The wet slide of her fingers in him isn’t enough, won’t ever be enough. He’s tempted to push back on them, to chase them down to the knuckle, but he knows that’ll only serve to get him in trouble.
There’s a flush rising up his chest, mottled and red. His arm is bound to his back with dark purple rope. They never restrain his nubbins; a hard limit, and one that Sakura would be hesitant to cross even if that changed.
He’s on his knees, his back to her chest and her fingers are hooked inside of him, catching at the rim every time they slide out. There’s a small puddle of lube that’s dribbled out of his ass and onto the couch. His nipples are puffy and sore underneath the clamps, his cock so hard it hurts, but Sakura takes her time.
Her lips are pressed against his shoulder, her mouth ghosting over he site of his Cursed Seal. While she fingers him with one hand (slow and careful, rubbing so softly against his prostate, Sasuke’s breath catches in his throat; he’s sure he can feel her smile against his shoulder, but he can’t think past the little wet sound of her fingers pushing in and out, in and out, fucking his ass) her other palm is splayed out on his stomach, the curve of it over the bisecting lines of the purple rope that binds him.
Sasuke breathes deep through his nose.
She takes his word for it, and the hand on his stomach presses him back. It pushes her fingers that smallest bit deeper, but it isn’t even close to being what he wants.
A third finger breaches him and Sasuke sucks back a whine. He can still taste her in his mouth, can feel where her slick has dried on his face. He had eaten her out for upwards of an hour, her hand in his hair pulling him forward onto her cunt and then pushing him back. She edged herself with his mouth until she came, spraying over his cheeks, drowning him with it.
The pale blue strap harnessed to her hips is his reward.
He knows when she decides he’s ready, can feel it in the way she bites down, repossessing the space Orochimaru carved out on his throat. Sasuke breathes in, holds it, lets it out. The firm head of the dildo presses in, but the girth of it makes him focus. It’s a little too big, a little too much, but the slight stretch pushes out his breath in a happy sigh.
Sakura’s hands travel out over his legs, nudging him to his feet, and then they stop on his thighs.
“Sit on it.”
Sasuke’s ears burn. He follows the instruction. He goes slow, knows that if he pushes back too hard and hurts himself, that’ll be the end. Sakura will end it to heal him, to scold him, and that would be worse. Much worse.
So he sits. Feels himself stretch to accommodate the strap-on, feels it take up space in him, fill him until the stretch turn into a pleasant burn. That’s all he gets to say about it.
Sakura’s fingers hook on the layers of rope that hold Sasuke’s arm to his back. She gives them a testing tug, and it pulls Sasuke further down on the dildo. She hums and Sasuke bites his lip. One slow slide is usually his only warning.
She holds him down while she snaps herself up, her hips forcing his ass in an upward bounce. She pulls him down, bottoms out, and Sasuke lets his head loll forward, lets his chin touch his collarbones where he’s sweat slick.
“Is this what you want?”
Sasuke tries, he tries to breathe around the feeling. To catch himself, ground himself. It doesn’t work. It never does.
While she holds him down, her other hand comes to his belly to push him back. She rolls her hips and a weak “Nng,” spills out of Sasuke’s mouth. He’s pinned between her two hands.
“What do you want?”
“You,” he murmurs.
“What,” she says, her front hand traveling. She rugs at the chain between his nipple clamps and Sasuke keens, drops his jaw and pants with it. She tugs again, sharper this time, her hips rolling in another long thrust that leaves Sasuke’s mouth dry.
Her hand goes higher, until it’s just at Sasuke’s collarbones and it presses up until he has to expose his throat to her. She doesn’t go to choke him, just to hold him, and the threat, the implication of her controlling his breath makes a fat bead of precome spill down Sasuke’s cock.
“What do you want me to do?”
There’s a sharp tug on the rope of his bound arm, and Sakura’s fingers give the softest little dig into the tender skin around his throat. Sasuke pants.
“I want you to fuck me.”
She pulls him back until he’s flush against her chest, can feel the way her exposed breasts meet his skin around the purple knots that hold him.
“Fuck me,” he says, not babbling yet but close. He leans his head back into the curve of her throat and shoulder, shivers when her hands move onto his thighs. Her hands dip down, cup against him until her grip is sure.
“Fuck me, Sakura,” he says again, as she lifts him. The dildo moves in a sweet little drag, one that makes Sasuke moan. Sakura takes all his weight, lifts him like he doesn’t weigh anything at all. The strap-on slides out until he can just feel the head against his rim, red and soft as it is.
She yanks him down on the dildo with so much force, it punches a breath out of him. He sucks another one in, tries to keep a hold of himself, but Sakura doesn’t give him time. She lifts him up and pulls him down again, raises her hips to meet him every time.
He digs his fingernails into his palm. He can’t think past how it feels, how she feels inside him, behind him. His nipples hurt, the chain between the clamps warm with his sweat, and he’s pretty sure he’s going to come untouched.
There’s nothing to hold himself against, nothing to moor him, to keep him steady. Sakura slows her pace, presses his thighs together until his knees are touching. He squirms, tries to pick up friction again before she makes a low warning sound in her throat that makes him still. Then, she wraps her arms around him and fucks him like that.
It feels deeper somehow, tighter. His knees knock together, press his cock against the rope on his belly. The slide of it is rough, scratchy against the sensitive skin but Sasuke likes it. He likes it so much he thinks he could cry.
“Sakura,” he says, and it’s like a damn breaking, like something behind his throat has popped or loosened, and he can’t stop. “Sakura, Sakura, please, pleasepleaseplease.”
He doesn’t know what else to say, or how to say it. The dildo spears him and he wishes he could see it, could watch it spread him open, so blue, so pretty against his hole, wet and dripping. Wants to watch it disappear inside of him inch by inch, wants to see Sakura hold his knees together while she shoves it into him, rolls her hips and holds his throat, yanks him by the purple rope.
He doesn’t know he’s said all of it out loud until Sakura asks, “Do you wanna watch yourself come?”
His mouth is dry, lips chapped from breathing through his mouth. He licks his lips, wants desperately to kiss her, but settles for talking.
“No,” he says, voice sounding fucked out when to his own ears. “Wanna see you. Wanna watch you - watch you fuck me. Finger me. Hold - h-hold me down and - ,”
She fucks him, the dildo pressing hard and fast, over and over and over again in sharp bursts of heat against his prostate. He doesn’t know he’s crying until he sobs.
She slows down and a weak whine pours out of his mouth. Her hands leave his knees to hold him. Sasuke never cries. Ever.
“What’s your safeword?”
He sucks in a breath. The sweat on his face mingles with the tears on his cheeks. He shudders hard, his cock still aching but free without his thighs trapping it to his stomach.
She nuzzles his throat with her lips, trying to steady him.
“What’s your safeword?”
He has to travel through a mile of fog to say it, but he does.
He can feel her sigh of relief on his shoulder.
“Do you want to use it?”
”No,” he says, and feels distraught at the idea alone. “Green. Green.”
She doesn’t make him say it a third time. But instead of holding his knees again, she leaves one strong arm wrapped around his chest. She pounds into him like that, his legs loose and weak. He pitches forward, mouth open, open moans dropping from his mouth each time she thrusts into him.
She barely has to get a hand on him before he comes so hard his vision whites out. His orgasm hits him with a wail, new tears springing to his eyes as she fucks him through it.
He goes boneless in the aftershocks, in the glow. He whines when she slips out of him. She lifts him, carries him elsewhere. Sasuke’s head lolls until it hits the pillows of their bed. She puts him on his side so he doesn’t squash his arm, peppers him with light touches so he knows she’s still around.
He shifts his legs, suddenly feeling empty.
She unties him while he’s still hazy, rubs sensation back into his arm, rubs at the indents on his back and his stomach and chest. She takes extra care with the nipple clamps but Sasuke hisses when they come off anyway.
Sakura leaves a hand on him while she opens their bedside table and tugs out a pack of baby wipes. She gives him a quick wipe down; he jolts when her gentle, but clinical touch cleans his softening cock.
“Okay?” she asks.
Sasuke’s throat clicks with dryness, and then there’s a water bottle at his lips. He drinks slowly, and when he’s had his fill he pulls off.
He opens his eyes to see Sakura smile at him.
”You’ve never cried before.”
He sniffs, shuts his eyes when she presses a hand to his cheek.
Her eyes narrow, but Sasuke shakes his head. His mind was always clearer after he slept, she knew that. Their talk back would be better when he wasn’t as hazy.
Sakura backs off because she knows his head works, how his silences immediately after work and what they mean. He’s grateful she understands so well, without even having to be told.
He watches her remove the harness and drop the strap-on to be dealt with later. She stares at him for a moment, crawling into bed. She sits between his legs, dips her face down until she’s level with his abused hole.
“You look - ,”
She sighs, reaches forward and flicks her tongue against the hot ring of muscle. Sasuke squirms, still loose, still willing. She flicks her tongue against it once, maybe twice more, before she stops and pulls back.
“Later,” she promises when he grunts at her loss. “When you catch your second wind.”
Sasuke rolls his eyes. Sakura pinches his thigh a little bit, winks at him. She tugs up the blankets from where they’re bunched at the foot of the bed and slides them around their legs, should they get cold.
She settles in behind him, her arms tender as they ever are as they pull him close.
Later. There was a whole lot of day left.