다른 생각 말고 (don’t think of anything else): from fantasy - iiso. as i said nipple piercing jeonghan needy whimpering desperate mewling all of that okay strap in 1.2k
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“thank you for your hard work!” jeonghan is glowing as always, a professional smile hung on his lips. but it’s late, he’s tired, and you can tell. this variety show has just wrapped up taping, and your eyes follow him as he bows to the staff he passes by, ducking into the dressing rooms to get ready to leave.
you stand outside, waiting. the evening is cold but you welcome the chill—it’s a nice difference from the stuffy, crowded warmth inside.
[윤정한]
9:38 PM jeonghan-ssi
9:38 PM the car is outside whenever you’re ready
9:51 PM it’s cold ㅠ
thirteen minutes isn’t a lot, all things considered. but knowing jeonghan…he’s usually in a hurry to go home, you think. so what was taking him so long? you check your phone one last time, just to make sure—still nothing. you apologize quickly to the staff driving, walking inside at a speed which can only be called brisk, making a beeline for the dressing room that he had been using.
thirteen minutes wasn’t a lot—you should’ve waited longer. you should’ve come in sooner. or maybe you should’ve knocked. either way, you catch him putting on his jacket over a thin, white undershirt; as his…something, you swallow, unsure where to put your gaze. as his manager, you ask, “are those piercings?”
you walk towards him, platform boots thumping loud on the floor with every step. you grab the front of his jacket, tugging it open. just as you thought—on either side of the faint outline of his nipples, two little bumps.
“yoon jeonghan. what-” you start, his full name slipping out of your mouth, though you had really only been working for him for a couple of months. regardless you shouldn’t anyway, whether it be six months for six years, boundaries are important, and so are manners—
you notice that he’s been strangely silent. looking up at him finally, you sense something different about him; you decide to hold off on the piercing question. “what’s wrong?”
“hm?” he says, staring at you. he doesn’t seem to be looking though; it’s just a place to land his eyes. you feel overly aware of the rise and fall of his chest, virtually silent but crashingly loud to your ears, and his hands, all of a sudden, on your hips. “nothing.”
jeonghan doesn’t notice. he gets like this when he’s tired, a little softer, and more suggestible. easy might be another word for it. you try not to pay too much attention to his hands, hot over your clothed skin. “when did you get them done?” you ask, tilting your head in inspection. you don’t recall seeing them before, but then again, you can’t say you’ve paid much attention to his chest. that would change after today, of course. “also, what are you still doing here? don’t you want to go home? how about let’s talk about this in the car,” you turn away and start to head for the door, the tension in the air too heavy for you to breathe comfortably.
jeonghan grabs your wrist; you turn back.
“like them?”
“sorry?”
his hand tightens around your wrist, just barely. “do you like them—the piercings,” he says. he drops his hand to his side, and for a second you breathe out a sigh of relief. but it’s too soon; he takes the hem of his shirt and pulls it upwards over his head.
“jeonghan-ssi, what are you doing—” you say, your voice jumping an octave without meaning to. the shirt is in his hand, at his side. the first thing you notice is that he’s pale; the second thing you notice is that he’s thin. your gaze trails down, from the lines of his collarbones down to the angles of his hipbones, disappearing into his pants. finally, your eyes land on what he wanted to show you in the first place.
his nipples are pale, like the rest of him, the areolas faintly pink, and the center just slightly darker. on either side of them, two simple, plain silver studs. how new are these, you find yourself thinking, without meaning to. how new are these and can i put my mouth around them.
“yes,” he breathes out, and shit, i didn’t mean to say that out loud, but before you know it your hands are wrapped around his upper arms, leaning in to wrap your lips around a nipple. the metal is cold on your tongue, and experimentally you swirl it around with your tongue, feeling it slide down and against the wet muscle. jeonghan makes a noise then, somewhere between a moan and a whimper. it makes you pull away from his chest. his face is flushed, uncharacteristically so, and was his hair always this mussed? he looks down at his chest and so do you, cheeks heating at the sight of his nipple, shiny with your spit.
“don’t stop,” he says, voice raspy, laden with desperation, “please.”
jeonghan looks so easy it borders on lewdness. the metal of his piercings glint around his nipples, the cold air making them harden into tight little buds. you bring your lips to his other nipple, licking at it with the tip of your tongue. kitten licks, small and teasing. “please,” he whispers again, and he sounds so needy that you can’t help but scrape your teeth against the skin, just lightly. the moan that escapes him is unlike anything you’ve heard from him so far, a whimpering and mewling little thing that has your head spinning, even though you were the one giving, not taking.
“you have to go home,” you say, vision swirling. “you have an early schedule tomorrow.” what a hypocrite, you think to yourself as jeonghan wordlessly places a hand at the back of your head, pressing your face back towards his chest, meeting no resistance.
inconspicuously, or so he thinks, he starts to palm at his cock through the fabric of his pants. “let me,” you say, turning him so that he faces himself in the mirror. tugging his pants off, your hand reaches around him to wrap around his cock, grabbing him at the base and jerking him off with the precum that he had been leaking. “look at yourself in the mirror.” your other hand comes up to his chest, pinching hard at a nipple. jeonghan cries out then, chest jolting under your touch. he’s practically naked now, with his pants and underwear pooled around his ankles, his shirt forgotten on the back of some chair. his hair smells like vanilla and you press your nose into the nape of his neck, your hand wrapping even tighter around his cock. he’s leaking almost excessively onto your hand, the sticky substance hot on your skin. you’re so close to him that you can hear every noise that he’s making, every noise he’s trying to hold back and every noise he lets escape.
it’s only when you hear a small sniffle that you look up at him; his eyes are watery, rims brimming with unfallen tears. “i’m sorry,” you say, though you don’t know what for. “i’m sorry. you look beautiful.” your hand slows around his cock, and your other hand comes to a rest on his waist, instead. the tear falls, landing on his cheek delicately. “no, i’m sorry, it’s just—it’s just a lot,” he exhales shakily, sniffing again. “keep—please touch me.” he says, turning his head to look at you. “please.”
your hand starts moving again, but this time it’s tender, almost, every touch like a confession falling from your lips. you are confessing—you are repenting. you savour every sensation, the slide of his wet skin against yours, his moans shaky and gasping near your ear.
“come for me,” your thumb brushes over the head of his cock, “watch yourself come for me.” you say after a pause, “jeonghan-ssi.” he spills, all of a sudden, over your hand. you watch as he throws his head back, eyes closing as he moans, soft and quiet, lips falling open with the sound.
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