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“Yongie, you’re drunk.”

“I’m not,” Taeyong protests, a little belligerently, in that way he only gets when he’s kinda smashed. Yeah, maybe Johnny has a point. But that doesn’t mean Taeyong has to give in, has to let that oppressive giant of a man decide when his bedtime is.

“Just get under the covers and finish that bottle of water on your nightstand,” Johnny instructs him, as he tries to manhandle Taeyong into his bed, “you’ll thank me in the morning.”

“I like how I feel right now. It’s nice, it’s floaty,” Taeyong says plaintively, while successfully wriggling out of Johnny’s hold. He rarely indulges, and he wants to go out and actually enjoy this buzz. Yeah, he loves working. But it’s been so long since he’s been, you know, just Taeyong. Not Taeyong of NCT; the twenty-something tasked with being the ambassador of a brand, an image, a person who has to help maintain job security for dozens of people. He doesn’t want to be that Taeyong, tonight.

And, see, Jaehyun has told him about this new club in Gangnam, where the VIP section has its own separate entrance, and only the truly exceptional are allowed in. And that’s him, right? (Hopefully, because why else has he been pushing himself this hard.)

So, he should go there. Tonight. He belongs at a party, under pulsating lights, soaking up a little bit of fun.

“You always like it at first. Fun, happy Yong comes first.” Johnny considers his (very pricey) watch for dramatic effect. “And then, in half an hour, it’s weepy Yong. And right after that, sleepy Yong. I don’t want to go out tonight, just to end up having to shove you back into the taxi by the time we get there. You’re freakishly strong when you’re riled up. Let’s skip that whole part, hm?”

“You’re no fun,” Taeyong points out, and to his frustration, he now does feel like crying a little bit. He sniffs the building wetness back up his nose, and sits down on the edge of his bed.

Johnny pats his head. “You’ll feel better when you’ve slept. I promise.”

Taeyong makes fists in the fabric of Johnny’s shirt, and looks up at him with big eyes. “Will you stay with me?”

“What? No,” Johnny replies, still laughing but also a bit irked now. “Hey, this is a really nice shirt, it’s new, you’re going to stretch it out–”

“I love you,” Taeyong sniffles, his bottom lip trembling. “Have I ever told you that, Jani-yah? I love you sooo much.”

“Jesus christ,” Johnny mutters to himself, as he unsuccessfully tries to wring free from Taeyong’s steel grip on his shirt, “dude, your hands could double as a wildlife trap.”

“Do you love me?” Taeyong asks, caught up in this sudden fear that Johnny, in fact, does not love him. Surely, he does? But he needs to hear him say it.

“Of course I do. But seriously, let go of the shirt, I just bought this–”

Taeyong’s mood shifts entirely when Johnny affirms his love. He drags him closer, big shimmering eyes now also happy. “I love you too!”

Johnny groans in exasperation, and then, in a light-bulb moment, bends forward and wrings out of his shirt altogether. Without counterbalance, Taeyong flops back onto the bed.

--

Johnny’s not sure what type of reaction he expected. More crying, probably. But instead Taeyong has gone quiet, the bottom half of his face hidden behind Johnny’s shirt, his big eyes roaming down the length of Johnny’s body.

Johnny feels a bit self-conscious now. He’s topless all the time when he’s air-drying after taking a shower, but most of that time is spent in his own room, sat next to Donghyuck, who doesn’t give a damn. Or even if he does, he’s still never looked at Johnny like this.

“Taeyong,” Johnny says warningly, “don’t–”

He’s a beat too slow in taking a step back, Taeyong’s wiry arm shooting forward, two fingers hooking behind Johnny’s belt loop.

It’s so transparent that it makes Johnny laugh. “I’m not taking off my pants.”

“Why not,” Taeyong whines, and gives the loop a feeble tug. As if he couldn’t just snap it. Despite his dainty appearance, Taeyong is one of the strongest members in their group, right behind Johnny. It’s something Johnny has always loved about him.

“I don’t think I’ve met this version before. Is this horny Yong? He’s new.”

“You’re pretty”, Taeyong points out.

And it’s a little embarrassing, how affected Johnny feels over such a simple comment. The thing is, he knows he’s pretty. He knows the effect he has on people, and enjoys playing to it. But they’re just that: people. They’re not, you know. The men he spends his life with.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Johnny says, sharper now. He bends forward, bodily shoving Taeyong further up his bed. “Get under the covers and go to sleep.”

Taeyong touches him in return, but where Johnny is rough, he’s gentle. Long fingers, cupping the outline of Johnny’s dick, giving it a squeeze. The pressure is barely there, and yet impossible to ignore.

He should probably be yelling out a rejection. He should probably act indignant. But instead, he takes in a shuddering breath, and feels caught in Taeyong’s knowing gaze.

“Jani-yangg... you’re hard,” Taeyong says quietly, using that purposefully silly pronunciation that usually makes Johnny laugh – but not this time. And then Taeyong pushes himself up on his elbows, and brushes their lips together.

It takes Johnny a second, a second that feels like it drags on and that will remain etched in his memory (either as a mortifying moment, or an exhilarating one; he’s not sure yet). But then he’s pulling back, shaking his head. “No. You’re drunk.”

“Ahh!” Taeyong exclaims in frustration, letting himself flop back onto his mattress, head cushioned by the huge bunny plushie sitting near his headboard. “You made me so horny and now you’re backing out! I’ll still want to tomorrow, you know! And what then!”

“No, you won’t. You won’t even remember this in the morning,” Johnny laughs, fond, despite just having his desires dragged out into the light, against his wishes (or, maybe more accurately, against his better judgment). “Which Taeyong is this. Are you angry with me right now?” He reaches down, ruffling Taeyong’s hair like he’s ruffling a cute dog. “Drunk little bitch, can’t believe you.”

“I’m thirsty,” Taeyong whines, and his eyes are droopier than they were moments ago. Johnny sits down on the edge of the bed, uncapping Taeyong’s reusable water bottle and offering it to him. Taeyong lifts his head just enough to take a sip, and grimaces. “Bleh. This water is stale.”

“What can I say. It’s your water, dude. Maybe change out the contents a little more often.” He ruffles Taeyong’s hair again. “Nasty.”

Taeyong whines quietly in protest, but doesn’t say anything else, just sighs and closes his eyes.

“Yong. I think you should drink some more of this water.”

But Taeyong’s features have already gone lax, and his breathing has slowed down. After a couple of moments, Johnny realises he’s already fast asleep. He rescues his shirt from Taeyong’s (finally boneless) grip, and pulls it back over his head. Just in time, too, because Doyoung comes into the room moments later, and shoots him a funny look.

“Hey. Didn’t expect you in here.”

“Got home fifteen minutes ago, caught him in the doorway. He said Jaehyun told him about this club...?”

“Oh my god,” Doyoung says, rolling his eyes, clearly familiar with the topic. He gently pushes past Johnny, and starts tucking Taeyong in, with practised movements. “All week, he’s been going on and on. I keep telling him, clubs is where idols’ careers go to die. No one has ever gotten ahead by going to one. But does he listen?”

“No?” Johnny ventures, amused.

Doyoung straightens out, and pouts at him. Doyoung is usually cute, but even moreso when he’s pouting. “Hyung! It’s not funny. You know what he gets like when he’s drunk.”

Johnny is about to say yes, he does know. And then he reconsiders, because, well. He thought he knew. He squints, left wondering about what Taeyong is like around Doyoung when he’s been drinking. Do he and Doyoung...?

“I’ll stay with him a little longer. Would you mind bringing in a bucket? He’s been kinda barf-y lately.” The way Doyoung is leaning over Taeyong, looking down at him, it’s a little scene so full of tenderness that it makes Johnny feel like an intruder.

He frowns. Taeyong had been his roommate, once upon a time. And they’d known pretty much everything about each other. But that was years ago, now.

“Sure thing,” Johnny mutters, backing out of the room.

--

Johnny’s riding the elevator up, from his late-night work out session in the basement. On the ground floor, a person tucked away in a Bape hoodie gets on.

“Taeyong-ssi,” Johnny says in greeting, keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead.

“Youngho-ssi,” Taeyong says back equally formally, and then they both glance at each other as the elevator doors close on them. They’re both fighting off a smile, Taeyong’s lips tucked between his teeth.

“What’s in the bag?” Johnny asks, eyeing the plastic bag in Taeyong’s grip. He can already kind of make out its contents, small bottles making an impression against the edges, clinking together quietly each time the bag is swung back and forth.

“Grapefruit soju.” Taeyong tilts his head, considering the ceiling of the elevator. “Hmm... I was kind of in the mood for something sweet?”

Johnny nods. Taeyong loves sweet things, he’s well-aware (and he would never admit it to Taeyong, but sometimes he brings home little pastries from the convenience store up the hill just to put a smile on Taeyong’s face).

“Do you wanna join? I got enough for two.”

“Yeah, why not,” Johnny smiles, “let me carry the bag, then.”

“No, it’s okay!” Taeyong says, a little too quickly, holding the bag out of reach. He laughs his signature nervous laugh, but it’s more frantic than usual.

“What, do you have condoms in there or something,” Johnny teases. Thanks to the fierce shade of red Taeyong’s cheeks turn, he realises that yes, he definitely has condoms in there.

Johnny coughs, and stutters: “Oh, uh, I’m– I don’t mind, Taeyong-ah. Safe sex is good.” He feels like a blundering idiot. Before he can think of an apology, they’ve reached their floor and Taeyong is pushing past him, calling out over his shoulder to meet him in his room in twenty because he wants to take a shower first.

It takes Johnny a couple seconds longer to set himself in motion, vaguely stunned at the mental image of Taeyong having sex. His minds revisits an earlier image it’d conjured up, despite the fact that he didn’t want to picture it: Doyoung and Taeyong, entangled.

It was definitely a possibility. Those two, they’d been wholly up each other’s asses since debut. Teasing, but loving. And, it was sweet, really. Yeah, Johnny was happy for them. Yeah.

--

Taeyong makes a sound of frustration and mortification when he’s closed his bedroom door behind him.

It’s not that he’s embarrassed about sex, no, not at all. He’s a young man with needs, one who knows how to own his sexuality. But it’s not a topic he can discuss with Johnny. At least, not without feeling cripplingly flustered.

In contrast, it’s always so easy with Doyoung – heck, Doyoung had been the one who’d explained to him how to have successful anal, years ago. So Taeyong knows he’s theoretically capable of talking about fingering and lube and condoms in a neutral tone.

But when he’s standing next to Johnny, he perpetually feels like a stupid schoolboy, liable to turn crimson over a mere outline of a boob. He is, in fact, currently turning redder at the thought of Johnny’s chest. Johnny has always been big, but lately he’s only been growing bigger. And Taeyong must’ve caught him coming back from a work-out session, because he’d been sweaty, wearing this sleeveless black tank top, the arm holes cut low, low, low. Taeyong could see the edge of his obliques, plush and strong–

He takes a deep breath, steadying himself by leaning back against his bedroom door. He’d already offered once, and Johnny had rejected him. And he hadn’t cared as much in the moment, because he’d been drunk. But then the next day it had felt like someone was yanking on his stomach, it’d been so tight with shame. He’d had a little cry over it in the shower, and then told himself to get a grip.

A couple of hours later, he’d begun wondering if maybe Johnny had actually rejected him because he’d been drunk? Like, it wasn’t just him letting Taeyong down gently? Johnny was an honourable man, and yeah, that made sense. Hope had sparked anew in his chest.

And then Doyoung told him how moody Johnny had seemed over having to babysit drunk Taeyong, and his hopes had been dashed all over again, and the shame swiftly returned. Why, why did he have to be such a mess around Johnny Suh. And now, in a moment of (frankly, insane) spontaneity, he’d invited him to drink with him! Another opportunity to embarrass himself, he thinks despairingly, as he locks himself in his bathroom and gives his mirror a sad look.

He shakes his head and whines loudly at the prospect, and then takes another steadying breath. It would be fine, he was going to be fine. He just had to take a shower and sing himself a calming song, and maybe have a drink ahead of time to take the edge off, and things would be fine.

--

They’re six bottles deep and have played every drinking game Johnny knows. They’re both seated on the floor, leaning up against Taeyong’s bed. Taeyong claims to know a couple more games, but he’s so giggly that he’s no longer fully coherent, and his attempts to explain them are unsuccessful.

He’s being touchy and adorable, and worse, the bathrobe he put on after his shower has slid open. Johnny, for his part, maybe is having trouble keeping his eyes off of him. The expanse of chest, the inside of a pale thigh, where his robe has ridden up–

“Jani-yang~” Taeyong slurs, cutely, and unexpectedly lets his weight drop sideways, cradling his head in Johnny’s lap. Johnny tucks a lock of hair behind Taeyong’s ear, regarding him intently.

“Hm?”

“Why did you... why did you say no, last time? I thought,” his voice goes much quieter, until he’s barely audible, “I thought you liked me. Was I just being dumb?”

Johnny laughs, shaking his head. He’s not as affected by the alcohol as Taeyong, but he can feel it nonetheless, causing his head to feel slow and heavy. “Why do you only ask me this stuff when you’ve been drinking.” He clicks his tongue. “Makes me think you’re not being serious.”

“Yah!” Taeyong says indignantly, “I am serious! It’s just– I’m scared. It’s scary. But it’s not as scary right now. It feels good like this.”

“Yeah?” Johnny asks, and finds he can no longer look away, observing Taeyong intently, absorbed by the way he has his head nestled in his lap.

He has eyes unlike anyone else Johnny has met. They’re very nearly out of proportion, lending him an unreal quality, like that of a doll, or a drawing. But they’re not even his prettiest feature. No, it’s not his face, or his body... it’s his way of being, his mannerisms. The clumsiness. The way he laughs on an inhale, or without any sound at all. The moments where he says it exactly as it is, consequences be damned. His devotion to games and to small living things. The exaggerated cute behaviour, to either get what he wants or just get on someone’s nerves. And Johnny’s personal favourite: his innate cuteness. Johnny thinks lots of people in his surroundings are naturally cute, he’s an idol after all. Their profession selects on the trait. But not one of them make his thoughts stutter the way Taeyong does.

And now his heart is pounding in his ears, because Taeyong is looking back with just as much intensity.

“What about Doyoung?”

“What about him?” Taeyong asks, confusion sinking into his features.

Johnny swallows heavily, nodding his head to steel himself in his decision. Taeyong is manoeuvred off his lap, so he can bend low enough to press a chaste kiss to his lips. He doesn’t pull away when he speaks, keeping their lips pressed together: “No. You weren’t just being dumb. I do like you.”

Taeyong laughs nervously, and then grabs Johnny’s shoulders so he can hold him close as he returns the kiss – a much less chaste one. It feels tingly and good, to be kissing Taeyong, his lips going fuzzy along with his thoughts. And it feels strangely relieving, an unnamed worry that had been building up inside of him releasing all at once. When Taeyong’s tongue flicks against the seam of his mouth, Johnny opens up to him, and his resulting moan is swallowed up by the kiss.

They kiss like that for a while, until their mouths are spit-slicked, the wet sounds of their tongues gliding together faint, but very noticeable in the nearly perfect quiet of Taeyong’s bedroom. It’s turning Johnny on, and he wonders if kissing is all Taeyong’s after, after being told that it took a lot for him to be this courageous. Maybe this is all he wants, maybe he’ll shy away if Johnny tries for more.

Taeyong guides Johnny to sit up again, and straddles him. “Johnny,” he sighs out, and his name sounds so different from his leader’s mouth. Taeyong had once told him that Johnny had the best name in the world, and it feels like he hadn’t fully understood that compliment until this very moment.

“Hmn?” Johnny asks wordlessly, sliding his hands over Taeyong’s backside, cupping his small ass cheeks. They’re barely a palmful, and he fights down the desire to squeeze them, part them, lick–

“Please touch me,” Taeyong whispers against his lips, and kisses him again, appearing unwilling to halt the kisses for even a moment.

Johnny’s squeezing instantly turns more possessive, now that he has explicit permission, gaining in intent and force. He kneads Taeyong’s ass, hitching him higher in his lap so he can kiss at his sternum, pale and bony and devastatingly perfect against Johnny’s mouth. It’s Taeyong’s turn to moan, and he does it unabashedly, like they’re the only two people living in this apartment. It causes Johnny to flush, with shame but also with increased desire, spurred on by the danger of it. What other sounds could he draw from Taeyong? A small, irrational part of him wants people to know that he’s the one doing this to him, that he’s the one who gets to do this.

“Shh,” Johnny warns, “they’ll hear.”

“No one else is in,” Taeyong answers hotly, like he’s been well-aware this whole time. It causes Johnny to wonder if maybe this evening had been planned somewhat on Taeyong’s part.

“Christ,” Johnny growls, growing a bit light-headed with the possibilities of so much privacy, remembering the condoms in the bag. He squeezes Taeyong close to him with one arm and gets up without a struggle, pushing himself up against the edge of the bed frame with his free hand. Taeyong laughs in delight over being lifted, hooking his legs across the small of Johnny’s back and threading his cool fingers through the back of his hair. They feel refreshing against his skull, like water sluicing over him.

“Strong,” Taeyong coos, and lowers his head to continue the kiss. It’s increasingly sloppy, both of them growing more uncoordinated as the alcohol in their bellies continues to digest. Taeyong is feisty, nipping and groping. Johnny can’t get enough of him.

“Tell me what you want,” Johnny mutters into the kiss, when his arms begin growing tired. He’s feeling fuzzy, his remaining thoughts solidly divided between the squirming livewire in his hold, and his dick — by now a hard outline against his gray sweatpants.

“Want you,” Taeyong murmurs, sliding his hands down Johnny’s arms, feeling out the shifting muscles.

“Tell me plainly,” Johnny asks, on the edge of begging. He loves being on the receiving end of Taeyong’s kisses, but he just wants to act. Lose himself to doing.

If Taeyong was still holding on to some shyness, the alcohol seems to have taken care of it. He nuzzles their cheeks together, and whispers directly into Johnny’s ear: “Want you to fuck me. Hard, so I’ll still feel you tomorrow.”

Johnny makes a sound of strangled want, roughly depositing Taeyong on his mattress, eliciting a delighted giggle. When he crawls over him, Taeyong’s slender hand travels down his own body to pull at the knot still tying his bathrobe closed. It had already been coming undone, and slips apart easily now, revealing that Taeyong is fully naked underneath — and it’s impossible to decide where to look first, all of him equally enticing. His erection is slender like him, wet at the tip.

“Where’s your underwear?” Johnny asks, and then grows breathless when Taeyong’s hand slips inside his sweats, gone just as fast, but enough to make the pleasure in his groin tighten and bloom, a throb that has him shuddering. He wonders if he’s just going to blow inside his pants, the way he used to do as a teenager, making out with girls and boys under the bleachers, rutting against a leg or a hand.

“Where’s yours?”

“Fair,” Johnny grits out, and pins Taeyong down with a hard kiss, rewarded with another beautiful moan. He’s going so high-pitched, the way he does sometimes when something is annoying him, but better, fuck, so much better. Johnny is fucking his tongue into Taeyong’s mouth now, hips rutting into him, in an imitation of what he really wants to be doing to him. He’s interrupted when Taeyong starts yanking at Johnny’s wifebeater, murmuring off, take it off, wanna see you into the kiss.

Johnny leans back on his knees and shucks the garment off, about to duck back down for more kisses, but he’s stopped by Taeyong’s gentle hand against his stomach.

“Wait, wait, just a second– let me look at you,” Taeyong asks, a little out of breath (and that drives Johnny crazy because, he did that, he kissed him breathless).

Taeyong takes a moment, where he just lies back and looks at Johnny, admiration shining from his eyes. They’re both breathing hard, and Johnny feels like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin. He knows he looks good; he knows, he knows. But under Taeyong’s careful and loving scrutiny, he feels beautiful like never before.

“You really want me?” Taeyong asks suddenly, and there’s an edge there. Vulnerability, insecurity. Johnny can’t believe that’s what’s troubling him. It seems beyond ridiculous. But Taeyong’s being honest, he can tell. The fool thinks he doesn’t measure up.

“Yes,” Johnny answers emphatically, “so can we just– please? Please?”

Taeyong grins, visibly satisfied by Johnny’s desperation. He lets his hand travel up further, cupping one of Johnny’s tits, kneading it with a strong hand. Johnny’s whines, and shivers, but remains motionless. He’ll let Taeyong nurse, if that’s what he wants. He’s prepared to be put through anything the other can think of, if it means a chance at sinking into him.

“Get off, I wanna– I like it when I’m on my stomach,” Taeyong instructs.

Johnny gets up off the bed, palming the length of his cock through the soft fabric of his sweats while Taeyong rolls onto his front, dragging his pink bunny close and resting his cheek on it. He looks up at Johnny, his pretty irises black like ink in the muted light of the bedroom.

“Lube is underneath my bed. The decorated shoe box.”

Johnny pulls it free, endeared at the sight of it, because he recognises Taeyong’s bright and chaotic art. Felt tip and paint. Flowers, dinosaurs and snippets of text. He opens the box and finds more in there than just lube. There’s some interesting looking toys: a collection of pretty plugs, a dildo, and something long and fuzzy which kind of reminds him of a tail. He wants to investigate more, but Taeyong only gave permission to get the lube, so that’s all he grabs.

He shucks off his sweats and gets back on the bed, places a knee on each side of Taeyong’s legs and smoothes his hands up his sides. Taeyong moans, melts a little further into the bed. “Like it wet,” he mutters, and Johnny feels his cock bob in response.

He upends the bottle of lube, squirting out ample liquid across Taeyong’s cheeks with the type of enthusiasm only afforded to the inebriated, enough that half of it slides down into the sheets and onto Taeyong’s lower back, pooling along the line of his spine. Taeyong squeals (‘cold!’), and squirms wildly, but Johnny has him pinned with his thighs. He keeps them squeezed together while he roughly spreads the gel-like liquid onto Taeyong’s skin, until he’s shining with it from his shoulder blades all the way down to his pert butt.

Altogether, it takes no more than twenty seconds to turn Taeyong’s bed into a soaked mess. Taeyong is laughing and yelling unintelligible things at him the whole time, right up until Johnny sinks a finger into him. “Oh– oh,” he sighs breathily, and continues trashing. Johnny hasn’t ever slept with someone this active before (hadn’t graduated to fucking until he permanently moved to Korea, the girls he’s been bedding here invariably on the passive side). He finds he loves it. It’s like he’s taming a horse or something. He sinks in a second finger, and Taeyong squeezes down on them.

“Nn–hah, harder,” he begs him, rutting his hips back, and Johnny’s nonsense with the lube starts working against him because it’s difficult to get a grip on Taeyong’s hip, to try and keep him still while he’s working him open. He leans forward and leans his entire arm across Taeyong’s shoulders, keeping him down with his superior bulk while he shoves his fingers in harder. “Ahn, ah!” Taeyong cries out, slightly muffled by his rabbit plush. He reaches back to touch Johnny’s thighs, squeezing and petting them.

“Is this okay?” Johnny asks, his breathing strained. His head feels unclear, and he can’t tell if it’s the soju or the horniness. Probably both. God, he wants to fuck.

“Good, good, ’s so good,” is the muffled response he gets, and he grins triumphantly.

“Yeah?”

Johnny adopts a steadier rhythm, twisting each time he pushes in, and Taeyong falls apart, his words slurring together. “Hnnfuck, ohmygod,” he keens, “yeah, that’s it, fuck it like that.”

Johnny obliges, fucking Taeyong on his fingers with loving attention, leaving kisses on his shoulders and the back of his head. Taeyong is so loud, he loves how loud he is.

“You’re so loose,” Johnny compliments him.

“Yeah, hmn, gets like this when I’ve been drinking.”

“Can I put it in?” he asks (begs), and Taeyong nods desperately, trying to roll away from him.

“Get the condoms,” he says, pointing across his bedroom, with a heartfelt urgency that mirrors Johnny’s, “the bag, plastic bag– there, it’s over there.”

Johnny nearly falls flat on his face getting off the bed, catching himself on Taeyong’s closet, only just. He tries to take a step and then decides hands and knees is safer, the room spinny because he got up too fast. He sits back on his haunches once he reaches the bag, unearthing the box of condoms.

Taeyong is moaning and twisting on the bed, spreading his ass cheeks with his hands, circling his fingertip over his glossy, winking hole. “Hnn-hnah, I think I’m going crazy,” he whines pitifully, looking over his shoulder at Johnny, “please come back faster!”

“I’m trying,” Johnny grits out, but he can’t get the foil packet open, his fingers too wet with lube. If he’d been a little more sober, he would’ve just dried his hands first. But he’s not sober by any stretch, and he can’t think straight anymore. He just wants– he needs to be inside Taeyong. Now, now, jesus fuck.

Taeyong is on top of him in an instant, ripping the foil packet clean open and sliding the little rubber ring down onto Johnny’s erection.

He follows right after, moaning as he sinks down, eyes rolling back with pleasure. After the first bounce Johnny falls back onto his ass, taking Taeyong down with him, holding him close.

He lies down all the way with a satisfied grunt, eyes fixated on Taeyong’s beautiful form above him. He suspects he’s going to last all of one minute.

Taeyong plants a hand on Johnny’s shoulder and starts riding him, mouth slack. Johnny thumps his head back against the linoleum flooring, the situation so overwhelming that he’s having trouble parsing it. It’s not just the physical sensation, Taeyong is sitting on his cock.

“Yeah, like that,” he praises, voice choked-off, “fuck yourself on it.”

Taeyong makes an equally strangled noise, bouncing energetically until he tires out, which is quickly.

“Johnny,” he whimpers, “more, I want more.” There’s tendrils of hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, a flush high on his cheekbones. He’s never looked more angelic.

Johnny starts helping him along, big hands squeezing down on his waist, bodily lifting him. It makes Taeyong moan even louder, which Johnny didn’t think possible — maybe it’s just because he’s no longer being muffled by his plushie. The sloppy noises every time he fucks into Taeyong’s hole, he already knows they’ll be fodder for his jack-off sessions for months to come. He wishes he could see his cock glide in.

Maybe next time, because he’s rapidly approaching his climax.

“I’m gonna come,” he pants, and is surprised when Taeyong wrenches his hands away from his middle, leaning forward and pausing for a moment. It takes him a couple of seconds to catch his breath, before he can speak.

“Me first,” Taeyong tells him, with an authoritative little smirk, and Johnny thumps his head back again, his abdomen growing tighter in response.

Taeyong squeezes one of Johnny’s pecs as he starts jerking himself off. “Love your tits,” he mutters, casually catapulting Johnny onto another plane of arousal.

“Uh-huh,” he moans dazedly, minutely rutting up, trying to get off even though he doesn’t have permission yet.

He gets slapped for his effort, a light slap across one of nipples, and he makes a noise he didn’t even know he was capable of making.

“You like that?” Taeyong asks, and Johnny nods eagerly. Because yeah, apparently he does, and he’s too far gone to care what it makes him look like. He moans sharply when he’s slapped again, and again, and again. Then Taeyong starts pinching his nipple, and he gasps.

Both his nipples have pebbled up; his entire body feels like it’s standing at attention. He’s never been hurt like this during sex before, with intention and skill. It’s like a current inside his body, travelling up and down between the base of his skull and his tightening ballsac. And Taeyong is still so warm all along his shaft, softly squeezing him.

He starts filling up the condom without even moving at all, a reedy noise escaping his lips.

“Bad!” Taeyong admonishes when he realises what Johnny is doing, but its underpinned with a smile so bright that Johnny can’t help but grin back at him. He watches on with hooded eyes as Taeyong works to get himself off with his hand, a sweetly-spent couple of minutes, where Johnny pets his thighs and quietly praises him. “Look so good... gonna come on my cock, Yongie?”

“Yeah,” Taeyong gasps, and starts coming. Johnny sighs when he’s covered in warm spurts of come, clinging to his stomach and chest, running his hand through it while pursing his lips for a kiss.

Taeyong lies down in the mess, and Johnny doesn’t even think to complain about how it feels kind of gross, because he’s doing something very interesting with his tongue against Johnny’s ear.

Maybe anything would feel good right now. Or maybe Taeyong’s a genius. He feels relaxed in that bone-deep way.

“Hmm~” he moans happily, hugging Taeyong close to him. “’ S nice.”

“You’re nice,” Taeyong murmurs, and lazily sucks on his earlobe. Johnny feels tingly down to his toes.

“Gonna take a nap now. You’re my blanket,” Johnny announces, slinging an arm over Taeyong’s waist.

In some vague and distant part of his brain, he knows he’ll curse himself when they wake up like this later, sticking together and sore. But right now he’s drunk and warm and happy, the floor heating pleasant against his back, a pretty boy in his arms. He’ll worry later.

“Yeah, okay,” Taeyong agrees easily, and nestles his chin in the crook of Johnny’s shoulder, falling asleep only moments before he does.