[ He hears Anakin approaching, registering that it's him with the same sort of familiarity that he uses to make out whether it's Juila or Toril tiptoeing down the hallways or whether it's one of the mares or his stallion thundering past the gates. This is his household, this is what is left of his family now and he knows it all the more intimately for it.
Noticing two unrelated, but somehow similar things about Anakin as he crosses the stable floors, he waits for the man to come. One, his feet are bare beneath the cloak he's wrapped tightly around himself, getting awfully dirty in the grime and manure scattering the ground. Two, eyes intensely focused on him, as if Sarica is the end goal of everything that brought the other man here, Anakin lifts the saddle off his shoulder with his powers, making it float gently onto the ground next to him, getting exactly as dirty as his feet and something about that connection, leather and Anakin's soles and the way he's looking makes Sarica's cock take an undeniable interest.
Well, he hasn't seen Obi-Wan anywhere, now that his presence is becoming an issue. Presumably, Anakin wouldn't be here, looking like that, if his old Master was to be found within the same compound, still.
So Sarica relaxes back on his arse, leaning back on his stool as much as possible, giving the other man plenty of room to seat himself astride his lap - the cloak falling open and revealing a completely naked Anakin beneath it, long legs on either side of Sarica's body, arms slung around his neck. Cock, ah. Cock. Anakin, then, leans in close, greeting him in a way that's too young, really, but endearing enough to be forgiven its youth. Sarica swallows hard, his own cock only marginally slower at getting hard and ready for him, craning his neck back a little and looking up into the other man's face. His blue eyes. His curls.
Reaching up, he runs both hands, all ten fingers, through the mess of dark blond strands, pushing it out of his face gently. He shifts, feeling the weight of his body across his thighs.
Yes.
Leaning up even closer, their lips almost touching, he whispers: ]
Free me, Anakin. I'll give you my cock. It's what you want, isn't it?
[ He smiles, the expression going all the way into his eyes, and then, he pushes off Sarica's lap enough to flatten one, slick palm over the bulge in his trousers. He kneads it a couple of times, feeling how hard he is already, how it really won't take long to get him hard the rest of the way. Something about that - about his prompt response - makes Anakin's chest burst with warmth and affection.
Pride, too.
Definitely.
His next exhalation is partially a moan, low and not as loud as it could be, the small sound dissipating even further in the open space around them. He reaches for Sarica's waistband, pulling the strings open in the front and reaching in, slick flesh fingers closing around his cock. He strokes it slowly, rubbing his thumb up along the underside before pulling him free. ]
We don't have to wait. [ He groans at the thought alone. Removes his hand and returns it to Sarica's neck, his skin soft and hot beneath his fingers. ] I come prepared.
[ With that, he leans in, trapping Sarica's cock along with his own between their bodies and kisses him, his cloak riding low around his shoulders at this point and the hem dragging along the ground but who cares, oh, Sarica tastes like a day gone by, warm and heavy and utterly himself. Anakin pushes his tongue past his lips, licking into him greedily, relishing the feel of being inside, like it's been ages and not days since they last had sex. It's just... Force, but he hates it when he can't have what he loves. It's one thing to abstain from it because he's a million miles away but to be so close, to have Sarica right there and not... ?
Shuddering, Anakin angles his head a little to deepen the kiss, metal fingers tangling in Sarica's hair. ]
Sarica feels that, the amount of affection, want and need in the motions of Anakin's fingers, untangling the string keeping his trousers fastened, pulling the fabric down enough to bare him, one hand coming down to curl around his girth, angling him outwards, freeing him, and it's all such a beautiful process that Sarica sees primarily in the other man's face, until Anakin pushes forward again and seats himself, their cocks all but touching. It aches and burns in his groin and Sarica is breathless from it, from being young again and fucking in plain sight and daring these things.
Oh, he's lost some of his dare in his old age. They'll have to make up for what he left behind on the way, won't they? Anakin will have to lead the way, will have to show him and Sarica will have to follow and watch.
Listen, too, judging by the sound of it. Anakin isn't only breathless, he's groaning. Sarica breathes out heavily into the kiss as the other man lets cock be cock, grabs him by shoulder and hair, flesh and metal fingers respectively, taking his tongue when it plunges his mouth, stroking it with his own, letting himself get penetrated and claimed. Anakin tastes like sordid things, like warmth and heat and heaviness. Something saltier, darker, too. He comes with his edges even here, even like this. He moans into the kiss, angling the other man's head by his hair, more or less just yanking his face into place, crushing their mouths together, taking, taking.
I come prepared, Anakin said.
Sarica can't fill his lungs enough, there's nothing but tongue and spit and want between them. He drops one hand down the other man's back, sneaking beneath the cloak and finds his arse, squeezing his buttock, whichever is closest, hard before dipping two fingers in between, finding the rim of his arsehole...
Finding it puffed and widened and slick, all but dripping.
Sarica pulls out of the kiss suddenly, eyes narrowed and lips swollen. He is breathing raggedly, staring up into Anakin's face. His cock is throbbing. ]
Tell me what you have done.
[ Guessing isn't hard, but guessing isn't Anakin's voice speaking the words. Guessing isn't watching his lips move around them. ]
[ Mm. Sarica gives as good as he gets, of course he does, yanking on Anakin's head and pushing into his mouth, taking him back, giving himself in return. Anakin loves kissing, really, for that reason - the notion of reciprocity, of something being handed back and forth, simultaneously. It feels like connection. It feels close.
Then, Sarica runs his fingers over his buttocks, squeezing one before he dips between them and touches his arsehole, all sensitive and loose now, mid-wanking session. Anakin breathes out slowly, the air leaving his lungs with a shudder, before he shifts a little closer, rubbing his cock against the length of Sarica's, the friction making his balls draw up a little. He puts his chin on Sarica's shoulder and mouths at the shell of his ear for a second before he says, voice pitched low and breath ghosting over his skin: ]
I took a wank. Then, I took another. [ He shifts off the other man's lap, reaches down between them and angles Sarica's cock back between his buttocks. As he sits down again, it rubs upwards, seated snugly between them. ] Managed three fingers, Sarica, while thinking about you and your perfect cock.
[ He rubs back against it a little, hips swaying. Under regular circumstances, he might have gone for a blowjob first, just to set the mood a little or whatever but right now, all he really wants is to be inside some more, to feel the other man give in response. It's not just the sex, but sex is a great way to get there and when he leans in, breathing deeply, Sarica's scent is all over his system, the back of his tongue, his throat, further down, further in. He stays there, his own cheeks flushed and his nose buried in the side of Sarica's neck, feeling muscle there as well as hard flesh, the beat of his pulse.
Home, he thinks, and his shoulders loosen a fraction of tension that he hadn't know were there. ]
[ There's Anakin's mouth more or less in his ear, mouthing at the shell of it, breath hot and wet into the canal. Sarica shudders violently, finding it difficult to breathe, truly, like there's a blockage there and oh, the boy is good, his voice dipping so low that it reverberates in Sarica's whole system, his cock jerking harshly. He reaches down with the hand still a tiny bit sticky with the oil from Anakin's arse and touches himself, grabbing himself by the base.
Meanwhile, Anakin tells him what exactly he's done, rising off of him and sinking back, so Sarica's cock slips up between his buttocks, resting there snugly, head pressing over his arsehole. The heat of him translates, beyond his words, a hard physical sensation of want and mine and give. Sarica turns his head a little in against Anakin's face, feeling their jawlines collide, cheeks rubbing against each other, a smooth glide. His breathing comes out funny.
Beautiful Anakin. Which means too light, too kind, too giving, too willing, too easily corrupted and must protect, all these notions at once.
Sarica's hand in his hair slips down to the back of his neck, keeping him still against him. Three fingers, he says and certainly, he comes prepared, then, he comes open and ready. He comes wanting.
His own voice is a mutter. ]
I trust your preparations. How ready you are for my cock. [ Guiding it to the other man's open, slick arsehole, he begins applying pressure immediately, a slow, insistent, half-wet inward push, feeling Anakin's rim slowly give to him, yield, take. The feeling makes his head go blank and he grunts, low in his throat, exertion. Oh. Keeping the other man bent in against his front, he begins pushing into him until the head pops past his opening and there's nothing but tightness and heat and a slight resistance than he honours, but doesn't succumb to. His body will take him, it will take him. ] Push yourself the rest of the way, as you want it.
[ Air makes his voice sound shaky. Sarica has released his cock at this point and is grasping Anakin by the hip, fingers digging into flesh. Lips finding his cheek, corner of mouth, leaving a trail of light, almost innocent kisses there, if you don't consider the rest. ]
He blinks. Pushes his face against Sarica's shoulder and relaxes, forcibly, as he feels the girth of his cock pushing against his rim. He takes him in, just the head at first. It burns in the best of ways and he's whining, shifting against the other man because oh, Sarica's inside, he's there, reaching for the core of him. He'll have it. He'll have everything.
Slowly, he straightens up in Sarica's lap - sadly out of range of his kisses, the corner of his mouth a little damp from them. His eyes narrow in concentration as he lets himself sit, taking his cock, feeling it push inside his body, inch by inch. He gets about halfway before he pauses, meeting Sarica's eyes and smiling slowly, lazily. Then, curling his metal fingers in Sarica's tunic for balance, he rises up again, clenching all the way before lowering himself once more, further this time. Repeat. Repeat. He doesn't go all the way down, not yet, they've got time (three and a half hours, said Obi-Wan and it's pretty weird that he gave him a timeframe but useful too, as it turns out). Instead, he fucks himself just a little bit shallowly on the other man, watching his face all throughout, his own growing darker by the minute.
Let me see you, he thinks, lips parted as he pants, muscles working in his abdomen and shoulders, thighs straining deliciously to accommodate his pacing.
[ The stool creaks beneath them, fortunately sturdy enough to accommodate them, but still suffering from it, loudly.
Sarica's eyes are narrow enough that there's only a sliver of iris and pupil left, staring into the other man's face as he straightens up and pushes down over his cock, taking him, taking him inside. Past the head, it's easier, they've already breached the widest point and Anakin is tight and slippery and warm around him, Sarica's breaths speeding up until he's at a pant, more or less, hands running down over Anakin's shoulders, the cloak getting in the way. He shoves it off, letting it fall and caring little how dirty it'll get. Horse manure or cum, one's perhaps slightly easier to clean off than the other. Like that, Anakin is sitting completely naked in his lap, long-limbed and glorious and Sarica's hands roam. It's possessiveness, perhaps, or admiration. He was twenty-three once, too, but by the Mysteries, they'd never gifted him in this way.
He knows what he must look like in the other man's eyes, Sarica has fucked in front of mirrors before, he knows how drawn his face gets, deep and dark, mouth half-open and lips swollen from kissing. Bangs clinging to his forehead, sticky from sweat. He wants Anakin to see all that, he wants him to have it, this person Sarica is now, the man twenty years his senior, older, even, than his Master. He wants him to know Sarica was young once and he isn't anymore and to love it.
Grunting low in his throat at the feeling of friction, the insistent, even slide of Anakin's arse, he grabs him by the waist, both hands, following his movements rather than pushing. Oh, Anakin's on top, Anakin will decide and Sarica will subject himself to that. He's repaid handsomely, after all.
As he pushes himself forward a little, so they're chest to chest, Anakin's cock caught between their bodies, wet-tipped and throbbing hard, he holds him, keeping him close while he says, voice even: ]
You've been practicing. You've been practicing and you're very good, my friend.
[ Hands sinking backwards over the curve of Anakin's buttocks, he digs his fingers into both of them, spreading him enough to feel it around the base of his cock, angling himself upwards slightly, pulling Anakin down over him another inch, just a tiny addition of depth that's making him growl. Then, he holds him there, lips parted, and sweaty chest heaving against Anakin's front, lets him decide what to do with it. ]
[ He feels his cloak slipping down his shoulders, off, onto the floor, and it doesn't concern him in the slightest; it's a possession, a physical one, and compared to the rings on his metal fingers and the silver bangle around that same wrist, the cloak is just a cloak, a piece of fabric that can be replaced. True, it's a Jedi robe and perhaps he ought to show at least a modicum of respect for the sake of the institution but then again.
He's on leave?
Sarica's hands are big and warm against his back. The other man is watching him with all the intensity of a prowling predator, his hair clinging to his skin in strips of black and there's a depth to it, to him, that Anakin loves. It's experience, he thinks, and the way the world mirrors itself in his eyes because he's seen it, twice over, and it so rarely seems to frighten him.
Anakin's been afraid for too long.
He groans, loudly this time, when Sarica tells him he's good, the praise settling beneath his skin, making him tingle all over. He lets himself sink down a bit more, supported now by Sarica's fingers digging into his buttocks, spreading him over his cock. Muscles trembling only minutely from exertion, Anakin wraps both arms around Sarica's neck again and leans down, pressing their foreheads together in that way they both like, something that feels almost innately them. Then, breathing out harshly, he sits down the rest of the way until he's pressed completely over Sarica's lap and Force, he's so full of him, completely overtaken. Oh. He rolls his hips back and forth, slowly at first, then faster, the other man's cock gliding in and out of his arsehole at the movement, not a long slide but persistent. ]
Say that again.
[ He's panting against Sarica's forehead and the bridge of his nose, his lips sliding over his skin. They're so close like this. Every time they aren't, he misses him. ]
[ It rolls over his tongue, no hesitation. Sarica guards his words only insofar that he chooses them deliberately, he doesn't hold back or hurry, he lets them speak for themselves.
Anakin has leaned down enough to press his forehead against Sarica's, and they're close everywhere, from the pesistent slide of Anakin's body and its inner workings, yes, this man who's taken him to the base, rolling his hips back and forth, fucking himself deep now and who has taught him these things, Sarica certainly hasn't, or perhaps he has - to their overheated foreheads pushing over each other, hard curve of skull against skull. It bumps and it rubs and their noses touch, their breaths mingle. They could as well be one and the same person. He wants that, he wants that for himself and by extension, for Anakin, too. Here, now, their goals are identical.
Please, release, proximity.
He can't return. Kenobi can't take him along when he goes, as he will, leave he must. And yet, Anakin doesn't belong here, Sarica knows. Like it's the case with all things, it's a matter of time.
Well, this is their time, then.
He groans, feels his hips shift, pushing his cock up into the wet tunnel of Anakin's arse, though the angle makes it less a question of Sarica's own agency and all about Anakin's, which is well and good. It's as it should be, too many have tried sneaking control out of his hands already. He grabs Anakin's one thigh, spreading his other hand out over the small of his back briefly, keeping him down, pressed down tightly over him for a moment. Every breath is a ragged shake of his chest. He sounds slightly choked, Sarica. He wants Anakin to sound the same.
Identically.
Reaching up blindly, he pushes his hand in between their faces, without forcing their foreheads apart, and clamps his palm over Anakin's half-open mouth, his breath hot against his skin. He holds him like that, firmly. ]
Be better and open up. Lick.
[ His palm pushes tighter, big and sweaty and smelling like them both. ]
[ He shudders, clinging to Sarica's words as much as his body, rolling his hips continuously and taking care to keep the pace even but slow, unhurried. They have time. They have time. Breathing raggedly, he gasps when Sarica pushes up into him, holding onto his thigh and the small of his back. It doesn't feel like he's getting pulled along or pushed, not in any way (and he realises now that he knows, he knows the difference, even if he isn't certain he'd recognise it beyond the two of them). Rather, when Sarica takes hold and keeps him down, speared on his cock, they're both following the other, taking turns.
Sarica sounds lovely like this, breaths sticking in his throat, his chest trembling between their bodies and Anakin watches him through the shades of his own hair falling into his eyes. He stays close, as close as he can possibly get, and when Sarica frees his hand and clamps it over his mouth, he doesn't even take half a second to catch onto his intent. It's a testament to the way they are in tune. On the battle field, it works somewhat similarly with him and his closest allies - Obi-Wan, Ahsoka.
This is different but Anakin can feel himself responding in the same fashion, with lightening-fast reflexes, with fluency.
Consequently, when Sarica speaks, Anakin's already wetting his own mouth in preperation. He licks the other man's palm sloppily, reaching for his wrist with his flesh hand and holding him still. He presses the width of his tongue against his skin and gets him slick, tasting his own sweat along with Sarica's. The pacing of his hips grow uneven, then, less proficient, because he might be showing off - regardless, he hasn't had anal sex as a recipient more than exactly once. He breathes harshly against Sarica's palm, feeling red and flushed all over, all the way down to his cock which is definitely close enough that he could plausibly come without touching it.
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no subject
Noticing two unrelated, but somehow similar things about Anakin as he crosses the stable floors, he waits for the man to come. One, his feet are bare beneath the cloak he's wrapped tightly around himself, getting awfully dirty in the grime and manure scattering the ground. Two, eyes intensely focused on him, as if Sarica is the end goal of everything that brought the other man here, Anakin lifts the saddle off his shoulder with his powers, making it float gently onto the ground next to him, getting exactly as dirty as his feet and something about that connection, leather and Anakin's soles and the way he's looking makes Sarica's cock take an undeniable interest.
Well, he hasn't seen Obi-Wan anywhere, now that his presence is becoming an issue. Presumably, Anakin wouldn't be here, looking like that, if his old Master was to be found within the same compound, still.
So Sarica relaxes back on his arse, leaning back on his stool as much as possible, giving the other man plenty of room to seat himself astride his lap - the cloak falling open and revealing a completely naked Anakin beneath it, long legs on either side of Sarica's body, arms slung around his neck. Cock, ah. Cock. Anakin, then, leans in close, greeting him in a way that's too young, really, but endearing enough to be forgiven its youth. Sarica swallows hard, his own cock only marginally slower at getting hard and ready for him, craning his neck back a little and looking up into the other man's face. His blue eyes. His curls.
Reaching up, he runs both hands, all ten fingers, through the mess of dark blond strands, pushing it out of his face gently. He shifts, feeling the weight of his body across his thighs.
Yes.
Leaning up even closer, their lips almost touching, he whispers: ]
Free me, Anakin. I'll give you my cock. It's what you want, isn't it?
no subject
[ He smiles, the expression going all the way into his eyes, and then, he pushes off Sarica's lap enough to flatten one, slick palm over the bulge in his trousers. He kneads it a couple of times, feeling how hard he is already, how it really won't take long to get him hard the rest of the way. Something about that - about his prompt response - makes Anakin's chest burst with warmth and affection.
Pride, too.
Definitely.
His next exhalation is partially a moan, low and not as loud as it could be, the small sound dissipating even further in the open space around them. He reaches for Sarica's waistband, pulling the strings open in the front and reaching in, slick flesh fingers closing around his cock. He strokes it slowly, rubbing his thumb up along the underside before pulling him free. ]
We don't have to wait. [ He groans at the thought alone. Removes his hand and returns it to Sarica's neck, his skin soft and hot beneath his fingers. ] I come prepared.
[ With that, he leans in, trapping Sarica's cock along with his own between their bodies and kisses him, his cloak riding low around his shoulders at this point and the hem dragging along the ground but who cares, oh, Sarica tastes like a day gone by, warm and heavy and utterly himself. Anakin pushes his tongue past his lips, licking into him greedily, relishing the feel of being inside, like it's been ages and not days since they last had sex. It's just... Force, but he hates it when he can't have what he loves. It's one thing to abstain from it because he's a million miles away but to be so close, to have Sarica right there and not... ?
Shuddering, Anakin angles his head a little to deepen the kiss, metal fingers tangling in Sarica's hair. ]
no subject
Sarica feels that, the amount of affection, want and need in the motions of Anakin's fingers, untangling the string keeping his trousers fastened, pulling the fabric down enough to bare him, one hand coming down to curl around his girth, angling him outwards, freeing him, and it's all such a beautiful process that Sarica sees primarily in the other man's face, until Anakin pushes forward again and seats himself, their cocks all but touching. It aches and burns in his groin and Sarica is breathless from it, from being young again and fucking in plain sight and daring these things.
Oh, he's lost some of his dare in his old age. They'll have to make up for what he left behind on the way, won't they? Anakin will have to lead the way, will have to show him and Sarica will have to follow and watch.
Listen, too, judging by the sound of it. Anakin isn't only breathless, he's groaning. Sarica breathes out heavily into the kiss as the other man lets cock be cock, grabs him by shoulder and hair, flesh and metal fingers respectively, taking his tongue when it plunges his mouth, stroking it with his own, letting himself get penetrated and claimed. Anakin tastes like sordid things, like warmth and heat and heaviness. Something saltier, darker, too. He comes with his edges even here, even like this. He moans into the kiss, angling the other man's head by his hair, more or less just yanking his face into place, crushing their mouths together, taking, taking.
I come prepared, Anakin said.
Sarica can't fill his lungs enough, there's nothing but tongue and spit and want between them. He drops one hand down the other man's back, sneaking beneath the cloak and finds his arse, squeezing his buttock, whichever is closest, hard before dipping two fingers in between, finding the rim of his arsehole...
Finding it puffed and widened and slick, all but dripping.
Sarica pulls out of the kiss suddenly, eyes narrowed and lips swollen. He is breathing raggedly, staring up into Anakin's face. His cock is throbbing. ]
Tell me what you have done.
[ Guessing isn't hard, but guessing isn't Anakin's voice speaking the words. Guessing isn't watching his lips move around them. ]
no subject
Then, Sarica runs his fingers over his buttocks, squeezing one before he dips between them and touches his arsehole, all sensitive and loose now, mid-wanking session. Anakin breathes out slowly, the air leaving his lungs with a shudder, before he shifts a little closer, rubbing his cock against the length of Sarica's, the friction making his balls draw up a little. He puts his chin on Sarica's shoulder and mouths at the shell of his ear for a second before he says, voice pitched low and breath ghosting over his skin: ]
I took a wank. Then, I took another. [ He shifts off the other man's lap, reaches down between them and angles Sarica's cock back between his buttocks. As he sits down again, it rubs upwards, seated snugly between them. ] Managed three fingers, Sarica, while thinking about you and your perfect cock.
[ He rubs back against it a little, hips swaying. Under regular circumstances, he might have gone for a blowjob first, just to set the mood a little or whatever but right now, all he really wants is to be inside some more, to feel the other man give in response. It's not just the sex, but sex is a great way to get there and when he leans in, breathing deeply, Sarica's scent is all over his system, the back of his tongue, his throat, further down, further in. He stays there, his own cheeks flushed and his nose buried in the side of Sarica's neck, feeling muscle there as well as hard flesh, the beat of his pulse.
Home, he thinks, and his shoulders loosen a fraction of tension that he hadn't know were there. ]
no subject
Meanwhile, Anakin tells him what exactly he's done, rising off of him and sinking back, so Sarica's cock slips up between his buttocks, resting there snugly, head pressing over his arsehole. The heat of him translates, beyond his words, a hard physical sensation of want and mine and give. Sarica turns his head a little in against Anakin's face, feeling their jawlines collide, cheeks rubbing against each other, a smooth glide. His breathing comes out funny.
Beautiful Anakin. Which means too light, too kind, too giving, too willing, too easily corrupted and must protect, all these notions at once.
Sarica's hand in his hair slips down to the back of his neck, keeping him still against him. Three fingers, he says and certainly, he comes prepared, then, he comes open and ready. He comes wanting.
His own voice is a mutter. ]
I trust your preparations. How ready you are for my cock. [ Guiding it to the other man's open, slick arsehole, he begins applying pressure immediately, a slow, insistent, half-wet inward push, feeling Anakin's rim slowly give to him, yield, take. The feeling makes his head go blank and he grunts, low in his throat, exertion. Oh. Keeping the other man bent in against his front, he begins pushing into him until the head pops past his opening and there's nothing but tightness and heat and a slight resistance than he honours, but doesn't succumb to. His body will take him, it will take him. ] Push yourself the rest of the way, as you want it.
[ Air makes his voice sound shaky. Sarica has released his cock at this point and is grasping Anakin by the hip, fingers digging into flesh. Lips finding his cheek, corner of mouth, leaving a trail of light, almost innocent kisses there, if you don't consider the rest. ]
no subject
He blinks. Pushes his face against Sarica's shoulder and relaxes, forcibly, as he feels the girth of his cock pushing against his rim. He takes him in, just the head at first. It burns in the best of ways and he's whining, shifting against the other man because oh, Sarica's inside, he's there, reaching for the core of him. He'll have it. He'll have everything.
Slowly, he straightens up in Sarica's lap - sadly out of range of his kisses, the corner of his mouth a little damp from them. His eyes narrow in concentration as he lets himself sit, taking his cock, feeling it push inside his body, inch by inch. He gets about halfway before he pauses, meeting Sarica's eyes and smiling slowly, lazily. Then, curling his metal fingers in Sarica's tunic for balance, he rises up again, clenching all the way before lowering himself once more, further this time. Repeat. Repeat. He doesn't go all the way down, not yet, they've got time (three and a half hours, said Obi-Wan and it's pretty weird that he gave him a timeframe but useful too, as it turns out). Instead, he fucks himself just a little bit shallowly on the other man, watching his face all throughout, his own growing darker by the minute.
Let me see you, he thinks, lips parted as he pants, muscles working in his abdomen and shoulders, thighs straining deliciously to accommodate his pacing.
Let me. ]
no subject
Sarica's eyes are narrow enough that there's only a sliver of iris and pupil left, staring into the other man's face as he straightens up and pushes down over his cock, taking him, taking him inside. Past the head, it's easier, they've already breached the widest point and Anakin is tight and slippery and warm around him, Sarica's breaths speeding up until he's at a pant, more or less, hands running down over Anakin's shoulders, the cloak getting in the way. He shoves it off, letting it fall and caring little how dirty it'll get. Horse manure or cum, one's perhaps slightly easier to clean off than the other. Like that, Anakin is sitting completely naked in his lap, long-limbed and glorious and Sarica's hands roam. It's possessiveness, perhaps, or admiration. He was twenty-three once, too, but by the Mysteries, they'd never gifted him in this way.
He knows what he must look like in the other man's eyes, Sarica has fucked in front of mirrors before, he knows how drawn his face gets, deep and dark, mouth half-open and lips swollen from kissing. Bangs clinging to his forehead, sticky from sweat. He wants Anakin to see all that, he wants him to have it, this person Sarica is now, the man twenty years his senior, older, even, than his Master. He wants him to know Sarica was young once and he isn't anymore and to love it.
Grunting low in his throat at the feeling of friction, the insistent, even slide of Anakin's arse, he grabs him by the waist, both hands, following his movements rather than pushing. Oh, Anakin's on top, Anakin will decide and Sarica will subject himself to that. He's repaid handsomely, after all.
As he pushes himself forward a little, so they're chest to chest, Anakin's cock caught between their bodies, wet-tipped and throbbing hard, he holds him, keeping him close while he says, voice even: ]
You've been practicing. You've been practicing and you're very good, my friend.
[ Hands sinking backwards over the curve of Anakin's buttocks, he digs his fingers into both of them, spreading him enough to feel it around the base of his cock, angling himself upwards slightly, pulling Anakin down over him another inch, just a tiny addition of depth that's making him growl. Then, he holds him there, lips parted, and sweaty chest heaving against Anakin's front, lets him decide what to do with it. ]
no subject
He's on leave?
Sarica's hands are big and warm against his back. The other man is watching him with all the intensity of a prowling predator, his hair clinging to his skin in strips of black and there's a depth to it, to him, that Anakin loves. It's experience, he thinks, and the way the world mirrors itself in his eyes because he's seen it, twice over, and it so rarely seems to frighten him.
Anakin's been afraid for too long.
He groans, loudly this time, when Sarica tells him he's good, the praise settling beneath his skin, making him tingle all over. He lets himself sink down a bit more, supported now by Sarica's fingers digging into his buttocks, spreading him over his cock. Muscles trembling only minutely from exertion, Anakin wraps both arms around Sarica's neck again and leans down, pressing their foreheads together in that way they both like, something that feels almost innately them. Then, breathing out harshly, he sits down the rest of the way until he's pressed completely over Sarica's lap and Force, he's so full of him, completely overtaken. Oh. He rolls his hips back and forth, slowly at first, then faster, the other man's cock gliding in and out of his arsehole at the movement, not a long slide but persistent. ]
Say that again.
[ He's panting against Sarica's forehead and the bridge of his nose, his lips sliding over his skin. They're so close like this. Every time they aren't, he misses him. ]
no subject
[ It rolls over his tongue, no hesitation. Sarica guards his words only insofar that he chooses them deliberately, he doesn't hold back or hurry, he lets them speak for themselves.
Anakin has leaned down enough to press his forehead against Sarica's, and they're close everywhere, from the pesistent slide of Anakin's body and its inner workings, yes, this man who's taken him to the base, rolling his hips back and forth, fucking himself deep now and who has taught him these things, Sarica certainly hasn't, or perhaps he has - to their overheated foreheads pushing over each other, hard curve of skull against skull. It bumps and it rubs and their noses touch, their breaths mingle. They could as well be one and the same person. He wants that, he wants that for himself and by extension, for Anakin, too. Here, now, their goals are identical.
Please, release, proximity.
He can't return. Kenobi can't take him along when he goes, as he will, leave he must. And yet, Anakin doesn't belong here, Sarica knows. Like it's the case with all things, it's a matter of time.
Well, this is their time, then.
He groans, feels his hips shift, pushing his cock up into the wet tunnel of Anakin's arse, though the angle makes it less a question of Sarica's own agency and all about Anakin's, which is well and good. It's as it should be, too many have tried sneaking control out of his hands already. He grabs Anakin's one thigh, spreading his other hand out over the small of his back briefly, keeping him down, pressed down tightly over him for a moment. Every breath is a ragged shake of his chest. He sounds slightly choked, Sarica. He wants Anakin to sound the same.
Identically.
Reaching up blindly, he pushes his hand in between their faces, without forcing their foreheads apart, and clamps his palm over Anakin's half-open mouth, his breath hot against his skin. He holds him like that, firmly. ]
Be better and open up. Lick.
[ His palm pushes tighter, big and sweaty and smelling like them both. ]
no subject
Sarica sounds lovely like this, breaths sticking in his throat, his chest trembling between their bodies and Anakin watches him through the shades of his own hair falling into his eyes. He stays close, as close as he can possibly get, and when Sarica frees his hand and clamps it over his mouth, he doesn't even take half a second to catch onto his intent. It's a testament to the way they are in tune. On the battle field, it works somewhat similarly with him and his closest allies - Obi-Wan, Ahsoka.
This is different but Anakin can feel himself responding in the same fashion, with lightening-fast reflexes, with fluency.
Consequently, when Sarica speaks, Anakin's already wetting his own mouth in preperation. He licks the other man's palm sloppily, reaching for his wrist with his flesh hand and holding him still. He presses the width of his tongue against his skin and gets him slick, tasting his own sweat along with Sarica's. The pacing of his hips grow uneven, then, less proficient, because he might be showing off - regardless, he hasn't had anal sex as a recipient more than exactly once. He breathes harshly against Sarica's palm, feeling red and flushed all over, all the way down to his cock which is definitely close enough that he could plausibly come without touching it.
He'll leave that part for Sarica to decide. ]