this modern love.

his lips twist into a stubborn smile. "i've spent too much money for you to fade into obscurity." then more sincerely, "and you, too much sweat and too many tears." although charlie recognizes the charisma and natural beauty that gunwoo brings to the table, he's all the more certain of his success when hard work and passion are addressed. few want this dream as desperately as gunwoo does, few chase it as religiously, as adamantly, and charlie thinks himself at least somewhat sympathizing when faced with this determination. who could resist such a face? — such a heart? he's grateful that the appreciation shows; albeit somewhat bashful when gunwoo doubles down on how safe he feels in return. the sentiment is mutual, the teasing welcome, and as charlie tails gunwoo to the bedroom (a gesture he's hardly foreign to) — he eyes him under building light. every situation brings forth a new corner exposed, a new detail sharpened, and he's admiring without cause, drinking in without thirst. that is to say, the marvelling isn't presently sexual. he yearns differently here, aches under his ribs when he thinks about how pleasant gunwoo looks in his bed. the potential permanence, doubly flattering. charlie's leaning against the door frame, arms slowly folding over his chest as he swallows. "...i haven't. — i'll order. i don't have any particular thought right now; what're you craving? and if you don't care enough to choose, i'll just go with whatever's well-rated. something warm for the weather?"

he laughs, light and airy and affected, all warm limbs and warmer insides. "i mean, when you put it like that — this makes perfect sense," he hums, half-lidded and seductive eyes scanning over gunwoo's figure, ever sturdy and handsome and picturesque over him. he wants him naked, wants to trace every muscle with the point of his tongue, wants to feel him thick and heavy enough to bruise. and when gunwoo touches him, palm seeking heat and a gaze obsessive, yanjun's spine arches into a performance, sultriness filtered over when he parts his thighs. "feel it?" he slides a palm over gunwoo's fondling, cups over it like a guide, before using his free hand to wring his hoodie up. it sits just above his chest, rumpled and contrastingly casual from the blush of his nipples. " — i got a set. if that's something you're also interested in. otherwise..." the same offending right pinches the band of his sweatpants and tugs it just enough to share a sliver of pink. contrary to the confidence and charisma dripping from yanjun's current smirk, this is a first. he's only confident because gunwoo's incapable of a dishonest response. if he likes something, it shows, if he doesn't it shows. if he's hard and lusting, it shakes vibrant and clear like the wag of a tail. so yanjun performs, greedy when he wets his thumb with the hollow of his mouth and smears it seductive over a bud, sighing as the spit cools over sensitive nerves. he's building up on existing heat, toying limbs focused then on the waistband of his sweats. "otherwise... you wanna see?" a rhetorical question clearly, because yanjun doesn't wait for clarification, dragging it down and over his knees, then peeling the grey away entirely, to leave nothing to imagination. he's just rousing, not hard nor entirely unaffected, but where yanjun would usually don grey boxer briefs that sit somewhat loose around his hips — he's instead hugged in pink. his cock sits obscenely in the panties, a bulge to stretch the hearts scattering the fabric, and when yanjun graces gunwoo with parted thighs — the cotton is short enough to expose the underside of his ass. "what do you think?"

the shopping trip is only slightly mortifying. he's convincing in his argument that the purchase is for a fiancée to be, and it helps that yanjun himself is slight enough that the sizing isn't a suspicious giveaway. he doesn't toil for long; he'd thought up a checklist on the way over, something sweet, arguably pink or baby blue, something with bows or a delicate pattern of white, and if there's any lace at all — that it stay far enough from his inner thighs lest it itches. the preparation helps, and yanjun settles rather swiftly on a pink cotton set with small white hearts, and a decorative bow in the front. he only puts on the bottom half — though he brings the bralette along, in the off chance gunwoo yearns for it. he doesn't even spend much time ogling himself in the bathroom — too busy then to pack away some toys, a pack of batteries, a change of clothes, his toothbrush, and a terribly obvious ziploc bag of joints and rolling papers. a mere glimpse into yanjun's backpack and his intentions for the night could be predicted with 99% accuracy, degeneracy all too evident. still, he isn't worried. he's thrilled — brimming with anticipation, fluttery throughout — and as yanjun rounds the stairwell, and steadies the thrum in his ribs, he recognizes the excitement pointed not simply at sexual opportunity, but genuine company. gunwoo greets him perfect, smelling of garlic and thyme and butter, of bodywash and conditioner too, arms delectable from the neat pinch of an apron. he looks like a proper husband, and he surely acts it as yanjun finds himself urged in, gentle palm on the low of his spine. "hi. already thinking of how i like my meat?" he tilts his chin back, teasing. " — medium rare sometimes, medium sometimes. also, you look good." with his backpack still hanging from the crook of his right hand, yanjun's left smooths down the strap of gunwoo's apron, fingers lowering still to where the knot sits. they haven't been long apart, and still he clings like it's been otherwise. it doesn't help that on the occasional swivel of hip, yanjun can feel the cotton underwear, egregiously short, slip between his cheeks. he isn't even wearing anything particularly tight — denim often felt like a nightmare to wring out and hang dry anyway — so he'd forgone jeans for a casual pair of sweatpants. they're deceptively loose, hardly form fitting. clearing his throat, yanjun lifts his backpack briefly. "can i drop this off in your room? — i'll help with dinner, if you need an extra pair of hands. it smells incredible already."

gods, he's cute. yanjun's resisting the urge to chuckle, gnawing away a giggle when gunwoo responds with as much enthusiasm one can muster — eyes almost visibly hazy with the mere hint of further intimacy. he's sweet on the tongue as he is on the eyes, warm from head to toe, and if he wasn't determined to arrive well-prepped for their shared fantasy, he'd suggest gunwoo whisk him away this instance. instead, he shakes his head. "just the address works. i'll surprise you, and you surprise me. besides — i don't want to be a distraction when you're on the road. god forbid i flash you and we cause some four-way collision," yanjun teases, the slant of his eyes arching further into a grin. (and if, for whatever reason, a fellow member of theirs comes knocking at gunwoo's apartment, yanjun's car is proof that he wasn't there to stay. the truth of the matter is that however earnest he is about their budding relationship, details like this matter, and yanjun's interest in fucking gunwoo shouldn't blind him from prioritizing their safety. — to a point. he can't bring himself to propose they stop having sex at their place of work however, hypocritical as that sounds. the optics are even worse in these scenarios, but yanjun's never been good at math.) with a general plan in place, their limbs unfurl from the figure opposite, and though his arms stay draped around gunwoo's shoulders, and his legs feel like jelly — the disappointment in parting is quickly coated by the excitement of their untitled date. he kisses him again at the corner of his mouth, smitten and comically half-aroused. "now you need to stop looking at me like that, or i'm gonna ride you on this table again, and we can't have that." leaning in, yanjun noses gunwoo flirtatious and honeyed, "need the time to wear something cute and lacey for you after all. something that'll make you want to tug it aside and fuck me in it," he drawls, sadistic in his bluntness as yanjun pulls away, tongue skimming the seam of his lips when he dresses himself hurried and mean. the wink is a promise, the bob of his throat a mirrored attraction. "text me."

contrary to criminal stereotype, yanjun isn't afraid of commitment. in fact, gunwoo's domestic proposition laced up with the implication of exclusivity is enticing for these very reasons. he's only toeing the line because it's endearing. because if gunwoo is anything like yanjun himself — the chase is part of it, the tailing, the teasing and inevitable build, a precious and necessary bump in the road. he's milking the tension, squeezing at gunwoo's yearning like he does each toned muscle and hard prick; wants to drive him a little crazy, wants gunwoo obsessive (and in turn, yanjun obsessive on his own) before he braves the confession already stirring in his gut. it does backflips under gunwoo's gaze, spins hurriedly when yanjun's met with alluring phrases. he pats the red of gunwoo's cheek, face rosy in between catching breaths. "yeah? — i mean, do i have to be bored? what if i like it at yours but i also want you to fuck me while we're blasted?" he's greedy but he's a smidge too confident that gunwoo will sever any and all rules — including the ones self-made — if yanjun merely asks. he brackets it with another touch, thumb and forefinger rubbing tenderly over the shell of gunwoo's ear, ankles sweetly locked against his lower back. " — we can though. tonight, even, if you're free. (however much yanjun comes in the moment, he's rarely too exhausted to go again that same night.) i can bring... stuff, if you want. fun things, experimental things, whatever it is you're curious about. toys. edibles. rings or clamps." his eyes narrow here, the playful grin now splitting into a wanton breath. they have quite the sexual appetite, but considering the often impulsive nature of their meetings — yanjun hasn't been able to learn about gunwoo's alternate kinks or specific desires. not without doubling the risk of being found out. so forgive him for being overtly enthusiastic and a bit of a whore, but with a newfound privacy comes a spread of opportunity. and the anticipation shows amusingly sharp, as yanjun nips against his bottom lip, eyes wider than usual. "could be fun. — only if you're down."

"yeah." he's too spent to come anymore, but gunwoo challenges this limitation more often than not — each mewling response and eager plea stoking a fire choked quiet. he plugs him with two blunt fingers either way; wary that separating even for a moments notice, rarely bodes well after a scene. he forgoes the silicone plug he knows sits in his closet, and nuzzles two — then three digits inside gunwoo's puffy hole. it's hardly a difficult task. gunwoo is soft and wet between his thighs, slippery enough to feel distractingly feminine, though charlie doesn't rub up against the swollen gland even though he knows its place. he's become rather attuned to gunwoo's body, rather obsessive about the details and the knowledge he hopes to expand on. and though nothing about their arrangement feels particularly kosher — not the power imbalance nor their ages, not the degradation nor the occasional spanking — but when gunwoo clings to him like this, sweet and happy and reassured, charlie can't think of any other way to live. he feels, embarrassingly, himself. he often does, in gunwoo's company. he feels it when he fucks gunwoo until he's gasping for air, feels it when gunwoo begs for it, thighs parted, mouth hanging, knees scraped — feels it even here — when they sit together, simply messy and bare. (and he feels it again when gunwoo sleeps in his bed, content and smelling like charlie's shampoo.) a smile warps onto tired features, sheepish but sincere. "mm. that's good to hear. you think you'd like it if i called you a girl in general? — or is it mostly the demeaning parts? saying tits, or pussy or something." he avoids wiggling his fingers, though he crooks it for comfort, and dimples briefly when the muscle twitches in habit. " — i liked it too. i like it when you're responsive mostly. it's hot when you tell me how you feel. when you say you can feel me in your stomach, or when you say you're wet." impulsively, charlie wets his bottom lip, then leans in close to kiss gunwoo quick and appreciative. his voice is low and syrupy when he murmurs, "it's cute." he doesn't mean to rile gunwoo up however, so he pulls back just enough to glance between them — wrist still tucked between gunwoo's legs. "...yeah. made a real mess. — you okay if i step away briefly to get the bath running then? or you'd prefer to come with me, and wait on the counter?"

gunwoo adapts to the impulsive comment like a professional, and charlie hurtles — startlingly quick — to the impending peak as soon as he comes, plush and soaked walls quivering tight against the onslaught. he's wondrously vocal, pretty from the curl of his toes to the hang of his lips, and genuinely wet to boot. he's a daydream — and charlie tells him as much (however meanly): "fuck — yeah? want that pussy filled? just gotta give you my cock and you can come just like that huh — like a desperate little slut?" he's breathing harshly, kind enough to spare gunwoo the sting of sensitivity, and speeds himself up by pulling out halfway and stroking around the base of his cock. there's hardly a wait — just three, four twists of his palm, and charlie sinks to the root, thrusting twice before coming with a drawn out moan. "oh fuuuuck." naturally, he pumps into gunwoo's ass, granting the messy claim of being filled, and white knuckles his grip in the process. he ruts through the last few waves, eyelids heavy and low as second by second, the scene draws itself to a natural close. still, there is more to be done, and charlie — strange as it seems — enjoys this aspect of their arrangement as much as he does the actual sex. when the clenching eases, and when gunwoo accommodates by simply letting go — charlie pulls out, dripping sticky and white down the curve of gunwoo's ass. he loosens his hold, cradling palms running down gunwoo's side, then over blushing hips and hiked thighs. " — you were — perfect," charlie muses, kindly, for the sake of aftercare alongside a practicing sincerity. he means it either way. "let me wipe you down, and you can let me know if anything hurts, or if you want something specific from me — a plug for your full hole, a shower to let it out — whatever." he hadn't prepped a towel beforehand, so he makes do with a sweatshirt. it's expensive but practically everything he owns can be dry cleaned — so he thinks nothing of it. the come down tends to vary situation by situation, and although charlie's grown familiar with gunwoo's habits, he knows better than to assume. so he cleans slow and surfacing, free of judgment when he lowers gunwoo's thighs from his shoulders and wipes the cum drying over their torsos. he avoids touching gunwoo where he may be most sensitive; skipping nipples and the soft curve of his cock for clavicles and a toned navel. his free hand is steady around gunwoo's waist, purposefully grounding as his knees spread just enough to let the other curl upon his lap if preferred. otherwise, charlie doesn't mind letting him sprawl like a used ragdoll. (he thinks the comparison would tickle gunwoo, honestly.) "did you like that? — anything you specifically liked? anything you didn't?"

charlie can't help himself; gunwoo communicates perfectly, still submissive but so enthusiastic that he praises, earnest and grinning: "good boy. such an obedient and vocal sub aren't you? a perfect sub for hyung." it is impossible to fend off the adoration, impossible to wring apart the fondness so clear upon charlie's blushing features, and he takes the moment then to kiss gunwoo. it's still messy, still lewd with the feeding of his tongue, but they kiss longer than they usually would in a scene — noses soft and nuzzling in the conclusion. there's a breath, a necessary quiet before charlie's demeanour flits back, and the arch of his prior amusement gives way to a heavy-lidded gaze. the transition is jarring, but it doesn't take much to rile them both. three fingers, tap then over the flush rim of gunwoo's hole, not hard enough to be a spank, but swift enough to be a spark, a point of attention. " — except when you do this. you know why you couldn't come? because you're too used to having my cock inside you. you can't come without it anymore. is it even tight? do i even need to finger you?" (except he always does. in fact, as he degrades gunwoo with each filthy accusation, the fingers by his rim pull away to take the tube, previously open and prepped by charlie's experienced hand. it's cold, but he squeezes it directly over the muscle, squirting a generous amount across gunwoo's entrance before dropping it haphazardly and feeding the slippery substance over and in. it's techical, unintended to linger as a main course, when charlie means to fuck him into babbling nothings.) as soon as gunwoo feels prepped enough — and he tends to allow a smidge of pain to peek in-between the pleasure, simply because he knows gunwoo revels in it — he retracts his fingers and repositions them both with the shuffling of his knees. large and long as gunwoo is, charlie is dense and muscular, and with his thighs now nested underneath gunwoo's, he can fold him up — knees quickly propped over both shoulders, and hips lifted high enough to be immobilized. however much gunwoo ruts or squirms, his pelvis will catch on nothing, charlie is making sure of this. "i bet your insides are already shaped like me. christ — poor baby can't come anymore without hyung's dick in his ass," he coos, mean and half-distracted. the arrangement takes some thought; and before a proper pinning, charlie finally allows gunwoo the fullness of his cock. he angles it just enough to sink the head through, then with both hands freed — his fingers thread into gunwoo's, holding them down against the carpet as he begins to sink. he is appropriately tight for a beat, then the fingering gives, and charlie slips all the way, hard and pulsing and bare. "oh fuck." like this, he can watch gunwoo from calf to the tips of his ears — body curved and folded for charlie's pleasure — and he can see the enveloping heat too, he can catch the filthy details when his cock twitches and gunwoo's rim clings to it like a glove. it's perfect, as is gunwoo himself. " — there you go. that's it — you're just gonna lie there and let me fuck you until i'm done, yeah?" he builds to it somewhat — sturdy and thorough at first, before breaking out into something feverish and desperate and hard. his fingers squeeze, pinning gunwoo like a butterfly as he begins to pound him in earnest — cock dragging in and out like a well oiled machine — one built to hollow out something soft. and it's already dirty, already hot, but gunwoo's response rings out heavensent, and charlie chases each with more fervour, more eagerness — kissing him swift in the midst of it all. "— s' made for hyung's cock — your ass was built for it —" he salivates, voice airy and deep, "gonna fill you up, gonna breed that pussy until you're fucking leaking —"

gunwoo squirms needy, eyes wet with unshed tears, and charlie comes — hot and lovesick inside the gulp of his throat. his hips stutter, voice burning into a bitten groan, and the flat of gunwoo's tongue, still soft along the underside of his cock, wrings the sensitivity up several notches. it's a lot. it's too much. except charlie thinks this often, and the sting only reminds him of the duties to come, of the pretty popstar, obedient and apologetic beneath him. "fuck. — good boy, drank it all up didn't you?" pulling out, charlie rewards gunwoo with the leftover trail, smearing weak drips of spend over shiny lips and the blush upon his cheeks. even if the scene is a punishing one, he knows better than to push without pause, and charlie strokes gunwoo's temple and the shell of his ear in-between calculated degradation. he lets gunwoo kiss the tip, lets him suckle on it through the overstimulation, before shifting back — knees now positioned below the underarms. "swallowed everything, and you're still thirsty huh? still eager to be good?" softening against gunwoo's chest, charlie arches, from sitting to a hover — a clean hand returning to the obedient cross of gunwoo's wrists, while the other, cum-slicked and warm, drags bluntly underneath the band of gunwoo's briefs, and gropes him. charlie strokes him once, fisting over untouched and sensitive skin, before stilling cruelly at the base. "do you deserve to be fucked?" (do you want to be fucked?) "you might've earned it with that mouth of yours. but maybe i need to drill the shamefulness into your head. maybe i should fuck you facing me, so that you can watch my cock split your slutty hole open. or you can present yourself to me, face down, ass up, like a needy whore. what do you deserve?" charlie's breathless in the ask, prompting gunwoo with guiding words; wary that the scene before him hadn't been prematurely determined, and so each question leads with a prompt for preference. he's masking it where he can, certain that assumption may only frighten gunwoo from sampling the fantasies before him. and embarrassingly heartfelt as it sounds, charlie wants the world open before him. so he strokes him again, patient, lithe fingers eventually sliding further as he cups gunwoo's balls and caresses the shy muscle just below. "option 1 or option 2?"