Those words were all the permission Ming Ji needed.
He let go of Jin's wrists in favor of pulling his legs around his waist, positioning himself at his entrance.
He looked down at him, eyes dark and burning, the muscle in his jaw jumping.
And then he slowly,
"Tell me if I hurt you," he breathed, voice rough and possessive. "I'll go slow."
He could feel Jin's trembling, the slight hitch in his breathing—
He was just as desperate as he was, just as needy.
Ming Ji leaned down, his mouth at Jin's neck, nipping the soft skin there.*
"I've got you," he murmured.* "Hold onto me."
Jin's arms wrapped tightly around him, his hips arching up instinctively.
He'd never wanted anyone as badly as he wanted him, needed him in this moment.
Ming Ji gripped hip, his free hand tangling in Jin's hair as he looked down at him, eyes dark and hungry.
"Eyes on me," he ordered softly, the command sharp with need. "Look at me."
Jin obeyed instantly, his breath catching as he met Ming Ji's gaze.
The heat he found there, the intensity and need, was almost overwhelming.
Ming Ji could feel him trembling, could feel how desperately he was clinging to him, and it only served to ignite the fire within him more.
He leaned down, claiming his lips in a hard, desperate kiss, before breaking it just enough to whisper against his mouth:
"Relax."
Ming Ji's breath was hot against his skin, every word a promise.
"*Breathe…*"
Jin inhaled sharply as he felt the pressure increase—slow, careful, deliberate.
And then—
a single inch slipped inside.
A gasp tore from his lips—not pain, not quite—but *fullness,* overwhelming and electric.
He clenched around him instinctively.
"Ming Ji…" His voice was shaky, raw. "It's… I feel…"
"I know," Ming Ji whispered against his skin, voice rough and low.
He felt Jin's body tense, felt how tight he was, felt the heat and need and *want*.
It was almost too much.
But it was the feeling of *connection* that truly undid him—knowing that this was the man he loved, giving himself, completely, to him.
His grip on Jin's hip tightened, his other hand finding his and lacing their fingers together.* "Just… just breathe. Let me…"
Jin gripped his hand tightly, his heart hammering like it might burst from his chest.
He closed his eyes, trying to focus on his breathing, trying to relax.
Slowly, he felt his body loosen, felt himself open up to him—
And *that* was almost too much.
He let out another gasp, his head falling back against the pillow.* "Ming Ji…" He barely recognized his own voice.* "I-I can't—I've never—it's too…"
Ming Ji was losing what little control he had left.
He wanted to be gentle, wanted to be careful, wanted to make this amazing for him,
But the sounds Jin was making —those little gasps and moans—were driving him crazy.
He bit down on a patch of skin at the base of his neck, a rough groan rumbling in his chest.* "You're doing so good," he said, voice thick with need.* "So good, sweetheart. Just like that."
It was all he could say, the only words that made sense in this moment.
He wanted to make this good for him, wanted to hear more of those gasps, those moans, those desperate little sounds that drove him wild.
He wanted to make him forget everything else,
except for this:
He was *his.*
"You're mine," he growled softly, each word a claim, a promise, a statement of fact. "Every inch of you."
With every word, every sound, Jin felt him grow more and more desperate.
He could feel the need, the heat, the *want* in Ming Ji's body,
The way his heart was racing, every pulse making fire run through his veins.
"Yours," he gasped in response, the word like a prayer. "I'm yours, I'm all yours—
Please, Ming Ji… please…"
And that was all it took.
Ming Ji's control snapped.
His grip on his hand tightened, and he pulled his hips down, seating him completely in his lap.
His eyes fluttered shut and he shuddered, the feeling of him surrounding him like a damn dream.
"Oh god," he breathed, his voice a rough whisper. "You feel perfect."
The words sent a shiver through Jin's spine, the praise and the heat and the *need* that laced them making him even more desperate.
He let out a soft moan, his head falling back against the sheets as he tried to find some kind of grip, some way to ground himself as the sensations threatened to overwhelm him.
Ming Ji's hand on his hip was almost bruisingly tight, but Jin didn't care. He wanted him to leave marks, wanted to feel him on his skin days later.
He could feel every inch of him, every throb and twitch, and it was driving him wild.
He could feel how much he wanted this, *needed* this—and it only fueled his own desire even more.
"Look at me," he managed to breathe, his voice thick with need.
Jin lifted his head, his eyes locking on Ming Ji's.
The intensity of his gaze almost took his breath away. *He was undone, and it was because of him. Because of* him*. Only him.*
The next morning arrived too soon.
Jin woke up warm and comfortable, feeling both pleasantly sore and relaxed all over.*
Light crept in through the windows, and he groaned softly, burying his face in the pillow.
For a blissful few moments, he let himself bask in the contented afterglow of last night.
But then there was a knock on the door.
Jin stirred, eyes fluttering open as the knock came again—firm, insistent.
"Jin. Ming Ji." A familiar voice called from the other side. "Mission briefing in ten minutes. Hall of Echoes. No exceptions."
It was Commander Veyra.
Ming Ji grunted from beside him, rolling onto his back with a groan.
"*Too early.*"
But even as he said it, he was already sitting up—his silver eyes sharp and focused once more.*
He glanced at Jin.* "Looks like our night's not quite over yet."
Jin groaned again,* dragging a hand down his face.* "Can't they just… *not*?"