the answer to life and everything
(mature content)
It was the trip of a lifetime, and yet everything had gone wrong so far. Joonmyun had barely managed to get his vacation days cleared in time, and thus they had spent far too much on last minute tickets and a last minute hotel room. Of course, Zitao’s suitcase had to lose three out of four wheels when Joonmyun’d tried to pull it out of the storage closet.
“If you think I’m carrying a fifty pound bag everywhere, you’ve got another thing coming.”
“Why does your bag have to be fifty pounds?!”
“You’re allowed up to fifty pounds for checked luggage.”
“That doesn’t mean it has to be fifty pounds, Zitao!”
Joonmyun’s was nowhere to be found, having probably been lent out to Baekhyun and “accidentally” never returned. There was another few hundred bucks down the drain. By the time they’d actually made it to the airport, they were late, almost missed their flight, and somehow, their seats were three rows apart.
”It’s only a six hour flight…It’ll be over before you know it,” Joonmyun offers sheepishly, trying to smush his carry on into the space left in the overhead compartment. A steward approaches, and the irritation of their surrounding passengers is evident. Zitao rolls his eyes and slumps down in his seat, looking out the window.
His earbuds are jammed as far as they can go into his ears, but even Tinashe can’t drown out the wailing child in the row behind him. And it’s a seven hour flight.
At the check-in desk, after a painfully cramped, seven hour flight, Joonmyun swore he could do it all by himself, and Zitao watched in idle amusement as he struggled with his Mandarin. Eventually, the poor receptionist seemed far too exasperated and lost, and Zitao stepped in much to Joonmyun’s chagrin.
The hotel was overbooked and their room wasn’t nearly as nice as the suite Joonmyun swore they were supposed to have, but Zitao was just ready to explore. It took them twenty minutes to realize Joonmyun left his sunscreen back in Seoul, and after a rich scolding from Zitao, they managed to find a tiny, overpriced bottle in a vending machine downstairs.
Then they finally made it to the beach, but Joonmyun mistimed the sunset, and they couldn’t see it behind the storm clouds (out of nowhere) anyways. As if adding insult to injury, it began to downpour shortly after Joonmyun suggests they just head back and order some room service.
Joonmyun feels awful. All of this has piled up and made one hell of a first night on what was supposed to be their vacation – their break from busy lives and long hours at work and way too much school. Soaked to the core, they finally make it back to their room, and Joonmyun slumps against the door with a sigh. Zitao steps from his shoes and sheds his wet shirt immediately. The silence between them is thick and it makes the gnawing guilt in Joonmyun’s chest that much worse. He wants to say something, apologize even, but Zitao heads towards the shower without even looking at him, shutting the door firmly behind him, and it feels like the end of a conversation they never even had.
With a sigh, Joonmyun rubs at his face, pushing his wet, brunette hair back from his eyes, and moves to get undressed. The sound of the shower takes over some of the silence at least, and Joonmyun grabs an extra towel off the desk to do his best to dry himself off. By the time the water in the bathroom shuts off, Joonmyun’s managed to mostly dry himself and pull on a clean pair of sweats, hunched over his laptop at the shoddy little desk against the wall. His screen is filled with weather reports, and he doesn’t even realize Zitao’s out of the shower until strong arms slide down over his shoulders and Zitao’s chin comes to rest atop Joonmyun’s head.
“Hey,” Joonmyun starts softly, reaching up to run his palm over Zitao’s forearm. “The forecast says clear skies for the rest of the week, so tomorrow should be better. I promise.” Zitao nods a little, but says nothing, and Joonmyun closes his laptop with a frown.
“Are you hungry?”
“Not really.” Zitao switches to press his cheek against the top of Joonmyun’s head instead, and Joonmyun leans his head back just enough to press his nose into the soft skin.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and Zitao gives a soft laugh, shaking his head.
“It’s not your fault, hyung,” Zitao reassures him, turning to kiss his nose before starting to pull back. Joonmyun reaches up quickly to catch the back of Zitao’s neck and keep him in place, tilting upwards enough to brush their lips together. Zitao lets a soft smile spread across his lips and he nudges in with his nose, against Joonmyun’s cheek, as if nestling in to just the right spot before sealing their lips.
Joonmyun is convinced that the answer to every question in life can be found in Zitao’s lips. The way they curve in against his own, the shape of their bow, the soft pout near the ends. They press perfectly against his own and no matter what he asked, what ails him, what life tries to throw at him, it’s all meaningless when their mouths are melting together like molasses in summer. Slow and sensual and before Joonmyun knows it, he’s out of his chair, facing the other, hands roaming up over damp skin, along every dip and curve of Zitao’s broad chest. Everything had gone wrong, but this was so right, and it makes up for everything.
“I’m sorry—“ Joonmyun starts, but Zitao cuts him off with a quick shushing noise and a soft, “Stop talking, Joonma…”
The rain against the window is white noise that Joonmyun hardly registers, his brow furrowed. Every sense is filled with Zitao – the scent of soap and shampoo, the warmth beneath his fingertips, the tender glide of their lips together, the taste of their tongues meeting in shy, brief flicks. Joonmyun takes a step, then another, slowly guiding Zitao back towards the mattress, shutting off the lamp as they pass and shrouding the entire room in darkness. The lingering light from the stormy sunset filters through their curtains, just enough to light their silhouettes as their eyes adjust. But Joonmyun doesn’t need to see with his eyes as his hands are doing a fine enough job of that, painting out the image of an almost bare (the small towel tied around his waist the only thing covering him) Zitao in his mind as they roam and read every finite detail.
Zitao’s calves hit the back of the bed and Joonmyun wraps an arm tightly around his waist, guiding him back against the mattress slowly. A knee settles against the bed and he meets Zitao in another kiss, eyes falling shut and a groan spilling from his throat. Zitao relaxes into the sheets, hands sliding upwards over soft, pale skin, and around the back of his neck to drown in dark locks of hair. He keeps Joonmyun close, keeps him warm with their chests press so close that their heartbeats play offbeat of each other. Even if their vacation had started off rather unconventional, this was the real reason they’d come here. Sure, Zitao wanted to see the beach and he wanted to eat great food. He wanted to buy pointless souvenirs and lay out to tan, the salt of the sea drying over his skin. He wanted to pretend that work and school and responsibilities didn’t exist. But above all else, he wanted to get lost with Joonmyun.
And in that moment, he is. He’s lost in his fingers and his lips and his tongue. He’s lost in Joonmyun’s dark eyes and his pale skin and his strong chest. He’s lost in Joonmyun’s warmth and his presence and his being and it’s okay that things were a disaster and that he’s exhausted and starving, because Joonmyun makes all of it go away. Joonmyun makes everything okay.
They kiss like they’ve got nothing to lose. Joonmyun tightens his grip around Zitao’s waist and lifts him slightly, hoisting him upwards on the bed until they both fit. Zitao’s head drops back against the cheap 300-thread count pillows, and Joonmyun laughs softly at the way his blonde hair sticks to his forehead, still wet from his shower. Offended, Zitao wrinkles his nose and Joonmyun pushes his hair up and away, slow and careful, letting his fingers linger and trail. He settles over the other, a knee digging into the spring mattress on either side of Zitao, other hand pressed into the bed right beneath Zitao’s shoulder. With another soft laugh, Joonmyun brings his fingers down to gently rub out the wrinkles on the bridge of Zitao’s nose, until the other is giggling along with him, lips split in a warm smile, all teeth.
Zitao looks up at Joonmyun with so much fondness that Joonmyun’s pretty sure he’s going to burst. Even in the darkness he can feel the heat and the affection in those sharp brown irises, and his ears heat at the tips. How Zitao can look so hot and yet so sweet at the same time will always astound him. The fingers on Zitao’s nose slide down over his lips and along his jaw, until he’s cupping the back of his neck again, pulling him in to kiss.
Their mouths melt softly and Zitao’s eyes fall shut, arms wrapping firmly around Joonmyun’s torso, fingers pressing into bare skin. The towel around Zitao’s waist is barely hanging on by this point, and Joonmyun slips a hand down carefully to pull it away, tossing it off the bed to be picked up later. Bared beneath him, Zitao has never looked more beautiful, tan skin contrasting against the crinkly white sheets and dipping beneath every press of Joonmyun’s fingertips as he drags them down his chest. Their mouths part and Joonmyun drops his head to kiss down Zitao’s sharp jaw, up to the junction where he bites lightly, suckling inwards until the sound of the rain is joined by tender, pitched gasps.
Zitao licks his lips, pressing his head back into the pillows more, eyes closed and mouth parted as he revels in the attention. Joonmyun worships him, and it’s perfect. He doesn’t want to be anywhere but here. Joonmyun’s mouth travels down slightly, along his throat, over his pulse, and his skin prickles and burns like Joonmyun’s lips are made of pure fire. Everywhere they touch, the skin heats and Zitao feels like his blood is racing to that spot at dizzying speeds, leaving him lightheaded by the time Joonmyun’s mouth latches onto the crook of his neck. There’s going to be a mark and that’s exactly what Zitao wants. He wants the world to know that he is Joonmyun’s, that he belongs to him, that nobody else in the entire fucking world could ever make him feel like this.
Joonmyun’s teeth are a stark contrast against Zitao’s reddening skin as he bites down, mouths over and over, presses and pulls and tugs until the red turns purple and he’s written his name with his native tongue. Zitao writhes softly beneath him and Joonmyun moves to match his mark on the other side, palm splayed against Zitao’s chest to hold him in place; alternating back and forth, he draws a path down either side of Zitao’s throat, until the dark bruises meet in the middle of his clavicle, where the skin dips and Joonmyun’s tongue pools, breath splaying out against goosed skin.
Joonmyun’s name falls softly from Zitao’s lips as he whines, shoulders pressing into the bed and back arching off the mattress just slightly, flush against Joonmyun’s chest. Joonmyun lets out a quiet groan and the warmth, trailing his mouth down. He litters Zitao’s chest with kisses, through the soft tuft of hair at his chest, down towards a dark nipple, encircling it. He wants to trace Zitao with his mouth and his fingers; engrave his image and his shape into every crevice of his brain until all he knows, all he feels, all he sees is Zitao. Every whine is encouragement, and Joonmyun maps his way down further, along his stomach, tongue dipping into his navel, and slowly lower.
When the heat of his mouth presses into the crook of his thigh and his hip, Zitao trembles, dropping an arm over his eyes as if to hold himself down. With Joonmyun, lust and need are always rampant, and his body reacts easily to everything his boyfriend does; and Joonmyun is well aware.
Joonmyun hitches Zitao’s leg over his shoulder and settles down between, slowly dragging his mouth down his inner thigh and towards his knee. Zitao keens softly, toes flexing out and Joonmyun drags the flat of his tongue back up, traces back over his wet trail a third time, and presses his mouth into the soft bend behind his knee. It’s so gentle and yet Zitao feels his chest constricting with affection, head pressing back into the pillow even more, his hands twisting softly in the sheets.
Time feels like it’s running slower than normal, half speed at most, and Zitao can feel every heartbeat; he’s self-aware of each ragged breath he takes and the fact that it takes Joonmyun twenty eight seconds to kiss his way down to Zitao’s ankle and back up before he finally reaches the warm junction of his thigh and hip. When Joonmyun’s breath hits his arousal, Zitao can’t help the needy gasp that escapes his lips, nor the indulgent moan that slips out when Joonmyun’s lips press to the crown of his cock, slow and affectionate.
With soft kisses, Joonmyun encircles the head, finally taking him into his mouth. Zitao’s heel presses into the mattress, the other foot hyper-extending from its position in the air. He slides down slowly, hand holding Zitao at the base to keep him steady as he takes him in. Joonmyun’s free hand shifts upwards, searching for Zitao’s heart; when all he can reach is his hand, he settles for that. Their fingers lace and squeeze together, gentle but firm, a port in the storm raging outside their windows. It’s something for Zitao to ground himself with since Joonmyun’s mouth is driving him crazy.
Every slow glide of his mouth is hot, up and down Zitao’s shaft with an agonizing pace, until Zitao’s pretty sure he’s going to cry out in desperation. But his words are caught in his throat and his heart is caught in Joonmyun’s hand. “Please, please,” falls from Zitao’s lips, strangled and weak, but Joonmyun pulls off his arousal to shush him playfully, Zitao’s hips arching up and seeking out the heat he’d lost.
Joonmyun keeps ahold of Zitao’s hand, kissing back down the side of his cock before kissing down his thigh once more and back up, working his way towards Zitao’s chest again. Their eyes meet once Joonmyun’s leveled, legs tangled, and Zitao leans upwards to kiss away the taste of himself. Each press is growingly desperate, needy, and Zitao pushes carefully to roll them over until it’s Joonmyun sprawled against the sheets; Zitao pawing at his chest; Joonmyun roaming small hands across everything he can reach.
They dance in the sheets like this for what feels like forever, but Zitao loves it. His and Joonmyun’s relationship never feels one-sided or transactional. There’s never one person getting more attention than the other and neither is ever left unpleased. As he settles down against Joonmyun’s waist, lips red and kiss abused, bruises dark against his skin, Joonmyun burns the image into his mind forever. Zitao’s silhouette against the moonlight finally slipping into their room and the way his sharp eyes burn even in the darkness. There is no jobs, no responsibilities, only Zitao.
Zitao leaves him only for a moment before he’s back with a small bottle, pressing it into Joonmyun’s hand once he’s tugged off his sweats and settling back down against his waist. He takes Joonmyun’s hand and drops his soft, sinful mouth over two fingers, wetting them with slow flicks of his tongue and wet drags of his mouth before releasing him. Joonmyun wastes no time in wetting them just a bit more before hooking his clean hand around Zitao’s neck and pulling him into a kiss as he encircles his entrance with the other. His tongue slides slowly into Zitao’s mouth whilst his finger presses past the tight ring with care. He never wants to hurt Zitao.
With a slow groan, Zitao presses back towards Joonmyun’s hand, kissing him thoroughly and twisting a hand into his lover’s hair. It’s enough, like this, for him. If he could spend the rest of his life just like this, he’d never need anything else. He rocks back against his hand again, and Joonmyun pushes in a second, a third, always careful, always thorough. When it’s finally enough, Zitao bites at Joonmyun’s bottom lip and pulls back slowly. Joonmyun finds his eyes again, reads everything there, and smiles slow as Zitao releases him. He pulls his hand from inside and Zitao whines softly at the loss.
“Baobei…” he whispers first, and Zitao raises a brow, peering at him through a curtain of blonde bangs. Joonmyun smiles and brings his clean hand up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing across the apple of it. “I love you…”
Zitao says nothing for a moment, but his expression says everything. A gentle smile spreads across his lips and even in the dark, his eyes shine with affection, and Joonmyun can feel the heat working its way to his ears. “I love you more, Joonmyun…” He blinks when Joonmyun laughs, clearly confused, but Joonmyun leans up just enough to seal a tender kiss, noses bumping.
“Impossible,” Joonmyun states lightly. Zitao rolls his eyes, but his heart flutters with adoration and he shuts up Joonmyun’s snickering with slow, insistent kisses. Eventually Joonmyun quiets and they’re back to where they were, mouths twisting and melting and pressing as Zitao gropes for the bottle and wets his hand. Reaching down, he prepares Joonmyun, swallowing every soft noise he makes. Once he’s slick enough, Zitao sits up on his knees and repositions himself, Joonmyun’s hands coming to rest against his hips. They pause like this and Joonmyun admires Zitao, thumbs worrying softly into the dip of his hips. It’s a beautiful moment, the rain still heavy against the pane and no words between them, only the unintelligent groans as Zitao slides down atop his arousal, slow and careful.
When Joonmyun’s fully sheathed, Zitao adjusts, eyes fluttering with every slight movement. He craves nothing more than this; nobody could ever fill him up so perfectly like Joonmyun does. Despite the animalistic instinct to move, to thrust, to take, Joonmyun stays as still as he can, swallowing hard because Zitao is so tight around him, always so tight, and it’s almost fucking unbearable. But Zitao has the reigns here and Joonmyun respects that.
It doesn’t take long for Zitao to start moving, and when he does, it’s blissful. They’re slow and purposeful, every drop of Zitao’s hips making Joonmyun’s breath stutter to a stop. This is all they need. Joonmyun lets one hand help guide Zitao as he rides him slowly, hips lifting to meet him, eyes lidded and other hand twisting into his blonde hair to hold him close. Their foreheads meet and they breathe into each other, the lust, the sensation, the need for each other, and it’s an unrivaled connection that goes far beyond sex into the range of souls and hearts and basic necessities for life. Zitao breathes out his heart and Joonmyun breathes in him and together they are something more than just two lovers.
Zitao’s hand lifts to find Joonmyun’s wrist, guides the brunette’s hand from his hair and presses their palms together, fingers entwining tightly. Their hands fall to the pillow beside Joonmyun’s head, and Zitao’s gaze burns straight into Joonmyun’s every time their hips meet. Joonmyun’s pretty sure the answer to anything in life is in Zitao’s eyes as well as his lips.
Time is meaningless to them and Joonmyun could really care less what time it is, how long they’ve been touching and tasting and needing, because this is a vacation and they should enjoy it. And he’s certainly enjoying it; every slow thrust into Zitao’s heat is agonizing and yet so, so perfect. Soft whines, needy groans escape Zitao’s lips and Joonmyun sits up to roll them over, pressing Zitao down into the mattress with a particularly heavy thrust, bottoming out. Zitao writhes, arching up into him and hooking his legs on Joonmyun’s waist, mouth open in a noiseless moan.
Joonmyun wants to take care of him, wants to please him, wants to make him feel so, so good, like he makes Joonmyun feel. He takes Zitao by the hip with his free hand, his other never leaving Zitao’s own, and pulls him in to meet every thrust. Each push has Zitao sliding up against the cheap pillows, his throat bared as he throws his head back and tells the world how he feels. Zitao is oh so beautiful like this, bent and arched and wanting; needing. Wanting Joonmyun. Needing Joonmyun. And Joonmyun has so much to give.
“Hyung, please…” Zitao’s voice comes out in a broken whisper, desperate, and Joonmyun can tell he’s close, how bad he needs it. Joonmyun swallows his words and his noises with thick, pressing kisses, before he lets go of Zitao’s hip. Using his own hips, he pins the other in the right angle and ruts against him, hand curling around his cock to pump in time. The cries from Zitao’s mouth are instant and loud, especially as the head of Joonmyun’s cock assaults the sensitive bundle of nerves within.
“P-please…please…” The words soon dissolve into garbled nonsense, mixing with Joonmyun’s sweet nothings as he presses their foreheads together, working hard to get his lover off, to make Zitao see stars. He wants him to overflow with need, with pleasure, with all of his stress and all of his worry until there’s nothing but Zitao and nothing but Joonmyun, working as one.
Zitao feels like he’s going to go insane at this rate; the stimulation is almost too much, almost unbearable. He’s higher than he’s ever been and his brain is filled with nothing but static and JoonmyunJoonmyunJoonmyun. His edge is near and he grips Joonmyun’s hand hard, eyes rolling shut. Joonmyun’s hips grow more insistent, more intentional, rutting relentlessly against his prostate until Zitao can’t hardly take it anymore.
“Baobei, look at me while you come,” he whispers, hard and fast against Zitao’s lips, and the blonde barely has enough time to open his eyes, meeting Joonmyun’s blown pupils with his own as he comes hard and fast in Joonmyun’s hand, spilling over, painting their stomachs.
Joonmyun feels like Zitao comes in slow motion, because he takes in every single detail. The blonde bangs plastered against his forehead, the way his pupils blow and contract. The way his adam’s apple strains against the skin of his bruised throat as he arches his head back as far as it can reach. The way his skin gooses and his nipples harden and his toes curl and his thighs tense around Joonmyun’s waist. He takes in the way his release feels, hot and thick against his palm, the way it slides between them when he thrusts in again and again, riding out Zitao’s orgasm and painting his insides with his own, a union of hearts and bodies and souls and minds.
Their bodies slow, and Joonmyun starts to slowly pull out, though Zitao’s quick to whimper, shaking his head and locking Joonmyun in with his ankles. Joonmyun gives a soft laugh and stays, though he carefully readjusts to take the strain off Zitao’s lower back. As they settle down against the sheets, sated and breaths heavy, Joonmyun burrows in against Zitao’s bruised neck and takes in the scent of soap and sweat and sex.
The silence is calm and sweet and the troubles of their day are behind them. Zitao’s breathing evens out and his heart eventually stops racing, beating in time to Joonmyun’s. The rain softens outside and after a while, stops completely. When Joonmyun finally pulls himself from Zitao’s embrace, the other has fallen asleep, small and vulnerable and perfect. Joonmyun hovers over him, brushing soft feather kisses up his chest, along his throat, over his cheeks and jaw, not wanting to wake him, but not wanting to stop touching him either. The blonde stirs but manages to stay asleep, and Joonmyun smiles softly against his cheek before pulling away completely.
He climbs from the bed and returns with a warm washcloth, cleaning them both up, and tossing it towards the lost towel. Joonmyun climbs back into the bed and as if drawn to him like a magnet, Zitao immediately seeks him out to curl around him, entangling their legs and burrowing his nose against Joonmyun’s throat. They can stay like this. Joonmyun can sleep like this. This is perfect.
He’s pretty sure that the answer to everything in life is in Zitao. All of Zitao.
