Contrary to popular belief, Chenle and Jisung fight a lot.
No one thinks so, because they’re not as obvious about it. Not like, for example, Renjun and Donghyuck, who take joy in screeching at the top of their unfortunately capacious lungs and clawing at each other like a pair of demonic cats every chance they get. Chenle is more subtle than that, and Jisung likes his privacy, so their fights are usually just more inconspicuous.
It’s probably because they spend so much time together. When Chenle stops and really thinks about it, he always comes to the conclusion that it’s inevitable. He’s always with Jisung, and it’s been five whole years of that, with Jisung constantly hovering by his side, a steady presence next to Chenle or behind Chenle or just anywhere in his general vicinity. At some point, they’re bound to clash, bound to disagree over something, bound to get on each other’s nerves.
When they were younger, it used to manifest in lots of pre-adolescent anger and temper tantrums and threats of refusing to hold each other’s hands and, eventually, just Chenle giving Jisung the cold shoulder. At the very beginning, Chenle remembers Jisung cracking after only a few minutes, because he’s a huge crybaby at heart, pleading with Chenle to just talk to him please, he can’t take it anymore—and Chenle would try to ignore him but of course, he always relents, always.
Those few minutes began morphing into hours as they grew up and Jisung, for lack of better terminology, got used to Chenle’s bullshit. One time, those hours turned into whole days, and that’s when Chenle learned to stop, ostensibly because Mark told him to but also, maybe, because not talking to Jisung is really weird and Chenle doesn’t like it.
Jisung’s different now, of course. Too tall and too smart to let himself be pushed around, too stubborn to let Chenle have his way every single time. Chenle doesn’t really mind that much anymore, because he’s changed too in his own way, which he figures is just part of growing up together. He likes to think he’s mature now, a real adult rather than the stupid kid he was way back when, but then again—
Nowadays, their fights are different too. They’re more frequent, for one thing, but they’re also less serious. If Chenle is being honest, it used to feel like the world was ending when he fought with Jisung, but these days… well, these days their fights play out more like this:
“You’re so fucking annoying,” Chenle huffs, sliding his arms around Jisung’s neck. He hates that he has to tilt his head just to meet Jisung’s eyes, just because he feels like it gives Jisung an edge over him, and Chenle is nothing if not competitive.
“You’re so fucking annoying,” Jisung mimics, deliberately making his voice pitch higher than usual in a poor imitation of Chenle, and then he brings his stupidly huge hands down to the backs of Chenle’s thighs and lifts him up like it’s nothing.
Chenle isn’t proud of the veritable squeak that somehow manages to slip past his defenses and out into the open air. Jisung cackles, squeezing Chenle’s thighs in a way that makes Chenle’s stomach do a whole ass flip.
Idiot. Chenle yanks on one of Jisung’s ears in remonstrance. “Give me a warning next time, dumbass,” he grumbles.
“Sorry,” Jisung grins, without an ounce of sincerity. He bends his head, lips brushing against Chenle’s earlobe lightly. “Forgot about your giant manhandling kink.”
“It’s not a—“ Chenle starts defensively, before he’s very rudely interrupted by Jisung’s mouth on his. He’s so affronted, in fact, that Chenle decides Jisung doesn’t even deserve to hear what he was going to say, and if Chenle’s not talking then he might as well kiss Jisung, right?
Besides, Jisung’s a good kisser. It gives Chenle mental whiplash, sometimes, because he’s the one who taught Jisung how to kiss and all that so on one hand it’s like ‘I raised that boy’ but on the other, Jisung is the biggest asshole in the world and sometimes he does shit like this.
Chenle can’t help the audible hitch in his breathing when Jisung rolls his hips forward, so slow but so annoyingly intentional, like he knows—he knows what he’s doing to Chenle. He definitely knows, because despite his best efforts Chenle is usually kind of an open book with Jisung, which his best friend takes full advantage of, and so Chenle bites down on his pride and wraps his legs around Jisung’s waist.
Jisung smirks, with his sharp jawline and smug eyes and that horrible tongue of his darting out between his perfect teeth, making Chenle’s head swim from it all. He doesn’t know when Jisung got hot—okay, that’s a lie, because Chenle spends about half his time being far too aware of Jisung, where he is relative to Chenle, what he’s doing, who he’s with. It’s a little unhealthy, but that means Chenle knows exactly when he realized Jisung started looking less like Chenle’s literal child of a best friend and more like the starring character in Chenle’s adolescent hormone-addled, um, dreams.
“Don’t look so smug,” Chenle snaps, irrationally embarrassed as he shoves at Jisung’s chest, not that it does anything because Jisung is literally carrying Chenle and Chenle’s kind of clinging to him like a koala bear to a tree, but whatever, it’s the principle of the matter.
Jisung cocks his head. “You’re jealous,” he says then, voice low and amused, and God, it does something to Chenle, makes heat coil in his chest, threatening to burst out of Chenle at the slightest provocation.
“You’re talking nonsense again,” Chenle answers immediately, defiant as ever. “I don’t even know where you get this crap, Ji-sung.” His voice tapers off into a really fucking embarrassing moan when Jisung grinds his hips forward again, and again, just right, the friction between them almost unbearable.
The only thing Chenle takes solace in is the fact that he can feel Jisung just as well, his skinny jeans doing nothing to hide how hard he is. Chenle could reach out and just touch him, could just sink to his knees and yank Jisung forward and take what he wants. It almost makes Chenle’s mouth water.
But then he wouldn’t be playing the game right, so instead, Chenle tilts his head up and kisses Jisung again. His best friend has the sheer audacity to laugh into Chenle’s mouth, like he knows what Chenle’s thinking. A moment later Chenle’s back hits the wall and Jisung’s licking into his mouth, all messy teeth and skin on skin and Chenle’s losing his fucking mind.
“Just admit it,” Jisung murmurs against Chenle’s lips, almost soothingly, like he’s trying to coax Chenle. “You got so jealous that I chose Sungchan over you—“
Chenle snarls, surging up into Jisung; he fights back, of course he does, every single time, tongue battling for dominance and fingernails digging crescent prints into Jisung’s pretty shoulders. “Shut up.” Chenle winds his free hand into Jisung’s hair and tugs him down viciously to meet Chenle’s mouth again, relishing in the way Jisung almost stumbles, almost letting go of Chenle before he catches himself. Chenle doesn’t even flinch. Jisung would never let him fall.
The thing is that Chenle, when they’re like this, he’s really just working on borrowed time. It all depends on how nice Jisung is feeling, how much he’s willing to give to Chenle. Chenle hates it, but it’s even worse how much he likes it; he could do anything he wants to Jisung, but at the back of his mind he’d know it’s only because Jisung is letting him and that loss of control, it makes Chenle’s head spin so deliciously.
He feels Jisung’s hands move as they’re kissing, sliding up from Chenle’s thighs and to his ass, except his hands are so inhumanly big that he only needs one of them to hold Chenle up, braced between the wall and Jisung’s lean body. Chenle gasps when Jisung wraps his free hand around the back of his neck, with just enough force that it makes Chenle dizzy, and then they’re moving.
Over the past few years, Jisung’s become very well-acquainted with Chenle, with his body and all the specific little things Jisung can do that get Chenle to react the way he wants. One of these, to Chenle’s best facade of chagrin, a very particular one that Jisung’s spent many nights researching is—
Chenle winces as his butt hits the edge of Jisung’s bed, and immediately Jisung presses a kiss to the side of his neck in apology. “Hey, this is precious cargo,” Chenle still laments, because he can and because he likes to make life as difficult for Jisung as possible.
Jisung rolls his eyes, and Chenle watches with bated breath—it’s so stupid, like he’s in a drama or something, but Jisung just makes him feel like he’s the main character in an angsty coming-of-age movie and Chenle doesn’t know if that’s good or not—as Jisung slides down onto his knees, the flow of his body so sinfully sinuous. “Open.” He taps Chenle’s thigh, and what he wants is clear enough but a spark fizzes in Chenle’s chest, the gears in his brain whirling.
Be a brat.
“Make me, pretty boy.” Chenle sticks his tongue out, raising his eyebrows challengingly.
Jisung exhales, an exasperated sound that delights Chenle to no end. “Why do you always make things so hard?” He mutters, running a hand through his purple hair and messing it up even more than it already was.
It’s kind of cute. Chenle cocks his head, leaning back on his elbows. “Maybe because I like seeing it so hard,” he purrs, and revels in the satisfaction of watching the light shift in Jisung’s eyes. Sometimes Chenle thinks Jisung is like a clockwork machine (he obviously isn’t. No automaton could thrust its hips like Jisung does), just too easy to figure out, so predictable it makes Chenle want to laugh.
“Fine,” Jisung mutters, but there’s an edge to his tone, dangerously devious, his eyes all dark and hooded as he examines Chenle. “Don’t blame me, then.”
Chenle barely has time to react before Jisung rises up and pushes him back onto the duvet, his hands smoothing across Chenle’s hips. Then he tightens his grip and jerks Chenle up, and Chenle lets out a yelp as his body just gives, just goes where Jisung wants it to, arches up into Jisung’s hold and Chenle feels like he’s seconds away from combusting.
Goddammit, Park Jisung should not be allowed to do that. And look like that. And be that.
Jisung hooks his fingers into the too-wide waistband of Chenle’s sweatpants (they’re Jisung’s, because Chenle doesn’t actually live here but he needs something to wear so—) and doesn’t bother to hide his grin. “Should’ve just listened to me,” he remarks, as he tugs the pants off Chenle’s body and tosses them somewhere behind him.
Chenle’s not wearing anything underneath, and if he were slightly less annoyed about what Jisung just did, he might have felt embarrassed about how his cock literally springs free of its confines, already uncomfortably hard. As things stand, though, “Now where’s the fun in that?” Chenle snipes back, deliberately keeping his head held high as Jisung wraps his fingers around each of Chenle’s thighs and just pulls them apart.
It makes Chenle feel warmer than it should.
“I think it’s pretty fun either way,” Jisung shrugs, settling back onto his knees between Chenle’s legs. “Either you’re a good boy and shut up, or I get you to shut up anyway.”
Chenle scoffs, but he’s fronting and he knows it, can feel his heartbeat ringing in his ears like a countdown timer as Jisung noses his way along Chenle’s inner thigh. “As if you could make me shut—ah.”
Jisung raises an eyebrow at him, far too smugly, his lips wrapped tight around Chenle’s cockhead and that’s just unfair, because he looks so good and so irritatingly sexy and Chenle’s moaning before he even realizes it. This is one thing Chenle didn’t teach Jisung; they’d figured it out together, stumbling awkwardly through the early educational stages of teeth everywhere and not knowing what to do with their hands. But that just means Jisung knows now, knows better than anyone exactly what Chenle likes, and Chenle’s best friend is nothing if not an opportunist.
Jisung takes Chenle’s cock deeper into his mouth with a practiced ease, his right hand spread across Chenle’s thigh, squeezing just hard enough to make Chenle feel lightheaded. If Jisung wants to, really wants to, he can grasp Chenle even tighter and tomorrow there’ll be pretty purple bruises along Chenle’s skin in the shape of Jisung’s hands and the mere thought alone sends a totally involuntary shudder up Chenle’s spine.
He’s so distracted. Jisung’s lips are stained cherry red from all their kissing, and he’s sucking Chenle’s dick down without a care for the saliva pooling in his mouth, so fucking warm and silky that Chenle can’t even think right now. His mind’s hazy, and Jisung’s tongue is just so good, and then Jisung wraps his other hand around the base of Chenle’s cock and Chenle really whines now, unable to keep his eyes open as his head falls back, fingers locked into the sheets, gasping for breath.
Jisung pulls his mouth off, but he doesn’t stop moving, keeps his fist tight around Chenle’s dick and fucks down on it, slow and filthy and slick with his saliva. “You don’t seem to be talking,” Jisung notes, insufferably cocky, and it’s all Chenle can do not to slap him.
“You’re—cheating,” Chenle pants, fairly unreasonably, but whatever, he doesn’t care as long as Jisung is still touching him.
“I haven’t even started cheating,” Jisung purrs, terribly, horribly amused, and then his lips are trailing down Chenle’s skin, pausing for a brief second that feels more like a whole fucking hour before he finally rounds his mouth and sucks at Chenle’s thigh.
Oh, God. He’s doing this.
Chenle squirms, his legs closing instinctively as he tries to protect himself. He’s incredibly ticklish, everybody knows this, and Jisung especially knows that Chenle’s thighs are probably the most sensitive so he really just shouldn’t go there unless he wants to get punched. But Jisung just curls his fingers into the meat of Chenle’s thighs and holds them apart and keeps kissing.
“Jisung!” Chenle hisses, his body literally shaking as he shimmies up the bed like a flailing fish. “I’m gonna kill you—“
Jisung’s mouth envelopes Chenle’s cock again, making Chenle choke on his sentence and eventually just stutter to a stop like the world’s most pathetic wind-up toy. He’s so fucking turned on it should be criminal, but stupid Jisung just continues his little game of switching between sucking Chenle off and biting hickeys into his inner thighs and Chenle swears he’s going to spontaneously burst into flames.
“Your thighs are so pretty, Lele,” Jisung murmurs, sweet as sugar, before he sucks at a particularly sensitive patch of skin and Chenle makes this extremely embarrassing whimpering sound that he didn’t even know he could produce. “But they look even better covered in hickeys, hmm?” Then Jisung swallows Chenle’s cock down again, his hands keeping Chenle in place and this is torture, it has to be, the worst form possible and oh fucking hell, Chenle’s going to come if Jisung doesn’t—
Like he’s reading Chenle’s mind, or maybe he’s just that good at reading Chenle’s body, Jisung pulls away with a frown on his face. “Don’t come,” he tells Chenle, almost petulantly, and the derisive laugh that bubbles from Chenle’s chest is entirely involuntary.
“How do you want me to not come when you keep doing that?” He’s frustrated. Chenle shouldn’t be this frustrated, or else Jisung is going to win this far too easily. He takes a deep breath, collecting himself.
“So you’re saying you liked it?” Jisung lifts an eyebrow, his lips quirking up at the corners as he gets up from the ground, wiping his mouth almost obscenely. At least this tells Chenle that he’s probably not going to get off anytime soon. “Should I do it more often then?” The tone of his voice cheerily informs Chenle that he’s definitely going to be doing it more often.
“You’re a pain in my ass, Park Jisung,” Chenle retorts, watching Jisung rummage through his nightstand for a second before pulling a familiar bottle out of it.
Jisung cackles, flopping onto the bed beside Chenle. “Thought you liked me in your ass,” he quips, wiggling his eyebrows, and it’s so stupid and juvenile but Chenle blushes.
Fuck Park Jisung.
“I never said I liked it,” Chenle answers primly, with as much dignity as he can muster considering he’s still ridiculously hard and naked from the waist down. “Actually, I hate it. You suck,” he adds, lying straight through his teeth.
Jisung rolls his eyes and tosses the bottle of lube beside Chenle. “Just for that, you get to stretch yourself out,” he says so casually, like he’s talking about the weather, reclining back onto his elbows.
Chenle frowns, momentarily regretting his choice of words because even he can admit that he likes Jisung to stretch him, simply because his hands are so big and his fingers can reach places Chenle didn’t know existed. Jisung, of course, knows all this because he’s spent many a night with Chenle in his lap, gripping his shoulders like a lifeline and riding his fingers without a single one of the many, usually exaggerated, complaints Chenle generally has to voice about Jisung.
“Whatever,” Chenle mutters in annoyance, snatching the bottle and flicking the cap open. If Jisung doesn’t want to stretch him out, then Chenle is most certainly going to make him regret it. “Bastard.”
“Dumbass,” Jisung replies effortlessly, lounging with an irritatingly relaxed mien, almost like he’s bored as he watches Chenle tip lube into his palm. “Go slow,” he reminds, idly.
“Yeah, yeah,” Chenle huffs, shifting so his back is propped up against Jisung’s pillow and he can spread his legs comfortably. He notes, with some degree of satisfaction, that Jisung’s eyes keep straying to the blossoming hickeys on his thighs.
The first finger slips in easily, Chenle all too used to the stretch, the pucker of his rim giving easily. The second is slightly more difficult, but Chenle’s body accommodates with some coaxing, as always. The third is when he starts to fidget.
It’s not like Chenle’s fingers are short. In a vacuum, they’re fine. The issue here is that Chenle remembers with far too much clarity how Jisung’s fingers feel inside him, and really, there’s no comparison. Jisung has particularly dexterous joints—that’s why he’s such a good dancer—and Chenle just can’t seem to curl his own fingers the right way, can’t seem to fill himself up the way he wants.
Chenle exhales, a short puff of air leaving his lungs. This is so annoying. The worst part is that his fingers do just enough that his arousal hasn’t even slightly dissipated, but Chenle wants more, he always wants more, needs it like oxygen, like water, like the cherry blossom curl of Jisung’s smile—
Chenle looks up, and Jisung, the absolute useless idiot, he’s jerking off. He has the utter nerve to look so unbelievably hot doing it, too, propped up on one elbow with his purple hair askew, long legs sprawled across the duvet, skinny jeans undone and his long, long fingers coiled tight around his dick; all heavy lidded eyes trained between Chenle’s legs and pink tongue sticking slightly out of his mouth and hips undulating as he fucks up into his own fist.
God, Chenle is going to have an aneurysm.
“Ji,” he demands, his free hand curling into the bed sheets beneath him. “Come here.”
A lazy smirk spreads leisurely across Jisung’s lips. He looks so unreasonably attractive, it makes Chenle want to throw something at his stupid handsome face. “No,” he answers simply.
Chenle briefly wonders if Renjun would help him hide a dead body. Probably. He wouldn’t even ask questions.
“Why?” Chenle can’t stop the whine in his voice from slipping out, entirely too strung out and on edge and so very annoyed.
Jisung shrugs. “You’re cute when you’re angry.”
Oh. Okay. So the gods really said ‘fuck Chenle in particular’ then.
Carefully, Chenle eyes Jisung. He’s still got a hand around his cock, stroking so slowly Chenle thinks he might be doing it on purpose, just to fuck with Chenle. Honestly, right now Chenle doesn’t know what he wants inside him first, because Jisung really does have such a beautiful dick and Chenle hates that he likes it so much. “You’re literally the worst,” Chenle says flatly, finally.
“Mm, talk dirty to me,” Jisung purrs back, grinning mischievously, and really, really, after this Chenle’s going to find the thickest book in the dorm and then he’s going to lob it straight at Park Jisung’s perfect face.
Chenle groans, heat simmering uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. “Why are you like this?” He complains, querulous as ever.
“Because you’re so pretty,” Jisung murmurs, and for once, doesn’t even sound like he’s making fun of Chenle. Chenle swallows, his throat suddenly arid.
“Don’t be maudlin,” he retorts, forcing quite a convincing scoff for his current state of mind, if Chenle may say so himself.
“The word is romantic,” Jisung corrects him smoothly. “You want me or not?”
Oh, Chenle wants Jisung, alright. He wants Jisung to ‘accidentally’ fall into the Han River. He also wants Jisung to kiss him, like, right now.
“Yes, please.” His voice is soft, barely a whisper, really.
Jisung cocks his head, just so obnoxiously satisfied about the whole thing. “What was that?”
Chenle grits his teeth. “Please give me your fingers,” he says with deliberate care, making sure to enunciate each word like it’s its own sentence. “I’m going to die if you don’t come over here, and then I’m going to find a banshee to teach me how to scream as a ghost and haunt you for the rest of your life—“
“I’ll take it,” Jisung concedes, and then he’s crawling over and kissing Chenle, slow and deep and Chenle just melts like butter under the sun.
He hears the distant click of the bottle cap opening, but Chenle is too distracted to worry about that right now, when Jisung’s lips are tracing a path down his jaw line, mouthing at Chenle’s neck, teeth grazing the thin skin of his collarbone. Jisung pushes Chenle’s shirt up and sucks little bruises into Chenle’s chest and laves his tongue against Chenle’s nipple, and Chenle is whining, fisting Jisung’s shirt with both hands. His fingers are still sticky with lube but Chenle’s kind of vindictive so he doesn’t care, grabs Jisung tighter and yanks him closer.
“Fuck,” Chenle gasps out when Jisung finally gets his fingers into him, even just two of them curling inside Chenle making him breathless. Jisung twists his wrist, his cheeks puffing up in concentration—it’s a cute habit, not that Chenle’s ever admitted that—and then his fingertips are pressing against Chenle’s prostate and Chenle is so gone.
“Better, baby?” A hint of a smirk paints Jisung’s lips as Chenle arches his back and keens so loudly it could probably be heard from outside the dorm. The pet name certainly doesn’t help, not when it makes Chenle’s stomach somersault like it’s an Olympic competitor, makes his skin burn, makes him crave.
When Chenle doesn’t reply, because how is he even supposed to think right now, Jisung laughs, because he’s just an asshole. “Want another one?” He hums lightly, and Chenle can only nod frantically, cheeks so hot, clinging to Jisung’s shoulders. He’s higher strung than he’d like to admit, a little more pliant and a lot less stubborn, which should be embarrassing but God, Chenle’s doesn’t care.
Jisung, thankfully (because Chenle would’ve smacked him) doesn’t tease anymore, a third finger sliding into Chenle. It’s a tight fit, Chenle is really starting to feel the burn of the stretch emanating up his tailbone, but they’ve done this before enough times; Jisung kisses his neck softly, soothingly, and Chenle exhales.
“You good, Lele?” Jisung murmurs into Chenle’s throat, lips warm and plush against his pulse point. But just as Chenle is opening his mouth to make fun of him for being mushy or maybe just whine Jisung’s name, he doesn’t know; the sound of footsteps padding outside Jisung’s door makes them both freeze, like kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar.
Chenle strains his ears and thinks he can make out Renjun’s voice, exasperated about something as usual, and Jaemin’s lilting tone, halfway between mollifying and amused. Jeno’s deep chuckle follows, and Chenle doesn’t relax until he hears the door to Jeno’s and Jaemin’s room click shut across the hallway.
“I thought you said they were out,” he hisses accusingly under his breath, somehow irrationally afraid that they might still be out there.
“You said they were out,” Jisung grumbles back, hand tight on Chenle’s hip. “And obviously they came back. You know, the entire point of living somewhere? You go out and come back after a while, and then—careful, here’s the shocking part—you do it again.”
Chenle scowls, momentarily forgetting what they’re doing and flicking Jisung in the forehead. “Quit being fastidious, you know what I meant.”
Jisung rolls his eyes, for like the third time today, and Chenle resists the urge to tell him they’re going to fall out of his head. It may have worked back when Jisung was still cute and gullible, but now he’s cute and generally quite suspicious of Chenle’s claims. “Whatever. Anyway, Sungchan said he and—“
“You have three fingers in my ass and you’re still talking about Sungchan?” Chenle snaps, unable to stop himself. He winces at his moment of weakness a mere moment later, when Jisung grins cheekily at him.
“Someone sounds a little jealous.”
“I’m not jealous,” Chenle mutters, turning his head away irritably. His makeshift tantrum ends up being pointless anyway when Jisung curves his fingers just right and Chenle’s mouth falls open, choking on a moan as his hips shove themselves down, trying to get more.
“Sure about that, baby?” Jisung purrs, annoyingly smug. Chenle tries to muster his best glare right now, but even he knows there’s no bite in him right now.
Instead, he reaches out and wraps his hands around Jisung’s dick, savoring the way his best friend practically jumps at the contact, startled. “Stop talking and hurry up already. I’m about to fall asleep,” Chenle snipes.
Jisung snorts. “Believe me, I’d really like to see you try.” But he pulls his fingers out and reaches for the lube and Chenle is going to take that dub for now.
He watches impatiently, heart pounding, as Jisung slicks his cock up, shimmying his jeans down just enough that he can lean back against the headboard, patting his thigh with a devious little glimmer in his eyes. Chenle knows what he wants, and he’s already grumbling as he clambers into Jisung’s lap, straddling him with a knee on either side of his hips.
“I have to do everything around here,” he gripes, somewhat melodramatically, but then Jisung’s hands are on his ass and his cockhead is pushing at Chenle’s rim and you know what, Chenle will save his complaints for another day.
“You love it like this,” Jisung reminds him, absurdly pleased with himself.
Chenle does, but he wouldn’t be Chenle if he just said so. “I really think your ego’s gotten over-inflated recently. You should get it checked out,” he suggests, biting his lip as Jisung slides into him.
He always complains about Jisung being so slow, but at times like these, Chenle’s glad his best friend never takes him seriously. The stretch isn’t intolerable, but Jisung’s sort of really big and Chenle has to dig his teeth into Jisung’s shoulder just to keep from making too much noise.
“Ow. Why do you always have to maim me?” Jisung protests, but Chenle can hear the strain in his voice as he fights against the urge to move faster, and it makes Chenle smile into his skin.
“Maybe you should try having a smaller dick,” Chenle sasses back, closing his eyes as Jisung finally bottoms out, his cock sheathed inside Chenle. For a moment, Chenle just trembles in Jisung’s lap, gasping for air as a dull pain radiates up his tailbone, Jisung’s dick spreading him open, so much bigger than his fingers. It quickly fades when Jisung shifts, though, just a gentle roll of his hips upwards and then Chenle’s burning.
“Then you wouldn’t like it as much,” Jisung retorts easily, gripping Chenle’s waist so tight he’s sure there’ll be bruises tomorrow. He fucks up into Chenle again, still so agonizingly slow, and the heat pooling in Chenle’s gut swells.
“Bold of you,” Chenle gasps, as Jisung adjusts his angle on the next thrust and his cockhead rubs right up against Chenle’s prostate and oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck, “to a-assume I—ah—like y-you now.”
He’s moaning brokenly by the end of his dismal attempt at a sentence. Jisung’s holding him by the hips, grinding languidly into Chenle’s prostate, deliberately teasing in the way he makes sure to hit that spot over and over again. He’s so fucking slow, God, but it feels so stupidly good and Chenle’s going to die.
“You’re gon-na… kill me,” Chenle whimpers, his face buried in the crook of Jisung’s neck as he tries not to literally shake. His thighs feel like jelly, and Chenle thinks they might be sore tomorrow. He thinks a lot of him might be sore tomorrow.
“That’s hyperbole,” Jisung points out mildly—he’s so annoying seriously Chenle’s going to—then his grip on Chenle is tightening and he’s pulling Chenle down, down onto Jisung’s cock before lifting him back up and doing it again, and Chenle fucking gives up.
His body moves where Jisung makes it, Chenle helpless to the way Jisung squeezes his hips and just how good it feels, that Jisung can do this, can grab onto Chenle and fuck him on his cock like it’s nothing. Chenle goes boneless, clinging to Jisung’s shoulders; he doesn’t even know what he’s babbling at this point, a mixture of Jisung’s name and please please please and so annoying, his usually exceptional brain-to-mouth filter gone, leaving only meaningless words falling from Chenle’s lips.
“Fuck, baby, you’re so beautiful,” Jisung groans into Chenle’s ear, all throaty and hoarse, and Chenle’s losing it, he’s absolutely just gone, dazed and incoherent and dizzy. He sees Jisung biting his lip, eyebrows scrunched up in concentration, cheeks tinted a pretty cherry blossom pink, so goddamn gorgeous it makes Chenle’s heart ache.
He curls his fingers into Jisung’s hair and kisses him, deep and desperate. “Mine,” Chenle mumbles into Jisung’s mouth, unthinkingly, unwittingly.
Jisung slams into Chenle so hard he sees fucking stars. “Mine,” Jisung agrees, his fingers curling tight on Chenle’s hip, teeth latching onto Chenle’s neck, so possessive and Chenle just shatters.
He hears Jisung curse, filthy and beautiful, when Chenle tightens around him. He’s sent reeling from the force of his orgasm, nails scratching down Jisung’s back as Chenle cries out, high in his throat, Jisung’s name on his lips.
It takes him a mortifying amount of time to get his shit together enough to lift his head, and by then Jisung’s stopped moving, instead focusing his attention on pressing little kisses against Chenle’s neck and petting Chenle’s hair. It’s so uncharacteristically soft of him (despite the fact that a certain other part of Jisung is decidedly not soft) that Chenle feels this weird swooping feeling in his chest, warm and cozy. He might call it affection, if he and Jisung were like that.
Chenle clears his throat, and Jisung looks up. There’s a mischievous twinkle in his eyes when he purrs, “You just came untouched. And you got cum on my shirt.”
The feeling vanishes instantly. Chenle scowls, and shoves at Jisung’s abdomen as best as he can with his noodly arms. “You have three seconds to decide if you want to fuck me or jerk off in the bathroom. Three, two…”
Jisung snickers, wrapping his arms around Chenle’s back and then rolling over until Chenle is underneath him. This position usually makes Chenle blush, just a little, but he still holds his head high and informs Jisung, “Time’s up.”
“Shut up, Lele,” Jisung tells him sweetly, yanking his shirt up over his head and balling it up to toss aside. Then he grabs Chenle’s ankle and pulls his leg over his shoulder, thrusting back into Chenle in one smooth, fluid movement.
Chenle’s head tips back against the pillows, an offended huff escaping his mouth even as his fingers wind into the bedsheets. He’s oversensitive, but Chenle’s kind of greedy and just doesn’t care, doesn’t want to make Jisung stop, not when Jisung seems to have forgone teasing him entirely and is now just chasing his own orgasm, fucking into Chenle with short, hard strokes that make Chenle’s head spin.
“You gonna come or not, Park?” He taunts, hating how breathless he sounds. Chenle’s so weak, honestly.
Jisung presses Chenle’s leg down harder, practically folding him up. “Yeah, if you’d be quiet and let me enjoy it,” he mutters, blowing his hair out of his eyes, tone exasperated. Chenle can’t help but grin.
“And they say chivalry is dead,” he murmurs, turning his head to kiss Jisung’s wrist, and that’s when Jisung’s hips stutter.
Predictable. “Inside,” Chenle whispers, and Jisung groans, burying his face into Chenle’s collar as he comes, searingly hot inside Chenle.
“You’re really irritating, you know?” He murmurs, voice muffled, the words vibrating lightly against Chenle’s skin.
Chenle’s grin widens proudly. “I try my best.” He tugs at Jisung’s hair, eliciting a yelp from his best friend. “Get off me, you’re gross.”
Grumbling under his breath, Jisung rolls onto his side, his dick slipping out of Chenle with an obscene pop. “That’s the worst pillow talk I’ve ever heard.” He sits up and starts wriggling his way off the bed, pinching Chenle’s thigh on the way and earning himself an elbow to the chest in retaliation.
Chenle watches him retrieve the wet tissues shoved into the back of his closet, taking the opportunity to covertly admire Jisung’s back muscles flexing when he moves and the defined lines of his abs. What? Chenle’s human, and he has a functional pair of eyes. Sue him.
Jisung tosses the pack over. “Stop dripping cum all over my sheets.”
He’s not, by the way. Chenle has better self control than that. He glares at Jisung, mutinously drawing a tissue out and setting to work cleaning himself up. “Next time you’re jerking off in the bathroom,” he decides.
Jisung snorts derisively, picking up their clothes and throwing them into his laundry basket. “Suck my dick, Chenle.”
“You wish,” Chenle shoots back. “You’re seriously so slow. Are you done? Or do I have to cuddle myself?”
“I literally just got up!” Jisung protests, making his way back to the bed. “And you can’t seem to decide if you want me to get off or stay here.”
“Pretty sure you got off,” Chenle murmurs, a smirk in his voice as Jisung throws an arm loosely around his waist and tugs Chenle back until he’s pressed up to Jisung’s chest.
“Brat.” There’s precisely zero bite in Jisung’s tone.
It’s comfortable, and Chenle feels sleep weighing heavy on his eyelids, lulled by the gentle rhythm of Jisung’s breathing behind him. For once, it’s quiet, peaceful in a way, and Chenle doesn’t really feel like disturbing it.
Of course, barely a minute passes before Jisung’s lips are ghosting across the nape of Chenle’s neck, his voice insufferably teasing when he says, “So why are you so jealous of Sungchan, anyway?”
“I’m not jealous!”
Chenle wanders back into the practice room, bottles of ice cold energy drinks in hand. He’d lost the rock paper scissors game, and because his supposed best friend Jisung is a piece of shit, he’d made Chenle go out to the vending machines by himself, feigning exhaustion. As if it’s not his fault Chenle’s thighs, mottled with little bruises, are screaming in protest every time he moves.
Whatever. Chenle got him his least favourite flavour anyway.
He walks back to the center of the room where the rest of his traitorous members are sitting in a circle, just in time to overhear their conversation:
“If you had to pick between Chenle and Shotaro?” Donghyuck is asking, rubbing his hands together like a maniacal evil overlord. Chenle doesn’t know what the context for this particular question is, and suddenly he doesn’t want to know.
Jisung looks up, catching Chenle’s eyes, pink lips twisting into a devilish, scheming little smile. “Shotaro, of course.”