pon de replay, for torontok
Title: Pon De Replay
Recipient: torontok
Pairing: Tao/Kai
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Pwp, if I can call it that. Lack of plot.
Summary: Jongin is a perfectionist and Zitao's hips don't lie.
Author's notes: Yikes! torontok This isn’t exactly want you wanted but I hope it is okay. I know nothing about dance and dance studios. A big thank you to the great mods for working their hardest throughout this challenge. I owe my manager my soul for reading through this. Title from Rihanna's song named Pon De Replay.
Sweat ran in rivulets down the sides of Jongin’s face. The music blasted out of the docking station by the mirror, at the left end of the room. The volume was high, the sound waves rippling through Jongin’s body, his veins. Jongin lived for this.
Meticulously, he analyzed every step, every movement of his in the mirror. He knew the choreography by heart, of course, but that didn’t mean that he danced it perfectly. There were always errors, and always room for improvement.
Jongin’s eyes weren’t just watching his own steps; he was also watching Zitao’s closely. They were next to each other, about a meter separating them as they followed the rhythm and beat of the song. The chorus of the song bounced off the walls, Jongin’s eyes narrowed, eyes fixed on Zitao. Clenching his teeth, Jongin ignored the urge to yell at Zitao, following through with the choreography instead.
The same second the music died out, Jongin snapped. Jongin was strict towards himself, but towards Zitao, he was downright malicious.
“I have told you so many times you need to roll your hips during the bridge from the second chorus,” Jongin growled, resting his hands on his hips. Zitao scowled at him. The urge to plant his fist in Zitao’s face was strong. Jongin fought the urge, biting his tongue. “You dance like you have a stick up your ass! Forget the goddamn wushu stick and listen to me, I know this!”
The dance recital was just four days away. Jongin felt like they hadn’t practiced enough. On good days, they’d get six to eight of dancing after classes, but on days Zitao had wushu, they usually managed four. The days Zitao had wushu, he’d show up with his black hair plastered to his head, clothes already drenched with sweat, and Jongin always yelled at him, snarling because he smelled like old sweat. So Zitao had started to bring an extra set of clothes with him.
It was obvious to them both that Jongin hated dancing with Zitao.
When Christmas approached, the university had decided to put on a huge celebration before Christmas break. The university’s two dance teams had been told to pair up and plan a recital with lots of different dance genres. Jongin had been okay with it, because on the other dance team there had been many people that Jongin wanted to be paired up with, like Cha Hakyeon who had danced since he could walk, or Lee Hyukjae, who was one of the best dancers Jongin had ever seen.
Therefore, when Jongin’s dance instructor had told him he was paired up with Zitao, he had wanted to quit immediately. While his dance instructor had rambled on and on about how well Jongin and Zitao would fit together, Jongin had felt like breaking something, not listening to him at all.
Looking at Zitao now, Jongin still felt great disappointment. Zitao had been better than Jongin thought, but Zitao had only danced for two years and was no match for Jongin. Even though Zitao had told him that he was a rather good dancer, Jongin didn’t believe him. Despite Zitao’s level, Jongin made a choreography he felt was too easy for him, but probably too difficult for Zitao.
He had been right so far.
“Your teacher said we were doing just fine, so I don’t understand why you have gotten your panties in a bunch,” Zitao said flatly, walking over to his bag in the corner. Zitao’s shirt slipped up, revealing the tanned skin of the small of his back as Zitao bent over to rummage through the bag. Jongin definitely didn’t look at the way Zitao’s baggy sweatpants fell just so over Zitao’s ass, defining the swell of it.
Zitao resurfaced with a bottle of water, taking deep swigs of it as he lifted his shirt, shaking the fabric as if he used it as a makeshift fan. Jongin was allowed to see glimpses of sharp hipbones and that dark trail of hair, disappearing underneath the waistband of Zitao’s sweatpants.
Suddenly, Jongin’s throat felt terribly dry, so he went to find his own bottle of water. The room felt too hot all of a sudden. His t-shirt was sticking to his back, pants clammy between his legs. Idly, he grabbed one of his notebooks and used it as a fan. It worked, slightly, but the room was stuffy, with no windows open, so the notebook was not of that much help.
“I’m outta here,” Zitao muttered as he grabbed his bag, throwing one strap over his shoulder. Jongin has never gotten to his feet that fast in his entire life.
“We’re not done yet!” Jongin exclaimed, stomping over to Zitao. Jongin opened his mouth to continue speaking, but snapping his mouth shut as he discovered the dark hue under Zitao’s eyes. Some of them were natural, Jongin knew, but he couldn’t remember seeing Zitao this exhausted before. Jongin hesitated.
“It’s almost midnight, so yes, we’re done,” Zitao said sharply, leaving no room for argument with the tone of his voice. Jongin glared at Zitao’s back as he walked out of the door, vanishing out of Jongin’s sight.
Jongin cursed, fury back in his body. Clenching his jaw, he slammed the door shut, loud enough for Zitao to hear. He put the music back on, giving it his mind, body and soul.
When Jongin finally decided that it was ok to stop there wasn’t an inch of him that wasn’t drenched in sweat. His clothes stuck to him like plastic wrap, bangs permanently glued to his forehead. Since he probably was the last one leaving, Jongin toed off his shoes (he never wore socks) and tossed them into his bag, walking down to the locker room successfully barefoot.
As he entered the locker room, leaving the dimly lit hall behind him, Jongin realized he wasn’t the last one to leave. The sound of water hitting the tiles was a clear tell-tale sign that Jongin wasn’t alone.
Jongin took a quick look on his phone that told him that it was almost 1 am. Nobody stayed behind that late, save for Jongin himself. However he remembered Taemin talking about that he and Howon were going to stay until late to get the last kinks of their choreography before the recital.
He shed his clothes quickly, stuffing them into a random locker before heading towards the showers.
The shower stall was really just an open room with tiles on the floor and on the walls, a communal shower with nowhere to hide if you were the shy type.
Yeah, not exactly Taemin.
Jongin was met with the sight of a broad, tanned back, and narrowing down to a tapered waist, strong thighs and calves. The air in the stalls is damp, clinging to Jongin’s sweaty skin, making him shiver. He’s at loss for what to do. He needed a shower, but since Zitao left him on such a bad note showering naked with him in the near vicinity would be awkward.
Silently he turned on his heel, tip toeing over cold tiles, heading back to the lockers. That was until - “Jongin?”.
Jongin froze to the spot for a short while before spinning around to face Zitao. Oh. Jongin bit his bottom lip, keeping his eyes trained on Zitao’s face, watching his mouth open and close but Jongin was unable to hear anything because the sound of blood rushing through his veins, pounding in his ears, drowning out Zitao’s voice.
Zitao’s mouth continued to move. Jongin couldn’t care less. He cut the distance between them, almost jumping into Zitao’s arms, shutting him up by kissing him. Zitao flinched for a second before he kissed back.
The kiss turned wet, feverish at once. Jongin’s hands roamed over Zitao’s chest, palm pressed against Zitao’s abs as he licked into Zitao’s hot mouth. Boldly, Zitao’s hands went for Jongin’s ass, fingers splaying out on the cheeks, gripping them tightly.
“Zitao,” Jongin moaned into Zitao’s mouth, clawing at Zitao’s sides. Throwing all cautions to the wind, Jongin grabbed Zitao’s waist, bringing their crotches together, cocks nudging. Jongin pulled away from Zitao’s lips to mouth at his shoulder, nipping at the thin skin over his collarbones. His entire body was thrumming from the arousal and from exhaustion.
Zitao’s tongue ran up Jongin’s neck, lips pausing on a spot just under his ear, sucking tenderly at it. It was too much, not enough at the same time; Jongin needed more. Groaning, Jongin sunk his teeth into Zitao’s shoulder, making Zitao gasp, rolling his hips into Jongin’s.
The pleasure was overwhelming, intensity slamming into Jongin’s body like a freight train. “More, Zitao!” Jongin demanded, hands scrambling up Zitao’s arms to grab at his biceps, rolling his own hips back against Zitao’s.
“Come on Zitao,” Jongin breathed against Zitao’s skin, his knuckles turning white from how hard he was gripping at Zitao’s arms.
Zitao complied, using his hands on Jongin’s ass to build up a quick, merciless rhythm, angling Jongin’s hips just so that their cocks rubbed together with every roll of their hips. It’s dry and hot but neither of them want to stop, so they speed up their hips, hands clawing at skin as they pant into each other’s flesh.
Jongin’s head was spinning, pounding and he was dimly aware of the fact that they were doing this in a place where anyone could see them. Not that Jongin actually cared. The pleasure was overrunning his senses, his skin felt ten times more sensitive than normal. He wouldn’t last long.
“I want to fuck you,” Zitao murmured against the shell of Jongin’s ear. Jongin gave a long moan, rutting furiously against Zitao. It felt like he was going to pass out from arousal if he didn’t come.
“Please,” Jongin breathed, lips pressed against the side of Zitao’s neck.
Zitao slipped a hand between their bodies, grabbing both their cocks with his hand and started a rough pace. His hand was tight around the head of their cocks, making the sensitive heads rub together.
“I want you to ride me,” Zitao continued, voice hoarse. That was everything it took. Jongin choked on a moan and came, spilling onto both their chests and the head of Zitao’s cock. It felt like his brain had dribbled out with the come, as his body felt lighter than air as the orgasm crashed through his body. It took two more flicks of Zitao’s wrist, Jongin sucking a hickey against Zitao’s pulse point, before Zitao came as well, moaning Jongin’s name. Jongin placed his lips on Zitao’s, swallowing the sweet noises.
They remain like that for a while, standing close, breathing in each other’s mouths, almost clinging to each other until Zitao shuddered. Grabbing Zitao’s wrist, Jongin guided them under a showerhead, turning on the water. They both gasp at the cold water streaming out, spilling over their dirty bodies. Zitao scrambled forwards, accidentally pressing Jongin against the tiles as he adjusted the temperature until the water turned hot.
As they stand there, Zitao broke the silence.
“So it seems like you like my hip rolls after all.” Zitao smiled cheekily, eyes little crescents as he clearly was extremely proud of himself. Jongin rolled his eyes, silencing Zitao with another kiss.
Recipient: torontok
Pairing: Tao/Kai
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Pwp, if I can call it that. Lack of plot.
Summary: Jongin is a perfectionist and Zitao's hips don't lie.
Author's notes: Yikes! torontok This isn’t exactly want you wanted but I hope it is okay. I know nothing about dance and dance studios. A big thank you to the great mods for working their hardest throughout this challenge. I owe my manager my soul for reading through this. Title from Rihanna's song named Pon De Replay.
Sweat ran in rivulets down the sides of Jongin’s face. The music blasted out of the docking station by the mirror, at the left end of the room. The volume was high, the sound waves rippling through Jongin’s body, his veins. Jongin lived for this.
Meticulously, he analyzed every step, every movement of his in the mirror. He knew the choreography by heart, of course, but that didn’t mean that he danced it perfectly. There were always errors, and always room for improvement.
Jongin’s eyes weren’t just watching his own steps; he was also watching Zitao’s closely. They were next to each other, about a meter separating them as they followed the rhythm and beat of the song. The chorus of the song bounced off the walls, Jongin’s eyes narrowed, eyes fixed on Zitao. Clenching his teeth, Jongin ignored the urge to yell at Zitao, following through with the choreography instead.
The same second the music died out, Jongin snapped. Jongin was strict towards himself, but towards Zitao, he was downright malicious.
“I have told you so many times you need to roll your hips during the bridge from the second chorus,” Jongin growled, resting his hands on his hips. Zitao scowled at him. The urge to plant his fist in Zitao’s face was strong. Jongin fought the urge, biting his tongue. “You dance like you have a stick up your ass! Forget the goddamn wushu stick and listen to me, I know this!”
The dance recital was just four days away. Jongin felt like they hadn’t practiced enough. On good days, they’d get six to eight of dancing after classes, but on days Zitao had wushu, they usually managed four. The days Zitao had wushu, he’d show up with his black hair plastered to his head, clothes already drenched with sweat, and Jongin always yelled at him, snarling because he smelled like old sweat. So Zitao had started to bring an extra set of clothes with him.
It was obvious to them both that Jongin hated dancing with Zitao.
When Christmas approached, the university had decided to put on a huge celebration before Christmas break. The university’s two dance teams had been told to pair up and plan a recital with lots of different dance genres. Jongin had been okay with it, because on the other dance team there had been many people that Jongin wanted to be paired up with, like Cha Hakyeon who had danced since he could walk, or Lee Hyukjae, who was one of the best dancers Jongin had ever seen.
Therefore, when Jongin’s dance instructor had told him he was paired up with Zitao, he had wanted to quit immediately. While his dance instructor had rambled on and on about how well Jongin and Zitao would fit together, Jongin had felt like breaking something, not listening to him at all.
Looking at Zitao now, Jongin still felt great disappointment. Zitao had been better than Jongin thought, but Zitao had only danced for two years and was no match for Jongin. Even though Zitao had told him that he was a rather good dancer, Jongin didn’t believe him. Despite Zitao’s level, Jongin made a choreography he felt was too easy for him, but probably too difficult for Zitao.
He had been right so far.
“Your teacher said we were doing just fine, so I don’t understand why you have gotten your panties in a bunch,” Zitao said flatly, walking over to his bag in the corner. Zitao’s shirt slipped up, revealing the tanned skin of the small of his back as Zitao bent over to rummage through the bag. Jongin definitely didn’t look at the way Zitao’s baggy sweatpants fell just so over Zitao’s ass, defining the swell of it.
Zitao resurfaced with a bottle of water, taking deep swigs of it as he lifted his shirt, shaking the fabric as if he used it as a makeshift fan. Jongin was allowed to see glimpses of sharp hipbones and that dark trail of hair, disappearing underneath the waistband of Zitao’s sweatpants.
Suddenly, Jongin’s throat felt terribly dry, so he went to find his own bottle of water. The room felt too hot all of a sudden. His t-shirt was sticking to his back, pants clammy between his legs. Idly, he grabbed one of his notebooks and used it as a fan. It worked, slightly, but the room was stuffy, with no windows open, so the notebook was not of that much help.
“I’m outta here,” Zitao muttered as he grabbed his bag, throwing one strap over his shoulder. Jongin has never gotten to his feet that fast in his entire life.
“We’re not done yet!” Jongin exclaimed, stomping over to Zitao. Jongin opened his mouth to continue speaking, but snapping his mouth shut as he discovered the dark hue under Zitao’s eyes. Some of them were natural, Jongin knew, but he couldn’t remember seeing Zitao this exhausted before. Jongin hesitated.
“It’s almost midnight, so yes, we’re done,” Zitao said sharply, leaving no room for argument with the tone of his voice. Jongin glared at Zitao’s back as he walked out of the door, vanishing out of Jongin’s sight.
Jongin cursed, fury back in his body. Clenching his jaw, he slammed the door shut, loud enough for Zitao to hear. He put the music back on, giving it his mind, body and soul.
When Jongin finally decided that it was ok to stop there wasn’t an inch of him that wasn’t drenched in sweat. His clothes stuck to him like plastic wrap, bangs permanently glued to his forehead. Since he probably was the last one leaving, Jongin toed off his shoes (he never wore socks) and tossed them into his bag, walking down to the locker room successfully barefoot.
As he entered the locker room, leaving the dimly lit hall behind him, Jongin realized he wasn’t the last one to leave. The sound of water hitting the tiles was a clear tell-tale sign that Jongin wasn’t alone.
Jongin took a quick look on his phone that told him that it was almost 1 am. Nobody stayed behind that late, save for Jongin himself. However he remembered Taemin talking about that he and Howon were going to stay until late to get the last kinks of their choreography before the recital.
He shed his clothes quickly, stuffing them into a random locker before heading towards the showers.
The shower stall was really just an open room with tiles on the floor and on the walls, a communal shower with nowhere to hide if you were the shy type.
Yeah, not exactly Taemin.
Jongin was met with the sight of a broad, tanned back, and narrowing down to a tapered waist, strong thighs and calves. The air in the stalls is damp, clinging to Jongin’s sweaty skin, making him shiver. He’s at loss for what to do. He needed a shower, but since Zitao left him on such a bad note showering naked with him in the near vicinity would be awkward.
Silently he turned on his heel, tip toeing over cold tiles, heading back to the lockers. That was until - “Jongin?”.
Jongin froze to the spot for a short while before spinning around to face Zitao. Oh. Jongin bit his bottom lip, keeping his eyes trained on Zitao’s face, watching his mouth open and close but Jongin was unable to hear anything because the sound of blood rushing through his veins, pounding in his ears, drowning out Zitao’s voice.
Zitao’s mouth continued to move. Jongin couldn’t care less. He cut the distance between them, almost jumping into Zitao’s arms, shutting him up by kissing him. Zitao flinched for a second before he kissed back.
The kiss turned wet, feverish at once. Jongin’s hands roamed over Zitao’s chest, palm pressed against Zitao’s abs as he licked into Zitao’s hot mouth. Boldly, Zitao’s hands went for Jongin’s ass, fingers splaying out on the cheeks, gripping them tightly.
“Zitao,” Jongin moaned into Zitao’s mouth, clawing at Zitao’s sides. Throwing all cautions to the wind, Jongin grabbed Zitao’s waist, bringing their crotches together, cocks nudging. Jongin pulled away from Zitao’s lips to mouth at his shoulder, nipping at the thin skin over his collarbones. His entire body was thrumming from the arousal and from exhaustion.
Zitao’s tongue ran up Jongin’s neck, lips pausing on a spot just under his ear, sucking tenderly at it. It was too much, not enough at the same time; Jongin needed more. Groaning, Jongin sunk his teeth into Zitao’s shoulder, making Zitao gasp, rolling his hips into Jongin’s.
The pleasure was overwhelming, intensity slamming into Jongin’s body like a freight train. “More, Zitao!” Jongin demanded, hands scrambling up Zitao’s arms to grab at his biceps, rolling his own hips back against Zitao’s.
“Come on Zitao,” Jongin breathed against Zitao’s skin, his knuckles turning white from how hard he was gripping at Zitao’s arms.
Zitao complied, using his hands on Jongin’s ass to build up a quick, merciless rhythm, angling Jongin’s hips just so that their cocks rubbed together with every roll of their hips. It’s dry and hot but neither of them want to stop, so they speed up their hips, hands clawing at skin as they pant into each other’s flesh.
Jongin’s head was spinning, pounding and he was dimly aware of the fact that they were doing this in a place where anyone could see them. Not that Jongin actually cared. The pleasure was overrunning his senses, his skin felt ten times more sensitive than normal. He wouldn’t last long.
“I want to fuck you,” Zitao murmured against the shell of Jongin’s ear. Jongin gave a long moan, rutting furiously against Zitao. It felt like he was going to pass out from arousal if he didn’t come.
“Please,” Jongin breathed, lips pressed against the side of Zitao’s neck.
Zitao slipped a hand between their bodies, grabbing both their cocks with his hand and started a rough pace. His hand was tight around the head of their cocks, making the sensitive heads rub together.
“I want you to ride me,” Zitao continued, voice hoarse. That was everything it took. Jongin choked on a moan and came, spilling onto both their chests and the head of Zitao’s cock. It felt like his brain had dribbled out with the come, as his body felt lighter than air as the orgasm crashed through his body. It took two more flicks of Zitao’s wrist, Jongin sucking a hickey against Zitao’s pulse point, before Zitao came as well, moaning Jongin’s name. Jongin placed his lips on Zitao’s, swallowing the sweet noises.
They remain like that for a while, standing close, breathing in each other’s mouths, almost clinging to each other until Zitao shuddered. Grabbing Zitao’s wrist, Jongin guided them under a showerhead, turning on the water. They both gasp at the cold water streaming out, spilling over their dirty bodies. Zitao scrambled forwards, accidentally pressing Jongin against the tiles as he adjusted the temperature until the water turned hot.
As they stand there, Zitao broke the silence.
“So it seems like you like my hip rolls after all.” Zitao smiled cheekily, eyes little crescents as he clearly was extremely proud of himself. Jongin rolled his eyes, silencing Zitao with another kiss.