[ The cold seeps in like a blanket around him, sinking into his skin and his bones, but Claude doesn't care overly much, although his initial reaction is to shake himself a bit to stay warm. However, because Anakin is close, close enough that Claude can make out the curves and lines of his body as he steps up to him, pressing them together shoulder by shoulder, he doesn't move. He doesn't go back inside and he doesn't pull away, retreat into the cover of his clothes, he doesn't do anything that could put distance of any kind between them. He just stands there and lets himself be touched, by the chill in the air and by Anakin.
Where he, too, is skin and bone and chilled flesh.
At his question, Claude turns his head and looks up at him, frowning slightly. He hasn't, no. No further updates. He just knows he'll be meeting with his contact on Ryloth to negotiate. Who his contact is, what they're negotiating about, specifically, or with whom? They haven't told him. We find you're the most suitable for the job, Padmé had assured him, we trust in you, Claude.
But if they really trusted in him, Claude thinks, they'd give him time to prepare his own thoughts on the matter. ]
They don't trust you. And because I do, they don't really know whether to trust my judgement either.
[ It's not a complaint, he doesn't sound grudging or irritable about it, it's just a conclusion he has to draw at this point. They want him involved, but because Anakin's with him... Not too much, at the end of the day. He doesn't take it personally and he doesn't even hold it against them, would he have done anything differently in their shoes? Padmé and Bail have other factors to consider than just their love - or lack of same - for Anakin Skywalker.
He can take it and he knows how to adapt in these situations, but it still makes everything more... difficult.
Giving Anakin's hand a soft squeeze, he withdraws his own and folds his arms across the banister in the same way the other man is, mirroring him. ]
[ He nods, lips pressed together tightly. Though a part of him burns with silent outrage at the thought of Padmé, in particular, not trusting Claude because of his association with Anakin, another part of him has grown older since they parted. He and Padmé may have had a war in common, a war fought closely in tandem, but the sheer chasm Anakin has managed to dig between them afterwards is large and wide enough to swallow mostly everything that came before. He's the traitor. No matter how angry the thought makes him, no matter how much he wants to find her and prove that she's wrong.
Which, incidentally, would only prove her right. He gets it now.
Next to him, Claude's breath crystalises in the air in front of them in white swirls, traveling quickly upwards. It mixes with Anakin's, his exhalations not as dense or concentrated, even with the mask covering his nose and mouth. It does the job, however. He can fight people and feel woozy simultaneously, thanks. Claude is flesh and bone and blood, solid and warm next to him, and he suddenly feels an almost painful urge to be closer. They've touched more, the past couple of weeks.
If - when - if they find each other again after this, hopefully they can do more than that.
He wants to give Claude everything. ]
Do you know how long you'll be gone, at least?
[ As he speaks, he reaches out one arm and curls it around Claude's shoulders, pulling him up against him. He folds his fingers around his upper arm lightly, just feeling him. True, he can't warm him up to any noticeable degree because he's icy-cold himself but friction is friction and he'll do what he can, at least. As they both do. ]
Two weeks, to start with. An extension or two may turn out to be necessary, depending on how the situation develops.
[ As Anakin pulls him in by the shoulders, sliding his whole, hard arm around him, Claude more or less melts into him, letting himself be pulled closer until his head can rest against Anakin's shoulder, because Anakin was always taller, but now he's a tower and at a comfortable height for Claude to lean his cheek against the curve of his upmost upper arm. He's not warm, but he's comfortable. He's not warm, but he's willing. Anakin was always more willing than anyone else Claude knew, knows.
Sighing slowly, he slides his own arm around Anakin's waist, his palm knowing where the indent of metal is, both at the front and at the back, his rod-like spine, his various implants. Claude hugs him close, just breathing in the cold air for a couple of seconds. His breath crystallizes in the air, condensing in his beard. There's a damp, hot feeling to it. Everything feels serene and meaningful. Everything is weighty from the importance of this exact moment.
They won't get another one like it in a while. Claude won't even begin thinking about wanting more, because sometimes more is simply not a possibility, sometimes this - what they're holding between their hands - is what they've got.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Where he, too, is skin and bone and chilled flesh.
At his question, Claude turns his head and looks up at him, frowning slightly. He hasn't, no. No further updates. He just knows he'll be meeting with his contact on Ryloth to negotiate. Who his contact is, what they're negotiating about, specifically, or with whom? They haven't told him. We find you're the most suitable for the job, Padmé had assured him, we trust in you, Claude.
But if they really trusted in him, Claude thinks, they'd give him time to prepare his own thoughts on the matter. ]
They don't trust you. And because I do, they don't really know whether to trust my judgement either.
[ It's not a complaint, he doesn't sound grudging or irritable about it, it's just a conclusion he has to draw at this point. They want him involved, but because Anakin's with him... Not too much, at the end of the day. He doesn't take it personally and he doesn't even hold it against them, would he have done anything differently in their shoes? Padmé and Bail have other factors to consider than just their love - or lack of same - for Anakin Skywalker.
He can take it and he knows how to adapt in these situations, but it still makes everything more... difficult.
Giving Anakin's hand a soft squeeze, he withdraws his own and folds his arms across the banister in the same way the other man is, mirroring him. ]
no subject
Which, incidentally, would only prove her right. He gets it now.
Next to him, Claude's breath crystalises in the air in front of them in white swirls, traveling quickly upwards. It mixes with Anakin's, his exhalations not as dense or concentrated, even with the mask covering his nose and mouth. It does the job, however. He can fight people and feel woozy simultaneously, thanks. Claude is flesh and bone and blood, solid and warm next to him, and he suddenly feels an almost painful urge to be closer. They've touched more, the past couple of weeks.
If - when - if they find each other again after this, hopefully they can do more than that.
He wants to give Claude everything. ]
Do you know how long you'll be gone, at least?
[ As he speaks, he reaches out one arm and curls it around Claude's shoulders, pulling him up against him. He folds his fingers around his upper arm lightly, just feeling him. True, he can't warm him up to any noticeable degree because he's icy-cold himself but friction is friction and he'll do what he can, at least. As they both do. ]
no subject
[ As Anakin pulls him in by the shoulders, sliding his whole, hard arm around him, Claude more or less melts into him, letting himself be pulled closer until his head can rest against Anakin's shoulder, because Anakin was always taller, but now he's a tower and at a comfortable height for Claude to lean his cheek against the curve of his upmost upper arm. He's not warm, but he's comfortable. He's not warm, but he's willing. Anakin was always more willing than anyone else Claude knew, knows.
Sighing slowly, he slides his own arm around Anakin's waist, his palm knowing where the indent of metal is, both at the front and at the back, his rod-like spine, his various implants. Claude hugs him close, just breathing in the cold air for a couple of seconds. His breath crystallizes in the air, condensing in his beard. There's a damp, hot feeling to it. Everything feels serene and meaningful. Everything is weighty from the importance of this exact moment.
They won't get another one like it in a while. Claude won't even begin thinking about wanting more, because sometimes more is simply not a possibility, sometimes this - what they're holding between their hands - is what they've got.
And it's good. Like this. It's good.
It's enough. ]