Keonhee is... stressed.
In retrospect, he wonders if taking an extra class on top of his normal courseload and TAship was really the best idea, but the last thing he wants is to prolong the amount of time he has to spend in this grad program.
So here he is, nearing finals and nearer to tears because the final project for his Copyright Law class is in pairs, and he's been assigned one of the musicians.
He doesn't mean to say it with such contempt. His program in entertainment law runs close enough in parallel with the conservatory programs that he shares a lot of classes with artists of all kinds. He's sure many of them are wonderful, talented people... it's simply that most of them don't share his discipline or nearly neurotic standards for organization.
So when his professor emails the class with the list of randomly-grouped names, his heart sinks. The class is big enough that he has to quickly look Kim Youngjo up on LinkedIn — he vaguely recognizes the face, but they haven't met. Masters in Digital Music Production, his profile says, confirming Keonhee’s suspicions.
He shoots off a quick email to Kim Youngjo's student account with a list of times he's available over the next week. He hopes this guy at least checks his email.
A couple hours into his final paper for his Labor and Employment course and his email pings.
i can do friday at 3. idk where you live but i'm usually around the south quad. also here's my number, i'm usually pretty backed up on emails haha just text me 9374659274
Keonhee stares at the message for a minute, irritation slowly growing in his chest. He knows the email doesn't deserve his ire, but he's tired and probably hungry and does this guy actually have his soundcloud linked in his email signature?
He taps Youngjo’s number into his phone with venom, his fingernails clicking with every tap — he needs to trim them but hasn’t had the time.
Keonhee | 4:48 pm
hi, this is Keonhee from our copyright law class. just wanted to confirm that we're set for 3 on Friday
Youngjo (cr law) | 4:52 pm
yea thats good for me :))))
Keonhee | 4:52 pm
great, is there a coffee shop or study space that you prefer?
Keonhee jerks awake with the buzzing of his phone on the desk next to him, squinting at the blurry screen. He must have fallen asleep writing his paper — a sure sign he needs a forced break. He's stressed, sure, but he's not going to repeat undergrad-Keonhee's many, many exhaustion-fueled mistakes, a couple of which had spurred interventions from his friends. He knows he'll be more productive after some real sleep.
Youngjo (cr law) | 10:57 pm
yea theres a rly good cafe a couple blocks down from the main con block
or theres a starbucks if u hate urself lol
He swipes open his lockscreen to read Youngjo’s messages and scoffs, eyeing the empty Starbucks cup on his desk. He hates people who get snobby about things like that, especially in the heat of finals.
Keonhee | 10:59
your place sounds fine
His therapist back in undergrad had told him to try guided meditations, the kind you could find online for free. As he guiltily clicks through three nested folders of bookmarks, he thinks maybe this wasn’t what she was talking about.
He plugs in his headphones — the nice ones that he splurged on last year as a graduation gift to himself — and slides them over his head before queuing up a file. It's one that he hasn't had the chance to try yet, since it dropped last week and he's been too busy to do much besides eat and work and sleep.
He lays himself out on his bed and closes his eyes.
“Hey there. It's good to see you again. Or, if this is your first time, I'm glad you're here.”
tRAnce9's files always start like that — the same phrases, the same cadence. It makes Keonhee relax almost immediately, a reflex that he's built up over weeks and months listening to this guy talk.
“I'm going to ask you to touch yourself for this file, so make sure you're comfortable, and you won't be interrupted. We're going to start easy, just breathing and listening. Feel the way every inhale gathers up the tension in your body, and every exhale allows you to relax, sinking deeper. Breathe with me.”
Keonhee’s already begun to drop a little bit, attuned as he is to tRAnce9’s voice and eager to feel the heavy calm he craves. He breathes, hands lax by his sides.
“Good. Now, what I want you to do is to choose a place on your stomach, or your thigh, and draw your fingers over it in a nice, steady rhythm. I won’t tell you how fast — whatever feels natural.”
He pushes his t-shirt up, revealing enough skin that he can caress back and forth just under his navel.
“Let yourself focus only on the rhythm of your touch and the sound of my voice. You’ll find that with every pass of your fingers, warmth and pleasure begin to spread through your whole body. You feel desire building between your legs, but you’re not going to touch just yet. You’re going to be good for me. ”
Keonhee can feel himself getting hard in his sweatpants, but he doesn’t think he could do anything about it if he tried. He’s content here, basking in the pleasure that radiates with every caress of his fingers across his skin.
“Your body is tuned into the rhythm of your fingers. Allow it to guide you deeper, more relaxed, sinking further and further down. It feels good, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Keonhee breathes into his empty room. He can’t even hear his own response, cocooned in silence and surrounded by the voice playing in his headphones.
“Good. As you continue to touch, I’m going to count from five to one, and you’re going to drop for me as we go, sinking deeper and deeper.”
Keonhee drops easily with the count, almost like accessing muscle memory. The first couple times, he’d found it so cliche that he’d nearly jerked himself out of his already-tenuous trance, but now it’s like sinking into a warm bath, familiar and safe.
When the voice hits one, he’s reached that emptiness he craves, only the unconscious rhythm of his fingers on his skin and the distant press of his arousal keeping him tethered to his body.
“It feels good to be so empty, no thoughts except your touch and my voice. Now, you can touch yourself however feels best to you, however feels natural. Enjoy every moment as pleasure fills up the empty spaces in your mind where your thoughts used to be.”
His whole body shudders, achingly sensitive, as he pushes his sweatpants down just enough to take hold of his dick. Normally, he jerks off quick and perfunctory, just enough to relieve some stress and get on with his day — this deep, he can’t even conceive of rushing.
He runs his fingertips over the length of his dick, swirling around the head and drawing slick precum down the side. It feels both familiar and somehow new, like he’s exploring a yet-untouched part of himself, figuring out what feels good. He’s distantly aware that he’s making noise, but he can’t hear it, can only feel the buzz of it in his chest and throat.
“Soon, you’ll reach the edge, and you’ll want to tip over and come. It would feel so good, wouldn’t it?”
Keonhee whines, thumb rubbing just under the head of his dick, thighs shivering.
“Not yet. Because when I finally let you drop over that edge, I want your mind completely blank. As your orgasm rushes through you, it’ll wash away any last traces of thought and leave you entirely, blissfully empty.”
He’s right there on the brink, stroking himself so slowly and yet, no matter how much he touches, he can’t come. The pleasure builds and builds, so blinding it hurts, makes it hard to breathe, but it won’t break until he’s allowed to let go.
“You’re so close, you’re right there. You’ve done so well for me, you deserve to feel that surrender. You crave it so much, and I want to give it to you. Are you ready for it?”
“Please,” Keonhee slurs, the word bubbling up from somewhere deep in his subconscious. He’s no longer capable of feeling embarrassed for talking to a recording — it’s as real to him as anything. The pleasure suffuses him now, he’s so close he can taste it on the back of his tongue. Precum dribbles out of his dick onto his fingers, and he knows that this orgasm is going to drain him completely.
“Good. You can come for me in three, two, one. Drop. ”
He wakes about halfway through a ten-count, drifting up and up as the voice in his headphones guides him back to awareness. His skin is sticky and his sweatpants are tangled up around his thighs, but his limbs are still heavy lead.
“Ten, fully awake now. You were so good for me. Thank you.”
The file stops, giving way to silence. Keonhee indulges in laying there for another few minutes, just staring at his ceiling, before groaning and stretching. He feels like jelly, but he forces himself to toss his headphones away and get up to clean himself off and change clothes before crawling back into bed.
He doesn’t even think about his to-do list before he falls asleep.
Kim Youngjo is late.
Keonhee can deal with a lot — he can deal with being the default leader in every project group he's ever been in, or with doing the most talking during presentations, or making sure everything is on schedule. He cannot deal with people who waste his time.
He's irritated when the clock hits 3:15 and has moved onto fully angry at 3:30, jabbing at his laptop keyboard with unrestrained animosity as his green tea latte turns from lukewarm to cold next to him.
His phone buzzes with a text, and when he sees the name across the screen he's almost tempted to ignore it, but he knows he can't.
Youngjo (cr law) | 3:36 pm
sorry be there in 20
Keonhee | 3:36 pm
He allows himself the small, vindictive pleasure of adding that cutting punctuation mark. Who the fuck was this guy, to think that Keonhee had an extra hour of his day to waste during finals week?
Four o'clock hits and still no sign of the guy. Keonhee's acquired another latte at this point — unfortunately, Kim Youngjo was right about this cafe — and has made some headway on a different paper. Maybe this whole thing won't be a wash even if all he does is sit here by himself for a couple hours.
The voice startles him, his hand shooting out and nearly knocking over his latte. He looks up at what he assumes is his project partner — he's a relatively tall guy, probably not much shorter than Keonhee, with features that are strong and delicate at the same time and dyed red hair that looks vaguely stringy with sweat.
"Hey, I'm Kim Youngjo," he says, sliding into the seat opposite Keonhee and letting his bag fall to the floor with a soft thunk. "I am so sorry, we had an emergency at the studio and I couldn't leave, some undergrad plugged a bunch of amps into a daisy-chained power strip and nearly shorted out half our equipment so we had to do damage control."
Keonhee's frozen in place. Distantly, he knows he's probably staring, looking stupid with his mouth partway open, but…
But, he knows that voice. He's nearly a hundred percent sure he knows that voice. He feels sick, like his stomach just dropped into his shoes, and he thinks his ears must be so red they'll burst into actual flames. Youngjo keeps talking, and Keonhee keeps staring, and the longer it goes on the more he's certain.
He fucking got off to that voice last night.
"Uh… are you alright?" Youngjo looks vaguely concerned, and Keonhee realizes that he hasn't said a word since Youngjo introduced himself.
"Yeah!" he says — squeaks, almost, and isn't that embarrassing. "Yeah, I'm fine, sorry. It's fine, I get it."
"Cool, thanks for being understanding, I'm sure you have a lot going on, too." Youngjo shoots him a smile before bending to fish his laptop out of his bag.
"No problem," Keonhee says weakly. "I actually got started, let me share the doc with you—"
"Sweet, thank you." Youngjo's laptop is covered in stickers, many of which seem to simply be shipping labels scribbled with sharpie. The plastic casing looks beat-up and worn where it's exposed. Keonhee wonders with distant horror how many unreleased files lurk on that hard drive.
“Oh, this is so organized,” Youngjo comments as the document loads up, his cursor appearing next to Keonhee’s on the first page. “What would I have to do to get you to just finish the whole thing?”
Keonhee’s brain skips for a second on the implications of the question, mouth open and no words appearing on his tongue. Youngjo must take it for offense because his eyebrows jump, mouth twisting.
“I’m kidding, jesus,” he mutters, going back to his screen and scrolling through the rest of what Keonhee’s already gotten through. “This shouldn’t be too bad if we divide up the research, right? You already got started on the case study, I can take the social and legal consequences section.”
“Works for me.”
It turns out that they work pretty well together — Youngjo is kind of weird and a little bit frustrating, but he’s focused and adaptable, too. He bounces ideas off Keonhee and actually listens to the feedback he gets, though he doesn’t always take it. He picks holes in the way Keonhee thinks, leaving little comments in their shared document and grinning when Keonhee glares at him across the table because why didn’t he just say it?
It’s good — it’s probably the best he could have hoped for out of getting paired with a stranger for an assignment, except about a third of his brain is currently and continuously dedicated to flipping out about the fact that apparently Kim Youngjo from Intro to Copyright Law runs the tRAnce9 account. The guy who… honestly, he can’t even think the h-word right now or he’ll crumble into a pile of mortified dust, because Youngjo is across from him practically pouting at his laptop screen and he looks silly and hot and stupid.
“Shit,” Youngjo says suddenly, knocking his arm against the edge of the table and jostling the veritable forest of mugs they’ve acquired over the last three hours (one new latte for Keonhee and two americanos for Youngjo). “I have to go, I have a recording session scheduled.”
“What are you recording?” Keonhee asks before he can think better of it.
“Portfolio stuff,” Youngjo says, already packing up his laptop. “It’ll be on my soundcloud in a few days.”
“I’m not checking out your soundcloud.”
“Why not?” Youngjo rests his cheek on his hand, shooting Keonhee an exaggerated pout. “I thought we were friends.”
Keonhee sputters, cheeks prickling. “We’re— I only met you today!”
Youngjo laughs, mouth hidden behind his hand (and his fingers look stupidly elegant, like he’s a hand model posing for an advertisement except there’s no product and no camera).
“I’m kidding,” he says, standing and slinging his bag over his shoulder. “I’ll see you this weekend?”
“Yeah," Keonhee replies, something like nerves fluttering in his stomach. "See you then."
Obviously, Keonhee has to quit listening to tRAnce9's audio immediately. Cold turkey. For his own sanity, and to maintain even an ounce of his dignity, he deletes every bookmark and every download and has a cathartic scream into his pillow about the whole situation.
It's fine. He's fine.
He meets with Youngjo a few times over the next several days, at the library or the cafe or — on one particularly nice day — in the park up near the science complex.
"So, did you check out my soundcloud?" Youngjo asks, sliding into the seat opposite Keonhee with a stupid little grin on his face.
"No, I didn't," Keonhee says, rolling his eyes.
"That's too bad, I dedicated a verse to you on my new track."
Keonhee glares at him. "Stop it."
"I'm serious, it's an ode to your color-coded lecture notes—"
Stress piles up like physical weight on Keonhee's shoulders — he wonders if all his professors simply forgot about half their syllabi until just now and decided to assign it all at once in the last two weeks of class. Overwhelmed by research and essays and preparing for presentations and mock trials, he barely has a free hour in the day.
He tries to listen to files from other people, but they just don't drop him in quite the same way as tRAnce9's did. Where before, laying down with his headphones and a file would leave him boneless and empty, now he comes out of his mild trances restless and still buzzing with stress and his endless to-do list.
"Hey, are you alright?" Youngjo asks as Keonhee returns to their cafe table with his third double-shot latte of the afternoon.
"I'm fine," Keonhee says, and winces — he sounds snappy even to his own ears.
"You just seem really stressed," Youngjo continues, "which, I get it, it's finals."
Keonhee takes a sip of his too-hot coffee, glaring balefully at the mug and then back at Youngjo. Youngjo's gaze is oddly gentle, and it makes Keonhee oddly nervous.
"Maybe you don't want to hear it from me," Youngjo says, "but you should take a break and try to relax, even if it's just for a little bit. When's the last time you slept?"
Youngjo’s lowered his voice, softened it like a mockery of intimacy, and Keonhee's body melts slightly before he even understands why.
The realization jolts him, heat prickling in his cheeks that he could fall so easily for familiar words in a familiar voice when Youngjo didn't mean anything by it, he has no idea that Keonhee knows.
"I slept last night," Keonhee says, quick and businesslike. "I'm fine, really. We should get started, don't you have to leave in an hour?"
Keonhee slams his door shut behind him, tossing his bag onto his bed and crumbling to the floor, the tears which have been threatening him on and off all day finally overtaking him, slipping down his cheeks and sticking in his throat. Today’s been a day where every task has felt like an impossible challenge, even the smallest inconvenience bringing him close to a breakdown.
It’s not even that his work is insurmountable — on the contrary, he’s ahead of schedule — but he’s just so fucking tired, and he has a whole week left before he can really rest. He knows he’s been bottling this up for too long, pushing forward because there’s nothing else to do and he can’t fall behind or else he’ll get buried under it all.
He needs… he needs to stop thinking. He knows if he tries to sleep now it’ll be fruitless, that he’ll just toss and turn and waste hours of his time running through lists and what-ifs in his head.
Keonhee knows it’s a bad idea, but he’s just desperate enough and just weak enough to give into bad ideas right now. He drags himself onto his bed and digs for his laptop, grateful that it’s charged enough that he doesn’t have to spend time wrangling his charger into an outlet.
He bites his lip and navigates through familiar pages, easy to find even without the bookmarks he’d deleted a week ago in a blind panic. There’s one file he’s always found particularly comforting — maybe once he’s deep, he won’t have room for the guilt that rests low in the pit of his stomach.
“Hey there. It's good to see you again. Or, if this is your first time, I'm glad you're here.”
Keonhee doesn’t bother to find his headphones, just rests his laptop near his head. Somehow, it feels more real, like tRAnce9 — like Youngjo, he can’t ignore it now — is really there with him.
"I'd like you to close your eyes and picture a candle, any kind you like. Focus on the way the flame dances, the way it flickers with color and shadow."
His first few breaths are shuddering and ragged, the last vestiges of tears stinging the back of his throat, but they quickly even out as he lets the sound wash over him. In the back of his mind, he can't help but picture Youngjo: his soft mouth pulled into a lazy smile, his hair framing his sleepy eyes.
"You see the wax beginning to drip down the sides of your candle. Now, put yourself in its place: your skin tingles with warmth, your body beginning to soften and melt. All the tension you hold, all the stress, trickling away as the flame warms you and makes you perfectly comfortable."
Keonhee’s already starting to drift, the script so familiar that he unconsciously begins to mouth along to the countdown that follows, dropping deep when he hits:
"One, deeply relaxed. You're doing wonderfully, staying so empty and loose. Just like melted wax, every part of you feels warm and heavy. You couldn't move if you tried, could you?"
Keonhee's breath stutters, eyes fluttering beneath his eyelids and fingers twitching with the urge to move, unable to follow through.
"I want you to stay relaxed and empty and liquid while we build your pleasure together. Feel the warmth in your stomach flare every time you breathe in, growing stronger each time. Exhale, and it flows out to your fingers, down your legs to your feet, up through your throat and over your lips. Pulsing and intensifying with every breath."
His palms tingle, heat prickling over his cheeks, tongue thick in his mouth. He can feel his heartbeat in his throat. The insides of his thighs twitch with phantom touch.
"You're doing so well, breathing deep and letting pleasure wash through you. You might want to touch yourself, but you're just too relaxed to move, aren't you?"
"Mm…" Keonhee's distantly aware of his arousal, but it's subsumed in the gentle, warm waves that take his whole body.
"You don't need to touch. All you have to do is float, and listen. Let me touch you, each part of you, however you like being touched."
Later, Keonhee will tell himself that he forgot about this part of the script, but that will be a lie.
"Beginning at your lips, tracing their shape. Are they sensitive? I think I'll be gentle with them, even if you like it rougher. Just a tease before we move on. I want to hear you ."
Keonhee sighs, nearly a whine. His lips tingle.
"Your neck, now. Maybe you like bruises or maybe just a light touch. Whatever you want, I'll give it to you. You're being so good for me."
His neck is sensitive, so much so that he curls and shrinks into kisses. He might do so now if his body didn't feel like lead. In the back of his head, far away from conscious thought, Keonhee pictures the soft curve of Youngjo's mouth.
"I run fingers down your arms, trace over your wrists and palms. They feel so heavy, so liquid and soft. And now, if you like, feel my fingers on your chest, spreading warmth, lingering wherever feels best to you. All of this is for you, to make you feel good. "
"Y…" He doesn't make it past the first sound of his name, lips slack and useless.
"My hands on your legs now, starting at your ankles and moving up and up. Your thighs are so sensitive, they part so easily for me. Can you feel that?"
He shivers with the sensation of phantom kisses along his thighs. This file has always affected him, but not so intensely — maybe it's because he now knows whose lips to imagine on his skin.
“I slide my hands along your hips. We both know how much you need to be touched. I want to make you come, but you decide how. Do you want my hands on you, or my mouth? Do I touch you slowly, or do I finally stop teasing?”
His brain makes the easy choice, imagining the heat of Youngjo’s tongue on his cock. He wants to come quickly, but somehow he knows that Youngjo wouldn’t let him — the script says he has a choice, but he knows Youngjo now, can place the intent behind his tone.
“You’ve done so well for me, waiting so long, staying so perfectly relaxed. I’m going to count down from ten to one, and with each count, you’ll get closer and closer to the edge of that release you need. Ready?”
Keonhee lets out a shuddering whine, the noise continuous and only growing louder as the numbers tick down.
“Six, just listening. Five, feeling so good you can barely take it.”
He’s burning up from the inside out — he’d be twisting with it if he didn’t feel so much like a puddle of melted lead.
“Three, right on the edge. Two, so, so close.”
Keonhee comes on a gasping sigh, hips arching slightly off the bed. The pleasure trickles through his limbs, a fine tremble overtaking them. He can hear Youngjo’s voice, distant, but he doesn’t register the words, caught up as he is in the way aftershocks shoot down his legs and twitch along the palms of his hands to his fingers.
“…so good. You looked so beautiful coming for me, I hope you feel just as good. In a few moments, this file will end and you’ll wake up gradually, and slowly, but I’d like you to keep that warmth inside you as long as you can. Thank you for joining me.”
In the rush of euphoria from a good night’s sleep followed by a successful mock trial defense, Keonhee nearly forgets that he has his final project meeting with Youngjo that afternoon before their presentation tomorrow. It’s only when his phone chimes with a half hour reminder does the guilt of last night’s breakdown come creeping back in.
He slides into the seat opposite Youngjo, this time in a study room in a deserted section of the library.
“Hey,” Youngjo says, smiling softly. “You seem better today.”
Keonhee shrugs, attempting nonchalance. “Got some real sleep, and one of my finals is done, so…”
“Keep that energy up for our project, yeah?”
They really don’t have that much left to do — the work is done in the first fifteen minutes, and Keonhee’s feeling relaxed and magnanimous enough to go along with him when Youngjo moves over to his side of the table and plays him snippets from his current projects. He’s even feeling generous enough to admit they’re pretty good.
“So what do you do, when you’re not working yourself into the ground?” Youngjo asks, one of his beats playing quietly from his tinny laptop speakers. He leans his cheek on his hand, bottom lip pulled between his teeth, and Keonhee feels guilt itch at him.
“I don’t know,” Keonhee says, casting around at the last time he had enough free time to just… do things he wanted. “I like cooking. I go to karaoke with my friends sometimes.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Youngjo grins, going to open his mouth and Keonhee tenses. “Don’t ask me to sing, I swear—”
“I was gonna ask if you wanted to help me out sometime and sing on my guide tracks, but it sounds like a no.”
Keonhee’s eyebrows furrow. “Oh. I mean… you haven’t even heard me.”
“I’m sure you’re great.”
“I could be terrible!”
“Well, are you?”
Keonhee makes a noise of frustration in the back of his throat, heat rising to his cheeks, and Youngjo laughs behind his hand.
“You’re the worst.”
“Sorry.” Youngjo hits pause on the track that’s still playing on his computer and looks at Keonhee, resting his chin on his hand. “Hey… after finals, do you want to go out?”
Keonhee’s brain skids to a halt. Every witty or interesting or coherent thing he’s ever said gets thrown out the window, and all he’s left with is,
Youngjo’s smile falls slightly. “Yeah?”
“Oh.” He realizes after a moment that he still hasn’t given an answer and suddenly everything comes tripping forward at once. “Oh! Oh, um, yeah, yes. Yes! Let’s do that.”
“Cool. I really like you.” Youngjo reaches for Keonhee’s hand, taking it in his own and squeezing it. His hand is warm and soft and Keonhee feels vaguely sick but he leans in anyways, unable to stop himself from gravitating forward.
“You too,” he manages weakly, and it’s all he can manage before Youngjo’s closing the distance and kissing him.
It’s tentative and warm and nice — Youngjo tastes like coffee and minty chapstick, and he lets Keonhee take the lead, setting the pace and pulling back easily when Keonhee breaks away.
When Keonhee opens his eyes, it’s to Youngjo’s soft grin, dopey and stupid, and he suddenly feels so guilty he can’t stand himself. Youngjo’s smile falls.
“Is… are you okay?”
Keonhee groans and leans back in his chair, rubbing his hands over his burning face. He had hoped to go his entire life without telling anyone about this, let alone the guy himself.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, unable to look directly at Youngjo. “This is so weird, I’m so sorry.”
“Keonhee, what are you talking about?”
“I listen to, um, your— and I just— I felt so weird kissing you when I know but you don’t know that I know and—”
“Oh my god, slow down,” Youngjo says. When Keonhee peeks out from the shield of his fingers, Youngjo’s smiling slightly, though there’s a dusting of red on his cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” Keonhee says again, reflexive. Youngjo grabs at his hands, taking them in his own and squeezing.
“Keonhee, it’s fine,” Youngjo says, lips turning up at the corners in a smile that verges on shy. “I don’t care if you’ve listened to my stuff. It’s… kinda hot, honestly.”
Keonhee’s face flares hot. “Really?”
“Why do you think I started making it?” Youngjo’s smile turns sheepish. “It’s not just for money, I mean.”
“Oh.” There are implications there that Keonhee’s going to need a while to unravel. “So… you still want to go out with me?”
“Yeah, I do, if you do.” Youngjo squeezes his hand, and Keonhee finds himself smiling back so hard his face hurts.
Sex with Youngjo is approximately as fun and infuriating as Keonhee anticipated, and — caught up in the euphoria of the end of the semester — they have a lot of it in a very short span of time. The night after Keonhee’s last final, they get mildly drunk and Youngjo eats him out for nearly an hour on his secondhand couch. Keonhee’s never considered himself much of a pillow princess, but he’s starting to feel like one the longer he spends with Youngjo in his bed and between his legs. He’d feel guilty if not for the fact that it seems like exactly where Youngjo wants to be.
Neither of them have brought up Keonhee’s confession that first day — now that he’s dicking down on the regular, he hasn’t needed the stress relief, and he has no idea if Youngjo’s dropped any new files. But when they are together, Youngjo’s lips close to his ear, voice soft and low… it triggers something in him that makes him go a little boneless, a little pliant. He has no idea if Youngjo’s noticed — if he has, he hasn’t said anything. Maybe waiting for Keonhee to come to him about it. It would be just like him to be that annoyingly sweet.
They’re lounging on Keonhee’s bed on a quiet afternoon, no plans until late that night, laptop shoved to the end of the bed and drama abandoned in favor of lazily making out.
Keonhee pulls back, warm and a little sleepy. “Hey, would you wanna try, um…”
“Um?” Youngjo’s half-smiling, his hand warm on Keonhee’s hip under his t-shirt, thumb dipping under the waistband of his sweatpants. There’s a fifty-fifty chance Youngjo knows what he wants and is just fucking with him, but there’s really no way to know.
“You know. Your stuff, that I listened to. We talked about it.” He doesn’t know why it’s so embarrassing to say, but it is.
Youngjo’s definitely fucking with him. Keonhee smacks his arm and he laughs.
“You know what I mean.”
“I mean, I can try, but I can’t promise anything,” Youngjo says. “Best case scenario, it works great. Worst case, I talk at you for a bit and then we give up and have normal sex.”
“Okay.” Keonhee swallows. He really feels like he shouldn’t be more nervous than Youngjo, though maybe Youngjo’s just better at hiding it.
Youngjo smiles and kisses him, lips moving easily against his own until Keonhee’s practically melting.
“Lay down?” Youngjo asks when he pulls back. Keonhee does, settling awkwardly on his back, up against the pillows. Youngjo remains sitting next to him, cross-legged on the bed.
“Wait, should I take off my clothes?”
“No, this is fine.” Youngjo smiles again, reaching out to squeeze Keonhee’s hand. “Just relax for me.”
“Okay,” he whispers.
“Close your eyes,” Youngjo says, voice dipping softer and lower than before. Keonhee feels the reflexive shiver at the back of his neck that the tone evokes, letting it roll through him.
It starts familiar, the way so many of Youngjo’s clips start, with gentle guidance to relax each part of his body in turn. It's strange, hearing Youngjo’s voice in the room with him instead of close in his headphones, but it's somehow more intimate this way. He melts into the bed with each new direction — his shoulders, his hands, his hips, his feet.
"Good. Breathe deeply for me… and again. Keep breathing, slow and deep."
It's easy to follow, nothing he hasn't done before. It feels like Youngjo's anticipating his inhales and exhales perfectly, almost before he knows he's drawing breath himself, and it sends him lulling.
"I want you to picture a metronome. Can you do that?"
"Yeah," Keonhee sighs, barely a word when his lips are so slack.
"Good. You’ll see it in front of you, and you’ll hear it ticking in counts of four. Not too fast. Every time you come back to one, you're going to drop deeper, until the metronome winds to a stop.” Youngjo sounds so sure, words rolling smooth off his tongue.
"Can you hear it?"
Keonhee thinks he nods, but he has no idea if he manages it.
“Count out loud for me."
"One, two, three, four."
Another loop, another little taste of praise. And another, but it feels like his metronome is slowing down, time bending around him as he tries to hold the image in his mind.
"One, two… three…" It's there, but it's fuzzy, hard to grasp. "Four."
"That's alright, you're doing wonderfully, baby." The pet name sends warmth through Keonhee’s slack body.
"You can forget the numbers, you don't need them. All you have to do is listen and let your mind go blank. You don’t need to think anymore. Are you feeling empty, baby?”
“Yeah,” Keonhee slurs.
“Good boy. You’re feeling warm and empty and really, really good. It feels so good to let go, doesn’t it? Like a wave that starts at your feet and washes up and over your whole body, can you feel that?”
Keonhee draws a shaky breath as a warm, tingling sensation flows up his limbs, settling in his chest and stomach and making his fingers twitch.
“Another wave is going to wash over you now, and it’s going to make you feel even better. It’s going to make you even more sensitive. Are you ready, baby?”
Distantly, Keonhee hears himself whine as that tingling envelops him again. His hips hitch up, just a little, head tilting back into the pillows.
“One more wave, sweetheart. This one’s going to be even stronger, and it’s going to make you so sensitive that when I touch any part of you, even just your hands or your face, it’ll feel like I’m touching your cock. Ready? Slowly.”
This wave forces a real cry out of him, every inch of skin sensitized under the brush of his clothes, dick growing hard in his pants as the pleasure rolls through him. Even his face — his lips, his cheeks — tingles with warmth, yearning for touch.
“Good boy, that felt so nice, didn’t it?” Youngjo’s voice is quiet and yet, so loud in Keonhee’s ears. He whines, completely helpless.
“In just a moment, I’m going to wake you up, but you’re going to stay this sensitive. Every touch will feel a hundred times more intense. Understood, baby?”
“I’m going to count up to five, and with each count you’ll start to feel more awake and aware. One."
Keonhee pulls air into his lungs, tremulous from the effort.
He feels like he's surfacing from a warm bath.
"Four. Five. With me, baby?"
Keonhee blinks his eyes open, the room swimming for a moment before resolving into the right shapes.
"How are you feeling?"
Keonhee's head still feels cottony, like he can't quite grasp onto any one thought for too long, but he forces himself to focus on Youngjo’s face. He looks calm, smiling slightly — expectant.
"Um. Good." He squeezes his eyes shut for a second. "Sorry, it's hard to—"
"Hard to think?" Youngjo’s smile takes on a sharper edge. "Perfect."
He reaches out and takes Keonhee’s hand — probably a comforting gesture, but the second his long fingers meet Keonhee’s skin, a deep shudder runs through his entire body. He shifts, suddenly aware that he's still half-hard.
Keonhee can't suppress a sharp gasp as Youngjo turns his hand up, fingers splaying, and traces one of the lines that criss-cross his palm with a fingernail. The touch is so light it's nearly ticklish, and Keonhee's fingers instinctively curl inward.
And at the same time, he feels that teasing sensation crawl across him everywhere, shivering down his legs and up his back. Like every little stroke goes straight to the base of his spine and radiates out to the rest of him.
"Oh, that's…" He trails off, just staring at his own hand where Youngjo cups it.
"Feel nice?" Youngjo asks, still smiling like he's keeping some kind of secret. He draws a circle along the inside of Keonhee’s wrist with his fingertip, feather-light and slow, and Keonhee has to bite back a whine at the shudder and heat that rolls through him.
"Yeah," Keonhee answers truthfully, because it does feel nice, tingly and warm and good. He's beginning to feel a tug just below his navel, that familiar way his muscles tense and relax when he's working himself up.
"C'mere," Youngjo says, shifting to settle against the headboard and guiding Keonhee onto his lap, sitting on his thighs, keeping his hold on Keonhee's hand.
Everywhere they touch is achingly sensitive, the brush of fabric and graze of skin against skin sending little shocks skittering through his body. He shifts and squirms, unable to get comfortable.
"Relax." Youngjo's voice is smooth and coaxing, and Keonhee can’t help but follow that particular command when it's so familiar.
"You're so pretty," Youngjo murmurs, bringing Keonhee's hand up to his lips. "I can't believe you let me do this."
His warm breath ghosts over Keonhee's knuckles, lips brushing his skin as he speaks, and Keonhee shudders with it, feeling it down to his feet.
"I wanted it," he finds himself saying — forming words is still arduous, but these slip out of him without conscious thought.
"You wanted to stop thinking, right?" Youngjo asks, and Keonhee nods before he quite processes the question. "Wanted to feel good?"
"Yeah," Keonhee breathes, sucking the air back into his lungs on a gasp as Youngjo kisses the pad of his first finger and then draws it onto his tongue, sucking gently.
It's the strangest sensation — he feels Youngjo's tongue tracing patterns on his finger in excruciating clarity, wet and hot, and at the same time, it's echoed in a vague, overwhelming pleasure that roots itself behind his cock. He whines and his hips kick up, instinctively chasing contact that simply isn't there.
"O-oh, oh my god," he stammers, and Youngjo smiles around his finger.
When Youngjo pulls back, he lets his teeth scrape a little bit along the ridged pad — Keonhee’s body decides to process that as a squirming, tense sensation behind his balls, the way it feels when he clenches all his muscles in an attempt to chase a receding wave of pleasure.
"You're being so good for me," Youngjo murmurs, tilting Keonhee’s hand and sucking kisses across his palm, licking up the sensitive lines that he'd traced earlier, nipping at the thick swell of his thumb. The pleasure trickles down his body, making him twist in Youngjo's lap as his dick twitches and leaks.
"Please," Keonhee sighs. Youngjo hums, lips skimming up the soft inside of Keonhee’s forearm, his skin achingly tender.
"Tell me," Youngjo says, and Keonhee can't even think to say no.
"I wanna come," he begs, "please, I want…"
He shrinks away with sensitivity as Youngjo darts in and kisses slowly up his throat, each touch echoed by a near-painful throb in his dick. A scrape of teeth makes him whine loudly, his own voice out of his control and unable to feel any shame about it.
"I've got you," Youngjo says, low and steady. His lips graze Keonhee’s ear and it makes him squirm, thighs tensing against the desperate, crawling pleasure it evokes under his skin.
He dips and takes Keonhee’s fingers in his mouth again, hot and wet, and Keonhee nearly goes limp, forehead falling to Youngjo’s shoulder, hips rocking forward against nothing in a stuttering rhythm. He's so close, teetering on the edge — it's not like a normal orgasm where he can link every touch or thrust to his forward momentum, but instead like his entire body is full of pressure about to burst.
"Come on, baby," Youngjo murmurs, soft against the tips of his fingers, "you can do it, come on."
He takes Keonhee’s fingers as deep as they'll go into his mouth, nearly into his throat, and it sends such a wave of heat through Keonhee that the pressure inside him finally cracks and gives. Pleasure floods him, makes him freeze and tense, fingernails digging into Youngjo's shoulder, whining so loud it must be audible through the walls.
His hips jerk and jerk, moving through the motions of orgasm — coming like this, it's often only the pleasure and none of the real satisfaction, his body still pent-up.
When the first waves subside, Youngjo reaches between them, rubbing at Keonhee’s dick through his pants. It's so much, he's so sensitive, still aching and hard, it's enough to send a real, physical orgasm tearing through him. Keonhee wails, twisting and squirming, body unable to decide whether to lean in or attempt to escape.
"There you go, that's it," Youngjo soothes, rubbing circles over Keonhee's cockhead where it shows wet through the fabric. Every touch feels like fire, so intense it’s painful.
“I can’t, I can’t, please stop,” Keonhee hiccups, tears welling in his eyes, hips jerking back. Youngjo lets up immediately, kind enough not to tease him while he’s so vulnerable, and Keonhee slumps as soon as the touch is gone.
“It’s okay, you’re done, baby. You’re done.” Keonhee gives a full-body shudder, burying his face in Youngjo’s neck.
He doesn’t know how long they stay like that — his brain is still foggy, thoughts sluggish but clearing slowly, like waking up after hitting the snooze button one too many times.
“Back with me?” Youngjo asks, hand running up Keonhee’s back, over his t-shirt. He’s still sensitive, but not more than usual, and when he leans back his shoulders pop from being hunched over for too long.
“Yeah,” he croaks, grimacing at the state of his voice.
“Good.” Youngjo tips Keonhee out of his lap and onto the bed so they can spoon instead. Keonhee feels gross and sticky, but he’s still sleepy enough to ignore it.
“That was, like… the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” Youngjo says, lips brushing the back of Keonhee’s neck.
Keonhee narrows his eyes. “Is that a compliment for me or for you?”
“Both? I had no idea if that would work. That... did work, right?”
“What? Why— I can’t, like, fake an orgasm, of course it worked.” Keonhee flips over to see Youngjo’s face — he looks slightly abashed, color staining his cheeks.
"That was the first time I've actually tried it on anyone,” he says. “Like, in real life.”
Keonhee stares at him. He feels a little bit silly all of a sudden, like he’s fallen for a trick he shouldn’t have.
"I haven't been hooking up since I started that account, so…"
“Then how did you learn how to make your stuff?”
Youngjo shrugs. “Did a lot of research. Listened to what got popular and tried to make something close to that. Trial and error, mostly.”
“Trial and error,” Keonhee echoes, faintly.
“I’m good at taking feedback.” Youngjo pushes at Keonhee to get them back into spooning position. “Does it really matter?”
It feels like it should matter.
“I don’t know. Maybe not,” Keonhee says, letting his eyes slip shut. “Thanks for trying with me, I guess.”
“Thanks for trusting me.” Youngjo kisses just under his jaw and Keonhee hums contentedly. The stress of the last month feels a million miles away and he’s about a minute away from falling truly asleep.
“Hey. Do you think I could get you to listen to my soundcloud by—”