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Winning euphoria 2025 First Stand Tournament was supposed to be a perfect week. Moreover, this is their consecutive victory after the LCK Cup. The trophies had already settled in the team house display case, the confetti long cleaned off the stage. But the high from their victory hadn’t quite worn off—especially not for HLE’s jungler, Han “Peanut” Wangho.
So when ROX Tigers, his legendary ex-teammates, messaged him for a small party to “celebrate the maknae man getting another trophy,” of course he said yes.
It wasn’t an HLE thing. It was personal.
They met at some quiet lounge in Gangnam. Drinks, memories, and laughter flowed freely. Someone even played that old LCK 2016 clip on their phone, the one where Peanut was still baby-faced and giggling behind Kyungho’s shoulder. Ah, Song “Smeb” Kyungho, now officially part of HLE again as a content creator and streamer, had only added to the sense of family. His return to the org had been recent, and for many of them, this gathering wasn’t just about Peanut’s win—it was about welcoming Smeb home. A proper ROX reunion felt overdue, and with two of their core now under the same banner again, the timing was perfect. The reunion felt inevitable. Natural. Like a piece of history looping back into itself.
Dohyeon wasn’t invited.
Obviously.
Well, he should’ve told Dohyeon tho.
He’d felt it as soon as he slipped out after practice without a word, coat slung over his arm, phone left unread in his pocket. And maybe he could’ve convinced himself it wasn’t that deep—just one night with his hyungs—if Dohyeon hadn’t found out the way he did.
It was late afternoon when Dohyeon finally asked. He was still at Camp One, finishing up VOD review. Wangho’s chair had been empty since lunch, but Dohyeon hadn’t thought too much of it—until he passed by one of the managers in the hallway, carrying takeout boxes.
“Manager-nim, have you seen Wangho-hyung?” Dohyeon asked casually, expecting a simple answer.
The manager looked up, a little surprised. “Huh? I thought you knew. He went out drinking with his favorite hyung squad. Said they planned it yesterday.”
He forced a nod, gave a polite “Ah, alright thank you,” and walked off.
Just like that, something cold slipped beneath Dohyeon’s ribs. Not the fact that Wangho went drinking. Not even that it was with the ROX crew. But that everyone else seemed to know—except him. It wasn’t that he didn’t expect Wangho to drink. He knew exactly how Wangho got when he drank—he remembered the first time he found out. It hadn’t even been a drunk night, just a team dinner after a rough scrim week. They’d all gone out for barbecue, stuffed themselves, and stayed way too long. The others had drifted toward karaoke, but Wangho had tugged Dohyeon back toward the dorm with a quiet, “Let’s go home.”
On the walk back, he bumped against Dohyeon’s side every few steps. At the crosswalk, he’d looped their arms together. And once they were inside, shoes off and hoodies tossed to the floor, Dohyeon smiled and asked, “You okay, hyungie?”. Wangho had slumped against him on the couch with a sigh and chattering, “I always do this when I’m sober, not drunk, okay? So don’t tease me.”
Dohyeon had only smiled bigger and reached up to ruffle his hair. “Then just do it when it’s just us,” he’d said. “I’ll keep you safe.”
And that had become their thing. On a drink night, they will always be on the radar of each other.
But he didn’t need to be there to know exactly what was happening. He was patient enough to see their Instagram stories. To make it worse, around midnight a video popped up in his Kakaotalk.
Jongin hyungnim
your’s update 😆
[video]
And there it was.
The lighting was low, warm-toned, like the lounge had dimmed for comfort. In the corner of the frame, Wangho was curled up sideways on the couch, legs folded beneath him, his body leaning full-weight into Kyungho’s side. Soehaeng had one arm tossed casually across Wangho’s knees, balancing a drink in the other. Someone—probably Jongin—was recording from across the table, laughing quietly.
Wangho didn’t even look at the camera. He was too busy talking into Kyungho’s shoulder.
“Hyung,” he slurred, dragging out the vowels, “Don’t let me fall, hyung, I’ll sue you. I really—”
His hand reached up and tugged at the sleeve near Kyungho’s wrist, fingers curling there like he didn’t want to be let go.
“Heheh~ You guys are warm. I like it here.”
At the end of the clip, Soehaeng shifted and brushed hair off Wangho’s forehead with the ease of someone who’d done it before. Wangho didn’t flinch. If anything, he leaned into it.
Dohyeon felt something seize in his throat.
you
haha cute.
please keep him safe back home, hyung.
He hurried to stand up, grabbed his hoodie and left to the front of the dorm.
────୨ৎ────
It was cold outside the dorm, but he didn’t care. The streets were quiet at 2:37 AM, save for a black SUV pulling up to the curb. He can see Seohaeng on the driver's side. Wangho stepped out first, swaying slightly, held up by Kyungho on one side and Jongin on the other.
“Thanks for tonight—ugh, I love you guys,” Wangho mumbled, practically hanging off them.
“You should drink more often,” Kyungho teased, patting his back.
“Nah, he shouldn’t,” Jongin grinned, “His boyfriend might kill us.”
That was when Wangho turned—and saw Dohyeon standing a few steps away, hands clenched in his pockets, hoodie over his head, staring. All three froze.
Wangho blinked, “Dohyeonie?”
Dohyeon tilted his head slowly, “Have fun tonight, hyungnim?” and offered a small, polite smile toward Kyungho and Jongin.
Kyungho chuckled awkwardly. “Ah, of course! We should—uh—go. Congrats again, Wangho.” He took a few steps and turned to add,
“And Park seonsaengnim too! Bye Wangho.”
It always landed strange.
Everyone else, Kyungho called by name—warm, familiar. Even Zeus, the newest addition, got a casual “Wooje-ah” the moment he joined. But somehow, despite everything, despite being in the same dorm, same jersey, same victories.
To Kyungho, Dohyeon was still Park seonsaengnim . Still someone he spoke to with stiff vowels and polite phrasing. Maybe he knew Dohyeon didn’t like him much—or I’ll say they just didn’t vibe. Or whatever.
Well, they slipped back into the car quickly, leaving Wangho swaying slightly under the streetlamp. His body language—loose, unguarded—was so him when he drank. He took one unsteady step forward.
“You came out here?” he asked, voice low, airy. Still dazed.
“Didn’t want to miss the afterparty,” Dohyeon replied, a faint smile pulling at his lips—but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Looked like fun.”
Wangho blinked. “Dohyeonie—”
Dohyeon didn’t waste a second. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going out drinking with Rox hyung? You just go without a word?” His tone was sharp, but controlled—like trying not to sound too pissed off.
Wangho blinked, caught off guard. “I... didn’t think it was a big deal.”
“It is,” Dohyeon said quietly. “Especially when you’re acting all cozy with Kyungho or Seohaeng hyung like that.” He paused, voice softening but still serious. “Clinging to their arms, letting them brush your hair off your face… You said you only do that with me. When we’re alone.”
Wangho’s smile faltered, guilt flickering across his face. “It wasn’t like that—”
Dohyeon just stared at him, eyes steady, voice low but heavy. “You make it hard to believe you mean any of it when the second I’m not around, you forget the difference.”
There was a pause. Wangho took another step closer, looking up at him with glassy, pleading eyes. His fingers reached out, shakily brushing the fabric of Dohyeon’s sleeve.
“…Don’t be mad at me,” he mumbled, lips tugging into a faint pout. Then he leaned in, tilting his head like he wanted to kiss him. A soft, slow attempt—like a guilty dog trying to lick its owner’s hand.
Dohyeon didn’t move.
Didn’t flinch. Didn’t meet him halfway like he usually would.
So Wangho leaned in a little more, brows scrunching. “Kiss me?”
Still nothing.
Without a word, Dohyeon moved.
His hand shot up, firm but precise—one holding the side of Wangho’s jaw, the other gripping the back of his head. Instead of bending down like he always did for the height difference, he pulled Wangho up, made him tiptoe, made him reach. Their mouths met in a deep, possessive kiss. Nothing gentle.
Just lips crashing, breath stolen, tongues tangling like punishment. Wangho whimpered into it, hands gripping the front of Dohyeon’s hoodie like it was the only thing keeping him upright. His neck started to hurt.
Dohyeon broke the kiss just long enough to breathe, but didn’t let go. Then, without giving Wangho a second to recover, he spun him around.
One hand on the waist. The other hand—
“Be ready.”
—gripping, pressed between Wangho’s cheeks, grinding slow, deliberate pressure against his entrance through the fabric of his pants. Wangho gasped, thighs twitching. Dohyeon leaned in, lips brushing his ear, voice low and dangerous.
“I'm gonna fuck this pretty little pussy until I’m not jealous anymore.”
────୨ৎ────
The door clicked shut behind them.
The soft sound of the latch sliding into place was the only noise in the room for a beat. Wangho’s room was dim, washed in the orange glow of the hallway light still bleeding in from under the door. Wangho stood just inside, slightly off balance, the flush on his cheeks no longer from the alcohol—but from the heat simmering low in his stomach.
Dohyeon didn’t speak. He just reached for the hem of Wangho’s hoodie and tugged slowly.
“Off.”
The word was soft. Not angry. Just... certain.
Wangho lifted his arms wordlessly, letting Dohyeon pull the hoodie over his head. His shirt underneath came off next, exposing pale skin still warm from alcohol, and slightly marked from where Jongin had slung an arm too tight around his shoulders earlier. Dohyeon saw the faint red line and didn’t comment. Instead, his fingers ghosted over the mark. Just once. Just enough for Wangho to know he'd seen it.
Then silence again.
Wangho swallowed. “You’re really gonna punish me for being drunk?”
Dohyeon’s gaze finally lifted to meet him.
“No,” he said calmly. “I’m going to remind you who you belong to.”
He took a step forward, closing the space between them, and Wangho instinctively stepped back until his calves hit the edge of their shared bed. He wobbled slightly, caught by Dohyeon’s hand on his waist.
“You’re always like this when you drink,” Dohyeon murmured, fingers now pressing at the waistband of Wangho’s pants.
Wangho’s breath hitched as Dohyeon leaned in, lips barely brushing his collarbone.
“But I don’t want you to forget tonight.”
He pressed a kiss there. Slow, open-mouthed. Hot. Another followed, just above his heart. Wangho’s fingers curled into the front of Dohyeon’s shirt.
"Then remind me," he whispered.
That was all it took.
Dohyeon eased him back onto the bed, one hand guiding him gently by the chest while the other slid beneath his waistband to tug pants and briefs down in one practiced motion. Wangho shivered as the cool air kissed his thighs, but he didn’t protest.
He never did, when Dohyeon got like this—calm, focused, terrifyingly tender.
Dohyeon climbed over him without a rush, bracketing Wangho’s body between his arms as he settled his weight between his legs.
And then Dohyeon just... looked at him.
Like he was studying a painting. Like he was counting every freckle, every shallow breath. His thumb brushed slowly over Wangho’s lower lip.
“You always kiss them like you kiss me?”
“No,” Wangho said, voice barely audible. “Never.”
Dohyeon smiled. Not with his mouth—with his eyes. But there was no softness in it.
Then he kissed him again.
This time slower. Deeper.
It wasn't just mouths meeting—it was language. A conversation. Dohyeon kissed like he was tasting the truth, coaxing it from Wangho’s tongue, punishing him for giving it to anyone else. Wangho whimpered. His hands fisted the sheets, legs slowly falling open around Dohyeon’s hips.
Still, Dohyeon didn’t move fast. He lingered. Mouthed at Wangho’s jaw, his throat, the dip between collarbones. His hand drifted lower—not gripping, not teasing—just resting over the soft skin just above where he wanted to be.
“You’re wet,” he said, almost lazily.
Wangho turned redder. “I always get like this when it’s you.”
Dohyeon’s eyes darkened.
“Good.”
He slid his fingers lower, pressing carefully against the warm, pliant flesh between Wangho’s thighs—circling, stroking, not quite entering. Not yet. Just touching. Mapping. Making sure Wangho knew: this body is mine.
“You were out there giggling and clinging to them like you do to me,” he murmured, fingers moving in lazy circles, coaxing soft, breathy gasps from Wangho’s parted lips. “And you think I’d let that slide?”
“I didn’t mean to—”
“No?” Dohyeon leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “You didn’t mean to press your whole body against Jongin’s hyung side? You didn’t mean to nuzzle Kyungho’s hyung neck like you were about to purr?”
Wangho whimpered, hips twitching. “I-I wasn’t—I was drunk, I didn’t even realize—”
“Exactly,” Dohyeon snapped, his tone sharp even as his fingers remained unhurried. “You don’t even realize how fucking needy you are. You don’t get it, hyung. You don’t see yourself.”
He slipped one finger inside—slow, deep, deliberate. Wangho arched with a soft, desperate moan.
“You’re so easy to touch. Always soft. Always pliant. Always fucking dripping when someone puts their hands on you.”
His pace stayed cruelly slow. Deep strokes, curling just right. His other hand held Wangho’s thigh open, thumb brushing soothingly over sensitive skin as contrast to the tension in his words.
“You let me in so easy,” Dohyeon whispered, biting gently at Wangho’s throat now. “Even now. One finger and you’re already shaking.”
Wangho gritted his teeth. “You’re not usually like this…”
“I’m not usually jealous.”
Another finger pushed in—stretching, making Wangho gasp again. He didn’t fight it. He never did. But his thighs trembled around Dohyeon’s hips, heels digging into the mattress.
“And maybe I’m not usually this rough,” Dohyeon added, voice low against Wangho’s ear, “but tonight? I’m gonna wreck you slow. Gonna keep you open and stuffed until the only name you remember is mine.”
Wangho moaned, helpless.
“And tomorrow, when you wake up sore and clingy like you always do?” Dohyeon thrust his fingers just a little harder now, fucking him slow and deep, relentless. “You’ll remember why you don’t let anyone else touch you like this.” His fingers curled again, pressing into that sweet spot that made Wangho cry out and arch off the bed.
“You gonna let me fuck you like that, hyung?”
Wangho nodded, dazed. “Uhum…”
“I wanna hear it.”
“Y-Yes, Dohyeonie. Yes—please.”
Dohyeon smirked, satisfied. “There he is. That’s my good little slut.” He withdrew his fingers, dragging them out slow—soaked and trembling.
Then he sat back on his knees, pulling his shirt over his head in one smooth motion, muscles flexing under the low light. It caught him off guard—how sculpted Dohyeon had become. Well he’d been working out lately, but, look at the soft dip of his waist, the cut of his abs beneath pale skin, the quiet strength in his arms—he used to look delicate under oversized hoodies. Now he looked like temptation made solid. Like the kind of change that didn’t ask for attention, but demanded it anyway, just by existing.
Eyes dragged lower, breath catching. There was no hiding the outline of him, thick and hard under his sweats, the fabric pulled tight across Dohyeon’s thigh. A dark patch had already bloomed where the head pressed against the waistband—obscene and beautiful all at once.
Wangho stared—lips parted, eyes glazed with heat and submission.
“Now, all four,” Dohyeon ordered, voice rough enough to cut through the fog in his mind, dragging him back to the weight of the moment.
Wangho moved without hesitation, limbs shaky but obedient. He knelt on the bed, chest to mattress, ass up, thighs parted. He didn’t even need to look back. He felt Dohyeon behind him, kneeling close, breath ghosting over the small of his back.
And then Dohyeon leaned in and bit—not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to mark.
“Remember,” he whispered, breath hot over the bruise he was making. “You're not gonna cum until I say so.”
Wangho barely managed a breath—lungs still catching up with the rhythm of his body—before Dohyeon’s hands returned, firm and unrelenting. He grabbed Wangho’s thighs and spread them apart again, thumbs pressing into soft flesh as he pushed him open.
“Pretty, mine,” Dohyeon murmured behind him, eyes dragging over every trembling inch of exposed skin.
Wangho gasped when he felt the wet drag of Dohyeon’s tongue between his cheeks—slow, thorough, claiming. He jolted, but strong hands on his hips held him steady. Dohyeon didn’t rush. He licked deep and slow, the flat of his tongue teasing that tight ring until it fluttered and gave, until Wangho was moaning helplessly into the sheets.
“Fuck—Dohyeonahh—”
His thumb replaced his tongue, circling slow and cruel, then sliding in with no resistance. A second finger followed. The slickness made it easy, made it filthy. Wangho was already so wet he squelched around them, thighs trembling with every slow thrust.
“Close?” Dohyeon asked, cruelly casual.
Wangho nodded frantically, face buried in the sheets. “P-Please—please, babe, I—I—”
“You gonna cum just from my fingers?”
“Nghh, y-yeah…”
“Greedy little hole,” he muttered, but then, he quickly pulled his finger out.
Wangho gasped, the sudden emptiness hitting harder than he expected. His hips twitched, hole clenching uselessly around the air.
“Wh-Why’d you stop?” he croaked, voice raw with disbelief.
“I told you,” Dohyeon said evenly, fingers grazing the slick mess he’d left behind. “You don’t get to finish until I say you can.”
“But—” Wangho turned his head, eyes glassy.
His voice pitched higher, laced with frustration, and for a split second, he snapped.
“But I was already so close!”
The one being shouted at didn’t answer right away. Instead, there was a pause—tense, cold.
And then the sharp crack of skin on skin.
SMACK!
“AKH—!”
Yelped as Dohyeon’s palm struck hard across his ass, the sound echoing through the room. The hit landed low and deliberate, burning where flesh met thigh.
Dohyeon’s voice came next, low and terrifyingly calm.
“Did I just hear you raise your voice—”
SMACK!
Another slap.
Wangho jerked, breath catching in his throat.
“—at me?”
SMACK!
Then another. Harder.
Another crack of heat bloomed across his skin, and his whole body trembled.
He gasped, eyes fluttering shut. His cock throbbed, leaking freely onto the sheets, and shame twisted tight in his chest—hot and confusing. It hurt. It thrilled. He hated how much he wanted more.
Dohyeon didn’t have to touch him there—his voice, his hands, his control were enough to push Wangho right to the edge. And he could feel it, that helpless drop in his stomach, that dizzy ache curling inside him like surrender.
Dohyeon let his gaze drop, lips curling.
“Look at this,” he murmured, fingers dipping down to smear the slick trail dripping from Wangho’s tip. “You’re leaking just from being denied.”
Wangho whimpered, voice wrecked and hoarse. “Please, babe…”
“Please what?”
“P-Please… I need it—pleaseee”
Dohyeon sighed. Low and cruel.
He shifted behind him, slow and deliberate, slowly taking off his brief, just to watch Wangho shudder. Wangho’s breath hitched. That sound alone nearly undid him.
Dohyeon freed himself—thick, veined, flushed dark. Heavy in his palm.
He pressed the swollen head against Wangho’s entrance, dragging it through the mess he’d made, teasing, circling, but never pushing in.
Wangho choked out a sob. “Please—please—inside, I need it, I want you so bad, I’ll be good—please just fuck me—”
Instead of giving in, Dohyeon leaned forward, his breath curling hot against Wangho’s ear. His voice slipped out in a low purr, dangerous in its sweetness.
“You want to be fucked, hm? Say it properly.”
“I—I just did—”
“No.” A squeeze around his wrists—tight, unforgiving. “Say it right.”
Tears blurred Wangho’s vision. His breath hitched in broken, brain stuttering, too far gone.
“P-Please, Lǎogōng —”
That did it.
Something deep and dark moved in Dohyeon’s eyes—slow, molten, terrifying in its certainty. Like the word cracked something loose inside him, something primal, something possessive and unspeakable. His jaw flexed. His fingers tightened, a silent tremor of restraint snapping at the edge of control.
For a long moment, he didn’t move.
He just stared—drinking him in—Wangho splayed out beneath him, wrists bound, body shaking, begging. Ruined.
When Dohyeon finally spoke, his voice dropped to a murmur, thick and velvet-rough against the nape of Wangho’s neck.
“ Wǒ de lǎopó. ”
My wife.
My everything.
But, instead of giving him what he begged for, he reached forward, grabbed both of Wangho’s wrists, and yanked them behind his back in one smooth pull. Pinned them together with a single hand—unyielding. The other hand found his cock—hot, hard, heavy—and instead of pushing inside, he guided it between Wangho’s trembling thighs, sliding slow through the slick heat there. Dragging slow and heavy against sensitive skin.
Not where Wangho needed him most. Not yet.
Wangho moaned—broken, wrecked.
“No, please—not there—inside, Dohyeonie, inside—”
But Dohyeon only laughed.
A dark, dangerous sound that dragged shivers up Wangho’s spine.
“Not until you’ve earned it.”
The head of his cock dragged along the inner seam of Wangho’s thighs, catching slick and heat, the glide smooth and maddening. It nudged his own length with each pass—smearing both of them with sticky need. That was the plan. A controlled, torturous thigh-fuck.
“D-Don’t—” Wangho sobbed. His thighs clenched, involuntarily tightening around Dohyeon’s cock. The friction was too raw, too much. His own cock throbbed, squeezed painfully between them, dragged up and down with every thrust.
“I think I’m gonna—”
“Not yet.” Dohyeon’s voice was all heat and gravel, barely a breath. He shifted his hips and ground forward—slow, precise—his cock sliding heavy and hot between Wangho’s thighs, grinding hard against the shaft trapped helpless beneath.
Each roll of his hips dragged across that aching pressure point. Each thrust rocked Wangho deeper into desperation. He was crying now—soft, shaking sobs muffled by the sheets.
“Dohyeonie, I’m so close—please—please—”
Dohyeon didn’t stop.
Instead, he leaned forward, weight pressing down, mouth ghosting over Wangho’s nape. His teeth grazed skin just below the curve of his neck—then bit. Not hard, just enough to make him jolt. And then he sucked.
A deep, lingering kissmark bloomed under his tongue. Pretty like a brand.
Wangho whimpered, skin burning from the pressure of it. And then Dohyeon pulled back just enough to whisper:
“Stay still.”
Just before Wangho could cum over, Dohyeon reached down—gripped the swollen tip of Wangho’s cock and held.
“AKCH!” Wangho screamed.
“N-NO—! D-Don’t—please!”
His whole body bucked, trembling in place, thighs quivering around the cock still rutting between them. The pressure didn’t stop—it kept grinding mercilessly between his thighs, even as Dohyeon’s hand clamped tight around his tip, holding him back from release.
Tears spilled from his eyes.
“Dohyeonie please, I’m gonna cum—please—just—!”
Dohyeon leaned in again—this time lower, closer—mouth brushing along Wangho’s jaw, then pressing down on the corner of his lips. A kiss. Sensual, slow, but not gentle.
“I said what I said,” he whispered against his mouth, lips dragging.
Another thrust. Another desperate whine.
Then a second kiss—deeper now. Lips parted, tongues brushing. He kissed him like he owned the breath in his lungs. And Wangho melted into it, helpless and aching, fingers twitching uselessly behind his back. Wangho whimpered into the kiss, body twitching in overstimulation. He was so close it hurt—so tight in his gut, every nerve pulled to the edge, and then-
Dohyeon’s grip slipped.
Just for a second. His fingers eased the pressure on Wangho’s tip—maybe an accident, maybe not. But it was all it took. The release hit like a strike of lightning.
“AKHH!” Wangho cried out, the sound ripped from his throat—high, desperate, broken.
His entire body arched, thighs clenching around Dohyeon’s cock as his orgasm tore through him, violent and uncontrollable. Hot ropes of cum spilled between them, messy and slick, dripping down his thighs and Dohyeon’s length.
His vision blurred. His knees gave out.
Tears spilled freely now—raw, silent, overwhelmed. Not from pain, not exactly. Just the sheer intensity of it—being so exposed, so wrecked, so full of everything he couldn’t hold in anymore. Dohyeon didn’t speak at first. Just felt it—the way Wangho’s body trembled under him, shuddering with aftershocks.
Then he chuckled, low and close to his ear.
“Mm. Couldn’t even wait for permission.”
Wangho was still sobbing softly, gasping between breaths.
“I-I’m sorry,” he hiccuped, voice barely a whisper. “I couldn’t— I tried— I—”
The orgasm ripped through him like a trap snapping shut—sudden, all-consuming, cruel in its completeness. His body ached, overstimulated and fragile, and in the dense fog of the comedown, he felt himself teeter toward the edge of sleep. Just a flicker of it. That half-second where everything dims, and it feels almost safe to fall.
But Dohyeon didn't let him fall gently through it.
Instead, a sharp crack split the air—the flat of a hand coming down hard against the flushed skin of Wangho’s ass. The sting exploded outward, nerves already oversensitive lighting up like fire racing under his skin. He cried out, throat hoarse, the echo of the slap ricocheting off the walls. The pain didn’t frighten him. What frightened him was how much more it made him feel.
“A-ahh—Dohyeonie!” he gasped, voice high and frayed, the name barely a word, more like instinct.
Another strike landed, lower this time, more precise. Right where thigh met flesh, where skin had already started to blush.
“Please,” he sobbed, broken and breathless, “too much—please—”
He gasped again, barely aware of the sounds leaving his mouth now—half-formed words, ragged pleas. His body was too raw, too open. Fingers dug into the sheets, seeking anchor, but there was no relief. Only the heavy press of Dohyeon behind him, the impossible weight of him.
Fingers pressed into him again, sliding through the slick, open mess left behind. Slower now. Every stroke made him flinch. Whimper. His hips tried to shift away, but Dohyeon’s body had already caged him in completely. There was nowhere to run. No space to breathe that didn’t carry the heavy scent of clove, heat, and sweat.
Wangho’s body reacted before he could think, slick gushing uncontrollably, thighs shaking violently as another orgasm hit him—no warning, no rhythm, just overwhelming need breaking past the limits of his body. It crashed over him like a second tide, stealing his breath all over again.
Dohyeon chuckled darkly, finally withdrawing his soaked fingers with a wet pop.
“Messy little thing. Look what you did to the sheets.”
He barely registered the warmth of Dohyeon’s hand dragging lazily along his inner thigh. The touch left a trail—wet, sticky, claiming. He could hear the slick sound of Dohyeon fisting his cock behind him. Could feel the heat radiating off of it before it even touched him.
He was wrecked. And still, Dohyeon didn’t pause.
“Wait Dohyeonie! I’m still sensi—”
“I know,” Dohyeon said, voice dark and affectionate. “That’s why it’s gonna feel so good.”
He pushed in.
The blunt head of his cock pressed forward, seeking, and Wangho’s body accepted it out of instinct more than will. It pushed in—inch by inch, slow, thick, unrelenting. The stretch stung, nerves screaming in protest. He keened, breath catching, eyes fluttering shut as Dohyeon filled him in one long, merciless push.
He didn’t stop until he was buried to the hilt. And then he stayed there.
Wangho’s muscles strained, back bowed, the fullness almost unbearable—too much, and yet exactly what he had been made for. His hands clawed at the sheets again, nails dragging useless patterns as he tried to hold himself together.
Dohyeon groaned above him—voice barely a sound, more animal than man. His forehead pressed to the curve of Wangho’s spine, breath falling hot against sweat-damp skin.
“You’re so small,” he whispered into his back. “You take me so deep.”
A large hand slid around to Wangho’s belly—pressing down. Slow. Heavy. Right over the place where Dohyeon’s cock pushed outward from inside. The pressure made Wangho sob again, soundless. He felt utterly filled.
“Feel that?” he whispered. “I’m so deep in you, you’re swelling around me.”
Wangho choked on a sob, overwhelmed.
“I—ahh—can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” Dohyeon said, starting to move, slow at first. “You’ll take it again. You’ll cum again. I’ll make sure of it.”
“No, I—wait—” The words slipped out like a breath, like a surrender.
But Dohyeon was already moving.
Slow. Deep. Grinding.
“Ahh—fuck! D-Dohyeoniee—”
“There,” Dohyeon growled, snapping his hips. “Right there. That’s the spot that makes you lose it.”
He found the angle almost immediately—because of course he did—and tilted his hips with a practiced rhythm that left no space for recovery. Every thrust hit the same point inside Wangho’s body, the same blinding nerve that reduced thought into sensation, sensation into helplessness.
He couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak.
Only feel.
And it all centered around that place. That spot. That sharp, perfect pressure that made stars bloom behind his eyes.
Again. Again.
Each stroke was a promise to ruin him.
His vision blurred. His legs gave out again, trembling from the strain. He was crying—he thought—but the tears barely registered anymore. Everything was too much.
Dohyeon’s breath hitched behind him, rhythm starting to fray with urgency. His palm pressed harder against the swell in Wangho’s belly, as if he couldn’t bear not to feel himself inside. As if the proof of his own depth was more arousing than anything else.
“Gonna fill you,” he bit out, voice nearly broken. “Gonna stuff you full until it leaks out.”
Wangho couldn't answer. He just nodded, sobbing. Every stroke now was sharp and deep, dragging against the sensitive spot inside him that made Wangho jolt with every thrust. His body had no room to rest—every nerve was raw, his thighs soaked, breath catching on every moan.
He was limp, boneless, just taking it. Bent over, trembling, forehead pressed into the sheets as Dohyeon pounded into him, steady and unforgiving.
“Look at you,” Dohyeon growled, voice tight. “You’ve already come twice and you’re still this wet.”
Dohyeon shifted behind him, slow but purposeful, and Wangho barely registered the movement before he felt strong hands gripping beneath his knees.
Then he was lifted—legs folded, repositioned—until both of them were draped over Dohyeon’s right shoulder, thighs pressed tight to his chest, spine curved into the mattress. The angle forced him open, bent back in a way that felt both exposing and inescapable. Dohyeon loomed above him now, pressing forward, driving in deeper with each subtle adjustment. The change in position made everything sharper—every inch of Dohyeon’s cock dragged differently inside him, deeper, more devastating. Wangho cried out, fingers scrabbling for purchase, but Dohyeon didn’t give him time to adjust.
Didn’t even give him time to breathe.
His hand found Wangho’s cock—soft now, but still twitching, leaking in helpless pulses. Just the touch—barely more than a brush—made Wangho keen, high and broken.
He wasn’t ready. Not even close.
“Sensitive?” Dohyeon’s voice was dark silk, teasing as he wrapped his fist around Wangho’s cock. He didn’t soothe. He didn’t ease in. He jerked once—hard, fast, merciless.
Wangho screamed.
“Ah—nghh, too much— laogong —please—!”
But his body betrayed him. Muscles clenched tight around the thick length still buried inside him. His gut twisted, the ache cresting into something hotter, sharper. His cock pulsed in Dohyeon’s grip even without rhythm, even without mercy. He was already close again. Too close.
Dohyeon didn’t have to stroke. He just held. Firm. Unrelenting.
The pressure of being held open like this, filled to the hilt, legs shaking on Dohyeon’s shoulder while his cock was worked in slow, deliberate pulls—it was unbearable. It was everything.
“C’mon,” Dohyeon murmured, breath ghosting over his damp skin, his mouth just beside Wangho’s ear. “Cum for me again, pretty wife. Let it all out. Let me see you fucking break.”
Wangho did.
He didn’t even have a choice.
His body seized, back bowing violently as a third orgasm tore through him like fire licking up dry wood. It wasn’t clean, wasn’t gentle—just a full-body detonation that ripped through him, helpless and raw. His cock throbbed without a single stroke, spasming weakly as it spilled against his belly in broken pulses. He squirted again, a sudden gush soaking Dohyeon’s skin and the sheets beneath them—slick and loud and messy, like his body was giving up everything at once.
And it pushed Dohyeon over the edge too. He groaned—deep and cracked, the sound punched from somewhere low in his gut—and slammed forward, hips snapping hard one last time, forcing Wangho down into the mattress.
His cock twitched inside—buried to the hilt—and then spilled.
Hot.
Violent.
Ropes of cum flooded into him, one after another, heat blooming thick and fast in his gut. Wangho could feel it—every pulse, every shudder. It was too much. Too hot. Too full.
Dohyeon gritted his teeth, one hand planted over the bulge in Wangho’s lower belly like he could feel it too, like he couldn’t bear not to. His other arm curled tight around Wangho’s waist, holding him down as his cock throbbed deeper, dumping load after load into an already overwhelmed body.
Neither of them moved for a long moment. Only the sound of breathing filled the room—ragged and uneven, tangled with the scent of sweat and sex and something more feral. Wangho collapsed against the sheets, boneless, barely conscious of the warm tremor still coursing through his body. His hole clenched weakly around the cock still buried inside him, unwilling to let go.
Then, slowly, Dohyeon pulled out, and they both groaned—Wangho from raw sensitivity, Dohyeon from the overwhelming tightness still gripping him, and the deep, aching satisfaction of release.
Wangho’s hole twitched around the withdrawal, red and swollen, still clenching as if trying to keep him in. But it couldn’t. His cum was already leaking out—thick, white, obscene. It dribbled down the curve of Wangho’s ass in slow trails, catching on flushed skin, pooling in the wreckage of the sheets below.
Dohyeon stared, breath caught in his throat.
Then he reached down with two fingers and spread him open, just enough to see it better—see the mess he made, the way Wangho’s body tried to keep every drop, even as it spilled from him uncontrollably.
“Fuck,” he muttered, almost reverent. He pressed his fingers to the mess slicking Wangho’s rim, then pushed—slow, deliberate. Cum squelched back in under the pressure. Wangho gasped, a sharp, broken sound. “No—”
“ Baobei, you’re still leaking,” Dohyeon murmured, almost to himself. “Guess I’ll have to stuff it back in.”
Another push. His fingers slid inside with barely any resistance, eased by the mess he’d left behind. He worked it back in, slow and firm, watching as Wangho shuddered beneath him.
“Can’t waste it,” he said. “Not when you take it so well.”
Wangho whimpered, barely coherent. His body gave another weak twitch, clenching around the intrusion as more of Dohyeon’s cum slipped deeper inside.
Then he flinched with a soft sob. “Ngh—n-no more,”
“Shh,” Dohyeon murmured, finally leaning over him. “You did so well. Look at you—so good for me.”
He didn’t even realize he was crying until Dohyeon leaned in, kissed the top of his spine, and whispered, “I got you. I got you, baobei .”
And just like that, the tension snapped.
He kissed him again, softer this time. “You okay?”
Wangho turned his head, cheeks streaked with tears, lips swollen and trembling. And even then, he could only nod. Barely.
The sheets were sticky. His thighs were trembling. There was still come slipping out of him, warm and slow, and he could feel it everywhere—his skin, his legs. His belly. But it wasn’t the mess that made his eyes sting.
It was everything else.
It was the way Dohyeon touched him—steady, sure, like he knew exactly where Wangho’s edges were and wanted to hold all of them.
The way he stayed gentle when he didn’t have to.
The way he kissed him after, quiet and lingering, like nothing about this had made him less.
Wangho buried his face in Dohyeon’s chest as the towel dabbed gently between his legs, wiping off the slick and the sweat and everything else. He hated that he flinched every time the cloth grazed him, hated how sensitive he was, hated that his body had no defenses left.
But Dohyeon only shushed him softly.
“You did so well, hyungie.”
Then softer, almost breathless,“Thank you for… letting me.”
A pause. Then, quieter still, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken it that far.”
Wangho’s breath hitched.
It wasn’t the apology that undid him. It was the gratitude.
Like Dohyeon didn’t think he was entitled to this—to Wangho. Like he still thought he needed permission to be this far.
After everything, after how he’d ignored him, after how selfish he’d been. Shame pricked hot behind Wangho’s eyes. He turned his face into Dohyeon’s chest, throat tightening.
He felt small. Not in a bad way. Just... undeserving. Loved anyway.
And all he wanted was to stay right there, held close, and never let go.
“Hey,” Dohyeon said, pulling him gently into his lap, legs tangled together, bodies sticking from sweat and heat. “Breathe with me.”
Wangho did.
Slowly. Shakily. He let himself be rocked, held, cradled.
“You’re really not mad?” he asked, voice hoarse.
Dohyeon looked at him like the question hurt. “No, laopo . Not at you. Never at you.”
Wangho swallowed hard. The kindness of it made his eyes sting, “Even when I let them—when I’m like that with other people, when I drink—”
“You’re sweet. You’re affectionate. That’s just who you are.”
“But it bothers you.”
Dohyeon nodded, forehead against his. “Yeah. Because I love the way you are with me. I just… want to be the only one who gets that part of you.”
Wangho felt so loved.
Shame pricked at the edges of his chest—he hadn’t meant to hurt him. He never wanted to.
“Then don’t let me get away with it next time,” he whispered, curling tighter against Dohyeon’s chest. “Just tell me. Don’t wait until you’re… like this.”
Dohyeon let out a soft laugh, and the sound vibrated through his ribs. “You liked me like this.”
“That’s not the point,” Wangho blushed.
Wangho shifted, just a little. His voice was quiet. “I should’ve told you I was going.” Dohyeon didn’t say anything, just listened.
“I didn’t mean to hide it. I just… I don’t know. I told myself it wasn’t a big deal. That it was personal, not team stuff. But that’s not fair. Not to you.”
His fingers curled slightly in the fabric of Dohyeon’s shirt. “I’m sorry I made you feel like you didn’t matter.” Dohyeon exhaled, slow. Then pulled him closer.
“You do matter,” Wangho added, barely a whisper. “So much.”
Dohyeon kissed the crown of his head, arms holding him closer.
“You’re mine,” he whispered. “Not because I touched you. But because you let me hold you like this.”
Wangho hummed softly, half-asleep against his chest. “Mm. You always hold me best.”
“I love you, laopo, ” Dohyeon whispered.
Wangho barely opened his eyes. But his smile bloomed like something warm and fragile.
“I love you too, laogong, ” he breathed.
And just like that, he drifted off—full, sore, safe.