b1a4; night watch
cnu/jinyoung & baro/gongchan. r. 874 words. chanshik and sunwoo are fucking, dongwoo and jinyoung watch from the sidelines. (originally posted at kprompts)
warnings: voyeurism
When Dongwoo first finds out, he’s scared. He wants to tell someone, a manager, a coach, anyone, an adult. Being oldest is worth nothing, Dongwoo realizes, and feels so much like a child. Someone has to come and sort this thing out for them, with a hand so steady you never have to doubt their authority and never have to think for yourself.
It’s not so much for the whole obvious part of it as for that Chanshik is seventeen and a half years old and still laughs at knock-knock jokes and does aegyo whenever you ask him and sometimes cries in his bed at night because he misses his parents but vehemently denies it when you ask him how he feels. Yet he seems so good at this, seems to know exactly what he’s doing, seems to be so in control. And Dongwoo can’t for the life of him keep from wondering what it feels like. What both of it feels like. The control, the adulthood. And the filled up, face down, biting the pillow full of breathy whiny stuttery sobby choppy noises that Sunwoo struggles so hard to keep from the dead of the night and equally hard fails for every firm hitch of Chanshik’s cock into him.
When Jinyoung also finds out, Dongwoo decides to be a man. Jinyoung is a leader in the making, and this is what it’s gonna be like from now on. It’s gonna be the two of them, the two of them against the world, and they’re gonna take care of these three kids, and they’re gonna do everything that needs to be done, carry everything that needs to be carried. And they can carry this, together.
“It doesn’t hurt anyone,” Jinyoung says, with a splotchy flush from his temples to his throat but still. “It’s just a phase. When we debut, then, then they’ll stop,” he says with conviction so sincere it bleeds over to Dongwoo as well. At the debut, then they’ll stop. For sure. And then everything will be fine.
What it feels like. He doesn’t try it; doesn’t touch himself when washing in the shower. Doesn’t look up grainy videos on the internet, doesn’t google the human anatomy. He suspects there is something else he’s looking for, that it’s something else about it that fascinates him so. The something he thinks himself seeing between Chanshik and Sunwoo at daytime, invisible to anyone but him. That thing shared, connecting people together and opening them up.
In folder upon folder in the depths of his hard drive he collects pictures of people kissing. Always has. And even though his insides pound thick at tongues and lips he never masturbates to them. But at the same time he’s nineteen and has had to go through all those nineteen years with not much more company than his own right hand, and dreams of the burn of a special hand upon your skin, of being connected to someone, of seeing and actually being seen, are mixed with dreams of faceless strangers fucking him till he weeps, making him wake up so hard it hurts and with the sensation of being slid into and filled up to the brim still pounding in his nether regions. What it feels like.
Jinyoung doesn’t judge when finding him on the floor outside their door, open just enough to let a slim stripe of soft yellow light cross vertically over Dongwoo’s face and then continue over the floor. It’s not the first time.
“Did. I wake you?” Dongwoo mouths and clenches his fingers around his dick, much too late to tuck it back in. “Sorry.”
Jinyoung makes a move that is neither a shake of the head nor a shrug of the shoulder and stands behind Dongwoo’s back to join him.
Chanshik’s shoulders are naked and golden. Sunwoo’s hand comes up over one of them sometimes, digs fingers in, clamps over his neck, pulls him down. Dongwoo’s stomach twists hotly for every wet sound of their kisses, so tight with good that it’s painful. He leans his temple against the doorpost and thinks that he might as well close his eyes, could just as well just listen to their noises; the breathing, the swallowing, the low groans, the squeaks of bedsprings, movements.
Dongwoo thinks about the bed stand lamp, what it being on could mean in this world of adulthood. Is seeing each other’s faces a thing of nonchalance, or a thing of intimacy?
There is movement above him and he looks up to find Jinyoung digging around in his sweats, and Dongwoo squeezes his dick again, with both danger and relief rushing through him. He gets his hand moving again, thinking of feeling skin on his skin, naked body under his. Then Jinyoung sits down next to him and moves his fingers over Dongwoo’s thigh and they jerk each other with accustomed hands. Chanshik rocks steadily into Sunwoo and Dongwoo watches Jinyoung’s face in the dark, tries to picture a connection, a burn, a feeling. Wonders if there could be something between them at daytime, just invisible to him.
But when Jinyoung leans in to kiss him, he turns his head away.
They close the door and leave when Sunwoo climaxes.
warnings: voyeurism
When Dongwoo first finds out, he’s scared. He wants to tell someone, a manager, a coach, anyone, an adult. Being oldest is worth nothing, Dongwoo realizes, and feels so much like a child. Someone has to come and sort this thing out for them, with a hand so steady you never have to doubt their authority and never have to think for yourself.
It’s not so much for the whole obvious part of it as for that Chanshik is seventeen and a half years old and still laughs at knock-knock jokes and does aegyo whenever you ask him and sometimes cries in his bed at night because he misses his parents but vehemently denies it when you ask him how he feels. Yet he seems so good at this, seems to know exactly what he’s doing, seems to be so in control. And Dongwoo can’t for the life of him keep from wondering what it feels like. What both of it feels like. The control, the adulthood. And the filled up, face down, biting the pillow full of breathy whiny stuttery sobby choppy noises that Sunwoo struggles so hard to keep from the dead of the night and equally hard fails for every firm hitch of Chanshik’s cock into him.
When Jinyoung also finds out, Dongwoo decides to be a man. Jinyoung is a leader in the making, and this is what it’s gonna be like from now on. It’s gonna be the two of them, the two of them against the world, and they’re gonna take care of these three kids, and they’re gonna do everything that needs to be done, carry everything that needs to be carried. And they can carry this, together.
“It doesn’t hurt anyone,” Jinyoung says, with a splotchy flush from his temples to his throat but still. “It’s just a phase. When we debut, then, then they’ll stop,” he says with conviction so sincere it bleeds over to Dongwoo as well. At the debut, then they’ll stop. For sure. And then everything will be fine.
What it feels like. He doesn’t try it; doesn’t touch himself when washing in the shower. Doesn’t look up grainy videos on the internet, doesn’t google the human anatomy. He suspects there is something else he’s looking for, that it’s something else about it that fascinates him so. The something he thinks himself seeing between Chanshik and Sunwoo at daytime, invisible to anyone but him. That thing shared, connecting people together and opening them up.
In folder upon folder in the depths of his hard drive he collects pictures of people kissing. Always has. And even though his insides pound thick at tongues and lips he never masturbates to them. But at the same time he’s nineteen and has had to go through all those nineteen years with not much more company than his own right hand, and dreams of the burn of a special hand upon your skin, of being connected to someone, of seeing and actually being seen, are mixed with dreams of faceless strangers fucking him till he weeps, making him wake up so hard it hurts and with the sensation of being slid into and filled up to the brim still pounding in his nether regions. What it feels like.
Jinyoung doesn’t judge when finding him on the floor outside their door, open just enough to let a slim stripe of soft yellow light cross vertically over Dongwoo’s face and then continue over the floor. It’s not the first time.
“Did. I wake you?” Dongwoo mouths and clenches his fingers around his dick, much too late to tuck it back in. “Sorry.”
Jinyoung makes a move that is neither a shake of the head nor a shrug of the shoulder and stands behind Dongwoo’s back to join him.
Chanshik’s shoulders are naked and golden. Sunwoo’s hand comes up over one of them sometimes, digs fingers in, clamps over his neck, pulls him down. Dongwoo’s stomach twists hotly for every wet sound of their kisses, so tight with good that it’s painful. He leans his temple against the doorpost and thinks that he might as well close his eyes, could just as well just listen to their noises; the breathing, the swallowing, the low groans, the squeaks of bedsprings, movements.
Dongwoo thinks about the bed stand lamp, what it being on could mean in this world of adulthood. Is seeing each other’s faces a thing of nonchalance, or a thing of intimacy?
There is movement above him and he looks up to find Jinyoung digging around in his sweats, and Dongwoo squeezes his dick again, with both danger and relief rushing through him. He gets his hand moving again, thinking of feeling skin on his skin, naked body under his. Then Jinyoung sits down next to him and moves his fingers over Dongwoo’s thigh and they jerk each other with accustomed hands. Chanshik rocks steadily into Sunwoo and Dongwoo watches Jinyoung’s face in the dark, tries to picture a connection, a burn, a feeling. Wonders if there could be something between them at daytime, just invisible to him.
But when Jinyoung leans in to kiss him, he turns his head away.
They close the door and leave when Sunwoo climaxes.