[The soft, sinuous ministrations of Cy's mouth and the idle finger pushed inside of him allow space to think, riven with warm pleasure but not overtaken in its rush. Sasuke breathes out when his cock is swallowed past Cy's lips simply for the sake of sitting on a hot tongue; his hips try to lift into it, but there's no desperate chase for friction and pressure, body sated enough to let it gather in him like a pool of water. His toes curl, his back curves — he melts underneath everything in combination with the adoration that pours over him when Cy talks.
No one has ever expressed this kind of affection to him. He had not even thought it was possible someone could, as if the reaches of what he's felt for his family, his past teachers, his only friend — that those were the limits of what one could experience in connection to another. He's not scared of this so much anymore, but he can't stop the swell of emotion that wets his lashes as a consequence of Cy's open, aching sentiment.
Obediently his own fist falls and encircles the swollen root of his cock, slick with cooling saliva. And he feels it building, a heavy core of heat in his stomach that almost jars when Cy's finger nudges against a sensitive prostate.]
I would if you told me to. I'd wait if you told me to. [Breath panting out.] I'd ask you if I was able to speak — after you used my throat, when my voice is raw and ruined, I'd beg you to let me come. After I swallowed every drop of you. I'll be so good. Filled with a dildo or your cock or whatever you decide to give me. Please, let me come —
[Thighs trembling, one leg slung across the man's back and pressing down with the heel, right hand stroking himself up to the point where Cy's lips wrap around the crown of his cock, balls tight and sore — it doesn't take long to do just that. It's like a hot, burning ribbon that unfurls in his belly, spilling into Cy's mouth.]
no subject
No one has ever expressed this kind of affection to him. He had not even thought it was possible someone could, as if the reaches of what he's felt for his family, his past teachers, his only friend — that those were the limits of what one could experience in connection to another. He's not scared of this so much anymore, but he can't stop the swell of emotion that wets his lashes as a consequence of Cy's open, aching sentiment.
Obediently his own fist falls and encircles the swollen root of his cock, slick with cooling saliva. And he feels it building, a heavy core of heat in his stomach that almost jars when Cy's finger nudges against a sensitive prostate.]
I would if you told me to. I'd wait if you told me to. [Breath panting out.] I'd ask you if I was able to speak — after you used my throat, when my voice is raw and ruined, I'd beg you to let me come. After I swallowed every drop of you. I'll be so good. Filled with a dildo or your cock or whatever you decide to give me. Please, let me come —
[Thighs trembling, one leg slung across the man's back and pressing down with the heel, right hand stroking himself up to the point where Cy's lips wrap around the crown of his cock, balls tight and sore — it doesn't take long to do just that. It's like a hot, burning ribbon that unfurls in his belly, spilling into Cy's mouth.]