Archive of Our Own

“Ugh… what are you doing here?” The only caveat of the apartment is Johnny knows the doorman by name, so he finds his way inside more often than not no matter how many times Doyoung changes his door passcode.

There's an empty shell of a small box on the duvet, a sixty watt bulb, even. Johnny is standing on his step ladder (that he keeps to reach up on the high shelves in his ridiculously large closet! seriously, it’s too damn big in there) holding the burnt out bulb in one hand as he screws in the new bulb with the other. “Changing this.”

“Well, yeah, I can see that, but why? I already alerted maintenance, they were scheduled to come tomorrow.” Truthfully? Doyoung was too lazy to do it himself.

“And what if you stub your toe in the dark tonight? I wouldn’t be able to live with myself,” Johnny says casually, looking every bit the shitty frat guy who came into douchebag money just after his college days. Apparently, changing a lightbulb is one of his tricks. if Doyoung didn’t know any better, he’d think Johnny was domesticated.

Rolling his eyes, Doyoung walks around the ladder to his side of the bed (his bed, that Johnny sleeps in sometimes because it gets cold at night and the man is like Doyoung’s own personal furnace, and that is the only reason he isn't kicked out after they fuck) to turn the lamp on. “Let there be light, idiot.”

“But what if you left the lamp off and went to get a glass of water from the kitchen, and on your way back in you stubbed your toe and fucking died, Doie?!” Finished with his task, Johnny hops down and grabs the box to put the old bulb in, setting it down on the dresser so he can return the ladder where he took it from. At least he remembers to clean up after himself, honestly…

“Then I fucking die? there’s no need for you to be here.” Though, Doyoung kind of does appreciate that his overhead light is fixed now so he doesn’t have to rough it by lamplight getting dressed in the morning. The closet light just doesn’t cut it when he’s trying to look in the mirror.

“Hell of a way to speak to someone who just saved your life,” Johnny says, coming up behind Doyoung as he unravels from his workday.

“Forgive me for not wanting to talk to you right now,” Doyoung says coldly, loosening his tie while he looks at Johnny through the mirror. He’s dressed in a thousand dollar plain white t-shirt, no doubt, looking so fucking handsome with a shade of stubble on his jaw. The sad little kitten look he gets only makes Doyoung sigh and demand, “What?!”

“Can I eat you out?”

One obscene second is all it takes to get Doyoung wet, heat flooding his aching body. It's been a couple of weeks since he last saw Johnny because of some business thing of his keeping them apart – not that Doyoung is mad, being Johnny’s paid bedthing gets old very quick, actually. But, he’d had an astounding influx of complicated cases at work, meaning he couldn’t take any time to travel. Johnny asked no less than twelve times, begging Doyoung with more and more absurd figures of money to go with him to Tokyo for an event for one of his clients. Something about a client’s annual cruise for the closest of his friends (who the fuck does things like that? a normal birthday party that lasts three hours before you go home and spend the rest of your time doing whatever you want is perfectly fine).

He’d had to refuse eventually, giving Johnny the completely and totally legitimate reason of: ‘I can’t, I have a lot of work to do that’s more important’. Johnny offered to bribe his boss, but the mere concept of Johnny paying Doyoung’s boss to let him use his vacation time like he’s that desperate for the dick of a guy he got out of jail who should have very much gone to jail? Yeah, no. Besides, as relaxing as a cruise sounds right about now? Johnny would bother him the whole time.

So now here they are, looking at each other through the mirror while Johnny waits for an answer.

“Do you deserve it?” Johnny opens his mouth, but Doyoung holds up a hand and continues, “Think carefully about all the dick pics and the cumshot video you sent me. Did I say you could touch yourself while you were gone?” How the fuck is Johnny’s associate rich enough to afford wifi on the open ocean? There’s no reason Doyoung should’ve gotten nearly as many nudes as he did.

What if Doyoung lost his phone and someone found Doyoung’s treasure trove of masturbation material? What if he were a sick man bent on getting revenge, building up enough material to publicly humiliate Johnny into the ground? The trust this man places in him is fucking astounding. Doyoung could end his reputation in a second. He could do the right thing and come forward and give up Johnny to the government for tax fraud and embezzlement. This very moment, Doyoung knows the combination to Johnny’s most secret safe where the paper trail is.

Johnny is gaping for words while Doyoung undoes a cufflink, dropping it in the tray on his bureau. The clink inspires a visual shudder in his fuckdoll before Johnny answers, “No, you didn’t.”

“Then why did you?”

“Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” and Johnny lets go of an airy little sound when the other cufflink drops in the dish. “You’re on my mind 24/7.”

“Can’t relate,” Doyoung says meanly like he didn’t get off many times thinking about Johnny railing him. “Besides, I don't think you being bad deserves a reward. If I let you eat me out, next thing you know I'm in the middle of court getting voice notes of you moaning for me to piss down your throat because you have no idea what a boundary is.”

The desire in Johnny’s eyes is unbelievable, a hand sliding to Doyoung’s hip. “Fuck, you can’t just fucking say that without following through.”

“You’re disgusting.” Doyoung grabs Johnny’s hard dick through his jeans when he turns around, doing everything in his power not to squirm over how bad he wants to get fucked right now. “It’s like you’ve got a pavlovian response to me degrading you, am I right?”

“Yeah.” Johnny’s legs are just barely trembling, but he keeps himself still. Good, he’s learning.

Squeezing the length of it again, Doyoung says, “I should step on this for all the trouble it’s caused me.”

“Whatever you want as long as I can eat you out.”

One hard, sudden, over-the-clothes slap to his cock has Johnny stifling a moan behind bitten lips. “Did that feel good? What do you say?”

“Thank you.”

What a fucking power rush.

“Go wash your hands, and your face, and brush your teeth. Then we’ll see about getting you fed.”

Doyoung finishes undressing just as Johnny comes back into the bedroom, and he does in fact ride Johnny’s face until he’s shaking and gushing.

> there's a car outside

< why

> get lunch with me? 🥺🥺🥺

< i have a case to prepare for

> 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 pleaaaase
> please doie i wanna see uuuuuu

< what's in it for me?

Like Doyoung isn't already headed to the elevator because he's starving. His prep work is already done, but he could stand to brush up on some case-specific legal code before court in the morning. That's what he's gonna do when he gets back, anyway.

> what do you want?

< figure it out

Doyoung puts his phone on do not disturb as he gets in the car, closing his eyes and leaning back for the however short ride to get some semblance of a nap in. He's tired today, and the last thing he needs is to be bothered.

Johnny is such a gentleman when Doyoung gets there, getting up to pull his chair out and push it in when he sits. He doesn't have anything stupid to say today either, a rare gift. Sure, he carries almost the whole conversation, but Doyoung doesn't mind this time. He's got a headache and the lights are dim and Johnny’s voice is soothing and the food is decent. He’s staring at his plate, pushing around his barely touched food as he listens to his captor ramble.

“Hey,” Johnny says after a bit of silence, “are you okay?”

“I’m just tired today,” Doyoung says simply, sighing into his wine glass as he finishes the sip that's left. It wasn't enough to get him tipsy, but Doyoung is kind of over this particular Wednesday afternoon. “I have to go back to the office and do research for a case.”

“You need a vacation.”

“I need a nap,” and a massage, and a really, really good orgasm. “I don't have time for a vacation.”

“You should come with me to Colombia next month,” Johnny puts the idea out there, and honestly? The idea of getting out of the frigid winter for a bit sounds incredible. At what cost though?

“What's in Colombia?”

“Us, hopefully.”

The check comes and Johnny signs for their meal, getting up to walk around the table to release Doyoung from his lunch hell (he absolutely takes his leftovers with him). His back is sore from hunching over his work desk all week, and Johnny's arm across his back feels really good as they walk out of the restaurant. It's annoying that he doesn't mind the kiss dropped to the top of his head.

“Think about it,” Johnny asks as he sends Doyoung back to his casework.

It's all Doyoung can think about.

Johnny doesn't bring it up again, a rare sense of peace that Doyoung greatly enjoys. Sure, he sees Johnny three or four times a week and he’s usually talking about things Doyoung usually lets go in one ear and out the other. Since Johnny asked him to go on this trip, Doyoung has actually been starting to listen to some of the ridiculous things Johnny actually talks about when they’re off the clock together.

He assumed it was all boring and worthless small talk, but they just spent ten minutes crying laughing watching edits of the orangutan driving a golf cart until Johnny asked him if he wanted to watch a cool documentary because he thought Doyoung would like it. And he did is the worst part.

Sometimes Johnny annoys him to no end with stupid legal questions that he refuses to answer for use to his stupid business shit Doyoung wants no part of. Other times, Doyoung doesn’t really mind Johnny’s voice as background chatter. But when they’re talking to each other like this, Doyoung enjoys the attention.

He must really want Doyoung to go with him, he must want it so fucking bad. Johnny hasn’t brought it up once in the past three weeks, during which Doyoung faintly entertains Johnny’s pathetic, invasive desire for intimacy. Normally, Johnny would ask him a million times, but this means something to him.

With his head on Johnny’s chest while they're laying in bed in silence a while later, Doyoung can physically feel the way his heart rate kicks up when he asks, “When's the Colombia trip?”

“Next week, and it's two weeks long.” Two weeks… he definitely has enough leave built up to cover himself since he rarely takes any. It's tempting, of course it is.

Doyoung doesn't say anything else for a while, and Johnny doesn't beg him or annoy him. He must have learned the secret to getting a hard no is when Doyoung’s getting relentlessly bugged about it. And Johnny keeps coming back anyway, no matter how many times Doyoung rejects him. He always comes back no matter how Doyoung deigns to treat him. No matter how mean he is to Johnny, he just can't seem to get enough of Doyoung’s ruthless teasing.

“How bad do you want me to go?” Doyoung asks it while squeezing Johnny’s still cum-tacky cock, making him whimper his answer. He lifts his head up from Johnny’s racing heartbeat and shoves the covers back down their legs, watching Johnny follow him with his eyes as Doyoung straddles him again.

Doyoung isn't nice about it either, grinding his cunt against hard cock but not giving Johnny enough room to push inside him. The slick slide is made easy by the mess of cum still dripping out of him, and he slaps Johnny’s hands away when he tries to hold his thighs.

He still hasn't answered, which means Johnny is fucking desperate for him to say yes. Doyoung scratches his nails on Johnny’s chest as his hips move in place, the slooooooow grind made even better by the head of Johnny’s cock nudging up against Doyoung’s clit over and over again. Hanging his head as he takes his pleasure with a whimper.

“God, you're so fucking stupid Johnny, can't even answer a simple question because you're too cum-brained. I asked how bad you want me there.” Beneath him, Johnny’s cock drips a fresh squirt of ruined ejaculate by the way his stomach is clenching and unclenching, the way he's got pretty tears in his eyes as he watches Doyoung in awe.

“So fucking bad,” Johnny rasps finally, bucking his hips up as his eyes roll slightly, as Doyoung laughs down at him for being so fucking deplorable.

Doyoung hits his limit and reaches down to slip Johnny’s cock back into him with a wild moan while he clenches down. Johnny fills him up so fucking perfectly every time; it's insane that Doyoung gets breathless at the feel of dick pulsing inside of him. He never cared much about getting fucked before, but like this, with a big man shivering beneath him… oh, Doyoung feels spoiled rotten.

Maybe he should say yes, if only to keep Johnny’s interest in him. If he doesn't give back, Johnny’s eyes might wander, and if his eyes wander, he might pick up another guy to spoil instead. If he picks up another guy to spoil, Doyoung will get jealous in the most ugly manner possible.

Johnny is his, whether he knows it or not.

“Make me cum,” Doyoung demands, moving his hips in small circles, pinching his own nipples as he rides Johnny’s cock. “Make me cum and I'll think about it.”

He’ll talk to his boss tomorrow, probably. For now, Johnny rolls them over and fucks him deep and slow, hard enough to make his chest shake. It's so good, so fucking good Doyoung can't stand it – he never got over that smug face filled with relief upon sitting down with him in the interview room at the city jail. Johnny’s entire case was dishonest, and Doyoung hated every last second of picking apart the law for any loophole he could find.

With Johnny whimpering into his neck as his hips stutter and he's fucked full, Doyoung can't imagine anyone else on top of him like this. He can't imagine threading his fingers into anyone else’s sweaty hair to tug another spurt of semen out of Johnny so he can be made even messier. He can't imagine whispering, “Make me cum again,” against anyone else’s jaw, so insatiable and spoiled on thick dick that he won't let Johnny rest until he finds the right angle to shoot directly into Doyoung’s cervix and satiate some primal need to be rawed into submission.

Johnny is driving the rental car, and Doyoung has the window down on this winding freeway lane, drowning out the low tone of a local radio station playing music he doesn't know. It's not that he doesn't like it—actually, it's nice to hear music he isn't used to, beautiful melodies he can tap along with even though he doesn't know the words—the scenery is just much more pretty without glass between it and him. They're not going that fast anyway, only enough to ruffle their hair. Johnny has one hand on the steering wheel, the other on Doyoung’s thigh where he lets it stay because it's not bothering him right now.

When they stop at a gas station on the side of the road, the arm that settles around his waist as they look at snacks isn't that bad either. Actually, it's kind of nice to lean into Johnny as they try their best to figure out what they're looking at without using a translator. They end up with a variety of things with flavors neither of them have ever tried before, and a bagful of fun beverages to wash them down.

The hotel is gorgeous, and their room is just… paradise incarnate. Doyoung flops onto the bed with a sigh as Johnny opens the doors to the balcony to let the fresh mountain air in.

“We don't have anything to do until dinner,” Johnny says, and Doyoung checks his (expensive, pretty) watch for the time. “It's not until late, I figured you'd want to rest for a bit.”

“Reservations?”

“For nine.”

“Downstairs?”

“Mhm,” Johnny answers, sitting down on him next to the bed, “it's good, I’ve been here before on business.”

Doyoung moans and deflates, that gives him four hours before he has to get ready. Three if he’s interpreting the look Johnny’s giving him correctly. He never actually asked if this was for business or not, but right now he doesn't really care about the details.

“Come here,” he mumbles, rolling onto his side to open his arm in Johnny’s direction. He doesn't hesitate to scoot up close and personal, and Doyoung doesn't make him work for a kiss this time.

It's so rare Doyoung allows him to know the pleasure of a kiss, but they've both got sweet candy lingering on their lips and lime on their tongues and it's a terribly nice feeling to just give it all up for a second. It's a kiss that Doyoung feels down to his toes, like Johnny is relieved and grateful to have even this. Doyoung’s hand moves down, but Johnny catches it on its way to unbutton his jeans. Instead, Johnny brings it up to kiss his knuckles. “Later, I wanna take a nap with you first.”

Doyoung does his absolute best to ignore the way his chest turns to goo. “Set an alarm.” They settle in together, and Doyoung is the one that puts an arm around Johnny.

Doyoung shrieks in the shower, and Johnny is throwing the bathroom door open in an instant, calling out, “DOYOUNG?!” The terror in his chest being face to face with the biggest goddamn spider he's ever seen is soothed by the shower door opening and Johnny screaming even louder before pulling Doyoung out of harm’s way, soaking wet and right into his arms. “What the fuck is that?!”

“I don't know, please get it out.” He hasn't even finished washing the cum out, there's no goddamn way he can go to breakfast after half of a shower.

Johnny leaves Doyoung naked and trembling as he goes to grab the ice bucket from out in the room to catch the beast. It takes a minute of psyching himself up, but Johnny manages to wrangle it into the container and put it out into the hall after a very frantic call to the front desk while Doyoung finishes his shower in record time.

By the time he's done and calm and in a towel, Johnny clearly isn't prepared for the barrage of kisses Doyoung rains on him for saving his fucking life. The blush on his face is fucking adorable, and Doyoung gives him more and more kisses until Johnny is a puddle of a man on the bed. They go to breakfast, and Johnny is at such a loss for words that Doyoung has to order for them both.

The sunset is at Doyoung’s back as he slow rides Johnny’s cock on the balcony; he doesn't need to see it tonight with the wonder etched onto Johnny’s face along with the rosy hues of dusk. Doyoung likes it this way better, imagining he looks fucking beautiful with sweat running down his temples.

It's been a week, and Doyoung has done and seen so many things that feel so personally fulfilling. Johnny is unexpectedly fun – he's not afraid to look like an idiot if he doesn't get something on the first try, and he's just not afraid to try new things in general in a way Doyoung might (trepidation for being out in an unfamiliar situation, mostly).

Johnny’s stupid wallet is limitless, and Doyoung is enjoying every single benefit of it.

Being together like this though, touching skin and enjoying sex for the sake of it, Doyoung is feeling more than petty lust. Emotion is slithering around in the depths of his belly, and he can't help leaning down to lick into Johnny’s mouth, biting his lip just to make him do that thing with his hips that makes Doyoung see stars.

Just a little more, just a little—

Tossing his head back, Doyoung shouts his pleasure into the open air around them, no longer shy because honestly, for the money Johnny’s paying for this place they should be fucking like animals in the lobby. He cums with his back arched and Johnny clutching him close, filled up nearly immediately. Insane that they set each other off like this, that all it takes is Doyoung gushing to make Johnny cream himself.

“This wasn't a business trip at all,” Doyoung says as he slumps forward, the cooler evening air caressing his back.

“What gave you that idea?” Johnny smiles bashfully up at him.

Doyoung doesn't keep himself from the urge of scratching Johnny’s chin like one might a cat. “You’re cute.”

“I have an appointment tomorrow in town though,” Johnny says, and the look on Doyoung's face must tell him how annoying he finds that. “It's only a couple of hours, and I'd really like it if you came along.”

“I don't want to know what shady shit you're doing for tax write-offs, but I'd rather stay ignorant so I'm not implicated when you go back to court,” Doyoung rolls his eyes, not sure why he's so uncomfortable about this so suddenly. It was dumb of him to assume that maybe Johnny really wanted to spend time with him, enough to cook up this whole trip.

So, what, a week of pleasure followed by a week of pre-criminal activity?

And now his mood is sufficiently ruined, getting off of Johnny’s lap despite the cum that runs down his thighs. His goal is to go inside, but he doesn't get far without Johnny hurriedly standing up to grab him by the wrist. “Wait, Doie–”

“I said don't rope me into your stupid business shit, you already almost went to jail once, I'm not gonna rescue you a second time,” he tries desperately to pull his hand back, but Johnny doesn't let go.

“Doyoung–”

“I don't care!”

The wind blows harder, shaking the trees around them, making Doyoung shiver as he’s pulled against Johnny. His body is warm, and now the tables are turned and he’s looking at Johnny with the sunset glowing behind his head. He looks pretty like this, worked up into a panic.

“Doyoung, this isn't a business trip,” just about stops his heart in his chest. “I have a tattoo appointment, you didn't let me finish.”

“Lead with that next time!” Doyoung hits Johnny upside the head, gritting his teeth in embarrassment as he tries to squirm away, “Give me all the information upfront so I don't make assumptions!”

“I would've said I had a meeting, and I know you don't want to go to those for that exact reason,” Johnny says softly. “Besides, I don't have any plans of getting caught again.”

Rolling his eyes again, Doyoung gets himself free only for Johnny to grab him around the waist and lift him off the ground, shrieking from the surprise, “Let me down!”

Johnny tosses him on the bed, and Doyoung has to watch in mortified appreciation while he slowly crawls up his body. He gets kisses to the soles of his feet, over the top, his ankles, his calves, then his knees, his thighs… Johnny’s tongue dives between his pussy lips to swipe up some of the mess, but he keeps going to kiss Doyoung’s fluttering tummy and hips and his chest, his ribs, shoulders and biceps and forearms and his hands, each of his fingers, and it’s all terribly much for him to handle. His neck is assaulted, his chin, ears and cheeks and nose and forehead and finally his lips, and Doyoung has never enjoyed a kiss more than this one. Never, ever in his whole life has he enjoyed the feel of another person’s lips like this.

Johnny’s body pins him to the bed, luxuriously naked as a wildfire rages in Doyoung’s veins. He doesn’t stand a chance like this, heart shaking from what he’s being subjected to. Johnny doesn’t let their kiss get too deep, stopping to drop more teasing kisses on his mouth than strictly necessary, like some dam has broken and they’re both getting swept up in the flood.

“I'd give it all up, but I wouldn't have anything else to offer you.”

Doyoung dives back into their kiss feeling an emotion that hasn’t been invented yet (yes it has), hands clutching into Johnny’s hair to get him as close as possible. It doesn’t matter that they just went for two rounds outside, when Johnny guides his cock back in it feels like the first time all over again. Like he’s flying in that fucking helicopter feeling the satisfaction that can only come from being full to bursting. Terminally horny, except like, in his heart.

“Go slow,” Doyoung whispers against Johnny’s jaw. The message is received as Doyoung wraps his legs around Johnny’s waist, mewling when their fingers thread together. It's unbearable how Johnny actually listens, breathing hard against each other as they find a rhythm that steals Doyoung’s breath.

It's different, this time. Johnny is so careful about the force of his thrusts, shuddering with tiny gasps at each careful shift of their bodies. Doyoung's lips trace Johnny’s neck, straining since he can't use his hands, the wet squish of their hips meeting over and over making Doyoung ache to be fucked. Johnny wants it this way more than him, he wants this closeness so bad it hurts worse than Doyoung’s preference to be dickwrecked.

Because if he's not being fucked within an inch of his life, there's room for feelings to take root. There's room for Doyoung to think, and to appreciate that Johnny wants to make him feel good for as long as possible. They’re both insatiable, but there’s a limit to how much insanity Doyoung can subject himself to, stretching sex out impossibly long. Doyoung’s physical body is about to shatter like a faberge egg getting hurled out the door of a moving train.

It's a metaphor that makes Doyoung chuckle privately, tapering into a whine because Johnny asks him 'what's so funny’. The funny thing is that he’s enjoying himself. Doyoung wants more.

He needs to hear the words, the ones that perfectly explain what he's feeling. But, Doyoung refuses to say them first. He won't go that low, he can’t admit to it without knowing Johnny feels it too. Johnny can drape him in expensive fabric and give him all of the extravagant gifts in the universe, but Doyoung won't go any further without a real reach back.

How annoying.

The way Johnny’s cock is throbbing in him because Doyoung scratches his back up, the way his entire body covers his, he cums so hard he sees stars. Or maybe it's just his glimpse of the twilight sky past the balcony – maybe the shooting star his eyes follow is a last ditch hope that his time here means something.

Johnny’s body settles on top of his carefully, considerate enough to not crush Doyoung like he used to do in the beginning of whatever the fuck this is. He's learned how to take care of Doyoung so well, and he deserves to be rewarded for that. Pushing his fingers through Johnny’s gross hair, Doyoung kisses his cheek and thanks him.

Laying in a puddle of body fluids with lukewarm air coming in from the valley below them kissing over tired skin, Doyoung has no idea how he's supposed to go back to life after this trip. How is he supposed to go back to ignoring Johnny's every attempt at intimacy at home? Here, it feels like they're something, but how can Doyoung ever get over their origin?

Half the time, all he can think about is how cocky Johnny was, how sure he was that Doyoung would win his court case. He was such a fucking problem to work with, a nightmare of a person to have to direct on how to answer a judge and other lawyers. Doyoung spent days drilling responses to any potential question the prosecution could ask into Johnny’s pretty, empty head. Sheer luck influenced his business partner’s inability to lie through his fucking teeth quite as well as Johnny.

And here Doyoung is in Colombia, letting the same man make love to him like they're attached.

Sickening.

“We’re on our honeymoon,” Doyoung says in a panic, caught off guard by the sweet woman whose dog stopped at their table on the sidewalk of the cafe they're having lunch at.

Johnny’s touch goes still, and the dog he's petting whines, licking at his hands to get another scratch behind his ears. The woman is thrilled to congratulate them on their marriage while Doyoung wishes a meteor would fall from the fucking sky, localized to his cranium so it makes his entire body vaporize on impact. Johnny thanks her while Doyoung gets up to go use the restroom inside the shop, so embarrassed he can't even fucking speak.

It's a closet of a bathroom with a lock on the door, and thank fuck for that. It gives him a moment of certain peace to compose himself. Yet, a minute later the door handle jiggles, followed by a knock that’s answered with, “One second–!”

“Open the door.”

Fuck fuck fuck.

Doyoung doesn't make him wait, because somehow he knows it's gonna be worse for him to leave Johnny out there. He opens the door and lets Johnny in, the look on his face perfectly indecipherable.

“Honeymoon, huh?”

“Shut up,” Doyoung grumbles, crushing their lips together as Johnny’s hands find his waist.

He gets lifted up onto the lip of the sink coming from the wall, and Johnny rails him hard and fast, thumbing his clit until Doyoung is squirting all over Johnny's cock as he continues pounding him. Quiet moans turn into long curses whispered into Johnny’s mouth.

“I’ll give you a billion won to piss on my cock,” Johnny pulls out, already fisting himself toward his orgasm. “Please,” he begs against Doyoung’s lips, moaning urgently, “p-please.”. Surprise makes him let go more than the promise of money, comforted by the sink’s position beneath him so he's not pissing directly on the fucking floor like an animal. Johnny jerks off in the stream and cums as Doyoung’s bladder reaches empty, and it's all so depraved that he can't help surging forward to bite Johnny’s lips and pull him back in for an unsanitary round two.

Doyoung holds Johnny’s hand during his tattoo appointment.

The rain catches them off guard, and as it turns out Johnny is useless at driving when his arm is covered in plastic wrap. Doyoung offered to drive, but the lateness of the night kind of caught up with them anyway. There’s no need to go back when the roads are dangerous enough as it is on a dry night with the way some of them wind. They opt to stay in the city for a night to ‘get away from it all’, ‘as a treat’. Another cute hotel, though Doyoung wouldn’t describe it as lavish. It’s charming, a welcoming place to rest with much relief.

Sitting next to Johnny on the bed watching some movie he's seen a trillion times dubbed in Spanish with a comical assortment of takeout containers from three different restaurants between them, Doyoung doesn't know if he's ever felt so comfortable with another person. His pants have been abandoned to the floor, shirt pushed half up his stomach to combat the humid chill in the air. It doesn’t really make sense to him either, but his standard of comfort is half clothed with the blanket pulled up to his knees.

Johnny says something hysterical that’s got Doyoung spraying a mouthful of rice all over the bed, nearly choking as he searches blindly behind him on the nightstand for his drink. His foolish lover leans across the pillows behind Doyoung to grab it, handing it over so he can clear his airway. Johnny’s good arm wraps around Doyoung from behind, and yeah it’s a little annoying that he can’t prop himself back up against the headboard, but it’s fine. There’s no need to trip himself up over Johnny’s desire for closeness.

When the mess is cleaned up and they're both full, kisses tasting of an amalgamation of dinner, Doyoung allows his soft body to be handled. Laid next to each other it's unclear whether or not Johnny wants more sex, but a rogue thunderclap jostles Johnny apart from him with a yelp. Doyoung can't help the fond feeling cracking through the ice in his chest, warming him up as he turns and takes Johnny into his arms instead.

“Scared?”

“No,” he mumbles with his face pressed firmly between Doyoung's mosquito bite tits.

“You don't have to lie, baby,” the endearment slips out unconsciously as Johnny shivers in his arms, but a perfectly timed *CRACK* takes the blame.

They’re at dinner at some place, Doyoung stopped paying attention to the where and instead started paying attention to who he is with. Johnny is genuinely fun to be around, he’s been making Doyoung laugh so much with all their improvising. Doyoung shouldn’t let himself relax as much as he is, he knows this, but it’s hard not to. Out here, it’s like they’re both different people, at least, Doyoung feels like one.

Maybe this has been the same Johnny the whole time, but Vacation Doyoung and Crushed By The Pressures Of Life Doyoung are two completely different people. Here, he’s allowing Johnny far too much slack, and it’s kind of pathetic how his eyes never stray from Doyoung. He's in the act of tricking himself into thinking this is real, that Doyoung is finally considering this a relationship too. But how can he? No matter what feelings are swirling around in his chest, he just can’t let go of what he thought of Johnny at first. Can he?

Johnny makes it so easy to forget about his problems, holding his hand and kissing him like Doyoung is his world. He’s loved. Johnny doesn’t say the words, he just gives and gives and gives and refuses to take. He won’t reach into Doyoung’s chest to take the words that are too stuck for him to spit out.

On the street, Johnny pulls him into an alley shuddering with need, kissing Doyoung like he’s the answer he’s been looking for. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers desperately against Doyoung’s lips, clutching his head with both hands. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” sealed with another kiss that Doyoung feels down to his toes.

“Say it again,” Doyoung whispers back, pushing his knee between Johnny’s, “tell me what I do to you.”

He's asking Johnny to humiliate himself for his own cruel amusement, and Johnny doesn’t hesitate to spill his guts. “You’re the first thought in my head when I wake up,” Johnny says, dropping another emotional kiss onto Doyoung’s lips, “and the last one when I go to sleep. I want you every second I’m awake, and when I’m not close to you it hurts. Not just because you’re beautiful, you’re just… you’re everything to me.”

“Why?” Johnny whimpers and Doyoung shoves his thigh higher, right up against his chub dick. “Because you love fucking me? You love being ignored until I let you touch me?”

“N-no,” he stutters airily as Doyoung nudges into his balls harder than necessary.

“You come around begging for scraps of affection all the time, do you know how fucking annoying you are? Do you know how much I hate being inconvenienced — that’s what you are, you’re an inconvenience, Johnny,” Doyoung spits out like venom; this is Johnny’s last fucking warning.

“I would do anything for you, just say the fucking word,” Johnny’s got tears in his eyes, “I’ll give you anything you fucking want – I lo—”

“Are you trying to fucking piss me off?” Doyoung slaps Johnny on the cheek a few times in succession, watching his eyes glaze over. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

“But—“

Doyoung grits his teeth and pulls Johnny’s head back by his hair, the man gasping sharply. “If you’re gonna use your mouth, do it to get me off. Now.”

And he does, right against the brick wall Doyoung is leaning against, one leg out of his pants and draped over Johnny’s shoulder as the man licks up into him like he’s possessed. His mouth is so good, Johnny’s lips and tongue feel better every time he puts them on Doyoung’s cunt to kiss his bad attitude better. The alley is dark, and Johnny is so enthusiastic in the face of Doyoung refusing to hear his feelings that he has no reservations about pissing down Johnny’s throat. One second he’s cumming, and the next he’s grinding against Johnny’s tongue while the flood releases. Johnny keens an extremely, stupidly hot sound. He only spills a couple of drops that run down his chin, but there’s stars in his eyes and Doyoung is perturbed.

“Don’t look at me like that — god, you actually liked that? You’re filthy.” With Johnny on his knees, it’s easy to nudge the toe of his brand new shoe beneath Johnny’s balls, pushing them around in his jeans. “I bet you’ve got a lot of cum waiting to be let out, mmh?”

“Yeah,” Johnny breathes, eyes downcast waiting for further instructions. How can one man be so whipped? What an irresponsible attitude to have, to be so at another person’s beck and call. It's incredible that nobody else has ever taken advantage of him like this before; Doyoung is glad to be the first. Maybe he’ll break him. Maybe Johnny will be compelled to do something stupid and actually go to prison this time and get out of his fucking hair for good.

One more nudge that makes Johnny gasp, and Doyoung says, “If you wanna cum, jerk off to the ground.”

He ends up cumming across the tops of Doyoung’s brand new shoes, and then he licks the mess off like the debauched beast he is.

In bed, late enough that he should be asleep, Doyoung stirs when he feels Johnny carefully slide up behind him. He doesn't want Doyoung to wake up in favor of savoring his still, silent, pliant body. Johnny settles with his face in the back of his neck, breathing in quiet, overwhelmed huffs. Hesitant to wrap his arm around Doyoung’s waist, like he doesn’t want to get in trouble again for such a simple crime.

He does his best to stay soft, breath even while Johnny gets lost in kissing his neck, rubbing over Doyoung’s hip and waist and tummy with his hand under the blanket. Johnny is gentle with him, he’s adoring in a way Doyoung refuses to deal with, handling him with quiet ministrations that make it difficult to not react to.

“I love you,” Johnny breathes so quietly against his skin that Doyoung thinks he imagined it. Johnny’s heart is beating stupidly fast against his back, and Doyoung knows it's real. He knows this isn't a game to Johnny, that his feelings are overwhelming for him, enough that he thinks he can only speak them aloud in the dead of night out of fear.

He’s right for being afraid. First, for paying Doyoung an obscene amount of money to be here with him entertaining this bullshit. Johnny’s right to reserve his feelings for when Doyoung won't acknowledge him. If he does, then he also has to acknowledge that the confession is what makes him comfortable enough to fall asleep wrapped up in another person instead of pushing him away like he would anyone else. and Doyoung cannot have that.

They separate at the airport despite Johnny’s best efforts. He has a million excuses as to why they can't get dinner even though Doyoung is fucking starving, but mostly he needs to be fucking alone.

It's mean of Doyoung to tell the doorman to stop letting Johnny in.

It's meaner to block his number.

The rent is paid on his apartment.

The rent is paid again, besides the birthday gift wrapped neatly on his bed.

Doyoung thought Johnny learned his lesson about sending shit to his office, but apparently not. The only reason he doesn't throw the chocolate out is because he had a rotten fucking day in court. He wonders how the fuck Johnny heard about him losing his case because of the most humiliating oversight he's ever had.

“Get this fucking florist shop off my desk,” Doyoung snaps at his intern, and the poor guy scrambles to do it.

The rent is paid a third time, and Doyoung feels sick for taking advantage of Johnny like this. It hurts in a way that doesn't make sense.

Johnny is spotted with some actor, Doyoung doesn't fucking care.

He doesn't.

It's mid-spring before Doyoung sees Johnny again, a disastrous accident. Doyoung is at the cafe across the street from his apartment on the weekend when he literally collides with Johnny, the both of them distracted with their days. Johnny spills iced coffee all down the front of Doyoung’s nice cashmere sweater, and Doyoung drops his croissant in surprise.

“Doyoung–!”

The shame and guilt and longing that swirls in his chest is too much to fucking handle, but then he spots the same beautiful fucking actor from the rumors sitting at a table nearby, and Doyoung cannot fucking do this. So, he runs out the door and goes back home to scream in the shower like he's in some stupid early ‘00s music video.

Johnny didn't even come after him.

The summer heat reminds Doyoung of places better left a memory.

One of the senior attorneys is having a retirement party at some fancy restaurant, and if it hadn't been one of the men who initially took Doyoung under his wing, there's no way he would've come tonight. He's nice, and there's free alcohol, and maybe Doyoung will get messy enough to find someone to fuck around with for the night. He's horny, but of the handful of people who have approached him over the past couple of months, Doyoung wanted nothing to do with any of them.

It's a good dinner, but Doyoung drinks a little too much expensive wine that reminds him of a certain someone else, and it spoils his mood. There's nobody here able to handle him, anyway.

The random gifts at work don't stop. He doesn't have the heart to remove the extra toothbrush in the bathroom either.

The only reason Doyoung is roped into going to this charity event is because he drew the short straw along with another coworker he barely knows. He can’t dip early out of polite anxiety for not wanting to make a bad impression on whoever he needs to make a good impression with, but it’s hour two of truly meaningless mingling and Doyoung’s feet are starting to hurt. He takes his assigned seat at a table, honestly fucking miserable being forced to keep a smile on his face. He wants to go home, he wants a kiss, he wants another fucking vacation away from this life.

He wants—

“Is this seat taken?”

A hot shiver zips down Doyoung’s spine, cold shame following. Maybe it has been enough time, and it wouldn’t be rude to leave.

“No,” Doyoung answers his own silly conclusions out loud, because yes it would be rude to leave but also his coworker can fucking figure it out; he tosses the little name card on the plate beneath the table, and Johnny accepts the seat with a grateful smile. Johnny reads his fucking mind about his mouth being drier than a desert by handing him a glass of wine that goes half down before Doyoung can psyche himself out.

The lights dim for the dinner ambiance, there’s some speeches made. Doyoung is bored out of his fucking skull, stewing in his silence next to the last person on earth he wants to see right now. Maybe Johnny could feel that he’s the only person Doyoung can stand to be in a room with right now, which is his problem in the first place.

He’s nervous, fidgeting with quite literally everything he can get his wandering hands on. The napkin, the silverware, his tux jacket. Doyoung is selfish for smoothing his hand over Johnny’s thigh and whispering, “Calm down.” It works, but it's selfish. Johnny makes him into such a selfish fucking person, and it's hard to reconcile with being a civil servant, a public defender meant to uphold the law against guys like him.

“Can we talk?” Johnny asks finally, when music starts up and the mass of people are expected to dance.

Doyoung would rather be for real dead than on a dance floor right now, so talking it is. He nods toward the door and says, “Bathroom, follow in five minutes.”

It's the longest five minutes of Doyoung’s life wondering how the fuck he's going to say what he has to say before Johnny enters the bathroom and all the words in the universe leave his head.

There's a couple of other people in closed stalls, but Doyoung walks to the cube at the end and Johnny’s footsteps follow. The lock clicks on the door, and Doyoung is so fucking nervous he wants to throw up. Johnny’s cologne is so achingly familiar, it’s not even fair.

Johnny’s hands settle on Doyoung’s hips, face pushed into his neck. “I miss you,” he whispers, breath hot on Doyoung’s sweaty neck.

“What would your boyfriend think?” Doyoung whispers back, heart hammering in his chest.

“What boyfriend?” Johnny physically turns Doyoung around, confusion written on his face. One of the toilets flush behind them, and Doyoung’s heart is caught in his throat. “I thought it was clear I only want you.”

Doyoung melts into Johnny’s thumb caressing his hip. “What about Nakamoto Yuta?”

“His boyfriend would literally fucking kill me if I made a move on that man,” Johnny quietly laughs out, “Doyoung, I don't know what I did to fuck this up, but please let me fix it.”

“You didn't do anything,” Doyoung says honestly, because it was his own dumb ass running from his feelings. And now he's made the rookie mistake of believing tabloids.

“You blocked my number,” Johnny mumbles again as he shoves his face into Doyoung’s neck, pecking him with his lips, “and you didn't want to see me. What the fuck was I supposed to think?”

What's Doyoung supposed to say back? That it got too fucking real for him so he ran away like a coward instead of facing Johnny like an adult? Or that their relationship was supposed to only be for Doyoung’s amusement and financial gain, but then he actually started to enjoy Johnny’s presence in his life? That he's in love with him too?

God forbid Doyoung admits it.

“I don't know,” he says, eyes cast down on his continued cowardice when Johnny moves back to look at him.

“Tell me to leave you alone face to face and I will,” Johnny says, lifting Doyoung’s chin with his index finger, swiping his thumb on his jaw. “Look at me and tell me yourself that you’re done with me and I'll stop pursuing you.”

“You’re so fucking stupid,” is what Doyoung says instead of anything constructive. “You think money is the answer to me returning your feelings.” He likes the comfortable amount of money in his bank account, the ‘allowance’ he’s been getting for so long now he should probably just quit his job and be Johnny’s fucking house pet and be much, much happier without all of the stress of existing.

“I know I’m stupid, but I’m not fucking dumb. I know I can't pay you to love me back.”

“There you go tossing that word around again,” Doyoung sighs. Love. He shouldn’t love Doyoung, “I treat you like shit on fucking purpose Johnny, and you just… you never stop wanting more and I don’t fucking get it. I’ve done everything I can think of to repel you the fuck away from me, but you keep coming back like an imprinted duckling and I don’t know what to do anymore.”

He looks desperate; Doyoung isn’t answering his question on purpose. He's deflecting until Johnny gives up, the man who refuses to tap out. He knows Johnny’s not gonna stop until Doyoung makes a decision and either tells him to fuck off for real or just admit to his own feelings for once.

“Do you want me to leave you alone for good?” The comedic timing of the toilet flushing behind them is a curse that makes his lips shake as he tries not to laugh, Johnny’s face sets against one too. He wants to kiss him so fucking bad.

“You should be fucking mad at me!” Doyoung’s slightly raised voice echoes in the stall when he composes himself, “You should hate me for playing around with you when I know how you really feel about me. For the money you pay me, I’m genuinely shocked you want so little from me. I don’t understand why you don’t just fucking take what you want.”

He doesn’t understand why Johnny won’t just fucking use him.

“You think I don't know that? I would let you do literally anything to me, even if it meant my death. fuck, I’d let you smother me, are you joking?”

“You’d place your life in my fucking hands? What’s wrong with you? You don’t know a single thing about me.” Johnny knows his taste in expensive things better than anyone else, but that doesn’t mean anything.

“I don’t care if you take all of my money,” Johnny ignores his words and grabs Doyoung’s hand to guide it up around his throat. “The second you get bored of me or I fail to please you, I wouldn’t have any other fucking purpose. I’d let you kill me in a heartbeat, Kim Doyoung.”

The bathroom door opens, and Doyoung’s heart is in his throat. Some guy leisurely strolls to the urinal, unzips as loud as humanly possible, and lets out the loudest relieved moan as his piss splashes porcelain. That's fine, it gives Doyoung cover to squeeze Johnny’s neck, making him sit down on the seat next to them. His other hand drops to grab Johnny’s cock, and his prey has to bite his lip to not make a sound.

“Your life is mine,” Doyoung rasps, leaning in to lick from Johnny’s jaw to his ear, tugging on the lobe with his teeth. “This is mine,” he punctuates with both hands gripping tighter, and the man trembles beneath him, nodding. Johnny’s adorable like this, with his insane affection on full display — he’s got spinning hearts for eyes when Doyoung straightens up to take his pants off, hanging the garment off the door hook by his belt.

“Take my dick out,” Doyoung instructs him, and Johnny unbuckles his belt and pulls everything down without being told twice. “Good girl.” Johnny visibly shudders.

Doyoung’s underwear comes off next, damp from a day’s sweat as he holds them in his hand. Johnny’s eyes follow the pair as he dangles them in the air, and Doyoung finds an immediate, cruel joy in putting them right in front of Johnny’s face, just to see him lean in to try and smell them. Doyoung is so wet right now it’s dripping down between his thighs, and the urge that comes to mind is impossible to ignore.

His dirty underwear smear into Johnny’s face, and the man’s eyes cross from the pleasure of it. The third party in the bathroom coughs when Johnny makes a high pitched noise, and Doyoung tsks, speaking normally, “Kitten, what if someone hears you? They’ll catch us… or is that what you want?” Johnny whimpers behind Doyoung’s hand, huffing his scent like his last breath is iminent. “Do you want someone to hear us fucking you dumb little whore?”

Johnny’s cock is dripping, flushed pink and so pretty. “Look at how wet you are,” Doyoung says as he crushes his underwear into a ball and shoves it fully into Johnny’s mouth. He follows it up with a hard slap that gets a moan muffled by the fabric, and then another to Johnny’s opposite cheek so he feels the sting equally.

His meanness comes back with a vengeance, sitting on Johnny’s lap close enough to grind against his hard cock. It feels like Johnny’s fucking proposing to him right now, being so insane as to promise Doyoung his life in exchange for everything he owns. Johnny’s selling his fucking soul to him.

Is that what Doyoung is? A demon?

Maybe.

The door to the stall next to them closes — as if it’s not a compliment in itself to have some other disgusting man get off to them. What an insane turn of events. Fortunately, Doyoung is absolutely fucking impatient to be filled after so long that not even some weirdo can ruin that for him. He guides Johnny’s cock into him like no time has passed at all, sinking down on it like the prize it is.

This is what he’s been missing, the sensation of being stuffed to the fucking brim until Johnny’s dick bruises his lungs. Doyoung is ruined for other men anyway. His expectations are much too high on what a man needs to give Doyoung to get the time of day. Johnny is too well trained to replace at this point.

“How does my cock feel in your pussy, princess?” Doyoung starts riding him for all he’s worth on a semi-public declaration that this is mutual. The slick sound between them is obscene, the smack of their hips and Johnny’s muffled moans spurring him on. That, and the sound of the guy next to them jerking off, breathing hard like any pervert would. Doyoung wonders if he thinks some scumbag is slamming his hot secretary or whatever, but that’s not really his problem.

Johnny’s hands find their way on Doyoung’s hips, and Doyoung whines when he grinds up into him out of the rhythm. “Fuck, just like that baby, move like that again.” Grabbing his hair, Doyoung tugs Johnny’s head back and says, “That’s my fucking problem with you — you make me work so goddamn hard all the fucking time to get what i want.” Johnny’s cock throbs so hard Doyoung’s surprised he hasn’t cum. “You’re a sick little girl with a wet cunt just waiting to be bred by my cock.”

Johnny looks so fucking cute with his nose and the tips of his ears pink from embarrassment, eyes wet with unshed tears and lips stretched around sopping wet fabric that’s doing nothing anymore to stop drool from leaking down Johnny’s chin. Abruptly, Doyoung pulls off and those tears fall with a pained sound, sparkling in the dim light of the bathroom. “What are these tears for, why are you crying? Is it because you wanna cum and I didn't let you?”

He actually shakes his head no.

“Are you happy right now?”

Yes. Unbelievable.

Cooing, Doyoung scratches under Johnny’s chin and says, “Of course you’re happy right now, I know you’re telling the truth even though you’re too shy to say it.'' He can see it in Johnny’s eyes and feel it in the way his hands are holding Doyoung’s hips like he doesn’t want to leave a bruise.

Next to them, the grunting of their interloper is getting too loud, and Doyoung knocks his shoe against the stall wall, “You, I didn’t give you permission to cum either. Nasty little freak, you had to come jerk off right next to us? Have some shame.”

Doyoung is absolutely mad with power at the mumbled, “Sorry,” he gets.

“At least you listen to me,” Doyoung says in open acknowledgement of how good Johnny is being right now. But more importantly, playtime is over and Doyoung wants to take this somewhere else with a clear conscience. He takes his underwear out of Johnny’s mouth carefully, tossing them to the ground carelessly so he can use his shirtsleeve to wipe up the drool from Johnny’s face and neck.

Johnny’s chest is trembling when Doyoung puts his hand on it, stray tears slipping down his cheeks. Doyoung wipes those away too, pressing their lips together. “We have to talk, and we will – I promise you we’re going to talk about ‘us’, just not right now.” Johnny’s definitely not in a space to have the kind of conversation they need to, but Doyoung isn’t going to treat him like glass either.

“Okay,” Johnny says shakily, taking deep breaths.

“Do you wanna cum before we go home?” Doyoung gives him the choice with the realization he’s been so cruel to Johnny for so long, the poor guy’s probably going through mental gymnastics trying to figure out if this is another game. “There’s no wrong answer.”

Johnny nods, and Doyoung kisses him again, wiping a fresh wave of tears off his cheeks, hushing him. Doyoung straddles him again and lets Johnny finish inside of him, and well, they just happen to be in a convenient position for him to piss on Johnny’s lap as a little reward. The pig in the next stall grunts his pleasure alongside them, and Doyoung has officially had enough of being perceived.

It’s like a weight is lifted from Johnny’s heart, leaving him full to bursting. Doyoung says it back, that he loves him too – he has for a while. It’s a dream come true.

A beautiful dream.

A cruel dream.

Shattered.

Ironic for the divorce to be finalized ten years to the date of their wedding anniversary. Doyoung takes nearly everything from Johnny, and honestly? Good riddance.