[ It takes Claude very little time - seconds, less than that - to catch up to him, tilting his head sideways and catching his tongue, sucking on it. Anakin's skin tingles all over and his breath stutters again, not out of breath but fighting for it regardless and marveling at the feel of the other man against him, the strength of him. He's always thought Padmé very small - small hands, a small stature, easily toppled by violence, though actually getting her to submit would be a fool's errand for anyone. It's not that she isn't strong; but Claude feels solid, too, like Anakin would have to work to move him, to throw him out of balance.
Physically, at least.
At the touch of fingers against his face, his hair, Anakin sighs again and shuts his eyes, tilting his head towards it. Now that they're touching, he feels grounded in an altogether physical way, like his body's finally done racing ahead of him. He pushes back against Claude's hips, his cock sliding up along the length of his leg and it isn't particularly satisfying but it makes his breath catch all the same, dull pleasure settling in his groin. It's not enough. But then again, nothing ever is.
It's good, though. Very.
He smiles and draws back at Claude's comment, running his hands down his shoulders and clasping them briefly before he shifts backwards. ]
Enough?
[ Ducking his head, he brushes his fingers over Claude's front, his chest and midriff. Then, he grasps the hem of his shirt and gives it a slight tug, thinking off and then, wait.
For some inexplicable reason, wait.
He meets Claude's eyes again. ]
What's naked enough? All of it? [ He runs his flesh hand down the side of Claude's hip, fingertips digging in slightly. ] Some of it?
[ Claude can do clothed sex, it's fine, it's good. What he doesn't do is unequal sex, skewed power dynamics and one party not just holding the advantage over the other, but taking it, too. They might not wear a lot of actual clothes on Paris, but kriff, can they do a lot with what they have. Rainier had his ways, not that Claude's thinking about that now. Obviously, this is different. For one, Anakin steps back, his hands not quite ready to release him, tugging at the hem of his shirt softly, before that shoulders, after that hip. Claude likes it, he likes that he asks first. Means he's catching up fast.
Expression softening, he reaches down himself and folds one hand over Anakin's, still grabbing his shirt, the other holding him by his upper thigh and he cocks his head slightly at him, taking him in, thinking that this man is capable of anything and everything and he still claims none of it for himself. Men like that are rare, if they weren't, the world would look so much different. Claude's life would, too, for that matter. ]
We need to match.
[ He says it easily, no holding back, no slight sense of apprehension. Holding Anakin's eyes another long moment, he smiles reassuringly, in a way that says you can let me, I'm not going anywhere, because he feels it, the grip, the desperate holding on, and twists his shirt, the fabric clinging to him the entire way, up over his chest, shoulders, head. It comes off like a sheath, baring nothing Anakin hasn't seen before, but there's something to be said for context, right? Intimacy. Intent.
And Claude intents to eat him, once they match. Take him in and feel him sink to the bottom of his system, settle there.
Dropping the shirt off to the side, he steps up close to Anakin again, having not pried off his hold on his hip even once during his undressing session. It's an invitation. The way Anakin is hard and ready and waiting, most of all. Underneath his final layers, Claude's the same and he wants him to see. They're past the loincloth and mask on Paris, they're past all that. Reaching down he undoes the fastening of his trousers slowly, unhurriedly, working blindly as he leans in and runs his lips over the jut of Anakin's jawline, closest to his face, at a perfect height.
The fabric loosens around his waist, slides down his hips. Finally leaving them in an equal state. ]
[ Around other Force-sensitives, Anakin has to shield himself to avoid getting trampled with impressions - it's been like this for years and shielding, consequently, is merely a matter of habit now. It's different, being around Claude. He's not a Jedi but he's alive with the Force regardless, the way everything is and whilst he tells him we need to match, the Force tells him careful, more and more, as Claude drops his clothes and bares himself. Careful, it whispers. He looks Claude over slowly, gaze trailing from his shoulders - broad, strong - down his front, over his pecs and midriff, past his abdomen. His cock's as hard as Anakin's and he's going to look more in a second - but first, he takes in the rest of him. Thighs. Lower legs, strong calfs and his feet, the fabric of his trousers pooling around them.
Anakin likes every inch of him. He'd take none of him for granted, down to the tips of his nails. He dips his head to give Claude access to his face, feeling his lips sliding along his jawline and tilting his head towards them. More, it means. Give me whatever you like but give it all at once. He runs one hand - the flesh one, because he wants to feel, not translate sensor inputs - down Claude's side, over his ribs and inwards.
Then, before his fingertips can skirt over the bared length of Claude's cock, he raises his hand to his own lips instead, pulling away from Claude just enough to give himself space. Careful, he thinks, like a mantra running on repeat at the back of his mind. And dry fingers against your cock is no fun for anyone and isn't that interesting, having... comparable bodies? That's never been a thing before. Actually, now that he thinks about it, that's intriguing.
He reaches down. Stops, his hand hovering between their bodies, fingers glistening slightly. He looks at Claude closely. ]
Can I?
[ After all, you don't grab another guy's cock without asking permission, he's fairly sure. It feels like the kind of unwritten rule that counts across contexts, really. ]
He lets him taste and explore and then, he pulls back enough to leave Claude with just the fragrance of him in his nostrils, the faint remnants of him in his mouth. Claude watches, more or less entranced, he thinks that's a personal talent that the other man possesses, honestly, as Anakin raises his hand to his mouth and licks his fingers, makes them slippery and slick and his focus narrows down to just that, the sound of it, wet, the impressions of Coruscant's millions of lights in his spit. The breadth of his fingers, how strong and thick they are, a man's fingers. A soldier's.
Can I, he asks and it's that moment when it physically breaks, Claude can tell, he feels it, how it takes down all his defenses and his hesitation is in shambles and his apprehension is up in the air. He breathes out long and slow, feeling something he doesn't know what is exactly leaving his body from the shoulders down, his whole posture relaxing. He smiles. Reaches down and closes his fingers around Anakin's wrist, pushing his hand downwards gently. Towards himself.
The way he'd want any new partner to show the way, really. Let's go together. ]
Sure. [ His speech is a long, hard exhalation along the dip in the other man's chin. A kiss there, then a kiss to the corner of his mouth, along with a whisper. When he releases his hold on the other man's hand, it means: go, I give myself to you. Not to have, but to hold. His cock, within reach of those spit-slick fingers, aching, gives a small jerk, like it isn't even trying to keep its composure. Like this is his composure, reaching and grasping and wanting. Wanting. ] You can probably tell, but I really like you asking.
[ There's a note of - not even amusement, but pure gratification in his voice. Claude reaches up for Anakin, then. Runs his overheated palms with fingers spread out over his arms, both of them, wrist up to shoulders, takes hold, too, briefly. They can both be afraid of letting go, from each their end of the spectrum. Yet, his hands continue down over his chest, following the defined groups of musculature across it, pecs - hard, firm, shifting beneath his touch, midriff - hard, firm, abdomen - hard, dipping, pubic hair tickling his skin as he gets far enough down. ]
I'm going to ask you the same question in a moment.
[ Claude's shoulders seem to lower, some strange tension seemingly leaving him as he smiles, looking up at Anakin and taking his wrist, guiding it downwards. That in itself would have been answer enough, of course, but Claude is nothing if not transparent to a fault, the way he's been ever since the first time they met. His words, caught in his breath, flutter against Anakin's skin and his lips feel almost impossibly soft when he kisses the side of his mouth. Oh, but soft feels new, still, like it always will for him; on Tatooine, nothing is soft. There's a sharpness to the twin suns that permeates everything there, all through to the core of the planet.
Anakin could not have been born anywhere else, of course.
The other man's cock jerks a little against his abdomen and Anakin smiles, about to reach for him when Claude reaches first, fingers running up his arms, holding on briefly before he finds Anakin's chest, his midriff. It takes Anakin's cock a second or two to catch up (it's no faster in picking up clues than the rest of him, obviously) but once it does, he has to fight to control his breathing, his body tightening from anticipation. ]
Well, you can. Obviously, you - yes. [ He swallows. ] Please do.
[ Taking a deep breath, he runs his fingertips along the length of Claude's cock. He's soft and smooth, the foreskin fully retracted and Anakin's briefly distracted by it. Lips slightly parted, his breath coming out just a little too fast, he runs his slick fingers around the ridges of skin, rubbing it slowly. Unthinkingly, he reaches with his other hand, the metal-one, and runs his thumb over the glans, pressing in gently, his sensors telling him damp and soft. It looks sensitive and he wonders what it would taste like if he tried to lick it. ]
[ Please do, Anakin tells him, but gets to the doing first. His fingers, the flesh ones, are slick and warm and he rubs over the ridge of skin slowly, Claude's foreskin fully retracted and showing tip, head, dividing the lenght of him into round and long. Claude, in turn, can't help the breathless gasp leaving his lips, tasting like Anakin does, that dark undercurrent of action and want and assertiveness. He frowns, eyes mapping out the other man's face for a moment, every curve and contour of him, from the scar down his one eye to the soft jut of bone near his ear where his jawline breaks, goes up, forms his face. The other hand, the metal one, reaches down as well and Claude thinks his knees might actively be giving way when the other man rubs his thumb over the glans, feeling him out. It's a different sensation, not unpleasant, just new. Hardness and the dull heat of metal warmed up against his skin. His lips feel completely dry and he licks them, biting his lower lip as he pushes up against the other man's grip slightly, the slight spark of friction making him take in a deep breath, filling his lungs full and hard.
Anaking is trying him out. It dawns on him only then that he might be his first, that this might be his first time with another male. Along with the quickened breathing, something melts inside him. It's very special. For the both of them, then, for different reasons, it has to mean something. ]
Here's what you're doing to me. [ Claude doesn't say it like a teacher would, he's not Anakin's teacher, kriff, anything but that. He's his partner and they'll teach each other, simultaneously. They'll teach each other together. He draws back enough to raise his own hand to his mouth, spitting hard into his palm and smearing it all over his fingers, too. Then, he reaches down between them, mirroring the other man's touch, runs his fingers up his length, base to tip, feeling the exposed head with his fingertips, just following the same curve along the glans, though Anakin doesn't have the slight ridge of skin, either for ritualistic or practical reasons. Not all planets have Paris' mild climate, after all. The galaxy is vast.
Feeling his breath stumbling a little, shifting on his feet, spreading them more for balance, by accident more than consciously pushing into Anakin's hand, but that's what happens. More, it says. More, Claude feels.
Gently, he smears his whole, wet palm over the round tip of Anakin's cock, closing his fingers loosely around the shaft as he gets to it, dragging downwards. ] Keep doing that.
[ He looks up as Claude's breath quickens, watching his face curiously, the way his eyes have darkened. His lips are glistening and Anakin licks his own, thinking about kissing him again, about slipping his tongue into his mouth and filling up the small space in there, just to see what it'll make Claude do, how he'll react.
To feel the closeness of it.
Claude reaches down between them and mirrors him, running his fingers over Anakin's cock. At the first touch he shivers, shifting a little on his feet in response as heat begins to gather in his belly, soft and slow. He draws in a harsh breath as Claude presses his slick palm over the head of his cock - it's a sensitive spot for him and when Claude follows up by stroking downwards with his other hand, his breath catches in his throat on the next exhalation. With a low groan, he pushes past it, folding his flesh hand around Claude's length in turn. ]
You feel amazing.
[ He strokes him slowly, small, uneven jerks that aren't meant to push him anywhere. Rather, it gives Anakin a much-needed feel for him. Stroking a cock from this angle takes a bit of adjusting, after all, it's nothing like stroking himself. He steps a little closer, pushing into Claude's grip, maybe a little shamelessly but Force, he wants more of that pleasure, it doesn't have to go fast so long as it's happening. Craning his head downwards, he leans in and searches out the side of Claude's neck, kissing his way down along the slope of muscle. He's got a favourite spot to kiss, Anakin, and it's right there in the space between shoulder and neck.
As soon as he finds it, he moves his metal hand to the small of Claude's back and holds him, not really trying to keep him still (if he wanted to do that, he wouldn't have to try at all) but simply to feel him there as well, the steadiness of being still.
[ They keep mirroring each other, each taking their turn feeling out the next step and leading them onwards. Claude feels how Anakin folds his hand around his cock, stroking him, little uneven jerks of his hand, not to push him, but to have him, hold him, feel him and that, as much as the feeling itself, the physical sensation of friction and slick and heated, narrow hole, makes him groan slightly, tilting his head sideways in against the other man's head as he bends his neck and kisses him, slope between shoulder and neck. It's so close, it's so good, it's so safe.
So safe.
He breathes too fast for the pace they're actually striking, but it's fine, he wants Anakin to hear the impact he is having on him, how he feels it all the way to his innermost. Like the Jedi slips his metal arm around his waist, keeping him still by his lower back, Claude reaches up with his free hand and pushes his whole, flat palm over the spot where there's heartbeat and a slight bulge of pec, feeling the other man's response in steady thuds of flesh, blood, rushing, living. From there, his hand goes up around the nape of his neck, keeping him close like that, pressed to his chest. So he can feel his heart, too.
Meanwhile, he takes the cue from Anakin, his hand on the other man's cock not speeding up, but feeling out, learning the girth (big) and lenght (long) of his cock in little, soft strokes, taking it an inch at a time. He felt him step into him, into his touch, wanting more, so he gives him more. He keeps giving him more. After a few additional jerks, he lets his hand come down to cup Anakin's balls, carefully, softly, his own are extremely sensitive.
But it's different for everyone, he knows. He doesn't want to make it uncomfortable.
His own breathing is uneven and falters on every other intake. When Anakin rubs over the string along the underside of his shaft, where the transition to head begins, he makes a slightly strangled noise, not a moan, not a whimper, just air escaping with a bit of sound. Sensitive. Like Anakin's cock head is sensitive. ]
Mouth - [ It's a hoarse whisper. ] - Kiss my mouth? I'd like you inside. You feel incredible.
[ He leans into Claude's hold, letting him lean against his chest in turn, his warm, solid weight a relief to his senses, like a rainfall after days of drought. They stand there, jerking each other off without any kind of hurry, feeling out the details, like that small vein under the head of Claude's cock and the way his breath catches when Anakin touches it, rubs at it just so. He closes his eyes, letting himself drown in the sensation of proximity, of Claude's hand exploring him, of his cock working into Anakin's touch. He could come like this, he thinks, if they took the time and didn't progress. It would be fine.
But naturally, there's such a thing as wanting more and both of them are greedy like that, both of them want. Claude is here on Coruscant for a reason, after all, or he could have settled down and lived his life in peace, privileged. And for Anakin, wanting is ingrained within him, it runs in his blood, egging him onwards. Look it says, look. He opens his eyes, his lips still parted over Claude's skin. He's left a blushing mark in his wake and before complying, he kisses it gently.
Then, he straightens up and leans down, catching Claude's mouth in a kiss, a little harder now, a little less explorative. He slips inside, heat along with Claude's own, unique scent exploding on his tongue. Groaning, he tilts his head sideways and stays like that, pushing his tongue inwards, his breathing growing steadfastly quicker. He mirrors Claude again and releases his cock, folding his damp hand very lightly around his balls, fingertips stroking over the sack. Like that, he kisses him and he holds him, too, in sensitive places and something about that thought, about feeling him inside and out, makes his own cock even harder, the tip growing just a bit wetter. ]
[ He's left his mark on him, Claude can feel it, the spit drying and the slight sense of suction, lip-shaped, on his skin. Back home, he'd have worn it for everyone to see, bare-chested and dressed down to his loincloth. Here, it'll be gone tomorrow, wrapped up in shirt and layers of fabric. But Claude will know it's there. Claude will know and Anakin will know, even long gone, back at the Jedi Temple, in battle, wherever he goes from here. He'll know.
Claude wants to give him that.
So, when the other man kisses him deeply on the mouth, licking into him and taking the cavity of it, stroking along his tongue, it's Claude's turn to groan, loudly, pushing up against him with all his weight, because he knows Anakin can take it, he could lift him twice over, really. Claude shivers as Anakin releases his cock, knowing what's bound to come, because he's led them down that path himself. And there is Anakin's fingers, folding around the sack of his balls, weighing it lightly, gentle with it, gentle with him. Making a strangled sound, like a choked moan, he pushes in against it, in against the feel of it, slick and warm and soft and hold. His cock feels impossibly hard. Precum collecting in the slit. Kissing Anakin back, hard now, wanting, Claude drags his hand back upwards, stroking him once, twice more, then carefully smearing the wetness at the tip over the whole glans before withdrawing completely, both hands landing on Anakin's hips, the soft curve of buttock, hard dip of hipbone. He's a perfect mix of all of it, isn't he?
Soft and hard. Light and dark. Want and need.
Claude strokes his tongue, too, one last time, then pulls out, only enough to speak against his skin, where he's soft and moist and receptive. A line down his neck. ]
It's a different question now. Can I suck your cock? Because if so, I think I want you lying down.
[ He blinks stupidly, blood rushing into his cheeks. His hand remains curved around Claude's balls because he knows how to multi-task, thanks, but everything inside of him is suddenly very, very aware of Claude's fingers against his hips and the taste of him lingering from the kiss, warm and with an undercurrent of something faintly spicy. All his senses are full of him and he likes it, he likes it a lot. Thus, he would have been perfectly happy to simply stand here and take them to completion but, well. Now, there's the completely impossible mental image of Claude, on his knees with his lips stretched around his cock and he has to forcefully clamp his teeth into his bottom lip not to come at the thought alone. The visual. Force, the visual.
He realises that he's simply been staring at Claude for at least fifteen seconds without answering. Gently, he lets go of his balls, fingertips brushing his inner thigh as he swallows heavily and tries to find the words before Claude takes his silence the wrong way. Which would. Never. Ever do. ]
I - yeah. Of course, if you want.
[ He glances down at the bed, feeling dazed from arousal, his skin prickling all over in anticipation. He thinks about lying down, spreading his legs, giving Claude... access. A part of him wants to be up on his elbows and watch but as he shifts backwards, out of Claude's grip, he lies down anyway, all the way, until he's flat on his back. It feels right. It feels like letting certain doubts, certain anxieties, rest for the moment. He watches the ceiling tip in time with his vision and shifts enough to make room on the bed, bending one leg to feel that slight sense of purchase, of ground beneath his foot. He smiles, at nothing. Here he is and there's a war raging and it doesn't matter, not right now, not here.
Instead, he thinks about Claude's taste on the back of his tongue and licks his lips to solidify it further in his mind. ]
[ When Anakin releases his balls, his skin is prickling hotly in the wake of his fingers, his cock feeling hard and throbbing, impatient, more so than him, really. He gives the other man his time, to take it in, to decide, without pressuring him about it. Hurrying him up. It doesn't have to be like that, he's realized in hindsight. It doesn't have to feel like every choice is pulled from your grasp, leaving you without the ability to say either yes or no. He won't be the person to make Anakin feel reduced to that, again. Instead he smiles as Anakin says yes, of course - though, it's never as self-evident as that, Claude doesn't assume, and watches him lying down, scrambling up the bed, making room for Claude between his legs, one bent, the other stretched out. His thighs are strong and muscular, a sprinkle of fine, blonde hair that thickens the closer to his crotch you get. His mouth feels suddenly slick and full, like he can taste all that kriffing potential there.
Then, he stops looking and starts moving, dropping to his knees on the edge of the bed, crawling closer, not looming in over him, though. It gets overwhelming, like taking and being stripped of the chance of proper reciprocity. Like your partner constantly staying out of reach, only to take for themselves what they want. Claude knows that feeling and he won't pass it onwards, he'd rather kriffing die.
His own cock is bobbing against his stomach, and he reaches up to still it with his free hand as he settles down between Anakin's legs, looking up over the whole display of him, honestly beating Coruscanti night skies and skylines. By lengths and lengths and lengths. He lets his eyes run down over Anakin's stomach, follows the trail he thinks he'll take with his tongue. Navel, abdomen, pelvis, cock. Without leaving him waiting, without leaving him to just lie there and wait in passivity which is the absolute worst anyway, unless mutually agreed upon, Claude places one hand next to his hip, on the side of his stretched out leg, and kisses his inner thigh before stretching and pressing a kiss right above his bellybutton. ]
Ticklish?
[ It doesn't require a fast answer. He darts his tongue out and drags it down in a half-circle around his navel with enough force that it probably won't trigger anything, if he is. He'd just like to know. Keeping himself up on one arm, he can actively smell him from here, the heavy scent of musk and arousal, warm skin, sweat. His own cock jerks in his grip and he gives it a lazy stroke as he licks his way downward. ]
[ He has to fight not to squirm around on his back in anticipation as Claude settles between his legs. His cock feels rock-hard, almost painfully so. He inclines his head, watching Claude, extremely uncaring about the view on his other side through the windows. The days are long gone when he was impressed by Coruscant - today, he mostly finds it noisy, busy and over-crowded. Besides, who'd care about something like that when Claude's about to give you a blowjob, what the kriff. He breathes out through his nose, muscles shivering, tension building up in his muscles the same way they'd do in any other high-alert situation; it's an automatic reaction, he thinks, after years of warfare. Tonight, it's harmless.
What a strange thought.
Claude leaves a hot, invisible imprint against his inner thigh. His belly. He leans his head back again, running one hand through his hair to get his bangs out of his face. ]
Not really.
[ Pause. He amends, like it's perfectly natural: ]
Well, in some places. Nerves are still recovering from the last mission - electrocution's a major bother. [ He realises quickly that this isn't a very sexy subject and immediately adds, craning his neck again to look at Claude: ] Nothing to worry about, mind. It just takes a little time, that's all.
[ He parts his legs a little more and reaches for Claude, running his metal hand over the top of his head and backwards, feeling his soft curls slide between his fingers. Leaning his head back against the bed with a slight thump, he closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose with his other hand. ]
[ They're having this nice conversation while Claude licks his way down over Anakin's abdomen, the hard plains of skin and flesh and muscle the perfect mix of soft and hard, receptive and unyielding, and he's so hard from it that it physically hurts, no matter how much he kriffing strokes himself. Exhaling long and hard while Anakin tells him about eletrocution as a work hazard, he doesn't even pause to consider it - Anakin's a Jedi, he saw him on Paris, he saw the kind of lengths he's willing to go to and can vividly imagine the situations he has seen himself forced into before. War's not news to him. War's not news to this world. War's obviously not news to Anakin Skywalker who brings electrocution into the bedroom. Nothing to worry about, mind.
Claude smiles.
Anakin wants to know if he's ruined the mood, his metal hand in his hair, running down over the back of his head. So, Claude shakes his head first, to not have to answer around a laugh, kissing a few select spots right where Anakin's pubic hair marks the line between innocent and not. Then, he raises his head enough to look up over the other man's chest, his chin, nose, brows. Mess of hair. Beautiful. You wouldn't think war could produce that, but here they are. ]
Anakin, I'm only going to take your nerve damage as a challenge, you realise.
[ It's not a joke at his expense, it's a joke to his benefit, because that's when Claude pushes himself a little further down the other man's body, more or less getting his hard cock in his eye and angles his face to push his half-open mouth to the base of it, the beautiful curve of shaft, right over his ballsack. That perfect transition. The scent is tenfold here. All musk. All heat. All salt. Claude is salivating. His cock is weeping hard.
He presses his tongue flat against the base and drags upwards slowly. Anakin's cock head is really sensitive, so he'll approach in stages. Get him worked up enough to more or less beg for it. Claude doesn't need the begging, sure, but it's a good indication for when he can give him the whole mouth experience, full suction, the wet, the narrow, the slide. As he moves upwards, he nibbles, letting his lips do the work, tongue tip following the thickness of a vein that leads in the same direction.
He tastes like himself. Like care and willingness and the man who worries whether he's ruined the mood. Claude doesn't think he could want anything more. ]
[ Claude, because he is lovely, continues kissing his way down his abdomen, pausing just to tell him that he'll take it as a challenge - Anakin very determinedly doesn't tell him that the Bacta treatment will, in time, fix any current issues because he might be a slow learner but he does eventually learn. Instead, he smiles, the expression a little shaky around the edges, and lies back down. Though he can't see much of him from this angle, he can sense the other man getting closer to his cock - his proximity, his body warmth, the feel of his exhalations against his naked skin. He closes his eyes and strokes his fingers through Claude's hair slowly, trying to control his breathing and failing miserably.
When Claude's mouth finally touches his cock - the base, right above his balls - Anakin swallows heavily and forces himself to keep still, his body aching to move, to get more, as quickly as possible. He's learned over the years that sex is better at a slower pace, that he likes it better that way as well, and tonight the pacing is definitely slow, like they're taking each step together, one after the other, none of them ever fighting to catch up. He likes the thought of that.
Of being with Claude the entire way, rather than fighting his way either to the top or to his side. ]
Force, that feels nice.
[ He chews on his bottom lip some more as Claude drags his tongue upwards along the length of him, steering clear of the head for now and finding other, sensitive places along the way. He stays as still as he can, letting Claude set the pace as he wishes, though he does slip up a little every other second, shifting his hips ever so slightly, trying to find whatever little friction he can on his own. ]
[ Anakin is good about it. He lets Claude rein back the pace a bit, let's him take his own pleasure from it too, crouched in over his lap, sitting with his knees spread and his own hard cock throbbing between his fingers. He feels like a natural continuation of the other man's body this way, like they complete each other in a very non-dramatic way. Easy. Comfortable. And because it's like that, he doesn't try to make Anakin stop from shifting his hips in against him every so often, every second minute, he just takes it, opening his mouth further, the longer he gets up his shaft and his cock feels kriffing enormous like this. Like there's no end in sight. Claude's drooling already and he hasn't even put his jaw out of commission which might actually be what will happen tonight. No one else he's been with have been this big.
He looks forward to the jaw ache.
Truly. Truly.
Finally feeling the swell of the head, Claude hears himself exhaling heavily and parts his lips, swollen now and wet from spit, over the glans, getting his teeth out of the way as he best can before opening his eyes and glancing up along the wide chest of the other man, the outline of face seen from beneath. Shoulders. Kriff, he's not going to last through this. He's very definitely not going to. Pushing his tongue out wantonly, he catches the underside of the head on it and more or less just slides Anakin in, tip first, lips closing right behind the slight ridge. He's enormous in his mouth, huge. Kriffing pushing at his mouth from the inside. Claude releases his own cock now to grab Anakin's by the slicked-up base, holding him still as he sucks him in another inch. He tastes salty. Musky. Manly.
Claude makes a sound he isn't even fully aware of himself, only halfway a groan, the other half he isn't going to answer for. ]
[ Oh - oh - Claude parts his lips over the head of his cock and just the feel of his breath against it, warm puffs of air, makes Anakin's breath stall in his chest. He tightens his fingers in Claude's hair just a fraction, mindful of his metal hand. All the same, he really... has to hold on a bit. Just slightly. Because half a second later, Claude's mouth closes over the head of his cock and the head slides in along his tongue whilst sparks dance in front of Anakin's eyes. He gasps, loudly, and shifts against the bed again, pleasure surging into his groin. He's so warm, Claude, like burning hot and wet, too. Tight. He grabs onto the sheets with his flesh hand and cradles them uselessly, trying not wriggle around. But - but it's so good, oh, and at some point, he might even get to go a little bit further in, just - ]
I - I forgot...
[ He fights to focus, to remember what he's supposed to ask. Without meaning to, he thrusts inwards very slightly, feeling that small sense of glide, of friction. Immediately, he forces himself not to - he knows he's not small and though he's never tried it himself (and kriff, now he's thinking about trying it, of course he is), he can't imagine getting choked on somebody's cock is all that exciting. He frowns, staring up at the ceiling and trying to think past the feel of wetness around the head of his cock along with the sounds Claude makes, like he's really enjoying himself.
Don't jeopardize that, Anakin, get to it! He grits his teeth. ]
Do you want to know when I'm...
[ So, yeah. Actually saying the words - do you want to swallow? - is proving too much of a challenge for the Hero With No Fear. ]
[ It dawns on him as he works Anakin's cock gradually deeper inside his mouth that he must have had other partners, most likely women who care and definitely women who've cared about him, as well as themselves. Because the other man halts himself, more or less halfway through a small thrust that wouldn't have pushed Claude off his game, definitely not, but being considered like that...? Yeah, you don't get that every day. Every night. He appreciates it more than he can say, literally, his mouth full of cock and the taste of Anakin who's warm and tastes like the colours red and orange, dust, earth, that kind of thing overwhelming his palate. Claude sinks down over his cock, letting go of the base, because he can steady him with the roof of his mouth like this, until the head pushes against the soft back of it, where it's almost throat, but not quite. Now he's going to appreciate if he doesn't thrust, right? But he doesn't believe he will. He's got manners.
It's safe, again. Claude doesn't feel unsafe with him.
Drawing back once more, giving him the slide and the friction he's asking for, Claude looks up along the width of his body, watching him through the curtain of his curly bangs. Anakin asks whether he wants to know when he comes, whether he swallows and a weird heat spreads in his chest, both removed and not from the heat beating in his crotch. As he pops Anakin's cock out of his mouth, precum sticking to his lips and a little bit to his chin, he shakes his head again. I'll know, it means, but he doesn't say it. Doesn't matter, what matters is that Anakin asked. Showed that kind of consideration. ]
Come in me.
[ The shortest way to say it, aside from a somewhat curt no. I appreciate you asking is implied in the soft way he catches the head of Anakin's cock between his lips again and sucks him all the way back, setting a slow, but steady rhythm of up and down, tightening his lips around the shaft as he goes up, to catch the right veins, the spots, the bulge of head before slipping his tongue into the slit, catching the essence of him there. The place he's most himself.
[ He has to squash down a groan of pure frustration when Claude pulls off his cock, the sudden loss of heat and tightness making his toes curl and his body tense. He takes the opportunity to manage a few, deep breaths, looking up at the ceiling briefly before he cranes his neck again, seeking Claude's gaze further down his body. The other man's lips look slightly swollen, his skin flushed and his pupils blown wide from arousal. His cock looks no less hard than Anakin's and he feels a small sting of sympathy at the sight. Mostly, though, his arousal seemingly doubles.
If Claude hasn't - then afterwards, Anakin is going to take him flying.
Claude then proceeds to toss him out of the kriffing window when he tells him, kindly but evenly, to come in me and sucks him into his mouth. Anakin's eyes widen and his head falls right back against the bed as he stares unseeingly upwards, pleasure building explosively in his body. His cock feels almost overstimulated, the head hitting the back of Claude's mouth at every instroke making his fist clench in the sheets. Soon, there's a rhythm to it, a pace, and Anakin times his breathing to it, his muscles clenching as he shifts on the bed, thrusting upwards very slightly in time because he can't not, he can't - and he keeps hearing Claude's voice in his head, soft and gentle, not a command (and that means something, too, that means more than he can currently process) but just - pointing the way forward, telling him it's fine, the path is fine, it's safe -
Releasing what little tension's left in him, he lets himself focus only on Claude's mouth around his cock and just like that, for a few, precious moments, everything comes back to that - the feel of Claude, of what Anakin's been given and he comes on a choked-up sound, something that might be a moan, strangled in other emotions, pleasure - weightlessness, like he's beyond his body and it's beyond him, in turn - rushing through him and drowning out everything else. ]
[ And although he didn't say it, Claude can feel it, as it builds, knows exactly how that rhythm feels when a mouth works you good, when the friction is even and just fast enough to add to the rest. He feels the way Anakin seemingly hardens impossibly on his tongue and he is mouthing at him, helping him along, taking him there. Lips tight around his shaft, tongue pushing up and supporting the heavy weight of his girth. He feels like everything, in his mouth. Like he's taking up all space. Like he's all there is. Claude kriffing loves it, his own cock feeling wet and warm over the tip, like he's getting himself all messed up for this man.
When Anakin comes, it's with his cock more of less buried in Claude's open mouth, head pushing over the very back of his tongue and he hollows his cheeks just a little bit to give it that sense of suction, knowing the other man is close, kriff, they're both close and he's not even touching himself. He's pulsing on Claude's tongue, the first load making his throat work instinctually to clear itself, the salty taste of his cum making Claude's heart race. It's so intimate, yeah. It's like taking someone and carrying them in your chest, in your guts.
The following loads are thicker, more, and he really comes, huh, all moaning and twisting and giving himself over. For a lot of reasons, Claude can't properly breathe, he just takes it, swallows him down dutifully. His cock is bouncing against his stomach as he shifts into a more comfortable position, keeping his mouth tight and wet around him only as long as it's bound to feel nice.
Then, the pulsing slowly subsides, the slight thrusting of his hips, and Claude draws back after a moment, feeling the hot, slick length of him slipping out of his body. Penetration's like that, any kind. He's gasping slightly, rising up on his arm and staring down at Anakin's blushing face, the way he's showing for it. What Claude did to him. How Claude's showing for what Anakin is doing to him.
Wherever it is you carry another man's orgasm, it feels doubly full now. He licks his lips, everything hot and cum-stained. His breathing sounds raw, though only half as much as his voice which has dropped a notch or two. Big, okay. ]
You good?
[ Leaning in over the other man slightly, both hands supporting him on either side at this point, Claude reaches up with his left and flicks a strand of hair out of Anakin's eyes. He's smiling, softly. ]
[ Claude swallows him up, his mouth working as Anakin spends himself down his throat and Anakin's holding onto the sheets, to Claude's hair, his lips parted as he writhes against him, pleasure flooding his body, his senses, everything. The other man sucks him all throughout, until the overarching wave of pleasure recedes into something a little less overwhelming, giving way to a heightened sensitivity and if Claude hadn't drawn back when he does, it would have probably become uncomfortable. He does, though. He's considerate like that. Anakin can't breathe for it - for the care within that sentiment, within everything Claude has done that has led them to this moment. Opening his eyes slowly, he blinks up at the air above him, seeing very little, whilst Claude shifts upwards, enough to slip his hair out of his face.
Anakin follows the trajectory of his hand, his fingertip. He feels wordless, heavy from falling and landing in such a soft place and it takes him a few moments to gather enough motor control to reach for Claude with both hands, pulling him up close. He holds the back of his head with his metal hand, fingers clenching and unclenching between his curls, trying not to pull or to get anything snagged between within the mechanics. He presses his other hand to Claude's hip, supporting him above him, encouraging him to find purchase like that in whichever way he likes.
Then, managing a slow, trembling smile, he nods and leans up, kissing him. He tastes himself on his lips though their scents have merged at this point, become complimentary rather than different or separate. It's his scent, it's Claude's. It's the both of them. Anakin loves the thought of that.
He parts his lips, slipping his tongue back inside the heat of Claude's mouth and giving him ample space to mirror him if he chooses. Then, he reaches down a bit further, blindly, and curls his fingers around Claude's cock. His hand is damp from sweat and when he presses his thumb over the bared head, he catches the precum there and spreads it out, using it to slick up his own fingers a little bit more. He doesn't touch him lightly, not as such; Claude has waited, after all.
[ Anakin welcomes him. He opens his arms to him and drags him down, metal hand in his hair and the other supporting him by the hip until he finds proper purchase against the mattress with a knee on either side of Anakin's warm, heavy thigh. Everywhere they touch is heat and softness. It's not just the stench of sex permeating the room now, there's care there, too. There's want and there's lust and there's care. Claude exhales heavily as Anakin's flesh hand closes around his cock, dragging upwards as he rubs his thumb over the bared head, wet from precum and his whole lower body sings, his muscles tensing as he pushes into his grip, a little bit desperately, because he's waited this one out. He's been patient, he's been good. He doesn't think about where he'd usually hear those words, that space doesn't exist between Anakin and him.
Claude makes a soft sound, not quite a groan but almost, as he kisses Anakin back, lets him take his mouth, his own cum, the taste of himself, mixed with Claude's taste and his sensations and his experiences and everything they're sharing in this very moment beyond spit and body heat. Pushing his own tongue in along Anakin's, he gives him back the fragments of him that he's taken, blowing him, knowing instinctually that they aren't his to keep, they were a borrowed thing. What you take in these situations, you give back, or you're robbing someone else of themselves.
Never.
Never.
Against his cock, Anakin's hand feels gentle and careful, if not exactly light. It's not a light touch, it's just careful. Claude treasures it, but he's also thirsting and he angles his hips upwards a bit, canting them in against Anakin's palm and rubbing his whole shaft against the heat there, the slick, the tight little hole. Oh. Pacing his breathing, he breaks away from the kiss, gasping hard and pressing his forehead against Anakin's, their hair obstructing his view in a mix of dark and light.
Feels appropriate. ]
Feels amazing, Anakin, don't - [ A hitch in his breathing and he bites his lower lip before leaning in, finishing the sentence before capturing the other man's lips once more. ] - don't stop.
[ Within long, they strike up a pace that feels a bit like ascending alongside each other, going somewhere that's merely unknown without being scary and Anakin hasn't thought of anything like that for a long time; that sometimes, things aren't there to be overcome, that sometimes, a dune is just a dune and once you've traversed it, you'll simply walk the next one and then, the next. Though he's grown up without much semblance of security, there were always small patches of quiet. Of peace, secluded and incredibly, irreversibly private. It was his.
And so is this, he thinks.
Nodding against Claude's forehead, he keeps his hand working. The angle's not a problem anymore - he's got it, it's easy. Claude's trusting into his palm as well, helping them both along. When they kiss again, he takes Claude's mouth just a little forcefully, licking into him. He runs his thumb over the damp head of his cock and presses down slightly before pulling away and turning his head, lips gliding over the shell of Claude's ear. His curls tickle his lips. ]
I won't, my love - don't worry. Keep going.
[ It has never been in Anakin's nature to hold off on his endearments, particularly not in heated moments and right now, honestly, it feels very right, it feels like he loves Claude, like he might have loved him for a while, too. It's a new kind of love, too. It feels tied to a part of Anakin that he hasn't dealt with in years and years, but not in a bad way, in a way that screams and bleeds on the sands of his memory. It's not that. Rather, it's a bit like opening a door to the warmth of something that must have been home, once, when things were simpler.
He blinks against the wetness in his eyes and adds, voice hoarse: ]
[ Before Rainier, Claude knew that intimacy came in degrees, that you could measure it by closeness, how much of another person you wanted to absorb into yourself. After Rainier, every degree knew its dangers and he hasn't been very good with any of them, he hasn't been able to release enough control to grab and grab and grab - and fall and fall fall, knowing his desperate hands would be caught by someone else. This feels different, this feels like trusting and falling and not being afraid, neither of being caught, nor of not being caught. Either is fine. Any version, it's fine.
Anakin's hand is tight and slick around his length, feels like overheating and friction and his thumb over the head, leaving imprints in spit and in skin. Claude is gasping for it, his hips snapping forward again and again, until the rhythm is as perfect as it'll ever be and there's only the surrender left.
The fall. Dare, it tells him. It's then that Anakin turns his head and speaks into Claude's ear, muttering gentle encouragements, my love...
Let me take you there.
It overpowers him like something forceful and at the same time really kriffing soft, like a surprise of some kind, like he hadn't seen this coming. It all ends here, but it surprises him anyway and he moans, harsh, broken, sounding ragged and teary, throaty, his cock spurting cum all over Anakin's front between them, leaving him messy and touched in the wake of it. Like Claude's claiming him, like he's putting his mark there, mine, mine, mine. His eyes feel wet at the corners and his breathing hurts his lungs as he gallops after his orgasm, tumbling, falling, his upper arms trembling from the strain of keeping himself up, hoisted above Anakin's body beneath him.
He looks down through tear-sticky eyelashes. Finds him completely, utterly beautiful. There's not room for any more thought than that, his body sated and warm and burning in every shivering muscle.
Not caring about his spunk, he eases himself down on top of the other man slowly. Gasps something out that doesn't make any real sense. Please, first and foremost. Don't... Don't, don't, don't. And while he doesn't even know himself what he's asking for, Claude knows Anakin has already given it to him. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Physically, at least.
At the touch of fingers against his face, his hair, Anakin sighs again and shuts his eyes, tilting his head towards it. Now that they're touching, he feels grounded in an altogether physical way, like his body's finally done racing ahead of him. He pushes back against Claude's hips, his cock sliding up along the length of his leg and it isn't particularly satisfying but it makes his breath catch all the same, dull pleasure settling in his groin. It's not enough. But then again, nothing ever is.
It's good, though. Very.
He smiles and draws back at Claude's comment, running his hands down his shoulders and clasping them briefly before he shifts backwards. ]
Enough?
[ Ducking his head, he brushes his fingers over Claude's front, his chest and midriff. Then, he grasps the hem of his shirt and gives it a slight tug, thinking off and then, wait.
For some inexplicable reason, wait.
He meets Claude's eyes again. ]
What's naked enough? All of it? [ He runs his flesh hand down the side of Claude's hip, fingertips digging in slightly. ] Some of it?
no subject
Expression softening, he reaches down himself and folds one hand over Anakin's, still grabbing his shirt, the other holding him by his upper thigh and he cocks his head slightly at him, taking him in, thinking that this man is capable of anything and everything and he still claims none of it for himself. Men like that are rare, if they weren't, the world would look so much different. Claude's life would, too, for that matter. ]
We need to match.
[ He says it easily, no holding back, no slight sense of apprehension. Holding Anakin's eyes another long moment, he smiles reassuringly, in a way that says you can let me, I'm not going anywhere, because he feels it, the grip, the desperate holding on, and twists his shirt, the fabric clinging to him the entire way, up over his chest, shoulders, head. It comes off like a sheath, baring nothing Anakin hasn't seen before, but there's something to be said for context, right? Intimacy. Intent.
And Claude intents to eat him, once they match. Take him in and feel him sink to the bottom of his system, settle there.
Dropping the shirt off to the side, he steps up close to Anakin again, having not pried off his hold on his hip even once during his undressing session. It's an invitation. The way Anakin is hard and ready and waiting, most of all. Underneath his final layers, Claude's the same and he wants him to see. They're past the loincloth and mask on Paris, they're past all that. Reaching down he undoes the fastening of his trousers slowly, unhurriedly, working blindly as he leans in and runs his lips over the jut of Anakin's jawline, closest to his face, at a perfect height.
The fabric loosens around his waist, slides down his hips. Finally leaving them in an equal state. ]
no subject
Anakin likes every inch of him. He'd take none of him for granted, down to the tips of his nails. He dips his head to give Claude access to his face, feeling his lips sliding along his jawline and tilting his head towards them. More, it means. Give me whatever you like but give it all at once. He runs one hand - the flesh one, because he wants to feel, not translate sensor inputs - down Claude's side, over his ribs and inwards.
Then, before his fingertips can skirt over the bared length of Claude's cock, he raises his hand to his own lips instead, pulling away from Claude just enough to give himself space. Careful, he thinks, like a mantra running on repeat at the back of his mind. And dry fingers against your cock is no fun for anyone and isn't that interesting, having... comparable bodies? That's never been a thing before. Actually, now that he thinks about it, that's intriguing.
He reaches down. Stops, his hand hovering between their bodies, fingers glistening slightly. He looks at Claude closely. ]
Can I?
[ After all, you don't grab another guy's cock without asking permission, he's fairly sure. It feels like the kind of unwritten rule that counts across contexts, really. ]
no subject
He lets him taste and explore and then, he pulls back enough to leave Claude with just the fragrance of him in his nostrils, the faint remnants of him in his mouth. Claude watches, more or less entranced, he thinks that's a personal talent that the other man possesses, honestly, as Anakin raises his hand to his mouth and licks his fingers, makes them slippery and slick and his focus narrows down to just that, the sound of it, wet, the impressions of Coruscant's millions of lights in his spit. The breadth of his fingers, how strong and thick they are, a man's fingers. A soldier's.
Can I, he asks and it's that moment when it physically breaks, Claude can tell, he feels it, how it takes down all his defenses and his hesitation is in shambles and his apprehension is up in the air. He breathes out long and slow, feeling something he doesn't know what is exactly leaving his body from the shoulders down, his whole posture relaxing. He smiles. Reaches down and closes his fingers around Anakin's wrist, pushing his hand downwards gently. Towards himself.
The way he'd want any new partner to show the way, really. Let's go together. ]
Sure. [ His speech is a long, hard exhalation along the dip in the other man's chin. A kiss there, then a kiss to the corner of his mouth, along with a whisper. When he releases his hold on the other man's hand, it means: go, I give myself to you. Not to have, but to hold. His cock, within reach of those spit-slick fingers, aching, gives a small jerk, like it isn't even trying to keep its composure. Like this is his composure, reaching and grasping and wanting. Wanting. ] You can probably tell, but I really like you asking.
[ There's a note of - not even amusement, but pure gratification in his voice. Claude reaches up for Anakin, then. Runs his overheated palms with fingers spread out over his arms, both of them, wrist up to shoulders, takes hold, too, briefly. They can both be afraid of letting go, from each their end of the spectrum. Yet, his hands continue down over his chest, following the defined groups of musculature across it, pecs - hard, firm, shifting beneath his touch, midriff - hard, firm, abdomen - hard, dipping, pubic hair tickling his skin as he gets far enough down. ]
I'm going to ask you the same question in a moment.
no subject
Anakin could not have been born anywhere else, of course.
The other man's cock jerks a little against his abdomen and Anakin smiles, about to reach for him when Claude reaches first, fingers running up his arms, holding on briefly before he finds Anakin's chest, his midriff. It takes Anakin's cock a second or two to catch up (it's no faster in picking up clues than the rest of him, obviously) but once it does, he has to fight to control his breathing, his body tightening from anticipation. ]
Well, you can. Obviously, you - yes. [ He swallows. ] Please do.
[ Taking a deep breath, he runs his fingertips along the length of Claude's cock. He's soft and smooth, the foreskin fully retracted and Anakin's briefly distracted by it. Lips slightly parted, his breath coming out just a little too fast, he runs his slick fingers around the ridges of skin, rubbing it slowly. Unthinkingly, he reaches with his other hand, the metal-one, and runs his thumb over the glans, pressing in gently, his sensors telling him damp and soft. It looks sensitive and he wonders what it would taste like if he tried to lick it. ]
no subject
Anaking is trying him out. It dawns on him only then that he might be his first, that this might be his first time with another male. Along with the quickened breathing, something melts inside him. It's very special. For the both of them, then, for different reasons, it has to mean something. ]
Here's what you're doing to me. [ Claude doesn't say it like a teacher would, he's not Anakin's teacher, kriff, anything but that. He's his partner and they'll teach each other, simultaneously. They'll teach each other together. He draws back enough to raise his own hand to his mouth, spitting hard into his palm and smearing it all over his fingers, too. Then, he reaches down between them, mirroring the other man's touch, runs his fingers up his length, base to tip, feeling the exposed head with his fingertips, just following the same curve along the glans, though Anakin doesn't have the slight ridge of skin, either for ritualistic or practical reasons. Not all planets have Paris' mild climate, after all. The galaxy is vast.
Feeling his breath stumbling a little, shifting on his feet, spreading them more for balance, by accident more than consciously pushing into Anakin's hand, but that's what happens. More, it says. More, Claude feels.
Gently, he smears his whole, wet palm over the round tip of Anakin's cock, closing his fingers loosely around the shaft as he gets to it, dragging downwards. ] Keep doing that.
no subject
To feel the closeness of it.
Claude reaches down between them and mirrors him, running his fingers over Anakin's cock. At the first touch he shivers, shifting a little on his feet in response as heat begins to gather in his belly, soft and slow. He draws in a harsh breath as Claude presses his slick palm over the head of his cock - it's a sensitive spot for him and when Claude follows up by stroking downwards with his other hand, his breath catches in his throat on the next exhalation. With a low groan, he pushes past it, folding his flesh hand around Claude's length in turn. ]
You feel amazing.
[ He strokes him slowly, small, uneven jerks that aren't meant to push him anywhere. Rather, it gives Anakin a much-needed feel for him. Stroking a cock from this angle takes a bit of adjusting, after all, it's nothing like stroking himself. He steps a little closer, pushing into Claude's grip, maybe a little shamelessly but Force, he wants more of that pleasure, it doesn't have to go fast so long as it's happening. Craning his head downwards, he leans in and searches out the side of Claude's neck, kissing his way down along the slope of muscle. He's got a favourite spot to kiss, Anakin, and it's right there in the space between shoulder and neck.
As soon as he finds it, he moves his metal hand to the small of Claude's back and holds him, not really trying to keep him still (if he wanted to do that, he wouldn't have to try at all) but simply to feel him there as well, the steadiness of being still.
He gets that from other people, Anakin. ]
no subject
So safe.
He breathes too fast for the pace they're actually striking, but it's fine, he wants Anakin to hear the impact he is having on him, how he feels it all the way to his innermost. Like the Jedi slips his metal arm around his waist, keeping him still by his lower back, Claude reaches up with his free hand and pushes his whole, flat palm over the spot where there's heartbeat and a slight bulge of pec, feeling the other man's response in steady thuds of flesh, blood, rushing, living. From there, his hand goes up around the nape of his neck, keeping him close like that, pressed to his chest. So he can feel his heart, too.
Meanwhile, he takes the cue from Anakin, his hand on the other man's cock not speeding up, but feeling out, learning the girth (big) and lenght (long) of his cock in little, soft strokes, taking it an inch at a time. He felt him step into him, into his touch, wanting more, so he gives him more. He keeps giving him more. After a few additional jerks, he lets his hand come down to cup Anakin's balls, carefully, softly, his own are extremely sensitive.
But it's different for everyone, he knows. He doesn't want to make it uncomfortable.
His own breathing is uneven and falters on every other intake. When Anakin rubs over the string along the underside of his shaft, where the transition to head begins, he makes a slightly strangled noise, not a moan, not a whimper, just air escaping with a bit of sound. Sensitive. Like Anakin's cock head is sensitive. ]
Mouth - [ It's a hoarse whisper. ] - Kiss my mouth? I'd like you inside. You feel incredible.
no subject
But naturally, there's such a thing as wanting more and both of them are greedy like that, both of them want. Claude is here on Coruscant for a reason, after all, or he could have settled down and lived his life in peace, privileged. And for Anakin, wanting is ingrained within him, it runs in his blood, egging him onwards. Look it says, look. He opens his eyes, his lips still parted over Claude's skin. He's left a blushing mark in his wake and before complying, he kisses it gently.
Then, he straightens up and leans down, catching Claude's mouth in a kiss, a little harder now, a little less explorative. He slips inside, heat along with Claude's own, unique scent exploding on his tongue. Groaning, he tilts his head sideways and stays like that, pushing his tongue inwards, his breathing growing steadfastly quicker. He mirrors Claude again and releases his cock, folding his damp hand very lightly around his balls, fingertips stroking over the sack. Like that, he kisses him and he holds him, too, in sensitive places and something about that thought, about feeling him inside and out, makes his own cock even harder, the tip growing just a bit wetter. ]
no subject
Claude wants to give him that.
So, when the other man kisses him deeply on the mouth, licking into him and taking the cavity of it, stroking along his tongue, it's Claude's turn to groan, loudly, pushing up against him with all his weight, because he knows Anakin can take it, he could lift him twice over, really. Claude shivers as Anakin releases his cock, knowing what's bound to come, because he's led them down that path himself. And there is Anakin's fingers, folding around the sack of his balls, weighing it lightly, gentle with it, gentle with him. Making a strangled sound, like a choked moan, he pushes in against it, in against the feel of it, slick and warm and soft and hold. His cock feels impossibly hard. Precum collecting in the slit. Kissing Anakin back, hard now, wanting, Claude drags his hand back upwards, stroking him once, twice more, then carefully smearing the wetness at the tip over the whole glans before withdrawing completely, both hands landing on Anakin's hips, the soft curve of buttock, hard dip of hipbone. He's a perfect mix of all of it, isn't he?
Soft and hard. Light and dark. Want and need.
Claude strokes his tongue, too, one last time, then pulls out, only enough to speak against his skin, where he's soft and moist and receptive. A line down his neck. ]
It's a different question now. Can I suck your cock? Because if so, I think I want you lying down.
no subject
[ He blinks stupidly, blood rushing into his cheeks. His hand remains curved around Claude's balls because he knows how to multi-task, thanks, but everything inside of him is suddenly very, very aware of Claude's fingers against his hips and the taste of him lingering from the kiss, warm and with an undercurrent of something faintly spicy. All his senses are full of him and he likes it, he likes it a lot. Thus, he would have been perfectly happy to simply stand here and take them to completion but, well. Now, there's the completely impossible mental image of Claude, on his knees with his lips stretched around his cock and he has to forcefully clamp his teeth into his bottom lip not to come at the thought alone. The visual. Force, the visual.
He realises that he's simply been staring at Claude for at least fifteen seconds without answering. Gently, he lets go of his balls, fingertips brushing his inner thigh as he swallows heavily and tries to find the words before Claude takes his silence the wrong way. Which would. Never. Ever do. ]
I - yeah. Of course, if you want.
[ He glances down at the bed, feeling dazed from arousal, his skin prickling all over in anticipation. He thinks about lying down, spreading his legs, giving Claude... access. A part of him wants to be up on his elbows and watch but as he shifts backwards, out of Claude's grip, he lies down anyway, all the way, until he's flat on his back. It feels right. It feels like letting certain doubts, certain anxieties, rest for the moment. He watches the ceiling tip in time with his vision and shifts enough to make room on the bed, bending one leg to feel that slight sense of purchase, of ground beneath his foot. He smiles, at nothing. Here he is and there's a war raging and it doesn't matter, not right now, not here.
Instead, he thinks about Claude's taste on the back of his tongue and licks his lips to solidify it further in his mind. ]
no subject
Then, he stops looking and starts moving, dropping to his knees on the edge of the bed, crawling closer, not looming in over him, though. It gets overwhelming, like taking and being stripped of the chance of proper reciprocity. Like your partner constantly staying out of reach, only to take for themselves what they want. Claude knows that feeling and he won't pass it onwards, he'd rather kriffing die.
His own cock is bobbing against his stomach, and he reaches up to still it with his free hand as he settles down between Anakin's legs, looking up over the whole display of him, honestly beating Coruscanti night skies and skylines. By lengths and lengths and lengths. He lets his eyes run down over Anakin's stomach, follows the trail he thinks he'll take with his tongue. Navel, abdomen, pelvis, cock. Without leaving him waiting, without leaving him to just lie there and wait in passivity which is the absolute worst anyway, unless mutually agreed upon, Claude places one hand next to his hip, on the side of his stretched out leg, and kisses his inner thigh before stretching and pressing a kiss right above his bellybutton. ]
Ticklish?
[ It doesn't require a fast answer. He darts his tongue out and drags it down in a half-circle around his navel with enough force that it probably won't trigger anything, if he is. He'd just like to know. Keeping himself up on one arm, he can actively smell him from here, the heavy scent of musk and arousal, warm skin, sweat. His own cock jerks in his grip and he gives it a lazy stroke as he licks his way downward. ]
no subject
What a strange thought.
Claude leaves a hot, invisible imprint against his inner thigh. His belly. He leans his head back again, running one hand through his hair to get his bangs out of his face. ]
Not really.
[ Pause. He amends, like it's perfectly natural: ]
Well, in some places. Nerves are still recovering from the last mission - electrocution's a major bother. [ He realises quickly that this isn't a very sexy subject and immediately adds, craning his neck again to look at Claude: ] Nothing to worry about, mind. It just takes a little time, that's all.
[ He parts his legs a little more and reaches for Claude, running his metal hand over the top of his head and backwards, feeling his soft curls slide between his fingers. Leaning his head back against the bed with a slight thump, he closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose with his other hand. ]
Please tell me I didn't just ruin the mood.
no subject
Claude smiles.
Anakin wants to know if he's ruined the mood, his metal hand in his hair, running down over the back of his head. So, Claude shakes his head first, to not have to answer around a laugh, kissing a few select spots right where Anakin's pubic hair marks the line between innocent and not. Then, he raises his head enough to look up over the other man's chest, his chin, nose, brows. Mess of hair. Beautiful. You wouldn't think war could produce that, but here they are. ]
Anakin, I'm only going to take your nerve damage as a challenge, you realise.
[ It's not a joke at his expense, it's a joke to his benefit, because that's when Claude pushes himself a little further down the other man's body, more or less getting his hard cock in his eye and angles his face to push his half-open mouth to the base of it, the beautiful curve of shaft, right over his ballsack. That perfect transition. The scent is tenfold here. All musk. All heat. All salt. Claude is salivating. His cock is weeping hard.
He presses his tongue flat against the base and drags upwards slowly. Anakin's cock head is really sensitive, so he'll approach in stages. Get him worked up enough to more or less beg for it. Claude doesn't need the begging, sure, but it's a good indication for when he can give him the whole mouth experience, full suction, the wet, the narrow, the slide. As he moves upwards, he nibbles, letting his lips do the work, tongue tip following the thickness of a vein that leads in the same direction.
He tastes like himself. Like care and willingness and the man who worries whether he's ruined the mood. Claude doesn't think he could want anything more. ]
no subject
When Claude's mouth finally touches his cock - the base, right above his balls - Anakin swallows heavily and forces himself to keep still, his body aching to move, to get more, as quickly as possible. He's learned over the years that sex is better at a slower pace, that he likes it better that way as well, and tonight the pacing is definitely slow, like they're taking each step together, one after the other, none of them ever fighting to catch up. He likes the thought of that.
Of being with Claude the entire way, rather than fighting his way either to the top or to his side. ]
Force, that feels nice.
[ He chews on his bottom lip some more as Claude drags his tongue upwards along the length of him, steering clear of the head for now and finding other, sensitive places along the way. He stays as still as he can, letting Claude set the pace as he wishes, though he does slip up a little every other second, shifting his hips ever so slightly, trying to find whatever little friction he can on his own. ]
no subject
He looks forward to the jaw ache.
Truly. Truly.
Finally feeling the swell of the head, Claude hears himself exhaling heavily and parts his lips, swollen now and wet from spit, over the glans, getting his teeth out of the way as he best can before opening his eyes and glancing up along the wide chest of the other man, the outline of face seen from beneath. Shoulders. Kriff, he's not going to last through this. He's very definitely not going to. Pushing his tongue out wantonly, he catches the underside of the head on it and more or less just slides Anakin in, tip first, lips closing right behind the slight ridge. He's enormous in his mouth, huge. Kriffing pushing at his mouth from the inside. Claude releases his own cock now to grab Anakin's by the slicked-up base, holding him still as he sucks him in another inch. He tastes salty. Musky. Manly.
Claude makes a sound he isn't even fully aware of himself, only halfway a groan, the other half he isn't going to answer for. ]
no subject
I - I forgot...
[ He fights to focus, to remember what he's supposed to ask. Without meaning to, he thrusts inwards very slightly, feeling that small sense of glide, of friction. Immediately, he forces himself not to - he knows he's not small and though he's never tried it himself (and kriff, now he's thinking about trying it, of course he is), he can't imagine getting choked on somebody's cock is all that exciting. He frowns, staring up at the ceiling and trying to think past the feel of wetness around the head of his cock along with the sounds Claude makes, like he's really enjoying himself.
Don't jeopardize that, Anakin, get to it! He grits his teeth. ]
Do you want to know when I'm...
[ So, yeah. Actually saying the words - do you want to swallow? - is proving too much of a challenge for the Hero With No Fear. ]
no subject
It's safe, again. Claude doesn't feel unsafe with him.
Drawing back once more, giving him the slide and the friction he's asking for, Claude looks up along the width of his body, watching him through the curtain of his curly bangs. Anakin asks whether he wants to know when he comes, whether he swallows and a weird heat spreads in his chest, both removed and not from the heat beating in his crotch. As he pops Anakin's cock out of his mouth, precum sticking to his lips and a little bit to his chin, he shakes his head again. I'll know, it means, but he doesn't say it. Doesn't matter, what matters is that Anakin asked. Showed that kind of consideration. ]
Come in me.
[ The shortest way to say it, aside from a somewhat curt no. I appreciate you asking is implied in the soft way he catches the head of Anakin's cock between his lips again and sucks him all the way back, setting a slow, but steady rhythm of up and down, tightening his lips around the shaft as he goes up, to catch the right veins, the spots, the bulge of head before slipping his tongue into the slit, catching the essence of him there. The place he's most himself.
Claude wants to be most himself there, too. ]
no subject
If Claude hasn't - then afterwards, Anakin is going to take him flying.
Claude then proceeds to toss him out of the kriffing window when he tells him, kindly but evenly, to come in me and sucks him into his mouth. Anakin's eyes widen and his head falls right back against the bed as he stares unseeingly upwards, pleasure building explosively in his body. His cock feels almost overstimulated, the head hitting the back of Claude's mouth at every instroke making his fist clench in the sheets. Soon, there's a rhythm to it, a pace, and Anakin times his breathing to it, his muscles clenching as he shifts on the bed, thrusting upwards very slightly in time because he can't not, he can't - and he keeps hearing Claude's voice in his head, soft and gentle, not a command (and that means something, too, that means more than he can currently process) but just - pointing the way forward, telling him it's fine, the path is fine, it's safe -
Releasing what little tension's left in him, he lets himself focus only on Claude's mouth around his cock and just like that, for a few, precious moments, everything comes back to that - the feel of Claude, of what Anakin's been given and he comes on a choked-up sound, something that might be a moan, strangled in other emotions, pleasure - weightlessness, like he's beyond his body and it's beyond him, in turn - rushing through him and drowning out everything else. ]
no subject
When Anakin comes, it's with his cock more of less buried in Claude's open mouth, head pushing over the very back of his tongue and he hollows his cheeks just a little bit to give it that sense of suction, knowing the other man is close, kriff, they're both close and he's not even touching himself. He's pulsing on Claude's tongue, the first load making his throat work instinctually to clear itself, the salty taste of his cum making Claude's heart race. It's so intimate, yeah. It's like taking someone and carrying them in your chest, in your guts.
The following loads are thicker, more, and he really comes, huh, all moaning and twisting and giving himself over. For a lot of reasons, Claude can't properly breathe, he just takes it, swallows him down dutifully. His cock is bouncing against his stomach as he shifts into a more comfortable position, keeping his mouth tight and wet around him only as long as it's bound to feel nice.
Then, the pulsing slowly subsides, the slight thrusting of his hips, and Claude draws back after a moment, feeling the hot, slick length of him slipping out of his body. Penetration's like that, any kind. He's gasping slightly, rising up on his arm and staring down at Anakin's blushing face, the way he's showing for it. What Claude did to him. How Claude's showing for what Anakin is doing to him.
Wherever it is you carry another man's orgasm, it feels doubly full now. He licks his lips, everything hot and cum-stained. His breathing sounds raw, though only half as much as his voice which has dropped a notch or two. Big, okay. ]
You good?
[ Leaning in over the other man slightly, both hands supporting him on either side at this point, Claude reaches up with his left and flicks a strand of hair out of Anakin's eyes. He's smiling, softly. ]
no subject
Anakin follows the trajectory of his hand, his fingertip. He feels wordless, heavy from falling and landing in such a soft place and it takes him a few moments to gather enough motor control to reach for Claude with both hands, pulling him up close. He holds the back of his head with his metal hand, fingers clenching and unclenching between his curls, trying not to pull or to get anything snagged between within the mechanics. He presses his other hand to Claude's hip, supporting him above him, encouraging him to find purchase like that in whichever way he likes.
Then, managing a slow, trembling smile, he nods and leans up, kissing him. He tastes himself on his lips though their scents have merged at this point, become complimentary rather than different or separate. It's his scent, it's Claude's. It's the both of them. Anakin loves the thought of that.
He parts his lips, slipping his tongue back inside the heat of Claude's mouth and giving him ample space to mirror him if he chooses. Then, he reaches down a bit further, blindly, and curls his fingers around Claude's cock. His hand is damp from sweat and when he presses his thumb over the bared head, he catches the precum there and spreads it out, using it to slick up his own fingers a little bit more. He doesn't touch him lightly, not as such; Claude has waited, after all.
Unlike Anakin, he isn't yet still. ]
no subject
Claude makes a soft sound, not quite a groan but almost, as he kisses Anakin back, lets him take his mouth, his own cum, the taste of himself, mixed with Claude's taste and his sensations and his experiences and everything they're sharing in this very moment beyond spit and body heat. Pushing his own tongue in along Anakin's, he gives him back the fragments of him that he's taken, blowing him, knowing instinctually that they aren't his to keep, they were a borrowed thing. What you take in these situations, you give back, or you're robbing someone else of themselves.
Never.
Never.
Against his cock, Anakin's hand feels gentle and careful, if not exactly light. It's not a light touch, it's just careful. Claude treasures it, but he's also thirsting and he angles his hips upwards a bit, canting them in against Anakin's palm and rubbing his whole shaft against the heat there, the slick, the tight little hole. Oh. Pacing his breathing, he breaks away from the kiss, gasping hard and pressing his forehead against Anakin's, their hair obstructing his view in a mix of dark and light.
Feels appropriate. ]
Feels amazing, Anakin, don't - [ A hitch in his breathing and he bites his lower lip before leaning in, finishing the sentence before capturing the other man's lips once more. ] - don't stop.
[ Close, it means. ]
no subject
And so is this, he thinks.
Nodding against Claude's forehead, he keeps his hand working. The angle's not a problem anymore - he's got it, it's easy. Claude's trusting into his palm as well, helping them both along. When they kiss again, he takes Claude's mouth just a little forcefully, licking into him. He runs his thumb over the damp head of his cock and presses down slightly before pulling away and turning his head, lips gliding over the shell of Claude's ear. His curls tickle his lips. ]
I won't, my love - don't worry. Keep going.
[ It has never been in Anakin's nature to hold off on his endearments, particularly not in heated moments and right now, honestly, it feels very right, it feels like he loves Claude, like he might have loved him for a while, too. It's a new kind of love, too. It feels tied to a part of Anakin that he hasn't dealt with in years and years, but not in a bad way, in a way that screams and bleeds on the sands of his memory. It's not that. Rather, it's a bit like opening a door to the warmth of something that must have been home, once, when things were simpler.
He blinks against the wetness in his eyes and adds, voice hoarse: ]
Let me take you there.
no subject
Anakin's hand is tight and slick around his length, feels like overheating and friction and his thumb over the head, leaving imprints in spit and in skin. Claude is gasping for it, his hips snapping forward again and again, until the rhythm is as perfect as it'll ever be and there's only the surrender left.
The fall. Dare, it tells him. It's then that Anakin turns his head and speaks into Claude's ear, muttering gentle encouragements, my love...
Let me take you there.
It overpowers him like something forceful and at the same time really kriffing soft, like a surprise of some kind, like he hadn't seen this coming. It all ends here, but it surprises him anyway and he moans, harsh, broken, sounding ragged and teary, throaty, his cock spurting cum all over Anakin's front between them, leaving him messy and touched in the wake of it. Like Claude's claiming him, like he's putting his mark there, mine, mine, mine. His eyes feel wet at the corners and his breathing hurts his lungs as he gallops after his orgasm, tumbling, falling, his upper arms trembling from the strain of keeping himself up, hoisted above Anakin's body beneath him.
He looks down through tear-sticky eyelashes. Finds him completely, utterly beautiful. There's not room for any more thought than that, his body sated and warm and burning in every shivering muscle.
Not caring about his spunk, he eases himself down on top of the other man slowly. Gasps something out that doesn't make any real sense. Please, first and foremost. Don't... Don't, don't, don't. And while he doesn't even know himself what he's asking for, Claude knows Anakin has already given it to him. ]