20。in secret places
in secret places
Doojoon/Yoseob
R ; 940 w.
A/N: shameless PWP, i cannot even. :||||
In Secret Places
touch sight taste like fire
hands do know what eyes no longer defend
hands to fuel desire
☆ Dance Inside; The All American Rejects
Yoseob possessively pulls Doojoon by the collar and drags him in an isolated room located in the middle of nowhere backstage. Doojoon surrenders to Yoseob's pull, just like how he surrenders to Yoseob's smile, Yoseob's everything, but he doesn't forget to close the door and make sure that they're locked away from the outside world.
Papers and pencils scatter on the floor as Doojoon hastily shoves them away from the desk, gripping Yoseob's waist tightly and pulling him up to sit on the flat concrete.
Like on instinct, like returning back home, Yoseob arms easily encircle Doojoon's neck as he pulls the man closer and wraps his legs around his waist, pulling him in.
They kiss, soft and quick, careful not to thread their fingers between each others hair. Yoseob's fingers grip Doojoon's shoulders as the latter moves downwards to explore sensitive spots on Yoseob's neck, intimate, familiar corners that he knows all too well but can't get enough of.
They soon realize that no, there's not much possibility to do anything at the moment with their faces all made up and their hair meticulously styled and their clothing neat and uncreased. Time is ticking closer to their upcoming performance and they should really get going in awhile because for all they know, people might already be on a hunt for them.
They kiss, and kiss, and when Yoseob's hand finds Doojoon's crotch, doojoon freezes and stares below. They then both meet at eye level and share a knowing look, the edge of Doojoon's eyes crinkling in slight embarrassment as Yoseob's eyes sheepishly brighten in mischief.
We could just kiss, Doojoon cups Yoseob's face and presses their lips together, feels Yoseob's other hand linger on his collarbones as the other one puts more pressure below, this could be enough for now, we can't−
But Yoseob's hands are deft and quick, quick to unbuckle his belt, quick to make his mind do somersaults and make him become putty in his hands. Yoseob's hands slide underneath Doojoon's boxers, and Doojoon suddenly finds it more difficult to breathe.
"Wait, no−" Doojoon whispers when Yoseob gets off the table and bends on his knees, shameless. "Your makeup," Doojoon stutters and tries pulling Yoseob upward, his grip unconsciously tightening on Yoseob's forearms because he wants this so bad he can't even think properly, "It's going to be a mess."
His hand unmoving, Yoseob stands near Doojoon, shrugs, and smiles, "Fine."
Doojoon stares below, and stares at Yoseob's face, then back below.
Yoseob starts stroking, slow, leisurely strokes that makes Doojoon's jaw slack and makes his eyes roll in the back of his head.
"You can't go out there," Yoseob breathes, the muscles on his forearms getting strained as he continues stroking doojoon, now tighter, harder. Yoseob watches him with half-lidded eyes as he snickers lightly, "You crazy? You can't go out with this," and soon enough, Doojoon gives in to Yoseob's touch, and suddenly their kisses turn sloppy and they become absolutely breathless, hands all over each other and their hot breaths saturating into one in the confined space they're in.
When Doojoon's near, Yoseob can tell by the way Doojoon's eyebrows furrow and the way his hands desperately explore his body, as if afraid that they might just disappear. Doojoon buries his face in the crook of Yoseob's neck, and it encourages the latter to keep on going, tighter, harder, faster.
Doojoon gasps and comes all over Yoseob's hand, his beautiful, skilled hands, like every callous and every contour of them is made for doing this, for making Doojoon come utterly and mind-blowingly undone, putty in his hands.
Yoseob lets Yoojoon thrust slowly into the wet circle of his hand, letting him ride out the aftershock. Yoseob's arm is tired and strained, but he couldn't care less knowing that nobody else could make doojoon feel this way.
Doojoon collapses against Yoseob's body and buries his face in the crook of Yoseob's neck. "Fuck," he eloquently breathes out.
Their chests rise and fall against each other, and it gradually dawns on them that the hands of the clock won't stop ticking any time soon.
"Shit," Doojoon looks at Yoseob and squeezes his forearms gently, "sorry," looking for something to wipe Yoseob's hand at the same time.
Yoseob snickers tiredly and gingerly wipes the sweat forming on Doojoon's forehead with his forearm. Doojoon kisses him chastely, chest tightening as he keeps on painting kisses on yoseob's lips and neck, until Doojoon's sure that Yoseob knows just how grateful he is.
Doojoon finds a handkerchief inside the pocket of his jeans, which was discarded on the floor a few heated moments ago. after Doojoon's finished wiping Yoseob's hand with it−here, let me, Doojoon insists while Yoseob tells him that he should go put his pants back on, we need to go−Yoseob stares amusingly at the mess of Doojoon tripping and falling as he puts his pants back on.
"Geez," Yoseob comments teasingly, "What got you so hard, anyway?"
Doojoon wants to tell him it's you, it's you, you idiot, you were practicing, singing, doing some strange noises with the back of your throat and reaching stunning octaves and gorgeous notes and i thought of you, all raw and beautiful and naked on my bed, your body hot and flushed as you writhe on a mess of sheets we would make love on.
They stumble throughout the door, giggling and snickering in the process. They quickly exit the room, eyes cautious and feet quick.
Doojoon looks around if anybody is in sight, and finding no one, squeezes Yoseob's hand and quickly kisses his forehead, "Shut up. I owe you."
Doojoon/Yoseob
R ; 940 w.
A/N: shameless PWP, i cannot even. :||||
In Secret Places
touch sight taste like fire
hands do know what eyes no longer defend
hands to fuel desire
☆ Dance Inside; The All American Rejects
Yoseob possessively pulls Doojoon by the collar and drags him in an isolated room located in the middle of nowhere backstage. Doojoon surrenders to Yoseob's pull, just like how he surrenders to Yoseob's smile, Yoseob's everything, but he doesn't forget to close the door and make sure that they're locked away from the outside world.
Papers and pencils scatter on the floor as Doojoon hastily shoves them away from the desk, gripping Yoseob's waist tightly and pulling him up to sit on the flat concrete.
Like on instinct, like returning back home, Yoseob arms easily encircle Doojoon's neck as he pulls the man closer and wraps his legs around his waist, pulling him in.
They kiss, soft and quick, careful not to thread their fingers between each others hair. Yoseob's fingers grip Doojoon's shoulders as the latter moves downwards to explore sensitive spots on Yoseob's neck, intimate, familiar corners that he knows all too well but can't get enough of.
They soon realize that no, there's not much possibility to do anything at the moment with their faces all made up and their hair meticulously styled and their clothing neat and uncreased. Time is ticking closer to their upcoming performance and they should really get going in awhile because for all they know, people might already be on a hunt for them.
They kiss, and kiss, and when Yoseob's hand finds Doojoon's crotch, doojoon freezes and stares below. They then both meet at eye level and share a knowing look, the edge of Doojoon's eyes crinkling in slight embarrassment as Yoseob's eyes sheepishly brighten in mischief.
We could just kiss, Doojoon cups Yoseob's face and presses their lips together, feels Yoseob's other hand linger on his collarbones as the other one puts more pressure below, this could be enough for now, we can't−
But Yoseob's hands are deft and quick, quick to unbuckle his belt, quick to make his mind do somersaults and make him become putty in his hands. Yoseob's hands slide underneath Doojoon's boxers, and Doojoon suddenly finds it more difficult to breathe.
"Wait, no−" Doojoon whispers when Yoseob gets off the table and bends on his knees, shameless. "Your makeup," Doojoon stutters and tries pulling Yoseob upward, his grip unconsciously tightening on Yoseob's forearms because he wants this so bad he can't even think properly, "It's going to be a mess."
His hand unmoving, Yoseob stands near Doojoon, shrugs, and smiles, "Fine."
Doojoon stares below, and stares at Yoseob's face, then back below.
Yoseob starts stroking, slow, leisurely strokes that makes Doojoon's jaw slack and makes his eyes roll in the back of his head.
"You can't go out there," Yoseob breathes, the muscles on his forearms getting strained as he continues stroking doojoon, now tighter, harder. Yoseob watches him with half-lidded eyes as he snickers lightly, "You crazy? You can't go out with this," and soon enough, Doojoon gives in to Yoseob's touch, and suddenly their kisses turn sloppy and they become absolutely breathless, hands all over each other and their hot breaths saturating into one in the confined space they're in.
When Doojoon's near, Yoseob can tell by the way Doojoon's eyebrows furrow and the way his hands desperately explore his body, as if afraid that they might just disappear. Doojoon buries his face in the crook of Yoseob's neck, and it encourages the latter to keep on going, tighter, harder, faster.
Doojoon gasps and comes all over Yoseob's hand, his beautiful, skilled hands, like every callous and every contour of them is made for doing this, for making Doojoon come utterly and mind-blowingly undone, putty in his hands.
Yoseob lets Yoojoon thrust slowly into the wet circle of his hand, letting him ride out the aftershock. Yoseob's arm is tired and strained, but he couldn't care less knowing that nobody else could make doojoon feel this way.
Doojoon collapses against Yoseob's body and buries his face in the crook of Yoseob's neck. "Fuck," he eloquently breathes out.
Their chests rise and fall against each other, and it gradually dawns on them that the hands of the clock won't stop ticking any time soon.
"Shit," Doojoon looks at Yoseob and squeezes his forearms gently, "sorry," looking for something to wipe Yoseob's hand at the same time.
Yoseob snickers tiredly and gingerly wipes the sweat forming on Doojoon's forehead with his forearm. Doojoon kisses him chastely, chest tightening as he keeps on painting kisses on yoseob's lips and neck, until Doojoon's sure that Yoseob knows just how grateful he is.
Doojoon finds a handkerchief inside the pocket of his jeans, which was discarded on the floor a few heated moments ago. after Doojoon's finished wiping Yoseob's hand with it−here, let me, Doojoon insists while Yoseob tells him that he should go put his pants back on, we need to go−Yoseob stares amusingly at the mess of Doojoon tripping and falling as he puts his pants back on.
"Geez," Yoseob comments teasingly, "What got you so hard, anyway?"
Doojoon wants to tell him it's you, it's you, you idiot, you were practicing, singing, doing some strange noises with the back of your throat and reaching stunning octaves and gorgeous notes and i thought of you, all raw and beautiful and naked on my bed, your body hot and flushed as you writhe on a mess of sheets we would make love on.
They stumble throughout the door, giggling and snickering in the process. They quickly exit the room, eyes cautious and feet quick.
Doojoon looks around if anybody is in sight, and finding no one, squeezes Yoseob's hand and quickly kisses his forehead, "Shut up. I owe you."