Jihoon will never get tired of Seungcheol's mouth.
He knew it from the start, from the very first time Seungcheol knelt between his legs that night in their New York hotel room and swallowed him down: he could never give this up.
It's too perfect, and too much, and there are days he isn’t sure any of it is real.
It feels too good to be true right now actually, and Jihoon has to test his reality. But instead of pinching himself, he just has to tighten his fist in Seungcheol's hair and force him to swallow the entire length of his cock.
“Yes.” Jihoon hisses.
Brown eyes blink up at him, enormous and expressive. He is holding Seungcheol perfectly still, filling his mouth completely. Groaning at the intimate nudge of Seungcheol's nose against his stomach, the soft, instinctive spasms of his practiced throat working around him.
Of all the things they do together, this is Jihoon's favourite. No matter how many new and exciting and downright obscene things they dream up to bring each other pleasure, they always return to this.
It's by far the most convenient way to have fun with each other, as well as the most discreet. And it's a bonus that they both enjoy it—both get off on it, and nothing—really nothing—can compare to the way Jihoon feels when he has Choi Seungcheol on his knees in front of him, deep-throating his cock.
Jihoon loosens his grip on Seungcheol’s hair, leaving him to suck at his leisure for a while. Which Seungcheol does rather enthusiastically, hands resting on Jihoon’s thighs, neck craned to get more of Jihoon’s cock in his mouth, eyes closed, all that legendary focus fixed on his task.
Jihoon can feel Seungcheol’s needy little moans vibrating up his dick, the insistent suction of that full and plush mouth, and it doesn’t take long for him to reach the edge again. (He says again—because they’ve been doing this for over an hour.)
Jihoon takes over then, fisting Seungcheol’s hair and dipping in and out of his hot mouth a few times, loving the way Seungcheol fights to keep his cock in him.
“Shit, yeah. Uh—uh—yeah. So good Cheollie.” Jihoon pants.
Seungcheol hollows his cheeks, bobs his head and moans in agreement. He loves it. Even when Jihoon yanks him inescapably forward, forcing him farther along the length of his cock then before, Seungcheol just drops his jaw and relaxes his throat.
He's ready for this, for the hot nudge at the back of his throat, the challenge of suppressing his gag reflex and swallowing. All the way down, until there are tears in his eyes and his jaw is being forced wide, until he can't breathe for how deeply Jihoon's thick cock is filling his throat.
Jihoon sits motionless in his studio chair for a time, revelling in the perfect stillness of the moment.
He meets Seungcheol’s eyes, keeping his own expression cool even as he enjoys the gorgeous sight of Seungcheol’s kiss-darkened lips stretched around the base of his cock; the first shimmer of unshed tears as Seungcheol struggles to stay still; the warm weight of hands braced on his thighs; the tremble that runs through Seungcheol as the need for air tests his self-restraint.
Jihoon draws an unsteady breath as he stares at something greedy and hungry in Seungcheol's eyes—an eagerness that matches Jihoon's own.
He groans a sigh as he tugs Seungcheol’s hair and drags him back. Not entirely off his cock, but far enough to allow air into desperate lungs.
“Fuck—that’s hot. Good boy Cheollie.”
Seungcheol's eyes flutter shut, and he inhales hard through his nose. Not choking. Not yet, but ready and in control despite the way Jihoon is using him.
Jihoon has no intention of allowing that control to last. They do this often enough that Seungcheol knows how the game plays out. Jihoon is patient, but they both know he doesn't need to rush in order to take Seungcheol apart.
He knows his leader’s limits. And as much as Seungcheol may love being taken hard and fast to the very edges of endurance, sometimes Jihoon prefers a different path. Slower, smoother, an illusion of gentleness.
It's this he is in the mood for tonight, and he reels Seungcheol in once more. Pushes his head all the way down, enjoying the sight of Seungcheol's dark hair wrapped between his fingers, the raw sense of power that comes of watching those lips stretch wide around him.
Jihoon's other hand rests atop his desk, careless of the cell phone sitting there, lighting up with another incoming call from Soonyoung.
Yeah—so they should have been back in the dorms by now. The others are always wondering where they are. But they still have work to do.
There is always more work and you can quadruple that when they’re preparing for a comeback like they are now. Jihoon finds he doesn't mind it so much when it means Seungcheol is always close at hand when he needs a break. A chance to release some small fragment of the energy straining between them. They’ve only just got back from their appearance in K-Con in Japan, and they are both running hot.
It's been days since he last had Seungcheol and this ‘private time’ in the studio was the perfect opportunity.
It's well past late enough that the Pledis offices are empty, though not yet late enough for Jihoon to make use of Seungcheol’s accommodating mood in other ways. (It’s a private joke between the two of them that Jihoon may be known as VOBO in public, but in the privacy of the studio, Seungcheol is definitely the most vocal.)
"Good thing we’ve finished recording," Jihoon takes his hand off the desk and traces his fingers over Seungcheol's cheek. "Or you would have sounded so hoarse on the track."
Seungcheol's eyes close and he does his best to nuzzle into the touch, despite the cock filling his throat. He hums in agreement—or at least he tries to. He doesn’t succeed in making any sound, but the fluttering of muscle sends such pleasurable sensations along Jihoon's dick that it's all he can do not to thrust his hips up from the chair.
As it is, he can't quite stifle the groan of pleasure.
Seungcheol's eyes reopen at the sound, and the look shared between them could burn this studio down around them.
"Look at you." Jihoon sighs. His exploring touch slips higher, tracing the arch of Seungcheol's eyebrows, before sliding lower to caress the shell of his ear, the line of his jaw and then down to the red ribbon tied around his neck.
Jihoon loves how it looks on him—the flash of red against milky pale skin, with a bow that should look stupid but somehow suits him perfectly. The second Seungcheol stepped out of the changing rooms at K-Con wearing it—Jihoon knew he needed to fuck him wearing it too.
Thankfully the stylist didn’t question why Jihoon wanted it after their segment ended, and Seungcheol only rolled his eyes when Jihoon pulled it out of his pocket an hour ago. The less questions the better.
"You are beautiful like this, Cheol," Jihoon murmurs, and his breath hitches at the way his honest praise makes the tight throat work around his cock.
He thinks Seungcheol would breathe a quiet laugh, if he could manage the oxygen to do it. As it is, Seungcheol’s mouth is too full—Jihoon’s dick is too sizeable—and there is nothing Seungcheol can do besides wait.
And oh, Jihoon makes him wait. He keeps his leader exactly where he is as moments tick by, endless seconds stretching into taut minutes.
Seungcheol begins to shudder beneath his hands, and still Jihoon holds his head still. Even as dark eyes slip shut and a gagging swallow sends pleasure along Jihoon’s shaft, he doesn’t ease Seungcheol back a single inch.
Then it happens as steadily as always, Seungcheol's slow shattering of control as the need for air overrides his fierce obedience. The struggles increase until Jihoon is having to hold him in place—pressing his head between his thighs to prevent any retreat. He curls his free hand at the base of Seungcheol's skull when the struggles grow.
Seungcheol is choking violently now. Wet, obscene sounds that warm Jihoon's blood and make it difficult to exercise restraint.
It's only when Seungcheol’s grip on his thighs loosen, that Jihoon drags him away by the hair.
Seungcheol's lungs heave in relief, his chest rising and falling frantically as he sucks in air.
Jihoon allows him a few seconds only—before putting him back where he belongs.
It's not enough time for Seungcheol to recover—Jihoon has made sure of that—has caught his leader deliberately flat-footed.
There's no stillness this time. No, this time Jihoon bottoms out for a fleeting instant before pulling Seungcheol back and forcing him forward by his hair again. Does it a second time. A third. All to the noisy accompaniment of Seungcheol choking wetly on every thrust.
Jihoon sets a brutal rhythm. He curls his other hand around the base of Seungcheol's skull. Both hands, better leverage with which to use his mouth, fucking his face, shoving deep over and over again.
Seungcheol gasps around each slide of retreat, sobbing, coughing and gasping as he fights for every scrap of air. He gags on each violent forward thrust, tears streaming down his cheeks as he struggles to swallow around the unpredictable rhythm of Jihoon's cock forcing its way repeatedly down his throat.
"So fucking good Cheol," Jihoon says even as Seungcheol swallows, and swallows and fights to take what Jihoon is giving him. "Your mouth feels amazing. Can’t stop—won’t stop, till I make a mess of you, wreck you every way I know how.”
Seungcheol's eyes flutter involuntarily at the promise, humming in approval.
Nobody should look this pretty, this fucking gorgeous choking on cock—but Seungcheol manages it.
So close now….
Just a few more…..
Jihoon doesn't know what causes the sudden and instant change: between one heartbeat and the next Seungcheol's eyes fly open, and an immediate and unfamiliar stiffness overtakes him.
When one hand rises from Jihoon's thigh and taps twice—deliberate and quick—Jihoon lets go as though burned.
Seungcheol draws back with such freaked speed that Jihoon's heart ices with fear.
Did he go too far? He can't imagine how.
They've done this dozens of times—more, in fact. He knows Seungcheol's limits more intimately than his own. But Seungcheol has never used one of their signals before, he’s never made Jihoon stop.
All this snaps through Jihoon's mind in a wild, guilty instant.
"Did I hurt you—" he begins to ask.
"Shut up," Seungcheol admonishes, wiping the back of his hand over his saliva stained lips and quickly tucking Jihoon's still hard cock away. It’s kind of surreal to see him work so efficiently—to hear him speak so calmly—when his face is a tearful, debauched wreck and his voice is exhausted gravel. "Someone’s coming. Footsteps on the stairs"
"Oh—shit.” Jihoon gasps with an unsettled mixing of relief and concern.
He hadn’t heard the door alarm sound from downstairs, too wrapped up in his pleasure.
Thankfully Seungcheol did hear, careful and attentive even in the heat of the moment, always watching their backs.
Jihoon can abruptly breathe again, relieved that that’s all it is.
The last thing he wants is to hurt Seungcheol—or take things too far.
"Are you okay?" he asks softly anyway.
"Huh? Yeah, off course I'm all right." Seungcheol says, giving Jihoon a wry look as he rises to his feet.
He crosses the room, quick and silent, and unlocks the door on his way to his own corner of the studio, then slumps down in his chair and drags his headphones on just in time for the heavy thump of a fist knocking against the door.
Jihoon draws a measured breath, willing his pulse to slow and his lungs to calm. He twists his chair so that he is sitting properly at his desk, then on second thought—he edges forward to conceal the still tented bulge of his tracksuit bottoms.
“Yeah?” Jihoon calls out, exchanging one last glance with Seungcheol before the door swings open.
It's Soonyoung who appears in the doorframe, a plastic bag dangling from his fingers. He pauses on entering the room, glancing around in apparent confusion. “Oh—the door’s not locked. I thought it would be locked.”
Jihoon quirks an irritated brow, “Why the fuck would we lock the door?”
“Beats me,” Soonyoung shrugs. “But you guys always seem to lock the door when you’re in here together.”
Seungcheol twists in his chair, knocking one headphone off his ear.
“What the hell? No—we don’t.” He says. He promptly winces at the sound of his own voice when it comes out in a dry rasp.
"Yeah, you do. We all joke that you two are…" Soonyoung hesitates as he glances over at Seungcheol, increasing bafflement distorting his expression. "What the hell happened to your hair? And—why are your eyes bloodshot, and why do you sound like you’ve been gargling razor blades."
Even though there's no way Soonyoung intends the questions as accusations—no chance he knows what Jihoon had been doing to Seungcheol just a few moments ago—the questions lands like sleet along Jihoon's skin.
Seungcheol clears is throat awkwardly and pats down the messy tufts of his hair where Jihoon’s hand fisted through it. “It’s not that bad dude. But I’ve been awake for almost 24 hours, guess I’m just tired.” He murmurs hoarsely.
Soonyoung squints at him in suspicion. “Yeah, but—"
"What’s in the bag, Soonyoung?" Jihoon interjects. His brusque impatience is not at all feigned. His arousal has gradually flagged since the first moment of interruption, and he’d really like to get back to what he was doing.
Soonyoung’s spine straightens. "You guys missed dinner. Jisoo saved you some food, and since neither of you were answering your phones—he asked me to drop it off. You’re welcome, by the way.” He drawls, approaching the small coffee table in the centre of the room and setting the bag down.
"Yeah, yeah. Okay, cool. Thanks." Jihoon says, turning back to face his dimmed computer screen.
He hopes to God Soonyoung doesn’t notice how the console has been powered down since he walked into the room, it’s been idle for so long.
“Yeah, thank you Soonyoung.” Seungcheol croaks pathetically.
"Okay—well—uhm. Guess I’ll leave you guys to it." Soonyoung says stiffly, dividing a look between them as he pads back to the door. He’s halfway out the door, tugging it shut behind him, when he pauses and then pokes his head back in again.
“Oh, and Seungcheol-Hyung—that choker really suits you. You should wear it more often—even when Jihoon doesn’t ask you to.” Soonyoung says with a sly wink before disappearing.
The door clicks shut and Jihoon thumps his head against the desk. “Dammit.”
When he lifts his head again, Seungcheol is swaying back and forth in his chair, fingering the red ribbon around his neck and smiling. Still beautiful, still distracting, still shameless in all his debauched and dishevelled glory.
"I think he knows." He says, eyebrows rising fractionally.
"You think?" Jihoon snaps. The words are not a question. He shakes his head tiredly. “It didn’t help that you sounded like you were actually gargling razor blades. I didn’t think I was being that rough. Maybe we should call it a day Cheol—we’ve got that radio interview tomorrow.”
“Nuh—uh.” Seungcheol tuts. His voice is teasing as he draws nearer. “You said you wouldn’t stop till you made a mess of me, wrecked me every way you know. I’m holding you to that Hoonie.”
Jihoon sighs, glances pointedly over at the unlocked door. But Seungcheol just stands pointedly in front of his chair, peering down into Jihoon's face with stubborn purpose.
“They’ve already interrupted us once, I doubt they’ll try again tonight.” He huffs.
There is a prominent cock-shape straining beneath the tight fabric of Seungcheol's jeans. Jihoon wonders if he flagged even briefly during their near discovery.
Probably not, he decides. Seungcheol is nothing if not adventurous and he’s always gotten off on the idea of almost getting caught.
Jihoon glances between him and the unlocked door once more, before tilting his head towards the couch.
“Strip—get on the couch.” Jihoon orders, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair.
Seungcheol giggles—actually fucking giggles before he begins to undress.
He does it slowly, torturously, deliberately? And Jihoon watches, dick hardening with each second that passes until Seungcheol’s standing entirely naked in his studio.
Well—not entirely naked. He’s still wearing his red ribbon choker.
Jihoon shifts his gaze hungrily down the landscape of Seungcheol’s body —over those broad delicious shoulders, down to Seungcheol’s narrow waist and hips and off course, the perfect curves of each of Seungcheol’s ass cheeks.
“Hmm?” says Seungcheol, possibly prompting Jihoon to respond to a question he asked a moment earlier.
Jihoon hardly knows. It seems to him that the room filled up with white noise the moment Seungcheol’s butt cheeks came into his line of sight. Mind gone fuzzy with the promise of pleasure, he nevertheless decides the night can’t end until he’s spent some time inside that ass.
“I said, do you want me to take the choker off too?” Seungcheol asks, slipping a finger under the ribbon wrapped around his neck.
Jihoon frowns and shakes his head. "No. That stays on."
Seungcheol smirks, fingers dancing playfully over the ribbon. “You really like it that much, huh?”
Jihoon shoves his chair back and stands, “I like it on you. Don’t care much for the choker itself.”
Seungcheol watches his approach, gaze darting between him and the door. “Wait, the door.” He warns when Jihoon bypasses it in favour of heading straight towards him.
It takes one push to shove him down on the couch, and then Jihoon’s crawling up that deliciously laid out body.
“What about it?”
“It’s not locked. Anybody could walk in.” Seungcheol hisses.
“Is that a problem?” Jihoon murmurs, leaning down to press the words into Seungcheol's soft and vulnerable throat. “Like you said—it’s unlikely we’ll be interrupted again.”
“Yeah—but we should still lock—ahh.” Seungcheol's protest stutters to nothing when Jihoon's teeth close hard over his pulse point.
"No," Jihoon hisses as he releases the newly marked skin. He runs the tip of his tongue under the choker, tracing the red strip from one side of Seungcheol’s neck to the other. “I’m not getting up again Cheollie. If someone walks in on us—I guess you’ll just have to explain why you’re letting your Dongsaeng fuck you on the studio couch.”
"Oh, fuck," Seungcheol groans, and the last vestiges of fight go out of him with a shiver.
Jihoon leans back momentarily to unzip his hoodie, shrugging it off and letting it fall to the floor, forgotten instantly as he turns his focus to his track pants.
He groans quietly at the pure physical relief as he shoves down the hem and takes his cock out, stroking it back to full hardness as Seungcheol arranges himself on his hands and knees in front of him.
“C’mon—c’mon.” Seungcheol fidgets on the couch, glancing over his shoulder and wiggling his ass, restless now that he can see Jihoon’s hard cock in reach.
Jihoon doesn’t undress any further, instead choosing to bend over Seungcheol, making a point to rub his cock between his cheeks to watch Seungcheol squirm more violently. He releases his cock to slick his fingers, and then presses a soft kiss to Seungcheol’s shoulder as he starts fingering the rim of his hole.
“Ahh, Jihoonie. Just fuck me.” Seungcheol says in a lost, longing tone. His voice sounds rough as dry gravel.
Jihoon nips at the same place he just kissed, not quite hard enough to bruise. “You’re so fucking needy. You really want me to fuck you without prep?”
Seungcheol whimpers with unguarded pleasure. “Yeah, yeah—please. C’mon.”
Jihoon looks down and sees the slick opening winking at him from between Seungcheol’s ass cheeks.
"You sure?" He warns, rolling his hips forward to make Seungcheol vividly aware of the hard cock about to impale him.
“Yes! Jihoon, just—stop teasing.” Seungcheol huffs impatiently.
Jihoon doesn't hesitate a moment longer. He spits in his hand and slicks his cock. It won't be enough, but he can't bear to leave this room long enough to go across to the convenience store and buy lube. In any case, it's not as though Seungcheol will mind just as long as he gets a cock inside him soon.
Lining up with Seungcheol’s hole, Jihoon pushes his dick inside without so much as a by-your-leave, pausing only briefly before he ruts his hips forward till he can't stuff Seungcheol any fuller.
Seungcheol keens at being filled so viciously—there is no other word to describe the wild and helpless sound—even as he bites down on the cushioning of the couch to stifle it. And fuck, that sound sends waves of pleasure through Jihoon. He tightens his already bruising hold on Seungcheol’s hips and repeats the manoeuvre—pulling out slowly, and thrusting in again as quick and as deep as he can.
The movement shoves Seungcheol harder against the arm rest, jostles Jihoon's cock so deep inside him and earns a fractured, high-pitched gasp of surprise and pleasure.
"Oh—Hoon," Seungcheol says, and it is almost a sob. He trembles beneath Jihoon, tries to roll his hips back despite the hands pinning his hips down and the cock inside him.
Jihoon groans and ducks his head to bite and tug on the ribbon on Seungcheol's neck. He doesn't release his hold on Seungcheol’s hips as he draws his own hips back and then thrusts forward again, hard and harsh and sudden.
“Yeah, that’s it. Take it all. Come on, fuck.” Jihoon breathes. “You’re feel so fucking good.”
No pleasure in the world can compete with Seungcheol's perfect mouth, but Jihoon will never her tired of this, either. The heat of Seungcheol's body taking him in, the shuddering gasps and grunts of pleasure, the way Seungcheol’s voice breaks as Jihoon sets up a steady, driving pace.
Seungcheol just keens and gasps with each thrust—struggling to evade the relentless pounding, struggling to receive more. "Wreck me—yes, yes—fuck. Just like that. Ahh—Wreck me!"
And through it all, Jihoon memorizes the way Seungcheol looks when he has him like this, the strained bliss on his face, watches as mindless euphoria gradually gives way to desperate need.
Jihoon keeps him like that for the better part of an hour, edging the hell out of them both with deep, demanding strokes, rejoicing in his mastery over this strong, wilful man.
Even when his own pleasure starts to spiral out of control, he pushes and pulls them to just shy of completion. Because his Hyung makes the sweetest noises, begs so fucking prettily, and Jihoon gets drunk on the sound, knowing he’s the only one who will ever hear it, the only one Seungcheol will allow to see himself so broken down, so base and pleading.
"Oh, fuck. Jihoon I’m gonna--" Seungcheol sobs, voice shaking in time with Jihoon's increasingly frantic thrusts. "Fuck, fuck, fuck—"
Jihoon knows exactly what warning Seungcheol is trying to give—he would recognize the physical tells even without the frantic rush of words because Seungcheol has become a strung-out wreck beneath him, shivering, sweaty limbs and tangled hair. His cock sways heavily between his legs with each thrust, harder than Jihoon has ever seen.
And it’s tempting, so tempting, to just finish inside Seungcheol and give him a reach around too. But Jihoon knows this isn’t how he wants to come tonight.
He immediately withdraws his cock from the hot vice of Seungcheol’s ass, ignoring Seungcheol’s unhappy whimper as he stands on shaky legs and rounds the couch to stand facing him.
Propping one foot on the couch, Jihoon starts impatiently jerking his cock, directly in Seungcheol’s eyeline.
Seungcheol’s gaze flickers over his face, quizzical, before seemingly understanding his wordless request. He shifts on the couch, moving to sit back on his heels and wraps a hand around his own throbbing erection while looking at Jihoon’s with longing.
Jihoon covets that look, uses it to fuel his arousal from a warm buzz to a surging high.
“I wrecked you,” he gasps, chasing the climax until he’s lightheaded. “Now I need to make a mess of you Cheollie. You gonna let me? Gonna go back to the dorm covered in my come?”
“Yes, yes. Do it. ”Seungcheol groans, the fingers of one hand pinching and rolling a nipple while he jerks himself off with the other.
“Good boy. Now—close your eyes Cheollie.” Jihoon says as he leans his hips forward.
Seungcheol’s immediate compliance, coupled with the deep, stuttered moan he lets loose is enough to push Jihoon over.
“God…yes.” He comes in a hot flash, grunting, fist twisting up and down his length, Jihoon spills his hot come all over Seungcheol’s face in a blatant gesture of possession.
It’s one of those impossibly good orgasms that feel like they go on forever, or at least long enough that Jihoon has time to smear his cock all over Seungcheol’s face, watching as Seungcheol’s cheeks and lips and lashes go slick and wet with pulse after pulse of come.
Jihoon’s balls tighten as his orgasm subsides in ever milder waves, but he continues to groan and stroke and ease himself through it, and with the last weaker spurts he tips Seungcheol’s head back and spills on his throat. The red ribbon choker clouds over in patches, filthy and gorgeous — and Jihoon cannot for the life of him figure out why he’s denied himself this sight all this time.
Fuck. He needs to buy Seungcheol more chokers.
“Fuck, that’s beautiful,” Jihoon says, admiring the way the droplets make Seungcheol’s face glisten in the studio light, the way they stain the choker an impossibly darker red.
Seungcheol smiles lazily up at him, tongue darting out to catch stray droplets on his lips. He then tilts his hips forward pointedly, so Jihoon can see that’s he has yet to reach completion.
“Me too?” He half-asks, mouth and cheeks a hectic rose-red, eyes half-lidded and dark.
Jihoon shakes his head at Seungcheol’s beseeching look.
He steps closer and holds his dick to Seungcheol’s mouth, smears the wet tip along his lips.
Seungcheol moans and instantly flicks his tongue out, lapping at every trace of come he can find. The sensation is painfully intense after just coming, but that doesn’t stop Jihoon from thumbing open Seungcheol’s mouth and feeding his dick in.
“Come on, then. Get me hard again. Hard enough to fuck you properly Hyung. We’re just getting started.”