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The house was quiet, a quiet that normally would bring peace. But tonight, it was beginning to become suffocating.
Yoohan sat in the main room of Jay’s house. It was his house now too, technically, even though some days it didn’t feel like it. He stared at the coffee table, its glossy surface bare aside from the reflection of the ceiling light, wavering faintly with the movement of his chest as he breathed.
He hadn’t touched his phone in over an hour. Not since the message from his manager came in.
They went in another direction.
His jaw tightened as the words repeated themselves again and again, echoing inside of his skull. The director had told him he was perfect for it. Perfect. He’d delivered every line with clarity. He hit every beat. His hands had trembled afterward from the sheer exhaustion of giving it everything he had.
And then some glassy-eyed, over-confident prick had walked in after him. Smirked like he already had the part in his back pocket. Truthfully, he couldn’t act his way out of a commercial, but it didn’t matter. He had a sponsor. Of course.
Yoohan leaned forward and picked up the glass on the table, filled with water he no longer remembered pouring. He took a sip. It tasted like nothing. Everything lately did.
Jay had come home at some point. Yoohan didn’t know when. Time had smeared together around the edges today. But Jay was here now, sitting across from him on the opposite couch, his elbows on his knees, his eyes fixed on the tablet he had in his hands. His glasses caught the light when he shifted slightly, but he didn’t look up. It was like Yoohan wasn’t even there. Maybe he wasn’t.
The thought twisted its way underneath his ribs. He stood up suddenly, the motion stiff and mechanical, and strode into the kitchen like the fridge might offer him something more than lukewarm leftovers and disappointment. He knew it wouldn’t. He opened it anyway.
Inside, tucked behind a bottle of water and a half-used kimchi container, sat the takeout container he hadn’t touched since two nights ago. Jjigae, probably, or maybe one of those soy sauce glazed stews Jay always ordered extra of. The label was smudged from condensation, so he couldn’t tell. He pulled it out without thinking. He just needed something to do.
He could feel Jay’s eyes on his back now. A heat pressing between his shoulder blades. He didn’t turn around.
Yoohan grabbed a pair of chopsticks from the drawer and walked to the table, settling into one of the chairs without looking across the room. He peeled the lid off the container with a snap. The stew inside had congealed slightly at the edges, but he didn’t care.
Across the room, he heard Jay shift. A soft inhale, then the rustle of clothing. But the silence returned. Yoohan kept eating, even though it tasted like nothing. Even though everything else did too.
✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧
The room was covered in darkness, heavy and still. Only the sound of the ceiling fan gently ticked at the silence, its rhythm low and constant.
Yoohan lay on his side, his eyes open. But they had unfocused some time ago. The ceiling, the wall, the faint outline of the dresser across the room. All of it blurred together in the grain of the dark. He was tired, so much so that even his bones ached from it. But his mind refused to let him sleep. Though his thoughts weren’t racing, or frantic. He was just awake, infuriatingly so.
Behind him, Jay was curled around him, the way he often does, with an arm slung tight around Yoohan’s waist, long legs tucked under the bend of his knees, his breath slow and even where it spilled out against the nape of Yoohan’s neck. He seemed to be asleep. Or at least he hadn’t moved in some time.
Yoohan listened to that breath, let it roll over his skin, warm and calming. But it didn’t settle him tonight. His thoughts didn’t circle anything specific, but the restlessness built anyway. He blinked at the far wall. Counted seconds for what felt like an eternity.
At some point, Jay began to stir. The arm around him tightened just slightly, knuckles brushing faintly across the flat of his stomach. Then hips steadily pressed forward, aligning with the curve of Yoohan’s spine. And again.
A breath ghosted out against Yoohan’s ear, warmer this time, wetter. Then came a tongue. Yoohan’s eyes fluttered shut as Jay’s lips grazed the shell of his ear, biting at it softly before dragging his tongue along the edge once more. His breath hitched, but he didn’t speak until Jay’s hand slid lower.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
Jay’s reply was murmured into his skin. “You’ve been tense lately. So I’m helping you relax.”
Yoohan didn’t answer. He didn’t stop him either.
Their clothes came off quickly after that. Jay had never been one for slow undressing, not unless he was playing with his food. Tonight, he wasn’t. Shirts were tugged over heads, pants kicked off the bed. There was a calm urgency in his touch, in the way he grabbed at Yoohan’s hips, fingers trailing along his thighs as he coaxed him to lie back. Yoohan let him.
Jay climbed over him, his knees on either side of Yoohan’s, his weight pressing firm and solid into his hips as he leaned in to kiss him. It was slow at first, and then became more rough and impatient. Their bare skin rubbed hot against one another. Jay’s hand found both of them and stroked them together, his breath deepening with each pass of his palm.
It should’ve worked. It usually did. Yoohan tried to fall into the rhythm, into Jay’s touch, into the familiar curve of his mouth against his throat. He tilted his head, letting Jay lick down the side of his neck, letting his hands explore without resistance.
Jay’s fingers slipped between his legs, opened him up with practiced ease. Yoohan gasped and wrapped a hand around Jay’s wrist. Not to stop him, but more to ground himself.
Jay pushed inside him not long after, moving with the same confident rhythm he always did—sharp, efficient, and deep. His hips pounded against Yoohan’s with the wet slaps reverberating around the room. The headboard thudded gently with the rhythm. Yoohan clawed at his arms, dragged his nails down his back, bit into Jay’s lower lip hard enough to hear him grunt.
This was what they always did.
But all he could see was someone else’s name written across the script he’d memorized like gospel. All he could think about was the director who shook his hand with hollow eyes. Could only see the smirk on that kid’s face when he passed Yoohan in the hallway, smug and unbothered, already knowing the part was his.
So when Jay slid deeper, when he whispered Yoohan’s name against his neck, it didn’t wash over him the way it should have. Yoohan exhaled.
Jay didn’t notice. Or perhaps he did. But he kept going, burying himself to the hilt before pulling out just enough to thrust harder. He kissed Yoohan again, hard and messy, before grinding into him with purpose.
Yoohan’s arms wrapped tighter around him, bracing himself. He let Jay fuck him through it, felt the bed shake beneath them, and tried to focus on the pleasure. When it was over, Jay brushed his knuckles along Yoohan’s cheek gently, a sweet gesture that would normally settle the unease in his chest. But not tonight.
Yoohan closed his eyes.
✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧
The call came just before noon. Yoohan was still in bed.
He hadn’t meant to sleep in. He hated the groginess it left in his body afterward, but the night before had wrung something out of him. His limbs felt especially heavy as he rolled onto his back and reached for the phone vibrating on the nightstand.
Manager
[1 missed call]
[New message]
He opened it with a sigh. The light from the screen hurt his eyes.
Hey. I don’t want you to panic. It’s already been handled. One of the gossip sites ran a piece about your past. Your debt collection days. It was short, and vague. Nothing graphic, but enough to get people talking. The article’s been taken down.
Yoohan sat up slowly, his thumb hovering over the message. His mouth was dry. There was no follow-up text. No further explanation.
He opened a browser and typed in his name. Nothing came up on the main pages. The entertainment section was filled with idol dating rumors and speculation about a drama casting scandal. He scrolled and scrolled, but there was nothing.
Still, he searched again, with different phrasing. This time, he found something. Not the article, but a trail of it. Screenshots of the article, reposts on anonymous accounts, replies containing various comments of outrage and skepticism.
He closed the page and set the phone down. For a long time, he didn’t move.
Jay had to have seen it. He was too meticulous not to. It would’ve taken one phone call to scrub every trace of this from the internet, but he didn’t do it. Yoohan knew he never would, not unless Yoohan explicitly asked.
His jaw clenched. He looked around the room, maybe searching for something he could throw, but nothing stood out. It was Jay’s house, anyway. Not his. He got up and dressed in silence.
The streets outside buzzed faintly as he walked. His body moved on its own. He passed a convenience store and went inside. At the counter, the cashier looked at him a second too long.
She smiled politely, but her eyes held something else. Recognition, maybe. Or perhaps just pity.
✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧
Yoohan stepped out of the bathroom, his skin still damp, his hair hanging low across his brow in thick, wet strands. A towel was slung loosely around his hips. The steam from the shower still clung faintly to his skin.
He said nothing as he moved across the hallway, the soles of his feet making dull thudding sounds against the floor. His mind had been too scattered on set earlier. And because of that, he’d stumbled over lines he knew like the back of his hand. Lines he’d rehearsed a dozen times over while walking back and forth across this very house.
Nobody said anything when it happened. But there was a quirk in the director’s brow. He had seen the sideways glances from the other actors. Then, someone had cleared their throat and told him, “Let’s do it again.”
And he had tried again, this time without faltering. But now, hours later, the failure still clung to his shoulders, weighing them down.
He entered the bedroom slowly, unsure if Jay was already asleep. The room was dim, one lamp still lit on the far end of the nightstand. Jay sat upright in bed, his back propped against a pillow, glasses perched low on the bridge of his nose. His hair was down, his bangs falling over his forehead without care.
He didn’t look up. A script was open in his lap. One hand was flipping the page, the other curled beneath the edge of the blanket. His eyes scanned the text with a detached focus, like he was reading the words but already knew them by heart.
Yoohan crossed the room without a word, passing him by. He made his way toward the shared closet, meaning to grab something to wear. His hand was already on the door when he felt the press of Jay’s attention on the back of his neck.
He stopped and turned his head just enough to glance back. Sure enough, Jay had lowered the script. His gaze raked slowly from Yoohan’s damp shoulders to the line of the towel hanging off his hips. His expression didn’t change. But his eyes were sharp, always sharper than they looked.
Then he spoke, low and soft enough to slip under Yoohan’s skin without effort. Always in a tone that seemed gentle, even when the actual words were anything but.
“Come here.”
Yoohan didn’t answer right away. The words “why should I?” curled at the edge of his tongue on reflex. But the fire behind them had already gone out. He was tired. So he turned and crossed the room slowly. He sat on the edge of the bed, on the side opposite Jay. The mattress dipped beneath his weight.
Jay flipped a page in the script resting on his lap. The faint sound of paper slipping under paper was the only thing cutting through the silence. His glasses, still low on his nose, reflected a thin strip of light from the lamp. He hadn’t looked up since Yoohan sat down, but Yoohan could feel it coming.
Then, without lifting his head, Jay muttered, “you moping around the house lately is giving me indigestion.”
The remark came out flat, almost casual. But there was a specific tone behind it, as if the words had been selected from a drawer, labeled “irritating truths.”
Yoohan scoffed. “So what?”
Jay tilted his head, just slightly, looking up at Yoohan over his glasses.
“I feed you,” he said, voice smooth. “I fuck you.”
Then, slowly, he closed the script and set it aside. His hand reached over, unhurried. Two fingers hooked under the towel still loosely wrapped around Yoohan’s waist.
“Do I not fuck you well enough? Is that it?” he asked, almost thoughtfully. His tone was gentle, like a teacher asking if an assignment had been too difficult. Before Yoohan could respond, the towel came undone, falling to the bed in a soft heap. Jay’s fingers curled around Yoohan’s length, lazy and confident.
“Should I fuck you more thoroughly?”
Yoohan’s hand came up automatically, catching Jay’s wrist. The grip was halfhearted, not truly resistant.
“No,” he muttered, irritated. “That isn't necessary.”
Jay hummed, but he didn’t let go. Instead, his grip tightened, slowly and deliberately, and he began to stroke. “Then tell me what it is you want,” he said, eyes still sharp, mirth beginning to gather just behind them.
Yoohan didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he turned his head and looked at him. The gentle curve of Jay’s mouth as it tilted into the beginnings of a smirk, the faint dimples that were just beginning to dent into his cheeks. The way his eyes barely crinkled at the corners with his amusement.
Yoohan could hear the dull thud of his heartbeat in his ears as he responded.
“I want to fuck you.”
Jay stopped moving. The smirk disappeared from his face completely. His eyes widened imperceptibly, but the surprise was visible. And then it passed, wiped clean like chalk from a slate, and the familiar curve of his mouth returned. He leaned in slightly. His face was close enough for Yoohan to feel the breath that came with his words.
“You want to fuck me?” he repeated.
Yoohan nodded once. Jay studied him for a moment longer, and then slowly, his smile spread wider.
“Okay.”
The dimples deepened, and his voice dropped lower.
“Then earn it.”
He leaned back against the headboard again, one arm slung over the pillow, the other resting on the mattress at his side. His gaze locked on Yoohan’s.
“Show me you can handle it,” he said, reaching for the hem of his shirt. He pulled it over his head and let it fall to the floor.
“If I think you can’t…” he let the words hang, his expression neutral but his eyes glinting, “or if I simply get bored, I’ll just take over.”
Jay leaned over the side of the bed without a word, kicking off his underwear in one smooth motion. The drawer slid open with a soft clatter. He tossed the lube to Yoohan without looking, fingers already wrapping around his own length with infuriating calm. Stroking himself slowly, like this was an everyday occurance. Yoohan caught the bottle, the slap of plastic against his palm louder than it should’ve been. His fingers trembled, only slightly. He’d done this before, but not in a long time. And never like this.
He crawled toward Jay, settling between his legs. Jay spread them wider, resting his weight back on one elbow. His eyes were locked onto Yoohan’s face with that same maddening stillness. That calm, indecipherable amusement. Of course he wasn’t nervous. Yoohan wasn’t even sure Jay was capable of that emotion.
Yoohan swallowed thickly and clicked open the bottle, squeezing lube onto his fingers. The gel cooled his skin as he pressed a fingertip against Jay’s entrance. He hesitated for only a moment, then pushed inside. Jay exhaled through his nose. His expression didn’t change.
Yoohan looked up, half-expecting a grimace. But Jay’s lips still curled with that same slight smirk he always held. That same air of condescension, as if he were waiting to be impressed. Yoohan added another finger. Jay’s brow pinched together and his eyelids fluttered, just once, before opening again.
Still, no real reaction. Only a flat murmur, “You’re being so slow,” he paused, then dryly added, “are you waiting until we both grow old to fuck me?”
Yoohan raised an eyebrow, scissoring his fingers, stretching him deliberately wider.
“I’m doing it right,” his voice was dry, his eyes narrowing. “I’m not trying to tear you open.”
Jay let out a low hum, his chest lowering with the sound. Yoohan angled his fingers upward, searching for his prostate. When he found it and pressed against it, Jay exhaled sharply. Yoohan pressed again, harder. The action earned him a longer hum. He then added a third finger, slower, easing it in while still curling upward. He continued to work that same spot, stretching him open all the while, bit by bit.
Jay’s breath grew heavier. The muscles in this thighs tensed and loosened. A faint sheen of sweat began to gather on his forehead, catching on the edges of his hairline and threatening to fall down to his cheek. It was clear that he was enjoying it. But Jay’s hand shot down and grabbed his wrist, halting the motion entirely.
“That’s enough.”
Yoohan paused.
“If you’re just going to keep playing around, then get out.”
Yoohan grit his teeth, barely containing his annoyance. He pulled his fingers out a little too forcefully.
“Fine. But if you get hurt,” he muttered, “don’t complain later.”
His fingers were slick. He wiped them off on the sheet beside Jay’s hip. The fabric darkened with the smear. He reached for the condom with the same hand, tore it open, and rolled it on. He squeezed more lube onto his palm and coated himself with a few brisk strokes. Jay watched his every move, as if assessing him. Grading him. All the while still jerking himself lazily.
Lining himself up, Yoohan hesitated again. The head of his cock pressed against the slick, stretched rim, and for a moment, he just held it there, breathing deep. The heat radiating off Jay’s body was staggering. He pushed in slow, inch by inch. The resistance was maddening, as if Jay’s body was trying to keep him out. Jay’s brows drew together. He let out a quiet grunt, the only indication that he’d felt anything at all. Yoohan exhaled harshly as he finally bottomed out. He stayed there, unmoving, letting himself and Jay adjust.
He didn’t expect it to feel this overwhelming. He hadn’t been inside anyone in a long time. And he sure as hell never thought it’d be Jay Yoon. And yet, here they were.
He leaned forward, brushing their lips together softly. Jay kissed him back easily, parting his lips without resistance. Their tongues brushed together. Yoohan’s hips began to move as they kissed, barely pulling back before pushing in again in shallow thrusts, just trying not to lose it too soon. His body burned. Jay’s mouth was hot, and he tasted like mint and smoke, like he always did. Jay sucked softly on his bottom lip, like he was rewarding him for finally doing what he wanted. Yoohan groaned into his mouth. Then, Jay’s hand slid up, fingers tangling in Yoohan’s hair, tugging firmly. He pulled Yoohan’s head back just enough to meet his eyes.
“Don’t be gentle,” Jay said. His voice was soft, but it still held authority. “Fuck me properly.”
Yoohan didn’t need to be told twice. His next thrust was harder, and the one after that was deeper. The slow grind of earlier turned faster and more precise. He began to fuck Jay like he meant it. Like he needed it. Jay’s grin widened before biting his own lip hard. Yoohan’s moan was raw, like it was pulled from the back of his throat, a sound of pure pleasure.
Jay’s eyes gleamed. “There you go,” he said, his breath ghosting over Yoohan’s jaw. Yoohan kissed his neck, his teeth grazing his skin. His mouth found Jay’s ear, and he bit down harder than intended. Jay let out a hiss between his teeth. Yoohan pulled back, sitting upright now, gripping Jay’s hips tight to control the pace better. The change in angle allowed him to hit his prostate spot-on.
Jay’s reaction was instant. He moaned, a proper moan, loud and uncontained. The sound bounced off the walls of their shared bedroom. His hole tightened, impossibly so, clenching around Yoohan like a vice. Yoohan grit his teeth, barely holding back his own release. His vision blurred at the edges. He forced himself to breathe. He adjusted his grip onto Jay’s thighs and thrusted again. And again. And again.
“Yes,” Jay murmured, his voice becoming a bit unsteady, “Yes, keep going. Just like that.”
And Yoohan kept going. Relentless now, he fucked him like a man possessed. Desperation was leaking into every thrust, desperate to hold off his orgasm, desperate to get Jay there first. He had to keep going.
Jay’s eyes had fluttered shut. His brow was furrowed, his jaw clenched. Yoohan stared at him, almost in awe. His cheeks had flushed now, high with color, and his skin was glowing with sweat. A few drops rolled down from his temples. He looked like he was right on the edge. It suddenly struck Yoohan how composed Jay always was, even during sex. He was always in control. Even when he was fucking him stupid, Jay stayed steady and controlled. He had only seen brief glimpses of vulnerability. A flash, right before the orgasm hit and the mask reset. But it was fleeting, and always gone in a second. Now, Yoohan had a front row seat to something rare. He wanted to see it break completely.
Jay’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Is this what you wanted?” he asked, his voice breathless. “Is this the control you’ve been craving?”
Yoohan didn’t answer. His thoughts had turned to static. Jay reached down and took Yoohan’s hand. Lifted it. Placed it around his own throat.
“Am I giving you enough?”
The pressure of Jay’s pulse hammering beneath his fingers made something snap in Yoohan’s brain. Jay clenched around him again—deliberately.
“Go ahead,” Jay murmured. His eyes were wild now, his grin crooked. “Take it. Take exactly what you need.”
So Yoohan did.
He began fucking him like he’d lose his mind if he stopped. Yoohan’s grip tightened around Jay’s neck, his other hand sliding down to wrap around his cock, stroking him in rhythm with every thrust. In response, Jay’s composure shattered. His smirk fell, and his mouth hung open. His hips jerked up in sync with Yoohan’s strokes. He was panting now, erratically. His eyes became glassy and unfocused.
“Ah,” he moaned, his voice breaking. “Lee Yoohan—”
Jay tensed all over. His cock twitched. Yoohan could feel how close he was. His cock was hot and incredibly stiff, leaking and slick in his grip. Jay’s body was trembling, his hole clenching tighter and tighter. Yoohan squeezed his throat again. Jay’s eyes rolled back, his head tipping back against the pillows. And then he came.
His body arched upward off the mattress. His face crumpled, his eyebrows pulling together while his jaw hung slack. His expression cracked wide open, almost like he might cry. The raw pleasure contorted his every feature. “Ah—haa—fuck—ha—hahh—” Jay moaned out with each pulse of his orgasm. His hips jerked upward, his cock twitching wildly as it spurted between them, coating Yoohan’s fingers and his own stomach. His hole rhythmically spasmed around Yoohan like it was trying to milk him dry. Yoohan fucked him through it, his thrusts growing erratic. He grunted through clenched teeth, the spasming tightness becoming too much. Yoohan’s orgasm was forced out of him, and he spilled into the condom with a low groan. His thrusts grew shallow, and then he stilled.
He stayed like that for several moments. Still buried deep, holding Jay’s neck, though his grip had loosened now. He listened to both of their ragged breathing. His forehead rested against Jay’s collarbone.
Jay dragged his fingers slowly up Yoohan’s spine. A featherlight touch, but steady.
“Feel better now that you’ve let that out?” he asked. “Feels amazing, doesn’t it?” His voice was teasing now. “Taking over like that.”
Yes. He did feel better.
He had forgotten how good it felt to give. To be the one doing the wrecking. The one in control. Not the one clawing at the sheets, gasping for breath, aching with need. But the one driving it. Delivering it. And it wasn’t just the act itself, but who it had been with. The way Jay had unraveled beneath him. Twitching, moaning. Hands spasming, body tightening. The look on his face, unguarded and open and wrecked. Yoohan had never seen it that clearly before. It had knocked the air out of him.
Yoohan scoffed. “I could say the same for you,” he muttered, leaning back. “The way you were moaning and your eyes rolled back, I thought you might pass out.”
He sat up. Jay’s body shifted underneath him with a small grunt as Yoohan began to pull out.
“Yes,” he said smoothly. “That was definitely one of the best orgasms I’ve ever had.” A pause. “I certainly wouldn’t mind doing that again.”
Yoohan didn’t reply. He slid off the bed and reached for the discarded condom and wrapper, tying it off neatly. He turned back to Jay with an unimpressed look.
Jay leaned back on his elbows, smirk still intact. Not a trace of shame on his face. He stood, completely unconcerned with his nudity, and padded toward the bathroom.
Yoohan followed, mostly because he had to enter the bathroom to throw out the condom. But once he saw Jay step under the water, he hesitated. The steam billowed out, warm and inviting. He stepped in after him.
Jay silently reached for the body wash, lathered it into his hands, and began scrubbing Yoohan’s chest. Yoohan let him do it. His movements were soothing, and he closed his eyes. The spray of the water dulled his thoughts. His breathing slowed.
He opened his eyes again as Jay turned him around, beginning to wash his back. He suddenly felt compelled to say something to break the silence.
“I didn’t think you’d say yes to that so easily,” he said finally, staring at the tile wall.
“You didn’t ask,” Jay replied, “you just stated that you wanted to fuck me.”
Yoohan clenched his jaw. “You know what I meant.”
Jay, now finished scrubbing, nudged him beneath the spray and began rinsing him off.
“I already told you,” he said. “I don’t mind being the bottom, if it’s what you need.”
Yoohan watched the soap trail down his chest, disappearing into the drain.
Jay continued. “But don’t expect me to do it every time. I like making you fall apart underneath me too much for that.”
Yoohan didn’t answer, but the heat blooming across his cheeks gave him away. Jay shut off the water. He stepped out first, grabbing two towels. He tied one loosely around his hips before moving to dry Yoohan off with the other. But before he could press the towel against his skin, Yoohan snatched it from his hands with a huff. Jay blinked, amused.
“I can do it myself.”
“Sure,” Jay said easily, unfazed by his antics.
Yoohan stepped out of the bathroom a few moments later, towel draped low around his hips. Jay followed silently, stopping just behind him. Yoohan felt the warmth of him on his back before he heard his voice.
“Next time,” Jay’s lips brushed the shell of his ear. Then he licked just behind it, his warm tongue dragging on Yoohan’s skin as he continued, “you should try tying me up.”
Yoohan froze. His fingers tightened around the edge of the towel. Jay walked off into the bedroom. Yoohan didn’t need to see his face to know the maniacal smirk that had no doubt spread across his lips.
“Fucking psychopath.”