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it was only supposed to be a quick one, nothing more, nothing less. he just wanted relief, that's all. he's pent up, hasn't had time for himself to relive the stress
he told himself he was just going to ‘rub one out.’ quick, easy, simple. as soon as he heard the bathroom door clicking shut and the groan of the pipes in the walls from the shower behind turned on, his underwear instantly came off and were discarded somewhere on the floor.
“just a quick rub. that's all.” he mumbles to himself. his cock, thick, hard, heavy and already leaking at the slit, throbbed in response. his fist closed around his cock, a shudder leaving his lips as he guides his fist up and down slowly. the pleasure is already building in his gut and the base of his spine but he holds.
“not yet. can't cum yet.” he whimpers to himself. his head hits the pillows, the heel of his palm rubbing against his slick tip. his free hand comes up to his chest and his fingers find refuge on his nipples. “feels good.” he groans, fingers pinching and flicking his nipples whilst he strokes himself slowly
“want to–fuck–want to take my time.” but despite his words, his hand moves faster and he pinches his nipples a little harder. his hips buck up into his own fist, chasing that high that he thinks he can prolong but his body has other ideas. “n-not yet.” he cries out, sobbing pathetically. his foreskin pushing and pulling over his slick crown, making it easier and more pleasurable for him. the pad of his thumb grinds against his tip, making his hips twitch.
“n-no.” he sobs out, back arching off the sheets as his orgasm suddenly hits him, painting his chest and torso in white–but his hand never stops.
he lets out a cry, toes curling against the sheets. his skin is burning up, flush with colour and slick with sweat and his own mess. he listens out, listening to the shower still running. he still has more time before you finish showering.
his fist moves faster and faster, stroking himself through his aftershocks but he never stops. his cock is sensitive now, but the pleasure feels too good. his body is on autopilot.
“can't stop. feels too good. oh god. oh fuck.” he babbles pathetically, tears prickling the corner of his eyes. he scoops up his mess with his finger from his stomach, brings it to his lips and tastes himself. his thighs twitch, his bucking as he fucks himself into his own fist.
the pleasure burns but it's not enough. he needs more–so much more.
he pauses his movements to look around the bedroom. underwear! he spots your underwear in a clean pile of laundry on the dresser. he swallows, his lust filled haze making him not think straight but the thought of ruining the fabric, having it wrapped around his cock makes him twitch more.
he grabs the underwear, rubs it with his thumbs. he looks in the direction of the bathroom–you’re still in there, good.
he kneels on the bed and brings the fabric to his nose. despite it smelling clean, he can still smell the faint musk of you. he lets out a shudder, nostrils flaring as he inhales over and over again. his cock throbs happily, leaks pre onto the sheets. “yn, you smell good.” he groans, eyes closing and his fingers wrapping around his cock once again.
he licks the fabric, groaning softly at the faint taste of you. he shouldn't be doing this. he knows that if you found him doing this, you'd freak out, but there's something about it that alters his brain chemistry.
he licks. he inhales. he strokes. pleasure making his body tingle. heat pooling in his gut. he wraps the fabric around his cock, thrusting into it and moaning loudly, too caught up into the pleasure he feels. his head kicks back, exposing the column of his neck. the fabric darkens from where his precum stains the delicate material.
“oh, yn. oh god. feels good, i dont want to stop.” he rubs the fabric over his aching cock desperately, his second orgasm approaching. it curls in the base of his spine and makes his balls draw up. his hand moves desperately now, movements sloppy and hips thrusting, fucking himself in his hand and your underwear
“g-going to cum.” he cries out. he squeezes his eyes shut, lips parting as he whimpers and moans. he spills into the underwear, the fabric darkening as he paints it in his mess. his cock throbs with each release, hips moving slowly to draw out the pleasure as his muscles tense up.
once the pleasure ebbs away, he opens his eyes and looks at the mess. “oh fuck..” post nut clarity hitting him as he looks at the ruined underwear now. he could buy you some new ones, throw the stained ones away and replace them, then you'd never know, right?
but, he failed to keep an ear out. failed to hear the shower stopping and you stepping out. now, you're leaning against the doorway, watching jisung weigh out his options
“they won't know, right?” he mumbles to himself.
“oh, i will.” you say. your voice makes him jump. his eyes widen and he looks at you. he watches you approach the bed slowly.
“how long?” he squeaks out. you take your underwear and inspect it with a raised brow before throwing it to the side
“long enough.” you hum, reaching forward and smearing the left over residue of cum on his sensitive tip. his hand instantly flies to your wrist, squeezing it. the sensitivity burns, steals his breath away and makes him shudder.
“im sorry! oh fuck, i-im sorry, yn.” he stutters out, letting out a long, high pitched moan at the pleasure and the burning.
“words are cheap. you can prove that you're sorry with your body.”