[ 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. ]
[ He gets there almost as fast as Sarica - almost - because the other man does come first, his lower body contracting beneath him, buttocks, thighs, oh, his arse - eyes nearly crossing, Anakin pushes his face against Sarica's shoulder as the other man clenches around him, spending himself against the bed. The thought alone - it's not like he's even touched him... Gasping, mouth hanging open in a stupid way that he's happy no one can actually see, Anakin thrusts forward again, hard, burying himself to the base. He stays there for a second, then repeats the motion - once - twice - and there, oh.
Kriff.
His orgasm washes over him with a surprising ferocity and his metal hand actually clenches hard in the sheets as he anchors himself above, inside, Sarica, mouthing wordlessly against his skin. His cock pulses deep within the other man, pleasure melting through his muscles and he's frozen like that until it abates. From there, his arms actually start trembling and he sighs against Sarica's neck, kissing him briefly before he pulls out as gently as he can. His cock slips free with a wet pop and Anakin quickly rolls off to lie on his back next to Sarica, one leg slung over both of his. He curves one arm over his forehead and smiles, widely, his voice coming out decidedly winded: ]
You make the best noises.
[ He nudges Sarica with his shoulder gently and stays there, as he is, slick still and wet around the lips, his eyes already drooping. In a moment, he decides, he's going to head for the washer, just for a quick clean-up, but right now? He tracks the shadows on the ceiling with his eyes, seeing patterns there that he can't discern, something that looks like darkness fading into something else.
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no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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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Kriff.
His orgasm washes over him with a surprising ferocity and his metal hand actually clenches hard in the sheets as he anchors himself above, inside, Sarica, mouthing wordlessly against his skin. His cock pulses deep within the other man, pleasure melting through his muscles and he's frozen like that until it abates. From there, his arms actually start trembling and he sighs against Sarica's neck, kissing him briefly before he pulls out as gently as he can. His cock slips free with a wet pop and Anakin quickly rolls off to lie on his back next to Sarica, one leg slung over both of his. He curves one arm over his forehead and smiles, widely, his voice coming out decidedly winded: ]
You make the best noises.
[ He nudges Sarica with his shoulder gently and stays there, as he is, slick still and wet around the lips, his eyes already drooping. In a moment, he decides, he's going to head for the washer, just for a quick clean-up, but right now? He tracks the shadows on the ceiling with his eyes, seeing patterns there that he can't discern, something that looks like darkness fading into something else.
He feels Sarica all over himself, inside and out.
Beautiful. ]