[He doesn't move beneath the hand on his throat. It stays, fingers seizing metal, threatening to cut the air of his next breath. It isn't the first threat Laurent has turned his way — he is full of them, made of thorns and barbs and hooks, however this one may be more real. More capable of hurt than before, when Sasuke had the ability to protect himself. Here he's been unmade; here he has never been so vulnerable.

Then the push. Sasuke staggers, barely, not enough to lose his feet. He does not have chakra but he has physical power in a body sculpted for combat, muscles tense — it is Laurent who goes to the soft floor, balance upset like a stumbling foal, lost grace, a mess of silk hair and loose strings. He spots pale skin beneath fabric where the sleeves of his shirt have parted, dangerous slits of indecency.]

... I won't tell you what to do. [This murmur, a susurrus, comes from Sasuke as he kneels in a definitive movement on the other side of the pallet. It is a slower, careful descent.] But I'll never see you as a master. That's not possible.

[Not when he's come to know Laurent as he has, stripped bare.

You don't have to do this alone. It can't be said. It won't be heard. He lies on the other side of the pallet, and they aren't close enough to touch, but in the span of an arm, they could be. He remains resolutely still and only looks at him with dark eyes.]

He must wonder if you're suffering right now. It's the control he wants to have over you. If your condition worsens, then it's better for him. I don't know what's wrong with you. I'll help, if you ask. Make it a command. I don't care.