Souvenir
My miracle_ss fic for hyperballad. I can't say that it's particularly Christmassy, but if you like fucked up sex...
Souvenir
Pairing: Han Geng/Siwon
He's nervous enough to be Japanese, but Han Geng's got him pegged as Korean-he has the build of someone who's done military service, and only a Christian would look this guilty.
"Welcome," he tries in heavily-accented Korean, pushing himself off from the window sill he's been leaning against, and is rewarded by a flash of relief in the man's eyes and a nervous smile.
"Oh, thank goodness, you speak Korean! The woman at the desk didn't at all, and my Chinese is just terrible, so, you know, there was a lot of gesturing and pointing, and then she just took some money and sent me to this room, and so I didn't know, um."
The man stops, perhaps because he realizes he's been babbling like an idiot, perhaps because he's seen the incline of Han Geng's eyebrows and the quirk of his lips. He brings a hand up to scratch the back of his head in what must be a nervous habit. "You do, um, speak Korean, don't you?"
Han Geng smiles, thin-lipped. "I do indeed, sir," he says evenly. I speak whatever language the money comes in. "And it seems you are very much in need of the services I can provide."
The man's eyes go wide, pupils large with sudden fear. "What?"
Han Geng smiles more fully, laughs inside. "It's just that you seem very on edge, sir. I think a massage is just the thing to calm your nerves."
"Ah." The man laughs, too loud. "Yes, of course. Yes, I'm here in Beijing on business, and I've just been so busy lately, what with work and then my wedding coming up when I get back, and I just thought-" his eyes dart to Han Geng's, wild for an instant before he looks away. "Yes. I thought a massage would be nice."
"Certainly, sir," Han Geng says, gliding forward and around behind the man. "Let me take your coat," he says, deftly slipping fingers under the collar and sliding his hands down the man's back. Firm muscles tense beneath his hands. "What shall I call you, sir?" he says as he sweeps around in front of the man again with the coat, passing behind a modesty screen decorated in sparse brushstrokes and into the dressing area.
"My name's, uh, Siwon." The nervous voice wafts over the screen as Han Geng hangs up the coat and sets out a fresh clothes basket and towel.
"Siwon," he says, tasting the name as he comes out from behind the screen again, and the man jumps a bit. "Siwon. How is that written?" he asks, putting one hand on Siwon's shoulder and holding out the other in front of him like a writing slate.
"It's, um." Siwon seems to choke on his words, but his finger wavers only slightly as he traces the characters onto Han Geng's palm.
"Ah," Han Geng says, smiling. "Shiyuan. That's a nice name. I'm Han," he says, cradling Siwon's hand in one of his and tracing the first character onto his palm, "just like your country, see?"-Siwon smiles shakily-"Geng." He allows his finger to linger after it's finished the final stroke, runs the thumb of his other hand softly over the back of Siwon's, and the Korean exhales, breath emerging in staccato bursts, slightly too loud. His eyes are screaming without sound, begging without words. Han Geng tries to remember what it was like to be affected by looks like this, gives up almost as soon.
"Well, Siwon," he says pleasantly, letting go of the man's hand, "I've set up a basket for your clothes and a towel for you in the dressing area. I'll be setting up the room for our session, so please change and come out whenever you're ready.
"Right," Siwon says, "right, sure." He almost scurries behind the modesty screen. Han Geng walks purposefully about the room, lowering the shade over the window, lighting candles, bringing his oils to the massage table, warming up his hands, and then Siwon reemerges, wearing nothing but the white towel he'd laid out. It doesn't even reach his knees, and he's clearly uncomfortable-he stands awkwardly next to the screen, one hand clutching the front of the towel, feet rooted to the spot.
"Come," Han Geng says softly, taking his other hand and leading him over to the massage table. "Lie down." Siwon climbs awkwardly onto the table and lies face down, back rigid. "Now relax," Han Geng says, and sets his hands to work.
His touch is not light enough to tickle, but not firm enough to undo the knots of stress and worry in Siwon's back. It is not meant to. It is meant to leave trails of fire across his skin, awaken desire in places that used to be dead to touch, and by the way Siwon's breath begins to catch and his hips shift uncomfortably, it is working. He runs skilled fingers over broad shoulders, down along the man's spine and then back up, sweeps them over round triceps and biceps and in between shaking fingers. When he tugs gently at the towel, pulls it down to reveal the swell of Siwon's ass, the man lets out a low keening noise. He begins to grind his hips against the padded table when Han Geng starts to slowly massage his buttocks, and that is when Han Geng leans down and whispers into his ear.
"Time to turn over."
Siwon looks up at him, eyes dark with desire and despair, and shakes his head once, sharply. Han Geng meets his gaze and returns it, patient, unmoving. After what seems like minutes, Siwon lets out a loud, shaky breath and rolls over. His cock is erect beneath the towel, sticking up obviously, and he fidgets helplessly on the massage table.
Han Geng smiles slightly, drizzles some more oil onto his hands and begins to rub Siwon's chest. The Korean shivers, but his skin burns beneath Han Geng's fingers, and he leans into his touch. Han Geng runs his hands over Siwon's arms again and stretches them up over the man's head. Then he deftly takes the two ends of the strand of silk he'd tied under the table while Siwon was undressing and binds the man's hands snugly against the pad over his head.
Siwon's eyes go wide and wild, and for a minute he looks like he'll struggle, he'll yell, he'll panic and leave. Han Geng steps back and waits, gaze resting steadily on the man on the table. He sees the conflict raging in the man's eyes, watches as his body tenses as if to yank free from the bindings. He is unsurprised when eventually a shudder runs from Siwon's head to his toes and the Korean closes his eyes and whispers, in a voice so small that if Han Geng hadn't done this so many times before he might think he was imagining things, "Please."
This is what they all want, this kind. They always ask for it in the end.
Han Geng returns his hands to the man's chest, rubs lower and lower over ridge after ridge of his defined stomach muscles, and then slips them under the towel and begins to work his cock with long, slick strokes. Siwon's head jerks to the side, his eyes squeeze shut and his jaw clenches-he looks almost as if he is in physical pain-but his cock his hard and throbbing in Han Geng's hand, oozing precum over his fingers. The Chinese man keeps stroking, mercilessly rhythmic, until Siwon's body tenses and his mouth opens. Then he stops.
When Siwon's eyes open again in shock, Han Geng takes the towel covering him and drops it to the floor, then steps back and watches the man cooly, spread naked on the table, cock red and twitching, hands tied above his head. Siwon tries to sit up but finds himself unable to move with his hands bound. His cheeks turn bright crimson and he licks his lips nervously. "I-" he starts, voice cracking, then says again, simply, desperately, "Please. Please."
Han Geng takes another step back, then peels off his shirt. Siwon gasps, follows him with his eyes as he shucks off the rest of his clothes and picks up the bottle of oil at the side of the table. When he reaches two glistening fingers around behind him and slides them between his ass cheeks, he hears a moan escape from Siwon, and he watches the man intently as he fingers himself, licks his lips at the sight of wetness in the man's eyes. Then, when he feels loose enough, he climbs onto the table, straddles Siwon's hips, and waits.
A tear runs down Siwon's cheek as he whispers, "please," and Han Geng slowly impales himself on the man's length.
The noise that comes from deep within Siwon sounds like something shattering, and it is followed by deep, quiet sobs, interspersed with desperate, whispered pleases as Han Geng rides him, hips movements slow and liquid. He leans down and brushes away the tears streaming down Siwon's cheeks with his lips, murmurs, "It's ok. It's ok." Siwon's sobs get louder as he begins to grind his hips harder, and Geng can tell that he is close. He brings his mouth to Siwon's ear and whispers, "You can think of this when you have to fuck your wife," and Siwon moans low and comes inside him.
The orgasm is intense enough to cause his eyes to roll back into his head and his back to arch, and somehow he breaks free from his restrains and throws himself against Han Geng's chest, flinging his arms around him and hugging him close. Han Geng sighs softly and holds him as the syncopation of aftershocks and sobs ripple through his body, holds him until he is quiet but for an occasional sniffle, then extricates himself from the man's grasp and uncouples with him. He gets down from the table and stands at its side for a minute, looking at the man in front of him, eyes red, face puffy, cock still twitching. He feels the cum slowly running down his inner thigh.
"I'm going to leave you the number of a man in Seoul at the front desk," he says quietly. "His name is Kim Heechul, and he can help you if you ever need a massage again." He picks up his clothes from the floor and smiles cruelly at Siwon. "There's a shower down the hall if you'd like to make use of it. I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay in China, and congratulations to you and your bride." Then, before Siwon can say anything, he walks out of the room and makes his way purposely toward the staff showers. He needs to clean up; he has his next appointment in five minutes.
Souvenir
Pairing: Han Geng/Siwon
He's nervous enough to be Japanese, but Han Geng's got him pegged as Korean-he has the build of someone who's done military service, and only a Christian would look this guilty.
"Welcome," he tries in heavily-accented Korean, pushing himself off from the window sill he's been leaning against, and is rewarded by a flash of relief in the man's eyes and a nervous smile.
"Oh, thank goodness, you speak Korean! The woman at the desk didn't at all, and my Chinese is just terrible, so, you know, there was a lot of gesturing and pointing, and then she just took some money and sent me to this room, and so I didn't know, um."
The man stops, perhaps because he realizes he's been babbling like an idiot, perhaps because he's seen the incline of Han Geng's eyebrows and the quirk of his lips. He brings a hand up to scratch the back of his head in what must be a nervous habit. "You do, um, speak Korean, don't you?"
Han Geng smiles, thin-lipped. "I do indeed, sir," he says evenly. I speak whatever language the money comes in. "And it seems you are very much in need of the services I can provide."
The man's eyes go wide, pupils large with sudden fear. "What?"
Han Geng smiles more fully, laughs inside. "It's just that you seem very on edge, sir. I think a massage is just the thing to calm your nerves."
"Ah." The man laughs, too loud. "Yes, of course. Yes, I'm here in Beijing on business, and I've just been so busy lately, what with work and then my wedding coming up when I get back, and I just thought-" his eyes dart to Han Geng's, wild for an instant before he looks away. "Yes. I thought a massage would be nice."
"Certainly, sir," Han Geng says, gliding forward and around behind the man. "Let me take your coat," he says, deftly slipping fingers under the collar and sliding his hands down the man's back. Firm muscles tense beneath his hands. "What shall I call you, sir?" he says as he sweeps around in front of the man again with the coat, passing behind a modesty screen decorated in sparse brushstrokes and into the dressing area.
"My name's, uh, Siwon." The nervous voice wafts over the screen as Han Geng hangs up the coat and sets out a fresh clothes basket and towel.
"Siwon," he says, tasting the name as he comes out from behind the screen again, and the man jumps a bit. "Siwon. How is that written?" he asks, putting one hand on Siwon's shoulder and holding out the other in front of him like a writing slate.
"It's, um." Siwon seems to choke on his words, but his finger wavers only slightly as he traces the characters onto Han Geng's palm.
"Ah," Han Geng says, smiling. "Shiyuan. That's a nice name. I'm Han," he says, cradling Siwon's hand in one of his and tracing the first character onto his palm, "just like your country, see?"-Siwon smiles shakily-"Geng." He allows his finger to linger after it's finished the final stroke, runs the thumb of his other hand softly over the back of Siwon's, and the Korean exhales, breath emerging in staccato bursts, slightly too loud. His eyes are screaming without sound, begging without words. Han Geng tries to remember what it was like to be affected by looks like this, gives up almost as soon.
"Well, Siwon," he says pleasantly, letting go of the man's hand, "I've set up a basket for your clothes and a towel for you in the dressing area. I'll be setting up the room for our session, so please change and come out whenever you're ready.
"Right," Siwon says, "right, sure." He almost scurries behind the modesty screen. Han Geng walks purposefully about the room, lowering the shade over the window, lighting candles, bringing his oils to the massage table, warming up his hands, and then Siwon reemerges, wearing nothing but the white towel he'd laid out. It doesn't even reach his knees, and he's clearly uncomfortable-he stands awkwardly next to the screen, one hand clutching the front of the towel, feet rooted to the spot.
"Come," Han Geng says softly, taking his other hand and leading him over to the massage table. "Lie down." Siwon climbs awkwardly onto the table and lies face down, back rigid. "Now relax," Han Geng says, and sets his hands to work.
His touch is not light enough to tickle, but not firm enough to undo the knots of stress and worry in Siwon's back. It is not meant to. It is meant to leave trails of fire across his skin, awaken desire in places that used to be dead to touch, and by the way Siwon's breath begins to catch and his hips shift uncomfortably, it is working. He runs skilled fingers over broad shoulders, down along the man's spine and then back up, sweeps them over round triceps and biceps and in between shaking fingers. When he tugs gently at the towel, pulls it down to reveal the swell of Siwon's ass, the man lets out a low keening noise. He begins to grind his hips against the padded table when Han Geng starts to slowly massage his buttocks, and that is when Han Geng leans down and whispers into his ear.
"Time to turn over."
Siwon looks up at him, eyes dark with desire and despair, and shakes his head once, sharply. Han Geng meets his gaze and returns it, patient, unmoving. After what seems like minutes, Siwon lets out a loud, shaky breath and rolls over. His cock is erect beneath the towel, sticking up obviously, and he fidgets helplessly on the massage table.
Han Geng smiles slightly, drizzles some more oil onto his hands and begins to rub Siwon's chest. The Korean shivers, but his skin burns beneath Han Geng's fingers, and he leans into his touch. Han Geng runs his hands over Siwon's arms again and stretches them up over the man's head. Then he deftly takes the two ends of the strand of silk he'd tied under the table while Siwon was undressing and binds the man's hands snugly against the pad over his head.
Siwon's eyes go wide and wild, and for a minute he looks like he'll struggle, he'll yell, he'll panic and leave. Han Geng steps back and waits, gaze resting steadily on the man on the table. He sees the conflict raging in the man's eyes, watches as his body tenses as if to yank free from the bindings. He is unsurprised when eventually a shudder runs from Siwon's head to his toes and the Korean closes his eyes and whispers, in a voice so small that if Han Geng hadn't done this so many times before he might think he was imagining things, "Please."
This is what they all want, this kind. They always ask for it in the end.
Han Geng returns his hands to the man's chest, rubs lower and lower over ridge after ridge of his defined stomach muscles, and then slips them under the towel and begins to work his cock with long, slick strokes. Siwon's head jerks to the side, his eyes squeeze shut and his jaw clenches-he looks almost as if he is in physical pain-but his cock his hard and throbbing in Han Geng's hand, oozing precum over his fingers. The Chinese man keeps stroking, mercilessly rhythmic, until Siwon's body tenses and his mouth opens. Then he stops.
When Siwon's eyes open again in shock, Han Geng takes the towel covering him and drops it to the floor, then steps back and watches the man cooly, spread naked on the table, cock red and twitching, hands tied above his head. Siwon tries to sit up but finds himself unable to move with his hands bound. His cheeks turn bright crimson and he licks his lips nervously. "I-" he starts, voice cracking, then says again, simply, desperately, "Please. Please."
Han Geng takes another step back, then peels off his shirt. Siwon gasps, follows him with his eyes as he shucks off the rest of his clothes and picks up the bottle of oil at the side of the table. When he reaches two glistening fingers around behind him and slides them between his ass cheeks, he hears a moan escape from Siwon, and he watches the man intently as he fingers himself, licks his lips at the sight of wetness in the man's eyes. Then, when he feels loose enough, he climbs onto the table, straddles Siwon's hips, and waits.
A tear runs down Siwon's cheek as he whispers, "please," and Han Geng slowly impales himself on the man's length.
The noise that comes from deep within Siwon sounds like something shattering, and it is followed by deep, quiet sobs, interspersed with desperate, whispered pleases as Han Geng rides him, hips movements slow and liquid. He leans down and brushes away the tears streaming down Siwon's cheeks with his lips, murmurs, "It's ok. It's ok." Siwon's sobs get louder as he begins to grind his hips harder, and Geng can tell that he is close. He brings his mouth to Siwon's ear and whispers, "You can think of this when you have to fuck your wife," and Siwon moans low and comes inside him.
The orgasm is intense enough to cause his eyes to roll back into his head and his back to arch, and somehow he breaks free from his restrains and throws himself against Han Geng's chest, flinging his arms around him and hugging him close. Han Geng sighs softly and holds him as the syncopation of aftershocks and sobs ripple through his body, holds him until he is quiet but for an occasional sniffle, then extricates himself from the man's grasp and uncouples with him. He gets down from the table and stands at its side for a minute, looking at the man in front of him, eyes red, face puffy, cock still twitching. He feels the cum slowly running down his inner thigh.
"I'm going to leave you the number of a man in Seoul at the front desk," he says quietly. "His name is Kim Heechul, and he can help you if you ever need a massage again." He picks up his clothes from the floor and smiles cruelly at Siwon. "There's a shower down the hall if you'd like to make use of it. I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay in China, and congratulations to you and your bride." Then, before Siwon can say anything, he walks out of the room and makes his way purposely toward the staff showers. He needs to clean up; he has his next appointment in five minutes.