[ It's interesting, how the same question can imply such different things, depending on one's tone of voice and the context surrounding it. When Claude asks him what happened, Anakin's mind flashes back again, though the tone he remembers from a long, long time ago was a lot more accusative and no doubt, he had somebody's blood on his hands once again, some broken nose or another and it was well-deserved, that implied expectation of failure. It always was. He was never strong enough.
But here and now, there's Claude, Claude who's asking him simply because he's curious, because he's only heard one side of the story and he's interested in Anakin's version. His body takes a second to relax. About to reply, he's brought to a complete and utter stop at the words that follow.
I'm really proud of you.
He blinks. Blinks again. Then, because he can't bear it, he looks down at his own hands, curled in his lap. Though he doesn't blush very much any longer - his circulation is as shot as the rest of him - there's a very, very subtle hint of red crawling up along the bridge of his nose, the skin there reasonably healthy still, compared with the rest. Claude's words skitter about inside his mind for a few seconds before the feeling of - of happiness? - registers. He isn't really supposed to be happy anymore, he's very aware - he wrote that off when he murdered the Jedi and joined Sidious. The dark side provides you with personal gratification only insofar as it gives you power, power beyond anything else in the galaxy.
But it doesn't make you happy.
It isn't supposed to.
He picks at the metal of his left fingers, pulling at the joints a bit uselessly. ]
Oh.
[ He remembers Claude's question, then, and manages a small shrug. ]
Even before all this, Anakin, I would've felt sorry for anyone who surprised you in an unguarded moment.
[ Claude remembers Anakin from before, impulsive Anakin Skywalker who just did things, not always considering the consequences and rarely willing to pay for his actions, same as most people, right, and yet completely different. Than most people. Extraordinary. That was how he knew him, just as well as he knew the sweet, caring, pleaser of a man who'd do anything for him. Anything.
Anything.
He looks like himself again, and for a brief, precious second, it's like seeing Anakin from before he lost everything. The slight blush crawling across the bridge of his nose where the skin is still more unscarred than elsewhere, his blood circulation probably less damaged. He's picking at his fingers, like a nervous school boy who doesn't know how to just say, thank you and mean it, because there are too many insecurities standing in the way of that. Claude allows himself a moment to raise his flashlight, quickly blinking the light over Anakin's face, trying not to get him in the eyes, then down his front, hands, crossed legs, huge cloak and hood to protect him. You could have told him they were a couple of years back along the line and he'd have bought it. He'd have believed it.
At the pit of his stomach, there's heat and heaviness and he recognises that feeling, though he hasn't felt it so actively in a long time. The physical sensation of want and desire. Arousal. Oh. Claude swallows something hard at the back of his throat and manages a small smile before shutting the flashlight off completely, turning halfway back towards the farm house, looking between that general direction and Anakin, like an invitation. If you're ready, it means. Let's go back. ]
You managed this situation well.
[ Thank you, is implied. Heavily, as heavily as the want in Claude's body, tethering him to this planet, to this earth. To this route, to this way. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
But here and now, there's Claude, Claude who's asking him simply because he's curious, because he's only heard one side of the story and he's interested in Anakin's version. His body takes a second to relax. About to reply, he's brought to a complete and utter stop at the words that follow.
I'm really proud of you.
He blinks. Blinks again. Then, because he can't bear it, he looks down at his own hands, curled in his lap. Though he doesn't blush very much any longer - his circulation is as shot as the rest of him - there's a very, very subtle hint of red crawling up along the bridge of his nose, the skin there reasonably healthy still, compared with the rest. Claude's words skitter about inside his mind for a few seconds before the feeling of - of happiness? - registers. He isn't really supposed to be happy anymore, he's very aware - he wrote that off when he murdered the Jedi and joined Sidious. The dark side provides you with personal gratification only insofar as it gives you power, power beyond anything else in the galaxy.
But it doesn't make you happy.
It isn't supposed to.
He picks at the metal of his left fingers, pulling at the joints a bit uselessly. ]
Oh.
[ He remembers Claude's question, then, and manages a small shrug. ]
I - well. I think he just surprised me.
no subject
[ Claude remembers Anakin from before, impulsive Anakin Skywalker who just did things, not always considering the consequences and rarely willing to pay for his actions, same as most people, right, and yet completely different. Than most people. Extraordinary. That was how he knew him, just as well as he knew the sweet, caring, pleaser of a man who'd do anything for him. Anything.
Anything.
He looks like himself again, and for a brief, precious second, it's like seeing Anakin from before he lost everything. The slight blush crawling across the bridge of his nose where the skin is still more unscarred than elsewhere, his blood circulation probably less damaged. He's picking at his fingers, like a nervous school boy who doesn't know how to just say, thank you and mean it, because there are too many insecurities standing in the way of that. Claude allows himself a moment to raise his flashlight, quickly blinking the light over Anakin's face, trying not to get him in the eyes, then down his front, hands, crossed legs, huge cloak and hood to protect him. You could have told him they were a couple of years back along the line and he'd have bought it. He'd have believed it.
At the pit of his stomach, there's heat and heaviness and he recognises that feeling, though he hasn't felt it so actively in a long time. The physical sensation of want and desire. Arousal. Oh. Claude swallows something hard at the back of his throat and manages a small smile before shutting the flashlight off completely, turning halfway back towards the farm house, looking between that general direction and Anakin, like an invitation. If you're ready, it means. Let's go back. ]
You managed this situation well.
[ Thank you, is implied. Heavily, as heavily as the want in Claude's body, tethering him to this planet, to this earth. To this route, to this way. ]