Reflection I: Special

[reflectionmod]

FOR: writersstudy
Title: Special
Rating: NC-17
Side pairings: referenced seho, xiuho
Word Count: 4.2k
Warnings: some ~concerned lowkey slut shaming, shoehorned orgasms???
Summary: Joonmyun, he just wants to be special.
Author's Note: I hope that this exists somewhere in the spectrum of our overlapping interests/headcanons/wants u.u



The nighttime breeze is cool, salty as it kisses over his skin, but Joonmyun feels achingly warm, warm all over, warm from the inside out. Grinning helplessly, thrumming with a lazy, potent sort of contentment and anticipation, he syncs his steps with Kyungsoo's, breathes shaky and just slightly labored through his mouth.

Their footfalls echo on the lonely, golden boardwalk, their twin shadows dancing, overlapping, stretching far far ahead of them, and Joonmyun is warm all over.

He's got Kyungsoo's hand in his, their fingers threaded, hands swinging between them, and Joonmyun's other hand, restless, purposeless, trembles from where it's shoved into his tight, dark-washed, fella-killer jeans.

They'd watched a romantic comedy tonight, eaten a dinner of burgers and fries at a local burger joint, bought ice cream and walked wobbly and quiet on the beach.

It's their fifth date.

Joonmyun doesn't want to let go, doesn't want this to end, Saturday morning English study date be damned. But all too soon, they're at Kyungsoo’s apartment door, hands still laced and gazes locked. Kyungsoo’s lips purse then part as he laughs nervously, and his laughter really is a sight. The best sigh-sound, too.

Joonmyun wants to lean forward to taste it, too, touch it, steal it and hide it away for lonely, dreary days.

He still hasn't. They still haven't.

And Joonmyun thinks, all things considered, that the fact that Kyungsoo's held out for 5 dates at this point, done nothing bolder than hold his hand and tell Joonmyun he had a good time, respond with a yes every time that Joonmyun asks for another date. Joonmyun, he likes to think it all means he's special. Joonmyun likes to think it means that Kyungsoo feels that awful, potent warmth and contentment, too, the tightness in his chest, the swell of butterflies in his gut. He likes to think that Kyungsoo has it, too, feels it, too, also wants to let the emotions build up up up until they're overflowing.

And five dates in, they're both smiling at each other shyly, fingers twined and gazes fixed as they linger outside Kyungsoo's apartment, Joonmyun's shoulder crinkling as it drags over a glossy flier for pizza and wings.

Kyungsoo sweater rustles as he leans across from him, still holding his hand, flushed pink as he comments on how just utterly awful that movie had been, Joonmyun hadn't really enjoyed it, had he. No, of course he had, of course, Joonmyun was that kind of sappy hyung.

His eyes are glimmering with warmth, his laughter staining his cheekbones, crinkling the corners of his eyes. And he's achingly beautiful.

His hair is so dark and neat, slicked back, haloed in the hazy gold of old streetlights, and Joonmyun wants to thread his fingers through it, muss it with his touch, wants to tug it as he kisses him hard and deep. He wants to leave him disheveled and breathless and affected, flushed not from a teasing smugness but from arousal, from too many kisses and too much Joonmyun.

And they haven't, but god, Joonmyun wants to right then. Wants it even if it means that Joonmyun is less than special, even if it's too soon.

Joonmyun swallows heavily, and Kyungsoo's eyes follow the movement, his lips parting in the most aching temptation.

His eyes are twinkling still, but there's something maybe hotter there, something like intrigue as his lashes flutter downward to watch Joonmyun's mouth. Nervous, Joonmyun licks his lip, doesn't miss the way that Kyungsoo follows that movement, too gaze lingering there long enough for Joonmyun to notice and overheat at the fact.

"Hyung," he says, shaky, soft like he wants it, too. Likes Joonmyun, but still-still wants this, is overcome with the same dizzy cocktail of wants and desires and emotions currently leaving Joonmyun breathless and a little unsteady on his feet. "Come inside?"

Joonmyun stumbles over his yes, stumbles over his own feet as he stumbles inside, stumbles out of his shoes.

And though it's Joonmyun that's practically vibrating with the desire, it's Kyungsoo that kisses him first. An arm twining around his waist, a solid wall pressing against his spine as their lips meet for the first time.

Kyungsoo's soft. His lips, his breath, the tiptoe of his fingers up Joonmyun's side. His kiss, too, achingly so, one of those exquisitely delicate first kisses that tastes like nervousness and heady potential.

But it doesn't stay that way for long, doesn't stay that way much at all.

Joonmyun, entirely caught up in it, drowning in the heady invitation of Kyungsoo's wet, warm, wonderful want, he nips at Kyungsoo's bottom lip, and Kyungsoo moans into his mouth, the fingers in his scalp tightening into a sharp tug, the firm, small body beneath his palms shuddering with a tight tremor.

And something in Joonmyun snaps. He bites again, harder this time, longer, and Kyungsoo moans again, harder, longer, tugs again, harder, longer, shudders again, harder, longer.

And their kiss is harder, longer then, too deeper, Kyungsoo pinning him to the wall now, thigh pressing between Joonmyun's legs as he pushes his tongue into his mouth, skitters his fingers down Joonmyun's body. Joonmyun's fingers are skittering, too, over Kyungsoo's biceps, his ribs, the taper of his waist. He squeezes there, as Kyungsoo pants into his mouth, tongue swirling, plush lips dragging, teeth scraping, body so, so, so wonderfully close.

Kyungsoo rolls his hips forward once, twice, and Joonmyun rocks back, knees nearly buckling when Kyungsoo angles his hip better, grinds forward more deliberately, moans his name.

Kyungsoo's fingers dig into his waist, painful, tight, urgent, dragging forward, so they're stumbling blindly. Still attached at the lip, the hip, they're falling onto Kyungsoo's couch in a clumsy heap of trembling limbs.

And Kyungsoo laughs breathlessly as he wraps his arm around his shoulders, coaxes him more firmly atop him.

His laugh is even prettier like that, even more melodic, and fuck, Joonmyun just wants to taste his mouth again, just wants to get lost in it, so he does, collapsing on him as Kyungsoo's hands tangle in his hair, fingernails scraping over his scalp, the nape of his neck, down the arch of his spine in a searing exploration of skin on clothed skin.

More, Joonmyun thinks dazed with desire. More, more, more.

Kyungsoo's so achingly easy to get lost in, all warm and willing, his kisses dizzingyly wet and wanton, his body warm and perfectly pliant. He's so, so, so, easy to want, right there for him to take, and Joonmyun is too awash in sensation to remember that he wanted to be special.

Their thighs are slotted together once more, the pressure even firmer like this, the friction hotter, heavier, enough for Joonmyun to rock forward and feel the distinct weight and pressure of Kyungsoo's cock against his own.

And jerking with a start, Joonmyun remembers himself.

"Kyungsoo," he says, and Kyungsoo's lips meander to his jawline, brushing there in maddeningly soft presses of soft skin to soft skin. His breath so excruciatingly hot and wet near Joonmyun’s throat.

Kyungsoo pulls just slightly back at his name, but his cheek tickles the sensitive skin at the base of Joonmyun’s skull, and it is so fucking hard to speak for several beats.

"I don't want to-I can't-”

Kyungsoo hums, stops kissing but his lips are still so close, eyes all hot and dazed, lips all ruddy, cheeks flushed. And no, it's a lie. Joonmyun does want to, wants to so fucking badly. But he can't, not yet and not like this.

“Can't?” Kyungsoo presses, and his voice is all deep, devastatingly so, the rasp of it burrowing underneath Joonmyun’s skin, causing every nerve ending to catch on fire. And before Joonmyun has a proper chance to respond, Kyungsoo is dragging his nose absently up Joonmyun's throat, dragging his fingers absently up Joonmyun's sides, tearing absently at Joonmyun's resolve, making his words stutter on his tongue.

“I'm just-I don't usually do this.”

And Kyungsoo nods absently, hair tickling his jawline, breath hot and wet as it ghosts over his skin. "My responsible hyung," he hums. "My sap of a hyung. We can-I just-please let me kiss you some more?"

Joonmyun nods automatically, and Kyungsoo smiles against his skin, continues to map it with soft, exploratory, lingering kisses.

"I just," Joonmyun continues. "I just don't want to be one of those-I know that. I just," he groans as Kyungsoo's hips drag against his once, twice. Hot, heavy, Kyungsoo's breath sears along his cheekbone.

“Use your words, hyung," he laughs, kissing still like he's asked, up along his jawline, over the shell of his ear, straining towards his temple, his eyebrow, his nose. A shuddery, hot, hot, soft, soft meandering path back towards his mouth.

"I'm just-I know that you usually, but I'm not that kind of guy. I don't want to be just-one of the boys that you..."

And Kyungsoo is suddenly stiffening against him. He inhales sharply, muscles locking and body freezing. His plush, perfect lips pause, purse as they hover over the arch of Joonmyun’s cupid’s bow. And Kyungsoo is suddenly urging him off, hands no longer curled in lazy, heady encouragement, but flat, insistent, pushing him off. There isn't much force behind the movement, but the intention is clear. Clearer when Kyungsoo, sitting up, away, folds his knees to his chest.

"One of the boys," Kyungsoo says.

And Joonmyun, still a little dazed, simply nods, realizes that he should clarify and swallows heavily.

"I know that you-I know that you...I mean, I just-I’ve heard that you-”

“What, hyung? Use your words, hyung.” And his tone isn’t playful, his words aren’t fond, his eyes aren’t dancing, or burning, or coaxing.

“That you….I’ve heard that you…”

All the boys, Joonmyun thinks. There’s been so many boys, he’s been told. Because a conquest or on the conquest, he's been working his way around since high school, but Joonmyun’s special. Joonmyun had made sure to show him that he wanted more than that, wanted them to be more than that.

But he knows he’s said the exact wrong thing from how Kyungsoo’s shutters off then, body tensing, stiffening, hardening, jaw, eyes, voice hard hard hard. An armor. A wall. Something impenetrable and well-fortified and painfully out-of-reach.

“That I’m easy,” Kyungsoo says. “You've-” He sighs, clenches his hands into fists. “Was it fucking Park Chanyeol? Was it Byun Baekhyun? Was it-Who warned you about me. How I’m easy and how I’m dirty and how that's wrong.”

“It wasn't-”

“Is that why you-why I had to be the one to kiss you? You didn't want to-Scared I was gonna make you dirty or corrupted, sappy hyung.” He swallows heavily, and his voice when he speaks again is firmer, heavier, laced with disdain. “You think I'm easy, and you don't want to fall in with boys like me. But you still fucking want me, don't you? I’m the-the wrong one, but you still want me. Don't you?”

"Kyungsoo,” he says, and Kyungsoo shakes his head, hard.

“Don't you?” he repeats.

"Yes, but it isn’t-“

“And I’m the one with a problem.” He laughs, and the disdain is even thicker. His laugh is so ugly, so angry and tight and harsh. It would taste bitter, feel sharp and painful against his lips, he knows. “I’m the one that needs fixing, not you in your moral absolutism.”

"...No," Joonmyun finally says. “I don’t think that.” The words sound so small and shaky, even to his own ears. Apologetic, lost. But he's waited too long, and Kyungsoo is already hooking his chin into his knees. They’re the same height, nearly the same age, but he looks so fucking small like that. And Joonmyun feels the distinct weight of the three years between them.

“I thought,” Kyungsoo says after a beat, toes curling in his striped socks. His fingers are tense at his knees, knuckles nearly white. “I though-fuck, I just thought that maybe we’d…I didn’t think I’d have to explain myself to you, of all people.” He breaks off with a sigh, defeat in the slope of his shoulders, resignation in the tilt of his upturned eyebrows. “You hurt my feelings,” he confesses after a beat, speaking to his denimed knees. “I’d heard it enough. You think I’d be used to it by now. In high school, they used to…”

He doesn't finish the senteces, just curls his hands into fists, but Joonmyun’s stomach drops nonetheless. He feels sick. Wrong. Feels like he’s fucked up.

“I'm sorry,” he says, and Kyungsoo looks up at him. Their gazes lock for two, three, four beats, before Kyungsoo drops his eyes.

And Joonmyun remembers when he was seven years old, that look of raw hurt and betrayal when he’d stepped on his puppy’s tail for the first time.

“You like me,” Kyungsoo says. “Right, hyung? But you still hurt my feelings.” He laughs again, and it’s even worse now because it’s brittle at the ends and so very small. “If you want to wait...if you don’t want to sleep with me, then don’t. Just tell me. Use your fucking words. And if you have questions about my past, ask me, not your douchebag frat bros that have so many fucking opinions about how I live my life. And don’t-don’t moralize at me, hyung. Don’t try to fix me. I don’t need that. And just for the record, I don’t like fucking people that think they're sinning for it. I don't like fucking people that regret me in the morning or judge me for the choices. I deserve better than that, Joonmyun hyung.” Kyungsoo pauses, looks up at him, swallows. “I thought you were better than that.”

And it's Joonmyun's turn to recoil, wincing sharply enough for Kyungsoo to flinch, too.

And Kyungsoo’s voice is distressingly thick with emotion-anger, indignation, hurt as he continues. “I like you, too, hyung, but I don’t need you to feel dirty and sinful after you fuck me-after you touch me or spend time with me. And I don't need you to be thinking you're saving me or looking past my flaws. I’m not a charity case, hyung, so maybe you should just leave.”

"It isn’t about that,” Joonmyun says. “I want to...I want us to be more than once,” he says. "That's-that's all I wanted. I wanted it to be more than once.”

“You’re lucky to have it just once, Joonmyun hyung. You’re-you’re fucking lucky to even be talking to me, to be spending time with me. In spite of what you might have heard.”

“It isn’t like that,” Joonmyun repeats. The indignation bubbles forth, mixes with the guilt, combines into this heady cocktail of emotions that leaves him feeling lost and unsure but fucking desperate to right this wrong. “It isn’t. I do like you, that’s-that’s why I just-” A pause, a swallow. And at least Kyungsoo is meeting his eyes now, even though they're painfully wide and brimming with this raw, raw emotion that Joonmyun doesn't quite want to break through to the surface. "It's not-it's not like that." And there's more conviction in his words this time. Because it isn't. He doesn't-wouldn't think that way. “I don't sleep with people I don't care about. I don't sleep with people I don't want to spend time with after we have sex.”

“Neither do I, hyung. Not anymore. But you wouldn’t care about that, right? You wanna save me? Wanna redeem me?”

Joonmyun jerks at those words, the sharpness cutting into his resolve, leaving it all jagged and small and ugly. Joonmyun swallows, and he can feel Kyungsoo’s eyes on his throat, following the movement.

“It isn’t like that,” he insists, his voice so much smaller and more shaky than he intends. “I don't-I’m not that kind of guy”

“What kind of guy are you, then?”

“A good guy. A nice guy, I promise. I like you, and I just-”

“You have feelings for me, my sap of a hyung,” Kyungsoo presses, and there’s something dervisive, maybe guarded in his eyes as he says it. And Joonmyun thinks about how maybe he might have been special, maybe he might have been what Kyungsoo wanted, but he isnt anymore. Doesn't feel it anymore.

Joonmyun nods, and Kyungoo blinks, then looks down, voice impossibly rougher. It sounds so so far away.

"That's why you gotta fix me.”

“I’m not like that-let me talk. We weren't-they didn't. I'm a sap,” he admits. “They just told me to...just told me to be careful because of your past, so I was. But I promise I wasn’t judging you or thinking you were-”

“But you were, and you don’t even realize it.” Kyungsoo laughs again, rough with disbelief, devoid of warmth or mirth, and Joonmyun hates it. “You could have asked me, hyung. Could have talked to me. Think I said yes to five dates just becuse I was so sure about how great your dick would be?”

“I don’t know,” Joonmyun says. Then “I’m sorry.” Then “You’re right.”

“I’ve just dealt with this a lot-too much, and I wasn’t expecting it from you, I think.”

Kyungsoo rolls his shoulders forward, takes a deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” Joonmyun repeats. Then holds out his arms, a gesture of goodwill, an apology. Kyungsoo, who had seemed so so so far away, suddenly melts into it, melts into him, nose at his throat, lips there, too, the muscles in his back shuddering beneath Joonmyun’s palms. Joonmyun squeezes tighter, feels the distinct weight of those three years again, feels how small Kyungsoo can be though they’re the same size. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “I was wrong.”

Kyungsoo’s lips shift. The mood does as well.

“You shouldn’t trust everything you hear,” Kyungsoo says, nose catching as it skims his jawline. “Should form your own opinions of people before you let fucking Park Chanyeol of all people tell you how to feel.”

His words brush Joonmyun’s jawline, an almost kiss in any other circumstance, maybe even in this one.

“You’re right,” Joonmyun whispers back, and the lips at his chin curl into a smile. It’s so soft, and Joonmyun is too scared to move for fear of breaking it again. “You're right and I'm wrong.”

“What’s my reward for that? For being right? For being wronged?”

“Smug self-satisfaction,” Joonmyun tries, still so shaky, still so unsure. “Sweet vindication.” And Kyungsoo laughs, all deep, rough.

An involuntary shudder crawls up his spine.

“Well, I think I want you.”

The shudder is heavier, even more helpless this time.

Joonmyun shifts back just barely enough to meet Kyungsoo’s eyes, see the heavy fall of his dark eyebrows, the slow flutter of his heavy eyelashes. “Want me? I thought you wanted better than me. Thought you deserved it.”

“Yes,” Kyungsoo concedes, his words grazing so achingly warm and wet on his skin. “But I think you’ll do.”

And Joonmyun isn’t sure if it’s wise, doing this, when there are still all of these emotions to sift through, all of these issues to sort out, but he lets himself want, lets Kyungsoo want, too. Arches into the featherlight pressure of Kyungsoo’s tempting lips on the cut of his jawline.

“I’ve heard about you, too,” Kyungsoo confesses, going up up up towards his earlobe. “Sehun says you give the best head. Minseok says you fuck like a dream.” Kyungsoo leans forward to taste the flush staining Joonmyun’s cheekbone. “I don’t like to take rumors to heart. Like to find out for myself.”

There's something guarded still in his eyes, beneath the playful glint, something hard to his teasing tone, but Joonmyun stores that away for later, takes Kyungsoo's offer for what it is.

“So find out,” he says, and Kyungsoo kisses him, drags him back onto the couch.

It moves much faster, then. Pent up frustration, the fading recesses of anger, indignation, tension, tension, tension, lacing with want.

And it’s easy to let Kyungsoo guide the pace, easy to lose shirts, pants, shyness, lose themselves in each other’s mouths, each other’s desire.

Nosing up the column of his throat, Joonmyun grips at Kyungsoo’s bare, soft shoulders, grinds, and Kyungsoo gasps, grasps at him, too. “I'm sorry,” he says, mouthing his way down the soft, sweet column of Kyungsoo’s heaving throat, and then “You feel so good” as he nips at his sternum, and a vulnerable “I didn't mean to hurt you” as he drags his teeth over a pebbled nipple.

“You’re gonna kill my boner if you keep talking like that” Kyungsoo groans, but he's still wonderfully hard when Joonmyun rocks into him, groaning at the friction, too, scraping down Joonmyun’s bare spine and biting his approval across Joonmyun’s chest.

“Okay,” Joonmyun concedes nonetheless. He conveys his apology instead with the deliberate graze of his lips, his fingers.

And Kyungsoo was right, Joonmyun is lucky to have this, even if just for this one time.

Lucky to taste and smell and hear and see and touch and touch and touch.

Kyungsoo’s all hooded eyes and quiet moans and pale, soft skin. It streaks pink beneath his touch, bruises purple when Joonmyun braves a long, long suck to his stomach, his thigh, stains red and needy when Joonmyun glides down itchy upholstery to suck Kyungsoo’s cock into his mouth.

Kyungsoo breathes out something soft and disbelieving about how Sehun had been right, that punk kid, and Joonmyun smiles around the heavy cock in his mouth, soothes his hands up and down Kyungsoo's quivering thighs.

“So right,” he rasps.

And Joonmyun gags, glides faster, harder. His thumb drags over the seam of Kyungsoo’s balls, and Kyungsoo moans, shudders. Joonmyun drags lower, presses deliberate and firm, and it's nearly a sob.

And too turned on to bear it, too turned on to wait, Joonmyun reaches into his boxers to stroke himself, as he tries to ruin Kyungsoo with his mouth.

His touch is fast, hard, efficient, but sloppy, his hips jumping into the heel of his palm as Kyungsoo’s pale hips shift around his shoulders, bitten lips part with his name.

Hyung. Joonmyun hyung hyung hyung.

And it’s too much for him, then, Joonmyun biting hard on Kyungsoo’s inner thigh as he gasps then moans-orgasm-rich and orgasm-loud-stroking him with his hand all the while.

Joonmyun suckles him back in as he recovers, tongue swirling and cheeks hollowing as Kyungsoo’s chests hitches with a drawn out almost-whimper.

Kyungsoo’s hips buck, and he fucks sharply into Joonmyun’s mouth once, twice, fingers twisting in the floral print as he arches upwards. Joonmyun, relaxing his throat, bracing himself for the onslaught, lets him. Take take take what he will, drown in the pleasure that Joonmyun’s mouth provides.

“Hyung,” Kyungsoo moans. “Joonmyun hyung.”

And Joonmyun just sucks harder, fingers digging into Kyungsoo’s parted thighs to hold him steady as he steadily falls apart.

Kyungsoo stutters out his name once more then chokes, gasps, pants, and Joonmyun groans at the pulse of Kyungsoo’s cock in his mouth, the heavy spurt of come on his tongue.

He sucks him through it, languid but insistent, until Kyungsoo is shoving at his shoulders, rasping about how it’s so much-too much, hyung.

Joonmyun shifts to suck on his thigh instead, mouthing at the blooming bruise he’d left earlier, and Kyungsoo laughs. A bare puff of air that makes his chest hitch, body tremble in a lazy shudder of movement.

"Hey," Joonmyun says, his voice raspy and low, fucked raw, and the delicate curve of Kyungsoo's throat curls so beautifully as he lolls his head forward to watch him.

His eyelashes are heavy, lips bitten red, eyes glazed over and soft. His smile, when he catches Joonmyun's eyes, is soft, his fingers soft, too, as they card absently through Joonmyun's hair.

His touch is weak and sluggish with the afterglow, but the intent is clear. And Joonmyun follows easily enough, lets himself be dragged by the hair to squeeze beside Kyungsoo on the couch. They tangle, shift, and Kyungsoo, all dazed and soft and post-coital, clings.

Joonmyun wipes absently at the sweat beading near Kyungsoo's temple, and Kyungsoo's smile this time is pressed to Joonmyun's throat.

"I didn't-" Joonmyun starts, thinks better of it. "I don't. I don't."

Kyungsoo's eyebrows furrow, and Joonmyun presses his lips there to smooth it away, slides his cupped palm over the swell of his cheekbone to warm it again, make it flush with contentment again. He pauses, presses his lips there to taste it once more, soft, persuasive, apologetic.

“I don’t,” he repeats.

“Okay,” Kyungsoo says. “Okay.”

“Can I stay?” Joonmyun asks and Kyungsoo nods slowly, wraps a loose arm around him to pull him closer, lips plush and lazy and oh so inviting against his own.

They kiss and kiss and kiss. Saturday morning English study date be damned.