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The Empress and the Fallen

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The Empress had many occasions to dress up. She always had, as a Senator and as a Queen. Each of her dresses held symbolic meaning, the accompanying makeup and hairstyle designed for specific impressions. The Naboo knew how to craft and image, and Padme had always been comfortable immersing herself in the attendant personas.

It was a rare thing, however, that she dressed in costume and merely for pleasure.

She wasn't daring enough to shear her hair off, so she was thankful that was not required. Her hair was held back in a simple tie, but for one long lock woven into a braid. She had spent time researching what the bands of color her husbands had once worn meant, the achievements they denoted. Saber skills were too great an irony, so she did not choose those bands. Academic excellence and blaster aim were suitable replacements.

The robes were more of a complication than she expected. Obi-Wan and Anakin alone wore them in the galaxy and neither man's clothes fit her. They would likely notice if she had them tailored down to her size. Instead she commissioned a handmaiden to replicate the design, cut as modestly as any Padawan's, though of finer material. Dorme had pushed her to add a neckline similar to her Imperial gowns, but Padme held firm on this point.

A Padawan was beautiful in her innocence, her incorruptibility. The boys would surely be delighted to see their Empress parody it so.

She was missing a lightsaber, Padme mused, as she looked herself over in the mirror. That would not do.

"Dorme," she called softly. She leaned forward, again touching the Padawan braid as she looked at herself in the mirror. Quite a lovely picture, she thought. "Go to the throne room."

Padme watched as Dorme hesitated. She was fully aware of the request and what it entailed.

"The Emperor does not like it when …" she swallowed convulsively, hand rubbing at her throat.

"When anyone touches his things?" Padme asked with a laugh. She turned to put her hands on Dorme's shoulders, comforting the other woman. "He's not there right now. And they are not his things."

She would also add that he was Emperor in name only, but that was additionally something Anakin did not like to hear. Certainly not from subordinates. He barely tolerated Padme and Obi-Wan's teasing on the matter.

Dorme bowed low.

"Yes, my lady."

She hurried from the room, steps as quiet and furtive as she could make them. She didn't have Padme's sense for where Anakin and Obi-Wan were, the poor dear.

The throne room was a rarely visited place. Padme preferred to give her speeches in the Senate, with the full court under her thrall. The public image of the Empress was quite a separate thing from her private life and Padme did not at all desire to make pronouncements from inside their home. No, the throne room was indeed Anakin's place. A hall of judgment for traitors and Jedi, where they were brought before their Emperor before execution. Not to plead their case. Merely to pay witness to the downfall of their brethren; Anakin had kept every lightsaber of every Jedi he had slain, hung on the wall behind his throne. There was little space left on the wall now, bare patches only appearing during the brief times when he took a lightsaber down – choosing an appropriate one for an execution.

Padme would have to ask him which one Dorme had brought her. She hoped it was suitable, though there was little chance Dorme would realize which was which.

In lieu of returning, probably in fear of Anakin's wrath should she be caught with a lightsaber, Dorme sent the blade up via Threepio.

"Oh, Mistress Padme!" Threepio said in surprise. "Are you in danger? Must we go into hiding?"

Padme turned the lightsaber handle over in her hands. She could only recall ever touching Anakin's. It had been difficult to use, heavier than she expected and too wide around for her to grip properly. This blade, with a dark black grip and decorative silver rings ascending up the shaft, was far more suitable. She wondered if it had been Aayla's, or perhaps Luminara's. Neither had been much taller than her.

"No, Threepio. Not at all. You are dismissed," Padme said. She flicked her fingers at the droid in distraction, still taken by the lightsaber.

His servos whirred as he walked out of the apartment. Padme gave the lightsaber one last twirl before attaching it to her belt. She ached to turn it on, cut something, kill with it, but she was all too aware of how dangerous lightsabers were in the hands of non-Jedi. And she preferred to keep those hands attached.

Anakin and Obi-Wan were finishing up their drills. Anakin sent a cheerfully exhausted pulse of warmth through the Force to Padme. She concentrated on the bedroom, the shape of it, its feel, hoping that he would pick up on that and detour back to the apartment rather than hitting the showers with Obi-Wan as he typically did.

Patiently, Padme knelt in the center of the room, eyes slanted down as she waited for her husbands.

She didn't have to wait long.

"No, I don't know why," Anakin was saying. His voice was muffled by the door and Obi-Wan's response completely silenced. The pair entered their chambers, and Anakin called from the sitting room, "Padme? Was there something wrong?"

Padme did not respond. She looked at the fine creases of her trousers on her bent knees, considering plucking at the material. That was an impatient gesture. Unnecessary.

"Padme?" Anakin asked again from the threshold of the bedroom.

Padme lifted her eyes just enough to catch his expression reflected in the mirror. His hand was on the door frame as he stared at her, uncertainty parting his lips. Obi-Wan was just over his shoulder, flushed and irritable, already pulling his boots off. He plainly didn't care about her intentions, only about getting a shower.

Well, she would have to do something about that.

"Masters," Padme said softly. She directed her eyes back to the floor, placing her palms flat on the carpeting to bend double in supplication.

Anakin's boots came into view and then the tips of his gloved fingers as he knelt in front of her. His flesh hand reached out, lifting her chin. He brushed his fingers over her lips.

"A game?" he asked softly.

Padme said nothing.

"You will answer us, Padawan," Obi-Wan said sternly. He stood behind Padme and her eyes flicked again to the mirror. He'd crossed his arms over chest, meeting her reflected gaze.

"Of course, Master. Not a game at all."

"Then stop making a disgrace of yourself. Jedi do not kneel without reason. Stand up, Padawan."

Padme rose gracefully to her feet. Anakin rocked back on his heels, sitting on the floor to watch their interplay.

Obi-Wan paced around Padme, tsking in disapproval. His eyes raked over every bit of her costume – and it was plain that he saw it as such. A costume, and a poorly made one at that. He flicked at her braid in disgust.

"Your braid is marked incorrectly. Your posture is poor." Padme stiffened at the insult. Her posture was excellent! "And your robes are folded the wrong direction. Masquerading as a corpse, are you?"

"No, Master. I apologize, Master."

Obi-Wan halted in front of her.

"You will fix it."

"My robes?" Padme asked.

He nodded one, frown on his face. Padme bit her lip, feigning nervousness and hiding her thrill of excitement. She had expected Anakin to be the one on point about disrobing.

She dropped the cloak to the floor, stepping away from it in just the way she had seen her husbands do so many times as they readied themselves for a battle. After that she removed her layered belt, tossing it onto her cloak. She put a hand to her outer tunic, loosening the folded fabric, only to find Obi-Wan's hand around her wrist like a vise.

She winced lightly at the bruising pressure, staring up into his darkened eyes.

"Master?" she asked.

"Where," he hissed, "is your lightsaber?"

Padme looked to the discarded belt. It was not there.

Anakin ignited the lightsaber as he stood. He rolled the hilt between his his hands.

"Aayla," he said, smile on his lips. "Good choice."

"Your lightsaber is your life. I can't believe you would be so reckless! A Padawan of your years should know better," Obi-Wan said.

Padme licked her lips.

"I know. I just haven't learned my lesson. Master, if you would just teach me..."

Obi-Wan shook his head.

"I fear that there is nothing I can teach you if you haven't learned by now."

Padme didn't bother repressing her urge to glare at him. This was rather missing the point.

Thankfully, Anakin stepped forward. He threw a grin to Obi-Wan.

"I don't know. I think there's hope for her yet. We just," he swiped the blade at Padme's sleeve, cutting it off. She would have startled if he hadn't pulled this exact maneuver so many times. "Need to start from scratch."

Anakin stalked around her, idly cutting her shirt off. Padme held perfectly still, eyes catching on his every time he passed. He waggled his eyebrows at her and Padme smiled in return. She raised an arm to let him complete his cuts, slashing her tunics to tatters that hung in burnt remnants around her waist. Her undergarments were tricky enough that he turned the blade off, clipping it to his own belt before reaching out. His hand was warm on her back, head ducked down to press his lips against her neck as he unwound her breastbindings, leaving her naked to the waist.

"You like?" she asked quietly into his hair.

He dropped the fabric to the ground, pulling her in close for a real kiss. Her bare breasts pressed to his leather tabard as his tongue pushed into her mouth.

Padme groaned aloud, hands running down his back to clutch him close.

"I fail to see the educational value of this," Obi-Wan snapped.

Anakin let Padme go long enough to pull Obi-Wan close. He wound an arm forcefully around the other man's back, dragging him in for a kiss as well. Anakin smiled brightly as he released Obi-Wan.

"There. Learning by watching."

Obi-Wan appeared unmoved.

"It's interactive," Anakin tried again.

Obi-Wan broke from Anakin's grasp and advanced on Padme. She looked up at him steadily. She had never feared either of her husbands, never worried for her own safety. Not since that night years ago where they made a pact to save the galaxy and turn it away from the lies of the Jedi.

But she had to admit curiosity at what Obi-Wan would do. She had expected Anakin to be taken by her playacting, but he seemed amused more than anything. Aroused, surely, but more by her nudity than the game. Obi-Wan was taking it much more seriously.

Obi-Wan pursed his lips, eyes coolly disdainful. He flicked her Padawan braid over her shoulder, completely unaffected by her state of undress.

"Who is your Master?" he asked.

Padme looked at him coyly through her eyelashes.

"I was hoping you would be."

This time, he pulled sharply on the braid. Padme bit back a cry of pain.

"Clearly not. I shall not ask again, Padawan."

"Master Yoda," Padme blurted out. He was the first Jedi Master who came to mind; the only one yet surviving.

Emotion flashed briefly over Obi-Wan's face; Anakin covered a grin with one hand. She had almost forgotten they were both within Yoda's direct line of descent.

"I fail to believe that," Obi-Wan said. He pushed her face aside. "He was never so careless with his apprentices. He would choose better."

Padme cast her eyes down.

"I'm sorry I disappoint Maybe there's a way I can make it up to you. Prove myself worthy of Yoda's legacy," Padme said.

Obi-Wan was rarely as casual with the Force as Anakin was, who idly levitated all manner of objects, opened doors, even undressed with its use. Obi-Wan never let it pass without comment. And so for him to reach out, to slide eerie unreal fingers down Padme's back, for him to push her to her knees with the Force, was an exhilarating shock. His hand grasped her chin, holding it up for a brief moment to meet her eyes before he cupped the back of her head, positioning her exactly where she wanted to be.

She parted her lips as she reached eagerly for his trousers, loosening the laces and tugging them down with practiced eased. Behind them, she could hear Anakin's footsteps and paused before leaning in, casting a wary look up at him.

Sometimes Anakin was still taken by jealous rage, set off by something or other he didn't like Obi-Wan and Padme doing together. It was unpredictable. Dangerous.


But today he seemed at ease with the games, erection tenting his trousers and amusement sparkling in his blue eyes as he watched them together.

Padme was oddly disappointed by that. He didn't seem to be taking this quite as seriously as she'd wanted. She'd have to think of a way to get him into it properly.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat meaningfully, hand forceful on the back of her head. Padme suppressed a grin, nuzzling forward against his hard cock. His fingers dug in on her scalp and she took the hint, licking a strip up his dick before parting her lips around it.

He sighed, but did not relax his grip.

"Good, good," he murmured.

Padme pulled back and he sounded distinctly less pleased about that. She blinked innocently up at him.

"Is this satisfactory, Master?"

"I will tell you when you finish, Padawan," he replied sternly, urging her back to him.

Padme kissed the tip of his cock, working her mouth over him slowly. She felt Anakin step closer to Obi-Wan. He leaned down, tracing her lips even as they sucked Obi-Wan, fingers light on her face.

"I don't recall this being part of my training," Anakin said as he straightened.

"Perhaps it should have been," Obi-Wan said.

Anakin made a sound deep in his throat: pleased, turned on, and yet entirely vicious. Padme glanced up long enough to see him biting at Obi-Wan's throat.

"All along?" Anakin asked. "Should I have started learning on Naboo? Maybe after you cut my hair."

Obi-Wan swore aloud.

"Maybe you would be better at it now," Obi-Wan growled back at him.

Padme sucked hard on his dick and swirled her tongue around the shaft. She placed her hands on the backs of his thighs, pulling him in closer as she swallowed. She could feel him tensing, so close to the edge.

"Just think of it," Anakin whispered into Obi-Wan's neck.

"I am trying not to," Obi-Wan snapped.

Anakin's laugh was a hard crack against the near silence of the room. He buried his face in Obi-Wan neck, kissing and hugging this time.

"That's why I love you, Master."

Obi-Wan's muscles bunched under Padme's hands and he thrust hard into her mouth several times before coming with a groan. She didn't even bother trying to swallow, pulling back to let him spattered her face and chest. She wiped her sticky fingers over the braid, meeting his eyes keenly. His hips bucked involuntarily, face flushed as he watched her dirty herself.

"Good, Padawan. I see you have learned your lesson." Somewhat recovered, he sent a rueful, annoyed look at Anakin, "Unlike some."

Anakin grinned wildly. He thrived on how uncomfortable his references to his childhood in Obi-Wan's care made Obi-Wan. Padme knew it was one of the many factors keeping Obi-Wan at his side, in the Dark, beyond redemption. That self-loathing, the belief that his feelings for Anakin should never have turned sexual.

Fear that they had always been sexual.

Padme remembered their life before the Empire clearly enough to know that it was not true. Obi-Wan had been a good man and she a good woman, before Anakin turned. Before they fell with him because they dared not lose him. But Anakin was insecure, deeply and violently so, and he fought with them still, needled them, preyed on their weaknesses to remind them of their own sins. Anything to keep them with him.

Anakin threw himself down onto the floor, drawing Padme into his arms.

"You're filthy," he said happily.

He peppered kisses across her face before bending to lick across her breasts. She arched her neck, cunt throbbing as he bit and sucked at her skin, licking to clean Obi-Wan's come off of her. He leaned her back gently, moving between her legs. Padme hooked one over his hip, pressing up against him as he sucked on her nipple.

Obi-Wan joined them on the floor, turning Padme's head to kiss her thoroughly. At the same time, he used Anakin's distraction to press Padme's stolen and forgotten lightsaber back into her hand. When he broke this kiss, his eyes were dark and wild, entirely opposed to the Obi-Wan she had once known so well.

Anakin worked Padme's trousers down, mechnofingers cold as they stroked between her legs. Padme squirmed at the feeling, arousing and wrong at the same time, and he propped himself up on his other hand, smiling down at her.

"Love you," he whispered into her brow, kissing her lightly on the temple.

"Do you?" she asked.

She turned the lightsaber hilt in her hand, reversing the grip.

His smile took on that mad edge that was now so familiar. His sweaty hair curled across his forehead, fell into his eyes.

"Everything is for you, my love. Everything."

Padme reached down, stilling his hand.

"I don't believe you."

Anakin tilted his head slowly to the side.

His voice was a harsh whisper, "What?"

"I said," she enunciated clearly. "I don't believe you."

Anakin's jaw clenched. He threw an angry look at Obi-Wan, lips pursed together. There was already accusation in his eyes.

Padme moved quickly, pushing Anakin backwards, pinning him beneath her. She lit the saber and held it under his chin.

"You don't love me. You hardly even know me! You are a traitor to the Order, Master Skywalker," she said. She could barely see past the brightness of the blade, but she could feel the thump of his heart under her other hand. She wriggled backward, grinding down against his erection, pleased to see him arch underneath her. "And you will pay for your crimes."

"Yoda sent you," Obi-Wan said gamely. He dropped a kiss onto her shoulder. "I see now that his treachery knows no bounds."

Padme lifted her hips up long enough to drag Anakin's trousers down. Obi-Wan kindly obliged them both by taking them off the rest of the way. From the rustling she heard, he had taken care of his remaining clothes as well. She soon felt his strong back against hers, beard scratching against the side of her face as he settled on Anakin, using his weight to help hold Anakin in place.

"My treachery? I did nothing. Murdered no one," she hissed. She lifted up and guided Anakin's very hard cock into herself, groaning at the feeling. Anakin's chest was heaving underneath her, eyes wide and staring past the blue light of the lightsaber. He was trembling. Padme rocked hard against him, angling the blade across his neck. "Unlike you – oath breaker and child killer."

Obi-Wan pressed his half-hard cock against Padme's ass, matching her rhythm as she rode Anakin. She swallowed at the feeling and leaned back against him, barely keeping her composure. She watched Anakin through slitted eyes as she fucked him. His expression was dark, lips red with blood as he bit against them, holding himself back from lashing out at her.

It looked like he was finally in the game.

"Nothing less than they deserved," Anakin snarled. His tongue swiped over his blooded lip, staining his teeth red as he glared up at her.

He pushed out suddenly with the Force, knocking Obi-Wan off of him.

"I deal with you later," Anakin said. The look he gave Obi-Wan was venomous enough to make Padme's stomach clench in fear. She had to wonder if later would be in bed, bringing his former master to orgasm – or in the training salle, with a blade through Obi-Wan's heart. Anakin rolled Padme beneath him, hand squeezing her wrist hard. But rather than making her drop the lightsaber, he held it steady, squarely between them as he pounded into her. He stared into her eyes, repeating, "All for you. All of it, Padme."

Her fingers were going numb under his grip. Her breath hitched and she strained under his harsh thrusts, hooking her leg over his hip for more.

"Anakin!" she cried out.

She threw her head back, feeling dazed as she orgasmed. The lightsaber turned off just as Padme dropped it from nerveless fingers. He snarled something in Huttese and threw the lightsaber away with the Force, taking her hips in both hands as he thrust roughly, finishing off. She smiled at him, fingers stroking across his arched neck.

"That was rather unceremonious," Obi-Wan said from nearly across the room. The lightsaber had barely missed hitting him, though Padme didn't know if that was because he'd stopped it or not.

Padme laughed as she caught his eye. She held out her hand, beckoning him over. With all the dignity a naked, half-hard emperor of the galaxy could manage, he crawled back over to his spouses.

Anakin looked entirely unapologetic, but pinned Obi-Wan down nonetheless. He looked at Obi-Wan's dick, bitten lips parted.

"I could make it up to you," he said, eyebrows quirking.

Obi-Wan kissed him firmly and then batted him away.

"Another time. I'm old. Leave me alone."

Padme felt flush and aching and wonderful. She stood and made her way over to the bed. She lay back on it, stretching languidly on the covers. Anakin joined her shortly, and then Obi-Wan.

Someone's hand reached across to toy with the braid. Padme closed her eyes, nestling into a strong chest.

"You have all the best ideas, my love," Anakin said. He kissed her on the back of the neck.

Padme smiled into Obi-Wan's shoulder.

"That's why I'm Empress."