Work Text:
The only sounds in the room were digital. The frantic, percussive click-click-click of Martin’s mouse, the occasional guttural curse spat into his headset, and the tinny explosions from the screen that cast flickering, synthetic light across the ceiling.
For Juhoon, it had been the soundtrack to two hours of a special kind of hell. the kind of hell born from profound, soul-crushing boredom.
He was drowning in Martin’s bed, swaddled in one of his boyfriend's oversized hoodies that smelled faintly of his soap and something else, something uniquely.
Earlier, that scent had been a comfort, his face pressed into Martin’s chest as they lay tangled together. Now, it was just a reminder of the attention he wasn't getting.
A slow, insidious heat began to bloom low in his gut. It started as a faint flicker, an annoyance he could ignore. But the longer he lay there, stewing in his own inertia, the more it grew.
It coiled, tightening into a dense, needy pulse right between his legs. An insistent throb that had nothing to do with his bladder and everything to do with the man sitting not ten feet away, completely oblivious.
Fuck.
Juhoon squeezed his thighs together, a useless gesture. The pressure only seemed to concentrate the feeling, making the empty ache inside him more pronounced.
He tried to think of something else. Laundry, what to eat tomorrow, the plot of some stupid show, but his body had other plans. His entire consciousness was being dragged down, centered on that one throbbing, hollow point.
Giving up on his back, he rolled onto his side, facing away from the glow of the monitor. He pulled a pillow into his arms, hugging it tight against his stomach, trying to find a position that didn't amplify the sensation.
It was a mistake. The soft, yielding pressure of the pillow against his groin was an immediate catalyst. The low throb intensified into a demanding pulse. His shorts, suddenly feeling rough and restrictive, did nothing to stop the friction as he shifted.
A soft, involuntary noise escaped his throat, swallowed by a particularly loud "FUCK YEAH, HE'S ONE-SHOT!" from the desk.
The sound, the complete dismissal, was the final straw. Boredom and frustration curdled into something sharper, something deliberately selfish.
Fine. If Martin was going to be in his own world, Juhoon would be in his. He shifted his hips, a small, experimental movement, pressing the juncture of his thighs against the plush center of the pillow.
The friction was maddeningly indirect, but it was something. He did it again, a slow, languid grind, letting the soft cotton of his shorts drag against the pillowcase. A wave of heat washed over him, and he bit down on his lip, chasing the feeling.
Still, the ache inside him clenched, begging for a pressure he couldn't provide. So he pushed harder, rocking his hips in a steady, building rhythm, his eyes fluttering shut as the world narrowed to the growing friction between his legs and the soft, uncomplaining pillow.
Martin’s pillow was a poor substitute. The friction was dull, diffuse, and did nothing to satisfy the sharp, specific ache that had taken root. It only made him more aware of the emptiness.
His eyes drifted over to Martin, to the hypnotic dance of his long, pale fingers across the keyboard. The speed, the precision of it. One hand a blur over the wasd keys, the other surgically attached to the mouse, making minute, deadly adjustments.
He imagined those same fingers, that same focused dexterity, applied elsewhere. Inside him. The thought sent a fresh, debilitating wave of heat through him.
With a frustrated sigh, he gave up on the pillow. His own hand was a better bet. He slid it down his stomach, under the waistband of his shorts and the thin elastic of his panties.
The moment his fingertips met the slick, swollen folds of his pussy, a sharp hiss escaped his teeth. He was so fucking sensitive. Already soaked, a testament to how thoroughly Martin had used him just a few hours prior.
A sane person would be sated, sleeping it off. But Juhoon just felt greedy.
His fingers found the hard little pearl of his clit and began a slow, deliberate circle. The sensation was immediate and overwhelming. A whine caught in his throat. His free hand snaked up under the hoodie, finding a nipple that was already hard and aching.
He pinched it, hard, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. A louder, more deliberate moan slipped out. "Mmm, Martin..."
Nothing. Not even a twitch. The response was a triumphant "Got 'em, let's push!" into the headset.
Annoyance, sharp and hot, lanced through the haze of pleasure. Okay. he’d have to do it himself. He kept rubbing, faster now, chasing a release that felt frustratingly distant.
He shifted, guiding two fingers to his entrance. They slid in with embarrassing ease, coated in the slickness of his own arousal and the faint, lingering trace of Martin's cum from before.
The feeling of being stretched, of being filled even by his own hand, made his whole body jerk. His legs began to tremble, a low, continuous whimper building in his chest. He was coming apart on the bed, and the man he wanted was winning a fake war in a fake world.
A new idea, born of pure frustration, solidified in his mind. If he wouldn't pay attention, Juhoon would make him.
In one fluid motion, he hooked his thumbs into his shorts and panties and shoved them down his legs, kicking them free. Naked from the waist down, he spread his legs wide on the mattress, a blatant, desperate invitation to an audience of one who wasn't looking.
He watched Martin's profile, the focused set of his jaw, the glow of the monitor reflecting in his glasses. Biting his lip until it stung, Juhoon swung his legs off the bed and stood.
The air was cool on his bare skin. He padded silently across the floor, the soft carpet muffling his steps. He came up behind Martin's chair and leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek.
"One sec, babe," Martin murmured, a small smile touching his lips as he executed a perfect headshot. He didn't even turn.
That was it. That was the final dismissal. Juhoon’s eyes landed on the corner of the heavy wooden desk. It was sharp, solid. Without a second thought, he stepped closer, pressing himself against it.
He hitched his hips up, positioning the hard edge right against his clit. He pressed forward, a sharp, electric jolt shooting straight to his core. It was nothing like the soft pillow or his own fingers. This was hard, unyielding, brutally efficient.
He began to rub himself against it, a slow, desperate grind, his knuckles white where he gripped the back of Martin's chair. He was right there, in his periphery, fucking himself on the corner of his desk, and all Martin had to do was turn his head.
The hard, lacquered edge of the desk was a revelation. It was precise, unforgiving, and focused the pressure exactly where he needed it. A world away from the dull, yielding pillow.
He rocked against it, the smooth wood gliding over his slick folds, and a real, guttural sound was torn from his throat. He glanced at Martin. Still nothing.
His boyfriend’s face was a mask of pure concentration, jaw tight, eyes tracking targets on the screen, completely smitten with the digital carnage.
Frustration warred with the pleasure building in his core. He was a ghost in his own room. He tightened his grip on the back of Martin’s gaming chair, the cheap pleather creaking under his fingers, and pushed his hips forward more forcefully.
Juhoon was fucking himself on the furniture, inches away, and Martin might as well have been on another planet. He let out a louder moan, pitching it to carry over the sound of gunfire. "Martin..." he whimpered, the name a ragged plea.
Finally, a reaction. A flicker. Martin’s thumb moved to the side of his headset, muting his mic. But his eyes, infuriatingly, remained glued to the screen.
"Horny again, huh?" Martin said, his voice a low, amused rumble. "Can’t wait to get fucked?"
A surge of pure anger cut through the haze. "You have the fucking audacity to talk to me now? After two hours of ignoring me?"
A soft chuckle. That was the only reply. Martin clicked his mouse, strafed left, and then spoke again, his tone dripping with condescending affection. "Sorry, pretty. Almost done. Why don't you rub yourself on me first?"
Juhoon stared at the back of his head, confused and annoyed. "How? You won't even move so I can sit on your lap."
"Not my lap," Martin said, his focus still entirely on the game. "My forearm."
Before Juhoon could process the sheer absurdity of the command, Martin’s right hand, the one that had been glued to the mouse, shot back and grabbed his ass, pulling him flush against the chair.
One hand stayed on the keys, the other groping a cheek firmly, and Juhoon couldn't stop the moan that escaped him.
Then, in a move of stunning, infuriating dexterity, Martin snaked his right arm between Juhoon's parted legs, his forearm pressing intimately against his groin as his hand found its way back to the mouse. The friction of his arm sliding into place, right against his wet, needy cunt, made Juhoon gasp.
"There," Martin said, his voice calm, his eyes still on the screen as he lined up a shot. "Start."
For a second, Juhoon was too stunned to move. Then, the raw command of it, the sheer arrogance, sent a thrill through him. He obeyed. He shifted his weight, grinding down.
The sensation of his clit rubbing against the warm skin and fine hair of Martin's forearm was electric. It was intimate, proprietary. He let out a shuddering moan, the sound thick with pleasure.
This was better. This was so much better. He began to ride Martin's arm in earnest, rocking his hips in a steady rhythm, his wetness quickly slicking the skin, his own needy sounds now a private soundtrack for the two of them, punctuated by the steady click-click-click of the mouse.
The skin-on-skin friction was something else. He moaned into the back of Martin's chair, a slick, wet sound as he ground his hips against the captive limb. Martin's arm was warm and solid under him, the fine hairs a pleasant, ticklish abrasion against his clit.
"Fuck, you're so wet," Martin murmured, his voice a low vibration that traveled up his arm and into Juhoon's body. "When this is over I'm going to eat you out for an hour."
"Fuck you," Juhoon gasped, the words lacking any real heat. He was too far gone. He adjusted his angle, finding a precise point of contact that sent a shudder through his entire frame. The coil in his belly tightened, a promise of release that was almost painful.
"Can't believe it," Martin chuckled, his hand never ceasing its deadly dance with the mouse. "I already fucked you senseless and two hours later you're begging for it again. Insatiable."
"Shut your mouth," Juhoon ordered, but it was a weak command. He was close. so close.
His hand came up, tangling in the hair at the nape of Martin's neck, gripping tight as he chased the peak. With one last, brutal grind against his boyfriend's forearm, his world dissolved into white-hot light.
His body convulsed, a loud, keening moan tearing from his throat as he came, hot and messy, all over Martin's skin. At that exact moment, a triumphant "victory!" blared from the monitor
Juhoon was still lost in the aftershocks, head thrown back, breath coming in ragged pants. He barely registered the headset being tossed onto the desk. A hand clamped onto his waist, and then he was being shoved forward, hard.
His face slammed into the cool wood of the desk, his cheek pressed against the surface right next to the glowing monitor. Before he could protest, his wrists were grabbed and pinned behind his back.
Then, long, familiar fingers were inside him, stretching him, fucking him with a ruthless efficiency that stole his breath.
"I can still feel my cum in here," Martin's voice was a low growl in his ear. "You didn't even clean yourself out, you dirty little slut."
Juhoon could only moan in response. Before he could even begin to recover from the digital assault, the fingers were gone, replaced by something much thicker.
The bulbous head of Martin's cock pushed into his sensitive, still-twitching cunt with insulting ease. Then he was being fucked, right there, bent over the desk. Martin's thrusts were brutal, animalistic, one hand holding his wrists, the other gripping his hip to angle him perfectly.
"Harder," Juhoon begged, his voice muffled by the desk. "Please, Martin, I need it. I need your cock so bad."
"I’m sure you do," Martin grunted, slamming into him. "You're just a cockslut, aren't you? Always need to be filled. Always need to be dripping with cum."
The words, the raw degradation, only made him wetter. Suddenly, the motion stopped. Martin sat back down in his chair, but he didn't pull out. Instead, he gripped Juhoon's small waist, lifted him with unnerving strength, and then slammed him down onto his lap.
Juhoon screamed as the full length of Martin's cock impaled him in one go, seating itself deeper than he thought possible. He began to ride him instinctively, meeting each of Martin's thrusts with his own.
Then, Martin stopped again. He held Juhoon pinned in place, impaled and helpless, while his free hand moved to the mouse. Juhoon watched, confused, as the game screen disappeared, replaced by the computer's desktop.
Martin clicked an icon. A moment later, their own image filled the screen, captured by the webcam perched on top of the monitor.
"Now watch," Martin commanded, his voice low and dangerous. He started to move again, a slow, deep fucking rhythm. "Watch how much of a cockslut you are."
Juhoon's eyes were glued to the screen. He watched his own face, flushed and debauched. He watched the obscene sight of Martin's thick cock disappearing into his slick, gaping pussy, then pulling almost all the way out before plunging back in.
The visual feedback was overwhelming. A loud, shuddering moan escaped his lips as he realized, with a jolt of shocking clarity, that this was the hottest thing he had ever seen.
Martin noticed the shift immediately. Juhoon's moans weren't just sounds of pleasure anymore; they were louder, more desperate, and timed perfectly with every glimpse he caught of himself on the monitor. A slow, predatory grin spread across Martin's face.
"You like that, don't you?" he murmured, his own eyes now flicking between Juhoon's wrecked expression and the screen. "Watching yourself get absolutely railed. Maybe we should make a video next time. Something to watch when you get needy."
He expected a denial, a flustered protest. Instead, he was met with a guttural moan as Juhoon arched his back, taking him deeper. Martin chuckled, his gaze now fixed on the screen, watching their two bodies move as one.
"I’m gonna..." Juhoon gasped, his knuckles white where he gripped the edge of the desk. He started to meet Martin's thrusts with a frantic energy, tongue lolling out, eyes rolling back into his head as he chased the feeling.
Watching the sheer abandon on his boyfriend's face in stark digital reality sent a hot coil of need through Martin's own gut. With a few more powerful pounds, Juhoon cried out, his body seizing as he came for the second time.
Martin didn't give him a moment. He stood up, leveraging Juhoon forward again, pressing him flat against the desk. He fucked into him senselessly, a raw, punishing rhythm.
Juhoon could only moan, back arched, completely at his mercy. Then, Martin's hand shot out, grabbing his jaw, forcing his head around until their eyes met.
He crashed their lips together in a brutal kiss. Tongues and teeth and spit and moans all tangled together as Martin drove himself home one last time, flooding Juhoon's spent cunt with a fresh wave of cum.
They stayed locked like that for a moment, coming down from the high, their groans muffled by the kiss. Finally, Martin pulled back. He withdrew from Juhoon slowly, deliberately, a torturous slide of flesh.
He watched, transfixed, as his own thick cum, mixed with Juhoon's slick, oozed from the thoroughly used pussy and trickled down his thigh.
He pulled Juhoon's pliant body against his, burying his face in the crook of his neck, placing soft kisses against the sweat-slick skin. "Such a fucking slut for me," he whispered, his voice a low tease. "A complete whore for my cock."
Juhoon didn't respond for a long moment. Then, he twisted just enough to glare at Martin over his shoulder.
“You need to go run me a hot bath," he said, his voice flat. "I’m still mad you ignored me for two hours to play that stupid game."