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It had started because Jeongin needed glasses. Hyunjin noticed his boyfriend going a little squinty every time he had to read a menu or the instructions on the ramen, and he eventually insisted that enough was enough and made him an appointment with the optometrist.
He just hadn’t expected Jeongin to look so fine in them. He looks smart—which, much as Hyunjin loves him, he demonstrably isn’t—and dignified, which is really quite a feat for someone that Hyunjin has witnessed accidentally stumble over his own feet almost daily.
So Hyunjin had done the abundantly logical thing and sucked Jeongin off in a train station bathroom on their way home from the optometrist. And, woozy-headed as he clutched Hyunjin’s hand for stability on the train, he’d asked, “So… was that for listening to you? And getting glasses even though they look dorky?”
“No,” Hyunjin says. “It’s because it makes you look like a hot little nerd and I’m into that, apparently.”
Jeongin had let his eyes shut and jerked his head in a nod. “Cool, right on.”
And they’d more or less spiraled from there. Hyunjin got a part-time gig running a summer art camp for children at the local library, and maybe that had inspired some light sexy librarian roleplay. And maybe neither of them are very well-read (Hyunjin is pretty sure neither of them have read a book since high school—Jeongin tells him he hadn’t even done his assigned reading back in high school), but that doesn’t matter. The point is the sexiness of the thing, and Jeongin is pretty fucking sexy in his dork-ass glasses, telling Hyunjin that his decade-overdue book has some pretty steep late fees.
And Hyunjin does take credit—Jeongin listening to him and going to get his eyes checked has reinvigorated their sex life, added a whole new layer to it.
Yeah, Hyunjin is pretty smart—and he’s always fucking right.
“I should come here more often, I fit in,” Jeongin notes, swinging his head around at the fairly empty public library. Hyunjin has just finished this week’s art session, and Jeongin had gotten off of work early, so it was a no-brainer to come and help Hyunjin clean up. He’s just shoving watercolor palettes into Hyunjin’s huge totes while he rinses all of the brushes off. He spins around to Hyunjin. “Hey, it’s… pretty empty. Quiet.”
Hyunjin shoots a devious look over at him, a smirk tugging his lips up. “You’re not.”
“So you have to shut me up,” Jeongin challenges, and pulls his glasses down his nose for added effect.
Hyunjin bursts into laughter and throws a damp but clean paintbrush at him. “Not in my workplace, you maniac,” he protests at last. “Boundaries. Maybe once this part-time gig is up, who knows.”
Jeongin slumps, arms over his chest, pouty. “We don’t have enough books at home to sell the fantasy. All of your books only have pictures.”
“They’re art books, dumbass,” Hyunjin says without any bite, though he does roll his eyes. “I own more books than you do.”
“I have some comics,” Jeongin sniffs, and then perks up out of nowhere, his eyes following someone outside of Hyunjin’s room, visible through the large glass walls. “Hey, do you know him?”
Hyunjin turns, and—no. No, he assuredly does not, or else he would have rushed him already and gotten his name and number. “Holy shit,” he mumbles, looking at this new guy. He looks even smarter than Jeongin, trussed up in his suit and with even bigger glasses. He has to be someone important.
Hyunjin and Jeongin share a brief look, and that’s all it takes for them to clamber for the door, where this newcomer is leaning over the reception desk, chatting with one of the librarians.
They’re none too graceful in coming out; both the man and the receptionist look up at them, eyebrows quirked. But, collectively, they recover quickly—Hyunjin leans seductively against the counter, Jeongin leaning into his side.
“Hi,” he says, eyes lidded. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”
The receptionist rolls her eyes and rolls away; she’s familiar enough with Hyunjin’s antics and, apparently, wants no part.
Jeongin butts in. “I’m Jeongin, this is Hyunjin.”
The man looks faintly bemused. “Kim Seungmin,” he introduces himself. “Can I help you somehow?”
“Just—haven’t seen you around,” Hyunjin reiterates, and steps the slightest bit closer to Seungmin. “That’s it.”
“I’m an academic,” he explains, and doesn’t take a step back, doesn’t seem to mind Hyunjin in his personal space. “We visit libraries fairly often, didn’t you know?”
“What kind of academic?” Jeongin demands.
Seungmin’s eyes dip down to him, unreadable. “Literature,” he continues. “I assume you two also like reading, to be in a library.”
“I’m running a summer art camp,” Hyunjin explains, then jerks his head over to Jeongin. “Innie wears glasses, so. You can imagine.”
It looks like he’s trying to suppress a smile. “Ah,” he says, looking at Jeongin again. “Yes, you must be quite well-read, to… wear glasses. What’s your favorite book?”
Jeongin hasn’t read a book in several years, and he completely and absolutely blanks. What’s something sexy he can say? What’s a sexy book?
“Moby Dick,” he decides, because—it has the work dick in it. It’s gotta be something freaky. Does the whale fuck, or something…?
“Wow,” Seungmin says, the slightest tone of condescension in his voice. He considers Hyunjin next. “And you? Or do you just paint?”
Hyunjin feigns offense at this, hand to his chest. “Of course I read.” Jeongin has literally never ever seen Hyunjin read anything heavier than a restaurant menu, maybe occasional celebrity gossip. He drags his eyes behind the circulation desk and lands on the first book he sees. “To Kill a Mockingbird. Great book.”
“Oh, definitely,” Seungmin agrees, with an unconcerned smile. There’s something faintly maniacal in his eyes, like he’s enjoying this immensely. “Such an interesting moral quandary in that book. I’d love to hear your opinion.”
Hyunjin blinks, swallows—but he’s not one to give up easily. “Well,” he says, leaning forward, brushing his fingers along Seungmin’s hand, “killing animals is just so wrong. Those poor mockingbirds. I about cried.”
“Insightful,” Seungmin says, his tone verging on open mocking. “What do you two do outside of the library?”
His tone is suggestive—he’s picking up what they’re putting down, for sure. All they need is a touch of subtlety, a dash of suggestiveness—
“Fuck, mostly,” Jeongin says, dashing any hopes of an air of mystery, a farce of aloofness.
Seungmin shoots Jeongin a withering look—he’d been enjoying the game, and unfortunately, it seems that Jeongin has none. “How… direct,” he says flatly, and Hyunjin thinks he might have ruined their chances. But no, Seungmin closes his eyes as if to regroup and, when he opens them again, appears calm. “Do you two have any plans tonight? Room for a third…?”
Seungmin can be direct, too, then—and maybe he’s a bit more desperate for it than he’s been letting on. Hyunjin grins and looks to Jeongin, who seems to be barely holding it together, almost vibrating with a need to seize Seungmin and drag him home now.
Hyunjin intervenes before Jeongin can open his big, stupid mouth again. “It’ll be tight,” he admits. “But we can squeeze.”
Seungmin is prompt, showing up at eight o’clock on the fucking dot. Does being extra smart come with a heightened sense of punctuality, or…?
“So,” Seungmin says once Jeongin has enthusiastically tugged him for a bed—a queen, which is admittedly a bit tight for three, but they’ll make it work or concuss themselves trying. “What do you two usually do?”
Hyunjin twines an arm around Jeongin’s waist. “I like Innie’s nerd-ass glasses. We’ve been playing library a lot.”
The edge of Seungmin’s lip twitches up. Playing… library… “Playing library,” he reiterates, trying to smother his amusement. “So…” He crawls up to Jeongin, presses him against the headboard, “what do you think about The Catcher in the Rye?”
Hyunjin settles to the side, a smug little smile on his face, seeming content to watch for right now.
Jeongin’s brain seems to be whirring a million miles a minute, trying to work out if he knows a singular fucking thing about The Catcher in the fucking Rye. Seungmin doesn’t help, his lips coming to tease at the sensitive skin of his neck, his hands skimming up under the material of his T-shirt.
He can feel Jeongin’s skin tremble under his lip, the wobble of his Adam’s apple as he swallows heavily. “I mean,” he ekes out, “didn’t Kevin Costner summarize it best? If you build it, they will come…?”
Seungmin muses over whatever inane fucking connection Jeongin has managed to trace while he draws his hands up to circle his nipples.
And—Kevin Costner. Catcher in the rye. Field of Dreams. He’s thinking of—of the fucking movie Field of Dreams, and confusing it with the great American novel The Catcher in the Rye.
“Oh my god,” Seungmin almost moans, pulling back to straddle Jeongin’s lap, gripping his shoulders hard. “Are you even fucking literate? Have you successfully read a book before?” He mashes their lips together, needy and desperate, and immediately feels Hyunjin’s hand twist into the hair at the base of his skull.
“So,” Hyunjin asks, quirking an eyebrow, “is that your thing? Jeongin being a little stupid?”
Seungmin looks over, considers Hyunjin. He has his hair dyed blonde, and that can’t be a fucking coincidence. “What’s Don Quixote about?” he asks, breathless.
He blinks several times, then shrugs. “A donkey named Jote?”
They’re so stupid. So entirely unaware of the world around them. Seungmin actually envies them a little—it must be so relaxing, to live such a totally oblivious life. They don’t have to wrap their brains around the world of academia and intellectualism that Seungmin tries to tread water in, and he finds it so freeing for them.
And it makes his dick hard, which is a little less logical, but factual, nonetheless.
“I…” Seungmin says, but his own brain has short-circuited, like the room is a vacuum for brain cells. Maybe it is—or maybe he just needs so much he can’t quite articulate it.
“Hey,” Jeongin says, and grabs his chin. His mouth is open, dumb, and he really thinks it must be contagious, or something. “You think you’re so much smarter than us, but I bet we could fuck you dumb.” He slides two fingers into Seungmin’s slack mouth, which he accepts easily. When Jeongin’s fingers press down, his mouth pools with spit, and he tries to keep it all in his open mouth, sucking on Jeongin’s fingers.
“Oh,” Hyunjin says, cupping his jaw with both hands and positively cooing. “That’s what it is, huh? You have too much in your brain and need to turn it off?”
His eyes are watery, and Hyunjin is blurry through his tears. Still, he manages a little nod, because—he thinks so. He’s always found people who were a little foolish sort of endearing, but this reaction that Hyunjin and Jeongin are bringing out is entirely new, foreign, but they seem just as ready to explore it as he is.
Hyunjin eases Jeongin’s fingers out of his mouth and brings their lips together, slow and sensual and toe-curling. It’s easy to get lost in it—but Jeongin is still plastered along his back, working at the button of his pants, hoisting his sweatshirt up over his head.
Seungmin’s breath hitches as Jeongin wraps a fist loosely around his cock, and Hyunjin pulls back the slightest bit. Their foreheads are still pressed together, and Hyunjin gazes down at Seungmin’s lap.
“Oh, Innie, are you getting him ready for me?” Hyunjin asks, then leans over Seungmin’s shoulder to offer Jeongin a long, lingering kiss.
“Of course,” Jeongin murmurs, and Hyunjin pulls back to shimmy out of his own clothes. Meanwhile, Jeongin lets his free hand come around Seungmin’s throat. He doesn’t squeeze, but his fingers are undeniably there, wrapped around his throat, and Seungmin feels the loss of oxygen even without the pressure, from mere proximity. His head is fucking spinning, Jeongin’s long, pretty fingers skimming around his neck like a necklace. “I get to use your mouth, right?”
There’s a long, pitiful whimper that leaves Seungmin’s mouth, when he really means to say, Why, yes, of course, whatever you’d like.
“Hey, Seungmin,” Hyunjin says, now naked and crawling to straddle his lap. Or—no, as Seungmin comes to find out, for Hyunjin sinks onto his cock easily, happily, with absolutely zero resistance. Any rational thought is gone; it all exhales from his mouth in a weak little puff. And now Hyunjin, fully seated on his cock, pushes at Seungmin’s chest until he lays flat on his back. “You probably figured it out, but I haven’t read To Kill a Mockingbird. Care to tell me what it’s about?”
He starts grinding his hips, and fucking classic American literature is the furthest thing from Seungmin’s mind. He feels like his brain is seeping out of his ears; he’s laser-focused on Hyunjin, on his movements, and he writhes helplessly on the mattress, his limbs twitching.
“Oh, but we’re the dumb ones,” Jeongin says, and Seungmin forces his eyes to focus on the figure looming over him. “When the only thing you’re good for right now is cock.”
As if to prove his point, he tilts Seungmin’s head to the side to bring him to face his cock. Seungmin manages to look up at him, but it’s no use. The moment Jeongin’s thumb runs over his lips, they’re parting obediently, and Jeongin feeds his cock inside.
“Good boy,” he mumbles, stroking Seungmin’s hair, and he’s almost crying, he thinks. It’s a lot—Hyunjin’s still insistently bouncing on his cock, only getting louder and louder. He thinks they’re both close, but he’s been so zeroed in on Jeongin that he hasn’t really been checking in with himself.
“Jeongin,” Hyunjin whines, reaching out for him pitifully.
“You can come if you want,” Jeongin mumbles, stretching forward despite the odd angle to kiss him. “Feels good, right? He’s being good?”
“So good,” Hyunjin breathes, rotating his hips down. “So pretty. So empty-headed.”
He really is, now. For once, he thinks his brain has gone quiet and he’s let these two barely-literate idiots take over and have their way with him. Everyone has to have their virtues somewhere, right?
So he lets Hyunjin’s words wash over him, the gasps of pretty and dumb and desperate. He takes Jeongin’s cock as deep in his throat as he can manage, until he can feel it practically push his brain out through his ears. It’s cathartic, it’s relaxing—it’s addictive.
Jeongin’s hand twists harshly in Seungmin’s hair, growing more desperate and trying to get leverage. Oddly, it’s the burning in his scalp that has him tipping over, gurgling around Jeongin’s length as he empties into Hyunjin.
“Oh, you—” Hyunjin starts, then groans and brings his own hand down to his cock. Seungmin can’t even properly watch him; his face is buried between Jeongin’s legs, nearly to the base with his throat spasming irregularly around the thick cock.
But he feels the warmth of it splatter his stomach, and as Hyunjin winds down and slides off wearily, Jeongin only speeds up. His grip is probably enough to rip some of Seungmin’s hair out, but he can’t really bring himself to care at the present. Jeongin is thrusting in his mouth, and he wants him to finish, wants to feel it shoot down his throat
Hyunjin wraps around Jeongin from behind, as if to watch the show from up close. And, he’s not smart, but he knows Jeongin well, it seems—he barely grazes a nipple and Jeongin is losing it.
Except—he doesn’t bury himself in Seungmin’s throat. He pulls back and, without warning, sprays directly across Seungmin’s cheeks, his eyelashes, his lips. There’s some that gets in his hair, up his nose, in his mouth. And ordinarily, he’d mind. But he’s still affected enough that, for a few glorious moments of afterglow, when they’re all squashed on the queen bed with their chests heaving, he doesn’t mind the dripping warmth, the growing tackiness, the bitter taste on his tongue.
And then it catches up to him all at once and he forces himself to look skyward before the tacky globs of cum can ruin the sheets. “A towel, idiot!” he requests in a hiss.
Hyunjin takes offense. “You, of all people, have no right to cal us id—”
“On it, pretty,” Jeongin says, pecking a kiss to the top of Seungmin’s head, a space strategically void of semen. “Keep him company, Jinnie.”
Seungmin can’t really look at Hyunjin, fearing cum might drip into his eye, but he can sense Hyunjin hovering, as if afraid to touch him—because of the sex or because of the cum?
Whatever. Seungmin isn’t going to be bested by this. “So,” he says. “Imagine: rural Alabama, early 1930s. The height of Jim Crow, the Great Depress—”
“Is this To Kill a Mockingbird?” Hyunjin asks. “Seungmin, I really don’t want you to explain To Kill a Mockingbird to me right now. Maybe ever.”
“The movie’s great,” Seungmin sniffs.
“I like movies,” Hyunjin reassures him, a smile in his voice. “We can watch it. Maybe. If you don’t pause to explain stuff.”
Jeongin’s back; Seungmin can tell from a shift in energy in the room, and then the fact that a damp towel is thrown on his face. “What, we have sex with a smart guy once and now we have to watch classic film? Yuck.”
“And do you want to have sex with him again?” Hyunjin asks, somewhat chastising.
Seungmin clears his face the best he can, and then sits up against the headboard. “I do typically only have sex with guys who have seen and/or read To Kill a Mockingbird.”
“Damn,” Jeongin mumbles. “Guess we have to.” He bundles up at the headboard, too, with Hyunjin on his other side—Seungmin is caged in yet again.
“But you do?” Seungmin asks quietly, checking. “Want to do that again?” Because he does. Because that had been some pretty life-changing sex, as far as he’s concerned.
Jeongin and Hyunjin share a look, as if they can communicate everything they need that way. Maybe they can, they seem close.
“Yeah, you’re in luck,” Jeongin says, readjusting his glasses on his nose. “Typically Hyunjin goes for smart guys, so you’d be out. But me—” and he tweaks Seungmin’s nose, smacks an obnoxious kiss on his forehead, “—I like ‘em dumb.”