b1a4; what friends are for
baro/gongchan. nc-17. 647 words. chanshik shows sunwoo the joy of being on the receiving end.
Sunwoo always thought he wasn’t very into the getting fucked part of fucking, until Chanshik bends him over the kitchen counter and actually does it properly and holy fucking shit.
They talk about it, for whatever reason, standing there over a cup of coffee and it comes up or something, sort of casually, and Sunwoo says it casually, because he likes the image of Chanshik thinking it’s not a big deal to him, because it sort of isn’t. He has sex with guys sometimes, takes cock up his ass sometimes, I mean who doesn’t. But that he was never a big fan.
“It’s a lot about, I think,” Chanshik says slowly, glancing down into his mug, “how you do it.”
Sunwoo shrugs. “Or it’s just not my thing,” he says, feels that he has asserted his manliness and thinks that’s the end of it. But then Chanshik says;
“I can give it a go if you want.” And takes a sip.
It’s like Sunwoo can feel it through his whole body when he slides in, like the pressure transports out, like every limb is filled and heavy, like his blood has thickened in tiny veins, but it doesn’t hurt because Chanshik isn’t very big, he’s just the right size to press gently and firmly on every edge and end and Sunwoo’s readiness hangs like a lump of lead in his belly.
Chanshik stops there, one hand on Sunwoo’s hip and the other on his shoulder, possibly because Sunwoo is already letting out a long shaky wail against the knuckles of his fingers.
“You’ve done this before,” he notes, sort of sheepishly, when he finds air again.
He can actually hear the wide grin in Chanshik’s voice. “I never said I haven’t.”
It’s like he’s been thinking he’s liquid, just goo in a shell, but suddenly realizes there’s something solid inside him. It’s weird, having it touched from inside. Backwards, like he should turn himself inside out and get it right, so he can see it, can have control over it. But it doesn’t work like that.
“How are you holding up?” Chanshik asks in a silky, annoying voice. Sunwoo only mumbles vaguely against his hand but apparently it’s enough because Chanshik starts fucking gently into him.
He can’t even tell what’s different, what Chanshik’s doing that’s so right but it must be something because within minutes he’s huffing and whining and making pitiful cries; groans and gasps, chokes and pants and can’t even control himself. Maybe it’s some sort of chemistry thing, he thinks distantly and in a rush, brain on autopilot, but it’s weird because he never thought about Chanshik like this, never felt about Chanshik like this. Yet somehow all it takes is for Chanshik to ask and here they are, pants around their ankles and heavy swollen cocks.
Chanshik is half panting, half laughing at him behind, casually conversing through it, or at least Chanshik’s conversing and Sunwoo not really answering coherently, asking “You okay man?” and “Feels okay?” and “Wanna go slower?” and Sunwoo wavering out some kind of nnoooohh followed by a string of nasal consonants.
He speeds up a bit, hitches hard into Sunwoo two or three times and Sunwoo’s bare chest skips back and forth over the cold countertop because he can’t really stand anymore. He feels Chanshik bending over him, lips and forehead touching his slack spine, and he hears distantly Chanshik too panting harder behind him, his hand a little too rough on Sunwoo’s shoulder.
Before he knows it he realizes he’s coming and just barely has time to find his dick and give it a few artless, flappy tugs before he’s spraying semen all over the cabinet door.
“Well,” Chanshik says, just a little breathless, and Sunwoo feels how he’s leaning sideways to look at it dripping to the floor. “Maybe not in the kitchen next time.”
(bec this) (i'm sry)
Sunwoo always thought he wasn’t very into the getting fucked part of fucking, until Chanshik bends him over the kitchen counter and actually does it properly and holy fucking shit.
They talk about it, for whatever reason, standing there over a cup of coffee and it comes up or something, sort of casually, and Sunwoo says it casually, because he likes the image of Chanshik thinking it’s not a big deal to him, because it sort of isn’t. He has sex with guys sometimes, takes cock up his ass sometimes, I mean who doesn’t. But that he was never a big fan.
“It’s a lot about, I think,” Chanshik says slowly, glancing down into his mug, “how you do it.”
Sunwoo shrugs. “Or it’s just not my thing,” he says, feels that he has asserted his manliness and thinks that’s the end of it. But then Chanshik says;
“I can give it a go if you want.” And takes a sip.
It’s like Sunwoo can feel it through his whole body when he slides in, like the pressure transports out, like every limb is filled and heavy, like his blood has thickened in tiny veins, but it doesn’t hurt because Chanshik isn’t very big, he’s just the right size to press gently and firmly on every edge and end and Sunwoo’s readiness hangs like a lump of lead in his belly.
Chanshik stops there, one hand on Sunwoo’s hip and the other on his shoulder, possibly because Sunwoo is already letting out a long shaky wail against the knuckles of his fingers.
“You’ve done this before,” he notes, sort of sheepishly, when he finds air again.
He can actually hear the wide grin in Chanshik’s voice. “I never said I haven’t.”
It’s like he’s been thinking he’s liquid, just goo in a shell, but suddenly realizes there’s something solid inside him. It’s weird, having it touched from inside. Backwards, like he should turn himself inside out and get it right, so he can see it, can have control over it. But it doesn’t work like that.
“How are you holding up?” Chanshik asks in a silky, annoying voice. Sunwoo only mumbles vaguely against his hand but apparently it’s enough because Chanshik starts fucking gently into him.
He can’t even tell what’s different, what Chanshik’s doing that’s so right but it must be something because within minutes he’s huffing and whining and making pitiful cries; groans and gasps, chokes and pants and can’t even control himself. Maybe it’s some sort of chemistry thing, he thinks distantly and in a rush, brain on autopilot, but it’s weird because he never thought about Chanshik like this, never felt about Chanshik like this. Yet somehow all it takes is for Chanshik to ask and here they are, pants around their ankles and heavy swollen cocks.
Chanshik is half panting, half laughing at him behind, casually conversing through it, or at least Chanshik’s conversing and Sunwoo not really answering coherently, asking “You okay man?” and “Feels okay?” and “Wanna go slower?” and Sunwoo wavering out some kind of nnoooohh followed by a string of nasal consonants.
He speeds up a bit, hitches hard into Sunwoo two or three times and Sunwoo’s bare chest skips back and forth over the cold countertop because he can’t really stand anymore. He feels Chanshik bending over him, lips and forehead touching his slack spine, and he hears distantly Chanshik too panting harder behind him, his hand a little too rough on Sunwoo’s shoulder.
Before he knows it he realizes he’s coming and just barely has time to find his dick and give it a few artless, flappy tugs before he’s spraying semen all over the cabinet door.
“Well,” Chanshik says, just a little breathless, and Sunwoo feels how he’s leaning sideways to look at it dripping to the floor. “Maybe not in the kitchen next time.”
(bec this) (i'm sry)