Work Text:
His knees hurt, Chanyeol thinks. They’re aching, and his toes are tingling like they’re going to go numb any second. The stupid, temporary rope collar around his neck chafes. It hurts. He hopes Jongdae comes back soon, and hates himself for having the thought.
He’s only hurting because of Jongdae. Jongdae was the one that bought him, coughed up a stupid amount of money to the Mistress to have him, to keep him, to be the only one to ever have him. The Mistress, the others at the pleasure house, his fucking mother, whispered about how lucky he is to have been bought before his first night, how lucky he is to have been bought by someone as rich and as powerful as Lord Chen. How lucky he is to only ever have to serve one master.
He thinks that he might have felt lucky, for a moment, when the Mistress called him into her sitting room. He had thought that maybe, just maybe, she had changed her mind and was going to let him stay as a servant, cooking and cleaning and working in the back of the house, far, far away from the house’s honored patrons. He had been born in the pleasure house, the son of one of Mistress’ finest ladies, and expected to die there as well, living a fairly peaceful life as a servant. But too many patrons had caught too many glimpses of him as he worked, men and women who had watched him grow as a young child had suddenly taken notice of how the slim length of his legs, the dimples in his cheeks. They wanted him the way they wanted the others and were willing to pay handsomely for him. They were willing to pay even more to be his first, to have him shy and inexperienced.
None of them were willing to pay as much as Lord Chen was, though – to be his first and his only.
That’s what the rest of the world knows Chanyeol’s new master as, Lord Chen. Lord Chen told Chanyeol to call him Jongdae, though. Rather, he told him that he could earn the privilege to call him by his true name if he was good. For now, Chanyeol is to call him Master.
Jongdae is new to the area, the alderman calling upon a childhood friend from far away to act as the sheriff since the death of the last only a few years ago. He did not frequent the pleasure house, instead catching sight of Chanyeol when he was out running errands on behalf of the Mistress. That is the only source of comfort in this, that the man who has paid more money for him than many will see in their entire lives at least did not know him as a child.
And that truly is his only source of comfort, as he is certainly not comfortable now. For all that everyone told him that he was lucky to be bought, Chanyeol cannot help but feel anything but.
Upon leaving the pleasure house, Jongdae had looped a rope around his neck and said it was only until his proper collar was ready. And when they reached Jongdae’s home, Jongdae forced him to his knees on the tile floor of his bathroom and tied the stupid fucking rope around his neck to the fucking towel rack and told him to stay right where he was or else.
Hot, humiliated tears burn Chanyeol’s eyes. His world has changed irrevocably in the span of only a few days, narrowed down to the whims, wants, and rules of just one man. The ladies of the pleasure house were at least given the freedom to do as they pleased outside of working hours. But he belongs to Jongdae is a way the ladies do not belong to the Mistress. And he is frightened, so horribly frightened.
He put on a brave face for his friends, for his mother, not wanting them to worry about him. Now that he’s alone and kneeling on the cold, tile floor of a bathroom, owned by a stranger and tied to a towel rack, he lets that brave face fall away. He buries his face in his hands, and he cries.
Chanyeol cries so hard he can barely breathe, so hard it makes his head ache and his body heave with the sobs. He cries so hard he doesn’t hear the clicking of well-made shoes on tile.
“Oh, you poor thing,” a soft, lilting voice startles him, a sob catching in his throat and threatening to choke him, “Why are you crying?”
He opens his eyes and stares at his new Master through the blurry veil of tears. Jongdae is smiling at him, grin wide and curled at the ends. He can’t help but think that it reminds him of one of the cats that live in the back alley behind the pleasure house. It doesn’t falter even as silence stretches on between them for what is soon an uncomfortable length of time.
Chanyeol realizes that Jongdae is waiting for him to answer, wants him to answer, wants to know what has upset his new toy so soon. The idea is so shocking that Chanyeol finds his tears beginning to dry. There is warmth in Jongdae’s eyes as he crouches down beside Chanyeol and uses the sleeve of his well-made, well-fitted, far too expensive blazer to wipe at Chanyeol’s tear-stained cheeks. “Why,” he asks again, “Why are you crying?”
There are roughly twenty reasons that he could name in that very moment, but he doubts that Jongdae would be pleased to hear the vast majority of them. No man, especially one as rich and as powerful and as domineering as Jongdae, would be happy to hear that his brand new toy, one that he paid so handsomely for, is crying because they’ve been bought and sold like an object, because they’re going to have to abide by and serve the one who bought them, because they’re going to be fucked whenever and wherever their new master desires.
If Chanyeol were to tell the whole truth, he would certainly lose any goodwill that Jongdae may have for him. So, instead, he sniffles and says, rather pathetically, “My knees hurt.”
Jongdae looks down to where Chanyeol’s knees have gone red from spending so long pressed against the cold tile floor, and frowns. “Your knees,” he repeats slowly after a moment, as though he doesn’t believe that achy knees could cause this sort of reaction.
Chanyeol nods. “A-and the rope. It…it’s rough.” His Master hums and slips two fingers between the rope and the red, irritated skin of Chanyeol’s neck.
“Your knees hurt and the rope has chafed your neck,” Jongdae’s gaze floats up once more to find Chanyeol’s own, “that’s it? That’s what has made you so upset?” Chanyeol nods again. The flinch that comes when Jongdae clicks his tongue and loses that easy smile is too fast for him to suppress. “It isn’t because you’re terrified of what life will be like as my boy? You’re not worried about how badly it might hurt when I deflower your tight, little hole? How much of your life will be spent on my cock?” Chanyeol feels himself go red, then white. Jongdae chuckles, “I am no fool. Lies do no good for either of us, Chanyeol.”
Chanyeol swallows thickly and drops his gaze to the floor, staring at his reflection in his Master’s bathroom floor. “You’re right. I’m sorry,” his voice is so small it can hardly even count as a whisper. “Please, please don’t be mad.”
There’s a soft sigh, and then another when Chanyeol flinches again. He bites down on his lip until he tastes blood when nimble fingers reach around his neck to undo the knot keeping the rope in place. It falls away easily, drifting to the floor.
“I’m not mad, you silly boy. You are young and inexperienced. These fears are to be expected.” The hands return with another collar. It is leather this time, the deep black of it unbroken except for the silver ring at the front. The leather is soft against the raw skin of his neck, almost soothing, even. Jongdae fastens it as easily as he undid the knot of the rope.
Then, the fits two fingers beneath Chanyeol’s chin and gently forces his head up to look Jongdae in the eye. His Master appraises him with warm brown eyes, gaze roaming down Chanyeol’s body and back up again before coming to a stop at the collar. “Beautiful,” he murmurs. “You wear it well, Chanyeol. It suits you.”
Chanyeol doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say in response. He says nothing at all and hopes that Jongdae won’t press him for words.
Jongdae doesn’t, instead sliding the hand under Chanyeol’s chin around to the nape of his neck and pulling him in with that same gentle, unyielding pressure. Chanyeol swallows thickly and closes his eyes, lets Jongdae press their mouths together in what is Chanyeol’s first kiss. It is quick, their lips only touching for a few heartbeats before separating. Jongdae doesn’t release his hold on Chanyeol’s neck, though, just allows him to pull back a scant few inches.
“You’ll see,” Jongdae uses his free hand to brush the hair back from Chanyeol’s eyes, thumb wiping at the tears still clinging stubbornly to his lashes. “Once you’ve settled, once I’ve had you, you’ll see that you don’t have to be afraid of me or anything I wish to do to you. I’m going to treat you so well, Chanyeol. And I’ll start now.”
Chanyeol’s stomach drops and fear flutters in his stomach in time with his racing pulse. He’s only just had his first kiss, has never even so much as seen another person unclothed in any sort of sexual way. He isn’t ready. He can’t do what Jongdae wants him to. He has to, though. Fresh tears sting at his eyes once more.
But Jongdae only stands and walks to the tub to begin running the water for a bath. “Strip,” he says, “I’d like you clean before I let you rest in our bed.”
Chanyeol does as Jongdae asks with shaking hands. He tugs his shirt up and over his head, then hugs it to his chest, unsure of where to put it. The bathroom is too nice, too clean. His clothing isn’t dirty or threadbare or anything like that, but they’re rags in comparison to Jongdae’s finery. To simply drop any article of them on the floor seems disrespectful.
When Jongdae turns back and sees Chanyeol kneeling, looking lost, however, he waves a hand dismissively, “The floor is fine. I’ll have new outfit ready for you when you’re finished bathing.”
His attention returns to the tub, leaving Chanyeol to finish disrobing in some semblance of privacy. He drops his shirt to the floor as Jongdae told him to, and then pauses to gather his nerves before getting to his feet. His shorts go next, then his socks, and he’s left standing next to his pile of clothing in nothing but his underwear. The Mistress instructed him not to wear any, that it was Lord Chen’s decision if he should be allowed to wear anything at all, much less underwear, but he wanted that security that extra layer brings.
He’s glad he wore them and terrified that Jongdae will be upset to see them in equal measure.
“Come,” Jongdae orders without turning back to look at him, “Come see if the water is warm enough.”
Chanyeol shuffles forward to join his Master at the side of the gleaming ivory tub, arms wrapped around his middle to preserve some sort of modesty, and dips his fingers into the gently steaming water. “It…it’s good. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Jongdae’s voice is warm, as his soft bark of laughter when he turns to look at Chanyeol and sees how he has all but doubled over and wrapped his arms around himself to hide his bare skin. “Feeling shy, sweet boy?” Heat rushes to Chanyeol’s cheeks and he bites his tongue, unsure of what to say. He jerks when Jongdae’s fingers slip beneath the waistband of his underwear and tug. “I asked you to strip, Chanyeol. That means these as well.” It’s an admonishment, certainly, but there’s no bite to the words, no change in the warmth of his voice.
Jongdae is showing a great deal of patience. If he wanted to, it would be within his right as Chanyeol’s Master to throw him down to the floor and have him right here and now. He could whatever he wanted to Chanyeol, short of permanently injuring him or taking his life, and there would be not a single consequence to come. But Jongdae is here, calmly coaxing him to undress, offering him a warm bath. The fingers that drag up the skin of his back and rub the space between his shoulders are gentle and there isn’t a trace of anger on his face. Instead, he smiles and says, “Remember, I am the only one who will ever get to see you like this. I am a jealous person, Chanyeol, and I will allow another to see even a glimpse of what is mine. I will not touch you for a little while yet, but I would like to see you.”
“No one else?”
Chanyeol watches as Jongdae’s smile grows wider. The hand on his back travels further up to play with the hair at the back of his neck, fingers curling into the strands. “No one else,” he repeats, “I promise you that. You are mine, and I will not share you.”
Something like relief washes down Chanyeol’s spine. Jongdae had bought Chanyeol to be his first and his only, but that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t want to show him off some, or use him as a way to soothe any political tensions he finds himself dealing with as the sheriff.
The idea of it had terrified Chanyeol. He had been told he was lucky, only having to serve one man, and he was so, so scared that that wouldn’t be true, that Jongdae would give him to others and let them have him however they wished. But the hold Jongdae has now on the back of his head is as possessive as it is playful, the warmth in his eyes tempered by something dark. There’s something soothing in it. He’s owned, but – he won’t have to let anyone fuck him but Jongdae.
“No one else,” Chanyeol whispers, “no one else.”
He bites his lip and fights through the trembling of his hands and the nervous hammering of his heart in his chest to shimmy his underwear down his hips. He freezes as lips press to his temple, his underwear falling down to the floor as the fabric slips from his fingers. He’s bare save for the collar – Jongdae’s collar – around his neck.
“No one else.” Jongdae kisses his forehead several times, lingering things that leave the skin tingling.
He pulls back, and Chanyeol ducks his head, cheeks going hot in embarrassment. He can feel Jongdae’s eyes on him, greedily taking in the sight of smooth, untouched skin. “How gorgeous can one person possibly be,” Jongdae says. The fingers in Chanyeol’s hair untangle themselves and trace the line of his spine all the way down to his tail bone, goosebumps rising in their wake, before finally pulling away. “Take your bath before the water gets cold. I’ll be back with fresh clothing.”
-
It is quiet when he wakes, warm sunlight filtering through gauzy curtains. He blinks slowly, blearily, fingers curling in the soft bedding he has cocooned himself in. Chanyeol rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling of Jongdae’s bedroom. Jongdae calls it their bedroom, but it still feels far too foreign for Chanyeol. His bedroom is the closet attached off of his mother’s room at the pleasure house, dark, small, cozy.
Jongdae’s bedroom is large and bright, even with the curtains covering the windows, filled with furniture of exceptionally high quality and one of the most comfortable beds he has ever slept in. So comfortable, in fact, that when Chanyeol allowed himself to be herded into it after his bath that first night, he fell asleep before he had time to notice Jongdae crawling in after him. It was only when he woke in the morning that he found Jongdae’s head on his chest and one hand resting on his stomach beneath his shirt. It was startling, an unignorable reminder of what his new life was going to be.
He has started most mornings since Jongdae bought him and brought him home much that same way. Sometimes Jongdae will be laying on him, sometimes he will wake and find himself tucked against Jongdae’s chest, curled up as small as he possibly can be, but there have been very few mornings over the past few weeks where he woke alone. It isn’t as awful as he thought it would be.
Lying in bed with Jongdae at night isn’t as awful as he thought it would be, either. Jongdae has made good on his word about not touching him sexually yet, only pulling Chanyeol close in the dark to hold him or press their lips together, chuckling into Chanyeol’s mouth as he teaches him how to kiss. Once or twice, he slipped a hand beneath Chanyeol shirt and explored the smooth skin of his stomach and told Chanyeol he was welcome to do the same, but that was the most he’s done or asked Chanyeol to do.
Chanyeol wonders when he’ll want more, what he’ll want. A very quiet part of him wonders if he’ll feel that same squirming, fluttering warmth in his belly that does whenever Jongdae kisses him. A even quieter part of him hopes so.
The bedroom door opens then. The movement catches Chanyeol’s attention and he looks over to see Jongdae stepping in ever-so softly, fully clothed and with arms full of papers. He shuts the door with visible care, gently pushing it closed and hissing under his breath at the click of the latch.
His eyes widen in surprise when he sees Chanyeol watching from the mess of blankets he’s snuggled under. “You’re awake,” he says, “Have you been awake for long?”
Chanyeol shakes his head. When Jongdae begins to frown, he swallows thickly and replies, “No, no, just woke up.”
Jongdae doesn’t like it when he’s quiet. He said, once, when Chanyeol had spent nearly an entire day responding to him with nods, head shakes, or one-word answers, that if he knows Chanyeol from the market, has seen him vibrant and chatty and loud and wants him to stay that way. Jongdae says that if he wanted silence he would have gotten a plant.
The memory is at the forefront of his mind when he builds the courage to ask, “Why did you wake up so early? I thought…did you have more work to do?”
Jongdae’s smile feels like a reward then. The way he drops his papers onto the desk tucked into the corner and climbs up onto the bed to hook a finger in Chanyeol’s leather collar and drag him in for a kiss is a reward. “I know, I know, I told you I was done with work for the rest of the week. But there was a bit of an incident near your old place last night. Seems some drunken fool decided to get a bit rough with one of the ladies and found himself on the wrong end of a hair pin.”
Chanyeol sits up in alarm, eyes wide as he presses Jongdae for more details. “Was she alright? The lady? He didn’t hurt her, did he? Was he arrested? Was she arrested? Was it Lady Soojin? She has those long metal hair sticks, you know, but I swear, Jongdae, she would never hurt anyone if she didn’t have to.”
Jongdae laughs and kisses him again before he can get himself too upset, licking into his mouth and nibbling on his bottom lip when he pulls away. “The lady was unharmed, and the man she stabbed will live. The lady has several witnesses who agree that she was only defending herself, so there were no arrests, just more paperwork for me to fill out. I told your mother that you’re well and invited her to dinner next week. You’ll have to tell me what sort of fare she prefers.” He’s quiet for a moment, languidly caressing Chanyeol’s cheek with the pad of his thumb, before he leans in and presses his face to the skin of Chanyeol’s neck. “That was the first time you’ve ever called me by name, Chanyeol.”
Chanyeol swallows thickly and wonders if Jongdae can feel it from where his lips are tracing the line of his pulse. “Is that alright? You don’t seem to like it much when I call you Master and I…” He trails off, unsure of what excuse he could possibly have for overstepping such a boundary. Jongdae said he could earn the right to call him by name, not that he did.
“It is more than alright.” Chanyeol can feel Jongdae let out a sigh, hot air puffing out against sensitive skin and making him bite his tongue to keep from shivering.
Pulling back, Jongdae holds Chanyeol’s gaze with firm, determined, but not unkind eyes. The darkness from the first night returns and Chanyeol’s can feel the uptick of his heart. “I am going to fuck you, Park Chanyeol.”
Chanyeol stares at Jongdae with wide eyes, his heart plummeting even as his stomach begins to twist with an indescribable warmth. “N-now,” he stammers, “Right now?”
Jongdae nods and lets out a hum, eyes narrowing as the fingers under Chanyeol’s collar pull him in for another kiss. There’s more heat to this one than Chanyeol’s ever experienced before, more force. Jongdae kisses him with a hunger, holding him in place by the collar so that he kiss him deeper, licking into his mouth, unyielding. All Chanyeol can do is grasp weakly at Jongdae’s wrist and try to kiss Jongdae back the way he’s been taught. He tries to move his lips against Jongdae, but he’s clumsy, unsure, and Jongdae smiles against his lips, huffing a laugh into his open mouth.
“Good boy,” he draws the sounds out in a way that sounds almost like a purr, and Chanyeol is reminded of that first night in the bathroom, the feline twist of his lips. “Lay back,” Jongdae says as he lets go of the collar and pushes at Chanyeol’s chest until he falls back against the pillows once more. “There you go, sweet boy, just lay back and let me make you feel good.”
More heat rolls in Chanyeol’s stomach at the words. The blankets are pulled back and tossed away, leaving him feeling exposed despite being fully clothed. He bites back a whimper as Jongdae pushes his knees apart and crawls between his thighs. His Master is a rather petite man, at least in comparison to Chanyeol, but like this, his presence is overwhelming, domineering, and Chanyeol feels so very small.
“Relax,” Jongdae murmurs against his lips as he presses a trail of kisses down the line of Chanyeol’s jaw to his neck. “Relax, we’ll go slowly. You will be ready when I take you.” It’s easy for Jongdae to say, Chanyeol thinks. Jongdae has had sex countless times and has probably never been the one being taken, has never had to take someone into himself.
This is Chanyeol’s first. Aside from a few curious nights alone in his room at the pleasure house with only his fingers, he’s never had anything inside him before. He doesn’t think there is such a thing as being ready for something like that. The idea of it has him trembling under Jongdae’s fingers as they run down his sides.
“Relax, sweet boy, breathe.” Teeth bite gently into the thin skin of his neck over the rapid fluttering of his pulse. Jongdae leaves wet, sucking kisses that makes the heat in his stomach build and squirm, makes him squirm as well, embarrassingly helpless little gasps leaving his lips as Jongdae sucks hard over his pulse. Jongdae pulls back far enough to get a look at his neck and hums, “You bruise so fucking beautifully.” Chanyeol can only lay underneath Jongdae and tilt his head back when his Master dips back down to leave more and more bruises along every bit of skin he can reach, marking him with lips and teeth and tongue.
It’s like he can almost feel them blooming red, blue, and purple under his skin and he whines despite himself, grabbing Jongdae’s shoulders to ground himself.
“Look at you,” Jongdae kisses his way back up to Chanyeol’s mouth. “Look at you. Wearing my collar. Wearing my marks. Responding so well. Does it feel good, Chanyeol?” Jongdae shifts his hips forward, pressing against Chanyeol, and Chanyeol realizes with a start that he’s hard. He stares up at the ceiling, eyes wide with shock, and Jongdae chuckles into his ear, “It does, doesn’t it? You’re so hard for me and I’ve hardly even touched you.”
“I-I,” Chanyeol squeezes his eyes shut and tries to put words together even as Jongdae sucks gently at his earlobe and slips his fingers under his shirt. He finally realizes that the heat building in his stomach is arousal, pleasure, and it’s hard to think around the thumping of his heart and the way his cock is started to demand attention. “So much,” he manages after a long moment, “All so much.”
Jongdae’s hands slide up his stomach to his chest. “Too much? Is it all too much for you?” Chanyeol nods and tries very hard not to be embarrassed about it. “You poor thing,” Jongdae’s voice is dark in his ear, teasing, “We’ve only gotten started.”
The fingers on his chest move to his nipples, pinching them roughly and sending a bolt oof pain and pleasure down his spine. Chanyeol lets out a gasp and tries to squirm away, but it only causes Jongdae fingers to pull on his nipples and send even more goodbadgood through his veins. His back arches into the touch and he can’t help but moan, face going red as the sound leaves his lips.
Jongdae swears, hissing under his breath. He lets go of Chanyeol’s nipples and Chanyeol has a vague thought of mercy before his shirt is being grabbed and ripped up and over his head. “Arms up,” Jongdae commands, “Get your shirt off. I want to put my mouth on you.”
Chanyeol is shocked speechless, helpless to do anything but let Jongdae disrobe him, upper body exposed to the open air and Jongdae dark, hungry gaze. His thighs twitch where they’re spread around Jongdae’s hips, trying to close as though that will do something to make him feel less open and vulnerable. There is nothing that can hide him from Jongdae, though. Jongdae owns him, stares at him with a confidence that burns like a brand as his gaze travels down his chest to his navel and back up again.
“I can’t decide if I want to mark you up or leave you looking so pure and untouched,” Jongdae says, tracing down the line of Chanyeol’s breastbone with one finger. “Both are such attractive options, you know. There’s something so innocent about you now that I almost hate to ruin it… Almost.”
His grin is sharp, eyes dark and possessive. When he leans down and wraps his lips around one of Chanyeol’s nipples, his mouth is hot and wet. Chanyeol writhes against the sheets and moans as the mouth on his chest begins to suck.
“Jongdae… Jongdae, Master, please! It’s – I’m – please!” Chanyeol’s hips buck, cock rubbing against Jongdae’s stomach through the layers of their clothing and adding to the bubbling, fizzing pleasure in his gut. It shouldn’t feel this good, he thinks, shouldn’t feel this much. But it’s all too new and he’s never been touched like this before, so sensitive that every touch feels like he’s been shocked.
Jongdae’s mouth stays where it is, worrying the nub between his lips with tongue and teeth and more suction that has Chanyeol bucking up against him. One hand goes to his other nipple to roll it between nimble fingertips, the other goes to Chanyeol’s collar and pulls, the pressure forcing him to stay still. Somehow, his hands end up in Jongdae’s hair, holding his Master’s head to his chest. It’s almost painful when Jongdae bites down on his nipple before the sting is soothed away by a warm, wet tongue. Chanyeol can’t tell if it’s a reward or a punishment.
“Please, please, please,” he whines, not sure what it is he’s begging for.
He doesn’t stop Jongdae when he finally releases Chanyeol’s nipples, hands falling away to rest beside his head. Chanyeol moans softly at the loss of sensation and has to stop himself from arching chest up like an offering for Jongdae to continue. “Open your eyes,” Jongdae says. Chanyeol does, not sure when he closed them, and watches as Jongdae sits back on his heels and looks him over, gaze pausing on the mess of marks covering Chanyeol’s neck and where his nipples have gone red and puffy from all the attention.
Chanyeol watches as his eyes darken, going nearly black with want. Chanyeol’s cock twitches inside his underwear.
There is a moment of stillness.
“What do you want, Chanyeol?”
Chanyeol opens his mouth, shuts it again. He doesn’t know what he wants, just that he wants. He’s hard enough that it’s starting to ache, arousal a heavy weight in his belly. This is all too new for him, and he finds himself at a loss for even a single word to describe the way he wants to reach out and pull Jongdae back to him, to beg to be touched again, touched more. He doesn’t know what he wants. It’s not supposed to matter. He’s supposed to want what Jongdae wants. Jongdae’s supposed to show him.
“Teach me,” he whispers, “I need you to show me.”
Jongdae inhales sharply at that. For a moment, Chanyeol wonders if he’s said something wrong, but then Jongdae is stripping off his own shirt without a care for how expensive it must have been and tossing it off to the side to join Chanyeol’s own. “Your mouth,” Jongdae snarls, “your damned mouth!”
There have been many chances for Chanyeol to look his fill of Jongdae’s body over the past few weeks. He isn’t shy about undressing where Chanyeol can see or offering to bathe together; Chanyeol is, though, and has never taken the time to really look at his Master this way. A part of him wishes he had, now, because he only has a moment to take in the sight of him, lean and tanned and dotted with moles, before Jongdae’s hands are pulling off both Chanyeol’s pants and underwear in one fell swoop and his Master is leaning down to suck more marks into the soft skin of his thighs.
Chanyeol squirms in earnest, whimpering as teeth sink into the meat of his inner thigh, harsh and unyielding and so good a few drops of precum bead at the head of his cock. “Jongdae,” he moans, “Jongdae, please!”
“How long have I waited to get my hands on these thighs,” Jongdae murmurs against his own teeth marks. “You should see yourself like this, Chanyeol. You should hear yourself.”
Chanyeol can hear himself. He can hear every moan and keen and whimper that falls from his mouth when Jongdae choose to bite him, to kiss him, to fist a hand around the base of his cock just to watch him jerk like he’s been struck.
More precum drips down his shaft and his cock twitches in Jongdae’s grasp like it’s begging for more. “This is a beautiful cock. Nice and long. Mine’s a bit thicker, though. Have you ever touched yourself like this, Chanyeol,” Jongdae asks as he slowly, so, so fucking slowly, moves his fist up and down the shaft of Chanyeol’s cock. There’s genuine curiosity in his eyes, in the way he strokes Chanyeol and watches him buck up into the touch, moans spilling from his lips.
“Y-yes. Some…sometimes at night a-and in the shower. Not since…” Chanyeol trails off into a keen as Jongdae squeezes the head of his cock and rubs the pad of one finger against a spot under the head Chanyeol didn’t know even existed.
“Not since I made you mine?” Chanyeol nods, and Jongdae smiles, undeniably pleased, and something about it make Chanyeol squirm. “Good, good boy. Keep it that way. Only touch yourself with my permission.” Chanyeol nods again. He thinks he would agree to anything if it meant Jongdae would keep touching his cock.
There’s something hot and tight building under his skin, thighs trembling as pleasure burns through him. He’s already so close, so, so close, tumbling towards orgasm.
That’s why when Jongdae suddenly pulls his hand away, Chanyeol lets out a miserable whine and starts to sit up. Jongdae stops him with a hand on his chest, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Patience,” he says, “You don’t want to come too quickly or you’ll be far too sensitive when I fuck you.”
Chanyeol can feeling himself pouting, head too foggy with pleasure and the need to come to see the reason in Jongdae’s words. He wants, and any thought not about that want tumbles away, falls apart before it can even come together. Still, he lets Jongdae push him back down – no matter what Chanyeol wants, he does what his Master tells him to.
So, when Jongdae crawls off the bed, out from between his legs, away, but tells him in a voice that brokers no arguments to stay right where he is, he does. He pouts up at the ceiling feeling shameful and beautiful and confused all at once, and stays right where he is. He listens to the sounds of Jongdae’s footsteps across the floor, to the sounds of someone rummaging around in a drawer, to the victorious hum that follows shortly after, and he does not move.
“You listen so well,” Jongdae kisses him when he returns, pushing his way between Chanyeol’s thighs once more. “How lucky I am that my boy listens so well.” Pleased heat rushes to Chanyeol’s face and then down to join the heavy weight of want in his stomach.
“Spread your legs a little wider for me, Chanyeol.” Chanyeol does, feet inching across the sheets even as more heat rushes to his face, this time tinged with sharp embarrassment.
He doesn’t just feel exposed, he is exposed. Spread wide as he is, there is not a single part of him not on display. He squeezes his eyes shut just so he doesn’t have to see the look on Jongdae’s face as that sharp, dark gaze travels down past his cock and balls to where his hole is. He may never have had sex before, but he isn’t stupid. He grew up in a pleasure house, he knows how two men fuck. He knows that Jongdae is staring at his little hole, pink, untouched by anyone but Chanyeol himself, and is imagining what it will feel like wrapped around his cock.
With his eyes closed and his thoughts thundering in his ears, he doesn’t hear the sound of a bottle being opened. He doesn’t see Jongdae liberally coating his own fingers in oil.
He only realizes what’s coming when one of those fingers presses against his hole and then in, pushing into him slick and easy even as he jerks and lets out a yelp of surprise. Jongdae’s other arm is quick to bar across his hips and keep him from scrambling away from the strange sensation of having something inside him. It doesn’t hurt, exactly, not even when Jongdae adds a second finger without much fanfare, but it feels strange, a pressure and a stretch and an almost ticklish feeling when the fingers inside him move.
Squirming only makes it feel stranger, Chanyeol discovers, and he doesn’t fight when the arm across his hips presses down harder. He’s almost grateful for it a second later when Jongdae’s fingers brush against something that sends lightning crackling all over his body.
His feet kick out as a horribly needy cry tears its way out of his throat, breaking partway through into a sob when Jongdae rubs over that spot again with a purpose, eyes dark and smile beginning to shift into something bordering on mean as he watches Chanyeol’s face. “There it is,” he grins, and begins to rub slow, torturous circles around it, “Look at you. Look at that cock, getting so wet for me. Do you think you can come just like this? Without a hand on your cock? I think you can, sweet thing, I want to see you try.”
Chanyeol’s cock juts out proudly from his hips, harder than Chanyeol thinks it’s ever been in his entire life, aching to be touched, and steadily leaking little drops and streams of fluid down the head. When Jongdae speaks, his breath blows over it and makes it twitch like it’s begging for attention. He wants so badly to reach down and wrap a fist around himself or beg Jongdae to do it, but he can hear the order in Jongdae’s voice and it feels him with dismay and yet another overwhelming wave of arousal.
He can’t come like this alone, he thinks, it just isn’t possible.
Then Jongdae’s fingers move faster inside him, press harder, and Chanyeol moans helplessly and wonders in something like horrified awe if he maybe he can.
Chanyeol fights the urge to writhe as he’s toyed with so mercilessly, instead tossing his head to the side so that he doesn’t have to watch Jongdae watching him fall apart. “Jongdae,” he whimpers, mewls, begs, “Jongdae, please, I-I can’t – I don’t…” He grits his teeth against the pleasure and squeezes his eyes shut. The pleasure burns now, cutting through his veins and making pathetic tears leak from the corners of his eyes. “I can’t,” he sobs as Jongdae’s hands move somehow faster.
Jongdae’s face appears in front of his own, the hand keeping his hips still coming up to grip his jaw so tightly he thinks he almost feel the bruises forming in the shape of Jongdae’s fingertips. Jongdae’s expression is dark and unyielding, a storm cloud rumbling with thunder as his eyes flash with lightning. “You can. You will.”
Chanyeol takes in a deep breath at the words, eyes going wide in shock, and he does.
It tears out of him with a vengeance, belly painted white with his own spend, muscles seizing under his skin over and over as he feels his hole squeeze around Jongdae’s fingers like he’s trying to suck them in deeper. For a second, he thinks a wound animal has snuck into the bedroom. Then he realizes those sounds are coming from his mouth as Jongdae wrings the pleasure out of his body by force until he’s crying in earnest and shivering uncontrollably.
Even then, Jongdae doesn’t let him settle, instead pulling his fingers free of Chanyeol’s clenching hole and quickly replacing them with something much larger.
Distantly, Chanyeol is stunned at the revelation that he is no longer a virgin, knows that the sudden stretch should ache at least a little bit, can tell from feel alone that Jongdae’s cock is more than sizable from how full he feels. But as Jongdae’s hips press against his ass, cock buried into him to the hilt, all Chanyeol can do is keen and stare up at Jongdae as stars burst and collapse inside along his nerves, walls clamping down tight around his Master so good.
“See,” Jongdae leans down to whisper against Chanyeol’s slack mouth, “I told you it would be good, didn’t I? You take me so well, Chanyeol. So soft and hot and tight inside. You never had anything to worry about at all.”
Chanyeol sobs wordlessly and hiccups, sweat dripping down his forehead. His nerves feel raw and his brain is sluggish and foggy. He’s so open now, like Jongdae has taken every last part of him and written his ownership on it, inside it, inside him. His cock is hot like a brand, like even after he’s finished and pulls out, there will be a mark of him left behind forever, a piece of him that Chanyeol will carry for the rest of his life. He’s not sure how he feels about that.
The hands on Chanyeol’s hips hold him still as Jongdae begins to pull out, and every other thought he has crumble as his nerves scream with a pleasure sharp enough to slice him open. “Oh, oh fuck,” his voice breaks, hands grabbing onto Jongdae’s wrists as though he can do anything to keep Jongdae from doing whatever he wants with Chanyeol’s body.
Chanyeol can only watch, body jerking and shaking, as Jongdae throws his head back with a smile as he bottoms out inside Chanyeol’s hole again. “So fucking tight,” Jongdae sighs, “You’re just sucking me in, boy. It’s like your hole was made to be fucked. Can’t wait to see how hard you cry when you come again, can’t wait to feel this little hole milking me dry.”
The rhythm Jongdae builds is slow and deep, each movement brushing past that place inside Chanyeol that forces those miserable little whimpers out of his mouth. He rocks with the thrusts, fingers spasming uselessly against Jongdae’s wrists. Jongdae fucks him thoroughly and unyieldingly, taking him as though its all Chanyeol is meant for.
It hurts and it feels so good, so full, so warm. He can’t come again, can’t get hard again, and yet he thinks he is, cock slowly hardening where it lies in the mess of Chanyeol’s own cum. When Jongdae shifts his hips and begins to pick up speed, it hardens fully, pleasure spiking each time the cock inside him batters against that one stupid fucking spot.
“You’re going to come on my cock, Chanyeol,” Jongdae purrs when he sees Chanyeol getting hard again, eyes alight with delight. Chanyeol nods, because yes, he will, and it’s going to hurt.
One of his own hands comes up to tug idly at the collar around his neck, the pads of his fingers running over the smooth leather.
It’s grounding, the collar, a reminder that Jongdae is going to hurt him, but he’ll take care of him after.
He hates and finds relief in the thought in equal measure.
Jongdae leans down once more and throws one of Chanyeol’s legs over his shoulders to fuck him harder, faster, deeper, groaning at the broken moans each thrust in knocks out of Chanyeol’s throat. “It’s too much,” Chanyeol cries. He can feel Jongdae is his stomach, the cock inside him opening up places he isn’t sure should ever be touched. “Jongdae, Jongdae, Master, please, it’s too much!”
Jongdae just growls low in his chest and continues to fuck him, completely uncaring of the white-hot pleasure that feels as though it’s flaying Chanyeol’s skin from his body. “You’re so tight. You can’t even imagine. Your hole keeps doing these little flutters when I go deep like it doesn’t know what to do. Fuck, you’re never going to go a day without me inside you from now on.”
His cock kicks against his stomach at that, thoughts so twisted from the pleasure-pain that the idea is arousing. Humiliation washes over Chanyeol and he whimpers as he feels even more tears gather in his eyes, but Jongdae stares down at him like he’s some sort of treasure.
“You like that? You want me inside you every single day? So fucking good, Chanyeol, you’re so fucking good.” He fists Chanyeol’s cock in one hand, pulling him back onto Jongdae’s own cock with the other, and Chanyeol arches off the bed from the sudden onslaught of pleasure with a cry. “That’s it,” Jongdae hisses, “You’re so good, you deserve to come again, deserve a hand around your cock and a cock in your ass. So fucking glad I snatched you up before anyone else could see how fucking perfect you are.”
When the hand on his cock starts to move, Chanyeol has to bite back a scream because it hurts. He’s too sensitive, too close, too new, too vulnerable. He wants to come, he wants to go to sleep, he wants Jongdae to keep hitting that place inside him. He tries to tell Jongdae this, but the words slip away from him until all he can beg is, “Please, please.”
Jongdae thrusts in deep and grinds his hips against Chanyeol’s, grinds the head of his cock against that spot.
Chanyeol’s second orgasm hits him so hard he screams. He doesn’t realize he fell unconscious until a little later, when he wakes to Jongdae’s forehead resting on his chest, hips stuttering as he fills Chanyeol up with cum. He can feel his hole still spasming around Jongdae’s cock, little shocks of pleasure traveling up his spine before sputtering out.
He lets his eyes slip shut again, too tired to do much else but lie there and breathe.
“I was only saying some of those things in the heat of the moment,” Jongdae says after what feels like at least a few years. “We don’t have to have sex every single day. I don’t want it to be a chore for you. I want it to be something you enjoy and want with me as well.”
Chanyeol hums and musters up the energy to mumble something vaguely resembling a response. Jongdae laughs and Chanyeol smiles at the feeling of lips brushing against his cheek. “Silly, sleepy Chanyeol,” he sighs. “Rest more, sweet boy. I’ll clean you up and we can talk once you wake.”
Chanyeol winces when Jongdae pulls out of him, quickly soothed by Jongdae brushing kisses over his forehead. The mattress shifts as Jongdae leaves, and Chanyeol forces his eyes open to watch as his Master makes his way to bathroom. As though he can feel Chanyeol’s stare, Jongdae looks over his shoulder and meets Chanyeol’s gaze with a soft, warm smile.
He wonders if he isn’t, perhaps, just a little lucky after all.