[He decides not to remark on the distinctly audible sound of chewing. It's preferable, in fact. It means Cy isn't paying attention to him—or at least not fully, not with any spotlight of focus that might encourage Sasuke to wither beneath its glare. So he listens instead to the drawling voice, letting it fill his mind even when not all of its content absorbs due to his own distraction.
Setting his teeth, he pumps a liberal dollop of clear lubricant into the palm of his hand, then smears it with callused fingertips, gathering enough that liquid gel drips on the way south beneath the blanket and around his hips. Gratefully, the towel catches any mess.
And then he reaches, wet fingers sliding down the crease of his ass to the tight hole waiting there, ring of muscle unyielding to the first prying probe—so he simply strokes across it in a smear of lube. His breath catches, a flicker across audio.]
Trying. Wait. [Index, Cy said. Yet he uses his thicker middle instead, daring to push his own limits for no reason other than the self-satisfaction of slight disobedience and because he has always been this way. That, and there's something about it, the burn that comes with the first breach of a rough, wet knuckle. Cy won't even know. If he did, what would he say?] I'm pushing the finger in.
[His voice has definitely changed, a little raspy now, a little airless as if he's not taking full breaths.]
It's... [a tight fit, but he's handled far worse. He's been stabbed, beaten, tortured, mutilated. This is nothing.] It's all the way inside.
cw: kinda pain play vibes
Setting his teeth, he pumps a liberal dollop of clear lubricant into the palm of his hand, then smears it with callused fingertips, gathering enough that liquid gel drips on the way south beneath the blanket and around his hips. Gratefully, the towel catches any mess.
And then he reaches, wet fingers sliding down the crease of his ass to the tight hole waiting there, ring of muscle unyielding to the first prying probe—so he simply strokes across it in a smear of lube. His breath catches, a flicker across audio.]
Trying. Wait. [Index, Cy said. Yet he uses his thicker middle instead, daring to push his own limits for no reason other than the self-satisfaction of slight disobedience and because he has always been this way. That, and there's something about it, the burn that comes with the first breach of a rough, wet knuckle. Cy won't even know. If he did, what would he say?] I'm pushing the finger in.
[His voice has definitely changed, a little raspy now, a little airless as if he's not taking full breaths.]
It's... [a tight fit, but he's handled far worse. He's been stabbed, beaten, tortured, mutilated. This is nothing.] It's all the way inside.