Work Text:
Jaemin kicks the door shut with his heel, tired in a bone-deep way that makes the quiet hum of home feel like heaven. The familiar hush of the apartment wraps around him, soft and quiet except for the faint tick of the wall clock and the whir of warm air from the vents. He shrugs off his coat, letting it slip down his arms in one fluid motion before tossing it onto the rack. His keys clink into the ceramic bowl by the door, a sound so routine it almost feels like punctuation:you’re home now.
Mark is already waiting in the hallway.
He stands a little too straight, like he's been there for a while and doesn’t know what to do with his hands. They're busy wringing the hem of his sweater, tugging and twisting at the fabric with nervous energy. His eyes are wide, uncertain, flicking up to meet Jaemin’s before darting away again. When he steps forward, it’s tentative—just a small shuffle of feet—and then he leans in and presses a kiss to Jaemin’s cheek. It’s so quick it might not have happened at all. Chaste. Sweet. Barely there.
Jaemin halts in the middle of unshouldering his bag, one strap hanging loose over his elbow. His head tilts slightly, reading Mark’s expression, but the corners of his mouth soften rather than crease. Instead of asking immediately, he sets his bag down with a quiet thud, then steps forward and reaches for him.
“C’mere,” he murmurs, voice low with the rasp of tiredness, but fond too. Always fond. His arms wind around Mark’s waist and he pulls him in, tucking him close against his chest. Mark lets out a tiny surprised sound but melts into him quickly, hands pressed to the front of Jaemin’s shirt.
Jaemin presses his nose into the crook of Mark’s neck, sighing into the soft warmth of skin and cotton. The angle squishes his face awkwardly against Mark’s throat, blocking his breathing for a moment, but he doesn’t care. If anything, he tries and breathes in deeper, like Mark’s scent might be enough to clear away the day. He mumbles something that sounds vaguely like a word but trails off into a hum instead.
Mark shifts, a little shy under the attention. His fingers twitch, clutching lightly at Jaemin’s chest. “You’re squishing me,” he teases.
Jaemin leans back just enough to look at him. His hands stay on Mark’s waist, thumbs rubbing circles through the fabric of his sweater.
“…What’s wrong?”
Mark’s ears go pink almost instantly, the color blooming across the tops like a confession he can’t hide. “Nothing’s wrong,” he blurts, too fast to be reassuring. The words tumble out half-formed as he takes a small step back, slipping just out of Jaemin’s arms. He doesn't quite meet his eyes, glancing instead toward the kitchen like he’s hoping the answer to whatever this is might be waiting there.
“I just—I made dinner,” he adds, softer now.
Jaemin doesn’t respond right away. His arms drop slowly to his sides, the moment stretching as he processes that sentence. Mark cooking is always a gamble, and Jaemin’s still emotionally recovering from the burnt rice soup incident.
Still, he keeps his expression neutral, though just barely. “You made dinner?” he echoes, tone as careful as if he’s testing the floor for traps.
Mark fidgets, nodding. His hands twist in his sweater again.
He glances past him, into the kitchen, muscles tightening before his gaze lands on the table. He expects to see chaos; a pot still steaming ominously, maybe a half-melted spatula stuck to the stove. Instead, thankfully, he sees the table set. Two plates, their usual ceramic bowls, the napkins folded the way Jaemin likes them, edges aligned with an almost ceremonial neatness.
The food itself is unmistakable: it's his stir-fried tofu and radish soup, the ones he cooked last night before work got in the way of eating together and he had to pack it into containers when it became clear they wouldn't be eating them. Both dishes are now reheated and plated with quiet care, arranged thoughtfully, even if the portions are slightly uneven.
The tension bleeds out of his frame all at once.
He laughs, fond and exasperated all at once.
“Oh, my sweet wife,” Jaemin coos, voice sickly-sweet. He steps forward before Mark can retreat again, hands rucking up his sweater and thumbs pushing against the warm squish of his sides.
He dips his head, mouth brushing close to Mark’s in a kiss. The corner of his lips catches on Mark’s, and he breathes him in: faint shampoo, something clean and cotton-soft. He doesn’t pull back until Mark tilts toward him instinctively, lips parted slightly.
“So good to your husband,” Jaemin murmurs, words melting against Mark’s skin.
Mark’s reaction is immediate. His smile curls up shyly, small at first, then blooming wide as he ducks his head in embarrassment. His cheeks are still pink, his lashes lowered, but there’s no denying the way he glows under the praise.
He’s quiet for a moment, gaze flicking down between them.
Then, just barely above a whisper: “I’m… excited for our first night together.”
The words are simple, almost sweet, but something about the way he says them snags in Jaemin’s chest.
He stills.
There’s a deliberate softness in Mark’s voice, like it’s been placed there on purpose. When Jaemin pulls back just enough to study him, he catches the flicker behind Mark’s lashes: coyness, a delicate flash of amusement before it’s covered up with earnest eagerness. The way his posture has subtly changed—shoulders slightly back, head tipped with a kind of practiced demureness—makes something click into place.
Jaemin’s pulse quickens and his blood rushes south so fast he almost feels lightheaded, placing a hand on Mark's shoulder to ground himself. "Okay," Jaemin says, hoarse. "Let's go eat dinner first."
Mark's smile turns knowing, a quiet triumph in the curve of his lips. He nods and leads the way to the table, fingers trailing behind him as if to make sure Jaemin follows. The domesticity of it all—Mark waiting for him, the carefully reheated food, the deliberate setup—makes Jaemin's heart beat faster beneath his ribs.
They settle across from each other, knees bumping under the small table. Mark serves the soup with careful hands, ladle dipping into the broth with practiced movements. Steam rises between them.
"How was work?" Mark asks, voice pitched low, playing the role with a sincerity that makes Jaemin swallow hard.
"Long," Jaemin manages, watching Mark's fingers wrap around his spoon. "Better now."
The food is good—Jaemin's own cooking reheated with care—but he barely tastes it. He's too aware of Mark's eyes on him, the way he takes small, deliberate bites, the occasional brush of their feet beneath the table that can't possibly be accidental.
"Is it good?" Mark checks, and there's that same careful lilt to his voice, that same intentional softness.
Jaemin nods, not trusting himself to speak without breaking character. He watches Mark take a sip of water, throat working as he swallows, and has to look away. The clock ticks quietly in the background. Mark sets down his chopsticks with a gentle click against the ceramic.
"I was thinking," Mark says, fingers tracing the rim of his water glass, "after dinner, maybe I could..." He trails off.
Jaemin's chopsticks freeze halfway to his mouth. He sets them down with deliberate care, the ceramic rest catching them with a soft click that seems to echo in the charged silence.
"Maybe you could what?" he prompts, voice dropping to a register that makes Mark's fingers still against his glass. Jaemin's eyes don't leave Mark's face, tracking the way his throat works as he swallows.
"I could..." Mark hesitates, then reaches across the table. His fingertips brush Jaemin's wrist, tracing the veins there with feather-light pressure. "Show you around. Since it's our first night here. Together."
The pretense is paper-thin, but it sends heat curling through Jaemin's stomach all the same. He turns his hand over, catching Mark's fingers and squeezing just tight enough to make Mark's breath hitch.
"That would be nice," Jaemin says, the words measured and careful despite the wildfire spreading beneath his skin. "Very thoughtful of you."
Mark nods, eyes wide and earnest. "I want to make you comfortable. In our new home."
Jaemin takes a slow sip of water, using the moment to compose himself, though it does nothing. He watches Mark over the rim of his glass, noting how his ears have gone pink again, how his fingers fidget with the edge of the placemat.
"Are you finished?" Jaemin asks, nodding toward Mark's half-eaten food.
Mark glances down, then back up through his lashes. "Yes. I'm... not very hungry anymore."
"No?" Jaemin's mouth quirks up at one corner. "What are you, then?"
The blush deepens, spreading from Mark's ears to his cheeks. "Eager," he admits, the word barely audible. "To show you the rest of the place."
Jaemin pushes his chair back slowly, the legs scraping against the floor in a way that makes Mark's shoulders tense. He stands, circling the small table with deliberate steps until he's standing behind Mark's chair. His hands come to rest on Mark's shoulders, thumbs pressing into the tight muscles at the base of his neck.
"Where should we start?" Jaemin murmurs, leaning down so his lips brush the shell of Mark's ear. "The tour, I mean."
Mark tilts his head back, looking up at Jaemin with eyes that have gone dark and liquid. "The bedroom," he suggests, voice catching on the final syllable. "It's important to see where you'll be sleeping."
Jaemin hums, a low sound of agreement that vibrates through both of them. His fingers slide down from Mark's shoulders to his collarbones, tracing the line of them through his sweater.
"Lead the way," Jaemin says, stepping back just enough for Mark to stand. His hands linger a moment longer before falling away completely.
Mark rises with a grace that seems both practiced and genuine. There's something delicate in the way he moves now, a careful performance that Jaemin can't help but admire. He extends his hand, palm up—an invitation that makes Jaemin's pulse skip—and when Jaemin takes it, his fingers curl with gentle possession.
"It's not far," Mark murmurs, tugging him toward the hallway. His thumb traces circles against Jaemin's knuckles as they walk.
The bedroom door is already ajar, and through the gap, Jaemin can see that Mark has been busy with more than just dinner. The bedside lamps cast the room in warm amber light instead of the usual harsh overhead. Their sheets—normally rumpled from Mark's restless sleeping habits—are pulled taut across the mattress, corners tucked with military precision. There's even a faint scent of something floral hanging in the air, subtle enough that it might be imagination.
Mark pauses at the threshold, suddenly shy despite his earlier boldness. "I hope it's okay," he says, voice dipping back into uncertainty. "I wanted everything to be nice for—for tonight."
Jaemin squeezes his hand, then releases it to slide his arm around Mark's waist instead. "It's perfect," he says, and means it. The effort behind it all makes something in his chest twist pleasantly. "You did all this for me?"
Mark nods, leaning into Jaemin's side. "I wanted to surprise you," he admits. Then, returning to his role with renewed determination: "I want to be a good… wife."
The word sends a thrill through Jaemin that he doesn't bother hiding. He turns Mark in his arms, backing him slowly against the doorframe. "You are," he assures him, one hand coming up to cup Mark's jaw. His thumb brushes over Mark's lower lip, pressing just enough to feel the give of soft flesh. "The best I could ask for."
Mark's eyelids flutter, caught between staying in character and reacting to Jaemin's touch. "Do you—" he starts, then swallows. "Do you want to see the bed? I made sure it's comfortable."
Jaemin smiles, slow and deliberate. "I do. But…”
He leans in, lips ghosting over Mark's with teasing lightness. Not quite a kiss, just the barest hint of pressure. Mark makes a small sound, half frustration and half need, and tries to chase the contact when Jaemin pulls back.
"First," Jaemin continues, "I think I should thank you properly for taking such good care of me."
Mark's breath catches, his pupils dilating. "I just wanted everything to be perfect," he whispers, the performance wavering as raw sincerity bleeds through.
Jaemin traces the curve of Mark's jaw with his knuckles, watching the way his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks. "It is," he says, voice dropping lower. "You are."
He kisses Mark then—properly this time, no teasing—and feels him melt against the doorframe. His hands find Mark's waist, fingers digging in just enough to make Mark arch toward him, a soft sound escaping into the space between their mouths.
"Let me see the bed," Jaemin murmurs against Mark's lips, guiding him backward into the room without breaking contact. "Show me what my wife has prepared."
Mark walks backward, trusting Jaemin to steer him safely, his hands clutching at Jaemin's shirt front. When his calves hit the edge of the mattress, he pauses, looking up with a mix of anticipation and vulnerability that makes Jaemin's chest ache.
"I hope it's soft enough," Mark says. "I want you to be comfortable after your long day."
Jaemin reaches past him to press a hand against the mattress, testing it with exaggerated care. "Seems perfect," he says, then looks up from beneath his lashes. "But I should probably test it more thoroughly, don't you think?"
The blush that spreads across Mark's cheeks is genuine. "Yeah," he agrees, voice catching. "That would be responsible."
Jaemin laughs softly, the sound low and warm in the amber-lit room. He moves and sits on the edge of the bed, hands still on Mark's waist, and moves him around like a doll until Mark is standing between his knees.
"You know what would make me even more comfortable?" Jaemin asks, fingers playing with the hem of Mark's sweater.
Mark's eyes are wide, fixed on Jaemin's face. "What?"
"If my wife joined me." Jaemin tugs gently at the sweater. "Without all these layers between us."
The shiver that runs through Mark is visible, a tremor that starts at his shoulders and ripples downward. Without breaking eye contact, he reaches for the bottom of his sweater and pulls it over his head. His hair falls messily across his forehead, and there's something unbearably intimate about the way he doesn't immediately fix it.
"Better?" Mark asks, voice soft but steady.
Jaemin takes in the sight of him—the gentle curves of muscle beneath warm skin, the slight rise and fall of his chest with each breath—and feels something possessive curl in his stomach.
"Getting there," he says, reaching up to brush Mark's disheveled hair from his forehead. The gesture starts tender but ends with Jaemin's fingers tangling in the strands, tugging just enough to tilt Mark's head back slightly. "But I think we can do better."
Mark's breath catches audibly. His hands hover hesitantly at his sides before settling on Jaemin's shoulders, fingers digging in as if to steady himself. "Whatever makes you comfortable," he murmurs, slipping back into character with a shy dip of his chin that doesn't quite match the heat in his eyes.
Jaemin hums appreciatively, releasing Mark's hair to trace a path down his neck, across his collarbone, down to the waistband of his pants. He hooks one finger beneath the fabric, letting his knuckle brush against the warm skin of Mark's stomach. "So thoughtful," he says, voice pitched low. "Always thinking of my comfort."
Mark shivers under the touch, goosebumps rising along his arms. "That's what—" he swallows visibly, Adam's apple bobbing. "That's what a good wife does."
"Is it?" Jaemin asks, both hands now resting on Mark's hips, thumbs pressing into the hollows beside his hipbones. "And what else does a good wife do on their first night together?"
Mark's lips part, but whatever he was about to say dissolves into a soft gasp as Jaemin leans forward to press his mouth against the center of his chest. The kiss is deliberately gentle, a contrast to the firm grip of his hands.
"I—" Mark starts, then loses his train of thought as Jaemin's lips move lower, trailing down toward his navel. His fingers flex against Jaemin's shoulders, uncertain whether to pull him closer or push him away. "I want to make you feel good," he manages finally, the words tumbling out in a rush.
Jaemin looks up without lifting his head, eyes dark beneath his lashes. "You always do," he says, and there's something raw in his voice that breaks through the playful façade they've constructed. It's too honest, too real for the game they're playing, but he can't help it—not with Mark looking down at him like that, flushed and wanting.
The moment stretches between them, teetering on the edge of something deeper than their roleplay. Then Mark's expression softens, his hands gentling on Jaemin's shoulders.
"Let me," he whispers, stepping back just enough to create space between them. With deliberate movements, he begins unbuttoning Jaemin's shirt, fingers working deftly from top to bottom. "You've had such a long day."
Jaemin lets him, watching Mark's face as he concentrates on each button. There's something almost reverent in the way Mark pushes the fabric from Jaemin's shoulders, helping him shrug it off completely. His fingertips trail over the newly exposed skin, tracing the lines of Jaemin's collarbones with something like wonder.
"Better?" Mark asks, echoing Jaemin's earlier question with a hint of teasing in his voice.
Jaemin catches Mark's wandering hands, bringing them to his lips to press a kiss against his knuckles. "Much," he murmurs. "You’re always looking after me."
The praise makes Mark duck his head, pleased and shy all at once. He moves closer, until his knees bump against the edge of the mattress between Jaemin's spread thighs. With a gentle pressure, he pushes at Jaemin's shoulders.
"Lie back," he suggests, voice soft but steady. "Let me show you how comfortable the bed is."
Jaemin raises an eyebrow but complies, scooting backward until he can recline against the pillows. Mark follows, crawling onto the mattress with a grace that makes Jaemin's mouth go dry. There's something almost predatory in the way he moves, despite the blush still staining his cheeks.
"Is this okay?" Mark asks, hovering over him, hands planted on either side of Jaemin's head.
"More than okay," Jaemin assures him, hands finding Mark's waist again. The skin there is warm under his palms, smooth and familiar. He slides his hands upward, tracing the curve of Mark's ribs one by one, watching how his breath catches at the touch.
Mark lowers himself slowly, arms shaking slightly, until their chests are almost touching. His eyes are wide and dark, fixed on Jaemin's face as if searching for something. Whatever he finds there must satisfy him, because he smiles—a small, private thing—before leaning down to press his lips against Jaemin's.
The kiss starts gentle, almost chaste, but quickly deepens as Jaemin pulls him closer. Mark makes a soft sound into his mouth, something between a sigh and a moan, and Jaemin swallows it greedily. His hands slide up Mark's back, feeling the muscles shift beneath his touch as Mark adjusts his position.
When they break apart, they're both breathing harder. Mark's lips are slightly swollen, his eyes half-lidded as he looks down at Jaemin.
"Good?" he asks again, voice hushed in the small space between them.
Jaemin nods, not trusting himself to speak without his voice betraying how affected he is. Instead, he slides one hand into Mark's hair, guiding him down for another kiss. This one is hungrier, less controlled, and Mark responds in kind, his body sinking fully against Jaemin's. The weight of him is perfect, solid and warm, pressing Jaemin into the mattress with just enough pressure to make his head spin.
Mark shifts, thighs bracketing Jaemin's hips as he sits up slightly. His hands find the button of Jaemin's pants, fingers hovering questioningly. "Can I?"
"Please," Jaemin breathes, lifting his hips slightly to make it easier. He watches Mark's face as he works, the way his lower lip catches between his teeth in concentration, the flush that spreads down his neck to his chest.
Mark's fingers are nimble but slightly trembling as they ease the zipper down. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband and tugs gently, looking up to meet Jaemin's eyes. There's something vulnerable in his expression despite his boldness: a question, a need for reassurance.
Jaemin lifts his hips again, helping Mark slide the fabric down his legs. The cool air against his skin makes him shiver, or maybe it's the way Mark is looking at him, hungry and reverent all at once.
"You're so beautiful," Mark murmurs, abandoning the pretense of their game for a moment of raw honesty. His hands trail up Jaemin's calves, over his knees, along his thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
Jaemin reaches for him, pulling him down until Mark is sprawled across his chest again. "So are you," he whispers against Mark's ear, feeling him shiver at the warm breath. "My perfect wife."
The words bring the blush back to Mark's cheeks, reigniting their play. He ducks his head, pressing shy kisses along Jaemin's jaw. "I want to make our first night special," he says, voice soft but determined.
"It already is," Jaemin assures him, hands sliding down Mark's back to the waistband of his pants. "But seriously, these need to go."
Mark laughs, the sound bright and genuine, breaking character for just a moment before he schools his expression back into demure eagerness. "Whatever you want," he agrees, shifting to help Jaemin with the task.
They work together, movements growing more urgent as more skin is revealed. When they're finally both naked, they pause, taking each other in despite the countless times they've been here before. Somehow, the pretense of newness makes everything feel fresh.
"Come here," Jaemin murmurs, pulling Mark down beside him. They lie face to face, legs tangled, breath mingling in the small space between them. Jaemin traces the curve of Mark's cheekbone with his thumb, marveling at the way the amber light catches in his eyes. "What does my wife want tonight?"
Mark's eyes flutter closed at the question, his lashes casting delicate shadows across his cheeks. When Mark's eyes open again, there's something different in them, a calculated innocence that makes Jaemin's breath catch.
"I want to..." Mark trails off, his voice suddenly small and uncertain. He bites his lower lip, the gesture seeming genuinely shy despite the heat in his gaze. "I want to make you feel good, but I—I don't really know how."
Jaemin's pulse quickens, catching onto Mark's game immediately. "You don't?" he asks, voice dropping to a deeper register as he cups Mark's face. "That's okay. I can show you."
Mark nods eagerly, the blush on his cheeks spreading down his neck. "I've never..." he whispers, letting the implication hang between them. "Will you teach me?"
The request sends heat pooling low in Jaemin's stomach. He traces Mark's bottom lip with his thumb, watching as Mark's eyes flutter closed at the touch. "Of course," he murmurs. "I'll teach you everything."
Mark shifts, moving lower on the bed with hesitant movements. His hands hover uncertainly over Jaemin's thighs, as if he's afraid to touch. "Like this?" he asks, glancing up for approval.
Jaemin nods, propping himself up on his elbows to watch. The sight of Mark between his legs, looking up with wide, questioning eyes, is almost too much. "Just like that," he encourages, voice strained. "Take your time."
Mark's fingers tremble as they finally make contact, tracing feather-light patterns on Jaemin's inner thighs. "You're so warm," he murmurs, sounding genuinely awed. His touch grows more confident as he explores, moving closer to where Jaemin wants him most but never quite reaching it.
"Can I..." Mark starts, then stops, swallowing visibly. "Can I use my mouth?"
Jaemin's breath hitches. "Yes," he manages, the word barely audible. "If you want to."
Mark nods, looking both eager and terrified. "I do," he whispers. "I just don't know if I'll be any good."
"You will be," Jaemin assures him, reaching down to brush Mark's hair back from his forehead.
Mark leans forward slowly, his breath warm against Jaemin's skin. He hesitates, looking up one more time as if for reassurance, and Jaemin nearly groans at the sight—Mark's eyes wide and earnest, his lips parted slightly, the perfect picture of virginal uncertainty.
When Mark finally leans in, it's with a tentative kitten lick to the tip that makes Jaemin's hips jerk involuntarily. Mark pulls back immediately, looking startled.
"Did I do something wrong?" he asks, voice small.
Jaemin shakes his head quickly, reaching down to cup Mark's cheek. "No, baby, you didn't do anything wrong," he reassures him, voice strained. "That felt good."
"Oh," Mark breathes, relief washing over his features. He leans forward again, more confident but still maintaining that careful hesitancy. "Like this?" he asks, and this time when he licks at the tip, it's with deliberate delicacy, just the very point of his tongue tracing a wet circle.
Jaemin's fingers thread into Mark's hair, not guiding, just resting there. "Perfect," he praises, watching as Mark's eyelashes flutter at the word. "Try a little more."
Mark nods, earnest and eager to please. He leans in again, this time letting his tongue flatten slightly as he licks a longer stripe from base to tip. The movement is experimental and cautious as if he's testing the texture, the taste. His eyes keep flicking up to Jaemin's face, searching for reactions.
"Is this okay?" he asks, blinking up with those wide brown eyes that make Jaemin's chest tighten impossibly. "I've never... I mean, I want to make you feel good, but I don't know what I'm doing."
The innocence in his voice, the careful way he's holding himself—it's all part of the act, but it sends heat rushing through Jaemin's veins all the same. There's something intoxicating about seeing Mark like this, playing at inexperience while between his thighs.
"You're doing so well," Jaemin tells him, voice dropping to a rough whisper. "Such a fast learner."
Mark preens under the praise, his shy smile at odds with the desire darkening his eyes. "Will you show me?" he asks, the words barely audible. "Tell me what to do next?"
Jaemin's grip in Mark's hair tightens fractionally. "Try taking it into your mouth," he instructs, tone gentle but firm. "Just the tip at first. Be careful of your teeth."
Mark nods, nervous. He leans forward, lips parting hesitantly around the head. The wet heat of his mouth is almost too much. Jaemin has to bite back a groan, fighting to keep his hips still.
"Like this, oppa?" Mark asks, pulling off to look up. His lips are already slightly reddened, shining with spit. He looks debauched and innocent all at once, a contradiction that makes Jaemin's head spin.
"Just like that, baby," Jaemin breathes, thumb brushing Mark's lower lip. "You can go a little deeper if you want. Only as much as feels comfortable."
Mark swallows, nodding. "I want to," he whispers. "I want to be good for you."
The sincerity in Mark's voice makes Jaemin's chest tighten, even knowing it's part of the game. He watches as Mark leans forward again, lips parting to take him in with careful determination. This time he sinks lower, inch by tentative inch, eyes fluttering closed as if in concentration.
Jaemin's fingers tighten in Mark's hair, not guiding but anchoring himself as the wet heat envelops him. "That's it," he murmurs, voice strained. "You're doing so well, baby."
Mark makes a soft, pleased sound around him, the vibration sending sparks up Jaemin's spine. He pulls back slightly, then sinks down again, establishing a hesitant rhythm that's maddening in its gentleness. His “inexperience” is a perfect performance—the occasional scrape of teeth quickly corrected, the uncertain pauses, the questioning glances upward through dark lashes.
"Use your hand too," Jaemin suggests, voice rough. "For what you can't reach with your mouth."
Mark pulls off with a soft, wet sound that shouldn't be as obscene as it is. He peers at Jaemin, wrapping his fingers around the base with exaggerated care. His grip is loose, uncertain.
"A little tighter," Jaemin guides, covering Mark's hand with his own to demonstrate. "There. Just like that."
Mark's eyes widen at the correction, drinking in the instruction with eager attention. When he returns his mouth to join his hand, the combination is more coordinated, more purposeful. He still maintains that semblance of first-time hesitance, but there's a growing confidence in his movements that makes Jaemin's toes curl against the sheets.
"You're a natural," Jaemin praises, watching as Mark's cheeks hollow slightly with suction. "Such a good wife, taking care of me so well."
Mark moans softly at the words, the sound muffled but unmistakable. His free hand comes up to brace against Jaemin's thigh, fingers digging in slightly as he takes him deeper.
The sight is almost too much: Mark between his legs, lips stretched wide, eyes occasionally fluttering up to gauge Jaemin's reaction. The light catches on the wetness of his mouth, the flush spreading across his cheeks and down his neck.
"Wait," Jaemin says suddenly, voice strained. He tugs gently at Mark's hair, urging him to pull back. "Come here."
Mark releases him with a soft pop, looking up with confusion and a hint of worry. "Did I do something wrong?"
Jaemin shakes his head, reaching down to pull Mark up the length of his body. "No, baby. You did everything right." He brushes Mark's hair back from his forehead, thumb catching on the dampness of his lips. "Too right. I don't want to finish yet."
Mark's expression melts from concern to understanding, a shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His lips are swollen, glistening in the soft light, and Jaemin can't resist leaning forward to taste them. The kiss is deeper this time, hungrier, and Mark responds with a quiet whimper that sends heat spiraling through Jaemin's core.
"Turn over," Jaemin murmurs against Mark's mouth, hands already guiding him to roll onto his stomach. "Let me take care of you now."
Mark complies eagerly, settling onto his stomach with his cheek pressed against the pillow. He looks back over his shoulder, eyes wide and trusting, still playing his role with dedicated precision. "Like this?" he asks, voice soft and uncertain.
"Perfect," Jaemin says, running his palms down the smooth expanse of Mark's back. His skin is warm, slightly damp with sweat, and Jaemin takes his time exploring it. He traces the knobs of Mark's spine, the gentle curve where back meets waist, the subtle dimples just above the swell of his ass. "So beautiful."
Mark shivers under the attention, goosebumps rising in the wake of Jaemin's touch. "I'm nervous," he admits, the words muffled against the pillow. There's a genuine vulnerability in the way his fingers clutch at the sheets.
"Don't be," Jaemin soothes, leaning down to press kisses along Mark's shoulder blades. "I'll be gentle. I'll make you feel so good, baby."
He reaches toward the bedside table, knowing without looking that Mark has already placed the lube there, prepared even in his pretense of innocence. The cap clicks open, and Mark tenses slightly at the sound.
"Tell me if anything hurts," Jaemin says, warming the slick liquid between his fingers. "We can stop anytime."
Mark nods, face half-hidden in the pillow but eyes still watching Jaemin's every move. "I trust you," he whispers.
The first touch makes Mark gasp, his body tensing before deliberately relaxing. Jaemin works slowly, carefully, watches Mark's face for every reaction: the flutter of his eyelashes, the parting of his lips, the way his breath catches when Jaemin finds his prostate.
"Oh," Mark breathes, the sound genuine in its surprise despite how many times they've done this before. "That feels—"
"Good?”
"Really good," Mark whispers, the words catching as Jaemin's fingers press deeper. His eyes flutter closed, lashes dark against his flushed cheeks. "I didn't—I didn't know it could feel like this."
Jaemin works methodically, adding another finger with careful precision. He watches Mark's face twist in pleasure, lips parting around silent gasps. It's beautiful, the way Mark trembles beneath him like it's all new.
"You're doing so well," Jaemin murmurs, leaning down to press kisses along Mark's spine. "So perfect for me."
Mark whimpers, pushing back against Jaemin's hand. The movement is hesitant at first, then more insistent as pleasure builds. "Please," he breathes, the word barely audible. "I want—I need—"
"What do you need?" Jaemin asks, curling his fingers deliberately. "Tell me, baby."
Mark's whole body shudders. "I don’t know. You," he manages, looking back over his shoulder with eyes gone dark and liquid. "Inside me. Please."
The naked want in his voice makes Jaemin's breath catch. He withdraws his fingers slowly, soothing Mark's resulting whimper with gentle touches along his thighs. "Are you sure?" he asks. "It's your first time. It might hurt."
Mark nods, face half-buried in the pillow but eyes never leaving Jaemin's. "I'm sure," Mark whispers. "I want this... want you."
Jaemin reaches for the lube again, slicking himself generously before positioning himself behind Mark.
"Lift your hips for me," he instructs.
Mark complies immediately, raising himself slightly. The position highlights the perfect curve of his ass, the smooth expanse of skin that Jaemin can't resist touching. He runs his palm over one cheek appreciatively, then delivers a sudden sharp smack that echoes in the quiet room.
Mark jumps at the contact, a startled sound escaping his lips. Jaemin laughs, low and warm, amused by the reaction.
"So sensitive," he coos, delivering another firm pat to the other cheek, watching the skin flush pink beneath his hand. "So pretty for me."
Mark whimpers, burying his face deeper into the pillow as Jaemin's hands grip him firmly, spreading him apart to expose him completely. Jaemin takes a moment to admire the view, feeling possessiveness curl hot in his stomach.
"You look like a girl here," Jaemin murmurs, thumb brushing teasingly over Mark's hole. "So pretty."
Mark shivers and turns his head just enough for Jaemin to see his flushed profile, eyes half-lidded and dark.
"'m your pretty girl," Mark whines back, voice catching as Jaemin's thumb applies more pressure. The words come out slurred, almost desperate. "All yours, all for you."
The words make Jaemin's breath catch. Even knowing it's part of their game, the satisfaction that floods through him is overwhelming. He leans down, pressing his chest against Mark's back, lips finding the sensitive spot behind his ear and licking it, ignoring how Mark squirms beneath him.
"Yes, you are," he agrees. "My pretty girl. All mine."
Jaemin shifts, his hands moving to Mark's hips. "Turn over for me," he murmurs, already helping Mark roll onto his back. "I want to see your face when I'm inside you."
Mark complies easily, settling onto his back with his hair splayed across the pillow. He looks up at Jaemin with wide eyes, chest rising and falling rapidly.
"Hold yourself open for me," Jaemin instructs, voice low and commanding. He pushes Mark's legs up and back until they're nearly pressed against his chest. "Like this. Let me see all of you."
Mark whines, a high, embarrassed sound, but obeys. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of his thighs as he holds himself exposed and vulnerable. The position is obscene, leaving him completely on display for Jaemin's hungry gaze.
"Good," Jaemin praises, positioning himself between Mark's spread legs. He guides himself to Mark's entrance, the blunt pressure making Mark's breath hitch.
Just as Jaemin begins to push forward, Mark's eyes widen with sudden panic. "Wait," he gasps, tensing. "Shouldn't you—are you going to use a condom?"
Jaemin freezes, his hand immediately gripping the base of his cock. The question catches him off guard, sends a surge of desperate need through him so intense it's almost painful. The sight of Mark spread open beneath him, ready and waiting, makes it hard to think clearly.
"We don't need one," he says, the words coming out rougher than intended. He strokes a soothing hand down Mark's thigh, trying to relax him. "It's okay. You trust me, right?"
Mark bites his lip, looking uncertain despite the flush of arousal on his cheeks. "I do, but—"
"It feels so much better without one," Jaemin continues, leaning down to press kisses along Mark's jaw. "I want your first time to be perfect. Want you to feel everything." His thumb traces circles on Mark's inner thigh, coaxing and gentle despite the urgency building inside him. "I want it to be the best it can be for you."
Mark's eyes search his face, a mixture of desire and nervousness in his expression. "Are you sure it's okay?" he asks, voice small. "Like, one hundred percent sure?" His next words come out in an embarrassed rush: "And won't—won't fucking without a condom get me pregnant?"
The innocent question sends a jolt of heat straight to Jaemin's core. Jaemin pushes Mark's thighs wider, pressing them closer to his chest as he leans down until their foreheads nearly touch. "Shh," he whispers, voice velvet-soft but firm. "Don't worry about that, baby. I'll take care of everything, even if you get… pregnant."
Mark's eyes widen further, pupils blown with arousal even as he plays at innocence. "But what if—"
"Your husband knows what he's doing," Jaemin cuts him off gently, one hand sliding to cup Mark's cheek. His thumb brushes across Mark's lower lip, pressing just enough to silence him. "Trust me. Just feel good for me, okay?"
Mark swallows audibly, nodding beneath Jaemin's touch. His legs tremble slightly in Jaemin's grip, but he doesn't resist when Jaemin adjusts his position, spreading him impossibly wider.
"That's it," Jaemin murmurs, lining himself up again. "Just relax for me."
The first push is careful and measured. Jaemin watching Mark's face intently for any sign of genuine discomfort. Mark's mouth falls open in a silent gasp, eyes fluttering closed as Jaemin breaches him slowly. His fingers dig crescents into his own thighs where he's still holding himself open.
"Breathe," Jaemin reminds him, his own voice strained as he fights to maintain control. The tight heat enveloping him is almost overwhelming, made more intense by Mark's performance of first-time nervousness. "You're doing so well, taking me so perfectly."
Mark whimpers, the sound high and desperate. "It's—it's a lot," he gasps, chest rising and falling rapidly, a fine sheen of sweat making his skin glow in the amber light.
"I know, baby," Jaemin soothes, pressing deeper with careful patience. "Your body is learning mine. It gets easier, I promise."
When he's fully pushed in, Jaemin pauses, allowing them both a moment to adjust. He releases Mark's legs, letting them wrap naturally around his waist instead as he bends more. The new position brings them almost chest to chest, Jaemin's weight pressing Mark into the mattress.
"How does it feel?" Jaemin asks, brushing damp hair from Mark's forehead. "Having your husband inside you for the first time?"
Mark's eyes open, watery. "Full," he tells him, voice catching. "Like you're everywhere." His hands find Jaemin's shoulders, fingers digging in to anchor himself. "Like you're all I can feel."
Jaemin brushes his lips against Mark's forehead, taking a moment to catch his breath. His gaze travels down to where Mark's hand rests against the sheets, the silver ring glinting as his fingers curl into the fabric. Jaemin reaches for that hand, bringing it up between them. He laces their fingers together, the cool metal of the ring pressing into his palm.
"You ready?" Jaemin murmurs, voice dropping to a register that makes Mark shiver beneath him. When Mark nods, Jaemin draws back his hips and pushes forward again in one slow, deliberate stroke.
"Oh—" Mark gasps, eyes flying wide. His fingers tighten around Jaemin's, knuckles whitening. "Wait, wait—"
Jaemin stills immediately, frowning. "Too much?"
"No, it's—" Mark swallows hard, voice trembling. "It feels so good, but you're so big. I feel like I might break." His free hand flutters nervously against Jaemin's shoulder. "Can you be gentle? Please? Since it's my—my first time."
Something dark and hungry flashes in Jaemin's eyes. Instead of slowing, he snaps his hips forward with sudden force that makes Mark cry out, back arching off the mattress.
"Baby," Jaemin purrs, setting a pace that's anything but gentle, "your body was made for this. Made for me to fuck." Each thrust punctuates his words, driving deeper, harder. "Look how well you take it."
"Jaemin, please—" Mark whimpers, voice breaking on a particularly deep thrust. His legs tighten around Jaemin's waist, contradicting his pleas. "It's too much—"
"Is it?" Jaemin asks, voice deceptively sweet as he angles his hips to hit his prostate. "Your body is telling me something different. So tight around me, like you never want me to leave." He leans closer, lips brushing Mark's ear. "Like you were built for my cock."
Mark keens, the sound high and desperate. His eyes are squeezed shut, tears gathering at the corners from the intensity. "I can't—I can't—"
"You can," Jaemin insists, pace relentless now. Sweat gathers at his temples, slides down his neck. "Look at me."
Mark forces his eyes open, meeting Jaemin's heated gaze. "That's it," he murmurs. "Want to see those pretty eyes while I ruin you." His hand slides between them, wrapping around Mark's weeping cock. "Want to see exactly when you fall apart for me."
"Please," Mark gasps, no longer sure what he's begging for. His hips stutter upward into Jaemin's grip, then back down onto his cock, caught between sensations. "Jaemin—"
Jaemin's grip tightens around Mark's length, his thumb pressing into the slit where precome has gathered in a glistening pool. He circles it deliberately, spreading the wetness down the shaft.
"Look at how wet your little clit is," Jaemin murmurs, voice dropping to something dark and syrupy. "Dripping for me like a girl."
Mark whines, high and broken, his hips jerking up involuntarily into Jaemin's touch. "I'm not—" he starts, but the protest dissolves into a moan as Jaemin's hips snap forward with bruising force.
"Not a girl? You sure?" Jaemin laughs, the sound edged with something predatory. His fingers continue their teasing, gathering more of the slickness beading at the tip. "Could've fooled me. So wet, so eager to be filled." He leans down, breath hot against Mark's ear. "Are you sure you're really a virgin? Because your body knows exactly what it's doing."
Mark's face burns, caught between humiliation and arousal so intense it steals his breath. "I told you—ah— it's my first time—"
"Then why," Jaemin punctuates the word with a particularly brutal thrust that has Mark crying out desperately, "does your body take me so perfectly? Like you were made for this—made for getting fucked."
He doesn't let up, setting a merciless pace that has the headboard knocking rhythmically against the wall. His hand continues working Mark's cock, thumb swiping through the wetness again and again. "Made for me."
"Jaemin, please," Mark gasps, and he’s not sure if he's begging him to stop or never stop. His thighs tremble where they're wrapped around Jaemin's waist, muscles burning with the effort of keeping up.
"Please what?" Jaemin asks, voice deceptively gentle despite the brutality of his movements. "Please fuck you harder? Please make you come?"
"Yes," Mark sobs, beyond coherence now. "Yes, all of it—please—"
Jaemin's rhythm falters for just a moment. His grip tightens on Mark's hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. "Turn over," he coos, already manhandling Mark onto his stomach before the words fully leave his mouth. "Hands and knees for oppa, baby, come on."
Mark scrambles to comply, limbs shaky and uncoordinated as he pushes himself up. Jaemin doesn't give him time to settle, mounting him from behind.
"Oh god—" Mark chokes out, face pressed into the pillow, back arched at a punishing angle as Jaemin drapes himself over him.
"This is how you wanted it, isn't it?" Jaemin hums against the nape of his neck, hips pistoning at a merciless pace. "Your first time, and you're already begging to be fucked like this."
Mark can barely form words now, each thrust shoving him forward on the mattress until Jaemin's arm locks around his waist, holding him in place for the onslaught.
"Th-thank you," Mark gasps out, the words barely audible as they're punched from his lungs. His fingers claw at the sheets, searching for purchase. "Thank you, thank you—"
Jaemin's laugh is dark against his shoulder blade. "Listen to you," he murmurs. "Getting the life fucked out of you and still remembering your manners." His hand slides up to grip Mark's hair, yanking his head back until his spine forms a taut bow.
Mark whimpers, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. "Thank you," he repeats, voice breaking on a particularly vicious thrust. "Thank—thank you—"
"Good," Jaemin praises, teeth grazing the shell of Mark's ear. "That's good. Don't forget your manners even when you're being fucked like a slut." His free hand snakes around to Mark's neglected cock, gripping it firmly.
Mark can only respond with a broken moan as Jaemin presses flush against Mark's back. The new position drives him impossibly deeper, forcing a strangled cry from Mark's throat. Mark’s shoulder-blades feel hot against his chest, their sweat-slick skin sliding together.
"God, you feel so fucking good," Jaemin sighs. His hands slide around to Mark's chest, fingers splaying wide across his skin before squeezing and kneading the muscle with rough appreciation. His thumbs find Mark's nipples, circling the sensitive buds until they harden to stiff peaks.
“Even your cute tits are perfect for me, baby.”
Mark whimpers as Jaemin pinches one nipple between his fingers, rolling it with just enough pressure to border on pain. "They're not—" he starts to protest, but Jaemin cuts him off with a particularly vicious thrust.
"They're whatever I say they are," Jaemin counters breezily. He squeezes Mark's chest again, harder this time, molding the flesh beneath his palms. His hands move everywhere at once, groping his chest and sliding down his ribs, then back up to pinch and twist at his nipples until Mark is sobbing with overstimulation.
“Please.”
"Please what?" Jaemin asks, teeth grazing the tender skin where Mark's neck meets his shoulder. "Please stop playing with them? But you like it so much." To prove his point, he gives Mark's chest another firm squeeze, feeling the way Mark clenches around him in response. "Your body doesn't lie, baby."
Mark collapses forward onto his elbows, the new angle driving Jaemin even deeper.
"Gonna come for me?" Jaemin murmurs at his lax body, one hand sliding down to wrap around Mark's leaking cock while the other continues its merciless attention on his chest. "Gonna come just from me playing with your tits and fucking you open?"
"Yes," Mark sobs. "Yes, please, I'm so close—"
"Not yet," Jaemin croons, grip tightening around the base of Mark's cock. "You can be good for me a little longer, can't you? You should show more self-control for oppa.”
Mark whines, high and desperate. "Oppa, I can't—I don't think I can—"
"You can," Jaemin insists. His thumb presses firmly against the underside of Mark's cock, staving off his release. "So good for me already, taking everything I give you. I know you can wait just a bit more."
Mark's entire body trembles, and tears gather at the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill over as he nods frantically. "I'll try," he gasps. "For you, ah— I'll try."
“Good,” Jaemin says, lips brushing against Mark’s skin. His teeth sink into the tender flesh where Mark's neck meets his shoulder. Not hard enough to break skin, but with enough pressure to make Mark cry out, his back arching sharply. Jaemin doesn't relent, working that single spot between his teeth, sucking the flesh into his mouth before biting down again in the exact same place.
“Jaemin,” Mark cries without any titles, fingers clawing at the sheets, desperately seeking purchase. Jaemin pulls back briefly, his tongue soothing over the bruised flesh before his teeth return, worrying the same area with single-minded determination.
Jaemin’s hand shoots out to tangle in Mark's hair and yanks hard, forcing Mark's face down into the pillows. Mark gasps at the abrupt shift, his cry muffled against the fabric.
"Stay there," Jaemin says, his other hand finding the fresh bruise blooming on Mark's neck. His thumb digs into the tender flesh, pressing with deliberate cruelty that makes Mark's entire body jerk beneath him. He doesn't let up, instead increasing the pressure, grinding his thumb against the mark in tight, vicious circles.
"Want to make sure everyone sees it," Jaemin pants, still buried deep inside Mark as he works the bruise relentlessly. "Want to make sure you feel me for days." His thumb presses harder, the pressure almost unbearable as he targets the same spot over and over, ensuring the imprint of his teeth will remain vivid against Mark's pale skin.
Mark cries into the pillow, the sound strangled and desperate.
"It’s okay," Jaemin murmurs, finally releasing some of the pressure on the bruise, though his fingers still trace it possessively. "Taking it so well for me."
His grip in Mark's hair loosens just enough to turn Mark's face to the side, allowing him to breathe. Mark gasps in air, cheek pressed against the damp pillow, eyes unfocused and glassy.
"Please," he whispers, voice raw and broken. "Please, please—"
"I know what you need," Jaemin cuts him off, hips snapping forward with renewed vigor. His hand returns to Mark's throat, not squeezing but resting there with deliberate weight, thumb occasionally brushing over the mark he's left.
"Are you close?" he asks, voice deceptively gentle. When Mark nods frantically, Jaemin's grip in his hair tightens again, pulling his head back at an angle that forces his spine to arch. "Ask nicely, then."
"Please," Mark gasps, tears streaming freely now. "Please, oppa, can I come? I've been so good, really, please—"
"You have been so good for me," Jaemin concedes, his voice rough with exertion. He releases Mark's hair, letting his head fall forward as he shifts his weight. His hand slides from Mark's throat to his jaw, fingers pressing into the soft flesh beneath, tilting his face just enough that Jaemin can see his profile.
Mark’s eyes are squeezed shut, lashes wet with tears, cheeks flushed a deep crimson that spreads down his neck to his heaving chest.
"Please," he whispers again, the word barely audible.
"Look at you," Jaemin breathes, voice thick. His free hand snakes beneath Mark's trembling body, fingers wrapping firmly around his neglected cock. The touch is electric—Mark jolts like he's been shocked, a broken sound escaping his throat.
"Thank you," Mark gasps, the words tumbling out in a desperate rush. "Thank you, thank you, thank you—" His hands scramble together in front of him, fingers interlacing so tightly his knuckles go white, pressing against his forehead in a gesture of such raw gratitude it's almost devotional. "Thank you, oh god, thank you."
Jaemin's grip tightens, his palm slick with Mark's precome as he strokes him in time with his thrusts. He’s entranced by the sight of Mark's clasped hands, the way his body shakes with each slide of Jaemin's hand.
"Thank you, thank you," Mark continues, words spilling from his lips without pause. His hands press harder against his forehead, then slip down to cover his mouth as if to contain the flood of gratitude, before returning to their desperate clasp. "I'm so grateful—thank you, please—"
"Come for me, baby," Jaemin tells him sweetly, twisting his wrist and watching as Mark's entire body convulses.
Mark shatters instantly, as if he'd been waiting only for permission. His back arches impossibly, head thrown back as he comes with a cry that tears from somewhere deep in his chest. His hands remain clasped together, shaking violently as pleasure crashes through him in relentless waves.
"That's it," Jaemin soothes, working him through it with relentless precision, milking every last drop until Mark is sobbing from overstimulation. "So perfect for me. My good girl."
Mark goes entirely lax, trembling arms finally giving out. His hands finally separate, falling limply to either side of his head as he gasps for breath. Jaemin follows him down, chest pressed to Mark's sweat-slick back as he chases his own release with increasingly erratic thrusts.
Jaemin withdraws his hand from beneath Mark, palm glistening with cum. He shoves his hand in front of Mark's face, fingers splayed wide to display the fluid coating his skin.
"Open," he commands, voice brooking no argument despite his own breathlessness.
Mark whimpers, face half-buried in the pillow, clearly dazed from his orgasm. When he doesn't immediately comply, Jaemin's other hand tangles in his hair, tugging his head up.
"I said open," Jaemin repeats, pressing his cum-slick palm against Mark's closed lips. "Clean up your mess."
Mark's eyes flutter open, unfocused and glassy. His lips part on a shaky exhale, and Jaemin immediately pushes his palm against Mark's mouth.
"That's it," Jaemin lilts, hips still working in deep, punishing thrusts that make Mark's entire body jolt forward with each movement. "Lick it all up like a good girl."
Mark's tongue darts out hesitantly at first, then with more purpose as Jaemin's grip in his hair tightens in warning. The sensation of Mark's hot tongue sliding across his palm sends a jolt of electricity down Jaemin's spine, straight to where he's buried inside Mark's oversensitive body.
"Fuck," Jaemin hisses, pace turning brutal as he watches Mark's pink tongue sweep across his skin. "Every drop, baby. Don't miss any."
Mark whines against his palm, the sound tickling Jaemin's hand as another particularly deep thrust makes him gasp. Tears stream freely down his cheeks now, his body trembling with aftershocks and overstimulation. Each thrust forces small, broken sounds from his throat that get muffled against Jaemin's palm.
"So beautiful," Jaemin pants, transfixed by the sight of Mark's tongue cleaning between his fingers, lapping at the webbing with kitten-like precision despite his obvious distress. "Taking me so well while you clean yourself up."
Mark's eyes squeeze shut as Jaemin grinds against his prostate, his tongue faltering in its task. Jaemin clicks his tongue in disapproval, pushing his hand more firmly against Mark's mouth.
"Did I say you could stop?" he asks sweetly, hips stilling for a moment. "Finish the job, and then maybe I'll let you rest."
Mark's eyes fly open, desperation clear in his tear-filled gaze. He redoubles his efforts, tongue working frantically across Jaemin's palm, cleaning every last trace with dedicated thoroughness despite the way his body shudders with each small movement of Jaemin inside him.
"Good," Jaemin praises, finally satisfied with Mark's thoroughness. He pulls his hand away from Mark's mouth, examining his now-clean palm with approval.
He slides two fingers back into Mark's panting mouth, catching him mid-breath. Mark's eyes widen in surprise, but before he can react, Jaemin's fingers are exploring the wet heat of his mouth with curious precision.
"Keep it open," Jaemin murmurs, hips still moving in slow, deep thrusts as his fingers stroke along Mark's tongue. The muscle twitches beneath his touch, warm and slick. "Want to feel all of you."
Mark whimpers, eyes watering as Jaemin's fingers press down on his tongue, then sweep along the inside of his cheeks. Jaemin's fingers map every ridge and texture with fascinated attention, and it all feels almost clinical in its thoroughness. He’s stopped thrusting now, too distracted to do anything other than jerk forward in small, aborted movements.
"So wet in here too," Jaemin comments, fingertips tracing the sharp edges of Mark's teeth. He finds a canine and taps it lightly, then moves to the front, where he hooks his index finger behind Mark's upper front teeth. With a gentle tug forward, he pulls slightly, watching Mark's face contort with discomfort.
Mark makes a distressed sound, something between a whine and a plea, and Jaemin laughs softly at his reaction.
"You don't like that?" Jaemin asks, releasing the grip on his teeth only to push his fingers deeper, sliding toward the back of Mark's throat. Mark's eyes go wide and his body instinctively tries to retreat, but Jaemin's other hand clamps down on his hip, holding him firmly in place.
"Stay still," Jaemin commands, voice gentle but unyielding. He can feel Mark's throat working around his fingertips, the desperate effort not to gag making his muscles contract rhythmically. "That's it. Relax for me."
Mark's hands scramble for purchase, one reaching back to grab at Jaemin's wrist in silent protest. Jaemin ignores it, instead focusing on the texture of the roof of Mark's mouth. His fingers stroke along the ridged palate, applying just enough pressure to make Mark squirm beneath him.
When Mark's leg kicks out reflexively at the ticklish sensation, Jaemin tightens his grip on Mark's hip, forcing him to stay put. "I said stay still," he reminds him.
Mark whimpers around Jaemin's fingers, trying to nod even with the intrusion in his mouth. Tears gather at the corners of his eyes as he forces himself to relax, to accept the invasion with something approaching compliance. His hand drops from Jaemin's wrist in surrender.
"There we go," Jaemin praises, voice honeyed with approval. "Such a good girl for me."
He withdraws his fingers slowly, dragging them along Mark's tongue until they slip free with a wet sound that makes Mark flinch with embarrassment. Saliva connects Jaemin's fingertips to Mark's lips in glistening strands that break and fall to the sheets.
"Look at the mess you've made," Jaemin chides, though his tone remains fond. He wipes his wet fingers against Mark's cheek, leaving a damp trail that mixes with the tear tracks already there. "So messy."
Mark's breath comes in ragged pants, his lips red and swollen. "I'm sorry," he whispers, voice wrecked.
"Don't be," Jaemin murmurs, finally resuming his thrusts with renewed purpose. "I like you messy."
His hands find Mark's hips again, gripping with bruising force as he drives into him with increasing urgency. The wet sounds of their bodies meeting fill the room, obscene and unmistakable. Mark's oversensitive body jerks with each thrust, small broken sounds escaping his throat.
"Gonna fill you up," Jaemin pants, pace turning erratic as heat builds at the base of his spine. "Gonna make sure everyone knows who you belong to."
Mark nods frantically, face pressed into the pillow. "Yes," he gasps. "Yes, please—"
"Please what?" Jaemin demands, one hand sliding up Mark's sweat-slick back to tangle in his hair again. He pulls, forcing Mark's head back at an angle that makes him cry out. "Say it."
"Please fill me up,” Mark sobs, beyond shame now. "Please, oppa, I need it—need to feel you—"
His fingers tighten in Mark's hair as he drives in one final time, grinding deep as pleasure crashes through him in overwhelming waves. He stays buried inside, pulsing as he empties himself with a groan that seems torn from somewhere deep in his chest.
Mark whimpers beneath him, body trembling with aftershocks as Jaemin collapses against his back. They stay like that for long moments, Jaemin's weight pressing Mark into the mattress, both of them breathing hard in the sudden quiet of the room.
Eventually, Jaemin moves, pressing a gentle kiss to Mark's shoulder blade before carefully withdrawing. His fingers trace soothing circles against Mark's hip as he pulls away, eyes darkening at the sight of his cum leaking from Mark's body. He can't help but brush his thumb through it, pressing some back inside with possessive satisfaction. Mark twitches at the touch, a small noise escaping his throat.
"Stay still," Jaemin murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss between Mark's shoulder blades. "Let me clean you up, wife."
Mark makes a sound that might be a laugh, might be a sob, but he remains obediently still as Jaemin climbs off the bed. The mattress shifts with his absence, and Mark finally allows himself to collapse fully onto his stomach, eyes fluttering closed.
Jaemin returns moments later with a warm, damp cloth. He sits on the edge of the bed, gently turning Mark onto his side.
"How are you feeling?" he asks, voice soft as he begins to wipe Mark clean with careful attention. His other hand smooths Mark's hair back from his forehead, thumb brushing away the remnants of tears on his cheeks.
"Like I've been hit by a truck," Mark mumbles, though there's no real complaint in his voice. His eyes remain closed, but a small smile plays at the corners of his mouth. "A really good truck."
Jaemin laughs, the sound warm and fond. "You were perfect," he says, leaning down to press a kiss to Mark's temple.
When he's finished cleaning them both, he tosses the cloth aside and stretches out beside Mark, pulling him close against his chest. Mark comes willingly, curling into Jaemin's warmth with a contented sigh. His fingers trace idle patterns on Jaemin's chest, moving in slow, sleepy circles.
"Was it okay?" Mark asks after a moment, voice small and slightly uncertain. "The… I mean. Was it... what you wanted?"
Jaemin's arms tighten around him, one hand coming up to cup the back of Mark's head. "It was better than I imagined," he admits, pressing his lips to Mark's hairline. "You were incredible. So committed to the character."
Mark huffs a laugh against Jaemin's collarbone. "I thought I might have gone overboard with the virgin thing."
"You didn't," Jaemin assures him quickly. "Hyung was really sexy."
They lie in comfortable silence for a while, heartbeats gradually slowing to match each other's rhythm. Jaemin's fingers trace the knobs of Mark's spine, counting each one with gentle touches. Mark's breathing deepens, and Jaemin thinks he might have fallen asleep until he speaks again.
"I like when you call me your wife," Mark confesses, the words muffled against Jaemin's skin. "Is that weird?"
Jaemin's hand stills for a moment before resuming its gentle path along Mark's spine. "No," he says softly. "It's not weird at all." His fingers find their way to Mark's hair, carding through the damp strands with tender care. "I like it too. A lot."
Mark shifts, tilting his head up to meet Jaemin's gaze. His eyes are still slightly swollen from tears, but there's a shy curiosity in them now. "Why do you think that is?" he asks, voice barely above a whisper.
Jaemin considers this, thumb brushing along Mark's cheekbone. "I don't know," he admits finally. "Maybe because it feels... intimate. Like you're mine in a way that's different from anything else." His voice drops lower. "Like you've chosen to be mine."
Mark's eyes flutter closed at that, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I have," he murmurs, settling back against Jaemin's chest. "Chosen to be yours."
They lapse into comfortable silence again, the only sound their synchronized breathing and the occasional rustle of sheets as Jaemin adjusts his hold. The amber light from the bedside lamps casts long shadows across their intertwined bodies, turning Mark's skin to gold.
"I should probably clean up the kitchen," Mark says eventually, though he makes no move to get up. "The food's still out."
Jaemin tightens his arm around Mark's waist. "It can wait," he decides, pressing a kiss to the top of Mark's head. "I'm not ready to let you go yet."
Mark huffs a small laugh but nestles closer, tucking his head under Jaemin's chin. "Okay," he agrees easily. "I wasn't really planning to move anyway."
"Good," Jaemin murmurs, feeling sleep beginning to tug at the edges of his consciousness. The bone-deep weariness from earlier returns, but it's different now—softer, warmer, wrapped in the comfort of Mark's presence. "Because a good wife would stay right here with her husband."
Mark pinches Jaemin's side lightly, but there's no real annoyance in the gesture. "Don't push it," he warns, though it’s ruined by the smile in his voice.
Jaemin just laughs, low and content, and pulls the covers higher around them both. The last thing he registers before drifting off is the gentle press of Mark's lips against his collarbone—so quick it might not have happened at all.