It doesn't worry her that Anakin stares as she feeds their children.
Anakin stares at a lot of things.
Her husband - and she still feels a deep wash of relief at the word - is still learning what the Galaxy looks like through the eyes of a free man.
The term is apt: even as a Jedi he was never free. Always caught in the web of someone else's schemes and expectations, someone else's wants. But now the world is changing. The tide has turned.
Anakin Skywalker may be the Chosen One but he has Chosen to be her husband, to be a father to their children. He has Chosen to walk away from War just as she has chosen to walk away from politics.
Let the Galaxy learn to fight its own battles. Let it learn to guard its own future.
They have more important commitments.
She likes to watch the twins when they are safe and fed and sleeping, the way their tiny fingers curl and their chubby legs crook. The way their tiny mouths purse, as though even in their sleep, they still suckle determinedly at their mother's breasts.
She worries sometimes that she loves her family too much. That she will forget the outside world even exists, so happy is she in this small apartment on Naboo, with Anakin watching her watch their children.
She is almost startled as his arms loop around her waist, his mouth warm against ear.
He whispers endearments and promises of protection and, truly, she stops listening because the words aren't important. The sound of his voice is.
Like their babies, she thinks muzzily, who fuss and whimper in their infancy but say so much with their hands and wriggly bodies and cries in the night.
Perhaps it is lack of sleep that leads them to this point. Perhaps it is the reality that no matter how tightly she draws the curtains - no matter how far she takes him from the Temple on Coruscant - Anakin's connection to the Force still haunts him. Still follows him. Across the Galaxy, into this apartment, and into his dreams.
On bad nights he wakes in a sweat, schooled so harshly that he cannot even find comfort in a scream of fear. Schooled to face the demons because someone with more steel in their heart than kindness thought his need for comfort was worthless against the pipe dream of peace.
But she understands now what that someone failed to realise - that peace is nothing. There will never be peace. And certainly not until every being is allowed the dignity of fear, of vulnerability. A man who is allowed no peace for himself can't give it to anyone else.
So she gives Anakin what peace she can.
She comforts him in the night, like she does for their children.
She hushes his stifled, stunted attempts to communicate and listens to his voice, ignores his words. She takes him in her arms and rocks him.
Lays his head against the soft pillow of her breasts so he can hear her heartbeat, feel her warmth, and it is natural, then, for his hand to loosen the tie that holds her night robe closed. He exposes her breast, and when his soft mouth closes over her nipple, she is the one who sighs in relief.
Arches just slightly and then settles his weight in her arms as she leans back.
He drinks from her in earnest, and she feeds him without hesitation.
Like everything else, her body adapts to his, and whatever he needs, she is determined to provide.
When he is done, she wipes her breasts and his mouth, and rocks him back to sleep with his head on her shoulder, secure in her embrace.
FILL: Anakin/Padme - Suckling Fetish
Anakin stares at a lot of things.
Her husband - and she still feels a deep wash of relief at the word - is still learning what the Galaxy looks like through the eyes of a free man.
The term is apt: even as a Jedi he was never free. Always caught in the web of someone else's schemes and expectations, someone else's wants. But now the world is changing. The tide has turned.
Anakin Skywalker may be the Chosen One but he has Chosen to be her husband, to be a father to their children. He has Chosen to walk away from War just as she has chosen to walk away from politics.
Let the Galaxy learn to fight its own battles. Let it learn to guard its own future.
They have more important commitments.
She likes to watch the twins when they are safe and fed and sleeping, the way their tiny fingers curl and their chubby legs crook. The way their tiny mouths purse, as though even in their sleep, they still suckle determinedly at their mother's breasts.
She worries sometimes that she loves her family too much. That she will forget the outside world even exists, so happy is she in this small apartment on Naboo, with Anakin watching her watch their children.
She is almost startled as his arms loop around her waist, his mouth warm against ear.
He whispers endearments and promises of protection and, truly, she stops listening because the words aren't important. The sound of his voice is.
Like their babies, she thinks muzzily, who fuss and whimper in their infancy but say so much with their hands and wriggly bodies and cries in the night.
Perhaps it is lack of sleep that leads them to this point. Perhaps it is the reality that no matter how tightly she draws the curtains - no matter how far she takes him from the Temple on Coruscant - Anakin's connection to the Force still haunts him. Still follows him. Across the Galaxy, into this apartment, and into his dreams.
On bad nights he wakes in a sweat, schooled so harshly that he cannot even find comfort in a scream of fear. Schooled to face the demons because someone with more steel in their heart than kindness thought his need for comfort was worthless against the pipe dream of peace.
But she understands now what that someone failed to realise - that peace is nothing. There will never be peace. And certainly not until every being is allowed the dignity of fear, of vulnerability. A man who is allowed no peace for himself can't give it to anyone else.
So she gives Anakin what peace she can.
She comforts him in the night, like she does for their children.
She hushes his stifled, stunted attempts to communicate and listens to his voice, ignores his words. She takes him in her arms and rocks him.
Lays his head against the soft pillow of her breasts so he can hear her heartbeat, feel her warmth, and it is natural, then, for his hand to loosen the tie that holds her night robe closed. He exposes her breast, and when his soft mouth closes over her nipple, she is the one who sighs in relief.
Arches just slightly and then settles his weight in her arms as she leans back.
He drinks from her in earnest, and she feeds him without hesitation.
Like everything else, her body adapts to his, and whatever he needs, she is determined to provide.
When he is done, she wipes her breasts and his mouth, and rocks him back to sleep with his head on her shoulder, secure in her embrace.