Entry tags:

30_somethings, fanfic

FIC: Devour - Anakin Skywalker - PG-13
TITLE: Devour
AUTHOR: agentj / agentjedi
CHALLENGE: 30_somethings
CLAIM: Anakin Skywalker
THEMESET/PROMPT: Moments, #22 Respite
RATING: PG-13
DATE WRITTEN: idea June, August 2005, written August-September 2007
TIMEFRAME: During Clone Wars
SUMMARY: Padmé discovers her husband has truly become a man.
CONTENT WARNING: Adult situations. Opposite sex pairing. Explicit sex.
WORD COUNT: 1,318
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This had started out as a response to a challenge at theforce.net fiction boards so it was to be short, fluffy, and not at all smutty. Instead, Anakin said, "Frak that! D'you know how horny I am when I come back from the war to see Padmé?"

---

It was one thing she could never get used to—the silence. Here in Coruscant, although there were creatures that somehow still found subsistence in the desolate urban landscape of the planet-wide metropolis, there were no trees to toss in the wind, no flowers to scent the breeze. Instead, the hum and buzz of a speeder or cleaning droid would pass by her window, and sometimes the fumes of the vehicles would waft off the veranda just before the air scrubbers would kick in.

But it was so very quiet.

Despite warnings from the Jedi that senators should keep all security screens up within their private quarters, Padmé left them down so she could view the night sky unobstructed. Seeing the little lights from all the speeders reminded her of the many nights she waited for her husband to come home to her. No matter how late the night, Anakin would find time to steel away from his Jedi duties just to buzz by her window if he could not dare to be seen coming inside.

She hadn't seen him for a long time. Too long.

She sighed and leaned back against the pillows. She sat only on one side of the bed, leaving the space for him when he would one day be able to join her again. The last time she had seen Anakin, his padawan braid had been cut to mark his passage into a full fledged Jedi Knight. At the age of 21, he was still a bit too lanky, still too boyish to be sent off to war.

Padmé frowned as she thought of the war, all the lives lost, the petty arguments on the Senate floor. When would it end? When would the people of the Republic return to sanity and democracy again?

Padmé didn't have command of the Force, but she did have an uncanny intuition, and in the midst of her reminiscing the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Closing her mouth and slowing her breathing, she slid silently off the bed, snaking her arm beneath the vanity. A secret compartment popped open with the barest of clicks, making Padmé wince. Pushing the latch open, she gripped the slender silver handle hidden beneath the compartment and gently pulled it out.

In the dim light of Coruscant's night, Padmé could make out the shape of a shadow stealthily seeking her down the hallway. The person was tall, and sure-footed. A dark cowl draped itself around its hulking form. Suddenly its footsteps quickened, and Padmé realised she was probably more visible to her intruder than he was to her, considering the full light of Coruscant's traffic still lit her boudoir.

She gasped and slid back from the intruder's sight, raising the pistol blaster to her chest and pointing it squarely at the door frame.

The dark form burst forth and stopped abruptly when he caught sight of the silver pistol glinting in the light.

Padmé drew in her courage with her breath and raised the sights of the pistol to the intruder's chest.

"I sincerely hope you don't plan on using that," a deep voice muttered, tinted with a hint of a smile.

Padmé's face twisted into a frown as she shook her head slightly. The voice was familiar, yet not, all at the same time.

"You may find yourself...without a spouse...if you do!"

Padmé's breath caught in her throat. "An...Ani?"

The shadow took a step forward, and light illuminated her husband's smiling face. For the first time Padmé could see that his hood was not, in fact, up, but that his hair, which she had last seen cropped close to his head in the traditional padawan style, had grown out. His sun-tipped hair was unruly with curls that framed his boyish face. But not a boy....

His arms reached out for her from under his cloak, and lifted her off the ground in one fluid motion as he spun her about in the air. She cried out in surprise at his display of child-like glee, but it was not the sinewy arms of the young man who had held her on her wedding night, oh no. The arms that wrapped themselves around her hips and back now were strong...muscular...sensual.

Padmé hadn't felt her arm drop, hadn't heard the pistol fall to the carpeted floor with a padded thump, but she had felt the warm breath of the man pulling her closer to his lips; she had heard their rapid breathing intertwined as their eyes lusciously regarded one another in the semi-darkness.

The murky blue eyes that had once held her tantalisingly captive in a demanding stare now devoured her hungrily. Padmé felt more naked than she had ever felt as Anakin's eyes striped her bare and exposed her femininity. When he was done ravaging her with his gaze, their eyes met, and Padmé found herself looking not into the wading pond of Anakin's innocence, but plunging into the wild ocean of his manly need.

The timid gentle caresses Padmé remembered of her husband's touch was replaced by the fiery demand of a solider's grip. In moments, Anakin's cloak had been scattered to the floor, and her negligée torn from her trembling body. She could do nothing but submit to his will as he pushed her down onto the bed, raking and consuming her flesh with his mouth.

"Oh, Padmé...Padmé. I need you. I need to feel you. Deep inside...." The brush of Anakin's voice trembled along her skin. She arched helplessly against him, needing to feel his need as desperately as he did.

It was not long coming. Padmé felt the searing red hot organ against hers, and without preamble pierce inside. There was nothing romantic or playful about this union. Anakin was a man. Padmé was a woman. There was nothing else they needed to know.

"Oh, gods. Force. Padmé. Fuck!" Anakin exerted with every thrust of his hip. Padmé had never heard Anakin this vocal before, as if he had held back everything he was, everything he could have been just for this moment.

It was hot, and it was raw. Padmé watched helplessly as the man who was her husband took out his rage and frustration at his desire and pumped it into her. His face twisted in agony in his desperation to get it all out of him. Through clenched teeth, his breath sizzled.

Then in his final moment before release, the mad man above her opened his eyes and stared down coldly into her face. Padmé was his. She belonged to him.

Anakin's mouth opened, and a horrible scream of agony shot forth from him and into her.

Like a string puppet with its supports cut, Anakin barely managed to roll to one side of Padmé on their bed.

"I—I'm sorry. So sorry," he panted.

Padmé rose and covered his sweat-drenched body with hers. She rubbed her moistness against his stickiness as her hands caressed his face. "Shhh," she reassured him. "It's all right. You needed this. I need this."

Padmé continued to kiss his face and eyes and lips until she felt him respond to her again. A flesh hand on her right, a leather gloved hand on her left rose up along the skin of her spine and entwined with her hair. His wife moved sensually above him, and little sighs of happiness that Padmé remembered murmured in her ear.

This time it was gentle and soft. It was quiet and happy. When Padmé would look down on him, Anakin's face was bright with that smile that dazzled. They giggled and wrestled, joked and teased. Anakin reached out with inquisitiveness, wanting to learn how to touch a woman. Learning how to make her happy.

The little boy had returned. For now.

( More moments from Anakin Skywalker's life. )