Work Text:
Ozone. A pink tongue darting out to soothe picturesque lips. Adrenaline high, his ringing ears.
Padmé Amidala is magnetic in all the worst ways.
The silk wrap that folds across Padmé’s form is deceivingly delicate - he catches flashes of sheathed silver pressed into the soft skin of her breast, and Anakin wonders.
Her force signature is barely tangible, no stronger than any other living thing. There’s zero indication of an inclination there, Jedi or otherwise.
But late at night, when the night light of Coruscant shines just right through the windows, Padme’s blown out pupils become slitted. Her manicured nails become claws.
But Anakin's teeth are longer than Padme's claws, and that is the end of that.