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daylight’s pale luster pours into the room through wide panes, spilling over pearly sheets and casting an almost blinding glow where they lay, entwined in one another. the effulgence had long since extracted hwoarang from his somnolent cradle, rendering him wide awake with its persistent beaming against his tired eyes. apparently, curtains are a bit too modern for jin.
rolling himself over on the flatness of their shared futon, a copper-coloured eye befalls the seraphic image of his lover sleeping soundly at his side. even with his powerful shape, the raven-haired man appears so soft and delicate as he rests peacefully; the long, thick lashes fanning out over his closed eyes and nearly kissing the warm and smooth stretch of sugi-hued cheeks, the relaxed line of soft, plush lips, the gentle rhythm of his deep, steady breathing — each aspect of him is a brush stroke against a canvas unworthy of holding his empyrean image just so that eyes equally as unworthy could behold him. jin had always been breathtaking under any light, but now, beneath the soft glow of the morning and devoid of any bitter or angstful countenances, he is of a pulchritude entirely new.
alas, he is also a light sleeper. it isn’t long until hwoarang’s movements, purposefully subtle as they may be, cause him to stir and rouse from the depths of slumber — and then they are looking at each other; jin’s impenetrably dark eyes a reflection of hwoarang’s fiery golden gaze. for a moment, there are no words and no legible expressions, only eyes pouring into each other endlessly like the heavens and the ocean; their horizon the sparse centimeters of distance separating their upper halves. jin’s arm is still draped over the cinched curve of hwoarang’s waist. hwoarang’s legs remain entangled with those of his beloved.
“it’s not even six-thirty in the fucking morning,” murmurs the redhead, his eye unmoving from where it’s hyperfocused on jin’s equally static gaze and his voice leaving him groggily, a testament toward how he wishes not to be awake at this hour, and one even more effective when paired with the way his head is lazily tilted back, impelling vibrant saffron tresses to fan out prettily over the white pillow and baring the aureate skin of his neck, blemished with fading lovebites derived of coitus past. “you really ought t’ invest in some goddamn curtains. blinds at least.”
a bright puff of air gusts through jin’s nostrils, and because he knows him so well, hwoarang can tell that it’s actually laughter. his lips — an inviting shade of caramel brown, so plump and bewitchingly soft — curl into the beginnings of a faint smile, and his browline softens, umber eyes glittering via a single orb of light caught within them.
“don’t need them,” says jin. “the shoji don’t let in too much light. and i like waking up with the sun.”
hwoarang rolls his eye, the plush tiers of his mouth pulling taut into a melodramatic frown. “you’re not the only person here, you selfish bastard,” he argues, “i’d like to not have to wake up at the asscrack of dawn, if y’don’t mind.”
another huff of a laugh and the dark-haired man’s still-peaceful mien tells hwoarang that his lover had been tickled by his words. that fact should annoy him, as he’d been rather serious about his gripes with the excessive brightness of the room, but something about seeing jin in such a mellow mood renders the faux-ginger unable to genuinely get upset to any extent. really, he’s not even that pissed about being woken up so early anymore, though if it were under any other circumstances or at the hands of any other person in the world, he’d be ready to kick their head clean off their shoulders.
it seems he’s gotten good at making exceptions for kazama jin. maybe he always has been. maybe that’s part of what love is.
that thought makes hwoarang groan. what kind of sappy shit is that. get a grip, romeo.
he pulls up the covers, wrenching them over his head and sinking lower on the futon at the same time, aiming to be completely out of jin’s sight. judging by the slow but deliberate movements against the bed, the other man has raised up a little and is now leaning on his elbow, more than likely staring at the shapeless lump hwoarang has become beside him. the redhead can feel those endless dark eyes on him, even through the cotton cover.
“how were your dreams?” jin asks.
the famished whale of the onslaught of embarrassment ceases to engulf hwoarang once the question pierces through the hypothetical cetacean’s skin, encouraging his demeanour to shift instantaneously. conversations about their nightmares are historically grounded and somber, but since hwoarang had come to japan to stay ‘indefinitely’ (nearer to permanently, with sporadic trips back to korea because he misses the place he’ll always think of as home to some extent — even if home to him, now, is wherever he can be with jin), the nightly terrors; the moments of jolting awake shaking and screaming and subsequently being soothed and comforted back to stability by one another, had become less and less frequent, to the point where it would seem, if they’d allow themselves to get comfortable with such an idyllic reality, as though they’ve nearly stopped altogether.
evidently, having lived the lives they have, it simply pays to expect the worst. so they still ask every morning, even if one of them hadn’t prior been startled from repose by the other’s violent response to another disturbing dream.
hwoarang lowers the futon cover gradually, revealing a fiery bedhead and an attentive gaze that already looks in jin’s direction, studying his face as he comes into view once the cotton no longer obstructs his vision. even his blind eye seems to focus on him, the missing iris tangible even if invisible. “they were fine,” he answers, nose poking over the cover, which faintly muffles his voice. “no nightmares. what about you?”
the broader man exhales airily, momentarily closing his eyes. hwoarang’s eye does not leave him.
“no nightmares,” jin replies, voice as pensive and soft as it always is. hwoarang knows he is telling the truth.
releasing a breath he hadn’t been fully aware had been baited, hwoarang’s gaze travels up to the textureless ceiling, the inverted image of jin’s face flashing against his blinking eyes, as he’d apparently been staring at him a bit too intensely. not the first time that’s happened. “good,” he says simply, sleep-softened voice bleeding into a yawn as his oscitancy refuses to be ignored. “hopefully it stays that way for us both. now, if you’re not gonna go back to sleep, could ya find somethin’ to keep yourself busy? ‘cause i’m still tired as fu—”
that thought never sees completion. hwoarang grows too distracted to continue when jin slants himself over him suddenly, coming in close so that the very tips of their noses kiss faintly, and their eyes are granted with no choice but to stare into each other. though this man is his established lover and most trusted companion, the korea native feels his face heat up the slightest bit, especially once he notices that jin is looking at him very intently, seemingly studying the lineaments of his half-veiled visage; searching for something between his eyes.
it’s then, hwoarang realizes what he is truly looking at.
“kazama … what are you doing?”
the question leaves him on the wings of a tone far softer than hwoarang had intended. he’s typically much better at concealing what he wants to be concealed, but perhaps it’s just too early in the morning, and jin is just too close to even bother with putting on any masks. they’re in love; this is love, but there are aspects of this mutual emotion that they both have to work through. the soft feelings don’t make things any less complicated — they make things more complicated, in fact, but hwoarang has long since decided that after all they’ve been through, this is beyond worth being uncomfortable with way love feels strange and unfamiliar in his hands.
jin’s breaths are so soft and subtle, it almost looks as though he’s not breathing at all. but hwoarang can feel against the exposed half of his face the tiny gusts of air escaping his nares at an even rate.
his fingers raise, then; brushing against the warm skin of hwoarang’s cheek and sliding steadily upward, until the raised flesh of the lowermost branches of the redhead’s lightning-like scars meet his touch. hwoarang just looks up at jin, not a single word on the tip of his tongue. he allows his lover to explore the cicatrice in direct opposition to many times in the past, where he’d swatted jin’s hand away or barked at him to cease his doleful staring at the injury. hwoarang wasn’t ready to be vulnerable at that time; wasn’t ready to acknowledge the emotional scars all that had happened, all that jin had done, had left him with. direct acknowledgment of the physical ones could have been too much of a gateway to a conversation he wished not to have.
and while he’d still rather not have it, despite knowing that it’s a necessary step in their extensive recovery process, things are different, now. they’ve been different for a while. for all the effort it had taken to get to this point, they are healing, and hwoarang doesn’t want to threaten all the progress they’ve made by trying to shut off his emotions. he doesn’t need those immeasurably ingrained defense mechanisms; not here. not with jin. not anymore.
“hwoarang …” the raven-haired man murmurs mutedly, voice heavy with sorrow.
“you already apologized,” utters the addressed, voice uncharacteristically soft and some extent of weary, though evidently not solely due to his sleep-deprived state, “and i already told you that this is the one thing that wasn’t your fault.”
a weighted pause ensues. the silence is heavy with regret, thick with disconsolate thoughts and unspoken words. hwoarang doesn’t like it one bit; it makes him feel restless and comfortless, and the way jin is still half-pinning him to the bed forces him to confront these emotions, both his own and those of the person who means most to him. seeing his reflection in the dark pools of jin’s funereal eyes is almost unbearable.
“hey,” hwoarang speaks up, finally pulling the blanket down so that it no longer covers half his face. he’d considered going back under, hiding away until this stormy mood has passed, but no sooner had that idea been introduced, than it was abandoned. they both have a history of running away from their problems, and though old habits truly do die the most convoluted of deaths, in this moment, hwoarang is all-too aware that running will take him nowhere he wants to go. “what do i have t’ say to get you to stop beating yourself up over this?” he asks, a sigh sailing along his words just as jin averts his previously motionless gaze, “we both know you fucked up severely. but i’ve come to terms with it all — which is nothin’ short of a goddamn miracle, considering how about ready to kill you i was when you first fucked off to god knows where and i had to hunt you down and try to bring you back.”
jin does not reply, only keeps looking down at the futon cover shamefully, but hwoarang knows he is listening intently. so he goes on.
“half my eyesight was a pretty small price to pay to be able to bring you home and bring an end to all that bullshit,” he begins, looking at the other man intently, though the eye contact is not returned for the time being. “‘course, all that didn’t happen at once, but i like to look at it as a domino effect. and all those dominos have brought us here, and i’m glad they did, because this is the best things have been for me in years. maybe ever. and i know the same is true for you,” says hwoarang, watching carefully as jin’s eyes slowly drag themselves back to his face, at last completing the mutuality of their eye contact.
the light-eyed man tilts his head at a soft angle, the cadence of his voice embodying a warbling tenderness that very few people have heard from him. “we still got work to do. and part of that work is movin’ on. i know it’s easier said than done, but we’ve climbed bigger mountains than this, right? i think we’ll be okay.”
again, a lengthy stretch of silence coils around the two men, but it feels different than before; warmer, brighter, more certain. and following that mild pause, jin exhales the weight of the world, letting his eyes flutter closed as the morning sun caresses one of the unshielded windows, drawing a column of light across the futon.
“you …” he starts, the essence of a small, breath-laden laugh threaded into his voice, “… always have had an unexpectedly optimistic way of looking at things.”
hwoarang can’t help but laugh. it’s a sharp but mellow sound; brief but explosive with joy, with relief. the lighthearted shift in the atmosphere makes him feel less like he’s going to fall through the floor, and more like things really are going to be alright. they can get through this. they can get through anything.
“what’s that supposed to mean?” he counters, raising an eyebrow. “god knows you need some fucking optimism, with how doom and gloom you are all the time. consider me your personal ray of sunshine, kazama.”
a hum answers him, jin’s expression softening even further. “you’re right. perhaps i will.”
some wordless insistence passes between them thereupon, and hwoarang comes to know exactly what jin needs from him. the redhead sits up a little on the futon, enough so that his lover can rest his head on his chest, and strokes thoughtful fingers through his thick, dark hair. staying this way, they don’t speak for quite a while; they only feel one another physically and beyond, bathed in the warm, white light of the early morning.
♡
wakefulness catches him with near infuriating stealth once more. hwoarang’s lassitude renders it difficult to effectively infer how much time had passed since his last bout of consciousness, but jin’s solid weight on top of him is a bit too distracting for his brain to function at standard capacity, anyway. additionally, neither of them are tethered to a strict itinerary for the ensuing hours of daylight, so he lacks any inclination to concern over it much at all.
idle hands had fallen to rest at the nape of jin’s neck, fingers brushing over where the sleep-warm skin stretches into the planes of his wide back. he’s asleep again, undeniably comfortable against the suspiring pillow of hwoarang’s chest, and looking impossibly more peaceful and beautiful than he had when hwoarang laid eyes on him earlier. he realizes shortly after that jin had likely succumbed to slumber’s influence while listening to his heartbeat.
despite his negligible awareness of the specific hour, hwoarang decides that it’s still too early to be awake for his own tastes. jin appears to agree, though he’d spun that bullshit about being ‘up with the sun’. but it has already been a long day for them, and regardless, his beloved rival could certainly use the extra rest.
yet, just as the redhead makes to get comfortable once again (namely, trying to carefully turn himself away from the lucent window without waking his boyfriend), he feels a familiar stiffness brush against his naked inner thigh, causing him to freeze. surprisingly, jin does not so much as stir at these sequences of movement, but hwoarang only faintly takes note of this, as his brain becomes hyperfocused on the fact that he’s beyond certain he just felt the an erection poke him.
it shouldn’t be shocking. they are dating, they’ve had plenty of sex even before claiming one another ‘officially’, and a male-bodied individual starting the day with a bit of morning wood is simply natural.
but that’s the thing; jin doesn’t get morning wood. something about his body chemistry just doesn’t make for it (hwoarang had once joked with steve, albeit while half-drunk, that it’s because jin’s cock is just so fucking massive that it’s too lazy to get up in the morning, and though he’d never admit it, thinking about that in the present moment causes the slightest flush to heat up his cheeks), and hwoarang has long since gotten over his initial confusion and curiosity surrounding that somewhat bizarre aspect of his partner. ultimately, it is increasingly apparent that the catalyst for the other’s current state is likely genuine arousal.
something about just knowing that elicits a swirling heat in hwoarang’s viscera. it had never been too difficult to get him going, especially when kazama jin is involved.
even so, hwoarang wonders what alignments beget these circumstances. as he studies jin carefully, he notes that it doesn’t appear as though his lover is having some sort of spellbinding sex dream — as stonily as the mishima hier presents, his redheaded lover has before witnessed his responses to erotic occurrences in his dreams, and he very much resembles any other horny person during those moments of carnal desire.
so what is it, then?
the only plausible conclusion to which hwoarang can come is that jin is not actually asleep.
“kazama,” hwoarang begins, lips protruding slightly in a pout. “hey. are you faking, bastard?”
no answer comes; jin only lays there, on top of him, completely sill and breathing evenly. for a moment, hwoarang thinks he may have assessed the situation incorrectly, that perhaps this seemingly typical morning is one for a slew of firsts, but as he gets a closer look at what of his lover’s face is not pressed to the smooth skin of his chest, he notices the telling curve to his lips. jin is smiling.
“you are!” he accuses immediately, tone brandishing the sharp edge of a switchblade (though amusement is the handle that holds it and the spring that extends it). tanned hands grasp at the broader man’s shoulders, shoving at him in nothing more than a playful suggestion of pushing him away. “quit poking me with your hard-on, idiot. that thing practically has a separate heartbeat.”
electing to drop the charade, the raven-haired man sits up with his forearms planted on either side of hwoarang, raising his head from its resting place atop the other man’s chest. his face is still loose and placid, the slight but incredibly apparent smile shaping his pretty lips remaining intact as he looks up at a ‘scandalized’ hwoarang. “my apologies,” he utters, but laughably insincerely, “you’re warm and comfortable. i didn’t want to move.” and he still doesn’t, it seems, for his weight continues to pin the redhead to the futon as he leans closer, murmuring, “are you really complaining?” in such a way that informs hwoarang of jin’s already-established knowledge of the answer.
a huff, and the ginger is squirming beneath him (though not actively trying to get away, of course; more so just to be difficult, to uphold the illusion that he is harder to get than he really is), pointedly disregarding the bit of heat at the apples of his cheeks. jin can be very intense during any interaction, and typically, hwoarang does not let it faze him — but dealing with him like this is an entirely different beast.
“shut up,” he groans uselessly, narrowing his eyes. “what’s got your motor going, anyway? my ‘optimism’ turning you on?”
jin’s smirk angles a bit more steeply, his nearly obsidian eyes glinting like black pearls in the morning light. “could be. or, maybe it’s just you.”
the admission of the extent of the japan native’s attraction to him inspires hwoarang to undergo a slight change in demeanor; no longer does he want to play hard to get or make jin work for it a little, as it’s honestly quite rare the other man is the one to initiate to begin with. typically, hwoarang is the one that has to take the first step, and not only because jin had never done anything even remotely sexual with another person before him, but because he’s impatient and hates beating around the bush. they’d done enough of that since they’d met.
but jin is taking the leap, here; closing the gap between them, and with an underlying eagerness that gets hwoarang’s blood rushing between his ears. he doesn’t care if he looks too desperate, or too easy, or if jin can tell that hwoarang is just as much putty in jin’s hands as the mishima hier is within the clutches of this wildhearted biker from korea. they know their dynamic, by now — there’s no denying the endlessness of their mutual want. stalling it stopped being fun and started being a waste of time a while ago.
hwoarang looks at him; hotly, intently, a lustful inferno captured deep in his sole golden iris. then, peach-skinned lips slowly spread into a wide smile; an ivory sliver of polished bone showing between plush tiers, painting a clear portrait of desire. calloused hands raise to brush the pads of thumbs over his lover’s cheekbones, while the remaining fingers curl into the short hairs at the back of his head, holding him there and staring endlessly into him.
“it’s my fault, either way,” purrs the saffron-tressed. “seems like there’s only one way to fix your growing problem.”
“i can think of a few ways, actually,” says jin, raising up more to flatten hwoarang against the futon. “though, they all involve a lot less conversation, and a lot more of something else.”
“thank god,” the redhead replies, “you suck at dirty talk.”
jin hums, amused. “i’m happy to leave that to you, hwoarang.”
any response hwoarang had thought to utter is swept away in an amative kiss; jin’s lips claiming the other man’s with a soft but firm initiative at first, which gradually builds to something much heavier and more desperate, stemming from the intensifying hunger strung between palpitating hearts. hwoarang falls headfirst into it, matching and even furthering jin’s intensity with his own, clinging onto him tightly where his fingers remain threaded into his rival’s raven hair.
in hardly any time, hwoarang’s slick tongue is sliding between jin’s soft lips, pulling a throaty moan from the other man as their mouths slot deeper together. the honeyed sound adds fuel to the fire glowing in the hearth of the redhead’s core, as does the competitive turn the kiss takes as both of them seek to dominate the other. hot, wet tongues swipe over one another and clashing teeth click lightly in the heat of the ardent battle; a push and pull that sees one boldly asserting a greater verve and the other rushing to meet and do him one better.
hwoarang moans thickly into jin’s mouth, luring his tongue further into his own and sucking it between his lips, only pausing to swirl his own slick muscle around it and to swallow his lover’s affirming sounds of pleasure. evidently, jin is not wholly keen on allowing hwoarang full control; he starts to rut shamelessly against his crotch, reaching down to grip and wrench open one of those powerful legs while the faux-ginger is focused on playing with his tongue, forcing direct contact between their pulsing erections (save for what is obstructed by the thin barriers of their underwear).
a tiny, startled gasp comes in response to the manhandling, but hwoarang doesn’t shy away — conversely, his hips meet jin’s rhythm in earnest, grinding up against him like a lust-maddened lout, and he maintains the burning, desperate nature of their kiss, which grows hotter and rougher with each passing second, with every moan spilled from throat to throat. before either of them know it, they’re both achingly hard in and straining against their briefs, bucking against each other so forcefully, it may appear as though they’re going to fight instead of make love.
hwoarang wouldn’t mind it either way.
one of jin’s strong hands is still holding hwoarang by the thigh, whereas the other scales down the ripples of his abdomen and slips beneath the branded elastic of his waistband. as soon as his hand curls around the redhead’s hard, leaking, pulsing cock, hwoarang mewls out in pleasure and arches slightly, giving jin an opening to seize control of the kiss. he starts stroking in a loose fist, and hwoarang’s pelvis stutters as he bucks yet again, seeking more friction. his hands rake down jin’s back, nails scratching violent reddish streaks into the warm-olive flesh, and he curses when jin’s thumb flicks over the slit.
“fuck,” he exhales, breaking the kiss just to catch his stolen breath, “fuck, jin-ah, quit teasing me.”
in a rare display of relent, jin heeds hwoarang’s request and strokes him faster and tighter, rubbing the pad of his thumb into the dripping slit all the while. his lover moans something high and breathless, throwing his head back and offering his love-mottled neck. leaning in, jin elects to mark him even more, mouthing amorously at the hot flesh, alternating between lips, tongue, and teeth, and coaxing more deliciously undignified sounds from his beloved.
following what feels like an eternity, jin releases hwoarang’s thigh and finally reaches for the small, wooden table by the futon to retrieve the lube. hwoarang makes an impatient sound once jin’s hand goes still around his throbbing cock, but the latter ignores him for the time being, focusing on finding what he’s searching for so they can get to the main event.
when he returns his attention to hwoarang, he finds the other man lying flat and breathing heavy, looking up at him expectantly, almost irritatedly. jin finds it charming.
“you’re impatient,” he murmurs, setting the bottle of lube aside to swiftly remove his own underwear. he doesn’t miss hwoarang watching him, eyeing his body with undeniable interest — gaze especially fixated on the stiff member between his thighs.
“aren’t you observant,” huffs the redhead. “you’re damn lucky you’re so fucking hot, and i’m willing to wait for your slow ass.”
jin smiles, letting out an amused breath. “i suppose i am.”
with that, he settles into a comfortable position between hwoarang’s open legs and drawn-up knees, noting with some interest that his lover had at some point slipped a pillow beneath his tailbone while he was occupied. grasping the bottle once more, jin squeezes some of the translucent substance onto his fingers, attempting to warm it up significantly with his own body heat so it wouldn’t be uncomfortably cold upon entering the gorgeous redhead spread out before him.
he really does look beautiful, lying there. jin had never been proficient with words, especially when describing how things make him feel, but since he first laid eyes on hwoarang back when they were teenagers, something about the korea native had always transfixed him; left him in near disbelief of his beauty. he’d never met anyone like him before. he still hasn’t.
“are you spacing out?” hwoarang asks, raising an undyed brow at him, “there’s kind of an agenda goin’ on here, in case you forgot.”
blinking, the dark-haired man exhales slowly and shakes his head. “it’s cold.”
“what, did you put it in the fucking fridge? you’ve been sitting there rubbing it between your fingers for —”
the lightest trace of a smirk angles the seam of jin’s lips as hwoarang interrupts himself with a gasp upon the first finger entering him. given that he hadn’t been expecting it, he’s significantly tighter than usual and a bit hard to penetrate, but once he recovers from the initial shock, he starts to relax and loosen up.
“you bastard,” he hisses, though his warm cheeks dampen his severity, “i’m gonna get you back for that.”
jin makes no verbal reply, though the way his eyes gleam with an almost impish mischief is response enough for hwoarang. as he focuses on opening the redhead’s clenching channel, he uses his other hand to stroke him off, which, when combined with the way his fingers slide in and out of him, kneading at his walls and rubbing against his prostate, elicits louder moans than before.
hwoarang sinks his teeth into his own lower lip and arches his back when jin’s immaculately long fingers prod at his sweet spot again. opening his eyes, he flashes the other a heated look, gathering the words he wants to say in his now barely-functioning brain.
“come here,” he requests, motioning with his hand for jin to sit up more, “come closer.”
jin obeys, raising up onto his knees, though careful not to remove his fingers from where they’re sunken into his lover. he crawls over until he’s kneeling beside hwoarang’s head, having to reach over the redhead’s stomach in order to keep his hand where it needs to be.
without hesitation, hwoarang lays hands on him, one anchoring him at jin’s thigh, the other wrapping around the thickness of his cock. this prompts a sharp intake of breath from jin, and hwoarang smirks, stroking him at the same rate jin’s fingers slide in and out of his entrance, gathering the precum leaking from the head with the curve of his palm and spreading it over the shaft to ease the glide of his hand over the velvety flesh.
moaning near gutturally, the raven-haired man spreads his thighs slightly to give hwoarang more room to fist his cock, though he doesn’t lose focus on what he himself is doing, spreading his fingers as wide as the other man’s hole would allow and sinking in as deep as possible.
“oh, fuck,” hwoarang whimpers at a certain jab at his prostate, “fuck, baby, let me …”
the latter end of the request is never verbally expressed, but the way hwoarang sits up and buries his face in jin’s lap makes it clear what he wants to do. he continues to jack jin off quickly and steadily, mirroring the ever increasing pace with which his rival fingers him, but now he’s opening his mouth and dragging his tongue over the dripping head of jin’s cock.
the mishima hier releases a strangled cry, throwing his head back and taking in a deep breath as hwoarang swallows him down. it’s clear the redhead has some kind of affinity for doing this, and jin is not complaining in the slightest, though sometimes, he can’t help but wonder how much practice hwoarang has had. as someone who had never taken a lover prior to the man he’s with in the present moment, jin almost (almost) envies his boyfriend’s acquired skill.
there’s little thinking he’s able to do when hwoarang is bobbing his head up and down on his dick, though, and even less when he pulls off just to stroke his spit-slick shaft and roll his tongue over the slit. what little brainpower he has left, he uses to keep his fingers busy, though he’s sure hwoarang can take him by now. he’d always been insistent about how he likes a bit of a tight fit going in.
“hwoarang,” jin sighs out, the pleasure making his stomach tighten, “that’s enough. unless you want this to be over before it starts.”
seemingly quite reluctantly, the caramel-eyed ginger concedes and pulls off with a lewdly wet sound, licking his lips as if trying to savour every trace of jin. the broader man watches him, entranced — falling easily under his spell.
the lust burns unbearably hot after that. jin quickly reassumes his position between hwoarang’s legs, upholding smouldering eye contact with his rival along the way. he climbs overtop of the redhead, and hwoarang looks up at him brightly, tongue running along the seam of his lips as he reaches up to caress the side of jin’s face.
“don’t hold back on me, baby.”
jin presses their foreheads together.
“when have i ever held back on you?”
hwoarang grins, angling himself up just enough to press their lips together into yet another searing kiss.
this time around, jin doesn’t mind it when hwoarang takes control, because he’s much too busy pawing at his own cock and lining it up with hwoarang’s waiting entrance. the push inside is like sliding into a glove, and hwoarang emits a throaty, mewl-like moan as his lover sinks into him. his legs come up to wrap around jin’s waist; those mighty limbs locking around him and effectively keeping him in place, and without a shadow of a complaint, as there’s nowhere else in the world jin would rather be.
at once, he’s working on a rhythm. his cock drags along hwoarang’s walls with a toe-curlingly good friction which has both of them unraveling in just moments, their pleasure heating up the room to a sauna of uninhibited passion.
the long-haired man cries out sharply when jin rocks into his sweet spot, making him jolt and arch into him. it’s evident that hwoarang is starting to lose himself in the carnality of it all, especially when he starts babbling in his native korean, his dyed tresses swirling strikingly against the stark white of the pillow as he lets his head fall back. the extent of jin’s understanding of the korean language exists entirely in the phrases hwoarang tends to use most often (most of which are swears, he’s noticed), but he does know that “joha” means he likes what jin is doing and “deo sege” means he wants it harder.
the sheer gravity of jin’s heavy cock dragging in and out of hwoarang is slowly but surely driving the latter to pleasure-induced insanity; a crashing tidal wave rocking a driftwood raft, pulling him under and drowning him in ecstasy. one hand claws at jin’s back and the other at the futon, an endless string of loud, shameless moans spilling from him as his rival-turned-lover fucks him like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. hwoarang, even with all the hedonistic lotuses he’s swallowed as a distraction from a hard life, could never have guessed something could feel this good.
neither could jin.
and then, just as hwoarang can feel the electric beginnings of his limit approaching, just as jin finds the perfect tempo of railing into him, just as the world becomes nothing but the two of them in this burning hot bedroom — jin’s phone starts ringing.
they ignore it at first, figuring whoever is trying to get ahold of him will fuck off and call back later, but the annoying chiming is infuriatingly persistent, and eventually, jin stops.
hwoarang gawks at him, disbelieving. “you’d better not fucking answer that.”
but jin only exhales slowly, taking a moment to gather himself before picking up his cell phone and accepting the call — while his dick is still deep inside of hwoarang.
“hello?”
“jin!” hwoarang chides, face going bright pink with some seamless combination of anger and embarrassment.
his partner only acts if he isn’t there, though, discussing some business matter with the person on the other line as if he hadn’t just been fucking hwoarang seconds prior. of course, this only makes the rage grow.
“are you fucking kidding me, you bastard? what the fuck is wrong with you? we’re literally having se—”
a strong hand clasps around the base of hwoarang’s throat — not actually enough to cut off his air supply, but tightly enough to stun him into silence. just as he notices hwoarang recover from his shock, however, jin squeezes lightly, just as he does when they’re being a bit more adventurous in bed, and hwoarang has to employ a significant degree of restraint to not blow his load right there.
“my apologies,” jin murmurs to his conversational partner, looking down at hwoarang with dark eyes, “i’m a bit tied up right now. you’ll have to make this quick.”
the person on the other line begins to speak again, hwoarang can hear the processed sound of their chattering, though he can’t make out what they’re saying, and jin starts to thrust once more, biting into his lower lip as he rolls his hips, slow but deep, into his lover.
hwoarang whines and moans as much as he can with the other man’s hand wrapped around his throat, and makes a show of pawing at it uselessly, though they both know he could break this grip easily if he wanted to. it’s exhilarating, having jin fuck him while someone else could very well overhear. somewhere in his mind, he’s surprised his lover would go for something like this.
maybe it really is a day for firsts, after all.
the unknown (and, quite frankly, unimportant) individual on the phone wraps up with whatever they’d called to say, and jin hums in acknowledgement, clearing his throat as insurance his voice will come out the way he wants it to. “i’ll look into it when i can,” he says simply, before withdrawing the phone from the side of his face and ending the call, all without so much as a stutter in his thrusts.
he removes his hand from hwoarang’s neck, and the redhead takes in greedy mouthfuls of air, wheezing out a loud whimper when jin picks up the pace again.
“you … fucking bastard,” hwoarang moans out, clasping his legs tighter around his lover and clutching the back of his head whilst his own falls back once more. “i’m definitely gonna get you back for that.”
jin wears an amused simper, clearly finding some entertainment in hwoarang’s attempts to be threatening while on the edge of an orgasm. “i’ll watch my back, then.”
“you should,” he says, punctuating himself with a hot sigh and an embarrassingly high-pitched cry on a particular collision with his prostate. “fuck, jin-ah, i’m gonna cum.”
at the news, jin reaches down and takes his lover’s cock in a loose fist, jacking him fast and steady to match his thrusts into him. he presses his forehead into the inviting curve at the junction of the redhead’s neck and shoulder, nipping at hwoarang’s collarbone as he focuses all his energy into both of their completion.
finally, hwoarang starts to clench around him erratically, hinting that his hold is breaking. jin tenses, gripping the underside of one of his partner’s thighs with his free hand and grinding down as hard as he can, using both his hold on hwoarang and his own weight overtop of him to keep from sending his lover up the bed with the force of his inward thrusts.
the only warning that comes is a loud cry of jin’s name and blunt nails pressing hard into the flesh of his shoulder blade, and then hwoarang is squeezing him tight and spilling all over both of their stomachs; ropes of white drizzling over tautly pulled abdominals. jin follows close behind, biting down hard onto hwoarang’s clavicle and pouring into him, his release nearly overflowing as it feels as though it lasts a lifetime.
both men lay there, motionless aside from heavy panting, the white-gold glow of the morning light covering them in the heat of euphoria.
“fuck,” hwoarang breathes out, so spent that he feels as though he can’t even move. but he’s smiling. wide.
jin goes limp on top of him, and they end up in a position similar to the one they’d been in before hwoarang discovered that his boyfriend had been faking sleep. a head of dark hair rests on hwoarang’s chest once more, and the barely taller man threads his fingers through jin’s surprisingly soft, shiny fringe.
there’s a stretch of comfortable silence, which finds good company in their relative motionlessness, despite the fact that they have a lot of cleaning up they should be doing. but for the time being, it feels as though lying in each other’s embrace is the best option. thus, they do.
after some time passes, however, hwoarang speaks up, effectively breaking the silence.
“i still can’t believe you answered the phone while you were fucking me.”
though he can’t see his face at this angle, hwoarang thinks he finds evidence of jin blushing in the warm hue his ears take on, and the sudden increased heat of his face against his bare chest.
“i can’t believe i did that, either.”
hwoarang laughs out loud. “what the fuck were you thinking, kazama?”
a puff of air leaves the addressed’s nares, flaring out over hwoarang’s sweat-damp skin. “i didn’t want the ringing to ruin the moment. it didn’t seem like they were going to stop calling.”
the redhead snickers, staring up at the ceiling as he continues to run his fingers through jin’s hair. “it was hot. i liked it. we should do it again.”
“no,” jin answers.
“you say that now,” hwoarang retorts, “but i think i’ve discovered that if i can get you horny, i can convince you to do anything. and i never promised to wield that power responsibly.”
sighing, the raven-haired man looks up at his other half. “you’re a menace, hwoarang.”
“i’m an opportunist,” corrects the redhead. “and maybe a bit of a menace. but you love that about me.”
jin doesn’t deny it.