b1a4; night things
cnu/gongchan. r. 1882 words. it's late and dongwoo is sleepy, but it's not often that they get this.
Naturally Dongwoo has fallen asleep when Chanshik comes out of the bathroom, not in his pajamas yet and not even in bed. He’s curled up on the couch in nothing but the white hotel bathrobe and with his damp hair slowly softening over his forehead. Chanshik would sort of want to let him be, because he knows that feeling. He hasn’t felt it so much lately, more when he was a kid - and he’d like to think that he’d handle it better now, when stirred; blinking and putting himself together rather than kicking and whining and doing everything to stay beneath, closing his eyes, sinking back so fast, it feels so good - but he recognizes it, instantly. Feels it and sympathizes with a tenderness he doesn’t often experience and doesn’t really like. Maybe Dongwoo hasn’t slept so well lately, had a long day.
At the same time he has this weird urge to stir, to fuck the image up, that maybe he should think a bit about rather than act upon, but he doesn’t make the effort. Not when he can mask it as care.
He sits on the edge by Dongwoo’s side, picking briefly at the strands of hair coming undone between his fingertips - some lighter brown, separating easily, some darker, clinging tighter together. He pokes, scratches softly a nail at Dongwoo’s cheek. Blows some air over Dongwoo’s ear. Grins when Dongwoo finally moves, blinking small squinting eyes and making a noise. He picks some more at Dongwoo’s hair because he can’t help himself. Dongwoo swats at him.
“You have to brush your teeth.”
“Mm.” His voice is dark and rough with sleep.
“And take out your contacts.”
“Mm.”
“And put on a pair of pants.”
“Mm.”
“Go.”
He’s a bit more conscious when coming back out, raising his eyebrows and pulling his lips into a mock-grin.
“You think the others are asleep by now?” Chanshik nods towards the room on the other side of the wall.
“Yeah,” Dongwoo says and helps Chanshik push the hotel twin beds together.
Dongwoo’s robe isn’t wrapped around very well, the belt hangs low and the edges flap dangerously when he walks. Dongwoo has never been very concerned with keeping himself covered. Chanshik sees chest, sees nape, sees thigh, sees a lot of thigh when Dongwoo sits down on the bed and doesn’t really keep his knees together and the robe edges stretch open.
“Oof,” Dongwoo says when Chanshik pushes him back on the beds and lies on top. He fingers along the temples of the glasses Dongwoo just put on, then takes them off. “Hey,” Dongwoo says, and Chanshik lets him at least scoot around so his head is towards the headboard and all limbs are on the mattress. The robe rides down in the process, barely hanging onto his shoulders. Chanshik pushes himself up and bites at one of them a little. Dongwoo’s breath does a funny thing, like he’s laughing but not really.
“I have to put on a pair of pants,” he says.
“Mm,” Chanshik says, moving his mouth over Dongwoo’s shoulder, down over a sharp clavicle and the top of his chest, feeling the skin grow tiny bumps of gooseflesh under his breath. He runs his nose over the collar curled into a soft roll over the thin pec, wondering how many centimeters there’s left down to a small dark nipple; three, four? He feels Dongwoo’s hand coming up to comb through his hair that’s still wet.
“I set the alarm at six,” Dongwoo mumbles. “They won’t get up before six.”
“Mm,” Chanshik says; weighing whether to or not, then deciding yes, nosing down under the collar till he finds something small and protruding. He traces circles around it with the tip of his nose and doesn’t think about the extra lost sleep, doesn’t think about what would happen if somebody came in to wake them before they had put the beds back in order. Those are day thoughts. This is night. These are night things. He puts his lips on the flat nub and feels how it has stiffened. Dongwoo’s breath does a funny thing again.
“Are you tired?” Chanshik asks, looking up. We don’t have to do this, it means. If you don’t want to, if you haven’t slept well, we don’t have to do this today. But he can’t really say that because that’d be like he’s planning something.
“Why?” Dongwoo asks back, mouth doing a funny thing as well. His eyes are small and grainy, but focused. Chanshik moves up Dongwoo’s throat, draws his nose along the sides of the ridge that grows there, along the little dip where it meets lean neck muscle. The skin is thin and a bit uneven, finely textured. It lifts easily when he sucks it gently into his mouth. Dongwoo bends his head back and makes a low noise.
“You were fast asleep fifteen minutes ago.” Chanshik puts his lips on the bigger of the two lumps on Dongwoo’s throat, feeling how it moves under him when Dongwoo swallows, feeling it vibrate against his tongue when Dongwoo speaks;
“Well, I’m awake now.”
Chanshik laughs and sits up, feeling a little bit bad. They could just sleep, he could just as well leave it at that, would be just as happy just lying close to Dongwoo and feeling his warm skin on his skin all night. It’s not often that they get that. But it’s not often that they get this either. Dongwoo knows that too. Chanshik sees it on him. His chest is moving, slow and gentle but high up and deep down. There is a small twist at his mouth that Chanshik doesn’t really know how to interpret. He thinks about it until Dongwoo grabs his arm and pulls him down.
Dongwoo’s mouth is half-limp on his, but it’s okay. Chanshik can feel his dick even through layers of fluffy fabric. He slides their tongues together and pushes down against it, rocks back and forth without really trying to be smooth. Dongwoo draws his hands over Chanshik’s hips and up his waist, and back again. For each time the pace grows a bit more uneven. Chanshik kisses his cheek and his chin, grinning at how Dongwoo chases after him, catching him again and kissing him with slow lips. Chanshik licks at him and then leaves him, heaving up on his arms for leverage, and Dongwoo’s shoulders lift off the mattress to follow.
“Chan,” he complains, and Chanshik laughs, just quietly because suddenly all noises feel big and dangerous with the room filled with their breathing and the small squeaks of the bed. They won’t be heard through the walls, he knows that but he still can’t stop thinking about it. He shifts gently, fits his leg in between Dongwoo’s and startles when feeling thigh skin on his thigh skin.
Dongwoo’s hand comes between their stomachs, fumbles around Chanshik’s belt. Gets the knot loosened and slips in between the fabric. The fingers on Chanshik’s stomach make it suck in. He kisses him again, gentler than he feels, amazed that the weight of trying to squeeze so much into small moments like this doesn’t show. Dongwoo’s other hand is in his hair again, on his neck, pressing in a weird way and Chanshik thinks that maybe it feels the same way.
It’s starting to bunch up awkwardly between them, lumps of fabric dig into Chanshik’s skin. The tie of Dongwoo’s belt is coming undone all on its own, the robe barely stays in place. Dongwoo’s hand pulls back and suddenly they’re skin to skin, stomach to stomach, the hot and hard and pointy pressing into Chanshik’s hip.
Like instinctively, his hand finds it between them, curls light fingers around the smooth. Dongwoo twists. Chanshik grins again, but feels how it is soft and edgeless on his face. Feels how his breaths have grown edge instead.
“Are you tired?” he asks again, resting his fingers around that familiar shape, amused by how he never gets tired of holding it, of feeling it in his hand. Every time is somewhat like the first, that hot pride and excitement in his belly, only better because he’s not as nervous now. He knows what to do and how to do it. He tightens his fingers in that right way, just holds them there, glancing up on Dongwoo’s face.
“Shut up,” Dongwoo only mumbles, and pushes up against him.
It’s nice like this, mouth on mouth, warm dick in Chanshik’s hand, at least until it gets hot under Chanshik’s bangs and the angle suddenly is really weird and Dongwoo’s breathing hard and not really kissing back anymore. Chanshik huffs and pushes himself up, kind of clumsily, one knee on Dongwoo’s left thigh. He pushes his robe out of the way, hanging off his shoulders, then Dongwoo’s, so it’s bunched up along his sides. He moves his hand tight and even, watching Dongwoo’s naked body in the soft half-dark from the bed-stand lamp; his chest and stomach, arched up, his stretched neck and knotted face, his cock in the nest of Chanshik’s fingers.
Dongwoo’s hand comes on him too, fumbles and finds, grips with a drunken security that makes Chanshik curl forward. Dongwoo grins at him, a slow sleepy smug little grin, flexing his fingers. They’re warm and nice but kind of limp, don’t hold on very tight, lag and stop a lot and finally just flop down on the mattress when Chanshik does something and Dongwoo’s legs twitch. The hand soon comes back up again, but Chanshik pushes it away and grabs himself with his left hand, jerking them both in tandem, trying to catch up, so he can follow him through it.
Dongwoo’s hands stretch out towards him, hanging in the air. If he were blowing him, Chanshik knows Dongwoo would want to have his fingers in Chanshik’s hair, or if they were lying side by side, hold around his neck, and kiss him. Always wants to touch, to hold and feel. Chanshik leans forward until he can kiss the fingertips. They stroke over his cheek for a moment, then let him go.
When Dongwoo stretches his back, eyes closing, looking like he’s drifting off, Chanshik knows he’s close. He tenses, hands fisted feebly in the corners of Chanshik’s robe and frowning in that way like he’s very angry at something and Chanshik always wants to kiss him like that, because it makes him laugh and makes it hurt a little in his chest, but he knows better, keeps at it and drinks in the dizzying noise Dongwoo makes as he releases on his own stomach.
He comes down in stages, body relaxing, the frown smoothing out, and then he opens his eyes. “You’re behind,” he says, peering down with the tiniest smile on his lips, and takes his soft limp right hand around Chanshik’s left, follows him clumsily, and it’s not like he’s particularly adding anything but somehow it makes Chanshik come anyway.
When he comes back out after wiping them clean and washing his hands Dongwoo has curled up and fallen asleep, not under the sheets yet and not even fully covered. Chanshik lets him be. (He’ll wake up and tuck himself in properly when his toes get cold enough.)
Naturally Dongwoo has fallen asleep when Chanshik comes out of the bathroom, not in his pajamas yet and not even in bed. He’s curled up on the couch in nothing but the white hotel bathrobe and with his damp hair slowly softening over his forehead. Chanshik would sort of want to let him be, because he knows that feeling. He hasn’t felt it so much lately, more when he was a kid - and he’d like to think that he’d handle it better now, when stirred; blinking and putting himself together rather than kicking and whining and doing everything to stay beneath, closing his eyes, sinking back so fast, it feels so good - but he recognizes it, instantly. Feels it and sympathizes with a tenderness he doesn’t often experience and doesn’t really like. Maybe Dongwoo hasn’t slept so well lately, had a long day.
At the same time he has this weird urge to stir, to fuck the image up, that maybe he should think a bit about rather than act upon, but he doesn’t make the effort. Not when he can mask it as care.
He sits on the edge by Dongwoo’s side, picking briefly at the strands of hair coming undone between his fingertips - some lighter brown, separating easily, some darker, clinging tighter together. He pokes, scratches softly a nail at Dongwoo’s cheek. Blows some air over Dongwoo’s ear. Grins when Dongwoo finally moves, blinking small squinting eyes and making a noise. He picks some more at Dongwoo’s hair because he can’t help himself. Dongwoo swats at him.
“You have to brush your teeth.”
“Mm.” His voice is dark and rough with sleep.
“And take out your contacts.”
“Mm.”
“And put on a pair of pants.”
“Mm.”
“Go.”
He’s a bit more conscious when coming back out, raising his eyebrows and pulling his lips into a mock-grin.
“You think the others are asleep by now?” Chanshik nods towards the room on the other side of the wall.
“Yeah,” Dongwoo says and helps Chanshik push the hotel twin beds together.
Dongwoo’s robe isn’t wrapped around very well, the belt hangs low and the edges flap dangerously when he walks. Dongwoo has never been very concerned with keeping himself covered. Chanshik sees chest, sees nape, sees thigh, sees a lot of thigh when Dongwoo sits down on the bed and doesn’t really keep his knees together and the robe edges stretch open.
“Oof,” Dongwoo says when Chanshik pushes him back on the beds and lies on top. He fingers along the temples of the glasses Dongwoo just put on, then takes them off. “Hey,” Dongwoo says, and Chanshik lets him at least scoot around so his head is towards the headboard and all limbs are on the mattress. The robe rides down in the process, barely hanging onto his shoulders. Chanshik pushes himself up and bites at one of them a little. Dongwoo’s breath does a funny thing, like he’s laughing but not really.
“I have to put on a pair of pants,” he says.
“Mm,” Chanshik says, moving his mouth over Dongwoo’s shoulder, down over a sharp clavicle and the top of his chest, feeling the skin grow tiny bumps of gooseflesh under his breath. He runs his nose over the collar curled into a soft roll over the thin pec, wondering how many centimeters there’s left down to a small dark nipple; three, four? He feels Dongwoo’s hand coming up to comb through his hair that’s still wet.
“I set the alarm at six,” Dongwoo mumbles. “They won’t get up before six.”
“Mm,” Chanshik says; weighing whether to or not, then deciding yes, nosing down under the collar till he finds something small and protruding. He traces circles around it with the tip of his nose and doesn’t think about the extra lost sleep, doesn’t think about what would happen if somebody came in to wake them before they had put the beds back in order. Those are day thoughts. This is night. These are night things. He puts his lips on the flat nub and feels how it has stiffened. Dongwoo’s breath does a funny thing again.
“Are you tired?” Chanshik asks, looking up. We don’t have to do this, it means. If you don’t want to, if you haven’t slept well, we don’t have to do this today. But he can’t really say that because that’d be like he’s planning something.
“Why?” Dongwoo asks back, mouth doing a funny thing as well. His eyes are small and grainy, but focused. Chanshik moves up Dongwoo’s throat, draws his nose along the sides of the ridge that grows there, along the little dip where it meets lean neck muscle. The skin is thin and a bit uneven, finely textured. It lifts easily when he sucks it gently into his mouth. Dongwoo bends his head back and makes a low noise.
“You were fast asleep fifteen minutes ago.” Chanshik puts his lips on the bigger of the two lumps on Dongwoo’s throat, feeling how it moves under him when Dongwoo swallows, feeling it vibrate against his tongue when Dongwoo speaks;
“Well, I’m awake now.”
Chanshik laughs and sits up, feeling a little bit bad. They could just sleep, he could just as well leave it at that, would be just as happy just lying close to Dongwoo and feeling his warm skin on his skin all night. It’s not often that they get that. But it’s not often that they get this either. Dongwoo knows that too. Chanshik sees it on him. His chest is moving, slow and gentle but high up and deep down. There is a small twist at his mouth that Chanshik doesn’t really know how to interpret. He thinks about it until Dongwoo grabs his arm and pulls him down.
Dongwoo’s mouth is half-limp on his, but it’s okay. Chanshik can feel his dick even through layers of fluffy fabric. He slides their tongues together and pushes down against it, rocks back and forth without really trying to be smooth. Dongwoo draws his hands over Chanshik’s hips and up his waist, and back again. For each time the pace grows a bit more uneven. Chanshik kisses his cheek and his chin, grinning at how Dongwoo chases after him, catching him again and kissing him with slow lips. Chanshik licks at him and then leaves him, heaving up on his arms for leverage, and Dongwoo’s shoulders lift off the mattress to follow.
“Chan,” he complains, and Chanshik laughs, just quietly because suddenly all noises feel big and dangerous with the room filled with their breathing and the small squeaks of the bed. They won’t be heard through the walls, he knows that but he still can’t stop thinking about it. He shifts gently, fits his leg in between Dongwoo’s and startles when feeling thigh skin on his thigh skin.
Dongwoo’s hand comes between their stomachs, fumbles around Chanshik’s belt. Gets the knot loosened and slips in between the fabric. The fingers on Chanshik’s stomach make it suck in. He kisses him again, gentler than he feels, amazed that the weight of trying to squeeze so much into small moments like this doesn’t show. Dongwoo’s other hand is in his hair again, on his neck, pressing in a weird way and Chanshik thinks that maybe it feels the same way.
It’s starting to bunch up awkwardly between them, lumps of fabric dig into Chanshik’s skin. The tie of Dongwoo’s belt is coming undone all on its own, the robe barely stays in place. Dongwoo’s hand pulls back and suddenly they’re skin to skin, stomach to stomach, the hot and hard and pointy pressing into Chanshik’s hip.
Like instinctively, his hand finds it between them, curls light fingers around the smooth. Dongwoo twists. Chanshik grins again, but feels how it is soft and edgeless on his face. Feels how his breaths have grown edge instead.
“Are you tired?” he asks again, resting his fingers around that familiar shape, amused by how he never gets tired of holding it, of feeling it in his hand. Every time is somewhat like the first, that hot pride and excitement in his belly, only better because he’s not as nervous now. He knows what to do and how to do it. He tightens his fingers in that right way, just holds them there, glancing up on Dongwoo’s face.
“Shut up,” Dongwoo only mumbles, and pushes up against him.
It’s nice like this, mouth on mouth, warm dick in Chanshik’s hand, at least until it gets hot under Chanshik’s bangs and the angle suddenly is really weird and Dongwoo’s breathing hard and not really kissing back anymore. Chanshik huffs and pushes himself up, kind of clumsily, one knee on Dongwoo’s left thigh. He pushes his robe out of the way, hanging off his shoulders, then Dongwoo’s, so it’s bunched up along his sides. He moves his hand tight and even, watching Dongwoo’s naked body in the soft half-dark from the bed-stand lamp; his chest and stomach, arched up, his stretched neck and knotted face, his cock in the nest of Chanshik’s fingers.
Dongwoo’s hand comes on him too, fumbles and finds, grips with a drunken security that makes Chanshik curl forward. Dongwoo grins at him, a slow sleepy smug little grin, flexing his fingers. They’re warm and nice but kind of limp, don’t hold on very tight, lag and stop a lot and finally just flop down on the mattress when Chanshik does something and Dongwoo’s legs twitch. The hand soon comes back up again, but Chanshik pushes it away and grabs himself with his left hand, jerking them both in tandem, trying to catch up, so he can follow him through it.
Dongwoo’s hands stretch out towards him, hanging in the air. If he were blowing him, Chanshik knows Dongwoo would want to have his fingers in Chanshik’s hair, or if they were lying side by side, hold around his neck, and kiss him. Always wants to touch, to hold and feel. Chanshik leans forward until he can kiss the fingertips. They stroke over his cheek for a moment, then let him go.
When Dongwoo stretches his back, eyes closing, looking like he’s drifting off, Chanshik knows he’s close. He tenses, hands fisted feebly in the corners of Chanshik’s robe and frowning in that way like he’s very angry at something and Chanshik always wants to kiss him like that, because it makes him laugh and makes it hurt a little in his chest, but he knows better, keeps at it and drinks in the dizzying noise Dongwoo makes as he releases on his own stomach.
He comes down in stages, body relaxing, the frown smoothing out, and then he opens his eyes. “You’re behind,” he says, peering down with the tiniest smile on his lips, and takes his soft limp right hand around Chanshik’s left, follows him clumsily, and it’s not like he’s particularly adding anything but somehow it makes Chanshik come anyway.
When he comes back out after wiping them clean and washing his hands Dongwoo has curled up and fallen asleep, not under the sheets yet and not even fully covered. Chanshik lets him be. (He’ll wake up and tuck himself in properly when his toes get cold enough.)