[ 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 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. ]