When Padmé shifted to look at him, her smile beaming like a beacon, he responded in kind with his own wider grin. Which he tried to still, unsuccessfully, and let’s face it, as if he truly cared to, as he teased, “I’m not sure if I should move into your bedroom, I haven’t the slightest idea how you feel about me. You’ll have to be more detailed.” He couldn’t deny that he loved hearing Padmé say such things, they were exhilarating, tantalizing in a way that not even flying could approach. Forbidden words for so long, he treasured them, every syllable; even though they were now free to say them any damn time, any damn place they pleased.
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makebelievelog,