorgeous head of hair, forcing his mouth on her, to keep him close this time. His tongue painted strokes in teasing rhythms, making her writhe beneath him. She could hear and feel his exhalations, they were a blend of frustration and pleasure, he was barely restraining himself too. So, finally, after another breath, another shiver, another pulsation, he obeyed her demands with his hot wet mouth giving her every answer she wanted, tasting her fully. It sent her to the stars, her body loading with pounding drums, her toes curled. Everything about his kiss down there caused an uncontrollable tremble through her body, torturous and blissful senses were cumulative in this romantic crying of the head, heart, and body. A song of the tears, laughter, pleasures of one's life.

Her fingers curled over the headboard at the electric tremors and heat welling up. It was almost scary how enveloping it was, how gripping it was, drowning her in steamy waves. The building of the orgasm was making her body arch, her breath lost with the impact. His mouth is evolutive, even exhaustive for her body to shudder so violently repeatedly. To him, her orgasm was soul-saving, mouth-watering, throwing his restraint off a cliff. There was no greater joy than watching the woman he loved satisfied, to see her give herself over to him. He owned her; he owned her love.

He crawled his way back, his nose becoming squished in her belly as he tasted his way up. He wiped his mouth on her supple breast and quickly pulled down his trousers. He looked down at her radiant skin, wearing nothing but lust and sunlight from the window, embodying the deep smoothness of peaceful running waters. If only she could see herself through his eyes, and know what she does to him, how she purifies him, fascinates him, how she makes him crave her incessantly. Everything could disappear. Literally everything in his life could disappear. But not her. Never her.

Once he was settled in between her legs, they were both melting from the slickness of their bodies as he entered her. He pumped into her, riding the tides of their bodies moving as one. He never broke stride, losing himself to her, as she dug her nails into the muscles of his back. He held onto this protected moment and let himself fall, fall in a place between a dream and reality, where there is only her. He was safe with her, and together they fell into one big hot happy blur.

"I love you so much." Her words were mellifluous, desperate moans, blasting through him like the melody of heaven, like freedom, and they had him swelling inside her until he burst, an earth-shattering disaster, knowing she'll catch him in the release. She loved listening to his groans of gratitude, his body was stunned and dripping with rapture as he gave every last drop of himself to her.

He cupped the sides of her face, his thumb near her mouth, as they both tried to stabilize the vibrations of love and rejuvenating bodies. He nuzzled into the deep curve of her neck, to bathe in her odour, her texture. "I love you." He grunted out, hopeless, needy, transfixed.

Their skin had welded together, glazed with sweat. And everything was perfect. The fantasy, the storybook, the mythos they had fought for had flourished. This year had been about them and their love. Nothing else mattered.

Padme checked her hair in the mirror, trying to tame her messy bed hair when she noticed she hadn't fastened up her buttons properly. She quickly corrected them. She felt a little neurotic, a swirling motion in the mind, a breathlessness as her eyes then scanned the floor for her heels.

She grabbed her bag, ready to hurry out the door, hoping she'd make it to work on time. But when she opened the door, she was stunned to see a man in uniform, standing firm with broad shoulders and a not easily detected friendliness. He wore a strong expression held together by a concrete jaw and hawkish nose. His hair was very short, straw-like, and eyes could be perceived as harsh if they weren't accompanied by a gentle voice that was soothing in the most masculine way.

"Miss Amidala?"

"Yes?" Padme's tone was exactly that of someone who had been forced to stand still after running amok.

"Detective Cody." He offered her a peek at his badge. "Got a minute?"

"I'm uh on my way to work–" She raked a hand through her hair, anxious – she was so late already.

"This'll only take a second." Cody assured, taking a more decisive step toward the doorway. "Do you know a Miraj Scintel, or a Miraj Dooku? We found your name and number beside her phone."

Anakin was about to exit the bedroom but he heard the name that used to haunt him in his sleep. The name that felt like an itch on his skin that he wanted to scratch off. Scratch until it bled out of his soul; unfortunately some scars become a part of one's skin, even when you can't see them anymore. They are this whispering, impenetrable wind that hides in plain sight. He had done well to conceal, shift, and shed the exterior pains, and ignore the internal responses deep within that puncture him in dissolution, a decaying of light.

From behind the bedroom door, his ears perked up, straining to hear.

"Yes." Padme's voice was still slightly breathless. She hadn't quite settled down and her nerves were growing impatient. "She was a client of mine."

"When was the last time you saw or spoke to her?"

"Gosh, over a year ago." Padme wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. "...Is she in some kind of trouble?"

"She's been reported missing."

Padme silently gasped, holding onto the edge of her open door. "Does she have any family, or...?"

"No family. Just one concerned family friend."

Padme's eyes lowered, stripped of the scattered words and emotions that seized her earlier. There was this arresting gravity now allowing her to slow down. "Did something happen to her? D–do you think she's alright?"

"We don't want to worry anybody just yet. But if you hear anything," He pulled his wallet out from his back pocket. "Here's my card."

Padme looked at the card now in her hand, concerned. There was something murky and mystifying about the news; she had never bothered to follow up when Miraj missed their appointment. And in hindsight Padme was glad she didn't show up. She didn't want to see her. The wakefulness of their last encounter emerged a festering wound in her husband.

So Padme bandaged up the dissonant nostalgia as if it were an unnecessary recalling. She had to remind herself not to open those wounds and, instead, respond to the officer. "Yes. Certainly."

Padme closed the door behind the detective with little awareness. Her eyes looking over his card still in her hand, but her mind went somewhere else, deep, obscured, a navigation.

But the sound of Anakin striding over to the couch interweaved with all the thoughts that jostled for her attention.

"Did you hear?" She asked, turning to him.

"Yeah." Anakin's jaw was tight, inhibited. His words faint. He wanted to diminish the pulsing introspection twisting inside him – the four chambers of the heart had been renamed in his mental prison – moral drift, guilt, fear, self-doubt... He locked it all behind a barrier, a psychological training that had become intuitive, transforming, a sixth sense, if you will. He kept his eyes on the TV. Remote in hand, he flicked mindlessly through channels.

Padme took a couple of steps toward him. "Do you think something happened to her?"

"No." Anakin looked at her with almost exhausted eyes, while he veiled the quiet thumps of his heart in hysteria with a comforting voice. "She probably hopped on a private jet and is on an island somewhere, sipping martinis and waiting to bag her next billionaire."

He turned back to the TV but he could practically feel Padme's thorny silence. It knocked his head with all the words she didn't say. He looked back at her and saw her staring off toward the window.

"Honey..." Anakin got up, giving his mind a good scour, clearing out dirty secrets, and shored his life back up the way that had proven to be successful the last several months – even if it was with flimsy duct-tape – a lie, a recoil, a stubborn clinging to a curated life. "Someone with her kind of money. . .knows exactly how to disappear if they want to." He stroked her cheek with two nurturing fingers before bending his head to give her a peck on her forehead.

Padme nodded absent-mindedly and found it in her to turn on her heel and go to work.

It's getting late to give you up

I took a sip from my devil's cup

Slowly, it's taking over me

Anakin walked over to Padme in the kitchen, who was treating herself to a large bowl of cookie dough. It had been a few days since she had heard about Miraj, but life didn't alter for them. She had put away the problems she knew weren't her own. And Anakin was probably right; Miraj definitely could jet off to wherever she wanted – there wasn't much of a legacy for her to fight for in Tatooine.

Padme looked divine, domesticated, happy, and oh-so-delicious to Anakin in her work attire that now had a less polished look. Her top shirt buttons had been undone, her hair was a wild tumble, and she had kicked off her heels at the front door.

"Ooh is that cookie dough?" Anakin snuck up behind her, wrapping his arms around her and interlacing his hands in front of her belly.

She waved a warning finger at him. "No, you can't have any. You've got to pick up Ahsoka from her friend's and drive her back to the dorms by six-thirty." She then placed that same finger in the bowl and scooped up some of the paste.

Before she could bring it to her lips, his lips curled around her finger, sucking it off. His mouth then continued to wrap around each of her fingers, licking her palm, kissing her wrist, his tongue stealing every drop of dessert. He then spun her around to face him, placing his hands over her ears, angling her how he wanted her as he tasted her lips. Satisfied rumbles sounded out from the back of his throat as his hands messed up her hair further. His hands took up the whole side of her face. She had no option but to let him ravage her mouth while she held out her sticky fingers in the air.

His eyes were closed and he took his time, elongating the moment as his lips brushed over hers again and again. He wanted to be stained in her sweetness. He fitted in words between slow, hungry kisses. "I'd rather eat you."

He released her from his mouth, his hands, his frenzy, and was about to head out.

"Anakin." Her voice had him stopping in his tracks with its titillating effect on his groin. He turned back to find her pressing her now dough-covered finger to her neck, and slowly slathering it down to her collarbone. "You missed a spot."

Her eyes were aflame, lit with seduction, riling him up. He felt an acceleration darting over his nerve-ridden skin, spreading an unbridled excitement. He raced back over and with a feral yearning for a mouthful of her, and the dough that was almost as sweet as her tender flesh, he licked her neck clean with a sloppy kiss, making her head tilt back, submitting to his devouring mouth that was like fine water colours on her canvas of silk.

Anakin straightened back up. His neck strained from bending down – which is why he often picked her up to to kiss her, to make up for the obvious height difference – but it was worth it. His eyes traveled over her like she had completely unraveled him as he drawled, "You drive me crazy." He then swatted her behind with a quick, sharp pop.

She watched him walk out the door, shaking her head. Life with him made her drunk, dreamy, and ridiculously happy in defeat.

With a taste of your lips, I'm on a ride

You're toxic, I'm slipping under

With a taste of a poison paradise

I'm addicted to you

Don't you know that you're toxic?

And I love what you do

Don't you know that you're toxic?

Anakin trod downstairs quickly, feeling great, revitalized by passionate love that waits for him at home. He found a man outside the door looking confused, eyeing the apartment buzzer. He was taller than Anakin – and quite a bit older. He had thin black eyebrows, a high forehead, and a few silver roots in his jet black hair. His clothes were smart, perfectly ironed like he never made a careless move that would wrinkle his appearance. His whole look and demeanor starkly juxtaposed Anakin's, who let his madness attack his hair, his loose-fitting white t-shirt, and his mannerisms.

"You need to get in?" Anakin asked, holding the door slightly ajar.

The man turned to Anakin as soon as he heard his voice. "Ugh, yes, thank you!" He gave off an embarrassed chuckle – but he was clearly humoured by the way the whole area had disoriented him. He approached the door but, with a quick reflex, Anakin narrowed the space, almost closing the door on him completely.

"Don't make me regret letting you in the building." Anakin's firm tone had a sliver of mischief.

At first the man was taken aback but a breath sagged out of him with relief when Anakin reopened up the door and made way for him to pass.

The man then joined in on the playful quips and lifted his arms in the air. "I'm not an axe murderer. Promise!"

Anakin half-smirked at that before stepping out onto the street.

Too high, can't come down

Losing my head, spinning round and round

Do you feel me now?

Toxic - Britney Spears (2WEI version)