[ 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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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. ]