( /heās no stranger to lust but god this was something different and he doesnāt know where to begin other than the heat radiating from Jongin is unbearable but in such a way that makes him want to sacrifice himself in it. His hands are rough and itās all Myungsoo can do, not to bend under them when they start roaming, much more confident and enough to mildly warn him before it happens, that his back would be against a wall and heād feel the beginning of bruises starting to blossom where his shoulders make contact. A wet thud. The staggered groan that follows. He feels the hair hiccup from his lungs, trembling, enraptured, only to be silenced by Jonginās lips that start to taste of his demise; succulence heās convinced heās never experienced, a saccharine labyrinth he asks entrance to with a sigh as he catches Jonginās bottom lip between his teeth and tugs, unrelenting just as he promised. Myungsoo loses fights with Jongin just as much as he loses fights with himself. Heās not quite sure what to count this as, whether heās winning or losing or fucking things up a little bit more than theyāve already been, just that he canāt get the first time he kissed Jongin out of his head because it was nothing like this; the contact was brief and his mouth ached and his teeth throbbed and it was nothing like this, nothing like fire hissing against ice and the steam that would eventually drown them out to the rest of the world. He didnāt have the depthless feeling in his stomach that told him they were so close to dying or maybe so close to living that none of it mattered, whether he clocks Jongin across his jaw or drags his lips over the sharp curve and down his throat. God, this was something different and heās no stranger to lust but he canāt remember the last time heās let someone take their hands and deconstruct him, unravel him enough where the little bits of him that are purely emotion become like exposed wires to a ticking time bomb.)(/ He thinks with his body, really calculates and maps out how to win a battle when the other side is at an obvious advantage. Itās warfare and Myungsooās told himself time and time again that winning isnāt some larger than life feat. Winning is a cumulative of subtle, intelligent moves, so his hands loosen their grip on Jonginās hips to slide effortlessly behind him, dull nails sinking possessively into the swell of his ass, squeezing and simultaneously pulling him forward where the barrier of his own hands were all that kept their hips from gliding into place.)Ā
( / jongin doesn't mean to be as rough as he is. his touch is truly nothing short of desperate and insistent, though he's afraid it might come across as heedless and excessive. if he could spare the brain power to worry about it, he'd probably blame the years spent conditioning himself into a fighter. but he doesn't have a spare thought to give towards anything other than the way myungsoo's body falls into place against his own, into such a familiar rhythm that it feels more like home than jongin's ever had the pleasure of knowing. it's soothing, borderline intoxicating, when he can feel the ragged rhythmic breaths that myungsoo takes while jongin's hands press against his ribcage. the contractions and expansion of his lungs paired with the subsequent searing hot breath dancing across his own lips. and god, if jongin didn't already know myungsoo's body like a dearly memorised polaroid, he was sure to after this. the careful road his fingers map out across the tattooed and scar tissue terrain of myungsoo's torso is steady, loaded with months of yearning to touch and an even greater display of restraint. nights spent alone in bed, or the imaginary scenarios in his head don't compare to the lust and intimacy jongin feels now. if he wasn't sure he'd immediately regret it, he'd ask myungsoo to pinch him, punch him or something a little sweeter to confirm he wasn't dreaming. but a quiet chorus of hums and moans spill past jongin's lips instead and he fits in against myungsoo like a soaking wet puzzle piece. ) "myung,"Ā
( / is all he can manage, a heady moan at best and a strained plea at worst. though myungsoo has an impressive track record with pacifying jongin. now, of all times, with possessive hands all over his ass that coax raspy moans from him, sounding broken and as if he's just smoked more cigarettes in one go than he gets through in a week. something he's never wanted to sound like in front of myungsoo, but right now he isn't good for anything other than satiating needs. he grinds his hips down against myungsoo, unrestrained and slightly unstable, and he's gifted with a sweet kind of friction that only demands for more. jongin's fingertips press into valleys of muscle and taut skin until he can wrap his fingers around myungsoo and stroke. the rest of his attention directed towards kissing the cause of all this heat until he's gasping for air. )



















