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TITLE: Dreams Pass, But Not Mine
RATING: NC-17, to be safe
TYPE: Angst, some smut, het and slash
WARNINGS: Some Het (sorry)
SUMMARY: Anakin dreams on Naboo. What was his nightmare?
FEEDBACK: To Please! Good, bad, send it all on.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters or places-- George Lucas does. I didn't get any moolah from writing this.
NOTES: Thanks to Silk1023 for the plot bunny idea, which is the Anakin/nipple/dream scene on Naboo. And thanks for her beta! Also, I typed it in Word, and had all sorts of lovely formatting (italics, indentation) that was destroyed upon conversion to .txt. ::Sigh:: Hopefully everyone will still be able to understand what was happening.


*Dreams pass, in time*

Not all dreams, thought Anakin Skywalker. Not mine.

Anakin lay on the bed, covered lightly in a silky sheet, enjoying the cool, humid night breezes that sighed through the open window. It was one of the most sumptuous beds he'd ever been given to sleep in. Still, he couldn't sleep. Too much was happening, too fast.

One of the things happening to him was Padme. He could sense her, in her own chambers not far away, curled on the bed in a dreamless half-sleep.

*Your senses are not that attuned, my young apprentice.*

On the contrary, where Padme was concerned, Anakin's senses were much too attuned. Seeing her again, a few days ago, had ripped apart the tiny, ordered space he'd managed to create in his mind. The tiny, ordered space where there was only the Force, and his purpose, and no Obi-Wan, no mother to disturb his thoughts. The place where he could retreat, and often had over the last few years, as the darkness in his soul grew.

He'd almost convinced himself that everything was fine. The nightmares were a fluke. That his mother wasn't dying, that he could live with his feelings for his master.

Then came the call to protect the Senator from Naboo. Then came seeing her again. Speaking to her. Being with her. His self-control, or the delusion of his self-control, had been seized by his brain, held up to the light and laughed at.

The nightmares had grown. They had changed.

Jedi don't have nightmares, thought Anakin. Jedi dreamed, sometimes, like everyone else. The dreams were usually mild-- amalgamations of bits of trivia, the past, the present-- that could sometimes be interpreted and sometimes not. Jedi were encouraged to meditate to keep the dreams away. Meditation allowed the Force to unlock the subconscious, to clear out the trash, the unnecessary memories. It allowed the brain to focus, and sometimes it cleared the way for a Jedi to see possible futures.

Obi-Wan sometimes admitted to having these visions of the future. Anakin didn't have them. He was too emotionally connected to the past, and the present. And right now, the present was filled with Naboo, its peace, and with Padme.

*Be careful, Anakin. Remember, you've made a commitment to the Jedi Order. A commitment not easily broken.*

He envied Obi-Wan's strength. Not his physical strength, which Anakin had since surpassed. But his strength of purpose. If Obi-Wan was ever plagued by emotions-- and he was, sometimes, Anakin knew-it didn't affect his direction, his knowledge of who he was and his place in the universe. His duty.

Forget duty. Forget commitment. Right now, Anakin was going to dream about Padme.

He stretched out, luxuriating in the bed, the softness of the sheets and mattress that cradled his limbs. He relaxed his senses into the Force, as much as he could, sent them radiating from his naked body on the bed. Through the room, through the lakes outside, through the dark, cool hallways of Padme's lodge. To Padme herself. She slept, fitfully, tossing on the bed. He imagined himself lying by her side, curling himself around her soft femininity, breathing in the scent of flowers from her hair, comforting her.

Anakin slept.


Padme rolled over and sighed into his arms, laying her head on his shoulder. Her breath was sweet on his face. Anakin, she whispered, Your skin is so warm. I would sleep better if only I could lay my head on your chest, like this, and she did. Anakin smiled and lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, fingers tangled in the silky strands of her dark hair.

Oh, Anakin, she said, that feels so nice. But I'm still so cold. I'd be so much more comfortable if only I could lay on top of you like this, and she did. Her warm curves molded to his, snug and soothing. And yet her arms, legs, throat, every single inch of bare skin that touched his, unhindered by her nightgown, burned into his, searing him, making him crazy with desire.

Padme felt it, too. Anakin, you're burning me, she said, I need the heat. I need your heat. She brought his hands up her sides, pulling the thin, soft material of her nightgown with them, sliding his palms over the swell of her hips, down into the curve of her waist, up, over her small, perfect breasts, then raising her arms so he could pull the jealous cloth away, so he could have all of her to himself. This can be our secret, she whispered, and kissed him.

Anakin could taste fruit on her lips, on her tongue. Her nipples brushed over his chest, imprinting him, branding him. He was hard already, throbbing, pulsing with desire. Padme shifted her slim hips to allow his hardness between her thighs. Her lips pulled away from his, slowly, and she sat up.

Oh, Anakin, she said, I can feel how you want me. I want you, too. No one has to know. She arched her back, allowing him inside, and he was drowning in her, in her heat, her hands were pressing his stomach--

Obi-Wan! he cried out, and suddenly it was Obi-Wan there, laying by Anakin's side, his cool, strong, square hand caressing Anakin's belly, soothing his feverish skin.

Anakin, you've not been sleeping well, his master murmured, the deep, familiar tones of his voice bathing Anakin with concern and love. I worry about you, my padawan.

Master, it hurts, Anakin moaned.

I know it does, young one, Obi-Wan comforted. I hate to see you in pain. How can I ease your pain, my Anakin?

You can love me, Master, Anakin said.

Of course, Anakin, I already do, said Obi-Wan with a warm laugh that caressed, permeated Anakin with its honesty. Obi-Wan's hand slid down, to brush Anakin's hardness, then to envelop it. Anakin cried out, jolted by pain, consumed by a long-hidden desire. He had never wanted Padme, or anything else. This moment, this was truth, and all was washed away by his master's firm, loving touch, the only thing Anakin had ever needed. Obi-Wan bent his head to Anakin's chest, his lips brushing against his heart. The fine hairs of his beard rubbed into Anakin's belly, sending tiny pinpricks of desire coursing throughout him. Obi-Wan continued to stroke his throbbing shaft, all the while whispering words of comfort with hot breath into Anakin's skin. All I want is to ease your suffering, my Anakin, he said, but no one can know. They won't understand, and they will stop me, and do you want me to stop?

No! Anakin cried, every stroke of his master's hand edging him closer and closer to oblivion.

Then I will never leave you, Anakin, Obi-Wan said, and covered Anakin with the wet heat of his mouth, and Anakin climaxed and screamed--

And Obi-Wan was gone. Anakin opened his eyes, chest heaving. No! he screamed, at what he saw.

His mother hung from the ceiling over the bed, strung up like a puppet. Her clothing and skin were scratched and torn, purple bruises growing and swelling, branding her once tanned face and arms. Shmi's head rolled, back and forth across her broken shoulders, and mad, hoarse giggles erupted from her torn vocal cords.

I'll die soon, she said, and I'll never get to see my Ani again. My son. I'll die, and I won't get to see him, because he hasn't come back-

NO! Anakin cried. Mom! No!

Her strings were cut by an unseen hand, and Shmi's broken body plummeted. No! Anakin yelled, anguished, and sat up, trying to catch her--

Anakin woke.


His body was bathed in sweat, but he shivered. The fragments of the nightmare drifted away, as Anakin became aware of his surroundings, the calmness of the lodge, of Padme in her room. But still he shivered. He was alone, this time. Padme would not understand. Padme would be afraid.

He felt a brief stab of anger at his master. Obi-Wan should be there, to comfort him after the nightmare, like he always did. To come into his room, and sit with him, quietly, asking no questions, his blue eyes offering comfort. Why was Obi-Wan gone? Why wasn't he there when Anakin needed him?

But Obi-Wan was not there, this time. Not there to hold him, or to hold him back. To stop him from finding his mother.

Anakin would not sleep again tonight. He drew on his trousers and undershirt, and walked out to the balcony to wait for the sunrise, and for what he had to tell Padme.


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