Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

• “As long as I have a face, you’ll always have a place to sit.” (formalwear, semi public, body worship)

Anakin and Aurelie were supposed to be at the gala 40 minutes ago, which would be annoying if it wasn’t endearing. Aurelie constantly ran late. He actually thought she stood him up for their first date, but she was just running very, very late. 40 minutes actually wasn’t too bad for her, all things considered… Anakin rubs his face when he realizes just how late they were.

It’s his lover’s world, and Anakin is just living in it, not that he really minds.

He’d actually told her to be ready an hour earlier than when they were supposed to leave in attempt to circumvent her complete and utter disregard for time. It usually worked.

Usually.

If the song blasting from their bathroom was any indication, Aurelie was just barely starting on her hair, mass of soft curls that tumbled down her back, soft curls that he’d wind around his fist when Aurelie was pressed into the soft cushions of their bed, fingers threading in to guide her as she—

“Ani, have you seen my—nevermind!” Aurelie calls out, the slammed door shaking him free of his reverie.

“Babe, we really have to get going!” Anakin calls up the stairs, climbing them two at a time as he grumbles underneath his breath. He pushes the door open with a soft grunt, irritation melting at the sight. Aurelie was extremely difficult to stay angry with for long, with her soft eyelashes that fanned impossibly long, her soft brown eyes, plump lips, or soft curves.

Aurelie sang along softly, her hips shaking in time to the song as she swiped a coat of glossy pink over her plump lips, blowing him a kiss in the mirror. Her tawny skin shimmered, one of her delicate shoulders bare. Her mass of black curls was piled on her head artfully, small silver clips scattered about, twinkling.

Anakin winds an arm around her, placing a kiss to her bare shoulder, his hand griping her hip appreciatively. Her robe, pink with fuzzy cuffs, slides down to reveal a tantalizing hint of her cleavage, satin cut at her thigh to reveal her mile long legs. His hand slides down to touch the tempting skin, sliding up her thighs to her soft, warm heat. Her cheeks flush as she meets his gaze in the mirror, hands gripping the counter. Anakin’s hips pin her to the counter as he presses his cheek against her head, smelling her ridiculously expensive shampoo, finding comfort in her familiar scent.

Aurelie is impossibly wet, her folds parting easily for his fingers. He’s explored her so many times, taken her apart with his lips and tongue and teeth thousands of times, but every time he enters her is like a fucking religious experience, be it his tongue, cock, or fingers. And Aurelie is so sensitive, falls apart at the slightest provocation, and he wonders, idly, if he could make her cum without even touching her at all.

“Ani,” she whines softly as he circles her clit, his free hand gripping her breast inside her robe, palming at the soft flesh with a sigh. She rocks into his touch, eyes glassy with want as she leans back, body sagging into his.

“Not my fault you look good enough to eat,” he murmurs against her skin, peppering  kisses to her neck playfully. And he’s planning on doing just that, but Aurelie reaches for his hair then, hand threading and pulling the honey blonde strands tightly as she cried out.

“Don’t we have to go soon?” Aurelie asks breathlessly, arching her back, pressing her ass into Anakin, eyes slipping shut. Sold gold shimmers across her eyelids, her freckles hidden by a thin layer of makeup. “I t-thought we were l-late, baby.”

Anakin hums then, shaking his head as he reluctantly pulls his fingers from her sticky sweet cunt. He slides his fingers across her mouth, smearing her lipgloss before Aurelie sucks his finger into her mouth, holding his hand between her own. He smirks when she gags, pressing a kiss to her temple.

Anakin’s problem is that he wants too deeply. He loves too much. His passion is all encompassing. Bordering on fanatical, he’d been told by one ex, and overwhelming by another. But was it so wrong to love so much? To need so deeply, to crave and want? He can’t get enough, especially not of Aurelie, feels like his skin is on fire and she’s the only one who can put him out.

Though, sometimes, he likes the burn.

Five minutes later, (plus another ten), the couple is in Anakin’s super speeder, heading to the charity fundraiser gala downtown.

A valet comes to park the speeder when they arrive, but Anakin rushes to Aurelie’s door, casting an annoyed glare at the valet before opening it, extending a hand to Aurelie, her soft fingers threading with his as he helps her out. She smirks as her free hand reaches out to smooth the lapels of his black suit, her nails scratching his neck and making his breath hitch slightly.

“See, my love? Just in time.”

Anakin has a taste for fine things. And he knows Aurelie is beautiful, divine, even, a goddess who he’ll worship for the rest of his days with a devotion only rivaled by, maybe, the moon’s devotion to the sky. But gods, isn’t she stunning?

Her sleeveless evening gown is soft champagne, black and silver and blue sequins stitched to the tulle, neckline straight, her soft breasts straining against the material. Anakin catches the hints of last night on her skin, concealed by the thick strap, bodice tight before expanding at her waist, the fabric cut to mimic sequined petals. Aurelie leans in for a chaste kiss, but Anakin slides a cheeky tongue in, and she laughs.

“Behave.” 

Anyway, like he said, Anakin has a taste for fine things and beautiful women, and he knows Aurelie is beautiful, everyone does, impossible to ignore, but he hates how certain eyes linger for too long, hates when she’s pulled in for kisses and hugs because he feels, truly, that the only person in the galaxy who should touch her at all, or even thinking about touching her, is him. Maybe it’s selfish. 

He leaves a possessive hand on her lower back as they greet the others, Anakin trying and failing to keep some semblance of composure.

It’s going to be a very, very long night.

Anakin actually broke someone’s hand once, in a transport hub. Aurelie had been trying to make sense of a map, even though Anakin had said he knew where they were going and they needed to hurry up to avoid missing their fleet.

He says, later, that it’s an accident, that he hadn’t meant to snap the man’s wrist at a harsh angle when said hand had “accidentally” groped Aurelie when Anakin had gone to grab them (her, because he doesn’t even like sugar the way Aurelie does, but she loves hot chocolate and always finishes hers “too soon” and asks for “just a sip, Ani” that always ends with her finishing it) something to eat for their trip.

Aurelie had gotten this dress made in Naboo, on a vacation where Anakin could have, wanted to, really, really, really, (but didn’t, which is something he thinks he deserves credit for, he reminds her as she chastises him for scowling and glaring for the duration of their appointment) pummeled the tailor who took in her measurements within an inch of his life. Aurelie is unimpressed. Anakin had mumbled, nosing at her breasts, that he didn’t like when other people touched her.

“I just want you all to myself,” he whispered against her bare skin, peppering kisses and bites guiltily.

She remembers getting this dress made specifically because of that night. Anakin was already a bit on edge because they’d run into Dorien, who Aurelie had gotten over ages ago but who Anakin despised, truly, mostly because of the way he’d treated Aurelie during their brief fling. She tells Anakin it isn’t a big deal—the man is running around with his brood of younglings, for fuck’s same—but he’s still a bit  testy and moody when they’re at the tailor, hovering annoyingly and asking how many times the old Togruta needs to measure her breasts with a grunt.

When she called him out on it later that night, he’d confessed shyly that he hated when he wasn’t the one to touch her, that he adored her endlessly and that adoration sometimes boarded into flashes of hot white jealousy. Confesses how he can’t think straight, can’t look at anything but her and that he’d do anything if it meant she’d look at him like that.

He’d sunk lower into the bed, pressing her into the soft sheets as his kisses ventured further south, and—

Her attention is brought back to how the dress digs into her hips uncomfortably, trying to ignore it (and the hand on her thigh, because Anakin alwaysalwaysalways had to touch her) as she chats politely with a senator and his wife at their table. Anakin is polite enough but disinterested in most of the goings on—he’d never really been interested in any of these society events, but Aurelie was—but glances at her when she squirms, trying to adjust her dress without drawing too much attention to herself.

The tailor had been nervous—who wouldn’t be, with Anakin, all stormy grey blues and glares and arms crossed over his chest, brooding in the corner and making little comments here and there—which would explain maybe why the fit was so snug across her abdomen. Gods, she felt like she was suffocating.

And then Anakin trailed his fingers up and down her back, arm slung around her shoulders as his hand caresses her skin and traces thoughtless patterns, and she’s so fucking overstimulated, between him and this dress and the droning conversation that she has to excuse herself, pushing her chair away from the table with a breathless huff and explaining she’ll return shortly, grabbing her tiny clutch.

Anakin is surprised by how quickly she gets up, squinting as she heads towards the closest exit.

Anakin waits until the second item of the evening is being raffled off, a rare jade vase. It’s had only been a few minutes, but her sudden departure had been… odd. Aurelie loves auctions, even if she doesn’t buy anything, just because she loves to look, loves beauty and art, and Anakin loves to see her happy. It’s unlike her, and given her earlier shifting, he wonders if she’s okay. Maybe she ate something weird? He doesn’t bother excusing himself before slinking away, careful to avoid waiters with snack and drink trays. In the hallway, he can feel Aurelie, and he follows it, the same warm thread that led him to her in the first place, until he finds himself in front of a bathroom door.

Anakin knocks and is planning on waiting patiently, but he can hear her sniffling and he manages to shove it open after a beat, only to find her crying softly as she tries to smooth down the puffy tulle of her dress.

“It’s—it’s ruined,” she cries shaking her head as fat tears roll down her cheeks. He tilts his head curiously before squinting at the tiny zipper pull sitting on the counter. “I—I—it’s—“ Anakin folds her into his chest and sighs, shushing her softly as she cries into his chest. There will be makeup stains that will be nearly impossible to get out later, he knows, but the only thing that matters is Aurelie, hiccuping about how much she’d liked  her dress, how it had taken her forever to get into, how it was so fucking expensive and now it’s —

“Hey, hey,” he murmurs softly, brushing her hair out of her face as he cups her cheeks. “It’s not ruined, okay? We’ll get it fixed.”

“But—”

“Hey, just breathe,” he murmurs, thumb stroking her cheek as he tilts her head to look up at him. Her eyes are rimmed in tears, eyelashes wet and clumped as she blinks slowly. Her glossy lips part as she tries to breathe, chest heaving with the effort. Anakin makes short work of gripping the backs of her thighs, sighing as he helps her onto the counter of the sink so they’re a little closer to eye level. “Hey.”

“Hi,” she mumbles, pressing her forehead against his, sinking as he rubs her back comfortingly.

“You really do look beautiful,” Anakin murmurs as he captures her lips in a kiss, her hands gripping his forearms, her long nails digging into him. “Can I do anything to make you feel better?”

Anakin feels like he’s floating, spinning out somewhere very far, far away, when Aurelie kisses him like this, when she winds her arms around his neck and traces his teeth with her tongue and pants into his mouth. She’s spun sugar and vanilla and so terribly rich and sweet, lips still salty from her tears but sticky from her gloss.

He pulls the straps of her dress down as he sucks a bite into her neck, Aurelie panting softly into his ear, begging.

“We can’t do this here, Ani,” she laughs, but Anakin, who’s already too far gone, has other plans.

“I wanna do bad things to you,” he murmurs, hands gripping her waist, so tiny that his fingers over lap, feeling how hot her skin is through the fabric. Aurelie moans appreciatively, blushing as she meets his intense gaze. “Just be quiet, baby.”

Anakin is on his knees before Aurelie can even formulate the thought, why, ducking underneath the folds of her dress. When she looks down she can only see his dress boots, laces undone (always). Aurelie’s face burns as she glances at the door, which remains unlocked after Anakin’s earlier breach.

“Ani,” she hisses, trying to tug at his shoulder, but she can’t, hands slipping on the petals and sequins, breath catching as he begins to slowly kiss up her warm thighs. “The door—”

“That’s why you have to be quiet,” he replies, teeth sinking into her inner left thigh, drawing out a startled moan. “That’s not very quiet, baby.”

“We’re at a party,” Aurelie whimpers, arching her back at the feel of Anakin’s cool breath on her clit. He blows again and she kicks out her leg, trying desperately to not draw any attention to them.

Anakin is in heaven, surrounded by the scent of her lotions and body oils, her tawny skin so decadent and rich and smooth for him. All for him. All his. Makes him feel like he’s held his breath for too long.)

“You didn’t wear any underwear,” Anakin points out mockingly, his palms pressing her thighs apart for him.

Aurelie is a rose. A beautiful summer rose in full bloom. She’s dripping. And she just expects him to ignore that? Anakin rolls his eyes as he licks her thighs clean, kisses the freckles.

“Almost like you wanted me to do this,” he hums. Aurelie huffs in response, her hands slamming onto the counter as she struggles to not slide off. “Stay still.”

“But you’re—“ Aurelie doesn’t get to finish her sentence, because Anakin takes it upon himself to press his face to warm cunt, can’t get enough, knows it’s stupid but wonders if maybe he can bottle it or something, wants Aurelie with him always.

“So sweet,” the knight sighed, blissful as her thighs press against his ears, slick with his spit. “So warm. So wet, baby. Someone ought to do something about this,” he whispers, tugging her closer to the edge of the sink as he continues to kneel, mouth watering at the sight.

“Ani, please,” she begs, crossing her legs around him, trapping him against her body. She’s like a fucking painting, folds glistening as he parts them with the pads of his finger tips. “Please.”

“Can’t believe you left the house like that, baby. What would people say?” he replies, kissing her mound, tugging the sensitive skin in between his teeth as she whimpers above him. “We’ll talk about that later.”

Aurelie’s back stiffens when she hears people in the hall, her hands patting Anakin’s back hurriedly, trying to get him to realize the very real risk of someone stumbling upon them. But Anakin is in no rush, and, only spurred on by her desperation, he grips her ass, nails digging into the soft flesh as he lapped at Aurelie’s sopping cunt, burying his face between her thighs, nose against her clit as he eats his favorite treat.

“Ani,” Aurelie pleads, his name a prayer on his lips. For someone so concerned with the possibility of being caught, she makes no move to push Anakin away, making him smirk against her skin, wishing he could see her, but he’s seen it a thousand times, knows the way her chest heaves and her breasts shake, how her little cinnamon kiss nipples stand at rapture attention, waiting for him, how she whines when she’s close. “Ani, please.”

He shushes her, pulling two fingers out of his mouth with an obscene pop before finding her cream slick hole and curling them up. Her moans are muffled as he continues, lips wrapping around her clit as he pumps his hand.

“So—so—fuck,” she hisses, her legs dangled over his shoulder, the sweetest mewls and pants leaving her as he works her open. “I-I n-need, I—,” she begs, hands slipping on the counter beneath her as she struggles to stay up right.

“Poor baby,” Anakin teases, blowing on her clit again, watching the swollen bud peek out at him through her drenched folds. “‘S the matter?” Anakin asks. He wants her, wants her so fucking badly right fucking now, wants to flip her around and rip this fucking dress off and slide home into her perfect, sweet pussy, but there’s no time for that now. And he doesn’t trust her to keep it down, anyway. Anakin rests his cheek against her thigh before swiping a thumb over her clit before adding a third finger, his free hand placing a firm hand on the small of her back to keep her still.

He loved watching her fall apart for him.

“My girl’s so fucking tight,” he coos, laughing as she clenches pathetically around his fingers, watching as her slick starts to drip down his hand. “Gonna stretch you good,” he whispers, “make sure you can take me later. Do you think you can, baby? Think it’ll fit?”

Aurelie cries his name into the palm of her hand, trying so desperately not to scream as he continued, his words only pushing her further to the edge. She bucks against him in earnest, riding his hand, fingers squelching as he draws them in and out of her hole.

“That’s right, c’mon baby,” he praises, rocking back on his knees for a beat, until Aurelie spills on his hand, a puddle in his palm as he helps her ride out the rest of her high.

A few moment later, the rustle of fabric reveals a panting, breathless Aurelie looking down at him, hair free from its pins, cheeks sweaty and pink, her brown eyes thin rings around large black pupils. In the soft dim light of the bathroom, she’s the perfect picture of debauchery.

“You’re impossible,” Aurelie mumbles amused, biting her bottom lip as she took him in. What would people say if they saw Master Skywalker on his knees like this, his damp blonde hair starting to curl with sweat, looking up at her under his furrowed brows and eyelashes?

Anakin only wipes the back of his hand across his mouth messily in response.