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The rain showed no signs of letting up. Obi-Wan looked out the window, his armed crossed, one hand up over his beard in contemplation.
“The fields will flood,” Obi-Wan said more to himself than anyone.
“Your flood control system will hold,” Padme said, crouching before the hearth. There were still live embers from last evening’s fire, and it would only take a little bit of kindling to get it going again.
“I hope you are right,” Obi-Wan said. It wasn’t as if they needed the credits. With some clever cover-up, they had taken a vast sum from Padmé’s personal accounts before their escape from Naboo. They could live on this farm for another ten years without selling a single bushel of wheat, and still live comfortably. But Padmé knew it wasn’t about the credits. A failed crop meant struggle to most of the planet’s farmers, and if they showed no signs of struggle, it would raise too many questions.
Padmé sniffled as she watched the kindling catch fire, her wet hair now chilling her to the bone. But impatience would only kill the flame, and they would be no warmer. She added a stick of fatwood to the fire, and watched it catch quickly. She started slightly when Obi-Wan knelt beside her, an armful of wood in his hands.
“Oh,” she said, sniffling again. “Thank you.”
Obi-Wan added one of the logs to the top of the fatwood, watching the flames lick over and around it.
“You startle easily,” Obi-Wan said.
“What?” Padme said, wrapping her arms around herself for warmth.
“It’s… something I’ve noticed,” Obi-Wan said. His heart beat faster, knowing what (or whom) they were about to discuss.
“I didn’t realize,” Padmé said, stony faced.
Obi-Wan sat on the edge of the stone hearth, him on one side of the fire, Padmé on the other. Their knees almost touched.
“Was Anakin… did he lose control around you?” Obi-Wan asked, knowing this was more than they had said about Anakin in almost a year.
“Obi-Wan…” Padmé said. She wanted to deny it. She wanted to argue. But after what had happened at Mustafar, she could no longer lie to herself, and apparently not to Obi-Wan either. “You don’t really want to hear all this…”
“I do, Padmé,” Obi-Wan said. “I mean, if it helps you. I just want to help you.”
Padmé shivered, feeling impatient for the fire to warm her. When the rain had come, they were on the far edge of the field, a half-mile from the house. They were drenched by the time they got home.
“He was gentle at first,” Padmé said, staring at the flames. “Timid even.”
Obi-Wan sat frozen to the spot, not wanting to move an inch lest it interrupt her flow.
“I remember that first night—our wedding night—and he seemed like the safest place in the world,” Padmé said.
An image flashed in Obi-Wan’s mind. Anakin between Padmé’s thighs, slowly driving himself into her. It struck Obi-Wan as a vivid memory, rather than his mind’s imaginings. Padmé was projecting loudly, and it was impossible not to pick up this interference through the Force. It must have been a visceral memory for her.
“When did things change?” Obi-Wan asked, risking movement to place another log on the fire. He felt the waves of heat cascading further off the fire.
“Do you remember…” Padmé started, swallowing when her throat ran dry. She sighed then, thinking better of telling Obi-Wan. “Oh, it doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter,” Obi-Wan said. He placed his hand on her knee, surprising himself. The two of them looked down at his hand, which he took back once he realized what he had done.
They were silent a while. As if working towards telling him, Padmé removed her wet shawl, and hung it on the iron fire screen beside the hearth. When she had finished, Padmé removed the leather tie from her braid, loosening her hair. She spread it out over her shoulder to dry, and Obi-Wan felt a tugging in his chest.
“The night of the Senate Ball,” Padmé said, looking finally from the fire into Obi-Wan’s blue eyes. “You asked me to dance with you.”
Obi-Wan felt a pit grow in his stomach. He remembered that night. He had held her, feeling a swelling of love for her, his longtime friend. Although he had told himself at the time that’s all she was to him, Obi-Wan suspected what Padmé was about to say next.
“He didn’t like it,” she said in a small voice.
Another borrowed memory flashed in his mind.
Anakin pressed Padmé to the door, aggression mixed with arousal. His gloved hand circled her neck, angling her jaw up to allow him access to her mouth.
“Do you know that he wants to fuck you?” Anakin asked.
“No,” Padmé bid. “Obi-Wan is our friend, you know that.”
“No, my love,” Anakin said, his lips whispering against Padme’s. “I could feel his want for you.”
“Anakin, I just want you,” Padmé said. “I’m yours.”
“Show me,” Anakin said, pulling Padmé’s skirts up to her hips. “Prove to me you don’t want to fuck my mentor.”
The memory turned Obi-Wan’s stomach, raised his blood. He couldn’t stand it. He stood, pacing about the living area.
“You saw it, didn’t you? What I was thinking of.” Padmé asked, feeling embarrassment, shame.
Obi-Wan looked out at the wheat fields. A crack of lightning and thunder illuminated the darkened field, and he looked back at Padmé.
“You feel shame,” Obi-Wan said, running his hand over his damp hair. It stayed smoothed back for just a moment before falling onto his forehead again. “And you’ve nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I think I do,” Padmé said. She shivered again, and with reluctance began to unbuckle her canvas jacket. She busied herself with the buckles, and stayed focused on them even as Obi-Wan sat back down at the hearth. This time his knees did touch hers.
“You did nothing wrong, Padmé,” Obi-Wan said, leaning forward, resting his arms on his knees, deliberately not watching as Padmé undressed yet another layer. “You danced with a friend.”
“You forget, Obi-Wan,” Padmé said. “You forget his power. He felt it on me that night.”
“Felt what?” Obi-Wan said, looking up at Padmé. His eyes lingered a moment on her torso, her shirt clinging immodestly to her skin.
“That I did...” Padmé said, and almost immediately she drew her arms around her chest. She was so cold, but she regretted removing her jacket almost immediately. This was foolish. Obi-Wan was not Anakin. His vows meant something to him. And despite not being touched by a man in over a year, she wouldn’t be the reason another Jedi strayed from the path.
“I’m going to get us some linens,” Padmé said, standing abruptly, and walking away.
Obi-Wan felt the warmth of the fire go with her as she walked away. It was a strange feeling. And in the cold left behind her, Obi-Wan considered what she had just said. That she did... did what? Was she saying she did want him that night? If that was the revelation he thought it was, it threatened to send his head reeling.
Pressing one of the towels to his face, Obi-Wan lost himself in the minutia of this task. If he was focused on anything else, it might draw his attention away from the ache in his chest he was feeling.
Padmé pulled her towel around her shoulders, using its corners to dab at her skin.
“He failed you, Padmé,” Obi-Wan said, tossing his towel onto a nearby chair. “And by extension, that means I failed you.”
“You’ve never failed me, Obi-Wan,” Padmé said. “Never.”
“I assure you, Padmé, I’m anything but perfect,” Obi-Wan said.
Padmé smiled to herself, and gave a small huff. “I find that hard to believe. Tell me what’s so unshakable about you, Master Kenobi.”
Obi-Wan shook his head, looking down at his hands. “If only you knew…”
“I will if you tell me,” Padmé said, a light in her eyes. Now she had to know.
“Anakin isn’t the only Jedi whose vows have been tested,” Obi-Wan said, looking up at Padmé, looking for any hint of disappointment. Instead he found only intrigue.
“Tested,” Padmé repeated, more a statement than a question.
“Broken.”
The silence between them crackled as if it were charged with the electricity from the storm outside.
“If ever there was a time that I wanted to be Force sensitive…” Padmé said, shaking her head, staring at the fire that now burned heartily in front of them.
“If I had been stronger in my resolve, maybe my Padawan wouldn’t have failed in his,” Obi-Wan said, not wishing to divulge just how deeply his vows had been broken. He wasn't quite ready to discuss Satine with Padmé.
“At first, I felt such guilt for allowing Anakin in, in that way,” Padmé said. “But the longer I’ve had to think about it, the more I think the Jedi should have been allowed to express their love openly.”
Obi-Wan felt a weight lift from him. It had been one thing to feel this himself for the last year, but it was another to hear his opinions come from another person. To come from her.
“It wouldn’t have kept him from the Dark Side,” Obi-Wan said finally.
“No,” Padmé agreed, feeling something in her finally let go. “It wouldn’t have.”
Obi-Wan laid in bed, the storm outside still carrying on, if just a bit lighter. The fire in his hearth cast an amber glow across the room. Outside everything was black, lit up only occasionally by flashes of lightning.
Obi-Wan couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t help feel that something had shifted between he and Padmé. The last year, they both had existed in the farmhouse like ghost ships, passing in the night. Obi-Wan worked the field, and Padmé kept the house. Nights were shared quietly by the fire, and they both went their separate ways for sleep. Tonight had been the most meaningful conversation they’d had all year.
Obi-Wan’s heart hammered as he replayed parts of their conversation. More than once, Obi-Wan had also replayed that first shared memory in his mind. On the surface, it felt obscene to watch his Padawan making love to his wife. But curse the Maker, he kept doing it. The more he did, the more Obi-Wan began to admit that he was picturing himself between Padmé’s thighs, driving himself into her. He had grown hard, but still he refused to give himself release, opting instead to adjust himself in his sleep trousers.
“Obi-Wan?” Padmé’s voice called, startling him. He gathered the covers of his bed about his midsection, hoping to hide the results of this over-indulgence of thought.
“Y-yes, Padmé?” Obi-Wan replied, finding her in his darkened doorway. “Is everything alright?”
“My fire has gone out,” Padmé said. “There’s a leak in my chimney I think.”
“Oh,” Obi-Wan said, gathering his linens and moving to get out of bed.
“No, don’t get up,” Padmé said. “It’s too late to fix it. I’m just cold, and I thought…” She stood there, blanket wrapped around herself, seeming to think better of what she was doing. “It’s alright, I’m just going to go sleep downstairs by the fire.”
“Don’t be silly, Padmé,” Obi-Wan said quietly. “You can stay with me tonight.”
Padmé nodded, and walked gingerly to Obi-Wan’s bed. He scooted further back in his bed, making what room for her he could. It would be close quarters, but the alternative was her sleeping in an uncomfortable chair downstairs, and that wouldn’t do.
Padmé dropped her blanket from her shoulders, and draped it over the bed so that it would cover the both of them. Obi-Wan’s breath caught in his chest as he took in the shape of her underneath her thin wool sleep shirt. Soon though she was under the covers with him, and his eyes met hers.
Obi-Wan knew he was staring, lying there on his side, with his head propped on one of his hands, but he found he didn’t have it in him to stop.
“Better?” he asked, tugging his blankets up around her.
Padmé nodded, fidgeting with her hair, which she had put back into a tidy braid.
“Good,” Obi-Wan said, his eyes still fixed on hers. Her amber eyes seemed to glow in the firelight, and Obi-Wan found that all words failed him right now. More than that, he found that didn’t care that he had nothing to say. And he felt through the Force that she didn’t either.
It seemed like they stayed like that for ages, just taking each other in. It was as if they were finally allowing themselves to look at each other for the first time. There was no Jedi council to catch him. There was no jealous husband to make her afraid of her own thoughts. It was just the two of them. He was just a man, and she was just a woman.
“Are you sure?” Padmé asked in a whisper, her fingers lightly touching his beard. Padmé didn't have it in her to pretend they weren't headed this way.
Obi-Wan nodded, and as if a switch had been flipped, he grabbed her wrist, and pressed it gently into the pillow above her head. Obi-Wan lowered his mouth to Padmé’s, and he pressed a kiss to her mouth.
Warmth filled Padmé’s belly as Obi-Wan sowly deepened his kiss. He plied her lips open expertly with his tongue, coaxing hers to meet him halfway. In a moment, Padmé was sighing below him, completely taken off guard by how confident he was. Padmé had assumed that like Anakin, Obi-Wan would be without experience. She had prepared herself to be a teacher, once again. But as Obi-Wan nudged Padmé’s knees apart, fitting himself between them, Padmé knew that all expectations she had for the evening were about to be shattered.
Obi-Wan thought briefly about letting up, letting Padmé catch her breath, but her tightening thighs around his midsection spurred him on. He pressed himself into her pelvis, his hardness meeting her center. One languid thrust of his hips into hers elicited a moan from Padmé that she had to break away from his mouth to fully vocalize.
Even through multiple layers of fabric, Padmé could feel every part of him, and she knew by the way he moved his hips that he knew exactly what to do with her once they were gone.
“Oh,” Padmé panted. “Oh, heavens above, Obi-Wan,” she said in disbelief.
Padmé looked up at the man she knew to be both stoic and a pillar of virtue, and her heart fluttered when she realized that those small fantasies she had nurtured for him in secret were completely warranted.
“Is this too much, Padmé?” Obi-Wan asked, his voice taking on a husky quality Padmé had never heard before. “You say the words, and I’ll stop.”
“Stop?” Padmé said, leaning up to catch his mouth with hers. She kissed him briefly before laying her head back on the pillow. “Don’t stop.”
Obi-Wan kissed Padmé again, nodding at the same time. He would give her as much as she wanted, and more if she could take it.
Obi-Wan pressed his length against Padmé’s core again, letting her wrist go, and putting that hand on her hip as he ground against her. He looked down at their hips, imagining himself inside her, knowing soon he would be. The thought alone was enough to almost make him come, so he willed himself to stop going so intensely. He let up, and found the bottom of her sleep shirt. It had ridden up, and now lay bunched at her hips.
Propping himself up, Obi-Wan made room between them, and pushed the garment further up. She wore no undergarments, but still he could not see all of her. He kept his hips pressed into hers, focusing instead on her bare stomach. He was going to savor this. He briefly thought with arrogance that it was more than Anakin probably did with her. A woman like Padmé deserved to be worshipped, her body revered.
Obi-Wan felt her bare stomach with his hands, running it further up until he found the underside of one of her breasts. He teased the skin there, running the back of his finger back and forth under it. With each pass, Obi-Wan crept closer and closer to her nipple. He watched her face with fascination, holding her gaze. When he was sure she was going to stay with him, her eyes trained on him, Obi-Wan withdrew his hand, and licked his middle finger.
Quickly he snaked his hand back under her sleep shirt, and found her nipple. He ran his slick finger over and around it, teasing it to a peak. Obi-Wan watched Padmé struggle to keep her eyes open as he teased her. Using the same hand, Obi-Wan tugged the shirt up even more, exposing her breasts. Obi-Wan ran his hands appreciatively over the both of them, feeling how smooth her skin was.
Obi-Wan lowered himself to her other breast, and ran his tongue over it, teasing that it might match the other. When Padmé’s hand found Obi-Wan’s hair, snaking her fingers through it, Obi-Wan looked up at her, breaking contact. Padmé’s other hand found Obi-Wan’s beard, lightly grazing over it. Her fingers traced his bottom lip, and positioned as he was, Padmé could picture his face between her thighs, his mouth over her. It sent a surge of want through her.
“Soon,” Obi-Wan said, and Padmé thrilled. She’d forgotten what it was like to have a man read her through the Force. It suddenly made her feel self-conscious.
“Do I have any hope that you won’t read me so clearly through the Force?” Padmé asked with a breathy chuckle.
“Not if you keep projecting so loudly, Padmé,” Obi-Wan said, tugging her sleep shirt up, and helping her out of it.
“Oh, Maker…” Padmé said, her face flushing. She pressed the back of her fingers to her mouth. “Do I want to know how long you’ve been reading me?”
Obi-Wan shook his head, and whispered, “No.”
Padmé smiled fully, showing her teeth. An image flashed in her mind. Obi-Wan without his shirt, drenched in sweat as he came in from the field. He had put on more muscle working the farm, and it hadn’t gone unnoticed. It was the first time since coming to this planet that Padmé felt a stirring of want. That night she had brought herself relief with her hand, stifling the sound of her orgasm in her pillow.
“It took every bit of restraint not to come into your room and finish you off myself,” Obi-Wan said with a smile, though it felt more sweet than sexual. As if he were remembering it fondly.
Padmé blushed. “Seems an unfair advantage… you know all my wants, but I don’t know yours.”
Obi-Wan’s eyes took on an earnest glean. He softened then, and kissed her sweetly. “For starters…” he whispered, “I want to know what you taste like.”
Without any more words between them, Obi-Wan settled in beside Padmé, where he had been when she came into his bed. Padmé shivered slightly as Obi-Wan’s hand found her thigh. He looked down at her body in appreciation, running his fingertips along the skin of her inner thigh.
With each motion, Obi-Wan deepened his touch, and finally he grazed between her legs, feeling how wet he had made her.
Padmé gasped involuntarily, and Obi-Wan breathed out to focus on taking his time with her. He parted her gently, his fingers gliding over her. He thought then that she felt like silk suspended in the sea.
He wanted to know every part of her anatomy. He experimented with how many fingers to run over her. He ran four over her, then two down the center, back to four. When he felt her hips begin to rock, Obi-Wan languidly pressed his middle finger into her. This drew a small moan from her throat, and in a fit of pride, Obi-Wan wanted more from her.
He gently pistoned his finger into her, and eventually a second joined the first, stretching her. A louder noise escaped her, but not enough. He didn’t know if these sounds would ever be enough, but he had to try.
“That’s it, Padmé,” he said, adding a bit more effort to his motions. He pressed into her harder, drawing his fingers up when he was inside her. Soon his thumb pressed gently into her clitoris, and that undid her. Padmé grabbed at Obi-Wan’s shirt, using it for support as she came on his hand. Her eyes squeezed shut as she rocked on him, letting him take her all the way down.
When she had reached the bottom, the feeling was too much, and she grabbed his arm, pulling it away. Obi-Wan smiled in satisfaction, giving her a moment to recover. When she opened her eyes, Obi-Wan lifted his shirt over his head, and discarded it on the ground next to hers. He was every bit as beautiful as she had remembered him.
“I thought you said you wanted to know what I taste like,” Padmé said breathily.
At that, Obi-Wan drew the two fingers that were just inside her to his mouth, and tasted her.
“Jedi are taught to be patient, Padmé,” Obi-Wan said, moving his body further down the bed, until his knees met the floor, and only his upper half remained on the bed. Obi-Wan pressed his hands into Padmé’s thighs, and opened them so he might look at her. Her skin had flushed pink, and she glistened with her wetness.
The word that came to Obi-Wan’s mind then was Temple. She was his new Temple.
He kissed her hips. He kissed her stomach. He kissed her thighs. Higher and higher he went until his lips found the wetness he had drawn from her. From there he pressed his tongue to her, kissing until he found home.
He traced his tongue around her, drawing her into his mouth briefly, letting her go with wet sounds that belied his ravenous hunger for her. He groaned when her hands found his hair, and she pulled his mouth harder onto her. She ground her hips into him, reaching climax, and Obi-Wan knew then that the Jedi had made a grave mistake.
This wasn’t a weakness. How could something the Force created be wrong? How could giving of himself be anything but unconditional love?
Obi-Wan sighed, not ready to stop using his mouth on her, but Padme hooked her fingers into Obi-Wan’s jaw, gently coaxing him up her body. He settled in on top of her once more, his mouth finding hers as if they had done this a thousand times before.
Padmé panted slightly, pressing sweet kisses to Obi-Wan’s lips.
In this moment, Padme’s thoughts strayed to Anakin. How it had been between them. How every time they were together, it felt like Anakin was only taking, never giving. Yes, he had done exactly as Obi-Wan had just done, but it just felt like it had been more covetous than anything. Almost as soon as she had conjured up thoughts of Anakin, Padmé pressed her hand to her forehead.
“Obi-Wan, I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m thinking of…” she started, unable to say the last word. Him.
“Shhh,” Obi-Wan said. “I’m yours. I’ve been yours for so long. You don’t have to explain yourself. I know it’s hard for you.”
Padmé nodded, so grateful that Obi-Wan understood.
“I’m so close to being yours,” she said, pressing her hands to either side of Obi-Wan’s face. “Stay with me. Make me yours.”
“Now?” Obi-Wan asked, pressing himself against her core once more, aching for her.
“Yes,” Padmé said, rocking her hips, feeling him through the fabric of his pants she had soaked already. As she rocked, she hadn’t noticed that Obi-Wan had tucked his thumb into the waistband of his pants. He pulled them down tentatively, allowing his hardness to find her wet center.
She gasped when she felt him there, nothing between them anymore. Obi-Wan reveled in the feeling, running himself over her, feeling how wet and soft she was. He took a moment to finally take the last remaining garment separating them off, and found his place again.
Unhurried, Obi-Wan ran himself over her, forwards and back, waiting for Padmé to approach another climax. When he sensed it, he backed off, removing pressure, or pausing his hips.
“Obi-Wan,” Padmé said, her hand grabbing at his backside. “Please.”
“Look at me, Padmé,” Obi-Wan said, hovering above her. When she opened her eyes, she stared up at him, taking in how beautiful he was. When he was sure he had her full attention, Obi-Wan did as he had been fantasizing and dreaming of for years, pressing into her. He slid in so perfectly, so effortlessly, that as soon as he found himself fully inside her, it almost made him come.
But with the will of the Force, Obi-Wan kept himself together, and drew back languidly, pressing into her again with a focused intensity that ruined Padmé for any other man. When he was sure she had adjusted to him, Obi-Wan changed his pace. He began adding just a little more force right before he seated himself fully, hitting a spot deep inside her. She couldn’t keep her eyes opened if she tried, instead surrendering to everything that Obi-Wan was doing to her.
He made love to her now, but something in his restraint told her that in the following days he would be fucking her.
“I can do that, Padmé,” Obi-Wan said, pressing his lips to hers as he propped himself up on his forearms. His hips continued their work, and he looked down at their joining. “Whatever you want, I’ll give—” Obi-Wan faltered then, and he moaned lightly. “I’ll give it to you.” Obi-Wan’s hips stuttered, and he pressed into her deeply, pushed over the edge.
Feeling him harden even more inside her, Padmé fell over the edge with him, and together they came.
Obi-Wan moaned, his body still in a state of heightened sensitivity. He stroked into her a few more times, wanting to prolong the feeling of being inside her.
“Obi-Wan,” Padme said, pressing her lips into his hair, now damp with effort. She repeated his name, knowing that saying it had the most power when he was still inside her.
It took them several moments to both come down, but eventually they met at the bottom, and the lust cleared from their eyes. Obi-Wan pulled out of her, and settled in next to Padmé again. They laid like this for several minutes, breathing and looking at each other with a new shared closeness.
Obi-Wan felt it through the Force then, the word that Padmé had been grasping for while he had made love to her. He knew she wasn’t ready to say it out loud to him, so he let it be. There was plenty of time to hear her say it. But he knew it was coming. He had been there himself for a very long time.
As if they had been in this position a million times, both of them took their turn in the fresher, ready now to sleep in earnest. When they both reached the bed, crawling into the warmth of the covers, they knew that once they laid their heads down, they would never spend another night apart.
Obi-Wan began to doze, and before sleep could fully take him, Padmé’s voice pulled him awake.
“Obi-Wan?” she asked quietly. Obi-Wan hummed.
“I need to tell you something,” she said, and he felt himself rousing from sleep. His stomach threatened to fall.
“What, Padmé?” Obi-Wan asked, trying not to sound too concerned.
She was silent a moment. Almost too long.
“My fireplace doesn’t really have a leak.”
Obi-Wan laughed then, deeper than he had in over a year. He pulled Padmé to him, and chuckled into the top of her head, where he kissed her hair. She joined him, a clear and soft sound. Just as they found sleep, the rain stopped.