"¡callarse la boca! - hazme." pt2

SunSun: Pretty Boy, Prada Boy

Sunoo was eighteen when his life was ripped out from under him. A broken ankle might not have ended another trainee’s career, but his body was never on his side. It always fought against him, made healing more taxing, illnesses more strenuous—and somehow he knew the prognosis even before the doctor turned his watery, pitying eyes toward him.

He recovered at his parents’ place for three months. Then, he packed his bags in the middle of the night and caught the train back into Seoul. He wasn’t going to be another one of their burdens. He wasn’t going to be trapped in the house that he grew up in.

So he worked odd jobs. While the boys he trained with got their pretty faces on billboards, he used his for crumpled bills in Hongdae and Itaewon. He was pretty enough for men to want to unload their wallets on him and charming enough to slip away from their groping hands and leering looks. Or maybe that was just luck.

He never really wanted help. He never wanted to become a kept woman.

And then, he met Sunghoon. Tall, dark, handsome. Rich.

First, he was just a regular at the bar Sunoo worked at. And then a good tipper. And then a hookup. It took almost a year of flirting and fucking and pillow talk for Sunghoon to convince Sunoo to borrow his black card for extravagant purchases. Another six months for Sunoo to call him his boyfriend. Three more to needle him into moving into his penthouse. And one more for good measure for Sunoo’s ego to not feel too tender when Sunghoon paid for simple things and refused to take his money.

But, it’s been almost a year since then and Sunoo gets it now. Sunghoon gets off on buying him things—in all senses of the word. If Sunoo lines up a spending spree on a day that Sunghoon checks his credit card statements, he can be sure he’ll be fucked into the mattress until he’s in tears that night. If he quietly asks for a weekend away at Sunghoon’s house on Jeju because he misses spending time with him, Sunghoon’s eyes will soften and he’ll go on to move heaven and earth to make it happen.

Sunoo likes it. The fiery attention, the money, the adoration. He’s given up his ego in exchange for his view of the Seoul skyline and his collection of designer lingerie. Ego is a small price to pay when his parents have a new house and he gets to hang off Sunghoon’s arm at exclusive clubs and get wasted with the famous boys he used to train with.

Sunoo never wanted to be a kept woman, but if he knew that meant getting fucked over the marble counter he demanded Sunghoon install in their kitchen, he probably would have dreamed about it. Sunghoon dotes on him. Lets Sunoo suck his cock in front of their floor to ceiling windows, fingers him open on their one million thread count sheets, rims him in their rain shower until his knees are knocking together—it's paradise.

Sunoo is a trophy boy. He lives in the lap of luxury, indulging all of his desires with Sunghoon’s money and Sunghoon’s body, and Sunghoon still loves him for it. In the next few years, he’ll probably become a trophy wife, with a big rock on his finger but a small wedding, and his paradise will stretch out infinitely ahead of him. But in the meantime, they’ll keep playing house. Sunghoon as the perfect working husband and Sunoo as the needy, simpering wife, demanding in only the sweetest of ways.

It’s perfect for them.

~

The elevator dings and Sunoo grins from where he’s laid out on their sectional. He counts Sunghoon’s steps and stretches his body out into a sinuous curve just as he strides into their living room. He tilts his head toward him and has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep up the coy act.

Sunghoon manages talent. Maybe, in a different life, Sunoo would have met him at an industry party and tried to fit himself under his wing. He takes good care of his clients, connects them through the industry, fights for them against shitty companies or abusive environments, having worked up out of low level management for idols into what he does now. What exactly he does is nebulous—but it lines their pockets, along with his trust fund, gets them into parties, and surrounds them with wealth on all sides.