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