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wickedsniffles · 2 years ago

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I've Built My Dreams Around You

Thanks again to my lovely commissioner for requesting that this idea be brought to light! 🎄 I really enjoyed writing this. Reposted from my main account, wickedscribbles.

(Just wanted to add that there *are* spoilers for the Hallmark movie One December Night in this fic, so if you're not interested in being spoiled for that, click away!) Summary: Padme and Obi-Wan spend a quiet evening together during the holiday season. Their choice of movie brings some unexpected emotions to the surface. Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Padme Amidala (Third Person Perspective)

Rating: Mature

Tags: modern AU, Christmas fic, married couple, domestic fluff, teasing/banter, sexual tension, pet names, allergies, sneezing, handkerchiefs, emotional hurt/comfort, nose-blowing, dry humping, making out

Word Count: 6.1K

Their entire home is filled with the sweet smell of sugar cookies, and Padmé licks the edge of her thumb with a smile. Any other time of year she might consider pulling out this recipe to be more trouble than it's worth; rolling the dough, letting it chill, and making homemade frosting on top of it all. But there's no denying the delicious results, and the holiday season is as good a time as ever to put in the extra work.

Of course, that doesn't stop Obi-Wan from begging for them whenever the craving hits – Padmé feels like it's thrice a year at least – and she demurely replies that he can make them himself if he wants them so badly. And he does, shooting her teasing glances as he ties on her frilly apron. His handiwork might not be as pretty as Padmé's: each cut-out shape carefully frosted and sprinkled. But they taste just as good, and she'll be the first to admit that the impromptu July sugar cookies always hit the spot.

Now that it's the season for them, though, Padmé is in her realm. Each ingredient is set out on the counter in the order she'll be using it. The cookie cutters are cleaned and shining on a dish towel next to the sink. Her beloved standing mixer, mint green, is propped back and ready to beat the frosting to life. The cookie dough is in the stage where it's all sugar and butter, an irresistible crunch against her teeth when she licks at her thumb again.

There's a chuckle from across the room, and Padmé looks to see her husband shaking his head in amusement.

"Keep that up and we won't have cookies left to frost," he remarks.

Her face heats with a blush. "And how many times have I caught you in the same situation, sir?"

He folds his arms, knowing she's right.

The gentle grin aimed her way never fails to make Padmé melt. Coupled with seeing him dressed for the weather in his light blue cardigan, she's again struck by her life partner's good looks. Even though the two of them are often praised as an attractive couple, secretly she believes that Obi-Wan outshines her. Because unlike some men she's known and dated in the past, Obi-Wan would never think to preen or boast over his own physical features. He's humble and funny and sweet, and she loves him more and more as time passes.

"I suppose you're not wrong," he relents, and Padmé giggles. "Though it's not my fault you're making the best cookies I've ever tasted."

"Keep flattering me," Padmé answers, her tone light. "It will get you everywhere."

Playfully, she turns back to the task at hand, knowing he'll cross the threshold into the kitchen to continue their little game.

She's cracking an egg into the mixing bowl when she feels Obi-Wan press against her back. His clever fingers tiptoe against the frills of her favorite apron, tugging a little as if to take it off her, but Padmé knows he won't. The line of his nose nudges against her neck before he presses his lips there, leaving the tantalizing brush of beard, and Padmé shivers. All at once it seems rather difficult to focus on getting that egg mixed into the dough.

Obi-Wan's hard – she can feel it, though he isn't actively trying to rub against her.

He's right, she realizes with a grin she keeps all to herself. At this rate, we'll never get the cookies done. She thought that this long into their relationship, some of the passion would have died down. That has not been the case. But they have cookies to bake and Christmas decorations to put out today – so for the time being, one of them is going to have to keep their plans on track.

Clearing her throat, Padmé straightens a little, turning to look at him over her shoulder.

"Didn't you say you were going to get the tree out of the attic?" She asks.

For a moment, the kisses continue, and if Padmé were a weaker woman she would go ahead and let them. His strong arms are wrapped around her waist, keeping her flush against the counter. A split second fantasy passes through Padmé's mind where she imagines them putting the half-finished dough in the refrigerator, Obi-Wan pulling down her sweatpants and bending her over right there –

It fades as Obi-Wan stops, running a gentle hand up her forearm to show her he understands the time for intimacy has passed. Yet another thing she appreciates about having him as a partner; after so long knowing one another, he can read her, in small unspoken cues. She's never once felt uncomfortable around him, when sex is either something she wants or isn't in the mood for. He's endlessly gracious.

"I believe I was," Obi-Wan says, giving her one last quick peck. "We'll decorate the tree, then watch your movie?"

A low thrum of happiness wells in Padmé's chest. "Mmhm. Cookies should be done by then."

"Alright, love. Back in a minute."

Padmé watches Obi-Wan descend their narrow hallway, pulling the latch in the ceiling that brings the attic ladder sliding down. After she's certain he's making his way up safely, her attention goes back to finally finishing the dough. It'll need to chill for a while before any actual baking can be done, after all, and then cut into shapes once that part of the process is finished.

Just as she's sliding the sugar cookie dough into the refrigerator, Obi-Wan's creaking footsteps from above signal that he's on his way down with the tree.

"Need a hand, babe?" She calls, dusting her hands off on the front of her apron.

"I've got it, thank you!"

Seconds later, his feet emerge, then his torso, and finally Obi-Wan as a whole, awkwardly carrying the storage container that holds their Christmas tree. His copper hair is tousled, the edge of his cardigan riding up to reveal a few inches of pale tummy.

"Careful," Padmé says anxiously, walking forward.

She never likes the idea of him on a ladder – her friend works in a hospital, and insists that many of the accidents they see are ladder falls. Bad enough that he's on one at all, let alone carrying something as bulky as their Christmas tree.

With Padmé practically biting her nails, Obi-Wan makes it back to the ground. He places the tree down with a thud, and a cloud of dust dances off the lid of the thick plastic storage container. It puffs around their feet, a heavy culmination from the past year. Of course, they try not to go up there for anything they don’t explicitly need – there’s an issue with the old insulation, and everything and anything not tucked away in boxes soon falls victim to the stuff.

Obi-Wan’s no exception. He sniffs thickly as the dust rises into the air around them, his nose already twitching. He’s terribly allergic to dust. If Padmé had been thinking, she would have washed her hands and gotten the tree down herself. The silly man had just gotten her so hot and bothered by pressing her up against the counter that it had taken most of her focus to finish what she was doing at all. It takes mere seconds for him to stifle a harsh sneeze into the sleeve of his cardigan, blinking back irritated tears.

“Oh, bless you, love.”

“Thanks,” he says, sniffling again. “I forgot about all the blasted dust.”

“But the dust didn’t forget about you.” Padmé has to laugh as he sneezes again, looking irritated. “Bless you. Oh – bless you.”

Annoyed with his predicament, Obi-Wan fumbles for the handkerchief he always keeps close at hand; he’s sensitive to so many things. Padmé thinks it’s cute that he keeps one on his person. A somewhat antiquated habit, but one she’s never had an issue with. Obi-Wan is, at his core, far more old-fashioned than he is modern.

She leans against the wall, content to wait as he pulls the thing free and blows his nose in an attempt to shake the irritation loose. Poor thing, she thinks in sympathy as he emerges, flushed.

“I’m so sorry,” he says several moments later, when he seems to feel he has a good grip on the situation. “We’re supposed to be getting the tree decorated, not standing here in the hall.”

“Aw, you know I don’t mind. You can’t help it.” Padmé leans in to kiss the tip of his irritated nose, and Obi-Wan rolls his eyes at her playfully. “Are you alright now?”

Obi-Wan nods, replacing the handkerchief in his pocket.

“For the time being,” he admits.

She’s sure he’ll sneeze again here and there as they get the Christmas tree out of its storage container, but that’s alright. As long as he isn’t made overly uncomfortable by his allergies, she isn’t bothered by it.

Together they drag the tree into the living room and get to work. With soft Christmas music playing from their Bluetooth speaker and the two of them working in tandem to get everything set up in the corner reserved just for their beloved tree, time passes seamlessly.

Obi-Wan gets the three tree segments placed together and screws the tree stand in place. Padmé comes over to help “fill out” the branches from where they were flattened in storage, making sure the tree looks its best and fullest before they place the lights and ornaments. Padmé is downright meticulous about how she strings the lights – making sure that every section of strand is even. Obi-Wan pokes fun at her for standing on her toes, for moving back to get the entire tree in her line of sight before she can declare it looks good enough to be considered done.

They put the ornaments on together, and each one is a special piece of their relationship’s history. There are the typical baubles, too, of course – heavy hand-blown glass ornaments from the local shops that Padmé couldn’t resist, and real wooden carved snowflakes that Qui-Gon gave them several years back. But the unique ones are acquired every year they’re together – going on six years total – and the newest ornament is a little piece they brought back from their trip to Scotland to visit Obi-Wan’s extended family. That had been a marvelous time.

Padmé’s the one to place it, arranging it toward the center of the tree, at eye level. When all the ornaments are on, they both stand back to admire their work, knowing that only one item remains to place, waiting patiently in the box.

Catching Obi-Wan’s eye, Padmé bends down to grab the angel. It’d been her grandmother’s, a gorgeous thing dressed in antique lace. Her delicate porcelain face, eyes closed, is one of the first things Padmé could remember from Christmas as a child. The fact that she gets to keep it for her own tree means more to her than she thinks her grandmother understands.

“Ready?” Obi-Wan looks to her, and she nods.

Two strong hands grip her at the waist, and Padmé feels herself lifted, squealing with surprise at the suddenness of it. It takes only seconds, and she’s at the right height to place the dainty angel on her spot at the top of the tree. Then she’s down, on the ground again, her cheeks pink from the rush.

It’s become a tradition to place their angel this way. Their first year of marriage, Padmé had looked around for a stepstool to do it herself, and realized they didn’t own one yet. Obi-Wan didn’t see that as a problem, and they’ve been doing it this way ever since. Padmé can’t say she minds – at all. Being lifted up to the top of the tree feels like the perfect end to their decorating, and as they plug in the lights to see their work, she couldn’t be happier with the finished results.

“You did an excellent job, sweetheart,” says Obi-Wan, putting his arm around her waist with an affectionate squeeze. “It looks perfect.”

“You helped, you know,” she snorts.

“Yes, but you’re the one who puts your heart into it.” He smiles, and his glance is so fond that Padmé feels herself returning the look before she can think. “I love how much you love Christmas. You’re adorable, do you know that?”

Obi-Wan draws her into his arms until they’re nose-to-nose, brushing Padmé’s against his own. It’s a gesture they used to do when they were first dating and too shy to actually initiate kisses with one another as often as they would’ve liked. Over the years they’ve started calling it rabbit smooch. (Anakin and Ahsoka will each pretend to vomit whenever they see it done in front of them.)

But now that they’re older, braver with one another, rabbit smooches often become much more than a simple brush of noses. Again Padmé finds herself driven to distraction at her husband's mere touch, at his warmth and scent and closeness. Now she can't help but twine herself around him, the two of them soft in the glow of Christmas lights. Her plans for the evening fade to the back of her mind as Obi-Wan's mouth moves against her own, clever, the tip of his tongue asking permission to move past her lips.

And then the timer beeps from the kitchen, reminding her that she needs to finish what she's started there.

"Do you want those sugar cookies or not?" She teases, catching the look of mild exasperation on his face.

It doesn't take long to cut shapes out of the chilled dough, an array of snowflakes and stars and circles. Once the oven is heated, in they go, while Padmé makes sure the frosting tastes the way she wants it.

In the meantime, Obi-Wan gets the movie pulled up. Though he'll never admit it, he's just as big of a fan of these holiday films as she is, and this latest stars one of their favorite actors. They've been waiting for a day off together to decorate the tree and watch it, and judging from the synopsis, it'll be one they both enjoy.

From her station in the kitchen, she can still hear him sniffling a little as she frosts. Padmé laughs through her nose, concentrating on the task at hand. The cookies are right on the edge of cool – not as cool as they should be, perhaps, but neither of them could wait any longer to eat them. The icing melts slightly at the edges as the butter knife dances its way across the surface of each cookie, leaving a hearty spread behind before Padmé dusts red or green sanding sugar atop them.

The holiday dessert melts in her mouth at the first bite, and she closes her eyes in pure enjoyment. She can't help her little moan of delight, savoring as she chews.

Maybe Obi-Wan is right, she thinks. We should be making these year-round.

"Movie's up, sweetheart," Obi-Wan calls from the living room.

"Alright! Give me a minute with these."

A full plate of sugar cookies later, Padmé settles down on the couch with him. They're each aware that they're getting crumbs on the blanket they're cozied under, but right now neither cares. Because Obi-Wan's spooning Padmé from behind, his body flush against her back. The bristle of his beard lies against the line of her cheek. She loves being close to him like this, knowing that it's almost impossible to get any closer.

Almost.

She's glad that Obi-Wan can't see the furious blush on her face as the movie begins. If he knew just how many times her mind has drifted to his body today, then doubtless he'd spent equal amounts of time teasing her and taking her apart. There'll be time for that later. Right now the movie is starting, and she's intent on actually watching it.

"Comfortable?" He asks, and Padmé grows warmer at the low purr of his voice right against the shell of her ear.

"Mmhm." Her voice is breathy, embarrassed.

A quick kiss to her heated cheek.

"Good."

The movie centers around a woman named Quinn, who's trying to get the young up and coming musical talent she represents the recognition she deserves. Quinn is frustrated by the fact that her client isn't achieving her dreams, and it's made more complicated by the fact that the would-be star is facing significant debt.

"But there's more to it," Padmé had insisted earlier that week, reading off that first little snippet of plot to her less-than-interested husband. "Quinn's father is half of a rock duo that split over a decade earlier, and her love interest is the other man's son! They're both back in their hometown trying to get their fathers to perform one last concert."

"So they grew up together, and now they're falling in love?" Obi-Wan asks as they watch the first twenty minutes play out.

"They have to be," she says. "Look at the way they act around one another."

It's clear to Padmé that love is going to blossom between Quinn and the leading man, Jason. Because not only did they grow up together, establishing that much-needed friendship, but both of them working towards a mutual goal during the Christmas season is a given for romance in these sorts of films. And the little childhood nicknames? Padmé can feel her heart melting in her chest.

Actually, it reminds her a lot of how she and Obi-Wan got together. They had been introduced through mutual friends all the way back in college – when she was in her first year and he was pursuing his Bachelor's – and the attraction between them was instantaneous.

Both of them were too shy to make a move for long, torturous months, though in the end that turned out to be a good thing.

She’d first spotted him outside her Intro to Political Theory course, almost ten years ago. There were spectacles balanced on his nose, all his attention focused on the short, irritated blonde in front of him – a woman Padmé had seen around campus. Her mother had always reprimanded her for staring, so Padmé didn’t; especially when the two seemed to be having a hushed argument. But the quick, fleeting glances she caught of the man with the posh accent were more than enough to keep her interested.

After that first day, she’d spot him alone, sitting in the library or sipping coffee in the cafeteria. Once he’d caught her attention, it was hard to stop thinking about him. Few of the other students had his distinguished appearance, and for a while she wondered if he was an especially young looking professor. Some asking around painted a clearer picture of him; he was Obi-Wan Kenobi, history major.

Minoring in philosophy, her friend Dormé had added. So do with that what you will.

Padmé herself had just ended a rocky relationship with Anakin, and Obi-Wan was getting over a tumultuous breakup with his long-term girlfriend, Satine. Starting off as friends gave them the time they needed to nurse their broken hearts and get to know one another. She knows it's not the same as growing up together, but having plenty of time to build any foundation makes her feel more comfortable than just rushing in, as she had in the past.

"She loves Christmas just as much as you do," Obi-Wan says brightly, and Padmé can tell without looking that he's smiling at the little similarity. "Drowning in decorations…that sounds right."

"Oh, stop."

The movie is full of plenty of soft moments, but for every cute scene, there's one equally filled with sadness. For instance – Quinn's father Mike struggled heavily with alcoholism throughout his career, and she's still having a difficult time forgiving him for all the pain it caused her. Padmé can almost feel the coldness between the two characters towards the beginning of the film as they stand in her father's home, affectionately called Big Red, several feet apart.

On top of that, Padmé doesn't have a good feeling about why Jason's father, Steve, keeps forgetting things throughout scenes. Something tells her that that sort of detail isn't just a throwaway, and eventually it'll lead up to something big in the final act.

Even as the romance between Quinn and Jason builds and they eventually get their fathers to cooperate for the final show, the devastating news is at last delivered. The reason Jason's father has been struggling is because he's been diagnosed with Alzheimer's, and for him, this means the end of his career. No more touring, as he'd planned to do after this Christmas concert. This reunion with his old friend will be his final show. Everything he's done for years upon years, brought to a devastatingly early finish.

"Oh no," Obi-Wan whispers from behind her as the news is confessed. "Oh, that's terrible."

Padmé says nothing as she watches the scene play out, feeling mixed emotions. Over the course of the next few minutes, each of the main characters gets their quiet moment to learn about Jason's father and his condition. Jason himself is devastated. When he tells Quinn, the two share a private moment of grief.

The worst, however, is when their two fathers are alone together to share the news. Steve is doing his best to downplay what is obviously a gut-wrenching thing for him to admit, especially to the man whose friendship and trust he's only just regained. They're alone together in Big Red, cold moonlight shining in on them, sitting close on the sofa.

"We'll have to give them one last good show to remember," says Mike, the cheer in his voice sounding forced.

Steve scoffs at that, with a grin that doesn't reach his eyes. "You'll have to remember it for the both of us."

Mike claps a comforting hand on Steve's thigh.

"I got you." He looks warmly at his longtime friend, his companion and performance partner, and Padmé can feel her throat tighten with tears. "I got you."

There's an indistinguishable wet sound from behind her, followed by a sniff. It takes Padmé too long to realize Obi-Wan's crying, his body shaking silently against hers, and she fumbles for the remote to hit pause. She can feel the heat of his tears against her cheek when she presses closer, turning back to see him, and it makes her ache to find him red-faced, his eyes bloodshot from soundless weeping.

She sits up at once, angling back so she can rest her palm on his face. His eyes dart down, fingers coming up to wipe the moisture away, clearly embarrassed at having been caught in such a vulnerable state.

"Oh, babe, what's the matter?" Padmé asks softly.

"What's the –?" Obi-Wan sucks in a deep, shuddering breath. "This is a Christmas movie, for goodness' sake!"

His bottom lip trembles, and Padmé brings a comforting hand to his shoulder as another soft sob leaves him. Of course she knows that Obi-Wan has a tendency to be softhearted, but she didn't know that the movie would have this sort of effect on him. If she’d known he would be this upset, she might not have suggested watching it together.

"Obi," she says, her voice low. "It's alright. Hey, come here."

It's clear that he's too upset to answer her question properly, so Padmé settles for pulling him close. Obi-Wan willingly cuddles into her hug, resting his head against the curve of her shoulder, and she strokes his back. His soft copper hair tickles her face, and she shushes him gently, rocking the two of them on their old worn out sofa.

"You're alright, love. I know, it was terrible…"

"In a few years he won't remember his family," Obi-Wan croaks out between shaking sobs. "His friends –"

"I know, baby. Let it all out."

A few seconds pass before he swallows, trying to still his breathing. All the while, Padmé continues running her hand up and down the soft material of his cardigan, intent on calming him down. Obi-Wan lets out a sigh, shifting a little in her grip. She realizes that he's going for the handkerchief in his pocket, and Padmé allows him to turn to the side, dabbing at his eyes and nose.

"God, I'm sorry," he mutters. "This is so silly."

"It's not –"

"It is," Obi-Wan insists, and Padmé's relieved to hear his words accompanied by a small laugh. "It really is, sweetheart, I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me."

Padmé pauses for a beat, trying to find the right thing to say. "You don't need to be sorry," she says at last. "We don't choose what upsets us."

She cups his cheek, all beard bristle and tears, and Obi-Wan gives her a bashful smile.

"It's just," he begins, taking a deep breath, and Padmé knows that he's ready to talk about what had scared him. His nose is red and irritated-looking, nostrils wet. "That's terrifying to me. Losing the memory of your loved ones?"

Her heart twists in her chest. Padmé hadn't thought to put herself in the character's shoes. They're both still so young. Obi-Wan is only in his mid thirties, and Padmé isn't yet thirty herself. To think that the first thing he would think of was growing old and forgetting her…that hurts.

Obi-Wan blows his nose, trying to be quiet and polite because they're sitting so close together. It sounds as if there's a lot of congestion for him to get out between the bout of crying and the earlier dust. He finishes with a soft groan, sinuses creaking under the weight of it.

"You poor thing," Padmé sighs. "I'm sorry, Obi. I didn't realize the movie would touch on such heavy themes."

He blinks from behind the cover of his dark blue handkerchief, slowly lowering it to his lap.

"It's not your fault, please don't think that," says Obi-Wan. "Look at us, we're apologizing in circles." His voice is stuffy from all the suffering his nose has gone through.

That makes her smile. Leave it to Obi-Wan to try and cheer her up even when he's the one upset.

"Are we a mess?" Padmé teases.

"Only me," he answers, sitting up straight with another thick sounding sniffle. "Goodness, hold on, I'm going to try and fix this –"

As if he needs permission to tend to his ailing sinuses. How did she end up with someone so endlessly polite? It's a far cry from Anakin, whose manners are…questionable, at best. Padmé sits patiently with her husband as he blows, tracing little patterns with her fingers on his leg.

"That's better," says Obi-Wan once he's through, tucking the soiled handkerchief away. "Ugh."

"Are you alright?"

He wraps Padmé in a gentle hug, his lips brushing her cheek. "I am. Thank you."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

She lets her eyes search his face, looking for any sign of discomfort about the topic. Padmé finds only quiet contemplation as he settles an arm around her shoulders, his expression familiar. That's another thing she values about him; it's unlike Obi-Wan to speak before thinking when the topic at hand matters.

"Yes," he answers at last. "I think that would be the wise thing to do."

Padmé nods.

On the screen in front of them, the paused movie shows the reunited rock duo about to take the stage, the concert scene aglow with lights around the waiting crowd.

Obi-Wan twines his fingers through her own, giving a tight squeeze. "I suppose my reaction was based on the fact that…that this is a worry I've entertained before."

He takes a steadying breath, sniffling, and Padmé leans into his shoulder. Offering her wordless support.

"Which I know is silly…" he continues. "That's not – not something we should have to worry about for a long time. But –"

And here Obi-Wan looks up, stricken, meeting Padmé's deep brown eyes with his blue. "I don't ever want to live in a world where I don't love you. Where I can't remember what that feels like."

That does it. Now Padmé's eyes are welling up with tears, spilling over, and she reaches for the last sugar cookie as a means of emotional support. She can tell that Obi-Wan finds that funny, despite the gravity of the situation, and hands him the other half. He takes it without a word, sinking his teeth in.

"Why do you always say the sweetest things?" She manages, blotting her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater. "I love you so much."

She wants to say more, to put into words all the bright, aching truth of how deeply this man makes her feel. But her mouth couldn't possibly keep up with her heart. I love you only scratches the surface of all the goodness they share.

"I love you too," he says softly.

Obi-Wan brings a hand up to brush away her tears, the pad of his thumb against her cheek.

"Even the thought of losing you is devastating. In any way. Even if I'm right beside you."

"Oh, Obi-Wan." Her voice is a whisper. "I don't want to lose you, either. Not when I never thought I could find someone like you. I never thought –" her voice hitches on a laughing sob " – not when you've made me so happy."

She steels herself. "If either one of us – if something like that were to happen." Her tone wavers. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm not moving a damn inch from you. Even if that means you think of me as some annoying old woman who won't leave your house, I'm not going to stop trying to help you remember."

Obi-Wan laughs, and the sound encourages her. "Not all are so lucky to have so stubborn a partner."

"That's right."

He hums, grinning. "I quite like the idea of us growing old."

"Good," Padmé smirks. "Because that's exactly what we're going to do."

"I can see it," he continues. "You and I, sitting here forty years from now. Crying over some other Hallmark film. If they're even still called films by then."

They spend a moment giggling over what they think movies will have evolved into by the time they're old and grey, and by the time Obi-Wan makes some ridiculous suggestion about beaming the projections into their brains by way of their ear canals, both of them have forgotten the interlude of sorrow.

"Do you want to finish?" Padmé reaches for the remote.

Obi-Wan gives her a fond look. "Sure."

Cautiously, they go into the final portion of their show. Padmé settles once more into the space against Obi-Wan's body – the warm place that feels like it was meant for her – and Obi-Wan puts his arm around her with a sound of contentment.

Thankfully, it seems that the rest of what they have to watch all boils down to a happy ending for the main character. The two fathers, Mike and Steve, reunite for their final concert. Jason and Quinn watch from the crowd, along with the adoring town. Padmé catches Obi-Wan tearing up again when it's revealed that Mike wrote out some lyrics for Steve to read, so that he could follow along while they played.

"You're so soft," she says, though the gesture really touches her heart as well.

"Be quiet," comes his reply, muffled behind one very moist handkerchief.

That must be uncomfortable to use by now, Padmé thinks. Remembering that he keeps more in the small drawer of the coffee table – the poor man really does have a sensitive nose – she leans forward and pulls a clean handkerchief free, sliding the wooden drawer closed with a click.

Obi-Wan brightens as she hands it back to him. This one is patterned with the lightest embroidered glimmering stars, the fabric such a deep blue that it's almost black.

"Oh, thank you, darling," he purrs. "You're the sweetest."

They turn their attention back to the last minutes of the movie – or they try.

Between Obi-Wan's light sniffling against the shell of her ear and the comfortable warmth of his body pressed into hers, Padmé doesn't have much focus left to devote to what's happening on the screen. Now that they've successfully achieved everything on their little holiday to-do list, Padmé can let herself let go and want him.

Every little moment over the course of the day comes back to her in bright color, as if her memory wants to show off how long she’s been thinking about this.

Obi-Wan’s lips on the back of her neck as she makes the sugar cookies. The low, sultry dip of his voice as she halfheartedly reminds him what they should be doing. His strong hands on her waist as he’d lifted her to place the star on their tree, reminding Padmé quite clearly of other certain occasions he’d hoisted her up. Much more private places.

It’s all too much for her to keep to herself anymore. He’s her husband, this is their home, and she’ll be damned if she stays quiet about what she wants when he’s right behind her. Instead, Padmé arches back surreptitiously, keeping her eyes forward on the screen. She catches the slightest intake of breath in her ear, and Obi-Wan’s fingers tighten on her waist.

“What’re you doing?” His voice is quite breathless, and she can feel him stirring with interest against her rear.

“Getting comfortable,” says Padmé.

She cuddles in further, and the reaction from him is a low groan of need. There’s no mistaking it; he’s completely hard, a physical companion to the ache that she’s been harboring all day.

“Really.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t seem to believe her. When he motions for Padmé to turn around, to face him, she’s pink-faced with a blush. Something about knowing that she’s been caught in her game makes it difficult to meet his amused, gentle gaze, though she eventually manages. So many long, indulgent, intimate moments have started this way. If she’s lucky, this just might become one of them.

“No, not really,” she admits, curled now against his chest.

Padmé traces her fingers up and down the sensitive spot between his pectorals. He watches her hand move as if hypnotized, each shaky breath warm in the sparse distance between them. Oh, she has him right where she wants him.

“That’s what I thought,” Obi-Wan muses, dipping down to brush his lips against hers.

He grins, hitching his leg over her hip until they’re twined together so tight she’s unsure where one of them starts and the other begins. She doesn’t want to know. Something pulses deep in her body, all thrill and anticipation, the start of the chase. And for once, Padmé is happy to be caught. Neither of them feel the need to say anything else. Their mouths touch once more, and there’s nothing delicate or hesitant about the way Padmé rushes against him.

It’s instantaneous, the way they agree that this is going to happen, without ever having to make a sound. Their couch isn’t exactly the roomiest place for this sort of thing, but that’s alright. Padmé wants him as close as she can get him. She drinks in every soft sound of pleasure that escapes his mouth, every little sniff as he pauses to breathe, her mind insistent that she memorize this. Obi-Wan tastes like sugar cookies as he slips his tongue against her bottom lip, and Padmé fumbles to get her hands under his sweater. They are entirely too clothed for this situation.

Obi-Wan seems to feel the same. She can feel his fingertips glide up to the soft cups of her bra as the credits play behind her. It’s been a while since they’ve done this right here on the couch, but she can’t say that she minds. Not if Obi-Wan's growing enthusiasm is anything to go by.

"Bedroom," he pants eventually. “What I’d like to do to you won’t be feasibly safe on this couch.”

Padmé giggles, getting to her feet. “Well, I look forward to that.”

They get up to leave together, each thrumming with excitement. She’s certain that Obi-Wan would fly to the bedroom if he could. Before they get to the hallway, however, something on the couch catches her eye. It’s Obi-Wan’s handkerchief, and a thought occurs to her.

“You’d better bring this,” says Padmé, picking it up. “Just in case.”

It’s not unusual for his nose to run if they get overly physical, and Obi-Wan blushes as he takes the square of fabric from her, aware of what she means.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he says, giving her a heated look. “I’m certain I will.”

#o/bidala #snz fic #snz kink #handkerchief #dacryphilia #snzfic #s/tar wars #s/tar w/ars #o/bi wan #o/bi wan k/enobi #p/adme amidala

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