Makes Me Wanna (Tasty2wins/Tao, NC-17)
Title: Makes Me Wanna
Pairing: Daeryong/Soryong/Tao (Tasty2wins/Tao)
Rating: NC-17
Words: ~3000
Warnings: incest, threesome, double penetration
Summary: They do everything together, or not at all.
Author's Note: Prompt fill for this.
Soryong knows how things will play out the instant he meets the gaze of curious cat-slanted eyes under dirty blonde fringe, because Daeryong likes the chic types and Soryong likes anything Daeryong does. Tao, he’s introduced, but he bows over their handshakes and says “you can call me Zitao, hyung” and out of the corner of his eye Soryong catches Daeryong standing up a little straighter.
So he expects it, really, when Daeryong hooks his chin over his shoulder from behind. He can feel Daeryong’s head turn against his cheek, tracking Zitao movements through the rest of the guests. This mixer SM’s holding for all the Woollim idols to meet their new colleagues is probably bullshit, Soryong feeling more and more like a bought commodity as the evening progresses, but. It might be worth it for Zitao.
“He’s cute,” Daeryong murmurs low in his ear.
Soryong leans back against him with a chuckle. “You just like that he calls you hyung.”
“Not like you’re ever going to.”
“Nope, never.” They’ve had this conversation a hundred times before, mostly on shows with interviewers who don’t yet understand how things work between them. Soryong insists every time that those five minutes between their births don’t matter, and the interviewers laugh and say oh, how nice that must be, to have a sibling and a same age friend all in one.
What Soryong doesn’t say, any of those times, is that they should have been born the other way around, that if he’d come into the world first Daeryong would be calling him hyung with every other breath. He can’t put a measure on how often he’s played indulgent accomplice to Daeryong’s mad schemes.
He’s not surprised in the slightest when Daeryong’s hands wander under the hem of his shirt, breath warm against the side of his neck. To anyone else it probably looks like they’re just sharing a secret, a twin moment that would make aunties coo with maternal instincts.
Daeryong licks his lips, swiping his tongue across the skin behind Soryong’s ear in the process. Intentional, of course. There’s nothing fraternal about this at all. “Help get him for me?”
---
Zitao’s ass looks great in bright orange track pants, even if Soryong stops Daeryong from going over to tell him as much. “You have no subtlety,” he hisses, dragging on the hem of Daeryong’s jacket, though really he’d expected as much.
“Have I ever needed it?” Daeryong shoots back, which makes Soryong roll his eyes, but he finally stops trying to aggressively hit on the poor kid.
“Look, you wanted me to help, I’m helping.” He waves cheerily when Zitao looks over and Zitao grins, making a come here gesture he’s quick to follow.
“What’s with the umbrella?” he asks as he fetches up beside him.
Zitao grimaces. “Don’t want to get darker.”
“Hey,” he bumps their shoulders together as he turns to give Daeryong a look, what are you waiting for? “You’d still look fine.”
There’s a pink tint in Zitao’s cheeks that definitely isn’t sunburn. Soryong watches Daeryong’s gaze flit between the two of them, just as he’d expected it to do, and smirks: I’m helping.
---
“I was thinking of heading to the EXO dorm, wanna come with?”
Daeryong looks up from his phone to where Soryong’s standing at the door, plastic grocery bag in hand. “What? Why?”
Soryong shakes the bag. “Snacks for Zitao, since he hurt his back. I bet he’s all lonely and bed-ridden, right?”
He tries not to laugh at how quickly Daeryong scrambles up, stuffing his feet into his shoes as he yanks a hoodie on. “Let’s go.”
Zitao is, in fact, bed-ridden, propped up on a heating pad and what must be half a dozen pillows, but his tired face lights up when Daeryong knocks at the doorframe and Soryong peeks around him, waggling his fingers in greeting before Zitao nods that they can enter.
His stomach grumbles as Soryong starts unpacking the snacks, handing him a few packages. “Those assholes all went out to lunch without me, this sucks.”
“Sorry you got hurt,” Soryong says.
“Sorry I’m such an idiot,” Zitao mutters around a mouthful of tteokbokki.
“I thought your jumps looked really cool,” Daeryong butts in, and Soryong resists the urge to roll his eyes. Really cool, yeah, that’ll make him feel better.
But Zitao busies himself with the cellophane, fiddling the edges so they crinkle between his fingers. “Oh, um. Thanks…hyung.” Soryong squeezes his eyes shut before they roll right out of his head. He should have expected as much.
---
He doesn’t necessarily expect the invitation, but if he had he’d have known to listen for Daeryong’s footsteps before he bursts into the room, “Did you get Zitao’s text?”
Soryong flips open his phone, sees Tao’s message, sent in Chinese characters instead of the Hangeul he’s had to become so used to: chinaline’s doing chuseok together, please come? ^-^)/ He takes in Daeryong’s outfit, button-up shirt and clean sneakers, all dressed up (for Daeryong, anyway). “I guess we’re going, then?”
Daeryong’s excitement wanes a little, and Soryong almost wants to tell him not to worry about it just to keep him from scuffing his shoes with the way he’s toeing the floor. But he doesn’t, because they only have one rule and Daeryong’s come dangerously close to breaking it. We have to agree on anything we do. “Is…is that okay?” Daeryong’s voice is small.
He grins and stands, ruffling Daeryong’s hair even though he has to reach up a little to do it. “Duh.”
Zitao’s smile when he spots them is just as bright as Daeryong’s had been even while he shoved Soryong’s hand away from his head. “Over here!” he calls, waving until the tall figure beside him catches his hand and pulls it down. As they get closer Soryong recognizes Zhou Mi, and next to him and Zitao Fei Fei and Ji Ah, and he does his best not to be intimidated. It helps, just a little, that he and his brother still stand a centimeter or two over even Zhou Mi.
It helps even more that Zitao seems to carry familiarity with him like a force field. They can't, of course, know what he was like back in Shandong before SM and Seoul were more than a distant thought, whether his touches were this carefree and generously given when Chinese customs left so much less room for affection, but if Korea's changed Zitao he's taken to it like second nature. He slings a casual arm around Zhou Mi when they pose for a group photo, thinks nothing of tugging Daeryong along by the hand if he’s moving too slowly. Soryong watches the stumble in Daeryong’s step as he follows and wonders if this might be easier than he thought.
They get food, of course, because they have to share a communal meal on Chuseok of all days, but they go to a Chinese place where the dishes’ names are familiar in their mouths and the server passes out moon cakes instead of songpyeon at the end of the meal. Soryong picks the same imprinted design Daeryong does, and by the time Zitao calls for a picture they’ve each already taken a bite out of theirs.
“Good times for Chuseok, ge,” Zitao says, grinning at how embarrassed they must look to have been caught eating so soon.
---
Soryong’s still smiling back at him a few weeks later at their Dream Team recording, because Zitao’s sitting behind them and he’s letting Daeryong say “Tao-yah” and he calls them brother in two different languages.
Yifan is pleasant but distracted, focusing on what plays to use and on not embarrassing himself as a former basketball captain. Zitao leans forward, asking how they keep their hair so healthy even with all the dye and products, pinching a lock of Soryong’s to test the softness, and Soryong already knows the reply that will get him what he wants. Tease back, “we don’t bleach so dramatically, Tao-yah”, run fingers into Zitao’s dirty blonde strands once, twice. Zitao closes his eyes at the touch.
They film a mock showdown and Soryong makes sure to be on Zitao’s ‘team’, bending close to murmur “hwaiting” in a way that has Zitao’s eyes crinkling with amusement. Later, when they’re on their teams for real and Yifan is explaining how they’re going to run offense and defense, it’s easy to sling an arm around Zitao’s shoulders like he’s just going in for a huddle. (It’s a little harder not to outright wink at Daeryong when he eyes them with barely concealed interest, but Daeryong turns away like he can read the smugness anyway, wrapping his arms around himself and pretending he doesn’t care.)
When Zitao returns the favor, hands on each of their shoulders and chin resting between them, Soryong feels Daeryong shift back into him and doesn’t have to look to know the expression on his face.
---
Soryong’s known how things will play out from the beginning, so he’s not surprised when Zitao texts them one day, can i come see your dorm? He’s a little surprised, though, when Zitao shucks out of his shirt almost as soon as he walks through the door.
His pants follow. Okay, maybe a lot surprised.
“What are you,” he starts, but Zitao cuts him off with wide eyes, face utterly angelic.
“Oh,” he says in what he must think is an innocent tone. “Sorry, ge, I’m just so used to this at our dorm…”
There’s a beat where Soryong just stares, before he’s covering his face with his hands. “Oh my God,” he says between his fingers, “you’re about as subtle as Daeryong, aren’t you.”
Zitao blinks at him while Daeryong calls from the other room where he’s been taking way too much time getting ready, “Are you guys talking about me?”
“Dae,” Soryong calls back, not taking his eyes off Zitao. “You might wanna hurry up.”
He’s not sure why Zitao even bothered with the coy act in the first place, not when it’s so much better the way he moans around Daeryong’s tongue the instant Soryong’s hands slip down to his waist. Still in Daeryong’s lap he presses back against Soryong, turning his head to kiss him too, messy with the awkward angle. Soryong pulls him up and guides him back down to lay flat on the bed, legs spreading to accommodate Daeryong settling between them while he cups Soryong’s cheek. His hair rustles against the sheets when he tilts his head to let Soryong move their tongues together.
Zitao gasps into his mouth and Soryong hasn’t even done anything, so he pulls away to see Daeryong palming Zitao’s cock, already straining the fabric of his briefs. Daeryong’s never been one to tease.
Soryong is, though, just a little, and it’s why he pushes a thumb against Zitao’s full lower lip until he parts them, obediently sucking it in. His tongue is warm and soft and it goes still for a second when Daeryong yanks his briefs down, tossing them over his shoulder because he always thinks these dramatic gestures make him seem dashing. Soryong would rather actually be able to find their clothes later, so he reluctantly pulls his finger out of Zitao’s mouth and takes it upon himself to get his and Daeryong’s off, simply dropping them beside the bed.
When he’s done he finds Daeryong kissing down Zitao’s stomach, looking up at him like he’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Soryong doesn’t exactly agree, he remembers that one time with Amber, but he does have to admit the arch of his back is gorgeous as Daeryong moves a hand to tease at his entrance.
So is the way he’s bitten his lips red, and Soryong thinks that leaving them unoccupied just won’t do. He nudges Daeryong aside, rolling and tugging until Zitao’s up on his hands and knees with Soryong in front of him and Daeryong behind. He slips his fingers back into Zitao’s mouth while Daeryong slicks his own up and presses the first one carefully into his ass.
Two fingers later Soryong’s got his dick in Zitao’s mouth now, and he’s panting around it as Daeryong finally drags his hand back and grips his own erection to guide it into Zitao. Soryong draws away a little so Daeryong’s first thrust forward won’t shove his cock down his throat.
The concern turns out to be unwarranted, because Zitao bounces between them like he’s done this before, pushing back onto Daeryong and using the momentum to swallow Soryong even further. There’s a moment when they’ve got Daeryong’s hips flush against his ass and his nose buried in the short hairs above Soryong’s groin, and then Zitao pulls back with an obscene wet pop, pressing his cheek against Soryong's dick as he looks up and says, demanding, "More."
At first Soryong doesn't understand what he means, and he says as much. Zitao rolls his eyes like he's saying do I have to do everything around here?, but he tosses his head back in a gesture toward where Daeryong is still buried deep, paused because Soryong is. "Ge, more."
Soryong looks up to meet Daeryong's gaze, questioning and eager. We have to agree on everything we do. He nods, and when Daeryong pushes forward again Soryong knows he's slipped a finger in beside his dick this time.
It takes a while, long enough that Soryong moves around behind and offers to help so that Daeryong doesn’t have to strain his wrist, but eventually they’ve got Zitao opened up to four of Soryong’s fingers bunched next to Daeryong already in him. Zitao’s trembling by the end of it, collapsed on his chest on the bed with his head buried in arms too weak to hold himself up any more. His whine when Soryong pulls his hand out is muffled.
“You still wanna do this?” Daeryong asks as Soryong strokes one hand soothingly down Zitao’s back and uses the other to pump himself to full hardness again, getting ready. Zitao uncovers his face enough to peer back at them, and Soryong sucks in a breath at how wrecked he looks already, flushed and barely able to keep his eyes open.
But he nods, wriggling his hips a little, and it’s permission enough for Soryong to start easing slowly, so slowly in.
Zitao is tight, of course, there’s no way he couldn’t feel stretched beyond his limit, but he’s so quiet as they both work themselves into him and Soryong spares a thought to wonder if that’s the discipline of years of learning to fight in silence. If he’s shameless and loud for pleasure but he closes himself off at pain.
Which is why he’s more relieved than he would have expected to be when Zitao makes the first noise they’ve heard from him in a bit. It’s low and choked but it’s real and it’s followed, soon enough, by a genuine moan when Soryong’s efforts push Daeryong’s dick right into his prostate.
From there, it’s just a matter of working out the rhythm, not all that difficult when Soryong knows what Daeryong’s going to do just before he does it most of the time anyway. Zitao isn’t much help but that’s hardly a surprise, and Soryong’s entirely willing just to take care of him when he’s working so hard for them, so responsive with the sounds he’s making as they move slowly in and out. He’s shaking again, Soryong can feel the vibrations under and around himself.
Daeryong’s got his hands on Zitao’s hips so Soryong moves his higher, smooths down his back again and again, rubbing at the tensed muscles until Zitao is finally soft and pliant under them, chin pillowed on his arms instead of tucked into them now.
“Doing okay, Tao-yah?”
Zitao’s head dips before he says, breathless, “Yeah, ge, you can…you can go faster, if you want.”
Next to him Daeryong pauses for a split second, and when he pushes forward again Soryong falls easily into the pace he sets, surging and retreating with rolling hips, the way Daeryong always likes best for how it’s unrelenting but not aggressive, an achingly constant stimulus.
Zitao is writhing back on them now, nearly sobbing with sensation, his “please, please please ge” so broken Soryong almost doesn’t catch it. When he takes pity and wraps his fingers around Zitao’s cock Daeryong follows suit and Zitao comes like that, wailing with both their hands moving on him and Daeryong bent to press kisses into his shoulderblades while Soryong holds his hips steady.
He’s boneless in the afterglow, unprotesting when they pull out carefully though he does slump down to lay flat on the bed, completely spent. Daeryong reaches out and Soryong goes to him and he’s not ashamed to admit that it only takes them a few strong pumps to finish in each other’s fists, Daeryong with a sharp groan and Soryong quiet as always but more telling in the way he shudders with the force of his orgasm.
Zitao murmurs sleepily when Soryong turns him over, taking the warm washcloth that Daeryong brings. He tries to be gentle but Zitao still hisses with overstimulation when he cleans around his cock, settling only when Daeryong pets fingers through his hair. His whispered “ge…” and his tugs on their wrists are faint, fatigued, and it’s a simple thing to sink down on either side of him, arms crossing over his waist and his hips, cradling him softly as he gives rapidly in to exhaustion.
Over Zitao’s head, Daeryong grins at him in the most self-satisfied way. Soryong rolls his eyes and mutters, “Shut up and go to sleep, asshole.”
“Respect your elders,” Daeryong grumbles back, but he does, face smoothing out as serenely as Zitao’s. Soryong lets himself smile, then lets himself drift off to the sound of Daeryong’s slow breaths and Zitao’s little whistling snores.
----------------
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