Disclaimer: The Star Wars Universe is the sole
property of George 'The Visionary' Lucas; a
gifted soul whose deft perceptions have never
dimmed throughout his many inventive years.

Smolderings

I am sweltering in this dress, which, now as
I think about it, can best be described in a
word as a; temptress'. It is midnight black,
sinfully tight, (he thinks he cannot breathe)
and barely there for my breasts. I feel my
cheeks burn, now, as his unnerving stare
slices clean through me. As though I am his
latest lightsaber victim, a smoking corpse.

Not such the sweet and innocent Padme everyone
thinks I am... Well, for my sanity's sake, I
am most of the time. Am I not? I guess so,
for the most part, when I'm not toying with
ulterior motives. Do I have such motives?
I gulp dryly, as he stands over there looking
all set to pounce.

What the Force was I thinking??

Is that why I chose to wear this dress
fit to kill that flirts with dominatrix
tendencies? Subconsciously, I wish to
seduce my, oh so handsome, and, by the
hungry look in his predatory eyes, ready
and willing Jedi protector? He looks as if
he might self-combust within moments. Cagily,
I eye the bucket of still water nearby the
fireplace, and sigh. I note again how
rapacious he looks, and it's not entirely his
fault.

I think it would be fair to say that this
whole setup could be construed as leading him
on.

'...You'll always be that little boy on
Tatooine.' *Sith*! Did I really say that?
Ah, there's that look of challenge posturing
in his stormy eyes again. The look he had
given me back on Coruscant when I'd uttered
those ill-chosen words. The diamond-hard
scowl that put me in my place, but quick.

Why does he frown so much?

I am sandwiched between enervating walls of
heat. It is almost as if the greedy tongues
of fire gamboling in the hearth sear my back.
If I back up any more, distancing myself from
the blond, over-stimulated source of instense
heat confronting me, I will be in the fire--
literally.

And if my resolve hiccups, and I weaken...I
choose to heed the summoning of his raw stare,
I shall be the one who combusts in his arms,
when he pulls me to himself, and zealously
consumes me in the fire of his surfeit of
passions stoked.

If I let him... Will I let him? The side
of me who would do anything *he* asks, wants
this. But if my rationale succumbs to my
wayward will, am I the one who plays false to
those excuses, I just handed him, which
sounded succinctly valid, tied up with a
bright shiny red bow, when I spoke them?

He doesn't do 'rational.' Am I just as
malleable; primed to be putty in his eager
hands?

The firestorm within me builds, as I feel my
legs violently wobble the way they did before
the Senate, as I had risen to claim the hover-
platform's podium, prepared to utter the very
first impassioned speech I had ever delivered
in support of denying the Military Creation
Act's ratification.

Can he read my mind? The thought forces a
chill down my spine, and back up again, as
I see the hand closest to me extend, and he
waits, but he doesn't wait long.

"Come here," he mumbles, sounding like the
breath of wind rustling over sandpaper, and
I detect the indecision within him. A bit
of anxiety coupled with longing, a very
humbling pairing.

I blink as the sensation of waterfalls in
that peaceful meadow cascade over, and within
me, just as he smiles that shy little
enigmatic smile of his. The smile that
impelled me to return our first real kiss, at
first, before I struggled back to my senses
and rejected him.

I hadn't meant to douse his passionate assault
so decisively, though. I have told myself
this many times since our time together on
the balcony. But what else could I have done?
He had thoroughly surprised me--more like
shocked me--was all, and my reaction was
knee-jerk.

I regret the hurtful confusion I'd wrought in
his eyes, so perhaps that explains why I took
him up on his picnic suggestion, and then
allowed myself to be suckered into that ploy
of rolling with him in the field.

I am drawn to him, but I hesitate so he comes
to me, but this time, the haunting 'knowing
what he wants' look is shared between us. I
can no more resist him than give up breathing.
I no longer want to resist. It is as though
the entire room has become filled with him.
I thrive. The trenchant warmth of this room is
bearable now, welcomed. A condition that should
be carefully nutured.

"Anakin..."

"Padme," he sighs through a whisper, and when
he smiles, I swoon as I smolder, but the
feeling is wanted, and brilliantly mutual.
"I love you." The firelight dances across the
pupils of his eyes, to where my eyes are
magnetically drawn. "So much..." His magical,
beautiful eyes stridently proclaim how
quintessentially he wants me. I want to love
him, but, truthfully, I am afraid of what loving
him will mean for both of us.

As he nestles his finger beneath my chin, and
tilts my head up to his, I realize how hollow
the sound of those noble, reasonable words
I threw up as a poor defense was. "Please,"
he whimpers, while kissing my cheek with the
softest lips I shall ever have worship my skin.
The tear that has somehow escaped his control
moistens the cheek he has just paid homage to.

Knowing how wrong this is, but feeling how
right it is at the same time, I nod against
his furrowed brow, as my arms, as though
endowed with a mind of their own, encircle
his well-defined torso. "Let's sleep on it,
Anakin, and if we still feel the same come
morning..."

Taking advantage of my pause, he breathes
against the bridge of my nose, "I could go
to sleep and awake a thousand mornings, and
I'd always feel the same. You are the woman
whom I love. That's immutable."

The use of words suddenly feels clumsy, and
when I feel him hug me tight, I know that
nothing I might say will ever gloss over the
resiliency of his feelings for me. I let his
velvety lips trek leisurely over the fevered
ledges of my trembling shoulders, and moments
before the moan I am powerless to muffle
escapes, he nods against me, and repeats his
previous concession. "You're right." Quietly,
he adds, "We should sleep on it before doing
anything that could jeopardize the way you
might come to feel about me...in time." His
airy exhalation seems to displace the tension
in the room. "I need you...need you to love
me, Padme."

Before I can squeak out a single syllable, he
releases me, turns away, pauses by the door.
He nods at me with a wan, 'the ball's in your
court' smile, and leaves.

Phew! ...Is it really, really hot in here, or
is it just me?

My legs which feel like lead now, bucklingly
convey me to the loveseat, and it takes
several moments for me to gain better mastery
over my rapid, shallow breathing. I shift to
stare into the ebbing fire as my vision
effortlessly blurs, and I think how much I have
in common with the fallout of friable embers
glowing in the hotbed of the lambent hearth.

Complication...thy name is Anakin...

Falling headlong for you, as I have, wasn't
supposed to be in the scheme of things. For
the love of all that is sane and obligatory--
may the Force be with *us*. Unconsciously, I
I can't help but think that the Force is
responsible for the tricky situation we're
in...somehow, and I shake my head in violent
bemusement. What are we going to do?

End