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fic advent 2013: day eight
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thesockmonster ♥
kris/kai
nc-17, 2.4k words
"how about they accidentally get locked in a bathroom together and ~magic~ happens."
thesockmonster ♥kris/kai
nc-17, 2.4k words
"how about they accidentally get locked in a bathroom together and ~magic~ happens."
There are a lot of good things about being in an idol group, but sharing a bathroom with eleven other dudes is definitely not one of them. Jongin got the short end of the stick tonight, and the last shower. It was lukewarm at best, and cold by the end, but at least he’s not sweaty anymore. That’s sort of a win.
There’s a knock on the door as he’s climbing out of the shower. “Yeah?” he calls, reaching for a towel. Most of the others have gone to bed by now, it’s late and none of them squander what little time they have to sleep.
The door eases open as Jongin wraps the towel around his waist. “Sorry,” Yifan says. “I just wanted to uh, get everything done.” He waves a hand vaguely at his face, scrubbed clean. “You know, as soon as possible.”
Jongin likes seeing Yifan like this, without the makeup and without the designer clothes. He’s got his hair pushed out of his face with a hairband and his roots are visible, and he just looks softer, in his sweatpants and oversized shirt. “Yeah, sure,” Jongin says. It’s not like he’s got much left to do before he sleeps. All he needs to do is brush his teeth and then he can faceplant into his bed. It sounds pretty appealing right about now.
It takes him an embarrassingly long time to figure out how to tuck the end of his towel in so that it would stay hitched up around his hips, but he manages it and turns to brushing his teeth, elbows brushing up against Yifan’. If he weren’t so tired, he would be too aware of how little he’s wearing and how close to Yifan he is. It’s funny - Yifan is a big guy, the biggest out of all of them, but he’s never tried to take up a lot of space. He’s got a quiet, solid presence that Jongin has always appreciated. Jongin’s always been certain that if he reached out, Yifan would be there, and that means a lot to him.
Breath minty fresh, Jongin nods at Yifan, who is rubbing whatever cream it is into his face, and he gathers his things to head to bed. Thing is - the doorknob isn’t working. Maybe he’s just tired. He tries again, jostling it fruitlessly, but nothing works. “Huh,” he says. He turns the doorknob and it just keeps turning, around and around, and Jongin does his best to push down his mounting anxiety. He just wanted to go to bed. “Uh, hyung?”
Yifan looks up from where he’s just finishing up, patting something into his jawline. “Hmm?” His eyebrows crease at the slightly helpless look on Jongin’s face, and then narrow further when he sees the problem. “Uh oh.”
“Uh oh?” It doesn’t really seem to cover the magnitude of the situation. They have practice tomorrow morning, and then a stage, and then a radio interview. He doesn’t have time to be locked in the bathroom. Jongin jerks at the door handle. “I’m not sleeping in the shower stall.”
“Hey.” Yifan’s hand lands on the back of Jongin’s neck, warm and heavy, and some of that tension leeches away. “Relax. No one’s going to make you sleep in the bathroom.” Jongin isn’t so certain of that. His phone is back in his room, and everyone most likely asleep by now. Would they even hear them from in here? Their walls aren’t that thin.
Yifan takes a few seconds to take a try himself and figure out that no, that door isn’t opening up. He turns to Jongin and offers him a smile. “You don’t have any secret lockpicking skills you’ve been keeping quiet, do you?” he asks.
“I wish,” Jongin grumbles. No, that’s Chanyeol’s forte. He hikes his towel up on his hips and wishes desperately that he’d brought his shirt into the bathroom. Then, if he had to be trapped in a small, damp room with Yifan, at least he wouldn’t be half naked.
“Well, fuck,” Yifan says.
The two of them share a long look. If they hammered on the door, they might be able to wake someone up, but then they’d have to live with the rest of their group laughing at them for getting stuck in such a...well. Suggestive situation. Jongin sits down on the toilet, hunching his shoulders, and Yifan slides down to the floor. “At least there are worse people to be stuck in here with,” Yifan smiles. “If you were Jongdae, I’d already be banging on the door.”
Jongin does his best not to think too hard about the stretch of Yifan’s shoulders under his old shirt, or the way his pale ankles stick out from his worn sweats. “If I were Jongdae, you never would’ve come in in the first place,” he points out.
“You’re right,” Yifan agrees steadily, and Jongin swallows. He knows that look.
There have been a few times lately, where Jongin thinks...maybe. After their first win for Growl, Yifan had let Jongin grip his shirt on the van ride back, his face buried in his shoulder. No matter how overwhelming things are, Yifan is always there, steady and level-headed. And it was after the MAMAs, when the two of them had ended up sharing a room and Yifan had pulled Jongin into his arms. Jongin’s eyes had ached from the crying and he could feel Yifan’s breath, perilously close to his own mouth. He hadn’t said anything, just held him close, and Jongin’s heart had sped up, not slowed down.
And now this. Yifan doesn’t make a move, but Jongin can feel him waiting. He swallows hard. “Hyung?” he says hoarsely.
Yifan shifts on the tiled floor, his eyes intent on Jongin. “Should we shout?” he asks. “Yixing’s a pretty light sleeper.”
They should be sleeping too, but somehow, Jongin feels like they’re on the precipice of something. He knows that no matter how this moment goes, they’ll be fine, but - Jongin has always reached for what he wants. “Maybe we shouldn’t,” he says, and though it’s barely more than a whisper, the words sound loud against the tiled walls.
Yifan doesn’t smile, not quite, but he rolls onto his knees and rests his big hands on Jongin’s thighs. It’s not like they’ve never touched before, but the weight of Yifan’s hands makes Jongin shiver. “Are you sure?” Yifan asks.
There’s a risk to it, one that Jongin is sure that both of them are entirely aware of. But Jongin is tired and his muscles ache, and he’s so tired of having his space invaded and his privacy eroded. Can’t he have just this? After a second, he nods silently.
Yifan’s mouth is gentle in a way that Jongin should have expected, insistent and sweet. He can’t help the way that his lips part under Yifan’s, his eyes sliding shut as Yifan cups his face in his hands. He always knew that this was there, between them, but now that he’s kissing Yifan (finally kissing him), it hits him like a train. He’s almost giddy, kissing Yifan back with a fervour that makes him laugh, brushing his thumbs across Jongin’s cheekbones.
It’s too awkward, bending over to meet Yifan, so Jongin slides down into Yifan’s lap instead. Pressed up against Yifan like this, Jongin doesn’t feel the chill of the damp bathroom air anymore. He can feel the heat of Yifan’s body through the thin material of his pajamas, and he rests his hands on Yifan’s shoulders. Yifan is smiling up at him, easy, indulgent, and Jongin’s heart gives a leap in his ribcage. He always catches him
They kiss for a while longer, longer than they should, and Jongin’s towel hides absolutely nothing. Even as he’s blushing, though, hyper aware of the press of his cock against Yifan’s belly, Yifan is laughing again. “Don’t be embarrassed,” Yifan tells him, and he rolls his hips up, just a little. The friction makes Jongin gasp and his cock jerk. “It’s flattering.”
“I’m a teenager,” Jongin grumbles, and Yifan’s eyes slide away for a second. Jongin panics. Probably not the best thing to have said if he’s hoping that this will maybe go somewhere tonight.
“Don’t remind me,” Yifan groans. Jongin watches him carefully, still, waiting for a sign, and then Yifan is gently tugging his towel loose, and there isn’t anything clearer than that. “Is this okay?” Yifan asks. His concern seems laughable when he’s curling a hand around Jongin’s cock and stroking him slowly.
Jongin lets his head fall to Yifan’s shoulder. “No,” he says, and Yifan freezes, about to pull his hand away. Jongin lays his hand over Yifan’s and squeezes. “Tighter,” he says, nosing into Yifan’s throat as his breath hitches.
“Brat,” Yifan says fondly. But he obeys, jerking Jongin off, just the way he likes it, fast and a little rough. Jongin, he hasn’t - he hasn’t done this much. He doesn’t know what to do with himself, so he clings to the front of Yifan’s shirt and pants wetly into his shoulder. It feels so good, even if it’s too dry, because it’s Yifan.
He has to push Yifan’s hand away, because he’s embarrassingly close to coming. “I want -” Jongin’s breath hitches and Yifan settles his fingers on the back of his neck again. “I want more.”
He lets Yifan nudge him up just enough that he can see his face again. “Are you sure?” They both flush at that. “I mean. You’re going to have to dance tomorrow.”
Jongin thinks about that, about being able to feel the echo of what they did the next day, and he shudders in Yifan’s lap. “Yeah,” he says breathlessly. He shifts, and he can feel the press of Yifan’s cock against his ass. He’s not the only one who’s enjoying this, and he is so, so glad. “I’m sure.”
It’s too crowded on the floor, and too hard on the knees, so they end up standing again. Yifan rests one hand flat against the small of Jongin’s back and stretches him open too carefully, too slowly. They don’t have much time, but no matter how much Jongin arches his back and pushes back, trying to fuck himself on Yifan’s thick fingers, Yifan refuses to rush.
It pays off when Yifan lines his cock up and pushes in, steady and inexorable. Jongin grips the sink, eyes squeezed shut, the breath knocked out of him. He’s only done this a handful of times before, and only ever with Taemin, but it’s different with Yifan. He’s taller, for one, and a lot more thoughtful, too. Each thrust is controlled, never hard enough to make Jongin bang his hips against the sink. Jongin presses his hand to his mouth, doing his best to choke back his moans every time the head of Yifan’s cock drags across his prostate. His cock jerks against his belly and he reaches down to stroke himself in time with Yifan’s thrusts. He’s not going to last long.
Yifan bends to mouth at the line of Jongin’s shoulder blade. “Don’t,” he mutters, wringing another choked off noise out of Jongin. There’s not a lot of finesse to the way that Yifan fucks into him, but he’s got good rhythm and he slides in deep enough to make Jongin want to sob with pleasure. “Don’t hold back.”
Jongin knows it’s probably more to do with how they need to figure out how to get out of this bathroom and go to bed before practice tomorrow, but the rough, low edge to Yifan’s voice still sends heat down his spine. It only takes a few more thrusts before he’s groaning Yifan’s name and spilling over his hand.
Yifan fucks him through it, one hand fixed against the back of Jongin’s neck, holding him in place. It’s almost too much, Jongin is too sensitive, but he likes the possessive grip of Yifan’s fingers and the way that he gasps when he comes, hot and hard.
Yeah, Jongin’s gonna feel it tomorrow. He’s feeling it right now. He grimaces when Yifan pulls out, and he should’ve expected the gentle, solicitous way that Yifan cleans them up. When he’s done, though, when Yifan’s pulled his boxers back on and given Jongin his pajamas, it’s as though neither of them have the right words anymore. “So,” Yifan says. “Are you okay? Are you -”
Seriously? “Hyung, please,” Jongin groans, clapping a hand over Yifan’s mouth to stop him from talking. “Just -” Jongin’s never been good with explaining himself, and he finds it’s even harder when his knees are wobbly and he’s practically comatose post-fuck. He settles, instead, for kissing Yifan again, quick and sweet. When he pulls away, Yifan follows the movement, and Jongin snorts. He looks pretty dumb.
Before they have a chance to talk, to figure out exactly what they are, the door clicks and swings open. Chanyeol stands from where he’d been crouched in front of the doorknob, a shit-eating grin from ear to ear, and he’s flanked by Baekhyun and Jongdae. They all look unfairly pleased. “Thought we’d let you finish, first,” Chanyeol says. “Aren’t I nice?”
Jongin is sure he’s literally never been so embarrassed in his life. “Guys,” Yifan says in warning, but there’s no way they’ll hear the end of this any time soon.
Luckily, in a rare display of self-control, they don’t tear into them immediately. “Aren’t you going to say thank you?” Chanyeol frowns. “I saved you having to sleep in the bathroom.”
Yifan glances at Jongin and then jerks his chin infinitesimally towards the door, telling him to go first. There’s no room right now for a real good night, for them to say anything, not in front of those three. Still, Yifan squeezes Jongin’s wrist briefly. “I’m pretty sure you’re the ones that locked us in here,” Yifan says dryly, and Jongin pushes his way out of the bathroom towards his own room.
When he glances back over his shoulder, Yifan smiles at him, and Jongin shivers.
There’s a knock on the door as he’s climbing out of the shower. “Yeah?” he calls, reaching for a towel. Most of the others have gone to bed by now, it’s late and none of them squander what little time they have to sleep.
The door eases open as Jongin wraps the towel around his waist. “Sorry,” Yifan says. “I just wanted to uh, get everything done.” He waves a hand vaguely at his face, scrubbed clean. “You know, as soon as possible.”
Jongin likes seeing Yifan like this, without the makeup and without the designer clothes. He’s got his hair pushed out of his face with a hairband and his roots are visible, and he just looks softer, in his sweatpants and oversized shirt. “Yeah, sure,” Jongin says. It’s not like he’s got much left to do before he sleeps. All he needs to do is brush his teeth and then he can faceplant into his bed. It sounds pretty appealing right about now.
It takes him an embarrassingly long time to figure out how to tuck the end of his towel in so that it would stay hitched up around his hips, but he manages it and turns to brushing his teeth, elbows brushing up against Yifan’. If he weren’t so tired, he would be too aware of how little he’s wearing and how close to Yifan he is. It’s funny - Yifan is a big guy, the biggest out of all of them, but he’s never tried to take up a lot of space. He’s got a quiet, solid presence that Jongin has always appreciated. Jongin’s always been certain that if he reached out, Yifan would be there, and that means a lot to him.
Breath minty fresh, Jongin nods at Yifan, who is rubbing whatever cream it is into his face, and he gathers his things to head to bed. Thing is - the doorknob isn’t working. Maybe he’s just tired. He tries again, jostling it fruitlessly, but nothing works. “Huh,” he says. He turns the doorknob and it just keeps turning, around and around, and Jongin does his best to push down his mounting anxiety. He just wanted to go to bed. “Uh, hyung?”
Yifan looks up from where he’s just finishing up, patting something into his jawline. “Hmm?” His eyebrows crease at the slightly helpless look on Jongin’s face, and then narrow further when he sees the problem. “Uh oh.”
“Uh oh?” It doesn’t really seem to cover the magnitude of the situation. They have practice tomorrow morning, and then a stage, and then a radio interview. He doesn’t have time to be locked in the bathroom. Jongin jerks at the door handle. “I’m not sleeping in the shower stall.”
“Hey.” Yifan’s hand lands on the back of Jongin’s neck, warm and heavy, and some of that tension leeches away. “Relax. No one’s going to make you sleep in the bathroom.” Jongin isn’t so certain of that. His phone is back in his room, and everyone most likely asleep by now. Would they even hear them from in here? Their walls aren’t that thin.
Yifan takes a few seconds to take a try himself and figure out that no, that door isn’t opening up. He turns to Jongin and offers him a smile. “You don’t have any secret lockpicking skills you’ve been keeping quiet, do you?” he asks.
“I wish,” Jongin grumbles. No, that’s Chanyeol’s forte. He hikes his towel up on his hips and wishes desperately that he’d brought his shirt into the bathroom. Then, if he had to be trapped in a small, damp room with Yifan, at least he wouldn’t be half naked.
“Well, fuck,” Yifan says.
The two of them share a long look. If they hammered on the door, they might be able to wake someone up, but then they’d have to live with the rest of their group laughing at them for getting stuck in such a...well. Suggestive situation. Jongin sits down on the toilet, hunching his shoulders, and Yifan slides down to the floor. “At least there are worse people to be stuck in here with,” Yifan smiles. “If you were Jongdae, I’d already be banging on the door.”
Jongin does his best not to think too hard about the stretch of Yifan’s shoulders under his old shirt, or the way his pale ankles stick out from his worn sweats. “If I were Jongdae, you never would’ve come in in the first place,” he points out.
“You’re right,” Yifan agrees steadily, and Jongin swallows. He knows that look.
There have been a few times lately, where Jongin thinks...maybe. After their first win for Growl, Yifan had let Jongin grip his shirt on the van ride back, his face buried in his shoulder. No matter how overwhelming things are, Yifan is always there, steady and level-headed. And it was after the MAMAs, when the two of them had ended up sharing a room and Yifan had pulled Jongin into his arms. Jongin’s eyes had ached from the crying and he could feel Yifan’s breath, perilously close to his own mouth. He hadn’t said anything, just held him close, and Jongin’s heart had sped up, not slowed down.
And now this. Yifan doesn’t make a move, but Jongin can feel him waiting. He swallows hard. “Hyung?” he says hoarsely.
Yifan shifts on the tiled floor, his eyes intent on Jongin. “Should we shout?” he asks. “Yixing’s a pretty light sleeper.”
They should be sleeping too, but somehow, Jongin feels like they’re on the precipice of something. He knows that no matter how this moment goes, they’ll be fine, but - Jongin has always reached for what he wants. “Maybe we shouldn’t,” he says, and though it’s barely more than a whisper, the words sound loud against the tiled walls.
Yifan doesn’t smile, not quite, but he rolls onto his knees and rests his big hands on Jongin’s thighs. It’s not like they’ve never touched before, but the weight of Yifan’s hands makes Jongin shiver. “Are you sure?” Yifan asks.
There’s a risk to it, one that Jongin is sure that both of them are entirely aware of. But Jongin is tired and his muscles ache, and he’s so tired of having his space invaded and his privacy eroded. Can’t he have just this? After a second, he nods silently.
Yifan’s mouth is gentle in a way that Jongin should have expected, insistent and sweet. He can’t help the way that his lips part under Yifan’s, his eyes sliding shut as Yifan cups his face in his hands. He always knew that this was there, between them, but now that he’s kissing Yifan (finally kissing him), it hits him like a train. He’s almost giddy, kissing Yifan back with a fervour that makes him laugh, brushing his thumbs across Jongin’s cheekbones.
It’s too awkward, bending over to meet Yifan, so Jongin slides down into Yifan’s lap instead. Pressed up against Yifan like this, Jongin doesn’t feel the chill of the damp bathroom air anymore. He can feel the heat of Yifan’s body through the thin material of his pajamas, and he rests his hands on Yifan’s shoulders. Yifan is smiling up at him, easy, indulgent, and Jongin’s heart gives a leap in his ribcage. He always catches him
They kiss for a while longer, longer than they should, and Jongin’s towel hides absolutely nothing. Even as he’s blushing, though, hyper aware of the press of his cock against Yifan’s belly, Yifan is laughing again. “Don’t be embarrassed,” Yifan tells him, and he rolls his hips up, just a little. The friction makes Jongin gasp and his cock jerk. “It’s flattering.”
“I’m a teenager,” Jongin grumbles, and Yifan’s eyes slide away for a second. Jongin panics. Probably not the best thing to have said if he’s hoping that this will maybe go somewhere tonight.
“Don’t remind me,” Yifan groans. Jongin watches him carefully, still, waiting for a sign, and then Yifan is gently tugging his towel loose, and there isn’t anything clearer than that. “Is this okay?” Yifan asks. His concern seems laughable when he’s curling a hand around Jongin’s cock and stroking him slowly.
Jongin lets his head fall to Yifan’s shoulder. “No,” he says, and Yifan freezes, about to pull his hand away. Jongin lays his hand over Yifan’s and squeezes. “Tighter,” he says, nosing into Yifan’s throat as his breath hitches.
“Brat,” Yifan says fondly. But he obeys, jerking Jongin off, just the way he likes it, fast and a little rough. Jongin, he hasn’t - he hasn’t done this much. He doesn’t know what to do with himself, so he clings to the front of Yifan’s shirt and pants wetly into his shoulder. It feels so good, even if it’s too dry, because it’s Yifan.
He has to push Yifan’s hand away, because he’s embarrassingly close to coming. “I want -” Jongin’s breath hitches and Yifan settles his fingers on the back of his neck again. “I want more.”
He lets Yifan nudge him up just enough that he can see his face again. “Are you sure?” They both flush at that. “I mean. You’re going to have to dance tomorrow.”
Jongin thinks about that, about being able to feel the echo of what they did the next day, and he shudders in Yifan’s lap. “Yeah,” he says breathlessly. He shifts, and he can feel the press of Yifan’s cock against his ass. He’s not the only one who’s enjoying this, and he is so, so glad. “I’m sure.”
It’s too crowded on the floor, and too hard on the knees, so they end up standing again. Yifan rests one hand flat against the small of Jongin’s back and stretches him open too carefully, too slowly. They don’t have much time, but no matter how much Jongin arches his back and pushes back, trying to fuck himself on Yifan’s thick fingers, Yifan refuses to rush.
It pays off when Yifan lines his cock up and pushes in, steady and inexorable. Jongin grips the sink, eyes squeezed shut, the breath knocked out of him. He’s only done this a handful of times before, and only ever with Taemin, but it’s different with Yifan. He’s taller, for one, and a lot more thoughtful, too. Each thrust is controlled, never hard enough to make Jongin bang his hips against the sink. Jongin presses his hand to his mouth, doing his best to choke back his moans every time the head of Yifan’s cock drags across his prostate. His cock jerks against his belly and he reaches down to stroke himself in time with Yifan’s thrusts. He’s not going to last long.
Yifan bends to mouth at the line of Jongin’s shoulder blade. “Don’t,” he mutters, wringing another choked off noise out of Jongin. There’s not a lot of finesse to the way that Yifan fucks into him, but he’s got good rhythm and he slides in deep enough to make Jongin want to sob with pleasure. “Don’t hold back.”
Jongin knows it’s probably more to do with how they need to figure out how to get out of this bathroom and go to bed before practice tomorrow, but the rough, low edge to Yifan’s voice still sends heat down his spine. It only takes a few more thrusts before he’s groaning Yifan’s name and spilling over his hand.
Yifan fucks him through it, one hand fixed against the back of Jongin’s neck, holding him in place. It’s almost too much, Jongin is too sensitive, but he likes the possessive grip of Yifan’s fingers and the way that he gasps when he comes, hot and hard.
Yeah, Jongin’s gonna feel it tomorrow. He’s feeling it right now. He grimaces when Yifan pulls out, and he should’ve expected the gentle, solicitous way that Yifan cleans them up. When he’s done, though, when Yifan’s pulled his boxers back on and given Jongin his pajamas, it’s as though neither of them have the right words anymore. “So,” Yifan says. “Are you okay? Are you -”
Seriously? “Hyung, please,” Jongin groans, clapping a hand over Yifan’s mouth to stop him from talking. “Just -” Jongin’s never been good with explaining himself, and he finds it’s even harder when his knees are wobbly and he’s practically comatose post-fuck. He settles, instead, for kissing Yifan again, quick and sweet. When he pulls away, Yifan follows the movement, and Jongin snorts. He looks pretty dumb.
Before they have a chance to talk, to figure out exactly what they are, the door clicks and swings open. Chanyeol stands from where he’d been crouched in front of the doorknob, a shit-eating grin from ear to ear, and he’s flanked by Baekhyun and Jongdae. They all look unfairly pleased. “Thought we’d let you finish, first,” Chanyeol says. “Aren’t I nice?”
Jongin is sure he’s literally never been so embarrassed in his life. “Guys,” Yifan says in warning, but there’s no way they’ll hear the end of this any time soon.
Luckily, in a rare display of self-control, they don’t tear into them immediately. “Aren’t you going to say thank you?” Chanyeol frowns. “I saved you having to sleep in the bathroom.”
Yifan glances at Jongin and then jerks his chin infinitesimally towards the door, telling him to go first. There’s no room right now for a real good night, for them to say anything, not in front of those three. Still, Yifan squeezes Jongin’s wrist briefly. “I’m pretty sure you’re the ones that locked us in here,” Yifan says dryly, and Jongin pushes his way out of the bathroom towards his own room.
When he glances back over his shoulder, Yifan smiles at him, and Jongin shivers.