Work Text:
Juhoon’s brain had been running laps all day and getting nowhere, just circling the same problem until it felt worn out. Martin’s birthday was in two days. Two. And Juhoon had… what, exactly? A pair of sunglasses still sitting in its box on the top shelf, the receipt folded in half and tucked underneath, as if hiding it made it more special.
It didn’t. Not really. It felt unfinished, like handing someone a sentence that just stops midway. He wanted something that would actually land, something that would make Martin pause, smile that slow smile of his, the one that always came with a quiet kind of warmth that stayed even after the moment passed.
Because that’s what Martin did, effortlessly, almost annoyingly so. From the very beginning, he’d just… decided. Decided that he was the one who’d take care of things. Not in a suffocating way, never that, but in all those small, ridiculous gestures that stacked up over time until Juhoon didn’t even realize how used to it he’d gotten.
Random snacks appearing in his bag because Martin remembered he mentioned them once. A jacket draped over his shoulders before he could even say he was cold. Gifts that didn’t feel like gifts, more like quiet observations turned into something you could hold.
And the worst part was, Martin never made a big deal out of it. He’d just shrug, grin a little, say, “It reminded me of you,” as if that explained everything.
It didn’t help that Martin refused to let him pay for anything either. Juhoon had tried, more than once, had argued about it even, but Martin always brushed it off with that same stubborn softness. “Next time,” he’d say, and somehow next time never really came.
So yeah, the pressure sat heavy now, pressing against Juhoon’s ribs in a way he couldn’t ignore. It wasn’t about matching the price or anything like that. It was about meaning.
They’d been together since first year, back when everything still felt uncertain and a little too bright, when they were both figuring out how to exist outside of high school expectations. Now they were in their third year, sharing a one-bedroom apartment that still smelled faintly of Martin’s detergent and whatever cheap air freshener they bought on sale last month.
The place wasn’t big, but it worked. The couch had a slight dip on Martin’s side, the kitchen counter always had at least one mug left behind, and the bedroom window never fully closed unless you pushed it twice. It felt lived in, theirs in a way that didn’t need decoration to prove it.
Right now, the apartment was quiet. Too quiet, honestly. Juhoon had been home for about two hours after classes, his bag dropped carelessly near the door, shoes kicked off without much thought. His part-time shift didn’t start until tomorrow, so the afternoon stretched out in front of him with nothing but time and this growing sense of panic he couldn’t shake off.
He sat on the edge of the bed for a while, staring at nothing in particular, then stood up, then sat back down again. At some point, he ended up in the kitchen, opening the fridge, not because he was hungry but because he needed something to do with his hands.
Martin was probably still out. Either stuck in class, half-listening while doodling on the margins of his notes, or at work, dealing with customers with that polite patience Juhoon knew was only half genuine.
The thought of him out there, going about his day like everything was normal, made Juhoon feel even more restless. He dragged a hand down his face, exhaled slowly, then muttered to himself, “Okay, this is stupid,” even though it didn’t fix anything.
Because the thing is, it shouldn’t have been this hard. It was just a birthday. People got gifts all the time. But this wasn’t just anyone, and that changed everything. Juhoon leaned back against the counter, arms crossing loosely as his gaze drifted toward the bedroom, where the unopened box of sunglasses waited.
So now, lying flat on his back, staring up at a ceiling he’d memorized down to its faint cracks and uneven paint, Juhoon let out a long sigh that didn’t seem to fix anything. His phone rested on his chest, screen dimmed, forgotten for the moment as his thoughts circled right back to the same problem.
Two days. The number echoed in his head in a way that felt louder than it should’ve. He turned his head slightly, eyes drifting toward the side of the room where Martin usually tossed his bag after getting home, and for a second, he could almost picture him there already, talking about something random, filling the space with that easy presence Juhoon had gotten so used to.
It made his chest feel tight in a way he couldn’t quite explain. He just wanted to do something right. Not perfect, not extravagant, just something that would carry the same weight, the same intention. But every idea he tried to hold onto slipped right through, leaving him with nothing but that same frustrating blank.
Time moved anyway. It always did, even when he felt stuck. An hour later, Juhoon found himself standing in the kitchen, a pot of ramen bubbling quietly on the stove, steam curling up into the air and fogging the space just a little.
The sound of it was oddly grounding, the soft boil, the occasional clink of utensils when he stirred without thinking. Martin had texted earlier, something short and casual, saying he’d be home early because his boss was in a surprisingly good mood today.
Juhoon had stared at the message for a bit longer than necessary before replying, thumbs hovering over the screen as if he wanted to say more, but in the end, he just kept it simple. ‘See you.’
Now he moved around the kitchen on autopilot, opening cabinets, reaching for things he didn’t even need, then putting them back as if the motion alone could distract him. His mind wasn’t really there, drifting somewhere between half-formed ideas and the sound of his own thoughts looping again and again.
He didn’t notice how long he’d been standing like that, didn’t notice the way the ramen had already settled into that perfect point where it was ready, didn’t notice anything at all until suddenly there was warmth behind him.
An arm slipped around his waist, familiar and certain, pulling him back just enough to break whatever trance he’d been stuck in. Juhoon inhaled sharply, not out of surprise, but because the scent hit him all at once, something clean and faintly sweet, unmistakably Martin.
It settled into his senses like it belonged there, like it always had. He didn’t even need to turn around to confirm it. His shoulders loosened without him realizing, tension easing out of him in quiet increments.
“Welcome home, Tin,” he said, voice softer than he intended, but it felt right anyway.
“Missed you so much,” Martin murmured, the words barely leaving his lips before he pressed his face deeper into the crook of Juhoon’s neck, breathing him in as if that alone could settle whatever restlessness he’d been carrying all day.
His arms tightened around Juhoon’s waist without hesitation, hands already slipping under the hem of his shirt, warm palms flattening against bare skin in that familiar, absentminded way he always did, like he needed the contact more than he let on.
“I missed you,” he added, softer this time, almost dragging the words out as if he didn’t want the moment to move too fast. “Can we just lie down and cuddle?”
Juhoon exhaled quietly, trying to focus on the task in front of him even as his grip on reality wavered a little under Martin’s touch. “Have you already eaten?” he asked, voice coming out steadier than he felt, though his movements betrayed him just a bit.
He reached for a better bowl, carefully pouring the ramen into it, making sure not to spill while Martin’s height and weight leaned comfortably against his back, grounding and distracting at the same time. It wasn’t helping that Martin wasn’t letting go, not even for a second.
“Mhm, yeah, I told you,” Martin replied, his voice muffled against Juhoon’s skin, each word brushing warm against his neck. There was a faint smile in the way he spoke, something teasing tucked underneath it.
“You didn’t read my whole message, did you?” He shifted slightly, but didn’t pull away, just enough to adjust his hold, his fingers tracing slow, lazy patterns against Juhoon’s side. “Boss was in a good mood today. Let us leave early. Even treated us to dinner.”
Juhoon clicked his tongue softly, more out of habit than actual annoyance, though there was a small flicker of guilt there. “I read it,” he muttered, even if he knew that wasn’t entirely true, at least not properly.
He finished fixing the bowl, setting it down on the counter with a quiet clink before finally letting himself turn around, easing out of Martin’s hold just enough to face him.
“Well, why don’t you change your clothes and let me eat first?” he said, lifting his gaze to meet Martin’s, trying to keep his expression neutral, casual, unaffected.
It didn’t last. Martin didn’t answer right away. He just looked at him for a second, eyes soft but unreadable in that way Juhoon had learned meant he was about to do something he wouldn’t be able to argue against. And then, without warning, he leaned in.
The kiss landed quick but didn’t stay that way. It lingered, stretching out longer than either of them probably intended, turning into something slower, something that made Juhoon forget whatever he was about to say next.
Martin’s hand came up to cup his jaw, tilting his head just slightly, keeping him there without force but with enough certainty that pulling away didn’t even cross Juhoon’s mind.
When they finally pulled back, it wasn’t abrupt. Just a small pause, a quiet breath shared between them, Martin’s forehead resting briefly against Juhoon’s as if he wasn’t quite done yet, even if the kiss had already ended.
“You can’t be missing me that much, not when we literally saw each other this morning,” Juhoon said, a small laugh slipping through, light but edged with something fond he didn’t bother hiding.
He caught it then, the way Martin’s attention drifted, not subtle at all, starting from his eyes, dipping down to his lips, then climbing back up as if nothing happened. It was almost ridiculous how obvious it was.
Juhoon lifted a hand, tapping lightly against Martin’s cheek to pull him back. “Hey. Focus.”
Martin didn’t even try to deny it. If anything, the corner of his mouth tilted up, that familiar smirk settling in like it had been waiting for its cue. “Can’t blame me,” he said, voice dipping just slightly, quieter but not shy. “You’re distracting.”
And before Juhoon could roll his eyes or come up with something to throw back at him, Martin leaned in again, stealing another kiss, quicker this time but not careless, just enough to make a point.
He didn’t stop there either. His lips brushed down, slow and unhurried, until they found that spot along Juhoon’s neck, pressing a soft kiss against skin that hadn’t asked for it but didn’t resist either.
“Fine,” Martin added after, pulling back just enough to look at him again, though his hand stayed where it was, resting loosely at Juhoon’s side, thumb brushing back and forth without thinking. “I’ll change.”
There was a pause, brief but intentional, his expression shifting into something softer, less teasing now. “But promise me that once you’re done, you’ll cuddle with me.”
Cuddling with Martin had always been easy. It didn’t require effort, didn’t ask anything from him except to stay where he was and let himself be held.
They were sprawled across the couch, the movie playing in the background, its glow flickering across the dim apartment, painting everything in soft, shifting light. Juhoon had his back pressed against Martin’s chest, one of Martin’s arms draped loosely over his waist, fingers resting there at first, still, almost well-behaved.
For a while, it stayed like that. Quiet. Comfortable. The kind of silence that didn’t need filling. But Martin had never really been good at staying still for too long.
“You need to focus on the movie,” Juhoon whispered, though there was no real bite in it, his voice thinning slightly every time Martin’s hand started to wander, brushing against places that made his breath catch in uneven intervals.
It wasn’t sudden, wasn’t rough, just slow, deliberate movements that built up into something harder to ignore. Juhoon shifted a little, more out of instinct than resistance, trying to keep his attention on the screen even as his body reacted before he could fully think it through.
“Or I’ll turn this off,” he added, quieter now, though even he could hear how unconvincing it sounded.
“Jju,” Martin said, low and close to his ear. That was enough. It always was, somehow. Just that nickname, spoken in that tone, soft but carrying something underneath it, something familiar, something that Juhoon had learned to recognize without needing anything else spelled out.
Three years together had a way of doing that. It carved out a language of its own between them, made up of small things, quiet cues, the way a single word could hold an entire conversation inside it.
Juhoon swallowed, his fingers curling slightly against the fabric of his own shirt as his thoughts began to scatter. Because it wasn’t new, not really. They’d been here before, in different versions of this same moment, where everything softened and blurred at the edges, where touches lingered longer and breaths came out a little heavier.
But there were always lines, unspoken but understood, boundaries that neither of them pushed past. Not because they didn’t want to, not because something was missing, but because some things needed more than just want.
And for Juhoon, it was never just about the moment. His body had always felt… complicated. Even now, even after everything, after the quiet decisions and the louder ones, after choosing himself in ways that had taken more courage than he liked to admit, there were still days when it didn’t quite feel like his.
Like he was borrowing it, trying to make peace with something that didn’t always listen. The dysphoria didn’t come in one clear shape either. It shifted.
Some days it was quieter, something he could push to the back of his mind. Other days, it sat heavy in his chest, in the way he held himself, in the way his thoughts turned sharp without warning.
Moments like this made it louder. Not because of Martin. Never because of him. If anything, Martin had always been the one thing that softened it, made it easier to breathe through.
He never rushed, never assumed, never touched without meaning it. Every word he said, every look he gave, it all carried this steady reassurance that Juhoon didn’t have to be anything other than what he already was.
That he was seen. That he was enough. Still, even with all of that, there were parts of Juhoon that tensed on instinct, parts that hesitated, that pulled back just slightly even when the rest of him wanted to stay.
Juhoon let out a slow breath, his hand coming up to rest over Martin’s where it had settled against him, not pushing it away, just holding it there, grounding himself in the contact.
“Tin…” he murmured, softer now, his voice carrying something more fragile beneath it. Not a refusal, not quite. Just a pause. A quiet asking to slow down, even if the words didn’t fully say it.
Martin stilled almost immediately. That was the thing about him. He always noticed. Even the smallest shifts, the tiniest changes in tone, the way Juhoon’s body went just a little more rigid under his touch.
His hand didn’t pull away, but it stopped moving, his grip loosening just enough to give Juhoon space without actually leaving.
“Hey,” he whispered, pressing his forehead lightly against the side of Juhoon’s head, his voice gentler now, stripped of that earlier teasing edge. “We don’t have to do anything.”
Juhoon bit down on his lip, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to ground himself in something physical, something real. Martin was always like this, always so careful in ways that didn’t feel forced, didn’t feel like he was walking on eggshells.
He just knew. Knew when to stop, when to pull back, when to soften his touch until it felt like something you could breathe in without fear. It should’ve made things easier, and it did, most days.
But right now, it only made Juhoon more aware of everything he was holding back. “I know,” he whispered, the words slipping out quieter than he intended, almost getting lost between them.
He shifted slightly, turning in Martin’s arms until he could face him properly. The movement was slow, hesitant in a way that didn’t quite match the moment they’d been in earlier.
Their faces were close now, close enough that Juhoon could see the faint crease between Martin’s brows, the one that only showed when he was thinking too much about something he didn’t say out loud.
“Let me help you,” Juhoon said, and there was something in his voice that didn’t sound like before.
Martin didn’t hesitate. “It’s fine,” he said gently, almost immediately, like he’d already decided before Juhoon even finished speaking.
His hand came up instead, fingers threading into Juhoon’s hair, slow and absentminded as he began to massage his scalp, the motion steady, calming. “You don’t need to help me.”
And that only made it harder. Juhoon’s gaze dropped for a second, his teeth catching his lower lip again, pulling it in slightly as if he could hold the words there, keep them from spilling before he was ready.
Because the truth was, he had been thinking about this for a while now. Not just tonight, not just because of this moment, but in those quiet hours when Martin wasn’t around, when the apartment felt bigger than it actually was and his thoughts got louder than he liked.
He’d think about it then. About letting Martin see more, not just the parts that felt easy to give, not just the version of himself that he’d carefully learned how to present, but everything underneath that too.
It scared him more than he wanted to admit. His insecurities had a way of creeping in at the worst times, wrapping themselves around his thoughts until they felt heavier than they should be.
There were parts of himself he still struggled to look at directly, parts that didn’t quite line up with how he wanted to exist, how he saw himself in his head.
And even though Martin had never once given him a reason to doubt, never once made him feel anything less than… seen, there was still that quiet voice in the back of his mind, asking questions he didn’t know how to answer.
What if it changes something?
Juhoon swallowed, his hand slowly coming up to rest against Martin’s wrist, not to stop him, just to hold onto him for a second. His thumb brushed lightly against his skin, a small, absent motion that betrayed the way his thoughts were starting to spiral again.
He lifted his gaze after a moment, meeting Martin’s eyes, really looking this time instead of glancing away.
“I…” he started, then stopped, the word catching halfway like it didn’t know where to go next. His chest felt tight, not painfully, just enough to remind him that this mattered more than he was used to admitting out loud.
He shook his head before anything else could come out. “Forget about it,” he murmured, softer now, already leaning forward until his forehead brushed against Martin’s collarbone, then settling fully, resting his head against his chest.
The next morning slipped into place without much resistance, routine taking over in a way that felt almost comforting. They woke up tangled in the same sheets, half-awake greetings exchanged in low voices, still rough from sleep.
Breakfast was simple, nothing special, just whatever they had left in the fridge, eaten side by side with quiet conversation that drifted in and out.
And then, somehow, it turned into something else. It started small, the way it always did. A glance held a second too long, a hand lingering when it should’ve pulled away.
Juhoon didn’t even remember who leaned in first, only that one moment they were talking about something irrelevant, and the next, their words got lost somewhere between breaths that came out uneven.
The kiss wasn’t careful, not like the night before. It was messier, a little rushed, built on the fact that they were both running out of time.
There was a laugh somewhere in between, quiet and breathless, followed by a half-hearted “We’re going to be late,” that neither of them took seriously enough to actually stop.
Classes pulled them in different directions, the day unfolding the way it was supposed to. Lectures, notes, passing conversations that Juhoon barely registered because his mind kept drifting back, circling the same thought over and over again.
By the time he got home, the apartment felt quieter than usual, the kind of quiet that made his thoughts louder. He dropped his bag by the door, ran a hand through his hair, then stood there for a second longer than necessary, staring at nothing in particular.
And then it came back to him. Not the gift, not the plan he’d been trying to come up with, but what he almost said the night before. The words he swallowed, the moment he let slip away because it felt too big, too uncertain.
Juhoon exhaled slowly, his shoulders rising and falling with it as he moved further into the apartment, almost on autopilot. He wanted to level things up.
Not because he felt like he had to, not because of some invisible expectation hanging over them, but because he wanted to give something real.
He wanted Martin to see him. All of him.
The thought sat heavy in his chest, not entirely comfortable, but not something he wanted to run from either. It scared him, yeah. That part didn’t go away just because he decided to be brave about it.
But beneath that, there was something else too. Trust.
Martin deserved that. Deserved to be let in, beyond the parts Juhoon had learned to manage, beyond the version of himself that felt easier to offer.
Juhoon swallowed, glancing toward the clock without really meaning to. Still a few hours left before midnight. Enough time to back out, if he wanted to. Enough time to change his mind.
“…Maybe I will,” he muttered under his breath, the words quiet but carrying more weight than he expected, like saying them out loud made it something real.
Martin’s voice had filled Juhoon’s ear the whole way home, a messy mix of complaints and half-laughs, the sound of traffic bleeding faintly in the background.
He’d been going on about his boss, how the guy had flipped moods again, back to being impossible to deal with, and Juhoon could picture it too easily, the way Martin would roll his eyes even when no one was looking.
But then his tone shifted somewhere in the middle of it, softer, almost amused, telling Juhoon how his friends and co-workers had surprised him with a small celebration.
By the time Martin got home, the apartment had settled into stillness. The lights were on, dim but warm, and the bedroom door was already open.
Juhoon sat on the bed, hands resting loosely on his lap, back straight without realizing it, like he’d been waiting there longer than he meant to admit.
“Welcome back, Tin,” he said, the same way he always did, the words familiar, almost routine, but carrying something softer underneath tonight.
Martin didn’t answer right away, not with words. He dropped his bag onto the chair with a dull thud, barely sparing it a glance before crossing the short distance between them.
In one smooth motion, he pulled Juhoon closer, hands firm but careful as he lifted him slightly and settled back onto the bed, bringing Juhoon down onto his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“I missed you,” Martin said, pressing the words against him, easy and certain, like he hadn’t already said it a dozen times today. And maybe it should’ve sounded repetitive by now, something that lost its weight over time. But it didn’t. Not really.
Juhoon looked at him for a second, really looked, taking in the way Martin’s hair had fallen slightly out of place, the faint crease still lingering between his brows from earlier, the softness that always settled in his eyes whenever he looked at him.
And then, before he could overthink it, before that familiar hesitation could creep back in, he leaned forward and kissed him.
It caught Martin off guard, just for a second. Juhoon felt it in the way his body stilled before responding, in that brief pause where everything seemed to hold its breath.
But it didn’t last. Martin kissed back almost immediately, his hands adjusting around Juhoon instinctively, pulling him closer, grounding him there.
The kiss didn’t stay simple. It deepened without either of them really deciding to, stretching into something that felt heavier, fuller, like it had been building up quietly all day.
When Juhoon finally pulled back, it took effort. His lips felt warm, a little swollen, his breath uneven as he tried to steady it. “Martin… I…” he started, the words catching awkwardly in his throat, like they didn’t know how to come out properly.
“Yes, Jju?” Martin’s voice softened immediately, the shift so natural it almost hurt. His hand came up, brushing a strand of hair away from Juhoon’s face, tucking it gently behind his ear, his touch lingering there for a second longer than necessary.
Juhoon hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to say it anymore, but because now that he was here, now that the moment was real and sitting right in front of him, it felt bigger than it had in his head.
His eyes searched Martin’s face, almost unconsciously, looking for something that wasn’t there. Doubt. Hesitation. Anything that might make it easier to step back.
But there was nothing like that. Just Martin. Open, patient, something warm and steady sitting in his gaze that made Juhoon’s chest tighten in a completely different way.
“I…” he tried again, quieter this time, his voice thinning just slightly. His fingers curled into the fabric of Martin’s shirt, holding on without realizing it. “I… I wanted to do it with you.”
“What? Jju, you don’t—”
Juhoon didn’t let him finish. The words came out before he could lose the nerve, almost tripping over each other in their urgency.
“I’ve been thinking about it,” he said, voice unsteady but determined, his grip tightening slightly against Martin’s shirt as if that alone could keep him grounded. “You deserve to see what’s beyond me, Martin.”
He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, but he didn’t look away this time. He held Martin’s gaze, even when it felt too much, even when his chest started to feel tight.
“And I’m here. In front of you. I’m ready.” A small pause, just enough to steady his breath. “I want to do it with you.”
For a second, Martin didn’t say anything. His mouth parted like he was about to respond right away, then closed again, the words he had dissolving somewhere before they could take shape.
Then, slowly, a small smile found its way onto Martin’s lips. He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss against Juhoon’s lips, nothing rushed, nothing overwhelming, just enough to meet him there, to answer without crowding him.
“Okay,” Martin said quietly when he pulled back, his forehead resting lightly against Juhoon’s. His thumb brushed along Juhoon’s side in a slow, grounding motion, like he wanted to make sure he was still there, still certain. “I love you, Jju.”
The kiss was soft, a question asked and answered without a single word. Juhoon was straddling Martin's lap, the heat of his grounding presence. Their lips met, parted, and met again in a rhythm that was slow, deliberate, and achingly tender.
Martin pulled back just enough for his breath to ghost across Juhoon’s mouth. "Hey," he murmured, his eyes searching for Juhoon's. "Thank you. For trusting me with this. With you."
He didn't wait for a reply, just sealed the sentiment with another kiss, deeper this time, a promise. His hands, which had been resting on the small of Juhoon's back, began a slow, curious journey upwards.
The worn cotton of Juhoon's t-shirt was a thin barrier, and then there was nothing but warm skin as Martin's fingers slipped underneath. He mapped the expanse of his back, the divots of his spine, the sharp line of his shoulder blades, each touching a silent form of worship. Juhoon shuddered, melting into him.
Martin’s fingers traced the hem of the shirt where it was bunched up around their waists. He broke the kiss again, his forehead resting against Juhoon's. his voice was a low, hesitant rumble. "Can I... Can I take this off for you?"
A shaky, silent nod was all the answer he needed.
Gently, Martin gathered the fabric in his hands and slowly pulled the shirt up and over Juhoon's head, careful not to snag his hair. He tossed it aside without looking. His eyes were only for juhoon.
The dark fabric of the binder was stark against his pale skin, a piece of armor Martin was now privileged to see. He didn't flinch. He didn't hesitate. A slow, genuine smile spread across his face, full of nothing but awe.
"Fuck," he breathed, the word reverent. "You’re so handsome." His hands came up, not to the binder, but to frame Juhoon's torso, thumbs tracing the defined line of his pectorals just above the compression fabric.
His gaze roamed, appreciative. "Your shoulders... Christ, they're perfect." He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the exposed collarbone. "Everything about you is perfect."
Martin’s lips left juhoon’s collarbone and began a slow, reverent trail downwards. He kissed the sternum, the space just above the binder’s edge, then the taut line of his stomach.
Each press of his mouth was a punctuation mark in a silent, devoted prayer. He was mapping Juhoon's body with his own, learning its terrain. a low sound, a whimper of pure need, escaped juhoon’s throat.
"Please," he breathed out, the word fragile and desperate.
Martin looked up, his eyes dark with understanding. He knew what the plea was for. His hands moved from Juhoon's waist to the bottom edge of the binder.
He paused, his thumbs resting on the thick elastic. "Is this okay?" he asked, his voice low and steady. "Can I?"
Juhoon couldn't speak. He just nodded, his throat tight, his eyes locked on Martin's.
With practiced gentleness, Martin hooked his fingers under the hem and slowly, carefully, peeled the binder up and over Juhoon's torso, taking it off with the same care he’d shown the t-shirt.
And then he saw him. All of him. his chest was soft, the curve of his breasts fitting perfectly into the lean frame of his body. They were exactly the right size to fill Martin's palms. A wave of something fierce and protective washed over Martin.
"Oh," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Jju, baby,, they're… you're so fucking beautiful."
That was all it took. Juhoon surged forward, crashing their mouths together in a kiss that was no longer soft or questioning. It was hungry, desperate, a raw claim.
Tongues tangled, teeth scraped, and the air grew thick with the sound of their panting breaths. Martin's hands cradled Juhoon's head, holding him in place as he devoured his mouth.
He broke away only to latch onto the sensitive skin of Juhoon’s neck, sucking a dark mark just below his jaw. He was about to move lower when he paused again, a silent question. Juhoon answered by tangling a hand in Martin's hair and firmly pushing his head back down, a clear, undeniable command. Continue.
A low groan rumbled in martin's chest. He obeyed. His mouth returned to Juhoon's chest, and his hands finally, finally closed over his breasts.
He was impossibly gentle, cupping their weight, his thumbs stroking over the soft skin. "So perfect," he murmured against him, his breath hot. He laved a tongue over one nipple, watching it bead up, hard and tight. He took the peak into his mouth, suckling softly, while his other hand kneaded, squeezed, and worshipped.
The overwhelming sensation, the pleasure, the acceptance, the sheer rightness of it sent a jolt through Juhoon's system. An involuntary, instinctual movement had him shifting on Martin's lap.
He began to grind down, a slow, circular motion. The friction was immediate, electric. through the denim of their jeans, he could feel the blunt pressure of Martin's erection, hard and insistent against him.
A low, breathy moan escaped him, the sound vibrating from his chest into Martin's mouth. Martin's tongue lapped at his nipple again, and he murmured against the skin, "So responsive for me. So perfect."
Each compliment was a fresh wave of heat that crashed through juhoon. He couldn't help it; his hips started to move, a slow, deliberate grind against the solid ridge he could feel through their jeans. The friction was maddening, a promise of what was to come.
A shaky laugh escaped Juhoon. "You’re getting a little obsessed, you know," he managed to say, his voice thick with pleasure.
Martin just hummed in agreement, not lifting his head. His mouth moved to the other breast, giving it the same devoted attention while his free hand roamed, tracing the line of Juhoon's hip, the curve of his ass.
Juhoon's breath hitched. "Take your shirt off," he said, the words more of a demand than a request.
Martin obeyed without hesitation, pulling his own shirt over his head and tossing it aside. Now it was skin against skin on their torsos, the heat between them doubling. With a fluid grace, Martin shifted them, laying Juhoon gently on his back on the mattress and covering his body with his own.
He propped himself up on his elbows, resuming their kiss as one hand went back to kneading Juhoon's chest. After a moment, juhoon broke the kiss, panting. "Please," he whispered again, the plea raw.
Martin knew. His hand slid down from juhoon's chest, over his stomach, to the button of his jeans. He paused, his thumb resting there. "Jju, baby?" he asked, his gaze intense. Juhoon gave a sharp, desperate nod.
Martin unfastened the jeans and slowly slid them down Juhoon’s legs, his eyes drinking in the sight of him in nothing but dark boxer briefs. Juhoon moaned, a long, drawn-out sound of surrender.
Martin's hand hovered over the waistband. "You’re so fucking hot," he breathed. "Love?"
It was a question and a statement all in one. Juhoon just let out a shaky breath, a clear invitation.
Gently, Martin hooked his thumbs into the waistband and pulled the boxers down. Juhoon's cunt, slick and pink, was revealed. a thick ridge pressed hard against Martin's own zipper; the sight was almost too much.
A new, sharp confidence sparked in Juhoon's eyes. He looked from his own body to Martin's still-clothed form. "Get them off," he said, his voice husky and low. "I want to see you."
Martin didn't need to be told twice. He pushed himself up and shucked off his jeans and underwear in one fluid motion. His cock, thick and hard, jutted from his hips, standing proud.
It wasn't the first time he'd seen it. He'd seen Martin’s cock in his hand, in his mouth. But seeing it now, fully unsheathed and jutting from his hips in the dim light, still stole the air from his lungs. The sheer size of him, thick and flushed dark, was a beautiful, intimidating fact.
Martin shifted over him, his eyes dark and possessive but his touch still gentle. "Fuck, you're so wet for me," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "I love how you get so slick just from me looking at you."
The praise, so raw and dirty, sent a shiver through the juhoon. "Please," he begged, the word a ragged whisper. "Martin, please."
Martin lowered his head, not to Juhoon’s mouth, but to his stomach. He pressed a lingering kiss there, then another just below his navel. His mouth traced a slow, hot path downwards, parting juhoon's thighs with a gentle nudge of his head.
He kissed the inside of one thigh, then the other, moving agonizingly slowly, building a tension that had Juhoon writhing. Finally, his lips brushed against the slick folds, a single, reverent press before he pulled back to look at him.
Then he descended. A sharp, keening moan ripped from Juhoon’s throat as Martin’s tongue finally made contact. It wasn't a rush, but a slow, exploratory lap, tasting him, savoring the slickness he'd praised just moments before.
Martin hummed, a low sound of appreciation against the most sensitive part of him, and then began in earnest. He took his time, learning the taste of him, the specific way Juhoon’s body responded to each flick and swirl. His tongue traced the delicate folds before dipping into the slick heat, then sliding up to circle his clit with an unbearable precision.
Juhoon's back arched off the bed, his fingers tangling violently in Martin's hair, not to pull him away, but to hold him there, to anchor himself as waves of pleasure began to build, slow and deep and overwhelming.
Martin's mouth became a vortex of pure sensation. He devoured him, the sounds sloppy and wet as Juhoon's slick saturated his face. Lost in the haze, Juhoon began to move, a mindless, desperate rhythm, grinding his cunt against Martin's mouth, chasing the feeling.
His moans were broken, breathless sounds, Martin's name a mangled prayer on his lips. Martin's free hand snaked up his torso, finding a tight, beaded nipple and rolling the hard peak between his thumb and forefinger, sending a bolt of lightning straight to his groin.
The pleasure sharpened, coiling tight and low in his belly, a point of no return. "Martin, stop, I'm gonna—" he gasped, his hips buckling.
Martin just grunted against him, his tongue pressing harder, faster, a relentless assault on his clit. A full-body convulsion seized Juhoon, a choked scream tearing from his throat as he came, his orgasm flooding Martin's mouth.
Martin lapped up the last of his climax before slowly moving up his body to kiss him, the taste of him on their lips. "You're incredible," he whispered, brushing sweat-damp hair from Juhoon's forehead. "So fucking perfect, Jju. Thank you, thank you.”
The soft words after such a raw climax broke something open in juhoon. He looked at Martin, his eyes glassy with spent pleasure and new, urgent need. "I need you inside me," he pleaded, his voice raw. "Now."
Martin shifted, his hand moving between Juhoon's legs. He slickef one finger with Juhoon's own wetness and pushed it inside him, slowly, testing. Juhoon gasped. Martin added a second, moving them in a slow scissoring motion, stretching him.
All the while, he lowered his head and latched onto his breast, suckling with a deep, rhythmic pull that mimicked the movement of his fingers. Juhoon cried out as Martin worked on a third finger, pumping them in and out, his mouth still drawing hard on his nipple.
The dual stimulation was too much. A raw scream tore from his throat as his body clenched and a hot gush of slick flooded Martin's hand.
"Fuck, Jju, look what you did. So good,"Martin praised, his voice thick. He withdrew his fingers and positioned himself. He lined the thick head of his cock up with Juhoon's slick entrance. "Hey, look at me," he commanded softly. As Juhoon's eyes met his, he began to push in, just the tip at first.
Juhoon's breath hitched, a sharp intake against the tight, burning pressure. It hurt.
"I know, I know," Martin soothed, not stopping. "Just breathe for me. You’re taking me so well… fuck, you're so fucking tight." He pushed in another inch, then captured his mouth in a deep, distracting kiss.
He kept talking against his lips, whispering praise, telling him how good he felt, how perfect he was. Slowly, the tension in Juhoon's hips began to melt. He felt Juhoon's body finally yielded, taking him in completely until he was buried to the hilt. Martin held still for a long moment, letting him adjust. Then, he withdrew an inch, and pushed back in.
"Just like that," Martin whispered, his voice strained. He began to move, a slow, deliberate rock of his hips. "Move with me, baby."
Juhoon tried, but his body was overwhelmed. A low moan escaped him with every careful thrust, and hot tears started to leak from the corners of his eyes, tracing paths through the sweat on his temples. It wasn't just the lingering pain; it was the sheer emotional gravity of the moment, of being filled by the man he loved.
Martin kept his pace impossibly gentle, his own control fraying with each pulse of Juhoon's tight, velvet grip around him. It was getting harder and harder to pull back.
Seeing the tears, Martin paused. He leaned down and kissed them away. "Is it okay?"
Juhoon nodded, his breath catching. "It’s good," he sobbed. "It’s so good."
That was all Martin needed. He hooked his hands under Juhoon's knees and lifted his legs, resting them over his broad shoulders. The change in angle was immediate. The pressure shifted, the dull ache dissolving into a deep, stretching pleasure that hit a spot low in his belly. A gasp of pure bliss replaced his moan.
He was getting used to the size, the feeling of being completely full. The pleasure was building now, sharp and insistent. "Martin," he panted, his hips starting to meet Martin's slow thrusts. "Faster. Please, go faster."
A guttural groan ripped from Martin's chest. He gripped Juhoon's thighs, his knuckles white, and did as he was told. The slow rock became a powerful, driving rhythm. The gentle sounds of their breathing were replaced by the wet slap of skin on skin, punctuated by Juhoon’s loud, shameless moans and whimpers.
The pace quickened, martin fucking into him with a relentless energy, chasing the sounds juhoon made.
Then, in one fluid, dominant motion, Martin pushed Juhoon's legs further, forcing them past his shoulders until his knees were on either side of his head, folding him nearly in two. Juhoon cried out as Martin slammed into him, the new angle allowing for a brutal, breathtaking depth he hadn't thought possible.
His cock hit something deep inside, a nerve cluster that sent his vision white for a second. Juhoon was a mess of loud, broken moans, completely undone. Martin leaned down, capturing his mouth in a bruising, possessive kiss, swallowing his cries as he continued to fuck him in that impossibly deep rhythm.
"You’re so amazing, baby," Martin grunted, his voice thick with emotion as he continued to fuck into Juhoon’s pliant body. "So perfect. All mine." Each word was punctuated by a deep thrust that had shown seeing stars.
He couldn't form words, only able to moan and dig his nails into Martin's back, pulling him down for another bruising, open-mouthed kiss.
Martin broke the kiss, resting his forehead against Juhoon’s. His rhythm slowed for a moment, becoming more intimate. "I’m always thankful for you," he breathed, his voice raw. "Baby, I’m glad you trusted me with this. With you."
He knew the walls Juhoon had built, the quiet battles fought with his own body through the years. To be allowed in like this, to be welcomed into the most vulnerable parts of him, was a gift he didn't take lightly.
The raw sincerity in Martin's voice, combined with the relentless pleasure of his cock sliding in and out of him, was too much. Juhoon felt that familiar knot pulling tight in his belly again, coiling with an intensity that eclipsed his first orgasm.
A loud, keening moan tore from his throat as his vision went white, his body convulsing around Martin's cock in a series of violent, gripping pulses.
That was all it took. Feeling Juhoon come apart around him sent Martin over the edge. He lost what little control he had left, his thrusts becoming frantic, desperate. He felt his own release building, a roaring in his ears, and instinctively started to pull back.
"No!" Juhoon gasped, his voice sharp with need. "Don’t pull out. Come inside me. Please. I’m on pill, it's safe."
The plea, the permission, the absolute trust in his words, it shattered Martin's last thread of restraint. With a guttural roar that was more animal than human, he drove himself deep one last time and emptied himself inside Juhoon, the hot flood of his release a final, branding act of intimacy.
They ended up tangled together. Juhoon lay on his side, back pressed against Martin’s chest, one of Martin’s arms wrapped securely around his waist, holding him there like he wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon.
Their breathing slowly evened out, falling into the same rhythm, and somewhere along the way, even their heartbeats felt like they were trying to keep pace with each other.
“Happy birthday, Tinnie,” Juhoon murmured, his voice soft, almost drowsy, but there was something deeper in it too, something that hadn’t been there earlier. It felt lighter now, like a weight had shifted, even if it hadn’t disappeared completely.
“Thank you, Jju,” Martin whispered back, his lips brushing against the spot where Juhoon’s neck met his shoulder, pressing a slow, lingering kiss there before pulling him closer, as if the space between them still wasn’t small enough. “You’re the greatest gift I’ve ever received.”
The words landed somewhere deep, warm and overwhelming in a way Juhoon wasn’t used to handling properly. His chest tightened, not uncomfortably, just enough to make him aware of how fast his heart had started beating again.
He let out a quiet breath, his fingers curling slightly over Martin’s arm where it rested against him, holding onto it without thinking.
“I don’t have anything grand planned for you,” he admitted, the guilt slipping back in despite everything, softer now but still there, lingering at the edges. His voice dipped a little, quieter, like he wasn’t sure if he should even be saying it out loud.
Martin didn’t hesitate. “You don’t need to,” he said, his tone steady, certain in a way that didn’t leave room for doubt. His hold tightened just slightly, not enough to trap, just enough to remind Juhoon that he was there.
“Just being with me is already the greatest gift I’ll ever have.” There was a pause, brief but intentional, his thumb brushing absent patterns against Juhoon’s side. “And tonight… you trusted me to do this.”
Juhoon stilled for a second. Because that was it, wasn’t it? Not the act itself, not the moment in isolation, but what it meant. The choice behind it. The way he had let himself be seen, even when it scared him, even when every instinct told him to pull back.
He swallowed, his grip on Martin’s arm tightening just a little before relaxing again, his body sinking more comfortably into the hold. “I know,” he whispered, barely audible, but enough. “I love you, Martin. Happy birthday, again.”
“I love you too, Jju. Thank you so much,” Martin murmured, his voice low and steady, carrying that same quiet sincerity Juhoon had come to recognize even without looking.
His fingers found their way back into Juhoon’s hair, slow and gentle, tracing familiar paths along his scalp before settling into a soft, rhythmic massage.
Juhoon let his eyes fall shut, his breathing evening out again as he leaned further back into Martin, no hesitation this time, no second-guessing tugging at him from the inside.
His hand drifted over Martin’s arm, resting there, thumb brushing lightly against his skin in a quiet, absent motion. Everything felt slower now. Softer.
Martin’s touch didn’t stop, even as the silence stretched, even as their words faded into something unnecessary. His fingers kept moving, steady and patient, like he was grounding Juhoon there, making sure he stayed in this moment instead of drifting somewhere else.
The two of them didn’t realize when sleep started to pull at them. It came gently, easing in through the calm, through the steady comfort of each other’s presence wrapped around them.