Work Text:
Being a person with two functioning eyes, Jongdae had noticed the first time they met that Kim Minseok was, on a scale of 10, a definite 15. It wasn’t just his full bottom lip that begged for somebody to suck on it, or his lovely eyes, angled as a cat’s, though those were both excellent. It wasn’t even the breadth of his shoulders under the well-fitted shirts he wore, with only the top button ever undone, showing just the barest tantalizing hint of neck.
Jongdae had a reputation among his fans for being warm, if not entirely accessible, but he knew he had a reputation among songwriters, studio musicians, engineers, and choreographers for being one of the world’s most cheerful hardasses.
He didn’t mean to be a jerk, but if he was going to bust his ass to continually grow his own skills, he wanted to be surrounded by people who wanted the same thing.
Minseok was that, definitely. He had a terrific ear, and he worked the mixing board like he had a psychic connection with it. The first day they’d worked together, Minseok had suggested changing a flashy turn in Jongdae’s higher register to a simple, low run that made the song ache with melancholy.
“The Other Side of Your Door” wasn’t Chen’s first number one hit, but it stayed at number one for 10 weeks and became a norebang staple. And that was the point at which he suddenly had a sizable contingent of men at his fansigns.
So yeah. Jongdae was a hard worker, but he was also as superstitious as any other artist, and he knew a lucky break when he saw one. Minseok would’ve been his sound engineer forever after that even if he wasn’t so nice to look at.
And maybe Jongdae would’ve been satisfied to leave it at that, except for two days burned into his mind:
- The day he skidded 30 minutes late into the studio, straight out of filming an interview, not having stopped to change out of his suit or wash the studio makeup off his face. Minseok had blinked at him, trailed his eyes down Jongdae’s body, and his cheeks had turned pink. He licked his bottom lip. And Jongdae had thought “hey.” And never showed up to the studio again in anything other than a very well-fitted suit.
- The day some intern – the nephew of one of the executives – had sat in on a recording session “for the experience” (i.e., a photo with the Nation’s Singer that he posted on his Insta without asking) and wouldn’t stop interrupting or messing with the mixing board. Jongdae was ready to dump the kid in an alley after about 5 minutes, but Minseok had been the picture of patience up until the point that the kid said some nonsense about Jongdae’s voice and autotuning. He’d watched through the booth window as Minseok stood up like the embodiment of wrath and crowded the kid out of the room, literally growling in a way that resonated directly with Jongdae’s dick. So. Fucking. Hot.
Unfortunately, Minseok also turned out to be oblivious as hell. Like, he definitely noticed that Jongdae had taken to having his suit pants tailored more closely. He visibly shuddered when Jongdae groped his fingers, handing over takeout coffee. Jongdae literally practiced smiling in the mirror like he had during his trainee days, and sometimes Minseok would get this stupefied look on his face when Jongdae brought out the really good ones, but he never dropped the “-ssi” and never answered probing personal questions with anything other than vague answers. Jongdae got a cramp in his wrist a couple of times after recording sessions.
After 9 months or so of pure torture, Jongdae took advantage of the giddiness of a 3 a.m. session to finally convince Minseok to go out for drinks.
Of course, 14 hours later when they met up, Minseok had invited Chanyeol along, making Jongdae want to chew his own hand off. Minseok got tipsy enough to stare at him, head resting on his forearm, looking so cute and kissable that Jongdae was stupid with lust. But Minseok also lurched to his feet, mumbled that he had an early morning, and just … went home.
“I’m dying,” Jongdae said. “I’m literally going to die of horniness.”
“Oh gosh! You like hyung?” Chanyeol had said. “Awesome. But you’re gonna have to be way more obvious about it. He has, like, a complex.”
“What kind of complex?”
“You know. We work with a lot of celebrities singing love songs all the time, right? If you’re not careful you start getting ideas about romance and flowers, when you’re both supposed to just be working.”
“I don’t want romance and flowers, I want him to suck my dick,” Jongdae said. “And, uh. Then maybe romance and flowers the next day.”
Chanyeol grinned.
“Good luck breaking through that shiny candy shell, Chennie.”
“I don’t even see him for another two months, how am I supposed to do that?”
“Well,” Chanyeol said. “You need to come up with a plan. Hit him so hard that even he can’t ignore you. Not even when he’s working.”
“What do you mean, like actually sing about how I want him to suck my dick?”
It sounded like such a great idea late at night and drunk. And they song they came up with seemed so hilarious while they were drunk.
Looking at it the next day, Jongdae could only cringe. While it was true that “cutie” and “booty” rhymed, he wasn’t sure he approved that they did. And the thought of the Nation’s Balladeer actually singing “suck you down” was – well. He definitely wouldn’t want his mom to hear the song.
Oh god, or his grandma.
So Jongdae put the song away. But a couple of weeks went by, and Chanyeol texted him a photo of Minseok hunched over the soundboard with that ultra serious expression he got, bottom lip stuck out, and the caption, “eyes on the prize.”
A week later, Chanyeol texted him a photo of Minseok in a pair of basketball shorts (that is, only basketball shorts), sweaty and grinning.
Jongdae felt the old familiar sense of his impending death from his dick exploding. He saved the picture to his phone. And then, a little while later, had to clean come off the screen.
He pulled the song out and started practicing it.
Chanyeol met up with him to help record the demo.
“Man, this song is so much worse than I remember,” he laughed.
“Right? If this doesn’t work, I might die of embarrassment instead of blue balls.”
“Oh, it’ll work,” Chanyeol said. “You have the look of a truly desperate man now. Wear blue, though, that’s Min’s favorite color.”
Jongdae found during the next couple of weeks that having one’s crush’s roommate play matchmaker was just about the most efficient way to manage one’s love life. He got a lot of photos of Minseok doing things like sleeping upright on the sofa cuddling a beer bottle, cleaning while not wearing a shirt, hanging up laundry while not wearing a shirt, and just generally not wearing a shirt. By the time his scheduled studio time arrived, Jongdae was more than ready to make a giant fool of himself to achieve his goal.
He wore blue. Very tight blue.
Minseok did him the favor of staring at him like he was possibly made out of cake and making the world’s cutest double entendre about “a pleasure having you in my booth.”
When Jongdae winked and Minseok visibly startled, Jongdae started to feel pretty hopeful.
When Minseok held the lyrics sheet away from his face with his eyes wide open and totally ignored his “are you all right, Minseok-ssi?”, Jongdae started to have a hard time holding back his grin.
He watched Minseok turn gradually darker shades of pink while he sang. Watched Minseok tear his headphones off his head.
Oh, this was excellent.
Jongdae didn’t even care when Minseok looked angry, because having spent the better part of a year managing the very loneliest of dicks, he could recognize frustration when he saw it. He watched Minseok’s brain melting by degrees, his own anticipation rising in response. By the time he was standing pressed against that gorgeous body and announced an impending kiss, Jongdae was so delighted by Minseok’s fluster that he felt almost tender.
He didn’t feel one bit tender the minute he finally kissed that gorgeous, full mouth. Or pressed against that body, fingers wound in that soft hair. It took a minute of gentle exploration, but the instant Minseok groaned in the back of his throat and opened his mouth, Jongdae was gone.
He was a celebrity. He knew down to the won how much people were willing to pay on the internet for compromising photos, and he didn’t hesitate for one second when Minseok suggested getting off in the sound booth.
He’d waited too long.
And he trusted Min.
And, as Min said, the place was soundproof.
He didn’t get his cock sucked that day, being too busy thrusting it in and out of Minseok’s exquisitely muscled ass, though he did drop to his knees when he was still shaking from his own orgasm to get his mouth around Min’s thick, beautiful dick.
He maybe felt a little bad that they broke a couple of knobs off the mixing board. Mostly only because the pressure of them left marks on Minseok’s skin, and the privilege of doing that was something Jongdae planned on keeping for himself for the foreseeable future.