Super Junior; Eunhae; Clean-up On Floor Three (How Hyukjae Became a Dirty Whore)
Title: Clean-up On Floor Three (How Hyukjae Became a Dirty Whore)
Fandom: Super Junior
Pairing: EunHae, Eunhyuk/everyone
Word Count: 3,006
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Hyukjae is kind of a slut. These are the beginnings to SMAC (epicly-long Blohyuk smut)
Genre: Smut
A/N: (FIRST POST IN MY NEW COMM ALSDKJFAS ♥ of course its porn :( ) So I wrote porn! Donghae's voice is my kink, leave me alone. It's kind of boring and robotic, but I never promised it would be any good, so there. I even put Make-Out Talk in there. Blegh. Whatever. I leave for UA (Bama) in the morning and I am Not Pleased, but you know, you gotta do what you gotta do. I figured I might as well revive myself on LJ and post something to re-establish myself as an active writer and better LJ friend, because I haven't been commenting on people's entries (I deeply apologize) nor have I been replying to comments. I swear, I'll get to it. Btw thanks to everyone who wished me a happy birthday :) So since I clearly have nothing better to do in Bama (this is a lie, I have Forensics Team and I'll be dying omg help me) I'll try to write more, talk more...just be around. I'll get to the other prompts you guys gave me soon. ♥ much love y'all. I missed it.
for: loveslipped because I love her and BFAF lives forever.
Hyukjae is kind of a slut.
He knows this, everyone else knows this - it’s no secret. He doesn’t try to hide it, either. The girls in the lunchroom are jealous of him for moving better than they do, but it isn’t his fault they can only step-and-clap when he can slide and lock and roll his chest and snap his hips. The girls in the lunchroom are also jealous of him for managing to get more guys than them, but they have square bangs and glasses and the classic Asian frame of no curves but kind of look like potatoes when they try to dress sexy.
Hyukjae prides himself for being able to get more than just the gays at his school - his biggest accomplishment was managing to suck off Christian-boy Choi Siwon a class below him after gym one day in the storage shed. He had protested, but Hyukjae’s fingers were flirting with his drawstring and his lips were curling into a wicked, wicked smile, and before he knew it Siwon’s eyes were fluttering closed and his fingers were fluttering over his hair in a desperate need to grab and pull, but he couldn’t let himself go enough to do so. (After a few more sessions he was tugging Hyukjae’s head back like a trained champ and licking a line up his throat, and Hyukjae felt he did his job for the rest of the population previously sexually frustrated with Siwon’s now-shattered abstinence policy.)
Hyukjae is practiced and talented and has long, long fingers and a jaw line to kill and a tongue to match. He lost his virginity at age 15 when he and the neighborhood kid Junsu decided to play doctor for old time’s sake. Junsu was more than willing - he and Hyukjae had been sneaking into his father’s magazines and video collections after school before the workday let out for two years. That afternoon, when Hyukjae had fit his hips into his and pinned him to the floor, Junsu already knew how to push his hips up and roll them in a way that made Hyukjae gasp, surprised, and he already knew how to moan like the pretty girls in the videos, loud and wanton and just a little cheap. Junsu was kind of a slut, too. (Still is.)
Hyukjae isn’t set on just boys though, and he certainly isn’t set on girls. He’s had his share of pussy; he just prefers getting fucked, rather than doing the fucking. It’s dirtier and rougher and they aren’t afraid to bite him or push him into a wall the way he likes. Plus, coming from a private school, he’s learned that in some social circles, it’s frowned upon. He kind of loves breaking rules; it’s why he fucked his English teacher this one time in senior year.
Sometimes, he has to hand it to the ladies though. He remembers Yuri, a girl in his dance class with straight black hair and long black eyelashes. Legs a mile long, slim hips that slinked when she strutted in routines, a sweet smile, and laugh that killed every joke she ever told. He kind of sort of loved her, but not that way.
She slept with him in junior year, when he was just seventeen and the bell rang, signaling summer vacation. For some reason she had been crying that day, and he had asked her why.
“After class,” she said, and they asked the teacher to let them lock up the studio.
She rounded on him, pressing into his arms, hair tousled and soft where a few strands landed on his face. He could smell her shampoo - coconut and freesia. She hiccupped quietly and he closed his arms around her, more than confused, and then she looked up, tears on her lashes like snow and he grabbed her chin and kissed her. He hadn’t meant to, didn’t plan to, but she kissed back, soft and insistent and everything went blank.
He stripped her slow, like she deserved, pushing his hands up her smooth sides, dipping in the curve in her waist, lifting the oversized shirt above her head and onto the hardwood floor with a soft flump. He stared at her, his eyes roving over her and drinking her in - her skin like milk, the line of her arms, the soft curves of the breasts she actually had, unlike the rest of the girls in his school.
Dancers always did do it best.
He remembers peeling off the skimpy black shorts she always wore - skintight. They hugged her ass and she knew it, she flaunted it, but none of the girls ever called her a slut, because she was one of the good ones. He remembers the way her thighs felt around him, clenching and pushing up, rocking her hips into his. He fucked her in the room they spent three years together in, his back against the cold metal of the mirror, her leg hooked high on his hips snapping forward, her moans echoing like music in the stereos, high-pitched and catching in the back of her throat when she comes, clutching at him and shuddering, soft, soft, always soft.
He kissed her, dazed, and it took her a few seconds to kiss back; slow, languid, sated.
She didn’t come back next year, because her family relocated to Japan.
So that’s why she was crying.
Hyukjae isn’t sure if he’ll ever remember a girl as much as he does Yuri. He’s only a little bit afraid to sleep with another girl, because he might forget the way she felt, the way she sounded.
He kind of sort of loved her, but not that way.
Hyukjae isn’t quite the monogamous type. He moves from lay to lay, sometimes repeating them, sometimes forgetting them the way they were supposed to be. He knows when they want a only a taste, like that time with Kangin, and when they want more than that, and he knows not to get involved if he sees it going too deep. He turned down Goo Hara, a little freshman who smiled at him at her locker.
She had a pretty mouth and a pretty heart - he couldn’t touch one without touching the other, and he couldn’t bruise one without bruising the other. She would cry, he knew, but she would thank him later.
Hyukjae isn’t quite the monogamous type, but he remembers one boy the most. He remembers spending months learning all the quirks and kinks and the perfect way to coax that one certain whine from him. He remembers curling smiles and heavy accents, dark eyes and tousled hair and a moan to both chill and boil his blood in the same second.
Lee Donghae, Janitor’s closet, third floor, fourth period during History.
Name, place, time, he remembers.
Donghae strolled into his dance class, third period, one day in the middle of fall. He put his bag down, talked to the teacher, pulled off his t-shirt and joined the dance, picking steps up fast in a black wifebeater and a mouth that he couldn’t seem to close, tongue poking out between wet lips. Hyukjae remembers watching him, something shooting through him that he wasn’t a stranger to.
Pure, unbridled, white-hot want.
Oh yes. This was going to be a good year.
Hyukjae remembers flirting touches, running fingers down arms when one of them mastered a move, eyes flicking and breaths catching when touches lingered just a bit too long to be platonic. He remembers auditioning a piece to be choreographed, watching Donghae watch him as he pushed a hand down his front and trusted shallowly to the bass.
His eyes were dark. It was too easy.
They hadn’t lasted long. A few months later, at best, he and Donghae had been learning the same routine for the small group competition the coming weekend, and they were the only two still standing after running the piece over and over and over again. They watched each other in the mirror, eyes intent, and Hyukjae popped harder and Donghae stepped harder and then, at the end, it happened. They had learned the last 8-count of the dance minutes before and Hyukjae had forgot - Donghae hadn’t.
Hyukjae watched, hands on his knees propping himself up, sweaty hair glued to his face, as Donghae finished, perfectly, and the group applauded. Hyukjae saw him turn around, grabbing his shirt and dragging it over his forehead, and he grinned at him, tongue slipping out and pulling in his bottom lip.
He was gloating.
Hyukjae let his head fall, exhausted, and he laughed. Cheeky bastard.
They walked together out of the room, up the stairs, and Hyukjae had stopped him, told him follow me, dragging him down the third floor corridor and into the janitor’s closet. Donghae followed, grinning. Knowing.
Hyukjae flicked on the light. Donghae smirked at him. Hyukjae pinned him to the wall, arms on either side of his head.
“You think you’re better than me?” He asked, smiling, joking.
“Just a little, yeah,” Donghae replied lightly, shrugging. He grinned at him, laughing.
Cheeky bastard.
“You’re hot shit, then, is that it?” breathed Hyukjae, tilting his head, eyes locked on Donghae’s mouth.
“Clearly,” Donghae murmured, matching him.
Hyukjae threw his head back and chuckled. This is why he liked him. “I see,” he said. “You just haven’t seen the way I really move.”
Donghae’s eyes sparkled at him. “Are you going to show me then?”
“Clothes are such a hindrance, you know.”
Donghae murmured low in agreement, a finger looping through Hyukjae’s belt loop and tugging experimentally. Hyukjae’s eyes darkened and his fingers dug into the wall just slightly. He sucked in a breath.
Donghae grinned, poking out his tongue.
Hyukjae sucked it into his mouth, running his own tongue along it and pushing his hips into Donghae’s. Donghae’s eyes promptly fell shut and he moaned, his hands coming up to grip Hyukjae’s slim hips tightly. Hyukjae pushed his hips up, sending Donghae’s back into the cool brick wall behind them. He pushed down, and could feel Donghae’s erection dragging against his own. This time, he was the one to moan, warm and wanton.
Finally.
Donghae pulled away, gasping slightly, his lips red and wet. His eyes were just a little unfocused. “You’re kind of a slut, you know that?” He said, breathlessly, his fingers tightening on his hips and his words going more than a little hoarse. This was probably due to Hyukjae rubbing himself against him quite obviously, smirking darkly at him. Donghae groaned and threw his head back.
“So I’ve been told.”
“Fuck,” choked Donghae, as Hyukjae traced the shell of his ear with the tip of his tongue, teasing.
“God, took you long enough to ask,” Hyukjae gasped, and pushed his fingers under the waistband of Donghae’s jeans. Donghae’s hips snapped forward, his breath catching, Hyukjae’s cool fingers brushing along the length of his cock. He wrapped them around Donghae, dragging slowly, and watched as Donghae squeezed his eyes shut and bit at his lip. Hyukjae leaned down, pulling his lip into his mouth and sucking on it, his hand tight around Donghae as he pumped him through his slacks. Donghae’s legs were trembling, his hand on Hyukjae’s ass and holding him to him.
Without warning, Hyukjae pulled his hands out of Donghae’s pants and pushed away from him. Donghae swore.
“You know what? I have a better idea,” Hyukjae said, half breathlessly, half angrily at himself.
“What,” Donghae snapped, one hand over his face and a painfully hard cock in the other.
Hyukjae stepped back, turned around, and stuck out his ass, undoing his pants as he did so. “Fuck this,” he said, and meant it more ways than one.
Donghae stared at him, before he walked over and shoved Hyukjae forward, hard. Hyukjae stumbled, turning his face just before he slammed into the door of the closet. Donghae wasted no time in pressing himself against his back, mouth latching on to the side of his neck and sucking. He wrapped his hands around front, one hand jerking down the zipper on Hyukjae’s pants, the other wrapping tight around the base of his cock. Hyukjae moaned finally, loud and desperate against the wall and pushed back into Donghae, who cursed.
Hyukjae worked on the buttons of his own shirt, managing the top few before Donghae gave a particularly talented twist of his hand that had his hands scrabbling at the wall for purchase. Donghae reached up, yanking Hyukjae’s crisp white school shirt over his shoulders, teeth scraping along the smooth expanse of flesh exposed. He bucked into him, shallowly, and Hyukjae pushed himself around between Donghae and the wall. Donghae was thrown for a second before Hyukjae’s hands speed down the front of his shirt and push it, now undone, over and off his shoulders and to the floor.
Hyukjae knew Donghae was hot, but there was something about seeing him, hair in his dark, dark eyes, white wifebeater sticking to his slick skin, transparent in some spots, bottom lip red and raw where he worried it in abandon, there was something about seeing Donghae so undone that he could barely stand it. His eyes raked over him, hungrily, as they paused for a moment. They were quite the mess, Donghae’s pants half undone and hanging off his hips, Hyukjae’s shirt off his shoulders and his hair sticking to his face. And then, Hyukjae grunted and wrapped his fingers around Donghae’s school tie, pulling him down, crushing their lips together, and pushing his hips up into Donghae’s.
Whatever resolve Donghae seemed to be holding snapped and he hooked his arm under Hyukjae’s leg, hoisting it up to lock around his waist. Hyukjae’s hands were shaking in anticipation and a frantically desperate need as he hurriedly pushed Donghae’s pants over his hips, pooling at his feet, his hand moving around to dig nails into his back, one hand returning to his tie for purchase.
Hyukjae moaned as he felt Donghae, hard and heavy, push into him. Donghae paused, buried to the hilt, breath ragged in Hyukjae’s ear.
Hyukjae mouthed wordlessly for a second, before he tilted his lips up to brush along Donghae’s ear and rasped, “Go.”
Donghae grit his teeth and, with all the restraint he had, jerked his hips back, pulled out fully, spun Hyukjae around, and trust into him again, pressing Hyukjae into the door and pressing a fresh moan out of his mouth. His patience breaking, he set the pace fast, and Hyukjae only keened desperately and pushed back into him, driving each thrust deeper. His fingers dug into the wall, turning white as Donghae buried his face into his neck, his chest heaving against his back and his heavy panting hot and moist on Hyukjae’s skin.
One hand left Hyukjae’s hip, the other digging a bruise into the sharp jut of his body. Donghae gripped Hyukjae’s straining cock and pumped firmly, teeth scraping his shoulder, his body shaking against him as he pounded deeper inside him. Hyukjae let out a gutteral sound, hot and keening, wriggling his hips back insistently to meet Donghae’s.
Donghae’s hips snapped once, twice, before his voice resounded in a velvet, accent-laced moan and he came, shuddering against Hyukjae. He thrust a few more times, riding out his aftershocks, and then turned Hyukjae around, sinking to his knees.
Hyukjae had his eyes squeezed shut, his hands on himself as he pumped himself closer to release. Donghae nudged his hands away insistently and Hyukjae’s eyes flew open as a tongue ran along his length, hot and wet. He shivered as Donghae’s mouth closed tight around him and his cheeks hollowed out, sucking hard, and Hyukjae’s hips jerked forward automatically. Donghae looked up at him with dark, clouded eyes as fingers threaded through his hair and gripped for purchase, tugging a moan from Donghae’s mouth and onto Hyukjae’s cock. Donghae dragged his tongue up the underside, pressing it firmly against the thick vein underneath, and Hyukjae snapped his hips forward, unable to stop himself from fucking Donghae’s mouth. Hyukjae couldn’t care less, and neither could Donghae, his lips stretched tight around Hyukjae, red and slick as his cock slid in and out of them wetly.
Hyukjae’s fingers tightened and he pulled Donghae’s head back further, thrusting into the back of his throat quickly as his orgasm washed over him and he came hard inside Donghae’s mouth. He shuddered, white-hot tremors of pleasure wracking through him, a rushing in his ears deafening. Donghae’s moan hummed around him and Hyukjae bit down on his lip to keep from crying out, his name on his lips.
He slipped from Donghae’s bruised lips and leaned against the wall, sliding down it to sink to the floor next to him. Donghae scooted over to join him against the wall, his chest heaving with Hyukjae’s as he gasped for breath. Hyukjae closed his eyes, one hand clenched as the last shiver of pleasure left him. And then something occurred to him and he opened them, turning his head to look at Donghae.
“You call me a slut?”
Donghae looked at him out of the corner of his eyes, exhausted, his cherry-red mouth open and panting. “Yeah?”
“You swallowed.”
Donghae grinned, wicked.
“Why do you think I left my old school?” He asked, voice low and laughing.
Hyukjae stared at him incredulously and then laughed, loud and bright. “Well…shit.”
The next few months they fucked, rough and desperate, had sex, hot and teasing and deliberate, and slept together, on tables and in classrooms and in beds, when one time Hyukjae didn’t get up to go home. It started like that, their relationship, and then Kim Kibum had transferred in in their senior year and Hyukjae decided to take Advanced English, taught by the new professor.
Hyukjae still isn’t the monogamous type, but remembers one boy the most. Lee Donghae, best friend and fellow slut. And, occasionally, they’ll have a little re-enactment to remember the good times.
Because Hyukjae is kind of a slut.
Fandom: Super Junior
Pairing: EunHae, Eunhyuk/everyone
Word Count: 3,006
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Hyukjae is kind of a slut. These are the beginnings to SMAC (epicly-long Blohyuk smut)
Genre: Smut
A/N: (FIRST POST IN MY NEW COMM ALSDKJFAS ♥ of course its porn :( ) So I wrote porn! Donghae's voice is my kink, leave me alone. It's kind of boring and robotic, but I never promised it would be any good, so there. I even put Make-Out Talk in there. Blegh. Whatever. I leave for UA (Bama) in the morning and I am Not Pleased, but you know, you gotta do what you gotta do. I figured I might as well revive myself on LJ and post something to re-establish myself as an active writer and better LJ friend, because I haven't been commenting on people's entries (I deeply apologize) nor have I been replying to comments. I swear, I'll get to it. Btw thanks to everyone who wished me a happy birthday :) So since I clearly have nothing better to do in Bama (this is a lie, I have Forensics Team and I'll be dying omg help me) I'll try to write more, talk more...just be around. I'll get to the other prompts you guys gave me soon. ♥ much love y'all. I missed it.
for: loveslipped because I love her and BFAF lives forever.
Hyukjae is kind of a slut.
He knows this, everyone else knows this - it’s no secret. He doesn’t try to hide it, either. The girls in the lunchroom are jealous of him for moving better than they do, but it isn’t his fault they can only step-and-clap when he can slide and lock and roll his chest and snap his hips. The girls in the lunchroom are also jealous of him for managing to get more guys than them, but they have square bangs and glasses and the classic Asian frame of no curves but kind of look like potatoes when they try to dress sexy.
Hyukjae prides himself for being able to get more than just the gays at his school - his biggest accomplishment was managing to suck off Christian-boy Choi Siwon a class below him after gym one day in the storage shed. He had protested, but Hyukjae’s fingers were flirting with his drawstring and his lips were curling into a wicked, wicked smile, and before he knew it Siwon’s eyes were fluttering closed and his fingers were fluttering over his hair in a desperate need to grab and pull, but he couldn’t let himself go enough to do so. (After a few more sessions he was tugging Hyukjae’s head back like a trained champ and licking a line up his throat, and Hyukjae felt he did his job for the rest of the population previously sexually frustrated with Siwon’s now-shattered abstinence policy.)
Hyukjae is practiced and talented and has long, long fingers and a jaw line to kill and a tongue to match. He lost his virginity at age 15 when he and the neighborhood kid Junsu decided to play doctor for old time’s sake. Junsu was more than willing - he and Hyukjae had been sneaking into his father’s magazines and video collections after school before the workday let out for two years. That afternoon, when Hyukjae had fit his hips into his and pinned him to the floor, Junsu already knew how to push his hips up and roll them in a way that made Hyukjae gasp, surprised, and he already knew how to moan like the pretty girls in the videos, loud and wanton and just a little cheap. Junsu was kind of a slut, too. (Still is.)
Hyukjae isn’t set on just boys though, and he certainly isn’t set on girls. He’s had his share of pussy; he just prefers getting fucked, rather than doing the fucking. It’s dirtier and rougher and they aren’t afraid to bite him or push him into a wall the way he likes. Plus, coming from a private school, he’s learned that in some social circles, it’s frowned upon. He kind of loves breaking rules; it’s why he fucked his English teacher this one time in senior year.
Sometimes, he has to hand it to the ladies though. He remembers Yuri, a girl in his dance class with straight black hair and long black eyelashes. Legs a mile long, slim hips that slinked when she strutted in routines, a sweet smile, and laugh that killed every joke she ever told. He kind of sort of loved her, but not that way.
She slept with him in junior year, when he was just seventeen and the bell rang, signaling summer vacation. For some reason she had been crying that day, and he had asked her why.
“After class,” she said, and they asked the teacher to let them lock up the studio.
She rounded on him, pressing into his arms, hair tousled and soft where a few strands landed on his face. He could smell her shampoo - coconut and freesia. She hiccupped quietly and he closed his arms around her, more than confused, and then she looked up, tears on her lashes like snow and he grabbed her chin and kissed her. He hadn’t meant to, didn’t plan to, but she kissed back, soft and insistent and everything went blank.
He stripped her slow, like she deserved, pushing his hands up her smooth sides, dipping in the curve in her waist, lifting the oversized shirt above her head and onto the hardwood floor with a soft flump. He stared at her, his eyes roving over her and drinking her in - her skin like milk, the line of her arms, the soft curves of the breasts she actually had, unlike the rest of the girls in his school.
Dancers always did do it best.
He remembers peeling off the skimpy black shorts she always wore - skintight. They hugged her ass and she knew it, she flaunted it, but none of the girls ever called her a slut, because she was one of the good ones. He remembers the way her thighs felt around him, clenching and pushing up, rocking her hips into his. He fucked her in the room they spent three years together in, his back against the cold metal of the mirror, her leg hooked high on his hips snapping forward, her moans echoing like music in the stereos, high-pitched and catching in the back of her throat when she comes, clutching at him and shuddering, soft, soft, always soft.
He kissed her, dazed, and it took her a few seconds to kiss back; slow, languid, sated.
She didn’t come back next year, because her family relocated to Japan.
So that’s why she was crying.
Hyukjae isn’t sure if he’ll ever remember a girl as much as he does Yuri. He’s only a little bit afraid to sleep with another girl, because he might forget the way she felt, the way she sounded.
He kind of sort of loved her, but not that way.
Hyukjae isn’t quite the monogamous type. He moves from lay to lay, sometimes repeating them, sometimes forgetting them the way they were supposed to be. He knows when they want a only a taste, like that time with Kangin, and when they want more than that, and he knows not to get involved if he sees it going too deep. He turned down Goo Hara, a little freshman who smiled at him at her locker.
She had a pretty mouth and a pretty heart - he couldn’t touch one without touching the other, and he couldn’t bruise one without bruising the other. She would cry, he knew, but she would thank him later.
Hyukjae isn’t quite the monogamous type, but he remembers one boy the most. He remembers spending months learning all the quirks and kinks and the perfect way to coax that one certain whine from him. He remembers curling smiles and heavy accents, dark eyes and tousled hair and a moan to both chill and boil his blood in the same second.
Lee Donghae, Janitor’s closet, third floor, fourth period during History.
Name, place, time, he remembers.
Donghae strolled into his dance class, third period, one day in the middle of fall. He put his bag down, talked to the teacher, pulled off his t-shirt and joined the dance, picking steps up fast in a black wifebeater and a mouth that he couldn’t seem to close, tongue poking out between wet lips. Hyukjae remembers watching him, something shooting through him that he wasn’t a stranger to.
Pure, unbridled, white-hot want.
Oh yes. This was going to be a good year.
Hyukjae remembers flirting touches, running fingers down arms when one of them mastered a move, eyes flicking and breaths catching when touches lingered just a bit too long to be platonic. He remembers auditioning a piece to be choreographed, watching Donghae watch him as he pushed a hand down his front and trusted shallowly to the bass.
His eyes were dark. It was too easy.
They hadn’t lasted long. A few months later, at best, he and Donghae had been learning the same routine for the small group competition the coming weekend, and they were the only two still standing after running the piece over and over and over again. They watched each other in the mirror, eyes intent, and Hyukjae popped harder and Donghae stepped harder and then, at the end, it happened. They had learned the last 8-count of the dance minutes before and Hyukjae had forgot - Donghae hadn’t.
Hyukjae watched, hands on his knees propping himself up, sweaty hair glued to his face, as Donghae finished, perfectly, and the group applauded. Hyukjae saw him turn around, grabbing his shirt and dragging it over his forehead, and he grinned at him, tongue slipping out and pulling in his bottom lip.
He was gloating.
Hyukjae let his head fall, exhausted, and he laughed. Cheeky bastard.
They walked together out of the room, up the stairs, and Hyukjae had stopped him, told him follow me, dragging him down the third floor corridor and into the janitor’s closet. Donghae followed, grinning. Knowing.
Hyukjae flicked on the light. Donghae smirked at him. Hyukjae pinned him to the wall, arms on either side of his head.
“You think you’re better than me?” He asked, smiling, joking.
“Just a little, yeah,” Donghae replied lightly, shrugging. He grinned at him, laughing.
Cheeky bastard.
“You’re hot shit, then, is that it?” breathed Hyukjae, tilting his head, eyes locked on Donghae’s mouth.
“Clearly,” Donghae murmured, matching him.
Hyukjae threw his head back and chuckled. This is why he liked him. “I see,” he said. “You just haven’t seen the way I really move.”
Donghae’s eyes sparkled at him. “Are you going to show me then?”
“Clothes are such a hindrance, you know.”
Donghae murmured low in agreement, a finger looping through Hyukjae’s belt loop and tugging experimentally. Hyukjae’s eyes darkened and his fingers dug into the wall just slightly. He sucked in a breath.
Donghae grinned, poking out his tongue.
Hyukjae sucked it into his mouth, running his own tongue along it and pushing his hips into Donghae’s. Donghae’s eyes promptly fell shut and he moaned, his hands coming up to grip Hyukjae’s slim hips tightly. Hyukjae pushed his hips up, sending Donghae’s back into the cool brick wall behind them. He pushed down, and could feel Donghae’s erection dragging against his own. This time, he was the one to moan, warm and wanton.
Finally.
Donghae pulled away, gasping slightly, his lips red and wet. His eyes were just a little unfocused. “You’re kind of a slut, you know that?” He said, breathlessly, his fingers tightening on his hips and his words going more than a little hoarse. This was probably due to Hyukjae rubbing himself against him quite obviously, smirking darkly at him. Donghae groaned and threw his head back.
“So I’ve been told.”
“Fuck,” choked Donghae, as Hyukjae traced the shell of his ear with the tip of his tongue, teasing.
“God, took you long enough to ask,” Hyukjae gasped, and pushed his fingers under the waistband of Donghae’s jeans. Donghae’s hips snapped forward, his breath catching, Hyukjae’s cool fingers brushing along the length of his cock. He wrapped them around Donghae, dragging slowly, and watched as Donghae squeezed his eyes shut and bit at his lip. Hyukjae leaned down, pulling his lip into his mouth and sucking on it, his hand tight around Donghae as he pumped him through his slacks. Donghae’s legs were trembling, his hand on Hyukjae’s ass and holding him to him.
Without warning, Hyukjae pulled his hands out of Donghae’s pants and pushed away from him. Donghae swore.
“You know what? I have a better idea,” Hyukjae said, half breathlessly, half angrily at himself.
“What,” Donghae snapped, one hand over his face and a painfully hard cock in the other.
Hyukjae stepped back, turned around, and stuck out his ass, undoing his pants as he did so. “Fuck this,” he said, and meant it more ways than one.
Donghae stared at him, before he walked over and shoved Hyukjae forward, hard. Hyukjae stumbled, turning his face just before he slammed into the door of the closet. Donghae wasted no time in pressing himself against his back, mouth latching on to the side of his neck and sucking. He wrapped his hands around front, one hand jerking down the zipper on Hyukjae’s pants, the other wrapping tight around the base of his cock. Hyukjae moaned finally, loud and desperate against the wall and pushed back into Donghae, who cursed.
Hyukjae worked on the buttons of his own shirt, managing the top few before Donghae gave a particularly talented twist of his hand that had his hands scrabbling at the wall for purchase. Donghae reached up, yanking Hyukjae’s crisp white school shirt over his shoulders, teeth scraping along the smooth expanse of flesh exposed. He bucked into him, shallowly, and Hyukjae pushed himself around between Donghae and the wall. Donghae was thrown for a second before Hyukjae’s hands speed down the front of his shirt and push it, now undone, over and off his shoulders and to the floor.
Hyukjae knew Donghae was hot, but there was something about seeing him, hair in his dark, dark eyes, white wifebeater sticking to his slick skin, transparent in some spots, bottom lip red and raw where he worried it in abandon, there was something about seeing Donghae so undone that he could barely stand it. His eyes raked over him, hungrily, as they paused for a moment. They were quite the mess, Donghae’s pants half undone and hanging off his hips, Hyukjae’s shirt off his shoulders and his hair sticking to his face. And then, Hyukjae grunted and wrapped his fingers around Donghae’s school tie, pulling him down, crushing their lips together, and pushing his hips up into Donghae’s.
Whatever resolve Donghae seemed to be holding snapped and he hooked his arm under Hyukjae’s leg, hoisting it up to lock around his waist. Hyukjae’s hands were shaking in anticipation and a frantically desperate need as he hurriedly pushed Donghae’s pants over his hips, pooling at his feet, his hand moving around to dig nails into his back, one hand returning to his tie for purchase.
Hyukjae moaned as he felt Donghae, hard and heavy, push into him. Donghae paused, buried to the hilt, breath ragged in Hyukjae’s ear.
Hyukjae mouthed wordlessly for a second, before he tilted his lips up to brush along Donghae’s ear and rasped, “Go.”
Donghae grit his teeth and, with all the restraint he had, jerked his hips back, pulled out fully, spun Hyukjae around, and trust into him again, pressing Hyukjae into the door and pressing a fresh moan out of his mouth. His patience breaking, he set the pace fast, and Hyukjae only keened desperately and pushed back into him, driving each thrust deeper. His fingers dug into the wall, turning white as Donghae buried his face into his neck, his chest heaving against his back and his heavy panting hot and moist on Hyukjae’s skin.
One hand left Hyukjae’s hip, the other digging a bruise into the sharp jut of his body. Donghae gripped Hyukjae’s straining cock and pumped firmly, teeth scraping his shoulder, his body shaking against him as he pounded deeper inside him. Hyukjae let out a gutteral sound, hot and keening, wriggling his hips back insistently to meet Donghae’s.
Donghae’s hips snapped once, twice, before his voice resounded in a velvet, accent-laced moan and he came, shuddering against Hyukjae. He thrust a few more times, riding out his aftershocks, and then turned Hyukjae around, sinking to his knees.
Hyukjae had his eyes squeezed shut, his hands on himself as he pumped himself closer to release. Donghae nudged his hands away insistently and Hyukjae’s eyes flew open as a tongue ran along his length, hot and wet. He shivered as Donghae’s mouth closed tight around him and his cheeks hollowed out, sucking hard, and Hyukjae’s hips jerked forward automatically. Donghae looked up at him with dark, clouded eyes as fingers threaded through his hair and gripped for purchase, tugging a moan from Donghae’s mouth and onto Hyukjae’s cock. Donghae dragged his tongue up the underside, pressing it firmly against the thick vein underneath, and Hyukjae snapped his hips forward, unable to stop himself from fucking Donghae’s mouth. Hyukjae couldn’t care less, and neither could Donghae, his lips stretched tight around Hyukjae, red and slick as his cock slid in and out of them wetly.
Hyukjae’s fingers tightened and he pulled Donghae’s head back further, thrusting into the back of his throat quickly as his orgasm washed over him and he came hard inside Donghae’s mouth. He shuddered, white-hot tremors of pleasure wracking through him, a rushing in his ears deafening. Donghae’s moan hummed around him and Hyukjae bit down on his lip to keep from crying out, his name on his lips.
He slipped from Donghae’s bruised lips and leaned against the wall, sliding down it to sink to the floor next to him. Donghae scooted over to join him against the wall, his chest heaving with Hyukjae’s as he gasped for breath. Hyukjae closed his eyes, one hand clenched as the last shiver of pleasure left him. And then something occurred to him and he opened them, turning his head to look at Donghae.
“You call me a slut?”
Donghae looked at him out of the corner of his eyes, exhausted, his cherry-red mouth open and panting. “Yeah?”
“You swallowed.”
Donghae grinned, wicked.
“Why do you think I left my old school?” He asked, voice low and laughing.
Hyukjae stared at him incredulously and then laughed, loud and bright. “Well…shit.”
The next few months they fucked, rough and desperate, had sex, hot and teasing and deliberate, and slept together, on tables and in classrooms and in beds, when one time Hyukjae didn’t get up to go home. It started like that, their relationship, and then Kim Kibum had transferred in in their senior year and Hyukjae decided to take Advanced English, taught by the new professor.
Hyukjae still isn’t the monogamous type, but remembers one boy the most. Lee Donghae, best friend and fellow slut. And, occasionally, they’ll have a little re-enactment to remember the good times.
Because Hyukjae is kind of a slut.