Work Text:
Lee Dongsik wakes quietly, slowly roused by the murmur of nighttime, outside creatures that play beyond the window. He blinks through remnants of sleep heavily, watching through half-lidded, sleep-mused eyes as silver-spun rays of moonlight filter in through the threaded gap of the curtains on the far side of the wall—but then a sleepy, quiet little noise catches Dongsik’s attention and reins it in: holds it, there, within the lull of half-waked thoughts and fading dreams.
Joowon’s back is toward him, warm and bare and lit by moonlight.
As Dongsik gingerly rolls onto his side, Joowon simply breathes in deeply—in, out, and in again, a testament of his love, of his want and his willingness to remain steadfast by Dongsik’s side; and Dongsik still finds himself so bewildered by it: Joowon’s want; his devotion, his relentless loyalty. Dongsik has never once thought of himself as a man worth reverence, nor homage—spite, and ill-will, and salt thrown onto his face and into his hair with a curse muttered behind his back, surely; but Joowon’s hands have often touched him softly, tender in his eagerness as well as his sincerity. Joowon’s mouth has long-since regarded him lovingly, openly in each press and pull and nip and lave—and Joowon’s words, his…
Dongsik-ah…
…his body, malleable and warm and welcoming in the spread of his legs, the bend of his knees and that sensitive, shallow little dip at the base of his spine that Dongsik loves to touch and kiss and lick so much; the same sensitive, shallow little dip that Dongsik’s eyes now trail down to, trance-like, as if there were no other choice.
…I want—I’d like… he’d struggled with his words, flushed and bright-eyed as he tilted his face into the palm of Dongsik’s hand, much like a languid, loving housecat that wants nothing more than bounds of affection despite the extent of a shy, skittish nature, to… try something.
Dongsik’s eyes trail up, away from the subtle little slope of Joowon’s lower back and up the knobs of his spine—one, two… three… four… until he inevitably loses count, lost in the mere look of him. Joowon’s skin is haloed by the faint spill of the moon, his body pliant in sleep and dreams and Dongsik cannot help but recall the thrum of Joowon’s words—the breathless rush of his desires that have, recently, been murmured to him in their quietest moments.
Joowon’s hips are covered by the thin blanket. As Dongsik eases forward, crossing what little space lies between them, the blanket shifts and folds into mountains that he would not, ever, mind to weather. In front of him, Joowon is quite still—quiet in his sleep; the only sound that leaves him is the soft inhale-exhale of his breath, and it’s here that Dongsik takes a moment to simply breathe Joowon in: the faint, clean smell of him masked only a bit by the familiar musk of his sweat and the scent of his shampoo, green-tea and honey.
Carefully, Dongsik presses a kiss to the slate of Joowon’s shoulder, unwilling to wake him—not with what’s been presented to him so freely, so damn readily. Dongsik’s touch is deliberate, settling; his palm is calloused and warm and his fingers are spread wide to the warmth of Joowon’s skin, bowing in-tide with the planes of Joowon’s body as he guides his hand from the cage of his ribs and past the trim set of his waist, over the swell of his hip and down to the thick muscles of his thigh until his touch shifts: until Dongsik’s wrist is twisting, bending to accommodate the heart of his intentions; until the flat of his hand takes shape to the back of Joowon’s thigh if only to trail up—up, slowly, to the swell of Joowon’s ass.
Dongsik fondles him gently, squeezing the soft skin of his right cheek. Joowon sleeps through his touches, quiet and still as he remains in dreams drawn from reality, ones made of all their yesterdays—and there’s a private, reticent little thrill that pools, heavily, in the pit of Dongsik’s stomach that he cannot completely control nor deny. He remembers asking Joowon, softly, for he still has a tendency to clam-up and withdraw into sullen silences when regarding things such as his wants and desires, just what it was, that something, that Joowon would like to try. Joowon’s face had flushed in response, a mix of embarrassment and arousal, Dongsik is sure—but Joowon had answered him with minimal prompting, his voice dipped low with longing and his eyes shadowed by a hunger that mirrored that of Dongsik’s own.
While… While I’m asleep, Joowon had begun slowly, just barely above a whisper as his fingers danced from the loose set of Dongsik’s shoulders and to the rise and fall of his chest, bare and sparsely-haired. Joowon had glanced up at him, his eyes all but polished black pearls as he’d looked away, and back, and away again as he confessed, I want you to… touch me.
Dongsik rubs at Joowon’s skin, palm trailing up to the small of his back and down again to the fattest part of his ass, just where ass and thigh crease to meet—and then Dongsik’s touch eases inward, his hand laid to the cleft of Joowon’s ass. …Just touch? Dongsik had asked him, what felt like a month ago—though it had only been just last week when Joowon had brought this up. Joowon had shook his head, and his breath had fanned hot and heavy to the shape of Dongsik’s collarbone; …no, he’d said, labored and quiet within his mounting arousal—and Dongsik had waited, his belly pooled with heat and his pulse gone southward as Joowon had continued, I’d like it if… if you were to—to put your cock inside me. After a moment, Joowon had added, …w-while… while I’m asleep, as if it didn’t make Dongsik’s cock ache; as if Dongsik didn’t know.
“…Joowon-ah,” Dongsik murmurs, low in the glow of the moon. Joowon doesn’t stir; only breathes in deeply, and out slowly, sweet and dream-like in its steady softness—so Dongsik takes this moment to extract himself from Joowon’s body, if only briefly. He rolls onto his back carefully, his right arm stretched out; fingers searching, spreading and tugging, he finally manages to wrangle the half-used bottle of lube from the drawer of his nightstand—no condom, as Joowon had shook his head when asked the week prior.
Dongsik turns slowly, gingerly—careful as to not wake Joowon as he momentarily wrestles with the thin blanket draped over them. He settles behind Joowon once more, the palm of his right hand cupped to Joowon’s ass, gentle as he fondles, caresses and touches him until he’s working a finger between the warmth of his flesh. Dongsik finds Joowon’s hole still a bit loose, still a little wet with remnants of lube from the evening prior. Joowon rarely ever fully cleans himself out despite the discomfort he must feel from it, and when Dongsik had asked him the third time he’d noticed the furrow of Joowon’s brow after a post-sex shower, Joowon had flushed a muted shade of petal-pink, and told him, …It’s nice, sometimes, to… to feel it, and be reminded.
Dongsik’s eyes briefly flutter to a close, his heart thudding an almost dangerous beat within the cage built by his sternum and ribs. Joowon’s breath remains deep and even, even as the tip of Dongsik’s middle finger breaches into him with small, shallow little movements. Wet. Loose. Joowon’s body accepts so little of him so easily, and something about it sends Dongsik’s mind into a frenzy; sends his heart up and into his throat with no way out.
“Joowon-ah…” Dongsik’s breath leaves him ragged, almost pitched as he whispers Joowon’s name. He’s careful as he eases away from Joowon’s body, quiet as he flips open the cap to the lube and lathers up his first two fingers—despite how much he’d love to coat his half-hard cock in the slick, wet mess of it and push the bruised head against Joowon’s hole, Dongsik doesn’t want to chance hurting him. Instead, Dongsik holds his breath as he guides his fingers back to Joowon’s loose rim, and only when the boy laid before him does not stir does Dongsik release his breath—and as his fingers slip inside, there’s hardly any resistance at all; with little pushing and prodding, his fingers are in to the second knuckle.
Joowon sighs in his sleep, a deep, placid little sound from the heart of his throat—but his body remains loose, yielding in Dongsik’s hold. Dongsik curls his fingers, thrusting into Joowon’s body shallowly with subdued, barely-there little motions that would have the boy red-faced and shaking were he awake to feel it; and as Dongsik gently scissors his fingers open, coaxing the ring of muscle to loosen further, Joowon’s hips shift, and that subtle little dip at the base of his spine deepens, pooled by swathes of shadows and tendrils of moonlight.
Dongsik goes still, his heart thudding in his ears. Is he… he wonders, stock-still and waiting—but then Joowon’s body gradually relaxes, and his breath fades into deep, even pulls that simply convey dreams.
Quietly, Dongsik leans in.
Joowon’s body is warm, furnace-like beneath the thin blanket that is half-draped over them. Dongsik huddles into his warmth with a familiar, fierce sort of greed, always a bit too selfish for all that Joowon is, for all that Joowon gives. Lazily, Dongsik presses his mouth to the knobs of Joowon’s spine—again and again, over and over: chaste, close-mouthed little kisses that make him feel just a bit stupid with it; around his immobile fingers, Joowon relaxes completely, permitting the press and prod of Dongsik’s touch once more—and Dongsik is quick to comply, quicker to curl his fingers into the wet, slick warmth of him and coax him looser.
Dongsik’s unsure how long he fingers Han Joowon open: minutes, hours? Around them, time feels very translucent, a concept not entirely tied to them as they are, pressed together in the bed they’ve shared for nearly a year. Dongsik feels boundless, pulled taut even as his eyes burn with the drag of sleep: raw with love and with want—and as the muted, wet little squelch of his fingers fades up and into the air between them, he finally relents. Slowly, Dongsik eases his fingers from Joowon’s body, his hole loose and wet and Dongsik’s breath is bated, hitched—before him, Joowon gives a soft sound, a tiny moan of discomfort.
“Shh… Shh, Joowon-ah.” Dongsik hushes him quietly, lips pressed to the flat of Joowon’s shoulder—but Joowon has gone still, silent and warm once again. Blindly, Dongsik reaches behind him to grab the lube, quick to flip open the cap and spread the clear slickness of it over his cock, careful of the hot, bruised head that pulses with each breath; and just as carefully, just as slow and easy and loving, Dongsik guides the head of his cock between the cleft of Joowon’s ass and against his hole—still warm, and wet, and loosened from the prod of Dongsik’s thick fingers.
He pushes in slowly, gently.
Joowon’s body is warm and accepting; familiar in its pull and intimate in its feel. Dongsik’s breath leaves him shakily, his hand shockingly steady as he grips the swell of Joowon’s right hip—will he leave bruises, he wonders: little moon-shaped imprints that he would, later, soothe with the lave of his tongue and the press of his mouth? In front of him, Joowon’s breath hitches—the sound of it quiet and breathless as his hips unconsciously tilt to meet the warmth of Dongsik’s body; and Dongsik has long-since turned inside-out, has long-since been lost within the pull of all that Joowon is; of all that he gives.
“Shh… Hush, Joowon-ah. It’s only me, only Hyung,” Dongsik soothes him gently, the words lost within the warmth of Joowon’s skin as Dongsik buries his cock inside of him—slowly, steady, until he’s in to the hilt, as far as he can go. Joowon’s flesh is heated, his insides wet and soft and shaped to take him. As Joowon’s breath continues hitching… As Joowon’s body begins squirming, almost as if waking, Dongsik tears his hand away from Joowon’s hip and guides it to the wild mess of his hair. Dongsik threads his fingers through the thick strands with his right hand, a bead of sweat slipping from his eyebrow and down the side of his nose. He blinks heavily, through heat and want. “Joowon-ah… Joowon-ah.”
Joowon makes an incomprehensible, questioning little sound, something tilted toward a moan.
“Sleep, Jagiya. Just sleep.”
And Joowon simply shudders against him, gooseflesh rising along his skin as Dongsik kisses the uppermost knob of his spine. A few moments pass before Dongsik’s able to hear the telltale drag of Joowon’s deep, steady breath—and soon, muddled by heat and that low, simmering want that lies, deep-seated, within the pit of his belly, Dongsik finds rest as well.
--
Lee Dongsik wakes quietly, slowly roused by the feel of Han Joowon’s fingers digging into the soft flesh of his hip. Around them, the room has long-since been painted a warmer hue, soft and golden and honeyed in-tide with the shift between the moon and sun. Dongsik’s eyes are half-lidded and tinged with the leavings of his most pleasant dreams, heavy as he blinks the sight of Joowon’s long, familiar spine in and out of focus—but then a frayed, heady little sound catches his attention and reins it in: holds it, there, within the swell of waking.
“…Joowon-ah,” he murmurs, softly, despite the growing ache beneath his navel. Joowon is warm against him—shuddering with tiny, barely-there tremors as his hand remains, wide-spread and hot, to Dongsik’s hip. Dongsik’s heart is thick in his throat, unyielding in its pulse: a steady, dull thud that he feels in his dick. “What—?”
“—y-you were…” Joowon interrupts him shakily, his voice thick with sleep and a worn, taut sort of greed that is not at all unfamiliar; and Dongsik wonders, just how long has this young prince been awake—just how long has he laid here, silent and still, with Dongsik’s cock half-hard inside of him? “…s-slipping out, I… I wasn’t sure… if…” Joowon’s breath trembles as his fingers flex where they’re at, dug into the heat of Dongsik’s skin; and here, Dongsik is reminded of another time: of rain and of softened dirt beneath his shoes, of hands so desperately holding him in place, of the same voice in a much different pitch. Dongsik closes his eyes, content enough to let the thought fade as he traces random, phantom shapes on Joowon’s skin with his nose. Another breath, and Joowon sluggishly says, “…I didn’t want you to roll over. I…”
“…Mm.” Dongsik’s indulgent in his understanding, slow as he presses his mouth to the knobs of Joowon’s spine—one… three… five… until he cannot go any farther; until he has to kiss his way back up Joowon’s back, his breath fanned hot and heavy to the uppermost knob of his spine. Joowon’s skin has raised into gooseflesh, the fine hairs all over his body standing on-end as Dongsik softly speaks against his skin, “Joowon-ah. How long have you been awake?”
“I—” Joowon shakes his head, the motion of it muddled with his face half-buried into the pillow. If Dongsik were to look… If Dongsik were to see him, he’s sure that Joowon’s eyes would be large and glassy and bright, polished obsidian: rare, precious stones. Dongsik allows his mouth to fall open; in-tandem, Joowon’s breath hitches as he latches onto the sensitive skin at the nape of his neck—gently, he sucks a bruise into Joowon’s skin: low enough to hide beneath the collar of his shirt, but high enough to worry if it’ll show should he incline his head. “—f-fifteen minutes, I… I think.”
Dongsik hums, the sound of his mouth parting from Joowon’s skin muted, wet. Joowon squirms against him, perhaps unconsciously—but Dongsik’s breath still jumps, and his heart still skips, trapped within the house built of his bones. Slowly, he guides his hand from Joowon’s hip and to the flesh of his lower belly—fingers splayed wide to trembling skin, Dongsik asks him, “…have you touched yourself at all, Joowon?”
“N—No. No.”
“Are you lying to me?”
“No,” Joowon says, breathless, though he still manages to sound slighted at the implication. Dongsik can imagine him, flushed despite the furrow of his brow and the sheen of sweat at his temples. “I… I’m not—”
“—let’s check, hm?”
Before Joowon can speak, Dongsik’s hand is trailing downward, his palm warm and calloused as he curls his fingers around Joowon’s cock—thick and heated and weeping in his hand. Joowon gasps, a ragged, wet sound that Dongsik quickly soothes with a kiss to his shoulder; slowly, and much too carefully, he drags the circle of his hand up Joowon’s cock, half-delirious that he cannot see it. Dongsik’s sure the head of Joowon’s cock is shiny, ruddy. Just the mere thought of it has Dongsik’s hips shifting, shallowly thrusting up and into the heat of Joowon’s body all without his meaning to—around him, Joowon tightens, shakes. Dongsik licks at his lips, breath trembling as it leaves him.
“Goodness, Joowon-ah… Isn’t this painful?”
Joowon moans, an incomprehensible sound.
Dongsik licks the sweat from Joowon’s back, and thinks, fleetingly, of biting him. Instead, he squeezes the base of Joowon’s cock, and quietly asks him, “how should Hyung take care of you, Joowon-ah? Hm? Do you want that? Will you let Hyung do that for you? Goodness, Joowon-ah… how should Hyung take care of you?”
Another moan. Another incomprehensible, quiet little sound.
“Words, Joowon-ah,” he reminds him softly, though he is not at all reprimanding. “I need to hear you say it.”
“Y—Yes, I…” Joowon nods, the tilt of his words gone breathless, fleeting in each smooth, wet drag of Dongsik’s hand around him. Already, the sound of it is slick, loud and wet. Dirty, his mind supplies. “…I want, I—I do, I…”
Dongsik hums, hushing Joowon gently; his voice is all but muddled, feather-like and lost within the warmth of Joowon’s skin as he gives his shoulder one last kiss; as he tells him—that’s it, Joowon-ah; I know, Hyung knows. He’s quick to loosen his hold on Joowon’s cock despite the pitched, pained noise that it unveils, his skin seemingly on fire and his mind, blessedly, fogged—taken, Dongsik is, within the lull and ebb of all that Joowon is, of all that Joowon gives; and Dongsik is quick, and quicker still: indulgent to a fault as he gently presses the warmth of his body to the heat of Joowon’s own, coaxing him to roll over and onto the flat of his stomach—his spine is long, familiar, and slick with sweat beneath him. Like this, settled atop Joowon as he is, skin-to-skin with the bend of his legs framed to the slight swell of Joowon’s hips, Dongsik feels pulled taut—boundless with his own worn, heady sort of greed that gnaws along the dips and knobs of his spine.
“D-Dongsik-ah—”
“Joowon-ah…” Dongsik sighs, leisurely and slow with his lips pressed to the crown of Joowon’s head. Within the sheets, Joowon’s hands have turned into fists, the skin laid across his knuckles gone thin and white—and as Joowon’s spine curves, concaved if only to coax Dongsik deeper, Dongsik rolls his hips into him, rutting against him softly, the firm press of his hips gentle to the soft give of Joowon’s ass. “…Sweet boy. Did you have nice dreams?”
Joowon groans, the sound of it lost within the pillow—faint and muddled and sweet on the ears. In his mind’s eye, he can feel the phantom-warmth of Dongsik’s touch; the gentle prod of his fingers and the soft brush of his breath, fanned to the ticklish slope of his shoulder. Earlier, Joowon had thought himself in a dream; had thought, maybe, that his anticipation for what he’d meticulously planted between them manifested within his consciousness if only to allow him the barest of tastes, but now—now, with Dongsik’s body laid over him, bearing him down and onto the mattress in a way that is more heady and fulfilling than it could ever be ridiculing, Joowon…
“…goodness, Joowon-ah—it sounds like you must have,” he says, murmured to him like a secret. Dongsik kisses at the bruise he left on the nape of Joowon’s neck, open-mouthed and wet to the uppermost knob of his spine, the slope of his shoulder and the sensitive, warm place behind his ear that always elicits a reaction. Joowon shivers, the noises that leave him long and winded, lost within the sheets. Lazily, Dongsik grinds into him: slow, gentle—indulgent to a fault; and Joowon simply seems to drink it in, stretching his spine and tilting his hips if only to deepen that shallow little dip at the small of his back. Dongsik bends to lick a bead of sweat from the nape of his neck, his bottom lip catching against Joowon’s skin as he whispers to him, “tell me about it, Joowon-ah; did I touch you?”
“D-Dongsik—”
“—ah, I must have,” he whispers, softly, despite the ache and the heat and the warmth of Joowon’s body: pliant and loose-limbed and undone by each touch and breath and look he has long-since returned to him, has long-since given to him, freely, without expectations or qualms—without truly knowing what he may or may not get in return for the fruit of his affections, unrestrained and pure and pulled out of him by a force in which he’d been quite helpless to refuse upon relearning all that has made and makes this man Han Joowon. Dongsik bends, his hips stuttering a bit in their slow, lazy rut. Already, it’s difficult to think; difficult to breathe—even as he presses his lips to the crown of Joowon’s head once more, Dongsik finds himself strung, pulled taut as he slowly asks him, “Joowon-ah… you felt it, didn’t you?”
“I…” Joowon’s breath stutters off on a moan, low and quiet as Dongsik’s hips press firmly against him, as his cock rubs against the soaked sheets beneath him with each shallow little thrust—as he remembers, vague and soft in reality half-shrouded by heat and phantom-kisses along the slope of his shoulder: shh—hush, Joowon-ah; it’s only me, only Hyung. Joowon finds himself breathless beneath the bulk of Dongsik’s body; despite his best efforts, he finds that there is very little he can do to meet the soft, subtle roll of Dongsik’s hips—and it is a heady, inebriating thing, to feel small and to know, all in the same breath, that Dongsik would just as easily stop as he would keep going. Joowon’s voice is pitched; muddled and slow as he tells him, “I did, I—I did.”
“…what a sweet, honest prince I have,” Dongsik praises him quietly, soft—his voice is low, murmured to the crown of Joowon’s head; beneath his navel, heat pools, thick and greedy, coiled tight like a serpent ready to hiss and bite and eat—and in some odd, similar way, Dongsik feels very much the same. He inclines his head, his eyes all but half-lidded as he watches the way he shallowly, slowly grinds into Joowon’s body: wet and slick and pliant, giving though quite gifting, all the same—and the sight leaves him feeling raw, mindless and hungry; his teeth feel too big for his mouth, his heart too big for the house built by the intricate structure of his ribs. “…Joowon-ah,” he murmurs, light-hearted and breathless as Joowon remains, kept and held down beneath him; as Joowon remains, his skin flushed pink and his breath pitted, drawn-out and guttural, beneath him—and again, as if Dongsik has been saying it for longer than a lifetime, “Joowon-ah. Sweet boy.”
Joowon moans, clawing at the sheets. He feels his breath heave out of him, sob-like and raspy as the motion of Dongsik’s body forces his cock to slip against the wet, soiled sheets beneath them. Joowon’s voice is slurred, his voice gone thicker in his need and his stomach gone tight with heat and arousal and every single little thing that he feels and more, “H-Hyung—”
Dongsik hums, the heat pooled beneath his navel turned hot and possessive; coiling, tight—serpentine and sweet. Licking the sweat from the nape of Joowon’s neck, Dongsik indulges. He bites, worrying at Joowon’s flesh as he thrusts into him, sharp yet shallow, unyielding yet firm—and only when his jaw begins to ache does Dongsik release Joowon from his hold. Beneath him, Joowon moans, his head inclined, the nape of his neck bitten and bared and blemished by the shape of Dongsik’s mouth, his teeth and tongue—and it is a simple thing, to soothe and to love: to have and to hold, to give and to take. Dongsik kisses at the crown of Joowon’s head, the rut of his hips gone quicker, deeper: far more than indulgent. As they are, he can feel each little tremor of Joowon’s body—the hitch of his breath and the rasp of his voice as he murmurs Dongsik’s name, quiet and faint and slurred almost drunkenly together, seemingly all in one breath and thought, and—
—and Dongsik feels it as Joowon whimpers, the sound of it frayed and heady as he comes undone beneath the bulk of Dongsik’s body: a wracking, full-bodied thing that wreathes itself through the knobs of Dongsik’s spine and around the fragile, bared heart of his throat. Dongsik ruts into the heat of Joowon’s body quicker, harder, quite mindless as he fucks Joowon through his orgasm with sharp, firm snaps of his hips that sound just as filthy as it does thrilling within the low thrum of his voice telling Joowon, soft and praising: that’s it; just like that—ah, Joowon-ah, you’re so damn sweet; such a sweet boy, aren’t you, Joowon-ah, aren’t you—and as Joowon tightens around the girth of his cock; as Joowon’s spine seems to stretch, endless and lovely and curved if only to entice Dongsik further, Dongsik groans, the ragged rasp of it muddled with the lull of Joowon’s name as he cums.
“J—Joowon-ah,” he whispers, gasp-like and soft, the tilt of his voice somewhat lost in the rise of Joowon’s moan, slow and stilted and thick with a sluggish, syrup-y sort of rapture that Dongsik is not at all unfamiliar with. A fine, unhurried tremor trails down Joowon’s spine within the fading ebb of his orgasm; this close, Dongsik can feel the way it lingers—can see and hear the way it still renders Joowon breathless, snaking itself down the long, delicate line of his spine if only to leave him loose-limbed and pliant in a way that’ll surely have him clingy in an hours’ time.
“…Joowon-ah,” Dongsik whispers again, murmured to the crown of his head as his own orgasm, too, slowly, gradually fades: turned warm and placid in the pit of his belly—and as Dongsik stays there, hovered above Joowon’s back, listening to his breath hitch and even-out and deepen with his hands braced into the mattress beneath them, that bone-tired, honeyed ache is slowly replace by something heavier as his cock softens, bit by bit, inside of Joowon. Dongsik makes to move away—to gently pry himself from the warmth of Joowon’s body, but then Joowon is jolting as if pulled from a deep sleep, his hand once more stretched out behind him to dig into the soft flesh of Dongsik’s hip.
“D-Don’t move,” he demands—but Joowon’s voice is soft as it stutters out of him, and his ears are tinged an endearingly deep shade of red. Dongsik watches as Joowon turns his head to the side, pressing the right side of his cheek to the sheets as he allows his chest to lay, now flat, on the bed; it’s the first time they’ve made eye-contact since before they went to bed the evening prior. Like this, Dongsik can just barely see the dark of his eye, the flush of his face and the pink part of his mouth. Joowon licks at his bottom lip, a motion that Dongsik’s eyes are mindlessly, hopelessly drawn to. “Stay.”
“…I only need to use the bathroom, Joowon-ah.” Dongsik presses another kiss to the crown of Joowon’s head, lingering if only to inhale the natural smell of him, something deep and rich and wonderfully familiar. Dongsik winces, his bladder throbbing dully beneath his navel. “I’ll wet down an old washcloth to clean you up with when I’m done, okay? I’ll only be a minute or two,” he tells him quietly—but Joowon’s grip doesn’t loosen, nor does he speak again. Joowon simply stares up at Dongsik from the corner of his eye, unmoving and mute, and Dongsik… Dongsik tilts his head, frighteningly quick in his understanding; the ache beneath the softest part of his belly has turned hotter, almost headier in the steadiness of Joowon’s unwavering stare. “Joowon-ah. I need to take a leak.”
Joowon’s grip tightens.
“…If you don’t let me go, I really will piss,” Dongsik tells him slowly—but Joowon’s eyes simply flutter, open and shut and open again as his mouth parts on a quiet, barely-there noise that Dongsik wouldn’t have been able to hear had he not been waiting for it. Dongsik licks at his bottom lip, his right hand laid heavy to the middle of Joowon’s back. They’ve done something similar to this, only a few times before. Normally, Joowon’s the one getting coaxed into letting go, into holding it, into drinking another mouthful—another, and another: just a bit more, Joowon-ah, that’s it, good boy; coaxed into making a mess, into letting Dongsik see him be and become a mess—and in a way, Joowon’s still the one to become a mess; to be a mess. Slowly, Dongsik slides his hand down the sweat-slicked flesh of Joowon’s back, stopping only when his hand lays flat to that shallow, slight little dip at the base of his spine. “Joowon-ah. I really will go.”
Joowon moans quietly, his grip just barely loosening—though his hand stays, curled to the shape of Dongsik’s hip; and before Joowon can do much else, before he can silently plead and tilt his hips back in quiet wanting, Dongsik grinds into him slowly, gently, his cock barely even hard anymore—but it has a tremor running down the length of Joowon’s spine, regardless; has him red-faced and aching, his hands turned to claws within the sheets and at Dongsik’s hip. Joowon hardly hears the soft, raspy exhale of Dongsik’s breath before he is filled—heady, warm; already, the pressure of Dongsik’s urine inside of him is building, kindling another rich, potent bout of arousal despite his oversensitivity. He’s gone half-lidded in sight, his face gone flushed with an almost feverish heat, his breath gone hitched, loose and wet as it rolls off the flat of his tongue—and Joowon is only mildly embarrassed by the sound of it; by the scent of it, by the way it makes him feel.
“Joowon-ah,” he groans, low and sigh-like. Dongsik grinds against Joowon gently, rutting into him softly as the stream of urine continues—around him, Joowon’s body is clenching, tightening: almost as if unwilling to allow a drop of him to slip out, but Joowon is already so full, glutted on the girth of Dongsik’s cock and the spill of his semen; urine undoubtedly leaks out of him, warm and unbidden as it steadily seeps into the sheets—the scent is heady, pungent, and not at all distasteful. Dongsik finds his arms shaking as Joowon’s breath turns heavy, depthless and quick, seemingly punched-out of him with each slow, shallow little thrust that he gives him, and—
“—y-you’re…” Joowon’s voice leaves him stilted, deep and sluggish, “still…?”
“Just… Ah, just a little more.” Dongsik leans forward, lips pressed to the side of Joowon’s head, close to his ear; gently, he rolls his hips against him, forcing his cock deeper despite how he’s gone completely flaccid—this close, curled inward and toward Joowon the way he is, he’s able to hear the soft rasp of his exhale, the tremble of his breath. Dongsik feels it as his urine leaks out of Joowon’s body, the warm wet of it oddly satisfying. “Can you handle it, Joowon-ah?”
“Y-Yes,” he murmurs, his voice still so deep, sleep-like and slurred. Joowon looks fucked-out, Dongsik thinks—filled and flushed, almost as if he’s on an entirely different plane of existence. “Yes.”
“…Sweet boy. Be still.” Dongsik gives the shape of Joowon’s ear a quick kiss, leaning back if only to spread his fingers against the long, familiar line of his spine—but Joowon remains pliant, slick with sweat; his limbs have long-since gone loose beneath the bulk of Dongsik’s body, and as Dongsik ruts into him gently, the push of his hips barely anything at all to the soft press of Joowon’s ass, his bladder finally, fully empties. Dongsik lingers there, breathless with his hand laid firm to the small of Joowon’s back; silently, he listens as the soft drag of Joowon’s moans turn into slow, steady breaths: deep and even and momentarily undisturbed—this time, that honeyed, bone-tired ache stays, settling deep in the pit of Dongsik’s stomach alongside the low, simmering heat that has yet to catch another flame. Dongsik leans in slowly, content enough to count the lulls between the sluggish pull of Joowon’s breath as he quietly asks him, through the beat of his own heart softening in his ears, “how about now, Joowon-ah? Will you let me up?”
“…No. Not yet,” Joowon whispers hoarsely—then, as if an afterthought, “Please. Not yet.”
And Dongsik simply laughs, the sound of it subdued and not at all unkind. “I guess that’s fine. Either way… it’ll be a mess, you know?”
Joowon’s eyes flutter to a close as he hums, a deep, sluggish sound that Dongsik’s brain is mindlessly, hopelessly drawn to. Dongsik can just barely see the faint shadow of Joowon’s eyelashes, fanned against the apple of his cheek as he slowly whispers, “you’ll make sure I’m clean.”
“…goodness,” he murmurs fondly, quiet to the bruise he’d left on the nape of Joowon’s neck; gently, Dongsik presses a kiss there, his mouth lingering against the warmth of Joowon’s skin—and when he catches the subtle tilt of Joowon’s smile from the corner of his eye, Dongsik presses another kiss, there: another, and another.