[exo] on the fringes (ABANDONED) 2/2

[hyperlydian]

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%

“Ow! What the hec - “

“Shut up.” Sehun might be the youngest of them all, but right now, he’s got Yifan shoved up against the wall in the hallway of their dorm, forearm pressed to his throat so that his head knocks painfully against the drywall, and Yifan shuts up.

The rest of the band is crowded into the kitchen, talking loudly over each other as they shove food into their mouths. They won’t be missed.

Sehun is studying his face and Yifan thinks he looks tired, cheeks a little more hollow than the last time he’d let Yifan get this close. He wonders what Sehun sees, because his eyes are fierce, but when he surges forward to kiss him, it’s so soft, just a brush of skin that leaves Yifan’s mouth tingling.

Of course, Sehun’s arm is still across his collar bones, body weight holding Yifan to the wall. “I’m still mad at you,” Sehun says. “It’s just…”

Yifan swallows. Sehun’s eyes flick down to watch his Adam’s apple, tongue coming out to wet his lips.

“Yeah,” Yifan breathes. He wonders what color panties Sehun is wearing today, if they’re lace, or cotton. It’s been a long time since he got off with something other than his own hand, and Sehun can probably feel how his pulse is racing through his throat.

“So - “ Yifan tries, and Sehun presses harder with his arm, cutting him off. A little thrill goes through Yifan that he doesn’t quite understand because Sehun still looks really pissed off.

“I said, shut up.” Sehun releases him, but only so he can twist his hands into Yifan’s collar and drag him down the hall, into his room.

The wood of the door hurts a little less to smack his head on, and Yifan really wants to be upset about all this possible head trauma, but this time Sehun’s using his hips to keep Yifan in place as he slips his tongue past Yifan’s lips and all his protests fly out of his head.

Sehun doesn’t kiss like he has a secret to keep, his mouth falling open against Yifan’s easily, and now that they’ve had some practice together, kissing Sehun is something Yifan would happily spend a long time doing. Sehun’s fingers twist into the hair at the back of his head and Yifan uses the opportunity to slide his hand down the back of Sehun’s jeans. The panties are made of something slippery this time, though the lace of the waistband catches on his fingers. Sehun shivers in his arms.

There’s that steam curling in the pit of Yifan’s stomach again, wet and hot, and Sehun steps back, away from Yifan’s hands. He’s panting, mouth pink and smirking.

“Wanna see what color they are?” he asks, breathless and fumbling with the button of his pants.

Yifan doesn’t answer - Sehun told him to shut up, after all - but his mouth goes dry because the mint green of Sehun’s underwear is bright and delicate under the black of his jeans as Sehun pulls them down, past his thighs, knees, calves, until Sehun’s legs are bare.

Yifan presses his palms flat to the door to keep himself steady when Sehun comes towards him again and lets his knees hit the floor. Sehun’s hair is lighter now, smooth, with strands catching on his eyelashes as he looks up at Yifan.

He makes fast work of Yifan’s pants and underwear, and Yifan can’t even believe his luck right now, Sehun wetting his mouth and letting his tongue loll out as he wraps a hand around the base of Yifan’s cock.

His fingers are shaking a little, and Yifan realizes that Sehun’s probably never done this before. That thought, that he’s giving another first to Yifan. Another secret. It’s an act of trust, even if Sehun refuses to think of it that way, warms him almost as much as the slick heat of Sehun’s mouth. Yifan brushes the hair out of Sehun’s eyes, and when Sehun looks up again, something unnamed in his chest swells.

%

When the knowledge that what Sehun usually has under his pants isn’t the typical idol designer boxer-briefs is compounded with the fact that he’s pretty sure Sehun hasn’t told any of the others this particular secret, it puts an extra spring in Yifan’s step for a while.

Sehun had said he was still angry (Yifan thinks he might know what that was about now), but he has no problem sinking his teeth into Yifan’s lip, especially when he knows there’s going to be pictures taken later, or shoving Yifan’s hands into his own pants, and Yifan thinks there’s some trust in there somewhere - or at least there’s orgasms, anyway, and that’s better than nothing.

Sehun wasn’t one of SM’s long-term trainees for nothing. He’s a fast learner, and soon, Sehun is giving the best head Yifan’s ever had (not that he’s gotten much, but wow). He’s adventurous too, mouthing down past Yifan’s balls to lick at his hole, pulling back to smirk when a groan slips out without Yifan’s permission.

“That’s something I’d like to try,” Sehun murmurs, running his nose along Yifan’s cock, tip catching on the crown and making Yifan’s toes curl. “I want to try it the other way first, though.”

And Yifan isn’t quite sure on the specifics, because his brain kind of shorts out when Sehun pulls a bottle of lube out from under Yifan’s mattress (how did he know that was there?), but somehow he’s got Sehun under him, hands clutching at Yifan’s shoulders and choked sounds coming from his mouth as Yifan works him open, three fingers thrusting in and out of him sloppily as Yifan jerks him off.

“I can’t wait to do this for real,” he says, voice low, into the skin of Sehun’s throat. The words are welling up, a dirty secret, a steaming thread of want that’s been building up inside of him for weeks, and he can’t stop it from pouring out. Sehun’s staring at him, eyes unfocused and teary, and he looks transfixed by what Yifan’s saying, so he says more. “I could do it right now, roll you over and slide my dick into you until you can’t even hold yourself up.”

Sehun writhes, digs his fingernails in, and his body throbs in Yifan’s hands like he’s about to burst. Yifan had come earlier, but he files this moment away to fuel his wanking fantasies for at least the rest of his life. “You’d let me, wouldn’t you? You’d scream into the pillow that you didn’t want hyung to stop.”

Crying out, Sehun comes over his own stomach, thighs straining and neck arching, and Yifan waits a few moments to slip his fingers out. When he does, Sehun sighs a little, shifting on the sheets of Yifan’s bed like the fabric itches. Yifan cleans them both off with some tissues, pulling the shirt Sehun had on gently down from where it was bunched up under his armpits.

The underwear he’d been wearing, deep red-orange with single strips of lace spanning the sides, had been tossed who knows where, but rather than looking for it like usual, Sehun tugs at him, pulling Yifan until he’s draped over half of Sehun’s bare skin. “Cold,” Sehun mumbles, and Yifan reaches for the top-sheet to cover them both. “Also, never try talking dirty again. That was awful.”

Yifan laughs, but he’s distracted by the way Sehun curls into his side, hand resting in the small of his back. “Whatever, you loved it.”

There’s the ghost of a touch on his cheek and Yifan imagines it’s from Sehun’s lips, a little kiss in between scoffs. Sehun’s not big on touches that Mean Things, so Yifan tells himself to take it at face value, but staying pressed together like they are now is different and has those little coils of steam moving from his belly up to gather next to his heart.

“Stop thinking and go to sleep,” Sehun says after a few minutes, and Yifan tenses, wondering for a horrifying moment if Sehun can read his mind. “The others won’t be back for hours, so quit fidgeting.” He shoves at Yifan with a foot, tangling their legs together even more. “Idiot.”

Yifan lets himself relax again, drifting off to sleep to the rhythm of Sehun’s breathing and tries not to think about what this might mean.

%

Sehun’s got his leg pressed right up against Yifan’s as they ride in the van to the airport and it’s making him feel overheated. Sehun isn’t usually touchy with him like this when the others are around, fingertips absently tracing the curve of Yifan’s thigh as he hums along to whatever music he’s got playing over his headphones and looking out the window.

It’s… it’s almost nice. Being this close to Sehun usually involves getting off somehow, so this kind of casual contact kind of - Sehun flattens his hand so he’s pressing his whole palm over the top of Yifan’s leg and Yifan swallows - it feels like something Sehun does every day (he definitely doesn’t), and a bit like Something More all at once.

The other members in the van are chattering away, all trying to pretend they aren’t jittery with the nerves that usually come with the particular brand of aggressive fans that come see them at the airport, but Sehun seems content to stay quiet, nestled between Yifan and the window. It really is nice - so nice, Yifan is afraid he’s going to get used to it.

The airport is a nightmare, as usual, Sehun’s fingers twisting into the hem of Yifan’s red sweater to keep himself from stumbling in the crowd, and Yifan tries not to think about it, he really does. But every time he feels Sehun’s fingernails scrape at his spine through the knit, his heart pulses in his throat, hard enough that Yifan’s surprised the fans can’t see it through the lenses of their cameras.

At the gate, Yifan fiddles with his ticket and passport between his fingers. He’s got the beginning of a hangnail on one of them and he forces himself not to pick at it.

Sehun’s chin digs into Yifan’s shoulder when he comes over, looking down at the paper in Yifan’s hands.

“Hmm,” he says, “we’re in the same row.” Yifan can feel the vibrations of Sehun’s throat against his shoulder blade.

The idea of sitting next to Sehun for a few hours, with no one else to bother them, settles under Yifan’s skin, hot and simmering, as Sehun’s breath brushes past his cheek. It feels kind of like a secret.

The warmth against Yifan’s back disappears when Sehun moves off to talk to some of the others as they mill around, waiting to board, and the cool air bleeding through his shirt makes Yifan shiver.

When he finally walks on the plane, though, mixed in with the rest of the passengers as they stow their luggage, the seat next to Sehun is already occupied.

“I told Jongin you could switch,” Sehun says, sounding bored and tugging at the edges of his blazer so it won’t wrinkle during the flight.

Jongin makes a pleading face up at Yifan. “If you sit next to Chanyeol instead, I might actually be able to get some sleep.”

The circles under Jongin’s eyes seem darker than usual and his mouth is curving downwards, like it’s too much effort to smile. Yifan glances back a few rows to where Chanyeol is wriggling in his seat, trying to buckle his seatbelt, elbows jabbing out haphazardly. “Sure,” he says, trying to sound casual, and not like the way Sehun is too busy watching them load the luggage into the plane to look him in the eye bothers him. “That’s cool.”

He waits for another beat, until the person waiting in the aisle behind him lets out an impatient sigh, but Sehun’s gaze is fixed on the window, lip trapped between his teeth.

“‘Bye,” Jongin mumbles, slumping onto his neck pillow and shutting his eyes.

Chanyeol grins at Yifan when he sits down, folding his legs into the small space between seats, and Yifan makes himself smile in return, buckling himself in and tipping his head back so that it can touch the too-short headrest during take-off. He curls his fingers into the kit cuffs of his sweater as the plane accelerates down the runway, nose tipping up, ready to glide into the air.

It’s not like Sehun hasn’t done stuff like that before, always seeming to prefer the other member’s company, socially, at least. But, perhaps a little foolishly, Yifan had hoped things were changing between them.

Nausea is rolling around in his stomach, and he swallows as the wheels of the plane leave the ground, not able to decide if the sudden sickness is from turbulence or the unexpected sting of Sehun’s rejection.

%

He’s seen Sehun in his school uniform a few times last year, just in passing when Sehun had rushed in to practice or rap lessons after class, the same gaudy yellow blazer over a polo as Jongin had worn last year, and it really serves no other purpose than to remind the other members to tease Sehun about not having finished school yet.

It’s a little routine they have, where Jongdae says something about Sehun looking like he’s just stepped out of a manhwa and Jongin flicks the lapels of Sehun’s jacket as Sehun tugs at his tie and waves them all off so he can go change. Now that Sehun’s graduated, Yifan doesn’t really give it a second thought anymore.

The uniform sweater Sehun likes to wear around the dorm sometimes isn’t his. It’s a little too tight across the shoulders - not in the same way a lot of Sehun’s clothes do these days, too small for his still-growing body - and Yifan overhears Sehun tell Lu Han that he and his high school best friend had traded school sweaters after graduation for when they missed each other and couldn’t meet up.

The idea seems oddly sentimental for Sehun, even if Yifan knows that Sehun is more thoughtful than the image he puts out, until he gathers, from little throwaway comments and jokes, that Sehun’s best friend from high school is a girl. The other members all seem at least semi-aware of her existence, and Yifan remembers that he was in Canada for Sehun’s graduation, when they might have had a chance to meet her, Jeongah.

With Exo’s popularity and schedule over the past two years, none of them have had much time off to see their families and friends, and meeting up with a girl around Sehun’s same age under the radar of their fans would have been nearly impossible, even if she’s just a friend.

Yifan tries not to give it too much thought. The sweater is canary yellow and short enough to show a strip of bare skin above the top of Sehun’s pants, and both aspects mean that it catches Yifan’s eye whenever Sehun wears it around. Which means Yifan ends up thinking about it kind of a lot.

It’s been over a year and a half since Sehun’s graduation - a long time to wear a sweater for just a friend.

It’s… possible. Sehun has this way with women, older women in particular, that seems to always get him what he wants. He’s tuned it up since they debuted and he’s grown into an adult, smoothed it out into to something less feminine and childlike and more boyish and cute. Something that catches people’s notice without getting him teased.

It’s entirely possible that Sehun has some kind of … thing with his best friend. Yifan tries not to feel sour about the fact that he might be acting as some kind of stand-in for an ex-classmate of Sehun’s that he’s never even met (conveniently forgetting it was his own fault he was away in Canada during Sehun’s graduation) and instead ignores the thought entirely and definitely doesn’t ask the other members who had met her what she’s like.

Well, mostly.

“Jeongah?” Junmyeon says, looking distractedly down at the scripts he’s got in his lap for the radio show he’s going to be on tomorrow. “You mean Sehun’s friend from school?”

Yifan shrugs, trying to look nonchalant and probably failing because he’s 185 centimeters tall.

“She’s…” He sets the papers in his hand down on the table. “You know how Sehun is,” Junmyeon says, and Yifan clears his throat in a way that could sound like agreement (even though he’s beginning to realize he doesn’t know how Sehun is at all) but still isn’t a lie because he really does needs to clear his throat. “He doesn’t really bother with people he doesn’t like. Jeongah seems to get him, I always thought, and that’s why they’re friends.”

“Just friends?” Yifan asks, the question slipping out before he can stop it.

Junmyeon opens his mouth to answer, looking curious, but before he can, Baekhyun comes tumbling into the living room, out of breath with laughter and a murderous-looking Kyungsoo hot on his trail.

His Very Important Question left unanswered, Yifan backs off for a while, watching Sehun instead of trying to engage him, looking for clues.

Yifan has halfway convinced himself that Sehun definitely has a secret girlfriend and he’s the other woman (man) in this scenario, when Sehun shows up at his room one afternoon, the arms of the borrowed yellow school sweater slightly too short, making his wrists show. Yifan pauses for a second, leaning against the door and scratching his head, because he’d been trying to take a nap, so he’s kind of groggy and doesn’t want to risk accidentally pissing Sehun off again.

“Um,” he starts. “Hi?”

“I thought I had Mandarin class after our interview today before recording tonight, but it turns out I don’t and earlier you mentioned you had the afternoon off…”

Yifan had been up all night at the studio, trying to perfect things for the new album with their producer, and was taking the chance to grab a few extra hours of sleep between schedules.

Sehun’s eyes skitter away from his face, down to his chest, and Yifan suddenly realizes he’s shirtless and crosses his arms over his chest, nodding blankly. He’d been having some kind of half-dream about tripping and falling in slow motion down some stairs in front of the fans, their cameras flashing. The feeling is hard to shake.

Sehun waits for a beat, as though expecting Yifan to say something. “Are you going to let me in?”

“Oh. Uh. Sure.” Yifan steps back, letting Sehun brush past him. The sweater is getting really tight across his shoulders now that he's grown more - or maybe Sehun is tense for some reason?

He looks kind of like that first time he’d taken of his pants for Yifan, like he’s toeing the rim of a cliff and trying to figure out if he’ll survive the fall.

"Where's Jongdae?" Sehun asks, looking around the room as though he expects Jongdae to pop out from under one of the beds.

"Vocal recording." Sehun turns around to lean against the desk, fingers fiddling with the hem of the yellow sweater, and it definitely seems like he's nervous. "So... what's up?" Yifan asks and Sehun's eyes flick up to his face and then back down.

It's unnerving, because Sehun isn't like this with him, especially not when they're alone and the leader in him is worried that something is actually wrong.

Maybe, Yifan thinks, feeling a little frantic, it’s his secret girlfriend, and Sehun is here to tell Yifan they can’t see each other anymore or something, because he could never be with a loose woman like him.

Maybe Yifan needs to stop watching TV love-triangle dramas with Lu Han.

“Did something happen during your recording session??” Yifan tries instead.

It’s almost a relief when Sehun scoffs. “Everything’s fine, hyung. Stop worrying.” He drops his hands from his sweater and reaches out to tug at one of Yifan’s arms, smirking. “You look ridiculous with your hair like that.”

Yifan reaches up, and sure enough, he can feel how his hair is sticking straight up on one side of his head. He tries to flatten it, and Sehun laughs, eyes crinkling up as he pulls Yifan’s arm down. “Idiot,” he says, before pulling Yifan close enough to kiss him.

The knit of Sehun’s sweater rubs against Yifan’s bare chest and his hand tickles the back of Yifan’s neck as it twists into his hair. It’s strange, how Sehun’s mouth can be so hard when he frowns and then soft, like this, falling open against Yifan’s as their bodies press together.

It doesn’t matter if Sehun has a secret girlfriend from high school, Yifan decides, because Sehun is here, squirming impatiently in Yifan’s arms.

Sehun doesn’t seem tense anymore, making a little sound when Yifan fists the back of his sweater, low enough that Yifan can feel the vibrations in his own chest, right down to his cock. It’s almost ridiculous, that something so tiny should have him so ready, but Sehun is licking at the roof of his mouth, making more sounds and pulling at Yifan’s hair, and Yifan wants - he wants -

Sehun’s hands don’t leave his hair even when Yifan drops to his knees, but when Yifan’s fingers fumble with the button of his uniform pants, he kind of sighs, like he’d been afraid Yifan didn’t want him or something.

Yifan pauses. That feeling in his chest is welling again, pressing against his ribcage, and he lets his face fall against Sehun’s stomach.

Yifan takes a few breaths, cheek rubbing against the canary yellow sweater, and Sehun’s hands kind of go soft in his hair, brushing through it instead of grabbing. The sweater smells like laundry and a little bit of expensive cologne some of the fans probably gave him, but also like Sehun’s left it lying on his floor for too long, and the idea helps ground him, muffles the anxious fluttering under his ribs so he can feel how hard Sehun is under his hands instead.

And if Sehun is going to let Yifan blow him while he’s wearing that stupid borrowed sweater, then Yifan is going to do it, possible secret girlfriend or not.

It’s easy after that, to pull on Sehun’s zipper, let the uniform pants slide down Sehun’s legs and pool on the floor. The panties today are bright yellow like the sweater. He likes how Sehun is randomly vain about things like his underwear, but will let the hair stylist dye his hair ten different colors without even caring.

Yifan runs his palms over them, the little bow catching his fingers as he pushes the shirt fabric up to uncover Sehun’s stomach. He mouths at Sehun’s bellybutton, dips his tongue in, rubbing Sehun’s dick until the head is peeking over the lace. The skin is salty and warm, muscles beneath trembling under his tongue.

Yifan chances a look up, and Sehun’s staring back down, lower lip sucked into his mouth and cheeks pink, and Yifan laps at the crown of Sehun’s cock where it’s bare, breaking eye-contact so he can push the rest of the lace away and suck him into his mouth.

He hasn’t sucked off very many guys, but Yifan thinks he likes the sounds Sehun makes the best, not much more than little choked gasps, like it feels so good he can’t even take a proper breath, and Yifan’s really starting to get into it when suddenly Sehun pushes him off.

“Um?” Yifan gets out, wiping the spit off the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand, instead of what the hell??? or it’s because I’m the other woman, isn’t it? like he wants to.

“I was thinking,” Sehun says, voice sounding a little strained.

“You’re thinking right now?”

“I’ve been thinking,” Sehun corrects, face going from pink to an embarrassed red, “about the thing… you said last time?”

“What?”

Sehun sighs like Yifan is being incredibly dense, which he thinks is kind of unfair because it’s kind of hard hard to make the transition between having a dick down your throat to talking. On the other hand, Sehun looks a lot less nervous now that he’s rolling his eyes, so maybe he’ll say what he actually means.

“About fucking me for real,” he mumbles, and Yifan remembers saying that. He ducks his head and swallows. “About having sex with me.”

Sehun’s cock is still hanging there in front of his face, slick with spit. He suddenly thinks about how Sehun had felt around his fingers, about what his face had looked like when he came, and the fact that Sehun is actually asking him for this is kind of amazing. This is definitely not what he’d expected when he opened the door to Sehun’s face twenty minutes ago, and Yifan is kind of reeling from it.

“Right,” he says, catching his breath. “Okay.”

As he gets up, Yifan’s feet catch on the carpet and he has to use Sehun’s shoulder to steady himself. Sehun snorts, but unlike that first time in the kitchen doorway, it’s Yifan that presses his lips to Sehun’s, reaching up with a hand to cradle the back of his head.

Sehun’s breath is warm on Yifan’s cheeks when they part, dark lashes curving above his cheek bones, and his fingers brush down Yifan’s spine to the top of his sweatpants. Grasping the waistband in his fists, Sehun opens his eyes and uses his grip to tug Yifan towards the bed.

He’s smiling when Yifan settles above him, knees on either side of Sehun’s lace-covered hips, and his mouth sucks at a spot on the underside of Yifan’s chin while Yifan grasps blindly for the lube under his mattress.

Sehun gasps against his throat as his underwear is pulled totally out of the way, going limp against the sheets as Yifan stretches him. It feels just as good, maybe even better than he remembered, and Yifan strokes along the inside of Sehun’s thigh with his free hand, keeping a careful eye on Sehun’s expressions until Sehun is wet and hot around his fingers, squirming down against his hand.

Sehun’s eyes snap open when Yifan pulls away to grab a condom and shuck his pants off. He’s hard enough without any help but Yifan gives himself a few tugs just to calm the heat in his stomach, and Sehun is watching, lips parted and tongue licking out, as though he wishes he could take Yifan into his mouth.

The yellow sweater is still on, rumpled up over his stomach. It’s sort of obscene, that Sehun is wearing part of his old high school uniform, and he’s looking at Yifan like he’s burning up inside. Like he wants Yifan to screw him into oblivion.

Yifan pauses before he pushes in, catching Sehun’s eyes and taking one of his hands in his own. “Yeah?” he asks, just in case, because this is important.

This is something Yifan really doesn’t want to screw up.

Sehun nods, hair mussed against the pillow as it rubs, and grips Yifan’s hand tight. “Yeah.”

The slide inside is slow, and Sehun hisses, back arching and chest rubbing against Yifan’s as he bottoms out, hips flush with the backs of Sehun’s thighs. Yifan can’t tell if he’s the one that’s trembling. Mouthing blindly at his face, catching his chin and then the corner of Yifan’s mouth, Sehun’s breath hitches between them. He shifts a little and moans, something that sounds on the edge of pain. Yifan presses kisses to his cheeks and along the line of his lips until Sehun squeezes his hand again.

“It’s okay,” he says, breathless against Yifan’s mouth. “Do it.”

Sehun feels so good around him, but its more than that. It’s the way he surges up into Yifan and how he throws back his head so Yifan can see his throat swallowing, gasping for air. Sehun in his arms like this, for the first time, is a moment suspended in time, tattooed on Yifan’s insides, something he’ll never be able to wash away.

The skin of Sehun’s neck is so incredibly pale, and maybe another time, Yifan will lean down and drag his teeth across Sehun’s pulse, mark up Sehun’s throat with pink scrapes and maybe a hickey or two, but right now it’s perfect the way it is, flawless and smooth, right down to where his collar bones disappear under his collar.

“Fuck, hyung,” Sehun grinds out, nails cutting into Yifan’s shoulder blades harder and harder every time their hips meet. Yifan tries to say something back, to tell Sehun to touch himself because he can feel his orgasm creeping up his thighs and twisting up in his stomach, too soon and not soon enough all at the same time, but his tongue is heavy in his mouth, and he’s not even sure what language is coming out.

Sehun seems to get the message, though, snaking a hand down between them to jerk himself off. His knuckles brush the skin of Yifan’s belly with each stroke and he’s whimpering in Yifan’s ear, body wound up like a rubber band about to snap. Yifan uses his grip on Sehun’s knee to pull his leg up, letting him slide in just that much deeper, and Sehun spills over his hand with a long moan that cracks in the middle and tugs at something too high up in Yifan’s chest to be arousal.

He catches Sehun’s eyes right after, still hazy when Sehun opens them again, but it’s almost like they’re shining up at Yifan with something he can’t name. Sehun digs his fingernails into Yifan’s back again, drags them up, and the tension in Yifan’s stomach bursts.

The last thing he sees before he throws back his head and comes is Sehun’s mouth making the shape of his name.

%

“I can’t believe we defiled your school sweater.”

It’s been a while, Yifan’s not quite sure how long, since he pulled out of Sehun and stashed the used condom deep down in the trashcan in the corner, where hopefully no one else would be able to find it. When he’d turned around to go back to his bed, Sehun was looking at him through hooded eyes, and the picture he made, spread out on Yifan’s sheets with half his uniform still on, come staining the front of his yellow sweater, and his hair rubbed wild by the pillow, was so debauched Yifan felt punched in the gut.

There’s still something about it that buzzes under his skin, and he’s not sure whether it’s a sort of uneasy pride at how content Sehun looked, blinking slowly at him, and tugging him back down onto the bed by the arm, or something else, maybe because of how Sehun nuzzled his face into Yifan’s shoulder, sniffling and possibly mumbling his name.

Either way, Sehun seems to find the dribbled stains on the stomach of his sweater to be much less awful than Yifan. “I don’t know,” he says, thoughtful. “I think you might have improved it. Besides, it’s my former school sweater.”

“Still makes me feel like a dirty old man,” Yifan mutters and Sehun snorts in his ear. Yifan doesn’t ask what the real owner of the sweater might think. He doesn’t want to hear Sehun’s answer.

“It doesn’t matter. Whatever gets the job done, right? Don’t worry, I won’t tell Jeongah what really happened to her sweater.” Sehun is joking, but the words hit Yifan kind of hard. He rolls over and tries not to frown up at the ceiling.

Sehun told him before that this didn’t mean anything. He could have five secret girlfriends with five traded sweaters that he wears on rotation, and that would be none of his business. Yifan is really trying not to be an idiot.

“Hey.” Sehun’s finger pokes him in the side, just hard enough to make him squirm. Yifan catches Sehun’s hand to protect himself, and turns to look at Sehun. He’s got his lip sucked into his mouth again. It makes Yifan want to lean in and kiss him until Sehun’s mouth goes soft and plush underneath his own.

Only he’s not quite sure where this leaves them and if Sehun is going to push him away again, Yifan would rather put off the sting of rejection until after the post-orgasmic euphoria has cleared from his brain.

Sure enough, Sehun is wriggling away from him, untangling their hands even as he’s smiling. Something in Yifan’s stomach drops.

“I’m going to shower. I’ve got to be back at the studio soon, I think.” Sehun says, and the way he walks to the hallway door without putting his pants on, pale butt and thighs bare to Yifan’s eyes, is probably meant to stand as a tease, or maybe a little show, but Yifan’s throat hurts when he tries to swallow, and when the door to the bathroom closes and he can hear the faint splash of water against tile, Yifan lets himself draw in a shuddering breath.

Just because Yifan thinks you have to trust someone to sleep with them doesn’t mean Sehun does too.

Just because Yifan knows some of Sehun’s secrets doesn’t mean he’s been let in.

He pushes himself up and runs a hand through his hair, trying to tame it even though he knows it’s a lost cause. His sweatpants are pooled on the floor next to the bed, and he pulls them on before picking up Sehun’s jeans and folding them carefully, smoothing out any creases and draping them over one arm.

Sehun is humming to himself in the shower when Yifan opens the bathroom door.

“Hyung, whose shampoo is in the pink bottle?” Sehun asks from behind the divider, when he hears Yifan come in.

“Zitao’s.”

“Oh good, I didn’t want to accidentally use any of yours. Your hair always smells like the kind of perfume a middle school girl would use.” Sehun’s voice carries over the sound of the water and Yifan can imagine him soaping up his hair and smirking into the spray.

“Mine’s too expensive for you to use, maknae,” he reprimands, setting Sehun’s pants on the counter. “Your jeans are out here when you want them.”

Sehun hums to show he’s heard, and Yifan doesn’t let himself get undressed and join him, doesn’t pretend that any of this has meant anything.

Whatever gets the job done, Sehun had said.

The mirror across from Yifan is fogged up from the steam, and Yifan is thankful because he doesn’t think he’d be able to look his own reflection in the eye.

He ducks back out of the bathroom and goes into the kitchen. A glass of cold water from the fridge helps smother the burn of whatever keeps bubbling up in his chest and by the time Sehun comes out, Yifan feels fine, leaning up against the counter like he and Sehun do this every day. Like this was just another fuck.

Even hearing the word in his head makes Yifan wince and his stomach roll.

“I’ll have to think of a way to get this dry-cleaned, I think,” Sehun says, gesturing down at the mess on the sweater in his hands. He must have grabbed another shirt from his room, something dark and long-sleeved enough to cover his wrists.

Yifan bobs his head slowly, tapping his fingers on the glass in his hand.

Sehun’s hair is still wet, pushed messily out of his eyes, and it makes him look younger, more wide-eyed. Yifan’s hand tightens around the glass, knuckles going white.

“So,” Sehun says. Yifan is pretty sure the pink tinge in Sehun’s cheeks is from his hot shower, even though it makes Yifan think of earlier, when Sehun had seemed so nervous and he had run soft fingers through Yifan’s hair as Yifan pressed his face into Sehun’s stomach. “I guess… “

He kind of looks like he wants to walk over to Yifan or something, but he doesn’t, hovering in the doorway, and Yifan has to remind himself that Sehun said it didn’t matter to keep himself from going over instead.

It’s better this way. Safer.

Yifan still really doesn’t want to screw this up.

Sehun sighs. “I guess I’ll see you later?” he says eventually, turning toward the front door. The end of it goes up a little, almost like a question, and the uncertainty of it tugs at Yifan’s heart. Even if Sehun used Zitao’s shampoo, Yifan can still smell the cologne he’d been wearing from across the kitchen. He wonders if it’s rubbed off on his bedsheets too, and can’t decide if that would be a good or a bad thing.

“Yeah,” Yifan says. The glass has gone warm from the heat of his palm and the exhaustion from being pulled back and forth is weighing down his shoulders. “Later.”

%

“So like,” Chanyeol says around his mouthful of fried chicken, “what’s with you and Sehun?”

“What do you mean?”

Chanyeol stares at him for a moment, eyes round. “I mean, what’s with you and Sehun?”

Trying to be nonchalant, Yifan shrugs with one shoulder. “You know how maknae is - “

“Look, I know chemically, things are different for girls, or whatever,” Chanyeol interrupts and Yifan goes from what the hell is Chanyeol talking about?? to holy shIT, he knows about the panties in less than 2.4 seconds. Luckily, Chanyeol isn’t finished. “But when a guy has his metaphorical cherry popped, it’s not that hard to tell.” He waggles his eyebrows meaningfully. “Sehun’s definitely got a spring in his step today.”

Yifan inhales in the chicken he’s chewing like a surprised vacuum and it takes him the next two minutes to cough it back up. When he can finally draw a clear breath, Yifan looks up at Chanyeol and wipes the tears of asphyxiation from his eyes.

Chanyeol’s got his eyebrows raised so high they disappear beneath his fringe. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Yifan says, gulping down some water. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Good. Junmyeon hyung would have a lot of extra work if we were down a leader,” Chanyeol says, nodding seriously.

Yifan frowns. “Hey - “

“So, Sehun,” Chanyeol cuts in again, “and you?” He pushes out his lips like he does when he’s thinking really hard about something, and adds hastily, as though to reassure Yifan, “Don’t worry, the others don’t know.”

“I don’t… know what you want me to say.” Yifan flounders for a moment, sending up a prayer of thanks that Chanyeol isn’t talking about the whole panty thing (mostly because he doesn’t even want to imagine the look on Sehun’s face if someone else had found out), even though this feels just as embarrassing for him. He tries playing dumb. “If this is about last time, with me ‘doing dickish things to Sehun’ or whatever - “

“If by ‘doing dickish things to Sehun’, you mean like, actual dicks. Like, you know.” Chanyeol makes an obscene hand gesture and Yifan is truly horrified that this is happening to him. Unfortunately, Chanyeol doesn’t seem like he’s going to let it go, his big eyes filled with curiosity. “That’s good for you guys, though, right? You weren’t that close before. What happened?”

Yifan shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

Setting down his food, Chanyeol gives Yifan A Look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Chanyeol has this terrible habit of being really observant when Yifan doesn’t want him to be and it makes it hard for Yifan to talk his way out of things. (At least Chanyeol isn’t like Kyungsoo and Jongdae, who would gossip about this across the practice room during breaks until Yifan snapped and palmed their faces like basketballs, or something.)

“It’s just - “ Even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t know how to explain what’s going on. “Nothing,” Yifan settles on eventually. Just thinking about it has his shoulders sagging. “We’re not close at all. He didn’t even tell me he has a secret girlfriend.”

“What? Sehun doesn’t have a girlfriend.”

“I said it’s a secret girlfriend.”

Chanyeol looks skeptical, but he must see something in Yifan’s face, because he doesn’t push any further, turning the conversation to news about his sister’s new job and Yifan tries to get the tension to leave his shoulders.

For some reason that Yifan absolutely hates, it feels good to hear that Chanyeol thinks he and Sehun have gotten closer, but there’s a strange lump in Yifan’s throat, because he knows the truth is they’ve only grown closer physically. Nothing else has really changed between them. Sehun keeps shutting him out and Yifan always feels like no matter how he tries, he’s slowly but surely screwing everything up.

That night, during rehearsal, Sehun looks winded, moving like he’s a little sore. Yifan wonders if it’s because of what they did together the day before and swallows the guiltily thickness that’s gathered in the back of his mouth.

“Here,” he says during their short break, holding out a fresh water bottle to Sehun as he crouches down next to one of the mirrors.

Sehun looks at Yifan like he’s grown an extra arm and holds up the half-empty water bottle in his hand. “I’m fine.”

Yifan wants to sit down next to him, reach around to knead the aching muscles of Sehun’s lower back and brush the sweaty hair away from Sehun’s forehead, but something about Sehun’s face is so completely closed off that Yifan’s throat feels dry and nervous.

Turning back around, Yifan walks to the other side of the practice studio, pressing the cool surface of the water bottle to his sweaty neck, and listens to Yixing and Lu Han cracking jokes even while their voices crack with exhaustion.

In the mirror, Yifan can see Sehun talking to Junmyeon as he combs the hair out of his face, the corners of his eyes wrinkling with a smile at something Junmyeon’s saying.

Whatever he and Sehun have shared physically doesn’t matter during times like this, Yifan realizes, because even after everything, he and Sehun still aren’t friends.

%

The issue is, of course, that Yifan really likes the physical stuff a whole lot.

Judging by the way Sehun shoves him up against the bathroom wall and pulls Yifan’s cock out of his sweatpants without even asking, eyes hungry and wet and his mouth already hanging open, Sehun enjoys it too.

“What are you - “ He can actually feel Sehun grinning around his cock, and Yifan fists his hands in his own shirt because he can’t risk messing up Sehun’s hair when they have to head back to practice so soon. Sehun hollows his cheeks and hums again, a tune Yifan almost recognizes through the fog clouding his brain. “Are you seriously… humming MAMA right now?”

Pulling off with a pop, Sehun reaches to cradle Yifan’s balls and looks entirely too pleased with himself. “It’s getting you off, isn’t it?”

“I don’t,” Yifan says, voice strained as Sehun sucks him back down, pulling Yifan even deeper into his mouth with a hand on his butt, “think that’s what’s doing it.”

Sehun lets Yifan come in his mouth, and then wipes his lips on the back of his hand after he stands up to spit in the sink behind them.

Once Yifan’s sweatpants are back in place, he reaches for Sehun awkwardly. “Can I…?”

“Nah,” Sehun says, waving him off. “I just wanted to.”

Sehun’s lips are rubbed raw, swollen and red, and he seems to hesitate for a moment before leaning in for a kiss. It’s quick, barely enough time for Yifan’s eyes to flutter shut and Sehun to rest his hand on Yifan’s waist, but Sehun sighs a little when the kiss is finished. To Yifan, it’s surprisingly intimate.

That strange feeling is pressing at his ribs again, in danger of bubbling over.

Sehun gives his hip a squeeze and blinks a few times, expression clearing. “Besides, now you owe me for later.”

Right, Yifan reminds himself, taking a step back and out of Sehun’s reach.

Just another fuck.

Maybe if he thinks the word enough, it’ll stop making him feel so sick.

He follows Sehun out of the bathroom, and really, they should probably try to be a little less obvious, but Yifan is too busy trying to convince himself that this Thing with Sehun has been a sequence of traded favors between bandmates.

None of the other members notice anything strange anyway, the rest of them embroiled in a heated rock-paper-scissors tournament in the far corner when Yifan and Sehun come back into the practice room.

Sehun saunters over to the others, draping himself all over Lu Han and whining “Hyungggggg~” to the group at large. They all coo over him, reaching out to ruffle Sehun’s hair as the choreographer calls for them to get back to work. He ducks their touches, but Yifan can tell by the smile on Sehun’s face that he enjoys the attention.

That night Yifan tosses and turns in his bed, trying and failing to get a few hours of sleep before they head to the airport tomorrow. Practice had gone on for hours after the break, until their reflection in the mirrors had been blurry to Yifan’s tired eyes.

Still, each time Yifan is about to drift off, he remembers the way Jongin slung his arm around Sehun’s shoulders to pull him close, or how Junmyeon had reached up to teasingly flick the hair out of Sehun’s eyes. It’s nothing they haven’t been doing since probably before Yifan ever even met them, but something hot and acidic burns in his throat, keeping him awake.

Yifan thinks it might be jealousy.

%