[oneshot] got 'em open all over town
Title: got 'em open all over town
Pairing: baekhyun/everyone
Rating: nc17
Genre: pwp
Warnings: swearing, sex
Author: gdgdbaby
Notes: god. i just. YOU KNEW THIS WAS COMING. (coming. heh.) predebut baekhyun dominating everyone, that's it, that's the fic. thanks to this gif for inspiration. 7,280 words.
It's not like Baekhyun consciously set out to have sex with every single one of his bandmates. He's just always been taught to strive for the absolute best in any situation, rain or shine-find the silver lining when things are bad and push for more, sunny smile in hand, when they're good. When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. When a recruiting rep snatches you off the streets and tells you to audition for SM, go for it. When the circumstances surround you with hot people, do the logical thing.
Baekhyun shares a dorm with five other guys, is in the same group as six more: sexually frustrated teenagers and horny twentysomethings with no one else but their hands. When the opportunity presents itself, he takes it. That's all.
Naturally, Chanyeol is first.
It all comes to a head several months after Baekhyun moves in. He's firmly established in the day-to-day routine of dance practice and voice lessons by then, throat itching from belting lines out in the studio, perspiration drenching his shirt translucent in front of mirrored walls. He stays two hours longer than everyone else in the afternoons so Jaewon can correct his missteps and microexpressions. Eventually, the gruff you've got a lot of catching up to do morphs into a kind of reluctant admiration at how quickly Baekhyun assimilates everything, how fast he learns to move his body with adept grace.
Jaewon lets him go early one night, which is what does it. Walking in on your roommate getting off to his own computer screen kind of hits every branch of the cliché tree on the way down, but Baekhyun doesn't mind.
"Jesus fuck," Chanyeol gasps, voice thick with arousal. He tries to hook his boxers back over his erection and slam his laptop screen down at the same time, but only succeeds in accidentally pulling his earbuds out of their jack. A high-pitched sigh filters out through the speakers, accompanied by the wet slap of skin on skin. Chanyeol flushes. "Can you-knock before you come in?"
Baekhyun shuts the door behind him, turns the lock. "No," he says, tapping a finger to his chin and tilting his head to the side. "I don't think I will."
"What-" he squawks, but Baekhyun's already pressing a knee into Chanyeol's mattress, leaning forward to kiss him as it dips.
The computer slides off his lap. Baekhyun can still hear the exaggerated moaning as he reaches down to palm Chanyeol's dick, and his lips curve up. "Need a hand?"
Chanyeol bucks up into his hand, eyes wide and just a little assessing now that the initial embarrassment's over with, like he's waiting to see how far Baekhyun's going to take this.
Baekhyun likes Chanyeol, of course. They've only known each other for less than half a year, but he's a good friend and fantastic company, all drily astute judgments and stupid gags and self-absorbed good humor, gangly limbs that he doesn't know what to do with half the time. Baekhyun strokes his hand up from the base of Chanyeol's cock to twist his fingers around the head of it and Chanyeol nearly knocks the lamp on the cabinet over with an errant elbow. "Hold still," Baekhyun says, amused, and climbs up to perch on Chanyeol's thighs, knees framing the hard bone of his hips. He grabs Chanyeol's wrists in a hand and pins them loosely against his stomach.
"Come on," Chanyeol demands, voice breaking on the last word. Baekhyun just laughs and goes slow enough that Chanyeol's breath comes out in little whimpered pants, a low groan ripped out of him when Baekhyun curls his spine in and drags his tongue carefully across the slit, precum salty and bitter in his mouth.
Baekhyun goes faster near the end just to hear him moan. The porn video's still playing in the background, and the girl in it shrieks that she's going to come just as Chanyeol does, all over the bottom of his sleep shirt, abdomen tensed up tight and hands straining in Baekhyun's grip.
Baekhyun runs a fingertip through the mess on his shirt and pops it into his mouth, grins when Chanyeol stares at him.
"Haven't eaten dinner yet," he says, waggling his eyebrows. Chanyeol snorts loudly and stretches his arms back into the headboard before pulling his pants up. His eyes droop beneath the long lashes.
Baekhyun shifts off him and grabs a change of clothes for a shower, jacks off under the warm spray thinking about the weight of Chanyeol's dick in his hand, the rough tenor of his voice.
By the time he gets back, Chanyeol's conked out on his bed, eyelids fluttering. Baekhyun uses a tissue to wipe the drying cum off his shirt as best he can, shuts Chanyeol's laptop and slides it onto the bedside table. Idiot, he thinks, shaking his wet hair out and folding himself into his own blankets, but he can't wipe the smile off his face.
Kris voluntarily stays late on particularly dance-heavy days, trying to train his body into new rounds of choreography. The others meander out in twos and threes when they're dismissed, and Jaewon beckons to Baekhyun so they can work one-on-one. Kris bobs his head in his corner of the practice room, earphones jammed in, and follows the steps on his own.
One night in August, they finish at the same time and walk out of HQ together. Kris casts Baekhyun a sidelong glance before tugging him toward the tiny café falling off the corner of the street and sitting him down in one of the booths. He comes back with two lattes and several pastries stacked high on a large tray, apple tart already hanging out of his mouth.
"Hyung, is this a date?" Baekhyun asks, grinning.
Kris rolls his eyes. "I don't like eating alone," he mumbles around the tart.
Baekhyun sips at the foam of his latte and stretches his feet out on the opposite bench, Kris's leg pressing warm against his ankle. "Fair enough."
They make quick work of the pastries; Baekhyun'd skipped lunch in lieu of more practice today, and all he had for breakfast was a couple of mouthfuls of piping hot congee. Kris talks about rapping practice with Zitao, which is enjoyable, and struggling to find the right steps with two left feet, which is much less so, and Baekhyun hums in commiseration. There's something soothing about the way Kris talks, bumbling but earnest. Baekhyun's content to listen.
The sun's dipped down below the horizon by the time they leave, trudging the rest of the way back. The sky casts a faint mauve color over everything. Kris walks him to the door of the K dorm and Baekhyun's mouth lifts at the corners. "A true gentleman," he teases, hand held solemnly to his chest.
Kris shakes his head, laughing. He scratches at the back of his neck.
"Would you like to come in?" Baekhyun continues, holding the door open, hip cocked. "Chanyeol's out with Kyungsoo."
Kris raises his eyebrows.
Alright, so maybe it is a little bit Baekhyun's fault. If he doesn't offer these things in the first place, there's no proposition to accept. It's just that-he enjoys being liked and liking other people in return, and what better way to show that if not in word than in deed?
Kris's cock, he finds, is as big as his hands might suggest, long and slightly curved to the left when it's fully erect. Baekhyun chokes when he tries to take it all into his mouth the first time, gag reflex kicking in. He settles for wrapping his hand around the base of it and licking sloppily instead. He flicks his eyes up to watch Kris sprawl out across his sheets, hair fanning out over Baekhyun's pillows.
Baekhyun rears back, an obscene line of spit trailing from his bottom lip to the tip of Kris's dick. He tucks two fingers in his mouth and sucks. Kris's breath hitches as Baekhyun shucks his jeans and briefs the rest of the way, but he doesn't protest when Baekhyun slips a hand around to finger Kris's asshole. If anything, his erection gets harder, heavy and solid against Baekhyun's tongue and the roof of his mouth.
Kris tries to pull out when he's about to come but Baekhyun anchors him to the bed, arm levered across his waist. Streaks of semen hit the back of Baekhyun's throat and make him cough around Kris's softening dick, and he lets it glide out with a wet pop.
Baekhyun swallows thickly and licks his lips. It's less bitter than he's used to, but still good. He smiles with his teeth and Kris lets out a long breath, tugs his pants back up.
"Thank you?" he tries. Baekhyun chuckles hoarsely into his palm.
"Don't mention it," he says, and sees Kris to the door.
They start recording for full-length tracks in late September, which means holing up for hours on end in the studio and repeating lyrics into the condenser mics until the producers say they're pitch perfect. During the intermittent breaks between long stretches of more of the same, Baekhyun usually shoots the shit with whoever's there that day with him-sometimes Joonmyun, who folds his legs underneath himself on the couch in the back and talks about how excited he is to debut, or Sehun, who goes on about his friends at school and the latest chapter of One Piece.
Most of the time, though, Baekhyun overlaps with Kyungsoo, hitting complementary notes with him in alternating turns. They're waiting for Chanyeol to finish his rap verse so they can record the chorus again, but something about Kyungsoo's off today-he can't stop drumming his fingers against his legs, and the soles of his feet tap a quick staccato against the wheels of his swivel chair.
"Hey," Baekhyun calls to the ajusshi at the mixer, grabbing Kyungsoo's arm. "We're going to the bathroom, be right back." The guy waves them out.
Baekhyun leads them into one of the less-frequented bathrooms on the second floor, two halls down from the dance practice rooms. He can hear the faint sound of My Lady's instrumental backtrack reverberating through the walls as they push inside. Kyungsoo splashes water in his face at the sink.
"You okay?"
"Didn't sleep well last night," Kyungsoo says, sighing into his trembling hands. "Jongin had a fever. I think I had too much caffeine in the morning."
"Oh," Baekhyun says, frowning. "I can help you with that, I think."
Kyungsoo stares at him. "With what?"
"The excess energy," he says, and gently steers Kyungsoo toward one of the stalls in the back.
This is how Kyungsoo ends up propped on the seat of the toilet with his pants pooled around his ankles, the curve of his spine braced hard against the tank, Baekhyun's hands lazily stroking his hard-on. Kyungsoo, it turns out, really enjoys kissing. Or maybe it's the boost from the caffeine giving him the extra enthusiasm he needs, because he can't stop sucking on Baekhyun's tongue, hands grabbing at the fabric of Baekhyun's hoodie to pull him in closer.
Baekhyun tugs a lubed condom out of his back pocket-he'd started keeping one there just in case, since Kris. Kyungsoo sends him another wide-eyed look as Baekhyun unbuttons his jeans and rolls it down the length of his cock. "Never know when you might need one," he says breezily, and Kyungsoo seems too eager for it, really, to inquire further.
He spits on his hand and slicks his fingers in the minimal lube before tracing a finger against Kyungsoo's asshole and pushing in. Kyungsoo's head cracks against the wall when he tosses it back. He inhales sharply, fingers clenching. Baekhyun winces in sympathy but Kyungsoo doesn't seem to care, just rocks down on the finger as Baekhyun crooks it.
With Kyungsoo it's all hushed urgency and disarray-they have a recording session to get back to, and a tiny bathroom stall doesn't provide much more than minimal comfort and privacy. When Baekhyun slides himself all the way in, Kyungsoo opens up beautifully beneath him. He muffles his moan with Baekhyun's shoulder and hooks his legs around Baekhyun's waist, heels knocking against the small of Baekhyun's back.
Kyungsoo tries for Baekhyun's mouth but misses spectacularly. His lips land on the column of Baekhyun's neck instead, and Baekhyun shivers at the contact, hypersensitivity shooting desire straight down to his dick. He comes with his nose crushed into Kyungsoo's hair, a warm tongue tracing his jugular as Baekhyun breathes in the faint smell of shampoo. He winds a hand around Kyungsoo's erection and jerks him off the rest of the way, watches Kyungsoo's eyes flutter shut, teeth biting down on his bottom lip to stifle the high whine that threatens to spill out of his mouth.
They're adjusting their clothing in the mirror when Jongin barges in, sweaty and tired from practice.
"Are you feeling better?" Kyungsoo asks, and Jongin nods, reaching for the paper towel dispenser.
Baekhyun glances at Kyungsoo's hands; they aren't shaking anymore. He gives the two of them a jaunty wave, makes a microphone motion that Kyungsoo probably misinterprets as blowjob miming, and slips out the door.
Jongdae's easy to talk to in the way it's easy to relate to anyone who also appreciates the satisfaction of a well-placed, snappy comeback (usually at Chanyeol's expense) or a similarly well-placed high note. It helps too that they'd both arrived late in the trainee game and subsequently picked things up together. "You're almost as good as I am," Jongdae says during vocal training, eyes crinkling with his grin.
"Sorry your dancing's still subpar," Baekhyun shoots back.
Jongdae grimaces, brushing a hand over his heart. "A palpable hit."
His voice really is lovely, though-anyone with ears could tell you that-and on days where they don't have anywhere else to be, Baekhyun edges over to the piano in the corner of the soundproof practice rooms and taps out easy arpeggios for both of them to sing to, Pearl Jam and Oasis and acoustic versions of Michael Jackson's entire oeuvre.
Jongdae's squeezed in close along Baekhyun's side, crooning the opening lines to Dear Prudence some time in October when Baekhyun leans over and shuts him up with a kiss, hands sliding off the keyboard to encircle Jongdae's wrists instead. They fuck on the piano bench, notes ringing out in cacophonous discord as Jongdae's back and elbows bang into the keyboard. The angle's awkward as hell and the legs of the bench rattle ominously, but the leather rubs Jongdae's ass a pretty pink. He shudders when Baekhyun flattens a hand over the skin there, fingertips digging in with curious intent.
Jongdae comes with a startled shout that hits at least the first A# above middle C, his knees tucked over Baekhyun's shoulders, bent in half between Baekhyun's torso and the piano. "If only you were this flexible during dance practice," Baekhyun says forlornly, and dodges the irritated slap Jongdae aims at his head with a loud cackle.
It's good that everyone seems to be accepting this at face value. Baekhyun'd had friends in high school that went a little weird after he fooled around with them a couple of times, like the idea of sleeping with someone and still remaining friends was unnatural.
Baekhyun's never really considered sex some sort of all-encompassing event horizon. It felt good, and it made other people feel good, and could be, of course, a conduit for further emotional exploration-but Baekhyun's twenty years old. He likes being able to push someone else into bed and wake up the next morning carrying on like they always have: trading insults with Jongdae, flirting circuitously with Kris, kicking Chanyeol out of their room when he complains about how hot it is. Simple.
Lu Han's favorite soccer buddy flits abroad with SHINee the entire latter half of the year, rapping for audiences in Paris and London and New York City, so Baekhyun ends up unofficially filling the void Minho leaves behind. Baekhyun's always enjoyed soccer, fancied himself the next Park Jisung once upon a time, and Lu Han is just the kind of wily, angel-faced wise-guy that reminds him of middle school weeknights spent sneaking out to kick a ball around in the streets with his friends.
Lu Han's a slender wisp of a person but he talks big and loud, especially during matches. Baekhyun enjoys rooting for whichever team's playing against Manchester United just to tick him off, watch him curse casually at the television in M's dorm and slip into lividMandarin when shit gets really bad.
Yixing floats out sometimes to join them, makes amused faces at Lu Han's wild mop of hair when he hops up and starts yelling at the screen. "It's two in the fucking morning," Yixing says in accented Korean, sharing a look with Baekhyun over Lu Han's head. "Kris is going to come out and drag you to bed if you don't stop making so much noise."
"I'm sorry," Lu Han drawls, "I'll shut up when Rooney gets off his ass and-" He leaps to his feet as they make an attempt on goal, but Joe Hart bats it away easily. Lu Han scrubs a hand over his face, cursing under his breath. "Jesus, this game is abysmal."
"I love Manchester City," Baekhyun says, leaning back against the sofa, and grins when Lu Han shoves at him. Yixing rolls his eyes and disappears back into their room.
Manchester United ends up losing 1-6. Lu Han collapses into the couch when the second half lurches to an end, spends five minutes sighing about it before Baekhyun climbs into his lap and covers Lu Han's mouth with his own. "This supposed to make me feel better?" Lu Han mumbles into the kiss.
"That's the idea," he replies, and unzips Lu Han's pants.
Baekhyun ends up on his knees, thumb and forefinger forming a tight ring around the base of Lu Han's cock while he sucks. He balances most of his weight into the forearms braced along Lu Han's legs and trails his tongue systematically across every bit of bare skin. The rest of the apartment's still and silent; the ticking of the wall clock rings in Baekhyun's ears as his head bobs forward. Lu Han stuffs his knuckles in his mouth to keep quiet, but Baekhyun can still feel him bucking up in increasingly desperate attempts to make him go faster.
He licks at the seam of Lu Han's thigh, from the edge of his pelvis down to where it starts arcing into the curve of his ass, and Lu Han kicks out so hard that his shin hits the coffee table.
"Please," Lu Han says, voice an entire octave lower than usual, heavy with need. A thrill of pleasure shoots up Baekhyun's spine. He scoots back, lips rubbing against the tip of Lu Han's cock, and glances up through his fringe. Lu Han groans into his fist.
"What do you want?"
A wrung-out whimper drops from between Lu Han's lips. "Please, please," he repeats, rolling his hips. "Please-let me come."
Baekhyun licks a solid stripe up the underside of his erection and Lu Han claps his palm against his mouth, eyes clenched shut. A few more long sucks and Lu Han looks like he's about to thrum out of his own skin, drawing in long sobs of breath that wheeze back out hot and wet.
He swallows Lu Han whole one last time, nose bumping against the hair curled at the base of Lu Han's dick, before loosening his hand. Lu Han's entire torso ricochets off the couch as he comes, fingers sinking into Baekhyun's hair and pulling hard. Baekhyun rides it out, tongue massaging circles down his cock as it softens in his mouth.
Lu Han blinks slowly as Baekhyun straightens up, smacking his lips around the taste of semen. "Better?" he asks, grinning and gesturing at the muted television still flashing reruns of the game.
"Maybe just a little bit," Lu Han says grudgingly, but he's grinning, too.
It's hard to remember, sometimes, that Sehun's been trying to do this since he was twelve. When Baekhyun was twelve, he'd wanted to be a writer, or an astronaut, or a soccer player. The singing came much later, and even then it was only a hobby for the longest time, something to pull out for late night noraebang runs or the school band.
Sehun, on the other hand, is already intimately familiar with most of the ins and outs of idol life, has been training for five years by now-but he's also the kid that tugs on their shirtsleeves and whines for food, drops sarcastic comments during dance practice and tries to pout his way out of the repercussions. The worst kind of dongsaeng, Baekhyun thinks fondly, mashing a hand into Sehun's damp bangs and laughing at the irate expressions he can't keep from popping on his face. For all his workplace experience, he's still just a teenager.
"I'm not a child," Sehun mutters, ducking out from Baekhyun's ruffling.
"And yet," Baekhyun points out, kicking back on the bench and watching the others stream out for lunch through the mirror, "you love it when we dote." He tosses Sehun a towel. "Dry yourself off. You look like a shaggy, wet dog."
Sehun shakes sweat out of his hair, frowning. "Can't I enjoy all the benefits of being the youngest and get rid of all the unnecessary nagging?" he asks the empty room.
"Sorry, kid," says Baekhyun. He nudges Sehun's skinny calf with his sneaker. "Comes with the package."
Baekhyun leans in to smash another towel into his face. Sehun's breath snags in his chest as Baekhyun's left leg slides against Sehun's right.
Baekhyun raises his eyebrows. "What's up?"
"It's nothing," Sehun says, too quickly. Baekhyun glances down. Sehun's wearing baggy gray sweatpants today but Baekhyun can still see the faint outline of his boner through them, an unmistakable tent in the fabric. "Um, it-happens, sometimes. Randomly. It's not-"
"You don't have to explain it to me," Baekhyun says, laughing. "We've all be there." He spits into his hand and reaches down, slips it beneath the waistband of Sehun's sweats and the elastic of his boxer-briefs. Sehun jumps, fingers clenching around Baekhyun's shirtsleeve.
"What are you-?"
"Relax," Baekhyun says, and gives Sehun's dick a slow, careful stroke.
"Shit," Sehun says. He thrusts jerkily into Baekhyun's palm, eyes narrowing as Baekhyun brushes his thumb just below the head, fingers twisting along the rest of his cock. "Hyung, this is so-"
"Gay? Really astute observation, maknae, I'm impressed." Sehun's skin flushes a faint red, pretty spots of color appearing high on his cheekbones. Baekhyun grins, his tongue sticking out from between his teeth. A hand is a hand, no matter whom it belongs to.
He keeps one eye on the door and works up a steady pace. Sehun's face drops against the crook of Baekhyun's neck, breath tickling his collarbone.
Sehun's a little too young to know how to hold anything back when these things are happening. He murmurs a steady stream of vague nothings into the air. They turn into half-formed pleas as Sehun gets closer to the edge, hips pushing up to meet Baekhyun's smooth pumps.
"Hyung," he whines, the same way he always does when he wants Baekhyun to get him kimbap or cook his meat or stop messing with his hair. One more pull and he's done, legs folding in close, chin tucked down against his own chest.
It takes him a while to catch his breath. Baekhyun's licked his hand clean by then, but Sehun's underwear must pull oddly when he shifts away because he makes a discomfited face, nose wrinkling. "Go freshen up in the bathroom," Baekhyun says drily, flicking a finger against Sehun's forehead.
Sehun rolls his eyes, flustered and out of breath, but he goes.
They start filming teasers and clips of music videos with focused intent in November. Most of them are Jongin's, routines he helped choreograph set to the bits of backtrack they've already recorded in the studio. Baekhyun's not really slated for any of them beyond a hodge-podge one he gets stuck in with Jongdae and Yixing at the last minute. At least he gets to play with the dog, a fluffy Samoyed that puts his paws up on Baekhyun's shoulders and tries to lick all his foundation off.
They spend what feels like hours waiting for the right light to film. Yixing's nice, but reserved. Perhaps he's only like that around them, though, because Baekhyun's Mandarin is still kind of terrible and Jongdae's isn't much better. Cheesing behind the cameras with Jongdae is comfortable and familiar, but Yixing spends most of their downtime on his phone, probably texting one of his Chinese bandmates about the scintillating happenings on set.
When Baekhyun leans over his shoulder to see his screen, Yixing's actually fiddling idly with his Angry Birds application, launching blue ones to knock the pigs down on the far side. He cringes in his seat and rubs a hand over his neck when Baekhyun's breath huffs against it in laughter. Sensitive there, too, he notes, and files it away for further investigation.
After shooting's finally over, they go on a late supermarket run with the managers, presumably because Jongin needs more pain patches for his shin splints and Sehun wants strawberries, among other things. Baekhyun loiters in the deserted produce section and palms mangos in his hands for firmness, tosses an apple up in the air. Grocery shopping feels utterly pedestrian in the midst of all this preparation for debut, almost slow motion in the harried flurry of everything else.
In retrospect, Baekhyun mainly does it to get some kind of reaction out of Yixing; Baekhyun's a born instigator, and sleepy-eyed Yixing's just asking to be prodded at. They're in one of the aisles scanning through different brands of gochujang when Baekhyun pushes him behind a large clearance exhibit (80% OFF, THROUGH THIS WEEKEND ONLY!!, the bright yellow sign proclaims) and latches a mouth against his neck. Yixing tenses up but otherwise doesn't move, either for fear of knocking shit off the shelves or drawing unnecessary attention from bored employees.
Yixing's dick goes half-hard against Baekhyun's knee just from neck-sucking alone. That's cute, he thinks, and pulls away with a satisfied smile. Yixing stares at him, bemused. His mouth twists when Baekhyun licks his lips.
In the van, Baekhyun and Jongdae chatter about the upcoming Diablo III and Chanyeol's hapless escapades in leveling up his Orc hunter in World of Warcraft. Yixing stays quiet the entire ride, tapping his foot against the back of Baekhyun's seat.
Jongdae takes the elevator up with the managers first, so he can lord his level fifty Night Elf rogue over Chanyeol's head for as long as possible. Baekhyun rides with Yixing, who leads him into his decidedly MMORPG-free room in M's dorm.
"Lu Han's out with Minseok-hyung," Yixing says in lilting Korean, shutting the door behind him. It's all the explanation Baekhyun really needs to tip him into bed and go to town.
Yixing's got erogenous zones in other places, too: the soft skin behind his knee, for instance, and the stretch of toned muscle right above his hipbone. He apparently also keeps lube in a bedside drawer, which Baekhyun cocks an eyebrow at before moving on to more important things, like how to make Yixing gasp with a flick of his tongue or a well-timed graze of Baekhyun's slick finger against his asshole.
"I'm not actually-" he murmurs, when Baekhyun rolls a condom on and drops an open-mouthed kiss against the knob of Yixing's knee. "I haven't-"
"That's okay," Baekhyun says, the corner of his mouth curling up. "I'll make it good for you." Which is a terrible line, but Yixing doesn't seem too torn up about it.
There's something about learning a new body that fills Baekhyun with a sort of giddy enthusiasm, especially when he's given the opportunity to take his time. Different strokes for different folks is, of course, the time-honored cliché here-but it's true. Kyungsoo likes it rough and fast. Chanyeol's more into casual dick sucking when Baekhyun snaps and beckons. With Sehun, it's always quick handjobs en route to somewhere else, as if doing it outside the sanctity of the bedroom somehow makes it less real.
Baekhyun approaches the mechanics of sex the way he approaches any other acquired skill set, as something to be experienced and enjoyed and cultivated. He catalogues the way Yixing arches his back and makes soft keening noises when Baekhyun runs his hands all over his body, presses sloppy kisses against his neck over and over again. Practice, he thinks, rolling his hips and hitting Yixing's prostate, makes perfect.
They go out for barbecue and noraebang on Chanyeol's birthday, stuff their faces with samgyupsal and shriek truly terrible lines into the reverb mics because they don't have to sound good here, not for this. Jongdae gets him Warcraft time credits and Joonmyun buys him his first legal bottle of soju, complete with lemon slice on the side. "Wow," Chanyeol says after a long sip, wide-eyed with affected innocence, like he's never had this shit before.
Baekhyun still reeks of grease by the time they get back to the dorm, tired and happy. He elbows Kyungsoo out of the way (grins at the rude gesture he's flashed) and showers first, traces curlicues into the steamed up glass as he waits for the conditioner to set.
"You didn't get me anything," Chanyeol notes when Baekhyun drifts back into their room, toweling his hair dry.
He purses his lips and pretends to consider this. Then: "I figured publically announcing your right to a free blowjob or whatever would be a little tasteless," he says at last, and Chanyeol's face does that thing where it goes lopsided when he laughs, nose scrunching in. Baekhyun shoves him back against the bed and goes to work.
Joonmyun's default setting is worry, and Baekhyun's not sure if it'll make him a good leader, but it does make him a good hyung. "Is there a difference?" Joonmyun asks, when Baekhyun voices the thought aloud. They're sitting at the corner café for the third time this week, because Joonmyun enjoys taking the rest of them out on impromptu dates and Baekhyun's always been pretty big on free food and the kind of calm company Joonmyun provides.
Baekhyun shrugs. "Listen," he says, "sometimes you just have to let things go. Learn how to pick your battles. You can't possibly look after everyone all the time. I'm afraid you might spontaneously combust."
Joonmyun laughs and twirls the straw in his iced mocha.
"Like-don't you ever get tired?"
"Of course I do," he says, quiet resignation in the slump of his shoulders and the lift of his mouth, "but what else do I have?"
"Tenacity," Baekhyun insists, brow furrowing as he watches Joonmyun shrink into himself. "Compassion, thoughtfulness-hyung, you're one of the best people I know, helicopter parenting and all."
Joonmyun drains the rest of his drink. "I honestly wasn't fishing."
"And I didn't say it just to be nice," he returns, folding his arms across his chest, inexplicably testy. "You are good," he says, which also means you are wanted-and it's not until Baekhyun's pushing pleasure into the dips and planes of his flesh that Joonmyun seems like he might believe it.
Baekhyun isn't nearly conceited enough to think that anything he's doing is earth-shatteringly reaffirming. (Almost, maybe, but not quite.) Joonmyun's been here the longest out of any of them, held out for six years as he's waited. This is only a reminder-sometimes, what you need is a warm body to hold you down and tell you things as they are, slip truths into the crease of an elbow, along the nape of your neck. Baekhyun goes slow with him: sucks dark bruises into his chest and licks warmth into his mouth, eases in and out at an almost lethargic pace, thighs quivering from exertion by the end.
Joonmyun drops a kiss on his chin after Baekhyun's cleaned both of them up.
"Thank you," he says, still trying to catch his breath.
Baekhyun brushes his hand over Joonmyun's temple and just says, "You need taking care of, too, you know?"
He spends the last weeks leading up to the New Year dozing off in Mandarin crash courses with a regular rotation of the others, struggling to read through practice workbooks filled with incomprehensible characters and sound out the right tones. Minseok sits across from him during their classes. Baekhyun and Jongdae take turns making stupid faces at him to stay awake, ridiculous expressions that have Minseok muffling laughter into his palm.
"There has to be an easier way to learn this shit," Baekhyun moans during dance practice. Kris only chuckles in sympathy. "No, I'm serious. You're the whiz kid with languages."
"Try going to local school in China for a month," Kris says unhelpfully. "I'm sure you'd pick things up fast."
"We don't have a month to spare," he points out.
"Sing songs in Chinese," Zitao suggests haltingly, and Baekhyun would kiss him if he weren't too busy beating himself up for being an idiot and not thinking of it first. "That's what I do with Korean."
This is how he and Minseok end up in a practice room blasting Yixing's Wang Lee Hom CDs a couple of nights before New Year's Eve. It seems as natural a progression as any to go from singing about kissing to actually doing it. Minseok feels really fucking good underneath him. His hands wander, too: they rub circles into Baekhyun's scalp as Baekhyun thrusts his erection between Minseok's smooth thighs, delicious friction sliding down the hard length of it as his hips cant forward.
Baekhyun licks his hand and wraps it around Minseok's dick, pulls gently. Minseok swallows around his quiet gasp and sucks his cheeks in, teeth worrying at his lower lip as Baekhyun jerks him off, Baekhyun's fingers tracing meticulous lines along Minseok's erection.
In the morning, their teacher starts a two-day review on body parts and their corresponding descriptors. "It'll be important for when you're asked ideal type questions on varieties," she says severely. Baekhyun waggles his brows across the table and grins at the way the tips of Minseok's ears turn red.
These days, the only time Jongin doesn't seem exhausted is when he's in the middle of a routine, rehearsing endlessly with the rest of them or working on his solo choreo. He's the face of almost every teaser, which means the opportunities he gets to leave the dorm unseen are slim to none by mid-January. Kyungsoo and Joonmyun take turns going out on the occasional late night FamilyMart run for food and amenities, and they're both gone tonight when Jongin steps out of the shower, box of pain patches in hand.
"Can you-?" he tries, but lets out a jaw-cracking yawn before he can finish.
"Yeah, I got it," Baekhyun says. He puts his laptop down on the coffee table and follows Jongin into his room.
Jongin lies down on his stomach and rucks his shirt up, hair dripping into his pillow. Baekhyun unpeels the first pain patch, nose wrinkling at the smell, and leans down to smooth it over the base of Jongin's spine. Jongin hisses a little at the contact.
Baekhyun tilts his head, concerned. "Hurts?"
"No," he mumbles sleepily. "Just tingles."
The second one goes to the right of the first, the last one to the left. Baekhyun brushes his palm against the swell of Jongin's ass as he pulls back, and Jongin sends him this slow, considering look over his shoulder.
"I was wondering when you were going to get to me, hyung," he says after a moment, all terrible teenage swagger, and Baekhyun feels his mouth twitch up at the corners.
"Sehun can't keep his mouth shut, huh?"
Jongin doesn't seem to have the desire or wherewithal to engage in particularly taxing acrobatics, but that's alright. Baekhyun turns him over and pulls his boxers down, bed bowing beneath their combined weight.
He presses his nose into the juncture of Jongin's thigh, where it meets his torso. Jongin smells like sharp soap and bitter medicine, the sheets rustling beneath him as he squirms. Baekhyun bends Jongin's knees and spreads his legs out, shifts down to flick his tongue experimentally against the pucker of Jongin's asshole. He grins when the kid yelps.
"Hyung-what are you-"
"Hold still," Baekhyun commands, and Jongin falls into dazed silence.
It doesn't last for long. Baekhyun slides his tongue as far inside as it'll go and strokes Jongin's dick to full hardness, and Jongin has to use the back of his hand to muffle the choked cry that's ripped out of his mouth. Baekhyun works his asshole until it's slick with saliva and every suck sounds lewd and wet, a dull flush creeping over Jongin's entire body.
"Turn over," he says sweetly, and Jongin manages it with Herculean effort, braces himself on all fours. Baekhyun kneels at the edge of the mattress and stretches Jongin wide with his thumbs, stabs his tongue inside.
Baekhyun can tell just when he hits Jongin's prostate, because his arms give out in front of him and his hips jerk erratically, like he isn't sure whether to press forward into the hands on his dick or fuck himself back into Baekhyun's mouth. Jongin turns his face into his damp pillow and groans as Baekhyun licks him open. His own erection throbs to life and he straddles the bed, grinding against it.
Jongin drenches Baekhyun's hands with cum and shudders through his orgasm. Baekhyun wipes the drool off his chin with his sleeve and sits back on his heels, pleased.
"God," Jongin mumbles, scowling at his sweaty shirt. "Now I have to shower again, hyung."
Baekhyun rolls his eyes. Such drama. "Nah," he says, and skips out for a wet towel to wipe him clean with.
When he returns, Jongin reaches down almost shyly to cup Baekhyun through his pants. It's pretty adorable, and Jongin fumbles with his dick and pulls harder than necessary, but he presses a tentative kiss against Baekhyun's neck and Baekhyun comes with a long sigh, straining back against the headboard, spine pulled taut like a bowstring.
It takes him a while to realize Zitao's the only one he hasn't touched yet. Not that Baekhyun hasn't thought about it before-Zitao's tall and wiry and broad-shouldered, and seems like he'd be unbelievably earnest in bed. He just hasn't really had the chance to pursue it, what with Zitao's parade of Chinese hyungs dominating his time and the Sudden Attack marathons Baekhyun's started embarking on with Chanyeol to decompress after practice.
He finally manages to catch Zitao alone one night in February, loitering around the HQ lobby after hours, headphones popped over his ears. Baekhyun runs a hand through his sweaty hair and waves, is rewarded a slow, catlike smile in return. "Were you waiting for me?" he asks, and Zitao nods.
"Stayed late for rap, anyway," he explains with a vague gesture toward the stairs.
"Can you be our maknae instead?" Baekhyun asks, linking their arms and striding out the door. Zitao laughs. "Sehun's cute and all, but you're the only one who's well-behaved."
"Well-behaved," Zitao repeats, turning the word over in his mouth. "That all I'm good for?"
"Don't fish," Baekhyun snorts. "It's unbecoming."
"Yes, hyung," he chimes, voice pitched high so it'd come across angelic if Baekhyun didn't know any better. He snorts again.
They take the elevator up together, arms still linked, and Baekhyun tugs him out on K's floor. He reaches up and runs a thumb beneath Zitao's eyelid, smudges the makeup. "Hey, teach me how to do eyeliner like yours," he says, grinning. Zitao raises his eyebrows but follows him inside.
Baekhyun locks the bathroom door behind them and hops up on the edge of the sink. Zitao shrugs his backpack off and pulls liquid liner out. "Close your eyes," he says, and Baekhyun shuts them.
"How am I supposed to learn if you're doing it for me?" he asks, and Zitao's chuckle lands close to his ear as he leans in to draw on the top lid. Baekhyun inhales quickly as the cool gel hits his skin.
"Have to see what it looks like first," Zitao says, abdomen pressing up against Baekhyun's knees. "Okay, open. Look up."
Baekhyun counts dots on the ceiling as Zitao traces the pen along his bottom lid.
"Done."
He twists around to look in the mirror and sees honest-to-God raccoon eyes blinking back at him. "Oh my God," he says, trying to rub it off, and Zitao starts cracking up behind him. "You are such a shit." Baekhyun launches himself off the counter and Zitao collapses against the bathroom rug, still laughing, Baekhyun's fingers clenched in his shirt as Baekhyun straddles him. "I take it back. M can keep you."
"You don't mean that," Zitao says, teeth glinting in the light, and Baekhyun kisses him hard, teeth scraping against Zitao's bottom lip and tongue rubbing against the roof of his mouth. He can feel the line of Zitao's cock hardening against his leg.
Baekhyun rocks back on his heels and turns around, the lower half of his body propped over Zitao's face as he bends down to unzip Zitao's jeans.
"Hyung?"
"Keep it down, or the others will hear you," Baekhyun says. He pushes Zitao's boxers down and runs a finger from the base of his dick to the head before swallowing it to the hilt.
"Fuck," he hears Zitao mutter, head knocking back against the floor. Baekhyun smiles around the cock in his mouth and hollows his cheeks. A flimsy rug isn't nearly enough to keep his knees from aching against the linoleum tile, but Baekhyun doesn't care. A minute later, shaky hands start pulling at Baekhyun's pants and dragging them down, a mouth licking hesitantly at the tip of Baekhyun's hard-on.
There's a thump on the door. "Hey, I need to shower!" Chanyeol yells from the other side.
Baekhyun rears back. "Be right out," he calls, and bobs down again.
Zitao comes first, his fingers digging grooves into Baekhyun's thighs like they're trying to make a home there, and the heavy weight of satisfaction settles in the pit of Baekhyun's stomach. He shifts off and turns back around, kisses Zitao again so he'll be able to taste himself on Baekhyun's tongue, and lets Zitao's scrabbling hands stroke him to completion.
He runs hot water in the sink and tries to wipe the eyeliner off (to marginal success) as Zitao collects himself. Baekhyun grins as he yanks the door open; Chanyeol's standing outside tapping his foot, towel thrown over his shoulder. He blinks when he sees Zitao hovering over Baekhyun's shoulder.
Baekhyun walks him to the front door. Zitao pauses for a second at the threshold, bites his lip and drops a peck at the corner of Baekhyun's mouth before ducking into the stairwell, taking them up two at a time. Good kid, Baekhyun thinks warmly, and closes the door.
Chanyeol is still standing next to the shoe rack. He shakes his head, the expression on his face equal parts amused and incredulous. "You're fucking insatiable."
"I thought you were going to shower," Baekhyun says drily. "And besides, you love it," he points out, eyebrows rising, and grins when Chanyeol rolls his eyes and disappears into the bathroom.
fin
A/N: title from no diggity by blackstreet. because really, how could i resist???
this ridiculous thing is dedicated to all the lovely ladies on twitter who encouraged me/yelled at me/sent me relevant gifs in my times of need~*~ everything is your fault!!! i'd say i'm 100% done with porn for a while but, knowing me, that is probably a blatant lie. anon commenting, as usual, is on! ♥
Pairing: baekhyun/everyone
Rating: nc17
Genre: pwp
Warnings: swearing, sex
Author: gdgdbaby
Notes: god. i just. YOU KNEW THIS WAS COMING. (coming. heh.) predebut baekhyun dominating everyone, that's it, that's the fic. thanks to this gif for inspiration. 7,280 words.
It's not like Baekhyun consciously set out to have sex with every single one of his bandmates. He's just always been taught to strive for the absolute best in any situation, rain or shine-find the silver lining when things are bad and push for more, sunny smile in hand, when they're good. When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. When a recruiting rep snatches you off the streets and tells you to audition for SM, go for it. When the circumstances surround you with hot people, do the logical thing.
Baekhyun shares a dorm with five other guys, is in the same group as six more: sexually frustrated teenagers and horny twentysomethings with no one else but their hands. When the opportunity presents itself, he takes it. That's all.
Naturally, Chanyeol is first.
It all comes to a head several months after Baekhyun moves in. He's firmly established in the day-to-day routine of dance practice and voice lessons by then, throat itching from belting lines out in the studio, perspiration drenching his shirt translucent in front of mirrored walls. He stays two hours longer than everyone else in the afternoons so Jaewon can correct his missteps and microexpressions. Eventually, the gruff you've got a lot of catching up to do morphs into a kind of reluctant admiration at how quickly Baekhyun assimilates everything, how fast he learns to move his body with adept grace.
Jaewon lets him go early one night, which is what does it. Walking in on your roommate getting off to his own computer screen kind of hits every branch of the cliché tree on the way down, but Baekhyun doesn't mind.
"Jesus fuck," Chanyeol gasps, voice thick with arousal. He tries to hook his boxers back over his erection and slam his laptop screen down at the same time, but only succeeds in accidentally pulling his earbuds out of their jack. A high-pitched sigh filters out through the speakers, accompanied by the wet slap of skin on skin. Chanyeol flushes. "Can you-knock before you come in?"
Baekhyun shuts the door behind him, turns the lock. "No," he says, tapping a finger to his chin and tilting his head to the side. "I don't think I will."
"What-" he squawks, but Baekhyun's already pressing a knee into Chanyeol's mattress, leaning forward to kiss him as it dips.
The computer slides off his lap. Baekhyun can still hear the exaggerated moaning as he reaches down to palm Chanyeol's dick, and his lips curve up. "Need a hand?"
Chanyeol bucks up into his hand, eyes wide and just a little assessing now that the initial embarrassment's over with, like he's waiting to see how far Baekhyun's going to take this.
Baekhyun likes Chanyeol, of course. They've only known each other for less than half a year, but he's a good friend and fantastic company, all drily astute judgments and stupid gags and self-absorbed good humor, gangly limbs that he doesn't know what to do with half the time. Baekhyun strokes his hand up from the base of Chanyeol's cock to twist his fingers around the head of it and Chanyeol nearly knocks the lamp on the cabinet over with an errant elbow. "Hold still," Baekhyun says, amused, and climbs up to perch on Chanyeol's thighs, knees framing the hard bone of his hips. He grabs Chanyeol's wrists in a hand and pins them loosely against his stomach.
"Come on," Chanyeol demands, voice breaking on the last word. Baekhyun just laughs and goes slow enough that Chanyeol's breath comes out in little whimpered pants, a low groan ripped out of him when Baekhyun curls his spine in and drags his tongue carefully across the slit, precum salty and bitter in his mouth.
Baekhyun goes faster near the end just to hear him moan. The porn video's still playing in the background, and the girl in it shrieks that she's going to come just as Chanyeol does, all over the bottom of his sleep shirt, abdomen tensed up tight and hands straining in Baekhyun's grip.
Baekhyun runs a fingertip through the mess on his shirt and pops it into his mouth, grins when Chanyeol stares at him.
"Haven't eaten dinner yet," he says, waggling his eyebrows. Chanyeol snorts loudly and stretches his arms back into the headboard before pulling his pants up. His eyes droop beneath the long lashes.
Baekhyun shifts off him and grabs a change of clothes for a shower, jacks off under the warm spray thinking about the weight of Chanyeol's dick in his hand, the rough tenor of his voice.
By the time he gets back, Chanyeol's conked out on his bed, eyelids fluttering. Baekhyun uses a tissue to wipe the drying cum off his shirt as best he can, shuts Chanyeol's laptop and slides it onto the bedside table. Idiot, he thinks, shaking his wet hair out and folding himself into his own blankets, but he can't wipe the smile off his face.
Kris voluntarily stays late on particularly dance-heavy days, trying to train his body into new rounds of choreography. The others meander out in twos and threes when they're dismissed, and Jaewon beckons to Baekhyun so they can work one-on-one. Kris bobs his head in his corner of the practice room, earphones jammed in, and follows the steps on his own.
One night in August, they finish at the same time and walk out of HQ together. Kris casts Baekhyun a sidelong glance before tugging him toward the tiny café falling off the corner of the street and sitting him down in one of the booths. He comes back with two lattes and several pastries stacked high on a large tray, apple tart already hanging out of his mouth.
"Hyung, is this a date?" Baekhyun asks, grinning.
Kris rolls his eyes. "I don't like eating alone," he mumbles around the tart.
Baekhyun sips at the foam of his latte and stretches his feet out on the opposite bench, Kris's leg pressing warm against his ankle. "Fair enough."
They make quick work of the pastries; Baekhyun'd skipped lunch in lieu of more practice today, and all he had for breakfast was a couple of mouthfuls of piping hot congee. Kris talks about rapping practice with Zitao, which is enjoyable, and struggling to find the right steps with two left feet, which is much less so, and Baekhyun hums in commiseration. There's something soothing about the way Kris talks, bumbling but earnest. Baekhyun's content to listen.
The sun's dipped down below the horizon by the time they leave, trudging the rest of the way back. The sky casts a faint mauve color over everything. Kris walks him to the door of the K dorm and Baekhyun's mouth lifts at the corners. "A true gentleman," he teases, hand held solemnly to his chest.
Kris shakes his head, laughing. He scratches at the back of his neck.
"Would you like to come in?" Baekhyun continues, holding the door open, hip cocked. "Chanyeol's out with Kyungsoo."
Kris raises his eyebrows.
Alright, so maybe it is a little bit Baekhyun's fault. If he doesn't offer these things in the first place, there's no proposition to accept. It's just that-he enjoys being liked and liking other people in return, and what better way to show that if not in word than in deed?
Kris's cock, he finds, is as big as his hands might suggest, long and slightly curved to the left when it's fully erect. Baekhyun chokes when he tries to take it all into his mouth the first time, gag reflex kicking in. He settles for wrapping his hand around the base of it and licking sloppily instead. He flicks his eyes up to watch Kris sprawl out across his sheets, hair fanning out over Baekhyun's pillows.
Baekhyun rears back, an obscene line of spit trailing from his bottom lip to the tip of Kris's dick. He tucks two fingers in his mouth and sucks. Kris's breath hitches as Baekhyun shucks his jeans and briefs the rest of the way, but he doesn't protest when Baekhyun slips a hand around to finger Kris's asshole. If anything, his erection gets harder, heavy and solid against Baekhyun's tongue and the roof of his mouth.
Kris tries to pull out when he's about to come but Baekhyun anchors him to the bed, arm levered across his waist. Streaks of semen hit the back of Baekhyun's throat and make him cough around Kris's softening dick, and he lets it glide out with a wet pop.
Baekhyun swallows thickly and licks his lips. It's less bitter than he's used to, but still good. He smiles with his teeth and Kris lets out a long breath, tugs his pants back up.
"Thank you?" he tries. Baekhyun chuckles hoarsely into his palm.
"Don't mention it," he says, and sees Kris to the door.
They start recording for full-length tracks in late September, which means holing up for hours on end in the studio and repeating lyrics into the condenser mics until the producers say they're pitch perfect. During the intermittent breaks between long stretches of more of the same, Baekhyun usually shoots the shit with whoever's there that day with him-sometimes Joonmyun, who folds his legs underneath himself on the couch in the back and talks about how excited he is to debut, or Sehun, who goes on about his friends at school and the latest chapter of One Piece.
Most of the time, though, Baekhyun overlaps with Kyungsoo, hitting complementary notes with him in alternating turns. They're waiting for Chanyeol to finish his rap verse so they can record the chorus again, but something about Kyungsoo's off today-he can't stop drumming his fingers against his legs, and the soles of his feet tap a quick staccato against the wheels of his swivel chair.
"Hey," Baekhyun calls to the ajusshi at the mixer, grabbing Kyungsoo's arm. "We're going to the bathroom, be right back." The guy waves them out.
Baekhyun leads them into one of the less-frequented bathrooms on the second floor, two halls down from the dance practice rooms. He can hear the faint sound of My Lady's instrumental backtrack reverberating through the walls as they push inside. Kyungsoo splashes water in his face at the sink.
"You okay?"
"Didn't sleep well last night," Kyungsoo says, sighing into his trembling hands. "Jongin had a fever. I think I had too much caffeine in the morning."
"Oh," Baekhyun says, frowning. "I can help you with that, I think."
Kyungsoo stares at him. "With what?"
"The excess energy," he says, and gently steers Kyungsoo toward one of the stalls in the back.
This is how Kyungsoo ends up propped on the seat of the toilet with his pants pooled around his ankles, the curve of his spine braced hard against the tank, Baekhyun's hands lazily stroking his hard-on. Kyungsoo, it turns out, really enjoys kissing. Or maybe it's the boost from the caffeine giving him the extra enthusiasm he needs, because he can't stop sucking on Baekhyun's tongue, hands grabbing at the fabric of Baekhyun's hoodie to pull him in closer.
Baekhyun tugs a lubed condom out of his back pocket-he'd started keeping one there just in case, since Kris. Kyungsoo sends him another wide-eyed look as Baekhyun unbuttons his jeans and rolls it down the length of his cock. "Never know when you might need one," he says breezily, and Kyungsoo seems too eager for it, really, to inquire further.
He spits on his hand and slicks his fingers in the minimal lube before tracing a finger against Kyungsoo's asshole and pushing in. Kyungsoo's head cracks against the wall when he tosses it back. He inhales sharply, fingers clenching. Baekhyun winces in sympathy but Kyungsoo doesn't seem to care, just rocks down on the finger as Baekhyun crooks it.
With Kyungsoo it's all hushed urgency and disarray-they have a recording session to get back to, and a tiny bathroom stall doesn't provide much more than minimal comfort and privacy. When Baekhyun slides himself all the way in, Kyungsoo opens up beautifully beneath him. He muffles his moan with Baekhyun's shoulder and hooks his legs around Baekhyun's waist, heels knocking against the small of Baekhyun's back.
Kyungsoo tries for Baekhyun's mouth but misses spectacularly. His lips land on the column of Baekhyun's neck instead, and Baekhyun shivers at the contact, hypersensitivity shooting desire straight down to his dick. He comes with his nose crushed into Kyungsoo's hair, a warm tongue tracing his jugular as Baekhyun breathes in the faint smell of shampoo. He winds a hand around Kyungsoo's erection and jerks him off the rest of the way, watches Kyungsoo's eyes flutter shut, teeth biting down on his bottom lip to stifle the high whine that threatens to spill out of his mouth.
They're adjusting their clothing in the mirror when Jongin barges in, sweaty and tired from practice.
"Are you feeling better?" Kyungsoo asks, and Jongin nods, reaching for the paper towel dispenser.
Baekhyun glances at Kyungsoo's hands; they aren't shaking anymore. He gives the two of them a jaunty wave, makes a microphone motion that Kyungsoo probably misinterprets as blowjob miming, and slips out the door.
Jongdae's easy to talk to in the way it's easy to relate to anyone who also appreciates the satisfaction of a well-placed, snappy comeback (usually at Chanyeol's expense) or a similarly well-placed high note. It helps too that they'd both arrived late in the trainee game and subsequently picked things up together. "You're almost as good as I am," Jongdae says during vocal training, eyes crinkling with his grin.
"Sorry your dancing's still subpar," Baekhyun shoots back.
Jongdae grimaces, brushing a hand over his heart. "A palpable hit."
His voice really is lovely, though-anyone with ears could tell you that-and on days where they don't have anywhere else to be, Baekhyun edges over to the piano in the corner of the soundproof practice rooms and taps out easy arpeggios for both of them to sing to, Pearl Jam and Oasis and acoustic versions of Michael Jackson's entire oeuvre.
Jongdae's squeezed in close along Baekhyun's side, crooning the opening lines to Dear Prudence some time in October when Baekhyun leans over and shuts him up with a kiss, hands sliding off the keyboard to encircle Jongdae's wrists instead. They fuck on the piano bench, notes ringing out in cacophonous discord as Jongdae's back and elbows bang into the keyboard. The angle's awkward as hell and the legs of the bench rattle ominously, but the leather rubs Jongdae's ass a pretty pink. He shudders when Baekhyun flattens a hand over the skin there, fingertips digging in with curious intent.
Jongdae comes with a startled shout that hits at least the first A# above middle C, his knees tucked over Baekhyun's shoulders, bent in half between Baekhyun's torso and the piano. "If only you were this flexible during dance practice," Baekhyun says forlornly, and dodges the irritated slap Jongdae aims at his head with a loud cackle.
It's good that everyone seems to be accepting this at face value. Baekhyun'd had friends in high school that went a little weird after he fooled around with them a couple of times, like the idea of sleeping with someone and still remaining friends was unnatural.
Baekhyun's never really considered sex some sort of all-encompassing event horizon. It felt good, and it made other people feel good, and could be, of course, a conduit for further emotional exploration-but Baekhyun's twenty years old. He likes being able to push someone else into bed and wake up the next morning carrying on like they always have: trading insults with Jongdae, flirting circuitously with Kris, kicking Chanyeol out of their room when he complains about how hot it is. Simple.
Lu Han's favorite soccer buddy flits abroad with SHINee the entire latter half of the year, rapping for audiences in Paris and London and New York City, so Baekhyun ends up unofficially filling the void Minho leaves behind. Baekhyun's always enjoyed soccer, fancied himself the next Park Jisung once upon a time, and Lu Han is just the kind of wily, angel-faced wise-guy that reminds him of middle school weeknights spent sneaking out to kick a ball around in the streets with his friends.
Lu Han's a slender wisp of a person but he talks big and loud, especially during matches. Baekhyun enjoys rooting for whichever team's playing against Manchester United just to tick him off, watch him curse casually at the television in M's dorm and slip into lividMandarin when shit gets really bad.
Yixing floats out sometimes to join them, makes amused faces at Lu Han's wild mop of hair when he hops up and starts yelling at the screen. "It's two in the fucking morning," Yixing says in accented Korean, sharing a look with Baekhyun over Lu Han's head. "Kris is going to come out and drag you to bed if you don't stop making so much noise."
"I'm sorry," Lu Han drawls, "I'll shut up when Rooney gets off his ass and-" He leaps to his feet as they make an attempt on goal, but Joe Hart bats it away easily. Lu Han scrubs a hand over his face, cursing under his breath. "Jesus, this game is abysmal."
"I love Manchester City," Baekhyun says, leaning back against the sofa, and grins when Lu Han shoves at him. Yixing rolls his eyes and disappears back into their room.
Manchester United ends up losing 1-6. Lu Han collapses into the couch when the second half lurches to an end, spends five minutes sighing about it before Baekhyun climbs into his lap and covers Lu Han's mouth with his own. "This supposed to make me feel better?" Lu Han mumbles into the kiss.
"That's the idea," he replies, and unzips Lu Han's pants.
Baekhyun ends up on his knees, thumb and forefinger forming a tight ring around the base of Lu Han's cock while he sucks. He balances most of his weight into the forearms braced along Lu Han's legs and trails his tongue systematically across every bit of bare skin. The rest of the apartment's still and silent; the ticking of the wall clock rings in Baekhyun's ears as his head bobs forward. Lu Han stuffs his knuckles in his mouth to keep quiet, but Baekhyun can still feel him bucking up in increasingly desperate attempts to make him go faster.
He licks at the seam of Lu Han's thigh, from the edge of his pelvis down to where it starts arcing into the curve of his ass, and Lu Han kicks out so hard that his shin hits the coffee table.
"Please," Lu Han says, voice an entire octave lower than usual, heavy with need. A thrill of pleasure shoots up Baekhyun's spine. He scoots back, lips rubbing against the tip of Lu Han's cock, and glances up through his fringe. Lu Han groans into his fist.
"What do you want?"
A wrung-out whimper drops from between Lu Han's lips. "Please, please," he repeats, rolling his hips. "Please-let me come."
Baekhyun licks a solid stripe up the underside of his erection and Lu Han claps his palm against his mouth, eyes clenched shut. A few more long sucks and Lu Han looks like he's about to thrum out of his own skin, drawing in long sobs of breath that wheeze back out hot and wet.
He swallows Lu Han whole one last time, nose bumping against the hair curled at the base of Lu Han's dick, before loosening his hand. Lu Han's entire torso ricochets off the couch as he comes, fingers sinking into Baekhyun's hair and pulling hard. Baekhyun rides it out, tongue massaging circles down his cock as it softens in his mouth.
Lu Han blinks slowly as Baekhyun straightens up, smacking his lips around the taste of semen. "Better?" he asks, grinning and gesturing at the muted television still flashing reruns of the game.
"Maybe just a little bit," Lu Han says grudgingly, but he's grinning, too.
It's hard to remember, sometimes, that Sehun's been trying to do this since he was twelve. When Baekhyun was twelve, he'd wanted to be a writer, or an astronaut, or a soccer player. The singing came much later, and even then it was only a hobby for the longest time, something to pull out for late night noraebang runs or the school band.
Sehun, on the other hand, is already intimately familiar with most of the ins and outs of idol life, has been training for five years by now-but he's also the kid that tugs on their shirtsleeves and whines for food, drops sarcastic comments during dance practice and tries to pout his way out of the repercussions. The worst kind of dongsaeng, Baekhyun thinks fondly, mashing a hand into Sehun's damp bangs and laughing at the irate expressions he can't keep from popping on his face. For all his workplace experience, he's still just a teenager.
"I'm not a child," Sehun mutters, ducking out from Baekhyun's ruffling.
"And yet," Baekhyun points out, kicking back on the bench and watching the others stream out for lunch through the mirror, "you love it when we dote." He tosses Sehun a towel. "Dry yourself off. You look like a shaggy, wet dog."
Sehun shakes sweat out of his hair, frowning. "Can't I enjoy all the benefits of being the youngest and get rid of all the unnecessary nagging?" he asks the empty room.
"Sorry, kid," says Baekhyun. He nudges Sehun's skinny calf with his sneaker. "Comes with the package."
Baekhyun leans in to smash another towel into his face. Sehun's breath snags in his chest as Baekhyun's left leg slides against Sehun's right.
Baekhyun raises his eyebrows. "What's up?"
"It's nothing," Sehun says, too quickly. Baekhyun glances down. Sehun's wearing baggy gray sweatpants today but Baekhyun can still see the faint outline of his boner through them, an unmistakable tent in the fabric. "Um, it-happens, sometimes. Randomly. It's not-"
"You don't have to explain it to me," Baekhyun says, laughing. "We've all be there." He spits into his hand and reaches down, slips it beneath the waistband of Sehun's sweats and the elastic of his boxer-briefs. Sehun jumps, fingers clenching around Baekhyun's shirtsleeve.
"What are you-?"
"Relax," Baekhyun says, and gives Sehun's dick a slow, careful stroke.
"Shit," Sehun says. He thrusts jerkily into Baekhyun's palm, eyes narrowing as Baekhyun brushes his thumb just below the head, fingers twisting along the rest of his cock. "Hyung, this is so-"
"Gay? Really astute observation, maknae, I'm impressed." Sehun's skin flushes a faint red, pretty spots of color appearing high on his cheekbones. Baekhyun grins, his tongue sticking out from between his teeth. A hand is a hand, no matter whom it belongs to.
He keeps one eye on the door and works up a steady pace. Sehun's face drops against the crook of Baekhyun's neck, breath tickling his collarbone.
Sehun's a little too young to know how to hold anything back when these things are happening. He murmurs a steady stream of vague nothings into the air. They turn into half-formed pleas as Sehun gets closer to the edge, hips pushing up to meet Baekhyun's smooth pumps.
"Hyung," he whines, the same way he always does when he wants Baekhyun to get him kimbap or cook his meat or stop messing with his hair. One more pull and he's done, legs folding in close, chin tucked down against his own chest.
It takes him a while to catch his breath. Baekhyun's licked his hand clean by then, but Sehun's underwear must pull oddly when he shifts away because he makes a discomfited face, nose wrinkling. "Go freshen up in the bathroom," Baekhyun says drily, flicking a finger against Sehun's forehead.
Sehun rolls his eyes, flustered and out of breath, but he goes.
They start filming teasers and clips of music videos with focused intent in November. Most of them are Jongin's, routines he helped choreograph set to the bits of backtrack they've already recorded in the studio. Baekhyun's not really slated for any of them beyond a hodge-podge one he gets stuck in with Jongdae and Yixing at the last minute. At least he gets to play with the dog, a fluffy Samoyed that puts his paws up on Baekhyun's shoulders and tries to lick all his foundation off.
They spend what feels like hours waiting for the right light to film. Yixing's nice, but reserved. Perhaps he's only like that around them, though, because Baekhyun's Mandarin is still kind of terrible and Jongdae's isn't much better. Cheesing behind the cameras with Jongdae is comfortable and familiar, but Yixing spends most of their downtime on his phone, probably texting one of his Chinese bandmates about the scintillating happenings on set.
When Baekhyun leans over his shoulder to see his screen, Yixing's actually fiddling idly with his Angry Birds application, launching blue ones to knock the pigs down on the far side. He cringes in his seat and rubs a hand over his neck when Baekhyun's breath huffs against it in laughter. Sensitive there, too, he notes, and files it away for further investigation.
After shooting's finally over, they go on a late supermarket run with the managers, presumably because Jongin needs more pain patches for his shin splints and Sehun wants strawberries, among other things. Baekhyun loiters in the deserted produce section and palms mangos in his hands for firmness, tosses an apple up in the air. Grocery shopping feels utterly pedestrian in the midst of all this preparation for debut, almost slow motion in the harried flurry of everything else.
In retrospect, Baekhyun mainly does it to get some kind of reaction out of Yixing; Baekhyun's a born instigator, and sleepy-eyed Yixing's just asking to be prodded at. They're in one of the aisles scanning through different brands of gochujang when Baekhyun pushes him behind a large clearance exhibit (80% OFF, THROUGH THIS WEEKEND ONLY!!, the bright yellow sign proclaims) and latches a mouth against his neck. Yixing tenses up but otherwise doesn't move, either for fear of knocking shit off the shelves or drawing unnecessary attention from bored employees.
Yixing's dick goes half-hard against Baekhyun's knee just from neck-sucking alone. That's cute, he thinks, and pulls away with a satisfied smile. Yixing stares at him, bemused. His mouth twists when Baekhyun licks his lips.
In the van, Baekhyun and Jongdae chatter about the upcoming Diablo III and Chanyeol's hapless escapades in leveling up his Orc hunter in World of Warcraft. Yixing stays quiet the entire ride, tapping his foot against the back of Baekhyun's seat.
Jongdae takes the elevator up with the managers first, so he can lord his level fifty Night Elf rogue over Chanyeol's head for as long as possible. Baekhyun rides with Yixing, who leads him into his decidedly MMORPG-free room in M's dorm.
"Lu Han's out with Minseok-hyung," Yixing says in lilting Korean, shutting the door behind him. It's all the explanation Baekhyun really needs to tip him into bed and go to town.
Yixing's got erogenous zones in other places, too: the soft skin behind his knee, for instance, and the stretch of toned muscle right above his hipbone. He apparently also keeps lube in a bedside drawer, which Baekhyun cocks an eyebrow at before moving on to more important things, like how to make Yixing gasp with a flick of his tongue or a well-timed graze of Baekhyun's slick finger against his asshole.
"I'm not actually-" he murmurs, when Baekhyun rolls a condom on and drops an open-mouthed kiss against the knob of Yixing's knee. "I haven't-"
"That's okay," Baekhyun says, the corner of his mouth curling up. "I'll make it good for you." Which is a terrible line, but Yixing doesn't seem too torn up about it.
There's something about learning a new body that fills Baekhyun with a sort of giddy enthusiasm, especially when he's given the opportunity to take his time. Different strokes for different folks is, of course, the time-honored cliché here-but it's true. Kyungsoo likes it rough and fast. Chanyeol's more into casual dick sucking when Baekhyun snaps and beckons. With Sehun, it's always quick handjobs en route to somewhere else, as if doing it outside the sanctity of the bedroom somehow makes it less real.
Baekhyun approaches the mechanics of sex the way he approaches any other acquired skill set, as something to be experienced and enjoyed and cultivated. He catalogues the way Yixing arches his back and makes soft keening noises when Baekhyun runs his hands all over his body, presses sloppy kisses against his neck over and over again. Practice, he thinks, rolling his hips and hitting Yixing's prostate, makes perfect.
They go out for barbecue and noraebang on Chanyeol's birthday, stuff their faces with samgyupsal and shriek truly terrible lines into the reverb mics because they don't have to sound good here, not for this. Jongdae gets him Warcraft time credits and Joonmyun buys him his first legal bottle of soju, complete with lemon slice on the side. "Wow," Chanyeol says after a long sip, wide-eyed with affected innocence, like he's never had this shit before.
Baekhyun still reeks of grease by the time they get back to the dorm, tired and happy. He elbows Kyungsoo out of the way (grins at the rude gesture he's flashed) and showers first, traces curlicues into the steamed up glass as he waits for the conditioner to set.
"You didn't get me anything," Chanyeol notes when Baekhyun drifts back into their room, toweling his hair dry.
He purses his lips and pretends to consider this. Then: "I figured publically announcing your right to a free blowjob or whatever would be a little tasteless," he says at last, and Chanyeol's face does that thing where it goes lopsided when he laughs, nose scrunching in. Baekhyun shoves him back against the bed and goes to work.
Joonmyun's default setting is worry, and Baekhyun's not sure if it'll make him a good leader, but it does make him a good hyung. "Is there a difference?" Joonmyun asks, when Baekhyun voices the thought aloud. They're sitting at the corner café for the third time this week, because Joonmyun enjoys taking the rest of them out on impromptu dates and Baekhyun's always been pretty big on free food and the kind of calm company Joonmyun provides.
Baekhyun shrugs. "Listen," he says, "sometimes you just have to let things go. Learn how to pick your battles. You can't possibly look after everyone all the time. I'm afraid you might spontaneously combust."
Joonmyun laughs and twirls the straw in his iced mocha.
"Like-don't you ever get tired?"
"Of course I do," he says, quiet resignation in the slump of his shoulders and the lift of his mouth, "but what else do I have?"
"Tenacity," Baekhyun insists, brow furrowing as he watches Joonmyun shrink into himself. "Compassion, thoughtfulness-hyung, you're one of the best people I know, helicopter parenting and all."
Joonmyun drains the rest of his drink. "I honestly wasn't fishing."
"And I didn't say it just to be nice," he returns, folding his arms across his chest, inexplicably testy. "You are good," he says, which also means you are wanted-and it's not until Baekhyun's pushing pleasure into the dips and planes of his flesh that Joonmyun seems like he might believe it.
Baekhyun isn't nearly conceited enough to think that anything he's doing is earth-shatteringly reaffirming. (Almost, maybe, but not quite.) Joonmyun's been here the longest out of any of them, held out for six years as he's waited. This is only a reminder-sometimes, what you need is a warm body to hold you down and tell you things as they are, slip truths into the crease of an elbow, along the nape of your neck. Baekhyun goes slow with him: sucks dark bruises into his chest and licks warmth into his mouth, eases in and out at an almost lethargic pace, thighs quivering from exertion by the end.
Joonmyun drops a kiss on his chin after Baekhyun's cleaned both of them up.
"Thank you," he says, still trying to catch his breath.
Baekhyun brushes his hand over Joonmyun's temple and just says, "You need taking care of, too, you know?"
He spends the last weeks leading up to the New Year dozing off in Mandarin crash courses with a regular rotation of the others, struggling to read through practice workbooks filled with incomprehensible characters and sound out the right tones. Minseok sits across from him during their classes. Baekhyun and Jongdae take turns making stupid faces at him to stay awake, ridiculous expressions that have Minseok muffling laughter into his palm.
"There has to be an easier way to learn this shit," Baekhyun moans during dance practice. Kris only chuckles in sympathy. "No, I'm serious. You're the whiz kid with languages."
"Try going to local school in China for a month," Kris says unhelpfully. "I'm sure you'd pick things up fast."
"We don't have a month to spare," he points out.
"Sing songs in Chinese," Zitao suggests haltingly, and Baekhyun would kiss him if he weren't too busy beating himself up for being an idiot and not thinking of it first. "That's what I do with Korean."
This is how he and Minseok end up in a practice room blasting Yixing's Wang Lee Hom CDs a couple of nights before New Year's Eve. It seems as natural a progression as any to go from singing about kissing to actually doing it. Minseok feels really fucking good underneath him. His hands wander, too: they rub circles into Baekhyun's scalp as Baekhyun thrusts his erection between Minseok's smooth thighs, delicious friction sliding down the hard length of it as his hips cant forward.
Baekhyun licks his hand and wraps it around Minseok's dick, pulls gently. Minseok swallows around his quiet gasp and sucks his cheeks in, teeth worrying at his lower lip as Baekhyun jerks him off, Baekhyun's fingers tracing meticulous lines along Minseok's erection.
In the morning, their teacher starts a two-day review on body parts and their corresponding descriptors. "It'll be important for when you're asked ideal type questions on varieties," she says severely. Baekhyun waggles his brows across the table and grins at the way the tips of Minseok's ears turn red.
These days, the only time Jongin doesn't seem exhausted is when he's in the middle of a routine, rehearsing endlessly with the rest of them or working on his solo choreo. He's the face of almost every teaser, which means the opportunities he gets to leave the dorm unseen are slim to none by mid-January. Kyungsoo and Joonmyun take turns going out on the occasional late night FamilyMart run for food and amenities, and they're both gone tonight when Jongin steps out of the shower, box of pain patches in hand.
"Can you-?" he tries, but lets out a jaw-cracking yawn before he can finish.
"Yeah, I got it," Baekhyun says. He puts his laptop down on the coffee table and follows Jongin into his room.
Jongin lies down on his stomach and rucks his shirt up, hair dripping into his pillow. Baekhyun unpeels the first pain patch, nose wrinkling at the smell, and leans down to smooth it over the base of Jongin's spine. Jongin hisses a little at the contact.
Baekhyun tilts his head, concerned. "Hurts?"
"No," he mumbles sleepily. "Just tingles."
The second one goes to the right of the first, the last one to the left. Baekhyun brushes his palm against the swell of Jongin's ass as he pulls back, and Jongin sends him this slow, considering look over his shoulder.
"I was wondering when you were going to get to me, hyung," he says after a moment, all terrible teenage swagger, and Baekhyun feels his mouth twitch up at the corners.
"Sehun can't keep his mouth shut, huh?"
Jongin doesn't seem to have the desire or wherewithal to engage in particularly taxing acrobatics, but that's alright. Baekhyun turns him over and pulls his boxers down, bed bowing beneath their combined weight.
He presses his nose into the juncture of Jongin's thigh, where it meets his torso. Jongin smells like sharp soap and bitter medicine, the sheets rustling beneath him as he squirms. Baekhyun bends Jongin's knees and spreads his legs out, shifts down to flick his tongue experimentally against the pucker of Jongin's asshole. He grins when the kid yelps.
"Hyung-what are you-"
"Hold still," Baekhyun commands, and Jongin falls into dazed silence.
It doesn't last for long. Baekhyun slides his tongue as far inside as it'll go and strokes Jongin's dick to full hardness, and Jongin has to use the back of his hand to muffle the choked cry that's ripped out of his mouth. Baekhyun works his asshole until it's slick with saliva and every suck sounds lewd and wet, a dull flush creeping over Jongin's entire body.
"Turn over," he says sweetly, and Jongin manages it with Herculean effort, braces himself on all fours. Baekhyun kneels at the edge of the mattress and stretches Jongin wide with his thumbs, stabs his tongue inside.
Baekhyun can tell just when he hits Jongin's prostate, because his arms give out in front of him and his hips jerk erratically, like he isn't sure whether to press forward into the hands on his dick or fuck himself back into Baekhyun's mouth. Jongin turns his face into his damp pillow and groans as Baekhyun licks him open. His own erection throbs to life and he straddles the bed, grinding against it.
Jongin drenches Baekhyun's hands with cum and shudders through his orgasm. Baekhyun wipes the drool off his chin with his sleeve and sits back on his heels, pleased.
"God," Jongin mumbles, scowling at his sweaty shirt. "Now I have to shower again, hyung."
Baekhyun rolls his eyes. Such drama. "Nah," he says, and skips out for a wet towel to wipe him clean with.
When he returns, Jongin reaches down almost shyly to cup Baekhyun through his pants. It's pretty adorable, and Jongin fumbles with his dick and pulls harder than necessary, but he presses a tentative kiss against Baekhyun's neck and Baekhyun comes with a long sigh, straining back against the headboard, spine pulled taut like a bowstring.
It takes him a while to realize Zitao's the only one he hasn't touched yet. Not that Baekhyun hasn't thought about it before-Zitao's tall and wiry and broad-shouldered, and seems like he'd be unbelievably earnest in bed. He just hasn't really had the chance to pursue it, what with Zitao's parade of Chinese hyungs dominating his time and the Sudden Attack marathons Baekhyun's started embarking on with Chanyeol to decompress after practice.
He finally manages to catch Zitao alone one night in February, loitering around the HQ lobby after hours, headphones popped over his ears. Baekhyun runs a hand through his sweaty hair and waves, is rewarded a slow, catlike smile in return. "Were you waiting for me?" he asks, and Zitao nods.
"Stayed late for rap, anyway," he explains with a vague gesture toward the stairs.
"Can you be our maknae instead?" Baekhyun asks, linking their arms and striding out the door. Zitao laughs. "Sehun's cute and all, but you're the only one who's well-behaved."
"Well-behaved," Zitao repeats, turning the word over in his mouth. "That all I'm good for?"
"Don't fish," Baekhyun snorts. "It's unbecoming."
"Yes, hyung," he chimes, voice pitched high so it'd come across angelic if Baekhyun didn't know any better. He snorts again.
They take the elevator up together, arms still linked, and Baekhyun tugs him out on K's floor. He reaches up and runs a thumb beneath Zitao's eyelid, smudges the makeup. "Hey, teach me how to do eyeliner like yours," he says, grinning. Zitao raises his eyebrows but follows him inside.
Baekhyun locks the bathroom door behind them and hops up on the edge of the sink. Zitao shrugs his backpack off and pulls liquid liner out. "Close your eyes," he says, and Baekhyun shuts them.
"How am I supposed to learn if you're doing it for me?" he asks, and Zitao's chuckle lands close to his ear as he leans in to draw on the top lid. Baekhyun inhales quickly as the cool gel hits his skin.
"Have to see what it looks like first," Zitao says, abdomen pressing up against Baekhyun's knees. "Okay, open. Look up."
Baekhyun counts dots on the ceiling as Zitao traces the pen along his bottom lid.
"Done."
He twists around to look in the mirror and sees honest-to-God raccoon eyes blinking back at him. "Oh my God," he says, trying to rub it off, and Zitao starts cracking up behind him. "You are such a shit." Baekhyun launches himself off the counter and Zitao collapses against the bathroom rug, still laughing, Baekhyun's fingers clenched in his shirt as Baekhyun straddles him. "I take it back. M can keep you."
"You don't mean that," Zitao says, teeth glinting in the light, and Baekhyun kisses him hard, teeth scraping against Zitao's bottom lip and tongue rubbing against the roof of his mouth. He can feel the line of Zitao's cock hardening against his leg.
Baekhyun rocks back on his heels and turns around, the lower half of his body propped over Zitao's face as he bends down to unzip Zitao's jeans.
"Hyung?"
"Keep it down, or the others will hear you," Baekhyun says. He pushes Zitao's boxers down and runs a finger from the base of his dick to the head before swallowing it to the hilt.
"Fuck," he hears Zitao mutter, head knocking back against the floor. Baekhyun smiles around the cock in his mouth and hollows his cheeks. A flimsy rug isn't nearly enough to keep his knees from aching against the linoleum tile, but Baekhyun doesn't care. A minute later, shaky hands start pulling at Baekhyun's pants and dragging them down, a mouth licking hesitantly at the tip of Baekhyun's hard-on.
There's a thump on the door. "Hey, I need to shower!" Chanyeol yells from the other side.
Baekhyun rears back. "Be right out," he calls, and bobs down again.
Zitao comes first, his fingers digging grooves into Baekhyun's thighs like they're trying to make a home there, and the heavy weight of satisfaction settles in the pit of Baekhyun's stomach. He shifts off and turns back around, kisses Zitao again so he'll be able to taste himself on Baekhyun's tongue, and lets Zitao's scrabbling hands stroke him to completion.
He runs hot water in the sink and tries to wipe the eyeliner off (to marginal success) as Zitao collects himself. Baekhyun grins as he yanks the door open; Chanyeol's standing outside tapping his foot, towel thrown over his shoulder. He blinks when he sees Zitao hovering over Baekhyun's shoulder.
Baekhyun walks him to the front door. Zitao pauses for a second at the threshold, bites his lip and drops a peck at the corner of Baekhyun's mouth before ducking into the stairwell, taking them up two at a time. Good kid, Baekhyun thinks warmly, and closes the door.
Chanyeol is still standing next to the shoe rack. He shakes his head, the expression on his face equal parts amused and incredulous. "You're fucking insatiable."
"I thought you were going to shower," Baekhyun says drily. "And besides, you love it," he points out, eyebrows rising, and grins when Chanyeol rolls his eyes and disappears into the bathroom.
fin
A/N: title from no diggity by blackstreet. because really, how could i resist???
this ridiculous thing is dedicated to all the lovely ladies on twitter who encouraged me/yelled at me/sent me relevant gifs in my times of need~*~ everything is your fault!!! i'd say i'm 100% done with porn for a while but, knowing me, that is probably a blatant lie. anon commenting, as usual, is on! ♥