（ he hadn't intended to be a passive bystander for the act in its entirety — though he makes no move to stop sasuke even when the lubrication has been worn away, knowing now that he likes the burn, trusting now that he'll stop if he needs to — he does eventually lift a hand to card sasuke's hair back from his face. it feels like his only awareness of time comes with the changing length of it, those strands so soft and silk-smooth as they run through his fingers.
sasuke's gaze is met and held without hesitation. he wants to look at him, wants to see the first furrows of pleasure and pain as they vie for room in his expression. he wants to surrender to the mercy of the sharingan and its disparate twin. he wants, and wants, and wants.
his hands lift to sasuke's shoulders, pulling him into an angle that's punishing on the core, wanting to see him work, to fuck himself to enthusiastic exhaustion until every last bit of tension is wrung out of him like a bloodletting. for all that it's a little graceless, a little messy, there is the same wild beauty in this as in a storm, as when lightning splits the sky.
one particular downward grind has him bite his lip bloody, and there's an inarticulate tangle of noise that spills from his mouth as his fingers hook against sasuke's back and drag down, leaving livid furrows that drag bruises to the surface from the wings of his shoulderblades to the small of his back where, in a small mercy, his hands settle around sasuke's hips. thumbs catch at the jut of his iliac crest, and a brief exertion of strength resists the next flex of sasuke's thighs, keeping him nailed to the altar of cy's cock with what barely seems like effort. ）
Do you want it to hurt?
（ an echo of that disastrous first time, where the impulses of suit and sadism had intersected badly. offered again, now, freely and with nothing else but trust, but love writ plain on his face. ）
no subject
（ he hadn't intended to be a passive bystander for the act in its entirety — though he makes no move to stop sasuke even when the lubrication has been worn away, knowing now that he likes the burn, trusting now that he'll stop if he needs to — he does eventually lift a hand to card sasuke's hair back from his face. it feels like his only awareness of time comes with the changing length of it, those strands so soft and silk-smooth as they run through his fingers.
sasuke's gaze is met and held without hesitation. he wants to look at him, wants to see the first furrows of pleasure and pain as they vie for room in his expression. he wants to surrender to the mercy of the sharingan and its disparate twin. he wants, and wants, and wants.
his hands lift to sasuke's shoulders, pulling him into an angle that's punishing on the core, wanting to see him work, to fuck himself to enthusiastic exhaustion until every last bit of tension is wrung out of him like a bloodletting. for all that it's a little graceless, a little messy, there is the same wild beauty in this as in a storm, as when lightning splits the sky.
one particular downward grind has him bite his lip bloody, and there's an inarticulate tangle of noise that spills from his mouth as his fingers hook against sasuke's back and drag down, leaving livid furrows that drag bruises to the surface from the wings of his shoulderblades to the small of his back where, in a small mercy, his hands settle around sasuke's hips. thumbs catch at the jut of his iliac crest, and a brief exertion of strength resists the next flex of sasuke's thighs, keeping him nailed to the altar of cy's cock with what barely seems like effort. ）
Do you want it to hurt?
（ an echo of that disastrous first time, where the impulses of suit and sadism had intersected badly. offered again, now, freely and with nothing else but trust, but love writ plain on his face. ）