[ 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.
[ 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.
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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. ]