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Sangwon’s break is twelve minutes long. Thirteen, if he pushes it. Fifteen, if he’s reckless.
He’s already past reckless.
His back hits the wall with a dull thud, the sound swallowed by the echo of tile and fluorescent light. The impact jolts through his spine, sharp enough to make him wince, but Anxin’s mouth is already on him—hot, insistent, dragging along the curve of his neck like he’s trying to brand him. Sangwon’s breath catches, chest rising too fast, too shallow. The air in the bathroom is thick with disinfectant and something sweeter—sweat, maybe. Lust. Panic.
The tile beneath his platform shoes is cold. The lock on the stall is flimsy. The walls are thin. And Sangwon—wig slightly askew, skirt rucked up around his hips, heart pounding like a drum in a glass box—is trying very hard not to spiral.
This isn’t the wildest place to get felt up. He’s heard worse stories. But it’s not the best, either. Not when it’s the café bathroom. Not when it’s his workplace’s bathroom. Not when he’s the one who has to clock back in with a smile and a voice pitched just right, pretending he didn’t just spend his break pinned against a stall door with Anxin’s hand squeezing his ass like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.
“Did you lock it?” he asks, voice clipped, tight, barely above a whisper.
“Mhm,” Anxin hums, lips dragging lower, teeth grazing skin.
Sangwon’s fingers curl into the fabric of Anxin’s shirt, knuckles white. He wants to believe him. He really does. But Anxin is warm and distracting and full of trouble, and Sangwon’s job is fragile. His dignity is hanging by a thread. One wrong sound, one wrong knock, and he’s done.
“Use actual words,” Sangwon snaps, breath hitching as Anxin’s mouth finds the hollow of his throat. “I need to—fuck—know for sure no one’s gonna walk in.”
“Locked it,” Anxin murmured, lips brushing skin, voice muffled and way too casual.
“Don’t mumble,” Sangwon says, trying to sound firm, but his voice cracks halfway through. "Say it properly.”
“I locked the door,” Anxin repeats, slower this time, like he’s humoring him. “Turned the latch. It clicked. No one’s coming in.”
Sangwon exhales, shaky. Trying to settle. Trying to breathe. But Anxin’s hands are already sliding lower, fingers skimming the hem of his skirt, thumbs pressing into the dip of his hips like he’s sculpting something delicate. The door feels miles away. Every breath loud. Too loud. Both breaths were bouncing off the stall walls, pretty much announcing it to the whole damn store.
He knows how Anxin is. Knows he’d say anything right now just to keep Sangwon here—flushed, trembling, and half-gone. Knows he’d lie if it meant getting what he wanted. But Sangwon also knows the way Anxin looks at him when he thinks Sangwon isn’t watching. Knows the way his hands shake when they touch for too long. Knows that sometimes, Anxin means it.
"Can you check again?" Sangwon asks, voice tight.
“Busy,” Anxin says, lazy and unbothered. His left hand keeps kneading Sangwon’s ass like it’s his personal stress toy, fingers digging in with slow, possessive pressure. His right hand holds Sangwon’s face steady, thumb brushing the edge of his cheekbone, palm warm against his jaw like he’s afraid Sangwon might look away. Like he needs Sangwon to stay here. Staying still.
“I locked it. Swear.”
Sangwon wants to check. He really, really does. But Anxin’s body is pressed so tightly against his that moving even an inch feels like betrayal. His breath is hot against Sangwon’s skin, lips trailing up his throat, slow and deliberate, until he finds that spot just below the ear that makes Sangwon’s knees wobble.
Sangwon squeezed his eyes shut, fingers twitching against Anxin's chest as the certainty hit him: he was losing this fight, and giving up fast.
“Hyung,” Anxin mumbles, voice low and soft, teeth grazing exposed collarbone. “You’re overthinking.”
This kid.
“It’s better than not thinking at all,” Sangwon snaps, though the protest is weak. He's flushed, flustered, already halfway gone. The sharpness in his voice melts away as his grip softens, his body openly betraying him.
His break is short. And while the store isn’t packed, he was thanking god. It’s half past early afternoon, and the lull between lunch and dinner means fewer customers, fewer eyes. But still. Still.
"You better cum fast,” he mutters, trying to sound annoyed. "I’ve got customers.”
He feels Anxin’s grin against his neck, "Then you better moan quiet.” Smiling with all teeth and trouble. The kind of smile that says he has no intention of being fast at all.
"Now, just—just pull it out,” Sangwon blurts, voice faltering. "I’ll blow you off, okay?”
It’s a desperate offer, half-whined, half-begged, tumbling out of Sangwon’s mouth before he can think it through. His voice is tight and breathless, already fraying at the edges. This isn't seduction; it's survival. A raw bid to endure the heat crawling up his spine, the ache between his legs, the way Anxin's body presses against him like a furnace.
Sangwon saw Anxin shake his head, slow and deliberate, as the younger’s curls were tickling under his neck. He leans up and bites Sangwon’s earlobe, sucking between the piercings like he’s tasting something rare. “Nah,” he murmurs, “Not now,” whispered thick with want. “Wanna fuck you.”
The reaction is instantaneous. Heat erupts in the pit of Sangwon's stomach, a flash fire that races through his veins, scorching him from his cock to his ears. His knees turn to water; his breath snags in his throat. And despite the overwhelming heat, an unbidden shiver runs down his spine.
“Anxin,” he gasps, trying to sound firm, trying to sound sane. “Can’t you wait? Just—just wait till I’m off shift. It’s not even that long. Couple hours, tops.”
Anxin finally pauses. For the first time since barging into the restroom, he stops kissing and nibbling every inch of Sangwon’s exposed skin.
Anxin hums, lips dragging down the curve of Sangwon’s neck. "Couple of hours seems forever,” he says, voice syrupy and spoiled. His hands still. His gaze lifts.
And it’s heavy.
Dark, hooded, and thirsty.
He looks at Sangwon like he’s eyeing food he hasn’t tasted yet—something decadent, something forbidden. Like a craving. Like a treat.
He’s not just a snack.
He’s not.
It should bother him.
But it doesn’t.
It makes him want to shove Anxin onto the nearest surface and ride him until they’re both wrecked. It makes him want to be devoured.
“You seriously expect me to wait, hyung,” Anxin drawls, voice low and incredulous, “When you’re already dripping, you think I can wait while you walk around like this?”
Sangwon flushes under his gaze. His cheeks burn. His thighs twitch.
This—this is exactly why he didn’t tell Anxin where he worked. Sangwon’s just trying to pay bills, keep his head down, and survive the week. And Anxin’s a little perv. A brat. A menace.
He should’ve known.
He should’ve known the moment Anxin showed up at one of his tables, eyes wide, mouth curled into that smug little grin, that this would happen. That Anxin would drag him into the bathroom the second he went on break. That he’d press him against the stall’s walls like this, like he owned him.
And maybe he does.
Sangwon works at a maid café.
More specifically, a cross-dressing maid café.
It’s not exactly a secret, but it’s not something Sangwon goes out of his way to advertise either. He’s not ashamed—he likes the job, likes the tips, likes the way the uniform makes him feel—but it’s still a part of his life he keeps tucked away from certain people.
This guy, for example.
It’s kind of wild that Anxin never asked why Sangwon lugs such a massive bag to and from work every day. The thing’s practically bursting at the seams with wigs, makeup, spare tights, and emergency stain remover. But Anxin’s never been the type to pry. He doesn’t care about stuff until it’s right in front of him, until it’s unavoidable, until it’s dressed in lace and thigh-highs and calling him “Master” with a wink.
Sangwon hadn’t expected to step out of the kitchen and find his roommate sitting there—right at one of his tables, legs crossed, arms folded, eyes fixed on him like he’d been waiting all day. Like he’d been waiting for Sangwon specifically. He hadn’t expected Anxin to recognize him so quickly, not with the wig, the makeup, the frilly uniform—but of course he had. Of course. Anxin’s always been irritatingly sharp when it comes to him. He doesn’t just notice things. He sees through them. Cuts past the surface like it’s nothing.
He had been more prepared—at least mentally—when Anxin grabbed his wrist and pulled him into the bathroom the second his break started. He’d seen it coming. Had felt it building from the moment their eyes met across the café. But even then, he wasn’t ready for the way Anxin kissed him without hesitation. Wasn’t ready for the way his hands moved—confident, hungry, like they belonged on Sangwon’s body.
They don’t really do this.
Okay. They have. A few times. Enough to call it a pattern, maybe. But it’s always been messy. Rushed. Something they don’t talk about.
This, though—this is different.
It’s not just the setting. Not just the fact that Sangwon’s in uniform, technically on the clock, technically one “Excuse me, miss?” away from disaster. It’s not even the bathroom stall or the way his heart’s been hammering since Anxin walked in.
It’s the way Anxin looked at him when he sat down. The way he didn’t smirk or roll his eyes when Sangwon bowed and said, “Welcome home, Master,” in that practiced, sugary voice. The way he reached out and took Sangwon’s hand—just for a second, just long enough to squeeze it like he needed to feel something real.
Their past hookups were always heat-of-the-moment. Born out of Anxin’s sudden, bratty horniness and Sangwon’s mounting stress—school deadlines, job rejections, life piling up. Five, maybe ten minutes of frantic grinding or sloppy handjobs, both of them panting and flushed, half-dressed and half-aware, avoiding each other’s eyes afterward like it was a shared hallucination.
But this?
This is slower. Hungrier. Anxin’s touch is firmer, more possessive. His kisses are deeper, more deliberate. He’s not just trying to get off—he’s trying to make Sangwon feel something. Trying to make him stay.
And Sangwon’s letting him.
Even though he’s at work. Even though the bathroom stall is cramped and the walls are thin and his break is ticking away by the second…
He’s letting Anxin press him against the walls. Letting him mouth at his neck. Letting him see him like this—dressed up, flushed, needy.
And it’s terrifying.
And it’s kind of amazing.
“Hyung, can I suck you?” The younger asked.
Sangwon’s breath punches out of him like he’s been hit. The words yank him back into the moment—back to the cramped stall, the too-warm air, the press of Anxin’s body against his own. Anxin’s fingers are curled around the hem of his dress, right where it stops above the garters. He’s being polite for once—asking instead of just diving in—which somehow makes it worse.
Sangwon blinks, stunned. Anxin never asks. Not like this.
Anxin is selfish. He’s spoiled. He’s a brat. He doesn’t wait for permission—he pouts, he pushes, he takes. That’s just who he is.
And when it comes to Sangwon, Anxin never hesitates. If he wants something, he says it. If he wants Sangwon, he makes it known—through words, through touches, through the way he looks at him like he’s starving.
Sangwon hates it. Loves it. Craves it.
Because being wanted like that—so openly, so shamelessly—makes him feel like he’s the only thing in Anxin’s world. Like he’s not just pretty. He’s necessary.
They’ve done this before. Semi-regularly. It’s not a big deal. Just a thing. Just a pattern.
But today feels different.
The way Anxin’s looking at him now—eyes wide, lips parted, like Sangwon’s something rare and breakable and filthy all at once—makes his stomach twist. There’s no smirk. No smugness. Just hunger. Just awe.
Sangwon swallows hard, heart thudding. He wants to say something sharp. Something to cut through the tension. But all that comes out is a shaky breath.
Anxin leans in, voice barely above a whisper. “Let me have you, hyung. Just for a little while.”
He almost scowls—but catches himself, jaw tightening instead as he forces the expression away.
“I thought you wanted to fuck me,” he says, voice low, trying to sound annoyed. Trying to sound like he’s still in control.
Anxin tilts his head, curls falling into his eyes. "And I do,” he says, voice soft and syrupy, like he’s asking for a second slice of cake. "But I also want to look at you. I want to take my time.”
Sangwon doesn’t answer. He can’t. His throat feels tight, his chest too full. So he just stands there, breathing shallow, watching as Anxin sinks to his knees.
The younger’s hands reach up, slow and deliberate, lifting the hem of Sangwon’s dress inch by inch. The fabric slides over his thighs, exposing smooth skin and the lace edge of his panties. Anxin’s fingers pause there, reverent, like he’s unwrapping a gift.
“Hyung,” he murmurs, eyes never leaving Sangwon’s face. “Hold this up for me, please?”
It’s not a question. It’s not a command. It’s something in between—soft, coaxing, like he’s asking Sangwon to be part of it. To help. To stay.
And Sangwon, for reasons he can’t name—reasons that live somewhere between the ache in his chest and the heat between his legs—reaches down and obeys.
His fingers tremble as he gathers the fabric, bunching it just above his hips. The lace clings to him, thin and ridiculous, catching the light like it’s trying to be something expensive. It’s not. It’s decorative. Flimsy. A joke, almost. And Sangwon feels like one—exposed, flushed, already half-hard beneath the mesh, standing there like a parody of seduction.
Anxin kneels slowly, eyes fixed on him with a kind of reverence that makes Sangwon’s stomach twist. Not lust. Not just lust. Something quieter. Hungrier. Like he’s memorizing every inch.
“Wait,” Sangwon says, voice barely above a whisper. He remembers he has his lace panties on!
Anxin pauses, hands hovering just shy of his thighs. “You okay?”
Sangwon swallows. His throat feels tight. “I just… I look stupid.”
Anxin blinks, then frowns. “Huh? What do you mean, hyung?”
“Stop,” Sangwon snaps, cheeks burning.
Before Sangwon could grab a hold on Anxin’s shoulders, the younger already yanked his skirt all the way up from the older’s stomach.
“Don’t look!” He’s seriously looking at it now! “They—they match the outfit, okay? They make me feel cute. Now that you’re staring, you’re making me feel embarrassed!”
The younger looked amused, looking up to him, while he’s all shy and jittery, feeling so exposed that he badly needed a hole beneath his feet to hide from all these awkwardness crawling upon his skin.
“Don’t worry hyung, you looked edible.” Anxin’s hands settle gently on his hips, thumbs brushing over the waistband. His touch is light, but steady. “You wore it because you wanted to feel pretty.” The younger beamed.
Sangwon doesn’t answer. He can’t. His chest is tight, his skin prickling with heat. He hates this part—the part where someone looks too long, too closely. The part where he’s not just a body, but a person. A person stared by someone who wants him. Out from it, he's already conscious.
“I like it,” Anxin says, quieter now, but his smile still spreads all over the younger’s face. “I like you in it.”
Sangwon huffs, trying to look annoyed, but his ears are already red. “You’re just saying that because you want to get laid.”
Anxin leans in, presses a kiss to the inside of his thigh. It’s soft. Careful. “I want to get laid,” he chuckled. “But I’m not lying.”
Sangwon’s breath stutters. His fingers twitch against the hem of his skirt.
Anxin looks up at him, eyes dark and steady. “Let me see you,” he says, voice steady. “Don’t look away, hyung.”
Sangwon hesitates. His instinct is to deflect, to joke, to turn his head and pretend this isn’t happening. But Anxin’s gaze steady. Not demanding. Just there. Waiting.
He nods.
Anxin’s fingers slide under the lace, slow and reverent. His touch is deliberate, like he’s afraid of rushing. Like he’s afraid of ruining something fragile.
“You always look away,” Anxin murmurs, almost to himself. “Even when you want it, hyung.”
Sangwon’s breath catches. “I don’t—”
“You do, hyung,” Anxin says, not unkind. “You get shy. You hide.”
“I’m not hiding,” Sangwon says, but it’s weak. He is. He always does.
Anxin presses another kiss, higher this time. "God, Awon, you’re so cute,” Anxin sighs, like it’s a burden. "You wore lace to work. You wore lace for me.”
"I didn’t,” Sangwon snaps, cheeks burning.
"You did,” Anxin says, smug.
“Don’t say shit like that,” he mutters. Sangwon looks away, ears red. "You’re insufferable.”
"And you’re gorgeous,” Anxin says, leaning in again to press a kiss inside of his thigh. "Now be good and let me take a peek.”
Sangwon hesitates. His instinct is to deflect, to joke, to shove Anxin away and pretend this isn’t happening. But Anxin’s gaze remained firm.
Sangwon’s head jerks down, eyes wide. “You’re not—”
Anxin’s fingers are already sliding under the lace, brushing against the sensitive skin, stroking slow and deliberate. The ragged moan that escapes Sangwon’s lips is involuntary, sharp and loud, and he scrambles to cover his mouth with one hand—without dropping the skirt.
His knees shivered. His thighs twitched. Melting, as we speak.
Anxin licks at Sangwon’s stiffening cock through the soft fabric of his underwear.
It’s one of Sangwon’s favorite pairs—black and lacy, snug over his dick, chosen not for comfort but for how it makes him feel: pretty, shameless, a little dangerous. He hadn’t expected anyone to see it other than himself, all his life. Definitely hadn’t expected Anxin to be the one kneeling in front of him, mouthing at the lace like he’s starving.
Sangwon’s breath stutters. His legs are already shaking, knees weak, thighs twitching. Anxin’s greedy even now. He doesn’t care how Sangwon’s been whimpering or how close he is to collapsing. He’s focused. Intent. Slobbering through the lace, sucking gently on the tip, grazing his teeth down the shaft like he’s trying to memorize the shape.
Sangwon grips the top of the stall wall, knuckles white. His skirt’s still bunched in his hands, held up like Anxin asked, and he hates how obedient he feels. How automatic it is. How good it feels to be wanted like this.
“Anxin,” he mewls, voice quavering. “Quit teasing. We’re on the clock.”
Anxin doesn’t answer. He never does when he’s like this—when he’s locked in, when he’s got Sangwon quivering and flushed and begging. Instead, he hooks his fingers into the waistband and pulls the panties down to Sangwon’s thighs.
“Careful!” Sangwon gasps. “Don’t rip them.”
“Oops,” Anxin says, “My bad, hyung,” not sounding sorry at all. “I’m starving. Skipped meals.”
Sangwon’s cock bounces free, and even though he can’t see it past the frills of his dress, he knows it’s hard—slick at the tip, flushed deep. The air hits it, cool and sharp, and he flinches. Then he feels it. Anxin’s breath, warm and deliberate, ghosting over his tip like a secret.
“Mm,” Anxin hums, voice syrupy. “You’re dripping.”
Sangwon’s thighs twitch. “Shut up.”
Anxin grins, eyes flicking up. “I’m just saying. You’re making a mess.”
“I’m not—” Sangwon swallows. “It’s not like that.”
“Not like what?” Anxin’s voice is all mock innocence. “Not like you’re turned on? Not like you’re standing here in a frilly little dress with your dick out, blushing like a debutante?”
Sangwon’s whole body trembles. “I’m not a girl.”
Anxin tilts his head, still grinning. “Did I say you were?”
“You implied it.”
“I said you were wet,” Anxin says, dragging a finger along the underside of Sangwon’s cock, slow and featherlight. “That’s just facts, hyung.”
Sangwon gasps, grabbing Anxin’s shoulder for balance. “You’re such an asshole.”
“And you’re such a looker when you’re mad,” Anxin says, eyes gleaming. “Look at you. Lip gloss smudged. Wig all crooked. You’re lucky I’m the one who found you first, hyung.”
Sangwon tries to glare, but it’s weak. His cheeks are burning. “I only wore this because it’s part of the uniform.”
“Sure,” Anxin sounding unconvinced, nodding solemnly. “And the little bow on your panties?”
“They match my apron,” Sangwon mutters.
Anxin laughs, soft and delighted.
“You like it,” Anxin says, voice low now, almost reverent. “You like being looked at like this. You like being pretty.”
“Stop it—,”
Sangwon knows what he looks like when he’s at work. The frilly maid dress, his flushed cheeks, along with his rosy pink-tinted lips. The wig slipping under the headdress, strands of black hair spilling down his back like ink.
He didn’t know much about makeup or wigs when he started, but he picked it up fast. Learned how to contour his jaw, how to glue down lace fronts, how to curl his lashes just right. The truth is, he likes working here—not just for the decent pay and chill environment, but because he gets to dress up and be nothing but a pretty face for hours.
Awon, his customers call him, like they’re old friends. Smiling at him like he’s the only one that matters.
He likes it.
He likes being wanted.
He likes being looked at.
And Anxin—Anxin looks at him like no one else does. Like he’s not just pretty, but edible. Like he’s not just dressed up, but undone.
Sangwon’s thighs twitch again. His cock throbs. Anxin’s mouth is so close, and Sangwon’s mind is a mess—half panic, half pleasure, all heat.
He wants to tell Anxin to stop.
He wants to tell him to keep going.
He wants to be good.
Sangwon likes being a girl.
He likes the way the dress hugs his waist, the way the lace brushes against his thighs, the way his voice softens when he’s called “Awon.” He likes how people look at him when he’s dolled up—like he’s something delicate, something sweet, something worth tipping extra for.
Anxin wasn’t supposed to know that.
Anxin wasn’t supposed to like that.
“Does hyung really want me to stop?” Anxin asks, voice slow and deliberate.
“Anxin!” Sangwon hisses, teeth clenched. His break is slipping away, ticking down second by second. “Just—just do something already!”
“Awon’s being confusing,” Anxin chuckled, fingers still tracing lazy circles along Sangwon’s thighs. “You want me to continue or not? Does Awon-ah want me to kiss her cock?”
Sangwon groans, deep and humiliating. The sound echoes in the stall, too loud, too raw. Even with Anxin’s face mostly hidden by the skirt, Sangwon feels pinned by his eyes—hungry, focused, shameless.
Anxin’s hands stay busy, stroking up and down the carefully waxed skin, thumbs brushing the sensitive spots just above the garters. Sangwon’s legs twitch. His grip on the skirt tightens. “You’re so mean,” he whimpers. “Look at me. Look how humiliating this is. Can’t you just—please—help me out?”
“You don’t look humiliated,” Anxin murmurs, lips grazing the inside of Sangwon’s thigh like he’s tasting heat. “You look edible.”
Sangwon jerks, breath catching. “I am humiliated,” he snaps, voice wobbling. “I’ve got my panties shoved down to my knees and my dick out in front of my friend like—like some kind of pervert.”
Anxin hums, clearly unconvinced. “You say that like I’m not the one kneeling,” he says, fingers trailing up Sangwon’s thigh. “Like I didn’t come here just to see you like this.”
Sangwon squirms, flushed and twitchy. “You’re my roommate,” he hisses. “You’re supposed to be normal about this.”
“Roommate?” Anxin snorts, eyes flicking up. “Yeah, you sure do look like you need a hand down there.”
Sangwon’s heart stutters. His cock throbs. He wants to argue, wants to push Anxin away, wants to yank his underwear back up, smooth his dress down, fix his wig in the mirror, and leave Anxin hanging for being a tease… but he can’t.
He’s so hard it aches. His thighs are trembling, his stomach tight, his breath shallow. At this point, he needs something—anything—to happen so he can walk out of this bathroom without a boner. He needs release. Doesn’t matter if it’s Anxin’s hand, mouth, or his cock buried in Sangwon’s ass. He just needs it.
Sangwon swallows his pride, hikes his skirt even higher, and blinks down at Anxin with the most desperate expression he can summon. His lips part, eyes wide, lashes damp. He tries to coax tears to his eyes—it’s not difficult. Anxin’s teasing always gets under his skin, always pushes him to the edge.
“Anxin, please,” he whispers, eyes fluttering. “I’m so wet for you. I need your hands, your mouth, anything. I need you to take care of me already. I’ll be good. Just—please.”
Anxin swallows thickly, but his face stays unfazed. Calm. Focused. Sangwon’s on the verge of real tears when Anxin licks his lips, grabs Sangwon’s cock in one hand, and flashes a grin full of teeth.
“Thank you for the treat,” Anxin chirps.
Before Sangwon could respond, Anxin ducks his head and takes him into his mouth.
Sangwon’s head thuds back against the stall walls with a groan. The slick heat of Anxin’s mouth sends goosebumps down his spine. His legs twitch; his toes curl inside his platform shoes. The sensation is overwhelming—wet, warm, tight. Anxin’s lips stretch around his soaked wet cock, tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing with every suck.
The hunger with which he devours Sangwon, the messy way he bobs his head, focused only on stuffing his mouth regardless of the noise or drool, and the way he won’t stop until he’s satisfied.
It leaves Sangwon clutching the top of the stall for dear life with the hand not holding up his skirt. His palms ache. His thighs burn. His whole body feels like it’s vibrating.
“Ah—Hss, Anxin, fuck—,” Sangwon pants, voice squeaking. He barely registers the embarrassment.
Anxin glances up at him, mouth stretched obscenely around his cock. His lips are slick, his cheeks flushed, his eyes half-lidded and glassy. It’s a sight that makes Sangwon’s insides clench, like a direct hit of arousal to his bloodstream. His legs nearly give out.
Anxin is so pretty.
Too pretty.
It should be illegal to be this adorable, this gorgeous, with a dick shoved in between his mouth. His curls are soft today, light brown strands falling over his forehead in messy waves. His lashes are long, his skin glowing, his expression somewhere between smug and reverent.
Sangwon releases his hold at the top of the stall to grab Anxin by the hair instead. The strands slip between his fingers like silk. Too soft. Too cute. Sometimes Sangwon gets jealous of how effortlessly cute Anxin is—how he can look like a model even when he’s being filthy.
When Anxin pulls off to breathe, he stares up at Sangwon with his tongue out, panting like a dog in heat. His lips are swollen, his chin wet, his eyes still locked on Sangwon’s face.
“Awon’s so pretty it’s making me stupid,” Anxin says, grinning, intoxicated.
Sangwon’s breath seizes. His heart pounds so hard it feels like it’s trying to climb out of his chest. He doesn’t know what to say—doesn’t know how to respond to being looked at like this, touched like this, wanted like this.
“Like a doll,” Anxin continues. “But one that whimpers when I touch him.”
He’s used to being seen. He’s used to being admired. Complimented. Flirted with.
But not like this.
Not by Anxin.
All Sangwon can do is press his lips together, trying to hold back the sound clawing up his throat, trying not to whimper like some needy mess. His voice is paper-thin, soaked in heat. ”Anxin,” he breathes. “Anxin, please…”
His name sounds different in Sangwon’s mouth now. Softer. Hungrier.
“Hyung,” Anxin says, voice light, almost bored. “Can I fuck Awon now?”
Sangwon nearly folds in half from relief.
“Yes—yes, please,” he gasps, the words tumbling out like a prayer he’s been holding in for hours.
“Turn around.”
He does. No hesitation. He drops his skirt and grabs the stall handle, bending over like it’s second nature. His wig shifts, slipping slightly off-center, but he doesn’t care. His panties are still bunched around his thighs, his cock flushed and leaking, and he’s trembling so hard it feels like his knees might give out.
“Do you… have lube?” Sangwon asks, glancing over his shoulder, voice thin and hopeful.
“Mm. No,” Anxin replies, unfazed. “Who would dare bring a lube to a café?” His hand slides around Sangwon’s shoulder, fingers brushing his bottom lip. “Use your mouth for me?”
Sangwon opens up without thinking. It’s instinct now—the way his lips part, the way his tongue flicks out to wet them first. He doesn’t know if it counts as an oral fixation, but he knows he loves the feeling. The weight. The stretch. The pressure.
Anxin’s fingers enters, they are thinner than his, but they’re confident. He knows exactly how to work them—how to slide in slow, how to curl them just right, how deep to push before Sangwon starts to gag. It’s practiced. Intimate. Like muscle memory.
And Sangwon—Sangwon loves how he looks when something is in between his lips. Lips parted, cheeks flushed, something in between his teeth. He loves how filthy it feels. How pretty it makes him.
He’s practiced in the mirror plenty. Perfecting the pout, the flutter of his lashes, the wide-eyed look he’s seen girls use in porn. It suits him. It makes him feel powerful. Pretty. Wanted.
He wishes Anxin could see him clearly right now. See the way his tongue glosses around his fingers, the way his cheeks hollow when he sucks, and the way his eyes glaze over just a little when he’s focused on being good.
He wishes Anxin could see the full effect.
Anxin whispers, much closer to Sangwon’s ear than before. His breath fanning warm against his nape. “Get them nice and wet, okay? So I won’t hurt you.”
Anxin’s fingers reach deeper, gliding over his tongue toward the back of his throat. Sangwon’s eyes water. The start of a gag bubbles up, sharp and involuntary, before Sangwon yanks them out with a gasp.
“You’re driving me insane,” Sangwon drawls, voice gruff, lips slick.
But he’s smiling.
He’s flushed, trembling, and smiling.
Because Anxin’s looking at him like he’s the most beautiful thing in the world. Not just pretty. Not just hot. Beautiful. Like something he’s been craving for days. Like something he’s finally allowed to taste.
Sangwon braces for slick fingers, expecting the usual—fast, messy, efficient. But what he feels instead is hot, pulsing, and unmistakably Anxin’s tongue.
“Wh–!” His whole body jerks, hips stuttering forward. He bites down on his forearm, hard, teeth sinking into skin until the pressure blooms red. It’s the only way to stay quiet. The only way to keep from screaming.
Anxin. This menace. This brat.
If he was going to eat Sangwon out like this—like he’s starving, like he’s been waiting for it all night—then what was the point of all that teasing? All those smug little comments, the slow circles on his thighs, the fake innocence in his voice?
This isn’t something they do. Not like this. Not this kind of oral.
A blowjob, sure. That’s standard. That’s expected. That’s just what happens when two pent-up gays get bored and horny and have 10 minutes to kill.
But this? This is different.
This is intimate.
Sangwon’s never had anyone go down on him like this. Not with this kind of focus. Not with this kind of hunger. Not with this kind of care.
Anxin’s tongue is relentless. He licks like he’s trying to learn Sangwon by taste alone—every twitch, every gasp, every tiny shift in breath. He’s loud, too. Obnoxiously loud. Slurping, groaning, breathing hard like he’s the one getting wrecked. It’s ridiculous. It’s filthy.
Sangwon pushes back against him, rutting into the air, desperate for more. His thighs tremble. His teeth leave angry red marks on his arm. His other hand—nails painted, still perfect—scratches at the stall wall like he’s trying to claw his way out of his own skin.
Anxin moans into him, tongue flicking and curling, lips dragging slow and wet across his rim. He’s messy. His face is buried deep, curls damp with sweat, fingers gripping Sangwon’s hips like he’s afraid he’ll float away.
Sangwon risks a glance down and nearly sobs.
Anxin looks wrecked. His cheeks are flushed, his lips swollen, his eyes glassy and unfocused. His curls are sticking to his forehead, and his expression—God, his expression—is pure devotion. Like he’s praying with his mouth. Like he’s worshipping Sangwon with every lick, every breath, every filthy sound.
It’s obscene.
It’s beautiful.
Sangwon’s cock drips onto the floor beneath them, a slow, sticky trail he doesn’t even register. He couldn’t care less who’s going to clean it up. His brain is static—white noise and heat—because all he can think about is Anxin’s mouth, Anxin’s tongue, and Anxin’s voice when he finally pulls back, lips slick and swollen, eyes glazed over.
“You taste so good, Awon,” Anxin whispers, breath warm against his skin. “Like candy. Like something I’m not supposed to have.”
“Anxin,” Sangwon gasps, voice shredded. “Anxin—what are you—”
“Hyung,” Anxin cuts in, giggling, high and syrupy. “You’re being so loud. You want the whole café to hear you?”
He leans in again, bites at the soft curve of Sangwon’s ass—gentle, teasing, just enough to make him flinch.
“Is Awon a slut?” he murmurs, lips brushing skin. “Or is she a good girl?”
Sangwon’s whole body jolts. His knees nearly give out. He grips the stall wall like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.
“I’m—” he chokes, voice cracking. “I’m good. I’m good, okay?”
Anxin hums, clearly not satisfied. “Good how?” he presses, sing-song and smug. “Good like… a sweet little cupcake? A good girl who says thank you after getting her pussy licked? Or maybe—” he pauses, dragging his tongue slowly across Sangwon’s inner thigh, “—a good little thing who just wants to be eaten up?”
Sangwon whimpers, breath hitching. “I don’t—” He swallows hard. “I don’t care. Just don’t stop. Please.”
Anxin grins against his skin, eyes fluttering shut like he’s savoring every second.
“Uhn—” Sangwon wiggles his hips, desperate. Anxin’s bites melt into kisses, soft and wet and maddening.
They don’t do this either. Dirty talk. Not like this. Sangwon wouldn’t expect it from someone like Anxin—a face like an angel, but a tongue like sin. He purrs, high and broken, desperate for that tongue back inside him.
Anxin’s voice is too sweet for the filth he’s spewing. It makes Sangwon dizzy. Makes his stomach ache.
“You’re dripping,” Anxin sings, voice syrupy and smug. “So messy. So needy. Is hyung begging to be fucked like a good girl?”
Sangwon doesn’t get a chance to answer. A sharp slap lands on his ass, loud and sudden, sending him crashing into the stall wall. His hands fly out, grabbing at the cool metal, nails scraping down the surface as his breath stutters out of him. He doesn’t even know what sound came out—if any—but his whole body feels wrecked. Exposed. Owned.
“Come on,” Anxin says, still light, still teasing, like they’re just playing a game. “We’re running out of time, Awon. You gonna be good for me?”
“I’m—” Sangwon starts, voice thin, but another slap cuts him off.
He chokes on a sob, legs trembling. Anxin’s hands follow the sting, palming slow and deliberate, rubbing over the heat like he’s trying to soothe it. Or savor it.
Sangwon’s eyes sting. His whole body shakes. He’s not sure if it’s from the pain or the way Anxin touches him after, like he’s something precious. Like he’s something earned.
“I’m a good girl,” he hiccups. “Ngh—I, a good girl, Anxin, please.”
Anxin hums, pleased. “I know you are,” he says, nuzzling against Sangwon’s lower back.
Sangwon sobs into the crook of his arm, overwhelmed. Anxin’s voice is too cute, too gentle, too cruel.
What he felt next was something wet.
Not Anxin’s mouth. Not the heat of his tongue.
Two fingers—slick, insistent—pressing against him, sliding in with practiced ease. They’re wet, not just with spit, but something slippery. Something artificial. He exactly knew what this is.
“Liar!” Sangwon gasps, voice squeaking mid-word. “You’re a terrible, terrible liar. Why would you—ah, uhn—why would you say you didn't bring lube today?!”
Anxin laughs, low and wicked, breath warm against Sangwon's skin. “Because I wasn't coming for coffee,” he answered with a hushed tone. “Because I knew I was coming to see Awon.”
He doesn’t slow down. Fingers scissoring the older deep and wide, stretching Sangwon with deliberate rhythm. Sangwon struggles to stay quiet, biting his lip, gripping the stall wall like it might anchor him.
“I’ve been planning this for a while,” Anxin adds, voice syrupy and smug.
“You knew—?” Sangwon’s question dissolves into a sob as Anxin pulls his fingers out. The emptiness is sharp and jarring. His body clenches around nothing, desperate to be filled again.
Then he feels it.
The pressure.
Anxin’s cock nudging his entrance, hot and heavy and real.
“Yeah,” Anxin says as he slides in, smooth as silk. His voice betrays him—tight, strained, like he’s suffering just as much. Like he’s holding back. Like he’s trying not to lose control.
Sangwon wonders what he feels. Wonders how tight he is. How hot. If it’s as perfect for Anxin as Anxin is for him.
“I knew,” Anxin says again, quieter this time. Like a confession.
Sangwon doesn’t ask how.
He doesn’t say anything because every thought evaporates the moment Anxin slams in, pelvis flush to Sangwon’s ass. The stretch is sharp, not fully prepped, and Sangwon feels the sweet sting of it—pain edged with pleasure, raw and dizzying.
His breath stutters. His knees wobble. His whole body trembles.
Anxin stays still for a moment, buried deep, forehead pressed to Sangwon’s back like he’s trying to fuse them together. Breath all hot, uneven, fogging up the space between them. His hands grip Sangwon’s hips tight—tight enough to bruise—like he’s anchoring himself, like if he lets go, he’ll drift off into something he can’t come back from.
Anxin is average—smaller than Sangwon’s own cock, even. But somehow heavier and more deliberate than any of the bigger toys Sangwon’s ever used. It’s not about size. It’s about how he fits. How he moves. How he presses in like he’s trying to leave a mark that won’t fade.
It knocks the breath out of Sangwon when Anxin draws back, slow and steady, until only the tip remains. He doesn’t rush. He lingers there, hips still, teasing the edge of Sangwon’s body like he’s sketching a boundary with his cock. Like he’s testing it. Like he’s asking, without saying a word, how far Sangwon can stretch before he snaps.
A beat of silence followed them. Just their sounds of their breathing heard. Just the heat between them felt.
Then Anxin drives in again—fast, rough, and relentless now—setting a rhythm that’s all hunger and no hesitation. All pressure. No pause. The stall echoing the slap of skins, the creak of metal, and the soft, broken sounds Sangwon can’t hold back.
It’s not gentle. It’s not sweet. It sets a rhythm that's all urgency and no mercy.
Sangwon can’t hold onto the stall’s upper walls anymore. His grip slips. His knees buckle. He’s falling, and Anxin’s taller frame wraps around him from behind, catching him, holding him up like he’s something fragile. One hand grips Sangwon’s chest beneath the frills, fingers curling into the soft fabric. The other kneads his ass, slow and deliberate, like he’s shaping clay. Like he’s sculpting something he wants to keep.
“Harder,” Sangwon whimpers, voice shredded. “Please, Anxin—fuck me, I need you, I need you so bad. Ah! I need it, I need it—”
It’s pathetic. It’s humiliating. It’s tragic how fast he abandons the illusion of dignity. There’s no space for that now. No room for pride or poise or pretending. Not with Anxin inside him. Not with Anxin touching him like this. Not with Anxin breathing against his back like he’s whispering words of love.
Sangwon wants to be wrecked. Wants to be ruined. Wants to be taken apart piece by piece until there’s nothing left but heat and noise and Anxin’s name in his mouth.
And Anxin—Anxin gives it to him. Quietly. Brutally. Like he’s been waiting for this moment his whole life.
Anxin grunts against his neck, breath hot and shaky. “Awon’s so tight. Like she was made for this. Maybe manager-nim should start charging extra.”
The wet slap of skin-on-skin mixes with Sangwon’s broken moans, his sobs, the sharp little gasps he can’t hold back. Everything’s too much—the rhythm, the heat, the way Anxin moves inside him like he belongs there, like he’s always belonged there.
“Anxin—” he chokes out, voice cracking.
“Awon’s pussy,” Anxin whispers.
The words hit like a jolt, making Sangwon’s cock twitch helplessly. Anxin shouldn’t be saying things like that. Not with that voice. Not with that face. He’s too cute to be talking like this, too sweet to be saying things that make Sangwon feel like he’s unraveling.
“Think your regulars would want a turn?” Anxin murmurs, voice low and syrupy, right before sinking his teeth into Sangwon’s shoulder like he’s sinking his teeth into a soft pastry.
Not hard enough to break skin—just enough to make Sangwon flinch. Just enough to leave a mark. Sangwon’s head drops back against him, a sob clawing its way out of his throat. His hips roll back instinctively, desperate to pull Anxin deeper, tighter, closer. He’s not thinking anymore. He’s reacting. He’s begging without words.
"But I don’t wanna share, okay?" Anxin continues, voice soft now, almost lazy. Like he’s talking in his sleep. Like he’s confessing something he’s been holding in. "Don’t wanna share. Don’t wanna let anyone else see you like this. This is mine.”
Sangwon’s stomach twists. His whole body trembles.
"Ah—ughhn, haa,” is all he can manage, voice shredded and useless.
"Just for me?" Anxin whispers, lips brushing the shell of Sangwon’s ear. "Say it. Please say it’s mine.”
Sangwon’s brain is mush. His cock is heavy, his balls aching, his insides sore and stretched and still clinging to Anxin like he was made to fit. Like his body knows who it belongs to.
Somewhere in the haze, he feels a tug at his wig. Gentle. Possessive. Is Anxin’s hand in his hair? He can’t tell. His eyes won’t stay open. His mouth won’t form words. It takes him way too long to say what Anxin’s waiting for.
“Yours,” he says—no, babbles. “All—all Anxin’s. Only—oh, bite harder, there—only Anxin’s.”
He’s so close. He can feel it building, a tidal wave rising in his chest, in his gut, in the base of his spine.
“Hn, hngyah—” teeth sinking deep, close to bleeding, “I’m—I’m Anxin’s good girl.”
Anxin groans behind him, low and wrecked, like the words hit somewhere deep. “You are,” he breathes. “You’re mine. My pretty little maid. My favorite distraction. My favorite mess.”
Sangwon sobs, overwhelmed. He’s not sure if it’s the praise or the possessiveness that undoes him more.
“You like being mine, don’t you?” Anxin whispers, voice thick with heat. “Hyung likes being pretty for me. You like it when I ruin you.”
Sangwon nods, frantic. “Hnn, yeah—I do, I do—”
“You’re so easy,” Anxin giggles, nuzzling into the left side of Sangwon’s neck. “I say one filthy thing and you melt. You’re like a vending machine with one button: ‘Anxin.’”
Sangwon laughs, broken and breathless. “Shut up.”
“No,” Anxin says, biting again. “You’re mine. I get to say whatever I want, hyung.”
Sangwon felt his intestines twisting as his stomach was gradually warmed by Anxin’s arms, now draped around his waist.
“Hyung,” Anxin hushes, voice suddenly tender. “Do you also want me? Do you want Anxin didi?”
Anxin doesn’t wait for an answer. He slams in deep, no hesitation, no mercy. Sangwon’s body jolts forward, a strangled cry bursting from his throat as his knees nearly buckle. The stall door rattles under his grip, and everything inside him shatters.
“Fuck,” Sangwon gasps, voice quavering. “Fuck, Anxin—”
Anxin grabs his hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. He pulls him back into each thrust like he’s trying to break him open, like he wants to leave something behind—something Sangwon will feel for days. Like he wants to be remembered in every step, every breath, every twitch of overstimulated muscle.
“You like this,” Anxin pants, voice thick with heat. “You like getting fucked like a toy. Like you’re not even real. Just something soft and pretty to play with.”
Sangwon’s breath catches, a moan breaking into a high, helpless, never-ending whimpers. His body is trembling, unraveling, but it still opens for Anxin like it’s been waiting for this—like it’s been trained for this.
The rhythm is brutal. Anxin’s cock pistons in and out, fast and unforgiving, and Sangwon’s body takes it, folds around it, begs for more. His thighs are shaking, his ass stings from earlier slaps, and his cock drenches freely, untouched but throbbing, leaking onto the tile floor with every jolt.
Anxin leans in, teeth grazing Sangwon’s ear. “You’re dripping. You’re filthy. Just—way too perfect.”
Sangwon sobs, pressing back harder, chasing every thrust like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. “Harder,” he pleads. “Please, Anxin, harder—”
Anxin obliges. He slams in deeper, faster, one hand yanking Sangwon’s hair, the other slapping his ass again, harder this time. Sangwon’s cry echoes off the stall walls, raw and unfiltered.
“You’re mine,” Anxin growls. “Say it again.”
Sangwon’s voice is shredded. “Yours—hnn, y-yours—only Anxin’s—”
Anxin bites down on Sangwon’s shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark. His hips don’t slow. If anything, he fucks Sangwon rougher, meaner, like he’s trying to ruin him for anyone else. Like he’s branding him from the inside out.
“You think anyone else could make you this messy?” he whispers, voice sharp and sweet. “Does hyung think anyone else could make you beg like this? Cry like this?”
Sangwon’s body sings with it. Every nerve ending is lit up, every thrust sending sparks through his spine. He’s not just enjoying it—he’s addicted to it. To the rhythm, the heat, the way Anxin talks to him like he’s something precious and obscene.
“Anxin,” he whimpers, voice cracking. “I’m gonna—gonna—”
“Go cum,” Anxin commands, voice low and sharp. “Cum for me, Awon. Show me how good you are.”
He doesn’t let go. His grip stays firm on Sangwon’s hips, but the rhythm shifts—less frantic, more deliberate. Every thrust lands deep, slow, like he’s carving his name inside him. Sangwon’s breath catches with each one, his body trembling from the intensity.
“You feel so good, hyung” Anxin purrs, voice low and reverent. “So warm. So mine.”
Sangwon whimpers, his fingers curling against the stall door. His whole body’s buzzing, stretched open and filled, but it’s the way Anxin says it—mine—that makes his knees weak.
“You’re perfect like this,” Anxin continues, pressing kisses to his shoulder between thrusts. “Bent over, dripping, begging. All for me.”
He pauses just long enough to whisper, “Hyung, you were made for this, weren’t you? Made to be mine.” His voice all syrupy and quiet.
Sangwon sobs, the sound muffled against his arm. “Yours,” he echoes, voice thin and wrecked. “I’m all yours, Anxin.”
Anxin wraps an arm across his chest, pulling him tighter, palms clenched over Sangwon’s shoulders. His other hand slides down, fingers brushing Sangwon’s cock, stroking him in time with his hips. The rhythm is slow now, deliberate, like he’s savoring every second of Sangwon’s unraveling.
“You’re so pretty when you cry,” Anxin whispers, lips brushing the shell of Sangwon’s ear. “So, so pretty when you break for me.”
Sangwon’s body arches, overwhelmed. The pleasure is thick, smooth, and it’s everywhere—his cock, his ass, his chest, his throat. Anxin’s everywhere. Inside him, around him, under his skin. It’s unbearable.
“I want you like this every day,” Anxin says, voice rough with emotion. “Want you dressed up, wet, waiting for me. Want you to know and remind you that you always belong to me.”
Sangwon’s moan is shattered. “I do,” he gasps. “I belong to you.”
Anxin kisses the back of his neck, slow and possessive. “Good girl,” he breathes. “My good girl.”
He slows to a stop, buried deep, breathing hard against Sangwon’s back. His hands roam—gentler now—palming his waist, stroking his thighs, tracing the curve of his ass like he’s memorizing him. Like he’s trying to etch this moment into his bones.
Sangwon’s cock twitches in Anxin’s hand, slick and aching again. He’s so close it hurts.
“Anxin,” he whimpers. “I’m gonna—please—”
Anxin strokes him faster, matching the slow grind of his hips. “Let it out,” he murmurs. “I want to feel you fall apart.”
Sangwon’s body tightens, his breath hitching, and then he’s coming—hard, messy, loud. His cock pulses in Anxin’s hand, hot spurts painting the stall door, his thighs, Anxin’s fingers. He sobs through it, shaking, legs wobbly, clinging to the door like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.
Anxin groans behind him, hips stuttering. “Fuck, Hyung—fuck—”
He slams in deep one last time, hands keeping his hips still, burying himself to the hilt, and comes with a low, broken sound. His grip on Sangwon’s waist tightens, his whole body trembling as he spills inside him, breath hot against Sangwon’s neck.
For a moment, they’re both silent. Just breathing. Just holding.
Then Anxin presses a kiss to Sangwon’s shoulder, soft and lingering.
“You’re shaking,” Anxin whispers, planting feathery kisses down his spine. “You’re truly so perfect like this, hyung. I want to see your face.”
Sangwon turns slowly, legs weak and unsteady, dress bunched around his hips. His cock is flushed, wet, twitching against his stomach. Anxin’s eyes drop to it immediately, pupils blown wide.
“Sit,” Anxin says again, voice low and gentle, but with that edge of anticipation that makes Sangwon’s skin prickle.
Sangwon obeys, lowering himself onto the closed toilet lid, skirt still hiked up around his waist. His cock stands flushed and leaking, twitching with every breath. He’s aching. He’s wrecked. And Anxin kneels between his thighs like it’s the most natural thing in the world—like he belongs there.
“I want to taste hyung again,” Anxin says, almost reverent. “I want hyung to cum in my mouth.”
Sangwon’s breath stutters. “Anxin…”
But Anxin doesn’t wait. He leans in, lips wrapping around Sangwon’s cock with slow, deliberate care. His tongue swirls over the head, teasing the slit, before sinking down inch by inch, taking Sangwon deeper with every breath.
Sangwon’s head falls back, a moan slipping out before he can stop it. His fingers clutch the edge of the toilet seat, knuckles white. Anxin sucks like he’s starved—like this is the only thing he’s wanted all day.
This isn’t the messy, rushed blowjob from earlier. This is worship.
Anxin’s hands grip Sangwon’s thighs, holding him steady, grounding him. His mouth works with a rhythm that’s both careful and hungry, lips sliding, tongue curling, throat flexing. He moans around him, and the vibrations shoot straight through Sangwon’s core, making his toes curl.
“You taste so good,” Anxin murmurs between licks, voice thick with want. “I want you to cum for me. I want to swallow everything.”
Sangwon whimpers, hips twitching. “I’m close,” he gasps. “I’m—Anxin, I’m gonna—”
Anxin hums in response, mouth never leaving him, sucking harder now, faster, but still with that same reverence. His fingers dig into Sangwon’s thighs, nails biting into skin, and Sangwon can’t hold back anymore.
His body arches, legs trembling, and he cries out—loud, broken, desperate—as he spills into Anxin’s mouth. The orgasm crashes over him like a wave, sharp and blinding, leaving him gasping and twitching, his whole body shaking.
Anxin swallows everything, lips still wrapped around him, sucking gently through the aftershocks. He doesn’t pull away until Sangwon’s cock twitches one last time, oversensitive and spent.
When he finally lifts his head, his lips are swollen, his eyes glassy, and his expression is pure satisfaction.
Sangwon slumps back, chest heaving, skirt wrinkled, makeup ruined, and wig barely hanging on.
Swallowing him whole one last time, Anxin pulls back from Sangwon’s cock with a wet pop, lips glossy, eyes glazed with hunger. He doesn’t speak—just slides his hands down, fingers trailing over Sangwon’s thighs, then slipping between them, stroking the slick mess he’s made.
“Lay back,” he breathes, voice thick. “I want to taste you again. All of you.”
Sangwon fulfills, reclining against the cool stall wall, legs spread wide, skirt bunched around his waist. His cock twitches, but Anxin ignores it now, eyes locked on the place between his cheeks.
He lifts his legs gently, folding them back, exposing his hole. Sangwon shivers, face flushing, but he doesn’t stop him. He wants this. He wants to be devoured.
Anxin leans in, breath hot against his skin. One finger slides between his cheeks, teasing the rim, circling slowly. Sangwon gasps, hips twitching uncontrollably.
“You’re so soft here,” Anxin whispers, pressing a kiss to the crease. “So pretty. I just want you, hyung, and to make you melt.”
Then his tongue is there—slick, hot, insistent. He licks around Sangwon’s rim, slow and deliberate, then flattens his tongue and drags it up, even moaning like he’s tasting something divine.
Sangwon cries out, legs trembling. “Anxin—oh my god—”
Anxin doesn’t stop. He eats Sangwon out since he’s starving, tongue flicking, pressing, teasing. His finger joins in, slick from lube, sliding in slowly as his tongue works around it. Sangwon’s body arches, his sobs bouncing off the stall walls.
“You’re so tight,” Anxin breathes. “So good, hyung. I want you to cum again just like this. Want you to fall apart on my tongue.”
Sangwon’s cock leaks untouched, his body writhing under Anxin’s mouth and fingers. He has never felt this full, this wanted, this owned.
“Please,” Sangwon whimpers. “Don’t stop. I’m yours. I’m yours.”
Anxin didn't answer—not with words. He just moans against Sangwon’s skin, tongue still working, finger curling deep inside him. Sangwon’s body trembles, overwhelmed, leaking freely, his cock untouched and aching. He’s close again, too close, and Anxin knows it.
But just as the tension crests, Anxin slows. Pulls back. His mouth leaves Sangwon’s hole with a final, lingering kiss, and his finger slides out with deliberate care. Sangwon gasps, blinking through the haze, his body still twitching, still desperate.
Anxin rises slowly, breathless and dazed, his lips glossy, his face flushed. Sangwon’s eyes meet his—glistening, velvety, pleading.
Neither of them speaks.
Sangwon moves first.
His hands find Anxin’s chest, firm and insistent, guiding him back until he’s seated on the closed toilet lid. Anxin lets himself be moved, legs spread, cock flushed and slick with lube and spit. He watches Sangwon with reverence, like he’s afraid to break the moment.
Sangwon climbs into his lap without a word, straddling him, skirt still bunched around his waist, panties dangling from one thigh. His hands find Anxin’s shoulders, nails digging in just enough to make him flinch.
“Sangwon—” Anxin starts, but Sangwon cuts him off with a kiss. It’s messy, open-mouthed, all tongue and teeth. He tastes himself on Anxin’s lips. He doesn’t care.
“I’m not done,” Sangwon whispers against his mouth. “You’re done with your games, right? Too bad, Anxin. You’re not allowed to finish until I say so.”
Anxin groans, head falling back as Sangwon reaches between them, lining him up. He sinks down slow, savoring the stretch, the heat, the way Anxin’s cock fills him inch by inch. His mouth falls open in a silent gasp.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “Still so hard for me.”
Sangwon’s thighs burn as he bounces, sweat smearing his skin, but he doesn’t stop. He’s the one moving now, grinding down hard, lifting himself up just enough to feel the drag of Anxin’s cock before slamming back down. His rhythm is messy, desperate, greedy.
But his voice—his voice is still soft, still pleading.
“Anxin,” he whines, breath hitching. “Tell me I’m good. Please. Say I’m doing good.”
Anxin finds it cute. Finds it unbearable.
His hands twitch at his sides, aching to grab Sangwon, but he obeys the earlier command. His knuckles go white against the toilet seat.
“You’re always good,” he pants. “You’re so good, Awon. You feel amazing.”
Sangwon shudders, his body clenching around him. He’s soaked, dripping, his cock bouncing against his stomach with every thrust. He reaches down, stroking himself in time with his hips, his movements frantic.
“Anxin,” he huffs.
Anxin doesn’t hesitate this time. His hands fly to Sangwon’s waist, gripping tight, guiding his movements. One hand slides up, cupping his chest through the frilly uniform, thumb brushing over his nipple.
“You’re so pretty,” he whispered. “So wet. So needy.”
Sangwon whimpers, his rhythm faltering. “I am. I’m needy. I need you so bad.”
Anxin leans in, lips brushing his ear. “Then take it. Take everything. Show me how much you want it.”
He does. He rides Anxin harder, faster, his thighs trembling, his moans growing louder. His body is flushed, his makeup smudged, his wig slightly askew—but he’s never looked more beautiful.
“Anxin,” he sobs. “I’m gonna cum. Can I? Please, can I?”
When did the roles switch here?
Anxin brushed his hair back, smiled, and raised his eyebrows, amused—but underneath that, he was breathless. Sangwon was trembling, flushed, wrecked—and still in control. Still asking for more. And Anxin would give it. He’d give everything.
He kissed Sangwon’s neck, biting down gently, tasting sweat and desperation. “Cum for me, Awon. Show me how good you are.”
And Sangwon broke.
His body seized, cock jerking in his hand, spilling hot across Anxin’s stomach. Anxin groaned, hips jerking up instinctively, chasing the heat, the clench, the way Sangwon’s body gripped him like it never wanted to let go.
“Fuck—Sangwon—”
Anxin’s heart was pounding. Not just from the pleasure, but from the way Sangwon looked at him—like he trusted him with everything. Like he wanted to be ruined by him. Like he already was.
Sangwon collapsed against him, panting, twitching, but Anxin could feel it—he wasn’t done. Not even close.
“Anxin,” Sangwon whispered, voice hoarse. “Can I ride you again? Please? I want more.”
"Hyung," Anxin cupped his face, thumb brushing his cheek. Sangwon’s eyes were glassy, pleading, beautiful. Anxin wanted to cry. Wanted to kiss every inch of him. Wanted to tell him he’d never felt this way about anyone.
“You can have whatever you want,” Anxin said, and meant it. He always meant it with Sangwon.
Sangwon lifted himself up, Anxin’s cock slipping free, wet and flushed. Anxin hissed at the loss, but then Sangwon sank back down slowly, moaning at the stretch, his body already sore but greedy for more.
“I love your cock,” Sangwon breathed. “I love how it feels inside me.”
Anxin’s eyes darkened. His heart thudded. “You’re addicted.”
“I am,” Sangwon admitted, bouncing again. “I’m addicted to you.”
Anxin couldn’t look away. Sangwon’s pace was slower now, more deliberate. He grinded down, rolled his hips, and Anxin felt every inch of it—every drag, every squeeze, every flicker of control Sangwon still held. And he loved it. Loved that Sangwon could take him apart and still ask for more. Loved that Sangwon trusted him enough to fall apart in his lap.
“Do you like watching me?” Sangwon asked, voice teasing. “Do you like seeing me fuck myself on you?”
Anxin nodded, cheeks redder, ears flushed, and eyes locked only to him. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”
And he meant that too. Sangwon was messy, flushed, makeup smudged, wig slipping—but his hyung had never looked more real. More alive. More his.
Sangwon cooeed, overwhelmed. “Say it again. Please.”
“You’re beautiful, hyung,” Anxin said within a blink. “You’re mine. You’ve always been pretty.”
Sangwon purred, body trembling.
Anxin grabbed his hips again, guiding his movements, grounding him. “You’ve been my everything.”
He didn’t know when it happened—when lust turned into love, when teasing turned into worship—but it was here now, thick in his throat, burning behind his eyes.
Sangwon rode him until his legs gave out, collapsing against Anxin’s chest, cock still hard, body still buzzing. Anxin held him close, felt the heat between them, the mess, the ache—and all he could think was, I love you. I love you. I love you.
Then Sangwon sobbed, fingers tangling in Anxin’s hair. “Yes—yes—just like that—”
Anxin didn’t hesitate. He leaned down for a kiss, lips wrapping around Sangwon’s, tongue swirling, sucking like he was worshipping him. Like Sangwon was the only thing that mattered. Because he was.
“You’re so good,” Sangwon mewled in between. “So good to me.”
“I love making you feel good,” Anxin murmured, mouth still full. He wanted to say more. Wanted to say everything.
Sangwon stroked his cheek, eyes glassy. “Then don’t stop. Please. Don’t ever stop.”
Anxin never planned to.
He felt the shift inside him—a fatal rerouting of his soul. There was no battle.No grand struggle. Just a cold, undeniable truth settling into his bones. And now, Anxin can’t plan to.
’Like hell I’d stop loving you.’
Anxin curses—sharp, low, and completely unlike him—and Sangwon pants, twitching as warmth floods his insides. A long, broken whine escapes him, eyes rolling back as Anxin empties himself deep in Sangwon’s ass. The heat spreads fast, thick and dizzying, and Sangwon feels it everywhere—his belly, his spine, his throat. It’s too much.
“Oh,” Sangwon breathes, dazed. He’s glowing, boneless, heat curling through him like syrup. His body slackens, but the pleasure doesn’t stop. It lingers, coils tighter, and then—
He doesn’t move. He can’t.
His own climax crashes down in the wake of Anxin’s, pleasure clawing up his spine, arching his back as he cums untouched. His cock pulses against his stomach, painting them both in streaks of white. His breath catches, then stutters, then vanishes altogether. There’s a ringing in his ears, sharp and rising, until it swells into a full-body buzz—and then everything goes quiet. No sound. No light. Just the throb of release and the echo of Anxin’s name in his head.
Time folds.
When he comes to, he’s slumped on the closed toilet seat, legs trembling, wig askew. His chest rises and falls in shallow gasps, skin flushed and damp. His thighs are sticky, his skirt wrinkled, his cock softening against the mess on his stomach.
Anxin is still inside him, arms wrapped around his waist, forehead pressed to Sangwon’s shoulder. He’s breathing hard, but quiet. Reverent.
Neither of them speaks.
Sangwon blinks slowly, trying to find words, trying to remember how to move. But Anxin’s hands are gentle now, stroking his sides, grounding him. And Sangwon lets himself be held.
“Hey.”
A hand presses gently against his knee. Sangwon blinks, still dazed, and finds Anxin squatting in front of him, elbows resting on his own knees, looking up to him, smiling like he didn’t just wreck Sangwon’s entire nervous system. Anxin’s hair is a mess, cheeks flushed, but his eyes are soft—concern threaded through the amusement. Anxin handed him a water bottle.
“Your break ended like 35 minutes ago.”
“Oh my god.” Sangwon tries to scramble upright, legs wobbling, but Anxin stops him with a firm hand to his thigh.
"I told one of your coworkers you weren’t feeling well. Said you needed a minute.”
"Shit,” Sangwon groans, collapsing back against the cushions. "Thanks. I think I blacked out for a second.”
Anxin laughs, soft and breathless. “That doesn’t usually happen, huh?”
Sangwon shoots him a look, cheeks flushed. “Wouldn’t you know?”
Anxin ducks his head, fingers raking through his messy hair. “You’ve never blacked out before,” he says quietly. “I mean… not with me. But with anyone else.”
Sangwon watches him, chest still heaving, heart still fluttering in that stupid, traitorous way. Anxin’s voice is shy, almost guilty, like he’s afraid he went too far. Like he’s afraid he broke something.
“No, Anxin, I don’t make a habit of passing out after orgasms,” Sangwon says, voice flat. But there’s no edge to it. No real heat. He glances over, and the way Anxin’s face shifts—shy, a little guilty, like he’s waiting to be scolded—makes something twist low in Sangwon’s gut. That look. Half sorry, half wanting. It always gets to him.
“And you would know,” he adds, voice gentler now. Sometimes he has to throw the bone so Anxin knows it’s okay to take it. “It’s not like I’m having them with anyone else.”
Anxin’s eyes flick up, startled. Then softened. “Yeah?”
Sangwon nods, slow. “Yeah.”
Anxin exhales, like he’s been holding his breath for hours. His hand slides up Sangwon’s leg, not to start anything, just to touch. Just to be close.
“I didn’t mean to… I mean, I didn’t know it would be like that,” he says, voice low. “I just wanted to make you feel good.”
“You did,” Sangwon murmurs. “You do.”
Anxin smiles, small and crooked. “You scared me a little, you know. You went all quiet. I thought I broke you.”
Sangwon snorts. “You did.”
Sangwon found Anxin’s eyes shaking, tears slowly forming at the corners.
“No!” Sangwon panicked, “But like, in a good way, yeah.” he giggled.
They sit there for a moment, the air now thick with silence and something heavier. Something tender. The kind of quiet that hums in the chest, not the ears.
“Okay,” Anxin sniffs, voice thin and a little too casual.
“Yeah, okay,” Sangwon echoes, looking down at his lap, blinking slowly. He found himself dressed with a new set of clothes, as his skirt’s laces are now different than earlier. He shifts, noticing the way his thighs don’t stick anymore and the way his cock’s been wiped clean. “You cleaned me up?” he asks, voice soft.
Anxin shrugs, eyes flicking away. “Mhm.”
“And dressed me.”
Another shrug. “You looked cold.”
Sangwon stares at him for a beat, then nods. “Okay,” he whispers, quieter this time. Like he’s not sure what else to say. Like the word’s doing too much work.
“Hyung,” Anxin says, clearing his throat a little too loudly. It echoes off the stall walls like a mistake, like something he didn’t mean to say out loud. “You said we’re just roommates.”
His voice drops at the end, softer now. Like he’s not sure if he’s teasing or testing.
Sangwon looks away, suddenly shy. His fingers tug at the hem of his skirt, twisting the fabric between his hands. “Did I?” he mumbles. “When did I say that?”
Anxin presses his lips together, trying not to smile. “I dunno. Sometime between the second and third orgasm? I think I blacked out.”
Sangwon kicks him in the shin. Not hard. Just enough to make a point.
“Ow,” Anxin whines, rubbing at it like he’s been mortally wounded. “Awon’s so mean to me.”
“Shut up,” Sangwon mutters, cheeks going pink. “No more of that.”
Anxin tilts his head, eyes gleaming. “No more what?”
“That voice,” Sangwon says, glaring. “That cutesy voice. You sound like a spoiled cat.”
Anxin snorts. “You like spoiled cats.”
“I like quiet cats,” Sangwon shoots back. “Ones that don’t talk back.”
Anxin grins, already reaching for him. “Too bad. This one meows.”
Sangwon groans, in disbelief. “Help me up before you’ll regret what I’ll do.”
Anxin stands, offering both hands like he’s presenting a gift. Sangwon hesitates, then takes them, letting Anxin pull him to his feet. His legs wobble, and Anxin steadies him with a hand to his waist, thumb brushing the edge of his skirt.
They’re close again. Too close. Yet not close enough.
Out of the stall, Sangwon catches sight of himself in the mirror and groans. His wig is one tug away from disaster, his makeup smudged like watercolor left in the rain, his lips swollen and pink from too many kisses. His collar’s askew, his skirt wrinkled, and faint red marks were blooming on his neck that definitely weren’t there before.
“I can’t go out there like this,” he mutters, voice flat with no energy.
“You look okay,” Anxin says—too quickly, too brightly.
Sangwon turns to glare at him, one brow raised.
“Should I—”
“Yes,” Sangwon cuts in, already backing toward the stall door. “Go find whoever came looking for me.”
Sangwon sighs, dragging a hand down his face. He prays it’s one of the coworkers who won’t tease him about this for the next three months. Not the manager. Not the girl from the counter who’s his friend.
“Please,” Sangwon adds, softer now. “And then go home.”
Anxin nods, still fussing with his reflection. He dabs at the corner of his mouth with a paper towel, tries to fix the smudge under his eye, gives up halfway through. His hands are shaking a little. He doesn’t know if it’s from the adrenaline or the afterglow or both.
“Okay.”
The younger didn’t move. He lingers, watching Sangwon in the mirror like he’s trying to memorize him—every detail, every flaw, every trace of what just happened. His gaze is soft, unreadable, almost reverent.
Then he leans in and presses a kiss to Sangwon’s cheek—quick, easy... like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like they’ve done this before. Making it seem like they’ve been doing this all the time.
Sangwon freezes.
“I’m getting myself a cake before I leave,” Anxin says, already turning away. “I’m starving.”
Sangwon didn’t answer. He’s flushed to the tips of his ears, heart thudding in his chest like a drum.
For a moment longer, still standing there, staring at his reflection with his lips still parted—cheek aflame with the memory of the kiss. Finally, he exhales, a long and shaky release that seems to drain the last of his composure is all that escapes the silence.