It’s a rare free day, and Jisung is going to make the most of it. He tries to spend the morning catching up on his sleep, but he only lasts a little over an extra hour before his body is humming with restless energy. He considers watching a movie, or starting that new series Chenle has been yapping about lately, but he’s too wired to just sit alone. He wants to do something.
Some of his hyungs still have schedule to get to today, but most of them are free too. It shouldn’t be difficult to find someone to hang out with.
So Jisung ventures out of his room in search of company, making a beeline to their common room. He’s hoping for a small crowd, a conversation he can join or a game he can spectate, something he can get involved in.
But he’s pretty sure he won’t be getting that as he nears the room and notices the obtrusive lack of sound. If a group were gathered, the noise would be boisterous, voices loud and excited. Today, there’s nothing.
He peeks in through the open door anyway, and sees that while it’s silent, it isn’t empty. There’s just one of his hyungs in there.
Mark is lying on his side on the couch, head pillowed on one hand, the other curled over his stomach, fast asleep. He looks so small, so precious, Jisung acts on impulse. He crosses the room and drops a kiss on Mark’s cheek, high up on the swell of his cheekbone.
He’s seen Taeyong do it, to Mark, Winwin, Jaemin, probably all of them at some point, Jisung himself included. And he does it a lot. If Taeyong passes by while they’re sleeping, he’ll pause to press a kiss to their forehead, their cheek, or into their hair. Sometimes he cups their face, brushes his knuckles down their jaw, a small smile on his own face that holds so much warmth it’s almost a shame they aren’t awake to see it.
Jisung’s eyes are always glued to interaction whenever he’s around to see it happen, even though it often feels like he’s intruding on something. There’s a raw emotion expressed in Taeyong’s fond touches, something unguarded, pure and vulnerable. Jisung has pretended to be dozing a few times, just for the press of his leader’s lips against his face and the warmth it blooms in his chest.
Jisung enjoys receiving the tender touches, but has never before understood the desire to give them out. Now though, looking down at Mark curled up on the couch, Jisung thinks he might get it. There’s something about Mark’s sleeping form, muscles relaxed, eyelashes fanned delicately over his cheek, lips slightly parted, that has a wave of affection surging up in his chest.
This must be what Taeyong feels, he thinks as he sinks to his knees beside the couch, the wave grabbing hold and tugging, strong enough to have him leaning toward the older boy. He kisses Mark again, further down on his plush cheek, lays a hand along his jaw and kisses him again. And again. And again.
He trails light kisses across Mark’s face, up to his temple and back down again, little sweet pecks against his skin until he’s setting his lips on the corner of Mark’s mouth.
Here, Mark stirs. Jisung snatches his hand away like he’s been shocked, sitting far back on his heels, wide eyes stuck on Mark’s face. But Mark doesn’t wake up, just nuzzles down onto his own hand and falls still again, breaths deep and steady. Jisung almost laughs at himself. He had overreacted. He’s not doing anything wrong. Taeyong does this kind of thing all the time, and no one’s ever complained. They all kiss each other all the time. He’s allowed to kiss his hyungs. Why should he be worried about Mark catching him?
His heart is still beating faster than normal, though, and it takes him a second to recognize it not as just adrenaline from the shock, but more a kind of anticipation. He had been so close to kissing Mark on the lips.
See, Mark has let him do it before. It was Mark who taught him how to kiss in the first place. He had approached Mark one evening with wide eyes and sweater paws and explained how he had never kissed anyone before, but he wanted to try it out. Mark had smiled, bright and sparkling, put down his phone and patted the space on the bed next to him.
Since then, whenever Jisung’s feeling touchy, homesick, too warm or too cold, Mark has always indulged him. He lets Jisung settle in his lap and press their lips together for as long as he wants. He lets them do chaste and sweet, warm and comfortable, short childish pecks and long breathless kisses. He lets Jisung slip his tongue into his mouth, licks into Jisung’s own mouth in return. So far, he’s never turned Jisung down.
If Mark were awake, he’d let Jisung do this. Jisung stares down at Mark’s pink mouth, rosy and familiar. Why should it be any different when he’s asleep?
His mouth is slack under Jisung’s, but his lips are still soft. Jisung moves his lips just like Mark has shown him, tilts his head so they slot together better. Mark doesn’t respond, but that’s okay. Jisung is less self-conscious like this, not worried about messing up or embarrassing himself with his own inexperience. There’s no pressure to impress his hyung, free to move and learn at his own pace. It’s comforting.
When Mark’s lips start to swell, he changes tactic, catches Mark’s bottom lip between his teeth and tugs gently, the way he knows Mark likes. Mark likes when he sucks on his lip too, so Jisung does.
There’s no resistance from Mark’s slack mouth when Jisung lets go and licks in instead, his hyung’s lips parting easily for him. Mark doesn’t taste any different, but the thought that maybe he would has Jisung pausing. He doesn’t know what he was expecting. He pulls back gently, takes in Mark’s peaceful face, reminds himself that this is still his hyung. It isn’t the same as kissing Mark when he’s awake, but it’s still familiar.
Mark’s lips are slick when Jisung moves back in, returning to the safe, sweet closed-mouth kisses he’d started with. But the wet sounds that didn’t bother Jisung before are now too loud in the quiet room, forcing him to pull away again. He doesn’t want to stop though. Not when Mark is being so good for him.
Jisung presses silent kisses over his face again instead, featherlight but still trying to pour as much love into them as he can. He kisses over his cheeks, across his forehead, down his nose, skips his red red mouth to kiss his chin, then up along his jaw. He pecks that spot just under Mark’s ear that makes his ear twitch back like a cat. Jisung has always found that adorable, but now his stomach twists when he sees it still affects Mark when he’s asleep.
It’s probably the biggest reaction he’s gotten out of him so far. Jisung freezes as the kiss draws a quicker breath out of his hyung, not quite a gasp but getting there. A blush creeps up from Mark’s chest, staining the skin pink. His breathing evens out again.
Next, Jisung presses his lips to Mark’s neck. He’s kissed his neck before, but has never been allowed to stay there long, Mark too worried about him leaving marks they’d have to explain or cover up. Mark usually permits a few pecks to the sensitive skin, but as soon as Mark shudders from the touch, Jisung is pulled back up to his mouth, neck once again off limits.
Jisung fastens his mouth just to the side of Mark’s Adam’s apple, over his pulse, and sucks lightly. He barely applies any pressure before releasing, and even from such a little action, the skin is already redder, shiny from Jisung’s saliva. It will fade quickly, for sure, but Jisung finds he really likes seeing the evidence of himself on his hyung. He likes the thought of leaving a bigger mark, one that lasts longer. Jisung moves lower down, latches onto the skin above his collarbone, sucks a little harder this time, nibbles gently. The skin blooms darker, a stark contrast against Mark’s pale skin that has Jisung swallowing thickly.
Mark shifts when Jisung lets go of his neck, breath huffing out harder than normal for a few beats. This time he moves, tipping away from Jisung until his shoulder hits the backrest of the couch, hips swivelling so he’s lying flatter on the seat. His legs fall open in this new position, one hand still loose against his stomach.
Jisung needs to give Mark time to settle after that. He knows from sharing a bed, when they have to pair up in hotels or when he’s crawled into Mark’s dorm bed after a nightmare, that Mark doesn’t move around much in his sleep. Such a big move from him here means Jisung has pushed a little too far. Mark had been too close to waking up.
So Jisung sits back to inspect Mark’s thankfully still sleeping form. He’s not curled up on his side any more, cute and small. Now he looks open, inviting, almost like he’s presenting himself to Jisung. Easing access.
Jisung’s eyes skim down, widening as he sees how Mark’s body has started reacting to his touches. It’s not much, but the blush from his chest has crept high up on his neck, soft cheeks tinted too. Jisung’s breath stutters as he looks further down Mark’s chest and sees the outline of his nipples barely visible through the thin t-shirt, evidence of the beginnings of arousal.
Mark is fine with kisses, but every time Jisung had wanted to experiment further, Mark had always stopped him. He would catch Jisung around the wrist when he tried to slip his fingers into his waistband or redirect his hands upwards when they fumbled with his belt buckle. He even shied away when Jisung tried to smooth over his nipples through his shirt. Mark would never offer an explanation for his reluctance, just a quiet “not there” or “don’t” as he rebuffed Jisung’s advances. But he still smiled into the next kiss like nothing had happened, like Jisung was a just a puppy who didn’t know any better. Mark was firm in his limits, but didn’t want to scold too harshly. Jisung never quite understood why Mark didn’t want to move past just kissing, but had respected his hyung and never pushed it.
But Jisung realizes with a blooming heat low down in his gut that there’s nothing stopping him now. If he’s careful, slow, gentle, he can put his hand on Mark’s ribs and rub his thumb over the nipple, touch Mark in the way he’s always wondered about.
So he does. The nipple pebbles up immediately under his thumb, and Mark actually sighs at the touch. Jisung lets his hand fall away as Mark’s chest drops with his breath, doesn’t dare chase the movement. Mark needs space to settle again, return to his regular rhythm. He keeps his hand hovered above Mark’s skin, close enough to feel the warmth through his shirt but not yet touching.
Jisung peers up at Mark’s face, more sure than ever that he’s pushed too far, expecting Mark’s big dark eyes staring back at him. He wonders what Mark would be thinking, whether he would be mad, confused, pleased, disgusted, eager to see what Jisung’s doing to him. He wonders what would happen if another of his hyungs were to walk in now, what they would think of what was happening.
Except Jisung’s not doing anything right now. He’s what, almost touching him? He’s allowed to get close to his hyung. He could climb up on the couch and snuggle up to him, press their bodies flush together from head to toe, and Mark would just wrap his arms around the younger if he woke up. There’s nothing to worry about. Mark’s eyes are closed, face soft and still. He’s still sleeping.
The room is silent again apart from Mark’s breaths, slightly more labored than usual but still slow and sleep deep. Jisung counts out a full minute, agonizingly slow with the heat pooling in his stomach, then puts his hand back on Mark’s ribs. He feels his slow, steady heartbeat and knows it’s safe to start again.
Jisung wants more. He wants to touch him, wants to play a little rougher. He wants to lift Mark’s shirt and lay his tongue flat against his nipples, lick a stripe up and over them, pull them into his mouth and suck until they turn hard and red. He knows that would be too much. Mark would wake up for sure.
But once the idea is in his head, it’s hard to shake.
Now that Mark is basically lying on his back, Jisung quickly realizes he can’t pull Mark’s shirt up like he wants. The fit is too tight to just slide up the front, so Mark would need to sit up, or Jisung would have to fight it up against the friction of the couch. Either scenario is impossible if Mark is going to stay asleep.
So Jisung settles for the next best thing and presses a swift kiss to the bud over Mark’s shirt, his lightest kiss yet. He waits one, two, three seconds, until he’s sure the touch hasn’t woken Mark up. Then he leans in again and holds his mouth to the bud, letting his hot breath fan over it. He can feel it hardening further against his lips, and the sensation, the knowledge of how his hyung is reacting so strongly to just his breath makes him choke back a moan.
Jisung can’t resist going further, kissing the pebbled bud again, then parts his lips and touches the wet tip of his tongue against it. The shirt is dry and catches on his tongue, but the nipple underneath is warm. He licks experimentally, just a little flick, and Mark’s deep breath catches. It only encourages Jisung. He licks again, earnestly, then again, little kitten licks, shy and careful. His hand moves to Mark’s other nipple, rubs at it in time with his tongue.
Mark moans, high and breathy, and it’s like a valve breaks. The noise zaps straight down Jisung and his tongue is pressing flat before he can stop himself, lapping at the cotton probably rougher than he should be. The fabric goes from damp to wet, sticks to Mark’s skin and clings around the shape of his nipple until the cotton might as well be see-through. It’s obscene. Jisung has never seen anything like it in real life.
A touch against Jisung’s arm almost makes him jump out of his skin. He jolts away from Mark, pulse pounding in his ears, eyes wide with panic as his gaze snaps to Mark’s face. His cheeks are pinker, mouth starting to loll open, but his eyes are still closed.
It was Mark’s hand on his stomach that had twitched, brushing against Jisung leaning over him, the dual sensation of having both nipples played with so harshly a little too overwhelming. Jisung watches, frozen as Mark shifts again, snuffles softly, curls his toes and flexes his fingers. He tips his head back and bares his neck, a soft whine stuck in his throat.
But he still doesn’t wake up.
Jisung is panting now, feeling hot, skin red all over. He sits back again, sticking to his rhythm of on and off, stimulation and space, to ensure Mark stays asleep. There’s that tight, white feeling between Jisung’s legs that he’s been trying to ignore so far, wanting to focus on his hyung instead. But with little else to do in this forced pause, Jisung looks down at himself and stifles a gasp when he sees he’s half-hard, straining against his sweatpants. Immediately, desperately, he snaps his head up to look at Mark’s crotch, to see if he’s affected too.
There’s a definite bulge in Mark’s shorts that wasn’t there before. He’s probably about as hard as Jisung is at this point, maybe a little more. Jisung’s mouth runs dry, heat spiking almost painfully, his own dick twitching. He did that to him. Jisung has done that to his hyung, worked him up with his hands and his mouth and his tongue. He’s never done that to anyone before.
Although he’s still sleeping, Mark hasn’t entirely settled yet, still squirming on the couch, soft breath catching on every other inhale. Jisung wonders what he’s dreaming about, who he thinks has been touching him. Whether he would ever expect it to be his dongsaeng, their little maknae.
The reality of Mark being so close to consciousness wipes away some of the haze surrounding Jisung’s mind, and he once again considers the situation he’d be in if someone else came in now. It had been okay before, easily explainable as nothing out of the ordinary, just sitting close to his hyung, sharing innocent affection, doing what Taeyong is able to do so easily.
It’s a little more damning with the state Mark is now in, almost writhing on the seat, flushed pink and more than a little hard. Even if Jisung hadn’t been the one to work him up, if he’d just walked in on Mark in the middle of a wet dream, he has no explanation for why he would now be kneeling in front of him, flushed and half-hard himself.
Another little gasp from Mark tugs Jisung’s attention back to the boy in front of him, to the still prominent tent in his shorts. Jisung’s fingers tingle with the urge to touch Mark there, to give his hyung what he’s clearly craving, the desire an uncomfortable itch under his skin.
His rational mind says he should leave now, quit while he’s ahead. It’s unlikely Mark is going to stay asleep for much longer, and his paranoia has started imagining murmuring noises from the dorm rooms. When are his hyungs due home again?
But another, more impulsive part of him asks if this might be his only chance to do this. He wants to know, wants to experiment. His hyungs still see him as a baby, and while he doesn’t mind too much most of the time, it does mean they can be a little overprotective when it comes to this kind of thing. The older hyungs still scold the other members for talking about sex when the Dreamies are within earshot. But Jisung’s old enough. He knows how it works. He’s been on the internet, he’s watched videos, he’s jerked himself off.
He’s kissed Mark-hyung before, several times. He’s just touched Mark a little more intimately. He’s just turned him on. He’s ready to go further.
Jisung takes another glance at Mark’s crotch, licks his lips.
He’s started, so he’ll finish.
Jisung has never touched another guy’s dick before, let alone another guy’s aroused dick. Eyeing the bulge, he takes a few deep, steadying breaths. He’s determined to touch his hyung but finds he doesn’t know where to start. He knows this is his riskiest move yet. Mark has been making noises, he isn’t deep asleep anymore. He could wake up any second, and the urgent spike at that thought spurs Jisung into action. He can’t waste any more time.
His heart is thumping with nerves and anticipation so he decides to start light. Jisung sits up and runs his fingers gently down the hardened length in front of him. Not grabbing, not groping, just feeling the shape of it. Mark hums at the delicate touch, the hand on his stomach sliding slowly down to where Jisung’s fingertips linger. Mark’s movements are too messy and loose to be conscious, but Jisung pulls away anyway, scared that Mark’s hand meeting his own might break the spell. Mark’s fingers don’t try to chase his touch, just curl around empty air before falling limp on his waistband.
There’s less space for Jisung’s own hand now. It’s almost certain that if he goes back, tries to touch Mark again, he’ll brush against his hand, accidentally nudge him awake him and he won’t be able to retreat fast enough. But Jisung’s not done yet. He never thought he’d be the type of guy who only thinks with his dick, lets sense and logic fly out the window, but he’s apparently learning a lot today.
He kneels up higher to get the best angle, gathers his courage and twists his wrist so he can cup Mark’s bulge through his shorts, holding him like he’d hold himself. It feels different. Mark is probably about the same size as him but Jisung realizes like a punch to his gut that he can feel Mark growing. It’s much more intimate than Jisung had ever expected. It’s exciting. Jisung feels his own dick reacting like it was the one being touched instead. His thighs are quivering as he holds himself up, threatening to give out.
Mark groans, hips bucking into Jisung’s hand, thick and hot in his palm. It takes every ounce of Jisung’s willpower to hold still, closing his eyes against the urge to flex his hand in return, rub down, grind into his hyung.
But Jisung’s not as strong as he thinks. He bites his lip and presses a little harder.
Then Jisung hears footsteps out in the hallway and ice floods his veins. The moment is shattered. He whips back, clutches his hand to his chest like it had been burned and whirls around to face the open door, eyes wide and chest heaving. The footsteps get louder and he prays, prays that whoever’s out there doesn’t come in.
He isn’t so lucky.
“Hi, hyung,” Jisung replies, voice soft to hide how he knows it would shake. Taeyong pauses in the doorway, a fond smile on his face at the sight of his dongsaengs, cute and sleepy. Then Jisung watches the smile fade, a crease appearing between Taeyong’s eyebrows as he blinks at the scene. Jisung swallows thickly.
“What are you doing?” Taeyong asks, tone unfamiliar, maybe cautious. He steps into the room, eyes flicking between Jisung on the floor and Mark on the couch as he approaches the two. Jisung decides to play innocent. His maknae status has to be good for something.
“Just… trying to wake up Mark-hyung,” he says, then turns back to the couch and immediately wishes he hadn’t. With the arousal washed away by Taeyong’s sudden arrival, he can look at Mark’s still sleeping form with a somewhat clearer head. Mark is quiet and settled again, soothed by their voices or just the fact that Jisung has stopped touching him. But Jisung’s eyes zero in on his swollen lips, the unfaded red marks on his neck, the wet fabric clinging to his nipple, the obvious bulge in his shorts. Jisung is laser focused on all the evidence of what he’s just been doing to his hyung, his sleeping hyung, and knows that Taeyong must be too.
Shame and guilt swarm in, enveloping Jisung’s body their suffocating, nauseating grip. Cold sweat beads on the back of his neck.
Taeyong is stood alongside them now. Jisung peeks up through his lashes, scared to meet Taeyong’s eyes but desperate know what he’s thinking. He doesn't have to worry about their leader’s reaction yet, though, because Taeyong isn’t looking at him. His gaze is stuck on Mark, like Jisung had predicted. Jisung knows he’s seen it all. He’s pieced it all together.
Taeyong hums, an absent noise that Jisung can’t read. He holds his breath as Taeyong brushes his hand against Mark’s jaw, leaning in to kiss Mark’s cheek, high up on his cheekbone, right in the same spot where Jisung had started. His gut twists painfully.
“You don’t have to do that,” Taeyong says as he pulls back, face soft and fond as he looks down at the sleeping boy, like it always is, but there’s something else there, something almost melancholic. Bile rises in Jisung’s throat.
Taeyong straightens up, takes a deep breath, closes his eyes. Then he turns to Jisung effortlessly, hand reaching out to tip Jisung’s face up toward him. He cups Jisung’s cheeks, runs his thumbs over the flushed skin, and Jisung’s not surprised to see the gentle smile he had fixed on Mark has disappeared.
But he’s not frowning either. His eyes flit over Jisung’s face, and Jisung shrinks back, feeling like he’s under inspection. Taeyong meets his eyes and his gaze is heavy, thick. His dark eyes flicker like he’s searching for something in Jisung’s. Jisung can’t figure it out. Jisung hasn’t been scared of Taeyong since he was a trainee, intimidated by the older boy like he was by all the older boys. Then Taeyong became his leader, his brother, always kind, sweet, hardworking but modest, shy and supportive and always affectionate. He trusts Taeyong.
But now, there’s something cold and hard on Taeyong’s face that Jisung doesn’t recognize. He wants to cry.
Finally, Taeyong’s eyebrows twitch together, and that’s an emotion Jisung recognises. Concern. It’s gone as soon as it appears though, their leader back to a carefully blank slate.
Taeyong leans down to kiss Jisung, the press of his lips against Jisung’s forehead not nearly as warm, comforting, loving as it usually is. He lingers for a beat longer than normal, presses his lips a little firmer, grips Jisung’s jaw a little harder.
Then he pulls away, steps back, puts a space between himself and Jisung that feels impossibly vast. He takes any remaining warmth with him, leaving Jisung cold, alone, choking on the bad feeling in his gut that threatens to eat him alive.
“It’s his day off, yeah?” Taeyong forces a smile onto his face. Jisung doesn’t look up to see if it reaches his eyes. “Let him sleep a while longer, okay?”