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He had thought her an angel the first time he had laid eyes upon her, but now having met angels, Anakin believed that Padmé was far more beautiful still. No one could compare to that lollapalooza of a woman, no matter their species.
And she was his.
It was a constant refrain, a reassurance that Anakin needed to give himself to hold himself together when they were apart, when they were near but separated by their duties, and even when, as now, they were together. He renewed that conviction as he held her against him, burying his head into her neck, pressing his lips against it as she threaded her fingers through his hair.
“Oh, Ani, I missed you,” she murmured softly.
“And I you,” he said, in between more kisses to her neck. “Every day without you I spend in agony, Padmé.”
She moved her fingers from his hair down his back, an answering balm to his professed pain.
“How long do you have before you ship out again?” she asked.
Anakin shifted, reluctantly pulling his head away.
“Do we have to talk about that right now?”
“Not long, then,” Padmé said. Her voice was even, but Anakin could feel the thread of bitterness behind it. Not aimed at him, but shared with him.
“Not so soon that we need it hanging over us right now,” he said. “There’s no war tonight, Padmé. Just us. Just our love.”
Padmé moved her hands again, bringing them to the front as she caught his tunic in her fingers.
“Take me to bed, Anakin.”
This was what they had, stolen moments and wild passions in too-brief nights, to satisfy the longing that ruled their hearts otherwise.
But someday, he would have more. More time with her, enough to finally quell the fear.