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Entry tags:
[FIC]: interlude.
interlude, nc-17, kai/d.o.
who makes you feel the way that i make you feel.
but listen and think when i say it
oh but listen and think when i say it
who makes you feel the way that i make you feel
who loves you and knows you the way i do
who touches you and holds you quite like i do
who makes you feel like i make you feel
dido, "who makes you feel"
IINTERLUDE
kai/d.o
Kyungsoo comes into the bathroom while Jongin is showering and takes a seat on the counter. Through the frosted glass of the shower stall, Jongin can see the outline of him, with his fingers curled against the edge of the sink and his legs swinging back and forth, toes nowhere close to touching the ground. They’ve been doing this for a while, now. Kyungsoo comes into the bathroom, sometimes, when he’s looking for something that he doesn’t know the words to ask for, when he gets a little overwhelmed and needs someone else to hold him up for a moment—and Jongin perfected that art a long, long time ago.
“What’s up?” he asks, closing his eyes and tilting his head back into the shower spray. His shampoo smells like mangoes—sometimes, Jongin catches that scent on Kyungsoo, even though Kyungsoo has his own shampoo, which smells very distinctly of soap.
Even with his eyes closed, Jongin can envision the way Kyungsoo chews his lower lip and shrugs a little. They both know what this means, Kyungsoo’s presence here, but Kyungsoo isn’t always ready to acknowledge it and Jongin doesn’t push. It’s a little like coaxing a startled animal, Jongin thinks. Patience and slow movements. “Hiding out,” Kyungsoo says, his voice cheerful as always but threaded through with something else, heavier. “It’s okay, right?”
“You know it is.” Jongin rinses the last of the suds from his hair and straightens up, pushing the wet strands back out of his face. He presses his palm against the glass of the door and taps his fingers against it, drumming a little rhythm. “Are you coming in?”
They do this every time. Kyungsoo hedges, and Jongin pushes, a little at a time, until Kyungsoo sheds his clothes and steps into the shower with Jongin. Do Kyungsoo and Kim Jongin, leaders of the EXO Water Conservation Effort. “Is there room for two?” Kyungsoo asks, like he always does, but Jongin is watching as Kyungsoo slides off the counter and pulls his shirt up over his head.
“The shower hasn’t gotten any smaller since last week,” Jongin points out, quirking a grin even though Kyungsoo can’t see it, yet. “So unless you’ve gotten bigger.”
“Oh, hush, Kim Jongin,” Kyungsoo says. Jongin imagines him, trying to furrow his brows in mock-scolding even as a smile plays at the edges of his lips. Kyungsoo is always trying to do that, trying to hold back his smiles like they don’t inevitably burst forth anyway—like he doesn’t smile with his whole body, shoulders up, eyes crinkled. Jongin likes Kyungsoo’s smile a lot, so the mental image makes him smile, too.
That’s what he’s doing when Kyungsoo pulls the shower door open—smiling like a dumbass, at nothing in particular. It probably speaks to the kind of friends they are that Kyungsoo doesn’t even say anything, just blinks once at Jongin and steps into the shower as well, pulling the door closed behind him. “Hi,” he says, looking up at Jongin, his expression soft and open and vulnerable in ways that Jongin likes to think only he gets to see.
“Hi,” Jongin says, and kisses him.
They’ve been doing this for a while, now. They know better than to try to name it—they’re not boyfriends, not anything other than best friends, but they’ve been doing this long enough that Jongin’s mouth fits against Kyungsoo’s like it was meant to be there. Long enough that Jongin knows exactly how high to raise his hands to let them settle against Kyungsoo’s waist, fingertips pressing into the soft skin there. Kyungsoo is a soft person—he doesn’t have the dancer’s frame that Jongin has, or the natural slimness that Sehun has. But his body is familiar, and Jongin settles his hands into the natural curve of Kyungsoo’s waist and brushes his thumbs over the skin of Kyungsoo’s stomach, relishing the way it makes Kyungsoo shiver.
“Jongin-ah,” Kyungsoo murmurs, his fingertips sliding delicately up Jongin’s spine. “I’m just—”
He cuts himself off, but it’s okay. Jongin doesn’t need him to continue. “Hey,” he says, tucking his fingers under Kyungsoo’s chin and tilting his head up so their eyes can meet. “I got you.”
This is how it is: Kyungsoo spends all his time making sure that everyone else is okay. He isn’t the leader, but he is the group mama, and he’s a worrier, a compulsive caretaker. Kyungsoo cooks for everyone and cleans up after them and makes sure he has snacks on his person at all times, and he lets Sehun put his head on his shoulder when Sehun is tired, he listens to all of Baekhyun’s complaints about vocal practice and sore throats, and he does it all with a ready smile and a handful of cheerful words. Kyungsoo is so good to all of them, and it makes Jongin want to be good to him.
So he kisses Kyungsoo soft and thoughtful and proprietary, taking control, pressing Kyungsoo back against the shower wall and licking into Kyungsoo’s mouth, flicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Jongin cups his hands around Kyungsoo’s face and holds him there while they kiss, exploring the insides of his cheeks, behind his teeth, the way Kyungsoo’s tongue tastes—like toothpaste and the chocolate he must have snuck afterwards.
Kyungsoo makes little kitten noises into the kiss, almost whimpers, and they make something in Jongin feel extremely conflicted—like part of him wants to conquer, and the other part wants to hold Kyungsoo close and kiss him soft as whispers. Jongin wishes he had the luxury to take as much time as he wanted with Kyungsoo, learn him as thoroughly as he wants to, let Kyungsoo learn him in return. But they don’t have that much time. They have the space it takes for the two of them to shower, so Jongin kisses deeper, until Kyungsoo is trembling, his fingertips digging in just below Jongin’s shoulderblades.
When Jongin drops to his knees, Kyungsoo blinks down at him like he’s not sure what’s going on. Jongin likes that, too, because Kyungsoo makes that face every time Jongin goes down on him—like it’s so overwhelming, like his brain can’t possibly make sense of the sight of Jongin on his knees in front of him, Kyungsoo’s cock in his mouth. “Just look at me,” Jongin says, his hand pressed to Kyungsoo’s hip, thumb tracing the ridge of his iliac crest. “Just me, okay?”
“Okay,” Kyungsoo says, so softly it’s almost a whisper that Jongin barely hears over the rush of water around him. He brushes his fingers back through the wet strands of Jongin’s hair, the gesture almost too tender. “I’m looking.”
Kyungsoo’s not quite hard when Jongin takes him into his mouth, but that’s how Jongin likes it—he likes feeling Kyungsoo’s cock twitch, likes feeling it harden on his tongue. He curls his fingers around the base and sucks gently at the head, the tip of his tongue pressed against the frenulum, the space just below the head—because Jongin knows Kyungsoo’s body, he knows how Kyungsoo touches himself and knows that that makes his knees shake, makes him tilt his head back against the tile for a moment and swallow hard. Kyungsoo has always been a little too easy for Jongin, but Jongin likes it. He likes knowing that he can make Kyungsoo come totally apart.
When Jongin tightens his fingers around the base of Kyungsoo’s cock, Kyungsoo shudders, and Jongin feels more than hears the way Kyungsoo’s breath catches in the back of his throat. Kyungsoo is so easy, and Jongin loves it.
Jongin pushes forward, now that Kyungsoo is fully hard, and takes a little more of Kyungsoo in his mouth. Honestly, Jongin doesn’t like giving head—he doesn’t really like the flavor, mostly, and he can’t deep-throat, and he thinks come tastes like a mixture of all the worst parts of shampoo and seawater. But when it’s Kyungsoo, with his teeth digging into his lush lower lip, his wide eyes watching Jongin’s lips stretch around the girth of him—when it’s Kyungsoo, Jongin doesn’t mind.
He slides his palm down the soft skin of Kyungsoo’s inner thigh and holds it there, thumb tracing absent patterns on the skin as Jongin hollows his cheeks and sucks. He can’t keep it up for long, because it makes his mouth hurt, but the look on Kyungsoo’s face for those few seconds is delicious—a little startled, a lot pleased, his brows furrowing as he struggles not to tip his head back against the wall. That’s another thing Jongin likes: When he tells Kyungsoo to watch him, Kyungsoo watches.
Kyungsoo’s hands find their way into Jongin’s hair and hold on, clinging, almost, as Jongin pushes as far forward as he can, tongue flattening out along the vein at the base of Kyungsoo’s cock. He wraps his fingers around what his mouth can’t reach and starts to move, his head bobbing in rhythm with his hand. Jongin’s jaw is starting to ache, and he’s so hard it hurts to think about, but Kyungsoo is gasping his name above him, a litany of “Jongin, Jongin, please, Jongin,” in the sweetest, most pleading tone, and how could Jongin say no to that?
His palm pressed against Kyungsoo’s thigh is what lets Jongin know when Kyungsoo is about to come, because Kyungsoo’s body is always honest, always giving him away. His thigh muscles tense under Jongin’s touch, and then his hands tighten in Jongin’s hair, and the litany of pleas goes from Jongin, Jongin, Jongin to oh, oh, oh, like Kyungsoo doesn’t remember the words to beg for anything anymore.
This is the moment that Jongin sometimes wishes he could freeze—Kyungsoo, his eyes closed (finally, when he couldn’t keep them open anymore), his back arched, white teeth against plush pink lip and his fingers tight in Jongin’s hair. The look of exquisite pleasure on Kyungsoo’s face is enough to make the sore jaw and strange taste worth it, enough to make Jongin want to swallow when Kyungsoo comes. And Kyungsoo does come, in a rush that leaves him shaking, held up against the wall by Jongin’s hands and force of will alone—his orgasm jolts through his body and Jongin feels it a split second before Kyungsoo comes down his throat, cock twitching, come hot on the back of Jongin’s tongue. It tastes disgusting, but the way Kyungsoo looks above it makes it worth it.
Jongin pulls away, and Kyungsoo slumps down to the floor of the shower. For a moment, neither of them move, and Jongin is so aware of his body, aware of the erection standing full between his legs, aware of Kyungsoo’s gaze raking over his naked form. A moment’s pause, while they get their breath back.
“Gonna give me a hand?” Jongin finally asks, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.
The shade of red that Kyungsoo turns is pretty enough to make Jongin want to take a picture, but then he’s smiling, trying for mischief and ending up with the kind of giddy happiness that makes Jongin’s chest feel light. “What a coincidence, I have two,” Kyungsoo says, and wiggles his fingers at Jongin before he reaches out to wrap his hands—both of them—around Jongin’s cock.
It’s not really anything special, and that’s fine, because Jongin’s not expecting heroics. But it’s good, and Kyungsoo has quick little fingers that find all the places Jongin loves to be touched, exploits them until Jongin has one hand curled around Kyungsoo’s forearm and the other digging into his shoulder, holding on, anchoring himself. He’s panting Kyungsoo’s name, wrapped around pleas and curses and words that aren’t even really words as much as they are just shudders made into sound, and Kyungsoo is smiling, laughing even as he jerks Jongin off into an orgasm that leaves him breathless and totally, totally destroyed.
Jongin slouches back against the wall of the shower, breathing hard. The water is a little too cold now, and Baekhyun will probably bitch about all the hot water being gone, but Jongin can’t even bring himself to care. Especially not when Kyungsoo folds himself into Jongin’s side, his arms winding around Jongin’s stomach, chin coming to rest on Jongin’s shoulder.
Kyungsoo is nine centimeters shorter than Jongin, and that makes him the perfect size to tuck into Jongin’s persoal space, his cheek against Jongin’s collarbones, his smile a blur from the corner of Jongin’s eye.
“I got you,” Jongin repeats, absently, and tries not to read into the possession in the gesture when he wraps his arm tight around Kyungsoo’s shoulder.
This is what he means:
You can hold everyone else up, and I’ll hold you up.
You can hold everyone else together, patch everyone else’s wounds, and I’ll hold you together and do my best with the super glue.
When you need someone, I’m here.
I got you.
That’s what Jongin wants to say—what he wants his gestures to say, and what he hopes Kyungsoo understands when he presses a kiss against Kyungsoo’s wet hair and rubs his thumb back and forth over the curve of Kyungsoo’s shoulder. But they’re all words he doesn’t know how to speak aloud, because in the end Jongin is a dancer, and his body speaks better than his mouth ever will.
“We should get up,” Kyungsoo says, his words half-muffled into the place where Jongin’s shoulder meets his throat. “Someone else probably needs the shower.”
“Yeah,” Jongin agrees, and means No, I want to stay here.
But Kyungsoo looks up at him and smiles, soft and warm and easy and a thousand other things that make Jongin feel like he’s wrapped in cotton. And when he kisses Jongin, all sweetness and delicacy, Jongin thinks Kyungsoo probably gets it after all.
--------------------
AUTHOR'S NOTES: WELP.
this is for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jjang and maggie because reasons.
who makes you feel the way that i make you feel.
but listen and think when i say it
oh but listen and think when i say it
who makes you feel the way that i make you feel
who loves you and knows you the way i do
who touches you and holds you quite like i do
who makes you feel like i make you feel
dido, "who makes you feel"
IINTERLUDE
kai/d.o
Kyungsoo comes into the bathroom while Jongin is showering and takes a seat on the counter. Through the frosted glass of the shower stall, Jongin can see the outline of him, with his fingers curled against the edge of the sink and his legs swinging back and forth, toes nowhere close to touching the ground. They’ve been doing this for a while, now. Kyungsoo comes into the bathroom, sometimes, when he’s looking for something that he doesn’t know the words to ask for, when he gets a little overwhelmed and needs someone else to hold him up for a moment—and Jongin perfected that art a long, long time ago.
“What’s up?” he asks, closing his eyes and tilting his head back into the shower spray. His shampoo smells like mangoes—sometimes, Jongin catches that scent on Kyungsoo, even though Kyungsoo has his own shampoo, which smells very distinctly of soap.
Even with his eyes closed, Jongin can envision the way Kyungsoo chews his lower lip and shrugs a little. They both know what this means, Kyungsoo’s presence here, but Kyungsoo isn’t always ready to acknowledge it and Jongin doesn’t push. It’s a little like coaxing a startled animal, Jongin thinks. Patience and slow movements. “Hiding out,” Kyungsoo says, his voice cheerful as always but threaded through with something else, heavier. “It’s okay, right?”
“You know it is.” Jongin rinses the last of the suds from his hair and straightens up, pushing the wet strands back out of his face. He presses his palm against the glass of the door and taps his fingers against it, drumming a little rhythm. “Are you coming in?”
They do this every time. Kyungsoo hedges, and Jongin pushes, a little at a time, until Kyungsoo sheds his clothes and steps into the shower with Jongin. Do Kyungsoo and Kim Jongin, leaders of the EXO Water Conservation Effort. “Is there room for two?” Kyungsoo asks, like he always does, but Jongin is watching as Kyungsoo slides off the counter and pulls his shirt up over his head.
“The shower hasn’t gotten any smaller since last week,” Jongin points out, quirking a grin even though Kyungsoo can’t see it, yet. “So unless you’ve gotten bigger.”
“Oh, hush, Kim Jongin,” Kyungsoo says. Jongin imagines him, trying to furrow his brows in mock-scolding even as a smile plays at the edges of his lips. Kyungsoo is always trying to do that, trying to hold back his smiles like they don’t inevitably burst forth anyway—like he doesn’t smile with his whole body, shoulders up, eyes crinkled. Jongin likes Kyungsoo’s smile a lot, so the mental image makes him smile, too.
That’s what he’s doing when Kyungsoo pulls the shower door open—smiling like a dumbass, at nothing in particular. It probably speaks to the kind of friends they are that Kyungsoo doesn’t even say anything, just blinks once at Jongin and steps into the shower as well, pulling the door closed behind him. “Hi,” he says, looking up at Jongin, his expression soft and open and vulnerable in ways that Jongin likes to think only he gets to see.
“Hi,” Jongin says, and kisses him.
They’ve been doing this for a while, now. They know better than to try to name it—they’re not boyfriends, not anything other than best friends, but they’ve been doing this long enough that Jongin’s mouth fits against Kyungsoo’s like it was meant to be there. Long enough that Jongin knows exactly how high to raise his hands to let them settle against Kyungsoo’s waist, fingertips pressing into the soft skin there. Kyungsoo is a soft person—he doesn’t have the dancer’s frame that Jongin has, or the natural slimness that Sehun has. But his body is familiar, and Jongin settles his hands into the natural curve of Kyungsoo’s waist and brushes his thumbs over the skin of Kyungsoo’s stomach, relishing the way it makes Kyungsoo shiver.
“Jongin-ah,” Kyungsoo murmurs, his fingertips sliding delicately up Jongin’s spine. “I’m just—”
He cuts himself off, but it’s okay. Jongin doesn’t need him to continue. “Hey,” he says, tucking his fingers under Kyungsoo’s chin and tilting his head up so their eyes can meet. “I got you.”
This is how it is: Kyungsoo spends all his time making sure that everyone else is okay. He isn’t the leader, but he is the group mama, and he’s a worrier, a compulsive caretaker. Kyungsoo cooks for everyone and cleans up after them and makes sure he has snacks on his person at all times, and he lets Sehun put his head on his shoulder when Sehun is tired, he listens to all of Baekhyun’s complaints about vocal practice and sore throats, and he does it all with a ready smile and a handful of cheerful words. Kyungsoo is so good to all of them, and it makes Jongin want to be good to him.
So he kisses Kyungsoo soft and thoughtful and proprietary, taking control, pressing Kyungsoo back against the shower wall and licking into Kyungsoo’s mouth, flicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Jongin cups his hands around Kyungsoo’s face and holds him there while they kiss, exploring the insides of his cheeks, behind his teeth, the way Kyungsoo’s tongue tastes—like toothpaste and the chocolate he must have snuck afterwards.
Kyungsoo makes little kitten noises into the kiss, almost whimpers, and they make something in Jongin feel extremely conflicted—like part of him wants to conquer, and the other part wants to hold Kyungsoo close and kiss him soft as whispers. Jongin wishes he had the luxury to take as much time as he wanted with Kyungsoo, learn him as thoroughly as he wants to, let Kyungsoo learn him in return. But they don’t have that much time. They have the space it takes for the two of them to shower, so Jongin kisses deeper, until Kyungsoo is trembling, his fingertips digging in just below Jongin’s shoulderblades.
When Jongin drops to his knees, Kyungsoo blinks down at him like he’s not sure what’s going on. Jongin likes that, too, because Kyungsoo makes that face every time Jongin goes down on him—like it’s so overwhelming, like his brain can’t possibly make sense of the sight of Jongin on his knees in front of him, Kyungsoo’s cock in his mouth. “Just look at me,” Jongin says, his hand pressed to Kyungsoo’s hip, thumb tracing the ridge of his iliac crest. “Just me, okay?”
“Okay,” Kyungsoo says, so softly it’s almost a whisper that Jongin barely hears over the rush of water around him. He brushes his fingers back through the wet strands of Jongin’s hair, the gesture almost too tender. “I’m looking.”
Kyungsoo’s not quite hard when Jongin takes him into his mouth, but that’s how Jongin likes it—he likes feeling Kyungsoo’s cock twitch, likes feeling it harden on his tongue. He curls his fingers around the base and sucks gently at the head, the tip of his tongue pressed against the frenulum, the space just below the head—because Jongin knows Kyungsoo’s body, he knows how Kyungsoo touches himself and knows that that makes his knees shake, makes him tilt his head back against the tile for a moment and swallow hard. Kyungsoo has always been a little too easy for Jongin, but Jongin likes it. He likes knowing that he can make Kyungsoo come totally apart.
When Jongin tightens his fingers around the base of Kyungsoo’s cock, Kyungsoo shudders, and Jongin feels more than hears the way Kyungsoo’s breath catches in the back of his throat. Kyungsoo is so easy, and Jongin loves it.
Jongin pushes forward, now that Kyungsoo is fully hard, and takes a little more of Kyungsoo in his mouth. Honestly, Jongin doesn’t like giving head—he doesn’t really like the flavor, mostly, and he can’t deep-throat, and he thinks come tastes like a mixture of all the worst parts of shampoo and seawater. But when it’s Kyungsoo, with his teeth digging into his lush lower lip, his wide eyes watching Jongin’s lips stretch around the girth of him—when it’s Kyungsoo, Jongin doesn’t mind.
He slides his palm down the soft skin of Kyungsoo’s inner thigh and holds it there, thumb tracing absent patterns on the skin as Jongin hollows his cheeks and sucks. He can’t keep it up for long, because it makes his mouth hurt, but the look on Kyungsoo’s face for those few seconds is delicious—a little startled, a lot pleased, his brows furrowing as he struggles not to tip his head back against the wall. That’s another thing Jongin likes: When he tells Kyungsoo to watch him, Kyungsoo watches.
Kyungsoo’s hands find their way into Jongin’s hair and hold on, clinging, almost, as Jongin pushes as far forward as he can, tongue flattening out along the vein at the base of Kyungsoo’s cock. He wraps his fingers around what his mouth can’t reach and starts to move, his head bobbing in rhythm with his hand. Jongin’s jaw is starting to ache, and he’s so hard it hurts to think about, but Kyungsoo is gasping his name above him, a litany of “Jongin, Jongin, please, Jongin,” in the sweetest, most pleading tone, and how could Jongin say no to that?
His palm pressed against Kyungsoo’s thigh is what lets Jongin know when Kyungsoo is about to come, because Kyungsoo’s body is always honest, always giving him away. His thigh muscles tense under Jongin’s touch, and then his hands tighten in Jongin’s hair, and the litany of pleas goes from Jongin, Jongin, Jongin to oh, oh, oh, like Kyungsoo doesn’t remember the words to beg for anything anymore.
This is the moment that Jongin sometimes wishes he could freeze—Kyungsoo, his eyes closed (finally, when he couldn’t keep them open anymore), his back arched, white teeth against plush pink lip and his fingers tight in Jongin’s hair. The look of exquisite pleasure on Kyungsoo’s face is enough to make the sore jaw and strange taste worth it, enough to make Jongin want to swallow when Kyungsoo comes. And Kyungsoo does come, in a rush that leaves him shaking, held up against the wall by Jongin’s hands and force of will alone—his orgasm jolts through his body and Jongin feels it a split second before Kyungsoo comes down his throat, cock twitching, come hot on the back of Jongin’s tongue. It tastes disgusting, but the way Kyungsoo looks above it makes it worth it.
Jongin pulls away, and Kyungsoo slumps down to the floor of the shower. For a moment, neither of them move, and Jongin is so aware of his body, aware of the erection standing full between his legs, aware of Kyungsoo’s gaze raking over his naked form. A moment’s pause, while they get their breath back.
“Gonna give me a hand?” Jongin finally asks, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.
The shade of red that Kyungsoo turns is pretty enough to make Jongin want to take a picture, but then he’s smiling, trying for mischief and ending up with the kind of giddy happiness that makes Jongin’s chest feel light. “What a coincidence, I have two,” Kyungsoo says, and wiggles his fingers at Jongin before he reaches out to wrap his hands—both of them—around Jongin’s cock.
It’s not really anything special, and that’s fine, because Jongin’s not expecting heroics. But it’s good, and Kyungsoo has quick little fingers that find all the places Jongin loves to be touched, exploits them until Jongin has one hand curled around Kyungsoo’s forearm and the other digging into his shoulder, holding on, anchoring himself. He’s panting Kyungsoo’s name, wrapped around pleas and curses and words that aren’t even really words as much as they are just shudders made into sound, and Kyungsoo is smiling, laughing even as he jerks Jongin off into an orgasm that leaves him breathless and totally, totally destroyed.
Jongin slouches back against the wall of the shower, breathing hard. The water is a little too cold now, and Baekhyun will probably bitch about all the hot water being gone, but Jongin can’t even bring himself to care. Especially not when Kyungsoo folds himself into Jongin’s side, his arms winding around Jongin’s stomach, chin coming to rest on Jongin’s shoulder.
Kyungsoo is nine centimeters shorter than Jongin, and that makes him the perfect size to tuck into Jongin’s persoal space, his cheek against Jongin’s collarbones, his smile a blur from the corner of Jongin’s eye.
“I got you,” Jongin repeats, absently, and tries not to read into the possession in the gesture when he wraps his arm tight around Kyungsoo’s shoulder.
This is what he means:
You can hold everyone else up, and I’ll hold you up.
You can hold everyone else together, patch everyone else’s wounds, and I’ll hold you together and do my best with the super glue.
When you need someone, I’m here.
I got you.
That’s what Jongin wants to say—what he wants his gestures to say, and what he hopes Kyungsoo understands when he presses a kiss against Kyungsoo’s wet hair and rubs his thumb back and forth over the curve of Kyungsoo’s shoulder. But they’re all words he doesn’t know how to speak aloud, because in the end Jongin is a dancer, and his body speaks better than his mouth ever will.
“We should get up,” Kyungsoo says, his words half-muffled into the place where Jongin’s shoulder meets his throat. “Someone else probably needs the shower.”
“Yeah,” Jongin agrees, and means No, I want to stay here.
But Kyungsoo looks up at him and smiles, soft and warm and easy and a thousand other things that make Jongin feel like he’s wrapped in cotton. And when he kisses Jongin, all sweetness and delicacy, Jongin thinks Kyungsoo probably gets it after all.
--------------------
AUTHOR'S NOTES: WELP.
this is for
jjang and maggie because reasons.