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writetomyheart2015-04-07 10:47 pm
bluedreaming) wrote in writetomyheart2015-04-07 10:47 pm
[team sonic] Lightning in my soul
Starting words from here.
Title from Céu's Chegar em Mim.
Written for bookishvice.
Bodies are interesting things. For instance, Jongin never thought about his feet as erogenous zones, and yet here he's lying on his stomach on the sofa, doing his best to pretend not to wince every time Chanyeol digs his thumbs into the soles of his feet, not because it hurts but because he's so turned on, so hard that he doesn't dare move, bracing himself against the cushions with white knuckles so that his aching erection gets as little friction as possible.
I can do this.
But as Chanyeol runs the fingernails of his fingers lightly over the skin, fingertips trailing around the knob of his ankle bones before circling around to press into the arch of his foot, Jongin isn't so sure. He grits his teeth, fingernails digging into his palms in a desperate attempt to distract himself, as Chanyeol pinky fingers dance over the tops of his feet as his thumbs skim the sole, a feather-light prelude to a —
press
—Jongin's back arches slightly and he smothers his face in the sofa cushions as he comes down the front of his pants, the warm wetness soaking through the fabric and into the sofa cushion beneath his crotch. He feels tears beading the corners of his eyes and blinks them back, frustrated at himself, as Chanyeol's finger's still and he shifts on the sofa.
"Are you okay?" he sounds worried, and Jongin feels bad, but he also has come all down the front of his pants. "Was I too rough?" Jongin chokes back a disbelieving gurgle.
"No," he manages to say, his voice a little breathy because he's still trying to control himself. "That was really. . .nice. Thank you." He buries his red face in the cushion and prays that Chanyeol will just go away.
"Should I continue?" Chanyeol asks, and Jongin can feel his fingers hovering over the sole of his feet again—
"No, that's okay!" he squeaks. Please go away, please go away. "I'm just going to lie here and. . .rest a little."
Thankfully Chanyeol is the kind friend that he always is, nodding unsuspectingly and patting Jongin's shoulder as he heads for the kitchen for a drink, humming cheerfully as his swings his long arms and calls back over his shoulder,
"Any time! Just let me know! I need to practice anyway!"
Jongin tries not to think about it, waiting the space of a few cooling, sticky breaths before he peels himself off the sofa and darts into his room, the door slamming too loudly behind him.
♡ ♡ ♡
Bodies might be interesting things, but nothing can possibly be more interesting, rather painfully so, than Jongin's heightened awareness of his feet. He's a dancer, he's always on his feet, and generally barefoot too, the callused skin of his soles brushing over wood, the texture of the grain smooth with the wear of years, but now his feet feel far too sensitive, every slip of skin on wood is like Chanyeol's thumbs skidding across his heel, the play of air currents around his ankles is Chanyeol's pinky fingers skipping around the knob of bone.
He's having trouble concentrating.
Jongin hasn't taken Chanyeol up on his offer again, but he can't help tracking his hands as he sits, eating breakfast across the table; long fingers balancing the butter knife as he strokes on luscious swathes of nutella, fingertips lightly grasping a strawberry to lift it to his mouth, pink tongue flicking across his sticky fingertips—Jongin feels his knees go weak, cock stirring hopelessly in his pants as he sags against the back of his char—the thought of Chanyeol's fingers massaging the soles of his feet, thumbs pressing into the arch, his tongue flicking over too sensitive toes. . .
"Are you okay?" Chanyeol is looking at him with unmasked concern over the table; Jongin realizes with a start that he's slipped half out of his seat, chin now level with the milk pitcher. His legs feel boneless but he fishes himself up with his hands, knuckles white on the wood edge. There's a wet spot in his underwear; he can feel the precum slipping between his skin and the cotton fabric.
"Yeah, I'm okay," he manages to blurt out between clenched teeth as, holding himself desperately back, he trips out of the kitchen and hides himself in the bathroom, face wrinkled in frustration as he jacks himself off, the sound disguised by the water running in the sink. He comes so fast that it's not even funny.
♡ ♡ ♡
Jongin does his best to avoid Chanyeol after that, even the thought of him is too much sometimes, but it's hard when they're flatmates and all. He tries crashing at Kyungsoo's house, but he takes one look at Jongin and after feeding him well with hot soup and fluffy rice, pushes him out the door.
"Don't use me to hide from your problems," he glares, but Jongin can see the smile in his eyes and knows he means well.
Sneaking into the apartment, the living room is dark so he takes off his shoes quietly and tiptoes towards his room, bare feet grazing almost silently across the parquet. He's almost there, fingers hovering over the doorknob, when Chanyeol's door opens.
"Oh Jongin!" he says, the smile in his voice palpable despite the fact the Jongin's back is still turned, "I was wondering when you were coming home. I haven't see you in a few days." Jongin lets his head fall forward to collide silently with the door, the painted wood cool against his flushing forehead. Chanyeol is in a "let's talk!" mood and all Jongin wants to do is—he feels Chanyeol's fingertips gently making contact with his shoulder and it's too much, everything is too much, the emotional overload the past few days, the frustration at himself for not being able to control his body, the thick warm glow forever swimming in the muscles below his stomach—Jongin lets out a moan, no cushion to stifle it now, no running water to mask the sound, as he comes in his pants for the second time that week.
The hallway is silent, as Chanyeol's fingers freeze on his shoulder, and Jongin can't even flush in complete and utter mortification as he feel warm come dripping down one leg.
Finally he hears Chanyeol exhale, softly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as the parquet squeaks faintly. Jongin still doesn't let go of the air in his chest.
"Do we need to talk?" he says in a soft voice, but he doesn't sound angry or disgusted. "Is this about the fact that you've been really strange since I practiced on your feet?" He doesn't mention the wet spot on the sofa and Jongin could curl up in relief.
Face to the door, come in his pants, Jongin figures there's nowhere to go but up.
"I can't get your fingers out of my head," he admits in a small voice. "Your fingers on my feet."
"Oh!" Chanyeol says, and there's a curious brightness to his tone, a kind of quietly delighted satisfaction that enables Jongin to turn around and face his friend.
Chanyeol isn't looking at him with dislike or disgust. There's a slight flush on his cheeks and he's grinning, just a little, sunshine hovering in the corners of his mouth. His eyes flick down to spot the wet circle in the front of Jongin's pants and Jongin can't help it; he moves his hands to cover the tell-tale evidence.
"Don't," Chanyeol says softly, fingers reaching forward, across the hall, to hover over Jongin's shoulder in an unspoken question before they make contact with Jongin's shirt. Jongin shivers, slightly, but Chanyeol can feel it.
"You're probably feeling really gross right now," he says, and there's a soft, smile on his face. "I was just going for a shower, actually. Do you want a bath?"
Jongin nods, face frowning at the stickiness between his legs before he realizes, Chanyeol pulling him gently towards the bathroom.
"Wait," Jongin says, stopping, feet quivering slightly as the soles of his feet make contact with the cool tile floor, "are you sure?" Chanyeol closes the door and nods.
"Of course," he says, and pulls his shirt off in a fluid motion. Jongin hesitates, watching Chanyeol unbutton his jeans and pull down down over his hips, but he is really uncomfortable, the fabric is starting to chafe and so he pulls off his shirt and, wincing slightly at the feeling, peels off his pants and underwear.
Chanyeol is already sitting in the bathtub, water running as he looks over the selection of bubble baths with the delight of a small child; it makes Jongin less shy as he steps hesitantly over the white porcelain rim. The warm water is soothing to his feet, as the water line tickles at his skin, his breath hitches as his skin brushes against Chanyeol. Chanyeol doesn't say anything, just glances over with a smile on his face.
"What flavour do you like?" he asks, and Jongin surveys the selection, glad to be able to focus on something else.
"Maybe French vanilla?" he suggests, and Chanyeol rewards him with a grin as he measures a capful into the stream of warm water. The sweet smell of vanilla fills the small room as the air slowly clouds with steam, the water level rising above Jongin's legs.
It's quiet as they both lather themselves up with soap, small inhales as knees and elbows touch, but it's a kind of waiting dance, a question hovering in the air. Jongin focuses on himself and getting rid of the stickiness, rinsing off with the hand-held shower spray.
Finally Chanyeol makes a soft sound and Jongin turns to look. It's almost too intimate in the bathtub, even though they're barely touching. "Can I wash your feet?" Chanyeol asks. Jongin's feet are already clean, but he nods his head.
Facing enough other in the oversized tub, Jongin extends a leg and Chanyeol takes his foot in his hands. Jongin shivers unconsciously at the contact, the fingers grazing lightly over the skin, but at the first press of thumbs against the soles his eyes flutter shut and he leaves against the porcelain, now warm from the water.
Chanyeol works systematically around the bottoms of his feet, first the left and then the right, Jongin so boneless in the water as he just breathes and lets the water wash away all the emotions he's been coiling up since the first time; he feels himself getting hard and glances up anxiously at Chanyeol, but Chanyeol only grins at him, it's okay is written clearly across his eyes as he runs his fingers around the knobs of Jongin's ankles and Jongin just lets himself feel.
Chanyeol saves the arches for last, one foot in each hand as he works deeply into the muscles with his thumbs and Jongin is so close, so achingly close—and then he feels warm wetness over his toes, his eyes fluttering open he sees Chanyeol, mouth closed over his toes, tongue running between them as he sucks—Jongin can't hold it in any longer and comes thickly into the warm water, vision blurred with steam and vanilla and the total and complete bliss he feels when he's finished.
Chanyeol chuckles, just a small rumbling in his chest, and Jongin cracks his eyes open.
"What?" he mumbles, too relaxed to move.
"I love it," Chanyeol says, "I love this. Can we do it again sometime?" He's grinning, a sun hovering over his face, and Jongin can see that he's hard too; he'd offer to help but he's too tired right now as he nods, smiling apologetically.
I'm not sure how I feel about you yet but I definitely love this too.
Title from Céu's Chegar em Mim.
Written for bookishvice.
Bodies are interesting things. For instance, Jongin never thought about his feet as erogenous zones, and yet here he's lying on his stomach on the sofa, doing his best to pretend not to wince every time Chanyeol digs his thumbs into the soles of his feet, not because it hurts but because he's so turned on, so hard that he doesn't dare move, bracing himself against the cushions with white knuckles so that his aching erection gets as little friction as possible.
I can do this.
But as Chanyeol runs the fingernails of his fingers lightly over the skin, fingertips trailing around the knob of his ankle bones before circling around to press into the arch of his foot, Jongin isn't so sure. He grits his teeth, fingernails digging into his palms in a desperate attempt to distract himself, as Chanyeol pinky fingers dance over the tops of his feet as his thumbs skim the sole, a feather-light prelude to a —
press
—Jongin's back arches slightly and he smothers his face in the sofa cushions as he comes down the front of his pants, the warm wetness soaking through the fabric and into the sofa cushion beneath his crotch. He feels tears beading the corners of his eyes and blinks them back, frustrated at himself, as Chanyeol's finger's still and he shifts on the sofa.
"Are you okay?" he sounds worried, and Jongin feels bad, but he also has come all down the front of his pants. "Was I too rough?" Jongin chokes back a disbelieving gurgle.
"No," he manages to say, his voice a little breathy because he's still trying to control himself. "That was really. . .nice. Thank you." He buries his red face in the cushion and prays that Chanyeol will just go away.
"Should I continue?" Chanyeol asks, and Jongin can feel his fingers hovering over the sole of his feet again—
"No, that's okay!" he squeaks. Please go away, please go away. "I'm just going to lie here and. . .rest a little."
Thankfully Chanyeol is the kind friend that he always is, nodding unsuspectingly and patting Jongin's shoulder as he heads for the kitchen for a drink, humming cheerfully as his swings his long arms and calls back over his shoulder,
"Any time! Just let me know! I need to practice anyway!"
Jongin tries not to think about it, waiting the space of a few cooling, sticky breaths before he peels himself off the sofa and darts into his room, the door slamming too loudly behind him.
Bodies might be interesting things, but nothing can possibly be more interesting, rather painfully so, than Jongin's heightened awareness of his feet. He's a dancer, he's always on his feet, and generally barefoot too, the callused skin of his soles brushing over wood, the texture of the grain smooth with the wear of years, but now his feet feel far too sensitive, every slip of skin on wood is like Chanyeol's thumbs skidding across his heel, the play of air currents around his ankles is Chanyeol's pinky fingers skipping around the knob of bone.
He's having trouble concentrating.
Jongin hasn't taken Chanyeol up on his offer again, but he can't help tracking his hands as he sits, eating breakfast across the table; long fingers balancing the butter knife as he strokes on luscious swathes of nutella, fingertips lightly grasping a strawberry to lift it to his mouth, pink tongue flicking across his sticky fingertips—Jongin feels his knees go weak, cock stirring hopelessly in his pants as he sags against the back of his char—the thought of Chanyeol's fingers massaging the soles of his feet, thumbs pressing into the arch, his tongue flicking over too sensitive toes. . .
"Are you okay?" Chanyeol is looking at him with unmasked concern over the table; Jongin realizes with a start that he's slipped half out of his seat, chin now level with the milk pitcher. His legs feel boneless but he fishes himself up with his hands, knuckles white on the wood edge. There's a wet spot in his underwear; he can feel the precum slipping between his skin and the cotton fabric.
"Yeah, I'm okay," he manages to blurt out between clenched teeth as, holding himself desperately back, he trips out of the kitchen and hides himself in the bathroom, face wrinkled in frustration as he jacks himself off, the sound disguised by the water running in the sink. He comes so fast that it's not even funny.
Jongin does his best to avoid Chanyeol after that, even the thought of him is too much sometimes, but it's hard when they're flatmates and all. He tries crashing at Kyungsoo's house, but he takes one look at Jongin and after feeding him well with hot soup and fluffy rice, pushes him out the door.
"Don't use me to hide from your problems," he glares, but Jongin can see the smile in his eyes and knows he means well.
Sneaking into the apartment, the living room is dark so he takes off his shoes quietly and tiptoes towards his room, bare feet grazing almost silently across the parquet. He's almost there, fingers hovering over the doorknob, when Chanyeol's door opens.
"Oh Jongin!" he says, the smile in his voice palpable despite the fact the Jongin's back is still turned, "I was wondering when you were coming home. I haven't see you in a few days." Jongin lets his head fall forward to collide silently with the door, the painted wood cool against his flushing forehead. Chanyeol is in a "let's talk!" mood and all Jongin wants to do is—he feels Chanyeol's fingertips gently making contact with his shoulder and it's too much, everything is too much, the emotional overload the past few days, the frustration at himself for not being able to control his body, the thick warm glow forever swimming in the muscles below his stomach—Jongin lets out a moan, no cushion to stifle it now, no running water to mask the sound, as he comes in his pants for the second time that week.
The hallway is silent, as Chanyeol's fingers freeze on his shoulder, and Jongin can't even flush in complete and utter mortification as he feel warm come dripping down one leg.
Finally he hears Chanyeol exhale, softly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as the parquet squeaks faintly. Jongin still doesn't let go of the air in his chest.
"Do we need to talk?" he says in a soft voice, but he doesn't sound angry or disgusted. "Is this about the fact that you've been really strange since I practiced on your feet?" He doesn't mention the wet spot on the sofa and Jongin could curl up in relief.
Face to the door, come in his pants, Jongin figures there's nowhere to go but up.
"I can't get your fingers out of my head," he admits in a small voice. "Your fingers on my feet."
"Oh!" Chanyeol says, and there's a curious brightness to his tone, a kind of quietly delighted satisfaction that enables Jongin to turn around and face his friend.
Chanyeol isn't looking at him with dislike or disgust. There's a slight flush on his cheeks and he's grinning, just a little, sunshine hovering in the corners of his mouth. His eyes flick down to spot the wet circle in the front of Jongin's pants and Jongin can't help it; he moves his hands to cover the tell-tale evidence.
"Don't," Chanyeol says softly, fingers reaching forward, across the hall, to hover over Jongin's shoulder in an unspoken question before they make contact with Jongin's shirt. Jongin shivers, slightly, but Chanyeol can feel it.
"You're probably feeling really gross right now," he says, and there's a soft, smile on his face. "I was just going for a shower, actually. Do you want a bath?"
Jongin nods, face frowning at the stickiness between his legs before he realizes, Chanyeol pulling him gently towards the bathroom.
"Wait," Jongin says, stopping, feet quivering slightly as the soles of his feet make contact with the cool tile floor, "are you sure?" Chanyeol closes the door and nods.
"Of course," he says, and pulls his shirt off in a fluid motion. Jongin hesitates, watching Chanyeol unbutton his jeans and pull down down over his hips, but he is really uncomfortable, the fabric is starting to chafe and so he pulls off his shirt and, wincing slightly at the feeling, peels off his pants and underwear.
Chanyeol is already sitting in the bathtub, water running as he looks over the selection of bubble baths with the delight of a small child; it makes Jongin less shy as he steps hesitantly over the white porcelain rim. The warm water is soothing to his feet, as the water line tickles at his skin, his breath hitches as his skin brushes against Chanyeol. Chanyeol doesn't say anything, just glances over with a smile on his face.
"What flavour do you like?" he asks, and Jongin surveys the selection, glad to be able to focus on something else.
"Maybe French vanilla?" he suggests, and Chanyeol rewards him with a grin as he measures a capful into the stream of warm water. The sweet smell of vanilla fills the small room as the air slowly clouds with steam, the water level rising above Jongin's legs.
It's quiet as they both lather themselves up with soap, small inhales as knees and elbows touch, but it's a kind of waiting dance, a question hovering in the air. Jongin focuses on himself and getting rid of the stickiness, rinsing off with the hand-held shower spray.
Finally Chanyeol makes a soft sound and Jongin turns to look. It's almost too intimate in the bathtub, even though they're barely touching. "Can I wash your feet?" Chanyeol asks. Jongin's feet are already clean, but he nods his head.
Facing enough other in the oversized tub, Jongin extends a leg and Chanyeol takes his foot in his hands. Jongin shivers unconsciously at the contact, the fingers grazing lightly over the skin, but at the first press of thumbs against the soles his eyes flutter shut and he leaves against the porcelain, now warm from the water.
Chanyeol works systematically around the bottoms of his feet, first the left and then the right, Jongin so boneless in the water as he just breathes and lets the water wash away all the emotions he's been coiling up since the first time; he feels himself getting hard and glances up anxiously at Chanyeol, but Chanyeol only grins at him, it's okay is written clearly across his eyes as he runs his fingers around the knobs of Jongin's ankles and Jongin just lets himself feel.
Chanyeol saves the arches for last, one foot in each hand as he works deeply into the muscles with his thumbs and Jongin is so close, so achingly close—and then he feels warm wetness over his toes, his eyes fluttering open he sees Chanyeol, mouth closed over his toes, tongue running between them as he sucks—Jongin can't hold it in any longer and comes thickly into the warm water, vision blurred with steam and vanilla and the total and complete bliss he feels when he's finished.
Chanyeol chuckles, just a small rumbling in his chest, and Jongin cracks his eyes open.
"What?" he mumbles, too relaxed to move.
"I love it," Chanyeol says, "I love this. Can we do it again sometime?" He's grinning, a sun hovering over his face, and Jongin can see that he's hard too; he'd offer to help but he's too tired right now as he nods, smiling apologetically.
I'm not sure how I feel about you yet but I definitely love this too.