Work Text:
The night in Prague never stopped. The door to the room was ajar, and Kang Pio sat on the windowsill, his shoulders pulled into a hard line.
Choi Jeongyo watched the silhouette before him, the pen resting on his knee had long since stopped moving, ink bleeding into a small stain on the page—a telltale sign of a distracted mind. Nine years. Time seemed to have sanded Kang Pio down completely, and yet that spine still refused to bend, his waist always held straight even when seated, as if he were still sitting before a piano.
The two of them had been like this for a long while, facing each other in silence, neither speaking. A lump had formed in Choi Jeongyo's throat. He thought of their first meeting in the corridor—two or three meters between them, something stretched thin enough to break with a single touch. In the end, he was the one who spoke first, calling Kang Pio's name clear and distinct, as if he had said it a thousand times before, and yet his tone was flat, as though he were calling out to a passerby.
He asked, "Kang Pio, what kind of expression is that?"
Kang Pio's expression—it was as if this reunion had diverged wildly from whatever he had imagined. His lips parted slightly, then pressed tight, his whole body frozen in place, only his eyes burning too bright. Choi Jeongyo understood. Kang Pio had probably envisioned countless times the cold, unfamiliar look he would receive upon meeting again. But he hadn't expected Choi Jeongyo to still remember his name, and even less expected that when the reunion he'd been waiting for finally arrived, there would be nothing at all on Choi Jeongyo's face.
"Are you planning to sit there forever?"
It was still Choi Jeongyo who spoke first. The moment the words landed, Kang Pio turned around immediately, as if he had been waiting a long time, waiting only for someone to break the stalemate so he could pour out everything he'd been holding in for years. But the emotions at the bottom of his eyes refused to stay buried, his face cast in shadow, and he seemed still to hesitate, afraid of the answer he might get once the question left his mouth.
"Luca… Choi Jeongyo, you don't remember me."
Choi Jeongyo tilted his head, wearing the look of someone listening earnestly, yet with a faint, ambiguous smile: "Should I?"
The whole world seemed to go silent in an instant. A violent ringing exploded through his ears. Kang Pio's brows knit tight as he struggled to stand; every step toward Choi Jeongyo was unsteady, as if nothing could support the last shred of hope he had left. Choi Jeongyo looked up at that face, its edges softened by the light—lips pressed tight, anxious eyes hidden beneath lashes, desperate beyond measure, yet even his questioning was draped in hesitation and compromise because of the struggle inside him.
"You remember." Kang Pio's voice was very low, his fists clenching and releasing, deep nail marks left in his palms, as if he were talking to himself. "You remember, Jeongyo."
Choi Jeongyo didn't seem inclined to easily accept the emotions from nine years ago. He let his eyelids droop lazily, his gaze sliding from the furrowed brow to the bridge of the nose, to the lips, to the throat that kept swallowing and tightening. He knew Kang Pio wasn't finished, that many words were stuck in his throat and wouldn't come out, that even the buttons of his shirt had come undone in his agitation—nothing like his usual polished, immaculate self, his entire chest heaving with urgency and pleading. Choi Jeongyo's gaze stopped there, his fingers curling unconsciously.
"You want me to remember?" He still chose to speak in that light, careless tone, an attitude calculated to unsettle. Kang Pio's hands were already braced on either side of the bed's edge, and at this distance Choi Jeongyo could smell him—too close, close enough to see how bloodshot Kang Pio's eyes were, close enough that every breath he exhaled swept across Choi Jeongyo's face.
"I want…" Kang Pio closed his eyes, his clenched fists finally falling to his sides. "Jeongyo, I want you to remember me."
Then Kang Pio felt Choi Jeongyo's hand reach out, fingertips settling lightly at his collar, sliding down along the gap of his shirt, tone casual: "Then listen to me."
"Take off your tie."
Kang Pio didn't ask why. He simply stood slowly, fingers finding his tie, loosening it bit by bit and drawing it out, his movements meticulous—as if he were preparing for his next performance rather than about to hand over all control to someone else. The dark tie hung in his palm. Choi Jeongyo didn't seem inclined to give him any chance to reconsider; he took the tie, folded it in half, stretched it out, then rose and stepped behind Kang Pio, covering the eyes that had been fixed on him this whole time.
Everything went dark for Kang Pio. When the fabric pressed against him, Kang Pio's breathing turned chaotic. His back still struggled to stay straight as Choi Jeongyo tied a knot behind his head—just tight enough to keep the tie fixed, not tight enough to hurt, but impossible to remove.
"Can you see?" Choi Jeongyo's voice came from above.
"I can’t."
"Then you only need to feel me."
When Choi Jeongyo pressed Kang Pio onto the bed, the first thing he did was take his hand. As he was pressed down, Kang Pio's balance tipped, and he instinctively reached for something, only to have his wrist caught and pinned back in the darkness, fingers laced together, palm against palm, until his fingers curled on instinct.
Nine years, and these hands had never been held like this. They were a pianist's hands. Beyond the keys, what else was worth opening himself completely for? Unless it came from Choi Jeongyo—whose hand was now wrapped around the pianist's, gripping tight enough to nearly leave red marks at the base.
"Don't move," Choi Jeongyo lowered his head, his tone flat enough to sound like he was discussing something irrelevant. "Your hands…"
Kang Pio said nothing, only tried to keep his breathing as quiet as possible. The tie stripped him of sight—he couldn't see Choi Jeongyo's expression, couldn't see what emotions were hiding in those eyes. He told himself he had to bear everything Choi Jeongyo gave him. This complete, passive submission would wash away all the fear from before, bringing an unmatched sense of safety. Those hands covered his, warm and dry, without even much force—as if knowing the person beneath him wouldn't struggle.
"I remember these hands," Choi Jeongyo's fingers slowly tightened, tracing along the bones one inch at a time, as if testing, or confirming something. "You used to push yourself at the piano—until your fingers were red and aching, and you still wouldn't stop."
The pianist's throat moved as he swallowed. Kang Pio heard his own heartbeat about to burst his eardrums, unable to tell whether the rhythm held joy or something else quietly growing—as if by surrendering all sense of direction in the dark, even fear lost its edge.
His fingers, usually the most obedient part of him, now had no strength at all, able only to be spread open and kneaded by Choi Jeongyo again and again. When Choi Jeongyo gently pinched his finger joint, pushing up from the base little by little, Kang Pio even let out a satisfied sigh, unable to stop himself from tilting his head—though darkness filled his vision, he touched something soft and warm. It was Choi Jeongyo's lips, pressed to his ear, breath scorching.
"Am I right?"
When no response came, Choi Jeongyo's hands began to wander. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the way Kang Pio's legs pressed tightly together, and the corner of his mouth curved into a smile. He pulled Kang Pio's fingers to his own lips and took the one that worked hardest on the keys into his mouth, teeth grazing his knuckle and the slight roughness at his fingertip. The fingers trembled with shame and helplessness, trying to pull away, but Choi Jeongyo caught the base of the finger with his teeth, sinking in just slightly—a command-like reminder. Kang Pio went quiet immediately, only his chest still heaving uncontrollably.
"So--right now…" Choi Jeongyo's voice was inches away. "Are you most obedient when playing the piano, or like this?"
Kang Pio didn't answer—he just reached for his collar. After his hand slipped free of Choi Jeongyo's palm, he began unbuttoning his shirt one by one. Slowly. Choi Jeongyo didn't rush him, just watched as he felt his way through the second button, the third, undoing each one with the careful precision of touching piano keys, until the shirt slid off his shoulders, then the belt, and finally trousers and underwear were pushed down to his ankles—fully exposed, his body burning with the disbelief of his own compliance. If not for his sight being completely stripped away, Kang Pio thought he might have died of shame on the spot.
"Choi Jeongyo… you, mm…"
Choi Jeongyo's gaze fell on the body before him, stopping on those long legs and the half-hard cock between them—pale in color, the tip a wet, tender pink. He used his thumb to push from the base along the shaft slowly to the top, wiping the wet fluid onto Kang Pio's inner thigh, drawing out the increasingly ragged breathing he wanted. Kang Pio finally couldn't take it anymore and desperately tried to close his legs, only to have them pushed apart by Choi Jeongyo's knee. Then Choi Jeongyo lowered his head and took the shaft into his mouth, his tongue curling around the most sensitive part as he swallowed it down bit by bit.
"Wait—Choi Jeongyo—don't… you can't—"
The moment he was enveloped in that warm mouth, Kang Pio felt something in his head snap completely. His whole body arched off the bed, his hands scrambling blindly before finally gripping Choi Jeongyo's hair. He couldn't see Choi Jeongyo looking up at him while sucking him off, those eyes dark and bright under the dim yellow light, smiling around him, the corner of his mouth stretched slightly, tongue pressing against the shaft and moving back and forth. Choi Jeongyo didn't take it deep, only half, but he seemed to know exactly how to make Kang Pio cry— and he didn't stop.
Choi Jeongyo gave him no time to adjust, tongue circling the slit. Kang Pio jerked with a whimper, fingers tightening in Choi Jeongyo's hair before releasing as if shocked, the sounds coming from his throat hoarse and sticky, utterly unfamiliar.
"Choi Jeongyo… wait, I…" Kang Pio couldn't see, but he could feel that burning gaze nailed to his face, hot enough to set even his ears on fire. He wanted to beg, but those words were too difficult to say. The pleas circled in his mouth again and again, finally reduced to sighs spilling from his lips.
"Wait for what?" Choi Jeongyo's voice was flat, but his fingers were still slowly stroking below. "Kang Pio, you're this hard, and you still want to wait?"
Kang Pio couldn't answer. His legs were pinned by Choi Jeongyo, unable to close. Every sensation was piled into that hand—Choi Jeongyo was like playing a scale that required almost no effort, his fingertip slowly, deliberately grinding around that spot. Then Choi Jeongyo suddenly let go. Before Kang Pio could catch his breath, he heard the sound of a belt unbuckling, metal clicking, a zipper pulling down, fabric rustling to the floor. His heart felt like it would jump out of his chest, waves of panic rising. He couldn't see anything, could only judge Choi Jeongyo's movements by sound—the other man getting on the bed, knees sinking into the mattress between his legs.
"Kang Pio, open your legs."
When he didn't move, Choi Jeongyo pressed a hand to the inside of his knee, palm against his thigh, pushing outward slowly. Not much force, but enough to easily spread those legs. Kang Pio bit his lip and turned his face away, eyes squeezed shut beneath the tie.
"You… at least say something."
"Say what?"
"Anything. Don't make me feel like an idiot…"
What came before the answer was Choi Jeongyo's finger, slick with cool lube, pressing against that place that had never been touched. Kang Pio instinctively tried to shy away, but Choi Jeongyo pressed his other hand to his lower belly. After years apart, those hands seemed even more agile and strong—for a moment, Kang Pio truly couldn't break free of them.
Choi Jeongyo's finger pushed in very slowly, the pad of his finger carefully smearing the slick along the inner walls; even so, Kang Pio hissed at the pain, but Choi Jeongyo was so patient—in a little, back out, then two fingers together pushing deeper. The dull ache of fullness made Kang Pio's lower belly clench again and again. His cock leaked more under the stimulation, a shameful trail running down onto his belly, wiped by Choi Jeongyo's fingers and spread everywhere.
"It's hot inside," Choi Jeongyo said, his fingers now moving easily in and out, taking his time with every spot that could make the other feel good. "Does it feel good?"
Kang Pio shook his head and nodded, unable to hold back, about to say something, but his voice trembled with no strength left. He wanted to clamp his legs, close them, end this absurd situation quickly—but Choi Jeongyo was in the way, leaving him only able to kick uselessly at the sheets, rubbing and shifting helplessly. That aching fullness surged up from the base of his spine, his whole body seeming to be stretched open from inside, even his breathing shattered beyond repair, his lower half soaked.
When Choi Jeongyo pulled his fingers out, Kang Pio nearly cried out, his body clenching empty around nothing as if begging to be filled—then he realized Choi Jeongyo was already in front of him, pushing his legs apart with his knees. Something much thicker than fingers pressed against him—against the place that had just been played with until wet and soft.
"Kang Pio."
The voice followed immediately. Kang Pio turned his head, burying his face in his arm, sounding sullen: "…What."
"Turn your face here."
"I can't see."
The movement above paused. Those hands reached over, loosening the tie a bit, pushing it up halfway. The moment light returned, Kang Pio nearly burst into tears from the stimulation. Choi Jeongyo's hands were braced on either side of his face, hair falling down, brushing his temple now and then. His expression was unreadable, but there was something hidden in his eyes that Kang Pio couldn't name.
"Can you see now?"
Kang Pio looked at the face before him, his nose prickling. He wanted to say so many things—ask where Choi Jeongyo had been all these years, ask if he really didn't remember him. But Choi Jeongyo gave him no chance. His hips sank down, cock pushing open the entrance, driving deeper inch by inch without pause.
All of Kang Pio's questions were shattered into fragments. Too deep, too full—he had never experienced anything like this, could only follow instinct and tip his face up to gasp for air, fighting to swallow his moans. His hands clawed at the sheets, finding nothing to hold on to, then uselessly gripped Choi Jeongyo's shoulders, leaving crumpled folds behind. Choi Jeongyo entered slowly but without holding back, stopping after pushing in most of the way, watching Kang Pio's tears slide into his hair—unclear whether from pain or something else.
"Choi Jeongyo…" His voice was almost gone. "Slow--slow down… you—"
"Hm?" Choi Jeongyo, fully inside, deliberately stayed still, keeping his tone flat, only the trembling tail of his voice betraying him. "Me what?"
He gripped Kang Pio's waist and dragged him back, pulling out almost all the way before slamming in again—hard, precise, angled to make him feel every inch. The force drove Kang Pio up the bed, his body collapsing back onto the pillow with no time to brace. Before he could catch his breath, Choi Jeongyo found the spot and ground into it, again and again, until Kang Pio's voice broke. His hips kept lifting to meet him, legs falling open each time before they were caught and pinned back, knees hooked over Choi Jeongyo's arms.
Kang Pio still wanted to use his arm to cover his face. Choi Jeongyo didn't pull his hand away, just leaned down and gently bit his ear: "You've been waiting since you walked in. Not ten minutes, not an hour—Kang Pio, you waited nine years for me. What are you crying for now?"
Nine years. That word sealed off every rebuttal he had. Kang Pio lowered his arm, eyes still red and swollen, struggling to recover his usual expression, and in the end could only glare at Choi Jeongyo and force out one sentence: "Go ahead, then…"
The expected answer. Choi Jeongyo laughed, and this time the smile finally reached his eyes.
"That's it."
"You—!" Kang Pio grew flustered, instinctively raising his voice, but the words broke apart before forming a sentence. "…Choi Jeongyo, slower."
"You don't want it slow."
"I didn't say—"
He raised a hand to push Choi Jeongyo's shoulder, but his wrist was caught and pinned to the pillows on either side of his head again, palms pressed together. This position left Kang Pio completely open, chest heaving against Choi Jeongyo's shirt, just one layer of fabric rubbing him until he could bear it less and less.
"Choi Jeongyo… Jeongyo…" He called the name again and again, not knowing whether he was begging or urging. Choi Jeongyo didn't answer. He caught Kang Pio's hand again and bit down on that knuckle, teeth scraping gently, while his hips moved faster and faster, every thrust grinding hard against the spot that made the other cry.
Kang Pio was fucked until his vision went white. Every time he met Choi Jeongyo's gaze, he found those eyes watching him, as if they had never looked away—that focus made Kang Pio's whole body tremble more than the thing inside him.
Seeming to notice the reaction beneath him, Choi Jeongyo couldn't help but laugh softly. He released Kang Pio's wrists and instead gripped his waist, picking up speed, pulling out completely before slamming back in, balls slapping against him. Kang Pio's voice broke apart, fragmented moans drifting through the room. His hand had somehow found Choi Jeongyo's again, fingers tangled, scorching hot, as if they were branding themselves into each other.
"Jeongyo… Jeongyo…"
Choi Jeongyo suddenly leaned down. Kang Pio almost instinctively tilted his chin up, lips parting slightly, as if waiting for something to fall—he could feel Choi Jeongyo's breath brushing his lips, lashes trembling, eyes not daring to close, staring straight at the other. But Choi Jeongyo stopped there, the two of them separated by half an inch, the air filling with suffocating tension. That gaze slid from his eyes to his lips. Kang Pio could sense Choi Jeongyo hesitating, or weighing something.
Packed into that inch of distance were nine whole years.
The expected kiss didn't come. The moment Choi Jeongyo turned his head away, a sob nearly escaped Kang Pio. He wanted to lift his head and chase the kiss, but the anticipation wrenched from his chest left him weak, with nothing but a hollow, aching sourness.
Something seemed to burn in his lower belly. Then Choi Jeongyo thrust into the deepest point again, grinding inside, and Kang Pio's vision went briefly white. When he came, his hole clenched tight around the cock. Choi Jeongyo kept thrusting for a while before pulling out, stroking himself a few times and coming on Kang Pio's inner thighs, cum running down between them onto the sheets.
Kang Pio was still trembling, legs unable to close, only able to curl up to hide his embarrassment. The afterglow of orgasm receded like a tide, leaving only a hollow, unmoored exhaustion.
He could feel Choi Jeongyo's breathing behind him, even, warm, like a confirmation that had taken nine years to arrive.
Neither spoke again. Their breathing slowly found the same rhythm.