[For just a second, there's that fraction of Sasuke that, while the rest of him knows with bright, burning certainty that this is almost too real, fears that he's still dreaming. Because Kakashi's tongue slipping inside his mouth feels just like he always dreamed it would (though he doesn't remember when those dreams started or how they could have had this much clarity), devouring and claiming and sort of fucking vicious even if it's just Kakashi's tongue stroking in against his tongue. Not that there's anything Kakashi's doing that can be described as "just" doing anything. No, he's pinning Sasuke against the wall and devouring his mouth with such voracity that it's only the taste of jasmine that tells him this is absolutely real, because that's the last taste he would have conjured up in his head for Kakashi, shared tea or no, and it jars him.]
[Just like that press of Kakashi's hips to his jars him, Kakashi's cock pressing hard (hard) against his hip, and it's like striking himself with his own Chidori with the way that rips realization into him. This is real, and pressing heavy against his hip is the evidence that Kakashi wants it. That this isn't some test or hideous joke or whatever other bullshit excuse his brain has been scrambling to conjure up, because the fact that Kakashi not only wants to kiss him but wants to fuck him is twitching against him with so much heat he can feel the burn through the heavy fabric of Kakashi's pants and the flimsy knit of his own.]
[So his hips roll forward, what little they can under Kakashi's weight, grinding against that bulge to let Kakashi know he can feel it and he wants every filthy thing Kakashi could possibly do to him. That's the first thought when he moves, though the same motion drags his crotch up the curve of Kakashi's thigh, friction on his own junk, and he shudders with a breathless gasp into the kiss, blowing hot breath over Kakashi's lips when teeth bite down into his. He rocks again, grinding himself against Kakashi's thigh with a desperation he really, really does not want to examine.]
[He could blame hormones for this, the accursed sex drive he's always hated and tried to be rid of, the physicality alone and the weakness he has to touch. He knows he could. But fuck him, he doesn't even try.]
[Instead all he can focus on is the heat as bodies press close, and how that feels so much better than being cold and alone. How that lightning in Kakashi's hands is roaring a fire in him he thought had died years ago. How when Kakashi's fingers tighten and his pulse stutters, the only words he can think of are please and yes. Kakashi's hand right there, wrapped around breath and blood, holding Sasuke's very life in what is a gentle caress now compared to the fist he could make of it. In one motion Kakashi could crush the bloodflow until Sasuke's brain dies in his addled head, could crush his windpipe until Sasuke drowns on a lack of air, could snap his neck in an instant of pain chased immediately by black nothing. But he doesn't. And Sasuke knows he won't. Knows it with a certainty he's felt about few things in his life. Instead he just tilts Sasuke's head up so that Kakashi has a better angle to plunder his mouth; just squeezes enough to make purple spots dance in the black in front of his eyes, to make Sasuke gasp a little harder into the kiss and prove how much he wants this. Slows his blood just enough to intensify the throb in Sasuke's cock. It's walking an infinitesimal line between pleasure and death, and fuck, isn't that what shinobi life is? And if there's one person Sasuke thinks could do it to him and do it right, it's Kakashi. Just as long as Kakashi keeps fucking holding on, holds onto those threads and keeps Sasuke pinned right here and doesn't fucking (let) go.]
[And he's not. And with Kakashi's hands holding onto him, Sasuke forgets, for a moment, that his own hands are hands that break. Because a hand full of lightning is holding him pinned and pleasured and alive, more alive than he's been in more years than he can pin down, and all Sasuke can do is obey the instinct to hold on. To lift his hands to grip, and like any shinobi his ability to reach in and take and hold is deft. One hand means only to slide under the back of Kakashi's vest, but one finger catches the tail of his shirt and he takes every advantage, gliding fingers across bare skin and up Kakashi's spine until the rumple of vest stops the crook of his elbow, hand splayed on shoulder blade right above Kakashi's heart. It's his left hand, the one full of lightning, and that seems like a perfect balance to the one on his throat, and like Kakashi he just holds on, pulling the other close and refusing to let go. The other hand moves to close the circuit in a different way: while Sasuke can't see, it's too easy to find Kakashi's face pressed so close to his - to graze the heel of his palm briefly over sparse scruff he would never have pictured under that mask, and the tight angle of a very strong jaw - and drift down, running fingers much more delicately down the side of Kakashi's neck, and just hold there, heel against Kakashi's pulse and fingers wrapping back around to touch the column of Kakashi's spine. His grip is nowhere near as tight as the one on his throat. Because unlike Kakashi, with the proof that he could and only the promise that he won't, Sasuke's hold is proof and promise both in one. He won't. His fingers are right there, and he won't even pretend to tighten his grip. He'll just hold on, letting all the sparks fly between their dancing tongues and all the heat boil between hips arcing up against hips.]
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[Just like that press of Kakashi's hips to his jars him, Kakashi's cock pressing hard (hard) against his hip, and it's like striking himself with his own Chidori with the way that rips realization into him. This is real, and pressing heavy against his hip is the evidence that Kakashi wants it. That this isn't some test or hideous joke or whatever other bullshit excuse his brain has been scrambling to conjure up, because the fact that Kakashi not only wants to kiss him but wants to fuck him is twitching against him with so much heat he can feel the burn through the heavy fabric of Kakashi's pants and the flimsy knit of his own.]
[So his hips roll forward, what little they can under Kakashi's weight, grinding against that bulge to let Kakashi know he can feel it and he wants every filthy thing Kakashi could possibly do to him. That's the first thought when he moves, though the same motion drags his crotch up the curve of Kakashi's thigh, friction on his own junk, and he shudders with a breathless gasp into the kiss, blowing hot breath over Kakashi's lips when teeth bite down into his. He rocks again, grinding himself against Kakashi's thigh with a desperation he really, really does not want to examine.]
[He could blame hormones for this, the accursed sex drive he's always hated and tried to be rid of, the physicality alone and the weakness he has to touch. He knows he could. But fuck him, he doesn't even try.]
[Instead all he can focus on is the heat as bodies press close, and how that feels so much better than being cold and alone. How that lightning in Kakashi's hands is roaring a fire in him he thought had died years ago. How when Kakashi's fingers tighten and his pulse stutters, the only words he can think of are please and yes. Kakashi's hand right there, wrapped around breath and blood, holding Sasuke's very life in what is a gentle caress now compared to the fist he could make of it. In one motion Kakashi could crush the bloodflow until Sasuke's brain dies in his addled head, could crush his windpipe until Sasuke drowns on a lack of air, could snap his neck in an instant of pain chased immediately by black nothing. But he doesn't. And Sasuke knows he won't. Knows it with a certainty he's felt about few things in his life. Instead he just tilts Sasuke's head up so that Kakashi has a better angle to plunder his mouth; just squeezes enough to make purple spots dance in the black in front of his eyes, to make Sasuke gasp a little harder into the kiss and prove how much he wants this. Slows his blood just enough to intensify the throb in Sasuke's cock. It's walking an infinitesimal line between pleasure and death, and fuck, isn't that what shinobi life is? And if there's one person Sasuke thinks could do it to him and do it right, it's Kakashi. Just as long as Kakashi keeps fucking holding on, holds onto those threads and keeps Sasuke pinned right here and doesn't fucking (let) go.]
[And he's not. And with Kakashi's hands holding onto him, Sasuke forgets, for a moment, that his own hands are hands that break. Because a hand full of lightning is holding him pinned and pleasured and alive, more alive than he's been in more years than he can pin down, and all Sasuke can do is obey the instinct to hold on. To lift his hands to grip, and like any shinobi his ability to reach in and take and hold is deft. One hand means only to slide under the back of Kakashi's vest, but one finger catches the tail of his shirt and he takes every advantage, gliding fingers across bare skin and up Kakashi's spine until the rumple of vest stops the crook of his elbow, hand splayed on shoulder blade right above Kakashi's heart. It's his left hand, the one full of lightning, and that seems like a perfect balance to the one on his throat, and like Kakashi he just holds on, pulling the other close and refusing to let go. The other hand moves to close the circuit in a different way: while Sasuke can't see, it's too easy to find Kakashi's face pressed so close to his - to graze the heel of his palm briefly over sparse scruff he would never have pictured under that mask, and the tight angle of a very strong jaw - and drift down, running fingers much more delicately down the side of Kakashi's neck, and just hold there, heel against Kakashi's pulse and fingers wrapping back around to touch the column of Kakashi's spine. His grip is nowhere near as tight as the one on his throat. Because unlike Kakashi, with the proof that he could and only the promise that he won't, Sasuke's hold is proof and promise both in one. He won't. His fingers are right there, and he won't even pretend to tighten his grip. He'll just hold on, letting all the sparks fly between their dancing tongues and all the heat boil between hips arcing up against hips.]