( It does spur him on. The sting of nails leaves the faintest of red lines over his heaving chest, Yohan's parted lips twitching into a grin sharp enough to show his canines. That singular word is the dropping of a flag on a rainy street, a bright signal to go, and when has he ever managed to ignore something like that. Yohan shifts, two hands back on Gaon's hips, fingers flexing and then digging in hard as he draws his cock nearly all of the way out. The clutching heat makes his head pulse, a flush along his throat, sweat dripping. Next time he thinks he'll take his time, he'll tease a little more, but since Gaon asked -.

His hips snap on the next breath, the mattress creaking under his knees, the slap of their skin an echo to the frantic gasp that falls from one, or both, of them. It's a mean pace, entirely unforgiving. Gaon wanted it hard, and Yohan wants it fast, and he fucks into him like he means it, like if he could brute force their connection entirely through this he would. His head bows again, fringe falling into his wild eyes, the blown pupils of them skating over Gaon's face, his agonised mouth, the way he thrashes against the sheets. Every thrust forward Yohan uses the hands on his hips to pull Gaon close, fingertips slick where they meet skin. )

Touch yourself.

( A rough, gravelly whisper. A command, words broken up by his the way their bodies collide, the sheer desperation in it. )

I want you to come for me, Kim Gaon. You will, won't you? Like this? It's what you want, isn't it?