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These are Jihoon’s favorite days.
A solid two weeks off and the dorms are sparse and quiet. The managers mostly leave them to their own devices and don’t wake them up since they don’t have schedules. Nobody will knock on his door and they’ll have to pretend they were already up so they don’t make anyone suspicious. No, we were awake, he wanted to borrow a sweatshirt. No, we were up, we wanted to go to the gym before the day started.
Jihoon can sleep in until the sunlight in his room goes gold and lazy. Until they’re almost overtired , groggy and slow. Lee Seokmin can be tangled up in him and naked in his bed, and not one person will question why he’s there.
It starts like this.
On days off, they drink. Seokmin got that glowy, drunken smile and nudged into him on the couch. He looked Jihoon dead in the eyes and trailed a finger down his chest and then giggled like his fingertip didn’t make it down to Jihoon’s navel, toying with the knotted strings at his waistband. He said hyungie thank you for letting me cuddle because even when he’s had six beers, he knows how much Jihoon hates to be touched. Always grateful, never lets Jihoon forget that he’s thankful that he’s the exception to the rule.
Jihoon spent the night fucking him slow and deep, and Seokmin wasn’t quiet because nobody else was in Jihoon’s dorm. He held Seokmin’s face into the pillow anyway, pressure on the back of his neck with one hand and the other hand on his ass to keep him spread open. Seokmin likes it when he’s rough. He said thank you into Jihoon’s pillow. Always grateful.
Seokmin likes to be held in his sleep. Jihoon likes to hold him. They kept their hands clasped as they drifted off, nestled beside Seokmin’s heart, and Jihoon kissed all the notches of his upper spine. His way of saying thank you. Thank you for letting me take what I want. Thank you for always giving.
The morning is silent except for the hum of the aircon, a little slot of sunlight forcing its way through the floor length curtains and intrusively illuminating the room. Jihoon is awake and he ignores the time on the clock, the position of the sun in the sky. They have time. He has time.
He watches Seokmin’s ribs come in and out of view with his steady breathing and listens to him gently snoring. His hair desperately needs to be re-dyed and there’s stubble on the edge of his jaw that had been prickling Jihoon all night. The lack of schedules means he doesn’t have to shave and there’s the dusting of body hair in all the places Jihoon misses it when it’s gone. On Seokmin’s forearms, on his chest and belly, in his armpits and on his legs.
Where he’s holding Jihoon’s hand to his chest is clammy with sweat, as is the whole of Jihoon’s chest pressed up against Seokmin’s back. Jihoon kisses the slope of Seokmin’s neck where it connects to his shoulder, absently licks the salty taste of Seokmin’s skin off his own lips. The peach fuzz hairs on the back of Seokmin’s neck stand on end.
Jihoon untangles his right hand from Seokmin’s fingers, watches Seokmin stir and resettle. Seokmin is notorious for kicking all the blankets off when he sleeps, which is fine. Jihoon has all the skin he could ever want to see. Seokmin’s long legs curved and bent at the knee, the planes of skin normally dented from clothing now smooth to the touch.
These are his favorite days.
He’s not Woozi, the person he’s touching isn’t DK. Seokmin is allowed to see Jihoon how he can be. How he can really be. Romantic to a fault. Sentimental to a fault. It’s not just something he hides because he’s adamant about keeping one damn thing to himself when his entire life is on display for millions of people to see. It’s not just a wall he builds between Jihoon and Woozi so the two never get to meet and exchange notes.
It’s because it’s too much. Emotions feel too big for his body. Like things are closing in on him. Like he’s falling into a well. Falling and falling until the light from the mouth of the well looks pin-prick small and there’s no way to climb out.
Seokmin is perceptive enough to know he has the capacity for it, though. The songs he said once. I can tell by the way you write songs . And it’s true. It’s safer in the music, where he can control it and break it off into sections for twelve other people to speak aloud.
But this . This makes the feelings too big for his body. This is impossible to write into a song.
He circles a finger around the highest point of Seokmin’s hip bone, follows the slope down towards his pelvis and back up again. He probably could never find the right words to say about the way Seokmin’s bones peak under his skin. He couldn’t possibly describe the cartilage of Seokmin’s ear bending under his mouth. He bites with his lips covering his teeth, the stud of Seokmin’s earring body-heat-warm against the tip of his tongue. He exhales until Seokmin shivers and his breath catches.
“Hyung?” Seokmin says. Most people’s voices get deeper in the morning, but not Seokmin’s. His voice is light and delicate, higher than the normal tone.
Jihoon doesn’t answer him. He lathes his tongue over the shell of Seokmin’s ear, drags his fingertips up over his belly until he hits the spot Seokmin is the most ticklish - just below the bottom of his ribs - and Seokmin wriggles. There’s a subtle, sticky sound of Seokmin’s mouth falling open, the wet noise of him licking his lips. Seokmin arches his back so his chest is presented and Jihoon smirks, trailing his fingertip against Seokmin’s sternum and under his pecs.
“Hyung,” Seokmin whispers again. Thicker this time, sloppy like the syllables are weights in his mouth, holding his tongue down.
Jihoon follows the indentation of muscle definition, runs the backs of his fingernails along the outer-edge of his pectoral muscle and near the divot below Seokmin’s shoulder, then back down to circle around Seokmin’s right nipple. He never touches it at the tip, but even three or four rotations has it budding up and Seokmin arching even more. Jihoon smiles against his ear and laughs through his nose.
“Good morning,” he says casually. “Are you awake?” One of his fingernails scrapes over Seokmin’s nipple and Seokmin makes a wounded noise in the back of his throat.
“Nn-nn. Sleepy,” Seokmin mumbles.
Jihoon leans up on his elbow and looks down at Seokmin. His eyes are closed, but his cheeks are rosy and his mouth is open. He doesn’t look quite awake, even though he’s responding.
“Do you want me to stop?” Jihoon asks.
Seokmin shakes his head against the pillow. He doesn’t open his eyes, even when Jihoon pinches his nipple and then lets it go just as quick.
“No,” he sighs. “Want you t-to…”
Jihoon hums and flicks his thumb across Seokmin’s right nipple as his fingers seek out the left. He follows the same routine. Circling, but never quite touching. Seokmin looks just as affected as if he was tugging on it.
“To what?” he asks.
Seokmin is never very good about asking for anything. He’ll get touchy and flirty and cute, but the second all those actions work in his favor, he recedes back into himself. Shy at heart, and always afraid that he’s being too greedy. Seokmin will be bold enough to grab his ass in public, but not bold enough to tell Jihoon what he wants after that.
Except here.
These are Jihoon’s favorite days.
Seokmin is on the precipice of sleep and forgets who he’s supposed to be. He forgets to be shy. He forgets he’s not supposed to be greedy.
“Want you to touch me,” Seokmin mutters.
“While you’re asleep?” Jihoon asks. He knows the answer. Seokmin has asked him for this before. Once. In a hotel room in Bangkok.
Seokmin nods. “Can’t stay awake, hyung. So tired.”
Jihoon kisses Seokmin’s cheekbone. Thank you . Always grateful.
He barely touches. Just the kiss of his fingertips on Seokmin’s skin, each rib, each patch of body hair. It’s the things he can’t find words for. Seokmin grants him permission like it’s obvious, like he already belongs to him, and it makes Jihoon feel like he’ll go insane if he tries to find a way to explain how it feels.
How it feels to have something messy inside you that everyone says is wrong. How it feels to want the wrong person. How it feels to have one of the most beautiful men in the country - in the world - say my body doesn’t belong to them, it belongs to you, do all the things you’ve been afraid to do .
Jihoon has always been proprietary. It’s why the sound of Seokmin’s breath evening out again has him getting hard against the back of Seokmin’s thigh. He keeps his fingers as steady as he can, making idle pathways through the hair between Seokmin’s belly button and the base of his cock. Seokmin is half-hard, too, despite being mostly back asleep.
That’s also something he can’t find words for. Somebody’s body responding to him like this. Seokmin’s body responding to him like this. Seokmin who is sensitive in every way possible. The way Jihoon barely has to touch him and Seokmin will turn to warm clay in his hands, pliant and malleable.
Jihoon ghosts his fingertips up and down Seokmin’s cock, catching on the crown. Featherlight touches that wouldn’t ever be enough for Jihoon to stay hard, but enough for Seokmin’s cock to only get harder under his hand. He drags his middle finger down below his balls, back up again, charting every inch of skin while Seokmin isn’t there to push his hand away and get timid about being touched like this, explored like this. He swirls his fingertip on his perineum until Seokmin arches and blinks awake again.
His eyelids flutter and his eyes don’t quite focus, but he tries his best to look back at Jihoon before he readjusts on the bed and pulls the pillow closer to his cheek. Jihoon watches him twitch, willingly helpless on the bed, and goes back to the gentle movements on his shaft. He lets the backs of his fingers provide more pressure, then takes that away to follow the underside of his cock with the pads of his fingers.
Seokmin is the only man he’s ever been with, but Jihoon is pretty certain that the amount of precome on the tip of Seokmin’s cock is unusual. Which is dizzying, how wet he gets. It drips on the bedsheet and Jihoon drags his palm over the head of his cock to gather it on his skin, groaning when he feels how wet Seokmin is from next to nothing in terms of attention and with him teetering in and out of sleep.
“Please,” Seokmin groans. His eyes are still closed and he doesn’t look like he’s all the way lucid, but he’s cognizant enough that his hips are starting to jump. Jihoon takes his palm away and replaces it with the tip of his thumb, pressing gently into the slit until more precome beads up under his thumbnail.
“Fuck,” Seokmin sighs.
These are Jihoon’s favorite days.
Seokmin doesn’t ever have a harsh word to say, even when he’s upset. But here, like this, he forgets to censor himself. Jihoon gets chills just from hearing this pretty, bright boy curse just because he can’t get enough pressure on his cock. He kisses Seokmin’s temple, noses against his hair and leans away to fumble for the lube on his nightstand.
He drizzles some of it on his palm, still wet with Seokmin’s precome. Seokmin fusses on the bed and only quiets when Jihoon finally wraps his hand around him and lightly squeezes the base.
“Hyung,” Seokmin whines. He opens his eyes again and still can’t focus, but that little slat of sunlight is hitting his irises just right to make them look a beautiful honey brown.
Jihoon stays propped up on his elbow, but snakes his arm underneath the pillow until he can lightly rest his fingertips against Seokmin’s throat. Uncharted territory, an impulse on Jihoon’s part. But, Seokmin gasps, hips twitching desperately.
“Choke me,” he breathes out, eyes closing again. “Please. Please, please.”
Jihoon curls his fingers until they cage Seokmin’s throat, thumb pressing against the back of his neck to get leverage. Seokmin sucks in a labored breath and tips his head back. His left hand flails midair until he finds Jihoon’s forearm and grips it hard.
“Hyung,” he says, voice tight from the way Jihoon is pressing against his Adam’s apple.
Jihoon is so hard it’s making him lightheaded. He grinds up against Seokmin’s lower back, glancing down to see the glint of precome against smearing against the dimple at the base of Seokmin’s spine. He bites down on his own lip until it hurts. Because this is about Seokmin. He wants this to be about Seokmin.
Seokmin gets impatient and starts fucking into the circle of his fingers. Which is almost better. Seokmin holding Jihoon’s forearm steady for his own pleasure, hips lazy and head too clouded to give it a semblance of rhythm.
There are no words for this. Seokmin’s eyes are closed and his tongue keeps peeking out between his lips, whining loud and pushing his head back into Jihoon’s shoulder as he chases his own orgasm with Jihoon’s hand standing proxy for his own.
“Pretty,” Jihoon says into Seokmin’s hair.
Seokmin knits up his eyebrows at the praise and Jihoon releases the pressure on his throat so he can breathe before baring down again. Seokmin’s back bows and Jihoon chases the friction against his cock.
“Want you,” Jihoon whispers. “Like this. All the time.” Honest in all the ways he’s afraid to be. He releases the pressure again and Seokmin gulps in a breath.
Seokmin pants, swallowing the spit collecting in the side of his cheek. “Hyung, I want…”
“Want what?”
“Want to come. Please let me come.”
Jihoon stutters out a breath. “You don’t...you don’t need my permission.”
Seokmin shakes his head, burying the side of his face into the pillow. “Want it though. Want your permission.”
More things that Jihoon hasn’t mapped. More things he won’t ever find words for. There’s a bloom of warmth in his chest, the bits of him that make him want to slap Seokmin’s hands away when he touches other people start to stir. Jihoon closes his fingers on Seokmin’s throat again.
“Come.” He tests out the taste of the words on his tongue before he says them. “Fuck my hand and come.” His voice comes out too hoarse. Not authoritative enough to sound right. He feels like he’s been shaken loose in only the way Seokmin knows how to. Always surprising him. He’s never been so hard in his life.
Seokmin’s fingernails dig into his forearm and Jihoon is worried he might draw blood. “Thank you,” Seokmin says. Always grateful.
It doesn’t take much more for Seokmin to find the right rhythm. Jihoon just watches his abs activate, his hips kick up. The room is so quiet that the wet sounds of Seokmin’s cock gliding through the circle of his fingers sounds loud and sharp.
When Seokmin gets close to coming he gets so loud . Usually they have to be so careful, but Seokmin is making so much noise it starts to echo. He moans high, spiraling up and up and up, and Jihoon makes a point to squeeze his throat the tightest then, right when he’s sure he’s about to come. Then Seokmin’s entire body goes rigid, and he goes quiet, and there’s a few brief moments where he’s only breathing in and doesn’t exhale until he comes all over Jihoon’s bed sheets, hips snapping hard up against the side of Jihoon’s fist.
Jihoon’s shoulder gives out from being propped up for so long. He collapses on himself, hand on Seokmin’s throat going limp and forehead buried into the back of Seokmin’s neck. Seokmin takes a moment to come back into himself, but when he does he’s immediately squirming around until he’s turned and facing Jihoon, big, dazed smile on his face.
“Good?” Jihoon pants. He searches Seokmin’s eyes, feeling slightly unsure of himself. Seokmin just let him choke him, let him dictate when he got to come. The last thing he wants to do is push Seokmin too far.
“Yes,” Seokmin laughs softly. He grabs Jihoon’s hand, still messy with come, and brings it to his lips. His eyes flick up for a brief second before he licks Jihoon’s middle finger.
Jihoon gapes. “Seo-” His voice is all wrong, so he tries again. “What are you doing?”
Seokmin sucks Jihoon’s fore and middle fingers into his mouth, drags them out of his mouth until the digits are clean and sheened with spit. “Oh my god,” Jihoon groans, watching Seokmin lick his fingers and palm clean of his own come until he’s satisfied.
The tips of Seokmin’s ears go pink. Like he’s remembered he’s supposed to be shy and timid and not ask for too much.
“Come here,” Jihoon says. He grabs Seokmin by the chin and kisses him with more tongue than anything else.
These are Jihoon’s favorite days.
Seokmin sucks his cock and it’s Jihoon’s turn to feel tired. He comes so fast and so hard that Seokmin barely has to do any work. Which makes Seokmin look all pleased and happy, his eyes still catching the sunlight when he looks up at Jihoon and strokes him through the aftershocks. Jihoon cups his cheek and kisses him sweet and slow, grumbles when Seokmin pulls away.
Jihoon falls back asleep until Seokmin wakes him up to come eat. They eat in silence and they shower together in silence and they change the bedsheets in silence. There are no words for that. Jihoon likes the way two people can share a space and not have to fill all the gaps with small talk, things they don’t mean. It’s taken a long time for Seokmin to be comfortable with it. Seokmin is always talking.
Jihoon stands on his tiptoes and pushes Seokmin’s damp hair off his forehead while he’s changing a pillowcase. His way of saying thank you. Thank you for adapting to me, I know I’m difficult.
Seokmin pulls him into bed so they’re face to face. His hand is on the stubble on Seokmin’s cheek and he has to physically push Seokmin away so Seokmin will stop kissing him long enough for Jihoon to fall asleep. Seokmin laughs and Jihoon drifts off trying to hide his smile.