[Later, he will attribute the dizzy, spinning state of his mind to breathlessness from restricted airflow — an understandable reaction after having his throat used, after Laurent immediately draws him to his lips before there even exists time or space to breathe, while he's still panting and swallowing around that bitter-salt taste. He can feel it still thick on his tongue. Then it is there between their mouths, intimacy that becomes almost tender and inexplicable because Laurent is the one who has engaged it. He is dizzy and out of sorts, outside rational thinking. So of course the tide of emotion breaks through like a wave. Of course he lets it get to him.
He lets Laurent get to him. From the slow, exploratory pass of lips and tongue, to fingertips on his cheek, to mingling exhales, to the cold and sudden separation. Sasuke goes back on his knees unresisting, brow furrowed in the first hurt signal of confusion.]
That's it? [His voice is rough, scraped and rasping. He swallows again thickly, and as he does — as each breath returns him to clarity — the confusion clears to a bright, white sky of anger.] You're done with this.
[Now? Forever? The most vulnerable act he's committed with another person, and Laurent wants him to leave, is ready to see him gone. Automatically he snatches the pale wrist of the arm extended to keep him at bay; his heart races beneath that warm, open palm. In the same mercurial whiplash, anger cools to gray, dull embers of resignation. His grasp loosens and falls away.]
Fine.
[It's spoken in the quietest voice he has used so far, no more than a murmur as he withdraws the rest of the way, gathers the shaky remains of his composure, and slips noiselessly off the end of the bed. He should, truly, expect no different — as Laurent has made known again and again. Hopeful, childlike naivety has no place between them.
no subject
He lets Laurent get to him. From the slow, exploratory pass of lips and tongue, to fingertips on his cheek, to mingling exhales, to the cold and sudden separation. Sasuke goes back on his knees unresisting, brow furrowed in the first hurt signal of confusion.]
That's it? [His voice is rough, scraped and rasping. He swallows again thickly, and as he does — as each breath returns him to clarity — the confusion clears to a bright, white sky of anger.] You're done with this.
[Now? Forever? The most vulnerable act he's committed with another person, and Laurent wants him to leave, is ready to see him gone. Automatically he snatches the pale wrist of the arm extended to keep him at bay; his heart races beneath that warm, open palm. In the same mercurial whiplash, anger cools to gray, dull embers of resignation. His grasp loosens and falls away.]
Fine.
[It's spoken in the quietest voice he has used so far, no more than a murmur as he withdraws the rest of the way, gathers the shaky remains of his composure, and slips noiselessly off the end of the bed. He should, truly, expect no different — as Laurent has made known again and again. Hopeful, childlike naivety has no place between them.
Without a look back, he makes for the door.]