[fic] make it easy (second chances)
Yeah, so I can't keep myself from playing with Second Chances. Takes place directly after this. Has no redeeming value.
Anakin/Padmé. Anakin's issues masquerade as pr0n. Yeah... Rish? NC-17ish?
He talks her to sleep. Talks them both to sleep, actually, and a lifetime ago he would’ve done it because he’d have overcompensated by being a braggart, and in this lifetime he can’t stop because he’s so desperate to make that last life up to her.
Anakin wonders, as he wakes up, if perhaps they failed so spectacularly last time around because they told each other what they wanted to hear, rather than what they needed to hear.
He knows Padmé’s awake beside him, and he thinks of asking her, but she - in that way she does without any help of the force - says, “You’re brooding.”
He rolls onto his side, gently because he doesn’t want to jostle her too much. Looks at her, the way her eyes are blinking away whatever dreams she’d had. She’s on her side, too, curled up in that way she does when she’s cold. “No,” he says. “I’m not.” Because this is a happy moment, isn’t it? She’s here with him. Alive.
And she’s hot for it.
Her force signature darkens when she’s aroused, and it’s not cheating, not really, because he needs her so goddamn much that he needs all the help he can get.
She’s only like this because she’s still thick with sleep, and he hates himself for thinking it’s somehow alright because she still wants him.
Padmé’s hands are dry, clumsy, and freezing, but his dick doesn’t seem to care, so anxious is it to thrust up into them.
“I don’t deserve this,” Anakin groans, hands fisting in on themselves because she’s got no hair to clutch, and he can’t trust himself with the rest of her.
Her tiny thumb rubs soothingly at the head of his cock.
“No,” Padmé’s voice is quiet. “But you need this, Ani.” She punctuates her words with a kiss to the underside of his jaw, and he shivers.
Decides maybe he can touch her, just a little, and so he reaches out, into the small centimeters between them.
Clutches at her shoulders with shaking fingers, and it’s like no time has passed at all. He’s back to being the stupid padawan, too scared about fucking up the only thing that ever mattered.
She hitches a knee over his thigh, guides him towards her warmth and -- stang.
Feels the press of her opening: the friction, the wet. That little pink slit of hers, so tiny, so perfect, and he’s rubbing up against her like the teenage boy he’s not.
And they’re not going to. They’re not. Going to.
He ruts against her anyway, cock so close and her hands and he wants.
And she rubs back against him, like she wants it, like she needs it, like she doesn’t care about everything he’s done, and he loses it, coming long and hard between her fragile thighs.
Anakin/Padmé. Anakin's issues masquerade as pr0n. Yeah... Rish? NC-17ish?
He talks her to sleep. Talks them both to sleep, actually, and a lifetime ago he would’ve done it because he’d have overcompensated by being a braggart, and in this lifetime he can’t stop because he’s so desperate to make that last life up to her.
Anakin wonders, as he wakes up, if perhaps they failed so spectacularly last time around because they told each other what they wanted to hear, rather than what they needed to hear.
He knows Padmé’s awake beside him, and he thinks of asking her, but she - in that way she does without any help of the force - says, “You’re brooding.”
He rolls onto his side, gently because he doesn’t want to jostle her too much. Looks at her, the way her eyes are blinking away whatever dreams she’d had. She’s on her side, too, curled up in that way she does when she’s cold. “No,” he says. “I’m not.” Because this is a happy moment, isn’t it? She’s here with him. Alive.
And she’s hot for it.
Her force signature darkens when she’s aroused, and it’s not cheating, not really, because he needs her so goddamn much that he needs all the help he can get.
She’s only like this because she’s still thick with sleep, and he hates himself for thinking it’s somehow alright because she still wants him.
Padmé’s hands are dry, clumsy, and freezing, but his dick doesn’t seem to care, so anxious is it to thrust up into them.
“I don’t deserve this,” Anakin groans, hands fisting in on themselves because she’s got no hair to clutch, and he can’t trust himself with the rest of her.
Her tiny thumb rubs soothingly at the head of his cock.
“No,” Padmé’s voice is quiet. “But you need this, Ani.” She punctuates her words with a kiss to the underside of his jaw, and he shivers.
Decides maybe he can touch her, just a little, and so he reaches out, into the small centimeters between them.
Clutches at her shoulders with shaking fingers, and it’s like no time has passed at all. He’s back to being the stupid padawan, too scared about fucking up the only thing that ever mattered.
She hitches a knee over his thigh, guides him towards her warmth and -- stang.
Feels the press of her opening: the friction, the wet. That little pink slit of hers, so tiny, so perfect, and he’s rubbing up against her like the teenage boy he’s not.
And they’re not going to. They’re not. Going to.
He ruts against her anyway, cock so close and her hands and he wants.
And she rubs back against him, like she wants it, like she needs it, like she doesn’t care about everything he’s done, and he loses it, coming long and hard between her fragile thighs.