Obi Wan peers into the smoky, vermillion darkness. He can see the door to Anakin's quarters, only meters away now. Just one among the temple's hundreds of dull, steel, pneumatic hatches which lead to hundreds of identical, modest, compact dormitories. Hardly the dwelling of a family man, he muses. No place to keep a wife, much less a child. Even if it weren't under siege at the moment. He approaches cautiously, keying himself in. It would seem redundant to knock at this juncture, given Anakin's effusive, near-constant mental invitations.

He is more startled than he really should be to find Padmé looming over her husband like that, coiling hair loose about her shoulders, swollen breasts unbound beneath her semi-translucent slip.

"Forgive me-" he exclaims, instantly turning to leave.

"Wait!" Anakin calls to him, giddy and breathless. "Don't go! Come closer." He is sprawled across his narrow bunk, reclining on his elbows, naked except for his leggings. Shadows flutter like blue moths over his neck and torso as he sits up half-way, curling in at the waist.

With a sheepish smile, Padmé turns and stands, revealing him in full. The front of his leggings is opened, freeing the purple stamen of him to jut proudly from a bed of pyrite curls- and of course, this part of him is beautiful, too. It bobs lazily up and down between his golden thighs as shameless, exuberant laughter shakes him. "Don't worry, Master. We don't bite. Well..." he glances larkishly at Padmé. "We do, actually. But we won't bite you unless you want us to."

She shoots him a glare, adjusting her gauzy, yellow garment about her naked thighs. Obi Wan seems petrified with embarrassment, and for a moment she is worried they have really put him off. But then she catches sight of it, that subtle curling of his fingers, that quiet ache he probably doesn't even know is in him, and she decides that now is as good a time to make her move as any.

"What Anakin is trying to say," she avers, with an awkward over-formality that might have been comic in less perilous times, "is that you are welcome to join us."

He blinks at her, lips mutely parted in disbelief. Then, with a short, nervous chuckle: "M'lady, Padmé- I don't think I quite understand." He crosses his arms, shyly. He is suddenly warm all over, his body thrumming with anticipation as if it knows something he doesn't.

"Obi Wan, my dear friend..." She saunters up to him, tilting her doe-like head in neat sympathy. "You are under an awful lot of stress these days, aren't you? I think it would be good for you to join us right now." She takes him gently by the hand, mooning up at him through long, besomy lashes. "I think we could make you feel much better."

"Padmé-?" he swallows tremulously as, standing on tiptoe, she presses a ghost of a kiss to the end of his nose.

"Would you like that?" she coaxes softly. "Would you like us to make you feel good for a while?"

Well that settles it, he thinks. This is not his body anymore. It is a stranger's heart which is quickening with excitement, a stranger's belly which is seizing with desire. It is a stranger's hand which is rising unsteadily to brush her milky upper-arm.

"Yes..." a stranger's voice is whispering.

She reaches down to tug at his utility belt, doing nothing to conceal the glint of victory in her black-honey eyes. "If you would permit me the honor?"

He gives her a fractional nod. This is license enough it seems, and in an instant she is dispossessing him of his various Jedi tabards and tunics with a deftness and efficiency that bespeaks experience. He is rigid with suspense as she peels him, course beige husks falling away like the wasted part of an ear of grain to the threshing-room floor. She is leading him to the millstone to be ground down into cake-flour, and he is letting her. Stars, he is letting her! He can feel her agile fingers scrape him, smell her perfume, and bath oil, and sweat, see the amused quirk of her lips as she takes a step back to better observe his semi-nakedness. If this is an insomnia-induced hallucination, it is a remarkably detailed and persistent one.

"Boots?" she says sweetly, noting with approval the architecture of his back as he obediently stoops to remove them. What a treat, to have one of her youthful, innocent fantasies fulfilled at this late date! She remembers the first time she ever laid eyes on Obi Wan Kenobi, when she was still a girl, and he was scarcely a man. She remembers she thought him quite something back then. He is different now of course: broader, and fuller, and rougher in places, with wrinkles at the corners of his eyes like charming little sparkles of expression. She lays both of her hands on his shoulders and brings them down over his lightly-furred chest in a curious, combing sweep. His skin is covered with pinkish scars and blotches of discoloration from the frequent use of bacta, and his limbs are subtly asymmetrical from repeated breakings and settings. It is a hardened warrior's body, she thinks, or it would be, if the essential civility and graciousness of the spirit inside did not shine through it so brightly.

"Beautiful," she murmurs, absently thumbing the curve of his waist.

"Really?" he laughs, bewildered.

"Hasn't anyone ever said so?"

"No."

Slowly, giving him plenty of time to change his mind, she reaches around the back of his head and pulls him into a long, searching kiss. He slackens against her, hands opening and closing uselessly at his sides in a way that makes her wonder whether he's ever been touched like this at all. Surely, there has been someone...

"Enough-" Anakin groans from behind her, grasping fistfuls of synth-linen as he lies on his back, fidgeting and squirming. "You two are torturing me!"

Padmé turns, laying her head on Obi Wan's shoulder and addresses him in a stage-whisper: "Master Kenobi, have you not taught your padawan patience?"

"He resists learning, M'lady."

"Well-" She nips languidly at Obi Wan's jaw and throat, as her stroking hands travel over his chest and belly. "That simply won't do." Pausing, she pulls back slightly, eyebrows arching in a look of girlish mischief. "Why don't you hold him down for me, and I'll teach him a lesson?" she purrs, revealing an edge of teeth.

"H-how do you want...?" Obi Wan looks from Anakin's writhing nakedness and back to Padmé again in trepidation. He cannot meet Anakin's laser-bolt eyes.

"Don't worry," she says, low and soothing. She lacks the Force-potential required to actually mind-trick anyone, but you would hardly know it by the way she has the Jedi master in her thrall. "I'll show you..." she continues, walking him backwards to the side of the bed and pressing on his shoulders until he sits. "I just want to try something. Something easy. You won't have to do much. And if you don't like it, we can stop, of course." Her skirts brush against him with torturous delicacy as she looms above him, looking ready to pounce. "But if you do like it," she ventures, "then, maybe, we can do more..."

She pushes him onto his back and, with a bit of silent coaxing, gets him to lift his legs onto the bed so that he and Anakin are lying side by side, close but not quite touching. They are visibly trembling, the one more with desire and the other more with fear, but neither without both. Her pulse quickens at the sight of them. To have such powerful beings so much at her mercy-! It gives her a terrible thrill.

Anakin moves to grasp at Obi Wan, but before he can, she catches him by the wrists and holds his arms above his head.

"Not so fast, my love." Her eyes narrow in passion as she pins him beneath her. "We are going to go about this properly now. Master Kenobi and I are going to set you straight."

"Padmé, please-" he gasps, features scrunching in torment. "I can't take it anymore-"

"Shh..." She kisses him, only to pull away again, and leave him aching. "Patience."

He is heavy in her arms as she gathers him up and lays him down on top of Obi Wan so that his back is flush with the other man's chest. She is reminded again, as she arranges Obi Wan's arms around Anakin's torso, of her girlhood, of playing in the broadgrass behind the house with Sola's dolls, of mashing their plasteel faces together to make them kiss.

Obi Wan embraces Anakin from behind, his chin on Anakin's shoulder, and quietly keens against Anakin's neck. The strength of his own desire is a shock to him, a violent disruption of selfhood which leaves him feeling overwhelmed, ashamed, and scared. But then Anakin's frantic delight is seeping into him, possessing his body, practically insisting that he enjoy this, until, at last, the sheer pleasure of it can't be denied.

The skin-to-skin contact has done something to them, Padmé realizes, has triggered their strange link in some way. They are mewling and rubbing against each other as if they can't help themselves, as if they can never possibly be close enough. And then, suddenly, they are... glowing. All around them the Force hums with portent, as if to affirm the inevitability and rightness of this, this consummation. This cosmic Event, to which she alone is a privileged witness.

The sight of their struggling sends a wash of heat through her, and she reaches down to stroke herself through the fabric of her slip. At the same time, with her other hand, she reaches through the open front of Anakin's leggings to caress his inner-thigh. He laughs, and writhes, and tosses his hair, but it is Obi Wan who whimpers, as though devastated by the sensation.

"You can actually feel... what he feels?" she asks, her breath growing short as she considers the possibilities.

"Yeh- Yes," Obi Wan chokes.

"Because you are touching? That makes the connection- different, stronger. Right?"

This time, he can't manage more than a quiet moan in response. The barrier of skin between himself and Anakin is little more than a permeable membrane through which feelings slosh back and forth freely. He squeezes his eyes shut, burying his face behind Anakin's shoulder as the boy's exuberant lust floods his totally unprepared system.

Padmé bows to kiss at Anakin's belly, delighting in the way his muscles leap and quiver beneath her lips. With deliberate slowness, she pares away his dark leggings and tosses them to the floor, leaving him at last completely naked. Firmly gripping both his thighs, she leans down and teases the bright tip of his flower, before finally taking it whole into her mouth.

"Padmé," Anakin froths and giggles. "My Queen, have mercy-!" He tries to sit up, to reach for her, but his master's arms hold him fast. Even if he could overcome their physical strength, he cannot disobey their implicit command to be still. He sighs in frustration and gratitudereliefsurrender, lying back and accepting his fate.

When she did this to him for the first time- beneath an indigo Naboo sky, before his mother, before their marriage, before the war- it was with the selfish, vapory love of a girl. Now, it is with the generous, unflinching love of a woman who has seen the very worst of him.

For as long as he can remember, Anakin Skywalker has lived with the fear that no one could possibly want him if they knew just how dark and hollow he was inside. But as Padmé and Obi Wan share him, crushing his body between theirs, there is no hiding anything from either of them anymore. He has tried and pushed these people, he has taken, and taken, and taken from them, all the while hoping they wouldn't notice the screaming void that was his heart. The realization that they can both still love him, now that they have both seen him in all his sickness and ugliness, is almost too much for his brittle mind to bear.

"Padmé-" he cries, as her tongue laves over him. "I'm sorry- I love you- I'm sorry-!" But his words are lost as the roar of hyperspace fills his ears. Everything recedes from him as she brings him higher and higher, flinging him out beyond the most distant stars in a paroxysm of light.

Obi Wan bites back a sob as Anakin arches against him, pouring wave after wave of foreign pleasure into his body until his nerves feel like ragged wires, and his throat burns with tears. When he opens his eyes, the image of Padmé swims before him, kneeling on the edge of the mattress, sweaty hair covering half her face, rocking furiously as she kneads herself to completion. After taking a moment to catch her breath, she pulls Anakin's thermal military blanket over the three of them, and lies back, cradling her belly in contentment.

"Did you put him to sleep?" She giggles, thoroughly bemused, and rolls onto her side.

"Hmm. Yes," says Obi Wan, wrapping himself tightly around Anakin's dozing form and rotating them both so that they are facing her.

"By... accident? Or on purpose?"

"A little of both, I think. I just wanted him to calm down. But I am may have suggested it... a bit too strongly."

"Oh!" she says suddenly, starting to sit back up again. "I'm so sorry! We still have to take care of you, don't we?"

"No, no. It's quite alright. That was-" he blushes furiously, "already enough. Already too much."

"You... didn't like it, then?" she frowns, chewing at her cuticle in disappointment.

"Actually," he sighs, "I liked it quite a lot. More than I-" He looks away, struggling for once to put a name to his conflicted feelings, instead of leaving them to die anonymous deaths at the bottom of the deep, cool river of his mind. "More than I am accustomed to liking anything. Padmé..." He meets her eyes again. "Thank you, for this. And for being so... accommodating. I suppose that, as Anakin's wife, you have every right to be furious with me. I am deeply sorry if my... changed relationship with him has been any trouble to you."

His meek, apologetic expression is entirely at odds with the aura of power his body is radiating- So brilliant, it's as if he has swallowed a star. He doesn't even seem to realize it, thinks Padmé fondly. He has no idea how magnificent he is becoming.

"There is no need to thank me," she smiles. "It is I who should be thanking you. You saved the one I love most in all the galaxy from a terrible fate."

"I did what I thought I had to do. But it was reckless, foolish really-"

"No. You saved him. You gave him something I never could. He and I..." She gnaws at the edge of her thumb in distress. "As much as I do love him, I am finally forced to admit that he and I bring out the worst in each other. But you- You bring out the best in him..." In the semi-darkness, she looks flawlessly disheveled, her sugar-white skin glossed with sweat, her dark hair licking all around her head like tongues of chocolate flame. She is a fertile goddess in satisfied repose. Only her eyes betray the vulnerable girl within the majestic queen. "Don't you see? It's no good to me having him all to myself if he's broken," she says, her voice softly cracking. "If this is what he needs to feel whole... How can I stand in the way of it?"

"There are others who, in your position, would feel justifiably affronted."

"Others might not understand. But Anakin and I," she smiles wearily, "are a special case. Secrecy and distance have made our marriage more difficult in some ways... but also easier in others. For instance, it made it much easier to avoid dealing with our problems." She rubs slow circles against her belly, turning pensive. "We each had our separate lives, our real lives, and then we had this- This fantasy together, removed from everything else. Being together was like- Like taking a vacation from reality." She shakes her head in self-recrimination. "When you and Anakin showed up in the Chancellor's office, I hardly knew what to think, because everything was happening so fast. But it didn't take me long to realize that something had changed between you. I knew the two of you had crossed some sort of line. And if it had been anyone else, it would have bothered me. But it's different with you, Obi Wan." Her elegant hand reaches to caress the side of his face, eliciting a tiny gasp. "I knew you weren't taking him away from me. Because you have always kept him safe for me, and brought him back to me. And now, instead of feeling angry or jealous... I feel almost guilty. I've just taken it for granted all these years that when I wasn't with him, which was most of the time, you would be there to take care of him." She flashes him a wry grin, as her fingers stroke behind his blushing ear. "I feel like I've been enjoying all the fun parts of being a wife, while leaving you to do all the hard work."

"Not at all," he says. "As his master, caring for Anakin was my duty. But even more than that-" His brow scrunches with emotion as he finally confesses to her what he has worked to conceal from everyone, including himself. "It has been the single greatest joy of my life. I don't know what the future holds, but I do know that no matter what is in store for us-"

"You need to be with him. You can't be separated now. I know," she frowns. "That's exactly what this is about. I'm done with lying. I'm done with using people. I'm done living a life which doesn't accord with my principles. I don't want to be just another one of the many who have benefitted from your goodness, without giving anything in return."

"I assure you, you have not burdened me. To be permitted to... lie with both of you like this is more than I ever-"

"No, listen. This isn't just about us... sharing Anakin. I think that, in some sense, we've already been sharing him for years. This is about establishing trust. Knowing where we stand."

He chuckles, softly. "Are we drafting a treaty, Senator?"

"More like a... joint custody agreement," she smiles. But her smile is quickly smothered by a fog of fear. "All I can think about now is what's going to happen when this child is born. I know it has powers. Sometimes, I swear I can feel it, reaching for my mind. I believe that it must be trained, but I certainly can't teach it the ways of the Force. Anakin will want to, but- Stars, what if it's just like him?!" She rakes a hand through her hair, sputtering with nervous laugher. "What am I going to do with two of them?" She rises, resting on her elbows so that she is bearing down on him, the soft harp of her mouth parted as though in meditation or prayer. "Help me, Obi Wan. Help me protect my family from the galaxy- And the galaxy from my family. And in return, I promise to help you get what you want."

"And what if I don't know what I want?" he breaths, looking slightly desperate, his wide eyes greening with over-warmth.

"Then I'll help you figure it out." She trails her fingers absently over his forearm, admiring the fine coating of saffron hairs. "So, what do you say?"

"What do I say... to what?"

"I guess, what I'm really asking is..." For one fine moment, the planet turns beneath them, and they gaze into each other's eyes. And then she grips his wrist in a gesture half-savage, half-tender and fearfully, hopefully, brazenly says it:

"Will you marry us?"