Choi Chanhee will be the death of him, Younghoon is certain of that.

A breathy whisper lingers on his skin. Dirty words shouldn't match such a gentle voice, but they do. Creeping down Younghoon's neck, covering him with sin—crooning from the lips of a fallen angel. Slowly luring Younghoon closer to his demise.

Chanhee is insane.

Equally as beautiful as he is crazy, showing up in front of Younghoon's door in the middle of the night, wearing only a skimpy little outfit. So tight, so revealing, so absolutely fuckable.

Hot breath gets stuck in his throat, burning, as Younghoon is pressed against the wall of his bedroom, left silenced with his hands to do the only talking. Impatient and greedy, just as he always is—just as Chanhee wants him to be. Greedy for him.

His fingers ghost down the skin tight black dress. Eyes following the spaghetti straps that slip down Chanhee's slender shoulders, as he writhes against Younghoon's tensed body. Orange blossom scent rubbing all over Younghoon's shirt.

"You're crazy," Younghoon mumbles, in between low grunts, wet lips catching the strays of pastel pink hair.

He pulls at the thin elastic strings of the fishnet stockings, encaging Chanhee's milky white thighs. Pulls, then lets the strings snap back into place.

"Just how you like it."

And Younghoon definitely likes it. Eyes fluttering shut, as a skilled hand sneaks down his pants—teasing him, playing him like he is nothing but a toy, so pathetically needy for Chanhee's touch.

"Fuck-"

Desire licks over the dark eyes watching him, and Chanhee laughs. Crimson tinted lips curl into a mischievous smile, as Younghoon complies to every accurate flick of the slender wrist.

Who would have ever thought that the angelic-looking boy, sitting in his usual spot every Thursday at the Hongdae performance street, wearing an oversized sweater and playing his guitar, would turn darker than the night itself, the moment the sun is setting?

Certainly not Younghoon.

Sin runs in Chanhee's veins, and he gladly tears Younghoon apart with pouty lips and eyes of fire, burning every last bit of Younghoon to scattered ashes.

Long lashes flutter, glittery eyelids fall half-shut, and every glance of Chanhee's sultry eyes is like an invitation for Younghoon to fuck him senseless, when he drops to his knees. Kitten licks and lipstick smears onto his skin, nails dragging at his hip bones, and Younghoon squirms although he knows he shouldn't.

The line between being too impatient and being downright pathetic is thin, and Younghoon is balancing on his toes, trying not to fall to the wrong side.

Despite the burning touches and fuck-me eyes, he has to wait. And Kim Younghoon is not used to waiting.

Everything comes easy in the life of Kim Younghoon. A picture-perfect life, drinking Cristal at brunch with fake smiles and real diamonds, a four bedroom apartment in Apgujeong, and a CEO position when his father one day retires.

But always getting his way has become a bore, and Younghoon chases the thrill, obsessed with the need to feel alive. To find something, or someone, who can challenge him.

And Choi Chanhee is a challenge.

"Did you miss me?"

"You already know the answer," Younghoon grunts, delirious, as the wet tongue whisks around his aching cock.

"Hm," Chanhee hums, amused. "Still having trouble getting off without me? With only those silly girls to satisfy you?"

"F-fuck you."

"We'll get to that. Don't be so impatient, Hoonie."

Chanhee looks up, snickering as he licks his lips, surely noticing the sweat glistening down Younghoon's red cheeks. He loves to taunt, to torment Younghoon until he is driven to the very edge of sanity.

Pastel dyed hair is laced between Younghoon's fingers, as pure instinct takes over—as he yanks Chanhee up to capture his lips. The touch is fleeting, yet satisfying but still far from enough. Just like everything that is Choi Chanhee as a whole.

It isn't love, it's an addiction.

An itch spreads like wildfire across Younghoon's skin whenever they are not together. Chanhee is like an aphrodisiac, a siren breathing burning lust into Younghoon's lungs. A dainty boy, with sulky eyes, and an insatiable hunger for physical affection.

He is gentle moans and aggressive kisses, temptation glazed over soft skin, and moonlight caught in ebony eyes. He is everything Younghoon is used to getting so easily. But then, he pulls away. He always does. Leaving Younghoon constantly and desperately craving for more.

Unpredictable, like the wind changing direction without a warning, Chanhee sweeps Younghoon off his feet with ease, and leaves him stranded. Alone and confused.

As submissive as he is dominant, sweet as he is wicked. He leaves Younghoon on read for weeks, only to suddenly call him up in the middle of the night, showing up in front of his door. Claiming Younghoon, as does he not belong to anyone else.

"Like what you see?" The sweet voice taunts, when he is straddled over Younghoon's legs on the bed, his delicate hands sliding the dress down. So painfully slow.

And Younghoon licks his lips, relishing in the sight that sets his body ablaze. Glittery silver stars, covering the rosy buds Younghoon loves swirling his tongue around, and small lace panties, more revealing than they are hiding anything at all.

That little devil.

"I think this is answer enough, don't you?"

Younghoon bucks his hips, his hard member stroking against Chanhee's inner thigh. But Chanhee doesn't look impressed, he rarely does, and the only praise Younghoon gets for now, is a brief snicker turning into silence.

"Hands above your head."

He complies to Chanhee's words, as he always does. Hands tied together, handcuffs clanking against the metal bars of the headboard of his bed—toes curling up from excitement, lips quivering with anticipation, and every part of his body tensed up. Ready for the fire to spread.

But for now, Younghoon can only watch. Breath hitching and cock aching, leaking with pre-cum, desperate to be touched. He grunts, pathetically, and Chanhee laughs again. Golden rings on slender fingers, catching the moonlight as pretty lips suck down on the fingertips. Slow grinds against Younghoon's thigh, enough to make him go crazy, and then-

Then he finally feels it. Chanhee's hand around his cock, pumping and teasing it, a tongue licking into the slit and soft lips sucking at the tip. A deep groan thunders through Younghoon's throat, as saliva drips down his length—as he is pulled into a dance between lust and endurance, every time his cock is sucked into Chanhee's heavenly mouth.

And Younghoon's self-control is put to the test again, when he hears a way too familiar sound. With shimmer eyes and swift hands, Chanhee rips the golden wrapper open, and his eyes burn into Younghoon, as he slides the condom onto him.

The handcuffs clank, louder, like an alarm warning for absolute destruction. They dig into Younghoon's wrists, as he squirms uncontrollably. It's the warmth, the tightness that makes his head spin, and life worth every dull moment. Chanhee has come prepared, a glittery pink butt plug falls from his hand and onto the bed. And Younghoon loves that. Loves the idea of Chanhee playing with himself, legs spread and fingers buried deep between his thighs, thinking of Younghoon fucking him hard and deep.

Younghoon certainly thinks of that, more often than he would like to admit. More often than they are actually doing it, when he only has his own hand to keep him company. That, or those silly girls, as Chanhee calls them.

Those silly girls. They are an easy way to kill time, Younghoon most certainly has had his fair share tossing and turning on the sheets of his own bed. To anyone else, he is easily swayed by a pair of Bambi-like eyes framed by long lashes, by shiny hair in soft waves, and long legs only waiting for him to spread them apart.

To anyone else, Younghoon only likes girls.

And no one will ever know how it's been quite a while since he last brought a girl home.

Why would he? When nothing compares to the way Chanhee makes him feel. So wrong, so outright deviant, so absolutely filthy. So goddamn fucking alive.

A perfectly shaped body, with every curve, every willowy limb sculpted to fit right in his hands.

Every breath burns in his lungs as he gasps for air, eyes blessed with the incomparable sight on top of him. Cotton candy colored hair brushing against slender shoulders, head thrown back, with closed eyes and parted lips. Sweet moans into the night, and dainty fingers dancing down his skin.

Chanhee isn't just pretty. He is stunning.

Breathtaking, when he slowly rides Younghoon, doing exactly that—taking his breath away.

When he takes Younghoon's cock better than anyone ever has, fucks himself on it, as is it his sole purpose in this world. The sweet cries, as Chanhee adjusts to the size, is like the sweetest music to Younghoon's ears.

Younghoon is a simple rag-doll caught in a hurricane of ecstasy, so wild it's almost violent. It's euphoria at its finest, and Chanhee is the drug Younghoon gladly throws all of his morals away to get his hands on.

Anywhere, anytime Chanhee wants him. Like a moth drawn to a flame, willing to burn up whenever he is asked to.

Soft moans turn into heavy, nearly painful grunts. The bed creaks, bumps against the wall and shakes on its four legs. Just like Chanhee, the moment he releases Younghoon from the handcuffs.

His dark hair sticks to his warm face, sweat dripping down his skin. Younghoon is ferocious, sucking at Chanhee's neck, leaving marks on the fair skin, licking the sweetness from his lips. Perhaps Younghoon is a bit possessive. No one else should make such a mess out of the beauty that is now wrecked under his touch.

"Fuck... Younghoon- I-"

Younghoon smirks, dives his tongue into the pretty mouth, and draws out every sinful moan. Chanhee claws at the sheet like a ravenous lion, chanting Younghoon's names, louder and louder—Younghoon is certain all of his neighbors have heard them by now. Not that it stops him, nothing will, when Chanhee's lashes flutter and he looks up with begging eyes.

"Harder."

And Younghoon loves it hard.

He loves the way his body aches in the morning, how red streaks are drawn across his skin, and how his lips are swollen—on the verge of bruising.

But Younghoon is not entirely selfish. His fingers dig into the skin around Chanhee's prominent hip bones, teeth grazing against the frail neck, as every thrust becomes harder and deeper. Uncontrollable moans are blossoming on Chanhee's tongue, spread across Younghoon's shoulder, and dragged out each time the bed slams against the wall.

Younghoon loves it. The way slender legs wrap around him, pulls him closer even when he is already deep inside. The warmth that keeps sucking him in, and it is tight - so incredibly tight, Younghoon is diving straight into insanity. He rips the star-shaped sticker off with his teeth, and swirls the rosy bud in between his lips. Chanhee gasps under him, pure gibberish and whimpers drip from his parted lips, and Younghoon swallows all of it.

Long arms are slung ever so lazily around Younghoon's neck, and desperate kisses are sucked onto his skin. The bed creaks, violently, and Younghoon loses himself completely, the moment Chanhee opens his eyes, and lets Younghoon dive into the dark ocean, he will never reach the bottom of.

Everything is as it used to be, as it should be.

Until it isn't. Until something suddenly changes, and Younghoon is completely caught off guard.

And Younghoon is doing the unthinkable.

He feels a spark, and it makes him feel sick.

"How is Juyeon?"

Younghoon turns his head slightly, hesitating in a way that is unfamiliar to him. Through hazy eyes he glances down at Chanhee lying next to him. Arms crossed under his chin, resting against the pillow, he looks back at Younghoon with that particularly mischievous look. The one that shows he knows exactly how to get Younghoon, without actually wanting him.

"Do you have to ask about him now?" Younghoon asks, sucking a bitter taste off of his own tongue.

He twirls it around in his mouth, disliking the taste with all his might.

Juyeon. Of course it is Juyeon. It always is. Snuck into the conversation like a pestilence Younghoon wants to kill off, no matter how much he loves his best friend.

It isn't the first time, and it won't be the last, where Chanhee asks about him. Curious eyes, filled with embers of excitement, Younghoon suddenly secretly wishes were only meant for him. Lips in a playful smirk, while Younghoon's pull into a thin line.  

"Why?" Chanhee laughs. "Does it make you jealous?"

Maybe...

"No."

Jealous? What a silly thing to say, Younghoon rolls his eyes. He is not jealous. He must have mistaken the spark he felt earlier, with the simple want of being the only one to make Chanhee cum three times in one night.

Silence washes over him, when he watches Chanhee getting dressed again. The black dress slips on, covering the marks and bruises Younghoon has left all over Chanhee's soft skin. It's only the dress, as everything else has been ruined under Younghoon's hands. Just like he had wanted to do to the entirety of Choi Chanhee, but suddenly Younghoon is the only one left in ruins.

Because for the first time, since they met nearly one year ago, Younghoon doesn't want Chanhee to leave. The empty spot next to him now feels too empty, and the king size bed is too big for him to find rest. And Younghoon definitely doesn't want Chanhee to even think about Juyeon. Not now, not right after being fucked mercilessly into the mattress.

Not now, not ever.

Juyeon can get anyone he wants, and so can Younghoon. Hell, even Juyeon's annoying friend Hyunjae could, if he wanted to. But for some reason, he always ends up scooting to the very edge of his seat, whenever a girl gets too close, with his face in a permanent frown.

And sure, Younghoon could introduce Juyeon and Chanhee to each other. Let the lithe beauty meet the sharp-cut modern day prince. What would the harm be in that? Chanhee might have fawned over the photos of Juyeon, found on Younghoon's social media accounts, but Juyeon is straight.

But, so was Younghoon before meeting Chanhee...