Chapter Text
Jake looks illegally obscene like this - lips shiny with spit, his tie hanging loose around his unbuttoned shirt, his bulge straining against his pants as he barely keeps himself sprawled out on top of the office desk. Jongseong just gawks at the sight, the small packet of lube gripped tightly in his hands.
(Sunghoon slips something into the front pocket of Jongseong’s new Prada bag.
The older man peers over, trying to take a look at what it was.
“Dude, what the fuck?” Jongseong squeaks as he fishes out the tiny plastic square.
“Just take it. You’ll thank me for it one day, trust me,” Sunghoon says casually, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world.)
Thank God for Park Sunghoon.
Everything falls apart on a random Monday morning. Jongseong’s in their shared apartment kitchen, busying himself with the coffee machine. It’s jammed again for the thousandth time this week and really, Jongseong just needs his stupid cup of coffee right now before he collapses or something dramatic like that.
Heeseung strolls out of the master bedroom, already dressed for work in a button-up Jongseong remembers ironing for him. The younger man perks up, turning away from the machine.
“Hey,” he greets simply.
No nod. No smile. Just a soft ‘Jongseong-ah, we need to talk’.
And that’s how it ends.
Two whole years of everything for absolutely fucking nothing - at least by the end of it. Heeseung breaks up with him over a cup of tea and Jongseong swears black tea has never tasted this bitter. The commute to work is suffocatingly depressing, not to mention awkward as hell. It’s hard to sit next to your now ex-boyfriend on an overly crowded bus, bumping shoulders and arms that he was once so used to. Jongseong tries to relish this one last time before everything crumbles away and leaves him in a pile of his own emotional debris.
The worst part about it all isn’t the fact that Heeseung is his superior at work and Jongseong would still have to see him everyday. No - the worst part about it all is that Heeseung breaks up with him like it’s just one of his daily tasks.
They’re only broken up for fifteen hours, but Heeseung has all his things ready and packed in big cardboard boxes by the time Jongseong gets home. He leaves a note on their fridge door attached with a White House magnet. (Or what used to be theirs. Jongseong figures it’s just his now.)
‘if you find any of my things still here, just mail them to me, thanks.’
No smiley face. No little heart doodles.
It all really hits Jongseong when he’s laying on their once shared bed alone, the blankets curled at his feet as he huddles into himself. Loneliness is a sickening thing - a feeling that crawls up all the way to your lungs and tears out any real way for you to breathe. Jongseong feels one tear roll down his cheeks.
Then two. Then three. Then, he loses count. He’s too busy sobbing into his pillow, his cries echoing off his bedroom walls.
An unwilling routine starts from then and Jongseong’s days slowly swirl into one big blur.
He wakes up, spends way too much time in the shower, gets on the bus, blearily types away on his computer in his small office room, catches the bus back home, eats whatever he can stomach (and it’s usually not much), drinks until he can’t even put on his pajamas on properly, flops onto the bed stark naked and repeats everything again when the sun peeks through his blinds and his alarm screeches in his ear.
No one says anything, because it’s hard to even hold a conversation with Jongseong that lasts for more than twenty seconds. He grunts a lot now - just keeping his eyes trained on the ground and his eyebrows furrowed closely together. Even Jungwon, who Jongseong always seems to surrender to no matter the situation, barely makes a dent on Jongseong’s impenetrable fortress.
Jongseong stays in his office during lunch, refusing to eat the packets of bread Riki leaves outside of his door.
It’s like that for a while.
Enter Jake Sim.
Not Sim Jake, but Jake Sim . He’s a foreigner, Jongseong learns as he walks into work one day with puffy eyes and two hours of sleep.
“Hello.”
His Korean sounds awkward already - Jongseong can’t help but judge.
The guy is only a few inches shorter than him, but his heeled boots propel him up to meet Jongseong’s eyes. He’s dressed in a flowy forest green button-up, one button too much undone. A pair of glasses perch neatly on the bridge of his nose, his dark hair falling over his forehead perfectly.
Everything about him is huge - his eyes, his nose, his lips, his mouth. It stuns Jongseong a little. God, this guy is attractive. Is this what Australians usually look like?
“I, uh,” Jake clears his throat loudly, a bit too loudly. The silence from Jongseong’s side of the room is practically unbearable for him. Oh right. He hasn’t said anything yet. “I look forward to working with you.”
Jongseong just bows slightly.
The foreigner bows back, almost too deeply that it makes Jongseong chuckle a bit. Jake meekly nods one more time as he gnaws anxiously at his bottom lip. He looks as if he wants to say something else, but his eyes dart everywhere around the room except for Jongseong. He’s playing with the ring around his finger, his bright pink knuckles standing out from his tanned skin.
They stand in silence for what seems like forever before Jongseong returns back to his papers. He has some work he really needs to get to - if this guy wants to stand here and look dumb forever, fine by him.
Thankfully, Jake seems to take the hint. Jongseong can hear him heave a sigh. He hears the clacking of his boots fade as the door closes behind him gently. A musky scent lingers, a cologne Jongseong remembers pondering over at the Jo Malone store just days ago. (Before everything with Heeseung went down, he was gift hunting for their monthly anniversary.)
Jongseong glances at the door when it shuts with a click. Curiosity prickles at his skin.
Huh.
Here’s the thing no one tells Jongseong about a post-breakup.
When you’re freshly mourning the loss of a relationship, nothing but the insane bouts of depression will preoccupy you most of the time that you’re awake. It’s exactly like that for Jongseong - he can’t even look at his coffee machine without tearing up. (Heeseung had gotten him the machine back when they first moved in together. He was a firm supporter of Jongseong's caffeine addiction.) Jongseong ends up tossing the machine into the garbage disposal one night while in the middle of his crying session. He feels a little bit better when he hears the machine drop with a loud ‘clang!’ down the disposal, but the sadness makes its way up to his heart again and decides to stay there for a while longer.
Everyone knows that this would happen, the burn after the crash.
But no one really talks about the aftermath of the burn. The aftermath of the aftermath, if you will.
Jongseong flops down onto his bed, the familiar buzz from his second bottle of soju that night loosening his limbs. He trashes around blindly as he tugs off his tie, popping the buttons of his shirt open. Jongseong leaves his shirt halfway unbuttoned and his tie barely undone. He’s trying to undo the belt around his waist when he hears it.
He stops moving so the sheets around him don’t make any more noise.
There it is again - he’s definitely not hallucinating it. Jongseong drunkenly sways as he gets up from the bed, slowly stalking over to the wall in front of him. The sounds are getting louder and louder. He presses his ear against his worn-out wallpaper.
“Fuck, hyung, just like that.”
Jongseong snaps back as if he’s been electrocuted, jolting away from the wall.
What the fuck?
He stumbles until his legs hit the edge of his bed, tripping him back onto the mattress. Jongseong can hear his heart thumping loudly in his ears as the moans and grunts from next door just get louder.
“Wooyoung-ah,” the stranger’s voice pierces through the air. “Why are you so tight?”
“Oh my God,” Jongseong whisper-shouts to himself, covering his ears with the palms of his hand tightly. “Are the walls in this apartment that thin?” He knew it. He knew there had to be a reason why he snagged this apartment for so cheap all those years ago.
Even with his hands pressed against his ears, his neighbours' cries and moans could still be heard. The sound of a headboard banging against Jongseong’s wall only worsens the noise. Jongseong can practically hear every breath this Wooyoung guy makes, all high and needy in a way that reminds him of someone.
“Fuck!”
Jongseong nearly chokes on his own spit when he feels his cock harden in his pants. He stares down at the bulge of his pants, horrified with wide eyes.
“No, no!” Panic fills his body as he fans at his crotch. “No, please! Are you serious right now?”
The sounds from next door get even louder, up to the point where Jongseong thinks the entire neighbourhood might just end up being uninvited guests to their little sex-escapade.
Wooyoung whimpers and Jongseong thinks he might just die. It’s like his neighbour is taunting him, knowing that Jongseong has no one to fuck and that he’s going to die all alone and single.
Jongseong groans. It’s starting to hurt too.
He tries to think of anything - his dead grandma’s gravestone, the gruesome aftermath of a violent video game, the security guard at his apartment complex - but nothing can beat the noise Wooyoung and his fuck buddy were making. In fact, Jongseong thinks his dick might drop off if he gets any harder right now.
Closing his eyes, Jongseong surrenders himself.
“May God forgive me.”
(Jongseong doesn’t believe in God, but he apologizes anyway.)
As quietly as he can, Jongseong slowly unzips his pants and shoves off his boxers. He leans back on his bed, the duvet blanketing around his body. Jongseong strokes himself gently, the tension in his gut only tightening. He tilts his head back and lets out a soft whimper. The stranger from next door begins to sound more frantic as he moans brokenly, just chanting ‘fuck’ over and over again like his life depends on it.
It sends a shiver of arousal up Jongseong’s spine and he feels his right hand around his cock wet with more pre-come.
He goes through the gallery in his head - images of Heeseung’s fingers prodding at his hole, Heeseung’s smooth hand around his cock, Heeseung moving languidly against him as he rocked himself into Jongseong’s heat. He tries to think of Heeseung’s half-lidded eyes as he bobs his head up and down Jongseong’s cock. He tries to think of Heeseung’s grunts and moans whenever Jongseong clenches around him.
He tries to think of Heeseung’s open slack jaw whenever he comes, his eyes shutting tightly as he twitches against Jongseong.
Smooth hands.
Half-lidded deer-like eyes.
Arched cupid bow lips around his cock.
His high-pitched whines.
Smooth hands.
Smooth hands.
Heeseung hyung.
Calloused hands.
Bright red knuckles.
Thick, smooth pink lips around the head of his cock.
Big eyes with sharp, dark eyebrows.
Rough hands around his cock.
An accented voice whispering into his neck, his teeth grazing against the lobe of his ear.
“Be good for me, Jongseong-ssi.”
Jongseong comes with a force so vigorous that his back arches away from the bed, his come spilling messily around his hand and belly. He doesn’t slow down the pace, choosing to keep stroking his cock even if he feels like he might explode.
Jongseong pictures the man’s veiny fingers circling around his hole.
The musky scent of cologne fills the air as Jongseong thinks of how he would open him up, all gentle and hesitant at the beginning but rougher and harsher as Jongseong would beg for more.
He would smirk down at Jongseong, his eyes scrutinizing every inch of Jongseong’s desperate body. He would be so unlike his first impression - all innocent with a naive, puppy-like smile.
“Did Heeseung-nim ever fuck you like this?”
Jongseong whines and instantly feels the hammer of shame strike down upon him just as he comes for the second time. The come is still dripping around his fist when Jongseong breathes out his name.
“Jake.”
Unfortunately, Jongseong isn’t blind.
He doesn’t know if it’s because he hasn’t felt the touch of another person for a good three weeks now or if it’s because he’s been missing all his vitamins that he usually takes in the morning. Whatever it is - Jongseong would prefer to stake it out, point at it and say, here. This is why I’m this way.
It’s ridiculous because Jongseong is on the verge of his twenty sixth birthday and he really shouldn’t be acting this way. His adolescence was supposed to be long gone, buried somewhere deep in the trenches of his brain with his teenage angst and growing pains.
So it really doesn’t make any sense that he feels like a raging hormonal pubescent teen whenever he looks at Jake.
Things would be a lot easier if he didn’t have the power of sight, because then Jongseong wouldn’t have to feel this weird stir of arousal in his gut whenever Jake plays with his bottom lip as he frowns at the laptop in front of him.
It’s beyond distracting and Jongseong has to redo his excel sheet again when he finds himself practically drooling. He blinks and forces his eyes away from the man, choosing to stare at the worn out sticker of Ryan on his pencil holder. Jongseong feels the urge to stare through the massive glass window overlooking the other workers outside, but he slaps himself before he can do it.
Who put Jake right in front of everyone else, so clearly in Jongseong’s sight? Who does Jongseong have to strangle for this?
It doesn’t help that the events from last night keep replaying in his head - the rush of heat that flooded through Jongseong’s veins as he came all over his own hand, the image of Jake’s plump lips around his cock repeating over and over in his head like an overused mantra.
Jongseong feels his crotch tingle and he groans softly.
He’s halfway through considering getting blinds for the cursed window when Riki stumbles into his room, his arms cradling a stack of papers.
“Boss!” Riki cheerfully exclaims. “I finished those sheets you wanted me to reorganise!”
Jongseong nearly snaps his neck in half as he turns his head sharply. He winces a little, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Oh. Great, just email me the links to them again,” Jongseong grumbles.
“I already did, just two minutes ago.”
“Oh,” Jongseong repeats, peering over at his screen to see the email notification beside his open tabs. “Okay. Thanks, Riki-yah.”
The younger man just hums. Instead of leaving the room like Jongseong expects, he plops himself onto the office chair in front of his desk.
Oh lord.
“Say, boss,” Riki suddenly starts speaking in a hushed tone, a badly-maintained poker face plastered across his face. “What do you think about Jake hyung?”
The memory of last night invades Jongseong’s brain again, an unwelcoming reel of his sick and twisted fantasies mixed with the image of his own fist around his cock rushing into his mind.
He gulps and pinches his own thigh painfully. The pain does enough to help Jongseong refocus on Riki.
Jongseong quirks an eyebrow. “Hyung? Riki, he’s your sunbaenim too, you know.”
“Jake hyung said I could call him hyung,” Riki waves his hand dismissively. “Another reason why I love foreigners, by the way. They don’t really care if I speak casually with them. It’s great!”
“You’re a foreigner too,” Jongseong pointedly says.
“That’s besides the point. Also, please answer my question, boss. What do you think about Jake hyung? What’s up with the hate boner you’ve got for him?”
I think he’s annoyingly hot and I wouldn’t mind doing a 360 degree spin on his dick. Also. No, it’s not a hate boner that I’m harbouring for this guy. It’s just a plain, sick, raging horny boner.
Jongseong shrugs nonchalantly. “He’s fine, I guess. And no, I don’t hate him. I also hardly think this is an appropriate topic to talk about with my intern.”
Riki does this weird in-between of a smirk and a poker face. His lips are twitching upwards uncontrollably, his eyes twinkling with a mischief Jongseong had unfortunately grown used to.
“Really? Then what was that at the pantry?”
This kid.
Fine, maybe Jongseong did yell at Jake for using the wrong cup a little bit too aggressively. But the guy should’ve known better than to use Jongseong’s favourite white mug. It’s literally Rule #1 on the piece of paper hanging over the sink.
(‘Ruke #1 - Do NOT use cups that don’t belong to you, especially team leader jongseong’s cup!!!!!’)
“He used my cup,” Jongseong grumbled, ignoring Riki’s growing smirk.
“So did I on my first day and you didn’t yell at me.”
“You’re my intern, Riki-yah. You could report me for workplace verbal abuse or something.”
“So can Jake hyung.”
“Yah,” Jongseong’s voice is firm and stern as he glares at the younger man. “What are you trying to do?”
Riki leans back on the chair, peering at him through judgmental slanted eyes.
“Jake hyung was asking everyone if you were being weird to anyone else,” Riki observed. “He said you yelled at him again in the office equipment room.”
“I did not,” Jongseong scoffs. “I was just telling him that you don’t open a new box of pens when there’s one still open.”
“He needed a blue pen.”
“Who the fuck cares if the pen is blue or black?” Jongseong exclaims, throwing his arms up in the air. “As long as you can write with it, does it really fucking matter?”
Riki watches with amusement dancing in his eyes as Jongseong’s chest heaves up and down, heavy with the deep inhales of air he’s trying to subtly take. He stands up from the office chair and picks up the stack of papers he dropped earlier.
“Boss, a piece of advice,” Riki says, his voice low as if anyone would intrude on their conversation. “Bottling up sexual tension isn’t healthy. You need to go get laid, sir.”
Riki barely misses the Ryan plushie that Jongseong hurls at him as he leaves the room, his cackles ringing out through the office.
Even with all the nonsense Riki insists on pulling at the office, Jongseong never considers firing the kid. The thought does cross his mind when he’s gawking at whatever mess Riki leaves behind (like the one time Riki accidentally printed 60 sheets of a small Squidward in the middle of the document. Jongseong had to pay for the stack of papers that went wasted) but not once has Jongseong ever genuinely considered shipping him off to another company.
Jongseong, however, comes very close to it on a gloomy Friday.
The weather outside is perfect for a little crying session in his warm bed at home. Jongseong is shrugging on his coat when a tentative knock comes from the door.
“Come in,” Jongseong calls out.
Jake, who's wearing a flowy button up again despite the weather, tiptoes in with a grave look on his face. He grips onto the handle tightly as he nervously fidgets near the door.
“Okay, don’t get mad but-”
Dread floods Jongseong’s body.
“The survey answers are missing.”
There’s a deafening silence as Jongseong just blinks back at Jake.
“Come again?”
Jake lets out a heavy sigh, grimacing. “The survey answers aren’t in our system anymore. I mean,” he stops to look pointedly at Jongseong, “I don’t want to blame anyone, but I think Riki must have deleted it by accident while he was reorganizing everything.”
The pitter patter of rain outside hitting the window overlooking the city fills their quiet. Jongseong shuts his eyes, inhales deeply before exhaling out of his mouth slowly. A complicated mess of feelings bubble in the middle of his chest and honestly, if Jake wasn’t only three feet away from him, Jongseong might have started bawling on the spot.
He spent ten hours staring at his computer screen back home, just clicking on the same four keys as he typed in the survey data into the system. Jongseong had painstakingly gone through about five huge stacks of papers just to compute everything.
All of that gone - with just one mistakeful click.
Instead of diving head first out of his office window, Jongseong sits back on his office chair and sighs deeply. “Can’t Riki come and do it again since he’s the one who deleted everything?”
“Riki had to go to a college thing, some compulsory internship catch up session. He won’t be able to help until tomorrow morning.”
Jongseong feels a headache coming. “But we need the data by tomorrow morning.”
“Yeah,” Jake sheepishly says, dropping the stack of papers in his hands on the desk. “We can’t delay this anymore, Jongseong-ssi.”
“I know.” Another defeated sigh. Jongseong pulls himself out of his coat and tosses it haphazardly on the couch next to his desk. “Just.. just help me bring in the papers into the room. I’ll get them done.”
“Alone?” Jake asks, concern etched onto his face.
Jongseong shrugs, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. “Well, Riki isn’t here, is he?”
“I can help you.”
He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world and it sort of startles Jongseong out of his annoyed daze. Jongseong looks up from the buttons on his keyboard, an eyebrow raised.
Oh, absolutely not.
“You want to help me?” Jongseong questions, not hiding the disbelief in his voice.
Jake nods, a smile curling at the edge of his lips. “Of course. You can’t do it all yourself, you’ll never get it done on time.”
“Besides, it won’t be so bad,” the foreigner says lightly. “We can order some… oh, what’s it called in Korean?” His voice drops when he speaks in English, his Australian accent lathered thickly onto his words. Holy shit, he sounds like Thor.
“What’s called what in Korean?”
Jake snaps his head up from the ground, his eyes all wide. “You can speak English?”
Jongseong nods wordlessly.
“Holy fuck, dude,” Jake doest this thing where he clutches his chest and leans back a little, a massive grin taking over his face. “I’ve been struggling so much. Please tell me I can talk to you in English, I miss it.”
The way Jake grins at Jongseong is just so earnest and cute and innocent and --
Jake’s accent rings out throughout Jongseong’s head, repeating the way he said his words like a broken record player. “I can try. I’m not very good at it though.”
“Nonsense. You’re doing so good.”
It should not make Jongseong’s guts feel like they’re combusting into flames, but his libido betrays him. The words send a shiver down his spine and the accent -- the stupid fucking accent -- does enough to shoot a hint of arousal through his body.
Nope. Hell no. He’s not going to get hard from hearing someone speak English. God fucking forbid.
Jake continues to smile at him like he’s not doing anything wrong, as if his existence and his accent doesn’t want to make Jongseong bury his head into the concrete office floor.
He’s in for a long night, isn’t he?
If there’s one thing about Australians that Jongseong learns, it’s that they can handle their liquor annoyingly well.
Somewhere between the fourth and fifth stack of papers, Jake suggests ordering in some fried chicken and beer. The thought of greasy fried chicken and refreshing beer was enough to bring back some life into Jongseong - so he sits up and nods enthusiastically.
Their survey papers be damned as Jongseong downs his third can of beer, feeling all the soreness from his body dissipate. There’s the buzz that Jongseong craves for every night, doing just enough to keep him still typing away on his computer but distant enough from reality to forget about everything else. He doesn’t think about Heeseung at all.
At least, until Jake brings him up like a clueless fool.
“So, what’s up with you and Heeseung-nim?”
Jongseong pauses his clicking, his eyes darting over towards Jake on the sofa. The younger man is sprawled out on the couch with his laptop resting idly on his belly, papers on top of the keyboard. “What?”
“I don’t know if I should even be saying this but people in the office have been talking about you two a lot,” Jake says pointedly. “I was just wondering what happened because no one wants to tell me why.”
Who's being the loudmouth in his own department? Jongseong debates quietly in his head, wondering if Sunoo would be the type to gossip. (He comes to the conclusion that yes, Sunoo would definitely gossip given the material.) He doesn’t even realize that he’s been silent for two minutes too long.
“Sorry, did I overstep?”
Jongseong frowns. “Yes. You did.”
“Oh,” Jake visibly gulps. He shifts his eyes away from Jongseong, choosing to drill holes into his laptop screen on his stomach. “Sorry.”
Something in the air instantly changes when Jake utters that. Jongseong suddenly feels extra buzzed, the ringing in his ears growing louder as he glues his eyes on Jake’s hands. The knuckles on his hands are bright red, weirdly complimenting the rough-looking texture of his skin. His fingers are all spread out against the keyboard of his laptop as he drums on it gently, his fingers moving languidly.
God, imagine how Jake’s hands would feel against his body - all calloused and harsh against Jongseong’s own smooth, well-maintained skin on his torso.
“Jesus,” Jongseong mumbles quietly to himself, “stop it.”
Jake raises an eyebrow. “Stop what?”
“Nothing, I wasn’t talking to you.”
The other man laughs in disbelief, scoffing almost. “What- Who else is in the room with us?”
Jongseong’s jaw clenches as he keeps his eyes on the keyboard in front of him. “Just,” he sighs heavily. “Can we just focus please?”
He doesn’t get to finish his sentence when Jake snaps, albeit still with a look so puzzling that makes him look like a kicked puppy. He sits up on the sofa, his laptop tipping away from his thighs.
“Okay, what is your problem with me?” Jake asks, not even hiding the hurt in his voice. “I’ve been nothing but nice and polite to you but you’ve just.. Well, you’ve just been really weird to me today.”
Jake flares his nose a little, his eyes blinking frantically as his tongue darts out of his mouth to swipe over his bottom lip.
Fuck, why was that so hot?
Jesus Christ, shut up you horndog.
“Nothing is my problem.”
“Sure. And I shit glitter.”
“Maybe you should get that checked then,” Jongseong utters, frowning at his screen. He’s been reading the same sentence for the past minute but none of the words in front of him make any sense. They’ve lost their meaning ever since Jongseong’s libido took over the driver’s seat in his brain.
“Jongseong-ssi,” Jake gets up from the sofa and plants himself in front of Jongseong’s desk, his hands pressed against the edge of the table. Jongseong just sits frozen in his seat, staring up at the other man as he tries not to let his sudden intimidation show. “Did I do something to offend you?”
His voice softens as his eyes literally twinkle with sympathy. “If I did something, please tell me what it is and I’ll apologize for it.”
“You didn’t do anything,” Jongseong insists. Well, actually, no - you are doing something, even right now at this moment. You’re existing. You’re existing in all of your sexy, Australian, veiny hand goodness. Your stupid Thor accent. Your stupid fucking lips. Why the fuck are they so plump and nice? Did you get them done, you living Greek God-
“Please don’t lie to me,” Jake begs. There’s a fire of something in his eyes that just lights up, a tiny small flame bursting at the seams with desperation. It sort of freaks Jongseong out.
Why does he want to know so badly? “I can’t.. I can’t have you mad at me for something I don’t even know about, okay? I can’t. If I can fix whatever this is, please let me do it.”
His gaze on Jongseong only intensifies when he finally looks up at him. His dark, brown eyes are piercing through his, as if he’s trying to unwind and figure Jongseong out on pure will alone. Jongseong lets out an awkward cough before he abruptly stands, his eyes flickering down to the stack of soju bottles around him.
He needed a walk, anything to get away from Jake. He stumbles through picking up some empty stray bottles and his own half-empty one as he tries to get away from Jake.
But because God has made it his mission to shit all over Jongseong’s life, he ends up tripping over his own feet. He loses his grip on the bottles as they go flying all over Jake’s neatly pressed beige pants.
Jake yells in surprise, flinching as the cold liquid makes its way down his leg. A huge wet patch forms just beside his zipper, growing in size as the two just gape at the newly formed stain.
“Oh shit,” Jongseong mumbles, horrified.
“I-It’s okay.”
“Fuck, I didn’t mean it, I swear-” Jongseong’s panicking now, tossing all the bottles aside as he tries to wipe at the stain with his hands.
Jake squeaks when Jongseong’s hands brush over his crotch and oh God, what the fuck is happening?
“Sorry!”
“It’s fine, Jongseong-ah, just leave it!”
The patch turns an atrocious brown colour against the cloth of Jake’s pants, sending Jongseong spiraling further into his own panic.
“I know I’m being an asshole but I promise, I didn’t do this on purpose!”
“It’s okay, just let it be!”
Jongseong reaches out to wipe at Jake’s pants again when the man grabs onto both of his wrists, stopping him midway. “Jongseong-ssi!”
Jake’s shout snaps Jongseong out of his little panic daze. He looks up from Jake’s pants back to his eyes, the frames of his glasses circling around them. Are those even real?
His hands are still bound around Jongseong’s wrist as they blink slowly at each other. Jongseong makes the mistake of looking down at Jake’s lips and he gulps violently. They look so smooth even this close.
Jake tilts his head microscopically when he sees Jongseong’s eyes flicker back up at him. He raises his eyebrows slightly, his mouth agape. He looks like he’s going to say something, but his own eyes trail all over Jongseong’s face before he pauses.
The first one to lean in is Jake, hesitantly craning his neck ever so slowly towards Jongseong. He peers at Jongseong through half-lidded eyes, as if he’s silently giving him the chance to back out if he doesn’t want this.
Like hell.
Because Jongseong is an actual certified idiot, he pushes himself forward and presses his lips harshly against Jake’s.
The first few seconds are awkward, painful even. Neither of them barely get their bearings together as they stumble around blindly. Jake is holding onto Jongseong’s neck like his life depends on it, moving his lips feverishly against Jongsoeng’s chapped ones. They bump against the desk and Jongseong pushes Jake onto the edge, making him slump on it as his hands grip helplessly onto Jake’s shirt.
It’s a mess of teeth and lips - the two men trying to familiarise themselves with each other while chasing the fleeting pleasure that surrounds them. They finally find a rhythm to coexist in, a pace that is just gentle yet rough enough to lure Jake into swiping his tongue along Jongseong’s bottom lip.
He welcomes him in gladly as Jongseong’s hands let go of Jake’s flowy shirt. He trails his hands down to just above Jake’s hips, his fingers hooking around the waistband. Jake’s breathing gets heavier when Jongseong licks into his mouth feverishly, as if he’s trying to find some treasure trove in there.
“Jongseong-ah,” his name rises against the sound of their lips. “Can you..”
There aren’t any more words exchanged as Jongseong nods silently, dipping his fingers into Jake’s pants and pulling them down slowly. He watches Jake carefully, only moving on when he hears Jake sigh with relief.
Once Jake’s pants are bunched up at his knees, Jongseong slides his hands into Jake’s boxers and forces them down too.
Jake leans in to kiss Jongseong again as he arches his cock into the other man’s hands. Jongseong’s hands are smooth and warm around him and Jake nearly passes out when Jongseong’s thumb barely hovers over the top of his cock.
“Fuck,” Jake groans into Jongseong’s mouth. “Use your mouth, please.”
Desperation hangs off at every whimper that Jake makes, so Jongseong sinks down to his knees and places his hands gently around the base of his cock. When Jongseong timidly licks at the tip, Jake nearly faints when he sees the string of spit shine under the office lights. He nearly comes at the sight of that alone.
Jake digs his fingers into Jongseong’s hair as the man on his knees swallows him whole, gagging when he hits the back of his throat. It only tips Jake further in his arousal, the sound of Jongseong struggling against his cock making him even harder than before.
It takes a minute for Jongseong to adjust to this, but he’s breathing in the musky scent of Jake’s crotch against his face as he begins to rock his head back and forth slowly. Jake’s cock is wet with his own bitter pre-come and Jongseong’s saliva, the squelching sounding like music to Jongseong’s ears. Jongseong feels like he might be sick for enjoying this so much, but he doesn’t find it in himself to care. He wants more - more of Jake, more of his cock, even if he can’t handle what he’s being given.
Jake’s moans get louder and louder as Jongseong keeps going, challenging himself to swallow deeper and deeper. His grip on Jongseong’s freshly dyed roots gets tighter and tighter too, until he tugs at his hair to force Jongseong’s head forward.
Jongseong chokes again, coughing around Jake as spit dribbles all over his chin.
“That’s it, take it. So fucking good.”
The whimper that escapes Jongseong embarrasses him to death. Jake’s words shoot all of his blood down to his dick and Jongseong can feel his boxers wet with pre-come. Jake sneers down at him and smirks.
“You like that, don’t you? You like being told that you’re good?”
Jongseong doesn’t even hide how turned on he is, struggling to nod his head with Jake’s cock still hammering around his mouth.
Jake throws his head back and curses. “Fuck, your mouth.. Taking me so well, aren’t you?”
It only makes Jongseong hollow his mouth even more, taking in as much of Jake’s length as he can. He’s coughing and choking and tears are running down his cheeks, but the noises Jake makes are worth nearly dying for.
“So fucking good,” Jake grunts. “Shit, I’m almost there. Just a little bit more, that’s it.”
Jongseong doesn’t move his head anymore, Jake’s drilling into him as if his body is possessed. He kneels there, letting Jake use his mouth like it's a toy. His hands snake down to his own cock in his pants, weakly stroking himself underneath the tightness of his pants.
All it takes is one thrust.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Jake bucks into Jongseong’s mouth so harshly that his head sways backward roughly. He mumbles curses in English as he shoots his come into Jongseong’s mouth, the white liquid spilling out of the corners. Jongseong closes his eyes as he tries to swallow as much as he can with Jake’s cock still in his mouth. He inhales through his nose vigorously, the musty smell of sex filling his senses.
Slowly, Jake pulls himself out of Jongseong’s mouth. Jongseong leans back on his legs as he wipes the sides of his mouth. His own cock strains against his belly but Jongseong feels too spent to do anything about it. He helplessly moves his hand around it, trying to stroke himself the way he likes it.
A shadow falls over him as Jake kneels down in front of him.
Jake gently pries Jongseong’s hands off himself and replaces them with his own hands. He strokes Jongseong gently at first, his thumb spreading Jongseong’s pre-come around his cock. With his other hand, Jake cradles Jongseong’s jaw in his hands as he kisses him. The bitter taste of Jake’s come in Jongseong’s mouth doesn’t bother him at all - because Jake is licking and shoving his tongue into every crevice in there.
His hand starts to move faster and faster as Jongseong’s breathing begins to turn into gasps.
“Jake-ah,” he whines into his lips. “Faster. Please, please, ah!”
“I’ve got you,” Jake groans. “Fuck, you sound so pretty. Don’t hold back, Jongseong-ah.”
They stop kissing as Jongseong rests his lips against Jake’s cheek, his moans and whimpers going uncontrollable. His mouth is wide open while he tries to chase his release, even more drool trailing out of the side of his mouth.
Then, Jake does something that makes Jongseong lose all of his inhibitions.
He spits on Jongseong’s cock and as it drips down around Jake’s fist and his skin, Jongseong feels the coil in his gut tighten and explode.
Jongseong comes all over Jake’s fist, some of it flying up to Jake’s face. The other man flinches in surprise as his eye is coated in come, but the shock disappears just as quickly as smugness replaces it.
Jongseong’s still trying to catch his breath as Jake leans back, gingerly wiping the come off his eyebrow.
Without breaking eye contact, Jake slips his come-coated finger into his mouth.
Jongseong nearly comes for the second time that night.