[Sasuke finds that he likes learning these preferences, more pieces of Cy that he can collect and possess and shelter against time. It's difficult to nuzzle into Cy's shoulder with their heights positioned this way, so — he simply presses his face against Cy's chest and rubs his cheek like an overly affectionate cat. Though he doesn't mind hearing sir, it doesn't raze a path of lust through him the way it does when he's the one saying it, or when Cy is calling him slut and whore.
Perhaps he's learning about himself, too.]
All right.
[He spends time fingering Cy less as an act of necessity to loosen him up — given there's little need — and more for the intimacy of it, the newness, enjoying that tight clench around scarred knuckles and imagining how it will feel once he's fully inside. Sex has become so much more to him than the resort seems to proclaim, with Cy. It isn't a fun game, it isn't a trivial pursuit of gratification, and without the circumstances of their situation he would feel no need to sleep with anyone else. He just wants this, for the rest of his life. Beyond time.
Sensitive to Cy's words, he doesn't seek out a prostate and pay it excessive attention, merely explores, and strokes, and lets his fingers slip in a loosely relaxed rhythm for touch more than the hurried chase of lust. Then his hand withdraws, fishing for the lubricant to apply it to his own cock — the motions careful, yet betraying an urgency that comes in quickened breath. His voice is low, adoring, but retains that intense directness as an arm comes to encircle Cy's hips.]
no subject
Perhaps he's learning about himself, too.]
All right.
[He spends time fingering Cy less as an act of necessity to loosen him up — given there's little need — and more for the intimacy of it, the newness, enjoying that tight clench around scarred knuckles and imagining how it will feel once he's fully inside. Sex has become so much more to him than the resort seems to proclaim, with Cy. It isn't a fun game, it isn't a trivial pursuit of gratification, and without the circumstances of their situation he would feel no need to sleep with anyone else. He just wants this, for the rest of his life. Beyond time.
Sensitive to Cy's words, he doesn't seek out a prostate and pay it excessive attention, merely explores, and strokes, and lets his fingers slip in a loosely relaxed rhythm for touch more than the hurried chase of lust. Then his hand withdraws, fishing for the lubricant to apply it to his own cock — the motions careful, yet betraying an urgency that comes in quickened breath. His voice is low, adoring, but retains that intense directness as an arm comes to encircle Cy's hips.]
Put it in. I want you to do it yourself.