The Way We Are
Title: The Way We Are
Pairing: Chanyeol/Kai
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3.2k
Warnings: hints of d/s, choking, angst
Summary: Chanyeol and Jongin have an arrangement.
notes: i hit a wall in my wip’s so i just opened a blank document, put on some music and typed away deedle-doo
the way we are;
Intoxicated.
Chanyeol is sober every time he shows up to Jongin’s apartment, but when he leaves he stumbles home, eyes bleary and limbs uncoordinated. Tonight is no different -- Jongin is dark skin, dark eyes, dark hair, sin embodied as he pulls Chanyeol over the threshold and slams the door behind him. Their lips together are like lava cake, Chanyeol thinks every time, the molten chocolate of Jongin’s lips melting past Chanyeol’s creamy vanilla facade. Melting him down, turning him into a puddle, exposing every last inch of what he’s made of.
With Chanyeol pinned up against the door, Jongin doesn’t make haste. And he never does, either.
Chanyeol is sober every time he shows up to Jongin’s apartment, but like a fine wine, Jongin only gets better with every taste, only gets more exotic every time Chanyeol pops the cork.
Their difference in size is minute; Jongin might be an inch or so shorter than Chanyeol, but he’s more lithe, more feline. Chanyeol himself is slender but solid, and Jongin sometimes takes the time after they’re out of breath to rest his soft cheek on Chanyeol’s broad chest. Afterglow never lasts too long; Chanyeol usually comes to his senses, slapped into sobriety by jilting thoughts, and Jongin never protests when he leaves before the sun rises.
This time, there’s nothing different about the circumstance. Every time Chanyeol exhales Jongin sucks in his carbon dioxide like it’s breathing life into him, like Jongin doesn’t even need oxygen to breathe. And he probably doesn’t. Chanyeol sometimes wonder if Jongin is even human. Their hands wander, their teeth catch on flesh, and Jongin has Chanyeol pinned against the front door with a surefire dominance that always leaves Chanyeol breathless. Even so, it’s Jongin that breathes life back into him. Perhaps neither of them really need air, as long as they have each other in this moment.
Jongin creeps under Chanyeol’s skin like an intravenous drug. Chanyeol has never been an addict, but he thinks that Jongin is the closest thing he’ll ever get to nirvana. Jongin boils, surges through Chanyeol’s veins with an intrinsic definity, anchoring him, keeping him right where he wants him.
He doesn’t know how they make it to the bedroom. He’s surprised they made it there at all. The past few times Jongin has been wildly impatient; blowing Chanyeol in the entryway, bending him over the kitchen table, rimming him on the couch. But now, in the bedroom, Chanyeol sees the impatience in Jongin’s eyes but senses the control in his body movements, sinewy, graceful muscles looking almost robotic and pained as Jongin tries to keep himself from physically throwing Chanyeol onto the bed.
Without hesitation, Chanyeol divests himself of his clothing, climbing onto the bed and resting on all fours. He stays like that for a moment, staring at Jongin’s ornate, hand-carved wooden headboard -- a headboard that Chanyeol’s fingers, wrists, even face, are familiar with. And in turn, the headboard is quite familiar with the wall. There’s some nicks in the paint, dents in the plaster, but Jongin never seems bothered to fix them up. And why should he? Next week the wall will suffer the same fate. The headboard is as exquisite as ever, though, the sturdy wood weathering even the roughest of sessions.
It’s after a few moments of silence, that Chanyeol looks over his shoulder at Jongin. Jongin is still dressed in a loose tank and sleep pants, the moonlight shining over his left side and casting shadows across the slope of his cheek, curve of his nose, dip of his clavicles. He looks breathtaking.
For all that Chanyeol can normally never shut up, time with Jongin is sacred, and Chanyeol rarely breaks the sanctity with useless blabber. He knows Jongin appreciates this, because Jongin himself isn’t very articulate in casual conversation. He stutters easily, spaces out often, and seems generally uncomfortable when attention is on him.
So he waits, quietly, for Jongin to snap out of whatever world he’s been briefly trapped in. Jongin does so soon enough, and he reaches forward, sliding his palm over the curve of Chanyeol’s bare ass. Chanyeol sighs softly at the contact; fire and ice. He’s not sure who is what. He just knows that both burn him inside out. The sound of rustling lets Chanyeol know that Jongin is getting undressed, and Chanyeol rests his forehead on his forearms, making sure his spine dips artistically and his knees spread for stability. The mattress dips and he knows Jongin has taken up residence behind him, and he can imagine those dark, dark eyes tracing over his pale, pale body.
Jongin’s hands follow his eyes’ path, no doubt. His fingers start at the round of Chanyeol’s ass, before they start walking in tandem up Chanyeol’s back on either side of his spine. Chanyeol lets out a slow breath, his body warming up even if Jongin’s fingertips feel like a million ice cubes dancing on his skin. Fingers curve over Chanyeol’s shoulders briefly, and he half expects Jongin to yank him up, say something filthy in his ear -- but his fingers slide into Chanyeol’s silvery-dyed locks, always appreciative, almost tender. An impulsive decision on Chanyeol’s part, three days ago, with the help of his best friend. Jongin hasn’t seen his hair yet, and Jongin hasn’t commented on it yet now that he has seen it, but Chanyeol knows better than to hope for verbal appraisal from the other man. Instead, Chanyeol relishes in the touch to his hair; Jongin is rarely ever kind to his scalp, mostly tugging, yanking, even delivering the occasional slap to it.
This delicate touch makes Chanyeol think that Jongin likes his hair.
That’s as far as Chanyeol’s thoughts go, though, because Jongin’s heavy, hard cock is sliding between his cheeks, insistent and hot. Chanyeol whines softly in the back of his throat. A week of playing head honcho in the office, of firing inexcusable employees, of cheering on manly sports that he didn’t really find any interest in -- Chanyeol’s act crumbles. The dominant, strong Park Chanyeol only exists outside of Jongin’s apartment.
Inside Jongin’s apartment, Chanyeol is his true self.
“Please,” Chanyeol breathes, his low voice already a bit ragged, kiss swollen lips barely forming the correct syllables. His hips shift, and Jongin’s fingers grip his hips hard enough to bruise and oh, Chanyeol knows he’ll have purpling marks in the morning.
This is the only place Chanyeol gives up control.
Which is probably why he always bolts after their sessions; he never wants to deal with the reality of his true self. Of his submissive self. Of his anxieties and insecurities that Jongin washes away with kisses, caresses, and the firm pounding of his cock.
“Please,” Chanyeol moans again, fingers tangling in the sheets. His knees spread a bit wider, trying to seduce Jongin with his fluttering hole, wanting to be used up, wanting to be dominated and controlled.
Jongin lays over Chanyeol in a way that blankets him completely in his warmth, in his scent. Chest to back, his cock still sliding in the cleft of Chanyeol’s ass, Jongin mouths along the breadth of Chanyeol’s shoulder blades, nipping in the center of his back at his spine. His body is rocking minutely, and Chanyeol shifts to force Jongin’s cockhead to catch on his rim and he whimpers, shuddering.
Jongin pulls away, then, taking all the warmth with him. For a moment, Chanyeol panics; is he acting out of line? Will Jongin tell him to go home? Stuttering out a breath, Chanyeol props up on his elbows, twisting his torso a bit to look over his shoulder at Jongin.
He loses his breath.
Jongin’s head is tipped back, eyes closed as he jerks his own cock. Chanyeol should be offended that Jongin is blatantly pleasuring himself and leaving Chanyeol hanging, but he can’t find it within himself to be offended at all. No. Jongin looks too good, stroking his dick, tight fist and thumb swiping over the head of his cock, the muscles of his bicep and forearm reacting accordingly under bronzed skin. Chanyeol wants to blow him, wants to swallow his cum, maybe even smear it on his face.
Shifting, Chanyeol makes to move, but Jongin’s eyes open and he pins Chanyeol with his gaze. Chanyeol has learned Jongin’s wordless commands like some sort of holy testament. He understands them, and obeys them. Jongin’s hand leaves his cock and both hands slide over Chanyeol’s back again, before Jongin shifts. He helps Chanyeol get positioned, and for a moment, Chanyeol thinks he’s about to ride Jongin -- it wouldn’t be the first time. But as Chanyeol moves to settle over Jongin’s waist, his hand going towards the nightstand for the lube, he’s halted by Jongin’s hands on his hips. Jongin squeezes firmly and starts maneuvering Chanyeol, and Chanyeol inches up Jongin’s body -- past his ribs, over his chest, and then finally…
“Oh.”
With his hands on the headboard to keep himself upright, Chanyeol glances down at where he’s straddling Jongin’s face. There’s a smirk on those devilish lips and Chanyeol groans softly, thighs trembling in anticipation. Jongin’s hands now smooth over the tops of Chanyeol’s thighs, and then round to the underside, spreading his cheeks open and forcing Chanyeol’s ass over his face. Chanyeol exhales a puff of air at the first lick of Jongin’s tongue, and then finds himself moaning when Jongin pulls his ass cheeks apart so he can dive in.
Swallowing thickly, Chanyeol moves a hand from the headboard to his cock, tugging on it more so he can see Jongin’s face, rather than actually pleasure himself. Jongin’s nose is in his balls, his eyes are closed and Chanyeol can’t see much but he can tell by the crinkle of closed lids that Jongin is smiling as he eats Chanyeol out. The thought that Jongin always seems to enjoy rimming Chanyeol so much has the older man groaning and dropping his head back, rocking his hips down to get more of Jongin’s tongue. Jongin replies in kind, flattening his tongue and pressing it against Chanyeol’s hole, before pointing it and thrusting it inside. It’s not thick enough, not deep enough, but it’s just the right amount of wet and warm, and now Chanyeol’s jerking his cock for pleasure. Jongin’s mouth is wicked and always wrecks Chanyeol without preamble.
Knees still shaking, it’s a combination of his feet on the mattress and his hand on the headboard that keeps Chanyeol from just outright sitting on Jongin’s face and suffocating him. This angle feels so amazing, and he can help set the pace, fucking himself down onto Jongin’s tongue rhythmically. Little jolts of pleasure zing from his taint, through his balls all the way to the tip of his dick in rapid succession. Each thrust of Jongin’s tongue has a new wave of goosebumps forming over Chanyeol’s skin, and after a while, as good as it feels, it’s not what Chanyeol wants, not what he needs.
“Jongin, please, please--” he pants, reaching down. He doesn’t know exactly how to physically get Jongin away from his ass without sticking his hand between them, so to avoid that awkward situation he tangles his fingers in Jongin’s hair, tugging softly.
When Jongin surfaces, he licks his lips like he’s just had the best treat of his life. Chanyeol trembles violently at the look in Jongin’s eyes, at the slick shining from his nose all the way down to his chin.
Shifting, Chanyeol scoots down Jongin’s body. He spits in his hand and jerks Jongin’s cock a few times; it’s not enough for comfortable entry, but Chanyeol is sopping wet and ready to go, anyway. Jongin doesn’t protest, either, as he puts his hands on Chanyeol’s hips and helps guide him onto his cock.
Fucking Jongin is an out of this world experience.
Chanyeol is sober every time he shows up to Jongin’s apartment, but in moments like this, clarity hits him harder than a brick wall. The pleasure is mind-blowing, always at a new level each time. Chanyeol feels pleasure like he’s never felt it before; he feels it in the burning of Jongin’s fingertips, he feels it in the heaviness of Jongin’s gaze. He feels like he’s living and dying simultaneously, like there’s no way he can feel this way in the mortal realm. Jongin’s hips are unforgiving as they slam up into Chanyeol, and Chanyeol isn’t riding Jongin at this point so much as propping himself up so Jongin can fuck into him.
Strong arms wrap around Chanyeol’s body and switch their position, Jongin laying Chanyeol out on the bed. He spreads Chanyeol’s knees out in a butterfly stretch and it burns Chanyeol’s groin muscles but he can’t be bothered when Jongin drives home. Jongin’s fingers are digging into Chanyeol’s knobby kneecaps, fitting into the spaces between joints, almost as if Jongin is making sure Chanyeol will have a hard time walking.
Almost like Jongin is making sure that this time, Chanyeol won’t be able to walk away from him.
The headboard slams against the wall harder than it ever has, and Chanyeol’s cries are a litany of Jongin’s name, praise to the heavens, worship to the god gracing him with his presence. Chanyeol’s voice grows hoarse and he settles for whimpering, reaching above his head to grip at the headboard, the carvings hardly granting him any purchase. Jongin’s hips are hitting Chanyeol’s ass hard enough to leave bruises and Chanyeol knows, there’s no mistaking it.
Jongin is ensuring that Chanyeol will not leave him tonight.
Cracking his eyes open, Chanyeol watches Jongin’s face as he drills into him. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but Jongin reaches up, slapping his palm over Chanyeol’s mouth none too nicely. It stings, it makes Chanyeol’s eyes water but he moans, his tongue licking a fat, wet stripe over Jongin’s palm. Jongin’s thrusts slow and his hand slides down Chanyeol’s chin, damp with saliva, sliding further down so his palm presses against Chanyeol’s windpipe.
Chanyeol knows he should shut up, but he moans Jongin’s name anyway, loving how it gets cut off by Jongin’s fingers tightening around his throat, successfully silencing him. The ghost of a smirk flickers over Jongin’s features and Chanyeol whimpers as best as he can, before Jongin’s fingers tighten again -- this time, black hazes around the edges of Chanyeol’s vision and he can’t keep his eyes open for long, lashes fluttering. Jongin’s hips pick up pace again and Chanyeol knows neither of them are going to last long.
Jongin’s other hand is still gripping Chanyeol’s knee to the point of it hurting, an ache settling into the tendons and ligaments there. Chanyeol flails a hand towards his knee, and Jongin relents, instead grabbing his cock. As he chokes Chanyeol, as he fucks Chanyeol, as he jerks Chanyeol, Jongin is in total and complete control, his gaze narrowed, sweat glistening off of the shoulder bathed in moonlight. Chanyeol swallows under his palm, lets out a little sob, and then Jongin is cutting off Chanyeol’s air supply totally, ramming into him mercilessly.
Chanyeol comes so hard his vision goes black, and he’s pretty sure he loses consciousness briefly, because when his eyes open there’s a pool of cum on his stomach and cum dripping down his balls to his asshole, Jongin hovering over him and panting heavily. He can see all the impressive lines of Jongin’s body like this, and Chanyeol reaches up, tentatively, wanting for one insane moment to pull the man into an embrace.
But embracing is for lovers.
Jongin moves away from Chanyeol, making quick work of cleaning them both up. Normally, at this point Chanyeol would stay in Jongin’s bed until Jongin falls asleep, and then he’d slip out undetected, until their next tryst.
But as Chanyeol moves to lay on his side, pain jolts up from his knee, white hot in his thigh and down his shin. Hissing softly, he reaches down to tenderly rub the area. Jongin did a number on him. Jongin… hurt him. Frowning, Chanyeol looks up at Jongin when he comes back from disposing the towels, and Jongin seems to be startled by the look on Chanyeol’s face.
“Why did you do that?” Chanyeol asks, and though he isn’t specific, he knows Jongin knows what he means.
Jongin glances away, dark bangs shielding dark eyes from the bright moon. “So you can’t leave.”
Chanyeol feels irritation bubble up in his chest, even as his earlier thoughts are confirmed. “I don’t want to stay.”
“Too fucking bad,” Jongin snaps, getting into bed, pulling the covers up over both himself and Chanyeol.
“You’re--” Chanyeol pushes at his shoulder, making it so there’s quite a bit of space between them on the bed. “That’s fucking stupid. You’re a fucking idiot, I can’t stay.”
Despite Chanyeol’s outburst, Jongin reaches out, catching Chanyeol’s wrist to deflect another hit. “Yes you can.” Jongin’s voice is soft, and now Chanyeol can see his eyes, soft and imploring.
Chanyeol comes here so he can relinquish his control and hand it over to Jongin for a little while. That’s it. Nothing more, nothing less.
This situation is too far out of his control to be comfortable.
He tries wrenching his hand away, “I can’t--”
“Why?” Jongin frowns, and his grip on Chanyeol’s wrist is strong. “Because you don’t want to give up control for longer than a fuck?”
That makes Chanyeol still. He steels Jongin with a hard gaze. This is the most they’ve talked… ever. Jongin doesn’t mince words, but he’s not a conversationalist at all. This is all foreign territory.
“If that’s how you feel about it, why do you let me keep coming over? Why don’t you stop it?”
“Why are you acting so defensive when all I want is for you to just stay the fucking night?” Jongin asks, defensive himself, grip tightening on Chanyeol’s wrist.
“Because I’m not supposed to stay the night, and you’re not supposed to want me to stay the night.”
Jongin lets go of Chanyeol’s wrist, then. He meets Chanyeol’s steely gaze with one of his own, and then reaches forward to this time bodily bring Chanyeol into his embrace. Chanyeol fights it briefly, struggling to try and pull away -- and he could, if he really, truly wanted to. He and Jongin work not because Jongin is impossible to overpower, but because Chanyeol lets him take control. But a part of him doesn’t want to fight. Part of him thinks about how just a few moments ago, when Jongin had been hunched over him, spent and panting, Chanyeol had wanted to hug him.
Frown creasing his forehead, Chanyeol stops fighting, and instead burrows himself into Jongin’s chest. Jongin’s arms are sure, solid around him, blocking anything from the outside world.
“I’ll stay,” Chanyeol finally says, voice muffled by Jongin’s chest. Relinquishing control again, but this time… in a totally different way.
“I will take care of you,” Jongin promises quietly.
It’s the most Jongin has ever said, and Chanyeol isn’t exactly disappointed by it.
Chanyeol is sober every time he shows up to Jongin’s apartment.
Jongin takes him away without any inhibitions.
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Pairing: Chanyeol/Kai
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3.2k
Warnings: hints of d/s, choking, angst
Summary: Chanyeol and Jongin have an arrangement.
notes: i hit a wall in my wip’s so i just opened a blank document, put on some music and typed away deedle-doo
the way we are;
Intoxicated.
Chanyeol is sober every time he shows up to Jongin’s apartment, but when he leaves he stumbles home, eyes bleary and limbs uncoordinated. Tonight is no different -- Jongin is dark skin, dark eyes, dark hair, sin embodied as he pulls Chanyeol over the threshold and slams the door behind him. Their lips together are like lava cake, Chanyeol thinks every time, the molten chocolate of Jongin’s lips melting past Chanyeol’s creamy vanilla facade. Melting him down, turning him into a puddle, exposing every last inch of what he’s made of.
With Chanyeol pinned up against the door, Jongin doesn’t make haste. And he never does, either.
Chanyeol is sober every time he shows up to Jongin’s apartment, but like a fine wine, Jongin only gets better with every taste, only gets more exotic every time Chanyeol pops the cork.
Their difference in size is minute; Jongin might be an inch or so shorter than Chanyeol, but he’s more lithe, more feline. Chanyeol himself is slender but solid, and Jongin sometimes takes the time after they’re out of breath to rest his soft cheek on Chanyeol’s broad chest. Afterglow never lasts too long; Chanyeol usually comes to his senses, slapped into sobriety by jilting thoughts, and Jongin never protests when he leaves before the sun rises.
This time, there’s nothing different about the circumstance. Every time Chanyeol exhales Jongin sucks in his carbon dioxide like it’s breathing life into him, like Jongin doesn’t even need oxygen to breathe. And he probably doesn’t. Chanyeol sometimes wonder if Jongin is even human. Their hands wander, their teeth catch on flesh, and Jongin has Chanyeol pinned against the front door with a surefire dominance that always leaves Chanyeol breathless. Even so, it’s Jongin that breathes life back into him. Perhaps neither of them really need air, as long as they have each other in this moment.
Jongin creeps under Chanyeol’s skin like an intravenous drug. Chanyeol has never been an addict, but he thinks that Jongin is the closest thing he’ll ever get to nirvana. Jongin boils, surges through Chanyeol’s veins with an intrinsic definity, anchoring him, keeping him right where he wants him.
He doesn’t know how they make it to the bedroom. He’s surprised they made it there at all. The past few times Jongin has been wildly impatient; blowing Chanyeol in the entryway, bending him over the kitchen table, rimming him on the couch. But now, in the bedroom, Chanyeol sees the impatience in Jongin’s eyes but senses the control in his body movements, sinewy, graceful muscles looking almost robotic and pained as Jongin tries to keep himself from physically throwing Chanyeol onto the bed.
Without hesitation, Chanyeol divests himself of his clothing, climbing onto the bed and resting on all fours. He stays like that for a moment, staring at Jongin’s ornate, hand-carved wooden headboard -- a headboard that Chanyeol’s fingers, wrists, even face, are familiar with. And in turn, the headboard is quite familiar with the wall. There’s some nicks in the paint, dents in the plaster, but Jongin never seems bothered to fix them up. And why should he? Next week the wall will suffer the same fate. The headboard is as exquisite as ever, though, the sturdy wood weathering even the roughest of sessions.
It’s after a few moments of silence, that Chanyeol looks over his shoulder at Jongin. Jongin is still dressed in a loose tank and sleep pants, the moonlight shining over his left side and casting shadows across the slope of his cheek, curve of his nose, dip of his clavicles. He looks breathtaking.
For all that Chanyeol can normally never shut up, time with Jongin is sacred, and Chanyeol rarely breaks the sanctity with useless blabber. He knows Jongin appreciates this, because Jongin himself isn’t very articulate in casual conversation. He stutters easily, spaces out often, and seems generally uncomfortable when attention is on him.
So he waits, quietly, for Jongin to snap out of whatever world he’s been briefly trapped in. Jongin does so soon enough, and he reaches forward, sliding his palm over the curve of Chanyeol’s bare ass. Chanyeol sighs softly at the contact; fire and ice. He’s not sure who is what. He just knows that both burn him inside out. The sound of rustling lets Chanyeol know that Jongin is getting undressed, and Chanyeol rests his forehead on his forearms, making sure his spine dips artistically and his knees spread for stability. The mattress dips and he knows Jongin has taken up residence behind him, and he can imagine those dark, dark eyes tracing over his pale, pale body.
Jongin’s hands follow his eyes’ path, no doubt. His fingers start at the round of Chanyeol’s ass, before they start walking in tandem up Chanyeol’s back on either side of his spine. Chanyeol lets out a slow breath, his body warming up even if Jongin’s fingertips feel like a million ice cubes dancing on his skin. Fingers curve over Chanyeol’s shoulders briefly, and he half expects Jongin to yank him up, say something filthy in his ear -- but his fingers slide into Chanyeol’s silvery-dyed locks, always appreciative, almost tender. An impulsive decision on Chanyeol’s part, three days ago, with the help of his best friend. Jongin hasn’t seen his hair yet, and Jongin hasn’t commented on it yet now that he has seen it, but Chanyeol knows better than to hope for verbal appraisal from the other man. Instead, Chanyeol relishes in the touch to his hair; Jongin is rarely ever kind to his scalp, mostly tugging, yanking, even delivering the occasional slap to it.
This delicate touch makes Chanyeol think that Jongin likes his hair.
That’s as far as Chanyeol’s thoughts go, though, because Jongin’s heavy, hard cock is sliding between his cheeks, insistent and hot. Chanyeol whines softly in the back of his throat. A week of playing head honcho in the office, of firing inexcusable employees, of cheering on manly sports that he didn’t really find any interest in -- Chanyeol’s act crumbles. The dominant, strong Park Chanyeol only exists outside of Jongin’s apartment.
Inside Jongin’s apartment, Chanyeol is his true self.
“Please,” Chanyeol breathes, his low voice already a bit ragged, kiss swollen lips barely forming the correct syllables. His hips shift, and Jongin’s fingers grip his hips hard enough to bruise and oh, Chanyeol knows he’ll have purpling marks in the morning.
This is the only place Chanyeol gives up control.
Which is probably why he always bolts after their sessions; he never wants to deal with the reality of his true self. Of his submissive self. Of his anxieties and insecurities that Jongin washes away with kisses, caresses, and the firm pounding of his cock.
“Please,” Chanyeol moans again, fingers tangling in the sheets. His knees spread a bit wider, trying to seduce Jongin with his fluttering hole, wanting to be used up, wanting to be dominated and controlled.
Jongin lays over Chanyeol in a way that blankets him completely in his warmth, in his scent. Chest to back, his cock still sliding in the cleft of Chanyeol’s ass, Jongin mouths along the breadth of Chanyeol’s shoulder blades, nipping in the center of his back at his spine. His body is rocking minutely, and Chanyeol shifts to force Jongin’s cockhead to catch on his rim and he whimpers, shuddering.
Jongin pulls away, then, taking all the warmth with him. For a moment, Chanyeol panics; is he acting out of line? Will Jongin tell him to go home? Stuttering out a breath, Chanyeol props up on his elbows, twisting his torso a bit to look over his shoulder at Jongin.
He loses his breath.
Jongin’s head is tipped back, eyes closed as he jerks his own cock. Chanyeol should be offended that Jongin is blatantly pleasuring himself and leaving Chanyeol hanging, but he can’t find it within himself to be offended at all. No. Jongin looks too good, stroking his dick, tight fist and thumb swiping over the head of his cock, the muscles of his bicep and forearm reacting accordingly under bronzed skin. Chanyeol wants to blow him, wants to swallow his cum, maybe even smear it on his face.
Shifting, Chanyeol makes to move, but Jongin’s eyes open and he pins Chanyeol with his gaze. Chanyeol has learned Jongin’s wordless commands like some sort of holy testament. He understands them, and obeys them. Jongin’s hand leaves his cock and both hands slide over Chanyeol’s back again, before Jongin shifts. He helps Chanyeol get positioned, and for a moment, Chanyeol thinks he’s about to ride Jongin -- it wouldn’t be the first time. But as Chanyeol moves to settle over Jongin’s waist, his hand going towards the nightstand for the lube, he’s halted by Jongin’s hands on his hips. Jongin squeezes firmly and starts maneuvering Chanyeol, and Chanyeol inches up Jongin’s body -- past his ribs, over his chest, and then finally…
“Oh.”
With his hands on the headboard to keep himself upright, Chanyeol glances down at where he’s straddling Jongin’s face. There’s a smirk on those devilish lips and Chanyeol groans softly, thighs trembling in anticipation. Jongin’s hands now smooth over the tops of Chanyeol’s thighs, and then round to the underside, spreading his cheeks open and forcing Chanyeol’s ass over his face. Chanyeol exhales a puff of air at the first lick of Jongin’s tongue, and then finds himself moaning when Jongin pulls his ass cheeks apart so he can dive in.
Swallowing thickly, Chanyeol moves a hand from the headboard to his cock, tugging on it more so he can see Jongin’s face, rather than actually pleasure himself. Jongin’s nose is in his balls, his eyes are closed and Chanyeol can’t see much but he can tell by the crinkle of closed lids that Jongin is smiling as he eats Chanyeol out. The thought that Jongin always seems to enjoy rimming Chanyeol so much has the older man groaning and dropping his head back, rocking his hips down to get more of Jongin’s tongue. Jongin replies in kind, flattening his tongue and pressing it against Chanyeol’s hole, before pointing it and thrusting it inside. It’s not thick enough, not deep enough, but it’s just the right amount of wet and warm, and now Chanyeol’s jerking his cock for pleasure. Jongin’s mouth is wicked and always wrecks Chanyeol without preamble.
Knees still shaking, it’s a combination of his feet on the mattress and his hand on the headboard that keeps Chanyeol from just outright sitting on Jongin’s face and suffocating him. This angle feels so amazing, and he can help set the pace, fucking himself down onto Jongin’s tongue rhythmically. Little jolts of pleasure zing from his taint, through his balls all the way to the tip of his dick in rapid succession. Each thrust of Jongin’s tongue has a new wave of goosebumps forming over Chanyeol’s skin, and after a while, as good as it feels, it’s not what Chanyeol wants, not what he needs.
“Jongin, please, please--” he pants, reaching down. He doesn’t know exactly how to physically get Jongin away from his ass without sticking his hand between them, so to avoid that awkward situation he tangles his fingers in Jongin’s hair, tugging softly.
When Jongin surfaces, he licks his lips like he’s just had the best treat of his life. Chanyeol trembles violently at the look in Jongin’s eyes, at the slick shining from his nose all the way down to his chin.
Shifting, Chanyeol scoots down Jongin’s body. He spits in his hand and jerks Jongin’s cock a few times; it’s not enough for comfortable entry, but Chanyeol is sopping wet and ready to go, anyway. Jongin doesn’t protest, either, as he puts his hands on Chanyeol’s hips and helps guide him onto his cock.
Fucking Jongin is an out of this world experience.
Chanyeol is sober every time he shows up to Jongin’s apartment, but in moments like this, clarity hits him harder than a brick wall. The pleasure is mind-blowing, always at a new level each time. Chanyeol feels pleasure like he’s never felt it before; he feels it in the burning of Jongin’s fingertips, he feels it in the heaviness of Jongin’s gaze. He feels like he’s living and dying simultaneously, like there’s no way he can feel this way in the mortal realm. Jongin’s hips are unforgiving as they slam up into Chanyeol, and Chanyeol isn’t riding Jongin at this point so much as propping himself up so Jongin can fuck into him.
Strong arms wrap around Chanyeol’s body and switch their position, Jongin laying Chanyeol out on the bed. He spreads Chanyeol’s knees out in a butterfly stretch and it burns Chanyeol’s groin muscles but he can’t be bothered when Jongin drives home. Jongin’s fingers are digging into Chanyeol’s knobby kneecaps, fitting into the spaces between joints, almost as if Jongin is making sure Chanyeol will have a hard time walking.
Almost like Jongin is making sure that this time, Chanyeol won’t be able to walk away from him.
The headboard slams against the wall harder than it ever has, and Chanyeol’s cries are a litany of Jongin’s name, praise to the heavens, worship to the god gracing him with his presence. Chanyeol’s voice grows hoarse and he settles for whimpering, reaching above his head to grip at the headboard, the carvings hardly granting him any purchase. Jongin’s hips are hitting Chanyeol’s ass hard enough to leave bruises and Chanyeol knows, there’s no mistaking it.
Jongin is ensuring that Chanyeol will not leave him tonight.
Cracking his eyes open, Chanyeol watches Jongin’s face as he drills into him. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but Jongin reaches up, slapping his palm over Chanyeol’s mouth none too nicely. It stings, it makes Chanyeol’s eyes water but he moans, his tongue licking a fat, wet stripe over Jongin’s palm. Jongin’s thrusts slow and his hand slides down Chanyeol’s chin, damp with saliva, sliding further down so his palm presses against Chanyeol’s windpipe.
Chanyeol knows he should shut up, but he moans Jongin’s name anyway, loving how it gets cut off by Jongin’s fingers tightening around his throat, successfully silencing him. The ghost of a smirk flickers over Jongin’s features and Chanyeol whimpers as best as he can, before Jongin’s fingers tighten again -- this time, black hazes around the edges of Chanyeol’s vision and he can’t keep his eyes open for long, lashes fluttering. Jongin’s hips pick up pace again and Chanyeol knows neither of them are going to last long.
Jongin’s other hand is still gripping Chanyeol’s knee to the point of it hurting, an ache settling into the tendons and ligaments there. Chanyeol flails a hand towards his knee, and Jongin relents, instead grabbing his cock. As he chokes Chanyeol, as he fucks Chanyeol, as he jerks Chanyeol, Jongin is in total and complete control, his gaze narrowed, sweat glistening off of the shoulder bathed in moonlight. Chanyeol swallows under his palm, lets out a little sob, and then Jongin is cutting off Chanyeol’s air supply totally, ramming into him mercilessly.
Chanyeol comes so hard his vision goes black, and he’s pretty sure he loses consciousness briefly, because when his eyes open there’s a pool of cum on his stomach and cum dripping down his balls to his asshole, Jongin hovering over him and panting heavily. He can see all the impressive lines of Jongin’s body like this, and Chanyeol reaches up, tentatively, wanting for one insane moment to pull the man into an embrace.
But embracing is for lovers.
Jongin moves away from Chanyeol, making quick work of cleaning them both up. Normally, at this point Chanyeol would stay in Jongin’s bed until Jongin falls asleep, and then he’d slip out undetected, until their next tryst.
But as Chanyeol moves to lay on his side, pain jolts up from his knee, white hot in his thigh and down his shin. Hissing softly, he reaches down to tenderly rub the area. Jongin did a number on him. Jongin… hurt him. Frowning, Chanyeol looks up at Jongin when he comes back from disposing the towels, and Jongin seems to be startled by the look on Chanyeol’s face.
“Why did you do that?” Chanyeol asks, and though he isn’t specific, he knows Jongin knows what he means.
Jongin glances away, dark bangs shielding dark eyes from the bright moon. “So you can’t leave.”
Chanyeol feels irritation bubble up in his chest, even as his earlier thoughts are confirmed. “I don’t want to stay.”
“Too fucking bad,” Jongin snaps, getting into bed, pulling the covers up over both himself and Chanyeol.
“You’re--” Chanyeol pushes at his shoulder, making it so there’s quite a bit of space between them on the bed. “That’s fucking stupid. You’re a fucking idiot, I can’t stay.”
Despite Chanyeol’s outburst, Jongin reaches out, catching Chanyeol’s wrist to deflect another hit. “Yes you can.” Jongin’s voice is soft, and now Chanyeol can see his eyes, soft and imploring.
Chanyeol comes here so he can relinquish his control and hand it over to Jongin for a little while. That’s it. Nothing more, nothing less.
This situation is too far out of his control to be comfortable.
He tries wrenching his hand away, “I can’t--”
“Why?” Jongin frowns, and his grip on Chanyeol’s wrist is strong. “Because you don’t want to give up control for longer than a fuck?”
That makes Chanyeol still. He steels Jongin with a hard gaze. This is the most they’ve talked… ever. Jongin doesn’t mince words, but he’s not a conversationalist at all. This is all foreign territory.
“If that’s how you feel about it, why do you let me keep coming over? Why don’t you stop it?”
“Why are you acting so defensive when all I want is for you to just stay the fucking night?” Jongin asks, defensive himself, grip tightening on Chanyeol’s wrist.
“Because I’m not supposed to stay the night, and you’re not supposed to want me to stay the night.”
Jongin lets go of Chanyeol’s wrist, then. He meets Chanyeol’s steely gaze with one of his own, and then reaches forward to this time bodily bring Chanyeol into his embrace. Chanyeol fights it briefly, struggling to try and pull away -- and he could, if he really, truly wanted to. He and Jongin work not because Jongin is impossible to overpower, but because Chanyeol lets him take control. But a part of him doesn’t want to fight. Part of him thinks about how just a few moments ago, when Jongin had been hunched over him, spent and panting, Chanyeol had wanted to hug him.
Frown creasing his forehead, Chanyeol stops fighting, and instead burrows himself into Jongin’s chest. Jongin’s arms are sure, solid around him, blocking anything from the outside world.
“I’ll stay,” Chanyeol finally says, voice muffled by Jongin’s chest. Relinquishing control again, but this time… in a totally different way.
“I will take care of you,” Jongin promises quietly.
It’s the most Jongin has ever said, and Chanyeol isn’t exactly disappointed by it.
Chanyeol is sober every time he shows up to Jongin’s apartment.
Jongin takes him away without any inhibitions.
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