Seonwook squeezed his eyes shut and held Mujae tighter, pressing his cock against Mujae’s chest.
“This cheap bastard…”
Thanks to Mujae’s relentless thrashing, the two tumbled off the sofa, tangled together.
Seonwook barely dodged or took the blows of Mujae’s fists, palms, feet, and knees, but in the end, he managed to cling to him. Finally, he succeeded in pinning Mujae down beneath him.
Their bodies were already drenched in sweat.
“Hwang-sil…”
Seonwook panted. Mujae was also breathing heavily.
Seonwook’s body pressed tightly between Mujae’s spread legs. Mujae’s pants seemed to have been torn off during the struggle.
“Mujae hyung, hyung…”
Seonwook rubbed his cock against Mujae’s, separated only by a thin layer of underwear.
“Hng…”
Mujae gripped Seonwook’s back with both hands.
“I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m human too, I was going crazy wanting to touch you. That’s why I did it.”
Seonwook closed his eyes tightly, pressing his forehead to the floor as he moved his hips roughly. Mujae’s suppressed moans and breathing rang in his ears.
“Please, hyung, let me…”
“Quiet… quiet…”
Before he knew it, Mujae was also rubbing his body in sync with Seonwook’s movements.
The two clung to each other as if they would burst, their bodies writhing. Mujae’s sweat-soaked shirt scratched relentlessly against Seonwook’s chest.
Mujae threw his head back as he came, swallowing choked sounds as he trembled. Seonwook came too, holding him tightly.
“Ah… hah!”
Seonwook let out a long moan, but Mujae pushed him away, and he fell backward.
“Damn it…”
Even after falling, Seonwook writhed, gripping his still-ejaculating cock, and finally managed to lift his head.
“Hyung, I was in the middle of coming.”
Mujae, who had kicked Seonwook away, lay there with his eyes closed, slowly twisting his body. His chest and stomach heaved roughly up and down, and his white shirt and underwear were soaked with semen.
Seonwook watched Mujae’s body trembling in the afterglow.
A button had popped off the middle of his shirt, revealing his damp stomach. One ankle was still caught in his half-removed pants, which twisted as Mujae’s ankle and knee trembled.
Damn, he’s so pretty.
Like a flower torn to pieces and scattered on the street on a rainy day.
No matter what he does, he’s like a flower.
Acts all refined in front, but behind closed doors, he’s a fucking pervert and a mess.
Weird guy.
Weird and pretty guy.
Soon, Mujae opened his eyes and exhaled deeply.
Seonwook crawled toward Mujae.
“Hyung, isn’t that too much?”
Mujae’s hazy eyes, which had been staring at the ceiling, suddenly found Seonwook’s gaze and turned toward his face.
Mujae pointed at the box of tissues on the sofa side table.
“Bring it.”
“Even criminals don’t touch you during meals or when you’re planting rice.”
Seonwook crawled over and brought the tissue box to Mujae.
“Do you think you’re better than a criminal?”
“I have no criminal record, hyung, you know that.”
Seonwook pulled out a tissue and reached for Mujae’s stomach, but Mujae snatched the tissue and sat up. While Mujae wiped himself, Seonwook also grabbed a tissue and roughly wiped away the semen and sweat.
Mujae sat with his back to Seonwook, unbuttoning his shirt and meticulously wiping himself with tissues for a long time.
Seonwook sat cross-legged and watched Mujae’s back.
His ass was firm and satisfyingly filled Seonwook’s hands. As expected, his body was as well-maintained and neatly organized as his hairstyle and clothes.
Seonwook imagined writing poetry all over his beautiful, tidy body—on his chest, stomach, thighs, the nooks of his ankles, and all over that face.
He wanted to lay out the inspiration he got from Mujae onto his skin.
Dip a brush in ink and write. Then lick all the ink off and swallow it.
Should I leave his underwear on? Just tear the back a little and fuck him.
Who knew white underwear could be so sexy…
Seonwook, who had been staring blankly at Mujae, smiled faintly when Mujae turned to look at him.
“You.”
“Yes.”
“Do you have experience?”
“Experience?”
“Sexual experience.”
“Ah.”
Seonwook smirked. He quickly calculated in his head and made a decision.
“No.”
Sometimes, it was necessary to be completely truthful.
Mujae, who had hesitated, turned to face Seonwook with a glare.
“Are you lying?”
Seonwook quickly scooted back.
“What lie?”
“You were bragging about being good at it.”
“You don’t have to experience something to know if you’re good at it or not. It’s instinctive. I never lied about having experience.”
“…”
“Didn’t I do well just now? For someone with no experience.”
Mujae sat there glaring at Seonwook before turning away in resignation.
“Hyung, do you? Of course you do, right?”
“Clean this up before you go.”
“Do you? Have you?”
Mujae threw the wadded tissues on the floor, picked up his clothes, and stood up.
“You’ve done it, right? A lot?”
Mujae didn’t answer. He opened the sliding door and went inside, closing it behind him. The sound of another door opening and closing was followed by the sound of the shower running.
No matter how I look at it, he’s got to have done it. Or maybe he did it a long time ago and hasn’t in forever, so he’s starving.
Seonwook gathered the wadded tissues and put his clothes back on. As the tension and excitement faded, the places where he’d been hit began to throb.
“Fuck, I can’t let him break all his knuckles…”
Seonwook mumbled, lifting his T-shirt to examine the bruises darkening on his body.
Then, lifting his head, Seonwook stared blankly at the sliding door, his eyes half-closed.
Just breaking one finger would make it impossible to throw punches for a while. Even if he endured the pain, the power wouldn’t be the same…
Or maybe just a few cuts on the back of his hand would make it hard to clench his fist…
Lost in thought, Seonwook suddenly shook his head and turned away.
His fists are like flowers. Can’t damage flowers.
And you don’t lay a hand on someone you love.
Seonwook picked up his skateboard and left the room.
As the elevator descended, Seonwook organized his poetic inspiration while watching the numbers change. As soon as he got off, he took out his notebook and pencil from his pocket.
***
Pushing through the thorny thicket
The flower offers its belly to the bee
But the bee is actually a hornet
Stings the flower’s belly—gotcha!
A battle of the ages: which is sharper, the thorn or the sting?
Tune in next time!
***
Seonwook glanced over the poem he’d scribbled in one go and left the hotel with a satisfied expression.
Author: Hyacinthus B
Hyacinthus
