Warnings: first time blowjob and handjob
Word Count: 1.6k
Both are breathless, panting when Sehun asks if it’s okay, asks if they can continue, he really—fuck—he really wants to try something.
Sehun always, always wants to try something. Holding hands, cuddling, kissing just once on the mouth, just once more with tongue, with teeth, again and again but without their shirts, kissing over Jongin’s throat, his collarbone, his chest.
“Can I?” he repeats, speaking against the collar of Jongin’s rumpled shirt, his chin sharp and grounding on the jut of Jongin’s shoulder.
His lips are kiss-swollen and kiss-slick and so achingly kissable, and Jongin wonders if it even counts as a question if Jongin always says “yes.” Wonders often, if he’ll ever be able to say “no.” He hasn’t since that fateful humid summer afternoon that Sehun had linked hands with him over the white picket fence separating their two houses, asked if he wanted to chase butterflies with him in the backyard, there are at least 5 and Jongin’s got good shoes for running.
Jongin nods, as he had then, and Sehun’s fingers tiptoe up his goosebumped arms, curl around his shoulders. His lips curl into a lazy smirk at Jongin’s throat.
And Jongin wonders if it even counts as a question if Sehun so often just vocalizes what Jongin wants, too. To hold his hand, cuddle, kiss just once on the mouth, just once more with tongue, with teeth, again and again but without their shirts, to have his throat, his collarbone, his chest kissed, to kiss Sehun in those sweet, soft places, too.
Jongin knows that this will be, too. What he wants. What he’s too hazy-minded to even begin to ask for.
“What do you want?” Jongin asks, and he can hear the strained arousal in his own voice, how it stains every syllable, leaves his breathing, his resolve frayed and fragile.
“I’ve never done this before, but I saw it in porn. And I...wanna—wanna suck off you.”
And Sehun trails off meaningfully as he glides down Jongin’s body, starched cotton catching on strained denim, and Jongin moans and shivers as Sehun’s sharp chin digs into his hip, pressing there in a maddening, absent, absent touch that has tendrils of heat licking over his skin.
Jongin’s never done that before either. Only ever done anything with Sehun, later breathlessly imagined more between them with his hand wrapped around his cock.
He nods shakily around a hitched breath, and Sehun’s kiss-swollen, kiss-slick, kissable lips curl into the most devastatingly beautiful smile, eyes crinkling in something innocent and genuine that reminds Jongin of victorious video game tournaments, barefoot treasure hunts, late afternoons shivering on their twin towels, toes and fingers pruny, lips stained purple with popiscle juice. It makes Jongin think of childhood and youth precariously balanced on the cusp of adulthood, friendship precariously balanced on the cusp of something maybe more.
(The most private, shameful, needy thing that Jongin is entirely too hazy-minded, too taken, too vulnerable to ever begin to ask for)
Jongin blinks the moment away, twists his fingers nervously into the expensive fitted sheet his mother had insisted on buying when he’d moved into the dorms 3 months ago as he breathes heavily, meets Sehun’s dark eyes.
The material is soft between his fingers even after countless washes in the shitty residence hall washing machines, and it grounds him as Sehun’s nose drags over his clothed stomach, fingers drag over his zipper.
Jongin’s fingers twist tighter as he watches Sehun over the swell of his own panting chest.
His hair is disheveled, wild in the fading afternoon light, his lip caught between his teeth, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he tugs Jongin free.
Jongin isn’t really hard yet, starts to apologize for it, but Sehun’s fingers curl around him. And the words die on his throat, morph into an entirely too breathy, entirely too telling whimper, his body collapsing and neck twisting back at the spike of pleasure.
Sehun sticks his tongue out of his mouth in concentration as he touches him.
And fuck, fuck, fuck nobody’s ever—only only only Jongin. And God, he wants it, wants it, wants, Sehun, Sehun, Sehun—
Sehun hums into the first lick, a half a dozen strokes in, and Jongin moans helplessly loud. He drags his tongue once more, all succulent and slow, swirling before taking just the head into his mouth. He sucks experimentally once, twice, and the pleasure, the friction, the suction is sharp and foreign and so so so hot. Torture and bliss.
Easing into it slow and clusmy and exquisitely hot, Sehun swallows heavily, takes him as deep as he can, and Jongin abandons the sheets for Sehun’s hair. Gel-tacky, it sticks to his fingers as he tugs when Sehun bobs faster, tugs harder when Sehun moans against his cock at the sting.
The pale column of his throat curls in the most gorgeous movement as he arches into the touch, glides sloppily back down on his cock in the next instant.
And Jongin is closer, closer, closer, stumbling carelessly, mindlessly, breathlessly towards the edge.
The pad of Sehun’s thumb drags on the seam of his balls, and a raspier moan tears himself out of his throat, his body locking as it arches sharply, legs whispering over rumpled sheets as he clambers for some sort of leverage.
Sehun’s fingers fan across his waist, hold him steady, and he glides forward again, all sweet, wet, hot, hot suction that has Jongin nearly sobbing.
“I’m gonna,” he pants, and Sehun sucks even harder, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, but eyes still dancing with something utterly unnerving and utterly enrapturing and utterly beautiful.
Permission. Desire. Affection that leaves him breathless.
His eyes are begging for it, and Sehun wants it as much as he does. And Jongin feels drunk on the knowledge, chases the sensation.
“Jongin,” Sehun whispers against the head of his cock before sucking him back down, slick and so so hot and tight and perfect, and Jongin lets go.
Orgasm tears through him, hard, harder than he’s ever had, and Jongin is awash in the heavy, heavy pleasure of it. In the throes of it, he registers Sehun’s ruined, raspy hum, the slick, sloppy sound of him swallowing Jongin through it, and his orgasms seems to stretch on and on and on until he’s shivering and gasping helplessly for breath, grasping at Sehun’s skin as some form of anchor.
“God, you’re so fucking gorgeous when you come,” Sehun rasps against Jongin’s cheekbone. And Jongin doesn’t even know when Sehun moved, when he lost his shirt, but Sehun is here, where he needs him most, his fingers painfully tight at hips, his denim-covered cock distressingly hard as it catches on Jongin’s bare, goosebumped hip.
Sehun moans, quivers brokenly at the pressure, and sentimental and desperate still, Jongin loops his arms around his waist to pull him closer, grinding forward, too, to increase the friction. He shifts, pressing in a way he hopes makes it hotter, too. Drunk and dazed on dizzying desire, he just wants to make Sehun feel good, just wants to have him gasping as he drowns in pleasure, too.
“Want you—” Sehun confesses against his throat. “Touch me? Want you to touch me.”
And it's Sehun once more asking a question that Jongin isn't sure even counts as a question, vocalizing Jongin's desires.
Jongin's fingers feel clumsy, childishly so, as he tears at Sehun’s jeans, his polka dot boxers to do just that.
Sehun is already hard—hard from sucking him off, hard from making Jongin come. He’s silky smooth but pulsing achingly in his grasp.
It’s the first hard cock that he’s ever seen in real life, and Jongin groans as he memorizes the heft and weight and warmth of it with his palm, lets his fingers skate over the silky smooth pulse of it.
Sehun moans brokenly as he pushes into his touch, and Jongin shifts on his elbow to touch him, kiss him more comfortably. His stroke tightens, quickens, and his eyes are trained on Sehun.
And fuck, he’s the most gorgeous thing that Jongin has ever seen.
He’s the most affected, the most gone that Jongin has ever seen, too, labored breathing and hitching moans filtering past his pink, parted, plush lips, and Jongin’s chest constricts painfully as he catches Sehun’s glazed, beautiful eyes, glides forward to taste the sweetness of his mouth.
Their noses bump, and Sehun smiles at him breathlessly even as he whimpers. The smile is strained and wobbly and heartachingly attractive, and Jongin surges forward clumsily to taste it, taste his moan, too as his wrist twists, tighter, faster.
He can feel the slickness of precome, dribbling over the pad of his thumb on every retreat, slickening the slide, can feel the pulse and tremor of Sehun’s limbs against his own, can feel the cresting pressure and pleasure of Sehun’s orgasm with his own body as Sehun whimpers and writhes and clings clings clings, begging with hitched sounds and aborted movements for just just just that last bit.
Jongin glides his hand over the swell of his ass to urge him closer, lets his fingers glide further, graze the pucker of Sehun’s rim, and Sehun comes with a trembly moan, a monumental tremor.
Jongin holds him through the receding waves of it, stroking still as he mouths at the hollow of his throat, his chin, the corner of his mouth, feels the tension and pleasure bleed his body boneless and breathless.
Melting into Jongin’s tiny, rumpled twin XL, Sehun is sated in a way that Jongin’s never seen before, loose and lax with it. He’s flushed pink, his smile so achingly soft, eyes gorgeously glazed, and affection, pleasure, contentment thrum beneath Jongin’s skin at the soft, special sight.
Hooking his elbow around Sehun’s shoulders, Jongin hugs him tighter, lurches forward clumsily to kiss his cheek, his chin, the corner of his upturned mouth.
It tastes perfect.
sorry for the wait, wolfodder, take it away