（ well, it's nice to see he's officially 'cy' when the kid's got two fingers up the ass. he keeps that observation to himself, however, and says only — ）
Little impatient over there, huh?
（ with a tolerant, audible fondness. he did hear that rustle of the blanket, but can only guess at its source. ）
You should be good now, just go slow. Clean your hand so you can keep a good grip on the dildo. Lube it up, hand clean again. Then I want you to push the head of it against your asshole — tease yourself a little. Dip the head inside, pull it out. Do that a couple times. Don't go any deeper than a couple inches.
（ he too sounds just a little hoarse. excuse him while he rummages around for a water bottle. there's some rustling on his end of the call, and then: ）
Do you want the next part to hurt or not?
（ like, he fucking sees you, horny little painslut. ）
[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.]
（ that's breathed out, the exhalation deliberately steady. that one statement has gotten him to full flag, the dull ache of an untended cock making him abruptly very, very mindful of what he's doing with his hands.
on his thighs for now, fingers hooked into the fabric of his sweatpants. ）
I need you to understand, what I'm about to say is part of the fantasy. I'm not going to ask you to hurt yourself in a way you can't stand, so I'm going to take it on good faith that you will respect your own limits and mine, and stop if you have to stop. Is that clear? Remember — pineapple and kiwi.
（ he waits for the assent, and once he receives it he continues, voice roughened: ）
Add more lube — you'll be going deeper this time. Then — I want you to take it all, don't stop, don't hesitate. No adjustment period. Breathe through the pain. Take it to the hilt. Talk me through as you do it. I want to know what you're feeling, how fast you go — tell me everything.
[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.
（ that sound reverberates through him, down to his core. his teeth catch briefly at his bottom lip, but his focus stays on sasuke — ）
Hey, it's okay, sweetheart. Focus on my voice. You did so good, I'm so proud of you. Bet you look like a gorgeous fucking wreck right now, slicked up and fucked open for me.
（ what a fucking vision. ）
Remember that breathing I taught you? Do that for me, okay? Focus on relaxing, don't tense up against the pain. Let it be just another sensation, like the mattress beneath you, like the towel against your hip, sweat slicking your bangs to your forehead, the way the lube gets tacky on your skin. Sink into it, don't fight it, don't be afraid to feel the hurt. I've got you.
[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.]
[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.]
（ the teleportation is done carefully, mindful of the confines of the stupid little shoebox space. he's wordless, at first — doesn't comment on the blanket or anything (it explains the rustling he heard earlier, and he can only imagine that sasuke pulled it back up before his arrival) he just sits down on the bed, which really is not meant for this, and sprawls down beside sasuke, taking up less space than one might expect of a man of his size. ）
[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.]
（ well, he very clearly doesn't care about the ghosts of lube past. he takes that hesitant hand, smoothing his thumb across the ridge of knuckles that have been broken and mended, and then he lifts it and presses a kiss against the tendons along its back. ）
I'm just here to look after you.
（ unbidden, he turns his grip on sasuke's hand a little into a massage, both hands coming together to manipulate the muscle and fine bones of the hand gently. he'll move up to the wrist and forearm so long as sasuke doesn't pull away. skilled hands, millennia of experience in each touch and press. ）
Too much?
Edited (forgot to remove a word after changing a sentence oop) 2024-01-15 05:59 (UTC)
[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.
（ he's good at honesty, when it suits him. it's said very quietly, as he keeps working along the muscle. ）
It was stupid of me to ask you to do that, and I should have known better. It's not your fault — you did everything perfectly, you were just listening to me. There's nothing wrong with liking pain, but it shouldn't have been your first experience. I'm not going to excoriate myself over it, and I'm like, 98 percent sure you're going to say 'it's fine' again, and this is not me thinking you're fragile or weak — you aren't. I'm just sorry.
Edited (phrasing didn't sit right) 2024-01-15 06:27 (UTC)
[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.]
（ there's a slight hitch to his breath, barely audible. he does, however, lean his cheek down against the boy's head. does he know what those simple little statements do, how deeply they cut?
probably, if his own judgment of sasuke's earlier life can be trusted. his kindness is a choice. ）
No — your reaction wasn't what caught me off guard. You were perfect. My reaction was what twigged me out. It was impulsive, I usually prefer to be there in person when I'm walking someone through pain play. It's better when you're not alone, and it's my responsibility to catch those things.
[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]
（ it's not like he's a stranger to trauma. so many of his rules, of his reasons, of his own responses are the hammered alloy of his own, brought to alchemical life from an impossible span of years. he's watched as terrible things were done with his hands, with his body, horrible words said with his tongue, and he's told himself for millennia that as long as he's careful, as long as he's controlled, he will never be like that monster.
it's not like he lives in a constant state of self-recrimination. he knows, logically, that he's not to blame for the actions kulo vayn undertook on its long, long joyride of his fucking paltry meatsuit, but every once in a while, the lines blur. certain behaviours, certain tastes float up like oil in an ocean, and he thinks of what it would be like to drown in it.
so he gets it. why sasuke was fine with it, and why he carefully pieces apart his own feelings now. nothing he says about his experiences is surprising, it just fucking hurts.
he kisses the crown of the boy's hair. ）
I meant without it, anyway. We can talk about that later, properly. For now, I just want to make you feel good.
（ a gesture to the blanket, pulled up modestly over his hips. ）
[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.
（ this bed really is stupidly small. he works that massage up to sasuke's shoulder, mindful even as he draws away — and once he's satisfied with it, he lets him go.
as to the blanket... he slips one hand in against sasuke's side beneath his shirt, and then pushes it downward until it's gathered up like the water at a prow of a ship. he pushes it down slowly rather than with any urgency, and stops once it's revealed just enough of him to make this whole thing work, letting it pool over those muscular thighs. Sidenote: this blanket is actually awful. Did they make it that scratchy on purpose?
he leans in, and another kiss is pressed against the jut of sasuke's hip.
the dildo's slipped half out of him, oddly angled where its base has levered against the towel. cy strokes down his leg, similarly kneading at the muscle there, and warns him in a low voice — ）
I'm gonna pull it the rest of the way out for now. Don't brace, relax.
（ he waits, until he feels the kid make a wilful effort to obey beneath his hand, and then he grasps the dildo by its base and slowly, gently eases it out and for now sets it aside on the towel. he's quietly relieved to see that there's no blood streaked against its length, so at least it was purely the pain of new intrusion and not actual damage that sasuke had been gritting his teeth against. it unknots the penitent unhappiness that had wound itself up like a clockwork engine inside of him.
with a breath — ）
Indulge me, huh? I wanna work out the rest of this tension on you first, then I'll fuck you with the toy. Remind me to clean it. （ look, he will forget. so — ） Roll over.
（ there's a massage parlour on the... shit, tenth? floor? that caters both to happy endings and to luxuriating massage, so mentally he maps it out, his lips moving in a soundless equation. facing the door, the display tables with their wares was to the left, 396.2487 centimetres. he reaches, and pulls — that magic rolls over them like thunder, but it does return with a bottle of high end cinnamon-scented massage oil, which he uncaps once sasuke's settled. the shirt gets nudged upwards until it's really more of a fashion-forward scarf, and then he begins: working the oil between his palms, and then dipping down against the corded muscles of the kid's back. even relaxed to his best efforts, there is an unbounded tension singing across every fibre in him, something he's probably not even consciously aware of.
as he works, he tells a story: ）
There's a place I've been to that reminds me of you. The planet is called Osiere, but more specifically — Mon Mahara is the place. It's in the middle of a desert, a temple. It was built probably before I was even born. It's beautiful, cut from stone with a skill I'm not sure I could match even now. It's the place that made me want to be an architect, which I've been about as often as I've been an engineer. Whether by happy accident or design, they built it on top of an oil deposit and tapped into it, so there's this fire there that's been burning as long as I've been going there in a brazier at its heart. No people, though.
（ it was one of the worlds kulo vayn decimated. almost nothing left, as far as living creatures go. he remembers afterwards, visiting each in turn, and how when he'd found mon mahara intact, untouched, he'd gone to his knees, fingers curling into the sand. but that's an old story, and not one he feels terribly compelled to share. something survived. something survived. ）
I go there when I need a break. Sometimes I stay for a few days, sometimes longer. I did that after the last big war on the last planet I was on. I think it was about forty years, just... room to breathe, you know?
[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.]
（ a lonely, abandoned place gives way to green. he's seen lush worlds, perfect in perennial beauty. when you walk through a forest that has never known the bite of an axe, or the acrid breath of polluted air. in a way, those sorts of places are the closest he's ever felt to any sort of divinity, any amount of holiness. something pure and untrespassed, untold sanctuaries beneath every canopy.
he was a farmer, once. maybe that's why things that are green, that are growing, that are anchored deep into the earth always speaks to him.
so he can picture it too — a forest, a place that's hidden away behind the embrace of foliage. a people subsumed by anger and ascendancy.
he does not miss that was. when sasuke says it, his hands still just slightly against his back and then resume, stroking downward along the spine in one smooth, easy stroke. he'd assumed that by accident, aberration or design that sasuke was someone who had spent much of his life alone, or at least some amount of isolated. that statement, vague as it is, begins to add colour to the overlay of all the things he hasn't said. it's telling, too, that the simple insight is the longest the kid's ever said at once, much less about something as personal as home.
he's — what, twenty at the most? that's maybe twelve years in which some tectonic shift might have happened. in which have might have become had. it could be estrangement, he might've been disowned. the words and culture are japanese, even if it's not from earth — filial piety (or a lack thereof) might have been the deciding factor there. but the weight on my father praised me for it cleaves away from that possibility.
so many of his scars are old, except the arm. ）
It should feel good. This is my number one seduction technique, you know.
（ he leans over, and drops another kiss against the blade of the boy's shoulder. in an audible stage whisper: ）
[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.]
Careful, you keep on like this I'm really going to think you have a sense of humour.
（ it's said playfully, but there's an appreciation there, too. he knows full well he's seeing a side of sasuke — literal unseen parts notwithstanding — that not a lot of others are privy to. it feels precious and fragile in equal measure, something to be safeguarded, to be held. ）
But since you're offering... （ one hand, still smelling faintly of that cinnamon oil (that he is going to have to carefully wash off before he sticks his fingers anywhere interesting) is nudged gently against his hip. ） Show me.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cw: painplay (con't)
Little impatient over there, huh?
（ with a tolerant, audible fondness. he did hear that rustle of the blanket, but can only guess at its source. ）
You should be good now, just go slow. Clean your hand so you can keep a good grip on the dildo. Lube it up, hand clean again. Then I want you to push the head of it against your asshole — tease yourself a little. Dip the head inside, pull it out. Do that a couple times. Don't go any deeper than a couple inches.
（ he too sounds just a little hoarse. excuse him while he rummages around for a water bottle. there's some rustling on his end of the call, and then: ）
Do you want the next part to hurt or not?
（ like, he fucking sees you, horny little painslut. ）
no subject
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.
no subject
（ that's breathed out, the exhalation deliberately steady. that one statement has gotten him to full flag, the dull ache of an untended cock making him abruptly very, very mindful of what he's doing with his hands.
on his thighs for now, fingers hooked into the fabric of his sweatpants. ）
I need you to understand, what I'm about to say is part of the fantasy. I'm not going to ask you to hurt yourself in a way you can't stand, so I'm going to take it on good faith that you will respect your own limits and mine, and stop if you have to stop. Is that clear? Remember — pineapple and kiwi.
（ he waits for the assent, and once he receives it he continues, voice roughened: ）
Add more lube — you'll be going deeper this time. Then — I want you to take it all, don't stop, don't hesitate. No adjustment period. Breathe through the pain. Take it to the hilt. Talk me through as you do it. I want to know what you're feeling, how fast you go — tell me everything.
no subject
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.
no subject
Hey, it's okay, sweetheart. Focus on my voice. You did so good, I'm so proud of you. Bet you look like a gorgeous fucking wreck right now, slicked up and fucked open for me.
（ what a fucking vision. ）
Remember that breathing I taught you? Do that for me, okay? Focus on relaxing, don't tense up against the pain. Let it be just another sensation, like the mattress beneath you, like the towel against your hip, sweat slicking your bangs to your forehead, the way the lube gets tacky on your skin. Sink into it, don't fight it, don't be afraid to feel the hurt. I've got you.
no subject
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.
no subject
there's a brief pause from his end, and then: ）
Do you mind if I teleport in? You're allowed to say no.
no subject
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.
no subject
（ yes he is going to make you say it. ）
no subject
Yes.
[But he has, in a moment of weakness, indeed pulled the blanket up to cover his lower half. 🤡]
no subject
Hey, sweetheart. Give me your hand.
no subject
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.]
no subject
I'm just here to look after you.
（ unbidden, he turns his grip on sasuke's hand a little into a massage, both hands coming together to manipulate the muscle and fine bones of the hand gently. he'll move up to the wrist and forearm so long as sasuke doesn't pull away. skilled hands, millennia of experience in each touch and press. ）
Too much?
no subject
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?
no subject
（ he's good at honesty, when it suits him. it's said very quietly, as he keeps working along the muscle. ）
It was stupid of me to ask you to do that, and I should have known better. It's not your fault — you did everything perfectly, you were just listening to me. There's nothing wrong with liking pain, but it shouldn't have been your first experience. I'm not going to excoriate myself over it, and I'm like, 98 percent sure you're going to say 'it's fine' again, and this is not me thinking you're fragile or weak — you aren't. I'm just sorry.
the emotional whiplash in this thread
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.
i ruined the sexy times 😔
probably, if his own judgment of sasuke's earlier life can be trusted. his kindness is a choice. ）
No — your reaction wasn't what caught me off guard. You were perfect. My reaction was what twigged me out. It was impulsive, I usually prefer to be there in person when I'm walking someone through pain play. It's better when you're not alone, and it's my responsibility to catch those things.
（ a bit of a sigh, and then — ）
Do you want to try again, or call it here?
no subject
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]
cw: past vague noncon refs
it's not like he lives in a constant state of self-recrimination. he knows, logically, that he's not to blame for the actions kulo vayn undertook on its long, long joyride of his fucking paltry meatsuit, but every once in a while, the lines blur. certain behaviours, certain tastes float up like oil in an ocean, and he thinks of what it would be like to drown in it.
so he gets it. why sasuke was fine with it, and why he carefully pieces apart his own feelings now. nothing he says about his experiences is surprising, it just fucking hurts.
he kisses the crown of the boy's hair. ）
I meant without it, anyway. We can talk about that later, properly. For now, I just want to make you feel good.
（ a gesture to the blanket, pulled up modestly over his hips. ）
May I?
steers them back into horny waters
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.
the pathos, the range...
as to the blanket... he slips one hand in against sasuke's side beneath his shirt, and then pushes it downward until it's gathered up like the water at a prow of a ship. he pushes it down slowly rather than with any urgency, and stops once it's revealed just enough of him to make this whole thing work, letting it pool over those muscular thighs. Sidenote: this blanket is actually awful. Did they make it that scratchy on purpose?
he leans in, and another kiss is pressed against the jut of sasuke's hip.
the dildo's slipped half out of him, oddly angled where its base has levered against the towel. cy strokes down his leg, similarly kneading at the muscle there, and warns him in a low voice — ）
I'm gonna pull it the rest of the way out for now. Don't brace, relax.
（ he waits, until he feels the kid make a wilful effort to obey beneath his hand, and then he grasps the dildo by its base and slowly, gently eases it out and for now sets it aside on the towel. he's quietly relieved to see that there's no blood streaked against its length, so at least it was purely the pain of new intrusion and not actual damage that sasuke had been gritting his teeth against. it unknots the penitent unhappiness that had wound itself up like a clockwork engine inside of him.
with a breath — ）
Indulge me, huh? I wanna work out the rest of this tension on you first, then I'll fuck you with the toy. Remind me to clean it. （ look, he will forget. so — ） Roll over.
（ there's a massage parlour on the... shit, tenth? floor? that caters both to happy endings and to luxuriating massage, so mentally he maps it out, his lips moving in a soundless equation. facing the door, the display tables with their wares was to the left, 396.2487 centimetres. he reaches, and pulls — that magic rolls over them like thunder, but it does return with a bottle of high end cinnamon-scented massage oil, which he uncaps once sasuke's settled. the shirt gets nudged upwards until it's really more of a fashion-forward scarf, and then he begins: working the oil between his palms, and then dipping down against the corded muscles of the kid's back. even relaxed to his best efforts, there is an unbounded tension singing across every fibre in him, something he's probably not even consciously aware of.
as he works, he tells a story: ）
There's a place I've been to that reminds me of you. The planet is called Osiere, but more specifically — Mon Mahara is the place. It's in the middle of a desert, a temple. It was built probably before I was even born. It's beautiful, cut from stone with a skill I'm not sure I could match even now. It's the place that made me want to be an architect, which I've been about as often as I've been an engineer. Whether by happy accident or design, they built it on top of an oil deposit and tapped into it, so there's this fire there that's been burning as long as I've been going there in a brazier at its heart. No people, though.
（ it was one of the worlds kulo vayn decimated. almost nothing left, as far as living creatures go. he remembers afterwards, visiting each in turn, and how when he'd found mon mahara intact, untouched, he'd gone to his knees, fingers curling into the sand. but that's an old story, and not one he feels terribly compelled to share. something survived. something survived. ）
I go there when I need a break. Sometimes I stay for a few days, sometimes longer. I did that after the last big war on the last planet I was on. I think it was about forty years, just... room to breathe, you know?
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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.
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he was a farmer, once. maybe that's why things that are green, that are growing, that are anchored deep into the earth always speaks to him.
so he can picture it too — a forest, a place that's hidden away behind the embrace of foliage. a people subsumed by anger and ascendancy.
he does not miss that was. when sasuke says it, his hands still just slightly against his back and then resume, stroking downward along the spine in one smooth, easy stroke. he'd assumed that by accident, aberration or design that sasuke was someone who had spent much of his life alone, or at least some amount of isolated. that statement, vague as it is, begins to add colour to the overlay of all the things he hasn't said. it's telling, too, that the simple insight is the longest the kid's ever said at once, much less about something as personal as home.
he's — what, twenty at the most? that's maybe twelve years in which some tectonic shift might have happened. in which have might have become had. it could be estrangement, he might've been disowned. the words and culture are japanese, even if it's not from earth — filial piety (or a lack thereof) might have been the deciding factor there. but the weight on my father praised me for it cleaves away from that possibility.
so many of his scars are old, except the arm. ）
It should feel good. This is my number one seduction technique, you know.
（ he leans over, and drops another kiss against the blade of the boy's shoulder. in an audible stage whisper: ）
Is it working?
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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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（ it's said playfully, but there's an appreciation there, too. he knows full well he's seeing a side of sasuke — literal unseen parts notwithstanding — that not a lot of others are privy to. it feels precious and fragile in equal measure, something to be safeguarded, to be held. ）
But since you're offering... （ one hand, still smelling faintly of that cinnamon oil (that he is going to have to carefully wash off before he sticks his fingers anywhere interesting) is nudged gently against his hip. ） Show me.
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cw: ... there's a lot here. suicide?? cannibalism?? lmao
cw: my feelings getting obliterated
con't because you're the wORST
🤡
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freedom again