[He can't describe what it is about the language that so effectively undoes him. The tone of voice Tseng uses is almost unfair, almost weaponized, warmly affectionate even at the humiliation of being called a whore, being reduced to the simple purpose of this act — on his knees to take a man's cock into his throat. Yet Sasuke is only more aroused at the idea of that debasement. He has always seen his body as a weapon, and so now it seems reasonable that this is what he would be used in service to, even if the fantasy expands slightly on the hinge of Tseng's words, less about just anyone and more for this man alone in this moment.
Tseng will still feel it. That slight vibration of voice around his cock, a muffled noise for the disparaging words that signals Sasuke's own pleasure to hear it. And there's something more, an aching burn for the endearment placed on the end — because being beautiful is not a kind of praise he has ever chased. It feels so personal, so sweet in contrast to the filthy derision of the rest.
Then the man's hand finds the back of his head and he surrenders to it, eases slightly to allow his mouth to be fucked, giving control with a shiver of loosened muscles. He can feel how Tseng watches him and it's enough to white out his mind. There's no room to think when he's forced down to that precise point of airlessness, where his mouth forms a tight seal until he can't breathe with the thick tip shoved into the back of his throat, pinching wetness at the corners of his eyes.
In this state, he's too eager to meet the foot between his legs. There's no resistance, no squirming away from embarrassment. He's too far gone for that. The degradation makes it all more acute, grinding his covered erection against Tseng's heel with a whimper that will be felt around the man's cock.]
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Tseng will still feel it. That slight vibration of voice around his cock, a muffled noise for the disparaging words that signals Sasuke's own pleasure to hear it. And there's something more, an aching burn for the endearment placed on the end — because being beautiful is not a kind of praise he has ever chased. It feels so personal, so sweet in contrast to the filthy derision of the rest.
Then the man's hand finds the back of his head and he surrenders to it, eases slightly to allow his mouth to be fucked, giving control with a shiver of loosened muscles. He can feel how Tseng watches him and it's enough to white out his mind. There's no room to think when he's forced down to that precise point of airlessness, where his mouth forms a tight seal until he can't breathe with the thick tip shoved into the back of his throat, pinching wetness at the corners of his eyes.
In this state, he's too eager to meet the foot between his legs. There's no resistance, no squirming away from embarrassment. He's too far gone for that. The degradation makes it all more acute, grinding his covered erection against Tseng's heel with a whimper that will be felt around the man's cock.]