[The scorch of heat abates, leaving behind a dull throb of sensation across the plane of his back — and there's no resistance when he hears the click of a camera shutter, this time, until his face is lifted off the bed. Then Sasuke tries to jerk beneath that hand, protest swallowed behind teeth, knowing it will do no good and fighting anyway. The knowledge that the sight of him in this ruined state has been preserved in those images — suspended in fantasy, humiliation takes on its sharpest edge and cuts deep. Not even the sweet praise of Good boy soothes that wound, although he can't help the part of himself that would do anything to hear it again.
Tied as he is, there's no amount of fight that prevents Cy from rearranging him into the new position, bent with his ass raised, sob hitching at the back of his throat when the plug and brush are removed because of how they drag against the sensitive and over-abused rim of his hole. The hard slap is just another burning hallmark of shame against his skin. All of it — the submission, the display of weakness in being conquered, the weathering of degradation and how heavy his cock still hangs between thighs as a result of it — he could never have showed to anyone else. It's dizzying, to have reached this point. To trust this implicitly.
The word Hades never touches his lips; the bell remains securely tucked in hand. He wants to rub himself back against the tease of Cy's cock as a wave of lust rocks through him, but instead he tries to escape it, ankles and wrist yanking at rope in one last frantic effort.]
I can't— [gasping, voice a low rush. He's crying again.] Will you... fuck me? [A quiet hitch of breath.] But don't— please don't hurt me.
no subject
Tied as he is, there's no amount of fight that prevents Cy from rearranging him into the new position, bent with his ass raised, sob hitching at the back of his throat when the plug and brush are removed because of how they drag against the sensitive and over-abused rim of his hole. The hard slap is just another burning hallmark of shame against his skin. All of it — the submission, the display of weakness in being conquered, the weathering of degradation and how heavy his cock still hangs between thighs as a result of it — he could never have showed to anyone else. It's dizzying, to have reached this point. To trust this implicitly.
The word Hades never touches his lips; the bell remains securely tucked in hand. He wants to rub himself back against the tease of Cy's cock as a wave of lust rocks through him, but instead he tries to escape it, ankles and wrist yanking at rope in one last frantic effort.]
I can't— [gasping, voice a low rush. He's crying again.] Will you... fuck me? [A quiet hitch of breath.] But don't— please don't hurt me.