The way he looks at her -- she's never had anyone look at her quite that way before. Gazes filled with gratitude and adoration hadn't been uncommon when she was Queen, but never before had someone watched her so openly with such affection. Warmth filled her up inside and she was so utterly content with her life in that moment that it nearly took her breath away.
She turned her attention to her book just before he did, her concentration focusing on an examination of a religious site in the heart of Alderaan's capital. It was a beautiful temple she'd heard of from Breha, and her thoughts drifted to perhaps planning a trip soon for herself and Obi-Wan. After a few months back on Coruscant, they would undoubtedly need a little escape from the hustle of their daily lives.
That gentle kneading was relaxing, his very touch helping to chase away any tension her muscles held. Add in the exertions of their morning and how little rest she'd gotten and, well, not twenty minutes later Padmé was drifting off to sleep, datapad resting against her chest.
It takes a few moments for him to realize why Padmé is so relaxed against him; he glances over to confirm that she's asleep, resting peacefully this time. He hopes, even if it's a brief nap, that she can recover some of the rest she lost due to the previous night's nightmare. ...Not to mention other strenuous activities they'd engaged in already.
Walking. Walking could take a lot out of you, of course.
Inhaling deeply with utter contentment, Obi-Wan turns back to the book of tales, fascinated by the rich history glimpsed in the stories, if one is versed in recognizing such things. Which he is, thanks to his rather unique Jedi education. There seemed to be an awful lot of singing and dancing in the stories, which doesn't fit very well with his memories of first meeting the Gungan people - but then he recalls the celebration after the invasion was stopped; the last thing he'd wanted was to celebrate, but he dimly recalls seeing several Gungans performing jigs and great spinning dances.
The spirit of the stories catches up with him, and Obi-Wan begins humming, then eventually singing softly as his mind, caught up in the almost-musical cadence of words in the stories, supplies lyrics.
He's stopped kneading Padmé's leg, but continues to stroke it, almost as one would a cat. It's not sexual, just a simple, unconscious show of affection and intimacy.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
She turned her attention to her book just before he did, her concentration focusing on an examination of a religious site in the heart of Alderaan's capital. It was a beautiful temple she'd heard of from Breha, and her thoughts drifted to perhaps planning a trip soon for herself and Obi-Wan. After a few months back on Coruscant, they would undoubtedly need a little escape from the hustle of their daily lives.
That gentle kneading was relaxing, his very touch helping to chase away any tension her muscles held. Add in the exertions of their morning and how little rest she'd gotten and, well, not twenty minutes later Padmé was drifting off to sleep, datapad resting against her chest.
no subject
Walking. Walking could take a lot out of you, of course.
Inhaling deeply with utter contentment, Obi-Wan turns back to the book of tales, fascinated by the rich history glimpsed in the stories, if one is versed in recognizing such things. Which he is, thanks to his rather unique Jedi education. There seemed to be an awful lot of singing and dancing in the stories, which doesn't fit very well with his memories of first meeting the Gungan people - but then he recalls the celebration after the invasion was stopped; the last thing he'd wanted was to celebrate, but he dimly recalls seeing several Gungans performing jigs and great spinning dances.
The spirit of the stories catches up with him, and Obi-Wan begins humming, then eventually singing softly as his mind, caught up in the almost-musical cadence of words in the stories, supplies lyrics.
He's stopped kneading Padmé's leg, but continues to stroke it, almost as one would a cat. It's not sexual, just a simple, unconscious show of affection and intimacy.