boys boys boys

Feb 05, 2014 21:15

not psychotic or dramatic, i like boys and that is that

pairing: chenkai
rating: nc-17
genre: smut, a little angst, a little fluff
length: ~4100 words, oneshot
prompt: aquí
summary: jongdae isn't any good at being the caring hyung and he definitely isn't expecting jongin and jongin doesn't know what to expect but he's trembling anyway
note: i've never written canon!verse before??!!! it's always stressed me out and now is no exception also i should really be doing trig homework ahh i hope this is ok it's a bit angstier than i meant for it to be



Jongin first comes to him trembling, and Jongdae does his best to keep the knowing smirk off his face.

It’s about three in the morning and they’ve just gotten back to the dorm from some schedule, a big show with a bunch of other groups they had to congratulate and admire and whisper jealously about . They’ve got tomorrow off and almost everyone else is asleep - Zitao’s wrangled Yifan into the shower, and Joonmyeon is trying to read, but the rest are in bed with the lights out - and Jongdae knows exactly what to expect from his poor dongsaeng.

He’s been the go-to guy for this shit ever since Baekhyun stole his phone and found out about the one guy he blew like twice in high school and he hadn’t wanted to live in close quarters with a bunch of guys who thought he was some sort of fidgety closet bottom so he’d just kind of owned up to it - sure, he’d been comfortable enough with it before, but it turned into a lot more than he’d ever intended it to be thanks to Chanyeol’s burgeoning sexual identity crisis and Zitao getting handsy in the shower and Yifan’s weirdly incessant need to get his rocks off even though he swears to God he’s straight, the skin mags just get boring after a while - and now he’s just glad Jongin has the decency to look a little shameful when he walks into Jongdae’s room.

And Jongdae has to admit that, of all of them, he wasn’t expecting Jongin. His bets have been on Joonmyeon for a while. Positions of authority always get to people, and come on Joonmyeon’s been making eyes at him for weeks now. Jongdae can’t say he’s disappointed, Jongin’s certainly more overtly sexy than the leader, but he’s always seemed so secure, so fluid in his movements. Jongdae’s had an inkling that Jongin’s into him, but he’s brushed it off as wishful thinking brought on by those stupid lips and worse hips.

Still, he does what he can to keep his expression more-or-less caring and concerned. It’s hard with his cheekbones and kitty lips, he knows, but Jongin is too busy looking at the floor to give half a shit what Jongdae’s doing with his face.

Actually, Jongdae’s face is most of why Jongin’s here. Well, Jongdae’s entirety, his cheekbones and his kitty lips and his eyelashes and his waist and his arms and his voice and the way it all moves in conjunction to create this boy, this entity, that won’t leave Jongin’s head when he sleeps or dances.

He’s been scared to bring it up, having safely sheltered himself in the conservative shit he learned when he was little, but Sehun’s tried to kiss him twice now and he hasn’t really hated it and Jongdae seems so calm and cool about jacking off whomever needs it, even if it is one of his bandmates, that Jongin doesn’t think that this can end too badly. Or at least he didn’t in the van, but now that there’s nothing between him and Jongdae but the empty wood floor of the dorm, his brain is trying to sabotage him.

He trains his eyes on that floor and tries to best word this so that he doesn’t sound completely stupid.

He fails, inevitably, muttering some incoherent string of vowels along the lines of “iiioagh,” but Jongdae beckons him over to the bed anyway, doing his best to keep a straight face.

“What’s wrong?” the elder asks, trying to sound as caring as he suddenly kind of feels - asshole though he is, he hates seeing the other members wrestle with their words and insecurities. He just developed an attitude to mask it after Yifan got him to suck his dick then laughed at him for trying to cuddle and mumble sweet, supportive nothings into his ear afterward too many times and that attitude overtook his head, but Jongin’s pathetic, wide-eyed mumbling makes him feel something or another in his hard little heart.

And Jongin only makes it worse. He kind of just flops on Jongdae’s bed, all sleepy smudged eyeliner and clueless tangled legs, and Jongdae is pretty sure the dancer isn’t going to give him shit for anything. He’s pretty sure all the poor kid wants is a few sweet, supportive nothings, but it’s not in Jongdae’s nature to make it easy for his tortured bandmate.

“I was just - I’ve been, you know-”

“Kid, don’t worry about it. Spit it out.”

“I really, um, think I like, ah…” Jongin’s eyes go all wide, waiting for Jongdae’s okay, but Jongdae’s exhausted and he really doesn’t feel like going through all of this emotional self-discovery again when he could be sleeping, so he pulls up close like an older dreamgirl in a teenage romance movie and kisses the underside of Jongin’s jaw, more intimate than a peck on the cheek, just a little bit caught up in dancer breath but less so than he would be for a full-out kiss to maintain the upper hand just in case Jongin’s feelings are for anyone else, but in that moment of contact he breathes out a “you” and Jongdae sighs, carding his hands through Jongin’s hair.

It’s stiff and damaged from hairspray and dye so he can’t quite ruffle it and the whole act ends up seeming a lot more longing and sensual than he intends. He likes Jongin, sure, and he really wouldn’t mind fucking him, but he’s the hyung, and he has to keep the power balance that way. He doesn’t want to run with it. He’ll look dumb if he doesn’t. He sighs, cracking his shoulders and leaning into the younger, muttering a soft “it’s okay” against Jongin’s waiting mouth and then pulling back.

He thinks he’s trying to be comforting, but it comes out sounding dismissive, like Jongin just apologized for something but Jongdae’s not hurt. He tries to reestablish himself on solid, apathetic ground.

“So do you want to fuck or something?” he asks, rubbing his eyes. “Like, I’m game, but you’ll have to go easy on me and be quiet ‘cause it’s late.”

Jongin turns a pleasant shade of flustered, spitting out denials upon denials. “I - I - no, no, definitely not, not yet. I just wanted to tell you, and I don’t want anybody else to know, I’m just confused and-”

“Shh, don’t worry about it,” Jongdae yawns, pressing a bony finger to Jongin’s full lips. “You can sleep here for the night ‘cause Joonmyeon’s probably with Sehun anyway. Just wake me up if you have any burning questions about how boys do it or if you need support or whatever. I need sleep and you probably do too. You were dancing hard out there or whatever.”

Jongin’s awestruck by Jongdae’s nonchalance and he can’t fall asleep, too focused on the careless arm the elder draped across his chest around four and his own overwhelming warmth.

He’s finally almost asleep, half-dreaming, when Jongdae sighs something in his sleep and smashes against Jongin, so thoroughly unconscious that the younger can see the creases the sheets have left on his shoulders. Jongin’s cock has no sense of decency, though, and his sweatpants tent anyway.

He’s not sure what to do, considering Jongdae will probably wake up if he gets up, so he tries to ignore it. Jongdae’s unconscious self doesn’t make that easy, though, his warm breath and messy hair on Jongin’s shoulder rendering control impossible.

But Jongin grits his teeth anyway, trying to come to terms with his feelings without crying out or touching himself, and the second he decides he can’t handle it and starts to stretch his shoulders toward the bathroom, Jongdae’s awake and grinning at him.

Jongin’s suddenly totally overwhelmed, heart in his throat: Jongdae just never stops. Every moment of rest around him is cut short and torn up and its scraps are turned into another boyish laugh or challenge of a grin. Jongin can only do such things forcibly, in pelvic thrusts and exaggerated moans, and never intimately - only for the fans.

Jongdae’s every move is incredible and it doesn’t matter for whom he makes it.

“G’morning, sunshine,” he yawns, trying to quickly recount the previous night’s events. He doesn’t think he let the kid fuck him, but those nervous eyes staring into him and that tent in Jongin’s pants could mean anything. But Jongin’s too good for that, too traditional for that, and - oh. Jongdae remembers. Poor kid. He smiles and grinds his hips into Jongin, raising an eyebrow but not bringing up anything that might result in a drawn-out moral support session for the dancer. Jongdae’ll let the kid fuck him six ways to Sunday but he doesn’t want to get involved in the sticky mess that feelings make. They’ve all got their vices and kinks and flaws and Jongdae just isn’t a very vocal person when it comes down to it. He’s gonna be living with these people for the foreseeable future and he doesn’t want to get mixed up in anything too deep. He just wants to get off and if he can help anyone else get off or feel more secure about their sexual identities or whatever else, it’s an added bonus.

Jongin’s really the first one who’s come to him with honest feelings for him, though, so Jongdae has to figure out how his theoretical doctrine translates to reality. For now, he’ll just do what he knows how to do: grind and smirk and, if he’s lucky, get fucked.

“Somebody’s up bright and early.”

“Sorry,” Jongin says, biting his lip. He’s good at looking pathetic. Jongdae’s heart sputters a little bit, but he’s pretty good at looking through shit like that even though Jongin makes him want to leave the illusion as it is, and he smiles cunningly through his eyelashes.

“Oh, shuddup, Jongin, don’t worry about it. You know where the bathroom is.”

This is a challenge and Jongin’s picking up on it, hopefully. Jongdae’s too tired to really be sure, but he hopes Jongin realizes that this is his chance. Well, one of his chances. He’s had a million before and he’ll have a million again - Jongdae’s always liked him, but he’s all of a sudden a complete and total sucker for the damn dancer, bedhead and bedroom eyes and all - and this time everyone else is asleep and the sun is streaming in on both of their backs and Jongin’s already hard and last night’s confession was so stupid and romantic and maybe a little bit mutual that they’d both be stupid not to capitalize on it.

And Jongin’s not as dumb as he looks - not that he looks dumb, he’s just got those bags under his eyes and his lips parted just far enough to make him look more like a sex doll than a real boy - and he chokes out an “actually, I’d rather do-” and Jongdae just smiles before he presses up against him, obligingly cutting him off.

He kisses Jongin on the mouth, all hot morning breath and no romance because he knows Jongin will take what he can get. This is only the third time the younger has kissed a boy, and the first time he’s felt so choked up and pink-cheeked over it. Sehun’s too wriggly for Jongin’s taste, but if it weren’t for him, Jongin wouldn’t be here in Jongdae’s bed, kissing him in the nine a.m. silence, so he silently thanks the blonde boy against Jongdae’s kitty lips, tweaking his tongue around Jongdae’s to form the words.

Jongdae pulls back, eyebrows raised and eyelashes bowed.

“ ‘m I that bad?” Jongin asks, rubbing his lips

“Well,” Jongdae chuckles breathily, brushing the dark hair out of Jongin’s eyes. “You’re a hell of a lot better than you were five minutes ago.”

Of course Jongin doesn’t have time to wonder what the hell that means because Jongdae’s grinning and biting his lip and pulling him closer with talented little bony fingers, giving him a tactile crash course in boy and Jongin can’t believe that his stupid, inarticulate mind has gotten in the way of this so many times before.

Upbringings be damned, Jongin wants Jongdae. And hell, Jongdae’s soft spot for the dancer is turning hard pretty quickly as his hips start moving to some inaudible beat in his head. He wants the boy his, wants him to love boys. He doesn’t want to make this anything but perfect for the bumbling dancer, so ostentatiously sexy onstage and so simply, sweetly, nervously sexy now.

And Jongdae’s hard exterior is falling apart. Jongin’s so passionate and innocent that he makes Jongdae remember what sex should feel like, not a little bit of guilty rutting in some mirrored practice room to cool an overheated, overstressed libido but rather bumbling kisses like this in a warm bed, and Jongdae’s grateful for it.

And he’s turned on by it. Sure, he’s never really been able to keep his cock in check, but this time it’s worse - better? - than usual, and he presses into the other boy.

“You ever fucked a boy?” he chuckles into Jongin’s ear, biting at the flesh of it and trailing his teeth down the boy’s neck.

He feels Jongin’s gulp against his lips.

“Who am I kidding? Of course you haven’t, but-“

“I want to.”

“You will, Jonginnie, don’t worry. Just let me show you how.”

Jongin tries to twist his neck to best see Jongdae’s face enough to make sure he’s serious and maybe glare at him - he’s only two years younger, christ, and he’s taller and he should probably be on top and anyway it’s not like he hasn’t seen porn before, come on - but Jongdae inevitably beats Jongin’s sleep-addled self, straddling the dancer’s hips and pushing his shoulders down to the bed with surprising strength.

This is his thing. He can tease and fuck like nobody else in the goddamn dorm - in the goddamn company, even, except maybe Jonghyun, but Jonghyun’s old news anymore - and he knows it.

He raises a warning finger to his lips and strips off the gray jersey tee shirt he slept in, raising an eyebrow to Jongin as if waiting for him to do the same. Jongin’s heart is beating a mile a minute; he’s suddenly terrified, reacting in every different way at once, but his shaky hands eventually find the hem of his shirt. He exhales as slow as he can, his chest shaking, as Jongdae retakes control of the rhythm, grinding into him, careless, cowgirl style.

This time, Jongdae feels Jongin gulp beneath his hands.

“Hey, man, don’t overthink it. I’ll make it easy. I promise.”

Jongin hates how nonchalant he sounds, like this is a card game, not a really miserably forbidden tryst in a twelfth-floor dorm room. They’re celebrities; this is frowned upon.

But that’s never stopped Jongdae before and it isn’t stopping him now and fuck it, Jongin’s getting hard. He doesn’t want to think about Yifan or Chanyeol, at least not yet. He wants to focus on himself and the fact that Kim Jongdae thinks he’s good enough to fuck him and he wants to lose himself in this fact.

Jongdae makes it pretty easy.

Within seconds he’s pushed his ass far enough down Jongin’s legs to rid the boy of his boxers and his decency - the second Jongdae’s lips are halfway around his cock, he’s moaning to the high heavens - and is using his free hand to rummage under his mattress for a condom.

All the thoughts of whomsoever else might’ve invaded that stash are rendered impossible in Jongdae’s hot throat.

He tries to quiet his moans and they come out in strangled gasps as Jongdae looks up at him, wide-eyed, smirking around his cock. Jongin was too hard already, barely aware of himself, and this only makes it worse. He’s trying to buck his hips into Jongdae’s cupid’s bow, hoping the other will just keep going and let him come, but Jongdae is so infuriatingly perceptive and he pops his lips off Jongin’s cock, grinning as he stretches back up on top of the younger.

Jongdae bites into the foil like it’s candy and pulls out the condom, sliding it onto Jongin’s wet, waiting cock. He’s nothing if not a showman.

“Do you want-” Jongin begins, but Jongdae’s finger is back on his lips, and silence becomes absolutely necessary to absorb the full sight of Jongdae stretching himself open on his bony fingers.

Because yeah, Jongin’s seen them clutched around microphones and chopsticks, but he’s never imagined them inside of Jongdae himself. The way he softly exhales in pleasure, eyes shut, is totally unimaginable anyway. He’s so collected and blissful and Jongin just wants to get under his eyelids and turn that peace into absolute pleasure.

The trouble is that he’s absolutely terrified to try.

But Jongdae’s experienced and scared and for some reason he really, really wants Jongin to enjoy this so he opens his eyes. He knows to gauge the wanton glaze over Jongin’s eyes over his own fingers scissoring his sweet spot - he knows, more or less, when to stop. He pulls his fingers out and leans down to Jongin’s ear to whisper, “You ready?”

Jongin’s little incredulous nod is all Jongdae needs. He lowers himself gracefully onto Jongin’s waiting cock, biting his lip to keep himself from waking up the whole goddamned band because Jongin fills him up so nicely.

As it is, a few melodic gasps escape his throat, and Jongin is so innocent and virginal that he’s totally beyond salvation. The very noise drives his hips up and keening into Jongdae.

Jongdae tries his best to lean forward and kiss him quiet, but the attempt is cut short because Jongin’s hips have a mind of their own now and buck into Jongdae without warning, provoking sharp inhales and scratching fingernails all along Jongin’s chest and he can’t stand it anymore, he’s so overwhelmed by sensation and boy.

He comes inside the condom inside Jongdae after maybe not even three thrusts and the first thing he’s aware of after Jongdae picks himself up cleanly off his cock, smirking, is how red his face must be.

“H-holy shit, I’m sorry,” he whispers, staring at the bed, mortified, expecting hissing laughter or a snide comment, but none comes.

Jongdae just smiles at him and kisses his forehead softly.

He doesn’t know what it is about Jongin, how stupid he looks or how early he came, but something about the dancer is so preciously human that he can’t stand it. He loves it and wants to coddle it and keep it safe because cynical though he may be, Jongdae knows that this industry can chew up your soul and spit it out in the form of money and fame.

And money and fame aren’t humanity. Jongin’s so stupidly, blindingly human, and Jongdae’s a lot more in love with it than he ever meant to be.

“Don’t worry about it,” he finally whispers back. “It’s your first time, no? You did better than Chanyeol did his first time.”

Jongin gulps; Jongdae sees it with hooded eyes and hears it through the bloodrush in his ears, but he feels it in his cock, which is sorely neglected and hard in front of him. The way the dancer’s adam’s apple bobs goes straight to it, and he closes his eyes as he slips three fingers back into his still-stretched hole.

He bites his lip and shuts his eyes, aware that he’s putting on a show even though he’s not sure he wants to. Jongin might’ve had enough now, the illusion might be dead, Jongin might want to go back to being Kai, gyrating his hips for the cameras.

Fuck, who is he kidding?

Jongdae knows Jongin likes him and he hopes the kid’s in absolute awe.

And, of course, Jongin’s even more than awestruck, panting and fixated on the way Jongdae’s chest contracts with each hitched breath and the way his skinny hips respond to his bony fingers and the way his cat-like lips disappear between his teeth with every nuanced curl of a finger so he can keep himself quiet.

Jongdae’s in such control of himself, and when he finally comes, cock untouched, he does so gracefully, falling slack and sweaty into Jongin’s shoulders with a damp-haired little sigh.

He feels so good that he doesn’t even think about his own stupid philosophies. He just sighs and smiles and breathes, listening to Jongin’s heartbeat. He can only hope his own heart beats that fast.

“You did well, Jonginnie,” he laughs breathlessly, trying to return to the dry ground of the concrete world. “D’you think we woke anybody up?”

Jongin’s cheeks are still ruddy and he frowns. “I, um, I hope not?”

“Shh, you shouldn’t care. It’s nothing they haven’t heard before.”

“Who have you… had… in here… before?” Jongin asks, not sure he wants to know the answer.

Jongdae raises an eyebrow. “In this room or in my ass?”

If Jongin had been drinking anything, he would’ve spat it all over Jongdae’s cum-stained covers. As it is, the image of Jongdae with somebody else’s - Yifan’s or Chanyeol’s, probably - cock up his ass becomes a lot clearer in his head and he tries not to sound possessive or defeated or disgusted when he huffs out a “nevermind.”

Jongdae just chuckles and pulls the blanket up over them. He decides he doesn’t want to return to the dry ground of the concrete world - there are people who care out there, people who want him to sing for them and pose for them. “Don’t think about them,” he insists, more for himself than for Jongin. “Just think about me, mm? Hey, maybe I’ll let you be on top next time.”

Jongin snorts. Jongdae isn’t sure where the suggestion came from in his head, but he doesn’t really care. He smiles.

And Jongin, Jongin’s incredulous. He still can’t believe that any of this has happened. Jongdae, the lovely and talented, the one and only ice king, just fucked himself on top of Jongin, and even though they probably woke up Luhan and ruined the comforter, Jongdae’s fucking smiling.

And even though it’s probably not too smart, Jongin trusts that feline smile to the end of the earth, or at least to the end of their next schedule. They’ll go back to the glitter and professionalism every few days, but he’s pretty sure that he’s secured this bed for the lonely interim nights when they can ditch the stage names and tight clothes and just be Jongin and Jongdae with Jongdae’s bed warm around them.

Last night’s confession might have meant nothing, but at least it’s out there.

The silence is comforting, but it can’t last forever.

“Really, though,” Jongdae eventually pipes up, voice cracked with sleep. “D’you have any questions about… about boys? About liking them or fucking them or anything? I should prob’ly at least try and be a good hyung,” he sighs, turning his smile on Jongin, but Jongin shakes his head.

He’s pretty sure he’ll learn it all if he keeps coming to Jongdae’s bed at night.

And Jongdae hopes Jongin keeps coming to his bed at night, because even if Jongdae doesn’t have a way with words - even if he’s not quite the caring hyung he should be but more of the caring hyung than he wants to be - he’s got a way with his tongue, and he wants to make Jongin feel secure in his desires.

And he’s glad Jongin had the decency to come to him trembling, because otherwise he never would’ve leaned up and kissed him like an older dreamgirl in a teenage romance movie, he would’ve just let the dancer fuck him and leave, and that wouldn’t have ended terribly well for either of them.

Jongdae wants Jongin as long as he can have him. Between those hips and those bedroom eyes, the dancer’s stunted confession took a hold on Jongdae, and Jongdae doesn’t really want it to let go because it’s the best he’s felt in who knows how long, so he wraps an arm around Jongin, intentionally this time, and props himself up on his chin to better look at the younger.

This is stupid and this will end badly, but the words have reached escape velocity in the back of his throat and he can’t help it.

He says it, voice smooth and terrified.

“I really think I like you too, Kim Jongin, you know that?”

Jongin grins - he had his suspicions - and closes up the space between them, leaning down to kiss Jongdae like the boy he is.

And Jongdae kisses him back, almost trembling, finally abandoning himself to stupid, boyish feeling.

canon, genre: smut, fandom: exo, rating: nc-17, pairing: chenkai, !fanfic

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