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It’s when the throngs of people in the crowded club part in perfect symmetry that Kyubin realizes that he’s been beaten at his own game. The boy that caught his attention is so breathtakingly attractive that Kyubin lets his guard down, and that’s rule number one. Don’t let your guard down. Kyubin doesn’t just look and smirk, but stares with slack jawed admiration. Men like this do not come without consequence. Although he’s terrified of that consequence, he’s willing to accept it. Any confidence in his swagger, any commanding in the things that he does or is about to do, has slipped from what feels very real to him to very much an act.
The boy that he’s locked eyes with across the club can sense it, like blood in the water. The lithe, glistening monster approaches. Kyubin’s hands melt across sheer fabric and hot skin when he places his hands in the magnetic place between his hips and his ribcage, but they do not burn as he expected.
The stranger’s mouth curls into a devilish smile, and when he speaks to him it’s like his voice bends sound. The background noise of the club softens, and all he can hear is his mirthsome voice, “I guess you’ll do.”
Again in such a short amount of time, Kyubin wonders what kind of creature he’s dealing with. Certainly not human, almost certainly monstrous.
They do not dance, so much as they engage in rhythmic, mutual inspection. The stranger gauges the muscles of his arms. Kyubin’s almost certain that if he stretched his fingers wide he could encircle his slim waist. “Let’s go into the back room. You can fuck me over the sink”
There’s a pins and needles sensation at the back of his neck as he considers it for a moment. That’s how desperate he is. But he’s been picking people up at clubs for long enough to know that you don’t feel this every night. It’s more than chemistry, it’s magic.
“No. I wanna ruin you.”
“Okay hyung,” his voice is viscous and sweet. Kyubin can feel his smile against the shell of his ear. “I know a place.”
There’s a surprising amount of chatter on the journey back from the club, not that Kyubin can remember the travel itself. There’s no feeling of cool air against his cheeks as they walk, no rolling sensation as if they’d hailed a cab.
But, he isn’t drunk, at least not on alcohol.
There’s just the blur of city lights and pointed talk that indicates a passage of time. He learns that his name is Wookjin, and so, for better or not, he’s obligated to share his name as well.
“How old are you hyung?”
And Kyubin tries to make Wookjin forget that he wants an answer to his own question by kissing him roughly. But when they part for air, Wookjin is nothing more than smudged eyeliner and persistence. “I’m twenty-one. What about you?”
Kyubin doesn’t need to hear that. He can taste it in the plastic, artificial fruit flavored coating that lingers in his mouth. He can feel it with the ebullience with which he asks questions, everything coming off as simultaneously playful and dead serious.
But Wookjin just had to say it. Had to feel Kyubin’s cock pulse in his tight jeans and lap the gasp of appreciation that slides off of his lips.
"How old are you?"
Usually he lies. He’s too old to get picked up by so called “distinguished” older men and he’s too young to pick up the twenty year olds who want someone to call daddy. “I’m twenty-nine.” And then, because he’s helpless and Wookjin has made him that way, “don’t be weird about it.”
Wookjin laughs at him with his whole body, rumbling chest, head thrown back, crotch grinding against his. “Like what,” his silken voice sends a shiver down Kyubin’s spine, “like say that I want you to teach me?”
Now it’s Kyubin’s turn to laugh. When the amusement is all wrung out of him, he kisses Wookjin again, just to make a point. When Kyubin forces their kisses deeper, Wookjin greedily sucks on his tongue. When Kyubin slots his knee between his legs, Wookjin rides him shamelessly. When Kyubin grabs his ass Wookjin arches his back. “I don’t think there’s anything that I could teach you.”
“I think that’s true,” Wookjin reiterates this by marking his neck and the exposed swath of skin at his chest.
Even though it’s only Friday night, and the promise of Saturday still looms, Kyubin does none of his usual scolding, “don’t leave a mark.” Maybe Kyubin wants to be branded by the perfect cupid’s bow of Wookjin’s lips.
Wookjin tells him, as if it’s critical that he knows, “I’ve had men beg just to eat my ass before.”
There’s no fumbling for keys, no being shushed in the gangway to avoid waking sleeping roommates, no stumbling out of their clothes. They’re just here in the place that Wookjin knows . Eerie purple light does more to obscure in the natural darkness of night than to illuminate. The bed in the middle of the room is made with white linens and the pale colors turn dark shades of indigo and blue.
Wookjin’s hot mouth is pressed against his own once more. And even though they’ve been honest with each other, Wookjin is still willing to play a role. The hungry little noises that he makes, and the little bites against his lips are like lies peppered with the truth.
Thin mesh rubs beneath his fingers, and in that moment, Kyubin too is willing to play a role. The buttons pop easily with a sharp ripping noise.
“Hyung,” Wookjin gasps.
Kyubin's reward is smooth bare skin. As his hands claim Wookjin's shoulders, his chest, and his stomach, he wants more. And so Wookjin's pants go next. Kyubin pops the button and peels Wookjin out, and he’s ready to gorge himself on the sweet fruit within.
“Get on the bed.”
Wookjin does as he is told, wearing only his smirk and his briefs with him to bed.
It’s such a sight to behold, Wookjin laying nearly naked upon the bed. The cool light that reflects on his pale skin makes him look more exotic somehow, more inhuman. The only shade of warmth in the room comes from his eyes, honey brown, almost glowing.
And like a moth to a flame, Kyubin is drawn to the fire, crawling across the expanse of the mattress towards Wookjin.
“Is this the part where I’m supposed to beg?” Kyubin kneels between Wookjin’s legs and cages him with his arms against the headboard.
In stark, almost purposeful contrast to the way that Kyubin undressed Wookjin, long fingers carefully undo each button of his shirt. Soft fingertips ghost firm muscle as he pushes the fabric down his elbows, letting it pool behind Kyubin’s knees.
Wookjin undoes his pants next. For a brief moment, a fraction of a second, Wookjin truly looks like the image of false innocence that he’s not. Tilted head and curious glint in his eye as he grabs Kyubin’s cock at the thickest point and touches him tentatively. Circling the pad of his thumb across the head of his cock, he answers Kyubin, “No Hyung. We have plenty of time for that later.”
Men like this don’t come without consequences, but it’s the furthest thing from Kyubin’s mind.
Wookjin takes his cock into his mouth, and each hollow of Wookjin’s cheeks and purse of his lips around the crown of his cockhead feels like a threat.
Kyubin takes a fistful of hair at the base of his neck and fucks into Wookjin’s mouth, but there’s no indication that he struggles with the task. Quite the opposite. Wookjin makes sure to look at him, mouth full of cock, eyes blown wide and feral as Kyubin fucks his mouth in long, brutal strokes.
And somehow even now, when Kyubin is using him, he possesses no semblance of control. It’s Kyubin that gets swept up in the tight heat of his mouth. It’s Wookjin that recognizes the changes in his body, short breath and erratic movement. It’s Wookjin that purses his lips around the root of his cock one final time before pulling off sl-owly with an obscene pop.
It could be a trick of the light, but for a fraction of a moment, it looks as if a ring around his cock appears where Wookjins’ lips just were, glowing ember orange. Just like that, the coursing energy deep inside, feels shacked. His need, interrupted. Everything feels so sensitive and so exposed, from his cock, which hangs heavy between his legs, to the burning palms of his hands.
Diamond teardrops accent the corners of Wookjin’s eyes, his cheeks flush with want. Pushing the sweat slicked hair away from his own face, he beams at Kyubin, “Hyung, you almost came.”
“No. Never,” Kyubin’s in no state to deny it, but Wookjin lets him. Wookjin lets him wrestle him down onto his stomach and pull down his briefs. Wookjin lets him pin his cock between the mattress and his and his thigh, and spread his cheeks wide. “Not before I fuck you.”
Kyubin doesn’t beg. He spits at Wookjin’s hole, bodily and visceral. He holds Wookjin so firm against the bed, his fingers pressing so hard that he must certainly bruise the skin. But that’s where his forcefulness ends, because he eats Wookjin out as if he were a man starved. He laps at the skin and plunges his tongue inside as if he were a man that begged for it. By why be wanted, when he could be needed?
Wookjin makes desperate, needy noises into the pillows, desperate mewls of “hyung,” and whines of, “fuck me.” Shamelessly, he pushes back against Wookjin’s mouth. Kyubin said that he wanted to ruin him, and by every indicator he has, but he knows that Wookjin will never feel the same level of crazed, pent up energy that courses through him. Wookjin will never beg.
‘Wookjin,” and although he feels crazed, his husky voice stays stable. “I’m gonna fuck you now.”
Wookjin sighs in approval and looks over his shoulder at him in dazed hunger. “Do it.”
When he looks at Wookjin, lithe body splayed prone, thin wrists pinned behind his back in Kyubin’s grasp, he understands why they beg. He fucks into Wookjin and it feels like Wookjin’s body is pulling the head of his cock in deeper, and deeper, and deeper, all while clenching vice tight around him. He understands why they beg.
The sounds that he makes, and the smell and taste of sweat when he claims his neck, he consumes all of his senses. Wookjin becomes everything that Kyubin has known, or will ever know.
“Hyung, don’t cum yet,” Wookjin’s voice seems so far away.
“Hyung--” and it all seems so inconsequential. Each roll of his hips brings on a crashing sensation more powerful than the last. He needs this. He needs this. He needs this--
But Wookjin won’t let him.
Everything tumbles forward in a way that makes fear churn in Kyubin’s stomach. Inexplicably, their positions are swapped. Kyubin lies on his back. His vision spins as if they’d flipped over. His arms and legs are splayed wide on the bed. Wookjin hovers over him.
One thing remains constant. He’s still enveloped by Wookjin’s molten heat. He still wants, even to his own detriment.
Wookjin’s tone is firm, but kind. “Hyung, I told you not to cum yet.”
He wouldn’t dream of not making it good for Wookjin, and he wants to show him that. He wants to touch his cock. Jerk him off and get him there. Fuck he’s already leaking across his stomach. Kyubin can feel it.
Kyubin moves, but his body doesn’t obey.
Only then does he notice that they’re bound by purple, illuminated looking restraints.
What the fuck?
“Do you trust me hyung?”
Not at all. But that mistrust seems so unimportant when Wookjin cants his hips high and impales himself on the entire length of Kyubin’s cock, over, and over, and over again in merciless succession.
“Its better this way.”
Pleasure builds faster this time, tighter, and tighter, with each rock of his hips up into Wookjin. And he believes the lie. “Yeah, fuck you feel so good.”
Kyubin wants stop himself this time, truly. Wants to hold on for Wookjin, and hates himself when he cannot. His whole body tenses, as pleasure tears through him.
But there is no relief, and nothing to take him over the edge. The familiar twitching sensation that his cock might make, replaced by a dull ache at the base.
Wookjin splays his hands wide across his chest. Sweat slicked hair falls in front of his face. His hand drifts upward cupping his jaw again almost tenderly before swiping Kyubin’s lower lip.
Kyubin accepts the digit, sucking on it in quiet acceptance. His cock aches, and he cannot cum. Not until Wookjin allows it. This is when he begs.
Wookjin slows his brutal pace, moving just enough to keep him achingly hard. He watches Kyubin’s expression curiously, monitors the rise and fall of his chest with his hand splayed across his sternum. Then, almost leisurely, he runs his fingers across his arms, squeezing his biceps and trails his fingers across his chest and his abdominal muscles. “You probably thought you could get whatever you wanted, right?”
Kyubin doesn’t have an answer for Wookjin beyond the furtive grinding of his hips upward every time Wookjin slides down the length of his cock.
“You could force me. You’re strong enough.”
Holy fuck.
“You probably want to right now, considering how mean I’ve been. Hold me down and fuck me hard and make me take it. Fill me up with your cum?” Wookjin tells him what to do with his molten voice and his crooked, impish smile. “I want that too Kyubin.”
“Please,” his voice sounds cracked and barely like his own. “Please.” He tears away the restraints as if they were nothing, as if they’d always been nothing. When the restraints fall away, a similar feeling of relief rushes to his cock He flips their position quickly, forcing Wookjin on his back.
“Want your cum.”
Kyubin pins him down onto the bed and fucks him hard.
“Need your cum.”
How could he deny Wookjin anything? The burgeoning pleasure that had built, and built, and built, is finally set free. When he cums it’s sudden, strong, to the point of being painful. Wookjin stays buried to the hilt, pushing his cum so deep inside of Wookjin’s body. Of course, Wookjin wants more, wrapping his legs around him while he frantically jerks his own cock.
The first powerful burst of cum deep inside Wookjin sends him over the edge, “oh fuck--” and he’s shooting across their stomachs.
“Hyung,” Wookjin kisses him again, but its different from the countless kisses they’ve shared so far. Softer, almost sweet, as he dusts more kisses across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. Wookjin’s tone matches his voice. “That was so good.”
Kyubin’s limbs feel heavy, his mind foggy. Although cumming offered some relief, he’s still deep inside of Wookjin, half hard and over sensitive.
“I want to see you again. Can I keep you?”
Kyubin feels like he doesn’t have a choice. But here’s the thing. He doesn’t want a choice. Even though he feels drained, he wants Wookjin again. And again, and again, and again. “Please.”
Kyubin closes his eyes to glowing purple light and sterile modern decor. When he wakes again, he wakes alone in his own apartment with no memory of how he got there.
His whole body feels used and vaguely sore, but that discomfort is nothing compared to the heaviness between his legs. What the fuck happened? Throwing one leg over the side of the bed, Kyubin heaves his body upward with great difficulty.
That’s when he sees it, a thin glowing band around the base of his cock that catches in the light.
It’s only then that memories of last night come back to him in distorted, flashbulb images. It’s only then that he can remember the last thing that Wookjin said to him.
“Good. Cause you’re mine now.”