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ᴄʏʀᴀᴍ ﹙🇴​ɥɔɐʎʌ ᴉɔ ǝ🇱​ɥ🇳​ɐ﹚ ([personal profile] hallowing) wrote2024-01-04 07:28 am
Entry tags:

ic inbox;

@torontonian
TEXT

AUDIO

VIDEO

ACTION

chokuto: (pic#15621098)

[personal profile] chokuto 2024-01-15 04:07 am (UTC)(link)
[He follows those instructions as told. Withdraws his hand, wipes it off, hunts for the dildo where it has escaped on the bedsheet—more lube, generously (and sloppily in his haste) greased over the shape of the toy. It's slick and shining; he wipes his hand again, lowers it down behind himself, listening to Cy's words, breath now coming out quick and rapid, fluttery...

The blunt head nudges against his hole, then it's eased inside, stretching the tight ring of muscle. The intrusion burns even better than his fingers, though with less give. Out, in again. He's doing this slow enough to see stars behind closed eyelids when Cy asks that question.

Does he want pain? There really is no other answer. Pain is a constant companion in his life, there at his worst and his best moments. The satisfaction of a mastered jutsu. The thrill of a close call. The victory over a strong opponent. The bitter frustration of failure. Companionable, too, because he's shared it—given it, taken it—with all of the people who have ever mattered to him.]


Yes. I want it to hurt.
Edited (tweaks) 2024-01-15 04:08 (UTC)
chokuto: (pic#16070744)

[personal profile] chokuto 2024-01-15 04:39 am (UTC)(link)
[He nods, unseen, like he's still imagining Cy in the room with him—but then his assent comes verbally after he realizes. Pineapple and kiwi, absurd as they are, stick in his mind better for it. He doesn't think he'll use them, but now he's beginning to comprehend their whole point. An exit. A way out, if needed. It's strange to have, and there's a part of his mind unconsciously distrustful of it. But it's fine. This much, he can manage.

More lube. The messiest smear yet with gel dripping to the towel, rubbed over the blunt, shiny-purple head of the toy before he presses it against the rim of his hole.]


I'm holding it. It's, hah, a little cold from the lubricant. Wet. Sticky because there's so much. I'm going to put it in. Cy—

[—and there, an inexorable slide, dildo breaching that tight ring of muscle and burying itself deep inside his ass all at once. He can't speak in that instant because the sound that leaves him is high, shattered, an outcry as he's never made between them. Breathe, Cy told him, but it's difficult; he tries and it sounds like he's gasping across the voice call. A dry-sob noise that tapers into quivering inhalations.

His hand is shaking on the hilt of the toy.]


It's... burning—it aches so much, this dull feeling. [The words are glassy, unsteady between breaths.] It feels like a wound, but it's inside of my body. I've never felt it there before.
chokuto: (pic#15106073)

[personal profile] chokuto 2024-01-15 05:26 am (UTC)(link)
[The reminder helps, tethering him to the moment, working to make room for the ripples of pain that ride through his body. Breathing by a count of four, four, four. As relaxation comes, so does that emptiness of thought—and his breath is slower but stuttered, damply rasping, as he listens to Cy's words. Calmed like a cat under a hand.

It's not how he's worked through injuries in the past; those were borne with gritted teeth, distraction, adrenaline, and the presence of mind to move forward toward a goal. This allows him to revel in it, the sear of the stretch as he's filled by the dildo still unmoved in his hand.]


I know. Cyram. It's okay. [Sensations: the scratchy towel, the sticky gel, the sweat, the bedsheet. He realizes he's rolled partially over onto his stomach. His cock is hard, and he feels it pressed chafing to the mattress, but he doesn't move.] It's just—a lot.

[The pain becomes a continual, pulsing throb at that point where the toy has slid in to the hilt and remains in stasis.]

But better imagining that it's you.
chokuto: (pic#15106071)

[personal profile] chokuto 2024-01-15 05:34 am (UTC)(link)
[Oh my god he was feeling confident because he was ALONE.

Sasuke's heartrate spikes, but all he does it turn back partially on his side, eyes flying open to take survey of his room as if Cy has already appeared.]


...

[He's allowed to say no. But he doesn't want to. Should he pull the blanket back up? At least it isn't bright in his room; only one light is on, dim gold on his bare skin, casting shadows into corners.]

It's fine.
chokuto: (pic#15621033)

[personal profile] chokuto 2024-01-15 05:38 am (UTC)(link)
[Gritting teeth. Stupid rules.]

Yes.

[But he has, in a moment of weakness, indeed pulled the blanket up to cover his lower half. 🤡]
chokuto: (pic#15621105)

[personal profile] chokuto 2024-01-15 05:49 am (UTC)(link)
[Having Cy in his room is a lot, at first, not only for his height but for his presence. Looming and calm and quiet. The bed sinks slightly with the additional weight, but not by much because the mattress itself is so thin. Sasuke's eyes peer over from beneath a fringe of hair, uncertain. The dildo is still inside of him; it feels heavy, slippery but for the grip of his lower body clenched around it with tension, arousal now slanted into murky waters.

They've been close before, but not really like this. Silently he offers his hand out—a little tacky still with lube, which causes him to hesitate.]
chokuto: (pic#16168030)

[personal profile] chokuto 2024-01-15 06:10 am (UTC)(link)
[He's surprised how it feels to be touched in that moment. Unexpectedly there's relief, and his body releases some part of the tension it was holding, feeling the toy slip out of him but ignoring it. He shifts more deliberately to face Cy on that narrow bed—the touch continues, not denied, moving up his arm.

It's a strange realization to have then. No one has touched him like this, with the hands of—what? Almost like a lover would touch, or as he imagines one might because he wouldn't know, with that slow and thorough rub across tight tendons. It's not intimacy like a kiss, or a hug, or even an orgasm. It's a warm, cradling pool.

Sasuke's eyes skate away, wherever isn't Cy's face.]


I don't need any looking after. I was fine.

[I thought I was. He did, sincerely. The pain wasn't even that bad compared to injuries he's suffered.]

Why did we stop?
chokuto: (pic#15621031)

the emotional whiplash in this thread

[personal profile] chokuto 2024-01-15 06:32 am (UTC)(link)
[He's quiet for a while, letting Cy work up his arm.]

It's not fine, then. [As if to be contrary—but it's for a purpose.] I don't know how all of your rules work, but I can see that my reaction wasn't expected. We didn't discuss it first. Most of the new things I've learned in my life have been through pain, so it didn't surprise me to find it here. But if you want to do it differently, I don't mind that.

[Sometimes he can sound like a grown ass adult and not an eighteen-year-old. Very gently, Sasuke nudges his head under the man's chin. His breath fans skin.]

I'll look after you too.
chokuto: (pic#15621090)

[personal profile] chokuto 2024-01-15 06:54 am (UTC)(link)
[The solitude, on the other hand, is how Sasuke feels he was able to do it. Having a witness to experiencing pain—he doesn't know what that would be like. Cy's emphasis on communication comes to mind here, as clear-headed as he's feeling.]

I want to try. [He's no fucking quitter.] But I can't promise how I'll respond if you're in the room with me. It's fine if I'm doing it to myself, alone.

[The onion layers of trauma continue peeling.]

I've had experiences in the past receiving pain from others. It wasn't always physical, sometimes it was in my head. When it was willing, I did it in order to make myself stronger. ... They aren't positive memories. [no shit] If we do continue now, perhaps it would be better without that element. The room is small and the walls are thin.

[Which sounds weird, but he's honestly considering that he might have a bad reaction and destroy his room. Or scream. #justuchihathings]
Edited 2024-01-15 06:58 (UTC)
chokuto: (pic#15106065)

steers them back into horny waters

[personal profile] chokuto 2024-01-15 07:20 am (UTC)(link)
[Shoulders slumping at the press of that gentle kiss, he shifts back, putting a few inches of space between their bodies on the bed. Breathing room. He becomes more conscious now of Cy beside him—his warmth, his scent, the clothes he's wearing. All of those little things unique to his person. Attraction was there since the beginning and only a fraction from aphrodisiac.

Of course he would be drawn to such a looming, masculine presence, one that reeks of power and temperance and control yet can still wear ugly shirts and kiss so easily. But Sasuke is still surprised by it now.

A small nod.]
Yes.
chokuto: (pic#15621139)

[personal profile] chokuto 2024-01-15 07:05 pm (UTC)(link)
[He is not a modest person by nature or practice, but that lifestyle has hinged entirely upon a certain perspective—that the body is a weapon, a tool, forged to its utmost on the battlefield. Intimacy of the body remains behind doors, between married men and women for the purposes of procreation, and the rest of the shinobi world lives within this sanitized conservation of virtue. To go outside that is an aberration, an embarrassing social blunder at best and an alienating sin at worse, but even under those rules Sasuke has never considered intimacy for himself. He has never seen it practiced. He cannot recall a time his father ever touched his mother with more than a passing hand, there-and-gone. They did not hug or kiss, or at least not in front of him. A pat on the head from his father, Sasuke remembers, would buoy his happiness for a week.

And when the girls who chased him tried to initiate it, he recalls his own reactions to their affection—a shuddering shut-down, a withdrawal, a settling coldness. After all, how he could let them in when it trespassed on such a foundational lesson of his culture? He didn't exist to be caressed, or kissed, or cradled, because his body could only be shaped by fists and blades and pain, anything that would chisel it into a violent point.

He breathes when Cy eases the toy out of him, feeling the accompanying ache of emptiness where muscle has stretched too soon, a jolt of sharp pain up his spine. Then, obediently, he rolls onto his stomach. And such an action is so natural when he has never let someone this close, behind him, that it's almost terrifying. But Cy's hands are soft and masterful as they work over inexorably tight muscles. And his voice is drawling, almost hypnotic, a cadence he can slip beneath just to listen.

And imagine. The temple takes over his mind, lit by the backdrop of an eternally burning flame. Empty stone. Carved architectural beauty. He envisions Cy there, alone, and it doesn't feel very good despite the peacefulness of solitude described. Like there's something else, some haunting presence overlaid.]


Mon Mahara.

[He's testing the unfamiliar shape of those syllables in his mouth.]

My home is called Konohagakure. A forest, green and alive. Mild winters and humid summers. I had a clan—the Uchiha. [Past particle.] We were old and powerful, and angry. Passionate. Uchiha possess an affinity for the nature of fire. It was one of the most complicated techniques I first learned when I was eight, to create that fire: katon. My father praised me for it.

[Face down, in the dim room beneath Cy's hands, it's easier to be vulnerable even if it's nothing new for a man who has lived millennia to hear. Maybe he's talking more for himself. Sasuke shifts slightly, exhaling.]

That feels good.
Edited (ew repetition) 2024-01-15 19:19 (UTC)
chokuto: (pic#15621119)

[personal profile] chokuto 2024-01-15 11:03 pm (UTC)(link)
[At the whisper, Sasuke makes a noise against the pillow pressed to his face, chuffing breath—as close as he's come to laughter yet. The massage has worked him to a state of gradual ease, body feeling doughy and looser than he can remember.

And yes, the technique is working. His right arm tucks itself under the pillow as he reacts to the sensual temptation of touch, Cy's hands coaxing alive the arousal that had faded in the interim of their conversation. He feels it pool in his belly, collecting like hot syrup; his cock thickens with interest where it lies trapped between the towel and the weight of his own body. Pale thighs tense, a flex of muscle that allows him to rub once against the friction of the bed in an act played off as subtle. Since that first experience of petrification, he's slowly been recovering from deprivation, filling out where the hollowness of lack of food and sleep once sharpened his features to an unhealthy cast.]


You can see for yourself.

[As if it would even take much, with Cy touching him. Anything at all is better than he's ever had.]

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🤡

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freedom again

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