[oneshot] body cradled in the cage of my teeth
Title: body cradled in the cage of my teeth
Pairing: giriboy/cjamm
Rating: hard r
Genre: pwp, slice-of-life
Warnings: sexual themes
Author: gdgdbaby
Notes: cjamm gets a haircut. kind of. (yes, this is a pointless shaving kink story.) 2,440 words.
Since December, quiet hours at the office have been scarcer than usual. Seems like every week either Swings comes back on leave and they spend the entire evening entertaining, or MNET sends an endless parade of Starship trainees traipsing through the studios, couches sinking beneath their weight, shiny cameras positioned in any direction Sungmin turns to look.
Lunar New Year is, thankfully, an off day. Changjoong's gone to see his parents for the long weekend, and Daewoong's on one of his unpredictable sabbaticals. In the morning, after his workout, Sungmin receives a blurry Instagram DM of Daewoong's dog dressed up as tuna nigiri and decides it's probably better not to ask. With the office so empty, he can actually hear his own thoughts. He almost thinks he has the whole place to himself until half past noon, when Siyoung shuffles out of his studio and walks past the open door of Sungmin's, cracking his spine like he always does when he's slept wrong in his desk chair all night.
"Oy," Sungmin calls. He pulls his hood over his head, fingers scratching idly at a persistent itch behind his ears, and jogs out to join Siyoung in the break room. "Are you making ramyun? Make me some, too."
"Make your own," Siyoung says, yawning, but he grabs two packages from the cupboard instead of one.
The half-finished jar of pickled radish in the fridge is pretty tempting. Sungmin twists the lid off and tries not to think about how long it's been sitting next to the FamilyMart kimchi. Smells fine enough, but that might just be the vinegar talking.
"Changjoong bought those in January," Siyoung says from the stove. He tears a sauce packet open with his teeth and dumps the powder into the pot. When he turns, his glasses are fogged up with steam. "We're good."
Sungmin settles down at the table, hand smoothing over the hair at his nape. When Siyoung brings the food over, he swaps a bottle of black tea in exchange for a bowl. "Happy New Year," he says drily, raising his chopsticks in salute, and digs in.
Sungmin's just finished rinsing dishes off in the sink when Siyoung brings it up. "Stop scratching your head, man," he says, leaning against the counter. He dries a bowl off with the towel in his hand and sticks it back in the cabinet. "You're making me itch."
"My bad." His fingers move down to tug at the lobe of his left ear. "Whenever my hair gets this long it feels like my head can't breathe."
"Long," Siyoung repeats, and somehow the expression on his face goes even flatter.
"You know what I mean." Sungmin scrubs the heel of his palm across the top of his head. "By my standards." His nails niggle at that spot behind his ear again. "Usually Wook does it for me. The shaving."
"Oh?" Siyoung says drily. "Not Daewoong?"
Sungmin wraps a protective arm around his scalp and makes a face. "Would you let him anywhere near your head? While handling a razor?"
Siyoung laughs, open-mouthed and unrepentant. "Fair enough."
"I think he put a kit somewhere in my studio, actually. There's a special scrub and everything." He gives the back of his head another vigorous scratch and exhales, glum. "I can wait until he gets back on Sunday."
Sungmin's already pulled his phone out to message Wook when Siyoung tilts his head, eyes narrowed with scrutiny, fingers tapping against the countertop. "I can do it," he says.
Sungmin raises his eyebrows, thumb sliding across his screen, and pretends his hands don't clench at the thought. "Are you even qualified?"
"I've shaved before, idiot."
"Have you really?" Sungmin peers at his spotless chin, eyes wide, and yelps when Siyoung punches his shoulder.
"Come on. It'll take like, two seconds. You barely have any hair."
"Not if you do it properly." He grins and waggles his fingers. "Not with the scrub."
"Alright, shaving purist," Siyoung sniffs. "I was just trying to help. I hope you scratch your scalp until it bleeds."
"No, wait," Sungmin says hastily, hand closing around Siyoung's skinny bicep. At this rate, he really will start bleeding before the end of the day, let alone make it through the weekend. "Look, you'd just have to do the sides. Easy, right?"
"Piece of cake," Siyoung agrees, way too flippant to be trusted, but he's already dragging a stool to the bathroom.
The kit is really just a set of razors and an expensive bottle of shaving cream, the kind that doesn't lather until someone rubs it between their palms. Sungmin digs the box out from beneath the bunk beds and just stares at it for a minute. He doesn't actually know why he's so nervous. Thinking about Siyoung flipping a razor across his knuckles doesn't exactly inspire the same kind of fear that Daewoong does, but it does inspire-something. He has to gather himself a little before walking out again, a trickle of trepidation niggling at the top of his spine, like a cracked egg sliding down the neck of his shirt.
In the bathroom, Siyoung's got newspaper spread beneath the stool. "You really don't want to work on your album, huh," Sungmin says. Siyoung sticks a cheerful middle finger in his face before taking the box out of his hands.
Sungmin shrugs his jacket off and folds it next to the sink, and then pulls his tank shirt off, too. "Is that necessary?" Siyoung asks, glancing down to survey the tattoos on his arms, a snicker in his voice.
"Don't wanna get hair on my clothes," he explains, and slides onto the stool. The edge of the sink's barely chest-height like this. Siyoung towers over him moreso than usual, studying the label on the shaving cream with pursed lips. Sungmin folds his arms against the cold marble and rests his chin above the knob of a wrist, goose bumps rising on his skin from the drafty air. "Whenever you're ready, hyung."
"Yeah," Siyoung mutters. "Hold up, still reading the directions."
The corner of Sungmin's mouth lifts. "Thought you said you'd shaved before."
A huff of laughter, followed by a clink of metal on marble. "No harm in double checking."
It does make him feel a bit better. Sungmin settles more comfortably against the counter, arms flexing beneath his chin. His eyes have fallen to half-mast by the time Siyoung starts running water in the sink, long fingers sliding beneath the spray.
"Gonna do the left side first," he says. A wet hand tilts Sungmin's head to rest against his right forearm, hair prickling against the skin there. Sungmin stares at the cracks in the plaster wall. Listens to the slick slide of Siyoung's palms as he rubs the shaving cream between them.
He hisses at the initial touch of Siyoung's hand. The water's warm, but the foam always has an icy effect. Siyoung pauses for a moment, concerned, before continuing, palms spreading it across the left half of Sungmin's head in firm, broad strokes. Before the razor descends, Siyoung braces an elbow right between his shoulder blades. Bony fingers latch to the scruff of Sungmin's neck to hold him down, blunt nails digging into the skin. Sungmin grits his teeth to suppress the shiver that rolls up his torso, lashes fluttering against his cheek as his eyelids droop.
Siyoung's surprisingly cautious with the blade. After he begins, first along the edge of hair closest to Sungmin's ear and gradually shaving higher, there are no abrupt movements. The slow, meticulous scrape against his scalp feels so good he almost leans into it, before he remembers that might end badly. He twists his legs around the legs of the stool instead, hands clenching into fists beneath his neck. "Don't move," he hears Siyoung murmur over the water, running in the background, and then the razor lifts up and away so Siyoung can wash it off.
The second pass is even worse-or better, depending on how Sungmin thinks about it-because the blade skates closer to his skin. The itch is gone, replaced by a sort of giddy buzz, a particular tightness in his throat. It takes Sungmin a minute to realize that he feels lightheaded because he's stopped breathing properly to hold absolutely still. He exhales in measured increments, in time with the last drags of the razor across his head, lungs burning. Keeping motionless is a workout in and of itself.
Siyoung runs a damp cloth across the shaved side before tapping two fingers against Sungmin's pulse and saying, "Flip over." Sungmin lifts his head with effort, and lets Siyoung guide it back down, his cheek pressed flat against his knuckles. He blinks twice. Reorients himself. Tries to work out the beginnings of the crick in his neck without actually using his hands. Siyoung's put the razor down on the towel so he can squeeze cream between his palms again. When he dips forward to spread it across the right side of Sungmin's head, he's so focused on the task at hand he doesn't seem to notice how close their faces are.
Sungmin fucking notices. He sucks his stomach in on pure instinct. Siyoung doesn't notice that, either. His shallow breath hits the ridge of Sungmin's cheek and dissipates like early morning fog. Sungmin's eyes follow the way Siyoung's red mouth falls open with concentration, the beginning of a question without words. In his sweatpants, Sungmin's dick provides a lazy answer. Fuck. When the blade descends once more, Siyoung leans so close his soft hair brushes against Sungmin's forehead. So close Sungmin could kiss him, probably, if he moved his head the infinitesimal centimeter further.
A quiet noise wrangles its way out of Sungmin's mouth. Siyoung's hands, one smoothing across the curve of his scalp as the other chases it with the razor, freeze. His gaze flicks down to meet Sungmin's, dark and unreadable. A deliberate tongue curls out to swipe once across Siyoung's bottom lip and disappears again. "You okay?" he asks, too neutral.
"Fine," Sungmin croaks, and then clears his throat and tries again. "I'm fine. Keep going." He swallows, neck bobbing, and forces himself to relax: first the clenched fists beneath his face, then his arms, the tense plane of his abdomen and the straight rod of his back, and his calves, still locked around the legs of the stool. It helps a little, but his pants are still stretched too tight over his crotch. Totally, totally uncool. He's never reacted like this around Wook, who shaved his head with such practiced ease that it seemed like he could do it in his sleep. Now it'll be the only thing Sungmin can think about.
Maybe, he thinks, letting his breath trail out, that was the plan.
Siyoung's got a steep learning curve. This side goes by faster, his steady hand moving with more surety-scrape and rinse, scrape and rinse-but his fingers still spider over Sungmin's scalp with careful delicacy. He doesn't think he's ever seen Siyoung so thoughtful. Not sure whether his brain finds it weird or scary or something else, but his dick seems to have decided for him.
"Almost done," Siyoung says. Sungmin glances up at him, slouched over Sungmin's head, feels the body heat radiating off Siyoung in waves. Close enough for him to realize that Siyoung isn't really breathing either.
And then Siyoung's hand is on the back of his neck again, pressing him beneath the water to rinse all the foam and bits of hair off his head. Sungmin splutters, more surprised than anything, and struggles for two seconds before holding his breath and taking it, eyes squeezed shut to block out the spray. The guys rub his head all the time, for good luck, because they like the bristly feeling of his hair, to piss him off-but no one, not even Wook, has ever washed it like this, pushed his head into a sink and scrubbed it clean. Sungmin might even be offended if he wasn't so fucking turned on.
When Siyoung finally lets him up, Sungmin stands, knees locking, and shakes the water off like a dog. Siyoung swiftly sidesteps out of the way, protesting while cleaning the razors off. "It's pretty even," Sungmin comments lamely, looking in the mirror and wiping his face dry with the towel. "Not bad for a first timer."
"Told you I could do it," Siyoung says, sounding smug. "Didn't even nick you."
Sungmin laughs, and pushes away from the counter to pull his shirt back on. "Learn how to do designs, buddy, and then we'll talk."
"Yeah?" Siyoung says. When Sungmin looks over again, Siyoung's eyes have dropped down to the bulge in his sweatpants, brows raised so high they're obscured by his floppy bangs.
"I got it," Sungmin says automatically, bracing a hand against the counter. No use bothering to hide it when he's already seen. "It's not a big deal."
"Not a big deal," Siyoung repeats. He sounds unconvinced. Sungmin can't get the door open fast enough before Siyoung has Sungmin flat against it, back pressing into the wood. They aren't even touching, which is both good and a distinct problem. Sungmin's hard-on burns hot against his leg. His head's tingling from the shaving cream. Siyoung hovers too close but not close enough, the sleeves of his hoodie still rolled up like a kid's. He licks his lips, blinking behind his glasses, and asks, still careful, still deliberate, "Has this ever happened before?"
For a second, Sungmin considers playing dumb. He's always been pretty good at that. He considers lying, too, but then he sees a flash of something cross Siyoung's face, open and vulnerable, and thinks, Fuck this. "No," he says, lifting his chin. "It hasn't."
"Ha," Siyoung says, eyes narrowing with intent, and sticks his hand down the front of Sungmin's sweatpants.
It doesn't take much. Sungmin's been hard for so long that the first stroke of Siyoung's hand is almost enough. His torso curls in on itself, abdomen clenching. His forehead falls against the slope of Siyoung's shoulder. "Shit," he gasps, hips rising into the loose circle of Siyoung's fist. When Siyoung squeezes again, Sungmin spills all over his warm palm.
"You owe me so much for this," Siyoung says airily, after Sungmin catches his breath. Even like this, it's the most generous thing Siyoung's ever done for him. He wipes his hand off on the outside of Sungmin's sweatpants before he pulls the door open and exits the bathroom. Sungmin stays a while longer, scrapes a hand over his face. He isn't sure if Siyoung means the shave or the messy handjob. Knowing him, it's probably both.
fin
A/N: title is from kate horowitz's "your name is safe in my mouth" :3
Pairing: giriboy/cjamm
Rating: hard r
Genre: pwp, slice-of-life
Warnings: sexual themes
Author: gdgdbaby
Notes: cjamm gets a haircut. kind of. (yes, this is a pointless shaving kink story.) 2,440 words.
Since December, quiet hours at the office have been scarcer than usual. Seems like every week either Swings comes back on leave and they spend the entire evening entertaining, or MNET sends an endless parade of Starship trainees traipsing through the studios, couches sinking beneath their weight, shiny cameras positioned in any direction Sungmin turns to look.
Lunar New Year is, thankfully, an off day. Changjoong's gone to see his parents for the long weekend, and Daewoong's on one of his unpredictable sabbaticals. In the morning, after his workout, Sungmin receives a blurry Instagram DM of Daewoong's dog dressed up as tuna nigiri and decides it's probably better not to ask. With the office so empty, he can actually hear his own thoughts. He almost thinks he has the whole place to himself until half past noon, when Siyoung shuffles out of his studio and walks past the open door of Sungmin's, cracking his spine like he always does when he's slept wrong in his desk chair all night.
"Oy," Sungmin calls. He pulls his hood over his head, fingers scratching idly at a persistent itch behind his ears, and jogs out to join Siyoung in the break room. "Are you making ramyun? Make me some, too."
"Make your own," Siyoung says, yawning, but he grabs two packages from the cupboard instead of one.
The half-finished jar of pickled radish in the fridge is pretty tempting. Sungmin twists the lid off and tries not to think about how long it's been sitting next to the FamilyMart kimchi. Smells fine enough, but that might just be the vinegar talking.
"Changjoong bought those in January," Siyoung says from the stove. He tears a sauce packet open with his teeth and dumps the powder into the pot. When he turns, his glasses are fogged up with steam. "We're good."
Sungmin settles down at the table, hand smoothing over the hair at his nape. When Siyoung brings the food over, he swaps a bottle of black tea in exchange for a bowl. "Happy New Year," he says drily, raising his chopsticks in salute, and digs in.
Sungmin's just finished rinsing dishes off in the sink when Siyoung brings it up. "Stop scratching your head, man," he says, leaning against the counter. He dries a bowl off with the towel in his hand and sticks it back in the cabinet. "You're making me itch."
"My bad." His fingers move down to tug at the lobe of his left ear. "Whenever my hair gets this long it feels like my head can't breathe."
"Long," Siyoung repeats, and somehow the expression on his face goes even flatter.
"You know what I mean." Sungmin scrubs the heel of his palm across the top of his head. "By my standards." His nails niggle at that spot behind his ear again. "Usually Wook does it for me. The shaving."
"Oh?" Siyoung says drily. "Not Daewoong?"
Sungmin wraps a protective arm around his scalp and makes a face. "Would you let him anywhere near your head? While handling a razor?"
Siyoung laughs, open-mouthed and unrepentant. "Fair enough."
"I think he put a kit somewhere in my studio, actually. There's a special scrub and everything." He gives the back of his head another vigorous scratch and exhales, glum. "I can wait until he gets back on Sunday."
Sungmin's already pulled his phone out to message Wook when Siyoung tilts his head, eyes narrowed with scrutiny, fingers tapping against the countertop. "I can do it," he says.
Sungmin raises his eyebrows, thumb sliding across his screen, and pretends his hands don't clench at the thought. "Are you even qualified?"
"I've shaved before, idiot."
"Have you really?" Sungmin peers at his spotless chin, eyes wide, and yelps when Siyoung punches his shoulder.
"Come on. It'll take like, two seconds. You barely have any hair."
"Not if you do it properly." He grins and waggles his fingers. "Not with the scrub."
"Alright, shaving purist," Siyoung sniffs. "I was just trying to help. I hope you scratch your scalp until it bleeds."
"No, wait," Sungmin says hastily, hand closing around Siyoung's skinny bicep. At this rate, he really will start bleeding before the end of the day, let alone make it through the weekend. "Look, you'd just have to do the sides. Easy, right?"
"Piece of cake," Siyoung agrees, way too flippant to be trusted, but he's already dragging a stool to the bathroom.
The kit is really just a set of razors and an expensive bottle of shaving cream, the kind that doesn't lather until someone rubs it between their palms. Sungmin digs the box out from beneath the bunk beds and just stares at it for a minute. He doesn't actually know why he's so nervous. Thinking about Siyoung flipping a razor across his knuckles doesn't exactly inspire the same kind of fear that Daewoong does, but it does inspire-something. He has to gather himself a little before walking out again, a trickle of trepidation niggling at the top of his spine, like a cracked egg sliding down the neck of his shirt.
In the bathroom, Siyoung's got newspaper spread beneath the stool. "You really don't want to work on your album, huh," Sungmin says. Siyoung sticks a cheerful middle finger in his face before taking the box out of his hands.
Sungmin shrugs his jacket off and folds it next to the sink, and then pulls his tank shirt off, too. "Is that necessary?" Siyoung asks, glancing down to survey the tattoos on his arms, a snicker in his voice.
"Don't wanna get hair on my clothes," he explains, and slides onto the stool. The edge of the sink's barely chest-height like this. Siyoung towers over him moreso than usual, studying the label on the shaving cream with pursed lips. Sungmin folds his arms against the cold marble and rests his chin above the knob of a wrist, goose bumps rising on his skin from the drafty air. "Whenever you're ready, hyung."
"Yeah," Siyoung mutters. "Hold up, still reading the directions."
The corner of Sungmin's mouth lifts. "Thought you said you'd shaved before."
A huff of laughter, followed by a clink of metal on marble. "No harm in double checking."
It does make him feel a bit better. Sungmin settles more comfortably against the counter, arms flexing beneath his chin. His eyes have fallen to half-mast by the time Siyoung starts running water in the sink, long fingers sliding beneath the spray.
"Gonna do the left side first," he says. A wet hand tilts Sungmin's head to rest against his right forearm, hair prickling against the skin there. Sungmin stares at the cracks in the plaster wall. Listens to the slick slide of Siyoung's palms as he rubs the shaving cream between them.
He hisses at the initial touch of Siyoung's hand. The water's warm, but the foam always has an icy effect. Siyoung pauses for a moment, concerned, before continuing, palms spreading it across the left half of Sungmin's head in firm, broad strokes. Before the razor descends, Siyoung braces an elbow right between his shoulder blades. Bony fingers latch to the scruff of Sungmin's neck to hold him down, blunt nails digging into the skin. Sungmin grits his teeth to suppress the shiver that rolls up his torso, lashes fluttering against his cheek as his eyelids droop.
Siyoung's surprisingly cautious with the blade. After he begins, first along the edge of hair closest to Sungmin's ear and gradually shaving higher, there are no abrupt movements. The slow, meticulous scrape against his scalp feels so good he almost leans into it, before he remembers that might end badly. He twists his legs around the legs of the stool instead, hands clenching into fists beneath his neck. "Don't move," he hears Siyoung murmur over the water, running in the background, and then the razor lifts up and away so Siyoung can wash it off.
The second pass is even worse-or better, depending on how Sungmin thinks about it-because the blade skates closer to his skin. The itch is gone, replaced by a sort of giddy buzz, a particular tightness in his throat. It takes Sungmin a minute to realize that he feels lightheaded because he's stopped breathing properly to hold absolutely still. He exhales in measured increments, in time with the last drags of the razor across his head, lungs burning. Keeping motionless is a workout in and of itself.
Siyoung runs a damp cloth across the shaved side before tapping two fingers against Sungmin's pulse and saying, "Flip over." Sungmin lifts his head with effort, and lets Siyoung guide it back down, his cheek pressed flat against his knuckles. He blinks twice. Reorients himself. Tries to work out the beginnings of the crick in his neck without actually using his hands. Siyoung's put the razor down on the towel so he can squeeze cream between his palms again. When he dips forward to spread it across the right side of Sungmin's head, he's so focused on the task at hand he doesn't seem to notice how close their faces are.
Sungmin fucking notices. He sucks his stomach in on pure instinct. Siyoung doesn't notice that, either. His shallow breath hits the ridge of Sungmin's cheek and dissipates like early morning fog. Sungmin's eyes follow the way Siyoung's red mouth falls open with concentration, the beginning of a question without words. In his sweatpants, Sungmin's dick provides a lazy answer. Fuck. When the blade descends once more, Siyoung leans so close his soft hair brushes against Sungmin's forehead. So close Sungmin could kiss him, probably, if he moved his head the infinitesimal centimeter further.
A quiet noise wrangles its way out of Sungmin's mouth. Siyoung's hands, one smoothing across the curve of his scalp as the other chases it with the razor, freeze. His gaze flicks down to meet Sungmin's, dark and unreadable. A deliberate tongue curls out to swipe once across Siyoung's bottom lip and disappears again. "You okay?" he asks, too neutral.
"Fine," Sungmin croaks, and then clears his throat and tries again. "I'm fine. Keep going." He swallows, neck bobbing, and forces himself to relax: first the clenched fists beneath his face, then his arms, the tense plane of his abdomen and the straight rod of his back, and his calves, still locked around the legs of the stool. It helps a little, but his pants are still stretched too tight over his crotch. Totally, totally uncool. He's never reacted like this around Wook, who shaved his head with such practiced ease that it seemed like he could do it in his sleep. Now it'll be the only thing Sungmin can think about.
Maybe, he thinks, letting his breath trail out, that was the plan.
Siyoung's got a steep learning curve. This side goes by faster, his steady hand moving with more surety-scrape and rinse, scrape and rinse-but his fingers still spider over Sungmin's scalp with careful delicacy. He doesn't think he's ever seen Siyoung so thoughtful. Not sure whether his brain finds it weird or scary or something else, but his dick seems to have decided for him.
"Almost done," Siyoung says. Sungmin glances up at him, slouched over Sungmin's head, feels the body heat radiating off Siyoung in waves. Close enough for him to realize that Siyoung isn't really breathing either.
And then Siyoung's hand is on the back of his neck again, pressing him beneath the water to rinse all the foam and bits of hair off his head. Sungmin splutters, more surprised than anything, and struggles for two seconds before holding his breath and taking it, eyes squeezed shut to block out the spray. The guys rub his head all the time, for good luck, because they like the bristly feeling of his hair, to piss him off-but no one, not even Wook, has ever washed it like this, pushed his head into a sink and scrubbed it clean. Sungmin might even be offended if he wasn't so fucking turned on.
When Siyoung finally lets him up, Sungmin stands, knees locking, and shakes the water off like a dog. Siyoung swiftly sidesteps out of the way, protesting while cleaning the razors off. "It's pretty even," Sungmin comments lamely, looking in the mirror and wiping his face dry with the towel. "Not bad for a first timer."
"Told you I could do it," Siyoung says, sounding smug. "Didn't even nick you."
Sungmin laughs, and pushes away from the counter to pull his shirt back on. "Learn how to do designs, buddy, and then we'll talk."
"Yeah?" Siyoung says. When Sungmin looks over again, Siyoung's eyes have dropped down to the bulge in his sweatpants, brows raised so high they're obscured by his floppy bangs.
"I got it," Sungmin says automatically, bracing a hand against the counter. No use bothering to hide it when he's already seen. "It's not a big deal."
"Not a big deal," Siyoung repeats. He sounds unconvinced. Sungmin can't get the door open fast enough before Siyoung has Sungmin flat against it, back pressing into the wood. They aren't even touching, which is both good and a distinct problem. Sungmin's hard-on burns hot against his leg. His head's tingling from the shaving cream. Siyoung hovers too close but not close enough, the sleeves of his hoodie still rolled up like a kid's. He licks his lips, blinking behind his glasses, and asks, still careful, still deliberate, "Has this ever happened before?"
For a second, Sungmin considers playing dumb. He's always been pretty good at that. He considers lying, too, but then he sees a flash of something cross Siyoung's face, open and vulnerable, and thinks, Fuck this. "No," he says, lifting his chin. "It hasn't."
"Ha," Siyoung says, eyes narrowing with intent, and sticks his hand down the front of Sungmin's sweatpants.
It doesn't take much. Sungmin's been hard for so long that the first stroke of Siyoung's hand is almost enough. His torso curls in on itself, abdomen clenching. His forehead falls against the slope of Siyoung's shoulder. "Shit," he gasps, hips rising into the loose circle of Siyoung's fist. When Siyoung squeezes again, Sungmin spills all over his warm palm.
"You owe me so much for this," Siyoung says airily, after Sungmin catches his breath. Even like this, it's the most generous thing Siyoung's ever done for him. He wipes his hand off on the outside of Sungmin's sweatpants before he pulls the door open and exits the bathroom. Sungmin stays a while longer, scrapes a hand over his face. He isn't sure if Siyoung means the shave or the messy handjob. Knowing him, it's probably both.
fin
A/N: title is from kate horowitz's "your name is safe in my mouth" :3