[It is a position they've assumed enough times in the past that it feels familiar to Sasuke now, yet his heart races a little faster when he's tucked close, when he feels the shape of Cy's cock against his hip telling of that mutual arousal. There's an exhilaration for having caused it — the part of himself in pursuit of approval as much as pain, wanting as much as Cy will give, wanting to be the receptable for Cy's pleasure until all lines between them smear and blur. Until all he can feel and taste and see and hear is Cy, Cy, Cy.
Fingers restrict the collar around his throat so that when he swallows it becomes tight, difficult, eyelids squeezing against the starry pain of that first strike. It falls bright and livid across his skin, a lingering burn intensified by the rub of the man's palm.]
Un. [Then, with each snap of the crop across his body, the French stumbles out of his mouth —] Deux. Trois.
[Numbers are easy. There is almost a logic to it, the lyrical fall of the foreign language from his mouth in such a regimented way, even as it calls the implement down against his skin in another red line.]
no subject
Fingers restrict the collar around his throat so that when he swallows it becomes tight, difficult, eyelids squeezing against the starry pain of that first strike. It falls bright and livid across his skin, a lingering burn intensified by the rub of the man's palm.]
Un. [Then, with each snap of the crop across his body, the French stumbles out of his mouth —] Deux. Trois.
[Numbers are easy. There is almost a logic to it, the lyrical fall of the foreign language from his mouth in such a regimented way, even as it calls the implement down against his skin in another red line.]