Chapter Text
Juhoon liked Martin from the very beginning.
It’s hard not to be amused by him, at the least, though. Once the initial awkwardness wore off, he did whatever he could to make Juhoon feel included, sent Juhoon pictures of his mom’s new puppy back at his family home, showed him TikToks Juhoon did not find funny but chuckled at nonetheless (out of pure endearment, okay). Guided Juhoon’s fingers on the guitar strings with a softness reserved for those quiet in-between moments, between schedules, between 30-minute naps, when no fields-of-views of any cameras happened to fall over them. When their friends weren’t looking. The special moments. Juhoon liked that he wasn’t afraid to punch his shoulder or ruffle his hair, and that he seemed to have an innate sense for when Juhoon didn’t want to be touched at all. As his same-age friend, he just understood Juhoon. And Martin made him laugh. Martin was the only one who could consistently beat him in Smash Bros. Martin made him feel like he was easy to be around, like enjoying Juhoon’s presence was the most natural thing in the world. Whenever he had one of those stupidly wide grins plastered on his face, Juhoon could hardly suppress his own.
Sometimes Martin even felt like a little brother to him, like it wasn’t just a few months between them. When his scrawny body couldn’t contain all the loose energy. When he got all... Fizzy and loud. Or giddy over their accomplishments and over the way the world seemed to have opened up for the five of them, wide open and ready for the taking. He’s a running headfirst kind of person, wears his pride and his irresponsible, unbridled joy on his sleeve, which Juhoon had never really been good at. He likes to keep it a bit closer, locked inside.
Other times, Martin holds his hand and leads him through the airport terminal as fans scream and spit and shove with all their might, and takes on hot chocolate duty just to nurse his own cup until it goes cold, and a gross, solid layer develops on top. Juhoon always knew he doesn’t like hot chocolate that much and only makes it because Juhoon does. He figured Martin didn’t want him to know that. A stray “thanks, hyung”, born out of miscalculation, almost slips at times.
Maybe the one who’s gotten to see the most of his locked-away parts is Martin. He couldn’t think of anyone he would call a better friend, or anyone he has better conversations with. With the other three, it’s different; of course, they’re all friends, true friends, but there still are these designated, low-level “roomie” and “dongsaeng” titles in Juhoon’s head... Does that have to mean something? Everyone feels like that about some of their members, about bandmates, or their peers, right? Who else would Juhoon feel attached to? That’s all it was.
He liked Martin as much as you’re supposed to like the people you eat, sleep, write, practice and perform with. He knew and liked Martin. So when Martin, his good friend, pretty fly for a Wasian guy Martin, pulled out the ambiguous yet terrifying „I wanna do things to you” card, it barely fucking registered.
Like, barely. Juhoon’s stomach didn’t drop. Unease forgot to creep in. He just, trusted his friend to take that somewhere normal and chill and friendly. Juhoon’s only crime was asking what was up with the staring. And having an unguarded moment, and that moment being one in which they are unsupervised, but those were pretty much the only crimes.
It was not friendly.
He snorts and asks, “W-what? Like, do what? Which things?”
Juhoon’s not dumb, you could make a semi-convincing case for him being a bit slow, but he’s not even slow. As far as he knows, this isn’t a life-or-death situation where they’d need to quickly say everything that had been left unsaid, throw it all out there, or anything like that. If they’re ever in that boat, he’ll be super alert, for sure. What was he supposed to think? Maybe Martin had picked up James’s habit of spitting up wholly unexpected, just shy of out-of-pocket jokes, and taken it a step further. He'd noticed that Martin’s been uncharacteristically jittery, bouncing his leg so much he once knocked over a can of Redbull and a full mug of herbal tea (if James hadn’t been there, he could’ve killed his laptop, in addition to decorating his ratty notebook with fashionable brown blobs)... He’d only acted like that before their MAMA stage. Then, Martin could at least tell what was bothering him and the rest could pat him on the shoulder, tell him it’s gonna be okay, we’re gonna kill it, get your act together.
Now, he doesn’t talk. Well, he hasn’t talked right up until this moment. No covert pleas for comfort and company in the face of something near overwhelming, and the only major thing coming up is—nothing in particular. A few more music shows, which they've experienced before. Juhoon thinks, for him, it must’ve been this. The overwhelming thing. Figures it had been brewing.
Martin starts freaking out, like he himself wasn’t prepared for what was going to come out of his big, stupid mouth.
“I’m sorry, shit, I’m sorry, Jju, I’m drunk, don’t hate me, I just couldn’t stop thinking about it and it made me feel so guilty, and you asked and I thought if I told you it’d be okay because we’re always okay but it was dumb, I know it was d—“
Juhoon can hardly stop his rambling to get a word in. He's heard this intonation from Martin before, it suggests this is any other moderately embarrassing mistake, a faux pas that'll appear worse than it is, exactly because he can't shut up about it, but the additional thing that catches Juhoon's attention is the shiny eyes. That's clearly moisture. Martin? Tearing up? Seems bad. Is the soju hitting that hard?
“You haven’t said what things,” Juhoon interjects with all the calmness he’s used to providing Martin with. Maybe not all, maybe just 70% calmness, but considering everything, he’s still good at bringing it. Zen to the max. He takes a big sip from his bottle, because it might make his lightweight friend feel better about how much he's had, and make it look like Juhoon's catching up. He doesn't even know if that's his intention, but putting up the appearance of it feels courteous.
It's all zen until he finds himself wading in the interpersonal relations equivalent of a dark, overflowing sewer. Martin goes red as a tomato and what he meant is as good as confirmed.
How’d they get here? How does anyone get here? A few bottles and a bit of privacy and things just crumble? It gets worse when Martin does what he asked and answers the question to the best of his ability. Which is not at all, apparently.
“You don’t... You don’t want to know that.” He looks ahead and even waves his hand, like he’s shooing a pesky insect away, while completely failing to stop a panicked grimace from twisting his features up. His eyebrows are furrowed so intensely, Juhoon wouldn’t be surprised if it caused muscle soreness later.
The fucking coward. He knows neither of them would be able to move on and ignore it. He has to know, at the very least, that Juhoon deserves better and he can’t stand a half-assed job. This couldn’t even be referred to as a serious attempt to get off the hook, to take it back. Juhoon isn’t giving it back, anyway. He’s just not.
“Dude, no, you can’t say that.” He makes sure to find Martin’s line of sight, scoot on over and pointedly look into his eyes. “Are you serious, I don’t want to know? You brought it up!”
Anger is not something Martin (or anyone) is used to seeing on him. It’s not so much anger, since this is the extent of it. He’s just asking for things to be fair. Of course, Martin also isn’t used to denying him when he asks for something, so he just gapes, closes his mouth, opens it again like he has formulated a sentence aaand nope—closed it again. Juhoon raises his eyebrows in response.
“Spit. Out with it. Edwards Martin.”
“No, no no no no, please, don’t make me. It’s a bad idea.”
Well, Juhoon knows that. They’re fucking idols, trying their hardest to earn the "monster rookies" title, just now getting acquainted with the concept of commercial success. A lot to lose so early on. It sure isn’t good. This conversation is only happening in the first place because avoiding everyday surveillance was a very serious part of their contracts, and it’s in the company’s best interest to protect them, and because several things will be swept under rugs, if need be... They talked about what they can and can’t do, it’s all been discussed. He shouldn’t hear this out. Obviously. Better not to know. Juhoon is smart, he loves his job, moreover, he’s not reckless.
But what happened to coloring outside the lines and all? Managers and contracts are going to decide for him what’s safe or what’s worth the risk? That doesn’t seem very authentic. (Or brand-congruent, for that matter).
Eh, they could decide for him. He’ll sleep on it, he always sleeps on things, they say your brain organizes and compartmentalizes while you rest. It’s a good strategy, sleeping.
He takes pity on Martin with a “suit yourself, then.”
*
He follows Martin’s ideas, is the thing. So far, it’s worked out wonderfully for him, so he’s inclined to stick with it. He’s still following this one weeks later, when they’re told they will be sharing a hotel room. Juhoon still hasn’t decided whether to nurture this particular idea or to stomp on its deformed little head to put it out of its misery.
He could’ve objected to the current rooming arrangement, but with what reasoning? I’m a little uncomfy being alone with this guy. Not true, it’s Martin who pulls other people into the room or skitters away when they’d be just two. We’re not friends anymore, à la kindergarten. But they are. It’s only that Martin’s arm around his shoulder is a little looser, like he’s afraid of the touch radiating through several layers of designer polyester and cotton and denim. Like Juhoon is a member of some girl group that he’s doing a dance challenge with. It hurts a little. Something like I really, really, really want to room with Keonho this time is also just plain untrue.
That doesn’t mean Juhoon couldn’t say it. He could still say it, hang with Keonho, then get an early night, like he prefers. The problem might be that he still wants Martin. As a roommate. So rarely do they get to have spontaneous sleepovers, but when they do, the two of them seem to get closer and it even seeps into the next day. It's... Lovely. Juhoon wonders if those little talks you have from across hotel beds, when you're both exhausted and giggly and the screws loosen the slightest bit and it becomes easy to trade thoughts and feelings, as if you and the other person weren't even separate, but part of something larger, and the two parts talking to each other are really just the same thing talking to itself, making itself happen, Juhoon wonders if those talks are more significant because they happen before sleep. Or on the verge of it. He hopes so. The thought of these memories being coded differently, sitting in another storage space from the rest, he likes that, for some reason.
Besides, Martin never said what things he wanted to do, maybe it’s been sunshine and rainbows and friendship with healthy, well-established boundaries all along.
Right. Pffft.
The way uncertainty eats at Juhoon is silly. There’s not a lot to find out. Only so many things you can want from another person, Juhoon assumes, because he doesn’t have a lot of experience in wanting as a proper transitive verb, wanting someone. Sometimes trying and tasting and feeling a bit, yeah, but really wanting, no. Wanting is a different beast. He sees this around himself and in himself a lot: in the industry, everyone’s pretty career-driven, fulfilled by the striving itself. Creativity and connection are in the bag too, for sure, and they matter more to some than to others (he’d like to think their group falls on the side of “more”), but you can’t get by on being creatively inclined. Or being good with people, or going ham on the fanservice. None of that. The number one thing, the first thing, is to really want it, like, really fucking want it. Just one of those occupations you have to marry, with the dating bans and everything... A few seniors have warned them—carefully, so as not to instill any fear, and to keep that light in their eyes. Work gets in the way of dating, or compulsory publicity prevents it, but the main thing is that they all want their careers too much to want anything on the side.
Martin’s prolific even at this, though. All-rounder, jolly joker, rapper, singer, writer, producer, fashionista, leader, soon-to-overtake-the-world Martin, yup. Juhoon’s respected that and liked that about him since the day they got to know each other. His big appetite. He does a lot and he must want a lot, too.
Is that why Juhoon’s starting to feel weirdly, no, morbidly curious? It’s gross, bad. Very bad. Frowned upon. Scandalous. Prohibited, no matter the exact details. Probably putting the other members in danger, or at least a tough spot. Juhoon is aware. But if it’s a different beast, he’d kind of like to see. Leader’s not so perfect, huh?
It must be his mean streak. Satisfies some part of him to know that someone he looks up to so much could be a weirdo deep down, with his own secrets, who fails at controlling himself like everyone else does.
He should believe that his guesses are as close to truth as he’ll get, that they don’t need to make it true by sounding it out. And that he can trust Martin and let him put this away, if he wants to. It’s his feelings, or desires or whatever they are. Not Juhoon’s. It would be the cool thing to do to forgive him for imposing them upon Juhoon. That’s being bros. Twinskis. If they had a twinski contract, or like a couple commandments or ground rules, one of them would totally be “promise you won’t get weird if I ever just happen to develop sexual, um, feelings... Dawg.”
Mmmh, yeah, no.
They better revisit some of those unwritten rules neither of them was aware had been written. They’re subject to possible renegotiation, if it’s on Juhoon. Since Martin started it, and it seems to be what he wants, and Juhoon is chill like that.
His mind is still running circles around nothing at a hundred miles per hour when Martin steps out of the bathroom in just sweatpants. Suddenly the ceiling doesn’t interest Juhoon anymore and he pushes himself up on his elbows. Not that there's anything in particular that he wants to see better, it’s a normal thing to do. The wet hair at Martin’s nape and the drops sliding down his shoulders are okay to look at. He should’ve aimed the showerhead better and dried off fully like normal people do, if he didn’t want Juhoon to look.
He plops down on his bed, then crosses his long arms unnaturally. He looks like a dork.
He shifts around, his eyes dart back and forth from one corner of the small room to another. Examines the wardrobe and the bottom left leg of the bed Juhoon’s sprawling on, and he’s finding them at least as interesting as Juhoon did the ceiling. His gaze soon lands on Juhoon and turns expectant.
Juhoon hums in question.
“You don’t wanna go?”
The shower. Right. It’s free now.
“Oh, yeah. I do.”
He quickly gathers some clothes that will make suitable pajamas and tries not to look like he’s in a hurry to put a closed door between them.
In the shower, he tries not to think.
A full hour has passed when Juhoon realizes that the light has been off for a while, they’ve scrolled and scribbled and journaled and said their good nights without having one of those proper talks that Juhoon had been looking forward to, and he’s still awake. He turns over, eyes closed, hoping that if he doesn’t break the spell, it’ll happen any time now, and he can start the next day. A nice, busy day. He’s had enough of this one, ready for the next one.
He hears faint rustling. So, they’re both staying up tonight, that’s almost comforting. Juhoon lets his eyes drift open just slightly, since sleep is kind of not happening, especially not now that he’s noticed that sound. Once he starts being able to make things out in the dark, he glances at Martin.
He can’t help but see it, then, right in front of him.
Martin’s face half pushed into the pillow, half hidden by it. Mouth hanging open. He’s moving under the blanket.
Juhoon almost can’t tell at first, that’s how small and steady the movement is. See, Martin’s not careless either. Juhoon’s eyes snap up to his best friend’s face again, sharp jaw, hair sticking up somehow even in bed, it’s definitely still him, and his eyes might not be closed, shit shit shit. It’s so hard to tell with how dark it is. Why Juhoon keeps staring in the direction of the one eye that isn’t covered by the pillow, he doesn’t know and does not want to figure out.
He thinks Martin’s looking back.
A shiver runs all the way down his body. There’s something heavy at the bottom of his stomach, heavy and having just settled after squirming around to make space for itself.
“You’re disgusting.”
It’s pure and reactive, in the sense that Juhoon doesn’t think before he says it, his tone even and devoid of venom. It just comes out and that feels... Good, he thinks? There’s that odd sense of satisfaction again.
Upon hearing that, Martin lets out a groan. Then stops palming his dick.
“Juhoon...”
“Don’t let me ruin your fun,” Juhoon murmurs, then flops over again to face the other way. “Go on. Finish up.”
Another low, throaty groan hits Juhoon’s ears. He can hear the rhythmic rustling of the bedding, picking up in speed. Then, he figures Martin must have thrown the blanket off, because the following sounds aren’t so muffled. Fleshy, a little wet. Juhoon squirms, too, feeling like someone just gave him a wet willy or like he’s walking through a big patch of slimy seaweed, or something. Twisting and climbing up his legs.
He wonders why Martin didn’t do this in the bathroom. If he pulled his underwear down or just reached inside. If he feels guilty—Juhoon kind of expected another apology. He wonders if it was looking at him sleeping or being next to him that excited Martin, or something else entirely. Wonders about a lot of things, picking them up and turning them around in his head to get all the angles.
“Is this because of me? You were thinking about...”
“Yes.”
Not participating in the game. That surprises Juhoon, he thought the answer would be “maybe”, something coy, ambiguous. For plausible deniability. Martin always seemed to get embarrassed over how much he liked Juhoon (as a friend), or it seemed like it was in his interest to downplay it. He chose the simplest, clearest affirmation and didn't even cover it with whispering, this time.
Eventually, his rhythm falters and Juhoon listens to his choked off noises as he finishes, like he’s been told to do. Then listens to his panting as he comes down.
It’s at that moment that Juhoon decides they’re not done here, he has many questions. As he should. Their beloved, multitalented leader—a bit of a pervert. That’s fresh.
Martin’s always known how to bring out his curious side.
*
The next time they end up alone at the dorm is when the others are out looking for vintage belts, or Juhoon doesn’t even know what the fuck they’re doing. Because earlier, when he said he’d stay in to work on some beats, to learn to produce better, Martin immediately followed it up with yeah, we wanted to work on some ideas today ("You know, do a bit of mixing and kneading and... Sautéing"). All thoughts flew out of Juhoon’s head. Didn’t even pay attention to Seonghyeon quizzing Martin on what on Earth he plans to do with those beats exactly, or how you could sauté something that you’ve also kneaded. He clipped that on so seamlessly, like they had really made plans, or at least Martin had. Had he? Or was it a split-second decision? Is it weird to have noticed how he invited himself to Juhoon’s quiet day off, or like, was it innocuous?
It didn’t take much time before Juhoon had to bring it up.
“Are we... Doing it?”
Martin gave him that flustered, lost puppy look for a second, eyes gone wide.
“Huh?”
“Beats?” Juhoon asked with his head tilted, but he already knew their laptops were going to stay cold and probably left at the bottom of duffel bags and backpacks. He felt a bit emboldened, a bit experimentative. And that’s like, their whole thing. Whoever the head of this creative crew is, he should pat himself on the back for having relayed the message so well. Juhoon was locked in.
“If we’re not gonna do music,” he looked down and idly traced the stitching of the couch panel beside him, then looked back up at Martin through his eyelashes, “then I suppose you wanted to talk?”
“Ta—Talk?”
At this point, Juhoon was quickly growing annoyed with those wide eyes, as if he’s so innocent. He watched Martin rub his palms up and down on the length of his thighs and decided to make it easier for him.
“About what you want to do to me?” He almost said about how you want to fuck me but quickly changed direction, just slightly. So the thread would be picked up where it was left off, and not any farther ahead.
Martin took a comically big gulp. It drew Juhoon’s attention to his Adam’s apple.
“About—Is that something you, want to talk about?” he asked, slurring his words and avoiding eye contact.
Must be awkward, hm? Having to own up to it. Juhoon doesn’t think it’s because he’s a boy, and he was under the impression Martin’s messed around (he’s sure seen him get, well, invitations). Even if he hadn’t, he must have wanted to... It’s gotta be that it’s too close. A member. Juhoon.
“I don’t know. Do I want to?”
Juhoon paused. Waited.
“You tell me.”
In lieu of an answer, Martin jumped straight to crashing their mouths together and practically dragging Juhoon into his lap.
He wanted a reaction, and a reaction, Juhoon did get.
Their teeth knocked against each other at first, and Martin accidentally bit his lower lip in a way that warranted a yelp rather than a moan, but they’ve found the flow of it since. He’s got his skinny arms locked so tight around Juhoon’s waist, his spider arms, it reminds Juhoon of the Cure song—Martin having him for dinner tonight. He doesn’t know where to put his hands, so he leaves them resting lightly, tentatively, on Martin’s shoulders.
When he pulls away, his chin is wet from spit—It was that sloppy?—and Martin’s almost going cross-eyed staring at him with intensity befitting someone like him, with the intensity Juhoon should've expected, gaze jumping rapidly between Juhoon’s eyes and lips. He gets the geriatric urge to tell Martin to close his mouth if he doesn’t want flies getting in, but refrains from doing that, as it would probably ruin the mood.
Juhoon knows he’s got pretty lips, alright. Far be it from him to brag, plus, they’re all hoping the music and the energy can take center stage instead of their looks, naturally, obviously, but he knows it. Must look even prettier with Martin’s spit smeared on them, glossy and plump, the evidence of being well-loved and made good use of. Before Martin can lean back in to lick at them again, he stops him by grabbing a fistful of bleached hair.
Lips pulling up into a small and benign smirk, Juhoon says “This is pretty good, but I’m not waiting anymore. Won’t shelf it. You have to say it, say it all.”
Hesitation is clear in Martin’s eyes, maybe he imagines it, but he sees the guilt underneath it, too, so he continues in a low tone. A tone that could potentially be friendly to skittish animals, if there were any around.
“You’ve got permission, so just say it. Why me? What do you want? The song, Martin. Your turn,” he says as he allows both his eyes and his hands to drift down, just to the flat but broad chest in front of him and not any lower. He plays with the little embroidered crocodile; can’t look and talk simultaneously. The words felt chewy, lumpy in his mouth, as if they were supposed to be swallowed instead of expelled, and Juhoon thinks it’s partly because he tends to express himself with as few of them as possible, so this conversation has already hit his daily limit, and it’s probably also because of the lingering sense of danger.
He doesn’t want to imply just yet that he can give it to Martin, what he wants, but he will, at the least, listen. Just sharing can be intimate. Friends are allowed to and they do share fantasies with each other, right? Sometimes? No biggie. They don’t need to blow this out of proportion. Juhoon could play along regardless, he could tell Martin what he wants to hear. Again, as a courtesy. Out of the kindness of his heart, which is not the same as leading him on. And Juhoon liked listening to him touching himself, knowing he has that effect on someone, on a specific someone. It’s flattering.
None of them are good at taking or giving compliments in everyday life, other than maybe the honest, throw-away ones, which neither of you acknowledge much. This might just mean they hadn't discovered the right channel for it before. He's certainly ready for Martin to flatter him now.
“That’s... Okay, well, but what if it’s gross for you? I’ll seriously have to like, dig a big hole and bury myself,” Martin answers with a delay and a frown.
“I’ll get over it. Also, don’t do that. We can’t replace you.”
“Aww,” Martin coos exaggeratedly and flashes a goofy smile, his signature one, all teeth, with the red little apples of his cheeks jutting out.
“Nobody is that tall. Coers would notice right away.”
Martin leans into his shoulder while chuckling and Juhoon’s chest is suddenly able to expand fully again. He’s so much lighter than before. He needs to lift the tension, or Martin just might stand up (throwing Juhoon to the floor) and declare he’s doing this to protect him, before walking away... Another, smaller part of Juhoon just wants to ease his friend's burdens. It's nice to be thought of as a remedy.
When Martin lets certain heavy feelings float up to the surface, when he worries about what is inside him (even though everyone can see it’s metric tons of talent and a drive to discover and ambition bigger than Jupiter), Juhoon instinctively wants to pull him closer, and not push him away. He’s not wary, of Martin, never. There’s only the urge to say it’s okay, in hopes that Juhoon will see him bright and energetic and alive again. Guilt looks weird on him, it’s not even something Juhoon can control.
It also feels really fucking good to know that Martin knows this is wrong, but he wants him enough to venture into it anyway. Guilt is what lets him know that, which is kind of cool and fun.
“Alright, then, if you want to know... I, I think you’re so pretty. Obviously,” Martin blurts out.
Oh, to think that the guy who becomes a flirt machine the second they arrive at a fansign could lack any suavity here with Juhoon... Sort of cute. Maybe he left the rizz in one of his jacket pockets, like, forgot to bring it home. Juhoon suppresses a smile and nods gently.
“I like your wrists,” he grabs onto them and holds them between their torsos, “how small they are. So I can do this.” Martin gathers both of his wrists in one hand, easily.
Juhoon’s face is starting to feel hot.
“And I like your waist.” As he did with his wrists, Martin slides his big palms under his shirt, caressing and feeling around. Then shifts his fingers a bit and they’re encircling Juhoon’s waist properly and—almost meeting in the middle, the tips of his middle fingers. “Perfect for holding, just like this.”
Shit, oh God. He peppers Juhoon’s neck with kisses and grinds up lightly into him and Juhoon thinks everything is moving way too fast. He doesn’t think himself a coward, though.
“And, you said to say it all, so how it started is... Do you remember when James-hyung let us have a drink with him? To celebrate? And we played never have I ever because, none of us had played it before, and it’s more fun to do it off-camera first?”
“Continue.”
“And I asked that dumb one. And James-hyung snickered, you said he sounded like Gollum, and um, James asked to clarify if it counts with boys? Then I got so red, I think when it was his turn, he used it to like, get me to choke on my own spit or find out if I was homophobic or something...”
“...Okay.” Juhoon only has the faintest idea of where he’s going with this. He decides to wait patiently for Martin to get there.
“And when it was his turn, James-hyung’s, we both drank. And you didn’t.”
Juhoon narrows his eyes involuntarily. He remembers, although that night doesn’t seem significant to him. Martin did reach stop sign levels of redness, and they spent days texting the groupchat just to work red emojis into the messages to make fun of him. Even Seonghyeon joined in, and he didn’t know what it was about. “...Okay?”
“You were so nonchalant about it, too. Before that, I never... I did like you, but I didn’t think about how—you’ve never done anything. With a boy. In that way, at all. Or with anyone? I didn’t... Know. Duh, why would I know that, or care? Who cares?”
Martin stops talking into the dip of his collarbone and pulls back, so Juhoon feels it’s only fair to be brave and look at him. He blows out a harsh breath, the same way you breathe out before the phlebotomist sticks the needle in.
“But I care. So much. I’ve thought about it so much.”
About Juhoon with boys?
“Why?” Juhoon asks, trying to sound non-judgmental.
“I don’t know! I don’t know what happened to me, I felt so gross, but I couldn’t get it out, once it got into my head... It wouldn't go.” He winds his hands tighter around Juhoon’s waist and bends down to nuzzle into his chest, which feels like its own kind of apology. Juhoon pets his soft, unstyled hair, from the top of his head down to his nape, hopes that it’s soothing.
Martin positions him in his lap so that his chin can be comfortably perched on Juhoon’s shoulder, then releases a weary sigh. Talks right next to his ear, tickling it in the process, and Juhoon shudders from head to toe.
“Your mouth, your small hands, around my...” Then a quiet groan.
Fuck, is he incapable of finishing sentences? Juhoon doesn’t stop shuddering, it just goes on.
He gets a bright idea and closes his eyes to orient himself; unfortunately for him, he can now listen better.
“Want to be inside you, Jju,” Martin says in a low rumble, definite, like there’s no helping it.
Juhoon whimpers despite his vow to stay composed, he can feel the vibration from his own throat at that warm and intimate point of contact where their necks touch. Nobody ever really touches his neck.
“It’s like I’d never considered, before that night, that others might get to have you. And I want to have you, want to be the first.”
He attacks Juhoon’s mouth again, goes in tongue-first, it’s messy, desperate. Juhoon nearly stops it to say thank you, that’s very nice, thank you for wanting me this much. It’s the idol instincts. But it does feel nice. All that squirming has their crotches rubbing against each other and just as Juhoon would start to rock into it a little, Martin pulls him further up on his thighs, flush against him. So that Juhoon’s sitting right on the hard line of his cock.
That’s... New. Juhoon doesn’t much like the feeling of control slipping away, he’s on the verge of something, not freaking out but something, boiling over any second now. No sound seems to be coming out of him, though, except for an audible little sigh or a couple. The sounds of a small animal. Even though Martin is bigger than him, it’s not often he genuinely feels small around him. He sure does now, as he’s rocked back and forth and it’s like he’s the one doing the squirming, the riding, that’s what it must look like, but he’s not.
It feels big, rubbing between his legs and against his ass. Not much to compare it to, in fact, Juhoon doesn’t have anything to compare it to except for his own dick, and his is smaller, he thinks. It’s hard to tell by just feeling. His judgment cannot be that accurate, that's for sure, so he won't let it affect him too much. He might be doing that thing where he gets overly analytical, clinical, steps away and forgets to notice his feelings in the process, ensuring they don’t get to him before he’s prepared to acknowledge them. A neat little trick, that he's parted ways with, like, forever ago. Better to face everything head-on.
What he feels is, he feels like a toddler when he has to ask himself, during sex with one of his friends (or the very best friend, but it’s become rather irrelevant now), during what’s technically his first time, what this emotion could be.
His best guess? Fear.
Either Martin could read it on his face, because he notices minuscule differences now, like the twitching of tiny facial muscles, or he can tune into Juhoon emotionally without outward signs, even without facial expressions and body language giving him away. Just on instinct. Juhoon can’t tell which one, but he starts talking again, right as it becomes necessary. Caresses Juhoon’s cheeks with his knuckles and suffocates him with eye contact the whole time.
“Beautiful. Like a doll, my Jju. Want to see what it’s like when you fall apart, want to hear you. Push you to the edge... Want to see your pretty features contort, eyes well up with tears. Mostly from pleasure, though.”
Mostly? Mostly? Juhoon’s eyebrows shoot up from incredulity.
Regardless, if the intention was to lull him into pliancy, yeah, it worked. He finds his breathing getting loud and choppy. Martin just told him, essentially, that if Juhoon’s a porcelain doll, he has a destructive urge, that he wants to see his insides that aren’t painted intricately, that aren’t supposed to show... It’s turning him on, he’s never seen this side of Martin. As far as he knows, it didn't use to exist. It seems they both have new things to show each other.
“I didn’t—care about girlfriends you’ve had, or will have. Doesn’t matter. They can’t do what I’m going to do, I don’t think.”
He puts his palm directly on Juhoon’s cock, covers it wholly and starts rubbing. It’s searing, burning heat, even through sweatpants.
“Idiot, I,”—Juhoon bites down on his lip hard to keep the breathy moans from escaping—“I’ve never had a girl, there’s no girl.”
“The noonas piss me off, too. And the fanboys, I wish they weren’t allowed to look at you. Only yelling Juhoon, Juhoon, Juhoonie...” The words are coarse, on the edge of abrasive and threatening as they fall on Juhoon’s ears. He can’t really mean that, right? Surely, he doesn’t think of it as some kind of competition, or a race with a flashy trophy (boundlessly available, ready to be owned, gawked at, pawed at, and more), reserved for the winner? A race that he intends to win?
The audacity... Staggering.
“What are you going to do about it, Martinie?” Juhoon scoots back to ask, stressing the matching nickname at the end. In terms of how much it annoys Martin, this one runs laps around Maddongtin and any others he's had. But the intention wasn't just to annoy and to tease without consequence... When sudden and seemingly painful self-awareness flashes in the eyes boring into his, it’s a small victory to Juhoon.
He’s never been secretive about liking that Martin can surprise him, that there’s a bit of that animal playfulness that allows Juhoon to bounce off of him without betraying his own temperament too much. He’s decidedly surprised when Martin grabs him directly by the asscheeks, fingers nearly digging into bone (for lack of much else to grab), and tugs Juhoon back to the top of his still jean-clad thighs, then leans over with a swift movement. Juhoon gasps and his throat makes an unpleasant, squeaky sound, something like hyeek as his hands fly up to hook around Martin’s neck. He could’ve dropped me, almost dropped me on purpose. But didn’t.
Martin starts rutting into him again, focused on his own pleasure. Sucks a hickey, an actual, honest-to-God, faintly throbbing and most definitely visible hickey into Juhoon’s neck. Is he mad? Has he lost it for real now? If there was any way they weren’t going to get into trouble, he’s made sure that’s not the route they take.
Juhoon thinks maybe it’s because he wants to be punished.
Teeth lightly nipping on sensitive skin, the cool sensation of air hitting the wet trail Martin's tongue leaves, Juhoon can’t lie and say it’s not good, just because it's not on his terms. It’s so good. He’s been trying not to acknowledge how hard he’s been since the beginning, and this is when that starts looking like a dumb thing to do. He could come like this, just from the friction and the heat and the knowledge that Martin’s so into him he’s straight-up rubbing his dick on him artlessly. Without control.
He pulls Juhoon close, angles his mouth towards Juhoon’s ear; sucks air in through his teeth before murmuring, “What I’m doing about it is... It’s...”
He switches to English for the next string of words, just loud enough to hear clearly.
“Thought I'd... Fuck your brains out.”
Then he giggles. Juhoon shoves him away instantly (body deeming it ‘way too far’ before his mind’s made an official judgment), his spread-out fingers squeeze into soft cheeks and a sharp jaw, then jerk back like he’s put them on a hot stove. He’s never heard that expression before, but it sounds violent. The image it brings to mind, downright grotesque, splats of deep red and pink, not at all like the gentle lovemaking he knows from R&B songs. Martin seems entertained by his reactions, though. Juhoon got so dizzy so rapidly just now, he might fall over, and this lunatic he's oh-so-generously allowing to fucking hump him dares to snicker at his perturbation, and to smirk, directly into Juhoon's face...
Juhoon assumes it’s not lived experience that’s making him this cocky. Where ‘this’ means not even cocky, because it’s beyond it, because, well, Martin is always on some next level stuff. Either way, Juhoon doesn’t care for this. He can draw lines where there should be some. He picks up his jaw that he left on the floor and moves one leg to the side, finally reaching solid ground.
Before he could put the other one down too and climb away, shuffle out of this weird, tangled knot they got themselves into, Martin picks him up.
He’s quick to react, grabs Juhoon at the very top of both of his thighs, and he stands, and he picks him up.
Martin has taken a liking to doing that, so much so that he does it when he's just bored, and he does it when he's happy, and he doesn't usually consider whether Juhoon wants to be lifted up or where he will be deposited. Juhoon will admit, this is known. Kind of hard to ignore.
Even so, even so, he can’t believe this is actually happening.
No doubt that it shows on his face, how much that threw him. Martin can familiarize himself with every last square millimeter of the whites of his eyes today, as he’s seeing them a lot.
“You're not serious. Y'think I’d let you?” Juhoon grips onto his shoulders like it’s a matter of survival. He wouldn’t mind leaving little red imprints of his nails there, but he fears Martin’s ugly polo shirt is too thick.
“I didn’t think so, nah, I really didn’t. But now... Now, mmph, yeah,” he grunts out, voice scratchy but stable to a surprising degree, considering how much effort it must take to hold Juhoon up.
Juhoon’s mouth gapes, all ideas for an appropriate and assertive-enough clapback escaping him. There’s nothing, nada, he’s blanking. Why not say no, if he doesn’t want to let Martin do those… Things? He did say he’d make Juhoon feel good.
Then, as expected, Martin just keeps on fanning the flame. For some reason, it reminds Juhoon of how James-hyung once said he’s like water. If James is water, Juhoon thinks that in that formation or in that conception of the group, he would have to be oil.
“You want to know what it feels like, don’t you? I can tell you want to know.”
Martin’s voice is low and sultry, dripping with sweat and hormones, and Juhoon didn’t think he could take on that tone without it being a joke. He never saw that as a possibility, honestly, more like a show for other guys, a guy thing, and their entire circle of guys is technically just their five and the crew… Or it may have just been Juhoon who didn’t account for the kernel of truth, or the possibility of Martin ever meaning it. He’s always been dependable and sweet and particularly easy on Juhoon. It’s like the load bearing Jenga piece has been pulled out and he has to build from the ground up again, when it comes to his friend and their leader.
Maybe that’s part of why he got to take that position in the group, or the other way around, something he gets from having that role. Martin can be very persuasive, if he means to be. If the cause demands it.
And shit, maybe Juhoon wants to... He doesn’t know what to do with this hyperfocused, hyperconfident Martin, who he isn’t meeting for the first time now, as he’s seen him focused and determined before. He’s just never been the subject of his determination. Juhoon doesn’t know what to do here, other than agree and adjust.
Has he created a monster? In the middle of deliberating if the situation is that severe and if he has that power, and why he’d even think something so mean about Martin, he notices how he’s failed to protest. And maybe that’s why Martin gets bolder and bolder, isn’t it?
Ah, well. It’s not that scary. They’re just young and horny and in the mood to explore, gulping down everything life has to offer. Like a hippo. Right. Like they said they would... Would he fault Martin for that?
Or himself?
That settles it, mostly. He lets Martin take the lead, as he tends to be the more indecisive of the two of them, and it's quite nice to know this is what he's certain about. Refreshing. He can go for it. It’s not like Juhoon isn’t guaranteed to be entertained, as an observer, at the least, even if he sits back... And if Martin’s disappointed in his non-choices or thinks he’s not self-assured enough, he doesn’t really show it.
Just like he expected, Martin takes the silence as an answer and sets off towards a bedroom. A room which doesn’t turn out to be the closest one, because instead it turns out to be the one Juhoon shares with James.
The thought that it’s some kind of power play skirts across the surface of his mind before alarm overtakes it.
James. The guys, their friends.
When are they back?
“Martin. Martin—”
As soon as the door was behind them, Martin kicked it shut and dropped him directly against it, shoving his knee between Juhoon’s legs. For a couple seconds, Juhoon had to stand on his tippy toes so it wouldn’t be too much. He imagines this is exactly what Martin wanted to do to him, or with him, and where he thought about... Having Juhoon, because he could’ve stopped at one of the two beds instead. But he chose to push him into the door and immediately start planting hurried little kisses on every patch of skin he could bend down far enough to reach. Juhoon almost feels bad that he has to raise his voice (not overly, just to the volume of how other people normally speak, which is slightly above his regular volume) in order to get a word in.
“Martin. The others...”
He freezes at that. The expression that momentary panic and the unexpected need to problem-solve have put on him, it reminds Juhoon of a fish. Maybe a koi, when its mouth forms that ‘O’ shape in anticipation of food. Endearing, Juhoon thinks.
Distracted by Martin’s unintentional cuteness, and while sitting on his thigh with an achingly stiff dick, Juhoon almost forgets the circumstances he’s allegedly very worried about.
The succinct reply he’s met with is “I’ll text them.”
Huh? Text them what, that they’re about to do something exceptionally stupid? Our dearest big brother James, could you please take the maknaes somewhere, since we’re going to fuck at the dorm? Thanks, much appreciated.
It’s getting harder for Juhoon to think, so all he can muster up is humming in a questioning tone while Martin pulls out his phone from his back pocket. Knee not moving even a little bit.
Juhoon grips onto the arm that isn’t busy texting, the one that’s pressing into the wall somewhere under his armpit, to feel more stable as he rises onto his toes again. Comparing the lengths of their forearms is totally incidental. Then he just, sits right back down, when he feels like he’s waited long enough, since there’s nothing else to do and his legs were starting to strain, no other reason. He’s counting on Keonho and Seonghyeon and their ability to have their phones out at all times, and it’s pretty gross to think about them while he’s trying his hardest not to squirm, or to roll his hips a little so his dick gets some relief... Or to look at what Martin’s working with, now that it’s not under him or against his stomach. When it’s newly very possible to look, and not just feel.
Now, Juhoon feels like the pervert. He does move his hips a tiny bit, unable to resist. He’s also hoping this conveys the urgency of the situation to Martin, who will speed up the process of finding out how long they have the dorm to themselves, and whether they’ll really get each other off or like, what’s the game plan. Because it’s kind of killing him.
He's not sure he’ll ever go this far with anyone else. Not sure he’ll let himself.
And honestly, he’d have to make Martin work for it at least five times as hard the second time around, so he hopes it won’t come to that. Juhoon doesn’t regret hoping, because Martin looks up and mumbles “thank you” into the air, crosses himself, then announces it’s “all cool” and leans in for a kiss.
Which Juhoon sabotages with a turn of his head, of course, and Martin gets that he needs a little more explanation here.
“It’s cool, like, it’s all cool, for real. They’re watching a movie.”
“Already watching? How long is it?” Juhoon finds it a bit silly that his second point of inquiry would’ve been ‘and which movie’, but they’re friends first and foremost, and it’s important information.
“No, about to choose one that starts soon.” He pauses, gaze jumping down and then locking onto Juhoon’s eyes. He notices Martin had eased up on his crotch. “We have a few hours. Full hours.”
Juhoon thinks that what he’s asking with his eyes is whether both of them are ready for everything to change in these next few hours. There’s no real answer to that, is there? You become ready by trying, that’s how Juhoon’s made it through training and debuting and performing as a group—you have to jump, and most of the time, you’ll find you’ve landed safely.
In that way, yeah, if he thinks about it, he trusts Martin not to give him a broken ankle. He’s always been there to catch Juhoon.
“Hours, huh?”
Martin looks terrified of what he’s going to say.
“We better use them well.”
That earns Juhoon a gigantic, beaming grin, and Martin’s palms cradling his face, and kisses on his cheeks and nose and forehead. Warm like sunlight.
He smiles back, helpless to it. Lets Martin grab him and turn him around, more accurately manhandle him, so they’re chest to back. Martin gets back to narrating, and he doesn’t mind. Enjoys it, even, like it’s a private and exclusive performance for Juhoon. A privilege. Martin gives himself away so readily and reveals so much of himself during regular schedules, and with anything else he does, but this is just for Juhoon.
“I thought about this, too... A lot. How nice it would feel that you let me, how grateful I would be, how... Cute and pretty you’d look, when I corner you and grind into you... And it would make me feel like a—like a bad dog. Whenever I thought about you.”
Juhoon’s cheek is smushed into the door; Martin’s hands come up to cover both of his, fingers not yet laced together, only cupping and holding on steadily, their arms resting against each other. He seems so much taller like this, creating a snug cocoon around Juhoon. The only issue is, Juhoon figures the intention was that Martin would grind into his ass, but since his legs are too damn long... Since he’s that much taller, he’d have to get into a ridiculously wide straddle, so his hard dick isn’t pressing into Juhoon’s lower back. Which would neither be comfortable, nor very sexy... How clumsy and rough this is, it does remind Juhoon of what it must be like to get humped by a Great Dane. Or to be a fire hydrant in an American cartoon, getting pissed on.
He understands what must have been going through Martin’s head, though. Putting it aside that their manager would be fuming, and every material reason they shouldn’t do this, he didn’t know and probably couldn’t have foreseen that Juhoon didn’t mind being humped. Or that he likes Martin enough to allow him to kiss him silly. And if anyone saw them right now, or anyone had gotten to know of these fantasies earlier, Juhoon has a feeling he would be let off easy, while Martin wouldn’t.
That reminds him of James. The oldest one, the unofficial co-pilot, the one who provides rock-solid footing and takes care of the leader when responsibilities become too much. The only real hyung, who doesn’t feel like a hyung and doesn’t act like one. Juhoon’s roommate. If he saw this, it’s plausible he’d go straight to beating the shit out of Martin.
That’s kind of hot.
Martin must be thinking of this too, that this is a space shared with James, since it wasn’t a mindless decision to come here and his clothes and other items are right there, scattered all around the room. His bed right by. Reminding them of the risks, speaking louder to Martin than to him, bad leader, bad boy, bad dog. He’ll just have to put in some work and drown it out for him, then. Juhoon’s never really considered it before, since they’ve been much too busy to even think about doing it with girls, to begin with, but sex cannot be that big of a deal. All Juhoon’s promised himself is to only do it when it feels right, with someone he trusts. How would it be anyone else’s business, the ways in which Martin wants him?
Okay, he did call him disgusting, but that wasn’t referring to what he wants, but just to what he was doing, in the same room as Juhoon, which was uncouth, and anyway, it was a while ago... Juhoon doesn’t think it’s bad. He doesn’t know a lot, about sex or about anything else, if he’s honest with himself. But if Martin’s gross and wrong, well.
So is he.