“You’re beautiful.”
“Don’t say that.”
Seungho leaned up, dragged the tears away with his thumb. “It’s true.”
And then he flipped him gently.
Haneul yelped, but didn’t fight. His hips lifted automatically, ass in the air, scars shining under low lamplight.
Seungho kissed every inch.
His mouth trailed over the curve of Haneul’s ass, down between his cheeks, hot breath ghosting over the hole.
“Wait—what are you—”
“Shh.”
And he licked him open.
Tongue slow, deep, filthy. Pressing in. Savoring. Haneul moaned, loud and unguarded, the sound curling out of him like a secret finally free.
His thighs were shaking uncontrollably.
Seungho kept going. Lapped at him. Spit. Kissed. Tongue-fucked him until the walls clenched and Haneul started sobbing and his voice shattered.
And then—
“Letme in,” he whispered.
Haneul nodded.
He slicked himself with spit. Fingers working gently, then more. When he pushed in—slow, patient, unrelenting—Haneul gasped like he’d been stabbed by stars.
“Aaaagh you—!”
“You can take it. You were made for this.”
He sank in. Deeper. Until his hips met Haneul’s. Until there was no space left between them.
He stilled. Let Haneul breathe.
Then—
Seungho began to thrust. Deep, rolling strokes. Hands braced over the wings.
Each stroke drew a cry. Each push made him tremble.
“Let me love you, my Sky” Seungho murmured against his back.
He fucked him until the bed creaked. Until the walls echoed. Until Haneul couldn’t hold himself up, collapsed onto his elbows, face buried in the sheets, sobbing with every thrust.
“Too much,” he gasped.
“Not enough,” Seungho answered, voice shaking.
He reached around, wrapped a hand around Haneul’s cock. Stroked.
And that was it.
