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“It doesn’t feel right with just the seven of us,” Hyunjin says. It’s a very Hyunjin thing to say, and it makes Jeongin smile.
“Channie-hyung is here in spirit,” Felix says. “I promised him I’d pour one out for him.”
“I really tried to get him to come,” Jisung says. “I begged so cutely. Trust me, nothing was getting between him and his laptop tonight.”
“Some days I’d love to throw that thing in the river,” Minho says.
Jeongin suppresses a shiver. “Don’t even joke about that.”
Changbin raises his glass. “Here’s to Channie-hyung,” he says.
“To Channie-hyung!” the other six echo, Jeongin included. A warm, happy feeling blooms inside him. It feels right to be toasting their eldest, so soon after re-upping their contracts with the company, so soon after recommitting to moving forward together as a group. Not that it was ever a question for Jeongin whether they would or not, but to have it in writing again feels different—a covenant between the eight of them, legally-binding proof of their devotion to each other—and they all know who they have to thank for it.
“And here’s to the fact that we’re not still sneaking soju that his friends bought us,” Hyunjin says. “And hiding the empty bottles under our beds so our managers wouldn’t find them in the trash.”
“Trainee days,” Seungmin muses. “Not our most sophisticated era.”
Jisung snorts out a laugh, both hands flying up to cover his mouth. His eyes flick across the table to meet Jeongin’s.
“Don’t,” Jeongin says, instantly wary. “Whatever you’re about to say, don’t say it.”
“I’m just thinking,” Jisung says, ignoring Jeongin’s very clear instructions. “Just fondly reminiscing about all the good times we had back then. All the intimate moments we shared…”
“Intimate moments?” Changbin says. “Jisung-ah, what are you talking about now.”
“He’s talking about their kiss,” Seungmin says, rolling his eyes. “One drink, and he always finds some way to bring it up.”
“What’s wrong, Minnie,” Hyunjin says, leaning forward on his hands and blinking slowly at Seungmin. “Are you jealous?”
“No,” Seungmin says, quickly. “I’m just pointing out how unsubtle he is.”
“Well, if you must know,” Jisung says. “It was on this very day, eight years ago, that young Jeongin and I found ourselves alone in the vocal practice room, after the rest of our fellow trainees had all gone home for the night.”
“It was not on this very day,” Jeongin cuts in. “It was like, March.”
Minho makes an ‘ah’ sound and points at Jeongin. “He admits it,” he says.
“Just because I know what day he’s talking about does not mean that the kiss happened!” Jeongin says.
“Keep going, Hannie,” Felix says, looping his arm through Hyunjin’s and resting his head on his shoulder. “What happened next?”
“I was sitting at the piano,” Jisung continues, and Jeongin buries his face in his hands. “Trying to work out a tune I was stuck on. Jeongin was at the table across from me, practicing something or other, looking positively adorable in his too-big hoodie and his braces. And so, being the loving, doting hyung that I am, I asked him to come over and sit next to me on the piano bench.”
“And I bet he scurried right over,” Changbin says, fondly.
“You know he did!” Jisung says. “Always so eager to please, that one. And so when I tapped my cheek and said, ‘give hyungie a kiss,’ he practically jumped at the chance to do so.”
“Lies,” Jeongin says, half-heartedly, muffled into his hands. “Lies and slander.”
“But he didn’t kiss your cheek, did he?” Felix asks, knowingly. If he were a dog, his tail would be wagging.
“Nope!” Jisung sounds much too proud for his own good. “He started to lean in, and I turned my head just in time, and he kissed me right on the lips!”
Jeongin drops his hands, glaring at Jisung. “Are you done?”
“I still can’t believe I missed it,” Hyunjin says, and heaves a dreamy sigh. “Your first kiss…”
“And boy could you tell,” Jisung says.
Jeongin was just about to change the topic, ready to bully Hyunjin into reliving the spectacle of his first kiss—but at Jisung’s words, he stops himself. Instead, he sits up a little straighter, trying to seem nonchalant about it. “What do you mean?”
“Oh,” Jisung says, and breaks into a wide, toothy smile. “Because it was terrible!”
All six of them burst into laughter. Changbin’s is loud and raucous, Hyunjin practically folds himself in half, Seungmin’s mouth hangs open as he silently shakes with it. Jeongin plasters a smile across his face and tries to laugh along with them. “Oh, right,” he says, half-heartedly.
“Jisungie didn’t know how to kiss,” Minho teases. “We had to have a few lessons.” He leans into Jisung’s side, snaking a hand around his waist until it disappears behind him. A few seconds later, Jisung yelps and swats him away.
“I’m not the only one!” Jisung says. “Trust me, our little Jeongin needed some lessons of his own!”
Felix squeezes Jeongin’s bicep. “I’m sure he’s much, much better now. Right, Iyennie?”
“Duh,” Jeongin says, a little stiffly. “I was like, fifteen.”
“Is anyone a good kisser when they’re fifteen?” Changbin says. “I mean, I was, but that’s just my exceptional, natural-born talent.”
From there, the conversation mercifully shifts focus to Changbin. Jeongin chugs some of his beer and relaxes back into things the best that he can. He’s out with his hyungs, after all. They’re celebrating and laughing, and they’re all teasing each other for one thing or another, which Jeongin knows is their love language. He tries not to dwell on it. Still, despite his best efforts, as the evening goes on, the unwelcome thought keeps gnawing at him, keeps coming back again and again.
He was bad at kissing?
* * * * *
“I’m home!” Jeongin calls, toeing off his shoes in the entryway and sliding them neatly into their spot on the shoe rack. It’s only been a few weeks since he and Chan started living together, so they’re still settling into their roommate routine, but the cleanliness is a welcome change from the four-member dorm Jeongin just moved out of. He and Chan seem to be of one mind in terms of tidiness—or, at least, Chan is obsessed with it, and Jeongin is obsessed with making Chan happy, so as his new roommate, he’s committed to being as neat and orderly as possible.
There’s no response to his greeting, and as Jeongin ventures further inside the apartment, he finds that Chan’s bedroom door is closed. He’s probably still in work mode, Jeongin thinks. After a moment’s hesitation, he raises his hand, politely rapping his knuckles against the door.
“It’s open,” Chan’s voice calls, and Jeongin tentatively turns the knob and pushes the door open.
Chan is parked at his desk, headphones on, laptop open. He looks up when he sees Jeongin, and his eyes light up. “Iyen-ah!” he says, smiling, and pulls his headphones down around his neck. “Back already?”
“It’s been three hours,” Jeongin says. He does a cursory check of Chan’s desk for an empty bowl or a discarded food wrapper, some sign that he’s eaten, but he doesn’t see anything. “Have you been working this whole time?”
“Deadlines wait for no one,” Chan says, lifting his arms overhead and groaning into a long, full-body stretch. His hoodie rides up a little as he does so, and Jeongin doesn’t miss the flash of his pale, exposed stomach before Chan settles back down.
“You should eat something,” Jeongin says. “It’s getting late.”
Chan’s eyes have a playful twinkle to them. “I should?” he says. “You decide when I take my meals now?”
Jeongin rolls his eyes. “Or don’t,” he says. “It was just a suggestion.”
“No, no,” Chan says. He clicks around on his trackpad for a few seconds, then carefully closes his laptop. Setting his headphones on the desk, he gets to his feet, stretching one more time. “As you wish, hyung-nim.”
Jeongin follows Chan into the kitchen, taking a seat at the counter as Chan pulls some leftovers out of the fridge and assembles them on a plate. “Kids all had fun?” he asks, sucking a bit of curry off his thumb and sliding the dish into the microwave to reheat.
Jeongin nods. “I mean, Hannie-hyung practically had to be carried out,” he says. “So we’ll see how he feels tomorrow.”
Chan laughs, ducking his chin and shaking his head. “How many did you let him have?”
“One!” Jeongin protests, laughing too. “One single drink! And he was still all over Minho-hyung, claiming that he couldn’t walk home!”
“Well,” Chan says, and casts a knowing look at Jeongin. “That might have less to do with his shit tolerance and more to do with Minho.”
“Uh huh,” Jeongin says. He knows that. He’s aware of what those two get up to together, even if they’ve never come out and defined it for the group. He’s pretty sure there are other members who have done the same—Jeongin sees the way Seungmin and Changbin bait each other, the way Hyunjin smiles at Felix when he thinks he’s not looking. Just because Jeongin himself has never messed around with any of the rest of them (yes, he kissed Jisung, and yes, he will be taking that to his grave) doesn’t mean he doesn’t know what they do behind closed doors. Jeongin likes to keep that sort of stuff private—feelings, crushes, anything at all sexual in nature—because it’s embarrassing, and it makes him shy to think about, let alone talk about. Therefore, it was a fair assumption of Felix’s that if Jeongin had been kissing other people, he never would’ve told the rest of them about it. It was also a very generous assumption, that of course Jeongin has gotten a lot of practice from all the people he’s been kissing over the past eight years. It just happens to be wrong.
Jeongin crosses his arms on the counter and slumps forward, resting his chin on them as he watches Chan move about the kitchen. It’s so comfortable, cohabiting with him. When it’s just the two of them, peacefully sharing space together, it’s so easy to let his guard down and say whatever’s on his mind.
“Hyung,” Jeongin says. “Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot,” Chan says. He collects his plate from the microwave and brings it around the counter so he can take a seat next to Jeongin.
“Um,” Jeongin says. He starts to try and form the words, and then his brain catches up with him. What is he thinking? He can’t ask Chan that. “Nevermind.”
Chan places a forkful of curry between his lips. As he chews, he tilts his head at Jeongin, raising his eyebrows. “Iyen-ah,” he says, his voice gently chiding.
“Forget it,” Jeongin says, instantly full of regret. He sits up straight and shakes his head. “It’s nothing.”
“It doesn’t sound like nothing,” Chan says. He nudges the ball of his foot against Jeongin’s ankle. “Ask me! Hyung will try his best to answer.”
Chan likes to know things. It’s an instinct that makes him a good leader—always wanting to keep tabs on all the members, staying apprised of who’s injured, who’s hungry, who didn’t sleep well last night, who’s fighting with whom. It also means that when he catches a whiff of information that he doesn’t have, he doesn’t back down until he learns what’s going on.
“It’s embarrassing,” Jeongin mumbles. “It’s a dumb question.”
“No such thing,” Chan says, sincerely. He takes another few bites of his dinner, then turns so he’s facing Jeongin. “C’mon. Ask.”
Jeongin is conditioned to obey orders from Chan—to follow his directives, to always be humble and biddable when his leader is asking something of him. Unfortunately for his pride, his conditioning wins out.
“How do you kiss someone?” he asks.
Chan doesn’t laugh at Jeongin, which is what he was bracing for. He barely reacts at all. Maybe a slight widening of his eyes, but Jeongin might’ve imagined it. For the most part, Chan just continues chewing, then tilts his head back and forth thoughtfully.
“How, as in, how do you ask someone?” he says. “Or how, as in, technically, how do you actually do it.”
“The second one,” Jeongin says. He feels like he has to explain himself. “I don’t think I’m a very good kisser,” he says, quietly.
Chan scoops the last bite of curry off his plate and into his mouth. After he swallows, he pushes his dish away and turns his full attention on Jeongin. “What makes you think that?” he asks.
Jeongin has already gotten the most embarrassing part out of the way—there’s no reason why he shouldn’t keep going. “I’ve never really kissed anyone,” he says. “I mean, besides that one time with Hannie-hyung in the practice room, like, ten years ago.”
Chan’s eyes flicker playfully. “So that did happen,” he says.
“Anyway.”
“Sorry.” Chan schools the smile off his face. “Go on.”
“I guess I haven’t thought about it a lot,” Jeongin says. “I always figured eventually I’ll meet someone who wants to kiss me, and then I’ll, you know. Kiss them.”
“Mm,” Chan says. “Eventually.”
“Yeah, I don’t know,” Jeongin says. He lets out a nervous laugh. “I mean, there’s got to be someone out there who wants to, right?”
The look Chan fixes Jeongin with is—it’s not exactly a hard stare, but it’s a long one. “Yes,” Chan says, finally. “I’m sure there is.”
“But tonight, hyung said…” Jeongin glances down at the countertop, then back up at Chan. “He said our kiss back then was bad. I guess I didn’t realize it was bad, because, well.”
He’s quiet for long enough that Chan offers to finish his thought. “It was your first kiss,” he says.
“Yeah,” Jeongin says. “And now he has all this practice, and all this hindsight, and he’s saying it was bad, and… I guess that means it was bad. But I don’t know what’s supposed to make it… good? But, yeah. That’s why I asked. I thought… maybe you could explain it to me.”
Chan hums, looking up at the ceiling like he’s mulling it over.
“You’ve kissed people before, right?” Jeongin asks.
Chan’s eyes are bright with laughter. “Yes,” he says. “I have.”
Jeongin feels a blush start to creep up his cheeks. Right, that was a stupid question. Chan is Chan. It’s not just that he has one of the most beautiful faces—and one of the most irresistible bodies—that Jeongin has ever seen. He’s also charming. He’s magnetic. He’s a genius with a soundboard, has the voice of an angel. Not to mention that he’s patient, and he’s caring, and he’s generous and kind to strangers, and to top it all off, he’s still so humble… Of course he’s kissed people. Of course every person in their right mind wants to kiss Chan.
“So,” Jeongin says. “What makes it good?”
Chan leans his chin on one hand, studying Jeongin. “I don’t think you need to worry about this, Iyen-ah. You’ll do great. You’ll figure it out as you go.”
Jeongin worries his lower lip between his teeth. “I don’t want to figure it out as I go,” he says. “It’s going to be so obvious that I haven’t kissed anyone since I was fifteen. Can you just tell me… you know. How to kiss like you’re experienced?”
“I wish I had a straight answer for you,” Chan says. “I’m gonna sound like an old man when I say this, but it really is true: practice makes perfect.”
“Right,” Jeongin says, miserably. “And once I get done practicing on the future love of my life, I’ll have scared them off with my amateur technique.”
Chan lets out a bright burst of laughter, then covers his mouth with his hand. “Sorry,” he says. “You’re just so cute, aegi-yah.”
Jeongin glowers at him, but there’s no malice behind it. “Thanks for nothing, hyung,” he says. He pushes his stool away from the counter, making to get up and retreat into the safety of his room for the night.
“Iyen-ah,” Chan says, earnestly. “I’m sure you can find someone else to practice with.”
Jeongin stills. “What do you mean?” he asks.
Chan lifts his shoulders into the slightest of shrugs. “You could ask the kids,” he says. “I’m sure one of them would be happy to show you the ropes.”
Jeongin considers it for a moment. It’s not like he’s never thought about it before—kissing his fellow members. Obviously, he’s thought about it. They’re some of the most gorgeous men he knows, and they’re always sticking their faces in his face, trying to get a piece of him. Naturally, he’s pictured how it would feel, his lips against theirs. He trusts them completely, so he knows they wouldn’t tease him for being bad, either—not in any seriously hurtful way. He pictures Minho’s quiet intensity, Changbin’s exuberant enthusiasm, Felix’s gentle encouragement. Maybe Seungmin would be bolder than Jeongin expects, and maybe Hyunjin more timid. And of course, the idea of a repeat performance with Jisung is compelling on its own, notwithstanding his round, shiny eyes and his pretty, heart-shaped mouth.
But when Jeongin thinks about learning something, one-on-one, from one of his hyungs, none of them is the person he pictures.
From the moment Jeongin joined the company, Chan has been teaching him. As trainees, he coached him in all the areas where Jeongin lacked. He stayed up with him late into the night to run choreo, sacrificing his own precious free time in the process. When Jeongin’s vocal coaches gave him confusing direction, Chan was the one who explained it to him in a way that he could understand. He taught him how to clean up his footwork, how to stabilize his voice, how to find his natural harmonies, how to draw power from his stomach and take a breath at just the right moment.
As they grew, as they debuted and performed and made music side by side, the lessons Chan had for Jeongin changed shape, but they never stopped coming. How to keep going after receiving criticism without internalizing it. How to press onward with the determination to do better, be better. He taught him curiosity for songwriting, for musical composition—as well as balance, all effort in moderation, when to push and when to rest.
It just feels right that Chan teaches him this too.
“Hyung,” Jeongin says, timidly. “Will you practice with me?”
Chan blinks back at Jeongin, like he’s processing his question. “Me?” he says, eventually.
“I just…” Jeongin shrugs. “I feel like your, um. Your teaching style. And my learning style. They match well.”
Chan nods. He glances back over his shoulder, even though they live alone now—like he’s forgotten there are no other members, no managers who might walk in and catch them unawares.
“You don’t have to,” Jeongin says, quickly. “It was just an idea.”
Chan turns his head back to Jeongin. “No, I’m—I’m happy to,” he says. He sounds perfectly enthusiastic now, but almost performatively so.
“It’s really fine,” Jeongin says. He feels like an idiot. If Chan was offering personally, he would’ve said that. Now Jeongin’s gone and put him in a situation that he doesn’t know how to refuse. Chan hates saying no to people, Jeongin knows that. He jumps to his feet, taking a few steps towards the hallway that leads to his bedroom.
“Iyen-ah,” Chan calls after him. “Wait.”
Once again—the conditioning. Jeongin stops in his tracks, turning and looking nervously back at Chan.
“I’m sorry,” Chan says. “I wasn’t expecting you to ask me that.” He takes a deep breath. “Of course I’ll practice with you.”
He sounds more genuine this time. “Really?” Jeongin asks, hopefully.
Chan nods, a soft smile on his face.
“Not just because you don’t want to make it weird?”
Chan shakes his head. “Cross my heart,” he says. “I’m flattered, really.”
Jeongin nods. Flattered is… fine. It’s not negative. Jeongin doesn’t know what sort of response he was looking for. At least Chan said yes.
Wait.
Chan said yes.
As if on cue, Chan gets up and starts to move towards Jeongin. Jeongin freezes, pulling his shoulders back to stand up straight, holding his breath. When Chan is right in front of him, Jeongin closes his eyes.
He feels a hand at his elbow. “Come on,” Chan says, laughter in his voice.
Jeongin opens his eyes, sheepishly. Chan is standing next to him, grinning. Right—of course he wasn’t just going to sweep towards him and kiss him. Where would be the teaching in that?
He lets Chan lead him into the living room, steer him to the couch and gesture for him to take a seat. Chan sits down too, angled slightly inward, so his torso is facing Jeongin. Jeongin mimics his posture, straightening his shoulders again and settling his hands politely atop his knees.
“Ready?” Chan asks. His expression is warm and open, his eyes kind. It’s not easy for Jeongin to be nervous when Chan is looking at him like that.
Jeongin nods. He takes a deep breath, letting his eyes flutter closed.
“Wait,” Chan says, and Jeongin’s eyes snap open. Chan jumps to his feet. “Let me brush my teeth,” he says, and darts out of the room.
A helpless laugh escapes Jeongin as he hears Chan jog down the hallway to the bathroom. He tests his own breath while he waits. It’s fine. He chewed some gum on the way home from the bar.
Chan hurries back into the room a few minutes later and sits down in a rush. “Okay!” he says, a little breathless. “Take two.”
Jeongin flexes his fingers on top of his thighs. “I’m ready,” he says.
Chan nods. He inches slightly closer to Jeongin on the couch, so their knees just barely touch. Jeongin can feel his own heartbeat, pounding in his chest.
Then, without any further warning, Chan is leaning in, tilting his head. His nose, his mouth—they’re suddenly all that Jeongin can see.
“Wait!” Jeongin says. Chan freezes, pulls back with furrowed eyebrows.
“You have to explain what you’re doing,” Jeongin says. “Why did you just tilt your head like that?” He feels a grin start to spread across his face. “I can’t learn if you don’t teach me.”
Chan shakes his head, laughing to himself. When he looks at Jeongin again, his smile is so bright that it reaches his eyes. “You’re right,” he says. “My mistake. Hyung will do better this time.”
“Good,” Jeongin says, smiling back at him. Shyly, he bites his lip. “I’ll study well.”
Chan purses his lips together, his eyes still dancing with mirth. “Alright,” he says. “It’s always nice to start with a touch.” As he speaks, he moves his right hand to Jeongin’s knee. “Just to make sure your partner is on the same page as you.”
The weight of Chan’s hand on Jeongin’s thigh is warm through the fabric of his jeans, but it still sends a shiver up his spine. “Got it,” Jeongin says. He understands what Chan means—if the hand is a question, Jeongin’s allowing it to stay is an invitation.
“Okay?” Chan says. He rubs his thumb back and forth, soothing the spot just above his knee. His eyes never leave Jeongin’s.
Jeongin nods. “Then what?” he asks.
Chan smiles. “Then, you just… lean in,” he says, and as he says it, he does so, moving closer into Jeongin’s space once more. “Tilt your head if you’d like,” he says, his voice soft. “Watch their glasses, if they’re wearing any. And then…”
He stops, mere centimeters from Jeongin’s mouth. Jeongin can feel Chan’s breath—hot, foreign puffs against his lips, the faintest hint of spearmint.
Jeongin didn’t close his eyes this time. He can see every crease on Chan’s face, every hair, every eyelash. “Then what?” he asks, softly.
“Then you wait,” Chan says. When he speaks, his nose bumps against Jeongin’s. “One more out. Just in case.”
Jeongin’s entire body feels like it’s buzzing. He doesn’t want to wait. He wants Chan to kiss him.
“Then what,” Jeongin murmurs.
Chan smiles. Jeongin can feel it—Chan’s soft, plush lips brushing against his own, the briefest, faintest touch as they curl up into a smile. “Then,” he says. “This.”
Chan kisses Jeongin’s upper lip first. It’s just pressure to start—warm, sweet pressure. Delivered with the sort of gentle care that Chan uses in every aspect of their lives together. Feeding Jeongin. Buying him little gifts. Cleaning up after him. Gently guiding him through a recording session, cushioning his constructive notes between words of praise. It takes everything Jeongin has not to kiss him back, but he’s trying to be good and attentive for his lesson. He stays still, barely breathing, as Chan pulls back a hair.
“Keep it gentle,” Chan says, his voice low and even. Jeongin watches his tongue dart out to wet his lip. “No need to rush into anything.” He leans in again, kissing Jeongin’s bottom lip now. “Remember,” Chan says, nudging Jeongin’s nose with his own. “If this person is special enough, you have all the time in the world.”
Jeongin nods, his lips tingling with the aftertaste of Chan. “What if—” His voice comes out a little hoarse, and he clears his throat and tries again. “What if I’m ready for more.”
Chan huffs out a laugh. “Then we’ll do more,” he says. When he moves in this time, he cups Jeongin’s cheek with his free hand. “Stay with me, okay?” Chan says, and then he kisses Jeongin full on the lips.
Jeongin takes a deep breath as their mouths meet in earnest this time. Now, Jeongin can really feel Chan—the moisture from his tongue, easing the glide of their lips as Chan pulses them softly together. Now he can really taste him—something sweet and strong and heady on his breath, every time Chan exhales. Jeongin clenches his fingers into his thighs, desperate for something to do with them.
“Here,” Chan says, against Jeongin’s mouth. He drops the hand from his cheek, and suddenly he’s lifting Jeongin’s arms by his wrists, settling his hands on his own, broad shoulders. “You can hold on like this,” he says, before pressing another long, sweet kiss to Jeongin’s lips.
Much better. Jeongin squeezes Chan’s shoulders, his thumbs resting just over his collarbones. He’s all muscle, especially here. Jeongin knows how much Chan loves to work out his back and shoulders. He clings to him, as Chan moves in to kiss him again.
“You too?” Jeongin asks, when their lips part next.
Chan shakes his head. “I hold you like this,” he says. A moment later, Jeongin feels Chan’s strong forearm wrapping around his waist. His other hand lands in Jeongin’s hair, fingers cupping the back of his head.
“Oh,” Jeongin breathes, and dives in to kiss Chan again. This time, when their mouths meet, Jeongin parts his lips, hoping Chan takes it as another invitation.
Chan’s grip tightens in Jeongin’s hair, and he pulls him in closer as he slips his tongue inside Jeongin’s mouth. It’s smooth and slick against Jeongin’s own, and Jeongin enthusiastically rushes to meet it. “Like this,” Chan murmurs, pulling back for air, pressing a few more chaste kisses to Jeongin’s lips. “Good, that’s so good, but—slowly.”
Jeongin does as instructed. The next time Chan slides his tongue inside, Jeongin holds back. He lets Chan tease him, lets him explore Jeongin’s mouth a little before softly, slowly undulating his tongue against Chan’s. Chan is right—the difference is striking. Slowing it down sends electricity pulsing through Jeongin’s veins, wanting more, needing more. He hears himself let out a soft whimper at the next slick, lazy roll of their tongues together.
“Perfect,” Chan says, in a hot, heavy exhale. Jeongin clenches his hands around Chan’s shoulders, feels Chan tighten the arm around his waist in response. “You’re a natural,” he says, pulling back enough for Jeongin to see his smile. His lips are bright pink and swollen, so they look even fuller than usual. Jeongin can’t stop himself from swaying forward and chasing Chan’s mouth, capturing his lips in another kiss, and sinking his teeth in.
A low groan escapes Chan’s throat, and his fingers twist in Jeongin’s hair, tightening just on the edge of painful. “Fuck,” he pants, as Jeongin sucks hungrily on his upper lip. “Iyen-ah, you’re—you’re jumping ahead in the lesson.”
Jeongin breaks away, laughing breathlessly. “Sorry,” he says. “Was it bad?”
Chan shakes his head, his chest heaving. He leans in again, but this time, he ducks his head to mouth at Jeongin’s neck. “See how it feels,” he says, against Jeongin’s skin. “Tell me how my teeth feel.” Then, he closes his lips around a spot under Jeongin’s jaw and digs his teeth in.
Jeongin gasps, shrugging his shoulders up as high as he can manage as heat courses through his body. “Channie-hyung,” he says, squeezing his eyes closed, blindly flailing a hand out to cup the back of Chan’s head and cling to him. “Ah—Channie-hyung—oh my God—”
Chan pulls off, running his tongue along the sensitive skin. “You see?” he asks, and when Jeongin is able to look at him again, Chan’s eyes are very, very dark. “You understand why we don’t jump ahead?”
Jeongin understands. The uncomfortable tightness in his jeans is making it abundantly clear. The only thing is, he doesn’t see what the problem is.
“But what if…” Jeongin traces one long finger down the nape of Chan’s neck, drawing a faint, circular motion over his hot, sweat-damp skin. “What if I’m excited about those lessons?” He leans down and finds the matching spot on Chan’s throat.
“Iyen-ah,” Chan says, his voice strained when Jeongin starts to suck at his skin. When Jeongin adds his teeth, Chan lets out a desperate moan.
Jeongin feels giddy, drunk. He doesn’t care about sounding demanding. He certainly doesn’t care about seeming inexperienced. He releases Chan’s throat, lifting his head to look into his eyes. “I want more,” he says. “I want the next class. I want to—to skip a grade. Pass me, please?” He blinks his eyes sweetly at Chan, hoping—praying—he won’t be able to say no to him. “Please, Channie-hyung?”
If Chan needs a moment to think about it, Jeongin blinks and misses it. The next thing he knows, Chan is kissing him again—long and deep, harder than before, but with no less care. Then Jeongin is being eased down, flat onto his back, Chan’s hand cupping the back of his head as it hits the couch cushion, as if that could’ve hurt him at all.
“Please, Iyen-ah,” Chan says, and crawls onto all fours on top of him. “Stop begging. There’s only so much I can take.”