#jonginxge

Normally, he’d be inviting the elder to playtime, but he supposes they’re already immersed in it — tug war, it seems. There’s a map of Jongin’s body sketched in his memory, all the sensitive spots marked in red for easy reference, and he has his fun alternating between abusing the spots and denying them any contact. His fingers are quick to rid the other of his shirt, traveling over the skin, caressing, squeezing, scratching (“you’re such a sucker for marks,” his amused voice accuses), working in partnership with able lips that insist on kissing over the man’s neck.

Not too long into the game, Jongin’s giving signs of surrender, surely enough, and as much satisfaction as it gives Taemin, he’s not quite done.

"Entertain me, stud," he chuckles, teeth tugging at the earlobe lodged between them. "Paint a pretty picture for me, tell me how you’d fuck my mouth."

Playing Jongin is definitely too easy, not that the latter would acknowledge it. He grunts out threats in a wavering voice, makes lewd suggestions, implies Taemin would submit so easily (another roll of chuckles erupts from the younger), and yet, his eyes simply follow the hands on his lap. There’s a light reaction, a buck of hips when Taemin strokes him over his length.

"Hm? What else? Let it all out, tell me of your little fantasy there, big boy."

Taemin’s taunting tone upsets him, maybe, but the fingers undoing his pants are interesting him enough to oblige. The use of vulgar language sounds odd and is pure comedy gold to Taemin’s ears — even if has to admit that, sometimes, he is intrigued. He’s curious to know if Jongin would deliver as much as he promises, and he’s definitely aroused enough by the likelihood of the prospect to be a little shaken. Nonetheless, his ground is firmly held, and suddenly, he yanks Jongin back by his chair, pulling him out of the seat to shuffle towards the couch.

"Poor baby," he coos, low laughter echoing on Jongin’s collarbones as his own hips pressed into the other’s bare ones. "So many plans we’ll never get to, hm? Now, don’t be a grumpy kitten— ah? Yes, mhm, tell me how much you hate this, go on.” He chuckles, setting himself atop the taller male over the couch.

It’s easy to get rid of the barriers of clothes, and soon Jongin and him are entangled in a moaning mess of canting hips and slick lengths grinding together. He makes a point of holding Jongin down by his chest, swiveling his hips fluidly in a way that makes it clear who’s calling the shots, not allowing a single movement from the other until orgasm settles the battle and marks a well earned victory for him.