[ 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. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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.