if your heart is beating, too
if your heart is beating, too
chanyeol/jongin, r, general? fluff
the aftercuddles.
entirely the fault of/for galbijiim
Sometimes, Chanyeol twitches his nose, the aftermath is better than the actual deed.
Don’t get him wrong, a good fuck is a good fuck, and Jongin’s fucked him enough times to know how a good fuck is. But Jongin’s stomach sticky against his, a reminder of how he’d come all over Jongin victoriously, Jongin’s hair tickling his, a reminder of how soft it’d felt between his fingers as Jongin sucked him off, Jongin’s flesh, soft and lean in the inner crook of his elbow, a reminder of how nice it’d felt holding on just a tad too hard on Jongin’s waist to bruise.
Jongin had walked straight into it, in Chanyeol's defence. They’d been mucking about, pushing and laughing about nothing at all, when Chanyeol shoved back a little too hard and pissed Jongin off. Chanyeol’s face had met the floor not without pain. So he’d tripped Jongin too, which had led to play wrestling, holding necks in chokeholds and forearms in noses till they’d both somehow gotten their shirts open and off, whoops. And then Chanyeol had worked his pants off, too.
So it had been a good fuck. But now, Jongin fitting his face in Chanyeol’s neck like they were made to fit together like that, his teeth nipping lightly against Chanyeol’s skin, Chanyeol finds his cheeks hurting, whether from the high after coming or just the warmth Jongin brings, before he realises he’s grinning.
“You owe me a shirt, though,” Jongin mumbles into the place where Chanyeol’s neck slopes into his shoulder. The words feel kissed into Chanyeol’s skin, instead of auditory, and this makes Chanyeol make a strange noise at the back of his throat, something between confusion and pleasure.
“Because you ripped mine,” Jongin says, and nothing prepares Chanyeol for Jongin’s hand suddenly between his legs, though the familiarity of the swipe of the pad of Jongin’s fingers across Chanyeol’s thigh, holding his dick heavy in his palm, is telling about how Chanyeol really should have expected it. The argument in his mind, that Jongin ripped a bunch of his shirt buttons off, too, just loses its way in Chanyeol’s throat.
Chanyeol kind of hates the way Jongin knows what he can do to Chanyeol, because he’s laughing a little, now, yanking his hand back up to push himself off Chanyeol’s chest, roll over so his back is plastered against the floor, his head still pillowed on Chanyeol’s arm. It’s cold, without Jongin’s warmth. The way he kicks his pants off, the ones that had been tangled around his ankles, like an afterthought is so very Jongin, though, that it makes Chanyeol laugh and he lets it slide.
“I’m cold,” Jongin says after a while, when Chanyeol’s sure Jongin had fallen asleep, like Chanyeol’s supposed to do something about it. He does want to, so there’s that. The covers are somewhere on the floor - it would have been maybe a tiny bit of effort to locate them, but Chanyeol’s already thinking of something infinitely better.
“You should come here,” Chanyeol says, holding his shirt open. Maybe they can wear it together; Chanyeol is sure it’lll make them both twenty times warmer.
“Take it off and give it to me,” Jongin mutters, “you stingy shit.” His knee twitches, though. Chanyeol reads that easy as pie.
“No,” he says with satisfaction, and tugs Jongin closer to wrap them both in the shirt hanging off himself.
The shirt isn’t big, and it doesn’t reach more than half around Jongin, but it’s a lot warmer already, like Chanyeol knew it would. Jongin’s just a little shit so he’d never admit Chanyeol was right.
“It’s still cold,” Jongin mumbles, snuggling closer despite himself. “You’re useless.”
The snuggling is a good enough stroke of Chanyeol’s ego to overpower the insult, so Chanyeol just chuckles and grins harder as Jongin fits his face in that spot again, next to Chanyeol’s neck, the one he seems to migrate to on instinct, like two puzzle pieces fitting together. The sleepy noises Jongin makes in his comfort make Chanyeol’s toes curl, a nice kind of electric thrill down his spine. And even though Chanyeol’s arm is going to be numb in a few hours, even though he’s not wearing any pants and it’s cold down south, even with Jongin’s feet tangled in his, it feels good enough, warm enough for Chanyeol to hold still and let Jongin sleep.
Sometimes he amuses himself with Jongin’s hair, the way it flutters a little when Chanyeol breathes out, and sometimes he tries to see if he can look at Jongin’s eyelashes while he sleeps without moving too much, because sometimes he just likes watching them. It’s a difficult maneuver, so Chanyeol gives up and goes back to counting hairs on Jongin’s bare shoulder. There’s a tiny mole that Chanyeol’s never seen before - he makes a note to kiss it next time, when he can.
Jongin’s snoring, just a little, so Chanyeol holds his nose before he can help himself; just to make Jongin snore harder and the start of a frown knit itself between his eyebrows. It makes Chanyeol laugh, only because Jongin looks adorable like this, like the pomeranian he had a long time ago that would sneeze its paws off. Jongin does pretty well for himself, though, kicking Chanyeol as he stirs a little, so Chanyeol lets go. He’s close enough to kiss Jongin’s nose if he turned his head a little and tucked his chin in, but Chanyeol just likes it when they’re close enough to share skin, so he doesn’t. And even though he’s sticky and it’s cold, Chanyeol could possibly lie here forever, just watching his breathing slow to match Jongin’s pace.
Chanyeol wakes up with his glasses under his nose, its nose pads tickling Chanyeol's nostrils. He doesn't remember having put them on last night, which means Jongin must have been responsible for their creative position - Jongin's laughing, and Chanyeol blinks, wrinkles his nose, but Jongin's already lifting his glasses off to perch them on his nose, peering at Chanyeol like a batty old geezer. Chanyeol's by any measure more of a morning person than Jongin is, but there's probably only one person that can make Chanyeol laugh after waking up from things that shouldn't have been in his nose.
"Give those back," Chanyeol yanks his glasses off Jongin's face so he can see in much higher resolution the crinkles around Jongin's eyes. Jongin's pouting, again, though if Chanyeol pointed it out Jongin would deny it vehemently, and rolls off bed to pick the last clean boxers out of Chanyeol's underwear pile.
"What am I supposed to wear, then," Chanyeol calls after him, but Jongin's already out the door. Chanyeol fucking hates it when Jongin leaves him hanging like that, so he picks Jongin's underwear last night off the floor to slip into it, and his shirt too. Jongin's oddly possessive about some of his clothes.
When Chanyeol finally makes it to the kitchen after brushing his teeth, Jongin's on some sort of breakfast making quest, and Chanyeol watches from the door like a bit of a creep at the way Jongin dances to himself, moving his limbs smoothly to the music in his head the way Chanyeol does with his hands, tapping out the beat. Alike, yet different; complementary.
"Stop watching like a creep," Jongin says without turning around. "You should wash the dishes."
Jongin's already managed to go through two bowls and a plate, sitting innocently in the sink. "You barge into my kitchen, use my plates and demand me to wash them," Chanyeol assumes an expression of mock complaint. "How is -"
Jongin's waving of the spatula lands a glop of half-raw scrambled eggs on Chanyeol's - well, Jongin's - shirt. "Hey," Chanyeol says offended.
Jongin looks over lazily from the stove, then laughs and does another slick dance move. "Why are you wearing clothes, anyway."
Chanyeol has barely a reply to that, so after a quick breakfast of just toast (Chanyeol made Jongin burn the rest of the eggs), he makes sure to ask Jongin that question, too.
chanyeol/jongin, r, general? fluff
the aftercuddles.
entirely the fault of/for galbijiim
Sometimes, Chanyeol twitches his nose, the aftermath is better than the actual deed.
Don’t get him wrong, a good fuck is a good fuck, and Jongin’s fucked him enough times to know how a good fuck is. But Jongin’s stomach sticky against his, a reminder of how he’d come all over Jongin victoriously, Jongin’s hair tickling his, a reminder of how soft it’d felt between his fingers as Jongin sucked him off, Jongin’s flesh, soft and lean in the inner crook of his elbow, a reminder of how nice it’d felt holding on just a tad too hard on Jongin’s waist to bruise.
Jongin had walked straight into it, in Chanyeol's defence. They’d been mucking about, pushing and laughing about nothing at all, when Chanyeol shoved back a little too hard and pissed Jongin off. Chanyeol’s face had met the floor not without pain. So he’d tripped Jongin too, which had led to play wrestling, holding necks in chokeholds and forearms in noses till they’d both somehow gotten their shirts open and off, whoops. And then Chanyeol had worked his pants off, too.
So it had been a good fuck. But now, Jongin fitting his face in Chanyeol’s neck like they were made to fit together like that, his teeth nipping lightly against Chanyeol’s skin, Chanyeol finds his cheeks hurting, whether from the high after coming or just the warmth Jongin brings, before he realises he’s grinning.
“You owe me a shirt, though,” Jongin mumbles into the place where Chanyeol’s neck slopes into his shoulder. The words feel kissed into Chanyeol’s skin, instead of auditory, and this makes Chanyeol make a strange noise at the back of his throat, something between confusion and pleasure.
“Because you ripped mine,” Jongin says, and nothing prepares Chanyeol for Jongin’s hand suddenly between his legs, though the familiarity of the swipe of the pad of Jongin’s fingers across Chanyeol’s thigh, holding his dick heavy in his palm, is telling about how Chanyeol really should have expected it. The argument in his mind, that Jongin ripped a bunch of his shirt buttons off, too, just loses its way in Chanyeol’s throat.
Chanyeol kind of hates the way Jongin knows what he can do to Chanyeol, because he’s laughing a little, now, yanking his hand back up to push himself off Chanyeol’s chest, roll over so his back is plastered against the floor, his head still pillowed on Chanyeol’s arm. It’s cold, without Jongin’s warmth. The way he kicks his pants off, the ones that had been tangled around his ankles, like an afterthought is so very Jongin, though, that it makes Chanyeol laugh and he lets it slide.
“I’m cold,” Jongin says after a while, when Chanyeol’s sure Jongin had fallen asleep, like Chanyeol’s supposed to do something about it. He does want to, so there’s that. The covers are somewhere on the floor - it would have been maybe a tiny bit of effort to locate them, but Chanyeol’s already thinking of something infinitely better.
“You should come here,” Chanyeol says, holding his shirt open. Maybe they can wear it together; Chanyeol is sure it’lll make them both twenty times warmer.
“Take it off and give it to me,” Jongin mutters, “you stingy shit.” His knee twitches, though. Chanyeol reads that easy as pie.
“No,” he says with satisfaction, and tugs Jongin closer to wrap them both in the shirt hanging off himself.
The shirt isn’t big, and it doesn’t reach more than half around Jongin, but it’s a lot warmer already, like Chanyeol knew it would. Jongin’s just a little shit so he’d never admit Chanyeol was right.
“It’s still cold,” Jongin mumbles, snuggling closer despite himself. “You’re useless.”
The snuggling is a good enough stroke of Chanyeol’s ego to overpower the insult, so Chanyeol just chuckles and grins harder as Jongin fits his face in that spot again, next to Chanyeol’s neck, the one he seems to migrate to on instinct, like two puzzle pieces fitting together. The sleepy noises Jongin makes in his comfort make Chanyeol’s toes curl, a nice kind of electric thrill down his spine. And even though Chanyeol’s arm is going to be numb in a few hours, even though he’s not wearing any pants and it’s cold down south, even with Jongin’s feet tangled in his, it feels good enough, warm enough for Chanyeol to hold still and let Jongin sleep.
Sometimes he amuses himself with Jongin’s hair, the way it flutters a little when Chanyeol breathes out, and sometimes he tries to see if he can look at Jongin’s eyelashes while he sleeps without moving too much, because sometimes he just likes watching them. It’s a difficult maneuver, so Chanyeol gives up and goes back to counting hairs on Jongin’s bare shoulder. There’s a tiny mole that Chanyeol’s never seen before - he makes a note to kiss it next time, when he can.
Jongin’s snoring, just a little, so Chanyeol holds his nose before he can help himself; just to make Jongin snore harder and the start of a frown knit itself between his eyebrows. It makes Chanyeol laugh, only because Jongin looks adorable like this, like the pomeranian he had a long time ago that would sneeze its paws off. Jongin does pretty well for himself, though, kicking Chanyeol as he stirs a little, so Chanyeol lets go. He’s close enough to kiss Jongin’s nose if he turned his head a little and tucked his chin in, but Chanyeol just likes it when they’re close enough to share skin, so he doesn’t. And even though he’s sticky and it’s cold, Chanyeol could possibly lie here forever, just watching his breathing slow to match Jongin’s pace.
Chanyeol wakes up with his glasses under his nose, its nose pads tickling Chanyeol's nostrils. He doesn't remember having put them on last night, which means Jongin must have been responsible for their creative position - Jongin's laughing, and Chanyeol blinks, wrinkles his nose, but Jongin's already lifting his glasses off to perch them on his nose, peering at Chanyeol like a batty old geezer. Chanyeol's by any measure more of a morning person than Jongin is, but there's probably only one person that can make Chanyeol laugh after waking up from things that shouldn't have been in his nose.
"Give those back," Chanyeol yanks his glasses off Jongin's face so he can see in much higher resolution the crinkles around Jongin's eyes. Jongin's pouting, again, though if Chanyeol pointed it out Jongin would deny it vehemently, and rolls off bed to pick the last clean boxers out of Chanyeol's underwear pile.
"What am I supposed to wear, then," Chanyeol calls after him, but Jongin's already out the door. Chanyeol fucking hates it when Jongin leaves him hanging like that, so he picks Jongin's underwear last night off the floor to slip into it, and his shirt too. Jongin's oddly possessive about some of his clothes.
When Chanyeol finally makes it to the kitchen after brushing his teeth, Jongin's on some sort of breakfast making quest, and Chanyeol watches from the door like a bit of a creep at the way Jongin dances to himself, moving his limbs smoothly to the music in his head the way Chanyeol does with his hands, tapping out the beat. Alike, yet different; complementary.
"Stop watching like a creep," Jongin says without turning around. "You should wash the dishes."
Jongin's already managed to go through two bowls and a plate, sitting innocently in the sink. "You barge into my kitchen, use my plates and demand me to wash them," Chanyeol assumes an expression of mock complaint. "How is -"
Jongin's waving of the spatula lands a glop of half-raw scrambled eggs on Chanyeol's - well, Jongin's - shirt. "Hey," Chanyeol says offended.
Jongin looks over lazily from the stove, then laughs and does another slick dance move. "Why are you wearing clothes, anyway."
Chanyeol has barely a reply to that, so after a quick breakfast of just toast (Chanyeol made Jongin burn the rest of the eggs), he makes sure to ask Jongin that question, too.