[As a man treats a boy. The words are a jarring upset, breathy and hot on his skin as Laurent takes hold of his scalp, turns sharp nails to his hip — he cannot find himself in that sentiment, only having known brutality from the men in his life, the boy in him dead at eight years old. Affection is an unlearned language, so he is not skilled at it. And yet Laurent's rebuff is as unsurprising as it is exhilarating.
Sasuke is led backwards, footsteps graceful despite the wrenching, stumbling way he's directed. Only for a moment does his gaze cross Laurent's face, those blue eyes ablaze like lightning in the storm of his expression. It isn't fear that beats in his chest as he feels his pulse climb, but instead the dark intoxication of arousal, made worse every time that mouth collides with his own. Warm, slightly damp, the barest cut of a tooth on tender inner lip. They're meant to be violent and bruising clashes. They feel like the purest honey, sipped straight from the source and sinking slow, sticky into his blood.
He understands, now, why seduction is such a necessary component to shinobi training. It does not take the knife at his throat Laurent finally wields, sitting astride his legs, to learn this. The mattress is soft beneath his back, but he's focused only on the points where their bodies touch. He turns a look up through dark lashes.]
Then don't forgive me. [It comes in a low, resonant murmur. His chin juts, allowing the edge of the blade to dent his skin.] Keep your legs closed. I won't open them without your permission. I already told you what I wanted, and I had no intention of going any further than that.
[It feels that he is in a trance, answering the physical threat of violence with action of his own an instant later — seizing Laurent's narrow waist with his hand and rolling him over, reversing their positions, closing powerful thighs over Laurent's own to keep them pinned, as he's just said, shut. All of this happens with the lithe ease of a warrior. Sasuke buries his face into that veil of gold hair, silk on his cheeks, nosing over a slender throat. The movement creatures pressure; the knife cuts, bleeding a trickle of blood he doesn't seem to care about onto the sheets.]
You contradict yourself. You won't be treated like a boy, but you won't be treated like a man either. Would you feel differently if I was Damen? Do you kiss me wishing it was him?
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Sasuke is led backwards, footsteps graceful despite the wrenching, stumbling way he's directed. Only for a moment does his gaze cross Laurent's face, those blue eyes ablaze like lightning in the storm of his expression. It isn't fear that beats in his chest as he feels his pulse climb, but instead the dark intoxication of arousal, made worse every time that mouth collides with his own. Warm, slightly damp, the barest cut of a tooth on tender inner lip. They're meant to be violent and bruising clashes. They feel like the purest honey, sipped straight from the source and sinking slow, sticky into his blood.
He understands, now, why seduction is such a necessary component to shinobi training. It does not take the knife at his throat Laurent finally wields, sitting astride his legs, to learn this. The mattress is soft beneath his back, but he's focused only on the points where their bodies touch. He turns a look up through dark lashes.]
Then don't forgive me. [It comes in a low, resonant murmur. His chin juts, allowing the edge of the blade to dent his skin.] Keep your legs closed. I won't open them without your permission. I already told you what I wanted, and I had no intention of going any further than that.
[It feels that he is in a trance, answering the physical threat of violence with action of his own an instant later — seizing Laurent's narrow waist with his hand and rolling him over, reversing their positions, closing powerful thighs over Laurent's own to keep them pinned, as he's just said, shut. All of this happens with the lithe ease of a warrior. Sasuke buries his face into that veil of gold hair, silk on his cheeks, nosing over a slender throat. The movement creatures pressure; the knife cuts, bleeding a trickle of blood he doesn't seem to care about onto the sheets.]
You contradict yourself. You won't be treated like a boy, but you won't be treated like a man either. Would you feel differently if I was Damen? Do you kiss me wishing it was him?