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For as long as Jisung has known Chenle, for all the years from Shanghai to Seoul and all the miles from youth to adulthood, Chenle has always been Chenle.
Peeling back the layers of basketball and boy doesn’t reveal some hidden secret person too vulnerable to share to the world; it just reveals a Chenle that’s way more ticklish than he lets on. He laughs too loud. He’s testy when he doesn’t get his way. He hates losing but hates unearned wins even more. He says what he thinks and he thinks what he means, blunt and honest and the antithesis of Jisung’s core being, yet somehow everything Jisung needed growing up when navigating social situations felt more like a dice roll than a learned skill, when the edges of lines and unspoken rules cut into the pads of his fingers.
Chenle was—is, is—constant. He’s familiar. He’s a little predictable, even if he doesn’t admit to it. In a world where everything—including Jisung’s own mind—moves too fast, too random, too much, Chenle offers steadiness, an unchanging horizon line Jisung can always look out towards, no matter how bad the vertigo.
When Chenle kisses Jisung, it sends his entire world careening on its axis, yet he’s there—like he always is—to catch Jisung by his hoodie inches from impact.
“Why are you so nervous?” he asks, mouth so close to Jisung’s that he can feel each breath on his chin. Somewhere in the edges of Chenle’s amused tone of voice is genuine concern, and it sends shivers down Jisung’s spine. “You’re the one who agreed to this.”
“You brought it up first!” Jisung argues. “I didn’t think you were being serious.” He hoped, for sure, but it was the kind of hope where half of him wanted it to be true, the other half praying front and back it was just another one of Chenle’s offhanded jokes, because Jisung still hasn’t reckoned with the real possible consequences of having sex for the first time, with his best friend who he may or may not be in love with.
Now that the consequences are right up in his space, breathing the same air as him, looking at him with a raised eyebrow and bangs still wet from showering, Jisung feels seconds away from passing out from mortification.
Chenle flicks Jisung’s nose, startling him so badly he flinches. “You can back out. I won’t be mad. Or are you gonna stick to your promise, Park Jisung?”
God, Jisung wishes now more than ever that he had the ability to go back in time, if only so he could shove a shoe in his mouth and bar that whole conversation from ever happening. In every imaginary scenario Jisung’s conjured up since he realised Chenle was—is, is—it for him, the chains of events have always been infinitely more romantic, not on Chenle’s unmade bed as a result of a drunk semi-argument from two weeks ago. At the very least, Jisung wanted flowers, or maybe flower petals considering how much worse Chenle’s rhinitis has gotten in the past couple of years, or maybe flowers anyway because flowers are classic and Chenle looks really, really cute when he sneezes and—
Jisung’s mind blanks when Chenle presses their lips together again.
His lips are soft, tasting vaguely of fruit chapstick that would make Jisung gag in any other scenario but now just muddles his senses even more. It’s little more than warmth on warmth, barely any sensation beyond their synced breathing, yet it’s more than enough to draw out every last ounce of life from his body. If not for Chenle’s two hands holding him steady by his neck beneath his ears, Jisung is pretty sure he’d explode into dust and get swept away into empty space forever.
Chenle pulls back with furrowed eyebrows. “Well? What’s your answer? Give me something to work with.”
Not a single combination of words in the universe could articulate any amount of how Jisung feels, has been feeling for the past too many years, so he takes a leaf out of his best friend’s book and forces his body to move before he has the chance to overthink.
Jisung squeezes his eyes shut and pulls Chenle into his lap so he can kiss him again, this time with actual insistence and real feeling behind him, instead of sitting there like a dead fish. Without hesitation, Chenle picks up on the cue, hands continuing to cradle Jisung’s jaw as he closes in on Jisung’s space. Heat starts to seep into Jisung’s body, from the tingling in his fingers all the way to the blossoming pressure in his chest Chenle nibbles on Jisung’s bottom lip, like he knows what he’s doing, like he knows exactly how to take Jisung apart, and Jisung lets him, parts his mouth and lets Chenle take and take and take.
For a fleeting second, Jisung almost wishes this was his first kiss. He wrote kissing out of his books after the awkward exchange he had with Jeno on his nineteenth birthday; if he knew it was supposed to feel like this, he would’ve given it another chance.
It’s one thing, knowing his compatibility with Chenle runs as far back as the first time they met, matching coloured iPods as close to a sign from fate as possible. It’s another thing, knowing that a decade of learning each other in and out, growing into puzzle pieces that slot against each other without resistance, pays off even in territory they’ve never explored before. Chenle makes a noise in Jisung’s mouth when Jisung settles his hands on Chenle’s waist, and the thing Chenle does with his tongue against the upper ridge of his mouth feels way too good to be real.
By the time they finally pull apart to gasp for air, Jisung doesn’t have a single thought in his head that isn’t Chenle’s mouth Chenle’s eyes Chenle Chenle Chenle. The bright pink splashed across Chenle’s cheeks hint at a similar state of mind, and amidst the galaxy of delirium stirring around inside him, a small part of Jisung sings knowing he can affect Chenle just as much.
Then, Chenle opens his mouth and drives a sledgehammer into the moment. “I’m topping, by the way.”
“What? Why?”
Chenle’s face gets pinker, and he shuffles off Jisung’s lap so he can cross his arms. “I know what I’m doing!”
“You said you’ve never had sex either!” Jisung protests, a tinge of hurt tugging at his chest. “Were you lying?”
Chenle’s face gets even pinker. He doesn’t meet Jisung’s eyes when he says, “I watched videos, okay?”
“Like what, porn?” Jisung frowns. “Are you kidding? Porn is so unrealistic! It’s all mass produced fake content with zero feeling.” Watching gay porn almost made him question his sexuality in the opposite direction, what with how tacky it all felt. The idea that Chenle’s entire basis of gay sex comes from whatever staged garbage his search engine fed to him as the first result is the worst thing Jisung’s ever learned about him, worse than finding out he only showers when he has his Stephen Curry collaboration bodywash on hand.
“Do you know any better?”
“I’ll top, I’m—” Jisung scrambles for an argument— “taller.”
Chenle scoffs. “My dick is bigger.”
“You don’t know that!”
“I’ve seen your dick, I’m definitely bigger.”
“I’m—I’m a grower.” Chenle narrows his eyes and Jisung adds desperately, “Wouldn’t it hurt less if the person with the—if I topped, then?”
“So you admit that I’m bigger!”
“Why do you care so much anyway?”
“Why do you?”
There’s no way in hell Jisung can confess to Chenle about all the times he’s imagined them en route to the exact same location, Jisung at the wheel so he can be the one to hold Chenle’s hand and cup Chenle’s face and tell him he’s doing well, so Jisung says for the second time that night, “You brought it up first!”
Chenle scowls, sticking out a fist. “Rock paper scissors.”
“Are you actually going to go along with it?” Jisung asks warily, too familiar with Chenle’s favourite game of bait and switch.
“I’m a man of my word,” Chenle huffs.
The three seconds it takes for them to play are the most stressful three seconds of Jisung’s entire life, and he isn’t above the long and heavy sigh of relief he lets out when he brandishes rock to Chenle’s scissors.
“Do you have lube? Condoms?” Jisung asks as Chenle’s face flits through every single emotion known to man, settling somewhere between horror and offence.
“Bottom drawer,” he grunts, making a vague gesture towards his bedside cabinet. His pout is so, so cute, though a nagging part in Jisung’s brain worries if he’s pushed too far.
“If you really want to, you can top,” Jisung murmurs, “I don’t mind.”
“It’s fine!” Chenle snaps. Quieter, he mutters, “It’s fine. You won, fair and square.”
Jisung studies Chenle’s face, searching for any sign of resistance, and can’t come up with anything other than Chenle’s complete concession. It’s a vulnerable look on him, one Jisung isn’t used to whatsoever, and Jisung takes it as implicit permission—he has a feeling it’s the closest Chenle will ever get.
Getting off the bed to examine the cabinet has Jisung eye-to-eye with Chenle’s speaker, remiding Jisung of the playlist he made on the way to Chenle’s apartment. While Jisung genuinely didn’t think Chenle was being serious, he couldn’t ease any of his anxiety without first covering all of his bases. Opening his phone and hunting through Melon for his playlist helps dissipate the nervous energy buzzing at his fingertips, and once the smooth instrumental of his current favourite indie rock song starts to hum through the room, Jisung lets his shoulders loosen.
“Is your phone ringing?” Chenle calls out, voice muffled as he tugs his t-shirt over his head. “Is someone calling you?”
“No, it’s—” Jisung’s face burns. “I’m setting the mood.”
The look of complete and utter disbelief Chenle shoots him is nearly enough for Jisung to crush his phone in his hand and abandon the idea altogether, Twitter advice thread be damned. “With—with British people music?”
“Do you have better suggestions?” Chenle’s expression goes contemplative and Jisung is quick to say, “I’m not putting on Hans Zimmer. Or Radwimps. Or the 127 hyungs!”
“Why do we need music in the first place? It’s just sex.” Under his breath, Chenle mutters, “There’s no music in porn.”
It’s not “just” sex, Jisung wants to scream, but that would mean explaining it’s not just sex because Chenle isn’t just Chenle to Jisung, which would kill the mood way faster than the Inception soundtrack or Kick It. “I want it, okay?” he says eventually, “You chose your bedroom, I choose my music.”
Chenle rolls his eyes but doesn’t push, and soon enough, Jisung is back on the bed with a strip of condoms and the unnecessarily large bottle of lube that was shoved underneath a bunch of mismatched socks.
In the process, Chenle has taken his shirt and his pants off, leaving the expanse of his body exposed under the dim lamplight. He’s gorgeous, with his miles of pale skin and smooth muscle, Jisung knows this fact more intimately than anything in the world, yet it feels like a whole new realisation tonight. Instead of flashes of skin between quick changes or the occasional glimpses during practice, having Chenle laid out before him is an entirely different level—and hysterically, Jisung realises he’s the only person to ever reach it.
Jisung gets so lost tracing the moles littered across Chenle’s body with his eyes that he doesn’t realise Chenle is sneaking his hands under Jisung’s hoodie. The warmth against his navel makes Jisung jolt.
“Stop staring at me and take this off,” Chenle mumbles, tugging on the fabric. Jisung lets Chenle pull the hoodie over his head, and the sudden chill on his torso has Jisung wrapping his hands around himself. A wave of insecurity washes over him, more aware than ever that he doesn’t have anything close to Jeno or Jaemin or even Mark’s body, the bodies Chenle loves to rave about night and day. Maybe Jisung should’ve skipped dessert yesterday and the day before and the day before that and—
Unimpressed, Chenle bats Jisung’s hands away. “Don’t be shy, I’ve seen you millions of times already.”
Jisung looks away as he drops his arms, shivering at the way Chenle immediately starts trailing his hands up, fingers splayed on Jisung’s chest. His hands are rough and dry, scratching at Jisung’s skin and scattering sparks across the surface. The next time they kiss, Chenle falls back on the bed and guides Jisung to follow, languid and relaxed as they push against each other. When Chenle slots their crotches together and grinds up, Jisung almost collapses on top of him with a shudder. They’re both fully hard in their boxers, Jisung can feel it, and the pressure stokes the fire building in his belly.
It doesn’t take long for Jisung’s boxers to get sticky and weird, the downright unpleasant drag making him cringe. The urge to rip the fabric off of him far outweighs the awkwardness of having his dick out, and after Chenle nods silently, Jisung undresses Chenle the rest of the way too.
The first thought that hits Jisung upon seeing Chenle fully naked is that Chenle is, well.
He is a little bigger.
Then, the panic kicks in all at once. Jisung chokes on an inhale. Now that they’re both naked and hard in the dark, past midnight in a room that’s starting to smell like more than sweat, the reality of the situation crashes into Jisung, nearly sending him tumbling over the edge of the bed. It’s too much, too sudden, too real all at once, too much to think about with his stupid idiot in-love-with-Chenle brain, especially when Chenle looks up at him with wide eyes and a flush staining his face, down his neck all the way to his sternum.
“You know,” Jisung starts before his common sense can stop him, “Anal sex isn’t the only kind of sex. Gay sex is a really broad spectrum, and virginity is a social construct. You don’t have to have penetrative anal sex to feel valid as a queer man in the twenty-first—”
“Park Jisung,” Chenle growls, “If you don’t put your fingers in me right now, I’m kicking you out of my apartment and deleting your contact forever.”
Jisung nods, unable to do anything but comply. The lube has a plastic safety seal wrapped around the cap, and he has to gnaw on it with his teeth to rip it off, all while Chenle laughs at him. He has to shake the bottle at first too like it’s ketchup or something, and he wipes off half of the glob with a tissue when he ends up squirting way too much on his hand. It’s cold and the texture is nothing like ketchup, but Jisung swallows his inhibitions under Chenle’s piercing gaze and warms the lube up by massaging it between his fingers.
It takes a few more moments to reach body temp, Chenle clenching and unclenching his fists by his sides from impatience when Jisung finally circles a tentative finger around his rim. With his other hand on Chenle’s thigh, pushing him up gently to give him more space, Jisung eases his middle finger inside, careful not to jostle him.
“Holy shit,” Chenle groans after a few more tentative pumps, “Are you waiting for the next century to pass before you move any faster?”
“You’re so—” Mouthy, annoying, the exact same as he always is, though Jisung is ten times more sensitive to it in their current positions. While he’s doing everything in his control not to break down, Chenle doesn’t seem to have any problem being as frustrating as ever. Instead of finishing his sentence, Jisung grits his teeth and adds another finger, quickening his pace. He adjusts his arm so he can move his wrist more freely to prod around and—
Chenle lurches off the bed, letting out an inhuman wheeze. Jisung freezes in his tracks. “Did I hurt you? Fuck, God, Chenle, I’m so sorry—”
“Again,” he rasps, eyes wild, “Whatever the fuck you just did, do it again.”
In a daze, Jisung repeats what he just did, pulling his fingers back a little closer to him and crooking upwards. Chenle’s eyelids flutter to half as he sinks into the bed like all his strings have been cut. He’s surprisingly muted in bed, all soft moans and choked breaths, the first time Jisung’s ever seen him at a loss for words. As Jisung continues to finger him, continues to press against that same spot inside him, it’s as if each second that passes brings Chenle’s temperature up a degree until he’s properly melted into the sheets beneath him. Jisung can’t look away from his face, scrunched up with his lips parted just enough to punch out airy exhales.
“Jisung.” The way Chenle breathes his name is silk against his ears. “I’m—I’m close—”
Jisung pulls his fingers all the way out and Chenle makes a deflated noise. After a second of quiet, Chenle heaving to catch his breath and Jisung running his tongue around his mouth to stave off the dryness, Chenle fixes Jisung with a scowl. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Why’d you stop?! That fucking—felt good and shit!”
“I can keep going?” Jisung squeaks.
Chenle stares at Jisung from where he’s sprawled on the bed, then nudges him with his foot. “Just put on a condom and get it over with.”
All night, Chenle has been dismissive and blasé, but now with the culmination of it all hanging over them, the indifference doesn’t sit right in Jisung. He cups Chenle’s face and turns it over, forcing them to make eye contact. Chenle seems surprised by the action, but Jisung pushes on. “Do you want this?”
Chenle swallows. Slowly, he nods, like he isn’t quite sure himself.
“Say it aloud,” Jisung urges, voice so low it might as well be a whisper, “Please.”
“I—I want this.” Firmer, Chenle repeats, “I want this.”
Jisung has no idea how much time has passed, just knows that he has to suppress a groan the moment he finally touches himself again. His cock aches from the neglect, weeping precome at the tip and nearly too sensitive to touch. He rips open one of the condoms and tosses the rest somewhere aside, tearing the wrapper open with both hands. He isn’t above admitting that he did watch videos for this part, and it only takes a little bit of fumbling for Jisung to roll the condom all the way down. He squeezes out a bit of extra lube to rub over himself, then takes a deep breath and presses his tip against Chenle’s hole.
Both their breaths hitch at the same time, Chenle even going so far as to squeeze his eyes shut.
Sliding in is excruciating, not just because Chenle is so fucking tight, but because every single one of Jisung’s nerve endings crackle with each inch that slips past. He teeters on the line dividing overstimulation and white hot pleasure, his ragged breathing only serving to make his balance worse. It’s too hot and too smooth and too everything, infinitely more intense than any shower sessions with his right hand. Jisung almost blacks out at least three different times, from three different things: the squeeze, the heat, and the way Chenle stares at him, glassy-eyed and vulnerable and open.
Finally hitting all the way home has them both gasping at the same time.
They stay there for God knows how long, breathing into each other’s mouths, until Chenle breaks the silence first. “When is it supposed to feel good?”
The absurdity of the question has Jisung laughing into the crook of Chenle’s neck, though he braces himself to start moving again, slowly so he doesn’t come right on the spot. “You need to relax a little first.” He keeps one hand bracketing Chenle’s face and moves the other to his waist, rolling his hips again again, a miniscule back and forth that barely keeps him sane. “Is that any better?”
Chenle frowns and reaches up to pinch Jisung’s cheek a little. “You can put more into it. I’m not a geriatric grandma.”
Jisung grimaces at the rather horrific thought but does as told, adding more force little by little. He can tell his own movements are shaky from the barely controlled tension thrumming in his veins, restraint that takes all his willpower to maintain and is still barely enough to keep from disintegrating. The stimulation around his cock hardly even matters when being this deep in Chenle, this close to Chenle, is so much more of a drug.
On one particular thrust, Chenle seizes up, clenching around Jisung so hard he stutters to a stop. Before Jisung can ask what’s wrong, Chenle claws at his shoulders and cries, “There, right there.”
Readjusting doesn’t take too much effort when Jisung’s entire body is pumping with adrenaline, and he finds a steady rhythm that has both of them crying out again, seconds smudging into a mess of friction and pure feeling. The two of them move as one, the tremors that shake through Chenle’s body sizzling into Jisung’s fingers and toes like an electric current. Chenle thrashes and his hands fly up to cover his face as he turns to the side and buries his noises into his pillows.
“Why are you hiding your face?” Jisung pants, wrestling Chenle’s wrist down and pinning it beside his head. Out of breath and debauched, he looks so beautiful like this.
“Why does it matter?” Chenle grumbles, “I’m already bottoming, at least let me save a little face.”
“Are you—are you not enjoying this?”
“What do you think, asshole?” With remarkable flexibility, Chenle bends a knee and digs it right below Jisung’s ribs hard enough to hurt. “Of course I’m fucking enjoying this! What do you think I’m moaning for? For jokes? For the vibes?”
“Bottoming is nothing to be embarrassed about—”
“We’re not having this conversation while you’re balls deep in me.”
“Do you—?” Jisung falters. “Do you want to switch? You can ride me instead.”
The offer makes Chenle hesitate, and after a brief pause, he nods meekly, like he can’t say it aloud. It takes a fair bit of manoeuvring, but eventually, Jisung has his back against the headboard with Chenle in his lap. His bangs shroud his eyes, and reflexively, Jisung reaches out to push Chenle’s hair back, hand settling on the nape of his neck. From below, stained red all over and covered in a thin sheen of sweat as his chest struggles to keep his breathing stable, Chenle looks like an angel. His eyes reflect the desperation Jisung can feel in his own guts, and Jisung can’t help from angling his head up to press a kiss against his cherry bitten lips.
They’re still mouth to mouth when Chenle starts to move, eliciting a groan from Jisung that vibrates through his skull. Jisung’s hands fall to rest on Chenle’s milky thighs, feeling them shake from exertion as he pulls himself up to Jisung’s tip.
Then, he slams back down and Jisung lets out a strangled scream, digging his nails into Chenle’s skin. He has to rest his forehead against Chenle’s chest as the aftershocks wrack through his body.
“You like that, huh?” Chenle laughs.
Jisung makes a weak noise of agreement, too dizzy to articulate any words.
With Chenle in control now, Jisung lets himself get lost in the sensations, his hips rocking in tandem to meet Chenle in the middle. It’s like Chenle can read his mind, moving at a speed slow enough for Jisung to keep up, fast enough for the pleasure to multiply by tenfold. The roaring of blood in his ears and their shaky breathing is the only thing Jisung can discern, all other sounds distorted and impossible to pick apart from each other. Wrapping his hand around Chenle’s cock has Chenle jerking forward and practically collapsing against Jisung, and they keep going like that, a tangle of limbs racing for the finish line in each others’ arms.
Chenle makes a wounded sound right in Jisung’s ear as he spurts in Jisung’s hand. The way he tightens up has Jisung doing the same, muffling his whine against Chenle’s neck, spilling into the condom while still inside him.
The soft linen of the sheets, the smell of citrus air freshener amidst the heavy musk, and the soft guitar still crooning out of the speaker one by one, Jisung’s senses seep back into his body as his breathing and his heart rate begins to level out. Above him, Chenle seems to be coming back down to Earth too, the once iron grip on Jisung’s arms now loosening to ghost over Jisung’s abdomen. Neither of them speak.
At least, until Jisung shifts into a more comfortable sitting position and Chenle hisses, “Ow ow ow ow, ow, fuck fuck fucking fuck.”
“Sorry sorry, oh my God I’m so sorry.” As carefully as he can, Jisung wraps his arms around Chenle and picks him up so he can slide his softening cock out of Chenle’s hole. He sets Chenle down beside him slowly despite his biceps screaming in protest, then sags against the headboard again, energy completely drained.
Even knotting the condom off is an impossible task, and Chenle has to do it for him after the latex slips out of his grip three times. Chenle’s laughter curbs some of the humiliation.
After a quick towel rinse and a quicker toilet break, Chenle tosses Jisung a pair of basketball patterned boxers and wrestles him to bed. “Sleep,” he orders, “I can already hear you over thinking. We can talk about this tomorrow, when my ass is less sore.”
“Was it okay for you?” Jisung asks.
“It was fine.” Jisung opens his mouth again, and Chenle lets out a loud groan, smothering his face with a pillow. “It was really fucking good, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?” After a brief pause, Chenle says with almost too much sincerity in his voice, “I thought it was going to hurt more, but it didn’t. It was really good. You did really good.”
The compliment warms Jisung from head to toe, and he hides his smile in the pillow Chenle pushes into his face. “You did good too.”
He hears the lamp click off and with a bit more wriggling, they end up face to face as Chenle wraps his entire body around Jisung’s left side. Chenle grunts something unintelligible and guides Jisung to wrap one arm under his neck around his back, forcing them as close together as they can be. It’s more or less their default position whenever they sleep in the same bed, but now, barely clothed and still basking in the post sex haze, it makes Jisung’s heart hammer in his chest.
Like always, Chenle is still Chenle. Jisung can tell he’s mere seconds away from sleep, and his hair is a total disaster no matter how hard Jisung tried to coax it into obedience in the bathroom a few minutes ago. He’s curled up all small and catlike, tiny enough for Jisung to see the top of his head. He runs a few degrees too warm, just skirting the line of uncomfortable.
Chenle is still the Chenle Jisung is in love with.
Except now, Jisung knows how Chenle likes being kissed, knows where Chenle flushes the darkest, knows how Chenle sounds like when he comes apart in Jisung’s hands.
Upon reflection, it’s funny how fitting it is that everything that happened over the course of the night sparked from a drunken bickering argument about who had more experience, despite both of them having barely stepped beyond square one.
When Jisung pulls the blankets over their shoulders and rests his chin on top of Chenle’s head, all he breathes in is the unmistakable scent of Chenle’s milky body lotion, and something deeper, more intrinsically him. The knots straining to keep Jisung together loosen one by one and he closes his eyes, letting the familiarity ease him bit by bit.
Because now more than ever, Chenle is familiar, every last inch of him.