[ it has to be a lie. who else would occupy sasuke's thoughts, when his desire appears to have strengthened its hold like an illness over the body, infecting every part until none remains untainted? he watches the trajectory of sasuke's steps with wide, distrustful eyes, every muscle coiled. there is that sense-memory, once again, of a mouth on his, unyielding. his breath feels caught, as if something wishes to break inside of him.
laurent hangs back, the rigid length of his spine touching the wall behind him. if he were thinking straight, he would not have backed himself into a corner to be plucked like a wilted flower. and yet he knows how to get out of this. knows that this is different from when sasuke came after him, cold and unfamiliar. that man — the monster — is still inside of him, somewhere. but he is not here now, and laurent can't make himself move. ]
You don't know — [ he speaks slowly, carefully. ] How to satisfy yourself.
[ as if laurent knows how. but laurent knows the clinical act, and he is not without feeling — the hot pulse of desire growing stronger within him, his skin warm and sensitive beneath his clothes, a need that he can't pull out of himself. sasuke's proximity is akin to that of a flame, a blazing, uncontrollable heat that threatens to suck the air from the room. laurent swallows, his lips parting. ]
Here. [ he takes sasuke's right hand, guides it to himself so that his strong, calloused fingers touch the space where his shirt ends and his pants begin — the bare strip of skin between them. with shivers dancing along his ribs, he brings sasuke's hand beneath his shirt, coaxing him to touch him. laurent's creamy skin is as warm as though he's been bathing in sunlight. ] Where else do you want to feel?
[ he poses the question quietly, his eyes framed with long lashes, the look in them set, determined despite the way his muscles quiver with tension. ]
no subject
laurent hangs back, the rigid length of his spine touching the wall behind him. if he were thinking straight, he would not have backed himself into a corner to be plucked like a wilted flower. and yet he knows how to get out of this. knows that this is different from when sasuke came after him, cold and unfamiliar. that man — the monster — is still inside of him, somewhere. but he is not here now, and laurent can't make himself move. ]
You don't know — [ he speaks slowly, carefully. ] How to satisfy yourself.
[ as if laurent knows how. but laurent knows the clinical act, and he is not without feeling — the hot pulse of desire growing stronger within him, his skin warm and sensitive beneath his clothes, a need that he can't pull out of himself. sasuke's proximity is akin to that of a flame, a blazing, uncontrollable heat that threatens to suck the air from the room. laurent swallows, his lips parting. ]
Here. [ he takes sasuke's right hand, guides it to himself so that his strong, calloused fingers touch the space where his shirt ends and his pants begin — the bare strip of skin between them. with shivers dancing along his ribs, he brings sasuke's hand beneath his shirt, coaxing him to touch him. laurent's creamy skin is as warm as though he's been bathing in sunlight. ] Where else do you want to feel?
[ he poses the question quietly, his eyes framed with long lashes, the look in them set, determined despite the way his muscles quiver with tension. ]