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“Why can't you just ask for what you want?” Jihoon hisses.
There's a lot of possible answers to that. Soonyoung is shyer than people give him credit for, afraid of overstepping when he doesn't have the excuse of rolling cameras; Soonyoung likes games, the thrill of the hunt in either direction; Soonyoung likes making Jihoon break, his tempered exterior snapping and his caramel-rich desire spilling free.
Soonyoung can't say any of them, of course, because Jihoon is balls-deep in his mouth. His cock, thick and heavy, straining at the corners of Soonyoung's lips, pulses twice. He doesn't get this desperate a lot. Jihoon is so tightly controlled that sometimes he doesn't make a single sound while fucking Soonyoung. But there’s something about oral — or fooling around at work, or Soonyoung specifically — that really does it for him. Not just Jihoon, either— Soonyoung provokes him because he craves this rough, careless need that makes it clear that Jihoon's feelings for him are just as wild and untamed as his own are in return.
Jihoon is steady, unwavering, and sometimes you have to put yourself on a collision course in order to draw his attention. Sometimes you have to slowly take ground, prodding forward, poking with unfettered sincerity until he can't stop thinking about putting you in your place; until Soonyoung walks into Jihoon's studio and gets shoved up against the wall before he can say hello.
Soonyoung tries to swallow around Jihoon's dick and only feels his throat spasm weakly instead. Drool trickles out of one side of his mouth, his jaw forced open too wide to keep it from dripping down his chin.
“Fuck, Soonyoungie.”
Soonyoung hums happily in response. Jihoon doesn't use pet names; an affectionate version of Soonyoung's real name is as wrecked as Jihoon can get. There's a soft thunk above him as Jihoon leans his head back against the wall. Emboldened, Soonyoung hums again.
They've never labelled what they are to each other— Jihoon's interest in deeply expressing himself outside of music is nearly nonexistent. To Soonyoung, they don't need one. He knows this man as well as he knows himself; he knows that Jihoon doesn't do casual sex, that he can't tolerate the continued presence of people he doesn't feel totally comfortable with, and that he would chew Soonyoung out every time it happened if he truly minded being called jagiya or baby.
It's enough to make Soonyoung unreasonably smug, at times, which Seungkwan has informed him is insufferable.
Jihoon fists his hand in the hair at the crown of Soonyoung's head, dragging him off his cock. It hurts in the best way, a bright, lightning bolt flash of pain that settles into a buzzing warmth. His mouth lolls open. Their hands are about the same size, but everyone always underestimates Jihoon's grip strength. Everyone underestimates a lot about him. Soonyoung tries very hard not to.
“Well?” Jihoon says, coughing a laugh. The roughness of his voice feels exactly like winning to Soonyoung, even when nobody's gotten off yet.
Soonyoung laughs with him, wiping the spit off of his chin with the back of his hand, and then from his hand onto his pants. He swallows. “This is more fun.”
“You're crazy,” Jihoon says, the way most people would say You make me feel crazy. He thumbs along the curve of Soonyoung's lower lip for a long, sticky moment before his eyes dart away. His ears are florid, bright. He clears his throat, strips off his shirt, and settles back against the wall. He rakes his hair out of his face. His breathing has kicked up, nearly panting. He says, “Feel free to get more comfortable if you're too hot, too.”
Soonyoung beams. Afraid of being unpleasantly pressuring, Jihoon frames his desires as optional opportunities— only if you're interested.
“Thanks,” Soonyoung says, and sheds his tanktop without another word.
Jihoon looks at him, really looks at him, eyes raking up and down his body like he's never seen it before, like they don't work out together. Jihoon takes sips of other people— microdosing on their eye contact or sincere expressions or teasing. Outside of work, off-camera, he does not tend to stare. He's staring now. Jihoon's lips part, his tongue wetting them. The way he sticks his tongue out onstage is cheeky, but this is all syrupy instinct. Soonyoung lets his expression fall into seductive, making expert use of his sharp eyes and pouty lips. Jihoon sucks a deep breath in through his nose and feeds his cock back into Soonyoung's open mouth.
Jihoon smells like the same basic soap and shampoo blend he's been using for years— a combination of sensitive skin and lazy disinterest preventing him from branching out. Soonyoung finds it comforting in a way that's hard to explain; it's a sort of joyful familiarity, an Oh, it's you feeling. It makes him feel like Latte, of all things, his puppyish, unfettered adoration at the first sign of Jihoon nearby.
Jihoon’s hands are threaded in Soonyoung's hair again, gently guiding the tempo more than anything. He has, as anyone could guess, an impeccable sense of rhythm. Most people would lose that as soon as the heat turns up, but Jihoon is fucking stubborn. He likes to make it last. He likes to keep the pace steady for as long as possible, drawing it out and making himself ravenous.
Soonyoung looks up at him and Jihoon looks away, unable to bear the eye contact. His cheeks are blotchy with color, his ears blazing, his lips shiny. Sometimes Soonyoung thinks he's the hottest person he's ever seen— such a striking, pretty face with such a strong, solid body. The contrast and blend hits Soonyoung right under the ribs, destabilizing at the most unexpected times, even though they've been fooling around for so long he could pick Jihoon's chest out of a lineup in the dark.
Jihoon fucks forward and Soonyoung's gaze falls to watch the rolling muscles in his stomach. The nudge of Jihoon's cock in his throat makes Soonyoung's eyes flutter shut to better focus on keeping everything else loose and open. He savors every chance he has to be what Jihoon needs.
“Young,” Jihoon breathes his name like it's a delicate, precious thing.
I love you so much, Soonyoung thinks at him, and does his best to prove it.
“Soonyoungie, shit. Shit. Wait.”
Soonyoung pulls off. Swallows. Jihoon slithers down the wall sideways, knees buckling to deposit him on the studio's couch.
Jihoon is panting, his head bowed. He looks equal parts debauched and a little foolish with his spit-slick dick hanging out of his joggers. Soonyoung savors that, too. Jihoon doesn't let himself be disheveled in front of people if he can help it— he always wants to be in perfect control of what parts of him are available for consumption. It's impossible, of course, but that doesn't keep him from trying.
Unable to suppress his violent endearment, Soonyoung darts up to give Jihoon a peck on the cheek. When his eyes snap open, Soonyoung catches his lips. He's smiling too much to make it last, so Jihoon takes him by the chin, holding him close.
“Ya,” Jihoon says, his breath playing over Soonyoung's wet lips and an undertone of steel in his voice that makes Soonyoung shivery. “Don't you have a job to do?”
Soonyoung giggles, pecks him once more for the road, and gets back to it.
He always jumps at the chance to lavish attention on Jihoon, who tolerates it during sex in ways he doesn't otherwise. Tolerate is definitely the word for it: once Soonyoung has kissed and sucked down his shaft enough to make him dripping wet again, Jihoon's hand settles at the base of his skull, gently urging him down. Soonyoung hums, his eyes slip closed. He flattens his tongue to the underside of Jihoon's cock and lets him take control.
Nobody else, Soonyoung is sure of it, facefucks like Jihoon. He's careful and considerate without being hesitant, slowly checking Soonyoung's capabilities with easy, even thrusts that get steadily deeper before snapping his hips. Soonyoung's throat spasms— not quite choking, but enough to make Jihoon pause and stroke down his hair. Soonyoung gives Jihoon a thumbs up and hears a huff of suppressed laughter in return.
Soonyoung is no slouch, alright? His knees are going to give out way before his jaw or gag reflex.
He's halfway to being insulted by Jihoon's lack of confidence in him when he gets another sharp thrust that builds into a quick, hard rhythm. With his eyes closed, there's nothing for Soonyoung to think about except for how this feels. The easy slide of Jihoon's cock in his mouth, back and forth, would be meditative if it wasn't so arousing. It makes his lips buzz with overstimulation, his awareness caught and tossed between his mouth and the hand in his hair, sharp and fuzzy sensation equally demanding. The floor is solid and unforgiving under his knees, which means Jihoon is kind, comparatively, for easing up after a little to be sure that Soonyoung can breathe without distraction.
Soonyoung makes a valiant effort to swallow all of the spit welling in his mouth and mostly fails. He tries to imagine what Jihoon sees, wonders if he looks wrecked or zen or both. Wonders if it's normal to be so turned on by imagining yourself. He reaches between his legs, squeezing his aching cock through his pants to take the edge off. When his eyes wander up to Jihoon's face, he's smirking, just a little. Soonyoung would smile back if his mouth wasn't well and truly occupied.
Jihoon waits until Soonyoung is urging him deeper, fighting the hand in his hair to sink further down. He waits, drawing it out for both of them, and without warning his grip tightens enough to make Soonyoung's jaw drop further still and mercilessly fucks his face.
Whatever assistance Soonyoung was adding to the situation becomes extraneous: all he can do now is hold his mouth open to be used. Everything is wet, and fast, and Soonyoung can feel the throb of his heartbeat in his lips, his fingertips, his cock. His soft palate is beginning to feel a little bruised, which will be a nice reminder later.
It can be very difficult, at times, to determine what kind of help Jihoon might need— to say nothing of whether he wants any help in the first place. Being in a situation where his needs are clear and simple to cater to makes Soonyoung feel like sunlight.
He knows Jihoon is getting close when his mouth hangs open, flashes of his teeth visible even from the floor through eyes that are beginning to water.
Jihoon slams in deep and Soonyoung's nose is in his trim pubic hair, breathing in the scent of him. He pulses against Soonyoung's lips, spilling hot down his throat, and bitter blooms on the very back of his tongue. Jihoon's quiet, his hand so tight in Soonyoung's hair that he can't feel the protest of his knees. At the very end, Jihoon makes a single noise. Soft, sharp. Not even a grunt, just a caught breath bursting free.
Soonyoung really can't help but smile as he pulls off, ducking to swipe off his mouth on his shoulder before belatedly remembering he's not wearing a shirt and pouting.
Jihoon snorts. He flops back onto the couch. He laughs. Soonyoung watches his stomach quiver. Jihoon stretches, sighs, then wriggles to kick off his joggers, baring the whole of his body for Soonyoung's greedy eyes: you can look at me, if you want.
Soonyoung can't imagine a single situation where he'd pass that up.
“You're good at that,” Jihoon says to the ceiling, as if discussing any other skill.
Soonyoung presses his smile to the inside of Jihoon's knee. It's too knobbly to be comfortable, but that's okay. It's his skin, his body, him. “Thanks, Jihoonie.”
…He should probably do something about his own knees.
Soonyoung shifts, stretching both legs out with a grunt that diminishes into a sigh. They're getting older: it used to be a lot easier to stay on his knees for a while. Once his legs feel like they can bear his weight once more, he stands up to stretch out his back.
Jihoon watches him, lids heavy over his eyes. The flush of active arousal has faded, leaving his cheeks with a subtler, pretty warmth.
Always eager for attention, Soonyoung preens, tensing his core to show off his abs and stretching his arms up over his head to draw attention to his chest and shoulders. When he catches Jihoon's eye, he cocks one eyebrow. It's not like he's stopped being aroused, after all.
Jihoon snorts and throws an arm over his face. “Cuddle or go, but don't just stare at me.”
“Jagiya,” Soonyoung says, already grinning.
Jihoon's fingers slowly curl, tightening in the empty air.
“Jagiya, you were staring at me.”
“Wasn't,” Jihoon mutters, just to be a contrarian.
Soonyoung crawls on top of him, nuzzling under Jihoon's jaw to make him laugh and shove at his shoulder in token protest. Undaunted, Soonyoung kisses his throat, then his cheek, and then his further plans for meandering kisses are dismissed when Jihoon turns his face to catch Soonyoung's lips.
Jihoon takes kissing very seriously. It had been funny when they were younger, now Soonyoung is painfully charmed by it. If he had nothing else to go off of — if he'd never seen Jihoon give him fond glances out of the corner of his eye, if didn't have an open invitation to hang out in the studio, if they didn't shower together to wash off the post-concert buzz — he would still know exactly how much he cares just from the way Jihoon kisses him, because Jihoon doesn't bother doing something thoroughly if he doesn't.
This he cares about: he cups Soonyoung's cheek in his hand to hold him in place, lips moving together as easily as they've always moved together, no choreographer needed. Jihoon is the one to slip in tongue first. He often is. Sometimes Soonyoung holds back, just because the electricity of a smooth, dry kiss turning hot and wet is so thrilling. Especially now, when the contrast between Soonyoung slipping his knee up over Jihoon's thigh to better grind off against him and Jihoon's sleepy, post-orgasm lethargy feels like kindling catching fire. He can feel the warmth of Jihoon's body through his pants, and the way he tenses the muscle to give Soonyoung better friction. As lethargic as he gets after coming, Jihoon refuses to be unhelpful.
“Stop smiling so big,” he murmurs. “I want your lips, not your teeth.”
Soonyoung nips at him, then giggles. Jihoon sighs and does a terrible job pretending he doesn't like it. Now they're both smiling too much to kiss, so Soonyoung cuddles up to him instead, cheek on his solid shoulder. It's a little awkward, limbs not quite at a comfortable angle, so Jihoon rolls over to get them spooning.
Soonyoung eagerly plasters himself to Jihoon's back, always glad for a chance to feel Jihoon's ass in the cradle of his hips. He has a great ass, but hearing that makes him go red and blustery in a non-sexy way, so all of Soonyoung's appreciation has to be physical. It's not his fault that also means it isn't even a little subtle.
…Not that grinding your bulge against someone's ass can ever be subtle.
Jihoon arches away with a disgruntled noise. “Why is your belt buckle so cold?!”
Soonyoung figures that's as good a sign as any that he shouldn't be wearing pants right now.
He's vindicated when plastering his now naked body against Jihoon's back makes him hum. He's vindicated again when he loops his arm over Jihoon's side and Jihoon's hand slips into his own, easy as anything. Soonyoung smushes his smile into Jihoon's shoulder.
Jihoon had complimented Seokmin, once, on being so comfortable being openly emotional with Carat. I could never, he'd laughed. It's so many people. Emotion is wrenched from him regardless, sometimes, but he'll never be truly comfortable with it. There is a reason he's so eloquent in his lyrics: if it is going to be how the world sees his feelings, he has to make it perfect. He can't bear the scrutiny otherwise.
Jihoon's trust is the most precious thing Soonyoung has ever held.
Soonyoung squeezes his hand. Jihoon squeezes back. Soonyoung's hips hitch forward, despite himself, because he's a sap at heart and knowing how much Jihoon likes him really gets him going. It gets him a short exhale out of Jihoon's nose — he'd laugh if he wasn't so relaxed — but it also gets him the awkward jostling required to slot his cock between Jihoon's thighs. Without lube, he can't give in to the impulse to be as fast and rough as Jihoon had taken him. Sometimes it's nice to be forced to take his time, though, truly appreciating the broad strength of Jihoon's back against his chest and the way the head of his cock bumps Jihoon's balls at the top of every stroke.
“Jagiya, you have such nice thighs.”
He’s a little sorry he can't reach down to feel them up, given the hand-holding.
“Be quiet,” Jihoon mumbles. “I'm trying to sleep.”
From anyone else, that would be a harsh dismissal. From Jihoon, who nearly always sleeps alone, the sheer intimacy of it might as well be a love confession in the pouring rain.
Pleased, Soonyoung shuts up. When the affection inside him overflows, he speaks with squeezing hands and the barest rock of his hips, savoring the feeling of soft skin and thick muscle. Twice, Jihoon sighs, drowsy and content.
It's more than enough. So much more.