（ he can feel the clench and seize of sasuke's body as he comes, and cy slows his pace just enough — watching, again, for some sign of sasuke wanting to tap out. but there's no sign of it, even when cy loosens the pin of his hand just a little, and reaches to brush at his hair with gentle affection that is not otherwise part of this specific entanglement. it's an ask, though no words are exchanged — and sasuke's answer is to nuzzle into his hand.
it's enough. he's present, he's engaged, he hasn't used either of the hard stops available to him — so cy just scratches his nails lightly, comfortingly, against the boy's scalp in acknowledgement and continues.
the language he uses from that point is inconsequential — repeating themes or words, talk of subjugation and even praise of sasuke's strength and skill in battle, ultimately punctuated by the degradation of being called a whore or a slut, with particular emphasis placed on being his property, his war prize. sasuke's body is his entitlement, simply a vessel for cy's own pleasure. it's evocative enough — that sasuke, stripped of autonomy, kept in forced nakedness and perennial availability, is to be regarded as nothing more than something to be fucked.
the pace kept up is brutal too, and if sasuke stirs himself enough to struggle now that too is remarked upon in praise, commentary on the quality of a strong spirit and the hope that he'll keep up the resistance, that it only makes the victory that much sweeter.
when he feels the swell of a building orgasm like the cresting of a wave, he pulls out, leaving a messy drag of come from timing just slightly stuttered up the cleft of sasuke's ass and then across his lower back. the hand he'd pinned so brutally has been given just enough slack that it too gets painted by dint of its lax position, and this time when cy leans down it's to kiss sasuke's cheek and murmur a final word in that same cold voice: mine.
and then the moment is broken, and cy pitches himself onto the bed beside him, making sure they're face-to-face, reaching out to cup his cheek, thumb stroking lightly against the bone. his brow is furrowed with worry — it's likely not difficult for sasuke to infer that it's the way an otherwise confident and collected person might seek reassurance. ）
Dawn of the 1st Day: sixty-nine (nice) other kinks remaining
it's enough. he's present, he's engaged, he hasn't used either of the hard stops available to him — so cy just scratches his nails lightly, comfortingly, against the boy's scalp in acknowledgement and continues.
the language he uses from that point is inconsequential — repeating themes or words, talk of subjugation and even praise of sasuke's strength and skill in battle, ultimately punctuated by the degradation of being called a whore or a slut, with particular emphasis placed on being his property, his war prize. sasuke's body is his entitlement, simply a vessel for cy's own pleasure. it's evocative enough — that sasuke, stripped of autonomy, kept in forced nakedness and perennial availability, is to be regarded as nothing more than something to be fucked.
the pace kept up is brutal too, and if sasuke stirs himself enough to struggle now that too is remarked upon in praise, commentary on the quality of a strong spirit and the hope that he'll keep up the resistance, that it only makes the victory that much sweeter.
when he feels the swell of a building orgasm like the cresting of a wave, he pulls out, leaving a messy drag of come from timing just slightly stuttered up the cleft of sasuke's ass and then across his lower back. the hand he'd pinned so brutally has been given just enough slack that it too gets painted by dint of its lax position, and this time when cy leans down it's to kiss sasuke's cheek and murmur a final word in that same cold voice: mine.
and then the moment is broken, and cy pitches himself onto the bed beside him, making sure they're face-to-face, reaching out to cup his cheek, thumb stroking lightly against the bone. his brow is furrowed with worry — it's likely not difficult for sasuke to infer that it's the way an otherwise confident and collected person might seek reassurance. ）