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The door clicks open then shut as silently as Gunil’s rush allows.
No words. Not a smile. A weight to his frame, one Jooyeon can’t lift off him while carrying his own. Hunger and guilt welded together. Sticky. Hot wax dripping off a burning candle.
If someone asked about it, if he were to be honest, Jooyeon couldn’t say he liked it. Always the second, never enough. The taste of another person on Gunil’s lips. A foreign scent on his skin. Tossed and turned around, inside out. Beaten black and blue by their game of push and pull. Bare, always too bare for Gunil. The confidentiality shared only between those who sin together.
His arms wrap around Gunil’s neck. He lets himself be dragged into his own bed. Hands on his waist, on his hip, digging at the bone. Bruising. Hurting in the way Jooyeon taught him he likes it. In the way that makes it real. That makes it wrong.
A kiss, no sweetness. Gunil is rarely ever sweet to him in this way. He is greedy and rushed and he sucks Jooyeon dry, to the very last drop. Bites strong enough to break the skin of his lip. Sucks the blood too.
Towering over Jooyeon in the dark. Hair falling over his eyes, wretched soul hidden behind it, a flush to his face that he only knows is there because he feels it. The heat of him. Studying him like he wants to tear his limbs off, one by one, with his mouth, not precisely decided on where to start. Grabbing too hard, too strong. Lips on his pulse point. He chooses. Jooyeon, limp like a bird between his teeth.
Goosebumps on his arms. Fingers inside his clothes. He’s sweating. Hair stuck to his nape, body twisting and squirming, throat bobbing around a laugh when Gunil pinches his chest. Hysterical.
“What’s funny?” nothing is. Has never been.
“C‘mon, Hyung.” whiny. Needier than he likes himself to be.
Gunil knows his own interests very well. He knows what he cares about, and that’s what makes him a good man. He doesn’t ask too much. He doesn’t want to know. The bones they’re hiding have always been a matter far too little for him.
His hand, calloused and hot, too hot, inside Jooyeon’s pants. Rubbing and groping and cupping like he would a cunt, one that Jooyeon doesn’t have. His voice, coated in all the tenderness his actions lack, calling him “My good girl”. Jooyeon keening, blushing. Feverish.
Gunil undresses him whole. Turns him around. Angles his hips up and touches him. The dip of his spine, each bone poking under the skin. His ribs, the flat of his waist, no curve to make it sinuous. His shoulders, their broadness. It’s not exploring, not curious. Gunil’s hands are familiar. Heavy in their knowledge.
Shame. To be toyed this way. To admit how many times he’s let Gunil do this to him.
It makes him feel small. Crowded. A little stupid. A lot vain.
Still, he soaks in it. Opens his legs. Bares his neck again.
Gunil opens him up fast, faster than Jooyeon should want him to, should be willing to take. He takes it. Always does. Gunil grabs at his hair, pulls it, and it stings. Loose hairs stuck between his fingers when they wrap around Jooyeon’s throat, from behind, pressing him down to the mattress. Scruffing. A boneless threat, a sense of knowing he could if he wanted to. Jooyeon sometimes wishes he would.
It’s raw and too dry when Gunil enters him. He’s thick and it hurts and Jooyeon’s legs shake so bad with it he wants to lay flat, thrash away from the feeling, crawl up the bed far enough for Gunil to chase him. Gunil doesn’t see it on his face, doesn’t ever look at him that way; Jooyeon had once wondered why.
He doesn’t anymore. Not now.
A glob of spit. Dirty. Gunil fucks him hard enough to rattle the bed, and for a moment, Jooyeon prays that someone would hear it. That Jungsu would get up, knock on his door, or that Jiseok would call and ask if he’s okay. He’s biting the pillow and grabbing the sheets and doing all in his power to keep quiet, because Gunil likes him like that. Quiet. Pliant. Docile like Jooyeon has never been.
Gunil molds him. Brute force.
Keeps him quiet by taking his breath away. Then letting go, slowly, pulling at his hair harder and fucking him faster to watch him choke on his own spit, desperate. Keeps him pliant, waiting for his next move, somehow predictable but not always. Mostly never. Now he slaps him on the ass. He’s hardly ever done that before.
Gunil keeps him docile because a bone to a stray dog is a treat. He knows Jooyeon will never say no. Knows he has nowhere else to be.
A sickness. A fever he can’t sweat out of. Gunil’s hands gliding, the skin burning where he touches and Jooyeon wants to scream. Voice stuck between his teeth, dying muffled in the fabric of his pillowcase, and everything is everywhere, all at once. Gunil doesn’t touch him any more than what he wants, but Jooyeon doesn’t need him to. He’s trembling and arching his back and cumming so hard his head reels, but Gunil doesn’t stop. He pins him down harder, both arms trapped under his sweaty palms. There's no place to run or hide. Lungs on fire. Ears ringing. Burning endlessly, just like they’re meant to be.
The hot cum inside makes him feel disgusting. Gunil holds him tight for a moment. A fleeting instance, a brief half-minute that somehow is still enough to make Jooyeon feel special. To make him feel like none of this is in vain, that there’s some semblance of affection creeping its way between the dirt and the rot.
But then Gunil gets up. Tucks himself back inside his clothes because they were never off to begin with. Runs a hand through his hair, looks at Jooyeon like one looks at roadkill. Pats his head firmly, twice. Pity that kills faster than a gun.
“Don’t be late tomorrow, yeah?” and suddenly, it’s just his Gunil-Hyung again. Strong, reliable Gunil, who cares too much about the band and believes with all his might that they’ll hit it big one day. The kind-hearted man who prays before every meal and writes love songs, none of them for Jooyeon. The guy who loves his fiancé loudly and is never afraid to say so, because knowing what Jooyeon tastes like has never taken that ring off his finger. He smiles, tight lipped and sweet and leaves through the door just as silently as he came.
Jooyeon, alone with the scent of sex and the proof of their profanity sticking up the inside of his thighs. A guilt that only he gets to swallow. Gunil has always been selfless; he gives Jooyeon everything and never takes what isn’t his.
A good man.