[ He's done drying off from his bacta soak and in the midst of putting on clothes - he's managed to improve his bodystocking a few months after going on the run and it's equal parts easier to don and more efficient at conserving body heat. He finishes quickly, wrapping up in his tabards and additional layers, throwing on his cloak for good measure because Alderaan remains frigid - and closes his eyes, reaching out. Claude's in the library and his mood is complicated; Anakin senses worry, first and foremost along with an urge to act, quite a common combination for the both of them.
He frowns. Goes to riffle through his things, including his ratty backpack, until he finds what he's searching for - a package, heavier than it looks, wrapped in several layers of brown paper. He turns it over between his hands a couple of time, considering. He... doesn't actually know what the small figurine is supposed to be - it's a naked guy, basically, with wings and a melancholic expression on his face - but from what he remembers, Claude used to collect this stuff. And it - well, it spoke to him somehow when he saw it in the market place, getting fuel for the trip back to base.
If Claude doesn't like it, they can throw it at someone in the name of self-defense. Anakin has an active list of beings who might make excellent targets, though it's dwindled quite a bit since his last trip. Sidious is bound to be furious with him; he's down three Inquisitors and Anakin is up six kyber crystals.
The man should have done more to shackle him.
Straightening to his feet, he makes his way down the hallway, a beautiful, white stretch of marble walls and flower-decorated mosaic floors. The library is on the first floor as well as their bedroom and he finds Claude curled up in a chair by the heater, dropping the parcel in his lap gently before moving to stand by the window. He leans against the wall and crosses his arms in front of his chest, striving for a nonchalance that he honestly doesn't feel.
[ Anakin enters more soundlessly than you might imagine he'd be capable of, moving past Claude's chair, Claude who's letting the small holo screen with illustrations from old Parisian records drop onto the nearby table where it shuts down on its own. The other man places something softly in his lap, something deceptively heavy for such a relatively small package, then walks over to the windows and crosses his arms in front of himself with a nonchalance that doesn't truly translate. Claude thinks, this is important, looking from the package to Anakin slowly, connecting the dots.
Anakin got him something. While he was running and fighting and flying and hiding, he got Claude something, something that hasn't even been that easy to travel with, because it weighs like something made of rock or glass. He bothered with that. And not only that, he took that risk. Swallowing slowly, Claude licks his lips and glances down at the parcel, wrapped in layers of brown paper. Something in his chest is coming loose already and he doesn't even know -- what it is. Kriff.
With most other people he'd have said, you shouldn't have, but the truth is, with Anakin of all people he trusts him to make wise decisions with his time. The man is a soldier to the fingertips of his metal hands now and always were, long before Claude met him. It was how they met, right? If he felt like he had the time, the time was his.
This, in turn, is Claude's. Because Anakin is gifting it to him. Because he thought -- he thought --
Claude takes a deep breath and unwraps it, a small, slender statue coming into the light in stages, the stone cool between Claude's fingers as he finally picks it out of the last layer, placing it upright on his thigh. He used to collect these things, statues and busts from Paris, old relics and goods collected from all over the planet. His mother said he'd grow up to open a museum, entertain the people. Claude blinks. Blinks again.
He'd forgotten, but Anakin remembered.
It feels like such a strange piece of normalcy in the middle of all this kriffing war. ]
You remembered my quarters back on Paris. Before everything... [ His voice breaks. He clears his throat. ] It's at least a century old, you know. This is a figure from Old Lore.
[ A pause, before he finally looks away from the figurine. Meets Anakin's blue, blue eyes. ]
[ There's that almost intolerable moment of expectation, of not knowing what to expect and Anakin would be holding his breath if he didn't need it quite so badly, opting to clench his fingers against his upperarms instead. It had been an impulsive decision, getting that figurine for Claude, a series of lucky circumstances converging at the right time - the seller, an old lady, had a broken vaporator and Anakin had killed enough opponents to spare the moment it took him to fix it. In most areas of the Outer Rim, trading remains easier than bargaining with credits.
It had felt right. Now, he understands why.
Claude unwraps the figurine, a soft expression on his face, soft and maybe a little sad. Longing. They both know what that feels like. Anakin shifts a little, feeling restless as Claude looks his gift over, blinking. There's something in his tone that sounds awfully broken, even as he thanks Anakin, telling him that this is a Parisian figure and oh. Oh. He hadn't known. But of course, when the Force pokes him and he isn't busy going against everything he was taught about it, he listens. ]
You're welcome.
[ He smiles behind his mask. It stands to reason, he thinks, that if anyone deserves even a smidgen of happiness in the midst of all this darkness, it's Claude who carries his own, special light within, a light that he shares, willingly and gladly, with the world. With Anakin, especially. He deserves much, much more, of course, but in this galaxy, what you get is not always what you deserve.
It's not a lot but it's better than nothing.
Especially when it puts that look on Claude's face. Anakin will certainly treasure that for a while. ]
[ Behind his breathing mask, Anakin is smiling, just a small curve of his lips and Claude smiles wider now, shaking his head once before putting the figurine - carefully, carefully - back on the table next to the holo device, letting the brown wrapping paper tumble to the ground all around him as he gets to his feet, fixing himself up quickly, creases in trousers, rumpled shirt. Then, he pats over the floors, white marble, hard and cool, to lean against the windowsill next to Anakin, looking up at him with bangs falling into his eyes. There's a moment where they just stand like that, Claude's front to Anakin's side, hard metal, soft flesh, the long, towering stretches of his body. Claude lets his gaze trek down his features, follows the soft round shape of his breathing mask, the scarred quality of his skin, the rises and falls of his whole appearance, matching the rises and falls of the man himself.
Ironically, the figure Anakin got for him is of Luc, Paris' old time sun god who is the brightest star in the sky during the day, but every night must dip into the fire pools underground to once more be alit for the following morning and the following day. His flight across the heavens still exists in sung format to this day, though pieces like this one... Well, they're so rare, Claude only had a couple of originals, before.
Typically Anakin, getting him one. Always walking that extra mile.
In everything. Right and wrong, black and white. Anakin's the nuances in between and some people can't see it, which is fine. There are things that cast nuance into shadow and make nothing of it.
Licking his lips again, Claude gets up on his toes to press a kiss to the transition between skin and mask over Anakin's mouth, just letting him feel for a moment the soft pressure of Claude's presence there, not just his lips, but the tickle of his beard, his weight against his side, his chest against his upper arm, his proximity. Nearness. It's been almost a month this time, with nothing but holo calls. ]
[ He watches, gaze fond, as Claude gets up and crosses over to him, his footfalls light against the marble floor. The figurine sits on the table, a small, ridiculous little thing against the backdrop of this house and all its implications. They're here because nowhere else is safe. The figurine means something different now than it would have back in Claude's home on Paris or his luxurious apartments on what used to be Coruscant.
But as the figurine had seemed to know him when he saw it, so Claude knows it by name and story. It feels nearly impossible, that such a thing should find its place between them now but it did and it has. He feels warm all over, lighter despite the soreness of his body, like he belongs in his skin more thoroughly now than moments before, fresh out of bacta treatment.
When Claude slips up against him, Anakin automatically cranes his neck a little for the kiss that follows because Claude is quite short. As always, it doesn't feel like much on a physical level but just having Claude near him, being loved by him, not at a distance or through holo calls but in person, skin against skin... He closes his eyes and sighs. Slips his arm around Claude's waist and pulls him in, leaning down to press their foreheads together.
Reaching up, he slips his half-mask off his face and dumps it unceremoniously on the floor. That ugly thing won't break anytime soon - the entire armor was neigh unbreakable and he had to re-use as much as possible before setting up his suicide crash. Mouth freed, he leans in and brushes his lips across the bridge of Claude's nose, following the line of bone down towards his mouth. He pauses, then, because this thing takes two people and he can stand to wait if he has to, for as long as he must. ]
[ In response, Anakin slips his half-mask off his face, dropping it to the floor without further ado and leans in, brushing his lips lightly along the bridge of Claude's nose, making his eyes flutter shut as he takes in the proximity of him, the scent, familiar and new at the same time, there's a trace of bacta sticking to him always now that wasn't there before, but underneath it lingers his own sandy, warm signature, still. He inhales, exhales, shakily. Then, as the other man comes to the tip of his nose and beyond, he simply stops, Claude opening his eyes and glancing up at his face through lowered lashes, trying to decide what's in the air for them this time. They've come close so often, without pulling through. Because the time wasn't right. It feels right as of this moment. It feels like it'll be right for a long time to come.
So, Claude smiles and gets up on his toes again, appreciating very physically the way Anakin is taking the foundation they once built and placing it so clearly between them. Consent. Asking, not taking. Being given, always being given. You can't own another person, and if you think you do, you're in the wrong.
Leaning up, Claude presses his lips softly to his mouth, feeling the slight slickness of them, damp, the strength of them, too, and his whole body reacts in a way he hasn't experienced for years and years now. That zing of excitement, of wanting more, craving, of needing to be satisfied, satisfied, satisfied. He allows himself to feel that way, but doesn't bring it into this very intimate sphere between Anakin and him, instead reaching up to cup the other man's cheek softly, feeling the outline of him beneath his fingers. Raw. Real. Raw. Real.
He kisses him softly, tilting his head for a better angle, listening to his own shallow breathing, trapped in his chest and caught in his throat. ]
[ Claude kisses him back and something settles within his chest, something he hadn't even noticed before now - a tension, fear, because isn't it always. Claude has not rejected him even once since they re-united and it feels hugely unfair to doubt him and he doesn't, it's not quite that, either. It's just that he isn't what he used to be and assuming Claude would want anything physical now, when his body is so different is not the kind of conclusion he'll jump to. Not here, not on this side of his own betrayal and everything that came after.
Assumptions, he has learned, are not just dangerous but powerful, too.
But now, he has Claude's lips against his own and the other man tastes so much like himself that it very nearly makes his knees buckle. He leans into it, following through as Claude gives him a better angle for access and slipping his tongue past his lips, into the heat of him. It makes him feel lightheaded, warmer than before, though the pleasure is slower now than it used to be, gentler and less about now and more. It suits him fine. They have a small moment to themselves now, they aren't going to rush it.
Slowly, he slides one hand down Claude's broad chest. His sensors aren't as precise as usual because of the thin glove covering his fingers; at some point, he realised that his limbs would not remain functional for long without protection. Unfortunately, it takes away some of the sensations but, well. It comes with other... advantages. The gloves are soft and smooth, coated with a substance that gives the material grip according to whichever friction he's inducing.
This time, he thinks, as he runs his hand over the other man's stomach, pulling at the hem of his shirt and slipping his fingers beneath it, the friction will not necessitate any particular amount of grip. He flattens his palm against Claude's belly, breaking the kiss only when he's feeling borderline faint. He gives Claude a regretful look, grabs his mask with his free hand and slips it on. If they do this again - if Claude - if they do, he will find another breathing solution if it kriffing kills him. Stupid thing. ]
[ There's a long moment in which they're just kissing and it feels exactly like it should, like it used to, like it always did, Anakin's lips and tongue insistent but gentle, hungry but not quite starving. Claude likes it, it feels as if they've both grown leaps and bounds since the last time they were intimate. Like it's not just a couple of years that have passed, but a lifetime's realizations and changes unfolding between them right now.
More than anything, it feels like a fresh start.
Claude hasn't slept with anyone since he slept with Anakin last, such a long time ago, right? This is a first. It's a first. The thought makes him gasp as Anakin withdraws, following the other man with his eyes as he reaches for his mask again, looking apologetic, and slips it back on.
Oh. Yeah, sure, Claude understands.
Besides, he's a bit preoccupied with the sensation of Anakin's hand slipping up underneath his shirt, fingers flattening over his stomach, like a huge, heavy presence there and Claude is breathing shallowly already, feeling his whole lower body heat up in response. So long, it's been so kriffing long. Nodding a couple of times, slowly, he steps back against the windowsill and slides his arms around Anakin's shoulders, pulling at him to make him step closer, come close, stay close, stay, please. I want to keep you.
One hand, he runs up the side of Anakin's neck, stroking the scarred skin there carefully, gently with his thumb while he leans in from the other side, close to Anakin's right ear, whispering, ]
I can feel you. [ A slow exhale, before Claude curls his hand around the back of the other man's head, at the base of his skull, supporting him there while he feels the dips of his skin beneath his lips as he speaks.
Breathlessly. ] I've missed the feel of you so much.
[ He moves with Claude as Claude moves with him, it's a flawless back and forth that they mastered on their very first night together but today, there's something almost inherent about it, about taking, following, taking. It's very unique to Claude, he thinks, to inspire this in him; he understands now, after several months on the run with too much time to meditate and reflect, that he has always been quite adept at following and taking as separate things, as one or the other.
Something, something about absolutes.
Now, he leans in as Claude curls his hand against the back of his naked scalp, the sensation actually enough to make his spine tingle in response, fingers twitching minutely. Oh. That's. Yes. He closes his eyes and focuses for a second, just a second, on the feel of his fingertips, the gentleness of them, and he could drown in that feeling alone, he thinks. He could grow roots here, just like this.
But then, of course, they wouldn't get to the next part and that will never do.
Nodding, he feels out Claude's abdomen, his midriff, his fingers spread wide across his skin. He strokes him there for a moment, just taking the time to map him out again, before he runs his hand further up, palm skirting across his left nipple lightly before he finds the other with his fingertips. He works it gently, taking care with his strength, keeping Claude pressed up against the windowsill with the width of his body. ]
Mm. I missed you too - I miss you always when I don't have you.
[ Anakin presses up against him, all broad shoulders and the breadth of his chest, strong arms, strong, strong arms. Big hand mapping out his abdomen, midriff, chest, fingers skirting first his left nipple, then closing around the right, lightly, working it lightly, for all the kriffing strength this man possesses! Claude only hears the slight whimpering sound he's making on the third or fourth roll, his lower body burning, his crotch feeling tight and tingling. Swollen. Hard. Anakin is getting him hard with increasing speed, Claude fighting for his breath at this point and spreading his legs a bit to find a good balancepoint, both feet firmly on the ground. Oh. I miss you always when I don't have you --
Oh. Kriff.
Sighing, long and hard exhalation leaving his lips damp, so he has to lick himself, Claude slowly strokes his palm down over the naked slope of Anakin's skull, fingertips digging in every so slightly, like he's trying to catch every little nook and corner like you'd catch a wave. His other hand pushes up against Anakin's clothes, feeling the pronounced sense of muscle in his side, ribs, the swell of chest. Everything that's him. Everything.
He pushes his forehead, all sweaty curls sticking to him, them, against the side of Anakin's face, his breathing audible, loud. He's being loud and there's no one around to care anymore. They might be running, but they're not hiding. Not the two of them. Claude shifts a little, mostly trapped by the pressure of Anakin's front which is good. It's good. It's beautiful. ]
You have me now. You really, really have me now, Anakin.
[ His voice sounds a tiny bit raw. He arches into the feeling of Anakin's fingers, his nipples hard, too. Off to the side, the figurine stands like symbolism.
[ Claude sighs and strokes down the back of his head, taking care to both be gentle and present, simultaneously. The whimpering sound he just made would have made Anakin impatient with want before - now, he merely takes that sound as well as all the others he's making and stows it away, trying to keep it within himself. They're here, now. Perhaps tomorrow they won't be and he's doing his best to live with that knowledge. Apparently, focusing on here and now turns out to be the easiest way to manage that. He gets that when he's with Claude in particular, though he's started doing it at rare times when he's alone and capable of focusing enough on his surroundings.
He used to look at the stars when he was younger but even then, he was restless.
Right now, he isn't.
With a half-smile, he curls his hand against Claude's buttocks, flattens his palm against his side to keep him balanced and lifts him up onto the windowsill, the movement fluent and undisturbed. He steps in between his legs, looking at Claude who's now as tall - if maybe not a bit taller - than him. Perfect.
He reaches up, running his fingertips through his beard, following the strong line of his jaw all the way to his right earlobe. ]
Did I ever tell you - [ He runs his other hand down Claude's front, fingertips trailing lightly across his navel, finding coarser curls underneath along with the promise of warmth. ] - I really like your hair. All of it.
[ He slips his hand beneath the hem of Claude's sweatpants and finds him hard, his cock sliding against the side of his hand. He folds his hand around it near the root, holding him there, watching his face, his eyes, his mouth. Beautiful, he thinks. And even now, he gets to have this.
[ Anakin slips one hand beneath his buttocks and more or less one-handedly lifts him up onto the windowsill, steadying him only minutely with his other hand, Claude letting himself be moved easily, finding himself suddenly on eye-level with the other man. Oh. He breathes out slow, chuckling low in his throat and angling his head to meet Anakin's fingers as he strokes them through his beard, caressing him from mouth to ear. It feels wonderful, his gloves exceptionally soft and almost liquid-feeling, like water. Like slightly damp skin, that kind of resistance. That kind of touch. Claude feels his own skin rise in goosebumps, all the way down his arms, over his shoulders, beneath his shirt. Where Anakin is pushing it out of the way to get at his chest, his nipples are prickling warmly in the aftermath of his attentions. His chest's got goosebumps, too.
Kriff, he's hard for him. ]
You're telling me now.
[ Holding the other man's gaze while Anakin reaches down between them, Claude's cock sliding over the side of his hand, the friction sparking in his system, so his breath shakes a little on the next exhale, he lowers one hand to the windowsill to steady himself, the other cupping Anakin's face for a moment before slipping down over his neck, the side of it, he's got a lot of implants in his throat and Claude is careful where he applies pressure. His breathing feels funny in his chest, like he's rising too fast towards something he doesn't fully understand what is. Part of him wants them to match each other, state of undress, hardness, he wants them to match so much, the way they used to do. Another part of him, less selfish, less raw from the war, however that's possible, recognises that they are. Matching.
Anakin likes his hair and Claude likes it as well, because of him.
So, he stays very still in the other man's grip, doesn't push up against his palm or seek out the pressure of his fingers, the soft, soft, soft slide of his glove which in itself is making Claude's toes curl. He just breathes in, breathes out slowly, staring down into Anakin's face, his eyes clear blue like the lake outside in this light, from this angle. ]
[ Claude's breath shudders out of him, his hand gliding along the side of Anakin's face and down his neck and Anakin leans in against his touch, urging him on. They have to re-learn each other, he thinks, and Anakin has to re-learn himself as a separate problem because quite a lot of his body feels foreign still. He doesn't mind the implants, really, especially not when he has the chance to apply his own modifications to them, make them his. They're durable. He likes Claude's carefulness - regardless, he wants him to know. That he can hold on if he wants because it really will take quite a lot more than Claude's hands to break him at this point.
Take what's there, if nothing else. ]
Aren't I?
[ Claude's eyes look even warmer now with the sunlight catching in his irises and Anakin can see himself reflected there, the steel of his mask gleaming when he moves. It doesn't look quite as ugly like that, reflected back at him, the way Claude does it, just as he touches him so gently because he wants but never at the expense of others. Anakin understands that about him now - that it's possible to feel like that. It's an abstract, logical knowledge for him, like knowing certain facts about the universe, about politics or history or math. It exists but outside of him, like something he can look at but never hold.
He can hold Claude, however.
He begins to stroke him, slowly but evenly, listening to his breathing and watching his face, his expressions. His cock is a familiar weight in his hand, even after all this time. Back then, they'd done quite a lot of exploration, hadn't they? It had been lovely. This isn't actually altogether different, he realises, because he's touched Claude with his metal hand before. This one is different, granted, but the feeling hasn't changed much.
Imagine - that something hasn't.
Stepping closer, he leans the side of his face gently against Claude's, taking care not to get him anywhere unfortunate with the mask and its stupid edges. He's going to get a new one, he decides. Something soft, something that conforms better to his face and preferably, something that translates the feeling of Claude's beard when it rubs against his chin. ]
[ Anakin presses back against him, urging him on, telling him - wordlessly - that he doesn't have to take quite as much care. He's durable, he's strong and Claude loves him for that, loves how he has carried the world on his shoulders and not crumbled beneath it. Broken, maybe, both himself and the world, needed mending, definitely, but there's more left of him than dust. There's more left of the galaxy than dust, too. It's important to remember that, he thinks, gasping slightly as Anakin starts stroking him, feeling his own hips give, push, wanting to set the pace. He doesn't, though. He wants Anakin to set it for them.
He trusts him with that. ]
You --
[ Feeling the other man step closer, the broad force of his body against his own making his blood pound, Claude turns his head carefully in against the side of his mask, the edge of it hard and unyielding against him which he, without him entirely understanding why and he's not gonna ask right now, really kriffing likes. He kisses it. Kisses where the corner of Anakin's mouth would've been without it, both hands running down his upper arms, where he's flesh and the transition to metal, that thrilling change from one material to another. Claude feels for him, feels for where his muscles flex in his upper arm as he moves his hand, up, down, up, down, slowly, evenly.
Eventually, he can't stand staying still any longer, pushing into Anakin's grip slowly, hips trembling from holding back, so he gets the full, soft slightly damp glide of it, his cock beginning to pearl with precum.
Aren't I, Anakin had asked, because he's still got attitude to spare.
Claude groans, a slight frown as he works for the feeling, takes more of what Anakin is giving him, his brow feeling damp, his curls sticking to him. He is, but he should keep talking, really, he should talk more in this new voice of his that Claude is so kriffing excited to listen to, his muscles working hard beneath his skin, abdomen, lower arms, fingers, thighs. He shifts slightly, pulls back, pushes back in.
Considering the suit he'd worn when they first met, Claude's just relieved that there's still a way in at all. That Anakin is still letting him. ]
[ To begin with, he can feel Claude holding himself back, giving Anakin the reins and letting him control the pace but of course, at some point, you have to start getting at least a little selfish. It's good to feel him take a bit more, his touch against Anakin's mask evolving into kisses (the fact that he even would... it's metal, it's bound to taste ridiculous, but something about it makes him feel bolder, too, a little less covered up). When he begins thrusting upwards slightly in Anakin's grip, Anakin smiles and curls his other hand against the back of his head, fingers grasping his hair gently. ]
That's it. You can have it.
[ His voice is little more than a whisper at this point because he's somewhat forgetting to breathe regularly and unlike his suit, this mask isn't doing the work for him. He doesn't want to focus on it, though, on himself and his own deficiencies. He wants to focus on Claude, only, to have him cover him from the inside-out but these days, well, it isn't as simple as that anymore. He can't just push everything else aside, the way he would have before. He has to slow himself down, it's not even a choice but a necessity unless he wants to pass out from lack of oxygen and ruin Claude's impending orgasm.
No chance.
He doesn't stop working Claude's cock, though his focus splits for a moment as his breathing evens out. He doesn't like it, having to move himself away from what he wants, it's annoying and frustrating and it feels like weakness. But then, Claude pushes into his grip, his cock weeping precum because the man wants him, he wants him this much and he thinks that maybe weakness - moderation - is at times conditional to all the other things that he wants. Maybe it is. On his next stroke, he presses his thumb over the head of Claude's cock, gathering the wetness there and using it for slick, his hand working at the same, steady pace. ]
[ You can have it, Anakin whispers, his voice breathless and thin and there's a second where Claude's arousal gets overwritten by his worry. That's only until the other man runs his thumb over the sensitive head of his cock, however, spreading out the slick and wetting the whole pace of it, his hand keeping up the stroking at the same insistently even pace. Oh. Oh. He presses his whole head in against Anakin's mask now, uncaring about edges and hardness, it's hardness, it's good feeling him like this, tightening the muscles in his thighs, flexing them, pushing up, up, up, in, in, in. The tight, narrow hole between Anakin's fingers feels like it was made for him, because it was, and he can have this, he's allowed to, he --
Claude had forgotten about being selfish, before he met Anakin. Anakin has taught him the art of self-preservation by wanting things for himself, making demands for himself and as it builds up for him now, gradually, but strongly, he hasn't had any hands but his own for so long, he thinks that's what this is. This is him demanding something from Anakin. Anakin who has been made demands of his whole life, getting nothing in return.
He's allowing Claude to give back, by giving himself.
The thought makes Claude moan desperately, canting his hips upwards, pushing his cock in against the soft material of Anakin's glove, the harder underlying pressure of his fingers and there's a moment where he floats, it literally feels that way, then his fingers convulsively grasp at the other man by the elbows, fingers digging in through fabric, into metal, the hardness of him. So hard.
His balls are drawing up.
When he comes, it's with a weak little sob, his whole body shaking for a moment as he spends himself between Anakin's fingers, long spurts of cum getting all over him, over his glove, over the hem of Claude's pants, getting them sticky and leaving them damp in the aftermath, as his hips slowly, slowly still. There was once he'd have apologised for coming so soon, but considering their context, their time, their losses, too - he thinks this took longer than they might even have, really.
But it was perfect and he stays still against Anakin for a long time yet, just breathing. ]
[ Claude finally lets himself go, thrusting into Anakin's grip, chasing relief. He doesn't change his grip, doesn't waver in his rhythm. He wants to give the other man exactly this, the chance to float for a little while, to find release. Force knows there aren't enough opportunities anymore for him to relax and be selfish just for the sake of a moment's pleasure. Claude, like the rest of the galaxy, is tied up within Sidious' net, paying for Anakin's choices day after day. Sometimes, he thinks he should have at least tried to end Sidious before he left. Then, he remembers that he probably wouldn't have won.
His death would have meant nothing for the galaxy as a whole but he would have left Claude behind to fight this battle and seeing what it takes of him, even now... No. Someone needs to take care of him, even if Anakin isn't allowed to protect him, to keep him safe from harm. That's how things must be, now. He chose his side and the side was wrong.
This is what he gets and he'll take it, whole-heartedly.
Claude grabs him by his elbows, fingers digging in. Anakin feels his cock pulse between his fingers, growing harder, before he comes between his fingers, the wetness sticking to his gloves and to Claude's pants. The sound he makes, something like a whimper, is amazing. He strokes him all the way through, until Claude's no longer jerking into his grip, coming still against him. He eases his hand from his pants and steps back slightly, just enough to stop crowding him. ]
Beautiful.
[ He runs his fingers down the back of his head, through his curls, grasping the back of his neck briefly before reaching down to curl his hand over Claude's where he's gripping the windowsill. His skin is warm from the sun, a contrast to the cold in air. ]
[ The orgasm leaves his body buzzing, a slight tingle right beneath his skin. Claude leans his head back into Anakin's grip as he runs his hand through his curls, just a slight, somewhat boneless thud of skull against metal, then metal against the back of Claude's hand, too, because Anakin is nothing if not thorough, touching him everywhere, holding him in a multitude of ways. At his comment, Claude smiles, tiredly, wincing as he reaches down with his free hand to right his cock, his pants, the sticky feeling of cum a strange contrast to the softness between them as people, right here, right now.
He looks down at Anakin's face for a moment, at the landscape and borderlines of it.
It's not that he hasn't thought about reciprocity, of course. Even before today. He's thought about it, but it hasn't seemeed terribly relevant or important until this moment when his fingers flex against the windowsill, his legs spread wide around Anakin's hips. Still a flesh-part of him, but he's seen him naked and he knows that it's one of few and what's left is badly burned. Some of it unrecognisable. Some of it gone. Claude takes a moment to let that acceptance settle in his body, then he reaches down and runs his hand flat, soft, sweaty, little bit shaky, over Anakin's scalp, from his brow to the back of his skull.
Rests it there, like a warm presence. Connection. ]
What can I give you?
[ Honestly, he isn't dead-set on giving back if Anakin doesn't want it, doesn't know the mechanisms himself yet, Claude can think of a lot of reasons why it might just stay a hypothetical question. But he needs to ask, he needs to put it out there, word it between them. He isn't afraid of Anakin's body as it is now, he's not afraid of what it can do and even less so of what it can't. They simply need to be able to communicate openly about it, or there's no hope for anything. Anything at all.
And that's one thing Claude can't settle with. No hope. ]
[ He watches the other man come down from his climax, tilting his head a little into his touch when Claude reaches out to touch him, running his hand across his scalp. It's a surprisingly nice feeling, he realises. It's the combination of having Claude so close to him and the scent of his skin, his hand, right next to his face along with a sensation of complete calm. Grounding, perhaps, though he couldn't say why one spot makes a difference compared to another.
Apropos.
Well.
His gaze glides sideways as he thinks the question over. Everything, anything you'd want would be the most instinctive answer but that's not what he's asking and Anakin isn't afraid of this subject, so much as he just... isn't sure. This body definitely wasn't made for any kind of proximity - as evidenced by how Sidious thought he'd exist most efficiently in a cage of durasteel - and sex is pretty much null, at least in any conventional fashion. He hasn't thought much about it and consequently, he hasn't actually tried to figure out what would work and what wouldn't. Claude, he'd thought, was dead. He had no need to even consider it anymore.
And then, Claude wasn't.
Worrying his bottom lip for a moment, he finally just settles with a slight shrug, looking back at Claude. ]
Let me get back to you on that.
[ Regardless of what missions he'll be going on in the near future - and he can guess there'll be a few - surely, he can master a side project like this. He'll look into what his body can actually do and try to improve his functioning around those points; for instance, he has thought about the clear disadvantage of his mask, covering his mouth. Today has proven him right. There could be other things. Could be.
He shifts a little, then leans his forehead against Claude's shoulder with a sigh. ]
[ When Anakin leans into him, Claude catches him easily, a hand on his shoulder and another curving around the back of his neck. The sigh is like a full stop to a sentence, both resigned and frustrated at the same time. Tilting his head to the side, the side of his face colliding with Anakin's, but softly, softly, Claude makes a sound of sympathy. A murmur. ]
No need to apologise. [ Claude is patient by nature, even when he wants, maybe especially then. I'll get back to you on that, Anakin had said and so, he must wait. For Anakin to figure it out first and share his findings with him, if he wants, if he likes what he finds. Or else -- well. ] I'm fine with it, I just want to make sure you're fine with it as well, or else we're gonna find a way.
[ It's the only comfort he can give right now, the only caresses he can offer. Assurance. Assurance that he wants him, sexually, romantically and personally, still. To the core of his being, Claude wants him. So much it physically hurts. If the fact that Anakin's body has changed to this degree had proven to be the breaking point, what about all the rest? A lot of things have changed, after all.
Claude has grown a beard.
Anakin destroyed the Jedi.
Perspective.
Claude turns his head a little and presses a kiss to the lobe of Anakin's ear, smiling in against the shell of it, less marked by his ordeals than most parts of him. A moment of just breathing slow and relaxed into him, in, out, in, then he says, voice low, a mutter. ]
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He frowns. Goes to riffle through his things, including his ratty backpack, until he finds what he's searching for - a package, heavier than it looks, wrapped in several layers of brown paper. He turns it over between his hands a couple of time, considering. He... doesn't actually know what the small figurine is supposed to be - it's a naked guy, basically, with wings and a melancholic expression on his face - but from what he remembers, Claude used to collect this stuff. And it - well, it spoke to him somehow when he saw it in the market place, getting fuel for the trip back to base.
If Claude doesn't like it, they can throw it at someone in the name of self-defense. Anakin has an active list of beings who might make excellent targets, though it's dwindled quite a bit since his last trip. Sidious is bound to be furious with him; he's down three Inquisitors and Anakin is up six kyber crystals.
The man should have done more to shackle him.
Straightening to his feet, he makes his way down the hallway, a beautiful, white stretch of marble walls and flower-decorated mosaic floors. The library is on the first floor as well as their bedroom and he finds Claude curled up in a chair by the heater, dropping the parcel in his lap gently before moving to stand by the window. He leans against the wall and crosses his arms in front of his chest, striving for a nonchalance that he honestly doesn't feel.
It seems like such a little thing. ]
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Anakin got him something. While he was running and fighting and flying and hiding, he got Claude something, something that hasn't even been that easy to travel with, because it weighs like something made of rock or glass. He bothered with that. And not only that, he took that risk. Swallowing slowly, Claude licks his lips and glances down at the parcel, wrapped in layers of brown paper. Something in his chest is coming loose already and he doesn't even know -- what it is. Kriff.
With most other people he'd have said, you shouldn't have, but the truth is, with Anakin of all people he trusts him to make wise decisions with his time. The man is a soldier to the fingertips of his metal hands now and always were, long before Claude met him. It was how they met, right? If he felt like he had the time, the time was his.
This, in turn, is Claude's. Because Anakin is gifting it to him. Because he thought -- he thought --
Claude takes a deep breath and unwraps it, a small, slender statue coming into the light in stages, the stone cool between Claude's fingers as he finally picks it out of the last layer, placing it upright on his thigh. He used to collect these things, statues and busts from Paris, old relics and goods collected from all over the planet. His mother said he'd grow up to open a museum, entertain the people. Claude blinks. Blinks again.
He'd forgotten, but Anakin remembered.
It feels like such a strange piece of normalcy in the middle of all this kriffing war. ]
You remembered my quarters back on Paris. Before everything... [ His voice breaks. He clears his throat. ] It's at least a century old, you know. This is a figure from Old Lore.
[ A pause, before he finally looks away from the figurine. Meets Anakin's blue, blue eyes. ]
I -- Thank you.
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It had felt right. Now, he understands why.
Claude unwraps the figurine, a soft expression on his face, soft and maybe a little sad. Longing. They both know what that feels like. Anakin shifts a little, feeling restless as Claude looks his gift over, blinking. There's something in his tone that sounds awfully broken, even as he thanks Anakin, telling him that this is a Parisian figure and oh. Oh. He hadn't known. But of course, when the Force pokes him and he isn't busy going against everything he was taught about it, he listens. ]
You're welcome.
[ He smiles behind his mask. It stands to reason, he thinks, that if anyone deserves even a smidgen of happiness in the midst of all this darkness, it's Claude who carries his own, special light within, a light that he shares, willingly and gladly, with the world. With Anakin, especially. He deserves much, much more, of course, but in this galaxy, what you get is not always what you deserve.
It's not a lot but it's better than nothing.
Especially when it puts that look on Claude's face. Anakin will certainly treasure that for a while. ]
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Ironically, the figure Anakin got for him is of Luc, Paris' old time sun god who is the brightest star in the sky during the day, but every night must dip into the fire pools underground to once more be alit for the following morning and the following day. His flight across the heavens still exists in sung format to this day, though pieces like this one... Well, they're so rare, Claude only had a couple of originals, before.
Typically Anakin, getting him one. Always walking that extra mile.
In everything. Right and wrong, black and white. Anakin's the nuances in between and some people can't see it, which is fine. There are things that cast nuance into shadow and make nothing of it.
Licking his lips again, Claude gets up on his toes to press a kiss to the transition between skin and mask over Anakin's mouth, just letting him feel for a moment the soft pressure of Claude's presence there, not just his lips, but the tickle of his beard, his weight against his side, his chest against his upper arm, his proximity. Nearness. It's been almost a month this time, with nothing but holo calls. ]
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But as the figurine had seemed to know him when he saw it, so Claude knows it by name and story. It feels nearly impossible, that such a thing should find its place between them now but it did and it has. He feels warm all over, lighter despite the soreness of his body, like he belongs in his skin more thoroughly now than moments before, fresh out of bacta treatment.
When Claude slips up against him, Anakin automatically cranes his neck a little for the kiss that follows because Claude is quite short. As always, it doesn't feel like much on a physical level but just having Claude near him, being loved by him, not at a distance or through holo calls but in person, skin against skin... He closes his eyes and sighs. Slips his arm around Claude's waist and pulls him in, leaning down to press their foreheads together.
Reaching up, he slips his half-mask off his face and dumps it unceremoniously on the floor. That ugly thing won't break anytime soon - the entire armor was neigh unbreakable and he had to re-use as much as possible before setting up his suicide crash. Mouth freed, he leans in and brushes his lips across the bridge of Claude's nose, following the line of bone down towards his mouth. He pauses, then, because this thing takes two people and he can stand to wait if he has to, for as long as he must. ]
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So, Claude smiles and gets up on his toes again, appreciating very physically the way Anakin is taking the foundation they once built and placing it so clearly between them. Consent. Asking, not taking. Being given, always being given. You can't own another person, and if you think you do, you're in the wrong.
Leaning up, Claude presses his lips softly to his mouth, feeling the slight slickness of them, damp, the strength of them, too, and his whole body reacts in a way he hasn't experienced for years and years now. That zing of excitement, of wanting more, craving, of needing to be satisfied, satisfied, satisfied. He allows himself to feel that way, but doesn't bring it into this very intimate sphere between Anakin and him, instead reaching up to cup the other man's cheek softly, feeling the outline of him beneath his fingers. Raw. Real. Raw. Real.
He kisses him softly, tilting his head for a better angle, listening to his own shallow breathing, trapped in his chest and caught in his throat. ]
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Assumptions, he has learned, are not just dangerous but powerful, too.
But now, he has Claude's lips against his own and the other man tastes so much like himself that it very nearly makes his knees buckle. He leans into it, following through as Claude gives him a better angle for access and slipping his tongue past his lips, into the heat of him. It makes him feel lightheaded, warmer than before, though the pleasure is slower now than it used to be, gentler and less about now and more. It suits him fine. They have a small moment to themselves now, they aren't going to rush it.
Slowly, he slides one hand down Claude's broad chest. His sensors aren't as precise as usual because of the thin glove covering his fingers; at some point, he realised that his limbs would not remain functional for long without protection. Unfortunately, it takes away some of the sensations but, well. It comes with other... advantages. The gloves are soft and smooth, coated with a substance that gives the material grip according to whichever friction he's inducing.
This time, he thinks, as he runs his hand over the other man's stomach, pulling at the hem of his shirt and slipping his fingers beneath it, the friction will not necessitate any particular amount of grip. He flattens his palm against Claude's belly, breaking the kiss only when he's feeling borderline faint. He gives Claude a regretful look, grabs his mask with his free hand and slips it on. If they do this again - if Claude - if they do, he will find another breathing solution if it kriffing kills him. Stupid thing. ]
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More than anything, it feels like a fresh start.
Claude hasn't slept with anyone since he slept with Anakin last, such a long time ago, right? This is a first. It's a first. The thought makes him gasp as Anakin withdraws, following the other man with his eyes as he reaches for his mask again, looking apologetic, and slips it back on.
Oh. Yeah, sure, Claude understands.
Besides, he's a bit preoccupied with the sensation of Anakin's hand slipping up underneath his shirt, fingers flattening over his stomach, like a huge, heavy presence there and Claude is breathing shallowly already, feeling his whole lower body heat up in response. So long, it's been so kriffing long. Nodding a couple of times, slowly, he steps back against the windowsill and slides his arms around Anakin's shoulders, pulling at him to make him step closer, come close, stay close, stay, please. I want to keep you.
One hand, he runs up the side of Anakin's neck, stroking the scarred skin there carefully, gently with his thumb while he leans in from the other side, close to Anakin's right ear, whispering, ]
I can feel you. [ A slow exhale, before Claude curls his hand around the back of the other man's head, at the base of his skull, supporting him there while he feels the dips of his skin beneath his lips as he speaks.
Breathlessly. ] I've missed the feel of you so much.
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Something, something about absolutes.
Now, he leans in as Claude curls his hand against the back of his naked scalp, the sensation actually enough to make his spine tingle in response, fingers twitching minutely. Oh. That's. Yes. He closes his eyes and focuses for a second, just a second, on the feel of his fingertips, the gentleness of them, and he could drown in that feeling alone, he thinks. He could grow roots here, just like this.
But then, of course, they wouldn't get to the next part and that will never do.
Nodding, he feels out Claude's abdomen, his midriff, his fingers spread wide across his skin. He strokes him there for a moment, just taking the time to map him out again, before he runs his hand further up, palm skirting across his left nipple lightly before he finds the other with his fingertips. He works it gently, taking care with his strength, keeping Claude pressed up against the windowsill with the width of his body. ]
Mm. I missed you too - I miss you always when I don't have you.
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Oh. Kriff.
Sighing, long and hard exhalation leaving his lips damp, so he has to lick himself, Claude slowly strokes his palm down over the naked slope of Anakin's skull, fingertips digging in every so slightly, like he's trying to catch every little nook and corner like you'd catch a wave. His other hand pushes up against Anakin's clothes, feeling the pronounced sense of muscle in his side, ribs, the swell of chest. Everything that's him. Everything.
He pushes his forehead, all sweaty curls sticking to him, them, against the side of Anakin's face, his breathing audible, loud. He's being loud and there's no one around to care anymore. They might be running, but they're not hiding. Not the two of them. Claude shifts a little, mostly trapped by the pressure of Anakin's front which is good. It's good. It's beautiful. ]
You have me now. You really, really have me now, Anakin.
[ His voice sounds a tiny bit raw. He arches into the feeling of Anakin's fingers, his nipples hard, too. Off to the side, the figurine stands like symbolism.
Heavy symbolism. ]
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He used to look at the stars when he was younger but even then, he was restless.
Right now, he isn't.
With a half-smile, he curls his hand against Claude's buttocks, flattens his palm against his side to keep him balanced and lifts him up onto the windowsill, the movement fluent and undisturbed. He steps in between his legs, looking at Claude who's now as tall - if maybe not a bit taller - than him. Perfect.
He reaches up, running his fingertips through his beard, following the strong line of his jaw all the way to his right earlobe. ]
Did I ever tell you - [ He runs his other hand down Claude's front, fingertips trailing lightly across his navel, finding coarser curls underneath along with the promise of warmth. ] - I really like your hair. All of it.
[ He slips his hand beneath the hem of Claude's sweatpants and finds him hard, his cock sliding against the side of his hand. He folds his hand around it near the root, holding him there, watching his face, his eyes, his mouth. Beautiful, he thinks. And even now, he gets to have this.
Even now. ]
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Kriff, he's hard for him. ]
You're telling me now.
[ Holding the other man's gaze while Anakin reaches down between them, Claude's cock sliding over the side of his hand, the friction sparking in his system, so his breath shakes a little on the next exhale, he lowers one hand to the windowsill to steady himself, the other cupping Anakin's face for a moment before slipping down over his neck, the side of it, he's got a lot of implants in his throat and Claude is careful where he applies pressure. His breathing feels funny in his chest, like he's rising too fast towards something he doesn't fully understand what is. Part of him wants them to match each other, state of undress, hardness, he wants them to match so much, the way they used to do. Another part of him, less selfish, less raw from the war, however that's possible, recognises that they are. Matching.
Anakin likes his hair and Claude likes it as well, because of him.
So, he stays very still in the other man's grip, doesn't push up against his palm or seek out the pressure of his fingers, the soft, soft, soft slide of his glove which in itself is making Claude's toes curl. He just breathes in, breathes out slowly, staring down into Anakin's face, his eyes clear blue like the lake outside in this light, from this angle. ]
You should tell me without words.
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Take what's there, if nothing else. ]
Aren't I?
[ Claude's eyes look even warmer now with the sunlight catching in his irises and Anakin can see himself reflected there, the steel of his mask gleaming when he moves. It doesn't look quite as ugly like that, reflected back at him, the way Claude does it, just as he touches him so gently because he wants but never at the expense of others. Anakin understands that about him now - that it's possible to feel like that. It's an abstract, logical knowledge for him, like knowing certain facts about the universe, about politics or history or math. It exists but outside of him, like something he can look at but never hold.
He can hold Claude, however.
He begins to stroke him, slowly but evenly, listening to his breathing and watching his face, his expressions. His cock is a familiar weight in his hand, even after all this time. Back then, they'd done quite a lot of exploration, hadn't they? It had been lovely. This isn't actually altogether different, he realises, because he's touched Claude with his metal hand before. This one is different, granted, but the feeling hasn't changed much.
Imagine - that something hasn't.
Stepping closer, he leans the side of his face gently against Claude's, taking care not to get him anywhere unfortunate with the mask and its stupid edges. He's going to get a new one, he decides. Something soft, something that conforms better to his face and preferably, something that translates the feeling of Claude's beard when it rubs against his chin. ]
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He trusts him with that. ]
You --
[ Feeling the other man step closer, the broad force of his body against his own making his blood pound, Claude turns his head carefully in against the side of his mask, the edge of it hard and unyielding against him which he, without him entirely understanding why and he's not gonna ask right now, really kriffing likes. He kisses it. Kisses where the corner of Anakin's mouth would've been without it, both hands running down his upper arms, where he's flesh and the transition to metal, that thrilling change from one material to another. Claude feels for him, feels for where his muscles flex in his upper arm as he moves his hand, up, down, up, down, slowly, evenly.
Eventually, he can't stand staying still any longer, pushing into Anakin's grip slowly, hips trembling from holding back, so he gets the full, soft slightly damp glide of it, his cock beginning to pearl with precum.
Aren't I, Anakin had asked, because he's still got attitude to spare.
Claude groans, a slight frown as he works for the feeling, takes more of what Anakin is giving him, his brow feeling damp, his curls sticking to him. He is, but he should keep talking, really, he should talk more in this new voice of his that Claude is so kriffing excited to listen to, his muscles working hard beneath his skin, abdomen, lower arms, fingers, thighs. He shifts slightly, pulls back, pushes back in.
Considering the suit he'd worn when they first met, Claude's just relieved that there's still a way in at all. That Anakin is still letting him. ]
You are. Clearly.
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That's it. You can have it.
[ His voice is little more than a whisper at this point because he's somewhat forgetting to breathe regularly and unlike his suit, this mask isn't doing the work for him. He doesn't want to focus on it, though, on himself and his own deficiencies. He wants to focus on Claude, only, to have him cover him from the inside-out but these days, well, it isn't as simple as that anymore. He can't just push everything else aside, the way he would have before. He has to slow himself down, it's not even a choice but a necessity unless he wants to pass out from lack of oxygen and ruin Claude's impending orgasm.
No chance.
He doesn't stop working Claude's cock, though his focus splits for a moment as his breathing evens out. He doesn't like it, having to move himself away from what he wants, it's annoying and frustrating and it feels like weakness. But then, Claude pushes into his grip, his cock weeping precum because the man wants him, he wants him this much and he thinks that maybe weakness - moderation - is at times conditional to all the other things that he wants. Maybe it is. On his next stroke, he presses his thumb over the head of Claude's cock, gathering the wetness there and using it for slick, his hand working at the same, steady pace. ]
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Claude had forgotten about being selfish, before he met Anakin. Anakin has taught him the art of self-preservation by wanting things for himself, making demands for himself and as it builds up for him now, gradually, but strongly, he hasn't had any hands but his own for so long, he thinks that's what this is. This is him demanding something from Anakin. Anakin who has been made demands of his whole life, getting nothing in return.
He's allowing Claude to give back, by giving himself.
The thought makes Claude moan desperately, canting his hips upwards, pushing his cock in against the soft material of Anakin's glove, the harder underlying pressure of his fingers and there's a moment where he floats, it literally feels that way, then his fingers convulsively grasp at the other man by the elbows, fingers digging in through fabric, into metal, the hardness of him. So hard.
His balls are drawing up.
When he comes, it's with a weak little sob, his whole body shaking for a moment as he spends himself between Anakin's fingers, long spurts of cum getting all over him, over his glove, over the hem of Claude's pants, getting them sticky and leaving them damp in the aftermath, as his hips slowly, slowly still. There was once he'd have apologised for coming so soon, but considering their context, their time, their losses, too - he thinks this took longer than they might even have, really.
But it was perfect and he stays still against Anakin for a long time yet, just breathing. ]
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His death would have meant nothing for the galaxy as a whole but he would have left Claude behind to fight this battle and seeing what it takes of him, even now... No. Someone needs to take care of him, even if Anakin isn't allowed to protect him, to keep him safe from harm. That's how things must be, now. He chose his side and the side was wrong.
This is what he gets and he'll take it, whole-heartedly.
Claude grabs him by his elbows, fingers digging in. Anakin feels his cock pulse between his fingers, growing harder, before he comes between his fingers, the wetness sticking to his gloves and to Claude's pants. The sound he makes, something like a whimper, is amazing. He strokes him all the way through, until Claude's no longer jerking into his grip, coming still against him. He eases his hand from his pants and steps back slightly, just enough to stop crowding him. ]
Beautiful.
[ He runs his fingers down the back of his head, through his curls, grasping the back of his neck briefly before reaching down to curl his hand over Claude's where he's gripping the windowsill. His skin is warm from the sun, a contrast to the cold in air. ]
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He looks down at Anakin's face for a moment, at the landscape and borderlines of it.
It's not that he hasn't thought about reciprocity, of course. Even before today. He's thought about it, but it hasn't seemeed terribly relevant or important until this moment when his fingers flex against the windowsill, his legs spread wide around Anakin's hips. Still a flesh-part of him, but he's seen him naked and he knows that it's one of few and what's left is badly burned. Some of it unrecognisable. Some of it gone. Claude takes a moment to let that acceptance settle in his body, then he reaches down and runs his hand flat, soft, sweaty, little bit shaky, over Anakin's scalp, from his brow to the back of his skull.
Rests it there, like a warm presence. Connection. ]
What can I give you?
[ Honestly, he isn't dead-set on giving back if Anakin doesn't want it, doesn't know the mechanisms himself yet, Claude can think of a lot of reasons why it might just stay a hypothetical question. But he needs to ask, he needs to put it out there, word it between them. He isn't afraid of Anakin's body as it is now, he's not afraid of what it can do and even less so of what it can't. They simply need to be able to communicate openly about it, or there's no hope for anything. Anything at all.
And that's one thing Claude can't settle with. No hope. ]
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Apropos.
Well.
His gaze glides sideways as he thinks the question over. Everything, anything you'd want would be the most instinctive answer but that's not what he's asking and Anakin isn't afraid of this subject, so much as he just... isn't sure. This body definitely wasn't made for any kind of proximity - as evidenced by how Sidious thought he'd exist most efficiently in a cage of durasteel - and sex is pretty much null, at least in any conventional fashion. He hasn't thought much about it and consequently, he hasn't actually tried to figure out what would work and what wouldn't. Claude, he'd thought, was dead. He had no need to even consider it anymore.
And then, Claude wasn't.
Worrying his bottom lip for a moment, he finally just settles with a slight shrug, looking back at Claude. ]
Let me get back to you on that.
[ Regardless of what missions he'll be going on in the near future - and he can guess there'll be a few - surely, he can master a side project like this. He'll look into what his body can actually do and try to improve his functioning around those points; for instance, he has thought about the clear disadvantage of his mask, covering his mouth. Today has proven him right. There could be other things. Could be.
He shifts a little, then leans his forehead against Claude's shoulder with a sigh. ]
I'm sorry. This is a stupid problem.
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No need to apologise. [ Claude is patient by nature, even when he wants, maybe especially then. I'll get back to you on that, Anakin had said and so, he must wait. For Anakin to figure it out first and share his findings with him, if he wants, if he likes what he finds. Or else -- well. ] I'm fine with it, I just want to make sure you're fine with it as well, or else we're gonna find a way.
[ It's the only comfort he can give right now, the only caresses he can offer. Assurance. Assurance that he wants him, sexually, romantically and personally, still. To the core of his being, Claude wants him. So much it physically hurts. If the fact that Anakin's body has changed to this degree had proven to be the breaking point, what about all the rest? A lot of things have changed, after all.
Claude has grown a beard.
Anakin destroyed the Jedi.
Perspective.
Claude turns his head a little and presses a kiss to the lobe of Anakin's ear, smiling in against the shell of it, less marked by his ordeals than most parts of him. A moment of just breathing slow and relaxed into him, in, out, in, then he says, voice low, a mutter. ]
Beloved.