Work Text:
Everyone thought Joong was the problem.
He was the loud one. The flirt. The kind of guy who'd toss his arm over your shoulders in the middle of a movie just to whisper something, only to grin when you flushed. He walked into rooms like they owed him a spotlight.
He laughed too easily, flirted too shamelessly, and had a mouth that rarely stayed shut unless it was wrapped around a straw, or someone else’s tongue.
He was exhausting. He was magnetic. He was, depending on who you asked, either the life of the party or the reason it got out of hand.
Tonight was no different.
The friend group had crammed onto Pond’s battered couch for a late-night movie marathon that only half of them were actually watching. Pizza boxes teetered on the coffee table in precarious stacks, grease soaking through cardboard, and the volume was low enough to let the background commentary run louder than the film itself.
Joong, of course, had wedged himself right next to Dunk. Thigh pressed flush, shoulder leaning in with the casual entitlement of someone who had long stopped asking permission. His head tipped onto Dunk’s shoulder halfway through the second movie. “For comfort,” he would say, even though Dunk hadn’t flinched at the jump scares.
Dunk never flinched at anything. That was the thing about Dunk. He moved through the world like still water.
“God,” Phuwin groaned from the armchair, tossing a popcorn kernel at them, “you’re such a menace, Joong. Let the poor boy breathe.”
Joong only smirked, not moving an inch. “He doesn’t mind. Do you, baby?”
Dunk gave an obliging blink. “It’s fine.”
Everyone laughed. Of course he didn’t mind. Sweet, soft Dunk who wore big hoodies and kept to himself, who smiled politely and never raised his voice. Joong had probably been corrupting him since college. The poor guy never stood a chance.
Joong just smiled, shameless. Let them think what they want to think.
But then, maybe right around the time everyone’s attention drifted and the room softened into quiet murmur, Dunk shifted.
Subtle. Barely a thing. The kind of movement you’d miss if you blinked.
His hand, warm and slow, slid across the couch and rested on Joong’s thigh. Not a squeeze. Nothing theatrical. Just weight. Intentional. Firm.
Joong stiffened like he’d been electrified, every muscle going taut in a single arrested second.
The conversation kept flowing around them. Someone was arguing with someone else about plot holes, gesturing with a half-eaten slice. A few were half-asleep, curled into the couch’s worn corners. No one was even paying attention to the TV.
No one except Dunk, who turned his head just slightly, his breath ghosting past Joong’s ear. And then his hand moved. A slow, casual slide a few inches higher until his thumb pressed into the part where the denim pulled tightest.
Joong swallowed.
“You’re tense,” Dunk murmured, so quiet it was barely air. A statement, not a question. His thumb traced a maddening little half-circle. “Relax.”
Joong didn’t relax. He couldn’t possibly think of relaxing. His jaw was locked, his hands fisting uselessly against his own knees. He stared straight ahead at a TV screen he’d stopped seeing twenty minutes ago, heart slamming against his ribs so loud he was sure the whole couch heard it.
And yet, no one looked over. No one saw Dunk’s hand settle there, calm and proprietary, like it belonged. No one saw Joong’s thigh twitch under the weight of it, or the way his lips parted around a breath that wouldn’t come.
Dunk took his time. A gentle squeeze, barely there, gone before it could be named.
And then, just as slowly, he pulled his hand back and folded it in his own lap like nothing had happened.
When Joong finally remembered how to inhale, he was already flushed down to the collarbone, the cocky lilt wiped clean off his face, replaced by something wide-eyed and terribly, visibly undone.
And Dunk. Sweet, soft Dunk in his oversized hoodie, who everyone thought just quietly endured Joong’s chaos, turned back to the TV with the faintest ghost of a smile. Serene and unreadable as still water.
The rest of the movie passed in a blur of noise Joong didn't hear. He laughed when everyone else laughed, or at least he thought he did (he wasn’t sure anymore).
His skin was still humming where Dunk's thumb had been, a phantom pressure burning through denim.
Across the couch, Dunk watched the screen with the placid attention of someone deeply invested in the lore, one hand curled loosely around a soda can, the picture of innocence.
Joong wanted to throttle him. Or kiss him. Possibly both, in that order.
By the time the credits rolled and the group began the slow, groaning ritual of untangling limbs and hunting for misplaced shoes, Joong had managed to reassemble some version of himself.
He was fine. Totally fine.
“Are you walking me home?” Dunk asked casually. He was already pulling on his sneakers by the door, hoodie swallowed around him, expression mild.
Joong snorted, grabbing his own hoodie from the back of the couch. “What, you think I’m gonna let you get mugged two blocks from your apartment? Who do you think I am?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. Just followed him out into the hallway, hoodie slung over one shoulder, mood deceptively breezy.
The door clicked shut behind them, muffling the last sounds of their friends, and suddenly the world was very quiet and very small.
The walk was short. Dunk lived alone in a corner unit, third floor in a building that always smelled faintly of rain and someone else's dinner.
The streetlamps outside cast long, sickly orange pools across the pavement, and Joong filled the silence with nonsense. Dunk laughed quietly, a low, private sound that settled somewhere deep in Joong's chest.
By the time they reached the door, Joong's pulse was already ticking faster, a low thrum beneath his skin that had nothing to do with the walk. He shoved his hands in his pockets, rocked back on his heels, and grinned.
Dunk unlocked the door, pushed it open, then turned without stepping aside.
The hallway light cut across his face, catching the dark amusement flickering in his eyes.
Joong tilted his head, still grinning, still playing the part. "What, no goodnight kiss?"
Dunk looked him over. Once. Slow. The kind of look that stripped a man down to his bones and found him wanting. Then his fingers curled in the front of Joong's hoodie and he pulled.
Joong stumbled inside. The door slammed shut behind him, and before he could get his bearings, his back hit the wall with a soft, breath-stealing thump.
Dunk leaned in close, so close their mouths nearly touched, and when he spoke, his voice was terrifyingly calm.
“On your knees.”
Joong's breath punched out of him. The door hadn't even fully clicked shut before he was sinking, knees hitting the floor with an obedience that would have scandalized every person at that movie marathon.
This was it. The game. The one they didn't talk about but played anyway, the one that turned loudmouth Joong into something quiet and desperate and entirely Dunk's.
He looked up, eyes wide, lips parted, every smart-ass remark he'd ever made dissolving on his tongue.
His chest was already heaving. His cock was already half-hard, pressing against his jeans from nothing but a command and a look.
Dunk gazed down at him, unhurried, appraising. Enjoying the view.
He didn't speak right away, just let the silence stretch, let Joong's breathing go shallow in the space between them.
Then he lifted one foot and nudged it forward. Just enough. The toe of his sneaker rested lightly against the inside of Joong's thigh.
"Kiss them," Dunk said, voice mild. Like he was asking for the time.
Joong swallowed. Bent forward, slow and shaky, and pressed his lips to the worn canvas of Dunk's shoe. Once. Twice. His ears burned.
"Both."
Joong shifted, obedient, and kissed the other one too. The laces. The tongue. He could feel the faint grit of street dust against his mouth, and it shouldn't have made his cock twitch, but it did.
Dunk hummed, a low sound of approval. He pulled his foot back and crouched down, bringing himself level with Joong, close enough that their breath mingled.
His hand came up, two fingers hooking under Joong's chin and tilting his face further up, exposing his throat.
"You're really something else," he murmured. His thumb swept across Joong's lower lip, dragging it down, testing the give. "Open."
Joong's mouth fell open instantly. Dunk studied him for a long moment. Studied the wet shine of his tongue, the eager stillness. Then pushed two fingers inside, slow and deep, pressing down just enough to make Joong's jaw ache.
“Suck."
Joong did. Eyes fluttering shut, a broken little sound catching in his throat. He worked his tongue around Dunk's fingers like he was being graded on it, like this was the only thing that mattered.
Dunk watched him, expression calm, curious, almost clinical. "Messy," he noted, withdrawing his fingers with a slick pop. He wiped them, unhurried, on the collar of Joong's own shirt. "But eager. That's good, baby."
Joong was panting now, lips shiny, eyes glassy. His cock ached. He hadn't even been touched.
Dunk straightened up to his full height again, looking down at the wreck kneeling at his feet, and his smile curved slowly.
"Now, up."
Joong scrambled to his feet, legs unsteady. Dunk stepped closer and slid both hands under Joong’s shirt. His palms were warm, dragging up over Joong's ribs at a pace that was nothing short of cruel. Joong shivered, a full-body tremble that made Dunk's smile deepen.
“Take it off.”
Joong obeyed, yanking the hoodie over his head and tossing it somewhere behind him without a second thought.
“Now mine.”
This time Joong moved slower, hands trembling as he reached for the hem of Dunk's hoodie. The fabric bunched under his fingers. He tugged it up, faltering when it caught at the collar.
Dunk didn't help. Didn't even blink. Just watched Joong fumble like it was the most entertaining thing he'd seen all night.
“You’ve done this before,” Dunk said, voice laced with amusement. “So, why are your hands shaking already? I haven’t even touched you.”
Joong made a sound, something between a laugh and a whimper, as he worked the hoodie free.
Underneath it, Dunk was all smooth skin and lean muscle, shoulders that made Joong's mouth go dry. He ached to touch. Didn't dare. Not yet.
Dunk wasn’t done.
He reached around Joong's waist, slow and deliberate, and hooked a finger through the belt loop of his jeans. The leather slid free with a sound so obscenely soft and dangerous that Joong's pupils blew wide before the belt was even fully out of the loops.
Dunk's fingers paused at the button of Joong's jeans.
He popped it open with a flick of his thumb, then dragged the zipper down. The sound of it was obscene in the quiet room. Joong's breath caught and held, his stomach tightening under the slow, deliberate graze of Dunk's knuckles.
Dunk hooked his fingers into the waistband of Joong's jeans and his briefs beneath, and pushed them both down in one unhurried motion, letting the denim pool at Joong's ankles.
The cool air hit Joong's already heated skin, and he shivered, suddenly, devastatingly bare.
His cock sprang free, flushed and twitching before Dunk had even touched him, curving up against his stomach like it was begging for attention.
Dunk let his gaze drag down Joong's body and a small, satisfied smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "There you are," he murmured, almost to himself.
Joong's face burned. He was standing there in nothing but an open shirt, cock hard and leaking, jeans tangled around his feet, while Dunk was still half-dressed and entirely in control. The imbalance made his head spin.
Dunk turned his attention back to the belt in his hands. He folded it in half, neat and precise, then threaded it through his fingers like he had all the time in the world.
His gaze flicked up to meet Joong's.
“You know what to do.”
Joong turned and offered his wrists behind his back without a single word. The leather wrapped around them, snug and warm. Dunk's fingers brushed the inside of Joong's wrist, right over the racing pulse point, as he adjusted the buckle.
Joong’s shoulders pulled taut with the position, chest pressing forward, every vulnerable inch of him on display.
He was panting now, lips slick and swollen from biting back the sounds already threatening to spill out.
"Please," he whispered.
“Please what?”
"Anything. Whatever you want." The words tumbled out, raw and unguarded. "Just let me stay like this. Let me keep going. I'll be good. I'll be so good, Dunk, please—"
Dunk smiled, soft and devastating, and reached up to brush a damp strand of hair from Joong's forehead. His touch was gentle. The contrast made Joong's knees threaten to buckle.
"Oh, baby," Dunk murmured, low and sweet. "I know you will."
He kissed Joong, slow, indulgent, then nudged him back onto the mattress.
“Lie down.”
Joong obeyed instantly, arms still bound tight behind his back, the belt creaking faintly as he shifted his weight.
He let himself fall back against the sheets, chest heaving, cock flushed and twitching where it curved against his stomach. Already leaking. Already desperate. Dunk hadn't even done anything yet and Joong looked ruined.
Dunk climbed over him with infuriating leisure, straddling his thighs lightly, barely settling any weight at all. He just looked for a moment.
He let his gaze drag slow and appreciative down Joong's body, taking in the heaving chest, the bound arms, the way Joong's cock jumped under the attention like it was begging.
"Look at you," Dunk murmured, more to himself than to Joong. "Already a mess."
Joong's hips shifted uselessly, seeking friction that wasn't there. "Dunk."
"Shh." Dunk pressed one finger to Joong's lips. "I didn't tell you to speak."
Joong's mouth closed. His eyes stayed wide, glassy, fixed on Dunk's face like it was the only thing in the world.
Dunk dragged two fingers down Joong's chest. Slow, so fucking slow, tracing the line of his sternum, the dip of his ribs, the trembling plane of his stomach. Joong's muscles jumped under the touch, every nerve lit up and screaming.
When Dunk leaned down and kissed just above his navel, Joong's whole body jerked like he'd been touched with a live wire.
"You've been so good," Dunk murmured against his skin, breath hot and damp. "Almost good enough."
Joong whimpered. The sound tore out of him before he could stop it, high and broken. "Please..."
Dunk didn't respond. Didn't even look up.
He just lowered his mouth to Joong's cock and took him in slowly. The wet heat of his mouth sinking down inch by torturous inch, tongue pressing flat against the underside, and Joong choked on a moan that sounded more like a sob.
His hips bucked once, instinctive and violent, before he forced them flat again, muscles screaming with the effort of staying still.
"That's it," Dunk murmured, pulling off just long enough to speak, his lips slick and shining. "Stay still for me."
Then he went back down.
His mouth was hot and perfect and Joong couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but feel the slick slide of tongue and the gentle scrape of teeth and the devastating rhythm Dunk set. Hands pressed firm against Joong's thighs, pinning him to the bed. Keeping him grounded. Keeping him entirely helpless.
Dunk pulled off every few strokes just to blow cool air against the wet, aching head, to watch Joong shiver and bite back sobs, to hear the desperate little sounds breaking in his throat.
"You're doing so well," Dunk said, voice low and almost conversational, like he was commenting on the weather. "But you keep twitching."
"S-sorry, I'm sorry, I'm trying so hard."
"I know you are." Dunk licked a slow, lazy stripe from base to tip, and Joong's vision blurred at the edges. "But trying isn't the same as succeeding."
Joong's head thrashed against the pillow. "I said stay still," Dunk murmured, breath ghosting over wet skin. "You come without permission, and we start all over. From the beginning. Understand?"
Joong was practically crying already, tears clinging to his lashes, chest hitching. "I won't—I won't, I swear, I'll be good, please just keep going. Please, baby, I need—"
Dunk hummed in approval, low and satisfied, and took him deep again.
This time he didn't hold back. He sucked him with purpose now, steady and relentless, building a rhythm that had Joong's thighs trembling and his bound hands clenching into useless fists.
The pressure coiled low in his belly, sharp and electric and building, building, building.
Every stroke of Dunk's tongue, every wet sound, every soft hum of satisfaction pushing him closer to the edge.
Joong thrashed softly under him, overwhelmed, sounds spilling from his mouth that weren't words anymore.
Just pleas, just fragments, just Dunk's name over and over like a prayer.
His whole body was wound tight, every muscle strung to breaking, the pleasure so sharp it was almost pain.
He was close. So fucking close.
Right there, right on the knife's edge, one more stroke and he'd—
And then Dunk stopped.
Just stopped. Pulled off completely. The absence of heat was so sudden, so brutal, that Joong's mind blanked out entirely.
"No—no no no, I was right there," His voice cracked, broke, shattered into something desperate and raw. "I was right there, please—"
"I know," Dunk said, cool and calm. He licked a slow, deliberate stripe along the underside of Joong's cock. A ghost of sensation, not enough, never enough, and then pulled back entirely. Sat up. Watched. "That's why I stopped."
Joong trembled, hips twitching uselessly into the air, seeking friction that wasn't there anymore. His cock throbbed, untouched and wet with spit, so hard it ached, so close to release that every heartbeat sent another pulse of desperate need through him.
The belt was still tight around his wrists. He couldn't touch. Couldn't move.
Couldn't do anything but lie there and shake and feel the orgasm recede like a tide pulling back from shore, leaving him gasping on dry land.
"Please," he whispered. His voice was wrecked. Destroyed. "Please, I'll do anything."
Dunk leaned in close, mouth brushing his ear, breath warm and even and completely unshaken. "And you will," he murmured. "But not yet."
He kissed Joong sweetly on the corner of the mouth, an almost loving kiss, and sat back, admiring the ruined mess sprawled out beneath him.
Joong’s chest heaved. His thighs were still trembling. His cock lay untouched against his stomach, flushed dark and leaking onto his own skin, and his eyes were glassy with unshed tears.
"Good boys wait," Dunk said softly. Almost gently, like it was kindness.
Joong let out a quiet, broken sound. His thighs shook. His arms flexed against the belt.
The red marks on his wrists were deepening, but he didn't try to pull free. Didn't even try to come. Didn't dare.
The silence stretched.
Dunk just watched him. He watched the way his cock twitched against nothing, watched the way his hips made tiny, aborted jerks, watched the way his mouth opened and closed around words that wouldn't come.
Joong was still teetering on the edge, so close that even the brush of air against his skin felt like too much and not enough all at once.
Drool slicked his chin. His chest was flushed red. He'd never been more beautiful.
"Look at you," Dunk said, voice almost reverent. "So fucking desperate. And still being good for me."
Joong's eyes fluttered. A tear slipped free, tracking down his temple into his hair.
"You gonna untie me now?" he managed, voice hoarse, barely a whisper.
Dunk's brows lifted, amused. "Did I say I would?"
Joong froze. His mouth opened. Closed. "Well no, but—"
Dunk leaned forward and kissed him, slow and thorough, licking into his mouth and tasting the desperation there.
Then he pulled back and nodded toward the bed, his expression calm and expectant. "Lie back."
Joong obeyed instantly, lowering himself onto his back.
The sheets were still warm from Dunk’s body, and Joong squirmed slightly, hands awkward behind him, legs falling open as if by instinct.
Dunk straddled him slowly, planting one knee on each side of his chest. His skin was flushed, lips a little pinker than before, but his voice was cool as ever. “You wanna be good?” he murmured, settling his weight on Joong’s sternum. “Then earn it.”
Joong’s breath caught. He nodded.
“Hands stay behind your back.”
Another nod. Faster this time.
That got him a hum of approval. But Dunk paused for a moment then, fingers drifting to Joong’s cheek.
“Are you doing okay?” he asked, voice gentler now. “Color check.”
Joong blinked up at him, already flushed deep red but still steady. “Green,” he whispered. “So fucking green, baby. Please don’t stop.”
Dunk smiled and pressed a soft kiss on his forehead.
Then he leaned down until his lips brushed the shell of Joong’s ear. One hand braced beside Joong’s head, while the other traced idle patterns along his collarbone.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Dunk whispered, barely audible, breath warm and even. “I’m going to tell you exactly what I’m not going to do.”
Joong’s whole body tightened.
“I’m not going to touch your cock. Not yet. I’m not going to let you rub against me, even though I can feel how badly you want to. I’m not going to give you my mouth, or my hands, or anything you’re begging for in that pretty head of yours.”
He pulled back just enough to meet Joong’s eyes. Held them.
“And you’re going to lie there, tied up and aching, and thank me for it.”
Joong made a cracked, desperate little whimper that didn’t even become a word.
His hips twitched uselessly, cock leaking against his stomach, but Dunk’s weight on his chest kept him pinned, immobile, thoroughly owned.
Dunk tilted his head, a flicker of dark amusement crossing his face. “You’re shaking already.”
“I—fuck—” Joong’s voice was wrecked, throat bobbing as he swallowed. “Dunk.”
“Shh.” Dunk trailed a single finger down the center of Joong’s chest, slow as a promise, stopping just above his navel. Then he pulled his hand away entirely. “You’ll take what I give you. And right now, I’m giving you nothing.”
Joong’s head pressed back into the pillow, a strangled moan escaping his lips. He was trembling everywhere.
Dunk hadn’t even touched him, not really, and yet he looked ruined beyond repair.
Then, without warning, Dunk shifted off him. The sudden loss of weight left Joong gasping, body arching up into empty air, chasing a heat that was no longer there.
“Please,” he gasped. “Please, Dunk, need to touch you—need to—”
Dunk, now kneeling beside him, looked down with a slow, satisfied blink. “Need what, sweetheart?” He slid down Joong’s body and straddled his hips, grinding gently. It was just a tease of pressure. “Need me to come? Or need permission to touch me?”
Joong’s voice cracked. “Both. Please, fuck, I need something.”
Dunk hummed, not quite satisfied with the answer. He leaned in, palm bracketing Joong’s jaw, thumb stroking over his cheekbone.
Then he slid two fingers down. A slow drag.
Fingertips tracing the line of Joong's jaw, the corner of his mouth, until they came to rest against the plush of his bottom lip. He pressed there, just lightly, testing the give.
“Open up,” he said softly.
Joong obeyed instantly. His mouth fell open before his brain could catch up, lips parting on instinct, eyes already going dazed and heavy-lidded.
There was no hesitation. No flicker of resistance.
Just the automatic surrender of someone who'd stopped pretending he was in control the moment Dunk touched him.
Dunk pushed his fingers in. They rested on the warm flat of Joong's tongue, two points of gentle, grounding pressure.
Joong could taste the faint salt of skin, the clean warmth of him, and his tongue twitched reflexively beneath the weight like it was trying to please, to hold, to welcome.
"There you go," Dunk whispered, voice threaded with something like reverence. "Look at you."
Joong let out a quiet moan, the sound vibrating around Dunk's fingers. His tongue shifted, mouth stretched wide and waiting, and he stayed perfectly, achingly still.
Waiting for whatever Dunk decided to give him next.
Then Dunk pulled his fingers out. Slow. The wet drag of them leaving Joong's mouth made a soft, obscene sound in the quiet room. A string of spit bridged the gap for a heartbeat before snapping.
Dunk tilted his head, holding Joong's gaze. And then, without breaking eye contact, he spat into Joong's mouth.
It was a glistening arc that landed warm on Joong's tongue. Controlling in a way that made Joong's mind go perfectly, blissfully blank.
Joong gasped. His eyes flew wide, pupils blown black, surprise sparking through him like a live wire before it melted into something baser: raw, unfiltered need, thick enough to choke on.
His throat worked around the gift he'd been given, the taste of Dunk spreading across his tongue like a claim.
Dunk leaned closer. Close enough that Joong could count his lashes, could feel the warmth radiating off his skin.
When he spoke, his voice was velvet.
“Swallow.”
Joong did. Immediately. His throat bobbed. His cock twitched against his stomach, achingly hard, untouched, leaking a thin trail of precome onto his own skin.
The reaction was humiliatingly honest.
Dunk clicked his tongue, dripping with mock sympathy. Poor thing.
He reached down and cradled Joong's jaw with deliberate gentleness, fingers curling along the bone, tilting his face up like he was admiring a piece of art he'd personally wrecked.
His thumb traced the wet, swollen corner of Joong's mouth, smearing the spit there like it was something precious.
Then he leaned in, closing the distance until their foreheads nearly touched. His breath fanned warm across Joong's lips. His tone dipped into something low and teasing, almost affectionate.
“Aw,” he murmured. “Look at you.”
Joong whimpered.
"All messy," Dunk finished, soft as a lullaby.
Joong writhed against the mattress, back arching uselessly, wrists straining against the belt behind him.
Every nerve in his body was screaming for touch, for friction, for anything. His cock pulsed, slick and neglected against his belly, and still Dunk didn't touch him.
He just looked. Just smiled that calm, devastating smile, watching him fall apart one thread at a time.
"I can't take it—" Joong's voice cracked clean in half, barely a whisper, so wrecked it barely sounded like him anymore.
Dunk smiled, slow and sweet. “You can.”
He leaned in, kissed him rougher this time, licking into his mouth, tasting the desperation.
Then he sat back, reached between Joong’s legs, and gave his cock a single, slow stroke.
Joong bucked.
Dunk warned him. “Be good.”
Joong nodded, eyes wide and lips parted. His whole body was a live wire, humming with a current that started wherever Dunk touched him.
Dunk stroked him again. One long, torturous pull, slow as honey, his grip just loose enough to be cruel.
Joong's hips bucked before he could stop them, an involuntary jerk of pure animal want, but he caught himself mid-motion, forcing his body still against the mattress with a visible shudder. His thighs trembled with the effort of it.
"Better," Dunk murmured, the word curling into the heated space between them like smoke. His thumb traced a lazy circle around the head, gathering wetness, spreading it. "You're learning."
“Yes,” Joong moaned. “Please, more. Just do something, I’m going crazy—”
Dunk leaned down, slow and deliberate, and licked a long, hot stripe from the hollow of Joong's throat all the way up to the cut of his jaw.
The drag of his tongue left a cooling trail of spit on feverish skin, and Joong's breath shattered into pieces.
"You're so easy to ruin," Dunk said, lips brushing the corner of Joong's jaw as he spoke, the words half kiss, half murmur.
“Only for you.”
Dunk leaned in, kissed the corner of his mouth, and pulled back to look at him. “You’re so good,” he said softly. “I love you like this, baby.”
Dunk shifted, crouching beside him now, and the change in position brought their faces level.
His eyes were warm and his fingers came up to stroke the sweat-damp hair back from Joong's forehead with a gentleness that made Joong's chest ache in an entirely different way.
“You wanna come?” Dunk asked softly, the question so simple, so devastating.
Joong nodded, frantic. His head bobbed before the word could form, desperation written in every line of his body.
"Words, sweetheart." Dunk's voice was so gentle.
“Yes, yes, please,” Joong gasped, eyes wide. The plea tumbled out of him in a rush, raw and unpolished. “Please, I want to come so bad, please let me—I’ll be good, I swear, I’ll be so good.”
Dunk smiled like he’d been waiting for that. He reached behind Joong, fingers finding the knot of the belt with practiced ease, and worked it loose.
The leather slipped free with a soft hiss, and Joong moaned in relief as his arms fell loose and heavy to his sides. His shoulders screamed with the release of tension, joints aching from being pinned so long, but he didn't move.
He stayed perfectly still, hands splayed on the sheets, fingers curling and uncurling against the fabric, waiting. Always waiting for Dunk.
Dunk leaned forward and kissed him. A slow and messy kiss, a tangle of tongues and shared breath, a kiss that didn't so much claim as settle.
When he pulled back, his lips brushed against Joong's as he murmured, “You want to help me get ready?”
Joong blinked up at him, stunned. His mind, hazy and slow from the endless edge of denial, took a moment to register the words. "Can I?" His voice came out thin, incredulous, reverent.
“I’m letting you,” Dunk said. He shifted to the side, reaching for the small bottle on the nightstand, and pressed it into Joong's trembling hand. Their fingers brushed, and even that fleeting contact sent a shiver through Joong's whole frame. “But slowly. You don’t come until I do. Understood?”
Joong nodded, breath catching. “Yes. Yes, I promise.”
He moved carefully, reverently, as if he'd been handed something sacred.
Dunk leaned back onto his elbows and let his legs fall open, the posture casual and yet utterly commanding. His eyes were half-lidded but watchful, tracking every movement Joong made.
Joong knelt between them and slicked his fingers, hands still shaking a little.
When his fingertips brushed Dunk's entrance, soft and warm, Dunk exhaled slowly, a long breath that sounded like surrender.
Joong took his time. He was gentle to the point of worship. The first finger pressed in with aching slowness, and he watched Dunk's face for every flicker of reaction.
He curled his finger inward like he was coaxing breath from stone, finding the places that made Dunk's stomach tense, that made his cock twitch against his belly.
Muttering praise the whole time, a constant stream of whispered devotion.
“So perfect. Fuck, you’re so tight. I love getting you ready like this. You feel incredible. So good for me, always so good.”
Dunk shivered, a full-body tremor that belied the steadiness of his voice when he finally spoke. "Keep going."
By the time Dunk was loose enough to take him, Joong was practically trembling with restraint. His cock ached so intensely it had become a separate entity, a throb of pure need that pulsed in time with his heartbeat.
He hadn't come. He wouldn't. Not until Dunk said.
“You ready?” Joong asked, voice thin and cracking at the edges.
Dunk just nodded. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, but his expression was calm, assured. "Lie down," he said, already moving, already positioning. "Hands on my hips. Let me take it from here."
Joong obeyed instantly, fingers curling around Dunk’s waist like he was made of something breakable.
He looked up at the man above him like he was the only fixed point in a spinning universe.
Dunk straddled him with the kind of unhurried grace that made Joong's chest ache.
One knee settling on each side of his hips, thighs bracketing him in, the weight of him a warm, grounding promise.
He reached between them, fingers wrapping around Joong's cock with a grip that was sure and steady, and Joong made a sound that was halfway to a prayer.
The head of his cock nudged against Dunk's entrance. Joong’s hands found Dunk's hips instinctively, fingers curling into the jut of bone, gripping like a lifeline.
Then Dunk sank down.
Slowly. Mercilessly slowly.
Every inch a dragging revelation.
Joong cried out. It was a raw, broken thing. His head fell back against the pillows, the tendons in his neck pulling taut.
His eyes fluttered shut on instinct, his whole world narrowing to the tight, wet heat swallowing him, the way Dunk's body opened for him like it was made to take him.
“No,” Dunk murmured. “Eyes open. You watch me.”
Joong forced them open with a shuddering gasp. His chest heaved, ribs straining against skin, every exhale ragged.
The sight of Dunk above him nearly undid him right there.
Dunk rolled his hips gently, a slow grind that took Joong deeper still, inch by devastating inch, until he was fully seated.
Their bodies pressed flush, thighs warm and trembling against each other. Joong could feel the faint flutter of Dunk's muscles around him, adjusting, claiming.
“Fuck,” Joong choked. “You feel, God, you’re so—”
"Quiet." Dunk's tone was calm, almost idle. His hips stayed still now, keeping Joong buried to the hilt, holding him there in that maddening, perfect pressure. "I didn't ask yet."
Then he rocked his hips once. A single, slow roll that dragged along every sensitive inch of Joong's cock.
Joong let out a sound like a sob, cracked open from the inside.
“Now you can talk.”
And Joong did.
He praised him like he was praying, like worship was the only language he had left.
The words spilled out of him in a breathless, desperate litany: "You're so perfect, your body's insane, I can't— I can't believe you feel like this, I'd do anything for you, anything, just keep going, please keep going."
Every syllable soaked in need, in awe, in a devotion so fierce it bordered on frantic.
Dunk rode him slowly, hips rolling in a rhythm that was almost lazy, almost cruel.
He kept eye contact the whole time, his expression calm but glowing with satisfaction.
Joong's hands trembled against his hips, clutching at the sweat-slick skin like he'd float away otherwise, like Dunk was the only fixed point in a spinning universe.
"Look at you," Dunk whispered, voice thick with fondness. "Making me come like it's your job."
“It is my job,” Joong moaned. “Let me make you feel good, I need to— I need to be good for you.”
“You are, baby,” Dunk murmured, and the endearment landed like a kiss on raw skin. His hips rolled in slow, grinding circles, chasing his own pleasure now, breath hitching in tiny, telling catches. “You’re making me feel so good.”
Joong moaned louder, head pressing back into the pillow. He was so close. Had been close for what felt like hours, every nerve frayed to the breaking point. “Please, can I please just fucking come.”
"Go ahead." Dunk's voice dropped to something soft, almost tender. A benediction. "Come for me, Joong. Be a good boy."
Joong shattered.
He came hard, a sob tearing from his throat, his cock pulsing deep inside Dunk as wave after wave crashed through him. His mouth fell open on a gasp that barely sounded human.
His whole body tensed, every muscle locking for one suspended, endless moment, and then he crumpled. Thighs shaking. Breath hitching. Vision whiting out at the edges.
And that was what did it.
Dunk's rhythm faltered.
His composure, that unshakeable calm, finally cracked right down the middle.
He ground down hard, once, twice, and then his whole body seized.
His head tipped back, throat bared, a low, wrecked moan spilling past his lips as he came in thick pulses across Joong's stomach.
"Fuck," Dunk breathed, voice fraying at the edges. "Oh, Joong."
His fingers dug into Joong's chest, bracing through the shudder that rolled through him, helpless and unguarded in a way he never let anyone else see.
But even through it, even as pleasure ripped through him like a storm, he didn't stop praising.
"So good, so fucking good. Dunk, you feel so—fuck, I love you, I love this, I love—"
Dunk rode it out, still grinding slow and steady, wringing every last pulse from Joong while his own release painted warm stripes between them.
He pushed Joong through the edge and just beyond, into that trembling, oversensitive precipice where pleasure blurred into exquisite ache.
Joong whimpered and grabbed at him with shaking hands, fingers digging into his hips. “Too much,” he gasped.
Dunk finally slowed, the roll of his hips gentling to a stop. He was still catching his breath, chest rising and falling in shallow waves.
Then he leaned down, cupped Joong's jaw in one warm palm, and kissed him once. A kiss that tasted like salt and surrender from both of them now.
When he pulled back, Joong lay limp beneath him, blinking up with dazed eyes and red-brushed cheeks, lips kiss-swollen and parted.
He looked utterly wrecked. Utterly at peace.
And above him, Dunk looked the same, finally, visibly undone.
The quiet menace reduced to something tender and breathless and real. "You really are such a good boy," Dunk said softly.
Joong smiled, breathless, eyes fluttering to a close not because he was told to, but because he finally, finally felt like he'd earned it.
The belt had left red marks on Joong's wrists. Not deep, but simply a bracelet of faint imprints that told the story of the last hour better than words ever could.
They'd fade by morning. Probably. But right now they bloomed pink and warm, a quiet evidence of surrender.
Dunk kissed them gently, lips brushing over each mark with a reverence that made Joong’s chest ache in an entirely different way. He smoothed his thumbs over the spots in slow circles.
Joong lay boneless on the bed, sheets tangled around his legs, chest still rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon.
Every muscle had gone liquid. His limbs felt borrowed, heavy and warm and not entirely his own.
He blinked up at the ceiling, dazed and spent, so deeply content it almost felt like floating.
“Come here,” he murmured, tugging weakly at Dunk’s wrist.
Dunk obliged, sliding into the space beside him. The mattress dipped, and Joong immediately curled into the warmth of him, one leg hitching over Dunk's, his arm thrown across Dunk's waist like an anchor.
He buried his face in the curve of Dunk's shoulder and let out a soft, content sigh.
Dunk let him stay like that. Let him cling. His hand found the nape of Joong's neck and rested there, thumb tracing idle patterns into the sweat-damp hair at his hairline.
"You're dangerous," Joong mumbled into his skin, the words half-muffled and already slurring toward sleep.
Dunk's chest gave a quiet rumble of amusement. "Oh?"
"You're too quiet." Joong's fingers curled against his waist, holding on a little tighter. "Everyone thinks I'm the crazy one. You just sit there in your hoodie like you don't ruin people."
Dunk chuckled. “Are you ruined?”
“Obviously.”
Dunk kissed the top of his head. “Good.”
They lay there for a moment, the air heavy with sex and sweat and warmth.
Joong shifted closer, pressing his mouth to Dunk’s collarbone like he could taste the reassurance there.
“No one would believe me if I told them,” he whispered.
Dunk stroked his back lazily. “That’s why you’re not going to.”
Joong smiled against his skin. “They’d probably think I’m exaggerating. ‘Sweet little Dunk could never spit in Joong’s mouth.’ Oh, the horror!”
Dunk smirked. “Sweet little Dunk will do it again if you keep talking.”
Joong groaned, loud and theatric, flopping onto his back with the last of his energy.
But his smile broke across his face anyway. There was no performance left in him. No brashness, no bit.
Just Joong, stripped down to the truth of himself, beaming up at the ceiling like an idiot.
Dunk leaned in and kissed him.
Not like before. No tongue, no heat, no edge of command. Just a slow, close-lipped press of mouth to mouth, warm and sure.
Joong melted into it immediately, one hand sliding behind Dunk’s neck. He sighed against his lips, breath sweet and sleepy.
And for a moment, he was nothing but this: Held and holding, known and knowing.
When they pulled apart, Joong bumped their foreheads together and stayed there, noses brushing. “Mine,” he whispered, and it wasn’t a question.
Dunk whispered back, “Yeah.”
And maybe, just maybe, it had always been that simple.