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Jong-woo isn’t sure how long he’s been asleep when he wakes to find an unmistakable hand on his shoulder, slowly coxing him up from his bed. He can hear and feel the deadly silence of the hospital around him, none more deadly, however, than the man in front of him.
Mixed feelings course through his veins. His innards turn with loathing, but his mind has started to race with excitement and stimulation. Ever since he was carted away from that god-forsaken place in an ambulance, he’d caught himself looking out for the man before him. A glimpse in the shadows or a jagged projection on the walls. Now here he is in front of him, Seo Moon-jo, extending his hand out to him from above.
“We’re leaving.”
Moon-jo’s deep voice oscillates around Jong-woo as he processes his words. Probably too hopefully and eagerly he responds.
“Okay. But I haven’t been discharged yet.”
Jong-woo figures ultimate honesty is key. He wants to go with Moon-jo, not just to escape the hospital with its small rooms starting to make him feel like he’s trapped all over again, but also because he wants to be with Moon-jo and extend the short and fleeting time they had managed to scrape together from the clutches of fate.
Moon-jo’s all-teeth grin is bright white in the moonlight streaming in from the window, Jong-woo sees it widen even more.
“Jagiya, I would’ve thought that you would trust me by now.”
He lends a hand to Jong-woo who’s slowly attempting to sit up. Moon-jo catches his hand and the faint clinks of metal remind him what still encircles his wrist.
Above him, Moon-jo’s breath stills as he fingers and touches his present to Jong-woo. Each lavish touch against his skin sends shocks of electricity up his arms; he has to suppress an unearthly sound as Moon-jo takes his wrist fully in his grasp, thumb pressing down heavily on his pulsing veins, and pulls his hand into the light. Each glimmering trophy shines silver against the moon; he sees Moon-jo study his handiwork. They are crowns fit for a king.
Moon-jo looks to meet Jong-woo’s unwavering gaze and eases the pressure on his wrist to lightly graze his fingertips, a light kiss of stimulation, as Jong-woo swings himself to sit on the side of the bed. He doesn’t say anything because he knows he doesn’t have to. Moon-jo is still grinning at him, Jong-woo knows his question has been answered. Yes, he trusts him.
The two leave easily, Jong-woo doesn’t know what he anticipated Moon-jo’s plan would be but he certainly had ruled out ‘just walking out the front door’. Moon-jo is supporting his right side, his strong arm wraps around Jong-woo’s waist as his large hand digs deeply into Jong-woo’s side. The message is clear, he’s not going anywhere.
Jong-woo is surprised by the heat emanating from the taller man against his back; he’d always looked at him and thought of cold and stone, not warmth and flesh.
A sleek, black car slides into view and Moon-jo shifts him down slightly in front of the passenger seat door to open it, and rather gently settles Jong-woo into place. The door slams shut and as Moon-jo rounds the front of the car, Jong-woo lets himself grin a little whilst he’s still semi-permanently concealed by darkness.
The grin is one which he has barely displayed before; its one which only seems to appear in the presence of his captor. It’s wild and manic but shows when Jong-woo feels the most at ease with himself.
Despite himself, Jong-woo can’t fully suppress a wince as he moves to secure his seatbelt. His hand lurches to hold his right side, which had been repaired with stitches after sustaining injury from fighting someone or another.
Moon-jo, just having turned the ignition on and was alleviating the parking brake, pauses in his actions to study him.
“It’s not long to my house, try to rest.”
Somehow, after everything, promises from Moon-jo are soothing and soon after fighting a losing battle to stay awake and alert, Jong-woo concedes, letting his eyelids pull a world of darkness around him.
—
Jong-woo wakes to a blare of streetlights blinding his sight. Removing his head from where it had settled against the window, he then quickly looks over to see Moon-jo still present and calmly watching him. They’ve stopped moving, he realises.
He expects Moon-jo to maybe explain, but their silent studying of each other endures so long that Jong-woo has to ask.
“Are we...” He slows a little when Moon-jo’s gaze seems to settle on his lips, “At your house?”
Moon-jo’s grin reappears as he removes the car key and opens his door.
“Yes.” He tells him whilst indicating for him to leave the car too. Jong-woo shifts as carefully as he can as to not disturb his wound.
Once out, he glances across the roof of the car to the other man. Behind him is a tall, metallic, glass building that stretches so high into the sky that Jong-woo has to crane his neck upwards. He doesn’t know what to say so he doesn’t say anything. He knows Moon-jo is smirking at him.
“I live at the top.”
He says it so nonchalantly that Jong-woo snaps back his gaze to the man. Moon-jo’s eyes are still steady on him.
“I bought it when I met you.”
That’s it. That’s all he says as he walks towards the lobby entrance, as if Jong-woo wouldn’t have any questions to that particular statement. He watches him disappear through the sliding doors and mentally curses him as he follows behind.
The elevator is eerily quiet, no creaking or groaning of old cogwheels and pulleys, just a smooth electrical hum. They’re stood maybe a foot apart, no more, no less between them. As he watches Moon-jo, he can see the tendons pull in the blank plain of his neck as he stretches it to the side, as well as his Adam’s apple ducking up and down with his breathing. He’s got to admit, he can see why Moon-jo seems so obsessed with his own.
Jong-woo realises he’s a bit too mesmerised when it’s too late; Moon-jo turns his head with inhuman speed and locks their gaze together. Jong-woo shifts away slightly, sheepish and caught.
“Are you cold?” Is all the other man asks. And after assessing the situation, Jong-woo realises he really is. Looking down, he sees the thin hospital pyjamas managing to be too small, too big, too tight and too loose all at the same time. He realises that his feet were freezing as well, the thin soles of the shoes he was given were not intended to be worn any further than his hospital room.
He gives what he feels like is a pathetic nod, still not meeting Moon-jo’s eyes. The taller man’s next move is unpredictable (then again it always is), he stretches one arm behind Jong-woo and lightly rubs the expanse between his shoulder and neck. The thin material of the hospital gown gives him no mercy in sparing him from Moon-jo’s movements; Jong-woo feels heat start to emanate in his upper body again.
He’s almost worked up the courage to look at the other man again until the silent elevator interjects with a ‘ping’. Moon-jo’s hand slides down his back to settle once again around his waist and supports him as he moves to exit.
The doors open into a light grey hallway, illuminated by saucer lights ahead. There’s only one door.
“Do you own this whole floor?” Jong-woo finds himself asking. Though he doesn’t know why, this is entirely something he expected of the other man. The last place Moon-jo truly belonged was at Eden.
Moon-jo looks down at him with his grin, pleased that he asked, he responds in a level voice, “Of course.”
Right. Of course.
He waits patiently for Moon-jo to unlock the door, slightly using the wall to steady himself in the absence of Moon-jo’s sturdy arm. The lock clicks and he’s pulled inside.
—
The place is immaculate, a picture of perfection and neatness and Jong-woo expected no less from the other man. It’s the farthest thing from his previous residence as it could possibly be and Jong-woo can’t help but wonder if this was his exact intention.
He doesn’t care either way, anything was better than that place. Here was even better with Moon-jo.
Jong-woo struggles to keep his eyes open, however, and Moon-jo must read him perfectly as he steers him towards what he barely makes out to be a bedroom.
He’s about to let himself collapse onto the comfy-looking, plush duvet when Moon-jo’s hand tightens on his waist.
“Don’t you want to get changed first?”
Jong-woo has a feeling it’s not really that much of a suggestion but he nods anyway. He hadn’t brought anything but himself from the hospital though, and as far as he knew Moon-jo had not collected anything for him.
His questions are answered, however, when Moon-jo leaves his side for a split-second, rustles around a bit behind him and returns with a soft-looking, long-sleeved top in his hands. It’s black and Jong-woo can’t help but wonder if it’s the one from that day he ran into him with Seok-yoon.
Jong-woo looks up at him as he accepts the offer. Moon-jo tells him to get dressed.
He lets his cheeks flush at the notion of undressing in Moon-jo’s presence, but at least turns to face the wall away from the bed as he does so.
Methodically, he removes his shoes, socks, trousers and top. Jong-woo leaves them in a pile beside him, too tired to ask what to do with them. He leaves his boxers on because Moon-jo has given him nothing else to wear.
Jong-woo definitely does not think about how the muscles on his back look as he raises his arms to slip the t-shirt on and definitely does not think about who’s most definitely and assuredly watching him do so.
The smooth fabric is warm against his cold-bitten skin, a welcome relief. The sleeves are predictably too long for him but as he turns round and moves to roll them up, something in Moon-jo’s gaze tells him not to. He tries to resume his breathing back to normal to no avail as he lets the sleeves fall back down, brushing the ends of his fingers at their lengths. Moon-jo now lies against the headboard in the centre of the bed, arms extended along the pillows and is relaxing lavishly.
Jong-woo notices him watch as he clutches the fabric beneath his fingers and fiddles with the hem. Moon-jo’s gaze then seems to roam him up and down, drinking in the sight of the man before him like he’s thirsty and gasping.
Jong-woo’s suddenly very aware that Moon-jo’s t-shirt is so long on him that it covers any evidence of his boxers existing. To the eye, he’s just drowning in Moon-jo’s top alone.
A low hum of approval erupts from the other man, “You look ravishing.”
Jong-woo tries not to let the complement wash over him too much, he shifts in place from one foot to another, looking longingly at the inviting mattress and pillows.
“Come here.” Moon-jo orders. Jong-woo obeys and perches himself on the side of the bed.
After sliding himself over towards the other, Moon-jo sits before him. He brings his head closer and closer at an unbearably slow pace, and stills at the area just above his pectoral muscles. A deep breath in and a deep breath out. Moon-jo’s eyes shift upwards to his own, now deeper and darker, as he speaks.
“Jagiya,” He begins, voice low in tone and playful with the words, “you smell like me.”
Though he remained still for this entire ordeal, it’s Moon-jo’s comment that returns heat to his skin. Jong-woo shifts before him, settling fully onto the bed now and watches as Moon-jo’s smile persists. Jong-woo feels like he can’t think straight from tiredness and so follows his deep urge to lie flat on the inviting sheets. He hasn’t felt such luxury of a comforting bed in so long. (Who would’ve thought that it would’ve been Moon-jo’s?)
Jong-woo lets his eyes slip shut as he turns away from the other man to settle his head against the pillow. A deep chuckle arises from behind him and he hears Moon-jo put out the lights before he returns hastily. As if he were too precious to be left alone.
Jong-woo’s boardering the outskirts of consciousness as he feels Moon-jo settle behind him, he also can’t stop a hum of contentment arise from him when he feels strong arms encircle his waist from behind. Warm palms splay across his front, rubbing his abdomen through the t-shirt before settling still and steady, grasping him tight against him.
Moon-jo’s body borders every inch of his own, guarding and holding. Attacked in such a way from each angle, Jong-woo supposes he should feel trapped; instead he feels alive in every way.
—
“Jagiya, wake up.”
Jong-woo’s got to admit he’s been awoken in worse ways. Moon-jo leans down from above him and lightly pushes Jong-woo’s bed head out of his face; his hair has become quite long these past months.
The taller man now in his vision, Jong-woo appreciates his appearance. His white shirt is tucked into grey slacks with his sleeves bunched up at the elbow. Moon-jo’s standing in front of the window and the morning sun provides him with a heavenly glow, seemingly painting a halo around his head. Oh, the irony.
Moon-jo grins when he sees he’s come-to and straightens up again. He doesn’t say anything at first, seemingly drinking in the sight of the man before him in his bed.
Jong-woo takes little notice in his groggy haze and sits himself up against the headboard. He takes in Moon-jo’s put-together appearance again and asks, “Where are you going?”
His throat cracks a little and he coughs as a consequence. Moon-jo places a grounding hand on his thigh above the covers.
“Job interview.” He answers. Jong-woo wonders how far they’ve had to move for him to be able to leave his old reputation behind.
He nods in understanding. Jong-woo follows Moon-jo on weak legs as he carefully leads him to the door. A welcoming aroma fills the air as they enter the kitchen area.
“Did you cook?” Jong-woo asks, suprised, the notion slightly messing with his head. He’s also a little wary, he knows what was in the meat the last time he was served.
“What did you cook?” He adds for good measure.
Moon-jo must recognise the stem of his further question as he chuckles and promises him it’s beef. Jong-woo believes him.
“Ah, it’s good.” Jong-woo complements as he wolfs down another mouthful and thinks how this puts the hospital food to shame by a mile. Moon-jo sits across from him at the dining table, apparently enjoying his eagerness. Jong-woo pauses to take a gulp of water and holds Moon-jo’s look as he does so. He smacks his lips a little over-dramatically afterwards before returning to his meal.
Soon, Moon-jo seems to force himself up reluctantly. He makes himself chew down his last bite before he speaks to him.
“Are you going now?”
Moon-jo tells him yes, but his look tells him he doesn’t want to go.
“Stay inside today, your stitches are still healing.”
Jong-woo is sure this is only an attempt to keep him cooped up and his own for as long as possible, but to be honest he doesn’t really mind.
“Okay,” Moon-jo smiles at this, “Can I take a shower?”
After pointing it out down the hall, Moon-jo helps Jong-woo settle on the bed again. Arms clearly reluctant to leave his skin.
Jong-woo asks because he must, “What should I wear?”
Moon-jo smiles again, he answers with one final rub of Jong-woo’s back leaving him tingly, “Pick what you want from my wardrobe, I’ve got to leave.”
Watching him check his watch quickly before disappearing out of the bedroom door with his briefcase in hand, Jong-woo lets out a sigh. Not in contentment, nor exasperation, but rather a sense of simply existing.
—
After his shower, he lets the dreamy, morning sun shine on him for a while, basking in the heat brought by a summer’s day, before making his way up again. Looking around, his eyes catch on closet doors and he moves to open them. What he didn’t anticipate was the entire room that he was now walking into.
The walls are lined with suits, shirts, shoes and the like. He has to give himself a moment before he begins to look for something to try and slip on.
Moon-jo’s stature is larger, so naturally his clothes are an ill fit. The weather is also hot, even in Moon-jo’s air-conditioned apartment he can still feel the heat. Finally, he manages to find the thinnest and most suitably sized clothes he can; he settles on a comfy, cotton-white shirt made of such thin material that it’s practically see-through and a pair of boxers only, which barely manage to stay above his hips. The shirt cascades to the tops of his thighs.
Moon-jo doesn’t own any shorts apparently, in this massive wardrobe, yet it figures as Jong-woo could not picture him dressed so casually. And since Jong-woo wishes not to melt in this heat, he maintains it the best option to forgo wearing trousers at all.
Concluding he’ll be spending the whole day at home, he decides this doesn’t really matter anyway. Did he just say ‘home’?
He lets his mind turn whilst he settles himself on the couch in the living room, the leather is a welcome cold under his thighs. Jong-woo settles his laptop on himself and tries to further his novel; he has nothing better to do. However, the words which had ran so easily to him before now cease to appear. Maybe it’s because he’s away from that place.
He suddenly finds the computer too warm against his body and sets it down on the coffee table in frustration under the heat. Jong-woo stands and carefully manoeuvres to the windows to unhinge them further, it helps little.
Jong-woo releases a sigh as he unbuttons the shirt he wears and lets it hang loose either side of his chest. He finally follows the low hum of the air-conditioning to its source and seats himself under it at the far end of the sofa.
He lays cooling off for about an hour before boredom surfaces again. As a last resort, he flicks on the TV and is greeted by the obnoxious voice of a teleshopping host before quickly switching the channel. He briefly considers checking the news channels for mentions of him or Moon-jo, but he eventually reasons that he rather wouldn’t know. Instead, he ends up settled on watching a re-run of a drama he’d only got halfway through originally.
He watches two episodes back to back, but when the protagonist and her friends are investigating a creepy location and are continuously jump-scared by a supposedly scary figure, Jong-woo can only tut at its lack of realism as he turns it off.
—
“I’m back.”
The loud exclamation rings through the apartment and Jong-woo can’t help but liken himself to golden retriever as he quickly springs up from his position on the bed. Looking into the hallway, he’s greeted with the sight of Moon-jo setting down more bags than he’d left with and methodically looking into each adjoining room, presumably looking for him. Does he really think he’d try to leave?
He pauses in the doorway and gives what he hopes comes out as a warm welcome back. Jong-woo allows himself to feel pleased at Moon-jo’s eyes brightening when he sees he’s still here. He has no doubt he would’ve been right out of that door again to find him if he had left anyway.
Soon, though, he watches Moon-jo’s eyes turn dark upon him. The other studies him particularly with a scorching gaze and Jong-woo even shifts a little in discomfort, anxiety threatening to bubble through him.
“Jagiya,” He begins, his eyes finally trailing upwards to his own. He looks flustered, or at least as flustered as a man like him could get, Jong-woo reckons, “Is this for me?”
Jong-woo is about to get all confused when he suddenly remembers his outfit. His shirt buttons are still undone due to the persistence of the heat throughout the day, he reckons the thin material he chose does not provide him with much decency. His chest is also now dotted with perspiration and surely flushed a deep red. The boxers on his hips sit low as well; probably all too inviting for a certain man.
Now, he knows he didn’t act entirely intentionally, but he can’t help but wonder if he’d implicitly chosen clothes to impress the other man. Whether it was pure survival instinct or not, he didn’t mind, he’s quite enjoying the way he’s being regarded right now. However, Jong-woo can’t get the words to fall from his mouth, or any at all for that matter.
Sans answer, Moon-jo rapidly covers the ground between them, almost stalking up to him like a predator and its prey. Jong-woo attempts to hold his dark gaze as long as possible, but he feels himself give in half way and his eyes retreat downwards, accompanied by the crimson appearing on his cheeks.
Moon-jo arrives in seconds and appears to take him in once more under closer inspection. Slowly, he brings up a flat palm and places it against Jong-woo’s bare skin just above his heart and creeps his hand upwards, toying with his Adam’s apple on the way and eventually pushing his fingers under Jong-woo’s chin, forcing him to match his gaze.
Moon-jo’s hands remain there, fingering the skin underneath his neck.
“You look exquisite, jagiya. A masterpiece.”
Jong-woo lets out a shaky breath and feels Moon-jo’s other hand on the small of his back, finger tips gracing and downright teasing just under his shirt, sending rushes of heat up his spine. Their eyes are transfixed together.
However, the welcome touch is lost as quickly as it is gained as Moon-jo seems to muster up all his strength to pull himself away and announce, “I need a shower.”
Jong-woo still lets him walk him backwards through the door way and into the room until the back of his legs hit the bed and he half falls down. He looks up from his placement and is well aware of the innuendo of their positions. He gives Moon-jo a shy but sly smile and celebrates a mental victory when the other appears slightly at a loss for words or action.
Jong-woo then shifts backwards to lean on his hands, maintaining the gaze and Moon-jo seems to finally forcibly rip himself away from him. His eyes linger on Jong-woo as he removes his shirt slowly in the bathroom doorway.
From the bed, Jong-woo lets his eyes stray across the pale expanse of Moon-jo’s chest, well-built and sculpted. He gulps and shifts forwards again but Moon-jo only grins at him before cruelly closing the door. With a massive sigh, Jong-woo lets himself fall back against the bed and stretch out his arms, grasping the sheets beneath him. Well, he was certainly less bored now that Moon-jo was back.
—
Jong-woo is far off, daydreaming of Moon-jo and his acts, when a familiar ring tone cuts through the white noise of the shower from the next room. He rolls over to his side to check who it is. Officer So Jung-hwa the phone displays.
He begins to panic a little because Moon-jo has yet to mention what to say if someone comes looking for him. He reasons he has to answer though, otherwise she may start properly searching for him and that’s the last thing they wanted right now. He picks up.
“Yoon Jong-woo?” The youthful voice asks on the phone. He takes a deep breath before he begins to lie out of his teeth.
“Hi, Officer So.” Jung-hwa takes a moment to reply.
“Hi. I’m just calling because I heard you discharged yourself from the hospital. I thought you couldn’t go home for the next few weeks?”
Jung-woo thinks on his feet.
“Ah, yeah, well the doctors said I made a massive improvement in the last week and said I was free to go.”
Moon-jo must have contacts or a way in at the hospital and was able to change the records.
“I see,” She answers flatly, “Where are you staying now? Are you okay?”
Jong-woo would very much like to tell her that’s none of her business, but eventually reasons that’s more suspicious so he answers.
“On the other side of Seoul,” He guesses, he’s pretty sure he’s right, “I’m staying at a friend’s.”
“Oh, good. Do you like it there?”
Jong-woo contemplates her question on a deeper level than she probably intended.
“Yes,” He answers truthfully, “I do.”
Jung-hwa is silent for a moment more before she tells him to get well soon.
“Thank you.” He says genuinely before adding a ‘goodbye’.
Ending the phone call, he feels the tension that was building in his body relax. That seemed okay.
He returns his phone to the bedside table and stands to leave the room, he’s halted, however, by a firm body and arms that lock into place around him. Jong-woo can feel Moon-jo’s chest against his back through the thin material of his shirt. He’s still wet and damp from the shower. Moon-jo towers over him from behind.
He forces himself to remain still, but manages to relax. The other must’ve heard at least the last part of his call. Moon-jo pulls him closer to his chest and inclines his head towards Jong-woo’s ear. His whisper is so low it’s barely audible.
“You’re mine, jagiya.”
With this he plants a light nip behind his ear, a ghost of a kiss, like it’s precious for him to tuck away and no one else to see.
—
Jong-woo is walking into the kitchen a couple of days later when he’s greeted by the sight of Moon-jo meticulously cleaning a collection of knives at the table. To be honest, Jong-woo barely bats an eyelid and breezes past him towards the coffee machine, his absolute saviour in the morning these days.
When his coffee’s ready, Jong-woo turns back around and settles leaning against the countertop, mug in hand. He watches Moon-jo work for a moment, taking in small sips of luxury he couldn’t have even dreamed of purchasing previously.
Moon-jo looks up after apparently finishing up the smallest of the collection, he gives him a grin when he sees Jong-woo just watching him. Is it weird that he’s glad Moon-jo feels comfortable enough to clean murder weapons in front of him? Maybe...
Jong-woo’s aware his hair is still super fluffy from just rolling out of bed, he tries to flatten it half-heartedly, however, as he knows Moon-jo quite likes it.
Said man selects another knife from where they’re neatly laid out upon the table and begins polishing. Jong-woo takes another careful sip from his mug before placing it down on the table.
“Are you going out?” He asks, staring down at Moon-jo’s hands working tirelessly. They both know what he’s really asking. Are you going out to kill anyone?
Moon-jo predictably grins, teeth on show, and tells him, “No, not today.”
Although he hums in acknowledgment and brings his coffee up to his lips again, his mind is troubled. He really wants to know whether he’ll ever be allowed to go with him.
“You can come when your stitches have healed.” Moon-jo adds, his uncanny ability to read minds no longer phases Jong-woo.
“Ah, come on,” He whines, pitch possibly too high for the exact topic of this conversation, and leans towards the other man, “They basically have.”
He most definitely does NOT pout.
“Let me see.” Moon-jo commands, waving the tip of the knife he holds to point at his side.
Jong-woo doesn’t even think and lifts the side of his t-shirt to reveal a thin line of stitches dancing down his side, barely visible. The skin still moves tightly for now, but it was definitely better than before.
Moon-jo places his flat palm against his pale expanse of skin, covering any evidence of stitches in the first place. His cold hands shot shivers up his sides. Jong-woo would liken his touch, when it’s cold like this, to a blade.
Managing to unpin his gaze from Moon-jo’s, Jong-woo stares down at his side and can’t help but remark mentally how big Moon-jo’s hand is compared to his skinny waist. He’s glad his coffee cup is safely on the table, otherwise he surely would’ve dropped or spilt it by now by the shivers encapsulating his person.
“A couple more days.”
Moon-jo finishes another knife and puts it tidily back in its place as he says so. However, Jong-woo can’t shake the feeling that the other man is being too gentle, too careful with him. Like he’s almost fragile.
In his waspish state and bursting with adrenaline-fuelled confidence, Jong-woo curses lowly, “Aish, I won’t break.”
He turns his head away from Moon-jo in annoyance and pushes his coffee further from him on the table. The kitchen chair squeaks under his shift in weight.
But before he knows it, Jong-woo finds himself engulfed in a flurry of movement. He feels himself being pulled and manoeuvred effortlessly by strong arms around his waist, and there’s a clattering of metal as the knives displayed on the table crash and slide into each other.
His lower half is soon settled on something firm and when Jong-woo’s eyes and brain finally catch up, he finds himself face-to-face with Moon-jo’s sharp jawline and simmering eyes. His arms are firm around his waist and encircle him restrictively. One slight shift forward immediately confirms Jong-woo’s suspicions; he’s sitting on Moon-jo’s lap.
Speechless and soundless, Jong-woo’s mouth hangs open inches from Moon-jo’s own lips. His eyes feel heavy and weighted as he lets them dip to look at the other’s mouth.
Moon-jo’s eyes are steadily tracking Jong-woo’s. Mouth no longer curved into the grin he had found himself becoming so accustomed to.
Unable to read his face, Jong-woo tries to focus on other regions, but soon recognises his exact positioning. His legs are either side of Moon-jo’s set hips and they are practically sitting chest-to-chest. He feels so exposed and vulnerable with his legs spread so widely and closely to Moon-jo’s crotch.
The hands, still tightly gripped against his waist, dig a little harder into his sides. Jong-woo lets out a gasp of pain as the stabbing sensation shoots up his right side and his body physically jolts as his eyes crawl back upwards to Moon-jo’s, but he doesn’t object. The movement presses them impossibly closer.
Jong-woo lets his head fall from its position, slightly above Moon-jo’s, into the crook of the other man’s neck, his breathing already shaky. His senses are overwhelmed with Moon-jo’s musky scent, infused with the domesticity of home. Jong-woo can feel Moon-jo take a deep breath underneath him.
“Jagiya,” He begins, Jong-woo can feel his warm breath against his cheek, “You will do as I say.”
Jong-woo’s whole body stills automatically at the demand, mind racing a million miles an hour. Desperately, he scrambles to think of Ms. Eom, or someone just as off-putting, to save himself from a more compromising position than he already is.
At his lack of answer, Moon-jo pulls himself back from Jong-woo so he can see him. His eyes are predatory, dark and irresistible as they freely roam Jong-woo’s features. Moon-jo pulls their faces close together again.
“Okay?”
Jolting again at the sudden movement, he takes a second to catch up. His response is emitted as an almost-gasp, barely audible.
“Yes.” He has to avert his eyes to the ceiling because Moon-jo’s gaze on him was becoming heavy and heated.
A hand dares to stray from his side to guide his chin down and look at the other again.
“What was that?”
This time, Jong-woo must answer him whilst locked in his gaze. He shifts forwards a little in surprise and incites stimulation he’d been so trying to avoid.
Moon-jo stills and bites his lip, looking at him expectedly, eyes only deepening and darkening by the second. Jong-woo withholds a whimper as he answers.
“Yes.”
Jong-woo can feel Moon-jo hum in satisfaction. His forehead falls forward and lands on Jong-woo’s cheek. Moon-jo’s long hair tickles his nose; he inhales an intoxicating breath of honey shampoo. Another hand snakes upwards from the vice-like grip on his waist to pull at the hair on the back of his nape. Jong-woo gasps again at the sensation.
“Good boy.”
Moon-jo’s comment floods Jong-woo’s unholy brain with too many ideas at once. Each one sending hot flushes down towards his groin. His tone is deep and cuts down to Jong-woo’s bones; he cannot resist, he doesn’t want to.
Initially, Jong-woo had recognised the possibility he may not actually survive living with Moon-jo, but it appears to be turning out that it’ll definitely not be for the reasons he originally thought...
—
Later on in the week, Jong-woo is sleeping peacefully, arms splayed carelessly across the bed. His stitches are much better now so he can be more free in his movement.
However, he can feel the gaping lack of presence of another warm body beside him. Moon-jo’s arms are usually locked around him and his back gets pressed against his hard chest.
Jong-woo lets his arm extend in a mission to seek the missing man; the other side of the bed is cold. He’s barely awake, however, and the sleep in his eyes weighs them shut. He turns over towards Moon-jo’s side half-heartedly before dropping his head onto the pillow again.
And it must be something ridiculous like 5:30am, so of course Moon-jo comes swanning back into the room fully dressed and presentable. When he sees Jong-woo is awake he shoots him a grin.
“You’re awake.”
“Barely.”
Jong-woo’s voice is riddled with rough layers of exhaustion. He cracks his eyes open a tiny bit more as Moon-jo moves round to stand next to him on his side of the bed.
“Come on. I want to take you somewhere.”
Jong-woo groans and forces himself to actually look at the clock beside him. The bright, digital numbers confirm his worst fears: it’s 5:22 in the morning. He drags his gaze back to Moon-jo before falling back down on the bed, it’s way too early to be doing anything at all. Jong-woo whines in protest; Moon-jo’s grin only widens.
“Your stitches have healed, let’s celebrate.”
Jong-woo twists his neck round quickly and stares up at the other man. Their faces are closer than before.
“But it’s five in the morning...” He moans, but it comes out kind of slurred. Jong-woo purses his lips and breaks their eye contact suddenly as he turns over onto his other side and buries his head in the pillows. He would never admit it, but he loves the warmth they hold (and they smell of Moon-jo.)
He feels Moon-jo run a hand up his side and settle on his shoulder as he jostles him gently and croons more words of encouragement. Jong-woo resists and maintains his position, further burrowing into the sheets.
His words are slightly muffled as he speaks, “Jagiya, just come back to bed.”
It takes him a second to realise what he’s said. His eyes shoot open in surprise, this view shielded from Moon-jo’s by his back. Oh, god.
Moon-jo has apparently frozen from his position above him, stunned for once in his lifetime. Jong-woo waits for his response in crippling anticipation.
Suddenly, he finds himself flipped over with surprising ease and pinned down underneath Moon-jo’s imposing stature and weight. His biceps are locked in place by rough hands and Moon-jo’s eyes would be able fix him in place alone with their piercing gaze. Their faces are millimetres apart.
“What did you say?”
Moon-jo’s eyes search his own intensely, but his voice is a deep and rhythmic pulse. He’s smirking.
Jong-woo is hesitant to speak again because he really has no idea of what the other man will do. A shimmer of necessity in Moon-jo’s eyes urges him on, however.
“...Jagiya.”
He says it more slowly and it almost catches on his breath. Jong-woo feels mesmerised, unable to move under Moon-jo’s fixed gaze. He tracks his eyes with the other man and they roll down his face and linger on his lips. Jong-woo holds back a gasp as Moon-jo proceeds and deviates his attention further down.
Moon-jo carefully observes his reaction as he leans down and places his lips on Jong-woo’s Adam’s apple. Jong-woo’s breathing only quickens.
He can feel Moon-jo’s teeth against his neck as he grins before he kisses it once before mercilessly attacking his neck. Jong-woo can only release helpless sounds as Moon-jo bites down on his skin all over, followed by the lavish tracing of his tongue.
One particularly deep bite leaves Jong-woo gasping for breath as Moon-jo latches onto his neck greedily. He feels a desperate need to touch the other man, to feel his skin against his own. Jong-woo pushes against Moon-jo’s hold on his hands in protest.
A whine of the other man’s name seems to tempt him up from his creation on his neck, however. Moon-jo brings his face up to align it with his own and kisses him. In the beginning, it’s lighter than Jong-woo expected, but the kiss soon develops into more of a devouring.
Jong-woo might’ve thought Moon-jo had been starving for weeks if he hadn’t been eating dinner with him every night. Moon-jo’s tongue wastes no time in intruding into Jong-woo’s mouth and their lips slide together perfectly. Their teeth collide with careless motion.
Again, Jong-woo makes a feeble attempt at setting himself free. He wants to touch, needs to touch him.
“Moon-jo,” His breath comes out in pants in between their mouths parting, “Please.”
Moon-jo moves whilst on top of him and Jong-woo can feel their crotches collide. He moans at the sensation; it sends pleasant sparks shooting up his spine. Moon-jo hums into his mouth in satisfaction, Jong-woo can feel a smirk pull at his lips again before he answers him.
“No.”
Moon-jo’s eyes hold his as he pulls slightly back to answer. Jong-woo curses him in his mind. Smug bastard.
He can only pant and gasp as Moon-jo maintains his vice-like grip on his gathered wrists as he continues, biting and kissing his way down Jong-woo’s body. Jong-woo didn’t sleep with a shirt on last night, right now he can’t tell if that’s more of a blessing or a curse. He’d been using the excuse that it was a particularly hot summer, really, he just liked to feel Moon-jo’s bare chest against his skin as the man made sure to curl himself against him every night.
Moon-jo works his way methodically up Jong-woo’s side and licks and nips at the place where his stitches used to lie. The skin there is still sensitive and Jong-woo can’t stop himself from bucking upwards into the body above him.
In reaction, Moon-ho shifts his gathered hands easily into one grip, still somehow just as strong, and brings the other to pin down his hips against the bed. Jong-woo whines in frustration and protest and gives Moon-jo his best glare.
Moon-jo places kisses and bites along the waistband of his boxers as he makes keen eye-contact with the other man. Maybe he reads Jong-woo’s state of desperation, or maybe he’s decided he’s finished teasing him, so Moon-jo brings himself back up to Jong-woo’s level. He plants one kiss on his lips before changing his mind and shifting back down to his neck again. He stops above his Adam’s apple and noses it as he speaks.
“Just for you, jagiya. You make me like this. Just for you.”
Moon-jo takes Jong-woo’s neck between his teeth again and sucks on it heavily. On releasing, he grazes the area with his teeth and kisses all around it.
Jong-woo can’t help thinking about how destroyed his neck is going to be after this. He’ll have bruises for days, for weeks even. That’s probably Moon-jo’s aim, he realises, to mark him as his. Jong-woo doesn’t mind, he wants to be.
“Moon-jo,” He whines out loudly, said man bites the underside of his chin again in response, “Jagi-ah.”
His call is broken by an involuntary moan as Moon-jo brings their crotches together, moving against him for stimulation. However, Moon-jo’s actions freeze at the sound of the pet name again and Jong-woo seizes his opportunity to slip his wrists free from Moon-jo’s grip as it suddenly goes lax for a second.
Frantically, he grasps either sides of Moon-jo’s face and pulls him back onto his lips. For a second, he thinks Moon-jo might try and pin his wrists again, but when he begins to run his needy hands up and down Moon-jo’s back, he feels the grip on his hips shift enough to create space for Jong-woo to roll his hips upwards. Scratching and digging his nails into the muscly flesh on the other’s back, Jong-woo smiles into their kiss as he celebrates silently after hearing the deep moan and rumble Moon-jo releases. It sends vibrations through his own body as well, exciting him even more.
As if suddenly revived back to life, Moon-jo springs back into action and Jong-woo feels his hair being tugged and pulled, it’s so overwhelming that Jong-woo has to lean out of the kiss to gasp a breath.
Looking over at Moon-jo, he plants a kiss on his cheek as a starting point before he moves his lips everywhere he can reach. He spans from his shoulders to his forehead and Jong-woo is very surprised the other man lets him get so far before resuming control. He taps Jong-woo’s thigh and he gets the message, swinging his legs upwards to lock around Moon-jo’s hips.
Moon-jo pulls Jong-woo’s hair back even harder as he alleviates himself from his lips. Jong-woo’s hair is splayed out against the light fabric sheets, his lips are swollen and his neck is turning a stark purpley-blue. Moon-jo stares down at him like he can’t quite believe such a creature exists.
Jong-woo feels glazed and out of it from the kissing alone, he tries to follow Moon-jo’s lips as he moves away. In compensation, Moon-jo brings their crotches closer together and the movement erupts moans that bounce around the room.
He cups Jong-woo’s face with one hand as he uses the other to prop himself up on the bed over him, studying him intensely. Jong-woo pushes his face against it and looks up at him with starry, lust-ridden eyes. Moon-jo chuckles into a smile.
“Ah, jagiya.” He pants as he speaks but his gaze never wavers.
“You will be the death of me,” Moon-jo tells him as he falls in again for a wet kiss, tongue moving against Jong-woo’s. They both moan before he pulls away a little as possible to finish, “I’m certain.”