[ He blinks the stars from his eyes slowly, his arm still curled around Claude's shoulders as the other man follows him over the edge only moments later, thrusting into him harder yet, though not enough to truly hurt because that's the kind of man he is. Anakin watches him through lowered lashes, his leg still curved over his back, taking him in for as long as he needs which isn't very long at all; when he comes, Anakin can feel him pulsing deep within. It's a mesmerising sensation, like they're one and the same person for those few, precious seconds, and then, Claude moans and crumbles down against him, trembling and shaking. Anakin curves his other arm around him, too, and pulls him down on top of him, letting the other man give him his weight to compensate for the strange feeling of emptiness that follows as he pulls out.
It's only then that he realises Claude's crying.
Frowning, he reaches up with his metal hand and runs his fingers through Claude's hair, stroking slowly a couple of times before cradling the back of his skull. He pulls him in, keeps him close, and stretches out beneath him, entangling their legs. They're both sticky from cum and the room smells strongly of sex. He pushes his nose against the side of Claude's face and breathes him in, all other scents falling into the background. ]
Love.
[ He speaks lowly, almost like a murmur. He strokes Claude's back with his other hand, running his palm along his spine, over ribs; muscle and bone. Flesh. All of him so alive and so perfect that Anakin might cry, too, if he weren't busy having too many emotions to manage it. ]
Anakin reaches up and catches him in both arms, dragging him down across his front, taking his whole weight as if to balance the scales, running his metal hand through his hair and cradling the back of his skull, keeping him close. Not because Claude couldn't go if he wanted to, but because they both know - like a shared, deep-seated realization - that he shouldn't, that this is better, this is best. Claude breathes out shakily against his chest, the smell of cum and musk and sex heavy in the air. Everything is heavy, heavy on his shoulders, on his back. He takes his time, just re-learning how to fill his lungs, then exhale. Inhale, exhale.
In the silence that stretches out between them, Anakin just holds him, telling him love, telling him... Staring at the shadows his body casts over Anakin's skin, his front, his pecs, collarbones, shoulders, Claude finally inclines his head and glances up at the other man. Almost afraid. A little bit afraid.
No one, aside from his parents, and they are dead and gone, so they're not gonna be able to show how its done ever again, have ever told him they loved him. Rainier certainly never did. Claude feels himself smiling, slow and warm, easing his cheek back against Anakin's chest, where the muscle is most pronounced, like a pillow. For someone as tough as Anakin, in every way, he's soft, too. He's amazing.
Claude closes his eyes and says it, not in a mutter, but loudly, clearly, proudly. ]
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no subject
It's only then that he realises Claude's crying.
Frowning, he reaches up with his metal hand and runs his fingers through Claude's hair, stroking slowly a couple of times before cradling the back of his skull. He pulls him in, keeps him close, and stretches out beneath him, entangling their legs. They're both sticky from cum and the room smells strongly of sex. He pushes his nose against the side of Claude's face and breathes him in, all other scents falling into the background. ]
Love.
[ He speaks lowly, almost like a murmur. He strokes Claude's back with his other hand, running his palm along his spine, over ribs; muscle and bone. Flesh. All of him so alive and so perfect that Anakin might cry, too, if he weren't busy having too many emotions to manage it. ]
I love you.
no subject
Anakin reaches up and catches him in both arms, dragging him down across his front, taking his whole weight as if to balance the scales, running his metal hand through his hair and cradling the back of his skull, keeping him close. Not because Claude couldn't go if he wanted to, but because they both know - like a shared, deep-seated realization - that he shouldn't, that this is better, this is best. Claude breathes out shakily against his chest, the smell of cum and musk and sex heavy in the air. Everything is heavy, heavy on his shoulders, on his back. He takes his time, just re-learning how to fill his lungs, then exhale. Inhale, exhale.
In the silence that stretches out between them, Anakin just holds him, telling him love, telling him... Staring at the shadows his body casts over Anakin's skin, his front, his pecs, collarbones, shoulders, Claude finally inclines his head and glances up at the other man. Almost afraid. A little bit afraid.
No one, aside from his parents, and they are dead and gone, so they're not gonna be able to show how its done ever again, have ever told him they loved him. Rainier certainly never did. Claude feels himself smiling, slow and warm, easing his cheek back against Anakin's chest, where the muscle is most pronounced, like a pillow. For someone as tough as Anakin, in every way, he's soft, too. He's amazing.
Claude closes his eyes and says it, not in a mutter, but loudly, clearly, proudly. ]
I love you, too.