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kjmsupremacist · 3 years ago

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double exposure (yuta/taeyong)

During promotions for his first Japanese mini album, k-idol Taeyong meets one of his favorite artists, j-rock star Yuta. Though it starts casual, Taeyong begins to realize he may be in over his head, and struggles to reconcile his affection for Yuta with all the things that keep them apart.

Chapter 3 | prev next mlist

Characters: Taeyong, Yuta

Genre: k-soloist taeyong, jrockstar yuta; romance, smut, angst

Warnings: dom/sub dynamics, smut, slight overstimulation, alcohol mentions, homophobia mentions

Rating: Explicit

Length: 4.5k

taglist: @meowniee @flowerboykun

The last couple of weeks have passed in a blur. Things have been pretty busy, so Taeyong’s only been able to meet up with Yuta a couple of times. It’s been back to back to back shows and interviews and magazine shoots, so Taeyong barely has time to sleep, let alone do anything else.

Still, they’ve been texting, and the little time they have been able to spend together has been, well, fruitful, Taeyong supposes. They’re still learning their exact roles around each other, but they’re comfortable now. They’re learning their dance, filling the steps with jokes and kisses. And their moments together are sweet, however brief.

But Taeyong’s activities are winding down now; soon, he’ll be flying back to Korea for a brief hiatus. He requested to have a couple of free days at the end of his trip, originally planning to spend the time vacationing and exploring the city. His plans have changed a little now, but he’s grateful for the free days all the same.

Yuta swings by his place a couple days before he’s set to depart. Their managers thought it would be wise to let them have one last public appearance together so people didn’t start wondering what was up with them, start making up stories about their relationship. Yuta takes him to the Meiji Shrine, and they stroll around together as Yuta gives Taeyong a short history lesson about the emperor and empress to whom the shrine is dedicated. They turn some heads, but Yuta’s security detail follows closely, so they’re not disturbed. Still, when Taeyong grows tired of the scrutiny, Yuta suggests they call it a day.

“Come back to mine?” Taeyong asks. “I can cook for us. I have groceries that still need using before I leave.”

Yuta’s eyes flash mischievously as he grins. “Sure,” he replies. “I’d love that.”

Taeyong had sort of planned for this, so his place is neat and tidy when they arrive. Still, he’s faintly embarrassed—there’s something about a living space that’s so intimate and so revealing, even one as temporary as Taeyong’s little rental. Yuta pokes around his kitchen, bold but still polite, admiring his decorations, giggling over the pictures on his cabinet.

“This is Ruby, right?” Yuta asks, pointing at one. “I was so sorry to hear about her passing.”

Taeyong’s vaguely surprised that he knew, and a little touched. “Yes,” he says softly as he brings down pots and pans. “That’s her.”

“And these—your famous idol friends,” Yuta says. “Wait, I can name them. Johnny. Doyoung. Who’s the third?”

Taeyong smiles. “Kun. Not an idol, a composer and producer.” He opens his cupboard. “You like spicy food, right?”

“Yes,” Yuta says. His voice sounds closer now; when Taeyong turns, he finds him only a few paces away, leaning back against his countertop. “Does Kun compose for you?”

“Sometimes,” Taeyong says. “I try to help with production though.” He shrugs, setting a pot of water to boil and opening his fridge to find the nice beef he’d been saving. “He composed my last title track, actually.”

“Ah.” Yuta nods approvingly. “Good composer.” He watches Taeyong for a moment. “Can I help?”

Taeyong shakes his head. “No, it’s alright.” He looks up at Yuta through his eyelashes. “Just talk to me.”

Yuta grins. “Sure.” He crosses his arms. “Today, the shrine, it was on your list of places you wanted to go, right?”

“Mm-hm,” Taeyong says as he heats up a pan.

“Did you get everything on your list?”

“Oh, god no.” Taeyong makes a sad face at him. “Too busy!”

“Oh, dear,” Yuta says sympathetically. “Well, I guess you’ll just have to come back and visit some other time. I’d be happy to reprise my role as tour guide, if you’ll have me.”

Taeyong giggles. “I’d love that, yeah.” He flashes a brief look up at Yuta. “You make an excellent tour guide.”

“Mm, another satisfied customer,” Yuta says, laughing. He scoots close, sneaking a little kiss. Taeyong squeaks in surprise.

“Careful, there’s hot oil,” he reprimands him, though Yuta’s already returned to his place against the counter.

Yuta reveals a fancy bottle of wine as Taeyong’s setting the table, and they drink and eat and laugh as the sun begins to set. Yuta helps him do the dishes, even though Taeyong protests. His hands are nimble and practiced; Taeyong finds himself watching those fingers out of the corner of his eye.

“You’ll stay the night?” Taeyong asks quietly as he pops a pod of dish soap into his dishwasher and turns it on.

“Unless you’d rather be alone,” Yuta says.

“Don’t be silly.” Taeyong nods for him to follow, padding out of the kitchen and down the hall to his room.

Yuta takes his time taking in Taeyong’s room as Taeyong scrounges around for lube and a condom. “It’s so cute,” he says, looking over some of his figurines. “You’re a nerd,” he adds fondly.

“Thanks,” Taeyong says drily, settling criss-cross-applesauce on top of his mattress. “Now come here.”

Yuta turns slowly, smile dark and wicked. “Of course, honey,” he says softly. He saunters over to Taeyong, planting a knee on the bed next to Taeyong’s right hip. Taeyong reaches out to him, holding tight to a pinch of his shirt. “Hi,” Yuta says.

“Hi,” Taeyong says back.

“Thank you for dinner,” Yuta says, and Taeyong makes a sort of nonplussed noise in response. Yuta lets out a soft exhale of laughter, bringing a hand up to brush Taeyong’s bangs off his forehead. “You’re leaving day after tomorrow, right?”

“Mm-hm,” Taeyong says, pouting a little.

“Guess I’ll just have to treat you extra special tonight then, huh?” Yuta says. He combs through Taeyong’s hair, nails just barely scratching on his scalp, the motion rhythmic and soothing.

Taeyong leans into his touch, almost subconsciously. “Guess you will,” he mumbles. He blinks up at Yuta, makes his eyes big and round, hoping it’ll spur Yuta into action.

It works. Yuta’s hand turns to a fist in Taeyong’s hair. Taeyong makes little hurt noises just for show as Yuta crowds him, bending over him, dipping his head low to mouth along his neck and jaw. “You’re really something else,” he murmurs into his skin. “Y’know that?” He doesn’t even pause to see if Taeyong will respond; he pushes away so Taeyong can move. “Lie back, honey. Gonna take such good care of you.” Taeyong whimpers softly as he complies, scooting up to his pillows, shoving the blankets aside to make room. Yuta is next to him as soon as he’s settled, running his hands up and down his arms, sneaking them under his shirt so he can feel his bare skin there.

“Want it,” Taeyong says, though he’s honestly not even sure what exactly he’s asking for. “Want you.”

Yuta smiles. “I’m right here, honey. Arms up for me?” He pulls at Taeyong’s shirt, working it up and off his body with nimble fingers. “So pretty.”

He tosses Taeyong’s shirt aside and bends over him, attaching his mouth to his chest. Taeyong’s body arches up on its own, chasing Yuta’s lips instinctually. “Yuta,” he breathes.

Yuta looks up at him, speaking into his skin. “Let’s take it slow tonight,” he says. “We have all the time in the world. Wanna see all of you. Wanna kiss you everywhere. How’s that sound?”

“Yeah,” Taeyong agrees, nodding.

“God, you’re so—” Yuta interrupts himself to nip at the tender skin stretched thin over Taeyong’s ribcage. Taeyong yelps softly, surprised, and Yuta laughs. “I don’t know what it is,” Yuta continues, voice low and conspiratorial. “Something about you just makes me lose control, it’s like you’re begging me to undo you.”

“It’s ‘cuz I am,” Taeyong replies, and Yuta shakes his head.

“Make me wanna do such awful things,” he says. His hands are on Taeyong’s pants now; he looks up for affirmation and Taeyong just blinks at him to go ahead. He yanks them down, underwear coming with them, and tugs them around Taeyong’s ankles. Taeyong struggles free, and Yuta spreads his legs with both hands. “What would people think if they found out?”

“About you?” Taeyong asks. “I doubt it would change much. Your image is pretty… raunchy already, isn’t it?”

“Mm, that’s true,” Yuta says. “You, on the other hand… They’d be so scandalized.”

“You’d be surprised,” Taeyong giggles. “From what I’ve seen, I think plenty of them have a pretty good idea of what I’m really like, even if they don’t know it.”

Yuta hums in amusement, reaching up for the lube Taeyong discarded on the bed. “Let’s pray they never find out for certain, hm? For the sake of your manager’s mental health?”

Taeyong snorts unattractively as Yuta presses the first lube-slick finger up against his entrance. But Yuta doesn’t say a thing, just kisses his kneecap and runs the thumb of his other hand down the length of Taeyong’s cock.

“But you can show me, can’t you?” he asks, soft and dangerous. “You can show me what you’re really like.”

Taeyong shivers without meaning to. “Yuta,” he breathes. Maybe he’s begging. “I already have.”

“Well, you know me.” Yuta leans forward just a little, mouth hovering over the head of Taeyong’s cock. “Insatiable.” He presses his tongue to the slit, then draws it back into his mouth, teasing. “But that’s okay, isn’t it?” He does it again; this time, though, he swipes his tongue from side to side before pausing to speak. “You’re the same, aren’t you?”

Taeyong nods, blinking down at him, wide-eyed with anticipation.

Yuta raises a hand, so fast Taeyong doesn’t see it until after he’s registered the pain. Yuta taps his cock again—Taeyong can’t really call it slapping, it hardly does more than sting—tilting his head. “Your words, honey.”

“Yes,” Taeyong says quickly. “Yes, I’m the same as you.”

Yuta grins. “That’s right.” He finally pushes that finger into Taeyong, watching with sadistic pleasure when Taeyong convulses at the unexpected intrusion. “Nothing is ever enough.” He curls over Taeyong’s body, presses a searing kiss to his inner thigh. “Except maybe me.” He bites over the spot, and Taeyong yelps in surprise. “You okay?” he asks, face gentling for a second as he searches Taeyong’s eyes.

“I’m okay,” Taeyong reassures him. He means it.

Yuta nods, though he backs off anyway, more interested in fingering Taeyong than being mean, Taeyong thinks. He works his finger in and out, slow and careful. He seems intent on taking his time tonight; he keeps the same pace even as Taeyong relaxes around him.

Slow torture, Taeyong concludes. That’s what treating me extra special means. He doesn’t mind. It just means more time with Yuta. He settles again, watching Yuta through half-lidded eyes, letting himself admire him the way he can’t when they’re in public—the line of his brows; the sharp, intelligent gleam in his eyes; the wicked curve of his lips when he smiles. Taeyong thinks he could stare at him forever.

“What?” Yuta asks softly.

“You’re beautiful,” Taeyong blurts before he can stop himself.

And there’s the smile Taeyong adores, the one that makes something in him shake with desire. “Yeah?” Yuta asks.

“Yeah,” Taeyong says breathlessly, faint embarrassment dissipating instantly. He doesn’t mind, if he can keep Yuta smiling. “Wish I could see all of you, without all your clothes in the way.”

“Oh, you’re right,” Yuta says, pulling his finger out slowly and then yanking his shirt off with his clean hand. “Not fair, is it, honey?”

Taeyong pouts, shaking his head, though the pout quickly turns to a delighted smile when Yuta stands and shucks off his pants, taking his underwear (and socks, Taeyong realizes) with them. Yuta crawls back up the bed to him, arranging himself once again between Taeyong’s thighs, looking up again to catch Taeyong’s eye and give him a smirk.

“Better?” he asks as he goes to add some more lube to his fingers.

Taeyong hums appreciatively. “Much better,” he agrees.

Yuta sinks two fingers into him this time, but it’s hardly a stretch since he spent so long on the first. He leans forward, planting kisses along the seam of Taeyong’s belly, then higher, shifting the hand that isn’t inside Taeyong up on the bed to help him stay balanced. “You’re beautiful, too,” he murmurs. “I remember the first time I saw a video of you, I thought, ‘no way does he look like that. No way is that real.’ Imagine my surprise when I discovered that you’re even better in person? I’m still not sure,” he continues, slotting kisses between Taeyong’s ribs as he continues to pump his fingers in and out at the same slow, measured pace, “if you really are real. Were you born like the rest of us, or sculpted and sent as a reminder of what we should be?”

“You give me too much credit,” Taeyong whispers. “You know we all get surgery.”

Yuta is smiling; Taeyong can feel it against his skin. “But you have to start somewhere. You can’t make something out of nothing.”

Taeyong huffs softly. “I’ll let you believe it,” he says.

“How kind of you,” Yuta replies, and Taeyong giggles.

Yuta curls his fingers against Taeyong’s prostate, and his giggles quickly morph into hiccuped moans. His hands find Yuta’s hair instinctively; he has to flex his fingers out straight so he doesn’t tighten them into fists against Yuta’s scalp. Yuta raises his head, turning so he can kiss the inside of one of Taeyong’s wrists.

“Yuta,” Taeyong gasps when he does it again. He’s just brushing over the spot, really, but Taeyong can feel it in his toes.

“Here, right?” Yuta asks, rubbing a slow circle into the spot, watching Taeyong’s face. Taeyong can only whimper. “Good,” Yuta says, and then doesn’t let up, petting over his prostate again and again with no reprieve.

“Yuta,” Taeyong moans, nearly chokes. His hips are twitching, just small, abortive movements, like Taeyong’s body can’t quite decide if it wants to chase the sensation or sprint in the opposite direction. It leaves Taeyong feeling like he’s on the edge of a knife, teetering between a painful sort of pleasure and a devastating fall.

Yuta rests his forehead against Taeyong’s stomach, right in between the two points of his ribcage, and brings his other hand up to Taeyong’s chest, circling one of his dusky pink nipples. It’s nearly too much for Taeyong; he thinks somewhere in the back of his foggy brain that he’s very glad Yuta doesn’t have a third arm to torture his cock with, or he’d be in real trouble. As it is, he can barely breathe for the pleasure that’s taken him over.

After a minute or so of this, Yuta pulls his fingers out—not all the way, just to slide a third one in beside the first two. Luckily for Taeyong’s fraying sanity, he doesn’t go back to his prostate, but instead focuses on stretching Taeyong again, moving carefully and with purpose now, instead of just with the intent to make Taeyong melt into a puddle of lust.

Yuta sits back again, withdrawing from Taeyong’s chest, and instead refocuses his attention on his thighs. He runs his fingers along the length of Taeyong’s legs, scattering kisses across his skin as he fingers him open. It’s patternless; it seems to Taeyong that Yuta sees a spot that looks unkissed and immediately finds it with his lips. It’s almost like he’s claiming Taeyong, one kiss at a time.

Taeyong whines a little when he feels Yuta squeeze his pinky in beside the rest, but there’s hardly any pain. Yuta seems to know this; he only laughs softly. “Such a crybaby,” he teases. “Does it really hurt?”

Under the scrutiny of his gaze, Taeyong finds it impossible to lie. He shakes his head. “No,” he says. “Just—feel so full, but it’s not enough. Want you, want your cock.”

“Keep your patience for a few more minutes,” Yuta says. “I’ll give you what you want, you know I will.”

Taeyong isn’t worried about his patience—if it’s for Yuta, he could wait all day, he thinks. He’s worried more about his body getting the better of him. Yuta’s been taking his time, drawing this out, and it’s put Taeyong just on the edge. He’s well past embarrassment at this point—he knows Yuta delights in making him come as much as he possibly can—but Taeyong doesn’t have the best stamina, and he doesn’t want to get too tired too soon.

He doesn’t voice any of this, though. Part of him is curious to see what will happen if he lets Yuta have his way (the other part of him is just lazy). He shudders through a few more minutes of fingering and then finally Yuta pulls out, planting a kiss on the peak of Taeyong’s hip bone.

“There,” he says. “Now you’re ready.”

“Then hurry,” Taeyong says.

“Why hurry?” Yuta teases as he grabs the condom, tearing the package open with his teeth. “I thought we were gonna take it slow.”

“Please,” is all Taeyong can manage, skin buzzing with the need for Yuta to fuck him.

“All this attitude, when I’ve been treating you so nicely,” Yuta says, but his tone is light and mirthful; he doesn’t stop what he’s doing to actually reprimand Taeyong. He spreads lube over his cock and lines up with Taeyong’s entrance.

“Not attitude, it—oh, fuck,” Taeyong whimpers, the rest of the sentence immediately escaping him as Yuta pushes in. His eyes roll back; he arches off the bed as Yuta bottoms out, head of his cock flush against Taeyong’s prostate, and Taeyong realizes too late that he’s coming. “Fuck, oh fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whispers through gritted teeth as he feels the first drops of his release hit his stomach, sticky and warm.

Yuta hurries to curl over him, resting his weight on his elbows, lips finding Taeyong’s neck, one hand finding his cheek while the other reaches down to stroke him through the aftershocks. “Oh, honey,” Yuta murmurs, voice dripping syrupy sweet, “did you just come?”

Taeyong gasps in breaths as his heart rate slows again, nodding. “Couldn’t help it,” he says. “Everything f-feels so good. I—I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize.” Yuta’s voice is rich with indulgence, dark and warm. “It was hot. You’re always so pretty when you come.”

Taeyong can’t help but preen—and who can blame him? It seems it’s simply another thing he can’t help, courtesy again of Yuta.

Yuta pushes himself up, raising the hand that was on Taeyong’s cock to his lips so he can clean himself up. He meets Taeyong’s eyes as he does it, and it makes Taeyong shiver. There’s something so filthy and so fucking hot about it—Yuta, sharp eyes staring straight into Taeyong’s, licking Taeyong’s release off his fingers.

Yuta also starts moving his hips—just small, gentle circles at first, to make sure Taeyong’s body is ready for what’s to come. Taeyong finds it difficult to keep his thoughts coherent, not when the head of Yuta’s perfect cock is still lighting up his prostate with no reprieve, not when Yuta is looking at him like that—like he wants to devour him. There’s a greedy, possessive edge to his gaze that has heat curling in Taeyong’s belly.

Hand now clean, Yuta lowers himself back down so he’s hovering over Taeyong, hair falling into his eyes as he shifts his weight onto his hands, rocking his hips back and then forwards again, almost like he’s testing the waters, like he wants to see what Taeyong will do.

Taeyong gives him a pitiful little moan, hoping it’ll make Yuta show a little mercy, but Yuta just laughs. “Stay with me, honey,” he says. “I’m not done with you yet. Won’t be for a while.”

“Yuta,” Taeyong whines, grabbing for one of his biceps. Yuta only hums, rocking into him again, this time a little rougher. He doesn’t pause this time, setting up a slow and fluid kind of rhythm. It’s nice and gentle and just enough friction that Taeyong feels himself start to unravel immediately. Yuta dips his head to lick kisses into Taeyong’s mouth, and all Taeyong can do is kiss back weakly as he struggles to keep a hold of what may very well be his last scrap of lucidity.

Taeyong knows he’s like this—gets fucked out and dumb really easily, too happy to let himself get lost in the pleasure to care—but with Yuta it’s amplified somehow. It’s like Yuta knows exactly how to get into his head, fast and silent, and breaks him down from there; easy, skillful, sweet.

Yuta’s tipped forward now, has a hand in Taeyong’s hair. He doesn’t pull, though; instead, he massages Taeyong’s scalp with the pads of his fingers. It lulls Taeyong, drags him down deeper, until all he can feel is Yuta—Yuta’s cock, his lips, his hands. He feels Yuta’s tongue against his teeth and tightens his grip on Yuta’s arm. He’s not sure where the impulse comes from—maybe it’s just that he wants to feel like Yuta is as much his as he knows he’s Yuta’s. Even if they never meet again after Taeyong goes home, the memories will linger, will tint everything (and everyone) that Taeyong does just a few shades less colorful, less vibrant. There’s something about Yuta and the way he treats Taeyong that makes him feel like everything else has something missing.

Taeyong hopes they’ll meet again. He hopes Yuta can come visit him, and he can show him around Seoul the way Yuta’s done for him, and he hopes to god Yuta will fuck him again—at home or at the studio or in a hotel room somewhere, Taeyong doesn’t care. Taeyong just knows he wants it—even now, with Yuta fucking him so nice and deep, he finds himself thinking about when he’ll get it again.

Yuta pulls back, breaking their kiss, and a string of spit follows him, connecting their lips. Yuta notices it too and grins, waving his hand across it so it snaps. “So messy,” he murmurs. “You look so good, honey. You look happy, are you happy?”

“Yes. Feels good,” Taeyong whispers, slurring as he struggles to focus his eyes. “Keep going, don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Yuta soothes. His hand leaves Taeyong’s hair; instead he trails it down his neck and chest before settling it on his waist. He bends over Taeyong’s chest and takes one of his nipples between his teeth—delicately; not to bite, just to roll against his tongue. Taeyong knows his chest will be raw and chafing in the morning, but he doesn’t care. He’s going home, anyway; there will be no cameras he needs to look nice for, no tight shirts waiting for him, no one to notice his discomfort. Besides, he likes the idea that he’ll carry a bit of Yuta back with him, a sort of reminder of the time they spent together, however brief.

Taeyong arches up into Yuta’s mouth, and Yuta takes the opportunity to snake an arm between his body and the bed, wrapping it around his waist and holding him close. The vulnerability of the position makes Taeyong’s head spin, and the new angle certainly isn’t helping. He knows he’s already hard again, and leaking—he can feel the sticky wetness of precome cooling against his stomach.

Yuta really isn’t much bigger than him. They’re the same height and, sure, Yuta’s more muscular, but not significantly. Still, Taeyong feels small, being held like this. He feels precious; cared for. Yuta releases his nipple from his teeth and presses his tongue flat to it instead, flicking back and forth, and Taeyong convulses, moaning weakly.

Yuta pulls back, giving him a short break. “Perfect, honey,” he says against Taeyong’s skin, voice smooth and even despite the way he’s fucking Taeyong—still so deep, thrusts strong and fluid. “You’re perfect for this.”

“Oh,” Taeyong whimpers, trembling.

“I like seeing what I do to you,” Yuta continues, pausing every couple of words to kiss Taeyong’s chest, his sternum. “But do you know what you do to me, baby? I’m already so close, and it’s just you, your body, your tight little hole, how sweet you sound when I fuck you.” Taeyong moans softly, clinging tighter as Yuta readjusts his grip on his waist. “Yeah, just like that, honey. Sound so good for me, so fucking filthy. Perfect.”

“Close,” Taeyong manages, his voice coming out raw.

“You are, too?” Yuta asks. “Good. Wanna make you feel good.”

“You always do,” Taeyong says, gasping when Yuta makes a noise close to a growl and scrapes his teeth across one of his pecs.

“Touch yourself, honey,” he says. “I don’t have a hand to spare, and I wanna hold you close like this.” Taeyong reaches a shaking hand down to his cock, toes curling on the first stroke. “Good, that’s good,” Yuta continues. “Match my pace, just like this, okay?”

He speeds up only a little, and Taeyong follows without thinking, jerking himself off to the same rhythm of Yuta’s thrusts. Yuta licks over his other nipple, pads of his fingers pressing into the soft skin of his waist, holding him so tight Taeyong’s sure he’ll bruise. Good, he thinks. He wants Yuta’s touch to linger, even after he’s gone.

Surprisingly, maybe, Yuta comes first, stuttering over moans as his hips twitch against Taeyong, still holding him tight even though his arms shake. His teeth find Taeyong’s collarbone, and the pain that blooms there, bright and hot, sends Taeyong over the edge. He clenches down around Yuta, shocking a sort of wounded noise out of him as he spills ribbons of white across his stomach for the second time tonight.

Yuta lowers him back onto the bed, extracting his arm from underneath him, panting softly, then leans in for a kiss. It’s lazy and gentle, and Taeyong closes his eyes, using his clean hand to cup Yuta’s jaw.

“I meant it,” Yuta says when they break apart. “You’re perfect.”

ϟ ϟ ϟ

The next morning, Yuta’s up before Taeyong even stirs. He wakes to the gentle sounds of cooking coming from the kitchen, and pads down the hall blearily to find Yuta making a feast of soft, souffle-style pancakes, as well as a generous serving of bacon.

“Thank you,” Taeyong says softly as he grabs mugs for coffee.

“Of course,” Yuta says warmly. “It’s our last day together. I want you to remember me fondly.”

“Like I wouldn’t already,” Taeyong mutters, and Yuta laughs.

After breakfast is eaten and the dishes are soaking in the sink, Yuta receives a text from his manager telling him to get his ass in gear so she can drive him back to the company building.

“Sorry, honey,” he says, kissing Taeyong again and again as he struggles into a leather jacket. “I wish I could stay. Have a good flight tomorrow, okay?”

“I will,” Taeyong says, as if he has any control over that.

“And keep my number,” Yuta adds. “I’d be more than happy to see you again.”

“Okay,” Taeyong agrees breathlessly. “Maybe next time you can come visit me.”

Yuta flashes him that dangerous smile of his, so handsome and so blinding as he turns to open the door. “I’d love that.”

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kjmsupremacist · 2 years ago

Text

double exposure (yuta/taeyong)

Chapter 5 | prev next mlist

Characters: Taeyong, Yuta

Genre: k-soloist taeyong, jrockstar yuta; romance, smut, angst

Warnings: dom/sub dynamics, smut, drunk sex, mild angst, homophobia mentions

Rating: Explicit

Length: 4.1k

taglist: @meowniee @flowerboykun

I’m like pretty sure someone else asked to be added to this taglist but I cannot find that info anywhere now so if that was you or if you want to be on the taglist pls just reply to this post or send me an ask!! OTL

Taeyong finds himself facing yet another new experience. He’s woken up next to Yuta before, sure, but that was at Yuta’s place, in Japan, or in Taeyong’s little rental, not here in Taeyong’s home. He watches the rise and fall of Yuta’s chest, the gentle relaxation on his face. It seems surreal, almost—how could someone like Yuta want to spend his free time traveling to see someone like Taeyong? How could he want to stay? Want to sleep beside him and have meals with him?

But here they are. Yuta is in his bed, and Taeyong realizes with a nearly sick jolt that he wants to keep him here for a very long time.

That’s the thing, though, isn’t it? They don’t belong to each other. They could never; they could never belong to anybody. They belong to their fans, and the love they receive from the public comes with a price. And Taeyong knew that before he signed his contract, but he didn’t think at the time that he would need to worry about it. He had been young, broke, desperate for a chance to prove himself. So what if he sold his soul to the spotlight?

But now… Taeyong traces his gaze over Yuta’s eyelashes, the line of his jaw. Maybe he wants his soul back. Maybe he wants it back so he can give it to Yuta instead.

Yuta blinks his eyes open, focusing on Taeyong, almost like the thought had summoned him. But if he can read minds, he doesn’t say anything. He smiles. “Hey, honey,” he whispers.

“Hi,” Taeyong whispers back. “How’d you sleep?”

“Really good.” Yuta covers his mouth to stifle a yawn, stretching. “Wore me out last night.”

This draws a giggle out of Taeyong, unbidden. “Me, too,” he says.

Yuta stretches out an arm and wraps it around Taeyong’s waist, tugging him close. “C’mere, baby,” he says, murmured against Taeyong’s collarbone. His breath tickles Taeyong’s skin; Taeyong giggles, combing his fingers through Yuta’s hair. “What are your schedules today? Are you free?”

“I’m free,” Taeyong says. “I’m free ’til next Monday. Why, what do you wanna do?”

“Oh, I dunno.” Yuta rolls on top of Taeyong, swinging a leg over his body and pinning him to the bed. “Was hoping for a quick tour of the city. Maybe you could show me a couple of your favorite spots. We could get a meal, then come back for some wine or something. Tomorrow if your friends are free, I’d love to meet them.”

Taeyong giggles again. “Tomorrow? Not today?”

“Want you to myself today,” Yuta says. “Not ready to share your attention yet, I just got it back.”

“You always had my attention,” Taeyong says softly. “Even if you were far away.”

“I meant undivided,” Yuta corrects, but he smiles down at Taeyong, eyes soft and warm.

“You have it,” Taeyong says.

“Good.” Yuta ducks down for a swift kiss, then rolls off Taeyong, pushing the covers aside and pushing himself to the edge of the bed. “Breakfast?”

“Yeah.” Taeyong wrenches himself from the comfort of his bed. “I was thinking we could go to a cafe? It’s not far from here, it’s one of my favorites.”

Yuta nods approvingly. “Sounds good to me,” he agrees. “Aren’t we gonna get followed, though?”

Taeyong gives him an almost sheepish look. “Ah, we might. Some of my fans are… overly enthusiastic.”

Yuta laughs. “That’s a kind way of putting it,” he comments mildly.

“I’ll tell my manager what we’re up to,” Taeyong says. “We can probably bring a staff member, but—” He glances at the clock. Half past nine. “It’s too early for lunch, and most people are already at work or at school. So it should be okay.”

“That’s right, I forgot it was a weekday,” Yuta says. “Vacation brain, you know.”

Taeyong rolls his eyes at him as he pads into his bathroom. “You’ve been on vacation for like one day,” he says, reaching for his toothbrush. Yuta’s laughter floats in from the bedroom, bright and clear.

Half an hour later, they meet a staff member in the lobby of the building. They’re both wearing masks and hats, but they know better than to think that will stop them from being recognized. Still, Taeyong’s not too worried.

His faith in the universe is not misplaced. Though a phone or three goes up as they walk down the street, and he notices a couple of girls tailing them, no one approaches; no one crowds. They get to the cafe without a hitch and find a table in a secluded corner. It’s mostly empty—it is ten a.m. on a workday, after all—so he and Yuta are free to peel off their makeshift disguises and enjoy their food in peace.

“Anything in particular you want to see?” Taeyong asks while Yuta sips at his coffee.

Yuta shakes his head. “I’m not particular. Touristy things I can always do in my own time, when you’re busy, so I’d rather do things I wouldn’t think to do by myself today.”

Taeyong nods. “I have a couple of favorite parks in the city, and then we can swing by this amazing street food place and pick up some takeout for an early dinner?”

Yuta smiles at him over his coffee cup, and Taeyong’s stomach flips like a fish out of water. “Sounds perfect,” Yuta says.

And so they do just that. The day remains pretty peaceful. Fans keep their distance, and there aren’t a lot of other people out to begin with. Around three, they head to the restaurant to pick up their food so they can head back before things get too crazy.

“Hey,” Yuta says while they wait for their order to be completed. “We’re trending.”

A very strange and unsettling emotion bursts forth in Taeyong’s chest. “We’re what?”

“On Twitter, look.” Yuta sounds vaguely amused. He turns his phone around and though most of it is in Japanese, one word catches his eye.

#YUTAE.

“I guess people were taking pictures,” Taeyong says, looking at Yuta uncertainly.

Yuta just shrugs. “Seems like it. Mostly it’s people happy to see we’ve met up again.” He tilts his head. “Some, though… I mean, you know how it is. But—anyway, we can look at it when we get back to yours.”

Fear settles like a small shard of ice in Taeyong’s stomach. Yuta doesn’t seem too scared, though, just bemused. He accepts their food from the cashier and nods for them to leave. Taeyong follows happily, eager to be out of the view of the public.

He opens Twitter once they’re back inside and starts scrolling. “People are calling it a date,” he says nervously.

But Yuta laughs. “They’re joking,” he says. “Didn’t they call it a date when Johnny treated you to dinner last month? Or what about the time you and Doyoung went shopping together?” Taeyong nods, realizing he might be overreacting. “The few people that aren’t joking will get laughed off their soapboxes, and things will settle. Why shouldn’t I come to visit my friend? Besides, who knows. Maybe we’re working on a collab.”

“Maybe we should,” Taeyong suggests. “Just as a cover.”

Yuta eyes him as he sets the food down on his table. “Oh, that’s the only reason you want to work together?”

“No!” Taeyong exclaims, but then he realizes Yuta is hiding a grin. “It’s a great excuse, though. All I really have to do is tell my management we were trending and they’ll already be dialing a composer.”

“Mm, and he has connections,” Yuta hums, grinning. “Alright, why don’t you eat? You can call your management in the morning.”

“I should call them tonight,” Taeyong says firmly. “If they don’t call me first.”

Yuta hands Taeyong a pair of chopsticks, eyebrows slightly furrowed now. “Do they monitor you that closely?”

Taeyong shrugs. “They just like to be on top of things. Whether it’s an opportunity like this, or a scandal, or whatever,” he explains. “I’m grateful for it. My image is everything.”

Yuta nods. “I guess it’s different for me,” he says. “My fans prefer me rough around the edges because it makes me real.”

Taeyong blinks. “That must be nice,” he says. “My fans want me perfect or they don’t want me at all.

“I doubt that’s entirely true,” Yuta says, “but I understand.”

Taeyong sighs. “Anyway, I would like to collaborate with you,” he says, “regardless of all of this. I’ve never done a rock concept, and I really want to try it. So it would be perfect if we could do a single together!”

“Of course we can,” Yuta says. “I’d love to work with you.”

Taeyong nods, feeling a faint blush rise to his cheeks. “Thanks,” he manages.

“Don’t be so worried, though,” Yuta continues, dishing some meat out for Taeyong, laying the pieces on top of his rice with a sort of absentminded kind of care. “Unless someone literally catches us fucking, no one’s gonna seriously believe the rumors. At least not enough for it to damage our careers. They could probably even catch us kissing, and no one would believe it. I mean, we do stuff like that as fanservice all the time.”

Taeyong gives him a confused look. “Do we?”

Yuta looks up, also confused. “I mean, solo artists like you and me not so much, because we don’t really have people to do it with, but, like, people in groups do. I dunno, the fans like it.”

“Uh, we do not do that,” Taeyong informs him. “We get a little handsy here, but we never kiss unless it’s by accident, like part of a game, or some kind of punishment for a game.”

“Oh.” Yuta laughs to himself. “I guess things are a little different.”

“Japanese idols do that?”

“I thought you were a fan!”

“I’m your fan; I don’t know everything about j-idol culture!”

“I’ve kissed members of my band on camera before,” Yuta points out. “Some of my dancers, too. Most of my dancers. Actually, I’m pretty sure the only dancer I’ve never kissed is the one I consider to be my son. You never saw any of that?”

Now that Taeyong thinks about it, maybe he has seen things. But he supposes he thought it was an exaggeration. “I guess I have,” he admits. “That’s common?”

Yuta shrugs. “Yeah? I mean, you know my reputation. It’s almost expected of me, that kind of behavior.” His expression turns a bit devious. “My fans are perverts, like me.”

Taeyong groans his protest, shaking his head. “Alright, well, you and I are not kissing where cameras can see us. Your fans might like it, but my fans would have a conniption.”

Yuta salutes crookedly. “You have my word.”

Taeyong sets his chopsticks down, standing. “Well, personally I’m ready for a drink,” he says as he makes his way to his fridge. “Soju? Beer? Wine?”

“Soju,” Yuta says. “Any flavor is fine.”

Taeyong nods, pulling out two bottles of plain soju and grabbing two shot glasses, bringing them back to the table. He cracks open a bottle as he takes his seat, pouring them each a shot and sliding a glass to Yuta, who picks it up.

“Cheers,” Taeyong says, clinking his glass against Yuta’s and then draining it. It’s good soju, smooth and clean and fresh, and Taeyong knows already that tonight is going to get a little messy. But judging from the way Yuta is watching him, Taeyong doesn’t think either of them will mind.

Taeyong can’t say exactly how, but they abandon their food at some point and he ends up in Yuta’s lap, hands running through Yuta’s long hair. He can’t say he’s surprised, either.

“I can’t blame them for wondering,” he says, “our fans.”

“Why’s that?” Yuta asks. His eyelids are drooping; he’s smiling at Taeyong in a lazy, almost self-satisfied way. His hands are on Taeyong’s waist. His hands are so warm.

“I mean, what was I supposed to do when I saw you?” Taeyong says. “Not want you?”

Yuta chuckles. “You fell right into my trap, honey,” he murmurs sweetly, leaning up so he can steal a kiss. “It’s not your fault. Of course you wanted me.” Another kiss. “Of course I wanted you.”

Heat floods Taeyong’s body; he kisses Yuta again, hands slipping from his hair to his cheeks. He holds Yuta close, though he has a feeling Yuta wouldn’t pull away even if he could. Instead, he feels Yuta’s teeth on his bottom lip. He whines softly, relaxing into Yuta’s touch. One of Yuta’s hands comes up to his jaw, thumb on his chin, coaxing Taeyong’s mouth open wider so he can push his tongue in.

Taeyong’s heart pounds in his chest, a loud thrum of desire. He’s sure Yuta can hear it, can feel it where his fingers rest so close to Taeyong’s pulse point. The hand on his waist has found its way under his shirt, the pads of Yuta’s fingers now pressed into the divots of Taeyong’s spine. Yuta kisses him like he owns him, mouth open and hot, dark and dirty. And isn’t it true? Taeyong, caught in the trap of Yuta’s beauty, laid out like a prize at his feet. Who else should own him?

Yuta pulls back, reaches towards the table. Taeyong follows him without thinking, confused, but Yuta presses his lips together, laughing.

“Yuta,” Taeyong whines.

“Take another shot with me,” Yuta coaxes. “Do you want another shot?”

Taeyong assesses for a moment, and then nods. He can have at least a couple more before he should stop, and he’s always liked feeling a little helpless. Yuta pours them shots, and goes to hand a glass to Taeyong, but Taeyong just opens his mouth, giving Yuta a plaintive look.

Yuta smiles. “Don’t choke, honey,” he says, raising the glass up.

Taeyong shoots him a sharp look. “I only ever choke on purpose,” he says cheekily, and then lets Yuta pour the shot into his mouth.

Yuta takes his shot and then sets the glasses safely back on the table before kissing Taeyong again. He’s gentler this time, though it’s no less filthy. Taeyong finds himself shrinking smaller and smaller in Yuta’s lap, letting Yuta move him into place. Yuta presses on Taeyong’s low back to make him arch forwards, then rolls his hips up to meet Taeyong’s. Taeyong moans softly as Yuta presses kisses along his jaw, nipping gently at his neck.

“Probably shouldn’t mark you up, should I?” Yuta asks, breath warm against Taeyong’s skin.

“Want it,” Taeyong protests, but then he shakes his head. “But no,” he says regretfully.

“Someday,” Yuta promises, kisses soft, no teeth. “I’ll cover you in bruises.”

Taeyong moans in response, whimpering when Yuta rolls his hips up again. “Yu-ta,” he breathes. “Please.”

“Please what, honey?” Yuta asks.

Taeyong lets his eyes become pleading, wide and round and pitiful. “Won’t you fuck me?”

A dark haze clouds Yuta's eyes; he blinks back up at him slowly. “Of course I will,” he says. “C’mon. Let’s go to your room, it’s more comfortable.”

“But the food—” Taeyong protests as Yuta helps him to his feet.

“We can deal with it later,” Yuta says. “I’ll deal with it later. C’mon.”

Taeyong stumbles, grabbing Yuta’s arm for support. His body must have settled when he was sitting, but now he’s dizzy—not in a nauseous way, just in a clumsy, drunk kind of way. He giggles apologetically as Yuta wraps an arm around his waist.

“You okay, baby?” Yuta asks, coaxing him forward.

“Yeah,” Taeyong says, leaning into Yuta. “Just a little drunk, I think.”

“More than a little,” Yuta comments mildly as Taeyong sways. “Here,” he says after a moment. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.” He reaches down, motioning for Taeyong to wrap his arms around his shoulders, and hooks his forearms under Taeyong’s thighs, hands spread wide for support. “Up, c’mon.” He lifts Taeyong in the air with ease.

Taeyong crosses his ankles behind Yuta’s waist, tucking his nose into the crook of Yuta’s neck. He mumbles a thank-you, kissing his jaw as Yuta walks them down the hall to Taeyong’s bedroom. Taeyong is giggling by the time Yuta releases him on the bed; he clings even when Yuta tries to pull away.

“Let me go, honey,” Yuta says, smiling. “I need to get the lube.”

Taeyong acquiesces, settling into the comfort of his mattress while he waits for Yuta to come back. To his credit, Yuta is quick, back by his side in a matter of seconds with a kiss as an apology. He puts a hand on Taeyong’s waistband. “Hips up, please.”

Taeyong lets Yuta strip him, blissfully not helping, remaining soft and pliant. Yuta seems happy to manhandle him, rewarding him with kisses every time he manages to get rid of an article of clothing.

Yuta lays him out, kissing down his body, and reaches back for the lube. He takes his time spreading it across his fingers, so it’s warm by the time he touches Taeyong. He pushes a finger inside, thumbing at the slit of Taeyong’s cock with his other hand to keep him distracted. Taeyong hums out soft whimpers, trying to ground himself so he can relax.

The second finger goes the same way, and then the third. Yuta takes his time with it, making sure Taeyong is nice and loose around him before he moves on.

“Stop complaining,” Yuta says when Taeyong starts letting out soft little impatient noises. “You’re gonna be sore tomorrow if you don’t let me prep you right. As it is, I’m worried about you.”

“I can take it,” Taeyong insists, even though he knows Yuta’s right.

“You’ll thank me in the morning,” Yuta replies steadily, continuing his slow and measured rhythm.

He adds his pinky, and works all four fingers in and out of Taeyong. The minutes stretch on and the wanting in Taeyong’s stomach grows and grows until he’s pretty sure he’s near tears, gasping softly, helplessly, until he’s sure he can’t stand it anymore.

But then Yuta pulls away with a kiss to his stomach, and reaches down to slick up his cock. Taeyong lets out a shuddering breath, relieved.

“Wider,” Yuta says, nudging at Taeyong’s inner thighs. “Good. Relax, honey.”

It’s all the warning he gets before Yuta is lining himself and pushing in, slow and careful. It hardly burns, so Taeyong doesn’t have to worry about much. He reaches down lazily and strokes himself, giving a happy sigh as Yuta bottoms out.

“Good?” Yuta asks.

“Mm,” Taeyong affirms. “Full.”

“Good.” Yuta pets down his side, leaning over him. “Hi, baby.”

“Hi,” Taeyong whispers, watching him come close, fighting to keep his eyes focused. Yuta comes too close and they end up crossing; they both laugh.

Yuta rocks his hips, just the tiniest of movements, waiting for Taeyong to relax around him. Taeyong watches him, blinking repeatedly to keep his vision from blurring. Yuta has a hand in his hair, carding through it. “Pretty,” he says softly. “Always look so good when you’re stuffed full with my cock, isn’t that right?” Taeyong nods, a happy noise bubbling up from his throat.

As soon as Taeyong’s adjusted, the instant he lets a plea for more escape, Yuta grinds into him deep and dirty, and Taeyong can’t say anything at all. Yuta’s murmuring praise in his ear, so good, sound so sweet, my perfect boy. Taeyong lets his eyes roll back in his head, lost in the pleasure of it.

“Still with me, honey?” Yuta asks and Taeyong does his best to nod.

“Mm-hm,” he says, loud as he can. “Mm-hm, still here.”

Yuta kisses him, licking into his mouth as he fucks him. Taeyong lets his eyes flutter shut, lets his hands flutter up and down Yuta’s back. How is it that even now, even here where Taeyong couldn't possibly have him closer, he still wants more? What else could Yuta give him?

Something real, maybe, something more than just fucking and a basic mutual attraction. A sliver of sadness works its way under Taeyong’s skin. He’s too drunk now to process the ramifications of that thought, too drunk really to even feel the sting of it. But it doesn’t change the fact that he’s thought it, that he’s taken a step too far, and now he’s in danger. Unbidden, a soft noise of want slips out.

Yuta misreads it. “More?” he asks, tone dripping with condescension. “You still want more?”

Taeyong considers that he should be a little more wary, but he can only nod. Of course he wants more, he’ll always want more when it’s Yuta. Maybe that’s just how this will always be.

He feels the warmth of Yuta’s palm on his cheek, and then fingers against his lips. He opens his mouth almost instinctively, letting Yuta press his fingers in against his tongue as he continues to rock his hips. Taeyong gags wetly, just for show, when Yuta pushes his fingers in deeper. He can taste the metallic tang of his rings; it fills his nose and mixes with the smell of alcohol, makes his head even foggier.

He drools around Yuta’s fingers, his cock dripping out beads of precome. Yuta pants above him, sweat glistening in his hair and on his face. Taeyong’s close; he knows Yuta is too. And still, all he can think as he feels the heat inside him crest is I want more.

He comes with a soft cry, spilling wet and messy over his knuckles, coughing out moans around Yuta’s fingers. He feels like he’s sinking, exhaustion and the dizzy fatigue of being drunk a little too long making his eyelids heavy. Yuta stills inside him, and Taeyong registers the warmth of his release as he slips into unconsciousness.

He comes to only a moment later; Yuta has pulled out and is working on gingerly lifting him from the bed.

“I can walk,” he says, smiling when Yuta startles.

They wash up; Yuta leaves Taeyong in the shower to pack up their food so they can have leftovers in the morning. Taeyong takes his time, letting the water sober him up a little. It doesn’t bring clarity, though.

Isn’t their arrangement odd? Normally, when Taeyong hooks up with another celebrity, it’s a one- maybe two-time thing. Sometimes, if they cross paths again down the road, they’ll hook up again. But never has it been this intimate—or this serious. Yuta flew out to Korea to see Taeyong. Sure, he says he always wanted to vacation here, but Taeyong knows he wouldn’t have come if they had never met.

Taeyong thinks about bringing it up to Yuta, but he can’t imagine that conversation. Somehow, he knows Yuta would shut it down immediately. Yuta doesn’t seem like the kind of person to get attached. For him, it’s just about sex. He wanted to see Taeyong again so they could do exactly what they’ve been doing, and that’s all.

Then why does it feel so domestic? Taeyong gets out of the shower and wraps himself in his towel, poking his head out the door before he suffocates on the steam. He sees Yuta, dressed in nothing but his underwear, putting fresh pillowcases onto his pillows and making the bed. When Yuta notices him, he smiles. Taeyong manages a weak smile back and turns away.

And all of this is ignoring the biggest issue of all—even if Yuta wanted something more with Taeyong, they wouldn’t be able to. Taeyong has a dating ban, and besides, they would be hunted like wild animals by the press, by their fans, by everyone if people found out. It would set the entire East Asian music industry on fire, and neither of them would survive it. It would be far too risky.

Taeyong finishes drying off and tugs on a pair of underwear, going on a hunt for his phone. He texts his manager, I’ll call you in the morning, but Yuta and I were thinking that we should collab. Thought it would be a good cover, and then sets his phone down and turns to his bed, clicking off the light.

“C’mere, honey,” Yuta stage-whispers. In the dark, Taeyong can hardly make out the outline of his figure, stretched out under the blankets, arms open and waiting.

This is all it’s going to be. This is all it can be. Yuta and Taeyong, staging public appearances and collaborations and flaunting their friendship to the fans, hinting that it might be something more but only in a fanservice way, and then coming home and having this—only this, just dinner and sex and a kiss goodnight. And nothing more. And it’ll sell, and the fans will get what they want, and their companies will get what they want, and Yuta will get what he wants.

And Taeyong will have to live with it.

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