[ He could say, certainly, that he hasn't been himself the past week, while Rex has been visiting, Anakin's second in command. He could also argue that nothing else has been itself, the Senate roaring from waves of dissatisfaction with the Temple and the Sacred Council, the fact that it's a run-away fire priest, one of their own, who's making their casualty numbers in Reece rise and rise. Sarica has been doing the work, ground-up. Listening for the same kind of dissatisfaction in the people, but the people are more preoccupied with getting their daily deliveries of bananas and melons than with any concern for what those in power think of the distribution. The balance.
Absent-mindedly, while shrugging out of his tunic and pushing his trousers to the ground, Sarica recalls the symbol on Anakin's jewellery, the symbol he chose for him, because it felt fitting, because there is Sarica and then, there's the world, always slightly out of alignment. But Anakin fixes that, the same way he and Rex have fixed the kitchen up with running water now, so much plumbing running around the house, beautiful copper glinting in the sun. Like treasures amongst the grasses. He folds his clothes away and places them on the chair by the table at the windows, darkened for the night. There's only the light of the oil lamp on what has become his side of the bed, the left, because Anakin prefers the right when he stays the night. Or, however much of it he can take. It varies.
As many things do.
Sarica has never been the jealous type. He has no idea why he would start now, he tells himself, but he looks through lies with great ease, even his own. He would start now, because now is Anakin's time.
And Anakin is currently washing off in the river. He's left his lightsaber on his nightstand, like a promise, the same promise he gave when he left it there, too, to drop off Rex on a nearby planet, space-faring, not the butt-end of the galaxy. I'll come back, it means. As if he knows. Jedi mind tricks? He probably does. Sarica stretches once, languidly, his back to the door. Acutely aware of every movement on the other side. ]
[ He's seen Rex off again, telling him to bring Ahsoka with him next time, knowing full well that he probably won't, that if they see each other again, him and Rex, it'll be somewhere else in the galaxy, under different circumstances. This planet isn't for him, it's too far away from his brothers, from the life he still needs to figure out how to live. It doesn't bother Anakin as much as it might have, years back. The war is over and everybody who used to have a place needs to re-discover it, one day or journey at a time. Who knows, Rex might just circle back to him some day if that's how things evolve. Regardless, they are who they are.
As he walks back to the villa from the river, his hair dripping with water and his skin damp beneath his clothes, he feels honestly, legitimately excited about being alone with Sarica for the first time in several days. The man's been working himself half to death in the Senate - something-something-something-the-war-and-maybe-melons, Anakin can't be certain. He's been keeping himself busy with simpler things.
I think he's a bit uncertain of you said Rex to him last night as they'd slept in the orchard again, just to mark the end of the other man's stay. Uncertain. Anakin can't blame him for that, can he, if he thinks about it properly? Sarica's re-arranged his whole life to make a spot large enough to Anakin to occupy and he understands the fear of loss, the fear of that spot leaving an empty, gaping hole in your heart. It hurts like nothing else in the world.
He steps inside the bedroom, finding the other man naked and mid-stretch, the muscles in his back on full display in the darkness. He stares for a moment, abruptly and intensely hungry. He closes the door behind him and shrugs out of his tunic, brushing past Sarica close enough for their shoulders to touch before dumping it on an empty chair. He turns towards him, gaze running over his naked front, lingering by his cock before heading back up. Eye-contact. ]
So. [ He leans back against the window. A smile. ] Here we are.
[ He hears him from a mile away, even as he walks on naked feet along the hallways, even as he's nothing but rustling of fabric and easy breathing, all the way down his lungs. Sarica hears him, because he's begun listening for Anakin everywhere, everywhere he goes and where he can't hear him? Well, there's something missing that he has to substitute in other ways, mostly with shady deals and gold passed to other hands beneath tables and promises made because Sarica knows who their children sleep with outside of their marriages. Where Anakin isn't, there's chaos. Simple as that.
Maybe that's why Sarica is afraid now, as Anakin steps into the room, audibly stopping just inside, looking him over. Sarica can feel his eyes on him, like caresses against his skin and his skin tingles in turn, turning slightly red and flushed and prickly, all the way down his spine to his balls that are tightening in response, his cock getting hard by a handful. And when Anakin walks around him, dumping his clothes on a nearby chair, leaning against the window and taking him in, he's definitely afraid because he's come to rely on something outside himself. A mistake he's never made before in his life. Never.
Not his family, not Timachus, not his colleagues, not the Mysteries, not dumb luck.
Yet, on Anakin Skywalker, he's put everything he has. Because Anakin is more than all of these things combined, with his bangs and his blue eyes and his lightsaber that he left behind in order to collect. Sarica huffs out a hard breath and crosses over to where the other man is putting himself on display, all naked chest, trousers riding low. He reaches up and brushes hair out of his face, it's damp and heavy from moisture. This, at least, Sarica can carry easily. ]
Here you are. [ His palm flattens against the side of Anakin's face, cupping him from jawline to temple, fingertips digging in slightly. Eyes running down over the other man's features greedily, he hmm's a little and drags his head down to press his forehead to his. ] You left me your sword.
[ Lightsaber's the correct term, but they've played this game since the beginning. It's part of their private vocabulary, and they need privacy now, don't they? They need something that's just theirs. Sarica needs something that's just his. ]
[ Sarica's hardening in front of his eyes and the sight sends a corresponding spark of heat rushing into his groin, his own cock filling slightly. Mm. As the other man crosses over to him and reaches for his hair, his face, Anakin slips both hands around his naked waist, the rings on his metal hand sparkling. He's left the necklaces back in his room to avoid the water corroding the metal needlessly but the rest, he wears. Faithfully.
It's worth thinking about. Faithfulness. Loyalty. Anakin knows what he values and how but then again, he's always been surrounded by intensely loyal people. Rex. Padmé, despite him screwing everything up between them. Ahsoka and Obi-Wan, even if they've also left him in different ways, for different reasons that didn't relate to him. Reasons that he couldn't outweigh, no matter how he tried.
He can be more, though, this time around. He'll always try to be more.
Sarica presses their foreheads together, his fingertips digging in against the side of his face and there's something a little desperate about it, he thinks, something that makes his chest ache with recognition. Gently, he pulls Sarica up against his body, running both hands over his arse and cupping his buttocks before pulling him inwards, closer, just so. He spreads his legs to give him room, feeling his hard cock pressing up against the inside of his thigh. ]
And you're bringing me yours.
[ Said with a half-smile, one eyebrow quirked. He slips his hands back to the small of Sarica's back, keeping him close, his hold steady and unyielding. He kisses the side of Sarica's face near his temple, lips lingering there, sliding over his skin as he adds: ]
I'm glad. [ It's the truth. It's an intensely selfish feeling, but it's his and he clings to it, the joy that Anakin hasn't lived his life the past week without noticing Sarica's presence, Sarica's lack of same. His comings and his goings. He takes a deep breath and angles his crotch up against the inside of Anakin's thigh, where the fabric is soft and thin and pleasantly damp, the friction as he pushes up against him making Sarica turn his head after him, finding his lips, pressing a quick kiss to them, before saying: ] Though, let's not give you occasion to, too often.
[ The feeling was mutual, it means, as he catches his lips fully and kisses him, deep on the mouth. Tongue pressing in over the slope of Anakin's, feeling out the heat and the wetness of his mouth, how burning he feels from the inside. He remembers how he'd scorched him last time, with his tongue in his arse. Anakin is, in every symbolical sense that matters, a falling star. It's for all intents and purposes irrelevant where he came from, only important thing is where he lands.
Sarica likes that thought. He likes it enough to slip his arms, both of them, loosely around the other man's neck and let him take his weight at the shoulders, leaning in against him, in between his spread legs and his open front, where the heart is and Sarica could kill him, he's that close, and yet he'd never dream of it.
Not even in his nightmares.
Anakin couldn't bear letting him travel alone to Reece, back then. Couldn't bear the risk it posed, of loss, of separation. Well, every single person who's touched Anakin before the point when they met, Sarica and him, in whatever capacity they did it, poses the same threat in Sarica's mind. They are each their own little war. Except, where Anakin has his lightsaber, Sarica only has his cock.
How far that'll get him, outside the bedroom. Luckily, here, it'll get him far enough.
Drawing back from the kiss, he glances over Anakin's face briefly, before diving right back in, tightening his hold around Anakin's shoulders, one hand slipping up full and fingers spread amongst the strands, pushing up against him with his whole body, like he wants him to take it, and he does. Take me, take me, take me with you. ]
[ I missed you, too says Sarica in that particular way he has, a man used to the verbal flourishes of the political world and Anakin's glad he's got some familiarity with the concept, really. Though he'll never be anything but immensely, gut-wrenchingly relieved about the fact that Palpatine is no longer around to confuse him, the man did teach him quite a lot about the world of politics, more so than Padmé, seeing as they had other priorities during those rare moments when they had the time to be together.
Also, he's aware that he probably never... listening to her overly well.
That's an issue for another time, though.
His pulse quickening, he kisses Sarica back, opening his mouth to him and pushing his tongue into him in turn, feeling him out, rediscovering. The other man is pretty much clinging to him tonight. With his arms around Anakin's neck and Anakin supporting his weight with his hands against his back, he might as well be carrying him and the mere idea of the other man letting him do that is almost enough to steal his breath. He hums into the kiss, taking his time, Sarica's lips wet and slick and enticing. For a moment, that's all they do. Sarica, pushed up against him, his grip tight around his shoulders and in his hair. Anakin, feeling him lean into his embrace and wanting - wanting...
He pulls out of the kiss. ]
It's okay.
[ It's hard to know what he means by that, precisely. It feels as if he's speaking as much to himself as to Sarica, his heart pounding in his chest. He runs his hands up the other man's back a couple of times, fingers spread, before he leans in, kissing him briefly, tasting his lips and feeling the heat of his breath against his face. ]
Let me deal with it.
[ With that, he leads them both to Sarica's bed, turning them around mid-way and backing the other man the few remaining steps. He gives him a gentle push downwards and lets him arrange himself as he wishes, straightening up to divest himself of his trousers. He drops them on the floor amongst the shadows because it doesn't matter, they're beyond all those petty things.
[ Sarica has no preferred element, as much at home in the verbal as in the physical game, but when it throws off all its game-like qualities, he no longer knows how to proceed. He no longer knows how to win. Anakin kissing him back, pushing into his mouth, tasting him, feeling him out, claiming him - all those things are familiar, just the two of them, they've done it a hundred times already, while with others, he's done it even more than that. In ever greater numbers. As such, it makes his body respond, his cock hardening and his blood quickening its pace, his heartbeat increasing, but it doesn't go in any direction he hasn't headed before. He knows the way. He knows this way.
It's when the other man pulls out of the kiss, making Sarica's fingers tighten against the skin at the base of his neck, fingertips digging in, displeased, that it stops being well-known territory. It's okay, says Anakin and seems to refer to whatever is hanging between them, this air, this heaviness, the desperation and the want, a different kind than the one they know, the both of them. Sarica pulls back slightly, glancing up at his face, that stubborn, dedicated look edged into all his features and something in Sarica gives, then, like a whole dimension is being added to him that he didn't use to possess. What do you do with that, however? Where do you fit it in? The logistics. Anakin, ever the acting party in any given crowd, doesn't care, of course, and just steals his lips for a brief moment before backing him up against the bed.
Let me deal with it.
And, miraculously, Sarica thinks he will, actually. By the Mysteries, would you look at him like this, pushed down onto the bed and arranging himself on it in response, eyes following every of Anakin's moves as he drops his trousers, baring his lower body, his metallic lower right arm looking dark and shadowy in contrast. His dark blonde pubic hair. His cock, showing the same kind of gentle investment that the rest of him does. Sarica has never gently fucked anyone, mind. Fucking isn't a gentle thing, it's about either taking or giving. It's about outcomes.
Here, the outcome's obscured enough to be an unknown factor, to him. He doesn't think the other man knows either, nor does he care, as is typically him. And yet, Sarica is going to follow.
Sitting up against the headboard, on top of the linen, putting himself fully on display as he spreads his legs, making room for proximity, closeness, vulnerable approaches to his body, Sarica narrows his eyes at the other man in the dark, the shadows long, crawling across everything. More importantly, what is it he's afraid of, if not Anakin Skywalker? He extends one arm, palm open and turned up. ]
[ As he undresses, Sarica shifts until he's up against the headboard, legs spread and cock half-hard against his abdomen. There's something in his eyes that Anakin hasn't seen before and like everything else related to the other man, he takes it as it's being offered, no questions asked. It doesn't matter what anyone would call it, not to him (vulnerability, fear, old hurt). All he knows is that whilst the other man can't own him, there's a part of Anakin that wants to belong and that part, in a way, already calls to Sarica even if it's just a mental exercise, the kind of thing that passes between people invisibly and wordlessly.
I'll let you says Sarica, holding out his hand, palm up and it's such a quintessentially Sarica gesture that Anakin can't help but smile, just a faint expression but warm. He steps up to the bed, naked, and shifts on his knees back into the other man's waiting embrace. He ducks his head, mouthing a wet trail of sloppy kisses up the middle of his chest, Sarica's soft chest hair tingling his lips. Breathing harder now at the taste of his skin, the feel of it beneath his lips, Anakin traces the path of his right collarbone up to his shoulder, mouthing along the slope of his neck.
With his metal hand, he reaches down between the other man's legs and fingers his cock, running his fingertips lightly up and down the shaft, pressing his thumb over the head. It's just warm-up, obviously. He's not in any hurry tonight and Sarica's allowed himself to be lead at that pace, hasn't he. Is allowing himself.
It's pretty amazing.
His own cock is hard now, fully so, and when he shifts against Sarica's body, it rubs against his thigh, sending small sparks shooting into his groin. ]
[ At the back of his mind, Sarica is reminded of lazy mornings in Emaan's bedroom, waking up before the sun and not leaving the bed until noon, that kind of pace, slow kisses, sloppy blowjobs, carefully interrupted fucks to make it all last longer. Still, the feelings involved in that whole enterprise were mostly centered on getting Emaan to a point where he was attached enough to be willing to give a little, too, his funds, his resources, much needed in a time of crisis. It just so happened that Emaan got cold feet halfway through that entire act, didn't he? Married a woman that Sarica can't recall the name of anymore, who would by law, and Sarica knows this, he's written the laws himself, inherit everything. Oh, Sarica had played the game, but Emaan had not.
There are several ways in which Anakin crawling up between his legs isn't the same thing as Emaan getting cold feet on a scheme he had not been informed of. First and foremost, Sarica isn't playing the other man. Playing with him, occasionally, when they're both in that mood, but he's not a pawn. Anakin has refused and Sarica has accepted, rare as that is in and by itself. Secondly, Sarica thinks he loves the feeling of Anakin's mouth against his chest, kissing him warm and sloppy and unhurried. Even more so, he loves the feeling of his metal hand, fingers closing around his half-hard cock which quickly, surprisingly quickly, even, grows hard against the friction of slightly chilly metal that only warms up to the temperature of his own skin. The harshness to his touch, thumb brushing over the head, contrasting the obvious softness to how they're touching everywhere else.
Thirdly, he never wanted to touch Emaan for Emaan's own sake. With Anakin, there's no other way, there's only that, his arms coming up, one hand cupping the right side of Anakin's face, the side not mostly pressed in against his neck, the other slips into his hair again, curling in the strands and tugging at him, gently. Tug, tug, tug. Wanting the man to feel good, to make him feel his cock against Sarica's thigh just a tiny bit more, so he slides down slowly onto his back, dragging Anakin with him, on top. His cock slides over the warm skin of his thigh as they go. Then, his groin. Then, closer yet to Sarica's cock, to Anakin's hand pleasuring him.
Sarica's breath has picked up noticeably. He turns his face in against the side of Anakin's, exhales harshly against his ear. ]
You said so yourself, I never shut up. What will I tell you, when it's not to order you onwards?
[ You decide, it means. It's your lead, on this. ]
[ Sarica touches him like he can't get close enough and Anakin gets that, it resonates within his entire body - the urge to bridge, to get the physical distance between them narrowed down to nothing. He groans against the side of Sarica's neck, following him when he lies down on his back. He balances himself on his elbow next to Sarica's upper arm, the rest of his body flush with his, chest, stomach, groin. Their legs are hopelessly entangled and he loves that too, the way they tie themselves into knots, like there's no end and no beginning to them. It's exactly as Anakin likes it best.
He wants to disappear within him.
At his words, Anakin laughs hoarsely and shifts, kissing the side of his mouth briefly and thrusting his hips upwards, his cock sliding across the soft skin of Sarica's inner thigh. ]
I don't know. Tell me anything.
[ Shifting onto both hands, he hovers over the other man for a moment, looking down at his face, all familiar lines, a familiar darkness in his eyes, the kind that goes deep. Slowly, he starts moving downwards over his body, licking another trail over his chest. He sucks his left nipple into his mouth and teases it with the tip of his tongue, flattening his metal hand against his chest, his fingers still warm from touching his cock, from being touched by it in turn. He keeps him down, just a light pressure somewhere close to his heart.
Stay, it means. Let me.
Shifting sideways, he presses his tongue over Sarica's other nipple, lapping at it insistently, teeth scraping across it once or twice. He loves the taste of him. As he moves down his body, over his midriff and belly, his hand slips from Sarica's chest in the process and he rests it over his stomach instead, fingers spread wide. He follows the hard line of his cock with his lips seamlessly once he gets there, no pause, no hesitation. Kissing his way downwards, he mouths at the foreskin briefly, tasting him with the tip of his tongue. ]
Dangerous, he wants to say, he wants to smile, smirk, but Anakin's a Jedi, he isn't afraid, so menacing him won't have the desired effect, danger has, if anything, got its own attraction for men like him. Not the Jedi way, probably, but definitely the Anakin Skywalker way. Letting people tell you anything they want inevitably leads to scenarios where you can only count on your true friends, not the friends who are not, in fact, friends at all. They've been over this. Sarica has taught Anakin to tell the two apart.
As the other man pushes down over his chest, Sarica loosens his hold on him, lets him slip out of his reach, once he's done working his nipples into hardness, like little pillars to his honour, Sarica's whole upper body buzzing slightly from the pressure of his tongue, the slight pang of pain from his teeth, his cock jerking between them, between Sarica's thighs. He lifts his head and glances down himself, watching Anakin mouth at him, lick him wet and warm and pliant and his fingers already miss being active in turn, so he reaches down on either side of his own hips and buries his hands in the sheets, cradling the fabric hard, feeling it warm against his palms, wrinkling between his fingertips. Anakin should be able to see from where he's slowly getting closer to Sarica's cock, how Sarica is clinging to his composure, how he's holding on to himself, desperately.
Once there's connection, once Anakin is mouthing at his cock, the foreskin, Sarica's breathing stumbling out of him loudly and unevenly, the words come on their own volition, like Sarica tells many variations of truth on any given day, but he's never told a truth like this. He's never spoken these words before in his life, not to anyone.
Anakin is first. First and last. He inhales sharply and looks at himself while he bucks up against the other man's lips, pushing his cock softly over the rounded jut of them, the way they're parted and wet and want. They want.
[ He notices out of the corner of his eye, how Sarica reaches for the sheets and cradles them between his fingers. He's a mirror, in a way, of Anakin that other day, more or less clinging to the papers on Sarica's desk whilst the other man licked his arsehole and fucked him with his tongue. Actually, that thought... Anakin smiles to himself, just about to kiss his way down the other man's groin, his nose pushing against the shaft of his cock when Sarica says...
Oh.
Oh, that's...
Feeling warm all over, Anakin looks up at him from between his legs, his metal hand still folded over his thigh. He finds his gaze and holds it, knowing full well that this is easy, this is the easiest part for him. For Sarica, surely, it must be the opposite. A man who's used to owning people, be they slaves or politicians, finding his comfort in the fact that he owns nothing for real, meaning nothing can be lost? This is different. This is huge.
So quite easily, without any hesitation or trembling of his voice, Anakin replies: ]
I love you too.
[ He kisses his thigh, then shifts up onto his elbows and nudges his waist. ]
Now, flip over. I'm going to try that thing you did.
[ He doesn't say, if you like because the choice is always implied between the two of them, they've established that from the get-go. Sarica, by teaching Anakin how to see through Palpatine's manipulations. Anakin, by teaching Sarica that he can have him without owning him and that the opposite isn't true. He sits up on his knees and gives the other man space to move, watching him with warmth in his eyes and nothing else.
[ Did he expect that Anakin would keep him waiting? Anakin who never hesitates for a second in his life. That same Anakin doesn't hesitate now either, simply looking up from his position between Sarica's legs and says, calmly, truly, I love you, too, before kissing his thigh and nudging Sarica's waist to make him move. He doesn't hesitate, but neither does he linger on the moment to pull it down to groundlevel by its desperately dangling little feet. The perfect combination of reactions, really, and if Sarica hadn't already known, he'd have been surprised at how well the other man navigates their interaction. Like a professional. Like a winner.
Or like someone who refuses the game altogether. Both to be played and to play.
Sarica turns over, slowly lying down with his cock spit-slick, warm and trapped against the sheets and his head turned to the side a little on his folded arms, catching half-glances of Anakin behind him, looking down at him with a kind of heat it takes him a moment to place. It's lust, certainly, his cock is rock hard and rising against his abdomen, but it's also softer than that, less urgent, longer-lasting, it feels like. Or is that hope, again? Sarica swallows hard and pushes his arse upwards a little, putting himself on display, the curve of his buttocks, the cleft between them, his cheeks parting slightly on their own when he flexes his hips upwards just so.
Have me, it means. The part of Sarica not clinging to those words, too, too, too, smiles slowly and comments, teasingly: ]
I've done a lot of things to you. Say it, or I won't know.
[ He knows, of course. He knows that Anakin is referring to last time, to Sarica eating his arse like dinner, like he couldn't sink deeply enough into him, and not until this moment does Sarica fully appreciate how deep exactly that urge runs. How much he wants to share bodies with the younger man, have all of him, give him all of himself. Equal exchange rates.
Because Anakin told him, freely, given not taken, I love you. His balls draw up a little definitely at the exposure, but in his chest his heart draws up even more. ]
[ As the other man turns over onto his stomach, Anakin follows him with his gaze hungrily, watching his muscles along the length of his back, his thighs and buttocks, tense and flex beneath his skin as he shifts. From behind, Sarica is all broad shoulders and golden skin, flawless really, and beautiful. I love you, he said.
Imagine being loved by someone like this.
Anakin wets his lips at the other man's words, clearly teasing because they know each other and Sarica expects him to be at least a little embarrassed. And he is. Blushing all the way to the top of his head, he gives Sarica's left buttock a light slap with his flesh hand. ]
Shut up. You completely know.
[ With that, he finds his balance on his knees properly between Sarica's thighs and breathes out slowly, steeling himself because obviously, having never done this before, he doesn't want to do it badly. He wants the other man to float with it, to sense the sheer enormity of what he's just told him. Also, he'd kinda like to out-do him because, you know. He leans down and plants a row of soft kisses up the slope of one buttock, splaying out his metal fingers along the small of Sarica's back. He draws back and looks.
Sarica's pushed himself up, showing off, and from this angle, his balls look dark and a little tight between his legs. The sight makes his own cock throb, hard. Anakin licks two fingers on his other hand and presses the tips against the skin beneath Sarica's tailbone. Then, slowly, he drags them downwards, pushing in between his buttocks and feeling the rim of his arse a little further down, almost burning hot against his fingers. Breath shuddering out, he rubs his fingertips over the tight ring of muscle, feeling it go a little slick. He grabs his own cock impulsively and squeezes it, hard.
[ You can't hear it, neither in the words themselves, nor in the slap of his left buttock which echoes louder than it really is in the silence, flesh on flesh, a crisp and clear sound. No, you can't hear how flushed he is, Anakin Skywalker. How flushed Sarica is making him. He huffs out a hard breath, halfway a laugh, as he basks in the brief, slightly prickly tingling in his skin that the other man leaves behind. Younger man, there are times like this when it betrays itself. Still, Sarica was the younger party once, too, and he certainly didn't tell his lovers to shut up, did he? Some of it is age, the rest is all Anakin. Sarica craves those parts. He wants them.
And because he wants him, because he loves him, Sarica waits patiently while the other man balances himself between his thighs, inhales deeply in response to the kisses over one buttock, like a fair warning, this will pleasure you, Legislator. Sarica can almost hear him pronounce the words, and whether in voice or not, it's his mouth saying it. His lips are wet and warm where they press against him. He shifts a little. Just in time, because Anakin's metal hand splays out over the small of his back and pushes him down, keeping him in place.
After which, there are fingers. Flesh hand, fingertips running spit-slick and insistent from his tailbone and down to his rim. It clenches slightly as Anakin rubs over it, he feels his whole body tigthen, then release at the feeling. Promise, but also recollection. Vividly, Sarica remembers the campfire. He remembers being taken and being full.
His body remembers. Breathing out raggedly, he pushes up against the pressure of Anakin's hand, offering himself up. The other man is shifting behind him, clearly eager. Oh, they're both eager, Sarica's eagerness is simply always, always a long game.
Age.
He inclines his head enough to glance back over his shoulder, takes in the sight of Anakin, grabbing his own cock, starving himself off from his pleasure. For now, for now. They'll feed each other in turn. ]
Make me say other things, then.
[ His voice sounds airy and a little bit thin, more unaffected he can't pretend to be. ]
[ Sarica's breathing turns ragged quite quickly and he pushes up against Anakin's fingers. Anakin meets his gaze as he glances over his shoulder. His voice sounds full of air and Anakin, in turn, loses his breath for a split-second before he gets a grip. He licks his lips again, glancing down at his own fingers, still pushed between Sarica's buttocks, lingering on the outside of him, no penetration. ]
I'm not making you do anything.
[ Said with a slight smile, his own voice slightly unsteady. As always, there's a point to be made between the two of them concerning choice and selfishness and taking what you like because you like it and for no other reason. Shifting, he releases his own cock (he's managed to stave off his orgasm for at least a little while though the squeeze didn't truly help that much) and grabs Sarica's buttocks, one in each hand. He pulls him open, baring the long slide of skin down to his balls, his arsehole a little bit slick now from his fingers and spit. He exhales, slowly. Then, he leans down and in, pressing his tongue flat against Sarica's rim.
He groans, loudly, as sensory impressions completely overload him for a moment. The other man's scent is strong and musky here, his taste equally so, and Anakin doesn't waste any time - he dives right back in and licks him again, taking care to flatten his tongue to cover as much of him as he can. He settles onto his knees and decides that this is the most comfortable he's going to be in a while.
Tightening his hands against Sarica's buttocks, holding him open against his tongue mercilessly, he licks him repeatedly, slowly, not diving in but simply slicking up the nerve endings around his opening, feeling him go wetter and wetter against his chin. He's definitely drooling onto the other man's balls, too. Bonus. ]
[ I'm not making you do anything, says Anakin while simultaneously making him do something, as the other man leans down over his arse and flattens his whole tongue, all of it, length, width, over his opening, the heat of him and the wetness seeping into Sarica not only in some physical way, but on a mental level. He wants this side of me, too, he finds himself thinking, stiffening for all of a second, before relaxing pliantly against the pressure of muscle and letting the way his nerve endings are singing pull him along, into the intimate pleasure of it. Certainly, he's had his arse licked before, in more senses than one, yes, but it's never mattered, it's never been his partner carrying a part of him that no one else wants. Anakin wants it. Anakin is groaning for it. Sarica buries his hands into the sheets and clings to the feeble linen, wrinkling it well and good, fingers digging into the folds for leverage, some kind, any.
Anakin is keeping him open and bared with his hands on his buttocks, spreading them and he suddenly senses the different weight to either side, the metal and the flesh, how he's strong in both respects, but just harder in one, more unyielding, unforgiving perhaps. His saliva is running down between Sarica's buttocks like this, a thin but steady trickle and it pools over his balls, making the skin tighten slightly, his whole lower body buzzing pleasantly, while every swipe of tongue makes his muscles contract, react, forces some kind of response out of him. Swallowing heavily, Sarica arches his back and pushes back, lifting off the bed a little and gasping for it, unapologetically.
It's slow. Because Anakin wants it to be, no rushing, although he's so hard he needs to hold himself off, pace himself. Sarica likes that. Sarica likes that the other man is forcing him into a rhythm not of his own making. That he's dragging them both along, here, easy. Easy. ]
But you're making me feel something, like this...
[ The next stroke gets him good and Sarica bucks up again, groaning low in his throat. Oh, he can go easy. Just as Anakin can go hard and like he can go home. Like he can... He gasps, writhes. ]
[ Sarica groans and bucks up against him, pressing back against Anakin's tongue and when he glances sideways, he can see him clinging to the sheets like he'd float beyond the bed if he didn't. Anakin likes it. He likes the sounds he makes, the way he's allowing himself to simply take. It's different from the gold coins and even the jewelry which Anakin wears, still, though not necessarily at once. This is just for him - at least, Anakin's tongue going over his arsehole is.
The pleasure, overall? Oh, his own cock is certainly getting needy.
You're making me feel something says Sarica and Anakin would reply but it wouldn't be particularly important, really, and he's kind of busy getting the other man's arse soaking wet. The scent and taste has gone a little less sharp, rounded out by the smell of arousal - sweat, sex, precum - between them and it's still the best thing he's had, he thinks, in quite a while. Humming out his next breath, he glances up without actually raising his head, seeing the expanse of Sarica's lower back and shoulders further up, his curls bouncing against his neck. His skin is deliciously flushed. You're making me feel something.
I love you, he said.
With a deep groan, Anakin finally just pushes his tongue past the rim of his arsehole, dipping in, feeling the muscle give around him. He's burning hot on his tongue and for a second, he has to actually concentrate not to come. Relaxing his body forcefully, he keeps his grip on Sarica's buttocks, firm hands, steady. Then, he fucks him, pushing his tongue in deeper on each in-stroke, feeling the other man's body part for him, open up.
You're making me he says but the magic, Anakin thinks, isn't that. It's how he's letting himself. ]
[ No too smart for your own good answers, no quick comebacks, at least not verbally - all Anakin gives him is more of his head pressing in between his buttocks, he can feel the shape of his nose, the roundness of forehead, face flush along his cleft and his tongue working over his arsehole repeatedly, getting him slick and warm and Sarica feels it happen on more levels than one, how he opens up, how his body embraces and how something not bodily at all does the same, unclenching, parting, opening to the other man's advances. He groans and writhes, helplessly, doesn't push for it, lets Anakin decide. Let's the other man take charge of this.
You make this mine to feel, so I let myself, in the active. What you can't possibly lose that way. What you can't -
Then, Anakin breaches his opening with his tongue, pushing inward and burying into him and all that stillness, verbal, bodily, explodes into action, enough that he can't rightly be expected to keep track. He whimpers, first and foremost, in a way Sarica never does otherwise, in or out of bed, his experience of the world doesn't make room for sounds like that, little weak gasps. His hips push forward by instinct, rubbing his hard, leaking cock up against the mattress, rutting against it like he's Anakin's age and not twice that, not twice as much. Whimper turning into a low groan as the other man begins actually fucking him, in and out and in, deeper, deeper, his fingers tighten in the sheets and he starts pushing back instead, hard, against the outline of nose, forehead, impaling himself on the other man's tongue more and more. It's that or rubbing himself to an early orgasm and he might let himself, but in his own time. In his own time.
Moaning, low vibrations deep in his chest, Sarica twists beneath the other man's ministrations, his tongue, the wetness, the fullness, slight widening, like his body wants something to show for it. Absolutely insists.
More whimpers. Inhale, exhale, trembling breaths, inhale, exhale. ]
Anakin - [ He says the name like a caress. I love you, it means. ] - please fuck me. Oil's on the floor beneath the bed, my side.
[ When he starts fucking him with his tongue, Sarica actually twists against him, pushing back onto his tongue, inviting him further in, as deep as he can physically go and then, deeper yet. His whimpers go straight to Anakin's chest, settling somewhere deep within, saved there along with his words, his actions, his being. In time, he thinks, he'll have a million tiny details relating to this man, mapping out the whole of him and he still won't be satisfied with what he has. He'll want more. He'll always want more.
In this, however, it feels perfectly right.
Sarica, meanwhile, finally and spectacularly loses all semblances of composure, begging him to fuck him properly and Anakin gives him a hard, deep thrust with his tongue, keeping it buried there for a few seconds before pulling out roughly. When he licks his lips, he tastes him all over himself and it makes his cock jerk between his legs. Releasing Sarica, he holds out his left hand and does that thing that Obi-wan would kill him for doing -- the small glass flask floats into his waiting hand from beneath the bed, the oil inside glittering in the faint lamp from the corner. He unplugs it and pours out its contents over his fingers and palm. ]
I'm usually good.
[ He smiles sharply in the darkness, all edges, because sometimes he isn't and Sarica knows, he knows without knowing and Anakin feels safe with him, that's the thing, that's the most incredible thing. ]
Tell me how you want it.
[ He brushes his metal hand over Sarica's buttock before dragging one finger down his crack, coating the tip in wetness before dipping it inside his body. His arsehole gives way easily enough but he doesn't go deep, simply keeps him a little open, pulling his fingertip in and out, pushing in only to the first knuckle. With his other hand, he slicks up his cock. ]
[ His mouth disappears, the sense of suction, of pressure, of penetration disappearing along with it as Anakin sits up and - oh, floats the small vial of oil out from underneath the bed, right into his waiting hand. Sarica has seen the peaducks, of course, he saw the golden coins, it's part of the other man's incredible abilities, but to see it done here, where there's no need, he only had to bend down, but does a man like Anakin Skywalker truly bend down for anything, does he? You have to wonder. Or you don't, twisting as he does to watch Anakin pour the contents of the vial out over his hand, slicking himself up and probing at Sarica's arsehole with his metal fingers. Oh. Sarica breathes out uneasily, trembling and harsh and blinking in the faint light of the room.
This particular side of Anakin Skywalker, at least, bends down to no one. Not Sarica, either. Not even him. Sarica loves it. He loves him like this. Always.
Huffing out a small breath, a laugh, he eases back onto his elbows, down onto his arms, placing his chin onto his forearms and tilting his head a little, listening for the other man from behind, his arsehole clenching, not only at the push, the fullness, in and out, but the way he's so self-assured, owns himself, owns Sarica, too. Is this what it feels like, ownership. Of himself, of others. Anakin was right, slaves give him nothing like this. Timachus didn't either, sorry to say, my friend.
It's a balance. Everything with Anakin is, wasn't that the point?
He closes his eyes and exhales, deeply, relaxing, letting Anakin's metal finger slip in a little bit further on the next in-stroke. How does he want it? With a slight shift, he spreads his thighs wider, opening himself up more. Invitingly. ]
Like this. [ On his stomach, front to back, it means - surface reading, but it also means like this. With all these emotions hanging heavy and thick between them, making it difficult to get the air deep enough down, Anakin's cock will have to push it the rest of the way, show the way. The general, yes? He no doubt knows how to lead from every position. ] I trust you with the rest. Good as you are.
[ He has to take care right now not to come, slicking up and trying to touch himself as minimally as possible. All the same, he's not going to be too superficial about it - after all, he still remembers the last time he took Sarica, down by the river with the embers smoldering next to them. It had been almost impossibly tight and maybe a little rough and they hadn't minded, neither of them, but tonight? Tonight, he'll have a care. I love you he said.
Anakin will be worth it.
Breathing out raggedly, he finishes getting himself ready, working his finger shallowly in and out of Sarica's arse, the other man pushing back onto his finger, basically fucking himself, very clearly opening up to him, making room. His belly flutters at the thought. Gently, he pulls his finger out and shifts, moving up between the other man's spread legs and pulling them apart just a little more, enough to make room. Then, he leans down and places his metal hand next to Sarica's face, right above his shoulder. He holds himself up like that, bending at the shoulder joint and slipping forward, his cock sliding between the other man's buttocks. That slight friction alone is almost enough to do him in and he moans, biting his bottom lip hard and breathing out harshly, before he reaches down with his free hand and angles his cock upwards.
With the head, he seeks out Sarica's wet arsehole and presses in. He takes his time, feeling the other man's muscles widening slowly around the intrusion and while he's going gently, he isn't stopping, either. His cock pops past his rim ten seconds later and his head feels devoid of oxygen, like there's nothing left to fuel him except the heat in his groin and the way his cock and balls are throbbing to go. He moans and cranes his neck down, burying his face in the back of Sarica's head. He gets his hair absolutely everywhere and when he breathes, he feels like he's drowning in him, like his senses have been blinded to anything but him.
It's perfect.
Moaning again, his voice lighter and maybe closer to a whimper than he'd like to admit, Anakin pushes in the rest of the way, inch by inch, until he's fully seated. ]
[ Withdrawing his finger, Anakin places his metal hand next to Sarica's face instead and Sarica lets his head tip all the way over until he's basically lying in plain view of it, staring at the dark metal, how it both absorbs and reflects the light, the oil lamp in the corner. It's beautiful. Then again, Anakin's beautiful in general, this is just one more part of the whole. He looks at the curves and angles of the joints, the smoothness of the lines and, mostly out of the blue, imagines what his friends would say, if they knew, if they saw. Ulos would think this was another shared enterprise, like Timachus was, like their various projects and their implied personnel. He'd think he had the right.
They all would, greedy bastards.
Sarica frowns, shifts, feels the other man lean in over him, the head of his cock slipping up between his buttocks as he positions himself over him. Someone, or several of them, all of them, would think this was the wrong way around, that Anakin was to be bent and to be broken and the mere thought... His fingers tighten into fists against his own skin, the frown deepening, deepening, until Anakin starts pushing in against the rim of his arsehole, slightly loosened, but not enough by far. He groans slightly, the harsh stretch of the other man entering him, forcing him open, gently, but tangibly, making him finally just close his eyes. Shutting Ulos and the others out. Gone.
They can think what they want. He won't let them, he won't let them as much as touch. What's his, yes, but ultimately Anakin's own, too.
The intrusion is slow and careful, Sarica can feel how Anakin is holding back and giving his body time to adjust. He hadn't needed to, surely, but he does and in these things, symbolic significance counts for more. Not to mention, the way his arsehole is singing, opening up to him, hurting, too, but there it is, again. Balance. He opens his eyes again and looks at the sleek curves of Anakin's metallic forearm. His hand. His cock in his body. A slight gasp as the other man bends his neck and, moaning, gorgeously, buries his face in his hair.
Yes.
Sarica shifts, pushing back against the rest of the forward motion, taking him all the way to the hilt, while simultaneously freeing his right arm and reaching up behind him, slipping his fingers, shaking and sweaty, into Anakin's hair, fingertips gracing temple on the way. Yes.
His arse feels full and stretched and if he rubbed up just slightly, he could find his own spot, but he doesn't. He wants it to last. He wants Anakin to lead, take him there. Tightening his fingers harshly in the other man's strands, long, soft in his hold, he says, panting, voice full of air: ]
Stay here. [ Here, in his body, in his arse. But also here, here. Stay here with him, he wishes. He isn't asking, of course, because he knows Anakin doesn't belong to Efith, but he says the words regardless, because he wants and he's never wanted anything like this. That he couldn't take. ] For a while longer.
[ He sinks in, oh, all the way. Sarica invites him in that last inch, twisting his hips upwards and pushing back. It's always been plainly obvious, how Sarica's had so many lovers (or whatever you'd want to call them) and at times like these, it's something he can't help but remember, even as he pushes the thought away as fast and violently as he can. It's not anything against Sarica, obviously.
He just hates the thought of anyone else...
Eyes falling shut amidst Sarica's hair, leaning into the pressure of his fingertips and letting him settle properly in his system, Anakin takes a moment to simply stay buried in the other man, letting him feel it. Stay says Sarica and why wouldn't he, why wouldn't he stay forever, really? Sure, he's going to have to go back to Coruscant at some point, probably, but that doesn't mean they have to be separated. He smiles faintly against the back of Sarica's head before nuzzling in deep enough to kiss what he can of his scalp. The other man's hot beneath his lips and it doesn't matter, now, whether he's treated others badly, whether others have treated him badly in kind. ]
I really... [ He swallows heavily. Stays, his cock throbbing and his balls so tight between his legs that it's almost unbearable. ] I really gotta move.
[ With that, he pulls out. Slowly, he shifts his hips backwards, until his cock is close to popping free of the other man's arse. With a harsh exhalation, he pushes back inside, his muscles straining, the motion shooting a spark of pleasure deep inside his groin. He buries himself deep, then repeats, feeling how he pushes the other man against the bed with his next thrust. He keeps his face pressed to the back of Sarica's head, mouthing wetly over his curls, his temple.
Carefully, he leans down on his flesh arm until he can rest his elbow on the bed next to Sarica's shoulder. He curls his lower arm under the other man's neck and collarbone, hugging him close to his body. Keeping him there, close, closer than close. Every time he sinks into him, he feels as if there's no end to either of them and the feeling is incredible. Moaning, he starts snapping his hips forward faster, just a little, just - oh. Oh, it's good, it's perfect, it's - ]
[ And because Anakin is good, to some degree, to some level, he stays put, he stays close, seated in Sarica's body completely immobile, just waiting for the pressure to rise, to overcome them both. Sarica basks in it, the intimacy of it, how close he feels, how he could perhaps trace every single vein in the other man's cock just from the proximity, everywhere they're touching. Inside and out. Then, voice shuddering, Anakin tells him he's got to move and Sarica relaxes his rim, lets him pull back without clenching around him, lets him take his pleasure from the friction and the slide. Sarica is, after all. He groans and lets his head fall forward, fists clenching, unclenching. He follows, easily, experienced, knowing just how to angle himself to feel him the most, the best. Anakin's big and fills him out. Fills him out good. The readjustment needed is minimal, really. He's had lovers before who could've learned from this twenty-three year old, yes? Men who've had their whole lives to practice the art, but know nothing.
And what Anakin doesn't know, he feels and Sarica will hone those feelings, if he's allowed, if...
Pushing back in, Anakin starts setting a pace, hips snapping forward, brisk fucking now, they're in need, they need this, to resolve this thing between them. Sarica pushes up against him, gets the angle right on the second try and feels how the other man pushes right over that spot in him on the second in-stroke. He feels himself shaking, violently, moaning low in his throat as he throws back his head and takes it, takes the pleasure, takes the way Anakin wants it. Wants him. Him, him, him. The other man slips his flesh arm around his torso and hugs him close, keeping his face buried in his curls, kissing at his scalp, temple, anything within reach that's got skin enough to feel it. Sarica opens his eyes, but sees very little. His vision's dark around the edges, blurry. His cock is getting rubbed insistently over the mattress now, for every thrust.
He might have expected that Anakin would come first. He is twenty-three years old, after all.
It doesn't happen that way.
One more thrust, one more and Sarica feels his whole body contract, from the muscles in his thighs and buttocks and up his back. He moans, louder now, arching his back sharply and pushing back, getting that angle, getting it, getting - And a second later, his arse contracts as well and he's coming, balls drawing up harshly. Sarica's arm muscles tense, release, tighten, too. He's caught like an archer's bowstring between the bed and Anakin's body, cock pulsing, spending himself in short, intense spurts.
The sounds he makes should embarrass him, but that would require excess mental energy. As it is, he's given him his all already. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
action.
Absent-mindedly, while shrugging out of his tunic and pushing his trousers to the ground, Sarica recalls the symbol on Anakin's jewellery, the symbol he chose for him, because it felt fitting, because there is Sarica and then, there's the world, always slightly out of alignment. But Anakin fixes that, the same way he and Rex have fixed the kitchen up with running water now, so much plumbing running around the house, beautiful copper glinting in the sun. Like treasures amongst the grasses. He folds his clothes away and places them on the chair by the table at the windows, darkened for the night. There's only the light of the oil lamp on what has become his side of the bed, the left, because Anakin prefers the right when he stays the night. Or, however much of it he can take. It varies.
As many things do.
Sarica has never been the jealous type. He has no idea why he would start now, he tells himself, but he looks through lies with great ease, even his own. He would start now, because now is Anakin's time.
And Anakin is currently washing off in the river. He's left his lightsaber on his nightstand, like a promise, the same promise he gave when he left it there, too, to drop off Rex on a nearby planet, space-faring, not the butt-end of the galaxy. I'll come back, it means. As if he knows. Jedi mind tricks? He probably does. Sarica stretches once, languidly, his back to the door. Acutely aware of every movement on the other side. ]
no subject
As he walks back to the villa from the river, his hair dripping with water and his skin damp beneath his clothes, he feels honestly, legitimately excited about being alone with Sarica for the first time in several days. The man's been working himself half to death in the Senate - something-something-something-the-war-and-maybe-melons, Anakin can't be certain. He's been keeping himself busy with simpler things.
I think he's a bit uncertain of you said Rex to him last night as they'd slept in the orchard again, just to mark the end of the other man's stay. Uncertain. Anakin can't blame him for that, can he, if he thinks about it properly? Sarica's re-arranged his whole life to make a spot large enough to Anakin to occupy and he understands the fear of loss, the fear of that spot leaving an empty, gaping hole in your heart. It hurts like nothing else in the world.
He steps inside the bedroom, finding the other man naked and mid-stretch, the muscles in his back on full display in the darkness. He stares for a moment, abruptly and intensely hungry. He closes the door behind him and shrugs out of his tunic, brushing past Sarica close enough for their shoulders to touch before dumping it on an empty chair. He turns towards him, gaze running over his naked front, lingering by his cock before heading back up. Eye-contact. ]
So. [ He leans back against the window. A smile. ] Here we are.
no subject
Maybe that's why Sarica is afraid now, as Anakin steps into the room, audibly stopping just inside, looking him over. Sarica can feel his eyes on him, like caresses against his skin and his skin tingles in turn, turning slightly red and flushed and prickly, all the way down his spine to his balls that are tightening in response, his cock getting hard by a handful. And when Anakin walks around him, dumping his clothes on a nearby chair, leaning against the window and taking him in, he's definitely afraid because he's come to rely on something outside himself. A mistake he's never made before in his life. Never.
Not his family, not Timachus, not his colleagues, not the Mysteries, not dumb luck.
Yet, on Anakin Skywalker, he's put everything he has. Because Anakin is more than all of these things combined, with his bangs and his blue eyes and his lightsaber that he left behind in order to collect. Sarica huffs out a hard breath and crosses over to where the other man is putting himself on display, all naked chest, trousers riding low. He reaches up and brushes hair out of his face, it's damp and heavy from moisture. This, at least, Sarica can carry easily. ]
Here you are. [ His palm flattens against the side of Anakin's face, cupping him from jawline to temple, fingertips digging in slightly. Eyes running down over the other man's features greedily, he hmm's a little and drags his head down to press his forehead to his. ] You left me your sword.
[ Lightsaber's the correct term, but they've played this game since the beginning. It's part of their private vocabulary, and they need privacy now, don't they? They need something that's just theirs. Sarica needs something that's just his. ]
no subject
It's worth thinking about. Faithfulness. Loyalty. Anakin knows what he values and how but then again, he's always been surrounded by intensely loyal people. Rex. Padmé, despite him screwing everything up between them. Ahsoka and Obi-Wan, even if they've also left him in different ways, for different reasons that didn't relate to him. Reasons that he couldn't outweigh, no matter how he tried.
He can be more, though, this time around. He'll always try to be more.
Sarica presses their foreheads together, his fingertips digging in against the side of his face and there's something a little desperate about it, he thinks, something that makes his chest ache with recognition. Gently, he pulls Sarica up against his body, running both hands over his arse and cupping his buttocks before pulling him inwards, closer, just so. He spreads his legs to give him room, feeling his hard cock pressing up against the inside of his thigh. ]
And you're bringing me yours.
[ Said with a half-smile, one eyebrow quirked. He slips his hands back to the small of Sarica's back, keeping him close, his hold steady and unyielding. He kisses the side of Sarica's face near his temple, lips lingering there, sliding over his skin as he adds: ]
I missed you.
no subject
[ The feeling was mutual, it means, as he catches his lips fully and kisses him, deep on the mouth. Tongue pressing in over the slope of Anakin's, feeling out the heat and the wetness of his mouth, how burning he feels from the inside. He remembers how he'd scorched him last time, with his tongue in his arse. Anakin is, in every symbolical sense that matters, a falling star. It's for all intents and purposes irrelevant where he came from, only important thing is where he lands.
Sarica likes that thought. He likes it enough to slip his arms, both of them, loosely around the other man's neck and let him take his weight at the shoulders, leaning in against him, in between his spread legs and his open front, where the heart is and Sarica could kill him, he's that close, and yet he'd never dream of it.
Not even in his nightmares.
Anakin couldn't bear letting him travel alone to Reece, back then. Couldn't bear the risk it posed, of loss, of separation. Well, every single person who's touched Anakin before the point when they met, Sarica and him, in whatever capacity they did it, poses the same threat in Sarica's mind. They are each their own little war. Except, where Anakin has his lightsaber, Sarica only has his cock.
How far that'll get him, outside the bedroom. Luckily, here, it'll get him far enough.
Drawing back from the kiss, he glances over Anakin's face briefly, before diving right back in, tightening his hold around Anakin's shoulders, one hand slipping up full and fingers spread amongst the strands, pushing up against him with his whole body, like he wants him to take it, and he does. Take me, take me, take me with you. ]
no subject
Also, he's aware that he probably never... listening to her overly well.
That's an issue for another time, though.
His pulse quickening, he kisses Sarica back, opening his mouth to him and pushing his tongue into him in turn, feeling him out, rediscovering. The other man is pretty much clinging to him tonight. With his arms around Anakin's neck and Anakin supporting his weight with his hands against his back, he might as well be carrying him and the mere idea of the other man letting him do that is almost enough to steal his breath. He hums into the kiss, taking his time, Sarica's lips wet and slick and enticing. For a moment, that's all they do. Sarica, pushed up against him, his grip tight around his shoulders and in his hair. Anakin, feeling him lean into his embrace and wanting - wanting...
He pulls out of the kiss. ]
It's okay.
[ It's hard to know what he means by that, precisely. It feels as if he's speaking as much to himself as to Sarica, his heart pounding in his chest. He runs his hands up the other man's back a couple of times, fingers spread, before he leans in, kissing him briefly, tasting his lips and feeling the heat of his breath against his face. ]
Let me deal with it.
[ With that, he leads them both to Sarica's bed, turning them around mid-way and backing the other man the few remaining steps. He gives him a gentle push downwards and lets him arrange himself as he wishes, straightening up to divest himself of his trousers. He drops them on the floor amongst the shadows because it doesn't matter, they're beyond all those petty things.
He's going to show him. ]
no subject
It's when the other man pulls out of the kiss, making Sarica's fingers tighten against the skin at the base of his neck, fingertips digging in, displeased, that it stops being well-known territory. It's okay, says Anakin and seems to refer to whatever is hanging between them, this air, this heaviness, the desperation and the want, a different kind than the one they know, the both of them. Sarica pulls back slightly, glancing up at his face, that stubborn, dedicated look edged into all his features and something in Sarica gives, then, like a whole dimension is being added to him that he didn't use to possess. What do you do with that, however? Where do you fit it in? The logistics. Anakin, ever the acting party in any given crowd, doesn't care, of course, and just steals his lips for a brief moment before backing him up against the bed.
Let me deal with it.
And, miraculously, Sarica thinks he will, actually. By the Mysteries, would you look at him like this, pushed down onto the bed and arranging himself on it in response, eyes following every of Anakin's moves as he drops his trousers, baring his lower body, his metallic lower right arm looking dark and shadowy in contrast. His dark blonde pubic hair. His cock, showing the same kind of gentle investment that the rest of him does. Sarica has never gently fucked anyone, mind. Fucking isn't a gentle thing, it's about either taking or giving. It's about outcomes.
Here, the outcome's obscured enough to be an unknown factor, to him. He doesn't think the other man knows either, nor does he care, as is typically him. And yet, Sarica is going to follow.
Sitting up against the headboard, on top of the linen, putting himself fully on display as he spreads his legs, making room for proximity, closeness, vulnerable approaches to his body, Sarica narrows his eyes at the other man in the dark, the shadows long, crawling across everything. More importantly, what is it he's afraid of, if not Anakin Skywalker? He extends one arm, palm open and turned up. ]
I'll let you.
no subject
I'll let you says Sarica, holding out his hand, palm up and it's such a quintessentially Sarica gesture that Anakin can't help but smile, just a faint expression but warm. He steps up to the bed, naked, and shifts on his knees back into the other man's waiting embrace. He ducks his head, mouthing a wet trail of sloppy kisses up the middle of his chest, Sarica's soft chest hair tingling his lips. Breathing harder now at the taste of his skin, the feel of it beneath his lips, Anakin traces the path of his right collarbone up to his shoulder, mouthing along the slope of his neck.
With his metal hand, he reaches down between the other man's legs and fingers his cock, running his fingertips lightly up and down the shaft, pressing his thumb over the head. It's just warm-up, obviously. He's not in any hurry tonight and Sarica's allowed himself to be lead at that pace, hasn't he. Is allowing himself.
It's pretty amazing.
His own cock is hard now, fully so, and when he shifts against Sarica's body, it rubs against his thigh, sending small sparks shooting into his groin. ]
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There are several ways in which Anakin crawling up between his legs isn't the same thing as Emaan getting cold feet on a scheme he had not been informed of. First and foremost, Sarica isn't playing the other man. Playing with him, occasionally, when they're both in that mood, but he's not a pawn. Anakin has refused and Sarica has accepted, rare as that is in and by itself. Secondly, Sarica thinks he loves the feeling of Anakin's mouth against his chest, kissing him warm and sloppy and unhurried. Even more so, he loves the feeling of his metal hand, fingers closing around his half-hard cock which quickly, surprisingly quickly, even, grows hard against the friction of slightly chilly metal that only warms up to the temperature of his own skin. The harshness to his touch, thumb brushing over the head, contrasting the obvious softness to how they're touching everywhere else.
Thirdly, he never wanted to touch Emaan for Emaan's own sake. With Anakin, there's no other way, there's only that, his arms coming up, one hand cupping the right side of Anakin's face, the side not mostly pressed in against his neck, the other slips into his hair again, curling in the strands and tugging at him, gently. Tug, tug, tug. Wanting the man to feel good, to make him feel his cock against Sarica's thigh just a tiny bit more, so he slides down slowly onto his back, dragging Anakin with him, on top. His cock slides over the warm skin of his thigh as they go. Then, his groin. Then, closer yet to Sarica's cock, to Anakin's hand pleasuring him.
Sarica's breath has picked up noticeably. He turns his face in against the side of Anakin's, exhales harshly against his ear. ]
You said so yourself, I never shut up. What will I tell you, when it's not to order you onwards?
[ You decide, it means. It's your lead, on this. ]
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He wants to disappear within him.
At his words, Anakin laughs hoarsely and shifts, kissing the side of his mouth briefly and thrusting his hips upwards, his cock sliding across the soft skin of Sarica's inner thigh. ]
I don't know. Tell me anything.
[ Shifting onto both hands, he hovers over the other man for a moment, looking down at his face, all familiar lines, a familiar darkness in his eyes, the kind that goes deep. Slowly, he starts moving downwards over his body, licking another trail over his chest. He sucks his left nipple into his mouth and teases it with the tip of his tongue, flattening his metal hand against his chest, his fingers still warm from touching his cock, from being touched by it in turn. He keeps him down, just a light pressure somewhere close to his heart.
Stay, it means. Let me.
Shifting sideways, he presses his tongue over Sarica's other nipple, lapping at it insistently, teeth scraping across it once or twice. He loves the taste of him. As he moves down his body, over his midriff and belly, his hand slips from Sarica's chest in the process and he rests it over his stomach instead, fingers spread wide. He follows the hard line of his cock with his lips seamlessly once he gets there, no pause, no hesitation. Kissing his way downwards, he mouths at the foreskin briefly, tasting him with the tip of his tongue. ]
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Dangerous, he wants to say, he wants to smile, smirk, but Anakin's a Jedi, he isn't afraid, so menacing him won't have the desired effect, danger has, if anything, got its own attraction for men like him. Not the Jedi way, probably, but definitely the Anakin Skywalker way. Letting people tell you anything they want inevitably leads to scenarios where you can only count on your true friends, not the friends who are not, in fact, friends at all. They've been over this. Sarica has taught Anakin to tell the two apart.
As the other man pushes down over his chest, Sarica loosens his hold on him, lets him slip out of his reach, once he's done working his nipples into hardness, like little pillars to his honour, Sarica's whole upper body buzzing slightly from the pressure of his tongue, the slight pang of pain from his teeth, his cock jerking between them, between Sarica's thighs. He lifts his head and glances down himself, watching Anakin mouth at him, lick him wet and warm and pliant and his fingers already miss being active in turn, so he reaches down on either side of his own hips and buries his hands in the sheets, cradling the fabric hard, feeling it warm against his palms, wrinkling between his fingertips. Anakin should be able to see from where he's slowly getting closer to Sarica's cock, how Sarica is clinging to his composure, how he's holding on to himself, desperately.
Once there's connection, once Anakin is mouthing at his cock, the foreskin, Sarica's breathing stumbling out of him loudly and unevenly, the words come on their own volition, like Sarica tells many variations of truth on any given day, but he's never told a truth like this. He's never spoken these words before in his life, not to anyone.
Anakin is first. First and last. He inhales sharply and looks at himself while he bucks up against the other man's lips, pushing his cock softly over the rounded jut of them, the way they're parted and wet and want. They want.
Sarica tells him, ]
I love you, Anakin Skywalker.
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Oh.
Oh, that's...
Feeling warm all over, Anakin looks up at him from between his legs, his metal hand still folded over his thigh. He finds his gaze and holds it, knowing full well that this is easy, this is the easiest part for him. For Sarica, surely, it must be the opposite. A man who's used to owning people, be they slaves or politicians, finding his comfort in the fact that he owns nothing for real, meaning nothing can be lost? This is different. This is huge.
So quite easily, without any hesitation or trembling of his voice, Anakin replies: ]
I love you too.
[ He kisses his thigh, then shifts up onto his elbows and nudges his waist. ]
Now, flip over. I'm going to try that thing you did.
[ He doesn't say, if you like because the choice is always implied between the two of them, they've established that from the get-go. Sarica, by teaching Anakin how to see through Palpatine's manipulations. Anakin, by teaching Sarica that he can have him without owning him and that the opposite isn't true. He sits up on his knees and gives the other man space to move, watching him with warmth in his eyes and nothing else.
I love you, he said, and then he said his name.
Anakin's heart is singing. ]
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Or like someone who refuses the game altogether. Both to be played and to play.
Sarica turns over, slowly lying down with his cock spit-slick, warm and trapped against the sheets and his head turned to the side a little on his folded arms, catching half-glances of Anakin behind him, looking down at him with a kind of heat it takes him a moment to place. It's lust, certainly, his cock is rock hard and rising against his abdomen, but it's also softer than that, less urgent, longer-lasting, it feels like. Or is that hope, again? Sarica swallows hard and pushes his arse upwards a little, putting himself on display, the curve of his buttocks, the cleft between them, his cheeks parting slightly on their own when he flexes his hips upwards just so.
Have me, it means. The part of Sarica not clinging to those words, too, too, too, smiles slowly and comments, teasingly: ]
I've done a lot of things to you. Say it, or I won't know.
[ He knows, of course. He knows that Anakin is referring to last time, to Sarica eating his arse like dinner, like he couldn't sink deeply enough into him, and not until this moment does Sarica fully appreciate how deep exactly that urge runs. How much he wants to share bodies with the younger man, have all of him, give him all of himself. Equal exchange rates.
Because Anakin told him, freely, given not taken, I love you. His balls draw up a little definitely at the exposure, but in his chest his heart draws up even more. ]
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Imagine being loved by someone like this.
Anakin wets his lips at the other man's words, clearly teasing because they know each other and Sarica expects him to be at least a little embarrassed. And he is. Blushing all the way to the top of his head, he gives Sarica's left buttock a light slap with his flesh hand. ]
Shut up. You completely know.
[ With that, he finds his balance on his knees properly between Sarica's thighs and breathes out slowly, steeling himself because obviously, having never done this before, he doesn't want to do it badly. He wants the other man to float with it, to sense the sheer enormity of what he's just told him. Also, he'd kinda like to out-do him because, you know. He leans down and plants a row of soft kisses up the slope of one buttock, splaying out his metal fingers along the small of Sarica's back. He draws back and looks.
Sarica's pushed himself up, showing off, and from this angle, his balls look dark and a little tight between his legs. The sight makes his own cock throb, hard. Anakin licks two fingers on his other hand and presses the tips against the skin beneath Sarica's tailbone. Then, slowly, he drags them downwards, pushing in between his buttocks and feeling the rim of his arse a little further down, almost burning hot against his fingers. Breath shuddering out, he rubs his fingertips over the tight ring of muscle, feeling it go a little slick. He grabs his own cock impulsively and squeezes it, hard.
Not yet. ]
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And because he wants him, because he loves him, Sarica waits patiently while the other man balances himself between his thighs, inhales deeply in response to the kisses over one buttock, like a fair warning, this will pleasure you, Legislator. Sarica can almost hear him pronounce the words, and whether in voice or not, it's his mouth saying it. His lips are wet and warm where they press against him. He shifts a little. Just in time, because Anakin's metal hand splays out over the small of his back and pushes him down, keeping him in place.
After which, there are fingers. Flesh hand, fingertips running spit-slick and insistent from his tailbone and down to his rim. It clenches slightly as Anakin rubs over it, he feels his whole body tigthen, then release at the feeling. Promise, but also recollection. Vividly, Sarica remembers the campfire. He remembers being taken and being full.
His body remembers. Breathing out raggedly, he pushes up against the pressure of Anakin's hand, offering himself up. The other man is shifting behind him, clearly eager. Oh, they're both eager, Sarica's eagerness is simply always, always a long game.
Age.
He inclines his head enough to glance back over his shoulder, takes in the sight of Anakin, grabbing his own cock, starving himself off from his pleasure. For now, for now. They'll feed each other in turn. ]
Make me say other things, then.
[ His voice sounds airy and a little bit thin, more unaffected he can't pretend to be. ]
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I'm not making you do anything.
[ Said with a slight smile, his own voice slightly unsteady. As always, there's a point to be made between the two of them concerning choice and selfishness and taking what you like because you like it and for no other reason. Shifting, he releases his own cock (he's managed to stave off his orgasm for at least a little while though the squeeze didn't truly help that much) and grabs Sarica's buttocks, one in each hand. He pulls him open, baring the long slide of skin down to his balls, his arsehole a little bit slick now from his fingers and spit. He exhales, slowly. Then, he leans down and in, pressing his tongue flat against Sarica's rim.
He groans, loudly, as sensory impressions completely overload him for a moment. The other man's scent is strong and musky here, his taste equally so, and Anakin doesn't waste any time - he dives right back in and licks him again, taking care to flatten his tongue to cover as much of him as he can. He settles onto his knees and decides that this is the most comfortable he's going to be in a while.
Tightening his hands against Sarica's buttocks, holding him open against his tongue mercilessly, he licks him repeatedly, slowly, not diving in but simply slicking up the nerve endings around his opening, feeling him go wetter and wetter against his chin. He's definitely drooling onto the other man's balls, too. Bonus. ]
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Anakin is keeping him open and bared with his hands on his buttocks, spreading them and he suddenly senses the different weight to either side, the metal and the flesh, how he's strong in both respects, but just harder in one, more unyielding, unforgiving perhaps. His saliva is running down between Sarica's buttocks like this, a thin but steady trickle and it pools over his balls, making the skin tighten slightly, his whole lower body buzzing pleasantly, while every swipe of tongue makes his muscles contract, react, forces some kind of response out of him. Swallowing heavily, Sarica arches his back and pushes back, lifting off the bed a little and gasping for it, unapologetically.
It's slow. Because Anakin wants it to be, no rushing, although he's so hard he needs to hold himself off, pace himself. Sarica likes that. Sarica likes that the other man is forcing him into a rhythm not of his own making. That he's dragging them both along, here, easy. Easy. ]
But you're making me feel something, like this...
[ The next stroke gets him good and Sarica bucks up again, groaning low in his throat. Oh, he can go easy. Just as Anakin can go hard and like he can go home. Like he can... He gasps, writhes. ]
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The pleasure, overall? Oh, his own cock is certainly getting needy.
You're making me feel something says Sarica and Anakin would reply but it wouldn't be particularly important, really, and he's kind of busy getting the other man's arse soaking wet. The scent and taste has gone a little less sharp, rounded out by the smell of arousal - sweat, sex, precum - between them and it's still the best thing he's had, he thinks, in quite a while. Humming out his next breath, he glances up without actually raising his head, seeing the expanse of Sarica's lower back and shoulders further up, his curls bouncing against his neck. His skin is deliciously flushed. You're making me feel something.
I love you, he said.
With a deep groan, Anakin finally just pushes his tongue past the rim of his arsehole, dipping in, feeling the muscle give around him. He's burning hot on his tongue and for a second, he has to actually concentrate not to come. Relaxing his body forcefully, he keeps his grip on Sarica's buttocks, firm hands, steady. Then, he fucks him, pushing his tongue in deeper on each in-stroke, feeling the other man's body part for him, open up.
You're making me he says but the magic, Anakin thinks, isn't that. It's how he's letting himself. ]
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You make this mine to feel, so I let myself, in the active. What you can't possibly lose that way. What you can't -
Then, Anakin breaches his opening with his tongue, pushing inward and burying into him and all that stillness, verbal, bodily, explodes into action, enough that he can't rightly be expected to keep track. He whimpers, first and foremost, in a way Sarica never does otherwise, in or out of bed, his experience of the world doesn't make room for sounds like that, little weak gasps. His hips push forward by instinct, rubbing his hard, leaking cock up against the mattress, rutting against it like he's Anakin's age and not twice that, not twice as much. Whimper turning into a low groan as the other man begins actually fucking him, in and out and in, deeper, deeper, his fingers tighten in the sheets and he starts pushing back instead, hard, against the outline of nose, forehead, impaling himself on the other man's tongue more and more. It's that or rubbing himself to an early orgasm and he might let himself, but in his own time. In his own time.
Moaning, low vibrations deep in his chest, Sarica twists beneath the other man's ministrations, his tongue, the wetness, the fullness, slight widening, like his body wants something to show for it. Absolutely insists.
More whimpers. Inhale, exhale, trembling breaths, inhale, exhale. ]
Anakin - [ He says the name like a caress. I love you, it means. ] - please fuck me. Oil's on the floor beneath the bed, my side.
[ Pant, pant, pant. Desperate. ]
Be good.
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In this, however, it feels perfectly right.
Sarica, meanwhile, finally and spectacularly loses all semblances of composure, begging him to fuck him properly and Anakin gives him a hard, deep thrust with his tongue, keeping it buried there for a few seconds before pulling out roughly. When he licks his lips, he tastes him all over himself and it makes his cock jerk between his legs. Releasing Sarica, he holds out his left hand and does that thing that Obi-wan would kill him for doing -- the small glass flask floats into his waiting hand from beneath the bed, the oil inside glittering in the faint lamp from the corner. He unplugs it and pours out its contents over his fingers and palm. ]
I'm usually good.
[ He smiles sharply in the darkness, all edges, because sometimes he isn't and Sarica knows, he knows without knowing and Anakin feels safe with him, that's the thing, that's the most incredible thing. ]
Tell me how you want it.
[ He brushes his metal hand over Sarica's buttock before dragging one finger down his crack, coating the tip in wetness before dipping it inside his body. His arsehole gives way easily enough but he doesn't go deep, simply keeps him a little open, pulling his fingertip in and out, pushing in only to the first knuckle. With his other hand, he slicks up his cock. ]
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This particular side of Anakin Skywalker, at least, bends down to no one. Not Sarica, either. Not even him. Sarica loves it. He loves him like this. Always.
Huffing out a small breath, a laugh, he eases back onto his elbows, down onto his arms, placing his chin onto his forearms and tilting his head a little, listening for the other man from behind, his arsehole clenching, not only at the push, the fullness, in and out, but the way he's so self-assured, owns himself, owns Sarica, too. Is this what it feels like, ownership. Of himself, of others. Anakin was right, slaves give him nothing like this. Timachus didn't either, sorry to say, my friend.
It's a balance. Everything with Anakin is, wasn't that the point?
He closes his eyes and exhales, deeply, relaxing, letting Anakin's metal finger slip in a little bit further on the next in-stroke. How does he want it? With a slight shift, he spreads his thighs wider, opening himself up more. Invitingly. ]
Like this. [ On his stomach, front to back, it means - surface reading, but it also means like this. With all these emotions hanging heavy and thick between them, making it difficult to get the air deep enough down, Anakin's cock will have to push it the rest of the way, show the way. The general, yes? He no doubt knows how to lead from every position. ] I trust you with the rest. Good as you are.
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Anakin will be worth it.
Breathing out raggedly, he finishes getting himself ready, working his finger shallowly in and out of Sarica's arse, the other man pushing back onto his finger, basically fucking himself, very clearly opening up to him, making room. His belly flutters at the thought. Gently, he pulls his finger out and shifts, moving up between the other man's spread legs and pulling them apart just a little more, enough to make room. Then, he leans down and places his metal hand next to Sarica's face, right above his shoulder. He holds himself up like that, bending at the shoulder joint and slipping forward, his cock sliding between the other man's buttocks. That slight friction alone is almost enough to do him in and he moans, biting his bottom lip hard and breathing out harshly, before he reaches down with his free hand and angles his cock upwards.
With the head, he seeks out Sarica's wet arsehole and presses in. He takes his time, feeling the other man's muscles widening slowly around the intrusion and while he's going gently, he isn't stopping, either. His cock pops past his rim ten seconds later and his head feels devoid of oxygen, like there's nothing left to fuel him except the heat in his groin and the way his cock and balls are throbbing to go. He moans and cranes his neck down, burying his face in the back of Sarica's head. He gets his hair absolutely everywhere and when he breathes, he feels like he's drowning in him, like his senses have been blinded to anything but him.
It's perfect.
Moaning again, his voice lighter and maybe closer to a whimper than he'd like to admit, Anakin pushes in the rest of the way, inch by inch, until he's fully seated. ]
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They all would, greedy bastards.
Sarica frowns, shifts, feels the other man lean in over him, the head of his cock slipping up between his buttocks as he positions himself over him. Someone, or several of them, all of them, would think this was the wrong way around, that Anakin was to be bent and to be broken and the mere thought... His fingers tighten into fists against his own skin, the frown deepening, deepening, until Anakin starts pushing in against the rim of his arsehole, slightly loosened, but not enough by far. He groans slightly, the harsh stretch of the other man entering him, forcing him open, gently, but tangibly, making him finally just close his eyes. Shutting Ulos and the others out. Gone.
They can think what they want. He won't let them, he won't let them as much as touch. What's his, yes, but ultimately Anakin's own, too.
The intrusion is slow and careful, Sarica can feel how Anakin is holding back and giving his body time to adjust. He hadn't needed to, surely, but he does and in these things, symbolic significance counts for more. Not to mention, the way his arsehole is singing, opening up to him, hurting, too, but there it is, again. Balance. He opens his eyes again and looks at the sleek curves of Anakin's metallic forearm. His hand. His cock in his body. A slight gasp as the other man bends his neck and, moaning, gorgeously, buries his face in his hair.
Yes.
Sarica shifts, pushing back against the rest of the forward motion, taking him all the way to the hilt, while simultaneously freeing his right arm and reaching up behind him, slipping his fingers, shaking and sweaty, into Anakin's hair, fingertips gracing temple on the way. Yes.
His arse feels full and stretched and if he rubbed up just slightly, he could find his own spot, but he doesn't. He wants it to last. He wants Anakin to lead, take him there. Tightening his fingers harshly in the other man's strands, long, soft in his hold, he says, panting, voice full of air: ]
Stay here. [ Here, in his body, in his arse. But also here, here. Stay here with him, he wishes. He isn't asking, of course, because he knows Anakin doesn't belong to Efith, but he says the words regardless, because he wants and he's never wanted anything like this. That he couldn't take. ] For a while longer.
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He just hates the thought of anyone else...
Eyes falling shut amidst Sarica's hair, leaning into the pressure of his fingertips and letting him settle properly in his system, Anakin takes a moment to simply stay buried in the other man, letting him feel it. Stay says Sarica and why wouldn't he, why wouldn't he stay forever, really? Sure, he's going to have to go back to Coruscant at some point, probably, but that doesn't mean they have to be separated. He smiles faintly against the back of Sarica's head before nuzzling in deep enough to kiss what he can of his scalp. The other man's hot beneath his lips and it doesn't matter, now, whether he's treated others badly, whether others have treated him badly in kind. ]
I really... [ He swallows heavily. Stays, his cock throbbing and his balls so tight between his legs that it's almost unbearable. ] I really gotta move.
[ With that, he pulls out. Slowly, he shifts his hips backwards, until his cock is close to popping free of the other man's arse. With a harsh exhalation, he pushes back inside, his muscles straining, the motion shooting a spark of pleasure deep inside his groin. He buries himself deep, then repeats, feeling how he pushes the other man against the bed with his next thrust. He keeps his face pressed to the back of Sarica's head, mouthing wetly over his curls, his temple.
Carefully, he leans down on his flesh arm until he can rest his elbow on the bed next to Sarica's shoulder. He curls his lower arm under the other man's neck and collarbone, hugging him close to his body. Keeping him there, close, closer than close. Every time he sinks into him, he feels as if there's no end to either of them and the feeling is incredible. Moaning, he starts snapping his hips forward faster, just a little, just - oh. Oh, it's good, it's perfect, it's - ]
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And what Anakin doesn't know, he feels and Sarica will hone those feelings, if he's allowed, if...
Pushing back in, Anakin starts setting a pace, hips snapping forward, brisk fucking now, they're in need, they need this, to resolve this thing between them. Sarica pushes up against him, gets the angle right on the second try and feels how the other man pushes right over that spot in him on the second in-stroke. He feels himself shaking, violently, moaning low in his throat as he throws back his head and takes it, takes the pleasure, takes the way Anakin wants it. Wants him. Him, him, him. The other man slips his flesh arm around his torso and hugs him close, keeping his face buried in his curls, kissing at his scalp, temple, anything within reach that's got skin enough to feel it. Sarica opens his eyes, but sees very little. His vision's dark around the edges, blurry. His cock is getting rubbed insistently over the mattress now, for every thrust.
He might have expected that Anakin would come first. He is twenty-three years old, after all.
It doesn't happen that way.
One more thrust, one more and Sarica feels his whole body contract, from the muscles in his thighs and buttocks and up his back. He moans, louder now, arching his back sharply and pushing back, getting that angle, getting it, getting - And a second later, his arse contracts as well and he's coming, balls drawing up harshly. Sarica's arm muscles tense, release, tighten, too. He's caught like an archer's bowstring between the bed and Anakin's body, cock pulsing, spending himself in short, intense spurts.
The sounds he makes should embarrass him, but that would require excess mental energy. As it is, he's given him his all already. ]
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