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“Make me forget there was ever a first time.”
Anakin stares at her a moment longer. He opens his mouth—he looks terrified, and aroused, and she scowls at him. “Do not ask me if I’m sure. Look into my eyes and tell me I am not thinking clearly, I dare you.”
He does not tell her. He bends down and catches her behind the knees, lifting her easily and she gasps, wrapping around him instinctively, like a grapple as he quick-steps them forward towards her bunk. Their tumble onto it is remarkably graceful, maybe he uses the force to cushion her fall she is not sure but she does not lose her breath as her back hits the thin mattress and his mouth covers hers again.
He kisses her hungrily, and the longer she kisses him back the more that she realizes that something in them both has been waiting for this. She doesn’t think about how long, or what that means. She just realizes it, and allows herself to feel the relief of finally getting it, finally letting go, letting him in.
His hands are roaming her body with a curious fervor, and she vaguely thinks of how he must look at her all the time, surely he does not think he will find anything new. But it’s hypocrisy and she knows it as she lets her own fingertips dance over his shoulders and down to his chest, presses her thumbs into the divots of his hips.
When Padmé comes to Ahsoka’s mind again it does not feel so much like sin, and so she entertains it, in more ways than one. Why she is so sure that this is not a betrayal is somewhat of a mystery to her, but she is so very sure. Even so, she whispers the name, knowing Anakin will understand that it is a question.
He sucks in a breath and drags his mouth across her jaw, down to her throat, licking over the marks he had made before. “I imagine she will be upset that I did not let her at you first,” he murmurs, and Ahsoka feels hot in a new way, a shameless way that makes her hips jerk. She jerks and Anakin groans.
“You said to not ask if you were sure—“
He sounds as though if he does not fuck her right now that he might die. She scoffs.
“Anakin.” She says it once, and with feeling, and before it has even finished falling off of her tongue he is moving down her body, pushing his hands under her tunic and dragging her leggings down.
His mouth on her feels like sweet and perfect rebellion. She feels like curling into herself like a little pill bug and at the same time like leaping from a great height. She hooks her leg over his shoulder and pulls him in, slides her fingers into his hair and tugs and feels him moan into her, and knows she will never be the same after this, that things will never be the same.
He makes her come with his tongue and she pushes the feeling at him with all her might, hears him whine and feels his nails dig into her thighs as he feels what she feels, and even as she shakes she wants nothing more than to do the same to him, to draw his pleasure out of him with purpose.
So that is what she does; much as part of her wants to be claimed again, properly this time, she knows that can be a ritual for another time. Instead, she tugs at his clothes until he comes back to her mouth, shares the taste of her that lingers on his tongue. And she slides her hand between them, finds him hard and leaking inside of his robes.
He is putty in her hands and it is right and perfect, this way and not the way it was before, with his false pretense of dominance. Now Ahsoka is leading their dance, and she can feel how natural it is for him to follow. He is like a dog on a leash, a good, good dog, swerving in every direction she tugs, no matter how slight the pressure. She knows she is getting ahead of herself when she imagines him on his knees for her, but accepts the way it shoots heat up her spine nonetheless.
When he comes it almost takes her by surprise; she was so caught up in the push and pull, the plaintive sounds he made as she touched him, his hot breath at the hollow of her throat. But he pushes all of his pleasure towards her as he reaches his peak, a gift the same as she had given him but he is so much more than her, he feels so much more brightly and pushes with so much more intent, and she finds herself seeing stars as she arches and comes again right along with him, breathless but with his name on her lips nonetheless.
He curls silently around her after that, both of them thrumming, hearts beating too-loud in time. She feels his lingering hurt seeping through the contentment and knows with bitter certainty that it will be a long time before that hurt goes away. She allows him his silence, and gathers him up, and they stay.