sorry, once more for time delays
Heaven, Joonmyun thinks dazedly, melting back into the cool sheets against his bare spine, but arching forward into the warm body at his front. This has to be heaven. This is just exactly what he’s been wanting—for so long and so badly, and it's honestly too fucking perfect to be anything less.
He moans, and the body—Minseok, Minseok hyung—presses harder. Hard, hot, heavy, here, here, here, his for the taking. And yes, it’s heaven, Joonmyun’s own private heaven, wholly his and wholly indulgent and wholly overwhelming.
It’s happening. It’s finally, finally fucking happening. They're alone, with hours to spare, and they won't have to stop. Haven't yet, though this‐the both of them naked and making out on Minseok's bed at 6PM after a Saturday matinee and dinner for two—has been hours in the making. Though, this—the two of them together like this—is more than they've ever allowed themselves.
Joonmyun feels dazed already, dizzy on the three glasses of wine he’d allowed himself at dinner, the dance of fading summer sunlight across pale, straining shoulders, the steady thrum of the overhead fan dancing above them both, and that warm, perfect body at his front, the warm, perfect mouth at his throat, gorging himself on every sensation.
It's so fucking perfect. Minseok is naked and hard and gorgeous, looming over him, his fingers on Joonmyun’s hips, his lips on Joonmyun’s throat. Joonmyun naked, too, achingly hard and utterly breathless, pinned beneath him, twisting at the fleeting pressure of Minseok’s cock at his thigh, then his hip, finally at his side. Skin catches on skin, drags, and he's in heaven like this.
“Hyung,” he swallows, then moans, and Minseok’s lip move to taste it, kissing slow and succulent along his adam’s apple, then the crook of his throat, down, down, down, along his collarbone, the indents at his chest. Minseok moans, too, presses into the sting of Joonmyun’s fingernails at his scalp before mouthing teasing along his nipple, and Joonmyun twists to watch him through his heavy lashes.
There are faint bruises beneath his eyes, still, a tired tilt to his shoulders, but his lips are painfully red, his eyes painfully dark. And his fingers, at Joonmyun’s hips, are painfully tight in a dark promise for more.
Joonmyun arches into the fleeting pressure of Minseok’s teeth at his nipple, hissing out a sharp “hyung” that has Minseok groaning into his skin. The sound—low and husky with need and want, too because this is what Minseok has wanted for so long and so badly, too— has tight tendrils of heats curling through Joonmyun’s body, epicenters of searing need everywhere skin meets skin.
“Are you gonna—gonna fuck me?” he goads, and Minseok snorts against his skin, licks there immediately afterwards. Joonmyun whimpers, and Minseok laughs again.
“Yes,” he says. “I’m getting to it.”
wolfodder, you're up!