chokuto

（ cy just snorts, and when he's satisfied he lets one hand stroke down the length of sasuke's spine, fingers briefly digging down against knots of tension in the muscle there. a loving little interlude that turns to cruelty only when he adds another slap to sasuke's ass. ）

Sweetheart, I'm not going to leave this room until I've ruined you.

（ he leans down into his space to wipe the tears away, to drag his thumb against the boy's bottom lip. ）

You said it's your first time, so I'm going slow.

（ he pulls sasuke back into his lap, arranging him just so until he's satisfied with where he's bent over his lap, pressed down against the damp stain he'd just cleaned up with his tongue. cy folds him a little, forcing him bent, and then he takes the plug and eases it slightly back. they'd discussed this, too — and cy had cautioned him it would hurt, but sasuke had, if anything, seemed all the hungrier for it. so he takes the hairbrush, and pushes its lubed up handle in beside the plug, not quite letting it sink in yet, but making a clear threat. ）

It'll go easier if you relax.

[A promise that sinks into his gut like an anchor, affixed to the craving for that outcome. He wants to be ruined. He can play the part, allowing Cy to handle him back into that bent-over position pliantly only because he knows what's coming next — he recalls their conversation. That slap contrasts obscenely against the gentle wipe of a thumb through tears, tasting salt on his lips, tasting himself when he swallows by reflex.

They had discussed the pain of this act. Sasuke sucks in air, pretending fear where there is only a hot bed of anticipation at the nudge it takes to pull the plug a little out from the rim of his hole. Then he feels the stiff, unyielding probe of the wooden brush handle — and he gasps, acting out the protest as if he doesn't want to feel it sink in and stretch him beyond his limits, as if it terrifies him.]

I can't. [His arm fights the rope, strategically keeping hips still so that it does not dislodge the threat of the brush alongside the silicone plug.] I can't. It won't fit. Don't, please.

[Begging is not below his role — however he knows Cy won't stop, doesn't want him to stop, wants to feel it forced inside of him instead.]

Shh, shh. Haven't you learned yet that begging doesn't help? （ that's said with — a knowing sort of cant to his tone. ） It'll fit. You'll just have to accept that it'll hurt, too.

（ cy starts to push it in, knowing the rigidity of it will provide little yield to the muscle and soft tissue — but they were careful to stretch him out earlier, and the brush is well-lubed up — so he's not tentative as he fucks it into him. not slow, not careful — it's an act of force, giving sasuke's body only the slightest time to adjust before he sinks it deeper. and if sasuke struggles or fights or pleads, it's only made worse.

once the hairbrush has bottomed out alongside the plug, cy pushes his palm alongside the base of the plug and worries it against him, jogging both implements inside his body. ）

There, see? You're such a slut, the way your body opens up to take me. You can't even help yourself, can you? You were just made to be a whore.

[The brush is more rigid than anything he's taken, forcing the yield of tender flesh at his hole until it's fitted snugly up against the plug — and then that, too, is nudged back into place with a jostling that sparks nerves up his spine. Pain is an electric sensation; the stretch is wide around both objects, and he can feel muscle throbbing, a deep pulse in time with his heart. They prepared enough that there is no tearing and no threat of permanent damage to his body, but the illusion of it is enough. The debasement. Treated like a toy, being played with under someone else's whim.

And his pure, aching desire for all of it hidden underneath the cry of pain he muffles against the sheet. Trying to keep quiet, to not be heard as he struggles — more furtively to enliven the burn where his ass is pried open. He wants to feel the wooden handle rub up against thicker silicone.]

It hurts... [falls out of his mouth, whining, helpless.] I'm not. You're wrong. It's your fault — that I'm like this.

[There's truth in the shell of that blame. No one else makes him feel this way, ready to be split open and fucked as eagerly as a slut.]

Is it?

（ cy leans down beside him, hand flattened across the small of sasuke's back. ）

Is that why you were at Naked Yolk every night, watching people get beaten and fucked and used?

[He turns his face away from that pointed question, struggling again, even if there is no escape from the strength in those hands. It only brings greater attention to what is buried inside of him when he shifts, tries to wriggle out of the man's lap — not an accident.]

What do you want me to say?

[Ragged words, almost all breath.]

You... sent those pictures. So it doesn't matter. [Everyone will know, won't they? In the illusion of this fantasy he won't be able to show his face there again.] Hurry up and fuck me.

[It should come out hopeless, resigned — yet it is instead low and desperate, raspy in his throat, at odds with any denial. Ruin me.]

No.

（ he's held sasuke across his lap and fucked him with a dildo a hundred times now — but now he takes the brush and begins drawing it nearly out of him and pushing it back inward, intentionally angling it so it nudges the silicon of the plug against his prostate. ）

I don't think I'm done torturing you yet. You think I'm going to give you what you want just because you decided to embrace your inner slut? （ there's a chiding little suck of his teeth. ） Don't think I haven't noticed your change of heart. Trying to get me to go easier on you, huh?

（ he lubes up one of his index fingers — letting briefly go of the hairbrush to do it — and then slides that in as well along the plug, stretching him out. ）

I want to hurt you again. Pick something.

[The denial burns like a rash over his skin — overtaken by the static jolt of pleasure as Cy angles the toy inside of him against that spot of nerves, tingling and tender enough to force a broken moan out of his throat. He can feel the way his cock twitches in response to this, warmth stirring low in his belly, a rush of blood that threatens to fill out the length that has only flagged because of recent orgasm. It won't take much to make him hard again with those threats Cy pours into his head.

Bargaining for a quick end doesn't work. He's seen through immediately, pushing his face down against the sheets, then back and forth, shaking his head no.]

It's too much. [The words are thin, shaken, those deep interior sobs building up behind them.] It's too— much— [Cy's finger slides in, stretching his hole just a bit wider, the rim of muscle an abused shade of red, wet and shiny with lubricant.] Don't... don't hurt me.

[A fresh prickle of tears dampen dark lashes as the fight renews, kicking his legs as if it will pull him out of Cy's lap even if it means rolling off the bed and crashing to the ground. Privately, he wants to feel Cy's strength — he knows it's there.]

（ sasuke's struggles nearly dislodge him — but cy grabs him and hefts him further up onto the bed, reaching down to seize both ankles in one hand. he ties sasuke deliberately with more of that red, red rope, reducing his mobility further, and once he's satisfied — ）

Stop whining or I'll gag you again.

（ there's a sense of annoyance there — obviously not real by the way he reaches beneath sasuke to ensure his cock's not pinned in an uncomfortable way before pushing him back down against the bed, making sure his head is turned towards him.

the box of goodies is dragged closer with the hook of one hand, and cy digs through it until he's got several sticks of wax cradled in his palm. he'd brought a lighter for this, but — he remembers the symbols sasuke had used for fire before, and reaches to join their hands in those mudras. at the last one, he holds one of the sticks of wax near sasuke's lips, its wick delicately pale against the contrast of red wax. ）

Blow.

（ he's precise enough not to burn the room down, right? fingers crossed. ）

[He wrenches at the rope fixed around his ankles, feeling the harsh friction against his skin, wanting it to leave pink abrasions — but there is compliance in everything else as he's situated back on the bed. With the purposeful angle of his head, there's no way not to dare a glance up at Cy in that dim room, powerful and in control above him, those eyes dark in that handsome face, every movement and action intently calculated.

It is outside the scene, but he experiences a brief rush of attraction looking at Cy. The love is always there, but now it threatens to pour out of his heart, off his tongue, and his chest constricts with the intensity of the emotion, a tug in the fray of fantasy. He closes his eyes to center himself again, because otherwise he's going to break the illusion and the role he's supposed to be performing might slip away from him.

As soon as Sasuke feels the first signal shaped by their joined hands, as soon as he sights those red wax candles, he knows what is coming. It is a kink they've never tried; he plays the quickening of breath off as magnified panic. He does have the fine control it takes to light the wick without catching first to any of the rest of the room — a thinly exhaled stream, flickering flames that catch fire with a quiet little crack.]

What are you doing?

Shh. Just feel.

（ he lets the wick burn down, and turns the stick so that nothing drips off it until he's able to move his hand over sasuke's back.

the other pushes him down and holds him there, not allowing movement — and then he lets the first splatter of hot wax hit his back. what he draws there is irrelevant, really — it will be broken up or worn away by the night's activities regardless. but it happens to be the word whore written out and then surrounded by a cute little heart, because he's entirely normal, thanks. ）

[So he does. Feel — a hot splash across his back, searing, not quite at the threshold of his pain but a near-enough simulation of aching heat. The spill of wax turns skin livid pink in a red splatter that looks uncannily like blood. There is some pattern being drawn; or his mind is playing tricks on him and Cy is only painting an aimless path, scorching him like a living piece of art, made messy in yet another way.

All of his attention narrows there. It's like an open flame pressed against his body, causing Sasuke to seek the sheets beneath his head and bite down to stifle a groan — he had specifically asked for a higher melting point, expecting his own tolerance, and he is not disappointed even if he knows he could take it higher. Biting, at least, keeps Cy's name out of his mouth. In this state it wants to emerge from his throat in a desperate plea for more.

It doesn't stop the whimper, even muffled by fabric soon soaked with his own drool. He's started to tremble, and his cock is fully hard again where it lies trapped beneath his hips, a miserable throb to the cooling nerves of his back.]

（ he draws until the first stick of wax can only be used to light the second, this one a dark blue. other words, slut and cum dumpster are scrawled out elegantly along his spine. sometimes the waxes melt together, blending into a purple sheen. his left hand holds the wax aloft even as the right reaches for the hairbrush, fucking it into him anew in a way he knows will hurt, will add an overlay of abuse to his body and all those points where pain is like a diamond filament catching the first light of awareness.

in a low murmur — ）

Say you're mine. No one else is allowed to touch you unless I say.

[The heat of the wax is unrelenting. It does not ease as more is applied in that glossy smear, painted across his skin in some new language he can't grasp, building to a steady sunburn-blister of discomfort. Cy knows how to hurt him to the brink of his tolerance — and it is like that now, rigid handle of the brush reminding him of how full he is, how stretched by those two unyielding implements, jags of pain driven up his spine when it is purposefully shifted inside of him. The handle slides in and out, chafing against the tender ring of his hole, mixed into the sensation of cooling wax.

His whimper is smothered, swallowed, but he's made to relax his jaw in order to speak and he can feel where both saliva and tears have left damp marks on the sheet against his face.]

I'm... [Laid low in that pain, his voice sounds faraway to his own ears — dreamy, slurred and wet, breath staggered in irregular hiccups and sobs.] I'm yours. No one else will touch me.

Good boy.

（ the wax burns down until the heat is licking at his fingers, and then he tamps the wick out absently and sets the rest aside. he takes pictures again — the writing, the place where both hairbrush and plug vie for space in his body, and then he grabs sasuke by the hair and pulls him up just enough off the mattress to take a picture of his face, tear-streaked with come drying on the places he hasn't been able to rub off — and then lets him drop again with a callous thump. the hairbrush is removed and the plug follows — both set aside for later cleaning. with sasuke bound as he is, he's easily manoeuvred onto his knees, body bent in a jackknife for want of anything to support his torso, face pressed uncomfortably against the mattress as he's held in place with one hand pressing bruises into his hip.

cy slaps him across the ass — a sound that rings loud in the room, the force of it enough to be felt above the other agonies. ）

It's best that you know your place. On your knees, fucked open beneath me.

（ that's said in a murmur as he presses three fingers into sasuke's hole — less out of any consideration for prep and more just to make sure there's still plenty of lube and that they won't need to break immersion for more. he lets go of sasuke's hip briefly with a low warning to stay, so he can get his pants undone a second time — and when he withdraws his fingers, he slicks the remainder of what was there along his cock. there's a shift, then, body weight denting the mattress as he moves to arranges himself behind sasuke, cy's knees bracketing his. the head of his cock is rubbed between the cleft of sasuke's ass, his skin radiating heat from earlier abuse — cy pushes in against him in a promise. ）

Ask me.

（ ask what he doesn't say. to fuck him, to stop — it really doesn't matter, both statements would fit equally well, both would drive him onwards. only two things exist now to call him off — hades, or the bell. ）

[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.

Oh, sweetheart. I'm going to hurt you exactly as much as I want.

（ he thumbs the head of his cock into sasuke's hole, seating himself fully in one brutal, devastating push that gives him no room to breathe or think or do anything but exist to accept him in. ）

As much as you deserve. （ that's said as he drapes himself against sasuke's back, lines of stiffened wax breaking off between their bodies and sticking to sweat-damp skin. ） I wouldn't be here if you weren't strong, you know? You can take it. You just have to be brave.

（ one arm holds them up — the other, braced beneath sasuke's body, aligned against his sternum, puts his hand right at the boy's throat. he lets his fingers curl around the pale column of his neck, press over the arteries and squeeze. his voice is a low murmur against sasuke's ear — be brave. ）

[He has no choice but to take that first push, bearing the weight laid on his back, feeling dried wax crack and smear between the seal of skin. It takes all of the air out of his chest — filled in one inexorable slide, his body yields to Cy's cock as if he was waiting for it, the stretch of muscle at the rim a sharp sting of nerves from earlier's violation.

Another sob breaks out of his panting mouth when Cy is fully seated. It's one of relief, though well-disguised as pain through glassy tears. He feels wholly, completely at Cy's mercy. He feels owned. All of it: the intimacy of how they're joined, the endearment Cy calls him still, the sensation of being crushed down against the bed and told to take it and given no choice, no control. His legs remain bent, tied at the ankle and closed together, but Cy's warm weight on top of him almost flattens out the fold of his upper body so he's left fighting for air facedown against the mattress. He almost comes again from that alone.]

I'm s—sorry, [broken, ruined words.] I'm sorry. I'll— [Cy will feel the fast stutter of a pulse beneath strong fingers, breath sucked in desperate little gasps.] I'll be... good. For you.

（ cy makes a noise that's half a scoff, part of the scene the way what he does next is not: he noses at sasuke's hair, presses a soft kiss to his nape. little things, little moments, that remind them both that this is only play.

then his fingers tighten at sasuke's throat. punishing, bruisingly airless — dragging him to the edge of unconsciousness before releasing him. at the same time, the deep, brutal snap of his hips buries him seemingly deeper every time. the myriad sensations would be overwhelming if he wasn't what he is — the heat of sasuke's body, the smears of wax between them, the way that he can feel the radiating heat of physical injury in a parenthical curve where sasuke's ass meets his hips.

in scenes like this, he just lets himself run on autopilot. tightly wound even in the moment, he is far more focused on control than on his own pleasure, and what he feels is always incidental to the act. but sasuke playing into it so sweetly, giving him everything he's learned he likes — the sobs, the submission, the fighting, letting himself be humiliated and beaten and broken beneath him, is an added dimension he's not used to. he's run plenty of scenes that involved roleplayed rape. but he's never done it with someone who knows so intimately, so achingly why, and who's so perfectly suited to give him exactly what he needs in turn. it feels like an act of love that echoes into the empty palace of his bones, as tender an embrace as he's ever felt.

he comes with a shiver, buried deep, and to muffle the wounded-animal moan that would otherwise crack open from his throat he just bites at his nape, tasting blood on his tongue. ）

[Those fingers hold his throat tight as a collar, threatening his sight in a ring of black unconsciousness — in stark contrast to the gentleness that comes before, reassurance of a kiss placed down at the back of his neck. Dual sensations fold together until he's left somewhere in the middle, senseless and spellbound, aware only of Cy's body on top of him, hard thrusts keeping him trapped against the bed in submission, taking everything. His thoughts slew out of focus, already gone beneath the veil of imaginary cruelty. He just lets Cy fuck him and revels in that feeling, another dimension of intimacy he could not have found without help. Guidance, and love.

The moment Cy comes, filling him in that hot familiar rush, Sasuke whimpers — then begins to squirm, seeking relief for where his own cock is trapped against the sheets, a bright counterpoint to the teeth that sink into his skin. It's such a visceral, claiming gesture that he wants to thrash beneath it, but his body is too restrained and his soul too satisfied, enjoying the throb of pain coaxed to the surface of bitten, torn flesh.]

Cy.

[A fissure in the fantasy, but he can't help uttering the man's name. His ass is tight around where Cy is still embedded inside of him, softening, warm and sensitive. He wishes he could kiss him, and yet he's also fine like this, until Cy seeks him again in the aftermath.]

No.

( he's speaking reflexively, knowing what it is sasuke wants, the shift of his hips as he's pressed down into the mattress. cy laves at the smear of blood against the back of sasuke's neck and then braces a hand against sasuke's side to peel himself back, cock slipping wetly free of his body, come leaving a slick glaze against the cleft of his ass.

his breath comes in a shuddering heave as he uses the grip against sasuke's throat to flip him to his back, pinning him roughly against the bed in a painful splay of bound limbs. cy flattens him with the slip of one broad palm down against his sternum as he hitches himself lower, ducks in between his thighs and shoulders them apart in a way that will make the bindings at his ankle chafe and leans in to swallow sasuke's cock to the root, not caring that the act will shatter the immediate immersion — the pretended persona has no especial need to care about sasuke's pleasure and cy would perhaps be tempted to leave him wanting if he loved him less.

but he doesn't. he can't.

he's awkwardly spilled against sasuke's body, not able to move the way he otherwise might with the way he's restrained, but while his right hand stays pinning him down, the other one slips down to shove several fingers roughly back into the seat of his ass, slick with his own seed as he pushes into him.

whether sasuke comes immediately or not is irrelevant to him. he just wants to taste him, the marriage of the blood from having bitten him mingling with the bitter taste of pre-come heavy and heady on his tongue. )

Edited 2024-06-07 21:20 (UTC)

[The denial whips through him, as physical as anything else Cy has done to him with both hands — and then he's turned over with that effortless strength, aware of the trickle of wetness between his legs where Cy has slipped out of him, muscle aching and sore around that new emptiness. In moments that mouth swallows him down, perfectly fitted, expertise in the seal of lips and tongue that has without fail unraveled him every time. He tries to fight against the imminent crash of his own orgasm — he tries to abide that refusal and hold himself back from the cliff, knees forced to spread where ankles remain joined, skin rubbed pink beneath the rope. His arm is twisted under his back and his whole body is a throbbing seat of discomfort, nerves worn down to the raw bed of sensation.

Then Cy's fingers shove into him with no mercy, no hesitation, thick knuckles forcing his hole to yield open, and he's so sensitive there from repeated intrusion that he cries out — loud enough he can hear it fill the room. Knees jerk with nowhere to go; mercifully he's so wet inside that Cy's fingers find no resistance, but the feeling of it is overwhelming.]

Cy, Cy, please, I want to come... Cy, please let me— [mindless begging without even the ability to rock back against that mouth, those fingers where they've plugged him up.] I...

[Teary and shaky, he can't prevent the burning edge of his own release any longer, and unless Cy stops him then it'll pour out in a hot flood. So soon after his other orgasm, Sasuke is painfully sensitive in the aftermath — and actively struggles to escape Cy's grasp, even in such a weak state.]

( there is no protest, no further instruction to abstain — cy wants him to come as badly as sasuke in that moment, and when the boy finally slips under the tidal swell of it, there is only an answering swallow, the hot seal of his mouth and the press of his nose against sparse pubes. sasuke struggles as the overstimulation hits him, but cy holds him there and forces him to endure with an absence of mercy that can only come from that tendency towards sadism.

it's when he is satisfied, and not sasuke, that he finally slips back, lips polished to a spit-shine as he licks them clean of any lingering come and then levers himself further up the lean lines of sasuke's body to kiss him, still slotted between his thighs. there's a murmur — not of his safe word, but of the one they'd agreed upon to indicate the curtain call of the scene — elysium and at the deathknell of its soft sound in the air he kisses sasuke again, gentler. )

Gimme a sec. I'll untie you.

( just. let him have a moment first. )

[At that softly murmured word — a place of sanctuary in the afterlife, according to myth — the spell of fantasy dissolves. He meets the kiss with tired, shivering hunger, closing his legs as if to trap Cy between them and keep him there, kissing him.]

It was perfect.

[Then he relents, so Cy is able to untie him and begin the cleaning process. He aches in so many places it's hard to keep track, but that doesn't matter as much to him right now as—]

Cy. [When his arm is freed, he reaches to cup under Cy's jaw. The bell jingles where it is still fastened to his finger.] I love you.

（ he stills, and in that moment there is nearly nothing human in him. his eyes skirt upwards — lingering briefly on the livid print of his hand sketched against sasuke's pale throat, and then he meets sasuke's gaze. perhaps someone else would be guarded, or riven by shame. cy is only blank, and eerily empty until if by willpower alone the humanity is clawed back. his brow furrows a little, mouth tugged down at one corner. he nuzzles into sasuke's palm, and the bell chimes so soft. ）

I know.

（ some of that arnica cream — which he's already applied to sasuke's ass — is poured anew into his hand and then gently worked into the skin at his throat, soothing the bruises. mentally he's running a checklist: broken skin disinfected and treated, bruises tended to, that soft and worshipful touch he sinks so easily into with sasuke has cleaned the mess between his legs, the glossy shine of his softened cock.

he shifts on the small bed, arranging himself cross-legged on the bed so he can pull sasuke, boneless and pliant, nearer his lap so he can start cleaning come from his hair. several new things are removed from the box that he apparently squashed one corner of at some point in their scene because the fucking size of this bed is a joke — sasuke is given painkillers, water to chase them down and afterwards a lozenge for his throat.

the water bottle is then used in concert with a soft cloth to start the process of working his hair clean. cy is achingly gentle, fingers catching in the snarls and working them free without tugging at his scalp. ）

I'm — （ his eyes close briefly. then: ） — not as bad as I expected. You did that. You were magnificent, sweetheart. I don't know that I've ever had anyone make what they wanted about what I liked.

（ he's not even sure if that makes sense. he feels like words have lost meaning, in the aftermath. ）

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