[ 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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[ 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. ]