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Get it Outta Your System

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It was the buffet. It was definitely the buffet. They had all eaten there, but Chan knew Jisung was particularly adventurous. He didn’t shy away from seafood and even ate the salad that had been left at a decidedly food-unsafe temperature. Chan knew he should have kept a shorter leash on his bandmate. He was an adult, sure, but if he wasn’t going to eat like one someone had to keep an eye out for him. Otherwise, this would become a regular thing- Jisung curled up in the back of the van, visibly sweating and shuddering, with his head in Minho’s lap. Jisung let out a long moan, as loud and bright as always, and Chan doubled down on his plan to watch Jisung’s eating habits. This couldn’t become a regular thing, it was turning him on too much.

“Minho hyuunnggg.”

“What?”

“It hurts.” Every piercing whine Jisung let out went straight to Chan’s dick. He knew he shouldn’t be turned on by this, it was at best pretty gross and at worst grossly irresponsible, but still there was something about the shivers and the tears. Chan remembered the last time his bandmate had gotten food poisoning, the way he convulsed when he wretched over the side of his bed. Chan remembered cleaning it up, with Jisung sleeping beside him, running his fingers through the still-warm vomit and slowly bringing them to his mouth. Fuck it tasted bad. Fuck, he was a disgusting person. Fuck, it turned him on. Chan remembered jerking himself to orgasm that night in the bathroom, remembering the smell of Jisung’s vomit and the way his little body shuddered when he let it all come out.

And then the van stopped and Chan was knocked out of his reminiscing. Jisung had to practically be dragged out of the vehicle, and Chan didn’t mind pulling him. He let Jisung wrap one sweaty arm around his shoulders, trying not to listen too closely to the younger’s labored breathing and desperate little whines.

“How you feeling?” Chan asked, and Jisung groaned,

“Terrible.”

The two men half-walked-half-stumbled back to the dorm, letting the other members pass in front of them. Chan couldn’t shake the impression that Jisung’s arm was getting heavier, his steps slower and less certain. The walk upstairs was a real challenge, Chan practically carrying Jisung up the steps with occasional assistance from Minho. They passed over the threshold to their dorm, and then Chan heard Jisung’s breathing increase,

“Chan hyung, I’m gonna puke,” he whined. Chan felt his own stomach tighten with excitement in response to the words, and then tried to banish the thoughts from his mind. He had to get Jisung to the toilet. He couldn’t do something stupid right now.

Thankfully (maybe it was his leadership instinct or something) Chan managed to steer the younger into the bathroom and shut the door just in time for Jisung to say “Oh fuck,” and double over. His vomit poured onto the tile floor violently, splattering everywhere. There was a lot of it, to say the least, but Chan could tell that Jisung was trying to hold it back.

“Come on, Jisungie. You gotta get to the toilet,” Chan said in his most comforting voice and guided the younger there. Jisung’s body was fragile and wobbly under his arms. Chan kneeled behind the younger man, brushing his sweat-soaked hair out of his face and murmuring comforting things, “It’s okay. Just get it out of your system.” Jisung retched, but nothing came up, so he let out a little sob.

“Ugh, I fucking hate throwing up.” Another dry heave.

“I know, baby, it’s okay.” Chan was quickly losing his professionalism. Being this close to Jisung, feeling his body twitch, had him feeling possessed.

“Chan hyung. What are you doing?” He wasn’t even sure when he started doing it, but at some point Chan’s gentle caresses had morphed into rubbing his hands over the younger’s quivering stomach and grinding slowly against his ass. Jisung pressed one hand against Chan’s thigh, trying to push him away, but the boy’s mind was too cloudy to muster up anything more than confusion and slight annoyance. “What are you-” 

Jisung didn’t finish the sentence though, because then he was throwing up again. It was the wettest, most vile retching Chan had heard in his life. He knew the other members could hear it, he imagined the whole building could hear it, and God did he wish it wasn’t turning him on this much. Jisung’s knuckles were white on the rim of the toilet. His tense body felt amazing to rub up against. Chan watched Jisung hack and retch, the way he sucked the snot back into the nostrils, the way he coughed and choked on his own bile. He watched the few dry heaves that happened once Jisung was out of stomach contents to void, sometimes accompanied by a thin stream of bright yellow bile. “That’s it,” Chan murmured, “Get it all out,” grinding against Jisung’s ass the entire time.

With a few final shudders, Jisung was finally finished. He took one wheezy breath, coughed, and ran an arm across his face to wipe away the mess. His body was still shaky and hot to the touch. He felt so delicate. Chan just couldn’t help himself.

It was almost too easy to pull Jisung away from the toilet, to plant one hand on the back of his head and mash his lips against Chan’s own. Jisung’s mouth was entirely pliant, but Chan didn’t mind. He held the boy’s jaw open and licked into his mouth, and he knew the moans were ones of confusion rather than pleasure, but they still spurred him on. Once Chan had cleaned every sweet drop of vomit from Jisungs mouth, he let the younger man pull away for a moment. Jisung looked at his with glassy eyes,

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Chan licked up a drop of vomit that had splashed up onto Jisung’s forehead.

“You made a mess Jisung,” his tongue traced over Jisung’s upper lip, wiping away the snot, “You fucking filthy boy.”

And then Chan pushed him.

Chan would never forget the moment. His hands turning Jisung’s fragile body, shoving him back. The gasp and a moment of recognition in Jisung’s distant eyes, before his shoulders made contact with the puddle of his own vomit. It was absolutely disgusting. The warm liquid soaked into Jisung’s t-shirt, and his back arched to avoid touching it so much. The smell was overpowering, and Jisung wrinkled his face up in disgust. Tears poked at the corners of his eyes when Chan placed one hand on his chest and pushed him back down, forcing him to feel chunks of half-digested food squish beneath his shoulder blades.

Chan’s hands shook when he undid his belt. Maybe it was some final strand of guilt trying to stop him, or maybe he was just too turned on. Either way, he managed eventually to unbuckle his belt, unzip his jeans, and pull out his cock. He was harder than he had ever been, without even having touched himself yet. Jisung, still pinned beneath the older man, glanced down for a brief moment, saw his cock, and immediately slammed his eyes shut. Chan delighted in the young man’s little whines of disgust when he ran a hand through the puddle of vomit they were lying in and wrapped it around his cock.

It stung a little, especially at the tip, but Chan didn’t mind. He deserved the pain, and it was worth it to finally see his little Jisungie like this. The warmth of the younger’s feverish body drove him wild, and he released his cock to grind against him again. Vomit was getting everywhere. It was on his hand and on his cock, which was now rubbing against the front of Jisung’s jeans. These clothes would be ruined. Everything would be fucking ruined. Chan was filthy.

Chan dipped his hand into the vomit again and brought it to the younger’s face. Jisung had little strength in him, but he mustered up what he could to groan again and thrash his head from side to side. Chan wouldn’t allow this. Jisung had to taste how filthy he was. His other hand came up to grip the younger’s jaw, wedging his fingertips in painfully so Jisung was forced to open his mouth. Chan’s fingers plunged into Jisung’s mouth, spreading his vomit inside. Jisung gagged. He was fully sobbing at this point. Chan was grinding against him harder now, practically crushing him into the tile floor. 

Once Chan decided that the younger had had enough, he dropped down closer to press Jisung under the full weight of his body. He was thrusting against him like a crazed animal. The  front of Jisung’s jeans were scraping against him uncomfortably, but he couldn’t stop. His bile-soaked hands came to Jisungs face again, spreading the mess all over him so Chan could lick him off. He was disgusting. This was disgusting, and it felt so goddamn good.

Chan leaned to the side of Jisung’s head and slurped some vomit off the floor. There was hardly any of it left now, most of it now spread over their bodies, but there was enough for Chan to make a mouthful of it. He pressed his lips to Jisung’s and let the vomit drip inside his mouth in a long, nasty stream. Jisung groaned, Chan thrusted harder, and then he was cumming. 

His cum came with a low grunt, and everything was hot and wet and disgusting and over as violently as it had began.

Once the orgasm had passed through him, Chan straightened up. His head was clearing. There was Jisung, shivering and crying, covered in his own vomit. His t-shirt was streaked with Chan’s cum. His hair was tangled. His breath came in shallow wheezes. He looked up at the elder with confused, distantly angry eyes. Fuck. Chan was going to hell, for sure.

He tried to make amends. Somehow. He knew it wasn’t really possible, at least not right now, but he still helped Jisung to his feet, cleaned up the vomit while the younger ran a long, hot shower. He brought Jisung fresh clothes and tucked him into bed like he was a baby. Jisung didn’t speak to Chan for a long time after that, which made working together hard. Chan took note of every hateful glare he received from Jisung, and noticed how Minho started giving him those disgusted looks too. They talked back to him, slacked off on work, and he deserved it. He knew he did. He was filthy.

All of this assured Chan that he had made a mistake, but he was even more punished for his transgression when about a week later, he fell ill. Apparently licking up the vomit of someone with food poisoning wasn’t a path to good health. No one helped Chan. No one even said anything about it. Chan curled himself up in bed at night and tried to banish all thoughts from his mind. He tried to take refuge in his sleep.

And he succeeded for a few hours, before waking up in a cold sweat. There was a puddle beside him, and that smell. Fuck. Chan must have puked in his sleep. He let out a groggy moan and tried to roll over onto his side, but couldn’t. There was someone on top of him, Chan realized, a much smaller body pinning him down with their whole weight. There was a hand on his throat. Someone tugged at Chan’s hair, and he heard Minho’s voice from above, 

“Uh oh. Looks like you made a mess.”

And then there was Jisung. So close Chan could feel the hot breath in his ear,

“You fucking filthy boy.”