[ his heart beats a jagged pace, his mind pulled in several directions at once, most urgently looking for escape. he doesn't move. the cost to make any decision in this moment seems far too high. to lose this. to gain — what? a fuck for one night. and yet sasuke doesn't even know how to do such a thing, and laurent has never —
warmth at his throat. a shiver crawls across his skin, the slow spread of tension and heat. he looks away, not daring to close his eyes, expecting the jaws of the trap to snap shut at any second, but in the space that should hold violence, he feels only the fluttering hesitation of touch. tentative. soft. yielding in a way he has never known sasuke to be.
he opens his mouth to speak, but all he manages is the expulsion of a tight breath. his hand has somehow found purchase at the sharp edge of sasuke's hip, claw-like in its grip. desperation holds him a vise, his longing like a blade slicing through him with a slow, agonizing intent. ]
You treat me — [ he drags in a breath, as if he's run a great distance. ] As a man treats a boy.
[ he relinquishes his grip only to lift his hand and press his fingers into sasuke's hair, gripping his skull in the crude mockery of something loving, pieced together by someone who has never experienced it. the anger that never leaves him holds him taut, but there's want in his eyes — fearful, distrustful want. he wants this as much as he wants to pull away. to be repulsed by sasuke simply means to look nowhere else.
he charts a path, maneuvers them together. ignoring the violent turmoil that erupts in his chest, he presses their mouths together, hard and deep, refusing to pull away even as he's pulled into a darkened maelstrom of memories — bitter snow and the snap of bone, his uncle's silken sheets, tangled bodies in the water. his fingers close around inky black hair, yanking savagely as he tumbles sasuke onto the bed, landing lithely atop him. his headband slips off and bounces once on the mattress, laurent's hair falling over his shoulders like a veil.
snatched from beneath the pillow, a cold knife touches sasuke's throat. laurent's eyes are steady, though his cheeks are wild with color, his chest rising and falling rapidly. ]
Did you think my forgiveness would come so easily? [ he traces the blade down to sasuke's collarbone, pressing the point against the jut of bone. ] That I would simply spread for the man who tried to kill me?
[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?
[ the world spins in a new direction, too fast — his back pressed to the bed, his legs trapped as if in an iron vise. he doesn't relent the press of the knife, steady against his skin, so steady that there's blood drawn between them in sasuke's achingly tender movements. ]
Enough. [ of the subject of damen from sasuke's mouth. not enough of his body pressed to his, made apparent by laurent's hard grip on sasuke's shirt, in the process of inching it higher and only stopping when anger flashes in his gaze. ] I would have you beaten within an inch of your life, and watch with pleasure as you were mounted on a cross to be picked at by vultures. If you were him.
[ he considers pressing the knife in. does, minutely, flicking his finger to trace a shallow line of red along sasuke's throat. when he withdraws the blade, he wipes it fastidiously on the shoulder of sasuke's shirt. ]
You shouldn't speak. [ laurent's voice finally shakes, just the barest hint of a tremor. what sasuke is doing — his face nestled so close, heated breath soaking his skin — sends an ache through him, so powerful that his breath rushes out. his hand finds the nape of sasuke's neck, gripping delicately, his fingertips pushing up into dark hair. ] I can't quite — take it.
[ he can't think. if he starts, it will devolve into panic, into chaos, and then this will be gone. this fleeting warmth, this closeness. this ache. he despises that he wants it, needs it, that his body sings with a primal yearning he’s felt so little of that it threatens to break him.
he twists, snaking out from beneath sasuke’s trap, turning their bodies abruptly so that neither is atop the other — instead, they face each other, both on their sides, breath mingling in their closeness. somehow, laurent finds sasuke’s leg tangled between his thighs, an accidental maneuver.
without thinking — or perhaps thinking a thousand unwanted thoughts at once — he tightens his muscles, pinning sasuke’s leg in place. a sound nearly makes it out of his throat, brutally stifled around a desperate breath. minutely, he bears down, a pool of liquid heat filling him from the friction of pressure between his legs. his lashes shutter, sasuke’s dark eyes flickering before his gaze, his grip tight in his hair. ]
I don't forgive you. [ he clings to this whispered truth, his words nothing but a shivering breath. his hips tighten as he pushes closer, back arching into a pleasant curve. his hand moves to grip sasuke's shoulder. ] Just this.
[So they've sworn those two men, central to their own private lives before this place, from each other's mouths. If you were him, but he is not. Laurent's brutal threat doesn't frighten him — it is more electric than that, darker, speaking to an animal part of himself made less of fear than arousal. He enjoys Laurent speaking that way, even if is empty, even if he isn't Damen and never will be.
He's told not to say anything more. And that touch, tracing a hot and bloody path up his throat where metal nicked flesh, coaxes him to obey more than the order itself. The hand on the back of his neck; the fingers through his hair. Physical affections telling want that Laurent won't ever say outright. In an hour, in a day, perhaps he'll wish to pretend it didn't happen at all. Sasuke doesn't worry about the future. For once, it's eclipsed from sight.
The moment he finds himself in is spun out of a deep, hidden fantasy — to touch another man this way without the context of brutal combat but instead more careful, more purposeful. That he won't be killed for trying is a thrill too. He inhales the scent of Laurent's hair, and skin, like an intoxicating drug. Something floral and clean. And the hard lines of Laurent's lean body against him when they're twisted onto their sides, distracting, consuming his attention — he finds his leg caught by a pair of tight thighs.
Sasuke's eyes flash, a stutter of color in his right eye, though it doesn't change fully and remains obsidian black. The other is that permanent, eerie purple revealed where Laurent has combed the fringe of his hair away. He can't know how equally intimate it is to be looking into his eyes, but the allowance kicks Sasuke's heart to an erratic pace. He likes Laurent this close. He wants him closer. He wants to tell him he can take it, and more.
I don't forgive you.] That's fine. I'll live with that. [Retaliation is the push of his leg more firmly in the crux of Laurent's thighs, dragging across the heat he can feel through clothes, the shape of his cock thickening, a forbidden transgression. Just this.] Don't forget you promised me something else. [Sasuke leans to capture that prim pair of lips with his mouth, curling his right arm around Laurent's back to seal them closer, showing his desperation in how frantically he holds on. The kiss is inexperienced still, no more than a graze of pressure over and over again across the seam of Laurent's lips.]
[ all at once this spins out of control. laurent is kissing another man, a man he's sworn to himself to despise, and despite the awkward, tender navigation of it, he can't seem to make himself stop. not yet. his hunger sits in him like a beast that demands its portion of flesh, barely leashed. the look in sasuke's mismatched gaze is unbearably revealing, unbearably intimate, so laurent sweeps his lashes shut to block everything out.
and it makes it worse. the friction between his legs comes out of nowhere, the slow rutting like he is once more a child. men would fuck. and yet the sensations that fill him are like nothing he has ever felt before, nothing a cock splitting him open has ever given him. his most valiant efforts can't hold back the quietest moan that falls from his lips straight into sasuke's mouth. ]
I — [ he feels blown away by desire, his eyes huge and dark when he opens them again. something claws desperately in him, a relentless urge to somehow take control of this situation that's spiraled completely out of his hands. he moves his head, so that sasuke's lips touch the crescent of his cheek, suffused with bright color. ]
Promised you what? A lesson? [ he could teach sasuke a lesson by striking him with the nearest blunt object. he aches with need. there is no possible way to ignore it, unless he sends sasuke from the room and puts his hands upon himself. a wretched thought. he can't press any closer than the way sasuke holds him, strong armed, and this, too, is not familiar. laurent is not one to allow himself such a grace. a hard breath, and then — ] Fine. A lesson. Pleasure me with your mouth.
[ laurent will not return the favor. he can't. but he turns his gaze with aching sincerity despite the haughty command in his voice. he does not take lovers, does not engage in the casual debauchery of the palace. a request such as this is far beyond anything he's ever asked before.
as if to mark his determination, he brings his palm to cradle sasuke's jaw. ] If you're bad, which you will be, I'll tell you how to be better. A promise.
[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.]
[ he can't say that sasuke does not take orders well, in this. if laurent was frightened before, he's terrified now — and yet he doesn't wish to stop. this is more than he's ever had, further than he's ever gotten, and his fantasies don't hold a candle to the rush he feels now. he has imagined sasuke above him and below him, the dark smolder of his gaze, the powerful strength in his body. he has despised every moment that left desire curling in his belly like an untreated sickness.
this is the cure. to have him. to feel this. and then discard him like yesterday's garbage.
cool air cascades along his heated skin, now bare. he does not look, because he can't fathom the thought — naked, vulnerable, wanting. his uncle used to gaze at him with open hunger before laurent could even identify the look on his face. now it's just half the court and all of the soldiers. and sasuke, though nothing about this feels like the aggressive, roaming stares that follow him. sasuke looks at him with something like reverence, with a wanting that feels cavernous. laurent does not feel like nearly enough to fill this deep well, and he almost stutters out a halt to the entire ordeal, a hasty response to his own misgivings. but then — a softness at his thigh, a gentleness he’s never felt. his cock aches to be touched. laurent’s muscles tighten, his hands moving of their volition to grasp at raven hair, dragging sasuke’s mouth closer to his need. ]
Open. [ a taut command between his own panting breaths. he’s done this before, given instructions on the crude, clinical art of sucking a cock. in this, he has a sordid type of knowledge: he might not be the most skillful at the act himself (the thought of having a cock in his mouth still repulses him), but his uncle had loved his young, unripe body. he has been serviced more times than he can remember.
without preamble, he guides sasuke’s mouth to his waiting cock. something rushes over him, pleasure or revulsion or both, the smallest sound in his throat. wet heat surrounds him. for a long moment he doesn’t move, his fingers gripped tight in sasuke’s hair, his hips quivering, the barest tremor of breath passing through his lips. blue eyes, lashes swept low, gaze down to the pleasant stretch of sasuke’s lips. ]
Not all at once. [ he pulls sasuke off with a sharp tug of his hair, recalibrating. he should be more in control than this. pleasure is a heady, poisonous thing. laurent takes a steadying breath, his gaze cooling. ] Just your tongue, first. You should know the places that are most sensitive, unless you’re even less than a virgin.
[In this, he allows himself to be led. There is no resistance to hands snared in the roots of his dark hair, pulling his mouth up the swollen length, and open — obediently lips split apart to take it down. His mind is cold and clear; no thoughts swarm the empty space between desire and fruition. He feels only the weight on his tongue, the overwhelming fullness in his mouth, the taste of Laurent that is salt and heat and skin. His eyes close, dizzied, a servant to the pleasure that possesses him as soon as he's fitted as much as he can possibly fit, until his lips are stretched to an ache. This is it. Somehow, an entire life not knowing what he's wanted, and Laurent has revealed everything to him — and the terrifying knowledge of what that need he harbors for Laurent will mean. He feels the fastening of an anchor in the depth of his core.
Sasuke believes he could stay here forever, until the moment that survival forces him up, starved for air. He is yanked off sooner. The breath he releases is one rush, mouth hanging open, slick and shiny from where it was, cheeks flushed with color for the strain. He looks at him with those words.]
What is less than a virgin? [Taunting, despite the loose and dark expression on his face as he hovers in the crux of Laurent's smooth thighs, fanning breath on the head of a cock still centimeters from his lips.] You're the first for me. You're the only one I could do anything like this to. Whatever I need to know, I'll learn from you.
[He may not be practiced, he may know less than nothing, but he is not stupid. Laurent's allowances are reason enough to feed the fire that embroils him. It's enough to confront those cold blue eyes should they turn on him again, so long as this moment continues — those restrained sounds, the stirring beneath his touch, the quick breaths. All of these signals steer him in the correct direction.
Using his tongue is easily mastered, if only for the exercise in restraint it takes not to swallow everything again. He drags the velvet flat of it up the side of Laurent's cock, then gathers precome from the slit, lapping roughly, aware only because he's touched himself that this spot will be tender. But perhaps Laurent's preferences are different — he bathes each inch with his lips, his tongue, seeking reaction, a burning and unselfconscious gaze slanted upward.]
[ his mind splits, warring in different directions while he makes a hasty attempt to draw back the pieces of himself. frantic pleasure holds him taut, sasuke's tongue far from masterful and yet so thoroughly attentive that it cuts sharply through the cloudy hue of memory that clings to his senses. he wants to resist. he does, refusing to allow his expression to break despite how his cock throbs beneath such exploratory, intentional ministrations. his frosty gaze flicks downwards and immediately falls into the snare of sasuke's dark eyes.
a mistake. all of this. and yet he doesn’t take the chance to pull away, his eyes glassy with want, his lips parted around soft breaths as he attempts to formulate his next command. it takes far too long for his mind to string together a paltry sentence. ]
You’re not — [ following orders, because he said tongue only, and yet all of sasuke’s warm, soft mouth assails him now, the kissing of his lips to his tender cock, the tip of his tongue teasing his most sensitive parts. words flee him, replaced by the sharp intake of breath, the coil of muscle as his thighs try to clench instinctively shut. he swallows, quieting himself. as in all things, he isn’t loud even in this, unwilling to grant himself permission to fall.
would sasuke really limit himself only to one man, now that the door has opened? he has never considered such a thing. that a man should or would be faithful only to him. ]
Press — your tongue there. Again. [ against the sensitive tip, eking out pearls of pleasure for sasuke’s enjoyment.
he thinks about the heaviness of a hand gripping his golden hair, leaving him nearly immobile, and eases the tension in his fingers. tentatively, he shifts his grip, hands nestled in a near caress through dark locks, silky to the touch in a way that surprises him. his fingers curl gently, brushing the shell of his ear with unpracticed tenderness. ]
This is adequate. Put your mouth on me. [ it hangs unspoken, the thread of pleading in his voice despite the command of his words. ] See how deep you can allow it. Some like it. [ his gaze flickers before closing off again. ] Some don’t.
[Only momentarily does the caress of fingers through hair distract him. He looks up, eyes glassy and dark, halfway through the action of lapping those clear drops of fluid from the slit of a cock. It isn't as he expects, anticipating a hard yank to his scalp instead.
He can see all of it before him — the tender fragility of Laurent's actions, and the state of his body, clinging onto rigid command and contrariness. It isn't something Sasuke would seek to take away from him. Yet the exhilaration of getting closer, of witnessing the slightest pieces of unraveled composure, taunt like blood in the water. He can't seem to get enough. Laurent is quiet; those barest breathes overlay carefully chosen words, but he is wet and hard against Sasuke's mouth, and it is all the statement necessary to make a decision. He will be obedient, to a point.]
I'll see what I like. [A casual declaration, Sasuke rolls partially onto his left side, cheek brushing the ruddy skin of that flushed length in the process. It feels like hot velvet, like the petal of a flower.] And what you like, too.
[And in one smooth, easy motion, he's pulled Laurent's pajama bottoms off the lean line of pale legs, underwear with it, subjecting him to utter nudity. Slender knees cage his head; he bends between them, as if to a throne, and fits reddened lips over the head of a cock slickly. Then down, all of the way, as he is instructed — until the swell of that tip threatens the back of his throat like a seal, broad shoulders bullying Laurent's legs up over them in a closer shift. He finds that he doesn't mind it at all. It feels good, even that near-asphyxiation, to taste Laurent heavy on his tongue, in his throat — his eyes shut to savor the pressure at the rim of awareness, swallowing at the swollen underside to study how such delicate pressure sits on his tongue. And his right hand, then, seeking Laurent's fingers in his hair, to cover the knuckles in a squeeze.
More than good, it feels right. As if some lost part of himself has clicked into an open groove, and he holds Laurent's cock in his throat for as long as he can take it, breath gusting harsh through his nose to remain in place. As instructed.]
[ it's a hard and swift fall, and yet the unforgiving ground does not rush up to crush his bones in the aftermath. it's a state of suspension, of confusion and clarity both, of the overwhelming nature of carnal need. sasuke swallows him down as if his mouth was shaped just for this, for him, and laurent falls and falls until he forgets everything around him — the room, his hatred, the rawness of his ever-present agony — except for one. one man. a singular thread, dark and shimmering, among a sea of colors he dislikes.
sasuke is determined to bring him to climax. or — no, sasuke is determined simply to prove something that laurent has long since stopped thinking about, because now he's too busy trying to understand how this all could have happened with such startling swiftness. laurent is not an amorous man. he takes time to warm up and even longer to eke out a moment of biological pleasure. and yet he is on the cusp of it now, his whole body fighting it and yearning for it at once. sasuke's mouth is like a heady cavern of smoke, like the sweetest honey dripping amber. laurent is a bruised peach at the height of summer, fit for bursting.
their hands twine, laurent's trembling fingers trading silken locks for a steady grip. he hasn't the faintest idea where sasuke might've learned such a thing. his eyes crack open, pellucid blue, darkened with desire. ]
Up. [ he holds onto his command despite the strain in his voice, one finger grazing sasuke's jaw to guide him off his cock. the sensation sends a shudder through him, and sasuke has scarcely come up for air before laurent presses his hand — the one not currently clinging to sasuke's fingers in a pathetically romantic gesture of affection — onto the crown of sasuke's head and has him take his cock again. laurent's lashes flutter, his breath escaping him in a soft moan. his touches his jaw once more in repetition. ] Do that.
[ his fingers ache, strangely, to touch elsewhere, to stroke the line of his cheek and trace the arch of his brow, fumbling, unfamiliar motions that he has only ever imagined but never practiced. but he is so close to the end, his breath quiet and quick, so close that he knows sasuke must taste him more and more now, must feel the tightening in his muscles. if he doesn't like any of these sensations — well, it doesn't matter. it certainly doesn't matter what sasuke thinks laurent likes. there will be no repeat of this.
and for some reason that thought leaves him aching inside. ]
Faster. [ sasuke's gaze is too much, as overpowering as the pleasure that threatens to overtake him with each agonizing moment. he struggles with the words, having never voiced them before. ] I — I want — [ and it's all he can manage, his knees locked around sasuke's shoulders, squeezing tight. ]
[The moment is close. He can tell as much, even lacking experience, by the taste on his tongue — slicker and sharper, heady — by the swelling of flesh, and the restless movement of limbs beneath him. Already his mind plunges ahead to the delirium of how it will feel to swallow Laurent whole when he comes. He's never cared for his own release, sought furtively alone less on the basis of pleasure than frustration. He had thought he would care even less for someone else's. Yet now, bent over Laurent's lap, he can think of nothing but the bottomless hunger inside of himself to see this done, to consume everything, to feel it happen.
A noise of protest, guttural as a growl, touches his lips briefly when he's pulled off. It fades at the look on Laurent's face, when their gazes cross. The blue of those eyes seems impossible — dark as an ocean, melted, framed by golden lashes. The contrast of Laurent's hot, flushed cheeks is striking. He has already resigned himself to the knowledge that Laurent is attractive, but now he seems the most beautiful person Sasuke has ever seen, male or female, in his life. It sits behind the ribs of his chest like a jewel. Burning, dangerous sapphire.
Sasuke starts to rise up, using the hinge of their joined hands, possessed with the sudden need to kiss that mouth — even with his own still messy and wet from cock. He does not get that far, instead pushed back down and directed into a rhythm. His mouth is soft, yielding as it obeys this, swallowing over and over, faster, throat working around saliva and the taste of Laurent, masculine and heady.
He can feel the persistent throb of his own arousal squeezed between his legs, like an insatiable fire stronger than it has ever been. With all the strength in the upper half of his body, Sasuke holds him down so that he won't twist away at the last instant, so that he can take everything into his mouth when it comes in that rush of heat. It becomes too important; as if given the opportunity, here at the end, Laurent will try to escape him.
I want. What does he want? Whatever it is, Sasuke will kill to give. He knows that then.]
[ it has never been like this before. it's the only thing he thinks when pleasure crests over him, when he can't hold on any longer and he finally gives in. it's gratifying, and terrifying, and for long moments he knows nothing but heat and desire and the unfamiliar sensation of having something you want. he holds onto sasuke as if he will float away without him, as if he'll open his eyes and once again find himself lost. a sound escapes him, a mere gasp of breath, and he doesn't realize it's sasuke's name on his lips, it's sasuke himself that he tugs upwards with a sharp, insistent grip until they're face to face once more, his vision focusing onto mismatched eyes and a wet, abused mouth.
laurent says nothing, though a hundred words spring to his tongue. strands of blond cling to his temples, misted with sweat, his lips parted as he catches his breath, chest rising and falling. every surface of his skin feels sensitive, flushed. there's an uncomfortable wetness between his legs that he's all too aware of.
his hand lifts, tremulous fingers settling on the crescent of sasuke's cheek. his thumb traces the wet seam of sasuke's mouth, knowing that if he kisses him, he will taste himself. he has never done such a thing before. his lashes lower as he draws sasuke's lips to his, the press of it soft and impermanent, not quite a promise or a goodbye or anything. he moves his tongue to trace the line of his bottom lip, to press between them to explore, fleeting. their tongues touch, and he lingers, committing the scorch of flame inside of him to memory.
a soft, wet sound as their mouths part — ] You can go.
[ laurent's hand slides to sasuke's chest, and as he rises to sit up he pushes sasuke's body apart from his. for a moment all is still, the two of them sitting tangled on the bed, laurent's palm pressed to the thrum of sasuke's heart. ]
[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.
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warmth at his throat. a shiver crawls across his skin, the slow spread of tension and heat. he looks away, not daring to close his eyes, expecting the jaws of the trap to snap shut at any second, but in the space that should hold violence, he feels only the fluttering hesitation of touch. tentative. soft. yielding in a way he has never known sasuke to be.
he opens his mouth to speak, but all he manages is the expulsion of a tight breath. his hand has somehow found purchase at the sharp edge of sasuke's hip, claw-like in its grip. desperation holds him a vise, his longing like a blade slicing through him with a slow, agonizing intent. ]
You treat me — [ he drags in a breath, as if he's run a great distance. ] As a man treats a boy.
[ he relinquishes his grip only to lift his hand and press his fingers into sasuke's hair, gripping his skull in the crude mockery of something loving, pieced together by someone who has never experienced it. the anger that never leaves him holds him taut, but there's want in his eyes — fearful, distrustful want. he wants this as much as he wants to pull away. to be repulsed by sasuke simply means to look nowhere else.
he charts a path, maneuvers them together. ignoring the violent turmoil that erupts in his chest, he presses their mouths together, hard and deep, refusing to pull away even as he's pulled into a darkened maelstrom of memories — bitter snow and the snap of bone, his uncle's silken sheets, tangled bodies in the water. his fingers close around inky black hair, yanking savagely as he tumbles sasuke onto the bed, landing lithely atop him. his headband slips off and bounces once on the mattress, laurent's hair falling over his shoulders like a veil.
snatched from beneath the pillow, a cold knife touches sasuke's throat. laurent's eyes are steady, though his cheeks are wild with color, his chest rising and falling rapidly. ]
Did you think my forgiveness would come so easily? [ he traces the blade down to sasuke's collarbone, pressing the point against the jut of bone. ] That I would simply spread for the man who tried to kill me?
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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?
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Enough. [ of the subject of damen from sasuke's mouth. not enough of his body pressed to his, made apparent by laurent's hard grip on sasuke's shirt, in the process of inching it higher and only stopping when anger flashes in his gaze. ] I would have you beaten within an inch of your life, and watch with pleasure as you were mounted on a cross to be picked at by vultures. If you were him.
[ he considers pressing the knife in. does, minutely, flicking his finger to trace a shallow line of red along sasuke's throat. when he withdraws the blade, he wipes it fastidiously on the shoulder of sasuke's shirt. ]
You shouldn't speak. [ laurent's voice finally shakes, just the barest hint of a tremor. what sasuke is doing — his face nestled so close, heated breath soaking his skin — sends an ache through him, so powerful that his breath rushes out. his hand finds the nape of sasuke's neck, gripping delicately, his fingertips pushing up into dark hair. ] I can't quite — take it.
[ he can't think. if he starts, it will devolve into panic, into chaos, and then this will be gone. this fleeting warmth, this closeness. this ache. he despises that he wants it, needs it, that his body sings with a primal yearning he’s felt so little of that it threatens to break him.
he twists, snaking out from beneath sasuke’s trap, turning their bodies abruptly so that neither is atop the other — instead, they face each other, both on their sides, breath mingling in their closeness. somehow, laurent finds sasuke’s leg tangled between his thighs, an accidental maneuver.
without thinking — or perhaps thinking a thousand unwanted thoughts at once — he tightens his muscles, pinning sasuke’s leg in place. a sound nearly makes it out of his throat, brutally stifled around a desperate breath. minutely, he bears down, a pool of liquid heat filling him from the friction of pressure between his legs. his lashes shutter, sasuke’s dark eyes flickering before his gaze, his grip tight in his hair. ]
I don't forgive you. [ he clings to this whispered truth, his words nothing but a shivering breath. his hips tighten as he pushes closer, back arching into a pleasant curve. his hand moves to grip sasuke's shoulder. ] Just this.
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He's told not to say anything more. And that touch, tracing a hot and bloody path up his throat where metal nicked flesh, coaxes him to obey more than the order itself. The hand on the back of his neck; the fingers through his hair. Physical affections telling want that Laurent won't ever say outright. In an hour, in a day, perhaps he'll wish to pretend it didn't happen at all. Sasuke doesn't worry about the future. For once, it's eclipsed from sight.
The moment he finds himself in is spun out of a deep, hidden fantasy — to touch another man this way without the context of brutal combat but instead more careful, more purposeful. That he won't be killed for trying is a thrill too. He inhales the scent of Laurent's hair, and skin, like an intoxicating drug. Something floral and clean. And the hard lines of Laurent's lean body against him when they're twisted onto their sides, distracting, consuming his attention — he finds his leg caught by a pair of tight thighs.
Sasuke's eyes flash, a stutter of color in his right eye, though it doesn't change fully and remains obsidian black. The other is that permanent, eerie purple revealed where Laurent has combed the fringe of his hair away. He can't know how equally intimate it is to be looking into his eyes, but the allowance kicks Sasuke's heart to an erratic pace. He likes Laurent this close. He wants him closer. He wants to tell him he can take it, and more.
I don't forgive you.] That's fine. I'll live with that. [Retaliation is the push of his leg more firmly in the crux of Laurent's thighs, dragging across the heat he can feel through clothes, the shape of his cock thickening, a forbidden transgression. Just this.] Don't forget you promised me something else. [Sasuke leans to capture that prim pair of lips with his mouth, curling his right arm around Laurent's back to seal them closer, showing his desperation in how frantically he holds on. The kiss is inexperienced still, no more than a graze of pressure over and over again across the seam of Laurent's lips.]
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and it makes it worse. the friction between his legs comes out of nowhere, the slow rutting like he is once more a child. men would fuck. and yet the sensations that fill him are like nothing he has ever felt before, nothing a cock splitting him open has ever given him. his most valiant efforts can't hold back the quietest moan that falls from his lips straight into sasuke's mouth. ]
I — [ he feels blown away by desire, his eyes huge and dark when he opens them again. something claws desperately in him, a relentless urge to somehow take control of this situation that's spiraled completely out of his hands. he moves his head, so that sasuke's lips touch the crescent of his cheek, suffused with bright color. ]
Promised you what? A lesson? [ he could teach sasuke a lesson by striking him with the nearest blunt object. he aches with need. there is no possible way to ignore it, unless he sends sasuke from the room and puts his hands upon himself. a wretched thought. he can't press any closer than the way sasuke holds him, strong armed, and this, too, is not familiar. laurent is not one to allow himself such a grace. a hard breath, and then — ] Fine. A lesson. Pleasure me with your mouth.
[ laurent will not return the favor. he can't. but he turns his gaze with aching sincerity despite the haughty command in his voice. he does not take lovers, does not engage in the casual debauchery of the palace. a request such as this is far beyond anything he's ever asked before.
as if to mark his determination, he brings his palm to cradle sasuke's jaw. ] If you're bad, which you will be, I'll tell you how to be better. A promise.
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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.]
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this is the cure. to have him. to feel this. and then discard him like yesterday's garbage.
cool air cascades along his heated skin, now bare. he does not look, because he can't fathom the thought — naked, vulnerable, wanting. his uncle used to gaze at him with open hunger before laurent could even identify the look on his face. now it's just half the court and all of the soldiers. and sasuke, though nothing about this feels like the aggressive, roaming stares that follow him. sasuke looks at him with something like reverence, with a wanting that feels cavernous. laurent does not feel like nearly enough to fill this deep well, and he almost stutters out a halt to the entire ordeal, a hasty response to his own misgivings. but then — a softness at his thigh, a gentleness he’s never felt. his cock aches to be touched. laurent’s muscles tighten, his hands moving of their volition to grasp at raven hair, dragging sasuke’s mouth closer to his need. ]
Open. [ a taut command between his own panting breaths. he’s done this before, given instructions on the crude, clinical art of sucking a cock. in this, he has a sordid type of knowledge: he might not be the most skillful at the act himself (the thought of having a cock in his mouth still repulses him), but his uncle had loved his young, unripe body. he has been serviced more times than he can remember.
without preamble, he guides sasuke’s mouth to his waiting cock. something rushes over him, pleasure or revulsion or both, the smallest sound in his throat. wet heat surrounds him. for a long moment he doesn’t move, his fingers gripped tight in sasuke’s hair, his hips quivering, the barest tremor of breath passing through his lips. blue eyes, lashes swept low, gaze down to the pleasant stretch of sasuke’s lips. ]
Not all at once. [ he pulls sasuke off with a sharp tug of his hair, recalibrating. he should be more in control than this. pleasure is a heady, poisonous thing. laurent takes a steadying breath, his gaze cooling. ] Just your tongue, first. You should know the places that are most sensitive, unless you’re even less than a virgin.
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Sasuke believes he could stay here forever, until the moment that survival forces him up, starved for air. He is yanked off sooner. The breath he releases is one rush, mouth hanging open, slick and shiny from where it was, cheeks flushed with color for the strain. He looks at him with those words.]
What is less than a virgin? [Taunting, despite the loose and dark expression on his face as he hovers in the crux of Laurent's smooth thighs, fanning breath on the head of a cock still centimeters from his lips.] You're the first for me. You're the only one I could do anything like this to. Whatever I need to know, I'll learn from you.
[He may not be practiced, he may know less than nothing, but he is not stupid. Laurent's allowances are reason enough to feed the fire that embroils him. It's enough to confront those cold blue eyes should they turn on him again, so long as this moment continues — those restrained sounds, the stirring beneath his touch, the quick breaths. All of these signals steer him in the correct direction.
Using his tongue is easily mastered, if only for the exercise in restraint it takes not to swallow everything again. He drags the velvet flat of it up the side of Laurent's cock, then gathers precome from the slit, lapping roughly, aware only because he's touched himself that this spot will be tender. But perhaps Laurent's preferences are different — he bathes each inch with his lips, his tongue, seeking reaction, a burning and unselfconscious gaze slanted upward.]
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a mistake. all of this. and yet he doesn’t take the chance to pull away, his eyes glassy with want, his lips parted around soft breaths as he attempts to formulate his next command. it takes far too long for his mind to string together a paltry sentence. ]
You’re not — [ following orders, because he said tongue only, and yet all of sasuke’s warm, soft mouth assails him now, the kissing of his lips to his tender cock, the tip of his tongue teasing his most sensitive parts. words flee him, replaced by the sharp intake of breath, the coil of muscle as his thighs try to clench instinctively shut. he swallows, quieting himself. as in all things, he isn’t loud even in this, unwilling to grant himself permission to fall.
would sasuke really limit himself only to one man, now that the door has opened? he has never considered such a thing. that a man should or would be faithful only to him. ]
Press — your tongue there. Again. [ against the sensitive tip, eking out pearls of pleasure for sasuke’s enjoyment.
he thinks about the heaviness of a hand gripping his golden hair, leaving him nearly immobile, and eases the tension in his fingers. tentatively, he shifts his grip, hands nestled in a near caress through dark locks, silky to the touch in a way that surprises him. his fingers curl gently, brushing the shell of his ear with unpracticed tenderness. ]
This is adequate. Put your mouth on me. [ it hangs unspoken, the thread of pleading in his voice despite the command of his words. ] See how deep you can allow it. Some like it. [ his gaze flickers before closing off again. ] Some don’t.
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He can see all of it before him — the tender fragility of Laurent's actions, and the state of his body, clinging onto rigid command and contrariness. It isn't something Sasuke would seek to take away from him. Yet the exhilaration of getting closer, of witnessing the slightest pieces of unraveled composure, taunt like blood in the water. He can't seem to get enough. Laurent is quiet; those barest breathes overlay carefully chosen words, but he is wet and hard against Sasuke's mouth, and it is all the statement necessary to make a decision. He will be obedient, to a point.]
I'll see what I like. [A casual declaration, Sasuke rolls partially onto his left side, cheek brushing the ruddy skin of that flushed length in the process. It feels like hot velvet, like the petal of a flower.] And what you like, too.
[And in one smooth, easy motion, he's pulled Laurent's pajama bottoms off the lean line of pale legs, underwear with it, subjecting him to utter nudity. Slender knees cage his head; he bends between them, as if to a throne, and fits reddened lips over the head of a cock slickly. Then down, all of the way, as he is instructed — until the swell of that tip threatens the back of his throat like a seal, broad shoulders bullying Laurent's legs up over them in a closer shift. He finds that he doesn't mind it at all. It feels good, even that near-asphyxiation, to taste Laurent heavy on his tongue, in his throat — his eyes shut to savor the pressure at the rim of awareness, swallowing at the swollen underside to study how such delicate pressure sits on his tongue. And his right hand, then, seeking Laurent's fingers in his hair, to cover the knuckles in a squeeze.
More than good, it feels right. As if some lost part of himself has clicked into an open groove, and he holds Laurent's cock in his throat for as long as he can take it, breath gusting harsh through his nose to remain in place. As instructed.]
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sasuke is determined to bring him to climax. or — no, sasuke is determined simply to prove something that laurent has long since stopped thinking about, because now he's too busy trying to understand how this all could have happened with such startling swiftness. laurent is not an amorous man. he takes time to warm up and even longer to eke out a moment of biological pleasure. and yet he is on the cusp of it now, his whole body fighting it and yearning for it at once. sasuke's mouth is like a heady cavern of smoke, like the sweetest honey dripping amber. laurent is a bruised peach at the height of summer, fit for bursting.
their hands twine, laurent's trembling fingers trading silken locks for a steady grip. he hasn't the faintest idea where sasuke might've learned such a thing. his eyes crack open, pellucid blue, darkened with desire. ]
Up. [ he holds onto his command despite the strain in his voice, one finger grazing sasuke's jaw to guide him off his cock. the sensation sends a shudder through him, and sasuke has scarcely come up for air before laurent presses his hand — the one not currently clinging to sasuke's fingers in a pathetically romantic gesture of affection — onto the crown of sasuke's head and has him take his cock again. laurent's lashes flutter, his breath escaping him in a soft moan. his touches his jaw once more in repetition. ] Do that.
[ his fingers ache, strangely, to touch elsewhere, to stroke the line of his cheek and trace the arch of his brow, fumbling, unfamiliar motions that he has only ever imagined but never practiced. but he is so close to the end, his breath quiet and quick, so close that he knows sasuke must taste him more and more now, must feel the tightening in his muscles. if he doesn't like any of these sensations — well, it doesn't matter. it certainly doesn't matter what sasuke thinks laurent likes. there will be no repeat of this.
and for some reason that thought leaves him aching inside. ]
Faster. [ sasuke's gaze is too much, as overpowering as the pleasure that threatens to overtake him with each agonizing moment. he struggles with the words, having never voiced them before. ] I — I want — [ and it's all he can manage, his knees locked around sasuke's shoulders, squeezing tight. ]
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A noise of protest, guttural as a growl, touches his lips briefly when he's pulled off. It fades at the look on Laurent's face, when their gazes cross. The blue of those eyes seems impossible — dark as an ocean, melted, framed by golden lashes. The contrast of Laurent's hot, flushed cheeks is striking. He has already resigned himself to the knowledge that Laurent is attractive, but now he seems the most beautiful person Sasuke has ever seen, male or female, in his life. It sits behind the ribs of his chest like a jewel. Burning, dangerous sapphire.
Sasuke starts to rise up, using the hinge of their joined hands, possessed with the sudden need to kiss that mouth — even with his own still messy and wet from cock. He does not get that far, instead pushed back down and directed into a rhythm. His mouth is soft, yielding as it obeys this, swallowing over and over, faster, throat working around saliva and the taste of Laurent, masculine and heady.
He can feel the persistent throb of his own arousal squeezed between his legs, like an insatiable fire stronger than it has ever been. With all the strength in the upper half of his body, Sasuke holds him down so that he won't twist away at the last instant, so that he can take everything into his mouth when it comes in that rush of heat. It becomes too important; as if given the opportunity, here at the end, Laurent will try to escape him.
I want. What does he want? Whatever it is, Sasuke will kill to give. He knows that then.]
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laurent says nothing, though a hundred words spring to his tongue. strands of blond cling to his temples, misted with sweat, his lips parted as he catches his breath, chest rising and falling. every surface of his skin feels sensitive, flushed. there's an uncomfortable wetness between his legs that he's all too aware of.
his hand lifts, tremulous fingers settling on the crescent of sasuke's cheek. his thumb traces the wet seam of sasuke's mouth, knowing that if he kisses him, he will taste himself. he has never done such a thing before. his lashes lower as he draws sasuke's lips to his, the press of it soft and impermanent, not quite a promise or a goodbye or anything. he moves his tongue to trace the line of his bottom lip, to press between them to explore, fleeting. their tongues touch, and he lingers, committing the scorch of flame inside of him to memory.
a soft, wet sound as their mouths part — ] You can go.
[ laurent's hand slides to sasuke's chest, and as he rises to sit up he pushes sasuke's body apart from his. for a moment all is still, the two of them sitting tangled on the bed, laurent's palm pressed to the thrum of sasuke's heart. ]
I'm done with this.
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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.]