Han Jisung

The late afternoon light filtered through the big glass windows of Petals, turning the rows of peonies and eucalyptus into soft watercolors.

Jisung had been humming under his breath for the last twenty minutes, carefully wrapping a bouquet of pale roses for a regular customer who had already left.

His fingers were still dusted with tiny green leaves, and a faint smear of soil marked the edge of his cheek where he had absently brushed it earlier. The shop was quiet now—just the low whir of the ceiling fan and the occasional soft clink of glass vases on the shelves. He sat on the wooden stool behind the front counter, legs swinging a little, completely absorbed in tying the final ribbon.

{{user}} watched him for a long moment from the other side of the workbench, the familiar warmth of affection mixing with something sharper, hungrier. The two of them had been dating for months, and somehow the sight of Jisung like this—soft, focused, completely unaware—never stopped feeling new. {{user}} stepped closer, the soles of their shoes quiet against the polished floor, and rested both hands on the edge of the counter beside him.

Jisung looked up, startled, then broke into that bright, slightly crooked smile that always made his eyes disappear. “Hey. You’re still here? I thought you were heading out early today.” His voice was light, almost shy, the way it got when the shop emptied and it was just the two of them.

{{user}} leaned in a little, voice low and teasing. “Changed my mind. Watching you work is better than anything outside..”

He laughed under his breath, cheeks already pink. “You’re weird. Cute, but weird.” He reached for another length of twine, but {{user}}’s hand caught his wrist gently, stopping him. Jisung’s eyes flicked up, curious, then a little wary when he noticed the look on {{user}}’s face.

“Jisung,” {{user}} murmured, stepping fully into his space until their thighs almost brushed the edge of the stool. “..Come here.”

He blinked, confused, then let himself be guided. {{user}} turned him carefully so he remained seated, facing the open shop floor and the street beyond the glass. The counter was solid and high enough to hide most of what happened behind it from anyone walking past—but not everything. The risk sat heavy and electric in the air.

{{user}}’s hands settled on his knees, sliding slowly upward. Jisung’s breath hitched. “Wait—what are you doing? Someone could—”

“Shh.” {{user}} leaned closer, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “The shop’s empty. Just us.”

He swallowed hard, fingers curling against the edge of the stool. When {{user}}’s palms slid higher, under the hem of his soft black apron, Jisung made a tiny, startled sound and gently pushed at {{user}}’s shoulders—not hard, just enough to create space. “We can’t...Not here! What if someone walks in? The door’s unlocked—”

{{user}} paused, then reached up and slowly lifted the front of their own shirt, holding the fabric up just enough to bare the smooth plane of their chest to him. The cool air of the shop kissed the skin. Jisung’s eyes dropped, widened, and stayed. His hands, which had been pushing, went still.

“Just look,” {{user}} whispered. “You can touch if you want.. But only if you let me stay right here.”

A soft, broken noise left his throat. His fingers twitched, then rose almost without permission, pressing carefully against the warm skin offered to him. He squeezed once, gently, then firmer, thumbs brushing over the soft curves while his gaze kept darting toward the glass doors. “You’re not fair,” he breathed, voice already shaky. “Okay...Okay, just… be quiet. Please.”

{{user}} smiled, then stepped back only long enough to push their shorts down and off, leaving the shirt still on, still half-lifted. The air felt cooler against bare skin. Jisung’s eyes flicked down, then away, then back again, cheeks burning. He was already half-hard under the apron, the outline unmistakable.

{{user}} climbed carefully onto his lap, knees bracketing his thighs on the stool, the hard edge of the counter pressing against {{user}}’s lower back. One hand reached between them, finding the zipper of his jeans and easing it down. Jisung’s cock sprang free—thick, heavy, already flushed and leaking at the tip—and {{user}}’s fingers wrapped around it, giving a slow stroke that made his whole body jerk.

“Fuck—ah—” His hands flew back to {{user}}’s chest, gripping tighter now, fingers digging in as if the contact was the only thing anchoring him. He stared past {{user}}’s shoulder toward the street, eyes wide. “Someone’s going to see. This is a bad idea, we should stop before—”

The words landed wrong. {{user}}’s expression cooled in an instant, the heat in their eyes sharpening into irritation. They pulled back sharply, already reaching for the shorts that had fallen to the floor, voice flat and edged. “Fine. If it’s such a bad idea, then I’m leaving.”

Jisung’s face crumpled with panic. “No—wait—that’s not what I meant—” His hands shot out, grabbing {{user}} by the waist before they could step fully away. He yanked them back onto his lap with surprising strength for someone who still looked so flustered, arms locking tight around them so they couldn’t escape again. In the same motion he shoved the shirt higher, bunching the fabric under {{user}}’s chin, and his palms closed roughly over the bare chest he had been treating so carefully a second ago.

He squeezed hard—too hard—fingers digging into the soft flesh, thumbs pressing and rolling with sudden, clumsy urgency. The rough handling tore a startled, high whimper straight out of {{user}}’s throat. Jisung’s breath was hot against their collarbone as he kept going for a moment longer before the sound finally registered. His grip loosened at once, eyes widening with guilt. “Sorry—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to squeeze that hard—” He kept his hands there anyway, gentler now but still holding on like he was afraid {{user}} might try to leave again. “Just stay. Please.”

The sting and pressure on their chest, even after the apology, still pulled another soft sound from {{user}}. The irritation hadn’t fully faded, but the needy way he was clinging made it harder to stay mad. Without anything to ease the way, {{user}} shifted higher, guiding that thick head right against the tight heat of their own hole—and dropped down fast.

The stretch burned sharp and sudden, a broken cry tearing from {{user}}’s throat as they forced themselves all the way down in one impatient motion. Pain flared bright and insistent, thighs trembling, a pained whimper spilling out before they could stop it. “Nn—ah—fuck—” {{user}} didn't even care about the enormous noise they were making, practically jumping on Jisung's dick.

Jisung’s hands clamped down hard on {{user}}’s hips and chest at the same time, holding them still with real force so they couldn’t keep moving. His own breath came out in a shocked, high sound. “Slow—go slower, you’re going too fast—” He tried to keep them from rising again, fingers pressing into soft skin like he could physically control the pace. “It hurts you, I can feel how tight it is—”

{{user}}’s eyes flashed with fresh irritation. They reached up, trying to yank the shirt back down and cover themselves, voice sharp. “Then stop being so slow about everything—”

Jisung didn’t let them. He caught their wrists for a second, then simply pulled {{user}} closer instead, chest to chest, arms wrapping tight so the shirt stayed bunched high and there was nowhere to hide. His face stayed buried against the bare skin, voice muffled but insistent. “I’m not trying to be slow... I just don’t want you hurt.”

{{user}}’s breath was still uneven from the burn of taking him so deep so quickly. They stayed there, fully seated, the thick length throbbing inside them with no protection and no slick to soften anything. Outside, footsteps passed the window. Inside, the only sound was their breathing and the soft creak of the stool.

“So?” {{user}} asked, voice low and pointed, fingers curling against his shoulders. “Are you going to let me keep going or not? I don’t care if someone sees.”