Archive of Our Own

For his 18th birthday, Haechan decided to go big. You only turn 18 once, after all.

First and foremost: dinner with the family. His grandma had already booked his favorite three-Michelin-star restaurant at the top of Seoul Tower, the one with a view that made the whole city look like something you could cup in your hands.

Then, a few days later, the party. His birthday fell on a Thursday, which meant he had to suffer through a full day of school first, backpack and all, like any other nobody. But that Saturday night would be a different story. Every friend, every acquaintance, every person from his extracurricular clubs, his summer camp, the fringes of his social universe, all of them, at his house. He was estimating 200, maybe 300. His parents had objected, briefly, before he’d smiled at them.

And then the most important thing.

Sunday night, he would lose his virginity.

Of course Haechan wasn’t anybody. He wasn’t about to hand his virginity over to some random classmate with bad skin and mediocre ambitions. No, he’d had exactly one person in mind since he was eleven years old, back when he’d first typed “naked men” into a search bar and fallen headfirst into the pixelated glow of amateur porn streams.

There he was: some guy calling himself JohnnyStar, broadcasting from what looked like a closet with a single bare lightbulb. The video stuttered. The audio crackled. But Haechan was hooked. He created an account, FullSun69, and became Johnny’s first follower. He watched, mesmerized, as Johnny touched himself clumsily on a messy dorm bed, and something hot and possessive uncurled in Haechan’s chest.

He started sending tips from the bank account his parents had opened for him. Five dollars here, twenty there, then fifty, a hundred. He loved watching what his money could do: a ring light that carved shadows under Johnny’s cheekbones, a microphone that caught the hitch in his breath, a new apartment with clean white walls where Johnny fucked other men now, properly, like a professional.

Haechan watched it all. He saw Johnny’s body change, the softness of a college student hardening into muscle, thick arms and heavy pecs, thighs that looked like they could hold a person down, all stretched over a frame that had shot up to six-foot-four. And his cock, Jesus, that thing became a spectacle all its own. A thick, veined column that measured a full twelve inches when hard, heavy and impossible to ignore. A weapon. A work of art. The kind of dick that made people leave comments like."No way he’s Asian." and “That can’t be real.”

But it was real. And it belonged to Johnny Star, the only Korean man in mainstream porn who didn’t just have the look, but the fucking equipment to back it up.

Haechan followed him everywhere. From shady sites to premium platforms, from solo clips to full-budget studio scenes where Johnny fucked blond twinks until they cried. Through it all, FullSun69 was always in the chat, always tipping big, always watching.

And Johnny noticed. He’d wink at the camera after a particularly generous donation and say."Thanks, Sun. You know what you do to me.” Sometimes he’d DM Haechan, just casual stuff at first. “How’s your night?” Then more: “You ever think about meeting up? I owe you a coffee at least.”

Haechan always said no. What was he supposed to do? Show up and say."Hi, I’ve been funding your career since I was in middle school and by the way I’m fifteen”?

But now he is eighteen.

And everything, everything, was about to change.

Haechan had slid into Johnny’s DMs a month ago with a single line: Wanna meet? No context, no explanation. And Johnny, who usually had a queue of shoots, private sessions, and sponsorship meetings stretching into the next fiscal quarter, had cleared his entire schedule. No questions asked. Just a single-word reply: Where?

He’d spent weeks planning. First, dinner, Junsik, that omakase place in Gangnam where the chef personally served you uni so fresh it still tasted like the ocean. He’d reserved the private room in the back, the one with the low lighting and the single orchid on the table, because he knew Johnny would appreciate the drama. Then, the hotel, The Shilla, the penthouse suite, because if he was going to lose his virginity, he was going to do it with the entire city sprawled beneath him like a glittering offering. And the lingerie, fuck, the lingerie. Red lace, sheer enough to see skin through it, cut high on the hips to show off the V of his pelvis. He’d tried it on in his bedroom, turning in front of the mirror, imagining Johnny’s hands on the straps, the way his breath would hitch when he saw how the lace clung to Haechan’s ass.

But beneath all the meticulous planning, one thought gnawed at him: What if Johnny took one look at him and laughed?

Haechan was eighteen. Johnny was twenty-eight. A whole decade of life between them, of hard-ons and hangovers, of bad decisions and worse regrets. Johnny had been fucking men for money before Haechan even knew what a prostate was. What if, when they finally met, Johnny took one look at his baby-smooth jawline, his still-boyish hips, the way his hands trembled when he poured the wine, and decided this was all some kind of joke? What if he patted Haechan on the head and said, Nice try, kid, before walking out?

Haechan shoved the thought away. He wasn’t a kid. He was FullSun69, the username that had made Johnny’s career, the one that still made his breath catch when he saw it pop up in the chat. He was the reason Johnny had a ring light, a microphone, a goddamn apartment instead of a dorm room with a bare bulb. He was eighteen, legal, and he’d spent the last seven years fantasizing about this moment. If Johnny was weirded out by the age gap, that was his problem. Haechan had a suite at The Shilla, a credit card with no limit, and a pussy that had been wet for this man since he was eleven years old. He wasn’t about to let a little thing like time get in the way.

By 2 PM, Haechan surfaced from the wreckage of his own party like a drowned god rising from the deep. The house was still a warzone,  cups crushed underfoot, a lampshade askew like a drunk’s hat, the faint tang of vomit clinging to the air and the sour reek of spilled liquor. The maids moved like ghosts through the wreckage, their vacuums humming like disapproving aunts. Haechan peeled himself off the couch, his mouth tasting like battery acid and regret. He pressed a wad of cash into the head maid’s hand, enough to buy her silence and a new pair of shoes, before stumbling toward the fridge. Inside, a single sad egg roll and a bottle of green hangover sludge waited for him. He chugged the sludge straight from the bottle, his stomach lurching in protest.

Tonight was the night. No more excuses, no more delays. Just him, Johnny, and the penthouse suite at with its floor-to-ceiling windows and a bed big enough to get lost in.

The spa was his first stop. He arrived at 3 PM sharp, already buzzing with anticipation, his skin prickling with the kind of nervous energy that made him want to crawl out of it. The masseuse, a woman with hands like warm stone, worked him over with precision, kneading the tension from his shoulders, his back, the tight coil of his thighs. He bit his lip as her fingers dug into the meat of his ass, imagining it was Johnny’s hands instead. The aesthetician followed, slathering him in a cooling gel before running the wax strips over his legs, his arms, the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. He’d been waxed head-to-toe on Friday, but today was about perfection. Every last stray hair had to go. He wanted Johnny to feel nothing but smooth, honeyed skin when he touched him.

Back home by 5 PM, the house was spotless. The maids had even lit a candle in his room, vanilla and sandalwood, his favorite. He flopped onto his bed and queued up League, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he lost himself in the familiar rhythm of the game. But his mind kept drifting. To Johnny’s hands. To the way those thick fingers would feel wrapped around his throat. To the way Johnny’s cock would stretch him open, inch by impossible inch, until he was nothing but a whimpering, trembling mess.

At 6 PM, he stood in front of the full-length mirror in his bathroom, steam curling around him from the shower he’d just taken. He patted his skin dry with a plush towel, then smoothed a thick layer of hydrating cream over every inch of himself. His fingers lingered on his nipples, pinching them just hard enough to make them pebble, imagining Johnny’s teeth there instead. He shivered.

Then came the lingerie.

The red lace was obscene. It clung to him like a second skin, the fabric so sheer he could see the faint outline of his pussy lips. His hips jutted out, the lace stretching taut over the curve of his ass, the garters digging into his thighs just enough to leave faint red marks. He turned, admiring the way his plump ass filled out the back, the way his small tits strained against the fabric. He looked like a fucking snack. A meal. A goddamn masterpiece.

He slipped into his outfit: black skinny jeans that hugged his thighs, a black shirt with the top three buttons undone, the gold and diamond sun necklace glinting against his collarbone. The heeled boots made his legs look endless, his ass even rounder. He checked his reflection one last time, running a hand through his hair before slicking it back into place. His lips were still swollen from last night’s drinking, his eyes dark and hungry.

Ten minutes.

He grabbed his phone, wallet, and a small black purse, then headed downstairs. The driver was already waiting, the car idling at the curb. Haechan slid into the backseat, the leather cool against his thighs. He could feel the lace of his lingerie digging into his skin with every movement, a constant, delicious reminder of what was underneath.

The city blurred past the windows as they drove. Haechan’s heart hammered in his chest, his breath coming in shallow gasps. He could feel the dampness between his thighs, could feel the way his pussy throbbed against the tight confines of his jeans. He shifted in his seat, biting his lip as the friction sent a jolt of pleasure through him.

Johnny was going to destroy him.

And Haechan was going to let him.

Haechan arrived at the restaurant first. He slid into the private room, the shoji door whispering shut behind him, and immediately his fingers started drumming against the table, tap-tap-tap, like he was trying to Morse code his own heartbeat. The air smelled like soy sauce and sake.

Then, a voice on the other side of the door: ”The room of Mister FullSun, sir.”

The door slid open.

And there he was.

Johnny Star.

Taller than Haechan remembered from the streams, broader too, his shoulders straining against the fabric of his shirt like he was one deep breath away from tearing right out of it. His jaw was sharp enough to cut glass, his lips full and smirking. His dark eyes flicked to the waiter, then back, locking onto Haechan with a heat that made his breath catch.

Haechan’s brain short-circuited. He wanted to climb Johnny like a tree, wrap his legs around that thick waist, and grind against him until the friction burned them both alive. He wanted Johnny’s hands in his hair, Johnny’s teeth on his neck, Johnny’s cock splitting him open right there on the restaurant floor. He wanted to be wrecked, ruined, owned.

Johnny’s lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Sorry, but I must be in the wrong room. I’m looking for someone older. Someone who isn’t…” His gaze raked over Haechan, slow and deliberate. “A kid.”

Haechan’s stomach dropped. His biggest fear, right there in front of him, dripping from Johnny’s lips like poisoned honey.

Panic seized him. He was already sinking, knees hitting the floor before his brain caught up with his body, his hands shooting out and finding Johnny’s thighs. His fingers dug into the thick muscle there, anchoring himself, and oh god, Johnny was solid. Warm. Real.

”Wait- please don’t go…“ Haechan’s voice cracked, breathless, desperate. He tilted his head back, looking up at Johnny from his knees, and oh, he’d dreamed of this angle before, Johnny looming over him, dominant, in control, but not like this. Not with his heart hammering in his throat, his mascara probably smudged, his lips parted and trembling. ”I’m FullSun69. Please.”

Silence.

Johnny’s expression flickered, surprise, then something darker, something that made Haechan’s pulse spike. His grip on Johnny’s thighs tightened, his nails biting into the fabric of his slacks.

Then Johnny sighed, long and slow, like he was already regretting what he was about to say. ”Fine.” His voice was rough, edged with something that might’ve been amusement, or irritation, or, god, was that lust? ”I’ll hear you out.”

Haechan’s smile was small, victorious. He let go of Johnny’s legs, but not before giving them one last, lingering squeeze. The lace of his lingerie was soaked through now, his pussy throbbing against the tight confines of his jeans. He could already imagine Johnny’s hands on him, rough, demanding, peeling the lace away, fingers digging into his hips as he, 

But no. Not yet.

He had to play this right.

Johnny lowered himself into the seat opposite, the floor groaning under his weight. Haechan forced himself to sit back, spine straightening against the cushion. He couldn’t let that pathetic display happen again. Johnny wouldn’t want some trembling kid.

“So you’re FullSun69?” Johnny’s eyebrow lifted, a dark slash of disbelief. His voice was low, almost a rumble.

“Yes.” The word came out thin. Haechan cleared his throat.

“Well?” Johnny leaned back, spreading his thighs just enough for Haechan to notice.

Haechan’s mouth went dry. “I’m eighteen. Four days now.” He took a shaky breath. “My family’s loaded, you probably figured. I found your stream when I was eleven. You were… fucking perfect. Older, but not ancient. Just as I was starting to get needy at night, you know? Dreaming about what it would feel like.” He wet his lips. “So I started tipping. Those sites don’t give a shit if you’re underage as long as the card clears. So yeah. I’ve been sponsoring you for years. That’s why I didn’t wanna meet until now. Didn’t want you to see some kid.”

Silence hung between them, thick and heavy.

“Sorry if it’s weird.”

Johnny let out a short, rough laugh. “It’s fucking weird. Knowing some rich brat half my age has been funding my life.” His eyes raked over Haechan, who kept his gaze fixed firmly on the grain of the table. “Honestly, I thought you were some lonely fat old dude and too much money. So I guess this is… different.” He shrugged, a lazy roll of his shoulders. “Probably should give you some speech about underage viewing, but seems a little late for that.”

Another silence, this one buzzing.

Haechan felt a sliver of relief, it wasn’t a total disaster. At least Johnny wasn’t walking out.

The shoji door slid open. A waiter brought in a chilled bottle of sake and small dishes of edamame and pickled vegetables. Haechan didn’t look up until the door whispered shut again.

Johnny sighed, long and loud. “So why meet now?”

“I-” Haechan’s throat tightened. He hadn’t met Johnny’s eyes since sitting down. Coward. He wasn’t a coward. He snatched his sake glass, threw it back, the burn sharp and clean, then finally lifted his gaze. He met Johnny’s eyes, dark, intent, waiting.

“I want you to take my virginity.”

Johnny drained his glass in one smooth motion, the sake burning a path down his throat before he set it down with a sharp clink. His gaze flicked to Haechan, dark and assessing, like he was already mentally undressing him.

“Under normal circumstances." Johnny started, voice low and rough."I’d walk out that door. One, you’re too fucking young. Two, I don’t do virgins. My cock’s not some beginner’s toy. And I don’t have the patience to teach some kid how to take it.” He leaned forward, elbows on the table, fingers steepled. “But then again, you’ve been bankrolling my life since you were eleven, and I’d be a hypocrite if I pretended that didn’t mean something. And yeah, you’re young, but you’re…” His eyes raked over Haechan again, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing every inch. “Cute. In that I-want-to-ruin- you kind of way. So I’ll make an exception. Just this once.”

Haechan’s breath hitched. His fingers twitched against the table, nails digging into his palms. He could already feel Johnny’s hands on him, rough and demanding, tearing at the lace of his lingerie, fingers bruising his hips as he, 

Johnny’s smirk deepened, like he could read every filthy thought flashing through Haechan’s mind. “But you need to understand something.” He pointed a finger at Haechan, his voice dropping to a growl. “This isn’t going to be some sweet, gentle fuck. I’m not going to treat you like glass. I’m going to use you. Stretch you open. Make you take every inch until you’re begging me to stop. And it’s going to hurt. A lot.” His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his eyes gleaming with something dark and hungry. “I’ll prep you as much as I can, but it won’t matter. You’ll still feel like you’re being torn in half. And you’re going to love it.”

Haechan’s pulse spiked. His pussy throbbed at the thought, the lace of his lingerie already damp against his skin. He swallowed hard, his voice coming out breathless but steady. “I know. I want it to hurt. I want you to wreck me.”

Johnny’s lips curled into a smirk, slow and predatory. “Good boy.” He grabbed his chopsticks and started eating.

Once the last of the edamame was gone, Johnny leaned back, wiping his fingers on a napkin before fixing Haechan with that dark, assessing stare. “Alright, tell me the truth. You’re telling me a kid as pretty as you…” his eyes flicked down, lingering on the way Haechan’s lace bralette peeked through his unbuttoned shirt."Couldn’t find some eager little jock at your fancy school to pop that cherry? I don’t buy it.”

Haechan’s cheeks flushed, but he didn’t look away. “Sungchan. He was… fine. Tall, good hands, knew how to kiss without slobbering everywhere. But every time he touched me, I’d think, Johnny wouldn’t do it like this.” He bit his lip, voice dropping to a whisper. “He’d go slow. Too slow. Like he was afraid I’d break. And I’d just… lie there, imagining it was you instead. Your hands on my hips, your breath hot against my neck, your cock-” He cut himself off with a sharp inhale, fingers tightening around his sake glass.

Johnny’s smirk deepened, slow and dangerous. “Oh, I know how to use a body.” His foot nudged Haechan’s under the table, the contact sending a jolt straight to his crotch. “But you’re telling me you’ve been fantasizing about me since you were eleven?” His voice dropped, rough with amusement. “That’s… flattering. Disturbing. But flattering.” He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “What’d you imagine, huh? Me bending you over my desk? Fucking you raw while you whimper my name?”

Haechan’s breath hitched. His jeans were ruined, the lace of his panties slick against his skin. “Y-yeah." he admitted, voice trembling. “And worse.”

Johnny’s eyes darkened, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Fuck. You’re dangerous, kid.” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Alright, fine. You win. I’ll play along. But don’t think this means I’m going easy on you later.” He grabbed his chopsticks, stabbing at a piece of pickled radish.

“What about you?” Haechan swallowed, forcing himself to meet Johnny’s eyes. “You’re… you’re perfect. There’s gotta be someone.”

“Oh, there’s plenty of someones.” Johnny’s grin was sharp. “But dating? Nah. Most guys see ‘pornstar’ and think ‘fun time,’ not ‘boyfriend.’” He shrugged, swirling his sake. “They’ll fuck me, sure. Let me rail them in front of their friends, even. But the second I want to take them out to dinner? Suddenly I’m ‘too much.’” His voice turned bitter. “My first boyfriend? Never asked about my day. Just wanted to show me off like a goddamn trophy. ‘Look at my hot pornstar boyfriend, isn’t he filthy?’” He scoffed. “Like I’m some fucking prop.”

Haechan winced. “That’s… shitty.”

“It’s life.” Johnny knocked back his shot, the liquid glinting in the low light. “One day, I’ll find some lucky bastard who can take my cock and the real me. Until then…” His foot pressed harder against Haechan’s leg, the pressure deliberate. “I’ll settle for wrecking desperate little fans who’ve been jerking off to me since they were kids.” His smirk turned predatory. “Sound good to you, FullSun?”

Haechan’s pulse spiked. His fingers twitched against the table, nails digging into his palms. “Yes." he breathed.

“Hey, what’s your actual name? FullSun’s cute, but.” Johnny gestured vaguely with his chopsticks.

“Haechan.” He paused. “Johnny’s not yours either, though.”

“Youngho.” Johnny’s mouth curved. “But nobody calls me that. Stick with Johnny.” His voice dropped. “ Unless you had something else in mind, baby boy.”

Haechan’s fingers curled around his sake glass. “Can I call you oppa?”

The smirk returned. “You can call me whatever you want.”

Course after course arrived, each one better than the last. The conversation loosened, their lives, small things, the occasional comment that landed somewhere low in Haechan’s stomach before the moment passed and they moved on. By the time the dessert plates were cleared, the restaurant had grown quieter around them, and the thing Haechan had been trying not to think about too directly all evening had become the only thing in the room.

“So.” Johnny leaned back. “What’s the plan?”

Haechan stood. “I have a hotel room close by. I’ll take care of the bill, just wait for me outside.”

Johnny rose unhurriedly, shrugging his jacket back on. “Yeah, alright.” He glanced around the room one last time. “Good place. Really good.”

Haechan steps out of the restaurant, the night air cool against his flushed skin, and there’s Johnny, leaning against the wall like some kind of fucking monument. The size difference hits Haechan all over again, Johnny’s shoulders are so broad they block out the streetlights, his chest so deep Haechan could probably bury his face in it and suffocate happily. He clears his throat, suddenly hyperaware of how small he is, how breakable. “Let’s go.”

The walk to the hotel is a blur of neon and shadows. The receptionist barely glances up as they pass. In the elevator, the mirrored walls reflect them back at each other, Johnny, towering and solid, Haechan, all soft and nervous. The ride to the top floor feels endless, the air thick with the scent of Johnny’s cologne.

The penthouse door clicks shut behind them, and Haechan freezes. The room is all sleek lines and low lighting, the city sprawled out beneath them like a glittering promise. He hesitates, fingers twitching at his sides. Should he strip now? Offer Johnny a drink? He’s already buzzed from the sake, but Johnny probably wants more.

Johnny doesn’t wait. He strides to the couch, the leather creaking under his weight as he sits, then pats his thighs like Haechan’s some kind of pet. “Come here, baby.”

Haechan doesn’t hesitate. He crosses the room, climbing onto Johnny’s lap like he’s been starving for this. His legs spread wide to accommodate Johnny’s bulk, the heat of him seeping through the thin fabric of his jeans. Johnny’s hands settle on his waist, fingers digging in just enough to make Haechan gasp.

“I was a bit rough at the restaurant." Johnny murmurs, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through Haechan’s chest. “But don’t worry. I’ll be gentle. For now.” His thumb traces slow circles over Haechan’s hipbone, teasing. “I just needed to make sure you knew what you were getting into. If you want to play rough, we will. But first…” His other hand slides up Haechan’s back, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling just enough to make him whimper. “First, we’re going to kiss.”

Haechan nods, breathless. “Yes, oppa.”

Johnny’s grip tightens, tilting Haechan’s head back until the line of his throat is bare. His lips brush the shell of Haechan’s ear, breath hot. “Good boy.” Then he pulls him forward, their mouths crashing together. Haechan freezes, his first kiss, and Johnny’s tongue is a thick, wet intrusion, pushing past his lips like it owns the space. He doesn’t know where to put his own, so he just lets it happen, lets Johnny lick into him with slow, deliberate strokes that make his stomach clench. The taste of sake and something darker, something Johnny, floods his senses, and he clings to the fabric of Johnny’s shirt, fingers twisting in the cotton like it’s the only thing keeping him from floating away.

The couch creaks as Johnny shifts beneath him, one hand sliding down to grip Haechan’s ass, pulling him flush against the hard line of his cock. Haechan moans into the kiss, his hips jerking forward on instinct, the friction sending sparks up his spine. Johnny chuckles, low and dark, his teeth catching Haechan’s bottom lip. “Fuck, you’re clueless." he growls. “You been dreaming about this all night, baby? About how it’d feel when I finally got my hands on you?”

Haechan whimpers, nodding frantically. “Y-yes. Please, oppa."

Johnny’s hand tightens in his hair, yanking his head back just enough to expose his throat. His lips trail down the column of Haechan’s neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin. “You’re gonna be such a good boy for me, aren’t you?” he murmurs, voice rough. “Gonna take everything I give you, even when it’s too much.” His free hand slides behind Haechan, palming his ass through his jeans, squeezing just hard enough to make him gasp. “Gonna let me ruin you.”

Haechan arches into the touch, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. “Yes." he pants. “Please, oppa, I."

Johnny kissed Haechan again, but this time he didn’t ease him in. He took what he wanted, his mouth hungry and unrelenting, tongue slick and insistent as it pressed between Haechan’s parted lips. The pressure of Johnny’s hand at the back of Haechan’s head was heavy, unyielding, keeping him rooted in place, caught in the orbit of Johnny’s need. Haechan could hardly breathe; he didn’t want to. He just let Johnny devour him, let his lips bruise and his jaw ache and his lungs burn, his hands scrambling uselessly at the thick muscle of Johnny’s shoulders.

Johnny’s other hand slid low, gripping Haechan’s hip with enough force to bruise. He shifted beneath Haechan, spreading his legs wider, trapping Haechan in place and grinding up against him. Haechan could feel the heat of Johnny’s cock even through the layers of their clothes, and he whimpered, low in his throat, as Johnny deepened the kiss, fucking his tongue into Haechan’s mouth until it felt like there was nothing left of him but nerves and need.

Johnny finally let up, just enough to let both of them gasp for air. His breath was hot against Haechan’s cheek, his lips swollen, eyes almost black. “You taste sweet." he rasped. “Like candy. You ever been kissed before, baby boy?”

Haechan shook his head, dizzy, his lips tingling and numb. “N-no.”

Johnny only grinned, feral and pleased, and pulled him back in for more. This time the kiss was slower but meaner, tongue deliberate and filthy, exploring every inch of Haechan’s mouth. Haechan felt himself melt, his whole body going pliant, a desperate, shameful whine trapped behind Johnny’s teeth as he surrendered to the onslaught.

Johnny pulls back from the kiss, his grip loosening in Haechan’s hair. He looks at him for a moment, just looks, unhurried, like he has all night and knows it. “Strip for me, baby.”

Haechan untangles himself from Johnny’s lap. His legs are unsteady under him as he puts some distance between them. When he turns back, Johnny is exactly as he left him, sprawled against the leather, one hand drifting down to press lazily against the thick, impossible bulge of his cock straining against his slacks a heavy, prominent line that curves around his hip and stretches the fabric taut. haechan can’t wait to see it entirely.

For a half-second he thinks about just pulling everything off fast, getting it over with, getting to the part where Johnny’s hands are back on him. But Johnny has been making him wait all night. Has been making him wait for years, really, without even knowing it. So Haechan turns his back to him, reaches up, and starts on his buttons.

He goes slowly. One, then the next. He can feel Johnny’s gaze like a hand between his shoulder blades. The shirt parts down his spine, and he lets it slip off one shoulder, then the other, then holds it there for just a moment before releasing it. It falls to the floor. The city light coming through the window is cool and blue on his bare skin, and the room is very quiet except for the low sound of Johnny breathing.

Haechan’s fingers tremble just a little as he pops the button of his jeans, the metal cold against his skin. The zipper hisses as he drags it down, teeth parting one by one, slow enough to make Johnny’s breath hitch. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband and starts to shimmy the denim down his hips, the fabric clinging before finally giving way. The red lace panties underneath are sheer enough that Johnny can see the shadow of him through the delicate weave, the curve of his ass round and soft, framed by the thin straps of his garters. Haechan gives his hips a little roll, just enough to make the lace sway, and he hears Johnny exhale sharply, a rough, bitten-off curse.

The jeans pool at his ankles, and he steps out of them carefully, kicking them aside. He’s left in nothing but the panties and garters, the lace clinging to his skin, the gold sun pendant around his neck catching the light like a tiny star. He can feel Johnny’s gaze on him, heavy and hungry, tracing every line of his body. For a second, he hesitates, then turns, slow, letting Johnny take him in.

His chest is soft, the faintest swell of muscle beneath smooth skin, his waist narrow, hips flaring out into thick, plump thighs that press together just enough to make the lace ride up. And between them, barely covered by the sheer fabric, the shape of him, no cock, just the soft, delicate folds of a pussy, flushed and already glistening.

Johnny’s eyes darken, his lips parting on a silent breath. “Fuck." he murmurs, voice rough. “Turn around for me again, baby.”

Haechan obeys, spinning slowly, letting Johnny see every inch of him, the way the garters dig into his thighs, the way the lace clings to the curve of his ass, the way his back arches just slightly, like he’s already bracing for Johnny’s touch. When he faces him again, Johnny’s gaze is locked between his legs, his fingers twitching like he’s fighting the urge to reach out and touch.

“Didn’t know you had a pussy." Johnny says, voice low, almost reverent. “Here I thought you would have a tiny cute cock.”

Haechan’s breath catches, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. “Is that a problem?”

Johnny’s lips curl into a slow, wicked smile. “Might be gay, but I’ve got no problem with a pussy if it’s attached to a pretty little thing like you.” His voice drops, rough and dark. “Especially when it’s already dripping for me.” His eyes flick up, locking onto Haechan’s. “Gonna fill you up so good, baby. Gonna make you take every last drop.”

A deep, warm flush spreads up Haechan’s neck and across his cheeks at the compliment.

“Now I shouldn’t let you be the only one naked, right?” Johnny asks. Haechan nods fast, eagerly. “But I think it would be more fun for you if you were the one to do it. Get to touch, feel, kiss, lick…

Every part of my body that you’ve probably thought about.”

“Thank you, oppa." Haechan says, voice a little breathless as he licks his lips and walks closer to Johnny.

He doesn’t know where to start. He has thought about Johnny’s body for so long, the broad shoulders, the thick arms, the hard lines of his stomach, that having permission to touch him anywhere is blowing his mind. But he should probably start with Johnny’s shirt. The poor white thing is already stretched taut across his chest; Haechan is surprised it hasn’t ripped at the seams.

So Haechan climbs back onto Johnny’s lap, settling his weight so his pussy grinds almost directly against the massive outline of Johnny’s cock. Haechan can feel it throbbing through the layers of Johnny’s underwear and slacks and his own thin lace panties, a hot, insistent pressure that makes his breath catch. He holds back a moan, but he can see from the slow, knowing smile Johnny gives him that he knows exactly what he’s feeling.

Haechan starts unbuttoning Johnny’s shirt, fingers clumsy with anticipation. Slowly, he unveils more and more skin: the heavy swell of his pecs, the deep cut of his collarbones, then lower, the rigid lines of his abs. Once he reaches the last button, he tugs the shirt free from Johnny’s slacks and pulls it open wide. Haechan resists the urge to bury his face between Johnny’s pecs, to mouth at the hard muscle there. Instead, he tries to pull the shirt completely off. He struggles a little with the sleeves until Johnny helps him, shrugging out of it with a low laugh before tossing the shirt away.

Haechan’s palms found Johnny’s chest and just stayed there for a moment, feeling him breathe. Then he started to move, slow, curious, tracing the lines of him like he was trying to memorize something. The sternum, the collarbones, the dense swell of his pecs. He pressed his fingers in and felt almost nothing give.

He leaned in and put his mouth on him. Tasted salt. Dragged his lips lower, down the ladder of his abs, and felt Johnny’s hands tighten on his hips each time he pressed a kiss to skin.

When he came back up and brushed his thumbs over Johnny’s nipples, Johnny went very still. Haechan did it again. Johnny’s head dropped back against the leather, slow, like he hadn’t meant to let it. Haechan took his time with that, tongue first, then teeth, just barely, and felt the breath leave Johnny’s chest in a long, controlled exhale that wasn’t quite controlled enough.

He kept going. Hands, then mouth, then hands again. At some point Johnny pulled him down harder by the waist, and Haechan felt the full weight of him through the lace, and had to press his lips together.

“You’re a menace." Johnny said, roughly.

He moved to Johnny’s hands first. Took the right one and turned it over, studying it for a moment, the width of the palm, the thick knuckle joints, the blunt-cut nails. It was so much bigger than his own that it was almost funny. He brought two fingers to his mouth and took them in slow, feeling his jaw stretch to accommodate, and heard Johnny make a sound low in his throat.

He kissed his way up the inside of the wrist. The forearm had a dusting of hair that caught against his lips, and he could feel the tendons shift underneath as Johnny’s fingers curled slowly. The jaguar on his bicep was dense black ink sunk deep into the skin; Haechan pressed his mouth to it, then asked with his hands for Johnny to flex, and Johnny did, and Haechan bit down softly on the peak of it. Then he nosed into the hollow of the armpit, smooth there, warm, salt-sharp, and stayed longer than was probably dignified.

He did the same to the left. Took his time.

When he finally stepped back, he nodded once, up. Johnny smirked and rose to his full height, shirtless, and Haechan had to tip his chin to look at him properly.

His gaze dropped. The slacks were doing very little. The outline of Johnny’s cock strained sideways against the fabric, obscene in its insistence, and Haechan felt his mouth go dry.

Haechan got on his knees, the floor cool against his skin. Even kneeling, he barely came up to Johnny’s waist, his face level with the strained fabric of his slacks. He reached up, fingers brushing just above the hard outline of Johnny’s cock, and worked open the belt buckle. He slid the leather free in one smooth pull and tossed it aside. It landed with a soft thud somewhere behind him.

Then he leaned in, pressing his open mouth to the hard line of him through the wool. The fabric was rough against his lips, dampening with his breath and spit. He dragged the flat of his tongue along the length, slow and deliberate, feeling the shape of him, the thick ridge of the head, the heavy vein running along the shaft, all through the frustrating barrier. Johnny’s breath hitched sharply, a ragged sound pulled from deep in his chest.z

“Are you sure you never did this before?” Johnny asked, voice rough. “Because you’re a natural at this.” His eyes were dark, locked on Haechan’s.

Haechan pulled back just enough to speak, lips still close to the heat. “I gave a blowjob to Sungchan once. But nothing else.”

Johnny chuckled lowly. “Guess all my porn did teach you something then.”

“It sure did." Haechan said, smiling faintly as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of Johnny’s slacks. He worked them down over his hips, along with his briefs, until they pooled around his ankles. And there it was, thick and heavy and unmistakably large, all twelve inches of him. His Calvin Kleins had done little to contain him; the fabric was stretched thin, distorted by the sheer size of him, by the weight of his balls beneath. Haechan’s breath caught. He’d imagined it, watched it, but seeing it in front of him was different.

Just the briefs now. He reached up and pressed two fingers against it, just to feel the heat come through. Then he took the waistband between both hands and drew it down carefully, slowly, the elastic resisting before giving way.

He was so much more intimidating up close, the head nearly the size of Haechan’s fist, the skin glossy and dark, the slit already weeping a clear bead. Haechan’s mouth watered. He wrapped one hand around the base, thumb and finger not even meeting, and felt the weight of his balls against the back of his hand, heavy, loose, hanging low in their sac. The flesh was hot all over.

Johnny just watched, hands resting loose at his sides, biceps flexed and ready, the muscles in his stomach shifting with each shallow inhale. His cock throbbed in Haechan’s grip, a thick pulse that made the veins stand up in bas relief.

Haechan licks his lips, then looks up with pleading eyes as he pushes against Johnny’s thigh. Johnny doesn’t budge, not even an inch, just smirks down at him before letting himself drop back onto the couch. His legs fall open, and his dick, hard and heavy, settles thick between them.

Haechan hesitates. He could go straight for it, take him in his mouth like he’s wanted since he was eleven. But he wants to savor this, worship every inch.

He reaches for Johnny’s left foot. It’s heavy, solid like the rest of him, the ankle thick and the arch high. Haechan’s own foot would look small pressed against it. He struggles a bit lifting it just high enough to peel off the black sock, then lowers it gently back to the floor.

He starts at the top, kisses the smooth plane of Johnny’s instep, then moves lower, pressing his mouth along the line of tendons, down to the toes. They’re clean, well-kept. Haechan takes the big toe into his mouth, sucking gently, and looks up. Johnny is stroking his dick slowly, almost absently, more to have something to do with his hands than to get off.

He did the left foot thoroughly. Ran his tongue heel to ball, tasted leather and salt and skin, took each toe between his lips until he’d had all of them. Set it down and picked up the right.

He pulled the sock off. Felt the hair on Johnny’s calf against his fingers. Kissed the ankle, licked the sole, felt the foot flex against his mouth. Sucked each toe the same way he had the others, slow, deliberate, getting them wet. Johnny watched him do it.

“You’re doing such a good job, baby." Johnny growled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest.

“Thank you, oppa." Haechan whispered against his skin.

Haechan began his slow ascent up Johnny’s legs. He kissed his way along the curve of Johnny’s calves, then moved inward along the thick cords of his thighs. His lips brushed over coarse hair and shifting muscle until his forehead bumped against the heavy weight of Johnny’s cock, until his mouth found the warm sac beneath.

When he tilted his head back to look up, the sheer size of Johnny’s cock from this angle made his breath catch. The shaft lay across his face like a bar of heated iron, so thick it blotted out part of his field of vision, so long the tip reached past his hairline. A monster, beautiful and terrifying.

He buried his face in the musky heat of Johnny’s balls, nuzzling and mouthing at the full weight of them. Each one fit snugly against his lips, heavy and ripe. All the while, his hands worked above his head, stroking slowly along the veined length of Johnny’s cock, spreading the slickness that had begun to bead at the tip.

He licked a long stripe up the seam, spit dragging slick along the taut skin. The musk was sharper here, malty and raw, and when he sucked the tip of Johnny’s balls into his mouth, Johnny’s thighs tensed hard enough for Haechan to feel it, trembling against the sides of his face. He went slow, mouthing and rolling his tongue the way he’d watched in hours of Johnny’s own videos, obsessed with the way Johnny’s subs would melt under just this. He wanted to be the best at it, wanted Johnny to remember him for it. Every move, every goddamn sound.

A hand landed heavy in his hair. Johnny’s knuckles pressed firm against his scalp, not pushing, just gripping, like he needed to hold on. Haechan kept going, lavishing attention on the spot right beneath the shaft, where the skin was hottest, softest, the taste different and somehow more intense. He felt Johnny’s cock pulse, twitch in his hands.

Johnny’s hand tightened in Haechan’s hair, pulling him back firmly until his lips were level with the weeping tip of Johnny’s cock. The sheer size of it so close made Haechan’s mouth water. He could feel the heat coming off it in waves.

“That Sungchan guy was very lucky." Johnny said, his voice low and rough. “Honestly, you’re better than some professionals I’ve worked with.” His thumb stroked along Haechan’s temple. “But now it’s time for the main event.”

“Yes, oppa.”

“So be a good girl and start sucking.” Haechan’s breath stuttered. The words moved through him like a current, pooling between his thighs. ”Not too fast, that Sungchan guy probably wasn’t the best practice partner for my dick.”

“He was far from it." Haechan murmured, tongue darting out to wet his lips before he leaned forward and pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the tip, tasting salt and musk and heat.

He tongued the slit, lapping at the sticky precome that beaded there, then went in for a long, slow lick, root to tip, like he was savoring an ice cream cone on a summer day. The taste was dense, bitter and bright, and the heat radiating off Johnny’s cock made Haechan shiver. He pressed his lips to the head and let it spread them wide, the blunt crown stubborn and unyielding. His jaw flexed; already, even the tip was a challenge.

He pushed forward, stretching his lips and tongue as far as they’d go. The soft, spongy head filled his mouth completely, cheeks bulging with the effort. Johnny was so big Haechan had to focus just to breathe through his nose, the scent of sweat and cologne and salt thick in the air. He sucked, hard, letting the suction pull another bead of precome onto his tongue, then drew back, swirling his tongue aroundhis tongue, savoring the heft and heat of it.

He worked his way down, inch by inch, literally, because Johnny was too thick for any other approach, using both hands to steady the shaft as he tried to take more. It was a losing battle, but a glorious one. When the head bumped the back of his throat he gagged, just a little, and Johnny groaned, the sound thrumming through his whole body. Haechan eased off, saliva slicking down his chin, then tried again, and again, memorizing the curve, the taste, the impossible size of him.

Johnny let him struggle a minute longer, then gripped Haechan’s jaw gently in one large hand, thumb stroking the hinge of his jaw, and guided him up. “Hey. You can use your hands, baby. I know it’s a lot.” The voice was almost kind, but the pressure at the back of his skull was insistent, keeping him closeon the edge of obedience and need.

Haechan didn’t waste a second, he curled his hands around the base, spit-slick, and used them to pump the length he couldn’t fit inside his mouth. The weight of Johnny’s cock dragged against his tongue, the tip bruising his palate as he slid forward, his lips stretching past what should have been possible. His eyes watered; he fought against the sting. It hurt, but he wanted it to hurt. He wanted Johnny to see him struggle, to taste the devotion in every desperate breath and swallow.

“Look at you." Johnny said, voice husky, his hand gentle now as it stroked Haechan’s hair. “Eyes up, baby, I wanna see you.”

Haechan blinked up at Johnny, tears caught in the thick fan of his lashes, his jaw trembling around the stretch. He wanted to impress, to shock, and most of all to please, he could feel the heat of that need blooming up from his gut, so sharp it almost made him nauseous.

“More." he rasped, voice muffled around the girth. He coughed, spluttered, and then took a greedy gulp of air, lips never losing their seal. “You can, I want you to." He tried again, voice thready and desperate. “Use my throat, oppa. Please. Don’t hold back.”

Johnny’s hand stilled in his hair. For a moment, he just watched, breathing heavy, jaw slack with awe. Then, very gently, he thumbed the line of Haechan’s cheek, as if testing the tension of the skin. “You want the whole thing?” he asked, voice raghis, wrecked."You want to gag on it so bad, huh?”

Haechan nodded, jaw already aching, spit stringing from the corners of his mouth. He braced both hands against Johnny’s thighs and steadied himself. Johnny curled his fingers around the base of Haechan’s skull and pulled, just a little, testing the give. Haechan let himself be drawn in. The head hit the back of his throat again, harder this time, and he spluttered, eyes leaking. But Johnny didn’t stop, he rocked Haechan gently against him, feeding him more of the length, slowly. Haechan felt himself tipping into it, the dizziness settling in, the need pooling in him so fiercely that the pain was almost a relief.

Johnny’s cock forced its way deeper, the head stretching Haechan’s throat wide, bruising the soft tissue there and forced his throat open, unyielding, until the pressure became a blinding, impossible thing. Haechan’s whole body seized. He gagged hard, eyes streaming, spit bubbling from his lips. There was no time to be embarrassed, Johnny didn’t let up. He held Haechan firm, not cruel, but determined, insistent, nudging him to his absolute edge. Haechan choked, vision going spotty, but the pain was a distant static behind the lewd, heady pride that Johnny trusted him enough to use him like this. He gagged again, harder, spit and snot and tears mixing as he fought to breathe through his nose, fought to hold the seal, to take more, more, more.

Johnny let go. Haechan reeled back, coughing and gasping, drool spilling over his chin and down his chest. He panted, dizzy, the ache in his jaw so pure it almost made him shudder. He was going to pass out, was going to die like this, on his knees in front of Johnny Star, throat bulging with cock and his body a trembling, leaking mess.

But Johnny’s hand was there, steady and warm at the nape of his neck. The pressure didn’t abate, if anything, it increased, drawing him forward again, a silent dare. Haechan’s eyes watered anew, but he steeled himself, opening wide, angling his jaw, and letting Johnny’s cock part his lips all over again.

Johnny’s voice was a low, guttural thing now, barely recognizable as language. “Good fucking girl." he growled. “Just like that. Take it. Take all of it.”

Haechan choked, but he didn’t pull away. The head of Johnny’s cock punched past his soft palate and then, with a shocking, sickening pressure, breached the tight ring at the back of his throat. It felt like an injury, like something breaking inside him, butit was a victory, a perverse, glorious agony. Johnny’s cock bottomed out, the stretch past the point of madness, the blunt head wedged so deep in Haechan’s throat he almost thought it might burst through the back of his neck. His vision whited out, the world reduced to the weight filling him, the heat, the raw humiliation of being held open like this. His stomach heaved, a primitive gag reflex that rippled helplessly around Johnny’s cock, milking it as if his body had finally given up and accepted what was happening.

He couldn’t breathe. Not really. His nose was pressed up against the coarse hair at Johnny’s base; the smell was overwhelming, sharp with sweat and something distinctly animal. His hands scrabbled at Johnny’s thighs, nails digging deep for purchase, but Johnny only held him firmer, the grip on his skull unbreakable. Haechan’s mouth and throat were just a sleeve now, just somewherefor Johnny to fuck.

Johnny’s thighs tensed; Haechan could feel the vibration through his whole skull, the trembling tension as Johnny resisted the urge to just drive in deeper, to rut against his face like a beast. But Johnny kept control, just barely, rolling his hips in slow, punishing thrusts that fed more of the length down Haechan’s straining throat. He could hear himself making noises, wet, ragged, obscene, but there was no dignity left, not with tears streaming down his cheeks and lips stretched around a cock that had haunted his every daydream since he’d first seen it on a tiny, borrowed tablet.

Johnny pulled out, slick and sudden, and Haechan’s lungs spasmed around the absence, his whole body jerking back as air rushed in sharp and brutal. He sucked breath after desperate breath, spit and snot stringing from his lips, jaw hanging loose. The world careened, white pinpricks crowding the edges of his vision as he blinked up at Johnny, dizzy, ruined, and so fucking proud of it.

He wiped the mess from his chin with the back of his hand, wrist trembling. Above him, Johnny loomed huge, cock shining with spit, the head flushed a violent plum, twitching at every pulse of his heart. The look on Johnny’s face, hungry, awe-struck, almost gentle, was a prize all its own.

“Holy fuck." Johnny gasped, voice wrecked, his free hand coming up to card through Haechan’s sweat-damp hair. “You’re really something else, you know that? Took that like a fucking champ. With a bit more training, you’ll be able to take it all, no problem. Only a few other people have ever handled me like that on their first try.” His thumb traced the swollen curve of Haechan’s lower lip, smearing spit and tears. “Fuck, look at you. You’re a mess.”

Haechan let out a shaky breath, his chest heaving. His throat burned, his jaw ached, and his face was slick with spit and tears, but the praise sent a jolt of heat straight to his gut. “Thanks." he rasped, voice raw. He licked his lips, tasting salt and Johnny, and felt his pussy twitch despite the exhaustion. He wasn’t done yet. Not even close.

Johnny smirked, then dragged the thick, glistening head of his cock across Haechan’s cheek, leaving a wet trail. He tapped it against Haechan’s lips, just enough to make him flinch. “Breathe for me, baby girl." he murmured, slapping his cock against Haechan’s flushed skin again, harder this time. The sound was obscene, wet and sharp, and Haechan’s breath hitched as the weight of it pressed against his cheek. “So, what’s next? You want me to get you ready to fuck, or do you have something else in mind?” Johnny’s voice was low, teasing, his cock still slapping lazily against Haechan’s face as if it were a metronome counting down to whatever came next.

Haechan’s pulse spiked. He was wrecked, his body trembling with exhaustion and overstimulation, but the thought of what came next sent a fresh wave of anticipation through him. He glanced at the clock on the side table, an hour. They’d been at this for an hour, and yet it felt like both seconds and a lifetime. There was still one more thing he wanted to do. He met Johnny’s gaze, his own eyes dark with determination. “One more thing." he said, voice rough but steady."and then you can do whatever you want with me.”

Johnny’s grin turned feral. “Sounds good to me.” He gave Haechan’s hair a gentle tug, just enough to make him gasp. “What’s the plan, baby girl?”

Haechan swallowed, his throat clicking. He could still taste Johnny there, thick and musky. He pushed himself up onto his knees, wobbling slightly. “Get up." he ordered, his voice gaining strength. “Bend over the couch.”

Johnny’s eyebrows shot up, but his grin only widened. “Oh, someone’s feeling bratty." he purred, but he obeyed. He climbed onto the couch, the frame groaning under his weight as he bent over, presenting himself. Haechan watched, his breath catching as Johnny’s broad back tapered down to the firm curve of his ass. The couch creaked ominously, and for a second, Haechan worried it might collapse under the strain, but it held, sturdy despite the protesting wood.

Johnny glanced back at him over his shoulder, expression caught somewhere between amusement and challenge. “Like what you see?” His hips shifted, a lazy roll, almost involuntary. “You don’t even have a dick. What exactly do you want with my ass?”

Haechan’s eyes moved slowly up the broad ladder of Johnny’s spine, then back down. His throat still ached. He didn’t care. “Your back is unfair." he said, the words coming out rougher than intended. “And your ass…” He exhaled through his nose. “You never let anyone near it. I know that. I’m not asking for that.” He moved forward on his knees, pressed his open mouth to the base of Johnny’s spine, felt the shiver that moved through him. “I just want to get my tongue in there. That’s all. Just want to make you lose it a little.”

Johnny’s breath stuttered. A beat of silence. “...Go ahead, then.”

He pressed his nose to the small of Johnny’s back and inhaled, slow and greedy, letting the scent, soap, sweat, musk, fill his head. The sight of Johnny, arms braced and back arched, was almost more than Haechan could process, a double exposure of all the times he’d watched Johnny rail someone on camera and the flesh-and-blood reality of him now, skin warm and faintly salty under Haechan’s mouth.

He kissed the dimple at the very base of Johnny’s spine, just above the rise of his ass, and followed the cleft down, tongue tracing the line, tasting sweat and heat. The skin was smooth at first, then a little rougher as he got lower. He spread Johnny open with both hands, fingers digging into the dense muscle, and got his first real look at Johnny’s hole, darker, tight and neat, just a hint of soft hair around it. Haechan’s pulse hammered inhis chest as he spread Johnny’s ass wider, exposing the puckered center. The flush of color there, the faint scent of clean sweat and something deeper, Haechan wanted it, wanted Johnny to feel as raw and unguarded as he’d just been.

He started with a kiss, just gentle and dry, right at the top of the cleft. Then another, lower, lips pressing into the dense muscle, feeling it tense under his mouth. He flicked his tongue out and licked a stripe up the length of the seam, lingering over the center, tasting the salt there. Johnny’s whole body went rigid, and then, impossibly, he relaxed, shoulders dropping as a low, guttural sound left his chest.

Haechan got greedy. He buried his face there, tongue working slow, tight circles around Johnny’s asshole, lapping at the sensitive skin until it softened, loosened, the taste shifting from soap to sweat to something entirely Johnny’s. He kept at it, tongue insistent, working the muscle until Johnny was rocking back against his face, the sound in his chest now a rough, steady growl.

He pulled away, the taste of Johnny’s sweat and skin still heavy on his tongue, and gave the muscle a sharp, appreciative bite. Johnny jerked, the flex of his thighs nearly bouncing Haechan back. Haechan grinned, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and smacked Johnny’s ass, hard enough to leave a red splotch blooming under his palm.

“I’m good." he said, voice raw and satisfied. “You can relax.”

Johnny twisted around, dark eyes glittering with something both dangerous and almost impressed. “You really are a brat." he said, voice unsteady. “But damn.” He reached around and pulled Haechan to his feet, dragging him into his lap with a single motion. The heat of Johnny’s cock pressed against the small of Haechan’s back, slick and throbbing, and all at once Haechan was straddling Johnny’s lap, hands braced against those mountainous shoulders, their faces close enough to breathe the same air.

Johnny’s mouth was on him in an instant, biting kisses to his lips, his jaw, the arch of his neck. Haechan felt himself melting, skin alive everywhere Johnny’s hands explored. Fingers dug into the meat of his ass, both palms squeezing together, kneading him open. There was nothing left to hide. The red lace pressed hot against his skin, soaked and sheer, the last remaining barrier between himself and the thing he had wanted most for his entire life.

“I think it’s time we move to the bedroom.” Johnny whispered it into Haechan’s ear, low enough that it hummed through his jaw.

“Yes, oppa.” Haechan licked Johnny’s ear and bit down on the lobe, felt the sharp intake of breath it drew out of him.

Johnny’s hands found his ass and simply lifted. No warning, no effort, Haechan’s breath punched out of him as his thighs snapped around Johnny’s waist, the soaked lace grinding against the hard plane of his stomach with every small shift of his weight. He felt enormous under Haechan’s hands, the muscle of his shoulders moving in slow, dense rolls as he turned to take in the suite. Johnny paused in the middle of the room, scanning the suite, big enough to be disorienting the first time through, before he found his bearings and moved. Then he moved, down the hall, one hand leaving Haechan’s ass just long enough to find the light switch, and the bedroom came up around them, dim and close, before Johnny leaned forward and let him fall softly on the bed.

Johnny climbs onto the bed like he owns it, like he owns him, and cages Haechan’s head between his arms, the weight of his body pressing down just enough to make Haechan’s breath hitch. He starts slow, hips rolling in a lazy grind, the friction of their clothes dragging heat between them until Haechan’s thighs are trembling. Then Johnny’s mouth crashes onto his, tongue pushing in like he’s trying to taste every corner, slow and filthy one second, then swallowing Haechan’s gasps the next. When he finally pulls back, it’s only to trail wet, open-mouthed kisses down Haechan’s throat, teeth scraping just enough to make him whine, then lower, over the soft swell of his chest, the dip of his stomach, until Johnny’s breath is hot against the lace still clinging to his hips.

“Happy birthday, baby girl." Johnny murmurs, fingers hooking into the waistband of Haechan’s panties, dragging them down along with the garters and stockings, slow enough to make Haechan’s skin prickle with anticipation. “You won’t be needing these for a while.” His voice drops, rough with promise. “Though fuck, they did look good on you.”

“Ht-thank you, oppa." Haechan manages, voice breathy. His fingers twist in the sheets as Johnny settles between his legs, lifting them onto his broad shoulders. The position spreads him wide, his pussy on full display, and he can feel Johnny’s breath against his inner thighs, hot and uneven.

Johnny inches forward, his stubble scraping against Haechan’s sensitive skin as he presses a kiss to the crease of his thigh. “Ready, baby?” he asks, looking up at Haechan through his lashes, lips glistening. His tongue darts out to wet them, and Haechan whimpers at the sight.

“God, yes." Haechan gasps, hips lifting in silent plea. “Please, oppa…”

Johnny didn’t hesitate. He dove in, mouth hot, tongue thick and flat as it pressed right into the slick mess between Haechan’s legs. Lips sealed over his cunt, and Haechan’s head whipped back so hard he nearly cracked it on the headboard. There was no warmup, no gentle kisses, no teasing. It was a full assault: Johnny’s tongue running a firm stripe straight up the center, the tip flicking over his clit and then right back into the sopping, hot center. The force of it made his voice break on a scream, loud, high, the sort of sound he only made when alone in his room with headphones over his ears. The suction was immediate, brutal; Johnny locked his mouth around the whole thing and didn’t relent, tongue pistoning in and out, then swirling ruthless, rough spirals until Haechan was writhing in his grip, back arched, hands knotted in the sheets.

Johnny’s hands gripped his thighs, cradling the bones with what felt like a negligent ease, like he could snap Haechan in two but was content to just hold, shake, steady. Haechan felt himself unravel, nerves shot, every part of him tuned to the slick, obscene rhythm of Johnny’s mouth. It hurt. The pressure, the heat, the blunt force of tongue and jaw, but he loved it, wanted to dissolve in it, with every pass, then back again, deeper, then up, until Haechan’s insides felt swollen, molten, flooded with sensation.

He was past the point of caring about dignity: he clutched at Johnny’s head, fingers tangling hard in the short hair behind his ears, pulling him closer, gasping and sobbing and swearing in a high, desperate stream as the pressure built. It was like nothing he’d ever tried to give himself with his hand: relentless, wet, almost violent. Each time Johnny’s tongue pressed into him it was like being opened again, forced to remember every inch of him, every moment that the last seven years had been leading to this.

He came, hard and sharp, hips grinding into Johnny’s face, back arching off the mattress. The orgasm tore through him, wracking and endless, almost painful in its depth. He felt his vision dissolve to static, his whole body locking up, nerves shuddering in the aftermath of the undoing. Had to forcibly unclench his fists from Johnny’s hair because the vision in his right eye had gone all sparkly.

He collapsed back, boneless, throat sore from the shout, legs twitching with aftershocks. Johnny pulled back, licking his lips slow, predatory, like a big cat proud of a mauling. Haechan had barely time to catch a breath before Johnny wedged one thick finger back into him, driving in up to the knuckle like he was already stretching him out for what came next.

“Can’t wait to see you cry on my cock." Johnny murmured, the words vibrating right against Haechan’s thigh. “Bet you’ll be the prettiest mess I’ve ever had.”Haechan didn’t doubt it; he was a mess already, hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, eyes blurred with tears, shivering and wet and completely, utterly ruined. The sheets under his ass squished with the slick of himself, his thighs slick and glistening in the low light.

Johnny stretched out over him, the mattress dipping under his weight. Haechan barely had time to gasp a lungful of air before Johnny’s mouth crashed onto his again. He tasted himself on Johnny’s tongue, salt and hunger, and he thought, Yes, yes, anything, everything. More.

Maybe he said it out loud, because Johnny laughed against his lips, then kissed him again, slower and meaner, tongue digging in with filthy intent. His hands roamed everywhere; they seemed to be everywhere, callused and hot, splaying Haechan out, pinning him down. Johnny nipped at his lower lip, then rolled his hips forward until the blunt, soaked head of his cock pressed against the ruined slick of Haechan’s cunt.

Haechan whimpered, a small terrified sound, and Johnny paused. He braced himself, both hands caging Haechan’s hips, and his voice dropped to a hush, so intimate Haechan’s pulse skittered. “Not yet. You still need some stretching, baby. I’m not about to send you to the ER on your birthday.” His thumb stroked a slow, dangerous arc over Haechan’s hipbone. “You want to walk tomorrow, don’t you?”

Haechan moaned, high and desperate, the sound nearly embarrassing, except Johnny looked at him like it was the best thing he’d heard all year. The weight of Johnny’s cock against his ruined, slick cunt was overwhelming, but he ached for more. “Please, oppa…” The word dissolved into a breathless whimper as Johnny’s hand slid lower, thick fingers skimming the hypersensitive skin just shy of where Haechan wanted them most.

“Patience." Johnny said, but he pressed a lazy kiss to Haechan’s jaw, almost sweet. Then his fingers slid down, two atonce, twice, and then in, slick and smooth, but still stretching him so wide it burned. Haechan’s body arched up off the bed. His nails clawed the sheets, desperate for purchase. “God…” he gasped, then bit his tongue as Johnny started to fuck him open, slow rotations with his wrist, careful, almost methodical.

“Good girl." Johnny said, low and rough. “You’re taking it so well.” The praise made something volcanic shift inside Haechan, a fresh surge of slick squelching around Johnny’s fingers as he pumped them in deeper, scissoring gently, searching for something. Haechan’s breath froze. Johnny crooked his fingers in a come-hither and there, a flare of white-hot pleasure, a perfect, devastating pressure inside him.

“Right there!” Haechan’s whole body trembled around it, electricity rippling out from that one spot, his pussy throbbing so hard he saw stars. All his sensitivity was wound up in that spot, and Johnny’s fingers played it like an instrument, press, release, slow drag, then again, and again, relentless, every bit as methodical as he’d promised.

The first time Johnny shoved three fingers in, Haechan bit down on his own hand, sobbing with the effort of staying open. It felt like it should split him, but the stretch was so good, so right. He blinked away a new rush of tears and saw Johnny looking down, hungry, patient, gaze fixed on the way his hand disappeared inside Haechan’s ruined cunt.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful like this." Johnny said, voice shaky, and he leaned down to press a slow, soaking kiss to Haechan’s cheek. “I could come just from watching you open up.”

He added a fourth finger. Haechan almost blacked out.

Johnny’s hand was huge. The back of it bulged under the skin of Haechan’s pelvis, the knuckles stacked up tight just inside, stretching him in a way nothing ever had. Haechan squirmed, shivering, the pain right at the edge of what he could handle, and then Johnny rotated his wrist, just a little, just enough, and the burn shifted to a fullness so deep and overwhelming it made him sob.

“You ready?” Johnny’s voice, soft but steady, his other hand stroking the inside of Haechan’s thigh, gentle. “If you can take four fingers, you’re ready for my cock.”

Haechan nodded, frantic, tears leaking sideways into his hair. He felt split wide, body shaking, nothing in the world but the pressure inside and the monster cock waiting to take its place.

Johnny’s hand came out with a sick, obscene squelch, and Haechan watched, dazed, as the wide, slick span of it glistened in the low light. His pussy fluttered around the sudden emptiness, clenched needy and desperate, already missing the stretch. Johnny wiped his hand on the sheet and straightened up, the shadow of him huge now, and the impossible sight of Johnny’s cock laying flat against his own stomach, the thick, purpled head notching just below his navel, shaft veined and blunt and slab-like, the tip already glossed with precome. If Haechan relaxed his own stomach, the head of Johnny’s cock would rest near his diaphragm. The sight and the scale of it made Haechan gasp, then whimper, a sound half terror, half worship.

“Look at that." Johnny said, voice rough with pride. He lined it up, tucking the base between Haechan’s thighs. “You sure you’re ready to take it?” He nudged the head against Haechan’s slit, and the heat was instant, a fever-bright ache. Haechan nodded, too gone to speak.

“You want me to use a condom?” Johnny’s voice was low, almost gentle, and it took Haechan a beat to parse the words through the white noise in his head.

He blinked. He’d watched enough porn streams to know what most people said. But this was real. This was Johnny’s cock, not just a concept. This was about to be him, stretched out and open, taking it raw or not at all.

“Raw." Haechan whispered, then louder."Raw, please. I want to feel you. Everythingall of you." he said, voice almost gone."Want to be ruined by you, oppa. Please, just… I want it so bad.” He didn’t know whether he was begging, or warning, or just announcing to the universe that he would never be the same after tonight.

Johnny paused, the wet head of his cock pressed at the entrance, not quite in. “You sure there’s no risk of you getting pregnant?” His voice was a ragged whisper, but it cut through the haze in Haechan’s brain. “I’ve never done it raw with someone like you. With a pussy. If you get knocked up, your rich parents are going to kill me.”

There was a second where Haechan almost laughed, almost started giggling like a lunatic at the sheer wildness of the question. But he only shook his head, nails digging into the meat of Johnny’s arms. “I’m on the pill. It’s the only thing I planned for. Please, I needed it to be you, not some condom. I want to feel you, all of you.” His whole body was trembling with it, hunger, need, maybe a little bit of terror. But mostly hunger. He couldn’t remember wanting anything more, ever.

Johnny exhaled through his nose, a sharp, broken sound, and for a second he just hovered, like he might want to change his mind. Then: “Good girl.” And he pushed in, the blunt head of his cock pressing against the ruined slick of Haechan until he thought it might split him right up the middle.

Haechan was ready for pain. He’d braced himself for it, even wanted it, but nothing prepared him for the sheer scope of Johnny’s cock forcing its way inside. The pressure was unimaginable, a white-hot burn that stole every breath from his lungs. It felt like being forced open by a fist, like every bone in his body was being ground to dust, stretch so absolute it left his vision static-edged, his torso cramping from the force of it. He yelped, or maybe just mewled, the sound thin and high, as Johnny forced the head in with a wet, obscene pop. Every inch after that felt like a knifeblade drawn through molten sugar: there was sweetness in the pain, but oh god, it hurt so good.

”Shhh." Johnny rasped, voice somewhere above his head. “You’re doing perfect. You can take more. I know you can.” The praise hit Haechan with such force he buried his face in Johnny’s bicep, teeth digging in hard to keep from screaming.

Each thrust was a battle. The descent into him was slow, Johnny’s cock like a battering ram, forcing him wide and then wider again, until Haechan was splayed, hips canted up, heels digging into the sheets. Even with all the prep, all the stretching, Haechan thought he was being opened by a force of nature, a pressure so ruthless and pure it threatened to empty him out completely. It hurt. He wanted it to hurt. He thought he might want to cry, it was so sweet and sharp, but all the noise came out as a needy, keening whimper, barely human.

Johnny’s hands never let go, holding tight at Haechan’s hips, bracing him against the mattress. He kept his eyes on the place where they joined, watching the slow, impossible progress of his cock vanishing inside, the way Haechan’s cunt gripped and shuddered around every new inch. “Almost there, baby." he grunted, sweat beading down his forehead. “You’re halfway. Gonna settle in. Gonna ruin you for any other dick. Never gonna forget this.”

Haechan bit down on the meat of his own hand, half-hysterical with the pain and pride of it.

The first full stroke was a kind of annihilation. Johnny pulled out most of the way, the thick, ridged length dragging wetly against Haechan’s ruined walls, then drove back in with a force that made the bedframe slam into the wall. The sound was loud, brutal, final. Haechan heard himself, some high sob, almost alien, then felt Johnny’s lips at the side of his neck, hot and searching.

“Almost there. Almost…” Johnny’s voice broke, and with a final shove, hips pinned him to the mattress and drove the last few inches home. The impact made stars explode behind Haechan’s eyes; the heat, the pressure, so total it was almost a relief when the pain finally crested and broke, leaving only fullness, the stretched, throbbing ache of being claimed by something impossible.

He looked down and saw the bulge in his stomach, a soft rise above his navel, so impossible and stupidly cartoonish he almost laughed. It was Johnny’s cock, all twelve inches of it, forming a visible hill in his own body, and the sight made his head swim. He tried to say something, maybe a joke, maybe just a cry, but what came out was a croaked."Oh, fuck… look.” and then he was clutching at his own stomach, pressing his palm to the warm, stretched skin, feeling the shape of Johnny moving inside him.

Johnny’s hand closed over his wrist, pinning it down. “Don’t." Johnny said, voice shredded."You’ll make me come just from seeing that.” His other hand cupped the side of Haechan’s face, thumb slicking away a tear. “You’re the tightest thing I’ve ever felt. Fuck. Can you feel it?”

Haechan couldn’t speak, could barely breathe. He was full, filled until his entire core felt bruised and glowing, stretched to the very limit. Johnny didn’t move at first. He just held himself there, buried so deep that Haechan thought he might snap in half, his big hands anchoring Haechan’s hips to the mattress. Haechan felt the pulse in Johnny’s cock, each throb a thick, molten bullet that ricocheted through his guts. He couldn’t look away from the obscene curve of his own stomach, the proof that Johnny was in him, all the way, more than any fantasy had ever dared.

When Johnny finally pulled back, the sensation was almost worse, a slow, stubborn drag that made Haechan’s head slam back against the pillow, his knuckles white on the sheets. The ridge of the crown caught on his entrance, stretching him anew, and for a second Haechan thought he’d just turn inside out and split open, leave the ruined, twitching core behind. The sudden emptiness ached; the next thrust nearly made him blackout. Johnny set a slow, merciless rhythm, each stroke flattening Haechan to the mattress, the room stuttering in and out of focus. The pain was instant, lightning-bright, edged with a sweetness that stung more than it soothed. It was too much. It was perfect.

He found a new rhythm, slow at first, like Johnny was sizing up how much violence Haechan’s body could survive, then a faster grind, sharp and relentless. The headboard slammed the wall with every heavy, rutting thrust. The slick of Haechan’s ruined cunt soaked the sheets, the smell animal and overwhelming. Sweat stung his eyes, slicked the small of his back, pooled at the inside of his thighs. His body was open, raw, his mind reduced to a static blur. He felt the shape of the cockinside him, felt it mold his insides to a shape only Johnny could leave behind.

He couldn’t keep track of the orgasms. The first was shocking, savage, ripped from him with almost no warning, a sudden convulsion that left his vision gray, his whole body spasming under Johnny’s weight. The second came minutes later, when Johnny shifted the angle of his hips and ground the thick head of his cock against something inside Haechan he hadn’t even known existed. It was nuclear, every nerve ending in his pelvis lighting up at once, his walls clamping down so hard Johnny actually gasped and for a second stopped moving, just holding him tight, letting the tremors die down.

But Johnny didn’t slow. Didn’t even pretend to give him a break. He buried Haechan into the mattress and fucked him through every aftershock, every twitch and whimper, the sweat from Johnny’s chest slicking against Haechan’s skin, his breath hot and animal on his neck. The mattress thumped against the headboard again and again, a metronome for their undoing. Haechan’s world narrowed to the liquid heat that kept blooming from the point of impact, the flood that never seemed to slow no matter how much Johnny took from him.

He started to acclimate. It wasn’t that the pain faded, if anything, it got sharper with every thrust, each flex of Johnny’s hips. But something in him unlocked after the third, maybe fourth, orgasm; his body began to anticipate the next slam instead of bracing against it. The wet, searing stretch at the base of his cunt became a pulse, then a rhythm, then a kind of singing ache, so precise that Haechan could almost hear it in the spaces behind his ears, in the back of his tongue. He felt the shock of every bottom-out as a shiver that lit his whole body. It was too much, and not enough, and he didn’t want it to end. He wanted to be pounded into paste, to be filled and marked and completely destroyed.

“Harder." Haechan gasped into Johnny’s shoulder, and Johnny did it, no hesitation, just raw acceleration, his hips slamming into Haechan with a violence that bordered on inhuman. The sound of flesh on flesh was sharp, wet, relentless. Haechan’s thighs trembled, toes curled so hard the muscles seized. He barely heard himself, voice high and ragged."More… please…oppa…fuck, fuck me…”

A dark, broken laugh from above him, a hand snaking under his thigh to hook behind the knee and fold it up, driving Johnny even deeper. “You’re turning into a cockslut already, aren’t you." Johnny bit out, teeth grazing Haechan’s ear."Birthday brat just needed to get ruined, huh? You wanted this your whole fucking life, didn’t you?”

Johnny straightened, bracing himself on his elbows, the sweat shining on his chest and arms. Then, with a grunt, he reached down, gripped Haechan’s hip, and heaved. The motion was dizzying, one moment Haechan was pinned, boneless and fucked-out, the next he was airborne, the world flipping. He landed astride Johnny’s lap, thighs splayed wide, hands catching desperately at Johnny’s stomach for balance. The thick, slick head of Johnny’s cock was still buried in him, but now it was Haechan on top, the length spearing him open from below, the new angle making something white-hot lance through his pelvis.

“Look at you." Johnny said, voice shot and a little awed. “You wanted to ride it, didn’t you? You want to show me you can fuck yourself on it like a pro?”

Haechan’s brain was still lagging behind the change in gravity. He looked down. The size and scope of Johnny’s cock inside him was nearly terrifying from above, he could see, now, the way it bulged his stomach, could feel the drag of every vein as he shifted his hips. He braced his hands on Johnny’s chest and rolled his hips experimentally, watched Johnny’s eyes slide half-shut at the movement, his jaw grinding with restraint.

Haechan moved, fighting through the stretched, stingy pain, fighting through the shock of new angles. If he pulled up too high, Johnny’s cock almost popped out, still shining, head flared and angry. When he dropped again, gravity did most of the work: the head split him open all over again, bottoming out with a slap that made Haechan’s skin sting. He did it again, faster, and again, found a cadence, a rhythm that gave him some control, some agency, some sense of I am doing this, I am the one fucking him, even a little, I am the one in control now.

The pain was still there, bright as an electric fence, but underneath it a flood of molten slick, the kind of pleasure that felt like being drugged, unmoored from reality. Haechan chased it, hips working, thighs burning with effort, nails clawing at the heavy wall of Johnny’s chest. Each time he bottomed out, the bulge in his stomach seemed to rise higher, the muscles of his core trembling around the stretch.

It was a ridiculous, obscene, perfect sight. Haechan couldn’t stop staring at himself, open, straining, ruined and doing it to himself on purpose. He was so close, so nearly there, that it made him dizzy with impatience.

He leaned forward, braced hands on Johnny’s pecs, squeezing the meat there until it dimpled under his fingers. He rode Johnny hard, using gravity and pure will, slamming his hips down until the slap of flesh echoed off the glass like applause. Each drop forced the thick head of that monster cock right up against the sore, battered spot inside him, the impact so deep and so total it made his vision cloud at the edges. Every time, the pain and the pleasure re-lit themselves at the same point, overlapping, both of them so sharp he couldn’t separate them.

He let himself tip back, hands flat on Johnny’s thighs, feeling the heat even through the hair. The view from here was obscene: the shaft split him open, impossibly wide, the ring of his own cunt stretched cherry-red around the base. He couldn’t believe it fit. He couldn’t believe he wanted more. The wet, shiny mess of him creamed down the length with each thrust, a slick sheen climbing his own skin, pooling in the dark hair at the base of Johnny’s cock. Every motion threatened to split him, and somehow that was exactly the point. He wanted to see how far he could go before something, anything, gave out.

Johnny sat up, slow, the movement smooth as a hydraulic piston. Haechan barely registered it before massive hands curled under his ass, steadying him as Johnny took control of the rhythm. Haechan tried to brace, but Johnny’s lips found his shoulder, tongue tracing the damp line of sweat up to his ear. “You’re a really good at this, you know that?” Johnny rasped, voice more crackle than sound. “I want you to come for me. Show me how much you like it.”

Haechan gasped, couldn’t help it. The new angle speared him open so deep it felt like his whole pelvis might crack and spill. But Johnny’s voice in his ear, was the last straw, an electric jolt straight to the base of Haechan’s spine. He felt it coming on like a fever and let it take him, hands clawing at Johnny’s shoulders as he bit down on his own lip to stifle the scream. His orgasm ripped through him in a rolling, clenching wave. Every muscle clenched, every nerve burned, his pulse hammered so hard he couldn’t tell if it was pleasure or a heart attack.

He shook, thick sobs tearing out of his throat, whole body twitching as the aftershocks crashed through. He kept moving, kept grinding down, desperate for friction, even as it got to be too much, too sharp, pain chasing right behind the pleasure.

He didn’t stop. He couldn’t. The friction of Haechan’s spent, pulsing cunt around his cock was addictive, a feedback loop of pain and pleasure. Haechan dimly recognized he was making sounds, wet, animal, broken, each time Johnny bottomed out, the headboard thumping in time with his own heart. His thighs had long since given out, but Johnny just hoisted him up and down with both hands, working his ruined body onto the shaft with the kind of mechanical, perfect rhythm Haechan knew only Johnny could have.

He expected Johnny to finish then, to bury his cock and fill Haechan up, but instead Johnny went still. The change in tempo was instant, like a record scratch, like the world had suddenly paused.

Then Johnny wrapped both arms around Haechan’s torso, braced his fists at the small of Haechan’s back, and lifted.

For a second Haechan thought he’d be sick, but instead Johnny stood up, taking Haechan with him. Just, stood, all six-foot-four and every inch of him hard, hauling Haechan up like he weighed nothing. The sudden loss of the mattress startled a yelp out of Haechan; his arms flailed for purchase, hands flying to Johnny’s neck. He clung there, legs splayed wide, the whole of Johnny’s cock still sunk inside, the rest of his body dangling helpless around it.

Then Johnny started to fuck him in the air.

He pistoned up, gravity and muscle both working together, and the momentum sent Haechan’s brain lurching behind the motion. Every thrust was a full-body event: Johnny’s hands gripped Haechan’s ass, lifting and dropping him, the cock inside him punching so deep he couldn’t tell where his body ended and Johnny’s began. The burn re-lit, the fullness went nuclear, and Haechan’s world was reduced to the bright, blinding core of sensation, a single thread of pain and wanting that looped endlessly in his chest.

Johnny walked them to the window, arms solid around Haechan’s back, city lights spreading out below, blue and white and raw ochre. The glass went cold against Haechan’s spine as Johnny pinned him there, one hand splayed under the angle of his ribs, holding him up like a trophy. Haechan’s legs gave up entirely. He let himself dangle, trusted Johnny to keep him from melting right down the pane. The city spun behind Johnny’s head. The reflection in the glass was a fever vision: Haechan’s face, red and wet, and Johnny, looming and broad, hips jackhammering in a way that looked too unreal to be happening.

It was obscene and beautiful, and Haechan wanted to scream. Instead, the sound that came out was a long, thin keen, like a teakettle left past its boiling point, about to shatter. Johnny’s movement never faltered, drove through every quiver and spasm, his cock splitting Haechan with rhythm so ruthless he felt it echo in his molars. The chill of the glass made every nerve leap in relief and pain; the only thing anchoring Haechan to reality was Johnny’s grip at his back and the blunt, bruising presence of him inside.

Haechan’s orgasm this time was nothing like the others. It was chemical, nuclear, some tidal wave that uprooted every thought and left only afterimages, the city blurring to raw color, the ache exploding into white. His vision vanished in tears, his voice gone, the only sound the horrible, wet slap of flesh and Johnny’s low, gutted moans pouring against his cheek.

“Look at yourself." Johnny said, and even through the crush of sensation Haechan could hear the wrecked pride there. “Look at how you take it. All the way in, all the way down. So fucking pretty when you’re full, baby. You like being my little toy? Yeah, you do. You like the way I split you open for the whole city to see.”

Haechan couldn’t look, couldn’t do anything but cling, trying to keep the edges of himself from sparking away. The burn and drag combined with the dizzying height, his mind swimming, one cheek pressed hard to the glass and the other to Johnny’s sweat-slicked shoulder. It was all friction, split and sting, pressure behind his eyes so intense it made him see double. He tried to say more, to beg for something, but his tongue was numb and every word was lost in the wet, shuddering gasp of his own breath.

Johnny’s hips worked faster, the thrusts turning ragged. Each time the tip of his cock ground against that battered spot inside Haechan, it sent a burst of wet sound echoing through the whole roomuntil Haechan thought he might faint from the force.

After his next orgasm, Johnny set him back down on the bed. Haechan felt the mattress catch him like something merciful. Johnny didn’t give him long, just long enough to flip him over, one hand pressing between his shoulder blades, the other cracking down on his ass with a sound that rang off the walls before smoothing over the sting with his palm. The couch came next, Haechan’s back to Johnny’s chest, thighs forced wide, the city still glittering indifferently through the window. Then the table, cold and hard and unyielding under his palms. Then the floor, Johnny’s full weight pinning him flat, fucking down into him with a slow, grinding pressure that made Haechan feel like he was being pressed through the earth. Then the bed again, on his side, one leg hoisted up and held there, the stretch a dull, deep ache he’d stopped trying to process.

At some point Johnny stopped, sat back against the headboard, and cracked open a water bottle. He drank, then tipped it to Haechan’s lips without a word. Haechan swallowed. His throat was raw.

Then it started again. The couch. The door. Johnny shouldering it open mid-thrust, walking them both out into the corridor’s cold fluorescent air, Haechan too far gone to feel anything as sharp as shame. He’d lost count of his own orgasms somewhere around the table. Johnny hadn’t come once. Haechan could feel it, the way Johnny pulled back every time the rhythm turned ragged, reset, began again. Johnny showing off what years of being a pornstar could do.

Now Haechan was on his back, chest heaving, the sheets under him damp and bunched. Johnny had him pinned, hips nestled between Haechan’s thighs, their faces so close every hot exhale pooled between them. The taste of Johnny was still slick on Haechan’s tongue; every nerve was singing, body ricocheting between exhaustion and a need that refused to quiet down.

Johnny was fucking him slow now, long and deep, each thrust measured, cruelly patient. Haechan whined, tried to grind his hips for more friction, but Johnny’s hands were locked around his wrists, pinning them above his head. The strength in his grip was obscene, the muscle in his arms flexing with each roll of his body. Haechan swallowed a sob, lips trembling.

Johnny’s face was right there, so close Haechan could see the sweat glinting in the hollows under his eyes, the pulse ticking at the thick cord of his neck. He looked wrecked, every muscle standing out in bold relief, shoulders bunched, jaw locked, mouth working open and shut with each slow thrust. He was talking, now, voice so low Haechan could feel the vibrations in the mattress more than he could hear the words.

“Gonna fill you up." Johnny growled. “Gonna fuck you so full you’re leaking for a week. You want that?” His hips pressed down, flattening Haechan to the sheets. “Want to feel me breed you, baby girl?”

Haechan tried to nod, but Johnny’s grip pinned him so tight he could barely breathe. All he could do was whimper, a wordless, desperate sound, and try to arch his back against the crush of Johnny’s body. He felt the words more than heard them, deep and rumbling, shaking from the inside out. He tried to say yes, to plead, to promise he’d be good, but everything was a hot slick blur and he could only whine and twist, desperate for more.

Johnny’s rhythm stuttered, hips punching in faster, harder, the sound of it so loud Haechan thought the neighbors might call the cops. The pressure built with every thrust, the edge so sharp it felt like a threat, a warning, a promise. Haechan dug his nails into Johnny’s biceps, couldn’t help it, needed to anchor himself to something real, something solid, something that wouldn’t vanish after.

“Yeah?” Johnny’s voice split through the fog, dark and savage. “You want to be my bitch? My little cumdump?” The head of his cock bludgeoning Haechan’s insides, every word punctuated by another thrust. “You can barely speak, can you, baby? Just making noise now. That’s all you are, a pretty little hole for me to fill.” He panted, voice catching, and drove in deep, once, twice, a final time, then went rigid.

The heat of him exploded inside Haechan, a thick, bright punch of sensation that felt like it started in his cunt and spread everywhere. He felt every pulse, every contraction, every wild, unstoppable rush of cum spilling inside, filling him up until it forced itself back out around the root of Johnny’s cock. It was so much, so fast, that Haechan arched up, tried to scream and couldn’t, lungs empty and locked. The world fizzed at the edges, blacks and blues, the only anchor Johnny’s heartbeat pounding against Haechan’s chest, the wet press of his lips at the side of his throat, marking him with teeth, branding him as Johnny’s and no one else’s.

When the world came back, Haechan was still floating. His body hummed with leftover energy, a tautness in his limbs that was somehow both afterglow and warning. Johnny’s cock was still buried in him, softening slowly, the heat of his come leaking out around the edges, pooling messily between Haechan’s thighs. The room stank of sweat and sex and salt. He felt wrung out, like every part of him had been emptied and filled in the same instant.

Johnny didn’t move. He just laid there, a heavy, grounding force, his arms still bracketing Haechan’s head, his breath coming fast and ragged. Haechan could feel the thump of Johnny’s heart, wild and uneven, through the press of their chests. For a moment it felt like time had been suspended, like the city had stopped.

Eventually something did: Johnny groaned, deep in his chest, and levered himself up on both arms, elbows bracketing Haechan’s head. He looked down, eyes blown out and unfocused, then slowly drew out, every inch a bright, bruising ache that left Haechan gasping. As soon as the head popped free, a wash of cum followed, sticky and too hot, leaking over Haechan’s thighs and soaking the sheets.

“So much." Haechan managed. “It’s like a waterfall.”

Johnny snorted, slumping down beside him, rolling Haechan into the curve of his arm. They lay like that, Johnny’s heart still thumping against Haechan’s shoulder, sweat cooling everywhere. Johnny’s hand landed on Haechan’s chest, flat and warm, fingers splayed wide enough to cover both pecs at once.

“We’re gonna need a shower." Johnny said, voice gravelly, like he’d been screaming all night. Maybe he had, Haechan’s ears still rang with the echo of his own voice, the litany of please and don’t stop and yes, oppa, yes. “Or maybe a firehose.”

“Yeah." Haechan breathed, throat raw as sandpaper. His fingers twitched against Johnny’s back, nails still half-dug into the muscle there. “Thank you. For, for this. For making it…” His voice cracked, but he forced the words out anyway. “For making it good. The best first time I could’ve asked for.”

Johnny’s laugh came out rough, scraped at the edges. His hand hadn’t moved from Haechan’s chest. “You know what I kept waiting for?” His thumb found a slow, idle path between Haechan’s collarbones. “The tap. The ‘okay, actually, I need a minute.’ I’ve had guys twice your size go pale and start making excuses.” He exhaled through his nose, something almost like disbelief in it. “You just…” He stopped, shook his head. “You were good, Haechan. I don’t mean that like a consolation prize. I mean it was hard to keep track of the fact that you’d never done this before.”

“That’s because I’ve watched more of your porn than anyone alive." Haechan managed, rolling his face into the bony shelf of Johnny’s shoulder. The heat of Johnny’s palm was a brand at the center of his chest; he felt owned, marked, reset at the cellular level. “You’ve been training me for years. Really, this is just a reflection on your excellent instructional design.”

Johnny’s chest shook with a silent laugh. He squeezed Haechan, massaged the bone and muscle under his fingers like he was checking the results of his own handiwork. “You’re a brat." he said, but there was a slow spread of warmth in the words, something almost, no, not almost, fond.

Johnny rolled off the mattress, bones popping loud enough to make Haechan wince in sympathetic echo. There was a moment where he just stood there, blinking in the low blue light, then scrubbed a hand through his hair and glanced down at the wreckage of their bodies and the sheets, which looked like the aftermath of a minor industrial accident.

“Come on.” Johnny appeared at the bathroom threshold, backlit by the glow from inside, and held out a hand. “Shower.”

“One second." Haechan said.

Johnny disappeared. A moment later the water came on, and Haechan lay there and let the sound of it fill the room. The sheets under him were ruined. He was ruined. He found the phone on the nightstand without really looking for it.

“Hi. Could someone come up and change the sheets in the penthouse?” He listened. “We’ll be in the shower. No need to knock.” He hung up and put the phone back.

Through the wall, the water ran. He could feel his own heartbeat, slow and steady now, almost boring. He lay there until the steam started creeping under the bathroom door in thin fingers, then got up slowly, one piece at a time.

Haechan limped to the bathroom, each step a tender reminder of how thoroughly he’d been used. Steam billowed from the shower stall where Johnny stood already beneath the spray, water sluicing down the hard planes of his back. Haechan slid the door open and stepped inside, hissing as the hot water hit oversensitive skin. Johnny turned, eyes dark and lazy, and pulled him close without a word. They washed each other slowly, hands sliding over soap-slick skin, Johnny’s big palms working shampoo into Haechan’s hair, Haechan’s trembling fingers tracing the welts he’d left on Johnny’s shoulders. They kissed under the falling water, mouths soft and searching now, no longer desperate but something quieter, something like gratitude.

At some point, through the steam and the sound of the water, there was a click from somewhere in the suite.

Johnny’s hands slowed against his scalp. “Was that the door?”

“Mm.” Haechan let his eyes stay closed. “The staff. I called down before we got in so we could have clean sheets.”

A pause. Johnny’s hands resumed, but differently. “It’s one in the morning.”

“I know.”

“We could have just."

“I’ll tip them.” He turned his face up into the spray, rinsing the shampoo out himself. “It’s fine. It’s what they’re here for.”

Johnny made a sound low in his throat, not quite a laugh, not quite disapproval. “Rich kids." he said, to no one in particular.

They took their time. By the time they came out, the suite had been quietly, efficiently cleaned, sheets crisp and pulled to the corners, their clothes folded on the chair or rehung in the closet, the air cycled through with something faintly eucalyptus. Almost convincing. If you stood still in the middle of the room and breathed in, underneath the clean hotel smell, there was still something else. Faint. Warm. Theirs.

Johnny stood at the foot of the bed with a towel around his waist and looked at the turned-down sheets.

“Somebody out there knows exactly what we did in here.”

Haechan climbed onto the bed and pulled the covers back. “Several somebodies, probably.”

“That doesn’t bother you.”

Haechan looked up at him. “Should it?”

“I-” Johnny stopped. Whatever the thought was, it didn’t quite make it out.

“You’re a pornstar." Haechan said, matter-of-fact, already pulling the covers back. “Someone out there has your sex face as their phone wallpaper. Two hotel employees knowing we did it is nothing.” He let the towel fall and got in. “Also this is a hotel, lot of people come here to have sex.”

Johnny looked at him for a moment. Then he laughed, once, through his nose, and followed.

The room settled around them. Haechan rolled into Johnny’s side without ceremony, cheek against the warm skin over his ribs. Johnny’s arm came around him, not immediately, but it came. His hand settled at the curve of Haechan’s waist. Outside, somewhere far below, a car horn sounded once and was gone.

The city threw pale light across the ceiling. The sheets were cold and clean and perfect. Haechan breathed in and found, underneath the eucalyptus, something that hadn’t been there before they got in.

He didn’t say anything about it. He just stayed still and let Johnny’s heartbeat slow under his ear until his own followed it down.

In the morning, they got up slowly. The clothes from last night were the only clothes they had, so they put them back on, which felt like a statement of some kind. Haechan didn’t examine it too closely.

The elevator down was quiet. Haechan’s gait was not, natural, a limp.

“You’re limping." Johnny said.

“I’m not limping.”

“You’re a little bit limping.”

Haechan didn’t dignify that.

The hotel restaurant was mostly empty at this hour, pale morning light coming in flat across the tablecloths. They ordered. Johnny ate bacon with the focused energy of a man who had earned it. Haechan wrapped both hands around his orange juice and looked out the window at the city doing its slow morning thing.

“So.” Johnny set his fork down. “That was…” He made a gesture. “Good. We could do it again. Next time I’m in Seoul, if you want. Might be a while.”

Haechan looked at him over the rim of his glass. “Or sooner.”

“Sooner?”

“I’m going to UCLA.” He watched Johnny process this. “I graduate next week. Two weeks after that I’m in LA with my parents, buying a place.”

A pause. “Buying.”

“It’s not…” He caught Johnny’s expression. “It’s not that much. For me.”

Johnny was quiet. He set his fork down, which felt like a punctuation mark. “I’ve been renting the same place for three years." he said. Not an accusation. Just the shape of the distance between them, laid out flat.

Haechan looked at him. Under the table, he found Johnny’s leg with his foot and walked it slowly upward.

Johnny’s hand came down and wrapped around his ankle. Held it still. “Rich kid." he said, same as last night, same tone.

“I’m just saying." Haechan said."if we’re in the same city…”

Johnny picked up his hand and moved it. Held it there a second before letting go. “You’d need someone to show you around anyway.” He reached for his coffee. “LA’s not Seoul.”

“Is that an offer?”

Johnny looked at him over the rim of his cup. Something moved through his expression that didn’t quite resolve into anything nameable.

“Ask me again in two weeks." he said.

“I’ll ask.” Haechan’s smile was a sharp, private thing. “I’ll need to christen the place anyway.” He let the words hang between them before adding."Maybe if you come over enough, it could become a permanent arrangement. After all." he said, running his tongue along the rim of the glass."I don’t mind the pornstar thing. Or the huge dick.” His eyes met Johnny’s over the juice. “Or the man attached to it.”