[It's good when they move along; it's easy to take the cue from Cy, to shift into this planned act, to trust that he'll be guided. The man slides off the bed and he feels himself follow, slightly, scooting toward the edge to remain close enough for physical touch.
And his cheeks flush, a little, at the vulgarity of dicksucking in his ears. Yet he nods, forming a fist with his right hand to close his thumb in the palm by a solid squeeze. The hold feels off, wrong, because it's not how he trained to use his hands, but he lets himself accept the newness as his mouth opens obediently to a finger.
Determination to prove himself worthy, to do well, lights that bright fire in him. He increases the pressure on a trapped thumb incrementally as he feels Cy's finger slip past teeth, dragging across the flat of his tongue to go deeper, testing the boundary of that reflex. He tastes salt on skin and the harsher flavor of nicotine. His throat works reflexively to swallow around it; he can feel saliva pool at the intrusion, but he doesn't fight, mind narrowed onto that closed fist. Cy's finger slips further, further—there's a strain at the back of his throat, a hiccup of noise that makes his eyes wet, but Sasuke doesn't fully gag or yield to the cough, not even when the extent of that last knuckle has breached his mouth.]
no subject
And his cheeks flush, a little, at the vulgarity of dicksucking in his ears. Yet he nods, forming a fist with his right hand to close his thumb in the palm by a solid squeeze. The hold feels off, wrong, because it's not how he trained to use his hands, but he lets himself accept the newness as his mouth opens obediently to a finger.
Determination to prove himself worthy, to do well, lights that bright fire in him. He increases the pressure on a trapped thumb incrementally as he feels Cy's finger slip past teeth, dragging across the flat of his tongue to go deeper, testing the boundary of that reflex. He tastes salt on skin and the harsher flavor of nicotine. His throat works reflexively to swallow around it; he can feel saliva pool at the intrusion, but he doesn't fight, mind narrowed onto that closed fist. Cy's finger slips further, further—there's a strain at the back of his throat, a hiccup of noise that makes his eyes wet, but Sasuke doesn't fully gag or yield to the cough, not even when the extent of that last knuckle has breached his mouth.]