(Mostly) Porn Dump
slight edits made from some of the originals, also a mix of lapslock & not.
Title: Chinese Lessons
Pairing: Chen/Lay
Rating: nc17
Word Count: 800
yixing is sitting on his bed, watching a movie and drinking tea, when he hears a knock.
“yeah, come in,” he says, yanking off his headphones. the door opens, followed by jongdae, who’s got a binder under his arm. “oh, is it tuesday?”
jongdae nods as he shuts the door behind him. “do you mind? i mean i know we’re not really promoting in china right now, but...”
yixing pauses his movie and puts his laptop down on the dresser beside him, while jongdae makes his way over to yixing’s bed. he sits down and opens the binder, spreading out the contents of a couple worksheets, half-completed, and photocopies from a lesson book. they’ve been doing this, three or four nights a week, for over a year now, and they’ve got it down to a precise routine: jongdae asks yixing for help with the exercises he’s already gotten stuck on, then yixing checks over as many of his assignments as he can while jongdae works out whatever he hasn’t completed yet, asking questions as he comes across things he doesn’t understand.
this time, though, jongdae doesn’t start in on a new worksheet when yixing’s explained his errors. instead, he closes up his binder, papers messily shoved inside, and turns to face yixing.
“i really wanted to... thank you for your help, ge,” he says in stilted mandaring.
yixing shrugs, responding slowly so jongdae can understand him. “it’s no big deal. i like helping you.”
jongdae nods, the edge of yixing’s bedspread caught between his thumb and forefinger. he rubs at the cloth, almost like he’s nervous, and yixing watches for a moment, before suddenly the hand is moving away and up to yixing’s jaw, where it settles.
“thank you,” jongdae says, and leans in to kiss yixing.
it doesn’t surprise yixing, really: there’ve been hints of a sort of tension between them, caught briefly in moments where their hands touch, when yixing starts playing stupid mind games with himself, letting his hand, or his knee, or his shoulder, linger beside jongdae’s, too close and not close enough, waiting to see if jongdae will flinch away. he usually doesn’t, and it’s yixing who ends up moving, confused and unsure if jongdae even really notices. there are other moments, too, ones yixing knows aren’t in his head, when he catches jongdae looking at him during meals, when jongdae smiles at him, just for a moment, like he’s something special.
jongdae’s mouth is soft and warm as yixing slides his tongue between jongdae’s lips, jongdae pressing him down into the bed so he’s straddling him.
“i know you don’t think you deserve thanks, but i hope you’re enjoying this,” jongdae says against his lips before he kisses down Yixing’s jaw to his neck. yixing shivers at the contact. jongdae pulls back to nuzzle at his neck, breath warm.
“i’ve wanted to kiss your neck since i found out how sensitive it is.”
yixing sighs as jongdae strokes his sides, fingers dipping beneath his shirt and sliding over his skin. yixing settles his hands on jongdae’s hips and pulls him closer, so their bodies are flush against each other.
“i think we’re wearing too many clothes,” jongdae says, and yixing nods, watching him take off his own shirt and fling it aside. yixing sits up and lets jongdae yank his shirt up and off his body, his muscles flexing as he does. jongdae smiles at him before leaning back down to bite along yixing’s collarbones before trailing his lips to his nipple, where he flicks his tongue out before taking it in his mouth and sucking. yixing thrusts up when he does, letting a soft moan get stuck halfway in his throat. he lets his hands wander across jongdae’s back, feeling each of his movements under his fingertips and jongdae kisses from one nipple to the other and then down to his hipbones, where he nips at the skin and yixing moans again.
“can i blow you?” jongdae asks.
“yes, please.”
yixing slips his sweats and boxers down his legs and jongdae kneels between them, hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it a few times before taking it in his mouth. it’s hot and wet and yixing grips at the bedspread as jongdae blows him, his hands digging into yixing’s hips, the slick sound of jongdae’s mouth on his dick loud in the small room.
“fuck, jongdae, gonna come,” he manages to say when he’s close, his body tight and one edge, and jongdae responds by taking him as he deep as he can, sucking hard, and yixing comes, head thrown back, body spasming as he does.
jongdae sits up and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. his mouth is quirked up in a smile, sharp at the edges and utterly charming. “seriously, thanks.”
“no,” yixing says, pulling him up for a kiss and reaching down to stroke his cock through his jeans, “thank you.”
♦ ♦ ♦
Title: Getaway Car
Pairing: Kai/Lay
Rating: nc17 (warning: dub-connish breathplay)
Word Count: 1,700
there’s an art to selecting getaway cars, and yixing’s spent years perfecting it. they have to be unremarkable, nothing anyone will ever remember. cars that could be your mother’s or grandfather’s, cars you grew up driving, cars no one will blink at. too flashy and you’ll be remembered, too discreet--windows tinted too dark, conspicuous absence of plates and maker--and you’ll get noticed, too.
which is why yixing has an armada of black toyotas, fast enough and reliable but painfully ordinary. he’s waiting on a side street, a block away from jongin’s site, radio on low, lights on, dressed in a sweatshirt and jeans. he could be anyone, until jongin comes into his line of vision, face bloodied and hair matted, and he leans across the car to open the passenger door, shifting into drive. jongin slides into the seat beside him and slams the door, yixing taking off.
“docks?”
“that’s the plan.”
jongin nods, leaning back in his seat and shutting his eyes. yixing glances at him: his chest is heaving and he’s bleeding from a cut above his lip.
“first aid kit’s under the seat.”
“i know.”
“did you get it done?”
jongin reaches beneath the seat to get the kit out, taking a roll of gauze and some bandages. “security was pretty minimal, guess they figured their technology was good enough they didn’t need to fill the place with guards. they didn’t want to fire off shots because of the display cases, so it was just hand-to-hand. got the ring. is it a ship this time?”
“yeah, joonmyun’s guys should be there by about 1am.”
“that’s in like, an hour.”
yixing shrugs. “this job went a lot faster than yifan expected.”
jongin rips off a strip of gauze and presses it against his lip. “i guess so. so are we just gonna hang out at the dock for a while?”
“that’s the idea.”
“yifan’s? or yours?”
“does it matter?”
jongin turns to stare at him. “i guess not.”
they reach the dock after ten minutes of near silence, the radio the only noise inside the car. they pull into the car park, jongdae, the guard, opening the door for them.
yixing’s not sure what’s gotten into him, but jongin is jumpier than normal. he keeps fidgeting, pulling on his tie and fussing with his hair, and it’s both turning yixing on and driving him up the wall, although he’s not sure if those are actually separate emotions at this point. he’s fucked jongin plenty of times, knows that he’s usually up for it after a job, adrenaline crashing through him and putting him on edge, but yixing doesn’t want anything hasty in the backseat tonight. yixing wants his bloody face to be tear-streaked in desperation, his split lip cut open wider by silent screams. maybe it’s because this is the biggest job they’ve pulled in a while, maybe it’s because the politics of the organization have been particularly frustrating of late, maybe it’s because yifan has been trying to take away the extra power he’s been letting yixing have of late, but yixing wants jongin bad, wants to control him even more.
so he leans over and grabs him by the tie, yanking him forward to kiss him. jongin opens his mouth for the kiss and his lips are still bloody, the slick metallic taste leaking into yixing’s mouth as they make out. yixing’s still got his hand in jongin’s tie, and so he pulls hard, constricting his windpipe. he stops kissing him, watching jongin’s eyes narrow, then go desperate, like he wants to beg yixing to stop but won’t, not yet. yixing pulls tighter, thinks he might be leaving a bruise.
“i could kill you,” he says, not sure what’s making him talk. it’s true. he may not fight much, but he’s just as well-trained as anyone else in the organization, has killed a man with his bare hands before. he knows just where to press, how to block a windpipe and strangle the life out of someone, how to turn air into blood, bleeding out slow and unstoppable and lethal.
jongin looks a little faint, but yixing doesn’t pull back until he reaches up to tug at his collar, the plea obvious in his eyes. yixing’s turned on as hell, doesn’t want to lose this bit of power he suddenly has, wants to watch jongin’s face go purple around his cuts, but he doesn’t want to kill him, no. he likes jongin, likes him a lot, and maybe this is all some strange, twisted manifestation of that, fucked up along with his sense of morality years ago.
jongin gasps when he lets go, breathing hard. his voice is raspy when he speaks, and there’s a glint in his eye, some combination of arousal and anger that goes straight to yixing’s dick.
“or you could fuck me,” jongin wheezes out.
yixing smiles and starts the car again.
“what’re you doing?”
“heading outside.”
“car not good enough tonight?”
“not enough space. you’ve already had enough head wounds.”
jongin snorts. “i thought you said the plan was to stay here?”
“it is. i just don’t want jongdae watching.”
it’s black out but the hong kong skyline glitters across the ocean, reflected across the water in messy streaks of orange and yellow.
“so you’re gonna fuck me outside where anyone could see?”
“nobody’s coming here for another 45 minutes,” yixing replies and leans in to kiss him, rough and wet. he pulls back to reach into the glove compartment, pull out a tube of lube, and step out of the car. jongin follows, unbuttoning his pants.
yixing pushes him up against the hood of the car, his hands braced on the black metal, and pulls his pants down to expose his ass to the bay. he molds his body against him, lubes his fingers, preps him fast and careless before sliding in, still clothed. his hands once again find their way to jongin’s neck, pushing just this side of painful, but jongin moans at the sensation.
“take your hands off my neck,” he grunts a minute later, “and touch my cock instead.”
yixing hesitates. he doesn’t really want to give jongin what he wants just like that, wants to fuck him until he’s begging to be touched.
“not yet,” yixing replies.
jongin thrusts back on yixing’s dick with a frustrated whine.
“not enough.”
“you’re gonna have to beg a bit more for that.”
yixing constricts jongin’s neck again, and when he lets go, jongin turns his head to glare at him.
“i can’t beg if you don’t let me breathe.”
yixing kisses him instead of responding, fucking him faster. jongin moans into the kiss and yixing removes his hands from the area of his neck. he’s too close for that now, needs to hold onto jongin’s hips to get the best angle, needs to fuck him as roughly as possible.
“god, please, touch me,” jongin moans, “i wanna come.”
“more.”
“please, please, please, just touch me, god i want your hand on my cock, ugh you feel so good-“ he keeps rambling, semi-sensical half-sentences mixed with heavy breaths until yixing finally gives in, about to go over the edge himself, and starts to jack him off. yixing comes hard, forehead pressed into jongin’s nape, and stays in him until jongin comes, hot over his hand.
“15 minutes till the boat gets here,” yixing says when they’ve both cleaned themselves up as best they can. jongin pulls a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his pocket and offers one to yixing, who takes it. they smoke together in silence, waiting for the telltale appearance of lights on the water, well-disguised as an innocuous fishing rig. the nicotine is calming, rushing through yixing’s veins, pushing out the adrenaline. he looks over at jongin, whose mouth is set in a line, eyes trained on some distant point.
“why do you stay?” he asks after a minute.
yixing’s not sure what he’s getting at: the organization, hong kong, jongin himself. maybe it’s all three, maybe it’s something else entirely. It doesn’t much matter, since he doesn’t have a good answer for any of them.
jongin’s not watching the horizon anymore, but yixing.
“i can tell you’re not happy, you know.”
yixing nods, blows smoke rings up into the air. there was, he thinks, a point where he liked this idea, of getting honest and emotional after sex. now he dreads it, hates the thought of having to peel off the carefully constructed shell he’s built for himself, a shell made of hard work and obedience and just a pinch of innovation.
“doesn’t matter.”
“matters to me,” jongin replies, as if that explains something.
it shouldn’t compel yixing to do anything, shouldn’t make him feel like lying’s wrong, but it does. he chucks his cigarette butt on the ground and hops off the hood of the car to stomp it out.
“yixing, have you ever thought about leaving?”
yixing shakes his head. it’s not a lie. there are a lot of things he doesn’t let himself think about, and this is one, for sure. authority, yifan’s recent power-grabbing and paranoia, car brands, money, these are things he thinks about, because they’re important. they’re work. if he doesn’t contemplate them no one will; nothing will get done.
jongin’s young. yixing’s not sure how young, exactly, but he’s still got a little bit of innocence about him, still probably, once in a while when he’s drunk and unhappy, thinks about a different life, about things he could do that aren’t stealing jewels and fucking a guy who takes out all the frustrations he never lets himself consider on his body. he looks particularly youthful tonight, silhouetted against the blurred mass of light the skyline becomes at night.
the boat’s approaching.
“don’t come with me,” jongin says, “i’ll cover for you.”
yixing smiles, leans over to ruffle his hair. he’s never tender with jongin, but jongin looks like he needs it, and maybe, yixing supposes, that mostly means he himself feels like he needs it, too.
“doesn’t work like that.”
“it could, if you wanted it to.”
“maybe another night,” yixing replies after a few moments. the boat’s almost at the dock. yixing walks forward to meet it, and jongin follows.
♦ ♦ ♦
Title: Magic Marker
Pairing: Chen/Lay
Rating: nc17
Word Count: 1,300
it starts as an accident. jongdae’s drunk and he finds a sharpie and he runs around drawing on people: a dick on chanyeol’s arm, “jongdae daebak” on baekhyun’s wrist, “i suck” on kris’s shoulder, right under the scorpion tattoo. after he gets kris, kyungsoo steals the marker away from him and refuses to let him touch anyone else.
yixing’s not sure why, exactly, but jongdae wanders into his room once he’s banned from the sharpie, picks a pen up off his desk, and grabs his arm.
“what’re you doing?”
“writing.”
“on my... arm?”
jongdae nods, pencap in his mouth as he begins to trace the character for his chinese stage name into yixing’s skin. yixing doesn’t expect it to be anything other than vaguely annoying, but he finds that there’s something rather pleasurable about it, about the sharp press of the ballpoint, as if it could almost cut him, the way the ink flows across his skin under jongdae’s concentrated gaze. his arm feels sensitive, as if his nerves are rising up to the surface, wired to respond to anything they come in contact with.
“what do you think?”
yixing pulls back when jongdae lets go, the feeling of the pen still lingering just beneath his skin. “looks good. why’d you write your name though?”
“would you rather i drew a dick? because i could do that.”
the smile plastered across jongdae’s face is terrifying, so yixing hurriedly shakes his head. “no, your name is definitely better than a dick.”
jongdae laughs. “i drew one on chanyeol.”
“yeah, i heard him screaming about it. i think the stalker fans down on the street did, too.”
“so worth it though. god the stylists are gonna have to cover that shit up for weeks.”
“you can get sharpie off skin with hand sanitizer.”
jongdae’s expression turns from an overly smug grin to a crestfallen, kicked puppy sort of pout in about half a second, and yixing would be impressed if he weren’t so amused.
“why do you know that?”
“a friend back in trainee days drew a dick on my face” he replies. it’s true, he’d fallen asleep on the couch one late night, woken up, and freaked the fuck out. luckily, he found the solution on the internet after about three minutes of searching, and it’s been one of those random facts that’s stayed in his head for no good reason over the years.
“oh. i can’t really... see that.”
“a dick on my face?”
“yeah.”
yixing laughs. “i’ll take that as a compliment?”
“i dunno i’m kinda drunk, not really sure what i meant.”
yixing laughs again, spinning around in his desk chair. jongdae’s now sitting on his bed, taking the cap on and off the pen.
“do you want to do any more writing?”
jongdae meets his gaze and grins. “sure. i promise i won’t draw any dicks.”
he hops off the bed and takes yixing’s arm in his hand again. his grip is tight, fingertips making divots in yixing’s skin, and yixing finds he likes that too, likes the press of another body combining with the drag of the pen. his arm is sensitive, still, and he moves up into jongdae’s touch, unconscious. it takes a moment for him to realize it, but it’s turning him on, getting written on, and he’s not really sure what to make of that.
“jongdae,” he says when jongdae’s finished writing what looks like yixing’s name and his actual name, and it comes out a lot breathier than he wants it to.
“what’s up?”
“maybe... that’s enough.”
jongdae looks confused for a moment, then shrugs. “ok. i was thinking of writing everyone’s names for kicks, i’ve just got me and you right now.”
he wanders out after that, and yixing’s entertained by his nonchalance but also a lot more turned on than he wants to be. he considers jacking off, but decides it’s sort of weird, given that jongdae, even if it was his writing more than his being jongdae, got him to this point. he sighs and goes back to the movie he was watching on his laptop.
three days later jongdae’s sober, but he busts into yixing’s room anyway.
“hey, what’s up?”
“about a few days ago.”
“with the writing? that was no big deal. i washed most of it out the next morning in the shower. it’s completely gone now.”
“no you...” jongdae shuts the door behind him and starts pacing, while yixing lies on his bed, confused. “you... you reacted differently. everyone else like, ran away from it. you wanted me to do it.”
yixing shrugs, doing his best to not reveal how mortified he feels. “i thought it was funny.”
“no it was like... i... you... i don’t know i... i mean i was drunk so when you’re drunk you... do things you like? that you don’t normally do?”
“yeah...?”
“and i... fuck i don’t know how to say this.”
yixing can tell what he’s getting at, and it’s melting away his own fear. he’s still not comfortable enough to say it for the both of them, but it makes him feel a little better, at least, knowing he wasn’t the only one who found the situation a lot more intense than he’d expected.
jongdae’s not pacing anymore, just sort of staring at the space near yixing’s feet, and when he finally mumbles something yixing can’t make it out.
“what?”
jongdae sighs, resigned, and picks up a marker off yixing’s desk. it’s not permanent. he walks over to yixing’s bed.
“can i... can we do that again?”
yixing nods, watching jongdae sit down beside him and uncap the marker. it’s green. he starts to trace along yixing’s arm, letters yixing can’t make out, and the touch is soft and wet and even more erotic than the pen had been.
“yixing,” jongdae says, pausing, hands around his arm. “you’re... you’re getting... turned on by this too right?”
the last half of that comes out in a hurried jumble, words slurring into one another, but yixing nods, turns his head to face jongdae, who leans into kiss him. it feels sort of like the press of the marker, but warm instead of cool, and yixing leans into it. jongdae is his bandmate and maybe he should be thinking harder about this, but he doesn’t really want to, just wants to keep kissing him, keep feeling his words tattooed across his skin.
“keep writing?” yixing asks, and jongdae nods. he smirks now, though, and yixing’s not surprised when the marker travels up to his neck. he shrinks away from the touch, too much on his skin, but jongdae grabs hold of his shoulders and doesn’t let him move, just writes along his arteries, yixing writhing around under his grip.
“how good did that feel?” jongdae asks when he’s covered half yixing’s neck in green ink and yixing is trying his best to hump his leg.
“really fucking good,” he breathes in response, “jongdae, please.”
he knows what he’s asking for, but jongdae takes a second to process it. when he does, though, he straddles yixing, tucking the marker away, and pushes him down into the bed, kissing him roughly.
yixing can feel the ink smearing, and it sends a shiver down his spine. it’s like a thin, wet layer has been placed over his neck, moving occasionally, shifting and spreading but constant. when jongdae unzips yixing’s pants and wraps his hand around his cock, yixing fucks into the motion for a moment, before reaching over to jerk jongdae off, too. he comes first, hot into jongdae’s hand, then pushes jongdae over. he yanks his pants down a little farther, hand on the base of jongdae’s cock, before taking it in his mouth. jongdae stays still but moans, loud and low in his throat, while yixing sucks him off, tongue working along the sides of his cock until he comes, head thrown back, mouth hanging open.
yixing pulls up, puts a hand to his neck, the green catching on his finger tips.
“shit, your pillow’s a mess,” jongdae says as he’s cleaning off his hand with a tissue.
yixing looks at it, shrugs, and smiles at jongdae. “i don’t know about you, but i thought it was pretty worth it.”
♦ ♦ ♦
Title: Make it Last (Let it Burn)
Pairing: Chanyeol/Chen
Rating: r
Word Count: 2,600
the unalaska police blotter has a certain charm, a degree of amusement at the absurdity of its existence that sprung up naturally, the result of too many insane calls, a lot of feral cats, and newspaper writers with nothing better to do. it’s blunt, honest, presented open-shut even when things are messy and confusing and unbelievable. usually it’s just people being people, rough at the edges, unable to control themselves in the sudden face of society and money and alcohol.
but sometimes: Drunk Disturbance/Criminal Mischief -- A man at the Harbor View Bar, believed to be highly inebriated at the time, got into a fight with another man after the second man allegedly took a drink not intended for him. The highly inebriated individual then attempted to set fire to the establishment. Witnesses reported that “fire came from his fingers,” but the validity of these claims is uncertain due to the general level of intoxication of the patrons. Police are investigating, and a quick-thinking bartender was able to put out the fire before anything was damaged. The suspect is in custody but has not been charged.
“oh,” jongdae says when kris shows him the article, white and black framed in bland blue on his computer screen, “do you think?”
kris nods. “i called their police department. his name’s park chanyeol and he’s apparently a commercial fisherman based out of busan. there’s a bail price but i’m thinking we could get him out without that, get zitao and jongin in on it.”
jongdae considers, nods once, hesitant. “he was also drunk in one of the most notorious bars in the world, do you really think we can trust this?”
“there aren’t any burn marks on his fingers, no fire source, nothing, and he claims he has no idea what happened, one minute there was nothing and then he felt really hot and there was fire.”
“if he’s a commercial fisherman already, isn’t he probably too old for signs to be first showing up?”
kris shrugs. “i’ve got a hunch, jongdae. people don’t make shit like this up.”
jongdae’s not sold, but he’s not in the habit of arguing with kris, either. if this guy’s a bust, then he’s a bust, but jongdae understands kris’s desire to make sure that, in the case that he isn’t, he’s picked up. they haven’t had much to do the past several months, and jongin and zitao have been getting restless, dicking around with sehun instead of practicing. sending them on a job is better than keeping them together without anything to do save causing trouble.
“when should i tell them to be ready to go by?”
“tomorrow? shouldn’t be too bad for them, and i’m assuming you can clean-up easily.”
jongdae nods, and leaves, understanding that he’s dismissed.
jongdae’s job is erasure. it doesn’t have to do with what he can do naturally so much as it does with what he’s always chosen to do. as a kid he was perpetually on tech crews, soloing for the choir but gaffeing sound cable to the floor during the yearly musical, teaching himself C++ his final year of high school, spending a couple semesters in university as a computer science major. he knows he brings a little bit of magic to it in a way almost no one else can, had learned, when he almost started an electrical fire in the computer room his junior year of high school, that the guts of computers splayed themselves out for him, intricate but infinitely comprehensible, because he was wired like that, too.
baekhyun and jongin had been working together when they’d come for jongdae, knocked on the door of his dorm room and told him they could teach him how to control himself, how not to teeter constantly on the edge of becoming a threat to society. he’d agreed at first, hasty, then when they’d gone he’d sat and reconsidered. they’d given him no contact info, just a week’s notice so he could formally drop out and get his affairs in order. he’d waited till the last day to submit the paperwork, the weight of his choice sitting heavy in his stomach, as if that was where his electricity was centered, a hot pile of cabling, coiled poorly.
that was four years ago. jongdae’s watched countless people come and go since then, taught himself, as promised, to ignore the currents in his body, worked his way up until he became kris’s go to guy, the clean-up hitter, in charge of making disappearances and re-introductions less messy than they had hitherto been. he likes his job, likes the knowledge that he’s no longer running the risk of destroying everything and everyone he knows by accident. there are other things, he supposes, that he would have liked to do, too, but as far as occupations go, this isn’t half-bad, helping people by doing the same things he’s always been good at, knowing he’s in control, of himself and of the situations he’s responsible for.
chanyeol walks into the room and jongdae thinks he’s maybe momentarily transformed into a snake, chanyeol seeming to glow red, as if he’s standing in uv light. no one else seems to notice it, though, so jongdae shakes it off, watches the color fade. kris runs the introductions, name power how long you’ve been here, before baekhyun takes over to brief him on their purpose. chanyeol looks shell-shocked, eyes permanently wide, eyebrows knit in confusion, but when he talks, requested by baekhyun to say a few words, he sounds surprisingly calm and in command, deep voice loud in the small room, bouncing off the eleven other bodies around him.
“well, uh, i’m still not exactly sure how i got here, or what’s going on, but i’m really happy to be here anyway. thanks for the opportunity to… not make infamous appearances in police blotters anymore. i’ll work hard.”
the room laughs. he’s good-natured. jongdae likes it, but it’s almost as if he’s not responding to anything chanyeol’s doing or saying, as if it’s something more base than that, something jongdae can’t name but is drawn to anyway, regardless of the way it scares him. he does his best to push it aside, shove it down, swallow it whole, but then chanyeol stares at him, quizzical, like he feels off, too, and something flickers, sears: oil on a hot pan.
jongdae’s not a good teacher. they’d learned this the hard way when they’d assigned him to a woman who’d been accidentally constricting the necks of animals. he’d almost died. so despite the fact that his and chanyeol’s powers line up, both in form and content, they don’t ask him to do anything, assigning baekhyun to his case instead.
it doesn’t mean, though, that he can escape chanyeol. he tries, briefly, but chanyeol’s everywhere, too big for his own comfort or anyone else’s, too bright for jongdae not to notice, to feel, even if he’s rooms away. they end up together by accident, usually, the only two left when a room empties out, and it’s always chanyeol running the show, asking questions, curiosity getting the best of his courtesy.
“electricity’s a lot like fire, isn’t it? like that’s what starts forest fires, usually,” he says one day out of the blue. jongdae’s reading. he’s trying to pretend he’s sitting in front a fire, not an overgrown man.
he nods, shuts his book. he knows better by now than to try and ignore chanyeol. if he wants to talk, he’ll talk, make a conversation happen regardless of the other party’s intention. “yeah, pretty much.”
“did you have a lot of trouble… dealing with it at first?”
“i guess? like basically everyone, i found out about it by accident, when i was in high school.”
“did it scare you?”
jongdae’s taken aback, briefly, but then he laughs. chanyeol’s straightforwardness is strange, puts him on edge but relaxes him, too. it’s not like he’s not used to being blunt, kris often yells at him for being ruder than he intends. but there’s a strange earnestness about chanyeol, almost uncontrolled, as if he doesn’t know how to be anyone but who he is, and who he is has suddenly become so much different than who he thought he was.
“yeah, it did,” is jongdae’s reply. chanyeol nods, looks down at the mug in his hands, takes a sip, pouts. “did it cool down?”
“yeah. wonder if i could heat it with my hands?”
jongdae considers stopping him. it’s been a month but it usually takes two or three times that long, and chanyeol, according to baekhyun, is far from a shining example of discipline and patience.
“probably, if you can keep it small enough to not burn anything down.”
chanyeol nods, concentrates. focuses on the mug like it’s a crystal ball, ready to reveal to him the secrets of his future. jongdae watches as the water boils again, mug red between chanyeol’s hands, steam wafting up to the ceiling.
“did you see that?” he asks excitedly when he decides it’s sufficiently hot.
“yeah. that was… impressive.”
chanyeol grins. currents pulse.
it gets better, from there. he learns to ignore the way chanyeol makes him feel and focus instead on him as a person. he finds there’s not so much of a difference, but it’s calming, at least, knowing that it’s not just some strange, hyper-physical attraction running between them. chanyeol’s hilarious, laughs every time jongdae gives sehun shit about being lazy, gives baekhyun a run for his money when it comes to teasing kyungsoo. he knows, though, that the simplicity he’s finding could be corrupted easily, suspects that despite chanyeol’s marked improvement he’s still got a taste for adventure, for insanity, that, were he to jump over whatever edge it is they’re standing near, jongdae would probably go along with.
kris pulls him aside three months into chanyeol’s stay.
“so as you know, we’re not the only education center like this in the world. i was trained at one in british columbia, minseok was taught by a guy working alone. i recently went and talked to the leaders of the place i learned at.”
there’s a silent “and?” hanging between them, but jongdae doesn’t push. kris has his own pace, his own way: jongdae exists outside of it, would have little effect on it even if he tried.
“fire and electricity are similar, but different. apparently the results are usually pretty… dangerous when combined, but unavoidable.”
what are you asking me to do? jongdae wants to respond, but once again stays quiet, lets kris examine him.
“be… careful,” he says after a silence that stretches between them like an over-expanded elastic, taut and brittle, “but don’t be… too careful, because i guess that’s not so great, either.”
jongdae nods. he trusts kris, knows there’s some reason for this incomprehensible warning. he’ll abide, if he has to, but it doesn’t mean he’s not afraid of what might happen, doesn’t mean he’s not still parsing out what, exactly, he and chanyeol seem to want from each other.
he figures it out when he’s jacking off and it’s chanyeol he can’t stop thinking of, chanyeol whose hands should be on his cock instead of his own, chanyeol who is also always glowing in his imagination, chanyeol who makes him glow, too, but blue instead of red.
he avoids him for a week, not because he’s uncomfortable with it-he is, to a degree, not because chanyeol’s a guy but because chanyeol is not his choice, and chanyeol still, sometimes, seems more force than person-but because he doesn’t know what chanyeol’s realized, what chanyeol wants, how they fit into the respective pictures they’ve created.
“we need to work this out,” chanyeol says when jongdae opens the door to his room a week later, lets him inside.
“did kris talk to you, too? a while back?”
“yeah. you’ve been avoiding me.”
jongdae stares at him. he’s still so uncontrolled, wild like the stories he tells about bars the nights after his boat would unload at the canneries, but there’s determination in his gaze, and when jongdae nods and chanyeol responds by closing the space between them, muttering something about having no idea if this is right or what but it’s worth a shot, jongdae lets him, falls back onto his bed, doesn’t resist.
chanyeol’s body temperature runs high, blood hot and thick below the surface of his skin, mixed with something warmer than humanity, dangerous and unknowable but infinitely alluring. jongdae thinks he might burn when chanyeol kisses him, but then he realizes that maybe they’ll be ok and it’s everyone else who needs to worry. chanyeol’s fingers leave light burn marks on his skin and he sees sparks glowing at every point their bodies meet. fight fire with fire, you can only resist something all-consuming for so long.
he fucks chanyeol and the room feels like it could burst into flames any second, hot and flammable. there’s sex and then there’s destruction, and jongdae’s never really bought the idea that fucking is about erasure of the self until now, his body and chanyeol’s both running fevers and moving in tandem. jongdae’s not sure if this is what he’d expected, when he’d first met chanyeol, but he knows, regardless, that it’s what he’s needed, now and for years, this dangerous teetering between what he can do and what he has to do, what he wants and what he needs, what he can control and what he can’t. his mattress might be singed, the whole complex might be able to hear them, but he can’t stop himself this time, loses himself in the way chanyeol’s body feels under his, the way everything that’s been dancing inside him, locked away for years but loosed by chanyeol, is moving, now, undisciplined but comfortable, as if it all finally belongs.
chanyeol wants to cuddle, after. jongdae’s got half a mind to call minseok and ask him to ice down the room, because every breath is thick with sex and heat and acrid incineration, but he doesn’t. he lets chanyeol hold him, hearts beating fast, wondering what just happened, thinking that maybe this wasn’t the right thing to do, even though he knows there was never another option.
“i don’t think i’ve ever worried i was going to die during sex,” chanyeol says, and he’s laughing but he looks terrified, and jongdae takes his hand. he doesn’t know what he’s doing, but this is the life they’ve all built for themselves, founded on kris’s inexorable vision and blind faith that there’s a way to control the most unknowable of earth’s forces when they’re placed in men and magnified tenfold.
“neither have i,” he replies, “but you know, maybe we could... figure it out?”
chanyeol nods, holds jongdae’s hand up in the air, cupped small inside his, fingers centimeters longer. they both look at it. it’s warmer than usual, and jongdae thinks he can see under his skin, see the way electrical currents hug his arteries. he’s learned how not to set things on fire by accident, how not to redirect thunderstorms unless they’re about to kill someone. but he hasn’t let him understand himself, knows, intuitively, that he’s like a computer, but has never bothered to try and work through himself the same way. chanyeol’s presence magnifies his lack of knowledge, lays it all out for him, but also bares the possible solutions. they’re tantalizing. dangerous. he would have ignored them yesterday, but yesterday is in the past and chanyeol, too, seems changed, calmer, as if there’s some sort of energy flowing between them that, unlike heat, goes both ways.
curiosity. desire. he knows there are names for it, ones that exist already, but he knows, too, that there are others, undiscovered, waiting to be mapped out, new words for new sensations, born of and between them, magnified and redirected and ever-changing. control is a skill, one of jongdae’s greatest, but burning is, too.
chanyeol looks at him, smiles. jongdae smiles back, like a promise. he’s always been good at keeping his word.
♦ ♦ ♦
Title: Tell Me What You Want
Pairing: Chanyeol/D.O.
Rating: nc17 (warning: genderswap)
Word Count: 1,100
Chanyeol stares down at her physics problem set, then at her phone. She’s got one question left, but it’s the hardest, and she knows that there’s not terribly much use in taking a stab at it without her study group. They’re supposed to be meeting at ten to go over the assignment before it’s due at 9am the next day, and it’s almost 7:30 now. She can definitely afford a break. She leans back in her chair and picks up her phone, pulls up her conversation with Kyungsoo. She’s in section right now, Chanyeol knows, but that’s never stopped her before.
how’s section?
Boring. is Kyungsoo’s prompt reply.
want to come over after?
Don’t you have a problem set due tomorrow?
yeah im mostly done and were checking it at 10 plenty of time before then
Plenty of time for what?
Chanyeol laughs and shivers at the same time. Kyungsoo knows exactly what Chanyeol’s talking about, loves playing this whole innocent game so that Chanyeol has to say things, has to explain to her exactly what she wants to do. Chanyeol loves it, how dirty words roll of her own tongue, how Kyungsoo gets wet just listening to her talk, just reading her texts.
for me to fuck you
Oh. I guess I could make time for that…
don’t you want to make time? don’t you want to feel my tongue in your pussy?
It’s even better on my clit. I want you to lick me and fuck me with your fingers.
As Chanyeol reads the message, she imagines Kyungsoo typing it, hands under the table, trying to be discreet while the obnoxious Political Science major she always complains about drones on. Maybe she crosses her legs, uncrosses them, crosses them again, the other direction, just the tiniest bit uncomfortable. Chanyeol bites her lip as she responds. She’s had a fantasy, a particular one, for a while, and the past month has seen her and Kyungsoo getting adventurous enough that she thinks it’ll be ok to bring it up, to maybe try it.
i want you to sit on my face
The response takes longer, this time, but it still comes, Chanyeol shifting in her seat in nervousness as she clicks it open.
I’m so wet but there’s still ten minutes of section left.
Chanyeol grins.
do u wish u could touch yourself right now in class? even surrounded by all those people? that’s how much you want me?
Yes, god I want you to fuck me so bad, I want to kneel over you and let you lick me till I come.
you’re out of section in 5 right? hurry the fuck up and get over here when ur done
Chanyeol’s wet, clit aching to be touched, but she doesn’t want to do anything until Kyungsoo over. There’s a light knock on her door ten minutes later, and when she opens it she’s greeted by Kyungsoo, dressed in a pair of tight jeans and a white button down, who enters without being asked, slips her shoes off as Chanyeol shuts the door, and then pins her against the door.
It doesn’t matter that Kyungsoo’s only about five feet tall, that Chanyeol’s got nearly eight inches on her, because can be just as aggressive and forceful as she wants to be when she’s got a goal in mind.
“What are you even doing, texting me in section,” she says between sloppy kisses.
Chanyeol sucks on her earlobe, tonguing around the tiny gold hoop earring she always wears. Kyungsoo moans, presses closer, straddling Chanyeol’s leg.
“I just wanted you so bad, I couldn’t help myself.”
Chanyeol moves down her neck while Kyungsoo grinds against her leg, breathing heavy and warm on Chanyeol’s own neck. She unbuttons Kyungsoo’s shirt, fingertips dancing across her soft stomach and the white cotton of her bra. Kyungsoo likes things simple, owns maybe one pair of vaguely sexy underwear, but Chanyeol likes that about her. It fits, works with her simple outfits and no-nonsense charm. She sneaks her hand into her bra and massages her breast, fingers searching for her nipple and twisting lightly when she finds it. They’re standing such that Chanyeol’s now straddling one of Kyungsoo’s legs, too, and she’s rubbing herself on it as she thumbs at Kyungsoo’s nipple, Kyungsoo’s mouth attached to a particularly sensitive spot on Chanyeol’s neck.
Chanyeol only pulls back when Kyungsoo yanks at the hem of her shirt. She lets her pull it up and over her head, lacy black bra on display when she does. Kyungsoo doesn’t waist time, unhooks the clasp in the back and braces her hands on Chanyeol’s hips, sucks her breast into her mouth, tongue working at the nipple.
“Fuck, Kyungsoo,” Chanyeol moans when she bites her breast, just enough to hurt but still feel good. Kyungsoo looks up, grinning, eyes dark.
“So this… face sitting thing?”
Chanyeol looks down for a second, embarrassed, before she feels the warm breast of Kyungsoo’s near-naked torso against hers. “Do you… would you do it?”
“Yes,” Kyungsoo replies, and leans up to kiss her.
They maneuver to Chanyeol’s bed, Kyungsoo taking off her bra and tossing it aside. They each slip out of their jeans, then their underwear, before Chanyeol lies down on the bed, arms at her sides. Kyungsoo climbs over her, pausing briefly to kiss each of her breasts, before kneeling over her face. Chanyeol closes hooks her arms over the back of Kyungsoo’s thighs, letting her fingertips dig in just a little, before letting her tongue dart out, over Kyungsoo’s clit. She sets a quick pace, licking over it in broad strokes then focusing on the spots that elicit particularly loud moans.
“Chanyeol, Chanyeol I think I’m gonna come,” Kyungsoo says, hands braced against the wall.
Chanyeol can feel it in the way her thighs tense, in the shivery jerks she’s making, rubbing herself over Chanyeol’s tongue to get more friction. When she comes it’s with a high, drawn out sigh, and she rests for a second before climbing off. Chanyeol sits up, wipes her mouth, smiles.
“Was that good?”
“Yes,” Kyungsoo replies, legs still shaking. She’s standing across from Chanyeol, but she quickly kneels down, spreading her legs and sliding a finger into her wet cunt.
“You really liked doing that, didn’t you?”
Chanyeol nods, moans as she slips a second finger in. Kyungsoo smirks, then leans in and licks her clit, Chanyeol’s hands immediately falling to her shoulders. She fucks herself down on Kyungsoo’s fingers, a long string of obscenities leaving her lips when she’s close, before she comes with a moan, Kyungsoo fucking her through the aftershocks.
Chanyeol collapses back on the bed and Kyungsoo joins her, curls up against her side before planting a kiss on her cheek.
Title: Chinese Lessons
Pairing: Chen/Lay
Rating: nc17
Word Count: 800
yixing is sitting on his bed, watching a movie and drinking tea, when he hears a knock.
“yeah, come in,” he says, yanking off his headphones. the door opens, followed by jongdae, who’s got a binder under his arm. “oh, is it tuesday?”
jongdae nods as he shuts the door behind him. “do you mind? i mean i know we’re not really promoting in china right now, but...”
yixing pauses his movie and puts his laptop down on the dresser beside him, while jongdae makes his way over to yixing’s bed. he sits down and opens the binder, spreading out the contents of a couple worksheets, half-completed, and photocopies from a lesson book. they’ve been doing this, three or four nights a week, for over a year now, and they’ve got it down to a precise routine: jongdae asks yixing for help with the exercises he’s already gotten stuck on, then yixing checks over as many of his assignments as he can while jongdae works out whatever he hasn’t completed yet, asking questions as he comes across things he doesn’t understand.
this time, though, jongdae doesn’t start in on a new worksheet when yixing’s explained his errors. instead, he closes up his binder, papers messily shoved inside, and turns to face yixing.
“i really wanted to... thank you for your help, ge,” he says in stilted mandaring.
yixing shrugs, responding slowly so jongdae can understand him. “it’s no big deal. i like helping you.”
jongdae nods, the edge of yixing’s bedspread caught between his thumb and forefinger. he rubs at the cloth, almost like he’s nervous, and yixing watches for a moment, before suddenly the hand is moving away and up to yixing’s jaw, where it settles.
“thank you,” jongdae says, and leans in to kiss yixing.
it doesn’t surprise yixing, really: there’ve been hints of a sort of tension between them, caught briefly in moments where their hands touch, when yixing starts playing stupid mind games with himself, letting his hand, or his knee, or his shoulder, linger beside jongdae’s, too close and not close enough, waiting to see if jongdae will flinch away. he usually doesn’t, and it’s yixing who ends up moving, confused and unsure if jongdae even really notices. there are other moments, too, ones yixing knows aren’t in his head, when he catches jongdae looking at him during meals, when jongdae smiles at him, just for a moment, like he’s something special.
jongdae’s mouth is soft and warm as yixing slides his tongue between jongdae’s lips, jongdae pressing him down into the bed so he’s straddling him.
“i know you don’t think you deserve thanks, but i hope you’re enjoying this,” jongdae says against his lips before he kisses down Yixing’s jaw to his neck. yixing shivers at the contact. jongdae pulls back to nuzzle at his neck, breath warm.
“i’ve wanted to kiss your neck since i found out how sensitive it is.”
yixing sighs as jongdae strokes his sides, fingers dipping beneath his shirt and sliding over his skin. yixing settles his hands on jongdae’s hips and pulls him closer, so their bodies are flush against each other.
“i think we’re wearing too many clothes,” jongdae says, and yixing nods, watching him take off his own shirt and fling it aside. yixing sits up and lets jongdae yank his shirt up and off his body, his muscles flexing as he does. jongdae smiles at him before leaning back down to bite along yixing’s collarbones before trailing his lips to his nipple, where he flicks his tongue out before taking it in his mouth and sucking. yixing thrusts up when he does, letting a soft moan get stuck halfway in his throat. he lets his hands wander across jongdae’s back, feeling each of his movements under his fingertips and jongdae kisses from one nipple to the other and then down to his hipbones, where he nips at the skin and yixing moans again.
“can i blow you?” jongdae asks.
“yes, please.”
yixing slips his sweats and boxers down his legs and jongdae kneels between them, hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it a few times before taking it in his mouth. it’s hot and wet and yixing grips at the bedspread as jongdae blows him, his hands digging into yixing’s hips, the slick sound of jongdae’s mouth on his dick loud in the small room.
“fuck, jongdae, gonna come,” he manages to say when he’s close, his body tight and one edge, and jongdae responds by taking him as he deep as he can, sucking hard, and yixing comes, head thrown back, body spasming as he does.
jongdae sits up and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. his mouth is quirked up in a smile, sharp at the edges and utterly charming. “seriously, thanks.”
“no,” yixing says, pulling him up for a kiss and reaching down to stroke his cock through his jeans, “thank you.”
♦ ♦ ♦
Title: Getaway Car
Pairing: Kai/Lay
Rating: nc17 (warning: dub-connish breathplay)
Word Count: 1,700
there’s an art to selecting getaway cars, and yixing’s spent years perfecting it. they have to be unremarkable, nothing anyone will ever remember. cars that could be your mother’s or grandfather’s, cars you grew up driving, cars no one will blink at. too flashy and you’ll be remembered, too discreet--windows tinted too dark, conspicuous absence of plates and maker--and you’ll get noticed, too.
which is why yixing has an armada of black toyotas, fast enough and reliable but painfully ordinary. he’s waiting on a side street, a block away from jongin’s site, radio on low, lights on, dressed in a sweatshirt and jeans. he could be anyone, until jongin comes into his line of vision, face bloodied and hair matted, and he leans across the car to open the passenger door, shifting into drive. jongin slides into the seat beside him and slams the door, yixing taking off.
“docks?”
“that’s the plan.”
jongin nods, leaning back in his seat and shutting his eyes. yixing glances at him: his chest is heaving and he’s bleeding from a cut above his lip.
“first aid kit’s under the seat.”
“i know.”
“did you get it done?”
jongin reaches beneath the seat to get the kit out, taking a roll of gauze and some bandages. “security was pretty minimal, guess they figured their technology was good enough they didn’t need to fill the place with guards. they didn’t want to fire off shots because of the display cases, so it was just hand-to-hand. got the ring. is it a ship this time?”
“yeah, joonmyun’s guys should be there by about 1am.”
“that’s in like, an hour.”
yixing shrugs. “this job went a lot faster than yifan expected.”
jongin rips off a strip of gauze and presses it against his lip. “i guess so. so are we just gonna hang out at the dock for a while?”
“that’s the idea.”
“yifan’s? or yours?”
“does it matter?”
jongin turns to stare at him. “i guess not.”
they reach the dock after ten minutes of near silence, the radio the only noise inside the car. they pull into the car park, jongdae, the guard, opening the door for them.
yixing’s not sure what’s gotten into him, but jongin is jumpier than normal. he keeps fidgeting, pulling on his tie and fussing with his hair, and it’s both turning yixing on and driving him up the wall, although he’s not sure if those are actually separate emotions at this point. he’s fucked jongin plenty of times, knows that he’s usually up for it after a job, adrenaline crashing through him and putting him on edge, but yixing doesn’t want anything hasty in the backseat tonight. yixing wants his bloody face to be tear-streaked in desperation, his split lip cut open wider by silent screams. maybe it’s because this is the biggest job they’ve pulled in a while, maybe it’s because the politics of the organization have been particularly frustrating of late, maybe it’s because yifan has been trying to take away the extra power he’s been letting yixing have of late, but yixing wants jongin bad, wants to control him even more.
so he leans over and grabs him by the tie, yanking him forward to kiss him. jongin opens his mouth for the kiss and his lips are still bloody, the slick metallic taste leaking into yixing’s mouth as they make out. yixing’s still got his hand in jongin’s tie, and so he pulls hard, constricting his windpipe. he stops kissing him, watching jongin’s eyes narrow, then go desperate, like he wants to beg yixing to stop but won’t, not yet. yixing pulls tighter, thinks he might be leaving a bruise.
“i could kill you,” he says, not sure what’s making him talk. it’s true. he may not fight much, but he’s just as well-trained as anyone else in the organization, has killed a man with his bare hands before. he knows just where to press, how to block a windpipe and strangle the life out of someone, how to turn air into blood, bleeding out slow and unstoppable and lethal.
jongin looks a little faint, but yixing doesn’t pull back until he reaches up to tug at his collar, the plea obvious in his eyes. yixing’s turned on as hell, doesn’t want to lose this bit of power he suddenly has, wants to watch jongin’s face go purple around his cuts, but he doesn’t want to kill him, no. he likes jongin, likes him a lot, and maybe this is all some strange, twisted manifestation of that, fucked up along with his sense of morality years ago.
jongin gasps when he lets go, breathing hard. his voice is raspy when he speaks, and there’s a glint in his eye, some combination of arousal and anger that goes straight to yixing’s dick.
“or you could fuck me,” jongin wheezes out.
yixing smiles and starts the car again.
“what’re you doing?”
“heading outside.”
“car not good enough tonight?”
“not enough space. you’ve already had enough head wounds.”
jongin snorts. “i thought you said the plan was to stay here?”
“it is. i just don’t want jongdae watching.”
it’s black out but the hong kong skyline glitters across the ocean, reflected across the water in messy streaks of orange and yellow.
“so you’re gonna fuck me outside where anyone could see?”
“nobody’s coming here for another 45 minutes,” yixing replies and leans in to kiss him, rough and wet. he pulls back to reach into the glove compartment, pull out a tube of lube, and step out of the car. jongin follows, unbuttoning his pants.
yixing pushes him up against the hood of the car, his hands braced on the black metal, and pulls his pants down to expose his ass to the bay. he molds his body against him, lubes his fingers, preps him fast and careless before sliding in, still clothed. his hands once again find their way to jongin’s neck, pushing just this side of painful, but jongin moans at the sensation.
“take your hands off my neck,” he grunts a minute later, “and touch my cock instead.”
yixing hesitates. he doesn’t really want to give jongin what he wants just like that, wants to fuck him until he’s begging to be touched.
“not yet,” yixing replies.
jongin thrusts back on yixing’s dick with a frustrated whine.
“not enough.”
“you’re gonna have to beg a bit more for that.”
yixing constricts jongin’s neck again, and when he lets go, jongin turns his head to glare at him.
“i can’t beg if you don’t let me breathe.”
yixing kisses him instead of responding, fucking him faster. jongin moans into the kiss and yixing removes his hands from the area of his neck. he’s too close for that now, needs to hold onto jongin’s hips to get the best angle, needs to fuck him as roughly as possible.
“god, please, touch me,” jongin moans, “i wanna come.”
“more.”
“please, please, please, just touch me, god i want your hand on my cock, ugh you feel so good-“ he keeps rambling, semi-sensical half-sentences mixed with heavy breaths until yixing finally gives in, about to go over the edge himself, and starts to jack him off. yixing comes hard, forehead pressed into jongin’s nape, and stays in him until jongin comes, hot over his hand.
“15 minutes till the boat gets here,” yixing says when they’ve both cleaned themselves up as best they can. jongin pulls a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his pocket and offers one to yixing, who takes it. they smoke together in silence, waiting for the telltale appearance of lights on the water, well-disguised as an innocuous fishing rig. the nicotine is calming, rushing through yixing’s veins, pushing out the adrenaline. he looks over at jongin, whose mouth is set in a line, eyes trained on some distant point.
“why do you stay?” he asks after a minute.
yixing’s not sure what he’s getting at: the organization, hong kong, jongin himself. maybe it’s all three, maybe it’s something else entirely. It doesn’t much matter, since he doesn’t have a good answer for any of them.
jongin’s not watching the horizon anymore, but yixing.
“i can tell you’re not happy, you know.”
yixing nods, blows smoke rings up into the air. there was, he thinks, a point where he liked this idea, of getting honest and emotional after sex. now he dreads it, hates the thought of having to peel off the carefully constructed shell he’s built for himself, a shell made of hard work and obedience and just a pinch of innovation.
“doesn’t matter.”
“matters to me,” jongin replies, as if that explains something.
it shouldn’t compel yixing to do anything, shouldn’t make him feel like lying’s wrong, but it does. he chucks his cigarette butt on the ground and hops off the hood of the car to stomp it out.
“yixing, have you ever thought about leaving?”
yixing shakes his head. it’s not a lie. there are a lot of things he doesn’t let himself think about, and this is one, for sure. authority, yifan’s recent power-grabbing and paranoia, car brands, money, these are things he thinks about, because they’re important. they’re work. if he doesn’t contemplate them no one will; nothing will get done.
jongin’s young. yixing’s not sure how young, exactly, but he’s still got a little bit of innocence about him, still probably, once in a while when he’s drunk and unhappy, thinks about a different life, about things he could do that aren’t stealing jewels and fucking a guy who takes out all the frustrations he never lets himself consider on his body. he looks particularly youthful tonight, silhouetted against the blurred mass of light the skyline becomes at night.
the boat’s approaching.
“don’t come with me,” jongin says, “i’ll cover for you.”
yixing smiles, leans over to ruffle his hair. he’s never tender with jongin, but jongin looks like he needs it, and maybe, yixing supposes, that mostly means he himself feels like he needs it, too.
“doesn’t work like that.”
“it could, if you wanted it to.”
“maybe another night,” yixing replies after a few moments. the boat’s almost at the dock. yixing walks forward to meet it, and jongin follows.
♦ ♦ ♦
Title: Magic Marker
Pairing: Chen/Lay
Rating: nc17
Word Count: 1,300
it starts as an accident. jongdae’s drunk and he finds a sharpie and he runs around drawing on people: a dick on chanyeol’s arm, “jongdae daebak” on baekhyun’s wrist, “i suck” on kris’s shoulder, right under the scorpion tattoo. after he gets kris, kyungsoo steals the marker away from him and refuses to let him touch anyone else.
yixing’s not sure why, exactly, but jongdae wanders into his room once he’s banned from the sharpie, picks a pen up off his desk, and grabs his arm.
“what’re you doing?”
“writing.”
“on my... arm?”
jongdae nods, pencap in his mouth as he begins to trace the character for his chinese stage name into yixing’s skin. yixing doesn’t expect it to be anything other than vaguely annoying, but he finds that there’s something rather pleasurable about it, about the sharp press of the ballpoint, as if it could almost cut him, the way the ink flows across his skin under jongdae’s concentrated gaze. his arm feels sensitive, as if his nerves are rising up to the surface, wired to respond to anything they come in contact with.
“what do you think?”
yixing pulls back when jongdae lets go, the feeling of the pen still lingering just beneath his skin. “looks good. why’d you write your name though?”
“would you rather i drew a dick? because i could do that.”
the smile plastered across jongdae’s face is terrifying, so yixing hurriedly shakes his head. “no, your name is definitely better than a dick.”
jongdae laughs. “i drew one on chanyeol.”
“yeah, i heard him screaming about it. i think the stalker fans down on the street did, too.”
“so worth it though. god the stylists are gonna have to cover that shit up for weeks.”
“you can get sharpie off skin with hand sanitizer.”
jongdae’s expression turns from an overly smug grin to a crestfallen, kicked puppy sort of pout in about half a second, and yixing would be impressed if he weren’t so amused.
“why do you know that?”
“a friend back in trainee days drew a dick on my face” he replies. it’s true, he’d fallen asleep on the couch one late night, woken up, and freaked the fuck out. luckily, he found the solution on the internet after about three minutes of searching, and it’s been one of those random facts that’s stayed in his head for no good reason over the years.
“oh. i can’t really... see that.”
“a dick on my face?”
“yeah.”
yixing laughs. “i’ll take that as a compliment?”
“i dunno i’m kinda drunk, not really sure what i meant.”
yixing laughs again, spinning around in his desk chair. jongdae’s now sitting on his bed, taking the cap on and off the pen.
“do you want to do any more writing?”
jongdae meets his gaze and grins. “sure. i promise i won’t draw any dicks.”
he hops off the bed and takes yixing’s arm in his hand again. his grip is tight, fingertips making divots in yixing’s skin, and yixing finds he likes that too, likes the press of another body combining with the drag of the pen. his arm is sensitive, still, and he moves up into jongdae’s touch, unconscious. it takes a moment for him to realize it, but it’s turning him on, getting written on, and he’s not really sure what to make of that.
“jongdae,” he says when jongdae’s finished writing what looks like yixing’s name and his actual name, and it comes out a lot breathier than he wants it to.
“what’s up?”
“maybe... that’s enough.”
jongdae looks confused for a moment, then shrugs. “ok. i was thinking of writing everyone’s names for kicks, i’ve just got me and you right now.”
he wanders out after that, and yixing’s entertained by his nonchalance but also a lot more turned on than he wants to be. he considers jacking off, but decides it’s sort of weird, given that jongdae, even if it was his writing more than his being jongdae, got him to this point. he sighs and goes back to the movie he was watching on his laptop.
three days later jongdae’s sober, but he busts into yixing’s room anyway.
“hey, what’s up?”
“about a few days ago.”
“with the writing? that was no big deal. i washed most of it out the next morning in the shower. it’s completely gone now.”
“no you...” jongdae shuts the door behind him and starts pacing, while yixing lies on his bed, confused. “you... you reacted differently. everyone else like, ran away from it. you wanted me to do it.”
yixing shrugs, doing his best to not reveal how mortified he feels. “i thought it was funny.”
“no it was like... i... you... i don’t know i... i mean i was drunk so when you’re drunk you... do things you like? that you don’t normally do?”
“yeah...?”
“and i... fuck i don’t know how to say this.”
yixing can tell what he’s getting at, and it’s melting away his own fear. he’s still not comfortable enough to say it for the both of them, but it makes him feel a little better, at least, knowing he wasn’t the only one who found the situation a lot more intense than he’d expected.
jongdae’s not pacing anymore, just sort of staring at the space near yixing’s feet, and when he finally mumbles something yixing can’t make it out.
“what?”
jongdae sighs, resigned, and picks up a marker off yixing’s desk. it’s not permanent. he walks over to yixing’s bed.
“can i... can we do that again?”
yixing nods, watching jongdae sit down beside him and uncap the marker. it’s green. he starts to trace along yixing’s arm, letters yixing can’t make out, and the touch is soft and wet and even more erotic than the pen had been.
“yixing,” jongdae says, pausing, hands around his arm. “you’re... you’re getting... turned on by this too right?”
the last half of that comes out in a hurried jumble, words slurring into one another, but yixing nods, turns his head to face jongdae, who leans into kiss him. it feels sort of like the press of the marker, but warm instead of cool, and yixing leans into it. jongdae is his bandmate and maybe he should be thinking harder about this, but he doesn’t really want to, just wants to keep kissing him, keep feeling his words tattooed across his skin.
“keep writing?” yixing asks, and jongdae nods. he smirks now, though, and yixing’s not surprised when the marker travels up to his neck. he shrinks away from the touch, too much on his skin, but jongdae grabs hold of his shoulders and doesn’t let him move, just writes along his arteries, yixing writhing around under his grip.
“how good did that feel?” jongdae asks when he’s covered half yixing’s neck in green ink and yixing is trying his best to hump his leg.
“really fucking good,” he breathes in response, “jongdae, please.”
he knows what he’s asking for, but jongdae takes a second to process it. when he does, though, he straddles yixing, tucking the marker away, and pushes him down into the bed, kissing him roughly.
yixing can feel the ink smearing, and it sends a shiver down his spine. it’s like a thin, wet layer has been placed over his neck, moving occasionally, shifting and spreading but constant. when jongdae unzips yixing’s pants and wraps his hand around his cock, yixing fucks into the motion for a moment, before reaching over to jerk jongdae off, too. he comes first, hot into jongdae’s hand, then pushes jongdae over. he yanks his pants down a little farther, hand on the base of jongdae’s cock, before taking it in his mouth. jongdae stays still but moans, loud and low in his throat, while yixing sucks him off, tongue working along the sides of his cock until he comes, head thrown back, mouth hanging open.
yixing pulls up, puts a hand to his neck, the green catching on his finger tips.
“shit, your pillow’s a mess,” jongdae says as he’s cleaning off his hand with a tissue.
yixing looks at it, shrugs, and smiles at jongdae. “i don’t know about you, but i thought it was pretty worth it.”
♦ ♦ ♦
Title: Make it Last (Let it Burn)
Pairing: Chanyeol/Chen
Rating: r
Word Count: 2,600
the unalaska police blotter has a certain charm, a degree of amusement at the absurdity of its existence that sprung up naturally, the result of too many insane calls, a lot of feral cats, and newspaper writers with nothing better to do. it’s blunt, honest, presented open-shut even when things are messy and confusing and unbelievable. usually it’s just people being people, rough at the edges, unable to control themselves in the sudden face of society and money and alcohol.
but sometimes: Drunk Disturbance/Criminal Mischief -- A man at the Harbor View Bar, believed to be highly inebriated at the time, got into a fight with another man after the second man allegedly took a drink not intended for him. The highly inebriated individual then attempted to set fire to the establishment. Witnesses reported that “fire came from his fingers,” but the validity of these claims is uncertain due to the general level of intoxication of the patrons. Police are investigating, and a quick-thinking bartender was able to put out the fire before anything was damaged. The suspect is in custody but has not been charged.
“oh,” jongdae says when kris shows him the article, white and black framed in bland blue on his computer screen, “do you think?”
kris nods. “i called their police department. his name’s park chanyeol and he’s apparently a commercial fisherman based out of busan. there’s a bail price but i’m thinking we could get him out without that, get zitao and jongin in on it.”
jongdae considers, nods once, hesitant. “he was also drunk in one of the most notorious bars in the world, do you really think we can trust this?”
“there aren’t any burn marks on his fingers, no fire source, nothing, and he claims he has no idea what happened, one minute there was nothing and then he felt really hot and there was fire.”
“if he’s a commercial fisherman already, isn’t he probably too old for signs to be first showing up?”
kris shrugs. “i’ve got a hunch, jongdae. people don’t make shit like this up.”
jongdae’s not sold, but he’s not in the habit of arguing with kris, either. if this guy’s a bust, then he’s a bust, but jongdae understands kris’s desire to make sure that, in the case that he isn’t, he’s picked up. they haven’t had much to do the past several months, and jongin and zitao have been getting restless, dicking around with sehun instead of practicing. sending them on a job is better than keeping them together without anything to do save causing trouble.
“when should i tell them to be ready to go by?”
“tomorrow? shouldn’t be too bad for them, and i’m assuming you can clean-up easily.”
jongdae nods, and leaves, understanding that he’s dismissed.
jongdae’s job is erasure. it doesn’t have to do with what he can do naturally so much as it does with what he’s always chosen to do. as a kid he was perpetually on tech crews, soloing for the choir but gaffeing sound cable to the floor during the yearly musical, teaching himself C++ his final year of high school, spending a couple semesters in university as a computer science major. he knows he brings a little bit of magic to it in a way almost no one else can, had learned, when he almost started an electrical fire in the computer room his junior year of high school, that the guts of computers splayed themselves out for him, intricate but infinitely comprehensible, because he was wired like that, too.
baekhyun and jongin had been working together when they’d come for jongdae, knocked on the door of his dorm room and told him they could teach him how to control himself, how not to teeter constantly on the edge of becoming a threat to society. he’d agreed at first, hasty, then when they’d gone he’d sat and reconsidered. they’d given him no contact info, just a week’s notice so he could formally drop out and get his affairs in order. he’d waited till the last day to submit the paperwork, the weight of his choice sitting heavy in his stomach, as if that was where his electricity was centered, a hot pile of cabling, coiled poorly.
that was four years ago. jongdae’s watched countless people come and go since then, taught himself, as promised, to ignore the currents in his body, worked his way up until he became kris’s go to guy, the clean-up hitter, in charge of making disappearances and re-introductions less messy than they had hitherto been. he likes his job, likes the knowledge that he’s no longer running the risk of destroying everything and everyone he knows by accident. there are other things, he supposes, that he would have liked to do, too, but as far as occupations go, this isn’t half-bad, helping people by doing the same things he’s always been good at, knowing he’s in control, of himself and of the situations he’s responsible for.
chanyeol walks into the room and jongdae thinks he’s maybe momentarily transformed into a snake, chanyeol seeming to glow red, as if he’s standing in uv light. no one else seems to notice it, though, so jongdae shakes it off, watches the color fade. kris runs the introductions, name power how long you’ve been here, before baekhyun takes over to brief him on their purpose. chanyeol looks shell-shocked, eyes permanently wide, eyebrows knit in confusion, but when he talks, requested by baekhyun to say a few words, he sounds surprisingly calm and in command, deep voice loud in the small room, bouncing off the eleven other bodies around him.
“well, uh, i’m still not exactly sure how i got here, or what’s going on, but i’m really happy to be here anyway. thanks for the opportunity to… not make infamous appearances in police blotters anymore. i’ll work hard.”
the room laughs. he’s good-natured. jongdae likes it, but it’s almost as if he’s not responding to anything chanyeol’s doing or saying, as if it’s something more base than that, something jongdae can’t name but is drawn to anyway, regardless of the way it scares him. he does his best to push it aside, shove it down, swallow it whole, but then chanyeol stares at him, quizzical, like he feels off, too, and something flickers, sears: oil on a hot pan.
jongdae’s not a good teacher. they’d learned this the hard way when they’d assigned him to a woman who’d been accidentally constricting the necks of animals. he’d almost died. so despite the fact that his and chanyeol’s powers line up, both in form and content, they don’t ask him to do anything, assigning baekhyun to his case instead.
it doesn’t mean, though, that he can escape chanyeol. he tries, briefly, but chanyeol’s everywhere, too big for his own comfort or anyone else’s, too bright for jongdae not to notice, to feel, even if he’s rooms away. they end up together by accident, usually, the only two left when a room empties out, and it’s always chanyeol running the show, asking questions, curiosity getting the best of his courtesy.
“electricity’s a lot like fire, isn’t it? like that’s what starts forest fires, usually,” he says one day out of the blue. jongdae’s reading. he’s trying to pretend he’s sitting in front a fire, not an overgrown man.
he nods, shuts his book. he knows better by now than to try and ignore chanyeol. if he wants to talk, he’ll talk, make a conversation happen regardless of the other party’s intention. “yeah, pretty much.”
“did you have a lot of trouble… dealing with it at first?”
“i guess? like basically everyone, i found out about it by accident, when i was in high school.”
“did it scare you?”
jongdae’s taken aback, briefly, but then he laughs. chanyeol’s straightforwardness is strange, puts him on edge but relaxes him, too. it’s not like he’s not used to being blunt, kris often yells at him for being ruder than he intends. but there’s a strange earnestness about chanyeol, almost uncontrolled, as if he doesn’t know how to be anyone but who he is, and who he is has suddenly become so much different than who he thought he was.
“yeah, it did,” is jongdae’s reply. chanyeol nods, looks down at the mug in his hands, takes a sip, pouts. “did it cool down?”
“yeah. wonder if i could heat it with my hands?”
jongdae considers stopping him. it’s been a month but it usually takes two or three times that long, and chanyeol, according to baekhyun, is far from a shining example of discipline and patience.
“probably, if you can keep it small enough to not burn anything down.”
chanyeol nods, concentrates. focuses on the mug like it’s a crystal ball, ready to reveal to him the secrets of his future. jongdae watches as the water boils again, mug red between chanyeol’s hands, steam wafting up to the ceiling.
“did you see that?” he asks excitedly when he decides it’s sufficiently hot.
“yeah. that was… impressive.”
chanyeol grins. currents pulse.
it gets better, from there. he learns to ignore the way chanyeol makes him feel and focus instead on him as a person. he finds there’s not so much of a difference, but it’s calming, at least, knowing that it’s not just some strange, hyper-physical attraction running between them. chanyeol’s hilarious, laughs every time jongdae gives sehun shit about being lazy, gives baekhyun a run for his money when it comes to teasing kyungsoo. he knows, though, that the simplicity he’s finding could be corrupted easily, suspects that despite chanyeol’s marked improvement he’s still got a taste for adventure, for insanity, that, were he to jump over whatever edge it is they’re standing near, jongdae would probably go along with.
kris pulls him aside three months into chanyeol’s stay.
“so as you know, we’re not the only education center like this in the world. i was trained at one in british columbia, minseok was taught by a guy working alone. i recently went and talked to the leaders of the place i learned at.”
there’s a silent “and?” hanging between them, but jongdae doesn’t push. kris has his own pace, his own way: jongdae exists outside of it, would have little effect on it even if he tried.
“fire and electricity are similar, but different. apparently the results are usually pretty… dangerous when combined, but unavoidable.”
what are you asking me to do? jongdae wants to respond, but once again stays quiet, lets kris examine him.
“be… careful,” he says after a silence that stretches between them like an over-expanded elastic, taut and brittle, “but don’t be… too careful, because i guess that’s not so great, either.”
jongdae nods. he trusts kris, knows there’s some reason for this incomprehensible warning. he’ll abide, if he has to, but it doesn’t mean he’s not afraid of what might happen, doesn’t mean he’s not still parsing out what, exactly, he and chanyeol seem to want from each other.
he figures it out when he’s jacking off and it’s chanyeol he can’t stop thinking of, chanyeol whose hands should be on his cock instead of his own, chanyeol who is also always glowing in his imagination, chanyeol who makes him glow, too, but blue instead of red.
he avoids him for a week, not because he’s uncomfortable with it-he is, to a degree, not because chanyeol’s a guy but because chanyeol is not his choice, and chanyeol still, sometimes, seems more force than person-but because he doesn’t know what chanyeol’s realized, what chanyeol wants, how they fit into the respective pictures they’ve created.
“we need to work this out,” chanyeol says when jongdae opens the door to his room a week later, lets him inside.
“did kris talk to you, too? a while back?”
“yeah. you’ve been avoiding me.”
jongdae stares at him. he’s still so uncontrolled, wild like the stories he tells about bars the nights after his boat would unload at the canneries, but there’s determination in his gaze, and when jongdae nods and chanyeol responds by closing the space between them, muttering something about having no idea if this is right or what but it’s worth a shot, jongdae lets him, falls back onto his bed, doesn’t resist.
chanyeol’s body temperature runs high, blood hot and thick below the surface of his skin, mixed with something warmer than humanity, dangerous and unknowable but infinitely alluring. jongdae thinks he might burn when chanyeol kisses him, but then he realizes that maybe they’ll be ok and it’s everyone else who needs to worry. chanyeol’s fingers leave light burn marks on his skin and he sees sparks glowing at every point their bodies meet. fight fire with fire, you can only resist something all-consuming for so long.
he fucks chanyeol and the room feels like it could burst into flames any second, hot and flammable. there’s sex and then there’s destruction, and jongdae’s never really bought the idea that fucking is about erasure of the self until now, his body and chanyeol’s both running fevers and moving in tandem. jongdae’s not sure if this is what he’d expected, when he’d first met chanyeol, but he knows, regardless, that it’s what he’s needed, now and for years, this dangerous teetering between what he can do and what he has to do, what he wants and what he needs, what he can control and what he can’t. his mattress might be singed, the whole complex might be able to hear them, but he can’t stop himself this time, loses himself in the way chanyeol’s body feels under his, the way everything that’s been dancing inside him, locked away for years but loosed by chanyeol, is moving, now, undisciplined but comfortable, as if it all finally belongs.
chanyeol wants to cuddle, after. jongdae’s got half a mind to call minseok and ask him to ice down the room, because every breath is thick with sex and heat and acrid incineration, but he doesn’t. he lets chanyeol hold him, hearts beating fast, wondering what just happened, thinking that maybe this wasn’t the right thing to do, even though he knows there was never another option.
“i don’t think i’ve ever worried i was going to die during sex,” chanyeol says, and he’s laughing but he looks terrified, and jongdae takes his hand. he doesn’t know what he’s doing, but this is the life they’ve all built for themselves, founded on kris’s inexorable vision and blind faith that there’s a way to control the most unknowable of earth’s forces when they’re placed in men and magnified tenfold.
“neither have i,” he replies, “but you know, maybe we could... figure it out?”
chanyeol nods, holds jongdae’s hand up in the air, cupped small inside his, fingers centimeters longer. they both look at it. it’s warmer than usual, and jongdae thinks he can see under his skin, see the way electrical currents hug his arteries. he’s learned how not to set things on fire by accident, how not to redirect thunderstorms unless they’re about to kill someone. but he hasn’t let him understand himself, knows, intuitively, that he’s like a computer, but has never bothered to try and work through himself the same way. chanyeol’s presence magnifies his lack of knowledge, lays it all out for him, but also bares the possible solutions. they’re tantalizing. dangerous. he would have ignored them yesterday, but yesterday is in the past and chanyeol, too, seems changed, calmer, as if there’s some sort of energy flowing between them that, unlike heat, goes both ways.
curiosity. desire. he knows there are names for it, ones that exist already, but he knows, too, that there are others, undiscovered, waiting to be mapped out, new words for new sensations, born of and between them, magnified and redirected and ever-changing. control is a skill, one of jongdae’s greatest, but burning is, too.
chanyeol looks at him, smiles. jongdae smiles back, like a promise. he’s always been good at keeping his word.
♦ ♦ ♦
Title: Tell Me What You Want
Pairing: Chanyeol/D.O.
Rating: nc17 (warning: genderswap)
Word Count: 1,100
Chanyeol stares down at her physics problem set, then at her phone. She’s got one question left, but it’s the hardest, and she knows that there’s not terribly much use in taking a stab at it without her study group. They’re supposed to be meeting at ten to go over the assignment before it’s due at 9am the next day, and it’s almost 7:30 now. She can definitely afford a break. She leans back in her chair and picks up her phone, pulls up her conversation with Kyungsoo. She’s in section right now, Chanyeol knows, but that’s never stopped her before.
how’s section?
Boring. is Kyungsoo’s prompt reply.
want to come over after?
Don’t you have a problem set due tomorrow?
yeah im mostly done and were checking it at 10 plenty of time before then
Plenty of time for what?
Chanyeol laughs and shivers at the same time. Kyungsoo knows exactly what Chanyeol’s talking about, loves playing this whole innocent game so that Chanyeol has to say things, has to explain to her exactly what she wants to do. Chanyeol loves it, how dirty words roll of her own tongue, how Kyungsoo gets wet just listening to her talk, just reading her texts.
for me to fuck you
Oh. I guess I could make time for that…
don’t you want to make time? don’t you want to feel my tongue in your pussy?
It’s even better on my clit. I want you to lick me and fuck me with your fingers.
As Chanyeol reads the message, she imagines Kyungsoo typing it, hands under the table, trying to be discreet while the obnoxious Political Science major she always complains about drones on. Maybe she crosses her legs, uncrosses them, crosses them again, the other direction, just the tiniest bit uncomfortable. Chanyeol bites her lip as she responds. She’s had a fantasy, a particular one, for a while, and the past month has seen her and Kyungsoo getting adventurous enough that she thinks it’ll be ok to bring it up, to maybe try it.
i want you to sit on my face
The response takes longer, this time, but it still comes, Chanyeol shifting in her seat in nervousness as she clicks it open.
I’m so wet but there’s still ten minutes of section left.
Chanyeol grins.
do u wish u could touch yourself right now in class? even surrounded by all those people? that’s how much you want me?
Yes, god I want you to fuck me so bad, I want to kneel over you and let you lick me till I come.
you’re out of section in 5 right? hurry the fuck up and get over here when ur done
Chanyeol’s wet, clit aching to be touched, but she doesn’t want to do anything until Kyungsoo over. There’s a light knock on her door ten minutes later, and when she opens it she’s greeted by Kyungsoo, dressed in a pair of tight jeans and a white button down, who enters without being asked, slips her shoes off as Chanyeol shuts the door, and then pins her against the door.
It doesn’t matter that Kyungsoo’s only about five feet tall, that Chanyeol’s got nearly eight inches on her, because can be just as aggressive and forceful as she wants to be when she’s got a goal in mind.
“What are you even doing, texting me in section,” she says between sloppy kisses.
Chanyeol sucks on her earlobe, tonguing around the tiny gold hoop earring she always wears. Kyungsoo moans, presses closer, straddling Chanyeol’s leg.
“I just wanted you so bad, I couldn’t help myself.”
Chanyeol moves down her neck while Kyungsoo grinds against her leg, breathing heavy and warm on Chanyeol’s own neck. She unbuttons Kyungsoo’s shirt, fingertips dancing across her soft stomach and the white cotton of her bra. Kyungsoo likes things simple, owns maybe one pair of vaguely sexy underwear, but Chanyeol likes that about her. It fits, works with her simple outfits and no-nonsense charm. She sneaks her hand into her bra and massages her breast, fingers searching for her nipple and twisting lightly when she finds it. They’re standing such that Chanyeol’s now straddling one of Kyungsoo’s legs, too, and she’s rubbing herself on it as she thumbs at Kyungsoo’s nipple, Kyungsoo’s mouth attached to a particularly sensitive spot on Chanyeol’s neck.
Chanyeol only pulls back when Kyungsoo yanks at the hem of her shirt. She lets her pull it up and over her head, lacy black bra on display when she does. Kyungsoo doesn’t waist time, unhooks the clasp in the back and braces her hands on Chanyeol’s hips, sucks her breast into her mouth, tongue working at the nipple.
“Fuck, Kyungsoo,” Chanyeol moans when she bites her breast, just enough to hurt but still feel good. Kyungsoo looks up, grinning, eyes dark.
“So this… face sitting thing?”
Chanyeol looks down for a second, embarrassed, before she feels the warm breast of Kyungsoo’s near-naked torso against hers. “Do you… would you do it?”
“Yes,” Kyungsoo replies, and leans up to kiss her.
They maneuver to Chanyeol’s bed, Kyungsoo taking off her bra and tossing it aside. They each slip out of their jeans, then their underwear, before Chanyeol lies down on the bed, arms at her sides. Kyungsoo climbs over her, pausing briefly to kiss each of her breasts, before kneeling over her face. Chanyeol closes hooks her arms over the back of Kyungsoo’s thighs, letting her fingertips dig in just a little, before letting her tongue dart out, over Kyungsoo’s clit. She sets a quick pace, licking over it in broad strokes then focusing on the spots that elicit particularly loud moans.
“Chanyeol, Chanyeol I think I’m gonna come,” Kyungsoo says, hands braced against the wall.
Chanyeol can feel it in the way her thighs tense, in the shivery jerks she’s making, rubbing herself over Chanyeol’s tongue to get more friction. When she comes it’s with a high, drawn out sigh, and she rests for a second before climbing off. Chanyeol sits up, wipes her mouth, smiles.
“Was that good?”
“Yes,” Kyungsoo replies, legs still shaking. She’s standing across from Chanyeol, but she quickly kneels down, spreading her legs and sliding a finger into her wet cunt.
“You really liked doing that, didn’t you?”
Chanyeol nods, moans as she slips a second finger in. Kyungsoo smirks, then leans in and licks her clit, Chanyeol’s hands immediately falling to her shoulders. She fucks herself down on Kyungsoo’s fingers, a long string of obscenities leaving her lips when she’s close, before she comes with a moan, Kyungsoo fucking her through the aftershocks.
Chanyeol collapses back on the bed and Kyungsoo joins her, curls up against her side before planting a kiss on her cheek.