[infinite] 010. fear
010. fear
infinite, hoya/sungjong
r, 1045w
hoya and sungjong have a secret deal, but for sungjong it's a game.
Sungjong is woken up by three dull knocks against the underside of his bunk. He stirs and lifts his head, but doesn't respond, choosing to press his face into his teddy bear instead, his arms in a death grip around its neck. There's three knocks again, a bit more urgent than before.
"Sungjong-ah," Hoya hisses from the bunk below. "Are you awake?" Sungjong waits, saying nothing. "Sungjong-ah." He sighs and rolls over, casting the bear aside.
"Yes, hyung, I'm awake," he whispers over the side of the bed.
Hoya is quiet. "Do you want to come down?" Sungjong knows what he wants, but he knew what he wanted from the moment his knuckles rapped against the cheap wood slats under his mattress. The waiting is just part of the game he plays, to see how much he wants it.
He clambers down the ladder quietly and stands over Hoya, who's lying in his bed, his usual sleeping mask off. Hoya stares up at him. "Come here," he whispers. Sungjong obediently slips under his sheets, lying on his side next to him so his waist curves in with gravity.
Their deal is this: once every two months or so, Hoya gets too horny to sleep, so he turns to Sungjong. Sungjong goes limp and pretends to be a girl, or maybe a blow-up doll, as Hoya feels him up with his eyes closed while he jacks off. It's a game they've been playing since they all shared a single bedroom two dorms ago. Sungjong can always say no, and Hoya never punishes him for it. Sungjong comforts himself with the knowledge that his hyung's kindness isn't dependent on him upholding his end of the deal, and sometimes, when he's mad at him, with the knowledge that Hoya feels guilty.
He likes having the leverage, so he doesn't tell him that the deal works for him too.
Sungjong keeps his eyes shut and lets Hoya's hands run over him, over his t-shirt and then under it, tracing the curves of his skinny waist and soft back but never touching his chest, and then it's just one hand touching him and the other is rustling in the sheets, away from him. He knows without looking that Hoya's eyes are closed too. He feels the giddy movement of blood to his cock as the hand moves over him and he inhales quietly, slowly through his mouth.
Sungjong wishes they spoke when they did this, so he could ask him who he was thinking about today that kept him from sleeping. Was it Hyosung? Was it someone from SNSD? Was it his old girlfriend in Busan, years ago? He wants to share the image with him, to have the same thoughts about a girl naked and open in his arms. The idea excites him. But they don't talk, because for the two of them to talk about pretty girls the way teenage boys do would ruin the illusion Hoya's looking for when he invites Sungjong into his bed.
Sungjong's left hand goes to Hoya's shoulder, hanging purposefully limp over the back of his neck. Hoya grunts softly in response and takes his elbow with his free hand and moves it so the younger boy's hand is brushing further down his body. Sungjong takes this cue and moves his hand under Hoya's shirt, keeping his touch light and delicate, silently admiring the bumps of his abdominal muscles and the ridges of his ribs. The texture of the muscles under his fingertips makes him hard right away, not because it's Hoya but because he wants a body like that, a man's body, not a soft, boyish one that can feel like a girl's in some places. His can feel his cheeks flushing, and his hips involuntarily swivel, looking for friction.
Hoya's rustling is getting a little bit faster, and he makes a small grunt that goes right to Sungjong's gut. Again Sungjong wishes they spoke when they did this. He could moan like a girl, he thinks. He'd even grit his teeth and call him oppa if that was what he wanted. He thinks of the voices of the girls he meets at fansigns, their mouths. Hoya's callused fingers grip his waist a little tighter and his crotch pulses once, heavily.
He rolls over and Hoya gasps quietly in surprise as his hand rotates around Sungjong's waist, then drifts lower over his back and traces his hip, brushing over the curve of his backside tentatively. It's a compromise. Sungjong, eyes still closed, hesitates for a moment before putting his right hand to his cock, rubbing himself slowly through the flannel of his pajama pants. Usually he waits until it's over to do this, running to the bathroom to furtively spill into the toilet, gasping like he's been held underwater. But today he can't wait. His hand dives under his waistband to pump faster, faster, and he clenches his teeth to keep from making noise or breathing too hard.
He comes into his hand, exhaling shakily, and it's only after he's fully released and becoming conscious of the mess on his hand and on his shirt that he realizes Hoya's hand isn't touching him, that Hoya is not making any sound at all. Slowly he turns his head over his shoulder and sees that Hoya's staring at him, and he can't read the expression on his face, only his intense eyes with the eyebrows slanted downward over them. And dread starts to drip down his stomach, the way adrenalin and blood rushed through him before but slower, nastier, more chilling.
Without a word he rolls out of the bed and rushes out of the room into the bathroom, then shuts the door behind him and locks it. He sits and leans against it for a moment before remembering the cooling gunk on his hand, and he gets up and scrubs his hands under the sink, attempts to wash his shirt, gives up on washing his pants.
There's three knocks at the door. "Sungjong-ah?" calls Hoya. He knocks again, three times. "Sungjong-ah." Sungjong stares at the door. He doesn't want to open it. He doesn't want to talk about what just happened. But he can't stay in the bathroom forever.
The game is over.
infinite, hoya/sungjong
r, 1045w
hoya and sungjong have a secret deal, but for sungjong it's a game.
Sungjong is woken up by three dull knocks against the underside of his bunk. He stirs and lifts his head, but doesn't respond, choosing to press his face into his teddy bear instead, his arms in a death grip around its neck. There's three knocks again, a bit more urgent than before.
"Sungjong-ah," Hoya hisses from the bunk below. "Are you awake?" Sungjong waits, saying nothing. "Sungjong-ah." He sighs and rolls over, casting the bear aside.
"Yes, hyung, I'm awake," he whispers over the side of the bed.
Hoya is quiet. "Do you want to come down?" Sungjong knows what he wants, but he knew what he wanted from the moment his knuckles rapped against the cheap wood slats under his mattress. The waiting is just part of the game he plays, to see how much he wants it.
He clambers down the ladder quietly and stands over Hoya, who's lying in his bed, his usual sleeping mask off. Hoya stares up at him. "Come here," he whispers. Sungjong obediently slips under his sheets, lying on his side next to him so his waist curves in with gravity.
Their deal is this: once every two months or so, Hoya gets too horny to sleep, so he turns to Sungjong. Sungjong goes limp and pretends to be a girl, or maybe a blow-up doll, as Hoya feels him up with his eyes closed while he jacks off. It's a game they've been playing since they all shared a single bedroom two dorms ago. Sungjong can always say no, and Hoya never punishes him for it. Sungjong comforts himself with the knowledge that his hyung's kindness isn't dependent on him upholding his end of the deal, and sometimes, when he's mad at him, with the knowledge that Hoya feels guilty.
He likes having the leverage, so he doesn't tell him that the deal works for him too.
Sungjong keeps his eyes shut and lets Hoya's hands run over him, over his t-shirt and then under it, tracing the curves of his skinny waist and soft back but never touching his chest, and then it's just one hand touching him and the other is rustling in the sheets, away from him. He knows without looking that Hoya's eyes are closed too. He feels the giddy movement of blood to his cock as the hand moves over him and he inhales quietly, slowly through his mouth.
Sungjong wishes they spoke when they did this, so he could ask him who he was thinking about today that kept him from sleeping. Was it Hyosung? Was it someone from SNSD? Was it his old girlfriend in Busan, years ago? He wants to share the image with him, to have the same thoughts about a girl naked and open in his arms. The idea excites him. But they don't talk, because for the two of them to talk about pretty girls the way teenage boys do would ruin the illusion Hoya's looking for when he invites Sungjong into his bed.
Sungjong's left hand goes to Hoya's shoulder, hanging purposefully limp over the back of his neck. Hoya grunts softly in response and takes his elbow with his free hand and moves it so the younger boy's hand is brushing further down his body. Sungjong takes this cue and moves his hand under Hoya's shirt, keeping his touch light and delicate, silently admiring the bumps of his abdominal muscles and the ridges of his ribs. The texture of the muscles under his fingertips makes him hard right away, not because it's Hoya but because he wants a body like that, a man's body, not a soft, boyish one that can feel like a girl's in some places. His can feel his cheeks flushing, and his hips involuntarily swivel, looking for friction.
Hoya's rustling is getting a little bit faster, and he makes a small grunt that goes right to Sungjong's gut. Again Sungjong wishes they spoke when they did this. He could moan like a girl, he thinks. He'd even grit his teeth and call him oppa if that was what he wanted. He thinks of the voices of the girls he meets at fansigns, their mouths. Hoya's callused fingers grip his waist a little tighter and his crotch pulses once, heavily.
He rolls over and Hoya gasps quietly in surprise as his hand rotates around Sungjong's waist, then drifts lower over his back and traces his hip, brushing over the curve of his backside tentatively. It's a compromise. Sungjong, eyes still closed, hesitates for a moment before putting his right hand to his cock, rubbing himself slowly through the flannel of his pajama pants. Usually he waits until it's over to do this, running to the bathroom to furtively spill into the toilet, gasping like he's been held underwater. But today he can't wait. His hand dives under his waistband to pump faster, faster, and he clenches his teeth to keep from making noise or breathing too hard.
He comes into his hand, exhaling shakily, and it's only after he's fully released and becoming conscious of the mess on his hand and on his shirt that he realizes Hoya's hand isn't touching him, that Hoya is not making any sound at all. Slowly he turns his head over his shoulder and sees that Hoya's staring at him, and he can't read the expression on his face, only his intense eyes with the eyebrows slanted downward over them. And dread starts to drip down his stomach, the way adrenalin and blood rushed through him before but slower, nastier, more chilling.
Without a word he rolls out of the bed and rushes out of the room into the bathroom, then shuts the door behind him and locks it. He sits and leans against it for a moment before remembering the cooling gunk on his hand, and he gets up and scrubs his hands under the sink, attempts to wash his shirt, gives up on washing his pants.
There's three knocks at the door. "Sungjong-ah?" calls Hoya. He knocks again, three times. "Sungjong-ah." Sungjong stares at the door. He doesn't want to open it. He doesn't want to talk about what just happened. But he can't stay in the bathroom forever.
The game is over.