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It’s been three weeks since Yifan started receiving pictures and video of his husband getting fucked by someone else, but this is the first time Junmyeon’s brought the evidence home, displayed it on his skin. The marks are nothing major, but it’s the three small bruises on Junmyeon’s neck that are driving Yifan up the fucking wall. He keeps sneaking glances at Junmyeon--folding the laundry, frowning at the mail, leaning against the counter while the microwave runs--and wondering what made those marks. They don’t seem to be in a pattern that Yifan can discern and they’ll probably fade by Monday, but what do they mean? Does Junmyeon like them or hate them? Did Junmyeon want them? Did he ask for them? Everything Yifan has seen so far from Junmyeon’s ... liason, has been, well, not exactly vanilla given the circumstances but just sex, with nothing harsh but words. But pondering the possibilities again as he stares at his husband’s throat as he changes for bed is making Yifan’s head swim and cock fill.
Later that night, Yifan is balls-deep inside Junmyeon, relishing how fucking tight his husband is and how pretty the satisfied little noises punched out of him are. Yifan used to worry about pounding his tiny husband, but Junmyeon always insists he wants that oversized cock crammed in him as hard and deep as it’ll go.
Yifan loses himself in the grind and realizes he’s spent the last several minutes mouthing at Junmyeon’s neck. Worried he’s made the bruising darker, or worse, hurt Junmyeon, he pulls back to check. Junmyeon is flushed and panting, using what little leverage he has to circle his hips on Yifan’s big dick, stretch his rim and get it deeper. The light is dim but Yifan can see he’s only made a wet red mark under his ear, and he reaches out to stroke it with one hand, hitching Junmyeon’s leg up higher around his waist with the other.
‘Yifan, move,’ Junmyeon grunts, kicking his heels into Yifan’s back. They share a smile and Yifan starts to rock his hips, then leads down for a kiss.
‘You’re gorgeous baby,’ he says, trailing his long fingers across Junmyeon’s throat and snapping his hips. ‘Feel so good.’ He drags his fingers back the other way, then fits the curve of Junmyeon’s adam’s apple in the curve of his grip, covering all the marks under his hand and marveling at how he can almost touch the sheets with the tips of his fingers and thumb.
To Yifan’s surprise, Junmyeon arches his back and pushes up into his palm. 'Yes, yes do it, need you to,’ he gasps, squeezing his eyes shut as he throws his head back. Yifan stills, unsure if he knows what Junmyeon’s asking for, if Junmyeon keven knows. A long moment later Junmyeon answers both questions by pressing his own hand against the back of Yifan’s fingers until Yifan tightens his grip. Yifan is moving on autopilot, hips still fucking his husband and hand increasing the pressure until Junmyeon’s resulting moan dissolves into a gugrle.
Yifan can’t stop looking at Junmyeon’s face, which is tense but blissful in a way he’s never seen before. Yifan only rips his eyes away when he feels Junmyeon start to come, milking his dick and cock shooting come up to his sternum. Overwhelmed, Yifan lets go of Junmyeon’s neck to grip his hips and rail him, chasing the friction and using Junmyeon’s body to get himself off, pounding him through his orgams and flooding him with what feels like a liter of come.
‘Fuck, Yifan, fuck yes!’ Junmyeon gasps, voice hoarse but earnest. Yifan rides out his orgasm, never stilling his hips to keep Junmyeon full and stretched as he tries to catch his breath. He only realizes he’s shaking when he feels a gentle touch on his arm, and he looks down to see Junmyeon smiling placidly at him, hair stuck to his forehead and breathing like he’d run up the stairs. ‘Mmm, so good,’ Junmyeon hums, reaching up to cup Yifan’s cheek.
But there’s a new, wide ring of discolorations rising on Junmyeon’s pale neck. Yifan stares. Junmyeon grins and mouths thank you.