Chapter 1: Black Bean Revenge
The dorm kitchen hummed with the residual heat of dinner, a chaotic monument to eight young men who were, technically, adults. Empty plastic containers from various delivery services formed a small skyline on the counters. The air clung thick with the scent of garlic, soy, and the particular, glossy aroma of black bean paste. Jeongin stood before the stove, a ridiculous pink apron tied around his waist, a smirk playing on his lips that had nothing to do with cooking.“Jjajangmyeon duty. For a week. Nice going, asshole,” Han had cackled hours earlier, flicking Jeongin’s ear before bounding off to some gaming livestream. Revenge for the shampoo-swapped-with-hot-oil incident.Fair enough.But Jeongin never settled for fair.He settled for spectacular.
The pot of noodles sat cooling on the cracked granite counter, its surface a deep, inviting black. Jeongin glanced down the hallway. Thumping bass from someone’s headphones, the distant shout of a video game death.He was alone. The metallic click of the lock on the kitchen door was obscenely loud.
His heart wasn’t racing with anxiety; it was thumping with a low, dirty excitement.This was better than any prank.This was intimate.This was power.
He leaned back against the counter, the cool edge biting into his palms.His jeans were already feeling tight. He unbuttoned them slowly, the rasp of the zpper a deliberate sound in the quiet. He shoved his pants and boxers down past his hips, the humid kitchen air a shock against his skin. He was already half-hard, his cock thickening against his stomach. He let out a slow breath, his eyes fixed on the bowl of noodles destined for Han.
He spat into his own palm, a sharp, wet sound.He wrapped his fingers around his shaft, giving a slow, testing pull. A soft groan escaped him.Fuck, he was eager. He was fully hard in seconds, a thick, heavy weight in his hand. His pubes were dark and coarse, a musky scent rising from his groin that cut through the food smells—something animal, something entirely him.Pre-cum beaded at the slit, a clear, shiny pearl. He swiped his thumb over it, spreading the slickness down the head, a shiver running up his spine. “Yeah,” he whispered to the empty room.
He started to stroke, a lazy, up-and-down motion, his fist gliding smoothly. The sound was filthy—a wet, rhythmic squelch of skin on skin. He twisted his wrist on the upstroke, thumb pressing into that sensitive spot just under the head.His other hand dropped to cradle his balls, heavy and full, already drawing up tight. He squeezed them gently, a bolt of sharp pleasure making his hips jerk.
“Think you’re so funny, Han-ah?” he muttered, his voice rough. His strokes became faster, more urgent.His breath hitched. The image in his head wasn’t sexual; it was Han, shoveling the food into his mouth, that stupid, triumphant grin on his face. He imagined the moment of realization, the confusion, the horror. It sent a jolt of pure, dark heat straight to his gut.He leaned forward, bracing one hand on the counter beside the bowl. His cock slapped against his stomach with each frantic pump. The room was filled with the sound of his own ragged breathing and the slick, messy noise of his hand fucking his own dick. Sweat beaded on his forehead.He was close.So close.
With a grunt, he grabbed the bowl of jjajangmyeon. He held it right below his cock, the dark noodles glistening mere inches from his aching head. He let go of his shaft, letting it bob over the bowl, the tip angry red and leaking steadily now.He aimed.
His orgasm tore through him not with a shout, but with a deep, guttural groan that felt ripped from his chest. The first jet was the strongest, a thick, ropy arc of white that landed square in the center of the black sauce with a soft, wet plop. The second and third pulses followed, splattering across the noodles, painting stark, milky stripes against the dark glaze. He kept milking himself, his body shuddering, until the last few drops dripped from his spent cock into the mess below.
He stood there for a moment, panting, watching his cum slowly sink into the warm sauce, some strands pooling on the surface, others disappearing into the depths. It was a grotesque, perfect addition.Still holding the bowl, he picked up the chopsticks.He stirred. Carefully at first, then with more vigor, folding his release into the noodles and sauce until it was fully, seamlessly integrated.A special secret ingredient. He lifted a noodle-clumped chopstick to his lips, tasting the salty, savory sauce.It tasted normal.Perfect.
He cleaned himself up with a paper towel, dressed, and rinsed the chopsticks. He placed the bowl in the microwave, setting it for a minute. Just enough to reheat it subtly, to ensure Han wouldn’t suspect a thing.When the microwave beeped, he took the steaming bowl and walked down the hall. He pushed open Han’s door without knocking. Han was slumped in his gaming chair, controller in hand, glaring at a respawn screen.
“Your dinner, you lazy fuck,” Jeongin said, his voice perfectly even.He set the bowl on the desk.Han barely glanced at him. “About time.I’m starving.” He put his controller down, grabbing the chopsticks.
Jeongin lingered in the doorway, leaning against the frame, arms crossed. He watched as Han dug in, taking a huge, messy mouthful. He chewed enthusiastically, sucking a stray strand of noodle into his mouth.“Good?” Jeongin asked, his tone light.
“Better than you deserve, you little shit,” Han mumbled around another bite, sauce at the corner of his mouth.
Jeongin’s smile was slow and entirely genuine. “Enjoy every bite, hyung.”
He turned and walked back to the kitchen, the sounds of Han’s contented eating fading behind him.He started washing the cooking pot, the warm water soothing on his hands.The revenge was complete. It was in Han’s stomach now, a part of him.A private, filthy victory. Jeongin hummed to himself, a low, tuneless sound of pure satisfaction. The week of kitchen duty stretched ahead, but it felt lighter already.He wondered what he’d cook tomorrow. Something with a lot of sauce, probably.