Work Text:
König always appreciates the quiet solitude of his house, an hour's driving distance from the headquarter of the private military KorTac, situated in a small countryside near rolling hills with lush greeneries.
The neighborhood are vast and silent, each house distanced with surrounding big lawns, friendly folks milling early and minding their own businesses, a farmer market within a good walking distance with cheap, fresh veggies. All but a simple reminiscent of his childhood days of Austria's urban life, a fond memory without the looming presence of school bullies in the back of his mind.
Comes springtime, bringing along with it the sudden change of weather despite the lingering chill of snow in the air and a man. In the last winter, König happily offered the spare room of his house for Horangi.
Most of the time, Horangi always stays in the bustle of military barracks, volunteering to train the new recruits, far away from the comfort of his home country. But the lodgings in camp haven't always been the best and most of the time far from adequate. Horangi had complained in their exfil about how the back of his bed was slowly growing molds and the request to have it changed simply take forever, or the crack in his wall, grumbling heavily under his mask to find a new place soon due to the developing discomfort. He had listened, and in a spur of a moment, with a little help of dimming adrenaline and stim lending a hint of bravery, suggested Horangi to move in with him, of course not without a few meek stutters.
The added presence of the tiger in his house wasn't bad. Great, even, with how Horangi proved himself to be such a good, courteous housemate. Small, little trinkets from many places he has been sent to. A few local Korean dishes, recipes courtesy of his grandmother, shared from his plate to another, altered to fit his slightly mild palates. Imported sweet, intoxicating little bottles of Korea's famous brew, soju.
It was only that the existence of the person with his heartfelt affection, a thin wall away, warrants a little unwanted reaction in his slumber. As the morning sunlight beams, filtering through the curtain of his room, König decides against being a better man and explains his sudden absence like a proper adult to hole himself up in his room for a whole day after noticing a prominent bulge around his sleeping pants right after his rude awakening.
A tactical retreat, he'd say. It helps him from any unnecessary guilt as well. König doesn't really leave his room right after his freezing morning bath, only surviving from his well-stocked drawers and out of sheer spite for himself, spending time fixing up his gears instead, forgoing meals and jumping a little in his seat whenever a door close behind Horangi's room.
But, he forgets (and soon will be forced to remember), the noteworthy story of Horangi's call sign. Horangi is a hunter, and the hunter does not wait for the prey to come calling. He seeks for them. By nighttime, a few jarring knocks are the only warning he receives as Horangi's usual gruff voice emerges behind his door, “König, can I get in?” It was probably just a goddamn rhetorical question as a few sharp rattles on the doorknob soon followed with a, “I'm coming in.”
König manages to throw his hood atop his balaclava out of reflex and habit as Horangi bursts the door open, standing for what felt like eternity before stalking close. König felt it more than he heard, his footsteps muted— Horangi never made a sound, not even when his bed dipped underneath his weight, not until he was the one to open his mouth, his gaze started to drill a hole to his back. König remains, still as a rock, throat dry, deft fingers securing a black duct tape around his helmet, mounting a gear on top of it, hoping the loud tearing sound would drown Horangi's voice. It doesn't.
“Do you want something for dinner?”
Contrary to his wild expectations, Horangi's words are as tranquil as a dragonfly skimming over a lake, calm and pleasant, but it still stirs a gentle ripple in König's heart. It feels like a period of calm before the raging tempest.
“Uh, nein— no, thank you.” He squeezes a reply out, hands gradually all thumbs, seat shaking from the force of his legs' jitters.
“Alright.” A faint creak, a few footsteps shuffling closer to him. It's deliberate, König notes in the back his mind, all the nerves in his body nearly jump from distress. Like he was a prey. No, he probably is, and now Horangi is the beast hot on his trail— to devour his bones clean until not a single string of muscles or skins are left. For once, Horangi's shadow towers over him. It was haunting. “What do you have there, König?” His voice is close, syllables tumbling in that deep timbre of his sending a nasty tingle down the back of König's neck.
König's eyes flicker momentarily, flitting left and right before he offers the same helmet he has been working on for Horangi whilst searching for an answer underneath his tongue in passing. “My gear. Left a dent in the last one during the previous insertion mission. Door's solid.”
Horangi takes it, like an offering of a mouse left by a cat for its master, palming around it with his hands to inspect with a hum of acknowledgement, “dreams and prayers too, I hope.”
König immediately deflates, wilting like a dying plant as he hunches down, half tempted rolls his shoulder in to fold himself into two to make himself smaller. Horangi curses something underneath his breath, probably the same korean expletives he often hears over the mic from him in the warzone, and starts again, more carefully, a slight regret dripping from his tone, “no, no, I was just surprised, yeah?”
“You don't have any military supply's contact?” König shakes his head firmly, finding it a hassle to associate with other operators and worse, to get another stranger's number. He settles with a regular solid helmet, altering it to suit his needs. Easier that way. Certainty bleeds in his answer, “I don't need one, Schatz.”
Confidence is an attractive look on König, but Horangi isn't here to ogle on his boyfriend, not necessarily all for that, at least. After a small moment of probing, König appears to be more relaxed, and of course, Horangi has to strike when the iron is hot, pouncing right into his query when he least expects it.
“Alright, good for you. So,” a hand rested on König's covered shoulder, demanding, earning a ripple of flinch travelling underneath his skin, “can we talk a little about your lack of appearance today, Mein Lieber?” That rolls off his tongue nicely, coated with his usual thick accent that always drives König a little crazy. König feels like he bites more than he could chew when another boat of shivers ripped off from him.
In the lack of better words, tongue birth nothing but silence, leave for a faint noise of his legs rattling uncomfortably under his working desk. Horangi decides to fill it in again, speech softening considerably. “Are you uncomfortable?” Assumptions are easy, and one could only assume in a maddening secrecy. “I could move out, you know. I don't mind.” His stomach starts to lurch in excruciating discomfort. “It's alright if you are not ready.”
König whips his head up so fast his neck cricked, his blood running cold, gaze unsteady, darting over Horangi with a hint of red staining the white of his eyes, like a tint of blood sullying a placid, blue lake, and gaped.
“N—Nein!” He sputters weakly, more like a pitiful squeak, an attempt of trying to salvage the situation more than a defence. He'd rather put a glock inside his mouth anyday than losing Horangi over a problem of his stupid, uncontrollable dick. But the words were dying quickly in his throat, a mess of jumbling thoughts popping one by one in the back of his mind, none felt particularly helpful in his current predicament, “I.. I am just—”
“Go on…” Horangi is patient in this one, brown oculars steadily trained on him, the flickering light illuminating his room melts brown into molten gold, lending an air of sublime serenity. An uncontrollable desire itches under his skin, rustling in his blood with his sick obsession (should it not be called so, when all he could think about is nothing but Horangi?)
“Dream.. I dreamed—” His groans softens, fight dampening as the hue of red dusting the hollow of his cheeks went unseen, veiled from Horangi's prying eyes with the help of shadow from his hood, looking up from under fluttering lashes, he laments, “—of you.”
They stared at each other in a silence that suddenly grew more comfortable as Horangi's sharp features mellowed, a hint of blush creeping up from the base of his neck, slowly settling in his cheeks. The corners of his lips twitched, pulling at the delicate scar tissue around his scar. Horangi could read between the lines, between that heated gaze König threw at him, and understand his underlying meaning.
It'd be a lie to say that Horangi initially never expected König to jump him during the early days of their working relationship, but König has been nothing but a sweet, courteous dear unlike his general warfare impression. The most contact they had was a simple chaste kiss by lips before he'd sauntered off shyly. Maybe all of those western movies he'd watched were a massive, big fucking lie.
Fucking adorable.
After a moment of recollecting himself back, Horangi allows his bare fingertips to glide gently across König's shoulder, slithering inside his hood and tucks his digits under his balaclava, sending a burning sensation around König's throat with their touching skins. A silent invitation. König takes a hard gulp, swallowing audibly. Horangi always does that whenever he asks for a kiss from König.
“Do you, now?” There's no reason to keep a dream, a dream now, right?
The bed dips low underneath their shared weight. Horangi sits upon König's laps, a throne of the king solely designed for him, straddling his hips, hands all but cradling his cheeks, fingering harsh fabric of his balaclava, rolled up to the bridge of his nose, head solemnly tucked underneath König's make-shift sniper hood, and lips slotted perfectly together. Horangi doesn't demand more than he was given; content with their close proximity, mouth fumbling together in the damp darkness shared by them.
König whispers wetly against spit-slicken lips, begging with trembling hoarseness in his voice, unbearable stuffiness residing in his chest, suddenly overwhelmed with rumbling desire to be seen, by Horangi, by this man, “take it off, Schatz.” He sighs desperately, each syllable brimming with longing that parades itself. “Please.” And Horangi doesn't need to be encouraged twice, hands bumbling in the dark, discarding the black hood that descend over König's face to the floor, and slowly, slowly, with clumsy hand, pulling his balaclava away to finally see König and drags him close to seal their lips together again.
König might have imagined the swelling tenderness in Horangi's eyes, lashes gently fluttering shut to allow himself to melt in this kiss. It tastes like the warmth of the sun that was all Horangi, like a home that he has been denied from. König almost loathes the separation that follows as Horangi pulls away, lithe digits sink into his hair, lips trailing down his sharp brows down to the corner of his eyes, to his crooked nose that has been broken too many times, to the hideous scar that extends down from his cheek to his lips.
“Horangi—” König chants his name like a prayer, like a broken plea, choking on the sobs present in his voice, coiling in his throat like a claw, but König has never been more willing to be torn apart piece by piece, pinned in a glass display like a butterfly for Horangi's eyes, to drown in his eyes and attention, for Horangi to hold him like this, like he is precious despite how repulsive he looks.
“I know,” Horangi continues to pepper soft kisses down König's defined jaw, flashing a deceptively charming smile that will be burned forever into his memory as words of softest devotion bleeds tenderly from his lips, “it's so good to see you, König.”
“Bitte,” König murmurs softly, struggling in translation, his own pulse thrumming in his ears as he dug his fingers into Horangi's hips, “I want to see you too.”
Horangi gives out a silky laugh, reaching out for König's hand to let it rest on his chest, mapping out each ridges of his body, slowly down to the corner of his clothes and giving it an encouraging nudge. König allows his hand to unravel across Horangi's clothed skin, peeling each fabric underneath his fingertips. Horangi trembles minutely when cold air hits his skin, but never shy away, as König strips him out of his armour, the last piece of defence ripped away, tumbling down, revealing all unguarded pieces of him, ugly with purposefully carved imperfections. A line of carefully etched scar down the base of his neck to the end of his spine, extending down to his limbs, sides and front akin to a tiger's stripes. It wasn't pretty, it wasn't that noble, either. It curls a newly-found shame in his throat, sharing each vulnerability with each stroke of König's fingertips to his scars. It feels like a big leap of faith for both of them.
Horangi was always dangerously lethal in the field, deadly proficient, knife cutting mercilessly with dazzling precision, equally gifted with rifles, bullets easily aimed between a hostile's eyes. All that König wants and yearns to be. As much a monster of war as König is. Truly, a man after König's own heart.
König doesn't say a word, bowing his head down reverently, pressing chapped lips in a dainty kiss against scarred skin, closer to an act of worship and love, caressing each dips and curves of his body, feeling the comforting heat radiating his body against him, basking in the presence of gentle red hues creeping underneath Horangi's flesh.
“You are always so beautiful, Schatz.” König hopes he doesn't sound as breathless as he is, desperate and hot exhalation against the surface of Horangi's pale, damp shoulder with practised familiarity he learns from nightly trances, leaving a trail of red marks in his wake, drawing crimson constellation upon Horangi's flesh. It sent a shudder across Horangi's limbs as he craned his head slightly to the side, allowing König to inch into the gentle slope of his neck where he happily dragged the flat of his tongue across tender skin there, lapping gently and tasting salt of his sweat and scent that almost made him heady and ache with need.
Horangi swallows an embarrassingly soft whine like a prey on precipice in the back of his throat heavily, throat bobbing with effort as his hands remain threaded in König's locks, trailing down to the back of his neck to gently push König closer to him, seeking the sheer comfort and relief it brought. He licks his swollen-kissed lips, voice edged hoarse, “how did you dream of me?”
Both of them held nothing but the awkward tenderness of unloved things, forced to improvise and softly, gently prying their clenched fists for others, each touch of skin giving an emotional context to the violence of their world, building delicate intimacies shared in their proximity.
“Did you dream to be held?” A hand shifts away, drawing a faint line across König's neck, slowly up his jaw and tips his chin gently with calmness that belies his embarrassment, fiddling playfully with light, sensual scratches within König's bared throat, “or do you want to hold me?”
König flushes deeply, mottled cheeks tinted with the softest hue of red, and oh god, was it a sight for sore eyes. Horangi feels a pang of need to cradle his face in his palms once more, fingertips tracing leisurely until his hands fully cups König's face again, his voice barely a breath, barely a whisper in his sensuous remark, “tell me.” And, who was König to deny his tiger an answer that he demands? He readily glances to Horangi, hunger and fondness searing in his eyes as he draws a short breath, lingering hands by his waist easily drag Horangi close, closer, until he sits upon a straining, prominent bulge of his pants, rutting against Horangi in a sweet, tantalising stroke between his clothed ass, eliciting a delightful, surprised gasp from him.
“Oh..” A throaty laughter rumbles in Horangi’s chest as understanding dawns in him. He dips down to press a butterfly kiss down against König’s neck, fleeting and quick. They were nothing but men dictated by honed instinct, predatory and violent, but König stills, and Horangi did it again, and again, euphoric at the gained trust König had for him, of how much power König would hand to him. Horangi hums in acknowledgement, canting his hips slightly to grind against König’s cock over his pants, mouthing wetly on his bobbing throat as he guides König’s hand to his cargo pants. A cue, a permission. Calloused digits fumbles messily for a moment, the sound of zipper being pulled down filled the silence of the empty air, and König promptly tucks his fingers in, feeling and subtly hissing at the burn of their collided skin, and ease Horangi’s pants, as well as his boxer, down with a decisive tug. The latter raises his hips momentarily, on his knees, to wriggle out of his garments as he wheezes out a sigh of relief when his aching cock is finally free from the tight confine of his pants with König hungrily watching it unfold underneath his attentive eyes, cheeks quickly filling with more colour.
“Enjoying the show?” A question carelessly thrown, noticing the burning gaze on his presence, the corner of his lips curling up in apparent amusement, tugging the burning scar that constantly displays his canine along with rows of pearly white teeth. A sight König would gladly die and kill for. He was far past too enamoured. König is still midway through his trance when Horangi’s eyes lowers down, finding his clothed erection, and muses to himself, “lubes?” A shy, gentle shake of head, lips pursed into a thin line from embarrassment. There were always too few times to get into his own pants amidst the bustle of military, and it wasn’t as if tumbling into beds with someone else is a frequent occurrence on his part. Never, in fact. He was too scary to be wanted, too ugly to be desired. He’d usually rub a quick one, and call it a day.
Horangi leans down to peck at his lips, his kiss akin to an anchor back to reality, eyes crinkling, grin remains pleasantly stretched, “do I have you back, my big guy?” König’s cheeks are quickly filled with blood at the endearing call, lashes fluttering meekly as he looks up at Horangi, imagining the circle of bright halo behind his head, immensely lovestruck, filled with a staggering urgency of selfish obedience to revere him on a holy altar. “Is this your first time?” It was meant to be an off-handed remark, one casually inquired to break the ice, and Horangi hadn't fully expected the subtle nod that follows. His heart swells a little in adoration, overwhelmed with the urge to take care of him, blaming it to König's innocence in the back of his mind, mentally berating himself, because how could a massive guy built like a brutal brickhouse is also a sweet, precious little thing?
“Sit back, yeah?” He rests a hand on König's shoulder, the other snaking up to brush against his lips, sticking his fingers into his mouth, which König gladly takes in, eager to please, boneless flesh fervently lapping against Horangi's digits as the pads of his fingers playfully pressing against it in tandem, tackling for dominance, lathering it with a generous amount of saliva. Horangi settles back to König’s laps, slightly leaning back to allow a better view of his erection and entrance, licking his swollen-kissed lips nervously whilst experimentally massaging tight rims with the pads of his fingers, and slowly pushed in accompanied with a soft, wet gasp. Thrusting slowly up to the middle knuckle, wrist faintly brushing against the tent of König’s pants, he quickly adds another finger impatiently, wriggling into the tender flesh of his insides.
He could lightly feel the tremor running across Konig’s body, a soft sounding whimper eluding his lips that simply sounds way too sweet and compelling, encouraging him to stretch his walls open with a scissor motion wider, open and slack for the Austrian's eyes. Horangi doesn’t hide a hoarse, ragged groan from escaping his lips, raising his leg to rake his heel over König’s firm torso as his eyes flutter open to look at König. He was panting harshly under his breath, absolutely disheveled, the corner of his eyes red and slightly damp with moisture as if Horangi had bullied him, blue oculars glazed over with hunger that could kill a man, as he brought a shaky hand to coil around Horangi’s ankle. Horangi rasped with breathy moans and laughter, listening to the drawn-out moans hissed from his mouth, “c’mon, you can touch me, sweetheart.”
That was all the encouragement he’d need to finally hike Horangi’s leg high, up until he could latch his teeth around the meat of his ankles in a soft, toothy bite, not enough to draw blood, simply to leave a white imprint of his teeth. Horangi yelps in surprise, almost knocked to his back, and König readily pounces, guiding his grip to travel down to the back of his knee, rubbing over exposed skin as his fingers follow Horangi’s endeavor between his legs, enveloping smaller fingers within his own as he works them in and out of his spasming hole. It fills him with a twisted anticipation of hunting the tiger, the noblest of the beast.
“O–Oh, fuck..” He mewls incoherently as a shudder runs through his body, throwing his head back and arched his back around the burn of having four fingers up in his ass. König’s fingers are thicker and longer, stretching him tight, but the slides were slow and almost dry. Horangi jerks up, kicking by reflex, a leg over König’s shoulder. It stings like a bitch, but he was too reluctant to tell König to stop, not after his recently gained bravery. But maybe König noticed, with the way his grip tightened as he raised Horangi’s hips higher. Ass high in the air, this has to be the most vulnerable he has ever been, and he cannot help but inhale a sharp intake of hitching breath, tension coiling low in his gut when he feels warm liquid trickling into his entrance. He snaps his head up instantly, finding König bowing his head, tongue hanging slack from his mouth, translucent pearly string dripping from it into his hole. He digs his heel to König’s back, muttering a string of Korean expletives under his breath and keening, “who taught you that..”
Of course it was him, of course, it was him. His vision starts to sway when König pumps in their fingers together again, the sound of it fucking into him was obscenely filthy, slick and wet from König's saliva.
“Am I doing good?” König’s voice was meek and a little rough at the edge from desperation, a palpable contrast of how strong he was pounding his insides with his fingers, crooking at the right place that almost made him come dry on the sheets. Horangi clutches on his wrist with a free hand for dear life, folded in half in König’s hand, pliant and welcoming, cooing honey-coated encouragement as he brings the moment to a halt, “so, so good for me.”
He swallows thickly, “get on your back and strip for me, yeah?”
König is a little reluctant, but he’d rather shoot himself than deny any of Horangi’s requests, leaving with a sloppy squelch and quickly freed himself from any article of clothing into a pool of messy fabrics by the bedside. Once again, König hands the reins to him, allowing Horangi to tower over him with bleeding devotion in his eyes, and it’d be a lie to say it doesn’t send pleasure all over his body, fondness rustling wildly underneath his skin. He rests his hands on top of König’s stomach, palms splayed out as he grinds König’s cock between the crack of his ass, already standing erect in full glory. Be it length or his girth, he’s big. God really does have a favorite, he faintly thought between König’s suppressed gasps when he finally grasps his shaft with a hand and slowly sinks down, inch by excruciating inch, rolling his eyes shut from the stinging pain of being stretched taut.
Horangi bucks his hips, taking more and more, reeling with the way he was filled, their wet moans mingling in the air as the tip of König’s cock gradually opening up his walls for smoother entry, pushing in until his ass is flush against König’s pelvis, his cockhead pressing all the way into his stomach, against the end of his gut, almost had his knees buckling.
Horangi flicks his eyelids open, finding König again, with damp and red eyes burning holes into the lower parts of their bodies snugly joined together, König's cock completely disappearing in his hole, rims stretched taut and a small trickle of red cascading down his nose to the paleness of his cheek.
“Pervert.” He teases, the playful lilt of his voice distinctly carrying a hint of mirth as he shuffles forward to swipe the blood off his skin with the flat of his tongue, eyes twinkling with a glimmering light of excitement. And despite the adorable, bashful flush of his cheeks, König fervently accepts the kiss Horangi offers with a weak whimper rumbling in his chest, lips touching, hot tongues intertwined to share the tangy, metallic taste at the top of their taste buds. It tastes gross, but gloriously divine; a sentiment shared by them with a grin.
“Your pace, or mine?” He whispers lightly against König's lips amidst their intermingling breath, reciprocated kindly as König licks him greedily like a dog, hands coming to a rest on his hips, caging him in his warm embrace, “yours.”
Horangi smiles at that, rewarding König with one last peck before straightening his back, leaving him staggering in the sudden absence, feeling the burn of yearning in his throat to possess and claim Horangi's lips, the taste of him too addicting it makes his head swim with needs, cock pulsating with arousal inside Horangi.
The abrupt throb of König’s swollen cock almost had Horangi keeling over, giving an arousing illusion of him growing bigger inside him, a rough and guttural croak resounding, drawn proudly from his parted lips as Horangi starts slow, jerking his hips up, König’s toned stomach still an anchor for his hands, the edge of blunt nails kneading firm skin there before he sinks down once more in one fluid stroke, a hoarse moan punched out of him as König’s dick plunged into him, fucking him open whilst brushing against a bundle of nerve that almost had him seeing stars, the trickling pre-cum leaking from König's cock easing their joining. It helps, but only a little, Horangi might have regretted his decision a little to ride König, but what was he if not determined. A little fucked up choice is nothing new for a dogshit gambler like him, even if it means almost being split open by his lover's dick in two because the lack of proper lubrication.
It sets a good rhythm to his pace, starting to bounce on König's cock in earnest, feeling his massive erection jostling and rearranging his insides to fit him, his own cock neglected to chase their pleasures together. Horangi was so, so good, so beautiful impaled on his cock, brows occasionally knitted deeply together as his mouth hangs open, drool dribbling over his gaping scars, all sorts of frantic, high-pitched moans spilling, drenched with a translucent mixture of his own sweat and saliva, and König cannot help but to reach out, wanting to wipe it for him. Everything feels way too much, yet too little to soothe the burning ache in him, sending a tingle of ticklish sensation in his belly.
“No, not there.” Horangi chides, huffing with ragged laughter whilst snagging his wrist away, dragging it to travel down his body, roaming over his heated skin until it lands on his abdomen, König's fingertips pressing against firm, solid muscles, kneading lightly. “What do you think that is?”
“Y—Your abs?” He gasps, red-tinted eyes unrelentlessly trained on him when a single rock of Horangi's hips proves him wrong, kicking a little jolt of pressure against the surface of his fingers, spiking his arousal further as his leaking dick penetrates deep into Horangi, distending his belly with his sheer size alone. “No, it's your cock.”
König wants to sob, from the pleasure clouding his brain, from the weight of love and care Horangi extends for him, his brain tantamount to a broken recorder chanting a chain of his name alone, momentarily leaving him too dumb to comprehend, to process anything outside of Horangi until something in his stomach lurch, gut coiling when Horangi worry over it a tad bit harder, a tad bit longer. A different need of release hits him like a wave.
That's what he got after being a bitch in his own room for a day. König writhes uncomfortably, the single action angling the length of his shaft to settle even deeper against the end of Horangi's guts, fucking a broken moan out of Horangi's lips accompanied with a sweet, full-body shudder.
“Horangi, I need to— bathroom—” Horangi doesn't really pay attention, eyes half-lidded, fucked too stupid to listen, the pressure building up on König's stomach a tell-tale of his release, his hands kneading lightly to relieve him from the pressure, a few centimeters shy from the center of König's tight and full bladder, simply concluding König is too much of a dear to cum inside him. He slurs softly, hips stuttering to edge them closer towards that sweet release, “mmn? Just, just come inside..”
“Scheiße..” König whines pathetically, the sound heavenly and goes straight to his dick before Horangi notices a hot liquid pouring into him. The searing heat sends him tumbling, arms perched deeper into König's belly for support, encouraging him to continue emptying his bladder inside Horangi.
Horangi groans quietly, the constant, steady flow of it pumped into him had him reeling, water sloshing with the slightest movement, pooling inside, scorching his tender inner walls. The thin consistency tells him it's probably not his spend, and König truly needed that trip to the bathroom. Horangi was a little mortified, but his life has pretty much been an amalgamation of piss poor decisions, what's a little (actual) piss, hitting the back of his stomach with the fresh, constant flow?
Horangi thinks he might be a little deranged when he feels a spike of arousal coiling in him, simply by taking all König has to offer. After a small extended period of little spurts, the flow of his secretion finally ebb, leaving König sated, red dusting his cheeks as he repeatedly mumbled his apologies in his mother language, words lost in translation. He'd rather not take that right now, knocked full with König's cock and piss, belly swelling. It gives him the faint impression of it leaking between his legs, and nothing seems to prepare Horangi for the shame it will bring instead.
He clenches his entrances around the base of König's cock, effectively trapping everything inside him with the help of that massive girth, tearing an euphoric groan from König.
“Shh, all good, yeah?” He rasps, chest heaving with shaky exhalations as he shuffles forward, stomach heavy. König's hands kept him steady, body slouching with tension. “Let's switch. Help me on my back.”
König obediently complies, pinning Horangi's warm, pliant body underneath him with a single fluid moment without breaking their union, toppling over Horangi as he winds his palms around Horangi's hips, nails biting into the supple skin there.
“Make it good, big guy.” Horangi purrs, still taking the time to ruin his mouth despite being crammed so full he cannot help but to squirm lightly in König's hold, walls still clamping hard around him.
“J—Ja, anything for you, Kätzchen.”
König starts by slowly rolling his hips forward, slanting his cock to kiss the end of Horangi's insides, balls deep into the tiger before he pulls out, bringing along translucent golden liquid dripping from stretched rims, leaking down from Horangi's trembling thighs to the messy sheets, darkening the fabric with wet patches. And without a warning, König snaps his hips harshly, a wet and lewd squelch resounding in their chamber, knocking along a desperate whimper from Horangi’s lips.
It was good, way too good to be enveloped around the wet warmth of Horangi's walls, sucking him back inside with each drags of his cock. His piss has all but thoroughly fucked out of Horangi.
There are no pace or rhythm in his hips, each thrusts filled with desperate urgency as König lifts Horangi’s legs higher, up to his shoulders and leaning down so hard in a tight mating press until Horangi’s cock is flush to his stomach, smearing white substance all over his stomach. Horangi gasped, head swimming, eyes clouded with hazy pleasure as his folded body rocks roughly against the duvet underneath him. König snaps his hips harder, once, twice and chases after Horangi's lips, drinking his sweet moans in his mouth, tongue licking into his mouth as his hips start to stutter fiercely.
“Horangi..” He hears König's sharp moans against his lips, another indication he's getting closer to release as he fucks Horangi harder, his aching cock rubbed raw against both of their stomachs as Horangi finally comes, orgasm ripped out of him like waves, slowly dissolving into a mind-numbing pleasure as white ropes of cum stains their skins, down to the saturated sheets below.
König feels Horangi's walls flutters around his cock, his body tightens and taut as König slams in again, balls slapping crudely against Horangi's flesh as he empties inside the man, filling his guts with hot spurt as he still rolls his hips shallowly, riding down his blissful orgasm with his lover, fucking his cum deeper into him as Horangi's insides spasm, trying to milk him of every last drop of his seed.
They'd need a change of sheets. And possibly a warm bath after this.
“Are you going to stay here?”
Horangi looks up from the bed, having been faceplanting himself into the scent of freshly washed sheets and blanket, nuzzling into the comfort of freshly washed fabric, carrying the scent of clean laundry and a hint of floral detergent.
“Are you mad at me for wetting your bed?” Horangi begins in his thick korean-accented english, his tired, drooping eyes searching for König's expression, finding the fondness in König's eyes melt into his surprise.
“N—No—!” König answers in haste, nearly jumping from where he stands, hands fiddling, wringing another pristine white blanket in his arms as he bounces from one foot to another restlessly. A protracted silence engulfs them, hanging awkwardly in the air before König finally adds, throat bobbing nervously, gaze locked together, earnest and fervent, “stay with me, Kätzchen.”
Horangi smiled, a small, private and tender curve of his lips— and dare he says, if König sees him everyday, he will always remember this moment, enshrined forevermore.
“Where else am I going to go?”