[ 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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no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]