Because Jungkook was pressing against him, circling his entrance with slow, teasing movements, letting the head pop in slowly before retreating, repeating the whole cycle over again, until he was crying out, nails digging into flesh as he begged.
"Please. Please please please." He couldn't take all of this teasing anymore. He was too worked up, too hard and wired and ready.
"Please what baby?" The head of his cock popped in as he spoke, hips rotating slightly.
"Please fuck me daddy." Only hours ago he would never have imagined those words actually leaving his mouth. Yet here he was, absolutely prepared to say it as many times as it took.
"I thought you'd never ask." There was no time to formulate a reply, then again, it wasn't like his brain was truly capable of coming up with anything. Not when he was being filled so perfectly, one leg being lifted and placed upon a strong shoulder, body shockingly flexible. One day he was really going to have to thank Taehyung for making him go to all of those yoga classes. "You're so tight baby."
Instinctively his walls fluttered and flexed, tightened even more around the thick intrusion, sucking it in even deeper, until the blunt head pressed against that spot and had him seeing stars. He was right back at that edge, so ready to fall over, to feel the shock of intense pleasure that only orgasm could ever bring.
"So close, daddy. Please let me come." He didn't think he could take being denied again. Didn't think he could stop himself from just breaking down into a sobbing mess on his knees.
"Such a good boy. Come for me, Seokjin." That was, possibly, the first time Jungkook had actually used his name all night. And he wasn't entirely sure if it was that, or if it was the way he rolled his hips while buried deep inside of him so his prostate was practically abused that had him flying over the edge, had him releasing thick ropes of milky come, splattering across his own stomach and chest. "Such a messy baby. Look how much you came."
He was so tired, limbs heavy from excretion, brain beginning to shut down, heart pounding as heat settled over him in thick waves. He was content to simply allow the other to use his body as he pleased now, to do whatever he wished. He couldn't come a third time, he had tried. But he honestly didn't mind. There was something special about this too. About knowing that you were being used, about being wanted enough to be used. There was something in his mind that said this was what he was meant for. For being to use. For people to find pleasure in and then discard to the side.
What he hadn't been expecting was for lips to press against his, to draw him back from the daze he had willingly settled down into. For his arms to wrap around strong shoulders as he was lifted, back suddenly being pressed against the cold expanse of the wall opposite the bed. How Jungkook possibly still had enough strength and stamina to actually hold him up while still thrusting into him was beyond his current level of comprehension.
But he was. And it felt so good. The slow drag against his walls. The constant press against his abused prostate. The way his cock twitched in interest as it bobbed between their bodies. The way those lips and teeth littered his collar bone with marks, knowing that his throat and neck were already covered.
Was it because of him that Jungkook hadn't come yet? Was he just not that attractive after all? Was he just not good at all of this? He had never had much confidence to begin with, so honestly that wouldn't even shock him.
Or, more rationally, he just had really good stamina. It was so obvious that he worked out, control and stamina came along with strength. But his mind had never once been rational in all of his life.
"Daddy." Unconsciously his walls tightened, flexed and fluttered, as if trying to milk the thick cock that was still moving within them. "Wanna feel you come inside me."
"Almost there baby." That voice was different, still deep and sultry, but there was something else to it. Something that shook and cracked at the end, and he felt it now. Felt the way those hands gripped him tighter, loved how the nails practically tore into his skin.
He kept himself tighten, squeezing and releasing in quick succession, drawing him in even deeper, until he felt the first thick, hot pulse of come fill him. There was so much, like liquid fire filling him to the brim, until it was leaking down his thighs with every movement and he cried out, head falling back and thumping against the wall with the force of it. It was so much, and as he looked down he saw the way it made his once flat stomach budge slightly, until he was sure he couldn't possibly have room for anymore.
All he remembered after that was a series of soft touches, like a cloth being ran along the length of his body, gentle aftercare that he hadn't been expecting. Then again, absolutely none of this had actually been expected.
Later, he would wonder if all of it had been a dream. If he had just somehow gotten really, incredibly drunk and dreamed the whole night into existence. Except dreams didn't leave you sore and full and leaking when you woke.
Dreams also didn't leave you questioning your sanity. But he definitely was now.
...
When he woke he was alone, the first few rays of the runs light beginning to make it's way through the thick fall of tightly closed curtains. There was no sign that the other man had ever even been there at all. The other side of the bed was cold, like it had never even been laid on. The only clothes to be found littering the floor were his own, although his underwear had, somehow gone completely missing. There was an in suite bathroom, and he waddled into it, every single portion of his body feeling incredibly raw and sore.
As the stream of hot water rushed over him, he tried desperately not to think about the reason for his current state. But it was impossible when there were reminders every where he looked. Deep bruises across his hips and thighs, bite marks on his calf and the inner junction of his leg. Even more along his collar bone and littering his throat. And a matching set of very faint hand prints on his wrist.
It was enough to make him want to throw up.
There wasn't even a note.
Of course there wasn't. He didn't deserve one. He didn't deserve anything. Except for the walk of shame he was currently having to perform, somehow finding his way through the massive maze of hallways that lead back into the room they had originally been in. There was garbage littering the floors, strewn with bodies of people who had either chosen to simply hook up where they were or simply hadn't found anyone. Taehyung was no where to in sight, so he simply stepped over who he could, making his way to the entrance.
Sitting in the back of an Uber where he could feel the driver practically judging him despite constantly asking questions about how his night had gone created the longest ride home of his life. He couldn't wait to get out these clothes. Actually, he couldn't wait to burn them, them technically belonging to Taehyung or not.
One night stands turning into something more only happened in fairy tales and dramas, and he was living in neither.
