[ He can't think for it - for the feeling of wetness and pressure against his rim, for the thought of Sarica behind him, his face pressed between his buttocks. Though he's doing so carefully, it can't be denied - the other man's leading them both at this moment and Anakin's letting him, he's choking on it, on the overwhelming sensation of simply...
Of letting go.
Eyes falling shut, he pants and cants his hips a little, pushing back against Sarica's tongue. The other man grabs his cock and for a second, Anakin's fairly certain that's it, he's going to come all over this desk and nothing can stop him. But then, oh, he - he grabs it, his hand not stroking but simply holding and Anakin realises through the fog of pleasure descending over his rational mind that he's holding him back, too, not just pushing him forwards. Groaning loudly, his teeth actually scraping over his arm at this point, Anakin slips down onto his other elbow, his spine curving and shoulders trembling as he stays there, on his knees, arse more or less in the air.
Behind him, Sarica starts pushing his tongue into him and he clenches down slightly against the intrusion, completely by instinct. Something escapes his throat - some kind of noise that he can't and won't consider too carefully (it's a soft sound, slightly wet) - as he forces himself to relax, to let him in. He opens his eyes, staring out of the window, his hair sticking to his forehead and obscuring the view, caging him in but not in an awful way, not in the kind of way that would've made him either desperate or despondent.
He stays. Shifts his hips and meets Sarica's thrusts with small, experimental thrusts, his balls painfully tight against his body. ]
[ The most wondrous thing happens. Anakin gives. With a soft, wet whining sound, he sinks down onto his other elbow as well, arse completely in the air and Sarica makes a similar sound, not a growl, not a groan, but something softer, wetter and unrolls his tongue inside of him on the third thrust, lets him feel the breadth of it push against his opening on all sides. Out, in, out. On the fifth, sixth, he doesn't keep count anymore, retreat from Anakin's burning hot body, Sarica pulls back enough to speak, using his left thumb to rub leisurely over the other man's rim instead. ]
I'm going to release you. Come.
[ And with that he digs right back in, pushes his whole face into his arse crack and devours him, fucking him faster on his tongue now, every fourth or fifth outstroke, flicking his tongue tip over the rim again. It becomes rhythm. It builds and it builds and it grows frantic and faster and wanting.
Then, finally, Sarica slowly, slowly loosens his hold on Anakin's cock, until it's light and more a tease than actual touch and starts stroking him in time, angling his cock upwards enough that when he comes, and he'll come, Sarica told him to, has been telling him to since he pushed between his buttocks, he'll catch on himself and the rest will take his papers and that, in itself, is a truly satisfactory thought.
In Sarica's mind, there's nothing but the taste of him, the scent, musky, dark, and his own body's coiling from arousal, his cock throbbing harshly in his trousers, but he can get himself afterwards. For once, for one glorious moment, Sarica's not the one playing center stage. ]
[ When Sarica pulls back to speak to him, his words ring loudly and steadily in his mind, cutting through the absolute haze of pleasure. It speaks volumes as to how focused they are on each other; the other man has seated himself within him, not just with his tongue but with his whole being. He's burning up from it. But (here, in this reality) it doesn't hollow him out.
Come says Sarica before he goes back to licking him, to eating him and every thrust of his tongue makes him feel light, like he's going to lose his grip and float off the desk. He makes that sound again, louder, his voice hoarse and choked. At the first stroke of Sarica's hand around his cock, his balls tighten up and his climax explodes out of him. The other man's angling him upwards and consequently, he shoots strings of cum all over his own abdomen and midriff. He's panting, his arse contracting around and against Sarica's tongue.
With a strangled cry, he collapses onto his side with a heavy thump, papers flying everywhere. His mind is full of white noise, like static flickering on the inside of his eyelids, except even when he blinks, the feeling remains. He's bitten his bottom lip bloody at some point, though he can't remember when or how. Licking at it a bit uselessly, he rests his face against his upperarm, his breathing ragged and slow.
He can still feel the echo of the other man's tongue inside his - oh. His face actually reddens again. How is that even a thing? He's led his regions through active, burning war zones for years, has killed and tortured to get them closer to victory. He's a Jedi. He's stronger than most known Jedi in the galaxy. He should've already seen everything that could shake a man and gone beyond it.
But Anakin's also just twenty-three years old and Sarica wants to give him silver and gold and something even more important, something that lingers in his exhausted limbs now, something that will stay like an imprint forever. He sighs. Smiles at nothing.
[ Anakin cries out again. And when he does, he does come. He comes in heavy spurts against his own stomach and midriff and Sarica strokes him through it, only gradually slowing down the movement of his wrist, lessening the pressure of his fingers. Finally, he pulls back from his arse, his whole face soaked in spit and slick, his skin feeling caked in the scent and presence of the other man and Sarica groans, low in his throat, balancing himself against the desk with his one hand, the other desperately beginning to undo the knot on his trousers, letting them fall around his feet and baring himself halfway. His cock's dark and throbbing, wet at the tip and he knows it's just a question of time.
When Anakin looks like that, lying on his side now, breathing out his orgasm and staring at nothing, looking sated, ultimately, deeply sated... It's just a question of time.
Sarica steps out of his trousers entirely, pushing off the desk on this side and walks around the desk stiffly, ending up by Anakin's head, placing himself against the edge of the desk with his thighs, everything hard and pointing in only one direction and that direction is in the other man's face. Sarica grabs himself, having to temper himself with an effort, and angles his cock in against Anakin's chin, his lips right there, his cheek. Mmm. With the thumb of his free hand, Sarica runs his fingertip over Anakin's jutting bottom lip, where it parts slightly with his upper lip, inhaling deeply, slowly. Pleasurably spent. ]
Close your eyes.
[ It's a request, not an order, but a request he's expecting will be met, no questions asked this time. Like that, he starts stroking himself. It's not gentle. Or slow. It's fast, hard strokes, his climax built already, ready to fall, ready to crumble. Sarica breathes raggedly, his muscles trembling, his thighs, his upper arm working, hard, flexing, flexing.
Four, five, six strokes and it comes, it erupts like a volcano. Still, Sarica takes his time, he takes his time bending in over Anakin's face slightly, slipping the hand touching his lips to his eyes, covering them in his whole palm and thus, halfway coming over his face and halfway over the back of his own hand.
The visual is no less enticing. He feels his cock's pulsing and his ball drawing up while he continues to spend himself in long string over Anakin's skin. His own fingers. It's dark behind his hand, he knows, but he isn't blinding him to mislead him, it's protection. He'll show him what he missed afterwards.
[ Sarica's clothes rustle as he tends to himself and Anakin listens, feeling dazed still and curiously anchored to his body, like his mind can't really get beyond all these physical factualities; the pleasure, rooted in his muscles. The wetness along his arse, between his buttocks. The sticky cum trails drying on his skin. He blinks and tilts his head a little as Sarica moves from the background to the foreground, coming into view, more or less cock first. It's wet and red at the tip, the man's clearly been holding back.
The thought makes his body tingle with affection.
He looks up at Sarica as the man presses his cock against his chin, running his fingers along his lips. He thinks for half a second that he wants his cock sucked and is just about to part his lips because why not - but instead, Sarica tells him to close his eyes and though it makes him frown very slightly in confusion, he does it. Right now, at this very moment, it feels as if Sarica couldn't ask anything of him that he wouldn't want to give.
As such, he hears and senses more than sees as Sarica jerks off next to his face; the slick sound of his hand working his cock and the smell of arousal and skin. He breathes slowly, steadily, and he's just about to open his eyes because the thought of that visual's too tempting to miss when Sarica puts his hand over his eyes instead. It's hot and damp and so big that Anakin's blinded by it, thrown into darkness.
He blinks owlishly against the other man's palm.
Then, oh, there - Sarica comes all over his face, wet spurts landing on his chin, his lips, his nose. He smiles and parts his lips a little more, licking them, taking what he's offered here, too. His metal hand steadier than the rest of his body, he runs his hand blindly up Sarica's naked thigh, stroking the skin slowly, letting him finish. ]
That's good.
[ He leans forward despite the hand covering his eyes and kisses what he can reach of Sarica's cock, lips finding the tip, the underside of the head. ]
[ The exhaustion comes only secondly, seeping into his bones with a great, heavy weight and Sarica stands, leaning in over him, shaking very slightly and all his muscles trembling, his hand stilling against the root of his cock, until he feels himself lose hardness and he just... lets go, lets Anakin, who's leaned in and is licking at him, greedily have his fill, too. He deserves it. Deserves to be treated. Himself, Sarica just looks down at him, slightly stunned, watching his lips part, tongue dart out, getting the cum he's left in traces here and there. There's something very gentle about it. About the way Anakin tells him to get what you need, as well. Sarica runs his cum-streaked hand up over his forehead, pushing his sweat-sticky bangs out of his face, getting them good and cum-covered in turn, and he looks at his face, then, holding him by the back of his head, just holding on.
He used to share Timachus with his friends, the same way you parade your best stallion at the markets to attract more buyers. Just the thought of doing something similar with Anakin makes Sarica feel nauseaus now and he bends down slowly, thereby pulling out of the other man's reach with his cock, instead kissing his cheek, where he's marked him with his cum. Mine, it says, but not in gold. In something else. Something stronger. He licks off the first couple of strings of the stuff, extending along Anakin's cheek and nose, then he kisses his nose tip, then his lips. Getting a taste of himself.
It's a superficial, light kiss, but it's warm and it tastes like them both. He reeks of Anakin now, honestly, but the truth remains that he'll no doubt reek of Anakin in every imaginable way for a long, long time to come. He'll carry his everything, he'll carry his scent, too. Gladly.
Drawing back and straightening up, Sarica turns towards the window. It's gotten dark outside in the meantime. Even if Toril should lurk about after nightfall tonight, Sarica can't make him out and that's all that matters, that they aren't disturbed in this little world of theirs. ]
I have.
[ He says, fixing his tunic absentmindedly and thinking, this could be how it will end. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Of letting go.
Eyes falling shut, he pants and cants his hips a little, pushing back against Sarica's tongue. The other man grabs his cock and for a second, Anakin's fairly certain that's it, he's going to come all over this desk and nothing can stop him. But then, oh, he - he grabs it, his hand not stroking but simply holding and Anakin realises through the fog of pleasure descending over his rational mind that he's holding him back, too, not just pushing him forwards. Groaning loudly, his teeth actually scraping over his arm at this point, Anakin slips down onto his other elbow, his spine curving and shoulders trembling as he stays there, on his knees, arse more or less in the air.
Behind him, Sarica starts pushing his tongue into him and he clenches down slightly against the intrusion, completely by instinct. Something escapes his throat - some kind of noise that he can't and won't consider too carefully (it's a soft sound, slightly wet) - as he forces himself to relax, to let him in. He opens his eyes, staring out of the window, his hair sticking to his forehead and obscuring the view, caging him in but not in an awful way, not in the kind of way that would've made him either desperate or despondent.
He stays. Shifts his hips and meets Sarica's thrusts with small, experimental thrusts, his balls painfully tight against his body. ]
no subject
I'm going to release you. Come.
[ And with that he digs right back in, pushes his whole face into his arse crack and devours him, fucking him faster on his tongue now, every fourth or fifth outstroke, flicking his tongue tip over the rim again. It becomes rhythm. It builds and it builds and it grows frantic and faster and wanting.
Then, finally, Sarica slowly, slowly loosens his hold on Anakin's cock, until it's light and more a tease than actual touch and starts stroking him in time, angling his cock upwards enough that when he comes, and he'll come, Sarica told him to, has been telling him to since he pushed between his buttocks, he'll catch on himself and the rest will take his papers and that, in itself, is a truly satisfactory thought.
In Sarica's mind, there's nothing but the taste of him, the scent, musky, dark, and his own body's coiling from arousal, his cock throbbing harshly in his trousers, but he can get himself afterwards. For once, for one glorious moment, Sarica's not the one playing center stage. ]
no subject
Come says Sarica before he goes back to licking him, to eating him and every thrust of his tongue makes him feel light, like he's going to lose his grip and float off the desk. He makes that sound again, louder, his voice hoarse and choked. At the first stroke of Sarica's hand around his cock, his balls tighten up and his climax explodes out of him. The other man's angling him upwards and consequently, he shoots strings of cum all over his own abdomen and midriff. He's panting, his arse contracting around and against Sarica's tongue.
With a strangled cry, he collapses onto his side with a heavy thump, papers flying everywhere. His mind is full of white noise, like static flickering on the inside of his eyelids, except even when he blinks, the feeling remains. He's bitten his bottom lip bloody at some point, though he can't remember when or how. Licking at it a bit uselessly, he rests his face against his upperarm, his breathing ragged and slow.
He can still feel the echo of the other man's tongue inside his - oh. His face actually reddens again. How is that even a thing? He's led his regions through active, burning war zones for years, has killed and tortured to get them closer to victory. He's a Jedi. He's stronger than most known Jedi in the galaxy. He should've already seen everything that could shake a man and gone beyond it.
But Anakin's also just twenty-three years old and Sarica wants to give him silver and gold and something even more important, something that lingers in his exhausted limbs now, something that will stay like an imprint forever. He sighs. Smiles at nothing.
Oh. ]
no subject
When Anakin looks like that, lying on his side now, breathing out his orgasm and staring at nothing, looking sated, ultimately, deeply sated... It's just a question of time.
Sarica steps out of his trousers entirely, pushing off the desk on this side and walks around the desk stiffly, ending up by Anakin's head, placing himself against the edge of the desk with his thighs, everything hard and pointing in only one direction and that direction is in the other man's face. Sarica grabs himself, having to temper himself with an effort, and angles his cock in against Anakin's chin, his lips right there, his cheek. Mmm. With the thumb of his free hand, Sarica runs his fingertip over Anakin's jutting bottom lip, where it parts slightly with his upper lip, inhaling deeply, slowly. Pleasurably spent. ]
Close your eyes.
[ It's a request, not an order, but a request he's expecting will be met, no questions asked this time. Like that, he starts stroking himself. It's not gentle. Or slow. It's fast, hard strokes, his climax built already, ready to fall, ready to crumble. Sarica breathes raggedly, his muscles trembling, his thighs, his upper arm working, hard, flexing, flexing.
Four, five, six strokes and it comes, it erupts like a volcano. Still, Sarica takes his time, he takes his time bending in over Anakin's face slightly, slipping the hand touching his lips to his eyes, covering them in his whole palm and thus, halfway coming over his face and halfway over the back of his own hand.
The visual is no less enticing. He feels his cock's pulsing and his ball drawing up while he continues to spend himself in long string over Anakin's skin. His own fingers. It's dark behind his hand, he knows, but he isn't blinding him to mislead him, it's protection. He'll show him what he missed afterwards.
Everything, he'll show him. ]
no subject
The thought makes his body tingle with affection.
He looks up at Sarica as the man presses his cock against his chin, running his fingers along his lips. He thinks for half a second that he wants his cock sucked and is just about to part his lips because why not - but instead, Sarica tells him to close his eyes and though it makes him frown very slightly in confusion, he does it. Right now, at this very moment, it feels as if Sarica couldn't ask anything of him that he wouldn't want to give.
As such, he hears and senses more than sees as Sarica jerks off next to his face; the slick sound of his hand working his cock and the smell of arousal and skin. He breathes slowly, steadily, and he's just about to open his eyes because the thought of that visual's too tempting to miss when Sarica puts his hand over his eyes instead. It's hot and damp and so big that Anakin's blinded by it, thrown into darkness.
He blinks owlishly against the other man's palm.
Then, oh, there - Sarica comes all over his face, wet spurts landing on his chin, his lips, his nose. He smiles and parts his lips a little more, licking them, taking what he's offered here, too. His metal hand steadier than the rest of his body, he runs his hand blindly up Sarica's naked thigh, stroking the skin slowly, letting him finish. ]
That's good.
[ He leans forward despite the hand covering his eyes and kisses what he can reach of Sarica's cock, lips finding the tip, the underside of the head. ]
Get what you need.
no subject
He used to share Timachus with his friends, the same way you parade your best stallion at the markets to attract more buyers. Just the thought of doing something similar with Anakin makes Sarica feel nauseaus now and he bends down slowly, thereby pulling out of the other man's reach with his cock, instead kissing his cheek, where he's marked him with his cum. Mine, it says, but not in gold. In something else. Something stronger. He licks off the first couple of strings of the stuff, extending along Anakin's cheek and nose, then he kisses his nose tip, then his lips. Getting a taste of himself.
It's a superficial, light kiss, but it's warm and it tastes like them both. He reeks of Anakin now, honestly, but the truth remains that he'll no doubt reek of Anakin in every imaginable way for a long, long time to come. He'll carry his everything, he'll carry his scent, too. Gladly.
Drawing back and straightening up, Sarica turns towards the window. It's gotten dark outside in the meantime. Even if Toril should lurk about after nightfall tonight, Sarica can't make him out and that's all that matters, that they aren't disturbed in this little world of theirs. ]
I have.
[ He says, fixing his tunic absentmindedly and thinking, this could be how it will end. ]