[Stopping is no longer an option that sits in his own hands, that is possible in any capacity of self-control he contains; it will have to come from Laurent. He will have to be stopped. Those eyes close, veiled by golden lashes, and he's taken by an overwhelming urge to force them open again — to chase eye contact as if it's as real a tether of connection as their lips together. It may as well be. But they open on their own, fluttering, revealing those glassy pupils to his hungry gaze.
The tilted head breaks their kiss, but Sasuke doesn't mind allowing his mouth to wander again. That pink skin is warm to the touch, flushed with blood. Laurent is trying to speak. The attempt is further proof of disintegrated composure, and like a predator he latches onto that signal, beginning to feel a dark compulsion grow within himself. Deny as Laurent will, this desire is mutual — and where his intent started with innocent, boyish kissing, it no longer runs that avenue. Innocence dies on a demand. Pleasure me with your mouth.
It's all he needs to hear. Lack of knowledge of experience matters little, with that palm on his chin and those words circling his mind in a feverish loop. Laurent talks it down, challenges him, but it only burns a hotter fuel; he doesn't care if he's bad. He will improve. He will wring every last part of Laurent dry in the hunt for those soft, breathy sounds and those wide, flinching eyes.]
Be careful what you say to me. [A promise, as if he's a student in need of instruction from an experienced teacher. Sasuke doesn't mind if that's the game they're playing. Abruptly he rolls them again, pinning Laurent with bulk of muscle that refuses to yield.] You want it too. You can't pretend otherwise anymore, not with a suggestion like that.
[He shifts down just far enough, leveraging weight on an elbow, in order to yank Laurent's loose pajama waistband down with his teeth. Like an animal — he feels one, the sort that toys with its food, unwilling to relinquish their prey. He wants to feel Laurent squirming and undone, whether or not every step to get there is a polished act or a messy puzzle.]
Look at you.
[If he does or doesn't, Sasuke won't wait, too enraptured with looking on his own. Laurent's body is narrow at the waist, skin in great stretches of smooth, unblemished white, flushed cock framed by a pair of hips he could span with both of his hands, if he still had them. He settles for his right arm, hooked underneath to drag Laurent up closer and burying his face in that crux of warm, soft, delicate flesh — where hair is downy and pale gold, almost invisible, and that pink cock is full and nearly flat to his belly. Sasuke nuzzles into the crook of a thigh to drown his whole world in an unreal moment of gratified lust, finally.]
no subject
The tilted head breaks their kiss, but Sasuke doesn't mind allowing his mouth to wander again. That pink skin is warm to the touch, flushed with blood. Laurent is trying to speak. The attempt is further proof of disintegrated composure, and like a predator he latches onto that signal, beginning to feel a dark compulsion grow within himself. Deny as Laurent will, this desire is mutual — and where his intent started with innocent, boyish kissing, it no longer runs that avenue. Innocence dies on a demand. Pleasure me with your mouth.
It's all he needs to hear. Lack of knowledge of experience matters little, with that palm on his chin and those words circling his mind in a feverish loop. Laurent talks it down, challenges him, but it only burns a hotter fuel; he doesn't care if he's bad. He will improve. He will wring every last part of Laurent dry in the hunt for those soft, breathy sounds and those wide, flinching eyes.]
Be careful what you say to me. [A promise, as if he's a student in need of instruction from an experienced teacher. Sasuke doesn't mind if that's the game they're playing. Abruptly he rolls them again, pinning Laurent with bulk of muscle that refuses to yield.] You want it too. You can't pretend otherwise anymore, not with a suggestion like that.
[He shifts down just far enough, leveraging weight on an elbow, in order to yank Laurent's loose pajama waistband down with his teeth. Like an animal — he feels one, the sort that toys with its food, unwilling to relinquish their prey. He wants to feel Laurent squirming and undone, whether or not every step to get there is a polished act or a messy puzzle.]
Look at you.
[If he does or doesn't, Sasuke won't wait, too enraptured with looking on his own. Laurent's body is narrow at the waist, skin in great stretches of smooth, unblemished white, flushed cock framed by a pair of hips he could span with both of his hands, if he still had them. He settles for his right arm, hooked underneath to drag Laurent up closer and burying his face in that crux of warm, soft, delicate flesh — where hair is downy and pale gold, almost invisible, and that pink cock is full and nearly flat to his belly. Sasuke nuzzles into the crook of a thigh to drown his whole world in an unreal moment of gratified lust, finally.]