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The bar isn’t where Jisung plans to end up tonight, but here he is. The dim lighting blurs the edges of the room, softening everything into indistinct shapes. The gin and tonic in his hand isn’t doing him any favors either. It’s bitter, too sharp on his tongue, and not at all what he actually wants. Something fruitier would be better— easier. But tonight isn’t about what he wants.
He’s tired. Exhausted, really. Bitter and resigned in a way that feels like it’s settled deep in his bones. He doesn’t expect to find himself here, shoulders slouched, staring into his drink while his mind whispers that this was always going to happen.
His marriage had been circling the drain for a while now. A year, maybe more. He’s tried— God, has he tried. He planned date nights, suggested therapy, and introduced new routines to spark something, anything. But nothing worked. Every effort only highlighted the rift growing between them, an emptiness Jisung couldn’t fill no matter how hard he tried.
So when he comes home earlier and finds his husband in bed with someone else, the shock doesn’t bring anger or heartbreak. Instead, it comes with an almost unsettling calm. Relief, even.
He can still picture the scene— the disheveled sheets, their tangled bodies, the other man perched in his husband’s lap while cum dried on his skin. It should destroy him. Maybe a part of him wants it to. But instead, Jisung feels something uncoil in his chest.
This is his way out.
The blame won’t fall on him. He won’t have to keep grasping at something long gone, won’t have to drag himself through one more conversation about trying harder. His husband has made the decision for both of them.
He cheated.
And Jisung was finally free to let go.
So, he leaves. Quietly, without a word.
Now, he sits in this dingy bar just two blocks from their apartment, the faint gleam of his wedding ring catching the low light. He hasn’t taken it off yet, but the weight of it feels different now— less binding, more like a loose thread he’s ready to pull.
The plan is simple— sit here, drink until the edges of his thoughts blur completely, then call an Uber to his best friend’s place across town. Chan will take him in, no questions asked. Whether Jisung ends up crying or laughing, Chan will hold him either way. Chan is like that.
But the plan hits a snag.
A shadow falls over his drink, and Jisung looks up to find a man leaning over the counter, directly into his line of vision. His gaze is sharp, almost feline, dark eyes locking on Jisung with precision.
“You’re sitting in my seat,” the man says, deadpan.
Jisung glances up from his glass, his movements slow and deliberate, fueled more by exhaustion than anything else. Sue him. “Sorry?” he says flatly. “There are ten other stools, and most of them are empty.”
“Yeah, but that’s the one I like,” the guy replies, pointing at the stool Jisung occupies.
Jisung studies him before replying— he’s a little younger, sharper features, softer hair. Definitely no white strands creeping in like the ones Jisung is starting to sport. He’s cute in a frustrating way, especially when he flashes a grin that somehow manages to be both smug and lazy.
The grin irritates Jisung.
“Guess you’re out of luck,” he says with a sigh, waving him off.
But the guy doesn’t leave. Instead, he slides into the stool beside him, close enough that Jisung catches the faint, spicy scent of his cologne— something warm, like cinnamon with a hint of nutmeg.
“You don’t seem like the territorial type,” the man remarks, leaning in just slightly.
“I don’t seem like a lot of things,” Jisung replies, taking a measured sip of his drink.
The guy pauses, as if deciding something, then says, “Minho.” His tone makes it sound like a statement, as if his name should explain everything.
Jisung raises an eyebrow. “Good for you.”
“You’re supposed to tell me your name now,” Minho says, his smile widening into something sultry. His cheeks bunch, and his teeth peek out in a way that’s almost disarming— if it weren’t so calculated.
“Am I?”
“Yeah. Otherwise, I have to guess, and I’m usually not polite about it.”
Jisung finally sets his glass down, meeting Minho’s gaze head-on. There’s an undeniable energy about him— wiry and overconfident, the kind that makes Jisung guess he’s in his mid twenties. Young enough to be bold.
Something in Jisung twists. His mind tells him to stay, to see where this is headed. His stomach churns, a mix of protest and something dangerously close to excitement. He hasn’t felt like this in ages.
“Jisung,” he says at last.
Minho’s grin spreads wider. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”
“Depends on who you ask,” Jisung replies dryly.
Minho laughs, leaning in closer, his elbow propped on the bar. “Are you always this prickly, or is this just for me?”
Jisung shakes his head, biting back a smile. “I haven’t decided yet.”
“Let me know when you do.” Minho’s voice dips slightly, and his gaze flickers, just briefly, to Jisung’s mouth. It’s subtle, but not subtle enough to miss.
Jisung licks his lips, and sure enough, Minho’s eyes catch on. Bingo.
“Married?” Minho asks, clearing his throat, his gaze drifting to Jisung’s left hand.
“Was,” Jisung says, his voice edged with a scoff.
Minho hums softly, tilting his head as if he’s studying Jisung. “That’s recent, isn’t it?”
Jisung raises an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”
“You still wear the ring,” Minho points out, his gaze flicking briefly to Jisung’s hand before returning to his face. “Most people take it off the second the papers are signed. Or... Sooner.”
Jisung rolls the ring absently with his thumb, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “Observant, aren’t you?”
“I try.” Minho leans in just a fraction more, like he’s sharing a secret. “But I’m more curious than anything.”
“Curious about what?”
Minho shrugs, his grin softening into something more genuine— or at least less calculated. “What someone like you is doing here.”
“Someone like me?”
“Older. Polished. Married— sorry, was married,” Minho corrects, his eyes glittering with amusement. “You don’t look like the type who spends his evenings in bars like this.”
Jisung snorts, his fingers curling loosely around his glass. “And what type do I look like?”
Minho tilts his head, as if thinking. “Hmm. Someone who’s got his shit together, mostly.”
The laugh that escapes Jisung is sharp and bitter. “Yeah, well, if I had my shit together, I wouldn’t have gotten cheated on.”
Minho doesn’t flinch, doesn’t spout excuses or make a face like he doesn’t know what to say. Instead, he leans on the bar, resting his chin on his hand like he’s settling in. “Sounds like that’s more about them than it is about you.”
Jisung blinks, caught off guard. It’s strange not to be met with more questions or apologies— things his mind tells him he’ll need to get used to soon. Not this.
“And you’d know all about that, would you?” Jisung asks, his tone cutting but not quite as sharp as before.
“Not really.” Minho shrugs, his gaze steady. “But I know enough to say it doesn’t sound like you’re the problem.”
Jisung sets his glass down again, leveling him with a look. “And what about you? What type are you?”
Minho leans back slightly, spreading his hands in a mock display of innocence. “Me? I’m just a guy trying to get his seat back.”
“Sure you are.”
“I mean, I could leave if you really wanted me to.” Minho’s voice drops, his eyes narrowing slightly, challenging. “But I don’t think you do.”
Jisung exhales a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re something else.”
“Something good?” Minho presses, his smile playful now.
Jisung doesn’t answer. He knows Minho is trouble— he can tell from the way he moves, the way he presents himself like he’s ready to be taken. But Minho is also undeniably attractive. He didn’t throw pity at Jisung after his revelation, and didn’t try to fix anything. And with the buzz of alcohol in his system, Jisung feels reckless enough to lean into Minho’s advances.
It’s been four months since he’s been with anyone, hasn’t let anyone else touch him except for himself. And after everything— the betrayal, his marriage falling apart— he’s not about to turn away from the offer. A cute guy is interested, and for once, he feels like he might just take what’s being offered.
He deserves it.
“Okay,” Jisung says, finishing his drink and standing up.
Minho blinks, caught off guard. “Okay?”
Jisung grabs his jacket and looks back at him, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Your place or mine?”
Minho grins, sharp and hungry. “Mine.”
Jisung rolls his eyes but follows him out anyway.
The cool night air hits his skin like a shock. He pulls his jacket tighter around himself, feeling the buzz of the alcohol still lingering. He’s not drunk, not when he only had one drink.
They reach Minho's place a few minutes later, the Uber dropping them outside. Minho holds the door open for him, the kind of gesture that feels casual but with an underlying intention.
Inside, the townhouse is minimalistic— clean lines, neutral colors, and just enough personal items to feel lived in without being cluttered. It’s comfortable in a way Jisung isn’t used to. He notices a cat tree by the living room window, easily wondering where the cat could be. Instead of asking, his eyes land on Minho, who’s already peeling off his jacket.
Minho watches him for a moment, his lips curling into a smile, before he closes the space. He places a hand on Jisung’s waist, pulling him closer with an easy confidence that has Jisung’s heart skipping a beat.
“Are you sure about this?” Minho asks, his voice softer now, the usual edge of cockiness gone. There's something sincere in his eyes, a trace of care that wasn’t there before.
Jisung looks up at him, meeting his gaze. “Yeah, I’m sure.” He doesn’t know why he says it so easily, but it feels right at this moment.
Minho doesn’t waste another second. He leans in, capturing Jisung’s mouth with his in a kiss that’s all heat and urgency. Jisung can now taste Minho on his lips, feeling the tension in his body as they move together.
For a moment, Jisung forgets everything— the relief, the frustration, the emptiness. It’s just them, here, in this space, not anyone else. Not when Minho’s hands are pulling him closer, pressing him up against the wall.
Jisung has no idea where this is going, but right now, he doesn’t care.
Minho walks them back into his room, his lips pressing hot and insistent kisses to Jisung’s slack mouth. It’s no surprise when Jisung gasps, his hands clutching Minho’s shoulders as if to steady himself. Minho pushes Jisung’s shirt higher and higher, until it’s bunched beneath his armpits. His hands glide over Jisung’s chest, brushing against his sensitive nipples, making Jisung whine.
The sound barely escapes before Jisung finds himself overwhelmed again. Just as he thinks the pace might slow— that he might catch his breath, clear the haze clouding his mind— he’s suddenly on all fours. Minho’s sticky hand grips his hip while two fingers work their way into him with deliberate precision.
Jisung’s whines deepen into breathless, whiny moans as Minho’s fingers curl, slipping into the last knuckle. They press firmly against his prostate, sending a shiver coursing through Jisung’s body, his back arching instinctively towards the touch.
Minho has him splayed open, knees spread wide and thighs trembling. A pillow props Jisung’s chest off the mattress, while Minho’s firm hand steadies his hip. Sweat beads along Jisung’s skin, mixing with the wet glide of lube and the sticky mess pooling beneath him. His cheek rests against the pillow as Minho slides in a third finger, the sound of slick lube mingling with Jisung’s soft, desperate whines.
“Look at you,” Minho murmurs, his voice tinged with mockery and awe. “So wet.”
The squelch of lube punctuates his words as Jisung lets out another whine, high and keening. “You’ve even soaked the sheets.”
The teasing lilt makes Jisung’s cheeks burn, but it only draws him deeper into the haze. He hums low in his throat, hips instinctively pressing back to meet Minho’s fingers, desperate to keep them there, to carve their shape into his body and his skin.
Minho chuckles, leaning down to press a kiss to the swell of Jisung’s ass. His teeth graze the skin, drawing a sharp breath from Jisung, before he pulls back and blows cool air over the heated flesh. Jisung shudders, a loud whine spilling from his lips as his hips jerk against Minho’s hand.
The fingers slide out almost torturously slow, lingering at the first knuckle before pulling free entirely. Jisung barely has time to whimper at the loss before Minho presses back in, two fingers sinking deep with intensity. Jisung sighs, his body melting into relief.
“Thought about this the second that I saw you,” Minho whispers, his breath ghosting over the sensitive skin around Jisung’s hole. His fingers slide in slowly, deliberate and teasing, while his other hand spreads Jisung’s thighs wider. A sharp ache flares briefly, but Jisung doesn’t move, keeping his legs open, trembling.
“Couldn’t focus on anything,” Minho murmurs, twisting his fingers as they press deeper. His voice is low, almost silent. “Kept picturing you like this— spread out, hole wet and open for me.” The words send a shiver racing down Jisung’s spine, and he whines, muffled into the damp pillow beneath him. Tears prick at his eyes, blurring his vision as Minho’s fingers stretch and curl, making his body tremble.
“You’re a dream, hyung,” Minho breathes, his tone dark with possession.
The swipe of Minho’s tongue across his hole is sudden. Jisung chokes back a sob, his body jerking as Minho’s tongue drags from the curve of his ass down to his hole. It circles around the fingers buried deep inside, teasing and opening him further. The burn of the stretch melts into a swirling ache of need, pooling low in Jisung’s stomach.
Gasps and broken pleas spill from Jisung’s bitten lips as Minho’s tongue presses between his fingers, licking and sucking in a messy rhythm. Blood roars in Jisung’s ears, drowning out everything but the lewd, wet sounds Minho is making. He gasps again when Minho bites down near his entrance, soothing the sting with the flat of his tongue.
Minho’s mouth is relentless— hot and slick, lips swollen from devouring Jisung. His chin glistens with spit, lube slicking the corners of his mouth. Jisung tilts his hips back instinctively, desperate for more, his body trembling as Minho’s tongue dips deeper and his fingers curl to brush against his prostate.
When Minho pulls away with a wet pop, the obscene sound makes Jisung whine. His chest is flushed, a dark red blooming across his skin, and his ragged breaths punch into the pillow beneath him.
“God, you’re so open,” Minho groans, his voice rough and frayed. “So wet. You taste incredible.”
He leans back in, his tongue slipping alongside his fingers, curling and pressing in ways that make Jisung’s whole body lock up. The edges of Jisung’s vision blur, a haze creeping into the corners as his stomach churns with the need to cum.
Minho pulls back once more, but his fingers remain buried, the stretch grounding Jisung in a haze of arousal. His other hand drifts down, brushing against the curve of Jisung’s hip before trailing to the tip of his cock, slick with precum. Jisung moans, his thoughts a mess, caught between wanting to push back onto Minho’s fingers or thrust into the grip around his cock.
Minho doesn’t leave him to decide. He makes the decision for him.
“Another one?” Minho murmurs, his voice low and teasing as he presses the third finger back inside, the stretch making Jisung groan. He had been ready when Minho first worked three fingers into him— before Minho’s tongue left him breathless, before every nerve in his body was tuned to the drag and curl of Minho’s touch. Jisung wants to beg for more, to plead for Minho to stop teasing and just fuck him, but instead, he tilts his head back, catching Minho’s gaze with half-lidded, tear-glossed eyes.
A shiver races down Jisung’s thighs, the ache of being spread open for so long blooming deeper into his muscles. Every breath feels like it's shifting Minho’s fingers buried inside him, to the hand gripping his hip, fingers brushing against the curve of his stomach— sometimes grazing his cock, each fleeting touch making him more desperate.
He feels devoured, stripped bare, like Minho isn’t just taking his body but consuming him whole.
He hasn’t felt like this in a long time. It feels good, so good.
The thought sends a shudder through him, paired with the delicious drag of Minho’s fingers, stretching him wider until he’s sure he’s nothing but a gaping, wet hole— Minho’s and Minho’s alone.
“Please,” Jisung whispers, his voice hoarse and broken, each syllable dragging from his throat like it’s been clawed out.
Minho presses the third finger into his hole, and then pauses. “Please what, hyung?” he asks, his tone playful but cruel.
Jisung whines. The use of the word ‘Hyung’ is cruel. So cruel. Minho knows how much Jisung likes it— how Jisung shivered the second Minho used it when he pushed him into his bed.
Jisung hasn’t been called hyung for a long while— especially not when he was with his husband. His husband was older, and the dynamics of their relationship were different.
But now, the roles are reversed.
Minho waits, unmoving, until Jisung utters the words he’s looking for.
“Minho, please,” Jisung chokes out, his breath hitching as tears slip down his cheeks. “Please, just touch me.”
Minho hums, his grip on Jisung’s hip tightening. “Okay, okay, hyung,” he coos, his voice syrupy with mock sympathy. “I’ve got you.”
Relief floods through Jisung, his body shivering as Minho pushes his fingers all the way in. He works them in a steady rhythm, dragging and curling until Jisung’s whimpers turn to gasps. Minho’s free hand slides lower, wrapping tightly around the base of Jisung’s cock, his fingers brushing against the sheets. He presses his chest to Jisung’s back, his breath hot against the nape of Jisung’s neck as he strokes his cock slowly, contrasting with the quick, shallow thrusts of his fingers inside Jisung’s ass.
Jisung’s body spasms, overwhelmed— the firm squeeze of Minho’s hand around his cock, the stretch and grind of his fingers brushing against his prostate. The coil of need in his stomach winds tighter, sharper, until a fourth finger teases at his entrance, sticky with lube. Minho’s touch on his cock shifts, twisting and pinching at the tip until Jisung is gasping into the pillow, his hips bucking helplessly.
His first orgasm builds fast, blazing hot, his body trembling as Minho’s fingers coax him closer. Jisung’s chest heaves, his mind fogged with nothing but the stretch, the weight of Minho’s touch, and the pleasure. So much pleasure.
When he finally cums, it’s sudden. His breath leaves his chest in a sharp exhale, his back arching as his body jerks in Minho’s arms. He keens, loud and raw, his muscles locking as he locks around Minho’s fingers. His cock twitches, spilling onto the sheets, his thighs trembling as his mind blanks.
Minho pulls back slowly, sliding his fingers out and releasing Jisung’s cock, leaving him boneless against the mattress. Jisung collapses, his hips sinking into the bed as his limbs go limp, the aftershocks leaving him shivering.
Minho doesn’t say anything, giving him a moment to catch his breath. Instead, he kneels between Jisung’s legs, his hands running possessively over the swell of Jisung’s ass. His fingers press into the flushed skin, leaving faint red marks that bloom under his touch.
He pinches the soft curve where his hand rested, earning a soft gasp from Jisung. “Can I take you raw?” Minho asks, his voice dark and heavy. “Wanna fill you up, see you dripping full with my cum.”
Jisung whimpers, his response immediate. He nods, struggling to push himself back onto his knees, eager to show Minho how ready he is, how much he wants this. His cock twitches weakly at Minho’s words.
Minho’s hands spread him open, exposing his wet, fluttering hole. “So pretty,” he murmurs.
His hands leave Jisung’s ass, the sudden absence making the air feel colder against his flushed, sensitive skin. A soft click breaks the silence as Minho uncaps the lube, slicking himself up. Jisung exhales deeply, steadying himself as he shifts onto his elbows. He slides his knees back, spreading his thighs wider, his body pliant and eager.
The air feels chilly against his exposed, aching hole, the cool slick of lube a stark contrast to his overheated skin. It sends a shiver down his spine before Minho’s hands return to his hips, firm and grounding. Minho pushes his hips up higher, angling him until Jisung’s weight rests heavily on the pillow beneath his chest, now stained with spit and cum.
The pad of Minho’s finger grazes over his hole, and Jisung feels the heat of it, sore and tender from Minho’s relentless fingers earlier. He’s so sensitive, already twitching at the swipe of Minho’s fingers. But he wants more, wants so much, it almost consumes him.
Jisung knows he looks wrecked— debauched and desperate, his hole pink and fluttering, slightly gaping and wet, inviting Minho to take him as he pleases.
Jisung wants to be used. Wants Minho inside him, filling him so completely that he feels it in every breath. He craves the stretch, the weight, the heaviness of Minho’s cock.
The blunt head of Minho’s cock presses against him, swollen and slick, the pressure enough to steal Jisung’s breath. He swallows thickly, holding himself still as Minho presses forward, breaching him slowly, the tight ring of muscle yielding. The burn is sharp, the stretch intense, but Jisung craves it, his teeth gritting as Minho sinks deeper.
Minho groans, low and guttural, as he begins to roll his hips in slow thrusts. Each push and pull drags against Jisung’s walls, the head of Minho’s cock nudging his prostate just enough to make his own cock twitch helplessly. The sensation is a mix of pain and pleasure, and Jisung trembles through it.
Jisung whimpers when Minho pulls back slightly before pressing in again, his voice a broken plea. Minho murmurs soft praise, telling him how good he feels, how perfect he is, his tone warm and hoarse. Jisung’s breaths come unevenly, his body hyper-aware of every point of contact, the tight grip on his hips, the warmth of Minho’s cock filling him, the relentless grind against his prostate. His cock chubs up, greedy and insistent, as the heat in his belly coils tighter.
His skin hums with want and drool escapes his lips.
A shudder racks through him, and instinct takes over. Jisung rolls his hips back, coaxing Minho to move faster, harder. Minho pulls back and thrusts in deeper, the force of it stealing the air from Jisung’s lungs. He feels utterly full, stretched to his limit, his body trembling with every thrust.
Minho pulls almost all the way out, leaving only the thick, heavy tip pressing at Jisung’s entrance, teasing him. Jisung whines, the loss making his thighs tremble. Minho’s hand skates up Jisung’s back, his touch firm yet soothing. “You’re doing so well,” Minho murmurs, his voice soft and coaxing before he pushes back in with a single thrust.
Jisung’s back arches as pleasure flares through him, his thighs quaking under the intensity. He feels completely taken— stretched, filled, and claimed in a way that leaves no room for thought.
Minho’s thrusts build from measured strokes to relentless and pounding, his hands gripping Jisung’s hips tightly to keep him upright. The stretch is overwhelming, grounding Jisung as his body teeters on the edge of collapse. His cock hangs heavy between his thighs, twitching as choked sobs tumble from his lips, his mind a hazy blur of sensation. He’s so sensitive, it hurts.
But it also feels so good.
Jisung clenches down around Minho, desperate to keep him buried deep, to feel every inch. He wants Minho to cum inside, imagines it dripping out, painting his skin, marking him in a way that only Minho can.
The sounds in the room are obscene— wet, echoing, primal. Jisung’s ears pick up the slap of Minho’s hips against him, the lewd noises of his hole taking Minho’s cock, Minho’s breathy moans mixing with his own needy whines. Jisung rocks back in time with Minho’s thrusts, his movements making Minho whine.
“So good,” Minho pants, his voice rough as he grinds his hips deeper into Jisung. “So loose, taking me so easily.” His hands tighten their grip, pulling Jisung’s hips higher, arching him until the curve of his ass is perfect for Minho to pound into harder, faster.
Jisung feels utterly stuffed, completely full, and his breath stutters. He thinks he can feel Minho’s cock in his throat.
“Think you can cum again?” Minho murmurs, the question dripping with hunger. “Make a mess of yourself? Dirty the sheets even more for me?”
Jisung cries out as Minho snaps his hips forward, his cock dragging against Jisung’s prostate, every thrust sending a shudder through his body. It’s overwhelming, consuming, like Minho is inside every part of him, from the stretch, to the burn, and to the pleasure rippling through his skin.
Minho leans forward, pressing flush against Jisung’s back, his breath hot against his neck. One hand snakes down to wrap around Jisung’s cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. His lips brush over the damp skin of Jisung’s shoulders, planting wet kisses wherever they land. “You’re so good for me,” Minho whispers. “You’re taking it so well.”
Jisung presses back into him, breath hitching. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, hyung. So good,” Minho groans, his voice low and ragged. “Knew the second I saw you at that dingy bar. You looked so good, so pretty.” He twists his wrist, coaxing another desperate sound from Jisung. “Knew that I wanted you on your knees, your mouth stuffed with my cock, your hole open and wet.” But then Minho laughs, the sound wet but filled with amusement. “And then I saw your ring.”
Jisung whimpers, his body shaking, his stomach coiling tighter and tighter. The ring still sits on his finger. “Minho,” he cries out.
Minho edges him on. “But then you told me he cheated, and God, who would do that to such a pretty little thing?”
Jisung keens high as his orgasm slams into him. His cock pulses, spilling over Minho’s hand, his body trembling as waves of aftershocks leave him wrecked and pliant.
“There you go, sweet,” Minho murmurs, his tone soft and coaxing as he eases Jisung through it. He releases Jisung’s cock, but his own hips never stop moving, rolling slow and deep. Jisung gasps, oversensitive, so so oversensitive, and Minho hums in response, pressing deeper, letting Jisung ride the edge of overstimulation.
“Can I keep you like this?” Minho muses, his lips brushing over the dip of Jisung’s back. “Wet, open, and full of me. All the time.” He kisses the curve of Jisung’s spine, his voice dropping lower. “Would you like that? Being kept full of my cum? I would treat you so well, hyung.”
A shudder wracks through Jisung as he whispers, “Please, yes.”
Minho’s hands caress his sides, his tone teasing yet filled with hunger. So much hunger. “Just plug you up, let you go off to work. Let my cum sit full in your stomach while you sign off on your divorce papers.”
Jisung moans, his skin alight with a want that burns through him, even as his cock refuses to cooperate. Every nerve hums, his body aching for more, for everything Minho promises.
“Or maybe I can make you wait at home, naked, legs open, ready for me to come back and fill you up again. Whenever I please. You just want to be taken care of, don’t you?” Minho rasps, driving his cock deeper, his voice laced with desire. The need courses through him, setting his pace alight, each thrust harder and faster. Jisung arches into the wet heat of Minho’s thrusts, his body shuddering as Minho drags out each slow stroke, only to slam back in again.
Jisung fists the sheets beneath him until his fingers ache, his body taut and thrumming with oversensitivity. Pleasure mingles with the burn in his veins, a dizzying feeling that leaves him shaking, unable to stop. Pleas spill from his lips, breathless and desperate, begging Minho to let go, to finally cum inside.
He pushes back onto Minho’s cock, fucking himself onto it, his thoughts spinning around one singular desire— to feel Minho fill him up with his cum and mark him dirty and used. The thought of being claimed so completely, bred so thoroughly, drives him wild.
The bed rattles under them, knocking into the wall with a force that sends hunger rushing through Jisung.
“Hyung, Jisung,” Minho moans, his voice raw and strained. “I’m close.” His thrusts falter, desperate now, quickly chasing relief. “You’re so messy— so full— your hole just stretches, taking me so perfectly.” His fingers tighten on Jisung’s hips, the bruising grip sure to leave marks blooming across his skin. “I’m gonna fuck you full of my cum.”
Minho slams in one last time, hips stuttering as he buries himself to the hilt. Jisung feels his cock pulse, the twitch of Minho inside him. And then he feels the warmth of his cum as he spills deep, filling him up.
A shaky whine escapes Jisung’s lips as Minho drags him upright, pulling him flush against his chest. Minho groans into Jisung’s neck, his cock still twitching inside Jisung.
Jisung clenches down, and locks Minho in. He shifts slightly, feeling the slick mess seeping out where they’re joined, sliding down to pool beneath him, warm and wet against Minho’s thighs.
“Fuck,” Minho breathes, his voice used and hoarse. “Look at you.” He pulls out slowly, letting Jisung collapse back onto the bed. With ease, Minho drags his fingers to Jisung’s hole, pressing lightly and watches as his cum begins to trickle out. It’s obscene— the swollen, red stretch of Jisung’s rim, the sticky white streaks of cum trailing down the curve of his ass to his thighs.
Minho pushes a finger back in, meeting no resistance, swirling it through the mess he’s left inside. He scoops some out and smears it over Jisung’s skin, rubbing it into his ass in deliberate strokes. “Mine,” he murmurs.
The claim is ridiculous, possessive, yet it ignites something in Jisung’s chest. It makes his breath hitch with want.
Jisung mewls weakly, his sensitivity heightening as Minho dips lower, replacing his fingers with his tongue. The wet slide of Minho’s mouth is slow and purposeful, his tongue slipping inside, teasing, sucking, and lapping at the cum he’s left behind. Shame and desire coil together in Jisung’s chest, a burning mix of need and exhaustion that leaves him gasping for air.
Minho pulls back only when Jisung’s whimpers turn pleading, the overstimulation tipping into pain. Crawling up, he meets Jisung’s dazed eyes, brushing damp hair back from his flushed face.
“You okay?” Minho asks, voice soft.
Jisung hums, reaching up to pull Minho closer. Their bodies meet easily, Minho’s weight settling over him as he presses their lips together, gentle and nice.
Minho collapses beside him, gathering Jisung into his arms and pressing a kiss to his temple. They’re sticky and spent, the air around them heavy with the smell of sweat and sex. But neither of them moves. Instead, Minho holds him tighter, burying his face in Jisung’s damp hair.
“You reek,” Minho mutters, his tone teasing even as his lips press lightly to Jisung’s scalp.
“Yeah, I wonder why,” Jisung croaks, his voice rough, tinged with mock irritation. The faint curve of Minho’s smile against his temple makes his own lips twitch upward.
Minho presses another kiss to his temple.
“Your phone’s been blowing up for the last twenty minutes,” Minho murmurs, his tone exasperated.
Jisung hums noncommittally, the sound low and drowsy. Just as he does, the phone vibrates again on the nightstand, its sharp buzz cutting through the still air.
Minho raises an eyebrow, giving Jisung a questioning look.
Jisung closes his eyes, nuzzling deeper into Minho’s warmth, his voice barely above a whisper. “He can wait.”
Minho snorts softly but doesn’t press further, wrapping his arms more securely around Jisung.
He pulls him in close.