[Let me do this first — and it is done for Cy, then, because he knows what his own reaction would be, he knows what he would ask for. He knows what he craves. He would want fingers as deep in his throat as they could fit, gagging him. He would want fingers pushed up into his hole, stretching him, ruthlessly rubbing the tender spot of his prostate that still no one has ever touched but Cy. Or, better, he would want to take Cy's cock after twenty strikes to the ass, or thirty or forty, until his skin is glowing hot and he's thrashing, until he's full to the brim with Cy and there is no more space in his head for anything or anyone else.
But this allowance, this slow and measured pace, isn't just for his own sake of wading into the depths of new waters. It is also for Cy. The knowledge that there is a progression to work up his experience, and that one day he'll be practiced at this enough to be able to handle such intensity without falling apart. Because Sasuke can't say, yet — as much as he would spear his body on pain for Cy's pleasure, he doesn't know what it will look like on the other side, coming down from the height of that plunge. He's had darker, emptier moments in his life that tell him it would not be very good. He doesn't want Cy to see that. The respect for boundaries goes both ways, and it isn't a foundation built in one day; it must be steadied and reinforced over time.
Something cool and smooth is rubbed into throbbing flesh. He shudders, coaxing the steel of his body to relax, relax, relax. It's a mantra in his mind as his mouth is vacated, as that hand returns to his ass. The blows don't sting as badly, but he doesn't mind. His cock continues to leak persistent precome; his hand reaches out, coiling around Cy's own as he bears the remaining eight. He wants to come so badly but he doesn't beg for it. Cy promised him.
What he does do — right on the cusp of nineteen, twenty — is let himself release a high whine broken over the stutter of his own hips, unrepressed, the sound as close to a tearless sob as it can get.]
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But this allowance, this slow and measured pace, isn't just for his own sake of wading into the depths of new waters. It is also for Cy. The knowledge that there is a progression to work up his experience, and that one day he'll be practiced at this enough to be able to handle such intensity without falling apart. Because Sasuke can't say, yet — as much as he would spear his body on pain for Cy's pleasure, he doesn't know what it will look like on the other side, coming down from the height of that plunge. He's had darker, emptier moments in his life that tell him it would not be very good. He doesn't want Cy to see that. The respect for boundaries goes both ways, and it isn't a foundation built in one day; it must be steadied and reinforced over time.
Something cool and smooth is rubbed into throbbing flesh. He shudders, coaxing the steel of his body to relax, relax, relax. It's a mantra in his mind as his mouth is vacated, as that hand returns to his ass. The blows don't sting as badly, but he doesn't mind. His cock continues to leak persistent precome; his hand reaches out, coiling around Cy's own as he bears the remaining eight. He wants to come so badly but he doesn't beg for it. Cy promised him.
What he does do — right on the cusp of nineteen, twenty — is let himself release a high whine broken over the stutter of his own hips, unrepressed, the sound as close to a tearless sob as it can get.]