[scarred] PG-13, Anakin/Padmé
Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars, I don't.
Notes: Reposted from swficchallenge , where it was an answer to CH2011-02: lightsaber.
scarred
The light spills over their bed, drenching Anakin’s dirty-blond hair in soft radiance. He’s asleep now, exhausted from their lovemaking.
Padmé can’t sleep. If she sleeps, she’ll wake up and he’ll be leaving again, she’ll miss these few precious hours of intimacy - watching him sleep, finally feeling like a wife again, for a little while.
It’s lying on the chair by the door, half-covered by Anakin’s clothes.
This weapon is your life, the Jedi said, but Anakin insists that’s her.
It’s a little intimidating, to be this important to someone. To Anakin. There’s so much strength there, so much passion. So much room for hurt.
She slips out of the sheets, careful not to disturb Anakin’s rest. He gets so little of it anyway. Takes his weapon in her hands, feeling the weight of it, dragging her down. Does it feel this way to him? Too heavy to carry, too precious to put down?
She runs her fingers over it, feeling the roughness in the grip that calloused his hands, matching it to the roughness that caressed her skin tonight. The surface is dented and pitted - scarred. If the lightsaber is his life, they’ve both seen some rough handling lately.
This is what she fights for. This is why the war has to end. So there will be no more scars - not on his lightsaber, not in his life. So there can be time for healing, for all of them.
She puts the lightsaber gently down and goes back to curl in her husband’s arms, inhaling the scent of his skin. Soaking him in, saving up for the time to come.
It’s five months before she sees him again, and there are more scars than ever before.
Notes: Reposted from swficchallenge , where it was an answer to CH2011-02: lightsaber.
scarred
The light spills over their bed, drenching Anakin’s dirty-blond hair in soft radiance. He’s asleep now, exhausted from their lovemaking.
Padmé can’t sleep. If she sleeps, she’ll wake up and he’ll be leaving again, she’ll miss these few precious hours of intimacy - watching him sleep, finally feeling like a wife again, for a little while.
It’s lying on the chair by the door, half-covered by Anakin’s clothes.
This weapon is your life, the Jedi said, but Anakin insists that’s her.
It’s a little intimidating, to be this important to someone. To Anakin. There’s so much strength there, so much passion. So much room for hurt.
She slips out of the sheets, careful not to disturb Anakin’s rest. He gets so little of it anyway. Takes his weapon in her hands, feeling the weight of it, dragging her down. Does it feel this way to him? Too heavy to carry, too precious to put down?
She runs her fingers over it, feeling the roughness in the grip that calloused his hands, matching it to the roughness that caressed her skin tonight. The surface is dented and pitted - scarred. If the lightsaber is his life, they’ve both seen some rough handling lately.
This is what she fights for. This is why the war has to end. So there will be no more scars - not on his lightsaber, not in his life. So there can be time for healing, for all of them.
She puts the lightsaber gently down and goes back to curl in her husband’s arms, inhaling the scent of his skin. Soaking him in, saving up for the time to come.
It’s five months before she sees him again, and there are more scars than ever before.