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Donghae drives by this corner often. It’s when traffic gets a bit too bad on the main road that he defaults to the neighborhood path instead with its narrower turns and straying children. He taps on the wheel as he waits for them to pass by, a group of girls with the boys straying behind them, getting distracted by the pattern of tar on the ground. There had been a time where he would have been openly irritated by this interruption in his intricate schedule, but now, he can curb his agitation with a small crook of a lip. When the children are safely across, he starts the car again and finally rounds the corner.
There’s a house right near the gates, sandwiched between two almost identical buildings. Donghae slows down inconspicuously, his eyes lowering past the passerby towards that beige-painted front door. And as if on cue, a young man pads out.
He is bashful, hair unkempt and face bare. His large, thin-fingered hands wave mousily towards the flirting schoolgirls and the friendly businessmen on the sidewalk. His top, almost sheer, does little to hide the milky-skinned collarbones and broad shoulders that guard his torso. The nightwear flaps around him as he shivers in the breeze, striking up short conversations with the passing ice-man and fish-man. A wind blows his bangs into his eyes, and he runs his fingers back through it, exposing more of his pale neck.
Donghae watches all this, appearing bored but holding his breath. The young man seems to notice him, and he smiles at him shyly, bowing. Donghae dips his head in return, unable to keep his lips from curling upwards. After that, the world catches back up, and he returns his gaze towards the road, stepping on the speed again to go forward.
Thus, the golden minutes of his day are over.
At ten A.M. the young housewife
moves about in negligee behind
the wooden walls of her husband's house.
I pass solitary in my car.
Donghae is not a good driver. That is why, when the rain starts falling in small driblets over the front window, he heads towards the neighborhood again.
This time, there are no children. The rain falls harsher on this side of the city, and the gradual transition from tiny spots of water to large needles of falling liquid is what makes him realize that his detour is logically useless.
The revelation changes nothing.
His already cautious driving erases the need for slowing at the corner. Donghae looks to his side again, searching for the familiar silhouette once again. Perhaps it is erroneous of him to assume that the young man would venture out of his warm home into a storm like this.
But there he is, thin shirt and rosy lips in the rain. His young age shows through the way he anxiously plucks at his shirt sleeves with his fingertips, the crease coming up all the way to the top of his palm. He seems to scan the horizon for something before his eyes land on Donghae.
For a moment, he thinks he sees those eyes brighten.
“Sir!” the young man calls out. Donghae startles, not expecting for the other to actually approach him. He fumbles to stop his car and roll the window down, trying not to let his gaze roam as the younger man comes towards the vehicle in only his nightwear.
“Can I help you?” he asks smoothly, leaning over the side. The rain washes over him, but he pays it no mind. “What’s a fair youth like you doing out here in the storm?”
The young man blushes at that, unconsciously brushing a stray strand of hair behind his ear. “I was wondering if there were any neighbors to say hello to.”
“The rain is coming down a bit too hard for that,” Donghae replies, amused. “You’d have more luck waving through a window.”
“I know that!” he retorts, his bottom lip jutting out. He shivers right after, his slender frame trembling under the weight of the falling sky. Donghae resolves to finish the conversation faster, even if he doesn’t want to.
“So besides that—” he leans further towards the young man, whose eyes widen with the closer proximity— “What are your reasons for striking up a talk with an old man like me?”
“An old man? Ah, I just assumed that you were—you look very young,” he finishes in embarrassment. Donghae chuckles.
“Is this your way of saying I’m handsome?” he teases. The young man pauses, looking thoughtful for a moment before he shakes his head, a grin on his red lips.
“That’s impossible,” he denies cutely.
“You brat,” Donghae responds automatically, almost reaching his hand out to ruffle the other’s soft hair. The instinct makes him remember where he is right now, his car puffing out black clouds of smoke into the cold, damp air and the rain dyeing his navy business suit black. A wall of rain and metal separates them, indicative of the different worlds they’re supposed to inhabit.
He’s gotten careless, the easy conversation blinding him like the morning rain.
“I think you should go in before you catch a cold. Can’t let you get sick on your own.” He tilts his head towards the house behind them, tearing his eyes away. The young man glances towards it but doesn’t move. Instead, he plays with the hem of his soaked shirt, averting his eyes demurely.
“Would you like to come in with me, sir?” he asks shyly. “I have coffee in the brew, but I doubt I’ll be able to finish it on my own. I’m more accustomed to having company.” His long eyelashes flutter as he says this, wetted by the rain.
Make no mistake, Donghae is not perverted. His modest home is free of cigarette smoke, and he seldom lusts over anyone, man or woman, much less someone already married. While he was hotheaded in his youth, the following years had whittled that passion into mildness, a survival tactic that had earned him a boring yet well paying job. When he had first laid eyes on that young man, he hadn’t any impure thoughts. He was simply curious.
But now, who would he be to refuse the invitation so clearly extended towards him?
“Not today,” he says, observing the way the other’s delicate face falls. So he was correct. He continues, “However, I believe that I have a break next week, a holiday that was erected to celebrate the founding of the company I am a tired employee at.”
Donghae lets the next words go unsaid. He removes his suit jacket and carefully lays it over the young man’s head in order to shield him from the precipitation. The young man’s eyes widen in shock, but still, his hands reach up to gently stroke the fabric.
“What’s your name?” Donghae asks. The other blinks, and his mouth moves slowly, shadowed by Donghae’s coat.
“Ryeowook,” he answers.
“When we meet next time, you can give it back,” he says simply and starts his car once more.
Then again she comes to the curb
to call the ice-man, fish-man, and stands
shy, uncorseted, tucking in
stray ends of hair, and I compare her
to a fallen leaf.
When Donghae meets him on that day, he is finally wearing a shirt that doesn’t choke him. The children are out playing again, and it makes him anxious. In this quaint neighborhood, with its white picket fences and painted exteriors, his old car is nothing but an ugly, rusted machine wedged in the middle of it all.
But of course, there’s nothing better to blow away those thoughts than the delicate figure waiting for him at the front of the sidewalk. Again, Ryeowook’s eyes scan the scenery until he sees Donghae, his facial features lighting up in an almost childlike way. Donghae pulls into the driveway carefully, only a little askew of the lane. When he steps off the car for the first time he ever has in this neighborhood, his wrist is immediately grabbed, and he is tugged off the street.
“Let’s go before the housewives find another topic to gossip about, sir,” Ryeowook says as he whisks him away. Donghae can only stumble after him, the sun burning holes into the soles of his shoes. The door closes behind him, and the house engulfs them.
“My husband is at work right now,” Ryeowook says conversationally, kicking his shoes off. Donghae swallows, momentarily dizzied by the current situation. Suddenly, his head hurts, and he holds it as he diligently removes his shoes as well, placing it down carefully so that the crumbs of dirt don’t scatter over the ground. He finally raises his eyes to see Ryeowook waiting patiently for him.
“You have a nice home,” Donghae says, mouth dry. The other beams.
“I choose it myself, sir.” Ryeowook grabs Donghae’s hand again, leading him deeper into the wooden fortress. His longer, bony fingers completely envelope Donghae’s, and they pull him along with a surprising amount of strength.
He finds himself sitting down at the dinner table, Ryeowook brewing him a cup of coffee.
He looks serene like this, his sloped back rippling as he presses the powder into the group and hooks it in. The sheer fabric over his shoulders shimmer prettily with each movement, and Donghae can’t help creeping up behind him and sneaking a hand against his waist.
Ryeowook jumps. “Ah, you scared me!” he exclaims, jumping a little and splashing a bit of liquid onto the counter.
“You should always be on alert, especially after letting a stranger like me into your home.” Laughing, Donghae swipes the spilled coffee from the countertop with a tissue before chucking the stained wipe into the trash. “Aren’t you a bit too naive?”
“I’m not naive! You just—I’ve seen you watching me for a long time, but you never tried to approach me. You just watched and went away meekly,” Ryeowook confesses sheepishly. “You never came two days in a row either.”
“You noticed me from even back then?” Donghae’s lips form a smirk as the other splutters.
“I-It’s because your ugly mug was hard to miss! That’s it!” Ryeowook huffs, and this time, Donghae really does laugh.
“My face? Have you seen yourself?” He fondly pokes the younger’s puffed cheeks. It’s only when Ryeowook’s face bursts into shades of red that he realizes what he has just done. A rush of courage flooding into his bones, he leans forward, placing his right hand over the other’s hip and positioning his lips next to his ear.
When he breathes out, Ryeowook shudders.
“The truth is that there wasn’t really anything urgent. You just wanted me in your home,” Donghae says, dancing his fingers over his waist. “How disobedient,” he adds in a whisper.
By now, Ryeowook is trembling, pressed into the counter by Donghae’s taller frame. He lets out a gasp as the older man takes his ear between his teeth, nibbling slightly on the soft cartilage, unpierced. Donghae chases his quivering neck until they are both practically bent over the table, his nose buried into the space between Ryeowook’s jaw and collarbone while the younger man attempts to stifle his small noises with the back of his pretty hand.
Unable to hold off any longer, Ryeowook suddenly whirls around, throwing his arms around his neck and capturing his lips in a burning kiss. Donghae licks into the warm mouth, exploring the wet cavern he feels the vibrations of small whimpers against his tongue.
“I suspect you’re heavier than you look,” he says breathlessly when they finally break apart. “Think you can hold yourself together long enough to make it to the bedroom?”
“Don’t be rude,” Ryeowook retorts wetly, as if the indecency of their actions in his home had coerced tears from his eyes. Donghae kisses him on the lips again, lightly, before he drags them out of the kitchen.
They stagger together towards the bedroom, like a single creature with four legs rather than two men too absorbed in each other to break apart. Ryeowook opens the door with a shaking hand, and Donghae throws him onto the bed. He pauses.
“Have you been taken before?” he asks, voice low and tempting. He draws a thumb over the top of the other’s sharp jawline, pressing out the unshed tears with the tip of his finger.
“I’m not so young that I’m a virgin!” Ryeowook protests, blushing vibrantly. “And I have a husband!”
Donghae hums, removing his hand from Ryeowook’s face and curling his fingers around his collar.
“I was just asking,” he says and rips the sheer top off of his body.
In truth, this place grates on Donghae. Everywhere he looks, from the slightly wrinkled bed sheets to the cream-colored shelves to the white ceiling to Ryeowook himself, is damp with the scent of another man. Everytime he inhales, the saccharine scent of cologne and cigar smoke crowds itself into his mouth. It irritates him.
But all the better. When he’s done with this room and with Ryeowook, neither will ever be able to forget his presence.
A path of rose-colored marks is pressed down the younger man’s neckline, leading a trail down to the area between his spread legs, the soft but muscular thighs that meld easily to the outlines of his fingers. Donghae removes his pants with more care than his shirt before tugging down his boxers with his teeth and engulfing Ryeowook’s cock in a single movement. Ryeowook’s legs attempt to snap closed, but Donghae holds them open, digging his nails into the supple skin on his kneecaps and sucking shallowly on the cock.
Ryeowook cries and kicks, and Donghae smiles without his teeth, pleased with himself. In this situation, he is the one that is in control of the other’s pleasure. He is the one that gives, that coerces. There’s still more to come, but right now, he feels as if Ryeowook is finally beginning to lose the tired color of this house and starting to become stained with him. He bobs his head again, lightly, earning himself another whine from the young man underneath him. He might even make him come with just this, with these small and relatively inoffensive movements.
But that isn’t his true objective. All he does is wet the cock gratuitously with his saliva before popping off and dragging his chin downwards, leaving a trail of spit down Ryeowook’s perineum. Dazed, the younger man lifts his head to see what he’s doing, only to throw it back abruptly with a yelp as Donghae sucks hard on the rim of the twitching hole, a stark contrast from the gentleness of before.
Smoothly, he flips Ryeowook over so that his elbows are hooked over his thighs, his opening directly in front of Donghae’s face with no space to close his legs without running into his head. It gives him ample space to go down on his opening with no other distractions. At the new and more compromising position, Ryeowook squirms, and Donghae can already imagine the shade of his red tinted cheeks.
“Oh!” Ryeowook squeals as he licks at the edge of the sensitive area. Donghae takes his time to lick around the twitching hole, the rough ridges of his tongue massaging into the thin skin right around the ring of muscle. Ryeowook covers his mouth with the palm of his hand, muffling his high-pitched whimpers as his tear stained cheeks glance backwards at Donghae. Donghae lifts his head to smile at him before he suddenly laps into his soft hole.
Ryeowook moans loudly in surprise. Donghae grins. He tightens his grip on him, leaving pinkened strips of skin where his fingers grasped, and completely lets go of his restraint, dipping his tongue and parting the center of the delicate flower blossom with his thumbs. He laps at the sensitive area, his spit leaving shiny trails of liquid up the red muscle. Then, he thrusts in.
“T-That’s— ah! —dirty—sir—” Ryeowook mewls, his legs quivering in Donghae’s clutches. He pays those words no attention, focusing all his might on driving more pleasured noises from that pink mouth instead. He spreads the hole further with the pads of his thumb and strikes in, accurately hitting the soft spot. Ryeowook’s hiccups suddenly turn into a scream as his calves sharply react, forcing Donghae to use his hands to hold the limbs down.
Drool drips between the space between Ryeowook’s cheeks and onto the bed sheets. By the time his hole is loose enough and he has cried his throat sore, the delicate white of the blankets has already been ruined. Donghae can’t help the wave of satisfaction that the sight brings him. The discoloration is like art but no more than the erotic form in front of him.
Finally, Donghae retracts his elbows from around Ryeowook’s thighs. He quietly sucks one last time on the rim of the muscle, making the younger man’s waist twist, and he thrusts a finger in, shoving his tongue in right next to it.
If he could’ve memorized the sound Ryeowook made after that, he would’ve. It’s indescribable, a mixture between a whimper, a moan, and a sob. The young man knew by then that he had gone too deep to get out, to dig himself out of the hole he had dug for himself. Donghae is no longer a stranger to his house. He is no longer a stranger to his body.
It’s too late to turn back.
Donghae slips another finger in after that, and soon, he’s fingering Ryeowook and fucking him with his tongue at the same time. Ryeowook’s legs no longer need coercion to stay spread, and this time, they are the ones that open wider, unbidden, his toes curling and mouth crying out.
The taste is sugary. Donghae devours him whole as if he is not a human but simply sweet candy.
Like this, Ryeowook spurts, his ass arching into Donghae’s mouth. Donghae doesn’t stop even as he spasms underneath him, come staining his stomach. He grabs the swinging cock and jerks it, and despite Ryeowook’s pleading sobs, the member quickly hardens again under his hands.
“I’m going to turn you,” Donghae warns softly, placing his wet palms on the younger man’s hips and delicately flipping him onto his back. Ryeowook’s eyes are squeezed shut, his hands laying over his own collarbones cutely. Donghae leans over and kisses him again, and he whimpers as he tastes himself, his mouth tilting up as the older man’s rough tongue invades him again.
Donghae breaks away first to pour oil on his fingers, letting the cool fluid run over his palm and drip onto his cock. He slips two fingers in first and scissors them slowly, allowing for the soft walls of Ryeowook’s hole to accommodate them slowly. The younger man squirms and whines, and he silences him with another kiss. Ryeowook doesn’t need that much preparing anyways, with the tongue-fucking he has already endured, but he’s addicted to those sounds, to that music.
Finally, Donghae lines his cock up at his hole. Spreading him open, he slowly pushes in, licking Ryeowook’s taste off of his lips. Ryeowook squeezes his teary eyes shut as he bottoms out, breath coming out in soft pants. Donghae takes this opportunity to stop, lean forward and brush the younger man’s sweaty bangs off his forehead. His hands travel further down, tracing those subtle yet strong muscles with a feather-light touch.
“Tell me, what do you do at home while your husband is at work?” Donghae breathes. He squeezes a defined breast, and Ryeowook squirms.
“I-I sing,” he chokes out, still trying to get accustomed to Donghae’s length. “My—my husband said he would get me a private tutor.”
“A private tutor huh…” he says, gaze lowering to Ryeowook’s navel. He twists a nipple harshly, and the younger man whimpers in sensitivity. “Do you enjoy singing?”
“It’s—” Ryeowook mewls as Donghae leans over and laps at a swollen nub, rolling it between his teeth. “It’s— a-ah! —it’s what I enjoy doing—the most…”
Donghae pauses after that. He takes his lips off of the younger man’s nipple and seeks his mouth, melding their lips together gradually and softly like fitting one piece of a puzzle over the other. Ryeowook lifts his chin and reciprocates, eyes closing.
The way they mold to each other is perfect. The way their flavors coalesce is perfect. The way they desire each other… is perfect. It makes Donghae want to think forbidden thoughts. About seeing Ryeowook in his bed every morning. About Ryeowook’s body weight wrinkling his sheets. About Ryeowook sleepily rubbing his eyes and giving him kisses to wake him.
Donghae grits his teeth. He pulls away first, taking out and thrusting back in, hard.
Ryeowook screams.
The rhythm is backbreaking. He can see how Ryeowook is a singer now, with the way his mouth stretches around one melodious shriek after another. The music he hears is indescribable, moans and cries blending into one.
“Sir —oh!— sir —please! ” Ryeowook sobs. His hands are scrabbling for a place to hold, and Donghae quickly pins them down, gyrating his hips in and out of that delicious hole as quickly and accurately as he can. Ryeowook’s louder wail signals that he’s found the prostate, and he quickly focuses on that area, fucking him into the mattress like a machine.
“I’m—I’m about to— Please make me —” Ryeowook hiccups, overcome with pleasure. His body arches as Donghae licks at those sensitive nipples again, waist twisting and becoming taut in his hands.
“So sensitive,” Donghae rasps. “Call out my name when you come.”
“Your… name?” Ryeowook’s hole clenches as he nears his climax, his hands curling into fists where they are restrained. His legs have already come up to hug Donghae’s waist, pushing his cock deeper into himself. The older man smiles and leans in, his breath ghosting over his earlobe.
“Call me Donghae,” he whispers, slamming in hard. Ryeowook cries out.
“ Ah-ah —D-Donghae— hyung!”
He comes all over himself. Donghae only needs a few more thrusts to come as well, his hot release flooding into the swollen and reddened hole. He opens his eyes to see Ryeowook breathing heavily underneath him, his legs still taut with pleasure. There are dried tear tracks on his cheeks, and his eyes are shut, his chest rising and falling slowly.
He’s unconscious. Donghae rubs the younger man’s cheekbone softly. He grabs a tissue from the nightstand before pulling out gently, cleaning them both up. Ryeowook shifts uneasily when he attempts to leave to bed in order to throw the paper away, his hands grabbing onto his wrist. Donghae complies, setting the tissues on the table and climbing into bed with him.
The last thing he does before falling asleep is press a chaste kiss to Ryeowook’s forehead.
“You have to wake up.”
Donghae snaps awake to Ryeowook rushing him off the bed, tossing his clothes back at him and desperately rearranging the side of his bed. Registering the urgency but not the situation, Donghae quickly buttons his shirt back up and stumbles out of the bedroom, his head groggy. Ryeowook rushes back to where he had left, tucking the covers back in and smoothing them out.
He looks so panicked that it hurts Donghae. His hair is disheveled, and his collar is wide open, loudly displaying all the marks that had been left just hours before.
“Ryeowook?” Donghae says drowsily, confused. He tries to put his hand on Ryeowook’s shoulder, but to his surprise, Ryeowook slaps his hand away, clearly upset.
“You can’t stay here. My husband will be back soon. You need to leave,” he whispers urgently.
Finally understanding, Donghae skitters out of the bedroom and to the living room, where he’d left his coat. He’s fumbling with the buttons when Ryeowook suddenly intercepts and begins buttoning for him, his eyes blown wide. Donghae desperately wants to reach forward and pull him into his arms, but he knows he can’t do that right now.
Luckily, there is still no movement on the street when Donghae begins putting his shoes back on. Ryeowook is still rushing around, trying to remove traces of his presence. All Donghae can do is watch helplessly, finally aware of the consequences of his greed.
“I’ll be going now,” he announces, desperate to receive at least one last glance from the younger man. The look he receives is stressed but softer than before. Slowly, Ryeowook walks up to him and adjusts his collar one last time, his eyes full of sorrow.
“I’m sorry to force you away so quickly,” he says quietly.
Donghae swallows. “Will I see you again?” he says, half a question and half an offer.
Ryeowook doesn’t respond. Instead, he lets go, and he pushes past him to unlock the door. The expression on his face as he beckons Donghae out says everything he needs to know. Outside, two shining headlights flash, signifying the end.
Exhaling heavily, Donghae places his hat back onto his head and escapes what he has just ruined.