Work Header

Kinktober 2019

Chapter Text

                Even with the plaid skirt on, Seung Gil can clearly see the bounce of JJ’s ass as he walks, propping up the heavy box of textbooks. The skirt is clearly too short, hiked up and rolled around the waist and hidden behind a loosely buttoned blouse and a beige loose vest. A perky pink bow with the same plaid pattern as the skirt hangs loosely over his chest, outlining the defined collarbones peeking out under the spread collar. JJ turns the corner of the aisle, his indoor shoes squeaking noisily, and Seung Gil’s gaze traces the line of his leg above the wrinkled white socks that cut off under his knee. JJ must notice because he huffs when he sets down the box at the back of the room, acrylic bracelets clattering noisily as he sets his hand against his waist and turns.

                “Sensei,” the skirt flutters prettily over the tops of his thighs, crinkling between his legs when he hoists one onto a chair, “where do you think you’re looking?” Seung Gil doesn’t move from his position at the chalkboard, notes rustling in hand but eyes clearly on the rise of the skirt, showing skin but no panties.

                “He’s probably counting all your dress code violations!” Phichit sings from the opposing corner of the room. Unlike JJ’s garish look, Phichit is modestly dressed in a simple dark two piece sailor uniform. His features a long cuff and a wide collar featuring white braided ribbon and a single long ribbon tie that dips past the ends of his shirt. He hefts up another box of textbooks and Seung Gil doesn’t miss the crinkle of his top against the box, rising upward and showing the flat of his stomach. There’s no camisole to protect his skin from wandering eyes unlike the black hosiery that covers his legs from below the mid-calf pleated skirt. It’s better than JJ’s, sure, but Seung Gil isn’t blind to the flash of his navel when the skirt shifts.

                “There’s nothing wrong with this,” JJ argues, as though he isn’t aware that his skirt is barely decent. He crosses his legs under him, tight, hands coming down to cover any gaps. Phichit whistles appreciatively and the other flusters, tugging the skirt uselessly and Seung Gil is suddenly immensely curious as to what the other is seeing.

                “Oh sure,” Phichit rolls his eyes as he comes closer, rummaging through the already sorted textbook boxes in the back for a spot, “I’m sure our uniforms are the same.” The boxes they’ve already sorted make two long rows across the back and Phichit must rise to tip toes to land the box above the piles, top raising with his arms and Seung Gil stares at the shallow dip in his back loosen when the box slides into place.

                “While you may not have the sheer number of violations Jean-Jacques does,” Seung Gil utters, voice echoing in the tight classroom, “I am not unaware of the shortening of your top, Phichit.” The Thai student pulls down his top from where it has ridden around his chest, the line of his muscles peeking out from the loose fabric. “In fact,” his eyes slide from Phichit to JJ, the latter flinching and hunching over as to hide the blatant skin showing as if Seung Gil hasn’t been drinking in his form the entire afternoon, “as a teacher, I shouldn’t let such attitude slide. It’s only right I deliver a punishment to you both.” Seung Gil’s voice drops low, husky, and the two shiver.

                “Punishment?” Phichit teases, shuffling between the rows of desks to come to Seung Gil’s desk. “What kind of punishment?”

                “Hmm,” Seung Gil hums, alert to the soft pitter patter of JJ following Phichit forward, “how about you two finish cleaning up while I run down to the office to drop off these papers? If you’re not done by the time I return,” his eyes twinkle in knowing, “I’ll have to dole out detention.”

                 “Eh, that’s it?” JJ murmurs. He’s tip toeing around the desk, shoulders hunched forward and steps careful. Seung Gil eyes him for a moment, lingering on the slightly faded hickies that dot the other’s collar, and turns away.

                “I’ll be back soon,” he promises, waving the folder of files in his hands. Phichit hums amusedly at his back, echoing an “okay” as he raises another box. He slides open the door and exits to the rustle of textbooks being moved.

                The door closes behind him and Seung Gil sets down the folders to the floor and kneels, waiting. It’s not like he can wander down to the office in a skirt suit, much less one that barely reaches mid-thigh. Instead, he adjusts the fake glasses they had bought from the 100yen store, poking at the lens-less frames. The sounds of their rummaging in the classroom are barely audible through the door.

                The school itself is nice. Small, clean, and volunteer-friendly. When Yuuri had mentioned to Phichit about the local middle school needing some organization midsummer, JJ had insisted that they should help out. Seung Gil had easily agreed, but Phichit had some terms and conditions to fulfill first. The watch on Seung Gil’s wrist, frilly pink and a gag present, ticked to a minute passing. The sounds of movement in the room stilled.

                Instead, pressed close to the door, the sound of lips meeting lips picked up.

                Seung Gil shifted uncomfortably, leaning against the sliding door. A soft little breathy moan filtered through the gaps in the doorframe. A clattering noise of something hit the floor, and then, silence. Seung Gil held his breath, waiting, until the noise of someone hitting a desk, screeching across the floor, rang.

                He rose. A single hand grasped the handle of the door.

                Seung Gil pulled it open. And shut it firmly behind him, locking the knob.

                “S-Sensei,” Phichit acknowledged, pulling away from where JJ was sitting on a desk, spilled and open textbooks splayed around the table and on the floor. In the dim light of the room, Seung Gil’s eyes followed the string of saliva between the two, pulling long and splitting, splotching the dark fabric of Phichit’s skirt. “That was fast.”

                “It’s late in the day,” Seung Gil explains, waving at the position of the two, “I believe I told you to put away textbooks, not dirty school property.” JJ fakes a pout, pulling at his bottom lip as his legs swing around Phichit’s hips, drawing the Thai in.

                “We’re just entertaining ourselves, sensei. Isn’t it your fault that we’re bored?” Phichit had pulled JJ’s collar wide, wider, the white fabric just barely clinging to the beige vest that loosely fell over his form. A hand traced the curve of Phichit’s ass, neatly wrinkling the thinly pleated skirt between tan fingers. “Sensei, what are you going to do?”

                “It seems that I’m going to need to remind you two of our school’s rules,” Seung Gil answers. He clears his throat, loud in the tension, and marches to the front desk, sharply patting the wooden top. “JJ, come over here.”

                Phichit whines as JJ grins, hopping off the desk with too much excitement for a student to be put into detention. Seung Gil is certain that he’ll manage to change his student’s mind as he rummages through the desk drawer’s contents, pulling out a tool that he wedges between paper stacks. In moments, his troublesome student plants himself firmly on the desk, pleated skirt crinkling into his thighs. Seung-Gil eyes the raised folds in the middle where JJ’s erection presses, but doesn’t move forward to touch his front. Instead, he lightly taps JJ’s lower back.

                “I don’t recall saying to sit.” The Canadian gives a dramatic huff, swinging off and nearly colliding into Phichit’s incoming form. Seung-Gil moves to the side of the desk and hits the center again. “I want you to lay over it.” Phichit’s eyes lit up in recognition even as JJ’s brows furrow and he wanders forward, almost wary, torso hovering over the desk and ass perk in the air.

                “This good, teach?” JJ teases, hips bouncing. Phichit hums from behind, wandering up to his other side opposing Seung Gil.

                “JJ,” Seung Gil’s hand is on him in a second, squeezing the fold of skin between his ass and his upper thighs, forcing him still. “I don’t recall asking you to speak. In fact, I don’t want to hear anything from you but numbers.” JJ freezes in recognition, hands suddenly tense against the table. Seung Gil’s hand wanders upward, lazily playing with the edge of his skirt. “Is that clear?”

                “Yes, sensei.” Phichit moans softly, hands pressed firmly at his side despite his skirt tenting. He smiles at JJ, and the skater relaxes just a fraction. Seung Gil runs his fingers through his undercut, rough at the back and soft in the front, a gentle comfort. His shoulders fall a bit more.

                “JJ,” his other hand leafs through the papers, feeling familiar plastic and pulling it from the pile, “do you trust me? Can I trust you?” His grip on his student’s hair tightens a moment, then relaxes and is pulled away. Without hearing the answer, Seung Gil grips the end of the ruler clutched in his fist and raises it. Phichit swallows, audible and JJ’s breathing quickens at the noise.

                “Yes, yes, I tru-hah!” The slap of the ruler is muffled against the plaid skirt fabric, but there’s no missing the clang of JJ’s knees against the hollow metal of the desk bottom. Phichit moans, a little “ah” noise, hands twitching to touch himself. A glance from Seung Gil stops him, forcing his hands to twist the ends of his skirt in wait.

                “I thought I wanted numbers,” Seung Gil murmurs, low, dangerous. His hand tickles at JJ’s cheeks, gripping the fabric and flipping it upward as the ruler is brought down again. His eyes widen and the ruler slows, just tapping at JJ’s upper thighs rather than slapping his exposed ass. Seung Gil traces over the nude expanse of skin, at the sticky hole and the small trail of precum that’s beginning to trail down his inner thighs.

                “One,” JJ murmurs, tense in wait as a cool wind brushes against his exposed back. Seung Gil doesn’t respond this time, and only the anticipation from Phichit warns him when the ruler is brought back again, this time loud and sharp. His body jerks forward, hands against the table and feet squeaking, as a sudden burst of pain and arousal shoots into his dick. “T-two!”

                The third slap is quick to follow after the second and Phichit sighs in time with the sound echoing, harsh and arousing. JJ’s hands claw against the tabletop for just a moment, mouth loose with shallow breaths when the fourth smack comes straight down. It lands right at the fold of his ass over his thighs and he jumps, knees knocking against the table and back arching at the sting. It looks painful, sounds like it burns and hurts; Phichit swallows when Seung Gil locks eyes with him, fingers slick with precum.

                “Four,” JJ moans, falling back onto the wooden top semi-reluctantly. His elbows scrape against it but it’s nothing compared to the raw burning feeling that’s crawling its way up from where Seung Gil’s hand lays. The ruler comes down again, bouncing against the right side of his ass and he quivers, teeth grinding down and eyes starting to water. Fast, faster than his brain working out numbers, the ruler strikes down again onto the other cheek and this time he does cry, feels a tear trickle down his cheek.

                “Five. Six.” Phichit lets out a breathy sigh, cupping the shape of his dick through the pleated skirt. He rubs his palm over the head, shivering with a quick intake of breath that matches the resounding smack of the ruler. JJ lets out a choked noise, nails clacking against the table top as he takes in a ragged breath. He rolls his shoulders, teeth gnawing at the bottom lip when he murmurs out a quiet “seven.”

                Eight, nine, come in rapid succession, quick smacks ringing in the room. Silence falls over them sans the panting from JJ’s mouth, his hands curling and unfurling, ass a healthy shade of pink. Phichit swallows down his moan, hand pushing down on his crumpled skirt, biting down onto his bottom lip as Seung Gil turns to him. He’s just slightly red, ears burning, when his hand comes down to pinch at JJ. A whine squeaks out of JJ’s mouth, loose, when Seung Gil pries his bottom apart to reveal his waiting hole.

                “Ten!” smacks right along it, a snapping ring that sends spit and drool along the table, a weak sob shivering JJ from his shoulders to his ass. He’s hard, so painfully hard, swallowing and groaning as cold begins to settle against his burning behind.

                Seung Gil drops the ruler onto the table, a simple clatter on the wood. His eyes slide from JJ to Phichit, growing smile on his face as he eyes Phichit’s waiting form, skirt tented so nicely on his hard dick. Crooking his fingers, Seung Gil waits as Phichit’s feet patter close enough to kiss.

                The glasses are a nuisance, unnecessary, as Seung Gil slides his tongue into Phichit’s mouth. They bump the bridge of his nose as he pulls Phichit closer, letting the Thai skater rub his length along Seung Gil’s thighs, a sharp sigh shaking his frame. Seung Gil slides his hand downward, palming the head of Phichit’s dick, drawing another groan from the other. He’s tempted to lift Phichit’s skirt up right now, suck him down to the hilt.

                Instead, Phichit grins up to Seung Gil, biting the inside of his cheek.

                “Sensei,” teasing, light, “shouldn’t we remind our students of the consequences of their actions?” Seung Gil swallows, eying the line of spit from Phichit’s mouth down to his shirt, the glimpse of his tongue running along his bottom lip. Phichit takes a step back, steadying himself against the desk, sliding a hand down the curve of JJ’s spine. JJ groans, head tilting up, red rimmed and tear stained cheek angled towards Seung Gil.

                “Sensei, I don’t think I’ve learned my lesson.” Unfair, unfair, the warmth that curls in Seung Gil’s body. He takes unsteady steps over, heels wobbly, eyes darting between Phichit’s waiting face and JJ’s curious eyes. A greedy part of him wants to take JJ against him, fuck him roughly against the table and spill his cum deep into his body, buried so far in that it won’t even be able to drip out of him when they’re done. But he’s a teacher now, supposedly controlled, and he settles for taking JJ’s hand into his, walking around the table.

                “Phichit, would you like to help me discipline your classmate?” A warm laugh bubbles up Phichit’s throat, eyes sharp, and then he’s lifting his skirt to reveal his legs. Seung Gil’s expecting pantyhose, dark, a line of red around Phichit’s waist from squeezing into him.

                He’s awarded with the sight of lace topped thigh highs, dark against Phichit’s skin, and a delicious lack of panties to cover his dripping cock. Seung Gil swallows, feeling a little more of his authority peel away as Phichit smiles, sharp, dangerous.

                “Ready whenever you are, sensei.” Seung Gil’s tempted to take Phichit against him, leave hickies along his skin, thumbprints and nails scarring his skin. JJ’s hand slides up his skirt, startling, and Seung Gil turns to stare at the messy hair of the Canadian skater glancing at him bemusedly. JJ’s hand taps the wooden desk twice, questioning, prompting a soft chuckle from Seung Gil.

                “I’m good.” Reminder, check. He unzips the back of his skirt, ridiculously short for any teacher, and steps out of his shaking heels. It’s a steadying moment before he can roll down his pair of tights, briefs, stroking along the length of his cock. JJ slides his tongue along his mouth, opening his jaws wide enough for Seung Gil to admire the length of his incisors at the ends, a perfect hole for fucking. JJ swallows, intent on saying something, surely, when he startles forward, hands slapping the table, head thrown down.

                Phichit groans, skirt pooled over JJ’s waist, as he buries himself to the hilt. His eyes slide from JJ’s gasping form to Seung Gil, cheeky, tempting.

                “Sensei, could you please hurry up?” Phichit admonishes. The irony of a student telling his teacher that isn’t lost on Seung Gil, and he grabs JJ’s face, tilting him upward. God, he looks so lovely like this, pink and needy and wet, mouth open in pants as he tries to steady himself against the table. Seung Gil runs his hands along JJ’s hair, combing upward, as he takes a step closer, letting his dick slide along JJ’s wet cheeks. His precum smears dried tears, and his fingers tighten their hold.

                “Good?” Seung Gil breathes. Phichit could break his skull with the force with which he rolls his eyes, hands steady on JJ’s waist as he pulls out. It’s impossible to tell where he is, exactly, with the long skirt pooling on the table, but his hands shake as he slowly slides back in. JJ gasps, eyes closing as he readjusts, hips twitching, red ass bared so prettily into the air. It isn’t until Phichit is fully buried back in him that he releases his breath, turning to kiss at Seung Gil’s head.

                “Good,” JJ murmurs, heated pants along Seung Gil’s dick. He makes a show of licking strips up from his balls to the head of his cock, eyes planted firmly on Seung Gil’s, before opening his mouth wide again. Seung Gil sucks in a breath, hands tightening their hold on JJ, as JJ slides down, taking him to the hilt, his hair tickling the point of JJ’s nose. They’re silent, just for a moment, before Phichit’s rolling his hips out and snapping in again.

                “Gosh, sensei! We really, uh, should hurry up!” Phichit’s vicious grin is lost in a long moan as JJ squeezes him in, clenching down, as Seung Gil lifts his head back and nearly off his dick. So pretty, so fucking pretty.

                Seung Gil wants to make him a fucking mess.

                JJ’s yelp is cut off by the sudden sensation of Seung Gil thrusting himself back into his mouth, rough, wild. Phichit startles behind him, groaning, the desk squeaking as it slides along the floor from the force of his thrust. Seung Gil snaps his hips back again, holding JJ by his hair, and then fucking himself against his mouth, hitting the back of JJ’s throat. Something loose and hungry must take hold of him, for he’s fucking JJ’s mouth relentlessly, grunting and gasping and hissing as squeaks and whimpers are pulled from JJ’s mouth, his eyes sliding shut, unable to resist the affront on both sides.

                “God, fuck, good,” Phichit whines, his voice hitching as his skirt dances along with every thrust. He’s beautiful, sweat beading at his face, eyes pinched in pleasure as a creeping flush makes its way up his throat, bobbing against the sailor collar. His hands move from gripping JJ’s waist to his ass, pulling, pinching at the sore flesh, drawing hisses and grunts from JJ that vibrate up Seung Gil’s dick. Phichit bucks, his spine curling forward, ribbon draping over the small of JJ’s back, groaning.

                Seung Gil wants to fuck them both, like this, slide his dick between theirs. The image draws a heated moan from his throat, vibrating, as his hands draw JJ back and forward again, his balls shaking with every slap of his flesh against JJ’s face. His eyes drink in the view, the blush, the lidded eyes, the wet lashes weighed down as tears begin to prick again at JJ’s eyes, the choking gasps when Seung Gil drives himself to full hilt, hitting the back of his throat relentlessly. He’s grunting, hands pulling harsh at JJ’s hair, wanting to cum on it, cum on him, in him, mark him up as his.

                Then JJ’s shooting forward onto the desk, something akin to a shriek escaping his mouth around Seung Gil’s dick, hands flying out to grasp at his blazer, scrambling for purchase. Seung Gil’s gasping, taking in the blown eyes, the drool dripping down his chin, straying gaze back to the guilty hand pinching at JJ’s ass. The one that delivers another blow to the reddened skin, pulling, slapping, making the sensitive flesh quiver.

                “You look so good like this,” Phichit’s red, immersed, completely stripped of his role as student. When his hand comes down, hard, against JJ’s thighs, JJ’s knees slam against the hollow metal edge of the desk, throat constricting tight around Seung Gil, mixture of scream and sob buried into his skin. Seung Gil hisses, feeling his knees buckle at the sensation, clenching his jaw as he fucks back into JJ’s mouth.

                It’s not a surprise when JJ’s voice mounts, his eyes hazy and unfocused from the onslaught of pleasure, hands digging into Seung Gil’s blazer. It almost hurts, a heated burn, with how harshly JJ swallows him down, throat spasm making drool and precum seep from the corners of his mouth, thoroughly wetting the surface of the desk. JJ’s shoulders freeze up, back arching to an incredible degree, Phichit shouting at how well JJ clenches down on him. The sound of his cum splattering against the table is music to Seung Gil’s ears, and he groans, burying himself impossibly deeper into JJ’s mouth.

                “Fuck, JJ, Phichit, hah, come, come on,” Seung Gil hisses under his breath, fingers digging into JJ’s scalp as his stomach tightens. He’s tempted, so incredibly tempted, to finish inside JJ’s mouth, to fuck himself to completion in that tight, wet throat. But JJ’s been so good, so eager to please, that when his weary eyes make their way up to catch Seung Gil’s gaze, he finds himself pulling out instead, shoulders shaking in suppression of his desire to cum right then and there, making an even prettier mess of JJ’s face.

                “Phichit.” Seung Gil sighs, brief irritation flashing by his face at the continued sound of Phichit’s hips slapping JJ’s, the look of pleasure evident on Phichit’s face. The other skater moans, unabashed, even as JJ’s legs quiver forward, pleading.

                “A, hah, too, wai—nn.” The steady stream of JJ’s whines and pants hit a high when Phichit rams him against the desk, toes curling and knees locking harsh. Seung Gil scowls, tapping his fingers impatiently on the surface, staring at Phichit. The Thai skater groans, eyes rolling back, coming shamelessly into JJ, hips moving relentlessly without rhythm. Seung Gil stares, mouth just slightly agape, as Phichit bows over JJ, hissing, panting.

                “JJ, Seung, Seung Giiill,” Phichit groans. When he finally steadies himself against the desk, releasing JJ’s waist, his skirt falls over the wet splash of cum. His dick swings, a trail of cum leaking onto JJ’s ass as he pants, trembling on the surface.

                 The sight of JJ’s sore ass in the air, gaping and wet, makes Seung Gil swallow. Phichit grins, sliding his hand along the hole, slipping two fingers in with ease and prying another gasp from JJ, elbows banging against the wood. His jaw snaps forward, starry eyes dizzy, tempting Seung Gil ever so to finish in his gaping mouth, sweat and tears and precum dripping.

                “Phichit.” As delicious as the sight is, Seung Gil knows that another round will push JJ too far into headspace, and that he needs a break. Luckily, Seung Gil’s been blessed with two wonderful students, the latter of which who is teasingly running his fingers along the sore skin, watching Seung Gil with crooked eyes. Teasing. Playing.

                “Yes, sensei?” The hem of his shirt’s risen up, baring his navel. That’s right—hadn’t Seung Gil needed to punish him as well?

                “Phichit,” Seung Gil repeats, voice a purr. His gaze narrows, hand tightening in JJ’s hair, as he strokes his dick. Phichit groans, mouthwatering at the sight, though he doesn’t take a step forward. “Take off your skirt.”

                “Isn’t that a bit much, sensei?” Phichit retorts, though he unzips and shimmies off the skirt in a matter of seconds. Half nude, his thighs are sticky and flushed from fucking JJ, and he drags a slow hand up from his balls to his dick. Seung Gil bites down on his lip, feeling the heat he so sharply pushed down swirl again in his stomach.

                “I want to fuck you against the wall,” slips out of his mouth. Phichit gapes for a moment, taken aback, smile wiped, before a creeping flush makes its way up his collar bones to his ears. Phichit takes careful steps closer, shoes pattering on the floor, hips swaying side to side, mesmerizing. By the time he places a hand on Seung Gil, breath just a gentle warmth on his throat, Seung Gil feels fit to burst.

                “Naughty, sensei,” husky, wanting. A shiver shakes Seung Gil, his eyes wandering back down to Phichit’s spent cock. What worry could form in his mind is swallowed down by an insistent tongue in his mouth, Phichit’s heady moans sending vibrations along his teeth down to his dick. It jumps in response to Phichit smoothing down his hand on his thigh, grasping Seung Gil’s hand to come closer to his sticky thighs. When his finger slips into Phichit’s waiting hole, it slides in with ease, and he gasps into Phichit’s mouth.

                Lubed up, ready, sensitive. Phichit’s smile is telling enough, and even Seung Gil can’t hide the sharp bark of laughter that ripples through him.

                How did he manage to acquire such naughty students?

                “It won’t be too much?” Even as he says those words, Seung Gil lifts one of Phichit’s legs to hook properly around his waist, sliding his dick close to Phichit’s dripping entrance. The smile on his lover’s face doesn’t fade, trusting, wanting, and then Phichit’s lowering himself onto Seung Gil’s cock, eyes alight with pleasure.

                “Been waiting, hah, for this,” Phichit corrects him. The back of his thigh bumps against the desk, lace catching on the corner and tearing as Phichit shifts, burying Seung Gil deeper into himself. He sighs, high, full, squeezing himself further down on Seung Gil’s waiting dick. It’s a struggle to not cum simply at the sight of Phichit’s sweating face, eyes drawn down to the decreasing space stopping Phichit from burying himself to the hilt.

                “Fuck,” Seung Gil groans, when Phichit finally does make his way onto him. His hands grapple and dig into his ass, feeling the muscles tighten as they adjust to the intrusion, and Seung Gil bites Phichit’s neck. Part of his collar ends up in his mouth, but it’s nothing more than a cheap uniform, and Seung Gil finds himself digging into the fabric to catch onto Phichit’s skin. The responding quiver from Phichit is glorious, enticing, drawing Seung Gil closer to his finish.

                He’s tempted, so goddamn tempted, to cum right then and there inside Phichit. Seung Gil finds that he deserves it, managing to make it through not climaxing in JJ’s waiting mouth, but the temptation of fucking Phichit well and truly well against the blackboard has him swallowing down the heat burning inside him.

                “Hey, hey, Seung Gil, sensei,” Phichit’s pants are a litter of words and whines, his eyes growing unfocused as he squeezes down on Seung Gil’s cock. Seung Gil narrows in on him, on his pants, on his glassy eyes, on how Phichit’s leg rises to hook around his waist, length buried so well in him. Every movement draws a tremble from his body, and even then, he manages to press his lips against Seung Gil’s.

                “Fuck me, sensei.” What little self-control left within Seung Gil melts entirely at the breathy word, sung straight into his ear. Red hot and eager to please, Seung Gil turns so that Phichit is properly angled against the board, pressing his weight onto the wall. Taking in a careful breath, Seung Gil slides his dick out, feeling Phichit shake around him, cold air rushing in to take the place where his dick was resting. Breath in. Breath out.

                His hips slam into Phichit, making Phichit’s back snap against the board, rattling dangerously as Phichit shouts. Seung Gil growls, needy, heated, hands digging crescent moons into Phichit’s thighs as his hips snap forward and back, unbearably deep into Phichit’s tight ass. Wanton moans and shouts force Phichit’s mouth wide open, his eyes wide as his hair, slick with sweat, stick to the board around him. So pretty, so fucking pretty, forcing Seung Gil to bite at his mouth.

                “Sensei, sensei, Seung, Seung Gil, oh, oh!” Phichit’s gasps are high and needy as his dick bobs against Seung Gil’s stomach, beginning to harden again. It’s incredibly easy to slip his hand down against the head of Phichit’s cock, grinding harshly on the beading slit on top, just to hear Phichit scream, head thrown back. His muscles tighten around Seung Gil, so wet, so eager, a perfect hole for him to fuck into.

                “Phichit, god, so fucking tight, so good,” Seung Gil’s words are a litter of praises and pants, hand angling Phichit to dig into him ever deeper. Based off the shriek and scrambling of Phichit’s legs hastening around his waist, he’s just fucked directly against his sensitive bundle of nerves. Grinning, ferocious, hungry, Seung Gil forces Phichit against the board, fucking sharp and fast against the same spot, drawing deafening shouts and screams from the Thai skater.

                “Fuck!” Lights spark in Seung Gil’s mind as his thighs tighten, hips burying himself deep into Phichit, pleasure overwhelming. His words are lost in a garbled moan, teeth digging into the shiny white ribbon tied around Phichit’s collar, soaking it in sweat and spit. His legs shake, unable to still as he pounds squirts of cum into Phichit, filling him up with warm semen.

                By the time Seung Gil is able to flicker his eyes back up to Phichit’s face, he can only note the blown wide pupils and red cheeks, the tongue hanging loose from Phichit’s lips as he pants. Seung Gil draws hand down, expecting to finish Phichit a second time, only to meet a spent cock, cooling cum spattered on Phichit’s shirt. He quirks an eyebrow at the surprisingly fast performance, tempted to tease Phichit for it, when a hand touches his face. Turning, his lips are quickly caught with a gentle huff, JJ pressing insistently at his mouth.

                “Felt forgotten, for a second there.” The mock jealousy in his words are betrayed by the warmth in his eyes, the unsteady gait in his legs. JJ rests against the desk, skirt still crumpled around his waist, cum leaking out onto the desk, his thighs, pooling underneath him. His dick is half hard again, pretty against his red cheeks, and he angles back to present a better view. Seung Gil swallows, feeling his heart thrum, suddenly wishing that they were a little closer to home.

                “Hey, sensei,” teasing, light, “I have a problem I want you to help me with.”

                They’re never going to finish putting away these textbooks.