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There are rumors in the Senate about Master Kenobi. They say his mind has become fogged by the influence of a certain female Senator.

Senator Amidala is hiding something. I can see it in her eyes.

No matter what many people may think, Anakin is not blind, nor is he a fool. He knows what the Chancellor is implying about Obi-Wan and Padmé. He is saying that Obi-Wan is besotted by Padmé, that Padmé is concealing her involvement with Obi-Wan.

He is saying that they are faithless, that they are lying to him.

He expects Anakin to be furious over such a betrayal. Sith, Anakin expects to be furious over it. They are the ones he cares for most, and they might be doing something behind his back. The idea that they might carrying on together, that they might be conducting an affair should make his blood boil, should make him seethe with jealousy.

And yet… it doesn’t. There is no hiss of rage from the dragon beneath his skin, no desire to snarl and go shake answers out of both of them, to make them confess their sins to his face. Instead, he actually thinks about it, what it might be.

He thinks of Obi-Wan’s fingers getting lost in Padmé’s dark curls as their lips clash together in fiery, unstoppable kisses. He thinks of Padmé’s fingers scrabbling for purchase over Obi-Wan’s armor, seeking a way through to his shielded skin. He thinks of Obi-Wan’s lips moving down the long line of Padmé’s neck, his hands pushing the fabric of Padmé’s dress out of his path. He thinks of Padmé closing her eyes and sighing in contentment as Obi-Wan’s lips close over her newly naked nipple.

Once, such imaginings would have infuriated Anakin, made him howl with fury and possessiveness. Once, he would have declared them both his, but that did not mean they were to notice each other. Now, if the implication was true, he has only one question: Why the kriff didn’t they invite him?

Because the idea is an exciting one. His wife and his best friend, together.

Anakin has always been very hands-on, never content to sit back passively while others are doing things. But for this? He finds he actually wants to watch.

How would it be? He closes his eyes, imagining…

Obi-Wan has always been the master of self-control, never giving away any hint of emotion, any idea of what is going on in that mind of his. Anakin has always known his master better than most, and thus has a better concept of what he is thinking, but still, that maddening calm has exasperated him on more than one occasion.

Anakin wants to see Obi-Wan lose that calm, to see his restraint completely shatter. Padmé, he is sure, would be an enthusiastic accomplice.

It will start on the bed. Anakin can see Obi-Wan lying there, naked among the pillows and sheets, appearing so serene he might as well be conducting a briefing before the Jedi Council. It won’t last, Anakin promises himself.

Then Padmé moves toward the bed. She wears a light nightgown of green silk, which does nothing to hide either her beautiful pregnant belly or her slowly hardening nipples. She lifts one leg, tantalizingly bare, and lowers herself onto the bed at Obi-Wan’s side. He turns his languid gaze toward her, and Anakin can see the challenge in his eyes that he throws at her.

She answers him with a knowing smile. Challenge accepted.

She begins slowly, leaning up to kiss him. Her fingers brush across his bearded cheek, a tender gesture, before moving down his neck to his chest to tangle with the smattering of red curls on his chest. Their mouths open to questing tongues, and soon enough Obi-Wan’s hands come up to Padmé’s shoulders, trying to tug at the straps of her nightgown. Padmé pulls away with a laugh and grabs at his hands, pushing him down on the bed. “Ah, ah, ah,” she chides him teasingly.

“No touching, Obi-Wan,” Anakin adds, smug. “That was the deal.”

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow. “I remember no such –“ A gasp is torn from his mouth, cutting off his words, when Padmé moves down his body and catches one of his nipples in her mouth. Her fingers tease the other, stroking in time with her laving tongue. His breathing grows faster, deeper, as the struggle to keep control grows harder.

Anakin leaves Padmé to her administrations, allowing his eyes to sweep over his master’s body. It is toned and fit, as one would expect of a Jedi. He smiles as he sees the muscles of his abdomen tremble ever so slightly, another sign of Padmé’s assault on Obi-Wan’s senses. What truly attracts his attention, though, is his master’s cock, now jutting straight up from his body. It is growing more and more flushed by the minute, and Anakin can see the small bead of moisture beginning to form at the tip.

Anakin wants nothing more than to stand and join them, to lick that little drop away and savor the taste, but he stops himself. This moment is about more than just making Obi-Wan lose control of himself – it was a challenge to see how well he could control his own impulses, and he was determined to outlast his master in this if nothing else.

Padmé also seems to have taken notice of Obi-Wan’s swollen flesh, if her gleeful little grin is anything to go by. She doesn’t immediately transfer her direct attention to it, instead taking her time to lick and nip at the skin of Obi-Wan’s chest and abdomen, even pressing a playful kiss to his belly button. Obi-Wan laughs in response.

She slowly nuzzles her way further down his body, but doesn’t take the weeping cock in hand. Instead, she worked her way around it, gliding her hands along the skin of his thighs and the backs of his knees. Anakin struggles to contain a laugh when he sees the flash of impatience cross Obi-Wan’s face.

Breaking that self-control may not be too difficult after all.

Anakin has no doubt Padmé’s skill as a lover could make Obi-Wan shatter. Though they’ve been apart more than together in the past few years, when they are together, they have not been shy about experimenting in different ways of pleasing one another in bed. In a lot of ways, their love-play has taught Anakin more about patience than over a decade of Jedi teachings have.

He’s pretty sure the Council would have collective coronaries if they knew.

Still, Anakin doesn’t think that Padmé and Obi-Wan’s interactions would all be about lustful desperation. As passionate as they both can be, he knows just how calm, how compassionate, how considerate they can be…

They go home to Naboo in the wake of the war’s end. Padmé is due to give birth any day now, and her increasing discomfort is wearing even on her generous and patient nature. Much of her time is spent resting.

The humidity of Naboo’s summer permeates Varykino, even with the building’s state-of-the-art climate controls. The only way Padmé can find anything resembling comfort is lying naked in bed. In the comfort of their bedroom, Obi-Wan and Anakin too shed their clothing. Anakin leans against the bureau, watching curiously as Obi-Wan settles carefully next to Padmé on the bed. Anakin’s learned through experience to be wary of his wife’s moods when she’s not feeling her best, despite their long separations. He wonders how Obi-Wan will fare.

Her eyes open just a sliver, her expression one of misery, and she turns her head to look at him. Obi-Wan smiles tenderly at her and brushes a damp strand of hair from her face. He leans forward and presses a kiss to her cheek and he whispers, “Shh, just relax, dear one.”

Slowly, Obi-Wan begins running his fingertips over Padmé’s face, barely grazing her skin. He soon goes lower, brushing along her arms, her breasts, her distended belly. As he does so, Anakin feels the Force stir. Obi-Wan directs it with all the subtlety of gentle waves lapping slowly on the shore, easing Padmé’s tense and contracting muscles. His lips soon follow the paths of his fingers, still gentle, with no sense of urgency. He kisses her pregnant belly, chuckles when the baby shifts in response. He suckles on her nipples, a preview of what the baby will soon be doing.

The arousal in the air grows deep, but not desperate. It is a slow, sensual one, and there is no hurry for any of them.

When Obi-Wan finally shifts down to the end of the bed, Padmé lets him spread her legs for her, making little effort to move. Her eyes are open now, glazed and warm, but Anakin can see her watching Obi-Wan, waiting.

Obi-Wan moves between her legs, and before he settles there, Anakin catches a peek of her glistening folds. Then it is gone, hidden by Obi-Wan’s head. He licks her slowly, carefully, like a kit savoring a bowl of cream. Within moments, Padmé’s breathing comes in little quick gasps, and her eyes drift up to meet Anakin’s own gaze. He reaches out with the Force then, connecting gently to his wife’s mind, and nearly groans out loud as her arousal floods his senses. He wants to touch himself, to bring about his climax in tandem with her own, but he stops himself. This is about her, and foremost. Her comfort, her needs, her desires.

When she comes, the only sound she makes is one long, satisfied sigh.

All right, it is true. Anakin has no problem with Padmé and Obi-Wan being together. He glances down and winces at the bulge in his trousers. No problem whatsoever.

Still, he thinks, struggling to put his lusts aside for the moment, it does not explain why the Chancellor seems so determined to incite him to jealousy, to drive a wedge of mistrust between him and the two people he loves most. Anakin has counted Palpatine as a friend for over a decade, looked to him for guidance when Obi-Wan and he were in locked in conflict, treasured him as the father he has never had. Are his words merely a misguided attempt to ease the blow of what would normally be considered tragic news, or is it something else?

It is all so confusing, and something he must think on. There are few beings in the galaxy Anakin trusts. If one of them is seeking to manipulate him, he must know. No matter how much it pains him to think of Palpatine in such a manner, he must do so until the truth is uncovered.

Anakin keeps hold of this line of thinking for the next several days. He tells no one. Not Padmé, who has her own worries for the baby and for the Republic. Not Obi-Wan, who is still off rending General Grievous to scrap. He keeps a close watch on the Chancellor, monitoring his behavior.

He does not like what he sees.

In the end, Anakin supposes he should not be surprised that it turns out that the Chancellor is really the Sith Lord the Jedi have been hunting for over thirteen years. It is a sickening blow, and though there is no way of softening it, he still manages to find comfort in Padmé and in Obi-Wan in the horrific aftermath of Palpatine’s destruction. Both are sympathetic, and yet not pitying as so many others are, like Windu and the rest of the Council.

Ultimately, it is a relief to be granted the mission of investigating Palpatine’s doings on Naboo, away from the muck and mire of Coruscant. The Senate is undergoing a thorough scouring, wiping itself clean of decades of filth and corruption. Padmé and Obi-Wan accompany him, the former because of a combination of her condition and her own duties to discover the actions of a man of her people and how he almost brought the Republic to complete ruin. As for the latter, Anakin believes that the Council wants Obi-Wan to watch him, monitor him for any sign of contamination that Palpatine may have left on him.

Anakin really doesn’t care. He trusts Obi-Wan more than anyone else, and Obi-Wan’s accompanying him and Padmé provides him with a perfect opportunity.

Anakin’s dreams have almost always come to pass. Perhaps now the Force is providing him with a chance to make a more pleasant one come true.

He escorts Padmé up the ramp of her ship. Obi-Wan is already onboard, in the cockpit. “Padmé,” he says suddenly, “what do you think of Obi-Wan?”