īŧ 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 — īŧ
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.
īŧ 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. īŧ
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Date: 2024-03-11 03:28 am (UTC)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.
īŧ 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. īŧ