[infinite] shorts 02
sunggyu pwp edition. originally posted elsewhere.
roadside assistance
infinite, sunggyu/hoya
nc-17, 306w
--no one in this story is jeff.
You're in a car with a beautiful boy, and he's bent over the front seat with your cock in his mouth. He's getting saliva all over your suit pants but you don't care because his mouth is warm and wet and his pointed canines occasionally skim against the shaft and the hint of danger makes you harder. His tongue is pressing your cock tight against the roof of his mouth, arcing back towards his throat, and every time he grunts as he takes you in deeper your gut constricts just a little bit more.
You're not quite sure how you got to this point; you were only supposed to be driving him home after the office party, where he'd had too much red wine. ("It's free," he said blankly when he caught you watching him pour another glass. At the time you weren't thinking about how hot the alcohol would make his breath when he leaned over in the car and kissed you with a hand on your crotch.) Instead you pulled over in front of his house, and now you have your fingers in his dark hair and all you can do is moan and bang your head against the headrest while he sucks your cock. And when he reaches an unsteady hand up to claw at the buttons of your shirt and his fingers brush your nipple through the fabric, you have to close your eyes and you thrust up once, twice, and then you're coming into his mouth. And you can feel the heat as the come dribbles out over your lap but he's still holding your cock in his mouth, hot and enveloping.
Then he releases it and lays his head on your thigh and looks up. "Thanks for the ride."
You hope you don't forget to get your pants dry-cleaned tomorrow.
it would've been better
infinite, sunggyu ft. yeolna
nc-17, 398w
--based on this.
He always tries to think of someone else. He goes through all the girl groups he knows: the ones promoting now; the ones with the nicest legs; the one with the vocalist who once let him look down her dress backstage at a festival in Jeonju. But once he's gotten started, progressed from rubbing his hardening cock through his pajamas to putting his hand down his pants and jerking off in earnest, his mind always drifts back to Tokyo, to Sungyeol backstage in his wig, getting his lip liner touched up by the makeup noona. "Pretty" was what he had said enthusiastically at the time, wanting to be polite to the cameras, wanting to encourage his nervous dongsaeng. He hadn't anticipated that he would still be thinking about that image months later. He certainly hadn't anticipated how every fantaken picture or re-airing of the footage would make him hard, to the point where he couldn't look at Sungyeol for too long anymore or he'd start picturing him with long hair again.
But tonight he gives in because he feels the need to get off fast. So he allows himself to think about Sungyeol in his long wig and those little cat ears, and the burn of guilt in his stomach only makes his right hand clench tighter around his cock as he strokes himself off, keeping his left hand pressed around the base. He thinks of the stretch of long white leg between the hem of Sungyeol's red dress and the tops of his high heeled boots. He thinks of the way he had strutted up to Sungjong and smiled coyly and twitched his fingers, twitched his hips. He thinks of Sungyeol as a girl, dress ripped down the front to expose her breasts and hiked up to reveal her black panties; of pressing two fingers into her, hot and tight, and watching her eyelashes flutter and her eyebrows draw back; of holding her bony hips as he fucks her with her boots still on, eyes half-shut and wisps of hair sticking to her lip gloss. Her mouth would be open, showing all those white teeth, and he'd kiss it closed.
But when he imagines her coming he hears Sungyeol's voice moan hyung, oh, and that's what pushes him over the edge and leaves him gasping and spurting into his pants, his cock still pulsing in his hand.
roadside assistance
infinite, sunggyu/hoya
nc-17, 306w
--no one in this story is jeff.
You're in a car with a beautiful boy, and he's bent over the front seat with your cock in his mouth. He's getting saliva all over your suit pants but you don't care because his mouth is warm and wet and his pointed canines occasionally skim against the shaft and the hint of danger makes you harder. His tongue is pressing your cock tight against the roof of his mouth, arcing back towards his throat, and every time he grunts as he takes you in deeper your gut constricts just a little bit more.
You're not quite sure how you got to this point; you were only supposed to be driving him home after the office party, where he'd had too much red wine. ("It's free," he said blankly when he caught you watching him pour another glass. At the time you weren't thinking about how hot the alcohol would make his breath when he leaned over in the car and kissed you with a hand on your crotch.) Instead you pulled over in front of his house, and now you have your fingers in his dark hair and all you can do is moan and bang your head against the headrest while he sucks your cock. And when he reaches an unsteady hand up to claw at the buttons of your shirt and his fingers brush your nipple through the fabric, you have to close your eyes and you thrust up once, twice, and then you're coming into his mouth. And you can feel the heat as the come dribbles out over your lap but he's still holding your cock in his mouth, hot and enveloping.
Then he releases it and lays his head on your thigh and looks up. "Thanks for the ride."
You hope you don't forget to get your pants dry-cleaned tomorrow.
it would've been better
infinite, sunggyu ft. yeolna
nc-17, 398w
--based on this.
He always tries to think of someone else. He goes through all the girl groups he knows: the ones promoting now; the ones with the nicest legs; the one with the vocalist who once let him look down her dress backstage at a festival in Jeonju. But once he's gotten started, progressed from rubbing his hardening cock through his pajamas to putting his hand down his pants and jerking off in earnest, his mind always drifts back to Tokyo, to Sungyeol backstage in his wig, getting his lip liner touched up by the makeup noona. "Pretty" was what he had said enthusiastically at the time, wanting to be polite to the cameras, wanting to encourage his nervous dongsaeng. He hadn't anticipated that he would still be thinking about that image months later. He certainly hadn't anticipated how every fantaken picture or re-airing of the footage would make him hard, to the point where he couldn't look at Sungyeol for too long anymore or he'd start picturing him with long hair again.
But tonight he gives in because he feels the need to get off fast. So he allows himself to think about Sungyeol in his long wig and those little cat ears, and the burn of guilt in his stomach only makes his right hand clench tighter around his cock as he strokes himself off, keeping his left hand pressed around the base. He thinks of the stretch of long white leg between the hem of Sungyeol's red dress and the tops of his high heeled boots. He thinks of the way he had strutted up to Sungjong and smiled coyly and twitched his fingers, twitched his hips. He thinks of Sungyeol as a girl, dress ripped down the front to expose her breasts and hiked up to reveal her black panties; of pressing two fingers into her, hot and tight, and watching her eyelashes flutter and her eyebrows draw back; of holding her bony hips as he fucks her with her boots still on, eyes half-shut and wisps of hair sticking to her lip gloss. Her mouth would be open, showing all those white teeth, and he'd kiss it closed.
But when he imagines her coming he hears Sungyeol's voice moan hyung, oh, and that's what pushes him over the edge and leaves him gasping and spurting into his pants, his cock still pulsing in his hand.