Yijung stares up at him, pathetic, shiny tears catching on his eyelashes, wet drool collecting around the edge of the rubber ball gag. he clutches the little stress ball tight in his hand, and Woobin thinks there's nobody quite so pretty as him, nobody never-ever. he pulls Yijung's n****e; listens to the muffled scream. "what do you want?"
Yijung, trying to speak through a mouthful of pink rubber; Yijung, crying in frustration when all that comes out is a burbled mouthful of spit and consonants. he pulls his arms against the soft pink rope; Woobin laughs at him. collects tears on his thumb, sucks them off.
he's so pretty. so, so pretty.
"do you want hyungie?" Woobin coos, his voice soft but his actions hard, tracing his fingertips around Yijung's lips, stretched around the gag. "do you?
