[ I trust you, says Anakin who has had his trust used and abused so often that the words alone must leave him more exposed than even Sarica, pushing him down over the table, arse up, first things first. Sarica, in turn, shifts from one foot to the other and feels the power of it, he who has never grasped for real power, or perhaps never knew where to look, of being trusted by someone whom he could betray in an instant, but who has been betrayed so many times that Sarica couldn't bear being only the 100th in a row. He's more than that. And Anakin is more than that. They're rising above, here at this table, pushing against each other, holding each other down by sheer body mass. His breathing stumbles out of him and he gives Anakin a good long while to use himself to the feeling of fullness, of his finger in him, moving as he moves, always moving with him, this hand. Then, he pulls his finger out and pushes it in again, slowly, giving him the feeling of slide and friction and wetness. Mm. ]
Then, trust me to make you come twice.
[ It's gently teasing, it says don't worry about it, it doesn't matter to me and I could come just watching you give yourself over like this, I'd gladly come now, with you. Because, with Anakin's lack of an actual refractory period, he'll be ready again in due time for Sarica to take him, and he'll be endlessly more relaxed, too. It might even be the ideal way.
So, Sarica leans in over his back then, he lies across one half of his body, keeping him down and tethered and safe, letting Anakin feel his heat and his weight and his steadiness, fucking into him slowly with his finger, while - with his other hand - Sarica reaches beneath the table and firmly grabs him by the base of his cock, angling it away from his body a bit, giving him room. On the next in-stroke, he starts stroking his cock as well, simultaneously bending his finger and rubbing very lightly over that spot inside him, feeling for it, caressing it, drawing back, pushing in again, repeat.
His own cock is weeping precum against the upper part of Anakin's naked inner thigh and Sarica has to steel himself, not to thrust forward, give himself more, take it. He might not want to hold Anakin back, but himself? That's another matter. ]
[ Trust me to make you... He stares blindly ahead, seeing nothing, every cell in his body seemingly preoccupied with Sarica's finger working in and out of his arse and the heavy, dark quality to his voice. The promise in his words. He shudders as Sarica leans in over him, his weight comfortable and firm, his scent doubling in his nostrils at the sudden increase of proximity. Anakin inhales, desperately. Give me, he thinks and more. It feels as if the other man's digging into his very core, going as deep as he can with each thrust, every slide slow and careful and almost painfully intense.
His arsehole is getting used to the sensation too, he finds. It burned maybe a little bit to begin with but right now, there's just that wet glide of the other man's finger, filling him up and keeping him open. He shifts, trying to spread his legs a bit more when Sarica reaches for his cock with his other hand and just the fact that he's touching him makes his balls draw up. Mouth hanging open (and drooling unhindered on the tabletop, yes, thanks), Anakin forgets to breathe.
Then, Sarica... does something with his finger inside his arse, hits... something - something -- ]
Aaah!
[ He actually jumps slightly, his buttocks clenching violently along with his arsehole and then, breath stuck in his throat, he comes like it's a fucking explosion, all over Sarica's hand and the floor and whatever else, who cares, Kriff, what the hell was that and oh, his muscles - everything feels almost oversaturated with warmth. He's clenching around Sarica's finger and writhing on the table, curling in against the heat of Sarica's body against his back, trying to disappear within him, within whatever part of him he can reach.
The pleasure nearly blinds him.
He's breathing raggedly as the flood of it ebbs out. ]
[ Anakin comes. Like he was being ordered. Perhaps Sarica's finger inside of him was its own kind of command.
Watching him, the way he writhes and gasps and drools and pushes himself in against him, like he wants more and more and more and Sarica will give him all of it, everything, patience, Anakin Skywalker, and you will not be in want of anything anymore - yes, watching him like that, Sarica absentmindedly remembers that he can't actually pinpoint the first time he was made aware of this particular spot, that one day he simply knew and it made sex easier, more pleasurable and enjoyable, but most of all, easy. He would never want the same experience for Anakin, by the Mysteries, how disappointed he'd be if Anakin won't remember twenty years from now this exact fuck and how Sarica made him spend himself all over the floor and his fingers and his arsehole contracting around his intruding finger. So disappointed.
As it is, he just waits it out, Anakin's orgasm, the way it floods him and takes him in waves, and his whole body becomes both too huge and too small for its own skin and he's crawling into him, while his arsehole still clenches around his finger and Sarica truly, truly has to keep himself focused not to come at the mere sight. He lies across his back, feels how his breathing is torn from his lungs, ragged and hard, and he slowly releases Anakin's cock to reach up and rub his cum-covered fingers over the fabric between the other man's shoulder blades, just stroking him softly, letting him land again. ]
Relax. I'm going to pull out now, give you a moment to fall down, before we build you up again, understood?
[ With that, Sarica slowly pulls out his finger, lingering at Anakin's very opening to massage his well-used nerve endings, still contracting a little bit against him as he finally withdraws. His own cock is painful.
And his hands, when he places them flat on the tabletop on either side of Anakin's head to push off of him, shaking. ]
[ He's floating, just a little besides himself, feeling light all over and endlessly heavy, too, like he couldn't possibly move from this very spot on this very tabletop even if someone threw a grenade at him or something. He groans. Licks his lips, realising that he's resting his face in his own drool puddle. Ugh. Bad. Not very but still. Ugh.
Sarica, meanwhile, rubs his fingers, slick from cum, between his shoulder blades and Anakin's shoulders relax a bit more from the attention though honestly, he shouldn't be physically capable of relaxing any further than he already is. Force. Sarica pulls his finger out slowly, Anakin's arse clenching in the wake of it and when the other man presses his fingertip briefly against the rim, he makes a weird, high-pitched sound in his throat, not unlike an animal that someone's managed to step on by accident.
As the other man pushes off him, Anakin very nearly turns on the spot and grabs for him. He doesn't want the distance. He wants the weight, the gravity of it because right now, he can't imagine getting angry enough to choke anyone. Not at all. He can't imagine that he'd ever drift away that far, that he could go farther yet and farther, until he lost all traces of his own mooring. He can't imagine.
Doesn't want to, either.
Finding purchase with his metal hand, he finally lifts himself up and off the tabletop, wincing as his cheek actually sticks to it for a moment, his own saliva clinging to his skin. He scrambles against the floor for balance for half an undignified second before he finds his feet and turns, clumsily, until he can face Sarica. The other man's cock is flushed from arousal, heavy and hard against his stomach. Anakin's arsehole actually clenches again, like his body's already decided what goes where and how.
Things tend to progress, with Anakin.
He looks up at Sarica from beneath hooded eyes, his hair crawling into his face. Grabbing the table hard with both hands, he swallows thickly before he speaks. ]
Could you fuck me in your bed?
[ He looks down, lips twitching in a near-smile. ]
[ And suddenly, the proximity is lost and there's distance in its stead and they're looking at each other, both half-dressed and mostly naked, and Anakin asks... Anakin asks...
Sarica has to breathe in very deeply, filling his lungs to the brim as he looks the other man over and takes him in, how he's disheveled him, taken him apart a little at the seams, so there's a glimpse of the stuff within. He's beautiful and Sarica wants nothing more than to fill him up, his mouth, his arse, his whole body, head to toe. He wants to have his place inside of him, first and last, Anakin Skywalker. First and last.
Thus, he smiles, a sharp tug at the corner of his mouth, though not cruel or unkind, just amused in that way that is Sarica's own. He crosses the distance between them, the thing that there's too much of currently, and reaches up to cup his cheek, his fingers still smelling like cock and cum, before leaning in and kissing him. His hand slides up into his hair, doesn't pull, though. Not this time. Anakin will follow at his own leisure. His own volition.
But he keeps kissing him for a long while, only pulling back once the strain in his cock gets too much to bear and he steps back, turning towards the entrace doors, left ajar, and heading for them, unceremoniously, no dallying about. The sound of his sandals against the floor is weirdly clothed, considering what they've just done, what they're about to do. So he shrugs out of his tunic on the way, leaving it in a heap on the gathering room floor. Naked, just in his sandals, he looks at Anakin over his shoulder, raising one eyebrow slightly. ]
Since I plan to bend you over till your knees touch your shoulders, comfort is not a thing I can promise you. [ Thank you kindly for that time by the campfire, it means, my old man back says. Sarica smiles, however, and throws the door to the hallways open, continuing down towards his bedroom, cutting a corner on the way, the shadows thick and long here. ] But I will promise you enjoyment.
[ Only once he's inside the bedroom does he bend down to loosen his sandal straps, kicking the footwear off into a corner, he doesn't care which one and turns towards Anakin, opening his arms.
[ Sarica watches him for a long moment, looking him over and Anakin lets him, lets himself be displayed. He'd probably blush if he could, except his blood feels somehow too thick to do much of anything at the moment. Along with the rest of his body, Anakin feels heavy all over - muscles, bone, skin. The orgasm has receded but the pleasure lingers, still, and his mind is quiet.
When the other man steps into his personal space with an expression that most people would probably find suspicious (Anakin, on his part, recognises Sarica and the ways he carries himself and this smile, sharp and transitory, is exactly him), Anakin opens his arms to him and meets his kiss head-on, smelling himself on his fingers when Sarica touches his face. They stay like that, kissing, entwined, and Sarica's cock feels wet near the tip against his thigh, wet and hard. Anakin thinks about touching it. But his arse feels weirdly empty now and he wants the other man, wants to feel him sink in and lose himself.
So he keeps his hands to himself, aside from grabbing onto Sarica's tunic until he pulls out of the kiss and walks away.
It takes Anakin's brain an embarrassing five seconds to put the pieces together.
Then, he scrambles after the other man, picking up his trousers on the way like a second thought and shrugging out of his tunic. Naked, he also grabs Sarica's tunic off the floor without thinking about it, like it's second nature - and so, he freezes in place, standing there with too much fabric between his fingers and he thinks about Sarica, fingering him, about simply lying on the tabletop and taking it with the other man's weight bearing down along his back, warm, comfortable, safe. His fingers tighten almost to the point of a tremble.
He takes both tunics with him and leaves them together in a pile on a chair in the bedroom. The shadows in the room stretch across Sarica's face but his eyes go free, dark as they already are, and the depth within them makes Anakin feel small, even born as he was half-way from the very fabric of the universe itself. He pauses. Looks at Sarica's open arms for a moment before he steps into them, curling both arms around the other man's waist and going straight for his lips. He presses up against Sarica's front, feeling the whole length of him, his nakedness and the softness of his skin and backs them towards the bed. ]
[ You can tell a horse patience many times, but when it smells the hay, it'll hurry to the trough regardless. That's how it is with Anakin, he thinks, as the other man throws off his bundle of fabric on the nearest chair, his own tunic, Sarica's, and the thought only makes his cock throb harder for him. He didn't ask him to collect after him, he didn't say he should, but he did so anyway. He wanted to, he wanted to please him. Because Sarica has just pleased him. It's not an exchange, it's a mirror, Sarica never understood this before, not well enough at least. He may have grasped at it, but he never saw - not as clearly as he does now, Anakin walking over to him and pushing up against his body, taking his mouth, overly eager, tongue, a little bit of teeth and Sarica grunts against him as he actually starts backing them up towards the bed. It's halfway a laugh, a snort, a you're daring, youngster. Yet, he doesn't try to turn them around, he doesn't try to one-up him, but lets him have the lead. Sarica will be given back the reins soon enough. To this particular horse.
Arms coming up to slide around Anakin's shoulders, grabbing him hard, fingers curling over the base of his neck, like a hold, a stay, don't move, he lets himself fall down onto the bed and drags Anakin with him, the whole structure creaking as they hit the mattress, but it holds, it's good carpentry. Sarica would never buy a bed that couldn't stand a round of rough fucking. Really.
What purpose would it have, then? Sleep? Come now, he can sleep when he gets old. Older.
Anakin always makes him feel ageless, in both the infinite and the definite way.
Pulling the other man on top of him, getting their legs well and truly entangled, then their tongues, and everything tastes and feels like him, Sarica pulls out of the kiss and turns his head to the side, lifting his left hand to his mouth and sucking three fingers in between his lips, wetting them throughly, until they're dripping and his wrist feels wet. All the while, he keeps his eyes on Anakin in the darkness, both eyebrows going up once he pops his fingers out of his mouth. There was the taste of the other man's cum and cock, for a while. It's all saliva now. Watery. Thin, in comparison. ]
For your enjoyment. [ A deep inhale, then he looks down between them, reaching down Anakin's front, teasing his fingers from his midriff and down, until he can curl his fingers around his still soft balls, weighing them gently on his palm, feeling out the outline of his testicles, feeling the skin grow slick and warm. Mm.
Sarica leans his forehead in against the side of Anakin's face. ] We're going slow. Patience.
[ The fact that he still hasn't ejaculated spontaneously himself is some kind of miracle. He'll give the Mysteries that, if nothing else. ]
[ They tumble onto the bed, legs entangled. Anakin doesn't break the kiss, taking full advantage of the angle now, with Sarica beneath him and suddenly so thoroughly within reach. It's an immense contrast from before, when he'd had his back to him and his hands spread out against the tabletop, unable to reach. The other man tastes exactly as he should, warm and close and well-known and when he draws back, Anakin almost doesn't let him. He's gasping, a growl forming in the back of his throat though it dies there, too, completely and utterly, as Sarica turns his head to the side and pushes three fingers into his own mouth.
Anakin stares, transfixed, at the stretch of the other man's lips and the way his skin grows gradually slicker from spit. His lips are glossy from it, too, and a bit swollen. His cock is definitely waking up again, growing half-hard against his thigh, the remnants of his orgasm lingering in his body as a persistent thrum of pleasure. When Sarica reaches down between them, he shivers and dips his chin to follow the motion of his hand, watching as the other man fingers his balls, a gentle exploration that makes his belly feel tight from arousal. He exhales audibly. Patience says Sarica and Anakin makes a choked-off sound, a half-laugh edged with something else.
Apparently, no matter his choices, he'll be forever doomed to have that word repeated at him.
He leans down and kisses Sarica's cheek, moving over the sharp line of his chin and feeling his dark stubble against his lips. Reaching down between them, taking care not to get his metal hand into some sort of territorial dispute with the other man's hand, he curls his fingers around Sarica's cock and strokes it gently, knowing full well that he isn't slick enough by far. Regardless, he also happens to know what Sarica thinks about this particular sensation and so, he runs his metal thumb over the head of his cock, coaxing precum from the tip and smearing it over the glans.
[ So, patience doesn't work on Anakin Skywalker, it can be confirmed, like it's wholly against the man's principles to wait on anything.
Sarica smiles, feeling the other man's lips work their way over his jawline, no doubt a raspy experience currently, he isn't as smooth as he normally keeps, is he? A whole evening's festivities, no breaks, not for the bathroom, not for anything. This is his break, you'd think, Anakin kissing his face and reaching down between them with his metal hand, Sarica feeling the weight of it even before it touches him. Oh.
As the other man wraps his fingers around his shaft, he actually arches a bit in his back, huffing out a rough breath and gasping - air stuck in his throat and shivers running down his spine. Yes. He can tell how Anakin is already half-hard again and mirrors the other man, curling his own fingers around the shaft, giving the slowly hardening flesh some easy, loose strokes, spreading the remainder of his saliva everywhere. Good.
They're reflecting each other, mirror images.
It's as it should be.
Maybe he'll take him like this, too. Leave him in some semblance of control. He needs it, his Anakin. He's earned it, too.
Turning his head to the side, catching the younger man's lips, groaning into his mouth when he starts smearing precum over the head of Sarica's cock with his metal thumb, the pressure slick in a strange and exciting new way, Sarica finally just gives in and pushes up into his grip, letting himself take the friction and the tight slide. Mm. It takes a lot of mental focus to keep from just pushing the last bit of the way, letting himself float with it, coming, but Sarica has both stamina and stubbornness, after all these years, he knows how to pace himself. So he slows himself down, while simultaneously starting to work Anakin's cock harder, faster, feeling it go erect and long and heavy against his palm.
Against Anakin's lips, into his open mouth cavity, running his tongue over the slope of the other man's, stroking him, pressing back, he moans, long and outdrawn, slowly angling his hips backwards, pulling out of the other man's unyielding grip. Finally, he also pulls back from the kiss, lips swollen and wet and his voice hoarse. ]
[ Sarica arches beneath him, all pretty and taut as he lets himself be pleasured, his breath coming out in gasps, rough and unpolished. Anakin loves this side of him, the way it always seems to finish him so perfectly because Sarica is everything at once; he's sharp and clever and as quick with his words as Anakin with his lightsaber; he's terrifying and hard and calculating towards those he doesn't care about and then, like this, he's lovely, too. Completely giving.
Anakin groans loudly against Sarica's face as he feels himself grow hard between his fingers. He thrusts into the other man's grip, pleasure throbbing in his groin with every slick slide and between his own fingers, Sarica mirrors him, letting himself go for a moment and Anakin can't remember what they were actually planning here but it feels amazing, he thinks, let's just do this. Falling into the rhythm, he's conscious of every little inch of skin pressed against his own, Sarica's body warm and solid beneath him and he loves being this close to him, he'd go further if he could, if he -- ]
No.
[ It actually comes out as a verbal protest this time, not commanding but pitifully desperate, as Sarica pulls out of his grasp and away, again. He's so hard now that he can't think. Blinking harshly, he has to focus to understand that Sarica's telling him - oh. Oh, right.
Back on track.
He flushes, embarrassed despite himself. You'd think, after three years at war, he'd know how to follow a kriffing plan. Then, very unwillingly, he thinks about Palpatine. About what he could've done if he'd been less desperate, if the other man had known how to bargain with something that mattered to him.
For just a second, he's overcome with the implications and rather than following Sarica's lead (because of course he doesn't), Anakin curls one arm around his shoulders and buries his face against the side of his neck. He stays there, breathing raggedly, desperately, his mind swimming. He'd nearly killed Ulos tonight. He'd lost control of himself.
I'll have you like this. Because he will, won't he, Sarica, even like this. ]
[ No, Anakin says, staying in place and burying his face against the side of Sarica's neck, becoming small and fearful and overpowered again, the way that Sarica likes him the least. Not because he doesn't accept this is a side of him, but because he thinks the other man deserves to feel grand and powerful and confident, always. There's nothing about him that necessitates the rest, is there? Nothing.
Give me a second, Anakin begs and Sarica reaches up, spit-slick, precum-covered fingers slipping over his side, up his back, spreading out between his shoulder blades, holding him down. Like he did at the table in the gathering room, but against a softer surface. Their chests heave in time with each other, in and out, in and out. Anakin getting cradled against his front this way, rocked gently on his breathing. Sarica holds him, his other hand coming up as well and supporting his other side, just above his hip. They're hard and desperate, but for different reasons and Sarica has waited half an hour already, he can wait another moment, he will give him that much. And more.
Between their bodies, though, his cock is reddening and weeping and throbbing hard. He isn't going to last long, once they reach the end of their little journey tonight. It's going to be an in and out job, pretty much.
It'll be what it is. Regardless, it's beautiful. With Anakin, it can't be anything else.
What he wants the most right now is to see his face.
Turning his head, Sarica glances down at him, at the shadows that are eating his features, because the darkness claims Anakin like he belonged there, when he belongs as much in the path of light. Slowly, he reaches up and pushes some hair out of his face, rubbing at his cheekbone lightly with his thumb, temple, ear, hair again. ]
You aren't owned by anything, Anakin. You don't even need to answer to yourself. Which means, you're free to act as you want, at any given time. [ A slight, uncomfortable twist beneath the other man's body weight and Sarica gasps slightly as his cock slides wet and swollen over his thigh. There's no hitch in his voice, however, when he continues, quietly. ] Most people never know that kind of freedom.
[ Sarica puts his hand between his shoulder blades and presses down slightly, an echo of his earlier action whilst Anakin had been bending over the table with his arse on display. This is another kind of vulnerability, it has settled deeper within his core and it doesn't truly belong in this context, though in a way, it belongs everywhere he goes, at any point in time. He lies there for a moment with Sarica holding him, arousal still thick between them and the urgency of the moment preserved in the rapid beating of their hearts. He can sense it, like this. Sarica's heart. His own.
Sarica touches his face, pushes at his hair a little, and Anakin finds his way back, the other man's words echoing in his mind. He knows about freedom, does Sarica, despite the fact that he used to own others, that he still does in his own way, through the games he plays in the Senate. It's not about that. It's about the choices he's made for himself, Sarica, and Anakin knows enough about those to realise that he's fought for his freedom in his own way whilst Anakin...
Well.
Anakin has been set free, more than once in his life.
By others, he thinks, because that might just be how things are for him. Always by others.
He lifts himself up on his hands, looking down at Sarica now, his own gaze soft despite the heaviness behind his eyes, the wetness lingering in the corners. He takes a deep breath and centers himself, chest heaving for a second, before he gets to his knees on either side of Sarica's body. Pushing himself up carefully, he angles himself to let Sarica's hard cock slip between his buttocks a little, wetness tracking over his skin. ]
Most people don't have someone who'll know how to grant it.
[ He says it quietly, though his words are steady. Straightening a little as he sits, he runs his hands up Sarica's shoulders slowly, pushing back very slightly against the girth of his cock. The logistics of making it fit no longer seem quite so daunting. ]
[ It's not just a matter of Anakin relaxing back against him, as always it's a matter of Anakin reclaiming the situation, as he ought to, taking everything that he's surely entitled to, and sitting up slowly, Sarica's cock slipping up between his buttocks, like a final test of his patience. Sarica's, that is. Anakin's has been a lost cause from the get-go.
Sarica breathes out harshly, a long, hard exhalation, going on forever while the slight friction makes his balls draw up more than they need to, really, but all that it takes. The other man's skin is soft and slightly sweat-slick and his own cock produces precum enough that the slide is nice, good, very good. He runs with it, pushing up with his hips, stealing more of the glide and pushing his cock up into the crack of Anakin's ass, rubbing himself against him.
Yes, they're doing it like this, but not quite this way, are they? Not enough lube. He could take Anakin now and it certainly wouldn't kill him, but Sarica has learned to expect that Anakin will survive most things, more than he should, too, and come to realize that he doesn't want him to survive anything, he wants him to live it to its fullest. Enjoy it, love it.
Someone once took Sarica just like this and he certainly didn't love them for it, did he?
So he looks up at Anakin through the shadows that are too heavy across his face, like weights dragging him down and he digs his fingers into the other man's hips for a moment, hard, fingertips pushing into flesh, skin, holding him still, very still, close. Then, releasing him, he fights against Anakin's hands and pushes up on his elbows, looking towards his bedside table, oil on display because they fuck enough to merit it.
Gaze returning to Anakin, he keeps his voice even and with no pretenses. ]
Believe me when I say, neither of us is most people and we truly deserve each other.
[ And so, he leans as much to the side as he can, for Anakin's body weighing him down, dragging him nowhere, grabbing the small flask of oil and pouring it liberally out over his free palm, before dropping the flask off to the side, out of the way. The oil shines in the faint traces of moonlight. His fingers, slick.
The question comes to him not like second nature, but like an afterthought. Meeting Anakin's eyes, he raises his chin, relaxes back on one elbow and touches his not-oily hand to his thigh, the strong expanses of it, muscle, tense, moving. ]
[ Though the slide of Sarica's cock feels relatively slick already between his buttocks, Anakin feels a small but noticeable spark of relief when he sits up against him and goes for the oil on the bedside table. Anakin would've gotten that for him if he'd asked but of course, Sarica hasn't actually been asking him for anything - he's leading, which is wholly different as Anakin's starting to realise. Something's happening here, on Efith, far away from Coruscant and the tangled webs of his Jedi life - married, then not; protected by a person he thought he could trust, then not; the things they all kept wanting from him and Anakin, trying to obey, following the stream of orders without realising how deep the water was getting all around him.
Yes, here on Efith, with Sarica, it becomes obvious to him how little he could truly see.
Sighing, he relaxes a bit more into his position astride Sarica's thighs, watching as the other man slicks up his fingers, the oil glistening on his skin. The sight of it makes Anakin's balls feel painfully tight and his arsehole contracts a little by itself, making his spine tingle. We truly deserve each other says Sarica and Anakin thinks, yes because he doesn't quite know what else he might deserve but this, at least, he can have.
He can.
With a groan, he runs his metal hand through his curls. His strands are damp from sweat. ]
Okay.
[ He arches in his lower back, giving himself a good angle and pressing back against Sarica's cock, feeling the head rubbing over his arsehole again and really, couldn't the man just... ]
Fuck me, please.
[ The please is little but a harsh exhalation, his eyes fluttering shut again as he reaches behind himself, curling his metal fingers around Sarica's cock and angling it inwards a little, just to feel the girth of the head properly, the pressure against the sensitive nerves in his rim. Sure, it would take some work but he could just go for it, couldn't he, sink down on it, if he took it slow? Then again, Sarica's leading so he opens his eyes and looks down at him, meeting his gaze through the darkness expectantly. ]
[ Sarica has been begged for many things by many different people throughout his 40 year long life, but he can honestly say that no one has ever sounded as good pleading as Anakin does, pushing back against his cock and letting the head slip over his arsehole, the still puffed rim of it and Sarica has to gasp a little, try and catch his breath at the friction, just slick enough not to burn and yet dry enough to give that sensation of catching on skin and sticking. He groans and angles his hips when Anakin once more doesn't know how to wait for his cue, reaching behind himself with his metal hand and curling his fingers around Sarica's girth, angling him, pressing back more and feeling for the pressure, oh. Fuck me, he says, body and words, please. Sarica's eyes narrow dangerously and he reaches up, catching Anakin's metal wrist between his own fingers, the not-slickened ones, and holds him, a tightness to his grip that doesn't force, but doesn't allow for any wriggling room either. ]
No. [ Looking up at the other man, he meets his eyes and holds his gaze just as much as he's holding his wrist. He isn't rebelling, of course, rebellion is not a natural trait in Anakin Skywalker, although impatience and rashness might be, but he's trying the borders within which they're moving together, toeing the line. Always toeing the line, with him. Sarica raises both eyebrows slowly, nods down at Anakin's hand. The metal catching what little light's readily available. ] I'm going to prepare you properly. You'll thank me later. So thank me loudly.
[ Having the utmost respect for both the touch and the grip of Anakin's metal fingers, Sarica doesn't pull at his wrist, doesn't try to force the next natural step. From his other hand, the oil's dripping his palm and fingers drenched in the stuff, and he twists his hand a little to make it thoroughly covered. Enough for them both, Anakin's arse, his own cock. He runs his thumb over the metallic joint at the other man's wrist, what would have been pulse point. ]
Let me go.
[ Waiting, not patiently, but expectantly, for Anakin to do as he's told, Sarica pushes up on his elbows again, getting closer to Anakin's midriff, chest, a little closer to his face and the stars in his eyes from this angle. He huffs out a breath and doesn't look away from his features as he, once freed, slowly leans in, until they're brushing against each other and, reaching around the other man, Sarica can ghost his fingertips down over one buttock, tailbone, the place where his cock was. He's already taken one finger, he can take one finger again, surely, so Sarica rubs at his rim with his middle finger briefly, letting it push inside in stages. First joint, second, knuckles, until he's buried himself in him as deep as he'll go like this. Pull back out, in, out, align another finger, careful as he starts pushing in with two, index and middle, scissoring them slightly to open him up once he's inside to the second knuckles. The continuous forward thrusts of his hand are pushing at Anakin's whole lower body, they're sliding against each other.
[ Sarica's eyes narrow, shadows dancing across his features and Anakin swallows against another moan, very undignified, because the man is really very lovely to look at and he's happy about his position, happy to get this view. Sarica, meanwhile, reaches for his metal hand and grips it, holding him still around the shaft of his cock and telling him that Anakin's proposal doesn't fit his pacing. Fine. Fine. Curbing his own impatience forcibly, Anakin releases him, chewing briefly on his own bottom lip to take out some of the tension in his body. He misses the feel of the other man's thumb, rubbing over the joint of his wrist - it might not be as sensitive as his flesh hand but the stimulation translates, regardless.
The intention, too.
Breathing out slowly, he watches as the other man gets up on his elbows and leans in close enough that Anakin can see himself reflected in his pupils, cast in shadows. Even now, even as calm as he is, he can sense the undercurrent of temper still lingering somewhere behind his heart, promises of explosions and fire and death. It's chronic, he thinks. It's inescapable. He licks his lips, his breath sticking in his throat again as Sarica reaches down behind him and rubs his slick middle finger over his arsehole. He remembers not to clench just in time. Lowering his head slightly, he gasps quietly at the feel of the other man's finger burying into him until he can feel the his last knuckle pressing against his buttocks. Sarica fucks into him a couple of times, the stretch suddenly new again but more familiar than before - and then, oh, oh - ]
Force.
[ He's panting, suddenly a lot more open than before, Sarica thrusting into him with two fingers, going deep at each inwards stroke. Experimentally, he tries pushing back with his hips and the motion seems to make the stretch easier along with the glide. Shifting his hips very subtly back and forth, Anakin reaches for Sarica with both hands, grabbing onto his shoulders for balance.
It occurs to him that two fingers are still a long way from being as thick as the man's cock and already, he feels full, like his body's fighting to accommodate them. It annoys him, somehow, like there's a limitation here that he can't just overcome simply by stepping into it. ]
[ There's no restraint to how he lets the word slip, ragged and hard, staring up along the slope of Anakin's chest, the shadows of his neck, jawline, hair falling all over his face, curls bouncing at every movement he makes. Sarica opens him up slowly, in this one aspect almost frighteningly patient, scissoring into him, feeling how his arsehole gives. Anakin is all burning heat and tightness around his fingers and at every inward thrust of his fingers, the whole rocking motion it creates, his breath escapes him in a little gasp, the smell of sex and lubricant heavy and sweet in the air. He thinks about the visit they had from Anakin's commander. He thinks about Ulos who was in this man tonight, when it was no doubt Sarica who should've been in him first. He thinks, I'll go deeper, where he remembers me more.
Another thrust, another and Sarica pauses for a second, leaning in to lick a fat trail up the middle of Anakin's chest, naked and smooth and hard, muscles bulging underneath the skin. Sarica looked a bit, a little bit like that once, too. Time comes for them all. A smile. His voice is hoarse, when he speaks. ]
Relax, one more. After that, I'll fuck you. [ At the end of the lick, he kisses him, it's further up his chest, closer to collarbone, there is heartbeat and pulse beneath his lips. ] It'll hurt, Anakin, but it'll be good, too. I'll be good to you.
[ And like that, he pulls out to the tips of his fingers, aligning a third with the rest and squeezing them as tightly together as he can before repeating the intrusive pushing, feeling the third widen the rim of Anakin's arsehole insistently, stretching him, stretching him good. Sarica's panting, like it was him who was getting fucked, and penetrates him relentlessly, digging into him in stages until the third, as well, is in past the first knuckle, the second, he's tight, by the Mysteries. No one has taken him before. Sarica is the first.
His cock is dripping precum at this point. He presses his forehead to Anakin's overheated, sweaty chest and pulls out, pushes in, slow, slow, letting him get used to the feeling of fullness. ]
[ Sarica does... something with his fingers (separating them whilst inside his body?) that makes Anakin's sight blur for a second and he forgets his rhythm for a moment, hips stuttering. The other man keeps going, though, filling him up, pulling back and forth and leaving his arsehole feeling steadfastly more open. When he licks a trail of up his chest, Anakin smiles faintly, chin still tilted downwards. There's something so wet and hot about this, about how close they are, how they have all this access to each other and he thinks he could keep going for hours, really, if not for the fact that his body is desperate for release.
Sarica tells him to relax, that he'll give him one more (??) and Anakin very nearly tells him where to shove it which would have been profoundly stupid, even by his impulsive standards. Consequently - because being stupid isn't his preferred mode around people he cares about, people he loves - Anakin swallows his words and his impatience again, something about pain and thresholds lingering right at the back of his tongue.
He doesn't get to say whatever he could've said about it, though, because Sarica pushes a third finger into him, forcing it past the resistance of his body. Anakin groans loudly and pushes back against him, swallowing him up, the stretch making his head feel light as air and when Sarica starts fucking him like that, his breath trembles out of him every time he goes deep, his insides seemingly rearranging themselves around the other man's fingers. His cock is leaking now, precum dripping onto Sarica's abdomen. Slowly, he lowers his head another inch, his lips slipping into Sarica's hair. He mouths at him greedily, at his temples, along the top of his head, strands sticking to his teeth. ]
[ You are good to me, says Anakin and mouths at his forehead, his temple, nuzzling into his hair as he speaks. Sarica huffs out a breath, not a laugh, he certainly isn't laughing at him, it's too precious for that, but there's something akin to amusement in the sound still, akin to you're beautiful and strong and good, akin to philosophical debates about being deserving and having earned. Sarica wonders how even like this, when he's taking his body and pushing him past all his natural defences, Anakin can say that. How he can think that. And then, he doesn't wonder anymore, because the other man is leaking precum everywhere and writhing against him and he wants him and what Anakin wants, Anakin will have, because in the end, it's him who is good. In the end, Sarica will give him anything and try to be better, better, better.
No one has ever inspired him like this, to outdo himself, to care to perform, to act right in accordance. For a legislator, Sarica has truly never given much thought to morals. They call it his failing, at the Senate, but it's never failed him before. It's always served him well.
Here, between them, where their bodies are sliding together, Sarica thinks it's become void. Morality has no place here. He exhales, his cock throbbing. He can't... Not any longer. So he removes his fingers from Anakin's arse finally, pulls them out gingerly and reaches for his own cock, slicking himself up with what remains of oil, his palm still wet from it. It's brief, light touches, or he'll surely come prematurely.
Stretching, he kisses the bottom slope of Anakin's neck, making them press into each other, from above, from below, and Sarica inhales now, deeply, angling himself and guiding his cock up between Anakin's buttocks, feeling them spread for him, feeling the now very puffed rim of his arsehole feel wider and inviting against the shaft, the head, oh, oh. Exhale, sharper. He turns his face upwards and looks into the shadows of Anakin's, into his eyes. ]
Be greedy, Anakin Skywalker. Take what you want from me.
[ His breathing is shot and shaking. Sarica licks his lips and starts pushing, feeling the open hole slowly, slowly widen around the head of his cock. His gaze is hazy and black around the edges. He's waited. So long, he's... ]
[ Sarica huffs out a breath and it sounds like the kind of sound you make when you can't quite believe what you're getting and it's that carefully obscured part of the other man that Anakin loves more than anything else, the part that he hides away because the world is... difficult and it takes out your soft spots the same way snipers take out your men on the battlefield if you come unprepared. He knows. He's never been very good at preparing, granted, but Anakin knows.
As he was taught from the beginning of things.
Moaning, he leans into the touch of Sarica's lips against his neck and when the other man pulls out his fingers, he feels so empty that he nearly whimpers at it, his arsehole hypersensitive and wet. He shifts on his knees, impatient because he can't be anything else, and then Sarica angles his cock inwards and guides it between his buttocks and oh, it's - it's -
His eyes widen and he stares into Sarica's, his breath catching in his chest as the other man pushes in. It's massive. It's huge. Lips parted, he feels the girth of Sarica's cock, the head, it's just the head, kriff, kriff - it's spreading him open, forcing his body to stretch and it's like his arsehole can't quite cooperate, like his body might just fail him -
Gritting his teeth and forgetting Sarica's no doubt sage advice, Anakin shifts his hips, fingers digging into the other man's shoulders for balance. Then, he pushes back and the head of Sarica's cock pops past his entrance with a slick sound that he can't hear because his mind goes blank. The stretch burns and for some reason (like he's seen it, like he'd remember if he just tried hard enough), it feels like he was meant to burn in different ways and this is better, this is release. He likes it. He really likes it. He runs his flesh hand up the side of Sarica's face and pulls him in against his neck further, pressing him against his skin, keeping him close. Then, exhaling audibly, he lets himself sink down onto his cock, lets it burn and stretch, lets it turn him inside out.
When he seats himself in Sarica's lap, he's gasping for breath, his body trembling. He stays like that, still, feeling the other man's cock filling him up, taking up all remaining space within him and he can't believe how complete he feels like this, it's like there's something constantly missing otherwise.
A chronic condition.
His head falls back slowly until he's gazing upwards. ]
[ They start out, staring at each other, into each other's eyes and Sarica blinks against the bright blues of Anakin's irises, exhaling sharply as the other man opens up around him, his body tightly wrought and wet from oil and squeezing around him. It's almost too much, it's too snug and warm and wet, it's too close and too soft and Anakin then pulls his face in against his neck, holding him even closer and Sarica breathes him in, smells him, tastes him, every breath, wet and shaking, it tastes like him. His balls draw up.
It feels like a possibly unsateable urge, to bury deeper, to take and take, but Anakin takes first, of course, ever so impatient, forgetting his exhalations and to relax his muscles, pushing himself down over him, like a sheath. Like a snug little hole. Moving. Contracting. Soft and desperate.
Sarica moans, between gritted teeth and grabs the other man by the thighs, halfway to his hips and digs in his fingers, holding him down. Forcing him down to the root of himself. He'd tell him to stay there, but Anakin is staring up at the ceiling, mouth open, body overcome and Sarica gives him time, painful, aching, trembling seconds, to find his footing again, to not take the ground away from underneath his feet.
Anakin is already too good at doing that to himself. No encouragements needed.
Then, after half a minute, Sarica can't stand it any longer. He grunts, groans and harshly lifts Anakin off his lap again, feeling how he slides off of him to the head, and back down, and up, down. It's slow at first, but hard, harsh, unapologetic. I want you, it says, I need you, I need your innermost. Breaths stumbling out of him in time, he starts rocking up against Anakin, the friction of every glide making him see stars.
He presses his forehead in against the other man's shoulder, lips slipping over his sweaty skin and he finally registers the taste, salt and himself. Anakin, who is even sharper than salt. Sarica breathes him in. He fucks into him. Harder, slowly it becomes harder and he's so close, he's almost whimpering from it.
[ Sarica holds him, grabbing his hips and keeping him grounded against his lap and oh, his cock feels massive inside of him. Anakin's panting audibly, trying to get used to the sensation and hitting a wall at every turn - just shifting slightly makes the other man's cock move with him, within him, and he's so open that it feels obscene, like he can't - ]
Aah!
[ He grabs onto Sarica's shoulders again, desperately, as the other man lifts him off his lap with a deep grunt that goes straight to Anakin's cock. He stares at the other man, wide-eyed still and almost uncomprehending, as he lifts him off his cock - partially - only to pull him back down. Repeat. Repeat. Getting fucked, Anakin thinks, feeling like his mind's trying to separate itself from his body, I'm getting fucked. He lets Sarica carry him for all of another two seconds before he realises how ridiculous that is, he's got his knees against the mattress, he can find purchase! Shaking his head to clear it, his hair flying everywhere and his curls bouncing around his shoulders, Anakin finally looks down at Sarica, gaze narrowing in concentration - and simply stops, halfway down the other man's cock.
Tightening his legs around him for balance, he sits down in one, smooth glide. His lower body screeches at the feel of it, the burn, the stretch, and he does it again, sits up, falls down, and the pain dissipates, turning into something more like a dull throbbing deep inside his body. His erection, having lost a little bit of its hardness, comes back with a vengeance and then, he accidentally angles himself in a certain way and oh. Oh. Leaning down, he runs both hands up the sides of Sarica's face and angles him upwards by the chin before he leans in and kisses him, rolling his hips, his balls tightening up.
He comes like that, clenching rhythmically around Sarica's cock and kissing him, slower, wetter, tongue slipping into his lips, trying to get his breath, too, like he's already getting all the rest of him. ]
[ This time Anakin does take his cue, though in his own time and it's exactly as Sarica wants it, exactly as he wants him. He forces himself to a halt halfway down Sarica's cock, clenching around him so Sarica's toes curl and then, he takes over. Seamlessly, smoothly, just starts lifting himself up and off of him, down again, repeat, and Sarica's breath gets stuck in his throat as he watches him, watches as he fucks himself on his cock, takes him in, lets Sarica take him in turn and fill him out. He moans, still low, still throaty, and allows the other man to decide the pace, watching his face intently, like staring at the divine, the way it changes when he finds his own spot, evidently, rolling his hips in response and taking more of that feeling. Take it, Sarica thinks, watching Anakin's hands come up and cup his face, before he leans in and kisses him, deeply, wetly on the mouth, panting into him as he comes, take it all.
After that, it all blurs together. The kissing, wet and sloppy and wanting, Anakin's arsehole contracting, squeezing at him rhythmically until he loses the last semblance of control. He feels like a whole explosion, he feels like he is turning himself inside out - like Anakin is making him and he isn't protesting, although he would, with anyone else. They've rewritten the rules. Anakin's body is rewriting the rules now. Like that, Sarica comes, groaning into Anakin's mouth and grabbing him by the thighs, lower back, further up, shoulder blades, fingers digging in, grasping at him desperately, so desperately, while he fucks into him, rocking forward forcefully and taking his body's tightness, the wet squelch of oil. He spends himself in hard spurts, his hips feeling almost consulsively tight, his balls pounding. If he'd had his eyes open, he'd still have seen nothing.
Or he'd only have seen Anakin. Either or.
Pulling out of the kiss finally, gasping harshly, everything wet from spit and cum, Sarica is shaking against Anakin's body, overheated and chilly at the same time. He more or less thuds his forehead against the side of his neck, mouths at him uncomprehendingly. Too much, his body's another world, where did this man take him? Will he take him there again, or somewhere else, always somewhere else?
His front is sticky from Anakin's cum and he reaches down to mindlessly run his fingers through it, drawing lines that he doesn't recognise right away form the symbol for balance. ]
[ He can't say how long it takes - it feels like one, outdrawn moment, timeless - before Sarica follows him over the edge, clinging onto him the entire way. Anakin tastes him on his mouth, feels him down to the very core of his body, and it's the most satisfying thing he's ever felt, it feels like being one, like being whole. When Sarica comes out of the kiss, his cock throbbing within him, Anakin looks down at him with nothing but warmth in his eyes, running his metal fingers over his scalp slowly, fingers slipping through his hair. He curls his other hand against the back of his head and holds him. Keeping still, he feels Sarica's cock, hard still, buried to the base in his body and the stretch isn't painful any longer, hasn't been for some time.
It's good.
He glances down as Sarica's hand moves between them, watching as he runs his fingers through the trails of cum Anakin's left on his abdomen. He frowns, watching the pattern of his fingers. He knows what that is, he thinks, mindlessly, his head swimming with pleasure, with calm. He knows. He tilts his head sideways in thought, breathing raggedly still through his parted lips, his breath ghosting over Sarica's chin. ]
It's... [ He swallows. Clears his throat. ] Balance, isn't it? Like the one on my jewelry.
[ He glances down at his wrist, the left one. The thin silver bracelet glitters against his skin. ]
I love you, you know.
[ He leans down and kisses Sarica's cheek gently, all traces of violence gone from his limbs, his movements and his mind. It's odd, being like that. A strange state of existence. He knows he'll be back to scratch tomorrow but right now, he feels so centered that he can't believe he's ever lost hold of himself, even once. This is good.
[ It's honestly the only answer he can muster, the great legislator, infamous for his way with words, reduced to one-syllable grunting noises to reply to an otherwise clever observation. Still, he smiles very slightly and finishes the last line on the last symbol in a row, drying his sticky fingertips off in the sheets without much care, instead welcoming Anakin closer as he leans down and kisses his cheek. It's such a sweet gesture, childish almost, definitely innocent. But of course, Anakin is all of those things, too, besides shadows and warfare. He's the perfect balance between those two things, that's why he's so vulnerable. Balances can so easily be off-set.
I love you, Anakin tells him, then, you know, and no, Anakin Skywalker, you will always surprise him with your love declarations, Sarica is never going to suspect. Does he know that he loves Anakin, yes. Does he know he'd kill and destroy for him, yes. Does he know Anakin loves him back, no.
Knowing would require believing and ah, they haven't quite reached that point yet. A few more orgasms like this one, though. Maybe.
Maybe.
Pushing back up on his elbows, he lets himself be held and he reaches up and grabs Anakin by the side of his neck, pulling him back down, kissing him on the mouth, deeply, but not as deeply as he could, it's not to claim territory or win battles, it's to show that he understands this much. That being loved by Anakin is a gift and he's grateful, Sarica who has never in his life felt gratitude for anything, anyone. Entitlement, certainly, and does he believe he deserves Anakin's affections -- He believes no one else deserves them more. That's what the kiss means.
Only then does Sarica slip down on his back, flat, again and just looks up at Anakin through the shadows where he also belongs, but not right now. Now he belongs in Sarica's arms and Sarica holds his arms out to him, inviting him to his chest. He doesn't need to fear the emptiness of his arse, there will be heartbeats and they will be the two of them.
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Then, trust me to make you come twice.
[ It's gently teasing, it says don't worry about it, it doesn't matter to me and I could come just watching you give yourself over like this, I'd gladly come now, with you. Because, with Anakin's lack of an actual refractory period, he'll be ready again in due time for Sarica to take him, and he'll be endlessly more relaxed, too. It might even be the ideal way.
So, Sarica leans in over his back then, he lies across one half of his body, keeping him down and tethered and safe, letting Anakin feel his heat and his weight and his steadiness, fucking into him slowly with his finger, while - with his other hand - Sarica reaches beneath the table and firmly grabs him by the base of his cock, angling it away from his body a bit, giving him room. On the next in-stroke, he starts stroking his cock as well, simultaneously bending his finger and rubbing very lightly over that spot inside him, feeling for it, caressing it, drawing back, pushing in again, repeat.
His own cock is weeping precum against the upper part of Anakin's naked inner thigh and Sarica has to steel himself, not to thrust forward, give himself more, take it. He might not want to hold Anakin back, but himself? That's another matter. ]
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His arsehole is getting used to the sensation too, he finds. It burned maybe a little bit to begin with but right now, there's just that wet glide of the other man's finger, filling him up and keeping him open. He shifts, trying to spread his legs a bit more when Sarica reaches for his cock with his other hand and just the fact that he's touching him makes his balls draw up. Mouth hanging open (and drooling unhindered on the tabletop, yes, thanks), Anakin forgets to breathe.
Then, Sarica... does something with his finger inside his arse, hits... something - something -- ]
Aaah!
[ He actually jumps slightly, his buttocks clenching violently along with his arsehole and then, breath stuck in his throat, he comes like it's a fucking explosion, all over Sarica's hand and the floor and whatever else, who cares, Kriff, what the hell was that and oh, his muscles - everything feels almost oversaturated with warmth. He's clenching around Sarica's finger and writhing on the table, curling in against the heat of Sarica's body against his back, trying to disappear within him, within whatever part of him he can reach.
The pleasure nearly blinds him.
He's breathing raggedly as the flood of it ebbs out. ]
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Watching him, the way he writhes and gasps and drools and pushes himself in against him, like he wants more and more and more and Sarica will give him all of it, everything, patience, Anakin Skywalker, and you will not be in want of anything anymore - yes, watching him like that, Sarica absentmindedly remembers that he can't actually pinpoint the first time he was made aware of this particular spot, that one day he simply knew and it made sex easier, more pleasurable and enjoyable, but most of all, easy. He would never want the same experience for Anakin, by the Mysteries, how disappointed he'd be if Anakin won't remember twenty years from now this exact fuck and how Sarica made him spend himself all over the floor and his fingers and his arsehole contracting around his intruding finger. So disappointed.
As it is, he just waits it out, Anakin's orgasm, the way it floods him and takes him in waves, and his whole body becomes both too huge and too small for its own skin and he's crawling into him, while his arsehole still clenches around his finger and Sarica truly, truly has to keep himself focused not to come at the mere sight. He lies across his back, feels how his breathing is torn from his lungs, ragged and hard, and he slowly releases Anakin's cock to reach up and rub his cum-covered fingers over the fabric between the other man's shoulder blades, just stroking him softly, letting him land again. ]
Relax. I'm going to pull out now, give you a moment to fall down, before we build you up again, understood?
[ With that, Sarica slowly pulls out his finger, lingering at Anakin's very opening to massage his well-used nerve endings, still contracting a little bit against him as he finally withdraws. His own cock is painful.
And his hands, when he places them flat on the tabletop on either side of Anakin's head to push off of him, shaking. ]
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Sarica, meanwhile, rubs his fingers, slick from cum, between his shoulder blades and Anakin's shoulders relax a bit more from the attention though honestly, he shouldn't be physically capable of relaxing any further than he already is. Force. Sarica pulls his finger out slowly, Anakin's arse clenching in the wake of it and when the other man presses his fingertip briefly against the rim, he makes a weird, high-pitched sound in his throat, not unlike an animal that someone's managed to step on by accident.
As the other man pushes off him, Anakin very nearly turns on the spot and grabs for him. He doesn't want the distance. He wants the weight, the gravity of it because right now, he can't imagine getting angry enough to choke anyone. Not at all. He can't imagine that he'd ever drift away that far, that he could go farther yet and farther, until he lost all traces of his own mooring. He can't imagine.
Doesn't want to, either.
Finding purchase with his metal hand, he finally lifts himself up and off the tabletop, wincing as his cheek actually sticks to it for a moment, his own saliva clinging to his skin. He scrambles against the floor for balance for half an undignified second before he finds his feet and turns, clumsily, until he can face Sarica. The other man's cock is flushed from arousal, heavy and hard against his stomach. Anakin's arsehole actually clenches again, like his body's already decided what goes where and how.
Things tend to progress, with Anakin.
He looks up at Sarica from beneath hooded eyes, his hair crawling into his face. Grabbing the table hard with both hands, he swallows thickly before he speaks. ]
Could you fuck me in your bed?
[ He looks down, lips twitching in a near-smile. ]
Kinda want to be comfortable.
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Sarica has to breathe in very deeply, filling his lungs to the brim as he looks the other man over and takes him in, how he's disheveled him, taken him apart a little at the seams, so there's a glimpse of the stuff within. He's beautiful and Sarica wants nothing more than to fill him up, his mouth, his arse, his whole body, head to toe. He wants to have his place inside of him, first and last, Anakin Skywalker. First and last.
Thus, he smiles, a sharp tug at the corner of his mouth, though not cruel or unkind, just amused in that way that is Sarica's own. He crosses the distance between them, the thing that there's too much of currently, and reaches up to cup his cheek, his fingers still smelling like cock and cum, before leaning in and kissing him. His hand slides up into his hair, doesn't pull, though. Not this time. Anakin will follow at his own leisure. His own volition.
But he keeps kissing him for a long while, only pulling back once the strain in his cock gets too much to bear and he steps back, turning towards the entrace doors, left ajar, and heading for them, unceremoniously, no dallying about. The sound of his sandals against the floor is weirdly clothed, considering what they've just done, what they're about to do. So he shrugs out of his tunic on the way, leaving it in a heap on the gathering room floor. Naked, just in his sandals, he looks at Anakin over his shoulder, raising one eyebrow slightly. ]
Since I plan to bend you over till your knees touch your shoulders, comfort is not a thing I can promise you. [ Thank you kindly for that time by the campfire, it means, my old man back says. Sarica smiles, however, and throws the door to the hallways open, continuing down towards his bedroom, cutting a corner on the way, the shadows thick and long here. ] But I will promise you enjoyment.
[ Only once he's inside the bedroom does he bend down to loosen his sandal straps, kicking the footwear off into a corner, he doesn't care which one and turns towards Anakin, opening his arms.
Come, it means. ]
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When the other man steps into his personal space with an expression that most people would probably find suspicious (Anakin, on his part, recognises Sarica and the ways he carries himself and this smile, sharp and transitory, is exactly him), Anakin opens his arms to him and meets his kiss head-on, smelling himself on his fingers when Sarica touches his face. They stay like that, kissing, entwined, and Sarica's cock feels wet near the tip against his thigh, wet and hard. Anakin thinks about touching it. But his arse feels weirdly empty now and he wants the other man, wants to feel him sink in and lose himself.
So he keeps his hands to himself, aside from grabbing onto Sarica's tunic until he pulls out of the kiss and walks away.
It takes Anakin's brain an embarrassing five seconds to put the pieces together.
Then, he scrambles after the other man, picking up his trousers on the way like a second thought and shrugging out of his tunic. Naked, he also grabs Sarica's tunic off the floor without thinking about it, like it's second nature - and so, he freezes in place, standing there with too much fabric between his fingers and he thinks about Sarica, fingering him, about simply lying on the tabletop and taking it with the other man's weight bearing down along his back, warm, comfortable, safe. His fingers tighten almost to the point of a tremble.
He takes both tunics with him and leaves them together in a pile on a chair in the bedroom. The shadows in the room stretch across Sarica's face but his eyes go free, dark as they already are, and the depth within them makes Anakin feel small, even born as he was half-way from the very fabric of the universe itself. He pauses. Looks at Sarica's open arms for a moment before he steps into them, curling both arms around the other man's waist and going straight for his lips. He presses up against Sarica's front, feeling the whole length of him, his nakedness and the softness of his skin and backs them towards the bed. ]
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Arms coming up to slide around Anakin's shoulders, grabbing him hard, fingers curling over the base of his neck, like a hold, a stay, don't move, he lets himself fall down onto the bed and drags Anakin with him, the whole structure creaking as they hit the mattress, but it holds, it's good carpentry. Sarica would never buy a bed that couldn't stand a round of rough fucking. Really.
What purpose would it have, then? Sleep? Come now, he can sleep when he gets old. Older.
Anakin always makes him feel ageless, in both the infinite and the definite way.
Pulling the other man on top of him, getting their legs well and truly entangled, then their tongues, and everything tastes and feels like him, Sarica pulls out of the kiss and turns his head to the side, lifting his left hand to his mouth and sucking three fingers in between his lips, wetting them throughly, until they're dripping and his wrist feels wet. All the while, he keeps his eyes on Anakin in the darkness, both eyebrows going up once he pops his fingers out of his mouth. There was the taste of the other man's cum and cock, for a while. It's all saliva now. Watery. Thin, in comparison. ]
For your enjoyment. [ A deep inhale, then he looks down between them, reaching down Anakin's front, teasing his fingers from his midriff and down, until he can curl his fingers around his still soft balls, weighing them gently on his palm, feeling out the outline of his testicles, feeling the skin grow slick and warm. Mm.
Sarica leans his forehead in against the side of Anakin's face. ] We're going slow. Patience.
[ The fact that he still hasn't ejaculated spontaneously himself is some kind of miracle. He'll give the Mysteries that, if nothing else. ]
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Anakin stares, transfixed, at the stretch of the other man's lips and the way his skin grows gradually slicker from spit. His lips are glossy from it, too, and a bit swollen. His cock is definitely waking up again, growing half-hard against his thigh, the remnants of his orgasm lingering in his body as a persistent thrum of pleasure. When Sarica reaches down between them, he shivers and dips his chin to follow the motion of his hand, watching as the other man fingers his balls, a gentle exploration that makes his belly feel tight from arousal. He exhales audibly. Patience says Sarica and Anakin makes a choked-off sound, a half-laugh edged with something else.
Apparently, no matter his choices, he'll be forever doomed to have that word repeated at him.
He leans down and kisses Sarica's cheek, moving over the sharp line of his chin and feeling his dark stubble against his lips. Reaching down between them, taking care not to get his metal hand into some sort of territorial dispute with the other man's hand, he curls his fingers around Sarica's cock and strokes it gently, knowing full well that he isn't slick enough by far. Regardless, he also happens to know what Sarica thinks about this particular sensation and so, he runs his metal thumb over the head of his cock, coaxing precum from the tip and smearing it over the glans.
Patience, right?
Believe in it. ]
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Sarica smiles, feeling the other man's lips work their way over his jawline, no doubt a raspy experience currently, he isn't as smooth as he normally keeps, is he? A whole evening's festivities, no breaks, not for the bathroom, not for anything. This is his break, you'd think, Anakin kissing his face and reaching down between them with his metal hand, Sarica feeling the weight of it even before it touches him. Oh.
As the other man wraps his fingers around his shaft, he actually arches a bit in his back, huffing out a rough breath and gasping - air stuck in his throat and shivers running down his spine. Yes. He can tell how Anakin is already half-hard again and mirrors the other man, curling his own fingers around the shaft, giving the slowly hardening flesh some easy, loose strokes, spreading the remainder of his saliva everywhere. Good.
They're reflecting each other, mirror images.
It's as it should be.
Maybe he'll take him like this, too. Leave him in some semblance of control. He needs it, his Anakin. He's earned it, too.
Turning his head to the side, catching the younger man's lips, groaning into his mouth when he starts smearing precum over the head of Sarica's cock with his metal thumb, the pressure slick in a strange and exciting new way, Sarica finally just gives in and pushes up into his grip, letting himself take the friction and the tight slide. Mm. It takes a lot of mental focus to keep from just pushing the last bit of the way, letting himself float with it, coming, but Sarica has both stamina and stubbornness, after all these years, he knows how to pace himself. So he slows himself down, while simultaneously starting to work Anakin's cock harder, faster, feeling it go erect and long and heavy against his palm.
Against Anakin's lips, into his open mouth cavity, running his tongue over the slope of the other man's, stroking him, pressing back, he moans, long and outdrawn, slowly angling his hips backwards, pulling out of the other man's unyielding grip. Finally, he also pulls back from the kiss, lips swollen and wet and his voice hoarse. ]
I'll have you like this. Straddle me.
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Anakin groans loudly against Sarica's face as he feels himself grow hard between his fingers. He thrusts into the other man's grip, pleasure throbbing in his groin with every slick slide and between his own fingers, Sarica mirrors him, letting himself go for a moment and Anakin can't remember what they were actually planning here but it feels amazing, he thinks, let's just do this. Falling into the rhythm, he's conscious of every little inch of skin pressed against his own, Sarica's body warm and solid beneath him and he loves being this close to him, he'd go further if he could, if he -- ]
No.
[ It actually comes out as a verbal protest this time, not commanding but pitifully desperate, as Sarica pulls out of his grasp and away, again. He's so hard now that he can't think. Blinking harshly, he has to focus to understand that Sarica's telling him - oh. Oh, right.
Back on track.
He flushes, embarrassed despite himself. You'd think, after three years at war, he'd know how to follow a kriffing plan. Then, very unwillingly, he thinks about Palpatine. About what he could've done if he'd been less desperate, if the other man had known how to bargain with something that mattered to him.
For just a second, he's overcome with the implications and rather than following Sarica's lead (because of course he doesn't), Anakin curls one arm around his shoulders and buries his face against the side of his neck. He stays there, breathing raggedly, desperately, his mind swimming. He'd nearly killed Ulos tonight. He'd lost control of himself.
I'll have you like this. Because he will, won't he, Sarica, even like this. ]
Give me a second.
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Give me a second, Anakin begs and Sarica reaches up, spit-slick, precum-covered fingers slipping over his side, up his back, spreading out between his shoulder blades, holding him down. Like he did at the table in the gathering room, but against a softer surface. Their chests heave in time with each other, in and out, in and out. Anakin getting cradled against his front this way, rocked gently on his breathing. Sarica holds him, his other hand coming up as well and supporting his other side, just above his hip. They're hard and desperate, but for different reasons and Sarica has waited half an hour already, he can wait another moment, he will give him that much. And more.
Between their bodies, though, his cock is reddening and weeping and throbbing hard. He isn't going to last long, once they reach the end of their little journey tonight. It's going to be an in and out job, pretty much.
It'll be what it is. Regardless, it's beautiful. With Anakin, it can't be anything else.
What he wants the most right now is to see his face.
Turning his head, Sarica glances down at him, at the shadows that are eating his features, because the darkness claims Anakin like he belonged there, when he belongs as much in the path of light. Slowly, he reaches up and pushes some hair out of his face, rubbing at his cheekbone lightly with his thumb, temple, ear, hair again. ]
You aren't owned by anything, Anakin. You don't even need to answer to yourself. Which means, you're free to act as you want, at any given time. [ A slight, uncomfortable twist beneath the other man's body weight and Sarica gasps slightly as his cock slides wet and swollen over his thigh. There's no hitch in his voice, however, when he continues, quietly. ] Most people never know that kind of freedom.
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Sarica touches his face, pushes at his hair a little, and Anakin finds his way back, the other man's words echoing in his mind. He knows about freedom, does Sarica, despite the fact that he used to own others, that he still does in his own way, through the games he plays in the Senate. It's not about that. It's about the choices he's made for himself, Sarica, and Anakin knows enough about those to realise that he's fought for his freedom in his own way whilst Anakin...
Well.
Anakin has been set free, more than once in his life.
By others, he thinks, because that might just be how things are for him. Always by others.
He lifts himself up on his hands, looking down at Sarica now, his own gaze soft despite the heaviness behind his eyes, the wetness lingering in the corners. He takes a deep breath and centers himself, chest heaving for a second, before he gets to his knees on either side of Sarica's body. Pushing himself up carefully, he angles himself to let Sarica's hard cock slip between his buttocks a little, wetness tracking over his skin. ]
Most people don't have someone who'll know how to grant it.
[ He says it quietly, though his words are steady. Straightening a little as he sits, he runs his hands up Sarica's shoulders slowly, pushing back very slightly against the girth of his cock. The logistics of making it fit no longer seem quite so daunting. ]
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Sarica breathes out harshly, a long, hard exhalation, going on forever while the slight friction makes his balls draw up more than they need to, really, but all that it takes. The other man's skin is soft and slightly sweat-slick and his own cock produces precum enough that the slide is nice, good, very good. He runs with it, pushing up with his hips, stealing more of the glide and pushing his cock up into the crack of Anakin's ass, rubbing himself against him.
Yes, they're doing it like this, but not quite this way, are they? Not enough lube. He could take Anakin now and it certainly wouldn't kill him, but Sarica has learned to expect that Anakin will survive most things, more than he should, too, and come to realize that he doesn't want him to survive anything, he wants him to live it to its fullest. Enjoy it, love it.
Someone once took Sarica just like this and he certainly didn't love them for it, did he?
So he looks up at Anakin through the shadows that are too heavy across his face, like weights dragging him down and he digs his fingers into the other man's hips for a moment, hard, fingertips pushing into flesh, skin, holding him still, very still, close. Then, releasing him, he fights against Anakin's hands and pushes up on his elbows, looking towards his bedside table, oil on display because they fuck enough to merit it.
Gaze returning to Anakin, he keeps his voice even and with no pretenses. ]
Believe me when I say, neither of us is most people and we truly deserve each other.
[ And so, he leans as much to the side as he can, for Anakin's body weighing him down, dragging him nowhere, grabbing the small flask of oil and pouring it liberally out over his free palm, before dropping the flask off to the side, out of the way. The oil shines in the faint traces of moonlight. His fingers, slick.
The question comes to him not like second nature, but like an afterthought. Meeting Anakin's eyes, he raises his chin, relaxes back on one elbow and touches his not-oily hand to his thigh, the strong expanses of it, muscle, tense, moving. ]
Tell me that you want it.
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Yes, here on Efith, with Sarica, it becomes obvious to him how little he could truly see.
Sighing, he relaxes a bit more into his position astride Sarica's thighs, watching as the other man slicks up his fingers, the oil glistening on his skin. The sight of it makes Anakin's balls feel painfully tight and his arsehole contracts a little by itself, making his spine tingle. We truly deserve each other says Sarica and Anakin thinks, yes because he doesn't quite know what else he might deserve but this, at least, he can have.
He can.
With a groan, he runs his metal hand through his curls. His strands are damp from sweat. ]
Okay.
[ He arches in his lower back, giving himself a good angle and pressing back against Sarica's cock, feeling the head rubbing over his arsehole again and really, couldn't the man just... ]
Fuck me, please.
[ The please is little but a harsh exhalation, his eyes fluttering shut again as he reaches behind himself, curling his metal fingers around Sarica's cock and angling it inwards a little, just to feel the girth of the head properly, the pressure against the sensitive nerves in his rim. Sure, it would take some work but he could just go for it, couldn't he, sink down on it, if he took it slow? Then again, Sarica's leading so he opens his eyes and looks down at him, meeting his gaze through the darkness expectantly. ]
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No. [ Looking up at the other man, he meets his eyes and holds his gaze just as much as he's holding his wrist. He isn't rebelling, of course, rebellion is not a natural trait in Anakin Skywalker, although impatience and rashness might be, but he's trying the borders within which they're moving together, toeing the line. Always toeing the line, with him. Sarica raises both eyebrows slowly, nods down at Anakin's hand. The metal catching what little light's readily available. ] I'm going to prepare you properly. You'll thank me later. So thank me loudly.
[ Having the utmost respect for both the touch and the grip of Anakin's metal fingers, Sarica doesn't pull at his wrist, doesn't try to force the next natural step. From his other hand, the oil's dripping his palm and fingers drenched in the stuff, and he twists his hand a little to make it thoroughly covered. Enough for them both, Anakin's arse, his own cock. He runs his thumb over the metallic joint at the other man's wrist, what would have been pulse point. ]
Let me go.
[ Waiting, not patiently, but expectantly, for Anakin to do as he's told, Sarica pushes up on his elbows again, getting closer to Anakin's midriff, chest, a little closer to his face and the stars in his eyes from this angle. He huffs out a breath and doesn't look away from his features as he, once freed, slowly leans in, until they're brushing against each other and, reaching around the other man, Sarica can ghost his fingertips down over one buttock, tailbone, the place where his cock was. He's already taken one finger, he can take one finger again, surely, so Sarica rubs at his rim with his middle finger briefly, letting it push inside in stages. First joint, second, knuckles, until he's buried himself in him as deep as he'll go like this. Pull back out, in, out, align another finger, careful as he starts pushing in with two, index and middle, scissoring them slightly to open him up once he's inside to the second knuckles. The continuous forward thrusts of his hand are pushing at Anakin's whole lower body, they're sliding against each other.
Close. ]
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The intention, too.
Breathing out slowly, he watches as the other man gets up on his elbows and leans in close enough that Anakin can see himself reflected in his pupils, cast in shadows. Even now, even as calm as he is, he can sense the undercurrent of temper still lingering somewhere behind his heart, promises of explosions and fire and death. It's chronic, he thinks. It's inescapable. He licks his lips, his breath sticking in his throat again as Sarica reaches down behind him and rubs his slick middle finger over his arsehole. He remembers not to clench just in time. Lowering his head slightly, he gasps quietly at the feel of the other man's finger burying into him until he can feel the his last knuckle pressing against his buttocks. Sarica fucks into him a couple of times, the stretch suddenly new again but more familiar than before - and then, oh, oh - ]
Force.
[ He's panting, suddenly a lot more open than before, Sarica thrusting into him with two fingers, going deep at each inwards stroke. Experimentally, he tries pushing back with his hips and the motion seems to make the stretch easier along with the glide. Shifting his hips very subtly back and forth, Anakin reaches for Sarica with both hands, grabbing onto his shoulders for balance.
It occurs to him that two fingers are still a long way from being as thick as the man's cock and already, he feels full, like his body's fighting to accommodate them. It annoys him, somehow, like there's a limitation here that he can't just overcome simply by stepping into it. ]
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[ There's no restraint to how he lets the word slip, ragged and hard, staring up along the slope of Anakin's chest, the shadows of his neck, jawline, hair falling all over his face, curls bouncing at every movement he makes. Sarica opens him up slowly, in this one aspect almost frighteningly patient, scissoring into him, feeling how his arsehole gives. Anakin is all burning heat and tightness around his fingers and at every inward thrust of his fingers, the whole rocking motion it creates, his breath escapes him in a little gasp, the smell of sex and lubricant heavy and sweet in the air. He thinks about the visit they had from Anakin's commander. He thinks about Ulos who was in this man tonight, when it was no doubt Sarica who should've been in him first. He thinks, I'll go deeper, where he remembers me more.
Another thrust, another and Sarica pauses for a second, leaning in to lick a fat trail up the middle of Anakin's chest, naked and smooth and hard, muscles bulging underneath the skin. Sarica looked a bit, a little bit like that once, too. Time comes for them all. A smile. His voice is hoarse, when he speaks. ]
Relax, one more. After that, I'll fuck you. [ At the end of the lick, he kisses him, it's further up his chest, closer to collarbone, there is heartbeat and pulse beneath his lips. ] It'll hurt, Anakin, but it'll be good, too. I'll be good to you.
[ And like that, he pulls out to the tips of his fingers, aligning a third with the rest and squeezing them as tightly together as he can before repeating the intrusive pushing, feeling the third widen the rim of Anakin's arsehole insistently, stretching him, stretching him good. Sarica's panting, like it was him who was getting fucked, and penetrates him relentlessly, digging into him in stages until the third, as well, is in past the first knuckle, the second, he's tight, by the Mysteries. No one has taken him before. Sarica is the first.
His cock is dripping precum at this point. He presses his forehead to Anakin's overheated, sweaty chest and pulls out, pushes in, slow, slow, letting him get used to the feeling of fullness. ]
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Sarica tells him to relax, that he'll give him one more (??) and Anakin very nearly tells him where to shove it which would have been profoundly stupid, even by his impulsive standards. Consequently - because being stupid isn't his preferred mode around people he cares about, people he loves - Anakin swallows his words and his impatience again, something about pain and thresholds lingering right at the back of his tongue.
He doesn't get to say whatever he could've said about it, though, because Sarica pushes a third finger into him, forcing it past the resistance of his body. Anakin groans loudly and pushes back against him, swallowing him up, the stretch making his head feel light as air and when Sarica starts fucking him like that, his breath trembles out of him every time he goes deep, his insides seemingly rearranging themselves around the other man's fingers. His cock is leaking now, precum dripping onto Sarica's abdomen. Slowly, he lowers his head another inch, his lips slipping into Sarica's hair. He mouths at him greedily, at his temples, along the top of his head, strands sticking to his teeth. ]
You are good to me.
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No one has ever inspired him like this, to outdo himself, to care to perform, to act right in accordance. For a legislator, Sarica has truly never given much thought to morals. They call it his failing, at the Senate, but it's never failed him before. It's always served him well.
Here, between them, where their bodies are sliding together, Sarica thinks it's become void. Morality has no place here. He exhales, his cock throbbing. He can't... Not any longer. So he removes his fingers from Anakin's arse finally, pulls them out gingerly and reaches for his own cock, slicking himself up with what remains of oil, his palm still wet from it. It's brief, light touches, or he'll surely come prematurely.
Stretching, he kisses the bottom slope of Anakin's neck, making them press into each other, from above, from below, and Sarica inhales now, deeply, angling himself and guiding his cock up between Anakin's buttocks, feeling them spread for him, feeling the now very puffed rim of his arsehole feel wider and inviting against the shaft, the head, oh, oh. Exhale, sharper. He turns his face upwards and looks into the shadows of Anakin's, into his eyes. ]
Be greedy, Anakin Skywalker. Take what you want from me.
[ His breathing is shot and shaking. Sarica licks his lips and starts pushing, feeling the open hole slowly, slowly widen around the head of his cock. His gaze is hazy and black around the edges. He's waited. So long, he's... ]
And exhale, deeply.
[ He doesn't stop pushing. ]
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As he was taught from the beginning of things.
Moaning, he leans into the touch of Sarica's lips against his neck and when the other man pulls out his fingers, he feels so empty that he nearly whimpers at it, his arsehole hypersensitive and wet. He shifts on his knees, impatient because he can't be anything else, and then Sarica angles his cock inwards and guides it between his buttocks and oh, it's - it's -
His eyes widen and he stares into Sarica's, his breath catching in his chest as the other man pushes in. It's massive. It's huge. Lips parted, he feels the girth of Sarica's cock, the head, it's just the head, kriff, kriff - it's spreading him open, forcing his body to stretch and it's like his arsehole can't quite cooperate, like his body might just fail him -
Gritting his teeth and forgetting Sarica's no doubt sage advice, Anakin shifts his hips, fingers digging into the other man's shoulders for balance. Then, he pushes back and the head of Sarica's cock pops past his entrance with a slick sound that he can't hear because his mind goes blank. The stretch burns and for some reason (like he's seen it, like he'd remember if he just tried hard enough), it feels like he was meant to burn in different ways and this is better, this is release. He likes it. He really likes it. He runs his flesh hand up the side of Sarica's face and pulls him in against his neck further, pressing him against his skin, keeping him close. Then, exhaling audibly, he lets himself sink down onto his cock, lets it burn and stretch, lets it turn him inside out.
When he seats himself in Sarica's lap, he's gasping for breath, his body trembling. He stays like that, still, feeling the other man's cock filling him up, taking up all remaining space within him and he can't believe how complete he feels like this, it's like there's something constantly missing otherwise.
A chronic condition.
His head falls back slowly until he's gazing upwards. ]
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It feels like a possibly unsateable urge, to bury deeper, to take and take, but Anakin takes first, of course, ever so impatient, forgetting his exhalations and to relax his muscles, pushing himself down over him, like a sheath. Like a snug little hole. Moving. Contracting. Soft and desperate.
Sarica moans, between gritted teeth and grabs the other man by the thighs, halfway to his hips and digs in his fingers, holding him down. Forcing him down to the root of himself. He'd tell him to stay there, but Anakin is staring up at the ceiling, mouth open, body overcome and Sarica gives him time, painful, aching, trembling seconds, to find his footing again, to not take the ground away from underneath his feet.
Anakin is already too good at doing that to himself. No encouragements needed.
Then, after half a minute, Sarica can't stand it any longer. He grunts, groans and harshly lifts Anakin off his lap again, feeling how he slides off of him to the head, and back down, and up, down. It's slow at first, but hard, harsh, unapologetic. I want you, it says, I need you, I need your innermost. Breaths stumbling out of him in time, he starts rocking up against Anakin, the friction of every glide making him see stars.
He presses his forehead in against the other man's shoulder, lips slipping over his sweaty skin and he finally registers the taste, salt and himself. Anakin, who is even sharper than salt. Sarica breathes him in. He fucks into him. Harder, slowly it becomes harder and he's so close, he's almost whimpering from it.
Definitely shaking. Balls like lead. ]
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Aah!
[ He grabs onto Sarica's shoulders again, desperately, as the other man lifts him off his lap with a deep grunt that goes straight to Anakin's cock. He stares at the other man, wide-eyed still and almost uncomprehending, as he lifts him off his cock - partially - only to pull him back down. Repeat. Repeat. Getting fucked, Anakin thinks, feeling like his mind's trying to separate itself from his body, I'm getting fucked. He lets Sarica carry him for all of another two seconds before he realises how ridiculous that is, he's got his knees against the mattress, he can find purchase! Shaking his head to clear it, his hair flying everywhere and his curls bouncing around his shoulders, Anakin finally looks down at Sarica, gaze narrowing in concentration - and simply stops, halfway down the other man's cock.
Tightening his legs around him for balance, he sits down in one, smooth glide. His lower body screeches at the feel of it, the burn, the stretch, and he does it again, sits up, falls down, and the pain dissipates, turning into something more like a dull throbbing deep inside his body. His erection, having lost a little bit of its hardness, comes back with a vengeance and then, he accidentally angles himself in a certain way and oh. Oh. Leaning down, he runs both hands up the sides of Sarica's face and angles him upwards by the chin before he leans in and kisses him, rolling his hips, his balls tightening up.
He comes like that, clenching rhythmically around Sarica's cock and kissing him, slower, wetter, tongue slipping into his lips, trying to get his breath, too, like he's already getting all the rest of him. ]
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After that, it all blurs together. The kissing, wet and sloppy and wanting, Anakin's arsehole contracting, squeezing at him rhythmically until he loses the last semblance of control. He feels like a whole explosion, he feels like he is turning himself inside out - like Anakin is making him and he isn't protesting, although he would, with anyone else. They've rewritten the rules. Anakin's body is rewriting the rules now. Like that, Sarica comes, groaning into Anakin's mouth and grabbing him by the thighs, lower back, further up, shoulder blades, fingers digging in, grasping at him desperately, so desperately, while he fucks into him, rocking forward forcefully and taking his body's tightness, the wet squelch of oil. He spends himself in hard spurts, his hips feeling almost consulsively tight, his balls pounding. If he'd had his eyes open, he'd still have seen nothing.
Or he'd only have seen Anakin. Either or.
Pulling out of the kiss finally, gasping harshly, everything wet from spit and cum, Sarica is shaking against Anakin's body, overheated and chilly at the same time. He more or less thuds his forehead against the side of his neck, mouths at him uncomprehendingly. Too much, his body's another world, where did this man take him? Will he take him there again, or somewhere else, always somewhere else?
His front is sticky from Anakin's cum and he reaches down to mindlessly run his fingers through it, drawing lines that he doesn't recognise right away form the symbol for balance. ]
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It's good.
He glances down as Sarica's hand moves between them, watching as he runs his fingers through the trails of cum Anakin's left on his abdomen. He frowns, watching the pattern of his fingers. He knows what that is, he thinks, mindlessly, his head swimming with pleasure, with calm. He knows. He tilts his head sideways in thought, breathing raggedly still through his parted lips, his breath ghosting over Sarica's chin. ]
It's... [ He swallows. Clears his throat. ] Balance, isn't it? Like the one on my jewelry.
[ He glances down at his wrist, the left one. The thin silver bracelet glitters against his skin. ]
I love you, you know.
[ He leans down and kisses Sarica's cheek gently, all traces of violence gone from his limbs, his movements and his mind. It's odd, being like that. A strange state of existence. He knows he'll be back to scratch tomorrow but right now, he feels so centered that he can't believe he's ever lost hold of himself, even once. This is good.
This is good. ]
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[ It's honestly the only answer he can muster, the great legislator, infamous for his way with words, reduced to one-syllable grunting noises to reply to an otherwise clever observation. Still, he smiles very slightly and finishes the last line on the last symbol in a row, drying his sticky fingertips off in the sheets without much care, instead welcoming Anakin closer as he leans down and kisses his cheek. It's such a sweet gesture, childish almost, definitely innocent. But of course, Anakin is all of those things, too, besides shadows and warfare. He's the perfect balance between those two things, that's why he's so vulnerable. Balances can so easily be off-set.
I love you, Anakin tells him, then, you know, and no, Anakin Skywalker, you will always surprise him with your love declarations, Sarica is never going to suspect. Does he know that he loves Anakin, yes. Does he know he'd kill and destroy for him, yes. Does he know Anakin loves him back, no.
Knowing would require believing and ah, they haven't quite reached that point yet. A few more orgasms like this one, though. Maybe.
Maybe.
Pushing back up on his elbows, he lets himself be held and he reaches up and grabs Anakin by the side of his neck, pulling him back down, kissing him on the mouth, deeply, but not as deeply as he could, it's not to claim territory or win battles, it's to show that he understands this much. That being loved by Anakin is a gift and he's grateful, Sarica who has never in his life felt gratitude for anything, anyone. Entitlement, certainly, and does he believe he deserves Anakin's affections -- He believes no one else deserves them more. That's what the kiss means.
Only then does Sarica slip down on his back, flat, again and just looks up at Anakin through the shadows where he also belongs, but not right now. Now he belongs in Sarica's arms and Sarica holds his arms out to him, inviting him to his chest. He doesn't need to fear the emptiness of his arse, there will be heartbeats and they will be the two of them.
They'll be together. ]
You are good, very good, Anakin.
[ I love you too, it means. ]