Archive of Our Own

If there was one certainty in Hyunjin’s life, it was the fact that he knew he was the best. At everything. He’d been sure of the claim ever since he was five years old, when he’d scored the biggest, heaviest gift he could get his sticky little hands on as he’d hopped off the mall Santa’s lap and bit back a smirk purposefully aimed at the other kids. Hyunjin knew he was the best, because he worked for it.

It’d morphed from childish oneupmanship into full-blown competitiveness by the time his teen years had rolled around, and no matter what project he signed up for, no matter what team he joined, no matter what he chose to do, Hyunjin would stop at nothing until he came out on top. And then he’d move on to the next thing. He’d been the best runner when he was thirteen, all gangly limbs and light feet when the rest of his classmates were still lumbering around with chubby cheeks and baby fat. He was a natural-born swimmer, and he’d even managed to beat the infamous Bang Chan in the hundred-metre freestyle a few years ago before the older had graduated. He was the first person in the school’s history to land an honest-to-god dunk in a basketball game. He had a gallery of gold medals, first-place rosettes, and certificates confirming his spot as the best they could ever hope for. As the one that everyone should aspire to be. Blood, sweat, tears, fights, rumours, blackmail, questionable locker-room hookups, it didn’t matter, Hyunjin gave everything he had to give so that he never had to stand on the runner-up spot with an ugly chunk of silver dangling from his neck like a weighted noose.

So when Han fucking Jisung came along and threatened the status quo that Hyunjin had spent so long perfecting, he decided then and there - the moment the literature transfer student had let his stupid little mouth split open at the side as he’d blinked through glasses too round and too large for his stupid little face, with a smug confidence that made Hyunjin want to spit venom - that he could find the time to sign up for the poetry extracurricular. It was his last year before he could finally get out of lecture halls and into sports complexes with the professionals, where the real competition was, and he’d be damned if he let the fucking new guy saunter in and rock the boat.

It didn’t matter that Hyunjin’s domain was the playing field and Jisung’s was a pen and paper. It didn’t matter that Hyunjin had paid very little attention to the flowery novels in his high school years because he’d still walked away with plenty of As and enough credits to comfortably place him on a scholarship for one of the best universities Seoul had to offer. Compared to ninety minutes on a soccer field, or ten back-to-back lengths in an Olympic-sized swimming pool, or the scream of his muscles after an entire afternoon spent in the dojo, words were fucking easy.

But Jisung had a reputation. Everyone on campus had been whispering about how he’d been published already. In England. Everyone on campus couldn’t help but gossip about the fact that his award-winning poetry was turned into lightning-fast raps, put to beats that Jisung himself created. Everyone on campus just assumed Han Jisung was the best. Han Jisung himself assumed he was the best. But Han Jisung hadn’t ever met Hwang Hyunjin.

“If you hate it so much, why are you still taking the class?” His roommate looked up at him through half-lidded eyes stained a flushed red, and his grin turned dopey the moment he saw Hyunjin’s jaw clench. “I mean, shit bro, do you even know what a rhyming couplet is?”

Jeongin kept his joint wedged between his teeth, even as his lips parted in a far wider smile and smoke billowed out from the corners of his mouth. Hyunjin just snorted.

“Doesn’t matter,” he muttered as he stretched his legs out and balanced his laptop against his thighs. “This guy thinks he can write a few meaningless lines in English and all of a sudden he’s a laureate.”

“What the fuck is a laureate?” Jeongin snickered, popping a perfect smoke ring and watching it wobble above his head before it eventually broke. He took another long drag of his smoke, watching the paper crackle against the ember with slightly crossed eyes, and frowned.

“You know what a rhyming couplet is, but not a laureate?” Hyunjin raised an eyebrow and shot him a grin of his own. “How did you even get into this university?”

“My dad’s loaded,” Jeongin said, and his frown melted against his face like butter on toast as he leaned back into his pillows with his frustratingly toned arms behind his head. “And I’m really pretty.”

“Maybe,” Hyunjin said. “But I still beat you in that runway we did for the textiles class.”

“There are no winners or losers in high fashion, hyung, it’s all relative.” Jeongin sucked in the last bloom of smoke from his joint and held it in his lungs, enough to make his words strain through his foxy grin. “But you’re right, I never would’ve been able to pull off a skirt.”

“I dunno, I think you’d look pretty cute in a skirt,” Hyunjin said, looking up from his laptop just long enough to waggle his eyebrows and make Jeongin choke.

The poetry class was every Friday afternoon, and so for the last month, Hyunjin had spent the lead-up to his weekends having to suffer through an hour and a half of meaningless introspection, bloated metaphors that made him want to poke his own eyeballs out, and a professor that talked as though he smoked as much weed as Jeongin. It also meant he had to spend the same ninety minutes sitting next to Han Jisung, listening to the irritating scratch of his pencil (who wrote with a pencil in this day and age?) as he hunched over a dog-eared notepad with his glasses sliding down his nose.

Hyunjin hated the way Jisung used his knuckles to shove the frames a little further up his face every now and again. Hyunjin hated the way his cheeks puffed out as he frowned in concentration every time he read over something he’d scribbled, the round ‘o’ of his lips forming the words under his breath. Hyunjin hated the way he shook his hair out of his eyes and the way his knee bounced against the corner of his desk.

Hyunjin hated every single second of their shared poetry class because he knew what was coming after. Because he wanted what was coming after. Hyunjin hated himself the most, for that particular part.

Hyunjin was normally impenetrable. Untouchable. No one ever got under his skin, because they simply weren’t good enough to do so. No one could compete with him. He knew for a fact he’d be able to tackle Jisung on a soccer field and send him sprawling in wet grass and mud as he made a dash for the goal. He knew that he’d clear a double length in the pool before Jisung had even managed to put his glasses away and dive into the water, all slippery feet and uncoordinated limbs. But it’d only taken one poetry class to realise how disastrously out of his depth he was around Han Jisung.

And not just with words, quite unfortunately. It’d been about fifteen minutes into the first lecture, over a month ago, that Hyunjin had realised that Jisung was, in fact, better than him. He was a better poet. He was a better lyricist. He was a better rapper.

About five minutes after that first class had been dismissed, Hyunjin made the incredibly sorry discovery that Jisung was a better kisser, too. About five minutes after that, he’d discovered that Jisung had a bigger dick than him. And a flushed, desperate, embarrassing three minutes after that, he’d realised that Jisung could get under Hyunjin’s skin just as easily as he could transfer to the most prestigious university in Seoul in his final year and get published in a foreign language.

“What thesaurus website did you use to get ‘ignominious’?” Jisung’s soft snort bounced against the walls of the office and he let the crumpled piece of paper dangle away from his face, delicate beneath his thumb and forefinger so Hyunjin could see his raised eyebrow. “Really? Ignominious?”

“Hateful felt too obvious,” Hyunjin muttered as his fingers scrabbled over Jisung’s belt buckle. He gave it a sharp tug, making Jisung lurch towards him, and Hyunjin smirked. “Then again, it is pretty obvious, isn’t it?”

“Your poetry is flat,” Jisung said, arching his hips forward so Hyunjin could slide the leather through the loops. He crunched the sheet of paper with Hyunjin’s poem into a ball and let it fall unceremoniously out of his hand as Hyunjin went for the zipper of his jeans.

He could feel Jisung’s eyes on him, looking up through round glass frames and glinting with the same snide little grin that stayed on his face the minute their shared poetry lecture started every week, and Hyunjin fought the ripple of something oily and cold that went running down his spine.

It felt like anticipation, a slow slide of icy desire but spiked with something disgusting. Like too much liquid on a watercolour, making the paints bleed into a muddy mess. Like a coffee made with milk that was a day out of date. A blemish on Hyunjin’s otherwise perfect record, and yet despite his ignominy, he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Jisung made him feel too good.

Did that mean he was worth giving up on? Did it mean that Hyunjin had finally been bested, and he’d just automatically accepted it? He’d finally found someone who was inarguably, irrefutably, unavoidably better than him at something, and instead of fighting tooth and nail against it, like Hyunjin normally did, he let Jisung exercise that power in the poetry professor’s office every Friday night.

It was like walking on a tightrope. A precarious, entirely uneven compromise and Hyunjin was stranded in the centre of it, with his arms outstretched and his knees screaming at him as he fought to keep the balance, and Jisung was at the other end of the rope making it wobble.

“Did you read that Keats collection?” Jisung asked as Hyunjin pushed his hands beneath the baggy grey hoodie and shoved it up his chest to reveal the two obnoxiously large black tattoos scrawled into the deep honey colour of his bare skin.

“No.” Hyunjin pulled the sweatshirt over Jisung’s head, not caring if he jostled the wire-framed glasses already balancing precariously on his nose.

Jisung just tutted and rolled his eyes, leaning back against the desk and looking up at Hyunjin with his head cocked slightly to the side. “Is it because you still can’t work out the difference between thy and thine?”

“It’s because it’s boring,” Hyunjin huffed, pushing his thumbs past the waistband of Jisung’s jeans and shoving them down, enough to expose the soft shadow of hair directly below his navel and the sharp lines of muscle that went even further. Hyunjin pressed his lips together, and Jisung stayed leant against the desk, not moving and not letting Hyunjin get to his prize.

Jisung’s smirk widened, and Hyunjin ignored how his dick twitched helplessly in his underwear, still trapped by the denim of his own far tighter jeans and uncomfortable where it strained against his hip. Silence fell between them, Jisung’s breathing calm and level and at complete odds with the short huffs already puffing out of Hyunjin’s mouth.

He hated him. He detested him with every fibre of his being. He wanted to punch him in the face, enough to crack his glasses and break his nose until blood dribbled onto his stupidly small and puffy mouth. Hyunjin wanted to grab him by the scruff of his neck and force him to bow, to respect his fucking elder. Hyunjin wanted what Jisung was purposefully keeping from him.

“I told you last time,” Jisung said, his biceps flexing as he leaned back on the professor’s desk with both hands. “The difference between thy and thine. I know I’m a great tutor, but you being a good student -” he sucked air through his teeth and lifted a lazy shoulder in a shrug. “- not so much.”

Hyunjin inhaled through his nose and pressed his lips together even harder, slipping all four fingers of his left hand past the barrier of Jisung’s jeans. “They’re possessive -” he yanked as hard as he could and Jisung allowed himself to be pulled away from the desk. “- pronouns.”

“Very good,” Jisung smirked, still refusing to wrap his arms around Hyunjin’s neck, choosing to plant his feet instead. “But I asked for their differences, not their similarities.”

“Thy is used before a word starting with a consonant. Thine is used before a word starting with a vowel. In English.” He sneered the last word and glared when it got a tight laugh out of Jisung.

The literature student hummed when the chuckle died out, and Hyunjin couldn’t help the full-body shudder that rippled up his back when Jisung wound his hands beneath Hyunjin’s jersey and pushed the material up and over his head.

“Give me an example.” Jisung pressed their chests together and just looked up without blinking, eyes dancing with something dark and fiery in the low light provided by the one lamp still left on, perched on a stack of books at the other end of the desk.

“Thine eyes…” Hyunjin didn’t break his gaze, refused to be the first to blink. He wondered if Jisung could feel just how hard his heart was hammering inside his ribs with how hard they were pressed together. He took a step forward, and Jisung took a step back, ass hitting the edge of the desk again as Hyunjin finally let his stare wander a little further south. “Thy lips…”

“Very good,” Jisung muttered. “Gonna have to work a little harder for that gold star though, Hwang.”

“Fuck you,” Hyunjin gasped just as Jisung’s hand wound into the hair at the back of his neck and yanked him down. The kiss was sloppy and uncoordinated, where Jisung was a square peg and Hyunjin was a round hole, and yet they battled to make it fit, to make it work. Same as always. Same as the first time, when Hyunjin had stormed into the office to find him after hours and demanded to know why he, and the rest of their class, and the stupid, stoned professor, thought he was so much better.

It should’ve never worked. Hyunjin should’ve never even entertained it, let alone succumbed so easily. Even if he’d allowed the hook-up, he should’ve been the one doing the manhandling, he should’ve been the one forcing his tongue past tight lips, he should’ve been the one making Jisung whimper and pant and beg beneath him. But instead, it was Hyunjin who whined first, a high keen that Jisung pulled at and sucked on and laughed back into his mouth, turning it dark and foul and bitter on his tongue, and fuck if Hyunjin didn’t love that fucking taste, craved it whenever he scowled at Jisung passing him in the halls behind the library, gasped at its absence whenever he fucked his own fist every other night trying to remember how it stung his lips.

Jisung’s hands roved across Hyunjin’s bare skin, as possessive as all the stupid pronouns he used in his lyrics, staking a claim he didn’t need to make with words, and he laughed into their kiss all over again when he grabbed either side of Hyunjin’s ass and squeezed hard enough to make him whine. Hyunjin could feel the heat in his neck, spreading to the high points of his cheeks and to the very tips of his ears, could feel the dull buzz in the back of his head the moment Jisung finally sighed into his mouth, and as it always did, his impatience won over.

“Hurry up,” he groaned, grinding against Jisung’s stomach and grimacing at the severe lack of friction it provided.

“Why?” Jisung asked, just as breathless, but far less desperate. “You locked the door on your way in, remember?”

“Jisung…”

“Hyunjin,” he whined in reply, mocking and full of the smirk that Hyunjin didn’t need to pull away to see. He felt it, pressing into his own lips, a cruel curve, a taunting promise of more, more, and more and more but not yet, shaped like a neverending line of Oxford commas.

Jisung just grunted when Hyunjin surged forward even harder, when he was jostled half onto the desk, when Hyunjin’s leg pressed against his crotch, and the laugh came out bitter and darker than before. He brought a hand up to grip Hyunjin’s jaw, punishingly tight, and shoved his face away to break the kiss. He glared up at him with an anger that Hyunjin recognised, a disdain that Hyunjin shared, and it was just so incredibly unfair how Jisung was better at this, too. Better at unravelling Hyunjin without even really trying, better at making him obey, better at making him want it so fucking bad.

Jisung held his jaw and waited. His glasses were a little wonky again.

“I…” Hyunjin started, and Jisung just gripped harder, his thumb pulling at his chin to angle him down even further, to make him practically cower, not at Jisung’s level, but just below it.

“Be a good boy, Hwang.”

Hyunjin ground his teeth and fought the urge to sink even lower and end up on his knees like he’d done after their first poetry class. He ran his tongue along his lower lip and breathed through his nose.

“Please,” he mumbled weakly.

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

“Please, you fucking dick, please can you j -”

His words melted in his mouth like cotton candy when Jisung’s other hand pushed against the growing hardness between his legs, and Hyunjin felt like his knees might buckle of their own accord. The gasp shuddered out of him and Jisung rolled the heel of his hand even harder, not really caring if it caused more pain than pleasure, and just snorted when Hyunjin’s next inhale caught in his throat.

“God, you’re asinine,” Jisung said bluntly, cupping his hand and squeezing. Hyunjin didn’t reply, too busy focusing on the way his hand fit so perfectly around him even through two infernal layers of clothing, and Jisung chuckled. “Means stupid. Vacuous. Brainless. Just a dumb jock with a shitty vocabulary, desperate to get fucked. Aren’t you?”

Hyunjin’s eyelashes fluttered, and Jisung squeezed harder.

“I asked you a question.”

“I… I’m, hah -”

Jisung pulled his hand up, still keeping the pressure against Hyunjin’s now fully hard and steadily leaking cock, and smirking when the gasp came out higher and louder than before.

“Yeah.” Hyunjin’s voice didn’t even sound like his own and he blinked quickly, trying to pull at the wispy thoughts that floated aimlessly around his head. “Yeah, fine. Asinine.”

Jisung pouted, his spit-covered lips popping into an invitingly red bud and his eyes becoming dangerously soft and round. “That’s not an answer. Do you need me to repeat the question?”

He squeezed his fingers again and Hyunjin had to press his hands into Jisung’s shoulders and bury his face into his neck to keep himself upright.

“No, yes, yes I’m - fuck - please, fuck me, please…” Hyunjin was already panting, losing himself in the sick twist and squeeze of Jisung’s hand, rutting into the heat of a touch he could hardly feel through his jeans, knowing that he was everything he detested, knowing that he was an utter failure in both his own eyes and in Jisung’s, knowing he didn’t deserve anything better than to accept defeat because he’d already lost.

Jisung wore the gold medal, Jisung’s name was on the certificate, Jisung was higher on the podium, and they both knew it. They’d known it for over a month already, and still, Jisung liked to remind him every single chance he got.

Hyunjin could barely get the whimper of disappointment up his throat before Jisung’s hands disappeared, and when he blinked they reappeared planted against his chest. He let himself be moved, went willingly with the demanding shove and staggered backwards until Jisung could push him down onto the lumpy couch in the corner, and what little was left of Hyunjin’s breath was punched out of him as his ass hit the cushions. Jisung just followed through, crowding him against the cracked brown leather and shoving a knee between his legs to keep them open. Not that Hyunjin had any inclination to close them himself.

“Like I said,” Jisung snickered. “Brainless.”

He was right. He tended to be right quite a lot.

Hyunjin wasn’t used to it. He wasn’t used to letting someone else take the lead. Definitely wasn’t accustomed to the way his brain did, in fact, completely disappear when Jisung had a hand on him, or his lips were on his neck, or his words bit and stung and sliced through Hyunjin’s resolve like papercuts between the webbing of his fingers. It was like there was a switch somewhere inside of Hyunjin’s head and Jisung had flicked it the minute he’d nodded for Hyunjin to follow him into their professor’s abandoned office. It was so easy for him. Everything was easy for him. Where Hyunjin had to work so hard that his feet blistered and his muscles ached and no amount of sleep could get rid of the sharp headache that pounded against the inside of his skull, Jisung just strolled right through the gap that it made and sauntered into Hyunjin’s life to show him just how easy it could all be.

Jisung knew better. Jisung just was better. And there was nothing Hyunjin could do about it other than sigh gratefully when his hands finally popped the top button of his fly and the other pulled the zipper down over the aching length of his dick.

Hyunjin quickly toed his shoes off and let Jisung pull his jeans all the way down, and then his hands were on him again, pushing his legs open as far as they could go - which was an impressive amount, thanks to his combined years of gymnastics, martial arts, and dance training - and Jisung huffed, the only indication he ever gave that he was impressed.

“So wet already,” he said, under his breath like he was talking to himself. Hyunjin just shuddered in response when Jisung brushed the pad of his thumb against the wet patch on his underwear, pressing a little harder when he felt the head of Hyunjin’s dick pulse and form another bead of precum against the material. “Gonna make you cum so quick that you’re begging me to stop before I even get close.”

“Oh, f-fuck…” Hyunjin’s head fell back, and he knew better than to try and rock up into Jisung’s touch, but if he didn’t start fucking him soon he ran the risk of going officially insane. “Please… Please, Jisung…”

“On your knees.” Jisung pushed himself to his feet and took a step back, winding his tongue around his thumb with a smirk as Hyunjin scrambled.

The embarrassment was still cloying. The shame sat heavy against his skin, like a thick morning fog against a dangerously calm ocean, a blanket that choked every pore of his skin and weighed on Hyunjin so heavily that he automatically sank into the leather of the couch as he propped himself up on his knees. He kept his ass obediently up, and when Jisung’s hands spread his cheeks the plain steel plug that he’d quickly worked into his hole an hour before the lecture started pressed invitingly against the material of his boxers.

“Really?” Jisung laughed, deep and downright evil, and he smacked a hand against Hyunjin, enough to hit the plug and force it a little deeper. “Did it hurt that bad last time?”

“No,” Hyunjin breathed as Jisung yanked his underwear only halfway down his thighs, just enough to expose him, just enough to gain access. “I just… I wanted to… to…”

“Earn that gold star, huh…” Jisung’s voice was pitched even lower, and when he hooked two fingers around the flare and pulled the steel toy out of Hyunjin in one quick slide they both sighed in unison. “Look at you… Fuck.”

Hyunjin automatically clenched and then almost sobbed on cue at the feeling of nothing, desperately needing to be full, desperately needing more than any little toy could give him, desperately needing what Jisung always, always, made him beg for. He’d always considered himself vers and had never shied away from bottoming, but he’d always been the dominant party during any of his previous relationships. And maybe relationships was too lenient a term because they were mostly just hook-ups, and mostly just a means to an end, a way to use people to get where he wanted to go. He fucked the baseball captain so he wouldn’t get benched for the whole season, and made him cry against the lockers every time he did. He rode half the swim team’s dicks just so he could get the spot that pitched him against Bang Chan in his last year, so the Australian could graduate safe in the knowledge that wiry, unassuming Hwang Hyunjin had proven to the entire school that he was better.

But Jisung could make him do whatever he wanted. Jisung had complete and total control over Hyunjin, and he fucking knew it.

“You want me to fuck you hard and fast, don’t you?” Jisung mused from somewhere behind him, and Hyunjin just pressed his forehead against the scratchy brown leather with a stuttered sigh when he heard Jisung shoving his own boxers down his legs. “You want me to take it because you made it so pretty for me, huh?”

Warm hands spread his cheeks wide again and his hole fluttered, trying to find something, anything, to fill the gap and Jisung just hummed as he lined his cock against the curve of Hyunjin’s ass. He could feel it, hot and heavy and not the right angle for him to rock back on, just there, patient, letting Hyunjin remember how good it felt last time, and the time before that, and the time it was rammed so far down his throat that he’d been hoarse for a day and a half after, to the point Jeongin had called his mother to get the recipe for her ginger and lemon tea.

“Answer the question.” Jisung’s voice was quiet and a shiver shot straight up Hyunjin’s back as he felt his dick slide against the tiny bit of lube still left around his asshole.

“Yes,” Hyunjin groaned helplessly, arching his back even more in an attempt to get Jisung’s cock to line up properly. “Want you to fuck me, want it, please, p-please fuck me - ah!”

Jisung slammed the entire length of himself into Hyunjin with absolutely no warning, and Hyunjin practically sobbed, burying his face to try and choke the cry before it could properly leave his lungs. Jisung gave him no time to adjust, no pause to let a thought form inside his head. He just did as asked and started to fuck Hyunjin with such force that his mouth fell open against the couch, and his hands scrabbled to find some sort of purchase against the mess of cushions and patchwork blankets, and his eyes turned glassy and unseeing as Jisung gripped him by the hips and took everything Hyunjin was offering.

Jisung always tended to make good on his own promises, too.

Hyunjin could feel the build of it somewhere deep in his stomach, where he was almost sure the head of Jisung’s cock was ramming the pleasure forward, he felt his orgasm building so quickly that he could barely even register it happening, and could do nothing other than sob as it pulled him higher and higher into the space inside his head that became pillowy and white. It was only when he squeezed his eyes shut enough to make the tears fall, and he clenched so hard around Jisung that he made the literature transfer grunt out a string of words that better fit Hyunjin’s so-called shitty vocabulary and his cock stopped slapping uselessly against his stomach to shoot strings of sticky white cum all over the couch, that Jisung stopped. He slammed forward once more, connecting his hips to the pillow of Hyunjin’s ass as he kept him filled through the pleasure that was making his legs shake, rolling himself occasionally so he could brush against Hyunjin’s prostate with such precision that Hyunjin wondered, dumbly, whether the orgasm would ever stop.

“So goddamn tight,” Jisung groaned, angling himself up so he could sink another impossible half-inch. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

Hyunjin blinked and the white in his head glowed with warmth at such genuine praise. His chest bloomed even hotter when Jisung’s hands skimmed across his ass and against the small of his back, suddenly gentle, appreciative. Hyunjin was good. He was being good. Jisung felt good, and it was thanks to Hyunjin.

When he felt the slick skin of Jisung’s chest on his back, and his mouth at his ear, Hyunjin even managed to blink a little. Remembered to suck up the little string of drool dangling from his bottom lip.

“First one was for free,” Jisung muttered softly, tongue curling against the shell of Hyunjin’s burning ear and a hand coming up to twist into the sweaty hair at the back of his neck. “But I told you, I’m not even close yet.”

Hyunjin’s cry was muffled by the way Jisung suddenly shoved his face into the gap between the couch cushions, and his other hand pressed demandingly into the small of his back, forcing an arch that Hyunjin couldn’t manage on his own as he picked up a rhythm that was somehow even more punishing than the first. Hyunjin couldn’t breathe, mouth full of spit and leather and nose mashed into the dust right at the back, and he couldn’t move out of the shape Jisung had moulded him into, like he was just a pitiful chunk of colourless clay ready to be manipulated into something that Jisung wanted. He could be anything Jisung wanted. Nothing else existed. Hyunjin’s world started to condense like the outskirts of a black hole, white in the centre and soft at the edges and pulling closer and closer and the only thing that mattered was the gravitational, demanding way Jisung’s dick carved a space for itself within him.

He was vaguely aware of the pathetic huffs tumbling out of his mouth every time Jisung slammed deeper, and he’d given up trying to keep himself upright and instead wound his hands behind, just to try and touch whatever part of Jisung he could reach. That was a fruitless endeavour, though, because the moment Hyunjin’s hands moved, Jisung just yanked on them and hooked them behind his back, securing his wrists between one strong hand as he kept the other on the back of Hyunjin’s neck.

“Take it so good,” Jisung panted as he pushed further, as he shoved Hyunjin even harder into the leather and gripped his hair so tight that it was a wonder he didn’t yank it out completely. “You want it so bad, don’t you? Dumb for it, aren’t you?”

Hyunjin might’ve replied, he wasn’t sure. His face was mashed against the couch cushions anyway. Even if he’d nodded, it wouldn’t have mattered. Jisung knew the answer anyway, the questions were more for Hyunjin’s benefit. A reminder that Jisung saw him for exactly what he was.

“All you do is play pretend,” Jisung gasped, and he just fucked him faster so the slick slap of skin rattled in Hyunjin’s ears and his abdomen tightened enough to leave him lightheaded. “Got your cute little scholarship, and you play your little games and collect your little trophies.”

Hyunjin just whined, spit smearing across his cheek as Jisung continued to fuck him into the couch. When he laughed it changed the angle, just slightly, and the whine turned into a sob that rattled through his chest. Jisung just kept going.

“But you were made for this,” Jisung said through a grunt. “Made to be fucked dumb, made to be a trophy. Right? Right?”

“Mmmfyes…” Hyunjin couldn’t stop the hiccups once they’d started, his lungs were upside down, and his stomach was being fucked into his chest, and Jisung’s hand in his hair tightened enough to yank his head up.

“You’re mine,” Jisung said. “My trophy. I won you. I win.”

“Yeah.” Hyunjin managed the single syllable, even though he hadn’t breathed properly in what felt like a week.

And he hadn’t, really. He’d been counting down the days. He’d never admit it to himself, not when Saturday morning rolled around and he could barely sit down, not when he went out for the weekend with Jeongin and flirted with the campus bartenders and Kim Seungmin on the baseball team. Not when he spent an entire Monday on the track, not when he spent his Wednesday evenings in the pool racing Lee Felix, nor when he walked through the locker room completely naked after a shower and smirked knowingly at his very obviously closeted older brother, Minho. The only time Hyunjin ever breathed freely was when Jisung was choking the rest of the week out of him.

Jisung yanked him up by the hair again. “Say it.”

“M’yours…” Hyunjin whimpered. “Yours, I’m yours - ah, hah, fuck, fuck Jisung, p-please, I can’t, I can’t -”

“Fuck, I love it when you beg,” Jisung sighed through a cracked laugh and let his grip on Hyunjin’s hair loosen, let his entire top half collapse back into the couch as he chose to spread Hyunjin’s ass open as wide as it could go instead. “You can do better than that, Jinne, c’mon, let me hear you.”

“Please,” Hyunjin sobbed, the sweat on his chest scratching against the cracked leather. “Please, I c-can’t, s’too much, I - please, I need it, need you to cum in me, fuck, fuckyes Jisung, I’m… Oh, I’m -”

“Gonna cum for me again?” Jisung kneaded his fingers into the flesh of Hyunjin’s ass with a groan. “Gonna cum with me like a good boy, hyung?”

“Yes!” Just hearing the words made the pleasure surge forwards, and Hyunjin pushed back weakly to meet every punishing thrust Jisung gave, determined to make him feel as good as Hyunjin felt, determined to be a good prize, to be a good fuck, to be good. To be the best he ever had. The best he’d ever have. “Yeah, I’m gonna cum, I’m - again, oh fuck, please, p-please…”

He felt it almost immediately. The way Jisung’s cock buried itself as deep as it could go and then pulsed, slow and languid compared to the way Jisung had been fucking him, and as soon as the sticky wet heat spread into his insides Hyunjin fucking collapsed. Every bone in his body liquified, his muscles shuddered and snapped and before he could melt into the ground completely, Jisung wrapped both arms around Hyunjin to keep him up. Softer now. A supportive grip, one arm around his chest and the other wrapped around his stomach until it went lower, and when Jisung curled his fingers around Hyunjin’s aching dick, he came so hard that he might’ve blacked out for a good ten seconds.

Jisung buried his face into the sweat pooling between Hyunjin’s shoulder blades, gasping through his own orgasm as he demanded the second from Hyunjin, until eventually they both collapsed against the couch. They stayed that way, like they always did, catching their breath in the deafening silence that followed.

The comedown was almost immediate. Hyunjin wanted to scramble away, he wanted to peel himself away from Jisung, he wanted to stagger into his shower and wash every single drop of evidence away from his body, he wanted to forget it ever happened. He wanted it to be next Friday already.

“Good?” Jisung mumbled against the nape of his neck.

Hyunjin just hummed. His mind was still a little white. Useless. Asinine.

“Stay still,” Jisung said, and Hyunjin sighed as his dick slid out of his ass with a wet sound that made his stomach turn. He remained as still as he could, though, just as commanded, and when Jisung returned he didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to, he knew Hyunjin would still do as he was told. For the time being.

The slide of the plug was so much easier than before, and absolutely nothing in comparison to what Hyunjin had just been fucked with, but he stiffened and gasped around it anyway.

“I already have to clean you off this couch,” Jisung said softly. “You can wait until you get back to your dorm to get rid of me.”

Hyunjin didn’t say anything. But he clenched possessively around the steel anyway, and Jisung snickered. The silence returned, and as Hyunjin’s brain started to come back online the ache in his muscles began to scream at him, and his throat burned, and his nose tickled from the dust between the couch cushions, and the hatred and shame bubbled like a pit of tar inside his stomach, where before it’d boiled with something so much sweeter.

“I meant what I said,” Jisung said, and Hyunjin managed to shift enough to roll onto his side. He blinked up at Jisung with disinterested, hazy eyes.

“Gonna have to remind me.” Hyunjin licked at his cracked lips and met his gaze. “Still a little brainless.”

Jisung’s smirk didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re mine now.”

“Oh,” Hyunjin said. He wasn’t sure what else there was to say. Jisung was right, but how was Hyunjin ever going to admit that?

“Do you want me to give you a say in it?”

The question made Hyunjin’s stomach lurch as though he’d missed a step, and the tar pit sloshed against his insides. He clenched around the plug on instinct again, biting his lip at the warmth of Jisung’s cum still trapped inside of him. He’d have to carry it all the way back to his dorm.

He’d sit with it while he ordered food with Jeongin. He’d keep it inside when he smoked a joint and avoided his roommates knowing giggles. He was sorely, sorely tempted to keep it even when he finally took a shower. To use it as lube to fuck himself on the dildo he kept hidden in his underwear drawer.

Jisung crouched in front of him and rested his arms on the edge of the couch. He tucked a curl of sweat-damp hair behind Hyunjin’s ear and held his stare.

“Do you want a say in it?” Jisung asked again.

Hyunjin let his head flop down against the stained patchwork blanket and sighed. “No. I’m already yours.”

Jisung’s face split into a grin and Hyunjin scowled.

“But you can at least teach me how to get an A in this stupid fucking class.”