Chapter Text
Four Sundays pass; Soonyoung visits three out of the four, Jihoon having cancelled their meeting last week due to a fresh delivery of flowers. As much as Jihoon has grown to enjoy Soonyoung’s presence, trying to unload and organize a delivery of flowers and field Soonyoung’s endless questions—especially when he encounters a flower he’s never seen before, which happens more often than not—is not Jihoon’s idea of a relaxing or efficient day.
This Sunday, there is a large wreath sitting on the work desk in the front of the shop. It’s complete and Jihoon’s fingertips still ache from cutting and bending green florist wire for the better part of the morning. Sundays may be his day off, but Jihoon usually finds himself in his shop for at least some measure of time and with Soonyoung’s recent visits, those measures of time have increased.
Today is a bit different. Soonyoung is at the shop, so naturally, Jihoon is too. But where Jihoon is usually content to putter around, pruning and maintaining flowers and taking fallen petals to dry out and press in his backroom, today he is actually working.
The request was a bit last minute, but in his three years of business, Jihoon finds these requests usually are. After all, it’s not as if everyone can predict death.
He’s working on the last bit of the order, small potted arrangements to go on the deceased’s grave; a larger arrangement is sitting in one of the fridge’s in the back room, waiting to eventually be placed atop a coffin. Digging a small well in shallow soil, he pushes in another pansy. The dark burgundy of the flower stands out somberly amongst the muted greenery.
“What do those mean?” Soonyoung asks from his spot across the room. He’s splayed across the floor, body leaning on a low table and sketch pad wedged on the corner of a display of hellebore.
“Remembrance.”
“Good remembrance?”
Jihoon pauses to look at Soonyoung. Soonyoung looks back, a small smile on his lips.
“I suppose so,” Jihoon says. He grabs another small pot, a muted earthenware craft, and begins scoping small amounts of soil into the bottom. “I’m sure not everything that’s remembered is good, but pansies usually express grief over a loved one’s passing.”
“Do the flowers on the wreath have the same meaning?”
“No. They just match the color scheme the client wanted, plus the deceased really liked azaleas.”
“Maybe they’ll have a rich afterlife.”
Jihoon pauses, fingers deep in the soil. “You’ve been reading,” he says, nudging a thin stalk into the well he’s made.
“I have. Thank you for letting me borrow some books, by the way.”
A small smile curls at Jihoon’s lips and he ducks his head further down into his work.
“I haven’t come across these though,” Soonyoung says. Jihoon looks up to see Soonyoung nudging a nearby bloom with the eraser of his pencil.
“They’re hellebore.”
“Hellebore?” Soonyoung looks back, lower lip caught between his teeth, the glint of his piercing barely visible. “Sounds a bit daunting.”
Jihoon shrugs and looks back down at his work. “They are, I guess. I’ve seen a lot of meanings attributed to them, good and bad, the same goes for their usage in history.”
“But you still keep them, even though they don’t have a happy meaning.”
“People still buy them.”
“And not all flowers need happy meanings, right?”
Jihoon can’t stop the light snorting laugh as he looks back up at Soonyoung. The black-haired man has all but abandoned his sketch pad, he’s dark brown eyes fixed on Jihoon.
At the sight of Jihoon’s smile, Soonyoung’s own widens, plush lips pulling back to show off more teeth. His eyes all but disappear as he beams when Jihoon utters curt, but fond, “Correct.”
“So, what else is there? I mean, I know you told me about flowers that mean fealty and like dutifulness to parents, but...what about vengeance or something like that?”
Jihoon pauses for a moment. Soil clings to the fine lines of his fingers, outlining the small loops and curves that make up his fingerprint. He rubs his thumb across his index finger, watching the dirt smudge away. “Petunias.”
“Like the aunt from Harry Potter?”
“Yes, well, kind of.” Jihoon shrugs and pushes the last burial arrangement—now complete—off to the side. “Petunias don’t mean vengeance exactly, more like resentment and disdain. But the negative sentiment is there.”
“Wow. So really like the aunt from Harry Potter,” Soonyoung mumbles, lips pursing in a small pout with each word.
Jihoon laughs again, it’s small, but a bright punched out sound.
“So,” Soonyoung stands up and stretches, lets his limbs fall loosely before picking up his sketch pad and taking slow steps to circle a nearby display. “What else is there?”
Jihoon shrugs, tempted not for the first time to tell Soonyoung to Google it. He doesn’t though. He watches Soonyoung amble his way slowly towards him, head tilting to the side to examine each passing flower. But there’s no real interest in Soonyoung’s search because he doesn’t ever stop, he keeps spiraling towards Jihoon with careful steps.
“What more do you want to know? I think it’s safe to say flowers can represent just about anything.”
“What about...passion?” Soonyoung asks. He’s trailing a fingertip down the petals of a bloodroot flower, thin white petals arching up to meet the delicate touch. The petals quiver when Soonyoung pulls his hand back. He looks at Jihoon, brown eyes liquid and mirthful and a shade darker than inquisitive.
Jihoon swallows. “What type of passion?”
Soonyoung hums, making a large circle around their space, picking up his sketch pad. His thumb runs along the edges of the papers, but he doesn’t look at the strokes of graphite. He stares at Jihoon, a small smile curling the edges of his lips and his dark eyes are warm, seemingly liquid as the spark off the fluorescent lights.
“Let’s keep it simple,” Soonyong says. “I feel like most requests I get for something passionate are pretty simple.”
“So sex?”
“Sex, romance, sensuality.” Soonyoung tightens his meandering circle, drawing closer to Jihoon standing behind his desk. It feels more like a barricade, an object planting firm lines of Jihoon’s side and Soonyoung’s side. “Anything like that will do.” Soonyoung’s voice comes from his left. Jihoon grips the edges of his desk, wondering if he likes where he’s standing behind it. He should. It’s where he always stands; Jihoon is always behind his desk, his meticulously cared for flowers surround him, and anyone who comes in looking for sentiment, for grief, for passion stands firmly on the other side.
Soonyoung circles behind his desk—because he can, because for all the barriers Jihoon establishes in the spaces he occupies, they don’t really exist—then he’s in front of Jihoon. The sketch pad flops onto the countertop, the dull thud of paper whispers between them. Soonyoung leans down and cups his face in his hands, staring up at Jihoon.
“Passion,” Soonyoung reminds him, and Jihoon kind of wants to grab him or punch him or do something. Not because he’s endeared to Soonyoung or the way his glint more than the abundance of silver decorating his ears and lips.
“I can’t talk about passion when you’re simping up at me like that,” Jihoon grunts, but his words don’t carry edges sharp enough to cut or heavy enough to bruise. “You look like a fucked up emoji.”
Eyebrow cocked playfully, Soonyoung’s grins wider, nearly all his teeth on display. “You really think I could be an emoji? We should contact Apple or Samsung. I could be the face of the next smartphone update.”
“I said a fucked up emoji. No one would pay to have your face on their fucking phone. Although,” Jihoon pauses, watching the glint of Soonyoung’s lip ring as his lips settle into something softer but no less amused. “You’d probably be used for memes.”
“Really? You think so?” Soonyoung eyes go comically big and his lower lip trembles. He looks horrible. “Thank you. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“I didn’t mean it as a compliment.”
“You said I was meme-worthy.”
“That’s not typically a good thing.”
“How can it not be? I’d complement every conversation, I’d make someone laugh or be left in response to some racist fuck’s deluded rant on Twitter. Doesn’t seem so bad,” Soonyoung says.
A bemused roll of his eyes and the slightest fidgeting with the edge of Soonyoung’s notebook is the best Jihoon can muster in response. He doesn’t have the words to banter back—mind too busy trying to avoid Soonyoung’s tracking gaze than to think of a way to poke holes in Soonyoung’s logic (or lack thereof).
“We still haven’t talked about passion, Jihoon.” Soonyoung leans in closer. At least it seems that way to Jihoon who’s so acutely aware of the taller male occupying the space in front of him. It should be less startling now, having Soonyoung in his shop, in his space, picking his way through his flowers and Jihoon’s mind.
“Red carnations and red tulips,” Jihoon offers. “Azaleas, yellow irises, roses…”
“Red?”
“Pink or coral,” Jihoon breathes. Their eyes are locked and this time he is positive Soonyoung is leaning closer into his space. “You’re not writing any of this down.”
“No,” Soonyoung hums, “I’m not.” He doesn’t break eye contact and Jihoon feels his lungs constrict.
“You’ll ask me about passion again if you don’t,” Jihoon says. There’s a dig about Soonyoung’s goldfish memory on the dip of his tongue, some biting remark to ease the tension building in the air, thickening the air in the air in his lungs.
“Is that so bad—us talking about passion again?” Soonyoung’s smile is a curious thing: lips plump and delicately curved; when earnest, his smiles are wide, piano-toothed things that spread across his cheeks and into his eyes, when sheepish they’re thinned lips curled small and soft at the edges. Then there is this smile, the one Soonyoung is currently wearing, it’s sharper—something contained and just building beneath the surface. Jihoon isn’t sure what it means, doesn’t see it as often as the others, but it makes him feel restless and uneven.
Jihoon breaks their gaze, unwilling to entertain Soonyoung’s sharp smile and talk of passion (even as it relates to flowers). He looks down and focuses on the graphite lines on the thick stock of Soonyoung’s notebook.
“These aren’t flowers.” The dark-gray lines curl out in sensuous curves and delicate angles, some strokes flaring heavier than others.
“They are,” Soonyoung says, voice too close to Jihoon.
“But it’s me too.” The sketch is mostly bare-bone lines; there is enough detail for Jihoon to identify himself standing amongst a plethora of funeral flowers. His workspace is well-defined, the flowers clustering closest to him drawn out in intricate detail. But, so too, are his hands, carefully captured in the picture and further traced out in meticulous lines in the lower right corner of the page.
“Yeah.”
“Why?” Jihoon finally looks up and Soonyoung is close enough for Jihoon to count his eyelashes.
Soonyoung tracks the movement of Jihoon’s hands—the careful passing of thumb over palm and back again, an action both unconscious and self-conscious. “I like watching your hands work.” Soonyoung’s words are a statement, weighted with the simplicity of the fact. The moon pulls the tides. Mountains will give under the weathering of time. The earth is round (fuck the flat earth argument, Jihoon thinks it’s bullshit). Soonyoung likes watching Jihoon’s hands when he works
“That’s weird,” Jihoon says.
“Is it? You have nice hands, they’re graceful but so sure in each movement when you work—a balance of firm and soft, but all deliberate.”
Jihoon stares at his hands. They’re pale and calloused; they have only ever been pale hands marred with the occasional nick or cut due to his work. “I guess so,” the acquiescence comes out slowly as if Jihoon is testing out the weight of actually agreeing with Soonyoung, “just never thought of my hands that way.”
Soonyoung shrugs and picks up his pencil to keep drawing. He doesn’t move away, stays contained in Jihoon’s space. Jihoon watches him for a moment, then gets back to the funeral arrangement.
There’s something about bleeding hearts that Jihoon can’t get enough of. Every May, he starts prepping a display specifically for the deep pink, heart-shaped blooms. This May, the display is accented with lilies-of-the-valley and the more subtle brunnera.
“Those are beautiful,” Soonyoung says. He’s splayed across Jihoon’s work desk in the front room as he has been the past five Sundays; the work desk is an odd collection of wire and snipped stems and sheaves of paper with crumbled edges and fine lines of pencil detailing intimate details of any blossom that catches Soonyoung’s eye.
“They are,” Jihoon agrees, thumb and forefinger rubbing over a bulb, puffy and delicate.
“What do they mean?”
Jihoon pulls another pot off the floor and places it on a lower-tier table. “Depends. In some places, they symbolize heartbreak or rejected love, in others passionate love.”
“They can symbolize both?”
“Yeah, I mean why not. In the west, they more commonly mean passionate love or emotional vulnerability.”
“And here?”
Jihoon stops struggling with one of the last plants. He looks over his shoulder at Soonyoung kicked back lazily behind his desk, arms folded on the tabletop and head resting in the cradle of his arms. “Usually rejected love or heartbreak.”
Soonyoung smiles lazily as if the concept of heartbreak is somewhat amusing to him. “Then why do you sell them?”
“They’re beautiful, even if they’re given to break someone’s heart,” Jihoon shrugs, pulling at his thin t-shirt. He’s worked up a sweat and the cotton fabric is starting to stick to his skin. “I like the duality behind them. Plus, they always sell well, so…”
Soonyoung hums and Jihoon flips back to the last plant, ignoring the way he can still feel Soonyoung’s gaze on him. The last plant is the biggest, the pot heavy with soil and standing nearly two feet tall; it’s taking the prime spot in the center of the tallest tier of the display tables.
When Jihoon was sketching out the display a week ago, the vision was brilliant. But now, as he struggles to lift the heavy plant to the open spot, he realizes that maybe he underestimated the weight of a bleeding heart. Lifting with his thighs, he heaves the plant and only has a moment to register the dull throb of his nipple piercing as the edge of the pot digs into his chest before his shoving into its place.
Pulling away with a hiss, Jihoon rubs at his still tender nipple as it gives a sharp throb. It’s been six weeks and while it’s healing nicely, it’s sensitive as hell. “Shit,” Jihoon gasps, trying to pat the tenderness away.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, just rubbed against my piercing is all.”
Metal screeches against the tile as Soonyoung scoots off the barstool he was sitting on. Jihoon doesn’t pay the other much attention, too busy looking down his shirt at his bright red nipple. It looks a bit puffy, not infected, just irritated. Which makes sense, all things considered, as Jihoon has done his very best to touch his nipple only when cleaning it.
“Do you mind if I look at it?”
Jihoon jerks his head up, letting his shirt fall against his chest; even the soft brush of the fabric against his nipple has him wincing. Soonyoung stands in front of him, eyes earnestly fixed on the little barbell visible through Jihoon’s shirt.
“You want to look at my nipple?”
“Well, more so the piercing in your nipple, but, yeah,” Soonyoung shrugs and finally meets Jihoon’s eyes with a small smile, “I want to see your nipple too.”
Jihoon’s hands twitch at his sides. He nods slowly and thankfully doesn’t stutter as he agrees to let Soonyoung see his nipple—well, his piercing, his nipple piercing. “Sure. Can we go in the backroom though seeing as the storefront is all window and I don’t want some stranger passing by the shop to see you poking at my nipple.”
“I never said I’d poke your nipple,” Soonyoung teases, but agrees easily enough to head into the back of the store. He sweeps his arm out in a grand gesture for Jihoon to lead the way. Jihoon snorts and curls his lips in distaste at the gesture, but takes the lead into the back room anyway.
The backroom is an excess jungle of plants and flowers, high windows letting in deep orange and magenta light from the evening sun. His worktable in the back is its own minefield of shears, chicken wire, and ribbons; various bowls are filled with individual petals drying out and against the pack wall a long string pulls heavy with clusters of upside-down flowers in various states of drying out. At the edge of the desk is a collection of books where petals are pressed thinner than the pages they rest between.
Jihoon settles against his desk, the tabletop digging into his lower back. Soonyoung follows in at a slower pace, gaze wandering around the room before settling on him.
“Shirt up or off,” Soonyoung instructs, voice a bit more clinical than it had been when they were in the shop proper.
Jihoon shrugs his shirt off, mindful of his nipple still thrumming with sensitivity. He sets his shirt to the side, crumpled against his small tower of books.
Soonyoung draws in close. Once more Jihoon finds himself shirtless in Soonyoung’s company—the other close enough that Jihoon can feel his body heat against his own skin.
“Is it okay if I touch you?” Soonyoung’s breath puffs hot against his skin. Jihoon feels a ripple of goosebumps and can’t stop the twitch of muscle in his stomach at the sensation.
Jihoon’s affirmation is gritted through his teeth. Tilting his head back, stares at the water-stained ceiling and takes a deep breath. His lips thin to invisibility. With the piercing, his nipple is more often than not peaked, hard and tender to the touch. As Soonyoung’s thumb ghosts a brief touch over his peaked nipple, Jihoon tries desperately to convince himself his nipple is tightening solely due to the piercing and the brush of A/C against his bare skin.
Soonyoung rubs the pad of his thumb over Jihoon’s right nipple, a semi-circle that carries just a bit too much pressure to be entirely soothing. The man is in seeming contemplation, which works well for Jihoon. Air is frozen in his lungs, back arching just slightly, pushing further into Soonyoung’s gentle touch.
Soonyoung completes the small back-and-forth motion. His exhale of breath beats against Jihoon’s skin. “It’s healing nicely,” Soonyoung says. The pad of his thumb is motionless but pressing feather-light against the edge of Jihoon’s nipple. “You should be okay to change the piercing out in a few months—I can help with that if you’re not feeling up to it. But, it looks good. You should be okay to play with it too.”
“Play with it?”
“Yeah, you or your partner can play with it.”
“I don’t have a partner.”
“Well, then,” Soonyoung smirks, he rubs his thumb in a small, soothing circle, “ you can play with it all you want.”
Jihoon's breath hitches. He feels the words on the tip of his tongue, wanting to ask Soonyoung exactly what he means when he says Jihoon can play with his piercing now. But it's obvious, the meaning conveyed in the warm press of Soonyoung’s thumb, the measured breaths falling against Jihoon's sensitive skin.
"I haven't thought about that," Jihoon confesses in the small space between them. "Playing with them."
Soonyoung hums low in his throat, thumb still stroking lazy circles around Jihoon's nipple. "You should. You're more sensitive now, aren't you?"
He is. Soonyoung's hot breath beating against his nipple is enough to have pleasure simmering beneath his skin—his nipple hot and tender to the touch. Jihoon swallows and nods, not trusting himself to voice out his sensitivity.
Things are still between them. Soonyoung peers through choppy bangs, eyes glinting dark as they flick between Jihoon's own blown-out eyes and his parted lips.
"Can I?" The question is spoken softly, petal-soft. The meaning is clear in the slow movements of his thumbs, the path of his eyes, the way he shifts imperceptibly closer—crowding Jihoon further against his workspace.
"You already kinda are."
Soonyoung smirks and rises just a bit to level his mouth near Jihoon's flushed ear. "I haven't even started yet."
Breathing out a laugh, Jihoon nudges his head so they're sharing breath, lips barely brushing with his next words. "Then start."
When Soonyoung kisses him, his lips are curved into a smug smile. His hand abandons post on his teased nipple to cup Jihoon's jaw and angles their heads so their lips slide together smoothly.
Jihoon revels in the feeling of plush lips against his own—takes the initiative to flick his tongue against Soonyoung's piercing, now spit slick and warm against Jihoon’s own lips. Soonyoung groans and presses their lips back together, open-mouthed and seeking more. Jihoon flicks his tongue against Soonyoung's teeth, across the ridge of his mouth, and clutches Soonyoung closer.
They're pressed together—Soonyoung's hand gripping Jihoon's neck and hips and Jihoon pulling on Soonyoung's biceps. Their hips roll together instinctively, both half-hard in their jeans and twin moans vibrating through their kiss. The worn cotton of Soonyoung's shirt rubs against Jihoon's nipple sending sparks of pleasure rolling across his chest.
Soonyoung pulls back only to hoist Jihoon up onto his desk, frantic hands pushing books and flowers aside to make room. Jihoon only has a quick moment to breathe in humid air before Soonyoung's lips are trailing a heat path across the column of his throat.
Jihoon moans, hands smoothing down the front of Soonyoung's shirt. Firm muscles flex under the palm of his hands and Soonyoung sucks harder at his pulse point. When Jihoon slides his hands underneath Soonyoung's shirt, nimble hands pressing to warm skin, Soonyoung bites down.
"Fuck," Jihoon breaths, light-headed as Soonyoung trails nipping kisses with a soothing stroke of his tongue down his neck. His fingers dig into Soonyoung's stomach, short nails catching on the slight definition of abs. "Fuck, off," Jihoon tugs at the hem of Soonyoung's shirt. "Off, off." He wants to see Soonyong's golden skin, see the muscles contracting beneath his fingers, see the crescent shapes he presses into Soonyoung's torso as Soonyoung leaves inky bruises along the line of neck and the spread of his collarbone.
Soonyoung pulls back just enough to pull his shirt off and Jihoon's mouth waters at the expanse of tanned skin and black ink. He presses his palm into the curve of Soonyoung's shoulders, holding the taller man back from his preoccupation with his neck.
"Let me look," Jihoon breathes, tongue swiping past chapping lips. Soonyoung takes care of himself, that much is obvious. He's lithe, developed muscle, stark lines of black in swirling into the snarling visage of a tiger taking over his torso.
Sliding his palms down over the subtle swell of pecs, Jihoon lingers a small moment over Soonyoung's dusky nipples, watches the fluttering of sharp eyes before descending lower. He uses the tips of his finger to trace feather-light touches over the tattoo. Soonyoung groans when Jihoon scooches forward to add his tongue and lips in his exploration.
"Fuck, Jihoon," Soonyoung moans out, voice deep with the beginnings of gravel. His hand buries in Jihoon's hair and slowly guides him back up to his lips.
Their mouths slide together wetly, Jihoon not caring for finesse, just wanting Soonyoung closer. A firm grip jerking him to the edge of the table startles a surprised gasp from Jihoon. Before he can get his bearings, Soonyoung is rolling his hips against him. Their hard cocks brush against each other, and Jihoon throbs, aching and needy.
Soonyoung's hands on his hips encourage each roll of their hips, the delicious rush of friction pairing with the plush lips making a journey out of traversing his neck.
The touch to his nipples shouldn't come as a shock to Jihoon. But the firm circle Soonyoung rubs against Jihoon's left nipple pulls a desperate whimper from his mouth. Soonyoung smirks at the unconscious arch in Jihoon's back, the helpless press in for more attention to his sensitive nipples.
A quick nip to his lower lip is all the warning Jihoon gets before Soonyoung ducks down, mouth pressing wet kisses against his right nipple, left hand still flicking and tugging on his left.
Jihoon's answering moan is high and breathy, embarrassing under different circumstances, but all Jihoon can focus on is the swell of pleasure, the dull ache in his nipples trickles down to his gut. His balls tighten when Soonyoung nips harshly at a peaked bud.
Soonyoung seamlessly switches attention, tongue running a clear path to his swollen left nipple, right hand coming up to tug on the spit-slick right nipple, fingertips flicking at the glistening barbell.
The room is humid, the air heavy and sweetened with the mixing scent of flowers. Jihoon sucks in fragrant lungful after fragrant lungful, a floral bouquet settling clean and bitter on his tongue.
Jihoon hands move with little thought. As Soonyoung works to make Jihoon's chest as inky as his own, Jihoon wedges a hand between them, rubbing at the hard length he can feel in Soonyoung's jeans. Soonyoung's groan rumbles against his skin sending a pang of muted pleasure in his nipple.
Soonyoung's pants are easy to open, at least to Jihoon's determined mind. The relief is palpable between them when Jihoon slips his hand past Soonyoung's underwear to grip his flushed cock. They sigh and Soonyoung surges up, grabbing the back of Jihoon's head to pull him into a sloppy kiss.
The angle is awkward, but it doesn't stop Jihoon from flicking the pad of his thumb over Soonyoung's slit, collecting the leaking precome to ease the way down a bit. He gives a few firm strokes and swallows each of Soonyoung's moans.
Pulling back, Jihoon takes a moment to look at the cock in his hand—flushed a deep red, thick and long and wet at the tip. Jihoon bites his lip, cutting off the whine that bubbles in his throat and rubs at Soonyoung's frenulum.
" Fuck ," Jihoon whispers, voice shot through with gravel. "You're big and so wet for me."
"Jihoon," Soonyoung groans, voice wavering at his buck into Jihoon's hand. "Fuck, baby, let me—" he cuts himself off and makes a frustration grab for Jihoon pants.
When the air of the backroom hits his now exposed cock, Jihoon shivers. Soonyoung slides a soft stroke up the underside of Jihoon's dick, from base to his wet tip.
"Such a pretty cock," Soonyoung says, paying attention to his leaking head. "Fucking pretty everywhere."
Jihoon moans deep in his throat and wriggles on the table. Soonyoung steps back just enough for Jihoon to fully kick off all of his remaining clothing, letting them flop where they land on the polished checkered floor.
Jihoon is sure he paints an interesting picture. Dark eyes hazy with pleasure, lips red and plump, nipples swollen and wet with spit, hard cock curved heavily towards his stomach. He meets Soonyoung's stare, pupils blown wide, and eyes tacking in Jihoon's open splay.
"Fuck me."
Soonyoung swallows thickly, then once more. His head bobs. Then he's shoving his pants and boxers down his legs, feet clicking together as he toes off his shoes. He falls into Jihoon in a flustered scramble, mouth pressing ardent kisses to his lips, along his jaw, over the arch of his cheek. His hands dig indents into the soft flesh of Jihoon's thighs.
"Do you have lube?"
"Lotion," Jihoon says, distractedly slapping around his desk until his hands land on his lotion—mild and unscented, but does the job for long days spent bending chicken wire and snipping stems. "Do you have a condom?"
Brows furrowed, Soonyoung mutters a quick "one second" before ducking back to rifle through his jeans. He pops back up with a proud "aha!", wide grin in place as he holds up the silver foil packet.
Shoving the piles of supplies and pressed petals out of his way, Jihoon reclines back on his elbows and parts his legs. Soonyoung slips between them with no hesitation, hands smoothing up the inside of pale thighs.
Setting the condom by the jar of lotion, Soonyoung drops to his knees and places an open-mouthed kiss on Jihoon's knees.
The heat of Soonyoung’s mouth travels up Jihoon’s thighs, sucking and biting the soft skin. Jihoon’s legs shake, breathless moans hiccuping out on every breath as Soonyoung’s paints a picture on his skin with his plush lips and the thin press of his lip ring.
Soonyoung's hands run parallel along the outside of Jihoon's thighs, indenting the flesh—not enough to bruise, but enough to be felt, demanding presence of mind. His lips blaze a well-mapped trail to the junction of Jihoon's groin.
The fantasy of Soonyoung lips wrapped around his cock is barely formed before Soonyoung licks a thick stripe from base to tip. There is a pause. Soonyoung looks up at him from between his legs, the head of Jihoon's cock resting on his lower lip, his piercing glints under the fluorescent lights. Then there is nothing but wet heat, plush lips suctioning down with practiced ease.
Jihoon's eyes flutter shut and his head thumps back against the wall behind him. He hears the soft crunch of drying forget-me-nots, is hit with the rich, floral fragrance.
Dimly, Jihoon registers the thumb teasing at his entrance, softening the ring of muscle with gentle presses. Soonyoung pulls back with a wet pop, lips slick with spit and precome. The first press of his finger is accompanied by Soonyoung laving at his balls.
The fall into sensation is immediate and easy. Jihoon's back arches when a second finger is introduced and Soonyoung is focusing on the head of his dick. Each breath brings in the taste of lavender and sage and honeysuckle.
Three fingers in and it's obvious that Soonyoung is avoiding his prostate on purpose. He's layering his lower stomach with sucking kisses, a mimicry of his earlier ministrations.
"Please," Jihoon begs, voice cracked with pleasure, but it's not enough. The slight burn on the stretch, the rhythmic slam of Soonyoung fingers squelching in and out of Jihoon's heat, the tightness in his balls and nipples, and all Jihoon wants is more. "Fuck me, I'm ready, Soonyoung— fuck. me. "
Jihoon feels Soonyoung's smirk against the bottom of his navel. The other man stands, dick hard and heavy between his thighs. He strokes himself carefully and if Jihoon didn't want to be fucked so badly, he'd beg for a taste. Next time, his mind supplies, as he watches Soonyoung roll the condom on, a light hiss escaping between his teeth.
"Come here," Soonyoung breathes, reverent in his tone, reverent in the way he grips his tights and pulls Jihoon closer to him by. He's reverent when he pushes in, and Jihoon answers with a punched out moan as an offering to the space between them. "Fuck, you're so tight, baby."
Big, Jihoon wants to say, so big. But the words choke in his throat, lose out to the desperate whines. He's full and stretched and he still wants . "More. Move."
"Fuck yes," Soonyoung grunts. He eases back, then thrusts in hard and sure.
Soonyoung's pace starts slow and steady, hitting just off the edge of Jihoon's prostate. And then, it's building and building and brutal, and finally, Soonyoung aims for his prostate. A wail is ripped from Jihoon's throat, hands fluttering for purchase on books and stalks and his own skin just so he can be grounded.
He's burning, Jihoon is sure of it. He's burning from the inside out, tight and taught, and he wonders if this is what his flowers feel like when they're left out in the sun for too long—overexposed, sensitive, drowning in heat. Yet, he still reaches for the sun.
He drags Soonyoung down, mouthing at his jaw with no finesse until their lips connect. The kiss is messy and rough and Jihoon cannot think of anything better.
Their lips part with a string of saliva connecting them. Jihoon wants to pull Soonyoung back him, wants to have the other swallow his moans on each deep thrust in. With a wicked smile, as if he knows what Jihoon's yearning for, Soonyoung pulls back.
"Soonyo—" Jihoon's whine breaks off, body pulled to the very edge of the table.
Soonyoung guides his legs over his shoulder, he steadies into a rolling grind, reaching deep inside of Jihoon and applying constant stimulation to his prostate. A hand smooths down his twitching thigh, bypassing his aching and leaking cock, up to his heaving chest. Jihoon knows it's coming before it happens.
His body is a livewire and his pierced nipple like an exposed nerve. Soonyoung flicks it with intention, rubs his nipple without remorse. Jihoon shouts, shuddering away from the touch then arching farther into it—body and mind at odds with too much and not enough.
Soonyoung lets his legs drop, thrust growing rough and erratic. "Going to come?"
"Fuck," Jihoon moans, "Yes, yes, yes!"
"Good boy," Soonyoung croons, rewarding Jihoon with a slow drag of his nail over his nipple. It feels like lightning and tears prick Jihoon's eyes, mouth widening on a silent groan. "Come on, baby, touch yourself. Let me see you come."
Jihoon doesn't take long. Soonyoung is hitting his prostate on every thrust and smoothing over his nipple. Gripping himself, Jihoon gives quick tight jerks, twisting on each upstroke. His stomach is coiling tighter and tighter.
He breathes in sharply. He comes with the taste of Jasmine on his tongue, the scent of sex, and flower clogging his lungs. Soonyoung grinds into him throughout his orgasm; his hands ease down to his hips, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into the bone as Jihoon comes down.
"So fucking beautiful when you come," Soonyoung praises. He's slowed to a stop, hands gentle as they run up Jihoon's sides.
Jihoon smiles blearily, mind still soaked in a post-orgasmic haze. He clenches and still feels Soonyoung hard inside of him. "Come."
"Where?"
"Inside."
Soonyoung groans and leans down to lay kisses on every inch of skin his lips can reach. His hips slam into Jihoon, pace reckless and quick, but he avoids Jihoon's prostate, hands still gentling him to avoid overstimulation.
It's easy to ignore the ache settling in, to moan sweetly at each press of Soonyoung's hips into his own. When Soonyoung leans down to capture his lips, Jihoon sucks on his tongue.
Pulling back, Jihoon tugs on Soonyoung's lip ring. "Come for me, please. I want you to come."
Soonyoung's moan is pressed into his lips, slid into his mouth like the flowers Jihoon presses between pages of old botany books. Even through the condom, Jihoon can feel Soonyoung when he comes. He moans as Soonyoung drops further into his embrace, hips thrusting shallowly as he courses through his orgasm.
Things grow still between them. They're a mess of sweat and come and spit and Jihoon is positive he has a scattering of larkspur stuck to his back.
Motion resumes when Soonyoung picks his head up from Jihoon's chest, goofy smile bunching his cheeks and eyes up. Jihoon can't help the twitch of his lips at the sight.
"I'm going to pull out, okay?" Soonyoung waits for Jihoon's answering nod before slipping out slowly. As Soonyoung disposes of his condom, Jihoon cleans up the mess on his stomach with some nearby tissues.
With a sore grunt, Jihoon slowly sits up. Willfully, he tries not to think of the flowers he'll need to throw away or how much Lysol he'll need to sanitize his workspace. Instead, he lets Soonyoung settle back between his legs.
Warm hands cup his cheeks and Soonyoung presses a soft kiss against already kiss swollen lips. "So," Soonyoung drawls, "what do you have in store for me next Sunday?"