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It’s jarring—the difference between the football field, roaring with cheers, and excitement after a well-deserved win, and the quiet, almost eerie, silence of the fine arts building.
Seonghwa shivers, involuntarily, when a gust of air conditioned wind brushes over his bare skin. The cheerleaders’ outfits are short and tight, and while they make his ass look incredible, the mini-skirt does absolutely nothing to stop the chill from crawling up his legs.
There’s a soft light coming from underneath the door of music studio 1117, and a soft smile makes its way onto Seonghwa’s lips without notice.
The door opens with a simple twist of the handle, and Seonghwa’s eyes set upon the sight of Hongjoong’s back, headphones covering his ears, head moving to what Seonghwa presumes is the beat of the song.
Seonghwa stands there, for a moment, just watching Hongjoong—so absorbed in his music that he’s in a different world.
“Joong-ah,” Seonghwa calls out, soft so as to not startle him. When that doesn’t work, he takes a few steps forward until he can trail his hands around the back of Hongjoong’s chair to the front of his chest.
“—Fuck!” Hongjoong yelps at Seonghwa’s touch. A giggle falls from Seonghwa’s lips, turning into a full-blown laugh when Hongjoong turns around with wide eyes, and a string of expletives ready to fall from his tongue.
Seonghwa falls onto the couch in the studio, crossing his legs. “Hi,” he says, cheeks still red from the wind, and exertion.
Hongjoong’s eyes soften, “Hi, Seonghwa.”
“What are you working on?” Seonghwa asks, leaning forward.
Hongjoong’s gaze slips down for a moment, pink rising to his face before he snaps his eyes back up, and clears his throat. “Just somethin’ for class. It’s due the day after tomorrow.”
Seonghwa nods, pushing himself up from the couch to lean over Hongjoong’s shoulder. “Show me?”
Hongjoong’s mouth falls open the slightest. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Seonghwa says, “I want to see what kept you so busy you forgot to come see me after the game.”
Hongjoong winces. “Shit,” he lifts his wrist to glance at his watch. “It was today.”
Seonghwa hums.
“Yup,” he pops his lips, fighting to keep the grin from his lips. It’s not as if he’s seriously mad. Annoyed, yes, but more so because he had to smile and bear the football team quarterback’s awful, awful flirting when he was so looking forward to jumping Hongjoong on the field.
Hongjoong swivels his chair until he’s facing Seonghwa square on, reaching out to gently take Seonghwa’s hands into his. “I am so, so, so sorry, Seonghwa. I really did want to be there, and I even set a reminder, I don’t know what happened, and I—”
Seonghwa cuts him off with a finger to Hongjoong’s lips. “How will you make it up to me? I had to deal with Kyungho. All by myself.”
Hongjoong’s expression darkens at the mention of the quarterback. “Did he—”
“This isn’t about him,” Seonghwa interrupts, taking his other hand out of Hongjoong’s grip to put it on his hip. “This is about you.”
If Hongjoong had puppy ears, Seonghwa could almost imagine them drooping in shame.
“I—I’ll buy you that Lego set you wanted, or, or I’ll get you something else, I’ll do anything, Seonghwa, I’m so sorry,” Hongjoong rambles, chair moving closer to Seonghwa with every word.
Hongjoong’s knees bump into Seonghwa’s, and his hands find themselves on Seonghwa’s hips. “I really am sorry, Seonghwa.”
And, he sounds so genuine, so distressed, Seonghwa can’t help but coo. “Aw, baby,” he smiles, leaning down to press a kiss to Hongjoong’s lips, giggling at how he searches for Seonghwa even after he’s pulled away.
“You’ll do anything?” Seonghwa asks, hands cupping Hongjoong’s face, tilting his chin up.
Hongjoong nods, as best he can with his face in Seonghwa’s hold. “Anything, Seonghwa.”
A grin stretches across Seonghwa’s lips—a cat who’s just found willing, gorgeous prey.
He lifts one knee onto Hongjoong’s chair, then the other, letting his arms loop around Hongjoong’s neck.
Seonghwa drops his weight onto Hongjoong, straddling his thighs. It almost makes a shiver run down his spine, the heat of Hongjoong on his bare skin, even through the layer of fabric.
“You know,” Seonghwa starts, running his nails down Hongjoong’s nape, to the skin of his chest left bare by the unbuttoned shirt.
“I’ve always had this fantasy,” he leans down to Hongjoong’s ear, feeling him shiver under Seonghwa, “of having sex in this studio.”
Hongjoong lets out a choked moan, hips bucking up into Seonghwa. “Fuck. Seonghwa. Are you—you serious?”
“Completely,” Seonghwa whispers, flicking his tongue against the outer shell of Hongjoong’s ear, feeling the cold metal of his helix. “I want this. Want you.”
Hongjoong swallows, glancing at the door.
He places his foot to move the chair with them in it, when a thought strikes Seonghwa—a sudden urge that turns his core molten. “Wait—”
Hongjoong pauses, looks up at him in question.
For the first time since he stepped into the studio, Seonghwa blushes, avoiding Hongjoong’s gaze.
“Leave it open?” He asks, eyes running over the items on Hongjoong’s desk. It’s something he’s thought of, in the past, with other boyfriends, but never had the chance to try it. With Hongjoong, it’s—easy, almost, even if they haven’t yet put labels on what they are.
Seonghwa hears the click of Hongjoong’s jaw dropping open, fast enough that it makes him wince a little. A groan tears its way out of Hongjoong’s chest, his head falls forward onto Seonghwa, “You are going to be the death of me, Park Seonghwa.”
Seonghwa huffs a laugh, shoulders relaxing. “I know,” he replies, and the air in the room rises a few degrees as their eyes meet, pupils dilating.
“We’re really doing this?” Hongjoong asks, hands running up and down Seonghwa’s thighs, leaving behind raised skin in their wake.
Seonghwa nods, “Yes.”
And, there’s nothing more that needs to be said.
“Okay.”
It doesn’t take long for Seonghwa to unbutton the rest of Hongjoong’s shirt, to unzip his pants, and palm his cock through his underwear.
The first touch is electric—Seonghwa shudders at the feeling of a real, hard dick, it’s been far too long. With practices, and mid-terms, and assignments, Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s schedule had hardly aligned, and when they did, neither of them had the energy to fuck.
Sure, he has dildos, but there’s nothing like the feeling of a warm, wet cock, especially not when it’s paired with the scent of cologne and musk, the breathy moans in his ears, the tensing of thick thighs underneath him.
Hongjoong whimpers, fingers digging into the meat of Seonghwa’s thigh as he fights back the urge to buck up into his hand.
Seonghwa stares, for a moment, taking his time. His hand still on Hongjoong’s cock, eyes fixed on the way long eyelashes flutter shut at the touch, on the pink dusted over Hongjoong’s face, the drop of sweat trailing down the side of his temple. Seonghwa licks his lips, wanting nothing more than to taste.
Hongjoong shies away from his gaze, squirming under the attention. “Please, Seonghwa.”
“Please, what?” Seonghwa asks, hand still palming at Hongjoong’s cock, feeling his pre-cum dampening his underwear. “Words, baby. Use them.”
“Please,” Hongjoong repeats, eyes big and wide under long lashes. Like a baby deer, caught in headlights. “I want—Seonghwa,” his voice breaks, when Seonghwa drags his nail along the length of his cock still hidden under thin fabric.
“You want me?” Seonghwa asks, slinking off of Hongjoong’s lap to kneel in front of him. It makes him feel beyond powerful. Even in this position, even while he’s kneeling in front of Hongjoong, he has the man whimpering with every touch, every whisper, a simple gaze. “You want my hand? My mouth?”
Hongjoong whimpers at the loss of Seonghwa’s weight, hips bucking into his touch, thoughts contradicting his actions. “Yes, please, Seonghwa, please.”
Seonghwa smiles, leaning forward just a few threads away from Hongjoong’s cock. “Hongjoong-ah,” he tuts, breathing hot air over his cock, tempted to push forward those few centimeters and put his mouth on Hongjoong. “I need to hear you say it.”
Hongjoong whines, hands clutching at the armrests of the chair. “Seonghwa—your mouth, please, fuck, I need your mouth.”
Seonghwa drops a kiss to Hongjoong’s cock, “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it? Lift your hips, baby.”
Hongjoong follows his command, letting Seonghwa strip him naked. His cock springs free from his underwear, hard enough to hit his stomach.
Hunger floods Seonghwa’s eyes, pink tongue flicking out to wet his lips. “What a good boy,” he coos, wrapping a hand around Hongjoong’s cock. “So hard for me.”
Hongjoong pants, the muscles in his stomach clenching. A spurt of pre-cum comes out of the head of his cock, dripping down the side.
Seonghwa’s eyes follow the droplet, waiting for just the right moment. It’s all about timing, Seonghwa’s learned over the years. Wait for the right moment, and you’ll have him right where you want him.
“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong whispers, desperate.
Seonghwa’s lips stretch in a small smile, the edges lined with a little bit of cruelty, a little bit of teasing, before he’s leaning forward to trace the trail of the droplet, from the base to the tip, wrapping his lips around the head.
Hongjoong makes a choked noise in the back of his throat, valiantly keeping his hips glued to the chair. He knows what Seonghwa’s rules are.
Seonghwa sinks into it, enjoying the act for what it is. He doesn’t have to think, just let his experience, his instinct, guide him.
He sucks the tip into his mouth, letting his tongue roll around the head, teasing at Hongjoong’s slit before he lets go with a pop to take a small breath.
Hongjoong gaze is fixed on him, and Seonghwa shivers under his attention, feeling his skin tingle with arousal.
Seonghwa swallows down Hongjoong’s length, as much as he can take without gagging, letting his hand wrap around the rest.
He massages the base of Hongjoong’s cock with one hand, and teases his balls with the other, all while sinking up and down on his cock with his mouth. Seonghwa presses the tip of his finger just underneath the base of Hongjoong’s cock, relishing in the way Hongjoong’s groan turns into a choked whine, high in his throat.
The glorious sounds dripping from Hongjoong’s mouth are enough to keep him going, pussy dripping at how the man seems to get bigger and bigger in his mouth.
Tentative fingers reach up to his hair, brushing some of the longer strands out of his eyes. Hongjoong tucks it behind his ear, and it almost makes Seonghwa pause. Seonghwa swiftly ignores the butterflies in his stomach. He’ll dissect it later, in the safety of his room.
He brings his attention back to the head of Hongjoong’s cock, circling the tip with his tongue, and dragging his hand up and down to give his lungs a breath.
“Ah, ah, Seonghwa, wait—” Hongjoong yelps, hands reaching to pull Seonghwa off.
Seonghwa comes off easy, if only to fuel his own desires; he’s feeling dirty, he’s feeling filthy, he needs to see the reward of his hard work on himself.
He wraps his hand back around Hongjoong’s cock, fisting it with just enough pressure to have Hongjoong’s hips twitching—spurts of come land on Seonghwa’s face to the melody of Hongjoong’s moans.
“Fuck, Hwa,” Hongjoong winces, hand sliding from his hair to hover over Seonghwa’s come-marked face. “I’m sorry, I should’ve—”
Seonghwa tuts, “You got me all dirty, baby,” he drags a finger through the come dripping down his cheek.
Seonghwa thinks about it, staring at the white on his fingers. He smiles, all cheshire, before he takes his fingers into his mouth. He sucks at the length of his fingers for a second, two, before pulling Hongjoong down to him with a hand on the back of his neck.
There’s a wild blush on Hongjoong’s face, and his eyes dart between the remnants of come on Seonghwa’s face, and the fingers in Seonghwa’s mouth.
Seonghwa releases his fingers with a pop, tongue darting out to swipe at the drop of white he can feel at the corner of his mouth before crushing Hongjoong’s lips in a kiss.
It’s filthy, it’s so incredibly filthy, and Seonghwa’s riding on a high.
He pushes the come lingering on his tongue into Hongjoong’s mouth, making him taste his own release.
There’s a string of spit that connects their lips when Seonghwa pulls away, and Hongjoong’s eyes are glazed over.
“Cute,” Seonghwa pats Hongjoong’s cheek, thumbing at the corner of his lips where some of his come is lingering.
For a moment, they just—look at each other. It’s not the kind of thing that happens in hookups, no matter how much Seonghwa might want it to with Hongjoong, so he forces himself to look away.
On shaky legs, because being an athlete does not absolve one from blowjob knees, Seonghwa stands up, and walks backwards until he hits the couch. He doesn’t flop onto it—he sits down, graceful, and prim, and proper, smirking at Hongjoong whose jaw is dropped open.
Seonghwa lets his back hit the leather, one foot on the couch, shifting his hips until he can comfortably trail his spit-slicked fingers down to his cunt, hidden by his panties. He watches with amusement at the way Hongjoong’s hands twitch at his sides, as if he can’t decide whether to keep looking or move forward and replace Seonghwa’s fingers with his own.
“You can touch,” Seonghwa tells Hongjoong, his voice coming out softer than he thought it would. He has no time to dwell on what that might mean, with Hongjoong wasting no time.
Before he knows it, Seonghwa’s laying on the couch, both of his legs spread open by Hongjoong between his thighs.
Seonghwa blinks up at Hongjoong, wrists pinned to the leather by one of Hongjoong’s.
“Is—is this okay?” Hongjoong asks, the fabric of his unbuttoned shirt tickling Seonghwa’s stomach. He sounds, God bless his heart, nervous.
Seonghwa lets a gentle smile overtake his lips, nodding his assent. “It’s okay, Joong-ah.”
Hongjoong returns a goofy smile of his own, “Oh, uh, great.”
The hand holding Seonghwa’s wrists tenses, squeezing wonderfully at his hands. Hongjoong looks up at Seonghwa’s hands, in thought.
“You wanna have your way with me, baby?” Seonghwa teases, relishing in the little pulse of arousal that makes his pussy throb. He loves when Hongjoong is whining underneath him, he does, but—sometimes, he can’t help but miss the roughness of the other guys he fucked.
Hongjoong’s eyes darken. “You’d let me?” He asks, tongue flicking out to lick at his lips.
I’d let you do anything, Seonghwa nearly blurts.
He manages a casual nod. “Of course, baby.”
Hongjoong’s jaw drops open, again, and Seonghwa laughs.
“Come on, then,” Seonghwa urges, ankles crossing behind Hongjoong’s back to pull him closer to where Seonghwa wants him—to where Seonghwa needs him.
Hongjoong’s hips grind into Seonghwa, the layer of cloth, however thin it may be, is suddenly too much.
Seonghwa raises his hips, and Hongjoong takes the hint, reaching under his skirt to tug at his panties.
The fabric pulls off, wet, and sticky, and Hongjoong looks in awe.
“You did that, baby,” Seonghwa tells him, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. “You’re the only one who gets me so wet.”
Hongjoong whines, cock twitching against Seonghwa’s thigh. “Fuck, Seonghwa. I need to—”
Seonghwa watches Hongjoong toss his panties onto the pile of his clothes, watches him trail down—pressing kisses along Seonghwa’s sternum, until he reaches the heat of Seonghwa’s cunt, lips bitten in hunger.
There are no words that describe that first touch of Hongjoong’s lips, of Hongjoong’s tongue. He’s not the most skilled, but what he lacks in experience he makes up for in enthusiasm. Hongjoong’s sloppy, spit, and slick combining to have the first press of Hongjoong’s tongue inside akin to the spread of soft butter.
It’s so easy, for Hongjoong to draw out moans from Seonghwa, from deep inside Seonghwa’s chest.
Seonghwa finds his fingers tangling in the mess of Hongjoong’s hair, curling, and tugging, when Hongjoong does something with his tongue that Seonghwa’s not sure he can explain. It has Hongjoong groaning into Seonghwa’s cunt, before he pulls back to mumble a quiet, “Fuck, Seonghwa, do that again.”
So, Seonghwa keeps his fingers twirled into Hongjoong’s hair, pushing him down when he pulls away, and tugging him up when the heat in Seonghwa’s stomach starts to overflow.
The studio is full of nothing but the sounds of heavy breathing, and soft ‘ah’s, and the sweet sound of slick tongue on Seonghwa’s cunt.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Seonghwa pants, yanking at Hongjoong before he comes.
Hongjoong pulls away, with shine lining his lips and chin, and pupils almost blown black. There’s a whine stuck high in his throat, coating the edges of his words, “I wanted to feel you come.”
A raspy laugh, “Next time,” Seonghwa promises, using the small moment of reprise to push at Hongjoong’s chest.
With Hongjoong under his thighs, Seonghwa feels—in control. He’d let Hongjoong have his fun and, maybe, some other day, Seonghwa could give in to Hongjoong’s gentle grasp on his hands, his murmured praises, and his warmth.
But, Seonghwa wants it rough, and fast, and specific. With Hongjoong under him, it’s much easier. It’s not as if Hongjoong minds, with his eyes filled with hunger, hips bucking up against Seonghwa.
There’s a franticness to his movements, Seonghwa wastes no time in getting a hand around Hongjoong’s cock to pump a few more times—getting it slick, and ready, before he’s sinking down on it.
“Fuck,” Hongjoong groans, into the empty space of the studio, head hitting the wall behind them with an audible thud.
Seonghwa shivers at the stretch, one that runs down the length of his spine before transforming into an urge to press down harder, deeper. With one inhale, lungs burning by the end, Seonghwa drops his hips down until all of Hongjoong’s cock is truly, and fully buried deep inside him.
The pressure is so intense, for one blinding moment, Seonghwa’s vision goes white.
His thighs shake, and he’s pretty sure his nails are leaving behind crescents of red in the skin of Hongjoong’s shoulders, where his grasp is turning into a death grip. Ears ringing, the low litany of praise flowing non-stop from Hongjoong’s mouth, Seonghwa slowly but surely digs his knees into the couch to pull off an inch or two, feeling the burn where he’s stretched—obscenely, he’s sure—around Hongjoong’s cock.
“So good, Seonghwa, fuck, you’re so pretty, I can’t believe—” Hongjoong’s voice drops off into a low groan, one that has Seonghwa grinning down at him, when Seonghwa twists his hips, dropping back down, and grinding.
It catches up to him—the burn in his thighs, until Seonghwa can hardly pull off Hongjoong’s cock, resorting to just moving his hips in little ‘o’s.
“Fuck, Joong-ah, just need—” Seonghwa bites down on his lip, as Hongjoong apparently has the ability to read minds, because he simply digs his fingers into the fat of Seonghwa’s waist, before Seonghwa’s bouncing on his cock again.
Hongjoong drives his hips up with every movement, until Seonghwa’s nothing but a moaning mess, head thrown back, that all-too familiar heat building up, and up, and up, and up—
“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong pants, “I’m gonna—”
“Inside, please, Hongjoong, I need it so bad,” and, with anyone else, Seonghwa would have never even thought those words, let alone speak them into existence in such a whining manner. His voice is foreign to him, high, and wet and, oh, there’s tears falling from his eyes.
Hongjoong curses, hips stuttering, as he brings one hand off of Seonghwa’s hip to his clit, rough thumb dragging circles over the little bundle.
It takes two drags of Hongjoong’s thumb before Seonghwa’s clenching around Hongjoong, sparks running down his legs, and arms.
Hongjoong fucks him through his orgasm, and Seonghwa’s eyes roll back at the feeling of Hongjoong’s come pulsing inside him, with Hongjoong’s hand pulling noises he didn’t even know he could make out of him.
The movement of Hongjoong’s hips slows down, until Seonghwa’s just sitting on his cock, plugged full of come, and cunt sensitive, raw, and aching in just the right way.
It takes a moment for Seonghwa to catch his breath, and it seems the post-orgasm haze clears up at the same time for the both of them, because Hongjoong’s head snaps up from the couch as soon as Seonghwa opens his mouth.
“Fuck—”
“—condom—”
Seonghwa runs a hand through his hair, and gently pulls off of Hongjoong, wincing at the stretch, Hongjoong’s spend trailing down his exhausted thighs.
“Will—do we—” Hongjoong trails off, looking at Seonghwa with a worried expression, which isn’t the best after just having sex.
“It should be okay,” Seonghwa tries to reassure. “I’m on the pill, so—”
Hongjoong nods, jerkily, “Oh, okay, cool. Yeah, sorry, I should’ve thought—”
“Neither of us realized, Joong-ah,” Seonghwa pats Hongjoong’s thigh. “We’ll deal with it.”
Hongjoong nods, again, relaxing enough to sink into the couch.
There’s come drying on Seonghwa’s thighs, and his face, and he really should have thought more before starting this because now he has to take the bus home smelling like sweat, and sex, in slick-ruined panties.
Hongjoong clears his throat, awkward. “I—I really liked that, Seonghwa. Thank you—”
And, whatever tension was building, breaks with the snort that Seonghwa lets out.
“Don’t ‘thank’ me, dummy, it was just sex,” Seonghwa laughs at the blush on Hongjoong’s face.
Hongjoong groans, burying his head in his hands. “I don’t know what to say! You took me by surprise. I wasn’t expecting to go bare today!”
Seonghwa falls back onto the couch, giggling. He pushes his toes into Hongjoong’s thigh. “Do you have any wet wipes? Feel gross.”
“Yeah, somewhere around here.”
Seonghwa watches Hongjoong root around for the wipes, a quiet ‘thank you’ falling from his lips when Hongjoong takes one out to start wiping at the mess on his thighs.
“Do—uh, I can, maybe, um,” Hongjoong stutters, eyes laser-focused on where his hands are on Seonghwa.
Seonghwa rolls his eyes, fond, “Spit it out.”
“Do you want to come home with me? Not to—do anything or, but, it’s really late, and I don’t want you to take the bus, or I can drop you off at yours, actually, forget it—”
With the little energy he has left, Seonghwa manages to push himself up.
He brings a hand to cup Hongjoong’s cheek, warmth swirling in his chest. “I’d love to go home with you,” Seonghwa tells Hongjoong, matching pink on their faces as Seonghwa pulls him in for a gentle kiss.