exo; seven inches
chansoo. nc-17. 1822 words. chanyeol thighfucking kyungsoo requires some logistics. (originally posted at seoulfulness)
This, Kyungsoo wants to think, is ridiculous.
It was ridiculous already when Chanyeol came up to him three weeks ago with a little ruler in hand. Positioned himself in front, chin to nose, and put the ruler on Kyungsoo’s head. Hummed a bit. Then took a step back to shamlessly study Kyungsoo’s clothed crotch while occasionally flipping his gaze down towards his own. The hand holding the ruler made a small, jerky movement forward, but then he shook his head and left, muttering to himself.
It got more ridiculous when Kyungsoo was going through Chanyeol’s backpack for his lost mittens and realized that Chanyeol for an unknown period of time had been walking around through his daily life carrying a pint-sized bottle of lube. Judging by the speed with which the bottle disappeared from Kyungsoo’s grasp and the lengthy explanation of how dry Chanyeol’s hands had been feeling lately and how many new brands of hand lotion that had appeared on the market just over the last few months, this was clearly a revelation Chanyeol never intended Kyungsoo to make.
And things get truly ridiculous when Chanyeol, after adamantly insisting on them going for Sunday brunch at all-but the other end of town, suddenly jerks Kyungsoo from the extensive crepe-menu he with increasing saliva production had been studying and, with a quick look around, locks them both into the small bathroom by the end of the hall.
“Um,” Kyungsoo says with somewhat sour glance at his boyfriend. “Look. We both know it’s gonna take me at least ten minutes to decide what from that glorious list of pan-fried batter that’s gonna get the honor of adorning the inside of my stomach today, and I’m sure you’re old enough to go without someone standing beside holding your han-“
“I want to,” Chanyeol says. It comes out in a rush, but then he halts. His eyes, Kyungsoo notices, keep flicking down towards the floor beside the sink, but aside from a small ledge, perhaps six or seven inches tall, running along the wall, Kyungsoo can’t find anything of interest there.
“I want to have sex,” Chanyeol spits out. “In here.”
Kyungsoo leans back a bit and studies him. Chanyeol looks as serious as ever, staring back down at him with brows pushed low over his eyes.
“Um,” Kyungsoo says. “Okay?”
“Yeah,” Chanyeol says.
“Does it,” Kyungsoo says. “Does it have to be in here?”
“Yes,” Chanyeol says. “As a matter of fact, it does. As a matter of fact, it happens to be of outmost importance, that we do it in this specific room.” For a short moment his eyes leave Kyungsoo’s. Flick down towards the floor beside the sink, just briefly, before whipping back up to Kyungsoo’s face again. The arch of his brows tightens a bit. Kyungsoo realizes it’s probably not a good time to snort.
“Um,” He says instead.
“I mean.” Chanyeol clears his throat. “If you’re up for it.”
Kyungsoo casts a quick look at the door; a sturdy kind sealed snug against the doorframe. The soft buzz of voices and jingling of cutlery from outside is almost entirely muted. He then casts a look up and down Chanyeol’s frame. Chanyeol fidgets a bit. The front of his jeans already looks suspiciously pointy.
“Okay,” Kyungsoo says. He struggles to keep a grin away from his face. “Okay. What is it you wanna do?” He hooks two fingers into Chanyeol’s belt-loops, pushing him against the wall and beginning to slide to his knees, but Chanyeol swiftly pulls him back up by a grip of his elbows.
“I, uh.” Chanyeol’s eyes flick down towards a familiar area by the floor. “I want you to stand on that.”
Kyungsoo looks from the ledge, to Chanyeol’s finger, to the ledge, and then up at Chanyeol’s face.
“Um,” He says. “Is there a specific reason…”
“You’ll see.” Chanyeol proceeds to wring his bag off his shoulders, giving Kyungsoo a soft but not-so-subtle nudge backwards in the process. Kyungsoo dutifully steps up on the ledge, balancing against the wall and watching Chanyeol rummage through his bag to - what do you know - finally produce the big bottle of “hand lotion” from the depths of the backpack. His mouth twists up in a sheepish grin when he meets Kyungsoo’s gaze.
“I, uh,” he says, standing in front, almost nose to chin (it’s a bit strange seeing Chanyeol from this new angle, but Kyungsoo can’t say he hates it), and placing a careful kiss on Kyungsoo’s lips. “You are. Uh. I really-“
“Yeah, yeah,” Kyungsoo says. He might be rolling his eyes a little. “Get on with it.”
This, Kyungsoo wants to think, is ridiculous. Standing on a ledge in a restaurant bathroom with his pants around his knees and a shirtless Chanyeol’s big, shivering hand slobbering lube all over his inner thighs. It’s beginning to dawn on him what’s going to happen. So far, his main concern is how hard it will probably be to get all this gunk off his body before going back out.
But he also thinks about the fact that Chanyeol has been mulling over this for at least three weeks. Thinks of the image of Chanyeol happening to walk into this bathroom god-knows-how-long-ago and coming to the conclusion that with this ledge, Kyungsoo will be just tall enough for me to thigh-fuck him. The image of Chanyeol coming back to the restaurant actually bringing a ruler, just to confirm. The image of Chanyeol walking around with a huge bottle of lube in his bag, just in case he’d stumble upon the right opportunity to suggest “going for crepes”.
The heel of the hand that Chanyeol warily presses down over his protruding fly where he’s on his haunches by Kyungsoo’s feet, and the low whine escaping his throat at this careful touch, make something tighten in Kyungsoo’s stomach. The other hand, slick and warm, sliding over the sensitive skin on the inside of Kyungsoo’s thigh tightens it further, twists it hot and expectant.
When this other hand, slick and warm, then comes up to curl around Kyungsoo’s dick to give it a few familiar squeezes; when Kyungsoo sees the glow in Chanyeol’s eyes as the first hand twists the buckle of his belt open; when Kyungsoo sees the glow in Chanyeol’s eyes as he stands up, positioning himself so close in front (almost nose to chin, and Kyungsoo could really get used to this); and when Kyungsoo feels the shiver with which Chanyeol’s lips press up against his - gunk swiftly rattles down to the nether regions of Kyungsoo’s list of priorities.
“I, uh,” Chanyeol says. His voice sounds uncharacteristically small. “Are you ready?”
“Yeah,” Kyungsoo says. He realizes he sounds a little breathless. “Yeah. Come on. Do it.”
This, Kyungsoo wants to think, is ridiculous. Standing on a ledge in a restaurant bathroom with his pants around his knees and with Chanyeol’s absurdly hard dick sliding in between his thighs - is, should be, maybe, ridiculous. But noise produced in Chanyeol’s throat when Kyungsoo inches his feet together, just a teensy bit; the somewhat sweaty hand finding Kyungsoo’s waist and the fervor of Chanyeol’s kiss, only twist the tightness in Kyungsoo’s belly harder around itself, three rounds and back again.
This is serious business.
Something hitches in Chanyeol’s breathing when he starts moving his hips. His body is warm and solid as it presses against Kyungsoo in a slow and careful pace, each thrust letting Kyungsoo’s own (rapidly stiffening) cock rub between their naked stomachs and Kyungsoo feels the tension in Chanyeol’s lips, in Chanyeol’s muscles, feels how he just almost shakes a little. Feels his own face smoothing out, feels like something dawns on him.
“Is this,” he asks, although suddenly not sure if he’s allowed, if he’ll break something. “Is this good?”
“Mmh,” Chanyeol hums. He draws in a thick breath and presses it out again, like it takes effort, like it’s something he needs to remind himself to do. “It’s. Very good.” He kisses Kyungsoo again, hot and tight and absorbed and groans when Kyungsoo tries clenching his legs together, just a bit, just to see what would happen.
Chanyeol’s hand strokes over Kyungsoo’s waist and Kyungsoo winds both arms around Chanyeol’s neck to keep his balance, enjoying the ease with which he can do so, enjoying the fact that it’s suddenly Chanyeol who has to tilt his head up, the fact that Kyungsoo can lean down to kiss him and the fact that he can kiss him, that both of their mouths are unoccupied. He enjoys the pressure of Chanyeol’s dick against the skin of his thighs, enjoys the little streams of sensitivity it sends up towards his groin. He enjoys the heat and the presence of their bodies molded tight together - this is good.
He lifts his ass from the cold wall and starts meeting Chanyeol’s movements. A sob-like noise draws form the depths of Chanyeol’s throat. Initially he just follows, but soon begins working against the waves of Chanyeol’s hips; colliding with him, gentle but firm, until Chanyeol’s free hand has flied up to the wall for leverage, smearing lube on the tiles. His breathing is growing heavier, his mouth is absentmindedly stuck sucking on Kyungsoo’s lower lip and he groans weakly with every connection of their bodies. The other hand clutches at Kyungsoo’s waist; lets him draw back, and then pulls him closer again, closer and closer, gluing them together and grinding Kyungsoo into the wall.
Kyungsoo slips a groan of his own against Chanyeol’s mouth. He digs his heels into the ledge to meet the movements, to keep up with the tightening pace. One of his hands leave Chanyeol’s neck, travelling down his chest with a little hitch for every grind of their bodies but then it’s on his cock and he huffs out a grunt, he’s hard and sensitive and wedges his hand in between them to grip himself. Chanyeol’s forehead falls down onto his collarbone. His breath is hot on Kyungsoo’s skin.
“You-,” is all he says, and then removes his still slick hand from the wall to curl it beneath Kyungsoo’s own fingers. Finds and falls into his pace, ups it, matches it with the flow of their hips smushing the whole package between them and Kyungsoo leaves him to it, his hand flies back up to claw at Chanyeol’s shoulder in a vain search for leverage but all he can do is follow him, join to move together in his quick, jerky rhythm. He feels Chanyeol’s cock pulsing between his legs, feels Chanyeol panting against his neck, feels Chanyeol’s hips stuttering, feels the pressure growing in his own belly - this is good, this is very good.
“Fuck,” he chokes out, and then he comes.
-
Later, Kyungsoo can’t help but to look up from his spinach & feta cheese crepes and ask;
“Couldn’t you just have bought me a stool?”
This, Kyungsoo wants to think, is ridiculous.
It was ridiculous already when Chanyeol came up to him three weeks ago with a little ruler in hand. Positioned himself in front, chin to nose, and put the ruler on Kyungsoo’s head. Hummed a bit. Then took a step back to shamlessly study Kyungsoo’s clothed crotch while occasionally flipping his gaze down towards his own. The hand holding the ruler made a small, jerky movement forward, but then he shook his head and left, muttering to himself.
It got more ridiculous when Kyungsoo was going through Chanyeol’s backpack for his lost mittens and realized that Chanyeol for an unknown period of time had been walking around through his daily life carrying a pint-sized bottle of lube. Judging by the speed with which the bottle disappeared from Kyungsoo’s grasp and the lengthy explanation of how dry Chanyeol’s hands had been feeling lately and how many new brands of hand lotion that had appeared on the market just over the last few months, this was clearly a revelation Chanyeol never intended Kyungsoo to make.
And things get truly ridiculous when Chanyeol, after adamantly insisting on them going for Sunday brunch at all-but the other end of town, suddenly jerks Kyungsoo from the extensive crepe-menu he with increasing saliva production had been studying and, with a quick look around, locks them both into the small bathroom by the end of the hall.
“Um,” Kyungsoo says with somewhat sour glance at his boyfriend. “Look. We both know it’s gonna take me at least ten minutes to decide what from that glorious list of pan-fried batter that’s gonna get the honor of adorning the inside of my stomach today, and I’m sure you’re old enough to go without someone standing beside holding your han-“
“I want to,” Chanyeol says. It comes out in a rush, but then he halts. His eyes, Kyungsoo notices, keep flicking down towards the floor beside the sink, but aside from a small ledge, perhaps six or seven inches tall, running along the wall, Kyungsoo can’t find anything of interest there.
“I want to have sex,” Chanyeol spits out. “In here.”
Kyungsoo leans back a bit and studies him. Chanyeol looks as serious as ever, staring back down at him with brows pushed low over his eyes.
“Um,” Kyungsoo says. “Okay?”
“Yeah,” Chanyeol says.
“Does it,” Kyungsoo says. “Does it have to be in here?”
“Yes,” Chanyeol says. “As a matter of fact, it does. As a matter of fact, it happens to be of outmost importance, that we do it in this specific room.” For a short moment his eyes leave Kyungsoo’s. Flick down towards the floor beside the sink, just briefly, before whipping back up to Kyungsoo’s face again. The arch of his brows tightens a bit. Kyungsoo realizes it’s probably not a good time to snort.
“Um,” He says instead.
“I mean.” Chanyeol clears his throat. “If you’re up for it.”
Kyungsoo casts a quick look at the door; a sturdy kind sealed snug against the doorframe. The soft buzz of voices and jingling of cutlery from outside is almost entirely muted. He then casts a look up and down Chanyeol’s frame. Chanyeol fidgets a bit. The front of his jeans already looks suspiciously pointy.
“Okay,” Kyungsoo says. He struggles to keep a grin away from his face. “Okay. What is it you wanna do?” He hooks two fingers into Chanyeol’s belt-loops, pushing him against the wall and beginning to slide to his knees, but Chanyeol swiftly pulls him back up by a grip of his elbows.
“I, uh.” Chanyeol’s eyes flick down towards a familiar area by the floor. “I want you to stand on that.”
Kyungsoo looks from the ledge, to Chanyeol’s finger, to the ledge, and then up at Chanyeol’s face.
“Um,” He says. “Is there a specific reason…”
“You’ll see.” Chanyeol proceeds to wring his bag off his shoulders, giving Kyungsoo a soft but not-so-subtle nudge backwards in the process. Kyungsoo dutifully steps up on the ledge, balancing against the wall and watching Chanyeol rummage through his bag to - what do you know - finally produce the big bottle of “hand lotion” from the depths of the backpack. His mouth twists up in a sheepish grin when he meets Kyungsoo’s gaze.
“I, uh,” he says, standing in front, almost nose to chin (it’s a bit strange seeing Chanyeol from this new angle, but Kyungsoo can’t say he hates it), and placing a careful kiss on Kyungsoo’s lips. “You are. Uh. I really-“
“Yeah, yeah,” Kyungsoo says. He might be rolling his eyes a little. “Get on with it.”
This, Kyungsoo wants to think, is ridiculous. Standing on a ledge in a restaurant bathroom with his pants around his knees and a shirtless Chanyeol’s big, shivering hand slobbering lube all over his inner thighs. It’s beginning to dawn on him what’s going to happen. So far, his main concern is how hard it will probably be to get all this gunk off his body before going back out.
But he also thinks about the fact that Chanyeol has been mulling over this for at least three weeks. Thinks of the image of Chanyeol happening to walk into this bathroom god-knows-how-long-ago and coming to the conclusion that with this ledge, Kyungsoo will be just tall enough for me to thigh-fuck him. The image of Chanyeol coming back to the restaurant actually bringing a ruler, just to confirm. The image of Chanyeol walking around with a huge bottle of lube in his bag, just in case he’d stumble upon the right opportunity to suggest “going for crepes”.
The heel of the hand that Chanyeol warily presses down over his protruding fly where he’s on his haunches by Kyungsoo’s feet, and the low whine escaping his throat at this careful touch, make something tighten in Kyungsoo’s stomach. The other hand, slick and warm, sliding over the sensitive skin on the inside of Kyungsoo’s thigh tightens it further, twists it hot and expectant.
When this other hand, slick and warm, then comes up to curl around Kyungsoo’s dick to give it a few familiar squeezes; when Kyungsoo sees the glow in Chanyeol’s eyes as the first hand twists the buckle of his belt open; when Kyungsoo sees the glow in Chanyeol’s eyes as he stands up, positioning himself so close in front (almost nose to chin, and Kyungsoo could really get used to this); and when Kyungsoo feels the shiver with which Chanyeol’s lips press up against his - gunk swiftly rattles down to the nether regions of Kyungsoo’s list of priorities.
“I, uh,” Chanyeol says. His voice sounds uncharacteristically small. “Are you ready?”
“Yeah,” Kyungsoo says. He realizes he sounds a little breathless. “Yeah. Come on. Do it.”
This, Kyungsoo wants to think, is ridiculous. Standing on a ledge in a restaurant bathroom with his pants around his knees and with Chanyeol’s absurdly hard dick sliding in between his thighs - is, should be, maybe, ridiculous. But noise produced in Chanyeol’s throat when Kyungsoo inches his feet together, just a teensy bit; the somewhat sweaty hand finding Kyungsoo’s waist and the fervor of Chanyeol’s kiss, only twist the tightness in Kyungsoo’s belly harder around itself, three rounds and back again.
This is serious business.
Something hitches in Chanyeol’s breathing when he starts moving his hips. His body is warm and solid as it presses against Kyungsoo in a slow and careful pace, each thrust letting Kyungsoo’s own (rapidly stiffening) cock rub between their naked stomachs and Kyungsoo feels the tension in Chanyeol’s lips, in Chanyeol’s muscles, feels how he just almost shakes a little. Feels his own face smoothing out, feels like something dawns on him.
“Is this,” he asks, although suddenly not sure if he’s allowed, if he’ll break something. “Is this good?”
“Mmh,” Chanyeol hums. He draws in a thick breath and presses it out again, like it takes effort, like it’s something he needs to remind himself to do. “It’s. Very good.” He kisses Kyungsoo again, hot and tight and absorbed and groans when Kyungsoo tries clenching his legs together, just a bit, just to see what would happen.
Chanyeol’s hand strokes over Kyungsoo’s waist and Kyungsoo winds both arms around Chanyeol’s neck to keep his balance, enjoying the ease with which he can do so, enjoying the fact that it’s suddenly Chanyeol who has to tilt his head up, the fact that Kyungsoo can lean down to kiss him and the fact that he can kiss him, that both of their mouths are unoccupied. He enjoys the pressure of Chanyeol’s dick against the skin of his thighs, enjoys the little streams of sensitivity it sends up towards his groin. He enjoys the heat and the presence of their bodies molded tight together - this is good.
He lifts his ass from the cold wall and starts meeting Chanyeol’s movements. A sob-like noise draws form the depths of Chanyeol’s throat. Initially he just follows, but soon begins working against the waves of Chanyeol’s hips; colliding with him, gentle but firm, until Chanyeol’s free hand has flied up to the wall for leverage, smearing lube on the tiles. His breathing is growing heavier, his mouth is absentmindedly stuck sucking on Kyungsoo’s lower lip and he groans weakly with every connection of their bodies. The other hand clutches at Kyungsoo’s waist; lets him draw back, and then pulls him closer again, closer and closer, gluing them together and grinding Kyungsoo into the wall.
Kyungsoo slips a groan of his own against Chanyeol’s mouth. He digs his heels into the ledge to meet the movements, to keep up with the tightening pace. One of his hands leave Chanyeol’s neck, travelling down his chest with a little hitch for every grind of their bodies but then it’s on his cock and he huffs out a grunt, he’s hard and sensitive and wedges his hand in between them to grip himself. Chanyeol’s forehead falls down onto his collarbone. His breath is hot on Kyungsoo’s skin.
“You-,” is all he says, and then removes his still slick hand from the wall to curl it beneath Kyungsoo’s own fingers. Finds and falls into his pace, ups it, matches it with the flow of their hips smushing the whole package between them and Kyungsoo leaves him to it, his hand flies back up to claw at Chanyeol’s shoulder in a vain search for leverage but all he can do is follow him, join to move together in his quick, jerky rhythm. He feels Chanyeol’s cock pulsing between his legs, feels Chanyeol panting against his neck, feels Chanyeol’s hips stuttering, feels the pressure growing in his own belly - this is good, this is very good.
“Fuck,” he chokes out, and then he comes.
-
Later, Kyungsoo can’t help but to look up from his spinach & feta cheese crepes and ask;
“Couldn’t you just have bought me a stool?”