as now devotion will unfold (star wars | padmé/sabé)

[fiachairecht]

star wars prequels, padmé/sabé. on distractions, rewards, and the technicalities of padmé's dresses. 2.7k words, rated e. for lionessvalenti in smutswap 2018.

The Senator from Serenno is forty-five minutes into his speech on soil quality when Padmé feels Sabé's arms slip around her waist.

"Sabé," she hisses, subtly checking that her pod's microphones are disabled as her friend's clever fingers make their way to one of the multiple hidden pockets sewn into her ornate gown with clear intent. "What are you doing?"

"You warned me not to let you fall asleep," Sabé murmurs, and despite her words Padmé has to suppress a shiver because the sensation of Sabé's breath ghosting across her bare neck is the first thing that's made her feel alive all day. "I'm helping."

"Help—" Padmé bites her lip on a sigh as Sabé's fingertips brush bare skin. "This wasn't entirely what I had in mind."

She can feel the curve of Sabé's smile against the back of her neck. "I have pinched your arm six times in the past five minutes, Senator," she says, though there is no mistaking the fondness in her tone as her nails scrape lightly across Padmé's stomach. "A handmaiden must always be ... innovative in her service."

Padmé has benefited from Sabé's inventiveness before, in beds and bathtubs and one very memorable summer night on a camp mattress in the woods that had left Rabé unable to look either of them in the eye for a week. But the Senate chambers was new.

She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath and tries to focus — and the chemical report that the Committee demanded we send offworld for verification was delayed by two standard months! The sheer — as Sabé, picking up on the reluctance underlying Padmé's silence, slips her hands free and moves to re-settle herself at Padmé's side.

Padmé is unprepared for the pang of loss that shoots through her in the brief moments before Sabé's hand is back in her lap, pressing subtly against her under the table. It coils around the arousal already building in the pit of her stomach, merges into a light, aching want that races over her skin and leaves her very, very much awake.

"We don't have to, Milady," Sabé leans in to whisper. She's the picture of decorum, an aide passing on private information to her Senator, until she tilts her head just enough that the fall of her hair hides her teeth closing gently over Padmé's earlobe from view, and Padmé can't stifle a gasp. "But when will the Senate chambers ever be this empty again?"

Padmé thinks about saying that that's exactly why they shouldn't, that she has a responsibility to the Outer Rim worlds that too few Senators care about. But she also thinks about the video recording that will be available when today's session closes, about the past week of sleepless nights illuminated by the grim glow of holopads that all seem to say war while Sabé dozes fitfully pressed into her side.

About the fact that she is already, undeniably, wet.

The pods to either side and directly above them are empty. Sabé's hands are still in her lap, perfectly behaved on top of the fine silks of her dress, but Padmé can feel the memory of her hands all over across her flushed skin. She glances once more over the chamber — we have given to this galaxy with the advancement of our science even more so than of our foodstuffs, and the absolute indignity — and presses down on the guilt.

She's here. She knows where the galaxy is headed. And Sabé knows her body and mind almost better than Padmé does after all these years, knows what she needs to lift the suffocating fog of boredom and let her do her job.

Padmé licks her lips and whispers, "Please."

She glances to the side just long enough to see the wicked, delighted spark in Sabé's eyes as she grins just a fraction too wide and slips her hand back into Padmé's pocket.

"Thank you, Milady," Sabé says, and Padmé almost replies, almost says something about how she should be the one thanking her friend, but then Sabé is cupping her mound through her underthings, giving a nearly silent groan of anticipation as she finds out how eager Padmé's body is for this, and all of Padmé's awareness condenses down into the white-hot pressure of Sabé's fingers against her cunt and the knowledge that she can't make a sound.

She has plenty of practise keeping quiet, they both do — there is only so loud one can be on a royal cruiser or in a heavily guarded palace. But there's never been quite so much at stake, and the though thrills through Padmé in a way she never would have expected.

"How long have you been thinking about this?" she asks breathlessly as Sabé rubs circles too firm to be teasing but too light to be truly effective against her underthings. She knows how to tease too well, Padmé reflects ruefully, sliding down just a fraction in her seat so she can spread her legs wider.

Sabé makes a noncommittal sound, and when Padmé glances over out of the corner of her eye she can see that Sabé isn't even looking at her. Unfair. "Of doing this?" She pinches Padmé's clit through the fabric, and Padmé's hand flies to her mouth as she bites down on her fingers to avoid making a sound. "Since the last time you didn't bring Senate transcripts into bed with us. Of doing this in the Senate?" One of her fingers has slipped under Padmé's underthings, and at the touch of her cool hand against her overheated cunt, Padmé's vision blurs with pleasure. "About ten minutes."

"You're—" Padmé breaks off, not trusting herself to keep her voice down if she continues trying to talk. Instead she grabs one of the holopads from her desk, brings it up to try to hide her flaming cheeks, thanking every star she knew that today's meeting was small enough that only the centre camera for the speaker would be on. She's sure her blush must nearly match her dress at this point.

"Yes, me," Sabé confirms, and Padmé can her the smirk in her voice as a second finger joins the first, stroking over her swollen lower lips. There's no way for her to get her fingers inside Padmé like this, not and remain undetected, but they'd discovered early on that she doesn't need to in order to get Padmé to come so hard she sees stars.

Padmé bites her lips, her tongue, her fingers as Sabé's knowing fingers dance over her and her aching cunt clenches around nothing, and they've played each other so many times but there's nothing she can do here to properly mimic the feel, the taste of Sabé under her mouth.

Soon, she thinks, and not even the Senator — and if we are asked again and again and again by this Senate to prove our worth, to prove that — can take that anticipation from her; soon, she thinks as Sabé continues to tease, stroking with the delighted ease of long familiarity, until all at once it's far too much to bear.

Sabé makes a soft noise of surprise as Padmé comes, a soft flood of warmth that takes them both by surprise with its speed and intensity, flattens her hand against Padmé's cunt and feels the aftershocks ripple through her. "Shame," she sighs, "I'd hoped that would keep you occupied the rest of this session."

She rests her head on Padmé's shoulder as, against her better judgment, Padmé carefully slips her hand into the matching pocket on the other side of her gown so her fingertips can brush Sabé's. She grimaces slightly at the mess Sabé has helped her make of her underwear — she doesn't precisely relish the thought of sitting through the rest of the session like that. "When," she says, and her voice is shaking with desire and a thin thread of fear that only makes her more determined to speak, "when have you ever stopped after just one?"

Sabé's fingers press over hers, slick and hot, and Padmé gives up on listening to the rest of the speech.

It is, if nothing else, a convenient distraction from her ruined underwear.

**

They make it back to Padmé's apartments with only minor impropriety: Padmé's sleeves pulled down far enough to hide the perfect crescent moons Sabé's nails have left in her wrists, Sabé's hands only somewhat lower on her back than a bodyguard's should be. But no matter how many half-remembered figures of Serenno's agricultural exports Padmé recites to herself as they try not to look like they're hurrying though the halls, she still feels like she's about to vibrate out of her skin by the time Sabé uses her height advantage to box Padmé in against the front door and capture her lips in a belated, scorching kiss.

Padmé reaches up to twine her arms around Sabé's neck, pressing so close she feels as though she could slip right under Sabé's skin, like there might not be any distance or difference between them ever again.

The thought, as it always does, sets her head to spinning, and she goes pliant in Sabé's arms, opening her mouth obediently as Sabé deepens the kiss. She tastes of the Nubian tea they were drinking before the Senate session started, like home, and as Padmé sucks contentedly at Sabé's bottom lip, she thinks for a brief wild moment that she would be happy to let the galaxy keep spinning outside and never move again.

But too soon Sabé moves away to breathe, and Padmé sinks back against the door, agriculture well and truly fled from her mind. "Thank you," she says, and while their time in the Senate chambers had certainly given her much to think about, it's a relief to hear her own voice again.

Sabé's grin is just a little too thankful for the praise to be truly cocky. "I serve at milday's pleasure," she says, and there's just a hint of a question in the words. Her fingers trace, bedroom? across Padmé's wrist, an old signal but one neither will ever forget, and Padmé looks down thoughtfully, remembering where those fingers had been not half an hour before.

"No," she says, and the disappointment hardly has time to flicker across Sabé's face before she continues, "You did very well keeping me awake through that meeting, Sabé. I think you deserve a reward ... Your Highness."

Sabé had been the picture of perfect professionalism in the Senate, hardly even smiling as Padmé came all over her hand for the third time. And yet the title undoes her completely, as it always does, and Padmé watches her eyes grow wide and dark as she lifts Sabé's now-dry hand to her mouth and sucks gently at her fingertips. "Where do you wish us to go, my queen?"

Sabé swallows hard, her free hand skating up and down Padmé's thigh, the heat of her gaze as she looks Padmé up and down like something physical, like summer nights naked in the bedsheets and the burn of sweet brandy. "I think," she says slowly, "that we could both use a bath."

It's her Amidala voice, the one Padmé taught her, the one that once commanded armies and errant governors, the one that, even now when they only use it for play, never fails to make Padmé want to do anything she asks, unquestioningly. "Well then," she says, and this time she doesn't have to suppress her shiver of anticipation at all, "lead on, Your Highness."

Sabé does, though not before tangling her fingers with Padmé's, so Padmé has no choice but to walk right next to her, pressed so tightly against Sabé's side that the temptation to kiss her again is almost too much to ignore.

But she will. She'll behave for her queen, like she didn't behave in the Senate chambers, no matter how much she aches to touch, to feel, to hear.

Sabé only lets her hand go when they reach the 'fresher, when she needs two hands to unfasten her dress. It's not as complicated as the Amidala garb, or even Padmé's senatorial gowns, but she still uses two hands for the buttons, as she orders, "Start the bath, Padmé."

It's different now, a true order rather than the questions she had posed in the Senate chambers, and arousal floods Padmé again, forcing her to press her thighs together for a brief moment in search of friction before moving to obey.

The cold of the floor and the business of choosing soaps keep her focussed  enough to start the bath, but her hand shakes as she spills in the floral soap, so that the scented cloud that rises with the steam is nearly overwhelming. Sabé doesn't say anything, but Padmé imagines she can feel the slight disappointment radiating off her from the other side of the tub.

"Padmé," she finally says, and Padmé scrambles to her feet, nearly slipping on the tile as she goes to her. Sabé is entirely naked now, her hair freed, and Padmé's breath catches in her throat at the sight of her, lean and tan with her nipples pink and taut and the dark hair at the apex of her thighs perfectly curled. Padmé wants to touch her everywhere, wants to wrap her lips around Sabé's nipples and lick into her cunt and feel her fall apart, to give her back some of the pleasure that she always gives so happily.

Sometimes she still can't believe that Sabé is still with her, that she gets to do this, whenever her duties allow.

"Oh, Padmé." Sabé opens her arms, and Padmé steps into her hug, feeling the tension drain from her body as Sabé runs her hands through her hair, finding all the hidden pins with ease. Padmé chains kisses almost absently across Sabé's collarbone as her hair comes down piece by piece, letting her eyes drift shut as Sabé's hands run through her hair again and again, a touch hovering perfectly on the line between soothing and arousing.

Padmé whines when Sabé steps back just slightly, but then Sabé moves one hand to her chin, tilts her face up to kiss her again, and Padmé relaxes into the warmth of Sabé's lips, her kiss as warm and familiar as her hug.

"Did you like what we did in the Senate today, Padmé?" she asks when they part, and Padmé swallows hard, all thoughts of soothing quickly abandoned.

"Yes, Your Highness," she says, and she's proud of how little her voice trembles.

"I think," Sabé says, and, oh, she may still know the Amidala voice, but there's an unsteadiness to it now that makes Padmé's knees weak, "that you should show me how thankful you are. Undress for me, Padmé."

It's hard with shaking hands, harder than it should be even with the number of clasps and buttons, but Sabé offers no help now, just sits on the edge of the still-filling tub and watches hungrily as each piece of Padmé's clothing falls away.

On a different night, Padmé might have made a joke about how Sabé's favourite part of this game must just be not having to deal with taking off Padmé's intricate gowns anymore. Tonight, though, she simply folds the important pieces, kicks her ruined underwear into a corner for a housekeeping droid to deal with later, and lets Sabé help her into the bath.

She takes a breath and sinks below the water as Sabé follows her into the tub, lets the small waves flow over her skin, and it's the best thing she's ever felt in her life until it's replaced by the sensation of Sabé's naked body pressed against her own, and that, oh, that is the only thing Padmé wants to feel ever again.

Padmé surfaces to find that Sabé's nestled between her legs, her back pressed against Padmé's chest, and Padmé luxuriates in the freedom to finally run her hands over Sabeé's breasts, down her stomach, to trace up and down her slit with the lightest of touches. 

"Thank you for today, my queen," she whispers, circling Sabé's clit in an eager echo of what her friend had done earlier, She kisses the back of her neck as Sabé moans, the sound echoing through the room as she tries to push her hips harder into Padmé's hand, and the knowledge that Sabé is so pleased goes straight to Padmé's core.  "I truly don't know what I would do without you."

Fortunately, Padmé thinks, as Sabé relaxes back into her embrace, as she teases Sabé's nipples into tighter and tighter peaks standing proudly above the rose-scented water, she won't have to find out.