By Any Other Name
Title: By Any Other Name
Pairing: Chanyeol/Kyungsoo
Rating: NC-17
Genre: fluff (aka super fluffy sex involving some dirty talk)
Length: 2,264
Summary: Chanyeol hates wearing clothes with his name on the back.
a/n: an adventure in short fic!
Chanyeol’s never been one to deny the fact that he’s handsome.
He knows he is, and millions of fans know it too. He works hard to keep it that way-moisturizing less intensely but just as often as Zitao, carefully cultivating his collection of snapbacks because they just make his outfits, staying far away from people like Baekhyun who support the excessive use of makeup products (or as far as is possible when you spend every hour of every day together).
Chanyeol also doesn’t mind the endless barrage of compliments that comes with being an idol. People telling him they like his hair, his eyes, his legs, his ears (though he gets just as much teasing for those as he does appreciation), his voice, his musical skills, his enthusiasm and kindness and humility. He doesn’t even blush, like Jongin or Junmyeon or Minseok still sometimes do, just laughs and waves away the words like he hears them so often they’ve lost much of their meaning. Which, to be honest, they have.
Not that this stops Chanyeol from worrying about the way he looks, the way he sounds, the way he presents himself. He knows that one misstep could mean the end of everything. But on a typical day, he doesn’t think much of it. He doesn’t criticize himself for being self-centered, for being narcissistic-it’s all part of being an idol. You don’t audition for an entertainment company if you feel awkward seeing your face blown up to ten times life-size and pasted on the side of buildings, billboards, stadiums. Handling that sort of thing has never been a problem for him.
But, for some reason, he can’t handle this.
The instant the stylist hands him the jacket-quickly moving on to shove nearly-identical copies at Jongdae, Sehun, Yifan-Chanyeol feels his heart jump oddly in his chest. And as he pulls it on, shrugging his shoulders to settle it into place, he starts to feel distinctly uncomfortable, distinctly awkward and unsettled.
“Does it fit all right?” Junmyeon asks worriedly, when he notices Chanyeol shifting his arms and neck, clenching and unclenching his fists. “If it doesn’t, tell them right now so it can be replaced before you have to perform in it.”
“No, no,” Chanyeol replies quickly, forcing himself to relax and stop fidgeting. “It fits fine.”
“Good,” Junmyeon says with a quick smile, already turning to help Tao with his collar.
The problem is that it’s not fine, Chanyeol thinks. It feels like he’s got a giant target painted across his back. And he kind of hates it.
“You really don’t like these jackets, huh?” Baekhyun laughs, lifting onto his tiptoes so he can cuff Chanyeol around the neck. “As soon as we put them on you start messing with yours.”
“I just…” Chanyeol sighs, stepping out of Baekhyun’s reach and staring grumpily at him. “Doesn’t it feel…weird? Walking around with your name written on your back?”
“Are you serious?” Baekhyun snorts, before raising an eyebrow when Chanyeol doesn’t start laughing with him. “Wait, you are serious! Chanyeol. It’s not as if we’re middle school students who have forgotten to take off our name badges. Everyone knows our names. People in other countries who can’t even pronounce our names know our names. What’s the big deal?”
“I don’t know,” Chanyeol groans, shaking his head and yanking pitifully on his jacket sleeve. “I just feel…exposed, you know? And it feels almost…egotistical? I don’t know.”
“Egotistical?” Baekhyun hums disbelievingly, grabbing Chanyeol’s arm and steering him deftly down the hallway. “Are you kidding? You do know that your face is on advertisements, right? You’ve been on variety shows wherein you have said some incredibly embarrassing and self-centered things just to get more screentime? You’re an idol? Ring any bells?”
“Why do I even bother to talk to you?” Chanyeol sniffs, as Baekhyun’s pulled away from him by some flustered stylists wielding eyeliner and BB cream. “You don’t get it.”
“Maybe not,” Baekhyun replies as best he can while keeping his lips perfectly still. “But I think you’re the one who really doesn’t get it.”
“Why can’t we go back to when all our clothes just said WOLF on them?” Chanyeol laments, as he’s handed yet another sweatshirt with his name emblazoned across the back-white letters standing stark against the heavy black fabric.
“Hey, this will help the police bring you back to your parents the next time you wander off and get lost,” Jongdae says sweetly, yanking on his own jacket and turning to admire his side profile in the mirror. “All that’s missing is your family name and phone number.”
“Shut up,” Chanyeol huffs, turning and frowning at the way the English letters keep drawing his eyes, distracting him from evaluating the rest of his outfit. “It just feels so weird.”
“You insist on wearing those hats with all kinds of words written on them,” Jongdae reminds him, slapping the bill of the hat Chanyeol’s currently wearing and shoving it down over his eyes. “I don’t see why this bothers you so much.”
“I don’t know either,” Chanyeol whines, before following Jongdae out into the chilly autumn air towards the waiting van. “Whatever. Fine. Okay.”
But it’s not okay. It’s not okay, until Chanyeol’s sitting in his room, staring forlornly at the jacket he’s just peeled off and left lying across his bed.
“It feels like it’s watching me,” Chanyeol whispers to himself, pulling out his phone and attempting to ignore the offending piece of fabric sitting right there. Maybe he should put it in the closet. Maybe that would help.
“What have I said about talking to yourself?” a smooth voice says from behind him, and Chanyeol yelps, nearly dropping his phone in surprise.
“God, Kyungsoo,” Chanyeol huffs, pressing a hand to his heaving chest. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”
“Then don’t sit here talking to yourself,” Kyungsoo replies, sitting down on the edge of Chanyeol’s bed and swinging his legs nonchalantly. “It makes it really easy.”
Chanyeol sighs, looks down at the phone in his hand, up towards the ceiling, left towards the small pile of comic books shoved under Jongin’s bed.
“It’s the jackets, isn’t it?” Kyungsoo asks softly, almost expectantly, and Chanyeol’s head jerks up.
“Okay, which one told you?” Chanyeol groans, covering his face with his hands when he sees that Kyungsoo’s smiling slightly, lips pulling up on one side. “Please tell me it was Baekhyun, because I think I could beat him up if I had to but I’m not so sure about Jongdae.”
“Please,” Kyungsoo snorts, shaking his head like the mere thought offends him. “I don’t need either of them. Every time they hand us one of these jackets, you make this awful face like you’ve just had to drink a cup of sour milk. It wasn’t that hard to figure out.”
“Well, good job, gold star for you,” Chanyeol says sarcastically, moving as if to stand. He’s not sure where he’s going, just that he’s getting a little sick of being teased for this. But then he feels a firm hand on his knee and he falls back into his chair with a thump, eyes wide.
“You know what I don’t get?” Kyungsoo whispers, hand still warm on Chanyeol’s leg, eyes bright with mirth and something else Chanyeol can’t quite label but definitely recognizes. “I don’t get why you don’t like having your name on your back. It’s such a pretty name.”
“It’s-what-it’s not-” Chanyeol protests, but he doesn’t get very far because Kyungsoo’s already moving, already settling himself onto Chanyeol’s lap with that same smirk he uses every time they do stuff. And Chanyeol can’t say he minds, not when he suddenly has a lap full of incredibly hot fellow-band-member with incredibly kissable lips.
“Chanyeol,” Kyungsoo breathes, the words blowing hot across Chanyeol’s cheek. Chanyeol shivers at the closeness, the warmth, the word. “See? It’s so nice.”
And then Kyungsoo’s kissing him, cupping Chanyeol’s face delicately as Chanyeol’s hands tighten around his hips, and every thought running through Chanyeol’s mind-that this really has nothing to do with the jacket, that Jongin could come in and catch them any minute, that he hasn’t brushed his teeth since this morning-flies out the window.
“Chanyeol,” Kyungsoo hums against his lips, and Chanyeol starts to pull back to respond when Kyungsoo’s hands tighten, keeping him in place as warm lips slant over his own. “Chanyeol, Chanyeol, Chanyeol.”
“I-” Chanyeol tries to say, more than a little distracted when Kyungsoo’s tongue slips into his mouth, the wet slide absolutely dizzying.
“Such a pretty name,” Kyungsoo continues, letting his mouth wander across Chanyeol’s jaw, his chin, his neck, sucking lightly on the soft skin. “Such a pretty, lovely name, Chanyeol.”
“God, Kyungsoo,” Chanyeol moans, because he’s always had a thing for Kyungsoo’s voice, for the way it slips out of his throat in the mornings, unexpectedly deep, the way it curls expertly around the lyrics they sing together, the way it breaks when he’s breathless with arousal. And hearing that voice, Kyungsoo’s voice, saying his name over and over again has Chanyeol starting to strain against his tight jeans.
“Chanyeol,” Kyungsoo counters, letting one hand drift downwards towards the zipper of Chanyeol’s pants, chuckling when Chanyeol whines and arches towards the touch. “So eager, Chanyeol, so pretty, Chanyeol, so mine.”
“Mine,” Chanyeol repeats, sloppily gripping Kyungsoo’s hips even tighter, dragging him even farther forward so Chanyeol can feel his clothed cock brush against his own. Kyungsoo’s breath hitches, hard, and Chanyeol grins vindictively.
“Chanyeol,” Kyungsoo breathes, but Chanyeol’s already mouthing at the fluttering pulse in his neck, driving the air from his lungs as Kyungsoo grinds down harder against him.
“No one else can make you-” Chanyeol gasps, hot breath ghosting across the wet skin of Kyungsoo’s neck and making him shiver. “Make you sound like this. Just me, Soo. Me.”
“Yes,” Kyungsoo whines, scrabbling at Chanyeol’s neck as Chanyeol lifts his hips, lets Kyungsoo fall against his chest as their cocks rub against thick fabric, against each other. “Chanyeol, so perfect, so handsome, Chanyeol-”
“Want-” Chanyeol mumbles, letting one of his hands drop from Kyungsoo’s hips to yank down the zipper of Kyungsoo’s jeans, slip inside the soft fabric of Kyungsoo’s boxers. “Wanna make you feel good, wanna-”
“Chanyeol,” Kyungsoo groans as Chanyeol strokes upwards once, twice, feeling his own cock jump at the way Kyungsoo’s voice drags over the word, catches on every syllable. He doesn’t think he’s ever wanted to hear his own name so much. And there’s a kind of selfishness there, too, but Chanyeol’s too dizzy to think about it, Kyungsoo is too close and too warm and too his.
“Again,” Chanyeol hisses, as Kyungsoo tries to keep himself from thrusting up into the tight circle of Chanyeol’s fingers. “Again, Soo, please-”
“Chanyeol,” Kyungsoo repeats, drawing out the word so long Chanyeol has to kiss the last syllable from his mouth. “Chanyeol, Chanyeol, such a nice name, god, you’re so good-”
And Kyungsoo’s shifting restlessly in Chanyeol’s lap, providing some much-needed pressure to Chanyeol’s throbbing cock as Chanyeol’s hand moves faster and faster, smoothing out the glide with the precome leaking from Kyungsoo’s cock.
“One more time,” Chanyeol begs, eyes squeezing shut as he feels himself hurtling towards the edge, Kyungsoo’s cock hot and heavy in his hand, Kyungsoo’s lips soft and wet against his own. “Please-”
“Chanyeol,” Kyungsoo gasps, before his whole body bows and he’s spurting over Chanyeol’s fist, against his own stomach. “Chanyeolchanyeolchanyeolchanyeolchanyeolchanyeol-”
And Chanyeol tries to hold himself back, focus on pumping Kyungsoo through his orgasm, but the way his name sounds on Kyungsoo’s tongue, slick and filthy and breathless, and the way Kyungsoo shudders against him, head falling heavily against Chanyeol’s shoulder as his hips thrust uselessly forwards, has Chanyeol coming in his pants, head jerking backwards as the waves of pleasure overwhelm him.
Then they’re both panting, sated, Kyungsoo curled around him trapping Chanyeol’s hand between them, and Chanyeol is feeling far too lazy to move.
“So,” Kyungsoo huffs against his shirt, humid laugh dampening the fabric. “Have I managed to convince you those jackets aren’t all the bad?”
“You’re so hot,” Chanyeol mutters incoherently, and Kyungsoo laughs louder, sitting up so he can flash Chanyeol a blinding smile. “But I’m still not sure about those jackets.”
“What a shame,” Kyungsoo pouts, hand reaching up to card through Chanyeol’s messy hair. “I guess I’ll just have to remind you again later. Because I’m pretty sure those jackets aren’t going anywhere.”
“I guess you will,” Chanyeol grins, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of Kyungsoo’s pretty mouth as Kyungsoo smirks.
“So, Chanyeol, ready for this performance?” Jongdae asks, walking past arm-in-arm with Baekhyun as they both sneer at him. “Here. We’re wearing your favorite.”
Chanyeol sticks out his tongue as they saunter off, high-fiving obnoxiously, then lifts up the jacket Jongdae’s just thrown at him. It’s a suit-style one this time, slate-grey and lightweight, with his name printed across the back in bright white letters.
His name.
Oh, shit.
“Hey, what are you waiting for? Come on!” Baekhyun calls, and Chanyeol looks up to see him standing at the end of the hallway, one hand on his hip, waiting for Chanyeol to catch up.
“C-coming!” Chanyeol yells, pressing the jacket tight to his stomach as he stands, hoping against hope that Baekhyun doesn’t read too much into the deep flush he can feel spreading across his face.
He’s going to kill Kyungsoo.
Pairing: Chanyeol/Kyungsoo
Rating: NC-17
Genre: fluff (aka super fluffy sex involving some dirty talk)
Length: 2,264
Summary: Chanyeol hates wearing clothes with his name on the back.
a/n: an adventure in short fic!
Chanyeol’s never been one to deny the fact that he’s handsome.
He knows he is, and millions of fans know it too. He works hard to keep it that way-moisturizing less intensely but just as often as Zitao, carefully cultivating his collection of snapbacks because they just make his outfits, staying far away from people like Baekhyun who support the excessive use of makeup products (or as far as is possible when you spend every hour of every day together).
Chanyeol also doesn’t mind the endless barrage of compliments that comes with being an idol. People telling him they like his hair, his eyes, his legs, his ears (though he gets just as much teasing for those as he does appreciation), his voice, his musical skills, his enthusiasm and kindness and humility. He doesn’t even blush, like Jongin or Junmyeon or Minseok still sometimes do, just laughs and waves away the words like he hears them so often they’ve lost much of their meaning. Which, to be honest, they have.
Not that this stops Chanyeol from worrying about the way he looks, the way he sounds, the way he presents himself. He knows that one misstep could mean the end of everything. But on a typical day, he doesn’t think much of it. He doesn’t criticize himself for being self-centered, for being narcissistic-it’s all part of being an idol. You don’t audition for an entertainment company if you feel awkward seeing your face blown up to ten times life-size and pasted on the side of buildings, billboards, stadiums. Handling that sort of thing has never been a problem for him.
But, for some reason, he can’t handle this.
The instant the stylist hands him the jacket-quickly moving on to shove nearly-identical copies at Jongdae, Sehun, Yifan-Chanyeol feels his heart jump oddly in his chest. And as he pulls it on, shrugging his shoulders to settle it into place, he starts to feel distinctly uncomfortable, distinctly awkward and unsettled.
“Does it fit all right?” Junmyeon asks worriedly, when he notices Chanyeol shifting his arms and neck, clenching and unclenching his fists. “If it doesn’t, tell them right now so it can be replaced before you have to perform in it.”
“No, no,” Chanyeol replies quickly, forcing himself to relax and stop fidgeting. “It fits fine.”
“Good,” Junmyeon says with a quick smile, already turning to help Tao with his collar.
The problem is that it’s not fine, Chanyeol thinks. It feels like he’s got a giant target painted across his back. And he kind of hates it.
“You really don’t like these jackets, huh?” Baekhyun laughs, lifting onto his tiptoes so he can cuff Chanyeol around the neck. “As soon as we put them on you start messing with yours.”
“I just…” Chanyeol sighs, stepping out of Baekhyun’s reach and staring grumpily at him. “Doesn’t it feel…weird? Walking around with your name written on your back?”
“Are you serious?” Baekhyun snorts, before raising an eyebrow when Chanyeol doesn’t start laughing with him. “Wait, you are serious! Chanyeol. It’s not as if we’re middle school students who have forgotten to take off our name badges. Everyone knows our names. People in other countries who can’t even pronounce our names know our names. What’s the big deal?”
“I don’t know,” Chanyeol groans, shaking his head and yanking pitifully on his jacket sleeve. “I just feel…exposed, you know? And it feels almost…egotistical? I don’t know.”
“Egotistical?” Baekhyun hums disbelievingly, grabbing Chanyeol’s arm and steering him deftly down the hallway. “Are you kidding? You do know that your face is on advertisements, right? You’ve been on variety shows wherein you have said some incredibly embarrassing and self-centered things just to get more screentime? You’re an idol? Ring any bells?”
“Why do I even bother to talk to you?” Chanyeol sniffs, as Baekhyun’s pulled away from him by some flustered stylists wielding eyeliner and BB cream. “You don’t get it.”
“Maybe not,” Baekhyun replies as best he can while keeping his lips perfectly still. “But I think you’re the one who really doesn’t get it.”
“Why can’t we go back to when all our clothes just said WOLF on them?” Chanyeol laments, as he’s handed yet another sweatshirt with his name emblazoned across the back-white letters standing stark against the heavy black fabric.
“Hey, this will help the police bring you back to your parents the next time you wander off and get lost,” Jongdae says sweetly, yanking on his own jacket and turning to admire his side profile in the mirror. “All that’s missing is your family name and phone number.”
“Shut up,” Chanyeol huffs, turning and frowning at the way the English letters keep drawing his eyes, distracting him from evaluating the rest of his outfit. “It just feels so weird.”
“You insist on wearing those hats with all kinds of words written on them,” Jongdae reminds him, slapping the bill of the hat Chanyeol’s currently wearing and shoving it down over his eyes. “I don’t see why this bothers you so much.”
“I don’t know either,” Chanyeol whines, before following Jongdae out into the chilly autumn air towards the waiting van. “Whatever. Fine. Okay.”
But it’s not okay. It’s not okay, until Chanyeol’s sitting in his room, staring forlornly at the jacket he’s just peeled off and left lying across his bed.
“It feels like it’s watching me,” Chanyeol whispers to himself, pulling out his phone and attempting to ignore the offending piece of fabric sitting right there. Maybe he should put it in the closet. Maybe that would help.
“What have I said about talking to yourself?” a smooth voice says from behind him, and Chanyeol yelps, nearly dropping his phone in surprise.
“God, Kyungsoo,” Chanyeol huffs, pressing a hand to his heaving chest. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”
“Then don’t sit here talking to yourself,” Kyungsoo replies, sitting down on the edge of Chanyeol’s bed and swinging his legs nonchalantly. “It makes it really easy.”
Chanyeol sighs, looks down at the phone in his hand, up towards the ceiling, left towards the small pile of comic books shoved under Jongin’s bed.
“It’s the jackets, isn’t it?” Kyungsoo asks softly, almost expectantly, and Chanyeol’s head jerks up.
“Okay, which one told you?” Chanyeol groans, covering his face with his hands when he sees that Kyungsoo’s smiling slightly, lips pulling up on one side. “Please tell me it was Baekhyun, because I think I could beat him up if I had to but I’m not so sure about Jongdae.”
“Please,” Kyungsoo snorts, shaking his head like the mere thought offends him. “I don’t need either of them. Every time they hand us one of these jackets, you make this awful face like you’ve just had to drink a cup of sour milk. It wasn’t that hard to figure out.”
“Well, good job, gold star for you,” Chanyeol says sarcastically, moving as if to stand. He’s not sure where he’s going, just that he’s getting a little sick of being teased for this. But then he feels a firm hand on his knee and he falls back into his chair with a thump, eyes wide.
“You know what I don’t get?” Kyungsoo whispers, hand still warm on Chanyeol’s leg, eyes bright with mirth and something else Chanyeol can’t quite label but definitely recognizes. “I don’t get why you don’t like having your name on your back. It’s such a pretty name.”
“It’s-what-it’s not-” Chanyeol protests, but he doesn’t get very far because Kyungsoo’s already moving, already settling himself onto Chanyeol’s lap with that same smirk he uses every time they do stuff. And Chanyeol can’t say he minds, not when he suddenly has a lap full of incredibly hot fellow-band-member with incredibly kissable lips.
“Chanyeol,” Kyungsoo breathes, the words blowing hot across Chanyeol’s cheek. Chanyeol shivers at the closeness, the warmth, the word. “See? It’s so nice.”
And then Kyungsoo’s kissing him, cupping Chanyeol’s face delicately as Chanyeol’s hands tighten around his hips, and every thought running through Chanyeol’s mind-that this really has nothing to do with the jacket, that Jongin could come in and catch them any minute, that he hasn’t brushed his teeth since this morning-flies out the window.
“Chanyeol,” Kyungsoo hums against his lips, and Chanyeol starts to pull back to respond when Kyungsoo’s hands tighten, keeping him in place as warm lips slant over his own. “Chanyeol, Chanyeol, Chanyeol.”
“I-” Chanyeol tries to say, more than a little distracted when Kyungsoo’s tongue slips into his mouth, the wet slide absolutely dizzying.
“Such a pretty name,” Kyungsoo continues, letting his mouth wander across Chanyeol’s jaw, his chin, his neck, sucking lightly on the soft skin. “Such a pretty, lovely name, Chanyeol.”
“God, Kyungsoo,” Chanyeol moans, because he’s always had a thing for Kyungsoo’s voice, for the way it slips out of his throat in the mornings, unexpectedly deep, the way it curls expertly around the lyrics they sing together, the way it breaks when he’s breathless with arousal. And hearing that voice, Kyungsoo’s voice, saying his name over and over again has Chanyeol starting to strain against his tight jeans.
“Chanyeol,” Kyungsoo counters, letting one hand drift downwards towards the zipper of Chanyeol’s pants, chuckling when Chanyeol whines and arches towards the touch. “So eager, Chanyeol, so pretty, Chanyeol, so mine.”
“Mine,” Chanyeol repeats, sloppily gripping Kyungsoo’s hips even tighter, dragging him even farther forward so Chanyeol can feel his clothed cock brush against his own. Kyungsoo’s breath hitches, hard, and Chanyeol grins vindictively.
“Chanyeol,” Kyungsoo breathes, but Chanyeol’s already mouthing at the fluttering pulse in his neck, driving the air from his lungs as Kyungsoo grinds down harder against him.
“No one else can make you-” Chanyeol gasps, hot breath ghosting across the wet skin of Kyungsoo’s neck and making him shiver. “Make you sound like this. Just me, Soo. Me.”
“Yes,” Kyungsoo whines, scrabbling at Chanyeol’s neck as Chanyeol lifts his hips, lets Kyungsoo fall against his chest as their cocks rub against thick fabric, against each other. “Chanyeol, so perfect, so handsome, Chanyeol-”
“Want-” Chanyeol mumbles, letting one of his hands drop from Kyungsoo’s hips to yank down the zipper of Kyungsoo’s jeans, slip inside the soft fabric of Kyungsoo’s boxers. “Wanna make you feel good, wanna-”
“Chanyeol,” Kyungsoo groans as Chanyeol strokes upwards once, twice, feeling his own cock jump at the way Kyungsoo’s voice drags over the word, catches on every syllable. He doesn’t think he’s ever wanted to hear his own name so much. And there’s a kind of selfishness there, too, but Chanyeol’s too dizzy to think about it, Kyungsoo is too close and too warm and too his.
“Again,” Chanyeol hisses, as Kyungsoo tries to keep himself from thrusting up into the tight circle of Chanyeol’s fingers. “Again, Soo, please-”
“Chanyeol,” Kyungsoo repeats, drawing out the word so long Chanyeol has to kiss the last syllable from his mouth. “Chanyeol, Chanyeol, such a nice name, god, you’re so good-”
And Kyungsoo’s shifting restlessly in Chanyeol’s lap, providing some much-needed pressure to Chanyeol’s throbbing cock as Chanyeol’s hand moves faster and faster, smoothing out the glide with the precome leaking from Kyungsoo’s cock.
“One more time,” Chanyeol begs, eyes squeezing shut as he feels himself hurtling towards the edge, Kyungsoo’s cock hot and heavy in his hand, Kyungsoo’s lips soft and wet against his own. “Please-”
“Chanyeol,” Kyungsoo gasps, before his whole body bows and he’s spurting over Chanyeol’s fist, against his own stomach. “Chanyeolchanyeolchanyeolchanyeolchanyeolchanyeol-”
And Chanyeol tries to hold himself back, focus on pumping Kyungsoo through his orgasm, but the way his name sounds on Kyungsoo’s tongue, slick and filthy and breathless, and the way Kyungsoo shudders against him, head falling heavily against Chanyeol’s shoulder as his hips thrust uselessly forwards, has Chanyeol coming in his pants, head jerking backwards as the waves of pleasure overwhelm him.
Then they’re both panting, sated, Kyungsoo curled around him trapping Chanyeol’s hand between them, and Chanyeol is feeling far too lazy to move.
“So,” Kyungsoo huffs against his shirt, humid laugh dampening the fabric. “Have I managed to convince you those jackets aren’t all the bad?”
“You’re so hot,” Chanyeol mutters incoherently, and Kyungsoo laughs louder, sitting up so he can flash Chanyeol a blinding smile. “But I’m still not sure about those jackets.”
“What a shame,” Kyungsoo pouts, hand reaching up to card through Chanyeol’s messy hair. “I guess I’ll just have to remind you again later. Because I’m pretty sure those jackets aren’t going anywhere.”
“I guess you will,” Chanyeol grins, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of Kyungsoo’s pretty mouth as Kyungsoo smirks.
“So, Chanyeol, ready for this performance?” Jongdae asks, walking past arm-in-arm with Baekhyun as they both sneer at him. “Here. We’re wearing your favorite.”
Chanyeol sticks out his tongue as they saunter off, high-fiving obnoxiously, then lifts up the jacket Jongdae’s just thrown at him. It’s a suit-style one this time, slate-grey and lightweight, with his name printed across the back in bright white letters.
His name.
Oh, shit.
“Hey, what are you waiting for? Come on!” Baekhyun calls, and Chanyeol looks up to see him standing at the end of the hallway, one hand on his hip, waiting for Chanyeol to catch up.
“C-coming!” Chanyeol yells, pressing the jacket tight to his stomach as he stands, hoping against hope that Baekhyun doesn’t read too much into the deep flush he can feel spreading across his face.
He’s going to kill Kyungsoo.