[fic] I'm Not Even Gay
Author ofolivesnginger
Fandom: EXO
Pairing: Kris/Lay
Rating: R
Words: ~900
Summary: kris is in denial. pitiful attempt at being funny.
“I’m not even gay,” says Wufan around Yixing’s cock. That’s it. That’s their first time. That’s what Yixing remembers even though the fucking was pretty good.
Kyungsoo was drunk one night and it’s that night that makes Yixing kind of feel grateful for having what he got. Kyungsoo was crying actual tears bemoaning to them all how Jongin’s first compliment to his dick after months of them beating around the bush was “what do you mean suck it hyung do I have to?” and even Jongdae cringed at that, patted Kyungsoo on the head and pointed to the perpetrator. Draped across the couch, lying with limbs dangling like drying seaweed on a beach, thirty six degrees slant from the backrest to the cushions. Upside down. And he was passed out with his shirt bunched below his exposed nipples.
To make matters worse, Wufan won’t leak shit to Chanyeol who goes straight to Yixing, and Yixing isn’t sure if telling Chanyeol what a failure Wufan is at dirty talk will help or hurt himself, so he sings Wufan’s nonexistent sweetness gospel hymns and that seems to sate an all too curious Baekhyun at Chanyeol’s side who, on the same night, told everyone animatedly about the candles and roses while being completely lucid.
“Good for you, Yixing,” Baekhyun smiles, obviously relaxed now that he knows his bud is in good hands. He asks for a high five which Yixing gives, like they were middle school girls hiding their giggled congratulations for losing virginities.
Yixing tells Wufan-not the part about him sucking at dirty talk-but the worry that evidently wiped off their friends’ faces when he told them how great he was, but when he turns around he thinks maybe telling Wufan he sucked would have been a little funnier. Wufan is pensive, looking away, and for the rest of the next day he’s like that, like he’s actually giving himself shit over this.
Yixing feels bad. He tries again that night.
Wufan is writing in his fifth grade Korean grammar booklet like he expects Yixing to think he’s into it, after four years of pulling that thing out only when he’s sullen, after four years of demonstrating how obviously an auditory learner he is. But he draws his circles and marks his lines with his brows furrowed and forehead creased and Yixing’s heart kind of hurts, seeing Wufan look so infuriated by the little illustrated rabbits that are just trying to teach him how to not stumble over his sentences an fuck over things he wants to say with the things he says. He walks over, takes the little square thing out of Wufan’s hand, clicks off the lamp at their bedside.
“Give me your pencil,” he sinks into Wufan’s lap.
“I’m sorry.”
“Shh.”
He gets it. “I get it, you know.” He does. He’s never believed in being born anything, but maybe Wufan needs the assurance that he’s not losing himself for a little while longer. And yeah Wufan isn’t gay and he still isn’t if that’s what he wants to be because being with Yixing doesn’t come with a new sexuality but it does come with a Yixing and that’s what Wufan wants. That’s what he wants when he tilts his chin. And Yixing does, up to press their lips together. “We don’t have to be anything.”
“Except boyfriends.”
Yixing laughs.
“And good at dirty talking,” he breathes into Wufan’s ear.
“Is that a complaint?”
When he replies, he’s humming “hmm?” around Wufan’s dick, and Wufan has promptly forgotten where their conversation ended.
Turns out Wufan is good at this, when he’s into it, and Yixing thinks he’s into it, judging by the amount of “fuck, Yixing, shit, so tight, oh God” he’s thrown into their prolonged conversation. Yixing would reciprocate with “Yeah? Like this? Nngh, fuck-” until Wufan is so lost in his one man show that he doesn’t realize Yixing isn’t replying anymore. Which works out fine for the both of them, Wufan pulling Yixing’s hips in, snapping his own to the rhythm of Yixing’s moaning, staccatos of “ah, ah, ah” to accompany the junk flying out of his own mouth. It’s fucking perfect. He takes him from behind next, comments on how nicely his back arches, how flexible he is, ruins their next few dance practices by suggesting things involving the barres against the walls. Yixing comes once thinking about hand prints on studio mirrors, twice with Wufan’s gruff voice and promises hot in his ear.
It’s three weeks later when Yixing ends up where Kyungsoo was that night, fetal on the floor and borderline drunk and mouth flying like it hasn’t in weeks, and this time it’s Luhan who pats his head and tells him that the Nutella is gonna stay right where it is in the fridge and that he didn’t have to be afraid.
Kyungsoo takes it one step further, though, when Yixing has adamantly stopped eating anything he cooks that involves the bottle of extra virgin in the pantry, and it hurts him when Yixing doesn’t like his food. So he knocks on Wufan’s door, and when Wufan answers Kyungsoo decides to save them all the trouble and flat out tells him, ”Please, Kris, stop talking.”
Which isn’t very far from what Yixing had wanted to say in the first place.
Fandom: EXO
Pairing: Kris/Lay
Rating: R
Words: ~900
Summary: kris is in denial. pitiful attempt at being funny.
“I’m not even gay,” says Wufan around Yixing’s cock. That’s it. That’s their first time. That’s what Yixing remembers even though the fucking was pretty good.
Kyungsoo was drunk one night and it’s that night that makes Yixing kind of feel grateful for having what he got. Kyungsoo was crying actual tears bemoaning to them all how Jongin’s first compliment to his dick after months of them beating around the bush was “what do you mean suck it hyung do I have to?” and even Jongdae cringed at that, patted Kyungsoo on the head and pointed to the perpetrator. Draped across the couch, lying with limbs dangling like drying seaweed on a beach, thirty six degrees slant from the backrest to the cushions. Upside down. And he was passed out with his shirt bunched below his exposed nipples.
To make matters worse, Wufan won’t leak shit to Chanyeol who goes straight to Yixing, and Yixing isn’t sure if telling Chanyeol what a failure Wufan is at dirty talk will help or hurt himself, so he sings Wufan’s nonexistent sweetness gospel hymns and that seems to sate an all too curious Baekhyun at Chanyeol’s side who, on the same night, told everyone animatedly about the candles and roses while being completely lucid.
“Good for you, Yixing,” Baekhyun smiles, obviously relaxed now that he knows his bud is in good hands. He asks for a high five which Yixing gives, like they were middle school girls hiding their giggled congratulations for losing virginities.
Yixing tells Wufan-not the part about him sucking at dirty talk-but the worry that evidently wiped off their friends’ faces when he told them how great he was, but when he turns around he thinks maybe telling Wufan he sucked would have been a little funnier. Wufan is pensive, looking away, and for the rest of the next day he’s like that, like he’s actually giving himself shit over this.
Yixing feels bad. He tries again that night.
Wufan is writing in his fifth grade Korean grammar booklet like he expects Yixing to think he’s into it, after four years of pulling that thing out only when he’s sullen, after four years of demonstrating how obviously an auditory learner he is. But he draws his circles and marks his lines with his brows furrowed and forehead creased and Yixing’s heart kind of hurts, seeing Wufan look so infuriated by the little illustrated rabbits that are just trying to teach him how to not stumble over his sentences an fuck over things he wants to say with the things he says. He walks over, takes the little square thing out of Wufan’s hand, clicks off the lamp at their bedside.
“Give me your pencil,” he sinks into Wufan’s lap.
“I’m sorry.”
“Shh.”
He gets it. “I get it, you know.” He does. He’s never believed in being born anything, but maybe Wufan needs the assurance that he’s not losing himself for a little while longer. And yeah Wufan isn’t gay and he still isn’t if that’s what he wants to be because being with Yixing doesn’t come with a new sexuality but it does come with a Yixing and that’s what Wufan wants. That’s what he wants when he tilts his chin. And Yixing does, up to press their lips together. “We don’t have to be anything.”
“Except boyfriends.”
Yixing laughs.
“And good at dirty talking,” he breathes into Wufan’s ear.
“Is that a complaint?”
When he replies, he’s humming “hmm?” around Wufan’s dick, and Wufan has promptly forgotten where their conversation ended.
Turns out Wufan is good at this, when he’s into it, and Yixing thinks he’s into it, judging by the amount of “fuck, Yixing, shit, so tight, oh God” he’s thrown into their prolonged conversation. Yixing would reciprocate with “Yeah? Like this? Nngh, fuck-” until Wufan is so lost in his one man show that he doesn’t realize Yixing isn’t replying anymore. Which works out fine for the both of them, Wufan pulling Yixing’s hips in, snapping his own to the rhythm of Yixing’s moaning, staccatos of “ah, ah, ah” to accompany the junk flying out of his own mouth. It’s fucking perfect. He takes him from behind next, comments on how nicely his back arches, how flexible he is, ruins their next few dance practices by suggesting things involving the barres against the walls. Yixing comes once thinking about hand prints on studio mirrors, twice with Wufan’s gruff voice and promises hot in his ear.
It’s three weeks later when Yixing ends up where Kyungsoo was that night, fetal on the floor and borderline drunk and mouth flying like it hasn’t in weeks, and this time it’s Luhan who pats his head and tells him that the Nutella is gonna stay right where it is in the fridge and that he didn’t have to be afraid.
Kyungsoo takes it one step further, though, when Yixing has adamantly stopped eating anything he cooks that involves the bottle of extra virgin in the pantry, and it hurts him when Yixing doesn’t like his food. So he knocks on Wufan’s door, and when Wufan answers Kyungsoo decides to save them all the trouble and flat out tells him, ”Please, Kris, stop talking.”
Which isn’t very far from what Yixing had wanted to say in the first place.