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Keeho collapses onto the bed with a deep sigh. It’s been the type of day that feels never-ending. Study session into class into discussion until it all became an incoherent stream of blurred shape and light and thought. Entirely too much thought.
Crashing into his dorm he’d had a second to toss the day's clothes into a pile at the foot of his bed (ignoring the suspiciously Jiung sounding voice in his head that told him to put it away properly) before collapsing into bed in the first pair of sweats he could find. He halfway regrets going shirtless now, their room on the wrong side of chilled. The shivering is keeping him awake and glancing around his savior comes in the form of the laundry basket tucked against the wall near his bed. Pushing himself up with a groan, Keeho scoots to the edge of his bed, reaching for the basket. He digs around, gripping the first long sleeve he sees and tugging it free of the tangle of clothes trapping it, rogue socks falling out of the basket as he pulls. It's a loose black long sleeve, thick comfortable material. But it’s foreign under his fingers. It’s not his.
It’s Jiung’s.
It must've gotten mixed in with his things when he was grabbing them for the wash. Keeho glances at the door. Jiung is out for dinner with one of his classmates. Not the type to give timeframes even if Keeho did ask, Keeho doesn't know when he’ll be back.. but dinners with Jungsu typically run long and the shivers wracking his body make the decision for him before he can think too hard about it.
The comforting weight of it settles across his shoulders. It’s over sized and clings perfectly to Keeho’s broader shoulders. Jiung has good taste, he thinks with a laugh.
A pang of guilt stabs through his stomach at the thought. His roommate is famously protective of his personal space. There is a barrier between his side of the dorm and Keeho’s that’s so strong it feels physical sometimes. Keeho can already imagine the look on his face if he knew Keeho had crossed that barrier and returned with a stolen jacket in tow. But stronger than the guilt is the comfort and, finally warm, the sleepiness is creeping over him like a fog.
Keeho falls back with an exaggerated oof, toeing the blanket up and over him, burying his face into the pillow. He pushes all the air from his lungs, exhaling deeply and shoving every errant thought and wandering urge to linger on his classes from his mind. With holiday break fast approaching his classes have started to feel like a mad dash to the finish line. The threat of deadlines putting everything into 2x speed and layering it with extremely stressful music. His last final is still a week away but studying for it has tension wound through his shoulders tight enough there's a permanently sharp ache in his muscles now. Jiung finished his last final yesterday (hence, celebration dinner) and Keeho is trying hard not to regret his decision of major and switch to environmental science simply so he can be done already.
Hugging his pillow closer Keeho tucks himself into the comforter, inhaling deeply. Detergent and the familiar smell of sleep floods him but beneath there's a hint of something that has him pausing. He hasn’t been using any soaps has he? It could be something lingering on his skin from the library today he supposes… And then it clicks.
Spiced, sharp, a hint of something sweet curling through it. Jiung.
The crewneck clinging to him smells like his roommate. Obviously, is his first thought. He took this from Jiungs laundry. Of course it smells like him. But knowing it’s Jiung’s and smelling him this close are two very different things. It's inescapable now that he recognizes it, a soft cloud of Jiung’s cologne kicking up whenever he shifts and leaving him scrambling to stay calm. The scent is so close.. Almost like he’s on top of Keeho…
Heat flares to life in his gut against his will, uncontrollable. Buzzing energy spreading like tendrils through his hips, an uncomfortable ache building. Keeho shifts back and forth against his sheets, shying from the feeling, but it’s not that easy to ignore and the movement only heightens the pulse of blood going where it’s least convenient for it to go right now. It leaves him restless. Rocking.
Logically Keeho knows it's just a trace of his cologne, nothing too strong. But despite this the smell is cloying, lining his lungs and sinuses, setting him on fire slowly from the inside out. Tentatively, glancing towards the door, Keeho lifts the sleeve to his nose. Bad move. Fuck. A pained whimper leaves him before he can stop it, the burning in his gut flaring tenfold like a flash fire, consuming every thought in him in a blaze of amber.
Scent memories have always been strong for Keeho and it kicks in mercilessly now, a flash of pointed ears and ginger hair tumbling through his mind, yanking him into the depths of his own wanting like he’s been pushed into the deep end of a pool. His crush on Jiung is a shallowly kept secret. Strong since first semester, the way his heart skips a beat when Jiung grumbles at his computer, how his mouth goes dry whenever he catches a glimpse of the butterflies in flight across Jiung’s waist. Keeho knows himself. He can recognize it. The same way he knows pursuing it would be a bad idea.
This is a bad idea too, and yet.
Exhaustion, he thinks absentmindedly as he presses the sleeve tighter to his face and slips a hand beneath his waistband, makes you do crazy things.
It’s maybe pathetic, the way he’s already half hard, tip sticky with precum and dragging lewdly against the front of his sweats. But he can barely think past the haze Jiung has thrown him into and the humiliation of being this easy to rile up, sliding into the heated place in his stomach, is good too. The first brush of his hand has his hips stuttering, a zing of pleasure darting from his hips to his toes, curled against the bed. He traces himself, teasing drags up and down his length, feeling himself twitch and fill steadily beneath his own fingertips.
“Ah-” He exhales with a shudder. Breath heating the cloth on his face, fingers dipping into the slit of his cock, skimming through the mess of pre-cum gathering in a pearlescent pool.
He goes slow, circles his fingertips over the sensitive tip in a maddening loop. It doesn’t take long for his hips to buck into the motion, a whining breath drenched in desperation muffled into the sleeve pressed tight to his nose, into Jiung. Amber and vanilla clouds his head and he spills pre-cum over his fingers, heat running over his knuckles and down his dick uncontrollably.
“Messy.” Jiung scoffs in his head and Keeho moans, loud.
It's the same tone he’s heard a thousand times, Jiung eyeing the clutter on Keeho’s side of the dorm with derision. The thought of Jiung looking at him that way, sharp eyes watching him make a mess of himself has him fucking up, crying out breathlessly and finally gripping himself fully. He whines and shifts. He may leak a lot but it’s not enough to make it a smooth glide. It's too dry, chafing, but he can’t seem to stop. Frantically pulling at his aching dick, wishing desperately it was something else he was buried in. Something warmer, tighter. Tattooed hips flush with his own….
It’s physically painful but he draws the damp sleeve away from his mouth, spitting in his palm and wrapping his fist back around his aching dick. Immediately overwhelmed, incoherent noises fall from him, helpless, at the slicked heat of his own fist. Tucking the sleeve back under his nose he tightens his grip on himself, til he’s all but choking his cock, desperation making him frantic with the need to come. Firm strokes from bottom to top, exactly what he needs. He arches with a moan and is caught in a feedback loop of pleasure as the rough fabric drags against his nipples. He feels desperate in a way he never has before, all senses lost in a haze of amber and vanilla and Jiung.
Imagining weight on his hips rocking in time with his fist, his traitorous brain grabs for every annoyed huff, panted breath, or stretching groan Jiung has ever made in his presence, layering them with this moment. Imagining them as close as his smell is now, deep voice made high and breathless as Keeho fucks into him.
Keeho fumbles to grip the collar of the crewneck with shaking fingers and once he is finally able to get a hold of it, drags it up and hooks it over the prominent ridge of his nose. The effect is immediate and painfully strong. Groaning feverishly he collapses forward into Jiung’s scent, sucking in greedy lungfuls and fucking his own fist hard and fast. His free hand slips under the fabric and he cups his chest. Pinches at his nipples once, twice, and keens. He’s always been sensitive there. He wonders if Jiung’s chest is sensitive, if he would roll into Keeho’s fingers around his nipples or if he’d shudder and jolt away from the overwhelming pleasure in the way Keeho does sometimes. (Guiltily he imagines following the overwhelmed roll of Jiung’s body, trapping his nipples between his fingers and basking in the needy yelping that would fall from Jiung’s mouth.) Jiung’s chest isn't small, he isn't flat. It would be such a perfect handful, fit in Keeho’s palms like a key to a lock. Keeho is ashamed to admit how often he thinks about it, how often he gets distracted by them. Whenever Jiung comes back from the gym, sweat soaked tank top clinging to every curve of him, when he stands up too quickly and they recoil under his shirt, soft flesh rippling and feeding every dirty thought Keeho has ever had. If he was riding him, if Keeho had him speared on his cock, would they move like that? Would they bounce with every roll of his hips, shake when Keeho gripped him by the waist and pulled him harder onto his cock?
“Fuck-” he whimpers. Fucks up like he would into Jiungs body, wrapped fingers poor substitution for how tight Keeho knows Jiung would be around him. “Jiung-ah-”
Thoughts assault him in quick flashes. How much of him could Keeho hold in his hands? Fingers wrapped around his hips, his chest, his ass. Caught up in his curled hair or around his nape, pressing him into the bed and fucking him from behind. He imagines how pretty that moon tattoo would look varnished in sweat, in cum, moving with every heaving breath of its owner.
And Jiung’s a sweaty person. Keeho can’t help but imagine how that carries over to sex, feels stars go supernova behind his eyes as phantom drops of sweat land on his body. He’s heaving, fingers tight to his oversensitive chest and hand a blur on his weeping cock. Need is a living thing under his skin, It feels too good. Sounds fall from him into the humid safe space he’s carved for himself in Jiung’s sweater. He imagines the man's legs wrapped around his hips, thighs firm around him and hands resting on his knees as he settles on top of him, glancing at Keeho’s hand where it moves, still trapped in the confines of his sweats. He couldn't even wait to get them off.
“You’re easy for me.” Imaginary Jiung remarks, not a question or a tease, something factual and given like he’s observing a well known truth.
“S-sorry-” Keeho stutters to his empty room, eyes closed and lost in the scenario.
It’s just his brain. Keeho knows this. But it feels far too real as he imagines Jiung running a hand over his chest, dragging his own in a mimicry of the movement. The back of his fist is raw now, fabric burn building on his knuckles at his own relentless pace, but it's barely a blip on his radar at this point. He’s hard enough now that his aching flushed dick pokes from the waistband and it’s a debauched sight. Jiung’s sweater rucked up under his armpits, his stomach tensing and eyes fluttering, dick leaking pathetically into a pool on his lower belly. A hot rush of humiliation burns through him at the thought of someone catching him like this, desperate and soaking through his roommate's sweater with his own sweat.
“Better hurry up,” Jiung’s voice echoes “ i’ll be home soon Keeho,”
He squeezes his eyes shut. It’s embarrassing how the thought of Jiung walking in on him like this makes his dick twitch.
“close,” he whines, nail catching on the slit. His fingers are tight, thumb pressed to the vein and circling the head every time it reaches the top, just the way he needs. With his eyes closed he can almost imagine the hand around him is different. Broader through the palms, hotter against him. Jiung always runs hot.
“So good..” he grits through his teeth. “Don’t stop-”
Keeho bucks into his own fist like an animal in heat, jaw clenched around the tight building pleasure. His hips roll into every pass, need bubbling as his breaths draw sharp and quick. The sounds are unmistakable and Keeho has a spare second to think about his neighbors before the sweater shifts and a new waft of amber floats over him right as his nail catches on the head and that's all it takes.
“Jiung!”
A shout. Half name, half babbling pleasure. His back snaps off the bed in a sinuous arch, cum painting his stomach in pretty white streaks, dripping across his fingers. It's the strongest he’s come in weeks, maybe ever, and shudders rack his body, breath shaky and tipping into a whimper with every exhale.
It takes him a minute to come down from the high, hips still roll softly into the air, leftover pleasure zipping through every nerve and pooling in the dips of his skin. His body is the good kind of tired now, sex-sated and honey-slow. Coming always makes him sleepy.
He wants nothing more than to sleep now but the deranged sex dream version of Jiung wasn’t wrong, his roommate will be home soon. He wrangles himself enough to mop up the mess on his belly, wiping away all traces fo white from his skin with a tissue. He considers how nice sleeping in Jiung’s sweater would be but his logic is too loud to let that particular fantasy play out. Jiung cannot know. Ever. And finding him in the stolen sweater (with suspiciously pearlescent stains on the hem now despite his best efforts) would result in too many questions and probably a lot of screaming. Not worth it.
Right sleeve over left, left over right he folds the fabric the way he’s seen Jiung do a million times. He tucks it carefully into the bottom of Jiung’s laundry basket, piling the rest of his clothes on top inconspicuously. As long as he doesn’t go looking for the sweater it should get washed with the next batch of Jiung’s laundry and he’ll never be the wiser. Claiming a t-shirt from his top drawer and sinking into his bedding once more Keeho sighs and slips into sleep, shoulders finally loose and smile tucked into the pillow.
-
Keeho doesn't see Jiung the next morning, the other man already off for class but he rolls over and feels his heart drop to his ass. The sweater is laid crisp and clear over Jiungs made bed, stained fabric obvious and unforgiving in the bright light of the morning. That and a text is all he’s left with.
[07:30:] jiung (roommate): Next time you use my things don't leave them so messy.
Fuck.