The crop top is a gag gift, sort of.
(Donghyuck had found it ages ago on Wish and immediately ordered it. But like all Wish orders, it was months before it arrived at their dorm, box beaten all to hell with crumpled corners. Donghyuck actually forgot about it.
Until the day he cuts it open in the living room and peeks inside.)
“Oh yeah,” he says, holding the thin grey sweater up while Johnny leans over his shoulder and snickers. “This is for you, hyung.”
He turns it around so Doyoung can see it, leaving no room for interpretation about which hyung he’s talking to, and Doyoung blanches.
“I can’t wear that!”
“Come on, I bought it for you!” Donghyuck waves the sweater like a banner. “At least try it on.”
“No,” Doyoung puts his foot down. “Absolutely not, no way.”
They continue this little back and forth all while Taeyong, forgotten off to the side with his little cup of banana milk, gapes at the sweater in all it’s long-sleeve-short-torso glory. The fact that Donghyuck bought some flimsy crop top for Doyoung is absurd enough. But it’s the bold blue lettering across the front that has Taeyong worried that Donghyuck won’t be alive tomorrow morning.
That’s it. Just. MILF.
They all remember Johnny patiently explaining what a milf is way back during the Sicheng milf hunter debacle. And everyone likes to tease Doyoung for being the nagging one, the voice of reason, the single responsible brain cell, the team mom .
Taeyong lets himself take in the sight of Doyoung arguing with Donghyuck. The plan black shirt clinging to his wide shoulders and generous chest, tucked in at his thin waist above those long, long legs. Broad hands graceful even while he’s gesturing angrily at Donghyuck. Floppy unstyled hair falling into his eyes.
Taeyong slurps the last of his banana milk through the straw, and decides – yeah. Doyoung is a milf.
“Pretend it’s your birthday,” Donghyuck pleads, “And wear it just once. Just to be gracious and nice to me.”
“I’ll be gracious and nice when you deserve it,” Doyoung snatches the sweater out of Donghyuck’s hands and storms away from the sound of laughter. “Until then, get your kicks somewhere else!”
And that seems to be the end of it – outside of some teasing, of course.
Within a week, the crop top has gone missing in action, presumably thrown out by Doyoung. Donghyuck whines about his wasted pocket change, so Doyoung treats them all to dinner to make up for it.
It’s later on that night that Taeyong is lying in bed with his eyes drilling holes in the ceiling. Scrolling through his phone got boring twenty minutes ago. He can feel sleep tugging behind his eyeballs, but there’s a pressure in his bladder that he needs to take care of before he dozes off, if only he could stop being so lethargic.
The dorm is still when Taeyong finally crawls out of bed. Someone is watching a movie somewhere down the hall, but it seems like everyone else is asleep or at least hunkered down for the night. So when he opens the bathroom door, he lets himself be too lazy to knock.
His eyelids are heavy, but the sight in front of him is unmistakable: Doyoung, standing in front of the mirror on his tiptoes, dressed in nothing but tight boxers and –
And the crop top.
He’s not checking himself out, Taeyong reasons. He can’t be checking himself out. But it’s hard to look at Doyoung as he is, straining up to fit his whole torso in the mirror, leg muscles tensed and bare stomach taught as he stands arched, just a bit, just enough to make the outline of his cock in his boxers jut forward, half hard from the looks of things. Or maybe his dick is just like, huge.
It’s a two second appraisal that makes Taeyong feel like he just got an IV drip of pure espresso. He’s more awake now, and Doyoung is already falling down to the flat of his feet and hunching over with his forearms blocking the view of his tight stomach.
“Use the other fucking bathroom,” he hisses, but Taeyong doesn’t move an inch from where he’s holding on to the door handle and letting his heavy eyes wander more than they should.
“You look good in that,” he says, and Doyoung’s ears glow red. “I’m gonna go pee in the other bathroom. Night night.”
Taeyong’s bladder is half empty before his brain catches up to what he just saw. The next thing he knows, he’s zoning out thinking about Doyoung’s trim waist peeking out from under that thin grey fabric, lean muscles leading his eye down to the swell of his hard cock – and just like that there’s pee all over the toilet seat. He curses and scrambles to shake himself off and clean up the mess he made, fumbling with Clorox wipes but thinking about Doyoung.
He’s probably changed back into pajamas and escaped the bathroom already. Lying in bed maybe, unable to sleep. Still half hard at the memory of his exposed skin. Taeyong wonders if it was a narcissism thing, or if Doyoung was imagining eyes on him. Or maybe – hands on him. Wrapping around his thin waist, creeping up under the loose fabric settled around his ribs. Taeyong has never exactly felt up Doyoung’s chest, but he can imagine it.
The thing is, for a guy who claims to hate working out, Doyoung has a really nicely developed chest.
It’s easy to imagine digging his nails into the flesh, firm but with a little give. Taeyong is aware that not everyone's nipples are as sensitive as his, but it’s fun to pretend. In his mind’s eye, Doyoung’s eyebrows knit together as he squirms under Taeyong’s fingertips. Pinching and pulling.
Abruptly, while wiping piss off a toilet seat with a handful of soggy Clorox wipes, Taeyong realizes he’s horny. Really, really horny.
It’s pushing 3:30 in the morning by now, so Taeyong does the mature thing. He slops the wipes in the wastebasket, washes his hands, and pulls down his shorts. He already needs to clean the bathroom at ass o’clock in the morning. Might as well dirty it up some more.
It’s not an exaggeration to say the crop top haunts him.
He sees it where no one else does. In Doyoung’s laundry hamper. Sticking out of Doyoung’s closet, carefully wedged between other sweaters for camouflage. In a heap under Doyoung’s bed, like he kicked it there in a panic and hoped no one would notice. At night, when he’s dreaming, and then in his imagination after he wakes up and jerks off.
And finally, he sees it on Doyoung again.
It’s early. Stupid early, when normal people like Doyoung are trying to sleep and people like Taeyong are finally calling it quits on an MMO because the sun is about to rise and the line has to be drawn somewhere. He gets ready to settle for bed, moving to put his phone on his charger, when he remembers something.
Doyoung borrowed his charger earlier today.
He considers just leaving it until later, but his phone is at 4%. So he drags himself out of his bedroom and into Doyoung’s, being careful to make as little noise as possible while he illuminates his way with his phone flashlight as dim as it will go. But even curled on his side and facing the other way, Doyoung is a light enough sleeper that the dull glow makes him stir.
“Wassat?” he murmurs, rolling onto his back and stretching in Taeyong’s peripheral vision.
“Shh, I’m just getting my char… ger…”
Suddenly, there’s no oxygen in the room. Taeyong is a dwindling ember about to be smothered out of existence. The sight of Doyoung being all pliant and exposed is suffocating him. One arm is stretched up above his head, dragging the fabric of that godforsaken crop top up so high on his ribs that his chest is nearly bare.
“On my desk,” Doyoung mutters, totally oblivious to Taeyong staring at him. Stiffly, Taeyong turns towards the desk and spots his charger.
Right next to a bottle of lube.
He looks back at Doyoung, chest rising and falling with each slow breath, already back asleep. He isn’t usually like that, so tired out that he can’t even open his eyes when someone comes into his room. Taeyong glances back at the bottle of lube brazenly sitting out in the open and tries hard not to imagine what Doyoung was getting up to before he fell into such a heavy sleep.
Taeyong snatches the charger and makes his escape before he can do something irreparably stupid.
It’s when Doyoung wears a crop top in a professional context that things get weird.
The damn thing doesn’t even look like much at first. Little cutouts lining the ribbons down one side are nothing to write home about, especially not compared to some of the things Taeyong himself has worn. Until Doyoung lifts his arms, and Taeyong loses his mind. Maybe it’s because Doyoung isn’t in the habit of showing off his body, or maybe it’s because Taeyong knows he secretly likes to be exposed. Or maybe it’s the simple fact that this isn’t something Taeyong can just run away from to jerk off over in the privacy of his own bedroom.
Or maybe Doyoung is just hot.
Jaemin gets up in his business, teasing him to hide his own lingering embarrassment about the flimsy vest he’s wearing. Taeyong lets it happen, partly to keep the mood in the bustling waiting room more playful than anxious, and partly because Taeyong loves watching the young'uns drive Doyoung up a wall. Besides, Jaemin isn’t a real threat.
Not that Taeyong has a reason to feel threatened by anyone. That would be weird. He scratches at an itchy spot on his forehead before a stylist slaps his hand away.
“I don’t want to have to stick those rhinestones back on,” she scolds.
“Oh,” Taeyong says, dazed. “Sorry.”
“And stop staring at him,” she adds. “You’re still the visual today.”
Taeyong’s brows knit in confusion before he realizes he’s been sitting in a corner glowering at Doyoung with something that must look like jealousy and not, you know, balls-tightening overwhelming lust. He crosses his legs, and then uncrosses them to go look for Lucas. He’s always an accidental boner-kill.
There’s enough distractions in the following hour that Taeyong manages to get lost in the bustle enough to preserve his sanity. There’s a final wardrobe check before they’re fitted with mic packs, and Taeyong is thankfully facing the other way when Doyoung’s gets put on. The performance takes run smoothly, and Taeyong thinks he’s out of the woods.
Until his day is ruined in the unlikely vessel of a random ass camera operator.
Taeyong spots them while staff members are hurrying to dismantle the stage to prep it for the next group. His chest is still rattling with every inhale from dancing, and he has to do a double take when he sees Doyoung. He’s standing off stage, leaning against a wall with someone Taeyong doesn’t recognize. The man mostly has his back to Taeyong, but Taeyong can see the camera he’s gesturing to as Doyoung nods.
They really don’t have time for this, neither the idols nor the staff, so then why is Doyoung shooting the shit with some random staff member who probably has something important to be doing?
Their eyes meet over the guy’s shoulder. Doyoung gives him a small secret smile, the dangerous sort where his tongue peeks between his teeth for a second, before leaning closer to the camera man. He runs a hand down the guy’s arm and bats his eyelashes like some coquettish harlot. It’s so irritatingly deliberate that Taeyong thinks he must be trying to elicit a reaction.
Making Doyoung jealous is fun. Doyoung making him jealous is… Less fun.
Taeyong heads over to put an end to this madness, bowing to the camera operator a little too curtly to be entirely polite. He wraps an arm around Doyoung’s waist, intentionally sticking his hand up under the shirt, and drags him close so their hips knock. There’s a tacky layer of sweat on Doyoung’s skin from dancing under the hot stage lights, and Taeyong wonders if he sweats this much during sex. He’s going to do everything in his power to make sure this camera guy never finds out.
“We’ve got to go get changed, Doyoungie,” Taeyong says, wrapping his free hand around Doyoung’s wrist. “The stylists are waiting on us.”
“Right,” Doyoung bows to the stranger. “It was nice talking to you, Kyungil-hyung.”
Taeyong feels his eye twitch at the honorific.
The entire walk back, Taeyong keeps one hand on Doyoung’s lower back.
“He was just showing me a part that broke off on his camera,” Doyoung says, as if Taeyong asked.
“But it broke right after filming finished, so the footage should turn out fine.”
Soon, everyone is back to their normal clothes. Black t-shirts and black jeans, residual makeup still smeared around their eyes. Now it just becomes a waiting game while the staff run themselves ragged trying to keep everything moving smoothly and on schedule. Jaemin decides to kill the time by once again terrorizing Doyoung. Dejun, bless his heart, is the only person willing to flock to Doyoung’s defense.
Taeyong just watches them from where he’s slumped on a sofa again, and considers how fucked he is. Being horny for your coworker… Bad. Being horny for your roommate… Bad. Being horny for someone who is both at once… Big bad.
Jaehyun plops down next to him, sinking into the soft pleather so their shoulders smoosh together. He’s unwrapping some kind of chocolate snack, and Taeyong immediately starts making grabby hands.
“Get your own,” Jaehyun slaps his hand away.
“Just a small bite,” Taeyong whines. “I’m your leader.”
“Pulling rank…” Jaehyun mutters in disbelief before holding it out for Taeyong to chomp in to.
Chocolate and caramel around a pretzel. Crunchy.
Both of them chew in silence for a minute before Jaehyun asks, “Whatcha thinking about?”
Taeyong doesn’t look at Doyoung. “Abs.”
“People like it when your tummy is skinny,” Jaehyun assures him, patting the tummy in question, and Taeyong tries not to snort.
Maybe Doyoung won’t even mention it.
Of course Doyoung mentions it.
It’s late at night, but their floor of the dorm is bustling. Taeyong is considering buying noise cancelling headphones when someone knocks on his door. He opens it, in case it’s something important, and tries to close it again when it’s just Doyoung.
“Hey, hey,” Doyoung pushes the door from the other side, “Let me in!"
Taeyong relents in his teasing, but quickly realizes he might be in deep shit when Doyoung comes in with a stormy face and closes the door behind him.
“Uh,” Taeyong says, feeling cornered in the middle of his own bedroom as Doyoung walks right up to him. “Need something?”
They’re so close that Doyoung’s arms brush against Taeyong when he crosses them. “You have no self control.”
Taeyong plays dumb. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He’s very good at it.
Doyoung tilts his head, unamused. “Don’t play dumb.” Okay, maybe not.
New tactic: “For someone so shy about their body, you sure liked the attention today.”
“I’m not shy ,” Doyoung insists.
“You nearly killed Donghyuck for buying you a crop top once,” Taeyong reminds him.
“Because he was making fun of me , dipshit–”
“But you sure do like wearing it when no one is around.”
Doyoung’s jaw tightens. Checkmate.
“In fact,” Taeyong continues, emboldened, “I think you liked wearing one in front of all those people, too. Gonna jerk off in the bathroom thinking about that like you did with the other one?”
Doyoung’s eyebrow twitches. “Thought we agreed to never talk about that.”
“How could we,” Taeyong asks, “When we never talked about it in the first place?”
“I thought it was an unspoken agreement.”
“Well, I disagree,” Taeyong says, and then, “Did… Did anyone else ever see…”
He doesn’t finish because he doesn’t really know how, but Doyoung seems to get it anyway. He rolls his eyes and looks away, trying to win out over his embarrassment. “As far as I know, only you.”
“Good,” he says out loud, surprising both himself and Doyoung. “I… Don’t want anyone else to see you.”
“Well,” Doyoung clears his throat. “That answers why you were being so weird earlier.”
“Are you mad?” Taeyong asks, because that seems like an important thing to clarify with the way Doyoung is glowering at him right now.
“I’m not mad, I’m – frustrated.”
Why would he be frustra– oh .
“Like… Horny frustrated?” Taeyong asks hopefully.
Doyoung looks down at the floor, and that’s answer enough for Taeyong.
“Good news,” Taeyong says, trying to power through his awkwardness. “I am too. We could help each other out.”
Maybe it's terrible line. Doyoung gives him an unimpressed look. “Is that really a good idea?"
It's not the yes Taeyong was hoping for, but it’s not a no either. He understands the reluctance, but…
“Probably not,” he says, “And I don’t really care.”
“Okay,” Doyoung says, eyes on Taeyong’s mouth as he shuffles closer. “Then I don’t, either.”
Taeyong knows they’re rocketing towards something irreversible here, but he has to know – “Did you touch yourself that night I walked in on you in the bathroom?”
“Yes,” Doyoung easily. They’re both whispering. Taeyong feels like an idiot. Whatever. “I wasn’t going to, but when I knew you’d seen me…”
“Hard to believe I’m the only one who ever caught you,” Taeyoung teases, running his fingers up Doyoung’s sides. Lifting his shirt, just a little. “I walked in on you sleeping in it once. I think you were jerking off before you fell asleep.”
Doyoung exhales. It sounds like his lungs are rattling. “I thought I dreamed that. Fuck.”
Taeyong hooks a finger in Doyoung’s waistband. “Where’s the crop top at now, Doyoung?”
Doyoung bites at his bottom lip, blushing against his will. “I haven’t worn it for a while. Not enough time. Not enough… Privacy.”
“Good thing I have a room all to myself,” Taeyong says. An invitation, if Doyoung wants to take it. His ears are ringing as he waits for the response.
“After,” Doyoung eventually says. “When promotions are over and we have time.”
“Then what?” Taeyong asks.
Finally, Doyoung reciprocates Taeyong’s small touches. He holds Taeyong’s chin in a firm grip, stroking his jaw as he leans close. There’s plenty of warning, plenty of time for Taeyong to pull away. But he doesn’t, and their lips brush. The kiss is quick and chaste, but it still makes Taeyong dig his fingertips into Doyoung’s waist.
“After,” Doyoung says, suddenly smug, “I’ll show you how not shy I am.”
“Okay,” is all Taeyong can say, a little scared and a little horny.
Because he has no idea what he just got himself into.
The following week is hell, because Doyoung has apparently decided to launch a tactical campaign of horny warfare.
It’s subtle at first.
In the morning, when three of them are lined up at one sink furiously trying to wash their faces and brush their teeth, Doyoung comes in behind them looking for Mark’s contact solution. He tries to squeeze in between where Taeyong and Yuta are nearly shoulder-to-shoulder, pressing the full expanse of his chest against Taeyong’s back as he reaches for the bottle. Taeyong stops brushing entirely when he feels Doyoung’s other hand circle around to press flat against his stomach, pinky dipping below his waistband. And just like that he’s gone, leaving Taeyong stunned with toothpaste dripping out of his mouth.
A million more little touches like that scatter across Taeyong’s skin like stardust. A hand curling around Taeyong’s shoulder right by his neck, broad and a little possessive. Hands on each other’s knees, fingertips dancing dangerously high on the inseam of their pants. Doyoung pressing his hand against the small of Taeyong’s back as he climbs into a van behind him.
And the lewdest of all: touching their pinkies together. Taeyong initiates it when a group of them are gathered around a monitor watching a playback of a performance. He doesn’t know what possesses him to run his pinkie up the side of Doyoung’s but when Doyoung curls their little fingers together, he swears he can feel that pressure all over his body. There’s about ten people in the room with them and it feels illicit, somehow. It makes Taeyong want to kiss him.
Luckily, it’s only two days before the kisses start.
The first one is blindsiding. Taeyong is minding his own business, sitting at his desk chair and playing his Switch when Doyoung barges in. Before he can even ask what Doyoung wants, the switch is plucked out of his hand and a firm kiss is pressed to his mouth.
Doyoung is long gone with the Switch by the time Mark finds Taeyong sitting nearly catatonic and staring at the wall two minutes later.
There’s a kiss the next morning, right under his ear, at four o’clock when everyone else is too grumpy and tired to notice it. A kiss when they just so happen to totally accidentally bump into each other in a bathroom at a radio station and bite each other’s lips red. Something softer later that night, right before they part ways to go to bed.
It’s not long before Taeyong starts to fight back, grabbing Doyoung by the wrist and pulling him into a bathroom stalls to kiss him stupid in slow moments when they won’t be missed.
Maybe that’s what he thinks he’s doing when he gets home one night from a solo schedule and immediately seeks out Doyoung. Just fighting back. He barges into Doyoung’s room, expecting to see Doyoung alone. What he sees instead is Doyoung curled up on his bed with Donghyuck sitting a foot away. He locks eyes with Doyoung, and Doyoung quirks his eyebrow like a challenge.
The dumbest cave man part of Taeyong’s brain goes, I need to fuck Doyoung before Donghyuck does .
“Hi, hyung,” Donghyuck says, like a normal person who isn’t a slave to insatiable Doyoung Lust.
“You might want to get out of here, Hyuck-ah,” is Taeyong’s gruff reply. “I’m playing competitive gay chicken with Doyoung.”
Donghyuck looks like his brain is buffering. “I really didn’t need to know that.”
“Hyuckie,” Doyoung says, never dropping eye contact with Taeyong, “Get out.”
Donghyuck looks between the two of them having their horny standoff with mounting horror. “Oh god,” he wails, “Mom and dad are fucking while the kids are home.”
“And enough of that mom shit,” Doyoung barks as Donghyuck scurries out of the room in childish disgust. The door clicks shut and he turns his attention back to Taeyong. “Gay chicken?”
Taeyong shrugs. “Isn’t that what we’re doing?”
“Normal people call it flirting, I think.”
A beat of silence passes.
“Get over here.”
As soon as Taeyong is within arm’s reach of the bed, Doyoung grabs him by the wrist and tugs. He stumbles, landing with his face right in the middle of Doyoung’s chest. The way his hand reaches out to brace himself on one side of said chest is just a natural reaction to falling. He squeezes it a little. Nice.
“Are you,” Doyoung starts, shifting his leg beneath Taeyong. He draws in a small breath and then grabs Taeyong’s face to make him look up, squishing his cheeks a little. “Are you hard? Taeyong, what the fuck?”
“Half hard,” Taeyong answers. He can feel his lips jutting out like a fish. “That’s why I’m here.”
“Just can’t go on without someone making you cum?” Doyoung teases, letting him go to fake a swoon. “That’s kind of pathetic.”
Taeyong squirms in embarrassment. “Listen, I know you want it, and I want it, too, and we don’t have to do much. Just let me–”
He rolls his hips and bites his lip at the pressure against his cock. There’s an uncomfortable chafe, but he doesn’t care. He chases that feeling with his hands braced on either side of Doyoung’s hips when the reality of the situation hits him:
He’s humping Doyoung’s leg like a dog.
With a pathetic grunt, he collapses back down against Doyoung’s chest, trying hard to keep his hips still.
“Why’d you stop?”
He looks up at Doyoung and feels like an idiot. Doyoung is looking at him like he’s a plate of takoyaki after a long day of schedules. It’s the kind of intense look that makes Taeyong feel like a horny idiot. And kind of hungry. Horngry? He doesn’t care. He just wants to cum.
“Go on,” Doyoung reads his goddamn mind. “You wanna cum so bad then do it.”
“Just… Don’t make fun of me?”
“When have I ever made fun of you?” Doyoung asks, grinning like the devil himself. He swats Taeyong on the ass, which makes Taeyong jump into action.
He sits up straight and grabs the top of Doyoung’s thigh in both hands, brushing against the swell of Doyoung’s cock and fuck , he’s hard. He’s as hard as Taeyong by now, straining up against the thick cotton of his pants, and it just makes Taeyong want to hump his thigh harder. So he does, riding down in an awkward rhythm, fighting hard with both their anatomy to find the best angle.
“Doyoungie,” he gasps, feeling stupid and helpless. His voice comes out wet. He feels like he’s drooling. “Help.”
“Fuck, Taeyong, you’re –”
Doyoung’s hands come up to Taeyong’s hips, dragging him to a rougher tempo. It’s not the help Taeyong had in mind, but he’ll never complain about the restless force of Doyoung’s fingers on him. He hopes they leave bruises.
“Kiss,” Taeyong begs, straining forward. Doyoung grabs him by the throat and pulls him close, licking into his mouth with a sound that’s far too wet for the relative quiet in the dorm.
If anyone were to press their ear to the door they’d know exactly what was going on. Even if Taeyong is being quiet, there’s no mistaking the rhythmic squeak of the bed every time he ruts his hips down against Doyoung’s thigh.
Doyoung gets one hand on Taeyong’s ass and squeezes , which is kind of flattering since most people tend to think ignoring his ass entirely is the polite thing to do. His hands feel huge, two fingers dipping between his legs. He thinks about Doyoung pressing up inside of him, about himself pressing up inside Doyoung , and that’s it. He gone.
He cries out into Doyoung’s mouth, stupid loud, and collapses in immediate bone-deep embarrassment even as his cock continues to turn the inside of his pants into a goopy mess with every pulse. His dick honestly hurts , but fuck if he’s gonna do anything about it right now. He can barely manage to do anything but jerk his hips and try not to start crying.
While he’s catching his breath, Doyoung shifts him down to lie on the bed so he can drag himself up upright with his back against the headboard. His cock is tenting his sweatpants and Taeyong wants to see it so badly.
“Can I,” he begins, reaching out to squeeze Doyoung through his pants.
Doyoung hisses. “I mean, you can, but you – you don’t have to, I…”
His train of thought seems to roll to a stop once Taeyong pulls his cock out. Both of them are quiet as Taeyong slowly wraps his fingers around it and pumps it once, twice, watching the pull of the skin at the tip, the wetness leaking down the head. Before he can think any better of it, Taeyong leans close and wraps his lips around it.
Doyoung grunts like it’s the last thing he expected.
“Such a people pleaser,” he gasps. Taeyong isn’t sure what that’s supposed to mean, but it makes his ears burn. He moves his lips down lower, lower, until he’s resting his head against Doyoung’s hip and sucking softly at the base. Doyoung’s cock, Taeyong discovers, is like a precum factory. He presses his thumb against the slit and smears it around, loving how wet it makes the handjob. It’s kind of disgusting, but in a good way.
“It sounds like us kissing,” Taeyong points out. “That’s cute.”
“ Please stop saying weird shit,” Doyoung begs, sounding no less horny for it. Taeyong is sleepy but he doesn’t want to stop. Doyoung doesn’t seem to mind the pace, though. He just breathes through his nose, heavy and irregular, and strokes Taeyong’s hair so gently compared to the grip on his hips earlier.
Taeyong’s head spins as he wonders how long Doyoung has wanted to do this. How much time they’ve wasted. Doyoung cums quietly with his hand fisted tight in Taeyong’s hair. And afterwards, as Doyoung is softening, Taeyong sucks lightly on the messy cum-covered head even as Doyoung whines and smacks his forehead.
He’s done wasting anything when it comes to this guy.
Except – Doyoung is annoying, Taeyong decides.
It’s too early for this. It’s too early for anything. The human body was not designed to be awake before the sun. Taeyong’s eyes are barely open but he’s still cursed with the image of Doyoung sitting on the adjacent sofa with his arms raised and his hands holding onto the back cushion. He looks like he started to stretch and fell asleep halfway through, eyes closed and hair disheveled. His shirt rides up just enough that his belly button peeks out.
He’s wearing the same thing he was last night. Taeyong blinks with eyelids like anvils and thinks that if he had the brain power to focus, he might be able to see a cum stain on Doyoung’s sweatpants.
“Shower’s free,” Jaehyun says, rubbing the top of Doyoung’s head as he walks by. “Hurry up, Taeyong is after you.”
Reluctantly, Doyoung finishes his stretch, arching his back and groaning as his stomach flexes.
Taeyong sighs. So fucking annoying.
Time gets stupid when you’re busy. It’s easy to get caught up in the work you have to do and forget about the fun you’ve been waiting to have.
So one evening, when Taeyong gets back from his final schedule of the day around eleven at night, he realizes that nobody has anything on their agenda tomorrow. That detail is important , his brain tells him. It is significant. But he doesn’t remember why until he opens his bedroom door to find Doyoung lounging on his bed.
Wearing his pajama pants.
And that fucking MILF crop top.
Taeyong drops his bag with a solid thunk .
“What do you have in there, bricks?” Doyoung asks, a little aloof and insolent, never looking up from his phone. Taeyong feels weirdly sweaty all of a sudden. He has just enough presence of mind to flip the lock on the door before he dives on his bed and sinks his teeth into the lean muscle of Doyoung’s bare abdomen.
Doyoung barks out a startled laugh and drops his phone. “What the hell?”
Taeyong holds up an impatient finger. “Just let me have this.”
Doyoung snorts. “Fine,” he says, but Taeyong is already back to kissing and sucking at his midriff, dipping his tongue into his belly button and dragging red lines down his sides with his fingernails. There better not be any more public crop tops on the menu for a while, because Taeyong doesn’t intend to stop until Doyoung looks like he got attacked by a giant Taeyong-shaped leech. Doyoung lets him do it, giggling softly every once in a while like he’s ticklish.
Taeyong really can’t help himself. He kisses a line from Doyoung’s stomach straight up under the hem of the sweater, stretching the material as he sucks bites and kisses all over Doyoung’s chest. Doyoung just laughs at him and grabs the hem, pulling it off Taeyong’s head so it bunches up under his chin.
His smile falls when Taeyong looks up at him. “Wow. You’re gone, Taeyongie. You’re on Mars.”
Taeyong presses his hands against Doyoung’s bare chest and tries to get his brain moving toward speech. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You look stupid,” Doyoung flicks Taeyong’s forehead, making him recoil just a bit. “Like you’re too horny to think.”
“That’s not true,” Taeyong shakes his head. “I’m thinking about a lot.”
“Oh?” Doyoung taunts. “Like what.”
“Like…” Taeyong opts for honesty: “Like eating you out.”
“Are you for real?” Doyoung murmurs, mocking laughter in his voice. “That’s dirty, Taeyong.”
Taeyong swallows and tries to hide his face by pressing it to Doyoung’s shoulder. He has no idea how they ended up like this – he could have sworn Doyoung was the embarrassed needy one months ago when Taeyong caught him ogling his own reflection.
“You’re lucky,” Doyoung says, stretching out languidly under Taeyong, prompting him to sit back up. “I’ve been bored while everyone has been out today. Had plenty of time to clean myself up –”
“Stretch myself out –”
“All ready for you.”
“ Please let me see.”
“Take my pants off.”
“They’re my pants,” Taeyong grumbles, but he's quick to tug Doyoung’s waistband down. No underwear, which comes as no surprise. They’ve been trading hand jobs like handshakes the last couple of days, but Taeyong still feels like a drooling caveman every time he watches Doyoung’s cock spring free from his pants.
Taeyong hastily moves to pry his legs open, but Doyoung snaps them shut at the knees. This is how their horny push-and-pull plays out: Taeyong getting handsy and ahead of himself while Doyoung does everything he can to frustrate Taeyong.
“What’s the rush?” Doyoung asks as he opens his legs slowly, coyly , holding his hand between his legs to cover his hole with his fingers spread wide like some world class tease. Taeyong curses the strange power the crop top seems to have given this man. Let a guy show off his tummy once and he turns into the Nation’s Sluttiest Bottom.
“Let me see,” Taeyong begs, trying to pull Doyoung’s hands aside.
“No,” Doyoung coos, “I’m shy about my body, remember?”
“I’m sorry for doubting you,” Taeyong puts his hands together like he’s praying. “I’m sorry for thinking you were a bodyshy weirdo with a Narcissus complex who was jerking it to your own reflection.”
“You…” Doyoung scowls, “Wait, you what ?”
“Nothing,” Taeyong reaches forward again, trying to destroy Doyoung’s resolve by jerking his cock a few times. “Come on, show me how pretty you are.”
Doyoung grunts at the word like he’s annoyed, but he slowly trails his hands up and away. Taeyong doesn’t waste any time. He ducks down low and kisses at the juncture of Doyoung’s thigh and hip like he needs it to breathe, trailing his lips lower until he presses a kiss right next to Doyoung’s hole. It’s shining a bit in the low light, wet with lube. When Taeyong sinks his thumb in, he barely meets any resistance.
“Oh,” he sighs, “You were busy.”
For once, Doyoung seems to be at a loss for words. The lack of reaction makes Taeyong want to look up to read his face, but he’s having a hard time focusing on anything but the feast in front of him as he kisses at the rim and presses his thumb up against Doyoung’s perineum. Nothing but teasing kisses scatter around the soft skin. He thinks he might be drooling.
“Nng, who’s the shy one now?” Doyoung taunts, rolling his hips against Taeyong’s mouth. It makes Taeyong whine, something high and needy, and he readjusts his grip on Doyoung’s thighs to drag him closer. Doyoung jerks like he’s shocked when Taeyong spits on his hole and then pushes the saliva in deep with his wet tongue. Definitely drooling.
One of Doyoung’s hands slips into his hair to tug him closer, and his throat suddenly feels too tight against the desire to do more . He plunges his tongue in deeper while Doyoung bites off sighs and whimpers, licking until his jaw aches. He’d do anything Doyoung wanted him to right now.
“ This ,” Doyoung groans, grinding down against Taeyong’s face, “This is what you were made for.”
He says it in that soft, breathy voice of his. Like a mist of April rain on a quiet lake. Like honey dripping slow and sticky down the center of a lilac in full bloom, making the petals bow and arch under the languid weight. His voice has always captivated Taeyong. It would captivate anyone.
Taeyong wants to give him everything in that moment, but his tongue feels fat and useless, not thick enough, never deep enough. But Doyoung seems to like it plenty from the way he fists Taeyong’s hair and tells him, right there, filthy boy, eating me so good, made for this . Taeyong can’t tell if he wants to pull Doyoung’s thighs away from his ears so he can hear Doyoung better, or if he wants Doyoung to press tighter until he can’t move.
“Can you do two things at once, baby?” Doyoung asks, voice sweet even as his fingernails dig crescents into Taeyong’s scalp. “Or are you too stupid for that?”
“Not stupid,” Taeyong insists, lifting his head to kiss the inside of Doyoung’s thigh.
“Then stretch me out,” Doyoung says. “Make sure you I can take you.”
“ Fuck , I will, I will…”
Taeyong shifts so he can press a fingers against the rim. It’s already a little wet and sloppy from Taeyong’s attention and whatever the hell Doyoung was getting up to before Taeyong got home. He sinks one finger up to the third knuckle easily, entranced at the sight of Doyoung tightening around him. He grabs one side of Doyoung’s ass and pulls it open wide as he slips a second finger in. “Pretty,” he coos again. Doyoung isn’t exactly all ass, but neither is Taeyong. They can appreciate the small things in life. They make it work.
“Quiet,” Doyoung kicks at his side, but he doesn’t seem to mind the attention.
Taeyong curls his two fingers, drinking in the way Doyoung gasps and arches against the sheets. The third finger meets some resistance, but Doyoung seems to like the stretch judging by the way his cock jumps.
“How long were you at this before I got here?” Taeyong asks, brushing a spot that makes Doyoung sigh out tiny whimpers.
“An, ah , an hour. Give or take.”
Taeyong thinks about Doyoung on his bed, tangled up in his sheets as he pumps his fingers in and out of himself. He thinks about Doyoung prepping himself and wearing some stupid fucking sweater that says MILF on it, just because Taeyong wanted him to show off his stomach. He thinks he might be a little in love with Doyoung, but that’s a thought for another day.
He feels Doyoung cross his ankles, grinding his heels down into the curve of Taeyong’s back. Like a footstool , Taeyong thinks. He’s tired of thinking. He sucks at the side of Doyoung’s cock and decides all he wants to do is sink into that tight warmth.
“Is it enough?” Taeyong asks, scissoring his fingers wide.
“I dunno,” Doyoung murmurs. His breathing is heavy above Taeyong like a thunderhead. “Do you think you could fuck me, Taeyongie?”
“I could,” Taeyong bables. “I can. Let me.”
“Then go ahead.”
Taeyong doesn’t waste any time sitting back and fumbling with the buckle of his pants. Doyoung, god bless him, passes the lube from wherever it was hiding, and he hastily slicks himself up.
As soon as he pushes in, Doyoung bites on his knuckle. They can’t be loud, even if everyone already knows what they’re doing. As much as Taeyong likes humiliation, that’s over the line even for him. So Taeyong grabs the hem of the sweater where it’s sitting just above Doyoung’s nipples and tugs it up higher, so it’s close to his mouth and his entire chest is exposed.
“Bite down on it,” he says, and Doyoung just looks up at him with foggy eyes. “To muffle yourself.”
Reluctantly, shly even, Doyoung parts his pink lips. Taeyong stuffs it in his mouth, maybe a little too rough, but Doyoung doesn’t seem to mind as he bites down on it.
“Now let’s see if that’ll actually keep you quiet,” Taeyong teases, and Doyoung flips him off.
It’s hard to find a rhythm at first, partly because Doyoung is so much… Larger. He’s really broad and his legs are lanky and his chest is super broad and his torso is long and his chest is really kind of distractingly broad. Taeyong keeps getting caught up in the way Doyoung’s nipples are begging to be groped and pinched, until Doyoung grabs his hand. Taeyong laces their fingers together and holds Doyoung's head down against the bed next to his head, and that’s the ticket. His posture turns looming, forcing Doyoung’s hips up off the bed a little as he drives in at an angle that makes Doyoung grunt and whine over the sound of their hips slapping together. They’re too loud, even with Doyoung using his sweater as a makeshift gag, But Taeyong can’t be bothered to care at this point.
Especially not when Doyoung yelps, releasing the sweater from his mouth and bowing his chest forward.
“There, there ,” he pleads. “Taeyongie, right there.”
Taeyong redoubles his effort, hiking Doyoung’s hips up as he presses their foreheads together and fucks in harder. His thighs are burning but he doesn’t give a damn as he chases that sweet friction and punches too-loud gasps and moans out of Doyoung.
“Someone’s going to hear you,” Taeyong pants, readjusting his grip around Doyoung’s back when he starts to slip. There’s sweat and precum everywhere. Lube, too. His room is going to stink for days.
“Don’t fucking care,” Doyoung bites out, rolling his hips down hard. He keeps one hand braced on the bed as he reaches down to jerk himself off. Distantly, Taeyong thinks that maybe he should have been nice and done that for him. Instead all his brain power is focused on turning Doyoung’s ass into as much of a mess as possible.
Next time. They’ll work on it.
It’s not long before Doyoung’s arm gives out and he tumbles down to the bed with an oof . Taeyong thinks he should probably stop or at least slow down, but Doyoung is still jerking himself off, so that looks like a green light to him. Except he finds out a second later that it’s less of a green light and more like a turbo booster.
Because before he can really register what’s going on, Doyoung is arching off the bed with a shout that someone definitely heard as he cums all over himself. Taeyong halts at once, eyes bulging at the sight of Doyoung’s neck straining back, the red flush of his chest dotted with murky white.
“Pretty,” he murmurs again, watching Doyoung stretch taught before finally sinking bonelessly into Taeyong’s duvet.
“Pull out,” Doyoung huffs, waving his hand limply in Taeyong’s general direction. He obeys, kind of confused but willing to do just about anything Doyoung tells him to right now. Doyoung is a mess, sweat and cum making his torso shine in the low light of the bedroom. He has to be overheating in the sweater, but he doesn’t move to take it off. He doesn’t move at all, to Taeyong’s chagrin.
“I want to cum,” Taeyong whines, trailing his hand down his stomach to grasp his cock. “Please let me cum, please–”
He doubles over like the wind is kicked out of him when Doyoung suddenly grinds his heel against Taeyong’s cock. Taeyong covers his face like he’s trying to stem the tide of embarrassed tears while his cock drips a sluggish fountain of precum down Doyoung’s toes.
He doesn’t even like feet. Feet are gross. What the fuck.
“How do you want to cum, Taeyongie?” Doyoung asks lazily, dropping his foot back to the bed to let his legs fall wide open again.
“On your stomach,” he pants, stroking himself faster. “Wanna cum on your stomach like you did.”
Doyoung glances down his own body, ghosting his fingers across the cum on the sweater that is sure to stain.
“Well,” he says, “Go ahead.”
“Can’t you… Can you just…”
“What?” Doyoung smirks. “Do I have to show you how to do it?”
Taeyong’s ears burn. “Don’t make fun of me, Doyoungie.”
Doyoung laughs openly at that. “Why not? You’re acting pathetic, you deserve it.”
“I just gave you an orgasm. You could at least be nice.”
“Why would I do that,” Doyoung muses, “When you like me being mean so much more?”
“Shut up,” Taeyong begs, “Shut the fuck up.”
“You’re not going to get any help from me,” Doyoung tells him, even as he stretches out like a lazy cat and drags his fingers through the mess on his stomach. Taeyong jerks himself hard and fast while Doyoung sucks the cum from his fingertips and watches him with dark, burning eyes.
It’s all the help Taeyong needs, really.
He doesn’t stop stroking himself as he cums, watching the fat drops mingle with the drying patterns on Doyoung’s stomach. Doyoung just stays stretched out for him, making a pretty little canvas as his sweater rides up. Not high up enough, though. As Taeyong pants above Doyoung and wrings himself dry, one ambitious rope of cum lands on the blue screen printed M lost in the folds of the fabric. Beautiful.
Like Doyoung, Taeyong doesn’t manage to stay upright much longer. He collapses in the small empty space on the bed, trying to fight the urge to wrap around Doyoung like a koala since all that would achieve is spreading cum everywhere.
“You’re so fucking weird,” Taeyong breathes, pressing his nose to Doyoung’s shoulder.
“Me? You’re the one who ate me out like you were trying to burrow underground to hibernate for the winter.”
“And you’re the one who can’t wear a sweater without getting horny.”
“This thing is kind of comfy, actually,” Doyoung notes, picking at a snag. “Maybe I’ll start wearing it like normal.”
“It has cum stains on it,” Taeyong points out.
Doyoung hums. “Yeah, it does.”
“I’ll buy you another one,” Taeyong promises, yawning.
“Now there’s something new. You buying me something instead of the other way around.”
Taeyong slaps his bare stomach, startling a groan out of him. “Shut up, I buy you stuff all the time.”
“Sure you do,” Doyoung grabs his hand where it’s resting on his stomach, playing with his fingers. “Let’s go take a shower.”
Taeyong perks up. “Are we gonna fuck in the shower?”
“No,” Doyoung huffs, “We’re gonna shower in the shower.”
(Twenty minutes later sees Taeyong on his knees with his face buried between Doyoung’s legs again, determined to clean every bit of lube out of Doyoung.
“It would be a waste,” he says over the roar of the shower head.
“Nrrghn,” Doyoung replies. His voice is high and loud, maybe louder than the spray of water.)
Somewhere close by, buried under a duvet with a can of beer in his hand and a scowl on his face, Donghyuck turns up the volume on his laptop and decides he’s never buying anything from Wish again.