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Hardasses, Kun had warned him.
Dejun remembers a lot from that night, most of it naked to some degree, but the hardasses comment sticks out.
Mostly because he’s a month into the semester and two minutes away from withdrawing from Professor Barlowe’s Music Theory 101 course.
He doesn’t even know how to get a hold of the man who set his standards way too high. Twice since the night they spent together has Dejun gone home with someone, and zero times has he left satisfied.
But Canvas is mocking him. Thirty-six percent on the last test he submitted, and he really doesn’t want to flunk out during his first semester.
“Xuxi, humor me.”
“Why did the chicken cross the road?”
“What? No, like, I have a weird question.” Finally Dejun looks up from his laptop. His roommate hangs upside down from his platform bed.
“Don’t phrase it like that then. Who says ‘humor me’ anymore? Senior citizens?”
Dejun looks to the heavens for support. He reminds himself he loves Xuxi.
“That’s beside the point! Do you know a guy named Kun? Chinese and, like, super daddy?”
Xuxi’s long, long arms go slack holding his phone. They have to be numb.
“I know a Kun who’s Chinese. He’s not daddy though. He wears cardigans. Is your Kun a senior?”
“Yeah, he’s… Probably a senior,” Dejun says, but also: “Cardigans?! The man who called me a desperate slut wears cardigans?!”
Xuxi’s mouth goes comically wide.
“Kun-gē was that dude you slept with? Holy shit! Jay on the team hangs out with this Japanese poli sci dude who's classmates with this Thai poli sci dude who's roommates with Kun-gē, and the team eats at the pizza place he works at.”
Dejun feels many emotions at once, and some of them are probably jealousy, which is fine. He is fine.
Why does Xuxi get to be on a gē basis with Kun, too?
“You have to take me to this pizza place.”
“I have to do nothing,” says Xuxi even as he flips himself upright. “Do you have class? We can go right now. He works during the day.”
Dejun glances at the corner of his laptop screen. He needs to be studying for stupid Barlowe’s stupid class, or for Hart’s public speaking, or food prep science with Whitlock. He doesn’t need to be breaking his diet at four on a Tuesday afternoon to maybe get a two-for-one dick appointment/tutor.
He’s also not very smart.
“Fine. Where’s my wallet?”
# # #
Dejun slams the car door shut—Xuxi’s junker cost about as much as a month's groceries, and the latch is finicky unless you straight abuse the poor thing.
“You need a new car.”
“I need money,” Xuxi corrects. “Anyway, voilà! Mista Pizza!”
In his chest Dejun’s heart beats a fraction faster, which he tries really hard to ignore.
“Voilà is French,” he says instead. “Ecco.”
“Do you want this dick appointment or not?”
He goes red all the way to his collar.
The door jingles with their entrance, and Dejun realizes quickly how much the place smells like grease.
“I’ll be with you in just a second!” calls a voice from back behind the industrial oven.
Dejun’s parents raised him well. He’s looking for a booth to sit in, not too close to the register that Kun thinks him overeager, but not so far away it’s conspicuous.
Xuxi has no regard for this. He drapes his monkey arms over the glass covering the buffet and yells at full volume, “Kun-gē!”
A head peeks past the oven.
Kun’s head.
Kun’s walking toward them.
Dejun's not breathing.
“Xuxi!” He stops short. The wide beam on his face tightens a little at the corners, like thumb tacks stuck into the crease of his dimples. “Dejun, hi!”
“Uh, hi, Kun.”
His black T-shirt has a red stain up one shoulder that’s probably some kind of sauce, and grease stains all down the front of his jeans, and the ball cap pulled over his forehead is a little askew.
If Dejun were a little less infatuated, it could kill a burgeoning crush.
He still thinks Kun is gorgeous.
“Dejun didn’t know this place existed until I was telling him about it,” Xuxi’s saying, and Dejun remembers he’s in public. “Since you guys already know each other, I’d rather come for lunch than dinner. Dejun, would you rather have the buffet or a pizza to yourself?”
Dejun eyes the selection available, then thinks to when’s his next gym day.
“Do you have a personal size?” he says.
“Our smallest size is our personal.” Kun’s gaze is barely contained cockiness as he continues, “That one is seven inches.”
Bastard.
“That’ll be fine,” Dejun chokes out. “What, uh... Toppings do you recommend? Do you have anything spicy?”
“Pepperoni and jalapeños are popular together. And do you want a drink? Or water, Mr. Athlete?”
Dejun’s flimsy little tank top because he hadn’t planned on eating out for lunch could be lingerie, he’s so exposed. Feels like it, anyway. He resolutely doesn't hide behind crossed arms, even if it makes his triceps look amazing.
“Cola. I’m already breaking my diet.”
Kun hums. “We need to fatten you up. You’re too skinny.”
Xuxi, because he’s a shit, butts in, “You really are. I can wrap my hand all the way around your bicep.” And as he says it, he demonstrates, because he’s a shit.
“You have giant hands!” he counters. He yanks his arm back.
“He’s right, though,” Kun piggybacks. “I can just about get both hands around your waist, I bet.”
Yes, thank you for the reminder. Dejun definitely hasn’t gotten off to the memory of Kun holding him from behind at least a couple dozen times in the past month.
Xuxi orders a twelve-inch pie because he’s a beast, and they sit with their drinks.
Dejun drops his head to the chilly table.
“I’m going to murder you,” he promises. “I will murder your ass and make it look like an accident, and I won’t even cry at your funeral.”
“It’s not that deep, man.”
Dejun glares at him, because Kun has the insane power to turn him into a dumb teenager who takes everything as innuendo.
“Gross.”
“You get the filtered selection. I have to live with that in my head twenty-four seven.”
“You can actually think for twenty-four hours at a time?”
Dejun whines.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Xuxi says. “I’m your best friend. It’s my job to torment you.”
“Because that makes everything all better,” says Dejun, and Xuxi nods. He cranes his neck a little bit to watch Kun in the kitchen—why hadn’t Dejun sat in the opposite booth so he could watch, too? “Switch me seats,” he says.
“Gross.”
Xuxi settles in Dejun’s old spot, then leans forward conspiratorially. “It takes, like, ten minutes for food to come out of the oven. You have eight minutes to figure out how you’re going to get in his pants.”
Dejun sighs and ducks his head. “I’m not actually here to sleep with him. He offered to be my music theory tutor when we banged. I wanna take him up on the offer.”
Hopefully, Dejun thinks maybe Xuxi is feeling merciful today. When he cackles like a very tall witch, Dejun remembers—Xuxi is a shit.
“You’re cute,” he says, and Dejun huffs.
“I’m gonna flunk this class without help.”
Dejun thinks to himself he might flunk this class with help, and he doesn’t want to examine why the thought of disappointing Kun fills him with shame.
“What class?”
Ohshitohfuck—
Dejun’s internal monologue is never very eloquent.
Kun settles into Dejun’s side of the booth. Either he’s broader than Dejun remembers or the benches are tiny, but Dejun feels pinned against the wall.
“Music theory,” he admits. “Barlowe sucks, and I’m gonna fail the class.”
Kun pouts sympathetically. Xuxi tries to communicate via telepathy and eye contact. It’s not very helpful, but Dejun gets the gist.
“When we, uh… In the Uber, remember? You said you would tutor me because the profs are hardasses. I wanna take you up on that offer—if you have the time!” he tacks on in a rush. “You’re not obligated just because you said you would before, but. Yeah.”
Dejun ducks his head and kicks himself for what he’s about to do next.
Dejun’s eyelashes are long and dark and gorgeous, and he weaponizes them in a bashful flutter.
“It would mean a lot to me, Gēgē.”
Kun’s pale cheeks take on color so easily, and Dejun sees his Adam’s apple jump. He imagines he could hear Kun’s breathing stagger if he strained his ears.
“Mhmm,” Kun says. “Yeah, I can help you.”
He scurries back to the kitchen. Xuxi gags once he's out of earshot.
“You guys are disgusting. What was that? Why would you do that to me?” A beat later, he adds, “Why have you ruined ‘Gēgē’ for me? That's my language, too!”
Dejun rolls his eyes. “Shut up, you barely speak Mandarin.”
“I call him Kun-gē, too!”
“That’s not my problem.”
“It is your problem! I was friends with Kun-g—with Kun before you guys even got together.”
Dejun lunges across the table with both hands clawed. Xuxi squawks and protects his neck.
“I will kill you,” Dejun hisses. “We are not together. We slept together once.”
“You should be together. What was that mating display?”
“It was not a mating display!” Dejun tries not to check too obviously if Kun’s sneaking up on their booth again.
“Really?”
Xuxi’s parody of Dejun’s flirting is disconcerting on his best friend’s face. Dejun bodily cringes.
“Please never do that again,” he begs.
Xuxi’s expression is vindication. “Now you know how I felt watching you two make googly eyes at each other!” he says. “Just ask him on a date and sleep with him.”
“I can’t just do that!”
“Why not?!”
“I’m shy!” Dejun blurts. He hides his flaming cheeks as Xuxi laughs. “And it’s embarrassing. Leave me alone.”
Kun returns, this time with two plates he sets on the table. He coos.
“Xuxi, are you being mean to Dejun?”
The backs of his knuckles tickle Dejun’s cheekbone. Dejun expects, like meeting extended family for any of the big holidays, to have the squishiest part pinched and poked at.
Except it doesn’t happen. Kun’s fingers follow through with the motion all the way behind Dejun’s ear, tucking back some of the longer strands. His hand drifts to Dejun’s nape.
It stays there. Every one of Dejun’s nerve endings goes ablaze.
“When are you next free?” Kun asks.
“Uh, tonight actually.” Dejun swallows hard and tries to make eye contact, but Kun’s eyes are so dark and pretty he goes a little dizzy.
“In...” Kun pulls back his hand to check his watch. It falls to his side. “Twenty minutes, the night shift lead will be here to take over for me. Give me a half-hour and I’ll be cleaned up, and we can do whatever.”
Dejun gulps. “I was hoping I could visit your place again,” he confesses.
“Alright,” says Kun. “I can drive you, so Xuxi doesn’t go too far out of his way.”
“You really don’t have to—”
“The freshmen dorms are in the opposite direction from my apartment, baby.”
Static. Dejun thinks he manages something like yes, sir as he buries his face in his pizza.
“Twenty minutes,” are Kun’s parting words.
# # #
Kun’s car smells like pizza grease as much as the restaurant, just more diluted. Dejun says as much.
“I take deliveries during the day,” Kun explains.
Dejun snorts. “Has anyone ever tried to pay for pizza with sex?”
Kun looks unimpressed. “Sex, no. Drugs, yes. A lot of meth. Otherwise it’s just old women trying to relive their glory days.”
Dejun imagines a grandmotherly type eyeing up Kun like a slice of meat, and he shudders.
He also remembers he eyed up Kun like a slice of meat, and he tries to forget the bad flirting from that night.
Suddenly, as Kun hits the turn signal, his right arm drapes over the center console. He grabs Dejun’s thigh. It’s not sexual, just... Proprietary. Claiming. Casual. His fingers tap out a beat in sync with the song playing on the radio.
“What were you wanting to do tonight?” Kun glances at Dejun. “Anything you learned since we slept together?”
“Um...” Dejun shifts un-sexily in his seat. “I haven’t actually slept with anybody since. I’ve gone back to a couple people’s places, but the vibe dies halfway through and I leave.”
“What went wrong?”
“They just didn’t know what they were doing well enough. Too inexperienced.”
Kun’s rhythmic tapping stills, and his fingertips dig into Dejun’s athletic shorts. It lasts only a second before he forces his hand to move again.
“That’s what I liked about you, Gēgē,” Dejun confesses, spreading his legs a fraction. He can do this now. There’s no Uber driver in the front seat. “You were able to teach me something.”
Kun looks like he might be counting his breaths. Even then, his voice is still ragged when he says, “Do you want me to keep teaching you?”
“Yes, please.”
“Alright, fuck.” He looks at Dejun, half a smirk on his lips. He pulls back his hand. “First lesson: If you’re not patient, you don’t get to cum.”
“Not fair!” Dejun whines. Already his skin craves the warmth of Kun’s solid grip. He almost, right there in the passenger seat, pulls down his shorts and takes care of his boner himself.
He doesn’t, though. He tries to be patient.
“It’s perfectly fair, baby. You have to earn your orgasm. Can you do that for me?”
Dejun nods so fast his vision goes a little blurry.
“Uh-uh, words, sweet boy.”
Dejun swallows, and his throat clicks. “I can do that... For you. I can earn my orgasm.”
“I want you to always use your words with me. And while we’re on the subject...” He pulls up to a red light, turning his whole body toward Dejun. “Have you ever heard of safewords?”
Dejun wants the light to switch, but it doesn’t. Of course it doesn’t. Why would it cooperate?
“I know when you’re doing something kinky, it replaces ‘Stop.’”
Kun hums. Dejun loves the sound, throaty and rumbly. “Really, for anything sexual, you should have safewords.” The light changes; he rights himself in his seat. “Even if you just want to say ‘I’d rather play video games right now’ or ‘Pause, I have to pee.’ Second question: Have you heard of the traffic light system?”
“Uh... Red, yellow, green—stop, pause, go?”
“Correct. But if we do this, I don’t want you only using your safewords because you’re about to have a panic attack. If we’re in the middle of something, and you remember you left the oven on, you say red and we stop. End of discussion.”
Dejun nibbles on the edge of a thumb. “What if I don’t say red?”
“Well, if you say yellow, maybe your hands were going numb and you wanted them in a different position, we fix that and go back to where we were.
“And if you say stop...” Kun shifts in his seat. “Then we don’t stop. Once we get comfortable, at least. For a while I’m going to go easy on you.”
“Way to kill the mood,” Dejun teases. They pull into Kun’s parking lot. “I thought you were going to bring me up to your apartment to ravish me.”
Kun, all gentlemanly, opens Dejun’s door before Dejun can reach the handle. He pulls Dejun close, shuts the door behind him, and pins him against the side of the car with nothing but his gaze.
“Patience,” he reminds. “I’m not going to ‘ravish’ you yet.”
They head for the entrance, which seems smaller in the fading daylight.
“You talk all this big game, but you don’t even follow through!”
“You’ve had sex once. I’m being polite. And honestly, you need to learn to appreciate vanilla sex, too. It’s like the rice of sex.”
Kun keys them into the building. As the glass door wheezes shut behind them, he tugs Dejun closer by the tail of his shirt.
“My neighbors are old and conservative,” he hisses in Dejun’s ear. “Keep your mouth shut until we’re in my apartment, or I’ll never hear the end of it.”
Dejun would laugh if he didn’t sympathise.
“Mrs. Jenkins lives in the unit across the hall and has opinions whenever Ten or I bring anybody home. Ten’s fine, he’s usually bringing home women anyway, but me...”
He grits his teeth.
The elevator dings, and an older white woman waits to step off.
“Hi, Mrs. Jenkins!” Kun says cheerily.
In Dejun’s experience with his high school “relationships,” this is where they jump apart three feet. Nope—Kun’s hand tightens in Dejun’s shirt, and he tugs Dejun back an inch, almost imperceptibly. The order is clear: Let me lead.
“Who is this?” Jenkins asks. Her eyes trail down and back, appraising. She blocks the doors with a frumpy ballet flat.
“This is Dejun. We met a while back and found out we have some mutual friends. He’s minoring in music, so I’ll be tutoring him occasionally.” Dejun smiles, nods, and shuts up. “You know I work during the day, so he’ll usually be around during the night, but we’ll keep the volume down.”
“Please do.” She sneers. “Will you ever settle down with a nice girl? Your roommate has plenty of lovely women ‘visiting,’” she scoffs the final word. “I don’t see why you insist on... Your preferences.”
“When I meet a woman worth bringing home, I’ll introduce you guys.” Kun smiles like a mad dog baring its teeth. It’s convincingly polite. “Don’t you have dinner to get to?”
Jenkins checks her watch, and her eyes widen. “It was nice seeing you, Kun. Dejun.” She nods brusquely.
Dejun waits for the elevator doors to close before he whips to Kun.
“Why don’t you tell her to fuck off?” he says.
“Because she’s the person who’ll call the cops when I have a heart attack and don’t leave the apartment.”
“But—” She’s so passive aggressive! She has no right to disrespect Kun! Whose business is it what gender someone’s one-night stands are?
Kun’s hands clasp over both of Dejun’s, squeezing slightly.
“I know.”
They shuck their shoes in Kun’s foyer. Kun calls into the living room, “Louis! Leon! Daddy’s home!”
Dejun laughs. “Daddy?”
“Technically Ten is Daddy and I’m Bàbà. They’re our kids, Ten’s cats.” Back into the empty room, he says, “Louis! Come here, boy!”
From the kitchen trots a fat little Siamese cat who looks like he’s on a bad trip.
“Hi, baby! You’re so cute!”
Kun scoops up the druggie feline, getting white fur all over his black shirt, and nuzzles Louis’s forehead. He sees Dejun ready to bolt and laughs.
“You’re not a cat person, huh?”
“Uh-uh. I have a beagle at home, Bella.”
“Louis is a bastard, so he’ll probably hate you, but you can try to pet him.”
Kun steps closer to Dejun. They’re not even five feet from each other when Louis hisses and tosses himself to the floor like a hairy cannonball. Within seconds he disappears beneath the couch.
Dejun glares at the spot he wriggled under.
“Don’t take it personally.” Kun pulls his face up to peck Dejun’s lips once, twice. Dejun’s arms wrap around his waist. “They’re just cats. Cats hate everybody, isn’t that what dog people say?”
“We say it—mmh!” Kun interrupts him with a longer kiss, looking not at all apologetic. “We say it because it’s true. Cats are evil and mean. Dogs just like affection.”
“Mm, like you?” Kun smiles all dopey. It brings out his dimples, which carve into his cheeks like canyons. He notices Dejun staring and asks, “Is something on my face?”
“You're cute,” Dejun says. “But like, handsome, too. You have squishy cheeks but also
your face is kinda squarish. I don’t know, it’s a good combo. Also—dimples.”
He giggles, feeling a little like a schoolboy with a crush. Dimples never were a thing for him like everyone always talked about, just a charming feature, but they’re so... Attractive on Kun.
And then Kun is stepping away, and Dejun’s front goes cold.
“I’m covered in a little bit of everything from work. Give me five minutes to scrub down in the shower. You can wait in my room.”
Dejun follows Kun down the hallway.
“I can’t join you in there?” He pouts.
“No, you cannot, because I refuse to kill all of our hot water.”
A small mercy, he turns on his heel and gives Dejun another solid kiss right in the middle of the hall.
“Wait in my room,” he whispers. No you can. It’s an order.
Dejun is poking at a string of Polaroids when Kun comes back smelling like body wash. He plasters himself to Dejun’s back, chin on Dejun’s shoulder.
“That’s me and Ten.” A picture that looks like the two of them sprawled out on top of each other, both making V’s to the camera. Kun is blonde. “He had me up with him for the entire night practicing for his dance showcase. We were slap-happy by the time this was taken.”
“How old were you?” Dejun asks.
“God, that was... Three years ago? I was a freshman.”
“You were a baby!”
“I was a baby, yes,” Kun agrees, sounding just a bit exasperated. He tightens his hold around Dejun’s middle. “Would you hit on me if you saw me in Music Theory 101?”
“Mm, probably. I’d make up some B.S. story about needing tutoring and blow you in the practice rooms.”
Kun pauses. “Did you make up some B.S. story about needing tutoring? Also, I was a virgin, too, my freshman year. I’d probably blow my load thirty seconds in and move to China out of humiliation. It’d be a messy relationship.”
The image of a younger Kun completely out of his element makes Dejun chuckle. He tilts his weight back a little bit just to feel Kun keep him upright.
“The last test I took, I got thirty-something percent. I actually need a tutor, or I’m gonna fail. It’ll be worse when hockey starts.”
“Drop the class. Drop the minor if you have to, there’s no shame in it. You came to NDSU for the hockey, so don’t miss the most important part. When’s tryouts?”
“End of the month.”
“So I’ll tutor you until one month after you make the team, and we’ll see how confident you are you can manage the workload without killing yourself.”
Dejun has to close his eyes and breathe, or else he worries he’ll tear up.
“How do you know I’ll make the team? Do you know anything about hockey?”
Kun starts to rock them back and forth. “I know that in any sport, dedication is most important above raw athleticism. You moved from Guangzhou, so obviously you’re dedicated. None of those other boys stand a chance.”
Their rocking starts to feel a little bit like waddling. Dejun just vibes with it. He trusts Kun to not send him face-first into a wall somewhere.
And then they stop.
Kun’s voice caresses his ear: “Do you remember the safewords we talked about?”
Dejun nods. Already he feels a little hazy.
Kun chuckles. “And do you remember when I asked you to use your words? Earlier today?”
“Yes, gē.”
“Good boy.” Dejun can hear his smile. It’s heady, knowing Kun’s proud. “I’m going to put my hand on your throat. What’s your color on that?”
“Green.”
With Dejun’s permission granted, Kun cups his Adam’s apple. His thumb massages the hinge of Dejun’s jaw.
“Can I choke you, Dejun?”
Dejun hesitates. In his mind flash worst-case scenarios of passing out.
“G—green,” he says eventually. Kun’s hand slips from his neck.
“Don’t do that,” Kun chastises. “It’s not hot choking someone who’s nervous.”
Dejun huffs. “You’re controlling whether or not I breathe. I’m gonna be nervous!”
The hand that had been around Dejun’s throat seconds ago interlaces with his fingers. Its owner says, “I’m not cutting off your air. I’m cutting off a little bit of your blood supply. It’ll still restrict the oxygen to your brain, but I would never let you pass out.”
“I trust you!” says Dejun.
“I know you do. But I can’t trust you if you don’t give me an honest answer. Would you like to try again, or we can drop it for another day. Or never, if you don’t like it.”
Dejun squirms. “Can I open my eyes?” he asks, and Kun laughs.
“I never told you to keep them closed.”
Dejun expects blinding light, but he’s met with dim purple LEDs taped to the ceiling. It’s comforting and intense all at once.
It’s more disconcerting that he’s watching himself, that Kun waddled them over to stand in front of a full-length mirror hung over his bedroom door.
“You never told me to open them,” Dejun says to Kun’s reflection.
“I can work with that,” Kun says. “Keep your eyes open this time, and watch yourself when I get my hands on you. Your expression is... Pornographic.”
That’s a good word for it. Dejun’s proud of a lot of things. Physically, it’s all the things that make him look good in bed—eyelashes, cheekbones, pretty pink lips. With his head tilted back to make room for Kun’s hand, his face is all sharp lines. His mouth is a perfect O.
The lights mask it, but he knows his cheeks burn a brilliant red.
“Please choke me,” he says, half the sentence lost in a gasp when Kun obeys.
It lasts for just an inhale before Kun’s grip loosens.
“Did you like it?” Kun asks. He hides a shit-eating grin in Dejun’s nape.
“I could barely tell, since you did it for two seconds!”
Kun’s grin turns a little sadistic. His left hand replaces his right, holding him in place, as the other snaps the elastic band of his shorts. The material is too thick to sting, but Kun isn’t aiming for pain. It’s merely all Dejun gets as heads-up before gentle fingers trace over his bulging crotch.
“I can choke you for longer,” Kun promises. “I can make you delirious with pleasure, you’re such a sensitive little thing. Watch yourself, sweet boy.”
Suddenly Dejun’s shorts are on the ground, and his underwear follows quickly.
His dick is already an angry red without any real contact, and his cheeks burn to match. He looks away, and Kun tightens his grip for just a heartbeat.
“Watch yourself,” he repeats.
Reluctantly, Dejun drags his eyes back to their reflection. Kun’s hand goes up, up, up, catching the hem of Dejun’s stupid muscle tank and dragging it to his chin.
“You can’t keep your mouth shut, so bite down on this, hm?”
Dejun whimpers. It's muffled.
“I could hold you here for hours,” Kun muses. His hand falls to the sensitive skin just shy of Dejun’s groin, tickling like playing a piano. “I could tease you and compliment you until you begged me to let you cum.”
Behind his shirt Dejun whines high and reedy. It stops abruptly when Kun tugs his shirt from his mouth.
“Can you get this wet for me, baby?”
Kun holds his fingers to Dejun’s lips. He doesn't push, just waits. Dejun blinks the fuzziness from his eyes and surges forward, tongue out. He licks up the length of Kun’s fingers, swallows them to the knuckle, hollows his cheeks so his cheekbones are razor-sharp.
“Oh, you like to put on a show,” Kun breathes. He jabs his fingers into Dejun’s uvula just to watch him choke. “Then make this pretty for me.”
Kun shoves Dejun’s shirt past his lips as his wet, wet fingers grip Dejun’s dick firmly around the base. The first slow stroke all the way to the head makes him keen.
It’s hard—Dejun wants so badly to bask in the sensation—to keep his eyes open, but the reward.
The reward is watching Kun’s eyes go blacker with every sound he forces out of Dejun. Watching the tendons of his left arm dance under the skin as he teases Dejun’s throat with a firm grip, but that doesn’t constrict.
His pace is steady and slow, torturous, and his technique is precise. Squeeze on the upstroke, massage underneath Dejun’s head with the pad of a finger. Twist on the downstroke, pulling back the foreskin.
Dejun wants to cry. He tries to look Kun—real Kun—in the eyes, but Kun holds his face forward.
“You’re beautiful,” he says. His hand quickens. “I thought about this so many times. Every other night I remembered how tight and hot you were, and I got myself off imagining exactly this.”
Kun pushes against Dejun’s back. Their height difference is just a few inches, so if Kun bows down just a bit he’s able to rest the head of his cock right against Dejun’s hole, and Dejun moans loud through his shirt.
“Should I get myself off just like this? Not even let you touch?” Dejun’s eyes open wide. He thrashes his head back and forth. “But you sounded just like a little slut just now. I thought you liked this.”
His voice is all fake-pity and condescension and Dejun feels himself leak.
“Fuck, you’re like a faucet,” growls Kun. “Can you come for me, all over the mirror?”
Dejun is maybe whipped, since he comes nearly on command. For a second, a minute, an hour, his vision is static and his hearing muffled by the blood rushing by his ears. He only realizes Kun has them all tangled up together on the floor, petting at Dejun’s hair, when the cum is already drying.
“Are you with me, Dejun?” Kun asks. He laughs nervously. “I thought you passed out on me.”
“No, just—” Dejun's voice squawks like he’s going through puberty. His throat is dry, he realizes. “It felt good. Really good. Can I have some water, though?”
“Of course, baby.”
Kun helps him to his feet, on Bambi legs. “Would you like some fresh clothes?”
It's absolutely a set-up for Kun to get Dejun in his bed, wearing his clothes. A shirt Dejun’s chest could never fill out and shorts Kun might have outgrown in middle school. They ride up nice and high on his thighs.
Dejun’s nursing a glass of water when he whines.
“You never came!” he says.
“It’s fine. I feel good,” says Kun, and Dejun huffs.
“I want you to cum, is that better?”
Kun’s nostrils flare. Dejun pushes him onto his back—it’s a performance, he could stay steady as a boulder just to spite Dejun, which Dejun likes just as much.
He asks, “Can I suck you off?”
With dark eyes, Kun exhales shakily. “You can do whatever you want,” he says, “if you keep asking like that.”
Dejun wants to put on a show, lave his tongue over Kun’s thighs and savor the taste, but Kun’s twitchy already.
Dejun’s never been a sadist.
He’s been a masochist since high school, though, and doesn’t complain when the personal-pan-pizza-sized dick that Kun wields chokes him. Frantically, Kun pulls at the hair at Dejun’s crown.
“Don’t choke yourself, baby!”
Dejun’s eyes are dark and watery, his face splotchy. He knows it. He likes it. Kun likes it.
“I like it, Gēgē,” he says with just a little bit of cheese. Kun looks either in pain or rapture.
“Give me your hand. Tap my thigh if you need a break, please. Do you promise?”
“I promise,” says Dejun.
“And how do you want it? Do you want me to be mean, or...?”
It’s a question with an answer Dejun never considered. He’s never put it into words. For a minute, he flounders.
“I don’t like when you’re mean usually. Like—” he backtracks when Kun’s eyes go steely “—it’s nice, I won’t complain, but it’s not my favorite. But when you’re... You’re not gentle, and you manhandle me, and you’re a little bit condescending, it’s...”
Really hot.
“It’s intimidating.”
Why are those two equivalent?
“But you’re not mean. You’re just kind of cocky. It’s hot.”
Kun contemplates Dejun’s rambling, winding answer. “I can work with that,” he says eventually. With the hand still tangled into Dejun’s roots, he yanks Dejun back down.
Dejun aims his mouth for the head, but Kun’s grip is firm. “Let me appreciate the view,” he says.
Dejun’s face burns.
And then Kun’s dick taps against his cheek with a sticky little thwack that makes Kun honestly whine.
“Pretty boy,” he breathes before finally giving Dejun a taste. Dejun moans because he wanted Kun in his mouth for the past five minutes, and the first burst of precum is musky and manly and a little bit sour in the gross way Dejun likes.
Kun doesn’t dive right in. He’s considerate and methodical, but Dejun did ask for “intimidating.” This pseudo-sweet, artificial sugar can only last for so long.
“You still don’t want to tap out?” Kun asks.
Dejun holds his hand up and away from Kun’s thigh, and his grip shifts for a better hold.
And then it’s brutal. Dejun can just manage to keep his tongue at least a little bit functional, wary of his teeth, but every other thrust nearly goes down his throat. There’s only so much a man can do.
“God, look at you,” Kun says. “Look at me.”
Dejun does. Kun appreciates the sight, since just for a second he holds Dejun’s gaze. After, his head throws back, and Dejun sees throat and jaw and collarbones. Beneath his skin his tendons jump. Dejun wants to bite one of them.
Kun’s head tilts forward again, looking like a man high on power. The red on his cheeks could rival Dejun’s, though he doesn’t look nearly as overwhelmed. Arrogant, more like.
“Such a good boy. Over here asking me to fuck your throat, and you ask so politely. I like it, Gēgē,” he mocks Dejun’s tone. “I like it, too, baby.”
His free hand emerges from somewhere in the sheets to reach down, cupping Dejun’s larynx. He moans loudly, higher than Dejun expected him to reach.
“Feel that, baby?”
Dejun’s hand replaces Kun’s, and Dejun’s eyes roll back. Their position doesn’t offer much leverage, but Kun doesn’t need much leverage for Dejun to feel the steady pulse of Kun pounding into the top of his throat.
“Fuck, I’m not gonna last much longer,” Kun warns. “Where do you want it?”
He yanks Dejun off to answer. Dejun, gasping for air, coughs.
Kun’s cocksure smirk doesn’t budge.
“Wherever you want, gē,” he says.
“Think you could swallow for gē?”
It’s a stupid question—Dejun would let Kun do just about anything to him, and his mouth drops open.
Kun says, “On the floor, on your knees,” and stands over Dejun with one hand in Dejun’s hair and the other fisting his cock. He rests the swollen head on Dejun’s lower lip.
His only warning is Don’t swallow yet before he cums.
It’s way more sour, and thick, and actually gross, and Dejun regrets a lot of things.
He doesn’t regret seeing Kun looking like he got punched in the gut.
Dejun doesn’t swallow. He tightens his throat so nothing slips down, and Kun gets a pretty view of Dejun’s tongue painted white. For a second Kun looks ready for a second round, but then he drops to his knees with Dejun.
With greedy hands he pulls Dejun tight to his body to kiss him deep. It’s disgusting because there’s definitely spit and cum sliding down their chins, but Dejun’s along for whatever ride Kun puts them on.
It’s definitely subspace. He’d hate the feeling any other way.
When it gets tacky-dry Dejun has to tap out. Literally, because he isn’t sure his vocal cords are working yet.
Kun pulls away and looks a little drunk. “Fuck,” he says, searching with one hand and no eyes for the wet wipes. “I got a little carried away.”
He cleans Dejun’s face, and then his own, and helps Dejun back into bed, and lays beside him. He’s still naked. On anyone else the nudity would be awkward or at least funny, something to poke fun of as the dynamic reorients itself.
On Kun it’s confidence. There’s nothing on his body that says he works out, toned all over with no real definition, but he’s not insecure about it laying next to a literal athlete. He just exists, with or without clothes.
“What do you need?” he asks, gentle yet serious.
Dejun arches his neck for a kiss. It’s chaste. Their tongues stay where they’re supposed to, yet it’s Dejun’s favorite of the night—of the day, the sun shining through the blinds.
“Do you have any classes tonight?’ Kun asks against Dejun’s mouth. Dejun draws a little figure-eight on Kun’s bicep, and Kun hums. “Late classes suck,” he says, “but I’ll have you out of here in time.”