![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
I do. I've been thinking about it for a while, but that recent — incident, decided me. I don't want everyone to know what it is. Only you.
Is there anything to discuss with changing it, or do I just tell you what I've chosen? Do you have to agree to it?
Is there anything to discuss with changing it, or do I just tell you what I've chosen? Do you have to agree to it?
（ oh.
he has to rein himself back in from the edge of lost time, so tempted to just dissect that message mathematically in his mind and surface in an hour, or two, or ten. awareness stealing back in on little cat feet like a thing alive.
staying anchored in the moment is. difficult. dizzying.
his mouth has gone dry. fear is something he needs to excise. ）
where are you?
he has to rein himself back in from the edge of lost time, so tempted to just dissect that message mathematically in his mind and surface in an hour, or two, or ten. awareness stealing back in on little cat feet like a thing alive.
staying anchored in the moment is. difficult. dizzying.
his mouth has gone dry. fear is something he needs to excise. ）
where are you?
I'll be there soon.
[He doesn't waste time. Gathering up the small overnight bag he's used frequently for this purpose, he only adds a folded armful of clean clothes to the interior before it goes over his shoulder. Then he steps into the narrow, badly lit corridor on the rank two floor and heads straight for the stairs.
Of course, he expected that Cy would have a reaction to his choice — part of the reason for asking via text channel was to allow a moment of space, so he was not crowding Cy with his decision. Their conversation about Cy's safeword, the God of War "Ares", is not so far behind that Sasuke doesn't recall the significance borne in its usage.
Less than five minutes later, a punctual knock taps Cy's door.]
[He doesn't waste time. Gathering up the small overnight bag he's used frequently for this purpose, he only adds a folded armful of clean clothes to the interior before it goes over his shoulder. Then he steps into the narrow, badly lit corridor on the rank two floor and heads straight for the stairs.
Of course, he expected that Cy would have a reaction to his choice — part of the reason for asking via text channel was to allow a moment of space, so he was not crowding Cy with his decision. Their conversation about Cy's safeword, the God of War "Ares", is not so far behind that Sasuke doesn't recall the significance borne in its usage.
Less than five minutes later, a punctual knock taps Cy's door.]
（ the only change he makes to his room is to, at the knock, send the giftbox he'd gotten for sasuke to his room, effectively trading places and ensuring that it won't be found until the clock rolls over into midnight.
when he opens the door — his expression is unreadable for a handful of seconds before it suddenly careens into emotionality — and sasuke is hauled in for a kiss that shoves him up against the door the moment it's closed. ）
when he opens the door — his expression is unreadable for a handful of seconds before it suddenly careens into emotionality — and sasuke is hauled in for a kiss that shoves him up against the door the moment it's closed. ）
[There is no resistance, embrace welcomed as he's navigated against the door with a force that only jars an answering need awake in him. His right arm coils around Cy's shoulders, tight and steady, hand hooked at the back of Cy's head where fingers can bury in hair, providing a stable support to the kiss.
It seems like a good answer, so far.]
It seems like a good answer, so far.]
（ the kiss is lit with hunger like a fire, oxygen-starved as he licks into sasuke's mouth as if in search of it. sasuke's hand settles at his nape and while normally the touch would be something he would sink into, bask in — he reaches for it, hand closing around sasuke's own before he just pins his wrist to the door. the only reason why it isn't directly bruising in and of itself is because his thumb cushions the impact of slamming sasuke's arm up and over his head.
it's desire scraped raw and salt-slicked. it could be nothing else but that.
the kiss turns into a drag of his teeth against his throat, and lower. when the shirt presents a barrier he removes it with the void, keeping sasuke pinned as he bends to bite at his collarbone, and then lower to close his mouth over a nipple. his free hand is shoved down the front of sasuke's pants, fingers tucked in against the skin so he can prise his way been the barriers of fabric and envelop sasuke's cock in a practiced grip.
his touch would be brutal if it weren't so exacting. if the force weren't half so calculated. but it is still an animal thing, half a rut as he blocks one of his knees between sasuke's thighs. ）
it's desire scraped raw and salt-slicked. it could be nothing else but that.
the kiss turns into a drag of his teeth against his throat, and lower. when the shirt presents a barrier he removes it with the void, keeping sasuke pinned as he bends to bite at his collarbone, and then lower to close his mouth over a nipple. his free hand is shoved down the front of sasuke's pants, fingers tucked in against the skin so he can prise his way been the barriers of fabric and envelop sasuke's cock in a practiced grip.
his touch would be brutal if it weren't so exacting. if the force weren't half so calculated. but it is still an animal thing, half a rut as he blocks one of his knees between sasuke's thighs. ）
[Lips part at the seam, allowing Cy's tongue into the slick interior of his mouth, where the flavor of salt lingers from an earlier snack — and his breath gusts out, expelled by the control demonstrated as his wrist is put to the door. There is a definitiveness to it that tells him not to move. And he obeys willfully, alacrity built into the ease of submission as he's pinned to be pried apart by Cy's demonstrative care.
It shakes out a shiver, that blunt scoring of teeth down his throat to the collar of a shirt. Then, the shirt is gone, snapped away with a lick of frigid air too little to leave an impression. It doesn't take much for the attention of teeth to surface marks, possessively laid over pale skin. Yet as soon as Cy's mouth reaches his nipple, keen sensitivity makes him stutter, a twist of resistance against the door that shows through flexed muscle. There is nowhere to go; that knee imprisons the last of his physical freedom, parting legs to allow Cy's hand plenty of room to maneuver.
He will find Sasuke quick to harden. It's frighteningly easy, arousal filling his cock like honey in a spoon until he's swollen from it, leaking, hot and heavy in Cy's palm. There's another brief, intermissive struggle meant only to test the cage of strength that keeps him held.]
It shakes out a shiver, that blunt scoring of teeth down his throat to the collar of a shirt. Then, the shirt is gone, snapped away with a lick of frigid air too little to leave an impression. It doesn't take much for the attention of teeth to surface marks, possessively laid over pale skin. Yet as soon as Cy's mouth reaches his nipple, keen sensitivity makes him stutter, a twist of resistance against the door that shows through flexed muscle. There is nowhere to go; that knee imprisons the last of his physical freedom, parting legs to allow Cy's hand plenty of room to maneuver.
He will find Sasuke quick to harden. It's frighteningly easy, arousal filling his cock like honey in a spoon until he's swollen from it, leaking, hot and heavy in Cy's palm. There's another brief, intermissive struggle meant only to test the cage of strength that keeps him held.]
（ that little struggle, unserious in execution, only fans the flames of his arousal. his exhalation is sharp, pushed between teeth in a way that makes the air sound bitten. he's almost too overwhelmed to know where he wants to start. the act of touch alone isn't slaking his thirst. he wants to fuck him until he cries, wants him to breathe no air except what cy's kissed into him, wants to touch every part of him in ownership, wants to brand him bloody —
the sink to his knees is inexorable, and he pulls sasuke's arm with him as he goes, pinning it anew right against the boy's own navel, clear and continued instruction not to move. and then he works sasuke's pants and underwear down to his midthigh, leaning forward to swallow his cock right to the root. it is quick, efficient, nosing into sasuke's short, sparse pubes. past blowjobs have been almost playful, instructive. teasing, but a walk towards orgasm. this is intended to be a ruthless sprint — every trick he's ever learned is put now to use, the flex of his throat and the soft melodic hum and the drive of his tongue against the slit, the way his cheeks hollow out at the suction. ）
the sink to his knees is inexorable, and he pulls sasuke's arm with him as he goes, pinning it anew right against the boy's own navel, clear and continued instruction not to move. and then he works sasuke's pants and underwear down to his midthigh, leaning forward to swallow his cock right to the root. it is quick, efficient, nosing into sasuke's short, sparse pubes. past blowjobs have been almost playful, instructive. teasing, but a walk towards orgasm. this is intended to be a ruthless sprint — every trick he's ever learned is put now to use, the flex of his throat and the soft melodic hum and the drive of his tongue against the slit, the way his cheeks hollow out at the suction. ）
[The hand stays where it's held with no more than that touch, obedience effortlessly given, fingers curling into a fist to prevent any half-shaped impulse to reach for Cy. His cock is bared as pants are yanked down, curving in a shameless jut upward, flushed that ruddy shade of red that belies how quickly he's become aroused — and it doesn't really matter at all when Cy's mouth slides over him in one merciless swallow. Sasuke feels the weakness of sudden sensation threaten his knees; he locks them, leaning hard against the door as his voice rises up out of his throat, wholly undone, a shattered sound of pleasure. He's not expecting all of it at once. Overwhelmed at the tight seal of pressure and suction, he doesn't have the self-control to stop hips from bucking as his dick is taken by the squeeze of Cy's throat.
Whatever stamina he's built from their shared encounters, he has no true defenses against Cy's experience and skill. It would be humiliating if he was still ashamed of it — how rapidly the orgasm is pulled from his body, worked loose by Cy's lips and tongue and throat. The rush is hot and hard, only warning in the brief little thrash he manages just before, the gasp of Cy over and over in litany of worship.]
Whatever stamina he's built from their shared encounters, he has no true defenses against Cy's experience and skill. It would be humiliating if he was still ashamed of it — how rapidly the orgasm is pulled from his body, worked loose by Cy's lips and tongue and throat. The rush is hot and hard, only warning in the brief little thrash he manages just before, the gasp of Cy over and over in litany of worship.]
（ he barely needed the warning — he'd made the decision the moment he dropped. now — pulled back to the moment — he swallows, satisfaction blown wide open by how quickly he'd gotten sasuke off, and when he stands up and crowds the boy in against the wall, leans down to kiss him again while his mouth still tastes of his own release — tonguing past his lips the way one shoulders down a door. forcing him to accept entry, to taste himself, to submit.
he reaches down to sasuke's hips and lifts him even with the awkward entrapment of his tugged-down pants rucking up between them as he encourages sasuke to put his legs around him. the bed is barely more than a half-turn and a step away but he carries sasuke directly to it and lets them both drop against it.
he hasn't even let the boy take his shoes off yet, but getting him disrobed is the next thing that follows — he straightens up and slips his shoes off, tosses them over his shoulder towards the door in dull thumps. his pants follow, and the moment sasuke's stripped cy puts him across his lap, pressed down into the mattress, held helpless. the position will be familiar to him now, and cy pins his hand against the small of his back. the only kindness offered is that he smoothes his hand across sasuke's ass instead of simply striking him. even through the cloud of want that's seized him with both hands, he knows he needs to establish — something. parameters. rules.
even like this, sasuke is held just far enough up the length of his thighs that he'll be able to tell cy is perilously hard, especially as cy bends over him to reach for something in the nightstand: a silk scarf. this one is red, and one-handed he knots it loosely, slips the fabric through the loop of it around one of sasuke's thighs and then the other, effectively pinning his legs together so he can't squirm or fight half so easily. ）
Give me a number. I want you to push yourself for me.
（ acts of service, as he'd said. the next thing that's retrieved is the bell, pressed into sasuke's palm like a promise. ）
It's going to hurt. Hades if you want me to stop. Do you understand?
he reaches down to sasuke's hips and lifts him even with the awkward entrapment of his tugged-down pants rucking up between them as he encourages sasuke to put his legs around him. the bed is barely more than a half-turn and a step away but he carries sasuke directly to it and lets them both drop against it.
he hasn't even let the boy take his shoes off yet, but getting him disrobed is the next thing that follows — he straightens up and slips his shoes off, tosses them over his shoulder towards the door in dull thumps. his pants follow, and the moment sasuke's stripped cy puts him across his lap, pressed down into the mattress, held helpless. the position will be familiar to him now, and cy pins his hand against the small of his back. the only kindness offered is that he smoothes his hand across sasuke's ass instead of simply striking him. even through the cloud of want that's seized him with both hands, he knows he needs to establish — something. parameters. rules.
even like this, sasuke is held just far enough up the length of his thighs that he'll be able to tell cy is perilously hard, especially as cy bends over him to reach for something in the nightstand: a silk scarf. this one is red, and one-handed he knots it loosely, slips the fabric through the loop of it around one of sasuke's thighs and then the other, effectively pinning his legs together so he can't squirm or fight half so easily. ）
Give me a number. I want you to push yourself for me.
（ acts of service, as he'd said. the next thing that's retrieved is the bell, pressed into sasuke's palm like a promise. ）
It's going to hurt. Hades if you want me to stop. Do you understand?
[He resists the kiss, but only because it feels good to be forced to open, lips pried apart by a tongue — tasting himself, bitter-salt shared between their mouths. It's a reminder that Cy just swallowed his come, a reminder of power between them for how quickly Cy has taken it from him — and how quickly he's surrendered it.
Lifted like a negligible burden, Cy delivers them to the bed in one fell swoop, breath jostled from him on the cushioned landing. Soon he's stripped; soon Cy lords above him, an imperial presence of authority in the shape of that ancient body perfectly wielded. Bent over Cy's lap like the curve of a blade, he puts his own face down against the mattress without complaint. He doesn't even notice the cooler air on bare flesh. Cy is too hot, a burning furnace in proximity made more stark when he feels the hard line of Cy's cock against his side, rigid, a signal of arousal Sasuke wants to throw himself against if only allowed freedom of movement.
Then the scarf binds his thighs; hamstrings flex, standing out on pale skin scarred with the wear and tear of a warborn life, ass a firm clench of muscle before the deliberate, well-taught release to pliancy.]
Forty, [is the airless number, like he's close to panting for it already.] But it needs to be a little harder than usual.
[They've done this enough times by now that he feels safe in this offer of a parameter, fingers slipping familiarly around the bell. It chimes against his palm before he wraps it up in a tight hold.]
I understand. [His head turns, enough to be able to gaze up from the submissive position he's been placed into — wearing an expression as adoring as it is intense. Tone shifting, sinuous, fog on glass —] Did I do something to deserve punishment?
Lifted like a negligible burden, Cy delivers them to the bed in one fell swoop, breath jostled from him on the cushioned landing. Soon he's stripped; soon Cy lords above him, an imperial presence of authority in the shape of that ancient body perfectly wielded. Bent over Cy's lap like the curve of a blade, he puts his own face down against the mattress without complaint. He doesn't even notice the cooler air on bare flesh. Cy is too hot, a burning furnace in proximity made more stark when he feels the hard line of Cy's cock against his side, rigid, a signal of arousal Sasuke wants to throw himself against if only allowed freedom of movement.
Then the scarf binds his thighs; hamstrings flex, standing out on pale skin scarred with the wear and tear of a warborn life, ass a firm clench of muscle before the deliberate, well-taught release to pliancy.]
Forty, [is the airless number, like he's close to panting for it already.] But it needs to be a little harder than usual.
[They've done this enough times by now that he feels safe in this offer of a parameter, fingers slipping familiarly around the bell. It chimes against his palm before he wraps it up in a tight hold.]
I understand. [His head turns, enough to be able to gaze up from the submissive position he's been placed into — wearing an expression as adoring as it is intense. Tone shifting, sinuous, fog on glass —] Did I do something to deserve punishment?
Forty.
（ it's said in agreement, and he bends to press a scorching kiss against sasuke's shoulder. his wrist is stroked with a long press of cy's thumb in against the flexing tendons, and that one single gesture is so achingly entrenched in love it seems impossible that it could be anything else but a declaration to the heavens themselves.
he tests the binding on sasuke's thighs, and draws it just a little more taut. slipping into a simple scenario adds structure and flavour to the scene, it's almost easier to step outside himself in the moment. even his tone is a bit different, less drawling. another persona pulled on like a second skin. ）
I caught you cheating on a French test. Sometimes, I think punishment's the only way you ever learn. So now we're in my office after hours, and you need to make-up your grade. We've agreed to a transaction — I'll punish you, and you'll get a passing grade. I can't wait to see the way you'll flinch tomorrow when you try to take your seat at your desk and remember my hand on you.
（ the one concession he makes to the injuries sasuke is on the upswing of recovery from is that he drags the blanket over and cushions it beneath the break in his ribs, so that there's less chance of the sharp twinge of pain from the mending bone. ）
We've agreed on forty. But you haven't taken that many before in my class, I've been too lenient on you until now. So maybe you'll struggle. （ a soft caress up the base of sasuke's spine. ） Maybe you'll beg me to stop. （ his breath is hot against sasuke's ear as he murmurs: ） But I'm not going to listen. You're going to take it all. Every stroke. Do I make myself clear, Sasuke?
（ there's only one correct response, and he's sure sasuke will be quick to pick it up. ）
（ it's said in agreement, and he bends to press a scorching kiss against sasuke's shoulder. his wrist is stroked with a long press of cy's thumb in against the flexing tendons, and that one single gesture is so achingly entrenched in love it seems impossible that it could be anything else but a declaration to the heavens themselves.
he tests the binding on sasuke's thighs, and draws it just a little more taut. slipping into a simple scenario adds structure and flavour to the scene, it's almost easier to step outside himself in the moment. even his tone is a bit different, less drawling. another persona pulled on like a second skin. ）
I caught you cheating on a French test. Sometimes, I think punishment's the only way you ever learn. So now we're in my office after hours, and you need to make-up your grade. We've agreed to a transaction — I'll punish you, and you'll get a passing grade. I can't wait to see the way you'll flinch tomorrow when you try to take your seat at your desk and remember my hand on you.
（ the one concession he makes to the injuries sasuke is on the upswing of recovery from is that he drags the blanket over and cushions it beneath the break in his ribs, so that there's less chance of the sharp twinge of pain from the mending bone. ）
We've agreed on forty. But you haven't taken that many before in my class, I've been too lenient on you until now. So maybe you'll struggle. （ a soft caress up the base of sasuke's spine. ） Maybe you'll beg me to stop. （ his breath is hot against sasuke's ear as he murmurs: ） But I'm not going to listen. You're going to take it all. Every stroke. Do I make myself clear, Sasuke?
（ there's only one correct response, and he's sure sasuke will be quick to pick it up. ）
[The evidence is in the way he's touched and treated between the lines — a kiss to a shoulder, a thumb stroke, further cushion of an added blanket. Reassurance that carries him into the illusion of the act gracefully; it helps that it's a scenario teased more than once between them so far, bandied and bantered onto familiar grounds. He doesn't come to it as easily as Cy does, that play-acting, but Cy's guidance and confidence smooths the way for his best attempt.
He can imagine it. A dark office around them, himself bent across his sensei's lap — the committed wrong of cheating on a test that he has, quite frankly, done before in his own life at the Academy once upon a time. Yet this is different, and he is older, and perhaps he's cheated on purpose — knowing exactly where it would land him, knowing the threat of pain it would bring from the hand of an attractive man whose authority chokes all of the air from the room.
Every stroke, Cy says, and he nearly bites his lip bloody not to whimper.]
Yes, sir.
[A shiver races through him at the touch low on his back, Cy's changed voice in his ear further carrying that false reality. He tests the silk restraint across his thighs, but it does not yield, only denting the skin it binds. Anticipation rivets him in place — because now he has to wait for it to begin.]
He can imagine it. A dark office around them, himself bent across his sensei's lap — the committed wrong of cheating on a test that he has, quite frankly, done before in his own life at the Academy once upon a time. Yet this is different, and he is older, and perhaps he's cheated on purpose — knowing exactly where it would land him, knowing the threat of pain it would bring from the hand of an attractive man whose authority chokes all of the air from the room.
Every stroke, Cy says, and he nearly bites his lip bloody not to whimper.]
Yes, sir.
[A shiver races through him at the touch low on his back, Cy's changed voice in his ear further carrying that false reality. He tests the silk restraint across his thighs, but it does not yield, only denting the skin it binds. Anticipation rivets him in place — because now he has to wait for it to begin.]
（ he does not have to wait long. cy adjusts how he's holding sasuke's wrist against his back, ensures that the bell is sheltered firmly in the clench of his fingers. he reaches between them to adjust sasuke's cock no that it won't be uncomfortably trapped as they begin. and once those little points of ritual are done like the anointment of oils to pulse points — ）
I'm going to hit you, and I want you to count them off — 'one, thank you sir.' You're thanking me for taking the time to discipline you. That I'm showing you attention, that I'm giving you a chance to make up your test. I'm being very generous about your poor behaviour — the only thing you have to offer me in return is your body.
（ the window dressing on the scene, little details that become bound up in the nearness of their bodies, the flex of sasuke's thighs, his shoulder, his abdomen. cy strokes his hair softly just once, and then he begins.
the blows are hard, impossibly loud in the room. the walls of the rank three suites are not generous in their soundproofing — both his roommates on either side and anyone chancing their way past in the hall is going to hear the slap of his hand against sasuke's bare skin. it is perhaps the first time that he lets his focus slip. it isn't as though he does not attenuate to sasuke's state. every breath, every squirm and struggle — he's aware of it with an uncanny keenness that can only be born of connection. yet his attention is balanced now, between the boy forced across his lap and his own body. the sting of his palm that fades with the lift of his hand for the next. the way his cock feels like a throbbing pressure trapped against one thigh. the urge to shove sasuke down and fuck into him like an animal is not gone. it may never be gone again between them — only tempered. but right now, this act will serve. wringing pleasure from sasuke's body in a blistering seat of pain, and surrendering himself to the shivering delight of having caused it.
if not for the pressure of his hand on sasuke's wrist, if not for the blanket cushioned against his ribs, he would seem almost cruel. there is no mercy in the strikes. there is a very real sense that he will force sasuke to endure. but in the smaller moments, when the air's been driven out of his lungs, when it seems like he needs a moment's rest with his cheek pressed down into the mattress, cy pets him instead, or slips his fingers between the narrow schism of his bound thighs to knead at the tender interior of them.
but if there is anything communicated in those little interludes, brief as they are brutal, it's that cy's ownership of sasuke's body is absolute. that there is nothing to him that is off-limits, no part of sasuke that cannot be petted or prised open, nothing that he will permit sasuke to keep hidden. the way the boy used to squirm and hide himself, modestly burrow under blankets, is not far from his mind, and he thinks about the box that is now resting on sasuke's neatly made bed in his own lower ranked room, and how that when he slips the collar around his throat he's going to make it a rule that sasuke isn't permitted to wear both it and clothing at the same time. ）
I'm going to hit you, and I want you to count them off — 'one, thank you sir.' You're thanking me for taking the time to discipline you. That I'm showing you attention, that I'm giving you a chance to make up your test. I'm being very generous about your poor behaviour — the only thing you have to offer me in return is your body.
（ the window dressing on the scene, little details that become bound up in the nearness of their bodies, the flex of sasuke's thighs, his shoulder, his abdomen. cy strokes his hair softly just once, and then he begins.
the blows are hard, impossibly loud in the room. the walls of the rank three suites are not generous in their soundproofing — both his roommates on either side and anyone chancing their way past in the hall is going to hear the slap of his hand against sasuke's bare skin. it is perhaps the first time that he lets his focus slip. it isn't as though he does not attenuate to sasuke's state. every breath, every squirm and struggle — he's aware of it with an uncanny keenness that can only be born of connection. yet his attention is balanced now, between the boy forced across his lap and his own body. the sting of his palm that fades with the lift of his hand for the next. the way his cock feels like a throbbing pressure trapped against one thigh. the urge to shove sasuke down and fuck into him like an animal is not gone. it may never be gone again between them — only tempered. but right now, this act will serve. wringing pleasure from sasuke's body in a blistering seat of pain, and surrendering himself to the shivering delight of having caused it.
if not for the pressure of his hand on sasuke's wrist, if not for the blanket cushioned against his ribs, he would seem almost cruel. there is no mercy in the strikes. there is a very real sense that he will force sasuke to endure. but in the smaller moments, when the air's been driven out of his lungs, when it seems like he needs a moment's rest with his cheek pressed down into the mattress, cy pets him instead, or slips his fingers between the narrow schism of his bound thighs to knead at the tender interior of them.
but if there is anything communicated in those little interludes, brief as they are brutal, it's that cy's ownership of sasuke's body is absolute. that there is nothing to him that is off-limits, no part of sasuke that cannot be petted or prised open, nothing that he will permit sasuke to keep hidden. the way the boy used to squirm and hide himself, modestly burrow under blankets, is not far from his mind, and he thinks about the box that is now resting on sasuke's neatly made bed in his own lower ranked room, and how that when he slips the collar around his throat he's going to make it a rule that sasuke isn't permitted to wear both it and clothing at the same time. ）
Edited 2024-03-11 03:44 (UTC)
[One, thank you sir. Two, thank you sir. Three, thank you sir. The words fall out of his mouth, an automatic refrain of subservience that separates the air between each of those hard, resounding slaps. If part of his mind is aware just how loud they are, and just how poorly these rooms are insulated from noise, there's no space for humiliation or self-consciousness to live in his mind by the time they've progressed even a quarter of the way through his punishment. It simply — slides right out of his head, a sideways tilt into floating, bottomless dark. They are in an office after hours. He cheated on a test. He is grateful for the attention, the time, offering his body in repayment.
His entire world is narrowed to the sensation of that hand on his ass, each blow a fire lashed across bare flesh. It begins as a pale sting and gradually builds to the dull, pulsing sunburn of hurt, and then Cy keeps hitting him, and a barrier of composure risen up somewhere within himself — a foundation so pure, so inherent, scaffolded close to the center of what makes him — begins to shake, threatening to splinter. After the first ten, Sasuke takes even, ragged gulps of air to keep his focus in line with the task of counting. As they near halfway, these breaths become shorter and unsteady, hitched in the spaces where pain doesn't begin to put down its roots. Twenty-five, and he becomes aware of his entire lower body like a flame has been pressed down onto him, its delirious heat melting his skin like pale wax. Thirty — and that barrier rattles as if made from sticks built on sand, and then —
A sob rips out of his throat around thirty-one, thank you sir. It isn't because his body cannot bear the pain. His closed fist attests to this. He's handled worse hurts, pain that has put him into comas and pain that has created whole new nightmares, but in this moment it's as though he's realized that he doesn't have to. The resistance wipes away, sand under a wave of blistering pleasure.
Those little pauses, the touches that remind him of a world beyond the burn of slaps, ground him deeper into the moment. He feels possessed. He feels owned, and through the final nine strokes he hands himself over to that ownership, sobbing in those choked-wet gasps facedown against the bed, eyelashes thick with hidden tears. The simulated struggle never ceases; he tries even harder as they near the cusp of forty, fighting every hit, unwilling to tire — a show of spirit that is too natural to him in this state of broken-down submission. He's barely aware of it.]
His entire world is narrowed to the sensation of that hand on his ass, each blow a fire lashed across bare flesh. It begins as a pale sting and gradually builds to the dull, pulsing sunburn of hurt, and then Cy keeps hitting him, and a barrier of composure risen up somewhere within himself — a foundation so pure, so inherent, scaffolded close to the center of what makes him — begins to shake, threatening to splinter. After the first ten, Sasuke takes even, ragged gulps of air to keep his focus in line with the task of counting. As they near halfway, these breaths become shorter and unsteady, hitched in the spaces where pain doesn't begin to put down its roots. Twenty-five, and he becomes aware of his entire lower body like a flame has been pressed down onto him, its delirious heat melting his skin like pale wax. Thirty — and that barrier rattles as if made from sticks built on sand, and then —
A sob rips out of his throat around thirty-one, thank you sir. It isn't because his body cannot bear the pain. His closed fist attests to this. He's handled worse hurts, pain that has put him into comas and pain that has created whole new nightmares, but in this moment it's as though he's realized that he doesn't have to. The resistance wipes away, sand under a wave of blistering pleasure.
Those little pauses, the touches that remind him of a world beyond the burn of slaps, ground him deeper into the moment. He feels possessed. He feels owned, and through the final nine strokes he hands himself over to that ownership, sobbing in those choked-wet gasps facedown against the bed, eyelashes thick with hidden tears. The simulated struggle never ceases; he tries even harder as they near the cusp of forty, fighting every hit, unwilling to tire — a show of spirit that is too natural to him in this state of broken-down submission. He's barely aware of it.]
Edited 2024-03-11 05:25 (UTC)
（ his world is only this. the boy beneath his hand, the way he twists and struggles. the flex of his thighs and the buck of his hips as he tries to twist away, the way his sobs ring out in the air clear as the bell he does not make use of. there is a dark appetite in him that enjoys this more than it should. and, too, there are rules and safeties and certainties that hold it back. it would be easy to glut himself on this. there are ways he could use the trust that's bridged between them and rip sasuke down to nothing in its cradle.
he could do it so easily. he knows what to say, what to do, how to behave, how to be in a way that sasuke could not discern or realize or touch before the snare closed. he could break him a thousand times over and patch him back to some simulacrum of a person in the brokenness that follows to the tune of a thousand-and-one, and the adoration would turn fearful, the devotion resentful. sasuke would only ever ask himself what he had done wrong to now deserve such cruelty where kindness once lived. he would ask him, begging, on his knees to know.
but kulo vayn does not get that part of him. but he can feel it, dark-eyed and watching, in him, beyond him, around him in a way that feels like those long years where he was king and conqueror of this body.
if not for sasuke counting, he would have slipped out of time. it's good he does. the cadence of it gives him something to pin himself to, a promise that was made and will be upheld even if there is a cost. sasuke's breath hitches, desperate and airless between sobs, a pendulum between that and the numeracy, and cy feels no pain when he bites through his lip, only coppery salt that lingers in the taste of his mouth once the injury knits itself new.
he stops at forty. as discussed, as planned, as promised. he stops at forty, and his breathing is hard, the heave of his chest unfettered. he's aware, abruptly, of the wet stain of ejaculate in his pants, but he has no memory of any one specific thing to have triggered release save the struggle. once, he might have felt shame over his body's response to the infliction of pain. now, he feels only a bitter twist of satisfaction that he stopped.
as if in direct contrast to the permitted violence of the act, the aftercare is more tender by degrees. he murmurs his usual praise, good boy, you did so well, i'm so proud, you were perfect, you were beautiful — in reflex alone, barely hearing himself. the boy's thighs are untied, his arm released. the bell taken. medication and soothing cream dutifully given. sasuke is praised and petted and nurtured through the drop into subspace, and cy strips himself down, wipes away the come with the pants he'll have to clean anyway and then collapses into bed, pulling sasuke with him, against him. an icepack, one of the ones you can press until the capsule inside pops, is pulled through the void from a box neatly kept in a corner, activated, and wrapped in a shirt before being dutifully applied to reddened skin, already blooming with deeper bruises.
he feels exhausted. wrung out, picked clean by carrion birds.
but sasuke comes first. ultimately, that's the thing that saves him. ）
You with me, sweetheart?
he could do it so easily. he knows what to say, what to do, how to behave, how to be in a way that sasuke could not discern or realize or touch before the snare closed. he could break him a thousand times over and patch him back to some simulacrum of a person in the brokenness that follows to the tune of a thousand-and-one, and the adoration would turn fearful, the devotion resentful. sasuke would only ever ask himself what he had done wrong to now deserve such cruelty where kindness once lived. he would ask him, begging, on his knees to know.
but kulo vayn does not get that part of him. but he can feel it, dark-eyed and watching, in him, beyond him, around him in a way that feels like those long years where he was king and conqueror of this body.
if not for sasuke counting, he would have slipped out of time. it's good he does. the cadence of it gives him something to pin himself to, a promise that was made and will be upheld even if there is a cost. sasuke's breath hitches, desperate and airless between sobs, a pendulum between that and the numeracy, and cy feels no pain when he bites through his lip, only coppery salt that lingers in the taste of his mouth once the injury knits itself new.
he stops at forty. as discussed, as planned, as promised. he stops at forty, and his breathing is hard, the heave of his chest unfettered. he's aware, abruptly, of the wet stain of ejaculate in his pants, but he has no memory of any one specific thing to have triggered release save the struggle. once, he might have felt shame over his body's response to the infliction of pain. now, he feels only a bitter twist of satisfaction that he stopped.
as if in direct contrast to the permitted violence of the act, the aftercare is more tender by degrees. he murmurs his usual praise, good boy, you did so well, i'm so proud, you were perfect, you were beautiful — in reflex alone, barely hearing himself. the boy's thighs are untied, his arm released. the bell taken. medication and soothing cream dutifully given. sasuke is praised and petted and nurtured through the drop into subspace, and cy strips himself down, wipes away the come with the pants he'll have to clean anyway and then collapses into bed, pulling sasuke with him, against him. an icepack, one of the ones you can press until the capsule inside pops, is pulled through the void from a box neatly kept in a corner, activated, and wrapped in a shirt before being dutifully applied to reddened skin, already blooming with deeper bruises.
he feels exhausted. wrung out, picked clean by carrion birds.
but sasuke comes first. ultimately, that's the thing that saves him. ）
You with me, sweetheart?
[The moment ends, and that hand stills above his body even as he feels some ghost of it swing back down in continued brutality, another phantom strike scalded into flesh turned vivid crimson — but it doesn't. It's only a leftover vestige of pain. It stops, right on forty where they agreed, Sasuke with his face shoved against the mattress through those last dizzying sobs, having forgotten that he could sound like this, having thought he was no longer capable of such an expression of emotion. It feels like a purge — he is empty and sedate as the silk loosens around his thighs, arm returned to an unrestrictive angle, bell gently prised from fingertips. His throat swallows pills and water without any resistance, as if trained for it, already leaning toward Cy before the bottle greets his lips. Cream is cool as it smears over his abused skin, over the slope of his ass still a fiery, stinging throb bearing evidence of Cy's controlled violence. Ice seals the last of the hurt into a manageable sensation, composure grasping back for the tolerance his body knows. Praise returns him to the world gently.
And then he goes into Cy's arms, enfolded in that familiar embrace that has carried him through enough days and nights now to be inextricable from his life. Sasuke stretches like a cat, mindful of ribs, nosing up the column of the man's warm throat to find his mouth and boldly steal a kiss there.]
Yes. [A slow, flickering breath.] I'll take it that my choice was a welcome one, then.
[In his sprawl of limbs, he notices —]
... Did you come?
And then he goes into Cy's arms, enfolded in that familiar embrace that has carried him through enough days and nights now to be inextricable from his life. Sasuke stretches like a cat, mindful of ribs, nosing up the column of the man's warm throat to find his mouth and boldly steal a kiss there.]
Yes. [A slow, flickering breath.] I'll take it that my choice was a welcome one, then.
[In his sprawl of limbs, he notices —]
... Did you come?
（ you know, he'd kind of hoped that sasuke would be too out of it to notice that. there's no embarrassment, nor does he think sasuke will react poorly — if anything, it will make him smugly satisfied that such an act inspired it. that the use of his body to this end and this purpose was well and clearly enjoyed. but cy is still briefly resistant to admit it, and only tips the boy's chin up to steal another kiss at first.
then, soft — ）
Yeah. You kinda had me unglued there for a bit.
（ it both was and wasn't a lapse in control. perhaps it's better to say a lapse in one aspect, one avenue. but not the one that mattered, the one he held above all others. ）
then, soft — ）
Yeah. You kinda had me unglued there for a bit.
（ it both was and wasn't a lapse in control. perhaps it's better to say a lapse in one aspect, one avenue. but not the one that mattered, the one he held above all others. ）
[In any other situation, he might have felt prideful and self-satisfied to reel such a reaction out of Cy, because he knows the man's temperance and stamina too well, he knows how difficult it is to earn that response. Now isn't the time for it; he leans into the kiss, lingering close enough to share the air between their mouths. The expression on his face is open, attentive, focused wholly on Cy.]
Do you want to talk about it?
[A question carefully placed between them for as many times as Cy has allowed him the same space to communicate.]
Do you want to talk about it?
[A question carefully placed between them for as many times as Cy has allowed him the same space to communicate.]
（ unusually, perhaps, that question makes him look briefly chastised — a furrow to his brow, a self-directed downturn at one corner of his mouth. clearly, he should have given sasuke more credit than that. ）
No. I'm good. It was good. But thank you.
（ he strokes his hair, turning it into a slow and languid trace of his spine, culminating in the adjustment of that ice pack against sasuke's ass. ）
I'm going to say something. I need you to listen all the way through before you respond. You might have a bad reaction at first because there's a chance the first part will feel like a punishment or like I'm withdrawing from you — that's not it, that's why I need you to stay with me until the end. Good so far?
No. I'm good. It was good. But thank you.
（ he strokes his hair, turning it into a slow and languid trace of his spine, culminating in the adjustment of that ice pack against sasuke's ass. ）
I'm going to say something. I need you to listen all the way through before you respond. You might have a bad reaction at first because there's a chance the first part will feel like a punishment or like I'm withdrawing from you — that's not it, that's why I need you to stay with me until the end. Good so far?
[Oh. He can't quite help the quickening of his pulse, primed for worry, worn in troughs through his mind — but he trusts Cy. He'll listen to anything he has to say. There's a careful nod, then a slower inhalation, attempting to calm the physiological response that instinctively rises.]
Yes.
Yes.
Page 22 of 60