His fingers scramble down Kyungsoo’s scalp, over his neck, anchoring, and Kyungsoo’s lips, kiss-bruised and wet and plush, part with a moan at his temple.
“Sehun,” he whispers.
It’s always quiet with Kyungsoo, always subtle, soft, sweet, understated, but Sehun can feel the tremble in his fingers as he skims down Sehun’s bare chest, notes the shakiness of his breathing.
And Sehun loves him so much that his heart feels bruised and crushed by the utter weight of it, wants him so much he feels bruised and crushed by the utter weight of it, too.
And it’s understated, too, the moan Kyungsoo presses into Sehun’s mouth. The Only if you’re really sure he whispers into his bare sternum. The tremble, too, in the hand he lands on Sehun’s hip, the quivering way his fingernails drag on the jut of the bone there.
Subtle, sweet, soft, clumsy with nerves, desire.
And maybe if lights were on, Kyungsoo would call him beautiful again, like he had the first time (second time, third time, fourth time) he’d peeled Sehun’s shirt off, reverent and awed, though subtle, understated. And Sehun would squirm and try to kiss him, push into his hand to distract him—like he had that first time, second time, third time, fourth time, too.
But the lights are off, and Kyungsoo seems content to speak through touches instead, affection in the clumsy way he cups Sehun’s waist to drag him forward, the soft, meandering way his fingers dance along Sehun’s thighs as they part and curl around Kyungsoo’s sides.
Sehun can feel the reverence, the awe, the love, feels tingly with Kyungsoo’s silent beautiful as he melts into his touch.
He can feel the heated promise of Kyungsoo’s want, too, the heft of his cock like this as Kyungsoo presses briefly forward, then hisses, hips jumping forward at the pressure. Sehun hooks his arms around Kyungsoo’s shoulders to pull him closer, grinds up, surging forward to taste Kyungsoo’s hiss now—sharp and hot and wet.
The lights are off, but he’s sure that Kyungsoo can feel the heat radiating from his cheeks, bleeding against Kyungsoo’s throat as he tilts upwards, breathes about how much he wants Kyungsoo to touch him. Really, really touch. He’s sure.
He whimpers, though, shivers away and then rushes forward when Kyungsoo’s hand stumbles between their bodies, drags over his cock. The friction, even though his jeans, his underwear, it’s electric. So much.
It’s dark, but Sehun can feel the way that Kyungsoo’s lips twist into a smirk then part with a moan as Sehun pants his name.
“Hyung,” he gasps. “Kyungsoo hyung.” And his own hand punches against Kyungsoo’s crotch, too. And Sehun hisses, too as he feels the heat, the weight, the promise—Tonight, I want it tonight, please, promise.
It makes his head spin.
“Hyung,” he repeats. “Please.”
And it’s dark, but Sehun can see the glint of his teeth as they bore into his bottom lip, the tremble in his hands as slides Sehun’s zipper down, pauses to cup him. One less layer, so much more electric. So much more overwhelming. So, so, so much.
“I know,” he says. “Promise."
hakyeonni, you're up!!!