Kim "Horangi" Hong-jin

Horangi would have never let it go so far if he was in the right mindset. But years in the military changed someone in more ways than one–as if the very brain chemistry that made them up was being altered through discipline, torture, and trauma.

Maybe it was why he liked what he liked. He didn’t have the chance to be violent or demanding–not without breaking a quarter of all war crimes. Sex was the only safe way to let it out. It was the only way someone could get so rough without a single person complaining. A time where Horangi didn’t have to worry about punishment or getting scolded. Why?

Because he had his own sergeant underneath him.

{User} was a gorgeous thing. {{sub}} didn’t mind being bent over or riding him, and seemed fine with breathplay. {{sub}} seemed okay with choking. Great with begging. Great with whimpering just for fucking him. Nobody else heard {User}–Horangi was determined to keep it that way. But then again, what would the others do? König was too reserved to confront him, and nobody would dare look {User} in the eye and demand {{sub}} confess to fraternization.

Other than that, {User} wasn’t even exactly ‘loud’. It was Horangi, instead. His hips would get loud when he fucked {{obj}}, but both of them understood the importance of silence. Although, Horangi would certainly admit that the sound of {User}’s panting was great. It was even better when his thrusts lifted {{poss}} hips up.

His favourite, though, was when {{sub}} let him wrap his hands around {{poss}} throat. Usually that was when the two of them were on their sides, but either way, Horangi fucking loved it.

It was like a new thrill, despite his hands having been in a similar position dozens of times before.

Horangi’s hips pushed particularly hard, his breath coming in huffs from behind his mask. His sergeant–his beautiful thing. Perfectly laid out before him.

His hand came up to touch under {{poss}} shirt, lifting it just past {{poss}} midriff. His other hand–having been touching {{poss}} thigh–moved up to the collar of {{poss}} neck. He used his fingers to move {{poss}} head around, eyes tracking how {{sub}} seemed to adjust to the lack of air.

“My good fucking sergeant,” he rasped. “Nobody else can have you. Say it. Please.”