Fic: You Light Me Up
Title: You Light Me Up ((leaving this up as a standalone fic))
Pairings: Chanyeol/Kai
Word Count: 4,000ish
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Uni!au. They're finally doing this, this is happening. Sex and fast food breakfast, how romantic. -Revenge porn for Ang :)
you light me up
This should be easy. Pizza and beer, Jongin’s apartment. Just a night in with someone Chanyeol’s become increasingly comfortable with, someone he thinks would make even the worst kind of stress mellow out, if given the time. Sleepy, sexy Jongin and his stupid apartment. That old but exceedingly comfortable blue couch, the way his tv makes his living room almost glow because he never has any lights on. Jongin is safe and Jongin is easy and Jongin likes Chanyeol.
So it doesn’t make sense that Chanyeol’s hands shake so much while he stands on the other side of his door and waits for him to open up. Doesn’t make sense that his heart is beating so heavily he thinks he can hear it, that the rush of blood to compensate for his racing pulse is almost dizzying.
The door creaks open and in the crack Chanyeol can see him. He’s wearing these boxers that are completely gray and completely too small and entirely unfair. He pulls his eyes up, becauser manners, and the rest of Jongin is covered in an oversized blue and yellow university hoodie, the pullover kind. His hair is soft and a little tousled, and he’s smiling, and Chanyeol tries to say ‘hello’ but nothing comes out. It’s like he can hear his heart beating in his stomach.
“Come on, in.”
Jongin pulls him, half-dazed, into his tiny little hallway and then subsequently his tiny little kitchenette. There’s barely enough room for the two of them to stand in there with the fridge open, but it’s not like they need much more room than that. He. It’s not like he needs much more room. This is Jongin’s apartment, Chanyeol reminds himself, not his.
“Beer?” Jongin opens up the fridge and hands a cool bottle over to Chanyeol, keeping the door of it open with his hip, lighting up his legs from behind.
It’s like everything with Jongin has to bring attention to how insanely hot he is. He doesn’t do it on purpose, he’s not nearly that calculating, but Chanyeol notices it every time. As expected, the only light on in the living room is the tv, which casts a dim glow over the living room and creeps into the small kitchenette as well. The light from the fridge only accentuates the fact that Jongin’s lower half is enticingly exposed, and Chanyeol tries to keep from staring at the smooth skin of his thighs, the way the muscles and sinew at his calves and ankles pull and tighten every time he shifts his weight.
“Thanks,” Chanyeol says, taking the beer and shuffling backwards awkwardly.
Jongin grabs another two and brings them out with him, setting them on his coffee table before plopping down onto his couch. His hoodie rides up when he falls, exposing a strip of soft skin, near his hip, and Chanyeol chugs his beer to keep his throat from going so dry at the sight. His stomach lurches then, because he notices in the increased lighting from the tv that the hoodie he’s wearing is actually Chanyeol’s, one he’d left over here a while ago.
Fuck, it suits him.
“There’s pizza,” Jongin says distractedly without pulling his eyes from the screen, poking his toe at the box on the coffee table.
Chanyeol grunts and lifts the box, devouring nearly half of a slice in one go. Keeps his hands busy, for now. It feels like the tips of his fingers are itching, burning to touch. He won't, though. Not until he says it’s okay.
The hoodie disaster seems to be subsiding, now having covered the damn skin up like it’s supposed to. Chanyeol can look over at Jongin now without his face heating up, although it does feel significantly hotter in this room. Blame the LCD screen.
Chanyeol keeps his own sweatshirt on, though. His old Osiris hoodie, the orange one with black writing that’s no longer thick enough to keep him all that warm. God, Jongin must think he lives in these, he thinks. It’s all he ever fucking wears.
He wipes his greasy hands on his jeans to quell the wave of unease that washes over him, the self consciousness that he can never seem to mask very well around Jongin. He’s not even looking at him, and Chanyeol feels like an idiot, sitting there in his ratty old jeans that hang low around his hips, a faded band tshirt beneath the hoodie. Plain, unremarkable. Not like Jongin, not the kinda guy that takes your breath away without even trying.
Chanyeol runs a shaky hand through his hair, trying to expel the nerves his body now seems to be vibrating with. This is ridiculous, he comes over all the time. They’ll watch tv, eat shitty food, sometimes end up making out on the floor or the couch. Usually Chanyeol will leave before it gets too much, or sometimes, when Jongin is more persistent, he’ll at least convince him to sleep on the couch, bribing him with McDonald’s breakfast if they get up early enough, his treat - though they usually miss it.
There’s no real reason, at least not one specific one, that Chanyeol shies away from this. This being whatever it is he’s doing with Jongin. He has more reasons Jongin shouldn’t than he should. Jongin could do better, Jongin doesn’t need to be dragged down, Jongin deserves the absolute fucking best, and nothing less.
Chanyeol has sufficiently tugged at his own black shorn hair enough to get it to stick up awkwardly, and looks forlornly over to Jongin, watches the way the shadows from the tv lighting highlights the angles of his jaw, the dips in his neck and the little bit of shoulder exposed from the oversized hoodie. His fucking hoodie, Chanyeol wants Jongin to wear his clothes forever.
Jongin’s hair looks almost static-y, mussed and soft and probably only washed an hour or so ago. He needs it cut, he keeps saying, it hangs too low in his eyes, but Chanyeol loves it. It feels especially good sliding through his fingers when he holds Jongin’s face.
Jongin is still focused on the tv, slouched back into the sofa like he’s comfortable. Of course he’s comfortable, it’s his own damn apartment. That’s the thing, he’s so comfortable around Chanyeol that it sort of rubs off on him, makes him feel like this could be more than what it is, but Chanyeol doesn’t kid himself. He’s never been that lucky, everything he’s had comes from brute unrelenting force, or money. Surprises like Jongin don’t just fall into his lap, that’s not how it works.
So wait, Chanyeol backtracks his thoughts, what are his own reasons? He could write a book on why Jongin shouldn’t do this with him, but why shouldn’t he do it with Jongin? Selfish, this time. Something he’s good at, apparently.
And there isn’t any. He wants Jongin, wants him so bad sometimes it hurts. They’ve kissed so much over the past few weeks that Chanyeol thinks he might know Jongin’s mouth better than his own, but Chanyeol never lets it go further.
He agreed to, though, if it happened again. Reluctantly. Jongin was grinning at him when he made him promise. It’s shockingly difficult to say no to that.
“Hey,” Chanyeol says, surprised at the hoarseness of his own voice.
He’s stroking the back of Jongin’s neck with beer-cold fingers, just above the hood of his sweatshirt, and Jongin immediately snaps his eyes away from the tv and onto him. He smiles at Chanyeol all slow, that sleepy smile that stretches his lips across teeth in the most enticing way. Chanyeol focuses and keeps stroking the back of Jongin’s neck, if only to keep his hands from shaking again.
“Hey,” Jongin says, biting his lips through the smile and then releasing the flesh from his teeth.
Chanyeol’s eyes immediately fall to his mouth, to the slight redness and moistened lower lip that seems to be physically pulling him in.
Chanyeol’s fingers unconsciously curl around Jongin’s neck, and Jongin is so quick and eager to slide into him, pressing their sides together and resting the side of his face on Chanyeol’s shoulder, Chanyeol’s long arm wrapped around his. Chanyeol wonders if Jongin can hear his heart pounding.
“You wanna watch something else?” Jongin drawls, turning his head innocently to speak to Chanyeol.
And their faces are so close, so fucking close. Chanyeol can’t stop looking at Jongin’s mouth - at the swell of his upper lip, the barely there stubble he can see in the minimal lighting.
Chanyeol tilts, almost like he’s trying to nudge Jongin’s face with his chin, and then Jongin’s mouth is on his, hot and open and soft. Chanyeol takes the initiative and slides his tongue past Jongin’s lips, tasting him, feeling him.
Every slide of Jongin’s lips against his own pulls him further into this hole, this tunnel where nothing is there except for Jongin, Jongin’s mouth, too loose hoodies and too tight boxers, Jongin’s leg sliding over his lap, the dull taste of cheap beer being unceremoniously licked off the back of his tongue, Jongin’s hands clutching at his neck and shoulders.
When Chanyeol pulls away and blinks his eyes open, Jongin’s in his lap, knees at either side of his thighs, back hunched and face shadowed. The way the tv lights him up from behind, it makes his hair look fluffier than it is, and Chanyeol suddenly wants to feel, so he does. Lifts his hand and runs his trembling fingers through the boy’s hair, and gasps shakily when he feels Jongin lean into his palm.
Jongin leans in suddenly, noses at his neck as he unzips Chanyeol’s hoodie and parts it. Jongin licks and sucks at the skin of his neck, biting and nipping occasionally, and Chanyeol still has his hands in his hair, a bit rougher now, like he can’t figure out if he wants to massage the boy’s scalp or pull at the strands.
Jongin’s warm, infinitely warm, hands find their way up under Chanyeol’s shirt and in an instant his own hands are covering them, stopping him.
He has a reason, now. One he can remember, one that doesn’t have to be selfish for either of them. He’s been called ‘that bastard’ before because of shit like this. It would be fucking devastating to hear those words come from Jongin’s mouth.
“Do you want this?” he asks hoarsely.
“Yes.”
Jongin’s voice mimics gravel too, and the sound of it shoots right to Chanyeol’s cock, which twitches uncomfortably against his already too-tight jeans. He can feel the heat from Jongin’s ass pressing into his thighs, and god he wants it. For the longest time he thought it was just his dick that wanted this, wanted Jongin, but that’s so far from the truth now. He wants this with his whole being, with every ounce of him. Fuck, he would even eat Jongin out if he asked him to, and he never does that shit.
“Are you sure?” he asks slowly, ignoring the bursts of flames in his gut and watching Jongin’s eyes, praying that if there’s even a hint of a ‘no’ in there somewhere, he’ll see it.
Jongin senses Chanyeol’s serious stare and gives it right back to him. He doesn’t say anything this time, but he nods firmly and Chanyeol finally release his hands.
The minute he does, Jongin is pushing up his tshirt, bunching it up under his arms before quickly attaching his mouth to Chanyeol’s nipple. His gut lurches in dizzying pleasure, at the feel of Jongin’s hot tongue laving against it, moistening his skin, at the firm body pressed into his lap, the coolness of the air when his mouth moves to the other side.
It’s suddenly way too fucking hot in here, every inch of his body that isn’t cooling beneath Jongin’s spit is burning, so he shoves Jongin off him for a second to pull his hoodie off his arms, then his shirt from over his head.
And when he pushes Jongin away there’s a flash of fear across his face, like he was worried Chanyeol was going to stop him again, but instead of doing exactly that - stopping - to tell him he’s sorry, he just goes with it and pulls him back against him once his chest his bare, fingers digging into Jongin’s nape.
They kiss for so long that Chanyeol’s lips feel numb. There’s an ache in his groin, his balls are so fucking tight. The way Jongin’s legs have him pinned to the couch doesn’t leave much room for movement, but Jongin will occasionally roll his hips and give him just enough friction to be maddening. Fucking dancers and their bodies.
It’s like Jongin knows, can feel that this is always how it starts and always how it ends, so he pulls back. He presses his forehead to Chanyeol’s, smiling. He smiles like this all the fucking time, and it still makes Chanyeol’s heart feel like it’s spinning in the confines of his ribcage.
“What do you want?” Jongin asks quietly, slowly, hips gyrating unintentionally.
“You,” Chanyeol replies without even thinking about it.
Jongin laughs softly, puffs of warm air that fan across Chanyeol’s lips. It’s not fucking funny how true that answer was, this only serves to remind, so he frowns a little.
“What?”
“That’s not what I meant.” Jongin is still smiling, always smiling. “How do you want me?”
Chanyeol’s brain can barely catch up to his own mouth, nevermind Jongin’s, so he slurs out another, “What?”
Another soft laugh. “Do you want to fuck me on this couch, or in my bed?”
Chanyeol makes this strangled, helpless noise, and when he surges his face forward to kiss Jongin, Jongin is quick to pull back.
“Answer me.”
“Bed. Yeah, I- bed.”
“Okay,” Jongin breathes, and then he’s pulling Chanyeol up off the couch, ignoring the tv still going, and waddling them both backwards.
The sound of four feet instead of two padding against the bare wood floors of Jongin’s apartment sounds good, Chanyeol vaguely notes. Everything right now sounds good. Jongin’s breathing, the muffled noise of the tv as he’s pulled into Jongin’s bedroom, the way the door creaks when it shuts, the way Jongin says “come here” when Chanyeol starts to hesitate again.
Jongin pulls away from him just long enough to pull the hoodie off his head, messing his hair up even further, and Chanyeol licks his lips without even thinking of it. Of course there’s nothing on underneath, of course. Jongin’s chest is heaving with the effort of catching his breath, and he sees this gorgeous pink flush spreading up from his chest to his neck, making the slight brown of his skin turn this warm peachy pink.
Chanyeol suddenly wants to taste it, so he does, surging forward and latching his mouth frantically to Jongin’s neck. Please don’t say no, please don’t say no, he thinks. Please god, let me have this.
Jongin pushes him away and Chanyeol’s heart feels like it falls through his body and to the ground, at least until he sees why. Jongin’s fingers are undoing the button on his own jeans, tugging them down for him, eyes lingering unabashedly at the tent in his boxers. Fuck it, nothing to hide anymore. Not here.
“Bed,” Jongin rasps again, turning to face the opposite wall as he shucks his boxers.
It’s an odd time to get self conscious, but Chanyeol isn’t thinking about that right now. He steps out of his bunched up jeans and boxers, legs almost too wobbly for the task, and then lowers himself to Jongin’s bed.
His bed is one of those things thats only about a foot off the ground, so to fall down onto it would either break Chanyeol’s back or the frame of the thing, neither of which sounds good right about now. It’s lowering himself down that he realizes how shaky he is, how much his legs and arms are trembling.
Jongin turns just then, walking over to him, and Chanyeol can’t even swallow with how dry his mouth is, with the added dehydrated squeeze of gasping for air at the sight of Jongin - Jongin stood before him, completely naked and flushed and firm and hard. He’s hard for Chanyeol, that thought somehow feels like a pleasantly aimed kick to the gut.
Without even thinking, Chanyeol grabs for his hips. Sitting on the bed like this puts him at the right height so that his face is level with Jongin’s dick, and he sucks it into his mouth without preamble, fingers gripping just below the curve of his ass, pulling him in.
Jongin practically shouts, collapsing in on himself, hunching over and wrapping his arms around Chanyeol’s head. He shoots out an arm to steady himself, holding himself up on Chanyeol’s shoulder, and Chanyeol can feel his arm quivering.
Chanyeol only sucks his cock harder, sliding the hot flesh further into the back of his throat. It’s overwhelming, this feeling. Wanting Jongin in and around and on him everywhere, wanting to taste every inch of him, feel everything he is and does and will ever be.
“Fuck, Chanyeol,” Jongin groans, fingers clutching at Chanyeol’s shoulder.
Chanyeol just keeps sucking, rolling his tongue up along the underside of Jongin’s dick, still holding him in by the backs of his thighs, with Jongin still collapsed in half and wrapped around Chanyeol’s head.
“Stop, Chanyeol, I’m gonna come.”
Chanyeol immediately pulls back at the word stop, momentarily horrified, until he sees the blissed out grin on Jongin’s face.
He lets Jongin push him back into the mattress. He lets Jongin reach over to his side table, pulling things from drawers, and then straddling Chanyeol’s hips snugly. He lets Jongin fuck himself open, and gapes down at the way his fingers disappear up into him, watches with his jaw unhinged at the shift of tendons in his hand, the muscles in his forearm flexing at the odd angle, all in the small amount of light pouring in from outside.
Jongin’s breathing so heavily now that Chanyeol thinks he can feel it, can feel the way the air around them shifts almost tangibly. This changes things, it has to. Jongin rolls the condom down over Chanyeol’s swollen cock, but before he can pull his hand away, Chanyeol catches his wrist.
“Do you really want this?”
Jongin’s expression quickly shutters, clouded with irritation, and he slaps Chanyeol’s hand away. Chanyeol leaves his arm hovering in the air, momentarily stunned, and looking at Jongin for an answer.
Jongin just leans over him, jaw tight, and firmly says “yes”, before sinking down onto Chanyeol’s cock.
Chanyeol’s face screws up, and his hands immediately latch onto Jongin’s sides, holding him steady. Fuck, it feels like his entire body is about to combust. Jongin’s hole is so impossibly tight and hot, there’s no fucking way it can feel good, but Jongin’s voice is saying otherwise. These broken moans, ripped from the back of his throat every time he slams himself down, the sounds colliding with those of skin slapping against skin, hip bones thudding against thighs.
Chanyeol’s going to come. Jongin is twisting his hips and fucking himself, and Chanyeol is two seconds away from blowing his load. His grip tightens on Jongin’s sides, fingers digging into flesh.
“Stop,” he says, but Jongin doesn’t listen.
“I want to feel you come,” Jongin says, voice quiet and verging on desperate. “For weeks, I’ve wanted this, wanted to feel this, but you never let me.”
Chanyeol is so dangerously close that he can’t hold his head up anymore, every ounce of restraint and muscle and focus is going to his dick, keeping himself on the brink. His head falls back and he stares open mouthed at the ceiling. When Jongin leans further up and bites into the curve of his jaw, Chanyeol practically whimpers.
“Let me feel you,” Jongin whispers, and then Chanyeol’s coming, thankful for the solid bed beneath him with how close the feeling is to falling.
Jongin sits up, still impaled by Chanyeol’s now sensitive and softening cock, and jerks himself off. Chanyeol slides his hands up Jongin’s thighs unconsciously, and squeezes the flesh there when he watches Jongin spill all over his stomach, curling into himself again like he did when Chanyeol’s mouth was on his dick.
Jongin grabs a wad of tissues, wipes Chanyeol off and removes the condom for him, and then pads over to the bathroom, and it’s like everything has just happened way too fast. Jongin’s in the bathroom, and the rest of the apartment is too fucking quiet without the sound of him breathing. It almost sends Chanyeol into a panic, until he’s knocked out of it by the feel of Jongin flopping down next to him.
“Exhausted,” Jongin mumbles, snuggling into Chanyeol’s side, and Chanyeol tentatively wraps his arms around him.
It feels good, too good. It’s like chasing a high, there has to be a come down somewhere. He doesn’t feel it yet, but it’s looming, and it’s enough to be terrifying.
Chanyeol is knocked out of it again by Jongin’s soft lips pressing to the crease at his arm, right below his shoulder and above his pit. It’s startlingly intimate, and then Jongin rubs his face into the spot, like he’s claiming it as his own. Chanyeol squeezes Jongin’s bicep without thinking and has no plans to let go.
---
Chanyeol wakes with a start, wincing at the way the earth seems to move when he’s bolt upright and squinting through the sun pouring in the window.
Jongin’s gone. He looks around, somewhat bewildered. This is definitely Jongin’s bed. This room definitely smells like sex. He’d only had, what, two beers? That’s no excuse. They had sex in Jongin’s apartment, in Jongin’s bed, slept there, and now Jongin is gone.
There’s a creaking sound from out by the living room, and Chanyeol shoves on his jeans, ignoring the boxers, and walks slowly out to it. He shivers, the air is cold and stale, the a/c in this building sucks like that. He remembers leaving his tshirt and hoodie out on the sofa, though, so there’s that.
Right when he walks into the living room, though, he catches Jongin coming through the sliding glass door to the balcony, steaming mug of something hot held in his hand, shielded by the extra fabric of an oversized hoodie. An orange one, this time. The one Chanyeol wore last night. How many hoodies am I gonna lose to this guy? he thinks, fondly.
“Morning,” Jongin says, eyes brightening when he sees him.
Even in the morning, that smile is devastating.
“Morning.”
“I didn’t think you’d be up, we almost missed it,” Jongin says, setting down his coffee or tea or whatever it is, and then tying up the drawstring of a pair of sweatpants.
Chanyeol scratches his bare stomach absently. “Missed what?”
Jongin grins, tossing Chanyeol his tshirt and then the blue university hoodie, the one he was wearing last night. “McDonalds breakfast, idiot, we’re up early enough for once. Lets go.”
Chanyeol numbly puts on the clothes, and then nearly startles when he pulls the hoodie over his head and has a face full of Jongin.
Jongin kisses him. Chaste, and hard, and full of intent. Later, he seems to say.
Jongin tugs him out of his apartment, and Chanyeol makes a mental note to be sure to strategically leave this hoodie here again before he goes back to his dorm. It looks much better on Jongin, anyway.
an- because ang is the worst and does shit like this when i tell her not to
Pairings: Chanyeol/Kai
Word Count: 4,000ish
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Uni!au. They're finally doing this, this is happening. Sex and fast food breakfast, how romantic. -Revenge porn for Ang :)
you light me up
This should be easy. Pizza and beer, Jongin’s apartment. Just a night in with someone Chanyeol’s become increasingly comfortable with, someone he thinks would make even the worst kind of stress mellow out, if given the time. Sleepy, sexy Jongin and his stupid apartment. That old but exceedingly comfortable blue couch, the way his tv makes his living room almost glow because he never has any lights on. Jongin is safe and Jongin is easy and Jongin likes Chanyeol.
So it doesn’t make sense that Chanyeol’s hands shake so much while he stands on the other side of his door and waits for him to open up. Doesn’t make sense that his heart is beating so heavily he thinks he can hear it, that the rush of blood to compensate for his racing pulse is almost dizzying.
The door creaks open and in the crack Chanyeol can see him. He’s wearing these boxers that are completely gray and completely too small and entirely unfair. He pulls his eyes up, becauser manners, and the rest of Jongin is covered in an oversized blue and yellow university hoodie, the pullover kind. His hair is soft and a little tousled, and he’s smiling, and Chanyeol tries to say ‘hello’ but nothing comes out. It’s like he can hear his heart beating in his stomach.
“Come on, in.”
Jongin pulls him, half-dazed, into his tiny little hallway and then subsequently his tiny little kitchenette. There’s barely enough room for the two of them to stand in there with the fridge open, but it’s not like they need much more room than that. He. It’s not like he needs much more room. This is Jongin’s apartment, Chanyeol reminds himself, not his.
“Beer?” Jongin opens up the fridge and hands a cool bottle over to Chanyeol, keeping the door of it open with his hip, lighting up his legs from behind.
It’s like everything with Jongin has to bring attention to how insanely hot he is. He doesn’t do it on purpose, he’s not nearly that calculating, but Chanyeol notices it every time. As expected, the only light on in the living room is the tv, which casts a dim glow over the living room and creeps into the small kitchenette as well. The light from the fridge only accentuates the fact that Jongin’s lower half is enticingly exposed, and Chanyeol tries to keep from staring at the smooth skin of his thighs, the way the muscles and sinew at his calves and ankles pull and tighten every time he shifts his weight.
“Thanks,” Chanyeol says, taking the beer and shuffling backwards awkwardly.
Jongin grabs another two and brings them out with him, setting them on his coffee table before plopping down onto his couch. His hoodie rides up when he falls, exposing a strip of soft skin, near his hip, and Chanyeol chugs his beer to keep his throat from going so dry at the sight. His stomach lurches then, because he notices in the increased lighting from the tv that the hoodie he’s wearing is actually Chanyeol’s, one he’d left over here a while ago.
Fuck, it suits him.
“There’s pizza,” Jongin says distractedly without pulling his eyes from the screen, poking his toe at the box on the coffee table.
Chanyeol grunts and lifts the box, devouring nearly half of a slice in one go. Keeps his hands busy, for now. It feels like the tips of his fingers are itching, burning to touch. He won't, though. Not until he says it’s okay.
The hoodie disaster seems to be subsiding, now having covered the damn skin up like it’s supposed to. Chanyeol can look over at Jongin now without his face heating up, although it does feel significantly hotter in this room. Blame the LCD screen.
Chanyeol keeps his own sweatshirt on, though. His old Osiris hoodie, the orange one with black writing that’s no longer thick enough to keep him all that warm. God, Jongin must think he lives in these, he thinks. It’s all he ever fucking wears.
He wipes his greasy hands on his jeans to quell the wave of unease that washes over him, the self consciousness that he can never seem to mask very well around Jongin. He’s not even looking at him, and Chanyeol feels like an idiot, sitting there in his ratty old jeans that hang low around his hips, a faded band tshirt beneath the hoodie. Plain, unremarkable. Not like Jongin, not the kinda guy that takes your breath away without even trying.
Chanyeol runs a shaky hand through his hair, trying to expel the nerves his body now seems to be vibrating with. This is ridiculous, he comes over all the time. They’ll watch tv, eat shitty food, sometimes end up making out on the floor or the couch. Usually Chanyeol will leave before it gets too much, or sometimes, when Jongin is more persistent, he’ll at least convince him to sleep on the couch, bribing him with McDonald’s breakfast if they get up early enough, his treat - though they usually miss it.
There’s no real reason, at least not one specific one, that Chanyeol shies away from this. This being whatever it is he’s doing with Jongin. He has more reasons Jongin shouldn’t than he should. Jongin could do better, Jongin doesn’t need to be dragged down, Jongin deserves the absolute fucking best, and nothing less.
Chanyeol has sufficiently tugged at his own black shorn hair enough to get it to stick up awkwardly, and looks forlornly over to Jongin, watches the way the shadows from the tv lighting highlights the angles of his jaw, the dips in his neck and the little bit of shoulder exposed from the oversized hoodie. His fucking hoodie, Chanyeol wants Jongin to wear his clothes forever.
Jongin’s hair looks almost static-y, mussed and soft and probably only washed an hour or so ago. He needs it cut, he keeps saying, it hangs too low in his eyes, but Chanyeol loves it. It feels especially good sliding through his fingers when he holds Jongin’s face.
Jongin is still focused on the tv, slouched back into the sofa like he’s comfortable. Of course he’s comfortable, it’s his own damn apartment. That’s the thing, he’s so comfortable around Chanyeol that it sort of rubs off on him, makes him feel like this could be more than what it is, but Chanyeol doesn’t kid himself. He’s never been that lucky, everything he’s had comes from brute unrelenting force, or money. Surprises like Jongin don’t just fall into his lap, that’s not how it works.
So wait, Chanyeol backtracks his thoughts, what are his own reasons? He could write a book on why Jongin shouldn’t do this with him, but why shouldn’t he do it with Jongin? Selfish, this time. Something he’s good at, apparently.
And there isn’t any. He wants Jongin, wants him so bad sometimes it hurts. They’ve kissed so much over the past few weeks that Chanyeol thinks he might know Jongin’s mouth better than his own, but Chanyeol never lets it go further.
He agreed to, though, if it happened again. Reluctantly. Jongin was grinning at him when he made him promise. It’s shockingly difficult to say no to that.
“Hey,” Chanyeol says, surprised at the hoarseness of his own voice.
He’s stroking the back of Jongin’s neck with beer-cold fingers, just above the hood of his sweatshirt, and Jongin immediately snaps his eyes away from the tv and onto him. He smiles at Chanyeol all slow, that sleepy smile that stretches his lips across teeth in the most enticing way. Chanyeol focuses and keeps stroking the back of Jongin’s neck, if only to keep his hands from shaking again.
“Hey,” Jongin says, biting his lips through the smile and then releasing the flesh from his teeth.
Chanyeol’s eyes immediately fall to his mouth, to the slight redness and moistened lower lip that seems to be physically pulling him in.
Chanyeol’s fingers unconsciously curl around Jongin’s neck, and Jongin is so quick and eager to slide into him, pressing their sides together and resting the side of his face on Chanyeol’s shoulder, Chanyeol’s long arm wrapped around his. Chanyeol wonders if Jongin can hear his heart pounding.
“You wanna watch something else?” Jongin drawls, turning his head innocently to speak to Chanyeol.
And their faces are so close, so fucking close. Chanyeol can’t stop looking at Jongin’s mouth - at the swell of his upper lip, the barely there stubble he can see in the minimal lighting.
Chanyeol tilts, almost like he’s trying to nudge Jongin’s face with his chin, and then Jongin’s mouth is on his, hot and open and soft. Chanyeol takes the initiative and slides his tongue past Jongin’s lips, tasting him, feeling him.
Every slide of Jongin’s lips against his own pulls him further into this hole, this tunnel where nothing is there except for Jongin, Jongin’s mouth, too loose hoodies and too tight boxers, Jongin’s leg sliding over his lap, the dull taste of cheap beer being unceremoniously licked off the back of his tongue, Jongin’s hands clutching at his neck and shoulders.
When Chanyeol pulls away and blinks his eyes open, Jongin’s in his lap, knees at either side of his thighs, back hunched and face shadowed. The way the tv lights him up from behind, it makes his hair look fluffier than it is, and Chanyeol suddenly wants to feel, so he does. Lifts his hand and runs his trembling fingers through the boy’s hair, and gasps shakily when he feels Jongin lean into his palm.
Jongin leans in suddenly, noses at his neck as he unzips Chanyeol’s hoodie and parts it. Jongin licks and sucks at the skin of his neck, biting and nipping occasionally, and Chanyeol still has his hands in his hair, a bit rougher now, like he can’t figure out if he wants to massage the boy’s scalp or pull at the strands.
Jongin’s warm, infinitely warm, hands find their way up under Chanyeol’s shirt and in an instant his own hands are covering them, stopping him.
He has a reason, now. One he can remember, one that doesn’t have to be selfish for either of them. He’s been called ‘that bastard’ before because of shit like this. It would be fucking devastating to hear those words come from Jongin’s mouth.
“Do you want this?” he asks hoarsely.
“Yes.”
Jongin’s voice mimics gravel too, and the sound of it shoots right to Chanyeol’s cock, which twitches uncomfortably against his already too-tight jeans. He can feel the heat from Jongin’s ass pressing into his thighs, and god he wants it. For the longest time he thought it was just his dick that wanted this, wanted Jongin, but that’s so far from the truth now. He wants this with his whole being, with every ounce of him. Fuck, he would even eat Jongin out if he asked him to, and he never does that shit.
“Are you sure?” he asks slowly, ignoring the bursts of flames in his gut and watching Jongin’s eyes, praying that if there’s even a hint of a ‘no’ in there somewhere, he’ll see it.
Jongin senses Chanyeol’s serious stare and gives it right back to him. He doesn’t say anything this time, but he nods firmly and Chanyeol finally release his hands.
The minute he does, Jongin is pushing up his tshirt, bunching it up under his arms before quickly attaching his mouth to Chanyeol’s nipple. His gut lurches in dizzying pleasure, at the feel of Jongin’s hot tongue laving against it, moistening his skin, at the firm body pressed into his lap, the coolness of the air when his mouth moves to the other side.
It’s suddenly way too fucking hot in here, every inch of his body that isn’t cooling beneath Jongin’s spit is burning, so he shoves Jongin off him for a second to pull his hoodie off his arms, then his shirt from over his head.
And when he pushes Jongin away there’s a flash of fear across his face, like he was worried Chanyeol was going to stop him again, but instead of doing exactly that - stopping - to tell him he’s sorry, he just goes with it and pulls him back against him once his chest his bare, fingers digging into Jongin’s nape.
They kiss for so long that Chanyeol’s lips feel numb. There’s an ache in his groin, his balls are so fucking tight. The way Jongin’s legs have him pinned to the couch doesn’t leave much room for movement, but Jongin will occasionally roll his hips and give him just enough friction to be maddening. Fucking dancers and their bodies.
It’s like Jongin knows, can feel that this is always how it starts and always how it ends, so he pulls back. He presses his forehead to Chanyeol’s, smiling. He smiles like this all the fucking time, and it still makes Chanyeol’s heart feel like it’s spinning in the confines of his ribcage.
“What do you want?” Jongin asks quietly, slowly, hips gyrating unintentionally.
“You,” Chanyeol replies without even thinking about it.
Jongin laughs softly, puffs of warm air that fan across Chanyeol’s lips. It’s not fucking funny how true that answer was, this only serves to remind, so he frowns a little.
“What?”
“That’s not what I meant.” Jongin is still smiling, always smiling. “How do you want me?”
Chanyeol’s brain can barely catch up to his own mouth, nevermind Jongin’s, so he slurs out another, “What?”
Another soft laugh. “Do you want to fuck me on this couch, or in my bed?”
Chanyeol makes this strangled, helpless noise, and when he surges his face forward to kiss Jongin, Jongin is quick to pull back.
“Answer me.”
“Bed. Yeah, I- bed.”
“Okay,” Jongin breathes, and then he’s pulling Chanyeol up off the couch, ignoring the tv still going, and waddling them both backwards.
The sound of four feet instead of two padding against the bare wood floors of Jongin’s apartment sounds good, Chanyeol vaguely notes. Everything right now sounds good. Jongin’s breathing, the muffled noise of the tv as he’s pulled into Jongin’s bedroom, the way the door creaks when it shuts, the way Jongin says “come here” when Chanyeol starts to hesitate again.
Jongin pulls away from him just long enough to pull the hoodie off his head, messing his hair up even further, and Chanyeol licks his lips without even thinking of it. Of course there’s nothing on underneath, of course. Jongin’s chest is heaving with the effort of catching his breath, and he sees this gorgeous pink flush spreading up from his chest to his neck, making the slight brown of his skin turn this warm peachy pink.
Chanyeol suddenly wants to taste it, so he does, surging forward and latching his mouth frantically to Jongin’s neck. Please don’t say no, please don’t say no, he thinks. Please god, let me have this.
Jongin pushes him away and Chanyeol’s heart feels like it falls through his body and to the ground, at least until he sees why. Jongin’s fingers are undoing the button on his own jeans, tugging them down for him, eyes lingering unabashedly at the tent in his boxers. Fuck it, nothing to hide anymore. Not here.
“Bed,” Jongin rasps again, turning to face the opposite wall as he shucks his boxers.
It’s an odd time to get self conscious, but Chanyeol isn’t thinking about that right now. He steps out of his bunched up jeans and boxers, legs almost too wobbly for the task, and then lowers himself to Jongin’s bed.
His bed is one of those things thats only about a foot off the ground, so to fall down onto it would either break Chanyeol’s back or the frame of the thing, neither of which sounds good right about now. It’s lowering himself down that he realizes how shaky he is, how much his legs and arms are trembling.
Jongin turns just then, walking over to him, and Chanyeol can’t even swallow with how dry his mouth is, with the added dehydrated squeeze of gasping for air at the sight of Jongin - Jongin stood before him, completely naked and flushed and firm and hard. He’s hard for Chanyeol, that thought somehow feels like a pleasantly aimed kick to the gut.
Without even thinking, Chanyeol grabs for his hips. Sitting on the bed like this puts him at the right height so that his face is level with Jongin’s dick, and he sucks it into his mouth without preamble, fingers gripping just below the curve of his ass, pulling him in.
Jongin practically shouts, collapsing in on himself, hunching over and wrapping his arms around Chanyeol’s head. He shoots out an arm to steady himself, holding himself up on Chanyeol’s shoulder, and Chanyeol can feel his arm quivering.
Chanyeol only sucks his cock harder, sliding the hot flesh further into the back of his throat. It’s overwhelming, this feeling. Wanting Jongin in and around and on him everywhere, wanting to taste every inch of him, feel everything he is and does and will ever be.
“Fuck, Chanyeol,” Jongin groans, fingers clutching at Chanyeol’s shoulder.
Chanyeol just keeps sucking, rolling his tongue up along the underside of Jongin’s dick, still holding him in by the backs of his thighs, with Jongin still collapsed in half and wrapped around Chanyeol’s head.
“Stop, Chanyeol, I’m gonna come.”
Chanyeol immediately pulls back at the word stop, momentarily horrified, until he sees the blissed out grin on Jongin’s face.
He lets Jongin push him back into the mattress. He lets Jongin reach over to his side table, pulling things from drawers, and then straddling Chanyeol’s hips snugly. He lets Jongin fuck himself open, and gapes down at the way his fingers disappear up into him, watches with his jaw unhinged at the shift of tendons in his hand, the muscles in his forearm flexing at the odd angle, all in the small amount of light pouring in from outside.
Jongin’s breathing so heavily now that Chanyeol thinks he can feel it, can feel the way the air around them shifts almost tangibly. This changes things, it has to. Jongin rolls the condom down over Chanyeol’s swollen cock, but before he can pull his hand away, Chanyeol catches his wrist.
“Do you really want this?”
Jongin’s expression quickly shutters, clouded with irritation, and he slaps Chanyeol’s hand away. Chanyeol leaves his arm hovering in the air, momentarily stunned, and looking at Jongin for an answer.
Jongin just leans over him, jaw tight, and firmly says “yes”, before sinking down onto Chanyeol’s cock.
Chanyeol’s face screws up, and his hands immediately latch onto Jongin’s sides, holding him steady. Fuck, it feels like his entire body is about to combust. Jongin’s hole is so impossibly tight and hot, there’s no fucking way it can feel good, but Jongin’s voice is saying otherwise. These broken moans, ripped from the back of his throat every time he slams himself down, the sounds colliding with those of skin slapping against skin, hip bones thudding against thighs.
Chanyeol’s going to come. Jongin is twisting his hips and fucking himself, and Chanyeol is two seconds away from blowing his load. His grip tightens on Jongin’s sides, fingers digging into flesh.
“Stop,” he says, but Jongin doesn’t listen.
“I want to feel you come,” Jongin says, voice quiet and verging on desperate. “For weeks, I’ve wanted this, wanted to feel this, but you never let me.”
Chanyeol is so dangerously close that he can’t hold his head up anymore, every ounce of restraint and muscle and focus is going to his dick, keeping himself on the brink. His head falls back and he stares open mouthed at the ceiling. When Jongin leans further up and bites into the curve of his jaw, Chanyeol practically whimpers.
“Let me feel you,” Jongin whispers, and then Chanyeol’s coming, thankful for the solid bed beneath him with how close the feeling is to falling.
Jongin sits up, still impaled by Chanyeol’s now sensitive and softening cock, and jerks himself off. Chanyeol slides his hands up Jongin’s thighs unconsciously, and squeezes the flesh there when he watches Jongin spill all over his stomach, curling into himself again like he did when Chanyeol’s mouth was on his dick.
Jongin grabs a wad of tissues, wipes Chanyeol off and removes the condom for him, and then pads over to the bathroom, and it’s like everything has just happened way too fast. Jongin’s in the bathroom, and the rest of the apartment is too fucking quiet without the sound of him breathing. It almost sends Chanyeol into a panic, until he’s knocked out of it by the feel of Jongin flopping down next to him.
“Exhausted,” Jongin mumbles, snuggling into Chanyeol’s side, and Chanyeol tentatively wraps his arms around him.
It feels good, too good. It’s like chasing a high, there has to be a come down somewhere. He doesn’t feel it yet, but it’s looming, and it’s enough to be terrifying.
Chanyeol is knocked out of it again by Jongin’s soft lips pressing to the crease at his arm, right below his shoulder and above his pit. It’s startlingly intimate, and then Jongin rubs his face into the spot, like he’s claiming it as his own. Chanyeol squeezes Jongin’s bicep without thinking and has no plans to let go.
---
Chanyeol wakes with a start, wincing at the way the earth seems to move when he’s bolt upright and squinting through the sun pouring in the window.
Jongin’s gone. He looks around, somewhat bewildered. This is definitely Jongin’s bed. This room definitely smells like sex. He’d only had, what, two beers? That’s no excuse. They had sex in Jongin’s apartment, in Jongin’s bed, slept there, and now Jongin is gone.
There’s a creaking sound from out by the living room, and Chanyeol shoves on his jeans, ignoring the boxers, and walks slowly out to it. He shivers, the air is cold and stale, the a/c in this building sucks like that. He remembers leaving his tshirt and hoodie out on the sofa, though, so there’s that.
Right when he walks into the living room, though, he catches Jongin coming through the sliding glass door to the balcony, steaming mug of something hot held in his hand, shielded by the extra fabric of an oversized hoodie. An orange one, this time. The one Chanyeol wore last night. How many hoodies am I gonna lose to this guy? he thinks, fondly.
“Morning,” Jongin says, eyes brightening when he sees him.
Even in the morning, that smile is devastating.
“Morning.”
“I didn’t think you’d be up, we almost missed it,” Jongin says, setting down his coffee or tea or whatever it is, and then tying up the drawstring of a pair of sweatpants.
Chanyeol scratches his bare stomach absently. “Missed what?”
Jongin grins, tossing Chanyeol his tshirt and then the blue university hoodie, the one he was wearing last night. “McDonalds breakfast, idiot, we’re up early enough for once. Lets go.”
Chanyeol numbly puts on the clothes, and then nearly startles when he pulls the hoodie over his head and has a face full of Jongin.
Jongin kisses him. Chaste, and hard, and full of intent. Later, he seems to say.
Jongin tugs him out of his apartment, and Chanyeol makes a mental note to be sure to strategically leave this hoodie here again before he goes back to his dorm. It looks much better on Jongin, anyway.
an- because ang is the worst and does shit like this when i tell her not to