Sitting on the rocks outside the back entrance to the palace as the sun set, knowing it was the last sunset on Naboo she’d see in a long time, she felt the first traces of nostalgia. She knew she’d miss Naboo. She’d live all her life here, much of it here in Theed. She’d seen images of Coruscant, and knew it was a place full of buildings on top of buildings, to the point that everyone lived miles above the ground. She’d had images in her head of looking down off the edges of parking lots and seeing nothing but air below her, but apparently it wasn’t quite like that.
But anyway, Ellé knew she’d miss the more beautiful lands of Naboo, and she knew she’d miss Theed. She’d miss the palace too, where she’d happily lived for half a year with...Meklé. Oldest of the handmaidens at eighteen, though still a year younger than Ellé herself.
Meklé, who had come out of the palace and was standing there, staring at her lover; Ellé could tell this, and that it was her, even though she had her hood up.
It wasn’t as if they’d never see each other again, exactly. Senator Amidala often paid visits to Naboo. But there had been less of them in the recent months; there were rumors that disturbing things were in the works on Coruscant, requiring her to stay there constantly just to hold them at bay.
Ellé rose, wishing Meklé would take her hood down. Then she could go to her, kiss her, be with her. Instead she felt herself forced to keep her distance, hold back her sudden tears.
“Your new traveling robes have arrived,” Meklé finally announced. “They’re in our room.”
Reminded of her new happiness, Ellé hurried up the steps, nearly tripping over her skirts. But she noticed Meklé glance away as she passed her, and felt her excitement drain out of her.
“Come in with me,” she said softly. “Please.”
They were face to face again, and now she was close enough that Ellé could see Meklé’s face despite the hood. She was trying to keep her eyes down, not look at Ellé. Without a word, she turned and walked inside, Ellé following.
Halfway down the hall, they passed another handmaiden, Roshaé, her hood down. As she passed, she murmured a “Congratulations, Ellé.”
“Thanks,” she replied, without feeling.
Meklé had laid the new clothes out carefully on the bed: a deep purple dress framed by dark grey cloak much like the one Meklé was wearing. “Try it on,” she suggested.
Ellé undressed mechanically, something she’d never done in front of Meklé. Nor did Meklé react. What had happened to the Meklé who had laid Ellé down by a riverbank and blushed as she pulled at the other girl’s buttons?
Some of the delight came back as she slid the soft fabric of the purple dress over her head and onto her body. She looked in the mirror as she tied the sash about her waist, and her reflection made her feel proud.
In the mirror, she also saw Meklé take up the cloak, and heard her say, “I’d better put this on you; it’s harder to get on than you might think.” Or off, to the point that Meklé typically removed her own by herself before meeting with Ellé in the evenings.
She expertly twisted parts of the cloak around Ellé’s arms and neck, and hooked together parts of the cloak where Ellé would never have thought it was needed. “It’ll become second nature for you to do this eventually,” she said to Ellé.
And then, there she was, cloaked and hooded, three feet from the mirror and she could barely see her face.
But behind her Meklé’s hood had fallen down, exposing a hardened face stained with tears.
Yanking at her hood, which suddenly seemed to be strangling her, Ellé whirled around and seized Meklé’s face in her hands, and kissed her ferociously, shoving her tongue past the other girl’s teeth and pulling at the bands that held her hair back.
Meklé kissed her back, slipped her hands through the cloth around Ellé’s neck and freed her from it. Her hands yanked at the hooks she had so carefully put into place mere minutes ago, until the cloak fell to the floor.
They come up for air, Ellé hastily looking for any sign of refusal from Meklé. But her lover was already undoing her own cloak and throwing it down to land on top of Ellé’s.
They removed their own dresses, dropping them and leaving them where they fell. Their hands moved to unpin each other’s hair. Long jet-black strands intertwined with long jet-black strands as two handmaidens climbed back onto their bed, one on top of the other.
Ellé’s head brushed up against the pillow as Meklé pushed her down and out of her chemise and leggings. She reached up and tried to get her lover’s off, but Meklé didn’t give her time before sliding her hand along Ellé’s thigh, brushing her fingers against her hips, causing Ellé to lose her grip as she squirmed.
“Please, Meklé,” Ellé pleaded, “no games tonight. I can’t...”
“Neither can I,” the other girl admitted, and then she was pressing herself down on top of Ellé, and Ellé could slide her hands under cloth, cup Meklé’s ass and make her sigh, then groan herself as Meklé sucked and nibbled on her collarbone. Her hands were moving upward, mapping out Ellé’s body as they went, then both hands and mouth were attacking her breasts at once.
Ellé’s nails sunk into the small of Meklé’s back as the overload of sensation sent her writhing. She guided one of her legs up, felt wet cloth between Meklé’s legs, moved one of her hands down, and slid her fingers into sweet, warm flesh.
Meklé pulled away and cried out, and Ellé took advantage of this to move her head and hands down, until she had the leggings pulled down just enough to open Meklé up with her fingers and eagerly press her tongue in.
“Ellé...” Meklé whimpered her name, then could do nothing but moan as Ellé’s fingers and tongue pressed harder and harder. Closing her eyes, Ellé immersed herself in heat and wetness, Meklé’s keening cries in her ears and the hard press of flesh against her jaw as Meklé bucked above her, then thrashed, then went limp.
Then Ellé heard her name murmured again and felt Meklé slide down her body, the friction of her driving heat through Ellé’s skin, increasing the ache in her loins until she moaned softly with need. She opened her eyes just in time to meet her lover’s for a moment before Meklé clamped her mouth down on Ellé’s and slid her hand down to where Ellé eagerly thrust to meet her, Meklé’s fingers filling her, pushing in and out and she tore her mouth away from Meklé’s to try to beg for more but she couldn’t manage the words, and she was so close the press of a thumb to her clit brought her to crying out her orgasm.
“My Ellé, mine, still mine now...” Ellé gasped out an affirmation and kissed Meklé again, running her hands through her hair, memorizing the feel of it.
The bed sagged as Meklé lay herself down upon it, Ellé pulling herself up to lie alongside her. For a few moments more they just stared at each other as their breathing evened.
“Your family would never have been pleased at us marrying,” Ellé commented when it was that or think. “With me you’d have neither children nor connections.”
“I would have told them what I thought of that,” replied Meklé. “Of course handmaidens aren’t encouraged to marry, at least not to men, because they can get you pregnant, but even with us...we’re both committed to our mistresses-different mistresses.”
And to that, Ellé knew, there was nothing which could be said, or further which could be done besides wait until morning.