[ Noticing the shuffle Anakin does in response makes him smile slightly amused, that moment of sharing heat and want and both of them feeling the bodily reality of that at the same time resonating with him throughout. He shifts on his bum himself, once, his cock feeling interested but not quite as interested as Claude is in the porridge, now that Anakin mentions it. Moving enough to reach down and stroke his hand over the outline of Anakin's thigh beneath the sheets, feeling the heavy muscle of it as he does so and feeling, especially, the way his own skin prickles in the wake, Claude proceeds to pick up the bowl, sniffing it like he'd done the Zbi, the smell more neutral, fresher. He takes a bread and mirrors Anakin carefully, first oil, then porridge, watching the beautiful shine of oil on the surface of the thicker soup-like texture. It reminds him of other things and like that, as he bites into it, getting another kind of flavour entirely from the porridge, he's back to bodily realities and his cock a bit more interested now. A bit more insistent. He shifts on his ass again, twice. ]
It's a little sweet, but not too much. Still fresh. [ It's a soft comment. He likes it, he likes everything Anakin is giving him, and a part of him is trying to figure out how to really convey that. How to show him exactly how much he appreciates this glimpse, that he should keep opening up, keep giving them to him. Lay them on him, right, weigh him down.
The mental image that follows that thought makes his cock harden a bit more. I want him again, Claude thinks to himself, eating a few other scoops of porridge before putting his bowl down, the flatbread almost gone, the oil sticking to his fingers in places. He sucks them off, one after the other, thumb last.
We used to have it on good days, Anakin had said. His mother and him. Claude knows the significance of mothers. He knows very well. Leaning in so their shoulders brush again, or rather upper arm and shoulder because the Jedi is tall, Claude rests his hands in his own lap.
Doesn't force the moment forward. ] Thanks for this, Anakin.
[ His skin tingles in the wake of Claude's fingers, even with the unwelcome layer of the sheet between them and Anakin shifts again, increasingly restless, like he's growing gradually too big for his skin. They eat, the room around them quiet save for the sounds of Coruscant's traffic gaining traction around them. Thanks said Claude, like Anakin's giving him something important or rare and he is, there's nothing cheap or easy about anything related to his previous life. By Jedi principles, he thinks, he shouldn't be going backwards at all; it's obviously no problem to remember, to reminisce, if that's all you're doing but Anakin's feeling the pain of it, too, the loss and that, they'd say, is attachment. For people who've grown up without any life experience beyond the Temple, they sure do have a lot of opinions on those who do.
But Claude is thankful, regardless.
Anakin drinks the last of his Zbi and puts it on the bedside table. He looks at Claude, watches him eat, his own appetite slipping into the background, giving way to the heat gathering in his belly. His cock is more than half-hard beneath the sheets. He thinks about touch, most of all, it's not really about getting anywhere; he just wants. He feels Claude inside himself in a way that's distinctively new and precious and a part of him is drowning worse than ever now, gasping for it, for the kind of air that you can't breathe but have to share. ]
You know.
[ His voice sounds a little hoarse. He licks his lips and leans in closer, enough for the tip of his nose to brush Claude's cheek, the sweet smell of honey and bread mixed with the spices of the Zbi mixing with the other man's scent. It's definitely Anakin's new, favourite smell. ]
[ Anakin puts away his cup with Zbi, the bedside table looking suddenly in use and not empty, although it's in the side of the bed that Claude usually leaves untouched. There's a kind of familiar feeling of togetherness in that. In inviting Anakin in, allowing him close, allowing him to fill out that relentless void that Claude has just accepted, at some point. He knows when. He knows why.
Feeling the other man draw closer, close enough that there's the pressure of Anakin's nose against his cheek, like he's sniffing him the same way Claude has done Anakin's food, Claude feels his heart speed up, his pulse definitely going, blood to all the right places, as his cock hardens to the point of discomfort. Claude doesn't shift, though, he remains seated, feels the presence of him, the hoarse quality of his voice making his skin tingle.
When you're done, he says, we could...
Claude smiles, turning his head to the side a little until his lips are brushing over the corner of Anakin's mouth, there's the faint taste of that spicy tea, there. Honey-like sweetness, tinge of oil. His words sound slightly breathless when he speaks: ]
I'm done.
[ And carefully he reaches up with both hands, slipping all ten fingers into Anakin's hair that isn't half as messy as his own by some kind of magic, Jedi magic, probably, and tilts the other man's face to the side just slightly before kissing him, pressing his lips to his mouth, parting his own and opening up to him.
All the while, he's conscious of the tray between them, taking care not to knock it over and waste a single of Anakin's efforts. For some reason, that feels like the most important thing now. More important than anything that came before. ]
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It's a little sweet, but not too much. Still fresh. [ It's a soft comment. He likes it, he likes everything Anakin is giving him, and a part of him is trying to figure out how to really convey that. How to show him exactly how much he appreciates this glimpse, that he should keep opening up, keep giving them to him. Lay them on him, right, weigh him down.
The mental image that follows that thought makes his cock harden a bit more. I want him again, Claude thinks to himself, eating a few other scoops of porridge before putting his bowl down, the flatbread almost gone, the oil sticking to his fingers in places. He sucks them off, one after the other, thumb last.
We used to have it on good days, Anakin had said. His mother and him. Claude knows the significance of mothers. He knows very well. Leaning in so their shoulders brush again, or rather upper arm and shoulder because the Jedi is tall, Claude rests his hands in his own lap.
Doesn't force the moment forward. ] Thanks for this, Anakin.
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But Claude is thankful, regardless.
Anakin drinks the last of his Zbi and puts it on the bedside table. He looks at Claude, watches him eat, his own appetite slipping into the background, giving way to the heat gathering in his belly. His cock is more than half-hard beneath the sheets. He thinks about touch, most of all, it's not really about getting anywhere; he just wants. He feels Claude inside himself in a way that's distinctively new and precious and a part of him is drowning worse than ever now, gasping for it, for the kind of air that you can't breathe but have to share. ]
You know.
[ His voice sounds a little hoarse. He licks his lips and leans in closer, enough for the tip of his nose to brush Claude's cheek, the sweet smell of honey and bread mixed with the spices of the Zbi mixing with the other man's scent. It's definitely Anakin's new, favourite smell. ]
When you're done, we could go another round.
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Feeling the other man draw closer, close enough that there's the pressure of Anakin's nose against his cheek, like he's sniffing him the same way Claude has done Anakin's food, Claude feels his heart speed up, his pulse definitely going, blood to all the right places, as his cock hardens to the point of discomfort. Claude doesn't shift, though, he remains seated, feels the presence of him, the hoarse quality of his voice making his skin tingle.
When you're done, he says, we could...
Claude smiles, turning his head to the side a little until his lips are brushing over the corner of Anakin's mouth, there's the faint taste of that spicy tea, there. Honey-like sweetness, tinge of oil. His words sound slightly breathless when he speaks: ]
I'm done.
[ And carefully he reaches up with both hands, slipping all ten fingers into Anakin's hair that isn't half as messy as his own by some kind of magic, Jedi magic, probably, and tilts the other man's face to the side just slightly before kissing him, pressing his lips to his mouth, parting his own and opening up to him.
All the while, he's conscious of the tray between them, taking care not to knock it over and waste a single of Anakin's efforts. For some reason, that feels like the most important thing now. More important than anything that came before. ]