Sihwan gasps, his pupils blowing wide.
"I know how much you like it," I say, my voice dropping an octave, vibrating against his fingers. "And who am I to deprive you of what you want?"
Sihwan hisses, "Bastard," but there's no heat in it—just that raw edge of want sharpening his voice.
I laugh low against his palm, the sound rumbling through my chest as I release his finger. His lips part on a shaky exhale, eyes dark and hazy, and I can't resist anymore. I surge up, crashing my mouth into his.
He tastes amazing, all spice and surrender. His hands fist in my shirt, yanking me closer, and for a second he's all fire again—tongue battling mine, hips grinding forward like he wants to prove something. But I swallow the fight, turning it molten, until he sags against the wall with a whine.
Enough of this wall. I hook my arms under his thighs and hoist him up in one smooth motion—fuck, he's heavy, all that gym-rat muscle—but the way he locks his ankles behind my back makes it worth the strain. His baggy suit pants bunch awkwardly at his knees, but I don't care. I turn us, kicking his overnight bag aside, and dump him onto the couch like a claimed prize.
He bounces once, sprawling back against the cushions with his legs splayed wide, chest heaving. His hair's a wreck now, chestnut strands sticking to his forehead in sweaty spikes. Perfect.
I drop to my knees between his thighs, the carpet biting into my shins. My hands go straight for his belt—cool metal buckle, leather sliding free with a rasp. He lifts his hips without me asking, eager, and I yank the zipper down, shoving the fabric aside to fish his cock out.
It's already hard, thick and flushed, leaking a fat bead of precum that smears across my thumb when I give it a lazy stroke. Sihwan bucks, a strangled noise catching in his throat.
"You get the better end of this deal, when you think about it," I murmur, bending low enough that my breath ghosts over the tip. I watch his abs clench beneath his shirt, the way his thighstremble on either side of my shoulders. "All you have to do is lie back and take whatever pleasure I give you."
Sihwan opens his mouth—probably some snarky comeback about equality or pride—but the words die as I wrap my lips around him.
He cuts off with a sharp hiss of breath, head thudding back against the couch arm. His cock twitches heavy on my tongue, salty and hot, and I take him deeper, hollowing my cheeks as I suck. One hand braces his hip, thumb digging into the sharp bone to hold him still when he jerks. The other slides up his thigh, squeezing the meat of it until he spreads wider.
Fuck, the sounds he makes. That first broken moan vibrates straight down my throat, needy and wrecked, like I've already unraveled him. I pull back just enough to swirl my tongue around the head, lapping up the fresh slick of precum, then sink down again—deeper this time, until my nose brushes his pubes and he chokes on a curse.
His fingers spear into my hair, gripping hard enough to sting, but he doesn't shove. He just holds on, panting my name like a prayer—or a plea.
I watch him unravel from inches away, humming low in my throat as the vibration makes his cock jump against my tongue. Satisfaction coils tight in my gut—hot and vicious—as Sihwan tips his head back, throat working on a swallow, eyes hooding to heavy slits. His chest heaves under that rumpled dress shirt, buttons straining, and fuck if he doesn't look wrecked already, lips parted on silent pleas.
Perfect.
I lick a slow, deliberate stripe up his length, tasting the salt-slick heat of him, the faint tang of his arousal mixing with the bitter edge of his anxiety from earlier. He shudders, thighs clamping around my shoulders like a vice, and I dig my fingers into the meat of one, prying it wider. No hiding. No mercy.
Dipping low, I take him to the back of my throat in one smooth drag, sucking hard enough to hollow my cheeks. The stretch burns just right, his thickness forcing my jaw wide, and I swallow around him—once, twice—milking the underside until his hips stutter up off the cushions. He chokes out a ragged "fuck, Donghwa," fingers yanking my hair in sharp tugs that sting my scalp, but I don't let up. I bob steady, relentless, tongue pressing flat against the vein pulsing under his skin, nose grinding into the coarse hair at his base every time I bottom out.
His breaths turn punchy, desperate—hitching gasps that fill the room, louder than the wet slide of my mouth. Sweat beads on his throat, trickling down to soak his collar, and I can feel him swelling thicker, the telltale twitch that means he's close. His free hand claws at the couch arm, knuckles bone-white, ass lifting like he can't help chasing the pressure.
I pull off just long enough to rasp, "Come on, hyung. Give it to me," before sealing my lips around the head and sucking like I'm starving.
That's it. Sihwan arches with a breathy groan—raw, broken, spilling straight down my throat in hot, pulsing spurts. His hips stutter wild, thighs quaking around me, and I take it all, swallowing greedily until he's spent, twitching sensitive against my tongue. Only then do I ease off, licking him clean with lazy swipes that make him hiss and squirm.
I lap up the last salty traces of him, swirling my tongue slow around the head until Sihwan's thighs quake and he shoves weakly at my shoulder with a hissed "enough, fuck."
Grinning against his skin, I pull off with a wet pop. His cock slaps back against his stomach, flushed and spent, twitching under the cool air. Perfect.
I grab the hem of my shirt—still half-buttoned from dinner—and yank it up over my head, jacket ripping free with it in one rough pull. The ink mural across my chest and shoulders flexesin the lamplight. Sihwan's eyes snag on it every time, like it's a new discovery.
My pants go next, kicked off with socks and belt in a tangle on the floor. I'm hard as steel, cock jutting heavy between my legs, already leaking. No patience left.
Sihwan's still dazed, sprawled boneless, pants bunched at his ankles, shirt gaping open over his pecs. I hook fingers in his waistband and strip him bare—pants, boxers, gone. His shirt follows, buttons pinging off the coffee table as I rip it wide and shrug it off his shoulders.
Naked now, both of us slick with sweat and spit, the air thick with our scents twisting together—winter bite clashing his scorched rum.
I snag his hips, muscles bunching under my palms, and flip us. Quick, controlled. Sihwan lands straddling my lap, knees bracketing my thighs on the couch, his spent cock smearing sticky against my abs.
He blinks down at me, chest heaving, confusion cutting through the post-orgasm haze. Hands braced on my shoulders, weight shifting uncertain. "What the—"
"Go on," I say, voice gravel-rough, hands settling loose on his hips. No guiding. No thrusting up. Just him, hovering over my cock, heat radiating inches away. "You have control."
