Chapter Text
It's roughly three years after Chenle kisses Kun for the first time that he comes to terms with how cyclical it all is. Tide kisses shore with its foamy lips, and pulls away just as abruptly, but by the miraculous phenomenon that keeps the moon orbiting the earth, it is compelled to return.
And so it does.
xXx
The first thing Kun registered when he picked up the phone was the hiccuping, wet sound of Chenle’s breathing. He'd been crying. He still was. “Gē,” He said. “Can you–”
Kun kept his ear pressed to his phone, holding his breath while Chenle tried to sputter through his request. He listened hard, tried to dig for anything past the surface level frustration and hurt that Chenle clearly felt, but nothing poked through. Kun’s heart tightened in his chest, worried.
“Can you come over?” Between sniffles, Chenle choked out the request.
“What's wrong?” Kun asked. He tried to keep his voice measured, even, despite the way his stomach twisted, and further tamped down the urge to find out who exactly caused this. “Are you okay?”
“Doesn't matter, just–” Chenle's voice remained thick with tears, even as he paused and took a deep breath. However rare it was for Chenle to let those fall to begin with, Kun easily pictured in his mind the way Chenle stared at the ceiling, how he tried to even his breathing and keep himself together. His Lele. His baby, ever hiding behind a facade of feigned maturity that wore Chenle down more than he ever let on.
“I’m not hurt. I just–” He just. Kun tossed the word in his mind back and forth until it softened and stretched like taffy to get stuck in his molars, almost sickeningly sweet. Just, as if Chenle wouldn't stack a tall order for him. As if it made any difference.
Kun couldn't say no to him. He wouldn't, even if he wanted to.
“I'm on my way, angel. Just hold tight.”
Chenle needed him there, and so Kun was.
One blurry cab share app ride later, Kun showed up at Chenle’s doorstep. He was buzzed into the building and before he could even knock on the door, Chenle stood before him. Wordlessly, with a permission earned, Kun stepped into his space. He cupped Chenle’s face, swiping the tear tracks off of his face with his thumbs. Kun tried to speak, even let out a few pathetic sounds that were the beginning of words that never made it–all of them fell off of his tongue short and unnecessary. Chenle gripped Kun’s wrist and leaned into his touch, letting out a quiet sob that hunched his body forward in its release.
He never did tell Kun what was wrong. Kun made it past the threshold of Chenle’s apartment and let himself be walked to the couch, where Chenle pulled Kun's arms around him and hid his face in Kun's shoulder. Kun asked him again. Gently, he tried to crack Chenle open, but was only met with resistance, likely fortified by the embarrassment Chenle already felt. Embarrassment Chenle would not outright claim, but the pink of his cheeks spread beyond the splotchiness of fallen tears, and his head turned up at the question, indignant.
Kun soothed him the best he could. He sank into the couch cushions. Pulled Chenle into him. Kun Stroked his rumpled, dirty hair, cooed soft things into the crown of his head, and let his thoughts grow more anxious, wanting to find a solution. Wanting Chenle to be okay. Kun remembered what it was like, at Chenle’s age, to feel so much, so strongly, with limited means to express it.
“Did you talk to anyone about it at all?” Kun tried again, after a bout of silence. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, fat and clumsy. “Taeyongie? What about your Mark-hyung?”
Chenle’s head whipped up from the place he's been resting on Kun’s chest. His red eyes narrowed, like Kun had insulted him.
“I’m not talking to him about anything.”
Kun blinked. He nodded. Alright. Message received. At least it gave Kun an inkling of an idea of where the problem lay.
Kun opened his mouth to speak again, to quickly change the subject to try and lighten the heart of the boy in his lap with drying tears in his face, but stopped short, having noticed Chenle watching him intently. There was a palpable shift, the air suddenly so thick that Kun struggled as he took a slow, deep breath in. Chenle’s eyes locked on his, save for the brief moments he stole a glance at Kun’s mouth.
He inched forward, leaning in.
Kun sat up straighter. Chenle blinked at Kun and tilted his head, like Kun was the pretty, shiny thing out on display. His eyes wide, manic. In response, Kun’s breathing went shallow.
“Angel,” He said slowly. He tried for a tone of warning but as he fell short, it came out breathless. Still, Kun didn't back away.
“Pretty…” Chenle mumbled, leaning in closer still. “Kun-gē, can I–”
His plush lips pushed against Kun’s almost frantically, with no finesse. Kun knew this wasn't his first kiss–Chenle had confided in him before–but Kun knew then that in terms of practice, Chenle had very little. Without thinking, without considering the consequences or letting the shockwave of surprise jerk him from Chenle’s touch, Kun coaxed him into slower movements with a gentle hand on Chenle’s cheek. Better. He met Chenle’s kiss with the soft pressure of his own, his parted mouth slotted over Chenle's bottom lip as he sucked on it once, so gently.
Chenle made a soft, pleased sound, and shifted enough that the most gentle press of his body snapped Kun back to reality.
He pulled away with a sharp gasp. “Chenle…”
Chenle studied his features for a moment and knowingly marked what Kun had written over his face. Shame. Fear. Regret.
“Lele, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have–”
“Fuck,” Chenle swore. He stared up at the ceiling. His eyes welled with tears once more, and Kun's heart sank like a rock.
Kun reached out to Chenle hesitantly. He wasn't surprised when it was swatted away, but still whispered, “Chenle, please–”
“Fuck!” Chenle said again, this time more frustrated.
“It was my fault. I didn't stop you. I'm sorry, baobei,” Kun cooed. His voice wavered but still, he worked hard to keep his himself level. Comforting, if he could, as to not scare Chenle, or let himself drown. Immediately, he was met with Chenle’s hard stare.
“Don't call me that,” he seethed. Tears rolled down his cheeks again. The lump in Kun’s throat thickened. He felt like he'd be sick. He stared at the floor.
“I'm not a kid, you know.”
Chenle waited for a response. Kun counted the lines in the hardwood floors.
“It's not that–” Kun tried. “It's just–”
“You know what? Whatever. You can let yourself out.”
Kun looked up in time to see Chenle march to his bedroom and slam the door behind him.
“Fuck.”
Pitifully, the word slipped from Kun’s mouth this time, mumbled into the spoiled space where Chenle once was. On wobbling knees, vision blurry, Kun stood up from the couch. He looked back once at Chenle’s closed door, and made sure to lock up the apartment door as he left.
xXx
Time passed.
Save for a month long period where Chenle couldn't stand to breathe in the same air as Kun, he never stopped showing interest. For the former, Kun never blamed him. The latter…The latter, Kun is still coming to terms with.
Volatility and a facade of maturity shifted into something more sure, more solid that Chenle wore proudly. Confident. He grew tall, lean and handsome, though his cheeks retained a softness that Kun could still pinch between his fingers. Soft touches lingered. Eyes met across rooms and small smiles were shared. Tonally, Kun registered that he was giving back to Chenle just what was dished out to him, wrapped in sweet words, pet names, and sly innuendo.
Kun allows himself grace and permission that, in a similar situation, he would not grant others.
Most times, even Ten looked at Kun like he wasn't so sure about this.
The Holiday plays on Chenle’s television, providing most of the lighting in the room. The rest comes from the kitchen light, perpetually on in Chenle’s home–Kun mentioned it to him once but was waved off with a hand much too casual for the way Chenle mumbled earnestly about the heart of the home. Chenle takes Kun's wine glass from his hand and sets it down on the coffee table, leaning in to kiss him–but even that was so long ago that Kun no longer felt the light buzz in his body that made him so bold as to kiss Chenle back.
Now, Kun presses his lips down the slope of Chenle's shoulder. Every time Chenle's fingers twitch or his inhale comes a little sharper, Kun is sure to kiss him there again. Harder. Nipping. Soothing with his tongue, soaking in how easily Chenle gives in to pleasure.
"You taste," Kun breathes, tugging Chenle closer to him. He's practically seated in Kun's lap now. "divine."
Kun is pleased, hearing Chenle chuckle at the sentiment. "You're being embarrassing," Chenle laughs. In retaliation, Kun digs his fingers into Chenle's sides and bites down sharply on his collarbone.
Instead of the squeal, the high pitched laugh and complaint Kun expects to hear, Chenle's head falls back and he moans. His back arches, pressing his crotch against Kun's thigh.
He's hard. Kun blanches, but doesn't back down. He bites down again, but the blow of what Chenle sounds like when he's turned on does not land any softer.
"That feels good," Chenle mumbles, rolling his hips again. His eyes go heavy lidded, his lips part, and Kun watches Chenle melt into liquid gold in his lap. He keeps up the slow, heavy grind against Kun’s thigh, just barely, and looks Kun directly in the eye. "Do you like it too?"
Chenle likes this. Chenle is sitting in Kun's lap, holding himself back from rutting against Kun's leg like a dog in heat, and he likes this. Kun is the first person to see Chenle like this, the first to draw these sounds and admissions from his pouty lips, and Chenle has been so good. He has done so well, breathing in Kun like he always has, molding Kun to his every want and whim. He's blossomed for Kun like a flower, the petals of his body unfurling as if Kun was made up of the sunlight Chenle turns towards.
Kun's ears ring with pleasure and he nods before he takes Chenle's chin between his fingers and pulls him down for another kiss. It's short. Chenle pulls away before Kun can taste the sin on his tongue, leaning in until their foreheads are pressed together. A hand trails down from its place on Kun's shoulder and toys with the stiff waistband of Kun's trousers.
"Kun gē, let me touch you. Show me how."
Kun's stomach drops in arousal. In dread. Chenle's fingers touch feather light over the crotch of Kun's pants and he keeps looking at Kun, glancing between Kun's wide eyes and his parted lips and the growing bulge he's curled his fingers around. Kun has never seen Chenle like this before, he realizes--debauchery notwithstanding, underlying is uncertainty, a clumsiness to Chenle's touch and split-second hesitance to his movements. He won't ask, but Kun knows--of course he knows--that Chenle wants to get this right. He wants to do good. He wants to make Kun feel good, and he wants Kun to teach him how.
Kun lays his hand, barely trembling, over Chenle's. Chenle gasps and Kun whimpers at the combined pressure of their hands, the folding of Chenle's fingers over Kun's cock through layers of fabric.
Chenle manages to thumb right against Kun's cockhead, through all the layers. Kun twitches under the touch. Chenle's breath hitches.
"Please," Chenle whispers. His voice is so soft.
Kun relents. He swats Chenle's hand away and lifts his hips to shove his trousers and briefs down. Before they make it more than halfway down his thighs, Chenle is on top of him again, clambering into Kun's lap.
Chenle still won't look him in the eye. Kun is thankful. He keeps his gaze downturned, watching his own delicate fingers trace a vein running down Kun's shaft.
This is the worst thing Kun has ever done.
"Show me," Chenle presses. He takes Kun's hand, mimicking their earlier position, only this time Kun revels in the hot, soft feeling of skin on skin. He notices how, clothed, Chenle's hands still shook but it's almost as if it were muted. Now, his hand shakes so minutely it's almost a vibration, wrought from nerves, arousal, and rare shyness.
"Baobei," Kun breathes. He laces his fingers with Chenle's, brings them up, up to Kun's chest where he presses the back of Chenle's hand, knowing the younger will feel his heartbeat. "Angel. Look at me."
Chenle shivers at the sweetness in his gē's voice. He lifts his head almost defiantly, as if he were arguing with himself, and looks at Kun like it's a challenge. It instantly melts into something soft when Kun brushes their noses together, and leans up to press his lips between Chenle's eyebrows.
"We can go slow," Kun reminds him. He kisses Chenle's knuckles. He squeezes Chenle's hand. "Whatever you want. If you're not--"
"I'm ready." Chenle's voice bleeds into exasperation. The tops of his cheeks are bright pink, his eyes wild. He takes Kun's cock into his hand and gives it a few slow, well meaning pumps that have Kun squirming hard and panting harshly. "Don't you want me, Kun gē?"
How is Kun supposed to answer that? What is he supposed to say? Lust and shame melt molten and are brought together in Kun's stomach. Chenle watches him expectantly and Kun knows better than to play dumb. He'd done it once before, resulting in a smack to the back of the head that made his ears ring.
"I do," Kun sighs.
Chenle gives Kun's cock a few more cursory strokes. "Tell me."
"Huh?" Kun's worldview topples, and as he crumbles, Chenle remains steady, strong.
"Tell me you want me, gē."
Kun goes so bright red he must nearly turn purple in hue. Chenle doesn't stop touching him, stroking him in tentative, too-tight flicks of his wrist with no sense of rhythm. Kun has never been more turned on in his life, leaking down his shaft and under Chenle’s fingers.
He swallows hard. Chenle watches the bob of his adam's apple. “I want you,” he concedes. A lamb bringing himself to slaughter.
Chenle smiles, triumphant, though Kun briefly clocks it as sheepish. It's something he didn't already know. Kun opens his mouth, unsure what he'll say but pulling something together nonetheless–it’s caught on a moan that's ripped from his throat, his whole body flashing white hot. Chenle's done something with his wrist, something he keeps doing on every other steady paced pump he gives. Just for a moment, all that shyness is gone. Kun recognizes the look on Chenle's face as smug, something that is plain on his face when he knows he has the upper hand.
Chenle is freshly 20 the first time he touches Kun. The first time he touches anyone. Chenle sits fully clothed in Kun's lap and brings him over the edge with an unsteady hand, fiddling with the material of Kun’s unbuttoned dress shirt with the fingers that aren't busy. Kun quakes underneath him, making a mess into both of their clothes, then returns the favor. He keeps his head tucked into Chenle’s shoulder, feeling the movement of his chest rising and falling fast as he tries to suck in breath after ragged breath. Kun can't look him in the eye. He listens to Chenle's heart race instead, kisses the pulse point below Chenle’s ear and learns that when Chenle is close, his body tenses, his hands scramble to hold on to something. They find Kun–one right in his hair and the other digging the shape of crescent moons into his shoulder, and Chenle spills into his hand with a string of desperate, stunted whines with swears and Kun's name littered in between.
In the aftermath, Chenle is just as beautiful as he was during. Just as he was before. He molds himself to Kun, smearing their come together and into both of their clothing as he grins, flush still high on his cheeks.
“That was…” Chenle trails off and laughs softly to himself. Kun feels fond, remembering the strange rush that ran through him after his first time, the complete satiation being brought by something other than his own hand.
Beneath that fondness, guilt rears its ugly head. Kun doesn't acknowledge it. Chenle presses his soft body against Kun's, chuckling again, and Kun forces a smile. His stomach sours. He'd never blame that on Chenle–he wouldn't even call it regret. It is the realization that he'd do it again. And again.
“Did you enjoy yourself?” Kun asks. If Chenle hears his voice wavering, he grants Kun grace for the first time and pretends not to notice.
Chenle nods. His lips stay pressed together in a smile, showing off the soft whiskery lines on his face. Kun resists the urge to trace them with his fingers, instead squeezing Chenle’s hip.
A comfortable silence follows, one in which Chenle kisses Kun without any hesitation just before he climbs out of his lap, leaving Kun alone on the couch without a word.
It's so quiet. Daegal was put to bed hours ago, and where Kun could normally hear the pitter patter of her nails on the flooring, now he can only hear his own shallow breathing. Kun folds his hands over his chest. He stares at the walls of Chenle’s living room, and of the things mounted onto it. Some fanmade Avengers print. A Steph Curry poster. Various photos of Chenle with his family, or members of dream. To the left of the television is a framed copy of a selfie Kun took of the two of them, however many years ago. Though Kun’s gut stirs, his mouth still twitches up into a small smile.
Chenle was his baby, once.
Kun tells Chenle as much when he walks back into the room, changed into a loose-fitting tee and fresh basketball shorts.
Chenle cocks his head to the side and smiles warmly. “I still am,” he says, tossing a damp washcloth onto Kun’s stomach, and a pair of sweats next to him. “Right?”
Kun inhales deeply through his nose and, instead of answering, hastily wiping off his torso. He cringes, never used to the feeling of scrubbing dried spunk off of himself. He pauses, then looks up at Chenle questioningly.
“I won't fit into your sweats, will I?”
“They're Mark’s,” Chenle says easily. “He keeps leaving shit over here. Just bring them back, okay? He’ll want them back eventually.”
A pang of jealousy strikes Kun directly in the chest, but he feigns nonchalance. “Sure,” he says. “Yeah. That's fine.”
Once Kun cleans himself off, stripping off his dress shirt and changing into the sweats (they're just slightly too big over Kun’s ass, at which he suppresses a jealous scowl), Chenle crawls back into his lap. One hand tickles the hairs at the nape of Kun’s neck, the other stroking Kun’s jaw. He leans in like he’ll kiss Kun again but stops just shy, even backs away just slightly, smirking at the way Kun instinctively leaned in too.
“I liked this,” Chenle says. It's a quiet admission. Too sincere for Kun’s liking. “It was fun. You're fun.”
Kun wets his lips with his tongue and takes a few more measured breaths. The fabric of Chenle’s tshirt is so soft against Kun’s bare skin, and heat radiates off of the younger, keeping Kun from catching a chill.
He feels like a toy, played with.
At least he's being put away nicely.
“Can we do this again?” Chenle asks. He rewards Kun’s patience by placing the smallest kiss on Kun’s lower lip. “Can we…can we do more?”
The answer leaves Kun before he can think about it. Even if he did, he's not sure it would have changed.
“Of course, baobei. Whatever you want. I’m yours.”
“Good. Now let's eat,” Chenle says. His smile is genuine. “I'm fucking starving now.”
Kun sighs into the next kiss Chenle lays on him. Chenle's tongue dips into his mouth, heavenly, and Kun knows that he is damned.