Work Text:
Jeno doesn’t know if he’s ever truly understood Jaemin.
In some ways, they’ve been so deeply entwined since they were kids that trying to comprehend the why and the how will just make him explode. In others, knowing Jaemin any better sounds dangerous, forbidden, because Jaemin looks at him as if he knows something Jeno doesn’t.
Maybe he does. Maybe Jaemin is getting whispers from the universe that Jeno doesn’t know the frequency of.
Or, perhaps more likely, he simply allows himself to see the world around him for what it is and not what it claims to be, which is a rare gift if Jeno has ever seen such a thing.
He isn’t sure why he thinks of it now—probably because the sun is melting him down to bone. It’s the hottest summer on record, and because Jeno’s parents are off backpacking somewhere in South America, he’s left to watch their cats. Jeno would say that he’s watching them alone, but that is not the case.
Jaemin has been there every single day since their last day of classes. Sometimes he stays over, other times he only shows up for an hour here or there in between activities with his own family. Jeno eats dinner at Jaemin’s house when he’s too lazy to get groceries, and if he’s lucky, Jaemin’s older brother shows them the cars he’s working on.
It’s been an otherwise uneventful summer, full of Golden Girls and Jaemin very intensely following the release of the Gameboy. Jeno can hardly bring himself to move once it hits 1pm, but they entertain each other, and Jeno finds that he enjoys being with Jaemin more than any other possible activity at his disposal.
“All you had left was cherry and banana, and I am not eating banana,” Jaemin says with a fake grimace while handing Jeno the twin pop he’s procured from the garage freezer. The cold is relieving to Jeno’s skin, but he can already taste the intense neon yellow just by looking at it.
“Awe c’mon, halvsies?” Jeno asks with a pout once Jaemin has settled onto the floor next to him, the carpet around them covered with scattered magazines and the loose controllers from Jeno’s NES. He’s not usually one to beg, but Jaemin is the easiest man in the world to convince—at least, where Jeno is concerned.
As expected, Jaemin doesn’t even say anything, just presses the indent of his popsicle against his knee until it splits in two inside the wrapper. Jeno watches with rapt fascination as Jaemin rips open the plastic wrapper with his teeth, unable to help the triumphant smile that spreads on his features when Jaemin grabs one of the popsicle halves and hands it to Jeno without question.
Jeno does the same with his own popsicle before accepting the offering, and then they complete their afternoon ritual of consuming their frozen treat while the radio plays from the kitchen. After the fourth or fifth day of having it on, Jeno has kind of tuned out the music, but it’s nice to have a semblance of life when they’re all alone. Not even the birds want to chirp when it's so hot outside, and the hum of the ceiling fan only barely reminds Jeno that they’re lucky to have working AC.
“Chenle said we could come over and use the pool tonight,” Jaemin says after a particularly loud slurp, catching Jeno’s attention in a way he isn’t quite sure what to do with.
Jeno turns to look at Jaemin with full intention to reply, but Jaemin’s gaze is on the red cherry juice that's dripping down his wrist. His tongue pokes out to catch it, tracing the red stain all the up to his fingers. Something in Jeno’s chest tightens at the sight, like maybe he’s forgotten how to breathe, and his stomach clenches in agreement.
Not that it matters, but Jaemin’s lips are slick with his own saliva and stained the same unnatural red as the popsicle. Jeno bets his tongue is too, and now he is hyper focused on thoughts of Jaemin’s tongue. It slips out again to lick his lips clean, the popsicle stick completely bare. Jeno blinks once, twice, suddenly realizing that he’s staring, and he averts his eyes just in time to notice that his popsicle is dripping into his lap.
“Shit,” Jeno grumbles while snatching the discarded wrapper to catch it, but it’s too late, and the clump of cherry flavored ice is dumped right onto his denim shorts.
Jeno whines, because this sucks, and because he doesn’t know why he’s so upset. It's just a little stain, but he feels like he was doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing, and that makes the stain so much bigger in his head.
“Of course I had to be wearing my favorite pair of shorts.”
The sound of Jaemin snickering next to him makes Jeno want to turn and blame him for this, because he was so distracted staring that he forgot his own faculties. But that would be an admission of… something, and so Jeno settles for a huff of annoyance, standing from the floor like a child that's dropped his ice cream cone at the fair.
“It’s no biggie, I can clean them,” Jaemin says while following behind Jeno like he always does, Jeno leading them to the back of the house where the laundry room sits.
The house is dark back here, because Jeno’s mom told him that if he left the lights on she’d throw his tapes in the garbage. It should not be a threat that works on a 20 year old, but Jeno isn’t going to second guess his mothers stubbornness.
Whatever, it doesn’t matter, because the frosted window in the laundry room lets in enough light for him to see what he’s doing. Jeno peels off the shorts without a second thought, taking his shirt with it, and his cheeks heat up the slightest bit when he realizes that Jaemin is there to watch him.
In Jeno’s peripheral, he can see Jaemin leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and tank top hanging loosely on his broad shoulders. Jeno has to keep himself from looking, because he’s always been jealous of Jaemin’s ability to get buff. Ever since they were little he’s been naturally building muscle, and now that they regularly go to the gym together, Jaemin is surpassing him in bulkage every day.
Don’t get him wrong, Jeno likes the way he looks, but there’s just something about Jaemin’s proportions that intrigues him, and he likes to admire it in a completely non-creep kind of way.
“I’ll scrub ‘em, go clean up,” Jaemin says while peeling away from the wall, snatching Jeno’s clothes before he even has a chance to decide what he’s going to do with them.
Admittedly, Jeno was just going to throw them in the wash and hope for the best, but if Jaemin wants to be a housewife, that’s his business.
“Thanks,” Jeno grumbles, suddenly aware that he’s just standing around in his boxers. It’s not like they haven’t seen each other like that before, but Jeno can practically feel Jaemin’s eyelashes against his skin when his gaze flits down the length of his body. It’s quick, basically a blink, but heat splotches Jeno’s chest, and he runs away like a coward. “I’ll be right back.”
Jeno’s bedroom is only two doors down, past the bathroom and right before the hallway closet. He’s lived in this house since he was seven, and yet he bumps his shoulder into the door when he walks in, and nearly stubs his toe on the bed while trying to reach his dresser. He’s all sorts of messed up over a stupid stain, but he also knows that’s not really why he’s upset.
Two months is a long time to be near someone, and Jeno has been getting more aggravated with himself as the days pass, because being near Jaemin just keeps getting harder. It’s not a matter of getting along, they get along as perfectly as ever. It’s Jeno that can’t seem to figure out how to act, even if they’ve been hanging out since middle school, even if they’ve slept in each other’s beds and gone skinny dipping in the lake.
Doing those things used to be fun, simple, but now they make Jeno feel things deep in his gut that he doesn’t understand. Jeno stands in front of the mirror by his dresser, very aware of the way the sun makes the dust in his room look grossly heavy, and tries to shove those feelings back where they came from.
It doesn't have to be this way, he reasons, because if Jaemin meant something to Jeno in one way before, then he can continue to mean that to him now. Jaemin is his friend, someone he loves, a person he’s grown up with. It doesn’t matter much that his eyes sparkle beneath the moonlight, or that his smile glows brighter than the neon lights when they get midnight slushies from the gas station. Jaemin’s laughter echoes in Jeno’s head even now, the warmth of his touch ghosting along his arms where Jaemin last playfully shoved him.
Jeno’s not an idiot, he knows what these sort of feelings mean, but he’s just smart enough to have convinced himself that they mean nothing at all. Even if the sight of his own body relays nothing but burning images of Jaemin touching it, Jeno ignores them, so sure that the figure standing behind him isn’t real either.
“You okay?”
Despite seeing him, Jeno jumps, his eyes focusing properly to catch Jaemin getting closer in the reflection. Jeno doesn’t turn to face him right away, paranoid that his thoughts will show in his eyes. Jaemin can’t read minds, but he knows Jeno, and that’s just as dangerous.
“Yeah, sorry,” Jeno mutters while finally forcing himself to turn around, his toes curling into the carpet with nerves.
The sun is now hitting Jaemin, casting a shadow of his lashes against his cheeks. He smiles when Jeno’s gaze meets his, but the smile doesn’t last for long, as if he can sense that Jeno is afraid.
But fear is such a stupid feeling in this context, because nothing is even happening. It’s just Jaemin, in his room, looking down at Jeno’s bare chest like he just can’t help himself.
Jeno’s breath catches in his throat at Jaemin’s shamelessness, as if his own insanity has somehow affected the air. The faint buzz of the washing machine carries down the hall, but Jeno hardly hears it, so focused on Jaemin’s rounded cheeks and intense eyebrows that he forgets to be embarrassed about being stared at.
“S’okay.”
The word is a half-assed attempt at a reply, but Jeno doesn’t really care about the enunciation of Jaemin’s sentences. He is mostly concerned with the fact that he’s stopped breathing altogether, the red on his cheeks from the beating sun now spreading down his chest. Jaemin continues to look and look, taking Jeno in as if he’s never seen him before. It’s starting to make Jeno squirm, so he fumbles for a way to focus, deciding that the only way out is by force.
“Sorry, I’ll grab my clothes.”
Jeno steps forward, or barrels more like, trying to pass by Jaemin who stands right in front of his dresser. He makes it about two steps when the solid thunk of a hand wrapping around his bare arm stops him, and Jeno can only gasp in an emergency breath to keep his lungs from collapsing before a warm pair of lips are pressing into his.
There’s no time to be shocked, or to freeze, Jeno’s body responding to the kiss as if he’s felt it a million times before. His brain forgets that it’s Jaemin kissing him altogether, arms snaking up to wrap around broad shoulders, Jeno’s stomach giving away to the fingertips that dimple his taut skin. The overwhelming taste of cherry floods Jeno’s tongue, and not a single sensation processes as his body gets lost in feeling.
Kissing Jaemin is like diving headfirst into the public pool, the sounds of lifeguard whistles going in one ear and out the other for the thrill of doing something that all the signs are telling you not to. Jeno expects to hit the bottom, for it all to crash and hurt, but Jaemin’s hands slide up his bare back, feeling every inch of him as if he’s always been just as curious, and excitement turns into an entirely different emotion.
A full body shiver races down Jeno’s spine when Jaemin’s tongue traces the back of his teeth, forcing a pitifully weak noise to emerge from Jeno’s throat. Everything is hot, burning like the sun at Jeno’s back, but the stickiness of sweat has been their familiar friend all summer. Jeno’s hands tangle in Jaemin’s aerosol-stiffened hair, the integrity of the strands giving away as if they were just waiting for Jeno to cause a disturbance. Jaemin’s entire existence melds with Jeno’s, their limbs becoming one tangle of mess as they succumb to a moment that shouldn’t taste so sweet.
Everything spins in a kaleidoscope of colors until Jeno just can’t take it anymore, his skin buzzing with a sensation that can only be compared to the numbing of aftershave. Everywhere Jaemin touches is hot and cold, burning but desperate, and it feels like dying and being reborn all over again. Jeno has never known anything like this—not with any girl at least, and he doesn’t think any other man would make him feel the way Jaemin does either.
Jaemin is Jaemin, and Jeno’s body answers only to him.
The kiss finally breaks with a chorus of heavy breathing, Jeno’s eyes blinking open against his will to try and orient himself. They’re standing right at the edge of Jeno’s bed, arms wrapped around each other and skin glistening with the late-afternoon heat. Jaemin is looking at Jeno’s lips, but his eyes are full of so much life that Jeno can’t even find it in him to be scared of what this all means.
“I gotta be honest, I’m not all that sure how gay sex works,” Jaemin says with a lopsided smile on his face, cheeks flushed and eyes hooded in a way that Jeno is very confident he’s never seen before. “I don’t think we’re equipped.”
It’s such a ridiculous thing to say, but Jeno doesn’t think he can laugh, far too overwhelmed with the fact that he has just kissed Jaemin. He can’t fathom anything related to sex, but something deep inside of Jeno craves it like crazy, and he knows he wants to try whatever Jaemin will give him.
“We won’t, like, get sick, will we?” Jeno asks as his cheeks burn hotter at his own question, shame flooding him against his will. He’s heard the stories, grown up with the news, but his mom always says that it’s wrong to assume things. Her voice saying, “everyone deserves to live happily and healthily,” rings in Jeno’s head like a church bell, but he realizes that he’s never put much thought into the phrase.
Something on Jeno’s body is definitely happy, but he’s gotta be sure about the health part.
“What?” Jaemin asks, his smile faltering. Jeno would elaborate further, but he’s too embarrassed, and Jaemin catches on quickly enough, his hand squeezing where it still holds Jeno’s waist. “Jeno, no. Just because we’re gay doesn't mean we’re gonna get aids, we’re fine.”
“I never said I was gay,” Jeno blurts out before he can stop himself, suddenly feeling like maybe he’s way out of his element.
This time, when Jaemin’s features change, they morph into a look of hurt. Their bodies settle, the air around them melding to the shape of their decisions, and panic settles faster than Jeno’s shame can bury it.
“I just mean—I don’t know anything about this either. I don’t know… what’s happening, I just know that I like you so much, Jaemin.”
It’s the first honest thing he’s said today, and though Jeno’s heart is beating so loud that his ears ache, the look of absolute relief that floods Jaemin’s sweet face makes up for the burgeoning anxiety. Jeno has nothing to be afraid of, because Jaemin would never do anything to hurt either of them. Sure, it’s an uncertain situation, and the world can be cruel, but Jeno is so fucking certain about how badly he wants this.
“Then that’s all that matters,” Jaemin says with a grin, the intensity of it as blinding as always. This should feel insane, but it doesn’t. With Jaemin, everything feels right. “Because I like you too.”
Jeno has had no idea how badly he’s wanted to hear those words until they grace his ears, the overwhelming calm that washes over him like a cold glass of water down his throat. There’s still an entire month of summer left, still weeks for them to be alone and to indulge in whatever this is. Jeno pulls Jaemin in closer, as if there’s any space to begin with, making their foreheads press together like a cheesy movie.
Jeno sucks in a soft breath through his teeth, afraid to fill his lungs too quickly. His internal organs are still buzzing with excitement, the rush of their initial kiss yet to wear off. It’s likely that it’ll never go away, that Jeno will be stuck with Jaemin in his veins until the day he dies.
That doesn’t sound so bad, actually. Extremely insane, but not so bad.
“We won’t go all the way,” Jeno whispers as if someone can hear them, “but I really want to touch you.”
This newfound confidence has a mind of its own, but Jeno won’t silence it now, giddy with the way Jaemin feeds off of it. Jaemin’s features scrunch, like he’s pained by how much he agrees with wanting to touch. Maybe Jaemin really can hear whispers of the universe, and Jeno has been stupidly ignoring it’s call.
Somehow, none of it matters, because just like with the popsicles, Jaemin doesn’t need to say anything else once something is asked of him. He pulls back just enough to slip his tank top off, and then he’s reaching down to push his shorts to the floor. They get caught on his foot when he tries to kick them away, but Jeno is too distracted to laugh, feeling like he finally understands the world better now that he’s allowing himself to look at Jaemin the way he’s always wanted to.
He’s seen Jaemin naked before too, because when you grow up with someone, their body becomes natural to you. It’s not until Jeno turned 17 that he started looking at Jaemin differently, but then it accumulated weight like a rolling snowball, and now he’s letting Jaemin push him back onto his childhood bed.
Jaemin follows not a second after, arms caging Jeno in on either side like the force of nature that he is. A small laugh finally erupts from Jeno’s chest when their lips meet again, because he almost can’t believe that this is really happening. Jaemin’s cherry flavored tongue is slipping into his mouth, tasting him like he’s the sweet one when Jeno’s hands find a home on the small of Jaemin’s back, his legs spreading open to welcome Jaemin home. Their bodies slot together with ease, and everything falls into place like any normal experience of any normal couple.
Jeno knows they’re not a couple, but it feels like it, and when the heated press of Jaemin’s hips makes burning sparks of surprised pleasure skitter across Jeno’s skin, he knows they’re definitely more than friends.
It’s strange though, to let his hands slide down over the slope of Jaemin’s ass, finding it hard with muscle rather than soft and plush. Jaemin is hard all over, pun entirely intended. Jeno almost can’t believe that he’s feeling the evidence of it through their boxers, his own cock filling out as the seconds pass.
It should probably be weirder, but Jeno leans into the weirdness, too lost in the way Jaemin kisses with enough intensity to level a city. Nobody should be allowed to kiss like this, with one of Jaemin’s hands cupping his cheek while the other does all the work of holding himself up. Jeno almost wants Jaemin to crush him with his weight, just to know what it’s like, but something inside of him tells him to be patient.
And what’s happening is… everything. Jaemin slowly grinds his hips down against Jeno, the barrier of their boxers making each touch feel like a question. A soft gasp echoes into the kiss, but Jaemin swallows it, parting only to trail his spit-slick lips down Jeno’s jaw.
Even that small sensation has Jeno sighing with pleasure, his muscles going lax when Jaemin’s perfect tongue traces the sharp angle of his jaw. Jaemin’s nose nuzzles against Jeno’s neck when he finds it, and then he’s kissing along the thrumming vein that reveals all of Jeno’s secrets. He’s entirely at peace with Jaemin knowing everything, because he’s already discovered the scariest things that Jeno has been hiding all on his own.
Titles and implications are bigger monsters to tame, but Jeno is okay with honesty, his fingers slipping into the waistband of Jaemin’s boxers for the need to feel his skin. Jaemin’s breath hitches into Jeno’s shoulder at the touch, the pace of his hips faltering for just a moment. There’s a pause, like a record skipping, and then just as quickly, the music is erupting once more.
Jaemin kisses the curve of where Jeno’s neck meets his shoulder, his teeth scraping the soft expanse of skin so hard that the muscles in Jeno’s body tense. It’s a good sting though, the kind that makes him cling to Jaemin just a little bit harder. Girls never really give him hickeys, but Jaemin is not a girl, and Jeno wonders if he should throw away those comparisons altogether.
The way Jaemin kisses down the length of Jeno’s body is so familiar to Jeno because it’s what he would have done were he in that position. He knows exactly why Jaemin sucks bruises into his abdomen, and why he licks a nonsensical pattern just above the hem of his boxers. Jeno knows all the tricks, and yet they tear him apart piece by piece, because it means something entirely different now.
The very concepts of desire and lust have morphed in their revelations, making Jeno realize only now that he’s never truly experienced them. Each press of Jaemin’s skin against his own makes goosebumps unfurl down his limbs like a color-changing squid, the very fabric of his being changing with each slide of his palms. Jaemin’s fingers hook into his boxers, and he kisses every centimeter of revealed skin as he rolls them down Jeno’s thighs, exposing him entirely to the humid open air.
Jaemin is careful when he lifts Jeno’s legs just enough to take the boxers off all the way, sitting up on his knees to gently get them over one foot, and then the next. In no time at all, Jeno is naked in front of Jaemin in a way that speaks to such an intense vulnerability. Before today, Jeno can’t recall ever giving himself over in such a display of trust, but that’s exactly what this is—surrender.
Even if it’s not sex, Jeno watches in rapt fascination as Jaemin sheds his own remaining piece of clothing, his long limbs looking almost unnatural in the glow of the afternoon. Jaemin cannot be real, and yet his scathing skin is solid when he crawls back over Jeno’s body, a purposeful roll of his hips causing a sudden moan to escape from the confines of Jeno’s throat.
Another man’s dick is touching his, Jaemin’s dick is touching his, rubbing against it with a lewd chafing sensation that makes jacking off seem wholly unappealing. Jeno never wants anything else to touch him but Jaemin, no matter how ridiculous that may sound.
With a small huff of impatience, Jeno reaches up to bring Jaemin closer by his shoulders, forcing him to lay his weight onto Jeno fully. The pressure becomes more intense from the force, but Jaemin grins like he’s just won a prize, and Jeno laughs through a broken and awkward moan.
“Don’t fucking laugh when we’re literally humping each other,” Jaemin says with no real bite to his words, that same stupid smile plastered to his features. His gaze is heavy despite the humor, and Jeno thinks he’s crazy.
“Then don’t say that we’re humping each other, that’s g—gross.”
The stumble over his words makes Jeno’s cheeks flush, his own eyes squeezing shut with a particularly disorienting feeling that settles deep in his gut. Jeno doesn’t even know what to call it, because any description his horny-addled brain is trying to conjure is a jumble of images and colors. Jaemin reduces him to the most basic aspects of being human even without having done anything at all, and Jeno can’t help but wonder if this is why he’s never tried to understand Jaemin any deeper.
When their lips meld together once more, Jeno hums into the newly familiar kiss, fingers pressing into the flexing muscles on Jaemin’s shoulders. The entire room is heating up around them, pressing down on their already eager bodies. Jaemin’s hips falter, then slow, before he’s lifting himself up just enough to slide a hand between them.
Jeno makes a small noise of complaint at the loss of friction, but the sound dies and slithers back down where it came from when Jaemin’s hips are replaced by searing fingers wrapping around Jeno’s cock. It causes a wave of mind-numbing pleasure to coat Jeno’s skin, and he swears if not for Jaemin’s tongue in his mouth, he’d have screamed.
It starts with a curious stroke, up and down. Jaemin’s fingers play with the tacky precome that leaks from his slit, thumb rubbing against the little ledge that separates the head of Jeno’s cock from the shaft. It feels like such an observation should be clinical, or take Jeno out of the moment, but his mind is running in mindless circles like a dog that’s been offered a treat. The heat from the blistering sun only intensifies those sentiments, the stick of their skin from sweat and excitement making everything all the more intimate.
“Tell me if I do something you don’t like,” Jaemin says in a whisper right into Jeno’s mouth, kissing him sweetly even as his hand begins to stroke Jeno with an even and careful pace. Jeno has jacked himself off plenty of times, but to have a large and soft hand do it for him is pure fucking bliss, making his toes curl where they’re planted into the mattress.
“I don’t think—that’s possible—” Jeno pants between kisses, feeling like his brain is melting out of his ears with how obsessed Jaemin is with his lips. The comparisons surface again, because it’s impossible for them not to. In all of Jeno’s years of being sexually active, he’s never experienced this… desperate tenderness, and there’s no other way of describing it either.
They crave each other, and that much is obvious in the way Jeno clings to Jaemin like static, or the way Jaemin refuses to let their bodies be more than an inch apart. Every part of them has to touch and feel and connect, because maybe Jaemin hasn’t felt this way in his life either, and maybe they were always meant to feel it together.
That prospect is scary, terrifying even, but the fear bleeds into Jeno’s pleasure, creating one swirl of confusing emotion that tastes just as good. Jeno has always been afraid of what he feels, and yet facing it has clearly been a good decision. Despite his initial care, Jaemin’s hand pumps Jeno’s cock with a bit more determination, reading his each and every sound that vibrates against their lazy kiss to bring him closer to the edge.
What they’re doing can hardly be classified as kissing anymore, because Jeno doesn’t have the strength to recciprocate. His chest has begun heaving with uneven breaths, the passing seconds intensifying with Jaemin’s strokes. If Jeno’s already so overwhelmed from a handjob he can’t even bring himself to imagine what sex would be like.
Jaemin was right, they’re not equipped in the slightest, even if Jaemin’s naked body against his brings all sorts of images to the forefront of Jeno’s mind. It’s Jaemin’s hand that sends sparks of heat and pleasure along Jeno’s cock, but he pictures his toned ass, or his playful mouth, and a soft whimper breaks Jeno’s composure altogether.
It’s perfect, just the right amount of pressure and with zero shame beneath Jeno’s fingernails. He scratches at Jaemin’s back, not caring what is left in his wake, and he feels his body begin to tremble in anticipation for what’s building inside of him.
“Jaem— Jaemin. I’m…”
Jeno can’t even get the words out, every mechanism inside of him focused on the fact that he is about to come. His hips ache with tensing muscles, and his thighs feel like they’re going to cramp up. Everything is tightly wound and ripping at the seams, but Jaemin smiles his sickening smile right against Jeno’s cheek, and the soft whisper of his voice goes straight to Jeno’s cock.
“I’ve dreamt of this for so long, Jen, and you sound even prettier than my dreams.”
All the tension inside of Jeno snaps at once, like a rubber band hitting exposed skin. Jeno feels the blinding euphoria spread from his cock and out to his limbs. His body shakes in Jaemin’s hold, the blood rushing in his ears keeping him from understanding whatever else Jaemin is saying. Jeno comes for what seems like an eternity, the intensity of the orgasm going for as long as Jaemin continues to stroke him, as if wanting to milk him completely dry.
A small puddle of release drips down Jeno’s stomach with his heavy breathing, and only after he’s collapsed into the sheets with a whine of oversensitivity does Jaemin let go, nuzzling into his neck like a cat.
“Fuck,” Jeno mutters between breaths, his hands falling to his sides in exhaustion. Jaemin hums in agreement, kissing at Jeno’s neck like the insatiable bastard that he is. “Fuck.”
“Unfortunately, not yet,” Jaemin replies while pulling back just enough to look down at Jeno, his still-sticky hand coming up to brush Jeno’s hair from his forehead.
The touch is so soft, so sweet, that those rogue emotions barrel down on Jeno all over again. He’s really doing this with Jaemin, and whatever happens after today, Jeno will never be able to take it back.
Not that he’d want to, it just feels so serious. It had never occurred to him that being in love with his best friend was an option, because most of the time it isn’t. Every day the world changes, gets better, and Jeno realizes now more than ever that he understands why people fight so hard for things like love. Jeno would fight for this feeling of being adored by a beautiful boy, because that’s all he’s ever wanted.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Jaemin asks lightheartedly, his voice warm and pretty. Everything about Jaemin is pretty, from his disheveled black hair to the chain necklace dangling around his muscular neck. Even if Jeno is only now acknowledging it, he’s always known, and now that he’s opened that box it feels impossible to shut it.
“Like what?” LIke I love you?
Jeno doesn’t say it, but when Jaemin’s gaze softens further, he hopes that they both understand. It’s too early, even if Jaemin was a girl—which he inexorably is not. That realization hits Jeno all over again when sensation returns to his body, and he squirms when he feels the press of Jaemin’s boner against his hip bone.
Jaemin is still hard, because of course he is. Jeno hasn’t done a single thing to reciprocate their touching, and now seems like as good a time as any to barrel through his fear. The list of possibilities is simultaneously very short and endless, but there’s one thing that Jeno really wants to do, and before he can talk himself out of it, he’s preparing himself with a steadying breath.
Jeno reaches up for Jaemin’s shoulders, thankful that his question is entirely forgotten when Jeno uses the remainder of his strength to roll them over. Perhaps it’s easier because Jaemin poses zero resistence, but Jeno feels proud when he’s the one that settles between Jaemin’s open thighs, the sight before him absolutely fucking nuts.
The fascination with Jaemin’s body becomes incredibly clear to Jeno in the moments that follow, because he looks at Jaemin and sees a body he understands. It’s masculine, with striking shapes and straining muscles, all coming together to form his bewilderingly long limbs. Jaemin is fleshed out in exactly the way a comic book character would be, but he glows in the afternoon light, and his hair is sticking to his forehead with sweat.
Jaemin is perfect in absolutely every definition of the word, and Jeno knows he can’t lose his nerve now.
“Tell me if I do something you don’t like,” Jeno whispers in an echo of Jaemin’s earlier sentiment, feeling his own reply in the way Jaemin smiles into their chaste kiss.
Jeno can’t let himself be lost in indulgences this time, because the second Jaemin controls his mouth, he’ll be done for. His mouth has much bigger things to attend to—much longer, wetter things that need his immediate attention.
The weight of Jaemin’s stare is pointedly ignored when Jeno pulls back enough to scoot down the bed, bringing himself down onto his stomach and forearms. He’s gone down on a girl before, so he knows the basics of how to position himself, but he has to hold himself up a bit higher. It’s very obvious what he’s going to do, so Jeno tries not to think too much about it, reaching out with a shaky hand to wrap his fingers around Jaemin’s cock.
Jaemin’s body stiffens, the muscles in his thighs rippling as a soft groan escapes him without remorse. The sound slithers down Jeno’s spine, settling in his stomach, and he has to keep from getting distracted again.
“I’m… not all that sure how this works,” Jeno admits sheepishly, his already flushed cheeks feeling juxtoposingly cool as the air from the ceiling fan hits his skin. “But I really want to try.”
Swallowing his embarrassment, Jeno looks up at Jaemin through his lashes, his hand stroking him slowly to keep from chickening out. Jaemin’s head is propped up on some pillows, one hand gripping the sheets while the other lies spread against his stomach. It’s a view that could send Jeno straight to heaven, but he imagines they don’t do blow jobs there.
Blow jobs. He’s about to give Jaemin a blow job, if he can even bring himself to do it. The weight of Jaemin’s dick in his hand is safe at least, because he’s held his own plenty of times. Jeno can stroke it, and squeeze the way he would while trying to get himself off, but when he shuffles closer to taste, shame floods his system from the lack of knowing what else to do.
His tongue pokes out, but he quickly tucks it back into his mouth, looking up at Jaemin with a silent plea in his eye.
“You’ve seen girls do it before, right?” Jaemin asks despite knowing the answer, probably to keep Jeno from running away.
Jeno can’t even speak though, a weak nod of his head all that Jaemin gets in return.
“Well, it’s still the same. You want to keep your teeth away as much as possible, and just… do whatever feels good?”
Jaemin doesn’t even sound so sure of his own words, but that reassures Jeno in an ironic way, because at least he’s not alone in his trepidation. The fear doesn’t go away entirely though, because the issue isn’t necessarily knowing how to give a blow job. Jeno’s had a handful, all unmemorable and weird, but he gets the idea. The issue is in the fact that he doesn’t want this to be weird for Jaemin, because Jaemin made him feel so fucking good.
“I just… want it to be good for you too,” Jeno says in nearly a whisper, feeling more vulnerable now than he was when he was sprawled out and naked in front of Jaemin. “What if I’m bad at it?”
If there were ever a moment where Jaemin would have permission to laugh at Jeno, it’s probably now, but Jaemin does nothing of the sort. Instead, his hand that rests on his stomach reaches down just enough to comb through Jeno’s hair, reassuring him with a soft smile and his own uncertainty in his eyes.
“I want this too, Jeno. You can’t be bad at it because I’ll like anything you do,” Jaemin replies with soft scratch to Jeno’s nape, making Jeno want to melt into a puddle then and there. “Just do whatever feels good for you too.”
Despite his reservations, Jeno nods, because he knows that tasting Jaemin will make him feel good. It’s all he can think about, and when he begins to slowly stroke Jaemin’s cock once more, some of that fear is replaced with bleeding want.
Jeno wants this so badly it’s making him sick, because it shouldn’t be this hard. Everyone talks about sex, and friends discuss the right ways to treat their boyfriends or their girlfriends and everyone is always on the same page. Jeno’s friends would never know how to treat each other, or how to please another man in general. They’re both just guessing, going off of the feel of their own bodies and from whatever they’ve heard in whispers where they shouldn’t have been.
It’s annoying that such an amazing thing is always made such a dirty secret, but Jeno doesn’t feel dirty when he slowly wraps his lips around the head of Jaemin’s cock, tongue swirling to taste the droplets of precome that have begun coating his skin.
Jaemin’s body jolts with a gasp, the hand in Jeno’s hair tangling through the soft strands to keep him steady. Jeno hums in pleasure at the feeling, and he makes sure to tuck his teeth behind his lips as well as he can, going up and down as much as body will allow.
It’s fucking slow, and maybe a bit awkward, but Jeno doesn’t stop, the weight of Jaemin on his tongue like nothing he’s ever felt before. He tastes like salt and sweat, his skin soft and veiny againt the flesh of Jeno’s mouth. It’s another new experience, something to store away for later when the nights are long and Jeno wishes he were with Jaemin instead.
Those nights are usually spent with his hand in his shorts anyways, and perhaps Jeno has always been doomed to this fate.
“Fuck, that feels good,” Jaemin rasps with a light squeeze against Jeno’s scalp, the flex of his nails making pin pricks of pleasure erupt all over Jeno’s body. “Uhm, faster? Maybe? If you want? You don’t have to—I was just—oh… oh.”
Just as he’s asked, Jeno does go faster, bobbing his head up and down with a newly steady rhythm. It’s like riding a bike, in that now that Jeno’s gotten the hang of it, he can’t bring himself to stop, addicted to the sweet sounds that tumble past Jaemin’s lips like scripture. It’s an all encompassing feeling, one that starts in Jeno’s skull and travels down to his toes. He can’t believe this is really happening, but he’s so fucking grateful that it is.
Whatever Jeno can’t reach with his mouth, he pumps with his hand, the spit dribbling past his lips providing more than enough slide. Jaemin’s hips tremble beneath his touch, particularly intentional swipes of his tongue making Jaemin’s body nearly fly off the bed. It’s impossible that he’s already really good at this, but Jeno trusts Jaemin when he says that he’ll like it because it’s Jeno, because he feels that way too.
“Jen—I think I’m— fuck, I’m gonna come already.”
Somehow, Jeno whines around Jaemin’s dick in his mouth, nodding as if Jaemin needs the encouragement. Those words send the same shock throughout Jeno’s system as the ones that made him come, and he knows that he wants that for Jaemin too.
Hiking himself up just a bit more, Jeno bobs his head with a newfound determination, following the silent pulses that thrum off of Jaemin’s body when he does something he likes. They’re so in tune with each other that Jeno thinks he could probably hear Jaemin’s thoughts if he tried hard enough, but his mind is far away from here, brain numb with the disctint taste of Jaemin on his tongue.
It happens so suddenly that Jeno doesn’t have a chance to remind himself not to be startled, his body jolting when Jaemin’s hand tightens in his hair. He comes with a weak cry that resmebles Jeno’s name, thick ropes of release shooting into the back of Jeno’s throat. He swallows what he can, whimpering at the sting as the rest slides past his lips and down the length of Jaemin’s cock.
Unlike before, Jeno doesn’t have it in him to drag it out, pulling off with an awkward cough that sounds wet and gross. His eyes are teary and his nose feels stuffy, but Jeno is proud of himself, and he lets Jaemin manhandle him back up on the bed.
They fall together clumsily, their breathing still heavy even as Jaemin tries to use an old t-shirt on Jeno’s bed to wipe them clean. He even wipes the corners of Jeno’s mouth before kissing away the salty taste of his own release, and Jeno can’t help but smile.
The room settles into the same stillness as before, though the air has noticeably less weight, the silence not so scary. Jeno has gotten everything off his chest, and he feels weak-kneed in the best possible way. Jaemin cuddles into him like they've done such a thing a million times already, and Jeno wraps his arms around him without thought, just happy to have him close.
“We gotta motor if we wanna meet Chenle,” Jaemin murmurs with a roughness to his voice that Jeno feels against his ear, making his entire body break out into goosebumps despite being overheated. “I told him we’d show.”
Jeno hums with a weak nod of his head, nuzzling further into Jaemin’s neck for fear of breaking the moment. The sun has barely started to set, casting Jeno’s room in a faint orange glow that feels like a dream. The music from the kitchen still faintly hums down the hallway, and it’s only then that Jeno realizes his door is wide open.
It’s nice to not be scared of getting caught, or being worried that someone will know. Jeno was entirely in the moment, and he silently promises himself to not let fear take that away from him. The world is unforgiving, but he’s safe in his room with Jaemin in his arms.
“Your car or mine?” Jeno asks despite already knowing the answer, his insides coming alive with so much feeling when Jaemin grins into his neck.
“Mine, obviously.”
A small duet of laughter bubbles between them, and Jeno doesn’t even really know what’s so funny. He’s just… happy, so so happy, and nothing could ruin that for him.
Chenle will probably ask about the hickeys, and Jaemin will beam with pride when he makes up some fake girl that he caught Jeno with. It’ll be half truths and private lies, anything to keep the moment from spoiling, and Jeno will savor it for as long as he can.