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Jongwoo wakes up in the dead of night, for seemingly no reason. No…he doesn’t just wake up, he jolts awake. It’s like his mind is telling him that he needs to be conscious, because something is about to happen. He’s been living with that perpetual sense of foreboding ever since he came to Seoul, and his suspicions have been at least somewhat correct every single time, so he knows to trust his gut when it comes to moments like this.
Even though it’s not right that he feels like this in general. He’s staying in a hotel, not in room 303 of the Eden residence. Things should be peaceful here, because Jongwoo and Jieun had made a point to disappear without a trace. He never wants to go back there, and it’s because of this very feeling.
So why is he experiencing it now, too?
The hotel room is nothing like his room at the residence. It’s small, but somehow much bigger than his own room. The bed is big and soft and inviting, and the air conditioning is comfortable. The walls are clean, and the lamp in the hotel room doesn’t reveal filth or age or any other disgusting things that indicate a frightening history. It’s like coming home and getting that first hug in a long time from his mother.
Jongwoo is going back to Busan tomorrow, so that fantasy will very much become a reality in less than twenty-four hours. Quite frankly, he doesn’t know what he’s going to tell his mother. Will she believe anything he says? He knows that she told him to be careful around other people, but this story…defies words. How is it that one person managed to find the only place in Seoul where an entire residence of people are conspiring together as serial killers?
Better yet, how is he supposed to tell her that they’ve pushed him to the brink of insanity in doing so? That he’s actually fantasized about killing them? That he attacked his senior at his internship?
To be honest, that’s a part of what scares him so much about the situation. He may be terrified of Seo Moonjo, but he’s also scared of himself. Moonjo’s accuracy in predicting Jongwoo’s thoughts puts them both on a very similar level, even if it’s just in that one fragmented way. But he’s definitely wanted to tear Jaeho limb from limb ever since he saw him alone with Jieun. And yeah, he’s fantasized about choking the life out of that pervert in room 313 ever since he started suspecting the jackass was going into his room. He’s gotten so incredibly close to snapping so many times ever since Moonjo started subliminally taunting him with carefully-placed words that it makes him worried for what he could do.
Wait…where’s Jieun?
Jongwoo sits bolt upright once he realizes he’s alone in the room. While it’s unfortunate that the only real moment he’s gotten to spend with her since he moved here has been cowering in the confines of this very hotel room, he’s just glad to have her here. It’s obvious that she still doesn’t see things about the residence as seriously as he does, and he’s still bitter that she can’t seem to empathize with him about the situation, but even if their relationship really is falling apart, he’ll cherish what he can get in the moment. He cares about her deeply, but he’s also not too stupid to see the distance this whole experience has put between them.
But now, he’s just worried about her. When he’d entered the room, Jongwoo had been cautious to make sure every door was locked, and he’d even double-checked the window. He’d scanned the room from floor to ceiling for any sign of foul play. He’d made damned sure that the both of them would be safe for the duration of the night.
But it doesn’t really help if Jieun’s gone off somewhere alone.
Does Jongwoo think Moonjo would actually cause her harm? Not at present, no. As far as Jongwoo knows, she’s not a threat to whatever sick, twisted plans Moonjo has in mind. The one good thing about being able to think the way this bastard does is that Jongwoo can predict some of the things he’s going to do.
He knows Jaeho probably isn’t safe. He should be concerned for the guy, and in a way, he is. But he’s also still very angry, and just like Moonjo had called it, he’s hated him ever since he realized the man’s interest in Jieun.
Either way, he should call Jieun and make sure she’s alright. He reaches for his phone, but as he’s doing so, something in the foyer catches his eye.
No, someone.
He swears his heart stops beating in his chest when he realizes that none other than Seo Moonjo is standing at the entryway. He looks placid like usual, as if he’s doing nothing wrong by being here.
This sick fuck just won’t go away.
Jongwoo digs his knife out of his bag before he can stop himself and lets out a frustrated scream as he bounds across the small hotel room and toward Moonjo. In less than a second, he’s got a fistful of Moonjo’s shirt and has him pinned up against the wall with the blade of his knife just inches from the man’s throat. He’s shaking, growling, just itching to watch this jackass bleed.
One, two, three seconds pass, before Moonjo starts laughing. It’s a low, breathy chuckle that echoes throughout the small space of the hotel room. Jongwoo feels like he can count every single one of the bastard’s teeth, because he’s smiling so widely that he’s exposed them all.
It really would be as simple as slicing this man’s throat wide open. Jongwoo doesn’t care how much blood it would spill or how violent it would be. It’d simply be a relief to see Moonjo crumple to the ground and die, never to harass him or those around him ever again.
But the knife still has yet to make contact with flesh.
And of course, Moonjo calls him out on it. As he speaks up, his eyes are alight and somehow so very dark at the same time. “Aren’t you going to do it?”
Jongwoo wants to. God, he wants to. But it’s like there’s some thin, invisible wall separating metal from skin. “What?” he instead questions harshly through gritted teeth. He’s stalling and he knows it. “You want to die?”
Moonjo’s laughter grows more pronounced. “Actions speak louder than words, babe…”
God, this guy pisses Jongwoo off so much. He can’t tell if Moonjo is full of himself or just utterly unafraid of consequences. Either way, he’s all-but daring Jongwoo to kill him, and why can’t he do it?
“Shut the fuck up,” Jongwoo snarls, slamming Moonjo harshly backward again, to which he simply lolls his head back against the wall behind him, his mouth falling open in a more energetic laugh. Jongwoo narrows his eyes and retracts the knife, flipping the handle in his grip until the blade points down. He raises his weapon, but before he can either attempt to or actually stab this man, Moonjo catches his wrist and twists his arm sideways.
His attack succeeds, and the blade slips from Jongwoo’s hold, hitting the floor with a soft ringing noise. Moonjo then takes Jongwoo’s bangs into a fist with his free hand. Jongwoo’s reaction is instant—his hand releases Moonjo’s shirt and raises into the air. He’s not sure what to do, and it’s only because he doesn’t know what Moonjo is about to do to him first.
“Where’s Jieun?” Jongwoo demands shakily. It’s frankly the only coherent response he can formulate.
“That’s a good question,” Moonjo replies, and the tone in his voice is convincing. “I have no idea where she went. Do you think I’d use her against you?”
“Well, would you?” Jongwoo barks, still frozen in Moonjo’s hold.
Moonjo lets out a long, almost impatient sigh and uses his grip on Jongwoo’s hair to guide him back into the room. Jongwoo is stumbling helplessly backward, unable to look behind him. “I know you’ve got more common sense than that. I’ve got no interest in creating a mess somewhere parallel from my goal.”
Jongwoo is on the verge of a sarcastic retort, but Moonjo stops him by using both hands to shove him in the chest. Jongwoo is caught off guard by the sheer force of such a strong attack from a man who looks as thin as Moonjo does, so he loses his balance, tripping and plopping down onto the bed. He immediately moves to get back up, but Moonjo stops him by a thumb and forefinger on his Adam’s apple.
This is the second time Moonjo has done that, and just like the first time, it stills Jongwoo completely. He’s sitting half-upright on the bed, propped up on one elbow, with Moonjo leaning over him. Moonjo is supporting himself with one hand planted on the mattress and one knee on the edge, and his expression is still somehow relaxed.
“Why haven’t you come home yet?” He questions softly, to which Jongwoo is quite honestly afraid to answer. He doesn’t trust Moonjo enough to think he won’t hurt him with that tender little grab on his neck.
That’s the thing with Moonjo. He’s so gentle and affectionate and protective over Jongwoo, but he’s also fucking everywhere. Jongwoo’s warning to Jaeho had been well-meant, because he doesn’t doubt for a second that Moonjo would do whatever it took to defend him. It’s like the terms of endearment he uses are meant honestly—like his obsession is more attraction or perhaps infatuation than anything.
And this is something Jongwoo has given some genuine thought to, because when he feels like he can’t talk to his girlfriend or his coworkers or trouble his mother, he can blatantly tell Moonjo how fucked up he is and be met with nothing but affection and understanding.
He won’t dare touch the territory of why that confuses him as much as it does, because right now, he’s furious with Moonjo, and he’s terrified of Moonjo, and he doesn’t want to think about any weird, twisted attachment he might have developed toward Moonjo.
“I’ve told you before,” Jongwoo manages, though even he can hear the quivering in his own voice, “I don’t like it there. The people are all trying to kill me.”
Strangely, he doesn’t get that impression from Moonjo. However, he also doubts the man’s intentions with him are all that innocent, either.
“Is that what you think?” Moonjo’s head tips to the side—a gesture Jongwoo thinks he often sees from the guy when he’s milling something over in his head. “Do you like the idea of being driven out of your own home by your neighbors? I think you could take them, babe.”
Jongwoo finally musters up the courage to swat that hand away from his throat. “I don’t care anymore,” he snaps in response. “Even if they stopped harassing me, there’s no way I could survive six months in that hell.” He suddenly wishes his knife was still within reach. “And what about you? Would you stop following me around if I fought you?”
It’s not a surprise that Moonjo smiles in response to that question. Jongwoo thinks he knows the answer before the bastard even speaks.
“I’m not like them.”
Okay, so he didn’t know the answer. Despite that, however, Jongwoo doesn’t believe him.
“Is that why you’re here?” He decides to question instead. He knows how impatient he sounds, and frankly, he wants it that way. Having Moonjo this close to him simultaneously gives him a warmth he hasn’t felt since he moved here and also makes him uncomfortable. He just wants to go to sleep so that he can wake up and go back to Busan in the morning. “To ask me to come back to that place? It’s not home to me—it never will be.”
Moonjo seems to be giving those words a genuine amount of thought, before he nods his head. “Alright…I understand. Let me spin it a different way, then…”
What Jongwoo isn’t prepared for is the way Moonjo brings his hand up and crawls a bit more fully over him. In seconds, he’s straddling Jongwoo’s thighs, both hands planted on the mattress on either side of his head. Jongwoo doesn’t realize he’s letting the man do just that until his back is flat on the mattress and he’s looking right into those impossibly dark eyes. Moonjo’s hair dangles loosely over his own ears and forehead in the new position, creating a terrifying amalgamation of shadows that somehow haunt his pale features in all the right ways.
If not for just how creepy this man is, Jongwoo might have become quite attracted to him long before now.
“Come back to me.”
Jongwoo shivers, and he internally curses himself because his own fucked-up mind can’t decide whether that chill ran down his spine because he’s scared or because that plea actually holds some weight.
Jongwoo has no idea why Moonjo has taken to him as strongly as he has. It’s creepy and borderline possessive and makes him nervous, but it also makes him feel so much less alone.
Because that’s what he is right now. He thinks that maybe Jieun is trying, but she’s got her own problems to deal with and his seem so trivial because she hasn’t been in his shoes. Jaeho and everyone at work all make a point to make him feel out of place. He can’t bring himself to make his mother worry with all she’s got on her plate. Everyone at the Eden residence seems to get sick enjoyment out of making him feel like he has no choice but to sleep with one eye open.
Moonjo is included in that torment. But Jongwoo can’t for the life of him understand if he’s everywhere because he thinks he’s being protective, or just because he’s some sick freak.
Jongwoo isn’t going back to Eden—he’s going home. But he can’t deny that Moonjo’s request, as bone-chillingly possessive as it is, makes him stop and think about the man hovering over him right now.
It’s a good way of proving how unhinged Jongwoo himself has become, considering he’d been holding a knife to the man’s throat just minutes prior.
“I can’t—” he tries, but Moonjo covers his mouth. The grip surprisingly isn’t all that rough, and it’s followed up quickly by a bit of pressure, coaxing Jongwoo’s head to the side. Jongwoo wants to question him, but any muffled words he could have spoken die in his throat when he feels the warmth and wetness of Moonjo’s mouth on the side of his neck.
It’s not gentle, but it’s not rough either. Moonjo is sucking at the skin where his neck and shoulder meet, and all that confusion comes boiling up all over again, because Jongwoo thinks it feels good. He feels his own breathing stop, and his body goes rigid. He’s quite honestly not sure how to react, but the physical closeness is there, and Jongwoo can tell he craves it because his nerve endings are suddenly tingling in response to every little graze of Moonjo’s tongue along his skin.
He’s not sure if the gesture is some weird, Moonjo-y way of convincing him to come back to the residence or something a little more centered around his own feelings. He’s still going to stand his ground, but at the same time, he’s not blind to the way his body is responding. Strange, how a kiss on the neck manages to bring Jongwoo back to their first night drinking together, or the many times Moonjo had reassured him about the validity of his anger, or how he was there when Jongwoo had fought those kids and again when Jaeho had dragged him out tonight.
He’s scared of Moonjo, but he’s also stupidly flattered.
He can keep telling himself he’s not going back to Eden, but right now…in this moment…
He is so fucked up. No wonder there’s something between them.
Moonjo seems to sense that Jongwoo is responding favorably, because he soon lowers himself down to his forearms, letting his lean body rest atop Jongwoo’s own. He slides his free hand up underneath the small of Jongwoo’s back and pulls him up against him, rolling his hips down.
And Jongwoo can feel him. Those thighs are pressed on the outside of his own and Moonjo’s hardness is pressed directly against Jongwoo’s groin.
It should gross him out. It should scare him. He should be planting his hands on Moonjo’s shoulders and shoving him away. That knife should be back in his hand and embedded in Moonjo’s throat. There is so much wrong with what’s going on right now, but fuck.
This will all be over once he’s back in Busan tomorrow.
That’s Jongwoo’s excuse.
He tells himself he’s bringing his arms up and around Moonjo’s back to gather his bearings. That his hands are taking fistfuls of the man’s shirt for the sake of keeping himself grounded. That his hips rock up into the body pressed against his own because it’s a natural response to stimulation. He doesn’t have to care about Moonjo to do this. It isn’t about emotions or attachment. It will never be about that.
It’s because it feels good. Not right or perfect—just good. He hasn’t put his hands on his own body, let alone anyone else’s, in a very long time. He’s just relieving tension.
And definitely not some drawn-out sexual tension created between himself and Moonjo over time.
One hand falls from Moonjo’s back as Jongwoo plants his palm flat on the mattress and rolls his hips up more purposefully. The friction isn’t much between the thick material of both their clothes, but the intensely good sensation that it creates is plenty indicative of how much Jongwoo wants more.
He falls into a slow-yet-rough pace, his cock uncomfortably pressed against his pants as arousal sets in and their bodies gyrate together. Moonjo feels like he’s in the very same situation, but neither of them stop. At some point, Jongwoo has a hand in Moonjo’s hair, panting out his need for more while he bucks up into the erection pressed against his own.
The change in pace happens so suddenly that Jongwoo doesn’t have time to react. It’s when Moonjo takes the front of his shirt in one fist and his hair in another and sits back, hefting him up with him.
Jongwoo realizes he’s in midair before he even understands he’s being thrown by Moonjo. He is launched sideways, toward the head of the bed, and lands on his back, letting out a grunt.
And then Moonjo is all over him again. What started out as an impatient little dry-humping session suddenly becomes a mess of heated kissing, hands near-frantically diving into the front of Jongwoo’s pants. Despite the heat and aggressive pacing of their movements, Moonjo has very meticulous fingers and soft hands, and he seems to have a good idea of what he’s doing.
Jongwoo doesn’t. This would mark his first time engaging in any kind of intimacy with another man. Perhaps he should be furious that it happens to be with this guy of all people, and under any other circumstance he would have been, but right now, Moonjo’s hand is in Jongwoo’s pants and his fingers are curled around his cock and he can’t bring himself to overthink it. At this point, he needs it.
Jongwoo arches up into the hand pleasing him, enjoying the high attention to detail that Moonjo gives him. It’s in the special focus he pays to the head of Jongwoo’s cock—how he seems to know exactly which areas are the most sensitive. How he drags his thumb across the slit and chuckles as he pulls his hand out. On his thumb is glistening moisture—pre-come. He licks it right off of the digit, his gaze never for a second leaving Jongwoo’s as he does so.
Jongwoo, lying there with Moonjo resting on his thighs and his own cock just barely visible above the waistband of his underwear and open pants, thinks that this is the longest Moonjo has ever gone without running his damned mouth. Something about that is satisfying on almost a subliminal level.
He picks his hips up as Moonjo tugs his pants down just enough to set his cock free. It should be shameful to Jongwoo that he’s this hard, but he’s too caught up in the moment to care. Hell, he finds himself staring with interest as Moonjo unzips his own pants and tugs himself out of them. He’s sitting at full mast himself, as he dips down and flicks his tongue out over Jongwoo’s lower lip.
“I could tear you apart right now…” Moonjo purrs into the ghost of a kiss, as he rocks his hips forward. Their bodies are pressed flush together and the friction rubs dryly against Jongwoo’s arousal. There’s no sensation to it, but something about the close contact spurs him on further.
“Is that what you came here for?” Jongwoo questions almost bitterly. The weight of arousal in his voice doesn’t make him sound all that fierce, though. “How long have you wanted to put your hands on me like this? You’re a sick bastard.”
Moonjo either disregards those words completely or just doesn’t care, because his focus seems to be more on creating just enough space between their lips that Jongwoo can see him running his tongue along his own fingers, before he slides his hand between their bodies and takes hold of Jongwoo’s cock once more. With the added wetness, the strokes feel incredible all over again.
And then he’s relentless—he pumps at Jongwoo shamelessly, thumbs and fingers all working together with little squeezes as he strokes, circling the skin beneath the head of Jongwoo’s cock with his thumb before stroking rhythmically. He doesn’t speak up until long after he has Jongwoo panting in response to his movements.
It’s through the fog of pleasure that Jongwoo barely understands his next words.
“Is that what you think I’m trying to do to you?” Moonjo questions, his voice sounding like it’s coming from another room with how fuzzy Jongwoo’s mind is. “Destroy you? I suppose you didn’t believe me when I told you I liked you, babe. No harm done, though…”
Jongwoo isn’t ready for him to slide down there. He’s not ready to see Moonjo’s head between his legs, fingers in his mouth. He’s also not ready to feel the intrusion of a single finger into his body.
“You’ll understand one day.”
And he’s definitely not ready for Moonjo’s mouth to suddenly be on his cock. He dives right into the moment, taking him all the way in, before he bears back and sucks playfully at the head. A second finger pushes into Jongwoo’s body just barely in time for him to have adjusted to the first, and then Moonjo is bobbing relentlessly on his cock.
Fuck, it feels so good. Jongwoo can’t even take the time to process the words being spoken to him. Moonjo is a creep and it’d be so easy to rip his head away, sock the shit out of him, and kill him. But Jongwoo can’t even connect the dots between those disturbing words and the mouth swallowing his cock. Moonjo already has him so close as it is, and when he feels the way the man twists his wrist and curls his fingers up, he’s gone.
His small victory comes in the way he knots his fingers in Moonjo’s hair and fucks up into his mouth as his release spills practically down the other man’s throat. He feels Moonjo’s jaw slack as he gags and snaps his hips forward again, and by the time he’s finished, there are beads of moisture at the corner of that sick fucker’s eyes.
Still, Moonjo swallows and continues moving his fingers. He spreads them from inside Jongwoo’s body, a look of satisfaction crossing his expression, and wets his lips with his tongue. A raspy laugh escapes him as he pulls his fingers out and spits into his hand.
“That’s right, babe…show me how you really feel.”
It occurs to Jongwoo in that moment—observing Moonjo as he slicks himself with a few slow pumps of his own cock—that this man knows exactly how Jongwoo feels about him. He knows that whatever attraction between them is complicated and so very wrong, but he also knows that it’s there. He knows that Jongwoo thinks about him even when he’s not fearing him. He knows that he’s the only one who will genuinely listen to Jongwoo’s feelings, and he likes it that way.
And Jongwoo knows that despite having just come down this man’s throat, he’s going to let him fuck him, too. He tugs at his pants, kicking one leg off, and braces both hands down on the mattress with tight fists around the comforter. His eyes are narrowed up at Moonjo, and Moonjo is smirking down at him with all those perfect fucking teeth bared again.
He braces when Moonjo pulls that leg around his waist and settles at his entrance, and his teeth clench together when the man pushes inside. The friction is intense, but Moonjo seems to be taking his time. His blunt fingernails are digging into Jongwoo’s thigh as he bears forward, but soon, Moonjo is completely inside of him, letting out a shaky, pleasured sigh.
Jongwoo likes the view. Moonjo’s always so very composed, his expression perpetually calm and thoughtful. His voice is always that weirdly attractive blend of soft and dark, and his lips never seem to scowl. But right now, his brow is furrowed, eyes shut, and his lips just barely hang open as he tries to orient himself to the moment.
Jongwoo wants to kiss him. No, he wants to yank him down and bite hard on those perfect lips. He wants to pull and tug at that stupidly attractive hair, and he wants to hear the composure dying as Moonjo fucks him.
It’s a complicated feeling—one that Jongwoo hasn’t fully wrapped his head around. But there’s a lot of those feelings when it comes to Seo Moonjo, because this man is supposed to be Jongwoo’s mortal enemy. They shouldn’t be doing this right now. There are so many reasons for why it’s completely and utterly wrong.
Still, that doesn’t stop Jongwoo from bringing both hands up to the side of Moonjo’s head, taking tight fistfuls of hair, and yanking him down for a kiss that’s much more a gnashing of teeth than anything. His hips roll up, silently demanding for Moonjo to start moving, but as he bites down hard on Jongwoo’s lower lip, he makes it clear that he’s in control.
His hands find Jongwoo’s wrists, tugging them from his hair, and he pins them down on the mattress, breaking off the kiss so that his dark eyes can bore right into Jongwoo’s skull.
Jongwoo is expecting some statement of twisted encouragement, a la ‘that’s good, babe’ or ‘that’s right, show me how persistent you are’, but Moonjo doesn’t say a word. Instead, smiles so broadly that Jongwoo can see his canines, his grip on Jongwoo’s wrists so tight that it hurts, and pulls back until it’s barely the tip of him inside.
And then he slams his hips forward.
From the very beginning, the way Moonjo fucks Jongwoo is relentless. The bed slams into the wall as he moves, snapping his hips forward and fucking himself into Jongwoo’s body in a way that makes him outright yelp from the sudden friction.
And Jongwoo can’t bring himself to dislike it. This kind of rough sex makes his head spin, and even though he can’t keep his eyes open from the sheer force of it, he can picture the way Moonjo looks above him. His hair is disheveled, his teeth exposed, and those eyes are probably staring widely down at him.
Jongwoo’s cock rests soft against his skin, but with each forward thrust and the mental picture of how Moonjo looks while fucking him, he can feel himself coming back to life. It’s probably a source of sick pleasure to this man, too. Moonjo likely thrives on the idea that he’s going to get Jongwoo off not just once, but twice. He’s not embarrassed about having swallowed his cock. He’s living the dream right now, because he’s getting to do all of this to someone he’s very much obsessed with.
Jongwoo somehow manages the stuttering, disjointed inner curiosity as to whether Moonjo is in love with him or not. He probably doesn’t even understand the concept of love, to be honest. He might think he’s in love, but it’s probably just infatuation. He likes all the tiny fragments of Jongwoo that are all fucked up inside, and he hones in on them because it’s those fragments that make them so very similar.
And something about that makes the sex even better.
By now, Moonjo is fucking him fast and hard, the slap of his skin against Jongwoo’s working in tandem with the thump of the bed against the wall and Jongwoo’s grunts of pleasure and pain. There are no words, even as Moonjo slides his hands up and laces his fingers with Jongwoo’s. It surprises Jongwoo that he can even manage to grip them back.
Moonjo shifts and angles his thrusts upward, and Jongwoo wonders for a split second how he can even manage to do something like that through the roughness, but the violent sparks of pleasure that hit him when Moonjo strikes his prostate dead-on immediately rip any coherent thought from his mind.
Jongwoo curses around a pleasured groan, and Moonjo releases his hands. Immediately, Jongwoo brings them up to bury them in the man’s hair again.
This time, Moonjo lets him kiss him. It’s sloppy and more open-mouthed panting than anything, but as Moonjo’s thrusts become less paced and more erratic, Jongwoo knows that neither of them are going to last long. He kind of likes how messy it is, anyway. His tongue seeks out Moonjo’s, and then traces along his lower lip, and he bites down as Moonjo slams into him yet again.
There’s a hand on his cock, and Jongwoo can feel the slickness of the pre-come Moonjo spreads over his skin as he strokes him.
Moonjo himself doesn’t seem to be all that coherent, either. He has been reduced to a series of grunts and moans, and Jongwoo can feel the sweat on his nose and cheeks as their kiss becomes less and less like one. Eventually, Moonjo settles on burying his face in the side of Jongwoo’s hair, and when heat and moisture suddenly fills Jongwoo up from the inside, he knows the other man is finished.
Moonjo doesn’t stop moving even after his orgasm, though. He’s still fucking right into Jongwoo’s prostate, sitting back as he pumps him in time with his movements. His face is beet red from the exertion, glistening with sweat, and his hair looks even more a mess than in Jongwoo’s fantasy. He’s smirking down at him as he fucks him, just silently begging him to enjoy his second release of the night.
When Jongwoo finishes again, it’s borderline painful. His mouth falls open and his back arches, and his dick fucking aches from the tension. The last bits of release that his body can manage sprinkle the dark green of his shirt, and he feels like he might black out from the sheer overstimulation.
Moonjo seems to sense this, because he pulls out once he’s sure Jongwoo has finished, leaving him half-naked and utterly spent on the mattress.
Which should be the end of it, right?
To be quite honest, Jongwoo isn’t totally focused on the moment right now. He’s buzzing heavily on afterglow, to the point that even his vision feels fuzzy like he’s watching life through an old television screen. He can see Moonjo moving about the room, but he quite frankly doesn’t care. If he has his way about it, Moonjo will tuck himself back into his pants and make his way out the door and leave Jongwoo to figure himself out before Jieun gets back.
If she gets back. Where in the hell did she go?
“Your girlfriend is alright, by the way,” Moonjo muses, as if he’s up and read Jongwoo’s mind. This draws him back to the present far too quickly for his comfort and reminds him starkly just how terrible he is for what he just did. “You were quick to respond to me, though—are the two of you still together?”
Jongwoo doesn’t want to talk about this—especially not to Moonjo. As far as he’s concerned right now, this whole past half-hour has been a slip in judgment on his part, but he also doesn’t want to admit just how strained things are between himself and Jieun. He’s extremely selfish for not wanting to end things between them, even if only for the simple fact that he’s not ready to admit the damage that his stay here has done to them both.
Instead, he focuses on something else, still not moving from his spot all laid-out on the bed. His arms and legs both feel weak. It’s almost as if the sex has finally worn him out enough to make him sleep through even the worst nightmare. “You said you didn’t know where she went.”
“I lied,” Moonjo answers easily, and now that Jongwoo’s vision has cleared, he sees that the man has exited the bathroom and is now approaching the bed once more. The sound of running water can be heard from the open door. “Come on, I’ll help you get cleaned up.”
“I can take care of myself,” Jongwoo argues. “Where’s Jieun?”
“She had to pick some things up from her apartment.” Moonjo shrugs and extends a hand. “If you lie there much longer, there’ll be a mess.”
Jongwoo swats his hand away and moves to sit up, scooting to the edge of the bed. “Why do you know she went back to her apartment? You’re a fucking creep.” Yes, he’s aware of just how backwards that sounds, considering tonight. No, it doesn’t make Moonjo any less disturbing. Either way, Jongwoo moves to stand, and his legs feel beyond weak. They must have really gotten into it when they were fucking, because he’s having trouble staying upright.
Moonjo notices and supports him with a hand at the small of his back, clasping Jongwoo’s fingers with his other hand. “I told you I’d help you.”
“I don’t want your help.”
“I don’t think you have much choice right now, babe.”
“Stop calling me that.” Despite that harsh insistence, Jongwoo lets Moonjo help him into the bathroom, and into the shower. He can feel the strength returning to his legs by the time he makes it, though. Thank fuck—now, Moonjo has no more excuses to keep hanging around. “Can you, I dunno, leave now?”
Strangely, Moonjo doesn’t look at all bothered by those words. Then again, this man’s emotions seem virtually impenetrable. Unless, of course, it’s during sex. Jongwoo has to face the unfortunate reality that he learned that fact firsthand.
“You’re good to wash up?”
“Go away, Moonjo.”
He’s half-into the shower when he glances back over to see Moonjo in the doorway. He still looks as calm as if he hadn’t just been insulted like that, and something about it irritates Jongwoo all over again. Still, he shrugs his shoulders.
“You’ll come back home?”
Jongwoo rolls his eyes. He doesn’t care how childish the gesture is. “Not a chance. That place is the furthest thing from anyone’s ‘home’.”
That seems to be enough for Moonjo to concede defeat. He still doesn’t look bothered, though, as he backs away into the hall. “Make sure to wash your shirt too.”
“No shit?” Jongwoo bites back harshly.
“Goodnight, babe.”
Jongwoo resists the urge to punch the shower wall as he slams the glass door shut and gets to work washing up. He hears the door close behind him.
Well, that’s another experience he doesn’t plan on recounting to his mother when he gets back to Busan. It’s a good thing he’s too tired to spend much time up dwelling on it, either.