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ficlet dump
kris/suho, pg, 1k
originally posted here. prompt was 'kris sees suho is one of his shirts and gets ~emotional~ :3'
Yifan curses as shampoo runs into his eyes, the pain making him flinch and jump, scrubbing furiously at his face with his hands. It takes him several long minutes, standing with his head bent to fit under the shower head, before the stinging goes away and he can see again. Well, he might not have been awake earlier, but he's certainly awake now.
If Yifan had had his way, he wouldn't even be out of bed right now. He's sure he's saved up a few vacation days, can't he take a long weekend once in a while? Not, unfortunately, when you have deadlines looming, and you'd like to hang on to your job.
So Yifan stumbles out of the shower and he drags on a suit and fights with his tie for several minutes longer than he'd like. His bed is empty, which makes him even more grumpy, but he swallows that back. He's not the only one with a job, Joonmyun had probably slipped out while Yifan was in the shower. He feels a little sad about it, but he gets it.
This is why, when he heads into the kitchen a few minutes later to make himself some instant coffee to get him to work, he's stopped dead by the sight of Joonmyun in front of the stove. He's only thrown on one of Yifan's old t-shirts, the neckline stretched wide and hanging from one shoulder, and he can see his tight dark boxer briefs peeking out from under the hem. He's so much smaller than Yifan that the shirt barely stays on him, exposing a stretch of chest and shoulder that makes Yifan swallow hard. "You've got a few minutes, right?" Joonmyun asks, and he smiles. "The rice is almost done." Before Yifan can speak, Joonmyun shrugs a shoulder. "Decided to work from home today," he says. "Jongdae's always telling me not to be such a workaholic."
Yifan fumbles with his tie, still not quite tied, and tries to remember how to speak. "I guess I've got time for breakfast," he says
Joonmyun rewards him with another broad smile and turns back to the stove as Yifan slides into a seat at the table. They've been doing this for a while now, since they met when Joonmyun's paper did a piece on Wu Yifan, the youngest man to be named CEO of his firm, and Yifan supposes he's gotten pretty comfortable with the way things work, seeing each other a couple of times a week. This is the first time that Joonmyun's ever slept over, though, on a work night no less, and the last thing that Yifan really expected was for him to stick around.
The thing that gets him, too, is how comfortable Joonmyun looks. He's got no problem at all rifling through Yifan's cupboards for the things that he needs, and Yifan's got no problem with the way that his shirt hangs low on Joonmyun's chest, showing pale collarbones and the bruise he'd sucked into Joonmyun's skin last night. Yifan is a busy man, he doesn't have time for relationships or anything like that, he pulls too many late nights and weekend shifts at work for that to be feasible. That's what he'd liked about his arrangement with Joonmyun - Joonmyun was busy too. He understood.
But sitting here in his kitchen, while Joonmyun stands there in one of Yifan's own shirts, whipping him up a quick breakfast, this is something different. It makes Yifan's throat work and his heart beat a little bit too fast, and it makes him wonder.
It doesn't take long before Joonmyun slides the plates onto the table in front of Yifan, pulling out the chair across from him and sitting down himself. "I'm no chef," he says, "but this is better than your usual morning donut."
Yifan pauses with his chopsticks halfway to his mouth. "I don't /always/ get a donut," he protests. It's true - sometimes he's only got time for coffee in the morning. Joonmyun just laughs at him.
They don't talk much as they eat, Yifan's a poor conversationalist at best and he's worse when his coffee is still working its way into his system, but Joonmyun doesn't seem to mind. He kicks one foot up into Yifan's lap as they eat, raising his eyebrows as his lips quirk up, and Yifan thinks he might melt.
This isn't what this was supposed to be. It was supposed to be an arrangement of convenience, a situation where both of them can get what they need, but this is something more. Yifan finishes his food and he gets to his feet slowly, and Joonmyun bites his lip. "Sorry," he says. "I should get dressed and get out of here so you can get to work."
Yifan finds he's speaking before he even really meant to. "You can stay," he says. "If you want?" He toys with one of the empty bowls, turning it in little circles on the table. "You're always complaining about how noisy your building is, it might be less distracting." That's a patent lie, Joonmyun's maybe mentioned it once or twice, but he's smiling again, bright and wide and just for Yifan.
"Are you sure?" he asks, getting up to gather the dishes.
"I don't mind. It'd be nice to come home to somebody," Yifan says, shrugging to downplay his words even as he feels the flush creep up his throat.
Joonmyun doesn't say anything, just bites his lips and sets the dishes down again. He uses Yifan's tie to tug him down to Yifan's level, careful not to rumple his suit, and he cups Yifan's face in his fingers. "Well," he says, and Yifan drops his hands to rest against Joonmyun's hips, "since you asked so nicely."
He kisses Yifan then, sweet and lingering and proprietary, and god, does Yifan wish he doesn't have to work today. "Have a nice day at work," Joonmyun says. He sends Yifan out the door with a travel mug full of hot, brewed coffee and a pat on the ass, and Yifan hopes that for once, today will go quickly.
He's got someone waiting at home.
If Yifan had had his way, he wouldn't even be out of bed right now. He's sure he's saved up a few vacation days, can't he take a long weekend once in a while? Not, unfortunately, when you have deadlines looming, and you'd like to hang on to your job.
So Yifan stumbles out of the shower and he drags on a suit and fights with his tie for several minutes longer than he'd like. His bed is empty, which makes him even more grumpy, but he swallows that back. He's not the only one with a job, Joonmyun had probably slipped out while Yifan was in the shower. He feels a little sad about it, but he gets it.
This is why, when he heads into the kitchen a few minutes later to make himself some instant coffee to get him to work, he's stopped dead by the sight of Joonmyun in front of the stove. He's only thrown on one of Yifan's old t-shirts, the neckline stretched wide and hanging from one shoulder, and he can see his tight dark boxer briefs peeking out from under the hem. He's so much smaller than Yifan that the shirt barely stays on him, exposing a stretch of chest and shoulder that makes Yifan swallow hard. "You've got a few minutes, right?" Joonmyun asks, and he smiles. "The rice is almost done." Before Yifan can speak, Joonmyun shrugs a shoulder. "Decided to work from home today," he says. "Jongdae's always telling me not to be such a workaholic."
Yifan fumbles with his tie, still not quite tied, and tries to remember how to speak. "I guess I've got time for breakfast," he says
Joonmyun rewards him with another broad smile and turns back to the stove as Yifan slides into a seat at the table. They've been doing this for a while now, since they met when Joonmyun's paper did a piece on Wu Yifan, the youngest man to be named CEO of his firm, and Yifan supposes he's gotten pretty comfortable with the way things work, seeing each other a couple of times a week. This is the first time that Joonmyun's ever slept over, though, on a work night no less, and the last thing that Yifan really expected was for him to stick around.
The thing that gets him, too, is how comfortable Joonmyun looks. He's got no problem at all rifling through Yifan's cupboards for the things that he needs, and Yifan's got no problem with the way that his shirt hangs low on Joonmyun's chest, showing pale collarbones and the bruise he'd sucked into Joonmyun's skin last night. Yifan is a busy man, he doesn't have time for relationships or anything like that, he pulls too many late nights and weekend shifts at work for that to be feasible. That's what he'd liked about his arrangement with Joonmyun - Joonmyun was busy too. He understood.
But sitting here in his kitchen, while Joonmyun stands there in one of Yifan's own shirts, whipping him up a quick breakfast, this is something different. It makes Yifan's throat work and his heart beat a little bit too fast, and it makes him wonder.
It doesn't take long before Joonmyun slides the plates onto the table in front of Yifan, pulling out the chair across from him and sitting down himself. "I'm no chef," he says, "but this is better than your usual morning donut."
Yifan pauses with his chopsticks halfway to his mouth. "I don't /always/ get a donut," he protests. It's true - sometimes he's only got time for coffee in the morning. Joonmyun just laughs at him.
They don't talk much as they eat, Yifan's a poor conversationalist at best and he's worse when his coffee is still working its way into his system, but Joonmyun doesn't seem to mind. He kicks one foot up into Yifan's lap as they eat, raising his eyebrows as his lips quirk up, and Yifan thinks he might melt.
This isn't what this was supposed to be. It was supposed to be an arrangement of convenience, a situation where both of them can get what they need, but this is something more. Yifan finishes his food and he gets to his feet slowly, and Joonmyun bites his lip. "Sorry," he says. "I should get dressed and get out of here so you can get to work."
Yifan finds he's speaking before he even really meant to. "You can stay," he says. "If you want?" He toys with one of the empty bowls, turning it in little circles on the table. "You're always complaining about how noisy your building is, it might be less distracting." That's a patent lie, Joonmyun's maybe mentioned it once or twice, but he's smiling again, bright and wide and just for Yifan.
"Are you sure?" he asks, getting up to gather the dishes.
"I don't mind. It'd be nice to come home to somebody," Yifan says, shrugging to downplay his words even as he feels the flush creep up his throat.
Joonmyun doesn't say anything, just bites his lips and sets the dishes down again. He uses Yifan's tie to tug him down to Yifan's level, careful not to rumple his suit, and he cups Yifan's face in his fingers. "Well," he says, and Yifan drops his hands to rest against Joonmyun's hips, "since you asked so nicely."
He kisses Yifan then, sweet and lingering and proprietary, and god, does Yifan wish he doesn't have to work today. "Have a nice day at work," Joonmyun says. He sends Yifan out the door with a travel mug full of hot, brewed coffee and a pat on the ass, and Yifan hopes that for once, today will go quickly.
He's got someone waiting at home.
kris/kai, pg, 331 words
originally posted here. prompt was 'kris/jongin, pretending to be married'.
Jongin is wobbly after the reunion, but Kris steadies him, standing just behind him so that Jongin can lean his weight against him. It’s very convenient. “Room for two,” Kris says. Jongin lists to the side, but Kris steadies him with an arm around his waist. “Uh, one bed will be fine.”
"Yes," Jongin agrees suddenly, the alcohol making the words come easily, his filter disengaged. "We’re married," he confides in the woman behind the desk. She nods politely at him, looking bored. "Newlyweds!"
It’s a lie. He’s known Kris for years, but they’ve only been dating for a handful of months, and something so serious isn’t even on the horizon yet. Kris sighs into his hair and tightens his fingers on Jongin’s hip. “Jongin,” he says warningly. Jongin ignores him. Kris spent all night catching up with Yixing, didn’t even dance with him once. He’s due for a little vengeance.
"Would you like the honeymoon suite?" the receptionist asks. She blinks at them expectantly.
"We’re fine," Kris assures her. "Just one room, queen-sized bed." Jongin snorts at ‘queen’, and Kris turns towards him again. "You’re such a kid when you’re drunk," he says quietly, but he sounds more fond than annoyed. Not much more fond, but Jongin figures it’ll do. Besides, Kris hadn’t corrected him. He likes that.
"Congratulations," the woman says when they’re done checking in and she hands over the key cards with a smile.
Kris blinks at her for a second, and then he remembers. “Ah, yeah,” he says, and he waves a hand vaguely. “Thanks, I’m a lucky man and stuff.”
It’s silly, but it still makes Jongin smile, pleased.
They make it to the elevator and Kris looks down at him, one big hand around the back of his head. “Real lucky,” he says, and his tone makes it sound halfway truthful, halfway teasing, and Jongin loves it.
"Yes," Jongin agrees suddenly, the alcohol making the words come easily, his filter disengaged. "We’re married," he confides in the woman behind the desk. She nods politely at him, looking bored. "Newlyweds!"
It’s a lie. He’s known Kris for years, but they’ve only been dating for a handful of months, and something so serious isn’t even on the horizon yet. Kris sighs into his hair and tightens his fingers on Jongin’s hip. “Jongin,” he says warningly. Jongin ignores him. Kris spent all night catching up with Yixing, didn’t even dance with him once. He’s due for a little vengeance.
"Would you like the honeymoon suite?" the receptionist asks. She blinks at them expectantly.
"We’re fine," Kris assures her. "Just one room, queen-sized bed." Jongin snorts at ‘queen’, and Kris turns towards him again. "You’re such a kid when you’re drunk," he says quietly, but he sounds more fond than annoyed. Not much more fond, but Jongin figures it’ll do. Besides, Kris hadn’t corrected him. He likes that.
"Congratulations," the woman says when they’re done checking in and she hands over the key cards with a smile.
Kris blinks at her for a second, and then he remembers. “Ah, yeah,” he says, and he waves a hand vaguely. “Thanks, I’m a lucky man and stuff.”
It’s silly, but it still makes Jongin smile, pleased.
They make it to the elevator and Kris looks down at him, one big hand around the back of his head. “Real lucky,” he says, and his tone makes it sound halfway truthful, halfway teasing, and Jongin loves it.
sehun/lu han, pg, 505 words
originally posted here. prompt was 'genderswap hunhan!'.
Lu Han is fascinated. “Huh,” he says, cupping one of his new breasts in his hand. They’re not spectacular, but they’re nicely shaped, and Sehun kind of wants to explore them. “These are new.”
Sehun’s got a couple of his own, too. They’re a little bigger, a little softer, and he’s a little bit terrified. “Not bad,” he jokes.
"Oh," Lu Han leans over squinting at him, “You too!" He scrunches up his nose for a second. “Yours are nicer. That’s unfair." He reaches out, like he wants a touch, but Sehun shies away. It’s still too…weird. Lu Han frowns at him, the way he always does when Sehun is being bratty, and even if his shoulders are a little bit narrower, it’s reassuringly familiar. “Sehun-ah," Lu Han says reproachfully. “Don’t run away from your hyung."
"I’m not running away," Sehun scowls, but he still starts when the door opens and Kyungsoo comes in, towel around his waist and hair dripping.
He narrows his eyes, looking between the two of them. “I’m going to go crash with Chanyeol,” he decides, turning on his heel and disappearing out the door. It’s a good thing Chanyeol doesn’t mind sleeping on the floor.
"You look sour," Lu Han says. He slides off his bed and approaches Sehun tentatively. He hasn’t lost much of his height, or his muscle, and he doesn’t seem ill-at-ease in a body that isn’t quite what it was when he went to bed this morning.
"It’s weird," Sehun says helplessly. He can feel them when he moves, the weight of them against his chest, and he hasn’t even yet been brave enough to to sneak a peek in his boxers. “We just like, woke up with the wrong parts. Isn’t that weird?"
Lu Han knocks his knee against Sehun’s and grins. “Not as weird as the time I woke up in BAP’s dorm,” he points out. “Now that was weird. I had to learn to deal with seeing those rabbity teeth every time I looked in the mirror. Now that is true hardship.”
"He’s handsy," Sehun grumbles. “Do you know how much he grabbed my ass while you were gone?"
"See?" Lu Han says. He rests a hand against the dip of Sehun’s waist. “And you make a hot girl. Quit worrying."
Sehun leans helplessly into the touch. “Hotter than you,” he agrees, and he gets a pinch for his trouble.
"I don’t know about that," Lu Han sniffs. Sehun tips his head until his forehead is pressed against Lu Han’s shoulder. “Just enjoy it, Sehun-ah. The ride will be over soon enough."
Maybe he woke up a little bit different from the way he went to bed, but Lu Han’s hand on the small of his back is definitely helping. “Only if you admit I’m a hotter girl,” he says. Lu Han pinches him again.
Sehun’s got a couple of his own, too. They’re a little bigger, a little softer, and he’s a little bit terrified. “Not bad,” he jokes.
"Oh," Lu Han leans over squinting at him, “You too!" He scrunches up his nose for a second. “Yours are nicer. That’s unfair." He reaches out, like he wants a touch, but Sehun shies away. It’s still too…weird. Lu Han frowns at him, the way he always does when Sehun is being bratty, and even if his shoulders are a little bit narrower, it’s reassuringly familiar. “Sehun-ah," Lu Han says reproachfully. “Don’t run away from your hyung."
"I’m not running away," Sehun scowls, but he still starts when the door opens and Kyungsoo comes in, towel around his waist and hair dripping.
He narrows his eyes, looking between the two of them. “I’m going to go crash with Chanyeol,” he decides, turning on his heel and disappearing out the door. It’s a good thing Chanyeol doesn’t mind sleeping on the floor.
"You look sour," Lu Han says. He slides off his bed and approaches Sehun tentatively. He hasn’t lost much of his height, or his muscle, and he doesn’t seem ill-at-ease in a body that isn’t quite what it was when he went to bed this morning.
"It’s weird," Sehun says helplessly. He can feel them when he moves, the weight of them against his chest, and he hasn’t even yet been brave enough to to sneak a peek in his boxers. “We just like, woke up with the wrong parts. Isn’t that weird?"
Lu Han knocks his knee against Sehun’s and grins. “Not as weird as the time I woke up in BAP’s dorm,” he points out. “Now that was weird. I had to learn to deal with seeing those rabbity teeth every time I looked in the mirror. Now that is true hardship.”
"He’s handsy," Sehun grumbles. “Do you know how much he grabbed my ass while you were gone?"
"See?" Lu Han says. He rests a hand against the dip of Sehun’s waist. “And you make a hot girl. Quit worrying."
Sehun leans helplessly into the touch. “Hotter than you,” he agrees, and he gets a pinch for his trouble.
"I don’t know about that," Lu Han sniffs. Sehun tips his head until his forehead is pressed against Lu Han’s shoulder. “Just enjoy it, Sehun-ah. The ride will be over soon enough."
Maybe he woke up a little bit different from the way he went to bed, but Lu Han’s hand on the small of his back is definitely helping. “Only if you admit I’m a hotter girl,” he says. Lu Han pinches him again.
kris/kai, pg, 530 words
originally posted here. prompt was 'i'm here to demand kris x kai bodyswapping'.
Jongin’s not exactly short, but this is straight up ridiculous. “Oh my god,” he says, stretching one massive hand out and blinking at it. “How do you do this?”
"Do what?" Kris asks. It’s bizarre, hearing his deep voice come out of Jongin’s own face. He looks up from where he’s pulled Jongin’s shirt up, sneaking a peek at Jongin’s abs, and clears his throat. “I grew that way. I had time to get used to it."
Kris is soft where Jongin is firm, solidly built. Jongin flexes an arm and watches the muscle shift under his skin. “No wonder you need private dance lessons,” Jongin says. He reaches out to slug Kris and misjudges the distance again, hitting him too hard with one of Kris’ own massive hands. He watches his face flinch, and hopes he’s not the one that will end up with a bruise. “You’re like a newborn baby giraffe.”
"Hey." Jongin watches the annoyance cross Kris’ face. It’s fascinating. It’s such a Kris expression, irritation clearly broadcast, but it’s his own face. “I’m not that bad."
Jongin shrugs one of Kris’ broad shoulders. “You got better,” he allows. He thinks that this is probably the one area he can be a bit cocky about.
Frowning, Kris pushes at Jongin’s chest with one hand, like he always does. It doesn’t have the same force behind it, and Jongin doesn’t topple over. He grins. “I guess there are some perks to this,” he says.
"You like being manhandled," Kris grumbles, and his eyes get wide when Jongin settles his big hands against his waist and knocks him back against the bed.
"Do you?" Jongin asks. It’s a little disorienting, pinning someone to the sheets who’s wearing his face. Kris leans up but Jongin rears back out of reach. “Ugh," he wrinkles his nose. “I can’t do it. Don’t kiss me with my mouth."
Kris smirks, and for a brief second, Jongin wonders if it’s weird to find that kind of sexy. “Why? Because you know where it’s been?”
He makes a noise of complaint when Jongin slaps his palm down on his face. It’s an effective gesture, with a hand like Kris’. “Stop talking, hyung,” he says. It’s comforting, this kind of talk. It stops Jongin from having to worry about what happens if this doesn’t change, if Kris is stuck in his body and he has to do his uncoordinated best to fill the role of main dancer. Or worse, he would be stuck as Kris, and he’d have to talk in interviews. He can’t think of much that would be scarier than that.
"Hey," Kris says, and Jongin focuses down on him. “Don’t worry. It probably won’t last." He taps Jongin’s knee. “And in the mean time, you’d better keep up my skincare regimen."
Jongin groans and flops forward. “Ugh, hyung,” he whines, and Kris laughs, stroking his hair. It feels just different enough to be kind of weird, but it’s still nice. It’s still Kris, after all.
"Do what?" Kris asks. It’s bizarre, hearing his deep voice come out of Jongin’s own face. He looks up from where he’s pulled Jongin’s shirt up, sneaking a peek at Jongin’s abs, and clears his throat. “I grew that way. I had time to get used to it."
Kris is soft where Jongin is firm, solidly built. Jongin flexes an arm and watches the muscle shift under his skin. “No wonder you need private dance lessons,” Jongin says. He reaches out to slug Kris and misjudges the distance again, hitting him too hard with one of Kris’ own massive hands. He watches his face flinch, and hopes he’s not the one that will end up with a bruise. “You’re like a newborn baby giraffe.”
"Hey." Jongin watches the annoyance cross Kris’ face. It’s fascinating. It’s such a Kris expression, irritation clearly broadcast, but it’s his own face. “I’m not that bad."
Jongin shrugs one of Kris’ broad shoulders. “You got better,” he allows. He thinks that this is probably the one area he can be a bit cocky about.
Frowning, Kris pushes at Jongin’s chest with one hand, like he always does. It doesn’t have the same force behind it, and Jongin doesn’t topple over. He grins. “I guess there are some perks to this,” he says.
"You like being manhandled," Kris grumbles, and his eyes get wide when Jongin settles his big hands against his waist and knocks him back against the bed.
"Do you?" Jongin asks. It’s a little disorienting, pinning someone to the sheets who’s wearing his face. Kris leans up but Jongin rears back out of reach. “Ugh," he wrinkles his nose. “I can’t do it. Don’t kiss me with my mouth."
Kris smirks, and for a brief second, Jongin wonders if it’s weird to find that kind of sexy. “Why? Because you know where it’s been?”
He makes a noise of complaint when Jongin slaps his palm down on his face. It’s an effective gesture, with a hand like Kris’. “Stop talking, hyung,” he says. It’s comforting, this kind of talk. It stops Jongin from having to worry about what happens if this doesn’t change, if Kris is stuck in his body and he has to do his uncoordinated best to fill the role of main dancer. Or worse, he would be stuck as Kris, and he’d have to talk in interviews. He can’t think of much that would be scarier than that.
"Hey," Kris says, and Jongin focuses down on him. “Don’t worry. It probably won’t last." He taps Jongin’s knee. “And in the mean time, you’d better keep up my skincare regimen."
Jongin groans and flops forward. “Ugh, hyung,” he whines, and Kris laughs, stroking his hair. It feels just different enough to be kind of weird, but it’s still nice. It’s still Kris, after all.
himchan/lu han, pg, 344 words
originally posted here. prompt was 'body swap aaaand go!'.
There are a lot of people in EXO, and honestly, Himchan is glad that it’s Lu Han’s body that he landed in. He’s decidedly cute, and while his little upturned nose isn’t quite as nice as Himchan’s own, he thinks it will do for now. He’s also already very friendly with his hands, which means that Himchan doesn’t have to curb his own instinct for skinship. It’s very handy.
"And I thought our stylists were bad," he mutters, prodding at his (Lu Han’s) dye-fried hair and frowning at his reflection. “What is this? What has been done to my head?" He tugs at his shirt, frowning down at the weird poofy sleeves. “And this! I feel like a poodle, not a wolf."
He’s playing it up, but it still makes Joonmyun, in the chair next to him, laugh. “It’s not that bad,” he says, and Himchan sniffs. It’s easy for Joonmyun to say, when today he’s wearing a jacket and jeans. It’s practically normal clothing. And here Himchan is, stuck with some group where he’s had to scramble to learn how to crawl around on the floor and then howl a bit like an idiot. At least Lu Han has a nice voice. Himchan wonders idly if Daehyun would be jealous. He likes to hope so.
A PD sticks her head in the door to tell them all to get ready, and Himchan climbs to his feet. Time to go humiliate himself, again. He remembers the horrified, scathing texts he got from BAP’s shared phone when he’d accidentally left his fly down when EXO had done a special stage, and he smiles to himself.
Chanyeol plants his hands on Himchan’s shoulders and grins at him. “Geurae wolf, naega wolf,” he says cheerfully and then he howls in Himchan’s face. Behind him, Jongdae warbles out the saranghaeyo.
This is probably the first time in Himchan’s life that he’s missed Jung Daehyun and full-body jumpsuits.
"And I thought our stylists were bad," he mutters, prodding at his (Lu Han’s) dye-fried hair and frowning at his reflection. “What is this? What has been done to my head?" He tugs at his shirt, frowning down at the weird poofy sleeves. “And this! I feel like a poodle, not a wolf."
He’s playing it up, but it still makes Joonmyun, in the chair next to him, laugh. “It’s not that bad,” he says, and Himchan sniffs. It’s easy for Joonmyun to say, when today he’s wearing a jacket and jeans. It’s practically normal clothing. And here Himchan is, stuck with some group where he’s had to scramble to learn how to crawl around on the floor and then howl a bit like an idiot. At least Lu Han has a nice voice. Himchan wonders idly if Daehyun would be jealous. He likes to hope so.
A PD sticks her head in the door to tell them all to get ready, and Himchan climbs to his feet. Time to go humiliate himself, again. He remembers the horrified, scathing texts he got from BAP’s shared phone when he’d accidentally left his fly down when EXO had done a special stage, and he smiles to himself.
Chanyeol plants his hands on Himchan’s shoulders and grins at him. “Geurae wolf, naega wolf,” he says cheerfully and then he howls in Himchan’s face. Behind him, Jongdae warbles out the saranghaeyo.
This is probably the first time in Himchan’s life that he’s missed Jung Daehyun and full-body jumpsuits.
kris/xiumin, pg-13, 414 words
originally posted here. prompt was 'drunk!fic c:'.
Yifan thinks that it is utterly unfair that he’s pretty much twice Minseok’s size, yet he’s the one who’s drunk, flushed and unkempt. It’s too hot, and he pulls at his shirt, trying to unbutton the tiny, delicate buttons. Sober Yifan would tell him to be careful, that shirt was expensive as hell and he can’t sew to save his life, but drunk-right-now Yifan is mostly stymied by the buttons and feeling smothered.
"I didn’t know you could get less coordinated," Minseok laughs, pushing Yifan’s out of the way so he can unfasten the top two buttons for him. He basically has to climb into Yifan’s lap to do it, and. Oh. Yifan doesn’t even mind his soju breath.
"Gonna finish the job?" he jokes, but it’s weak, and he’s serious enough that Minseok raises an eyebrow, smirking. Years of acting classes, and Yifan is still transparent when it comes to all the important things.
He swallows hard when Minseok shifts, sliding his hand down the front of Yifan’s shirt and resting his small palm over Yifan’s heart. Yifan thinks Minseok can probably feel the way it’s trying to hammer its way out of his chest, and it only makes Minseok’s grin bigger. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Minseok says.
He doesn’t bother waiting for a reply, which is good, because Yifan’s tongue feels too big for his mouth. He’s always been shitty with comebacks, anyway. Instead, Minseok leans in to kiss him, brief and warm and just deep enough that Yifan gets a quick taste of what he’d been drinking. His head spins.
He makes a soft, involuntary noise when Minseok climbs to his feet, tipping his head back to watch him stand. “What…?”
Minseok just laughs and shakes his head, ruffling a hand through Yifan’s hair. That should annoy Yifan, but he’s focused on more pressing issues, like how he’s already half hard in his pants and Minseok is very definitely Not Helping. “Wait,” he says desperately.
Minseok pauses in the doorway and glances back at Yifan, very deliberately looking him over. Yifan is a mess and he knows it, but he wobbles to his feet anyway. “Alright,” Minseok says finally. “You’re lucky Zitao has really weird shower habits and that involves all of my roommates bathing together.” Yifan can’t stumble after Minseok fast enough.
"I didn’t know you could get less coordinated," Minseok laughs, pushing Yifan’s out of the way so he can unfasten the top two buttons for him. He basically has to climb into Yifan’s lap to do it, and. Oh. Yifan doesn’t even mind his soju breath.
"Gonna finish the job?" he jokes, but it’s weak, and he’s serious enough that Minseok raises an eyebrow, smirking. Years of acting classes, and Yifan is still transparent when it comes to all the important things.
He swallows hard when Minseok shifts, sliding his hand down the front of Yifan’s shirt and resting his small palm over Yifan’s heart. Yifan thinks Minseok can probably feel the way it’s trying to hammer its way out of his chest, and it only makes Minseok’s grin bigger. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Minseok says.
He doesn’t bother waiting for a reply, which is good, because Yifan’s tongue feels too big for his mouth. He’s always been shitty with comebacks, anyway. Instead, Minseok leans in to kiss him, brief and warm and just deep enough that Yifan gets a quick taste of what he’d been drinking. His head spins.
He makes a soft, involuntary noise when Minseok climbs to his feet, tipping his head back to watch him stand. “What…?”
Minseok just laughs and shakes his head, ruffling a hand through Yifan’s hair. That should annoy Yifan, but he’s focused on more pressing issues, like how he’s already half hard in his pants and Minseok is very definitely Not Helping. “Wait,” he says desperately.
Minseok pauses in the doorway and glances back at Yifan, very deliberately looking him over. Yifan is a mess and he knows it, but he wobbles to his feet anyway. “Alright,” Minseok says finally. “You’re lucky Zitao has really weird shower habits and that involves all of my roommates bathing together.” Yifan can’t stumble after Minseok fast enough.
kris/tao, pg, 200 words
originally posted here. prompt was 'taoris, telepathy'.
It gets easier, if only a little. If he works at it, Yifan finds he can shield his thoughts somewhat, and he’s so grateful because it means he doesn’t have to deal with the uncomfortable set of Zitao’s mouth when he comes out of the bathroom after he takes himself in hand during a shower.
But it’s better, too, because it also means that he doesn’t have to watch Zitao flinch when he messes up in practice and shouts at himself in the recesses of his own mind. That’s almost worse, because he’s not sure how to deal with the way that Zitao watches him through the rest of practice, wary and uncertain. He does know he hates his pity, the way that he offers to help Yifan with his dancing, like he’s doing him a favour.
(It’s best of all because everything is blessedly quiet again, and Yifan doesn’t have to hear Zitao’s pointed observations about him, sharp as knives in his skull. If Yifan did some bridge burning when he was gone, now he’s trying to swim back, and Zitao isn’t throwing out any life preservers.)
But it’s better, too, because it also means that he doesn’t have to watch Zitao flinch when he messes up in practice and shouts at himself in the recesses of his own mind. That’s almost worse, because he’s not sure how to deal with the way that Zitao watches him through the rest of practice, wary and uncertain. He does know he hates his pity, the way that he offers to help Yifan with his dancing, like he’s doing him a favour.
(It’s best of all because everything is blessedly quiet again, and Yifan doesn’t have to hear Zitao’s pointed observations about him, sharp as knives in his skull. If Yifan did some bridge burning when he was gone, now he’s trying to swim back, and Zitao isn’t throwing out any life preservers.)
kris/suho, pg, 324 words
originally posted here. prompt was 'pretending to be married krisho n_n'.
"Stop fidgeting," Joonmyun chides softly, catching Yifan’s hands from where he’s been fiddling with his tie and pulling them down into his lap. "You’re trying to make this look good, remember?"
Yes. Yifan remembers. He takes a furtive glance one table over to where Baekhyun sits, holding court over the whole table. He looks good, Yifan thinks a bit miserably. He looks really good. His jacket fits the snug line of his waist and Yifan determinedly ignores the ache in his chest when he sees the way that Baekhyun leans in to his date. He’s tall, too. Baekhyun always did had a type.
"Stop it," Joonmyun says again, and this time it’s a bit softer. Yifan tears his eyes away and squeezes Joonmyun’s fingers. He’s a good friend, he really is. Yifan can’t really think of anyone else he knows who would agree last minute to be his date to a wedding, much less anyone who would put on a ring and pretend to be his husband. "You’re a happy newlywed, remember?"
"Right," Yifan agrees. He’s still watching Baekhyun out of the corner of his eye as he idly strokes his thumb across Joonmyun’s knuckles, watching the way Baekhyun throws his head back and laughs and how close he is to his date. "Happily married."
"Very happy," Joonmyun says firmly, and Yifan spares a second to turn back to him, a bit confused.
Joonmyun clears this up by hooking his fingers in the front of Yifan’s shirt and tugging him down and kissing him. It takes Yifan by surprise, makes him freeze with his eyes wide, but only for a second. Later, Yifan will say it’s because he’s remembering the role he has to play, but really, he kisses back because Joonmyun’s mouth is warm and sweet and oddly enough, he wants to.
Isn’t that the funniest thing?
Yes. Yifan remembers. He takes a furtive glance one table over to where Baekhyun sits, holding court over the whole table. He looks good, Yifan thinks a bit miserably. He looks really good. His jacket fits the snug line of his waist and Yifan determinedly ignores the ache in his chest when he sees the way that Baekhyun leans in to his date. He’s tall, too. Baekhyun always did had a type.
"Stop it," Joonmyun says again, and this time it’s a bit softer. Yifan tears his eyes away and squeezes Joonmyun’s fingers. He’s a good friend, he really is. Yifan can’t really think of anyone else he knows who would agree last minute to be his date to a wedding, much less anyone who would put on a ring and pretend to be his husband. "You’re a happy newlywed, remember?"
"Right," Yifan agrees. He’s still watching Baekhyun out of the corner of his eye as he idly strokes his thumb across Joonmyun’s knuckles, watching the way Baekhyun throws his head back and laughs and how close he is to his date. "Happily married."
"Very happy," Joonmyun says firmly, and Yifan spares a second to turn back to him, a bit confused.
Joonmyun clears this up by hooking his fingers in the front of Yifan’s shirt and tugging him down and kissing him. It takes Yifan by surprise, makes him freeze with his eyes wide, but only for a second. Later, Yifan will say it’s because he’s remembering the role he has to play, but really, he kisses back because Joonmyun’s mouth is warm and sweet and oddly enough, he wants to.
Isn’t that the funniest thing?
xiumin/kai, pg-13, 359 words
originally posted here. prompt was 'cross-dressing-xiukai'.
When Jongin emerges from his room, his cheeks are pink and he’s determinedly not looking at anyone right now. He’d argued plenty when he’d lost the bet, but in the end, he’d slunk away with the bag Lu Han had held out for him, and now here he stands.
Minseok might be having a bit of trouble tearing his eyes away. The skirt is part of an old costume, from the time Lu Han had dragged Minseok to the party as his plus one, the two of them dressed as Sailor Moon and Tuxedo Mask. Even if Jongin is determinedly tugging at the hem, Minseok is certain that he looks far better in it than Lu Han ever did. The curve of his ass makes the skirt decidedly short, exposing the lush lines of his thighs, and Minseok’s mouth goes a little dry.
"Those are the hairiest legs I’ve ever seen on a school girl," Sehun deadpans, and Jongin wrinkles his nose, smacking him with the back of his hand. He’s relaxing a bit, Minseok can tell, and he supposes it’s not that much different than some of the weird things his dance team has had to wear for performances. The alcohol can’t hurt much, either.
"Someone’s appreciating it," Lu Han says, wiggling his eyebrows meaningfully at Minseok.
Caught, Minseok hunches his shoulders a little, halfway to a shrug, and says nothing. It’s what Jongin does that’s really interesting. He’s looking at Minseok, eyes wide and almost hesitant. “What?” Minseok says to Lu Han, though he doesn’t look away from Jongin. “I like the skirt.”
"The skirt." Lu Han snorts. “Uh huh."
The conversation wanders off onto another topic, the novelty gone, but Minseok doesn’t miss the way that Jongin inches a little bit closer, like he’s testing the water. He’s still standing up, half-heartedly arguing with Sehun over something a classmate said, but when Minseok reaches up to brush his fingertips up the back of Jongin’s thigh, he gives a full-body shiver, lips parted.
Minseok licks his lips and grins.
Minseok might be having a bit of trouble tearing his eyes away. The skirt is part of an old costume, from the time Lu Han had dragged Minseok to the party as his plus one, the two of them dressed as Sailor Moon and Tuxedo Mask. Even if Jongin is determinedly tugging at the hem, Minseok is certain that he looks far better in it than Lu Han ever did. The curve of his ass makes the skirt decidedly short, exposing the lush lines of his thighs, and Minseok’s mouth goes a little dry.
"Those are the hairiest legs I’ve ever seen on a school girl," Sehun deadpans, and Jongin wrinkles his nose, smacking him with the back of his hand. He’s relaxing a bit, Minseok can tell, and he supposes it’s not that much different than some of the weird things his dance team has had to wear for performances. The alcohol can’t hurt much, either.
"Someone’s appreciating it," Lu Han says, wiggling his eyebrows meaningfully at Minseok.
Caught, Minseok hunches his shoulders a little, halfway to a shrug, and says nothing. It’s what Jongin does that’s really interesting. He’s looking at Minseok, eyes wide and almost hesitant. “What?” Minseok says to Lu Han, though he doesn’t look away from Jongin. “I like the skirt.”
"The skirt." Lu Han snorts. “Uh huh."
The conversation wanders off onto another topic, the novelty gone, but Minseok doesn’t miss the way that Jongin inches a little bit closer, like he’s testing the water. He’s still standing up, half-heartedly arguing with Sehun over something a classmate said, but when Minseok reaches up to brush his fingertips up the back of Jongin’s thigh, he gives a full-body shiver, lips parted.
Minseok licks his lips and grins.
kris/sehun, pg-13, 770 words
originally posted here. continuation of this.
It must be the wine, because even now, the idea seems more intriguing than it really has any right to. “Hey,” Yifan says, shoving Sehun’s hand away. “Go easy on that. If I have to clean up bubbles for the next week, I’m gonna be mad.”
As it is, the two of them are already elbow deep in bubbles, and they’re threatening to spill over the sides of the tub. Sehun looks completely unconcerned, playing with the foam in front of him, his thin pale shoulder broad against the tub wall. “Shut up,” he says easily, and Yifan feels the heel of his foot skate up against one of Yifan’s thighs, “and enjoy your damn bubble bath.”
Yifan rolls his eyes but he quiets, softened up by the evening of wine and the heat of the water and the childish scrunch of Sehun’s nose as he tries (and fails) to make a castle out of bubbles. They’re celebrating tonight, Yifan is finally finished the working draft of his third novel and Sehun’s just gotten a raise, and Yifan had figured that that was enough to bring home a couple of bottles of wine and spend the night in.
The bubble bath, however, that was Sehun’s idea. If Yifan hadn’t splurged on the jacuzzi tub when he’d bought the place, there would be no way the two of them could even fit in one bathtub, but now he’s glad he did. Sehun looks so good like this, flushed from the heat or the alcohol, light, messy hair slicked back and out of his eyes. Yifan flicks some bubbles at him and grins when Sehun flinches, frowning at him.
"What?" Sehun asks, making a face. He splashes him back, and Yifan does his best not to flinch when the water sloshes over the side onto the tile floor.
"I’m glad you’re enjoying this," Yifan says, and he’s only halfway teasing. Sehun’s been working really hard lately, fighting for that raise, and Yifan’s proud of him.
Sehun shoves forward, shifting around awkwardly so he can settle between Yifan’s legs, back against Yifan’s chest. He splashes more water around in the process and nearly elbows Yifan in a pretty unfortunate spot, but eventually he quits squirming and lets his head fall back against Yifan’s shoulder. “I am,” he says stubbornly.
Like this, Yifan can feel the bumps of Sehun’s spine and the rhythmic way he drags his toes against Yifan’s calves. He likes the warm press of Sehun in his lap and how he catches Yifan’s hand to toy with his fingers sleepily. They’ve been together for over a year now, and Sehun’s lived here for at least a few months, but Yifan doesn’t think he’ll ever really get sick of this. Not when Sehun sighs and twists his head back to press his mouth to Yifan’s jaw and Yifan catches glimpse of his smile, eyes half-lidded.
They sit in the tub for a while, long enough for their fingers to get pruney and the bubbles to subside a little, and Sehun to get bored. “Alright,” he says, and Yifan can’t decide if he likes the mischievous twist of Sehun’s mouth or dreads it. “Are we gonna just lay here all night? Or do you want to do something more interesting?”
Before Yifan’s got a chance to reply, he gets a faceful of bubbles and bathwater and then Sehun is gone, hauling himself out of the tub and dripping all over the floor. “Because I’ve got a few ideas.” He stands at the doorway and gives himself a quick dry off with a towel, but Yifan’s under no illusions - he’s doing it to give Yifan the chance to take a look at his ass.
He supposes he should be a bit annoyed by Sehun’s transparent tactics, but Sehun’s ass is fantastic and when Sehun holds out his hand, Yifan doesn’t hesitate to take it. “Tease,” he says, and Sehun wrinkles his nose.
"You’re so slow,” he groans, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t let Yifan pull him in to press wet kisses to his throat and shoulders before wiggling out of his grip and making his way to the door. He’s always liked letting Yifan dote on him like this, but only on his terms. “C’mon,” Sehun says. “Or you can park your damp ass on the couch.”
Yifan snorts. “Like you would,” he says, but he dries himself off fast and Sehun looks so pleased. He stands in the doorway and when Yifan tucks the wet towel back in the rack, he crooks a finger at him, beckoning.
Yifan couldn’t resist him if he tried.
As it is, the two of them are already elbow deep in bubbles, and they’re threatening to spill over the sides of the tub. Sehun looks completely unconcerned, playing with the foam in front of him, his thin pale shoulder broad against the tub wall. “Shut up,” he says easily, and Yifan feels the heel of his foot skate up against one of Yifan’s thighs, “and enjoy your damn bubble bath.”
Yifan rolls his eyes but he quiets, softened up by the evening of wine and the heat of the water and the childish scrunch of Sehun’s nose as he tries (and fails) to make a castle out of bubbles. They’re celebrating tonight, Yifan is finally finished the working draft of his third novel and Sehun’s just gotten a raise, and Yifan had figured that that was enough to bring home a couple of bottles of wine and spend the night in.
The bubble bath, however, that was Sehun’s idea. If Yifan hadn’t splurged on the jacuzzi tub when he’d bought the place, there would be no way the two of them could even fit in one bathtub, but now he’s glad he did. Sehun looks so good like this, flushed from the heat or the alcohol, light, messy hair slicked back and out of his eyes. Yifan flicks some bubbles at him and grins when Sehun flinches, frowning at him.
"What?" Sehun asks, making a face. He splashes him back, and Yifan does his best not to flinch when the water sloshes over the side onto the tile floor.
"I’m glad you’re enjoying this," Yifan says, and he’s only halfway teasing. Sehun’s been working really hard lately, fighting for that raise, and Yifan’s proud of him.
Sehun shoves forward, shifting around awkwardly so he can settle between Yifan’s legs, back against Yifan’s chest. He splashes more water around in the process and nearly elbows Yifan in a pretty unfortunate spot, but eventually he quits squirming and lets his head fall back against Yifan’s shoulder. “I am,” he says stubbornly.
Like this, Yifan can feel the bumps of Sehun’s spine and the rhythmic way he drags his toes against Yifan’s calves. He likes the warm press of Sehun in his lap and how he catches Yifan’s hand to toy with his fingers sleepily. They’ve been together for over a year now, and Sehun’s lived here for at least a few months, but Yifan doesn’t think he’ll ever really get sick of this. Not when Sehun sighs and twists his head back to press his mouth to Yifan’s jaw and Yifan catches glimpse of his smile, eyes half-lidded.
They sit in the tub for a while, long enough for their fingers to get pruney and the bubbles to subside a little, and Sehun to get bored. “Alright,” he says, and Yifan can’t decide if he likes the mischievous twist of Sehun’s mouth or dreads it. “Are we gonna just lay here all night? Or do you want to do something more interesting?”
Before Yifan’s got a chance to reply, he gets a faceful of bubbles and bathwater and then Sehun is gone, hauling himself out of the tub and dripping all over the floor. “Because I’ve got a few ideas.” He stands at the doorway and gives himself a quick dry off with a towel, but Yifan’s under no illusions - he’s doing it to give Yifan the chance to take a look at his ass.
He supposes he should be a bit annoyed by Sehun’s transparent tactics, but Sehun’s ass is fantastic and when Sehun holds out his hand, Yifan doesn’t hesitate to take it. “Tease,” he says, and Sehun wrinkles his nose.
"You’re so slow,” he groans, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t let Yifan pull him in to press wet kisses to his throat and shoulders before wiggling out of his grip and making his way to the door. He’s always liked letting Yifan dote on him like this, but only on his terms. “C’mon,” Sehun says. “Or you can park your damp ass on the couch.”
Yifan snorts. “Like you would,” he says, but he dries himself off fast and Sehun looks so pleased. He stands in the doorway and when Yifan tucks the wet towel back in the rack, he crooks a finger at him, beckoning.
Yifan couldn’t resist him if he tried.
kris/kai, pg, 1.2k words
originally posted here. continuation of this prompt.
Yifan looks every inch a prince, he knows just what to say to the visiting dignitaries and dipolmats, and he wears his ornate robes with years of practice. That’s probably part of the reason why Jongin finds it so charming that he’s so clumsy when it comes to him. All of Yifan’s training has one glaring blind spot - any person his age. Jongin, selfishly, likes it. It’s a side of Yifan that very few get to see, and Jongin is one of them.
"Did you eat well?" Yifan asks. His long hair is pulled back out of his face, and for once, his robes are plain and functional. Their wedding approaches, and after that, the coronation, and Yifan has been spending every waking minute either studying years of texts and laws, or attending council meetings with his father and his council. It shows, in the dark circles beneath his eyes and the lines around his mouth. "I’m sorry, I would have come to breakfast, but - "
"Your duties," Jongin says. "I understand." It’s still lonely, here. He’s doing his best to learn the language, but he’s still embarrassingly clumsy with it, and it’s tiresome, the dismissive looks he gets, even from the staff. At least they have this. Every day, Yifan finds the time to seek him out and walk with him, through the palace gardens. They don’t talk about much - Yifan is often tired and Jongin is always at a loss. How does one make small talk with the man who is to be king? Still, Yifan tries, and it warms Jongin’s heart. He wishes it were more, but it’s a start.
Behind them, Minseok and Zitao walk, keeping a respectful distance and a watchful eye. “Being a king is a great deal of work,” Yifan sighs, “and I have not even been crowned.” They turn a corner, boot heels loud against the paving stones that mark the path, and Yifan rests his hand against the small of Jongin’s back. “I’m afraid I won’t be a very good husband.”
Jongin shakes his head. “I think you will do a fine job,” he says firmly, because he does, and Yifan glances over at him, mouth frozen half-open like he’s forgotten what he’d meant to say.
"That means a great deal to me," Yifan admits, voice soft. He pauses, under the shade of a broad tree, and he carefully reaches for Jongin’s wrist. "I have been meaning to give you this for a while."
Jongin raises his eyebrows. Yifan has always been fond of giving him little gifts, things he’d once thought were to ensure that he would look good at Yifan’s side but he knows now are to remind Jongin of Yifan’s fondness, even though he cannot be there. He surrenders his hand to Yifan, noticing once more the difference between the two of them: Yifan’s hands, large and pale, are stained with ink; Jongin’s are smaller, calloused from years of combat training. Yifan places something in Jongin’s hand and then folds Jongin’s fingers shut. “It is not much, I know.”
He opens his hand to find a ring. It’s simple, a thick silver band with the kind of shine on it that speaks of being worn before, and worn often. This is not the usual ostentatious gift that Yifan gives. Confused, Jongin looks up and he finds Yifan’s cheeks pink. “It was mine,” he says, and Jongin’s heart gives a shudder in his chest. “My father had it made for me, when I was thirteen, and he announced that I would take the throne.” On the inside of the band, there is an engraving of a dragon, a curl of fire escaping its mouth. “It is very important to me, and I would like you to wear it.” Jongin curls his hand around the ring, feeling the weight of it. “Because you are very important to me, too.”
"Oh," Jongin says, eyes wide. Yifan is studiously looking away from him now, his shoulders squared, but his lips are tight. This is not a gesture Yifan has made lightly. Jongin rolls the ring between his fingers thoughtfully, and then he slides it on, until it rests snugly against his engagement band. "It fits," he says.
This time, when Yifan reaches for Jongin’s hand, it’s to lift it to his mouth and press his lips against his knuckles. Yifan is so very old-fashioned, and it’s still somehow so charming to Jongin. Yifan swipes his thumb across the rings on Jongin’s fingers, and Jongin grins up at him.
"Your highness," Zitao calls, in heavily accented Korean. "We must go."
Yifan closes his eyes for a second, his mouth twisting. “Can those stuffy old men not make a single decision on their own,” he grumbles, and Jongin ducks his head, laughing.
Daringly, Jongin reaches up to stroke the back of Yifan’s neck, and Yifan tenses for a second, then relaxes into the touch. “Will you come to dinner?” he asks. He does hope so.
Zitao has stepped forward, hovering near them, and Yifan throws a glance at him and sighs. “I will do my best,” he promises Jongin.
Jongin rubs a thumb against the new band on his finger, and he thinks that maybe, he’d like to assure that it will happen. It’s bold, but Yifan is to be his husband, after all. Maybe some liberties must be taken. Jongin uses the hand he has on the back of Yifan’s neck to nudge him down just enough to close the distance between the two of them and kiss Yifan. He’s aware of their company, so he keeps it sweet and short, but when he drops back down, Yifan looks shell-shocked. “I will be at dinner,” he tells Jongin, a smile pulling at his lips, and behind them, Minseok snorts.
"Thank you," Jongin says, and he doesn’t just mean for dinner. Yifan squeezes his wrist, and he smiles.
Zitao clears his throat meaningfully and Yifan waves a hand at him. “I will see you tonight,” he says, and then he catches Jongin’s mouth in a quick kiss of his own. He leaves Jongin in the garden, a bit dazed.
"Well," Minseok approaches Jongin, still stalled in front of the tree and twisting the band on his finger, "Look at you."
Jongin scrunches up his face. “I don’t remember you being employed to make smart remarks,” he says.
Minseok smiles with all the immunity of years of serving and protecting Jongin behind him. “No,” he agrees. “That service is free.” Jongin scoffs and ducks his head, starting off back towards the castle. “But I like it,” Minseok says after a few seconds.
"Hmm?"
"You’re smiling," he says, eyes soft. "I was getting a bit worried for you. Wondering if we should send to Korea for your friends."
Jongin turns red. “The last thing this castle needs is Chanyeol and Sehun making a mess of things,” he mutters.
"Good thing we don’t need them, do we?" It’s probably a breach of protocol when Minseok nudges Jongin with an elbow, but Jongin has never minded the familiarity. "Not anymore."
"Bold," Jongin snaps, feeling his flush worsen. "Too bold." Minseok’s smile broadens. Much too much time spent with that lordling, Lu Han.
"Apologies," Minseok nods, falling silent, but he looks meaningfully down at Jongin’s hand, where he’s still toying with Yifan’s ring.
He hadn’t been kidding. It fits him well. He presses a finger to his bottom lip, an old habit, and tries to swallow down the warm feeling threatening to burst through his chest.
"Did you eat well?" Yifan asks. His long hair is pulled back out of his face, and for once, his robes are plain and functional. Their wedding approaches, and after that, the coronation, and Yifan has been spending every waking minute either studying years of texts and laws, or attending council meetings with his father and his council. It shows, in the dark circles beneath his eyes and the lines around his mouth. "I’m sorry, I would have come to breakfast, but - "
"Your duties," Jongin says. "I understand." It’s still lonely, here. He’s doing his best to learn the language, but he’s still embarrassingly clumsy with it, and it’s tiresome, the dismissive looks he gets, even from the staff. At least they have this. Every day, Yifan finds the time to seek him out and walk with him, through the palace gardens. They don’t talk about much - Yifan is often tired and Jongin is always at a loss. How does one make small talk with the man who is to be king? Still, Yifan tries, and it warms Jongin’s heart. He wishes it were more, but it’s a start.
Behind them, Minseok and Zitao walk, keeping a respectful distance and a watchful eye. “Being a king is a great deal of work,” Yifan sighs, “and I have not even been crowned.” They turn a corner, boot heels loud against the paving stones that mark the path, and Yifan rests his hand against the small of Jongin’s back. “I’m afraid I won’t be a very good husband.”
Jongin shakes his head. “I think you will do a fine job,” he says firmly, because he does, and Yifan glances over at him, mouth frozen half-open like he’s forgotten what he’d meant to say.
"That means a great deal to me," Yifan admits, voice soft. He pauses, under the shade of a broad tree, and he carefully reaches for Jongin’s wrist. "I have been meaning to give you this for a while."
Jongin raises his eyebrows. Yifan has always been fond of giving him little gifts, things he’d once thought were to ensure that he would look good at Yifan’s side but he knows now are to remind Jongin of Yifan’s fondness, even though he cannot be there. He surrenders his hand to Yifan, noticing once more the difference between the two of them: Yifan’s hands, large and pale, are stained with ink; Jongin’s are smaller, calloused from years of combat training. Yifan places something in Jongin’s hand and then folds Jongin’s fingers shut. “It is not much, I know.”
He opens his hand to find a ring. It’s simple, a thick silver band with the kind of shine on it that speaks of being worn before, and worn often. This is not the usual ostentatious gift that Yifan gives. Confused, Jongin looks up and he finds Yifan’s cheeks pink. “It was mine,” he says, and Jongin’s heart gives a shudder in his chest. “My father had it made for me, when I was thirteen, and he announced that I would take the throne.” On the inside of the band, there is an engraving of a dragon, a curl of fire escaping its mouth. “It is very important to me, and I would like you to wear it.” Jongin curls his hand around the ring, feeling the weight of it. “Because you are very important to me, too.”
"Oh," Jongin says, eyes wide. Yifan is studiously looking away from him now, his shoulders squared, but his lips are tight. This is not a gesture Yifan has made lightly. Jongin rolls the ring between his fingers thoughtfully, and then he slides it on, until it rests snugly against his engagement band. "It fits," he says.
This time, when Yifan reaches for Jongin’s hand, it’s to lift it to his mouth and press his lips against his knuckles. Yifan is so very old-fashioned, and it’s still somehow so charming to Jongin. Yifan swipes his thumb across the rings on Jongin’s fingers, and Jongin grins up at him.
"Your highness," Zitao calls, in heavily accented Korean. "We must go."
Yifan closes his eyes for a second, his mouth twisting. “Can those stuffy old men not make a single decision on their own,” he grumbles, and Jongin ducks his head, laughing.
Daringly, Jongin reaches up to stroke the back of Yifan’s neck, and Yifan tenses for a second, then relaxes into the touch. “Will you come to dinner?” he asks. He does hope so.
Zitao has stepped forward, hovering near them, and Yifan throws a glance at him and sighs. “I will do my best,” he promises Jongin.
Jongin rubs a thumb against the new band on his finger, and he thinks that maybe, he’d like to assure that it will happen. It’s bold, but Yifan is to be his husband, after all. Maybe some liberties must be taken. Jongin uses the hand he has on the back of Yifan’s neck to nudge him down just enough to close the distance between the two of them and kiss Yifan. He’s aware of their company, so he keeps it sweet and short, but when he drops back down, Yifan looks shell-shocked. “I will be at dinner,” he tells Jongin, a smile pulling at his lips, and behind them, Minseok snorts.
"Thank you," Jongin says, and he doesn’t just mean for dinner. Yifan squeezes his wrist, and he smiles.
Zitao clears his throat meaningfully and Yifan waves a hand at him. “I will see you tonight,” he says, and then he catches Jongin’s mouth in a quick kiss of his own. He leaves Jongin in the garden, a bit dazed.
"Well," Minseok approaches Jongin, still stalled in front of the tree and twisting the band on his finger, "Look at you."
Jongin scrunches up his face. “I don’t remember you being employed to make smart remarks,” he says.
Minseok smiles with all the immunity of years of serving and protecting Jongin behind him. “No,” he agrees. “That service is free.” Jongin scoffs and ducks his head, starting off back towards the castle. “But I like it,” Minseok says after a few seconds.
"Hmm?"
"You’re smiling," he says, eyes soft. "I was getting a bit worried for you. Wondering if we should send to Korea for your friends."
Jongin turns red. “The last thing this castle needs is Chanyeol and Sehun making a mess of things,” he mutters.
"Good thing we don’t need them, do we?" It’s probably a breach of protocol when Minseok nudges Jongin with an elbow, but Jongin has never minded the familiarity. "Not anymore."
"Bold," Jongin snaps, feeling his flush worsen. "Too bold." Minseok’s smile broadens. Much too much time spent with that lordling, Lu Han.
"Apologies," Minseok nods, falling silent, but he looks meaningfully down at Jongin’s hand, where he’s still toying with Yifan’s ring.
He hadn’t been kidding. It fits him well. He presses a finger to his bottom lip, an old habit, and tries to swallow down the warm feeling threatening to burst through his chest.
sehun/chanyeol/suho, nc-17, 2k words
originally posted here. sort of an office space au
Sehun squints at the clock. He’s sure that the last time he looked, it was closer to lunch than it is now. Time is moving backwards. He’s trapped in a groundhog day loop, he is going to be in this office forever. He’ll never escape these stupid reports. He stares blankly at his computer screen, reading nothing. This is the longest Monday ever. It’s the Monday that never ends. He drags his hands down his face and sighs.
This was just supposed to be a stop-gap job. Something to make a bit of money, and then he could go back to school, get his design degree, do what he really wants to do. Except the money never really appeared, and that was five years ago, and Sehun has sat in the same windowless cubicle the entire time and he’s possibly losing his mind.
“Oh, boy.” Sehun looks up to see one of his directors, Yifan smiling down at him benevolently. The man is obscenely tall and handsome but nice, in a bland, marshmallowy way. “Long face.” He’s wearing suspenders, an unnecessary vanity, since his pants are tailored. They should be, really. Sehun’s fairly certain he makes an obscene amount of money.
Yifan continues to smile down at him, but Sehun says nothing. He’s not really looking for an answer, anyway. “Looks like somebody’s got a case of the Mondays.” Yifan looks so pleased with his little joke. Sehun wants to die. Yifan’s pleasant smile falters a little under the sheer force of Sehun’s unimpressed stare and he drifts away, off to harass someone else with his leadership, hopefully.
Sighing, Sehun lays his head down on his keyboard. Maybe he can nap or something. His whole brain feels empty. In the next cubicle, he can hear Baekhyun’s cheery greeting to each phone call, and the falsity of it grates on his nerves. It’s not even eleven. It’s not even eleven am on a Monday, and Sehun is pretty sure he’s going to be the first human being to die of boredom. At least that’ll be an accomplishment, sort of. Maybe he can put the plaque for it up next to his award for most consecutive days employed with no actual work done. He’s got it down to an art now.
“Psst.” He opens his eyes to see his cubicle neighbour stick his head around the corner. Chanyeol’s eyes are buggy with mischief, and he wiggles his eyebrows. “Coffee?”
Sehun considers this. He’s already caffeinated, that’s the only reason he’s conscious. Then again, anything has to be better than these goddamn TPS reports and running the same numbers, over and over again. “Hmm,” he says. It’s always better to make Chanyeol work for it. He’s always most eager to please when he thinks he needs to prove his worth.
Chanyeol’s mouth twists uncertainly for a second, then he brightens. “Pit stop to pick up Joonmyun in accounting?” he suggests.
Now this could be interesting. “Alright,” Sehun agrees, feigning reluctance. “I guess that’s cool.”
When Yifan’s turned his back, bent over Jongdae’s desk while he cracks yet another lame joke in his endless quest to impress their computer programmer, Sehun and Chanyeol make a run for it. They head downstairs to accounting, Sehun with his hands in his pockets, Chanyeol at his heels. It’s always easiest, if Sehun approaches him first. Joonmyun’s got a soft spot for him, because he’s young.
“Sehun-ah,” Joonmyun says genially, looking up from his computer. “What brings you down here?”
Sehun pulls at his pockets with his thumbs, says nothing. Chanyeol peeks over his shoulder. “Hi, hyung,” he says cheerfully, his hands resting against Sehun’s waist, his chin on his shoulder. Sehun would shove him off, but he wants Joonmyun to take it in, the two of them together, and remember.
He likes the way that Joonmyun’s throat works silently, because it’s not a no. “You two look like trouble,” he chides, and Sehun can feel Chanyeol’s grin against his shoulder. “Don’t you have something to do?”
“We’re going out for coffee,” Chanyeol announces.
“Coming?” Sehun asks.
His favourite part of this is always watching Joonmyun fight himself. He likes his rules, his order, but he also likes, well. At the desk behind him, Minseok presses a hand to his mouth and snorts. “We need to stop doing this,” he grumbles, but he gets up anyway, lets Chanyeol tug him forward, and out of his office.
They don’t head to the coffee shop next door. They don’t even go to the break room for some shitty instant coffee. Instead, they end up in the supply closet, Chanyeol on his knees with Joonmyun’s cock in his mouth. It’s always Chanyeol who gets things started, because he sucks dick like he needs it to live and, vain as he is, he doesn’t mind getting his hair messed up. He looks good like this, his head bobbing diligently, one of Joonmyun’s hands curled around the back of his skull. He grips Joonmyun’s thighs, like he needs something to ground him while he coaxes those tiny, shuddery noises out of Joonmyun’s mouth. Ever conscious of image, Joonmyun. Sehun thinks it doesn’t matter. They locked the door, after all. People can get their toner later.
It’s nice enough to watch, but Sehun’s only working with half a hard on and he didn’t agree to this just to watch. There’s not a ton of room to work with in the closet, and he nudges Chanyeol with a knee. “Hey,” he says. “Ass up.”
There’s not enough room for Chanyeol to stay bent over to suck Joonmyun’s dick at the same time, and he whines, but Sehun ignores him. Over his shoulder, Joonmyun grins at Sehun, stepping forward to slide a hand down the front of Chanyeol’s slacks. “Shhhh,” he says, and Chanyeol grips Joonmyun’s biceps. Sehun kind of wishes that he could see his face, because he always makes the prettiest expressions when Sehun slides his fingers into him.
It doesn’t take long before Chanyeol is whimpering into Joonmyun’s mouth, these quiet little please for Sehun to hurry up and just fuck him already. Joonmyun rewards him with a kiss, deep and thorough. Chanyeol’s noisy as hell, but he’s trying so hard to be good, it’s a good thing Joonmyun is there to acknowledge his good behavior.
Sehun’s not hard enough yet, though, and Chanyeol frowns impatiently. He winds himself around Sehun’s body, and it’s nice, the way they line up. It means it’s comfortable for Sehun to reach down and grab a handful of Chanyeol’s (meagre) ass while Joonmyun works a hand between them, stroking with a precision borne of practice and familiarity. “Come on,” he says, rubbing his thumb across the head of Sehun’s cock just to watch Sehun jerk. “I have paperwork to get back to.”
Sehun thinks there’s something unfair about Chanyeol laughing at him when he’s the one rubbing up against Sehun’s bare thigh a bit desperately. “That is helping literally nothing,” Sehun says darkly. Joonmyun smiles at him rather serenely for a guy with his dick sticking out of his pants, and then he twists his wrist and Sehun groans.
Once he gets there, the slide into Chanyeol is hot and tight, and Chanyeol lets out this pleased sigh, his back arching. Sehun has to admit, he likes the noises that Chanyeol makes, almost as much as he likes the bite of Joonmyun’s hand against his hip, tugging him forward, hard. It’s always best when Joonmyun finally gets impatient, and he’s impatient now, sliding up between Chanyeol’s legs and taking their cocks in hand.
At this angle, Chanyeol’s got his face pressed against Joonmyun’s shoulder, taking a shuddering breath with each thrust of Sehun’s cock and the slide of Joonmyun’s palms. Sehun can’t see either of them, but he doesn’t need to. He’s familiar with the way Chanyeol looks when he’s being fucked, open-mouthed and desperate, and the determined crease of Joonmyun’s brow when he’s chasing friction. And this is good, the tight slide of his cock in Chanyeol’s ass, the way he jerks and clenches when Sehun brushes against his prostate. He’s not going to last long.
It’s a matter of minutes before he spills across Joonmyun’s hands, turning loose-limbed and useless in a flash. “Damnit, Chanyeol,” Sehun sighs, pulling out. Chanyeol just grins, looking pleased, tugging weakly at his pants, still pooled around his ankles. This is such a piss off. Sehun’s still hard as hell, and Chanyeol is never any good once he’s come. Just prop him up against the nearest surface and wait for him to fall asleep.
That’s why they always invite Joonmyun to these things. “Stop whining,” Joonmyun tells him, sliding past Chanyeol in the narrow closet to press up against Sehun. “It’s not attractive.” Sehun’s about to snap back, but Joonmyun’s wormed a hand into his pocket for the lube and slicked up his fingers. He presses knocks Sehun’s feet apart and presses two in with no preamble, and Sehun knows that he’s enjoying it, the way that he can make Sehun squirm with just a push of his fingertips against his prostate. He does his best to retaliate, hands curled around Joonmyun’s cock as he strokes in time with Joonmyun’s fingers.
They come within a few seconds of each other, Sehun first, from nothing but the insistent fuck of Joonmyun’s fingers and what little friction he’d got against Joonmyun’s belly. Joonmyun looks pleased, the way he always does when he manages to make Sehun come hands-free. “Messy,” Joonmyun sighs, although Sehun doesn’t know what he’s complaining about. Sehun’s the one with his own come on his shoes. He’s fairly certain that Joonmyun did that on purpose.
“I can’t believe we have to go back to work,” Chanyeol sighs. Joonmyun glances up at Sehun, and the two of them share a look and a grin as Joonmyun cleans them both up. He tucks Sehun back into his pants and Chanyeol sighs again. “I have four reports to hand in. This sucks.”
Sehun barely resists the urge to make a crack about exactly who was sucking a few minutes ago, but he manages it. “I have a TPS report that was due last week,” he says, and he shrugs.
“I should be working on this month’s accounts,” Joonmyun says. He neatly tucks his shirt in again, and he frowns. “You two are such a distraction.”
“Hey,” Chanyeol says. He’s slid to the floor now, careless of dust on his pants. He sounds like he’s having an ephiphany. “What if, what if we just left.”
Sehun yawns. “I don’t think I’ve got any vacation left,” Joonmyun says. “I can’t take a half day.”
“Hyung,” Chanyeol says, and Joonmyun catches his hand, tugging him to his feet and busying himself tidying Chanyeol up. “You need to live a little.”
Sehun snorts. Considering they’d just fucked in the supply room and it’s not even noon, he’s pretty sure that Joonmyun’s got it down. “Gosh,” Joonmyun says, and he pats Chanyeol’s face gently. “You’re so right.”
“Come on,” Chanyeol whines. His hair is still a mess. The closet stinks of sex, and if they all leave at once, that’ll be pretty suspect. And yet…
Sehun tips his head, raising his eyebrows at Joonmyun. “You’re going to get me fired,” Joonmyun says. Sehun grins at Chanyeol, and Chanyeol grins back, because it’s not a no. It’s never a no. Chanyeol’s whoop is loud in the little room, and he presses sloppy kisses to the corner of Sehun’s mouth and Joonmyun’s temple.
“Anything beats those reports,” Sehun says, but he’s not fooling anyone. Joonmyun presses his fingertips to Sehun’s wrist as they leave the closet and Chanyeol’s got an arm slung around his shoulders and it’s risky, to be seen together like this. Somehow, Sehun just can’t bring himself to care.
This was just supposed to be a stop-gap job. Something to make a bit of money, and then he could go back to school, get his design degree, do what he really wants to do. Except the money never really appeared, and that was five years ago, and Sehun has sat in the same windowless cubicle the entire time and he’s possibly losing his mind.
“Oh, boy.” Sehun looks up to see one of his directors, Yifan smiling down at him benevolently. The man is obscenely tall and handsome but nice, in a bland, marshmallowy way. “Long face.” He’s wearing suspenders, an unnecessary vanity, since his pants are tailored. They should be, really. Sehun’s fairly certain he makes an obscene amount of money.
Yifan continues to smile down at him, but Sehun says nothing. He’s not really looking for an answer, anyway. “Looks like somebody’s got a case of the Mondays.” Yifan looks so pleased with his little joke. Sehun wants to die. Yifan’s pleasant smile falters a little under the sheer force of Sehun’s unimpressed stare and he drifts away, off to harass someone else with his leadership, hopefully.
Sighing, Sehun lays his head down on his keyboard. Maybe he can nap or something. His whole brain feels empty. In the next cubicle, he can hear Baekhyun’s cheery greeting to each phone call, and the falsity of it grates on his nerves. It’s not even eleven. It’s not even eleven am on a Monday, and Sehun is pretty sure he’s going to be the first human being to die of boredom. At least that’ll be an accomplishment, sort of. Maybe he can put the plaque for it up next to his award for most consecutive days employed with no actual work done. He’s got it down to an art now.
“Psst.” He opens his eyes to see his cubicle neighbour stick his head around the corner. Chanyeol’s eyes are buggy with mischief, and he wiggles his eyebrows. “Coffee?”
Sehun considers this. He’s already caffeinated, that’s the only reason he’s conscious. Then again, anything has to be better than these goddamn TPS reports and running the same numbers, over and over again. “Hmm,” he says. It’s always better to make Chanyeol work for it. He’s always most eager to please when he thinks he needs to prove his worth.
Chanyeol’s mouth twists uncertainly for a second, then he brightens. “Pit stop to pick up Joonmyun in accounting?” he suggests.
Now this could be interesting. “Alright,” Sehun agrees, feigning reluctance. “I guess that’s cool.”
When Yifan’s turned his back, bent over Jongdae’s desk while he cracks yet another lame joke in his endless quest to impress their computer programmer, Sehun and Chanyeol make a run for it. They head downstairs to accounting, Sehun with his hands in his pockets, Chanyeol at his heels. It’s always easiest, if Sehun approaches him first. Joonmyun’s got a soft spot for him, because he’s young.
“Sehun-ah,” Joonmyun says genially, looking up from his computer. “What brings you down here?”
Sehun pulls at his pockets with his thumbs, says nothing. Chanyeol peeks over his shoulder. “Hi, hyung,” he says cheerfully, his hands resting against Sehun’s waist, his chin on his shoulder. Sehun would shove him off, but he wants Joonmyun to take it in, the two of them together, and remember.
He likes the way that Joonmyun’s throat works silently, because it’s not a no. “You two look like trouble,” he chides, and Sehun can feel Chanyeol’s grin against his shoulder. “Don’t you have something to do?”
“We’re going out for coffee,” Chanyeol announces.
“Coming?” Sehun asks.
His favourite part of this is always watching Joonmyun fight himself. He likes his rules, his order, but he also likes, well. At the desk behind him, Minseok presses a hand to his mouth and snorts. “We need to stop doing this,” he grumbles, but he gets up anyway, lets Chanyeol tug him forward, and out of his office.
They don’t head to the coffee shop next door. They don’t even go to the break room for some shitty instant coffee. Instead, they end up in the supply closet, Chanyeol on his knees with Joonmyun’s cock in his mouth. It’s always Chanyeol who gets things started, because he sucks dick like he needs it to live and, vain as he is, he doesn’t mind getting his hair messed up. He looks good like this, his head bobbing diligently, one of Joonmyun’s hands curled around the back of his skull. He grips Joonmyun’s thighs, like he needs something to ground him while he coaxes those tiny, shuddery noises out of Joonmyun’s mouth. Ever conscious of image, Joonmyun. Sehun thinks it doesn’t matter. They locked the door, after all. People can get their toner later.
It’s nice enough to watch, but Sehun’s only working with half a hard on and he didn’t agree to this just to watch. There’s not a ton of room to work with in the closet, and he nudges Chanyeol with a knee. “Hey,” he says. “Ass up.”
There’s not enough room for Chanyeol to stay bent over to suck Joonmyun’s dick at the same time, and he whines, but Sehun ignores him. Over his shoulder, Joonmyun grins at Sehun, stepping forward to slide a hand down the front of Chanyeol’s slacks. “Shhhh,” he says, and Chanyeol grips Joonmyun’s biceps. Sehun kind of wishes that he could see his face, because he always makes the prettiest expressions when Sehun slides his fingers into him.
It doesn’t take long before Chanyeol is whimpering into Joonmyun’s mouth, these quiet little please for Sehun to hurry up and just fuck him already. Joonmyun rewards him with a kiss, deep and thorough. Chanyeol’s noisy as hell, but he’s trying so hard to be good, it’s a good thing Joonmyun is there to acknowledge his good behavior.
Sehun’s not hard enough yet, though, and Chanyeol frowns impatiently. He winds himself around Sehun’s body, and it’s nice, the way they line up. It means it’s comfortable for Sehun to reach down and grab a handful of Chanyeol’s (meagre) ass while Joonmyun works a hand between them, stroking with a precision borne of practice and familiarity. “Come on,” he says, rubbing his thumb across the head of Sehun’s cock just to watch Sehun jerk. “I have paperwork to get back to.”
Sehun thinks there’s something unfair about Chanyeol laughing at him when he’s the one rubbing up against Sehun’s bare thigh a bit desperately. “That is helping literally nothing,” Sehun says darkly. Joonmyun smiles at him rather serenely for a guy with his dick sticking out of his pants, and then he twists his wrist and Sehun groans.
Once he gets there, the slide into Chanyeol is hot and tight, and Chanyeol lets out this pleased sigh, his back arching. Sehun has to admit, he likes the noises that Chanyeol makes, almost as much as he likes the bite of Joonmyun’s hand against his hip, tugging him forward, hard. It’s always best when Joonmyun finally gets impatient, and he’s impatient now, sliding up between Chanyeol’s legs and taking their cocks in hand.
At this angle, Chanyeol’s got his face pressed against Joonmyun’s shoulder, taking a shuddering breath with each thrust of Sehun’s cock and the slide of Joonmyun’s palms. Sehun can’t see either of them, but he doesn’t need to. He’s familiar with the way Chanyeol looks when he’s being fucked, open-mouthed and desperate, and the determined crease of Joonmyun’s brow when he’s chasing friction. And this is good, the tight slide of his cock in Chanyeol’s ass, the way he jerks and clenches when Sehun brushes against his prostate. He’s not going to last long.
It’s a matter of minutes before he spills across Joonmyun’s hands, turning loose-limbed and useless in a flash. “Damnit, Chanyeol,” Sehun sighs, pulling out. Chanyeol just grins, looking pleased, tugging weakly at his pants, still pooled around his ankles. This is such a piss off. Sehun’s still hard as hell, and Chanyeol is never any good once he’s come. Just prop him up against the nearest surface and wait for him to fall asleep.
That’s why they always invite Joonmyun to these things. “Stop whining,” Joonmyun tells him, sliding past Chanyeol in the narrow closet to press up against Sehun. “It’s not attractive.” Sehun’s about to snap back, but Joonmyun’s wormed a hand into his pocket for the lube and slicked up his fingers. He presses knocks Sehun’s feet apart and presses two in with no preamble, and Sehun knows that he’s enjoying it, the way that he can make Sehun squirm with just a push of his fingertips against his prostate. He does his best to retaliate, hands curled around Joonmyun’s cock as he strokes in time with Joonmyun’s fingers.
They come within a few seconds of each other, Sehun first, from nothing but the insistent fuck of Joonmyun’s fingers and what little friction he’d got against Joonmyun’s belly. Joonmyun looks pleased, the way he always does when he manages to make Sehun come hands-free. “Messy,” Joonmyun sighs, although Sehun doesn’t know what he’s complaining about. Sehun’s the one with his own come on his shoes. He’s fairly certain that Joonmyun did that on purpose.
“I can’t believe we have to go back to work,” Chanyeol sighs. Joonmyun glances up at Sehun, and the two of them share a look and a grin as Joonmyun cleans them both up. He tucks Sehun back into his pants and Chanyeol sighs again. “I have four reports to hand in. This sucks.”
Sehun barely resists the urge to make a crack about exactly who was sucking a few minutes ago, but he manages it. “I have a TPS report that was due last week,” he says, and he shrugs.
“I should be working on this month’s accounts,” Joonmyun says. He neatly tucks his shirt in again, and he frowns. “You two are such a distraction.”
“Hey,” Chanyeol says. He’s slid to the floor now, careless of dust on his pants. He sounds like he’s having an ephiphany. “What if, what if we just left.”
Sehun yawns. “I don’t think I’ve got any vacation left,” Joonmyun says. “I can’t take a half day.”
“Hyung,” Chanyeol says, and Joonmyun catches his hand, tugging him to his feet and busying himself tidying Chanyeol up. “You need to live a little.”
Sehun snorts. Considering they’d just fucked in the supply room and it’s not even noon, he’s pretty sure that Joonmyun’s got it down. “Gosh,” Joonmyun says, and he pats Chanyeol’s face gently. “You’re so right.”
“Come on,” Chanyeol whines. His hair is still a mess. The closet stinks of sex, and if they all leave at once, that’ll be pretty suspect. And yet…
Sehun tips his head, raising his eyebrows at Joonmyun. “You’re going to get me fired,” Joonmyun says. Sehun grins at Chanyeol, and Chanyeol grins back, because it’s not a no. It’s never a no. Chanyeol’s whoop is loud in the little room, and he presses sloppy kisses to the corner of Sehun’s mouth and Joonmyun’s temple.
“Anything beats those reports,” Sehun says, but he’s not fooling anyone. Joonmyun presses his fingertips to Sehun’s wrist as they leave the closet and Chanyeol’s got an arm slung around his shoulders and it’s risky, to be seen together like this. Somehow, Sehun just can’t bring himself to care.
suho/tao, pg, 700 words
originally posted here. vague domestic au.
Joonmyun doesn’t know what he was expecting when he came home, but he’s greeted with the sight of Zitao sprawled across the entirety of the couch, mouth half-open, fast asleep. Joonmyun, tired as he is, still smiles at the sight. He knows that Zitao was up at the crack of dawn for his early morning yoga classes, but he still insists on trying to stay up for when Joonmyun gets home.
Quietly, Joonmyun toes off his shoes and sets down his suitcase. His socked feet are silent against their wood flooring, and he reaches down, brushing his fingertips against Zitao’s jaw. Stirring, Zitao’s lips twitch up, and he shifts sleepily into Joonmyun’s touch. “Hi,” he says. His Korean is always worst when he’s first woken up, and Joonmyun likes it. “You’re home late.”
"You should be in bed," Joonmyun tells him. He bends down to kiss Zitao, fingers steady against his cheek.
He feels guilty when Zitao stays up for him, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like it. He likes Zitao’s long fingers wrapped around his wrists and the way he stretches up to kiss Joonmyun back, a sweet little nip that he soothes with a swipe of his tongue afterwards. “Should I?” Zitao asks. He pulls down, firm and inexorable, until Joonmyun laughs and tumbles down on top of him, knees bracketing Zitao’s thighs.
There’s always an insistance to Zitao’s kisses, no matter how sleepy he is. He doesn’t let Joonmyun’s wrists go, even when Joonmyun can’t hold himself up, but Joonmyun doesn’t mind it. Like this, he can feel the warmth of Zitao’s firm chest through his thin shirt and he knows that Zitao likes the contact. “You have sleep breath,” Joonmyun lies, and Zitao growls playfully, licking vengefully at the back of Joonmyun’s teeth.
They both need their sleep, and they both know it. Joonmyun has deadlines and Zitao’s always got his early morning wake up call. But Zitao wants it, hands coming down to cup Joonmyun’s ass and pull them together. It’s nothing urgent, but it’s sweet, and Joonmyun just can’t tear himself away.
"We should both be in bed," Joonmyun sighs, and Zitao whines. "Oh no you don’t," Joonmyun says warningly, laughing and trying to push himself up. He knows what’s coming next, and he knows he’s powerless against it.
Zitao pushes out his bottom lip, his eyes getting big. “Hyung,” he says quietly. He tugs the hem of Joonmyun’s shirt free and slides one hand up his ribs. This is when the size difference is most obvious, when one of Zitao’s hands splays across his belly and Joonmyun’s socked toes only brush against Zitao’s calves. “Just a little longer.”
It would be so easy to just give in. Joonmyun’s suitpants are getting rumpled, his shirt’s already a lost cause, and Zitao is busily ridding him of his tie. It’s not anything sexual, and that’s clear by how Zitao beams, pleased, when he frees Joonmyun of his tie and then tugs him down again, nosing at his jaw. Zitao’s always liked skin on skin. What Zitao doesn’t like, however, is waking up after too little sleep and having to go teach yoga to a class full of middle-aged women, and sometimes, Joonmyun has to be responsible.
It’s a good thing he knows the magic word. “Baby,” he says, and Zitao sighs, going pliant underneath him. “Let’s take this to bed.” This time, when he tries to stand, Zitao lets him. He tangles his fingers in the hem of Joonmyun’s button-up and follows him to the bedroom, easy as you please.
By the bed, Zitao stops Joonmyun, stripping him out of his suit. Joonmyun makes a grumpy noise when Zitao drops the clothes on the floor, instead of putting them away properly, but Zitao promptly ignores him. He’s going to have to get that pressed, but right now, he’s tired and he aches after a full day of work, and he’s got Zitao right here, and really, that’s all he needs. They climb into bed, Zitao settling his head on Joonmyun’s thin chest, long arm swung across his waist. “Sleep,” he tells Joonmyun, and Joonmyun can feel his long lashes brush across his skin. “Sleep.”
And they do.
Quietly, Joonmyun toes off his shoes and sets down his suitcase. His socked feet are silent against their wood flooring, and he reaches down, brushing his fingertips against Zitao’s jaw. Stirring, Zitao’s lips twitch up, and he shifts sleepily into Joonmyun’s touch. “Hi,” he says. His Korean is always worst when he’s first woken up, and Joonmyun likes it. “You’re home late.”
"You should be in bed," Joonmyun tells him. He bends down to kiss Zitao, fingers steady against his cheek.
He feels guilty when Zitao stays up for him, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like it. He likes Zitao’s long fingers wrapped around his wrists and the way he stretches up to kiss Joonmyun back, a sweet little nip that he soothes with a swipe of his tongue afterwards. “Should I?” Zitao asks. He pulls down, firm and inexorable, until Joonmyun laughs and tumbles down on top of him, knees bracketing Zitao’s thighs.
There’s always an insistance to Zitao’s kisses, no matter how sleepy he is. He doesn’t let Joonmyun’s wrists go, even when Joonmyun can’t hold himself up, but Joonmyun doesn’t mind it. Like this, he can feel the warmth of Zitao’s firm chest through his thin shirt and he knows that Zitao likes the contact. “You have sleep breath,” Joonmyun lies, and Zitao growls playfully, licking vengefully at the back of Joonmyun’s teeth.
They both need their sleep, and they both know it. Joonmyun has deadlines and Zitao’s always got his early morning wake up call. But Zitao wants it, hands coming down to cup Joonmyun’s ass and pull them together. It’s nothing urgent, but it’s sweet, and Joonmyun just can’t tear himself away.
"We should both be in bed," Joonmyun sighs, and Zitao whines. "Oh no you don’t," Joonmyun says warningly, laughing and trying to push himself up. He knows what’s coming next, and he knows he’s powerless against it.
Zitao pushes out his bottom lip, his eyes getting big. “Hyung,” he says quietly. He tugs the hem of Joonmyun’s shirt free and slides one hand up his ribs. This is when the size difference is most obvious, when one of Zitao’s hands splays across his belly and Joonmyun’s socked toes only brush against Zitao’s calves. “Just a little longer.”
It would be so easy to just give in. Joonmyun’s suitpants are getting rumpled, his shirt’s already a lost cause, and Zitao is busily ridding him of his tie. It’s not anything sexual, and that’s clear by how Zitao beams, pleased, when he frees Joonmyun of his tie and then tugs him down again, nosing at his jaw. Zitao’s always liked skin on skin. What Zitao doesn’t like, however, is waking up after too little sleep and having to go teach yoga to a class full of middle-aged women, and sometimes, Joonmyun has to be responsible.
It’s a good thing he knows the magic word. “Baby,” he says, and Zitao sighs, going pliant underneath him. “Let’s take this to bed.” This time, when he tries to stand, Zitao lets him. He tangles his fingers in the hem of Joonmyun’s button-up and follows him to the bedroom, easy as you please.
By the bed, Zitao stops Joonmyun, stripping him out of his suit. Joonmyun makes a grumpy noise when Zitao drops the clothes on the floor, instead of putting them away properly, but Zitao promptly ignores him. He’s going to have to get that pressed, but right now, he’s tired and he aches after a full day of work, and he’s got Zitao right here, and really, that’s all he needs. They climb into bed, Zitao settling his head on Joonmyun’s thin chest, long arm swung across his waist. “Sleep,” he tells Joonmyun, and Joonmyun can feel his long lashes brush across his skin. “Sleep.”
And they do.
kris/xiumin, nc-17, 1.8k words
originally posted here. alpha/beta/omega dynamics
Kris never saw it coming.
He’s been feeling weird all day, like his skin doesn’t quite fit right. He thinks maybe it’s allergies or something, or he’s coming down with a cold. He took a run after his afternoon classes, but it’s still won’t go away.
"What’s up with you?" Minseok asks. They’re studying at Minseok’s, like they always do, because they have the same history class and Minseok lives alone, so it’s most convenient. Kris’ roommate, Lu Han, is easily bored and never fails to interrupt. It suits Kris just fine, this way. It means he gets to spend some time one-on-one with Minseok, and that, of course, is always a plus. "You’re all twitchy today." They’re sitting on either end of Minseok’s couch, Kris with his legs kicked out on the coffee table and Minseok curled up on the other end.
Kris frowns. “I don’t know,” he admits. “Maybe I didn’t sleep well.” It’s a lie. Kris always sleeps well. He likes his sleep and he always makes sure to get a healthy nine hours a night.
"Uh huh," Minseok says, raising an eyebrow.
He shifts on the couch, brushing his hand up against Kris’ leg and Kris jerks, a shudder running through his whole body. He feels completely overheated, his face flushing. “Oh my god,” Kris mutters.
"Kris?" Minseok asks. "Are you okay?"
"Fine," Kris says immediately, although he’s pretty sure that’s not true at all. Minseok drops his hand on Kris’ knee and it hits him again, an embarrassing surge of arousal curling in his gut. "I’m fine."
He glances up at Minseok, and his mouth goes dry. Minseok’s pupils are dilated, his lips parted. “You don’t smell fine,” Minseok says, voice strained. Smell? Oh. Oh no.
Kris has never actually thought about it much. His family is mostly alphas, both of his parents included, and he just assumed he’d be one too. He’s got a couple of betas for cousins but this - no. He’d never considered this. “Oh my god,” Kris says weakly. Omega. He’s an omega.
"Do you have like, suppressants or something?" Minseok asks. He’s pulled away, but he’s tense, small hands folded carefully in his lap like he’s scared of what he could do with them. Minseok is an alpha, and he’s known it for years, and this makes this all that much worse.
"No," Kris says miserably. He can smell Minseok, smell his arousal and he’s halfway to hard himself, and he hasn’t even been touched. "I didn’t - I’m not - "
Minseok’s eyes get big. “Holy shit,” he says. “It’s your first.” He’s starting to lean in now, like he can’t help it, like Kris has developed his own gravitational pull. He doesn’t touch, no, Minseok’s got too much self control for that, but Kris kind of wishes he would. He feels like his skin is on fire. “I, uh, I can go.”
This is such a mess. First heat hits hard and fast, and Kris doesn’t know much about omega hormones, but he does know that he could be in for up to a week of this, if he’s particularly unlucky. He pushes a hand down between his legs. “This is your apartment,” he laughs weakly. He can’t believe this is happening.
Minseok shrugs. “Yeah, but it’s not like you can just, head home,” he points out. “It’s fine. I don’t want you to uh. Well.”
Kris is starting to feel dazed, out of control. “Fuck,” he says. He didn’t even know he was an omega, and now he’s been slammed by his first heat in front of the guy he’s had a thing for since freshman year. He’s really not sure how this could possibly get worse.
Very deliberately, Minseok reaches out and catches Kris’ wrist. Heat shudders down his spine and his back arches, his cock jerking uncomfortably in his pants. “I could help,” Minseok says. “If you want.”
Kris could laugh. “No,” he says. “It’s fine. I don’t want you to feel obligated.” He’s pretty proud of how he managed to get that sentence out without stuttering once, even though he wants so badly to get off right now, and Minseok’s hand on his wrist isn’t helping.
"Kris," Minseok says, exasperated, "It’s not a pity fuck." He rubs his thumb up against Kris’ pulse and looks fascinated when Kris flinches. It’s too much and not enough, all at once. "What if I want this?" Kris raises an eyebrow. "And not because of your hormones." He shrugs a shoulder. "I was waiting for, like, a good moment."
"And this is it?" Kris asks shakily.
Minseok pulls Kris’ hand up and presses his lips against his wrist. Kris sobs. “No,” Minseok says. “But I can help you.”
Fuck it. “Please,” Kris says brokenly, and Minseok lunges forward and kisses him.
Minseok’s not all that big, but he’s got a lot of strength in his small frame. He pins Kris down against the couch, and the weight of him feels so good between his legs. Kris doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so he settles with grabbing Minseok’s ass, pulling him forward.
He comes, hard, in his pants, after only a few seconds of Minseok grinding down against him. “Better?” Minseok pants, and Kris has to admit that it is, even if his pants are now disgusting. “Alright,” Minseok says. He climbs to his feet and hauls Kris with him, and just his touch on Kris’ shoulder is enough to make his cock twitch with interest again. “We’re not fucking on my couch. I’ve got standards.”
Kris nods dumbly, letting Minseok pull him into the bedroom. “Hey,” Minseok says, and Kris raises his head, focuses on him. “Are you still with me?”
"Yeah," Kris says, and Minseok smiles at him, cupping his cheek with a hand. Kris noses at Minseok’s hand. "Can I get these off? They’re kind of gross."
"Sure," Minseok says. Kris’ hands are shaking, and he can’t stop touching Minseok. He likes the way that he can nearly bracket Minseok’s hips with his hands, likes the soft give of Minseok’s ass. "Hey," Minseok says. "Quit it, I’m trying to get you naked."
They manage it, eventually, and Minseok carefully throws Kris’ dirty boxers into the laundry. By now, Kris is hard again, jerking helplessly up into every minute brush of Minseok’s skin against his. “I’ve got you,” Minseok says, and he swallows him down.
It’s unbelievable, how good Minseok is at this. Kris’ hands close fitfully against Minseok’s shoulders, doing his best not to pull or scratch, but just touching Minseok feels good. It makes the buzzing under his skin recede. Not enough, but a little.
Minseok slicks his fingers up and Kris shouts out when he pushes in a finger. He comes again, mumbling Minseok’s name incoherently. Minseok fucks him through it, smoothing one hand down Kris’ thigh as he shakes from the sensitivity. He still feels so hot, wound so tight. How is this even possible? “How are you doing?” he asks, and Kris wonders how he could be so calm. His pupils are so dilated that his eyes are almost black, and he can smell his arousal, thick in the air.
"It’s not enough," he admits, and Minseok leans forward to bite his thigh, hard.
"Alright," he says.
He stretches Kris open, brushing careful fingers across Kris’ prostate until he’s whining helplessly, trying to curl in on himself. It takes the slick slide of his fingers from Kris’ ass to make Kris open his eyes again and watch him. “Please,” he says, and Minseok raises his eyebrows, tapping Kris’ hip until he turns over onto his hands and knees.
This is a little bit humiliating, he thinks. He stops thinking, though, when he feels the head of Minseok’s head brush up against him and then push in. Kris groans low in his throat and Minseok doesn’t stop until his hips are pressed up flush against Kris’ ass. “Oh my god,” Kris breathes.
Minseok’s hand comes to rest against the back of Kris’ neck and holds him tight. “I’ve got you,” he says, pulling almost all the way out to thrust back in, fast and hard. The stretch of Minseok’s cock is perfect. The heat under his skin doubles, makes his back bow as Minseok fucks into him, fingers digging into Kris’ shoulder. “Please,” Kris mutters, and Minseok digs his thumb into the small of his back. “Please, I need - “
His cock is still sensitive, but Minseok’s hand is gentle on him. “Come for me,” Minseok says, and it’s the firm command of his voice that makes Kris grunt, his muscles tensing and his back arching as he spills over Minseok’s knuckles.
The way he clenches around Minseok is enough to pull him over the edge too, his hips speeding up until he sinks in deep one last time and he comes hard. Kris drops to his elbows, and this time he’s shaking from exhaustion. “Holy shit,” he says weakly. He knows that this is only a temporary respite, that it’ll hit him again in a few hours, but he’ll have a bit of a break now.
He grimaces at the slick feeling when Minseok pulls out, already up on his feet to clean them both up. “Well,” he says once they’re both clean, “That was a bit unexpected.” He flops down on the mattress and grins at Kris.
"Yeah, I guess," Kris says. He stands up and starts gathering his clothing.
Minseok frowns. “Where are you going?” he asks.
"I think I can probably get home safely now," he says. "Thanks, though." He tries to pull his shirt on again and Minseok stops him with a hand on his wrist.
"That’s it?" Minseok says. Kris has known Minseok for years, but he’s never seen him look unsure like he is right now. "You just wanted - "
Kris shakes his head. “No?” he says hesitantly. His shirt falls from his hands and he lets Minseok pull him back onto the bed. “I didn’t. I didn’t want you to think that it was just the heat.”
"Stupid," Minseok tells him, pulling him down. It’s funny, that he can be so much smaller than Kris, but he’s got no problem with pulling him around and putting him just where he wants. "C’mon. Get some sleep. You’re gonna need it."
Kris turns red. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Minseok grin, and his heart beat speeds up for reasons that have nothing at all to do with hormones.
He’s been feeling weird all day, like his skin doesn’t quite fit right. He thinks maybe it’s allergies or something, or he’s coming down with a cold. He took a run after his afternoon classes, but it’s still won’t go away.
"What’s up with you?" Minseok asks. They’re studying at Minseok’s, like they always do, because they have the same history class and Minseok lives alone, so it’s most convenient. Kris’ roommate, Lu Han, is easily bored and never fails to interrupt. It suits Kris just fine, this way. It means he gets to spend some time one-on-one with Minseok, and that, of course, is always a plus. "You’re all twitchy today." They’re sitting on either end of Minseok’s couch, Kris with his legs kicked out on the coffee table and Minseok curled up on the other end.
Kris frowns. “I don’t know,” he admits. “Maybe I didn’t sleep well.” It’s a lie. Kris always sleeps well. He likes his sleep and he always makes sure to get a healthy nine hours a night.
"Uh huh," Minseok says, raising an eyebrow.
He shifts on the couch, brushing his hand up against Kris’ leg and Kris jerks, a shudder running through his whole body. He feels completely overheated, his face flushing. “Oh my god,” Kris mutters.
"Kris?" Minseok asks. "Are you okay?"
"Fine," Kris says immediately, although he’s pretty sure that’s not true at all. Minseok drops his hand on Kris’ knee and it hits him again, an embarrassing surge of arousal curling in his gut. "I’m fine."
He glances up at Minseok, and his mouth goes dry. Minseok’s pupils are dilated, his lips parted. “You don’t smell fine,” Minseok says, voice strained. Smell? Oh. Oh no.
Kris has never actually thought about it much. His family is mostly alphas, both of his parents included, and he just assumed he’d be one too. He’s got a couple of betas for cousins but this - no. He’d never considered this. “Oh my god,” Kris says weakly. Omega. He’s an omega.
"Do you have like, suppressants or something?" Minseok asks. He’s pulled away, but he’s tense, small hands folded carefully in his lap like he’s scared of what he could do with them. Minseok is an alpha, and he’s known it for years, and this makes this all that much worse.
"No," Kris says miserably. He can smell Minseok, smell his arousal and he’s halfway to hard himself, and he hasn’t even been touched. "I didn’t - I’m not - "
Minseok’s eyes get big. “Holy shit,” he says. “It’s your first.” He’s starting to lean in now, like he can’t help it, like Kris has developed his own gravitational pull. He doesn’t touch, no, Minseok’s got too much self control for that, but Kris kind of wishes he would. He feels like his skin is on fire. “I, uh, I can go.”
This is such a mess. First heat hits hard and fast, and Kris doesn’t know much about omega hormones, but he does know that he could be in for up to a week of this, if he’s particularly unlucky. He pushes a hand down between his legs. “This is your apartment,” he laughs weakly. He can’t believe this is happening.
Minseok shrugs. “Yeah, but it’s not like you can just, head home,” he points out. “It’s fine. I don’t want you to uh. Well.”
Kris is starting to feel dazed, out of control. “Fuck,” he says. He didn’t even know he was an omega, and now he’s been slammed by his first heat in front of the guy he’s had a thing for since freshman year. He’s really not sure how this could possibly get worse.
Very deliberately, Minseok reaches out and catches Kris’ wrist. Heat shudders down his spine and his back arches, his cock jerking uncomfortably in his pants. “I could help,” Minseok says. “If you want.”
Kris could laugh. “No,” he says. “It’s fine. I don’t want you to feel obligated.” He’s pretty proud of how he managed to get that sentence out without stuttering once, even though he wants so badly to get off right now, and Minseok’s hand on his wrist isn’t helping.
"Kris," Minseok says, exasperated, "It’s not a pity fuck." He rubs his thumb up against Kris’ pulse and looks fascinated when Kris flinches. It’s too much and not enough, all at once. "What if I want this?" Kris raises an eyebrow. "And not because of your hormones." He shrugs a shoulder. "I was waiting for, like, a good moment."
"And this is it?" Kris asks shakily.
Minseok pulls Kris’ hand up and presses his lips against his wrist. Kris sobs. “No,” Minseok says. “But I can help you.”
Fuck it. “Please,” Kris says brokenly, and Minseok lunges forward and kisses him.
Minseok’s not all that big, but he’s got a lot of strength in his small frame. He pins Kris down against the couch, and the weight of him feels so good between his legs. Kris doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so he settles with grabbing Minseok’s ass, pulling him forward.
He comes, hard, in his pants, after only a few seconds of Minseok grinding down against him. “Better?” Minseok pants, and Kris has to admit that it is, even if his pants are now disgusting. “Alright,” Minseok says. He climbs to his feet and hauls Kris with him, and just his touch on Kris’ shoulder is enough to make his cock twitch with interest again. “We’re not fucking on my couch. I’ve got standards.”
Kris nods dumbly, letting Minseok pull him into the bedroom. “Hey,” Minseok says, and Kris raises his head, focuses on him. “Are you still with me?”
"Yeah," Kris says, and Minseok smiles at him, cupping his cheek with a hand. Kris noses at Minseok’s hand. "Can I get these off? They’re kind of gross."
"Sure," Minseok says. Kris’ hands are shaking, and he can’t stop touching Minseok. He likes the way that he can nearly bracket Minseok’s hips with his hands, likes the soft give of Minseok’s ass. "Hey," Minseok says. "Quit it, I’m trying to get you naked."
They manage it, eventually, and Minseok carefully throws Kris’ dirty boxers into the laundry. By now, Kris is hard again, jerking helplessly up into every minute brush of Minseok’s skin against his. “I’ve got you,” Minseok says, and he swallows him down.
It’s unbelievable, how good Minseok is at this. Kris’ hands close fitfully against Minseok’s shoulders, doing his best not to pull or scratch, but just touching Minseok feels good. It makes the buzzing under his skin recede. Not enough, but a little.
Minseok slicks his fingers up and Kris shouts out when he pushes in a finger. He comes again, mumbling Minseok’s name incoherently. Minseok fucks him through it, smoothing one hand down Kris’ thigh as he shakes from the sensitivity. He still feels so hot, wound so tight. How is this even possible? “How are you doing?” he asks, and Kris wonders how he could be so calm. His pupils are so dilated that his eyes are almost black, and he can smell his arousal, thick in the air.
"It’s not enough," he admits, and Minseok leans forward to bite his thigh, hard.
"Alright," he says.
He stretches Kris open, brushing careful fingers across Kris’ prostate until he’s whining helplessly, trying to curl in on himself. It takes the slick slide of his fingers from Kris’ ass to make Kris open his eyes again and watch him. “Please,” he says, and Minseok raises his eyebrows, tapping Kris’ hip until he turns over onto his hands and knees.
This is a little bit humiliating, he thinks. He stops thinking, though, when he feels the head of Minseok’s head brush up against him and then push in. Kris groans low in his throat and Minseok doesn’t stop until his hips are pressed up flush against Kris’ ass. “Oh my god,” Kris breathes.
Minseok’s hand comes to rest against the back of Kris’ neck and holds him tight. “I’ve got you,” he says, pulling almost all the way out to thrust back in, fast and hard. The stretch of Minseok’s cock is perfect. The heat under his skin doubles, makes his back bow as Minseok fucks into him, fingers digging into Kris’ shoulder. “Please,” Kris mutters, and Minseok digs his thumb into the small of his back. “Please, I need - “
His cock is still sensitive, but Minseok’s hand is gentle on him. “Come for me,” Minseok says, and it’s the firm command of his voice that makes Kris grunt, his muscles tensing and his back arching as he spills over Minseok’s knuckles.
The way he clenches around Minseok is enough to pull him over the edge too, his hips speeding up until he sinks in deep one last time and he comes hard. Kris drops to his elbows, and this time he’s shaking from exhaustion. “Holy shit,” he says weakly. He knows that this is only a temporary respite, that it’ll hit him again in a few hours, but he’ll have a bit of a break now.
He grimaces at the slick feeling when Minseok pulls out, already up on his feet to clean them both up. “Well,” he says once they’re both clean, “That was a bit unexpected.” He flops down on the mattress and grins at Kris.
"Yeah, I guess," Kris says. He stands up and starts gathering his clothing.
Minseok frowns. “Where are you going?” he asks.
"I think I can probably get home safely now," he says. "Thanks, though." He tries to pull his shirt on again and Minseok stops him with a hand on his wrist.
"That’s it?" Minseok says. Kris has known Minseok for years, but he’s never seen him look unsure like he is right now. "You just wanted - "
Kris shakes his head. “No?” he says hesitantly. His shirt falls from his hands and he lets Minseok pull him back onto the bed. “I didn’t. I didn’t want you to think that it was just the heat.”
"Stupid," Minseok tells him, pulling him down. It’s funny, that he can be so much smaller than Kris, but he’s got no problem with pulling him around and putting him just where he wants. "C’mon. Get some sleep. You’re gonna need it."
Kris turns red. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Minseok grin, and his heart beat speeds up for reasons that have nothing at all to do with hormones.