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The headboard hit the wall with every thrust of Rok Soo’s hips. The banging was constant, acting like a bass to their vocals, fading in the background like white noise while he attentively listened to every sound Jung Soo made.
Choi Jung Soo — his teammate and fellow first-year, friend and lover and family, someone who was too willing to give his everything to him, too ready to take him home that he wanted to rebuild, too bright for this world — was red in the face, teartracks glistening on his cheeks as his brows furrowed from pleasure, nose adorably scrunched up.
Warmth spread inside Rok Soo’s chest; ever since their official introduction, he always took effort to observe the man and record his reactions whenever they were together. At first it was to get to know the other’s strength and abilities in battle, but then they ended up sharing the living quarters with each other, and his habit carried over.
Jung Soo always ate at least two plates during meals, was an absolute disaster in the kitchen and was very close to actually starting praying for Rok Soo’s kimchi; every time he smiled, dimples appeared, and every time he was annoyed but still trying to be polite, his pinkie on the right hand would twitch and his smile wouldn’t meet his eyes. His favorite hoodie was over a decade old, its blues washed out, given to him by one of his older cousins. He kept a brown dog plushie gifted to him by a little girl they saved together on one of their first mission; her front tooth was missing, her nose was bleeding and they were surrounded by debris of the building she was forced to hide to survive the monsters, but the smile she gave them was gleeful and pure.
(Later that evening Rok Soo found his flatmate on their beaten up couch, the same dog plushie clutched in his hands, silent. Rok Soo didn’t know what to say, so he just opened the door to his room and left the other with his own thoughts.)
Jung Soo was incredibly kind, trying to lighten up the mood during their missions, but not naive; he was reliable, but a rookie and prone to mistakes, sometimes overestimating his abilities to protect someone and getting hurt instead. Whenever his injuries weren’t too severe and getting help from their healers was difficult, Rok Soo would instead take the matters into his own hands and nurse him back into health; after the first time Jung Soo quit trying to stop him and opted to buying more sweets — Rok Soo scolded him for it, because they were expensive, but Jung Soo continued and Rok Soo didn’t say anything to him anymore about it.
They were in the middle of an apocalypse, monsters roaming the streets and disasters happening left and right; the emotions could get the better of someone, and the entire team would pay for it. People lost families and friends the day the Cataclysm happened and tore their reality apart, welcoming beings too jarring and bloodthirsty than anyone could deal with; every day another massive funeral was held, more deaths weighing on their shoulders than yesterday and more gory sights burning themselves into the memory, coming up behind their eyelids.
He knew that getting involved with someone was dangerous, when they both might end up having to bury the other’s body too soon, or might not even have any to bury. Everyone ended up leaving after a while, and Choi Jung Soo wouldn’t be an exception.
But when he was watching Jung Soo eat, excitingly retelling a story from his childhood — his clothes got caught on a tree branch and he had to wait for his younger cousin get their grandma, because the “damned” tree was tall and he was unlucky enough to hang upside down, — rice stuck to the corner of his mouth, Rok Soo thought he could give it a try. The beautiful hope, the same shape as Jung Soo’s outline, was too delicate, too precious to not cradle it close to his chest, until his other part could be soothed by his heartbeat, surrounded by warm blankets and pillows, only worried about the rainy weather the next day and what to buy for dinner after work.
Another moan slipped past Jung Soo’s lips; his mouth hung open, drool making its way down the side of his face, body pushed deeper in the mattress and pillows with each thrust. He clutched the bedding, muscles flexed, veins bulging as he held on; his broad chest was freely displayed, and his brownish nipples hard. The long and jagged scars crossed the skin, but there were just as many if not more hickeys; one bitemark was left right in the middle of Jung Soo’s throat. The records of his yelp that continued into a moan when Rok Soo kept sucking on it, dick in hand until it spurted white, quickly manifested themselves in his mind.
His hips jerked, entering deeper than before; his lover let out a broken whimper, his eyes half-lidded.
The hand that wasn’t holding Jung Soo’s leg over his shoulder rose to the other’s face; the man leaned into his touch immediately, nuzzling his palm and leaving open mouthed kisses.
Beautiful, just like this.
Stubborn and unyielding in the face of danger, scars a sign of bravery and survival; another evidence of him living to see another day. A light of hope for humanity, for a peaceful life to be reached.
A warm embrace in the morning, a laugh at the table and a messy eating, a tense pinky and a petty argument, a broken arm and more bandages bought, a stupid movie and strewn blankets, a comfort after a night terror, a breathy sound and pleasure spiked, soft hair and smell of fresh air.
Jung Soo’s hands abandoned the bedding and held onto Rok Soo’s arm, fingers locking around the wrist; he peeked from behind the hand, grayish blue meeting reddish brown.
“My dongsaeng is so good to me,” he said, his lips spread in a satisfied smile. Rok Soo felt the breath hit his open palm, wet from Jung Soo’s earlier kisses.
He repositioned himself and leaned more into the other’s space, spreading Jung Soo more and burying himself even deeper. Jung Soo moaned, but kept eye contact, his eyes shining in the dim lightning of the moon. Rok Soo’s cock twitched at the sight.
He quickened his pace, the loud slaps of flesh on flesh filling the room. A moan escaped his throat as the Jung Soo tightened around his length, refusing to let him out; still, he snapped his hips with greater strength, hitting the small spot that had his lover writhe underneath him, leaving marks that were sure to bleed on his arm. Their lovemaking was accompanied with a long string of ah, ah, ahs falling from Jung Soo’s lips, each vowel higher in pitch, breather, more broken.
When Rok Soo felt his orgasm approaching, he leaned down and moved his arm, along with Jung Soo’s hands still clutching it, away; he placed it instead just above the other’s chest, covering the most of his collarbones, fingers grazing the neck and putting the pressure on his airways. Jung Soo’s breath hitched, and whatever sounds almost came to be were swallowed by Rok Soo as he kissed him. His tongue slipped inside, mingling with the other, while his hips continued working, his other hand gripping the firm waist.
(He knew he would leave bruises. Jung Soo said that he doesn’t mind them: he likes them, actually, but Rok Soo wasn’t sure. Next morning after their first time, when he saw the blues in the shape of his hand on the other’s body, a direct evidence of their connection, he froze, eyes locked on the image of his lover leisurely walking around their apartment carrying his mark. His fingers twitched, and they soon were in the bed again, Jung Soo underneath him once more, laughing and pulling him closer, hands around his neck.
They were late for work. Neither regretted it.)
After a few more moments, Jung Soo broke the kiss and came with a cry. Soon Rok Soo followed him, riding out his release, rutting inside his trembling lover. After coming from his high, Rok Soo pulled out, took off his spent condom and put it inside a napkin after tying the end, intending to throw it later.
Jung Soo lay on his back, his legs bent at the knees, one arm resting on his forehead; small shudders rocked his body, probably from the short overstimulation. His eyes, slightly hazy, were watching Rok Soo as he got more babywipes; he was gentle while wiping away the white spill on Jung Soo’s stomach that was slowly drying, some sweat and extra lube around his thighs. Jung Soo flinched a few times, still sensitive, but the affection in his gaze was too noticeable.
When Rok Soo was finally done, he groaned, “No shower for me. Can’t move.”
Rok Soo rolled his eyes at the theatrics of his lover, “You’ll survive a quick shower.”
“Rok Soo-yah, I can’t move my legs!”
“I’ll help you,” was followed with silence. Rok Soo spared a look at the bed, seeing a brightened Jung Soo, his intentions clear from his face alone.
Pervert, he frowned.
Jung Soo opened his mouth, “Do we get another round here–”
“No.”
“Aww, but Rok Soo-yah!”