Chapter Text
_____ . ⋆ 𓁢 ⋆ . _____
Seongje slams the garage door shut behind him, blinking back the sting in his eyes. He pulls out a cigarette and fumbles with the lighter. Three tries before it catches. He drags in a shaky inhale.
That was all it took, huh? Baekjin had one talk with his shitty ex – who’d ignored, insulted, and fucking hated him for years – and suddenly Seongje was worth less than chopped liver.
Fuck all of his years of service. Every task, from petty errands to mountains of paperwork to stalking Baku. Every late night in the office. Every meal they split. Every joke cracked and complaint shared.
None of it had meant a damn thing.
Baekjin’s face hadn’t even twitched when he accused him. When Seongje stood to leave, he almost imagined a flicker of doubt there. Some stupid little part of him had thought Baekjin might take it back, or at least say, Wait.
But he just let Seongje walk – no, limp out. On the foot he got stabbed through, for Baekjin, that he hadn’t even bothered to ask about.
Fucking asshole.
Baekjin’s impassive face swims behind his eyes. Seongje squeezes them shut, then swipes at his face roughly. Taking out his broken glasses, he digs through his pockets for something to wipe the already clean lens with – an old, nervous habit.
His fingers catch on the familiar cloth he carries everywhere.
He pulls it out.
The bright orange catches the light, and the memory rises with it.
- - -
It was a late night in the office almost a year ago. Baekjin had called him in to help finish work for Choi. Seongje’s mouth ran even as his heart leapt.
“Do I get paid overtime for this? I know you know the labor laws like the back of your hand.”
“No. You get paid by doing something productive.”
“Ugh, at least buy me a treat or something. Don’t you think I deserve it?”
“We’ll order takeout. No treats.”
“You just want my company, don’t you? Aww Baekjin, I knew you had a soft spot for me.”
Baekjin ignored that one, but Seongje saw how the corners of his mouth tugged up.
Seongje never really minded the work sessions with the Union leader. Sure, he preferred chaos, fun, excitement. But that was only because he’d never known what to do with peace and quiet. He preferred to just go, go, go.
Calm meant slowing down, meant taking in the moment, meant thinking about the future. And there was never anything there for him.
But with Baekjin…calm didn’t feel so bad.
That night, after eating the promised takeout while Seongje rambled about a new game he bought and Baekjin listened, they finally got to work.
Baekjin hunched over his desk, immediately zoned into his half of the ledgers. Seongje sprawled on the couch, staring at the enormous stack on the glass table in front of him, wondering how much he was willing to put up with just to be near this guy.
The answer was a lot.
With a sigh, he reached for his glasses. He’d just gotten a fresh pair after the last one broke in a fight, but they were already smudged from jostling around in his pockets all day.
He lifted the nylon edge of his windbreaker. Right before he could wipe the lens and begin the gradual process of scratching them up, Baekjin cleared his throat.
Seongje looked up and caught the object Baekjin tossed at him.
“What’s this?” Seongje asked as he held it up.
It was a slim, understated sheath of metal, cool to the touch. The silver surface was smooth, with a quiet, matte sheen that caught light in soft, disciplined lines. There was no hinge – instead one end was left cleanly open, forming a neat mouth.
A glasses case.
Seongje tipped it to the side and a soft cloth slid out – traffic-cone orange, the obnoxious neon shade Seongje loved.
He blinked. Looked at Baekjin.
“Did you buy this for me?”
Baekjin just shrugged and leaned back in his chair, watching him. Seongje looked back down, processing.
It was a gift.
For him.
Baekjin had gotten him a gift.
Seongje hoped the fluorescent lights didn’t highlight the heat in his cheeks. He laughed loudly just in case. “What is this, an early Christmas gift? You really do care about me! Or are you just sick of how I mess up paperwork when my glasses are scratched?”
Baekjin snorted and said, “Maybe.”
Soengje’s heart skipped a beat. Maybe to which one?
But Baekjin was already back to work, eyes focused on the papers in front of him. Like he hadn’t just nudged the axis of Seongje’s entire world a few degrees.
Carefully, gently, Seongje wiped his glasses with the cloth and slid them on. The lenses were crystal clear, every detail of the office visible in sharp clarity.
He peeked at Baekjin.
In quiet moments like this, he was always reminded of Greek sculptures from history class – flawless and distant, like something carved from marble.
Baekjin’s loose hair hung over pretty eyes, softening the razor sharpness of his figure. The strong line of his jaw. The cut of his cheekbones. The cupid's bow of his plush lips, the broad curve of his shoulders. Even the flex of his wrist as he scribbled across the paper in neat handwriting was mesmerizing.
Seongje let himself indulge for another second, burning the image into his mind, then turned back before Baekjin could notice.
With a smile he couldn’t seem to get rid of, Seongje got to work.
- - -
Seongje blinks the memory away, chest tight. With a scoff, he lets the cloth fall to the ground, then stomps on it with his uninjured foot, grinding it into the dirt.
Fine. See how long he lasts without Seongje there.
He limps off into the night.
_____
Seongje sleeps in the gym’s storage room at Kanghak that night.
If Baekjin hadn’t been at the warehouse, he would have slept in the loft. Most of his stuff was there. Baekjin had told him to use it ages ago, after finding Seongje knocked out on the office couch more than once.
He could go home, technically. But a warm bed and privacy aren’t worth being trapped with his parents. So he curls up on one of the plastic mats instead, using his windbreaker as a blanket.
He has a nightmare that Baekjin kicks him out of the Union for being a rat. With Baku at his side, Baekjin announces Seongje as a traitorous enemy, and then he’s hunted through a forest by Baku dressed in that ridiculous woodcutter outfit. A sharp root from a tree that looks suspiciously like Newbie stabs him through the foot, sending him to his knees. The last thing he sees is Baku winking at him and swinging an ax at his head.
When Seongje wakes to his foot throbbing painfully, he wonders if Baekjin’s plan worked this time.
He swipes open the burner phone and scrolls through the camera activity feed. One preview shows Baku’s face in the thumbnail.
Seongje’s stomach turns, but he hits play.
He watches Baku stomp down the hall, looking more and more pissed with each step toward the main alley.
There, Baekjin, Dongha, and Seongmok sit in their usual spots. One empty seat separates the pair from Baekjin.
Seongje’s seat.
“Good job, Baku,” Baekjin says. Seongje grips the phone so tightly it creaks.
Baku’s face somehow gets even angrier, his mouth snapping open – something vicious clearly primed – but Seongje swipes out of the video before he hears it.
He isn’t sure which is worse: that Baekjin could believe he would snitch, or that he helped this whole thing happen when he beat up Eunjang so Baekjin could get Baku back.
All these years, he’d always helped Baekjin chase down the one person he wanted, no matter how much it hurt his heart. Pathetically hoping Baekjin might notice who was right by his side instead.
But Baekjin never saw him. Not really.
And now Seongje finally understands exactly how little he meant.
His eyes burn. He rubs them roughly.
Fuck Baekjin.
“Fuck Baekjin,” he says aloud, just to affirm the sentiment.
Seongje attends the first half of his classes, completely out of it. Then eats at a cafe and catches some action film. Once it’s over, he immediately sets out in the direction of the bowling alley – before he stops himself, cursing.
With nothing else to do, he wanders around, then holes up at a gaming cafe for a few hours. On his way out, he’s blessed to run across a group of boys harassing an old woman selling gimbap. He beats the shit out of them easily, even with his bum foot. Some of the tension in him drains while he stands over their pained figures rolling on the ground.
“Fuck Baekjin,” he says to them.
The grandma thanks him profusely. She says something about helping Seongje too and presses a few gimbap rolls into his hands. Seongje bows awkwardly, grateful for the free food, then limps off.
The next few days are the same: school, wandering, gaming, picking fights, sleeping in the storage room.
No contact from Baekjin.
One night, the school is locked. With nowhere else to go, he checks the warehouse cameras.
Empty. He heads over.
He disables the perimeter cameras before rounding the block – no need to alert Baekjin.
Inside, he turns them back on. Then, before he can stop himself, he opens the feed to the bowling alley office.
He knows Baekjin’s schedule like the back of his hand: school, then cram school Sundays through Thursdays, and rounds at the Union sites every evening. Always ending the night at the alley – except for the first Saturday of every month, when he visits the orphanage.
Sure enough, there he is, sitting in his usual seat at the desk. He’s alone, working on one ledger from a giant stack. The feed is a little grainy, but Seongje doesn’t need HD – not when he remembers in perfect detail.
Seongje stares for a while, heart aching.
How can he just go on like that? Like nothing has changed at all.
“Fuck Baekjin.” He whispers to himself.
He swallows the raw feeling bubbling in his chest, climbs up to the loft, pops his pain meds, and falls asleep.
_____ . ₊ 𓆙 ₊ . _____
Baekjin sighs and puts his pen down. At last, he’s finished all of today’s work. It’s nearly early morning now, far later than it would normally take. Normally, he would have…
His eyes drift to the empty couch. The office is eerie like this, quiet and empty.
He pulls open the top drawer in his desk and takes out a metal glasses case. Seongje always leaves it behind, instead handing his glasses to someone else or getting them smashed. He’s reminded Seongje too many times to count.
Tipping it to the light reveals that it’s empty. Where’s the cloth?
He puts it down and grabs his phone, opening his chat with Seongje. His fingers hover over the keyboard.
Where are you
Baekjin deletes it.
You know you don’t get PTO, right?
No.
Are you okay? How’s your foot?
Too little, too late.
I’m sorry. I know it wasn’t you. Come back.
Baekjin shuts off the phone without sending anything. With another sigh, he stands up and heads to the bathroom at the back of the alley.
Standing under the hot water, his mind wanders over how things got like this, drifting back to that night.
- - -
He’d already been on his way to the station to check on Seongje. Seongje had never been caught before, and Baekjin couldn’t help the worry that bubbled up in him.
And some part of him was excited to tell Seongje that Baku had finally agreed to join the Union. He’d been helping Baekjin chase him long enough.
Then his phone rang again.
Choi.
Baekjin hadn’t even said hello before Choi started shouting – ranting about a rat in their ranks, someone feeding information to the police right that minute. Accusing Baekjin of letting a Union boy slip.
Baekjin’s happiness evaporated instantly. Fear surged up, old and familiar, twisting his thoughts into sharp, panicked certainty.
There was only one person it could be.
By the time he found Seongje, anger and paranoia had burned everything else away.
And when Seongje’s face lit up at the sight of him, it only made everything worse. Baekjin didn’t say a word on the walk to the warehouse. Just stayed a step ahead while Seongje limped behind him, chattering away like nothing was wrong. Like Baekjin didn’t already know.
Then came the accusation.
Seongje’s face froze.
Then crumpled.
That raw hurt. That disbelief. That anger. It hit Baekjin harder than he expected. He’d never seen that look on the other who was always grinning, always loud, always there.
Baekjin began to doubt himself.
But he said nothing as Seongje left. The door slammed so hard he could feel the vibrations through the floor.
He meant to look into it the next day. But when he got to the alley, Choi was waiting for him.
Baekjin didn’t flinch when Choi threw the bowling ball at his head – even though his gut twisted with anger at the sight of his boys beaten and kneeling. He didn’t react as he was dragged into the office and reminded casually how disposable he was. The threats were familiar. The fear was older than the Union, older than Cheongang.
But then Choi said “Geum...Seongje, was it?”, something cold settled in Baekjin’s chest.
The only thing that kept him steady was the relief that Seongje wasn’t there right then.
Baekjin wanted to investigate. To slow down, find out how this happened.
He couldn’t.
Seongje’s workload had collapsed onto him, his own responsibilities doubling on top of that, trying to appease Choi. The next few days were a blur. Baekjin couldn’t even bring himself to be happy that Baku was back.
That evening, Choi called again.
No apology. Just an update: Some newbie on Choi’s side had been arrested at the station at the same time. He’d recognized Seongje being brought in and started talking – Union, Cheongang, anything he thought might save himself. When he was released, he told Choi that Seongje did it.
“Lay off the extra work,” Choi said, like it was nothing. Like Baekjin didn’t spend every minute of the last week wide awake, working desperately.
Then the line went dead.
Baekjin stood there for a long time after, phone pressed to his ear.
Eventually, he went outside. Walked without thinking until the sound of the city thinned.
Near the station, a halmeoni was selling homemade gimbap. Something about her – the careful way she arranged the rolls, the calm steadiness of her movements – reminded him of the kind nun from the orphanage.
He bought one roll.
She added another anyway, pressing it into his hands with a smile too warm, gushing about how handsome he was and something about understanding now that she saw him.
Baekjin bowed deeply, over and over, his face burning, not entirely sure what she meant. He couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes.
The gimbap sat heavy in his stomach on the walk back. He barely tasted it.
Back in the office, he pulled up Seongje’s contact. Hovered over the call button. Typed out messages. Deleted them.
Checked the cameras.
Nothing.
The next day was no different. Classes, cram school, Union work, even when he was talking to Baku, his eyes kept drifting back to his phone. To Seongje’s name.
Every message he wrote sounded stupid. Every silence felt worse.
How could he even explain himself? That no matter how much time passed, how much he accomplished, one snap from Choi still sent him back to being that scared, powerless orphan with nothing in the world. That when Choi said jump, Baekjin still asked how high?
He was the one who didn’t deserve Seongje’s trust.
- - -
Baekjin sighs. He steps out of the shower, gets dressed, and heads back to the office, scrubbing his hair roughly with a towel. He reaches for his phone –
– and stops.
There’s a brown cardboard box sitting squarely in the center of his desk.
That wasn’t there before.
Everyone else had gone home hours ago, and Baekjin’d only been in the shower for ten minutes.
He checks his phone. No notifications. No sign of anyone entering or leaving. The only other person who has access, who could sneak in if they wanted, is Seongje.
And Choi.
A chill runs down his spine.
He drops the towel over the back of his chair and grabs the box cutter. With a careful breath, he slices through the tape.
Inside is another box. Sleek, black metal, the edges adorned swirling golden filigree. The latch hangs open.
Baekjin lifts it out to inspect. It’s heavy, well made and obviously expensive – is that real gold? – but there are no distinct logos or manufacturing information on it. Oddly, he thinks he catches a whiff of sesame oil. He sets it back down, removes the lock, opens the lid slowly.
He peers inside.
Nestled into an indent at the center of the box is an unassuming cylinder.
Baekjin frowns, then pulls it out, turning it over.
It’s entirely average looking, contrasting the box that held it. It’s colored a slightly tan beige. About half the length of his forearm and small enough that he can wrap his hand around it. It’s firm yet soft, and has some give to it – he could squeeze it in his fist like a stress ball.
One end is smoothly sealed. The other end has a small opening, a dusky red color, tight and furled.
He squints at it. It’s almost like a…
Oh.
Baekjin drops it like it bit him. It rolls back into its place, sitting there innocently.
But it’s not innocent, not in the slightest.
His face burns. He shuts the container quickly.
Definitely not from Choi. The thought actually makes him gag a little.
What kind of prank is this?
He knows Seongje is mad at him, but why would he give him something like this?
His head snaps towards the cameras.
…Is he watching?
His ears go hot. Grabbing the box, Baekjin storms toward the door with every intention of throwing it straight into the dumpster –
And somehow, an hour later, it’s hidden in his desk instead.
After searching the entire building for anywhere Seongje could be hiding, Baekjin gave up and came back to the office. He half expected the lanky youth to pop out when he opened the door, grinning and teasing him about that thing. But Seongje was nowhere to be found.
It didn’t make sense anyways. As unpredictable as Seongje came off to most, this was…something else. And rather than suspecting it was him, maybe Baekjin had been hoping it was, that he was here, even for something stupid like this.
The paperwork in front of him blurs.
Fuck, he can’t concentrate. His mind keeps wandering, all thoughts eventually trailing back to the box. He’s never this distracted, not usually.
How the hell did it get here? Who would use such a thing? It's disgusting, frankly.
Rocking back in his chair, Baekjin finally snatches his phone up and turns off the camera in the office. For safe measure, he ties some cloth over the lens. Then he double checks all the locks to the building and locks the office door too. Does a deep search to make sure there's no hidden cameras in the room.
Feeling more secure, he cautiously opens the box again. Part of him is starting to think he dreamt it.
But it’s still there.
Just…sitting. It's practically mocking him.
He picks it up, examining it closer. His cheeks flush at the sight of the tight little entrance. The fleshy material around it curves out in two parts from a faint crease down the middle. For a manmade object, it’s surprisingly realistic looking.
He swallows. Could he even fit in there?
No, he's not thinking that. It's just...professional curiosity. He really meant to throw the thing away. He doesn’t even know where it came from.
And he’s just been so stressed about…well, everything. He hasn’t been sleeping or eating well. Relaxation is an ancient memory. He hasn’t even jerked off in…he can’t recall how long.
Then his eyes catch on something he didn’t see before. On the open lid of the box, there’s an inscription engraved in gold:
To rekindle what is lost.
Baekjin mouths the words as he reads them. The air around him seems to shift. The room feels a degree warmer.
What in the world?
He looks at the toy. Puts it down, then picks it up, then puts it down again.
Then picks it up once more.
Is he really going to do this?
A glance confirms the camera it’s still covered.
He’ll be quick. Just relieve a little tension. Then put it back and get rid of the whole damn package.
He heads to the kitchenette. Taking out a pot, he boils some water and dunks the toy in it. It seemed brand new, but he’s not stupid enough to stick his cock in there without some precaution.
Once he’s satisfied that it’s sterile, he pours the water down the drain, pats the toy dry, and locks himself back in his office. Sits in his chair and places the toy in front of him, with a bottle of lotion next to it.
After another minute of internal arguing, he picks up the toy. It’s still warm from the boiling.
He prods at the puckered hole. It’s soft, but there’s a band of something firm underneath. Resistant. He circles it with his thumb, then presses in.
With a little push, the ring gives. The tip of his thumb sinks in and the entrance closes around the first knuckle tightly. His hips twitch despite himself.
“Shit…”
He wiggles his fingertip, then uses both thumbs to pry it open an inch so he can peer inside, angling it towards the light. The interior is a deep reddish-pink, darker than the outside. Textured ridges catch the light, interrupted by shallow, undulating dips.
Popping his thumbs out, he presses his hand over the bulge in his pants. He’s already getting hard. He hasn’t even done anything but fondle a toy.
If Seongje ever found out about this, he’d never hear the end of it. But the thought doesn’t slow him.
He quickly unzips his pants and pulls himself out. A pump of lotion, and he’s groaning softly as he wraps a hand around himself and squeezes. It really has been too long.
It only takes a few strokes until he’s fully hard, his thick length jutting up proudly in the air. Eagerly, he grabs the toy and rubs the entrance over his leaking head, smearing precome and lotion on it.
With a gasp, his hips thrust up, the head catching on the rim before slipping over it. He does it again. And again. Then drags the toy slowly up and down the underside of his cock.
“Fuck, yes.” He hisses, hips hanging off the edge of the chair.
Enough teasing. He positions the toy over himself and pushes in. The hole yields slightly under pressure, but doesn’t open. Frowning, he pushes harder, and the resistance grows.
Shit, okay. He’s never heard of fingering a fleshlight open, but he doesn’t want to damage it.
Not that he’ll be using it again. He just doesn’t like to break things.
He flips the toy over, shoves the thin nozzle of the lotion bottle into the hole, and pumps a few times. Taps it against the desk to help the lube sink deep.
Then he presses his index finger to the hole, and pushes into the last knuckle.
Baekjin sucks in a breath. It's gripping his finger like a vice.
He explores the inside, noting how the detailed texture continues deep inside. And it’s still hot. Is that from the boil? How is it retaining so much heat?
He pumps a few times, then pulls out and presses back in with two fingers, working past the taut edge. When the rim catches on his wide knuckles, he shoves – they pop through and sink to the base.
The inner walls cling to his digits, molding around them. His cock twitches, still fully hard.
He pulls his fingers halfway out then thrusts back in. Again, then again, faster and harder. Trying to loosen the toy more, he twists his fingers roughly. Spreading, scissoring, pumping. Obscene, wet squelches echo in the empty office.
The rim opens up, gripping his fingers on every withdrawal and giving with the force of every drive in. It’s entrancing. The wrinkles are smoothed, the edges stretched and shiny. It looks puffier now – maybe even redder, like it’s flushing and swelling under his attention. It feels like it’s clenching around him, sucking him deeper.
He must be imagining it. Blood isn’t flowing through his head very well right now.
He adds a third finger. Squeezes it in. Drives all three deep, pressing into the warm, wet walls, watching how the toy wraps around his knuckles.
Without realizing it, his mind has already started to wander.
Imagining in place of the toy, someone beneath him. Writhing. Twitching at every thrust of his hand. Whining for him to hurry up and just fuck them already. Teasing him in a breathless voice – thought you liked getting right to business, Baekjin. Grunting at the stretch when he tucks his pinky in too and pushes all into the base, their rim spasming to accommodate, slick lotion spilling out between his digits, just like that.
Fuck, he can’t wait any more.
He already feels like he’s going to come and he hasn’t even done anything yet. With a slick pop, he yanks his fingers out and strokes himself a few times to refresh the wet sheen, then positions the toy over his aching cock.
The hole is gaping slightly now, shiny and dripping. His hand trembles with anticipation, the motion making the hole twitch like it’s alive.
He notches his cockhead into the entrance, then pulls it down. The toy stretches wide, the wrinkled rim yielding with a wet, sucking resistance that swallows around the head. The velvet-soft kiss of it sends sparks of heat racing up his spine, drawing a sound from him.
“Fuuuck.” He groans loudly, raw and guttural in the empty office. How is it so tight and hot?
He takes a deep shuddering breath.
Then he slams into the base.
_____ . ⋆ 𓁢 ⋆ . _____
Seongje was having the most embarrassing, wonderful dream.
Lying in a soft bed, cuddled up against someone warm and solid. Tender kisses between them, growing more and more heated. Gentle touches turning to hungry groping – hands squeezing his ass, Seongje grinding his cock on their hip with enthusiasm.
Then fingers slipping under his waistband. Exploring. Pressing between his cheeks, massaging his hole. Seongje pushes back into the touch, moaning. The figure chuckles, deep and familiar, then rumbles his name against his neck:
Seongje.
The figure keeps teasing Seongje, dipping in and out of him. Seongje sighs and begs, and they comply, pushing inside. They finger him with growing urgency, kissing him sloppily at the same time. Their tongue sweeps into his mouth, all slick and hungry, while they stretch him open, adding more fingers before he can adjust. It aches and Seongje whines at the burn.
Then they press their clothed cock to his bare one, grinding them together. The ache melts into full-body heat. Seongje ruts back eagerly, the pain mixing with the electric pleasure.
They push in another finger, twisting, and Seongje moans at how wide and full he is.
His hips move faster against theirs – body winding tighter and tighter – the heavy anticipation of snapping into pure bliss building –
Then it’s gone.
The fingers pull away and he’s empty.
Seongje opens his eyes blearily, blinking at the dark room. Moonlight filters in from the tiny window. He’s on his stomach, cock hard and grinding into the bed. Heat curls in his belly. There’s a strange feeling in his ass, a throbbing ache that isn’t entirely unpleasant.
Only half awake, he humps into the mattress and reaches between his legs, about to finish himself off –
Something hot and blunt presses against his hole.
Seongje sighs. “Mm, yeah…”
Eyes slipping shut, he arches his back and pushes into the pressure. It obliges, sinking in and stretching him slowly. The friction of the heated flesh over his sensitive rim is heavenly. He moans, squeezing down around the head.
Still dreaming, he thinks fuzzily, this is ni –
The cock slams in without warning.
Seongje’s shriek echoes off the walls. His hips buck off the futon, a strangled cry escaping as pleasure-pain whites out his vision. His cock spurts untouched into his boxers, thick cum soaking the front as his hole spasms wildly around the intrusion.
Seongje shakes there for a second, the flood of dopamine from orgasming whiting out his senses. Panic cuts through the haze.
“Wh-what – fuck, ha, no – wait –”
Words come out in stuttering gasps. Something huge, bigger than he’s ever taken is lodged inside him. He can feel hips pressing against his ass, the intruder buried to the hilt.
He scrambles forward on the futon, but they follow him without budging. Frantic, he reaches back to push them off –
His hand swipes through empty air.
His stomach drops.
“W-what?”
Twisting around, eyes wide, he stares at the empty space behind him.
That can't be!
He must be dreaming. He has to be. There’s no other explanation.
But all his senses scream otherwise.
He can feel it – thick and hot and hard, every throbbing vein and ridge inside him, scraping his raw nerves, just sitting there in Seongje’s body like it belongs. It’s pulsing rapidly, a searing heat deep inside. His rim clenches helplessly, ass squeezing around the length like it doesn’t know whether to keep it or push it out.
He sucks in deep breaths, trying to calm down. It takes a minute. The entire time, the thing doesn’t move, just stays in him.
He shoves his pajamas off and reaches back to investigate.
He’s…wet. Really wet. There’s a slick mess between his cheeks. His fingers dip farther in, touching against the rim of his asshole, and –
Seongje chokes on a sob.
His entrance is stretched taut around a large cock, the velvety flesh unmistakable under his fingers. Below it, the weight of heavy balls rests against his perineum. He can feel muscular hips pressed to his ass –
– but when his fingers trace upward, the body vanishes into air.
Before he can process any of it, the length begins to move.
“No! No, don’t!”
It ignores him.
Slowly, it drags out inch by inch, rubbing over his sensitive walls and twitching rim. Seongje’s eyelids flutter, a low whine escaping him.
“Ah…ha…w-wait…oh…”
Then it pops out of him, and his hole goes lax, still open, something thick and slick trickling down his thighs.
Seongje exhales with a shudder, slumping with relief. Light aftershocks from his orgasm and the ache of the stretch throb through him. A few seconds pass as he gathers himself together. He pulls himself up. Blindly gropes for his phone –
Then freezes when pressure taps his hole again.
His eyes widen, “No –”
The phantom cock slams back inside.
His mouth stretches in a soundless shout, his eyes rolling back as it spears into him. It reaches so far inside that it punches the air from his lungs.
This time it doesn’t pause.
It fucks him.
With smooth motion, it pulls out and rams back in. Merciless, rough, fast. Again, then again, it pounds into him with a brutal pace.
Seongje collapses forward, wailing. His legs kick wildly and fists twist in the sheets. He bites the pillow to muffle his sounds, drooling into it as he’s pounded into the mattress.
The phantom’s cockhead rams into his prostate on every thrust – not precisely, it’s just so big it can’t miss. Each drive hammers the poor gland and crushes every other untouched nerve along his walls, tenderizing him from the inside out. Overwhelming pleasure clashes with the panicked confusion.
His vision swims. His mind numbs. Thoughts form halfway and dissolve before he can register them.
“Ah, ungh – hah, s-slow – f-fuck!”
Somehow, along with the punched out noises from Seongje’s throat, he’s hearing wet slaps echo off the walls, the obscene squelches of his hole being driven open, and deep, breahty grunts in his ear.
But he can’t focus.
Not when he’s being destroyed so thoroughly. Taken apart until there’s nothing left but sensation and instinct and need.
His cock hardened again somewhere along the way. Without his say, his hips start rocking, rutting into the futon. That tight, unbearable tension is building again, that coil of pleasure.
He lifts his head, gasping for breath, then sobs into the heavy air.
“Ungh…uh! Ha! Oh – y-yeah…”
He doesn't know what’s going on but he does understand this. One hand drops to grasp at his cock. Cum from his earlier release slicks the way. He jerks himself fast, moaning breathily.
“Ah – fuck…yes –”
This has got to be the most insane sex dream slash hallucination he’s ever had.
“Yeah! I’m – I'm gonna –ah!”
The phantom seems to hear him. It slams in harder, faster. Seongje bucks into it, his walls clenching desperately, hand moving in tandem.
One deep thrust punches into him – Seongje jerks faster – another rough slam, slapping loudly – he twists his hand on his hot cock and –
His brain whites out.
“Ah – fuck!!”
With a shout, he’s coming into the mattress, body writhing, hand still pumping.
The huge length drives into his spasming hole a few more time, then shoves in to the hilt and stills. Seongje gasps as liquid heat spills into him – thick, hot spurts pumping deep into his guts.
He groans, squeezing the head of his cock tightly as the last of his release dribbles over his fist. His body trembles. His eyes roll back, chest heaving as his brain sputters.
He doesn’t know how long he lays there, boneless and dazed and impaled. He can hear panting in his ear, then another groan. It sounds oddly like the one in his dream.
Slowly, the cock drags free – and then it’s gone. Seongje’s pummeled hole gapes in the air, wet and ruined.
“W-what the fuck…”
Seongje whispers to no one, then closes his eyes and promptly passes out.
_____ . ₊ 𓆙 ₊ . _____
Fuck, that was fucking amazing.
Baekjin slumps back in his chair, panting heavily. He feels like he just ran a marathon, his muscles strung out and useless. Bliss buzzes under his skin. His vision is actually hazy.
This is exactly what he needed. All the tension’s gone. His brain feels loose, quiet. Finally.
It was way better than just jerking off. He’d come twice – the first almost immediately when the hot, wet walls enveloped him, then again when he realized he was still hard. The second round was phenomenal, lasting far longer and draining the stress out of him.
The weird thing is, he could’ve sworn the toy squeezed back, not just from the pressure of his fist. And it stayed hot too – warmed by his own body heat, maybe? But it felt alive.
He was probably immersed in the fantasy.
He kept his eyes shut the entire time, the image of someone riding him burned bright behind his lids – floppy brown hair, flushed cheeks, kissing him with every bounce. And lower…
What did it look like, anyway? The cock in the fantasy. He hadn’t filled that in yet. Maybe it didn’t matter. The expression on their face was what stayed with him.
Love and pure pleasure written all over it. Round, pretty eyes, crinkling with his smirk that screamed mischief, a breathy laugh and soft moans, a slender neck with a prominent Adam’s apple bobbing with each noise, and a little scar on his right cheek, and a mole under…
Oh.
“Oh…fuck.” Baekjin groans as the face he was imagining blazes clearly in his mind.
No.
No way.
Had he really been imagining…Seongje?
Somehow, in the heat of everything, that’s who his mind pulled up.
Fuck, this is a new low, even for him. All the harassing and blackmail and violence and laundering – that’s part of his job description. Baekjin hadn’t hated himself for that in a long time.
But this? Seongje was one of his…friends. Right? They were friends. They hung out almost every night, they talked and laughed together, no one got on his nerves the way he did, and they had great team work. Baekjin trusted no one else to watch his back the way he did Seongje, in a fight or otherwise.
He shouldn't be using one of his friends as jerk off material. That was the point. It was wrong. This was...wrong.
Seongje meant something to Baekjin. Really meant something. But not this.
He wasn’t attracted to him.
Was he?
He can’t think about this right now. Not on top of everything else.
If this gets out, he’s going to have to kill everyone who ever looked him in the eye.
His cock is still out, limp now, slick with lotion and his own cum. The toy lays on the desk, the hole stretched and shining. As he watches through half lidded eyes, it seems to twitch, then dribbles out a slow spill of cum.
“Fuck…” Baekjin sighs. He’s still imagining things.
When he can move again, he grabs some wet wipes and cleans himself off. Then wipes down the chair and desk. Takes the toy to the bathroom and cleans it out.
He tucks it away in its box, shuts off the light, and collapses on the couch.
Sleep takes him instantly.
_____ . ⋆ 𓁢 ⋆ . ____
Seongje wakes up after the most satisfying sleep he’s managed to get in the last week. His muscles feel loose, his body completely relaxed.
The sky outside is bright blue. Sunlight streams through the window. It’s got to be close to noon. He yawns, stretching –
Then gasps when a throb shoots up his spine.
“Fuck!” He hisses, one hand flying to his lower back. What the hell…
Seongje sits up slowly, wincing. He’s naked and his pajamas are flung on the floor. Under him is a damp spot, nearly dry, but undeniably there. And his ass…
He reaches back with tentative fingers, dipping between his cheeks to poke around. His rim is puffy and the muscles softened.
“Fuck. No fucking way.”
He’s not a virgin. He knows what it feels like to be fucked, and he was definitely fucked last night.
Before panic can rise in him, he snatches his phone and checks it. No activity from the feeds and not a second when the cameras were turned off.
What the fuck? No one’s been in or out. He’d locked the warehouse down anyways, and the chances of someone being able to sneak up on him without him even waking up are practically none, so how…what…
Memories from last night flash through his mind.
That was a dream though. A crazy, intense, hot dream. Right?
Then he remembers turning around. Seeing nothing there at all.
Seongje thinks one more time, as though he can pull up a different version of events from his brain’s files, but the memories are the same. A tangible but invisible presence, packing something way too big between it's legs, had broken his long celibacy last night.
Ah, fuck.
They always did call him mad.
But just in case he isn't, he googles it.
assaulted by invisible dick at night reasons
The search pulls up some forums on sleep paralysis and hallucinations, but none of it matches up with his experience. The rest of the results are porn.
Ghost fucks the shit out of MILF!
Invisible poltergeist wrecks twinks ass with giant cock!
Paranormal Sexy Times 3!
He hesitates. Then clicks a few.
For research.
Watching the porn stars writhe and moan under invisible weight makes heat rise to his cheeks. His cock twitches.
He bookmarks then closes the tabs quickly, then tries again.
assaulted by invisible dick at night reasons reddit
Nothing. ChatGPT tells him to seek help and then says it cannot engage in explicit content.
Seongje’s not superstitious. But what else could it be? He doesn’t feel sick. He’s not still dreaming.
And he touched it with his own hand. The oddly warm presence of it, like the heat of a body. His fingers traced its skin, felt the muscles beneath it.
He touches his rim again, gently prodding at it. He’s sore, but not too bad. He can tell he was loosened before getting railed, otherwise he wouldn’t even be sitting up. Already, the ache in his back is fading away.
And he's clean too. The only mess seems to be from his own cock.
How considerate.
Seongje groans.
Of course this had to happen to him. A fucking ghost – literally – just had to find him when he was already at his lowest point and pound him past rock bottom.
Cursing, he gets up and limps downstairs. Pops some ibuprofen. Takes a quick shower in the dingy back bathroom, then hauls his dirty clothes and sheets to the laundromat a block away.
Later, back on the couch, Seongje wipes his glasses with the edge of his T-shirt, over and over, even after they’re already clean.
His phone sits open on the table in front of him. Baekjin’s contact is still pulled up. The profile picture hasn’t changed – a candid shot Seongje took himself.
Baekjin caught mid-laugh, his perfect teeth on display and dimples out in full force. There are bright green horns emerging from his perfect hair and snot coming out of his nose – Seongje added an ogre filter just so it wouldn’t be so obvious. Baekjin hated it, he kept trying to take his phone and delete it, but Seongje had already backed it up.
Seongje’s jaw ticks. He’s so used to calling or texting Baekjin when something goes wrong. Union stuff, life stuff, random bullshit – he always answered.
But the asshole still hasn’t reached out to him and apologized. The stupid picture looks like it’s laughing at him.
Seongje swipes back to his contacts.
Dongha and Seongmok come to mind next.
He pauses on Seongmok first. He’s the most likely choice between the two. But he tells Dongha everything, and Dongha would…
Laugh at him. He’d laugh so hard that he’d fall over, rolling on the ground, pointing at Seongje while he wheezed for air. He’d never let Seongje hear the end of it, even if he did believe him.
Nevermind.
And maybe he is crazy.
The chances of it happening again are probably zero anyways.