[The more Cy bathes him in that love, cradles him in the outpour of affection he has no more defenses against, the worse the fever in him seems to grow — a fire set to a fierce windstorm, ignited to a scorching temperature that consumes every hurt, every worry. Cy's attentive adoration has smoothed over even the most permanent scars that mar his body, as if those touches alone might heal them, wipe his skin to a clean slate, untouched and unharmed. It's only his imagination; it is only how it feels, but that is real enough for him.
Then Cy draws the collar to them, and Sasuke breathes out — shaky, uneven. I was made for you. The words almost roll off his tongue, stopped only as his hand is guided, kissed and nuzzled. With reverence he accepts the collar offered out to him and sets it around Cy's throat. He'll need help to buckle it, but Cy is already there to assist this process, and by that point his own eyes are a gleam of moisture like glass across the mismatched color of his gaze. He knows what this gesture means. He knows it is not effortless for Cy to give it to him — the signifying surrender less about any sexual desire than it is an act of devotion. Love. And it is one of the kindest, most selfless things a person has ever done for him. And it is the first that he knows won't vanish when he closes his fist around it. Even if he still scared, still wakes up occasionally in the night to look at Cy's face in a panic that he will be gone. It's a fear he can better handle.
Yet he's not prepared for the emotion that crests in him like the crash of a tide, strangling all air for a moment, then two, until the tears are dripping down his cheeks. Perhaps it is overreactive, and perhaps he is responding to the intersection of some influence between his own suit and the new one emblazoned on his palm — but it doesn't really matter. He just sits there on Cy's hips and traces his fingers across the leather band around the man's throat and then he starts talking.]
I was going to do this later. I still will. I had a plan for it. [I still do, sentiment warm and heavy between them.] I promise I'll do it properly later. But I want you to marry me. Here, in this place. I want to make you my husband. We already talked about it before, but...
[He has to swallow thickly on the feeling.]
Cyram, will you marry me? You have my body and my heart but I want you to have everything else, too. My mind. My soul. My life. And I want yours — or whatever you can give me.
no subject
Then Cy draws the collar to them, and Sasuke breathes out — shaky, uneven. I was made for you. The words almost roll off his tongue, stopped only as his hand is guided, kissed and nuzzled. With reverence he accepts the collar offered out to him and sets it around Cy's throat. He'll need help to buckle it, but Cy is already there to assist this process, and by that point his own eyes are a gleam of moisture like glass across the mismatched color of his gaze. He knows what this gesture means. He knows it is not effortless for Cy to give it to him — the signifying surrender less about any sexual desire than it is an act of devotion. Love. And it is one of the kindest, most selfless things a person has ever done for him. And it is the first that he knows won't vanish when he closes his fist around it. Even if he still scared, still wakes up occasionally in the night to look at Cy's face in a panic that he will be gone. It's a fear he can better handle.
Yet he's not prepared for the emotion that crests in him like the crash of a tide, strangling all air for a moment, then two, until the tears are dripping down his cheeks. Perhaps it is overreactive, and perhaps he is responding to the intersection of some influence between his own suit and the new one emblazoned on his palm — but it doesn't really matter. He just sits there on Cy's hips and traces his fingers across the leather band around the man's throat and then he starts talking.]
I was going to do this later. I still will. I had a plan for it. [I still do, sentiment warm and heavy between them.] I promise I'll do it properly later. But I want you to marry me. Here, in this place. I want to make you my husband. We already talked about it before, but...
[He has to swallow thickly on the feeling.]
Cyram, will you marry me? You have my body and my heart but I want you to have everything else, too. My mind. My soul. My life. And I want yours — or whatever you can give me.