circuit breaker
Title: circuit breaker
Pairing: JaeCo/ZiHyo (Jaehyo/Zico)
Group: Block B
Rating: PG
Notes: I sublimate all my desires into writing. I'M SORRY taeillow WHO KEEPS THINKING I WILL FINISH THE OTHER THING I SWEAR I WILL SIGH. And to gehsekki because she's cute and idk if she even reads these lmao. I swear this is not angsty as the summary implies idk what's wrong with me, just trust me. This is actually fluff. In essence.
Summary: Everything runs through Jiho but when it gets too much for him, someone needs to pull the switch, bring him back to ground. Jaehyo has learned how to be solid for him.
Jaehyo hears Jiho come home through the slam of the door and the slip-slide of socked feet across the linoleum. A body thumps against the couch cushions, and Jaehyo puts his spoon down, tilting his head towards the connecting door.
"Hyung," Jiho's muffled voice comes floating into the kitchen. Jaehyo sighs and gets up to put his bowl in the sink.
Hand caught on the doorjamb, he sees Jiho face-down in the couch, completely sprawled out. He doesn't move when Jaehyo sits himself at the curve of his waist and presses a hand against the soft skin exposed at the meeting of his sweatshirt and jeans.
Jiho's skin is hot to the touch, faint hairs smoothing down as Jaehyo drags his palm across the expanse, following the waistline of the jeans. His fingers dip into the bottom of his spine, the faint dimples on either side, tracing over the shift of smooth muscle and the underlying bone. Jiho is silent, unmoving, hands caught under his forehead and face shadowed by the cushion.
Jaehyo knows not to talk, keeps his questions behind his lips as he catches a thumb over the curve of Jiho's hip, draws his hand up and under the sweatshirt. The heat is stronger there, just the faint dampness of sweat to drag his fingers through. He doesn't trace ribs or the sharp dip of the spine, lets one centimeter of skin lead to another at random, in slowly widening rounds.
There's structure to the body underneath, familiar to his hands as the jut of his own hips or the slight bump of his nose, but he lets distraction take him on a winding course.
Even in the quiet he can't quite catch Jiho's breaths, but he can feel the inhalation under his hand, the slight press-back of his shoulder blades. He smooths over the edge of one and over its dipped surface, across the gradual compression of the exhale and the nub of a vertebra and down the swell of his spinal column. The heat of Jiho's body is spreading, all up the skin of Jaehyo's arm, from the contact point of his hip against Jiho's thigh.
The quietness of the dorm gathers around them, soft and private, following the same slow rhythm of Jaehyo's fingers' strokes over Jiho's skin. Even Jaehyo's breath goes silent, pressed deep in his chest so as to become inaudible.
They are alone in much the way they always are when they reach out for one another in public, a secret hand on another's thigh, fingertips pressing into the other's shoulder blade from the safety of the back of a chair, as if everything real is anchored on that point of contact, that weight against a reality that otherwise seems so flimsy.
The measured movement drags at Jaehyo's senses, pulls his concentration to a pinpoint, hot palm up the fluted edge of Jiho's ribs, the solidity of his bones evident even under the susurration of his skin. Tension, so at odds with the normality of Jiho's body, has begun to smooth out of his back, angry ridges of muscles gone taut, then soft and softer through each pass of Jaehyo's hands.
Jaehyo parts his dry lips, just the slightest click of his tongue against the roof of his mouth and Jiho exhales, whole body shuddering. His hips, motionless on the couch until now, squirm a fraction, and the muscles of his lower back tense and release under the pale skin.
Jaehyo keeps his motions even but presses his palm more solidly into the skin, fingertips tracing deep lines in its wake. The quiet has gathered up the tension and is pressing it in, tight over Jaehyo's body until the heat of Jiho's skin seems sharp. He wants to dig his fingers into it, into the stillness of Jiho's form. But he lets his hand go back to the dip of Jiho's spine, drags down and spreads his fingers across the valley.
Almost as a mistake, his fingernail curves into the smooth skin, draws a line through it.
Jiho groans, so far in his chest it fills his torso, octaves lower than his normal voice. He digs his head out of the pillow of his arms, spine curving like a cat as he throws his head back. He holds the stretch for a long moment, until Jaehyo can feel the tautness spread down the muscles of his back.
With a sigh, Jiho settles down and rests his cheek on the back of his hands, face tilted towards Jaehyo.
He looks at Jaehyo, eyes almost closed, the visible irises gone dark and soft. The pale skin of his forehead has gone pink from the press of his hands, and his cheek has squished his mouth into a plush pout, half-hidden by his shoulder. He's watching Jaehyo with such an unguarded measure of affection Jaehyo almost forgets to move his hand, breath caught in his chest.
Sharp, hot feeling breaks through Jaehyo's chest, sliding up towards his throat, at odds with the warm buzz of contentment from earlier. Something makes his hand shake, just slightly, and he draws the touch lighter, tries to recapture the softness of the atmosphere from earlier, but it's long fled.
Jiho sighs, rolling onto his side until his front is exposed, and it's hard to match his gaze. Jaehyo's hand comes to rest on his hip, thin skin taut over the sloping rise, and his eyes fall to the connection instead.
Jiho is, for all his gangly limbs, exceptionally well made, few sharp juts of bones anywhere, just taut muscle and soft skin. Jaehyo's thumb presses in at the slight plush of his belly, liking how Jiho's breathing jumps, drags the thumb down to where the skin is most hot and fragile, barely above the elastic of his boxers.
Jaehyo is so concentrated on it he jumps when Jiho's hand cups his face, long fingers oddly cool as they catch at the edge of his jaw. He looks up to see Jiho's arms spread open, and the hand from Jaehyo's jaw lifts away.
At first, he thinks Jiho wants to hug him. He slides forward into the embrace, bending over somewhat awkwardly until he can press his face into the warm curve of Jiho's shoulder, one arm coming around to curl over his back. The other hand grasps into the front of Jiho's sweatshirt, body heat still caught up in the fabric.
Jiho's arms possess him, drag him in from above until they're pressed chest-to-chest. Long moment pass, Jiho's chin tucked over Jaehyo's shoulder and heat rising between them.
Then Jiho shifts up and Jaehyo pulls away a bit. With just a flick of his chin upwards, Jaehyo understands what Jiho wants.
He wants to laugh, almost, that Jiho can't just ask with words, since he's a master of them most of the time. But perhaps that's the point. This time he doesn't need to say anything for someone to understand.
Jaehyo drags himself away until he can get a knee underneath him and digs under Jiho's other side with one hand. Jiho is hot, and heavy, and so very solid when Jaehyo first pulls him up that he loses his balance and drops them both back on the couch.
With a hard exhalation, he keeps the laughter inside, shifting his center of gravity lower until he can take on Jiho's weight. He pulls them both up with an effort that strains through his shoulders and down to the curve of his lower back, and Jiho is all caught up in his arms, lifted into the air.
Immediately, those long legs wrap themselves around Jaehyo's hips and it eases the weight a bit. His face is still pressed into the softness of Jiho's sweatshirt, hands caught hard around the indent of his waist to keep him in place, their chests pressed tight together.
He almost feels suffocated, heft and warmth of another person too much for him to handle, but Jiho shifts around him, slides into a place he knows Jaehyo can handle and then the breaths come easy.
He can barely see and socks were definitely a bad idea tonight, but he takes even steps towards Jiho's bedroom door, thankful its open even as he kicks it shut behind them.
The landing on top of the covers is smooth this time, the bed allowing them room to come down one then the other, only Jiho doesn't let go. He presses himself into Jaehyo's chest, shifting in short bursts until his head comes down below Jaehyo's chin, hair brushing against the sensitive skin.
It should be difficult, but Jiho has a way of curling up his body until he fits into the open curve of Jaehyo's, until their knees press softly against each other and the heat between them can remain.
It's rare, this, but the sharp feeling from before has suffused itself through Jaehyo's body and gone soft, only warmth where a burn threatened. He doesn't know what was wrong, but he knows Jiho will tell him later, so instead he focuses on the slight rise and fall of Jiho's breath under his hands.
Jiho's fingers pull tight into the front of Jaehyo's shirt for a short moment. Love you, it says, the memory of Jiho's gravelly voice in Jaehyo's head, before the grip goes soft again.
They fall asleep over the covers, tucked into one another.
END
A/N: this fic should be known as 'i want to be picked up and hugged lets make zico do it'
Pairing: JaeCo/ZiHyo (Jaehyo/Zico)
Group: Block B
Rating: PG
Notes: I sublimate all my desires into writing. I'M SORRY taeillow WHO KEEPS THINKING I WILL FINISH THE OTHER THING I SWEAR I WILL SIGH. And to gehsekki because she's cute and idk if she even reads these lmao. I swear this is not angsty as the summary implies idk what's wrong with me, just trust me. This is actually fluff. In essence.
Summary: Everything runs through Jiho but when it gets too much for him, someone needs to pull the switch, bring him back to ground. Jaehyo has learned how to be solid for him.
Jaehyo hears Jiho come home through the slam of the door and the slip-slide of socked feet across the linoleum. A body thumps against the couch cushions, and Jaehyo puts his spoon down, tilting his head towards the connecting door.
"Hyung," Jiho's muffled voice comes floating into the kitchen. Jaehyo sighs and gets up to put his bowl in the sink.
Hand caught on the doorjamb, he sees Jiho face-down in the couch, completely sprawled out. He doesn't move when Jaehyo sits himself at the curve of his waist and presses a hand against the soft skin exposed at the meeting of his sweatshirt and jeans.
Jiho's skin is hot to the touch, faint hairs smoothing down as Jaehyo drags his palm across the expanse, following the waistline of the jeans. His fingers dip into the bottom of his spine, the faint dimples on either side, tracing over the shift of smooth muscle and the underlying bone. Jiho is silent, unmoving, hands caught under his forehead and face shadowed by the cushion.
Jaehyo knows not to talk, keeps his questions behind his lips as he catches a thumb over the curve of Jiho's hip, draws his hand up and under the sweatshirt. The heat is stronger there, just the faint dampness of sweat to drag his fingers through. He doesn't trace ribs or the sharp dip of the spine, lets one centimeter of skin lead to another at random, in slowly widening rounds.
There's structure to the body underneath, familiar to his hands as the jut of his own hips or the slight bump of his nose, but he lets distraction take him on a winding course.
Even in the quiet he can't quite catch Jiho's breaths, but he can feel the inhalation under his hand, the slight press-back of his shoulder blades. He smooths over the edge of one and over its dipped surface, across the gradual compression of the exhale and the nub of a vertebra and down the swell of his spinal column. The heat of Jiho's body is spreading, all up the skin of Jaehyo's arm, from the contact point of his hip against Jiho's thigh.
The quietness of the dorm gathers around them, soft and private, following the same slow rhythm of Jaehyo's fingers' strokes over Jiho's skin. Even Jaehyo's breath goes silent, pressed deep in his chest so as to become inaudible.
They are alone in much the way they always are when they reach out for one another in public, a secret hand on another's thigh, fingertips pressing into the other's shoulder blade from the safety of the back of a chair, as if everything real is anchored on that point of contact, that weight against a reality that otherwise seems so flimsy.
The measured movement drags at Jaehyo's senses, pulls his concentration to a pinpoint, hot palm up the fluted edge of Jiho's ribs, the solidity of his bones evident even under the susurration of his skin. Tension, so at odds with the normality of Jiho's body, has begun to smooth out of his back, angry ridges of muscles gone taut, then soft and softer through each pass of Jaehyo's hands.
Jaehyo parts his dry lips, just the slightest click of his tongue against the roof of his mouth and Jiho exhales, whole body shuddering. His hips, motionless on the couch until now, squirm a fraction, and the muscles of his lower back tense and release under the pale skin.
Jaehyo keeps his motions even but presses his palm more solidly into the skin, fingertips tracing deep lines in its wake. The quiet has gathered up the tension and is pressing it in, tight over Jaehyo's body until the heat of Jiho's skin seems sharp. He wants to dig his fingers into it, into the stillness of Jiho's form. But he lets his hand go back to the dip of Jiho's spine, drags down and spreads his fingers across the valley.
Almost as a mistake, his fingernail curves into the smooth skin, draws a line through it.
Jiho groans, so far in his chest it fills his torso, octaves lower than his normal voice. He digs his head out of the pillow of his arms, spine curving like a cat as he throws his head back. He holds the stretch for a long moment, until Jaehyo can feel the tautness spread down the muscles of his back.
With a sigh, Jiho settles down and rests his cheek on the back of his hands, face tilted towards Jaehyo.
He looks at Jaehyo, eyes almost closed, the visible irises gone dark and soft. The pale skin of his forehead has gone pink from the press of his hands, and his cheek has squished his mouth into a plush pout, half-hidden by his shoulder. He's watching Jaehyo with such an unguarded measure of affection Jaehyo almost forgets to move his hand, breath caught in his chest.
Sharp, hot feeling breaks through Jaehyo's chest, sliding up towards his throat, at odds with the warm buzz of contentment from earlier. Something makes his hand shake, just slightly, and he draws the touch lighter, tries to recapture the softness of the atmosphere from earlier, but it's long fled.
Jiho sighs, rolling onto his side until his front is exposed, and it's hard to match his gaze. Jaehyo's hand comes to rest on his hip, thin skin taut over the sloping rise, and his eyes fall to the connection instead.
Jiho is, for all his gangly limbs, exceptionally well made, few sharp juts of bones anywhere, just taut muscle and soft skin. Jaehyo's thumb presses in at the slight plush of his belly, liking how Jiho's breathing jumps, drags the thumb down to where the skin is most hot and fragile, barely above the elastic of his boxers.
Jaehyo is so concentrated on it he jumps when Jiho's hand cups his face, long fingers oddly cool as they catch at the edge of his jaw. He looks up to see Jiho's arms spread open, and the hand from Jaehyo's jaw lifts away.
At first, he thinks Jiho wants to hug him. He slides forward into the embrace, bending over somewhat awkwardly until he can press his face into the warm curve of Jiho's shoulder, one arm coming around to curl over his back. The other hand grasps into the front of Jiho's sweatshirt, body heat still caught up in the fabric.
Jiho's arms possess him, drag him in from above until they're pressed chest-to-chest. Long moment pass, Jiho's chin tucked over Jaehyo's shoulder and heat rising between them.
Then Jiho shifts up and Jaehyo pulls away a bit. With just a flick of his chin upwards, Jaehyo understands what Jiho wants.
He wants to laugh, almost, that Jiho can't just ask with words, since he's a master of them most of the time. But perhaps that's the point. This time he doesn't need to say anything for someone to understand.
Jaehyo drags himself away until he can get a knee underneath him and digs under Jiho's other side with one hand. Jiho is hot, and heavy, and so very solid when Jaehyo first pulls him up that he loses his balance and drops them both back on the couch.
With a hard exhalation, he keeps the laughter inside, shifting his center of gravity lower until he can take on Jiho's weight. He pulls them both up with an effort that strains through his shoulders and down to the curve of his lower back, and Jiho is all caught up in his arms, lifted into the air.
Immediately, those long legs wrap themselves around Jaehyo's hips and it eases the weight a bit. His face is still pressed into the softness of Jiho's sweatshirt, hands caught hard around the indent of his waist to keep him in place, their chests pressed tight together.
He almost feels suffocated, heft and warmth of another person too much for him to handle, but Jiho shifts around him, slides into a place he knows Jaehyo can handle and then the breaths come easy.
He can barely see and socks were definitely a bad idea tonight, but he takes even steps towards Jiho's bedroom door, thankful its open even as he kicks it shut behind them.
The landing on top of the covers is smooth this time, the bed allowing them room to come down one then the other, only Jiho doesn't let go. He presses himself into Jaehyo's chest, shifting in short bursts until his head comes down below Jaehyo's chin, hair brushing against the sensitive skin.
It should be difficult, but Jiho has a way of curling up his body until he fits into the open curve of Jaehyo's, until their knees press softly against each other and the heat between them can remain.
It's rare, this, but the sharp feeling from before has suffused itself through Jaehyo's body and gone soft, only warmth where a burn threatened. He doesn't know what was wrong, but he knows Jiho will tell him later, so instead he focuses on the slight rise and fall of Jiho's breath under his hands.
Jiho's fingers pull tight into the front of Jaehyo's shirt for a short moment. Love you, it says, the memory of Jiho's gravelly voice in Jaehyo's head, before the grip goes soft again.
They fall asleep over the covers, tucked into one another.
END
A/N: this fic should be known as 'i want to be picked up and hugged lets make zico do it'