[oneshot] put on the red light + going the distance
Title: put on the red light
Pairing: kai/tao
Rating: nc17
Genre: pwp, au
Warnings: swearing, sex
Author: gdgdbaby
Notes: jongin and zitao make a porno, that's it, that's the fic. to staygame: i couldn't decide which one to write so i just wrote both!!! ok. 1,236 words.
By the time Jongin comes back from dance practice with greasy Chinese takeout, Zitao's devised a truly ridiculous master plan to pull him out of college-student decrepitude. When he unveils it, Jongin nearly drops his chopsticks on the floor. Rice gets caught in his windpipe. He coughs around it and manages to swallow. "I should what?"
Zitao seems pretty unperturbed by his surprise. He slurps an errant noodle into his mouth. "Didn't you say you were strapped for cash?"
"Yes?" Jongin says, putting his carton down. "The solution to which is finding a job, dumbass. I don't even want to know why you automatically jumped to selling my body."
"Hey," he protests, "making porn is a legitimate job."
Jongin sends him an unimpressed look. "Is it really?"
Zitao makes a grand gesture in midair, the piece of General Tso's latched in between his chopsticks dripping sauce onto the leather couch. "All the sad single dudes beating off in their parents' houses on Friday nights would probably say so, yeah." He waggles his eyebrows and shoves his food in his mouth. "Demand's high. You're hot. I bet even a one-minute masturbation video would sell really well."
"How do you even know this?"
"I did my research," Zitao says smugly.
"I'm serious."
He sighs, blowing air up to ruffle his bangs. "I was talking to Baekhyun-hyung-"
Jongin rolls his eyes. "Of course you were."
"Come on," Zitao wheedles, leaning forward, eyes wide and earnest. "If it's amateur porn you don't even have to show your face. I can do all the filming, too."
"Big of you."
Zitao laughs. "That's what she said."
"Real mature," Jongin returns, rolling his eyes. "You just want an excuse to watch me masturbate."
"Can you blame me, though?" Zitao returns without missing a beat, leering in his general direction.
Jongin flushes a little and crams more rice down his throat. "Look," he says thickly a moment later. "What would you do if I said yes?"
Zitao perks up. "Does that mean you agree?"
"Maybe," Jongin mutters.
Zitao pitches forward and claps him on the shoulder, elated-and then immediately pulls his hand back, nose wrinkling. "Go take a shower first," he suggests. "You smell like shit."
Jongin smacks him upside the head. "It's not like computer screens are scratch-and-sniff," he grumbles, and dodges the throw pillow that gets tossed at his face before trudging to the bathroom.
Jongin walks into his room ten minutes later to a fully set-up tripod. Zitao's fiddling with the settings on his camcorder. "Did you just assume that I'd agree?" Jongin snaps, toweling his hair.
"No, don't do that," Zitao says, leaping over for a second to snatch the towel out of his grasp. He tosses it behind him-the fabric catches against the corner of Jongin's desk before sliding onto the carpet. "It'll look better if you're kind of wet."
Jongin snorts. "I didn't realize you were such a porn connoisseur. Anyway-" He slouches against the wall next to the headboard, eyes darting around the room. The lens of the camera seems to follow him, always just at the edge of his peripheral vision. "Uh, what should I do?"
Zitao laughs. "You need me to teach you how to masturbate?"
"What? No, I just meant-" He cuts himself off, frowning.
Zitao shakes his head. "It doesn't have to be awkward. Just do what you normally do."
"I-" He purses his lips, carding a hand through his hair. Zitao flashes him an overexcited thumbs up, the dweeb. "Okay," Jongin says, and climbs onto the bed. The mattress dips beneath his weight. There's a quiet beep as Zitao starts recording, red light flashing in his line of vision, and then Jongin slides the towel around his hips off, a little self-conscious despite himself. It's nothing Zitao hasn't seen before, and Jongin spends all day thinking about how to present himself on a stage-but something about being aware of this specific intended audience has his heartbeat thudding up his chest before his hand's even landed anywhere close to his dick.
Jongin licks his palm and trails it over his abdomen. His bottom lip's drawn into his mouth, eyes slid shut, damp fringe dripping water down his neck. He's already half-hard when his fingers curl around the base of his dick, thumb brushing under the head as he strokes smoothly upward. A warm pulse of arousal pools in his stomach and he lets out a breathy moan.
"That's it," Zitao murmurs.
He opens his eyes and throws Zitao a startled look as his hand starts moving faster. "Should you be-talking?"
Zitao waves an impatient hand, face half-obscured behind the camcorder. "We can edit music over everything later. Keep going. Focus." The last word sails out with an almost lackadaisical sort of command, like Zitao's so used to being obeyed that it isn't necessary to be forceful about it anymore. Jongin bites his lip, shoulder blades pressing back against the wood of the headboard as his feet dig into the mattress, and pumps faster.
His other hand creeps up towards his mouth. He slides two fingers between his lips and sucks around them to keep from groaning. By now, the skin of his palm slides against his dick with a low, wet noise at every pass, and he can feel the pleasure coiling in his abdomen like a taut spring-
"Okay." Zitao's steady voice breaks through the ringing in Jongin's ears. "Now-now finger yourself."
Jongin pulls his fingers out of his mouth, gasping. "Zitao-"
"Do it," he says-and he isn't behind the camera anymore, he's stepping forward, bed giving under his knee, a gentle grip on Jongin's wrist guiding his hand to his ass.
Jongin inserts the tip of his index finger and wiggles. The tight ring stings as he pushes it up the rest of the way. He fits another finger up with the first and it burns like hell without the proper lube, but his spine arches and his dick gives a little throb in his palm at the expression on Zitao's face, so he keeps going.
Zitao doesn't resituate himself behind the camera. He bends his head closer instead, breath puffing over Jongin's neck.
"What are you-?"
"Shut up," Zitao exhales, but it's less mean than it is urgent, "just-"
He latches his mouth against Jongin's collarbone, bats Jongin's hands away and replaces them with his own, warm fingers pressing up his ass and jacking him off with such vigor that Jongin's hips lift off the bed when he comes, back of his head slamming so hard against the headboard he feels kind of woozy for the next ten minutes.
Jongin's limbs feel like lead, weighed down with satisfaction. He's vaguely aware of Zitao toweling him clean and getting up to retrieve the camera before curling next to him again, chewing his lip.
"Is it usable?" he asks, head propped sleepily against Zitao's shoulder. The video playback pops up on the screen. "Whoa, I look like a ghost."
"I guess the lighting was off," Zitao says, and when Jongin cranes his neck he can see the corner of Zitao's mouth twitching.
"Dickwad," Jongin mumbles. "You totally did that on purpose."
"Oops," he says, half-shrugging. "I'm so sorry you're going to have to be subjected to future orgasms."
"Shut the fuck up," Jongin mutters, and kicks at Zitao's shin when he starts laughing.
Title: going the distance
Pairing: kai/tao
Rating: nc17
Genre: pwp
Warnings: swearing, sex
Author: gdgdbaby
Notes: jongin and zitao join the mile high club. 1,119 words.
On the way back from Thailand, or Indonesia, or wherever it is they've gone this time-it's difficult to keep track these days with their passports stamped so full of visas-their flight's grossly overbooked. As an apology for the confusion and delay, the airline bumps most of them up to first class on the next plane to Seoul.
Jongin's only flown business one other time, the summer he'd gone to Jeju Island with his family in primary school. First class is a lot less glamorous than he remembers it being as a kid. It's almost dawn, streaks of sunlight coming in through the smudged windows. In the cabin, that sickening new car smell settles over him like a blanket. Everyone's a little too wiped to really enjoy the amenities anyway, though Baekhyun and Chanyeol plop down in front of him and spend the time before lift-off plotting to steal Jongdae's in-flight slippers.
Jongin falls asleep shortly after the plane takes off, chair inclined as far back as it'll go. A flight attendant rouses him for a complementary meal halfway through, Korean cuisine at its most basic. Jongin swaps his bibimbap entrée for Sehun's seaweed soup. It's lukewarm and tasteless but still spreads all the way down to his toes, and when he gets up, spine uncurling, it's with a certain level of comfort that he rarely associates with being in the air.
The business cabin bathroom light switches from "OCCUPIED" to "VACANT." Jongin picks his way over the gangly sets of legs hanging out in the aisle, Kris's on one side and Chanyeol's on the other, and slides inside the tiny cubicle.
Before he can shut the door all the way, someone's heeled combat boot comes skating through to block it.
"Hey," he says, irritated, poking his head back out. "I'm using-"
It's Zitao. He thrusts a rock-on sign beneath Jongin's nose and clambers inside after him. He slides the door shut and engages the locking mechanism with a flick of his wrist, a grin pulling at his lips.
Jongin scrubs a hand over his face. The stainless steel counter digs into the small of his back. "What are you doing?" he asks. "This stupid stall can barely fit one of us."
Zitao pulls a foil packet out of his pocket, one that looks suspiciously like-
"Oh," Jongin says, raising his palms, intermingled dread and anticipation bursting forth in his stomach, "oh no, you can't be serious, dude-"
Zitao swallows Jongin's complaints with his mouth, hips pinning him back against the sink. He flips the toilet seat down before reaching for Jongin's zipper, tongue stuck to the corner of his mouth with concentration.
"This really can't wait until we're on the ground again?" Jongin tries again, eyebrows arched.
"Being in the air is part of the fun," Zitao returns, ripping the condom packet open between his teeth.
"Really?" Jongin says, very dry. He casts his eyes around the cubicle with meaning. "It smells like cheap perfume and shitty airplane food in here. See, I can't even stretch my arms all the way out."
"Party pooper," Zitao says, grinning. "Don't worry. It'll be good."
He pulls Jongin's dick out of his boxers and rolls the condom on, hoists him onto the edge of the sink. Jongin hisses as his skin slides against the cold metal, but he doesn't have much time at all to adjust-a moment later Zitao's taking him down with one smooth dip of his neck, the entirety of Jongin's cock sheathed in heavy warmth. "Shit," he mutters, left foot hitting the rim of the toilet seat with a dull crack. "Shit, shit, shit-"
Zitao bobs his head and hollows his cheeks, fingers twisting at the base as Jongin fills his mouth out, head of his erection bumping against the back of his throat. Jongin fists a hand in Zitao's hair and bucks his hips up. Spit dribbles past the corners of Zitao's smile. Jongin isn't sure if the noise Zitao's making is a choke or a laugh, and he's not sure that he cares. Zitao keeps going at a brutal pace, like he wants Jongin's soul to diffuse out through his dick so he can swallow it whole, so it must not really matter anyway.
Zitao pulls back and swipes his tongue across the slit of his cock, firm and insistent. Jongin's elbow cracks painfully against the mirror as his upper body recoils. When he glances down again Zitao's chuckling, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. Jongin's fingers tighten in Zitao's hair; he nudges his head closer and mutters, "Finish what you started." Zitao throws him a fucking salute before tipping forward again, sucking him down to the hilt, introducing a bit of canine that has Jongin's thighs clenching around Zitao's face, an embarrassing groan ripped out of his chest and hovering in the stale air above them.
He comes like that, legs trembling, Zitao's fingers digging bruises into his knees, forearm accidentally pressing down against the cold water tap so that the hem of his shirt gets soaked in all the tepid water in the sink.
Zitao rubs reassuring circles against his pelvis as Jongin rides the orgasm down, tugs the condom off and thrusts it in the trash dispenser, a satisfied smirk playing at his lips. Jongin slips off his awkward perch and attempts to dry his shirt with a bunch of paper towels, to no avail. He zips his pants up, trying to shake the wooziness out of his head. "What about," he says after a long pause, gesturing lamely at Zitao's crotch.
Zitao cocks his head to the side. "We fly to the Philippines in three days," he says, bright as ever.
Jongin scowls at him and unlocks the bathroom door. "Never mind," he mutters. "Forget I even asked."
"Aw, Jongin," Zitao whispers into the curve of his neck, emerging out of the bathroom stall behind him and tossing an arm over his shoulders. "Now you can say you've had sex on a plane!"
"Is someone speaking to me?" Jongin asks the first person they see in the first class cabin, which happens to be a bleary-eyed Kris. He stares at them blankly, still half-asleep.
"What were the two of you doing?" Chanyeol asks suspiciously. Baekhyun's dozed off in his chair next to him, moustache and dick drawn on his neck in permanent marker. "Why is your shirt so wet?"
"Better not to ask," Jongin mumbles, at the same time Zitao drawls, "Wouldn't you like to know?"
Jongin extricates himself from Zitao's limbs with Herculean effort. He sinks back in his seat, rubbing his eyes, and tries to ignore Chanyeol's pointedly curious looks for the rest of the flight.
A/N: 101 writing these with three br0ken keys was basica11y crue1 and unusua1 punishment, w0u1dn't wish this fate 0n my w0rst enemy (I'M N0T TYPING 1IKE A H0MESTUCK 0N PURP0SE 0K I D0N'T EVEN READ H0MESTUCK AUGH)
Pairing: kai/tao
Rating: nc17
Genre: pwp, au
Warnings: swearing, sex
Author: gdgdbaby
Notes: jongin and zitao make a porno, that's it, that's the fic. to staygame: i couldn't decide which one to write so i just wrote both!!! ok. 1,236 words.
By the time Jongin comes back from dance practice with greasy Chinese takeout, Zitao's devised a truly ridiculous master plan to pull him out of college-student decrepitude. When he unveils it, Jongin nearly drops his chopsticks on the floor. Rice gets caught in his windpipe. He coughs around it and manages to swallow. "I should what?"
Zitao seems pretty unperturbed by his surprise. He slurps an errant noodle into his mouth. "Didn't you say you were strapped for cash?"
"Yes?" Jongin says, putting his carton down. "The solution to which is finding a job, dumbass. I don't even want to know why you automatically jumped to selling my body."
"Hey," he protests, "making porn is a legitimate job."
Jongin sends him an unimpressed look. "Is it really?"
Zitao makes a grand gesture in midair, the piece of General Tso's latched in between his chopsticks dripping sauce onto the leather couch. "All the sad single dudes beating off in their parents' houses on Friday nights would probably say so, yeah." He waggles his eyebrows and shoves his food in his mouth. "Demand's high. You're hot. I bet even a one-minute masturbation video would sell really well."
"How do you even know this?"
"I did my research," Zitao says smugly.
"I'm serious."
He sighs, blowing air up to ruffle his bangs. "I was talking to Baekhyun-hyung-"
Jongin rolls his eyes. "Of course you were."
"Come on," Zitao wheedles, leaning forward, eyes wide and earnest. "If it's amateur porn you don't even have to show your face. I can do all the filming, too."
"Big of you."
Zitao laughs. "That's what she said."
"Real mature," Jongin returns, rolling his eyes. "You just want an excuse to watch me masturbate."
"Can you blame me, though?" Zitao returns without missing a beat, leering in his general direction.
Jongin flushes a little and crams more rice down his throat. "Look," he says thickly a moment later. "What would you do if I said yes?"
Zitao perks up. "Does that mean you agree?"
"Maybe," Jongin mutters.
Zitao pitches forward and claps him on the shoulder, elated-and then immediately pulls his hand back, nose wrinkling. "Go take a shower first," he suggests. "You smell like shit."
Jongin smacks him upside the head. "It's not like computer screens are scratch-and-sniff," he grumbles, and dodges the throw pillow that gets tossed at his face before trudging to the bathroom.
Jongin walks into his room ten minutes later to a fully set-up tripod. Zitao's fiddling with the settings on his camcorder. "Did you just assume that I'd agree?" Jongin snaps, toweling his hair.
"No, don't do that," Zitao says, leaping over for a second to snatch the towel out of his grasp. He tosses it behind him-the fabric catches against the corner of Jongin's desk before sliding onto the carpet. "It'll look better if you're kind of wet."
Jongin snorts. "I didn't realize you were such a porn connoisseur. Anyway-" He slouches against the wall next to the headboard, eyes darting around the room. The lens of the camera seems to follow him, always just at the edge of his peripheral vision. "Uh, what should I do?"
Zitao laughs. "You need me to teach you how to masturbate?"
"What? No, I just meant-" He cuts himself off, frowning.
Zitao shakes his head. "It doesn't have to be awkward. Just do what you normally do."
"I-" He purses his lips, carding a hand through his hair. Zitao flashes him an overexcited thumbs up, the dweeb. "Okay," Jongin says, and climbs onto the bed. The mattress dips beneath his weight. There's a quiet beep as Zitao starts recording, red light flashing in his line of vision, and then Jongin slides the towel around his hips off, a little self-conscious despite himself. It's nothing Zitao hasn't seen before, and Jongin spends all day thinking about how to present himself on a stage-but something about being aware of this specific intended audience has his heartbeat thudding up his chest before his hand's even landed anywhere close to his dick.
Jongin licks his palm and trails it over his abdomen. His bottom lip's drawn into his mouth, eyes slid shut, damp fringe dripping water down his neck. He's already half-hard when his fingers curl around the base of his dick, thumb brushing under the head as he strokes smoothly upward. A warm pulse of arousal pools in his stomach and he lets out a breathy moan.
"That's it," Zitao murmurs.
He opens his eyes and throws Zitao a startled look as his hand starts moving faster. "Should you be-talking?"
Zitao waves an impatient hand, face half-obscured behind the camcorder. "We can edit music over everything later. Keep going. Focus." The last word sails out with an almost lackadaisical sort of command, like Zitao's so used to being obeyed that it isn't necessary to be forceful about it anymore. Jongin bites his lip, shoulder blades pressing back against the wood of the headboard as his feet dig into the mattress, and pumps faster.
His other hand creeps up towards his mouth. He slides two fingers between his lips and sucks around them to keep from groaning. By now, the skin of his palm slides against his dick with a low, wet noise at every pass, and he can feel the pleasure coiling in his abdomen like a taut spring-
"Okay." Zitao's steady voice breaks through the ringing in Jongin's ears. "Now-now finger yourself."
Jongin pulls his fingers out of his mouth, gasping. "Zitao-"
"Do it," he says-and he isn't behind the camera anymore, he's stepping forward, bed giving under his knee, a gentle grip on Jongin's wrist guiding his hand to his ass.
Jongin inserts the tip of his index finger and wiggles. The tight ring stings as he pushes it up the rest of the way. He fits another finger up with the first and it burns like hell without the proper lube, but his spine arches and his dick gives a little throb in his palm at the expression on Zitao's face, so he keeps going.
Zitao doesn't resituate himself behind the camera. He bends his head closer instead, breath puffing over Jongin's neck.
"What are you-?"
"Shut up," Zitao exhales, but it's less mean than it is urgent, "just-"
He latches his mouth against Jongin's collarbone, bats Jongin's hands away and replaces them with his own, warm fingers pressing up his ass and jacking him off with such vigor that Jongin's hips lift off the bed when he comes, back of his head slamming so hard against the headboard he feels kind of woozy for the next ten minutes.
Jongin's limbs feel like lead, weighed down with satisfaction. He's vaguely aware of Zitao toweling him clean and getting up to retrieve the camera before curling next to him again, chewing his lip.
"Is it usable?" he asks, head propped sleepily against Zitao's shoulder. The video playback pops up on the screen. "Whoa, I look like a ghost."
"I guess the lighting was off," Zitao says, and when Jongin cranes his neck he can see the corner of Zitao's mouth twitching.
"Dickwad," Jongin mumbles. "You totally did that on purpose."
"Oops," he says, half-shrugging. "I'm so sorry you're going to have to be subjected to future orgasms."
"Shut the fuck up," Jongin mutters, and kicks at Zitao's shin when he starts laughing.
Title: going the distance
Pairing: kai/tao
Rating: nc17
Genre: pwp
Warnings: swearing, sex
Author: gdgdbaby
Notes: jongin and zitao join the mile high club. 1,119 words.
On the way back from Thailand, or Indonesia, or wherever it is they've gone this time-it's difficult to keep track these days with their passports stamped so full of visas-their flight's grossly overbooked. As an apology for the confusion and delay, the airline bumps most of them up to first class on the next plane to Seoul.
Jongin's only flown business one other time, the summer he'd gone to Jeju Island with his family in primary school. First class is a lot less glamorous than he remembers it being as a kid. It's almost dawn, streaks of sunlight coming in through the smudged windows. In the cabin, that sickening new car smell settles over him like a blanket. Everyone's a little too wiped to really enjoy the amenities anyway, though Baekhyun and Chanyeol plop down in front of him and spend the time before lift-off plotting to steal Jongdae's in-flight slippers.
Jongin falls asleep shortly after the plane takes off, chair inclined as far back as it'll go. A flight attendant rouses him for a complementary meal halfway through, Korean cuisine at its most basic. Jongin swaps his bibimbap entrée for Sehun's seaweed soup. It's lukewarm and tasteless but still spreads all the way down to his toes, and when he gets up, spine uncurling, it's with a certain level of comfort that he rarely associates with being in the air.
The business cabin bathroom light switches from "OCCUPIED" to "VACANT." Jongin picks his way over the gangly sets of legs hanging out in the aisle, Kris's on one side and Chanyeol's on the other, and slides inside the tiny cubicle.
Before he can shut the door all the way, someone's heeled combat boot comes skating through to block it.
"Hey," he says, irritated, poking his head back out. "I'm using-"
It's Zitao. He thrusts a rock-on sign beneath Jongin's nose and clambers inside after him. He slides the door shut and engages the locking mechanism with a flick of his wrist, a grin pulling at his lips.
Jongin scrubs a hand over his face. The stainless steel counter digs into the small of his back. "What are you doing?" he asks. "This stupid stall can barely fit one of us."
Zitao pulls a foil packet out of his pocket, one that looks suspiciously like-
"Oh," Jongin says, raising his palms, intermingled dread and anticipation bursting forth in his stomach, "oh no, you can't be serious, dude-"
Zitao swallows Jongin's complaints with his mouth, hips pinning him back against the sink. He flips the toilet seat down before reaching for Jongin's zipper, tongue stuck to the corner of his mouth with concentration.
"This really can't wait until we're on the ground again?" Jongin tries again, eyebrows arched.
"Being in the air is part of the fun," Zitao returns, ripping the condom packet open between his teeth.
"Really?" Jongin says, very dry. He casts his eyes around the cubicle with meaning. "It smells like cheap perfume and shitty airplane food in here. See, I can't even stretch my arms all the way out."
"Party pooper," Zitao says, grinning. "Don't worry. It'll be good."
He pulls Jongin's dick out of his boxers and rolls the condom on, hoists him onto the edge of the sink. Jongin hisses as his skin slides against the cold metal, but he doesn't have much time at all to adjust-a moment later Zitao's taking him down with one smooth dip of his neck, the entirety of Jongin's cock sheathed in heavy warmth. "Shit," he mutters, left foot hitting the rim of the toilet seat with a dull crack. "Shit, shit, shit-"
Zitao bobs his head and hollows his cheeks, fingers twisting at the base as Jongin fills his mouth out, head of his erection bumping against the back of his throat. Jongin fists a hand in Zitao's hair and bucks his hips up. Spit dribbles past the corners of Zitao's smile. Jongin isn't sure if the noise Zitao's making is a choke or a laugh, and he's not sure that he cares. Zitao keeps going at a brutal pace, like he wants Jongin's soul to diffuse out through his dick so he can swallow it whole, so it must not really matter anyway.
Zitao pulls back and swipes his tongue across the slit of his cock, firm and insistent. Jongin's elbow cracks painfully against the mirror as his upper body recoils. When he glances down again Zitao's chuckling, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. Jongin's fingers tighten in Zitao's hair; he nudges his head closer and mutters, "Finish what you started." Zitao throws him a fucking salute before tipping forward again, sucking him down to the hilt, introducing a bit of canine that has Jongin's thighs clenching around Zitao's face, an embarrassing groan ripped out of his chest and hovering in the stale air above them.
He comes like that, legs trembling, Zitao's fingers digging bruises into his knees, forearm accidentally pressing down against the cold water tap so that the hem of his shirt gets soaked in all the tepid water in the sink.
Zitao rubs reassuring circles against his pelvis as Jongin rides the orgasm down, tugs the condom off and thrusts it in the trash dispenser, a satisfied smirk playing at his lips. Jongin slips off his awkward perch and attempts to dry his shirt with a bunch of paper towels, to no avail. He zips his pants up, trying to shake the wooziness out of his head. "What about," he says after a long pause, gesturing lamely at Zitao's crotch.
Zitao cocks his head to the side. "We fly to the Philippines in three days," he says, bright as ever.
Jongin scowls at him and unlocks the bathroom door. "Never mind," he mutters. "Forget I even asked."
"Aw, Jongin," Zitao whispers into the curve of his neck, emerging out of the bathroom stall behind him and tossing an arm over his shoulders. "Now you can say you've had sex on a plane!"
"Is someone speaking to me?" Jongin asks the first person they see in the first class cabin, which happens to be a bleary-eyed Kris. He stares at them blankly, still half-asleep.
"What were the two of you doing?" Chanyeol asks suspiciously. Baekhyun's dozed off in his chair next to him, moustache and dick drawn on his neck in permanent marker. "Why is your shirt so wet?"
"Better not to ask," Jongin mumbles, at the same time Zitao drawls, "Wouldn't you like to know?"
Jongin extricates himself from Zitao's limbs with Herculean effort. He sinks back in his seat, rubbing his eyes, and tries to ignore Chanyeol's pointedly curious looks for the rest of the flight.
A/N: 101 writing these with three br0ken keys was basica11y crue1 and unusua1 punishment, w0u1dn't wish this fate 0n my w0rst enemy (I'M N0T TYPING 1IKE A H0MESTUCK 0N PURP0SE 0K I D0N'T EVEN READ H0MESTUCK AUGH)