average (iii / ?)
pairing: kris/chanyeol.
rating: NC-17.
summary: the title is a paradox.
previous: i / ii
author notes: 5, 539 words of pure desire, lust, and thex (no penetration no cry). fuck sorry lame joke. anyway.
it’s been three months. you can demand me hey-ted-fucking-update-pls via tumblr you know? like, you appearing in my tumblr’s inbox is a mood booster for me. somehow. trooollololololololo. but seriously, do it.
a/n 2: the sole purpose of me updating a chapter with 10239010 word count was because i wanted to feel the hype of showing off the 1903109901 word count on the author note section. how shallow of me trooololollo. fuck the hype. i’m not doing it anymore.
a/n 3: meaning, average will have more chapters with probably lesser word count.
this also means, average is still far from the end.
so thank you very much for waiting, thank you for keeping up with my snail pace, thank you for commenting, reblogging, pimping the hell out of average on twitter (you can link me the pimping tweet troolololololool), thank you for being a krisyeol shipper, and thank you for your awesome tags on tumblr. thank you. enjoy.
the days are passing by like a blur. yixing is hiding something from him,* as he doesn’t try to pry anything from yifan on monday and declines yifan’s offer to go to their favorite bar on wednesday.
yifan is pretty sure his restlessness is showing that he actually can’t wait for yixing to be the best friend of the year; asking impatiently and patting his back and giving him some uncanny some thoughtful advices because this time, if yixing would ever finally do the honor, yifan swears to himself will tell his best friend e
v
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t
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but yixing just picks him up, eats lunch with him, drives him home, and never scowls at his ugly purple circles underneath his eyes. now that yifan thinks about it, huh. if only yixing knew the cause of his current state is the one and only person in the whole world he had accused hotly together with lu han. it’s funny, sort of, because when chanyeol really did something quite damaging to yifan’s whole system, yixing doesn’t even notice. which is not yixing’s fault at all, of course. it’s not like yifan is going to boast about his problem (so chanyeol is a problem now?), nor he’s going to bask in yixing’s friendly pity.
it’s evil to label his young neighbor as ‘problem’, but the dream was so vivid. though it wasn’t sexual at all. which is weird. because yifan is not supposed to feel anything. yet he woke up embarrassed as hell, not understanding why did he dream about chanyeol in the first place, and has been left in a desperate need for relief. he doesn’t have the gut to call the beautiful woman from before, he thinks if yixing is the one pouring more alcohol to his loneliness he would be brave enough to call her or to pick a random stranger who’s willing to play pretend for one night.
(he hasn’t seen amber ever since they broke up. not that yifan is going to seek anything from the tomboy girl. in fact, without a doubt, he will act like an awkward turtle by himself while amber will just punch his chest or his arm as a cool greeting. right. lu han is busy with a new project he doesn’t saunter to yifan’s desk to give him the ultimate daily praise for his handsomeness. not that yifan actually considers to talk about it to his supervisor, no, god. it’s just that. it’s seems like the closest people of his life are slipping away from him, and he’s got nothing to blame but the bad timing and his luck.
yifan doesn’t think it’s wise to talk about it to yoona either, now that she thinks he has a new ‘girlfriend’ and certainly not when her wedding is just weeks away. yifan can’t exactly, openly, talk about his dangerously strong infatuation for a nineteen year old boy to his parents. not with the added fact that he dreamt about chanyeol on his parents’ house, where he got the awakening about what, or who, he wants. it’s embarrassing to say the least, like when yifan entered puberty and fantasized about women on his childhood room, behind closed door and turned off lights.)
today is thursday, by the way. yifan drags his legs to run to the waiting elevator. inside, there’s a young mother with her twin daughters dressed in matching barbie bath robes. yifan presses the 5 button and sees that they’re just going back from the indoor swimming pool on the east wing. the tiny girl with blue swimming cap is looking at him with astonishment. yifan tries to smile, and when he does, it’s the mother who is blushing; hiding her face with a big white towel.
the elevator arrives on his floor. he bows to the mother slightly before he steps out, and the twins are waving at him cutely. as he jiggles the keys on his thumb, yifan remembers the indoor swimming pool is opened everyday, from nine in the morning until nine in the afternoon. right now it’s just a little bit after six. yifan thinks he’s going swimming later on, after he cooks the last seafood ramyun cup for dinner. it’s been awhile since the last time yifan practiced his rusty backstroke. yifan actually likes to swim because he will get a fulfilling deep sleep afterwards, but swimming requires minimum clothing and his half naked body plus a bunch of curious eyes equal let me just stay home and enjoy my beer, yoona-yah.
well.
▲ ▼
yifan is on his fourth lap, giving up on his once elegant backstroke because his eyes are already droopy from exhaustion. it’s really been awhile. or maybe he’s just getting older. the pool is empty because nobody is sane enough to swim after dinner. but still it doesn’t help him to enjoy the privileged swimming session without having to endure people’s stare. ah, this rarity shouldn’t be a waste. yifan decides to go two more laps. the weather has been nice since the beginning of the week. maybe he’ll commute tomorrow if the weather stays the same.
(yifan doesn’t know that it’s possible to smile underwater.)
he finally touches the tile wall and emerges and nearly gets a heart attack because chanyeol is crouching above him, hugging his knees and smil―no, beaming―while he shouts,
“jesus christ!!!”
“nope, just chanyeol.” the boy keeps his sunshine-y radiant smile and asks with a casual tone like he didn’t just appear out of nowhere and shocked the hell out of our main protagonist, “i didn’t know you’re a christian, ahjusshi.”
yifan is panting harshly, clutching his left chest and having a coughing fit. he waves his free hand at chanyeol as a sign to wait and chanyeol is chuckling, apologizing; jumping into the water to stroke yifan’s slippery back with a genuine attempt to ease yifan’s misery and a hint of something else that can be perceived as dangerous.
or maybe that’s just yifan’s wishful thinking wanting.
but chanyeol’s warm breath spreading on his ear and neck is like a challenging question whether he’s in or not on their a whole new different level of mindgame.
“ahjusshi are you okay?”
yifan tries to swallow but his throat is dry. it hurts when he coughs but he manages a nod as he moves backward to create a distance.
chanyeol’s face becomes unreadable but then he’s smiling again when he asks,
“were you a pro, ahjusshi? you swim like nobody else.”
yifan snorts, “yeah?” and wipes the chlorine off of his face. when he takes a good look at the idol he blurts out, “what happened to your hair?”
chanyeol picks a lock of his no longer caramel colored but dark brunette hair, blows his cheeks, and explains with a tone that yifan knows he has to respond carefully or else he will be the sole loser of their whole new different level of mindgame, “the scriptwriter told me to change the hair color. and then he told me to trim it shorter. my character is a delinquent, ahjusshi, and the scriptwriter said a delinquent can’t be pretty.”
delinquent?
“ah, your new drama.” yifan nods. “i see.”
“do you like it?” that’s the cue. be wise, wu yifan.
“of course,” not. i don’t know what to say. that haircut doesn’t suit you? i prefer you looking pretty?
(maybe that’s just yifan’s selfish opinion speaking the truth.)
“you look...manlier.” it pains yifan to admit what the haircut does to chanyeol.
“really, ahjusshi?” there. the sneaky innocence that makes yifan feel guilty of his wrongdoing; lying is wrong. but stupidly succumbed to chanyeol’s whole new different level of mindgame is also wrong.
“is that okay?” chanyeol continues, still with the heavy innocence from his voice and body language; those eyes are sparkling.
“why would be manlier not okay?” yifan asks back, and chanyeol scoffs, the sparks on his eyes are gone in a matter of second. chanyeol gets up to sit on the coping, successfully distracting yifan’s alerted mind―mustapologizemustapolo―thanks to those long, smooth, fleshy thighs and nicely shaped bare knees and not too hairy legs.
chanyeol is wearing a bright red speedo. he has developing abs. his nipples are cute as buttons. his collarbones are delicious. ahhh...what a slender neck. can i wrap my gigantic hand there and not killing him?
yifan blinks when he meets chanyeol’s darker than ever eyes.
“w-why are you here, chanyeol-ah?” he shudders, but way too timid to get out of the water for some obvious reasons.
“i’ve never been here before.”
“right. you kind of just moved.”
chanyeol points his pretty toes like a ballerina and paddles the water like a little child learning to swim, while his fingernails are turning white as they hold the edge of the coping. “so is this how you spend your time, ahjusshi? instead of watching dramas on TV you’re here. swimming. alone. aren’t you scared?”
“of what?”
“unless you tell me your fears, then...ghosts?”
“fine. fair enough.”
“so you’re not scared.”
“of ghosts?”
“duh.”
“well if it helps, you scared the shit out of me, chanyeol-ah. congratulations, i guess.”
yifan watches in awe how the tight lines of chanyeol’s chapped, pink lips are slowly dissolving into the most stunning smile in the history of wu yifan’s encounter with human being; how chanyeol’s cheeks are stretched widely showing off the cute dimple on his left cheek and how those doe eyes are almost childish, blindly believing everything yifan says about him. he didn’t lie, he was scared shitless, but to think that admitting it can coax such scenery. huh. how easy. yifan is shameless enough to admit he’s got the right to feel conceited of whatever repercussion his average being has for park chanyeol.
he flexes his tense shoulders.
“you were hilarious too, ahjusshi. i never thought you could shout like that. it was sooooo loud!” chanyeol is giggling. he’s back.
“like i said, you scared me okay?” yifan chuckles and decides it won’t do him any harm to keep his eyes on chanyeol’s beautiful face. at least if chanyeol started to whine he’d have an excuse that he’s just trying to get used to the haircut. yifan has always been suspicious that chanyeol secretly likes it when he’s the one doing the staring. and yifan does dig in chanyeol’s uncharacteristic bashful response, anyway. not that chanyeol is the first male to look flustered all thanks to his sharp, hawk-like, sometimes a little bit too intense staring but still. it’s park chanyeol; everything about him is supposed to be deemed different.
chanyeol sniffs, crosses his arms and looks away. the tip of his now visible right ear is reddened. damn you scriptwriter-sshi, demanding chanyeol to get a short haircut. but oh, what a cutely shaped ear, though. he’s reminded that chanyeol does have an elf-like ears. yifan has legolas the movie version on his mind.
smiling, yifan calls chanyeol’s name, intending to ask more about the new drama. but at the sharp intake of breath coming from the said boy, he can’t help the uncomfortable pause because...is that...what he thinks it is or is he just over-romanticizing about what he wants to see thus he distorts the reality?
“chanyeol-ah,” this time chanyeol turns his head away and yifan is familiar with that look whenever sehun visits him every weekend. fuck. he might be wearing that look himself whenever he has a chance to meet with yoona, because he doesn’t even need a mirror to understand that he always misses his ex-wife.
but the big question is, why would chanyeol miss him? unless it is really what he thinks it is. but. but they’re currently playing their whole new different level mindgame, right? how should yifan know that chanyeol’s been suffering because they didn’t see each other last weekend when he had stayed on his parents’ house? what if chanyeol wasn’t? what’s going to happen if yifan assumed wrongly and chanyeol is indeed, missing him like the moon misses the sun? will chanyeol yell at him again if he got it all wrong? will chanyeol surprise him with another episode of his tantrum? what would be his standpoint to such destructive but predictable pattern? will he stay as chanyeol’s lame ahjusshi or will he take the matter to his hand and teach chanyeol that he’s getting tired of their mindgame(s)? how would he teach chanyeol, then? who is he to teach the boy anything about roughly playing with another person’s feeling when he failed amber’s?
fuck.
“ahjusshi,” chanyeol splays his cold fingers to yifan’s numb face; his voice is wry, smaller than a whisper. “ahjusshi, just kiss me already.”
fu―
it stings when their teeth collide. their noses are bumping and chanyeol’s jawline is too-smooth-for-a-growing-teenager on yifan’s impatient, gigantic, and shaking hands. his blunt nails are scraping chanyeol’s skin amidst their furious lip-locking, and yifan is actually afraid he’s going to crush chanyeol’s skull into pieces.
yifan starts to falter, slowing down, not wanting to leave bruises on an idol’s most prominent asset but chanyeol is grunting―equally impatient―he’s surging forward to clutch at yifan’s tapered nape and jumping back into the water again, his eyes are closed and his head is already tilted to the side to deepen their kiss.
(yifan finds himself is so surprised―annoyed?―that chanyeol is a good kisser.)
chanyeol flicks out his tongue, does a quick swipe around yifan’s lips before he sucks yifan’s tongue to his mouth, moaning encouragingly at yifan to take what he willingly gives. chanyeol tastes like milk and cereal and smells like the ever so familiar pomegranate juice.
using the water’s flow to force their bodies getting closer than possible, chanyeol is tiptoeing, stepping on yifan’s wrinkly toes, delivering electricity and not physical pain as yifan sways to hold his stance.
yifan nips at chanyeol’s bottom lip as his hands travel lower to graze chanyeol’s slender, pulsing neck; his thumbs are careful on chanyeol’s collarbones. chanyeol makes another encouraging high-pitched moan when yifan takes over the aggressiveness by grabbing chanyeol’s wrists and pushes him back against the tile wall, pinning his hands there, pressing their crotches to trap chanyeol so he can attack the inside of chanyeol’s too-smooth-for-a-growing-teenager jawline.
yifan bites. he sinks his teeth deeper when chanyeol’s whole body jerks. he bites, licks, gnaws at chanyeol’s left earlobe, lost into the sensation because his brainless dick is gradually responding to chanyeol’s unconscious rubbing down there. god, chanyeol has a dick. he’s way too solid against yifan’s arms; doesn’t even possess a woman’s soft angles. but jesus, does the friction feel good. their dicks are aligning like lock and key together, so fucking fitting, and even chanyeol’s mildly turned on face is a work of art.
yifan can’t―won’t―take his eyes off of how chanyeol’s slender neck is facing the ceiling, his adam’s apple bobbing with every bit of yifan’s daring thrusts. chanyeol mewls like he can’t take it anymore when yifan presses his thumbs to chanyeol’s jutting hipbones, but of course chanyeol will never fail to surprise yifan because he’s whispering,
“more.”
“shit.” yifan curses at the red blinking dot of the security cam, which is placed right on top of the pool’s entrance. from that angle, it’s possible the rotating device would catch them making out like a pair of exhibitionist freaks. yifan is not sure if there’s a written restriction on showing public display of affection, but engaging in a homosexuality affair with a famous, nineteen year old male idol is not exactly favorable to whoever it is on the night guarding shift; surveilling the scene. goddamn.
gathering all of his willpower, yifan stops his eager rutting. now he can identify shame seeping in to his morality’s compos mentis. he’s supposed―expected―to be the cool-headed one in their rel―
chanyeol is clawing at his cold shoulders, frowning, glaring at him, as if he’s accusing yifan for not giving his all to win their whole new different level of mindgame―like yifan is wasting his generosity to win it.
“ahjussh―”
“go to the changing room. there’s a security cam around. or maybe more. go. i’ll follow closely behind.”
(maybe the glint from chanyeol’s dark eyes appears because he hates it when his whining is interrupted, and yifan just did.
or maybe, according to yifan’s wishful thinking, the glint from chanyeol’s dark eyes appears because he’s pleasantly surprised that yifan―his lame ahjusshi―is capable to be a real adult, ordering him around.)
chanyeol splashes yifan’s face before he hurries to climb up. yifan wipes the water off of his face just in time to witness how chanyeol’s knees are shaking as the boy speed-walks to the changing room. he smirks at the sight, allowing himself to feel the burst of smug accomplishment. he surely takes the lead on their whole new different level mindgame, nevermind whether it’s true or not that chanyeol is letting him to win it.
yifan counts to one hundred. then he waits some more, mainly to calm his excited dick and his poundpoundpounding heart. he chooses to take his time by swimming to the ladder on the other side of the pool, and when he’s standing up straight, this why are you so naive? who says chanyeol would wait for you on the changing room? and even if he does wait, what are you going to do? what do you want to do? paranoia hits him like a ton of bricks.
suddenly, yifan is running.
and crashes into the object of his paranoid brain, who doesn’t waste time to hold onto him tightly so they won’t fall off to the floor; who inhales the crook of yifan’s neck like he doesn’t have any intention to let go. the heels of chanyeol’s feet are crushing yifan’s toes again, and yifan lets him.
“what took you so long?” chanyeol is hugging him even tighter. “i thought y-you left, ahjusshi. please don’t make me wait anymore.”
they’re a couple of yards away from the changing room, and as much as yifan wants to ravish chanyeol’s pink, girly lips right there and then, the blinking red dot compels him to retreat; away and hidden from the artificial eyes.
yifan sneaks both of his arms under chanyeol’s armpits and chanyeol, confused, goes pliant when yifan struggles to walk them to the changing room.
“i’m sorry,” yifan says when he locks eyes with his own reflection on the mirror’s wash basins. he looks so fucking dangerous.
“i’m sorry i made you wait, chanyeol-ah.”
chanyeol sighs dreamily and disentangles his body. he tugs yifan’s left wrist, guides him to sit on the wooden benches, and then he plops down on yifan’s lap; planting his legs on either side of yifan’s waist, and because the wooden benches are large enough, he settles his ass there, in the small space between yifan’s thighs.
they reach out at the same time; yifan’s hands on chanyeol’s wide hips and chanyeol’s fingers on yifan’s face. the lighting on the changing room is much brighter and it illuminates chanyeol’s dark brunette hair up to the point that yifan thinks he can make peace with the damned scriptwriter. chanyeol’s beauty is just that ethereal.
chanyeol is looking down at him with his cleverly concealed emotions while oozing out the honest turmoil of a teenager in...is it love, though? maybe not yet, but yifan is done not taking chanyeol’s feeling seriously because pretending to be blind is useless. pretending to diss it as a teenager’s-natural-experimentation-to-walk-the-other-lane means he’s pretending to be blind to chanyeol’s misery; to chanyeol’s hot and cold, pull and push tendency―to those adorable (or almost desperate?) attempts to fit in to yifan’s adult liking―to chanyeol’s cruel defense mechanism or more known as his tiring mindgames. he drives chanyeol to the edge, and it’s time to make an extreme maneuver back.
at that somehow wondrous moment of revelation, yifan decides he’s had enough of using his imprinted ‘lame ahjusshi next door’ persona that he exploits to pretend he doesn’t understand what’s going on between them all along.
(his lust-filled monologue seems sane enough?)
chanyeol pokes his index finger on the space between yifan’s furrowed eyebrows, smiling prettily but shyly when he asks, “ahjusshi, what are you thinking about? don’t you want to kiss me again?”
yifan smirks at the über cuteness and bites chanyeol’s palm, pressing it back to his face.
“i’m taking it slow, chanyeol-ah.”
“why?”
“just because.”
“i-i don’t want it slow.”
“i’m thirty two years old.”
“oh my god,” chanyeol rolls his eyes, “kiss me, really! do i have to beg?”
“good idea.” it’s yifan’s turn to laugh because those beautiful, doe eyes are widened in sheer aversion of such thing. “what? you said so yourself.”
“not cool.” chanyeol scrunches his nose and huffs, making a motion like he’s going to leave. but tonight yifan is not having any of the adorable pull and push tendency and manhandles chanyeol back to his lap, kissing chanyeol’s lips deeply with a clear implication that he’s in charge, that he wants this.
that he, too, misses chanyeol because they didn’t have their weekly get together session last weekend.
(it’s really not healthy how much yifan enjoys their obnoxious lips smacking when they pull apart.)
“did you miss me?” he bluntly asks.
“you have no idea.” chanyeol licks his lips and leans in to kiss him again.
“why didn’t you text or call me?” yifan asks to chanyeol’s warm mouth, his eyes are closed, his hands fit perfectly on the dimples on chanyeol’s back.
“why didn’t you, ahjusshi?”
yifan snorts, admitting a defeat. he looks into chanyeol’s uncharacteristically bashful eyes rather teasingly, and chanyeol uses his hands to blind yifan. chuckling, yifan nuzzles his nose to the soft palms. he sucks the heel of chanyeol’s left palm, licks it and drags his tongue to the thin wrist, pressing his lips against the rhythmical throbbing of the arteries behind the pale skin. when chanyeol squirms because yifan is pulling him closer by the waist, yifan’s fingers naturally slip down into the waistband of chanyeol’s red speedo, earning him a handful of chanyeol’s ass. what stops yifan from exploring is how chanyeol inhales a shaky breath, seemingly alerted by the accidental touch.
“i’m-i’m sorry!” yifan jumps, nearly sending chanyeol to the ground.
but chanyeol holds on, and he doesn’t give yifan a time to panic when suddenly he slithers down to his knees, tracing his fingers all the way from yifan’s face to yifan’s neck, chest, his toned stomach, and chanyeol’s hands are quick to rub calming motions on the inside of yifan’s damp thighs when he’s right there.
kneeling on the cold tiles.
keeping a very intense eye contact with yifan when he swiftly moves his hands to yifan’s crotch, applying the right amount of pressure to yifan’s barely calmed down dick.
fu―
“fuck.”
chanyeol is fucking smiling.
“that’s hot,” the nineteen year old confesses, his voice is indifferent. “when you curse, that is.”
yifan is not growling. he’s definitely not anticipating it when chanyeol cups his right hand to his crotch, fondling with his balls. yifan wears dark swimming trunks and he’s not sure if he should undo the lace or leave it for chanyeol to worry about.
“is this―is this legal?”
“shut up, ahjusshi.”
“but i’m thirteen years your senior.”
“i hate math.”
the crown of chanyeol’s head looks like it’s surrounded by a halo from this angle. his protruding vertebrae are the sexiest thing yifan can compare to a woman’s breasts.
yifan is half hard now.
and chanyeol is exposing his cock to the cold temperature of the changing room, his swimming trunks are yanked down to his calves. usually yifan is never insecure about his size, but he never has a male partner either. he can only hope that chanyeol’s sudden silence as the younger boy stares at his cock is an approving kind of silence.
chanyeol grips the length with a surprising confidence yifan has to bites his knuckles to prevent embarrassing noise coming out from his, well, he’s been desperate for days, remember?
“can i have a taste, ahjusshi?” chanyeol asks with a hint of eager tone. his stroking method is to yifan’s liking as he continues, “your penis is just―” chanyeol licks his swollen lips, “―so perfect.”
yifan blushes. that doesn’t happen. wu yifan doesn’t blush. but he does, because of a comment about his apparently perfect cock. perfect. jesus fucking christ. yifan nearly kicks chanyeol in the head when chanyeol gives the leaking tip a kittenish, experimental lick.
“hmmm,” chanyeol hums, licking a wide stripe now, swirling his tongue to the slit. “nnngh, you’re so big, ahjusshi. jang sajangnim and taewoo hyung were nothing...”
wha―
chanyeol, probably out of habit, tucks a strand of way too short hair behind his ear before he opens his mouth wide. he engulfs the head of yifan’s cock with his hot lips, his teeth are grazing the popped veins as he takes more of yifan’s length; his thick tongue acts as an aid to ease the slow process, his mouth is slick and velvety. when chanyeol swallows because he’s at his limit, yifan moans. and his moan is causing chanyeol to moan, and yifan hastily grabs chanyeol’s hair because it’s too much.
chanyeol lets yifan steering him away from his cock and chanyeol is still fucking smiling. his swollen lips are glistening when he looks up and yifan finally feels the sting of his own teeth’s indents on his knuckles.
“yum,” chanyeol comments, doesn’t wait for yifan to throw a lame response as he licks yifan’s balls and then sucking them like a very enthusiastic first timer. probably. he mentioned two names for fuck’s sake.
yifan growls for no apparent reason. his cock is fully hard as rock now. he still has one hand on chanyeol’s hair, but he’s not pulling chanyeol away because he needs more. the hand just stays there, unmoving, not encouraging nor holding chanyeol back. chanyeol shifts on his knees to move even closer, his eyes are closed and his hair is tickling yifan’s stomach. chanyeol hollows his cheeks briefly before he glances up at yifan one more time, as a warning of what’s to come.
yifan bites his bottom lip when chanyeol actually sucks his cock instead of just putting it into his mouth. it’s his body’s turn to jerk helplessly as chanyeol carefully devouring the length further and further and further and chanyeol’s swallowing motion is only tightening his slender throat around yifan’s cock. one of the perks of having an honest-to-god nine inches cock is almost none of his sexual partners could deepthroat him. not that yifan expects anything from chanyeol’s cocksucking skill, no, but true to his prediction, it’s not long before the tip of his cock hits the back of chanyeol’s slender throat.
chanyeol’s moan sounds like he’s hurting, and yifan grabs chanyeol’s hair to pull his cock out. his cock is getting red and purple when it slaps his stomach, with more precum leaking.
“s-sorry,” yifan says at the sight of chanyeol’s watery eyes.
“you and your stupid apology...” chanyeol mumbles the insult, but he’s not fooling anybody. it’s clear that he’s the one insulted by yifan’s concerned remark.
his following, “i can do it, okay?” it’s like he’s stating, ahjusshi, your cock isn’t the first. no need to apologize.
chanyeol, yifan just notices, is flushing prettily; his face, neck, and chest are painted in some cute, different shades of pink. yifan glances down and finds a noticeable tent forming against chanyeol’s red speedo. well fuck. he’s not ready to give chanyeol a blowjob whatsoever.
“ahjusshi,” chanyeol looks calmed down already. he puts his hand on top of yifan’s, squeezing it. “i want you to fuck my mouth,” he makes sure yifan’s grip on his hair is not hesitating. “let me make you cum,” his face is dead serious yifan dumbly succumbs to―
is this part of their new different level of mindgame? because yifan is losing spectacularly.
yifan is using his other hand to stroke his cock, just briefly, because chanyeol flicks out his tongue in a dirty fashion. yifan loosens his grip on chanyeol’s hair only to grasp more silky strands so he can guide chanyeol’s head more precisely. he teases the head of his cock to chanyeol’s awaiting tongue, spurting a shot of precum. chanyeol swallows it, and then he looks up as he opens his mouth wider than before.
yifan sighs when chanyeol’s tongue is welcoming the underside of his cock. chanyeol rolls his tongue, swiping and dripping yifan’s cock with his saliva while his left hand is stroking the rest of the length and his right hand is palming his own erection. yifan watches the way chanyeol reacts wantonly to such minuscule ministration and he forces himself to close his eyes, or else he’ll have way too graphic images of chanyeol spread out on his bed on apartment number 505, wantonly reacting to his every touch, wantonly arching and begging yifan to fuck him harderfasterharder. the average time for a man to reach orgasm is in about eight minutes. yifan is still far from his eight minutes.
determined to make the best of his first ever boy-blowjob, or maybe he’s just fucking horny, yifan moves his hips gently, in and out in and out in and out and chanyeol, sucking yifan’s cock like he would a sweet treat, hums to encourage him after a few thrusts. yifan leans back, resting his upper body’s weight to his left arm. it’s all natural for him to set a pace.
yifan is starting to feel it. the itch on his toes, the shiver running on his spine, the cloud in his already foggy brain.
chanyeol can suck a fucking cock, that’s for sure.
chanyeol holds yifan’s inner thighs, his sweaty palms are rubbing them; persuading them to let yifan’s whole body to relax. yifan likes how it is different to have his cock throbbing inside a pliable mouth; there’s still some space left―because when his throbbing cock is inside another channel, probably all thanks to his size, he always feels suffocated. it’s just a different kind of pleasure, to have his cock sucked, to feel the cocksucker’s tongue massaging the length, to be able to adjust the velvety heat surrounding him to his liking.
“ah...” yifan breathes. “yeah, just like that.”
chanyeol then does the unimaginable. he’s tilting his head, steadily devouring yifan deepdeepdeep and deeper. not only that, chanyeol is also increasing his speed, catching yifan off guard because of the powerful prickling sensation coming from chanyeol’s hollowed cheeks and puckered lips. as chanyeol spreads yifan’s legs wider, he swallows more the rest of yifan’s length, his hot breath is tingling yifan’s cock.
yifan swears the head of his cock is already hitting the back of chanyeol’s throat, but chanyeol doesn’t show any sign of stopping.
that’s bad.
“s-st―” yifan tries to warn chanyeol but he’s not coherent enough to form an intelligible sentence. he tries to stop thrusting his hips back to the temptation. he tries to tug chanyeol’s hair but his hand is frozen, hopeless. in the end, yifan can only sit there, vaguely confirming how fucking good chanyeol’s mouth feels with his apparently greedy cock; for it plunges deep deep deeper until the head is twisted down right to chanyeol’s esophagus, unceremoniously confronting chanyeol’s gag reflex―and after one, two, three times coughing and heaving, with a very loud retch, chanyeol pukes his stale brown, liquid-ish dinner all over yifan’s crotch.
(chanyeol’s vomit doesn’t smell like pomegranate.)
time stands still. yifan manages to breathe through his mouth, because he can’t really bear the horrible scent. but he can still sniff the lingering stench, and it’s no good for his supposedly tough, adult image either. yifan looks down to chanyeol on the floor, still situated in between his knees right in front of his flaccid cock. chanyeol has a hand covering his face, the gooey remnant of his humiliation is dripping from the tiny gaps of his fingers.
“chanyeol-ah?” yifan asks with a faraway voice.
no response. not even a blink. yifan is only convinced that chanyeol is breathing from the timid movement of chanyeol’s cute nostrils.
“chanyeol-ah? are you alright?” yifan shifts his ass, but grimaces when chanyeol’s warm, liquid-ish vomit is sticking and squelching against his skin. he touches chanyeol’s left bicep, but chanyeol flinches violently, dragging his body until he hits the lockers with a painful bang.
and then chanyeol is shaking his head, his uncharacteristically dead eyes are wide and wild and confused and he looks so fucking young and sad when he screams at the top of his lungs that he’s supposed to be good―that,
i’m supposed to make him come―
and yifan instantly knows they’re back to square one.
a/n 4:
i also like to pull a cruel joke.
* that’s the hint for my second xingdae shit of 2013 fic (hopefully) *
rating: NC-17.
summary: the title is a paradox.
previous: i / ii
author notes: 5, 539 words of pure desire, lust, and thex (no penetration no cry). fuck sorry lame joke. anyway.
it’s been three months. you can demand me hey-ted-fucking-update-pls via tumblr you know? like, you appearing in my tumblr’s inbox is a mood booster for me. somehow. trooollololololololo. but seriously, do it.
a/n 2: the sole purpose of me updating a chapter with 10239010 word count was because i wanted to feel the hype of showing off the 1903109901 word count on the author note section. how shallow of me trooololollo. fuck the hype. i’m not doing it anymore.
a/n 3: meaning, average will have more chapters with probably lesser word count.
this also means, average is still far from the end.
so thank you very much for waiting, thank you for keeping up with my snail pace, thank you for commenting, reblogging, pimping the hell out of average on twitter (you can link me the pimping tweet troolololololool), thank you for being a krisyeol shipper, and thank you for your awesome tags on tumblr. thank you. enjoy.
the days are passing by like a blur. yixing is hiding something from him,* as he doesn’t try to pry anything from yifan on monday and declines yifan’s offer to go to their favorite bar on wednesday.
yifan is pretty sure his restlessness is showing that he actually can’t wait for yixing to be the best friend of the year; asking impatiently and patting his back and giving him some uncanny some thoughtful advices because this time, if yixing would ever finally do the honor, yifan swears to himself will tell his best friend e
v
e
r
y
t
h
i
n
g.
but yixing just picks him up, eats lunch with him, drives him home, and never scowls at his ugly purple circles underneath his eyes. now that yifan thinks about it, huh. if only yixing knew the cause of his current state is the one and only person in the whole world he had accused hotly together with lu han. it’s funny, sort of, because when chanyeol really did something quite damaging to yifan’s whole system, yixing doesn’t even notice. which is not yixing’s fault at all, of course. it’s not like yifan is going to boast about his problem (so chanyeol is a problem now?), nor he’s going to bask in yixing’s friendly pity.
it’s evil to label his young neighbor as ‘problem’, but the dream was so vivid. though it wasn’t sexual at all. which is weird. because yifan is not supposed to feel anything. yet he woke up embarrassed as hell, not understanding why did he dream about chanyeol in the first place, and has been left in a desperate need for relief. he doesn’t have the gut to call the beautiful woman from before, he thinks if yixing is the one pouring more alcohol to his loneliness he would be brave enough to call her or to pick a random stranger who’s willing to play pretend for one night.
(he hasn’t seen amber ever since they broke up. not that yifan is going to seek anything from the tomboy girl. in fact, without a doubt, he will act like an awkward turtle by himself while amber will just punch his chest or his arm as a cool greeting. right. lu han is busy with a new project he doesn’t saunter to yifan’s desk to give him the ultimate daily praise for his handsomeness. not that yifan actually considers to talk about it to his supervisor, no, god. it’s just that. it’s seems like the closest people of his life are slipping away from him, and he’s got nothing to blame but the bad timing and his luck.
yifan doesn’t think it’s wise to talk about it to yoona either, now that she thinks he has a new ‘girlfriend’ and certainly not when her wedding is just weeks away. yifan can’t exactly, openly, talk about his dangerously strong infatuation for a nineteen year old boy to his parents. not with the added fact that he dreamt about chanyeol on his parents’ house, where he got the awakening about what, or who, he wants. it’s embarrassing to say the least, like when yifan entered puberty and fantasized about women on his childhood room, behind closed door and turned off lights.)
today is thursday, by the way. yifan drags his legs to run to the waiting elevator. inside, there’s a young mother with her twin daughters dressed in matching barbie bath robes. yifan presses the 5 button and sees that they’re just going back from the indoor swimming pool on the east wing. the tiny girl with blue swimming cap is looking at him with astonishment. yifan tries to smile, and when he does, it’s the mother who is blushing; hiding her face with a big white towel.
the elevator arrives on his floor. he bows to the mother slightly before he steps out, and the twins are waving at him cutely. as he jiggles the keys on his thumb, yifan remembers the indoor swimming pool is opened everyday, from nine in the morning until nine in the afternoon. right now it’s just a little bit after six. yifan thinks he’s going swimming later on, after he cooks the last seafood ramyun cup for dinner. it’s been awhile since the last time yifan practiced his rusty backstroke. yifan actually likes to swim because he will get a fulfilling deep sleep afterwards, but swimming requires minimum clothing and his half naked body plus a bunch of curious eyes equal let me just stay home and enjoy my beer, yoona-yah.
well.
▲ ▼
yifan is on his fourth lap, giving up on his once elegant backstroke because his eyes are already droopy from exhaustion. it’s really been awhile. or maybe he’s just getting older. the pool is empty because nobody is sane enough to swim after dinner. but still it doesn’t help him to enjoy the privileged swimming session without having to endure people’s stare. ah, this rarity shouldn’t be a waste. yifan decides to go two more laps. the weather has been nice since the beginning of the week. maybe he’ll commute tomorrow if the weather stays the same.
(yifan doesn’t know that it’s possible to smile underwater.)
he finally touches the tile wall and emerges and nearly gets a heart attack because chanyeol is crouching above him, hugging his knees and smil―no, beaming―while he shouts,
“jesus christ!!!”
“nope, just chanyeol.” the boy keeps his sunshine-y radiant smile and asks with a casual tone like he didn’t just appear out of nowhere and shocked the hell out of our main protagonist, “i didn’t know you’re a christian, ahjusshi.”
yifan is panting harshly, clutching his left chest and having a coughing fit. he waves his free hand at chanyeol as a sign to wait and chanyeol is chuckling, apologizing; jumping into the water to stroke yifan’s slippery back with a genuine attempt to ease yifan’s misery and a hint of something else that can be perceived as dangerous.
or maybe that’s just yifan’s wishful thinking wanting.
but chanyeol’s warm breath spreading on his ear and neck is like a challenging question whether he’s in or not on their a whole new different level of mindgame.
“ahjusshi are you okay?”
yifan tries to swallow but his throat is dry. it hurts when he coughs but he manages a nod as he moves backward to create a distance.
chanyeol’s face becomes unreadable but then he’s smiling again when he asks,
“were you a pro, ahjusshi? you swim like nobody else.”
yifan snorts, “yeah?” and wipes the chlorine off of his face. when he takes a good look at the idol he blurts out, “what happened to your hair?”
chanyeol picks a lock of his no longer caramel colored but dark brunette hair, blows his cheeks, and explains with a tone that yifan knows he has to respond carefully or else he will be the sole loser of their whole new different level of mindgame, “the scriptwriter told me to change the hair color. and then he told me to trim it shorter. my character is a delinquent, ahjusshi, and the scriptwriter said a delinquent can’t be pretty.”
delinquent?
“ah, your new drama.” yifan nods. “i see.”
“do you like it?” that’s the cue. be wise, wu yifan.
“of course,” not. i don’t know what to say. that haircut doesn’t suit you? i prefer you looking pretty?
(maybe that’s just yifan’s selfish opinion speaking the truth.)
“you look...manlier.” it pains yifan to admit what the haircut does to chanyeol.
“really, ahjusshi?” there. the sneaky innocence that makes yifan feel guilty of his wrongdoing; lying is wrong. but stupidly succumbed to chanyeol’s whole new different level of mindgame is also wrong.
“is that okay?” chanyeol continues, still with the heavy innocence from his voice and body language; those eyes are sparkling.
“why would be manlier not okay?” yifan asks back, and chanyeol scoffs, the sparks on his eyes are gone in a matter of second. chanyeol gets up to sit on the coping, successfully distracting yifan’s alerted mind―mustapologizemustapolo―thanks to those long, smooth, fleshy thighs and nicely shaped bare knees and not too hairy legs.
chanyeol is wearing a bright red speedo. he has developing abs. his nipples are cute as buttons. his collarbones are delicious. ahhh...what a slender neck. can i wrap my gigantic hand there and not killing him?
yifan blinks when he meets chanyeol’s darker than ever eyes.
“w-why are you here, chanyeol-ah?” he shudders, but way too timid to get out of the water for some obvious reasons.
“i’ve never been here before.”
“right. you kind of just moved.”
chanyeol points his pretty toes like a ballerina and paddles the water like a little child learning to swim, while his fingernails are turning white as they hold the edge of the coping. “so is this how you spend your time, ahjusshi? instead of watching dramas on TV you’re here. swimming. alone. aren’t you scared?”
“of what?”
“unless you tell me your fears, then...ghosts?”
“fine. fair enough.”
“so you’re not scared.”
“of ghosts?”
“duh.”
“well if it helps, you scared the shit out of me, chanyeol-ah. congratulations, i guess.”
yifan watches in awe how the tight lines of chanyeol’s chapped, pink lips are slowly dissolving into the most stunning smile in the history of wu yifan’s encounter with human being; how chanyeol’s cheeks are stretched widely showing off the cute dimple on his left cheek and how those doe eyes are almost childish, blindly believing everything yifan says about him. he didn’t lie, he was scared shitless, but to think that admitting it can coax such scenery. huh. how easy. yifan is shameless enough to admit he’s got the right to feel conceited of whatever repercussion his average being has for park chanyeol.
he flexes his tense shoulders.
“you were hilarious too, ahjusshi. i never thought you could shout like that. it was sooooo loud!” chanyeol is giggling. he’s back.
“like i said, you scared me okay?” yifan chuckles and decides it won’t do him any harm to keep his eyes on chanyeol’s beautiful face. at least if chanyeol started to whine he’d have an excuse that he’s just trying to get used to the haircut. yifan has always been suspicious that chanyeol secretly likes it when he’s the one doing the staring. and yifan does dig in chanyeol’s uncharacteristic bashful response, anyway. not that chanyeol is the first male to look flustered all thanks to his sharp, hawk-like, sometimes a little bit too intense staring but still. it’s park chanyeol; everything about him is supposed to be deemed different.
chanyeol sniffs, crosses his arms and looks away. the tip of his now visible right ear is reddened. damn you scriptwriter-sshi, demanding chanyeol to get a short haircut. but oh, what a cutely shaped ear, though. he’s reminded that chanyeol does have an elf-like ears. yifan has legolas the movie version on his mind.
smiling, yifan calls chanyeol’s name, intending to ask more about the new drama. but at the sharp intake of breath coming from the said boy, he can’t help the uncomfortable pause because...is that...what he thinks it is or is he just over-romanticizing about what he wants to see thus he distorts the reality?
“chanyeol-ah,” this time chanyeol turns his head away and yifan is familiar with that look whenever sehun visits him every weekend. fuck. he might be wearing that look himself whenever he has a chance to meet with yoona, because he doesn’t even need a mirror to understand that he always misses his ex-wife.
but the big question is, why would chanyeol miss him? unless it is really what he thinks it is. but. but they’re currently playing their whole new different level mindgame, right? how should yifan know that chanyeol’s been suffering because they didn’t see each other last weekend when he had stayed on his parents’ house? what if chanyeol wasn’t? what’s going to happen if yifan assumed wrongly and chanyeol is indeed, missing him like the moon misses the sun? will chanyeol yell at him again if he got it all wrong? will chanyeol surprise him with another episode of his tantrum? what would be his standpoint to such destructive but predictable pattern? will he stay as chanyeol’s lame ahjusshi or will he take the matter to his hand and teach chanyeol that he’s getting tired of their mindgame(s)? how would he teach chanyeol, then? who is he to teach the boy anything about roughly playing with another person’s feeling when he failed amber’s?
fuck.
“ahjusshi,” chanyeol splays his cold fingers to yifan’s numb face; his voice is wry, smaller than a whisper. “ahjusshi, just kiss me already.”
fu―
it stings when their teeth collide. their noses are bumping and chanyeol’s jawline is too-smooth-for-a-growing-teenager on yifan’s impatient, gigantic, and shaking hands. his blunt nails are scraping chanyeol’s skin amidst their furious lip-locking, and yifan is actually afraid he’s going to crush chanyeol’s skull into pieces.
yifan starts to falter, slowing down, not wanting to leave bruises on an idol’s most prominent asset but chanyeol is grunting―equally impatient―he’s surging forward to clutch at yifan’s tapered nape and jumping back into the water again, his eyes are closed and his head is already tilted to the side to deepen their kiss.
(yifan finds himself is so surprised―annoyed?―that chanyeol is a good kisser.)
chanyeol flicks out his tongue, does a quick swipe around yifan’s lips before he sucks yifan’s tongue to his mouth, moaning encouragingly at yifan to take what he willingly gives. chanyeol tastes like milk and cereal and smells like the ever so familiar pomegranate juice.
using the water’s flow to force their bodies getting closer than possible, chanyeol is tiptoeing, stepping on yifan’s wrinkly toes, delivering electricity and not physical pain as yifan sways to hold his stance.
yifan nips at chanyeol’s bottom lip as his hands travel lower to graze chanyeol’s slender, pulsing neck; his thumbs are careful on chanyeol’s collarbones. chanyeol makes another encouraging high-pitched moan when yifan takes over the aggressiveness by grabbing chanyeol’s wrists and pushes him back against the tile wall, pinning his hands there, pressing their crotches to trap chanyeol so he can attack the inside of chanyeol’s too-smooth-for-a-growing-teenager jawline.
yifan bites. he sinks his teeth deeper when chanyeol’s whole body jerks. he bites, licks, gnaws at chanyeol’s left earlobe, lost into the sensation because his brainless dick is gradually responding to chanyeol’s unconscious rubbing down there. god, chanyeol has a dick. he’s way too solid against yifan’s arms; doesn’t even possess a woman’s soft angles. but jesus, does the friction feel good. their dicks are aligning like lock and key together, so fucking fitting, and even chanyeol’s mildly turned on face is a work of art.
yifan can’t―won’t―take his eyes off of how chanyeol’s slender neck is facing the ceiling, his adam’s apple bobbing with every bit of yifan’s daring thrusts. chanyeol mewls like he can’t take it anymore when yifan presses his thumbs to chanyeol’s jutting hipbones, but of course chanyeol will never fail to surprise yifan because he’s whispering,
“more.”
“shit.” yifan curses at the red blinking dot of the security cam, which is placed right on top of the pool’s entrance. from that angle, it’s possible the rotating device would catch them making out like a pair of exhibitionist freaks. yifan is not sure if there’s a written restriction on showing public display of affection, but engaging in a homosexuality affair with a famous, nineteen year old male idol is not exactly favorable to whoever it is on the night guarding shift; surveilling the scene. goddamn.
gathering all of his willpower, yifan stops his eager rutting. now he can identify shame seeping in to his morality’s compos mentis. he’s supposed―expected―to be the cool-headed one in their rel―
chanyeol is clawing at his cold shoulders, frowning, glaring at him, as if he’s accusing yifan for not giving his all to win their whole new different level of mindgame―like yifan is wasting his generosity to win it.
“ahjussh―”
“go to the changing room. there’s a security cam around. or maybe more. go. i’ll follow closely behind.”
(maybe the glint from chanyeol’s dark eyes appears because he hates it when his whining is interrupted, and yifan just did.
or maybe, according to yifan’s wishful thinking, the glint from chanyeol’s dark eyes appears because he’s pleasantly surprised that yifan―his lame ahjusshi―is capable to be a real adult, ordering him around.)
chanyeol splashes yifan’s face before he hurries to climb up. yifan wipes the water off of his face just in time to witness how chanyeol’s knees are shaking as the boy speed-walks to the changing room. he smirks at the sight, allowing himself to feel the burst of smug accomplishment. he surely takes the lead on their whole new different level mindgame, nevermind whether it’s true or not that chanyeol is letting him to win it.
yifan counts to one hundred. then he waits some more, mainly to calm his excited dick and his poundpoundpounding heart. he chooses to take his time by swimming to the ladder on the other side of the pool, and when he’s standing up straight, this why are you so naive? who says chanyeol would wait for you on the changing room? and even if he does wait, what are you going to do? what do you want to do? paranoia hits him like a ton of bricks.
suddenly, yifan is running.
and crashes into the object of his paranoid brain, who doesn’t waste time to hold onto him tightly so they won’t fall off to the floor; who inhales the crook of yifan’s neck like he doesn’t have any intention to let go. the heels of chanyeol’s feet are crushing yifan’s toes again, and yifan lets him.
“what took you so long?” chanyeol is hugging him even tighter. “i thought y-you left, ahjusshi. please don’t make me wait anymore.”
they’re a couple of yards away from the changing room, and as much as yifan wants to ravish chanyeol’s pink, girly lips right there and then, the blinking red dot compels him to retreat; away and hidden from the artificial eyes.
yifan sneaks both of his arms under chanyeol’s armpits and chanyeol, confused, goes pliant when yifan struggles to walk them to the changing room.
“i’m sorry,” yifan says when he locks eyes with his own reflection on the mirror’s wash basins. he looks so fucking dangerous.
“i’m sorry i made you wait, chanyeol-ah.”
chanyeol sighs dreamily and disentangles his body. he tugs yifan’s left wrist, guides him to sit on the wooden benches, and then he plops down on yifan’s lap; planting his legs on either side of yifan’s waist, and because the wooden benches are large enough, he settles his ass there, in the small space between yifan’s thighs.
they reach out at the same time; yifan’s hands on chanyeol’s wide hips and chanyeol’s fingers on yifan’s face. the lighting on the changing room is much brighter and it illuminates chanyeol’s dark brunette hair up to the point that yifan thinks he can make peace with the damned scriptwriter. chanyeol’s beauty is just that ethereal.
chanyeol is looking down at him with his cleverly concealed emotions while oozing out the honest turmoil of a teenager in...is it love, though? maybe not yet, but yifan is done not taking chanyeol’s feeling seriously because pretending to be blind is useless. pretending to diss it as a teenager’s-natural-experimentation-to-walk-the-other-lane means he’s pretending to be blind to chanyeol’s misery; to chanyeol’s hot and cold, pull and push tendency―to those adorable (or almost desperate?) attempts to fit in to yifan’s adult liking―to chanyeol’s cruel defense mechanism or more known as his tiring mindgames. he drives chanyeol to the edge, and it’s time to make an extreme maneuver back.
at that somehow wondrous moment of revelation, yifan decides he’s had enough of using his imprinted ‘lame ahjusshi next door’ persona that he exploits to pretend he doesn’t understand what’s going on between them all along.
(his lust-filled monologue seems sane enough?)
chanyeol pokes his index finger on the space between yifan’s furrowed eyebrows, smiling prettily but shyly when he asks, “ahjusshi, what are you thinking about? don’t you want to kiss me again?”
yifan smirks at the über cuteness and bites chanyeol’s palm, pressing it back to his face.
“i’m taking it slow, chanyeol-ah.”
“why?”
“just because.”
“i-i don’t want it slow.”
“i’m thirty two years old.”
“oh my god,” chanyeol rolls his eyes, “kiss me, really! do i have to beg?”
“good idea.” it’s yifan’s turn to laugh because those beautiful, doe eyes are widened in sheer aversion of such thing. “what? you said so yourself.”
“not cool.” chanyeol scrunches his nose and huffs, making a motion like he’s going to leave. but tonight yifan is not having any of the adorable pull and push tendency and manhandles chanyeol back to his lap, kissing chanyeol’s lips deeply with a clear implication that he’s in charge, that he wants this.
that he, too, misses chanyeol because they didn’t have their weekly get together session last weekend.
(it’s really not healthy how much yifan enjoys their obnoxious lips smacking when they pull apart.)
“did you miss me?” he bluntly asks.
“you have no idea.” chanyeol licks his lips and leans in to kiss him again.
“why didn’t you text or call me?” yifan asks to chanyeol’s warm mouth, his eyes are closed, his hands fit perfectly on the dimples on chanyeol’s back.
“why didn’t you, ahjusshi?”
yifan snorts, admitting a defeat. he looks into chanyeol’s uncharacteristically bashful eyes rather teasingly, and chanyeol uses his hands to blind yifan. chuckling, yifan nuzzles his nose to the soft palms. he sucks the heel of chanyeol’s left palm, licks it and drags his tongue to the thin wrist, pressing his lips against the rhythmical throbbing of the arteries behind the pale skin. when chanyeol squirms because yifan is pulling him closer by the waist, yifan’s fingers naturally slip down into the waistband of chanyeol’s red speedo, earning him a handful of chanyeol’s ass. what stops yifan from exploring is how chanyeol inhales a shaky breath, seemingly alerted by the accidental touch.
“i’m-i’m sorry!” yifan jumps, nearly sending chanyeol to the ground.
but chanyeol holds on, and he doesn’t give yifan a time to panic when suddenly he slithers down to his knees, tracing his fingers all the way from yifan’s face to yifan’s neck, chest, his toned stomach, and chanyeol’s hands are quick to rub calming motions on the inside of yifan’s damp thighs when he’s right there.
kneeling on the cold tiles.
keeping a very intense eye contact with yifan when he swiftly moves his hands to yifan’s crotch, applying the right amount of pressure to yifan’s barely calmed down dick.
fu―
“fuck.”
chanyeol is fucking smiling.
“that’s hot,” the nineteen year old confesses, his voice is indifferent. “when you curse, that is.”
yifan is not growling. he’s definitely not anticipating it when chanyeol cups his right hand to his crotch, fondling with his balls. yifan wears dark swimming trunks and he’s not sure if he should undo the lace or leave it for chanyeol to worry about.
“is this―is this legal?”
“shut up, ahjusshi.”
“but i’m thirteen years your senior.”
“i hate math.”
the crown of chanyeol’s head looks like it’s surrounded by a halo from this angle. his protruding vertebrae are the sexiest thing yifan can compare to a woman’s breasts.
yifan is half hard now.
and chanyeol is exposing his cock to the cold temperature of the changing room, his swimming trunks are yanked down to his calves. usually yifan is never insecure about his size, but he never has a male partner either. he can only hope that chanyeol’s sudden silence as the younger boy stares at his cock is an approving kind of silence.
chanyeol grips the length with a surprising confidence yifan has to bites his knuckles to prevent embarrassing noise coming out from his, well, he’s been desperate for days, remember?
“can i have a taste, ahjusshi?” chanyeol asks with a hint of eager tone. his stroking method is to yifan’s liking as he continues, “your penis is just―” chanyeol licks his swollen lips, “―so perfect.”
yifan blushes. that doesn’t happen. wu yifan doesn’t blush. but he does, because of a comment about his apparently perfect cock. perfect. jesus fucking christ. yifan nearly kicks chanyeol in the head when chanyeol gives the leaking tip a kittenish, experimental lick.
“hmmm,” chanyeol hums, licking a wide stripe now, swirling his tongue to the slit. “nnngh, you’re so big, ahjusshi. jang sajangnim and taewoo hyung were nothing...”
wha―
chanyeol, probably out of habit, tucks a strand of way too short hair behind his ear before he opens his mouth wide. he engulfs the head of yifan’s cock with his hot lips, his teeth are grazing the popped veins as he takes more of yifan’s length; his thick tongue acts as an aid to ease the slow process, his mouth is slick and velvety. when chanyeol swallows because he’s at his limit, yifan moans. and his moan is causing chanyeol to moan, and yifan hastily grabs chanyeol’s hair because it’s too much.
chanyeol lets yifan steering him away from his cock and chanyeol is still fucking smiling. his swollen lips are glistening when he looks up and yifan finally feels the sting of his own teeth’s indents on his knuckles.
“yum,” chanyeol comments, doesn’t wait for yifan to throw a lame response as he licks yifan’s balls and then sucking them like a very enthusiastic first timer. probably. he mentioned two names for fuck’s sake.
yifan growls for no apparent reason. his cock is fully hard as rock now. he still has one hand on chanyeol’s hair, but he’s not pulling chanyeol away because he needs more. the hand just stays there, unmoving, not encouraging nor holding chanyeol back. chanyeol shifts on his knees to move even closer, his eyes are closed and his hair is tickling yifan’s stomach. chanyeol hollows his cheeks briefly before he glances up at yifan one more time, as a warning of what’s to come.
yifan bites his bottom lip when chanyeol actually sucks his cock instead of just putting it into his mouth. it’s his body’s turn to jerk helplessly as chanyeol carefully devouring the length further and further and further and chanyeol’s swallowing motion is only tightening his slender throat around yifan’s cock. one of the perks of having an honest-to-god nine inches cock is almost none of his sexual partners could deepthroat him. not that yifan expects anything from chanyeol’s cocksucking skill, no, but true to his prediction, it’s not long before the tip of his cock hits the back of chanyeol’s slender throat.
chanyeol’s moan sounds like he’s hurting, and yifan grabs chanyeol’s hair to pull his cock out. his cock is getting red and purple when it slaps his stomach, with more precum leaking.
“s-sorry,” yifan says at the sight of chanyeol’s watery eyes.
“you and your stupid apology...” chanyeol mumbles the insult, but he’s not fooling anybody. it’s clear that he’s the one insulted by yifan’s concerned remark.
his following, “i can do it, okay?” it’s like he’s stating, ahjusshi, your cock isn’t the first. no need to apologize.
chanyeol, yifan just notices, is flushing prettily; his face, neck, and chest are painted in some cute, different shades of pink. yifan glances down and finds a noticeable tent forming against chanyeol’s red speedo. well fuck. he’s not ready to give chanyeol a blowjob whatsoever.
“ahjusshi,” chanyeol looks calmed down already. he puts his hand on top of yifan’s, squeezing it. “i want you to fuck my mouth,” he makes sure yifan’s grip on his hair is not hesitating. “let me make you cum,” his face is dead serious yifan dumbly succumbs to―
is this part of their new different level of mindgame? because yifan is losing spectacularly.
yifan is using his other hand to stroke his cock, just briefly, because chanyeol flicks out his tongue in a dirty fashion. yifan loosens his grip on chanyeol’s hair only to grasp more silky strands so he can guide chanyeol’s head more precisely. he teases the head of his cock to chanyeol’s awaiting tongue, spurting a shot of precum. chanyeol swallows it, and then he looks up as he opens his mouth wider than before.
yifan sighs when chanyeol’s tongue is welcoming the underside of his cock. chanyeol rolls his tongue, swiping and dripping yifan’s cock with his saliva while his left hand is stroking the rest of the length and his right hand is palming his own erection. yifan watches the way chanyeol reacts wantonly to such minuscule ministration and he forces himself to close his eyes, or else he’ll have way too graphic images of chanyeol spread out on his bed on apartment number 505, wantonly reacting to his every touch, wantonly arching and begging yifan to fuck him harderfasterharder. the average time for a man to reach orgasm is in about eight minutes. yifan is still far from his eight minutes.
determined to make the best of his first ever boy-blowjob, or maybe he’s just fucking horny, yifan moves his hips gently, in and out in and out in and out and chanyeol, sucking yifan’s cock like he would a sweet treat, hums to encourage him after a few thrusts. yifan leans back, resting his upper body’s weight to his left arm. it’s all natural for him to set a pace.
yifan is starting to feel it. the itch on his toes, the shiver running on his spine, the cloud in his already foggy brain.
chanyeol can suck a fucking cock, that’s for sure.
chanyeol holds yifan’s inner thighs, his sweaty palms are rubbing them; persuading them to let yifan’s whole body to relax. yifan likes how it is different to have his cock throbbing inside a pliable mouth; there’s still some space left―because when his throbbing cock is inside another channel, probably all thanks to his size, he always feels suffocated. it’s just a different kind of pleasure, to have his cock sucked, to feel the cocksucker’s tongue massaging the length, to be able to adjust the velvety heat surrounding him to his liking.
“ah...” yifan breathes. “yeah, just like that.”
chanyeol then does the unimaginable. he’s tilting his head, steadily devouring yifan deepdeepdeep and deeper. not only that, chanyeol is also increasing his speed, catching yifan off guard because of the powerful prickling sensation coming from chanyeol’s hollowed cheeks and puckered lips. as chanyeol spreads yifan’s legs wider, he swallows more the rest of yifan’s length, his hot breath is tingling yifan’s cock.
yifan swears the head of his cock is already hitting the back of chanyeol’s throat, but chanyeol doesn’t show any sign of stopping.
that’s bad.
“s-st―” yifan tries to warn chanyeol but he’s not coherent enough to form an intelligible sentence. he tries to stop thrusting his hips back to the temptation. he tries to tug chanyeol’s hair but his hand is frozen, hopeless. in the end, yifan can only sit there, vaguely confirming how fucking good chanyeol’s mouth feels with his apparently greedy cock; for it plunges deep deep deeper until the head is twisted down right to chanyeol’s esophagus, unceremoniously confronting chanyeol’s gag reflex―and after one, two, three times coughing and heaving, with a very loud retch, chanyeol pukes his stale brown, liquid-ish dinner all over yifan’s crotch.
(chanyeol’s vomit doesn’t smell like pomegranate.)
time stands still. yifan manages to breathe through his mouth, because he can’t really bear the horrible scent. but he can still sniff the lingering stench, and it’s no good for his supposedly tough, adult image either. yifan looks down to chanyeol on the floor, still situated in between his knees right in front of his flaccid cock. chanyeol has a hand covering his face, the gooey remnant of his humiliation is dripping from the tiny gaps of his fingers.
“chanyeol-ah?” yifan asks with a faraway voice.
no response. not even a blink. yifan is only convinced that chanyeol is breathing from the timid movement of chanyeol’s cute nostrils.
“chanyeol-ah? are you alright?” yifan shifts his ass, but grimaces when chanyeol’s warm, liquid-ish vomit is sticking and squelching against his skin. he touches chanyeol’s left bicep, but chanyeol flinches violently, dragging his body until he hits the lockers with a painful bang.
and then chanyeol is shaking his head, his uncharacteristically dead eyes are wide and wild and confused and he looks so fucking young and sad when he screams at the top of his lungs that he’s supposed to be good―that,
i’m supposed to make him come―
and yifan instantly knows they’re back to square one.
a/n 4:
i also like to pull a cruel joke.
* that’s the hint for my second xingdae shit of 2013 fic (hopefully) *