Taecyeon/Junsu, driving me wild.
Title: driving me wild.
Pairing: Taecyeon/Junsu
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,036
Notes: The notes part is always useless.
Grasping the opportunities for sex is a hassle in itself. There is no opting for the bunk at night, with the others sleeping (hardly) in the surrounding rooms only a few paces away because he refuses to shut the lights off, not during this--Junsu's eyes bright and fixed in the faint light, never looking tired like this, when he's arching into the palm squeezing the small of his back, that moves a little further down to appreciate the slope of his lower back, fingers, the ones Junsu isn't sucking around, dragging lazily down the rise of his spine and the curve of his ass.
He loves his thighs, always has, even when he's poking fun at them for the camera, especially when the other's favorite clothing isn't covering them. Junsu is always an easy turn on, easy to force goosebumps on, especially since it's easy to exploit the things you love. Taecyeon loves the sound he makes when he slips a strong hand between his thighs, too, the other ones words dissolving into a struggled hum in the back of his throat as hips grind into greedy fingers.
It makes him wonder if they're ever heard. Junsu had bought an expensive ipod docking station just for this purpose, to muffle their activities, and it did its job. It didn't stop him from being curious, though, because with all the time they spent like that, door locked and music loud, unyielding despite the time, he had to wonder if anyone had come to realize, or become suspicious, at least.
It's always hip-hop playing, always something with heavy bass, such strong bass that it might as well be grazing their skin. The music provides a constant repetition of rhythm and beats, loud enough to smother noises and give them freedom, but not enough to drown out the things shared between them. Junsu's whimpers filter out against his tongue, his teeth biting over a full bottom lip, the other's own tongue ticklish at the roof of his mouth. He isn't sure tonight, since things are easily questionable after they've smoked. They had a good laugh when the group was chosen to support the anti-smoke campaign, because it wasn't rare, they smoked here and there, when circumstances allowed and schedule was particularly hard (how else did one survive being a trainee?), or the few times he had seen Junsu so upset he couldn't concentrate or operate in the most basic ways, episodes he wish he could erase for him. He had to choose a different route, a little illegal, but capable of making the odds and ends feel like they had been patched. It alters perceptions, he's aware, but it's harmless, really, and they're older, a little more responsible, as much as his behavior makes it seem unlikely. Taecyeon could easily sacrifice his excellent morals for Junsu, and have an amazing night in the progress.
They shared a few beers earlier, too, and he would sacrifice plenty for an uninhibited Junsu. He laughs a sad amount, he's hard to interpret, he lets Taecyeon read everything he writes, encourages it, it's easier for him to discuss all the hovering insecurities, and he kisses him until his lips are tender, and swollen with the pull of tongue and teeth. He gets touchy, too, and there's already a hand fumbling with the button on his jeans, those smaller fingers practiced in how they slide the zipper down, and work into tight denim, fitting past the slit of his boxers, just avoiding the buttons to trace over the crease of Taecyeon's thigh, teasing.
The only time he's ever seen him let go was after he made the mistake of smoking too much, and Taecyeon was too absorbed in laughing about the triangular shape of their drawn cat's head, one scribbled between the both of them on a yellow sheet of lined paper. Jay Z's heir apparent, they had decided, but the plans for his amazing debut were stalled, because Junsu had sunk back against the wall of the bunk, withdrawn in the way he drew a dark circle in his palm with the ink pen.
It had been the first thing to scare him since moving to Seoul and becoming a trainee, because seeing a person so consumed, suffocating under such a heavy weight, things he knew Junsu couldn't talk about, was really pretty terrifying. He felt helpless, but he hadn't sat still while the other had slipped further into the brand of helplessness with himself that he sometimes showed, only so much more intense. Taecyeon had kissed him forcefully, pinning him to the bunk until Junsu stopped struggling, until he felt the shiver of his skin against his mouth, his tongue dipping into the other's navel, and falling lower, past the elastic band of his boxers.
Even now, he can't tell what kind of tears they were, since he had caught him in that state, and forced arousal he knew he could bring about. He remembers what it sounded like, though, and that he knew they were tears, because he could taste it in kissing him, after the glasses were tossed aside, lost.
He smacks his head noisily against their messy bookcase this time, and it's enough to stop him from dwelling on things he rarely thinks about. A few ivy caps had tumbled off their perch on the bookcase and everything else, including the computer chair, had been shoved aside as kisses grew desperate between words and the fumbling of hands over clothes, laughter resounding when he tugs at the cuff of Junsu's pants, and he's grabbing him around the cotton of his boxers and hips that have always been, surprisingly, shapely. He's impatient, the other already tugged into his lap, fingers clasping and holding gently around Junsu's ankle, stroking a hand up one of his calves, and to the inside of his knee until he's no longer tense, and just until he can't focus himself because Junsu's touch reaches through the denim of his jeans again, coaxing him with firm fingers.
Their room could look larger, they've been told, but it had been established long ago that neither cared, they survived in their shared chaos--Junsu didn't use the right side of his keyboard, and Taecyeon slept too much to further progress the clutter. There used to be a paper with ridiculous anti-rules, taped to their bunk ages ago, consisting of things they were horrible at (cleaning properly, keeping track of things, neatly stacking books and cds, candy wrappers meeting the trash), and Junsu has always since picked up Taecyeon's daily collection of soda cans every morning, before he's even awake and made it to the coffee maker yet, and Taecyeon makes the great (sometimes more than daily) odyssey to find the other's phone (sometimes he finds it in the cabinet, between the boxes of cereal and popcorn. His keys are always, always left in the fridge).
Junsu's breathe is coming nasally, in the same way he does when he laughs, always ending a little breathlessly. He wants to see him laugh more, in the same way he does once they finish, and Junsu is too exhausted to be reserved, or self conscious. He tries to stir that side every time, because it's obvious that it helps him to smile more, makes him sleep easier, eat better, speak up a little more, open up in this state, recharge--he likes to think that he inspires him, too, because sometimes Junsu will lean against his shoulder afterward, when his laptop is propped on his own chest and he's checking emails from the account specifically for his friends from Boston, or even fansites sometimes, and the other uses him as a pillow, head supported against his shoulder while he quietly scratches away at his notebook, groggily going over verses.
He remembers taking a polaroid once, after they first formed this habit. The personal photo was stashed in a place he's sure even Chansung can't ferret out--it's one of Junsu and his ridiculous pink blanket masking their already crowded floor, while simultaneously, fashionably, being worn by the vocalist. He hadn't taken it because the blanket was a bright, neon pink, and men often look pretty stupid dressed in pink, but because Junsu hadn't made the effort to get dressed after sex that night, wearing the cashmere of the blanket as he drifted away between his ipod and pen, instead.
After that, his imagination had told himself that falling down an iron staircase would be enjoyable, if Junsu was waiting at the bottom to reciprocate his feelings, since he made the dangerous move of fanning the small, square photo between his fingers, until it revealed itself under the light of their room. He doesn't have to reach for the picture to remember it, as it had imprinted itself somewhere inside his head, especially since it was the same night he had made the gutsy move in admitting that he wanted to do everything and anything for him.
It's probably selfish, he's thought before, that maybe it's a little unfair to claim someone, or want to claim them. He can push all reality aside, though, because Junsu is the only one he wants to look at, and he wants to be the only one allowed this, even if he's a little selfish in the process. He is probably a little cocky in the way he's convinced that Junsu wouldn't care in the least--or maybe it's the fact, one he sometimes forgets, that no matter how much distance they have to show during schedule, or how frustrating it is to have to be satisfied with short, bold touches when the camera's rolling, the night always, usually, ends like this.
He is always reminded of it, that he forgets, when the other squeezes smaller, slender fingers (piano fingers) hard and needy around Taecyeon's shoulders, chest heaving over a sob of air when Taecyeon's gripping white prints over his hips and rocking against him, into the warmth of his body, and Junsu's telling him again, reminding him that he loves him.
It's nothing like when Junsu uses his mouth, because this is completely intimate, the other clings hard and focuses on him intently - not that he doesn't when he's giving him head. He just doesn't come as fast, or nearly as good as when he can feel him, too. (The problem with Junsu's mouth being as amazing as it is, is that Taecyeon never has qualms about where and when, and he tests boundaries - plenty of them, whether it be backstage of music programs, or their own variety shows. Sometimes he misses the bowlcut, for how easily the gripped strands of hair would fall back into place when he was finished tugging on them.)
His mouth is perfectly safe to indulge in when they're in the privacy of their shared room, and he tastes sweet tonight (moreso than usual), probably from the two (or three?) bags of sourpatch kids abandoned to the side, a few pieces of the candy scattered, neglected, across the wood flooring. He never liked sourpatch kids, but he can't deny the soft spot for them, because the first time he really gave them a chance was during filming for Hot Blood, and it was the same night he had stumbled on the whole.. mutual masturbation arrangement with Junsu.
He loves it when he can finally feel him relax, thighs tightening nicely around Taecyeon's hips when Junsu starts taking his time in moving against him, snuggled down against his lap and riding him slow, a tongue drawing unconsciously over dry lips, and head tilting to the side as fingers drag burning paths up Taecyeon's stomach.
He loves that he has to take care of Junsu, fist working slick over his cock and stroking it against his own navel, because he's too involved in feeling and moving to do so himself, and instead Junsu's gripping at him in every way he can reach, furrowed eyebrows only doing so much to express how much he needs it, the way he swallows hard and lets his head tip forward a little more, hips pushing back harder with every intake of oxygen, doing much more than clumsy language ever can.
Taecyeon can only stay still for so long, though, before he has to sit up and embrace Junsu's smaller frame, arms closing around his shoulder blades and sliding protectively over the heat of his skin. There is always a point where Junsu's knees are nudging into his sides, and nails scrape a frenzied, thoughtless path down his skin (something he has to watch for, because he's left marks before, scratches visible to the camera), when there is no more distance, after he has pressed flush against him, and Taecyeon can feel the quiver of his stomach, a place he knows the other is incredibly sensitive at.
He wonders, again, if they've been heard before, for as many times as the track on Junsu's ipod silences in the middle of changing, and neither bother to pause with the music, because neither care to. There's a silent understanding between everyone living in the dorm, anyways - respect personal boundaries, especially the sexual ones, just as long as it can't be seen. Their door is always closed and locked, though, and whether or not their relationship has always been established thing, PDA is never a necessary thing, because they have the quiet, the enveloping noise, of their room, where the patience exercised at practice can be stretched over a few hours, like this, behind their closed bedroom door.
Junsu's cellphone usually rings, always left to be ignored, and Taecyeon thinks he's only adding hours to his reputation for sleeping.
He doesn't get it in the least, though, of all things, why Junsu goes on and on about the size of Khun's face, or why he thinks it's the perfect size for a face, but maybe it's because he isn't attracted to Khun in the least. He's attracted to everything about Junsu, and it's never just one thing he can place. Something always dawns on him, though, like when a mouth presses kisses to the sharp edge of his jaw, affectionate and lingering all the way to his ear, and he hears his name, hot against it, never just spoken once. Taecyeon can taste salt, sweat, when he's threaded a hand into the other's hair, strands darker and grown a little longer now, and he's turned him so he can give him the same thing, teeth tracing the same path his lips do over the other's chin and jaw, words, compliments, always following.
Anything can trigger it, anytime, the need to remind Junsu about how much he drives him wild, even though it probably sounds cliche, both in Korean and English. He doesn't care, because he really can't think of anything else to explain it, any other way to say it.
He likes to think he's good at showing it though, like when he smoothes his thumbs over the other's knees and draws them farther apart and further up, until they're touching his shoulders, so he can hold him closer, cant his hips a little deeper, give him a little more, because he has yet to make Junsu shake or cry, yet.
When he gets him closer to that point, it's always the same point where Taecyeon can't hold the words or noises back, his knees boneless and energy spent completely in just getting Junsu off. The ache from the pull of his thighs or even the strain of his wrists never occurs to him because he's kept busy by an eager mouth and tongue that swallow his own sounds, and every other little thing that Junsu does sends warmth and butterflies straight to his abdomen. Even just the way he glances up with expressive, consuming eyes, and his jaw goes tight, mouth pursing when he's started to thrust hard, and sharp, into him.
Taecyeon won't deny that his mind will wander, even during this. It's always lingering back to the hours of (normal) time he spends with Junsu, though, like during practice, or how the other smiled a few hours ago when he decided to fill their small shopping hamper with only candy and insisted on paying (even when the other continued to toss things in), because Junsu had smacked his head on the desk earlier after they had showered together and Taecyeon decided the towel needed to come off, since the door had been locked--something about those things, things that only keep building up, heightens every touch, every give and take, and maybe that adds to the reasons that make sex with Junsu so intense.
They're always small, daily memories. He's not even sure if they can be called, memories because they're so fleeting - of things he catches Junsu doing, awkward and cute in the camera's lense, speech often funny and disjointed with his dialect, the way he'll sometimes go stoic and become detached in a completely different way from himself (maybe he's got a piano in his head, he had theorized before), his confident self onstage, but only when the spotlight's go, his microphone on, and everything is drowned out by the instrumental track. There's so many things to think back to, so he picks the first thing that comes to mind and puts it on replay, keep repeating it until Junsu believes it, and until he's reminded him of how much he's in love with him.
He thinks Junsu would probably agree to anything like this, though, as much as they argue over stupid things. His usual rambling words are cut to short, brief words of encouragement, usually 'yes', the easiest to process, and the words always roll easily, loudly, off his tongue, his face pillowed weakly in the crook of Taecyeon's neck, arms holding tight and clumsy around his shoulders, fingers scrambling over muscle and tugging up into dark hair, the indent of his back arching forward against him, and Taecyeon thinks the thumping he can feel might be Junsu's heart, and not the bass of the song, because he's started to pick up on that also, and its frequency is just another thing that has started driving him crazy, too.
/I have a calling to compile a taecsu post, I will answer it. Soon.
Pairing: Taecyeon/Junsu
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,036
Notes: The notes part is always useless.
Grasping the opportunities for sex is a hassle in itself. There is no opting for the bunk at night, with the others sleeping (hardly) in the surrounding rooms only a few paces away because he refuses to shut the lights off, not during this--Junsu's eyes bright and fixed in the faint light, never looking tired like this, when he's arching into the palm squeezing the small of his back, that moves a little further down to appreciate the slope of his lower back, fingers, the ones Junsu isn't sucking around, dragging lazily down the rise of his spine and the curve of his ass.
He loves his thighs, always has, even when he's poking fun at them for the camera, especially when the other's favorite clothing isn't covering them. Junsu is always an easy turn on, easy to force goosebumps on, especially since it's easy to exploit the things you love. Taecyeon loves the sound he makes when he slips a strong hand between his thighs, too, the other ones words dissolving into a struggled hum in the back of his throat as hips grind into greedy fingers.
It makes him wonder if they're ever heard. Junsu had bought an expensive ipod docking station just for this purpose, to muffle their activities, and it did its job. It didn't stop him from being curious, though, because with all the time they spent like that, door locked and music loud, unyielding despite the time, he had to wonder if anyone had come to realize, or become suspicious, at least.
It's always hip-hop playing, always something with heavy bass, such strong bass that it might as well be grazing their skin. The music provides a constant repetition of rhythm and beats, loud enough to smother noises and give them freedom, but not enough to drown out the things shared between them. Junsu's whimpers filter out against his tongue, his teeth biting over a full bottom lip, the other's own tongue ticklish at the roof of his mouth. He isn't sure tonight, since things are easily questionable after they've smoked. They had a good laugh when the group was chosen to support the anti-smoke campaign, because it wasn't rare, they smoked here and there, when circumstances allowed and schedule was particularly hard (how else did one survive being a trainee?), or the few times he had seen Junsu so upset he couldn't concentrate or operate in the most basic ways, episodes he wish he could erase for him. He had to choose a different route, a little illegal, but capable of making the odds and ends feel like they had been patched. It alters perceptions, he's aware, but it's harmless, really, and they're older, a little more responsible, as much as his behavior makes it seem unlikely. Taecyeon could easily sacrifice his excellent morals for Junsu, and have an amazing night in the progress.
They shared a few beers earlier, too, and he would sacrifice plenty for an uninhibited Junsu. He laughs a sad amount, he's hard to interpret, he lets Taecyeon read everything he writes, encourages it, it's easier for him to discuss all the hovering insecurities, and he kisses him until his lips are tender, and swollen with the pull of tongue and teeth. He gets touchy, too, and there's already a hand fumbling with the button on his jeans, those smaller fingers practiced in how they slide the zipper down, and work into tight denim, fitting past the slit of his boxers, just avoiding the buttons to trace over the crease of Taecyeon's thigh, teasing.
The only time he's ever seen him let go was after he made the mistake of smoking too much, and Taecyeon was too absorbed in laughing about the triangular shape of their drawn cat's head, one scribbled between the both of them on a yellow sheet of lined paper. Jay Z's heir apparent, they had decided, but the plans for his amazing debut were stalled, because Junsu had sunk back against the wall of the bunk, withdrawn in the way he drew a dark circle in his palm with the ink pen.
It had been the first thing to scare him since moving to Seoul and becoming a trainee, because seeing a person so consumed, suffocating under such a heavy weight, things he knew Junsu couldn't talk about, was really pretty terrifying. He felt helpless, but he hadn't sat still while the other had slipped further into the brand of helplessness with himself that he sometimes showed, only so much more intense. Taecyeon had kissed him forcefully, pinning him to the bunk until Junsu stopped struggling, until he felt the shiver of his skin against his mouth, his tongue dipping into the other's navel, and falling lower, past the elastic band of his boxers.
Even now, he can't tell what kind of tears they were, since he had caught him in that state, and forced arousal he knew he could bring about. He remembers what it sounded like, though, and that he knew they were tears, because he could taste it in kissing him, after the glasses were tossed aside, lost.
He smacks his head noisily against their messy bookcase this time, and it's enough to stop him from dwelling on things he rarely thinks about. A few ivy caps had tumbled off their perch on the bookcase and everything else, including the computer chair, had been shoved aside as kisses grew desperate between words and the fumbling of hands over clothes, laughter resounding when he tugs at the cuff of Junsu's pants, and he's grabbing him around the cotton of his boxers and hips that have always been, surprisingly, shapely. He's impatient, the other already tugged into his lap, fingers clasping and holding gently around Junsu's ankle, stroking a hand up one of his calves, and to the inside of his knee until he's no longer tense, and just until he can't focus himself because Junsu's touch reaches through the denim of his jeans again, coaxing him with firm fingers.
Their room could look larger, they've been told, but it had been established long ago that neither cared, they survived in their shared chaos--Junsu didn't use the right side of his keyboard, and Taecyeon slept too much to further progress the clutter. There used to be a paper with ridiculous anti-rules, taped to their bunk ages ago, consisting of things they were horrible at (cleaning properly, keeping track of things, neatly stacking books and cds, candy wrappers meeting the trash), and Junsu has always since picked up Taecyeon's daily collection of soda cans every morning, before he's even awake and made it to the coffee maker yet, and Taecyeon makes the great (sometimes more than daily) odyssey to find the other's phone (sometimes he finds it in the cabinet, between the boxes of cereal and popcorn. His keys are always, always left in the fridge).
Junsu's breathe is coming nasally, in the same way he does when he laughs, always ending a little breathlessly. He wants to see him laugh more, in the same way he does once they finish, and Junsu is too exhausted to be reserved, or self conscious. He tries to stir that side every time, because it's obvious that it helps him to smile more, makes him sleep easier, eat better, speak up a little more, open up in this state, recharge--he likes to think that he inspires him, too, because sometimes Junsu will lean against his shoulder afterward, when his laptop is propped on his own chest and he's checking emails from the account specifically for his friends from Boston, or even fansites sometimes, and the other uses him as a pillow, head supported against his shoulder while he quietly scratches away at his notebook, groggily going over verses.
He remembers taking a polaroid once, after they first formed this habit. The personal photo was stashed in a place he's sure even Chansung can't ferret out--it's one of Junsu and his ridiculous pink blanket masking their already crowded floor, while simultaneously, fashionably, being worn by the vocalist. He hadn't taken it because the blanket was a bright, neon pink, and men often look pretty stupid dressed in pink, but because Junsu hadn't made the effort to get dressed after sex that night, wearing the cashmere of the blanket as he drifted away between his ipod and pen, instead.
After that, his imagination had told himself that falling down an iron staircase would be enjoyable, if Junsu was waiting at the bottom to reciprocate his feelings, since he made the dangerous move of fanning the small, square photo between his fingers, until it revealed itself under the light of their room. He doesn't have to reach for the picture to remember it, as it had imprinted itself somewhere inside his head, especially since it was the same night he had made the gutsy move in admitting that he wanted to do everything and anything for him.
It's probably selfish, he's thought before, that maybe it's a little unfair to claim someone, or want to claim them. He can push all reality aside, though, because Junsu is the only one he wants to look at, and he wants to be the only one allowed this, even if he's a little selfish in the process. He is probably a little cocky in the way he's convinced that Junsu wouldn't care in the least--or maybe it's the fact, one he sometimes forgets, that no matter how much distance they have to show during schedule, or how frustrating it is to have to be satisfied with short, bold touches when the camera's rolling, the night always, usually, ends like this.
He is always reminded of it, that he forgets, when the other squeezes smaller, slender fingers (piano fingers) hard and needy around Taecyeon's shoulders, chest heaving over a sob of air when Taecyeon's gripping white prints over his hips and rocking against him, into the warmth of his body, and Junsu's telling him again, reminding him that he loves him.
It's nothing like when Junsu uses his mouth, because this is completely intimate, the other clings hard and focuses on him intently - not that he doesn't when he's giving him head. He just doesn't come as fast, or nearly as good as when he can feel him, too. (The problem with Junsu's mouth being as amazing as it is, is that Taecyeon never has qualms about where and when, and he tests boundaries - plenty of them, whether it be backstage of music programs, or their own variety shows. Sometimes he misses the bowlcut, for how easily the gripped strands of hair would fall back into place when he was finished tugging on them.)
His mouth is perfectly safe to indulge in when they're in the privacy of their shared room, and he tastes sweet tonight (moreso than usual), probably from the two (or three?) bags of sourpatch kids abandoned to the side, a few pieces of the candy scattered, neglected, across the wood flooring. He never liked sourpatch kids, but he can't deny the soft spot for them, because the first time he really gave them a chance was during filming for Hot Blood, and it was the same night he had stumbled on the whole.. mutual masturbation arrangement with Junsu.
He loves it when he can finally feel him relax, thighs tightening nicely around Taecyeon's hips when Junsu starts taking his time in moving against him, snuggled down against his lap and riding him slow, a tongue drawing unconsciously over dry lips, and head tilting to the side as fingers drag burning paths up Taecyeon's stomach.
He loves that he has to take care of Junsu, fist working slick over his cock and stroking it against his own navel, because he's too involved in feeling and moving to do so himself, and instead Junsu's gripping at him in every way he can reach, furrowed eyebrows only doing so much to express how much he needs it, the way he swallows hard and lets his head tip forward a little more, hips pushing back harder with every intake of oxygen, doing much more than clumsy language ever can.
Taecyeon can only stay still for so long, though, before he has to sit up and embrace Junsu's smaller frame, arms closing around his shoulder blades and sliding protectively over the heat of his skin. There is always a point where Junsu's knees are nudging into his sides, and nails scrape a frenzied, thoughtless path down his skin (something he has to watch for, because he's left marks before, scratches visible to the camera), when there is no more distance, after he has pressed flush against him, and Taecyeon can feel the quiver of his stomach, a place he knows the other is incredibly sensitive at.
He wonders, again, if they've been heard before, for as many times as the track on Junsu's ipod silences in the middle of changing, and neither bother to pause with the music, because neither care to. There's a silent understanding between everyone living in the dorm, anyways - respect personal boundaries, especially the sexual ones, just as long as it can't be seen. Their door is always closed and locked, though, and whether or not their relationship has always been established thing, PDA is never a necessary thing, because they have the quiet, the enveloping noise, of their room, where the patience exercised at practice can be stretched over a few hours, like this, behind their closed bedroom door.
Junsu's cellphone usually rings, always left to be ignored, and Taecyeon thinks he's only adding hours to his reputation for sleeping.
He doesn't get it in the least, though, of all things, why Junsu goes on and on about the size of Khun's face, or why he thinks it's the perfect size for a face, but maybe it's because he isn't attracted to Khun in the least. He's attracted to everything about Junsu, and it's never just one thing he can place. Something always dawns on him, though, like when a mouth presses kisses to the sharp edge of his jaw, affectionate and lingering all the way to his ear, and he hears his name, hot against it, never just spoken once. Taecyeon can taste salt, sweat, when he's threaded a hand into the other's hair, strands darker and grown a little longer now, and he's turned him so he can give him the same thing, teeth tracing the same path his lips do over the other's chin and jaw, words, compliments, always following.
Anything can trigger it, anytime, the need to remind Junsu about how much he drives him wild, even though it probably sounds cliche, both in Korean and English. He doesn't care, because he really can't think of anything else to explain it, any other way to say it.
He likes to think he's good at showing it though, like when he smoothes his thumbs over the other's knees and draws them farther apart and further up, until they're touching his shoulders, so he can hold him closer, cant his hips a little deeper, give him a little more, because he has yet to make Junsu shake or cry, yet.
When he gets him closer to that point, it's always the same point where Taecyeon can't hold the words or noises back, his knees boneless and energy spent completely in just getting Junsu off. The ache from the pull of his thighs or even the strain of his wrists never occurs to him because he's kept busy by an eager mouth and tongue that swallow his own sounds, and every other little thing that Junsu does sends warmth and butterflies straight to his abdomen. Even just the way he glances up with expressive, consuming eyes, and his jaw goes tight, mouth pursing when he's started to thrust hard, and sharp, into him.
Taecyeon won't deny that his mind will wander, even during this. It's always lingering back to the hours of (normal) time he spends with Junsu, though, like during practice, or how the other smiled a few hours ago when he decided to fill their small shopping hamper with only candy and insisted on paying (even when the other continued to toss things in), because Junsu had smacked his head on the desk earlier after they had showered together and Taecyeon decided the towel needed to come off, since the door had been locked--something about those things, things that only keep building up, heightens every touch, every give and take, and maybe that adds to the reasons that make sex with Junsu so intense.
They're always small, daily memories. He's not even sure if they can be called, memories because they're so fleeting - of things he catches Junsu doing, awkward and cute in the camera's lense, speech often funny and disjointed with his dialect, the way he'll sometimes go stoic and become detached in a completely different way from himself (maybe he's got a piano in his head, he had theorized before), his confident self onstage, but only when the spotlight's go, his microphone on, and everything is drowned out by the instrumental track. There's so many things to think back to, so he picks the first thing that comes to mind and puts it on replay, keep repeating it until Junsu believes it, and until he's reminded him of how much he's in love with him.
He thinks Junsu would probably agree to anything like this, though, as much as they argue over stupid things. His usual rambling words are cut to short, brief words of encouragement, usually 'yes', the easiest to process, and the words always roll easily, loudly, off his tongue, his face pillowed weakly in the crook of Taecyeon's neck, arms holding tight and clumsy around his shoulders, fingers scrambling over muscle and tugging up into dark hair, the indent of his back arching forward against him, and Taecyeon thinks the thumping he can feel might be Junsu's heart, and not the bass of the song, because he's started to pick up on that also, and its frequency is just another thing that has started driving him crazy, too.
/I have a calling to compile a taecsu post, I will answer it. Soon.