Fresh Meat
Description
GTOP pre-debut.
We all have to write one.
this isn't an epic love story or anything, just snippets of what I think went on when gtop was in its early stages.
Foreword
He stole a few glances when Seunghyun was getting changed. It never happened and Jiyong thought he might as well take a peek.
His jaws ended up on the floor.
Seunghyun actually had a six pack and deep hip bones and chocolate brown s and narrow hips with a trickle of hair trailing from his navel down into his boxers. Jiyong’s brain was running at a gazillion miles per hour as Seunghyun’s back graced his vision. It was so wide and tanned and plastered with muscle and beautiful little moles. There was a thin scar near his shoulder blade and Jiyong had the sudden urge to reach over and it into oblivion.
“Stop drooling, you’ll ruin the perfectly polished wooden floors.”
Jiyong stopped in his tracks, dropped his water bottle and suddenly felt the need to fan himself with his hands.
“I’m not drooling. That scar looks painful s’all.”
Seunghyun chuckled deeply and squirmed out of his sweatpants and into a pair of jeans.
Jiyong certainly didn’t notice the Hello Kitty boxers or the way his bulge strained inside them. Jesus, couldn’t he just buy some ing boxers that weren’t too small for him. Seunghyun’s thighs were thick with muscle, his calves were light and ankles were bony. His was taught and Jiyong wondered how it would feel under his hands with Seunghyun’s voice and eyes writhing.
“I burned myself badly a few years ago, no big deal Ji.”
But it was a big deal, because Jiyong was experiencing a hard on and it was because he wanted to that scar and rub it away from the perfect skin that belong to perfect Seunghyun. Well, perfect bodied Seunghyun. Seunghyun’s personality was a different matter.
Egotistical, borderline alcoholic, vain, cold, indifferent, apathetic, insanely foul mouthed. Verus. Gentle, tender, understanding, childish, disgustingly funny and possible one of the most compassionate person Jiyong had come across in his twenty years of living. It was like working with a raging teenage man-child. Always stepping on egg shells and guessing his mood for the day.
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