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Sometimes I kiss your eyes to see beyond what I can imagine.
Sometimes I think I can speak the language of unborn stars.
- Richard Jackson, After All This
It starts, as many things do, as an accident.
Rehearsal had gone well for once. Even now, after nearly six hours of dancing, everyone is still in high spirits. Exhausted, certainly, but happy. Taeyang is lying flat on his back on the floor under the stronger AC vent. Intak’s shirt was gone a long time ago, and he’s doing more cool-down stretches in the corner with Jongseob. Jiung’s sitting on the floor with a wet rag slung around his neck, sweat-sticky hair pushed out of his face as he scrolls mindlessly on his phone. Shota’s standing under the weaker AC vent, eyes closed against the sheer lighting.
Keeho himself is standing at the back, downing his third (fourth?) bottle of water. He’s refilled the full liter more times than he can count. Clearly he needs it, though, so he’s not complaining. He might complain about food, however, if nobody gets moving any time soon.
“What do you guys want for dinner?” Keeho’s voice carries easily across the quiet room.
”Meat!” Jongseob yells from the opposite end, letting go of Intak’s hand mid-calf stretch. Intak barely catches his balance.
Somebody else chimes in for dumplings, and then another for soup, and Keeho simply sighs and passes the phone around. They can order whatever they want. They all know it was a good rehearsal, the kind where it’s almost required to celebrate at the end. Keeho’s wallet won’t be struggling that terribly.
Intak picks his shirt back up from wherever he’d left it. Jiung carefully checks every spot on the wooden floor to make sure his rag hadn’t dripped anywhere. Taeyang collects various bags and jackets and hats and throws them to their owners. Jiung stretches so far above his head that his shirt rides up. Intak immediately jabs him in the stomach, palm dipping dangerously low in such a teasing way that Keeho feels the need to look elsewhere.
He’s the last one out the door anyway, tossing an arm over Shota’s shoulder like he always does. Shota leans a little bit into him like he always does, too. Keeho flicks the lights off as they leave, and then the hallway is dim. It’s always dim. Keeho shouldn’t be surprised, and yet somehow it continuously catches him off guard.
His arm is still around Shota’s shoulders. He watches as Jongseob goes in for a fanservice-y kiss, chasing Jiung so dramatically that Jiung actually runs into the wall. Everybody laughs obnoxiously, only growing louder when Intak points out how red the tips of Jiung’s ears are.
Keeho hasn’t practiced fan service in so long. It comes more naturally to him than it did for most everyone else, save for Taeyang and his acting skills. That, though, is the difference. This is acting for Taeyang, for all of them. It’s not acting for Keeho. He does, actually, kiss men recreationally, does far more than that when he gets the chance. He doesn’t need to practice kissing men. It’s more of a game to him than anything, a will-they-won’t-they that never actually ends in Keeho’s favor. He can press kisses to Taeyang’s cheeks all he wants. Taeyang will never actually want to reciprocate.
He doesn’t want to think about that, though. So he turns to the boy in his arms, leans in the same dramatic way Jongseob had just done. Except Shota doesn’t run like Jiung did, doesn’t move at all, actually, and Keeho’s kiss actually lands. It’s in the corner of Shota’s mouth, just under his nose, because Keeho wasn’t actually aiming. Shota blinks in surprise, gently raising an eyebrow in response.
”You missed.”
He says it so quietly that Keeho thinks he hallucinates it. Surely that can’t actually be what Shota said. Surely Keeho must be desperate enough to start being delusional.
Shota worms his way out from under Keeho’s arm, half-running, half-jumping to everyone else a few feet in front of them. He pounces on Jiung from behind, nearly toppling the both of them.
The back of Shota’s ears are red.
Keeho trips over his own feet and laughs it off like he’s tired. But he catches Shota’s eye right before they get in the van, and there’s something in there that Keeho doesn’t know how to read.
He doesn’t know what to do about that.
—
Keeho knocks on the other dorm’s door after dinner. He’d eaten his noodles in near silence, to the point where both Jiung and Intak had asked him if he was okay. He doesn’t tell them the thousands of thoughts running through his head. They wouldn’t really understand even if he had.
Taeyang lets him in with a toothbrush in his mouth. Jongseob’s on their ratty old couch, game controller in his hands and headset on. He briefly waves to Keeho over his shoulder, but he never once looks up. Shota’s nowhere to be seen, so Keeho lets himself into Shota’s bedroom.
As expected, he’s already there. He’s lying on the floor with his feet in the desk chair, Switch held precariously over his face. He looks at Keeho upside down when he comes in. He takes his feet out of the chair, somersaulting backwards, over his own head. He turns around on his knees, game screen paused.
“Hey,” Keeho settles uncomfortably on the floor next to him. “Whatcha playing?”
Shota scoots closer, forearms brushing. He holds the screen where Keeho can see it: Breath of the Wild. Keeho’s never played. He doesn’t usually want to, not when he could watch his friends actually be good at the game instead. He unpauses it, directing Link around through a dungeon.
He’s tense. Keeho hasn’t seen Shota be genuinely on edge around him in so long. It makes something in his chest ache. He’s got to just get it over with.
Keeho takes a long, deep breath. “So. I don’t really know how to ask this. And you don’t really have to answer me if you don’t want to.”
Link dies, killed by something in the dungeon. Keeho wasn’t paying attention. Clearly neither was Shota.
”Um. Earlier. When we were leaving rehearsal. The guys were messing around and, like, practicing fan service. Which is totally fine! But I realized I actually hadn’t done that in a while and figured I might as well join them. But, um, as I’m sure you remember…I accidentally did kiss you. And I’m sorry.”
If anything, Shota seems to tense up further. Keeho wasn’t expecting that. He can barely hear his own voice over the way his heart is pounding in his ears. “Um…also. I just…why didn’t you run? Usually the guys run when I try to do that.”
The tinny music plays quietly from the Switch speakers. Shota doesn’t really look up, but he’s been spinning Link in circles with the left joystick for a moment. He’s barely louder than the music when he responds, “I thought you were going to kiss me.”
Keeho blinks. That doesn’t actually answer his question. “Well, yeah, but like, for fanservice, you’re supposed to like…act disgusted, or something.” Keeho’s stomach churns. He knows Shota knows that already. That’s what happens outside of fanservice, half the time. Keeho will spend half his night in a club talking someone up just for them to run at the very end.
Link spins in circles faster. “I don’t want to do that.”
It clicks, somehow. Shota not running. The “you missed.” Not mentioning fanservice at all. Oh fuck. Keeho of all people should have been able to recognize those signs from miles away. He shifts, sitting in front of Shota instead of next to him.
“Shota. Did you want me to kiss you?”
Shota’s entire face flames. He’s looking anywhere but at Keeho. He’s nearly got a death grip on the console in his hands. Keeho knows he looks shocked, but, well, he is.
Once again, he of all people should have known.
”Oh.” It’s a breathless little noise. More of a huff of air than anything. It’s actually not often that somebody admits their attraction to Keeho with anything but their hands. He doesn’t really know what to do with that in normal situations, let alone one like this.
He reaches forward, not really trying to grab anything. It’s just that usually, when he’s stressed or uncomfortable, Shota likes to have something for his hands to do. The Switch can only do so much. Shota does take his hand, turns the Switch off and leaves it to the side. He studies each tendon in Keeho’s hand, each ridge of the knuckles.
He wonders if Shota would let him kiss him now. If he should leave. If he should call Taeyang in because he’s infinitely better at conversations like—
“Sorry,” Shota mumbles, and Keeho’s chest actually explodes.
“No!” He says all too quickly, far too loudly. Shota’s head snaps up, eyes wide with fear. “No. I, uh.” Keeho clears his throat. “It’s fine. Um. I’m just…surprised. Is all. I didn’t really expect that.”
Shota’s face squirms, working through more emotions than he can even express. He’s squeezing Keeho’s hand nearly painfully. Keeho’s heartbeat is erratic. “I’m not mad! I promise I’m not upset or anything. Seriously. I just…”
Keeho’s brain is mush. His own face is so warm he’s shocked his heart has any blood left to pump. Maybe it’s this complete lack of mental function that leads him to say his next words. “Do you still want me to kiss you?”
Keeho wants to throw himself down a flight of stairs. The look of pure shock on Shota’s face is enough to make him want to bury himself alive. Shota blinks at him over and over again. Keeho doesn’t know why he fucking said that.
The grip on Keeho’s hand loosens just the tiniest bit. “Um…”
Shota is bright red. His hands feel clammy and sweaty on Keeho’s own. Holy shit. He still can’t hold eye contact, although Keeho supposes that shouldn’t be surprising. He’s not very good at that in the first place.
”Are you sure?” They’re practically whispering at this point. Keeho’s going to explode if he doesn’t get an actual answer, so he takes the hand that isn’t being held in Shota’s death grip and lightly pats Shota’s cheek back towards him. He leaves it there, skin burning beneath his fingers. “I’m sorry, you have to look at me. Are you sure?”
Shota looks like he’s about to cry. He swallows hard, and Keeho watches the entire movement. When he looks at Shota again, there’s that dark cloud in his eyes that he’d seen earlier and not been able to name. Keeho’s pretty sure he can name it now. “Yeah.” Shota whispers the affirmation in English, and that’s really all Keeho needs before he leans in.
It’s going to be easier for both of them if he just gets it over with. The hand on Shota’s face helps, both with the angle and keeping Keeho from falling apart.
Keeho half-expects alarm bells to go off in his head when he presses their lips together. But they don’t. Instead, Shota’s lips are chapped and tight with anxiety. His whole face must be screwed up in fear. Keeho’s heart hurts again, and he’s whispering, “Relax,” against Shota’s lips before he even thinks about it. He gently rubs his thumb back and forth against Shota’s cheekbone, and it’s not even a moment later that Shota shakily exhales, making a conscious effort to do so.
And then it’s easy. He feels Shota’s eyes fall closed, impossibly long lashes brushing Keeho’s skin as they do. He presses their lips together again, and it’s more comfortable this time. It feels more like a kiss, feels wanted instead of feared. Shota lets him take control, unsurprisingly, but that’s a scary enough gesture on its own. Keeho doesn’t really want that, not in this situation. He can’t have all the control in a situation like this, or he fears he’ll do something he’ll regret.
Keeho pulls away. His brain is hazy enough. He’d rather make a run for it while he still has a mostly-clear head. Shota looks at him, actually looks at him for the first time all night. He doesn’t even look this intense on stage. Keeho’s stupid ass heart skips a beat, more flattered than anything to be on the receiving end of such a stare.
And then Shota wraps both hands around the back of Keeho’s neck and pulls. Keeho barely catches himself with a palm against the floor as his balance is shifted forward. He lets go of Shota’s face, catching himself on the opposite side as well, but it doesn’t seem to make any difference when Shota’s the one initiating this kiss.
Shit. Shota is slowly leaning back, further and further, taking Keeho down with him. He licks tentatively at the seam of Keeho’s lips, and Keeho feels his face flame all over again. Kissing him was one thing, but full-on actually making out with him is another. That’s clearly what Shota wants, but…
Shota licks again, far more nervous, and Keeho decides he doesn’t care. He parts his lips, granting permission that Shota eagerly takes. He doesn’t have any idea what he’s doing, to the point where he bites his own tongue and whines in the back of his throat about it. Keeho has to purposely ignore the pit of heat that settles in his stomach, because he’s not going to think about it at all.
It’s logical, actually, if Keeho thinks about it. He’s very clearly Shota’s first kiss, and probably his first crush on a guy. It’s cute. But more importantly, it’s safe. This industry is horrible enough to straight men. There’s absolutely no telling what atrocities could have awaited Shota if he’d tried to kiss a stranger. This is fine. Keeho’s not some fucking freak who would blackmail him about it, or make him do things he doesn’t want to do, or worse. If anything, Keeho’s probably one of Shota’s safest options for exploring with. Any of the members would be, really, but Keeho’s by far the most open about his attraction to men. Of course he’s the one Shota latches on to.
Then by God, Keeho’s going to make it worth his time. As long as Shota’s absolutely positive about what he wants, then Keeho will give it to him. He’s not naive. Taeyang’s complained about cum in the shower far too often for it to have been caused by just him and Jongseob. This is fine. It’s going to be fine.
They’ve already reached the floor. Keeho lowers himself onto his forearms, deepening the kiss of his own accord. Shota makes some kind of noise of surprise that goes straight into Keeho’s stomach. He ignores it again, because he’s not the focus here. Shota is the focus. Keeho’s doing this for him, for him to explore his sexuality in a safe environment.
Keeho sucks a breath through his nose as Shota tries to replicate what Keeho had just done to him, and it’s bad. It’s sloppy and messy and Shota painfully bites his tongue and Keeho doesn’t even care. One of Shota’s hands tangles in Keeho’s hair like a lifeline.
Keeho briefly considers asking him to pull it. Keeho’s not super sensitive to hair-pulling, not like a lot of guys are, but he’s always been a good actor.
Fuck. Is he crazy? He absolutely cannot ask Shota to pull his hair. It wouldn’t be fair of him to act, either, not when Shota has no idea of the power that perceived control could have on him. This isn’t some random hookup in the back of an Itaewon club, or in the Inkigayo bathrooms, or even a nameless trainee who knows he isn’t going to make it. This is Shota.
Shota shifts, whining into Keeho’s mouth. He’s pressing up against Keeho’s knee between his legs, and it hits Keeho all at once. Their position. Their location. Their circumstances.
Keeho shoots upright, sitting back on his heels. Shota is splayed out beneath him, face flushed, lips kiss-swollen. He’s unsurprisingly tenting his shorts. There’s a slowly-bruising mark beneath Shota’s jaw that Keeho doesn’t even remember leaving.
He lost control. Keeho’s heart sinks into his stomach. Oh no. Keeho stumbles backwards, shakily climbing to his feet. His legs scream, blood rushing back into his extremities. Fuck. Shota leans up on his elbows, hazy and more than a little confused. Keeho thinks he wants to throw up.
“Sorry,” He spits out. “I’m so sorry. Uh,” He coughs, trying desperately to ignore the disappointment on Shota’s face. He’s still got something important to say. He resists the urge to drag a hand down his face. “Um. If you ever want to do this again…you can. Haha. I just. I don’t—“
There’s no way to say this without sounding like a massive controlling loser, but Keeho says it anyway. “I don’t trust anyone else. They don’t know you like I do, and you—you don’t know them either, no matter what anybody says. So, um just—just promise me, okay? Promise you won’t do anything with anyone else.”
Shota screws up his face, sitting up fully. Keeho feels like such a dick. “Okay.”
It’s even. Shota doesn’t seem upset, or offended, or any of the natural reactions that Keeho had expected. Keeho doesn’t dare think he sounds excited, because that’d be ridiculous.
“Okay,” Keeho exhales. That’s one thing off his shoulders, at least. There’s probably nothing Shota can do to relieve the metric ton of guilt pressing down oppressively.
Keeho’s already opened the bedroom door when Shota calls out.
“Hyung.” Keeho turns. Shota’s got the Switch turned back on, minuscule Link running around in the dark. He’s still flushed, looking up at Keeho from across the room. “You’re so weird.”
Keeho huffs a single laugh. His shoulders fall a full few inches. “Thanks,” he replies drily.
They’re going to be fine. That was the most normal thing Shota could have possibly said. Shota’s not going to be weird about it at all. They’re fine.
Taeyang raises an eyebrow when Keeho walks past — Keeho had nearly forgotten that he also looks a bit disheveled. Taeyang doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t care to, not when Keeho’s otherwise visibly fine and nobody can be heard crying. Keeho doesn’t see Jongseob at all on his way out.
He leans against the front of the door in the hallway once he closes it. His own is directly across the hall. It’s been divided this way for years at this point. He’s not sure why his own room suddenly feels so far away.
—
Four nights later, Keeho is awakened by his bedroom door creaking open. Light from the hallway (read: the night light air freshener that Intak’s mother had given them) crawls across Keeho’s face, more startling than anything.
He groans as he rapidly blinks. There’s a figure in the doorway. It’s probably not either of his actual dorm mates, since those two would have simply yelled at the top of their lungs for anything.
Keeho sits up, checking the time on his phone. 00:33. Earlier than he’d expected, honestly. He hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep so soon. Fuck, that means he left the dishes for Jiung again. He’ll hear about that in the morning.
The person in the doorway steps inside, closing the door gently, and Keeho’s not surprised to see that it’s Shota. He’s been staring at Keeho even more often than he already had. Jongseob actually had to snap fingers in his face more than once, which Keeho graciously pretended he didn’t notice. They’re lucky they aren’t currently promoting or else the fancam footage would be embarrassing.
“You okay?” Shota doesn’t ever come in this dorm period unless there’s something wrong. Keeho can’t remember the last time he was in this bedroom at all. He’s not stupid, though: after the last time, there’s only one reason why Shota’s coming into his room at this time of night. Keeho wasn’t expecting it, sure, but it’s not really a surprise.
Shota doesn’t answer, sitting on the bed. He sits on Keeho’s shin, which he remedies by switching to all fours. Keeho watches, equal parts amused and nervous, as Shota hesitantly crawls his way up the bed until his face is parallel with Keeho’s own. He then reaches even farther forward, off the edge of the bed, and flicks on the desk lamp. It shines directly into Keeho’s eyes, and he curses as he squeezes his eyes shut.
“Sorry,” Shota laughs softly. He’s sitting in Keeho’s lap now, shifting his weight awkwardly just below the groin. Keeho can guess what he wants, but he’s still not going to do it until Shota asks for it.
”Warn a guy next time,” Keeho blinks, more or less adjusted to the change in lighting. He doesn’t know if he’s referring to the lamp or the lap sitting, but it doesn’t really matter. Shota’s not listening.
Shota kisses him. He’s got one hand on Keeho’s shoulder, palm against the collarbone, and one on the bed next to Keeho’s bicep. Keeho’s not entirely sure what to do with his own hands, where exactly Shota’s boundaries currently lie.
He chooses the safest option, settling his hands high on Shota’s waist, thumb brushing the underside of his ribs. Shota makes a noise in the back of his throat, rocking forward dangerously. Keeho pretends he can’t feel the way that Shota’s quickly hardening against him, like he was already halfway there before he even showed up.
Shota nips at him, and Keeho lets him in once again. It’s more experimental this time: Shota just wants to explore. He can probably map Keeho’s mouth by the back of his teeth by now. The hand from the bed moves to cup Keeho’s cheek instead, Shota’s weight pressing him into the mattress. Shota rubs gently across his cheekbone, a stark reminder of the first day, and Keeho gets a sinking feeling in his stomach before it even happens.
Shota’s fingers brush against Keeho’s bottom lip. Shota sits up, weight almost painfully pressed into the hand on Keeho’s shoulder. He taps Keeho’s lips apart under the guise of exploring, but his eyes are dark. It’s against his better judgment that Keeho lets it happen, that he allows Shota’s fingers to be near his mouth at all.
But they are, and Shota’s pressing his first two fingers against Keeho’s tongue, forcing him to swallow. Keeho doesn’t miss the way Shota’s dick jumps at it, either, and he throws that thought process out the window entirely. It’s only fair that Shota gets to figure out what he does and doesn’t like, and he wouldn’t have shoved fingers in Keeho’s mouth if he hadn’t previously thought about it. So, really, it’s for experimental reasons that Keeho closes his lips around the fingers in his mouth.
He feels Shota freeze, clearly not expecting it. He watches Shota’s entire torso heave when he sucks against them a moment later. A horrible mean part of Keeho wants to tease, wants to play with the digits like he would if they were going inside of him. That’s not happening, not tonight. But that doesn’t mean Keeho can’t give him a little taste, right?
He swirls his tongue around the fingers in his mouth, pulling off slowly with a wet pop. Shota whines lowly, a shiver going up his entire spine. He’s leaking through his shorts already, thighs flexing and relaxing as he tries to keep himself still. Keeho does feel kind of bad for him; that was pretty cruel of him to do.
Shota can’t meet his eyes; he isn’t even trying to. He’s staring very intently at the sliver of skin on Keeho’s stomach where his shirt has ridden up. Keeho thinks the hand he just had in his mouth is shaking. He clearly doesn’t know what to do from here.
So Keeho leans up, gently pulls Shota’s lips to his own once more. Shota follows him easily, leaning forward once again as Keeho relaxes back against his pillow. One of Shota’s hands snakes under Keeho’s shirt, light and hesitant and warm. He brushes his fingertips lightly against Keeho’s stomach, sending a wave of goosebumps across the skin.
“Go ahead,” Keeho says softly, most of the sound swallowed by Shota’s lips. “Do whatever you want.”
Shota exhales shakily against Keeho’s mouth, palm flattening against Keeho’s abdomen. He’s more intentional this time, exploring every inch of skin, trailing each divot and ridge of his abs. He squeezes at Keeho’s hip, adjusting his own sitting position farther into Keeho’s lap. Keeho wills his body to cooperate; he hasn’t fucked anyone in a month or two, so it’s nearly out of his control when he feels himself begin to harden. He knows Shota can feel it now, ass pressed nearly directly on top of his dick. He isn’t entirely sure if he wants Shota to feel it, no matter what the pit of heat in his stomach says.
Shota noses at Keeho’s jaw, and Keeho turns his head to give him more room. He doesn’t kiss him, instead simply trailing his nose along the skin, as if he’s sniffing. That’s very weird, even in Keeho’s book, but it’s harmless, so he doesn’t say anything. Shota’s other hand pushes Keeho’s shirt up, bunches it nearly at his armpit, and then he traces circles around both nipples at the same time.
Which wouldn’t be anything of note, if Shota’s other hand hadn’t still been spit-slick.
In his surprise, Keeho can’t stop the tiny noise that escapes his lips. He feels the skin raise, air freezing against the spot of wetness. He’d just assumed that Shota would have wiped his hand dry on the sheets.
Shota freezes again, but only for a moment. He latches his mouth to Keeho’s collarbone and grinds down hard a second later.
Keeho’s hands fly to his waist out of habit, and it takes two heaving breaths for his brain to catch up.
“Shota.” It’s meant to be a warning, but even to Keeho, it doesn’t sound like one. Shota responds by humming against his neck, grinding down once more, his hips rolling forward in Keeho’s grasp.
”Shota.” He tries again, hands sliding up and pushing lightly against Shota’s shoulders. Shota reluctantly sits up, dragging the back of his hand against his mouth. Keeho’s neck is cold with spit.
They stare at one another for a moment. Keeho takes him in: flushed, sweaty, blatantly turned on. He’s so hard in his shorts that it has to hurt, and Keeho briefly wonders if the grinding is more about Shota’s personal relief than his.
“You don’t—” Keeho suddenly can’t catch his breath. Shota’s weight on his cock feels so much heavier than a second ago. “You don’t have to worry about me. Just do what you want.”
Shota just blinks at him. His eyebrows scrunch for a fraction of a second, and if Keeho hadn’t been intently staring at him, he would have missed it. He holds Keeho’s gaze almost defiantly as he grinds down once more, almost tortuously slow. Fuck.
Keeho’s eyes almost roll back in his head when Shota keeps doing that, less controlled each time. He really couldn’t have predicted this, but Shota couldn’t be more clear about what he wants. “Are you sure?”
Shota once again doesn’t speak, but he grabs Keeho’s wrists and puts his hands on his ass. Shit. Okay, then. If that’s what Shota wants.
Keeho tentatively thrusts upwards in response, meeting Shota in the middle. His brain is screaming in protest, because this is Shota. Keeho has never once considered himself sexually attracted to him until this exact moment, and he’s still not sure if that’s purely situational. There’s a pretty boy in his lap desperate to get off, Keeho’s dick doesn’t care who it is.
Shota bites his own lip, grinding down at such an angle that their now equally-hard cocks brush together instead. Keeho supposes that’s as much of a response as he’s going to get, and forces his brain to shut off.
This he can do, and do well. He thrusts up as Shota grinds himself down, letting his hands wander on instinct. Shota’s ass is small, but not non-existent. Keeho squeezes and palms and rubs at it, almost too small in his hands. Shota’s mouth falls open, sucking in breaths as he continues to lose control over his frotting, body weight pressed into Keeho’s chest. Keeho’s hands slip down, sliding along the backside of Shota’s thighs. His fingers are so long that they reach the inside of Shota’s thighs, and a shudder runs through Shota’s entire body. He’s shaky on his next grind downwards, an overwhelmed gasp escaping from his lips.
He slides his hands up this time, fingers disappearing beneath Shota’s shirt as he squeezes Shota’s waist. Keeho’s hands aren’t nearly big enough to wrap around it, they both know that, but Shota’s whole body shakes anyway. Keeho digs his thumbs into the hip bone a little harder, like he would if Shota were actually riding him, and the shudder it sends up his spine is so intense that Shota actually makes noise. A little ah, just barely audible, but the only sound he’s made all night.
His hand flies up to cover his mouth almost immediately, like he’s ashamed, but Keeho snatches it back down. He pulls Shota himself down with it, slamming their lips together once more. His right hand slides back against the fabric of Shota’s shorts, all the way down the front. Keeho’s own erection hurts so badly, he can’t imagine how Shota’s must feel.
Keeho intends to offer the heel of his palm for him to grind on, but the second Keeho’s fingers brush against Shota’s cock, Shota whines into his mouth and comes. Shota himself seems a little surprised by this, awkwardly stilling as he soaks the front of his shorts. It’s warm against Keeho’s cock, which is not a sensation he thought he’d enjoy, but he’s so desperate to finish at this point that he doesn’t spare a second thought.
He tries to move Shota off of him, wants to jerk off as quickly as possible, but Shota beats him to it. He scoots backwards onto Keeho’s thighs, fabric of Keeho’s own shorts tugging at his cock so painfully he thinks he sees stars. His cock is free not a second later, cold air making Keeho’s entire body prickle. His stomach heaves with shock, and then Shota’s hand is wrapped around his cock and Keeho can’t breathe.
It’s messy and uncoordinated and arguably bad, and Keeho covers his face with both hands as he groans. It doesn’t take long at all before Keeho’s stomach tenses and he’s coming all over Shota’s hand. An embarrassingly short time, even.
Keeho can’t open his eyes. His hands seem like they’re shaking. He feels Shota’s weight shift forward again, definitely painful against his now spent cock, and then Shota’s gently rubbing at him with tissues. “Feels bad,” Shota mumbles. Of course that’s what Shota would focus on, as sensitive to textures as he is.
The incorrect positions almost make Keeho’s skin crawl. He should be the one cleaning them up right now, not Shota. Shota should be the one too far gone to function. Keeho should be the one taking care of Shota.
Shota flops down next to him a few moments later, wiggling until his cheek is pressed to Keeho’s chest. Keeho finally drops his hands from his face, arm falling to Shota’s waist. Shota hesitantly wraps an arm around Keeho’s midsection, rubbing the fabric of Keeho’s shirt between his fingers. He’s not even surprised that Shota is the type to cuddle afterwards, and besides, they’re cuddling like they always have. Well, save for the now-cold wet spot at the front of Shota’s shorts.
”I wanted to see it,” Shota murmurs, warm breath seeping through Keeho’s shirt. He’s already almost asleep.
”See what?” Keeho’s brain is too fried to put pieces together.
“Your face when you come,” Shota’s voice is barely audible, sleep pulling him hard.
Keeho, however, is suddenly wide awake. “What?” He yells, much louder than he meant to.
Keeho can’t pretend he didn’t hear it. He’s never going to be able to forget hearing it. His heartbeat pounds in his ears as looks down at Shota, too close to asleep on his chest. He’s not going to respond tonight, and chances are, he’ll be way too embarrassed tomorrow. Keeho’s going to be haunted by this for the rest of his life.
He exhales, long and slow. His heart still pounds in his chest, a thing he doesn’t quite understand. He tugs Shota closer even though the warmth is bordering on uncomfortable, and stares at the ceiling. He’s not going to be sleeping tonight.