ikon | Sweet Young Thing (Like Me)
TITLE: Sweet Young Thing (Like Me)
PAIRING: Bobby/Junhoe
RATING: NC-17
WARNINGS: sex, underage
WORD COUNT: 1828
SUMMARY: Junhoe's a good kid. He doesn't mind helping Bobby out when he needs it. AO3.
They’d shoved and pinched at each other so much the entire walk home that Junhoe is pretty sure he’s going to have bruises tomorrow, only half of which will be sexy. He’s still trying to decide if Bobby’s fingers hard around his hip is sexy or just mean when Bobby gets a leg in between his. Definitely sexy, then. Bobby stops sucking at Junhoe’s bottom lip to push his hips more insistently against his. It's Bobby way of asking for something, but Junhoe doesn't like to let Bobby walk all over him the same way everyone else does. He ignores it and instead pushes his way up Bobby's shirt, dropping his head to mouth at the salt of Bobby's muscled shoulder.
“Shit," Bobby hisses, then gets a hand in Junhoe's hair. He plants his feet, shifts his stance so his erection is heavy and thick against Junhoe's thigh, even through the layers of cloth between them. "You’re younger,” he points out, needlessly obtuse.
Junhoe looks at him blankly, his mouth slick and warm. He’s used to Bobby’s impromptu outbursts, but he truly has no idea what Bobby means in this case. Then Bobby rolls his hips up, tightens his right hand around Junhoe's neck and applies pressure in an unmistakably downwards motion, and Junhoe thinks he gets it.
“For fuck’s sake, hyung,” he bites out. Of all the times for Bobby to play at being coy. “Are you serious?”
Bobby grins, eyes crinkling. “Come on, Junhoe,” he murmurs, left hand heavy at the small of Junhoe’s back. There’s something a little mean about the teasing way he says, “Be good to your hyung,” that goes straight to Junhoe’s dick.
Please. Junhoe’s plenty good to his hyung, who’s got him crowded against the bathroom door, the handle digging uncomfortably into his hip. Despite this and the hand Bobby now has fisted in his hair, pulling his head back so Bobby can scrape his teeth down the line of Junhoe’s throat, Junhoe spares a second to smugness. He’d called it.
--
Though Hanbin took a weird and perverse pleasure in talking loudly and constantly about his nineteen-going-on-twenty years as a single man, at the end of the day they were all in the same boat for the next few years, even if embarkment dates differed. They all learned to cope. Sometimes the consensus was that Hanbin, with nothing to miss, might’ve had it easiest. Either way, they all got plenty familiar with their dominant hands.
On the good days, they could wait until their ten minutes in the relative privacy of the running water of their shower. But some days were worse than others. On bad days, it felt like there was a giant elephant in the corner of the room with a timer strapped to its chest: 3 DAYS, 15 HOURS SINCE YOU LAST JERKED OFF. On the worse days, the elephant got mean: 1 MONTH AND 2 WEEKS SINCE SOMEONE OTHER THAN YOURSELF TOUCHED YOUR DICK. Or, more likely: NO ONE BUT YOU HAS EVER TOUCHED YOUR DICK AND POSSIBLY NEVER WILL UNTIL YOU ARE 25.
The absolute worst days were when everyone knew.
It had been a bad, and then worse, and then absolute worst day for Bobby, who took his shirt off during practice and refused to put it back on even when Jinhwan asked him to with a touch of aegyo, so rare he only pulled it out for emergency situations. It usually had a one hundred percent success rate, but Bobby had been aggressive about his right to be shirtless, and Jinhwan had given up. By the end of practice, the left side of Bobby’s chest was pink from where he kept rubbing at himself. Hanbin had taken one look at his chest, the unconscious flex of Bobby’s arms, the bite of his teeth against his lip, and just sent him home first, even though Bobby’s runthrough of the routine that day had been sloppier than at least Donghyuk’s and certainly Jinhwan’s. Hanbin was a good leader, but he played favorites.
Bobby had flashed a grateful thumbs up at Hanbin, then reached out to plant a wet, sloppy smack on his cheek. “You’re disgusting,” Hanbin had said, rubbing at his face so furiously he was basically hitting himself. “Go take a cold shower or something.”
By the door, leaning on one hip as he adjusted his snapback, Junhoe had snorted. Bobby noticed, catching Junhoe’s eye. His shit-eating grin grew wider, and he reached a hand up to wipe away the sweat on his chin, tongue flicking out. “Yes sir,” he said to Hanbin, but his eyebrows quirked in Junhoe’s direction.
It was enough of a signal to inspire Junhoe to even better form in the next runthrough, pushing his body as he let his imagination wander to the vague promise of Bobby’s naked torso and the shared look over Hanbin’s annoyance.
It isn’t much, Junhoe thinks when Hanbin calls him out next over Yunhyeong’s cry of protest, but he’s gotten off on less before. He ducks his head at Hanbin, thumbs his nose at Yunhyeong, then he’s out the door to chase after Bobby, hoping his own 2 DAYS, 10 HOURS hasn’t steered him wrong.
--
Junhoe lets Bobby push him down to his knees, but not before making him drag the shower mat over so Junhoe won’t have to kneel directly on the bathroom floor. What? It’s a workout day for him tomorrow, and he’d hate to go in with sore knees.
“Fuck. You’re really a terrible hyung, you know that?” Junhoe says, yanking Bobby’s basketball shorts and boxers down to his ankles.
Above him, Bobby is pulling his shirt off over his head because of course he would. There’s no need to be shirtless. “I’ll do you after,” he promises, though Junhoe’s not holding his breath.
“Sure you will,” Junhoe mutters, before pushing Bobby’s hand off his dick and taking it in his. He squeezes the base, reaching up with his other hand to palm at Bobby’s balls.
The effect on Bobby is immediate-“fuck,” Bobby breathes, the heaviness of the sudden English settling in Junhoe’s stomach. His hands move to clutch at Junhoe’s shoulders, and he really needs to trim his nails. Junhoe can feel the bite of them even through the heavy fabric of his shirt. “Junhoe,” he pants, canting his hips forward.
Junhoe lets go of Bobby’s dick to hold his hip against the door. He’d followed Bobby all the way from the practice room into the bathroom of their shared room on a whim-a well-deduced, horny whim, yes, but a whim nonetheless-without actually thinking about what endgame would look like. He’s never actually done this before, and he’s a little apprehensive. There’s been a few sloppy makeouts with Yunhyeong, the one time he and Donghyuk had exchanged handjobs in the shower, neither of them actually looking at each other, but this is a whole different story. It’s not the boy thing-Junhoe’s fairly sure he still likes girls better, but the thought of another dick, even one in his mouth, doesn’t disgust him. Any port in a storm, right? He just, Junhoe realizes, doesn’t want to be bad at it. He doesn’t want Bobby to think he’s bad at it.
But then Bobby lets out a high-pitched whine and a gritted, “please, Junhoe,” and the desperation in his voice makes Junhoe glance up at him. Bobby’s face is screwed up, teeth biting into his lower lip so hard it has to hurt. Junhoe can feel the thrill all the way down his spine. Yeah, he’s the one on his knees, but Bobby’s the one who’s half-wrecked already. If Junhoe wanted to, he could change his mind and get up, leave Bobby against the bathroom door shirtless and wound up, his right hand a poor substitute even for Junhoe’s inexperienced mouth. Junhoe’s own dick throbs, and he shifts slightly. Bobby has needed this all day, and Junhoe’s the only one who can give it to him.
“Well, since you said please so nicely,” Junhoe says. Before Bobby draws blood from impatience, he ducks his head and leans forward, giving the tip of Bobby’s cock an experimental lick. The taste is bitter but bearable, and Junhoe, finding it less weird than he thought, opens his mouth a little wider.
Overeager, Bobby pushes his hips forward, risking losing a few centimeters off his dick when it pushes up into Junhoe’s mouth, making him choke.
“Slow down, hyung,” Junhoe says, huffing and pulling back.
When he gets a nod of acquiescence from Bobby, he leans forward on his knees again to brace an arm across Bobby’s taut stomach and get a firm grip on the base of his cock. He finds he can only take so much in his mouth at a time, a little more if he stops to breathe and get used to the strange weight of it against his tongue. Once it’s actually in his mouth, he’s not too sure what to do with it, so he settles for flattening his tongue and sucking, moving his other hand to meet his lips.
“Oh my God,” Bobby says from above, knees buckling a little even as his body curves forward over Junhoe’s head in his crotch. One hand shoots out to grab at the bend of the wall, and the other grabs at the back of Junhoe’s neck before disappearing beneath the hem of his shirt to scratch over the top knob of Junhoe’s spine.
Junhoe feels the instinct to smirk, though it proves difficult with cock in his mouth. He must’ve underestimated just how long it’d been for Bobby, though, because he’s just felt a twinge of soreness in his jaw a few minutes later before Bobby’s cursing again, his whole body shuddering. His hands are surprisingly gentle when they push Junhoe’s head away, though not quite quick enough-a bit of Bobby’s spunk lands on the corner of Junhoe’s mouth. It’s fucking gross but Junhoe decides, what the hell, and licks the taste of Bobby into his mouth.
Bobby’s sucking in deep breaths and sliding down the door, knees knocking into Junhoe’s. His hands are a sticky mess, so Junhoe helpfully offers him his own discarded shirt.
Bobby takes it, wiping his fingers off, before noticing. “Ugh,” he says, wrinkling his nose. “This is my shirt.”
Junhoe sits back on his heels. “Uh, yeah,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I just had your dick in my mouth, I think you can sacrifice a shirt.”
“Oh fuck off.” Bobby flings his dirty shirt at Junhoe, but his eyes are crinkled up in laughter.
Junhoe, because he’s a better dongsaeng than Bobby has ever been a hyung, gives him a moment to catch his breath. But before Bobby can get too comfortable, he pulls his chin in for a hard, open-mouthed kiss. “My turn,” he murmurs, grabbing Bobby’s wrist and guiding it to the front of his sweatpants. “You promised.”
A/N: I'm taking prompts/requests!
PAIRING: Bobby/Junhoe
RATING: NC-17
WARNINGS: sex, underage
WORD COUNT: 1828
SUMMARY: Junhoe's a good kid. He doesn't mind helping Bobby out when he needs it. AO3.
They’d shoved and pinched at each other so much the entire walk home that Junhoe is pretty sure he’s going to have bruises tomorrow, only half of which will be sexy. He’s still trying to decide if Bobby’s fingers hard around his hip is sexy or just mean when Bobby gets a leg in between his. Definitely sexy, then. Bobby stops sucking at Junhoe’s bottom lip to push his hips more insistently against his. It's Bobby way of asking for something, but Junhoe doesn't like to let Bobby walk all over him the same way everyone else does. He ignores it and instead pushes his way up Bobby's shirt, dropping his head to mouth at the salt of Bobby's muscled shoulder.
“Shit," Bobby hisses, then gets a hand in Junhoe's hair. He plants his feet, shifts his stance so his erection is heavy and thick against Junhoe's thigh, even through the layers of cloth between them. "You’re younger,” he points out, needlessly obtuse.
Junhoe looks at him blankly, his mouth slick and warm. He’s used to Bobby’s impromptu outbursts, but he truly has no idea what Bobby means in this case. Then Bobby rolls his hips up, tightens his right hand around Junhoe's neck and applies pressure in an unmistakably downwards motion, and Junhoe thinks he gets it.
“For fuck’s sake, hyung,” he bites out. Of all the times for Bobby to play at being coy. “Are you serious?”
Bobby grins, eyes crinkling. “Come on, Junhoe,” he murmurs, left hand heavy at the small of Junhoe’s back. There’s something a little mean about the teasing way he says, “Be good to your hyung,” that goes straight to Junhoe’s dick.
Please. Junhoe’s plenty good to his hyung, who’s got him crowded against the bathroom door, the handle digging uncomfortably into his hip. Despite this and the hand Bobby now has fisted in his hair, pulling his head back so Bobby can scrape his teeth down the line of Junhoe’s throat, Junhoe spares a second to smugness. He’d called it.
--
Though Hanbin took a weird and perverse pleasure in talking loudly and constantly about his nineteen-going-on-twenty years as a single man, at the end of the day they were all in the same boat for the next few years, even if embarkment dates differed. They all learned to cope. Sometimes the consensus was that Hanbin, with nothing to miss, might’ve had it easiest. Either way, they all got plenty familiar with their dominant hands.
On the good days, they could wait until their ten minutes in the relative privacy of the running water of their shower. But some days were worse than others. On bad days, it felt like there was a giant elephant in the corner of the room with a timer strapped to its chest: 3 DAYS, 15 HOURS SINCE YOU LAST JERKED OFF. On the worse days, the elephant got mean: 1 MONTH AND 2 WEEKS SINCE SOMEONE OTHER THAN YOURSELF TOUCHED YOUR DICK. Or, more likely: NO ONE BUT YOU HAS EVER TOUCHED YOUR DICK AND POSSIBLY NEVER WILL UNTIL YOU ARE 25.
The absolute worst days were when everyone knew.
It had been a bad, and then worse, and then absolute worst day for Bobby, who took his shirt off during practice and refused to put it back on even when Jinhwan asked him to with a touch of aegyo, so rare he only pulled it out for emergency situations. It usually had a one hundred percent success rate, but Bobby had been aggressive about his right to be shirtless, and Jinhwan had given up. By the end of practice, the left side of Bobby’s chest was pink from where he kept rubbing at himself. Hanbin had taken one look at his chest, the unconscious flex of Bobby’s arms, the bite of his teeth against his lip, and just sent him home first, even though Bobby’s runthrough of the routine that day had been sloppier than at least Donghyuk’s and certainly Jinhwan’s. Hanbin was a good leader, but he played favorites.
Bobby had flashed a grateful thumbs up at Hanbin, then reached out to plant a wet, sloppy smack on his cheek. “You’re disgusting,” Hanbin had said, rubbing at his face so furiously he was basically hitting himself. “Go take a cold shower or something.”
By the door, leaning on one hip as he adjusted his snapback, Junhoe had snorted. Bobby noticed, catching Junhoe’s eye. His shit-eating grin grew wider, and he reached a hand up to wipe away the sweat on his chin, tongue flicking out. “Yes sir,” he said to Hanbin, but his eyebrows quirked in Junhoe’s direction.
It was enough of a signal to inspire Junhoe to even better form in the next runthrough, pushing his body as he let his imagination wander to the vague promise of Bobby’s naked torso and the shared look over Hanbin’s annoyance.
It isn’t much, Junhoe thinks when Hanbin calls him out next over Yunhyeong’s cry of protest, but he’s gotten off on less before. He ducks his head at Hanbin, thumbs his nose at Yunhyeong, then he’s out the door to chase after Bobby, hoping his own 2 DAYS, 10 HOURS hasn’t steered him wrong.
--
Junhoe lets Bobby push him down to his knees, but not before making him drag the shower mat over so Junhoe won’t have to kneel directly on the bathroom floor. What? It’s a workout day for him tomorrow, and he’d hate to go in with sore knees.
“Fuck. You’re really a terrible hyung, you know that?” Junhoe says, yanking Bobby’s basketball shorts and boxers down to his ankles.
Above him, Bobby is pulling his shirt off over his head because of course he would. There’s no need to be shirtless. “I’ll do you after,” he promises, though Junhoe’s not holding his breath.
“Sure you will,” Junhoe mutters, before pushing Bobby’s hand off his dick and taking it in his. He squeezes the base, reaching up with his other hand to palm at Bobby’s balls.
The effect on Bobby is immediate-“fuck,” Bobby breathes, the heaviness of the sudden English settling in Junhoe’s stomach. His hands move to clutch at Junhoe’s shoulders, and he really needs to trim his nails. Junhoe can feel the bite of them even through the heavy fabric of his shirt. “Junhoe,” he pants, canting his hips forward.
Junhoe lets go of Bobby’s dick to hold his hip against the door. He’d followed Bobby all the way from the practice room into the bathroom of their shared room on a whim-a well-deduced, horny whim, yes, but a whim nonetheless-without actually thinking about what endgame would look like. He’s never actually done this before, and he’s a little apprehensive. There’s been a few sloppy makeouts with Yunhyeong, the one time he and Donghyuk had exchanged handjobs in the shower, neither of them actually looking at each other, but this is a whole different story. It’s not the boy thing-Junhoe’s fairly sure he still likes girls better, but the thought of another dick, even one in his mouth, doesn’t disgust him. Any port in a storm, right? He just, Junhoe realizes, doesn’t want to be bad at it. He doesn’t want Bobby to think he’s bad at it.
But then Bobby lets out a high-pitched whine and a gritted, “please, Junhoe,” and the desperation in his voice makes Junhoe glance up at him. Bobby’s face is screwed up, teeth biting into his lower lip so hard it has to hurt. Junhoe can feel the thrill all the way down his spine. Yeah, he’s the one on his knees, but Bobby’s the one who’s half-wrecked already. If Junhoe wanted to, he could change his mind and get up, leave Bobby against the bathroom door shirtless and wound up, his right hand a poor substitute even for Junhoe’s inexperienced mouth. Junhoe’s own dick throbs, and he shifts slightly. Bobby has needed this all day, and Junhoe’s the only one who can give it to him.
“Well, since you said please so nicely,” Junhoe says. Before Bobby draws blood from impatience, he ducks his head and leans forward, giving the tip of Bobby’s cock an experimental lick. The taste is bitter but bearable, and Junhoe, finding it less weird than he thought, opens his mouth a little wider.
Overeager, Bobby pushes his hips forward, risking losing a few centimeters off his dick when it pushes up into Junhoe’s mouth, making him choke.
“Slow down, hyung,” Junhoe says, huffing and pulling back.
When he gets a nod of acquiescence from Bobby, he leans forward on his knees again to brace an arm across Bobby’s taut stomach and get a firm grip on the base of his cock. He finds he can only take so much in his mouth at a time, a little more if he stops to breathe and get used to the strange weight of it against his tongue. Once it’s actually in his mouth, he’s not too sure what to do with it, so he settles for flattening his tongue and sucking, moving his other hand to meet his lips.
“Oh my God,” Bobby says from above, knees buckling a little even as his body curves forward over Junhoe’s head in his crotch. One hand shoots out to grab at the bend of the wall, and the other grabs at the back of Junhoe’s neck before disappearing beneath the hem of his shirt to scratch over the top knob of Junhoe’s spine.
Junhoe feels the instinct to smirk, though it proves difficult with cock in his mouth. He must’ve underestimated just how long it’d been for Bobby, though, because he’s just felt a twinge of soreness in his jaw a few minutes later before Bobby’s cursing again, his whole body shuddering. His hands are surprisingly gentle when they push Junhoe’s head away, though not quite quick enough-a bit of Bobby’s spunk lands on the corner of Junhoe’s mouth. It’s fucking gross but Junhoe decides, what the hell, and licks the taste of Bobby into his mouth.
Bobby’s sucking in deep breaths and sliding down the door, knees knocking into Junhoe’s. His hands are a sticky mess, so Junhoe helpfully offers him his own discarded shirt.
Bobby takes it, wiping his fingers off, before noticing. “Ugh,” he says, wrinkling his nose. “This is my shirt.”
Junhoe sits back on his heels. “Uh, yeah,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I just had your dick in my mouth, I think you can sacrifice a shirt.”
“Oh fuck off.” Bobby flings his dirty shirt at Junhoe, but his eyes are crinkled up in laughter.
Junhoe, because he’s a better dongsaeng than Bobby has ever been a hyung, gives him a moment to catch his breath. But before Bobby can get too comfortable, he pulls his chin in for a hard, open-mouthed kiss. “My turn,” he murmurs, grabbing Bobby’s wrist and guiding it to the front of his sweatpants. “You promised.”
A/N: I'm taking prompts/requests!