fic: there is thunder (star wars)
five senses challenge response: smell.
STATUS: Complete
SUMMARY: He won't forget.
RATING: PG
CLASSIFICATIONS: Obi-Wan/Padme
SPOILERS: post-Episode III: Revenge Of The Sith
ARCHIVING: Do not archive. Please ask.
NOTES: Unbeta'd. Sorry.
FOR: aj
WORDS: 951
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Don't sue.
Copyright anr; March 2009.
* * * * *
There Is Thunder by anr
* * * * *
They meet in a bar, in a system just barely outside the reach of the Empire.
"You look well," she says, sliding in beside him without greeting. "Good journey?"
He passes her his drink. "Good journey."
They don't stay.
*
She doesn't ask after Luke, doesn't breathe a word about Leia. He knows she has seen her daughter at least once since the funeral, and suspects she travels to Alderaan far more than any other world, but doesn't ask.
"There are rumours of a resistance," he says, watching for a break in the traffic.
Her eyebrow arches. "On Tantooine?"
Her dubiousness is warranted, if unrevealing. "No."
"Hmm."
The traffic parts.
*
They wander through back streets and down main drags, weaving in and out of the crowds. Far above them, dark clouds are brushing against the buildings, threatening rain. It occurs to him that neither one of them is leading, or following.
"I need you to do something for me," she says, pressing against his side. The crowd is thin here, almost non-existent, but he wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her closer anyway. Her forehead is cool against the side of his jaw and neck.
"Ask," he says, like he needs to hear it first, like there exists the possibility he'd deny her.
Her lips touch his skin when he turns them into another alley. "I need you to remember --"
He has never forgotten yet. "Anything," he promises.
"No." She sighs, and he feels it, the exhale itself almost too quiet for him to hear. "Everything."
*
She credits them a room for the night, an alias flashing across the lock when she swipes her thumb, but he pays it little heed. He already knows she'll never use it again.
"Such accommodations," she says, leading them inside. Her voice is rueful suddenly, a touch of amusement on it, as they take in the stark amenities.
He offers a smile and the expression feels mostly unfamiliar. "Fit for a --" he pauses, and looks around, "gundart?"
She smiles.
*
They dim the lights and shade the windows out of necessity, her back against the wall out of habit. It's a learnt skill, he notes absently. When she was who she was, she had guards -- Jedi -- for those precautions.
"These are for the Hutts," she says, handing him a chip. "New smuggling routes."
He takes it from her the hard way, his fingers brushing her palm. "The enemy of my enemy," he says lightly. The Hutts are no friends of the resistance, he knows, but neither are they of the Empire -- the longer they keep control of Tantooine, the safer the Lars' will be.
She nods, her hand moving to skim the line of his shoulder. "Some evils are necessary."
"Balance," he agrees. He doesn't say it is the way of the Force, but he thinks it as his hand touches her hip.
"Hmm." He watches her watch her hand steal around his neck. When her fingers are spread across his nape, she raises her eyes to his, a flash of unsurety in them. "There was good in him, once."
Not a statement, he thinks, and nods. "Once."
They draw together.
*
Her skin is soft, unabraded against his sand-rough flesh. When he traces his fingers down her back, he can feel her muscles shift and stretch. She is leaner now, harder on the inside, and a part of him isn't sorry for the transformation. She is breathtaking.
"You taste like suns," she murmurs, her mouth open on his chest. "Like flames."
From fire comes ashes; he shudders. He reaches for her and rolls them over, kissing her words away, kissing her hard enough to bruise. She hums under his touch.
"I need --" Her voice breaks.
So does he. "Yes."
When he moves, she pulls him into her.
*
He wakes just once, just briefly, just long enough to confirm that she's still with him, her body pressed up against his, limbs tangling, even in sleep.
He closes his eyes.
*
In the morning he maps her body with his hands, his mouth, charting every new scar until they are both breathless and aching. She rises above him like the dawn, her fingertips on his collarbone for balance.
Time stands still. He won't forget.
*
"Do you ever wonder --"
He shakes his head. "No." He's lost too much already; to lose what could have been, what could be...
She ties back her hair and watches him lace his boots. "I think it's raining outside."
"It is." He can feel it, smell it, the scent of moisture in the air overpowering after so long without on Tantooine. "If you wanted to see him --"
"No." Her denial is swift and firm. "She will defy him, but it will be he who breaks him." She slides a small blaster into the holster at the small of her back and reaches for her jacket. "He can never know of me."
He nods once, and doesn't argue, rising to his feet. "We should leave."
*
They go together, her body once more pressing against his as they begin to retrace their steps. The rain is thin and needle-sharp on his exposed skin when they leave the alley, a welcome sensation.
The crowds pull at them now, a gradual tugging that neither fights, until eventually they're walking alone. He feels her drift away, and disappear, and quickens his steps before he can convince himself to turn after her.
He'll see her again.
* * * * *
The End.
FEEDBACK: Always appreciated. *g*
STATUS: Complete
SUMMARY: He won't forget.
RATING: PG
CLASSIFICATIONS: Obi-Wan/Padme
SPOILERS: post-Episode III: Revenge Of The Sith
ARCHIVING: Do not archive. Please ask.
NOTES: Unbeta'd. Sorry.
FOR: aj
WORDS: 951
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Don't sue.
Copyright anr; March 2009.
* * * * *
There Is Thunder by anr
* * * * *
They meet in a bar, in a system just barely outside the reach of the Empire.
"You look well," she says, sliding in beside him without greeting. "Good journey?"
He passes her his drink. "Good journey."
They don't stay.
*
She doesn't ask after Luke, doesn't breathe a word about Leia. He knows she has seen her daughter at least once since the funeral, and suspects she travels to Alderaan far more than any other world, but doesn't ask.
"There are rumours of a resistance," he says, watching for a break in the traffic.
Her eyebrow arches. "On Tantooine?"
Her dubiousness is warranted, if unrevealing. "No."
"Hmm."
The traffic parts.
*
They wander through back streets and down main drags, weaving in and out of the crowds. Far above them, dark clouds are brushing against the buildings, threatening rain. It occurs to him that neither one of them is leading, or following.
"I need you to do something for me," she says, pressing against his side. The crowd is thin here, almost non-existent, but he wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her closer anyway. Her forehead is cool against the side of his jaw and neck.
"Ask," he says, like he needs to hear it first, like there exists the possibility he'd deny her.
Her lips touch his skin when he turns them into another alley. "I need you to remember --"
He has never forgotten yet. "Anything," he promises.
"No." She sighs, and he feels it, the exhale itself almost too quiet for him to hear. "Everything."
*
She credits them a room for the night, an alias flashing across the lock when she swipes her thumb, but he pays it little heed. He already knows she'll never use it again.
"Such accommodations," she says, leading them inside. Her voice is rueful suddenly, a touch of amusement on it, as they take in the stark amenities.
He offers a smile and the expression feels mostly unfamiliar. "Fit for a --" he pauses, and looks around, "gundart?"
She smiles.
*
They dim the lights and shade the windows out of necessity, her back against the wall out of habit. It's a learnt skill, he notes absently. When she was who she was, she had guards -- Jedi -- for those precautions.
"These are for the Hutts," she says, handing him a chip. "New smuggling routes."
He takes it from her the hard way, his fingers brushing her palm. "The enemy of my enemy," he says lightly. The Hutts are no friends of the resistance, he knows, but neither are they of the Empire -- the longer they keep control of Tantooine, the safer the Lars' will be.
She nods, her hand moving to skim the line of his shoulder. "Some evils are necessary."
"Balance," he agrees. He doesn't say it is the way of the Force, but he thinks it as his hand touches her hip.
"Hmm." He watches her watch her hand steal around his neck. When her fingers are spread across his nape, she raises her eyes to his, a flash of unsurety in them. "There was good in him, once."
Not a statement, he thinks, and nods. "Once."
They draw together.
*
Her skin is soft, unabraded against his sand-rough flesh. When he traces his fingers down her back, he can feel her muscles shift and stretch. She is leaner now, harder on the inside, and a part of him isn't sorry for the transformation. She is breathtaking.
"You taste like suns," she murmurs, her mouth open on his chest. "Like flames."
From fire comes ashes; he shudders. He reaches for her and rolls them over, kissing her words away, kissing her hard enough to bruise. She hums under his touch.
"I need --" Her voice breaks.
So does he. "Yes."
When he moves, she pulls him into her.
*
He wakes just once, just briefly, just long enough to confirm that she's still with him, her body pressed up against his, limbs tangling, even in sleep.
He closes his eyes.
*
In the morning he maps her body with his hands, his mouth, charting every new scar until they are both breathless and aching. She rises above him like the dawn, her fingertips on his collarbone for balance.
Time stands still. He won't forget.
*
"Do you ever wonder --"
He shakes his head. "No." He's lost too much already; to lose what could have been, what could be...
She ties back her hair and watches him lace his boots. "I think it's raining outside."
"It is." He can feel it, smell it, the scent of moisture in the air overpowering after so long without on Tantooine. "If you wanted to see him --"
"No." Her denial is swift and firm. "She will defy him, but it will be he who breaks him." She slides a small blaster into the holster at the small of her back and reaches for her jacket. "He can never know of me."
He nods once, and doesn't argue, rising to his feet. "We should leave."
*
They go together, her body once more pressing against his as they begin to retrace their steps. The rain is thin and needle-sharp on his exposed skin when they leave the alley, a welcome sensation.
The crowds pull at them now, a gradual tugging that neither fights, until eventually they're walking alone. He feels her drift away, and disappear, and quickens his steps before he can convince himself to turn after her.
He'll see her again.
* * * * *
The End.
FEEDBACK: Always appreciated. *g*