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"Are you gonna be good for me?" Hongjoong whispers. His hair is splayed out any which way over the pillowcase. One hand thrown back over his head, curled limply, like he's relaxing. The other between his legs, where Yunho's not allowed to look, fucking himself lazily with four of his fingers.
But Yunho doesn't know how he's seeing anything right now. His focus is blown out, full of light leaks. Every time he slips, it's a conscious effort to snap his attention back to Hongjoong's face again. To be good. For the way Hongjoong's lips tick up to show him he's good. Hongjoong, open-mouthed and breathing shallowly, twitching every time he gets the angle just right.
Yunho's arms shake holding himself up over him.
"Please," he whispers back.
Hongjoong laughs, breathy and sweet: "Desperate." Even as his eyelids flutter, and his arm stops moving; seconds later, Yunho jumps at his warm, wet fingers dragging over the head of his cock.
He flinches. His elbows nearly buckle. Hongjoong doesn't take him in hand, just smears precum and warm lube in firm, slippery pushes of his fingers, smooth and unbearable, that have him twitching back against his palm. "Hyung," he complains.
He's been holding his body up over him for so long, watching him take his time, doing as he's told: look me in the eyes and be quiet. His arms ache. His balls ache. He feels like he's crawled up somewhere in the back of his mind and his ears are full of fuzz.
"What? Does it hurt?" Hongjoong asks with a quick and evil dig of his thumb under his cockhead. Yunho gasps and tries to pull his hips back, only to become aware once more, immediately and intimately, that he still has his tie hanging loose on his neck.
Hongjoong wraps both ends once around his free hand and holds him in place – not quite tugging, but firm in his grip. Yunho's going to pass out, he thinks. He brings his hips back again with trembling effort. Satisfied, Hongjoong removes his thumb.
"Yes, it hurts," Yunho whimpers, because he should answer. But Hongjoong just goes back to playing with him like he has all evening. Stretched out like a happy cat in his loose at-home t-shirt, probably one of Yunho's. Definitely one of Yunho's. Yunho's eyes dart to where it's rucked up his stomach and is met with a sharp tug on his tie, and quickly snaps his eyes back up.
"Don't be greedy," Hongjoong whispers. Knowing. His evil little fingers drag up over his head and press in again. The curve of his cock fits snug and hot against the pouch of his belly, hanging over Hongjoong's body under his white dress shirt.
Yunho's hands shake pressed into the sheets. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to–" He's burning from his ears down his neck, down his chest. He's still full from the stupid, suffocating dinner earlier. He feels it when Hongjoong presses in. It makes everything burn even more. "I'll be good for you, I promise."
Hongjoong's pinkie runs along Yunho's shaft. Even that makes him twitch. "Tell me how."
"I'll be good and fuck you," Yunho breathes.
"And how is that you being good for me?" Hongjoong grins. He's so mean. Yunho's a little bit in love with him when he's mean. "Selfish."
"Y–You can use my..." Hongjoong raises an eyebrow when Yunho falters, amused; Yunho's trying so hard to keep his eyes on Hongjoong's. He can feel the effort in his throat. "You can use my cock."
Hongjoong lets go of his dick. It hangs heavy between his legs again. He can't tell if it's a relief or not. "You've almost got it," he tells him. Somewhere between them where Yunho isn't allowed to see, a bottle cap opens. "C'mon, try again. Know your place this time."
The back of Hongjoong's hand brushes him, over and over, as he slips his fingers in and out of himself again.
It's loud. Messy, wet.
Yunho wants to cry. "You can tell me how to use my cock for you," he exhales, shakily.
"Getting warmer now. You wanna be a toy?"
Yunho's brow creases. The sound of Hongjoong's fingers moving is driving him insane. The sound of his airy voice. What he's saying. "Your favourite toy," he breathes, barely thinking about it all.
Hongjoong's eyes crinkle up. His hand stops, again, and he smears all that leftover lube over Yunho's cock, down into his pubic hair. Dirty, gross. When he squeezes around the base, Yunho's eyes almost roll.
"My favourite toy," Hongjoong says with something like affection, as he presses Yunho's head to his rim. A smile eases across his face, flutters through the air between them and kisses across the corners of Yunho's. Yunho digs his fingers into the sheets either side of him. "Nice and slow, puppy."
Yunho hates seeing his family, and he can count on one hand the amount of times he's admitted it, all in the past year. First to San (and, inadvertently, himself). Then to his therapist. Then to Hongjoong, who already knew as much.
They only gather for the major holidays and, in a perfectly un-self-aware metaphor, never at anyone's house. They always pick a restaurant with too many spoons and long wine menus. His step-father, sitting with his brothers instead of his wife, tries to rope him into the men's side of the table; Yunho stays sat by one of his aunts who asks when he'll find a nice girl, like his mother didn't tell all of them when he was eighteen, and he didn't hear the conversations through the walls of their old house. She says, he's so lucky he looks like his mother, but it's a shame he has his dad's nose, like Yunho doesn't know his own face. His mother laughs across the table. The last time he saw his dad was at the funeral and they didn't speak once.
He used to go for his brother's sake, and even back then, there was only so much that under-the-table solidarity could buffer. He doesn't know why he goes now.
"I said slow, puppy."
Hongjoong punctuates the pet name with a tug on his tie and Yunho's pulled back into the moment. He falls forward, barely recovers, takes a steadying breath, and centres his fluttery gaze on Hongjoong's again.
Hongjoong, and the studio apartment where he switches the layout up every three or so months. Hongjoong, a revolving door for Yunho in every place he's lived since they first met in uni. Hongjoong, the first person he let himself be seen by who didn't make him feel ashamed.
(If they knew what he was, what he wanted, found his face for marriage contorted like this, the kind of face a mother-in-law would love bowed between a man's legs– It's so debase, how he can drift and crawl and beg his way out of his head but he still has his mother's eyes, evasive and unyielding and never quite looking at him anymore, (should've been the other son), and it's still his father's nose pressed to a man's shoes, and if he knew what his son was, would he talk to him again, just to let him know–)
Hongjoong doesn't lax his grip on the tie all the way. So Yunho's stooped, his arms are bent, and holding his weight takes more effort now. Hongjoong watches his face with parted lips, as Yunho clenches his teeth and drags his cock slowly, slowly out. At the same speed, carefully controlled, as penance for his fuck-up, he presses back in. So slow that Yunho feels it in every single nerve, that he has to concentrate on his back and hips and legs and stomach, and he knows that's the point, he knows what this is and why it works and why they fall into this, but the headrush is still the same every time he remembers.
He presses in until he's fully seated, and as Hongjoong lets himself melt, he gives Yunho a lazy smile for his troubles and strokes a hand through his hair.
Yunho trembles against it as he pulls out again. Incremental, torturous. Hongjoong scratches his nails behind his ear. Fuck, he's going to start crying. He can feel it wavering in his chest. "I'm sorry I stopped listening," he says.
"Shh, it's okay." Hongjoong's next breath in is hefty as Yunho fills him up again. "You're perfect, so good right now. Fuck, I can feel you shaking," he laughs, almost delirious. The hand disappears from Yunho's hair to touch his thigh, pressed to the back of Hongjoong's; and, a moment later, he digs his nails in. "You must be trying really hard, right?"
The pain hisses through him. It makes it so hard not to squirm and twist his neck and look back at Hongjoong's tiny fucking taloned hand gripping him. But he's not allowed, he's not allowed, he can't. Yunho feels his first hitch of breath, the first hiccup, a dry foreshadowing. He keeps his eyes on Hongjoong's face and nods, fast and jerky, without faltering.
Hongjoong pulls his eyebrows together and pouts at him. "Poor thing. Does it feel good?"
"Feels s–o good," he says breathily.
"Aren't I so nice? Letting my toys feel good?"
Yunho's dizzy. He nods, numb and distant from his movements. Empty-headed and full all at once. "Yes, sir."
"Ah, there you are, puppy," Hongjoong sighs, then groans, tipping his head all the way back into the pillows. "Fuck, fuck me harder. Stay slow, just make me feel it."
Yunho's chin twists. "Yes, sir," he whispers, and does as asked – pulls out just as slow, and presses back in with more force. When his hips push into Hongjoong's skin, making sure to make an impact, Hongjoong moans, deep and satisfied, and drags his nails down his leg as thanks.
Yunho whines, closed-mouth and pained and tight, and the first sob pushes its way out of him: a hard, heavy breath out his nose, prickling his eyes. He fucks in again, and again, and again, each conscious measure of it the only thing keeping him tethered, giving him purpose, making him something good and real– Hongjoong acknowledges the tears for him when they fall, in a harsh tug of the tie that has Yunho's arms finally giving in.
When he lands him on top of Hongjoong, it hits him like cold air. Yunho fumbles to right himself, until Hongjoong drags his chin up and swallows his tongue for him. Frenzied, hard, deep, hushing him, telling him no, I want you here now. Yunho's buried to the hilt inside him and Hongjoong's cock is trapped hard between their stomachs, and Yunho feels more and more tears wrenching their way out of him the longer he's kissed for. Caressed. Petted. Fingers around his mouth, prying it open to lick his teeth. Holding his head in place. Tangling in his spray-stiff hair.
He's still crying when Hongjoong yanks his head back to bare the long line of his throat. "Crying's okay, but you've gotta take a couple breaths for me," he tells him, soft but clear. His kisses are wet and warm. They make Yunho shudder, as they trail lovingly from his jaw to his cheek, following a winding tear-track. "Or do you need a break?"
"N–No, sir," Yunho chokes, then takes the first breath in. Clear, if a little shaky. Hongjoong hums appreciatively, so he takes in another. After the fifth, Yunho's shaking beyond his control. Like chattering teeth out in the cold, except he's flickering and heavy-limbed and still all the way inside of Hongjoong, so painfully aware of Hongjoong adjusting on the bed, so strung up at his whim.
Hongjoong looks him in the face. "Good boy," he praises, cupping a tear-tracked cheek. "Good boy for crying. So pretty for me."
"Sir, it–" Yunho leans into his hand. He can't stop it, can't stop anything. The restless way he's digging his toes into the blankets, the way he's pressing his thighs together so he doesn't rut into him, so he isn't bad and stays still, so he stays Hongjoong's favourite after he says, "I– I can't be still any longer, I'm sorry."
"I don't want you to be, puppy," he tells him, pinching his cheek. A breathless focus has taken over his face and Yunho doesn't think he feels safer anywhere more than he does with him in this room. "You've done so well. No more holding back now. I think you should really give it to me." And Yunho blindly, desperately, complies.
Yunho's face is buried in Hongjoong's neck. Every single moan he punches out of him rings in his left ear. Yunho remembers too late that this is the worst and best part: when Hongjoong's close, he gets so vocal and expressive about it, while Yunho has to keep fucking him like he's not burning out of his skin.
"Pleasepleaseplease," he sobs. Really, really sobs, unabashedly, keeping the pace of his hips by the skin of his stubborn perfectionism, even if it makes him cry harder.
Hongjoong's hand, never far away, tangles in his hair and tugs a reprimand. "You need a muzzle," he gasps, and it splinters off into a drawn-out moan and a colourful curse. Yunho can hear him working over his cock, but he's not allowed to look – he still can't look, at all, he has to stay wherever Hongjoong's free hand urges him. His neck, his chest. Arched and staring at the ceiling. He goes where Hongjoong allows, and only as far as he allows. But he wants to see so fucking badly, and it makes him cry even more.
"I need to come," he wails, desperate and muffled by Hongjoong's skin and the pillows he's propped against. He's getting more and more uncoordinated, despite his best efforts. He's too deep for self-awareness or dignity. He's trying, he's trying, he's trying. "Sir, p–please, please–"
Hongjoong grunts; the hand in his hair twists his head so he can reach his mouth. "Ask one more time," he warns, even as he's jostled up the bed, even as Yunho whines around his teeth and tongue, "and I'll make you w–watch me finish myself off from the f–loor."
He wouldn't. Yunho knows this, at any other time, that they don't follow through with punishments on days like this. But the thought makes his stomach swoop regardless, makes him sink, and swallow too fast and choke on a, "Nonono–"
"Then you know the fucking rules," Hongjoong hisses, biting his next moan into Yunho's bottom lip, and gasping when Yunho hooks an arm under his knee, presses his leg to his chest and fucks him harder as an apology.
When Hongjoong comes, the first sign is his chest. Shuddering, unstable breaths and tremors. Then his legs; as he paints his stomach, Yunho feels his thigh shake and shake against his arm. Then his eyes, rolling back as he rides it out in frenzied rocks of his hips, chasing the sensation, untangling his leg so both splay open and he can get some leverage on the mattress.
Yunho watches his resistance fray until Hongjoong, kind, safe, gracious, brings both hands to his face. One clean and one dirty. He keeps his eyes locked on Yunho's, hazy and out-of-focus and bloodshot, and nods quickly. "You can come, you can come, puppy."
Yunho sobs, rocks forward hard enough to sting his hips, and shakes so hard that Hongjoong wraps every available limb around him.
That's it, that's it. Good boy. Let it out.
I love seeing you like that. Fuck. Thank you, Yunho-yah. Just relax now. Shh, relax.
Hongjoong braids self-indulgent plaits into the top of Yunho's hair while he rests. The rise and fall of his side has synced with Hongjoong's chest. Even, unobtrusive breaths in the cluttered stillness of his apartment. In uni, Yunho dyed his hair pink for a few months and every morning it looked like dried and damaged candy floss. A couple years later, when it was dark again, he let Hongjoong add red highlights in, and that stuck for a while, until he dyed it back to brown for work.
Hongjoong doesn't have any pants for him, but he has plenty of shirts three sizes too big, so Yunho's wrapped up in an old Elton John tee and a spare pair of boxers. He tucks the fourth little plait behind Yunho's right ear and feels him smile quietly with a cheek pressed to his stomach.
"I thought you were asleep," Hongjoong says.
He's met with a noncommittal hum from Yunho, that buffers into a laugh. "Almost there."
Hongjoong gives the top of his head a secret smile and works on his next plait. He starts it right in the centre where all his hair springs from. "When's San picking you up tomorrow?"
"Wouldn't call it picking me up," he replies, which makes Hongjoong snort, jostling Yunho in the process. "I'm driving us down there and he's literally en route. He's getting a bus up here for no reason."
"Because he loves you, you mean?" Hongjoong reproaches. Yunho's silent for a moment, before he sighs and flops, like, three petulant limbs across Hongjoong; Hongjoong rolls his eyes. "Yeah, that's what I thought. What time?"
"Eleven," Yunho mumbles. "So we should get to Namhae around three."
"Cool." Hongjoong pauses his fingers, toying two strands of Yunho's hair between them, then starts working in reverse, and gently untangles all his absent-handed hard work. "Enjoy the break, Yunho-yah."
Yunho huffs out a laugh. Self-aware and borderline-deprecating. It turns into a squeak when Hongjoong chastises him with a tug of his hair. "Okay, okay, I will. I'll try."
Hongjoong relaxes his grip and massages where he'd pulled. "You deserve it," he tells him. "His family's nice, right? You like them?"
He doesn't miss the way Yunho's shoulders sag into his head-scratches. Hongjoong drags his nails over his scalp liberally, and he becomes a puddle of limbs on top of him. "I do, yeah," he sighs.
"Then there's nothing to worry about."
"I almost told them at dinner," Yunho mumbles, suddenly.
Hongjoong blinks; his fingers stutter before they resume their work. "About you two?"
"About everything," he whispers. "San especially, though. I was so close to doing it."
"Why didn't you?"
He lets out a long breath. "They've kept my brother's room the same. I wanted to visit after dinner. I didn't want them to stop me coming in the house, or something."
Hongjoong's fingers slowly stop, like coming to the end of a tape. His hand rests on the back of Yunho's head instead, hidden in all his growing-out hair.
"It's okay," Yunho murmurs when Hongjoong doesn't speak.
"It's not," he replies plainly.
"Okay, it's not," Yunho agrees, just the lightest bit amused. Then he twists himself around and looks up at Hongjoong, his cheek pink where it's been squished against him, his eyes puffy from crying and his hair sticking up around the remaining plaits. Hongjoong's a little bit in love with him. "It will be, though, won't it?"
Hongjoong lets out a breath and just… looks at him. He poses the question casually, like he knows the answer, even if he's not quite there yet. It settles as something between relief and adoration in his stomach. Pride swells and fills out Hongjoong's chest, clambers past his ribs and tries to wrap around the man in his lap. "You'll be okay," he confirms, brushing his hair behind his ear, "but you've got us either way, you know."
And Yunho smiles, small and secret, for him and Hongjoong and the quiet late-night of his apartment. "Yeah, hyung. I know."