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(Joss’s Apartment. 10:24 pm. Gawin’s birthday night.)
Gawin’s birthday should have been loud.
There should’ve been the sound of a door slamming because Joss forgot his keys again. Plastic bread wrappers torn open. A spoon clattering onto the floor. A quick kiss pressed to his neck with a murmured, “Happy birthday, babe.” Hugs before the candles went out. Kisses after.
There should’ve been a strawberry cake. Laughter. A cool, clingy body on the bed, tugging at him until Gawin’s feet slipped out from under the blanket. Until he complained but never really meant it. Until they were a mess on the sheets and Gawin said, “That’s gonna hurt.” And Joss answered, “Let it.”
That’s how it should’ve been.
Instead, there was only the low hum of the air conditioner that never stopped. The TV in the living room was on, its screen too bright, volume too low. Nightly news no one listened to. A cold couch. Empty air. And Gawin sat alone—
In the middle of a room that didn’t feel like home.
Not a birthday.
Not anything at all.
His arms hugged a small pillow to his stomach. His legs stretched out, striped socks loose and worn. His hair was a mess, still unwashed from the afternoon. His eyes stayed fixed on one point—the glass table in front of the sofa.
A dull chocolate-colored package sat there. The red ribbon on top looked faded, like it had been ironed flat. He’d opened it earlier that afternoon. Just to look. Then throw it away. But now it was almost midnight, and the box still hadn’t moved an inch toward the trash.
Gawin knew exactly what was inside.
A dildo. Pink. Long. Thicker than anyone’s fingers. Longer than—
Gawin clicked his tongue.
Fucking Neo.
“For entertainment,” he’d said. “Emergency use when you miss him.”
“Joss hasn’t been home for a week. There’s no way you’re not going insane.”
A thin smile tugged at Gawin’s lips. Barely there. Almost invisible. He grabbed his phone. His fingers were cold as he typed, but fast.
Gawin exhaled deeply and tossed his phone onto the couch. His body sank into the pillow, eyes blank as he stared at the ceiling.
He wasn’t angry because of the toy. And not because of Neo.
He was angry because Joss still wasn’t home. Five days. Staying at a resort near an out-of-town shoot location. Packed schedules, he said. International brand campaign. Under Armour. Tight gear. Expensive lighting.
Gawin still remembered the selfie Joss sent two nights ago—black athletic wear hugging his body perfectly. A faint smile. Sweat at his temples.
Gawin had closed the notification immediately, biting his lip, fingers restless with nowhere to go. And now—tonight—when there should’ve been arms around him, Joss still wasn’t here.
On his birthday.
✩✩✩
📞 Incoming call: big J 💕
“H–Hello?”
“Babe..”
“I’m sorry.”
“Hm? Why are you apologizing?”
“It’s your birthday and I’m not with you.”
“It’s okay, Joss. You’re working.”
“But you’re my priority.”
“I know. I’m fine. You should think about yourself too.”
“Your dream.”
“But you’re my dream, Babe.”
Gawin let out a dry laugh. “God, Joss! Shut up! I’m hanging up.”
“No, wait—!”
“What?”
“Happy birthday, G.”
“..I love you.”
“..I know.”
“I love you.”
“Yeah..”
“Oh come on, Babe!”
“What? I love me too.”
“Geez! I’d punish you until you screamed my name if I were there.”
“Good thing you’re not.”
“What?! You don’t miss me?”
“Nope.”
“Just wait, you’ll be begging when I get home.”
“Yeah?”
“Well, I miss you though.”
“I miss your voice.”
“But you’re hearing it now.”
“Not like that.”
“..Joss.”
“I miss your moan.”
“STOP.”
“I miss your body.”
“Joss!”
“Don’t you? It’s almost a week.. I could go insane.”
“I miss touching you.”
“..Joss go to sleep.”
“Mm.”
“Happy birthday, once again.”
The call ended.
Gawin stayed still, phone in his hand. The screen dark again, but Joss’s voice kept echoing in his head—caught between every held breath.
His face burned. His cheeks flushed, ears throbbing. He stared toward the table, chest rising and falling in short, broken breaths, as if his lungs had been left behind at the last second of their conversation.
His fingers trembled. Not from anger. From longing. From the way Joss’s words—just his voice—felt too close. Too real. Too wet, slipping between patience and control he’d been holding onto for almost five days now.
Gawin scrubbed his face quickly, as if he could wipe it all away. The heat didn’t leave. His gaze drifted back to the box on the table.
Slowly, Gawin stood. He leaned forward, steps light yet heavy, like he was chasing something he could no longer refuse. He bit his lip softly. Half embarrassed. Half surrendered.
“..just looking,” he muttered, barely audible. But his eyes were already full of determination.
(Joss’s Apartment. 11:01 pm.)
His hand returned to the box—slower this time, more careful, as if touching something alive. Something that could speak. Something that knew exactly what was running through his head tonight. Doubt flickered in his eyes, but his fingers didn’t stop. They traced the torn edge of the cardboard and lifted the lid again, fully exposing what lay inside.
And there—resting quietly in the center of the bright red casing—it waited.
A soft pink dildo. Long. Thick. Its surface curved gently—ridged, coaxing, as if shaped from unspoken longing.
There was nothing casual about it. Its proportions were large, unmistakably not made for a quick distraction to be forgotten. The base was wide and solid, meant to anchor itself in the pull of pleasure. Gawin stared at it like someone standing at the edge of a cliff—knowing it was dangerous, yet unable to step back.
He bit down on his lower lip, slow. His breathing wasn’t heavy, but something caught tight in his throat—a nervousness he didn’t want to name. Truthfully, he didn’t know why he was still standing here. Didn’t know why he hadn’t thrown it away like he’d planned earlier that day.
Maybe because he was lonely. Maybe because he missed him. Or maybe because Joss’s voice from the phone call earlier still hadn’t left him. The words replayed clearly in his head—no longer stuck in his ears, but living on his skin. Along his neck. His stomach. Between his thighs.
He left the living room without a sound. Passed through the quiet kitchen, down the dim hallway. Bare feet. Cold floor. The bedroom light was still off, but the window was cracked open, blue nightlight spilling in over the mess—pillows untouched, blankets tangled at the foot of the bed. Empty.
The room was usually warm. Usually filled with the breath of two bodies that slept tangled together far too often. But tonight, there was only Gawin. And the box. And a silence too thick to cut with reason.
He set the cardboard box at the edge of the bed and sat down slowly. He bowed his head for a moment. His head felt heavy. His body even heavier.
Gawin closed his eyes briefly, drew in a breath, then let it out slow. He knew he’d already lost. Even before his fingers reached for the small drawer beside the bed, he knew how this night would end—and that it wouldn’t be the way he’d hoped.
His hand found the bottle of lubricant—still half full, untouched for weeks. It had been a long time since he’d done this on his own. Usually, Joss was the one who opened the bottle, spreading the clear liquid over his body with warm hands and a low voice murmured close to his ear. Usually, Gawin didn’t have to do anything at all except spread his legs and give in.
But tonight, there was no Joss. No large hands slipping beneath his shirt. No tender kisses balanced between restraint and temptation. There was only himself, the cold air, and a longing that didn’t know where to go.
Gawin drew in a breath, then tugged his loose lounge pants down. Not all the way—just to his knees. His shirt still covered his upper body, but he didn’t care. It didn’t need to be perfect. It didn’t need to be pretty. His hair was a mess; cold sweat began to gather in the folds of his skin.
He opened the bottle of lubricant slowly. The clear liquid slid over his fingers—cool, thick, slick. He squeezed his hand once, then lay back on the bed, propped against a stack of pillows with one knee bent, the other leg open, half hanging off the edge of the mattress.
His hand began to move, touching himself carefully. The first contact made his body tense on reflex—touching a place that hadn’t been touched in far too long. His thigh muscles tightened. Gawin swallowed hard and rubbed gently at the sensitive spot, just enough to wet it, to prepare himself. But it wasn’t his body that wasn’t ready—it was him.
He slipped one finger in. Slowly. His breath caught. His body shifted, adjusting to the unfamiliar sensation. In deeper. Out. Then in again. The rhythm stayed slow, unhurried—as if he were getting to know his own body again after so long being ignored.
Gradually, Gawin added a second finger. His muscles fluttered in resistance, but he kept pushing. His lips parted slightly as he exhaled. The sound was small, but real. The shirt he was wearing slid down over his stomach, getting in the way. He bit the collar and tugged it upward with his teeth, holding it there to bare his chest, freeing his left hand to grip his thigh and open himself wider.
His head dipped; his breathing quickened. His fingers worked slowly, sliding in and out—tight, but possible. A tingling sensation began to rise. And beneath it all, his body responded. His cock hardened beneath the fabric, lifting, pressing insistently against the cloth. Untouched, yet undeniably alive. Clearly restless. Clearly aroused.
“Hng~” slipped free, hoarse. His eyes fell half shut, his body tensing subtly. Part of him felt embarrassed. Another part—deeper—was too curious. Too aching.
Gawin withdrew his hand. His fingers trembled, wet and slick. He picked up the dildo—cold and heavy in his palm. He stared at it for a moment, hesitating, but his body was already trembling softly, already too far gone to retreat.
With his other hand, he guided the tip—cold, rigid, unmoving. Gawin swallowed hard, then pressed gently. The head touched him, and his body tensed immediately. His thigh muscles tightened, and he drew in a sharp breath. His eyes squeezed shut as he tried to push just a little deeper—only a little, just to feel it.
His body felt too tight. Or maybe the thing really was too big. Or maybe the problem was simpler. This wasn’t Joss.
There was no heavy breath at the back of his neck. No hand steadying his hips. No low voice telling him to stay still. There was only himself. His own hands. And a small sound slipping from his mouth without permission—caught, trembling, and a little humiliating.
“A–Ahn—”
Gawin opened his eyes, face burning. Sweat gathered at his temples. He tried to push deeper, but his body resisted. It felt too dense. Too full. He exhaled in frustration—not from pain, but from not being enough. From not being able to.
“Fuck..” he muttered. His shoulders tensed; his hips lifted slightly. His hand kept trying, kept holding on, even as his eyes began to sting. His lips tightened around the fabric of his shirt, biting down harder to contain the sound that threatened to spill out.
He pushed again. Stronger. More certain. But only the tip went in. Gawin lifted his head, jaw set, his back arching off the bed.
“Joss is bigger..” he growled, thick with frustration. “It doesn’t fit.. this is ridiculous..”
He tried again—this time one hand bracing his thigh, the other gripping the dildo firmly. Push. Adjust. Still wrong. His body kept refusing even as his mind had already given permission, and the contradiction tore a harsher sound from his throat.
Not pleasure—heat, sharp and almost painful. His body stretched unwillingly around something too big for him. Still, Gawin kept trying. Halfway in. Then stuck.
His body shook. His hips trembled. Sweat slicked his neck. His shirt remained clenched between his teeth, chest rising and falling hard. It hurt. And it tempted.
“Akh—”
The sound broke into something strangled. Frustration tangled with wanting—wanting without release. His hand kept pushing softly, trying to force his body to accept a shape that didn’t belong to Joss.
His legs spread wider, knees trembling, and the sensation began to grow—not just in his body, but in his chest. A heated loneliness that made his skin feel as if it were burning from the inside. And just as he felt a small success—enough to make his body shudder, enough to draw a quiet moan from his lips, enough to keep him from noticing—the apartment door opened.
(Bedroom. Around 11:20 pm.)
Gawin didn’t even register the sound of the key turning in the front door. He didn’t hear Joss’s shoes crossing the wooden floor of the apartment, didn’t catch the familiar trace of his cologne clinging to the hoodie draped over the chair. He knew nothing—too busy with his own body, with a mess of feelings that had nowhere to go. All he knew was the heat between his thighs growing sharper, the tight ring of muscle fluttering around a dildo that still refused to go deeper, and the pounding in his head from frustration and desire slapping into each other.
The shirt on his body was hiked up to his ribs, caught between his front teeth, baring a sweat-slick chest and a stomach rising and falling too fast. His knees were spread wide, the soles of his feet were on tiptoes pressing into the mattress, thighs trembling from holding the position too long, while his hands—his shaking hands, slick with lube—still gripped the base of the dildo and tried again. And again. And again. Pushing inch by inch, yet never fully taking it. His muscles resisted. His body resisted. But Gawin refused to stop.
A low breath slipped from him, soft but deep. The sound that tore out of his throat was like a small scream swallowed back down. Frustration. Pain. Heat. Gawin didn’t know the bedroom door had opened. Didn’t hear the hinge. Didn’t feel the shift in the air.
Joss watched. For several long, silent seconds.
He stood motionless in the doorway—no sound, no heavy breath—just staring at Gawin’s body sprawled half-naked in the middle of their bed. He took in the way Gawin’s legs were spread, knees weak, face flushed and damp, his right hand busy forcing something into his own body. Joss saw the toy—still not fully inside—and the way Gawin’s hips rolled faintly with impatience, with need, with no idea what else to do.
And Joss stayed silent. His eyes didn’t blink. His jaw tightened. His breath caught.
He closed the bedroom door slowly, then locked it from the inside with a smooth, quiet turn. Gawin only noticed when the sound reached him—too soft, yet striking his spine like lightning.
His body froze instantly. His breath cut off. The head that had been turned to the side slowly shifted toward the door—and when his eyes met the tall figure standing there, his heart stopped.
“J–Joss..?”
The word came out small. Broken. His own voice sounded foreign in a room that suddenly felt too tight. Joss didn’t answer right away. His steps were calm as he approached, but his eyes never left Gawin for even a second—not his sweat-slick face, not his trembling chest, and especially not the dildo still trapped between spread thighs.
When Joss reached the edge of the bed, Gawin still hadn’t moved. His hand was still wrapped around the pink toy, his body still half-bare. He wanted to tug his shirt down. Wanted to hide his face. Wanted to disappear. But his body was too rigid. Too embarrassed. Still far too aroused.
Joss bent slightly, opened his mouth. His voice was low, heavy—punishment wrapped in sound.
“Look at me.”
Then softer, colder with control, “Now, Gawin.”
And Gawin turned. Their eyes met, and his entire body felt laid bare—not just naked, but split open inside. Every ounce of longing, every shard of shame, every trace of guilt spilled straight into Joss’s unblinking stare.
Joss set his backpack on the floor, then peeled off his hoodie. He sat on the bed, on the side where Gawin lay open like an unlocked door. His large hand reached out, touching Gawin’s knee, stroking it slowly—a motion that should have soothed, yet only made Gawin shake harder.
“So this is what you do when I’m not here?” Joss said quietly. The flat tone cut sharper than shouting ever could.
“Joss.. I—I just..”
Gawin’s voice trembled, his body tightening even more as Joss’s touch began to trace up his thigh, slow and burning.
“If you miss me, say it.” Joss lowered his head, pressing a brief kiss to the inside of Gawin’s knee before wrapping his hand around the base of the dildo, now trembling.
“And if you want to be punished—just say the word.”
Gawin bit his lip, and the moment he drew in a breath—Joss shoved the toy deeper. Forced. Fast. No warning.
Gawin’s body arched off the mattress, mouth falling open, head tipping back, but no sound came out—only a strangled inhale caught in his throat.
“So full, huh?” Joss murmured, holding the base of the pink dildo firmly. “This alone is already too much—imagine me.”
Joss didn’t release his grip. His long fingers clenched around the base, thumb stroking the rim slowly, as if examining a foreign artifact—something that never should have been here, in their bed, inside a body that was supposed to be his.
He lifted the dildo slightly, making Gawin tense. His hips rose faintly from the mattress, the sensation too deep, too sudden.
“When did you get this?” Joss asked softly. His tone wasn’t angry—far worse. Too calm. Too dangerous. His gaze was sharp as it pinned Gawin’s flushed, sweating face, already on the verge of tears from shame.
“Gawin.” His voice dropped an octave.
“Who gave it to you?”
Gawin bit down on his lower lip, trying to steady his breathing. The answer slipped out anyway—quiet, small, like a child caught stealing candy.
“N–Neo.”
Joss snorted. A short, rough laugh.
“Of course.” He shook his head faintly, lifting the dildo a little before pushing it back in with a slow, deliberate thrust—steady, unyielding. Gawin jolted, his back arching off the bed.
“He really thought this would do it for you?”
Gawin gasped, breath ragged. “Joss.. please..”
Joss didn’t answer. He only watched—watched Gawin’s body move beneath him, thighs shaking under the pressure, his cock slick with pre-cum, rubbing against the shirt bunched up at his stomach.
Joss touched the base again, then slowly pulled the dildo out, almost completely, until only the tip remained—before pushing it back in with a bit of force. Gawin jerked. A broken whine tore free, breath catching.
“HNGHH—!”
“You tried so hard,” Joss whispered, his tone shifting—no longer sarcastic, but almost gentle. Almost affectionate, wrapped in danger. His fingers swept over Gawin’s sweat-damp thigh.
“But this body..” Joss lowered his head, lips hovering near Gawin’s lower stomach, “..this body only responds to me, huh?”
Gawin squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head weakly. “Joss, don’t—”
But his body betrayed him. His hips pushed back, hands clawing at the pillow above his head, breath unsteady. Gawin was wet. Twitching. Wide open.
“You’re too tight,” Joss muttered as he worked the dildo again—sliding it in a little, twisting, then driving it forward fast.
“You forced this in. This little thing would never have worked.” He pulled it back out. Gawin groaned loudly, back bowing, lips parted.
“You can only use me,” Joss said, kissing Gawin’s side softly.
“Only I can stretch you open like this—nothing else even comes close.”
“Joss..” Gawin’s voice was small, fragile, his body nearly breaking under the game. “I–It hurts..”
“But you took it,” Joss said, gripping Gawin’s hips hard. “Because you like the pain, don’t you?”
Gawin didn’t answer. He only breathed. Only cried without sound.
“You need to be ruined..” Joss whispered, his voice almost tender, “..like always.”
Again, Joss pushed the toy deeper with steady strength, pressing on until Gawin nearly screamed. The motion wasn’t just to hurt—but to prove that it could go in, as long as Gawin wasn’t the one in control.
“Does this feel good?” Joss asked quietly, flat and piercing. His eyes never wavered. “Hm? Thought you didn’t need me.”
Gawin shook his head weakly. His hips were still lifted. His legs spread wide, as if waiting for more. And when the pressure reached its deepest point, he writhed, groaning.
“Joss—nghh.. please—too much—” His voice broke mid-sentence, half moan, half sob.
Joss leaned in, one hand holding Gawin’s waist in place. “This is what brats get,” he continued, breath heavy at Gawin’s neck, “..for touching themselves without permission.”
Gawin bit his lip again, body shaking. His mouth opened, but no words came—only a long, broken whimper.
Joss kissed Gawin’s smooth neck—hot, wet, deep. His lips pressed to the pulsing skin, then traced down to his collarbone, lower still to a chest now fully bare. All the while his hand kept working, pulling the dildo out until it nearly slipped free, then driving it back in with slick pressure that made Gawin’s hips reflexively push back.
“You’re not even trying to hide how much you like this,” Joss muttered, kissing hard beneath Gawin’s jaw—then slamming the motion once, deeper.
Gawin let out a small scream—not from pain, but from being too full. Too fast. Too good.
Joss’s other hand slid behind Gawin’s thigh, lifting his leg higher to deepen the angle. One small movement of the dildo pulled Gawin up off the mattress, back arched, his sounds growing wilder, more unraveled.
“Hnghh—ahh!”
“Beg for it,” Joss whispered into Gawin’s ear. “Beg me to fuck you instead.”
The words hung in the air like a thin blade, slicing slowly. Gawin was still gasping, body slick with sweat, cheeks burning. His eyes were half-open and wet, his mind dulled. He couldn’t think. Couldn’t analyze. There was only pressure. Need. An unbearable ache that had been building since the first day Joss left—and now, it all shattered in that moment.
His lips parted. The sound that came out was soft, broken—almost like a child who’d lost his way home.
“J–Joss..”
The sound was closer to a groan.
“Please—”
His breathing was still heavy. The word tumbled out between broken gasps and shame.
“Please, fuck me..”
Joss didn’t move. He stayed above Gawin, his hand still gripping the base of the toy now held inside him—still throbbing, still wet. His gaze didn’t change: hard, cold, and deep. Yet beneath it lurked something else—a hunger held tightly in check. When Gawin continued, his body shifted faintly, inching closer, his words spilling out unchecked, unfiltered.
“I miss—I miss you so fucking much—please, Joss. I can’t—”
That was enough. Enough to make Joss finally release a breath. Enough for his hand to slowly pull the dildo free. Gawin cried out, nearly screaming at the sudden, sharp emptiness.
He didn’t get the chance to protest. Joss flipped him over fast, as if Gawin’s body already knew the motion. His chest was pressed to the mattress, face buried in the pillow, knees drawn apart and opened wider. No time to think. No time to prepare.
The dildo was still in Joss’s hand—wet, heavy, warmed by Gawin’s body. And without warning, Joss slid it back in, slow but deep. He pushed it all the way to the base, then stopped. Gawin’s body seized again.
He almost cried just from that—from being filled again, from the instant tension, from the way his body resisted and responded too well, from the cruel truth that his body was far too honest to pretend otherwise.
Gawin thought that was the peak. Until he felt Joss kiss the back of his neck from behind and murmur, his voice low, rough, burning straight into his skin:
“You wanna feel full?”
The voice was too close. And before Gawin could answer—or even take a proper breath—Joss pressed his body in, one hand gripping Gawin’s waist tight, and filled him.
He didn’t remove the dildo. Didn’t replace it. Joss pushed himself in alongside it.
Gawin screamed. Not from fear. Not from shame. But because his body truly couldn’t take it all at once. His back arched, chest pressed into the mattress, fingers clawing the sheets, legs tensing reflexively, mouth wide open as sounds poured out that he couldn’t control.
Hot. Full. Too full.
“Ahh—! Joss, I—!”
He couldn’t finish. Joss only held him tighter, lips at his ear as he began to move slowly—sliding fully in, shifting the dildo aside just enough but never yielding, never stopping. Everything fit. Everything filled him.
Gawin felt like his body was tearing apart. And being saved.
It hurt. But it was right.
“You’re mine,” Joss whispered between his own heavy breaths, hot, movements powerful yet brutally controlled. “Every inch of you.”
Gawin could only cry. His eyes were open but unfocused. His legs trembled. His whole body felt like it no longer belonged to him. Like he was going to explode—with no release in sight.
Joss kept moving. Thrusting. Filling him. Every push felt like it was pulled from deep inside his gut, hitting places nothing else could ever reach. Gawin sank under the weight. One of Joss’s hands slid up to his neck, tugging his hair lightly to keep his face from sinking into the pillow.
“Hold it in,” Joss murmured. “Feel everything.”
Gawin—shaking, crying, wet and broken beneath him—could only nod. He didn’t know how long he’d been held there. Trapped under Joss. Sticky and open, neck tugged lightly by Joss’s hand, hips held firm, two things inside him pressing, filling, ruining him together.
The dildo stayed lodged inside, shifting slightly with every thrust, while Joss himself—heavy, warm, deep—kept driving in from behind, filling space Gawin hadn’t even known could exist.
He couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe right. His breaths came in short, fast, strangled bursts, and every time Joss pushed in, it felt like he was exploding from the inside out. The sensation wasn’t just hot—it burned.
His voice tore through the air. Not words. Just breath. Small, shredded sounds like fabric ripping.
“Joss.. I’m—please.. I can’t.. I—”
The sound broke apart, soaked with tears and sweat. Joss’s hand at his waist slid up his back—stroking softly, almost soothing—before gripping hard again, pressing him back into the mattress as if to say not yet. Not done. Not enough.
“You wanna come?” Joss asked quietly, sharp. “Like this?”
The words landed like a kiss turned whip. Gawin nodded as fast as he could, breath heavy, hips moving on their own, searching for friction, for anything that could take him over the edge.
“Please.. please, Joss.. I’m close—”
And that made Joss stop.
One final thrust—hard, deep—and then stillness. Fully inside, but unmoving. Gawin writhed, pushing back, but Joss held him there. Still. Inside.
“Not yet.”
“Please—” Gawin was nearly sobbing. His hands clawed the sheets, gripped the pillow, head pressing into the mattress, but his body was denied what it wanted.
“You want to come,” Joss repeated, breath heavy at his ear. “Beg for it. Properly.”
Gawin groaned loudly. His spine arched. His legs shook.
“Please.. let me—please let me come—” His hand trembled as it reached down, touching his own hard cock.
Joss slapped it away.
“Don’t touch yourself.”
“J–Joss, please, I can’t—” Tears streamed down his cheeks. Gawin’s hips moved on their own, as if his body had a will separate from him.
Joss started moving again. Slowly. Each motion made Gawin shake like a drawn wire. Then faster. Deeper. More merciless.
“You’re taking me so well,” Joss hissed, bending down to kiss the back of Gawin’s neck. “Such a good boy.. birthday brat.”
With one hard thrust that shifted the mattress beneath them—Gawin broke. He screamed—truly screamed. His body arched as hard as it could, hot fluid spilling without touch, his stomach tightening, then shaking, then giving out.
His voice fractured as he collapsed into the mattress, limp, breath strangled, body empty and full all at once.
Joss stayed inside him. Still hard. Still warm. His hand stroked Gawin’s back slowly now, like soothing a wound he’d carved himself.
Gawin’s body was still trembling, never quite stopping after the orgasm had crashed through him like a storm. He lay face-down on the mattress, chest pressed into sheets already damp with sweat and cum. His breathing was uneven, as if his lungs had been punched full of holes. His legs were spread, knees weak, his back rising and falling in the shallow rhythm of a body run empty. His hands clutched a pillow, though his fingers no longer had the strength to hold properly.
Joss was still inside him. Still hard. Still hot. And not finished.
He kissed Gawin’s shoulder lightly—not to soothe, but more like examining a body he’d broken with his own hands. Then one hand moved, finding the base of the dildo still lodged inside. With one certain motion, he pulled it out. Slow. Slick.
Gawin’s body—despite having just collapsed—shuddered again.
“Ngh!”
A small groan slipped free, a helpless whine Gawin couldn’t stop. The emptiness rushed in immediately. But Joss didn’t give him time to feel it. No time to recover. The moment the toy slipped free and Gawin twitched at the strange looseness, Joss tightened his grip on Gawin’s hips and started moving again.
No warning. No mercy.
Gawin’s body lurched forward, jolted by the first thrust—deep, fast, crushing. A sharp cry tore out of him, reflexive, his breath cut short.
“Joss—!”
His voice was hoarse, broken, but there was no resistance. Only a body surrendering—accepting, even when it was far too tired to fight back. The next thrust came faster. Then another. And another. Gawin had no choice.
His cheek was pressed into the sheets. His shirt still clung to him but had rolled up his back, leaving his stomach and chest flush against the mattress. His cock—still half-hard despite having just come—was trapped between his body and the bed, rubbing with every drive from behind. Wet. Over-sensitive. Torturous. His nipples were crushed too, dragged against damp fabric, sending sharp little jolts of unexpected pain through him.
Joss didn’t slow. He molded himself to Gawin, leaning forward just enough to drive deeper. Every time his hips slammed into Gawin’s ass, the sound of skin on skin filled the room—fast, rough, full of force. His left hand gripped Gawin’s hips. His right braced himself. His breathing was heavy. His pulse thundered.
He wasn’t speaking anymore. No teasing now. Just bodies. The bed. Breathing. And the small, broken sounds slipping from Gawin’s mouth, still wet with the remains of tears.
Gawin moaned again—a small, weak sound, half-conscious, like begging for mercy. Joss answered by pushing faster. Deeper. Hunting the end. Hunting the breaking point.
“Ngghh—Joss, please—I’m already—I can’t—”
But Gawin’s pleas only drove Joss further. He thrust harder, shaking the body beneath him that couldn’t escape. Until, with one final long, deep stroke—he stopped. His body went rigid. His nails dug into Gawin’s hips. And with a held breath, he came inside him.
Gawin felt it. Hot. Thick. Sticky. Filling him again. Heat spreading through a body that had been empty for far too long. Joss buried his face into Gawin’s back, biting lightly into the slick shoulder, then let out a long, heavy breath, as if dropping the weight of the entire world onto the man beneath him.
They stayed like that for several seconds. Just breathing. Heartbeats. Sweat.
Gawin couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. His body was numb, but in a way that felt beautiful—like he could finally breathe again. Even if the breaths were still short. Even if the shaking hadn’t stopped.
Joss remained inside him. Not rushing to pull out. He simply held the body beneath his—firm, calm. His lips brushed Gawin’s shoulder blade, then traced up to the back of his neck, kissing slowly.
The room settled into a quiet that wasn’t hollow. This wasn’t the lonely silence that gnawed from the inside—it was a quiet weighted with breath, with heat, with bodies too full and too exhausted to speak.
Gawin stayed face-down on the bed, head turned to the side, cheek against sheets wet with tears and sweat. His lips were parted, his breathing still hitched. Joss lay over him from behind, one arm loosely around his waist, his cock still inside. Slowly, the throbbing eased, but the warmth lingered—clinging to every inch of Gawin’s body, still open, still pulsing, still owned.
Joss lowered his head, lips brushing Gawin’s ear. His breathing was still heavy, but his voice had changed—deeper, quieter. Worn, but full.
“Next time..” he murmured softly, “..just tell me you miss me.”
Gawin let out a small huff, still breathless, but managed to reply, his voice rough and edged with irritation, “I told you.”
His eyes stayed closed. His face was flushed. But his lips still moved.
“You were the one who lied.”
Joss chuckled quietly—just one heavy breath turning into a smile. Gawin felt it through their bodies.
“Okay, fine,” he said, pressing a gentle kiss behind Gawin’s ear. “I’ll never surprise you again.”
Gawin frowned without opening his eyes, then muttered lazily, honestly, from deep in his still-heaving chest:
“..I didn’t say that.”
Joss only smiled, not answering. His hand stroked Gawin’s stomach softly, then he withdrew slowly. When he finally slid out, Gawin winced, his body tensing on reflex—still too sensitive, too open. Warm remnants spilled out and ran slowly down his thighs. Joss watched for a moment, then pulled a dry section of sheet from the side of the bed and wiped him clean gently, without a word.
Then, in comfortable silence, Joss stood and grabbed the hoodie he’d taken off earlier, slipping it over Gawin’s still-trembling body. Gawin didn’t resist—couldn’t. He sat slowly at the edge of the bed, wrapped in the oversized hoodie like a blanket, eyes still hazy.
“Come on,” Joss said, brushing his fingers through Gawin’s hair. “I brought something.”
He guided Gawin patiently into the living room—Gawin’s legs still shaking, their steps slow, unsteady, but enough. The kitchen light was dim, just like earlier when Gawin had been sitting on the couch. But now, on the table, sat a small paper bag Joss had brought home.
Inside was a boxed birthday cake.
Joss lifted the lid, revealing a slice of strawberry cake with small writing on top, the letters slightly crooked but still clear:
Happy Birthday, G.
Gawin laughed—tired, quiet, but sincere. His cheeks were still flushed. Joss pulled him closer. The oversized hoodie swallowed Gawin whole. And Gawin settled into his lover’s lap like a child who’d just been scolded, then rewarded with candy.
“If you’d given me this first, maybe I wouldn’t have ended up crying in bed,” Gawin said, bumping his shoulder lightly into Joss’s.
Joss fed him a spoonful, then kissed the corner of his mouth, smearing cream.
“That one’s on me,” he whispered. “But at least now.. you’re full.”
Gawin rested his head against Joss’s chest, his eyes slowly drifting shut as his breathing eased. His hand gripped his lover’s arm tightly.
“This.. is the best birthday gift I’ve ever had.”
Joss stroked Gawin’s thigh softly where he sat in his lap. They stayed like that for a long while, sinking into a warmth that didn’t need words. Gawin shifted slightly, his lips brushing Joss’s jaw, pressing a light kiss there with a gentle breath.
“Thanks for coming home.”
Joss didn’t answer right away. Instead, his embrace tightened, and a small smile curved his lips.
“I’ll always come home,” he finally said, his voice deep and steady. “Especially when some fake‑ass toy tries to replace me.”
Gawin laughed softly—weak, hoarse, but genuine. “You’re jealous of a dildo?”
Joss nodded once, without shame. “I’m competitive.”
And in that embrace—still weak, still damp, still whole and broken all at once—Gawin felt happy.
Loved.