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“I produced that one specifically to hear your voice on it.”
Tag watches him like a hawk as he says it, perched on his haunches at the edge of the couch. He’s half-hanging over the armrest like he’s preparing to take flight any second, the hair he’s grown out to the nape of his neck for the comeback dark, the eyes that bore infinity into Jay darker still. Even after so many months of working together—heck, living together, Jay can’t help thinking of Tag as something feral, something stuck between human and wolf, not quite one or the other. Always sitting in weird places, perching rather than lying flat, knees pulled up to his chest and thin wrists locked around his thighs, taking the sofa instead of the bed. Because he’s a freak, Jay had joked at that time. The longer he knows Tag for, the more it seems true.
“I’m sorry.” There isn’t really anything else he can say. Jay picks nervously at the overly long sleeve of his sweater, a loose thread coming apart in his hand like liquid sunshine. Tag’s swivel chair is suddenly a notch too cold against his back, even through his sweater. He hadn’t meant to sit in it, but Tag had been sprawled on the couch when Jay had come in, and Jay’s known Tag for long enough to know that Tag doesn’t particularly enjoy physical contact unless he’s the one initiating it, so he’d kept his distance. It’s a small mercy for him too—things have been ever so slightly awkward ever since the schedule negotiations had come back with the verdict of no Onepact comeback for Jay, the tiniest bit of tension that hangs in the air and makes them all a little more snappy and doesn’t get talked about until one of them explodes. Jay’s hedged his bets on Jongwoo, knows he’s the most volatile out of the five of them, because Seongmin’s a pacifist and Yedam’s just a happy little fellow and Jay doesn’t really have the right to explode himself.
And then there’s Tag. Tag, who never explodes, just sits and perches and fucking stares until Jay almost wishes he would explode instead.
“It’s not your fault.” There’s a bitter edge hidden somewhere in Tag’s voice, the buried lede. Almost as if he wishes it were Jay’s fault so he’s got someone concrete to blame, but as it is, all he’s got to yell at is a handful of faceless entities that Jay himself doesn’t really know, and he’s the one under them. “There’s always next comeback.”
The one that Jay doesn’t even know if he’ll be participating in. He doesn’t say that, and Tag doesn’t bring it up either. Instead, they stay silent as Tag jostles the laptop resting on his thighs, skinny fingers pressing themselves to the track pad intently. Get a mouse, Jay’s always insisted. You get me one, then, Tag’s always shot right back.
“I made a few,” Tag finally admits, enunciating his words carefully like he’s scared to let them out of his mouth. “This one was my favourite, though. Kept thinking about how you’d sound on it.” He exhales noisily, throwing his head back so it hangs over the backrest of the sofa, dark hair dripping down the beige fabric like spilled ink. Jay’s gaze trails every drop, each crinkle-cut strand. He still isn’t used to seeing Tag with black hair, knows Tag doesn’t really like it all that much himself, but it suits him. Makes him look sharper and softer all at the same time, a little leaner, a little more approachable.
Jay fixes his eyes on the back of Tag’s laptop, balanced precariously on his lap. An idea strikes him. “Do you have the instrumental? I could sing it for you,” he offers.
Tag’s eyebrow touches his forehead. “Of course I have the instrumental. I made it.” He lowers his laptop ever so slightly—not that it makes a difference, considering how his eyes haven’t left Jay ever since Jay knocked on his studio door. Watching him the same way a predator stares down its prey, wolf and human all at once. “Could you?”
There’s a slight waver in his voice, like he’s spent far longer than he should thinking about this but never quite thought it would actually happen, especially after all the negotiations surrounding Jay’s schedule and Build Up and KCON, when they’d announced that Jay wouldn’t be part of the comeback. Jay still remembers that meeting. Seongmin had looked more than a little distressed. Yedam had shrunk in on himself, curling into his chair. Jongwoo had simply left the room. And Tag had tilted his head up to the ceiling, exhaled all his hopes through his nose like he’d seen it coming all along.
Jay opens his mouth in the most sincere Of course he can manage, but before the words have even had the chance to leave his mouth, Tag’s already shoving a microphone into his face. Jay’s reflexes kick in a beat too late, the microphone bumping against his nose gently. “Hey,” he complains.
“You offered.” There’s the slightest hint of petulance in Tag’s voice, a soft pout firmly affixed onto his face as he shoves the microphone in Jay’s face again, lets it thud lightly against his nose until he goes a little cross-eyed.
Jay can’t resist rolling his eyes, wrapping his fingers around the microphone and lifting it to his mouth as Tag turns back to his keyboard, pulling his knees up to his chest. Like this, he looks—comfortable. As if having Jay here for once has quelled the inner storm that seems to be constantly brewing in his chest, a silent hurricane that Jay’s never quite understood, never thinks he’ll really be able to.
It’s something slow, a laidback melody overlaying a steady, constant beat, something that burrows itself into Jay’s chest and stays there, settling itself into his ribs. Tag’s let him hear it before, once when it had been nothing more than a melody and a drum, another time with all the others crowded around his shoulders, and a third time maybe twenty minutes ago. He hasn’t liked it any less each round, Tag’s quiet, scratchy voice leaking into his ears and filling his mind until it threatens to overflow.
Jay’s Korean still isn’t the best, but from what he can tell, it’s about love. Soft and slow and romantic. Love in its truest form, pure tenderness bottled up into a little less than four minutes, Tag’s intentions clear in every word. The lyrics inject an undercurrent of lust beneath the whole thing, strong and affectionate and sure as the rising sun, like falling asleep in starlit sheets and waking up in sunkissed arms. They spill his emotions across the universe and paint Jay’s vision in blue, grey, red, red, red like the erratic thump of his own heart.
He stumbles over the first verse, the lyrics unfamiliar as they round themselves around his canines and stick to the roof of his mouth. But Tag’s eyes never leave him, and it’s that which has Jay propelling through the chorus like it was made for him, each word making a home for itself in his bones. Tag studies him the whole time, gaze fixed on his eyes, his lips, his hands. Drinking him in like fine wine. Like he could look at him every day and it still wouldn’t be enough. Jay can’t help wondering if he likes what he sees.
“I really like it,” he can’t help confessing as the final notes of the instrumental taper out, setting the microphone down on Tag’s desk. He realises it isn’t off when the head thunks onto the lacquered wood entirely too loud, wincing at the noise, but Tag waves off his attempts to switch it off. “It’s kind of sexy.”
“I’m making you sing the demo for the next one,” Tag says, stalking across the tiny studio just enough to unceremoniously plop his laptop down on his desk. “Fuck, you sing so well it’s unfair. How’s your voice that pretty?”
Jay can’t help the laugh that bubbles up his throat, loud and easy, far too easy. His ears heat, blushing red at the tips as he does his best to duck his face away. How are you that pretty? he almost wants Tag to say instead. “I like your demos. They’re nice. They’ve got character.”
“You think everything has character. That kid on your vocal show started crying onstage and you said you liked it.” Tag grins, a thin flash of teeth and nothing much else. Like petals in the wind—there one second, gone the next. He’s never openly admitted to watching Build Up—Jay knows he never will—but the knowledge that he did anyway warms Jay’s heart more than he can ever say.
“Because I did!” When Tag drops back down onto the couch, more than enough space for one more person next to him, Jay finally lets himself crawl over and join him on the sofa. Tag doesn’t push him away, not even when he moves just the tiniest bit closer, enough that their knees bump and their fingers brush and if he wanted to just reach out and take what he wants, he could. “He’s young. Besides, it just means that he could really feel what he was singing about. I like that.”
Tag turns his head towards him, leans in just a little more. Their noses are barely an inch apart by now, and if Jay wanted to, he could— “Just now, could you feel what you were singing about?”
He can hear his own heartbeat rattling in his chest, an erratic thump-thump-thump where it careens off the ivory of his ribs and rattles against his lungs. Shakes the bars of its cage because it wants, craves, needs. So badly it hurts. Tag’s mouth is pale and chapped where it hovers mere centimeters away from his own, bitten by the sting of the last embers of spring frost and worrying, sleepless canines, and Jay wants, wants, wants—
“Yes,” he breathes, the word flooding his insides with molten gold, and the second it leaves his lips, Tag leans in and kisses him.
Jay feels himself go limp in Tag’s grasp as Tag slips one hand around the back of his head, draws him in closer. Nips at his lower lip until he’s gasping for air, the other hand snaking itself around his waist and pressing thin fingers to the curve of Jay’s hips until they cant over bone. He’s rough and soft all at the same time, teeth skimming Jay’s lips before he finally slides his tongue into his mouth.
Tag kisses like he wants to devour him alive, sinking his teeth into Jay’s lower lip until the faintest burst of copper erupts on Jay’s tongue, mouth hot and languid and just skillful enough to make Jay’s entire body melt into his jellied knees. He digs his nails into Jay’s hip, tugs him impossibly closer, kisses him harder. And Jay drinks it all up, takes whatever Tag gives him, kisses him right back.
The hand on his waist shifts, travelling up his body until the hard edge of a thumb fits itself into the space above his collarbones, presses into the soft skin hard enough to bruise, slots itself into the black hole between blood and bone. Jay almost hopes he’ll bruise. That everyone will see the harsh violet spots daubed over his throat and his kiss-bitten lips and know exactly what he’s done. Who he belongs to, even if it’s only for tonight.
Tag’s tongue swipes over Jay’s bloody lip before he finally pulls away, a balm against the wound he’s left behind. He doesn’t apologise. Jay doesn’t expect him to. They’ve known each other for long enough, done this for long enough to know that this is exactly what they need. There’s a smear of scarlet gleaming on his teeth when he admits, “It’s not just you, you know. I’m not mad at you. It’s all the bullshit going on with the company and—” He exhales sharply, flopping back against the worn-out cushions. “Everything. I don’t even know who’s behind all this anymore. I just wish I had someone to blame.”
“You could blame me,” Jay rasps, head still spinning from Tag’s mouth. There’s mercury on his tongue, infinity burning on his molars.
“It’s not your fault.”
“You could blame me anyway.” He scrambles off the couch, sliding down onto his knees, and Jay sees a little light snap in Tag’s eyes as it finally clicks. “Take it out on me tonight. Please."
Tag stands up, dark eyes boring down into Jay, suddenly so big even though he’s barely one centimeter taller and far more lean. Jay can’t help the shiver that runs up his spine, a little thrill of excitement sparking through his veins as he reaches to unbutton Tag’s jeans, slides them down his bony hips along with his underwear.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Tag warns, voice a red light where it catches in his throat, hand carding itself gently in Jay’s dark hair. Jay feels his cunt gush between his thighs, soaking into his boxers.
He presses a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of Tag’s thigh, cupping his hardening cock lightly as he glances up at him with the best puppy eyes he can manage. Some part of him hopes Tag likes what he sees. That he needs him as much as Jay does. Yearns for it.
“You always do,” Jay murmurs, before he’s leaning forward to take the tip of Tag’s dick into his mouth.
He’s done this before, especially when he was still figuring out his sexuality back in Boys Planet and fucking around with every guy who wanted it was all he could think to do. Never really gone all the way until he’d gotten out of that damn show—except with Kamden, but he’s done a lot of things with Kamden that he’d never do with anyone else. If he’s being entirely honest, he misses Kamden more than he’ll ever admit, but it’s not like they aren’t close anymore. They still film Tiktoks together and go out for pancakes every other weekend and all Kamden’s bandmates say Jay’s their favourite hyung. It’s just—complicated. As most of Jay’s relationships seem to be.
As what he has with Tag now is, the thought nothing more than a blip on the back radar of his mind as he bobs his head further down Tag’s length, swipes his tongue over the slit just enough to make Tag shudder. Tag’s quiet during sex, has always been, so Jay’s found himself learning the little ticks and tocks of his body, relying on the silent language of his form to guide him through Tag’s inner storms. And this—this means he likes it, at least enough to not ask Jay to stop. His fingers twist themselves into Jay’s hair, a little too hard to be comfortable but nothing bordering the edge of rough yet. Just enough to announce their presence against Jay’s scalp as precum soaks into his tongue.
The floor digs into his knees through his sweatpants. Jay ignores it as best as he can even though he knows his skin will be stained purple-blue tomorrow, taking more of Tag into his mouth. He’s heavy on his tongue, not particularly long but thick enough that it makes Jay’s jaw ache, something that his skinny form and baggy clothes would never betray. And when he cants his hips forward, fucking himself past Jay’s lips, right down to the base, Jay gags on his length like the good doll he is, lets Tag seal the kiss with his cock.
The fingers in his hair tighten, tugging at the dark strands as Tag yanks him halfway off his dick, hardly giving him a second to rest before he’s slamming him back down, Tag’s tip hitting the back of his throat. Jay whines low in his chest, curling his tongue around Tag’s length in a desperate attempt to make him feel good, to let him know he wants this, that he wants him.
He can’t hold back the choked sob that escapes his lips when Tag fucks his hips into his mouth again, erratic and rough and so so quiet even as he forces Jay’s lips to stretch obscenely around his cock, a harsh juxtaposition against the whimpers reverberating through Jay’s own throat. He’s loud, always has been, something that’s never been so painfully evident when Tag yanks his hair so hard it burns and Jay fucking moans around his dick, spit dripping down his chin. His eyelids flutter as he slips one hand past the waistband of his pants, pussy too painfully empty for him to ignore it any longer.
Tag’s hand on his jaw has his head snapping upwards, eyes popping wide open as Tag’s grip on his chin tightens so much it actually hurts, cutting off what little oxygen Jay has. He desperately tries to suck in a little oxygen through his nose, but it’s useless, airflow completely cut off by the cock in his mouth and the fingers squeezing his jaw. Jay’s brain goes into panic mode, half-trying to pull himself off Tag’s length, half-trying to get more of him in. Tag’s hand on his chin stops him from doing any of those things.
“Don’t touch yourself.” Tag’s voice is soft, but there’s an edge of steel to his words, enough to make Jay shiver even through the tears rapidly springing to his eyes. “This is your fault, remember?”
He wanted this. He wanted this so badly. He wants this so badly, and it’s why Jay nods desperately, cheeks puffing out as he desperately tries to work his lips around Tag’s cock. Tag doesn’t seem to care, tightening his grasp on Jay’s chin and yanking him right down until his nose touches the patch of sparsely-trimmed hair at the base of Tag’s dick, holds him in place and keeps him there.
Jay chokes, gagging as Tag snaps his hips forward, forces even more of himself down Jay’s throat even though he just can’t take any more, Tag buried to the hilt in his mouth by now. A few tears slip free from the corners of his eyes, trickling down his cheeks as Tag grips his hair roughly, both hands holding him down on his cock. Jay can feel every inch of him filling his mouth to the brim, solid and heavy and bitter with precum where he weighs down his tongue, vision tunnelling as his lungs scream at him to fucking breathe.
Just as he’s beginning to wonder if he’ll actually pass out, Tag tugs him off his dick entirely, watching him intently with those dark, hooded eyes as Jay coughs and gags and gasps for air, spittle soaking into the floor as he desperately tries to take in as much air as he can. He can still feel Tag in his throat. Wants him in his mouth again so badly it hurts.
When he reaches for Tag’s dick again, the slap takes him by surprise. Rattles itself against his cheek and rings through his skull so hard he reels, left completely stunned. A fresh flood of tears spring to his eyes at the sting, face throbbing as he slowly looks up at Tag again, hyper aware of his knees still digging into the ground.
Tag regards him with the same cool curiosity he seems to have reserved for Jay all along, looking at him like he’s wondering if he can take it, looking at him like he knows he can. And Jay can, because he leans forward to take Tag’s cock into his mouth again, only to be deterred by another sharp slap, this time to his other cheek. It’s a little less shocking than the first but no less hard, face burning at the impact. He tilts his chin up to stare at Tag with glassy eyes. Fine. If Tag wants him to wait, he’ll wait. And wait he does, staying put in his position on the floor as Tag grips his chin in his palm again.
“Do better next time,” Tag murmurs.
Jay lets the words grate themselves down the xylophone of his spine. Burrow into his veins. Fester beneath his skin where they make a home for themselves in his bones. He can’t help himself from leaning into Tag’s touch, shifting until Tag’s palm cups his burning cheek, even as he tucks his half-hard cock back into his jeans. Stares up at him and hopes he sees the universe in his gaze, hopes he wants Jay enough to take him to the stars.
“You know I always do,” he teases, the words pushed from between teeth clenched tight as a vice. His voice comes out hoarse, raspy with how much his throat aches, the need to have Tag in his mouth again still burning hot in his chest.
He half-expects Tag to slap him again, but instead, he’s met with nothing but the soothe of rough skin against his abused face, calloused fingertips petting his cheek gently. Jay melts into his touch. Wants to be perfect for him so badly that he lets himself fall limp as Tag kneels down, yanking Jay’s sweatpants and boxers down his pliant legs. He can’t hold back the moan he lets out as Tag slides one finger between his legs, running it over his cunt lips and dripping hole.
“You’re a fucking wreck,” Tag mouths against Jay’s throat, burying his face into the side of his neck. His words ghost over his sensitive skin, hot and wet, and Jay shivers. A yelp escapes his lips when Tag bites down, branding the space just above his collarbones with his teeth, not enough to break the skin but just enough to hurt, mouth sinking into Jay’s flesh like he wants to devour him whole. His teeth retract then come down again with a vengeance Jay hasn’t felt in a very long while, nipping their way up the side of his neck until Jay thinks his body may actually dissolve into putty. Tag’s finger keeps up its dizzying movements the entire time, languidly tracing Jay’s soaked entrance, never quite sliding home.
“Please,” Jay whimpers, pussy clenching subconsciously around air, desperate for something inside him. He’s so wet he’s sure he’s leaking onto the hardwood floors by now, cunt gushing slick every time Tag touches him.
“Hmm?” Tag runs his teeth over the sharp line of his throat again, a silent threat to bite into the exposed veins pulsing beneath his skin. And Jay lets him do as he pleases, tilts his head back as he ruts down helplessly into Tag’s hand, lets himself go slack in his grasp.
“Please,” Jay begs, high and whiny, caught somewhere in his throat. His hips jerk as if of their own accord, practically humping Tag’s palm by now, desperate, desperate, desperate. “Fuck me, please, Tag, fuck, please— ”
Tag draws his hand back, barely a split second of warning before his palm comes down again with a wet, audible smack, right over Jay’s dripping cunt. Jay shrieks, back arching like a snapped bowstring as he reels away, tries to get away from the hit and rock back into it all at the same time.
“Loud,” is all Tag says before he’s leaning in to claim Jay’s lips, pinching his clit between two fingers. Jay gasps into his mouth, a cross between a wail and a moan stuck somewhere in his throat, letting Tag swallow up all his noises and drink them down. His cheeks flush when Tag nips at his swollen lip, the pressure in his chest building so high he almost thinks he might explode—
Slap.
“Ah!” Jay yelps, body hurtling forward as Tag’s punishing palm catches his oversensitive clit this time, the wet schlick of skin against skin doing nothing to soothe the sting. The next hit brings tears to his eyes, Tag’s hand coming down full force over his swollen labia, making him gush slick all over Tag’s palm and the hardwood floor. He can’t hold back the sob that rips itself free from his lips, form stiffening like a spring stretched too taut, caught in the limbo between a red light and more, more, more. “Don’t,” he protests weakly, letting his head loll against Tag’s shoulder.
“You don’t want this?” He can’t quite make out the inflection in Tag’s voice, can’t tell what he’s feeling, can’t see his face from where his cheek is pressed into Tag’s shoulder. He should look up, but Jay thinks he’ll actually die right now if he meets Tag’s gaze.
“Don’t stop,” he manages to get out, the words wobbling as they tremble their way off his tongue. He’s rewarded with another spank, pussy throbbing as he just takes and takes and takes, forcing his legs to stay open so Tag has full access to his body.
Another hit, harder than the last. Jay’s thighs instinctively clamp shut, cunt burning with the sting as he whimpers into Tag’s shoulder, teeth finding the edge of his lower lip.
“Hurts?” Tag asks, voice far too steady for Jay’s liking. Like this—whatever this is—is just another Tuesday to him while Jay shatters into a million pieces.
“Hurts,” Jay replies, and because some part of him likes the pain, he tacks on shakily, “Please, Tag—fuck, oh—” His words catch in his throat when Tag spanks him again hard, once twice thrice in quick succession, easily catching his clit and his soaked hole and he’s on the edge as it is and it’s all too much and the way he bites down into the t-shirt hanging off Tag’s skinny shoulders does nothing to muffle his wail as he cums, gushing all over the floor and Tag’s hand.
Tag doesn’t give him even a moment to rest, easily sliding two fingers into his oversensitive hole before he’s even stopped shaking. Jay chokes on a sob as he rides out the last of his orgasm on Tag’s fingers, pussy instinctively clamping down, still so needy, still begging for more more more. “No—” The syllable rockets up his throat, threatening to leak out of his eyes. “Too sensitive—”
He’s just talking, really, can take a lot more than just this. Tag knows that just as well as Jay himself does, ignoring his plea in favour of spreading his fingers open, stretching him wide. His cunt aches from being spanked, the fiery burn fading into a steady throb as Tag fucks his fingers in and out of him, makes sure Jay feels every knuckle against his sensitive walls.
Jay whines when Tag pulls his fingers out, so suddenly empty it hurts. “Tag, come on, put them back in,” he begs, widening his eyes as much as possible in the hopes that Tag will decide to take pity on him this one time, even though he knows he never does.
“Really?” Tag looks almost distracted, even though the sharp glint in his dark eyes lets Jay know that he’s definitely paying attention. “I thought you’d need something bigger to satisfy you.”
“Are you going to fuck me?” Jay can’t help blurting, excitement swelling in his chest. Tag rarely fucks him, even when he’s wet and needy and aching for it, willing to let him use any hole he wants. It isn’t something Tag prefers. Jay knows that, which is why he doesn’t push anymore, electing to find one of the other boys or take care of things himself, wringing orgasm after orgasm out of himself until the need to be filled is completely fucked out of his system, nothing but a dull ache left behind. His many schedules have made things a little easier, nowadays—hookups are easy to find, especially when Seunghun’s even more of a sex addict than he is, Matthew has a stash of toys hidden beneath his bed that he’s more than willing to share, and he knows Kamden would come over in a heartbeat if Jay just says the word. But it’s—different with Tag, he supposes. As if denying him just makes Jay want him more. Jay’s learned that it’s a lot more complicated than just not being in the mood, though, and even though he doesn’t really understand it, he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try. Bides his time and waits for those rare moments when Tag gives him what he wants, or when he bares just another fragment of his soul, enough for Jay to pretend he knows him a little more.
Disappointment plunges itself between his ribs when Tag shakes his head, getting to his feet. Still, Tag’s got something planned—he always does—so when he orders, “Get onto the sofa,” Jay immediately complies.
Something gleams in Tag’s hand when he settles himself down on the couch next to Jay, and Jay feels his heart stop when he realises what it is—the microphone, cold and shiny where Tag clutches it in his palm, and it hits him all at once just what Tag is planning to do.
“It won’t—” he starts, voice coming out an entire octave higher than usual, but he stops before he can finish the sentence. He knows that isn’t true. Jay’s taken more, could take even more than what he’s already done. And he knows his body well enough to know that it will fit, no matter what he says.
Tag’s eyes are hooded where they pierce through Jay’s chest, indecipherable against the backdrop of his expressionless face, and it sends a shiver curling around Jay’s spine. “Do you trust me?” he asks.
Jay does.
Tag presses the handle of the microphone against Jay’s cunt, spreading his pussy lips apart with his fingers. Jay’s grateful for that—doesn’t think he could handle the fat, textured head, nearly the size of a fist. He twitches when the cold metal dips into his hole, both buzzing with oversensitivity from his orgasm and the inherent wrongness of what he’s about to do, what he’s doing right now. The microphone doesn’t make a sound—Tag must have turned it off before he’d brought it over—but he can’t help wondering what it would be like if he left it on, broadcasting the slick, sick noises of Jay’s desire to the world as he fucks the handle deeper into him.
The tip comes as a shock, both from the cold and the unfamiliarity of the sensation, his cunt trying to push the foreign intrusion out and pull more of it in. Tag doesn’t seem to notice—doesn’t seem to care—focusing on working the microphone handle into Jay with the same single-minded determination that he holds for all their comebacks, the same focus that Jay’s only ever seen on his face when he’s slaving away at his laptop before Onepact’s scheduled to release new music shining clear through his expression. Jay moans as he’s filled, not enough and far too much all at the same time, and he knows he should stay quiet, that there’s other people in the building, that he didn’t lock the door and Tag sure as hell didn’t lock the door and anyone could walk in on them at any time, but he can’t help it—just throws his head back until it hits the back of the sofa and moans and moans and moans as Tag fucks the microphone into his wet heat until it slides in fully, buried to the hilt, nothing but the head left outside him.
The first thrust has him wailing, unsure if it’s from the sensation of it all or from the mortification, cunt gushing slick over the fucking microphone buried in him like the whore everyone knows he is. “Tag—can’t—” he pants, whimpering helplessly as Tag gently works the microphone out of him and thrusts it back inside, the tip punching straight into his sweet spot. He lets out a sob, pussy clenching around the foreign intrusion, so hard and unyielding and metallic compared to an actual cock or a toy, mercilessly pressing into his G-spot until it threatens to push him right over the edge.
“Easy,” Tag soothes, one hand moving to cup the back of Jay’s sweat-damp neck and pull him closer, connecting their lips in a kiss that seems far too gentle for the way his hand just won’t stop moving, the cold metal warming up as he fucks it deeper into Jay’s wet heat, toys with his G-spot until he’s so wet it’s embarrassing, cheeks so hot he’s sure he’ll explode any moment. “I know you can. What are you so embarrassed for? It’s just us. You can admit it feels good. Does it feel good, Jay?”
Fuck. Just them. Just Jay and Tag and the four walls of Tag’s studio, so small yet so oppressively large, looming over Jay’s head as if judging him for even agreeing to this in the first place, as if laughing at him for enjoying it. Like he’s just a slut who’ll take anything, whether it’s fingers or a cock or a fucking microphone like the one lodged halfway up his pussy right now, more slick gushing over Tag’s hand as he fucks the handle in and out of Jay’s clenching hole, so sensitive that he can feel every ridge and groove and button on the microphone, and it’s so fucking filthy that he can’t help sobbing a little at the mortification of it all.
He moans into Tag’s mouth, tastes salt and blood and sweat on his own tongue, hopes Tag feels it too. “Good,” he manages to gasp out, whining high in his throat at a particularly hard thrust that sends his eyes rolling back into his head, and fuck, if Tag fucks that stupid fucking microphone into his sweet spot one more time, he thinks he might actually die. The pleasure builds deep in his stomach, ribs so taut against his skin that he almost wonders if they’ll burst out at any moment, pussy still throbbing from the spanking he’d received earlier. It’s—fucking overwhelming, the stiff metal pounding into his dripping hole, the residual sensitivity from his first orgasm, the way he’s already cresting towards his next peak far too fast— “I’m just—fuck, Tag, I can’t—”
Tag tightens his grip around the microphone head and slams the device into Jay’s defenseless cunt, and Jay cums with a scream so high it’s almost a whimper, squirting all over the couch. He rocks his hips forward desperately as Tag fucks the microphone into him to the hilt, buries it in deep as slick gushes all over Tag’s hand and fuck, if Jay had any brain cells left in his head, he’d find it in himself to be embarrassed over the fact that Tag’s just made him squirt with a stupid fucking microphone, but the white-hot pleasure rocketing behind his eyelids is too much for him to do anything but throw his head back against the couch as Tag fucks him through his orgasm. He’s crying by now, he’s sure he is, hot tears rolling down his cheeks as he cants his hips up and silently begs for more, more, more.
By the time the stars fade from his vision, Tag’s easing the microphone out of his cunt, tossing it to the side carelessly. His pussy gushes helplessly, already missing the feeling of being so deliriously full. Jay blinks hazily, left far too empty and still so fucking needy, unable to hold back his whine. Tag’s clambering off the couch, settling himself between Jay’s legs. Jay’s brain is still too murky to figure out what he’s doing—is he leaving him, is he cleaning him up, he’s been so good, can’t Tag see that he still needs— “Tag—”
Tag licks a fat stripe up his twitching cunt, and Jay’s mind shatters into a million pieces.
He whimpers as Tag braces his hands on Jay’s thighs and pushes his legs apart, holding them open as he slots himself between them neatly. At the first brush of Tag’s skilled tongue over his dripping, oversensitive hole, Jay lets out a sob, strung far too taut to handle so much so fast. There’s a red light buried somewhere deep in the back of his head, a stop sign that practically begs him to halt while he’s still ahead.
And fucking hell, he’ll be damned if he doesn’t ignore the fuck out of that thing.
Tag presses his mouth between Jay’s folds, running his teeth over his clit gently. Every movement pulls another plethora of ridiculously bitchy noises from Jay’s lips, sounds that don’t even seem human anymore as Tag circles his tongue around his hole, pulls back just a little before fucking it in fully. His hands fly into Tag’s hair, gripping the dark strands where they tangle over his scalp and curl past his hairline. He tries to loosen his grip, tries not to hurt Tag, but it just feels so overwhelmingly good and Jay’s so painfully overstimulated that he thinks he could explode any moment, wound far past his breaking point.
When Tag draws back again, there’s spit and slick glistening around his mouth, a devious glint in his eye as he runs his tongue over his fucking lips like Jay’s the best damn meal he’ll ever taste. Jay groans in embarrassment, flinging one arm over his face in a desperate attempt to hide his rapidly reddening cheeks.
That earns him a solid slap to his pussy, making him keen as his entire body lurches forward. “Don’t hide your face,” Tag scolds, and Jay isn’t sure what has him complying so easily, hand easily slipping back down to the couch. It takes every inch of his willpower to keep from burying his face in his arm again when Tag audibly spits on his wide-open cunt, messily fingering it into his gaping hole before diving in again.
He’s going to die, he’s actually going to fucking die, every nerve in his body keyed up to eleven when Tag fucks his saliva into him with his tongue, his hole so open and loose that it slides in without any resistance. A mortified sob escapes his lips when Tag pulls out and wraps his lips around Jay’s swollen clit, sucking on the abused bud harshly.
Tag presses a slick kiss over the inside of his thigh before he’s lapping over his folds again, dotting his clit with open-mouthed pecks that are a little too little tongue and a little too much teeth, the sensation making a pit yawn open in the bottom of Jay’s stomach. He grinds his hips down on Tag’s tongue, dares to let himself wonder what it would be like if it was something else in him instead, if Tag will fuck him rough as he always does, one hand sliding beneath Jay’s sweater to squeeze the tits he no longer has, and it’s that thought that sends him over the edge as Tag sucks his clit into his mouth again.
A wail tears itself from his throat as he gushes over Tag’s face. His empty cunt clenches down on air, squirting all over the hem of his sweater and the couch, fingers curling into claws. Jay thinks he actually loses the feeling in his toes for a solid minute, mind going blissfully blank as white spills across his vision.
When he finally jolts back to reality, Tag’s between his legs again, pressing a handful of tissues to Jay’s cunt. “Oh, you’re awake,” Tag remarks, sounding entirely unsurprised.
Jay hisses at the overstimulation as Tag dabs over his still-twitching hole. The throbbing burn of desire’s finally faded into a dull throb, nothing but the slightest ache left behind by now. “Yeah, I mean, did you expect me to be Sleeping Beauty or some shit? Fucked so good she fucking died?”
“Careful,” Tag says, the slightest note of warning in his tone. “Want me to spank you again?”
Jay huffs raggedly, the air punched right out of his chest. “Want me to actually die?”
They clean up in relative silence. The aftermath’s always a little awkward with Tag, more tense than with Jay’s usual hookups. But Tag’s always been a little weird in general, and Jay’s more than happy to roll with it if it means Tag will put up with him for just a little longer.
“Do you—” Jay starts, gesturing vaguely to Tag’s groin. He can’t really see his cock through his jeans, but from what he can tell, he’s gone completely soft by now, despite the excellent fucking show Jay’s sure he’s just put on for him. Jay knows Tag well enough by now to know it isn’t him, just one of the many little things Tag refuses to tell anyone completely. He’s gleaned enough from the little fragments Tag gives him to know that Tag’s drive comes and goes, fleeting as the winter wind, barely even there in the first place, and it makes him even more grateful that Tag’s always willing to touch him no matter what.
Tag shrugs him off the way he does most days, gets Jay off as many times as he needs and then shakes off his attempts to do the same. “I’m good.” Curt. Simple. Ever so slightly awkward, as if he doesn’t really know what to do with Jay now that he’s fully clothed and satiated for the night. He picks up the microphone from where he’d tossed it, cum and slick already drying on its surface, and Jay can’t help cringing. Tag takes it all in stride like he’s done it a million times, though, simply reaching into one of his desk drawers for a packet of wet wipes.
“Are you coming to bed tonight?” Jay finally works up the guts to ask once all’s said and done, wincing at the hoarseness in his voice. He doesn’t sleep in the same room as Tag anymore—not that he ever really did, considering how Tag always seemed to prefer the couch even when they were roommates, but he still…worries sometimes, he supposes.
Tag wrinkles his nose, settling himself into his swivel chair now that Jay isn’t occupying it anymore. He pulls his knees up to his chest, brow furrowing in thought. “Maybe later. There’s a few things I want to finish working out first. Comeback’s soon, so…” He shrugs. “You should go to sleep, though. Bet Yedam will be glad to have you back in his bed. He’s missed you.” There’s the slightest of pauses, so uncharacteristic it sends Jay reeling, before Tag tacks on, “We all have.”
Jay can’t help the grin that threatens to split his face open, stretching up until it kisses his eyes. “Of course. I’m just that awesome to have around,” he brags, and Tag snorts.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” he retorts. “The dorm was a lot quieter without you around.”
“Not my fault I don’t know when to shut up,” Jay whines.
“Learn.”
“You’re so mean to me.”
“You know I could be so much worse.”
“Absolutely. Love you for it.” Jay reaches for the doorknob before hesitating, turning back to where Tag’s already started typing furiously, fingers flying over his keyboard with renewed vengeance. “You sure you’ll be okay? I can stay a bit longer. If you want me to.”
“I’m fine. You should get some rest.” Tag gets to his feet, heading over to the door and yanking it open. “It’s not easy to be in two groups at the same time, plus all your solo activities. You need all the sleep you can get.”
Jay nods. It’s easier to just agree, especially since he knows he can’t argue with Tag’s logic.
He’s halfway out the door when Tag remarks casually, “You know, I actually wrote that song about you.”
Jay freezes in his tracks like lightning’s just struck him, head whipping around. Behind him, the door swings shut.