(no subject)
Study
Author: jongmalai
Pairing: JongKey
Rating: R
Summary: He's written a book on Key that's plain and painful and that hasn't quite filled him up just yet.
AKA where I don't know what i'm talking about. Read, review, comment e t c
The air is cold when he walks onstage. It nips and bites and he shudders..
Key is laid out on the couch, prostrate before the altar of the stage, cushions dug like craters around his slight frame. His eyes are half shut, fingers sandwiched between the couch and his pocket; the other hand is picking at the studs on the inside of his pants, plucking until he's digging behind the last one attached at the base of his thigh and his fingers ghost across his crotch. His hand goes limp there, sliding until his wrist is sharp bone against the cradle of his hips.
Jonghyun shudders.
Key sighs, sleep and fatigue coating his throat, as he shifts up so that he's better set against the cushions.
“What's up?” He asks nonchalantly, words making Jonghyun's heart thump doubletime; he hangs his head back over the couch arm and his throat lights up like a piece of the moon popped off and slid itself into him, glowing against his blue-veined skin. Jonghyun wants to bite it hard, sink his teeth into it and scrape, soothe with his tongue and repeat until he has the entire red hot mess underneath him and not up in the sky. Until Key can feel his teeth at the back of his spine.
“Not much,” He says, pauses, “You?”
“Enjoying the view,” Key responds quickly, too quickly, but Jonghyun's focus is too busy sliding from the throb of his adam's apple up the crook of his jaw, across his glistening lips when he smiles. Smirks, rather, the confidence is corded from the tip of his nose to the tracks of his boots against the opposite couch arm. His head comes up with a flip of brown hair, jacket settling lightly over his collarbones. A shaky step forward, onetwo because between Key and Jonghyun the gravitational force is pulling impossibly hard like his mind for thought, clawing and scraping at his clothes. The darkness around them, the dusty stage and the spotlight far off to the left, the rectangle that lets in a slant of moonlight across Key's slicked hair sucks up his brainwaves like they're soundproofing his head; he's lightheaded, dizzy, but hasn't ever been more focused on the way Key's thin eyes are like twin black holes.
“Excited for tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” Key says and his stretch is lazy, taunting, the way he flips one boot over the other ankle and his pants stretch tight making Jonghyun thoughts hiccup. His fingers twitch unconscious to the thump of his heart and he can't help but notice that Key's fingers are playing the same rhythm on his pants, movements slick and Jonghyun is sure, so sure that the material is painted across his thighs. His fingers itch to rake over them and learn for himself, but his breathing is keeping him too anchored to reality to reach out.
The slant of Key’s eyes are as sharp as the silence, just as omnipresent and deadly. The quiet cuts sharp pinpricks of nerves into Jonghyun's spine, molds a toothy smile that he tries to lighten the pressure with. Key's smirk gets leaner and sharper, his foot drawnig up straight up his dark-washed calf and the sparks against Jonghyun's spine get harsher and hotter. Key sees it, notes it with a bite of teeth against his bottom lip, flushing it white and red and white again. It’s like a siren, wailing in his ears and infecting his mind, fraying the ropes of his self-control until the thread snaps when Jonghyun snaps, snaps forward that last few meters and savages it between his own. It's hot and hard and vicious when Jonghyun climbs into that only available space, that cradle framed by cloth and hard edges so warm and yielding against him. He pushes forward, needing more contact, sliding up onto his knees and bending his back snakelike over Key's slight frame pushed back onto the slippery backing of the couch.
He breathes hard and fast against Key's lips, like steam from a furnace, shucking off his shirt so fast the friction burns fire along his arms. The wifebeater underneath it does nothing more than give Key a handhold on him, to help those fingers dig scarlet half-moons into the arch above his pants. Key pulls him down and Jonghyun moans, a strong straight vibrato that gives Key one pause, two and three and then his hands are back on Jonghyun's hips, pulling him down, forward until their lips and noses are crashing into each other again. He sneaks words in between their lips, slips them in there like his fingers into the waistband of Jonghyun's jeans, between the fabric of his shirt and his burning skin. Jonghyun can't hear anything, though, nothing but the pound of his blood in his brain, the slide of his forehead against Key's, the scream of his lungs as he starves them of air and loves every single second of it.
Key's jacket, glitzy and glittery and hanging off of his pale shoulder is pushed off hastily and Jonghyun's fingers press so deep into the skin revealed that he's sure he's going to leave bruises, sure he's going to leave a mark. The idea of imprinting himself deep within the heated flesh underneath him gives him goosebumps, makes him pant harder and his eyes heavier with want as he meets Key's gaze. He's sure they're going to drop right out of his head from the way that Key's eyes skirt over him, his blown irises and mussed hair and bags under his eyes tracing every inch of Jonghyun from his flushed cheeks to his worming toes.
There's a glimmer of something other than examination there, dark and glinting as his hands strip bare Jonghyun's torso, as he slides a hand around the small of Jonghyun's back and into the back of his unzipped jeans. It trails into the hem of his boxers and the thin skin stretching over his tailbone like the skitter of feathers, sending a shudder sprinting marathons up Jonghyun's spine, forcing him closer and closer until the nerves in his bare chest are burning against Key's undershirt.
“You've still got clothes,” He pants, and Key simply nods next to his ear, steady voice belying the sharp heave of his chest. Jonghyun can hear the breathless pants behind the calm, the sharp squeeze of lungs when he slides his thighs together, the twitch of his fingers digging up years of cues carefully pored over. He studied Key and still does, his every move and every need inscribed on the inside of Jonghyun’s rib cage to pore over like a curriculum at every spare moment.
Key veritably digs straight up into him at an angle that shifts his hips so awkwardly into the couch that it feels good, that his arms shudder quietly when he pushes himself up, when he sits himself upright on Key's lap and long legs curl around him. He’s done enough studying to write maybe a thousand papers on his best friend and fellow troublemaker, but the way that they’re rocking and sliding together may just be his test.
The proctor doesn’t look like he’s going to make an easy time of it, either. Something in the sharp set of Key’s shoulders and the tilt of his smirk, so cocky and palms quietly commanding the sway of his hips sets Jonghyun's hands shaking; Key's hips are moving up and down, shifting him tightly like a needle shoving endorphins and cocaine racing up his spine. He’s lightheaded, room spinning and stomach flipping, sick and incomplete until Key slips a hand past the hems of his jeans and boxers and suddenly his stomach's stopped doing flip flops and is instead lodged in his throat.
Key's other hand, hips still arching, slips down and divests Jonghyun of the seat of his pants in one go. Key leans forward, pushing Jonghyun onto his back against the icy surface of the couch. The material slips and slides against the sweat slick and dripping down his forehead, couch smooth as Key pushes Jonghyun's thigh back all the way to his chest. Jonghyun pushes back against his hand, a little bit violent, a lot satisfied when Key slides back on the furniture a ways and for once is studying Jonghyun. He studies the way that Jonghyun’s lips twitch minutely down when he pulls away, the clench of his fists and set of his teeth and contraction of corded muscle head to toe that shouts the volumes that words never could.
He smacks Jonghyun's ass with his long palms, trimmed fingernails digging minutely into the goosepimpled skin, and Jonghyun almost fires back a retort until he looks up from the heaving chest and curled fingers. Key's thin eyes are dusky and made up with eyeliner, focused straight on Jonghyun's own and it’s like staring at a sheet of paper with all the information wiped clean from his brain. He flounders for a moment, everything that is Key wiped clean from the inside of his ribs.
He gulps, suddenly feeling sick again.
Key's eyes go hazy as he flicks a finger against the reddened sensitivity hot and deep inside of Jonghyun, smoothing the tip of his finger over it and worming in until he can almost see the sparks of alarm going off behind Jonghyun’s eyes. Jonghyun bites his lip and bends nearly in half, hand catching Key's and pulling it away feebly but confidently. Key's eyes jerk up from his thighs to his chin, clenching his fist until his knuckles are a little whiter and Jonghyun winces, because Key’s suddenly rushing back in an explosion to write himself all over Jonghyun’s body with the sharpest pen he can find. Because that was a bad move when Key's lips are thinned and the line of his shoulders so sharp-edged, because his eyes have the glint of frustration, because Jonghyun knows better than to wrest away his control.
He stares at Jonghyun and his eyes are wider, smokiness evaporated, and he slams his knuckles into the back of Jonghyun's knee so hard his spine screams at the sudden shift and his leg comes back halfway to his chest. He lets out a small grunt and grins a little bit when Key's eyebrows knit closer. There’s erasing and rewriting when he pushes back against Key because he’s comfortable with bad ideas and not as much with Key being inside of him as one would think, and Key must have control is revised to Key must have control as long as it doesn’t concern Jonghyun’s insides.
He slides up over Jonghyun, hand softening and other sliding Jonghyun's thighs together around his cock, hot and heavy against the cool skin. He thrusts forward harshly, bending Jonghyun's thighs closer to his bare chest, knee so close to his chin he can feel the breath condense a warm patch onto his sharp joint. Jonghyun moans as Key's fingers trace the tip of his cock, tightening his muscles as Key starts to thrust between his thighs, as he throbs and leaks all over and the mess makes it easier for Key to slide his fingers anywhere he wants.
There’s a new space on his sternum that is now claimed with Key loves his fingers and one slightly lower that says Key loves to kiss hard and slow with tongue and teeth and hips moving faster than their minds or pens can keep up with. There’s a little piece of his heart that whispers that he might just have no more room after this, that after he’s done recording everything that happens in the next two seconds he might be completely overridden, completely full, complete.
Jonghyun reaches down to stroke himself, to move the fingers of his free hand along the base of his cock and trail them to the head and clench and twist until he's moving his hips up languidly against the back and forth of Key's hips. His other hand is still caught in Key's, clenching tighter and tightest as he nears the edge and shudders, can feel himself slamming past the point of no return so fast that he doesn’t realize he’s almost there until he is, swallowed up whole with a leg hooked around Key's shoulder and hand tugging it down full circle until it’s scraping his other thigh. His stomach is twisting itself in knots, in little tiny threaded knots that he doesn't know how to get out, but the press of Key's palm against his aching middle is making it better by perhaps just a little.
He’s exhausted, the last threads of Key's orgasm slipping through his thighs, his eyes with that quiet satisfied fervor that makes them glint dangerous in a different way. Key, forever dignified, unwinds like a snake and slips his glittery jacket back on; Jonghyun scoffs, and his pants are back around his ass once more, his wifebeater used to clean the mess sticky on his stomach. Their eyes are flitting to meet each other and away like fireflies, but inevitably locking when Jonghyun needs to put his shirt on again.
“Uh,” He croaks, and tightens their hands together, still wound, still complete. There’s a tiny little spot right on the inside of his shoulderblade, facing into himself, where he can feel the etching working away at him slowly, painful and inevitable.
I love Key. It reads, plain and stinging and not quite filling him up just yet.
Key loves me. Is stamped right atop it, and it cuts an arrow of warmth straight into his heart that he can’t help but reach out and take and tie around him until he’s connected to Key and Key’s connected to him. Maybe not forever, but at least together; heart to heart, complete.
Author: jongmalai
Pairing: JongKey
Rating: R
Summary: He's written a book on Key that's plain and painful and that hasn't quite filled him up just yet.
AKA where I don't know what i'm talking about. Read, review, comment e t c
The air is cold when he walks onstage. It nips and bites and he shudders..
Key is laid out on the couch, prostrate before the altar of the stage, cushions dug like craters around his slight frame. His eyes are half shut, fingers sandwiched between the couch and his pocket; the other hand is picking at the studs on the inside of his pants, plucking until he's digging behind the last one attached at the base of his thigh and his fingers ghost across his crotch. His hand goes limp there, sliding until his wrist is sharp bone against the cradle of his hips.
Jonghyun shudders.
Key sighs, sleep and fatigue coating his throat, as he shifts up so that he's better set against the cushions.
“What's up?” He asks nonchalantly, words making Jonghyun's heart thump doubletime; he hangs his head back over the couch arm and his throat lights up like a piece of the moon popped off and slid itself into him, glowing against his blue-veined skin. Jonghyun wants to bite it hard, sink his teeth into it and scrape, soothe with his tongue and repeat until he has the entire red hot mess underneath him and not up in the sky. Until Key can feel his teeth at the back of his spine.
“Not much,” He says, pauses, “You?”
“Enjoying the view,” Key responds quickly, too quickly, but Jonghyun's focus is too busy sliding from the throb of his adam's apple up the crook of his jaw, across his glistening lips when he smiles. Smirks, rather, the confidence is corded from the tip of his nose to the tracks of his boots against the opposite couch arm. His head comes up with a flip of brown hair, jacket settling lightly over his collarbones. A shaky step forward, onetwo because between Key and Jonghyun the gravitational force is pulling impossibly hard like his mind for thought, clawing and scraping at his clothes. The darkness around them, the dusty stage and the spotlight far off to the left, the rectangle that lets in a slant of moonlight across Key's slicked hair sucks up his brainwaves like they're soundproofing his head; he's lightheaded, dizzy, but hasn't ever been more focused on the way Key's thin eyes are like twin black holes.
“Excited for tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” Key says and his stretch is lazy, taunting, the way he flips one boot over the other ankle and his pants stretch tight making Jonghyun thoughts hiccup. His fingers twitch unconscious to the thump of his heart and he can't help but notice that Key's fingers are playing the same rhythm on his pants, movements slick and Jonghyun is sure, so sure that the material is painted across his thighs. His fingers itch to rake over them and learn for himself, but his breathing is keeping him too anchored to reality to reach out.
The slant of Key’s eyes are as sharp as the silence, just as omnipresent and deadly. The quiet cuts sharp pinpricks of nerves into Jonghyun's spine, molds a toothy smile that he tries to lighten the pressure with. Key's smirk gets leaner and sharper, his foot drawnig up straight up his dark-washed calf and the sparks against Jonghyun's spine get harsher and hotter. Key sees it, notes it with a bite of teeth against his bottom lip, flushing it white and red and white again. It’s like a siren, wailing in his ears and infecting his mind, fraying the ropes of his self-control until the thread snaps when Jonghyun snaps, snaps forward that last few meters and savages it between his own. It's hot and hard and vicious when Jonghyun climbs into that only available space, that cradle framed by cloth and hard edges so warm and yielding against him. He pushes forward, needing more contact, sliding up onto his knees and bending his back snakelike over Key's slight frame pushed back onto the slippery backing of the couch.
He breathes hard and fast against Key's lips, like steam from a furnace, shucking off his shirt so fast the friction burns fire along his arms. The wifebeater underneath it does nothing more than give Key a handhold on him, to help those fingers dig scarlet half-moons into the arch above his pants. Key pulls him down and Jonghyun moans, a strong straight vibrato that gives Key one pause, two and three and then his hands are back on Jonghyun's hips, pulling him down, forward until their lips and noses are crashing into each other again. He sneaks words in between their lips, slips them in there like his fingers into the waistband of Jonghyun's jeans, between the fabric of his shirt and his burning skin. Jonghyun can't hear anything, though, nothing but the pound of his blood in his brain, the slide of his forehead against Key's, the scream of his lungs as he starves them of air and loves every single second of it.
Key's jacket, glitzy and glittery and hanging off of his pale shoulder is pushed off hastily and Jonghyun's fingers press so deep into the skin revealed that he's sure he's going to leave bruises, sure he's going to leave a mark. The idea of imprinting himself deep within the heated flesh underneath him gives him goosebumps, makes him pant harder and his eyes heavier with want as he meets Key's gaze. He's sure they're going to drop right out of his head from the way that Key's eyes skirt over him, his blown irises and mussed hair and bags under his eyes tracing every inch of Jonghyun from his flushed cheeks to his worming toes.
There's a glimmer of something other than examination there, dark and glinting as his hands strip bare Jonghyun's torso, as he slides a hand around the small of Jonghyun's back and into the back of his unzipped jeans. It trails into the hem of his boxers and the thin skin stretching over his tailbone like the skitter of feathers, sending a shudder sprinting marathons up Jonghyun's spine, forcing him closer and closer until the nerves in his bare chest are burning against Key's undershirt.
“You've still got clothes,” He pants, and Key simply nods next to his ear, steady voice belying the sharp heave of his chest. Jonghyun can hear the breathless pants behind the calm, the sharp squeeze of lungs when he slides his thighs together, the twitch of his fingers digging up years of cues carefully pored over. He studied Key and still does, his every move and every need inscribed on the inside of Jonghyun’s rib cage to pore over like a curriculum at every spare moment.
Key veritably digs straight up into him at an angle that shifts his hips so awkwardly into the couch that it feels good, that his arms shudder quietly when he pushes himself up, when he sits himself upright on Key's lap and long legs curl around him. He’s done enough studying to write maybe a thousand papers on his best friend and fellow troublemaker, but the way that they’re rocking and sliding together may just be his test.
The proctor doesn’t look like he’s going to make an easy time of it, either. Something in the sharp set of Key’s shoulders and the tilt of his smirk, so cocky and palms quietly commanding the sway of his hips sets Jonghyun's hands shaking; Key's hips are moving up and down, shifting him tightly like a needle shoving endorphins and cocaine racing up his spine. He’s lightheaded, room spinning and stomach flipping, sick and incomplete until Key slips a hand past the hems of his jeans and boxers and suddenly his stomach's stopped doing flip flops and is instead lodged in his throat.
Key's other hand, hips still arching, slips down and divests Jonghyun of the seat of his pants in one go. Key leans forward, pushing Jonghyun onto his back against the icy surface of the couch. The material slips and slides against the sweat slick and dripping down his forehead, couch smooth as Key pushes Jonghyun's thigh back all the way to his chest. Jonghyun pushes back against his hand, a little bit violent, a lot satisfied when Key slides back on the furniture a ways and for once is studying Jonghyun. He studies the way that Jonghyun’s lips twitch minutely down when he pulls away, the clench of his fists and set of his teeth and contraction of corded muscle head to toe that shouts the volumes that words never could.
He smacks Jonghyun's ass with his long palms, trimmed fingernails digging minutely into the goosepimpled skin, and Jonghyun almost fires back a retort until he looks up from the heaving chest and curled fingers. Key's thin eyes are dusky and made up with eyeliner, focused straight on Jonghyun's own and it’s like staring at a sheet of paper with all the information wiped clean from his brain. He flounders for a moment, everything that is Key wiped clean from the inside of his ribs.
He gulps, suddenly feeling sick again.
Key's eyes go hazy as he flicks a finger against the reddened sensitivity hot and deep inside of Jonghyun, smoothing the tip of his finger over it and worming in until he can almost see the sparks of alarm going off behind Jonghyun’s eyes. Jonghyun bites his lip and bends nearly in half, hand catching Key's and pulling it away feebly but confidently. Key's eyes jerk up from his thighs to his chin, clenching his fist until his knuckles are a little whiter and Jonghyun winces, because Key’s suddenly rushing back in an explosion to write himself all over Jonghyun’s body with the sharpest pen he can find. Because that was a bad move when Key's lips are thinned and the line of his shoulders so sharp-edged, because his eyes have the glint of frustration, because Jonghyun knows better than to wrest away his control.
He stares at Jonghyun and his eyes are wider, smokiness evaporated, and he slams his knuckles into the back of Jonghyun's knee so hard his spine screams at the sudden shift and his leg comes back halfway to his chest. He lets out a small grunt and grins a little bit when Key's eyebrows knit closer. There’s erasing and rewriting when he pushes back against Key because he’s comfortable with bad ideas and not as much with Key being inside of him as one would think, and Key must have control is revised to Key must have control as long as it doesn’t concern Jonghyun’s insides.
He slides up over Jonghyun, hand softening and other sliding Jonghyun's thighs together around his cock, hot and heavy against the cool skin. He thrusts forward harshly, bending Jonghyun's thighs closer to his bare chest, knee so close to his chin he can feel the breath condense a warm patch onto his sharp joint. Jonghyun moans as Key's fingers trace the tip of his cock, tightening his muscles as Key starts to thrust between his thighs, as he throbs and leaks all over and the mess makes it easier for Key to slide his fingers anywhere he wants.
There’s a new space on his sternum that is now claimed with Key loves his fingers and one slightly lower that says Key loves to kiss hard and slow with tongue and teeth and hips moving faster than their minds or pens can keep up with. There’s a little piece of his heart that whispers that he might just have no more room after this, that after he’s done recording everything that happens in the next two seconds he might be completely overridden, completely full, complete.
Jonghyun reaches down to stroke himself, to move the fingers of his free hand along the base of his cock and trail them to the head and clench and twist until he's moving his hips up languidly against the back and forth of Key's hips. His other hand is still caught in Key's, clenching tighter and tightest as he nears the edge and shudders, can feel himself slamming past the point of no return so fast that he doesn’t realize he’s almost there until he is, swallowed up whole with a leg hooked around Key's shoulder and hand tugging it down full circle until it’s scraping his other thigh. His stomach is twisting itself in knots, in little tiny threaded knots that he doesn't know how to get out, but the press of Key's palm against his aching middle is making it better by perhaps just a little.
He’s exhausted, the last threads of Key's orgasm slipping through his thighs, his eyes with that quiet satisfied fervor that makes them glint dangerous in a different way. Key, forever dignified, unwinds like a snake and slips his glittery jacket back on; Jonghyun scoffs, and his pants are back around his ass once more, his wifebeater used to clean the mess sticky on his stomach. Their eyes are flitting to meet each other and away like fireflies, but inevitably locking when Jonghyun needs to put his shirt on again.
“Uh,” He croaks, and tightens their hands together, still wound, still complete. There’s a tiny little spot right on the inside of his shoulderblade, facing into himself, where he can feel the etching working away at him slowly, painful and inevitable.
I love Key. It reads, plain and stinging and not quite filling him up just yet.
Key loves me. Is stamped right atop it, and it cuts an arrow of warmth straight into his heart that he can’t help but reach out and take and tie around him until he’s connected to Key and Key’s connected to him. Maybe not forever, but at least together; heart to heart, complete.