[The hand stays where it's held with no more than that touch, obedience effortlessly given, fingers curling into a fist to prevent any half-shaped impulse to reach for Cy. His cock is bared as pants are yanked down, curving in a shameless jut upward, flushed that ruddy shade of red that belies how quickly he's become aroused — and it doesn't really matter at all when Cy's mouth slides over him in one merciless swallow. Sasuke feels the weakness of sudden sensation threaten his knees; he locks them, leaning hard against the door as his voice rises up out of his throat, wholly undone, a shattered sound of pleasure. He's not expecting all of it at once. Overwhelmed at the tight seal of pressure and suction, he doesn't have the self-control to stop hips from bucking as his dick is taken by the squeeze of Cy's throat.
Whatever stamina he's built from their shared encounters, he has no true defenses against Cy's experience and skill. It would be humiliating if he was still ashamed of it — how rapidly the orgasm is pulled from his body, worked loose by Cy's lips and tongue and throat. The rush is hot and hard, only warning in the brief little thrash he manages just before, the gasp of Cy over and over in litany of worship.]
（ he barely needed the warning — he'd made the decision the moment he dropped. now — pulled back to the moment — he swallows, satisfaction blown wide open by how quickly he'd gotten sasuke off, and when he stands up and crowds the boy in against the wall, leans down to kiss him again while his mouth still tastes of his own release — tonguing past his lips the way one shoulders down a door. forcing him to accept entry, to taste himself, to submit.
he reaches down to sasuke's hips and lifts him even with the awkward entrapment of his tugged-down pants rucking up between them as he encourages sasuke to put his legs around him. the bed is barely more than a half-turn and a step away but he carries sasuke directly to it and lets them both drop against it.
he hasn't even let the boy take his shoes off yet, but getting him disrobed is the next thing that follows — he straightens up and slips his shoes off, tosses them over his shoulder towards the door in dull thumps. his pants follow, and the moment sasuke's stripped cy puts him across his lap, pressed down into the mattress, held helpless. the position will be familiar to him now, and cy pins his hand against the small of his back. the only kindness offered is that he smoothes his hand across sasuke's ass instead of simply striking him. even through the cloud of want that's seized him with both hands, he knows he needs to establish — something. parameters. rules.
even like this, sasuke is held just far enough up the length of his thighs that he'll be able to tell cy is perilously hard, especially as cy bends over him to reach for something in the nightstand: a silk scarf. this one is red, and one-handed he knots it loosely, slips the fabric through the loop of it around one of sasuke's thighs and then the other, effectively pinning his legs together so he can't squirm or fight half so easily. ）
Give me a number. I want you to push yourself for me.
（ acts of service, as he'd said. the next thing that's retrieved is the bell, pressed into sasuke's palm like a promise. ）
It's going to hurt. Hades if you want me to stop. Do you understand?
[He resists the kiss, but only because it feels good to be forced to open, lips pried apart by a tongue — tasting himself, bitter-salt shared between their mouths. It's a reminder that Cy just swallowed his come, a reminder of power between them for how quickly Cy has taken it from him — and how quickly he's surrendered it.
Lifted like a negligible burden, Cy delivers them to the bed in one fell swoop, breath jostled from him on the cushioned landing. Soon he's stripped; soon Cy lords above him, an imperial presence of authority in the shape of that ancient body perfectly wielded. Bent over Cy's lap like the curve of a blade, he puts his own face down against the mattress without complaint. He doesn't even notice the cooler air on bare flesh. Cy is too hot, a burning furnace in proximity made more stark when he feels the hard line of Cy's cock against his side, rigid, a signal of arousal Sasuke wants to throw himself against if only allowed freedom of movement.
Then the scarf binds his thighs; hamstrings flex, standing out on pale skin scarred with the wear and tear of a warborn life, ass a firm clench of muscle before the deliberate, well-taught release to pliancy.]
Forty, [is the airless number, like he's close to panting for it already.] But it needs to be a little harder than usual.
[They've done this enough times by now that he feels safe in this offer of a parameter, fingers slipping familiarly around the bell. It chimes against his palm before he wraps it up in a tight hold.]
I understand. [His head turns, enough to be able to gaze up from the submissive position he's been placed into — wearing an expression as adoring as it is intense. Tone shifting, sinuous, fog on glass —] Did I do something to deserve punishment?
（ it's said in agreement, and he bends to press a scorching kiss against sasuke's shoulder. his wrist is stroked with a long press of cy's thumb in against the flexing tendons, and that one single gesture is so achingly entrenched in love it seems impossible that it could be anything else but a declaration to the heavens themselves.
he tests the binding on sasuke's thighs, and draws it just a little more taut. slipping into a simple scenario adds structure and flavour to the scene, it's almost easier to step outside himself in the moment. even his tone is a bit different, less drawling. another persona pulled on like a second skin. ）
I caught you cheating on a French test. Sometimes, I think punishment's the only way you ever learn. So now we're in my office after hours, and you need to make-up your grade. We've agreed to a transaction — I'll punish you, and you'll get a passing grade. I can't wait to see the way you'll flinch tomorrow when you try to take your seat at your desk and remember my hand on you.
（ the one concession he makes to the injuries sasuke is on the upswing of recovery from is that he drags the blanket over and cushions it beneath the break in his ribs, so that there's less chance of the sharp twinge of pain from the mending bone. ）
We've agreed on forty. But you haven't taken that many before in my class, I've been too lenient on you until now. So maybe you'll struggle. （ a soft caress up the base of sasuke's spine. ） Maybe you'll beg me to stop. （ his breath is hot against sasuke's ear as he murmurs: ） But I'm not going to listen. You're going to take it all. Every stroke. Do I make myself clear, Sasuke?
（ there's only one correct response, and he's sure sasuke will be quick to pick it up. ）
[The evidence is in the way he's touched and treated between the lines — a kiss to a shoulder, a thumb stroke, further cushion of an added blanket. Reassurance that carries him into the illusion of the act gracefully; it helps that it's a scenario teased more than once between them so far, bandied and bantered onto familiar grounds. He doesn't come to it as easily as Cy does, that play-acting, but Cy's guidance and confidence smooths the way for his best attempt.
He can imagine it. A dark office around them, himself bent across his sensei's lap — the committed wrong of cheating on a test that he has, quite frankly, done before in his own life at the Academy once upon a time. Yet this is different, and he is older, and perhaps he's cheated on purpose — knowing exactly where it would land him, knowing the threat of pain it would bring from the hand of an attractive man whose authority chokes all of the air from the room.
Every stroke, Cy says, and he nearly bites his lip bloody not to whimper.]
Yes, sir.
[A shiver races through him at the touch low on his back, Cy's changed voice in his ear further carrying that false reality. He tests the silk restraint across his thighs, but it does not yield, only denting the skin it binds. Anticipation rivets him in place — because now he has to wait for it to begin.]
（ he does not have to wait long. cy adjusts how he's holding sasuke's wrist against his back, ensures that the bell is sheltered firmly in the clench of his fingers. he reaches between them to adjust sasuke's cock no that it won't be uncomfortably trapped as they begin. and once those little points of ritual are done like the anointment of oils to pulse points — ）
I'm going to hit you, and I want you to count them off — 'one, thank you sir.' You're thanking me for taking the time to discipline you. That I'm showing you attention, that I'm giving you a chance to make up your test. I'm being very generous about your poor behaviour — the only thing you have to offer me in return is your body.
（ the window dressing on the scene, little details that become bound up in the nearness of their bodies, the flex of sasuke's thighs, his shoulder, his abdomen. cy strokes his hair softly just once, and then he begins.
the blows are hard, impossibly loud in the room. the walls of the rank three suites are not generous in their soundproofing — both his roommates on either side and anyone chancing their way past in the hall is going to hear the slap of his hand against sasuke's bare skin. it is perhaps the first time that he lets his focus slip. it isn't as though he does not attenuate to sasuke's state. every breath, every squirm and struggle — he's aware of it with an uncanny keenness that can only be born of connection. yet his attention is balanced now, between the boy forced across his lap and his own body. the sting of his palm that fades with the lift of his hand for the next. the way his cock feels like a throbbing pressure trapped against one thigh. the urge to shove sasuke down and fuck into him like an animal is not gone. it may never be gone again between them — only tempered. but right now, this act will serve. wringing pleasure from sasuke's body in a blistering seat of pain, and surrendering himself to the shivering delight of having caused it.
if not for the pressure of his hand on sasuke's wrist, if not for the blanket cushioned against his ribs, he would seem almost cruel. there is no mercy in the strikes. there is a very real sense that he will force sasuke to endure. but in the smaller moments, when the air's been driven out of his lungs, when it seems like he needs a moment's rest with his cheek pressed down into the mattress, cy pets him instead, or slips his fingers between the narrow schism of his bound thighs to knead at the tender interior of them.
but if there is anything communicated in those little interludes, brief as they are brutal, it's that cy's ownership of sasuke's body is absolute. that there is nothing to him that is off-limits, no part of sasuke that cannot be petted or prised open, nothing that he will permit sasuke to keep hidden. the way the boy used to squirm and hide himself, modestly burrow under blankets, is not far from his mind, and he thinks about the box that is now resting on sasuke's neatly made bed in his own lower ranked room, and how that when he slips the collar around his throat he's going to make it a rule that sasuke isn't permitted to wear both it and clothing at the same time. ）
[One, thank you sir. Two, thank you sir. Three, thank you sir. The words fall out of his mouth, an automatic refrain of subservience that separates the air between each of those hard, resounding slaps. If part of his mind is aware just how loud they are, and just how poorly these rooms are insulated from noise, there's no space for humiliation or self-consciousness to live in his mind by the time they've progressed even a quarter of the way through his punishment. It simply — slides right out of his head, a sideways tilt into floating, bottomless dark. They are in an office after hours. He cheated on a test. He is grateful for the attention, the time, offering his body in repayment.
His entire world is narrowed to the sensation of that hand on his ass, each blow a fire lashed across bare flesh. It begins as a pale sting and gradually builds to the dull, pulsing sunburn of hurt, and then Cy keeps hitting him, and a barrier of composure risen up somewhere within himself — a foundation so pure, so inherent, scaffolded close to the center of what makes him — begins to shake, threatening to splinter. After the first ten, Sasuke takes even, ragged gulps of air to keep his focus in line with the task of counting. As they near halfway, these breaths become shorter and unsteady, hitched in the spaces where pain doesn't begin to put down its roots. Twenty-five, and he becomes aware of his entire lower body like a flame has been pressed down onto him, its delirious heat melting his skin like pale wax. Thirty — and that barrier rattles as if made from sticks built on sand, and then —
A sob rips out of his throat around thirty-one, thank you sir. It isn't because his body cannot bear the pain. His closed fist attests to this. He's handled worse hurts, pain that has put him into comas and pain that has created whole new nightmares, but in this moment it's as though he's realized that he doesn't have to. The resistance wipes away, sand under a wave of blistering pleasure.
Those little pauses, the touches that remind him of a world beyond the burn of slaps, ground him deeper into the moment. He feels possessed. He feels owned, and through the final nine strokes he hands himself over to that ownership, sobbing in those choked-wet gasps facedown against the bed, eyelashes thick with hidden tears. The simulated struggle never ceases; he tries even harder as they near the cusp of forty, fighting every hit, unwilling to tire — a show of spirit that is too natural to him in this state of broken-down submission. He's barely aware of it.]
（ his world is only this. the boy beneath his hand, the way he twists and struggles. the flex of his thighs and the buck of his hips as he tries to twist away, the way his sobs ring out in the air clear as the bell he does not make use of. there is a dark appetite in him that enjoys this more than it should. and, too, there are rules and safeties and certainties that hold it back. it would be easy to glut himself on this. there are ways he could use the trust that's bridged between them and rip sasuke down to nothing in its cradle.
he could do it so easily. he knows what to say, what to do, how to behave, how to be in a way that sasuke could not discern or realize or touch before the snare closed. he could break him a thousand times over and patch him back to some simulacrum of a person in the brokenness that follows to the tune of a thousand-and-one, and the adoration would turn fearful, the devotion resentful. sasuke would only ever ask himself what he had done wrong to now deserve such cruelty where kindness once lived. he would ask him, begging, on his knees to know.
but kulo vayn does not get that part of him. but he can feel it, dark-eyed and watching, in him, beyond him, around him in a way that feels like those long years where he was king and conqueror of this body.
if not for sasuke counting, he would have slipped out of time. it's good he does. the cadence of it gives him something to pin himself to, a promise that was made and will be upheld even if there is a cost. sasuke's breath hitches, desperate and airless between sobs, a pendulum between that and the numeracy, and cy feels no pain when he bites through his lip, only coppery salt that lingers in the taste of his mouth once the injury knits itself new.
he stops at forty. as discussed, as planned, as promised. he stops at forty, and his breathing is hard, the heave of his chest unfettered. he's aware, abruptly, of the wet stain of ejaculate in his pants, but he has no memory of any one specific thing to have triggered release save the struggle. once, he might have felt shame over his body's response to the infliction of pain. now, he feels only a bitter twist of satisfaction that he stopped.
as if in direct contrast to the permitted violence of the act, the aftercare is more tender by degrees. he murmurs his usual praise, good boy, you did so well, i'm so proud, you were perfect, you were beautiful — in reflex alone, barely hearing himself. the boy's thighs are untied, his arm released. the bell taken. medication and soothing cream dutifully given. sasuke is praised and petted and nurtured through the drop into subspace, and cy strips himself down, wipes away the come with the pants he'll have to clean anyway and then collapses into bed, pulling sasuke with him, against him. an icepack, one of the ones you can press until the capsule inside pops, is pulled through the void from a box neatly kept in a corner, activated, and wrapped in a shirt before being dutifully applied to reddened skin, already blooming with deeper bruises.
he feels exhausted. wrung out, picked clean by carrion birds.
but sasuke comes first. ultimately, that's the thing that saves him. ）
[The moment ends, and that hand stills above his body even as he feels some ghost of it swing back down in continued brutality, another phantom strike scalded into flesh turned vivid crimson — but it doesn't. It's only a leftover vestige of pain. It stops, right on forty where they agreed, Sasuke with his face shoved against the mattress through those last dizzying sobs, having forgotten that he could sound like this, having thought he was no longer capable of such an expression of emotion. It feels like a purge — he is empty and sedate as the silk loosens around his thighs, arm returned to an unrestrictive angle, bell gently prised from fingertips. His throat swallows pills and water without any resistance, as if trained for it, already leaning toward Cy before the bottle greets his lips. Cream is cool as it smears over his abused skin, over the slope of his ass still a fiery, stinging throb bearing evidence of Cy's controlled violence. Ice seals the last of the hurt into a manageable sensation, composure grasping back for the tolerance his body knows. Praise returns him to the world gently.
And then he goes into Cy's arms, enfolded in that familiar embrace that has carried him through enough days and nights now to be inextricable from his life. Sasuke stretches like a cat, mindful of ribs, nosing up the column of the man's warm throat to find his mouth and boldly steal a kiss there.]
Yes. [A slow, flickering breath.] I'll take it that my choice was a welcome one, then.
（ you know, he'd kind of hoped that sasuke would be too out of it to notice that. there's no embarrassment, nor does he think sasuke will react poorly — if anything, it will make him smugly satisfied that such an act inspired it. that the use of his body to this end and this purpose was well and clearly enjoyed. but cy is still briefly resistant to admit it, and only tips the boy's chin up to steal another kiss at first.
then, soft — ）
Yeah. You kinda had me unglued there for a bit.
（ it both was and wasn't a lapse in control. perhaps it's better to say a lapse in one aspect, one avenue. but not the one that mattered, the one he held above all others. ）
[In any other situation, he might have felt prideful and self-satisfied to reel such a reaction out of Cy, because he knows the man's temperance and stamina too well, he knows how difficult it is to earn that response. Now isn't the time for it; he leans into the kiss, lingering close enough to share the air between their mouths. The expression on his face is open, attentive, focused wholly on Cy.]
Do you want to talk about it?
[A question carefully placed between them for as many times as Cy has allowed him the same space to communicate.]
（ unusually, perhaps, that question makes him look briefly chastised — a furrow to his brow, a self-directed downturn at one corner of his mouth. clearly, he should have given sasuke more credit than that. ）
No. I'm good. It was good. But thank you.
（ he strokes his hair, turning it into a slow and languid trace of his spine, culminating in the adjustment of that ice pack against sasuke's ass. ）
I'm going to say something. I need you to listen all the way through before you respond. You might have a bad reaction at first because there's a chance the first part will feel like a punishment or like I'm withdrawing from you — that's not it, that's why I need you to stay with me until the end. Good so far?
[Oh. He can't quite help the quickening of his pulse, primed for worry, worn in troughs through his mind — but he trusts Cy. He'll listen to anything he has to say. There's a careful nod, then a slower inhalation, attempting to calm the physiological response that instinctively rises.]
I think I told you, right? My safeword's always a god of war. Some culture, some mythos. Something that's tied to the essence of what I am.
（ it's been ares, it's been aktal-sonn, it's been haixei, it's been sasidavna. it's been a thousand things. but that has been a constant. a reminder, a vow.
his hand is a warm weight up sasuke's spine, resting at his nape, an anchor. ）
[Another nod, because he does recall that conversation. He knows it is less Ares than it is the concept fixed behind it, intrinsically tied to who and what Cy is. And he also anticipated this question, so he responds with thought and care.]
There wasn't much, but I read everything that was available in the library. It seemed as if the Greek people feared him, so he was not spoken of often outright, except in reverence and respect as the god of the underworld. "The Unseen One." The most prominent myth was that of his relationship with Persephone.
[He has other things to say about his opinion of Hades, but these are not strictly factual comments — so he withholds them for now. His head leans back against the hand at his nape.]
（ his fingers are pressed beneath sasuke's chin, tipping his head up. cy, unreadable and blank as a night without stars, just looks at him for a long moment.
there are some things you can't walk back from. ）
I think I'd like to change mine too.
（ that's the part that will feel like rejection. he lets it carve out space in the air, and settle there. ）
[The fear, of course, constricts in his throat — he can feel the moment he's gone too tense to breathe and his heart climbs up in his chest, beating dully beneath the cage of ribs. Angled up by that touch, the interplay of emotions is stark on pale features, fringe brushed back to show everything on his face.
Did he do something wrong? But Cy told him to keep listening, and he trusts Cy. He's never trusted someone like he trusts Cy.]
（ the yawning nothingness cracks like a mirror, and emotion bleeds back into him by degrees. as if they are amorphous things in the air that he must catch in both hands and drag into himself, it seems an effort.
then another kiss is pressed against sasuke's mouth, soft and chaste like a holy rite. ）
[He sees that change, that fragmentary transition from ancient emptiness reaching back for its humanity in pieces, signed by a kiss — and then the word. It's impossible to brace himself for the crater impact left by its impression. One-handed, he levers himself up from the bed, mismatched eyes gazing down at Cy as the sentiment cracks open the look on his face. He can guess at many meanings for this choice, but none of them make sense, not when Cy has described to him the significance of his safeword as an emblem of what he is.
Hades and Persephone — the knot in his chest is wound tighter, a furling of sentiment that threatens to choke him, but he manages a low whisper. One question.]
（ something doleful touches at the corners of his eyes, the set of his mouth. he does not try to stop sasuke from that upwards shift, but he collects the icepack where it's slid to the bed. it's beginning to warm, spent to its purpose. ）
Is it enough to say I'd follow you into hell?
（ there's a smile. wry, tired. built up, torn down. he is a million things at any given moment, but now only one that matters: in love. ）
[Everything in him feels — brittle like glass, carved out of light for the way those words refract in him.]
Didn't Hades abduct her against her will?
[It's still spoken in that quiet tone, but now searching, as gentle and careful as the hand he lowers to find Cy's own, lacing fingers in a gesture not fully conscious.]
（ sasuke laces their fingers together, and now cy acts to lift it up, kiss his knuckles gently. it feels as though he's done it a thousand times before, like those soft touches of affection are carved along channels and grooves in them both. ）
I always preferred the idea that she fell in love, too.
（ but the idea of a woman's agency was... not great in that day and age. before his time, but the athenians had some pretty specific ideas about a woman's role and place in the world, and that was oft reflected in their gods. ）
[It's beginning to settle, like fine sand in the grain of a stinging wound, what Cy means and the gravity in his decision. Those lips are a warm graze across the backs of knuckles, not a gesture he will ever take for granted in its soft allowance, the evocation of intimacy and affection. It dawns on him — less a flood of daylight than a slow, creeping slant of a sunbeam, illuminating darker corners held in reserve, forgotten, for so much of his life.
Persephone, if he recalls correctly, is the goddess of spring according to Greek mythology. So it feels like Cy has done to him — put down roots, new growth in a soil previously cold and barren. The emotion fills him to the brim; he cannot speak past it, at first. He knows what it is and what it means. He's felt it before, yet this intensity is greater and more magnified, because for once he is unthreatened by an abrupt dismissal or departure. The fear still exists; he thinks it always will, but Cy has laid a foundation of trust down for him and so the impulse to run is muted.
He's already been acting out this feeling for Cy in so many ways without words, but the vulnerability of pitching it into the open is difficult. Only because of what Cy has said is he able to do it. Only because of all of their conversations to this point does he reach for that bravery. Sitting further upright, squeezing braided fingers in desperation for an anchor, face a scrawl of severe sentiment —]
I love you.
[The words are a declaration: 愛してる. They are not meant lightly, reflected in the graveness of their telling, a solemnity touched by all the loss and grief behind him.]
Edited (i liked this better) 2024-03-12 18:07 (UTC)
he knew, or surmised, that first morning in the showers. love has been laid bare in action and deed, in the growth that sasuke has shown as he flourished beneath his hand. he has known, but hadn't anticipated it would become a tangible sentiment sheltered between them, spoken into being like the spin of filigree glass. catching love's first light in a fractal shimmer warm with all the colours of sunrise.
his brows lift. it leaves his expression looking broken open, softly vulnerable in the moment. hearing the admission, he's overcome, briefly — torn between a loving admiration and the awareness that he had abstained from saying it aloud himself only because he wasn't certain it wouldn't make sasuke run away. if this conversation is teaching him anything, it's that he should be giving him more credit.
the tether of their hands serves to pull sasuke in, closer against him. he kisses him as if seeking to claim the words from the lips that spoke them, the tongue that shaped them. he kisses him airless, lifting his free hand to skirt along sasuke's thigh, his hip, his side. even when sasuke's need to breathe becomes apparent, he shifts his focus to his throat, where soft presses of his lips offer affirmation. between these kisses, then, he speaks — ）
Je t'aime au-delà du temps.
（ sasuke might recognize a word here and there. he knows now that je means i. but after a moment, pulling back enough to meet his eyes, brushing the fringe of his hair back from his face, he offers the translation in full: ）
[The kiss becomes a half-dozen, an endless chain of intimacy in the seal of lips, anchoring him to the world until air is dire — and then Cy's mouth slips down his throat, and those touches are everywhere, holding him close in that smother of affection. For someone else, it might be too much. For a boy whose life is nothing but the starvation of that love, it's barely enough. He clumsily climbs to lay on top of Cy so every point of their bodies connect somewhere, desperate for physical proximity and wishing he had his other arm to complete the circle of an embrace.
Cy's words, first in French and then translated, have undone the remainder of his composure. He doesn't — make much noise, but the tears are drawn out of him in a seemingly endless flow with no stop. They paint silent tracks down his cheeks. He can't express how that statement resounds so deeply through him, how it becomes a permanent presence, how the Sharingan throbs in the socket of his right eye because he'll die just to keep this moment. Beyond time. He wants that.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Whatever stamina he's built from their shared encounters, he has no true defenses against Cy's experience and skill. It would be humiliating if he was still ashamed of it — how rapidly the orgasm is pulled from his body, worked loose by Cy's lips and tongue and throat. The rush is hot and hard, only warning in the brief little thrash he manages just before, the gasp of Cy over and over in litany of worship.]
no subject
he reaches down to sasuke's hips and lifts him even with the awkward entrapment of his tugged-down pants rucking up between them as he encourages sasuke to put his legs around him. the bed is barely more than a half-turn and a step away but he carries sasuke directly to it and lets them both drop against it.
he hasn't even let the boy take his shoes off yet, but getting him disrobed is the next thing that follows — he straightens up and slips his shoes off, tosses them over his shoulder towards the door in dull thumps. his pants follow, and the moment sasuke's stripped cy puts him across his lap, pressed down into the mattress, held helpless. the position will be familiar to him now, and cy pins his hand against the small of his back. the only kindness offered is that he smoothes his hand across sasuke's ass instead of simply striking him. even through the cloud of want that's seized him with both hands, he knows he needs to establish — something. parameters. rules.
even like this, sasuke is held just far enough up the length of his thighs that he'll be able to tell cy is perilously hard, especially as cy bends over him to reach for something in the nightstand: a silk scarf. this one is red, and one-handed he knots it loosely, slips the fabric through the loop of it around one of sasuke's thighs and then the other, effectively pinning his legs together so he can't squirm or fight half so easily. ）
Give me a number. I want you to push yourself for me.
（ acts of service, as he'd said. the next thing that's retrieved is the bell, pressed into sasuke's palm like a promise. ）
It's going to hurt. Hades if you want me to stop. Do you understand?
no subject
Lifted like a negligible burden, Cy delivers them to the bed in one fell swoop, breath jostled from him on the cushioned landing. Soon he's stripped; soon Cy lords above him, an imperial presence of authority in the shape of that ancient body perfectly wielded. Bent over Cy's lap like the curve of a blade, he puts his own face down against the mattress without complaint. He doesn't even notice the cooler air on bare flesh. Cy is too hot, a burning furnace in proximity made more stark when he feels the hard line of Cy's cock against his side, rigid, a signal of arousal Sasuke wants to throw himself against if only allowed freedom of movement.
Then the scarf binds his thighs; hamstrings flex, standing out on pale skin scarred with the wear and tear of a warborn life, ass a firm clench of muscle before the deliberate, well-taught release to pliancy.]
Forty, [is the airless number, like he's close to panting for it already.] But it needs to be a little harder than usual.
[They've done this enough times by now that he feels safe in this offer of a parameter, fingers slipping familiarly around the bell. It chimes against his palm before he wraps it up in a tight hold.]
I understand. [His head turns, enough to be able to gaze up from the submissive position he's been placed into — wearing an expression as adoring as it is intense. Tone shifting, sinuous, fog on glass —] Did I do something to deserve punishment?
no subject
（ it's said in agreement, and he bends to press a scorching kiss against sasuke's shoulder. his wrist is stroked with a long press of cy's thumb in against the flexing tendons, and that one single gesture is so achingly entrenched in love it seems impossible that it could be anything else but a declaration to the heavens themselves.
he tests the binding on sasuke's thighs, and draws it just a little more taut. slipping into a simple scenario adds structure and flavour to the scene, it's almost easier to step outside himself in the moment. even his tone is a bit different, less drawling. another persona pulled on like a second skin. ）
I caught you cheating on a French test. Sometimes, I think punishment's the only way you ever learn. So now we're in my office after hours, and you need to make-up your grade. We've agreed to a transaction — I'll punish you, and you'll get a passing grade. I can't wait to see the way you'll flinch tomorrow when you try to take your seat at your desk and remember my hand on you.
（ the one concession he makes to the injuries sasuke is on the upswing of recovery from is that he drags the blanket over and cushions it beneath the break in his ribs, so that there's less chance of the sharp twinge of pain from the mending bone. ）
We've agreed on forty. But you haven't taken that many before in my class, I've been too lenient on you until now. So maybe you'll struggle. （ a soft caress up the base of sasuke's spine. ） Maybe you'll beg me to stop. （ his breath is hot against sasuke's ear as he murmurs: ） But I'm not going to listen. You're going to take it all. Every stroke. Do I make myself clear, Sasuke?
（ there's only one correct response, and he's sure sasuke will be quick to pick it up. ）
no subject
He can imagine it. A dark office around them, himself bent across his sensei's lap — the committed wrong of cheating on a test that he has, quite frankly, done before in his own life at the Academy once upon a time. Yet this is different, and he is older, and perhaps he's cheated on purpose — knowing exactly where it would land him, knowing the threat of pain it would bring from the hand of an attractive man whose authority chokes all of the air from the room.
Every stroke, Cy says, and he nearly bites his lip bloody not to whimper.]
Yes, sir.
[A shiver races through him at the touch low on his back, Cy's changed voice in his ear further carrying that false reality. He tests the silk restraint across his thighs, but it does not yield, only denting the skin it binds. Anticipation rivets him in place — because now he has to wait for it to begin.]
no subject
I'm going to hit you, and I want you to count them off — 'one, thank you sir.' You're thanking me for taking the time to discipline you. That I'm showing you attention, that I'm giving you a chance to make up your test. I'm being very generous about your poor behaviour — the only thing you have to offer me in return is your body.
（ the window dressing on the scene, little details that become bound up in the nearness of their bodies, the flex of sasuke's thighs, his shoulder, his abdomen. cy strokes his hair softly just once, and then he begins.
the blows are hard, impossibly loud in the room. the walls of the rank three suites are not generous in their soundproofing — both his roommates on either side and anyone chancing their way past in the hall is going to hear the slap of his hand against sasuke's bare skin. it is perhaps the first time that he lets his focus slip. it isn't as though he does not attenuate to sasuke's state. every breath, every squirm and struggle — he's aware of it with an uncanny keenness that can only be born of connection. yet his attention is balanced now, between the boy forced across his lap and his own body. the sting of his palm that fades with the lift of his hand for the next. the way his cock feels like a throbbing pressure trapped against one thigh. the urge to shove sasuke down and fuck into him like an animal is not gone. it may never be gone again between them — only tempered. but right now, this act will serve. wringing pleasure from sasuke's body in a blistering seat of pain, and surrendering himself to the shivering delight of having caused it.
if not for the pressure of his hand on sasuke's wrist, if not for the blanket cushioned against his ribs, he would seem almost cruel. there is no mercy in the strikes. there is a very real sense that he will force sasuke to endure. but in the smaller moments, when the air's been driven out of his lungs, when it seems like he needs a moment's rest with his cheek pressed down into the mattress, cy pets him instead, or slips his fingers between the narrow schism of his bound thighs to knead at the tender interior of them.
but if there is anything communicated in those little interludes, brief as they are brutal, it's that cy's ownership of sasuke's body is absolute. that there is nothing to him that is off-limits, no part of sasuke that cannot be petted or prised open, nothing that he will permit sasuke to keep hidden. the way the boy used to squirm and hide himself, modestly burrow under blankets, is not far from his mind, and he thinks about the box that is now resting on sasuke's neatly made bed in his own lower ranked room, and how that when he slips the collar around his throat he's going to make it a rule that sasuke isn't permitted to wear both it and clothing at the same time. ）
no subject
His entire world is narrowed to the sensation of that hand on his ass, each blow a fire lashed across bare flesh. It begins as a pale sting and gradually builds to the dull, pulsing sunburn of hurt, and then Cy keeps hitting him, and a barrier of composure risen up somewhere within himself — a foundation so pure, so inherent, scaffolded close to the center of what makes him — begins to shake, threatening to splinter. After the first ten, Sasuke takes even, ragged gulps of air to keep his focus in line with the task of counting. As they near halfway, these breaths become shorter and unsteady, hitched in the spaces where pain doesn't begin to put down its roots. Twenty-five, and he becomes aware of his entire lower body like a flame has been pressed down onto him, its delirious heat melting his skin like pale wax. Thirty — and that barrier rattles as if made from sticks built on sand, and then —
A sob rips out of his throat around thirty-one, thank you sir. It isn't because his body cannot bear the pain. His closed fist attests to this. He's handled worse hurts, pain that has put him into comas and pain that has created whole new nightmares, but in this moment it's as though he's realized that he doesn't have to. The resistance wipes away, sand under a wave of blistering pleasure.
Those little pauses, the touches that remind him of a world beyond the burn of slaps, ground him deeper into the moment. He feels possessed. He feels owned, and through the final nine strokes he hands himself over to that ownership, sobbing in those choked-wet gasps facedown against the bed, eyelashes thick with hidden tears. The simulated struggle never ceases; he tries even harder as they near the cusp of forty, fighting every hit, unwilling to tire — a show of spirit that is too natural to him in this state of broken-down submission. He's barely aware of it.]
cw: idk man this bitch is fucked up
he could do it so easily. he knows what to say, what to do, how to behave, how to be in a way that sasuke could not discern or realize or touch before the snare closed. he could break him a thousand times over and patch him back to some simulacrum of a person in the brokenness that follows to the tune of a thousand-and-one, and the adoration would turn fearful, the devotion resentful. sasuke would only ever ask himself what he had done wrong to now deserve such cruelty where kindness once lived. he would ask him, begging, on his knees to know.
but kulo vayn does not get that part of him. but he can feel it, dark-eyed and watching, in him, beyond him, around him in a way that feels like those long years where he was king and conqueror of this body.
if not for sasuke counting, he would have slipped out of time. it's good he does. the cadence of it gives him something to pin himself to, a promise that was made and will be upheld even if there is a cost. sasuke's breath hitches, desperate and airless between sobs, a pendulum between that and the numeracy, and cy feels no pain when he bites through his lip, only coppery salt that lingers in the taste of his mouth once the injury knits itself new.
he stops at forty. as discussed, as planned, as promised. he stops at forty, and his breathing is hard, the heave of his chest unfettered. he's aware, abruptly, of the wet stain of ejaculate in his pants, but he has no memory of any one specific thing to have triggered release save the struggle. once, he might have felt shame over his body's response to the infliction of pain. now, he feels only a bitter twist of satisfaction that he stopped.
as if in direct contrast to the permitted violence of the act, the aftercare is more tender by degrees. he murmurs his usual praise, good boy, you did so well, i'm so proud, you were perfect, you were beautiful — in reflex alone, barely hearing himself. the boy's thighs are untied, his arm released. the bell taken. medication and soothing cream dutifully given. sasuke is praised and petted and nurtured through the drop into subspace, and cy strips himself down, wipes away the come with the pants he'll have to clean anyway and then collapses into bed, pulling sasuke with him, against him. an icepack, one of the ones you can press until the capsule inside pops, is pulled through the void from a box neatly kept in a corner, activated, and wrapped in a shirt before being dutifully applied to reddened skin, already blooming with deeper bruises.
he feels exhausted. wrung out, picked clean by carrion birds.
but sasuke comes first. ultimately, that's the thing that saves him. ）
You with me, sweetheart?
sasuke loves this sad fucked up bitch so much
And then he goes into Cy's arms, enfolded in that familiar embrace that has carried him through enough days and nights now to be inextricable from his life. Sasuke stretches like a cat, mindful of ribs, nosing up the column of the man's warm throat to find his mouth and boldly steal a kiss there.]
Yes. [A slow, flickering breath.] I'll take it that my choice was a welcome one, then.
[In his sprawl of limbs, he notices —]
... Did you come?
we pity a fool
then, soft — ）
Yeah. You kinda had me unglued there for a bit.
（ it both was and wasn't a lapse in control. perhaps it's better to say a lapse in one aspect, one avenue. but not the one that mattered, the one he held above all others. ）
no subject
Do you want to talk about it?
[A question carefully placed between them for as many times as Cy has allowed him the same space to communicate.]
no subject
No. I'm good. It was good. But thank you.
（ he strokes his hair, turning it into a slow and languid trace of his spine, culminating in the adjustment of that ice pack against sasuke's ass. ）
I'm going to say something. I need you to listen all the way through before you respond. You might have a bad reaction at first because there's a chance the first part will feel like a punishment or like I'm withdrawing from you — that's not it, that's why I need you to stay with me until the end. Good so far?
no subject
Yes.
no subject
（ it's been ares, it's been aktal-sonn, it's been haixei, it's been sasidavna. it's been a thousand things. but that has been a constant. a reminder, a vow.
his hand is a warm weight up sasuke's spine, resting at his nape, an anchor. ）
How much did you read about Hades?
no subject
There wasn't much, but I read everything that was available in the library. It seemed as if the Greek people feared him, so he was not spoken of often outright, except in reverence and respect as the god of the underworld. "The Unseen One." The most prominent myth was that of his relationship with Persephone.
[He has other things to say about his opinion of Hades, but these are not strictly factual comments — so he withholds them for now. His head leans back against the hand at his nape.]
I didn't choose it lightly.
no subject
（ his fingers are pressed beneath sasuke's chin, tipping his head up. cy, unreadable and blank as a night without stars, just looks at him for a long moment.
there are some things you can't walk back from. ）
I think I'd like to change mine too.
（ that's the part that will feel like rejection. he lets it carve out space in the air, and settle there. ）
no subject
Did he do something wrong? But Cy told him to keep listening, and he trusts Cy. He's never trusted someone like he trusts Cy.]
To what?
no subject
then another kiss is pressed against sasuke's mouth, soft and chaste like a holy rite. ）
Persephone.
no subject
Hades and Persephone — the knot in his chest is wound tighter, a furling of sentiment that threatens to choke him, but he manages a low whisper. One question.]
Why?
no subject
Is it enough to say I'd follow you into hell?
（ there's a smile. wry, tired. built up, torn down. he is a million things at any given moment, but now only one that matters: in love. ）
no subject
Didn't Hades abduct her against her will?
[It's still spoken in that quiet tone, but now searching, as gentle and careful as the hand he lowers to find Cy's own, lacing fingers in a gesture not fully conscious.]
no subject
（ sasuke laces their fingers together, and now cy acts to lift it up, kiss his knuckles gently. it feels as though he's done it a thousand times before, like those soft touches of affection are carved along channels and grooves in them both. ）
I always preferred the idea that she fell in love, too.
（ but the idea of a woman's agency was... not great in that day and age. before his time, but the athenians had some pretty specific ideas about a woman's role and place in the world, and that was oft reflected in their gods. ）
no subject
Persephone, if he recalls correctly, is the goddess of spring according to Greek mythology. So it feels like Cy has done to him — put down roots, new growth in a soil previously cold and barren. The emotion fills him to the brim; he cannot speak past it, at first. He knows what it is and what it means. He's felt it before, yet this intensity is greater and more magnified, because for once he is unthreatened by an abrupt dismissal or departure. The fear still exists; he thinks it always will, but Cy has laid a foundation of trust down for him and so the impulse to run is muted.
He's already been acting out this feeling for Cy in so many ways without words, but the vulnerability of pitching it into the open is difficult. Only because of what Cy has said is he able to do it. Only because of all of their conversations to this point does he reach for that bravery. Sitting further upright, squeezing braided fingers in desperation for an anchor, face a scrawl of severe sentiment —]
I love you.
[The words are a declaration: 愛してる. They are not meant lightly, reflected in the graveness of their telling, a solemnity touched by all the loss and grief behind him.]
no subject
he knew, or surmised, that first morning in the showers. love has been laid bare in action and deed, in the growth that sasuke has shown as he flourished beneath his hand. he has known, but hadn't anticipated it would become a tangible sentiment sheltered between them, spoken into being like the spin of filigree glass. catching love's first light in a fractal shimmer warm with all the colours of sunrise.
his brows lift. it leaves his expression looking broken open, softly vulnerable in the moment. hearing the admission, he's overcome, briefly — torn between a loving admiration and the awareness that he had abstained from saying it aloud himself only because he wasn't certain it wouldn't make sasuke run away. if this conversation is teaching him anything, it's that he should be giving him more credit.
the tether of their hands serves to pull sasuke in, closer against him. he kisses him as if seeking to claim the words from the lips that spoke them, the tongue that shaped them. he kisses him airless, lifting his free hand to skirt along sasuke's thigh, his hip, his side. even when sasuke's need to breathe becomes apparent, he shifts his focus to his throat, where soft presses of his lips offer affirmation. between these kisses, then, he speaks — ）
Je t'aime au-delà du temps.
（ sasuke might recognize a word here and there. he knows now that je means i. but after a moment, pulling back enough to meet his eyes, brushing the fringe of his hair back from his face, he offers the translation in full: ）
I love you beyond time.
no subject
Cy's words, first in French and then translated, have undone the remainder of his composure. He doesn't — make much noise, but the tears are drawn out of him in a seemingly endless flow with no stop. They paint silent tracks down his cheeks. He can't express how that statement resounds so deeply through him, how it becomes a permanent presence, how the Sharingan throbs in the socket of his right eye because he'll die just to keep this moment. Beyond time. He wants that.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
cw: suicidality
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
[crazy intensifies]
it's okay they're both weird tbh
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
talking about trauma during sex the cysuke way
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(fade to marathon sex + collars + probably sasuke crying again)