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Jongwoo’s not gay. He knows he’s not.
There’s just one problem.
He can’t stop thinking about fucking Moonjo.
It’s the worst case of intrusive thoughts Jongwoo has ever had, and he has some pretty bad intrusive thoughts.
Thinking about beating the shit out of Jaeho? That’s fine. Thinking about yelling at Jieun until she finally listens? No problem.
But thinking about fucking Moonjo? About what the other man would feel like, with Jongwoo inside him? What he would look like? What he would sound like?
Jongwoo’s mind has never thrown anything like this at him before. When he was a teenager, sure he would think about sex. A lot.
But it was always with girls. He’d never thought about fucking men, on purpose or intrusively. He’d never even watched gay porn, save for that one time in high school when he clicked on the wrong link on a porn site.
Just because Jongwoo watched that video in its entirety, didn’t mean he was gay. It didn’t mean he wanted to have sex with men, or anything remotely like that. He was just curious, and he’d never looked at it again.
So why now? Why now, of all times in Jongwoo’s life, is his brain throwing these images of Moonjo whining beneath him?
It’s near constant too, since moving to Seoul. Since coming to Eden, and meeting his creepy neighbor on the roof.
He’s handsome, fine. Jongwoo can’t deny that. He’s listened to Jieun too many times gushing about idols and actors to know a handsome man when he sees one. He just doesn’t know why this one, why Moonjo, is affecting him this way.
He barely knows the guy. Didn’t even know his name, until Ahjumma told him off-handedly a few days after they met.
“Moonjo-ssi is a dentist,” she said proudly. “He’s doing the Lord’s work.”
Why she thinks God cares about people’s teeth, Jongwoo doesn’t know.
Apparently, Jongwoo’s brain doesn’t care that he knows next to nothing about Moonjo. His looks alone seem to be enough for Jongwoo to constantly picture him naked, sweaty, and desperate.
Thinking about it… maybe Jongwoo seeing him actually naked in the shower the morning after they first met contributed to all this. Jongwoo can’t quite pinpoint when he started having these sinful thoughts. His time in Eden is all starting to blur.
The bland regularity of a 9-5 job isn’t helping. It’s mindless, pointless, and annoying work. While he’s at the office, if he’s not imagining pummeling Jaeho or Byeongmin, he’s imagining himself fucking Moonjo in all possible positions.
It’s infuriating. It’s distracting. It’s insufferable.
Jongwoo can’t escape. Even now, walking home under the bright sun after a long day, he’s wondering how Moonjo would sound groaning jagiya, the muscles in his neck taut with his head thrown back.
He takes a shower, attempting to cool off, and it works for a bit. He very carefully does not think about naked Moonjo, in the showers or otherwise.
He goes to the roof for some fresh air. It feels like the only place in this entire city where Jongwoo can finally breathe.
He does just that, inhaling the cool summer air and exhaling on the breeze. He tries to call Jieun, but she doesn’t answer. Jongwoo breathes again, trying to ignore his anger at his failing relationship.
“You should let it out, jagi.”
He turns, and Moonjo’s there. Coming up to stand next to him looking over the city, wearing that soft black sweatshirt. When he looks at Jongwoo, his gaze is direct and staring. Unsettling.
“Let what out?” Jongwoo asks warily.
“Your anger,” Moonjo says. “I can see it, how you bury it inside. Let it out.”
Jongwoo scoffs. “Sure.”
Moonjo tilts his head to the side, dark eyes still staring at Jongwoo as his long hair falls over them.
“What’s the worst that can happen?”
Jongwoo laughs at that. “Lose my job. Get dumped. Go to jail. My anger is… big.”
Moonjo’s eyes gleam.
“Give it to me, then,” he says.
Jongwoo swallows.
“Give me your anger, jagi,” Moonjo murmurs. “I’ll take it all.”
The words spark a series of images in Jongwoo’s mind, all of them too explicit and heart-racing to verbalize.
Jongwoo doesn’t respond. He just walks away.
His thoughts don’t mean anything. He doesn’t feel anything towards Moonjo apart from the vague pull in his stomach that means the man isn’t what he seems. His smile when they ate Ahjumma’s meat together lingers in the back of his mind. When considering how creepy Moonjo is, Jongwoo’s intrusive thoughts and images aren’t the problem.
As long as he doesn’t act on them.
When Jongwoo beats up those kids, Moonjo is there. His presence isn’t comforting.
As he sweet-talks the cops and the parents into letting Jongwoo go, Jongwoo isn’t relieved. Through his mental haze, Jongwoo is afraid.
He knows now. This man is dangerous.
But that doesn’t seem to impact Jongwoo’s fantasies. They are as present as ever, the most recent one featuring Jongwoo bending Moonjo over the edge of the roof.
He still doesn’t want to acknowledge it as a problem, and there are enough problems with Moonjo that he doesn’t need to. The solution is the same: moving out of Eden.
“I don’t know what you’re trying to do here, but I have nothing to do with it. I don’t even care,” the words flow out of Jongwoo’s mouth quickly, like if he doesn’t say them now he’ll lose his nerve. “I’m going to move out tomorrow, and never come back.”
Moonjo doesn’t move. His eyes stare at Jongwoo, and his face doesn’t twitch. Still, Jongwoo gets the sense that he’s… frustrated? Unhappy?
“I’ll pay you back for the settlement money,” Jongwoo says.
That’s when Moonjo moves. He shakes his head in disapproval, itching at his temple. He moves closer to Jongwoo, and reaches out a hand.
Before Jongwoo can react, Moonjo’s hand is pinching his throat, and he’s frozen.
“This is called the uvula,” he says. “This bunch of muscles inside the throat. I quite like looking at that area.”
Jongwoo swallows, and Moonjo’s hand bobs with the motion.
“Don’t hide anything from me from now on,” Moonjo all-but commands. “Okay?”
Jongwoo’s fear grows. It grows bigger, but he doesn’t avert his gaze or run away. Moonjo is unsettling, but as they walk back to Eden Jongwoo can’t stop thinking about — about —
— about what it would be like for Moonjo to bare his own throat for Jongwoo, for Jongwoo to grab it not with two fingers but with two hands, and squeeze tight.
The images are getting harder to ignore. Before it was pure lust, if Jongwoo could even call it that. Now, with the fear intensified, the prospect of overpowering Moonjo in the same way he uses to intimidate Jongwoo — for Moonjo to bare his neck to him willingly and allow him inside —
Well. Jongwoo’s never claimed to have healthy coping mechanisms for his emotions.
As Jongwoo’s fear of the man grows, the need to fuck him gets stronger.
He threatened Jieun.
That bastard, that psycho — he threatened Jieun, and now Jongwoo is close to snapping.
After Jongwoo pulled Jieun out of Eden and sent her on her way, after their argument, Jongwoo’s anger is white-hot. It’s boiling under his skin, begging to be released.
The fear is almost entirely gone, replaced by anger so intense he’s shaking. The switch gives him whiplash, gives him energy.
He stomps upstairs, blind with rage and unstable enough that he can’t fight the images that are flooding his mind.
Grabbing Moonjo by the neck and slamming him against the wall. Wrapping his hands around his wrists so tight that he leaves bruises, pinning him in place. Shoving inside him without warning, without prep, and watching Moonjo’s face contort in equal parts pain and pleasure.
Or shoving him to his knees, and forcing his mouth open to make him choke. Being so relentless that tears fall ugly on Moonjo’s face, and finally he’s able to make the man shut up —
He storms into the kitchen again, and this time there’s almost nobody there. Except him.
Jongwoo doesn’t break his stride, going right up to Moonjo and getting in his face.
“Fuck you” he snaps, like a wolf that’s been provoked. “Leave her alone. I never want to see her talking to you, to any of you, again.”
“I can’t control other people’s actions,” Moonjo murmurs, not backing away from Jongwoo crowding him.
“Bullshit, you can’t!” Jongwoo barks, shoving him back. “You psychopath. I’ll kill you!”
“Will you?” Moonjo breathes, eyes flashing. His back finally hits the wall; they have nowhere else to go. “Will you kill me, jagi?”
Jongwoo slams his fist into the wall, inches from where Moonjo’s head rests.
“Don’t push it,” Jongwoo growls. A warning.
Moonjo licks his lips.
“I’ll let you do anything you want to me.”
That’s it.
The words make the fire inside Jongwoo grow, makes his arousal twitch in his pants, and he snaps. He throws his first again, this time making contact with Moonjo’s face with a crack.
The punch isn’t the only thing that makes noise. As soon as he touches him, Moonjo moans.
Any other time, Jongwoo could have written the noise off as a groan of pain. Any other time, he can ignore Moonjo’s suggestive words. Any other time, this thing hasn’t been building and building until it’s ready to explode.
Any other time, his fear of Moonjo may have overridden his desire.
But now, it’s all blurring together.
“Is that it?” Jongwoo sneers, using the hand he just used to strike Moonjo to curl around his shoulder, pinning him to the wall. “Are you just a masochist? Pathetic.”
Moonjo exhales shallowly, flexing his jaw and meeting Jongwoo’s eyes under his askew hair.
“No,” he says. “Just for you.”
Jongwoo’s grip on his shoulder tightens, and he bears his teeth.
“So you’re just a slut then?”
Jongwoo’s on fire and so is Moonjo against him, but he’s not capable of extinguishing it. He’s not capable of walking away. He’s not sure he even wants to, anymore. Not that he sees a small drop of blood trickle from Moonjo’s open mouth.
So he leans into the heat, and shoves his leg between Moonjo’s thighs.
Immediately, Moonjo moans and ruts into the contact. Jongwoo can feel his arousal, large and stiff and hot, under his thigh. He presses into it harder, hard enough to make it hurt. He wants it to hurt.
But it seems Moonjo wants it to hurt too, because he only grips Jongwoo tighter, pulls him impossibly closer.
“Where’s your cruelty now?” Jongwoo taunts. “Aren’t you going to threaten me? Intimidate me? Scare me into submission?”
Moonjo’s eyes flutter, and suddenly Jongwoo’s knee on his dick isn’t enough.
Jongwoo grabs Moonjo and harshly turns him around, flipping his position to shove his front and press his face against the nasty, peeling wall.
“Acting like a creep, going around and manipulating everyone here into doing what you want,” Jongwoo mutters. “Trying to scare me, make me go crazy.”
Moonjo’s belt clinks as Jongwoo unbuckles it.
“Not into submission, jagi,” Moonjo breathes, helping Jongwoo pull his pants down.
And really, Jongwoo should have realized it earlier. Maybe he did, and he just didn’t want to admit it.
Because that would mean admitting that he wants the same thing as Moonjo.
“If you want this so fucking badly,” Jongwoo grits, knocking Moonjo’s legs apart, “I’ll give it to you.”
He can hear Moonjo’s ragged, excited breathing as he shoves his sweatpants down, allowing his flushed cock to meet the cool air. Jongwoo doesn’t waste any time, the fire inside him still burning white-hot, and fucks into Moonjo without warning or preparation.
Turns out, that too is exactly what Moonjo wants.
He moans as Jongwoo sinks into him, and Jongwoo gasps. Instead of feeling the dry tightness that he expects, it’s slick and wet, way easier to guide himself fully inside.
“You dirty slut,” Jongwoo gasps, cock pulsing in pleasure. “You made yourself ready.”
Moonjo turns his head to look back at Jongwoo, his hair askew and sweaty. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak Jongwoo shot out a hand to grab the back of his neck, pressing his head harder into the wall.
“Shut up,” Jongwoo warns. “Shut the fuck up. You’re not allowed to talk. The only thing you’re going to do is stand here and take what I give you.”
With that, Jongwoo pulls away until he isn’t touching Moonjo’s back anymore, and only connected to him by his hand on his neck and his dick inside him. He moves his hips, dragging out of Moonjo and feeling every inch of him and, when his dick is almost slipping out of his wet hole, Jongwoo slams back in.
Moonjo hisses and Jongwoo feels his neck muscles flexing under his hand, but he doesn’t look away from where his dick is pounding in and out of Moonjo’s body. His pace is fast, fucking Moonjo much more brutally that he’s ever fucked any girls before, but he doesn’t care.
He’s addicted to how it feels, how blissful Moonjo feels around his cock. He can’t look away; seeing and feeling it is proof that his fantasies are now brought to life, that Jongwoo is finally putting Moonjo in his place.
“This is where you belong,” Jongwoo pants. “You’re nothing but a manipulative whore, hungry for my cock. Does it feel good? Is it what you wanted?”
“Yesssss,” Moonjo moans. Jongwoo feels the noises he makes, feels the vibrations from Moonjo’s throat under his hand.
He grips his neck one last time, then moves both hands to grip Moonjo’s hips. It’s much smoother to fuck him like this, much easier to go faster. His hands dig deeply into Moonjo’s pale skin, surely leaving bruises. Good.
“Everyone here can hear us,” Jongwoo grunts. “All your little underlings know exactly how good I’m fucking you, can hear how much of a slut you are. But you planned it that way, didn’t you? Psycho?”
Moonjo arches his back, gasping at the harsh pleasure Jongwoo’s pounding into him.
“Are you going to kill them after this?” Jongwoo demands, his heart rate getting impossibly faster. He can’t imagine Moonjo leaving anyone alive after witnessing him like this.
Moonjo moans out a laugh.
“I don’t have to,” Moonjo gasps. “You will, jagi.”
Jongwoo’s face contorts and he goes faster, fucking Moonjo at a punishing pace. He presses his hands tighter into Moonjo’s skin, hoping he makes the bruises deeper.
“What are you talking about,” he spits. “Didn’t I tell you to shut up?”
Moonjo, as always, ignores him. He moves his hips, aiding Jongwoo in fucking himself faster.
“You don’t want them to live after this,” Moonjo breathes. “After hearing me like this, imagining what I must look like. You don’t want them to know. You want me all to yourself, jagiya.”
Jongwoo clenches his jaw, moves his hips faster.
As his orgasm builds, so does something else inside him.
“What will you do, knowing that other people know what I sound like while you’re inside me?” Moonjo moans. “That you’re not the only one? That they’ll remember this — ”
“I’ll kill them,” Jongwoo snaps, chest heaving as his breaths come quicker. His balls tighten, and he’s so close to release. “I’ll kill them, I’ll kill them, I’ll kill them — ”
“Oh, jagiya,” Moonjo moans.
He tenses up, his muscles clenching around Jongwoo’s cock as he comes. Jongwoo’s vision goes dark and with some last quick pumps into Moonjo he’s coming too, hissing as he grips Moonjo tight and locks them together as Jongwoo shoots ropes of cum deep inside him.
He’s breathing heavily when his vision clears again, his knees a bit weak from the powerful orgasm. He pulls out of Moonjo and lets go of his hips, eyes zeroing onto his inner thighs that are now wet.
Jongwoo pulls his sweatpants up automatically, but Moonjo doesn’t cover himself at all. He only turns, so that he’s finally facing Jongwoo, and slumps against the wall. Jongwoo’s eyes are drawn to his softening arousal and the wetness on his front. That, combined with his sweaty, tangled hair and flushed face, make him look obscene.
He hears a familiar giggle behind him, from the hallway, and Jongwoo immediately tenses up.
No — They can’t see — They’re not allowed —
Jongwoo’s hands twitch, and Moonjo smiles.
At that moment, Jongwoo comes to accept some things.
He accepts what just happened. He accepts that he finally gave into his fantasies and desires, and fucked Moonjo without control or thought to the consequences.
He accepts that he and Jieun are over. He accepts that he can’t go back from this.
He accepts that Moonjo was right.
He accepts what he wants.
And he accepts the knife, offered in Moonjo’s waiting hands.