[ Anakin gasps against him first, then his hand comes up and follows the slope of his neck to the back of it, pulling him closer by it, too, and Sarica lets himself be led, their noses nudging, then - lips, yes. It's slow and Sarica doesn't rush it, their lips slipping over one another slickly, Anakin catching his bottom lip between his teeth and pulling at it gently, a little playfully again and Sarica hums into his mouth when there's finally tongue and depth and giving, the taste, there. Himself. Himself and Anakin Skywalker, mixed. His cock's already rock hard in his trousers.
Between Sarica's fingers, his cock's all fullness, long and hard, slicking up nicely as he strokes upwards, then down, then up again, supporting the slight curve of the shaft with his thumb, finding those sensitive veins with his fingertip. Pressing in slightly. They take each other's mouths. After a while, taste is a matter of definition, whose is whose. Sarica's other hand comes up and follows Anakin's leg to his waist, supports himself there as well. Anakin's strong, very strong, very stubborn, he can take it, all his pressure, the weight of him.
Yet, this isn't how he wants him. Not tonight. The other man was so incredibly good at taking him to the root of him earlier, Sarica wants to take him right back, even out the balance between them once more, the way they do for each other and have done since the beginning. It's one reason Sarica's so hot for him, so incredibly hard right now, jerking him off slowly with his one hand, the other cradling him as close as he'll go. At least from this angle.
This angle's just not enough.
No.
Releasing his hold on Anakin's cock, he grabs him by the waist with both hands, his left hand leaving spit trails over his skin. He pulls out of the kiss, too, resting his forehead against the side of Anakin's face, a sharp smile curving on his lips, more a tug at the corner of his mouth than real glimpse of teeth. His voice is husky as he says: ]
Follow me.
[ And because he knows the other man is so very flexible, so very agile and has reflexes even faster than his refractory period, Sarica flips him over, simply digs in his fingers and more or less throws him onto his hands and knees, parchment flying everywhere, a map tearing in two, but that's more work for the map maker, he ought to thank Anakin for his daily bread.
[ To begin with, Sarica's leaning against him, his weight steady and familiar. He's fingering Anakin's cock, stroking it lazily up and down, fingers finding all the most sensitive spots along their way. Anakin's panting into the kiss, holding Sarica by the shoulder and neck and thinking that he could, yeah, he could just like this. He remembers taking him all the way inside his throat, about holding him there and feeling him come, his throat still aching whenever he swallows in the right way.
He finds that he loves discovering Sarica from the inside-out.
Just as he's getting into the rhythm of it, though, Sarica proceeds to remove his hand from his cock and pull out of the kiss which is honestly so shockingly rude that Anakin can't breathe for it. He scowls, gaze sharpening into a stare as Sarica leans his forehead against his face and kriff, he can feel the bastard smiling, but why would he -
Follow me says Sarica, upon which he... grabs Anakin by the waist and flips him. Anakin, his brain used to taking orders quickly enough to dodge everything from a blaster bolt to pissy Gundarks, reacts accordingly. He moves, twisting in the air slightly and finding purchase on his hands and feet, his arse in the air and the papers on the desk crumbling between his fingers. He's breathing hard, blinking stupidly at the view in front of him - window, gardens, stables. Everything in plain view and Anakin, consequently, ditto.
Uh.
Shifting, he turns his head slightly, just enough to glimpse Sarica out of the corner of his eye. ]
[ He follows, of course he does, because the Jedi takes orders like second nature and Sarica doesn't like that, but he accepts it as part of who Anakin is. One day, he'll fulfill his own full potential and the orders of others, even Sarica, especially Sarica, will be things to make his own or discard, depending. Running his flat palms up over Anakin's arse, he leans in against his backside, the curve of his buttocks, the swell of balls, sensitive backside of thighs. His tunic brushes over soft skin. So far from the same. He breathes out long, hard. Outside the window, Toril drags the stallion in for the night and pretends, valiantly, not to notice the sight greeting him inside, with backlight and everything, from the oil lamp on the table. He's lazy, but reliable otherwise. Sarica will keep him.
Sarica will keep this one, too. Yes.
He pushes his fingertips into the other man's buttocks, just letting him feel the curve of his fingers and the pressure of nails, spreading them ever so slightly, the skin on Anakin's balls tightening slightly between his legs in response, all taut, all smooth, inviting. Mm. Anakin placed himself in a clear line of vision, he knew he might be seen, if Sarica knows him right, he wanted to be seen, his youngster. Admired. Wanted. Mm, indeed, Sarica knows him well.
Whether he actually cares for the idea of others seeing him like this? That's a dilemma for another day, another night.
For now, Toril can live.
Sarica bends down, pushing his whole face sideways in against the backside of Anakin's left thigh, his heavy breathing ghosting over the other man's balls at this angle. He licks his lips, feeling ravenous already, feeling absolutely starved, like he's never eaten before, like he's never fucked anyone on his tongue before and maybe he hasn't. Not like this. Nothing's quite like this. His voice, when he speaks, sounds hoarse and strangely genuine. ]
Now you tell me when to stop.
[ With that, he leans in and catches one of Anakin's testicles between his lips, letting him feel the heat and wetness of his mouth. One, then the other, then tongue lapping over both before Sarica, uncharacteristically impatient, pulls back, strings of spit clinging to his lips and he lifts his head enough to nudge his nose in between the other man's buttocks, still slightly spread. He spreads them more. The scent of musk and the essence of Anakin clings to his whole face now. He wants him so much it hurts.
Teasingly, he licks a thin strip of saliva upwards, towards his rim, though he doesn't quite advance yet. ]
[ He'd be at least somewhat mortified, knowing how he's now in full view of everybody, including Toril and that stupid horse currently passing by outside but to be honest, he's a bit busy trying to wrap his mind around what's happening. He feels Sarica shifting closer, his tunic brushing his thighs from behind and for a moment, he thinks that he man might want to... to fuck him, plainly, and does he want that? They've done it the other way around, of course, but regardless, he - it seems a lot, at once. About to turn and ask him to spell it out, Anakin pauses as Sarica grabs his buttocks and parts them only minimally, just enough for him to feel it and his balls draw up a little in response, his cock twitching. Oh. Oh, that's. Well, it's...
It's different. It feels a lot more vulnerable than sucking his cock, for instance, which honestly doesn't feel vulnerable to any significant degree. He frowns. Shifts a little against the table, curling and un-curling his fingers. It adds to the strangeness that he's got his back to Sarica, that he can't predict what he's about to do. He wets his lips, tasting the other man there and focusing on that, on the warm familiarity of it.
He feels Sarica's face against the back of his thigh, first, his curls tickling his skin. Frowning in confusion, he glances sideways again over his shoulder, seeing him leaning down behind him, the oil lamp trailing shadows along his shoulders and back. At his words, he stiffens - and doesn't get any further, really, because the man proceeds to suck his testicle between his lips, plunging him into a sense of utter wetness and heat. He groans, loudly, and spreads his thighs more or less by instinct, giving him space to - oh, yes.
Distantly, he wonders why Sarica didn't just blow him from the front but then again, compared to him, Anakin really doesn't know anything about this stuff and it feels fantastic so he's hardly going to argue the finer points here. He's expecting to feel his hand around his cock next, maybe the tip of his tongue against the back of the shaft. Instead, Sarica nudges his nose in between his buttocks and spreads them more, baring him and making him feel naked all the way to his core.
Shivering, he clenches his hands. When Sarica actually licks a line up towards his arsehole, he startles violently and falls onto one elbow like a complete and utter tool. ]
[ Most men Sarica has done this to, and admittedly, he can count them on two hands, would go along - with or without any fair warnings as to what was about to occur. Then again, most men Sarica has done this to would have something else at stake as well, a negotiation they wanted to win, money they needed to borrow, that sort of thing. Anakin has nothing he wants from Sarica, not anymore, except the unimaginable: just himself. Sarica feels it in the pulse of energy between them, the way it's not just his blood rushing, but his heart beating and wanting pleasure has never been so tightly entwined with wanting another person.
Besides, Anakin is nothing like anyone else Sarica has had and he has already been instructed, hasn't he, not to treat him as just another in a long, long line. So, as the younger man topples over onto one elbow, the lines of his whole body tightening and Sarica feels it in his arse, too, Sarica stops, drawing back with the musk and the heat still clinging to his skin, and glances up at him. They can't see eye to eye, from here, but they'll meet voice to voice. Anakin obviously knows how to use his.
In that respect, too, he is not like any of the rest. They're quiet and faceless. Or they yelled and Sarica didn't hear, wouldn't be able to identify their voices anymore. He'd remember their cocks before their faces.
Swallowing heavily, he kisses Anakin's right buttock quickly before answering, plainly: ]
I'm going to lick your arsehole. Are you saying stop?
[ The tone of his voice makes it clear that he is inviting him to, if he wants. He knows other ways to use his mouth, this one was just in and deep and mine. And after Irestes' villa, that whole incident, he was in the mood for in and deep and mine.
Possibly, he should've considered one) that Anakin might not be familiar and two) that Anakin might not share in his mood. Possibly, this is another lesson learned, like the gold and the silver. Obviously, Sarica learns in hard metal. ]
[ He feels so lightheaded that for a second, he's convinced that he's heard wrong. He's going to... oh. Oh. His arsehole actually clenches in response to the words alone and his cock hardens, which is confusing because he really isn't sure whether or not the thought appeals to him. Possibly, it's just that it's... he hadn't really thought... Blinking again, harder this time, Anakin looks away, gaze gliding over the surroundings on the other side of the window. Thankfully, neither horse nor Toril are within sight anymore. He's certain his face must be redder than the setting sun.
Kriff.
Okay, so there was a question and he should consider it. Slowing down his breathing forcibly, he realises that no, the thought doesn't bother him nearly as much as he thinks it probably should - there's something distinctively dirty about it, something wicked, but then again, Anakin isn't exactly pure as snow, is he. He bends his neck. Shifts a little on his knees, reaching between his legs absent-mindedly to squeeze his aching cock. It's a brief slap of friction, a spark in his bloodstream. It wakes him up, just as it leaves him wanting.
He clears his throat, wincing at the ache that follows. ]
I'm not.
[ His voice sounds gravelly. This time, he can't bring himself to look at Sarica, biting his bottom lip hard instead. ]
Anakin is little again, not in the sense that he has never had his arse licked before or, probably, even considered that you could have your arse licked. No, it's in the sense that he's showing all his cards and Sarica is forcibly having them laid out before him, with his big hands on his buttocks, pulling him open and apart at the same time. Sarica is taking again, because taking is what Sarica does, he takes for himself and he claims and he makes people his.
But they've already been over that. Anakin hates it. Slaver. Sarica remembers.
Even with a house full of servants that he pays, that is what Sarica is. You don't run from your origins. Oh, no, but you can outgrow them. If nothing else, that he has proven plentily already.
He hums, low in his throat, it's not quite the audio of a smile, but close enough, and kisses Anakin's other buttock, the left one. From that point, he presses his tongue flat against the other man's skin and licks erratic patterns across the curves of his arse cheeks, just letting him get used to the pressure of tongue tip, the wetness, the heat. Burning. It'll burn.
And still, Sarica won't let him. Watching the way he squeezes himself, clearly still hard and aching for it, he draws back long enough to mutter, throatily: ]
You're healthily wary, my friend. That's good. [ Another kiss and he bends down further, pressing his whole tongue into the cleft between the other man's buttocks, licking a long, damp stroke up, just letting it brush over the rim of his arsehole, skin puckered and shadowy, his taste explosive. Sarica's fingers are digging into his arse now, keeping him open. Draw back, again, air. Words. ] I want this to be better.
[ So, Sarica dives right back in, pressing his half-open mouth over the rim of Anakin's arsehole and letting his tongue flick repeatedly over the sensitive area. ]
[ There's a moment of silence during which Anakin considers whether or not to back-pedal; after all, it would be as easy as turning around and letting any passing person/Toril/horse/peaduck have a glimpse of his arse instead of his face. He doesn't, though, and that's the point. Around Sarica, he always feels like doing, whether it be the other man, something he suggests or something that just seems fitting. This doesn't break the pattern. It goes with the rest.
Shoulders relaxing fractionally, he exhales. Sarica kisses his other buttock, a warm, slightly damp little point of pressure against his skin and then, oh, yes, there's his tongue. It's a good tongue. He likes it. Breathing harder, Anakin shifts against him, pressing back against his mouth though there's a part of him that's very, very aware that Sarica isn't - well, he isn't there yet, obviously. He's giving Anakin time and a part of him feels pathetic for needing it. Most of him, though, just takes what he can get.
What Sarica wants him to have.
At his words, he huffs out a breath of laughter - healthily wary, that's generous - and then, just like that, Sarica presses his tongue between his buttocks and licks him. Right there. Eyes widening comically, Anakin's fingers actually rip up something that may or may not be an important map on Sarica's desk. He gasps, open-mouthed. His arsehole feels suddenly hyper-sensitive, all the nerve-endings there (and apparently, there are many) awake.
He's about to answer Sarica - to say something, probably none-too-intelligent at this point - when the other man leans back in. This time, he stays there, his tongue flicking over the rim of his arsehole and oh, oh, what in the name of everything -- ]
Sarica! [ It's a moan and an exclamation all at once. ] Oh, that's --
[ He presses his over-heated face against the inside of his flesh arm, blinking rapidly, his shoulders heaving. His arsehole is wet now, from saliva, and the pressure of Sarica's tongue is making his cock weep. He shakes his head, stupidly. ]
[ Sarica knows. Even if Anakin wasn't gasping and saying his name just like that and pressing his overheated face in against the inside of his elbow, he'd know. He's taken him with him, to this point and the other man will allow him to take him even further. Because Anakin trusts him to, trusts him to navigate safely and it's an intoxication thought, being the leader and leading, yes, not by intimidation but by the natural desire of someone else. By the desire of this man who's the general of his own army and who bows to no one and nothing, who said no to the man who wasn't his friend, because Sarica told him he could, yes. Anakin has always trusted him. With everything.
And the thought overwhelms him, his cock jerking in his trousers and Sarica groans, loudly, angling his face, pressing it further in between Anakin's buttocks, when the other man begs him not to stop and the miracle is not that he might have told him to, the miracle is that Sarica would've complied. Readily. He would've cared. He cares.
Releasing the other man's right buttock, Sarica reaches down and rights his own cock slightly before using the same hand to catch Anakin's weeping cock between his fingers, tightening them unceremoniously at the root of his length, just hard enough to starve off his obviously impending climax. He stays like that, tugging a little bit harshly on the other man's cock, the heavy feel of it making his own crotch feel tight and wrought and wanting. Meanwhile, he presses his face in against his arsehole, closing his lips over the rim carefully, to create that feeling of suction as he keeps wetly licking at the bundle of nerves.
Finally, when Sarica thinks he couldn't prepare him more, even if he were sweet and considerate, which he rarely is, he just pushes the pointed tip of his tongue against the loosened rim, pliant, giving, and pushes, letting just the tip penetrate him. Out, in again, out, in.
All the while, not releasing his grip on Anakin's cock. ]
[ He can't think for it - for the feeling of wetness and pressure against his rim, for the thought of Sarica behind him, his face pressed between his buttocks. Though he's doing so carefully, it can't be denied - the other man's leading them both at this moment and Anakin's letting him, he's choking on it, on the overwhelming sensation of simply...
Of letting go.
Eyes falling shut, he pants and cants his hips a little, pushing back against Sarica's tongue. The other man grabs his cock and for a second, Anakin's fairly certain that's it, he's going to come all over this desk and nothing can stop him. But then, oh, he - he grabs it, his hand not stroking but simply holding and Anakin realises through the fog of pleasure descending over his rational mind that he's holding him back, too, not just pushing him forwards. Groaning loudly, his teeth actually scraping over his arm at this point, Anakin slips down onto his other elbow, his spine curving and shoulders trembling as he stays there, on his knees, arse more or less in the air.
Behind him, Sarica starts pushing his tongue into him and he clenches down slightly against the intrusion, completely by instinct. Something escapes his throat - some kind of noise that he can't and won't consider too carefully (it's a soft sound, slightly wet) - as he forces himself to relax, to let him in. He opens his eyes, staring out of the window, his hair sticking to his forehead and obscuring the view, caging him in but not in an awful way, not in the kind of way that would've made him either desperate or despondent.
He stays. Shifts his hips and meets Sarica's thrusts with small, experimental thrusts, his balls painfully tight against his body. ]
[ The most wondrous thing happens. Anakin gives. With a soft, wet whining sound, he sinks down onto his other elbow as well, arse completely in the air and Sarica makes a similar sound, not a growl, not a groan, but something softer, wetter and unrolls his tongue inside of him on the third thrust, lets him feel the breadth of it push against his opening on all sides. Out, in, out. On the fifth, sixth, he doesn't keep count anymore, retreat from Anakin's burning hot body, Sarica pulls back enough to speak, using his left thumb to rub leisurely over the other man's rim instead. ]
I'm going to release you. Come.
[ And with that he digs right back in, pushes his whole face into his arse crack and devours him, fucking him faster on his tongue now, every fourth or fifth outstroke, flicking his tongue tip over the rim again. It becomes rhythm. It builds and it builds and it grows frantic and faster and wanting.
Then, finally, Sarica slowly, slowly loosens his hold on Anakin's cock, until it's light and more a tease than actual touch and starts stroking him in time, angling his cock upwards enough that when he comes, and he'll come, Sarica told him to, has been telling him to since he pushed between his buttocks, he'll catch on himself and the rest will take his papers and that, in itself, is a truly satisfactory thought.
In Sarica's mind, there's nothing but the taste of him, the scent, musky, dark, and his own body's coiling from arousal, his cock throbbing harshly in his trousers, but he can get himself afterwards. For once, for one glorious moment, Sarica's not the one playing center stage. ]
[ When Sarica pulls back to speak to him, his words ring loudly and steadily in his mind, cutting through the absolute haze of pleasure. It speaks volumes as to how focused they are on each other; the other man has seated himself within him, not just with his tongue but with his whole being. He's burning up from it. But (here, in this reality) it doesn't hollow him out.
Come says Sarica before he goes back to licking him, to eating him and every thrust of his tongue makes him feel light, like he's going to lose his grip and float off the desk. He makes that sound again, louder, his voice hoarse and choked. At the first stroke of Sarica's hand around his cock, his balls tighten up and his climax explodes out of him. The other man's angling him upwards and consequently, he shoots strings of cum all over his own abdomen and midriff. He's panting, his arse contracting around and against Sarica's tongue.
With a strangled cry, he collapses onto his side with a heavy thump, papers flying everywhere. His mind is full of white noise, like static flickering on the inside of his eyelids, except even when he blinks, the feeling remains. He's bitten his bottom lip bloody at some point, though he can't remember when or how. Licking at it a bit uselessly, he rests his face against his upperarm, his breathing ragged and slow.
He can still feel the echo of the other man's tongue inside his - oh. His face actually reddens again. How is that even a thing? He's led his regions through active, burning war zones for years, has killed and tortured to get them closer to victory. He's a Jedi. He's stronger than most known Jedi in the galaxy. He should've already seen everything that could shake a man and gone beyond it.
But Anakin's also just twenty-three years old and Sarica wants to give him silver and gold and something even more important, something that lingers in his exhausted limbs now, something that will stay like an imprint forever. He sighs. Smiles at nothing.
[ Anakin cries out again. And when he does, he does come. He comes in heavy spurts against his own stomach and midriff and Sarica strokes him through it, only gradually slowing down the movement of his wrist, lessening the pressure of his fingers. Finally, he pulls back from his arse, his whole face soaked in spit and slick, his skin feeling caked in the scent and presence of the other man and Sarica groans, low in his throat, balancing himself against the desk with his one hand, the other desperately beginning to undo the knot on his trousers, letting them fall around his feet and baring himself halfway. His cock's dark and throbbing, wet at the tip and he knows it's just a question of time.
When Anakin looks like that, lying on his side now, breathing out his orgasm and staring at nothing, looking sated, ultimately, deeply sated... It's just a question of time.
Sarica steps out of his trousers entirely, pushing off the desk on this side and walks around the desk stiffly, ending up by Anakin's head, placing himself against the edge of the desk with his thighs, everything hard and pointing in only one direction and that direction is in the other man's face. Sarica grabs himself, having to temper himself with an effort, and angles his cock in against Anakin's chin, his lips right there, his cheek. Mmm. With the thumb of his free hand, Sarica runs his fingertip over Anakin's jutting bottom lip, where it parts slightly with his upper lip, inhaling deeply, slowly. Pleasurably spent. ]
Close your eyes.
[ It's a request, not an order, but a request he's expecting will be met, no questions asked this time. Like that, he starts stroking himself. It's not gentle. Or slow. It's fast, hard strokes, his climax built already, ready to fall, ready to crumble. Sarica breathes raggedly, his muscles trembling, his thighs, his upper arm working, hard, flexing, flexing.
Four, five, six strokes and it comes, it erupts like a volcano. Still, Sarica takes his time, he takes his time bending in over Anakin's face slightly, slipping the hand touching his lips to his eyes, covering them in his whole palm and thus, halfway coming over his face and halfway over the back of his own hand.
The visual is no less enticing. He feels his cock's pulsing and his ball drawing up while he continues to spend himself in long string over Anakin's skin. His own fingers. It's dark behind his hand, he knows, but he isn't blinding him to mislead him, it's protection. He'll show him what he missed afterwards.
[ Sarica's clothes rustle as he tends to himself and Anakin listens, feeling dazed still and curiously anchored to his body, like his mind can't really get beyond all these physical factualities; the pleasure, rooted in his muscles. The wetness along his arse, between his buttocks. The sticky cum trails drying on his skin. He blinks and tilts his head a little as Sarica moves from the background to the foreground, coming into view, more or less cock first. It's wet and red at the tip, the man's clearly been holding back.
The thought makes his body tingle with affection.
He looks up at Sarica as the man presses his cock against his chin, running his fingers along his lips. He thinks for half a second that he wants his cock sucked and is just about to part his lips because why not - but instead, Sarica tells him to close his eyes and though it makes him frown very slightly in confusion, he does it. Right now, at this very moment, it feels as if Sarica couldn't ask anything of him that he wouldn't want to give.
As such, he hears and senses more than sees as Sarica jerks off next to his face; the slick sound of his hand working his cock and the smell of arousal and skin. He breathes slowly, steadily, and he's just about to open his eyes because the thought of that visual's too tempting to miss when Sarica puts his hand over his eyes instead. It's hot and damp and so big that Anakin's blinded by it, thrown into darkness.
He blinks owlishly against the other man's palm.
Then, oh, there - Sarica comes all over his face, wet spurts landing on his chin, his lips, his nose. He smiles and parts his lips a little more, licking them, taking what he's offered here, too. His metal hand steadier than the rest of his body, he runs his hand blindly up Sarica's naked thigh, stroking the skin slowly, letting him finish. ]
That's good.
[ He leans forward despite the hand covering his eyes and kisses what he can reach of Sarica's cock, lips finding the tip, the underside of the head. ]
[ The exhaustion comes only secondly, seeping into his bones with a great, heavy weight and Sarica stands, leaning in over him, shaking very slightly and all his muscles trembling, his hand stilling against the root of his cock, until he feels himself lose hardness and he just... lets go, lets Anakin, who's leaned in and is licking at him, greedily have his fill, too. He deserves it. Deserves to be treated. Himself, Sarica just looks down at him, slightly stunned, watching his lips part, tongue dart out, getting the cum he's left in traces here and there. There's something very gentle about it. About the way Anakin tells him to get what you need, as well. Sarica runs his cum-streaked hand up over his forehead, pushing his sweat-sticky bangs out of his face, getting them good and cum-covered in turn, and he looks at his face, then, holding him by the back of his head, just holding on.
He used to share Timachus with his friends, the same way you parade your best stallion at the markets to attract more buyers. Just the thought of doing something similar with Anakin makes Sarica feel nauseaus now and he bends down slowly, thereby pulling out of the other man's reach with his cock, instead kissing his cheek, where he's marked him with his cum. Mine, it says, but not in gold. In something else. Something stronger. He licks off the first couple of strings of the stuff, extending along Anakin's cheek and nose, then he kisses his nose tip, then his lips. Getting a taste of himself.
It's a superficial, light kiss, but it's warm and it tastes like them both. He reeks of Anakin now, honestly, but the truth remains that he'll no doubt reek of Anakin in every imaginable way for a long, long time to come. He'll carry his everything, he'll carry his scent, too. Gladly.
Drawing back and straightening up, Sarica turns towards the window. It's gotten dark outside in the meantime. Even if Toril should lurk about after nightfall tonight, Sarica can't make him out and that's all that matters, that they aren't disturbed in this little world of theirs. ]
I have.
[ He says, fixing his tunic absentmindedly and thinking, this could be how it will end. ]
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no subject
Between Sarica's fingers, his cock's all fullness, long and hard, slicking up nicely as he strokes upwards, then down, then up again, supporting the slight curve of the shaft with his thumb, finding those sensitive veins with his fingertip. Pressing in slightly. They take each other's mouths. After a while, taste is a matter of definition, whose is whose. Sarica's other hand comes up and follows Anakin's leg to his waist, supports himself there as well. Anakin's strong, very strong, very stubborn, he can take it, all his pressure, the weight of him.
Yet, this isn't how he wants him. Not tonight. The other man was so incredibly good at taking him to the root of him earlier, Sarica wants to take him right back, even out the balance between them once more, the way they do for each other and have done since the beginning. It's one reason Sarica's so hot for him, so incredibly hard right now, jerking him off slowly with his one hand, the other cradling him as close as he'll go. At least from this angle.
This angle's just not enough.
No.
Releasing his hold on Anakin's cock, he grabs him by the waist with both hands, his left hand leaving spit trails over his skin. He pulls out of the kiss, too, resting his forehead against the side of Anakin's face, a sharp smile curving on his lips, more a tug at the corner of his mouth than real glimpse of teeth. His voice is husky as he says: ]
Follow me.
[ And because he knows the other man is so very flexible, so very agile and has reflexes even faster than his refractory period, Sarica flips him over, simply digs in his fingers and more or less throws him onto his hands and knees, parchment flying everywhere, a map tearing in two, but that's more work for the map maker, he ought to thank Anakin for his daily bread.
He ought to thank Anakin, and he will. ]
no subject
He finds that he loves discovering Sarica from the inside-out.
Just as he's getting into the rhythm of it, though, Sarica proceeds to remove his hand from his cock and pull out of the kiss which is honestly so shockingly rude that Anakin can't breathe for it. He scowls, gaze sharpening into a stare as Sarica leans his forehead against his face and kriff, he can feel the bastard smiling, but why would he -
Follow me says Sarica, upon which he... grabs Anakin by the waist and flips him. Anakin, his brain used to taking orders quickly enough to dodge everything from a blaster bolt to pissy Gundarks, reacts accordingly. He moves, twisting in the air slightly and finding purchase on his hands and feet, his arse in the air and the papers on the desk crumbling between his fingers. He's breathing hard, blinking stupidly at the view in front of him - window, gardens, stables. Everything in plain view and Anakin, consequently, ditto.
Uh.
Shifting, he turns his head slightly, just enough to glimpse Sarica out of the corner of his eye. ]
And what now?
no subject
Sarica will keep this one, too. Yes.
He pushes his fingertips into the other man's buttocks, just letting him feel the curve of his fingers and the pressure of nails, spreading them ever so slightly, the skin on Anakin's balls tightening slightly between his legs in response, all taut, all smooth, inviting. Mm. Anakin placed himself in a clear line of vision, he knew he might be seen, if Sarica knows him right, he wanted to be seen, his youngster. Admired. Wanted. Mm, indeed, Sarica knows him well.
Whether he actually cares for the idea of others seeing him like this? That's a dilemma for another day, another night.
For now, Toril can live.
Sarica bends down, pushing his whole face sideways in against the backside of Anakin's left thigh, his heavy breathing ghosting over the other man's balls at this angle. He licks his lips, feeling ravenous already, feeling absolutely starved, like he's never eaten before, like he's never fucked anyone on his tongue before and maybe he hasn't. Not like this. Nothing's quite like this. His voice, when he speaks, sounds hoarse and strangely genuine. ]
Now you tell me when to stop.
[ With that, he leans in and catches one of Anakin's testicles between his lips, letting him feel the heat and wetness of his mouth. One, then the other, then tongue lapping over both before Sarica, uncharacteristically impatient, pulls back, strings of spit clinging to his lips and he lifts his head enough to nudge his nose in between the other man's buttocks, still slightly spread. He spreads them more. The scent of musk and the essence of Anakin clings to his whole face now. He wants him so much it hurts.
Teasingly, he licks a thin strip of saliva upwards, towards his rim, though he doesn't quite advance yet. ]
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It's different. It feels a lot more vulnerable than sucking his cock, for instance, which honestly doesn't feel vulnerable to any significant degree. He frowns. Shifts a little against the table, curling and un-curling his fingers. It adds to the strangeness that he's got his back to Sarica, that he can't predict what he's about to do. He wets his lips, tasting the other man there and focusing on that, on the warm familiarity of it.
He feels Sarica's face against the back of his thigh, first, his curls tickling his skin. Frowning in confusion, he glances sideways again over his shoulder, seeing him leaning down behind him, the oil lamp trailing shadows along his shoulders and back. At his words, he stiffens - and doesn't get any further, really, because the man proceeds to suck his testicle between his lips, plunging him into a sense of utter wetness and heat. He groans, loudly, and spreads his thighs more or less by instinct, giving him space to - oh, yes.
Distantly, he wonders why Sarica didn't just blow him from the front but then again, compared to him, Anakin really doesn't know anything about this stuff and it feels fantastic so he's hardly going to argue the finer points here. He's expecting to feel his hand around his cock next, maybe the tip of his tongue against the back of the shaft. Instead, Sarica nudges his nose in between his buttocks and spreads them more, baring him and making him feel naked all the way to his core.
Shivering, he clenches his hands. When Sarica actually licks a line up towards his arsehole, he startles violently and falls onto one elbow like a complete and utter tool. ]
I - what? What are you doing?
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Besides, Anakin is nothing like anyone else Sarica has had and he has already been instructed, hasn't he, not to treat him as just another in a long, long line. So, as the younger man topples over onto one elbow, the lines of his whole body tightening and Sarica feels it in his arse, too, Sarica stops, drawing back with the musk and the heat still clinging to his skin, and glances up at him. They can't see eye to eye, from here, but they'll meet voice to voice. Anakin obviously knows how to use his.
In that respect, too, he is not like any of the rest. They're quiet and faceless. Or they yelled and Sarica didn't hear, wouldn't be able to identify their voices anymore. He'd remember their cocks before their faces.
Swallowing heavily, he kisses Anakin's right buttock quickly before answering, plainly: ]
I'm going to lick your arsehole. Are you saying stop?
[ The tone of his voice makes it clear that he is inviting him to, if he wants. He knows other ways to use his mouth, this one was just in and deep and mine. And after Irestes' villa, that whole incident, he was in the mood for in and deep and mine.
Possibly, he should've considered one) that Anakin might not be familiar and two) that Anakin might not share in his mood. Possibly, this is another lesson learned, like the gold and the silver. Obviously, Sarica learns in hard metal. ]
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Kriff.
Okay, so there was a question and he should consider it. Slowing down his breathing forcibly, he realises that no, the thought doesn't bother him nearly as much as he thinks it probably should - there's something distinctively dirty about it, something wicked, but then again, Anakin isn't exactly pure as snow, is he. He bends his neck. Shifts a little on his knees, reaching between his legs absent-mindedly to squeeze his aching cock. It's a brief slap of friction, a spark in his bloodstream. It wakes him up, just as it leaves him wanting.
He clears his throat, wincing at the ache that follows. ]
I'm not.
[ His voice sounds gravelly. This time, he can't bring himself to look at Sarica, biting his bottom lip hard instead. ]
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Anakin is little again, not in the sense that he has never had his arse licked before or, probably, even considered that you could have your arse licked. No, it's in the sense that he's showing all his cards and Sarica is forcibly having them laid out before him, with his big hands on his buttocks, pulling him open and apart at the same time. Sarica is taking again, because taking is what Sarica does, he takes for himself and he claims and he makes people his.
But they've already been over that. Anakin hates it. Slaver. Sarica remembers.
Even with a house full of servants that he pays, that is what Sarica is. You don't run from your origins. Oh, no, but you can outgrow them. If nothing else, that he has proven plentily already.
He hums, low in his throat, it's not quite the audio of a smile, but close enough, and kisses Anakin's other buttock, the left one. From that point, he presses his tongue flat against the other man's skin and licks erratic patterns across the curves of his arse cheeks, just letting him get used to the pressure of tongue tip, the wetness, the heat. Burning. It'll burn.
And still, Sarica won't let him. Watching the way he squeezes himself, clearly still hard and aching for it, he draws back long enough to mutter, throatily: ]
You're healthily wary, my friend. That's good. [ Another kiss and he bends down further, pressing his whole tongue into the cleft between the other man's buttocks, licking a long, damp stroke up, just letting it brush over the rim of his arsehole, skin puckered and shadowy, his taste explosive. Sarica's fingers are digging into his arse now, keeping him open. Draw back, again, air. Words. ] I want this to be better.
[ So, Sarica dives right back in, pressing his half-open mouth over the rim of Anakin's arsehole and letting his tongue flick repeatedly over the sensitive area. ]
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Shoulders relaxing fractionally, he exhales. Sarica kisses his other buttock, a warm, slightly damp little point of pressure against his skin and then, oh, yes, there's his tongue. It's a good tongue. He likes it. Breathing harder, Anakin shifts against him, pressing back against his mouth though there's a part of him that's very, very aware that Sarica isn't - well, he isn't there yet, obviously. He's giving Anakin time and a part of him feels pathetic for needing it. Most of him, though, just takes what he can get.
What Sarica wants him to have.
At his words, he huffs out a breath of laughter - healthily wary, that's generous - and then, just like that, Sarica presses his tongue between his buttocks and licks him. Right there. Eyes widening comically, Anakin's fingers actually rip up something that may or may not be an important map on Sarica's desk. He gasps, open-mouthed. His arsehole feels suddenly hyper-sensitive, all the nerve-endings there (and apparently, there are many) awake.
He's about to answer Sarica - to say something, probably none-too-intelligent at this point - when the other man leans back in. This time, he stays there, his tongue flicking over the rim of his arsehole and oh, oh, what in the name of everything -- ]
Sarica! [ It's a moan and an exclamation all at once. ] Oh, that's --
[ He presses his over-heated face against the inside of his flesh arm, blinking rapidly, his shoulders heaving. His arsehole is wet now, from saliva, and the pressure of Sarica's tongue is making his cock weep. He shakes his head, stupidly. ]
Don't stop.
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And the thought overwhelms him, his cock jerking in his trousers and Sarica groans, loudly, angling his face, pressing it further in between Anakin's buttocks, when the other man begs him not to stop and the miracle is not that he might have told him to, the miracle is that Sarica would've complied. Readily. He would've cared. He cares.
Releasing the other man's right buttock, Sarica reaches down and rights his own cock slightly before using the same hand to catch Anakin's weeping cock between his fingers, tightening them unceremoniously at the root of his length, just hard enough to starve off his obviously impending climax. He stays like that, tugging a little bit harshly on the other man's cock, the heavy feel of it making his own crotch feel tight and wrought and wanting. Meanwhile, he presses his face in against his arsehole, closing his lips over the rim carefully, to create that feeling of suction as he keeps wetly licking at the bundle of nerves.
Finally, when Sarica thinks he couldn't prepare him more, even if he were sweet and considerate, which he rarely is, he just pushes the pointed tip of his tongue against the loosened rim, pliant, giving, and pushes, letting just the tip penetrate him. Out, in again, out, in.
All the while, not releasing his grip on Anakin's cock. ]
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Of letting go.
Eyes falling shut, he pants and cants his hips a little, pushing back against Sarica's tongue. The other man grabs his cock and for a second, Anakin's fairly certain that's it, he's going to come all over this desk and nothing can stop him. But then, oh, he - he grabs it, his hand not stroking but simply holding and Anakin realises through the fog of pleasure descending over his rational mind that he's holding him back, too, not just pushing him forwards. Groaning loudly, his teeth actually scraping over his arm at this point, Anakin slips down onto his other elbow, his spine curving and shoulders trembling as he stays there, on his knees, arse more or less in the air.
Behind him, Sarica starts pushing his tongue into him and he clenches down slightly against the intrusion, completely by instinct. Something escapes his throat - some kind of noise that he can't and won't consider too carefully (it's a soft sound, slightly wet) - as he forces himself to relax, to let him in. He opens his eyes, staring out of the window, his hair sticking to his forehead and obscuring the view, caging him in but not in an awful way, not in the kind of way that would've made him either desperate or despondent.
He stays. Shifts his hips and meets Sarica's thrusts with small, experimental thrusts, his balls painfully tight against his body. ]
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I'm going to release you. Come.
[ And with that he digs right back in, pushes his whole face into his arse crack and devours him, fucking him faster on his tongue now, every fourth or fifth outstroke, flicking his tongue tip over the rim again. It becomes rhythm. It builds and it builds and it grows frantic and faster and wanting.
Then, finally, Sarica slowly, slowly loosens his hold on Anakin's cock, until it's light and more a tease than actual touch and starts stroking him in time, angling his cock upwards enough that when he comes, and he'll come, Sarica told him to, has been telling him to since he pushed between his buttocks, he'll catch on himself and the rest will take his papers and that, in itself, is a truly satisfactory thought.
In Sarica's mind, there's nothing but the taste of him, the scent, musky, dark, and his own body's coiling from arousal, his cock throbbing harshly in his trousers, but he can get himself afterwards. For once, for one glorious moment, Sarica's not the one playing center stage. ]
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Come says Sarica before he goes back to licking him, to eating him and every thrust of his tongue makes him feel light, like he's going to lose his grip and float off the desk. He makes that sound again, louder, his voice hoarse and choked. At the first stroke of Sarica's hand around his cock, his balls tighten up and his climax explodes out of him. The other man's angling him upwards and consequently, he shoots strings of cum all over his own abdomen and midriff. He's panting, his arse contracting around and against Sarica's tongue.
With a strangled cry, he collapses onto his side with a heavy thump, papers flying everywhere. His mind is full of white noise, like static flickering on the inside of his eyelids, except even when he blinks, the feeling remains. He's bitten his bottom lip bloody at some point, though he can't remember when or how. Licking at it a bit uselessly, he rests his face against his upperarm, his breathing ragged and slow.
He can still feel the echo of the other man's tongue inside his - oh. His face actually reddens again. How is that even a thing? He's led his regions through active, burning war zones for years, has killed and tortured to get them closer to victory. He's a Jedi. He's stronger than most known Jedi in the galaxy. He should've already seen everything that could shake a man and gone beyond it.
But Anakin's also just twenty-three years old and Sarica wants to give him silver and gold and something even more important, something that lingers in his exhausted limbs now, something that will stay like an imprint forever. He sighs. Smiles at nothing.
Oh. ]
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When Anakin looks like that, lying on his side now, breathing out his orgasm and staring at nothing, looking sated, ultimately, deeply sated... It's just a question of time.
Sarica steps out of his trousers entirely, pushing off the desk on this side and walks around the desk stiffly, ending up by Anakin's head, placing himself against the edge of the desk with his thighs, everything hard and pointing in only one direction and that direction is in the other man's face. Sarica grabs himself, having to temper himself with an effort, and angles his cock in against Anakin's chin, his lips right there, his cheek. Mmm. With the thumb of his free hand, Sarica runs his fingertip over Anakin's jutting bottom lip, where it parts slightly with his upper lip, inhaling deeply, slowly. Pleasurably spent. ]
Close your eyes.
[ It's a request, not an order, but a request he's expecting will be met, no questions asked this time. Like that, he starts stroking himself. It's not gentle. Or slow. It's fast, hard strokes, his climax built already, ready to fall, ready to crumble. Sarica breathes raggedly, his muscles trembling, his thighs, his upper arm working, hard, flexing, flexing.
Four, five, six strokes and it comes, it erupts like a volcano. Still, Sarica takes his time, he takes his time bending in over Anakin's face slightly, slipping the hand touching his lips to his eyes, covering them in his whole palm and thus, halfway coming over his face and halfway over the back of his own hand.
The visual is no less enticing. He feels his cock's pulsing and his ball drawing up while he continues to spend himself in long string over Anakin's skin. His own fingers. It's dark behind his hand, he knows, but he isn't blinding him to mislead him, it's protection. He'll show him what he missed afterwards.
Everything, he'll show him. ]
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The thought makes his body tingle with affection.
He looks up at Sarica as the man presses his cock against his chin, running his fingers along his lips. He thinks for half a second that he wants his cock sucked and is just about to part his lips because why not - but instead, Sarica tells him to close his eyes and though it makes him frown very slightly in confusion, he does it. Right now, at this very moment, it feels as if Sarica couldn't ask anything of him that he wouldn't want to give.
As such, he hears and senses more than sees as Sarica jerks off next to his face; the slick sound of his hand working his cock and the smell of arousal and skin. He breathes slowly, steadily, and he's just about to open his eyes because the thought of that visual's too tempting to miss when Sarica puts his hand over his eyes instead. It's hot and damp and so big that Anakin's blinded by it, thrown into darkness.
He blinks owlishly against the other man's palm.
Then, oh, there - Sarica comes all over his face, wet spurts landing on his chin, his lips, his nose. He smiles and parts his lips a little more, licking them, taking what he's offered here, too. His metal hand steadier than the rest of his body, he runs his hand blindly up Sarica's naked thigh, stroking the skin slowly, letting him finish. ]
That's good.
[ He leans forward despite the hand covering his eyes and kisses what he can reach of Sarica's cock, lips finding the tip, the underside of the head. ]
Get what you need.
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He used to share Timachus with his friends, the same way you parade your best stallion at the markets to attract more buyers. Just the thought of doing something similar with Anakin makes Sarica feel nauseaus now and he bends down slowly, thereby pulling out of the other man's reach with his cock, instead kissing his cheek, where he's marked him with his cum. Mine, it says, but not in gold. In something else. Something stronger. He licks off the first couple of strings of the stuff, extending along Anakin's cheek and nose, then he kisses his nose tip, then his lips. Getting a taste of himself.
It's a superficial, light kiss, but it's warm and it tastes like them both. He reeks of Anakin now, honestly, but the truth remains that he'll no doubt reek of Anakin in every imaginable way for a long, long time to come. He'll carry his everything, he'll carry his scent, too. Gladly.
Drawing back and straightening up, Sarica turns towards the window. It's gotten dark outside in the meantime. Even if Toril should lurk about after nightfall tonight, Sarica can't make him out and that's all that matters, that they aren't disturbed in this little world of theirs. ]
I have.
[ He says, fixing his tunic absentmindedly and thinking, this could be how it will end. ]