Work Text:
Wanning aches for Mo Ran.
Every time he passes by him during work, his stomach turns hot. He cannot stop himself from trying to quench this desire inside of him. It feels like it's ripping him apart.
Wanning knows technically he shouldn't be doing this, but his thoughts have long since turned foggy.
Whenever he touches himself, his clit burns from the abuse, his hole gets that much more sensitive and needier. Just rubbing himself isn't going to be enough anymore, it gets harder and harder to cum just from that.
At first he tried playing with his nipples and that did help, for a while. But his hole is so swollen and red, it's quite obvious that he needs the touch inside of himself.
He won't debase himself like that though, it's already perverted enough to play with his clit.
Yet sometimes he can't help but let a finger run between his labia down his slit until he finds the empty clench of his hole, tapping on it and sending zings of pleasure through his veins.
Wanning's getting desperate.
He knows, he'll cave at some point and he dreads it.
But where's the fun in admitting defeat so soon...
Wanning tries celibacy, no touch below the waist line.
Maybe he's just played with himself a little too much, if he leaves his clit alone for long enough, everything will go back to normal, surely.
And try he does, oh so hard, it hurts with how aroused his pussy gets. Wanning has to stuff his panties with cotton to soak up all his slick. The innocent rub of tissue over his too wet cunt makes him shiver. Even something as simple as peeing gets hard, as his hole clenches in pleasure he has to push against his stomach, this is the height of shame.
Whenever Mo Ran is close, Wanning aches for something as simple as his scent, his g-spot tingles, aching with the thrum of his pulse through his cunt. He's so wet.
When Wanning goes to bed each night, he feels like wailing, hot tears run down his cheeks, the internal fight against his arousal breaking him.
Wanning comes home one evening, broken down from work and everything is suddenly too much.
He barely manages to scramble his pants down his thighs, more or less trapping the movement of his legs. His swollen cunt pushes against his panties, clit already poking through its hood.
Wanning slams his palm down on his pubic mound, hard enough to be considered a spank. It makes him moan loudly out into the hallway of his appartment.
Wanning realises how inappropriate he's being, this close to the door as well where people walking by his flat could likely hear him scream.
He fondles at his labia clumsily, fingers finding no hold against the wetness of his pussy, they slip down harshly against his hole. It burns with how rough he's rubbing himself over his panties but they do serve a protective value.
He rubs over his swollen hole with a finger, the drag of lace intoxicating. His other hand rests over his clit, just tapping over it as it has become to sensitive to touch. Slick leaks out of him in rivulets, ruining his panties and further wetting his hand.
Wanning pushes harder against his hole, the fabric fighting against the clench of it. He's so tight, a virgin after all, it won't slip in. It'll be fine.
His cunt pulses in need, he feels so close. Wanning's finger pushes the panties in a back and forth motion against his hole, like how you'd finger a pussy but only teasing the outside of it. A fleeting pressure against where he needs it most, without him noticing he becomes more forceful in his movement as the panties get more soaked.
His hand comes down in a soft slap on his clit and he tightens up harshly to combat that clench, his finger fucks the panties harder against his pussy.
Wanning sobs out a desperate noise, he begins truly working his clit over with his palm, rubbing in need. Why did he torture himself like this, why did he deny himself again? He can't remember.
The fabric is as slick as the inside of his cunt now, surely ruined forever...
His finger works over his hole faster, pushing deeper, prodding harder.
He feels like begging, although he doesn't know to whom.
Wanning's breath comes out in little cut off noises and he hopes none of his neighbours are home, because even he notices how loud he's being through the pleasure of it all.
His hole feels softer now, worked over by his panties with it's scratchy lace. Wanning's clit burns, it hurts more than anything else but he can't stop. His hole is so soft and wet now. Wanning feels his hair stick to his sweaty neck, tickling his skin. Spit runs down his chin as his mouth is wide open in noises of elation.
His hole is too open.
The metal of the zipper digs into his calves, his legs fight against the hold of his pants as he writhes on the floor. He hopes they don't rip.
He's a virgin, it'll be fine.
Wanning throws his head back painfully, stray hairs land on his face and stick to the sweaty skin. He exhales harshly.
It won't go in.
Wanning doesn't dare think about Mo Ran, he doesn't. He just wishes his fingers were a little thicker a little longer. That someone would kiss his forehead and spank his clit.
It will not go in.
One finger has turned into two as they push against his hole, he's so wet. The noises are obscene, a very telling slick sound of fabric being periodically separated from sticky skin.
His head feels empty, if Mo Ran were with him he wouldn't have to think at all. He'd take care of him.
It happens before he can do anything against it, the fabric rips.
Two fingers sink almost too easily into his desperate cunt and he clenches down wildly, his insides enticing whatever entered them to never leave. Fill him up forever, his pussy can warm them, that's what it's made for anyways.
Wanning cries out in shock as he cums. His clit is too sensitive during his orgasm, his hole riding it out only with the meager stretch of two fingers. This wasn't supposed to happen. Tears run down his face as he sobs, he's ruined himself.
He's ruined his cunt.
Will Mo Ran even want him now, if he finds out Wanning had done something so perverted. Touched himself where he wasn't supposed to, will his future husband punish him for the indecency?
He cries harder, barely able to catch his breath. His orgasm hasn't subsided yet. It's so cruel in the way that shame and pleasure mix in his gut, mind fighting against body.
He'll never do this again, he swears, he'll be so good from now on. He's not that desperate that he'll need this again. This was an accident, nothing more. It will be fine.
Mo ran won't know... He will be fine.
This was just an accident.