[ He's finished what he can on the plumbing pipes for Sarica's villa - he's aiming to get the kitchen first because Juila really shouldn't be breaking her back every day, dragging buckets of water from the well to the house. After that, they'll have to do a system for the rain water, possibly for the bathroom. He's got the blueprints in his mind, all worked out. Compared to a starfighter, it's not exactly a complicated task but it gives him something to do whilst Sarica's out and it's something he doesn't have to question.
That last part is pretty important these days, he finds.
Right now, he's heading through the gardens of Irestes' villa, the outline of the grounds relatively simple to Sarica's, if not quite as well-kept. He makes his way along the walls, sticking to the shadows by habit, aware that he's basically infiltrating the place and that it's possibly pretty weird. Regardless, here he is. He keeps his cloak tight around him to hide the silver pendants resting on his naked chest, right above his heart. So, he didn't feel like wearing too many clothes for this. Shoot him - if you have the aim to do it.
All he can think about is that Sarica needs to see. He's been thinking about it all day - about that. About showing him.
The silver feels extremely expensive in ways not at all related to credits or currency.
Expensive enough, yeah, that Anakin pauses next to the window. A few feet above him, Sarica's leaning against the windowsill, looking out over the gardens and not, as it were, to his right. That's lucky. Smiling, Anakin steels himself, grabs onto the side of the window and lops himself over the edge, landing elegantly next to the other man in a swirl of robes and limbs. ]
[ He's watching one of Irestes' slaves drag water from the well to the stables, at this time of day probably to water off the horses before sundown. Absentmindedly, he wonders why he doesn't miss having them, slaves, why he quite enjoys giving Juila and the rest, maybe minus Toril, because he's obstinate, little raises for a job well done. There's something inexplicably satisfactory about it. Not like giving Anakin the silver jewellery, but not unlike it either.
Huffting out a small breath, he's about to step away from the window when - something comes flying through it, a flourish of brown fabric and limbs and Sarica feels his whole system freeze, thinking things like backstabber, betrayal, attack while quickly scouring the room for weapons to counter with. Before getting that far, however, the swirl goes stationary, Anakin straightening up in front of him, his long, billowing Jedi cloak covering him up from neck to feet, though the neckline seems to show a hint of skin and nothing more.
The jolt to his system becomes something else. Something hotter.
With a sharp raise of one eyebrow, he looks the taller man over, eyes running down his features, the contours of his body, everything he's showing and everything he isn't. He meets his eyes, eyebrow going nowhere. ]
You've come uninvited, Anakin.
[ At the back of his mind, he categorises the various sounds from the hallways, knowing intimately how Irestes' kitchen girl tiptoes and how Ulos has a tendency to show up where he isn't wanted. Anakin, at least, is always wanted, isn't he? Maybe not invited, but wanted nonetheless.
Meanwhile, he leans with his hip against the windowsill again, easing back into this much upended, new normal, cocking his head a little at the other man, amused. His undivided attention is still on that slit of skin down his front. ]
[ Anakin raises an eyebrow briefly in response because really, invitation or not, the other man clearly isn't doing anything particularly pressing right now. Sure, Anakin could've waited on his return but who knows how long that would take? Besides, he's in the mood now.
A grateful kind of mood.
Casually, he picks off his glove and puts it on the floor, his rings glittering on his metal fingers, metal on metal, the jewelry smooth and dainty in comparison to the darkness of his hand. The bangles sit tightly against his wrist, all of them worn on the same arm. He looks at Sarica, who's leaning against the windowsill and cocking his head at him in a way that looks decidedly hungry. Anakin's body reacts in turn, heat pooling in his belly. With a sharp flick of his wrist, he opens his cloak and lets it fall free around his shoulders. He's half-naked underneath it because leaving without his trousers on seemed somehow excessive (or just plain stupid, in case he'd run into trouble - having your private parts dangling around in the wild whilst trying to mount a decent defense is exactly as stupid as it sounds).
He's wearing Sarica's necklaces, both of them, one slightly longer than the other. The dim afternoon light from outside catch in the two pendants, making them shimmer against his chest. Taking a moment to show himself off, he finally drops his cloak to the floor and stands up straight, crossing his arms in front of his chest. ]
Do you want me to leave?
[ He takes care to sound as genuine as possible here; Anakin's nothing if not thorough. ]
[ Attitude. That's what you get with Anakin Skywalker, attitude on legs, attitude with arms, attitude with a good head on it. Sarica doesn't even blink, letting his eyes follow the fall of the cloak as it drops to the floor, revealing a half-naked man beneath it, bared chest, broad shoulders, bulging upper arms. And against all that skin, his two necklaces catching the afternoon sun, reflecting it and blinding Sarica briefly. Now, he blinks. Blink, blink.
Anakin has come uninvited, obviously, but he comes bearing himself for show, his metal arm full of the rest of the jewellery, all the bracelets, all the rings. Metal on metal, one darker than the silver that runs like water trickles against the blackened material his arm's made of. Sarica feels himself almost inevitably hardening in his trousers, though it's not the attitude, he can withstand that, it's not even the arm, he can withstand that, too, with a little will power and a lot of experience.
No, it's the vulnerability. How Anakin is showing all his appreciation off, like a man putting his goods on display in his marketplace tent. This is what I can give you in return, it means. This is what I have, this is mine.
It can be his.
Anakin's offering. Sarica's vision feels almost hazy with lust. Do you want me to leave. ]
I want you to do something - [ Pushing off the windowsill, Sarica walks, a little bit stiffly, towards the middle of the room, like common ground they can share, stopping in front of Anakin and inclining his face so he's looking directly up into his eyes, blue eyes, more water. All this water. Water's precious, anyone in Efith knows this. It's why water priestesses are valued almost as highly as their fiery brothers. It's why no one can ever be valued as highly as this man with his naked chest and Sarica's jewellery, which is now Anakin's jewellery and which might hang off of him, but it binds them together.
A harsh exhale. Sarica reaches out and presses his hand flat next to the necklaces, covering one nipple with his palm, rubbing over it, a slow upwards push. He's putting weight into it. Pressing closer. Looking up, up, up. ] - about the fact that you've made me hard.
[ He watches as Sarica blinks at him, finding his feet in this new development - that's the advantage to striking first, always leaves the other party a little flustered, right? It's another great look on him and Anakin swallows it up, remaining as he is with his arms crossed and his gaze calm. Ready.
He sees it when the change finally settles in Sarica's eyes. He makes his way over to Anakin, his movements a little stiff - looking south, the explanation's obvious - and Anakin's pulse quickens from satisfaction, from the inherent success of hitting the mark. He shifts a little, his own body responding in kind as his cock hardens slowly in his trousers. When Sarica pauses in front of him, his initial words hanging between them along with what feels like a massive quantity of sexual tension, Anakin stays as he is, watching him, a dark heat spreading through his lower body.
Give it, he thinks, without knowing what exactly he's aiming for.
Sarica presses his hand to his chest, rubbing over his nipple, the other perking along with it at the small sparks of pleasure. He groans and reaches for his wrist, metal fingers curling around it lightly, without any intention of stopping him. Eyes fluttering shut for a second, he processes the rest of his sentence before he smiles, sharply. ]
Lucky me.
[ He opens his eyes again. Looks directly into Sarica's before he drops to his knees in front of him, managing to keep his hold on his arm only because he's used to multi-tasking. Like that, he's on eye-level with the bulge in his trousers. He adds, in a clear command: ]
[ It comes out slightly breathless, mostly because the visual of Anakin dropping to his knees just like that in front of him, suddenly on eye-level with the outline of his hard cock in his trousers, makes his pulse go up noticeably. Blood rushing, rushing south. The metal hand gripping him by the wrist doesn't help much either. But Sarica is here for the long game, come now, Anakin has dressed up so prettily for him and is here to play, then let them play. Who cares that it's neither the time nor the place, they've just made it theirs. As every other room they ever take together. Every surface they touch. Theirs. Wrestling his hand free from the other man's hold, Sarica quickly slings his tunic over his shoulder and starts loosening the knot on his trousers, letting them fall right to the ground, baring his crotch, his legs. He spreads his legs a big, grabbing himself by the root and angling his cock outwards, for show. All for show.
Playtime.
With his other hand, he grabs Anakin's shoulder, the left one and holds him in position there, hard. Like a signal, stay. Be good, stay. He trusts you with that, Anakin Skywalker. ]
You can't command it onto your tongue, though.
[ His voice is smooth, deep, even. It doesn't shake, it doesn't falter. He's leaning in over them slightly, throwing them both in shadow, but the jewellery glints like water still, catching glimpses of sun that escape their bodies, escape the space between them. They're not made for sun, they're made for shade, the two of them, that's what Sarica thinks. Carefully, he releases himself and reaches up, pressing two fingertips to the pendant on the longest of Anakin's necklaces, the sign for balance disappearing beneath his touch. There's enough sun in Efith by contrast. ]
[ He's too busy staring at Sarica hungrily as the other man drops his trousers and stands there, half-naked and hard, to comment on the fact that he could, in theory, just mind-whammy him and get what he's after. Then again, if he were to do so, he wouldn't truly be getting it so maybe the other man's right. Besides, the thought kind of makes him sick. Pushing it away, he leans into Sarica's touch against his shoulder just a fraction, enjoying the sensation of being held. He looks up at him through half-lowered lashes and licks his lips slowly. Deliberately. ]
Thought I already had.
[ He gestures down his front, his rings and bangles sparkling at the movement. Kriff, but they're really pretty. For just a second or two, he can't bring himself to look away, staring at the way they look, curled around the black metal, like something incredibly expensive and rare. He swallows, heavily. Then, he looks up again and takes a deep breath because sure, he can play along.
This is Sarica's present, after all. ]
I'd like to suck you off, Legislator.
[ He shifts a little, then leans in and presses a kiss to Sarica's naked inner thigh, tasting salt there along with the other man's own, darker taste. Then, on a sudden impulse, he pulls back, looks up into the other man's eyes and opens his mouth, taking care to cover his lower teeth with his tongue because he learns, does Anakin, and usually faster than people give him credit for.
[ He tells him, surprising no one, while Anakin holds himself out and opens his mouth, covering his lower teeth nice and knowing, and Sarica stares at him for a long time, just stares, looks over his features, half-shade, strong jawline, firm chin, nose. Lips. Open, round O staring back at him, inviting him. He grunts, then, and grabs his cock by the base, stepping one step forward, making sure not to fall in his trousers, because there's no time, there's only incentive and motivation and want. There's only I'd like to suck you off, Legislator, an unnecessary comment in the big picture, because the jewellery says as much, his knees against the floor says it. But the words matter and Sarica knows, Anakin masters words quite well.
He loves that about him.
He's greedy, he wants that as well, he wants the jewellery and he wants everything that's his, voice and mouth and that lowered-lashes look in his eyes. By the Mysteries, if he ever wanted - no. Not to possess. To hold. Synonymous words, but they don't mean the same thing, he never gave a shit about that before. Now, he does. Now he does give. Sarica draws in a hard, long breath through his nose and pushes his cock head against Anakin's lower lip, just following the slope of it where it covers his teeth. Unthreatening, if you're a fool, perhaps.
Upper lip, then, the plump curves of it. It leaves a string of precum just above the jut of his front teeth. Sarica's balls feel like lead. ]
So are you, you're wearing all of it.
[ Moving his free hand, he grabs Anakin by the chin and angles him slightly, giving his cock a slow push inward. ]
[ Sarica tells him that he's greedy, that Anakin's greedy too and he isn't wrong, really, Anakin's always wanted more than he was allowed to want. He shivers as the other man paints his upper lip with precum before pressing his cock into his mouth along the slope of his tongue. Anakin breathes in deeply, the other man's scent suddenly full and hot in his nostrils and in the back of his mouth and he swallows because he wants that, too, wants all of it.
Regardless, as he lets the other man push into his mouth, he thinks about how he's also not entirely right, probably because he's never really experienced what it's like, owning nothing that other people don't own, nothing that you aren't truly entitled to. Anakin doesn't think about it much, doesn't attempt to string any coherent words onto the basic sentiment, but he's aware, regardless. He's always, at his core, aware.
So he hides Sarica's secrets - his own, by proxy and isn't that amazing? - away on his person, keeping it all almost as close as his very skin. That's how you own things, regardless. And more importantly, how you keep them.
Breathing out slowly, he opens his mouth a little wider and leans forward, letting Sarica's grip on his chin support him. Like that, he impales himself gradually on the other man's cock, taking it into his mouth inch by inch, until he can feel the thick head pressing against the back of his mouth. Looking up at Sarica, he finally reaches up with his flesh hand and curls it around the base, keeping it angled downwards.
Pulling back a little, he hollows his cheeks and sucks. ]
[ He holds him by the chin and Anakin uses it as leverage, impaling himself on Sarica's cock inch by inch until Sarica can tell, he's pressing against the very back of the other man's mouth, where he won't go further, because the angle's awkward and he's not here to get retched on, just for a deeper dig. This is good, this is fantastic, how Anakin lets himself be taken and takes in turn, how it's always that way with him. All wins with Anakin Skywalker are mutual ones. If nothing else, because Sarica wouldn't want him to lose, would he? He'd never leave him in that position. He's been there often enough, you can tell.
The slide is so good, the warmth of him, at his core, how he burns on all sides of his cock, the wet slick sloppery of spit. Sarica stares down at his face, how he's disappearing into the cavity of him. How Anakin is letting him do that, he could bite it off, easily. And who knows what else, damned Jedi. A huff of breath, almost a laugh and he shifts from one foot to the other as Anakin sucks now, holding him with his flesh hand and angling him downwards, towards him, into him. Oh.
Sarica keeps silent only by virtue of much experience in having to do so. Instead of sound, Anakin gets his free hand in his hair, fingertips dragging over his scalp and pulling his head a little closer, without actively forcing himself further down. ]
You're stunning like this, keep it like that, keep all of it. Keep it.
[ His voice is rough and dusk-ridden, his hips trembling as he tries not to take more of the suction, take more of his tongue, his lips. Anakin didn't only come here bearing everything Sarica gave him to show that he appreciates it, it's his way of owning it and that, more than anything, even more than his mouth, by some miracle, makes Sarica's pleasure surge. Small, gentle waves that'll brew to become a storm. ]
[ He hums in response as Sarica runs his fingers through his hair, nudging in against his fingertips. Sarica's cock tastes like the rest of him, including perhaps a tinge of something muskier and kriff, it makes his cock ache in his trousers. He reaches down with his other hand, giving it a fast squeeze just to take the edge off before he re-focuses on Sarica's cock, buried in his mouth. The man's being nice about it, of course - though he's certainly insistent, Sarica never pushes, not figuratively or in any other way and Anakin's grateful for it.
It feels like care.
Keep it says Sarica and oh, yeah, he's going to. Shifting, he angles himself enough so that his neck is stretched, trying to take as much of the natural bend between mouth and throat out of the equation. Whilst he's never done this, he's not stupid. It's basically a matter of something mostly straight - and rock-hard, more to the point - going into a bendy tube. Hm, but if he can keep his neck stretched, then surely -
Taking a deep breath, he pushes in, feeling the head of Sarica's cock push against the back of his mouth and ugh, he'd never thought he'd actively dislike his glottis but there you fucking go. He shuts his eyes, relaxes - and there, oh, the head actually pushes past his mouth and into his throat and -- ]
Agh!
[ He gasps and pulls back (by some miracle managing not to get the other man with his teeth), retching as his gag reflex jumps right into the fray. Spitting onto the floor between them, still holding Sarica's cock by the base, he takes a second to catch his breath. He licks his lips briefly, frowning in irritation and glares back up at Sarica's cock with the same look he'd give an obstinate battle droid.
Then, quickly, he opens his mouth and sucks it back onto his tongue. He's drooling rather heavily all over it and his eyes are on the verge of watering but he's going to make this happen, whether his stupid throat likes it or not. ]
[ Sarica sees it in his face before he feels it, all around his cock. How Anakin's expression changes, gets that stubborn draw to his jawline and a certain line to his brow. Curious, he doesn't stop him, because he isn't a fool, really, as the other man starts angling himself for better access to his throat, stretching himself out and letting Sarica's cock slide further back, until it's not just the head pushing against the back of his mouth, but the head trying to squeeze its way in and Sarica feels his hips tremble violently as he has to keep himself from forcing it, thrusting in, thrusting forward. Take, take, take.
Then, Anakin spits out his cock completely and retches all over the place, spitting several times on Irestes' poor floorboards and Sarica stares at him, wide-eyed, breathing laboured, fingers in his hair, holding him while he regains the upper hand in his fight against his gag reflex. He feels overheated and slightly shaky, as the man licks his lips and gets right back to it. No harm, no foul.
No.
Eyes narrowing slowly, he takes a deep breath and runs both hands now through the other man's hair, stroking it, pushing it out of his face gently, thumb rubbing at his temples, his skin sweaty and hot, too, burning. They're both burning. He'll have this. Sarica will give it to him, along with the rest and Anakin will give him everything in return. Again. ]
Don't force it. [ They don't have time for this, Irestes could be back any minute, but Sarica will take the time and he will give the time to Anakin, too, now that he's so persistent. His whole crotch area feels tight and tingling. Leaning in over him a little, Sarica looks down at him. His breathing betrays him, how much he feels it. To the bone. ] Let my cock rest on the back of your tongue, right before the point when you feel like gagging, leave it for five seconds, count in your head, hold it. Then, press it a little bit further back, repeat. Count. Fives, every time, until you push beyond the reflex.
[ His whole sweaty palm runs over Anakin's brow, brushing his bangs out of his face, caressing him. Sarica thinks he could come just like this, to be honest. Seeing how desperately Anakin wants it.
[ Anakin's plan mostly amounted to keep trying until it works but Sarica, of course, being the type of man to keep a level head in, apparently, all situations has other ideas. Running his hands through Anakin's hair, rubbing his temples gently, soothingly, the other man proceeds to instruct him on how to make it happen and that would've been absurd if it weren't also... well...
Shifting uncomfortably, Anakin rights his cock again.
Then, with a harsh exhalation, he takes instructions for the first time in what feels like ages. He closes his eyes in concentration and lets Sarica's cock glide to the back of his mouth, the taste of arousal and precum seemingly overtaking all his senses with nothing left to spare. Groaning, low and deep in his throat, Anakin lets the head push against that sensitive point in the back of his mouth for - what, five seconds, one-two-three-four-five - and back out a little. Okay, repeat. One-two-three-four-five... Brow furrowing, he fights himself on the need to gag and this time, it goes easier than the first.
Okay, once more - one-two - oh, for kriff's sake.
OnetwothreefourfiveGO.
And so, Anakin opens his mouth as wide as he can, stretches his neck a little bit more and swallows Sarica into his throat, all the way, until the head pops past that difficult point and the man slides right down. It ends with Anakin's lips pressed against his groin, pubic hair tickling his lips.
Amazed and completely uncaring about his lack of air or the tears running down his cheeks unhindered, he looks up at Sarica, both eyebrows raised in triumph because hell yeah, goal achieved!
Then, it occurs to him how full he feels. Just utterly, completely blocked out. He blinks. Blinks again.
In a storm of pleasure, he proceeds to come in his trousers without even touching his cock and he moans around Sarica's cock, hoarsely and desperate, more a breathless whimper than anything else. He doesn't draw back, not even as his body starts screaming for oxygen, his metal hand clamping down around the back of Sarica's naked thigh for support. ]
For a soldier, that's probably been one of the problems leading him here in the first place, but for Sarica, it's not really a big issue. He likes people with their own opinions about things, who do what they want, who dare and who don't give a rat's arse about consequences. It's not the kind of people he usually gets along with best, since they're too much like him, sure, but he respects their efforts, their input. And he likes to compare them to himself, preferring - naturally - when he comes out the winner. In this case, he decides, looking down at Anakin counting and taking his cock and counting some more, there are only winners.
He holds that thought until Anakin decides to skip the next natural step and just... swallows Sarica's cock down his throat, forcing it past that point where his body won't play along anymore, and there's suddenly tightness and wetness and so much friction on all sides of him that Sarica has to moan, has to be loud and gasp and hold himself completely still, not to completely smother the other man. Anakin is looking up at him through a rain of tears, his face a washed-away blur of features, big and wondrous blue eyes, and Sarica stares down at him, at how he screams - without words - I won, you lost, I won. His moaning says it all. Someone comes first, and what do you do, then? Do you come second?
Sarica does. He grunts, heavily, gutturally, and finds himself bucking helplessly forward, coming in two or three fast spurts of cum down the younger man's throat, his whole system contracting and his eyes staying wide open all throughout. His fingers are convulsively grabbing his hair, holding him in place until the first rush is over, three seconds max, and he ungently pulls Anakin off his cock, pulling out to give him room to breathe faster. His thumbs are back at his temples, rubbing at them. His palms cradle his face. Spit-slick and tear-streaked.
We both won, he thinks, unable to say anything. We win together. Look at us. ]
[ When Sarica comes, he almost doesn't feel it at first, too pre-occupied with the feel of stretch in his mouth and throat, the way his lungs are screeching at him to clear his airways. The other man's cock is pulsing between his lips and then, Sarica's actually grabbing his hair and holding him still, pushing his climax into him, until he's suddenly not anymore. Instead, he pulls back. And out. He goes from being completely full one moment and empty - too empty - the next.
His cock pops out of Anakin's throat, first, his mouth second. Saliva's running down his chin and his eyes feel swollen, his cheeks wet from tears and he's caught, still, between Sarica's palms. Hand shaking quite visibly, Anakin reaches up and wipes his face with his palm, running his knuckles over his lips. Sarica's left a string of cum along the width of his tongue and he takes a second to swallow that, too, the taste and consistency making him acutely aware of the wet spot currently drying on his trousers.
Groaning, he shifts his now-flaccid cock from one thigh to the other. Shivers again, harder this time. Then, with effort, he draws away from Sarica's grip to settle on his haunches, shoulders slumped and his neck bent. For a moment, he just sits there, resting his palms against his thighs, his jewelry glittering faintly.
Then, slowly, his face cracks into a smile.
He looks up at Sarica like that, eyes sparkling and his throat sore enough that he's fairly sure he'll feel it for hours. ]
[ It's overwhelming. Not just the physical sensation of pleasure, of climaxing, but the feeling of having all these things along with others he won't name and maybe couldn't even if he were to try pulled from him, through the other man's mouth, his throat, his body. Anakin is taking from him. He's taking from him and he's claiming as his own and Sarica loves it, he loves that show of confidence. Attitude, again.
Slowly straightening up as Anakin pulls out of his grip, wiping his face and his swollen lips, beautiful as they are, Sarica looks down at him, at how he holds himself, bent over and palms on his thighs, recovering, recuperating. They're both a little shook, aren't they? It was good, but it was plenty.
Greedy bastards that they are.
He smiles, meeting Anakin's wide grin, his sparkling eyes, still trimmed with tears, and raises his chin, letting his eyes run down over his whole figure. He knows what he will sound like once he opens his mouth, and yet he doesn't know at all, because he hasn't heard it. He hasn't heard this particular man, when his vocal chords have been invaded by Sarica's cock. What a surprise that awaits.
Beginning to pull up his trousers and tuck himself away, Sarica doesn't say anything for a few seconds, just letting his hands speak for him, it was good, but it's over now, reality unfortunately prevails. Then, fixing his tunic with a few little brush-downs that help naught, he looks very pointedly down at Anakin's crotch, the dark splotch he's left, because Sarica wasn't overwhelmed alone. ]
Do exactly as I say. Be quiet, don't speak. [ They're orders and although Anakin takes them poorly, he took this well, so even if he's stubborn and obstinate, Sarica will win. There are no losers left in this room. He turns towards the window halfway and points out into the gardens, darker now, no one will see, his splotch will be their secret. And Sarica will reward him so abundantly tonight. ] Go back the same way you came and wait for me at home. [ Another needless brush-down. ] I'll make sure not to take too long. [ Meeting Anakin's eyes directly, still watery and his face a mess, really, the most delicious kind, Sarica would lick him clean if now was the time, he finally smiles as well. Wider. Sharper. ] When I arrive, greet me.
[ Outside in the hallway, the slave girl greets Irestes and he can hear them all gathering next door. Anakin's got the best and the worst timing, obviously. Sarica steps forward and cups Anakin's face, supporting his chin with his palm, thumb along his jawline. You did well, it means. ]
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no subject
That last part is pretty important these days, he finds.
Right now, he's heading through the gardens of Irestes' villa, the outline of the grounds relatively simple to Sarica's, if not quite as well-kept. He makes his way along the walls, sticking to the shadows by habit, aware that he's basically infiltrating the place and that it's possibly pretty weird. Regardless, here he is. He keeps his cloak tight around him to hide the silver pendants resting on his naked chest, right above his heart. So, he didn't feel like wearing too many clothes for this. Shoot him - if you have the aim to do it.
All he can think about is that Sarica needs to see. He's been thinking about it all day - about that. About showing him.
The silver feels extremely expensive in ways not at all related to credits or currency.
Expensive enough, yeah, that Anakin pauses next to the window. A few feet above him, Sarica's leaning against the windowsill, looking out over the gardens and not, as it were, to his right. That's lucky. Smiling, Anakin steels himself, grabs onto the side of the window and lops himself over the edge, landing elegantly next to the other man in a swirl of robes and limbs. ]
no subject
Huffting out a small breath, he's about to step away from the window when - something comes flying through it, a flourish of brown fabric and limbs and Sarica feels his whole system freeze, thinking things like backstabber, betrayal, attack while quickly scouring the room for weapons to counter with. Before getting that far, however, the swirl goes stationary, Anakin straightening up in front of him, his long, billowing Jedi cloak covering him up from neck to feet, though the neckline seems to show a hint of skin and nothing more.
The jolt to his system becomes something else. Something hotter.
With a sharp raise of one eyebrow, he looks the taller man over, eyes running down his features, the contours of his body, everything he's showing and everything he isn't. He meets his eyes, eyebrow going nowhere. ]
You've come uninvited, Anakin.
[ At the back of his mind, he categorises the various sounds from the hallways, knowing intimately how Irestes' kitchen girl tiptoes and how Ulos has a tendency to show up where he isn't wanted. Anakin, at least, is always wanted, isn't he? Maybe not invited, but wanted nonetheless.
Meanwhile, he leans with his hip against the windowsill again, easing back into this much upended, new normal, cocking his head a little at the other man, amused. His undivided attention is still on that slit of skin down his front. ]
no subject
A grateful kind of mood.
Casually, he picks off his glove and puts it on the floor, his rings glittering on his metal fingers, metal on metal, the jewelry smooth and dainty in comparison to the darkness of his hand. The bangles sit tightly against his wrist, all of them worn on the same arm. He looks at Sarica, who's leaning against the windowsill and cocking his head at him in a way that looks decidedly hungry. Anakin's body reacts in turn, heat pooling in his belly. With a sharp flick of his wrist, he opens his cloak and lets it fall free around his shoulders. He's half-naked underneath it because leaving without his trousers on seemed somehow excessive (or just plain stupid, in case he'd run into trouble - having your private parts dangling around in the wild whilst trying to mount a decent defense is exactly as stupid as it sounds).
He's wearing Sarica's necklaces, both of them, one slightly longer than the other. The dim afternoon light from outside catch in the two pendants, making them shimmer against his chest. Taking a moment to show himself off, he finally drops his cloak to the floor and stands up straight, crossing his arms in front of his chest. ]
Do you want me to leave?
[ He takes care to sound as genuine as possible here; Anakin's nothing if not thorough. ]
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Anakin has come uninvited, obviously, but he comes bearing himself for show, his metal arm full of the rest of the jewellery, all the bracelets, all the rings. Metal on metal, one darker than the silver that runs like water trickles against the blackened material his arm's made of. Sarica feels himself almost inevitably hardening in his trousers, though it's not the attitude, he can withstand that, it's not even the arm, he can withstand that, too, with a little will power and a lot of experience.
No, it's the vulnerability. How Anakin is showing all his appreciation off, like a man putting his goods on display in his marketplace tent. This is what I can give you in return, it means. This is what I have, this is mine.
It can be his.
Anakin's offering. Sarica's vision feels almost hazy with lust. Do you want me to leave. ]
I want you to do something - [ Pushing off the windowsill, Sarica walks, a little bit stiffly, towards the middle of the room, like common ground they can share, stopping in front of Anakin and inclining his face so he's looking directly up into his eyes, blue eyes, more water. All this water. Water's precious, anyone in Efith knows this. It's why water priestesses are valued almost as highly as their fiery brothers. It's why no one can ever be valued as highly as this man with his naked chest and Sarica's jewellery, which is now Anakin's jewellery and which might hang off of him, but it binds them together.
A harsh exhale. Sarica reaches out and presses his hand flat next to the necklaces, covering one nipple with his palm, rubbing over it, a slow upwards push. He's putting weight into it. Pressing closer. Looking up, up, up. ] - about the fact that you've made me hard.
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He sees it when the change finally settles in Sarica's eyes. He makes his way over to Anakin, his movements a little stiff - looking south, the explanation's obvious - and Anakin's pulse quickens from satisfaction, from the inherent success of hitting the mark. He shifts a little, his own body responding in kind as his cock hardens slowly in his trousers. When Sarica pauses in front of him, his initial words hanging between them along with what feels like a massive quantity of sexual tension, Anakin stays as he is, watching him, a dark heat spreading through his lower body.
Give it, he thinks, without knowing what exactly he's aiming for.
Sarica presses his hand to his chest, rubbing over his nipple, the other perking along with it at the small sparks of pleasure. He groans and reaches for his wrist, metal fingers curling around it lightly, without any intention of stopping him. Eyes fluttering shut for a second, he processes the rest of his sentence before he smiles, sharply. ]
Lucky me.
[ He opens his eyes again. Looks directly into Sarica's before he drops to his knees in front of him, managing to keep his hold on his arm only because he's used to multi-tasking. Like that, he's on eye-level with the bulge in his trousers. He adds, in a clear command: ]
Take it out, then.
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[ It comes out slightly breathless, mostly because the visual of Anakin dropping to his knees just like that in front of him, suddenly on eye-level with the outline of his hard cock in his trousers, makes his pulse go up noticeably. Blood rushing, rushing south. The metal hand gripping him by the wrist doesn't help much either. But Sarica is here for the long game, come now, Anakin has dressed up so prettily for him and is here to play, then let them play. Who cares that it's neither the time nor the place, they've just made it theirs. As every other room they ever take together. Every surface they touch. Theirs. Wrestling his hand free from the other man's hold, Sarica quickly slings his tunic over his shoulder and starts loosening the knot on his trousers, letting them fall right to the ground, baring his crotch, his legs. He spreads his legs a big, grabbing himself by the root and angling his cock outwards, for show. All for show.
Playtime.
With his other hand, he grabs Anakin's shoulder, the left one and holds him in position there, hard. Like a signal, stay. Be good, stay. He trusts you with that, Anakin Skywalker. ]
You can't command it onto your tongue, though.
[ His voice is smooth, deep, even. It doesn't shake, it doesn't falter. He's leaning in over them slightly, throwing them both in shadow, but the jewellery glints like water still, catching glimpses of sun that escape their bodies, escape the space between them. They're not made for sun, they're made for shade, the two of them, that's what Sarica thinks. Carefully, he releases himself and reaches up, pressing two fingertips to the pendant on the longest of Anakin's necklaces, the sign for balance disappearing beneath his touch. There's enough sun in Efith by contrast. ]
Ask nicely.
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Thought I already had.
[ He gestures down his front, his rings and bangles sparkling at the movement. Kriff, but they're really pretty. For just a second or two, he can't bring himself to look away, staring at the way they look, curled around the black metal, like something incredibly expensive and rare. He swallows, heavily. Then, he looks up again and takes a deep breath because sure, he can play along.
This is Sarica's present, after all. ]
I'd like to suck you off, Legislator.
[ He shifts a little, then leans in and presses a kiss to Sarica's naked inner thigh, tasting salt there along with the other man's own, darker taste. Then, on a sudden impulse, he pulls back, looks up into the other man's eyes and opens his mouth, taking care to cover his lower teeth with his tongue because he learns, does Anakin, and usually faster than people give him credit for.
At your leisure, it means. ]
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[ He tells him, surprising no one, while Anakin holds himself out and opens his mouth, covering his lower teeth nice and knowing, and Sarica stares at him for a long time, just stares, looks over his features, half-shade, strong jawline, firm chin, nose. Lips. Open, round O staring back at him, inviting him. He grunts, then, and grabs his cock by the base, stepping one step forward, making sure not to fall in his trousers, because there's no time, there's only incentive and motivation and want. There's only I'd like to suck you off, Legislator, an unnecessary comment in the big picture, because the jewellery says as much, his knees against the floor says it. But the words matter and Sarica knows, Anakin masters words quite well.
He loves that about him.
He's greedy, he wants that as well, he wants the jewellery and he wants everything that's his, voice and mouth and that lowered-lashes look in his eyes. By the Mysteries, if he ever wanted - no. Not to possess. To hold. Synonymous words, but they don't mean the same thing, he never gave a shit about that before. Now, he does. Now he does give. Sarica draws in a hard, long breath through his nose and pushes his cock head against Anakin's lower lip, just following the slope of it where it covers his teeth. Unthreatening, if you're a fool, perhaps.
Upper lip, then, the plump curves of it. It leaves a string of precum just above the jut of his front teeth. Sarica's balls feel like lead. ]
So are you, you're wearing all of it.
[ Moving his free hand, he grabs Anakin by the chin and angles him slightly, giving his cock a slow push inward. ]
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Regardless, as he lets the other man push into his mouth, he thinks about how he's also not entirely right, probably because he's never really experienced what it's like, owning nothing that other people don't own, nothing that you aren't truly entitled to. Anakin doesn't think about it much, doesn't attempt to string any coherent words onto the basic sentiment, but he's aware, regardless. He's always, at his core, aware.
So he hides Sarica's secrets - his own, by proxy and isn't that amazing? - away on his person, keeping it all almost as close as his very skin. That's how you own things, regardless. And more importantly, how you keep them.
Breathing out slowly, he opens his mouth a little wider and leans forward, letting Sarica's grip on his chin support him. Like that, he impales himself gradually on the other man's cock, taking it into his mouth inch by inch, until he can feel the thick head pressing against the back of his mouth. Looking up at Sarica, he finally reaches up with his flesh hand and curls it around the base, keeping it angled downwards.
Pulling back a little, he hollows his cheeks and sucks. ]
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The slide is so good, the warmth of him, at his core, how he burns on all sides of his cock, the wet slick sloppery of spit. Sarica stares down at his face, how he's disappearing into the cavity of him. How Anakin is letting him do that, he could bite it off, easily. And who knows what else, damned Jedi. A huff of breath, almost a laugh and he shifts from one foot to the other as Anakin sucks now, holding him with his flesh hand and angling him downwards, towards him, into him. Oh.
Sarica keeps silent only by virtue of much experience in having to do so. Instead of sound, Anakin gets his free hand in his hair, fingertips dragging over his scalp and pulling his head a little closer, without actively forcing himself further down. ]
You're stunning like this, keep it like that, keep all of it. Keep it.
[ His voice is rough and dusk-ridden, his hips trembling as he tries not to take more of the suction, take more of his tongue, his lips. Anakin didn't only come here bearing everything Sarica gave him to show that he appreciates it, it's his way of owning it and that, more than anything, even more than his mouth, by some miracle, makes Sarica's pleasure surge. Small, gentle waves that'll brew to become a storm. ]
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It feels like care.
Keep it says Sarica and oh, yeah, he's going to. Shifting, he angles himself enough so that his neck is stretched, trying to take as much of the natural bend between mouth and throat out of the equation. Whilst he's never done this, he's not stupid. It's basically a matter of something mostly straight - and rock-hard, more to the point - going into a bendy tube. Hm, but if he can keep his neck stretched, then surely -
Taking a deep breath, he pushes in, feeling the head of Sarica's cock push against the back of his mouth and ugh, he'd never thought he'd actively dislike his glottis but there you fucking go. He shuts his eyes, relaxes - and there, oh, the head actually pushes past his mouth and into his throat and -- ]
Agh!
[ He gasps and pulls back (by some miracle managing not to get the other man with his teeth), retching as his gag reflex jumps right into the fray. Spitting onto the floor between them, still holding Sarica's cock by the base, he takes a second to catch his breath. He licks his lips briefly, frowning in irritation and glares back up at Sarica's cock with the same look he'd give an obstinate battle droid.
Then, quickly, he opens his mouth and sucks it back onto his tongue. He's drooling rather heavily all over it and his eyes are on the verge of watering but he's going to make this happen, whether his stupid throat likes it or not. ]
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Then, Anakin spits out his cock completely and retches all over the place, spitting several times on Irestes' poor floorboards and Sarica stares at him, wide-eyed, breathing laboured, fingers in his hair, holding him while he regains the upper hand in his fight against his gag reflex. He feels overheated and slightly shaky, as the man licks his lips and gets right back to it. No harm, no foul.
No.
Eyes narrowing slowly, he takes a deep breath and runs both hands now through the other man's hair, stroking it, pushing it out of his face gently, thumb rubbing at his temples, his skin sweaty and hot, too, burning. They're both burning. He'll have this. Sarica will give it to him, along with the rest and Anakin will give him everything in return. Again. ]
Don't force it. [ They don't have time for this, Irestes could be back any minute, but Sarica will take the time and he will give the time to Anakin, too, now that he's so persistent. His whole crotch area feels tight and tingling. Leaning in over him a little, Sarica looks down at him. His breathing betrays him, how much he feels it. To the bone. ] Let my cock rest on the back of your tongue, right before the point when you feel like gagging, leave it for five seconds, count in your head, hold it. Then, press it a little bit further back, repeat. Count. Fives, every time, until you push beyond the reflex.
[ His whole sweaty palm runs over Anakin's brow, brushing his bangs out of his face, caressing him. Sarica thinks he could come just like this, to be honest. Seeing how desperately Anakin wants it.
Stubborn. ]
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Shifting uncomfortably, Anakin rights his cock again.
Then, with a harsh exhalation, he takes instructions for the first time in what feels like ages. He closes his eyes in concentration and lets Sarica's cock glide to the back of his mouth, the taste of arousal and precum seemingly overtaking all his senses with nothing left to spare. Groaning, low and deep in his throat, Anakin lets the head push against that sensitive point in the back of his mouth for - what, five seconds, one-two-three-four-five - and back out a little. Okay, repeat. One-two-three-four-five... Brow furrowing, he fights himself on the need to gag and this time, it goes easier than the first.
Okay, once more - one-two - oh, for kriff's sake.
OnetwothreefourfiveGO.
And so, Anakin opens his mouth as wide as he can, stretches his neck a little bit more and swallows Sarica into his throat, all the way, until the head pops past that difficult point and the man slides right down. It ends with Anakin's lips pressed against his groin, pubic hair tickling his lips.
Amazed and completely uncaring about his lack of air or the tears running down his cheeks unhindered, he looks up at Sarica, both eyebrows raised in triumph because hell yeah, goal achieved!
Then, it occurs to him how full he feels. Just utterly, completely blocked out. He blinks. Blinks again.
In a storm of pleasure, he proceeds to come in his trousers without even touching his cock and he moans around Sarica's cock, hoarsely and desperate, more a breathless whimper than anything else. He doesn't draw back, not even as his body starts screaming for oxygen, his metal hand clamping down around the back of Sarica's naked thigh for support. ]
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For a soldier, that's probably been one of the problems leading him here in the first place, but for Sarica, it's not really a big issue. He likes people with their own opinions about things, who do what they want, who dare and who don't give a rat's arse about consequences. It's not the kind of people he usually gets along with best, since they're too much like him, sure, but he respects their efforts, their input. And he likes to compare them to himself, preferring - naturally - when he comes out the winner. In this case, he decides, looking down at Anakin counting and taking his cock and counting some more, there are only winners.
He holds that thought until Anakin decides to skip the next natural step and just... swallows Sarica's cock down his throat, forcing it past that point where his body won't play along anymore, and there's suddenly tightness and wetness and so much friction on all sides of him that Sarica has to moan, has to be loud and gasp and hold himself completely still, not to completely smother the other man. Anakin is looking up at him through a rain of tears, his face a washed-away blur of features, big and wondrous blue eyes, and Sarica stares down at him, at how he screams - without words - I won, you lost, I won. His moaning says it all. Someone comes first, and what do you do, then? Do you come second?
Sarica does. He grunts, heavily, gutturally, and finds himself bucking helplessly forward, coming in two or three fast spurts of cum down the younger man's throat, his whole system contracting and his eyes staying wide open all throughout. His fingers are convulsively grabbing his hair, holding him in place until the first rush is over, three seconds max, and he ungently pulls Anakin off his cock, pulling out to give him room to breathe faster. His thumbs are back at his temples, rubbing at them. His palms cradle his face. Spit-slick and tear-streaked.
We both won, he thinks, unable to say anything. We win together. Look at us. ]
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His cock pops out of Anakin's throat, first, his mouth second. Saliva's running down his chin and his eyes feel swollen, his cheeks wet from tears and he's caught, still, between Sarica's palms. Hand shaking quite visibly, Anakin reaches up and wipes his face with his palm, running his knuckles over his lips. Sarica's left a string of cum along the width of his tongue and he takes a second to swallow that, too, the taste and consistency making him acutely aware of the wet spot currently drying on his trousers.
Groaning, he shifts his now-flaccid cock from one thigh to the other. Shivers again, harder this time. Then, with effort, he draws away from Sarica's grip to settle on his haunches, shoulders slumped and his neck bent. For a moment, he just sits there, resting his palms against his thighs, his jewelry glittering faintly.
Then, slowly, his face cracks into a smile.
He looks up at Sarica like that, eyes sparkling and his throat sore enough that he's fairly sure he'll feel it for hours. ]
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Slowly straightening up as Anakin pulls out of his grip, wiping his face and his swollen lips, beautiful as they are, Sarica looks down at him, at how he holds himself, bent over and palms on his thighs, recovering, recuperating. They're both a little shook, aren't they? It was good, but it was plenty.
Greedy bastards that they are.
He smiles, meeting Anakin's wide grin, his sparkling eyes, still trimmed with tears, and raises his chin, letting his eyes run down over his whole figure. He knows what he will sound like once he opens his mouth, and yet he doesn't know at all, because he hasn't heard it. He hasn't heard this particular man, when his vocal chords have been invaded by Sarica's cock. What a surprise that awaits.
Beginning to pull up his trousers and tuck himself away, Sarica doesn't say anything for a few seconds, just letting his hands speak for him, it was good, but it's over now, reality unfortunately prevails. Then, fixing his tunic with a few little brush-downs that help naught, he looks very pointedly down at Anakin's crotch, the dark splotch he's left, because Sarica wasn't overwhelmed alone. ]
Do exactly as I say. Be quiet, don't speak. [ They're orders and although Anakin takes them poorly, he took this well, so even if he's stubborn and obstinate, Sarica will win. There are no losers left in this room. He turns towards the window halfway and points out into the gardens, darker now, no one will see, his splotch will be their secret. And Sarica will reward him so abundantly tonight. ] Go back the same way you came and wait for me at home. [ Another needless brush-down. ] I'll make sure not to take too long. [ Meeting Anakin's eyes directly, still watery and his face a mess, really, the most delicious kind, Sarica would lick him clean if now was the time, he finally smiles as well. Wider. Sharper. ] When I arrive, greet me.
[ Outside in the hallway, the slave girl greets Irestes and he can hear them all gathering next door. Anakin's got the best and the worst timing, obviously. Sarica steps forward and cups Anakin's face, supporting his chin with his palm, thumb along his jawline. You did well, it means. ]
I want to hear what you sound like, then.