[The heat is an overwhelming intensity. Air rushes out of his chest as soon as Cy lowers down, movement as graceful as everything else done in such an ancient, artful body. It feels — almost feverish, a feature of physiology magnified by the squeeze of pressure as Sasuke's cock sinks into him, met with no resistance in that one slow, certain slide. The rock of hips drives a sharp hiss of noise from Sasuke — his arm tightens where it has cinched around Cy's narrow waist, force behind strength that would be bruising on anyone else except for this man. They've connected in so many ways, physical and emotional and now mental, yet it seems that each time is an exercise in his own restraint because of the outpour of affection threatening to flood. And maybe it is worse with practice, or maybe it is better tempered; Sasuke doesn't know. All he knows is that he's far past the point of return. He wouldn't survive it.
He can feel Cy's dick as it rubs against his belly, but before he can pursue any kind of friction, those eyes fasten onto his own, fringe of hair swept away to better allow the shared look. And those words. He's undone, vulnerability bared like the break of a wave on rocks, features furrowed with the depth of how that makes him feel.
He chases that kiss like the signature of a letter, final — and then another, and another. That tease of a thrust does nothing but stoke hunger fed by confessional love. With their lips still sealed together, unwilling to part, he uses the strength of one arm to repeat the motion, pulling Cy slightly off his lap only to grind up into him, feeling the shallow roll of tightness from Cy's ass sheathed all the way to the base of his cock.
It's not enough. Unfathomably desperate, he pivots weight forward and delivers Cy backwards onto the futon in a spill, arm kept where it is — using it to set the angle of Cy's hips so they are tilted up off bedding to accept the next thrust, harder and fuller, withdrawing the whole length of his cock and driving it into Cy as deep as it can be taken. He does this again, rhythm and pace set by urgency in the continued kisses, their bodies pressed as close together as he can manage in this position. Vowing words come strung somewhere between the slick separation of lips: I love you and I'll never leave you.]
no subject
He can feel Cy's dick as it rubs against his belly, but before he can pursue any kind of friction, those eyes fasten onto his own, fringe of hair swept away to better allow the shared look. And those words. He's undone, vulnerability bared like the break of a wave on rocks, features furrowed with the depth of how that makes him feel.
He chases that kiss like the signature of a letter, final — and then another, and another. That tease of a thrust does nothing but stoke hunger fed by confessional love. With their lips still sealed together, unwilling to part, he uses the strength of one arm to repeat the motion, pulling Cy slightly off his lap only to grind up into him, feeling the shallow roll of tightness from Cy's ass sheathed all the way to the base of his cock.
It's not enough. Unfathomably desperate, he pivots weight forward and delivers Cy backwards onto the futon in a spill, arm kept where it is — using it to set the angle of Cy's hips so they are tilted up off bedding to accept the next thrust, harder and fuller, withdrawing the whole length of his cock and driving it into Cy as deep as it can be taken. He does this again, rhythm and pace set by urgency in the continued kisses, their bodies pressed as close together as he can manage in this position. Vowing words come strung somewhere between the slick separation of lips: I love you and I'll never leave you.]