Yellow lights from the streetlights pooled over the floorboards, creating distinct patterns. A hum of an old laptop whirred along with incessant tapping of hands against a keyboard. Fingers tapped, harshly, against it, before a frustrated sigh slipped from parted lips and a finger holding down the back key.
The story had unfolded itself before him, but an unsatisfied feeling pulled into the pit of his stomach, and he let his head meet the coffee table with a resolute sigh. He was done for, and nothing was pouring out. Day and night, and nothing. Nothing.
Stretching his arms above his head, he almost lazed backwards against the couch, feeling his muscles ache from bending too long over his laptop. Stretching his arms before him, he felt almost shy about his own stature. It was smaller; slim, lithe build that he had seemed to have gotten from his mother's side. He had often considered himself too small for his age, almost perpetually stuck in late-puberty. Although he felt insecure about his physical body, he could still hear the underlying praise from his boyfriend.
How nice he looked, how sexy, the slight curve he had. The dip of his asscheek meeting his thigh. The muscle that carried him in lean, straight lines. It was wrapped so nicely in a sense of masculinity meeting feminine curves; softness, and strength, combining, creating him.
His fingers played with the fraying fringe, his dye-job currently a satisfaction to him. A tasty peach with silver hues, like a morning sunrise against the cityscape. He had been happy with the job, but over time, the darkening roots started to show and he knew, deep down, that he had to ruin his hair more to keep himself satisfied with this. Curling the strands with his slender index finger, he glanced up at the ceiling, wondering when Michael would return home.
Michael, who would stare down at him with that quizzical gaze of his, eyebrows sharp and sculpted on a visage that showed such Roman perfection, mimicking the Italians and their romantic view of a male's perfection. Sharp edges, eyes darkened, and a jawline that adorned a scruffy, rough beard. Min-su had always loved this mixture of inhuman perfection alongside the almost painted human-likeness.
Sighing, his fingers fell away from his hair, watching them for a mere second.
It was fine, right? He mused, biting his lip as he glanced around the room, almost certain that Michael would find the opportune moment to turn up when he started to touch himself. Yet, a tiny touch was fine, right?
The idea of Michael, the entirety of him, roughly touching him and canting him into release, made him dip his fingers alongside his thigh, slipping higher up to the skin between his pelvis and thigh. Sighing out a breath, he felt along the sensitive skin, feeling the silk shirt brush against him as he touched himself.
Breathing out, he threw his head back, steadying himself.
Michael's eyes, staring down at him, lips turned up in an amused grin as he dragged him under. Deep, deep under into the droves of pleasure. He wanted it, he needed it. The harsh, hard pull and push. The guttural groans and the press of a broader, stronger body against his own.
Fuck, he needed it.
"Min-su," a voice could be heard alongside the pictures of Michael's mouth dragging him in. Gasping, the younger male blinked up at the harsh lights in the living room. Dark eyes stared down at him, meeting hazel eyes of his own. Shit. "What are you doing?"
His voice had that edge to it; the husk of the day edging into is as he brushed a hand roughly through Min-su's hair. "Did you ask for permission to touch yourself while I was gone?" His voice caused Min-su to bite down on his bottom lip, keeping the quiver in his legs to a minimum as his fingers, slim, straining to touch as much as he could, worked himself open. His other hand had lithe fingers wrapped around his cock, feeling the surge for release tighten up inside him.
"Did I give you the permission to touch that pretty, little cock of yours?" His voice was low, stern and Min-su squeezed his legs close, chasing away the tightness in his balls, licking his lips as he gasped out.
"No--... I have to wait until you come home, and..." he gritted out, trying to peeter out his longing for release as Michael's eyes leveled with his.
Releasing the hold he had at the other's hair, Michael straightened up, his hands tugging off his leather jacket in a fluid motion. His fingers clenched around his tie, tugging it loose. "And?"
A frustrated groan slipped from Min-su's parted lips, his eyes squeezing shut. "And that you would fuck me until I cannot move anymore," he breathed out, blinking up at the expression he had gained from the other. Lips were pulled in a lustful smirk, teeth teasingly biting his bottom lip. Min-su started, feeling almost bashful that he could cause this man to see him as something desired.
"That's a good boy," the praise flitted from those perfected lips, fingers dragging that tie of his between his hands. "But this time I will make sure to fuck you, hard." Min-su gasped at that, gaining a knowing look as Michael moved around the couch.
Light touches, inviting, as he tugged onto Min-su's hands. Michael's hands worked with an expert precision as he slipped the tie around his wrists, securing the tie harshly. Skin chafed against it as he tugged on it, and he shared a soft smile, before stepping backwards.
Undoing his buckle and pants, Min-su watched with hungry eyes as his boyfriend undressed slightly, and he, himself, fell onto his knees before him. Parting his mouth, he could almost feel the drool escaping his mouth, and he wondered briefly if he looked like a wanton slut, ready to receive Michael's cock.
Michael's calloused hand slipped out his cock, and Min-su stared at it, wanting. Needing to feel the heavy weight against his tongue, to taste the heady, musky part of his manhood. A finger brushed along Min-su's jawline, causing him to look up from beneath his eyelashes. "Make sure you get it nice and wet for me."
His finger gingerly moved along his face, before his hand grabbed ahold of his hair, gripping it in a secure grip. Min-su felt the weight of Michael's cock against his tongue, feeling the head slip so easily between his parted lips.
A groan slipped loose from his throat as he finally could have him heavy and heady on his tongue. His cock twitched between his parted legs, making him chase after the choke. Spit caused Michael's cock to move so easily into his mouth, the head brushing against the back of his throat.
It was easy for him to follow his direction, his orders, as he swallowed thickly around the cockhead, before dragging it slowly out of his mouth, lavishing along the side of it. "You're such a slut for my cock, aren't you, Min-su?"
"Yes," he slurred, drooling along his lips and dripping from his tongue as he mouthed along the thick vein in Michael's cock. Slowly, he dragged his tongue along the underside of it, taking the head between his lips, and sucking on it, the tip of his tongue pressing against slit. Sucking onto the head, he felt a sense of pride as he heard an appreciative groan from Michael.
"Enough," Michael grunted, fingers tugging at the peach strands, and Min-su moaned out from the tug. His scalp felt like pinpricks of pleasure, and he was roughly pushed into the side of the couch. The soft fabric almost feels rough against sensitive skin, as Michael's steady hand holds him in place, feeling the delicious drag of the cockhead against the puckered skin.
A sink. A push. He was finally welcoming him into him, allowing the feeling to completely drag him under the course of pleasure that had thrummed through his veins. His groan was deep, guttural as he relished in the feeling of finally being filled, filled to the brim.
"You good?" The sweet whisper caused him to nod against the clothed shoulder, before motioning for it to be removed. Michael moved with ease as he tugged off his shirt, before grabbing a hold of Min-su's hips, tugging him into his lap as he moved easily onto the couch.
The change of position caused him to shift even deeper, making Min-su breathe out a ragged breath. Michael's hands slipped down, caressing the globes of his ass, his nails dragging against the skin. Min-su grabbed a hold of Michael's left shoulder, nails digging into the muscle. "Ah, yes," he responded, eased at how steady their pace went.
"I want you to ride me, pretty boy," Michael whispered against the shell of his ear, and heat flooded through him. He knew that it would cause his freckles to stand out so prettily against his pale skin, like Michael had told him before, and he bowed his head into the other man's shoulder. "I want to watch you move your hips, to see you take me cock so nicely." His hand touched Min-su's cock, causing him to squeeze his eyes shut.
"I want to watch that pretty cock of yours swinging."
It sparked something deep within him; he wanted to chase that itch, chase that flood of pleasure as he nodded. He strained against the fabric of the tie as he steadied himself into punishing speed; at first, dragging the cock in, before letting it slip as far out as he could without letting it slip out. And down.
Michael's gaze was steady, fingers playing along the side of his hip, up the expanse of his naked thigh. He glanced at his hands, a miniscule smirk on his lips as he kissed Min-su's fingers, undoing the tight knot.
Min-su surged forward, finding an anchoring hold of the other as he picked up the speed, huffs of breath escaping him with his tiny, muffled moans. Michael's hands were steady, yet had a tight grip on his hips, moving along with each drag, with each thrust. His lips found the edge of Min-su's jawline, kissing, teasing little nips along the way as his hands dragged up.
"Undo the shirt, Min-su," he directed, and the younger followed along, writhing still in his lap as he undid the buttons with shaking hands. It was an unsteady pace, as he kept faltering, bowing to lean against the other as the cockhead pushed against his prostate.
Hands brushed along his shoulders, allowing the shirt to fall off, down towards the floor. A wicked grin sent a painful throb through him as Michael bit along the side of his neck. Michael's fist was tight in his hair, dragging backwards, causing him to bow his body backwards, contorting as Michael's tongue laved against his nipple, teeth teasingly nipping at the bud. Min-su held a secure hand in Michael's hair, his fingers feeling along the coarse texture as a moan rippled out of him.
Michael released his hold on his hair, chasing the two of them into a kiss, the depth causing tingles to spread through Min-su's limbs, almost wishing that this sensuality would not stop. He wanted to drown into Michael's hold, into his touch and kisses.
Drag him under, suffocate him; Min-su was his to wreck and destroy, over and over again.
Michael secured a hold around him, holding him as he stood up from the couch, carrying him towards the bedroom. Min-su's fingers caressed the coarse hair, dipping down to touch against the roughness of his beard, wanting to touch the coarseness to chase the tingly feelings in his fingers away. He pulled away in reluctance, teeth teasing his bottom lip. Michael growled low, his hands warm against his behind. "What a naughty boy," he whispered, smacking the other on the rump with an open hand.
Min-su was haphazardly thrown onto the bed, before being roughly flipped over. Michael pushed him down, a hard push of his cock slipping deeper with him than before. The surprise caught him off guard, as Min-su moaned as his stomach clenched. The pleasure crashing through him, causing him to come undone.
Ribbons of cum hit him in the face as his back trusted off the bed, and Michael pushed his leg up and rested it on his shoulder before leaning down, letting a rough lick drag along Min-su's cheek.
"You always taste so sweet, baby boy," Michael groused out, pressing into him deep and incessantly. Min-su's hands gripped at the soft bed sheets, each hard thrust causing his voice to grow louder in volume. He felt like he was losing himself, losing a hold of himself, as each drag and thrust caused him to edge even more.
He begged him, with each thrust, for it to stop. Yet he knew that Michael was chasing his own orgasm, not caring for his blabbering, his incoherent speech as he felt himself being strung out dry from each torturous drag of Michael's cockhead against his prostate.
How many times he had felt his body seize up in pleasure, he did not know, as it came crashing over him in blinding light.
He woke to the sound of a soft turning of pages, feeling secure in the duvet packed around him. Blinking at the carefree expression on Michael, he snuggled deeper into the bed. The book he was reading was another horror story, likely It by Steven King that he had picked up again. It was no secret that Michael enjoyed King's books.
"Can you come here, please?" Min-su said, voice hoarse and groggy from sleep and exhaustion. Michael smiled at him, soft at the edges.
"Why? Do you want some more attention?"
Min-su wet his lips with the tip of his tongue, nipping at his own bottom lip in a nervous manner. "No, I just want you closer."
Michael glanced down at his book before closing it, settling it down by the windowsill. He wandered towards him, and Min-su lifted himself up on his arms, shaking slightly as he settled on his knees on the bed. Michael gently took a hold of Min-su's face, bringing him into a soft, yet deep kiss. It was a slow chase of comfort in the crisp morning hours.
"I see that you can still move," he whispered, and Min-su grinned brightly at the other.
"Yeah, but not by will, though. My legs still feel a little numb," he answered the other, leaning against the other. "Thank you for cleaning me up last night."
They looked at each other, and Min-su could still see the underlying desire in the other man's eyes, and hid his smile against his shoulder. "Yes, I wanted to do more, but you looked too cute to disturb when you were sleeping. I didn't want to wake you up."
Slowly, Michael helped him up from the bed, steadying him with a hand encircled around his waist. "What do you want for breakfast, baby boy?"
Min-su, gingerly, wrapped his arms around his neck, breathing in the scent of soap and laundry detergent. "Anything is fine, since you're cooking it."
A kiss was pressed at the top of his head, and a whisper answered his response. "Then, pancakes it is."
Separating from each other, Min-su stretched as Michael wandered out the bedroom towards the kitchen, as he, himself, tripped towards the bathroom, glancing at the full body mirrors with a sense of pride and belonging, as the bite marks blossomed on his skin alongside the kiss marks. as it was the proof he always found himself looking for. That he belonged to him.
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