Chapter Text
The message came just after lunch, while Padmé was struggling through a mountain of data files relating to ground surveys on Naboo. It wasn’t a good time, she thought, instantly recognizing the droid like chirping she’d designated for all of Anakin’s messages but she was swamped on all of the minutia and a distraction was too tempting to turn down. Besides it was Anakin and he needed attention or he got into those sulks.
At first, it sounded accusatory. The words, “I know you’re attracted to Obi-Wan,” stared up at her vindictively from her datapad. All she could do was gape at the thing. How dare he talk to her like that?
“What are you accusing me of?” she wrote back, finger tips aching from how hard they hit the keys.
“Nothing,” Anakin said but the screen indicated he was still typing. She steeled herself for a real argument but what came through was, “Just thought you might like a chance to act on it.”
It was a weird message. She couldn’t judge his intended tone by the text alone.
“I’m not going to cheat on you, Anakin,” she wrote back.
His messages came, as always, in single sentences. “I have no intention of implying that,’ he typed and she waited for his follow up but what he’d written nearly knocked her out of her seat. “I was trying to offer my permission.”
Her entire mind shut down. She couldn’t fathom how to respond to that over a text based conversation.
“Can you call me?” She asked.
His signal popped up on her holo projector within milliseconds and she answered to find him smug on the other end of the line.
“Before you get angry with me, hear me out,” he said, tongue peaking out from between his lips to wet them before he really began, “I’m not just making wild suggestions. I’ve thought about this for a while.”
From the ambient noise on his side of the connection, she could tell he’d tucked himself into the cargo hold of whatever transport he and Obi-Wan were currently on.
It was kind of a weird thing to hear him say that he’d been thinking so long about something like this. “How long?” She asked.
He gave her half a shrug. “Little over two years, I’d say.”
“Two years?” she asked. Two years was a long time to have thoughts quietly alone about one’s own master.
“Yeah, I’ve thought about it,” he admitted and her brain might as well have run out her ears.
“He can’t hear you, can he?” she demanded but Anakin just laughed.
“Nah, he thinks I’m taking a nap.”
“And you’re sure about this?” she pressed because it was honestly unbelievable.
“Oh yeah,” he said in a tone so confident it could have burned the hair off the balls of the last Barsen’thor.
It hardly made any sense. Not that it couldn’t. Anakin and Obi-Wan had always been close, affectionate even, but she’d never have expected to hear Anakin talk about his own Master so brazenly. And stranger still, the idea was getting to her.
“You’ve really thought about it?” she asked. She was sure he would balk if he ever had the opportunity really laid out before him to let her spend a night with Obi-Wan. That jealousy would certainly kick in.
Anakin offered her the kind of smirk he generally only slapped on when he was sure their night had a certain ending in its future as he leaned back against the hull wall of the cargo bay. “Thought about it, dreamt about it, foreseen it in the future. I’ve even squeezed one out to it. Or a few,” he amended biting at his bottom lip.
Padmé made a valiant attempt to swallow the thick spit accumulating in her mouth. It was just so much to wrap her head around. She stuttered, trying to find something to do with her hands and ending up shuffling uselessly through the data files on her desk display, needlessly rearranging them.
“You want me to,” here she stopped, fumbling for words, “sleep with your Master?”
“As long as I get to be there.”
Involuntarily, her knees squeezed against each other. “You want to watch?” She pressed.
Some of the panic had gone out of her now and it was starting to sound like maybe it wasn’t such a daunting thought. Maybe he really wasn’t trying to catch her in something or level any accusations. Beyond that, it was clear Anakin really had thought about it, the way his eyes flashed at her, the way his jaw set. He took a guttering breath that shuddered over the just-visible line of his teeth.
“I can already see his hands on you,” he said, almost distantly
The clock on her desk told her it was four hours until her work day would properly end. “Where are you right now?” she asked.
Anakin’s mouth pulled into an instant pout and the image of him skewed as he shifted to check the terminal by the cockpit door. “Border of the Mid Rim, but we’ve got a hyperdrive on this ship. I can be there in six hours.”
“Good,” she told him. “Hurry.”
A kind of gleeful anxiety climbed her with grappling wires as she tried to focus herself back on the work in front of her. Anakin would be there soon and they could talk then. She had work and at least some self discipline but even a scant six hours seemed an agonizing time to wait for details on what was obviously an inspired bit of fantasy even if it was entirely impossible in the reality of things.
“I can be there in six hours,” ended up three by some miracle of space and time. Or maybe it was just Anakin’s incredibly reckless flying. The image of Obi-Wan still sitting off space sickness in the hanger bay of the temple amused her as Anakin’s false hand wrapped around her own from behind.
“How did you get here so fast?” she demanded.
His other arm wrapped around her shoulders and he buried his face against her neck as a misdirection for stealing her stylus. It lay on it’s side, glitching the display on a graph chart, where he set it. Something she tried not to be annoyed by because the feeling of his smile against her skin was infectious.
“Ani, I’m still working,” she complained.
“So am I, I still have to give my report to the Council so we have to be quick.”
The legs of her chair screeched as he wrenched her away from the desk. “‘Anakin!” she chided uselessly. He was bigger than her, faster than her, and not so easily distracted from the wants of others by their words. Still keeping his grip tight on her wrist, he pulled her onto her feet and bodied her against the desk so it dug lightly into the crests of her hip bones.
“He’s very loyal to the code, you know,” he said against her ear and she instantly knew what he was talking about. Who he was talking about. The metal of his right hand was firm on her own, where he held her to the desk, pinning her between its solid surface and his own weight.
She knew what he was saying was true, that this was just a flight of fancy.
“But that doesn’t mean he’s never strayed before,” Anakin assured her.
This was another thing she couldn’t really wrap her head around. Of course if Obi-Wan had ever taken a lover, only Anakin would know about it. But the idea of Obi-Wan straying from the code seemed preposterous at best.
“When?” she asked, voice barely more than a whisper.
“When he was still a Padawan,” Anakin explained. His human hand was like a fire on her stomach, pulling her back, against him. “He was given an assignment with Master Qui-Gon. Body duty for a Mandalorian politician.”
Satine, Padmé thought distantly. Satine had told her Obi-Wan had guarded her during the civil war. That they’d been close. It fit. It checked out.
Her voice shook when she asked him, “What happened?”
“Oh plenty happened,” Anakin told her.
The hand on her stomach dipped down, pressing her skirt between her legs and up into the mess she’d become over all this nonsense. It was good. A desperate relief for an itch she’d left deliberately unscratched. She gasped at the pressure, her own hand snaking down over his in thoughtless encouragement.
“Fuck look at you,” he growled. “They had what might have been an affair if it had ever gone any farther.”
Even through the layers of their clothing, she could feel how hard he was, the only comfort she had to the embarrassment of being this worked up over a few short words. His breath came as heavy as hers did, running warm against the back of her ear.
Padmé could imagine it. The kind of awkward, repressed flirting they must have engaged in. But she couldn’t see how that would qualify as a deviation from the code.
Anakin knew more than she did though as he was so happy to remind her. “It’s something a lot of Jedi do, you know? Skirt around the problem,” as he said this, he dragged his fingers back the way they’d come, pulling her skirt along with him pointedly. “If it’s not actually sex it doesn’t count, right? It’s not against the code.”
Padmé swallowed a gasp as he reached for the back of her waistband, fingers dipping beneath the hem of her skirt and rooting into the lacing of her corset like it was a handle to puppet her by. Then his other hand moved. Whirring softly, it traveled it’s way up the line of her sleeve to her shoulder, tracing along her collarbone.
“Ani,” she warned him as his fingers groped gently along the line of her throat.
There was another growl as he jerked back. Then his weight surged forward, bearing down on her laces so she had to catch herself to keep from meeting her data displays face first.
“He was her little vassal,” Anakin said. “He did everything she asked him, and she rewarded it.” He hissed, wrenching her skirt up the backs of her legs. “She’d let him watch, Padmé.” The leather of his gloves skimmed her thighs, making her shiver so hard her knees dipped under his weight.
The thought of Obi-Wan standing at the foot of Satine’s bed, patient and obedient as he saw the thing he wanted most right out of his reach was so crisp, she got the feeling Anakin was feeding her more than just words. They’d talked about this. Him and Obi-Wan. In depth. Anakin had details. He knew things not even a best friend should know and he’d thought about them shamelessly. Enough to construct whole worlds around the fantasies whatever conversations had enlightened him to these events had inspired.
His fingers dragged through her labia, teasing the idea of pushing deeper but never quite reaching. Frustrated and helpless, she whined against the delicate whips of holo in her face, disrupting the air the data stream projected onto. She felt so empty she ached.
“But she never let him have it,” Anakin concluded.
Padmé could hardly breathe. He was so close to her that past the transparisteel in her face, he was all she could smell, a mix of hard hormones from whatever mission he’d been on meeting his arousal now.
“Anakin, please!” she barked and he pressed forward. He let one finger dip into her until his knuckles hit her pelvis and then pulled back out in a single, smooth motion.
“She only ever teased him.” His breath fanned hot on her neck as he said this.
“Like you’re teasing me now?” Padmé demanded.
There was a shifting behind her as Anakin started to work on moving his own clothing aside enough and a little thrill settled inside her. This was her favorite part. The feeling of him against her as he pushed his way inside, always almost painful at first as she readjusted to the intrusion after his long absences.
“Anakin,” she called quietly as he inched his way into her and he groaned against her back.
“You’d be his first, Padmé,” he said.
It was a weird thing to find arousing. She’d always been into older men based on the presumption of experience. Anakin himself had been an exception and even he’d had some mileage under his belt by the time they’d decided to give it a go, though he’d never fessed up to where he’d gotten it.
She groaned, trying her best to muffle the noise against her desk so no one would hear them from the hallway as they passed her office. It was a good angle. Pressing down on her from above like this, he glanced hard against her g-spot as he pushed his way passed, bottoming out somewhere below her bellybutton.
“I’m not sure he’d know what to do without my help.” He told her, and suddenly, she could see it all like Anakin had imagined it. She could feel Anakin’s hand guiding Obi-Wan inside her. Her toes curled inside her shoes and her eyes rolled up into her head.
Desperately, she reached up over her own shoulders to grab at his robes. She needed more and she’d needed it three hours ago and he knew that. He knew because he’d needed it too. She’d seen it on him. She felt it now. Hard as he was, she was surprised he hadn’t already made a fool of himself but he was steadfast against her, playing it agonizingly slow so she had ample time to mull over each image he fed into her mind.
“He needs us, Padmé.”
But it was impossible. Obi-Wan would never agree to it. It was all a moot point so him trying to convince her was misguided in the end. Regardless, this knowledge didn’t stop her from trying to squirm her way backwards onto him, trying to goad him on. It was such a nice fantasy. She could see why Anakin had indulged it for so long. Never in her wildest dreams would she ever have imagined having both of them at once if he hadn’t suggested it to her.
“He wants it so bad, I can see it-“ Anakin insisted, pressing back into her, “-when I talk about you,” he half stammered into her shoulder.
“You talk about me?” she gasped. He’d sunk himself along the line of her stomach so her back twitched and her nails scrambled for purchase on the leather of his shoulder guard, against her own important documentation. There was a sick sense of shame that Obi-Wan would ever have been told about their relationship, let alone given details but it wasn’t the kind of shame to stop her from enjoying it all.
Anakin talked to Obi-Wan about her. He told Obi-Wan what it was like to see her and touch her. Her own unrealized childhood crush had thought about what it might be like to fuck her. Her own husband had handed him details. They went over it play by play. Just like they had with Satine.
“I can’t help it,” Anakin said, hands raking along her sides for purchase as he pulled himself out again.
Here it came, she realized. He’d just spilled the dirty and he was gearing up to rail her right while she was floundering under the embarrassment. The flare of his head stopped just shy of pulling out fully but he paused, running a hand along the bared skin of her upper back.
“He gets so worked up when I tell him about you,” her husband told her. His glove caught on the round of her ass as he ran his prosthetic around the front of her hip, flicking gently over her clit. “I can’t wait until you know what he sounds like.”
The words themselves seemed to curl up inside her, filling up every space he didn’t so quickly, the shock couldn’t really hit her. She gasped. He growled.
Then it all happened at once. Like they weren’t themselves anymore but animals. The only courtesy he offered was sliding his fingers between her hip bones and the edge of the desk as he drove into her, dragging a number of undignified sounds out of her throat. They were being more than loud enough to hear now but she couldn’t stop. She couldn’t shut herself up with him tearing her open.
Somewhere, behind her eyelids, she could see a memory of Obi-Wan Kenobi coming undone. She could half feel it like she had been there, like it was her memory and not Anakin’s of pushing into the older Jedi’s lap and holding their dicks together in his false hand as he jerked them both off. It felt recent. The memory smelled fresh, spunk still staining the tips of Anakin’s glove with its scent. He’d pushed the same leather he used to relieve his master all the way into her body, knowing that he’d done it, reveling in the fact.
Her insides spasmed as she howled Anakin’s name.
“Am I really who you’re thinking about?” He demanded, voice harsh and wrung out in her ear now.
It was just too much. Her head bowed forward, forehead pressed into the surface of her desk as it started, just a trickle at first, but once it began, there was no stopping the torrent that followed. It splashed down her legs and pooled around their shoes as she came so hard she couldn’t feel her body, calling Obi-Wan’s name loud enough it might have been heard on the landing station ten stories below them.
Anakin gasped as he followed her, swearing into the collar of her dress as he finished himself off deep against her cervix.
“Shit, Padmé,” he said as they did their best to stand there, clutching the desk for dear life.
Her head was spinning with the rush of it all, but one thought was crystal clear in her mind as the fog of her own need began to pass.
“Padmé?” He asked as she blinked at a holo of her family on the wall, stewing in her own upended reality.
“You’re fucking Obi-Wan Kenobi?” She asked.
There was an awkward beat of silence as Anakin pulled out of her and she finally managed to push herself fully back onto her feet.
“Pads, I can explain-“ he started as she turned on him.
“You’re fucking Obi-Wan Kenobi?!?”