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The NDA was the most nerve-wracking part. Jiung had pulled out his phone, hands trembling, but the man had barely even looked at the screen, just scribbled a signature with his index finger. A second later, his hand was tilting Jiung’s chin upward, and he was asking if he could kiss Jiung.
Jiung had paid for a couple of hours, so they aren’t actually in any real rush. He’d picked a hotel that felt discreet—no theme, no front desk workers at all, just a small kiosk by the entrance for him to swipe his card. The only real indication that this isn’t a regular hotel room is the small box of condoms that were on the nightstand when Jiung walked in.
After that first kiss, some of Jiung’s nerves start to settle. He decides quickly he likes the feeling of being kissed by a man. The scratch of evening stubble, the subtle scent of cologne that hangs off of him, all of it feels like ambrosia. Or maybe Jiung is just high on the newness, the novelty.
The man’s big hands find Jiung’s waist and start to lift the hem of Jiung’s shirt to touch underneath: gentle, practiced fingers on sensitive skin. Jiung had noticed when the man arrived how his hands are bigger than Keeho’s. His fingertips are soft where they press into the delicate flesh of Jiung’s waist. Keeho’s would be rougher from playing guitar. Jiung is certain of it.
The man’s fingers trail lower, just sinking below the waistband of Jiung’s jeans. It’s a sensation that’s surprisingly easy for Jiung to melt into. He falls forward; gasps directly into the man’s mouth; feels how the man smiles against him, like maybe he’s turned on by Jiung’s neediness.
Jiung’s hard, and he’s sure the man feels it, because he grabs the meat of Jiung’s ass and uses the leverage to rock Jiung against himself. And, oh, Jiung realizes the man is hard too. And that’s, well, Jiung likes the feeling of that. Like knowing the man is getting something out of this, just like Jiung is.
The man rolls Jiung’s body against his, again and again. It makes Jiung feel small. It feels good. They’re barely even kissing anymore. Mostly, Jiung is just rubbing his spit over the man’s lips and part of his cheek. Maybe this should embarrass Jiung—being this desperate so quickly—but the man hasn’t slowed the motions of his hips, and his breathing is deep, and heavy, and Jiung swears he feels it directly in his cock.
Eventually, though, the man pulls back from Jiung. A thin line of spit connects their mouths, and Jiung gets a good look at the man’s face, then. He’s attractive, undeniably so, with high cheekbones and a long face and a nose that comes to a neat point at the tip. He’s so attractive that Jiung can barely believe someone like him would agree to do this with someone like Jiung.
The man’s face is flushed a dark red, and that, yeah, that gets to Jiung. The man steps toward the bed, pulling Jiung with him by the hand. “You ever done this before?”
Jiung considers lying. He chews his bottom lip, and thinks about the circumstances that led him to doing this with someone he’s never met before. Jiung’s hesitation must give him away, because the man smiles. His teeth are small, with a gap in the middle. Undeniably different from Keeho’s. Jiung half-wishes the man would smile a little less.
“Cute,” the man mutters. “Don’t worry, I can make it good for you.”
The man gets down on his knees then, and pops the button on Jiung’s pants with a practiced sort of ease. It was something he’d mentioned to Jiung, when they were talking online, how he liked the anonymity of encounters like this. They way they could be could be tender, and fleeting.
That was what drew Jiung to the man in the first place, he supposes. He was forward, direct. He didn’t shy away from telling Jiung exactly how cute he was, or exactly what he wanted to do with Jiung. It took some pressure off of Jiung, not having to be the one to initiate. Not having to think too much about the why’s. He’s happy the man didn’t ask.
Still, despite the lengths the man went to to make Jiung comfortable, Jiung feels a little cold, a little exposed, pants pooled around his ankles. Luckily, the man doesn't waste time. He takes Jiung into his mouth, engulfing him in a wet sort of warmth. It’s different from the feeling of Jiung’s own hand.
The man must sense Jiung’s nerves, because with a gentle hand he starts to rub up and down the side of Jiung’s bare leg, palm smoothing over muscle and sparse hair, just enough to soothe some of Jiung’s lingering worry. The man gathers more spit in his mouth, swirls his tongue, this—yeah, this feels good. This feels easier.
The man works over Jiung’s cock for a few minutes, all spit and warm mouth. It turns Jiung on, the sensation, and the sight of the man on his knees in front of him. The man stops before Jiung finishes, which Jiung appreciates. He then slides off his own pants and arranges himself on the bed, sitting up with his back against the headboard. He pulls down his briefs, and Jiung watches how his cock springs free, red and slick at the tip. It makes Jiung’s head spin suddenly, remembering how that’s going to be inside of him.
The man pats the spot beside him on the bed, clearly urging Jiung to join him. “D’you wanna try?” he asks, and Jiung nods his head yes, as he crawls up onto the bed. It makes the man smile again, him and his high cheekbones and long face that are familiar in a way that if Jiung thought too hard about would probably make his heart ache in his chest.
Gently, the man brings a hand up to the back of Jiung’s head, and then slowly, he guides Jiung downward. And Jiung, he goes easily. Curiosity thrums though him, staring at the curve of the man’s cock and the wet shine of precum at the slit as anticipation of how it will feel, putting it in his mouth for the very first time, builds. The thought alone is enough to make Jiung’s mouth water. He’s wanted this, or something like it, at least, for so long.
Experimentally, Jiung brings his tongue out to lick the head of the man’s cock. The salty tang of his precum catches Jiung by surprise, and it makes him dip his tongue in, just parting the slit to taste the man again. The man’s breath hitches, like he’s enjoying what Jiung is doing. It feels a lot like when Jiung gets praised in rehearsals, and it spurs him on enough to part his lips and take the head of the man’s cock between them.
The man lets Jiung explore: lets him run his tongue over the underside of his cock; lets him suckle wetly on the head. “You can take more,” he says softly.
And Jiung tries it. He hollows his cheeks and bobs his head, fitting more of the man in his mouth and down his throat. What he can’t reach with his mouth he covers with his hand. Spit leaks wetly down onto his fist, and the man grabs at Jiung’s hair, pushing it out of his face, holding it, pulling it.
On accident, Jiung takes too much. It forces an unpleasant gurgling sound from his throat as he chokes, and he has to pull back for a moment.
The man’s eyes are kind, though. Forgiving. Jiung’s glad for that. “It’s ok. That was really good. I liked it,” he says, taking himself in his hand and stroking a few times. It makes something warm well up in Jiung. Pride from the praise. He's doing well.
“Do you wanna—?” The man motions for Jiung to lay back, and Jiung understands immediately what he’s getting at. “Actually, wait here,” the man mutters, like an afterthought, and he gets up to rummage through his bag.
Jiung arranges his limbs while he waits. It’s a little awkward—the motel bed is so much bigger than his bed back in the dorm, and it makes him feel small; out of his element. That feeling just continues to build as the man returns to the bed with a small bottle of lube held in his hand.
“Turn over onto your stomach for me, ok?”
Jiung does, feeling how the soft comforter rubs against his belly. He wraps his arms around the pillow under his head, then turns just enough to watch as the man climbs back up onto the bed behind him.
Jiung expects the soft click of the lid on the bottle. What comes after, though, is more surprising. Jiung feels the man running soft, bony knuckles down his spine. A hand grips the meat of Jiung’s asscheek and gently pulls it to the side, before blunt pressure starts to press against his rim.
“It’s your first time,” the man mutters. It’s a statement more than a question.
Jiung grunts a, “Mmm,” in reply. Noncommittal. He’s imagined this moment before—a handful of times, in the dorm shower, hand slick with soap, working a finger inside of himself, just to see how it would feel.
In those moments, Jiung thinks of how his own fingers are knobbier than Keeho’s; cuticles scabbed and nails bitten-down. And then inevitably, he ends up interrupted by a loud knock on the bathroom door and Taeyang’s shouted voice telling Jiung to hurry up because he needs to piss.
There’s a depth to it, the amount that Jiung has thought about this. The careful planning. The way he feels the desire in his body, as this heady thing, this tangible thing. Jiung’s sure he wants this: that much, at least, he’s known for years. But it's different, longing for someone for so long, then having to reconcile the reality that being with a man isn't the same as being with one in particular.
Thoughts continue to swirl in Jiung’s head as he feels the cool, wet press of a finger against his hole. “Relax, yeah?” The man laughs under his breath, and then the man’s hand is on Jiung’s back again, rubbing over the skin there, calming.
Jiung breathes deeply, relaxing into the sensation of a finger working into him. It’s an easy stretch, with the lube, but it’s still foreign, and new, and that makes it that much more intense.
Jiung’s heart races as the man slowly works a slick finger in and out of his hole. He starts to break out in a cool sweat, worry creeping in around him. Jiung wants this, even if it feels a bit like checking items off a carefully memorized list. It’s just that he’s been fixated on it for too long:
Debut; lose his virginity; tell Keeho how he feels.
The cool pressure of another finger starts to press against Jiung’s rim. The stretch is noticeable, and Jiung has to breathe into it, but then the second finger eases into him, surprisingly quickly. The feeling is different than when Jiung’s done this on himself, but it isn’t bad. He’s not hard anymore, but he thinks he could get hard again, if he let himself go; if he got out of his head, just a bit.
Jiung hates how his brain supplies that he’d like this a lot with someone else. He’d definitely be hard. He’d probably be leaking, too, wet a sticky at the tip of his cock. Maybe he’d be desperate, begging for it, hole stretching, eager and greedy to be filled.
But then again, that someone wouldn’t be a near-stranger.
That someone would be the person who once told Jiung that Jiung knows him better than anyone else does.
“You still doing ok?” the man in the hotel room right with Jiung right now asks. A part of Jiung still can hardly believe that someone who doesn’t even know him would want to do something like this with him. But then again, Jiung wants to do this with this stranger, too, enough.
(He wonders who the man is picturing when he takes his cock in hand and rolls the condom down over the end.)
The man slides in real slow, and Jiung surprises himself with the gasp he lets out. It’s—wow, it’s a lot. Just fullness, and a stretch Jiung never imagined his body capable of. But it isn’t bad. No it’s—god, it makes him want to squirm, writhe, grind into the bed, just to take that little bit of edge off.
The man rocks his hips, all slow, letting Jiung adjust. He’s got big hands splayed down Jiung’s back, gripping sweat-dampened skin, and he uses that as leverage to draw back, before he thrusts in more sharply.
A quiet, “Uhh,” escapes Jiung’s lips when the jut of the man’s hip bones make contact with his ass. It’s really starting to set in now, the fact Jiung’s doing this, after wondering for years what it would be like. It’s a strange sort of adrenaline, his earlier anxiety giving way to something dizzying and intoxicating. If Jiung thinks too hard about it, he worries he might panic. He worries he’ll lose his nerve.
Jiung starts to feel it, his cock hardening where it’s squished between his abdomen and the mattress below. He’s starting to leak sticky-wet onto his belly, cock drooling out precum as the man thrusts his hips again, hitting some place up inside of Jiung that makes his toes curl and his head spin.
The man draws back, slower, and the drag across Jiung’s insides, shit, it’s even better now. It’s good. It makes Jiung bury his fingers into the pillow and arch his back. He likes how the man’s breath catches when he pushes back into Jiung, intentional and drawn out, thrusts angled to hit Jiung in that spot again and again. It gets even better when the man grabs Jiung’s hands, using the angle to pull Jiung back into him, onto his cock.
This new position punches these gasps out of Jiung, little, “Ah-ah-ah’s,” which Jiung immediately tries to stifle, scared of being too loud in this hotel room. It’s just—everything is a lot right now. A lot of new, and a lot of unfamiliar.
Jiung doesn’t think he’ll come like this, but he also thinks he could, under the right circumstances. The feeling of something inside of him is good. It's nice. It’s just that Jiung is also overwhelmed. The sound of the man’s heavy breathing rings loudly in his ears. The feeling of sweat clings to him, sticky where their skin make contact. Even the distinct salt and musk of bodies smell too strong.
“Can we change positions?”
The man slows to a halt, then pulls out, and Jiung can’t help but gasp at the sudden, shocking feeling of emptiness. But then Jiung rolls over, and gets a glimpse of the man—chest shiny with sweat and hair plastered over his face, and he feels a sudden pang of guilt for how little he really cares about this man. For how he wishes that this man, which the long face and defined cheekbones, was someone else.
From this position, at least, Jiung can get a hand around himself. That feels good. Feels better. Enough to make Jiung think he understands, maybe, why people like this. Why people would do this with someone they care about.
“God, shit,” Jiung mutters.
The man is getting louder, too, filth starting to fall from his mouth. His voice is deep, a little raspy. Not the voice of a singer, Jiung wagers.
“Fuck yeah, that’s right, taking my cock so good for your first time.”
Jiung doesn’t say anything, but his muscles tense, getting closer to release. He thinks that’s answer enough, probably.
There’s so much about this he could imagine getting lost in: the man’s long fingers are wrapped around the meat of Jiung’s slender thighs, fingertips digging in. He’s not rough—not intentionally so, at least—but he’s strong, using Jiung's flexibility to bend his thighs back to near Jiung’s head. It makes Jiung feel tiny, used.
In the end, the man finishes before Jiung. He rolls his hips a few minutes longer, smooth, strong abdominal muscles flexing, tightening, with each rhythmic thrust. “Gonna come,” he pants, teeth gritted, breath heavy and loud. The man’s hips speed up, rhythm faltering as he thrusts wildly, desperately, before finally he slows to a near-stop, hips grinding in deep, cock pressed in to the hilt.
Jiung’s not nearly as close, but he could get there. Precum spills over his fingers, slicking his knuckles with each sticky-slow roll of the man’s hips. The feeling of his hand fisted around himself is something Jiung is well-acquainted with, but knowing someone is watching, knowing he's performing for an audience of one, makes Jiung's head spin in a way that's totally new.
Still inside of Jiung, the man releases his hold on Jiung’s legs, letting them fall open to his sides. He reaches down and starts to wrap a hand around Jiung’s cock. “Let me,” he says, voice sounding strained, spent. Jiung lets him. He withdraws his own hand and watches as long fingers completely envelop the length of his cock.
The man’s grip is firm, and his strokes measured, intentional. On each downstroke, the angry-red tip of Jiung’s cock barely peeks out the end, shiny-wet and flushed dark. It makes Jiung squirm, in a good way. In a better way. In a way that makes his skin prickle and his toes curl and the muscles in his legs twitch with want. He thinks that this is what people mean, when they talk about things like pleasure, things like sex.
“Uhhh,” Jiung whines. He tries to writhe away from it, into it, and the man places his other hand on Jiung’s abdomen, just above the smattering of dark hair, and pushes down just as he rocks his hips up, grinding slow and firm and relentless against that sensitive spot up inside of Jiung.
And shit, the man is practiced, and confident, and now that some of the worry has subsided, Jiung wonders if maybe he could learn to like something like this, getting fucked by a stranger in a hotel, until he’s sore and boneless and sated, not a care in the world. Not a thought of work or of stress or of Keeho.
(A small part of Jiung—the tiny, rational part not yet fucked senseless, but half on its way there—wonders if Keeho would have the same confidence. Wonders if he would take Jiung in smaller hands and stroke just as firm, just as relentless. Jiung thinks he’d get even wetter for Keeho, probably.)
It’s with a final, expert curl of the man’s wrist that Jiung’s back bows off the mattress and he comes, spurting onto his stomach and up to his chest, obscene. The man pulls out then, slow, considerate of Jiung’s swollen, sensitive insides, and ties off the condom, then gets up and walks into the hotel bathroom.
Jiung lays splayed-out on the bed, his chest rising and falling as he gives his frantic breathing a chance to steady. He’s done it, this thing he’s waited years to experience. This thing he’s wondered about for so long, and been too nervous to try. Getting fucked by a stranger isn’t the same as admitting his feelings, sure, but it’s still a start. Still something to check off his bucket list. Something to maybe be less fearful of in the future, if the opportunity presents itself again.
The man returns, underwear slipped back on and washcloth in hand, and helps clean Jiung up. It’s gentle—sweet, really—and it tugs at something in Jiung’s chest. All things considered, he had a good time. In fact, the casualness took a lot of pressure off what might have otherwise been more nerve-wracking.
But still, as the man kisses Jiung once more with thin lips and a stubbled cheek brushing his, Jiung is reminded that there’s nothing more to this. Just sweetness, gentleness, and a man that Jiung won’t see around the dorms every day.
~~~
Jiung’s body feels kind of funny as he walks out of the hotel. The backs of his thighs ache, stretched in ways they’re not accustomed to bending. He took a look in the hotel mirror as he slipped out the door behind the man, and noticed how swollen and pink his lips looked. He thinks that if anyone saw him right now, they’d be a dead giveaway he’d just been kissed.
It’s a little embarrassing to think about, but even Jiung’s hole feels odd—tender and raw from being stretched, and still wet with lube. He's too aware of it with each slow step he takes. Jiung isn’t sure what exactly he expected to feel after doing this. Pride, maybe, or a sense of accomplishment. However, Jiung is surprised by his general indifference to the whole experience. He doesn’t feel changed, just a little sore and tired, like after a long workout.
As Jiung steps onto the sidewalk, his phone starts to vibrate in his pocket. He picks it up and squints at the name on the screen. He hesitates for a moment, then finally hits the “answer” button.
“Hey!” Keeho’s voice says through the phone speaker.
“H-hi.”
“What are you doing right now? Do you wanna get dinner?” Keeho asks, voice booming, and it warms something in Jiung.
Jiung wants to, more than he could describe. Still, it seems an awful lot to face Keeho right now. Too much.
“Oh, um. Thanks for asking. But I’m actually on a walk right now. Not gonna be home for a couple of hours.”
There’s a pause, and then, “Oh, ok, next time then. Enjoy your walk. Byeee!”
The line goes dead, and Jiung stares at the black screen for too long, before finally he shoves his phone back into his pocket.
He can’t get the sound of Keeho’s voice out of his head. Jiung thinks he heard a hint of disappointment in his tone. Or maybe he just imagined it.
For a moment, Jiung considers calling back, saying he changed his mind, inviting Keeho to come along with him. But then he loses his nerve. Some things might have changed about Jiung tonight, but at his core he’s still the same. Keeho is too.
He’ll see Keeho at the dorms later.