（ cy winds the tether of silk around his own wrist, effectively lashing them together and ensuring that sasuke will have no grounds on which to resist so long as cy's greater strength is in play — and true to the warning he'd given the boy, he levers a hand between sasuke's legs, uses one knee to pin the boy's left thigh in a way that's not entirely comfortable to endure and then drags his thighs apart, pressing bruises into the skin that will linger long after the burn of his touch fades. the touch is not kindly, and it's practiced in an old, awful way that sasuke will, no doubt, understand the genesis of. he hasn't made a secret of those old, sad stories — but the understanding of how preferences come from trauma has been between them from the start. ）
You've got a funny definition of winning for the guy that's about to get fucked dry.
（ it's a purr of sound like black ice, remote and dangerous, so low it's barely more than a rumble of sound in his chest than something spoken aloud.
with sasuke's thighs prised apart, cy blocks him trying to outmaneuver the position, leaving one knee pinned down against the back of sasuke's left and shifting his right on the mattress until there's no hope of sasuke squirming into a different pose or preserving himself with the modesty of legs squeezed closed against the effort.
the hand tethered to the silk catches sasuke's wrist and pins it to the small of his back. he doesn't reach for the lube on the nightstand, the shift of his weight would lean too far away from the illusion — instead, he uses the void to pull a handful to his open palm, and he slicks his straining cock with a quick gesture. between the plug and their earlier efforts, it should be enough — it'll be just this side of a burn, but sasuke's never objected to that, and likely won't start now when it keys directly into a fantasy that pain laid down in him long ago.
he wipes his hand on the towel and then slaps sasuke across his reddened ass in an echo of their earlier play — but this one is as calculated to be painful as the others were to be consistently exploratory.
no matter what manner of struggling sasuke tries to do, cy has him beat at every turn. no amount of twisting or bucking of his hips seems to deter him, but the reward is the bloom of bruises against his thighs or hips or wrist. cy drags his arm up further behind his back, mindful of the sharp winged jut of his shoulder blade, and then the shift of his weight decries intent — the drag of his cock against the cleft of sasuke's ass. ）Ma petite prise de guerre, did you think you'd be spared being treated like a common whore just because you put up a fight? （ the head of his cock is pushed against sasuke's hole, but not quite enough to breach him open. ） Beg me to stop and I might be merciful.
it's all downhill from here (cw for actual noncon refs oop)
You've got a funny definition of winning for the guy that's about to get fucked dry.
（ it's a purr of sound like black ice, remote and dangerous, so low it's barely more than a rumble of sound in his chest than something spoken aloud.
with sasuke's thighs prised apart, cy blocks him trying to outmaneuver the position, leaving one knee pinned down against the back of sasuke's left and shifting his right on the mattress until there's no hope of sasuke squirming into a different pose or preserving himself with the modesty of legs squeezed closed against the effort.
the hand tethered to the silk catches sasuke's wrist and pins it to the small of his back. he doesn't reach for the lube on the nightstand, the shift of his weight would lean too far away from the illusion — instead, he uses the void to pull a handful to his open palm, and he slicks his straining cock with a quick gesture. between the plug and their earlier efforts, it should be enough — it'll be just this side of a burn, but sasuke's never objected to that, and likely won't start now when it keys directly into a fantasy that pain laid down in him long ago.
he wipes his hand on the towel and then slaps sasuke across his reddened ass in an echo of their earlier play — but this one is as calculated to be painful as the others were to be consistently exploratory.
no matter what manner of struggling sasuke tries to do, cy has him beat at every turn. no amount of twisting or bucking of his hips seems to deter him, but the reward is the bloom of bruises against his thighs or hips or wrist. cy drags his arm up further behind his back, mindful of the sharp winged jut of his shoulder blade, and then the shift of his weight decries intent — the drag of his cock against the cleft of sasuke's ass. ） Ma petite prise de guerre, did you think you'd be spared being treated like a common whore just because you put up a fight? （ the head of his cock is pushed against sasuke's hole, but not quite enough to breach him open. ） Beg me to stop and I might be merciful.
（ he wouldn't, but that's the point. ）