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The truth is—Doyoung is very, very in love with his boyfriend.
All apologies on his part, he is that unbearable friend that can't split his love life from his everyday—because he's borderline obsessed with his boyfriend, of course.
But who could blame him?
Johnny is sweet, and funny, and drop dead gorgeous—six-foot-odd and fit, and cute in his mannerisms, and silly in his words. Always so down to earth, able to lighten moods, and overall perfect.
Of course, Doyoung is whipped.
Doyoung is notoriously whipped,
The guy that's so fucking whipped he can't stay a day away, that plans everything around his boyfriend, Johnny, without even being told to; that can't go a moment without bringing Johnny up, who always finds a way to make it about his Johnny—the one who is, admittedly, constantly, always thinking about Johnny—
But it's not a problem, really.
Doyoung is partially self-aware.
He is aware of, and knows, he can be needy, and clingy, and biased, and very, very possessive.
Johnny is equally as in love, though, though perhaps better at being normal about it—and their relationship is good, great; just that he loves Youngho almost ridiculously bad and can be a bit over the top with it—
He really isn't that bad about being whipped, anyways.
Maybe, truly, and it never bothered him before—
Before.
Because, well, it is just that—and most of all, after being called out for it—it has come to Dongyoung's attention that he all but never says no.
It'd never occurred to him, for the joy of himself and the joy of his boyfriend, that he seems not to—it always seemed more like he had a soft spot for Johnny, which is only fair anyways—
In the eyes of others, though—and now struck into his mind, too—it seems that, beyond that lovesick soft spot; he does have a slight, very small habit of simply not saying no.
He doesn't say no for many things—
Example: for dates and requests of hugs and kisses, for quick errands, for picking up calls in the middle of work, for driving thirty minutes downtown for a pastry the older man is craving at an odd time of day, for leaving work early to see to his sweetheart left all alone at home; to using his lunch break to take iced coffee to their apartment because he knows Youngho hasn't had any yet, to planning big dinners for little milestones because Johnny sent a couple Instagram posts about other couples, to buying the cute sweater the man asked him to buy for him even though he has one exactly like it already, to wearing the cologne he thinks smells a bit like cucumbers, which he hates, because Johnny loves smelling it on him when they cuddle, which he loves—
And it's not necessarily like he's suffering from it,
Just that it is very plausible, and real, and certain that he rarely says no to Johnny—that he rarely has the urge to reject, deny, or refuse anything the man says or does; and their friends tease him about it to no end, because it may or may not shine through in everyday situations and his everyday behaviour.
But it's not worth it—not in Doyoung's book, at least.
For Johnny and his squeaky giggling, his even-toned voice, his silly jokes and excited shouting and playful argumentativeness—Johnny and his big, brown eyes, and his pretty, pink mouth. His soft skin, his big hands, his delicate tattoos, his beautiful, toned body.
It'd be like a shot to the heart to even utter the syllables of such a word and all it's variations—
To deny a creature of such godly beauty and perfection of his desires is, absolutely, a sin.
It's not a problem—it's not like Johnny can't take the answer anyways, or that he asks for things beyond their means.
No, not at all.
He never throws tantrums or demands and orders Doyoung around—but it is their dynamic, to ask, to deliver.
In a way, they spoil each other.
Johnny is spoiled and used to getting his way for the little things he asks for, things he knows Doyoung may just like too; and just having Johnny makes Doyoung spoiled—
He never forces anything from Doyoung, and Dongyoung does, in fact, have the ability to say no, anyways.
It is simply that Dongyoung doesn't want to say no, because he loves him, and Johnny loves him right back, and saying it is generally unnecessary as long as Youngho is happy.
So, Dongyoung has a bit of a problem saying no, apparently.
He's whipped, he doesn't go a day without giving love, or dropping everything to give anything to Johnny, that's that—
So what?
He rarely has to say it anyways.
.
.
.
But,
That is where the problem really lies now.
Because, right now, in this moment, he feels like maybe he should have.
"Babe? Are you done?"
Dongyoung feels his ears physically pique at the sound of Youngho's voice as it travels through the door,
And it moves him—as if he'd just heard some siren's song, beckoning him closer; Doyoung moves, turns away from the still-foggy bathroom mirror to completely face the door, lured over by instinct to find the source of such a wonderful sound,
Johnny's accented words, his pretty voice.
But he stops himself.
He's not sure he can take it, actually.
His heart is beating faster and louder than it humanly should, or it feels that way anyways—and he feels too-hot heat spread all over him, explosively hot, from the beginnings of his hairline to the skin of his chest.
His chest.
Because of that, his chest.
Doyoung looks down, then closes his eyes.
So he spoils Youngho—he really does—and maybe he never really says no, okay, and maybe it never really affects him—
But maybe it is starting to fuck with him that he is whipped the way he is.
Youngho is so, so perfect in so many ways, and Dongyoung loves him so fucking much—but his brain is starting to melt.
He said yes—
For once, he is torn.
Why did he say yes?
By memory (and his own bias toward the real life angel he gets to claim as his) Doyoung certainly knows why—
Youngho had been so lovely,
Blushing, meek and soft and kittenish when he'd asked the week before—he's always so handsome, he'd looked so much more handsome, somehow; he'd kept his hands to himself, like a well-mannered schoolgirl, and he'd crossed his long, pretty legs in those painted on compression tights he wears for yoga, and he'd looked up through his long, pretty lashes, crossing his long, pretty arms, and very sweetly purred the question out in a sweeter, shyer version of his candied voice,
He didn't give Dongyoung no choice, he didn't even demand it, only suggested, with his lovely eyes and how they gazed so sweetly, and a genuine openness in his tone, somewhat expectant of rejection, he'd only just asked; but Doyoung is such a sucker for any and everything Johnny does, he is a slave to his big, brown eyes—he said yes.
So here Dongyoung is, scorching himself to death with his own body heat; trying not have some unheard of full-body reaction that'd lead to sporadic human disintegration.
"Doyounggie?"
Yes, here he is.
Dongyoung inhales,
He inhales more air than his lungs can physically handle—
He exhales.
And he does it once more,
Then he unlocks the little silver lock, and twists the doorknob, and opens the bathroom door.
As soon as it cracks half-way open, the cool air of their room washes over him, biting, and he realizes he'd quite literally steamed himself in the bathroom—just standing there after their shower, thinking.
Contemplating, even, of his own choices, of his ability to kiss the ground Johnny walks on, of even the air in the bathroom itself.
His brain is fried,
Doyoung still looks up before the door is even fully open, knowing he's out there, and lets his eyes be drawn over to Youngho—who's still perched on his side of their bed, right where he was when this night seemed to actually begin.
Johnny is always so gorgeous—and, for a moment, Dongyoung completely forgets his embarrassment when he gets the chance to look at him.
To take him in, image of his wet dreams and real life fantasies for the past year and a half in a big, white t-shirt and his tight grey briefs, with his hands folded in his lap, and his legs, shaven now, crossed at the ankles; his long brown hair still slightly wet from the shower, damp against his neck; he makes a pretty picture—
He looks absolutely thrilled the moment Doyoung steps past the threshold, when his bare foot hits the vinyl-wood flooring of their bedroom;
He looks beyond thrilled, really.
It does Doyoung even worse, he thinks, still walking over—that Youngho is delighted the way he is.
Especially that, in that moment, Doyoung understands that it is exactly why he never says no. To see the man be so delicately pleased, he always agrees—that he is so in love, every aspect of seeing Johnny happy and seeing him soar over the moon over little things, is all but an addiction.
But,
It's just that, this time, it is at his unsaid suffering.
A very thin and borderline unreal suffering—it is even more so twisted that Dongyoung's heart sings at the sight of Johnny's pretty face, of course; that the joy of seeing Johnny happy still takes precedent over his own (albeit majorly pleasant) feelings; that his suffering pales and dwindles down from the little mass it already takes up, and Doyoung's chest fills with pride and excitement,
And his dick immediately finds interest in the desperate expression that paints over Youngho's features the closer he gets.
That is good.
Johnny is beautiful, he is angelic and sexy and beautiful—and he looks pleased beyond worldly pleasures.
God,
He has this ability to look so fucked out even beyond the excitement of sex—his teeth sink into his bottom lip and his brows furrow, almost worried, and he looks a bit weepy in the way he is visibly turned on; entirely too pretty to be real,
And Doyoung has every reason in the world to be his mindless yes-man just from that.
And in that there is heat, again.
That Dongyoung's body feels hot—his chest, and his neck, and his face, and his ears—
And steam must be pouring off him by now,
He imagines he looks crazy and lobster red, boiled even, but he focuses on the pink that slowly deepens the blush on Youngho's cheeks instead.
The interest, the eyes of catching onto a sight so overtly titillating,
The fact that Johnny is turned on, turns him on.
Johnny says, quietly,
"Wow."
And he squeezes his thighs together, and his breath is audibly caught—
Because he's excited—he is very excited by seeing Doyoung, by seeing Doyoung like this,
Because Dongyoung had said yes when Youngho asked him to wear lingerie, is all.
And Doyoung can't take it when it hits his mind clearer, again.
His heart triples in speed, if possible, and he thinks it's a little funny that he's maybe getting hard,
That he is absolutely getting hard, and his dick is already peeking over the lace trim of the panties, too big for something so girly and small.
Youngho sees his dick just as Dongyoung feels how exposed it is; his eyes fall to the filled out fabric at Doyoung's crotch, of his cock standing tall out of the panty—the older man puts a hand to his mouth just as he starts smiling.
He's giggly and excited and horny but he doesn't want Dongyoung to think he's laughing at him—Doyoung wouldn't think that, anyways.
Or maybe he wouldn't mind it—
Johnny is big and cute and sweet, he's a man, a beautiful one, he isn't very mean at all;
He looks starry-eyed and excited as he watches Dongyoung approach.
"S'good?" Doyoung asks, murmurs, face too hot, unable to get his mouth to work properly when he makes it closer—
And he's close enough to smell the scent of Youngho's bodywash again.
Its light fragrance, close enough—close, that it brings a tingle to his belly as he inhales, because Johnny always smells delicious—but he's not really close at all; just barely, enough to let Johnny see him from head, to toe, all the way down, down, head-to-toe.
He's a good boyfriend, "issues" aside, yeah, and Doyoung really likes the way Youngho mindlessly squeezes a hand between his legs, the way he automatically looks at Doyoung's dick and how his balls just barely fit right in the panty, and how it visibly excites him.
How Youngho breathes a little funny, and purses his lips a bit,
Johnny doesn't answer at first, manually shifts his gaze—as if he hadn't heard, too warm and excited to comprehend.
He simply giggles and pulls his hands away and reaches for the nightstand, no answer.
When Dongyoung is close enough to almost stand over him, he says,
"Better than good."
And his legs go slack and slip apart as he moves.
Doyoung swallows harshly as his gaze automatically falls there—his eyes travel up the expanse of the soft skin of the other man's thighs, of the fit of his briefs; it makes him twitchy and excited.
Honestly, Johnny could be fully clothed and Doyoung would get hard—that's not what he thinks about.
Doyoung focuses on the moment, and the sexuality in the air, and the way Youngho looks.
That, right now, Johnny looks so effortlessly good in his lazy sleepwear, that he is so fucking sexy, his thighs and how they look when he sits, and the way his damp hair falls into his face, T.V. brand sexy—
Doyoung knows he's up to no good as he reaches the nightstand, as his hand hovers over his discarded phone,
Youngho starts again, "Can I commemorate this moment—"
And Dongyoung shoots out and grabs his arm before he can do whatever it is he wants to do, breathing shakily.
Beyond himself, he finds the entire situation has his stomach in excited knots—that it isn't just Johnny that has him sprung, and the implication of Johnny's words are starting to make him spiral, something as crazy as that, to take pictures, videos—
"Don't. Tease me." He manages out, squeezing the man's wrist lightly before he gingerly lets go—shy, more so now.
And Johnny looks up at him, eyes big, pretty, pretty—anything but shy, he laughs.
Amused, baseline humour—Johnny is so chill and pretty and relaxed—but his mouth is kind of slack and his gaze is warm and dreamy as his hand falls back to his lap.
His lap, his thighs, his briefs and the way they begin to strain against his arousal.
"I'm not teasing." He breathes, "Doyounggie," he mumbles it with a bit of rawness—like he's torn between just moaning outright and keeping calm.
"It's good."
Of the little set Doyoung wears, and the joy of being so deeply infatuated with each other—it's good that he's becoming adventurous, that Doyoung is whipped and Johnny may as well wield a ridingcrop with just his words.
Youngho lifts his hand and rests it on Doyoung's hip—
Dongyoung forgets and remembers what he's wearing in intervals, but the warmth of Youngho's palm on him brings a sudden, permanent awareness.
Of the soft, light purple microfiber fabric and the texture of the black lace, and his dick already hard and too much for the small, cheeky cut panties to keep covered.
Youngho pulls him a little closer, he draws him in—
Doyoung breathes funnily when he's close enough.
Wound up, ready,
He stands over Youngho and feels it in the pit of his stomach—aroused, looking down at the pretty thing Johnny manages to be both in and outside of dreams.
Looking down he sees, just as much, the way the fabric over the bra's cups is shiny in the light of the room, the way the band between them dons a little lace bow and the tiniest of fake, plastic pearls—it's delicate, and girly, and coy.
And Doyoung thinks,
Should he take charge?
The lead, initiative.
It's normal—yes,
Yes, he is big and handsome and manly, but Youngho is so soft and sweet for Doyoung at all times.
That Dongyoung can bend him to his will, and hold him and fuck him anyway he pleases, which does not vary very often—where Doyoung will take charge when he's the one set out for sex, for something fun. That Doyoung can and will lose himself a little during sex and moan high and loud in the man's ear, and wax poetic about the man's body, but it's all fine, and he makes Johnny cum, and he cums, and it's perfect when they get around to it again—
But Dongyoung's already putty, already spun and bound to blow, embarrassed and excited all at once.
And it's not the situation,
Maybe it is.
It makes Doyoung breathe harder, heavier,
He experimented, to an extent, okay, and they both do now, on account of Johnny's wild imagination,
He's been asked for kinky things before—Johnny's asked to sit on his face, they did it, Johnny's asked to suck him off at a public park, they did it, he's fluffy-handcuffed Johnny to the bed (though he took them off during sex), he's fucked Youngho in their car, he's actually fucked his mouth, which was amazing—
Youngho usually asks, alright, sure, but Doyoung initiates it—he takes charge, he usually does, to be dominant,
Should he now?
Clothes don't make the person, no, but they fuck with his brain a little right now.
Maybe a lot.
He doesn't know—he thinks, if he had Johnny in something sexy, lingerie and all the works, he would take charge, because it's like that; he would climb on top of him and never get off, probably, and Johnny would be so beautiful and sexy as he always is, and just do everything right, dressed like that.
But right now he's the one,
Doyoung is the one in a little panty and bra set, skinny and flat, standing over Youngho who seems to be very pleased, who's hard in his briefs and blushed all the way to his feet.
He doesn't know if he should play the tough man like this, constricted by the bra-band every time he sucks in a huge breath—it might be silly, he doesn't know, he knows his cock is hard and Johnny is hard and they haven't had sex in two days, but it's also hard figuring out how to operate around the horniness and the conundrum of dominance and a silly little panty,
So he does what comes to mind first.
Almost embarrassing, just added to what he'd had before, now—
He moves over to Youngho before he can put much more thought into it, and slides closer, thighs spread to fit him—like he's never really been before, to sit in Johnny's lap.
He slips right into Johnny's lap.
It's soft and girlish,
Youngho sits back just a little, to make space, and his hand slips to Doyoung's ass, and his breath hitches—their breaths go up, stilted, both of them taken a little far away in that moment,
And Doyoung fits his arms over Youngho's shoulders, feels the heat emanating off both of them when the dynamic seems to flip, somehow.
It's funny—
Dongyoung thinks, it's so funny.
It's not like he's big, bad, and bold anyways, but he's so hot in the face he's sure his brain is going to melt.
Rising temperature, an influenza sort of egg-boiling heat in his head, connecting every limb—
Maybe Doyoung is a soft, gentlemanly boyfriend, but he's never one to be small, coy, and pretty.
They sit there, like that, for a moment.
And Dongyoung doesn't know what to say, exactly—is there something he should say? Maybe he's got static in his brain, maybe it did melt, and blood is pumping, and his guts are knotting at the way Youngho lets out this perfectly pornographic sound, almost a whimper, almost a sigh, before he speaks,
And Johnny says,
"The bra doesn't fit you."
It doesn't register for a moment.
He's caught up in the way Johnny's eyes sparkle—
Then Doyoung laughs, kind of, amused and a little dizzy,
"I don't have boobs."
It's silly,
It's true—
Because the bra is slack, a gap between his chest and the minimally structured cups, between the band and his back. Maybe the straps cut into his shoulders a bit, but it's because he's broad, wider, and the thing is small anyways—that he is big, and these are for some soft, delicate girl.
And isn't that what makes it sexy, actually?
He doesn't have boobs and, yet, he has on a bra, and his dick is straining against the panty, balls spilling out the crotch, and his legs and armpits are stubbly, hairy; pubes, though trimmed, dark and peeking out the softly coloured fabric—
He has on this pretty little slip of fabric for underwear, and a pretty little bra, now, and Youngho's big hand is on his thigh, and he's offhandedly whispering that Doyoung feels soft, and the panties look nice—and he looks nice, and Youngho is tenting in his briefs.
"You're a pervert, you know." Dongyoung whispers, offhandedly.
He'd never think of something like this, not necessarily; maybe he would think to ask Johnny to wear one of his shirts, but nothing more, simple, vanilla—
And Youngho looks up at him, instead of where he has been gazing at his cockhead over the hem, and smiles.
"I'm not."
His tone is playful, somehow.
"You are." Doyoung replies anyways, eyes on Johnny’s mouth.
Johnny hums, shrugs, and begins to move—
The other man shifts, and he turns them to something somehow much more charged—gets Doyoung on his back against the bed.
Doyoung feels winded when he meets with the mattress, hands limp at his sides and chest heaving, breathless—figuratively, maybe, maybe actually.
Youngho is over him, now, straddling him, and he cages him in with his arms—he's smiling, but his eyes are all hazy, dark, and Doyoung swallows, like his throat has gone dry.
It is dry,
Johnny is so fucking beautiful and just his voice is making Doyoung's dick twitch, and he loves him so much—he is so turned on—
And just as Johnny settles against him and says,
"You are too,"
Dongyoung shoots up and kisses him.
He kisses feverishly—Youngho melts into it, best as he can anyways.
Doyoung promptly ignores the subtle pain of being squished in the panties, lace a bit harsh, pressed against Youngho's ass; he focuses only on the warmth, of the thigh he grabs out of pure instinct, of the way Youngho's lips are soft and strawberry chapstick sweet, bodywash masculine and gentle, skincare a soft, light scent, of his other hand being held down by Youngho, pinned at the wrist; Johnny balancing on his other hand, on his knees digging into the mattress,
It's exciting, without effort—
And Dongyoung immediately recognizes that he's too riled up, instantly ready to fuck—fuck, he is—and he's squeezing Youngho's thigh, unconsciously and consciously pleased by the muscle; ready, body ready, so turned on as they kiss,
The kiss is a bit desperate—he's introducing tongue just as soon as the other man lets his mouth fall open, pushing to go on because he can't pretend he's not fucking throbbing, that he hasn't been half-hard since he dried off after their shower and held the little panty in his hand. That his mouth didn't go dry when he pulled them on, and the transition from silky soft fabric to lace hadn't made his fingertips fill with electricity.
Youngho moans, then, when he licks over his tongue—
Doyoung isn't a very refined kisser, he thinks, he knows, and he's not very suave in bed,
He's a little crazy for the way Youngho gives a full body shiver the moment he sucks on his tongue, how his thighs squeeze around him, how he's trying to keep up with it, but Johnny's a sweet, polite kisser, and he pushes on the hand he has pinned when Doyoung licks out onto his bottom lip, then right back into his mouth,
To wet, maybe too-raunchy kissing that lasts for only a minute more before Youngho is breaking away—panting, slick-mouthed, pink.
Youngho doesn't say anything, simply releases his wrist and sits back a little, presses against him—Doyoung groans at the mere idea of the contact, of him fitting so perfectly against Youngho's ass, between his cheeks, of wanting to hump up and draw this fleeting moment out even when he knows he can't handle it,
Then Youngho slides away, pushes away really, and crawls; down, further to make space as he leans toward him again, hands in the sheets, and settles bodily between Dongyoung's legs.
Rather than straddling, now, he slots between his thighs, still able to reach face-to-face, and he bats his pretty eyes and dives back in to kiss him just like that, like that, soft lips against his own, then lower, and Doyoung bares his neck.
There's one kiss, to Doyoung's throat, the point of his pulse, the curve of his jaw—then another, then down to his sternum,
Then Youngho exhales, against the lace trim of the bra, and shifts a bit further, and pushes his face into Doyoung's chest, just for a moment—
Inhaling softness, fabric, and the consequent nervous sweat built up over the more perfumed, white floral scent of Dongyoung's expensive bodywash.
Johnny seems very, very pleased, and he visibly awes at the very presence of the bra.
Simply takes it in.
Then he's balancing his weight to sit back a bit, and dragging a hand up Doyoung's side.
Dongyoung's skin pulls tight at the sensation—heart thrumming—his cock jumps and his body reacts like that. He feels precum dribbling at his belly, he feels himself curl his toes—and Youngho's hand comes up to the bra, and, for just a moment, idles.
His hand is big—covers most of the cup.
Youngho is big and lovely, long and fit and wonderful,
His hands are so big, but his fingers are cute, short, are pretty, he holds his hands delicately, his pinky sticks out, his princess-like waving—
He fits the cup of the bra in his palm and gropes Doyoung's chest, like that.
Doyoung hazily watches, half-lidded—watches the way the fabric and shaped foam, and the muscle of his pec somewhat mould to Youngho's hand. He feels tingles, butterflies—the fabric is soft, ticklish against him, makes goosebumps threaten to rise on his skin.
Youngho squeezes him again,
Then he breathes, close but not against Doyoung's skin, and promptly pushes his hand under the band of the bra.
Fit under the wire-bone, slipped in easy beside the emptiness—Johnny is shakily excited, watching Doyoung's chest, aroused, more and more,
And he swipes his thumb over a little, perked nipple, soft enough—
And Dongyoung hisses, and moans.
It fills his chest with electricity, sparks straight down to his balls,
Johnny does it again, presses the warm pad of his thumb against Doyoung's nipple, soft, and rolls it.
Dongyoung grabs Youngho's arm, not nearly as tight—but he doesn't push, doesn't pull, just lets it be; hooked on, groaning as the other man does it twice more, pauses soft touch, then does it again, continuously.
Youngho presses against it, and pinches, between his fingers, and tweaks—just one, he teases it, and plays with it, and Doyoung's dick is aching.
Aching, seriously, aching; weeping, now, jumping off his belly in turns, connected by thin webs of precum, and Youngho looks so fucking pleased and excited by it,
That he visibly likes it, that Johnny's pretty body starts to rock in excitement, without even thinking—
Johnny ducks back down and slides the bra up, keeps that hand there, in action, teasing between fingers—and he leans back in and kisses the skin on Doyoung's chest. Around his pec, on the flesh, bringing those goosebumps up to Dongyoung's skin.
Then he lets his quick, pink tongue slip between his lips, and licks a wet stripe over the other nipple.
"Fuck, Youngho—" Doyoung moans, high in his head—he lets his head fall back and feels his hips bucks up, fucking against air.
Johnny teases his chest with one hand anyways, with his pretty mouth, both at the same time,
It feels good, fuck, it does, and Dongyoung gasps, whimpers and feels himself tremble when Johnny laps over his nipple again, and again, quickly, then licks closer, into his mouth, and sucks; lips soft, mouth soft, tongue soft—
Johnny suckles, and quickly laps over the nipple, kitten licks that make Doyoung's balls tighten and asshole clench—and he is so pleased, his heavy breaths louder only as he lets up to switch sides, to swap and lathe over Dongyoung's other nipple with his perfect tongue, to bring his fingers to play with the other, spit slick and aching.
The spit acts as something smoothing and wet—Youngho flicks his finger against it a little faster, brings his thumb and index together to pinch and pluck at Doyoung's nipple quicker; good, that it makes Doyoung moan, loud, and lose his breath; and Johnny takes the other nipple between his lips and very lightly grazes it with his teeth—
Doyoung hisses and lets go of the man's arms to tangle his hand in Youngho's hair.
He tugs, just slightly, when Johnny gently teases biting down, because it makes Doyoung's stomach flutter and knot up, almost like he's about to bust everywhere—
And Johnny whimpers at it.
A startled and pleased whimper, as he pulls—deeply pleasured by it, that he stops his other hand's teasing to sloppily reach down between his spread legs, on his knees the way he is on the bed—
Dongyoung watches as Youngho squeezes himself, excited—that Johnny teases biting down again, teeth a little sharper, and he pulls the man's hair again just for it,
His long, soft brown hair, still semi-wet, and Youngho actually moans, starts to shake, hips visibly rolling for such a moment, as he rubs himself through his briefs and Doyoung pulls his hair a bit tighter.
He likes that,
It's not insane, it's even more enchanting to see his excitement at being somewhat pained, he likes having his hair pulled, so exciting,
How excited, they both are, aren't they, for such new things—it turns Dongyoung on even more.
Cock aching, Doyoung inhales then, sharp, and uses his hand to push against the man, still in his hair—pushes Youngho to move down, further, and Youngho simply does.
He moves with such understanding, such sexual skill—Johnny is kittenish and quick, and kisses Doyoung's nipple one last time, then kisses each of his ribs, down, to his middle, to kiss his fluttering belly; to shifting and licking at his navel, then he's almost close enough that Dongyoung's dick jumps, twice, he can't control it;
And he's aching for it, but Johnny only giggles and kisses his hip instead, somewhere far off but closest to his cock.
Doyoung pushes Johnny's head a little lower in response, silently begging, maybe a bit more demanding.
Youngho has to stabilize himself best as he can on the edge of the foot of the bed as he finally reaches, and laughs lightly again as Doyoung almost pets him to persuade him,
Then he's kissing the head of Dongyoung's cock, drooling against his belly, more than halfway out the panties.
Dongyoung watches him, breathing heavy—watches Youngho push his hair behind his ear and coyly lick down only the area of shaft exposed.
He doesn't move the panties, doesn't even place his hands back on Doyoung, pressed into the bed for support; simply peeks up at him with his big, bedroom eyes every now and then, and kisses, and licks, and gently sucks at just the part of Doyoung's cock left uncovered,
Doyoung doesn't move, purposefully anyways—he lets Johnny do what he's doing, lets the pleasure take over him, fleeting and surface level and sometimes too hot as the man lathes at his cockhead.
He could urge him on again, could use newfound ability to pull hair, maybe push and grab Youngho and flip them and just go for it and fuck him—but he is soft and pliant, and he knows just as well the way Youngho is aroused and lost in his thoughts of his pretty boyfriend wearing panties for him, of making him feel good for doing something like this for him—
Doyoung lets him, him and his lovely eyes, begging to keep going, to draw it out, for foreplay that is wicked until they get to fucking, anticipated and raunchy with fetish neither really know—Youngho keeps on shamelessly.
His lips, his tongue, lapping over the head of Dongyoung's cock and sucking the tip into his mouth all wet and needy, like he's chasing flavour, only ever pausing when Doyoung's hips buck up, when he thrusts up to fuck more of his dick into his mouth, when Doyoung's balls go tight and his cock jumps from the sensation of Johnny's tongue on his slit, and he's whining, low in his throat.
Youngho does that, it's torturous, he's so turned on, and Doyoung's cock is throbbing—the panty is riding into his ass a little and he's fucking desperate, looking through the gap between Youngho's shirt and his chest, his chest, pretty enough for something like this, like lingerie.
He thinks Johnny would look fantastic in garter belts and a little panty, cut tight to his ass, something to squeeze chest, stockings to bite into his thighs—he is so sexy, fuck, Doyoung looks at his body, what he can see through his shirt; his pretty hips, and his damp briefs, darker just around the tip of his cock, pressed up against the fabric.
Turned on from nothing, turned on from Doyoung pulling his hair, and letting him touch him, and wearing ladies underwear.
Johnny takes just the head of his cock into his mouth, just there, and sucks, then pulls off again, and licks over the most visible vein—Doyoung's dick throbs, he doesn't know if it's Youngho or what he's wearing, or the idea that Youngho is so excited just from him wearing it, or the two days of no sex, or just being horny; but he needs more, now.
"C'mon, Johnny," he urges, hips stuttering a little—he groans, pleased, skilled tongue against warm flesh and weeping cockhead, bringing on muscle spasms and heavy breaths. Doyoung's balls tighten, body tensing and relaxing every time Youngho slips his tongue over and massages around the sensitive underside, lapping up precum—"C'mon. Please."
Youngho doesn't reply—he doesn't reply, and Doyoung is biting down on his bottom lip, and watching him.
"Please, baby." He whimpers, bucking up, almost emphasis—
He fucks up, humps against Youngho's cheek, and the other man looks startled, maybe, but thrilled.
And Dongyoung doesn't grab him, no, Johnny just listens, because he's such a good lover, and he's so needy too, he listens—and his hands find their way to Dongyoung, to grazing his fingertips over Doyoung's balls, squeezing his shaft through the panty, then pulling at it—stretching the leg of the panty to pull it to the side rather than pull it off.
It's still settled on Dongyoung's hips, bunched in the crease of thigh and hip to make space for his balls, his cock, tall and red and leaking at his belly.
It's a moment, of aweing at his dick, staring,
Doyoung whimpers, "Johnny,"
And Youngho takes Doyoung's length into his hand, then, just barely gives a starting pump of his wrist before he's sucking his cock into his mouth.
Dongyoung moans, draws his hand back up, to touch Youngho's shoulder, his ear, then his hair again, his head, bobbing,
He feels the other man's soft tongue against his skin, feels, sees Youngho hollow his cheeks—and Johnny looks up at him from there, through his hair, fallen into his face again, so fucking sexy. Doyoung tries to push it away, tries to fix the fringe obscuring cat-like eyes and earnest cocksucking—but he's shaking fucking excited.
He's focused on the feeling of being swallowed around, of Youngho breaking the eye contact to shift his hand, to grab Doyoung's thigh and sink down further until his nose is just almost buried in his pubes,
"Fuck," fuck, fuck, fuck—"baby," he groans, his throat goes a little dry—
Johnny stays there, he doesn't move, just swallows around him, and drools—throat soft velvet, working around the girth of his dick.
And Doyoung is trembling, knees weak, his bottom lip genuinely starts to wobble, his toes curl and, thank God he's laying down—
He grasps at the air stupidly before he fucks off with the insanity of Youngho's magical mouth, and he grabs the man's hair again. He seizes a little when Johnny makes a sound, a moan; when its natural vibration, vocal chords and slick sexuality, makes his balls pulse—he grabs that fistful of Youngho's hair and pulls him closer, somehow, and bucks up into his mouth.
Youngho immediately chokes—hand on Doyoung's thigh going tight, fingers digging in, but he doesn't stop him.
A silent understanding,
His eyes flutter closed, quickly swallowing around him—and Doyoung can feel it all; feel his throat working around him, snow soft heat, confusingly good—it feels fucking insane having his dick swallowed around like that, and even though he's in deep, Johnny is fine, Johnny is pleased, because they've done this before—
Doyoung pulls the man's hair, pulls him up to halfway of his dick—Doyoung starts fucking his mouth.
Youngho is only pretty and taking—he gurgles, and grunts, and visibly readjusts his spread lips, his jaw; to accommodate the way Dongyoung thrusts into his mouth, the way he takes advantage of drool and the sex kitten way Johnny had been soaking his dick in saliva—
Doyoung presses his hips up, groans, loud, "Johnny," just his name,
He tugs the man's hair and gets a choked off moan, sound of him sucking in a breath before he remembers to breathe through his nose—and he makes an effort to suck him perfectly fucking good when he lets him linger on his cockhead,
He's good, yes, he's nasty—Doyoung feels his stomach knot up as the man momentarily manages to slurp around his cockhead, when he fucks up between Johnny's soft lips, when they meet around the base of his dick so prettily and Youngho manages to hollow his cheeks and suck—he's perfect, he's choking and gagging and has begun to get a little teary-eyed,
He's letting Doyoung do it, he's sucking his dick so fucking good—he's letting Dongyoung bruise the back of his throat and fuck his mouth until his thighs are shaking a bit more.
Doyoung gives it another thrust, one where he sinks Youngho all the way to the base of his dick—buried in his throat—and forces him to stay there. It's a moment of velvet and muscle rubbing and working around him,
Too long—
Then Johnny is squeezing his thigh a little tighter, and Doyoung is letting up and letting go of his hair.
Youngho pulls off his cock with a tiny, choked gargle and sways as he leans away, dizzy; nearly tumbles off the foot of the bed if not for Doyoung quickly sitting up and grabbing him—
Johnny breathes heavily, gasping for air in Doyoung's arms when he somewhat catches him.
There's a moment, just quickly, to recoup—then the older man laughs, a giggle, all the while teary-eyed and winded; his breathing audibly rough,
He's a vision like that.
Fuck the lace, the desperately sweet humiliation of putting it on just for Youngho—Youngho's lips are puffy, red, his cheeks are a little wet with the tears that'd seemingly managed to escape as he choked around Doyoung's dick, he looks fucking blissful,
And Dongyoung barely lets the man breathe more before he's diving in and kissing him—
A good kiss, more tongue, this time, the taste of his dick, the way Johnny is fantasy, wet dream sexy, the way he's kissing back, and sucking on Doyoung's tongue through moans, wicked and wild,
Through letting himself be pushed onto his back, letting Doyoung fit between his thighs and flip it all back onto on him, tables turned.
Doyoung's hand shoved under his oversized shirt, rolling a nipple between his index and thumb—
Doyoung licks into Johnny's open mouth, bites his bottom lip, quicker than he was. He kisses him, his breath away, then moves away—kisses by his mouth, the corner of his lips, then his jaw, then licks at his neck, in line with his ear, and bites, sucks a hickey into the skin—Youngho hiccups, almost, still catching his breath, tries to suck in air, sobs for it, then loses it just as it fills his lungs, squeaking as Doyoung pinches his nipple.
Doyoung pulls away, panting too, taking in the man's image, and says, "Take off your clothes."
And,
Youngho looks up at Dongyoung like he's going to eat him, somehow.
Despite being dizzy, boneless and pretty and lying there under him—he looks like he's about to pounce.
"And y-yours?" He asks, hoarse, sitting up.
Doyoung is already off the bed as he asks, blindly grabbing lube—
It runs laps in his mind, Johnny doesn't want him to take it off, soft lingerie, makes him grab his dick to curb the influx of excitement,
He doesn't answer.
He doesn't answer and he tosses the lube on the bed and gets back on it, letting go of himself and climbing back over to Youngho, who watches him—the wonder and haziness of clouded, sex-driven minds—
Doyoung goes for Johnny's briefs—barely lets him raise his hips before he's tugging them off.
Youngho makes a sound, hitched, unable to catch his breath—he does seem to like it so very much when Doyoung is rougher—he pulls his shirt off just as his ass meets back with the sheets and he can balance, and Dongyoung is letting the briefs fall off at his ankle, one he's grabbing the moment the shirt is off, and pulling.
He yanks Youngho further down on the bed, back to the middle, and pushes him to lay on his back again—uses his grip to spread Youngho's legs further and bend his knee. Youngho only follows, letting himself be guided, posed, fixed for him—chewing on his lip, desperate and blushing and aware of the cool air of the room bringing goosebumps to his skin, his ass, exposed now, knees closer to his chest.
Youngho hooks his arms under his knees, to keep his legs there—Doyoung breathes.
He's enchanted by how beautiful Johnny is, by how much he loves him.
His entire body is amazing, his ass is full, perky—proportions of such long legs, thin limbs, and a round ass. Doyoung isn't the same, he's thin, he's flat—Johnny's pretty body would fill out the panties, the bra,
He shifts his hand down Youngho's thigh, squeezes, down to his asscheek, closer, moves and presses his fingers against Youngho's hole, his cock jumps,
Youngho is soft there, and pink, and lovely—
"Did you finger yourself?"
Tight muscle, body heat, giving way to the pressure of his blunt fingertips.
He massages against Youngho's entrance, he presses closer, not enough to press in—but Youngho jolts, a little, his dick twitches.
"Mhm," he can't muster up words, he's a little sick with want, dick already drooling onto his belly, body expectant, craving—"in th'shower." He finally says, whispers, "Before you got in."
"In the shower?" Doyoung repeats, breathy, pulling his hand away, grabbing the lube blindly—never moving his gaze, stuck, glued on the way Youngho is presented for him. All ready, already wet, stretched, waiting, before he'd even gotten out of his work clothes,
He grabs the lube, alright, and flips the cap open, squeezes the tube, directed at the pads of his fingers just where he wants it to come out. He squeezes enough, lets the stray line of lube dribble onto the bed, and he spreads it on his fingers with his thumb and places his hand right back where it was.
Youngho moans, again, trembles—
Doyoung rubs circles against the furl of muscle just a couple times before he presses a finger in—the longest. Pushes his middle past the easy, giving resistance, all the way to the last knuckle.
Johnny seems to both relax and tense, squeezes his legs closer, knees to his chest—his asshole spasms.
Dongyoung peers down at him, at Youngho's twitching dick and toned belly—he pulls his hand back, then pushes in again, twisted in gently, thrice more before he takes his finger out, massages the lube against soft, fluttering muscle, and presses in his index and ring finger too—crooking them,
Youngho whines, his breath goes shorter—then he exhales, airy.
His dick weeps as Doyoung scissors his fingers within him, when he begins to press them in and out of him, perfectly paced, pressure, depth, pressing the length of his fingers into him—and Doyoung watches the way Johnny's body takes him, reacts to him, how his asshole clenches around his fingers, and the man's pretty cock jumps, aching for touch,
But Youngho doesn't touch it, no, he lets his eyes flutter closed and focuses on Dongyoung's fingers as he opens him up, easy.
He finger fucks Youngho—moaning, able to breathe just slightly better now.
He looks beautiful—
And how could Doyoung ever say no?
It's not really a problem—it'll never really be a problem.
Doyoung twists his fingers, watches Youngho bite down on his lip and squirm—feels his balls ache and has to grab his dick with his other hand.
It could never be a problem because it's rewarding.
Youngho doesn't ask for the world, but he could—and Doyoung would get it for him, shrink it into a piece of candy just for him to suck on and swallow.
Sweet, stupid, horny—Doyoung tugs his dick and watches Youngho's hole, soft and taking around his fingers.
In return, just for him—just for him, he can wear panties and a bra, and get Youngho whimpering, moaning, red in the face and shaking when he presses against his g-spot—he gets a glimpse of dreams brought to life for such a small price, something he doesn't even care to dislike. In fact, maybe Doyoung is so fucking turned because he likes it, because he likes the idea of dressing up for Youngho and fucking him—he doesn't need to say no at all—
Dongyoung pulls his hand away, watches Youngho's hole clench around air.
He uses the excess of lube left on his hand and slicks his dick—hears himself whimper lowly as his knuckles drag over the tip of his cock, sensitive and ready, ready to finally get on top of Youngho and fuck him—
Doyoung will always say yes, because why wouldn't he do anything for his boyfriend?
For a man like Johnny, beautiful and perfect and wild,
He situates himself a little closer, now, one hand back on Youngho's soft thigh, other still slick and on his cock—he says, low in his throat,
"Youngho..." and nothing more.
Johnny looks heavenly—his princely hair long and spilled out around his head, against pale sheets that make his blushed, sun-kissed skin look like something candied and unreal, his honey-brown eyes and the way they are half-lidded and kittenish, his swollen, red lips, his pebbled nipples, his fluttering belly, spread legs, beautiful body, beautiful cock, beautiful ass—
Dongyoung lines himself up, even as he speaks—edges into contact, crown of his cock just gently pressed against Youngho's hole.
Sticky, lube slick—he teases the tip against his rim, the press of hormones and rushing blood and his hard cock, Youngho's needy body,
"Y-Yeah," without many words or questions—Johnny moans, "please."—and Doyoung feels the flowers of arousal sprout all at once, all over him,
He's so in love it's maybe crazy, now—an illness, how much he loves Johnny.
He grunts, leans down and captures Johnny's lips—a kiss that he licks into as he presses his hips forward and feeds his cock into Youngho inch by inch.
He can feel Johnny's body react—clenching, giving away tension to fit him—
Youngho mewls, whimpers a gentle, "Baby," that he quietly repeats as he momentarily breaks the kiss and braces his hand on the younger man's arm.
Dongyoung can feel the soft fabric of the panty closest to his dick, under his balls—all sticky and wet from spit, from heat and friction and lube; can feel the glide of the lube, smooth, his stomach knotting each moment he sinks deeper in.
There's nothing he can do but clench, suck it up, and steel his thighs when they begin to shake as he bottoms out and buries his entire cock in Johnny's taking body.
Doyoung whimpers, right into Johnny's mouth, into their resumed kiss, and Youngho is weak and melted, arching off the bed, shaking a little.
His other is arm trapped between them for a short while before he manages it out to join the other and hold onto Doyoung, trying to get used to the way he is full, the way he is being stretched.
His mind is blanking, probably—he weakly sucks at Doyoung's tongue, tries to reciprocate the way Doyoung kisses him through adjusting to his dick, but he's trembling, and his hands go limp where he eventually chooses to lay them over Doyoung's shoulders.
Boneless, blissed, beautiful—dream come true.
Doyoung kisses deeper, somehow anyways—and tries to steady himself.
But it's too good, he thinks—
He thinks he might cum fast, really fast, he's so fucking turned on.
He breaks the kiss fully, finally, wet—Youngho's mouth is open, slack, slick at the corners.
His eyes had closed, apparently, and he opens them now—hazy and sex dream pretty.
"Dongyoung." He whimpers, airy—like he hadn't really put effort in saying it, like it's second nature, like breathing.
Debauched, is the word—Doyoung swallows, consumed by love-induced lust, really.
He can barely remember being embarrassed—no, all he can think of his how tight and warm Youngho is, how his mouth is soft and taking, his gorgeous body.
He shifts, slow, and draws his hips back—Johnny jolts, hands grab at him again.
He moans, he moans as Doyoung drives his dick back in,
In, then again—again; deep strokes, soft, slow.
And Doyoung wants to keep it up, to go slow, he thinks—he wants to drag it out and fuck him until he's crazy sensitive, thrashing—but he knows he can't manage it.
He's a gentleman, he makes love, he takes time.
For Youngho, he's anything—right now, he's all but strung out and ready to cum at the drop of a dime,
"Baby," he says, low, "I can't do it slow, s'okay? Yeah?" He questions, already picking up the pace, body aching, balls tingling—staring into Youngho's eyes. Brown, beautiful, half-open as he immediately feels the way Dongyoung changes the speed of his thrusts, "Yeah?"
He readjusts, just so it's easier, and anchors onto the older man's hips—easier as he feels Johnny do the same, in a way, and grab at him in any way, his thumb slipped under the bra strap—that Youngho grips onto him to keep as close as possible as Doyoung slowly but surely fucks in harder.
"Yes." Youngho keens, weakly tightening his other hands grip—breaking eye contact to turn, face in his shoulder, coy—bracing himself, funnily, for the way Doyoung immediately lets go and starts fucking him like time is running out.
They have hours, days, years to have sex, to try new things—Dongyoung fucks into him in short, hard thrusts, rabbit fast, almost, almost a lot—a lot, has Youngho's hands slip and turn to shakily gripping on his back, like he can't keep them in one place, to his legs falling apart, to being fucked into speechless silence as soon as it starts,
Dongyoung has to breathe through his nose and mouth in intervals, feels his skin light afire like he'd only been wading in lukewarm heat before—he rolls his hips, and angles them, and Johnny suddenly breaks, and squeaks, and,
"Do—Doyoung, a-ah," his siren song voice, high in his throat—he's so beautiful, Doyoung can't say no to a face like that,
Doyoung pants, pistons his hips—watches Youngho's expression, mouth open, eyes shut, pleasure to every degree; watches his chest, movement of the flesh of his pecs on impact of every thrust.
He wants to kiss him, again, taste his tongue, his mouth, convey love and release endorphins of his immense affections—but he doesn't feel like moving his hands, no, he squeezes the man's hips harder, and fucks into him; feels like leaving his hands there until there are imprints, until there is a palm-printed brand of Dongyoung's love on his skin.
Johnny is amazing, he's amazing—Doyoung pulls his hips back and quickly drives back in, fast pace of orgasm on the very near horizon. He's wound up, he's so in love, he's aching in these stupid panties, wedgied in his ass, and this shitty bra, and they're so soft on his skin that he wants to explode.
Youngho moans, loud—he trembles, his expression melts between blissed and painfully pleased,
Dongyoung inhales, chokes a little on his own spit when Johnny jolts at a particular thrust, clenching, hole gripping him—it's intense, it's teasing and tight, Doyoung's seriously going to cum, he is going to cum—
"Touch yourself."
He says, maybe begs—desperate and aching.
Johnny just whines, just accepts every thrust,
"You hear me?" He asks, voice cracking, "Please, b-baby,"
Johnny squeaks, almost thoughtless,
"Mhm—"
And he slips his hand back, no longer anchored onto Doyoung, pushes down between his legs, to his dick, hard.
Youngho's still leaking onto his belly, and he's trembling, and Doyoung can feel his hole clenching around him, friction and the sensation of being filled, of Doyoung fucking quick and stupid, sweet spot and sensitive flesh—but Johnny takes himself into his hand and starts to move.
Quick, nearly matching jerks of his wrist, his pretty wrist, his pretty hand, his pretty cock.
Dongyoung bites down on his own lip—drags his eyes to Youngho's other hand when he lets it fall.
He takes in the porn-perfect imagery of Johnny as he gasps at angled thrusts and sobs for air, twists that hand in the sheets, the way his bicep flexes as he strokes his cock, the design of his tattoos on his skin; Doyoung looks at his chest, his nipples, the blush pink flush of them,
"I love you." He manages, "Youngho, I love you."
Nonstop, quick—
Those flowers are blooming, in his chest, his stomach, his pelvis—he's going to fucking cum,
Doyoung shifts a hand, finally, onto the bed, leans down—kisses Youngho again, licks into his mouth, again. Bears down on him, fucking rougher, deeper, sloppier as the minutes seem to speed by—Johnny is moaning into the kiss, weak, swallowing his moans; he gurgles out something like,
"Love you too," something like, "Doyounggie, please," barely able to catch enough air to breathe.
It's like that—it's the sound of skin, and slick lube, the wetness of their kiss and Doyoung's cock deep in him—snug, quick, tightly fitted.
It's Doyoung shifting his hips and only breaking kisses to catch a short breath before kissing him again, fucking against his g-spot to get him closer, to make his body shake and muscles spasm—
Hard fucking, stuttering thrusts, clenching hole—Johnny's hips roll, maybe without meaning to, he accepts each thrust and squirms, his body is fucking amazing, his ass feels heavenly—Doyoung fucks in hard, chasing pleasure, so good for both of them—
That Youngho loses rhythm with his hand, simply holds his length without movement for four, five thrusts where he's trembling and crying out, weak before he's chasing orgasm again, rubbing over his weeping cockhead,
And Doyoung's going to fucking cum.
"Youngho," he whimpers, breathing heavily, panting against his mouth—"baby."
Johnny cracks his eyes open, looks up at him—he's so fucking beautiful, so fucking beautiful—brows furrowed, eyes shiny, desperate.
"Cumming?" Youngho asks, soft, a little rough, caught between a breath and a punched out moan—
"Yes, baby, yes, yes, yes," Doyoung says, almost chants—thighs tingling, body thrumming, thrusting still, fast, hard,
Youngho whines, pleased, quickly takes his other hand out of the sheets to fuck with the bra—to settle on Doyoung's chest and rub against the flimsy cup, rubbing over a nipple —Doyoung throws his head back and curses, hisses, almost overstimulated, losing it as Johnny tweaks his nipple through the fabric,
His asshole clenches, balls tighten—"Fuck! Johnny—fuck, fuck—baby," he gasps, sucks in a breath—"fuck!"
No is just not an option—the reward is much, much better.
Doyoung feels it, like lava, like ocean breeze, sugar sweet and mouth wateringly good—he manages to fuck a little deeper, straining his muscles, quick, watching Youngho nearly seize, startled by the rougher, yet, deeper thrusts.
Johnny frantically pulls his hands away from his dick, to grab at the sheets—three, five choppy, rhythmless thrusts before Doyoung's willing himself to pull out, easing back as fast as he can, grabbing Youngho by an ankle for balance and taking his dick into his fist, tugging himself until he feels his orgasm in his throat—
And it's there, right at the door, at his threshold, and Doyoung's fucking into his fist half of one more time before he's shooting his load on Youngho, his thighs, on his ass, on the bed.
He shouts as he does—shaking, muscles worn—and the cum goes far, landing on Youngho's belly.
The aftershocks have him rocking forward, almost losing balance, then he does,
Recovering somewhat by leaning back down and digging his palm into the bed.
Dongyoung's bicep flexes, eventually cramps a little, and he lets go of himself—dick still stiff, still jumping as his body quickly starts to relax from the orgasm high, makes his limbs loose, jello and limp.
Doyoung breathes, awkward, like he's never breathed before—and can't bring his eyes to focus on anything but Johnny.
Johnny, fucked sweet and trembling,
And Youngho is looking at him—in disbelief.
Blissful, red-faced shock as he gasps for air.
Dongyoung can't breathe either, panting, chest heaving; pleased.
Johnny genuinely looks amazed—maybe Doyoung has never fucked him like that, never lost his control and fucked them both breathless—usually he manages to be sensible, to maybe being loose and desperate but smart with it, that the excitement comes from what Johnny does for him—tonight, he was so turned on by this stupid lingerie and Johnny's beautiful body that he might have lost his mind for a moment, rough and hard.
And Doyoung blinks at him then, thinking about it.
Sex fog starting to clear from his head, clarity that brings forth more thought—
He's panting, and Youngho is panting, but in the split second there is enough breath to be held, Dongyoung has the minor embarrassment of cumming first.
Cumming first, and not making Johnny cum.
That Johnny has not cum—and Dongyoung wants him to.
It's fuel to a fire trying to fade out, it's his blood still singing from pleasure, from orgasm, and the way his heart leaps at the idea of Youngho's pleasure—he feels his fingertips fill with static, with his heartbeat, he feels his belly twist, knot, excitement,
And just as Johnny begins to squeeze his legs closed, Doyoung, with the determination of an army in his guts, dives back in, shoving one of Johnny's legs back to his chest, and kissing him.
Johnny gasps into the kiss, startled, but kisses back, licking over Dongyoung's tongue the moment it breaches his mouth.
He kisses back so well, taking every suck, lick, and smack of their lips, for such a moment,
He gently puts a hand on Dongyoung's shoulder and kind of giggles into it, pushing up to sit up, to get Doyoung off—
Dongyoung refuses—he keeps their kiss deep, to get him there, Dongyoung wants to make him cum, to make him shake, to get him wet and fucked out, and he grabs the man, he grabs him and shoves him back into the bed,
And Johnny nearly squeals when Dongyoung grips him close and presses his half-hard cock right back into him, flush.
The older man physically shakes, breaks the kiss—he garbles out,
"J-Jesus, Doyoung—" and inhales, loudly—
Doyoung fights the way he feels drowned in pleasure, torturous, that it feels so good to be inside him again, so fast, that it hurts, and he sucks in a heavy breath and immediately rolls his hips.
Youngho keens, his hole clenches, and Doyoung's body still manages to send signals up to his brain and make his muscles spasm in pleasure—his dick is sensitive, he'd only just cum; he shifts his hips and groans when his balls all but pulse,
It feels good—Johnny's body is heaven sent, his hole is tight and grips him, and Doyoung begins to thrust, beyond his own means.
Dongyoung watches the way Johnny weakly melts back into the feeling, dizzy; he feels Johnny's body suck him in, so fucking good his vision goes a little wonky—
He grabs the mans hips again and draws his own back further,
And Youngho's legs shake, then, as he slowly fucks his cock back into him; and he hisses, too sensitive—he jolts as Doyoung's cock hits his prostate; shaking, then lets his head smack against the bed out of pure loss of balance, and visibly loses his ability to think, or function, for a moment, as Dongyoung grits his teeth and simply starts fucking him again, hard.
Hard, rough; he bears down on Youngho and barely conceals the pitched whimpers and desperately sensitive groans that force out of him as he pounds into the man, as stimulated as he is—
Johnny wails, he cries out in, maybe, shock, in full fucking pleasure, shouting Dongyoung's name; he grabs Doyoung a little harder and lets out a drawn out whine, letting his legs fall apart further.
Dongyoung accepts—he hunches over the man and fucks into him as hard as he can, body shaking, dick sensitive, he feels like his cock is about to explode; and Johnny simply moans, speechless, crying out every time he thrusts, loud, like every single one is hitting the right spot.
His nails begin to dig into Doyoung's back, his shoulders,
"Oh, my, f-fuck, Doyoung," he cries out, then, immediately wordless,
He sounds beautiful—Dongyoung looks at his mouth, just his mouth, he kisses him again, and knows he himself sounds breathless and fucked out, whining into the older man's mouth as they kiss—
"I want you t'cum," he hears himself whimper, "I want you to feel good,"
Johnny instinctively holds him closer, squished against him, and takes him, takes the way he fucks harder than he ever has before, again—
"S'good," Youngho manages out, "it's so, s-so good, baby—"
And Dongyoung's stomach is knotted up crazy fucking bad, like he's about to cum again somehow, driving his hips into Johnny the way he is, and it's insane, it's making his skin tight and organs squirm and heart beat like it's running a marathon, even tripping a few times—but he keeps going, and kisses him even though he can barely breathe, and forces a hand between them to take the other man's weeping cock into his palm and stroke him,
Fucking into his beautiful boyfriend and jerking his wrist to tug his beautiful boyfriend's dick with all the energy he has left,
Something gorgeously sexual, like that, of having Youngho whine and shake and try to comprehend so many points of pleasure, of fetish, of being fucked full and jerked off—
All until Johnny starts full bodily twitching, like he's close, and Doyoung can taste colours,
Dongyoung gasps loudly as Johnny begins to shake, hole gripping and clenching around him, sensation multiplied in intensity to his sensitive cock—he feels Johnny getting closer, closer, moaning so loudly, and lets the man's cock go to grab his waist with both hands and fuck faster;
His balls tighten, his stomach fills with a pleasantly venomous ache so fucking close to orgasm, maybe even better, he grits his teeth and sobs for air as he fucks beyond his own limit, and Johnny finally cries out,
Youngho breaks the kiss, wails about how Dongyoung is fucking against his g-spot, to sob about how good it is, how fucking good it is, he looks so sexy, he sounds so sexy, he's close, he's so close, and he scratches down Doyoung's back, and his eyes screw shut, and he frantically goes to touch himself; tugging his pretty cock quick, wet, slick and blushed red,
And,
He cums.
On his belly—his hips twitch, his lungs visibly balloon and deflate rapidly, his body is so pretty, he's so pretty, he cums so prettily, eyes fluttering open then closing; body twitching, chest heaving, cum spurting out even into his navel.
Doyoung whimpers, "Love you," as he does, as the man cums, because he does, because he feels so good seeing it, and Youngho replies.
And he looks and sounds gorgeous,
Just so fucking gorgeous, even in how he breathes, how he rocks with every thrust Doyoung still gives him, slower now.
His body is beautiful, Johnny is so beautiful, there is no no, he is just so fucking beautiful; and he shakes, trembles as Doyoung fucks him through his orgasm, even though he's far over the edge,
He grinds against him, into him, and Youngho breathes, and goes a bit limp.
It takes a second more, when he stops cumming—he can barely get his eyes open, but he looks up at Dongyoung in such wonder, in fucked out bliss, and it makes Doyoung swell with pride;
That he looks like he can't believe even more, more than the moments before, when Dongyoung fucked harder than he ever does, Youngho looks so, so pleasantly surprised, and debauched.
He lets his hand fall onto the bed from his cock, and simply rides it out, open mouthed moans and weak, sensitive twitching as Doyoung keeps fucking him until he can't.
Doyoung expends the last bouts of strength left in him in a few more thrusts before he's doubling over, begging to be held, fucked a little stupid—
Youngho weakly throws his arms around his neck and kisses him.
He can't pull his hips back fast enough when he cums again,
Johnny simply holds him closer as he shoots inside of him.
.
.
.
They lie there, like that, for a moment—for several, still bothering to kiss even as the trembling in Doyoung's hips and the shake in Johnny's thighs slowly wane off.
They do, close, warm, sweat off fragrance of body wash,
Tight bra band and chafing panties, breaking kisses to breathe in against Youngho's neck.
Catching their breaths, trying to remember how to function.
Eventually, maybe able to breathe enough, Youngho slips his hands down Doyoung's back, makes his skin tingle, still on fire, and unhooks the bra.
Doyoung feels it loosen around his chest, and sits back just as the other man begins to push him—and very, very gently pulls out. Johnny's body reacts just as much as his does—
Dongyoung somewhat sits back on his legs, and tries to make himself blink.
When Youngho has enough space, and as he himself sits up too, he says, through a small, crooked smile,
"We have to shower again,"
And he titters, and draws the bra off Doyoung, helping him manually lifts his arms to pull out of the straps.
He breathes, and visibly thinks, letting the moment go on.
Johnny eventually succeeds and places the bra up to his own chest with one hand, held in the middle, funny; it looks pleasing, very. He pushes his messy hair behind his ear, and Dongyoung only knows that what he sees is pretty, because Johnny is so pretty,
And Youngho asks, eyes sparkling, voice a bit hoarse but tone playful,
"Will you wear this for me again?"
Dongyoung simply stares at him—hearts everywhere in his vision in a very braindead way, even liquified.
He doesn't answer, a little sex-deaf—and simply takes in the image of the man for a moment, a hobby of his, to look at Johnny.
Pretty.
When Johnny's words finally register he scoffs, lightheartedly, amused at the request and at the timing of it,
It's fine; he feels so full, of life, love—he feels very noodly, his dick feels very good, and he thinks, surely, he'll collapse if he gets up right now;
But it was worth it, and he loves the man dearly, and it isn't really so bad, this "bad" habit of his.
So, as simple as that, he says,
"Yeah."