boundaries
title: boundaries
pairing: yixing/kris
rating: nc-17
genre: pwp
word count: 2,555
disclaimer: dont own exo this story is fiction etc
boundaries.
Yixing’s body sways provocatively to the left, his hips popping at just the right pitch, silk chocolate hair sticking to his forehead with perspiration as his head turned with the movement, dark eyes glazed with concentration. He didn’t watch himself in the mirror, choosing instead to close his eyes and trust his ears to connect with the sounds and low rhythms that pulled his legs and arms in waves that ran as fluid as any river.
His shoulder snaps back as he throws an arm up and his head follows, his knees give out almost crashing to the floor for a grand finish but he balances most of the weight on his toes, sinking slowly to the wooden tiles and breathing deeply. The room is silent for only a few minutes and he lets the muscles in his body relax and his eyes slowly open to see himself panting, white tank soaked and loose fitted pants in the floor to ceiling windows.
He blinks when he sees movement from the corner of his eye to find Kris Wufan staring at him from the back of the room, back against the wall and hands in his pockets, gaze fixated on Yixing’s deep breaths. It’s only a few more days now until their debut and he thinks the new blonde hair suits him, his thick brows a shade lighter, and his body more toned than ever. He doesn’t need to see the future to know that Wufan will be the image and center of nearly all the female attention. Yixing would be lying if the thought wasn’t driving him a little mad.
“I’m almost finished.” Yixing says, raking a hand through his tangled hair and standing, turning to face him.
Wufan raises his hands and puts on a tight smile, “Don’t stop on my account.”
Yixing suddenly finds his presence irritating, as if he were here to play with the boundary; the boundary they’d set nearly a week ago. The boundary Wufan had been tiptoeing around, tripping over, and practically tearing at the seams. He shakes his head in irritation and walks toward the stereo placed against the mirror.
“I’m just going to run through it once more.”
“Mind if I join you?”
Yixing watches from the mirror as Wufan pushes himself away from the wall and walks toward the center of the room, his eyes roaming over him and teeth peaking out to nibble on his lower lip. Yixing mutters a ‘whatever’ under his breath and presses play. He moves back to the center a good few feet from his friend and lets the music sink into his bones, feels the thrum of the bass against his skin, and the muscles in his body react as if on cue. He tries to forget Wufan next to him as he rolls his hips and maneuver every step down to an art. When Yixing catches Wufan nearly trip over his own feet when copying the movement he tries to bite back a grin. While Wufan would have absolutely no problem bringing in the female attention with his face or height, he would have no such luck attracting them with his charisma or technique. It’s a small victory Yixing thinks but a victory none the less.
Yixing extends his left arm and lets out a surprised gasp when he feels long fingers wrap around his wrist and tug him hard, his back suddenly pressed against Wufan’s chest. The taller man’s free hand drifts down to his hip, fingers slipping under the thin white tank as his face buries itself in Yixing’s neck, lips pressed to his ears before he whispers, his voice so low it’s almost threatening, “Don’t stop.”
Yixing’s first instinct is to pull away. This is that boundary, that wall he’s spent almost a week building and Wufan’s hands are clawing at it; climbing it, tearing it down, and Yixing can feel the heat pool in the pit of his stomach, can feel the dull ache he’s felt ever since they’d agreed to stop playing this game. They aren’t kids anymore, they weren’t trainees or reckless teenagers playing with fire. They were about to embark on the dream they’d spent their entire lives preparing for and this stupid childhood game could rip it away in a matter of seconds. But it doesn’t matter because right now Wufan’s hips are pressing into his backside and his hand is his halfway up his shirt, thumb brushing his nipple and Yixing finds it hard to concentrate on anything else.
“Don’t stop.” Wufan growls low inside his ear again and Yixing tries to remember the choreography. He’s restricted with Wufan’s arms around him like a steel cage and his mind nearly goes blank when he rocks his hips back as Wufan presses forward, he can feel his cock already hard in line with his ass, heat seeping through the thin sweats. Yixing’s neck reclines and he feels a slight tremor run through him when Wufan’s tongue snakes out to lap at the soft spot behind his ear, his teeth catching the lobe and sucking softly as he twists the pert nub between his fingers. The hand resting on his hip moves down slowly past his waistband and Yixing can’t stop the moan that slips from his mouth when Wufan’s hand grabs his already half hard dick through his boxers, squeezing softly, running a thumb over the head and bending them both over slightly before teasing the two soft sacs between his legs. He feels all his blood rush south and a heady lust take over the rest of his reasons why they shouldn’t or couldn’t, pushing back on Wufan and twisting in his arms.
Yixing’s lips meet his in a hunger he’d thought he’d managed to control with his shitty yoga sessions and morning cold showers, a desire he’d kept hidden every single fucking time Wufan had accidentally grazed fingers or stood too close. Their teeth knock together and Wufan’s tongue dives into his mouth with an equal want, his hands on his back clawing at his shirt, too much clothes. Yixing can feel himself being pushed further and further back as his hands bury themselves in Wufan’s sandy hair, pulling rough with need, until his back hits the cool mirror. Wufan grinds his hips against his, rough with want, hands now desperately pulling at the hem of his shirt as Yixing raises his arms and allows him to toss it to the ground. He’s only allowed a second of air before Wufan’s lips are on his against, licking, teeth tugging and Yixing feels like he’s going to come apart right there.
Wufan nibbles his lower lip, tugging just slightly before he murmurs against his lips, “You look so good like this.” and Yixing think he must look exactly how Wufan likes. Unable to catch his breath, fringe clung to his forehead, and a look so dazed with lust he’s sure his pupil’s must be as big as his irises. All for Wufan, Yixing thinks. Always for him. Wufan stares down at him for a moment, the small hint of a grin on those perfectly thin lips of his and a hand cupping his chin as if just revelling in the sight of what he’s done, of what he’s going to do.
Wufan’s hands skirt down the sides of Yixing’s bare waist, thumbs hooking into his sweats as he kneels down in front of him, sliding the pants down his legs as he does. Yixing swallows and in a brief moment of sanity he thinks out loud, “Someone could-”
“I locked the door. It’s 2 AM, Yixing.” Yixing wants to yell at him then for fucking everything up. For walking into the studio knowing this would happen, that he was going to break the pact. Worst of all, for knowing Yixing wouldn’t even try to say no. Those thoughts seem to vanish into thin air as soon Wufan buries his face in his crotch, his tongue lapping obscenely through the thin fabric of his boxers.
“Wufan..” Yixing closes his eyes, his fingers threading through the soft strands of his hair and pulling him closer. “Fuck.”
Wufan tugs at the boxer shorts, pulling them down to join the pool of sweat pants at his ankles and Yixing lets out a loud hiss when he feels those long fingers wrap tight around his thick cock. He opens his eyes to look down at the sight, Wufan’s shit eating grin, his lips parting just slightly as his tongue flicks the slit of his head teasing at first and Yixing’s hips buck on their own accord. He can feel his dick ache with a heavy need for that wet mouth enveloping him, swallowing him. Yixing wants to fuck his pretty mouth, make him choke for taking them five steps back in this sick cycle he could only call addiction.
And then his mouth on him, sucking him in, cheeks hollowed and teeth covered and Yixing’s fisting Wufan’s hair, his moans shameless as his cock hits the back of his throat and Wufan alternates from sucking in hard to just letting his shaft simply sink into his mouth as far as Yixing can go. Wufan pulls back meeting his eyes and sucking lightly on the tip, moving an arm up the length of his body and resting his fingers just below his throat, “Suck.” and it’s not a desperate plea or request but an order and it makes Yixing’s stomach tighten and his lids heavy as he bends slightly to slip the digits between his lips to suck softly.
Wufan swallows his dick for the second time, a low moan at the back of his throat when Yixing gags on his fingers, his hips now thrusting into his hot mouth. Wufan takes every thrust like he loves it, like he could take more, like he wants more and it’s enough to make Yixing come. He feels his balls tighten and the lust in the pit of his stomach coil when Wufan quickly pulls back, releasing his dick with a loud pop. Yixing grunts in frustration, nearly whines when he’s abruptly flipped and turned to face the mirror as Wufan stands behind him placing a slick wet finger to his hole and pushing in without hesitation. Yixing inhales sharply at the sudden intrusion but quickly moves his hand to his dick, burying his face in his shoulder propped against the mirror as he starts stroking himself.
“Don’t.” Wufan protests, his lips pressed into his ear, pants coming out fast and harsh. “Don’t touch yourself. I’m going to make you come just like this.”
Yixing moans but refuses to stop because who the fuck was he to give orders? To always say when and where and how. When Yixing doesn’t remove his hand Wufan does it for him, pinning it over his head next to his other resting against the glass. Wufan presses another finger inside him and grimaces when he feels a slight burn, the digits slipping in and deeper with every push. Yixing doesn’t care, his need for release feels like its pulling at his insides and with no friction on his cock all he can do is blindly shove back against the fingers inside him.
“Fucking slut.” Wufan bites his ear and Yixing can hear the sound of his zipper being pulled before he finally presses the head of his cock against his tight entrance. “Beg.”
Yixing’s skin is flushed, blotches of red and finger shaped yellow soon to be brown, maybe purpled bruises on his hips. His knees feel like buckling from the pressure and when he whispers, ‘Please.’ he can feel his face redden with shame; not because he’s failed so catastrophically - having not even made it one week into this promise of stopping this - whatever this thing with Wufan is - but shame because how badly he wants it. How he wasn’t even a little sorry he’d let it happen. How embarrassingly hard he is for it and how much he wants to beg for it.
“What?” Wufan licks his neck breathless and Yixing shivers.
“Please. Fuck me.” Yixing begs rocking his hips back against the head of his cock. “Please.”
And then Wufan is sliding into him, stretching him open, fingers digging into his already sore hips as his cock fills him to the hilt. Yixing’s mouth falls open as he tries to catch his breath, the pain overwhelming for a moment. Wufan kisses his neck softly moving to his shoulder, and then the back of his neck as he slowly pulls back out and thrusts back in without hesitation. Yixing chokes on his moan and shuts his eyes, lets his head fall back to rest against Wufan’s shoulder, his hands bracing himself against the long mirrors with every push.
“So fucking tight.” Wufan finally relaxes a hand on his waist, wrapping his arm around his front before picking up the pace until suddenly he sinks in at a different angle that has Yixing’s toes curling and his mouth muttering a litany of profanity in mandarin. “Fuck, Yixing look at you.” Wufan practically growls in his ear and when Yixing opens his eyes to their reflection, Wufan’s eyes are black with lust as he watches himself fuck Yixing open against the mirror, Yixing’s lips parted, sweat pouring down his frame, and his dick dripping with precome.
Yixing’s head swims with ecstasy as he feels every muscle in his body tighten when he teeters over the edge, head falling back to his own shoulder and knees buckling as he comes, slick ropes of white staining the mirror in front of him. Wufan holds him up with his arm around his waist as he pounds into him hard and fast, breath warm against his cheek and Yixing threads his fingers through the hand wrapped around his waist when he comes hot inside him with his name on his lips.
They stay like that a moment longer before Wufan pulls out, come still dripping from his flaccid cock as he tucks it back in his jeans and zips up. Yixing turns to look at him and notes his shirt is stained with sweat, both of theirs he’s sure, and it only just occurs to him how naked he is. Quickly pulling up his boxers and sweats, still feeling wet and sticky. He uses his shirt to quickly wipe off his own come from the mirrors before Wufan takes his hand and pulls him up flush against him, kissing him affectionately on the mouth and humming softly with his eyes closed.
“This has to stop.” Yixing murmurs against his lips.
Wufan opens his eyes and stares back at him in silence. Yixing can see he wants to say something and waits, but he doesn’t. Instead he shakes his head, sighing and pushing past him for the exit.
pairing: yixing/kris
rating: nc-17
genre: pwp
word count: 2,555
disclaimer: dont own exo this story is fiction etc
boundaries.
Yixing’s body sways provocatively to the left, his hips popping at just the right pitch, silk chocolate hair sticking to his forehead with perspiration as his head turned with the movement, dark eyes glazed with concentration. He didn’t watch himself in the mirror, choosing instead to close his eyes and trust his ears to connect with the sounds and low rhythms that pulled his legs and arms in waves that ran as fluid as any river.
His shoulder snaps back as he throws an arm up and his head follows, his knees give out almost crashing to the floor for a grand finish but he balances most of the weight on his toes, sinking slowly to the wooden tiles and breathing deeply. The room is silent for only a few minutes and he lets the muscles in his body relax and his eyes slowly open to see himself panting, white tank soaked and loose fitted pants in the floor to ceiling windows.
He blinks when he sees movement from the corner of his eye to find Kris Wufan staring at him from the back of the room, back against the wall and hands in his pockets, gaze fixated on Yixing’s deep breaths. It’s only a few more days now until their debut and he thinks the new blonde hair suits him, his thick brows a shade lighter, and his body more toned than ever. He doesn’t need to see the future to know that Wufan will be the image and center of nearly all the female attention. Yixing would be lying if the thought wasn’t driving him a little mad.
“I’m almost finished.” Yixing says, raking a hand through his tangled hair and standing, turning to face him.
Wufan raises his hands and puts on a tight smile, “Don’t stop on my account.”
Yixing suddenly finds his presence irritating, as if he were here to play with the boundary; the boundary they’d set nearly a week ago. The boundary Wufan had been tiptoeing around, tripping over, and practically tearing at the seams. He shakes his head in irritation and walks toward the stereo placed against the mirror.
“I’m just going to run through it once more.”
“Mind if I join you?”
Yixing watches from the mirror as Wufan pushes himself away from the wall and walks toward the center of the room, his eyes roaming over him and teeth peaking out to nibble on his lower lip. Yixing mutters a ‘whatever’ under his breath and presses play. He moves back to the center a good few feet from his friend and lets the music sink into his bones, feels the thrum of the bass against his skin, and the muscles in his body react as if on cue. He tries to forget Wufan next to him as he rolls his hips and maneuver every step down to an art. When Yixing catches Wufan nearly trip over his own feet when copying the movement he tries to bite back a grin. While Wufan would have absolutely no problem bringing in the female attention with his face or height, he would have no such luck attracting them with his charisma or technique. It’s a small victory Yixing thinks but a victory none the less.
Yixing extends his left arm and lets out a surprised gasp when he feels long fingers wrap around his wrist and tug him hard, his back suddenly pressed against Wufan’s chest. The taller man’s free hand drifts down to his hip, fingers slipping under the thin white tank as his face buries itself in Yixing’s neck, lips pressed to his ears before he whispers, his voice so low it’s almost threatening, “Don’t stop.”
Yixing’s first instinct is to pull away. This is that boundary, that wall he’s spent almost a week building and Wufan’s hands are clawing at it; climbing it, tearing it down, and Yixing can feel the heat pool in the pit of his stomach, can feel the dull ache he’s felt ever since they’d agreed to stop playing this game. They aren’t kids anymore, they weren’t trainees or reckless teenagers playing with fire. They were about to embark on the dream they’d spent their entire lives preparing for and this stupid childhood game could rip it away in a matter of seconds. But it doesn’t matter because right now Wufan’s hips are pressing into his backside and his hand is his halfway up his shirt, thumb brushing his nipple and Yixing finds it hard to concentrate on anything else.
“Don’t stop.” Wufan growls low inside his ear again and Yixing tries to remember the choreography. He’s restricted with Wufan’s arms around him like a steel cage and his mind nearly goes blank when he rocks his hips back as Wufan presses forward, he can feel his cock already hard in line with his ass, heat seeping through the thin sweats. Yixing’s neck reclines and he feels a slight tremor run through him when Wufan’s tongue snakes out to lap at the soft spot behind his ear, his teeth catching the lobe and sucking softly as he twists the pert nub between his fingers. The hand resting on his hip moves down slowly past his waistband and Yixing can’t stop the moan that slips from his mouth when Wufan’s hand grabs his already half hard dick through his boxers, squeezing softly, running a thumb over the head and bending them both over slightly before teasing the two soft sacs between his legs. He feels all his blood rush south and a heady lust take over the rest of his reasons why they shouldn’t or couldn’t, pushing back on Wufan and twisting in his arms.
Yixing’s lips meet his in a hunger he’d thought he’d managed to control with his shitty yoga sessions and morning cold showers, a desire he’d kept hidden every single fucking time Wufan had accidentally grazed fingers or stood too close. Their teeth knock together and Wufan’s tongue dives into his mouth with an equal want, his hands on his back clawing at his shirt, too much clothes. Yixing can feel himself being pushed further and further back as his hands bury themselves in Wufan’s sandy hair, pulling rough with need, until his back hits the cool mirror. Wufan grinds his hips against his, rough with want, hands now desperately pulling at the hem of his shirt as Yixing raises his arms and allows him to toss it to the ground. He’s only allowed a second of air before Wufan’s lips are on his against, licking, teeth tugging and Yixing feels like he’s going to come apart right there.
Wufan nibbles his lower lip, tugging just slightly before he murmurs against his lips, “You look so good like this.” and Yixing think he must look exactly how Wufan likes. Unable to catch his breath, fringe clung to his forehead, and a look so dazed with lust he’s sure his pupil’s must be as big as his irises. All for Wufan, Yixing thinks. Always for him. Wufan stares down at him for a moment, the small hint of a grin on those perfectly thin lips of his and a hand cupping his chin as if just revelling in the sight of what he’s done, of what he’s going to do.
Wufan’s hands skirt down the sides of Yixing’s bare waist, thumbs hooking into his sweats as he kneels down in front of him, sliding the pants down his legs as he does. Yixing swallows and in a brief moment of sanity he thinks out loud, “Someone could-”
“I locked the door. It’s 2 AM, Yixing.” Yixing wants to yell at him then for fucking everything up. For walking into the studio knowing this would happen, that he was going to break the pact. Worst of all, for knowing Yixing wouldn’t even try to say no. Those thoughts seem to vanish into thin air as soon Wufan buries his face in his crotch, his tongue lapping obscenely through the thin fabric of his boxers.
“Wufan..” Yixing closes his eyes, his fingers threading through the soft strands of his hair and pulling him closer. “Fuck.”
Wufan tugs at the boxer shorts, pulling them down to join the pool of sweat pants at his ankles and Yixing lets out a loud hiss when he feels those long fingers wrap tight around his thick cock. He opens his eyes to look down at the sight, Wufan’s shit eating grin, his lips parting just slightly as his tongue flicks the slit of his head teasing at first and Yixing’s hips buck on their own accord. He can feel his dick ache with a heavy need for that wet mouth enveloping him, swallowing him. Yixing wants to fuck his pretty mouth, make him choke for taking them five steps back in this sick cycle he could only call addiction.
And then his mouth on him, sucking him in, cheeks hollowed and teeth covered and Yixing’s fisting Wufan’s hair, his moans shameless as his cock hits the back of his throat and Wufan alternates from sucking in hard to just letting his shaft simply sink into his mouth as far as Yixing can go. Wufan pulls back meeting his eyes and sucking lightly on the tip, moving an arm up the length of his body and resting his fingers just below his throat, “Suck.” and it’s not a desperate plea or request but an order and it makes Yixing’s stomach tighten and his lids heavy as he bends slightly to slip the digits between his lips to suck softly.
Wufan swallows his dick for the second time, a low moan at the back of his throat when Yixing gags on his fingers, his hips now thrusting into his hot mouth. Wufan takes every thrust like he loves it, like he could take more, like he wants more and it’s enough to make Yixing come. He feels his balls tighten and the lust in the pit of his stomach coil when Wufan quickly pulls back, releasing his dick with a loud pop. Yixing grunts in frustration, nearly whines when he’s abruptly flipped and turned to face the mirror as Wufan stands behind him placing a slick wet finger to his hole and pushing in without hesitation. Yixing inhales sharply at the sudden intrusion but quickly moves his hand to his dick, burying his face in his shoulder propped against the mirror as he starts stroking himself.
“Don’t.” Wufan protests, his lips pressed into his ear, pants coming out fast and harsh. “Don’t touch yourself. I’m going to make you come just like this.”
Yixing moans but refuses to stop because who the fuck was he to give orders? To always say when and where and how. When Yixing doesn’t remove his hand Wufan does it for him, pinning it over his head next to his other resting against the glass. Wufan presses another finger inside him and grimaces when he feels a slight burn, the digits slipping in and deeper with every push. Yixing doesn’t care, his need for release feels like its pulling at his insides and with no friction on his cock all he can do is blindly shove back against the fingers inside him.
“Fucking slut.” Wufan bites his ear and Yixing can hear the sound of his zipper being pulled before he finally presses the head of his cock against his tight entrance. “Beg.”
Yixing’s skin is flushed, blotches of red and finger shaped yellow soon to be brown, maybe purpled bruises on his hips. His knees feel like buckling from the pressure and when he whispers, ‘Please.’ he can feel his face redden with shame; not because he’s failed so catastrophically - having not even made it one week into this promise of stopping this - whatever this thing with Wufan is - but shame because how badly he wants it. How he wasn’t even a little sorry he’d let it happen. How embarrassingly hard he is for it and how much he wants to beg for it.
“What?” Wufan licks his neck breathless and Yixing shivers.
“Please. Fuck me.” Yixing begs rocking his hips back against the head of his cock. “Please.”
And then Wufan is sliding into him, stretching him open, fingers digging into his already sore hips as his cock fills him to the hilt. Yixing’s mouth falls open as he tries to catch his breath, the pain overwhelming for a moment. Wufan kisses his neck softly moving to his shoulder, and then the back of his neck as he slowly pulls back out and thrusts back in without hesitation. Yixing chokes on his moan and shuts his eyes, lets his head fall back to rest against Wufan’s shoulder, his hands bracing himself against the long mirrors with every push.
“So fucking tight.” Wufan finally relaxes a hand on his waist, wrapping his arm around his front before picking up the pace until suddenly he sinks in at a different angle that has Yixing’s toes curling and his mouth muttering a litany of profanity in mandarin. “Fuck, Yixing look at you.” Wufan practically growls in his ear and when Yixing opens his eyes to their reflection, Wufan’s eyes are black with lust as he watches himself fuck Yixing open against the mirror, Yixing’s lips parted, sweat pouring down his frame, and his dick dripping with precome.
Yixing’s head swims with ecstasy as he feels every muscle in his body tighten when he teeters over the edge, head falling back to his own shoulder and knees buckling as he comes, slick ropes of white staining the mirror in front of him. Wufan holds him up with his arm around his waist as he pounds into him hard and fast, breath warm against his cheek and Yixing threads his fingers through the hand wrapped around his waist when he comes hot inside him with his name on his lips.
They stay like that a moment longer before Wufan pulls out, come still dripping from his flaccid cock as he tucks it back in his jeans and zips up. Yixing turns to look at him and notes his shirt is stained with sweat, both of theirs he’s sure, and it only just occurs to him how naked he is. Quickly pulling up his boxers and sweats, still feeling wet and sticky. He uses his shirt to quickly wipe off his own come from the mirrors before Wufan takes his hand and pulls him up flush against him, kissing him affectionately on the mouth and humming softly with his eyes closed.
“This has to stop.” Yixing murmurs against his lips.
Wufan opens his eyes and stares back at him in silence. Yixing can see he wants to say something and waits, but he doesn’t. Instead he shakes his head, sighing and pushing past him for the exit.