[ It's a few hours past sunset and the stars are out. Anakin leans back against the sides of the large hot tub, craning his neck back and looking upwards. Out here in the forest, far away from Aldera's lightscape, the visual is breathtaking. He finds Coruscant with ease of habit before his gaze wanders, taking in stars at random. He's seen a few of them by now. I'm gonna be the first to see them all, he'd said, once, decades ago when he'd known very little about the magnitude of the galaxy. But even now, after everything, the wanderlust remains like a weak but undeniable undercurrent within him. Onwards, it says. Hurry.
The past few hours he's spent setting up the tub in the backyard along with a string of old-fashioned light bulbs that he found in a crate in the very back of the work shed. For such a luxurious place, they're a bit crappy-looking, but their golden light emanating between the naked branches above him is warm and goes with the pace they're struck, him and Claude. Not hurried. Easy, rather, steady. One step at a time.
He's holding himself up by his arms, his legs leaned against the side of the tub because he thinks bathing with them unprotected might be pushing the mechanics a bit too far, even with all the modifications he's managed to do over the past months. The rest of him, he's decided to risk. His implants are fine with bacta, which incidentally is quite wet. If they can't handle bathwater with a touch of herbal infusions, then supposedly, he'd have to short-circuit. He'd deserve it, too, for allowing himself to be that useless.
Anakin glances towards the back terrace. His skin prickles slightly where the nerves still can.
[ Afterwards, as they'd settled down from the handjob in the library, lots of kissing, lots of nuzzling later, Anakin and he had split up again the way they do during the day, because they each have their own missions and interests to pursue. Claude had returned to his bedroom to give the figurine a pride of place on his bedside table and then, maybe slightly nostalgic, had dug out one of the few loincloths he's brought along from Paris, all this way. Honestly, Alderaan is a bit too cold at this time for you to undress to any noticeable degree and a loincloth is definitely to push it, but he'd missed home. His mother's voice. The Parisian coastline. Seafood. All things he associates with the planet that is now all but gone, really. That reality doesn't exist anymore.
So, he'd donned the loincloth and returned to the library and the faint smell of himself there to pick up on his reading. The holo book opened on the same page he'd gotten to in the morning before Anakin decided to get him, first, emotional and then, orgasmic.
Peripherally, he's been aware of Anakin working in the shed, fixing up the hot tub outside, the temperatures unforgiving but watch the other man not giving a single kriff about that, soldiering on the way so many people must have taught him at this point. Difficult to point at the exact person responsible, right, the one who made Anakin Skywalker a soldier. Maybe he always was. Maybe that's part of what's everyone's been exploiting all this time.
Even as he starts reading again, his thoughts keep returning to that sentiment. You can't use something that isn't there.
Anakin was there. Anakin is here, now.
Claude won't use him, too.
Later in the evening, Anakin lets him know he's gonna try the hot tub, now that he's made all that kriffing effort, Claude raising an eye at him as he saunters outside. It takes him exactly ten minutes to sign off on the orders he's had lying around, before he also gets up and follows him, finding Anakin's legs leaned against the side of the tub and the man himself... Anakin holding himself up by the arms, submerged in water on the perch there, the water smelling nicely of herbs and flowers. He's hung up a string of light bulbs between the trees. If they weren't at war, it would have been romantic.
Still is, he thinks, stopping off to the side to crawl out of his loincloth (and it really is too kriffing cold for it, his dick finds) before climbing into the hot tub instead, easing down next to Anakin who never takes up that much space when out of his prosthetics. He bumps his shoulders, where he's still flesh. Hello, it means.
The water is a comfortably heated temperature. Not the reason Claude feels warm, though. He looks up at the starry sky above them, then he looks at Anakin. ]
[ He senses Claude before he sees him because he's always reaching out to some degree, it's not just a matter of wanting to know, it's instinctual, like he couldn't stop breathing either, or blinking. When he was younger, he'd had an excessive amount of noise in his head as a consequence because unlike Tatooine, Coruscant is loud and shielding never became a strength of his until after, once keeping Sidious out of his innermost thoughts became a priority. Not to undermine him, exactly, though Anakin wishes he could say he'd been that proactive about distancing himself. Mostly, he'd just been petty. If you want to know so badly, do the work.
Over the past months, he's gradually found a balance between shielding and remaining in touch with his surroundings. It's interesting that it's taken him so long, possibly, he's been training as a Jedi for more than a decade. But of course, he was always a terrible Jedi. Eyes hardening at the thought for all of half a second, he's instantly distracted when Claude emerges, very nearly undressed, except for the loincloth. Oh. Anakin stares at him, mind flashing back to the earliest days on Paris and being constantly distracted by all that naked skin, by the warmth in the air and around Claude, the way he carried it within his eyes. It's the same now, even if the world around them tries to chill them to the bone. He smiles, happiness bubbling in his chest as the other man drops the cloth - mm, good - and joins him in the water.
At the other man's look, he raises a hairless eyebrow. ]
I assume you mean the stars.
[ He doesn't sound particularly bothered. Shifting a little, he keeps himself steady in the water, upper body more or less hard as rock - and not just because of the implants, either. He has to compensate now for having no legs to balance himself with. He looks at Claude, takes him in, his beautiful, familiar features, his beard, his lips and his eyes, the way the water clings to his skin.
No, he doesn't mind not being the pretty one in this relationship.
[ Shifting so he can slip an arm around Anakin's broad, broad shoulders, what he's lost in actual body weight, he's gained in pure, unapologetic muscle, Claude leans in and pushes his half-open mouth against the shell of the other man's ear, just breathing out over the scarred skin there, to see what kind of reaction he's gonna get. Breathing him in, too, on his next inhalation. At the same time, he slips his flat palm up the back of Anakin's neck, following the curve of his skull all the way up to the top of his bald head. Slowly, along the way, he starts pressing his fingertips inward, to feel out the texture of his head, the shape, the dips and nooks and many, many corners gained. He doesn't think he ever knew Anakin to be as complex as he is now.
There's a loss to that, of course. Innocence, idealism, those kinds of things. But also a gain.
They both see the world in nuances they couldn't even have imagined before, he thinks.
Claude makes a humming noise, pressing a soft kiss to Anakin's earlobe before drawing back slightly, remaining seated more or less glued to the other man's side, his arm around his shoulders, fingers caressing his scalp slowly, circular, soothing motions. Beloved, beloved, beloved, it means, though Claude doesn't say it out loud.
If you want all the nuances, you accept the greys as well. That's just how it is. He's getting gradually used to that, to a multi-tonal world, a multi-tonal Anakin, a multi-tonal sense of self. Claude Bérubé, former Prince of Paris, who once thought and to some degree still thinks war is the ultimate proof of evil. He just doesn't know how he's gonna define evil any longer. Basic comprehension problem.
He scratches a slight dip in Anakin's skin carefully, as little nail as possible. ]
I have no problem looking at you, Anakin.
[ He knows everything he's saying, everything hanging between them. And he wants Anakin to know as well. ]
[ Claude reaches out, slipping his arm around his shoulders and leaning in closer. His breath is a hush of warmth, gliding over the shell of his ear and the contrast to the chill in the air is enough to make even his damaged nerves sing. With a half-smile, he turns a little, twisting his upper body and taking care not to lose his balance, just as Claude slips his fingers up along the top of his head. Oh. He closes his eyes, breathing through his mask slowly. Claude touches him carefully, always, but never hesitantly or like he's afraid. He's adapting so well to the... physical circumstances, such as they are, and Anakin loves him for it.
He loves him so much that it hurts.
As Claude draws away, leaving the damp imprint of his lips against his earlobe, Anakin looks at him again, his gaze dark, a hint of desperation there, even as the other man tells him that Anakin, such as he is, what's left of him, is fine, it's no problem. Force, but the rest of the galaxy sure is a problem, isn't it. In no time at all, they will call for Claude's assistance again and he'll leave - possibly, he will have to work together with Obi-Wan again and the thought alone makes him queasy, like he can still smell himself burning on the banks of Mustafar. It's an intolerable reality but that's the world they have, that's what he's managed to give the man he loves more than anything in the universe.
He must do better.
He must keep doing better.
Frowning, he reaches up and runs his hand down the side of Claude's face. His beard registers as coarse because his sensors don't know any better - obviously, it should register as kriffing delicious but he digresses. He looks into his eyes, wondering if maybe, possibly, he could live there, within the other man's calm gaze, steady and true and larger than life, larger than anything he's known. Beneath the surface of the water, he can glimpse the outline of his naked body, strong thighs and flat stomach, the curls of hair between his legs. The desperation morphs into something else, not as dark, not as useless.
With a shudder, he leans his forehead against the side of Claude's face, breathing raggedly into his mask. He thinks about what he wants, uncaring about the rest of himself or the world around them and it's Claude, Claude takes up nearly everything within his consciousness. Claude, Claude, Claude. He reaches with his other hand, grasping him by the shoulder.
Below the surface of the water, he can feel Claude's legs, his skin, the Force curled around him, within him, and he touches it, him, something like warm pressure folding itself around the other man's thighs. ]
[ The hand against the side of his face is wet, cool, hard, metallic, and he loves everywhere they touch, angling his chin in against the ball of Anakin's palm, letting him feel the coarse drag of his beard over metal, sensors, he knows, he knows for sure. Anakin will feel it. They're looking at each other like that, staring deep into each other's eyes, blue and brown, sky blue and earthy brown, and Claude gets a deep-seated sense that they're reflecting each other back, that they're seeing their very opposite in each other's gaze. You're me, but different. I am you, but other. It takes away his breath a little, his chest rising fast a few times, trying to fill his lungs properly. That's when Anakin leans in, forehead against Claude's face, the side of it, and Claude can hear him working for his breathing, working for every intake and he wants so much to hold him, to reach out and slip his arms around his shoulders, take him in. Like they used to, back then. Back when the world was a different place, the galaxy a different reality.
About to do so, about to take Anakin in a way he can't take Claude anymore, not for lack of want, but the kriffing rest, yeah, he is brought to a sudden halt, however. Beneath the water, he feels a pressure, like touch, like broad hands folding over his thighs, as if the water is hardening, firm like snow without the cold, not as sharp, not as jagged as ice, it's like flesh, but it's formed from the liquid. Claude stares straight ahead, feeling his cock give a pathetic little jerk, filling slightly as he realises that Anakin... Anakin... ]
Is that you?
[ He feels stupid asking, honestly. Not a lot of Force users left around here and if there were, he doesn't imagine they'd get anywhere near Claude's privates with their extended powers. Still, he... He might be used to the nudges, the little pokes when Anakin wants him to know he's been there in the Force, watching over him, feeling for him, with him, in some way. You get used to getting touched without any evident source of it, with someone like Anakin around, he guesses. And if you don't, you probably just get pissed off.
He isn't pissed off in the slightest, though.
Rather, he hears himself breathing a little faster now, again, shifting slightly beneath the touch of nothing, water, possibly, who knows, glancing down to see himself at least half-hard now. His cheeks burn, he can feel the flush washing into them, as he presses back against Anakin's face, exhaling long and slow. Finally, he reaches up with both arms, slipping them around Anakin's broad shoulders, definitely flesh. ]
[ He isn't aware that he's doing it at first - reaching out for Claude, the way he's reached for so many other things throughout the years, knowing intrinsically that it wasn't ever the thing itself but the matter it was made from, calling out to him. He's breathing unevenly, pressing against Claude and holding onto him both, whilst he senses how warm he is, all firm muscles and smooth skin -
Is that you says Claude, his voice a little befuddled and it breaks through the haze of want in Anakin's mind. He blinks, staring at the shadows tracking across Claude's features, realising that he's grasping him with everything, a small, irritating part of him telling him that this isn't how you engage with the Force, Anakin, don't be frivolous and he squashes that thought like a bug, feeling slightly petty about it, maybe. Slightly. Anyway, smash. Gone.
Meanwhile, Claude turns in his arms, slipping both his own around Anakin's shoulders and holding himself in the water like that, his cheeks beautifully flushed. Anakin wants to kiss him. He wishes he could. Instead, he nods, feeling himself trembling slightly without quite understanding why. He pushes his hand beneath the water, curving his fingers against Claude's side, right where his ribs are most prominent beneath his skin. He traces them slowly, the bumps, the edges. Claude has them, too. In that, they are only slightly different, he thinks, if Claude will allow it and he does, he keeps saying so.
They can be a little alike, then.
Mirrors for each other, if a little banged up. ]
Okay.
[ He closes his eyes and feels him again, more strongly now. His thighs, yes, and then the insides of them, the soft skin there - yes. So soft. Warm. He groans, taking him in, following the lines of muscle and flesh inwards, feeling how he grows warmer, hotter, as he slips between his legs. His balls, he finds, are not too heavy yet. He thinks about stroking them, about folding the water around them and he can sense the water moving, then, the molecules shifting at his bidding. ]
[ Okay, says Anakin, meaning yes, it's me, his hand dropping below the surface of the water, tracing Claude's ribs and it tickles a little, but in a pleasant, slightly overstimulated way and Claude doesn't want him to stop, doesn't want him to ever stop, this.
Hearing himself gasp slightly, he feels the pressure of water move inward between his legs, thighs, inner thighs, up. Although it doesn't ask and neither does Anakin, Claude shifts again, spreading himself open slightly, welcoming it, the warm sense of motion and push, like the water's actually folding around his balls, massaging them from all sides at once. He isn't even aware that he's making noise until the moan is done, echoing slightly in the crisp, cool air all around them. He moans again, spreading himself as wide as he can go from this angle which isn't overly much, but it'll do. Like everything else, it feels nice, so it's welcome. It's enough.
Leaning forward, in against Anakin, forehead coming to a rest against his shoulder, he feels his hips beginning to quiver slightly, that need to move, to push back, to push in feeling almost overwhelmingly intense. He turns his face in against the side of Anakin's neck, staring at the darkness of his own shadow, breathing too fast for anything constructive to come of it. There's a faintness to his body, a lightness now. He likes that. A bit out of sorts, it's good. Groaning now, he pushes in against the pressure, tries to find some sort of tightness in it. He's rock hard now, he needs... Kriff, he needs...
Anakin is touching him with absolutely everything that he is.
And still, Claude needs. Means needing isn't wrong. Means needing it all they've got left at this point. The next groan is thick, like something's in his throat.
Something's in his throat. He reaches up with one hand, running his palm over the back of Anakin's skull, following his scalp, digging in his fingers just slightly more desperately now, sorry. ]
You feel amazing, you have no idea, you feel... like so much... Anakin...
[ Another groan, low, that old part of him that Rainier got to first still holding back. Not out of spite, but out of fear. There are connections that only last as long as you're in each other, around each other, on, with. He doesn't want it to end.
[ He's deep in the sensation of Claude, of feeling the way the whole world seems to shape itself around him. The other man, meanwhile, quivers beneath him, his body aching to go, even though he's being as patient as ever, holding himself back, really, because Claude will do that in the name of fairness, of decency. When he grabs onto Anakin's head just a little roughly, fingers digging into his skin and making his nerves twinge, he's doing the most he'll allow himself, holding onto Anakin but never enough to take.
Anakin wants him to take. Whatever he needs, whatever he wants. But now, with years of damage and pain and grief tracking his every step, he understands that some things change you, make you less than what you were and he doesn't want that for Claude, either, never in a million years. It's a difficult balance for most, he'd expect, and for Anakin, it's impossible. He'll never achieve it.
But he can follow Claude now and get a sense of what it's like. ]
Tell me what you want.
[ He can imagine but he won't presume and he won't project, just because he knows what he wants. Even with his body as maimed and lacking as it is, his brain understands perfectly well the feel of Claude's thighs, his balls, and the urgency inherent to the way his muscles are shivering when the water drapes itself around him. He understands the breathiness in his voice and it translates itself perfectly into whatever remains of his bloodstream. With another harsh intake of breath, he folds himself, his reach, around Claude's half-hard cock, the water shaping itself like a warm, wet tunnel around his length. ]
[ Even now, even like this, they don't give up on their principles, Claude especially - doesn't. Let go. He sucks in a sharp breath, feeling the water shaping around his cock, rock hard in seconds in response, like something snuck and tight and wet, all at once, and it's almost too much, it's like wanting to take, but knowing you need the get-go, that waiting time, quivering, shaking for it. But as always, like he's done from the very first time Claude fucked him, Anakin meets him, not on the middle, but all the way up in Claude's zone, telling him... asking him to tell him, what you want, and Claude is dizzy from the overwhelming intensity of it at this point. He licks his lips a couple of times, trying to center himself and finding it almost impossible, knowing that Anakin is bending the material of the kriffing universe around him, for his kriffing sake and it's such a love declaration, he doesn't know what to do with that. Except accept. Take. Take.
His hips push into the hole of water, pushing in against the walls of it, soft but unyielding, like something's innermost, like... Kriff.
Pushing his head off Anakin's shoulder, he blinks against the light and shivers in the chill around his shoulders, meeting Anakin's gaze straight on. He wants to say it to his face, he wants to see him react. To Claude learning, too, not just one way between them, but both ways at once. Anakin to curb his greed and for Claude to allow it, more. ]
I want to feel you -- everywhere, all parts of you.
[ His voice sounds hoarse and low, deep in his throat. Reaching down with his free hand, he takes Anakin's wrist, submerged in water, fingers spread out over his midriff, pulling at him, pulling him up, chest, pecs, nipples, leads him to roam. Take him that way, too. At the same time.
The Force as Anakin knows it, uses it, doesn't scare him and he'll take his Jedi tricks, too. He'll take them happily. He'll take them.
[ His breath catches in his throat when Claude starts thrusting upwards, his mental hold around him tightening just a fraction, carefully, so carefully. He meets the other man's gaze as they look at each other, seeing him blink against the light from the treetops. Around them, the backyard is almost completely quiet, except for the distant sound of the waves, lapping against the shore on the other side of the house. It's late out here in the mountain ranges and the world can be quiet, it seems, when there's enough space to allow the seemingly constant noise a chance to dissipate.
I want to feel you says Claude while Anakin, in turn, feels all of him, in his mind, against his body. When he drags his hand upwards along his torso, Anakin looks at him for another moment, feeling simultaneously centered within himself, within this little world they've made together, and wrung inside-out. He wants him. He wants more of him. And Claude, in turn, wants all of him so here they are, then, in the quiet, catching up to each other at last.
He shifts again, slipping his other hand into Claude's hair, cradling it between his fingers in a way that's starting to feel not just familiar but safe, like recognising a homeward path. He smiles and frees his other hand gently from Claude's grip, reaching up to clip off his mask, dropping it into the water. The air feels raw when he takes his next breath and it will hold him only for a moment - but that's what they have, anyway, isn't it. A moment. And then, strings of them, woven together slowly but surely.
Leaning in, he kisses Claude, sucking briefly on his lower lip before slipping his tongue inside, catching his warmth like that along with his breath.
Then, he runs his hand over his chest, finding his left nipple, first, and fingering it, the hot water lapping against his wrist. Beneath the surface, he keeps the slide of water around Claude's cock tight but pliant and it reminds him of other times, other days, the two of them entwined on the sheets somewhere in the sunlight with Claude pushing into him, connected and close. He groans against the other man's lips. ]
[ The tightness of the water, the soft, slick hold of it, seems to narrow in, following the whole length of his cock, balls to tip and Claude is very close to going cross-eyed from it, especially as Anakin dislodges his mask and leans in, fingers finding Claude's nipple, fingering it insistently and it's so much. There's so much of him, still. He's not dead, he's not gone, and he's back here with Claude again, so much of him, despite everything they've lost, all the time, all the sense of self. Feeling his eyes well up, he lets them fall closed as Anakin leans in and kisses him, opening his mouth to him, parting his lips and letting himself be taken, in turn. While his hips pick up a faster pace, pushing in against Anakin's Force-grip, fucking into the tight hole of it. Anakin groans against him, Claude groans with him, into him and they're connected everywhere, they might as well be one person, one body --
The thought overpowers him suddenly, the feeling of connection, of being with and being inside and his thrusts grow harder, more desperate, chasing the need for release, the need for pushing every little last bit of himself into Anakin, everything Anakin is, he... Oh.
He gasps, clutching at Anakin's shoulders now, holding on to him too tightly, the slide and the friction getting too much, getting -- almost -- Oh.
Another gasp, thicker, wetter and he breaks the kiss the breathe, fighting for it, hurling against the edge until suddenly, suddenly he's flying, he's light and he's stars, oh kriff. He makes a small, vulnerable sound as he comes, staring wide-eyed into Anakin's face, seeing all of him, all that he is.
Feeling it, too.
Tears are tracking down his cheeks. His hips pushing, pushing, pushing, until also they still, slowly, tiredly, the water streaked with his cum, the whole load. Claude inhales, exhales, inhales, unevenly.
For once, he can't speak. Something beyond words just happened between them. ]
[ Claude holds onto him and Anakin doesn't let up, doesn't let go and for once, it doesn't ruin anything or kill anyone; he holds no illusions anymore with regards to himself, he's a tool for destruction first and preciously little beyond that. Claude makes it feel like more, though, he makes it feel like nothing else really matters and Anakin believes him. When Claude breaks the kiss, he stays close, feeling his body tightening against him, his thrusts growing more frantic and desperate. They keep it like that, then, letting it progress.
When Claude comes, he makes a sound that Anakin can't describe, it's small and sweet and full of something that he'd never expect to be given by anyone again, nor does he deserve it. Claude deserves to give whatever he wants of himself to whomever he chooses, however, and all other aspects of the universe must, necessarily, yield to that. He's comfortable with that idea. He always has been. He keeps his hold on him through his climax, until Claude's hips still and his breathing grows slower, though no less ragged. Anakin, in turn, has been out of breath for several seconds too long and he grabs his mask with the Force, plunging it back onto his face, uncaring about the wetness of it and how it makes his first intake of breath feel like he's basically inhaling half the tub.
All he cares about is how complete this feels. The two of them, in the quiet together.
Yeah, he's alright with that.
Shifting, he slips his arm around Claude's shoulders and pulls him close against his side, leaning back against the tub. He closes his eyes, his hold on the Force lessening to nothing, except perhaps for a hint of pressure against Claude's midriff, like a warm palm, lingering only briefly. ]
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The past few hours he's spent setting up the tub in the backyard along with a string of old-fashioned light bulbs that he found in a crate in the very back of the work shed. For such a luxurious place, they're a bit crappy-looking, but their golden light emanating between the naked branches above him is warm and goes with the pace they're struck, him and Claude. Not hurried. Easy, rather, steady. One step at a time.
He's holding himself up by his arms, his legs leaned against the side of the tub because he thinks bathing with them unprotected might be pushing the mechanics a bit too far, even with all the modifications he's managed to do over the past months. The rest of him, he's decided to risk. His implants are fine with bacta, which incidentally is quite wet. If they can't handle bathwater with a touch of herbal infusions, then supposedly, he'd have to short-circuit. He'd deserve it, too, for allowing himself to be that useless.
Anakin glances towards the back terrace. His skin prickles slightly where the nerves still can.
Claude should be joining him soon. ]
no subject
So, he'd donned the loincloth and returned to the library and the faint smell of himself there to pick up on his reading. The holo book opened on the same page he'd gotten to in the morning before Anakin decided to get him, first, emotional and then, orgasmic.
Peripherally, he's been aware of Anakin working in the shed, fixing up the hot tub outside, the temperatures unforgiving but watch the other man not giving a single kriff about that, soldiering on the way so many people must have taught him at this point. Difficult to point at the exact person responsible, right, the one who made Anakin Skywalker a soldier. Maybe he always was. Maybe that's part of what's everyone's been exploiting all this time.
Even as he starts reading again, his thoughts keep returning to that sentiment. You can't use something that isn't there.
Anakin was there. Anakin is here, now.
Claude won't use him, too.
Later in the evening, Anakin lets him know he's gonna try the hot tub, now that he's made all that kriffing effort, Claude raising an eye at him as he saunters outside. It takes him exactly ten minutes to sign off on the orders he's had lying around, before he also gets up and follows him, finding Anakin's legs leaned against the side of the tub and the man himself... Anakin holding himself up by the arms, submerged in water on the perch there, the water smelling nicely of herbs and flowers. He's hung up a string of light bulbs between the trees. If they weren't at war, it would have been romantic.
Still is, he thinks, stopping off to the side to crawl out of his loincloth (and it really is too kriffing cold for it, his dick finds) before climbing into the hot tub instead, easing down next to Anakin who never takes up that much space when out of his prosthetics. He bumps his shoulders, where he's still flesh. Hello, it means.
The water is a comfortably heated temperature. Not the reason Claude feels warm, though. He looks up at the starry sky above them, then he looks at Anakin. ]
Nice view.
no subject
Over the past months, he's gradually found a balance between shielding and remaining in touch with his surroundings. It's interesting that it's taken him so long, possibly, he's been training as a Jedi for more than a decade. But of course, he was always a terrible Jedi. Eyes hardening at the thought for all of half a second, he's instantly distracted when Claude emerges, very nearly undressed, except for the loincloth. Oh. Anakin stares at him, mind flashing back to the earliest days on Paris and being constantly distracted by all that naked skin, by the warmth in the air and around Claude, the way he carried it within his eyes. It's the same now, even if the world around them tries to chill them to the bone. He smiles, happiness bubbling in his chest as the other man drops the cloth - mm, good - and joins him in the water.
At the other man's look, he raises a hairless eyebrow. ]
I assume you mean the stars.
[ He doesn't sound particularly bothered. Shifting a little, he keeps himself steady in the water, upper body more or less hard as rock - and not just because of the implants, either. He has to compensate now for having no legs to balance himself with. He looks at Claude, takes him in, his beautiful, familiar features, his beard, his lips and his eyes, the way the water clings to his skin.
No, he doesn't mind not being the pretty one in this relationship.
Look what he gets. ]
no subject
[ Shifting so he can slip an arm around Anakin's broad, broad shoulders, what he's lost in actual body weight, he's gained in pure, unapologetic muscle, Claude leans in and pushes his half-open mouth against the shell of the other man's ear, just breathing out over the scarred skin there, to see what kind of reaction he's gonna get. Breathing him in, too, on his next inhalation. At the same time, he slips his flat palm up the back of Anakin's neck, following the curve of his skull all the way up to the top of his bald head. Slowly, along the way, he starts pressing his fingertips inward, to feel out the texture of his head, the shape, the dips and nooks and many, many corners gained. He doesn't think he ever knew Anakin to be as complex as he is now.
There's a loss to that, of course. Innocence, idealism, those kinds of things. But also a gain.
They both see the world in nuances they couldn't even have imagined before, he thinks.
Claude makes a humming noise, pressing a soft kiss to Anakin's earlobe before drawing back slightly, remaining seated more or less glued to the other man's side, his arm around his shoulders, fingers caressing his scalp slowly, circular, soothing motions. Beloved, beloved, beloved, it means, though Claude doesn't say it out loud.
If you want all the nuances, you accept the greys as well. That's just how it is. He's getting gradually used to that, to a multi-tonal world, a multi-tonal Anakin, a multi-tonal sense of self. Claude Bérubé, former Prince of Paris, who once thought and to some degree still thinks war is the ultimate proof of evil. He just doesn't know how he's gonna define evil any longer. Basic comprehension problem.
He scratches a slight dip in Anakin's skin carefully, as little nail as possible. ]
I have no problem looking at you, Anakin.
[ He knows everything he's saying, everything hanging between them. And he wants Anakin to know as well. ]
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He loves him so much that it hurts.
As Claude draws away, leaving the damp imprint of his lips against his earlobe, Anakin looks at him again, his gaze dark, a hint of desperation there, even as the other man tells him that Anakin, such as he is, what's left of him, is fine, it's no problem. Force, but the rest of the galaxy sure is a problem, isn't it. In no time at all, they will call for Claude's assistance again and he'll leave - possibly, he will have to work together with Obi-Wan again and the thought alone makes him queasy, like he can still smell himself burning on the banks of Mustafar. It's an intolerable reality but that's the world they have, that's what he's managed to give the man he loves more than anything in the universe.
He must do better.
He must keep doing better.
Frowning, he reaches up and runs his hand down the side of Claude's face. His beard registers as coarse because his sensors don't know any better - obviously, it should register as kriffing delicious but he digresses. He looks into his eyes, wondering if maybe, possibly, he could live there, within the other man's calm gaze, steady and true and larger than life, larger than anything he's known. Beneath the surface of the water, he can glimpse the outline of his naked body, strong thighs and flat stomach, the curls of hair between his legs. The desperation morphs into something else, not as dark, not as useless.
With a shudder, he leans his forehead against the side of Claude's face, breathing raggedly into his mask. He thinks about what he wants, uncaring about the rest of himself or the world around them and it's Claude, Claude takes up nearly everything within his consciousness. Claude, Claude, Claude. He reaches with his other hand, grasping him by the shoulder.
Below the surface of the water, he can feel Claude's legs, his skin, the Force curled around him, within him, and he touches it, him, something like warm pressure folding itself around the other man's thighs. ]
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About to do so, about to take Anakin in a way he can't take Claude anymore, not for lack of want, but the kriffing rest, yeah, he is brought to a sudden halt, however. Beneath the water, he feels a pressure, like touch, like broad hands folding over his thighs, as if the water is hardening, firm like snow without the cold, not as sharp, not as jagged as ice, it's like flesh, but it's formed from the liquid. Claude stares straight ahead, feeling his cock give a pathetic little jerk, filling slightly as he realises that Anakin... Anakin... ]
Is that you?
[ He feels stupid asking, honestly. Not a lot of Force users left around here and if there were, he doesn't imagine they'd get anywhere near Claude's privates with their extended powers. Still, he... He might be used to the nudges, the little pokes when Anakin wants him to know he's been there in the Force, watching over him, feeling for him, with him, in some way. You get used to getting touched without any evident source of it, with someone like Anakin around, he guesses. And if you don't, you probably just get pissed off.
He isn't pissed off in the slightest, though.
Rather, he hears himself breathing a little faster now, again, shifting slightly beneath the touch of nothing, water, possibly, who knows, glancing down to see himself at least half-hard now. His cheeks burn, he can feel the flush washing into them, as he presses back against Anakin's face, exhaling long and slow. Finally, he reaches up with both arms, slipping them around Anakin's broad shoulders, definitely flesh. ]
If you want to go on, I want you to go on, too.
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Is that you says Claude, his voice a little befuddled and it breaks through the haze of want in Anakin's mind. He blinks, staring at the shadows tracking across Claude's features, realising that he's grasping him with everything, a small, irritating part of him telling him that this isn't how you engage with the Force, Anakin, don't be frivolous and he squashes that thought like a bug, feeling slightly petty about it, maybe. Slightly. Anyway, smash. Gone.
Meanwhile, Claude turns in his arms, slipping both his own around Anakin's shoulders and holding himself in the water like that, his cheeks beautifully flushed. Anakin wants to kiss him. He wishes he could. Instead, he nods, feeling himself trembling slightly without quite understanding why. He pushes his hand beneath the water, curving his fingers against Claude's side, right where his ribs are most prominent beneath his skin. He traces them slowly, the bumps, the edges. Claude has them, too. In that, they are only slightly different, he thinks, if Claude will allow it and he does, he keeps saying so.
They can be a little alike, then.
Mirrors for each other, if a little banged up. ]
Okay.
[ He closes his eyes and feels him again, more strongly now. His thighs, yes, and then the insides of them, the soft skin there - yes. So soft. Warm. He groans, taking him in, following the lines of muscle and flesh inwards, feeling how he grows warmer, hotter, as he slips between his legs. His balls, he finds, are not too heavy yet. He thinks about stroking them, about folding the water around them and he can sense the water moving, then, the molecules shifting at his bidding. ]
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Hearing himself gasp slightly, he feels the pressure of water move inward between his legs, thighs, inner thighs, up. Although it doesn't ask and neither does Anakin, Claude shifts again, spreading himself open slightly, welcoming it, the warm sense of motion and push, like the water's actually folding around his balls, massaging them from all sides at once. He isn't even aware that he's making noise until the moan is done, echoing slightly in the crisp, cool air all around them. He moans again, spreading himself as wide as he can go from this angle which isn't overly much, but it'll do. Like everything else, it feels nice, so it's welcome. It's enough.
Leaning forward, in against Anakin, forehead coming to a rest against his shoulder, he feels his hips beginning to quiver slightly, that need to move, to push back, to push in feeling almost overwhelmingly intense. He turns his face in against the side of Anakin's neck, staring at the darkness of his own shadow, breathing too fast for anything constructive to come of it. There's a faintness to his body, a lightness now. He likes that. A bit out of sorts, it's good. Groaning now, he pushes in against the pressure, tries to find some sort of tightness in it. He's rock hard now, he needs... Kriff, he needs...
Anakin is touching him with absolutely everything that he is.
And still, Claude needs. Means needing isn't wrong. Means needing it all they've got left at this point. The next groan is thick, like something's in his throat.
Something's in his throat. He reaches up with one hand, running his palm over the back of Anakin's skull, following his scalp, digging in his fingers just slightly more desperately now, sorry. ]
You feel amazing, you have no idea, you feel... like so much... Anakin...
[ Another groan, low, that old part of him that Rainier got to first still holding back. Not out of spite, but out of fear. There are connections that only last as long as you're in each other, around each other, on, with. He doesn't want it to end.
That's all. ]
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Anakin wants him to take. Whatever he needs, whatever he wants. But now, with years of damage and pain and grief tracking his every step, he understands that some things change you, make you less than what you were and he doesn't want that for Claude, either, never in a million years. It's a difficult balance for most, he'd expect, and for Anakin, it's impossible. He'll never achieve it.
But he can follow Claude now and get a sense of what it's like. ]
Tell me what you want.
[ He can imagine but he won't presume and he won't project, just because he knows what he wants. Even with his body as maimed and lacking as it is, his brain understands perfectly well the feel of Claude's thighs, his balls, and the urgency inherent to the way his muscles are shivering when the water drapes itself around him. He understands the breathiness in his voice and it translates itself perfectly into whatever remains of his bloodstream. With another harsh intake of breath, he folds himself, his reach, around Claude's half-hard cock, the water shaping itself like a warm, wet tunnel around his length. ]
Go on, my love. Tell me.
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His hips push into the hole of water, pushing in against the walls of it, soft but unyielding, like something's innermost, like... Kriff.
Pushing his head off Anakin's shoulder, he blinks against the light and shivers in the chill around his shoulders, meeting Anakin's gaze straight on. He wants to say it to his face, he wants to see him react. To Claude learning, too, not just one way between them, but both ways at once. Anakin to curb his greed and for Claude to allow it, more. ]
I want to feel you -- everywhere, all parts of you.
[ His voice sounds hoarse and low, deep in his throat. Reaching down with his free hand, he takes Anakin's wrist, submerged in water, fingers spread out over his midriff, pulling at him, pulling him up, chest, pecs, nipples, leads him to roam. Take him that way, too. At the same time.
The Force as Anakin knows it, uses it, doesn't scare him and he'll take his Jedi tricks, too. He'll take them happily. He'll take them.
His hips push forward again, harder this time. ]
All parts of you.
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I want to feel you says Claude while Anakin, in turn, feels all of him, in his mind, against his body. When he drags his hand upwards along his torso, Anakin looks at him for another moment, feeling simultaneously centered within himself, within this little world they've made together, and wrung inside-out. He wants him. He wants more of him. And Claude, in turn, wants all of him so here they are, then, in the quiet, catching up to each other at last.
He shifts again, slipping his other hand into Claude's hair, cradling it between his fingers in a way that's starting to feel not just familiar but safe, like recognising a homeward path. He smiles and frees his other hand gently from Claude's grip, reaching up to clip off his mask, dropping it into the water. The air feels raw when he takes his next breath and it will hold him only for a moment - but that's what they have, anyway, isn't it. A moment. And then, strings of them, woven together slowly but surely.
Leaning in, he kisses Claude, sucking briefly on his lower lip before slipping his tongue inside, catching his warmth like that along with his breath.
Then, he runs his hand over his chest, finding his left nipple, first, and fingering it, the hot water lapping against his wrist. Beneath the surface, he keeps the slide of water around Claude's cock tight but pliant and it reminds him of other times, other days, the two of them entwined on the sheets somewhere in the sunlight with Claude pushing into him, connected and close. He groans against the other man's lips. ]
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The thought overpowers him suddenly, the feeling of connection, of being with and being inside and his thrusts grow harder, more desperate, chasing the need for release, the need for pushing every little last bit of himself into Anakin, everything Anakin is, he... Oh.
He gasps, clutching at Anakin's shoulders now, holding on to him too tightly, the slide and the friction getting too much, getting -- almost -- Oh.
Another gasp, thicker, wetter and he breaks the kiss the breathe, fighting for it, hurling against the edge until suddenly, suddenly he's flying, he's light and he's stars, oh kriff. He makes a small, vulnerable sound as he comes, staring wide-eyed into Anakin's face, seeing all of him, all that he is.
Feeling it, too.
Tears are tracking down his cheeks. His hips pushing, pushing, pushing, until also they still, slowly, tiredly, the water streaked with his cum, the whole load. Claude inhales, exhales, inhales, unevenly.
For once, he can't speak. Something beyond words just happened between them. ]
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When Claude comes, he makes a sound that Anakin can't describe, it's small and sweet and full of something that he'd never expect to be given by anyone again, nor does he deserve it. Claude deserves to give whatever he wants of himself to whomever he chooses, however, and all other aspects of the universe must, necessarily, yield to that. He's comfortable with that idea. He always has been. He keeps his hold on him through his climax, until Claude's hips still and his breathing grows slower, though no less ragged. Anakin, in turn, has been out of breath for several seconds too long and he grabs his mask with the Force, plunging it back onto his face, uncaring about the wetness of it and how it makes his first intake of breath feel like he's basically inhaling half the tub.
All he cares about is how complete this feels. The two of them, in the quiet together.
Yeah, he's alright with that.
Shifting, he slips his arm around Claude's shoulders and pulls him close against his side, leaning back against the tub. He closes his eyes, his hold on the Force lessening to nothing, except perhaps for a hint of pressure against Claude's midriff, like a warm palm, lingering only briefly. ]