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Jooyeon sticks his tongue out for the tenth time this practice session, and Jiseok isn’t really thinking when he reaches out and slaps him for it. Not harshly, not even enough to make a sound, not on the cheek like he would when they’re joking around usually: his fingers on Jooyeon’s tongue, saliva muffling the noise, and he freezes when he realises what he’s just done.
Which means his fingers are still there, all but inside Jooyeon’s mouth, and Jooyeon isn’t moving away. He’s just looking at Jiseok, wide-eyed with his eyebrows raised in surprise. All he’d have to do is take one tiny step back, or just close his mouth for once. But he doesn’t.
Jiseok’s hands are probably not particularly clean after over an hour of practice and, bizarrely, it’s this thought that breaks through the haze and has him yanking his hand back. He cradles it to his chest protectively, as though Jooyeon was the one to start this.
“Hurry up,” Jungsu shouts into the room at large. He’s behind them, he must not have seen what Jiseok just did, maybe no one saw it at all. Maybe it was an exhaustion-induced hallucination, and Jiseok didn’t actually just put his fingers inside his bandmate’s mouth.
It’s not an oral fixation.
It’s not, because Jiseok looks up what that is and it seems to be very specifically to do with your own mouth. Jiseok doesn’t have a fixation on his own mouth. He might have a very mild obsession with someone else’s, but Google doesn’t have any advice in that regard.
Anyway, even if he does have a thing about it it isn’t his fault. It’s Jooyeon’s all the way for sticking his tongue out every other minute, for opening his mouth so wide you can see down to the back of his throat, for biting his lips and screaming into his mic and going on and on about rock and roll.
He gets worse about it because of the collaboration, because they’re finally releasing a metal song. Jooyeon wants a low-cut shirt and he wants a wig and he wants tattoos- Jiseok wants some peace.
By the time they get to the music video shooting, Jiseok should be used to it. He should be desensitised to it all, he shouldn’t be bothered, he shouldn’t even blink an eye.
They’re all dressed in ways they never have been before: Seungmin’s whole back is exposed, Jungsu keeps covering his chest with his hands, and Jiseok’s jacket only just covers his nipples. It’s weird. Hyeongjun’s hair swings around wildly and Jiseok has never seen so much of his stomach before. It’s weird, but it’s fun, too.
Something about the leather jacket and the eye makeup and the hair extensions helps Jiseok get into character so much more easily. He glares at the camera, pushes it away with his hand, and grits his teeth.
Between takes, though. When Jooyeon emerges from the stylist’s clutches Jiseok’s first instinct is to laugh. They’d all seen the wig before but now, paired with makeup and a ripped striped sweater, it’s funny all over again.
So Jiseok laughs, and teases, and then his throat dries up when he realises Jooyeon is wearing lipstick.
Hyeongjun has worn lipstick before, this same shade of black, and it never made Jiseok feel like this. Like his heart was going to beat clean through his ribcage, like his hands were suddenly so sweaty the black tape around his fingers might slide right off, like his knees are unsteady enough that maybe he should sit down for a moment.
Jooyeon is grinning wildly, oh so pleased with himself.
There’s no way Jiseok can speak to him right now so he runs off, talks to the camera and practices his part alone and wonders if the skinny trousers he’s wearing will hide an untimely boner well enough.
Ten minutes and he’s calmed down. It’s fine. Jooyeon is just having fun, they’re all having fun, he doesn’t need to lose his head over it.
They cluster around the screen to monitor Jooyeon shooting his solo parts, and Jiseok has Gunil’s arm slung around his neck and Seungmin pressed up against his side when he sees for the first time the thing that threatens to ruin his life for good.
The second Jooyeon steps out of screen-filled box, Jiseok grabs him by the wrist and drags him away. There has to be an unoccupied changing room somewhere around here. The first few Jiseok peeks into have staff in but then, finally, the fourth one is empty and the lights are off and he shoves Jooyeon inside bodily.
Jooyeon stumbles but catches himself on a dressing table, watching as Jiseok turns on the lights - overhead, too bright but it’s all he has so he doesn’t care - and shuts the door and then drags a chair in front of it for good measure. It won’t keep it closed but it should delay anyone opening it for a second.
Tentatively, Jooyeon asks, “are you okay?”
It’s laughable. How could Jiseok be okay when Jooyeon looks like that?
“Open your mouth,” Jiseok hears himself say, voice deeper than usual and taking on a commanding edge that he doesn’t recognise in himself.
Jooyeon just does it, no questions asked, jaw dropping wide and head tilting back. Jiseok is a metre away, clinging to the door handle like a crutch, and he can still see all the way to Jooyeon’s molars.
“Stick out your tongue,” he says next.
Jooyeon does that, too.
Finally letting go of the door, Jiseok takes three shaky steps over to him and zeroes in on the little black cross painted on the flat of Jooyeon’s tongue. It’s fading already, washed away by spit every time Jooyeon swallows, but it’s not gone yet.
Jiseok raises his hand to Jooyeon’s face then hesitates, hovering in the space between them. He wants to touch, he wants to feel, he wants to know if whatever they had used to get that cross there has a taste.
It’s not too late to turn back and make this into a joke. To leave this room and to move on.
Jooyeon goes to close his mouth, maybe to speak and ask what Jiseok is playing at, and Jiseok snaps and his hand shoots forward and he doesn’t know what he’s doing but he grabs Jooyeon’s tongue, right by the tip, between his thumb and finger.
It’s not easy to keep a hold like that and it wouldn’t be hard for Jooyeon to move back but he doesn’t. He stays right where Jiseok put him, and his tongue flexes uselessly in Jiseok’s grip.
Experimentally, Jiseok pulls. He knows how long Jooyeon’s tongue is, he sticks it out enough times a day, and right now it’s barely peeking past his black lips. Jiseok has to dig his thumbnail in so that he can use a little force, tugging Jooyeon’s tongue out of his mouth until it’s reaching the middle of his chin.
Mouth open, Jooyeon can’t do anything to stop the whine that grates in his throat at the sting.
“Sorry,” Jiseok says flatly, not ready to let go just yet.
Jooyeon doesn’t stand up straight most of the time anyway, and right now he’s hunching his shoulders to stay on Jiseok’s level but it still isn’t optimal. Jiseok wants to look down at him, he thinks, and so he says, “sit down, Jooyeon-ah.”
There are chairs around the room, scattered. Jooyeon ignores them all, and he sinks to his knees instead.
Jiseok is rock hard and sweating and ruining his makeup and he’s going to die and they’ll find his body hours later in this dusty backroom.
There’s no way Jooyeon doesn’t notice, too, now that he’s eye-level with Jiseok’s crotch. His pupils are blown and his wig is stupid and his tongue is still hanging out like a dog’s. And Jiseok’s fingers are still resting on his tongue, keeping it out. Jiseok watches as drool builds up, nowhere to go when it can’t be swallowed but out, and it runs down the length of Jooyeon’s tongue and onto his chin.
The cross is almost invisible, and the black lipstick is wearing away on the very inside of his lips. It’ll need to be reapplied before he can shoot again, which is why Jiseok decides he can afford to be reckless and he lets go of Jooyeon’s tongue only to swipe his thumb over Jooyeon’s bottom lip. Wet with spit it smudges easy.
Jooyeon closes his mouth the second Jiseok isn’t forcing it open, swallowing hard, and that just won’t do.
“Hey,” Jiseok murmurs, more gently than he feels. He nudges the tips of his fingers against the seam of Jooyeon’s lips, getting waxy black under his nails, until Jooyeon opens back up. He pushes his tongue out without being told to this time.
There’s a wet sound, quiet yet deafening when the only other noise in this room is their harsh breathing, when Jiseok slaps Jooyeon’s tongue for the second time ever. Harder than the first, weeks ago during band practice. With more purpose. And this time Jooyeon moans, and a string of drool connects his tongue to Jiseok’s fingers even when he pulls his hand back.
Jiseok does it again, and a third time, and then his trousers are too tight and his whole body is shaking and he has to blurt out, “Jooyeonie, can I-”
He’s nodding before Jiseok finishes asking and it’s not smart to do this without checking, double-checking, triple-checking that he’s sure but Jiseok can’t think straight right now. His hands shoot to his belt buckle and it takes two tries to get it undone, all of the belts and strips of fabric on these trousers suddenly feeling so annoying.
Jooyeon doesn’t stop nodding, not even when Jiseok shoves his trousers to his knees and he’s left standing in his see-through mesh shirt and clunky leather jacket and boxers, tented and damp at the front.
Jiseok hesitates over pulling his underwear down long enough that Jooyeon takes matters into his own hands, and he reaches up and hooks his fingers into the waistband - there are fake tattoos drawn there, too, Jiseok only realises now.
Half-naked in semi-public, Jiseok is burning up. He fists his cock, playing up the arrogance he had shown the camera less than an hour ago, pretending to feel more confident than he really does. And Jooyeon drops his arms back to his sides, and shifts around on his knees to get closer, and lolls his tongue out.
Jiseok slaps him there, right where the cross had been, with the head of his cock.
Fluttering eyelids close, and Jooyeon looks serene. Another wave of spit is forced from him when Jiseok presses inside further, spilling down his painted lips and landing on the floor between his knees with a splat.
It’s less of a blowjob because Jooyeon isn’t doing a thing, more like Jiseok is fucking his mouth while it stays lax and wet and open for him. Jooyeon doesn’t gag, not even when Jiseok shudders and rocks forward too hard and too fast, and he doesn’t make an attempt to swallow the gross amount of drool that’s pooling under his tongue.
Jiseok puts a hand on Jooyeon’s head, pushing the fringe of the wig out of the way so that he can see his face properly. He looks unbelievably pretty: if they weren’t here, in make-up, doing this at the least opportune moment, Jiseok would have asked to come on his face. Across his strong nose and his sharp cheekbones, his lips and his neck and his collarbones. Maybe they can steal the little tube of black lipstick from the stylist and Jiseok can convince Jooyeon to get to his knees another time, in the privacy of the dorm where they have doors with locks.
He can’t pull on the hair because it’s not real, only pinned to Jooyeon’s scalp, but he wants to. Jiseok wants to run his fingers through Jooyeon’s hair and tug him down as far as he can go and hold him there until he has to come up for breath.
Not now, though. For now, Jiseok rolls his hips into wet heat and groans under his breath and says, broken, “gonna come.”
Jooyeon nods as much as he can with a cock down his throat, and when Jiseok looks down he can see that he’s got a palm shoved between his thighs that he’s rocking up into minutely.
Jiseok cries out, comes hard, and Jooyeon pulls back just far enough for Jiseok to watch the way his cock spills white and thick over Jooyeon’s pink tongue. Mixing with too much spit, covering that faded black cross, and Jooyeon presses his lips together and swallows it all down before a single drop can fall to the puddle of saliva left on the floor.
He feels guilty as soon as his vision clears, and Jiseok drops to his knees and cups Jooyeon’s face in his palms and asks, “are you okay?”
Jooyeon’s chest is heaving with his breath, his lipstick is ruined, and he blinks three times and then gives Jiseok a thumbs up.
It makes Jiseok laugh, in the stupid way he always does when he’s around Jooyeon and he’s nervous for reasons he doesn’t like to acknowledge, sudden and loud. The laugh trails off when he drops his gaze to see that Jooyeon’s still hard, still gripping himself white-knuckled through his trousers but not making to touch himself properly.
Jiseok moves his hand out of the way with a careful touch to his wrist, and he unbuttons Jooyeon’s trousers and shimmies them down just enough that he can get his own hand inside. Jooyeon doesn’t stop him so he takes that as his permission. All Jooyeon does is watch, with lidded eyes under smoky shadow.
His knees are spread wide enough that Jiseok can squirm in between them, so close that the angle gets awkward. Jiseok doesn’t have any lipstick of his own on; he kisses Jooyeon and feels it spread to his mouth, obvious and impossible to hide when they have to face the stylists after this.
Naturally, Jooyeon’s lips fall open. He tries to kiss Jiseok through his moans and can't, too messy and too eager, and so Jiseok takes pity on him and sucks Jooyeon’s tongue into his mouth. Never mind where it had just been, that Jiseok can taste himself. It makes Jooyeon moan again, and he wriggles helplessly and his arms flail around until he grabs Jiseok by the biceps and makes a pitiful little noise in the back of his throat.
Jiseok’s shirt is barely that, so threadbare and thin. He rucks it up to his sternum, holds it out of the way, and angles Jooyeon’s cock so that the head is brushing against his stomach whenever he moves. It feels weird, and weirder still when Jooyeon comes and it spreads hot and tacky over bare skin and the trail of hair that leads further down.
Maybe it would have been smarter to let it spill to the floor, joining the drying pool of Jooyeon’s drool, but Jiseok hadn’t been thinking smarter. He’d only been thinking of what would make Jooyeon feel best, and he thinks he succeeded given how long it takes for Jooyeon to catch his breath.
Getting to his feet, groaning when his knees click, Jiseok scowls down at the state he’s put himself in. There don’t seem to be any tissues in this room, so he’s going to have to sneak to a bathroom without being seen somehow.
Slumped on the floor, in no way graceful, Jooyeon blows a strand of fake hair out of his face with a huff and zips his trousers back up and crawls towards Jiseok.
“What-” is all Jiseok gets out.
Jooyeon grips him by the waist and licks him, from the base of his mostly-soft cock to his bellybutton. Again, and again, until Jiseok’s stomach shines with a layer of saliva instead of come.
“That’s so gross,” Jiseok murmurs, with a hand gripping Jooyeon by the hair so hard that his wig gets dislodged a little.
His grin is so wide it’s almost scary, and Jooyeon finally struggles to his feet. There’s lipstick up his philtrum and down his chin, a little smudge across his cheek, and Jiseok is sure he’s not faring too much better.
“We’re going to be in trouble,” Jooyeon says in a sing-song voice, all too happy. He’s probably feeling so smug, thinking that his rockstar look had seduced Jiseok. Which, like, it kind of had. But Jiseok doesn’t want him to know that.
“Let’s find a bathroom,” Jiseok says, grimacing.
His chest aches, like he’s full of bubbles or butterflies - not butterflies, something less cliché! - and there’s a disbelieving laugh threatening to burst out. His cheeks hurt from holding his smile in. When he bites his lip he tastes wax.
Jooyeon is having no such crisis. He takes Jiseok’s hand in both of his own, and kisses him on the cheek (smearing even more make-up, of course) and says, “I saw one on the way here. Follow me!”
Helpless, Jiseok does.