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
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.