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Jaebeom has always been a morning person. He supposes it comes with growing up the son of farmers—early to bed and early to rise were less of a suggestion and more the only way to make sure he didn't accidentally sleep through a meal.

Every morning when his alarm goes off, Jaebeom presses the heels of his hands into his eyes for a few more precious seconds of darkness and then forces himself to slip out of bed, regardless of how tired he still is. He shakes the drowsiness from his limbs with each step toward the kitchen and then lets the smell of the coffee he pours into the machine wake him up properly, even if he's not going to drink it. It always smells nicer than it tastes, if you ask him, anyway.

With the burble of the coffee machine filling up the kitchen and making it properly feel like morning, Jaebeom heads back for the bedroom. He flicks on the light on his way in before crawling back onto the bed, careful not to let any stray hands or knees fall on the lump beneath the covers. (Mornings are already difficult, and he knows from experience that a mistake like that will only make his life even harder.)

"Babe," he murmurs. When he gets no response, he shuffles closer, letting his weight settle atop his sleeping boyfriend. "Come on, Nyoung, it's morning."

“Isn't” comes the muffled response from beneath the comforter.

Jaebeom snorts. "Unless the clock, my phone, and your phone are all wrong, it really is."

"Don't look at my phone" is all he gets in return.

See, Jaebeom has always been a morning person. Jinyoung, on the other hand, is anything but.

Jaebeom sighs. The hard way it is, then.

He pushes himself back so he's standing by the mattress, surveys how exactly Jinyoung is tangled up in the blankets, and then proceeds to roll him up until he's a nice, conveniently-packaged burrito shape that Jaebeom can toss over his shoulder.

Or at least, that's what he tries to do. As always, this is the stage where Jinyoung decides to start actually acting like a human as opposed to a particularly stubborn slug and begins wriggling in Jaebeom's grip, making it difficult to carry him in any other way than simply hauling him by the waist.

"This is inhumane," Jinyoung is whining from inside the blankets. "I'm an adult, you can't do this to me—"

"You're the one who said you didn't need an earlier alarm because you'd get out of bed the first time it went off," Jaebeom reminds him. "And if you still want me to drive you to work, you shouldn’t be late."

He manages to get them to their kitchen and plops Jinyoung down as carefully as he can in one of the chairs at the table. The blankets rustle and shift and a very disgruntled and ruffled Jinyoung pokes his face out of the top of them. "I hate you," he grumbles.

Jaebeom simply leans back against the counter and drinks in the sight of him. He can feel the stupid, fond smile on his face—his Jinyoung smile, Jackson and Mark always call it, usually accompanied by feigned gagging and retching—but he can't stop himself. Not when Jinyoung is so precious in the mornings before he's pulled himself together. Not when his hair is sticking up every which way and his cheeks are even puffier than usual and his sleep-swollen eyes are half-closed against the light like a newborn kitten.

"Stop staring," Jinyoung mutters, a hand still wrapped in the blanket coming up to rub at his eye. "Look like you're gonna eat me."

Jaebeom raises an eyebrow. "Maybe I am."

Jinyoung groans and lets his head fall onto the kitchen table. Jaebeom is absently grateful he remembered to wipe it down last night after supper. "No cannibalism before coffee."

Jaebeom chuckles and then turns to grab a mug out of the cupboard—Jinyoung's favorite one, the one Jaebeom bought him shaped like a cauldron that often gets a Snape joke out of him once he's actually consumed its contents.

Even the sound of the coffee being poured seems to wake Jinyoung up a little more, his head perking up and his eyes staring owlishly at the mug.

Jaebeom walks over to him, sets the mug down on the table, and pulls out the chair next to him. "Are you gonna let your hands out of the blanket to drink your coffee or do I need to raise it to your lips, your majesty?" he teases.

Jinyoung kicks out at him with a pout and then lets his leg stretch out and rest across Jaebeom's lap. The blanket spreads across Jaebeom's thighs as well, and even that tiny shared space feels a little special, a little like Jinyoung is letting him in.

It's nice, Jaebeom reflects as he watches Jinyoung slurp at his coffee eagerly. The quiet, the calm, this little pocket of peace they can find together in the gray morning light starting to filter through their kitchen window.

"Are you gonna just get something to eat from that place downstairs when you get to work?" Jaebeom asks.

Jinyoung hums an affirmative, preoccupied with getting the last drops of coffee. As always, he drinks to the very end and then sets the cup down with a wrinkle of his nose, no matter how many times Jaebeom's told him that of course there are going to be grounds at the bottom.

Jaebeom shuffles a little closer, taking advantage of the opening he has into the blanket to wrap his hand around Jinyoung's ankle, rubbing his thumb slowly across the ball of it. "Should I carry you back to the bedroom?" he asks. "Or would you prefer walking?"

Jinyoung rolls his eyes. "I'll walk. You Neanderthal." He pushes back from the table and his foot drops from Jaebeom's lap, Jaebeom's fingers lingering down the curve of his ankle and the arch of his sole for as long as he can. "Do you need anything to eat before we go?"

Jaebeom shakes his head and then realizes Jinyoung might not see it since he's walking into the bedroom to change. "I'll just eat something when I get back from dropping you off."

Jinyoung's only just disappeared back through the doorway and his face pops back around the frame, looking slightly guilty. "I forgot it's your day off," he says sheepishly. "You really don't have to—"

"I want to," Jaebeom interrupts. "You don't have time to take the metro now anyway, and god knows I'm not shelling out a cab fare while I'm already awake."

Jinyoung bites his lip. "I could've woken up earlier—"

Jaebeom snorts. "Sure. That'll be the day." He shoos Jinyoung away with his hand. "Go get dressed, you're gonna make yourself late, dumbass."

Jinyoung hesitates in the doorway for a second, looking at Jaebeom with a blank expression that Jaebeom has come to know over the years as the one he wears when he's feeling too much to show easily. Finally, right when Jaebeom is about to reprimand him again, Jinyoung says quietly, "You're a good hyung."

Jaebeom can feel that same stupid smile on his face again when Jinyoung turns back into the bedroom.

When Jinyoung emerges fully dressed, Jaebeom hasn't moved. He's still sitting at the table in a baggy white t-shirt and blue plaid pajama pants with tattered hems. When he sees Jinyoung, he hauls himself out of the chair with a groan—he probably needs to stop pulling stunts like carrying Jinyoung around, for the sake of his back. It's a hard habit to break, though, when Jinyoung wrapped up in a blanket and slightly disoriented makes any memory of pain melt away.

Jinyoung sighs as he looks at Jaebeom. "Really, hyung?" he asks. "Not even jeans or something?"

"The car will hide your slob of a boyfriend," Jaebeom reassures him as he grabs his keys from the bowl on the counter and slips into a pair of—well, what were honestly probably intended to be shower slippers for people who actually care. "Don't worry, I won't embarrass you."

"You don't embarrass me," Jinyoung says, bumping his hip against Jaebeom's as they step out the door. "Yourself, on the other hand—"

Jaebeom grabs at Jinyoung's waist and squeezes him tight against the side until he wheezes out a laugh and clings to Jaebeom's collar. "I drive you to work," he says, putting on a threatening tone. Jinyoung just continues to giggle, not hiding his mouth like he used to when they first started dating. "And this is the thanks I receive?"

"Yep." Jinyoung grins at him. "Aren't you so glad you're dating me?"

Jaebeom stops in the process of finding the key to lock the door and looks at Jinyoung, probably a little too seriously, and says, “Yeah. I am.”

Jinyoung flushes pink, smacking Jaebeom’s chest lightly. “You’re gross.”

“You would be too, if you were me,” Jaebeom says with a shrug before turning back to sorting through his keyring until he’s found the right one to lock up the apartment. Jinyoung is huffing and grumbling in his ear about being so much, hyung, but he doesn’t mind it—he’s learned over the years that, as much as Jinyoung might pretend to be put off by his occasional earnestness, it’s something that will get him soft kisses and softer thank yous later.

The walk down to the garage is so routine that it hardly registers in Jaebeom’s memory anymore. Instead, he focuses on Jinyoung—what color of shirt he’s wearing (baby blue), how he’s styled his hair (parted and professional), the song he’s humming absentmindedly to the beat of their synchronized steps (the one they sang while making supper together last night). The drive is much the same; familiar buildings and roads, a steely sky, steady monotony broken only by Jinyoung singing along to Top 40 on the radio. Jaebeom has to remind himself to only look at Jinyoung at red lights. He’d be a bit of a useless boyfriend if he offered to drive Jinyoung to work and then steered them straight into a streetlight.

Thankfully, he gets them to Jinyoung’s workplace without incident, just like he does every morning. And just like every morning, Jinyoung beams at him brightly, reaching across the console once the car is parked and squeezing Jaebeom’s arm.

“Thanks for the ride, hyung,” he murmurs before leaning in and giving Jaebeom a quick kiss on the lips. It’s more than a peck, their lips melding together even in a brief moment. Jaebeom wonders if he’ll ever stop being surprised by how soft Jinyoung’s lips are against his, or if it’s just one of those things about him that’s always going to feel like the first time.

“Of course,” Jaebeom replies. “No go on in, I don’t want to have done all that work just for you to be late.”

Jinyoung huffs out a laugh, warm and light against Jaebeom’s lips, and then he undoes his seatbelt and steps out of the car. He dips his head down before he closes the door for a final, “See you when I get home. Maybe at least shower before you come pick me up?”

Jaebeom leans back as seductively as he can in the driver’s seat, which isn’t very. “Are you implying I should be ready for something when we get home?”

Jinyoung snorts. “I was just worried about your hygiene, hyung.”

“If that’s what you have to tell yourself,” Jaebeom says. Jinyoung doesn’t deign that worthy of a response beyond an eye roll, but his lips are still curled up into a smile. “I know you, Park Jinyoung.”

“Yeah,” Jinyoung says. “I know you know. See you at five?”

“See you at five,” Jaebeom confirms. Jinyoung gives him one last smile before closing the door. He immediately checks the time on his phone, and even if Jaebeom can’t hear him through the glass, he can read the curses on his lips as he starts jogging for the door. As always, he waits until Jinyoung is inside the building before putting the car back in gear and pulling out of the parking lot.

Jaebeom has always been a morning person. Still, under any other circumstance, he doesn’t know if he’d give up a chance to sleep in to save someone else some time. Maybe Jackson isn’t so far off every time he makes whip cracking noises at him and Jinyoung.

It’s worth it, though, he thinks as he remembers Jinyoung’s quiet gratitude in the doorway of their bedroom. A lot of things are worth it, when they’re for Jinyoung.

Chapter Text

Jaebeom can't help but wonder if this is a reaction to the fact that he's going to have another dance partner on stage tonight, if it's Jinyoung staking some sort of claim. Not in any outright sort of way, of course. Not like teeth digging into the delicate skin of his neck—no, that's more Jaebeom's style.

This, though. This is all Jinyoung.

"What are these pants even made of?" Jinyoung's voice is innocent, but his hands are anything but. Teasing fingertips whisper across the black leather of Jaebeom's belt before curling right behind the buckle.

Jaebeom's voice feels thick in his throat when he says lowly, "Jinyoung, don't—"

"I can see your rings when you have your hands in your pockets," Jinyoung informs him. His lips curl up into that kittenish smirk Jaebeom is so intimately familiar with. "I didn't see any underwear lines, though."

"Then you know," Jaebeom says tightly, "that if you don't stop, I'm gonna—have a problem."

He knows the moment he's said it that he's made a mistake. Smugness spreads across Jinoung's features and his thumb dips down to stroke against Jaebeom's zipper, back and forth in a motion that's at once lazy and calculated. "A problem?"

"Jinyoung." He isn't begging. He's asking politely, is all. "Everyone's gonna see."

"And?" Jinyoung cocks his head—ever the challenger, ever the tease. "What if I want them to?"

"But—"

"Don't you want them to know, hyung?" Jinyoung tugs him closer by his belt so Jaebeom almost falls into him. His breath is hot against Jaebeom's ear when he whispers, "Don't you want them to know how you're gonna take me home after this? How well you're gonna fuck me?" His hand slides down, firm and warm as he cups Jaebeom's fattening cock. "Hm?"

"Ah—" is all Jaebeom can manage, strangled in his throat as his thighs tense beneath the thin fabric.

"I do." Jinyoung nips at his earlobe, teeth clicking quietly against the thick metal hoop through it. Jaebeom shivers at the tickling heat. "I want them to know, hyung."

With the way Jinyoung's hand is pressed right against the thick line of his half-hard cock, there's no way Jaebeom can hide how he twitches at that—and again at Jinyoung's soft, self-satisfied chuckle.

And then he's pulling back, because he wouldn't be Jinyoung if he didn't stretch Jaebeom's patience like it's his favorite taffy. "I think you're gonna do great tonight, hyung," he chirps, voice all sweet and dark in that manner he affects when he's performing his favorite role of Pretty Little Menace. "I feel like you really have the energy of the song, you know?"

It's really a testament to something that it's been this many years and Jinyoung can still leave Jaebeom gaping and speechless.

At least, Jaebeom thinks mournfully as Jinyoung departs with a wink, he gets to watch him leave. Thank god for small—or not—mercies.

Chapter Text

Jinyoung swears he hasn’t always been so stupidly gone for Jaebeom.

Well, maybe that’s not entirely the case. He’s been infatuated almost from the moment they got paired up at that audition all those years ago, back when Jaebeom had been reedy and awkward and nothing but rough edges.

But even when Jaebeom had filled out and grown a presence to match his broad frame, Jinyoung had his defenses—his pettiness, his cuteness, his ability to level any grown man with a particularly sharp gaze. Sure, he's always been drawn to Jaebeom, always wanted him in a way he hadn't known he could want someone and with an intensity that almost scared him, but he likes to think he knows how to handle himself. Hell, he thinks the way he's learned to manage himself over the years might even be the reason Jaebeom's been able to open up to him, the reason this funny little relationship has been able to blossom at all.

But he's pretty sure he's never been quite so whipped.

It probably started, he reflects, when Jaebeom removed the massive stick from his ass and let Jinyoung put his dick up there instead. Or maybe it had been the first time Jinyoung had called him baby in bed instead of hyung, or maybe it had been the first time he'd made Jaebeom beg with just his graceful fingers wrapped around his cock—

Whatever it was, it led him here: dressed like some kind of young start-up entrepreneur, minus any underwear to rein in his still half-hard cock.

It's not often, and usually on mornings like this where their dicks wake up before their brains, but sometimes he misses the days when taking care of Jaebeom's libido just meant whispering leader in his ear and watching him ruin his boxers. At least then Jinyoung wouldn't have gotten talked into this outfit and an unfinished blowjob simply because Jaebeom deigned to call him "sir," even when they both knew they had to be out of the house soon.

I'll take such good care of you, he'd said. I'll make you feel so good, he'd said.

Jinyoung hopes the set of his brow as he tries not to glare at the world can be excused as squinting against the sun.

“Jinyoungie,” Jaebeom murmurs to him as they file away from the cameras later. The others are giving them as wide a berth as they can. Jinyoung wouldn’t say they’re acquainted with how he looks when he’s sexually frustrated, but—well, they did all live together as teenage boys.

Jaebeom, though. Sweet, beautiful, infuriating Jaebeom. He’s looking at Jinyoung with wide puppy dog eyes, half-hopeful and half-worried. Something in Jinyoung’s gut twists and the pent-up energy from this morning swells and buzzes in his ears.

“Jinyoungie—” Jaebeom tries again, but before he can finish, Jinyoung cuts him off.

His voice isn’t loud or harsh. On the contrary, it’s honey sweet and velvety soft and makes Jaebeom’s steps stutter. “Is that really what you should be calling me right now?”

He can see Jaebeom’s Adam’s apple bob with how hard he swallows. “I—sorry.”

Jinyoung lets their bodies gravitate toward each other. It probably seems like close friends brushing elbows as they walk to outsiders, but he can see the way Jaebeom just barely holds back from shrinking down and making himself small before him. “I’ll handle you later.”

He doesn’t see the look on Jaebeom’s face before he stalks forward and leaves him behind, but he doesn’t have to.

He holds back a smile. Maybe this morning wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

Chapter Text

Jaebeom's shoes look out of place inside the doorway of the residence. He takes good care of them, but the black leather is still worn into creases from time and use.

Jinyoung's heels click on the hardwood floor as she walks past him until they're silenced by the ornate rug in the sitting room. She lowers herself onto the sofa, her movements as measured and graceful as tea flowing into a cup.

"Where is the ambassador traveling today?" Jaebeom asks.

"Somewhere on the West Coast." Jinyoung slips dainty fingers into the backs of her shoes to push them off. Gleaming black patent leather gives way to sheer black stockings, and Jaebeom tears his eyes away from the mole on Jinyoung's calf that he can see through the material. "He'll be gone for a week." She gives him a smile that would look sweet to anyone else, but that Jaebeom knows is full of a dry, wry humor not suited at all for a woman of her status. "So I suppose you're out of a job, mister driver."

Jaebeom bows his head. He's always hated this, the conditions of her freedom, as if to emphasize that they aren't truly hers. "I know you aren't allowed to use the Embassy car on your own, but I can drive my car instead—"

She clicks her tongue. "Now, Mr. Lim, how would that look? The ambassador's wife swanning around the city with his driver?" She tilts her head just so. A strand of hair falls from where it's gracefully pulled up and pinned back, curling at the curve where her neck meets her shoulder.

The ambassador is young for his post, and she's young for him. Then again, when wives are assets and Jinyoung has an eye for people, a mind for puzzles, and the kind of studied loveliness that people swallow down easily—maybe she's simply getting ahead.

The carpet is too thick beneath Jaebeom's feet as he approaches the sofa, silencing even his heavier weight on old floorboards. "I don't suppose it would look any worse than anything else she's done with him."

She laughs. It isn't the small, practiced one she hides behind her hand at her husband's side. It's a bit too loud for her slight frame.

Jaebeom loves it. He thinks it matches her—not the one she's molded herself into, but the one she becomes with her heels kicked haphazardly onto a rug that's probably worth more than Jaebeom's life and her hair ready to tumble free with a few knowing touches.

He sinks onto the couch beside her. The act alone is improper, but the distance (or lack thereof) is worse. Her stockinged knee presses against his, warmth blooming through his suit pants.

"Well." Her voice dips deeper when she whispers and a shiver runs through Jaebeom. "We're in trouble then, aren't we, Mr. Lim?"

I think you're trouble, he doesn't say, because he doesn't really feel it. He knows it on some level, but—still doesn't feel it.

He doesn't say anything. Instead, he reaches toward her, curled fingers brushing past the curve of her jaw, the peachy skin of her ears. Slowly, taking care not to tug, he pulls out the pins holding her hair one by one. Her hair spills across her slim shoulders like ink in water.

It looks even prettier fanned out across fine white sheets.

As he follows the line of a garter from her stocking's lace edge up, up, up, he can't help but feel it's a privilege to take her apart like this. From the pins in her hair to the tailored skirt of her dress to the meticulous fastenings beneath it all, from unknowable to kiss-swollen to finally gasping his name and his name alone, he savors every moment of unraveling.

There's a luxury to it, something that's never belonged to him but she's giving it to him anyway, letting him lick it right out of her like he has a right to be greedy. That's something else she's given him—the kind of hunger that only comes from having a taste, knowing what there is to chase after.

Jaebeom wishes he could either be a pragmatist or a romantic. He wishes he weren't caught in-between with a bleeding heart and a headache that never really goes away unless he's lost himself in Jinyoung. He wishes his memory could hold onto either the truth of diplomatic posts' longevity or the feeling of her waist notched just right in his arms, not torture him with the knowledge of both. He wishes he could savor the thought of a week alone together without calculating in the back of his mind what fraction of her time in this country one week will take up.

Every inch of skin, every gasped breath, every tiniest expression that flits across her face—he takes it in as slowly as he dares, sinks into her and draws her out and lays her bare. He worships her in every manner he can think of. As if they have all the time in the world, as if the looming pendulum of time isn’t about to swing out of their favor as suddenly and unceremoniously as it had swung in. As if she doesn’t have to go back—back to Korea, back to behaving, back to a husband who doesn’t realize what a treasure he holds beyond her pretty face.

Jaebeom holds her like he can make each moment a lifetime, one where he can keep her like this always.

Chapter Text

Jinyoung knows he isn't perfect. Hell, he's painfully aware of it a lot of the time, but he tries to be good—and he thinks he has most people convinced he is. Sure, some of them call him boring, goody-two-shoes, stick-up-his-ass church boy, but no one's ever called him a bad influence or a slacker or a good-for-nothing.

Not like Jaeeun.

She'd scared Jinyoung when he first moved into town. That had been back when she'd buzzed her hair almost all the way down to the scalp, half because of the summer heat and half to piss off her mom. Jinyoung hadn't seen anything like her before, at least not in person.

He hadn't been able to look away from her. He still can't.

Her hair has grown out by now, long enough to hang in her face and tickle the back of Jinyoung's neck when she's got him pressed face-down into his mattress like this. Usually as fine as a baby's, it's spiked with sweat now as she grunts with the effort of fucking Jinyoung hard enough to make his eyes cross.

Because here's the thing. Jinyoung knows, has always known, that he isn't as good as he has everyone convinced he is. How could he be, when he knows his dad's out of town for work and his mom's at a church fundraiser until late, and the first thing he does is invite the girl they hate to come over and—and—

"Love fucking you, baby," she groans, nipping at his ear from behind. It's wet and sensitive and makes Jinyoung squirm on her cock. "You take it so well."

Jinyoung hiccups at the praise, at the feeling of the thick silicone stretching his rim, all slick with lube and hot from being stuffed inside him. "Jae—Jae, please—"

She hums and lets go of his hip with one hand so she can grab his jaw instead. She turns his head back so he can see her—smudged eyeliner, toned arms, perfect handful tits with silver barbells gleaming with sweat and Jinyoung's leftover spit.

She smears two fingers across Jinyoung's lips. They're swollen and red and raw from how she'd fucked his face first until he was leaking all over his own thighs, but he tries to suck the digits into his mouth anyway.

"Look at you," she coos. She leans over him, the sweet curve of her breasts pressing into his back—and then she spits into his eager mouth. "Such a perfect little slut for me, aren't you?"

Jinyoung can barely gurgle out a moan, her saliva dripping down his chin as she starts pounding into him again. He feels full of her, surrounded by her, used and useful and good—

She keeps up a steady stream of praise panted directly into his ear. "Such a good boy for me, such a pretty little slut, my perfect baby taking my cock so well—"

Jinyoung sobs when he comes untouched onto the sheets beneath him. Because he knows he isn't perfect—but god, if Jaeeun doesn't make him feel like he could be.

Chapter Text

Youngjae knows Jinyoung would never ask for it outright, but he likes to think that's one of his strengths—reading him. Hell, reading all of them.

Not that Jinyoung wouldn't ask for a handjob, obviously. All of them have helped each other out at one point or another, or gotten off all together with the lights low enough they can pretend they aren't sneaking glances. It just comes with the territory of being pent-up boys with no outlets or privacy or other avenues of exploration.

So being here, pressed up against Jinyoung's side with a leg thrown over his hyung's thigh and his lovely thick cock curved in Youngjae's grip—this is easy. Natural, even.

But Youngjae's noticed the other guys tend to keep quiet with each other. It's something he never really understood—good sex, in his experience before he signed his personal life on a dotted line, is held together with conversation and laughter and all the things their group takes to without a second thought. When their dicks aren't out, anyway.

Then again, maybe that's the difference. They all see this as some kind of exception. Not sex, just...something to fill in the gaps, the same way they fill in other gaps for each other—playing mothers to each other when they're sick or brothers when they're lost and lonely.

Youngjae's never been good at forcing himself to do mental gymnastics like that. If he's got a dick in his hand, as far as he's concerned, it's sex—but he'll let the others cling to what they need. It's all for comfort, anyway.

But the easy conversation that's always been what holds sex together for him? That isn't something he's willing to give up.

At first, he'd thought it set the others on edge. The way they'd tense at his words and avoid looking him in the eye for a while after certainly made it seem like something was going on. And Youngjae supposes that's right, that something was going on, but it wasn't how he'd assumed, wasn't that they disliked it.

Quite the opposite.

The others can be a bit less predictable in their reactions, but Jinyoung—god, Youngjae wonders if Jinyoung really knows how easy he is to read, to play just right.

He'd started him off easy, when he could tell Jinyoung was trying to get him alone: "Jinyoungie hyung, you danced so well at practice today, I think everyone noticed."

And then, once they'd been tangled up on Jinyoung's bed, grinding slowly and kissing all open and wet and deep (because some of the others were squeamish about kissing, but Youngjae thinks it might be more important to Jinyoung than getting off): "All that working out is paying off, hyung, your arms feel—" (Jinyoung never lets him finish when they're face to face, but Youngjae doesn't blame him. With everything else, he doubts Jinyoung is capable of being calculated this far into it.)

And then with his hand on his cock in slow measured strokes wet with the lube Jinyoung keeps in his drawer that Youngjae doesn't ask about further: "You're always so patient, Jinyoung-ah, it makes it all better, doesn't it?" (Jinyoung only nods, voice stuck in his throat like he's just holding it back from doing something. Youngjae doesn't know why he bothers—they both know what's coming, anyway.)

Youngjae knows when Jinyoung is about to come. His jaw opens and closes, trembling as he licks his lips like he can taste the pleasure about to wash over him. Tension cords through his whole body, torso curving like he's trying to fuck Youngjae's hand—and then he jerks forward, curling in on himself with the force of it as he makes a hot, wet mess of Youngjae's hand and his voice finally bursts free in a broken whimper: "Hyung."

"There you go, Jinyoung-ah," Youngjae croons as he works Jinyoung through it until he's whimpering. Every sweet word from his mouth makes another shiver of pleasure wrack Jinyoung's body. "So good."