Every breath, every single gasp, is a struggle, and that's true even before Kakashi's hand tightens. Because Sasuke's losing himself in this, as fully and absolutely as he lost himself during the years between Konoha and now. Those years, though - those were not by choice. (He deluded himself into thinking they were. Into believing that the loss was a necessary part of gain, and that putting down things he wanted to hold was the only way to pick something else up.)
But this? This is by choice.
By choice, he's holding on with both hands. Letting himself become lost in this, lost in breath and heat and touch and closeness that transcends the tangible. And it's terrifying, letting anyone in, letting Kakashi push until he's practically climbed inside Sasuke's soul. Climbed halfway inside his body, starting from his mouth and promising more if Sasuke will let him.
And Sasuke wants to let him. He's tired of being afraid.
He's spent most of his life being afraid. Afraid of the expected things - pain and death and loss and failure. Especially failure. And afraid, more than all these things (maybe more than all of them combined) of not being good enough. Not just to win, to meet his goals, but for anything. Not being good enough to hold on, to deserve to hold onto something with both hands. Something he wants himself, instead of just being told - telling himself - that he wants it. He wants this. Five minutes ago it wouldn't have been something he'd be willing to let himself want. To dare to think he was good enough. But the way Kakashi holds on... the way Kakashi touches him, kisses him, presses his fingers and tongue and cock into him in ways that promise more if Sasuke only wants it -
He thinks maybe Kakashi thinks he's good enough.
Thinks, for the first time, that maybe Kakashi believes that, that it's not just pretty words meant to hold Sasuke still.
So when that hand tightens down on his throat, the catch of his breath is sharp, very audible. A quiet choke of air made louder by the fact that his breath already struggles before it's cut off, shuddering with the intensity of sensation and pleasure and need and quiet, tentative acceptance.
He accepts the choking off of his air as readily as the rest - perhaps more so, because that at least is something he already knows. Something familiar. He expects - revels in - the way it sharpens sensation, intensifying the throb of pain in his lip (the throb of need in his cock), pulse struggling with heavier pumps of blood. He's done this before. Has had it done to him. What's new is the certainty that Kakashi wouldn't be doing this if Sasuke had protested. The way he's paused at every step to see if Sasuke would struggle instead of pressing his throat against the other's palm. The fact - the fact - that this is because Sasuke wants this, as much as because Kakashi does. And fuck him, but that only makes him hold on tighter.
Makes him kiss with more fervor, tongue heavy and slow and pressing and tangling; makes his fingers curl in to drag light scratches along Kakashi's nape. Makes him take that invitation and undulate against the wall, pressing his whole self close to the other as much as riding the other's thigh between his legs.
And when Kakashi pulls back, even with the hand blocking his sight, Sasuke's eyes blink open to search. And there's a sliver, not much of a space between Kakashi's fingers but more than enough for Sharingan. And through it, Sasuke catches Kakashi's chin and the very edge of lips quirked into a velvet, predatory smirk. The shudder underneath Kakashi's fingers would be a moan if Sasuke could get the breath to voice it.
1/3
But this? This is by choice.
By choice, he's holding on with both hands. Letting himself become lost in this, lost in breath and heat and touch and closeness that transcends the tangible. And it's terrifying, letting anyone in, letting Kakashi push until he's practically climbed inside Sasuke's soul. Climbed halfway inside his body, starting from his mouth and promising more if Sasuke will let him.
And Sasuke wants to let him. He's tired of being afraid.
He's spent most of his life being afraid. Afraid of the expected things - pain and death and loss and failure. Especially failure. And afraid, more than all these things (maybe more than all of them combined) of not being good enough. Not just to win, to meet his goals, but for anything. Not being good enough to hold on, to deserve to hold onto something with both hands. Something he wants himself, instead of just being told - telling himself - that he wants it. He wants this. Five minutes ago it wouldn't have been something he'd be willing to let himself want. To dare to think he was good enough. But the way Kakashi holds on... the way Kakashi touches him, kisses him, presses his fingers and tongue and cock into him in ways that promise more if Sasuke only wants it -
He thinks maybe Kakashi thinks he's good enough.
Thinks, for the first time, that maybe Kakashi believes that, that it's not just pretty words meant to hold Sasuke still.
So when that hand tightens down on his throat, the catch of his breath is sharp, very audible. A quiet choke of air made louder by the fact that his breath already struggles before it's cut off, shuddering with the intensity of sensation and pleasure and need and quiet, tentative acceptance.
He accepts the choking off of his air as readily as the rest - perhaps more so, because that at least is something he already knows. Something familiar. He expects - revels in - the way it sharpens sensation, intensifying the throb of pain in his lip (the throb of need in his cock), pulse struggling with heavier pumps of blood. He's done this before. Has had it done to him. What's new is the certainty that Kakashi wouldn't be doing this if Sasuke had protested. The way he's paused at every step to see if Sasuke would struggle instead of pressing his throat against the other's palm. The fact - the fact - that this is because Sasuke wants this, as much as because Kakashi does. And fuck him, but that only makes him hold on tighter.
Makes him kiss with more fervor, tongue heavy and slow and pressing and tangling; makes his fingers curl in to drag light scratches along Kakashi's nape. Makes him take that invitation and undulate against the wall, pressing his whole self close to the other as much as riding the other's thigh between his legs.
And when Kakashi pulls back, even with the hand blocking his sight, Sasuke's eyes blink open to search. And there's a sliver, not much of a space between Kakashi's fingers but more than enough for Sharingan. And through it, Sasuke catches Kakashi's chin and the very edge of lips quirked into a velvet, predatory smirk. The shudder underneath Kakashi's fingers would be a moan if Sasuke could get the breath to voice it.