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Zhang Hao’s mind is spinning rather pleasantly. Partly from the peach soju shots he’d had earlier, but mostly thanks to the slick heat of a mouth on his, intent on stealing his breath.
Something about the hazy edges of his vision and the warmth of his face tells him he must’ve had more than he thought.
Jinyoung didn’t like it when he drank. Didn’t like it when he went out with his friends, period. He said that alcohol dragged out Zhang Hao’s accent and made him quick to laugh and gave him bedroom eyes, unspoken accusations lacing his tone.
Well, Jinyoung isn’t here anymore. Good fucking riddance.
Giddy satisfaction floods Zhang Hao from head to toe as he returns the kiss with the same feverish hunger he’d been offered. With every darling noise he drags out of the handsome stranger twined around his body, the knot of perpetual anxiety that Jinyoung had left him with unravels a little more.
The night was meant to be a casual catch-up with friends. Not a single word was said about Jinyoung’s absence, but there was a distinct note of celebration in the clink of their bottles that couldn’t be chalked up to typical Friday night cheer. Three rounds in, Zhang Hao pretended to be cajoled into dancing as if he hadn’t specifically dressed with this in mind. In a fit of spite, he’d put on a bit of gloss and a clingy black top that Jinyoung had all but forbidden him from wearing out because it sought the wrong sort of attention.
To think that Zhang Hao had ever found his possessiveness charming. It only lasted until he realized Jinyoung wasn’t so much interested in the idea of Zhang Hao being his as he was in the notion that Zhang Hao could be nobody else’s. There he was, destined to be another bauble on Jinyoung’s arm. A show dog to strut out at work outings and family gatherings. A pretty cherry on top of his sparkling academic and professional achievements.
So what if Zhang Hao had gone out looking for attention tonight? Sue him, he’s been starved of it. He’d hoped for a few stray glances across the room, maybe a free drink or three. He hadn’t planned on this, though, despite the way Kuanjui had whistled as he slid into the corner booth at their old haunt—“Dressed to get undressed,” he’d commented slyly over the rim of his glass.
Zhang Hao is used to kisses that taste of obligation, touches that make him feel like an item on a to-do list, somewhere above doing the dishes but below getting the groceries. It’s something, at least. That’s the best that could be said of it. In the last few weeks that he was with Jinyoung, though, that something trickled into nothing at all. They barely glanced at each other while walking side by side—even the brush of a hand was out of the question, never mind anything more.
Zhang Hao has forgotten what it’s like to be wanted. It’s just his luck that the sweet thing currently pinning him to the wall has no shortage of want to give him, ravaging his mouth, squeezing bruises into his hips. It stokes a kind of heat in his belly that he hasn’t felt in months, makes his body thaw like the turn of winter into spring. This feels light. Free. Easy, in a way that nothing with Jinyoung ever was.
The bathroom door slams against the far wall as he shoves it open with one hand, the noise swallowed up in the bone-shaking bass. In his refusal to detach from his handsome stranger’s lips for anything except an absolute need for air, Zhang Hao stumbles and nearly trips as he walks them backwards. That's the least of his concerns, he decides. He has much better things to worry about—like the protective arm around his waist pulling him flush against a rather nicely defined chest, if he does say so himself.
“Hanbin-ssi,” Zhang Hao gasps out. That’s the name he was given a few songs ago, along with a glittering smile and an invitation to dance. He suspects he’ll grow quite accustomed to the sound of it before the night is done. “Are you trying to eat me?”
Hanbin’s laugh comes as a winded puff against his cheek. “If you’re offering, then yes.” He tugs once more at Zhang Hao’s poor swollen lip before moving lower, kissing along Zhang Hao’s jugular where his heartbeat pounds through the thin skin. “I could give you a mark or two to take home.” He mouths over the spot none too gently. Hot tongue, a tease of teeth. “Maybe a few more than that, actually. I’d make them pretty for your pretty neck.”
“Stop talking and get to work, Hanbin-ssi, or I’ll go find someone else who will.”
Hanbin ignores the threat, frowning up at him with big, glossy eyes. “Do you really need to be so formal?”
Zhang Hao appraises him through his lashes. He's always held that men are simple creatures. Give him five seconds and he’ll not only read them like a book—he’ll have them memorized from cover to cover.
“How about this,” he says. “Put your damn mouth back on me, hyung.”
Hanbin pounces before he finishes talking.
It’s getting good—really, really, good—when Zhang Hao’s phone buzzes in his back pocket. The thought of it is quickly forced out of his mind by the sweet ache of the bruise Hanbin’s biting into his throat, and Zhang Hao sends a mental apology to Kuanjui or Keita or whichever of his concerned friends was trying to reach him. He’ll shoot a quick text back to let them know he isn’t dead. Just after this kiss—he gasps a little, airy and tight. Well, maybe a couple more.
Bzzt. Zhang Hao ignores it a second time, too focused on the scalding brand of Hanbin’s thumb rubbing at the strip of skin between his waistband and the bottom hem of his shirt. Triumph sure tastes sweet—he’d purposely crafted his outfit to look like a walking invitation, his top just the right length to tease a glimpse of his waist when he lifts his arms and sways to the beat. Clearly, it had the intended effect. Bzzt.
Hanbin slips his hand lower to palm his ass. “This okay?”
Oh, fuck it, he’s whining. “Mm, mhm, hurry up, I won’t break—”
Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt.
To Zhang Hao’s chagrin, Hanbin does not hurry up. Instead, he drops his head onto Zhang Hao’s shoulder and laughs. “Unless you’re wearing something I don’t know about, I think someone’s calling you, and they really, really want you to pick up.”
Zhang Hao groans as he drags his phone out.
All at once, the warm fog over his mind evaporates. The walls and tiled floors stop their gentle tilting. Park Jinyoung, the searingly bright screen declares. He'd come asking for another chance before, and Zhang Hao had given it to him. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice? Zhang Hao jams the decline button.
As the call pop-up recedes, what’s left behind is a string of messages. All of them are from the same number except one from Kuanjui that’s nothing more than a reminder to stay safe followed by a string of lewd emojis.
Zhang Hao fumbles one-handed to mute Jinyoung’s contact before shoving his phone back into his pocket with a haughty sniff. “We’ve got better things to do.”
Hanbin raises an eyebrow, but grins back pleased all the same. “You sure it’s not important?”
“It’s not, trust me.” Zhang Hao is already winding his fingers through Hanbin’s hair again. He wouldn’t normally be so forthcoming, but his tongue’s been loosened by soju, and what the hell—it’s all too easy for the words to keep spilling out. Add in a pretty pair of lips suckling at his neck, and his brain-to-mouth filter is blitzed to pieces. “That was my ex. Not that you asked.”
Hanbin pauses. “Do I remind you of him?”
Zhang Hao barks out a laugh. “Not at all. That's a compliment, by the way.”
”He must be missing you.”
“Scared to be lonely, more like. He’s probably pissed he wasn’t the one to break it off and wants to get a last word in.” He sucks in a breath, realizing that Hanbin has stopped kissing him entirely. He tries to wrangle the bitterness out of his tone, but the more he backpedals, the more it sounds like he cares. “It's over, it’s done, thank God. It's been over for a long time. It’s just that I finally told him to his face last week.”
Hanbin hovers over him, his expression sobered into one of mild concern. Zhang Hao squeezes his eyes shut before it can turn into something worse, like pity. “Sorry.” He exhales. “Can we go back to what we were doing?”
Hanbin doesn’t budge, keeping too much space between their faces where there was previously none. “Yes—well, I'd like to, I just—do you want a breather? There’s a convenience store down the street, we could grab something and sit for a bit. Ice cream, if you’d like, since they have decent options. Or we could find your friends. I don’t want to overstep,” he adds hurriedly.
Fuck, that’s a bad sign. Hanbin isn’t just terribly good with his mouth; he’s adorable. There’s an earnest crinkle in his brow that’s completely at odds with the obscene gleam of Zhang Hao’s saliva on his pink, pink lips. At this moment, Zhang Hao’s heart is the furthest thing from being broken. He hopes it shows on his face.
“Cute.” He pats Hanbin’s cheek. “I’ll take the ice cream later if you’re still offering. Right now, though, I don’t want anything else,” Zhang Hao says, thumb dragging along his lower lip.
Hanbin’s breath hitches. “I should really thank your ex for being so stupid that I get to be this lucky.”
“I’ll pass it on to Jinyoung,” Zhang Hao says wryly.
“Never mind, I take it back. I’d rather you forget he exists.”
Zhang Hao scoffs. “Sweet talk will get you nowhere.”
Hanbin only flashes an angelic grin. “Good thing that’s not all my mouth is good for, then.”
He latches right back onto Zhang Hao’s lips, one hand stealing up his chest in search of two perky little buds that are far too easily accessible through the skintight fabric of his top. One teasing tweak, two, and then Zhang Hao’s gasping, pushing up into the touch, the twinge of pleasure-pain warped through the filter of alcohol.
“Just this does it for you?” Hanbin asks, awed.
“Don’t let it go to your head,” Zhang Hao says hotly. It’s not as though Jinyoung has ever paid sufficient attention to him. Jinyoung found his interests trifling, his needs inconvenient, and well, if he didn’t even care to remember Zhang Hao’s favorite song, he couldn’t be expected to know how Zhang Hao likes to be touched, either. What Hanbin just stumbled upon was an electrifying sort of sensitivity that he hadn’t known himself to be capable of.
Hanbin smooths a stray bit of hair back from Zhang Hao’s face, gaze dark. “I didn’t mean anything by it, promise. It says more about your ex than you.”
Any reprieve offered to Zhang Hao’s chest is short-lived. Hanbin’s hand reappears under his shirt, pinching and tugging without mercy until Zhang Hao’s muffling whine after whine against his shoulder.
“You’re so sweet,” Hanbin mutters. “How anyone could leave you this neglected, I can't even imagine. You were made to be spoiled, weren’t you?” Hanbin drags the blunt edge of his nail over a well-abused nipple. “Weren’t you?” he repeats, honey-like.
”Ah! Yes—ngh, yes.”
”Yes, what?”
Zhang Hao peers up at him crossly. “Didn’t I already tell you what you wanted to hear?”
”Be more polite, Hao.”
Zhang Hao groans and stuffs his face back into the crook of Hanbin’s neck. “Yes, hyung,” he grits out. This is what he’s come to, bending to the whims of some pretty stranger in a club bathroom.
Zhang Hao feels the hitch in Hanbin’s breath more than he hears it. It’s the only warning he gets before Hanbin grabs two generous handfuls of his ass and squeezes, forcing him up and forward into a bruising kiss.
“Oh, you actually like that,” Zhang Hao pants as the room spins off-kilter. “You really, really fucking like that.”
Reeling, Zhang Hao reaches out for Hanbin with payback on his mind. He’ll play with his chest, maybe palm him between the legs, see how well he takes it.
Quicker than a snake striking, Hanbin pins his wandering hand over his head. Zhang Hao doesn’t even realize what’s happened until it’s over and the hard tile of the wall is biting into his wrist bone. It's maddening. He wants to hate it.
He loves it.
It adds to the growing collection of confusing facts he knows about Hanbin that set him apart from the other men that Zhang Hao has picked up on his nights out. For one thing, Hanbin likes kissing far too much for it to be only a means to an end. For another, he acts like it’s some privilege to have this messy fumble in a cramped bathroom stall.
Then there’s the way he touches Zhang Hao with the intent to please, not to use. This is something new—some delicious brand of chivalry that manifests in the murmur of “Later” when Zhang Hao tries to pay him some attention, in the strong grip closing around his wrist and pressing it over his head to ensure that he obediently takes his pleasure. It lights Zhang Hao’s skin on fire, this refusal to let him touch Hanbin in return.
Zhang Hao’s free hand has just begun to sneak up Hanbin’s chest when it gets caught, too, in the matter of seconds.
He won’t be able to free himself by brute strength. The certainty of that thought sends all the blood in his body rushing southwards. Being outright denied like this? An entirely foreign concept to Zhang Hao. He should be irritated. He should be struggling, at the very least. Instead, he lies panting against the wall like a bull bested by a matador, growing steadily harder as Hanbin wears him down with sweet words and an iron hold. A year and four months with Jinyoung, and he’d never managed to play Zhang Hao half as well as a man he met an hour ago.
“Let me touch you,” he demands for the sake of being difficult. When that gets no answer, he nips hard at Hanbin’s lip.
Hanbin hisses and squeezes his wrists all the tighter. “Play nice, jagi.”
“Why should I?”
He reels Hanbin in with a leg hiked around his thigh, making him stumble forward until he’s crushing Zhang Hao into the wall. Zhang Hao has been hoping for some friction, yes, but the other piece of it is that he’s fiercely curious as to whether Hanbin is even affected by all this. With his pride already wounded by his own desperation, he needs to know that Hanbin’s at least a fraction as worked up as he is.
When Hanbin’s hips press flush against his for one blinding second, a single thought rattles through Zhang Hao’s mind: that must be Hanbin’s wallet in his front pocket. Or his phone, perhaps. Maybe even a whole goddamn tablet, who knows—but then Hanbin shivers and groans and grinds into him, and the realization lands like a lightning strike.
“Fuck.” That’s definitely a dick, deliciously, obscenely thick even without being fully hard. “Fuck,” Zhang Hao repeats, with feeling. “How long were you going to hide that from me?”
“You can ignore it,” Hanbin says, quick and low. “Let me take care of you and I'll be most of the way there.”
“Like hell I'm going to ignore it.” Even if it were possible to ignore the hard line of Hanbin’s cock straining against his thigh—which it’s not—Zhang Hao has no interest in doing so. “Let me see, I wanna see.” Before he knows it, his bottom lip is pushed out into a pout.
Hanbin’s eyes flicker down to his mouth and stick there.
“Oh, you’re thinking about it.” Zhang Hao giggles, the sound bubbling out of him.
Hanbin’s gaze narrows. “What, exactly, am I thinking about?”
“How pretty I'd look with my lips around you.” Zhang Hao relaxes the more Hanbin tenses. He wraps himself tighter around him, python-like. “Am I wrong?”
“Hao.”
”What?” Zhang Hao bats his eyes. “I'm thinking about it too.”
Hook, line, sinker. The second Hanbin slackens his grip, Zhang Hao drops to the floor, swaying forward to nuzzle Hanbin’s inner thigh. If he focuses hard enough, he can feel the heat of his cock pulsing against his cheek. “Can I?”
It's several long moments before Zhang Hao registers that Hanbin is laughing incredulously above him. “You’re unreal.” His eyes are dark and unfocused when he looks back down. “Go ahead, jagiya, if that’s what you want.”
“Of course it is,” Zhang Hao says, a touch haughty. “I wouldn’t have offered otherwise.”
He slides Hanbin’s zipper open carefully to avoid seeming overeager. Works his underwear down with as much patience as he can muster. Unfortunately, it’s all in vain as soon as he gets a glimpse of what’s underneath.
Zhang Hao’s stomach twists, quick and sharp as a hunger pang. Well, he is, in fact, a man starved. He lets himself look his fill as saliva begins to pool around his tongue. Maybe it's been so long that he's gone delirious—he has a sudden, inexplicable urge to describe Hanbin’s cock as gorgeous.
It’s not as though Zhang Hao is easy to please. Quite the opposite, actually. He’s been around the block enough times to know that he likes them big. Long or thick, they can be either—they’re very rarely both, after all. Ideally with a nice curve and a bit on the sensitive side, but Zhang Hao knows he's already plenty more choosy than most people can afford to be.
In a stroke of incredible luck, Hanbin is gifted with all of the above: a cock pretty as can be, flushed from base to tip with an obscenely generous girth that makes Zhang Hao’s jaw ache at a mere glance. Even under these hazy purple lights, the head visibly gleams with slick, inviting Zhang Hao in for a taste. He looks like satisfaction, like the answer to the steady ache of arousal that's been thrumming between Zhang Hao’s thighs since Hanbin first laid careful hands on his hips on the dance floor.
Zhang Hao wants him in his mouth. Immediately.
He’s quick to wrap a hand around Hanbin, getting a feel for the hefty weight as he gives the tip an experimental lick. His thoughts are sliding into one another, slow and sticky as molasses—forget Jinyoung, Hanbin puts even his favorite toys to shame. As much as Zhang Hao likes a good challenge, there’s a very real spark of doubt as to whether he’ll be able to take Hanbin’s entire length. The realization makes his stomach coil so tight that he has to shove the heel of his palm between his thighs to take the edge off.
Zhang Hao feels the weight of Hanbin’s stare, the squeeze of his hand around the back of Zhang Hao’s neck with every kittenish suckle. He’s mildly impressed that Hanbin’s cock isn’t speared down his throat yet.
The only logical thing left to do? Put on a frown and a coquettish tilt of his head as he says, “I’m not sure it’ll fit, hyung. Feed me?”
“Fuck,” Hanbin groans, nearly guttural. “Yeah. Yeah, okay—here, open, baby.“
Zhang Hao sits on his haunches and waits: mouth smeared with cherry gloss and pre-come, tongue lolled out. The hand on his nape tightens as Hanbin pushes the swollen head past his lips, the pressure forcing his mouth endlessly wide, sliding further and further until Hanbin’s cock hits the back of his throat. Zhang Hao fights back the sting of tears with each shallow breath through his nose as he wills himself to relax.
“That’s it, Hao-yah, so good for me,” Hanbin says thickly. His hand has migrated down to Zhang Hao’s cheek, stroking over the bulge where he’s stuffed his mouth full. “Can you take more?”
Of course. Zhang Hao is far from tapping out, despite the act he’s been putting on. He surges forward, greedily swallowing down Hanbin’s cock with only the briefest of pauses for recovery, his fervent pace only urged on by winded gasps of baby, jagi, Hao-yah.
“Go easy,” Hanbin rasps, even as his hips say otherwise. “Don’t hurt yourself.”
That’s his experience talking, a snide little voice whispers at the back of Zhang Hao’s mind. This is where everyone else gave up on taking him any further. Zhang Hao’s throat burns. The world blurs. He can hardly get enough air, and still, he’s not satisfied. He grabs Hanbin by the thighs and drags him forward until he’s buried snugly down Zhang Hao’s throat with both hands anchored in his hair, moaning low and pretty. Again, again, again, Zhang Hao pulls him in until Hanbin’s freely fucking his mouth.
Even as the slam of Hanbin’s hips makes Zhang Hao fight for air, there’s a certain power in being on his knees: it’s the wild wonder settling over Hanbin’s face each time Zhang Hao sinks down on his cock, the fraying of control that Zhang Hao can feel in real time as Hanbin’s thrusts come rougher and rougher.
“Look at you, taking me deeper than anyone else ever could,” Hanbin pants. “If you were mine, I'd keep your pretty mouth full all the time, give it to you whenever you want.”
His praise is a balm to the raw ache in Zhang Hao’s throat. It sends a bolt of heat straight down his spine, making him part his legs where he’s knelt on the floor. Zhang Hao fumbles his pants open, his rhythm getting sloppy as he rubs frantically against his own palm.
Hanbin’s nails scrape over Zhang Hao’s scalp in warning. “Hands off, jagiya.”
Zhang Hao keeps right on touching himself. He needs it too badly to stop. It makes him feel filthy, sitting there on a dingy bathroom floor, so desperate to get off that he’s ruining his nice leather pants with how much pre-come he’s leaking. He finds that he likes it, that little sting of shame.
This time, Hanbin tugs sharply on Zhang Hao’s hair, forcing him off with a slick pop.
Hanbin’s cock is a pretty mess when he pulls free, jutting out of his undone jeans all red and swollen and sopping wet. He certainly won’t be able to fit back inside his pants without getting off first. An absurd thought, but Zhang Hao is too far gone to care about rationality. His stomach clenches, hot and tight.
”Is hyung saying that I can’t come?” Zhang Hao sniffles. “Cruel.”
Hanbin hauls Zhang Hao up and surges forward, crowding him in against the wall until his cheek is pressed flat to the cool tile. “What hyung’s saying is that you can’t come from your own hands. Only mine. Alright?”
Hanbin is draped across his back, heavier and hotter than a weighted blanket. He rains kisses on Zhang Hao’s nape as his hands snake around to Zhang Hao’s front, yanking his pants further down his thighs for better access. A startled moan bursts from Zhang Hao when Hanbin slides a tight fist down around him, jerking him off with leisurely flicks of his wrist. He jolts backward only to press into something hard and heavy—Hanbin’s bare cock, a tease of pressure just shy of sliding between his ass cheeks.
“Like this, jagi,” Hanbin murmurs. “Doesn’t it feel better when you don’t have to do it yourself?” Zhang Hao can feel his self-satisfaction in the curve of his lips on his skin. “Give hyung an answer. Yes or no?”
“S’alright.”
Zhang Hao has seen many a man try and fail to stamp out his mean streak with force. Hanbin does not bother with force. Hanbin keeps giving him what he wants, tossing little breadcrumbs that aren’t quite enough. Hanbin works his cock slowly, punishing, skimming his slit over and over until it forces a mewl out of Zhang Hao, drawn out and wobbly from how hard he’s been trying to hold it in.
”Really? Just ‘alright’?” The worst part is that Hanbin isn’t even mocking him. There’s almost no shift in his tone whatsoever. Still sweet, still light. Just the slightest hint of an edge, glinting bright as a diamond and as hard as one too. “I think you’re more honest when you’re not talking.”
“Bold words for someone who hasn’t made me come yet,” Zhang Hao retorts.
”So mean.” Hanbin delivers a crisp smack to his behind. It’s a playful thing, barely enough to cut through the warm buzz enveloping his body, and yet Zhang Hao can’t keep from gasping and canting back into it. “Jinyoung-ssi might not have been able to tell, but there’s a difference between not making you come and not letting you, you know.”
“Are you sure it’s really a matter of not letting me?” Zhang Hao asks, breathless. “Or do you just not know where to go from here? It’d be a real shame, having a cock like that and no idea how to use it.”
He squirms in anticipation of a slap that doesn’t come.
Hanbin grabs hold of his hips and forces them still, but it’s too late—Zhang Hao has already wriggled enough to make the fat head of Hanbin’s cock catch on his rim. Hanbin bows over, groaning into the crook of his neck as he keeps mindlessly rutting forward like he can’t find it in him to stop now that he’s started. It’s too dry and Zhang Hao will hate himself later for letting Hanbin smear tacky pre-come between his cheeks, but the thought of having him inside gets him desperate enough to make it good.
Panting, Hanbin wrenches his hips away only to spread Zhang Hao open with a broad palm. A brush of a single finger against his hole, and that’s all it takes to have Zhang Hao clenching up. It’s pitiful. It betrays his careful nonchalance. He knows it, and still, he can’t help it.
He’s not prepped at all, and yet his stomach flutters with the phantom ache of being stretched around Hanbin’s cock. It’s been so long since he’s been properly filled that he throbs at just the fantasy of unrelenting pressure, of a fullness that pushes up against the bottom of his rib cage, forcing him to take and take and take. Even if he’d been worked open nice and slow on three, maybe four fingers, it would be an awfully snug fit. Like this? He’d be split in two. He shivers, burying a moan into the back of his arm.
“What, not even going to try to prove me wrong?” Zhang Hao bites out.
Hanbin goes silent. Briefly, there’s nothing but pulsing music and swathes of shifting light, suspending them in its current as though they’re underwater.
“Spit for me.” Zhang Hao’s breath catches. Hanbin wouldn’t; he wouldn’t. “Come on, Hao.” Fingers grip around his chin and coax his mouth open. When he finally complies, he’s rewarded with a kiss that leaves his lips stinging and his thoughts scattered.
Wet. That's the next thing Zhang Hao registers, gasping as Hanbin slides his palm between his thighs and spreads the cooling slickness of his own saliva over the delicate skin. ”What—”
”You’ll just have to imagine that I'm really inside, jagi,” Hanbin says, all sweetly apologetic. Then there’s the thick heat of him, rubbing over the seam of Zhang Hao’s thighs where supple flesh meets supple flesh before finally squeezing in with a soft pleased sound. At the same time, Hanbin continues to toy with his hole, pushing in just the tip of a finger. It’s a tease. A taunt, really, reminding Zhang Hao of how woefully empty he is even though he’s got a gorgeous cock that’s more than capable of satisfying him mere inches away, fucking his thighs instead. “You can still come without being filled, can’t you?”
Of course he can; he’s entirely too close to the edge already and Hanbin knows it. No sense in lying when his entire body is intent on betraying him, chest heaving, cock dripping.
Zhang Hao’s phone begins to buzz again, precariously perched in his pocket where his pants are bunched around his lower thighs. Hanbin must feel it too, pressed as close as he is. “Want to pick up?” he asks, tone deceptively warm.
”Do whatever the hell you want,” Zhang Hao pants, head hung low. “Just don’t fucking stop touching me.”
From the corner of his eye, he watches Hanbin swipe once across the screen before passing the phone back. “You hold it, Hao-yah. I’ll need my hands free.”
His stomach swoops as soon as the call connects. Jinyoung’s work contact blinks up at him through the dark. The gall of him. The pure fucking gall to keep trying even after Zhang Hao had muted his personal number. There’s the briefest of silences as the ruckus from Zhang Hao’s end of the line pours through the receiver. Then he hears that voice again: “Where are you?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Zhang Hao hisses, too low to be caught.
“If you’re suddenly back to drinking—” Zhang Hao can picture it now: Jinyoung puffing out a sigh with the bridge of his nose pinched between his fingers, a habit copied from the forty-something-year-old businessmen whose attention he buys with his father’s name. “—it’s not healthy to act out of spite, Hao.”
His hackles rise at the familiar tone.
In the same moment, Hanbin’s warm, warm hands begin rubbing circles into his skin. “Don’t answer. Don’t waste your breath on anything but making pretty noises for me, hm?”
Jinyoung is only getting started, standing tall on his soapbox. “—jui, Keita, tried the lot of them and they all wouldn’t pick up and you wouldn’t either. Now you finally take my call, and let me guess, it’s because you’re too drunk to find your way back—”
Hanbin picks up the pace as he litters Zhang Hao’s skin with syrupy promises of exactly how he’ll get to come, praising his voice, his body, the way he begs without words. It takes monumental effort for Zhang Hao to choke back the sounds building in his chest. Hanbin spares him no mercy, pushing all his buttons at once: one hand pinching at his sore nipples, the other teasing his weeping slit, speeding up only to slow back down.
When Zhang Hao can’t take it anymore, he jerks his head away from the receiver just before a tremulous moan spills free. “Come on, hyung, there,” he gasps.
“Come on, jagi,” Hanbin says, mimicking his tone. Zhang Hao can’t see his face but he knows he’s smiling, that bastard. “That feels good, doesn’t it? Let Jinyoung-ssi know just how good it is.”
“—respect, that’s what it’s about. These are things that need to be worked on, Hao. I can't do this again otherwise.”
Nothing matters except for the brutal pleasure humming feverishly under his skin, and if Zhang Hao really tries, he can imagine that Hanbin’s properly fucking him open from the pounding that his poor thighs are getting. All he knows is Hanbin’s weight crushing him into the wall and his hand wrapped around his tortured cock and his honeyed voice, dripping with a snake charmer’s sweetness.
After the first mewl dribbles out, there’s no stopping it. “A-ah, hah, ah—mm, hyung—”
Zhang Hao’s mind goes blissfully blank. He hears himself as though he were occupying someone else’s body, high and needy and embarrassingly docile in a way that he’s never gotten for Jinyoung.
So this is what vengeance is: taking his pleasure so shamelessly that it shames Jinyoung. There’s a certain vicious delight to be found in the thought of him fuming in bed, bitterly aroused with no one around to do anything about it while Zhang Hao spends the night in the care of Hanbin’s capable hands.
The line is long dead by the next time Zhang Hao glances up.
“Whatever you need, as much as you need until you’re satisfied, I’ll give it to you better than he ever could,” Hanbin says, dark and urgent by Zhang Hao’s ear as he slides jerkily into the soft clutch of his inner thighs.
There’s a brand in Hanbin’s grip, a claim in his tone, rapidly snowballing in intensity. We’re barely more than strangers, Zhang Hao wants to scream at himself. They met two hours ago, max. It should be too much, too soon for even the faintest shadow of possessiveness to rear its ugly head. It should send him running. Unfortunately, it only gets him arching back like an animal in heat as Hanbin drags him in by the hips.
It’s all tension in Hanbin’s body, like a bow strung too tight, and Zhang Hao knows that sooner or later he’ll have to snap. Zhang Hao’s pulse thuds in anticipation. He hopes it’s sooner, for the sake of his thighs.
Another hoarse moan rips free of his throat. Raw. His skin is rubbed so raw that he’ll wince trying to get into his jeans tomorrow and think of what made him this tender, of the contrast of the pretty flushed tip of Hanbin’s ridiculously thick cock peeking out from between his pale thighs, dark pink on white.
“I wanna come,” Zhang Hao whines, thumping a palm against the wall in frustration. “Haven’t come in ages, I need—ngh, I need more. Come on, hyung, hyung-ah, please please please.”
Hanbin shudders hard behind him, kissing his neck wet and sloppy and open-mouthed. “God, I can't believe how cute you are when you’re close.”
Zhang Hao wails when Hanbin pulls his hand away. “Hyung—!”
His indignant cry slurs back into a moan once Hanbin’s touch returns, just as rough and warm as before but now deliciously spit-slick as he works Zhang Hao’s cock. Ever since Hanbin discovered the delicate spot under the head that launches Zhang Hao’s whimpers into new heights of shamelessness, he’s been paying it extra-special attention, and oh, oh, it twists something deep in Zhang Hao’s stomach to know that any unfortunate drunkard stumbling into the bathroom now can hear him pleading for his hyung even over the thrum of music, but he can’t spare a single fuck when his brain is nearly liquified by pleasure.
Hanbin fucks his thighs at a vicious pace, so much so that the sound of his hips slapping against Zhang Hao’s ass adds a conspicuously lewd rhythm to the muffled thump of the bass. “Fuck, Hao-yah, you feel so good like this, it’s driving me crazy,” Hanbin mutters into his nape, breathing gone erratic.
Zhang Hao only whimpers. “Hyung, I’m—I’m going to—“
“That’s it, there we go,” Hanbin murmurs. “Go ahead, princess.”
What the fuck. Zhang Hao sobs, jerking in Hanbin’s hold as he comes and comes and comes until he’s trembling harder than a newborn fawn. Somewhere amidst the white noise roaring in his ears, Hanbin slurs through a litany of praise that would set Zhang Hao’s face on fire if he were still in his right mind. He finally grinds to a shuddery halt, painting Zhang Hao’s thighs with thick warmth.
If not for the strong grip around his waist, Zhang Hao would’ve buckled to the floor right then and there. As it is, he slumps forward, basking in the high of the first orgasm to truly satisfy him in months.
When Zhang Hao opens his eyes, Hanbin is still there, to his surprise. To his greater surprise, Hanbin is dabbing gently between his thighs and across his stomach with some toilet tissue even though he hasn’t quite recovered himself, looking distinctly disheveled with his ruddy face and glassy eyes.
Hanbin catches him staring and grins. “You okay, princess?”
“Who says I'm your princess?” Zhang Hao shoots back, even as his gut twists traitorously.
”I don't remember hearing any complaints a few minutes ago.”
“You weren’t exactly making it easy for me to talk.”
Hanbin’s eyes gleam with mirth. “That sounds an awful lot like a compliment to me.”
He proceeds to do the most perplexing thing yet: he carefully tucks Zhang Hao back into his too-tight pants and valiantly tries to smooth his shirt into a semblance of propriety after having spent the entirety of their acquaintance rucking it up. If Hanbin notices his flush lingering far past what could be explained by a recent orgasm—even a very, very good one—Zhang Hao will blame it on a trick of the light.
Hanbin continues his cleaning spree by mopping up the streaks of spend that had landed on the wall. He looks ridiculous with his gaze fixed on Zhang Hao as he wipes and wipes without sparing so much as a glance at what he’s doing. What kind of stranger makes you come so hard you nearly collapse and then gives you starry eyes while cleaning up your mess? A gentleman, surely. A potentially insane one, but a gentleman nonetheless.
Zhang Hao makes a split-second decision. Still leaning heavily against the wall, he says, “Hold my phone for me, will you?”
When Hanbin takes it, Zhang Hao tells him, “Put your number in. Royal orders.”
Before either of them make it out of the stall, Zhang Hao’s screen lights up with a new message.
왕자님
how about that ice cream :)