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Renjun is small.
He always has been, and it’s a non-issue. Has been a non-issue ever since high school, at least, when his friends grew up all around him, coming into muscle and filling out tight t-shirts and jumping up to obnoxiously touch the ceiling just to prove that they could. Renjun’s not like that. He’s okay with his slight stature, his skinny arms, his (perfectly average) height, because he knows firsthand that physical features have absolutely nothing to do with how much of a man someone is.
Renjun is secure in his looks, his body, his identity. He likes what he looks like. Doesn’t care what others have to say about it. Besides, he knows from experience (that one time during freshman year of college) that Donghyuck isn’t afraid to punch anyone who is mean to him. And after that punch, Jeno would be great at intimidating anyone else who dared (even if this part only works when he can stop smiling long enough to flex his impressive if useless physique.)
Renjun’s a man—a small, dainty man, with a pussy. But still. As a matter of principle, and after the requisite years of his genitalia-related gender dysphoria, then the puberty-related gender dysphoria, then the coming-out-of-the-closet-related gender dysphoria, not to mention braving the challenge that is being one-hundred pounds wet in the high school boy’s locker room for four years: he refuses to be regarded in any other way.
And for the most part, he isn’t. He does his military service, graduates from college, starts working for a well-paying graphic design company, gets a nice studio apartment in downtown Seoul. He manages to avoid telling his friends about what’s in his pants, because it’s not anybody’s fucking business but his own. He becomes a mature, well-adjusted, normal guy. That is, until his friends learn a new word.
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It starts as a joke. Renjun’s friends are the type to learn any moderately inappropriate word in another language and proceed to abuse it for far longer than is actually funny. In fact, Renjun himself, along with Chenle, teach them Mandarin swears all the time. It’s no secret that Mark takes a little pleasure in how cool everyone thinks his being fluent in English is. They had older friends who taught them phrases in Cantonese, Japanese, Thai. It’s pretty normal for their friend group.
Renjun would say it’s Donghyuck (who referred to Mark primarily as daddy for two months in college) and Jaemin (see: going on the seventh annual anniversary of him supposedly coining the word sexy) especially, though, who tended to take these little language classes too far. But at least Donghyuck would usually get bored and forget.
Jaemin doesn’t forget. Which is how Renjun knows that for him, it’s not really a joke. Jaemin doesn't do things for laughs; he does things that sometimes happened to get him laughs anyway. Jaemin does things simply for the pleasure of them. It’s hard to predict what can bring him pleasure at any given moment. He’s not fickle, exactly, just particular. Na Jaemin can have an impressively singular focus when he wants to. In typical Na Jaemin fashion, he reserves that focus for inexplicable things and not the normal important things like work, or being a morally upstanding citizen and whatnot. Currently, his focus is on making Renjun squirm with three tiny little stupid syllables.
The word? Babygirl.
It’s Mark’s fault, really. At Renjun’s twenty-third birthday drinks, someone makes the mistake of handing him the aux, which he uses to play some English pop song with the word in the chorus. I don’t wanna be your babygirl, Nelly Furtado crooned over the speakers, and Renjun (who was magnificently drunk because you only get one birthday per year) just so happened to be dancing precariously on top of the bar counter, and someone started chanting, babygirl, babygirl, babygirl, and Renjun was kind of feeling it, swinging his hips this way and that as the crowd cheered. When he woke up the next morning with a fatal hangover, someone (he’s giving Donghyuck the benefit of the doubt, here) had already taken the liberty of changing his name in the groupchat.
So Renjun becomes babygirl. It’s babygirl this, babygirl that. Even long after the others get bored of teasing him, Jaemin keeps it up. Lazy smile, raised eyebrow. Jaemin-typical causal intensity. Babygirl pass the tteokbokki, come sit with me babygirl. Babygirl, babygirl, babygirl.
It bothers Renjun. Though not in the way he’s expecting—an emasculating way. Nor in a way that triggers the dysphoric feelings that had peaked around the time he got to high school and he’d since mostly grown out of. No, it bothers Renjun in a way that makes him want to scream a little. Why, he’s not so sure. But that’s not too unusual when it comes to things that concern Jaemin, so like most things with Jaemin, he’s ignoring it.
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Spring passes. Summer comes. Renjun only tells Mark because he thinks Mark should know.
Mark’s the unspoken but wholeheartedly agreed upon leader of their friend group. And he’s loyal to a fault, crazy good at keeping secrets, and has never managed to make anyone feel judged in his entire life.
It’s best to be a little careful with Mark. You know, ease him in.
“So, hyung,” Renjun says once Mark closes the door, locking it and everything for privacy (important only because he shares his apartment with Donghyuck, who is a shameless eavesdropper. Mark takes his mathyung duties very seriously.) “This is about a sexual thing.”
“Oh,” Mark says. He sits on the bed, palms spread wide in the universal pose of you’re safe with me. “Cool, that’s fine. I can talk about sex,” which is exactly what someone who can’t talk about sex would say, which is why Renjun would never come to him with something actually about sex.
“Not the act,” Renjun clarifies. “More like…sexual organs.”
“Oh,” Mark repeats. He’s already blushing. “Is something wrong with your, you know—” he gestures vaguely to the crotch of his own pants, then whispers — “dick?”
“Nothing’s wrong!” Renjun says immediately. It’s a reflex. He clears his throat. “That’s the thing, actually. I don’t really…have. One.”
“You don’t have…?” Mark frowns. Scrunches up his nose. Then his eyes widen. “Oh! You don’t have a—! Okay. That’s cool! That’s so cool. Totally cool.”
And he’s blushing and staring pointedly at the floor, but also he does that when people start, like, chastely kissing in a tv show, and it’s clear from his voice, genuine and firm, that he means it. Totally cool. Renjun sighs in relief. “Really?”
“Sure,” Mark says again. He finally looks up and he’s smiling tentatively. “So is it just like, blank down there or something? Wait, can I, uh, ask that?”
Renjun giggles. “It’s not blank. I’m not a doll. I just have a…you know. Instead.”
“What girls have?”
“Not just girls,” Renjun says promptly.
“Shit.” Mark gasps, apologetic. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—“
“I know,” Renjun interrupts. “It’s fine. But basically, yeah.”
“Woah. Cool.”
Another wave of relief rushes over Renjun. It just feels so good. To be talking about this. To be honest about who he is in his entirety. For Mark to not really care at all, nothing judgmental in his eyes, just an awe-like glimmer of curiosity. Which is how he always looks at Renjun. Like Renjun’s something to be admired. He feels that look, warm and gooey, down to his toes. And it’s not lost on him, the fact that finally telling someone frees him to consider them as a sexual option. If he wants.
“Yeah,” Renjun agrees. “Wanna see it?”
Mark almost falls off the bed. “See? Me? You mean—I—your—aw, jeez—”
Renjun laughs lightly. “I’m just kidding. Close your mouth, flies will go in.”
Even though he was only kind of kidding and knew Mark would a hundred percent do anything he asked. It’s just, he kind of likes when he, you know…doesn't have to ask. But he pages that thought for later. He leaves Mark’s room, gives him a kiss on the cheek for his troubles. “Thanks for being so understanding, hyung.”
“Of course,” Mark says solemnly, even though he’s still bright red. “For you, anything.”
Yeah, Renjun knows.
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The babygirl-ing from Jaemin doesn’t stop, even after the rest of the guys have long grown tired and moved on to teasing Jisung with some new cutesy name or another, which is fair, because while they all agreed it’s fun to get a rise out of Renjun, Jisung (who clung to his masculinity like a lifeline and refused to do aegyo for a quick Instagram story post even when drunk out of his mind) is even more fun to tease with this kind of thing.
Renjun’s thankful. By the time the seven of them go out for drinks at a norebang on one uncomfortably hot night in July, and no one calls him babygirl even once, not even Donghyuck, whose drunk off of a bottle and a half of soju and clinging to anyone who will have him.
Or at least, no one calls him it except Jaemin.
“Babygirl,” Jaemin drawls from where he’s sitting on the little couch beside Jeno with his legs spread. “You should dedicate the next song to me. Serenade,” he adds in over-emphasized English.
Renjun flips him off and goes back to scrolling through the song list. He opps to do a duet with Chenle, some first gen girl group song they’d all liked as kids. After the song is over and Donghyuck has—once again—wrestled a microphone back to himself and started singing before new lyrics even go up on the screen, Mark corners him, pulls him out into the only slightly quieter hallway.
“Hey,” Mark says. He’s all flushed from the drinking, eyes slightly lidded because it's god-knows-what-time at night.
Renjun kind of wants to eat him. He bats his eyelashes. “Hi.”
“Do you want me to make him stop?”
“What?” Renjun says, stilling his hands where they were about to come up and cup at Mark’s shoulders. “Who?”
“You know,” Mark says. He sounds…apologetic? “Jaemin. With the babygirl stuff? I know he doesn’t know, but I get how that could be uncomfortable.”
“Oh.” Renjun pouts. This is not where he thought this conversation was going. He didn’t really think Mark brought him out here for conversation at all. “That? I don’t really care that much. It’s just Jaemin. He’ll get bored and stop.”
It's only partly a lie. Renjun doesn’t really care that much. At least, not in the way Mark is thinking. He cares in a completely different way, one that he didn’t really want to examine yet, especially not with Mark.
“You sure?” Mark checks, and god, Mark’s just so good, so kind and sweet and dolling out consideration like it costs nothing at all. Renjun still wants to eat him. Leave it to Mark to feel remorseful on Jaemin’s behalf, when Jaemin most certainly feels no remorse of his own.
“I’m sure,” Renjun says. “But thank you. I appreciate it, really.”
Before they head back into the room, he gives Mark another peck on the cheek for his trouble. This time he lets his lips land closer to Mark’s, right at the corner. You know, close enough to be read as drunken friendliness. Or something more. If Mark bothers to look.
But it’s Mark, stupidly polite and cautious Mark, so he doesn’t. He just loops their hands together, squeezes once, and they go back inside to join their friends. Jaemin glances up when they enter, which for Jaemin, is kind of an insane amount of dedicated attention.
And it’s funny, because even though Mark never says anything, Jaemin doesn’t call Renjun babygirl again even once for the rest of the night.
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A week after karaoke, Renjun stops by Mark’s apartment after work with a cheap bottle of wine and some takeout from their favorite local restaurant. He goes home from the office and showers first. Not in a presumptuous way. Just in case. He’s thinking they can eat, watch a movie, just chill like they always do. Cuddle on the couch, maybe. He knows Mark will think it’s a nice surprise. And then…maybe. Maybe.
Renjun lets himself into the apartment with the key code, toeing off his shoes at the door. It’s eerily silent for a Wednesday evening. “Hey!” he calls out. “Anyone home?”
No answer. Renjun peeks into the living room and finds…Jaemin.
Lying across the couch like he owns the place. He looks like he’s been napping for a while, mouth slack, the bottom of his shirt ridden up to expose a small expanse of pale stomach.
“You don’t live here,” Renjun says to his sleeping form.
“You’re smart today,” Jaemin responds immediately. He opens his eyes and they’re alert and bright. “Neither do you.”
Renjun startles. “Yah! Did you not hear me call out a minute ago or did you just not answer because you didn’t want to?”
Jaemin ignores him (again, so Renjun takes that as a yes.) “You also don’t live here.”
“I’m dropping something off for Mark,” Renjun says, holding up the bag of food as proof.
“Dropping something off for Mark,” Jaemin parrots back, and it’s only a little mean. “He’s doing laundry at Chenle’s. Donghyuck went too.”
Oh. Renjun deflates. Tries not to pout because Jaemin will make even more fun of him. Laundry at Chenle’s was a euphemism for smooching at Chenle and Jisung’s fancy apartment on Chenle’s parents’ dime. They all do their laundry there, Renjun included, because their luxury building had excellent in-unit washing machines, state-of-the-art dryers, and those expensive organic soaps that make even the cheapest t-shirt material feel like silk. But the laundry is not really the main event. They usually tossed their hampers in the room within the first five minutes and proceeded to spend the day ordering unlimited food (Chenle’s black card) and playing PUBG (Chenle’s huge in-home theatre.) It’s an all-day affair. Renjun sighs. So much for a nice surprise. He should’ve just called first.
“Why didn’t you go?” Renjun asks, a little annoyed.
“Didn’t want to.” Jaemin shrugs. For him, that’s as good as a reason for anything.
Renjun huffs. He puts the food in the fridge. Takes his time arranging it nicely amongst the craziness Donghyuck and Mark keep in there. He places the wine on the counter where Mark can’t miss it. Then, fuck it, he writes a label on a little sticky note, just to be sure that Donghyuck doesn’t find it first.
For Mark
♡, RJ
Then he crumples up the note because that’s fucking embarrassing. Tosses it in the trash. Returns the pad of sticky notes to the drawer he found it in.
“Still here?” Jaemin calls, which is absurdly hypocritical.
“I’m leaving,” Renjun calls back.
“No you’re not,” Jaemin responds, and he’s probably just saying it in reaction to the way Renjun very obviously still hasn’t moved to go. But it also sounds a bit like a threat. In a weird way. In a way that makes Renjun want to actually leave. And stay. At the same time. “You should come hang out with me, babygirl. Since you’re already here.”
There it is. Renjun has to give it to Jaemin for lasting over ten minutes—a record, with the way he’s been saying it of late. Renjun groans.
“You’re so annoying,” but his feet are leading him to the couch anyway. Jaemin doesn’t move to make room for him, so he just perches on the edge as best as he can, still half on top of Jaemin’s legs.
Jaemin reaches out to cup his leg over the middle, just below where Renjun’s shorts end, fingers resting on the tender skin at the back of his knee. His hand wraps around the whole of it easily. Too easily.
“What’d you want with Mark, anyway?” Jaemin asks. It’s casual, so casual that Renjun would think he’s faking it, but Jaemin’s not really like that—he cares about the things he cares about, and doesn’t fake his indifference to everything else. “Gonna have a little date?”
“No,” Renjun lies. Most of his brain has leaked out and into that little spot where Jaemin’s hand still rests. Is it possible for your knee to get clammy? “Mind your business.”
“I am,” Jaemin responds, and it’s so deliciously serious, the implication of that. That his business is Renjun.
Renjun swallows. He’s reading into things too much. “I should probably go for real now.”
“No,” Jaemin says. Plainly. Lowly. “Stay here.”
Renjun swallows again. Jaemin’s hand is moving— finally—up Renjun’s thigh, slipping just beneath the hem of his shorts. Still innocent enough to be read as friendliness. Or something more. If Jaemin bothers to look.
He’s looking. He meets Renjun’s eyes. And for the first time, he’s asking for something like permission.
Renjun nods. He’s not sure what he’s agreeing to yet but his mind is yelling yes yes yes anyway and he’s never been one to ignore his own intuition.
Jaemin lets his hand crawl up further. Further. He stops just before Renjun’s crotch, hand hovering just above the inseam of Renjun’s underwear. It’s a cute seamless pair, nothing special, but not his normal faded boxers either. He’s glad he wore them today, even if this isn’t really the expected outcome. He clears his throat.
Jaemin looks up at him, expectant.
“Uh,” Renjun says. “I—”
“Yeah?”
He’s not sure how to say it. It’d been so easy with Mark. He knows Mark would never tease him. And Mark hadn’t exactly had his hand up his shorts when Renjun was telling him, either. It’d taken Renjun months to build up the courage for that encounter. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to just… find the words for it now. So he decides not to. Just swallows again, nods. Jaemin can find out for himself if he wants this so badly.
With permission given, Jaemin grins like the cat that got the canary, lets his hand go all the way, sliding over Renjun’s underwear, which is definitely a little wet, and then cupping.
Renjun gasps.
Jaemin doesn’t. He just cups harder, the wetness squelching against his palm, thumb petting the crook of Renjun’s hip, and it’s so good, Renjun wants to start grinding against it, or do something really crazy like start sobbing, and—
Wait. Even for Jaemin, the lack of reaction is unnerving.
“You knew already,” Renjun breathes.
Jaemin just smiles again.
“Mark told you,” Renjun pieces together. He feels kind of…betrayed. And confused—Mark’s not the type to blab, especially not about something like this. “For fuck’s sake.”
“No, but Donghyuck was listening at the door when you told Mark and he told Jeno who told me,” Jaemin explains. That makes more sense. Renjun’s still annoyed, but also kind of touched, in an odd way. It’s almost a relief—that so many of their group had known and continued to treat him completely normally after. After Renjun stabs Donghyuck to death, he’s gonna resuscitate him and give him a kiss.
When Renjun doesn't say anything, Jaemin adds, “It’s nothing to be ashamed about.”
“I’m not ashamed,” Renjun snaps. “It’s just my business.”
Jaemin coos at him like he’s being cute and not aggressive. “Don’t worry, I’ll get Donghyuck for you. I’ll bite him.”
“Thanks,” Renjun says drily. He kind of means it. He knows Jaemin actually would.
“Don’t be mad at Jeno, though. He only told me because he’s legally obligated to tell me everything. I can still bite him for you though. He likes that sometimes. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Watching us?”
Renjun’s only blushing because that’s a crazy thing to say and it would make anyone blush. He’s not interested. In watching, nor in examining the conjoined-twins-separated-at-birth thing Jaemin and Jeno have going on. “Shut up and just… do something.”
Because Jaemin still hasn’t moved his hand. They’re having a normal(ish) bantery conversation while Jaemin cups his pussy the whole time like he owns it. The gravity of the situation crashes into Renjun, and now he’s really restless, his hips canting into Jaemin’s hand without him telling them to. Jaemin knows, has known, maybe since all those weeks ago when he first told Mark. And not once had he let up in all that time: Babygirl, babygirl, babygirl.
He doesn’t know, Mark had said so confidently. But Jaemin had. And he kept doing it, and, oh, Renjun’s gonna start levitating.
“Do something,” he repeats, when Jaemin still doesn’t move. He whispers: “Please.”
“Don’t be shy,” Jaemin murmurs, as if acknowledging shyness isn’t the easiest way to make a shy person shyer.
“Is it okay?” The words come out raw, more vulnerable than Renjun expected.
“Of course,” Jaemin says easily. “I love pussy.”
Renjun slaps his arm, but also sighs in relief as the tension leaves the room a little. He knows Jaemin never says things he doesn’t mean.
“And you still…want me?” Renjun asks because fuck it he’s already embarrassed himself enough. It isn’t a question if Jaemin had wanted him to begin with; Jaemin isn’t the type to fake that sort of attraction.
“Yes,” Jaemin says. And this time it’s a little impatient; he punctuates the statement by finally grinding his palm against Renjun’s core. He leans forward to whisper into Renjun’s neck, “Want you even more.”
Renjun shudders, and then all Jaemin has to do is tilt his face upwards, and then they’re kissing. It’s nothing like he’d imagined, and he’d imagined this a lot, even if he’d been…distracted, lately.
But the desire comes back in spades, and he gives into it, lets himself have this. Jaemin removes his hand, which makes Renjun start to complain, but Jaemin covers it up with a kiss and pulls Renjun into his lap instead, adjusting them so he’s sitting back against the couch with Renjun on top of him. He’s hot and hard against the thin fabric of Renjun’s shorts, so clearly wanting this, and Renjun can’t remember what he’d been so afraid of before.
Jaemin holds him tight as they kiss, not letting Renjun press down, just licking into his mouth like they have all the time in the world, like they’re not on someone else's couch in someone else's apartment.
Renjun’s in a daze. It feels like he’s slipped into some alternate universe where he wants Jaemin and nothing else, not even food or air or water. Or maybe that feeling’s always there, just lying beneath the surface as he goes about his every day routines and schedules. He feels the pleasure everywhere, in places he didn’t expect, his toes, his wrists, the small of his back and base of his neck. He didn’t know kissing could be like this.
When they pull away from each other, a thin string of spit connects their bottom lips. Jaemin leans forward and licks it up. Then he begins to stand, and Renjun’s still on top of him so he has no choice but to wrap his legs around Jaemin’s hips and let himself be carried or fall to the ground. He’s not into being carried—it reminds him of being teased for his size as a teenager—but this is kind of nice. Also, he doesn’t really trust his legs right now.
“What are you doing?” Renjun asks.
“Couch is too small.”
Which yeah, it is, but where else are they supposed to go? Renjun knows for a fact that Donghyuck snacks in bed, because he had cuddled up with him and watched a movie last week doing the same exact thing. And Mark—
“Oh,” Renjun says out loud. Jaemin’s already bringing them into Mark’s bedroom. It’s relatively clean—probably because all the laundry traveled with him, except he hadn’t bothered to strip his bed, too. “We really shouldn’t.”
“He won’t mind,” Jaemin says confidently. Which is—which is, Renjun doesn’t know. He can’t think. “I’ll bring the sheets to Chenle’s after.”
He drops Renjun down onto the bed. Crawls up to capture his lips in a kiss again.
“Up.” Jaemin tugs Renjun until his torso is lifted off the sheets and pulls his shirt off, then takes off his shorts, too, with one easy motion. Renjun has no words for how hot this is—being only in his underwear while Jaemin is still completely clothed. Jaemin seems to think so too. He leans forward to kiss, bite, suck, down Renjun’s neck, across his collarbones, over his chest, which he cups his hands around, sucking at one of Renjun’s nipples like a man starved.
“Don’t do it like that,” Renjun whines. Even as he arches up into the touch. Even as he has to squeeze his legs together from the pressure.
“Like what?” Jaemin asks, and in any other situation, the wicked glint in his eye would alert Renjun to not interact.
But it’s not any other situation, and Renjun falls into the trap. “Like I’m a girl,” he croaks.
“Oh yeah?” Jaemin says. “But aren’t you? Aren’t you my babygirl?”
“Jaemin.” Renjun warns, but Jaemin doesn't let up, just switches to the other nipple, continuing his torturous descent down Renjun’s body. It feels like forever passes before he reaches the seam of Renjun’s underwear. He peels it off, slowly. Watches the wetness create a thin string that stretches from Renjun’s body to the damp cloth. Like before, he leans forward and—
Licks it up.
Renjun gasps. Jaemin hasn’t even touched him, just narrowly missing his skin, but still. Jaemin leans back on his heels to peel off his own shirt.
“Will you call me ‘oppa’?” Jaemin asks casually. His sweatpants follow, and then it’s just his boxers, tight and black, doing very little to hide the firm print of his dick against his hip.
“What? No—”
“It’s not a gender thing,” Jaemin clarifies. “It’s a power thing. I like feeling older.”
Because that’s so much better. Renjun’s unimpressed. “Why can’t I just call you hyung, then?”
“Oppa’s prettier,” Jaemin says. “Obviously.”
“The answer's still no."
Jaemin shrugs. Turns his attention back to in between Renjun’s legs. “Cute,” he murmurs.
“Don’t look at it like that,” Renjun whines. He’s fighting the urge to close his legs with everything he’s got. He’s glad he shaved, even if it hadn’t been for Jaemin’s benefit. “It’s just a vagina.”
It is, perfectly normal, perfectly average. Renjun can vouch for this. He spent his Dark Years Of Puberty doing side-by-side comparisons on medical and pornographic websites alike.
Jaemin answers with another uncomfortably earnest response. “Yeah, but it’s on you.”
“Touch me,” Renjun groans before he can lose his nerve. He’s annoyed that he has to keep asking. Sex is one thing. Jaemin looking at him, like that, is another matter entirely.
“Okay.” Jaemin bends down, wraps his arms around Renjun’s thighs before Renjun can really register what’s going on, and starts kissing him. There.
Oh, oh, oh. Renjun’s on fire. Jaemin’s tongue, mouth, his lips. The fact that nobody’s ever been there before, oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. Jaemin’s hands come up to slip a finger inside him like it’s nothing, and it is, because Renjun’s so fucking wet and there’s no resistance at all.
It’s better than his own fingers. Better than the handful of vibrators stashed in his closet. He didn’t know it could be like this. Jaemin adds another finger, but he doesn’t need to. Renjun’s already there, moaning like crazy, canting his hips up into Jaemin’s face hard and not feeling bad about it.
And it’s loud. No one ever talks about this, Renjun thinks. How loud sex is. In his vague, shapeless fantasies (which do not involve Jaemin, thank you very much) it’s always a quiet affair: some light r&b playing in the background, the gentle rustling of sheets, maybe some pretty moans at the end.
This is not that: In the stark silence of the room, nothing going but the low hum of the air conditioning, everything is audible, so audible it makes Renjun want to squirm away from it all. He hears every (loud) rustle of the sheets as they move, Jaemin’s slurping noises, the wetness as his hand works itself in, out, in, out, of Renjun. He’s muffling his own whimpers as best he can and even then it’s still embarrassingly loud to his ears—and then he’s, he’s—
“Coming,” Renjun sobs. Not that it makes a difference. His orgasm crashes over him like a shipwreck, and Jaemin doesn’t let up, just licks and slurps and fingers until Renjun’s almost there again, heat flashing in his lower stomach like he’ll come any second. Finally, Jaemin pulls back.
“You did a good job.” His lips are glossy and slick. Well, they usually are. But this time it’s not with chapstick but Renjun’s— he can’t even think it. “It’s so cute,” Jaemin continues.
That word again. It’s so humiliating, in a way that Renjun hates (likes. loves.) so much.
“What do you call it?" Jaemin asks, which strikes Renjun as oddly thoughtful in a Jaemin way. "Your pussy? Cunt?”
Naturally, to combat the sickly sweetness, Renjun answers back snappishly. “I don’t know, whatever. Do you have specific labels for your dick?”
“Yes,” Jaemin answers immediately, in that way that implies he is going to follow it up with a long speech. “Of course I—”
Renjun cuts him off. “Are you going to keep going, or what?”
Jaemin looks at him in surprise, which is funny, because he’s so obviously still rock-hard in his boxers. And Renjun’s still so worked up, he feels like he never orgasmed at all. Let alone almost came twice. “You want more?”
Renjun bites his lip. “Yeah. Please.”
Jaemin nods, looking kind of impressed. (Or maybe proud is a better adjective, but that word makes Renjun want to jump out of his skin and die.)
“But it’s… my first time,” Renjun says. Duh. The first person he talked to about what’s in his pants outside of his parents and that one super sweet horse girl in middle school was Mark. “So be gentle.”
“Sure,” Jaemin agrees, but like he’s not planning on it.
Renjun figured. He sighs, and lets Jaemin rearrange him across the sheets. Finally, finally, Jaemin sheds his underwear. He’s all long and hard and thick, a dribble of wetness smeared across the tip. Oh, god, that’s going inside Renjun.
Jaemin grins like he knows what Renjun’s thinking. “Don’t worry babygirl. I said I’d be gentle, didn’t I?”
Not in so many words. And Renjun still doesn’t believe him. He says as much.
Jaemin just laughs, which is not comforting. He repositions them just slightly so he’s kneeling between Renjun’s legs, Renjun’s thighs around his hips with Renjun’s head resting against the pillows. The pillows. Mark’s pillows.
He presses one side of Renjun’s face into them like he knows what Renjun’s thinking, creating better access to suck a hickey into Renjun’s throat. Mark’s smell, his familiar deodorant, his shampoo—it’s all around him. It’s so wrong, so right, Renjun thinks he can come again just like that, just from the scent of the pillows, Jaemin’s teeth at his jugular, his dick resting heavy against Renjun’s stomach.
“Condom?” Jaemin asks.
“I don’t have a womb,” Renjun answers quickly, which is not a good enough excuse to not use protection, but also it’s just Jaemin, the only person he fucks is Jeno and the only person Jeno fucks is nobody and also now that he’s felt Jaemin’s dick against his bare skin, hot and textured, he can’t imagine it not going into him exactly as is and also neither of them live here, they shouldn’t go digging through Mark and Donghyuck’s stuff, and also—Also, Renjun’s making a lot of excuses for what he really wants to say, which is, “I don’t care. Just do it.”
Jaemin shrugs. He pulls back to focus on the task at hand, taking his length into one hand and sliding it against Renjun’s lips, once, twice. He squeezes Renjun’s hip with his other hand.
“Ready, babygirl?”
Renjun trembles. “Mm.”
“Say it,” Jaemin commands. “Say you want it.”
“Oh, god.” Renjun puts an arm across his face, oh so incredibly mortified. But. “I want it.”
Jaemin gives it to him. He’s true to his word. It’s…gentle.
He fills Renjun up, inch by inch, and Renjun’s so shocked by the fact that it doesn’t hurt at all, isn’t it supposed to the first time? He kind of wanted it to. It’s hot and tight and the pressure feels so intense, like it’s not gonna fit but then it does.
“Good?” Jaemin questions when he bottoms out. His voice is strained.
Renjun nods. Jaemin slides out, just halfway. Slides back in. With a little force this time. He grunts.
“Good?” Renjun echoes, breathlessly. He’s teasing. It so obviously is.
“Yes,” Jaemin says plainly. “I thought of you like this, so much. For years.”
Renjun blushes all over. “You only found out like, a few weeks ago.”
“I thought of you taking it in the ass. I bet you’d still want it like that anyway, huh?” Jaemin asks. He starts thrusting more deliberately now, building up to a steady pace. Every push knocks the breath from Renjun’s lungs. “You’d let me put it in back there, wouldn’t you baby?”
“Ah—no,” Renjun says, but he would; he’s lightheaded just thinking about it.
“Cause you’re a slut for it,” Jaemin continues. It’s so laid-back, like they’re talking about what to have for lunch. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna give it to you everywhere.” He puts two fingers in Renjun’s mouth to punctuate this, fucking in wet and sloppy. Here next time, is the unspoken promise.
Renjun’s gonna hold him to that. If he remembers. His mind is staticky blank right now. Jaemin’s driving in harshly now, no holding back, and Renjun’s legs are locked around his back like a vice. He removes his fingers from Renjun’s mouth and leans forward for a kiss, but Renjun can barely kiss back, just opens wide and lets Jaemin suck on his tongue, lick at the roof of his mouth, bite across his lips. Every thrust sends Jaemin’s balls slapping against his ass with an absolutely debauched noise, and the sounds slipping from Renjun’s own mouth seem fake to his ears, porn-star levels of drama, but he can’t stop them.
“Jaemin,” he whines. “I need—again—”
Jaemin finally pulls out of the one-sided kiss and reaches down to rub at Renjun’s clit, sliding it between two of his fingers.
“Hngh,” Renjun pants. “Oh, please, Jaemin—” he buries his face into the pillow again and thinks, too— Mark.
“Yeah? You like it that much?” Jaemin snaps his hips forward. He meets Renjun’s eyes, something like awe in them. “Renjun-ah, come on, give it to me.”
Renjun-ah, not babygirl. This is the real moment they’ve been building up to all these years. Not the sex or some sappy confession but this. The dropping of all pretenses. Just Jaemin and Renjun, Renjun and Jaemin, as they are. Into each other.
The way Jaemin’s looking at him—it’s too much, it’s not enough, it’s more intense than the sex itself. It makes Renjun want ridiculous things. Things they can’t even have. A ring, a house, kids, taxes.
Renjun realizes that he’s been lying there like a rag doll this whole time, but it’s too late, he can’t move, can’t do anything but clench around Jaemin uselessly as the tension building in his core swells and pops like a balloon and he comes again. This time it’s followed by what can’t be a normal amount of wetness, it almost feels like he’s peeing, and oh, oh, Jaemin’s still fucking him through it, almost like Renjun’s not even there, pushing into Renjun’s cunt like it’s a sleeve toy.
“Oppa,” Jaemin grunts, frantic. “Come on, call me oppa.”
“Uh uh,” Renjun moans. It’s too much. For fuck’s sake, he has to maintain some goddamn boundaries. Especially with Jaemin. If you give Jaemin an inch he’ll take a mile.
But it’s just so overwhelming, everything, and he’s fucked out, barely even lucid, and Jaemin’s been so so good to him all evening.
So he says it, just once, voice coming out broken and reedy. “Oppa. Come in me.”
Jaemin comes seconds later, grip tight at Renjun's waist, filling him up, not that Renjun can tell the difference, because it’s already so fucking wet.
It’s like a reward.
And then when Jaemin catches his breath, flips him around so his ass is in the air, and eats his own come out of Renjun like a dessert, it’s like an apology.
✩｡:*•.❁.•*:｡✩
Renjun’s eyes are glazed over as he watches Jaemin waddle over to the hallway bathroom, cute little butt still naked and on display. The sun has set and Renjun’s head feels spacey and everything looks like it’s covered in a sepia film filter.
He didn’t know it would feel like this—like leaving your body yet being so intensely in it at the same time. Feeling every little touch so overwhelmingly that it bordered on pain. Feeling almost nothing at all, removed and at a distance, the pleasure like a concept.
Not that he says any of that to Jaemin. It’s in service of protecting his ego from growing bigger (though that ship might’ve sailed somewhere between you don’t live here and come in me, it can’t hurt to try.)
“Jaemin-ah, hurry up. I’m cold.” His voice comes out sluggish, not nearly as refined as he’d wanted. His thoughts are a wild blend of Korean, Mandarin, even some of the random English words they all pick up from Mark.
“I’m hurrying,” Jaemin calls. “What are you thinking about so hard over there?”
“Mark-hyung,” Renjun answers, before his brain can catch up. Because he kind of was, he kind of always is, and in a weird subliminal way it kind of felt like Mark was connected to this all, responsible for it even. Mark’s bed, his stupid song lyrics, his immediate acceptance and the confidence it helped bloom in Renjun.
Plus, it’s worth it for the delightful myriad of looks that flash across Jaemin’s face as he walks back into the room. They’d be hard to read, to the untrained eye, but Renjun’s had a lot of practice learning to read Jaemin. Annoyance. Resignation. Intrigue.
Fuck, Renjun kind of wants to go again.
“Don’t cunts have good refractory periods?” Jaemin wonders, like he can read Renjun’s face, too. He crawls back into the bed, washcloth (oh, god, that’s not Donghyuck’s face towel…?) warm and wet as he drags it between Renjun’s thighs. Somehow, this is the most intimate thing they’ve done all night.
“Possibly,” Renjun answers trying to be coy. It just comes out sounding desperate.
Jaemin grins. “We should test—”
But they’re cut off by the sound of Renjun’s stomach growling.
So they get up and get dressed, stealing clothes from Mark’s closet because frankly, Mark’s got better things to scold them for. They go to the kitchen and eat the takeout Renjun brought, drink the wine, pass out on the couch.
(Donghyuck and Mark come home a few hours later. For their part, they’re only a little bit surprised at the sight of their friends cuddling in the living room.
“Aw, that’s nice,” Mark whispers when he sets his laundry down in his room. “They stripped my sheets for me. I forgot to do it earlier.”
Donghyuck gives him an unimpressed look. “It’s because they fucked in your bed.”
“What? No? They. Renjun. Wouldn’t. What?”
“Kidding,” Donghyuck says, with his not-kidding voice. He heads into his own room cheerfully. “I’m going to bed.”
For Mark’s part, he only stays awake thinking about it for a little while that night. He’s feeling a completely normal range of emotions about it. Annoyance. Resignation. Intrigue.)