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The backstage corridor was a chaotic swirl of ringing ears, damp towels, and the sharp scent of sweat and stage smoke. They had barely crossed the threshold into the main green room before James dumped his jacket onto the couch with a heavy, dramatic sigh.
"I am never doing a three-song encore in leather pants again," James declared, stretching his shoulders back until his spine popped. "My lower back is legally ninety years old."
"You said that in Toronto and New York, too," Keonho chimed in, snatching two ice-cold bottles of water from the cooler. He tossed one across the room to Seonghyeon, who caught it effortlessly with one hand without looking up from his phone. "And then you asked the venue manager if we could add a fourth."
"That was high adrenaline, Keonho, which completely neutralizes sound judgment," James shot back, though a grin cracked his tired face.
Seonghyeon unscrewed his bottle, taking a slow drink while scanning the room. "The crowd energy was insane tonight, though. The middle section blew the ear monitors out during the bridge."
"Because Martin kept running out onto the fans," Seonghyeon added, tossing a glance over his shoulder at where Martin was unlacing his heavy boots near the door.
"It worked, didn't it?" Martin grunted, kicking one boot off before looking up, his blond hair damp and clinging to his forehead. He grinned, easy and unbothered as always. "We gave them a show."
In the corner, Juhoon sat completely still on the edge of a trunk, his hands clenched into fists on his knees. He felt like he was burning from the inside out. Every burst of laughter, every casual comment from the others felt miles away, muffled under the deafening, frantic thrum of his own blood. His skin was sensitive to the point of agony—every shift of his damp shirt against his back, every breath he took sent a dull, throbbing ache straight to his lower stomach.
He had been like this for three days. Three endless, suffocating days of watching Martin move, hearing Martin's low laugh right next to his ear during stage cues, feeling Martin's hand casually slide around his waist to direct him during choreography. Juhoon was practically vibrating with a humiliating, desperate need, his hole aching so badly it made his legs feel weak.
He couldn't say it. There was no universe in which he could open his mouth and tell Martin or tell anyone—that he was so sexually frustrated he felt like he was losing his mind. He was supposed to be composed. He was supposed to be normal.
Instead, he sat there, jaw clenched so tight it hurt, silently praying the post-show debrief would end so they could finally split off to their rooms.
"Alright, bus leaves for the next city at noon tomorrow," Martin said, checking his watch and clapping his hands together. "Seonghyeon, Keonho, you're in 802. James in 804. Me and Jju, 808. Everyone get some sleep."
"Got it," Seonghyeon nodded, grabbing his bag and shoving Keonho toward the door. "Let’s go before James hyung start lecturing us."
"I heard that!" James called out, trailing behind them into the hallway, his voice fading down the corridor until the heavy green room door clicked shut, leaving only Martin and Juhoon behind.
Martin stretched, letting out a long breath as he stood up and grabbed his keycard from the table. "Finally. I thought James was going to lecture us for another twenty minutes." He turned toward Juhoon with a warm, relaxed smile. "Ready to head up?"
Juhoon couldn't even look him in the eye. He just gave a short, rigid nod, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets so Martin wouldn't see them shaking, and brushed past him into the hall.
The quiet of the tenth floor felt suffocating. The moment the keycard chimed and the door to room 808 clicked open, Martin tossed his card onto the entry table and kicked off his shoes, wandering toward the desk to unclip his in-ear monitors.
"Man, my shoulders are dead," Martin muttered, chuckling softly as he rolled his neck. "I think I'm gonna take a quick shower first, unless you—”"
Juhoon didn't let him finish. He couldn't take another second of Martin's easy, oblivious leisure while he was standing there practically dying from the inside out.
He crossed the room in three sharp strides, grabbed Martin by the collar of his shirt, and slammed their lips together in a frantic, bruised kiss.
Martin let out a quiet gasp of shock against Juhoon’s mouth, his hands instinctively catching Juhoon’s waist to steady them both. But he didn't take control—he just kissed back with his usual soft, affectionate rhythm, teasing Juhoon’s lower lip with a fond, bewildered hum, completely missing the jagged, desperate edge driving the younger man.
That gentle, unhurried response snapped the last thread of Juhoon’s sanity.
A hot, furious tear spilled over Juhoon’s lash line, followed instantly by a sharp sob of pure humiliation and overwhelming arousal. Without breaking the kiss, Juhoon brought his hand up and slapped Martin hard against his shoulder, the heavy crack echoing in the quiet room.
"Fix it," Juhoon choked out frantically against Martin's lips, slapping his chest again—”harder this time, open-palmed and wild—as he shoved his entire weight against Martin's body.
Juhoon hitched one leg up around Martin's thigh, desperately grinding his hips forward. The hard, thick ridge of Martin’s dick pressed right through their jeans against the aching, empty pulse between Juhoon's thighs, sending a jolt of agonizing pleasure straight up his spine. Another tear spilled over, hot and angry, as Juhoon slapped Martin's upper arm again, his whole frame trembling from the sheer force of his frustration.
"You idiot," Juhoon sobbed out, his mouth dragging messily across Martin's jaw as he kept up the relentless, frantic friction of his hips, practically climbing him. "You fucking—”touch me, do something, please—"
Juhoon stopped mid-swing, his hand hovering in the air as his brain caught up with the sudden, undeniable physical reality pressing hard against his groin.
Right through the thick denim of their pants, a heavy, unmistakable length was nudging firm and direct against his most sensitive spot. The sudden pressure hit him like a shockwave, sending a shudder straight through his chest that instantly cut off his breathless, tear-filled rant.
His breath hitched. The wild, frantic tension that had been driving him to lash out suddenly drained, replaced by a stunned, heavy quiet.
Martin’s hands hadn't pulled away. Instead, large palms rested steady on Juhoon’s hips, thumb sliding in slow, soothing circles right above his waistband. It was a gentle, grounding motion meant to settle him down—except Martin wasn't looking at Juhoon’s face.
Martin was staring straight down. His eyes were wide, dark, and fixed entirely on the mess of Juhoon's hips still hitched tightly against his thigh, his breath coming in fast, heavy hitches of his own. He hadn't been oblivious at all; he had just been caught completely off guard by the sudden, violent turn from quiet frustration to desperate physical contact.
Juhoon swallowed hard, his cheeks burning with a fresh wave of heat, though this time it wasn't just anger. Wiping a stray, wet tear from his cheek with the back of his hand, he narrowed his eyes, glaring up at Martin with all the stubbornness he could muster despite his trembling knees.
"You're an idiot," Juhoon muttered, his voice still thick and raspy from crying, though the bite was gone, replaced by a needy, helpless strain. He hitched his leg a little higher around Martin's hip, intentionally pulling Martin's weight closer until the bulge pressed even harder against him. "Stop looking down and do something about it."
Martin’s chest rose and fell in a jagged rhythm, his eyes finally snapping up from Juhoon’s hips to lock onto his face. The dark, darkened heat in Martin's eyes made Juhoon’s pulse spike, all the quiet gentleness from before completely evaporating into something far more dangerous.
"An idiot, huh?" Martin’s voice was rough, low, and completely stripped of its usual lighthearted warmth.
Before Juhoon could huff out another complaint, Martin’s hands tightened on his waist, fingers digging deep into his skin through his shirt. In one fluid, powerful motion, Martin lifted Juhoon clean off his feet and backed him straight into the sturdy wooden desk behind them. Juhoon let out a sharp gasp as his thighs hit the polished edge, but Martin didn't give him a second to recover—he crowded right into Juhoon's space, pinning him down with the heavy, unyielding weight of his body.
"You've been stomping around all night like you wanted to tear my head off," Martin growled softly, leaning down until his lips brushed the sensitive skin just below Juhoon's ear. He rocked his hips forward, deliberately grinding that massive, hard length square against Juhoon’s clit again, making Juhoon’s back arch completely off the desk with a helpless, high-pitched whimpering sound. "How was I supposed to know you just wanted me to wreck you?"
"Shut up," Juhoon choked out, his hands flying to Martin’s hair, his fingers tangling tightly into the dark strands to pull him down into another hard, desperate kiss. "Just—shut up and take them off."
Martin didn't argue. He broke the kiss long enough to reach down, his large, calloused fingers working with ruthless efficiency at Juhoon’s belt buckle. The metallic snap echoed sharply in the quiet room, followed instantly by the harsh drag of a zipper.
Juhoon whimpered at the sudden cool air against his heated skin as Martin shoved his jeans and underwear down his thighs in one swift motion. But the cold was short-lived; a second later, Martin’s broad palm spread warm over his inner thigh, pushing Juhoon's leg wider, exposing him completely.
Juhoon looked up through heavy, wet lashes, his breathing short and shallow as Martin unbuckled his own pants, freeing his hard, thick length with a heavy nudge against Juhoon's aching flesh.
"Look at you," Martin murmured, his gaze dropping down again, his thumb rubbing over the wet slick already gathering between Juhoon's thighs. "You're practically soaking. You really couldn't wait until we’re in Korea,huh?"
"Martin, please," Juhoon pleaded, his pride completely shattered, his hips bucking up on their own to chase the contact of Martin's hand. "I'm—it aches so bad. Please, just put it in."
"I've got you," Martin rasped, his expression softening just a fraction at the utter desperation in Juhoon's voice. He coated two broad fingers in Juhoon's own slick and pressed them firm and fast against the tight, pulsing entrance.
Juhoon threw his head back against the mirror on the wall behind the desk, a loud, broken cry tearing from his throat as Martin immediately worked him open, preparing him with agonizing, deliberate care for what was coming next.
Seeing Juhoon completely unravel—head thrown back, body trembling, and mouth open around a desperate plea—broke whatever tiny shred of control Martin had left. But instead of matching Juhoon's frantic drama, a slow, ridiculously satisfied grin spread across Martin's face. It was big, stupid, and insufferably smug.
Juhoon opened his eyes just enough to catch that infuriating expression, and a low, humiliated sigh huffed past his lips. "I hate you," he mumbled weakly, though there was zero conviction behind it.
Before Martin could open his mouth to tease him, Juhoon reached out, grabbed a handful of Martin’s collar, and roughly yanked him down into another bruised, breathless kiss.
This time, Martin didn't play along with the gentle routine. He let out a dark, low growl into Juhoon's mouth, abandoning all patience. With swift, practiced movements, he shoved Juhoon's pants and briefs down to his knees in one harsh tug, then unbuckled his own belt, releasing his thick, throbbing length into the cool air of the room.
Martin hooked his arms under Juhoon’s knees, lifting his legs up and anchoring them wide against his own waist. He didn't bother with any more slow stretching or playful teasing. Guiding himself forward, Martin lined the heavy, blunt head of his raging hard cock right against Juhoon's dripping, swollen entrance.
"You asked for this," Martin rasped against Juhoon’s lips, and with one smooth, unyielding drive of his hips, he buried himself all the way in.
The sheer stretch of it made Juhoon stretch his neck back with a sharp, gasping scream that got swallowed right back into Martin’s mouth. His entire inner core clamped down tight around the sudden, massive intrusion, every nerve ending in his aching hole bursting into white-hot electricity.
"F-Fuck—" Juhoon sobbed out, his hands clawing uselessly at the hard muscles of Martin's upper arms. The dull, agonizing throb that had been torturing him for days instantly melted into a staggering, overwhelming full-body heat.
Martin stayed completely still for three agonized seconds, buried hilt-deep, his jaw clenched tight as he let Juhoon's pulsing tight warmth adjust to his size. His dark eyes flicked up, taking in the sight of Juhoon’s flushed skin, the tear tracks on his cheeks, and the way his chest was heaving for air.
"God, Juhoon," Martin choked out, a low, guttural sound in his throat. "You're so tight, it feels like you're trying to snap me in half."
"Don't—don't just stand there," Juhoon whined, his heels digging sharply into the small of Martin's back, fruitlessly trying to pull him even deeper. The agonizingly slow pace was driving him insane all over again. "Move, Martin, move!"
Martin let out a dark, breathless chuckle, his smug grin flashing for a split second before his eyes turned completely pitch-black with intent. "Alright. You wanted it, you get it."
He pulled back until only the tip remained inside, making Juhoon let out a terrified, needy whimper, before slamming all the way back in with brutal, uncompromising force.
The desk behind them rattled violently against the wall. Juhoon let out a shattered, high-pitched scream, his vision blurring as Martin established a fast, punishing rhythm. Every deep stroke pounded directly against his sweetest spot, driving out every last shred of Juhoon's pride and replacing it with loud, unfiltered wet slapping sounds that echoed through the quiet suite.
Martin kept one heavy hand locked onto Juhoon's hip, holding him pinned against the edge of the wood, while his other hand reached up to cup Juhoon's jaw, forcing him to look straight into his eyes.
"Look at me," Martin growled softly, thrusting hard enough to make Juhoon's entire body bounce. "Tell me who you belong to."
"You—ah!—you were, you idiot—fuck!" Juhoon gasped, his hands scrambling up to grip Martin's neck, completely helpless under the relentless, heavy drive of Martin's hips. Every single thrust was hitting so deep and so right that his toes curled, his entire body trembling as he rapidly plummeted toward the edge he'd been chasing all night.
Juhoon’s voice broke into an unchecked, piercing scream that rattled through the empty hotel room, entirely stripped of any restraint. The noise tore out of his throat, high and desperate, as Martin’s heavy, unyielding thrusts hit that exact, swollen nerve inside him over and over again with punishing precision.
"Martin! Martin!" Juhoon shrieked, his nails digging deep into the fabric of Martin's shirt, his knuckles turning stark white. He threw his head back against the mirror with a dull thud, his back arching so high off the desk that his waist barely touched the wood.
The sound of his own loud, shameless screaming only fueled his utter collapse. He had spent three days hiding his agony, keeping his mouth shut in front of James, Seonghyeon, and Keonho, bottling up every drop of needy tension until it turned violent. Now, with Martin buried inside him, filling him up so completely it felt like he was being torn apart and stitched back together, the sheer volume of his release blew past any attempt at control.
Martin didn't tell him to be quiet. Instead, hearing Juhoon scream his name like that sent a dark, primal jolt straight through him. Martin leaned in close, his face flushed, his chest heaving as he hammered himself home even harder, the wet, rhythmic slapping sound of their bodies colliding echoing off the hard walls.
"That's it," Martin rasped in a low, wrecked voice against Juhoon’s ear, his hand tightening into a bruising grip on Juhoon's hip to anchor him for every heavy, deliberate drive. "Let it out. Loud for me, Juhoon—scream it."
"I can't—ah!—fuck, Martin, please!" Juhoon sobbed out, the white-hot heat coiled in his gut suddenly snapping tight. His inner walls clamped around Martin's dick in violent, rhythmic sputters, his entire lower half spasming out of control as a shattering orgasm ripped through his body, leaving him wailing helpless, broken sounds right into the crook of Martin's neck.
The force of Juhoon’s orgasm sent a violent tremor through his whole frame, his walls clamping down so intensely around Martin’s cock that Martin let out a choked, harsh groan, his own rhythm faltering for a brief second. Juhoon’s head thudded softly against Martin’s shoulder, his loud screams dissolving into short, wet hitches of breath as his body rode out the high-voltage tremors.
"God, Juhoon..." Martin breathed out, his voice completely wrecked. He stayed buried inside for a few agonizingly still seconds, letting Juhoon shudder out the last waves of his release, before his large hands shifted to firmly grip Juhoon’s waist.
"Up," Martin grunted low in his ear.
Juhoon barely had time to register the instruction before Martin pulled back, sliding out with a slick, wet sound that made Juhoon let out a sensitive, pitiful whimper. Before his legs could buckle beneath him on the slick carpet, Martin scooped him up off the desk, spinning him around in one smooth, powerful motion and pressing Juhoon's chest flat against the polished wooden surface.
"Hey—wait—" Juhoon gasped, his elbows propping him up on the wood, his bare skin instantly chilled by the cold surface while his core was still burning hot.
Martin didn't wait. He leaned over Juhoon’s back, his broad chest crushing down against Juhoon's spine, pinning him flat. He hooked his fingers around Juhoon's hips, lifting them high and angling his pelvis back.
"You got your turn," Martin growled softly against the back of Juhoon's neck, biting down gently on the sensitive slope of his shoulder until Juhoon squirmed. "Now it's mine."
Without another second of warning, Martin guided his thick, dripping length back to Juhoon's pulsing, over-sensitive entrance and shoved all the way back in with a single, deep, punishing thrust.
Juhoon’s back arched violently, a fresh, choked scream tearing from his throat into the quiet room. His sensitive walls, still twitching from his own orgasm, gripped Martin with unbearable tightness, sending a white-hot wave of pleasure shooting straight through both of them.
"F-Fuck, Martin!" Juhoon sobbed into his own arms, his hips instinctively bucking back into the hard, relentless rhythm Martin instantly picked up from behind. "It's too much—ah!"
"You asked for it, remember?" Martin rasped, his palms slapping down hard against Juhoon’s hips to lock him in place, hammering himself home with fast, heavy drives that rattled the heavy wooden desk against the wall over and over again. "You cried and slapped me for it. So take it."
Martin didn't give him a single second to adjust. The angle from behind opened Juhoon up completely, allowing Martin’s heavy length to strike deeper than before, plowing straight into the most sensitive, swollen nerve deep inside him with every single stroke.
"F-Fuck! Martin, wait—!" Juhoon wailed, his hands sliding uselessly across the slick surface of the desk as he tried to find purchase. His toes curled into the carpet, his knees trembling so violently they threatened to give out under his weight.
Every time Martin pulled back, the cool air hit Juhoon’s drenched, gaping entrance, only for Martin to drive right back in, burying himself hilt-deep with a wet, brutal slap of skin against skin. The heavy sound echoed loudly off the hotel room walls, mixed with the harsh, metallic clinking of their open belt buckles and Juhoon's broken, breathless weeping.
Martin’s fingers dug deep into the soft skin of Juhoon’s hips, leaving red pressure marks where he anchored him in place. He leaned over Juhoon’s spine, his broad, sweaty chest crushing down against Juhoon's back, his mouth pinning down the crook of Juhoon's neck with rough, hungry bites.
"You're squeezing me so tight," Martin growled, his voice thick, guttural, and completely stripped of restraint. He picked up the pace, his hips snapping forward in a fast, punishing rhythm that made the heavy desk rattle violently against the wall with every thrust. "Fucking milk me, Juhoon. Is this hard enough for you?"
"Yes! Ah! Yes, more—fuck!" Juhoon sobbed, completely unraveled. All his former pride was crushed beneath the relentless, heavy pounding. His back dipped low, his rear lifted high to take every inch, his internal walls fluttering violently around Martin’s thick shaft as another overwhelming wave of over-stimulation built instantly in his gut.
Martin reached one hand around, blindly cupping Juhoon’s groin, his thumb pressing down hard against Juhoon’s swollen, sensitive clit while continuing his ruthless, deep drives from behind.
That double-assault instantly pushed Juhoon over the edge again.
Juhoon’s scream tore raw out of his throat as his whole body went rigid. His internal muscles clamped down like a vise around Martin’s cock, pulsing in furious, rhythmic spasms. The unbearable tightness finally broke Martin’s remaining control—with a low, animalistic roar, Martin thrust all the way in one last time, pinning Juhoon flat against the desk as he came hard, painting Juhoon’s walls inside with a heavy, hot flood.
The heavy, shuddering silence of the room settled in, broken only by the sound of their ragged, desperate breathing. Martin remained buried deep inside, his large frame lying heavy over Juhoon’s back, his forehead resting against the cool surface of the desk right next to Juhoon’s ear.
For two full minutes, neither of them moved. Juhoon was completely spent, his body limp, his chin resting flat on his crossed arms while his heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
Slowly, Martin let out a long, shuddering sigh, the heat of his breath tickling Juhoon's flushed neck. He shifted his weight, his hands sliding down from Juhoon’s hips to rest gently over his stomach, his large palms feeling the subtle, erratic rise and fall of Juhoon's abdomen.
Martin leaned in close, his lips brushing against the shell of Juhoon’s ear as a small, breathy chuckle vibrated through his chest.
"God," Martin rasped, his voice low and thoroughly satisfied. "With how much I just put inside you, I'm pretty sure you're going to end up pregnant by the time this tour end."
Juhoon’s eyes snapped open. Even in his utterly exhausted, milky-brained state, a fresh wave of heat rushed right up to the tips of his ears.
"Shut up," Juhoon croaked out, his voice completely wrecked from all the screaming. He tried to nudge Martin off with a feeble elbow, but he barely had the strength to twitch. "That’s not how it works, you idiot."
"I don't know," Martin teased softly, his hands spreading wider over Juhoon's flat stomach, pressing down with just enough gentle pressure to make Juhoon whimper at the fullness still inside him. "Feels like I filled you up enough to make it happen. Guess we'll have to explain to James why you can't perform in the second half of the tour."
"Martin, I swear to God—" Juhoon huffed, burying his face deeper into his arms to hide the helpless, stupid smile tugging at the corners of his lips despite his best efforts to stay angry.
Martin just laughed, a warm, fond sound that echoed in the quiet room, before leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to the back of Juhoon’s neck. "Come on," Martin murmured softly, finally beginning to pull out slowly. "Let's go clean you up before you actually pass out on this desk."
Martin carried him into the bathroom, but the moment Juhoon’s feet touched the cold tile, any plan of a quick cleanup vanished into thin air.
Standing under the warm spray of the shower, the water cascading over their flushed skin only seemed to reignite the heat between them. Juhoon was still hyper-sensitive, his head resting against the slick glass wall while Martin’s hands washed over him, turning every gentle touch into something far more dangerous.
"You're still looking at me like you want to bite me," Martin murmured, his hands lingering on Juhoon’s waist as the water washed down his chest.
Juhoon didn't deny it. Instead, he reached out, slipping his arms around Martin's wet shoulders and pulling him flush against his chest. "You said you filled me up," Juhoon rasped, his voice still low and raspy, his dark eyes locking onto Martin’s through the steam. "You haven't finished the job."
Martin chuckled, a low, dark sound that got swallowed by the rush of the showerhead. "You never know when to stop, do you?"
Before Juhoon could answer, Martin hooked one of Juhoon’s legs over his hip, lifting him straight off the shower floor. With his back pressed firm against the warm, wet glass, Juhoon let out a sharp gasp as Martin guided his thick, re-erected length right back to his slick, swollen opening.
With a single, heavy drive, Martin buried himself hilt-deep once again.
The slick friction under the running water drove Juhoon completely wild. His arms clamped around Martin’s neck for dear life as Martin established a fast, pounding rhythm right there under the spray. The sound of water splashing against tile mixed with the wet, heavy slap of their bodies and Juhoon’s helpless, breathless whines that echoed sharply off the bathroom walls.
"Gotta make sure that your wish come true, right?" Martin rasped into the crook of Juhoon's neck, biting down softly on his skin before thrusting back in with punishing depth.
"Shut up—ah!—Martin, yes!" Juhoon cried out, throwing his head back into the spray, his entire body trembling as the intense, relentless angle slammed him straight back toward the edge.
Every heavy thrust from behind hit that exact swollen spot inside him, the combination of the warm water and Martin’s ruthless, relentless pace pushing Juhoon past his limits in minutes. With a loud, shattered scream that echoed off the damp tiles, Juhoon came hard for the third time, his inner walls clamping down so violently that Martin groaned out loud, hammering himself deep twice more before spilling hot and thick inside him all over again.
The steam in the enclosed glass stall grew thicker, heavy with the scent of body wash and the stifling heat radiating off their slick, pressed skin.
Juhoon’s body was completely at the mercy of the angle. With his left leg hitched high over Martin's hip and his back pinned flat against the wet, fogged glass wall, every heavy thrust hit deep and brutal, driving the blunt head of Martin’s cock straight into his most sensitive spot over and over again.
"M-Martin, wait—ah!" Juhoon gasped out, his fingers digging frantically into the wet muscle of Martin's shoulders to keep his grip. The water running down his face couldn't wash away the fierce, brilliant flush spreading from his chest up to his throat.
"Thought you said I wasn't finished?" Martin growled into his ear, his voice rough and breathy. He didn't slow down for a second; instead, he shifted his stance on the wet tile, anchoring his back foot to give himself more leverage, and began hammering upward with unrelenting force.
The wet, echoing slap of skin against skin competed with the steady roar of the showerhead above them. Every time Martin drove inside, Juhoon’s walls, already raw and hyper-sensitive from the previous rounds, clamped down in helpless sputters. The intense friction under the warm water was almost too much to bear, sending shocks of pure electricity straight to the base of Juhoon's spine.
"Look at the glass," Martin rasped, his large, calloused hand reaching around to cup Juhoon’s chin, forcing his face to the side.
Juhoon opened his heavy, wet eyes to look at the steam-covered glass right beside his face. The fogged surface was completely smeared where his back and arms had slid down it, marking the frantic rhythm of their bodies. Seeing his own wrecked, completely unravelled reflection—lips parted, eyes glossy, chest heaving—sent a sharp, humiliating thrill through him.
"You're taking every inch of me," Martin murmured, his dark eyes fixed on Juhoon's reflection as he drew back until only the tip remained inside, making Juhoon whimper aloud at the empty, cold ache before Martin slammed all the way back in to the hilt.
"Fuck—Martin!" Juhoon shrieked, his head snapping back against the glass. The sheer depth of the thrust tore through his last shred of stamina. His toes curled, his thigh trembling violently where it rested on Martin's hip.
Martin’s thumb swept across Juhoon's rain-slicked waist, digging into the soft dip above his hip bone to hold him pinned firmly against the glass. He picked up the pace into a fast, punishing drive, his chest heavy and pounding against Juhoon's side as he drove them both straight over the edge.
Juhoon couldn't even form words anymore; his throat gave out into short, breathless cries that were swallowed by the sound of rushing water. His internal muscles seized up, clamping around Martin’s shaft in a tight, pulsing vise as another violent, body-racking orgasm ripped through him, leaving him completely limp in Martin's arms.
The sheer tightness of Juhoon’s core instantly snapped Martin’s remaining restraint. With a low, guttural growl, Martin thrust deep one last time, holding himself pinned as far inside as he could go, his hips shuddering as he filled Juhoon with a long, hot, final pulse.
For several minutes, neither of them moved. The shower beat down relentlessly over their bowed heads, washing away the sweat and slickness as they clung to each other, both chests heaving in ragged, synchronized breaths against the warm tile wall.
The water slowly turned lukewarm, but neither of them made a move to step out of the stall. Juhoon remained suspended in Martin’s grip, his face buried deep in the crook of Martin’s neck, his chest rising and falling in shallow, exhausted hitches.
Martin’s arms stayed wrapped securely around Juhoon’s waist, taking the full burden of his weight so Juhoon’s trembling legs wouldn't have to touch the floor. He rested his cheek against Juhoon’s wet hair, letting out a long, heavy breath that vibrated against Juhoon’s skin.
"You okay?" Martin murmured softly, his voice low and raspy from the heat, all the teasing bite completely gone.
Juhoon didn't answer right away. He just let out a quiet, pathetic huff of air against Martin’s collarbone, his fingers weakly tightening in the fabric of Martin's discarded, soaked shirt lingering on the outer bench. He felt completely hollowed out, inside and out—the suffocating, agonizing ache that had been driving him crazy for days was finally, totally gone, replaced by a deep, heavy numbness in his thighs.
"I'm going to kill you," Juhoon croaked out, though his tone was so weak and slurred it carried zero threat. "My back hurt like hell."
Martin let out a low, warm laugh, the sound rumbling directly against Juhoon's chest. "You're the one who slapped me into the desk, remember? I was just following orders."
"Shut up," Juhoon mumbled, finally letting his leg slide down from Martin's hip. His knees instantly buckled the moment his feet hit the slick tile, but Martin caught him effortlessly under the arms before he could slip, holding him steady.
"Alright, alright, take it easy," Martin said, his hands gentle as he reached over to turn off the faucet. The sudden silence in the steam-filled bathroom was loud, punctuated only by the drip of water from the showerhead and their quiet breathing.
Martin grabbed two plush hotel towels from the rack, wrapping one around Juhoon's shoulders and using the other to carefully pat down his damp hair. Juhoon stood there like a docile, half-asleep cat, too drained to protest as Martin wrapped him up, slung an arm around his waist, and guided him back out into the main bedroom.
The room was in complete disarray. The desk chair was knocked sideways, the heavy wooden desk was noticeably shifted two inches off its original alignment against the wall, and their discarded clothes were scattered across the carpet in a messy trail leading from the door to the bathroom.
Juhoon collapsed onto the edge of the king-sized bed with a low groan, sinking instantly into the soft mattress. He pulled the thick white duvet up to his chin, staring blankly at the wall as the sheer exhaustion of the concert, the crying spell, and the relentless heat finally caught up to his brain.
Martin picked up their clothes from the floor, tossing them into a corner before sliding into the bed beside him. He pulled Juhoon back against his chest, wrapping a heavy arm around his waist and pulling him tight against his warm, dry body.
Juhoon shifted slightly, pressing his back flush into Martin's front, letting out a quiet sigh as Martin rest his chin on the top of his head.
"We have to be on the bus by noon," Juhoon murmured softly, his eyelids growing heavy as the chill of the air conditioning settled over the quiet room.
"I'll set an alarm," Martin replied, his voice already thick with sleep as his hand rubbed slow, comforting circles over Juhoon's stomach. "Go to sleep, Juhoon."
Juhoon closed his eyes, his breathing finally evening out as the heavy, safe warmth of Martin's arms pulled him under into a deep, dreamless sleep.