#mr-jongin

“I think we should get back to work,” Taemin says, standing up and brushing nonexistent dust off his jeans. He and Jongin had hung back in the practice rooms to go over choreo and lines a few more times before shooting the real thing tomorrow. It’s gotten late without them noticing, and they hadn’t even gotten much done other than unlocking two more levels of Candy Crush on Jongin’s phone.

“You’re right,” Jongin says, putting his phone away. The two of them are usually good about keeping on top of schedule and working diligently. He resolves to work extra hard tonight so that tomorrow, when they’re filming, everything is as spot on as he wants it to be.

They start from the top, music flooding the room as it comes through the speakers. Their sneakers squeak across the floor, thin layer of sweat forming over skin. Five times they run through the song, back to back and Jongin’s tired enough to take a break, plopping down on the couch so that he can rest. There’s a bit of a dull ache in his waist, but it’s the good sort of ache that makes him feel like he’s really accomplishing something.

As Taemin bends over to grab two unopened water bottles off the floor, Jongin eyes the other man appreciatively from across the room. Or rather- he eyes his ass. Taemin definitely looks good like this, hair freshly dyed silver and tousled, eyeliner dark and smudged a bit from sweating, shirt unbuttoned to battle the heat. The staff had only decided to let Jongin feature in Taemin’s solo because they thought the fans would enjoy seeing them perform together, ensuring high album sales. Although Jongin is probably going to enjoy this more than the fans ever will.

“What are you looking at?” Taemin asks, handing Jongin a water bottle. The singer drinks his own down, adam’s apple bobbing with each swallow and Jongin finds himself heating up again.

“You,” Jongin says, setting the bottle on the ground to wrap his fingers around Taemin’s wrist instead, pulling the other boy closer to him. “I don’t think you know how good you look.” He yanks Taemin over, forcing him off balance so that he has to hang onto Jongin’s shoulder for balance. Manhandles him onto his lap, thanking god that they’d both worn sweatpants to practice. “I could take you over and over and still not have enough.”

Flashing a blinding smile because he probably knows where this is going, Taemin says, “that so? How about you give it a try anyways.”

Jongin doesn’t know who leans forward first. But one moment, Taemin is smirking at him and the next, lips are over lips and their chests are pressing closer and Jongin doesn’t care about anything other than Taemin’s body against his. He threads a hand through coarse silver hair, tugging away to pull close again. Moans are a bit underneath the music still pumping through the speakers, and it sounds good. It sounds right. The older starts up a slow grind, hands gripping shoulders, thighs squeezing hips. Jongin breaks away to land kisses along Taemin’s neck and over his collarbone, restraining himself from leaving hickeys as there’s no place to hide them.

Always one to tease, Jongin drags a hand down Taemin’s chest, pinching a nipple as he goes, over his abs, tucks his fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants. He doesn’t go any further until the older of the two pushes his hips forward, silent begging. Feeling eager himself, Jongin gives in and dips a hand beneath the fabric, strokes Taemin’s cock once before setting a slow rhythm.

“Faster,” Taemin groans in Jongin’s ear. Jongin only relents because he’s becoming painfully hard himself; they hadn’t done this in a while, too busy with promotions and practice. He speeds up his rhythm, reaches a hand around to cup Temin’s ass before sliding his fingers inwards, pressing two against Taemin’s rim.

“”Wait-” Taemin pants. “Lube- in my backpack.”

As the he climbs off Jongin’s lap, the latter scoffs. “You planned for this, didn’t you?” Watches Taemin dig through his things before producing the half-empty bottle of lube. Slides unnecessary sweatpants to his feet and kicks them away. He quickly helps Jongin pull his off, and sits back on his lap. Taemin fits there like he was made to be there. Jongin tells him so, hands on Taemin’s hips, and receives a slap to the face with the flat part of the bottle. In retaliation, he bucks upwards once, cock rubbing against the crack of Tamein’ ass. Celebrates a small victory as Taemin leans forward, straddling his waist, and moans against his neck.

Jongin uncaps the bottle of lube and squeezes a generous amount over his fingers. Stretching doesn’t last long; they’re both eager. It’s been much too long since they’ve done this last. The first finger goes relatively easy, slides well and Taemin’s pushing for more almost right away. Jongin’s up to three now, crooking and scissoring, reaching deep.

“Just fuck me already,” Taemin grits out, panting heavily, already shifting position.

Jongin throws his head back as Taemin sinks down around him, seeing white. He rolls his hips, taking it slow at first because it just feels so perfect; Taemin is hot and tight around him, moaning in his ear, music still blasting. But Taemin is insistent on moving faster, bracing himself on his toes so he can bounce on Jongin’s lap. Broken whines escape swollen lips every time he slams himself down.

“God,” Jongin breathes. “You are beautiful.”

Back arched, abs flexing, lips red, hair even more mussed up than before, Taemin does look beautiful. Jongin plants his feet on the floor, using the leverage to fuck up into the other as he pushes down. One hand brackets Taemin’s hip, the other goes to fist his cock, thighs twitching at the sudden contact. The couch protests, sliding backwards an inch. Jongin shifts, changing his angle, and Taemin’s nails scratch at his back as Jongin fucks him deeper, tip of his cock brushing at Taemin’s prostate. Jongin groans as Taemin clenches around him, fingers digging into the skin of his hip. From there on each thrust brings Jongin closer to the edge, and he speeds his pace up, desperate to finish. Skin slaps against skin and Taemin’s moans are breathier, high pitched as his mouth falls open, eyes rolling to the back of his head. He comes, spilling white onto Jongin’s hand and over their stomachs, hole clenching like a vise around Jongin’s cock. It takes three last thrusts before Jongin’s coming too, vision sparking white around the edges.

They fall sideways together on the couch, not caring at all about the come dripping over their hips and between their legs onto the leather, cuddling each other close for a few moments as they bask in the afterglow.