“But Padmé…” he drew out the last vowel of her name. However, he was hardly putting forth all his effort to contradict her. He caved, giving Padmé the satisfaction of winning the argument, even if there never was a real distinction of sides in the first place. He closed his eyes and nuzzled her shoulder again. A soft groan of mock defeat escaped him. “Fine, it’s more than a body.” But not above delivering one last devastating underhanded blow before he conceded to a cease fire, he continued, “It, and the life that lives in it, are, and have always been, yours.”
He pulled back then, though he didn’t stand up. He was waiting for Padmé to direct him, as, of course, he was now her political prisoner who had surrendered.
“Under the covers? Yes,” he nodded, “I imagine we can find ways to make it warm. We could try drawing the curtains around the bed. Or you could try holding me close?”