[ He got out of his tank about half an hour ago and he's been meditating since, seated on the floor between the tank and Claude's bed. The house is quiet but within Anakin's world, everything is noisy. With his eyes closed, he reaches around himself, spreading his awareness - as a Sith, he'd gaze inwards, primarily, reaching for his own pains, his own regrets, his anger and let them fuel him. He's kept this technique, at least in part, for his bacta sessions because it serves a double-purpose - the strength keeps his body going and it's somewhere to channel his emotions, now that he doesn't have any active missions. Consequently, now he's letting himself seek out, trying to balance things out the best he can. Going between those techniques is a relatively new approach for him, something he's worked out during the past months whilst on the move.
He isn't certain he ought to be doing it, obviously, but that certainty will never come. He's done away with all his teachers. Burned every bridge he could possibly burn.
So he seeks out first the room around him - Claude, sleeping, the sound of his breath, the steadiness of his exhalations - and beyond that, the house, from the silent hallways to the tiny insects living in the walls. Beyond that, Sabé, her mind carefully shielded. And from there -
He is pulled back to himself, first by Claude's shift from sleep to awareness, then by his question. Opening his eyes slowly, he turns his head slightly to look at him. ]
Quite.
[ A half-smile. He holds out his hand for his mask, grabbing it out of the air and attaching it to his face and throat with fast, habitual movements. His next breath is good. Even. Then, he stretches his back and rolls his shoulders before getting to his feet. He straightens, uncaring about his nudity - because really, there's both very much and very little to see, here, depending on your perspective - and walks over to sit on the bed, nudging Claude's legs a little to make room. ]
[ He's not gonna lie and attempt to make anyone believe he wasn't trying to catch Anakin's attention with that comment, although he usually respects his need for down time and recuperation and doesn't pose any demands until Anakin himself makes his availability known to him. However, the sun is falling in big splotches across his sheets, over his naked chest that he's allowed to grow an even spread of hair in time with him growing out his beard and landing in little spots across his face, making him blink against the rays as he turns his head to look up at Anakin. Sitting down at the edge of the bed, still naked, still stunning in his own way.
Claude rolls back onto his back halfway, the duvet pooling over his lower body. He eases up on his elbow and runs his eyes over Anakin's face, the still somewhat foreign serenity to his features. Didn't use to own even a scrap of that, before. He must be working wonders on himself. Claude's just trying to keep up. A long, slow intake of breath, his chest rising, falling. Sometimes he feels like he's struggling to follow along, but then moments like this follow. Where it's ridiculously easy to stay perfectly in step. In tune. He smiles. ]
Probably could. Not sure I want to.
[ Not sure I ought to, somewhere beneath the rest, but right now it's not about what he should and shouldn't be doing, it's about the break, the falter, the wait, the recharge. They both need that, not to run ahead constantly, but let someone else take the lead on what's gonna happen.
Padmé has holo'ed him some plans for their new set-up across the sector. They'll be moving in exactly 27 standard days from yesterday. Orders are, the farm is gonna burn when they leave. He expects he'll be helping Anakin with that.
[ Anakin looks him over, frowning slightly. As he lies there, his rather too pretty upper body very much on display, he certainly looks like he might easily grab another couple of hours on his back. Anakin sleeps only in the bacta now - though potentially, he could try to get used to sleeping outside it, it's a matter of habit more so than anything else - and he rarely feels tired, having learned to mostly ignore the feeling. Around Claude, though, he feels quite a persistent urge to normalise. The urge has grown steadfastly since he landed on Nuralee and he isn't certain about it. About what kind of function it represents.
All he knows is that he'd like for Claude to stay in bed while he cooks him breakfast.
Like the world can be normal for them, if only in spurts and fragments. ]
You should try.
[ He shifts, lying down slowly on his side to avoid whacking Claude with anything metal. He finds a comfortable position next to him and shuffles one metal arm beneath his shoulders. He takes care, always terrifyingly aware of how easy it would be to just take what he wants; to pretend that he deserves it or rather, that no one deserves anything. It doesn't matter how you angle it. It's the kind of twisted self-righteousness that causes ruin.
So he ignores it and lets Claude decide whether to roll to him or roll away. It's an invitation, not a decree. Regardless, he could stand to lie here for a little while, feel him relax against his body. There's something about the weight of him, both familiar and beloved, that calms him down in turn. ]
[ And because Anakin, despite everything, is still Anakin, he eases down on his side next to Claude, extending his arm to slip beneath Claude's shoulders, but not like a command, not even like a demand, but like an offering - like everything is an offering between them these days, do you want-? and yes resonating in the space that stays between them, because there are things they can't bridge as much as they must live with the existence of them, like canyons in a landscape, vulcans on the surface of a planet. There are things they just can't change. Kriff, there are things they can't even change the wording of. I destroyed the Jedi.
I've been alone for so long.
Rolling in against the other man, wincing slightly at the heavy edge of metal presses in somewhere not too fortunate, Claude settles in against his chest, head against his upper arm where he still smells like bacta, his skin damp, if not moist any longer. It's weird to admit, but you get used to the metal limbs quickly - he imagines it has taken Anakin longer, having to use them, but it hasn't been a long adaption period for him, personally. They're there, four now instead of one. He draws his knees up slightly, curling up along the heat of Anakin's thigh stump, feeling him close like that.
The whole crotch area has taken him longer to settle with. Not because Anakin necessarily needs a dick to be himself, but because - along with the rest, the frail skin and the healed-over burns, the scarring - there's a story there he only knows questions for, what, how, why? No answers. Because the answers are Anakin's own, still. It's all he's got left to himself, at this point. So Claude lets him keep them until he chooses to divulge, if that's ever gonna happen.
Meanwhile, he is forcing himself to grow accustomed to the realities of it, visually, too. Fast.
He angles his head a bit, glancing up at Anakin's face through the curly swirls of his bangs. Anakin is casting shadows down his own chest and Claude's, both. ]
You're gonna get up as soon as I fall back asleep, right?
[ There's no accusation in his words, just an open-ended question. His own answer relies on Anakin's, that's why he asks.
[ Claude comes, slipping into his hold, for the most part managing not to get in a fight with Anakin's metal edges. It is what it is. Anakin stays still while he makes himself comfortable, realising immediately the error in his planning; as the other man settles against him, he can't imagine going anywhere anytime soon. Kriff breakfast. He folds his arms around Claude as he snuggles up against him, the parts of him that are still flesh and blood tingling in response. It's wonderful, having him close.
He thought he never would again. Not with him, not with anyone.
Resting his chin on top of Claude's head, his curls tickling the bridge of his nose not covered by the mask, he stares into space for a moment, feeling out their surroundings. Aside from Sabé, they remain alone. Secluded. They'd have to go through first her, then Anakin himself, to get to Claude. The sunlight is warm where it drops across the bed and Claude smells like the sheets, like himself, alive and well and beautiful. Inhaling slowly, he shifts closer, seeking out the other man's heat in turn, feeling suddenly heavy all over, like he couldn't properly move his legs even if he wanted to. Sighing, he closes his eyes. ]
Hm. [ A half-yawn. ] I suppose not.
[ He runs his fingertips down the length of Claude's back, feeling the bumps of his spine, the heat of his skin. It translates differently through his sensors, compared to the way he feels against his naked front. It's odd but not necessarily in a bad way, being able to perceive him across different modalities. He likes it.
[ He feels Anakin relax, it's an almost physical shift of atmosphere around them and he senses that as much he hears him yawn, feels his arms close around Claude's body, fingertips sliding down his back, along his spine. He feels him let down his defences, if not everything he must be upholding in his efforts to keep them all safe in this place. Claude, safe. Especially. Then, he smiles. Claude presses both hands flat to Anakin's front, feeling scar tissue and indents in places they shouldn't be, but he's comfortable and skin-temperature and softer than flesh is on its own. Claude closes his eyes, still smiling, small and content, happy. ]
In that case, I'm going to sleep. [ A slight angling of his foot so he can poke his toes against the outline of shin on Anakin's prosthetic leg, the right one. Goodnight, it means. Or possibly good morning. ] Stay with me.
[ There's some degree of selfishness to it. He knows Anakin isn't, at length, comfortable lying down this way and he's not gonna pretend that part of him isn't busy insisting that he should remind him to get up in time, but the rest? His head and his hands and everywhere they touch? Doesn't give a kriff about that. Stay forever. Don't go again.
Curling his fingers, he lets his fingertips slide over the still protruding line of pecs, cut through by other lines, other shapes of his body, but there's still that and a lot of it. Anakin is strong. He's strong enough to sleep a few hours here, with him.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
He isn't certain he ought to be doing it, obviously, but that certainty will never come. He's done away with all his teachers. Burned every bridge he could possibly burn.
So he seeks out first the room around him - Claude, sleeping, the sound of his breath, the steadiness of his exhalations - and beyond that, the house, from the silent hallways to the tiny insects living in the walls. Beyond that, Sabé, her mind carefully shielded. And from there -
He is pulled back to himself, first by Claude's shift from sleep to awareness, then by his question. Opening his eyes slowly, he turns his head slightly to look at him. ]
Quite.
[ A half-smile. He holds out his hand for his mask, grabbing it out of the air and attaching it to his face and throat with fast, habitual movements. His next breath is good. Even. Then, he stretches his back and rolls his shoulders before getting to his feet. He straightens, uncaring about his nudity - because really, there's both very much and very little to see, here, depending on your perspective - and walks over to sit on the bed, nudging Claude's legs a little to make room. ]
Can't sleep anymore?
no subject
Claude rolls back onto his back halfway, the duvet pooling over his lower body. He eases up on his elbow and runs his eyes over Anakin's face, the still somewhat foreign serenity to his features. Didn't use to own even a scrap of that, before. He must be working wonders on himself. Claude's just trying to keep up. A long, slow intake of breath, his chest rising, falling. Sometimes he feels like he's struggling to follow along, but then moments like this follow. Where it's ridiculously easy to stay perfectly in step. In tune. He smiles. ]
Probably could. Not sure I want to.
[ Not sure I ought to, somewhere beneath the rest, but right now it's not about what he should and shouldn't be doing, it's about the break, the falter, the wait, the recharge. They both need that, not to run ahead constantly, but let someone else take the lead on what's gonna happen.
Padmé has holo'ed him some plans for their new set-up across the sector. They'll be moving in exactly 27 standard days from yesterday. Orders are, the farm is gonna burn when they leave. He expects he'll be helping Anakin with that.
He wants to help Anakin with that. ]
no subject
All he knows is that he'd like for Claude to stay in bed while he cooks him breakfast.
Like the world can be normal for them, if only in spurts and fragments. ]
You should try.
[ He shifts, lying down slowly on his side to avoid whacking Claude with anything metal. He finds a comfortable position next to him and shuffles one metal arm beneath his shoulders. He takes care, always terrifyingly aware of how easy it would be to just take what he wants; to pretend that he deserves it or rather, that no one deserves anything. It doesn't matter how you angle it. It's the kind of twisted self-righteousness that causes ruin.
So he ignores it and lets Claude decide whether to roll to him or roll away. It's an invitation, not a decree. Regardless, he could stand to lie here for a little while, feel him relax against his body. There's something about the weight of him, both familiar and beloved, that calms him down in turn. ]
no subject
I've been alone for so long.
Rolling in against the other man, wincing slightly at the heavy edge of metal presses in somewhere not too fortunate, Claude settles in against his chest, head against his upper arm where he still smells like bacta, his skin damp, if not moist any longer. It's weird to admit, but you get used to the metal limbs quickly - he imagines it has taken Anakin longer, having to use them, but it hasn't been a long adaption period for him, personally. They're there, four now instead of one. He draws his knees up slightly, curling up along the heat of Anakin's thigh stump, feeling him close like that.
The whole crotch area has taken him longer to settle with. Not because Anakin necessarily needs a dick to be himself, but because - along with the rest, the frail skin and the healed-over burns, the scarring - there's a story there he only knows questions for, what, how, why? No answers. Because the answers are Anakin's own, still. It's all he's got left to himself, at this point. So Claude lets him keep them until he chooses to divulge, if that's ever gonna happen.
Meanwhile, he is forcing himself to grow accustomed to the realities of it, visually, too. Fast.
He angles his head a bit, glancing up at Anakin's face through the curly swirls of his bangs. Anakin is casting shadows down his own chest and Claude's, both. ]
You're gonna get up as soon as I fall back asleep, right?
[ There's no accusation in his words, just an open-ended question. His own answer relies on Anakin's, that's why he asks.
He's still deciding. ]
no subject
He thought he never would again. Not with him, not with anyone.
Resting his chin on top of Claude's head, his curls tickling the bridge of his nose not covered by the mask, he stares into space for a moment, feeling out their surroundings. Aside from Sabé, they remain alone. Secluded. They'd have to go through first her, then Anakin himself, to get to Claude. The sunlight is warm where it drops across the bed and Claude smells like the sheets, like himself, alive and well and beautiful. Inhaling slowly, he shifts closer, seeking out the other man's heat in turn, feeling suddenly heavy all over, like he couldn't properly move his legs even if he wanted to. Sighing, he closes his eyes. ]
Hm. [ A half-yawn. ] I suppose not.
[ He runs his fingertips down the length of Claude's back, feeling the bumps of his spine, the heat of his skin. It translates differently through his sensors, compared to the way he feels against his naked front. It's odd but not necessarily in a bad way, being able to perceive him across different modalities. He likes it.
He likes everything he gets of this. ]
no subject
In that case, I'm going to sleep. [ A slight angling of his foot so he can poke his toes against the outline of shin on Anakin's prosthetic leg, the right one. Goodnight, it means. Or possibly good morning. ] Stay with me.
[ There's some degree of selfishness to it. He knows Anakin isn't, at length, comfortable lying down this way and he's not gonna pretend that part of him isn't busy insisting that he should remind him to get up in time, but the rest? His head and his hands and everywhere they touch? Doesn't give a kriff about that. Stay forever. Don't go again.
Curling his fingers, he lets his fingertips slide over the still protruding line of pecs, cut through by other lines, other shapes of his body, but there's still that and a lot of it. Anakin is strong. He's strong enough to sleep a few hours here, with him.
Claude wants to believe that.
Claude wants. ]