Of Handjobs, Avocado Masks, and Mandarin Lessons (oneshot)
Of Handjobs, Avocado Masks, and Mandarin Lessons; Kris/Chen; NC-17; 5,231 w.
Chaos ensues when Yifan doesn’t know how to act when around Jongdae so Yixing steps in to help.
Written for the sncj_reversebb challenge! This is the artwork I wrote for.
Of Handjobs, Avocado Masks, and Mandarin Lessons;
For the most part, Jongdae and Yifan’s relationship is very simple, with little to no complications and conversations kept to a couple words at most.
They’re not exactly the type to have playful bantering like Yifan would with Yixing on a day to day basis when the leader was in need of some much love and attention. Yifan doesn’t dote on him as he does with Zitao whenever the latter compliments him on practically everything he does, including breathing. Yifan isn’t one to prod at Jongdae’s cheeks, because they’re just too sunken in, nothing like Minseok’s at all. Lastly, Yifan and Jongdae don’t get into comical physical altercations as the older one would with Luhan when he would purposely misbehave with the leader.
Jongdae likes this kind of straightforward connection he harbors with Yifan, and he’s sure the latter feels the same.
It’s Friday night, probably sometime past one o’clock, Jongdae isn’t too sure anymore. They did quite a bit today, practicing their dance routine for their comeback and recording a few of their songs, in Mandarin of course. Having the most lines, Jongdae spent the longest in the recording room, having to repeat the lyrics incessantly till he was able to achieve a near perfect pronunciation of Mandarin while singing simultaneously.
Sometimes, he would become too engrossed in enunciating each word carefully as to not mumble the vowels and consonants that he’d just say the words without any hint of tonality and rhythm to create a kind of set tune, and vice versa. Still, the corners of his lips were left arched while the members gave him encouragement from outside. He finally finished a couple hours ago, and now they’re practicing their new choreography.
Yifan’s movements now are laggard, almost as if he’s simply dragging his feet across the floor, and Jongdae notices the dark purple eye bags and the clump of red veins at the corner of his eyes growing more apparent as the night wore on.
Yixing’s motions were precise, smooth, quick, and their dance instructor nods in approval, his arms folded across his chest upon observing him. By now everyone had given up for tonight, their white towels practically soaked in the pungent smell of sweat, but of course, Yixing’s steps never falter. Droplets of sweat form at his temples, cascading downwards, stopping just as it meets the tip of his chin. Sometimes, he crinkles his nose a certain way, and that was a sign for all of them that Yixing’s waist was giving out again.
After several minutes, Yifan finally convinces him to head back to the dorm. “You did well Yixing,” his hand reaches the main dancer’s mid back, patting it a few times that soon turn to adoring little strokes. Yixing nods, hooking an arm around Yifan's neck, and the leader listens to the quiet, ragged breaths from the latter’s slightly parted mouth.
Everyone was tired. During the ride back to their dorms, Jongdae braces his back against the stiff leather chairs, propping his head to the side on Yifan’s shoulder. He falls into a fitful sleep right away, shifting around constantly in an attempt to get into a more snug position. Yifan doesn’t do anything; his head’s flopping back and forth against the headrest from the little bumps on the road that convulsed the vehicle while his eyes were fixated in front of him, staring beyond the vast number of honking cars in front of them.
He doesn’t even say anything when he notices a small quagmire of drool cascading down Jongdae’s chin and onto his shoulder, a dark patch forming on his shirt. Jongdae’s a cute and likeable kid, Yifan thinks as he watches more spit accumulate on his shirt. He’s small, petite, has one hell of a voice, and is kind for the most part, always dedicated to overcoming obstacles, in this case learning Mandarin.
He’s cute, almost pretty looking when he sleeps, long eyelashes almost resting on his under eyes. It was late, and not too long after, Yifan also closes his eyes and falls unconscious.
Jongdae’s standing in front of Yifan during the Go All Out recording, twirling around on the tips of his toes, tweaking the round ears of his sauna lamb towel as a force of habit. Today he feels especially heavy, staying mostly to himself as the rest of the members formed their own little groups, Yifan, Yixing, and Zitao gathered together near the edge of the pool and Minseok and Luhan not too far behind.
Presently, it feels like the back of Jongdae’s head is being hollowed out after only getting an hour’s worth of sleep the night before and sometimes he’d grapple the back of his head, fisting his hair, trying anything to alleviate the biting palpitations.
And then Yifan's standing in front of him (when did he get here?), tugging on his ears in a lighthearted teasing, his throat crooning softly when he chuckles and the creases of Jongdae’s eyes furrow deeper and he’s practically whining, “Hyung, stop.”
Yifan brushes off what he thinks is a playful plea, and he circles Jongdae’s chest with his arms, swinging the rooted latter a few times, his feet dangling slightly in midair. Jongdae unmistakably hears laughter coming from Yifan; however he was not entertained in the slightest. And he feels strange about it, because he’s never particularly in a grouchy mood with the exception of today.
“Stop, I have a headache.” Jongdae’s voice is hoarser this time, and the leader sets him down promptly, shuffling around a bit, and then lowering his head in a slight bow. “I’m, I’m sorry.” Yifan’s apology sounded courteous, and Jongdae undoubtedly feels a small tinge of guilt but he ends up not saying anything at all, following closely behind Minseok and Luhan.
“You’re kind of a jackass, you know.” Yixing props an elbow on Yifan's shoulder coolly, and the latter attempts to shrug his arm off, the noises coming from him almost sounding like little snarls when Yixing remains unmoving.
“Hey, I said I was sorry. I didn’t even know he wasn’t feeling well.” Yixing finally releases his hold, and Yifan doesn’t miss that split second of the main dancer rolling his eyes at the remark. “Wow, now you’re even more of a jackass for not paying attention when Jongdae was complaining about his headache all day.”
Oh.
That was all that came out of Yifan's lips and Yixing purses his own together, shaking his head disapprovingly and biting back the need to heave a sigh loud enough for him to hear. “And what was all that just now anyway? I didn’t know you and Jongdae were all touchy feely with each other.”
“We’re not. I mean, once in a while we’d give each other little pats on the shoulders but―”
“Oh, I think I get it now. No need to say anymore.” Yixing pivots on his heel, walking towards Zitao who’s alone at the edge of the pool and Yifan thinks oh no you don’t, fisting the hem of the latter’s t-shirt to hold him in place.
“Zhang Yixing,” Yifan's not serious if he doesn’t utter the boy’s full name, “what are you thinking?” Yixing shimmies out of the leader’s hold, smoothing out the small wrinkles at the bottom of his shirt, the curved indentation on his cheeks becoming more pronounced, and suddenly Yifan's stomach begins to curl.
“You like him.”
Yifan feels his throat oscillating heavily when he practically gnarrs at Yixing as the latter shrugs his shoulders. Yifan knows this boy is nothing short of a genius and mastermind, an evil one at that. He just, for some unknown reason to everyone else, likes to play dumb.
“Of course I do. I like him a lot.” Yifan too shrugs his shoulders so nonchalantly, and Yixing’s wriggling his eyebrows at his declaration. “Well, that was easier than I thought.”
Yifan groans, pushing his hair back with wiry fingers, and Yixing just grins at how seemingly agitated the leader gets when he pushes his buttons just a little too hard.
“Yixing, why do you always feel the need to take my straightforward words out of context?”
“Because it’s so much more fun that way.” Yixing laughs when he dodges a joking punch to his upper arm.
Yixing was right though, Yifan does have a liking towards Jongdae, much different than the rest of their members. He feels indifferent when it comes to the main vocalist because there’s something else there when once in a while he’ll wrap firm fingers around Jongdae and pull him closer. There’s a tugging feeling in his chest, and it feels bad and good all at the same time.
He finds it relatively calming when listening to Jongdae singing their ballads from the album and afterwards, he finds himself humming along to the tunes. Yifan thinks though, that Jongdae sees him merely as an older brother, and so he tries to change that, to make the younger see him as something more. The only problem is, he’s not entirely sure how.
On some nights, Yifan likes to sleep naked, much to Jongdae’s surprise.
They’re both not shy when it comes to changing in front of each other, after all they’ve gotten used to it when switching wardrobe after wardrobe practically in the blink of an eye in the middle of performances. But, Jongdae was uncomfortable upon seeing Yifan's ass and dick dangling between his legs.
The first time it happened was when they had just returned from their first recording for a Chinese variety show, and everyone was beat. Jongdae didn’t even bother brushing his teeth or washing off the smoldered eyeliner and thick foundation that smelled oddly similar to paint. He changed into his pajamas and called it a night.
He was still awake when Yifan came in a few minutes after and the leader removed all his clothes, starting from his dress shirt and worked his way down. Yifan doesn’t have defined abs like the rest of them; he’s a bit flabby in his lower abdomen but he did have slight pelvic muscles running from his lower hips. His pants came off next and Jongdae almost choked on his own saliva when his boxers were on the floor beside his skinny jeans.
He remained stiffened on his bed, watching as Yifan fell on his own onto his back. All Jongdae could think was Yifan's ass and penis are in full view. He can see his ass and cock. And being disturbed is an understatement.
“Hyung?” Jongdae croaks, and when he looks over, Yifan had his head cocked to the opposite side, probably already slumbering.
“What is it?” Maybe not.
“Well, I’m not sure if you noticed, but I can see your dick.”
Yifan laughed, which wasn’t really a laugh, just a few chuckles and Jongdae’s Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed, “I’m very much aware of it, but thank you for letting me know.”
Oh, came out as a tiny squeak for Jongdae. And then he thought, maybe it’s because Yifan's too tired to actually change his clothes and decided to sleep, naked. Yeah, that’s it.
Jongdae doesn’t remember sleeping that night.
There were also a few occasions when Jongdae’s caught him masturbating, fortunately under the sheets. Jongdae had woken up at two in the morning, eyes going wide when he hears soft rustling and unfamiliar sounds coming from their room.
He thought a crazy stalker fan had managed to get into their room, and almost calls out for Yifan, that is, until he looks over and there he was, head resting against the headboard and he’s rubbing his cock from underneath the blankets, from what he can make out from the odd movements of their leader’s hand. Jongdae quietly sinks his head underneath his pillow, hoping to drown out the low grunts from Yifan. He makes a mental note to bleach his eyes the next day.
From then on, Jongdae avoids him at all cost during the course of the day during their activities. Sometimes, Yifan would walk up to him casually with a bit of a smile, trying to tell him he’s doing a great job in his Mandarin but Jongdae just clings to Minseok and although he feels bad about it, he can’t shake off the awkwardness he feels after seeing the leader naked.
The rest notice the slight tension between the two, although no one is aware of their situation. It was evident by the way Jongdae would look so meek and afraid when Yifan would approach the rest of the group. They figured he was intimidated by him, but they knew somehow that wasn’t the case. Everyone who knew Yifan was aware that his personality is nothing like his outward appearance.
Still, they decided to stay out of it.
One morning, Yixing walks in their room for Yifan’s iPod and both Jongdae and their leader are sitting in an upright position on their beds upon hearing the intruder’s shrill scream.
“Yifan, what the fuck?!” He’s bellowing like mad and Yifan and Jongdae watch him pace around the room with half lidded and squinted eyes, getting accustomed to the blaring light peering through the crack of the curtains.
“Is there a reason why you’re yelling your head off at eight in the morning?” Yifan’s voice is much too hoarse and low for Jongdae to understand anything he said, but Yixing heard every utterance.
“You can’t be serious. I can see your flat ass! God Jongdae how are your eyes not bleeding by now?” Yixing’s a very calm person for the most part, so seeing him burst into a multitude of emotions was quite comical for him to say in the least.
Jongdae snorted, “Oh trust me, they do. I like to keep a few tissues handy just in case.” He wasn’t looking when Yifan creased his eyebrows together at his crude statement.
“Yifan, you and I need to have a serious talk. And put some clothes on dammit!”
They do eventually talk, and for a long time while Jongdae decided to lounge in Luhan’s room.
“You’re really an idiot sometimes.” That was how their conversation started and already Yifan wanted to throw Yixing across the room in agitation.
His groans come out in raspy breaths, “I swear I didn’t have any bad intentions, I just wanted to, I don’t know―”
Yixing’s laughed and laughed, clutched onto his stomach and Yifan just, watched him as he sunk to the ground, wearing his dimples as he fell into a fit of laughter.
“So this is why Jongdae’s been acting so weird lately. Way to go Yifan, you managed to scare him off already.” He paused after every syllable to chuckle and Yifan's fingers curled into his palms, teeth clenched and he used every fiber and being to hold himself back from throwing a punch at him.
“It’s not funny okay? I didn’t know how to get closer to him, so I…did this.” His voice at the end faded into oblivion and Yixing stopped laughing, standing up to sit beside Yifan on his slightly stiff mattress.
“There were so many things you could’ve done. Maybe take him out for some ice cream? Teach him some Mandarin? Call him cute nicknames? But exposing your penis to him isn’t one of them god Yifan what is wrong with you?”
“Fuck,” Yifan cursed, “I know I messed up, I don’t need to be told twice.”
“You’re right; you need to be told this all the time.” For once, Yifan's cowered in his seat and Yixing grinned at him with dimples, teeth, everything. “I don’t know how you’re going to do it, but fix things with you and Jongdae before things get out of hand.”
Jongdae likes to spend late nights on his laptop, trying to compress as much Mandarin as possible and retain all the useful bits of information as best as he could. The tonal language is quite a challenge for him, trying to memorize all the nuances and thousands of characters that most don’t even use.
Jongdae hears the faint sound of a click and now Yifan's in the room, his hair pushed back from the thin wire of his headband, his face a horrid puke green color from his avocado mask (he’s trying to go all natural it seems), and both his hands full with his nightly regime. Jongdae suddenly feels the bed dip with added weight and he stops clicking on the mouse, shifting his gaze from the laptop screen to Yifan, then to the laptop screen again.
“Your face smells nice.” Jongdae tries to break the ice first and Yifan merely chuckles without teeth, peering into the screen with him. His heart’s pounding into his chest relentlessly, though thankfully his calm outward appearance doesn’t show it. At least Jongdae is somewhat warming up to him.
“Practicing Mandarin again?” Jongdae gives a slight nod, shutting off his laptop. “I’m done for the night though, it’s just too hard.”
“That’s because you spend too much time on those useless programs.” Yifan prod’s his own cheek and furrows his eyebrows together, pressing his finger and thumb together to rid the sticky residue trapped between the small crevices, “The only way you’ll be able to learn Mandarin is by communication.”
“Communication?” Jongdae dips his head slightly, tucking his upper lip in his lower one, “What do you mean?”
“What I mean is, immerse yourself in the language. Listen to everyone around you when they’re speaking Mandarin. And most importantly, speak to others in the language they’re speaking, because that’s the only way you’re going to learn it. Not by these crazy gimmicks like Rosetta Stone. And, maybe I can help you practice sometime. Only if you want to, that is.”
Yifan’s arms stretch high above his head, arching back slightly, easing the tension of his stiff muscles from rigorous dance practice the day before. Jongdae nods, his eyes turning to tiny, glinting crescents. “That would be nice hyung. I mean gege.”
Yifan almost smiles at Jongdae’s coarse pronunciation, and then he remembers the avocado mask and by now the adhesive’s turned completely sapless, drawing out all the embedded impurities on the skin’s surface. Wordlessly, Yifan leaves the room again, probably to wash off the gunk that he slathers on his face every night, and Jongdae’s throat tickles at the leader’s eerie obsession with taking care of his skin.
Now Jongdae’s head’s propped above his folded arms, his legs sprawled across the tangled bed sheets that he forgot to fold this morning. The heels of his feet tap incessantly against the slightly firm mattress, earphones on and listening to Frozen by Evergrey. There was something ironically calming about listening to metal right before he’s deluged himself in much needed sleep for a couple hours.
The songs plays for a second time when Yifan returns, his face back to normal, maybe a little brighter than before, but still normal, and Jongdae grins behind fingers tightly clasped around his lips. He finds it purely comical how Yifan just stands in front of the mirror of their dresser for minutes and minutes, tilting his face to the side, nose pointed upwards as he soothes ling, wiry fingertips over his cheeks.
Jongdae swears Yifan sometimes even twitches his eyebrows when he gets a little too into it. For Yifan, everything had to be done in perfect order, or his face would wreck havoc. And Jongdae thinks it’s a little creepy, being so fixated on his face when there was nothing wrong with it from the start. But in the end, he thinks, whatever, his life, his choices.
On a daily basis, Jongdae’s like fuck it to everything. For example, people tell him all the time that his strong cheekbones scare the hell out of them but he’s like fuck it. There are young trainees fucking in the boys’ bathroom at the SM building but he’s like fuck it. There are people starving in all parts of the world but he’s like fuck it. But for some reason, upon seeing Yifan naked and masturbating to top it off, he can’t say fuck it to that, and he can’t figure out why.
Jongdae’s also different than Yixing in the sense that he doesn’t really expose their leader’s habits and lifestyle, on or off screen, because he thinks it’s no one’s damn business, even if it’s good laughing material for their interview shows that get a bit uncomfortable and silent at certain points.
It’s never not amusing whenever Yifan does his nightly routine. There are exactly four products he uses in all; an essence, an eye cream, a face lotion, and a skin brightening serum. Jongdae pauses his music, listening while Yifan counts to four with every drop on the center of his palm. Then he’d clap his hands a few times, and pat his skin, going from his chin upwards. He spends about five minutes doing this, even after his skin’s soaked up the entire product.
He takes even longer with the other products, and Jongdae doesn’t even try to stay awake and watch Yifan admiring his presence for another half hour in front of their mirror.
“Hi Chen Chen!” That was the nickname Yixing came up with for Jongdae, and although Yifan wasn’t that fond of it at the beginning, he thinks it’ll do for now.
Yifan’s voice was high pitched with a tinge of sweetness at the end, and Jongdae thinks he might’ve thrown up a little in his mouth. He couldn’t figure out what was worse, Yifan's nickname for him or his overly cute and nasal talk.
“Um, hi, but what with the name?” Jongdae stops clicking on the mouse incessantly, sweat accumulating on his forehead when he feels Yifan breathing against the curve of his back.
“It’s my pet name for you. Isn’t it cute?” When Jongdae turns around, his mouth drops when Yifan purses his lips. Their leader was pouting, and Jongdae thinks this is much more frightening than catching him masturbating in bed. No doubt.
“Cute?” Jongdae repeats, his left eye twitching uncomfortably and Yifan bobs his head in affirmation.
“Yeah. Chen Chen. It has a nice to ring to it doesn’t it?” Yifan's eyes flicker down to Jongdae’s and he notices the latter scooting away slightly.
“I suppose it is.” Jongdae mumbles and finally Yifan backs away, “Want to go out for some ice cream?” Jongdae does a double take before closing his laptop screen. He doesn’t say anything at first, only twiddling his thumbs together before shuffling them in his jeans pockets.
“Right now? It’s kind of late, don’t you think?” Yifan shrugs at his response.
“I told our manager we’ll be going out. And if you’re still thinking of not going, it’s my treat.”
Jongdae doesn’t hesitate this time when he reaches for his sweater, and the corner of Yifan's lips starts to curl. “Okay, I’m ready.” Jongdae says as he slips wiry arms into the sleeves of his cotton sweater.
There’s an ice cream parlor at the end of the block where their dorm resides. It’s quaint, soft jazz music filling their ears along with the cloying smell of cotton candy ice cream and other teeth rotting flavors wafting through the parlor. To their relief, there weren’t many people there, only the occasional stalker fans outside the shop snapping a few photos of them from their DSLR cameras.
“I’ll have soft serve vanilla on a cone.” Yifan orders for himself while Jongdae’s busy scanning the menu behind the counter. There were too many to choose from, from smoothies, to soft serves, to milkshakes, and ice cream served in a cup. He’s tapping his index finger against his chin in concentration, and Yifan’s eyes flicker downwards at Jongdae, finding it endearing how he’s so determined in deciding what ice cream flavor to pick, and in what form.
In the end, Jongdae orders the same thing as Yifan.
When they received their orders, the bells attached to the door chimes heavily when Jongdae pushes it open. With one step out the door, Yifan pulls him back in.
“Let’s eat here.” Yifan doesn’t ask him, but regardless, Jongdae nods dumbly, heading back instead and they use the table all the way at the back where it’s more secluded from the rest of the customers. Yifan smiles with teeth upon watching Jongdae lap up the French vanilla eagerly, and Jongdae cowers a bit when he notices.
“Thank you very much for treating me to ice cream hyung, I really appreciate it.” His mouth’s full of ice cream, but Yifan still senses the heartfelt praise from his gleaming crescent-like eyes.
“No problem. And whenever we have time, I can bring you back here.” Yifan says in between licks and Jongdae beams at him. Overall, Yifan is a caring and affectionate older brother, always alert and making sure they were alright. On days when they were sick, Yifan sneaks into their bedrooms and soothe their necks with menthol while they slept. On days when they were down, Yifan gave them encouraging words.
Not to mention, during their first interviews, he’d come to the rescue and speak on everyone else’s behalf. Jongdae appreciates his efforts, and he’s sure Luhan, Minseok, Zitao, and Yixing does too, despite the constant bantering on their leader. Sure he can be a little weird at times with his painfully corny jokes and odd habits, but those are certainly his charming points.
“Hyung,” Jongdae claps his hands together to rid the stickiness between the webs of his fingers from the ice cream that dripped off his cone, “were you serious about, you know, teaching me Mandarin?” Yifan stops eating as well.
“Yeah I was. Why do you ask?” He resumes eating.
“Well, nothing, I was hoping maybe we can start on my lessons soon.” Yifan nods, taking one last bite of his cone. “Sure, we can get started tomorrow night.”
They spend about two hours in the parlor, rambling about nonsense but things that were relevant to their interests. Yifan found out a lot about Jongdae tonight, such as his profound love for watching romantic comedies and chick flicks. Yifan is more into action films and so they jokingly decide they can’t end up watching anything together.
When Yifan receives an angry text from their manager, they quickly grab their belongings and leave the parlor, not forgetting to leave a small tip.
“Let’s play a game to make this more interesting.” Jongdae doesn’t know why he’s suddenly feeling butterflies in his stomach, but he does and it feels fucking awful. Yifan arches an eyebrow upwards, taking small note of Jongdae’s growing nervousness. It didn’t help that he was wearing his distracting facial mask again.
“Like what?” Jongdae’s voice cracks at the end and Yifan tries to grin through his slightly stiff mask.
“I’m going to do some kind of action, and you’re going to say what I’m doing in Mandarin. Zitao says he and Minseok play it all the time.” Jongdae nods slowly, but fails to recall Minseok ever telling him about this so-called game they play often.
“Okay, sounds like fun,” Jongdae’s watching Yifan intently as he starts off, the ends of the latter’s lips curving upwards and he doesn’t hesitate at all when he utters, “Wéixiào!” Yifan claps as an encouragement and scoots over just a bit, arm sliding over Jongdae’s back.
“Your pronunciation is spot on Chen Chen! I’m really proud of you.” Fingers clasp tightly around Jongdae’s waist and the latter lowers his head, eyes finding their way to the floor and he lets out a quiet, “thank you,” in return. He doesn’t let Yifan see the smile creeping up on his lips but he notices anyway, and fingers press further into his skin. Jongdae stops moving.
“Now what am I doing?” Yifan almost hums in his ear as he leans in a bit closer, his other hand pressed against the back of Jongdae’s neck. Suddenly the room feels incredibly stuffy and hot and the younger’s shirt starts to cling to his back from the oncoming sweat. Jongdae’s mind goes blank, although he knows what the word is.
His mouth opens, closes, and finally opens again when he says, “yǒngbào,” barely coming out in a whisper. Yifan bends lower, and this time he’s much too close for comfort, and Jongdae starts to shift back, almost yelping when the latter holds him firmly in place.
“Hyung, wait, you’re too close―”
Jongdae’s arms dangle near his sides when soft lips press onto his own. His eyes are left wide open while Yifan's are slightly closed, shifting a bit closer and pressing himself just a bit nearer. Jongdae tries to grab onto anything in reach besides Yifan, and so he clings onto the skirt of his bed, fingers curling much too tight as they turn stark white.
It wasn’t too long after when Yifan pulls away, pupils dilated and eyebrows furrowed when he looks at Jongdae, hooded eyes full of want and fulfillment all at once. Suddenly sweat starts to form between Jongdae’s fingers and forehead, and he can’t look at Yifan for more than a millisecond and now he's looking at his crooked toes. Mainly because the latter still has on that fucking mask.
“Wěn.”
“That’s right.”
That was the first and last time they played that game.
Jongdae doesn’t even look at him for the next few days. They were scheduled for another recording and the usual groups were formed. He stuck to Minseok the entire time.
“What’s up with you today Jongdae?” Minseok asked him and Jongdae mumbles nothing, scurrying away in solitude. They were in the middle of their break, fortunately and he surprises Yifan when he has him by the hand, pulling him into the restroom and into an empty stall.
Hands land on the wall on either side of Yifan's face, and now they’re both kissing, ragged breaths filling each other’s mouths and Jongdae willingly parts his lips when Yifan's tongue prods against them. It almost hurts when their teeth clashes but they’re still making out with an equal amount of force, just a bit too rough but neither seems to mind in the slightest.
Yifan’s mouth tastes something like burnt cigarettes, and his hands move down towards the latter’s neck, fisting on his collar while Yifan grabs hold of his hips. After a few minutes they part, and Yifan chuckles when Jongdae has to practically flutter his eyes to keep them open. Jongdae’s still holding onto Yifan, dependent on him to keep him standing as he tries to regain his breath.
“You know,” Jongdae starts, finally loosening his grip, “you’re a little strange when it comes to confessing. But somehow it works. And then to top it all off, you’re a narcissist who spends hours admiring himself in front of a mirror and masturbates in front of his roommate. I mean who does that?”
Yifan clears his throat, “I do?”
“You’re damn right.” Jongdae scoffs, pressing their lips together once more. Yifan makes a mental note to thank Yixing later.
Jongdae smiles against Yifan with teeth pressed on his lips. Yeah, being roommates with him may not be so bad after all, Jongdae thinks. He has his secretive ways and habits, but, Jongdae likes the fact that it’s things that only he knows about the leader, no one else. He likes it a lot.
Chaos ensues when Yifan doesn’t know how to act when around Jongdae so Yixing steps in to help.
Written for the sncj_reversebb challenge! This is the artwork I wrote for.
Of Handjobs, Avocado Masks, and Mandarin Lessons;
For the most part, Jongdae and Yifan’s relationship is very simple, with little to no complications and conversations kept to a couple words at most.
They’re not exactly the type to have playful bantering like Yifan would with Yixing on a day to day basis when the leader was in need of some much love and attention. Yifan doesn’t dote on him as he does with Zitao whenever the latter compliments him on practically everything he does, including breathing. Yifan isn’t one to prod at Jongdae’s cheeks, because they’re just too sunken in, nothing like Minseok’s at all. Lastly, Yifan and Jongdae don’t get into comical physical altercations as the older one would with Luhan when he would purposely misbehave with the leader.
Jongdae likes this kind of straightforward connection he harbors with Yifan, and he’s sure the latter feels the same.
It’s Friday night, probably sometime past one o’clock, Jongdae isn’t too sure anymore. They did quite a bit today, practicing their dance routine for their comeback and recording a few of their songs, in Mandarin of course. Having the most lines, Jongdae spent the longest in the recording room, having to repeat the lyrics incessantly till he was able to achieve a near perfect pronunciation of Mandarin while singing simultaneously.
Sometimes, he would become too engrossed in enunciating each word carefully as to not mumble the vowels and consonants that he’d just say the words without any hint of tonality and rhythm to create a kind of set tune, and vice versa. Still, the corners of his lips were left arched while the members gave him encouragement from outside. He finally finished a couple hours ago, and now they’re practicing their new choreography.
Yifan’s movements now are laggard, almost as if he’s simply dragging his feet across the floor, and Jongdae notices the dark purple eye bags and the clump of red veins at the corner of his eyes growing more apparent as the night wore on.
Yixing’s motions were precise, smooth, quick, and their dance instructor nods in approval, his arms folded across his chest upon observing him. By now everyone had given up for tonight, their white towels practically soaked in the pungent smell of sweat, but of course, Yixing’s steps never falter. Droplets of sweat form at his temples, cascading downwards, stopping just as it meets the tip of his chin. Sometimes, he crinkles his nose a certain way, and that was a sign for all of them that Yixing’s waist was giving out again.
After several minutes, Yifan finally convinces him to head back to the dorm. “You did well Yixing,” his hand reaches the main dancer’s mid back, patting it a few times that soon turn to adoring little strokes. Yixing nods, hooking an arm around Yifan's neck, and the leader listens to the quiet, ragged breaths from the latter’s slightly parted mouth.
Everyone was tired. During the ride back to their dorms, Jongdae braces his back against the stiff leather chairs, propping his head to the side on Yifan’s shoulder. He falls into a fitful sleep right away, shifting around constantly in an attempt to get into a more snug position. Yifan doesn’t do anything; his head’s flopping back and forth against the headrest from the little bumps on the road that convulsed the vehicle while his eyes were fixated in front of him, staring beyond the vast number of honking cars in front of them.
He doesn’t even say anything when he notices a small quagmire of drool cascading down Jongdae’s chin and onto his shoulder, a dark patch forming on his shirt. Jongdae’s a cute and likeable kid, Yifan thinks as he watches more spit accumulate on his shirt. He’s small, petite, has one hell of a voice, and is kind for the most part, always dedicated to overcoming obstacles, in this case learning Mandarin.
He’s cute, almost pretty looking when he sleeps, long eyelashes almost resting on his under eyes. It was late, and not too long after, Yifan also closes his eyes and falls unconscious.
Jongdae’s standing in front of Yifan during the Go All Out recording, twirling around on the tips of his toes, tweaking the round ears of his sauna lamb towel as a force of habit. Today he feels especially heavy, staying mostly to himself as the rest of the members formed their own little groups, Yifan, Yixing, and Zitao gathered together near the edge of the pool and Minseok and Luhan not too far behind.
Presently, it feels like the back of Jongdae’s head is being hollowed out after only getting an hour’s worth of sleep the night before and sometimes he’d grapple the back of his head, fisting his hair, trying anything to alleviate the biting palpitations.
And then Yifan's standing in front of him (when did he get here?), tugging on his ears in a lighthearted teasing, his throat crooning softly when he chuckles and the creases of Jongdae’s eyes furrow deeper and he’s practically whining, “Hyung, stop.”
Yifan brushes off what he thinks is a playful plea, and he circles Jongdae’s chest with his arms, swinging the rooted latter a few times, his feet dangling slightly in midair. Jongdae unmistakably hears laughter coming from Yifan; however he was not entertained in the slightest. And he feels strange about it, because he’s never particularly in a grouchy mood with the exception of today.
“Stop, I have a headache.” Jongdae’s voice is hoarser this time, and the leader sets him down promptly, shuffling around a bit, and then lowering his head in a slight bow. “I’m, I’m sorry.” Yifan’s apology sounded courteous, and Jongdae undoubtedly feels a small tinge of guilt but he ends up not saying anything at all, following closely behind Minseok and Luhan.
“You’re kind of a jackass, you know.” Yixing props an elbow on Yifan's shoulder coolly, and the latter attempts to shrug his arm off, the noises coming from him almost sounding like little snarls when Yixing remains unmoving.
“Hey, I said I was sorry. I didn’t even know he wasn’t feeling well.” Yixing finally releases his hold, and Yifan doesn’t miss that split second of the main dancer rolling his eyes at the remark. “Wow, now you’re even more of a jackass for not paying attention when Jongdae was complaining about his headache all day.”
Oh.
That was all that came out of Yifan's lips and Yixing purses his own together, shaking his head disapprovingly and biting back the need to heave a sigh loud enough for him to hear. “And what was all that just now anyway? I didn’t know you and Jongdae were all touchy feely with each other.”
“We’re not. I mean, once in a while we’d give each other little pats on the shoulders but―”
“Oh, I think I get it now. No need to say anymore.” Yixing pivots on his heel, walking towards Zitao who’s alone at the edge of the pool and Yifan thinks oh no you don’t, fisting the hem of the latter’s t-shirt to hold him in place.
“Zhang Yixing,” Yifan's not serious if he doesn’t utter the boy’s full name, “what are you thinking?” Yixing shimmies out of the leader’s hold, smoothing out the small wrinkles at the bottom of his shirt, the curved indentation on his cheeks becoming more pronounced, and suddenly Yifan's stomach begins to curl.
“You like him.”
Yifan feels his throat oscillating heavily when he practically gnarrs at Yixing as the latter shrugs his shoulders. Yifan knows this boy is nothing short of a genius and mastermind, an evil one at that. He just, for some unknown reason to everyone else, likes to play dumb.
“Of course I do. I like him a lot.” Yifan too shrugs his shoulders so nonchalantly, and Yixing’s wriggling his eyebrows at his declaration. “Well, that was easier than I thought.”
Yifan groans, pushing his hair back with wiry fingers, and Yixing just grins at how seemingly agitated the leader gets when he pushes his buttons just a little too hard.
“Yixing, why do you always feel the need to take my straightforward words out of context?”
“Because it’s so much more fun that way.” Yixing laughs when he dodges a joking punch to his upper arm.
Yixing was right though, Yifan does have a liking towards Jongdae, much different than the rest of their members. He feels indifferent when it comes to the main vocalist because there’s something else there when once in a while he’ll wrap firm fingers around Jongdae and pull him closer. There’s a tugging feeling in his chest, and it feels bad and good all at the same time.
He finds it relatively calming when listening to Jongdae singing their ballads from the album and afterwards, he finds himself humming along to the tunes. Yifan thinks though, that Jongdae sees him merely as an older brother, and so he tries to change that, to make the younger see him as something more. The only problem is, he’s not entirely sure how.
On some nights, Yifan likes to sleep naked, much to Jongdae’s surprise.
They’re both not shy when it comes to changing in front of each other, after all they’ve gotten used to it when switching wardrobe after wardrobe practically in the blink of an eye in the middle of performances. But, Jongdae was uncomfortable upon seeing Yifan's ass and dick dangling between his legs.
The first time it happened was when they had just returned from their first recording for a Chinese variety show, and everyone was beat. Jongdae didn’t even bother brushing his teeth or washing off the smoldered eyeliner and thick foundation that smelled oddly similar to paint. He changed into his pajamas and called it a night.
He was still awake when Yifan came in a few minutes after and the leader removed all his clothes, starting from his dress shirt and worked his way down. Yifan doesn’t have defined abs like the rest of them; he’s a bit flabby in his lower abdomen but he did have slight pelvic muscles running from his lower hips. His pants came off next and Jongdae almost choked on his own saliva when his boxers were on the floor beside his skinny jeans.
He remained stiffened on his bed, watching as Yifan fell on his own onto his back. All Jongdae could think was Yifan's ass and penis are in full view. He can see his ass and cock. And being disturbed is an understatement.
“Hyung?” Jongdae croaks, and when he looks over, Yifan had his head cocked to the opposite side, probably already slumbering.
“What is it?” Maybe not.
“Well, I’m not sure if you noticed, but I can see your dick.”
Yifan laughed, which wasn’t really a laugh, just a few chuckles and Jongdae’s Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed, “I’m very much aware of it, but thank you for letting me know.”
Oh, came out as a tiny squeak for Jongdae. And then he thought, maybe it’s because Yifan's too tired to actually change his clothes and decided to sleep, naked. Yeah, that’s it.
Jongdae doesn’t remember sleeping that night.
There were also a few occasions when Jongdae’s caught him masturbating, fortunately under the sheets. Jongdae had woken up at two in the morning, eyes going wide when he hears soft rustling and unfamiliar sounds coming from their room.
He thought a crazy stalker fan had managed to get into their room, and almost calls out for Yifan, that is, until he looks over and there he was, head resting against the headboard and he’s rubbing his cock from underneath the blankets, from what he can make out from the odd movements of their leader’s hand. Jongdae quietly sinks his head underneath his pillow, hoping to drown out the low grunts from Yifan. He makes a mental note to bleach his eyes the next day.
From then on, Jongdae avoids him at all cost during the course of the day during their activities. Sometimes, Yifan would walk up to him casually with a bit of a smile, trying to tell him he’s doing a great job in his Mandarin but Jongdae just clings to Minseok and although he feels bad about it, he can’t shake off the awkwardness he feels after seeing the leader naked.
The rest notice the slight tension between the two, although no one is aware of their situation. It was evident by the way Jongdae would look so meek and afraid when Yifan would approach the rest of the group. They figured he was intimidated by him, but they knew somehow that wasn’t the case. Everyone who knew Yifan was aware that his personality is nothing like his outward appearance.
Still, they decided to stay out of it.
One morning, Yixing walks in their room for Yifan’s iPod and both Jongdae and their leader are sitting in an upright position on their beds upon hearing the intruder’s shrill scream.
“Yifan, what the fuck?!” He’s bellowing like mad and Yifan and Jongdae watch him pace around the room with half lidded and squinted eyes, getting accustomed to the blaring light peering through the crack of the curtains.
“Is there a reason why you’re yelling your head off at eight in the morning?” Yifan’s voice is much too hoarse and low for Jongdae to understand anything he said, but Yixing heard every utterance.
“You can’t be serious. I can see your flat ass! God Jongdae how are your eyes not bleeding by now?” Yixing’s a very calm person for the most part, so seeing him burst into a multitude of emotions was quite comical for him to say in the least.
Jongdae snorted, “Oh trust me, they do. I like to keep a few tissues handy just in case.” He wasn’t looking when Yifan creased his eyebrows together at his crude statement.
“Yifan, you and I need to have a serious talk. And put some clothes on dammit!”
They do eventually talk, and for a long time while Jongdae decided to lounge in Luhan’s room.
“You’re really an idiot sometimes.” That was how their conversation started and already Yifan wanted to throw Yixing across the room in agitation.
His groans come out in raspy breaths, “I swear I didn’t have any bad intentions, I just wanted to, I don’t know―”
Yixing’s laughed and laughed, clutched onto his stomach and Yifan just, watched him as he sunk to the ground, wearing his dimples as he fell into a fit of laughter.
“So this is why Jongdae’s been acting so weird lately. Way to go Yifan, you managed to scare him off already.” He paused after every syllable to chuckle and Yifan's fingers curled into his palms, teeth clenched and he used every fiber and being to hold himself back from throwing a punch at him.
“It’s not funny okay? I didn’t know how to get closer to him, so I…did this.” His voice at the end faded into oblivion and Yixing stopped laughing, standing up to sit beside Yifan on his slightly stiff mattress.
“There were so many things you could’ve done. Maybe take him out for some ice cream? Teach him some Mandarin? Call him cute nicknames? But exposing your penis to him isn’t one of them god Yifan what is wrong with you?”
“Fuck,” Yifan cursed, “I know I messed up, I don’t need to be told twice.”
“You’re right; you need to be told this all the time.” For once, Yifan's cowered in his seat and Yixing grinned at him with dimples, teeth, everything. “I don’t know how you’re going to do it, but fix things with you and Jongdae before things get out of hand.”
Jongdae likes to spend late nights on his laptop, trying to compress as much Mandarin as possible and retain all the useful bits of information as best as he could. The tonal language is quite a challenge for him, trying to memorize all the nuances and thousands of characters that most don’t even use.
Jongdae hears the faint sound of a click and now Yifan's in the room, his hair pushed back from the thin wire of his headband, his face a horrid puke green color from his avocado mask (he’s trying to go all natural it seems), and both his hands full with his nightly regime. Jongdae suddenly feels the bed dip with added weight and he stops clicking on the mouse, shifting his gaze from the laptop screen to Yifan, then to the laptop screen again.
“Your face smells nice.” Jongdae tries to break the ice first and Yifan merely chuckles without teeth, peering into the screen with him. His heart’s pounding into his chest relentlessly, though thankfully his calm outward appearance doesn’t show it. At least Jongdae is somewhat warming up to him.
“Practicing Mandarin again?” Jongdae gives a slight nod, shutting off his laptop. “I’m done for the night though, it’s just too hard.”
“That’s because you spend too much time on those useless programs.” Yifan prod’s his own cheek and furrows his eyebrows together, pressing his finger and thumb together to rid the sticky residue trapped between the small crevices, “The only way you’ll be able to learn Mandarin is by communication.”
“Communication?” Jongdae dips his head slightly, tucking his upper lip in his lower one, “What do you mean?”
“What I mean is, immerse yourself in the language. Listen to everyone around you when they’re speaking Mandarin. And most importantly, speak to others in the language they’re speaking, because that’s the only way you’re going to learn it. Not by these crazy gimmicks like Rosetta Stone. And, maybe I can help you practice sometime. Only if you want to, that is.”
Yifan’s arms stretch high above his head, arching back slightly, easing the tension of his stiff muscles from rigorous dance practice the day before. Jongdae nods, his eyes turning to tiny, glinting crescents. “That would be nice hyung. I mean gege.”
Yifan almost smiles at Jongdae’s coarse pronunciation, and then he remembers the avocado mask and by now the adhesive’s turned completely sapless, drawing out all the embedded impurities on the skin’s surface. Wordlessly, Yifan leaves the room again, probably to wash off the gunk that he slathers on his face every night, and Jongdae’s throat tickles at the leader’s eerie obsession with taking care of his skin.
Now Jongdae’s head’s propped above his folded arms, his legs sprawled across the tangled bed sheets that he forgot to fold this morning. The heels of his feet tap incessantly against the slightly firm mattress, earphones on and listening to Frozen by Evergrey. There was something ironically calming about listening to metal right before he’s deluged himself in much needed sleep for a couple hours.
The songs plays for a second time when Yifan returns, his face back to normal, maybe a little brighter than before, but still normal, and Jongdae grins behind fingers tightly clasped around his lips. He finds it purely comical how Yifan just stands in front of the mirror of their dresser for minutes and minutes, tilting his face to the side, nose pointed upwards as he soothes ling, wiry fingertips over his cheeks.
Jongdae swears Yifan sometimes even twitches his eyebrows when he gets a little too into it. For Yifan, everything had to be done in perfect order, or his face would wreck havoc. And Jongdae thinks it’s a little creepy, being so fixated on his face when there was nothing wrong with it from the start. But in the end, he thinks, whatever, his life, his choices.
On a daily basis, Jongdae’s like fuck it to everything. For example, people tell him all the time that his strong cheekbones scare the hell out of them but he’s like fuck it. There are young trainees fucking in the boys’ bathroom at the SM building but he’s like fuck it. There are people starving in all parts of the world but he’s like fuck it. But for some reason, upon seeing Yifan naked and masturbating to top it off, he can’t say fuck it to that, and he can’t figure out why.
Jongdae’s also different than Yixing in the sense that he doesn’t really expose their leader’s habits and lifestyle, on or off screen, because he thinks it’s no one’s damn business, even if it’s good laughing material for their interview shows that get a bit uncomfortable and silent at certain points.
It’s never not amusing whenever Yifan does his nightly routine. There are exactly four products he uses in all; an essence, an eye cream, a face lotion, and a skin brightening serum. Jongdae pauses his music, listening while Yifan counts to four with every drop on the center of his palm. Then he’d clap his hands a few times, and pat his skin, going from his chin upwards. He spends about five minutes doing this, even after his skin’s soaked up the entire product.
He takes even longer with the other products, and Jongdae doesn’t even try to stay awake and watch Yifan admiring his presence for another half hour in front of their mirror.
“Hi Chen Chen!” That was the nickname Yixing came up with for Jongdae, and although Yifan wasn’t that fond of it at the beginning, he thinks it’ll do for now.
Yifan’s voice was high pitched with a tinge of sweetness at the end, and Jongdae thinks he might’ve thrown up a little in his mouth. He couldn’t figure out what was worse, Yifan's nickname for him or his overly cute and nasal talk.
“Um, hi, but what with the name?” Jongdae stops clicking on the mouse incessantly, sweat accumulating on his forehead when he feels Yifan breathing against the curve of his back.
“It’s my pet name for you. Isn’t it cute?” When Jongdae turns around, his mouth drops when Yifan purses his lips. Their leader was pouting, and Jongdae thinks this is much more frightening than catching him masturbating in bed. No doubt.
“Cute?” Jongdae repeats, his left eye twitching uncomfortably and Yifan bobs his head in affirmation.
“Yeah. Chen Chen. It has a nice to ring to it doesn’t it?” Yifan's eyes flicker down to Jongdae’s and he notices the latter scooting away slightly.
“I suppose it is.” Jongdae mumbles and finally Yifan backs away, “Want to go out for some ice cream?” Jongdae does a double take before closing his laptop screen. He doesn’t say anything at first, only twiddling his thumbs together before shuffling them in his jeans pockets.
“Right now? It’s kind of late, don’t you think?” Yifan shrugs at his response.
“I told our manager we’ll be going out. And if you’re still thinking of not going, it’s my treat.”
Jongdae doesn’t hesitate this time when he reaches for his sweater, and the corner of Yifan's lips starts to curl. “Okay, I’m ready.” Jongdae says as he slips wiry arms into the sleeves of his cotton sweater.
There’s an ice cream parlor at the end of the block where their dorm resides. It’s quaint, soft jazz music filling their ears along with the cloying smell of cotton candy ice cream and other teeth rotting flavors wafting through the parlor. To their relief, there weren’t many people there, only the occasional stalker fans outside the shop snapping a few photos of them from their DSLR cameras.
“I’ll have soft serve vanilla on a cone.” Yifan orders for himself while Jongdae’s busy scanning the menu behind the counter. There were too many to choose from, from smoothies, to soft serves, to milkshakes, and ice cream served in a cup. He’s tapping his index finger against his chin in concentration, and Yifan’s eyes flicker downwards at Jongdae, finding it endearing how he’s so determined in deciding what ice cream flavor to pick, and in what form.
In the end, Jongdae orders the same thing as Yifan.
When they received their orders, the bells attached to the door chimes heavily when Jongdae pushes it open. With one step out the door, Yifan pulls him back in.
“Let’s eat here.” Yifan doesn’t ask him, but regardless, Jongdae nods dumbly, heading back instead and they use the table all the way at the back where it’s more secluded from the rest of the customers. Yifan smiles with teeth upon watching Jongdae lap up the French vanilla eagerly, and Jongdae cowers a bit when he notices.
“Thank you very much for treating me to ice cream hyung, I really appreciate it.” His mouth’s full of ice cream, but Yifan still senses the heartfelt praise from his gleaming crescent-like eyes.
“No problem. And whenever we have time, I can bring you back here.” Yifan says in between licks and Jongdae beams at him. Overall, Yifan is a caring and affectionate older brother, always alert and making sure they were alright. On days when they were sick, Yifan sneaks into their bedrooms and soothe their necks with menthol while they slept. On days when they were down, Yifan gave them encouraging words.
Not to mention, during their first interviews, he’d come to the rescue and speak on everyone else’s behalf. Jongdae appreciates his efforts, and he’s sure Luhan, Minseok, Zitao, and Yixing does too, despite the constant bantering on their leader. Sure he can be a little weird at times with his painfully corny jokes and odd habits, but those are certainly his charming points.
“Hyung,” Jongdae claps his hands together to rid the stickiness between the webs of his fingers from the ice cream that dripped off his cone, “were you serious about, you know, teaching me Mandarin?” Yifan stops eating as well.
“Yeah I was. Why do you ask?” He resumes eating.
“Well, nothing, I was hoping maybe we can start on my lessons soon.” Yifan nods, taking one last bite of his cone. “Sure, we can get started tomorrow night.”
They spend about two hours in the parlor, rambling about nonsense but things that were relevant to their interests. Yifan found out a lot about Jongdae tonight, such as his profound love for watching romantic comedies and chick flicks. Yifan is more into action films and so they jokingly decide they can’t end up watching anything together.
When Yifan receives an angry text from their manager, they quickly grab their belongings and leave the parlor, not forgetting to leave a small tip.
“Let’s play a game to make this more interesting.” Jongdae doesn’t know why he’s suddenly feeling butterflies in his stomach, but he does and it feels fucking awful. Yifan arches an eyebrow upwards, taking small note of Jongdae’s growing nervousness. It didn’t help that he was wearing his distracting facial mask again.
“Like what?” Jongdae’s voice cracks at the end and Yifan tries to grin through his slightly stiff mask.
“I’m going to do some kind of action, and you’re going to say what I’m doing in Mandarin. Zitao says he and Minseok play it all the time.” Jongdae nods slowly, but fails to recall Minseok ever telling him about this so-called game they play often.
“Okay, sounds like fun,” Jongdae’s watching Yifan intently as he starts off, the ends of the latter’s lips curving upwards and he doesn’t hesitate at all when he utters, “Wéixiào!” Yifan claps as an encouragement and scoots over just a bit, arm sliding over Jongdae’s back.
“Your pronunciation is spot on Chen Chen! I’m really proud of you.” Fingers clasp tightly around Jongdae’s waist and the latter lowers his head, eyes finding their way to the floor and he lets out a quiet, “thank you,” in return. He doesn’t let Yifan see the smile creeping up on his lips but he notices anyway, and fingers press further into his skin. Jongdae stops moving.
“Now what am I doing?” Yifan almost hums in his ear as he leans in a bit closer, his other hand pressed against the back of Jongdae’s neck. Suddenly the room feels incredibly stuffy and hot and the younger’s shirt starts to cling to his back from the oncoming sweat. Jongdae’s mind goes blank, although he knows what the word is.
His mouth opens, closes, and finally opens again when he says, “yǒngbào,” barely coming out in a whisper. Yifan bends lower, and this time he’s much too close for comfort, and Jongdae starts to shift back, almost yelping when the latter holds him firmly in place.
“Hyung, wait, you’re too close―”
Jongdae’s arms dangle near his sides when soft lips press onto his own. His eyes are left wide open while Yifan's are slightly closed, shifting a bit closer and pressing himself just a bit nearer. Jongdae tries to grab onto anything in reach besides Yifan, and so he clings onto the skirt of his bed, fingers curling much too tight as they turn stark white.
It wasn’t too long after when Yifan pulls away, pupils dilated and eyebrows furrowed when he looks at Jongdae, hooded eyes full of want and fulfillment all at once. Suddenly sweat starts to form between Jongdae’s fingers and forehead, and he can’t look at Yifan for more than a millisecond and now he's looking at his crooked toes. Mainly because the latter still has on that fucking mask.
“Wěn.”
“That’s right.”
That was the first and last time they played that game.
Jongdae doesn’t even look at him for the next few days. They were scheduled for another recording and the usual groups were formed. He stuck to Minseok the entire time.
“What’s up with you today Jongdae?” Minseok asked him and Jongdae mumbles nothing, scurrying away in solitude. They were in the middle of their break, fortunately and he surprises Yifan when he has him by the hand, pulling him into the restroom and into an empty stall.
Hands land on the wall on either side of Yifan's face, and now they’re both kissing, ragged breaths filling each other’s mouths and Jongdae willingly parts his lips when Yifan's tongue prods against them. It almost hurts when their teeth clashes but they’re still making out with an equal amount of force, just a bit too rough but neither seems to mind in the slightest.
Yifan’s mouth tastes something like burnt cigarettes, and his hands move down towards the latter’s neck, fisting on his collar while Yifan grabs hold of his hips. After a few minutes they part, and Yifan chuckles when Jongdae has to practically flutter his eyes to keep them open. Jongdae’s still holding onto Yifan, dependent on him to keep him standing as he tries to regain his breath.
“You know,” Jongdae starts, finally loosening his grip, “you’re a little strange when it comes to confessing. But somehow it works. And then to top it all off, you’re a narcissist who spends hours admiring himself in front of a mirror and masturbates in front of his roommate. I mean who does that?”
Yifan clears his throat, “I do?”
“You’re damn right.” Jongdae scoffs, pressing their lips together once more. Yifan makes a mental note to thank Yixing later.
Jongdae smiles against Yifan with teeth pressed on his lips. Yeah, being roommates with him may not be so bad after all, Jongdae thinks. He has his secretive ways and habits, but, Jongdae likes the fact that it’s things that only he knows about the leader, no one else. He likes it a lot.