[ 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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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. ]