Chapter Text
"We have a lot of new faces here today, so we'll do some introductions first. Sound good?"
Yunho squirms and tries to shrink in his seat. Next to him, a woman clad entirely in black stands up and introduces herself, whispers vampirism and quickly takes a seat. Yunho stares at his lap and tries not to smile.
"Please introduce yourself," The leader speaks again, professional kindness tinting his worn voice. Substance abuse? Unlikely. Perhaps he liked to swallow unsavory objects. Yunho once knew a woman who used to swallow glass marbles with the compulsion of an addict. She was probably institutionalized now.
He looks up slowly. There's a guy sitting next to the leader, thin, willowy, with sunken cheeks, and pink hair. He's wearing a kafo brace on one leg. Yunho looks at him until the guy returns his look and raises an eyebrow.
"Jeong Yunho. 25. I like holes."
Someone in the group snickers, another coughs. Yunho stares at the guy with the pink hair, detecting faint muscle spasms near his mouth. He wants to tell the guy he can laugh because really, Yunho gets it. People here liked to reenact car crashes, were obsessed with exposing themselves in public, or got hard looking at amputees.
But here Yunho was, a simple creature, compelled to shove his dick into anything that remotely resembled a fuckable hole. Truly some American Pie shit.
The leader clears his throat and smiles at him, and Yunho realizes then that this whole support group was just another one of the massively stupid ideas prompted by his broken impulse control center.
"Well, Yunho, we're thrilled to have you. I know it feels really isolating to be experiencing these feelings when nobody around you shares them or approves of them, but I'd like to assure you that here, you can be yourself and have all the support you need to get better."
The leader is so earnest, it makes Yunho’s teeth hurt a little. Get better? Was his really a problem to be fixed? The way Yunho saw it, shoving his dick inside his mom's freshly baked pie and scalding the fuck out of it was a lot better than ripping his esophagus to shreds or whatever the fuck the rest of these freaks were into. At least his little problem wasn’t illegal in at least 150 countries.
But fine. The leader guy looks well-intentioned enough, and the guy next to him looks really pretty, so Yunho resigns himself to endure this for now.
He drinks the shitty, watery coffee at the snack table after the meeting, and eyes Pink Hair as he talks to a woman who had earlier admitted to be wearing a diaper. Pink Hair leans on a crutch, has a nice face, the prettiest, widest mouth. Is he wearing tint? He has to be. But there's no ring around the lip of his polystyrene cup. Expensive tint then. His mouth would look pretty smeared with red or pink, spit-slick, drool running down the corners and onto the dick he’d be sucking.
Yunho would like to be ashamed of thinking about a random stranger this way, but he has long since given up on mental censure. Try not to sexualize any cavities you see, the leader had said. Yunho snorts into his chemical-consistent coffee. It was bad enough trying not to drill glory holes into his dining table or risk penile strangulation by adequately-diametered bottlenecks. How could one be expected to not sexualize a mouth, you know, made for dick sucking?
Among other, less important things, like eating. Regardless.
Yunho’s eyes drift lower appreciatively, hooked around the bend of Pink Hair’s waist, over the soft swell of his ass under his shorts, until finally, he notices the back of his thigh.
Yunho’s throat clogs up.
The underside of Pink Hair’s thigh, down to the bend of his knee, is divided roughly into two by a deep, traumatic scar that runs like a corrugated ditch in his otherwise seamless skin. The sides of the scar, at least what peeks out of the shorts, are raised, allowing for tight slivers of scar tissue between them. It looks like a perverse, forbidden entrance to somewhere, a deep crag in a rock face, beckoning guileless cavers.
It looks… penetrable.
The guy is alone now, the woman having wandered off, so Yunho swallows the excitement bobbing like a buoy in his throat, and ambles over, feigning a careless gait perfected over years of bar-hopping. He stops in front of the plate of barely touched sandwiches a few inches to the guy’s left.
“Have you tried these?”
Pink Hair looks at him, then at the dry sandwiches. Shrugs.
Yunho laughs. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Pink hair shrugs again and shifts his weight onto his good right leg. “It means ‘what does it look like?’”
Yunho pretends to eye the sandwiches again.
“Well, they look pretty dry and completely full of only coleslaw,” he says in his best casually flirtatious voice, “so I’d guess you haven’t.”
Pink Hair does a thing with his eyebrows. It is very condescending and very hot.
“Smart guy,” he says drily.
Yunho leans against the table and watches him finish his coffee. The hall is emptying steadily. It’s a gymnasium in the local high school, and Yunho can see darkness beyond the harsh golden lights of the hall.
“You need a ride?” He asks, only half-expecting an affirmative reply.
“If you wouldn’t mind,” Yunho could whoop for joy, “My boyfriend is held up at work.”
Well.
Yunho examines his mouth again as subtly as he can, and adds the image of his thigh to the equation, evaluating.
Good enough to warrant some homewrecking? Absolutely.
They walk down the darkened hall toward the entrance, the last ones out. Yunho is trying to match Pink Hair’s pace as surreptitiously as possible. His limp isn’t terribly bad, but he is considerably slow, and Yunho is nothing if not a gentleman if he has base needs to fulfil.
“I never got your name.”
Pink Hair scoffs. “I never gave you it.”
“Well, what’s your name?”
“Seonghwa. Yours?”
“Yunho.”
They slip out of the main doors as Seonghwa relays directions to his street, and head to Yunho’s Chevy. He hopes it smells alright. Yunho hasn’t eaten in there since he got a somewhat steady job but you never know. Seonghwa looks uppity and high maintenance and Yunho would rather not ruin his already slim chances.
“What do you do?” Seonghwa asks, sliding into the passenger seat with some difficulty and throwing his crutch in the back. He’s asking extraneous questions. Should that be taken as interest?
“Tattoo artist.” Yunho replies with a bright smile. He has been told it’s a sexy profession. He hopes Seonghwa agrees, “Want me to guess yours?”
Seonghwa clicks his seatbelt into place and glances at him, eyebrow raised again. “Stereotype people a lot?”
Okay, you prickly fucker. Yunho starts the car and tongues the inside of his cheek.
“Just trying to make conversation. Do you condescend all the time or is it reserved for people trying to befriend you?”
There we go. Yunho pulls out of the parking lot and waits for the inevitable apology, feeling supremely satisfied.
“Befriend me? I was under the impression you were looking for a quick fuck.”
Well, well, well. Yunho tries to think of something witty to say. Deny it and play hard to get? But he has a feeling Seonghwa would simply give in and never talk to him again. Yunho has a fair notion of what he means to Seonghwa right now, which is the equivalent of a worm that Seonghwa can either ignore or salt, depending on what way his mood swings.
To Yunho, however, Seonghwa means everything. Yunho has always wanted with the intensity of a man on his deathbed, his desires fleeting and temporary. Orgasmic. He wants Seonghwa’s mouth on his cock or Yunho is sure he will die.
So he says, in as nonchalant a tone as he can muster under duress:
“Glad we’re on the same page.”
Seonghwa laughs, soft, deliberate. So condescending. Yunho’s cock twitches in his pants and his fingers grip the steering wheel.
“Who said I was on the same page?” Seonghwa scoffs, “In fact, whatever gave you the impression I wanted to be anywhere near you?”
Yunho’s neck grows hot, fingers almost numb from how hard he’s squeezing the wheel.
“You’re in my car of your own will,” he says slowly.
Seonghwa shrugs. “You offered.”
Yunho steps on the brakes, takes a deep breath, and turns to Seonghwa, teeth gritted. “I take it back. Get out.”
Seonghwa clicks his tongue in mock-hurt. “You’d leave a cripple like me on the side of the road?”
Bastard. Yunho narrows his eyes. “Yeah. Out.”
Seonghwa laughs again and this time it is much more cruel. He retrieves his crutch from the back, opens the door, and dutifully gets out. Yunho watches him hobble around the front, illuminated by the headlights. He looks beautiful and Yunho is quite certain he is exaggerating his limp.
Yunho mutters a curse to himself and floors it away from him.
---
He goes to the next meeting solely to see if Seonghwa has changed his mind. Yunho’s pathetic nature gets the better of him sometimes. Most times.
Seonghwa is there, wearing much shorter shorts, and Yunho can clearly see the rest of his scar. It spans the entire length of his thigh and does odd things to Yunho’s stomach.
He takes his seat around the circle and ignores Seonghwa but he doesn't have to because all his senses are attuned to Seonghwa, and he can tell that Seonghwa hasn't looked at him since he arrived. He ignores Seonghwa aggressively the rest of the meeting just in case.
When it ends, Yunho makes for Seonghwa, and Seonghwa makes for the door.
Yunho sprints and skids to a stop in front of him, shoulder nudging the diaper lady, who scowls at him before walking off, muttering to herself. He leans as casually as possible on the wall in front of Seonghwa.
“Hey,” Yunho says, slightly out of breath.
Seonghwa rolls his eyes and moves past him. Yunho gives chase, walking backwards in front of him.
“Look, I may have overreacted-”
“You did.”
“-but you were being mean for no reason-”
Seonghwa sneers. “Aw, does baby want a kiss to make it better?”
Yunho leans forward, a spring in his step. “I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea.”
“I would,” Seonghwa replies promptly.
Yunho throws up his hands in frustration. “I’m trying to be nice here, you know.”
“Never asked for it.” Seonghwa snaps and shoulders past him, but loses his balance. Yunho catches him with an arm around Seonghwa’s waist and his own heart in his throat.
“Careful,” he says softly. He feels Seonghwa swallow before he straightens up.
Seonghwa leans his shoulder against the wall and takes a few deep breaths. Color rides high in his cheeks, made dull and cold by the blue-tinged light of the moon that floods the dark corridor from the windows. There is nobody around, the last straggler having walked out a few seconds ago. Yunho swallows, heat coiling in his stomach, soured with trepidation. He reaches out a hand like a traveller in fog.
Seonghwa slaps it away and glares. “Don’t even think about it, asshole.”
Yunho sighs as Seonghwa pushes past him again.
Was this worth it? Pros and cons. On the one hand, the fucker was pretty pretty, the kind of inexplicable beauty that is a strain in one’s dna, a recessive gene flared to dominance every ten generations. You hear bards flail and flop to sing about it, artists falling forward into cans of paint trying to capture its likeness, Kant and Burke trying to reason its superiority into common language, before resorting to labeling it “sublime”, and calling it a day.
On the other hand, Seonghwa is the most universally disagreeable, perpetually ill-tempered, horribly manipulative, 5 feet 10 inches of acrid, angularity packed into the meat-shape of a man.
Yunho reasons, in the end, that verbal humiliation can be honed into a kink with some practice.
“Wait!”
Seonghwa stops and turns around at the front doors, and Yunho realizes that even if he is turned down, he’ll never be able to forget how Seonghwa looks right now, moonlight bouncing off his face, sharpened to points around his features, lighting up his scowl, the disdain upon his brow. Let me kiss you, bubbles up in Yunho’s throat.
“Give me a chance,” he says instead, and then, because he is a liar and unbelievably, terribly shallow, “I’ll treat you well.”
Seonghwa’s fingertips flutter on the door, teeth like pearls worrying his lower lip. Yunho feels every nerve ending inflamed with anticipation. They stand locked like that for a few seconds in the deathly quiet of the now completely deserted school building.
“Prove it,” Seonghwa says finally, and lets go of his crutch.
Yunho has never been much of an athlete. He was downright dismal in P.E. and avoided it whenever he could, even if it meant shoving himself into a locker, sustaining bruises, and blaming it on the biggest bully he could locate in his general vicinity. He has never run track because what’s the point in running that fast if you’re not choosing theft as your profession of choice? And he’s always had weird hangups about stealing anyway.
Regardless, when he sees Seonghwa lose his grip on the crutch, Yunho shoots forward as if propelled by an invisible force. His muscles burn, his breath immediately runs short, the crutch clatters to the ground, and he is reaching for Seonghwa’s hand as he begins to follow its downward path.
Seonghwa’s nose bumps into his shoulder and he lets out a sharp little oof as Yunho gathers him close, simultaneously struggling to gulp in enough air to fill his lungs. Seonghwa beats his fists against his chest and Yunho seriously contemplates letting him fall.
“Can’t breathe, let me go, asshole.”
“Can you speak to me without calling me names for once?”
He yelps when Seonghwa bites his tit through his cotton shirt, hard. Yunho grabs Seonghwa by the scruff of his neck and pulls him away to glare at him.
“You’re like a rich woman’s ill-behaved puppy,” he says, bewildered and only slightly awed.
Seonghwa looks at him, a stubborn, determined glint in his eye, and barks.
Yunho blinks at him like he’s lost his mind. He’s acutely aware of how lightweight Seonghwa is in his arms, barely anything, cloudlike. He’s also aware of Seonghwa’s bad leg dragging on the ground, of how Seonghwa is completely at his mercy like this. He wonders if Seonghwa is aware of it.
“I could just leave you here.” Yunho whispers, unaware he had spoken aloud until his words ring in his ears.
Seonghwa tilts his head to a side, blinks, and goes completely limp, deadweight hanging off of his hand. Yunho swears and scrambles to steady himself, hooking both arms underneath Seonghwa’s armpits to hold him up in a pained, precarious grip.
“What the fuck is your problem, Jesus Christ-!”
“You said you’d treat me well,” Seonghwa says, unfazed by his huffing and puffing as he struggles to keep them both up, “I’m giving you ample opportunity to prove yourself.”
Yunho gives up on verticality and roughly grabs Seonghwa under his knees to hoist him up. To his great delight, it catches Seonghwa off-guard and he yelps, dissolving into obscenities as Yunho sits them both down right there in the school doorway, pulling Seonghwa into his lap.
“There,” he says, voice high and chipper. He returns Seonghwa’s glare with an obnoxious smile. “Comfy, baby?”
Seonghwa tries to swat viciously at his face. “I’m not your fucking baby.”
“But I’m your baby,” Yunho grins and flicks Seonghwa’s nose, “baby.”
Seonghwa growls. Yunho is endeared.
“Look,” he says earnestly, “I’m trying to court you.”
He takes Seonghwa’s hand and kisses the back of it once, twice. Seonghwa looks on impassively, so Yunho kisses Seonghwa’s palm and touches the deep pool in the center with the tip of his tongue. Yunho pokes his tongue out between his middle and fourth fingers, and looks at Seonghwa, intent clear on his face. Seonghwa rolls his eyes and takes his hand away before wiping it across the front of Yunho’s shirt
“Okay, point made, hot stuff. Where do you live?”
Yunho brightens up immediately. “Oh, I’ll drive you-”
Seonghwa rolls his eyes. “I’ll drive myself, thank you.”
Yunho involuntarily glances at his leg. Unfortunately, Seonghwa notices. He bares his teeth.
“What?” He snarls, “You think just ‘cause I have a fucked up leg I can’t drive? Ableist fuck.”
Yunho sighs. He gropes around for the crutch and thrusts it into Seonghwa’s arms before gently pushing Seonghwa off his lap, and standing up. He dusts his clothes off, feeling his body hair burn off under Seonghwa’s scathing glare.
“I’ll be waiting,” Yunho says and walks out before Seonghwa can curse at him. As thrilling as it is being cussed out by someone so pretty, there’s a time and a place for everything, and Yunho would rather be cussed out in the comfort of his own bedroom.
---
The first time he holds Seonghwa to kiss him, Yunho is met with teeth firmly clenched behind soft lips. In his lap, Seonghwa has his hands balled into tight fists, like a child holding a scrimshaw, back rigid as a board. Yunho licks his lips, bottom to top, and feels like the very first wave licking centuries-old cliffs.
He pulls away and scans Seonghwa’s face. They are sitting on Yunho’s couch, all lights turned out except a pale yellow hallway light that casts Seonghwa’s gaunt face in a sickly light. His eyes are shut, eyeballs moving with subtle feverishness behind the lids.
“You know we can stop,” Yunho begins, “if you don’t want to-”
“I want to,” Seonghwa snaps but doesn’t open his eyes. Yunho sighs.
“I don’t know what you’re trying to prove or to whom, but you really don’t have to.”
“Shut up. It’s just… been a while…”
Yunho frowns. He figures he’s done pretty questionable things in his life but even he draws the line at being a pawn in someone’s repressed fuckery. He places his hands on Seonghwa’s fists, gently molding around them, and easing them open.
“Okay,” Yunho says firmly, “you need to tell me what’s going on with you or we stop right here.”
Seonghwa opens his eyes and scowls. It has surprisingly little effect now, given how much he overuses it.
“You begged me to give you a chance.” He narrows his eyes, “What’s wrong now, can’t get it up?”
Yunho shrugs. “You can say whatever you want, I won’t fuck you until I get to enjoy it too. Which I really am not, right now.”
Seonghwa gapes, offended to high heaven. “Are you fucking kidding me? You made me come all the way here and now you say you aren’t enjoying it?”
Before Yunho can form a reply, Seonghwa spits in his face. It lands on the side of his nose, some of it on his eyelashes. Yunho closes his eyes and breathes deeply, counting to ten in his head as Seonghwa mutters to himself and scrambles off the couch to grab his crutch.
“Bastard, bastard, bastard,” he is saying, high-pitched and angry, cluttering and clattering to his feet, “Scum. You’re fucking scum, I was so stupid for trusting you…”
On the count of ten, Yunho wipes the glob of spit with his sleeve and opens his eyes. Seonghwa has barely made it a few feet away, anger making him uncoordinated and clumsy. Yunho scoots to the other end of the couch, reaches out a hand to grab a fistful of Seonghwa’s shirt and yanks.
Seonghwa yelps as he falls back against him, crutch clattering to the floor.
“Let me go!”
Yunho narrowly avoids getting elbowed in the face and sighs with exasperation, wrapping his arms around Seonghwa like a straitjacket, something he is half-certain Seonghwa desperately needs.
“You don’t even listen- Jesus, can you hold still, I’m not trying to humiliate you!”
Seonghwa jabs his elbow into Yunho’s stomach and he feels bile burning its way up his throat. He swears and holds tighter.
“Just listen to what I have to say and then you can do what you want.”
Seonghwa struggles for a few more seconds, huffing and panting, before falling limp.
“Fuck you,” he spits, “Talk.”
“Thank you, princess- mmggf,” Yunho swallows again, truly wondering if Seonghwa’s elbows are sharpened knifepoints instead of bones. Yunho takes a deep breath and loosens his hold around him as a gesture of goodwill.
“What I meant was- don’t hit me, I’m serious- I meant that I can’t feel good about this if you’re so wound up.”
He moves up Seonghwa’s arms to the tense little hillocks that are his shoulders, hands fitting perfectly around the rounded bones, fingers touching Seonghwa’s protruding collarbone, thumbs digging gently into his shoulder blades. He hears Seonghwa’s breath hitch, his frame shake with a tiny quake.
“You’re like a tight little spring coil,” Yunho says softly, and rubs his thumbs in small concentric circles. He is almost shocked to find hard knots woven over bone, so tight it’s almost as if Seonghwa was born this way, high-strung, wound tight like string around a metal cylinder.
“Good?” Yunho hazards.
Seonghwa gurgles incoherently in response, melting like an ice cream cone in the sun. Yunho presses his lips together to hold back a smile and continues massaging his shoulders until Seonghwa is mewling, soft and low, boneless in Yunho’s arms. Yunho trails a hand up, cupping the side of his neck, and Seonghwa angles his head to a side like a river finding its natural path, breathing shallow, body loose and languid.
Yunho’s lips find the skin where Seonghwa’s neck meets shoulder, one hand slipping underneath Seonghwa’s armpit to undo the top buttons of his shirt so he can pull it farther down his shoulder. He holds Seonghwa a bit more firmly, lips pressed to his neck, slowly unbuttoning his shirt all the way and letting it pool around the bend of Seonghwa’s elbows.
“Seonghwa?” Yunho mumbles against soft, kiss-warmed skin, “Want me to kiss you again?”
And Seonghwa, overheated and docile, whispers, “Yes, please.”
Yunho lies back and takes Seonghwa with him, carefully arranging Seonghwa’s leg so it lies across his own lap, safe from unwanted jostling. His fingers skirt the thick scar tissue and he suppresses a shiver. He would like to celebrate Seonghwa’s reticence with a snide remark, perhaps a well-placed jab where it would hurt Seonghwa’s pride.
Instead, Yunho gathers him close, trailing a hand down his side to his thigh where the brace begins, and rubs the skin tenderly. Seonghwa’s eyes are half-lidded, warmth radiating from his cheeks. Yunho blinks.
“Gonna kiss you now,” he says unnecessarily, mouth suddenly gone dry when Seonghwa makes a needy, raspy sound in return.
Yunho is vaguely aware that this isn’t hookup etiquette. In fact, Yunho knows he transgressed hookup etiquette the moment he decided he didn’t want to fuck Seonghwa unless he stopped being the human embodiment of a diving board. Regardless, he shakes hismself clean of intrusive thoughts, nudges Seonghwa’s face up, and kisses him.
This time, Seonghwa’s mouth parts like a curtain, soft silk whispering against Yunho’s chapped lips. He tries not to let himself be overwhelmed, taking Seonghwa’s lower lip between his teeth to suck on like hard candy, feeling it soften and squeeze like sugar dissolving in his mouth. It edges the corners of Yunho’s mind, flame catching on paper, burning them to a dark crisp. His hand instinctively tightens around Seonghwa’s thigh.
Seonghwa groans, low and throaty, and arches right into him. His injured leg moves under Yunho’s hand as he ruts against Yunho’s palm. However, it takes Yunho a minute to realize that Seonghwa isn’t bucking his pelvis.
Seonghwa takes Yunho’s hand and places it more firmly around his thigh, guiding his fingers to the underside right over his scar, jolting Yunho out of his skin.
“Touch me here,” Seonghwa whispers, “Strip me. Touch me here, right here.”
Yunho complies, clumsily undoes the fly of Seonghwa’s shorts, and pushes them down over his leg where they snag over the top of his brace.
Yunho gasps, unreasonably frantic at the delay. “I can’t-”
“Bed,” Seonghwa cuts in impatiently.
When Yunho lets him down on the sheets, Seonghwa pours like water, a soft hiss escaping his lips as Yunho eases his leg down over the bed. Slowly, reverently, Yunho pulls his shorts off his bony pelvis, down over his thighs, avoiding the brace and sliding them off.
Seonghwa’s eyes have slid closed, breathing painstakingly deep and uneven, one hand resting heavily on his crotch as he squeezes his cock over his briefs. Yunho runs his hands along either side of his braced leg, carefully lifting it up, bending it as little as possible, until Seonghwa’s ankle is hooked on his shoulder and Yunho has a clear view of his scar.
The twin raised ridges are soft, transitioning into scabbed, old scar tissue on the inside. When Yunho presses a fingertip in between, Seonghwa arches his back with a soft cry, a wispy, sibilant whisper hissing past his lips again. Yunho observes his face dimly-lit in the dregs of the streetlights that somehow make it past his curtains. A car whizzes by outside, and in the brief camera flash of its headlights, Yunho thinks Seonghwa looks ecstatic, like he has climbed somewhere past mortal echelons of pleasure. Mesmerized, Yunho runs his finger up and down the groove.
“Has anyone ever told you this looks like-”
“Yes,” Seonghwa’s hoarse voice cuts through the peach-fuzz gloom.
Yunho squints in the dark, readjusting his eyes to the dimness after the flash, trying to make out his features. Seonghwa’s eyes open a crack, mouth parted.
“Touch me,” he says and Yunho whimpers despite himself, before nodding, a syncopated jerk of his head.
He places Seonghwa’s leg back down on the bed, spreading it wide until Seonghwa hums in warning. Yunho leans in between and takes a second to just look. The line is far from straight, a jagged brook in skin like silk, some parts almost puckered, others perfectly clean. Yunho sucks on his index finger before touching the tip to the bit that is furrowed, and gasps when it slides in a couple centimeters.
Seonghwa whispers fuck and Yunho and please all together in so thick a voice it is almost impossibe to distinguish one word from the other. Yunho wets his bottom lip with his tongue, and slowly works his finger into the tight space, lays the pad of it flat until it slots neatly inside, with some pressure that he is certain is ripping Seonghwa to shreds, if the sounds he’s making are any indication.
Yunho hazards a glance in his direction. Seonghwa has one hand wrapped around his cock, the waistband of his briefs tucked tight around his balls, his other hand on his mouth, failing to muffle his desperate sobs. His back is arched painfully off the bed as he smears precum and uses it to stroke himself. Satisfied, Yunho removes his finger and replaces it with the tip of his tongue.
“Yunho-,” Seonghwa breaks off in a moan when Yunho pushes as hard as he can around the slit and presses his tongue flat against the shallow inside. He rakes against the floor of his mind for half-forgotten memories of eating out his high school girlfriend, her back tucked against a storage closet wall, her thighs squeezing the oxygen from Yunho’s head, demanding faster, harder, oh please, harder like a gacha machine with a mind of its own.
Yunho flicks his tongue like a switchblade into the slit and Seonghwa keens, almost jerking his leg painfully away if not for Yunho’s grip on his thigh. Yunho straddles his leg, keeping his weight off the brace, and loosens the front of his own sweatpants, his neglected cock hard and aching. He scrabbles messily as the head, digging his thumb inside the slit, before he bends down to suck on Seonghwa’s scar like he would on a clit.
He can distantly make out Seonghwa saying something, but the throbbing in his dick has rushed like a bloodflood in his ears, and all Yunho can understand is come. So he hauls himself back up against Seonghwa’s thigh, heart beating out of his chest, and presses the head of his cock into the corrugated space.
Seonghwa’s entire body spasms violently, curses flowing from his obscene mouth but Yunho is not done yet. He holds Seonghwa’s leg in place, trying his best to be gentle at this odd angle, and ruts against his slit. Each slide into the tiny space is barely enough, not enough of anything at all, but it is something wholly, perversely erotic, and Yunho has to brace both palms on the bed to avoid crushing Seonghwa’s leg as he comes.
It takes a little more than a few minutes to come down adequately and realize that he needs to make Seonghwa as comfortable as possible, as quickly as possible. Yunho scrambles off the bed and makes a beeline for the bathroom.
When he returns with a washcloth, Seonghwa is sound asleep, breathing finally even, a mess of cum and sweat on his belly. Yunho wipes him down and he stirs, moans a little, but doesn’t fully wake until Yunho tries to clean his slit.
“Like holes a lot, huh?” he says casually just as Yunho presses the cloth inside.
“Could say the same for you,” Yunho shoots him a look, “This what you in the group for?”
Seonghwa snorts. “Nope.”
“What then?”
“Why do you wanna know?”
Yunho shrugs and tosses the washcloth away, ignoring the face Seonghwa makes. He pulls off his own shirt and throws it on the floor as well. He crawls eagerly over to Seonghwa and lies down next to him where he is promptly jabbed in the ribs until he is at least five inches away. Yunho rolls his eyes and settles against the pillow.
“No reason. Just wanted to get to know you, I guess.” He pauses. “Does your boyfriend know?”
Seonghwa glances at him, brow knit. “What boyfriend?”
“You said- didn’t you say…?”
“Oh,” Seonghwa says breezily, “I lied.”
Yunho squints at him in the darkness, heavily intrigued. “Lie a lot?”
He is sure he sees Seonghwa grin. “Plenty.”
They lie there in companionable silence. Gradually, Yunho’s eyelids begin to droop. He figures it has to be somewhere around 3am. Thank god for weekend support group meetings.
“I actually do have a sugar daddy, though,” Seonghwa says suddenly, a bright grin woven in his voice.
Yunho hums sleepily. “Does he know what you’re in the support group for?”
He feels movement on the pillow, Seonghwa shaking his head.
“Nah. He thinks I visit my parents on the weekends.” Pause, “I don’t have parents.”
Yunho nods slowly, nods off, and jerks awake again. “So what are you in for?”
Seonghwa sighs and groans as he moves his leg to get more comfortable. It is a few seconds, blessed mere seconds from sleep, when he answers.
“I get horny when I steal shit,” he says softly. Yunho, having already lost himself to sleep, does not hear.