Trinity

You've noticed the tension between them. They think you haven't, but you have. It's cute, really, her faint blushes and guilty smiles, his mumbled words and evasive eyes. And the knowledge they neither of them would ever consider acting on it, because of you.

Between the two of them they are your everything. Your family. Your lovers. Your wife and your master. They are the glue that holds Anakin Skywalker together. In the absence of either of them you would have been lost a long time ago.

What can you do, then, to repay that debt?

Probably nothing. But for now, at least, you can stoop and kneel before them, as they sit stiffly, side-by side on the couch, a respectable distance apart. You can smile, and tell them you know how they feel. And then you can kiss each of them in turn.

First a quiet gasp, delicate lips and smooth scented skin, the flick of a gentle tongue and a sweet sigh.

Next a tensing of muscles under thick robes, and the intake of breath that is going to precede Anakin no.... Then, with the reassuring grip of your hand on his arm, a low groan into your mouth and the delightful scratchy, firm wetness of your master's kiss.

You pull back, and answer their confused looks with a knowing chuckle. Then you reach up with both hands, one sliding under thick chestnut waves, the other resting on the soft skin between collar and neatly cropped hair.

Then you gently press their heads together and say one word.

"Please."

He still looks uncertain, but with twinkling eyes she smiles at him mischievously and places a small hand on his cheek. A final glance to you.

"Please," you say again. It comes out low and huskier than you expected. A hint of desperation. "I want to watch you".

The bed is strewn with silky cushions, soft light falling on the beautiful colours and patterns of Naboo's finest linen. But nothing compares to the beauty of seeing the two of them together.

He is beautiful, your master, even if he doesn't quite realise it. (And you still call him that now, even if it's unnecessary, because it's still absolutely true.) The muscles of his back ripple as he shifts above her, skin gold on porcelain, auburn locks falling messily over his face. Her head is thrown back, white throat exposed, dark hair cascading over the edge of the bed, eyes half closed in pleasure.

Her sighs mix with his groans. Each intimately familiar, separately. Now they merge together.

At first they had moved a little awkwardly, and kept glancing towards you, but you had walked over and first placed your flesh hand on Padmé's and squeezed it, and then stroked the gloved one along Obi-Wan's back, impulsively running it up into his hair and pulling him back for a long kiss. Padmé had whimpered underneath him at the sight of your tongue battling wantonly with his, but you had pulled away then, stepping back and pulling your tunic off with shaking hands, slumping down into the chair.

You want to see them, without distraction, even if your arousal is painfully hard now and certain nerve endings are crying out for attention. You want to see them lost in each other.

And now they are, their world focused down to themselves. One man, one woman. Discovering each other. Obi-Wan is so gentle with her at first, just like you thought he would be. Those strong, rough hands, hands that can bring you to expertly to release in only seconds, are playing along her body, delicately tracing patterns on the soft flesh, dwelling on the places you know so well, those little special points that make her whimper. Just there, a little higher, behind her knee. Yes. She moans. He swallows it in a greedy kiss.

They are like an angel and a god, you think, or a lady and her lover from an ancient fairytale. Because you're not completely free of vanity (you are you, after all), you wonder what part you might play in that fairytale. Probably the devastatingly handsome but evil prince, you decide. You'd almost certainly have to tie them both up, and teach them a lesson, have your evil way... but that thought is not doing you any good, right now. You're already gripping the arms of the chair hard enough to damage it, just from the effort of not touching yourself.

The sounds, gods such the sounds they are making... increasingly frantic now, neither of them loud, but sensual sighs, incoherent mumbles... until...

"Anakin," Padmé grinds out, eyes pressed tightly shut. She flings an arm out in your direction and you accept the invitation, quickly moving to the bed, sitting right on the edge of it, holding her hand lightly as your eyes roam over their intertwined bodies. You want to touch them so badly, to run your hand over the firm curve of his rear, to press him into her, to slide your fingers up the inside of her soft thigh, finding the place where they are joined.

But you stop yourself, trying at the same time to steady your uneven breathing. You want to see them, as each of them are with you. Without interference or interruption.

Obi-Wan has been keeping the pace of his movements slow, and you can tell he's struggling now, the rhythm starting to become erratic, a low groan with each thrust. Transfixed, you admire his control, vastly stronger than your first time with Padmé. But then that's not surprising, Obi-Wan is the master of control. That's why you like to see him lose it so very much.

Padmé climaxes first with a sudden loud, breathy moan and at the same time she flutters her eyes open, locking them with yours so you can see the glassiness of pleasure there. A few seconds later Obi-Wan's hands fist in the sheets as he shouts his release, the usual torrent of un-gentlemanly curses that always turn you on. And he knows it.

Obi-Wan is kissing Padmé now. Gentle, small, intimate kisses, his hands holding her face as she smiles up at him. It should probably make you jealous, and if it were anyone else with either of them you'd likely want to kill the intruder to what is yours, but these two, together... it just seems right. You want them to love each other. Just like you love them.

But enough mushy stuff, you're more aroused than you have ever been. So what are you going to do about that? It hurts, boy does it hurt. But, hang on, now they're both swivelling to curl up on the bed, obviously exhausted. Okay, you hadn't exactly worked this bit out in advance but you certainly hadn't expected Obi-Wan to be blindly reaching out a limp arm and patting your thigh, as if in apology, before cutting the lighting with a flutter of his fingers. You swear you can hear a light chuckle.

You stand for a few moments, disbelieving and numb with arousal, before bending painfully to pull your boots off and crawl up onto the bed, staying at the edge, away from their naked bodies, illuminated palely by moonlight. Padmé has her back to you, curled on her side. Obi-Wan lies on his back, eyes closed, breathing softly. So that's it? They just expect to leave you is this state?

You consider, you know, seeing to yourself, to get rid of this damn ache that makes your groin feel like it's your entire body, but that would kind of seem sad, getting off alone in the dark as they slept. You are a bit, okay a lot, too proud to do that, and Obi-Wan knows it. He's probably only pretending to sleep, secretly enjoying your agony. You make a quick mental note to wreak your revenge at the next available opportunity. Until then you'll probably just sulk a little.

Thinking how righteous and Jedi-like you are to be selfless for once, you try to get comfortable, wriggling on the soft surface, wincing at the friction as the material of your leggings rubs against your erection, ending up on your back, staring up towards the ceiling.

Anakin Skywalker, you think, sex martyr, doomed to lie awake all night, trapped in a web of unfulfilled desire...

Of course, in your reverie of self-pity you don't see Obi-Wan opening his eyes and turning his head to Padmé, and you miss the knowing look that passes between them.

A few minutes later you're in for a shock.

Strong, familiar hands are pulling you upwards and suddenly you are sitting with your back against a hard chest, and Padmé is kneeling between your thighs, pressing a soft kiss to your lips whilst Obi-Wan's tongue flicks your ear. You groan and they laugh, together, low chuckle mixed with light giggle, and Padmé's small hands are tracing down your chest, and working at the fastenings of your leggings while Obi-Wan's hand is turning your face and meeting your lips with his.

Then your groan becomes a whimper as you feel Padmé's soft lips close around your straining erection, even as your leggings are barely off your hips, the material still tight around your thighs where she has shoved them casually just down far enough to free you.

Obi-Wan pulls away from the kiss and turns your head with a tug of his hand in your hair. "Look," he whispers, right by your ear, "look at her, those lips, so red and soft, devouring you. She's so beautiful. Watch her. Watch very carefully. Don't close your eyes."

Like you could. You're struggling now though, trembling to hold your control, and your hands lift up from where they have been clutching at the sheets, involuntarily needing to fist your hands in that dark hair, and push yourself hard into that perfect mouth.

"No," whispers Obi-Wan sternly, grabbing your hands with his own and pinning them back down to the mattress. "Control, Padawan. Breathe. Feel. Detach yourself."

Your breathing is all over the place, wild and loud, and you suddenly want to laugh as you wonder how this has turned around so fast. You instigated all of this but right now the two of them have got you apparently exactly where they want you: completely under their control.

You exhale a slow sigh of relief when Padmé eventually slackens her mouth and lifts her head, slinking up your body to brush just her nose against yours before smiling slyly and ducking her head to one side, towards Obi-Wan. You watch his tongue move out and touch her moist lips before their mouths meet. Tasting you. On her. Fuck. Their kiss is long. Slow. Deep. Her soft breasts pressing against your chest. Obi-Wan's stern words in echoing your mind. You think you might be going insane.

But that happens next. With a deft movement Padmé lifts herself to straddle your thighs, both yours, and Obi-Wan's. And then she sinks swiftly down, enveloping you in soft, moist, tight heat. You cry out then bite a little into her shoulder, blinded, knowing you're going to come the next second, because nothing ever felt as good as this.

Then he's there. Obi-Wan, in your mind, wrapping the Force tightly around you, holding you securely. And when you feel his irregular breathing on your neck, and the hardness pressing into your back, you wish more than anything that you could have him buried deep inside your body, and you know he wants it too, but you realise he is denying himself, to focus and hold you there.

And suddenly you know that, like this, you can let go. Completely. You are far too aware of your own power, and with Padmé you have always had to hold yourself back, scared of hurting her. Even with Obi-Wan, even with his strength, the two of you are usually so wrapped up in each other you still hold that fear, that you could hurt him before he could stop it.

But now… it's as if he's stayed awake, so you can dream the most fucking amazing erotic dream of your entire life.

And then he loosens that grip, just enough so your pleasure begins to build, shooting higher and higher, and you pry your heavy eyelids open to the sight of Obi-Wan's thumb circling a pink, peaked nipple, strong fingers pressing into soft, white flesh, and then you glance up to see Padmé's beautiful face looking down at you.

You lift a trembling hand to her cheek and she smiles then lowers her head, lips and teeth suddenly on your neck, her cry muffled as she shudders her orgasm. As her muscles squeeze you rhythmically you turn your head and fumble urgently for Obi-Wan, pulling his head down roughly so you can come hard and fast with his tongue inside your mouth.

Then you're floating, blissfully, bright lights, singing, spiralling, screaming…

And everything goes black.

Okay, so you passed out. But it's not a big deal. And you broke the bed, apparently. You don't remember that part. But what did they expect? You are the Chosen One, after all. You have to admit, though, they do make a good team.

When you wake, early the following morning it is to pale yellow sunlight streaming through the window and falling over the bodies sleeping beside to you. On you. You smile, reaching up to stroke a hand through the soft brown hair of the head pillowed on your chest as you press a kiss to the top of her head. On the other side, Obi-Wan is lying on his stomach, a leg flung casually over yours, his arm across your waist. You reach down to intertwine your fingers and lift your joined hands together, placing them on your chest. Just above your heart.

Every day they continue to amaze you, both of them. And you can't help feeling a little guilty, that Obi-Wan might not have got quite as much out of last night as you did. And he kept his control, the infuriating man. You'll have to remedy that next time. Next time. You grin at the thought.

And there: you're just happy. Relaxed and happy. Because you know now, that those nightmares; those recurring dreams that are vague but horrible, of lava and black smoke, and the smell of your own burning flesh; if those nightmares were to come true, then at least the two of them wouldn't be alone. At least they would have each other.

And although you can't shake the nagging feeling that it might still happen, that you might die, young, tormented, and in agony, you somehow get the feeling that the galaxy had shifted, and this morning, it's even less likely.

So with that thought, the comforting presence of the two people you love, and the sun warm on your face, you close your eyes, and let yourself drift back to sleep.