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Jisung has always been the type to startle easily, and yet Chan never seems to set him off, not even when he enters the studio unannounced while Jisung is engaged in his zone of hyperfocus. It's almost as if the anxiousness that usually takes a permanent hold of Jisung's body and mind can sense that it's Chan and that he's in no immediate danger, as if the presence of Chan alone is enough to automatically put Jisung at ease. “Oh,” Chan says. He sounds surprised. “Hey, Jisungie. Sorry. I didn't know you were already in here.”
“‘s okay,” Jisung mumbles absentmindedly, words obscured by the hand he’s using to prop up his head. He still doesn't take his attention off the computer he’s staring at. A quick glance at the clock in the corner of the screen tells him that he's been working on this particular part of the backing track for longer than he intended to. He grimaces. He could just move on to working on another part and come back to this later or he could call it ‘good enough’, but his brain thrives on a meticulous order of process whenever he makes a track, and he's a perfectionist at heart. Unfortunately he’s struggling to get it to work the way he wants it to at the moment. He expels a heavy sigh of frustration. “I'm trying to make that thing happen that you explained to me the other day. You know, that thing with the pitch. But I can't figure it out.” He presses the heels of both of his hands into his eyes until he sees stars. “Whose awful idea was it for me to write this song?”
Jisung tenses up at the feeling of the desk chair shifting as Chan leans his weight on the back of it. “Yours,” he says with a warm chuckle. And while Chan's presence usually does quell Jisung's anxiety, having him this close tends to have quite the opposite effect. It's not a recent development. When Jisung was younger, a newly minted trainee, he tried to excuse his body's embarrassing reaction to Chan with being a hormonal teenager who had crushes on pretty much any remotely attractive person he came into contact with, but he knows he can't realistically use that excuse anymore. Part of him always knew it was a piss-poor one, anyway. Chan's necklace brushes against Jisung's shoulder when he leans closer to look at the screen. “Want me to show you?”
“Sure,” Jisung hears himself replying before he can think about it. The better, safer answer would be claiming that he can definitely figure it out for himself, but it's too late to take it back. Chan leans in the rest of the way so he can grab the mouse. His arms extend on either side of Jisung, bare in the tanktop he's wearing, until he essentially has Jisung caged in with his body. Jisung's brain is a cloud of static. His mouth feels dry. His skin prickles. He knows he should be paying attention to what Chan is trying to teach him, but all he can focus on is how close Chan is, the warmth emanating off him, the pleasant rumble of his voice right next to Jisung's ear as he speaks to explain things, how fucking good he smells. Jisung has to be conscious of not breathing too hard lest the scent make him dizzy. He wiggles in his chair, uneasy. God, he needs to stop thinking about this. But… if he was to turn his head, he could bite Chan’s bicep. A little further and he could nuzzle his nose into Chan's armpit. He could spin this chair all the way around, and he could put his mouth on–
Jisung squeaks when the chair spins seemingly of its own volition, and for a moment he almost believes he willed it into existence, but then he realizes it's Chan's doing. Chan places a hand on each armrest. He's caging Jisung in again, except it's even worse now that Jisung is facing him. Chan seems to be towering over him, looking down at Jisung with an amused smile pulling at his lips. Jisung feels so small. “Are you even listening to me?” Chan asks teasingly.
“Yes,” Jisung responds on autopilot. Chan raises his eyebrows, and it's all he needs to do for Jisung to confess: “No.”
Chan huffs. “Rude,” he says, faux-offended. The smile pulls even wider, wide enough to show off his dimples. An intrusive thought of dipping his tongue into them flashes through Jisung's mind before he manages to silence it. “What's got you so distracted, huh?” Jisung bites the inside of his cheek to stay quiet. He doesn't know how to respond in a sane, appropriate way. He's thinking so hard about what not to say that he must have mentally projected his illicit reasons straight into Chan's head. Everything seems to be moving in slow motion as Jisung watches Chan's eyes drop to Jisung's lap. Jisung is wearing his favorite comfortable grey sweatpants because all of his other clothes had felt like a sensory nightmare today, which unfortunately also means that it's obvious. It's so obvious. Chan's lips part on a surprised gasp.
Jisung quickly puts both hands in front of his crotch to hide his shame. It's far too late, though. He knows it is. He feels like he might throw up, even more so when Chan stands abruptly upright and takes several steps backwards. Jisung swallows around the nausea. “Hyung,” he says. He doesn't really know what else to say, and he doesn't get to think about it before Chan turns around and beelines for the door. Panicked, Jisung springs out of his chair. “Hyung, I'm sorry! I'm so fucking sorry, I–” He goes quiet at the sound of the lock clicking into place.
Chan turns to face Jisung again, and it's like all the oxygen has been sucked out of the room in an instant. Jisung has never seen Chan looking at him this way before. He’s very familiar with all of Chan’s expressions and micro-expressions at this point but not this one. He doesn't know what to make of it. He'd be terrified if he wasn't feeling so humiliated already. “You're hard,” Chan concludes after a moment.
“Y-yeah,” Jisung says dumbly. He still has one hand covering himself, clutching the fabric of his pants like a fucked up sort of comfort blanket. Chan rubs his lips together. His eyebrows are doing an intricate dance. This is an expression Jisung knows, at least. It's the one Chan usually wears when he's trying to make a difficult decision, usually anything to do with the future of the group or something equally important. He's staring at Jisung the whole time, and Jisung remains frozen in his spot halfway between the chair and the doorway. He feels a bit like the entire world may collapse in on itself if he as much as breathes wrong right now, which is unfortunate when he also feels like hyperventilating would be a great option.
“Fuck,” Chan says. He pulls off his cap to run a hand through his hair. He looks frazzled. “Fuck, why are you…? Is that… because of me?” Jisung could lie. Say he was thinking about something else. Say he was thinking about nothing at all. Everyone gets weird, unexplainable boners sometimes, right?
The fact that Chan is still here and hasn’t run away gives Jisung some kind of foolish hope, though. Or maybe it’s just recklessness. Either way, it’s enough for Jisung to admit: “Yeah. It’s because of you.”
“Oh,” Chan says, blinking rapidly. “I… I didn’t even do anything?” Jisung almost wants to laugh. That’s probably the most frustrating thing about Chan, he just doesn’t get how fucking attractive he is. He doesn't understand that he has been the cause of Jisung's perpetual thirst for years, and that Jisung constantly stops himself from acting on it by feigning disgust whenever Chan tries to initiate skinship. Chan seems to pull himself together. His eyebrows do that intricate dance again. Jisung wishes Chan wasn’t standing between him and the door so he could escape and go bury himself in his bed for seven to ten business days, or as long as their schedules permit, to let the humiliation dissipate enough for him to be able to look Chan in the eye again without flinching. “But I could do something.”
It takes a moment for the words to register. Then Jisung’s heart shoots into his throat. “Like what?” he asks in a whisper.
Chan shrugs. “I don't know,” he says. That unfamiliar expression is back, the one Jisung isn’t sure how to interpret. Dark eyes, nostrils flaring, jaw tense. He looks Jisung up and down. “You tell me.” Jisung quickly goes through the mental index of all the things he has ever fantasized about Chan doing to him. A lot of the things are too embarrassing for Jisung to even voice aloud, and a lot of them are too intense for… whatever this is. Things that Jisung only ever dares think about when he’s sure that he’s completely alone with his thoughts and his own hand.
“Are you fucking with me?” Jisung asks slowly. Chan isn’t usually the type to joke around about things like this, not when he can probably tell that Jisung is being serious, but part of Jisung refuses to believe that this is really happening. That Chan is actually offering to do something about Jisung’s fucking boner. It seems too good to be true. Jisung clenches his fists. “Cause if you are I’d rather know now. Before I make myself look even more stupid.”
“Hey,” Chan says. His voice is soft and gentle and coaxing. He takes a cautious step closer. “I wouldn’t do that to you, Jisungie. You know I wouldn’t. It’s me.” And that’s just it. It’s Chan. Chan is safe, always has been. Jisung trusts him. He isn’t in danger. Chan takes another step towards Jisung. If Jisung really wanted to, he could probably make a run for the door now that Chan is no longer blocking it, but he doesn’t really want to anymore. Chan smiles. “Tell me what you want.”
“I’m buying a fucking lottery ticket after this,” Jisung mutters, startling a laugh out of Chan. He’s still laughing when Jisung grabs him by the collar of his tanktop to drag him in for a kiss. It feels unreal. Jisung has been thinking about kissing Chan ever since he realized that he wanted to kiss boys as well as girls, and now he’s actually doing it. He's actually doing it. He fears he might float away so he tries his best to stay grounded in the moment. Jisung focuses on the feeling of Chan's hands on him, one on Jisung's waist, the other one the side of his neck. He listens to the sound of their lips parting slickly and coming together again, the breaths Chan inhales and exhales through his nose, the small noises he makes in the back of his throat. He licks into Chan's mouth and gets the taste of his lip balm and then the taste of him, and that feeling of floating away only seems to intensify.
When Chan pulls back, Jisung is dizzy. His eyes hone in on Chan's pretty mouth like it's a beacon, raring to go back in, to keep kissing him. He nearly whimpers when he gets to see Chan's smile this close. Chan brushes his thumb along Jisung's jaw. “You still with me, baby?” he whispers, and something inside of Jisung seems to snap at the sound of the pet name. He dives in to kiss Chan once more, maybe a bit too roughly judging by the sound of Chan's startled groan. He kisses him again and again and again, twines his arms around Chan's body, presses himself as close as he possibly can. It's all a bit of a blur, and he doesn't know where this sudden boldness is coming from. Like an out of body experience where someone else takes the lead of his body and makes him push Chan back until Chan is sitting on the couch with Jisung crawling into his lap. They're still kissing. Maybe Jisung never wants to stop kissing Chan again. Maybe that's a little insane.
Alas, they have to come up for air eventually. Jisung feels lightheaded. He isn't quite sure when Chan's hands found their way under his shirt, but there they are, right on the bare skin of Jisung's waist. Jisung whines. “Hyung,” he says. His body still seems to be moving on its own volition as he grinds down against Chan, and his staticky brain nearly short circuits when he feels that Chan is hard as well for some inexplicable reason. It only makes Jisung all the more feral. He's not even thinking anymore when he leans in to drag his tongue up the side of Chan's neck, tasting the salt of his sweat and the musk of his cologne. He could sink his teeth in, leave a pretty mark for everyone to see right at the hinge of his jaw, but he shouldn't. He shouldn't. Jisung burrows his face into Chan's shoulder and whines again. “Fuck, hyung, please. Please.”
“Shhh,” Chan whispers. “Gotta be a little more quiet, sweetheart.” He certainly isn't being very helpful in making that happen with the way his hands are gripping Jisung's hips to help guide his motions. “Don't want anyone to hear.”
“The room is soundproof,” Jisung reminds him. It’s a music studio, after all. “You-you can make me be as loud as you want.” He yelps when everything suddenly shifts as he's being flipped onto his back, manhandled as if he's as light as a feather, and then Chan is hovering above him.
“Fuck,” Chan breathes. “You can't just say shit like that.” He presses Jisung into the couch, fits himself between Jisung's thighs, grinds down against him in an imitation of how he would probably fuck Jisung if they ever got to do that. Jisung would let him in a heartbeat. He’d let him do it right here, right now. He’d let him do pretty much anything, but he knows their options are limited. He doesn't exactly walk around with condoms and lube on his person every day.
Fortunately, there's other things they can do. “Touch me,” Jisung whimpers. The way Chan pulls back to look at him makes Jisung shiver. He feels neediness like he has never felt it before, and that's saying a lot coming from him. His fingers scramble for purchase, gripping the back of Chan’s tanktop. “Hyung, please.” Chan curses under his breath. He rolls halfway off Jisung, tucking himself into the space between his body and the back of the couch, and Jisung only gets a moment to miss the comforting weight before Chan reaches for his waistband to pull out his dick. The first touch has Jisung gasping. His hips buck of their own accord, thrusting up into Chan's hold a couple of times before Chan slings one leg over him and traps him between his thick thighs to keep him still. Like a fucking wrestling move or something. God, Jisung is gonna nut so fucking hard. He whimpers. “I’m gonna nut so fucking hard.”
“You're cute,” Chan says with a hoarse, breathless chuckle. He uses his free hand to turn Jisung's head towards himself so he can kiss him again, even though Jisung is most of all panting uselessly against his mouth.
“D-don't call me cute when you have my literal dick in your hand,” Jisung complains indignantly. He whimpers again when Chan thumbs at the tip.
“Hmm,” Chan hums. He glances down to where his fingers are wrapped around Jisung to stroke him off, then looks back at Jisung's face with a smile. “Your dick is cute too, though.” It's a freaky ass compliment, and yet it does something funny to Jisung's belly. He finally gives in to the urge to dip the tip of his tongue into Chan's dimple. If they're being freaky, he may as well go through with it. He doesn't know if he'll ever get the opportunity again. The fact that Chan is touching him like this in the first place is a miracle in and of itself, a fever dream, something that Jisung’s mind is still struggling to acknowledge as truth. It’s too good to be true.
But somehow it is true. The itchy stickiness of the sweat on his back, and the weight and warmth of Chan’s body against his, and the feeling of Chan’s breath wafting over his face and neck convinces Jisung as much. His orgasm is creeping in steadily, like a slow swell of heat, and he’s starting to feel a little overwhelmed by the onslaught of sensations. His heart is racing. His lungs feel tight. He paws needily at Chan’s shoulder, his upper arm, his back. “Hyung,” Jisung croaks. “Hyung, hyung.”
“Shhh,” Chan soothes gently. Jisung’s wild eyes settle on Chan’s face, and Chan smiles. Jisung’s lighthouse to guide him through the fog. He’s safe. “There you go, baby boy. You’re okay. Hyung’s got you.” Jisung sobs. His dick twitches in Chan’s hand as he comes and comes and comes, his hips trying in vain to buck upwards while still being constricted by Chan’s strong thighs.
Jisung’s body goes limp. He’s panting, blinking up at the ceiling. He tastes copper in his mouth and realizes he probably bit down on his lip too hard to stifle his pathetic moans. He covers his face with a trembling hand. “Fuck.”
Chan presses a kiss to Jisung’s temple. “Are you alright?” he asks. Jisung’s only reply is a groan. Now that his brain is starting to return to its solid state, he’s embarrassed about being so needy and setting all of this into motion just because he couldn’t control his own dick. The dick that Chan is very much still holding, even though it’s just as flaccid as Jisung currently feels. Chan shifts like he’s trying to get off the couch, but Jisung grabs on to him before he can move. Chan blinks at him in surprise. “Let me just–”
“No,” Jisung cuts him off. “Please don’t go.”
Chan’s expression softens. “Hey, I’m not leaving. I just wanted to get some tissues or something for you.” He gestures vaguely at Jisung’s lower body with the hand that is also messy with release.
“I know,” Jisung mutters. His cheeks are warm. “I’m… can you stay like this for a bit? I need…” He trails off. He doesn’t really know what he needs to be honest. The closeness, maybe, even if the heat is making him feel stuffy. Maybe the feeling of Chan on top of him, like the comforting crush of a weighted blanket. Or maybe just for Chan to be near, to assure him that things are going to be okay, and that Jisung’s failure to hold himself back isn’t going to irreparably change things between them.
Somehow, Chan seems to understand, just like he always understands Jisung so well. He stays put. Wraps his arms around Jisung and holds him in a tight embrace, even though Jisung’s clothes are probably covered in cum. “Stop overthinking,” Chan says softly.
Jisung huffs. “Right. Tell that to my brain.”
Chan presses his lips to Jisung’s hair. “Stop overthinking,” he repeats, as if he’s trying to speak directly to Jisung’s brain, and Jisung lets out an actual laugh this time. Chan is always good at making Jisung feel more at ease when the anxiety is threatening to make its unwelcome appearance. Chan kisses the top of Jisung’s head. “I know you’re worried about this. About us. And we’re definitely going to have to talk about some things later, but you don’t have to worry. I promise everything’s going to be alright no matter what.” Jisung wants to believe him. It’s just difficult when his mind has a way of twisting his fears and concerns into the worst versions of themselves and catastrophizing everything all the time.
For now, however, Jisung forces his thoughts to be quiet, and he chooses to believe. “Okay,” he says. It’s Chan. Chan is safe, always has been. Jisung trusts him. He’s safe. He takes a deep breath, and his lungs don’t even ache. “I trust you, hyung.”