[Shoulders slumping at the press of that gentle kiss, he shifts back, putting a few inches of space between their bodies on the bed. Breathing room. He becomes more conscious now of Cy beside himโhis warmth, his scent, the clothes he's wearing. All of those little things unique to his person. Attraction was there since the beginning and only a fraction from aphrodisiac.
Of course he would be drawn to such a looming, masculine presence, one that reeks of power and temperance and control yet can still wear ugly shirts and kiss so easily. But Sasuke is still surprised by it now.
๏ผ this bed really is stupidly small. he works that massage up to sasuke's shoulder, mindful even as he draws away — and once he's satisfied with it, he lets him go.
as to the blanket... he slips one hand in against sasuke's side beneath his shirt, and then pushes it downward until it's gathered up like the water at a prow of a ship. he pushes it down slowly rather than with any urgency, and stops once it's revealed just enough of him to make this whole thing work, letting it pool over those muscular thighs. Sidenote: this blanket is actually awful. Did they make it that scratchy on purpose?
he leans in, and another kiss is pressed against the jut of sasuke's hip.
the dildo's slipped half out of him, oddly angled where its base has levered against the towel. cy strokes down his leg, similarly kneading at the muscle there, and warns him in a low voice — ๏ผ
I'm gonna pull it the rest of the way out for now. Don't brace, relax.
๏ผ he waits, until he feels the kid make a wilful effort to obey beneath his hand, and then he grasps the dildo by its base and slowly, gently eases it out and for now sets it aside on the towel. he's quietly relieved to see that there's no blood streaked against its length, so at least it was purely the pain of new intrusion and not actual damage that sasuke had been gritting his teeth against. it unknots the penitent unhappiness that had wound itself up like a clockwork engine inside of him.
with a breath — ๏ผ
Indulge me, huh? I wanna work out the rest of this tension on you first, then I'll fuck you with the toy. Remind me to clean it. ๏ผ look, he will forget. so — ๏ผ Roll over.
๏ผ there's a massage parlour on the... shit, tenth? floor? that caters both to happy endings and to luxuriating massage, so mentally he maps it out, his lips moving in a soundless equation. facing the door, the display tables with their wares was to the left, 396.2487 centimetres. he reaches, and pulls — that magic rolls over them like thunder, but it does return with a bottle of high end cinnamon-scented massage oil, which he uncaps once sasuke's settled. the shirt gets nudged upwards until it's really more of a fashion-forward scarf, and then he begins: working the oil between his palms, and then dipping down against the corded muscles of the kid's back. even relaxed to his best efforts, there is an unbounded tension singing across every fibre in him, something he's probably not even consciously aware of.
as he works, he tells a story: ๏ผ
There's a place I've been to that reminds me of you. The planet is called Osiere, but more specifically — Mon Mahara is the place. It's in the middle of a desert, a temple. It was built probably before I was even born. It's beautiful, cut from stone with a skill I'm not sure I could match even now. It's the place that made me want to be an architect, which I've been about as often as I've been an engineer. Whether by happy accident or design, they built it on top of an oil deposit and tapped into it, so there's this fire there that's been burning as long as I've been going there in a brazier at its heart. No people, though.
๏ผ it was one of the worlds kulo vayn decimated. almost nothing left, as far as living creatures go. he remembers afterwards, visiting each in turn, and how when he'd found mon mahara intact, untouched, he'd gone to his knees, fingers curling into the sand. but that's an old story, and not one he feels terribly compelled to share. something survived. something survived. ๏ผ
I go there when I need a break. Sometimes I stay for a few days, sometimes longer. I did that after the last big war on the last planet I was on. I think it was about forty years, just... room to breathe, you know?
[He is not a modest person by nature or practice, but that lifestyle has hinged entirely upon a certain perspectiveโthat the body is a weapon, a tool, forged to its utmost on the battlefield. Intimacy of the body remains behind doors, between married men and women for the purposes of procreation, and the rest of the shinobi world lives within this sanitized conservation of virtue. To go outside that is an aberration, an embarrassing social blunder at best and an alienating sin at worse, but even under those rules Sasuke has never considered intimacy for himself. He has never seen it practiced. He cannot recall a time his father ever touched his mother with more than a passing hand, there-and-gone. They did not hug or kiss, or at least not in front of him. A pat on the head from his father, Sasuke remembers, would buoy his happiness for a week.
And when the girls who chased him tried to initiate it, he recalls his own reactions to their affectionโa shuddering shut-down, a withdrawal, a settling coldness. After all, how he could let them in when it trespassed on such a foundational lesson of his culture? He didn't exist to be caressed, or kissed, or cradled, because his body could only be shaped by fists and blades and pain, anything that would chisel it into a violent point.
He breathes when Cy eases the toy out of him, feeling the accompanying ache of emptiness where muscle has stretched too soon, a jolt of sharp pain up his spine. Then, obediently, he rolls onto his stomach. And such an action is so natural when he has never let someone this close, behind him, that it's almost terrifying. But Cy's hands are soft and masterful as they work over inexorably tight muscles. And his voice is drawling, almost hypnotic, a cadence he can slip beneath just to listen.
And imagine. The temple takes over his mind, lit by the backdrop of an eternally burning flame. Empty stone. Carved architectural beauty. He envisions Cy there, alone, and it doesn't feel very good despite the peacefulness of solitude described. Like there's something else, some haunting presence overlaid.]
Mon Mahara.
[He's testing the unfamiliar shape of those syllables in his mouth.]
My home is called Konohagakure. A forest, green and alive. Mild winters and humid summers. I had a clanโthe Uchiha. [Past particle.] We were old and powerful, and angry. Passionate. Uchiha possess an affinity for the nature of fire. It was one of the most complicated techniques I first learned when I was eight, to create that fire: katon. My father praised me for it.
[Face down, in the dim room beneath Cy's hands, it's easier to be vulnerable even if it's nothing new for a man who has lived millennia to hear. Maybe he's talking more for himself. Sasuke shifts slightly, exhaling.]
๏ผ a lonely, abandoned place gives way to green. he's seen lush worlds, perfect in perennial beauty. when you walk through a forest that has never known the bite of an axe, or the acrid breath of polluted air. in a way, those sorts of places are the closest he's ever felt to any sort of divinity, any amount of holiness. something pure and untrespassed, untold sanctuaries beneath every canopy.
he was a farmer, once. maybe that's why things that are green, that are growing, that are anchored deep into the earth always speaks to him.
so he can picture it too — a forest, a place that's hidden away behind the embrace of foliage. a people subsumed by anger and ascendancy.
he does not miss that was. when sasuke says it, his hands still just slightly against his back and then resume, stroking downward along the spine in one smooth, easy stroke. he'd assumed that by accident, aberration or design that sasuke was someone who had spent much of his life alone, or at least some amount of isolated. that statement, vague as it is, begins to add colour to the overlay of all the things he hasn't said. it's telling, too, that the simple insight is the longest the kid's ever said at once, much less about something as personal as home.
he's — what, twenty at the most? that's maybe twelve years in which some tectonic shift might have happened. in which have might have become had. it could be estrangement, he might've been disowned. the words and culture are japanese, even if it's not from earth — filial piety (or a lack thereof) might have been the deciding factor there. but the weight on my father praised me for it cleaves away from that possibility.
so many of his scars are old, except the arm. ๏ผ
It should feel good. This is my number one seduction technique, you know.
๏ผ he leans over, and drops another kiss against the blade of the boy's shoulder. in an audible stage whisper: ๏ผ
[At the whisper, Sasuke makes a noise against the pillow pressed to his face, chuffing breathโas close as he's come to laughter yet. The massage has worked him to a state of gradual ease, body feeling doughy and looser than he can remember.
And yes, the technique is working. His right arm tucks itself under the pillow as he reacts to the sensual temptation of touch, Cy's hands coaxing alive the arousal that had faded in the interim of their conversation. He feels it pool in his belly, collecting like hot syrup; his cock thickens with interest where it lies trapped between the towel and the weight of his own body. Pale thighs tense, a flex of muscle that allows him to rub once against the friction of the bed in an act played off as subtle. Since that first experience of petrification, he's slowly been recovering from deprivation, filling out where the hollowness of lack of food and sleep once sharpened his features to an unhealthy cast.]
You can see for yourself.
[As if it would even take much, with Cy touching him. Anything at all is better than he's ever had.]
Careful, you keep on like this I'm really going to think you have a sense of humour.
๏ผ it's said playfully, but there's an appreciation there, too. he knows full well he's seeing a side of sasuke — literal unseen parts notwithstanding — that not a lot of others are privy to. it feels precious and fragile in equal measure, something to be safeguarded, to be held. ๏ผ
But since you're offering... ๏ผ one hand, still smelling faintly of that cinnamon oil (that he is going to have to carefully wash off before he sticks his fingers anywhere interesting) is nudged gently against his hip. ๏ผ Show me.
[A sigh, but his words remain calm, low-toned, a little playful.] Then I'll have to correct your opinion of me.
[It's like when Cy told him to watchโasking him to comply with an exposure he's not used to, that act of being seen, his own mental state hung still between shame and fear of revealing vulnerability. Weakness. Yet it's easier to trust Cy behind a closed door with the knowledge this won't be used against him. The man has had too many chances to do so by now.
Not that his compliance isn't awkward, shifting to roll onto a side, then his back, gaze slipping away so as not to see himself. His cock, fully aroused in a flush of color, lies almost flat to his abdomen, untouched since the start of this. Thighs part slightly but not far, blocked by Cy's body beside him.]
๏ผ he's grinning a bit at the banter, but when sasuke shifts, the expression gradually transmutes instead to a sort of consideration, an artist studying a masterwork. he touches, because he can't not — one hand against the top of sasuke's thigh, up to his abdomen. he splays his hand right above his navel, just beyond the head of his cock, thickened and heavy with arousal. his hand is positioned almost more possessively than it is strictly sexual, a claimancy that's augmented by what he says next — ๏ผ
I like this. ๏ผ it's said simply, his fingers drag a little, not hard. ๏ผ You letting me look. It's not just seeing you — which, don't get me wrong, you're fucking gorgeous — but what's way fucking hotter than that is you making the choice to obey me. Thank you, sweetheart.
๏ผ he drops a kiss against sasuke's shoulder, liberal as ever with the little affectionate gestures, the praise, the warmth — then it's right back to business: ๏ผ
I like, desperately wanna finger-fuck you but I have got that oil like, all over my hands and I'm guessing you don't want a cinnamon-scented asshole so do you have like, soap or anything? Nothing alcohol based, it'll burn. Otherwise I'll teleport out and pop back.
[The words, the warm touch of a handโthat feels as if he is becoming trained to crave on his skinโthe kiss, the endearment. All of these melt into his belly, a fluttering of emotion separate from the burn of attraction or arousal; he finds his face hot, colored to match the pink flush of his cock. Embarrassing. At least the light in the room is low enough to disguise such an adolescent reaction to praise and affection.
Sasuke's throat works through a swallow, pulse beginning to climb. Sweat prickles at the temperature of the room with the two of them in it. His shirt remains hiked up under armpits, and the rhythm of his shortened breaths is visible in the expansion of a pale ribcage.]
Under the bed. [It would be easy to let Cy leave and return. Yet, selfishly, he doesn't like that thought at all. He doesn't want to be left here, waiting. Impatience scorches a path that leaves tentative eagerness in its wake.] Since the showers are outside the rooms, I keep supplies in here. The clear container.
[Beneath the low frame of the bed, Cy will find a plastic storage box filled with cleaning supplies, among them paper towels, soap, water-based wet wipes, shampoo and conditioner. It is neat and tidily organized.]
๏ผ a companionable pat to sasuke's side, and then he slips from the bed with a push of his hand and a hook of his ankle on the frame at the foot of the bed. he makes it look surprisingly agile — and the rummage is a quick business. he cleans his hands and in a rather contrary moment of behaviour, he leaves the container just as he found it despite a moment's careless rummaging.
can't keep his own space clean to save his life. does respect the sanctity of other's, though.
the hop back to bed is equally quick and graceful, and then he's right about back where he started — perhaps a little closer, propped up on his side.
this bed is absolutely not long enough for him. his ankles hang awkwardly off the edge of the bed, and unless he wants to jam his head right up against the other side he's just resigned to being comically outsized for this stupid little coffin room. shitty as his own quarters are, he's surprised to find that one lesser rank is treated that much worse as far as accommodations go. one more reason to give the good ol' single finger salute to the proprietors, as far as he's concerned.
but he's not worried about the hot, black rage that makes a bid for his emotional regulation at the moment. he's got other, more pressing things to focus on, and the anger is easily set aside.
(it has to be.)
he pats down the blankets and towel until he tracks down the bottle of lube, and then he nestles it between their bodies, within easy reach. ๏ผ
Okay, dealer's choice. ๏ผ poker jokes. apt. ๏ผ We can do it like this and I can fold your leg up ๏ผ a pat to sasuke's nearer thigh. ๏ผ Gives me a good angle and lets me kiss you stupid. I could get between your thighs, same thing. I'd say stomach, but I wanna watch you come.
๏ผ whisper-light, he trails a finger up the length of sasuke's cock, barely making contact. teasing? absolutely. ๏ผ One other thing. No touching your dick. You're gonna want to, so let me know now if you think you can control yourself or if I need to think of something else.
๏ผ mm, actually, with their earlier conversation in mind — ๏ผ
I don't mean tying or restraints. I mean I will literally just hold your hand.
[The distribution of Cy's length across the bed isn't missed by Sasuke, who only manages to fit himself with feet and head up against both ends, but there isn't much to amend it now. In the future, however, it would be wiser to choose another location.
He's startled to realize he is even thinking of that future.
As Cy describes their positioningโmethodical, as usual, in his state of order where anyone else would have gone right into the actโdissimilar eyes follow those hands. A pat to his leg. A touch sketched up the length of his cock, the suggestion of contact more than anything tangible. It jumps, eager. His jaw flexes but he keeps himself still, unwilling to be tempted into some pathetic chase for friction or pressure. Even the sight of Cy's fingers carves out a hungry space in him: thicker, larger than his own, perfectly smooth-skinned and unmarred.
The stipulation draws Sasuke's attention back from this fixated stare.]
... I'm fine on my back. [Not out of laziness; he likes how close Cy is, beside him, and he likes the idea of kissing though this won't come confessed so easily.] I should be able to control myself. It's not something I've felt inclined to do much in the past.
[Severe depression sort of knocks the wind out of normal teenage libido.]
Well, I got you off once without touching you. I wanna see if I can go best two out of three.
๏ผ it's only said half-seriously. he's sure sasuke is still just a little embarrassed by that first desperate orgasm, gripped by the merciless thrall of his suit, and he's not trying to make fun — leaning now with his chin in his palm, giving the kid a fond smile, he hopes he knows it.
then, with a bit less levity — ๏ผ
Literally no reason beyond I think it's hot when you obey me. Need me to dial back on being bossy?
[Ah. The truth is, all of his obedience has been... not entirely conscious, or at least not self-aware. A choice, yes, because he's certain that if anyone else told him what to do he would not be so receptive. Then what is it about Cy? Why does he keep following orders?
Cy is easy to obey. Why? The way he speaks, perhaps, or the way he treats him. That ancient depth of knowledge and experience earning some knee-jerk instinct of submission toward authority. Pure, stupid lust. It's hard to say, especially when he's more concerned with the time it is taking to get Cy to touch him.
A headshake.] No. [Sasuke's right hand presses down to the bedsheet, flexing there.]
๏ผ he leans in, and presses a chaste kiss to the corner of sasuke's mouth, the gratitude he doesn't voice aloud. from there, he hooks his hand under sasuke's thigh and brings his leg up for ease of access, and then lets his arm rest there, keeping sasuke's thigh folded in against his chest in something that's half an embrace. the kid's plenty flexible enough to manage it without strain, and he can feel the easy flex of the muscles beneath the fall of his arm. the lube gets shuffled around in an awkward little dance between hands, and his fingers are appropriately slicked up with a messy squirt of it that absolutely goes everywhere with the first pump of the bottle.
but it does the job — and he's mindful as he starts, languid about it, a slow exploration across the perineum, a press in against his asshole. he's half petting the boy, almost more for the sake of physical contact alone than with any indication of his end game. and perhaps that's part of it, too — just acclimatizing him to aimless, deliberate contact. in concert with that, too, kisses are peppered anywhere within easy reach. sasuke's knee, his shin, his shoulder — one particularly dramatic lean into his space lets him capture the boy's mouth in a lazy sort of hunger, licking into his mouth.
by the time he slips a finger inside the kid, it feels like it's been hours just like this — his faulty perception of time stretching seconds and minutes and the upward-racheting flickering beat of sasuke's heart that sounds impossibly loud in the room to tiny eternities.
progress is almost achingly slow, letting that ring of muscle flex and release before he pushes in deeper, and once his palm is bottomed out against the kid's ass he noses at his cheek. he doesn't have the full range of motion in his left arm as he's currently propped up by his elbow, but he can lay his forearm flat along the mattress and let his fingers tangle in sasuke's hair. ๏ผ
[It is not a new experience to have Cy's attentions on his body now, and while the goal remains the sameโan orgasm, somewhere at the gleaming end of thisโthe course to reach it is entirely changed. A leg is lifted, hooked by an arm, levered up to split the space between his thighs. The stretch isn't uncomfortable, but it does make him hyper-aware of just how openly he has been exposed. Nothing separates the bare curve of his ass and the deeper crease within from eyes or hands or cool air. He is surprised at a surge of arousal from the feeling of being put like this, half-embraced, unable to lower his leg, right hand obediently on the bedsheet.
Forgiving the splatter of lubricant at that faulty start with one arched brow, he waits, andโfinally, finally, Cy touches him. A whole new sensation than when he'd done it to himself. First that Cy takes his timeโall of it, every eternal second allowed to an immortal god, stroking across that hole until he can feel lube dripping down, soaking the towel, sticking to his ass. Then, a heightened sensitivity lacking before, the difference of another's hand that he can't predict. Rubbing at him, grazing the tender nerves on the outside of a tight rim, coaxing muscles to ease. Sasuke hadn't spent so long acclimating himself; he'd moved quickly to the next step.
And the kisses. Distracting, sweet, unnecessary but welcomed with a thirst he can't define. His mouth hangs open after Cy kisses him there, wet and a little red, tongue licking lips like he wants it again.
It feels like an age for that first finger. Sheer discipline keeps Sasuke down on the bed, but his hips twitch at that breach of pressure, neglected cock starting to drool precum onto a flat navel. The sound that escapes his mouth is quieter than how he had sounded on the callโbreathy, flutteryโperhaps because he's not alone or because Cy is so thoroughly careful.
When at last he feels Cy's warm palm cupped against his ass and a finger filling him to the last knuckle, Sasuke exhales hard, eyelashes flickering, hair tossed out of a face now undeniably flushed. It's better than just his own finger, because it is a stretch that aches. It's still not enough. His head has rolled back on the pillow when Cy's other hand finds it, and he pushes into the touch, needy.]
Mm. [An absent hum that isn't an answer; he tries again, sucking in air.] I want more. You're taking forever.
Edited (forgot a detail) Date: 2024-01-16 06:24 am (UTC)
๏ผ he just laughs, and bites at the curve of sasuke's shoulder, a playful little nip that leaves no mark. ๏ผ
Oh my fuck, dude. You've had something up your ass all of twice.
๏ผ he works his hand against — in — the boy, a slow, tempestuous motion, a rock of his hand that drives him just a little deeper. ๏ผ
Let me enjoy you. We've got all the time in the world to satisfy you later brusquely apace, milord. Perhaps some patience doth behoove you.
๏ผ yes, that slip into antiquated keigo, the sort that's respectful to a superior in social standing, is intentional, thank you.
his left hand strokes against sasuke's hair, steady and methodical even as the finger of his right hand curls, a beckoning gesture inside him. the slow stroke, sketched across the prostate so easily hit at this angle, is a deliberate tease. beside him like this, cy intends to watch every twitch in his expression, every shuddering heave of his chest. it's a good view, but — ๏ผ
Don't turn away.
๏ผ — one more order, sealed with another kiss, this one against the dip of his collarbone. ๏ผ
[Please do not talk to him like that when he has a finger up his ass, it melts some crucial part of his brain necessary for functioning.
There it is again, that alien sentiment. Let me enjoy you. The deep, muscular relaxation from Cy's thorough massage is all that allows him not to tense over, clearly at struggle with this concept of leisure and patience in pleasure. Last time, the aphrodisiac glazed his senses enough that he could come quickly; Cy didn't slow them down like he's doing now. Aware and awake as he is here, no longer suffering detrimental effects that muddy the senses, this is nothing short of torment.]
Cyramโ
[You're ridiculous, maybe, or you're the one with all the timeโsurly, brattyโbut it's cut by the kiss to his skin. And by the stroke of that finger. Pushed up deep inside of him, curled at an angle, there's the barest rub against something electric.
He jolts, emitting a gasp. The smooth features of his face are furrowed, confused, brow wrinkled. Without realizing it his hips has moved, trying to chase it, cock twitching; obediently he has not turned, though a mismatched gaze slips up to the ceiling as his head rolls back.]
๏ผ he slips his hand free, and reaches between them to where the lube is cradled against his own hip. then it's a murmur of shh, relax as he sets to working a second finger in as well, gently prising at that ring of muscle to ease the passage in. he waits for the natural, reflexive clench of intrusion to abate, he continues, stroking his thumb in against the outer muscle to ease it, content to talk while he just has a solid, unmoving presence inside him, compressed by vivid heat as sasuke's body adjusts. ๏ผ
Not everyone likes it, so you gotta tell me if it's too much. Sometimes the sensation can be overwhelming enough it's uncomfortable. And you gotta be like, decently gentle, you can do permanent nerve damage if you get too rowdy with it. Blah blah, erectile tissue, blah. I'm sure you don't want the medical rundown while I'm like, actively inside of you.
๏ผ two fingers now fully seated in him, cy leaves it to the middle finger to again just lever the faintest pressure against that gland. his gaze on sasuke is intent, watchful — mindful of the risk of crossing the boundary of pleasure into pain. at least without the pressing urgency of the suit's damning influence, he's not as worried about an increase in his overall sensitivity, but he meant what he said — it's not for everybody no matter what cosmo boldly proclaims in their centrefold fluff pieces. ๏ผ
Here ๏ผ a gentle tap to the side of sasuke's head where his left arm is anchored. ๏ผ bring your hand up here, hold onto me. It's okay if you squeeze, you can't hurt me. Talk me through it if you can. It's okay if you can't. 'Pineapple' if you need me to stop. Say you understand.
[He did listen when it was described, and he'd looked at the diagram Cy sent, butโso quickly it had fallen out of his mind with the event horizon of penetration looming on its own. This isn't confessed, not when Cy is finally, finally admitting a second finger into him, additional width of knuckles an aching stretch but nothing like his own hasty attempt earlier. Plenty of time to adapt, to cool. Plenty of time to hear Cy talk. And during, he just... feels it, what it is like to have someone's fingers buried into such an intimate place, slippery and warm, keeping his hole prised open.
The information is good; the information doesn't matter. His mind is too wrapped around sensations, a hitch of breath signaling his first reaction as that thicker middle finger moves, applies its articulate graze of pressureโa trembling gasp is pulled from Sasuke as another shiver of gentle, electric pleasure from stimulated nerves goes through him.]
That's... ah, [without thinking the obedience comes, right hand grasping up to take Cy's, a white-knuckled squeeze around it as his body does the same. Clenches, that tight passage enveloped around Cy's fingers spasming. His voice hitches, stumbling over words.] I... Iโunderstand. I don't need to stop.
[Cy, as always, coaxing him to communicate when he'd rather slip underneath whatever this is. But it's also grounding to speak.]
It isn't bad.
[Not if the state of his cock is any indication, untouched even as fresh precum beads at the slit, wet enough to smear on his belly.]
๏ผ he does still, quelling the movement, riding out the haptic clench and release of his body, waiting for the wave to pass. the state of sasuke's cock, and its messy, gleaming smear tells one story, but those words entirely another. in a soft tone — instructive, he murmurs, ๏ผ
'Not bad' isn't 'good'.
๏ผ a learned behaviour, clearly. getting sasuke to give an honest answer, an affirmation of any positive experience or feeling, is going to have to be unpacked by degrees. the same way his body is calibrated to tolerate torture more than touch, his mind is similarly primed. is it that not bad diminishes an implicit burden, or expresses a capability to endure? that complaints have long been ignored or overridden by stronger personalities, louder calls to action?
who the fuck has ever listened to this kid? the way he makes himself small, unapproachable, the way he turns his face to guard himself against his own pleasure, as if to risk seeing it means a complete revocation of the strength that's clearly, until this point, kept him alive?
cy leans in and kisses him again, slow and easy. almost chaste, comparatively, the slip of his tongue rather less an intrusion now than the press of a musician's fingers. ๏ผ
I don't want to give you 'not bad'. To me, that's pretty well near a 'slow down' — it's going to make me think that something's uncomfortable or pinched or you're putting up with something that could be better for you. You don't have to say it's amazing, and you don't need to feel amazing — it takes some adjusting. But if you want me to trust what you're saying, and act on that, you need to trust me enough to be honest. Sweetheart, I will guard your feelings fiercely — but they need to be communicated.
[At first, the instruction doesn't make sense to him.
It feels likeโcriticism. Even in the gentle, constructive tone, it feels like a correction to an error he's made, an overwhelming judgment on what he had thought was honest. The wrack of a shiver outside pleasure and somewhere on the plane of just emotional takes hold of him. His hand tightens over Cy's reflexively, for the pressure of it, grasping the physical anchor against an unknown storm that's swept into his mind.
The kiss is gentle, as soothing as the words. Sweetheart comes again, carried on the back of a promise of protection that almost hollows him out completely.
A whisper, then, coming a little thick in his throat.]
๏ผ is the first, immediate response. gently, he eases back. fingers removed, hand wiped on the towel. the lube is set aside, and he lets sasuke's leg down in a controlled, careful descent from where his forearm had it pinned, arm staying hooked at the knee until the angle's more awkward than it is helpful. ๏ผ
Mental space or physical space?
๏ผ aka do you need him to shut up and hold you, or do you need him to stop touching you and talk? ๏ผ
[His first instinct is to say, I don't know. But he tries doing what Cy has already taught him once before by breathing, even if the count is sloppy, less careful in the swollen state of that sudden and unexpected emotionality.]
Don't leave. [Which maybe isn't even what Cy meant, butโit's what comes out of his mouth when he hears that. "Physical space." As if he'll turn and Cy will be gone from the room in a wispy, malevolent crackle of energy. The hand fastened over those fingers doesn't ease; its grip only seems tighter, desperate.] ... Your voice. I want to hear it.
[It's okay if Cy talks. It might even be better to listen to its drawling cadence as he unravels whatever it is he's just felt, this painful blockage in his chest.]
๏ผ he adjusts his position just slightly, slinging one clothed leg over sasuke's bare one, letting his right arm rest across his chest. the left stays where it is, tangled in the snare of a lifeline that he recognizes perhaps all too well. he tucks himself in so there's no room between them for so much as a shadow, and then he starts to speak. it's the first thing that comes to mind. sasuke had spoken of a place that was green and growing, and cy had spoken of deserts, but now his mind shifts to water, still and tranquil. ๏ผ
When I was new, ๏ผ he says, as if that means something. as if it means anything. as if it's at all an explanation of what he was when that old man took him in. perhaps he was new, or at least ravaged by newness, sensation and thought and feelings he couldn't articulate then. he was half feral, fully wild, had lived on unspeakable things down in the catacombs for how long he still can't say. less a person than a thing, cracking open amphorae for wine gone to vinegar and mouldering baskets for bread long ossified by time. he hadn't known then, why he couldn't fucking die. he'd tried every possible way. ๏ผ I lived in a little cabin near a lake, with a man named Takรซthal. ๏ผ his pronunciation is careful, tak-eh-tal. as if this is a precious thing, something that has lived wrapped in silks and nestled away somewhere sacred, to be only sparingly given over to the light of the day, as if it's eroded by presentation alone. he has fought for that name, for the scraps of that person, that past. he has fought so long and so hard and he is tired of that fight, but he hasn't quit yet. ๏ผ He was a fisherman. I used to sleep under his porch, no joke. He'd leave food out. Sometimes he'd ask for my help with a haul. I was so fucking angry, then. Violent. I didn't know how to talk, but I could listen. I learned. It took me years to become a person again. I don't know how long I had with him. It's weird to think of him like a dad, I'd already lived over a millennia by then, and he was just — mortal. But it felt that way, like he was the father of who I became. I found peace there. ๏ผ almost pensively — ๏ผ I remember crying over the fish. I didn't want them to die.
๏ผ it hadn't bothered him until it did. one morning, clear as the knife's edge of daylight, he'd been helping the old man clean his catch, and he'd split open a little trout with a bellyful of eggs and it had broken something in him. he doesn't remember sobbing half so much as being held. ๏ผ
He's the one that named me. Cyram means 'summer's dawn'. Doesn't matter which world I go to, what the language is, what the culture is. I've changed my last name a million times. Maybe more than that. But my first name's always been Cyram.
[He closes his eyes to listen, noticing when the rhythm of Cyram's voice alters as he goes into the story of Takรซthalโa name spoken so tenderly, so carefully that it rests in the air like an incantation, reaching back for a ghost and pulling it into a slant of light for moments before it is painstakingly returned to the dark. It occurs to him that Cyram's patchwork memory has preserved this fragment of a past exactly because of its significance. So he can fight, too, for what matters to him, enough to dig in the effort of recollection against all the odds of a ruined mind.
Sasuke doesn't know how long he'll be alive. A fraction of the time Cyram has spent in existence, less than the flicker of an eye, less than a blade of grass on a whole planet. Yet he determines, then, to remember Takรซthal for as long as he's living. So if one day it should slip from Cyram's grasp, at least Sasuke can give it back to him.]
You changed the language you were speaking in.
[An observation in a voice that emerges quietly between them, low and thoughtful beneath the spell that Cyram has woven over him. The weight of an arm, the hook of a leg. An ease of physicality as he's never shared with anyone, not a parent. Not a teammate. Not even Naruto. Because this is tooโgentle, the way Cyram holds him and tells him about the genesis of his name.]
'Cyram'. He chose well. [A mortal father, a fisherman. The image of it is easy, like the cabin and the lake, like the porch. The dying fish.] It's warm. It reminds me of the way it feels when I'm listening to you.
[A shudder, and finally the release, emotion let out like a river in the stream of his breath. His eyes open.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
steers them back into horny waters
Date: 2024-01-15 07:20 am (UTC)Of course he would be drawn to such a looming, masculine presence, one that reeks of power and temperance and control yet can still wear ugly shirts and kiss so easily. But Sasuke is still surprised by it now.
A small nod.] Yes.
the pathos, the range...
Date: 2024-01-15 02:51 pm (UTC)as to the blanket... he slips one hand in against sasuke's side beneath his shirt, and then pushes it downward until it's gathered up like the water at a prow of a ship. he pushes it down slowly rather than with any urgency, and stops once it's revealed just enough of him to make this whole thing work, letting it pool over those muscular thighs. Sidenote: this blanket is actually awful. Did they make it that scratchy on purpose?
he leans in, and another kiss is pressed against the jut of sasuke's hip.
the dildo's slipped half out of him, oddly angled where its base has levered against the towel. cy strokes down his leg, similarly kneading at the muscle there, and warns him in a low voice — ๏ผ
I'm gonna pull it the rest of the way out for now. Don't brace, relax.
๏ผ he waits, until he feels the kid make a wilful effort to obey beneath his hand, and then he grasps the dildo by its base and slowly, gently eases it out and for now sets it aside on the towel. he's quietly relieved to see that there's no blood streaked against its length, so at least it was purely the pain of new intrusion and not actual damage that sasuke had been gritting his teeth against. it unknots the penitent unhappiness that had wound itself up like a clockwork engine inside of him.
with a breath — ๏ผ
Indulge me, huh? I wanna work out the rest of this tension on you first, then I'll fuck you with the toy. Remind me to clean it. ๏ผ look, he will forget. so — ๏ผ Roll over.
๏ผ there's a massage parlour on the... shit, tenth? floor? that caters both to happy endings and to luxuriating massage, so mentally he maps it out, his lips moving in a soundless equation. facing the door, the display tables with their wares was to the left, 396.2487 centimetres. he reaches, and pulls — that magic rolls over them like thunder, but it does return with a bottle of high end cinnamon-scented massage oil, which he uncaps once sasuke's settled. the shirt gets nudged upwards until it's really more of a fashion-forward scarf, and then he begins: working the oil between his palms, and then dipping down against the corded muscles of the kid's back. even relaxed to his best efforts, there is an unbounded tension singing across every fibre in him, something he's probably not even consciously aware of.
as he works, he tells a story: ๏ผ
There's a place I've been to that reminds me of you. The planet is called Osiere, but more specifically — Mon Mahara is the place. It's in the middle of a desert, a temple. It was built probably before I was even born. It's beautiful, cut from stone with a skill I'm not sure I could match even now. It's the place that made me want to be an architect, which I've been about as often as I've been an engineer. Whether by happy accident or design, they built it on top of an oil deposit and tapped into it, so there's this fire there that's been burning as long as I've been going there in a brazier at its heart. No people, though.
๏ผ it was one of the worlds kulo vayn decimated. almost nothing left, as far as living creatures go. he remembers afterwards, visiting each in turn, and how when he'd found mon mahara intact, untouched, he'd gone to his knees, fingers curling into the sand. but that's an old story, and not one he feels terribly compelled to share. something survived. something survived. ๏ผ
I go there when I need a break. Sometimes I stay for a few days, sometimes longer. I did that after the last big war on the last planet I was on. I think it was about forty years, just... room to breathe, you know?
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Date: 2024-01-15 07:05 pm (UTC)And when the girls who chased him tried to initiate it, he recalls his own reactions to their affectionโa shuddering shut-down, a withdrawal, a settling coldness. After all, how he could let them in when it trespassed on such a foundational lesson of his culture? He didn't exist to be caressed, or kissed, or cradled, because his body could only be shaped by fists and blades and pain, anything that would chisel it into a violent point.
He breathes when Cy eases the toy out of him, feeling the accompanying ache of emptiness where muscle has stretched too soon, a jolt of sharp pain up his spine. Then, obediently, he rolls onto his stomach. And such an action is so natural when he has never let someone this close, behind him, that it's almost terrifying. But Cy's hands are soft and masterful as they work over inexorably tight muscles. And his voice is drawling, almost hypnotic, a cadence he can slip beneath just to listen.
And imagine. The temple takes over his mind, lit by the backdrop of an eternally burning flame. Empty stone. Carved architectural beauty. He envisions Cy there, alone, and it doesn't feel very good despite the peacefulness of solitude described. Like there's something else, some haunting presence overlaid.]
Mon Mahara.
[He's testing the unfamiliar shape of those syllables in his mouth.]
My home is called Konohagakure. A forest, green and alive. Mild winters and humid summers. I had a clanโthe Uchiha. [Past particle.] We were old and powerful, and angry. Passionate. Uchiha possess an affinity for the nature of fire. It was one of the most complicated techniques I first learned when I was eight, to create that fire: katon. My father praised me for it.
[Face down, in the dim room beneath Cy's hands, it's easier to be vulnerable even if it's nothing new for a man who has lived millennia to hear. Maybe he's talking more for himself. Sasuke shifts slightly, exhaling.]
That feels good.
no subject
Date: 2024-01-15 08:58 pm (UTC)he was a farmer, once. maybe that's why things that are green, that are growing, that are anchored deep into the earth always speaks to him.
so he can picture it too — a forest, a place that's hidden away behind the embrace of foliage. a people subsumed by anger and ascendancy.
he does not miss that was. when sasuke says it, his hands still just slightly against his back and then resume, stroking downward along the spine in one smooth, easy stroke. he'd assumed that by accident, aberration or design that sasuke was someone who had spent much of his life alone, or at least some amount of isolated. that statement, vague as it is, begins to add colour to the overlay of all the things he hasn't said. it's telling, too, that the simple insight is the longest the kid's ever said at once, much less about something as personal as home.
he's — what, twenty at the most? that's maybe twelve years in which some tectonic shift might have happened. in which have might have become had. it could be estrangement, he might've been disowned. the words and culture are japanese, even if it's not from earth — filial piety (or a lack thereof) might have been the deciding factor there. but the weight on my father praised me for it cleaves away from that possibility.
so many of his scars are old, except the arm. ๏ผ
It should feel good. This is my number one seduction technique, you know.
๏ผ he leans over, and drops another kiss against the blade of the boy's shoulder. in an audible stage whisper: ๏ผ
Is it working?
no subject
Date: 2024-01-15 11:03 pm (UTC)And yes, the technique is working. His right arm tucks itself under the pillow as he reacts to the sensual temptation of touch, Cy's hands coaxing alive the arousal that had faded in the interim of their conversation. He feels it pool in his belly, collecting like hot syrup; his cock thickens with interest where it lies trapped between the towel and the weight of his own body. Pale thighs tense, a flex of muscle that allows him to rub once against the friction of the bed in an act played off as subtle. Since that first experience of petrification, he's slowly been recovering from deprivation, filling out where the hollowness of lack of food and sleep once sharpened his features to an unhealthy cast.]
You can see for yourself.
[As if it would even take much, with Cy touching him. Anything at all is better than he's ever had.]
no subject
Date: 2024-01-16 01:49 am (UTC)๏ผ it's said playfully, but there's an appreciation there, too. he knows full well he's seeing a side of sasuke — literal unseen parts notwithstanding — that not a lot of others are privy to. it feels precious and fragile in equal measure, something to be safeguarded, to be held. ๏ผ
But since you're offering... ๏ผ one hand, still smelling faintly of that cinnamon oil (that he is going to have to carefully wash off before he sticks his fingers anywhere interesting) is nudged gently against his hip. ๏ผ Show me.
no subject
Date: 2024-01-16 02:09 am (UTC)[It's like when Cy told him to watchโasking him to comply with an exposure he's not used to, that act of being seen, his own mental state hung still between shame and fear of revealing vulnerability. Weakness. Yet it's easier to trust Cy behind a closed door with the knowledge this won't be used against him. The man has had too many chances to do so by now.
Not that his compliance isn't awkward, shifting to roll onto a side, then his back, gaze slipping away so as not to see himself. His cock, fully aroused in a flush of color, lies almost flat to his abdomen, untouched since the start of this. Thighs part slightly but not far, blocked by Cy's body beside him.]
no subject
Date: 2024-01-16 02:32 am (UTC)๏ผ he's grinning a bit at the banter, but when sasuke shifts, the expression gradually transmutes instead to a sort of consideration, an artist studying a masterwork. he touches, because he can't not — one hand against the top of sasuke's thigh, up to his abdomen. he splays his hand right above his navel, just beyond the head of his cock, thickened and heavy with arousal. his hand is positioned almost more possessively than it is strictly sexual, a claimancy that's augmented by what he says next — ๏ผ
I like this. ๏ผ it's said simply, his fingers drag a little, not hard. ๏ผ You letting me look. It's not just seeing you — which, don't get me wrong, you're fucking gorgeous — but what's way fucking hotter than that is you making the choice to obey me. Thank you, sweetheart.
๏ผ he drops a kiss against sasuke's shoulder, liberal as ever with the little affectionate gestures, the praise, the warmth — then it's right back to business: ๏ผ
I like, desperately wanna finger-fuck you but I have got that oil like, all over my hands and I'm guessing you don't want a cinnamon-scented asshole so do you have like, soap or anything? Nothing alcohol based, it'll burn. Otherwise I'll teleport out and pop back.
no subject
Date: 2024-01-16 03:19 am (UTC)Sasuke's throat works through a swallow, pulse beginning to climb. Sweat prickles at the temperature of the room with the two of them in it. His shirt remains hiked up under armpits, and the rhythm of his shortened breaths is visible in the expansion of a pale ribcage.]
Under the bed. [It would be easy to let Cy leave and return. Yet, selfishly, he doesn't like that thought at all. He doesn't want to be left here, waiting. Impatience scorches a path that leaves tentative eagerness in its wake.] Since the showers are outside the rooms, I keep supplies in here. The clear container.
[Beneath the low frame of the bed, Cy will find a plastic storage box filled with cleaning supplies, among them paper towels, soap, water-based wet wipes, shampoo and conditioner. It is neat and tidily organized.]
no subject
Date: 2024-01-16 03:43 am (UTC)๏ผ a companionable pat to sasuke's side, and then he slips from the bed with a push of his hand and a hook of his ankle on the frame at the foot of the bed. he makes it look surprisingly agile — and the rummage is a quick business. he cleans his hands and in a rather contrary moment of behaviour, he leaves the container just as he found it despite a moment's careless rummaging.
can't keep his own space clean to save his life. does respect the sanctity of other's, though.
the hop back to bed is equally quick and graceful, and then he's right about back where he started — perhaps a little closer, propped up on his side.
this bed is absolutely not long enough for him. his ankles hang awkwardly off the edge of the bed, and unless he wants to jam his head right up against the other side he's just resigned to being comically outsized for this stupid little coffin room. shitty as his own quarters are, he's surprised to find that one lesser rank is treated that much worse as far as accommodations go. one more reason to give the good ol' single finger salute to the proprietors, as far as he's concerned.
but he's not worried about the hot, black rage that makes a bid for his emotional regulation at the moment. he's got other, more pressing things to focus on, and the anger is easily set aside.
(it has to be.)
he pats down the blankets and towel until he tracks down the bottle of lube, and then he nestles it between their bodies, within easy reach. ๏ผ
Okay, dealer's choice. ๏ผ poker jokes. apt. ๏ผ We can do it like this and I can fold your leg up ๏ผ a pat to sasuke's nearer thigh. ๏ผ Gives me a good angle and lets me kiss you stupid. I could get between your thighs, same thing. I'd say stomach, but I wanna watch you come.
๏ผ whisper-light, he trails a finger up the length of sasuke's cock, barely making contact. teasing? absolutely. ๏ผ One other thing. No touching your dick. You're gonna want to, so let me know now if you think you can control yourself or if I need to think of something else.
๏ผ mm, actually, with their earlier conversation in mind — ๏ผ
I don't mean tying or restraints. I mean I will literally just hold your hand.
no subject
Date: 2024-01-16 04:09 am (UTC)He's startled to realize he is even thinking of that future.
As Cy describes their positioningโmethodical, as usual, in his state of order where anyone else would have gone right into the actโdissimilar eyes follow those hands. A pat to his leg. A touch sketched up the length of his cock, the suggestion of contact more than anything tangible. It jumps, eager. His jaw flexes but he keeps himself still, unwilling to be tempted into some pathetic chase for friction or pressure. Even the sight of Cy's fingers carves out a hungry space in him: thicker, larger than his own, perfectly smooth-skinned and unmarred.
The stipulation draws Sasuke's attention back from this fixated stare.]
... I'm fine on my back. [Not out of laziness; he likes how close Cy is, beside him, and he likes the idea of kissing though this won't come confessed so easily.] I should be able to control myself. It's not something I've felt inclined to do much in the past.
[Severe depression sort of knocks the wind out of normal teenage libido.]
But why?
no subject
Date: 2024-01-16 04:27 am (UTC)๏ผ it's only said half-seriously. he's sure sasuke is still just a little embarrassed by that first desperate orgasm, gripped by the merciless thrall of his suit, and he's not trying to make fun — leaning now with his chin in his palm, giving the kid a fond smile, he hopes he knows it.
then, with a bit less levity — ๏ผ
Literally no reason beyond I think it's hot when you obey me. Need me to dial back on being bossy?
no subject
Date: 2024-01-16 04:39 am (UTC)Cy is easy to obey. Why? The way he speaks, perhaps, or the way he treats him. That ancient depth of knowledge and experience earning some knee-jerk instinct of submission toward authority. Pure, stupid lust. It's hard to say, especially when he's more concerned with the time it is taking to get Cy to touch him.
A headshake.] No. [Sasuke's right hand presses down to the bedsheet, flexing there.]
I won't touch myself.
no subject
Date: 2024-01-16 05:26 am (UTC)๏ผ he leans in, and presses a chaste kiss to the corner of sasuke's mouth, the gratitude he doesn't voice aloud. from there, he hooks his hand under sasuke's thigh and brings his leg up for ease of access, and then lets his arm rest there, keeping sasuke's thigh folded in against his chest in something that's half an embrace. the kid's plenty flexible enough to manage it without strain, and he can feel the easy flex of the muscles beneath the fall of his arm. the lube gets shuffled around in an awkward little dance between hands, and his fingers are appropriately slicked up with a messy squirt of it that absolutely goes everywhere with the first pump of the bottle.
but it does the job — and he's mindful as he starts, languid about it, a slow exploration across the perineum, a press in against his asshole. he's half petting the boy, almost more for the sake of physical contact alone than with any indication of his end game. and perhaps that's part of it, too — just acclimatizing him to aimless, deliberate contact. in concert with that, too, kisses are peppered anywhere within easy reach. sasuke's knee, his shin, his shoulder — one particularly dramatic lean into his space lets him capture the boy's mouth in a lazy sort of hunger, licking into his mouth.
by the time he slips a finger inside the kid, it feels like it's been hours just like this — his faulty perception of time stretching seconds and minutes and the upward-racheting flickering beat of sasuke's heart that sounds impossibly loud in the room to tiny eternities.
progress is almost achingly slow, letting that ring of muscle flex and release before he pushes in deeper, and once his palm is bottomed out against the kid's ass he noses at his cheek. he doesn't have the full range of motion in his left arm as he's currently propped up by his elbow, but he can lay his forearm flat along the mattress and let his fingers tangle in sasuke's hair. ๏ผ
Check in. How we doing?
no subject
Date: 2024-01-16 06:17 am (UTC)Forgiving the splatter of lubricant at that faulty start with one arched brow, he waits, andโfinally, finally, Cy touches him. A whole new sensation than when he'd done it to himself. First that Cy takes his timeโall of it, every eternal second allowed to an immortal god, stroking across that hole until he can feel lube dripping down, soaking the towel, sticking to his ass. Then, a heightened sensitivity lacking before, the difference of another's hand that he can't predict. Rubbing at him, grazing the tender nerves on the outside of a tight rim, coaxing muscles to ease. Sasuke hadn't spent so long acclimating himself; he'd moved quickly to the next step.
And the kisses. Distracting, sweet, unnecessary but welcomed with a thirst he can't define. His mouth hangs open after Cy kisses him there, wet and a little red, tongue licking lips like he wants it again.
It feels like an age for that first finger. Sheer discipline keeps Sasuke down on the bed, but his hips twitch at that breach of pressure, neglected cock starting to drool precum onto a flat navel. The sound that escapes his mouth is quieter than how he had sounded on the callโbreathy, flutteryโperhaps because he's not alone or because Cy is so thoroughly careful.
When at last he feels Cy's warm palm cupped against his ass and a finger filling him to the last knuckle, Sasuke exhales hard, eyelashes flickering, hair tossed out of a face now undeniably flushed. It's better than just his own finger, because it is a stretch that aches. It's still not enough. His head has rolled back on the pillow when Cy's other hand finds it, and he pushes into the touch, needy.]
Mm. [An absent hum that isn't an answer; he tries again, sucking in air.] I want more. You're taking forever.
no subject
Date: 2024-01-16 03:46 pm (UTC)Oh my fuck, dude. You've had something up your ass all of twice.
๏ผ he works his hand against — in — the boy, a slow, tempestuous motion, a rock of his hand that drives him just a little deeper. ๏ผ
Let me enjoy you. We've got all the time in the world to satisfy you later brusquely apace, milord. Perhaps some patience doth behoove you.
๏ผ yes, that slip into antiquated keigo, the sort that's respectful to a superior in social standing, is intentional, thank you.
his left hand strokes against sasuke's hair, steady and methodical even as the finger of his right hand curls, a beckoning gesture inside him. the slow stroke, sketched across the prostate so easily hit at this angle, is a deliberate tease. beside him like this, cy intends to watch every twitch in his expression, every shuddering heave of his chest. it's a good view, but — ๏ผ
Don't turn away.
๏ผ — one more order, sealed with another kiss, this one against the dip of his collarbone. ๏ผ
no subject
Date: 2024-01-16 05:04 pm (UTC)There it is again, that alien sentiment. Let me enjoy you. The deep, muscular relaxation from Cy's thorough massage is all that allows him not to tense over, clearly at struggle with this concept of leisure and patience in pleasure. Last time, the aphrodisiac glazed his senses enough that he could come quickly; Cy didn't slow them down like he's doing now. Aware and awake as he is here, no longer suffering detrimental effects that muddy the senses, this is nothing short of torment.]
Cyramโ
[You're ridiculous, maybe, or you're the one with all the timeโsurly, brattyโbut it's cut by the kiss to his skin. And by the stroke of that finger. Pushed up deep inside of him, curled at an angle, there's the barest rub against something electric.
He jolts, emitting a gasp. The smooth features of his face are furrowed, confused, brow wrinkled. Without realizing it his hips has moved, trying to chase it, cock twitching; obediently he has not turned, though a mismatched gaze slips up to the ceiling as his head rolls back.]
What did you do just now?
no subject
Date: 2024-01-17 02:57 am (UTC)๏ผ he slips his hand free, and reaches between them to where the lube is cradled against his own hip. then it's a murmur of shh, relax as he sets to working a second finger in as well, gently prising at that ring of muscle to ease the passage in. he waits for the natural, reflexive clench of intrusion to abate, he continues, stroking his thumb in against the outer muscle to ease it, content to talk while he just has a solid, unmoving presence inside him, compressed by vivid heat as sasuke's body adjusts. ๏ผ
Not everyone likes it, so you gotta tell me if it's too much. Sometimes the sensation can be overwhelming enough it's uncomfortable. And you gotta be like, decently gentle, you can do permanent nerve damage if you get too rowdy with it. Blah blah, erectile tissue, blah. I'm sure you don't want the medical rundown while I'm like, actively inside of you.
๏ผ two fingers now fully seated in him, cy leaves it to the middle finger to again just lever the faintest pressure against that gland. his gaze on sasuke is intent, watchful — mindful of the risk of crossing the boundary of pleasure into pain. at least without the pressing urgency of the suit's damning influence, he's not as worried about an increase in his overall sensitivity, but he meant what he said — it's not for everybody no matter what cosmo boldly proclaims in their centrefold fluff pieces. ๏ผ
Here ๏ผ a gentle tap to the side of sasuke's head where his left arm is anchored. ๏ผ bring your hand up here, hold onto me. It's okay if you squeeze, you can't hurt me. Talk me through it if you can. It's okay if you can't. 'Pineapple' if you need me to stop. Say you understand.
no subject
Date: 2024-01-17 03:23 am (UTC)The information is good; the information doesn't matter. His mind is too wrapped around sensations, a hitch of breath signaling his first reaction as that thicker middle finger moves, applies its articulate graze of pressureโa trembling gasp is pulled from Sasuke as another shiver of gentle, electric pleasure from stimulated nerves goes through him.]
That's... ah, [without thinking the obedience comes, right hand grasping up to take Cy's, a white-knuckled squeeze around it as his body does the same. Clenches, that tight passage enveloped around Cy's fingers spasming. His voice hitches, stumbling over words.] I... Iโunderstand. I don't need to stop.
[Cy, as always, coaxing him to communicate when he'd rather slip underneath whatever this is. But it's also grounding to speak.]
It isn't bad.
[Not if the state of his cock is any indication, untouched even as fresh precum beads at the slit, wet enough to smear on his belly.]
no subject
Date: 2024-01-17 03:54 am (UTC)'Not bad' isn't 'good'.
๏ผ a learned behaviour, clearly. getting sasuke to give an honest answer, an affirmation of any positive experience or feeling, is going to have to be unpacked by degrees. the same way his body is calibrated to tolerate torture more than touch, his mind is similarly primed. is it that not bad diminishes an implicit burden, or expresses a capability to endure? that complaints have long been ignored or overridden by stronger personalities, louder calls to action?
who the fuck has ever listened to this kid? the way he makes himself small, unapproachable, the way he turns his face to guard himself against his own pleasure, as if to risk seeing it means a complete revocation of the strength that's clearly, until this point, kept him alive?
cy leans in and kisses him again, slow and easy. almost chaste, comparatively, the slip of his tongue rather less an intrusion now than the press of a musician's fingers. ๏ผ
I don't want to give you 'not bad'. To me, that's pretty well near a 'slow down' — it's going to make me think that something's uncomfortable or pinched or you're putting up with something that could be better for you. You don't have to say it's amazing, and you don't need to feel amazing — it takes some adjusting. But if you want me to trust what you're saying, and act on that, you need to trust me enough to be honest. Sweetheart, I will guard your feelings fiercely — but they need to be communicated.
no subject
Date: 2024-01-17 04:12 am (UTC)It feels likeโcriticism. Even in the gentle, constructive tone, it feels like a correction to an error he's made, an overwhelming judgment on what he had thought was honest. The wrack of a shiver outside pleasure and somewhere on the plane of just emotional takes hold of him. His hand tightens over Cy's reflexively, for the pressure of it, grasping the physical anchor against an unknown storm that's swept into his mind.
The kiss is gentle, as soothing as the words. Sweetheart comes again, carried on the back of a promise of protection that almost hollows him out completely.
A whisper, then, coming a little thick in his throat.]
Pineapple.
no subject
Date: 2024-01-17 04:16 am (UTC)๏ผ is the first, immediate response. gently, he eases back. fingers removed, hand wiped on the towel. the lube is set aside, and he lets sasuke's leg down in a controlled, careful descent from where his forearm had it pinned, arm staying hooked at the knee until the angle's more awkward than it is helpful. ๏ผ
Mental space or physical space?
๏ผ aka do you need him to shut up and hold you, or do you need him to stop touching you and talk? ๏ผ
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Date: 2024-01-17 04:28 am (UTC)Don't leave. [Which maybe isn't even what Cy meant, butโit's what comes out of his mouth when he hears that. "Physical space." As if he'll turn and Cy will be gone from the room in a wispy, malevolent crackle of energy. The hand fastened over those fingers doesn't ease; its grip only seems tighter, desperate.] ... Your voice. I want to hear it.
[It's okay if Cy talks. It might even be better to listen to its drawling cadence as he unravels whatever it is he's just felt, this painful blockage in his chest.]
cw: ... there's a lot here. suicide?? cannibalism?? lmao
Date: 2024-01-17 04:53 am (UTC)๏ผ he adjusts his position just slightly, slinging one clothed leg over sasuke's bare one, letting his right arm rest across his chest. the left stays where it is, tangled in the snare of a lifeline that he recognizes perhaps all too well. he tucks himself in so there's no room between them for so much as a shadow, and then he starts to speak. it's the first thing that comes to mind. sasuke had spoken of a place that was green and growing, and cy had spoken of deserts, but now his mind shifts to water, still and tranquil. ๏ผ
When I was new, ๏ผ he says, as if that means something. as if it means anything. as if it's at all an explanation of what he was when that old man took him in. perhaps he was new, or at least ravaged by newness, sensation and thought and feelings he couldn't articulate then. he was half feral, fully wild, had lived on unspeakable things down in the catacombs for how long he still can't say. less a person than a thing, cracking open amphorae for wine gone to vinegar and mouldering baskets for bread long ossified by time. he hadn't known then, why he couldn't fucking die. he'd tried every possible way. ๏ผ I lived in a little cabin near a lake, with a man named Takรซthal. ๏ผ his pronunciation is careful, tak-eh-tal. as if this is a precious thing, something that has lived wrapped in silks and nestled away somewhere sacred, to be only sparingly given over to the light of the day, as if it's eroded by presentation alone. he has fought for that name, for the scraps of that person, that past. he has fought so long and so hard and he is tired of that fight, but he hasn't quit yet. ๏ผ He was a fisherman. I used to sleep under his porch, no joke. He'd leave food out. Sometimes he'd ask for my help with a haul. I was so fucking angry, then. Violent. I didn't know how to talk, but I could listen. I learned. It took me years to become a person again. I don't know how long I had with him. It's weird to think of him like a dad, I'd already lived over a millennia by then, and he was just — mortal. But it felt that way, like he was the father of who I became. I found peace there. ๏ผ almost pensively — ๏ผ I remember crying over the fish. I didn't want them to die.
๏ผ it hadn't bothered him until it did. one morning, clear as the knife's edge of daylight, he'd been helping the old man clean his catch, and he'd split open a little trout with a bellyful of eggs and it had broken something in him. he doesn't remember sobbing half so much as being held. ๏ผ
He's the one that named me. Cyram means 'summer's dawn'. Doesn't matter which world I go to, what the language is, what the culture is. I've changed my last name a million times. Maybe more than that. But my first name's always been Cyram.
cw: my feelings getting obliterated
Date: 2024-01-17 05:34 am (UTC)Sasuke doesn't know how long he'll be alive. A fraction of the time Cyram has spent in existence, less than the flicker of an eye, less than a blade of grass on a whole planet. Yet he determines, then, to remember Takรซthal for as long as he's living. So if one day it should slip from Cyram's grasp, at least Sasuke can give it back to him.]
You changed the language you were speaking in.
[An observation in a voice that emerges quietly between them, low and thoughtful beneath the spell that Cyram has woven over him. The weight of an arm, the hook of a leg. An ease of physicality as he's never shared with anyone, not a parent. Not a teammate. Not even Naruto. Because this is tooโgentle, the way Cyram holds him and tells him about the genesis of his name.]
'Cyram'. He chose well. [A mortal father, a fisherman. The image of it is easy, like the cabin and the lake, like the porch. The dying fish.] It's warm. It reminds me of the way it feels when I'm listening to you.
[A shudder, and finally the release, emotion let out like a river in the stream of his breath. His eyes open.]
Sorry.
con't because you're the wORST
From:๐คก
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From:freedom again
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