[ It takes Claude a moment to take his cue but Anakin, for once, isn't worried. He's got the other man right there, right in front of him, and no matter what happens in the span of the next ten seconds, he'll be happier than he's been for years. All the same, when Claude finally steps into his arms, embracing him and putting himself as far into his personal space as he can possibly come without going past his physical body, Anakin breathes out slowly, a relief too complex to verbalize or understand spreading through him. Oh. Oh. He closes his eyes and folds his arms around Claude, pulling him in. Their height difference is impressive now and Claude's got his cheek pressed against his chest, right above the pacemaker, one of the implants he's had to preserve.
For some reason, it bothers him.
Without even thinking about it, he pulls Claude in and lifts him up, hugging him close to his body and leaving him to rest his bearded chin against his shoulder. Like that, he can tilt his head sideways and - yes. There. His. He presses his cheek to the side of Claude's face, the other man's beard tickling his skin. It takes no particular effort for him to hold him up - his arms are, by themselves, strong and his upperbody strength is still comfortably above average as a result of carrying around that ridiculous suit for two years.
[ As Anakin proceeds to pick him up, holding him close to his body, metal limbs unstraining under his weight, Claude remembers another time, getting carried by the buttocks all the way to the bedroom before they fucked the whole evening away. It feels like another lifetime. It doesn't feel foreign, just far away now - or maybe, at the heart of it all, not that far, after all. The memory is strong right now, he can almost smell them both in his nostrils. Their combined essences.
He huffs out a breathless exhale, half a laugh and tightens his arms around Anakin's neck as the other man lifts him up at a height where he's better able. He curves his fingers over the back of Anakin's head, fingertips scraping over skin grafts and scar tissue, sensitive to the notion that he might injure easily, careful with him, careful. His legs, he swings around his waist, to keep himself up.
Inhaling deeply a couple of times, he lets himself be held, holds the other man in turn, feeling both small and immensely full and happy, for the first time in years.
Anakin. Anakin, Anakin, Anakin, not all of you was lost, not all is lost...
Feeling the other man slide his lips over his cheek, he carefully turns his own face towards him, their noses bumping, lips sliding over each other for a brief, thrilling moment, though Claude doesn't push in, doesn't steal his breath, doesn't force himself on him, instead pressing their foreheads together and staring into his eyes. Blue, now. Blue.
[ His voice sounds wet, his breathing a little ragged. He can feel the other man's happiness and for a moment, as Claude presses his forehead to his and looks into his eyes, he isn't certain whose feelings belong to whom - it doesn't matter, either. Anakin loves him. He can feel that again, now, as clear as the sky above them. When he thought he'd died, he'd felt nothing for weeks on end, nothing except a seething, burning anger at the universe, at everything and everyone. At himself, more so than anyone else.
Later, there'd been emptiness.
And this, then, is after. ]
I'm glad to be. You don't know how much.
[ He doesn't lean away, looking back at Claude, feeling him pressed up against his front, all hardness and heat. It makes him think about what they come from, about Paris, about standing amidst the packed crowd wearing next to nothing, watching Claude make a speech and thinking about revolutions, about a world that could be something better. The other man has taught him to imagine an existence like that, not just the fight that'll eventually lead there but the end result, too. The part that entails living.
Perhaps, he thinks, there really might be something on the other side for them, too. Even with all his limitations, even with the odds stacked much too high against them and the darkness closing in.
Right now, whilst holding and being held, it seems possible. ]
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no subject
For some reason, it bothers him.
Without even thinking about it, he pulls Claude in and lifts him up, hugging him close to his body and leaving him to rest his bearded chin against his shoulder. Like that, he can tilt his head sideways and - yes. There. His. He presses his cheek to the side of Claude's face, the other man's beard tickling his skin. It takes no particular effort for him to hold him up - his arms are, by themselves, strong and his upperbody strength is still comfortably above average as a result of carrying around that ridiculous suit for two years.
He opens his eyes, wisps of Claude's hair falling into his face. Through them, he sees Sabé staring at them, her face expressionless. He glares right back at her, eyes narrowing to slits for a second, and his arms tighten a fraction around the other man briefly. Then, he goes back to ignoring her, breathing Claude in as much as he's able, turning his face to slide his lips across his cheek.
Hello, he thinks. ]
no subject
He huffs out a breathless exhale, half a laugh and tightens his arms around Anakin's neck as the other man lifts him up at a height where he's better able. He curves his fingers over the back of Anakin's head, fingertips scraping over skin grafts and scar tissue, sensitive to the notion that he might injure easily, careful with him, careful. His legs, he swings around his waist, to keep himself up.
Inhaling deeply a couple of times, he lets himself be held, holds the other man in turn, feeling both small and immensely full and happy, for the first time in years.
Anakin. Anakin, Anakin, Anakin, not all of you was lost, not all is lost...
Feeling the other man slide his lips over his cheek, he carefully turns his own face towards him, their noses bumping, lips sliding over each other for a brief, thrilling moment, though Claude doesn't push in, doesn't steal his breath, doesn't force himself on him, instead pressing their foreheads together and staring into his eyes. Blue, now. Blue.
He keeps his voice low. Gentle. Genuine. ]
Welcome back.
no subject
Later, there'd been emptiness.
And this, then, is after. ]
I'm glad to be. You don't know how much.
[ He doesn't lean away, looking back at Claude, feeling him pressed up against his front, all hardness and heat. It makes him think about what they come from, about Paris, about standing amidst the packed crowd wearing next to nothing, watching Claude make a speech and thinking about revolutions, about a world that could be something better. The other man has taught him to imagine an existence like that, not just the fight that'll eventually lead there but the end result, too. The part that entails living.
Perhaps, he thinks, there really might be something on the other side for them, too. Even with all his limitations, even with the odds stacked much too high against them and the darkness closing in.
Right now, whilst holding and being held, it seems possible. ]