It's fine, with you. We'll find our way back eventually.
[An assured promise given readily to those touches, to that kiss, to the whole fever-warm line of Cy against his back sealing their bodies together like a letter.]
... You don't need to preserve my modesty. By now, isn't it pointless? [Breath huffs from his lips, half-formed laughter of his own that never fully materializes. Sasuke begins to shift, an awkward squirm of limbs that attempts to rearrange them, to put himself on his left side so that his right arm can hook itself around Cy's hips.] I like it too — the symmetry.
[Somewhere in the shuffle, his mouth comes near enough to the smooth slope of Cy's shoulder that teeth nip at him. There's no pressure in the pinch; he's only thinking of all the times Cy has marked him.]
I mean, I was going to joke about plumbing the hitherto unknown depths of your anal cavity, but since you objected to that so strenuously last time...
（ he's hilarious. sorry about your taste in terrible men, sasuke. but he does let himself be shuffled about obligingly, responding to sasuke's touch and direction without an ounce of hesitation. the only thing he does is fling a hand out to the nightstand, casting about like a blind man until he tracks down the well-loved bottle of lube that almost certainly needs to be replaced by now. the remaining contents, lowly viscous, get shaken towards the cap and — mindful of sasuke's hand — he just does it himself, dumping its contents into his palm before he drops his hand between his legs, slicking his thighs to give sasuke an easier time of it. ）
En français, that'd be 'je veux être entre tes jambes'.
[The steady tone of his voice rapidly devolves, tucking in against Cy's spine with the intensity of a single-minded focus, eyes tracking movement as the bottle of lubricant is picked up and squeezed its last gasping breaths onto a hand, then smeared in the smooth valley between thighs. With a stutter, he takes hold of his own cock and nudges into that space, as shown and instructed. The settling comes in a drag of wet, slippery friction; he stuffs his mouth against the back of Cy's neck, exhaling humid air raggedly.]
Are you teaching me French? [The sound he makes is — darkly startled, disbelieving, amused.] Now?
[As his right hand slips lower and lays over a jutting hip, he digs his teeth in again at Cy's throat to communicate what he thinks about that.]
（ there is a theatrical little yelp of ow! at that bite, though it is by no means protest. ）
Yes. Is it working?
（ a flex of his thighs, a slight staggering of his knees tightens the enveloping space between the former. hips shift backwards, mimical of the ebb and flow of penetration, one hand reaching for sasuke to pull him in closer. ）
[Sasuke manages a little snarl, pulled closer, seeking the slick rub of friction between thighs. His own leg swings itself up and over both of Cy's in a forceful press — as if to demonstrate that he was listening, and he knows it will feel better in a tighter clench of muscle.]
That's not fair. [It comes out husky against Cy's neck.] I need to see your mouth when you speak it.
[With Sharingan, for memorization. It makes sense. Shush.
But he's more affected by the meaning of those words than he is trying to learn them, grinding hips with more persistence, the hard line of his cock riding up against the space between Cy's thighs, feeling the soft press of balls and the cleft of his ass in that delicious drag. It's a new sensation; the heat is overwhelming, wrapped like a glove, arm squeezing around Cy with enough strength to flex the toned bicep.]
... But, [in a breathy murmur] if you want to keep talking — I'm listening.
No you don't, cheater. Just listen. You can pick it up without your fancy eyes if you pay attention.
（ sasuke shifts, pulling himself closer by any means necessary, as if he could crowd out all but atoms between the press and flux of their bodies. the hot, wet slip of his cock isn't penetrative, but it's pleasurable — as much for the points of contact where sasuke's holding him as anything else. the strength of his thigh and the line of his arm where it falls across his chest. cy, obligingly, lifts his own so that sasuke doesn't have to navigate the tangle of limbs and lowers it again, covering sasuke's hand with the cup of his palm, wending their fingers together like a braid of ivy. ）
J'ai envie de toi means 'I want you'. Répète cela, repeat that.
[Cheater serves enough to motivate the voracious part of him willing to prove itself, clutching back at their laced fingers in its tether of comfort and reassurance, inhaling the scent of Cy from that place just at the nape of a neck where hairline ends and skin begins. He noses against it, kisses, scrapes teeth.
Splitting concentration between the cadence of Cy's words and the tight friction of thighs over his cock is difficult — but he tries. It means the rhythm of the eager, shallow thrusts he begins is sloppy and irregular.]
J'ai... [thickly accented, the consonants come a little slurred, pace a little stumbling, wanting to put sharper sounds where they don't exist in the moving, lyrical shape of the sentence,] envie de toi.
[Its sentiment doesn't need translation. I want you — punctuated on his next push, dragging up between Cy's thighs with a desperate exhale, precome a smear across the crown of his cock.]
（ his tone is soft, appreciative and warm even as he pushes back against sasuke's forward thrusts, steadying and regulating the rhythm with easy, practiced guidance. his other arm is halfly trapped beneath him, but not so much that he can't squirm about until he can hook his other hand against sasuke's elbow, thusly holding onto him by two points of contact as if he were something by which cy could anchor himself to the present. ）
Go ahead and bite me. It's okay if it's hard — healing, remember?
（ he peels sasuke's hand away from his chest, guides it upwards and kisses his hand along the path of calloused fingers to their tips. his grasp slips down to sasuke's wrist, and in a mirror of what he's done now with sasuke several times, he takes two of the boy's fingers into his mouth, a scrape of teeth against the rough knuckles, and hollows out his cheeks with a slow, sensual suck. ）
[The encouragement is a potent salve, steeping in his system as he's held onto, as focus slips into those blurry corners where pleasure takes over and he becomes almost mindless in his drive toward release, fucking Cy's thighs with that climbing need. My good boy — Sasuke feels like he becomes a little desperate hearing that, the ownership impressed upon that phrase soon writing itself under his skin until he's hot everywhere, aching, close to the edge.
New and sudden sensation of his fingers in Cy's mouth only uproots him further. It mimics how it feels to have Cy's lips around his cock, sucking at him skillfully; hips stutter in their rhythm, wound up in that dual wetness between Cy's legs and on his tongue.]
Cy... [ragged, obedient to the urge, wanting to mark Cy as much as he's been marked in turn — teeth dig down on flesh at the tender nape of a neck. A fierce pinch, messy and almost feral in his desire. He tastes the brief flavor of metal and salt before it's gone in the laving of a tongue, flesh healed in an instant. His breath pants humidly over the flawless spot. Frustration makes him bite again, though not so hard this time as to draw blood, voice bent out of his throat in a hoarse murmur.] Cy. I want you.
[Maybe he says it in French. Maybe it's translated. He can't tell, too bleary in those moments before orgasm, latched on desperately to Cy's body — and then coming, soaking Cy's thighs as that pace falters, slows, every muscle shivering.]
（ pain holds nothing for him — it's not a turn-on, it's not something that well and truly drives him. it doesn't put him in the moment or anchor him to his body. but — the difference here is the love. it's not a panacea, exactly. it doesn't act as a fulcrum upon which pain and pleasure balance. but it transmutes the meaning for him — a step back from pain viewed from the lens of a body that is built to take abuse, and into the realm of one for whom acts of service reign paramount. enduring it, ultimately, costs him nothing. but the twitching interest of his cock, half-stirred to arousal, is in spite of the ache and not because of it.
the bite heals, is soothed, is repeated without the same force, and cy closes his teeth against sasuke's fingers just a little. not a warning — just the physical act of acknowledgement, and when sasuke repeats the words in a dizzying jumble of language, intermarried utterance that starts french and ends japanese he makes a soft sound, a moan around the boy's fingers that feels like it was unmoored from behind his navel.
sasuke spills his release in a wet splatter between his thighs, and even here he's driven to overstimulate him, a firmer flex of his thighs as he shifts his hips obscenely, making sure that sasuke's softening cock is deliberately cradled by the mess.
he pulls sasuke's fingers from his mouth, kisses his knuckles, his palm, the pulse-point at his wrist. ）
Fuck me, you're so fucking hot. How'd that feel for you?
（ not just physically — but emotionally, psychologically. ）
[He resurfaces slowly from that haze past pleasure, rubbing his face against the warm skin at the back of Cy's neck — shuddering hard through the too-sensitive drag of wet friction across his cock as it softens in the shelter of thighs, a weak noise of unmeant protest. Cy's praise rolls over him, meted out with that physical affection across his knuckles, palm, wrist, each spot tingling where those kisses land.
Another aftershock jolts him, and he tries to pry himself from between Cy's legs before he's tormented further.]
I feel good. [And how far they've come, for him to state this so plainly. He feels connected, close to Cy, demonstrated in the nuzzling as his hand tries to slip lower down Cy's body, palm flat at the sternum and lower on the man's abdomen, fingers searching for his cock. It's a curious touch — but a desiring one, too, because he wants to make Cy feel as good as he does.] It's not fair, though. That I can't leave any marks on you the way you can with me.
[A petulant huff matches a tone implying no seriousness, because it's not Cy's fault.]
（ he lets sasuke withdraw with a soft laugh, and then just slings his arm backwards over the boy, the touch bracing more than restrictive. ）
I know, I know. Trust me, my kingdom for a hickey.
（ it's been all he's ever known for so long, he isn't sure if he ever grieved the lack of it or if the pervasive sadness of that lack of intimate connection is just something he carries on its own merits. he's considered on more than one occasion if his own love for leaving marks is due to the fact they can't be left on him in turn.
but that level of deep contemplation has meant that he's come up with a few ideas over the years.
sasuke gropes downward for his cock, which frees up his hand — it's an easy thing, then, to lift his arm up and bite the edge of his thumb bloody. from there, his left forearm is raised and with an effortless flourish he paints the character that sasuke so often uses to represent himself with on the network: 火 against the smooth skin of its inside.
the wound, of course, heals only moments after serving as an impromptu source of ink — but the blood lingers in a ruddy smear, and he holds his arm aloft, halfly over his shoulder to offer sasuke an order: ）
[Mismatched eyes snap to the bloody etching of a symbol almost as soon as Cy has begun to write it out, attention narrowed, watching. The effect it has on him is profound enough to make him utterly still, at once softened and inflamed by the gesture Cy demonstrates. There's little delay in his obedience; lips form a tight circle, blowing a thin stream of air over the blood to help it cool and stain in the drying.
Something settles in him, seeing the mark. He knows it will come off in their next shower. But it is more permanent than anything else he can leave on the man, and the fact that Cy has done it so readily for him engraves a deeper satisfaction. A more vibrant need temporarily met.
Mind decided, he sits upright and smoothly rearranges himself, nudging Cy onto a flat back and straddling the man's waist in a familiar perch. He is deliberate in sitting not across Cy's thighs, but higher, weight on Cy's hips — because he wants to feel Cy's cock tucked under the seat of his ass, even if it isn't fully hard. The intimacy and the suggestion are enough.
Then he lifts his right hand, teeth biting his own thumb with a quick and practiced gesture — the skin of that place has been bitten enough times to show scarring from it, but not too severely for how shallow a wound it is. Scrawled in a delicate smear, this time in the slope where Cy's ribs come together: うちは.]
（ he feels more than sees it, the narrowing of that focus like the apex of light in a pinhole camara that inverts the visible world. that inversion is still present in him when sasuke slings a leg over him and settles across his hips, a deliberate shift that slots his dick against the cleft of his ass. there's a heightening of interest that fills out his cock, and he drops a palm down against sasuke's thigh, pushing him in a soft, slow grind that's almost more casually than wilfully intimate.
his eyes, however, are on sasuke's, the contact broken only when the boy looks down and writes a series of characters in hiragana. the sentiment of it does not surprise him. it couldn't, after everything, but his breath does hitch faintly when he realizes what's written. there's something achingly soft in his expression, as if he were a man standing in a childhood home for the last time, knowing that when he steps across the threshold he will never return to all that was loved and lost within those walls.
but still, despite the gesture he still tuts faintly and reaches for sasuke's hand, laving the negligible hurt with his tongue. once he's satisfied, he doesn't quite let him escape — just slips his hand to the boy's wrist, encircling it with his own hand. his index finger and thumb overlap broadly, and even though sasuke is neither small nor delicate — dizzyingly — he seems so in the moment. then the moment is gone, and cy nuzzles in against his palm. ）
[He's caught in that look, bending beneath it like a reed in water to blow air across blood-marked skin without losing Cy's eyes. It should terrify him, that meaning — but he is too certain to feel anything but rightness, and the terror comes from recognition more than mere existence. As if to speak it will dash it away. Writing in this temporary way, perhaps, is safer, because they'll lose the evidence. But that doesn't mean that it wasn't once there: a private confession of sentiment he dares not say aloud.
Cy's tongue is wet over the miniscule wound, and then as the grip changes he cups a warm cheek and considers how to respond. What he's told Cy already has not carried much detail; he could say plenty about Konoha, its people, the Hokage. He could tell Cy what his world was like before his clan was wiped from the face of history in one broad stroke. Yet none of these feel true enough — the word home comes with an opaque sense of loss, and only now is he realizing why.]
It was lonely. [This is the truth.] After my clan was gone, the village officials left the compound — where we were living separated from the rest of the citizenry — intact. It was... a ghost town, or a graveyard, without any people. They cleared the bodies quickly but there were still signs of what happened everywhere. I visited often, but I didn't live there. I had a small apartment on my own. I went to school and I came back. Most days, I spoke to no one.
[His head droops forward, fringe of dark hair falling into his eyes as his gaze slips down Cy's body. He stares at those red characters, his own family name staring back.]
Eventually I left the village. And then there was a battle, and the compound was destroyed. When I saw it again, everything was buried in rubble, and I knew it wasn't going to be rebuilt. To me, it was... almost a kind of permanency, that those ruined structures wiped away the last evidence my clan was ever there at all.
I was in prison for a year after I returned. Once I was finally released, I couldn't stay. [His voice — falters at these words, some piece of vulnerability broken off as shoulders lose their shape and round slightly forward, unconsciously closer.] I no longer belonged. Everything was gone. I'm not certain that I had felt it was my home since I was eight years old. It was — Naruto. He was the only reason.
[It has weighed on him, this sense of responsibility. He's only alive because of Naruto. To protect that future Naruto had promised.]
... I don't know that I would go back now. [And this, his voice lowers to admit, tangled in shame.] I want to know that he's alive, and safe. But it isn't my home anymore.
（ he's weathered more heartbreak than this. but of those things he has the benefit of distance and time, and hearing this is raw in its newness to him and nearness to sasuke both. the words spill out of sasuke the way blood fountains from an arterial rupture, and he's a decade too late to have staunched it. now, he can only do little things: he pulls sasuke in against him until he's bent at the hips and flush against his chest with the name of a clan that's almost extinct cooling in the blood of its final scion between them.
it was lonely, he says. cy so very rarely reaches for anger, but it splinters at the shards of his awareness there. there were so many points of failure in his life, so many people who should have known better, so many hands that impressed only cruelty upon him. it's the first he's heard of jailed for a year, and the fucking marvel of sasuke being in any way sane, capable of expressing tenderness and care even sheltered in the space between them is — it's remarkable, but it's awful that it's remarkable because someone, at some point, should have fucking cared.
his arms lift, and close around sasuke's shoulders like the promise of a lock built to safeguard some precious wonder, and he just. holds him for a time, without trying to speak. existence is a strange spark of a thing when it is sheltered only between bodies, in breath and in blood. ）
[He folds himself in against Cy with no effort, starved for the security those arms provide in a way that is difficult to fully acknowledge. Easier to tuck his head in against Cy's shoulder, to smell the familiar scent of his skin and hair — and, slowly, to let go of the memories that have resurfaced with this retelling.
There's only one way to answer what Cy asks him then.]
I don't know. [As close as he is, he seems to try to be closer, pressing in tighter, those bloody characters sealed between them.] I thought I did. I would wander the world for some time and come to terms with myself, with being alive — I would atone, protect what Naruto had created after the war, and then I'd return. I'd find a woman. We would have children.
[Faltering, a stumble in the way his breath hitches.]
I don't believe that I want that anymore. But I don't know.
[The only thing he wants is here against him, and Sasuke's heart trips faster at the thought, too fearful. It's too heavy, means too much.]
[He understands the reference, but... he's afraid to agree to it. And it's so much easier to follow that fear than it is to seek calm beneath the kiss Cy presses to his neck.]
[His right hand slips up almost against his will, sliding into Cy's hair to cradle the man's head in at his shoulder, hiding the vulnerable expression that breaks across his own face.]
You don't know how long that will be. [Worse —] What if we don't have a choice? Either one of us could vanish tomorrow.
We wouldn't know how long it would be elsewhere, either.
（ one arm stays anchored, but his right hand lifts to cradle the back of sasuke's head very gently, curling into hair like an inkblot bled onto the night sky. ）
The only thing we're ever promised is an end. But for now we have each other. Right now means more than all the tomorrows left until the universe goes dark and cold and airless. And if one of us vanishes — I'm not saying it wouldn't hurt. It'd gut me to lose you. But I'm still better for having met you at all than I would have been alone.
Traitorously, the words come into his mind — and once they're affixed, he finds himself spiraling. He tells himself to do as Cy asked, to handle the knife, but the blade becomes loose and slippery in his fingers, and his grip fails, and it slices all the way down. Dark, viscous terror spills out from the wound. You don't understand, because he can't think of the moment, he can't think of today without tomorrow, and it won't only gut him to lose Cy. He doesn't know how it happened, how this man became so important to him or how he allowed it to slip beneath every barrier he's raised between himself and the world — but to be confronted with the idea of losing Cy hurts more than he expects. The sudden force of that emotion takes him by surprise, like a swift blow to the center of his chest.
How can Cy simply accept the future ending? No, of course he can, because he's had to. There's no choice for a person that has lived tens of thousands of years. The way it is is the way it is. Time will happen to him, eventually, and Sasuke will be gone from his memory. Cy has known this since the beginning. Sasuke thought he also knew this. Isn't it why he chose to ask for Cy's help? Yet in light of what they've discussed — home, and loneliness, and wanting — he is reminded that he has lost everything and everyone and he doesn't know that he can do it again. He doesn't know that it is possible without succumbing to the trench of his own self, a madness of despair built into every cell and fiber of his being. Wouldn't it be better to die than to have to live, again, alone?
It drowns him. His breaths come shorter, a panicked rhythm, and he struggles to escape Cy's arms in search of air, fumbling backward until he's managed to trip himself over the side of the bed and onto the floor where he curls up.]
this is so tame for an uchiha freakout he hasn't tried to sew bits of cy to his tiddy yet
（ the first moment of panic, he lets him go. he knew what he was asking, and what he'd offered, and what it would mean, and it costs him nothing to let his arms drop away. and when sasuke trips and drops to the floor and doesn't fucking move, cy just. lets his breath out in a soft gust, gathers up the blanket that has spent all this time rucked up along the edge of the bed.
he slips to the floor rather more gracefully to sit cross legged — his thighs still tacky with dried come that flakes away as he moves — and he throws the blanket over sasuke's shoulders and the tight curled ball of his body that has to be a holdover from childhood, an attempt at self-soothing that never quite brought comfort, and then just lets his hand rest over the blanket, against his shoulder. warmth and weight. ）
[The world careens out of his awareness to the bright, tinny noise in his ears, fear slurring senses and making everything feel unreal. His heart pounds dully, his hands sweat, his chest is tight. He knows all of these symptoms because he has felt them before — frequently in childhood and later only when he knew he was alone, when no one was watching.
Cy's voice comes through to him, and for a moment he doesn't know what the words mean. Then it centers; the practice, like coming down from a great height, begins to slow his pulse. Square breathing. In, hold, out. In, hold, out. He is aware of the blanket around his shoulders, and he reaches up to grasp it, pulling it like a shield, fumbling until he discovers where Cy has placed his hand and then trying to hold onto him through the fabric.
It takes time, but eventually — the panic recedes. But the emotion is still there, waiting for him, lurking like some monster under the floor. His voice drags out of his throat, threadbare.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[An assured promise given readily to those touches, to that kiss, to the whole fever-warm line of Cy against his back sealing their bodies together like a letter.]
... You don't need to preserve my modesty. By now, isn't it pointless? [Breath huffs from his lips, half-formed laughter of his own that never fully materializes. Sasuke begins to shift, an awkward squirm of limbs that attempts to rearrange them, to put himself on his left side so that his right arm can hook itself around Cy's hips.] I like it too — the symmetry.
[Somewhere in the shuffle, his mouth comes near enough to the smooth slope of Cy's shoulder that teeth nip at him. There's no pressure in the pinch; he's only thinking of all the times Cy has marked him.]
I want to be between your legs.
no subject
（ he's hilarious. sorry about your taste in terrible men, sasuke. but he does let himself be shuffled about obligingly, responding to sasuke's touch and direction without an ounce of hesitation. the only thing he does is fling a hand out to the nightstand, casting about like a blind man until he tracks down the well-loved bottle of lube that almost certainly needs to be replaced by now. the remaining contents, lowly viscous, get shaken towards the cap and — mindful of sasuke's hand — he just does it himself, dumping its contents into his palm before he drops his hand between his legs, slicking his thighs to give sasuke an easier time of it. ）
En français, that'd be 'je veux être entre tes jambes'.
no subject
[The steady tone of his voice rapidly devolves, tucking in against Cy's spine with the intensity of a single-minded focus, eyes tracking movement as the bottle of lubricant is picked up and squeezed its last gasping breaths onto a hand, then smeared in the smooth valley between thighs. With a stutter, he takes hold of his own cock and nudges into that space, as shown and instructed. The settling comes in a drag of wet, slippery friction; he stuffs his mouth against the back of Cy's neck, exhaling humid air raggedly.]
Are you teaching me French? [The sound he makes is — darkly startled, disbelieving, amused.] Now?
[As his right hand slips lower and lays over a jutting hip, he digs his teeth in again at Cy's throat to communicate what he thinks about that.]
no subject
Yes. Is it working?
（ a flex of his thighs, a slight staggering of his knees tightens the enveloping space between the former. hips shift backwards, mimical of the ebb and flow of penetration, one hand reaching for sasuke to pull him in closer. ）
Ta bite te fait du bien — 'your cock feels good'.
no subject
That's not fair. [It comes out husky against Cy's neck.] I need to see your mouth when you speak it.
[With Sharingan, for memorization. It makes sense. Shush.
But he's more affected by the meaning of those words than he is trying to learn them, grinding hips with more persistence, the hard line of his cock riding up against the space between Cy's thighs, feeling the soft press of balls and the cleft of his ass in that delicious drag. It's a new sensation; the heat is overwhelming, wrapped like a glove, arm squeezing around Cy with enough strength to flex the toned bicep.]
... But, [in a breathy murmur] if you want to keep talking — I'm listening.
no subject
（ sasuke shifts, pulling himself closer by any means necessary, as if he could crowd out all but atoms between the press and flux of their bodies. the hot, wet slip of his cock isn't penetrative, but it's pleasurable — as much for the points of contact where sasuke's holding him as anything else. the strength of his thigh and the line of his arm where it falls across his chest. cy, obligingly, lifts his own so that sasuke doesn't have to navigate the tangle of limbs and lowers it again, covering sasuke's hand with the cup of his palm, wending their fingers together like a braid of ivy. ）
J'ai envie de toi means 'I want you'. Répète cela, repeat that.
no subject
Splitting concentration between the cadence of Cy's words and the tight friction of thighs over his cock is difficult — but he tries. It means the rhythm of the eager, shallow thrusts he begins is sloppy and irregular.]
J'ai... [thickly accented, the consonants come a little slurred, pace a little stumbling, wanting to put sharper sounds where they don't exist in the moving, lyrical shape of the sentence,] envie de toi.
[Its sentiment doesn't need translation. I want you — punctuated on his next push, dragging up between Cy's thighs with a desperate exhale, precome a smear across the crown of his cock.]
no subject
（ his tone is soft, appreciative and warm even as he pushes back against sasuke's forward thrusts, steadying and regulating the rhythm with easy, practiced guidance. his other arm is halfly trapped beneath him, but not so much that he can't squirm about until he can hook his other hand against sasuke's elbow, thusly holding onto him by two points of contact as if he were something by which cy could anchor himself to the present. ）
Go ahead and bite me. It's okay if it's hard — healing, remember?
（ he peels sasuke's hand away from his chest, guides it upwards and kisses his hand along the path of calloused fingers to their tips. his grasp slips down to sasuke's wrist, and in a mirror of what he's done now with sasuke several times, he takes two of the boy's fingers into his mouth, a scrape of teeth against the rough knuckles, and hollows out his cheeks with a slow, sensual suck. ）
no subject
New and sudden sensation of his fingers in Cy's mouth only uproots him further. It mimics how it feels to have Cy's lips around his cock, sucking at him skillfully; hips stutter in their rhythm, wound up in that dual wetness between Cy's legs and on his tongue.]
Cy... [ragged, obedient to the urge, wanting to mark Cy as much as he's been marked in turn — teeth dig down on flesh at the tender nape of a neck. A fierce pinch, messy and almost feral in his desire. He tastes the brief flavor of metal and salt before it's gone in the laving of a tongue, flesh healed in an instant. His breath pants humidly over the flawless spot. Frustration makes him bite again, though not so hard this time as to draw blood, voice bent out of his throat in a hoarse murmur.] Cy. I want you.
[Maybe he says it in French. Maybe it's translated. He can't tell, too bleary in those moments before orgasm, latched on desperately to Cy's body — and then coming, soaking Cy's thighs as that pace falters, slows, every muscle shivering.]
no subject
the bite heals, is soothed, is repeated without the same force, and cy closes his teeth against sasuke's fingers just a little. not a warning — just the physical act of acknowledgement, and when sasuke repeats the words in a dizzying jumble of language, intermarried utterance that starts french and ends japanese he makes a soft sound, a moan around the boy's fingers that feels like it was unmoored from behind his navel.
sasuke spills his release in a wet splatter between his thighs, and even here he's driven to overstimulate him, a firmer flex of his thighs as he shifts his hips obscenely, making sure that sasuke's softening cock is deliberately cradled by the mess.
he pulls sasuke's fingers from his mouth, kisses his knuckles, his palm, the pulse-point at his wrist. ）
Fuck me, you're so fucking hot. How'd that feel for you?
（ not just physically — but emotionally, psychologically. ）
no subject
Another aftershock jolts him, and he tries to pry himself from between Cy's legs before he's tormented further.]
I feel good. [And how far they've come, for him to state this so plainly. He feels connected, close to Cy, demonstrated in the nuzzling as his hand tries to slip lower down Cy's body, palm flat at the sternum and lower on the man's abdomen, fingers searching for his cock. It's a curious touch — but a desiring one, too, because he wants to make Cy feel as good as he does.] It's not fair, though. That I can't leave any marks on you the way you can with me.
[A petulant huff matches a tone implying no seriousness, because it's not Cy's fault.]
I want everyone to know you're mine.
no subject
I know, I know. Trust me, my kingdom for a hickey.
（ it's been all he's ever known for so long, he isn't sure if he ever grieved the lack of it or if the pervasive sadness of that lack of intimate connection is just something he carries on its own merits. he's considered on more than one occasion if his own love for leaving marks is due to the fact they can't be left on him in turn.
but that level of deep contemplation has meant that he's come up with a few ideas over the years.
sasuke gropes downward for his cock, which frees up his hand — it's an easy thing, then, to lift his arm up and bite the edge of his thumb bloody. from there, his left forearm is raised and with an effortless flourish he paints the character that sasuke so often uses to represent himself with on the network: 火 against the smooth skin of its inside.
the wound, of course, heals only moments after serving as an impromptu source of ink — but the blood lingers in a ruddy smear, and he holds his arm aloft, halfly over his shoulder to offer sasuke an order: ）
Blow.
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Something settles in him, seeing the mark. He knows it will come off in their next shower. But it is more permanent than anything else he can leave on the man, and the fact that Cy has done it so readily for him engraves a deeper satisfaction. A more vibrant need temporarily met.
Mind decided, he sits upright and smoothly rearranges himself, nudging Cy onto a flat back and straddling the man's waist in a familiar perch. He is deliberate in sitting not across Cy's thighs, but higher, weight on Cy's hips — because he wants to feel Cy's cock tucked under the seat of his ass, even if it isn't fully hard. The intimacy and the suggestion are enough.
Then he lifts his right hand, teeth biting his own thumb with a quick and practiced gesture — the skin of that place has been bitten enough times to show scarring from it, but not too severely for how shallow a wound it is. Scrawled in a delicate smear, this time in the slope where Cy's ribs come together: うちは.]
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his eyes, however, are on sasuke's, the contact broken only when the boy looks down and writes a series of characters in hiragana. the sentiment of it does not surprise him. it couldn't, after everything, but his breath does hitch faintly when he realizes what's written. there's something achingly soft in his expression, as if he were a man standing in a childhood home for the last time, knowing that when he steps across the threshold he will never return to all that was loved and lost within those walls.
but still, despite the gesture he still tuts faintly and reaches for sasuke's hand, laving the negligible hurt with his tongue. once he's satisfied, he doesn't quite let him escape — just slips his hand to the boy's wrist, encircling it with his own hand. his index finger and thumb overlap broadly, and even though sasuke is neither small nor delicate — dizzyingly — he seems so in the moment. then the moment is gone, and cy nuzzles in against his palm. ）
Tell me about your home.
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Cy's tongue is wet over the miniscule wound, and then as the grip changes he cups a warm cheek and considers how to respond. What he's told Cy already has not carried much detail; he could say plenty about Konoha, its people, the Hokage. He could tell Cy what his world was like before his clan was wiped from the face of history in one broad stroke. Yet none of these feel true enough — the word home comes with an opaque sense of loss, and only now is he realizing why.]
It was lonely. [This is the truth.] After my clan was gone, the village officials left the compound — where we were living separated from the rest of the citizenry — intact. It was... a ghost town, or a graveyard, without any people. They cleared the bodies quickly but there were still signs of what happened everywhere. I visited often, but I didn't live there. I had a small apartment on my own. I went to school and I came back. Most days, I spoke to no one.
[His head droops forward, fringe of dark hair falling into his eyes as his gaze slips down Cy's body. He stares at those red characters, his own family name staring back.]
Eventually I left the village. And then there was a battle, and the compound was destroyed. When I saw it again, everything was buried in rubble, and I knew it wasn't going to be rebuilt. To me, it was... almost a kind of permanency, that those ruined structures wiped away the last evidence my clan was ever there at all.
I was in prison for a year after I returned. Once I was finally released, I couldn't stay. [His voice — falters at these words, some piece of vulnerability broken off as shoulders lose their shape and round slightly forward, unconsciously closer.] I no longer belonged. Everything was gone. I'm not certain that I had felt it was my home since I was eight years old. It was — Naruto. He was the only reason.
[It has weighed on him, this sense of responsibility. He's only alive because of Naruto. To protect that future Naruto had promised.]
... I don't know that I would go back now. [And this, his voice lowers to admit, tangled in shame.] I want to know that he's alive, and safe. But it isn't my home anymore.
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it was lonely, he says. cy so very rarely reaches for anger, but it splinters at the shards of his awareness there. there were so many points of failure in his life, so many people who should have known better, so many hands that impressed only cruelty upon him. it's the first he's heard of jailed for a year, and the fucking marvel of sasuke being in any way sane, capable of expressing tenderness and care even sheltered in the space between them is — it's remarkable, but it's awful that it's remarkable because someone, at some point, should have fucking cared.
his arms lift, and close around sasuke's shoulders like the promise of a lock built to safeguard some precious wonder, and he just. holds him for a time, without trying to speak. existence is a strange spark of a thing when it is sheltered only between bodies, in breath and in blood. ）
So, tell me about the one you'd like to build.
（ not what was. what is, what could be. ）
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There's only one way to answer what Cy asks him then.]
I don't know. [As close as he is, he seems to try to be closer, pressing in tighter, those bloody characters sealed between them.] I thought I did. I would wander the world for some time and come to terms with myself, with being alive — I would atone, protect what Naruto had created after the war, and then I'd return. I'd find a woman. We would have children.
[Faltering, a stumble in the way his breath hitches.]
I don't believe that I want that anymore. But I don't know.
[The only thing he wants is here against him, and Sasuke's heart trips faster at the thought, too fearful. It's too heavy, means too much.]
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he turns just enough to kiss the side of sasuke's neck, over the shivering sluice of blood there, steady as a drumline. ）
Hey, you wanna handle a knife for me?
（ yes this is clearly code. ）
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I'll — try. How?
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（ it's an entreaty. soft as the slip of dawn across the mountains, where the mist is so dense it casts shadows. ）
What you want, I mean.
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You don't know how long that will be. [Worse —] What if we don't have a choice? Either one of us could vanish tomorrow.
[A thought enough to torment him frequently.]
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（ one arm stays anchored, but his right hand lifts to cradle the back of sasuke's head very gently, curling into hair like an inkblot bled onto the night sky. ）
The only thing we're ever promised is an end. But for now we have each other. Right now means more than all the tomorrows left until the universe goes dark and cold and airless. And if one of us vanishes — I'm not saying it wouldn't hurt. It'd gut me to lose you. But I'm still better for having met you at all than I would have been alone.
we were overdue a freakout i guess
Traitorously, the words come into his mind — and once they're affixed, he finds himself spiraling. He tells himself to do as Cy asked, to handle the knife, but the blade becomes loose and slippery in his fingers, and his grip fails, and it slices all the way down. Dark, viscous terror spills out from the wound. You don't understand, because he can't think of the moment, he can't think of today without tomorrow, and it won't only gut him to lose Cy. He doesn't know how it happened, how this man became so important to him or how he allowed it to slip beneath every barrier he's raised between himself and the world — but to be confronted with the idea of losing Cy hurts more than he expects. The sudden force of that emotion takes him by surprise, like a swift blow to the center of his chest.
How can Cy simply accept the future ending? No, of course he can, because he's had to. There's no choice for a person that has lived tens of thousands of years. The way it is is the way it is. Time will happen to him, eventually, and Sasuke will be gone from his memory. Cy has known this since the beginning. Sasuke thought he also knew this. Isn't it why he chose to ask for Cy's help? Yet in light of what they've discussed — home, and loneliness, and wanting — he is reminded that he has lost everything and everyone and he doesn't know that he can do it again. He doesn't know that it is possible without succumbing to the trench of his own self, a madness of despair built into every cell and fiber of his being. Wouldn't it be better to die than to have to live, again, alone?
It drowns him. His breaths come shorter, a panicked rhythm, and he struggles to escape Cy's arms in search of air, fumbling backward until he's managed to trip himself over the side of the bed and onto the floor where he curls up.]
this is so tame for an uchiha freakout he hasn't tried to sew bits of cy to his tiddy yet
he slips to the floor rather more gracefully to sit cross legged — his thighs still tacky with dried come that flakes away as he moves — and he throws the blanket over sasuke's shoulders and the tight curled ball of his body that has to be a holdover from childhood, an attempt at self-soothing that never quite brought comfort, and then just lets his hand rest over the blanket, against his shoulder. warmth and weight. ）
Breathe the way I taught you.
i mean. i guess i can put that on the list.
Cy's voice comes through to him, and for a moment he doesn't know what the words mean. Then it centers; the practice, like coming down from a great height, begins to slow his pulse. Square breathing. In, hold, out. In, hold, out. He is aware of the blanket around his shoulders, and he reaches up to grasp it, pulling it like a shield, fumbling until he discovers where Cy has placed his hand and then trying to hold onto him through the fabric.
It takes time, but eventually — the panic recedes. But the emotion is still there, waiting for him, lurking like some monster under the floor. His voice drags out of his throat, threadbare.]
I can't lose you too.
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cw: rape-play mention
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