Stray Kids Fic: Saltation
Jul. 19th, 2024 09:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kat_lair***
Title: Saltation
Author:kat_lair
Fandom: Stray Kids
Pairing: Bang Chan/Lee Felix
Tags: Protective Bang Chan (Stray Kids), Post That One Stunt in Kingdom, you know the one I mean, Protectiveness, Worry, Feelings, Porn with Feelings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, First Kiss, Intercrural Sex, Jealousy
Rating: E
Word count: 6,062
Summary:
Author Notes: Whoo SKZ comeback today! Not that this fic has anything to do with that, since it was written a Good While Back as a way to process the many emotions I have about Felix’s Kingdom performance stunt and Chan’s reaction to it Beta by the amazingdreamersdare.
Saltation on AO3
Felix runs across the riser and leaps onto Wooyoung, and Chan’s heart misses a beat. Felix executes a jaw-dropping stunt with a ferocity that leaves the audience gasping and the members whooping with pride and Chan almost loses his shit on camera. Felix flies across the stage and hits his mark like a pro, and afterwards his grin is brighter than the stage lights and Chan… Chan feels like punching someone, his teeth grinding together hard enough to hurt.
Okay. So. There are… mitigating circumstances.
Chan is willing to admit that he is currently perhaps slightly... on edge. The competition alone would do it, despite the fun of it, but on top of that he... They've lost Hyunjin. Temporarily, he tries to remind himself. Temporarily if he has anything to say about it and as soon as they are done with Kingdom he will be saying something about it. Possibly at length. Almost certainly with the kind of tone he doesn't let himself use very often. So, there's that. And he knows separating them into different units for performances is part of the show but right now having any of the others out of his sight is scraping his nerves raw, leaving him in a permanent state of futile alertness of ‘something not quite right’ which is fucking exhausting. He'd like to think it's no different when it's Felix but he hasn't gotten to where he is by lying to himself so yeah, it's different. It's worse. Because Felix...
It's just different.
And part of it is because Felix isn't taking Hyunjin's departure well. None of them are, of course, but the two of them are close. Not like that, Felix had told Chan when he'd asked because being a leader made it his business to know even if he didn't want to. But Felix had told him no, had told him 'we tried but we both... Hyunjin likes someone else' and Chan hadn't asked any more questions because these things he didn't need to know, not unless it went from feelings to actions. But they are close and Felix had gone thin lipped and flat eyed at the news and attacked every performance since like he had something to prove, like doing well enough would bring Hyunjin back. And the sad thing is that it might. Doing well, winning, would give Chan the kind of leverage he could and would use to make it happen. They all know that even if no one has said it out loud. So, he can’t exactly tell any of them to take it easy, to pace themselves. Absolutely cannot single Felix out for any kind of kid gloves treatment. Doesn't mean he has to like it.
So, when Felix, Minho and Jeongin come running to the viewing room after the cameras have finally turned off, immediately surrounded by the members shouting congratulations and pulling them into hugs, Chan takes a step back. When Changbin picks Felix up and twirls him around until he’s laughing, Chan crosses his arms and leans on the wall by the door, and tries to keep a smile on his face, tries to pretend he doesn’t feel like an elastic band pulled too tight. From his vantage point, it’s easy to see the way Felix’s eyes scan the room, the way he looks around until he spots Chan, the way his pleased expression morphs into something questioning, something unsure.
Chan forces his posture to loosen, the smile he sends Felix almost sincere, the ‘proud of you’ he mouths at him over everyone’s heads nothing but the truth. He is proud, he is, Felix did amazingly, they all did, and they deserve every back clap and compliment, deserve to feel good about what their hard work just achieved. It’s not Felix’s fault Chan feels like his stomach is a ball of lead. It’s not Felix’s fault Chan is fixating on the risk rather than the outcome, on the might-have-been rather than what actually happened. He knows everyone involved is a highly skilled professional, knows the supporting choreographers would’ve never allowed anything truly dangerous to be included, but it doesn’t stop the cold tendril of worry winding itself around his insides, the need to put his hands on Felix and shake him, to demand what the hell he had been thinking doing that.
His anger at Felix for putting himself at any kind of risk and doing it where Chan didn’t see – behind his back in practice, if not in intention – and couldn’t protect him, is entirely irrational, he knows this. Which is why he grins and nods and does a silly fake swoon, hands over his heart, for good measure, until tentatively Felix smiles back.
It’s the best he can do right now, and Chan busies himself by going to talk to the managers, ostentatiously doublechecking tomorrow’s schedule even though he has that thing memorised. After a while, Minho drifts closer, and Chan excuses himself from the conversation to check in.
“Everyone’s ready,” Minho says, jerking his head toward the dressing rooms. “Cars are gonna be here in ten.”
“You go ahead,” Chan says. “I’ve got some things I need to finish here.”
Minho’s eyebrow arches slowly. The look on his face says he knows exactly what flavour of bullshit Chan is trying to shovel and isn’t having any of it. “Hyung,” he says. “You trust that I know my craft as a dancer, right?”
Chan blinks, momentarily thrown. “What…? Yes, of course. Why?” He frowns in confusion.
“Then trust me when I say that the stunt Felix pulled? It looked riskier than it was. I would’ve never let him do it if I didn’t think he could, or if I didn’t trust everyone involved to support him the way they needed to.”
Chan exhales, equal parts relieved and irritated. “That obvious, huh?”
“Yes. And no.” Minho shrugs. “That you were worried was obvious. That you’re pissed… Much better hidden.”
And just like that the irrational anger is back. “Make sure the kids get back safe,” he tells Minho. He’s not mad at him, he’s not mad at Felix, but he is mad and it makes his voice cold and hard in a way he can’t do anything about right now, in a way that makes Minho’s other eyebrow hike right up.
“Sure,” he drawls. “Though I think Felix was going to go celebrate with Wooyoung and the rest of them.”
Chan breathes through that. Everything in him is screaming to go drag Felix back to where he belongs (who he belongs with, his mind pipes up unhelpfully) but he’s not so far gone as not to recognise a dick move or stop himself from making one.
“Fine,” he grits out. “Tell him to have a good time.”
Minho barks a laugh. “Good answer, hyung. May not have to smack you on the head after all.” With that he turns around, shooting “Don’t be too long,” over his shoulder.
Chan mostly ignores Minho’s advice. He talks to the show crew, triple-checking schedules and other minutia until one of the producers starts giving him a stink eye, and then he goes to sit in one of the empty studios for a few hours, pulling out his laptop only to stare at the folder with all the unfinished projects, opening and closing files but barely making any changes to anything. Briefly, he thinks about doing a live, but has enough sense left to recognise a Very Fucking Bad Idea for what it is. No way is he fit for public consumption now and in no way would he be handling any inevitable questions about Hyunjin professionally. Finally, he packs up, gets a car to the hotel they’re staying at and goes straight to the gym. It’s thankfully empty, barring a woman who Chan vaguely recognises as a manager of one of the other groups running on a treadmill, headphones on. He heads to the weights and starts his usual workout, never mind that he already did it once this morning. Maybe he’ll skip tomorrow so when Changbin gives his usual lecture about rest days and recovery time, he won’t have to lie.
An hour later, Chan’s body is sweaty and tired but his mind is still circling around the same thoughts like a skater skimming a hole in the ice; Felix could’ve been hurt, I could’ve lost Felix too, Felix put himself at risk, I wasn’t there to watch his back, Felix is not here, Felix is with…
It’s stupid and immature and ugly, and it makes Chan want to claw out of his own skin. He’s better than this, he knows he is, and hopefully tomorrow he’s going to feel ashamed for not trusting Felix to know his own limits, not trusting Minho to look after him, but right now…
Right now, Chan needs to go and take a long shower and try to sleep and absolutely, under no circumstances, talk to anyone until he’s sorted his fucking head out.
The first two steps of his plan go smoothly enough. He gets to his room without any problems and stands under the shower for almost twenty minutes, letting the hot water soothe his overworked muscles. The sound of running water acts like white noise and by the time he’s towelling off and stepping into his pyjama pants, his thoughts have at least slowed down a bit and the hollow pit of worry in his stomach is somewhat muted.
Trying to sleep is a familiar activity and Chan is about ten minutes into staring at the steadily blinking light of the smoke detector when there’s a knock on his door.
Instantly, the worry surges back, hundredfold. For someone to come physically looking for him at this hour must mean something is seriously wrong. Chan is up in an instant, still pushing one arm through the sleeve of a t-shirt when he yanks the door open. He’s expecting one of the managers, maybe security, and is momentarily thrown to find Felix on the other side instead.
“What?” he asks, first scanning Felix from head to toe and then the empty hallway behind him, looking for any obvious explanation. “What’s going on?”
“Finally!” Felix huffs. “Where have you been?” He steps closer, clearly expecting Chan to back up and let him in.
When Chan doesn’t, Felix frowns up at him, all annoyance and confusion. “Hyung?”
“Is something wrong?” Chan asks.
Felix narrows his eyes at him. “Well, I wasn’t sure but I am now. Yes, I’d say something is wrong.”
Right. Chan should’ve guessed. He can feel the way his grip on the door tightens. It’s an effort to keep his face from doing the same, one that he mostly fails at judging by Felix’s expression.
“Felix,” he says, aiming for neutral because ‘kind’ seems unachievable. “Unless someone is literally dead or kidnapped, whatever it is can wait until tomorrow.”
“Everyone’s alive and safely in their beds. Or in someone’s bed at least,” Felix says. “And I don’t want to wait until tomorrow.” He juts his chin up, stubborn. Defiant.
Chan knows that look. It doesn’t crop up a lot but when it does… He breathes in, forces himself to hold it for a count of three and then exhales slowly. It does absolutely nothing to calm down the urge he has to grab hold of Felix’s oversized hoodie and to either physically push him away or…
Or.
“Felix.” Chan doesn’t want to do this. He is not fit to be around people right now. Least of all Felix. “Leave. Please.”
Something in Felix’s eyes softens at the request, probably at the genuine distress he can hear underneath the tension in Chan’s voice.
Unfortunately, it doesn’t translate into giving up. “Make me,” he demands. There’s a certain arrogance to it, born out of the knowledge that Chan will do no such thing.
And yet, right now, he considers it, thinks about just putting his hands on Felix’s shoulders, shoving him backwards, and shutting the door in his face. And maybe some of that bleeds through to his expression because there’s a flash of something like surprise, apprehension even, in Felix’s gaze.
In the end, Chan steps aside wordlessly, holding the door open for Felix to walk through.
Only the bedside lamp is on, but Chan absolutely does not want to see anything in the harsh glare of the overhead lights, so he makes no move to turn them on.
As soon as the door closes behind them, Felix whirls around. “Okay,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “Okay. What… Where’ve you been?” he repeats the question. “This is like the third time in as many hours I’ve come to knock on your door. If you hadn’t been in now, I would’ve woken up one of the managers and sent a search party after you.”
It should be sweet, soothing even, a clear confirmation that Felix had worried about him too, had tried to seek him out, except right now even this rubs Chan the wrong way. “Thought you’d stayed with the Ateez boys to celebrate.” It comes out accusatory, explicitly jealous, and Chan wants to bite the words back as soon as they are out.
“I was going to.” Felix’s reply is slow, somehow measured, like he’s testing his footing before committing, as if the ground is liable to give out under his feet. Which… Well, it’s probably fair enough. “But Minho-hyung said…” He hesitates.
“What did Minho say?” Chan almost doesn’t care about the answer. The fact that he said anything is already enough to earn Minho some choice words tomorrow. Not that it’ll do any good.
Felix regards him silently for a few seconds, clearly deciding whether to answer him or not. “That you needed me here,” he says finally. “But that you would never ask yourself.”
Chan rocks back onto his heels as if slapped. “I…” He can’t lie. He can’t lie even though he should.
He settles for a half-truth. “I was just worried,” Chan says, trying for a nonchalant shrug which doesn’t really work when his arms have wrapped themselves around his middle. It’s not himself he’s trying to protect. He’s holding onto his own forearms with a white-knuckled grip so as not to reach out. “Overreacting.”
“Chris.” Felix’s voice is gentle, the lines of his body softening, trying to reassure. “It’s okay to worry. But nothing happened. I’m fine.”
“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Chan nods. “Of course, you are. I can see that.”
Felix tilts his head, considering. “That’s not enough right now though, is it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Seeing,” Felix says. “It’s not enough.”
Chan sucks in a sharp breath.
“And it’s not just worry either,” Felix continues. He’s still talking slowly, sounding out his thoughts as they come, far too insightful. Normally, Chan loves how well Felix knows him, loves that he doesn’t need to explain his moods, that they just get each other without words a lot of the time, but right now it makes it impossible to hide the way he desperately wants to.
“You’re angry,” Felix says. He doesn’t sound upset about it. More… intrigued.
It makes the muscle in Chan’s jaw twitch.
“Felix,” he tries again. “You should go.” It’s worded like a suggestion but comes out sounding like an order.
Felix only looks at him. “Maybe I should,” he says and takes a step closer. Another. “But I’m not going to.”
Fuck.
Felix is close enough now that Chan can make out each individual freckle, even in the dim light, his head tilted back just a bit. It’s not just stubbornness anymore, it’s goading.
“You need to know that I’m fine,” Felix says. “That I’m here.” He grabs hold of Chan’s arms and pries them loose and open, very deliberately stepping within easy reach. “I’m here,” Felix repeats, setting Chan’s hands on his own waist. “And you can be angry at me all you want, Chris.” He flashes a grin, bright and challenging. “I can take it. I’m not going anywhere.”
Chan breathes, hands flexing of their own volition, fingers digging into the soft dip of Felix’s waist, the sharp jut of his hipbones pressing into Chan’s palms when he drags his grip lower, tighter.
“Yeah,” Felix breathes. There’s an edge to his smile, eyes gone dark and Chan… Chan is fast losing even the illusion of control he thought he had over the situation. “What’s got you so wound up, hyung?” Felix asks? “Tell me.”
“Shut up.” It’s nothing but a whisper. Chan has already lost and they both know it.
“No.” Felix puts his hands flat against Chan’s chest and then he pushes, one solid shove that moves Chan backwards a full step, half dragging Felix after him, slow to let go. “Tell me. Or better yet, show me.”
Chan gapes at him, shocked, the worry-anger-possessiveness he’s been trying to tamp down rising to the surface.
“You mad about the stunt?” Felix asks. “Or you mad you weren’t the one to catch me?”
And oh. Oh wow.
Felix shoves him again and Chan…
Chan snaps.
He grabs hold of Felix’s wrists and yanks, bringing them flush against each other, Felix’s arms folded against Chan’s chest. “Stop it,” he bites out. “What are you trying to do?”
“This,” Felix says and twists his hands in Chan’s grip. There’s no effort to actually pull away, if anything Felix seems to be pushing closer, his fingers tangling in Chan’s t-shirt as he rotates his wrists, almost as if… “Hyung,” Felix looks up at him, bold and breathless. “I’m telling you, it’s okay. This is okay.” He twists his hands again and when Chan tightens his grip on instinct Felix’s voice drops an octave or two. “I’m here and I’m not fragile. I could handle that stunt, even if it had gone wrong, I would’ve been able to handle it.”
Chan stares at him like he’s seeing him for the first time. It’s not that he ever thought Felix weak or fragile, he knows just how strong he is, how he bends but doesn’t break. He knows Felix can handle himself. It’s just… He didn’t think it would be fair to expect Felix to…
“Chris.” Like always, the name feels different when Felix calls him that, like it’s something special just between them. This time he pulls against Chan’s grip with a purpose and Chan loosens his hold immediately. Felix grabs Chan by the shoulders, shakes him a little. “I can handle you.”
It lands like a punch to the gut, all that simmering, murky emotion from earlier washing white hot in an instant. The decision to move is not a conscious one but pure instinct. Felix said ‘jump’, he said ‘trust me’ and Chan…
Chan’s got him pinned against the mirrored door of the wardrobe, two-fisted grip on Felix’s hoodie as he chokes out “What were you thinking?” voice breaking like a surf on rocks, “putting yourself at risk like that?”
“That I wanted to win,” Felix answers without hesitation. “For Hyunjin, for all of us. That I wanted to make everyone… Make you proud.” Chan inhales sharply at that but Felix is not done. “That it was worth it.”
“You could’ve gotten hurt.” The possibility of it shoves a spike of fear through Chan’s heart, makes his voice hard and brittle.
Felix doesn’t deny it. “But I didn’t,” he says instead. He wraps his hands over Chan’s clenched fists, coaxes them open little by little. “I didn’t, hyung. I’m fine, I’m here, with…” He bites his bottom lip then, a first visible sign of anything like nerves, and it burns through Chan, the heat of it licking over his insides like a flame. “With you.”
He swallows, Chan’s eyes tracking the movement helplessly. “You can make sure,” Felix rasps. “Here.” He presses Chan’s hands flat against his own chest, over his heart. “Can you feel it? Channie, can you…”
Chan can. His hands travel all over Felix’s torso, frantic at first, pawing at him like he’s looking for hidden injuries even though he knows there aren’t any, and then slower, more purposeful. He sweeps his palms over Felix’s shoulders, down his arms, pausing to circle his wrists again, so thin, easily fitting into curve of Chan’s fingers. He can feel the twin peaks of Felix’s hipbones even through layers of clothing, the way his stomach muscles tense when Chan rubs a hand over his middle, up to his chest, fingers tangling in the strings of his hoodie. Felix watches him do it all with dark eyes, mouth open, his breath fast and shallow.
When Chan presses his fingers against the pulse point on the side of Felix’s neck, in clear imitation of Felix’s own habitual gesture, he tips his head back on a shaky sigh and Chan wants to put his mouth where his fingers are, wants to swallow the strong beat of Felix’s heart, wants to feel it flutter in his own throat, wants to…
“Felix.” His hand is cupping Felix’s neck now, light but steady. It’s his voice that shakes, not his grip. “Felix,” he says. “This is enough.”
Felix regards him with a half-slitted gaze, the back of his head still tipped against the slick surface of the mirror. “Is it?” he asks. His fingers skate over Chan’s waist, his ribs, featherlight but deliberate.
Chan swallows but doesn’t move. Felix’s earlier ‘I’m here, with you’ ricochets in his mind in time to Felix’s slow blinks, with you, with you. With him.
Here. With Chan.
Still.
“It will be.” Chan knows this like he knows the sky is blue. Felix is already more than enough, already a gift, like all of them. Chan doesn’t need anything more. “It will be if you say it is.”
Felix laughs, a hoarse chuckle that sounds equal parts fond and dirty, or maybe that’s just the way his throat vibrates against Chan’s palm. “Should’ve known you’d make me do all the work,” Felix murmurs. “I say it’s not enough, hyung.” He pushes off the wardrobe door, presses himself against Chan’s grip, brings his own hand to hold Chan’s in place when he goes to withdraw. “I say…” His other hand comes up, fingers stroking along the curve of Chan’s jaw, over the shell of his ear, making him shiver.
“Chris…” Felix’s voice is strained, his fingers stealing into Chan’s hair, nails scratching at his nape. “I say kiss me.” It lands somewhere between a demand and a question and hits Chan like an arrow through his chest; piercing and wicked and unavoidable.
“Please?” Felix presses impossibly closer, his breath ghosting over Chan’s face, warm and real. “Don’t you want to? Hyung, don’t you…?”
Chan stares at him for a second or two, uncomprehending. Wanting has never been the question, wanting has never once featured in the reasons why he doesn’t…
He tugs Felix closer by the throat and crashes their mouths together.
It’s heavy and needy from the start, uncompromising and unhesitant as if this one step, the latest of the thousands that have come before but not the last, was all that was needed and now they are across the border, in a new country, passports stamped. Felix’s grip on Chan’s hair is tight enough to sting, tight enough that it has to be real, something he can trust. He bites Chan’s bottom lip, hard enough to almost draw blood, certainly to bruise and Chan rears back, cursing.
“Fuck! Lix, what…?”
“Like you mean it!” Felix snaps out and shoves him. “Isn’t that what this is about, hm?” Another shove. The words seem angry, but Felix’s tone doesn’t quite match.
Chan blinks, confused, at first thinking Felix is shoving him away, but then the back of his legs hit the bed. He glances down, at the edge of the mattress nudging at the backs of his knees, and then at Felix, flushed and breathing hard and here, when he could be literally anywhere else in the world, could have his pick of company.
“You want this,” Chan says, hearing the awe in his own voice, the way it cracks, bleeds into something more… solid, something he can believe in.
“I want you to want this.” Felix pushes him again.
Chan falls, but he doesn’t fall alone. He grabs two fistfuls of Felix’s hoodie and pulls him down with him, rolling as soon as his back hits the mattress. Underneath him, Felix lets out a little ha! of surprise, half laughter, half unmistakable arousal.
“Don’t ever think I don’t,” Chan says, a harsh half-growl that makes Felix whine, his body arching up, pressing against Chan’s.
“Chris,” Felix moans, and Chan swallows his own name as he kisses him, deep and deliberate, a confession instead a concession. “Chris, show me…” His hands scrabble at Chan’s shirt, rucking it up, fingers pushing underneath, greedy and eager.
Chan shudders into it, helpless for a few seconds before he forces himself to push up and away. Another time he’s going to let Felix do that as much as he wants, as long as he wants, but right now he needs to touch more than he needs to be touched, because Felix had been right. Seeing is not enough, not now when there are other options. He sits up, straddling Felix’s thighs, yanking his own t-shirt off one-handed, already distracted by the view.
Felix too is staring, his eyes flitting between Chan’s torso as if he hasn’t seen Chan topless hundreds of times, and then dropping lower. Chan lets him look. In a different context, Chan can imagine himself squirming, getting shy, but now, with the adrenaline still lapping at the edges of his mind, he keeps himself still, focused on the way Felix’s chest rises and falls, the slack gape of his mouth that Chan wants to push his fingers into.
So he does. Felix’s tongue darts out to lick at the pads of Chan’s fingers as soon as he presses them against his bottom lip, shameless and wanting. He moans around Chan’s fingers, keeps going far past the point Chan would’ve stopped, until his lips close around Chan’s knuckles and Chan can feel the flutter at the back of Felix’s throat, the rhythmic squeeze of it as Felix swallows around him.
Chan can feel the way saliva builds in his own mouth as he slowly fucks his fingers in and out of Felix’s, crooks them to press at the roof of his mouth, traps his tongue, explores the hard ridges of his teeth, the soft give of the inside of his cheeks. He feels drunk, wondering if he could fit his entire hand into Felix’s mouth, dizzy with the need to be inside, as close as possible, and…
“Felix.” He pulls his fingers away despite the way Felix chases after them. “Felix, take…” He pushes his hand into the gap between Felix’s hoodie and jogging bottoms, curves them around his waist. “Take your clothes off,” he says. “Please.”
“No.” Felix arches under Chan’s hands, in direct opposition to his words. “You do it.” His voice sounds wrecked already and maybe tomorrow they will both regret this but right now none of that matters.
Chan bends down, pushing Felix’s clothes out of the way so he can rub his face against his stomach, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses on every stretch of skin he reveals. He licks over the line of Felix’s ribs, revelling in the way Felix huffs and twitches in response, ticklish. His nipples are hard before Chan even gets to them and when he worries one between his teeth, Felix’s hands fly to his hair to keep him there while he writhes and moans, choking on Chan’s name in a way that makes his hips kick forward, pressing against Felix’s slim thigh on instinct.
They work Felix out of his hoodie together, hands tangling in their haste, Felix’s hair a mess as he flops back to the bed. Chan runs his palms over every inch of available skin, squeezing over the muscle in Felix’s shoulders and arms, cupping the line of Felix’s throat hard enough to feel the wild flutter of his pulse, touching, touching, touching to make his brain believe what his eyes see, because Felix said he can, because Felix wants him to.
By the time his fingers curl under the waist band of Felix’s jogging bottoms, there’s a visible wet spot on the front of them. Chan grips Felix’s hips to keep him still and leans over, touching the tip of his tongue against it.
Felix cries out, hips trying to jerk up, hard enough that Chan has to use most of his strength to keep him still as he fits his mouth over the curve of Felix’s erection, traces the shape of it through the fabric.
“Fuck, please, please, Chris…” Felix arches, twists, one hand burying itself in Chan’s hair, the other one frantically shoving his own pants down.
Chan growls, prying Felix’s fingers out of his hair with force, getting up for long enough to finish undressing Felix, shucking out of the rest of his own clothes before crawling back onto the bed. Felix spreads his legs to make room for him, reaching down to wrap both hands around Chan’s cock, the hard, dry drag of it the best thing he’s ever felt.
“You want me,” Felix breathes out, voice thick with lust and wonder, as if he hadn’t really believed it until he, quite literally, had the proof in his hands.
Chan could spill over them all too easily. Instead, he catches Felix’s wrists, first one, then another, and pushes them up and down, on either side of Felix’s head.
“I want you,” he confirms. He’ll say that as much, as often as Felix needs to hear it. “I want you.” He kisses Felix on the mouth, the corner of his jaw. “I want you.” His teeth graze over the bump of Felix’s Adam’s apple, the tendons of his neck, and the urge to bite down and leave a mark makes his mind go staticky. “I want you,” he says, feeling the way Felix arches and twists under him, panting as his body grows taut with pleasure before going lax again.
“Chris, fuck me, I want… Channie-hyung, please.” His legs wrap around Chan, heels digging into the back of his thighs, pushing down until their erections drag together, wrenching a groan from both of them, deep and harmonised.
And god, god, Chan wants to but… “We’ve got dance practice tomorrow,” he grits out. “We have weeks of it, if we make it that far.” And as much as he wants to fuck Felix, wants to bend him in half and make him cry from how good Chan can give it to him, turns out he wants them to win Kingdom more.
Their eyes meet and Chan can see understanding and reluctant agreement reflected back.
“Guess that means you won’t fuck my mouth either?” Felix asks, grinning and unrepentant in the face of Chan’s pained moan, the uncontrolled twitch of his hips.
“After,” Chan promises, and then, quieter, his whole body stilling because maybe this isn’t… “If… If you want to? I…”
Felix twists against the grip Chan has on his wrist and Chan lets him go. As soon as his hand is free, Felix cups it around the back of Chan’s neck, and pulls him down into a kiss, long and thorough.
“After,” he breathes as they finally pull apart. “I’ll hold you to it.”
Chan kisses him again, just because he can. Because he’s allowed.
Felix hums into it, happy and turned on and all Chan’s right now. Eventually, the roll of their hips grows more urgent, and their kisses devolve into little more than desperate open-mouthed panting, their lips pressing together more by accident than design.
“Wait, wait,” Felix says, shoving at Chan to make room between their bodies. “Here, let me…” He unwraps his legs from around Chan and pulls them up and together, knees against his chest.
It’s quite the view.
Chan has to scramble to wrap a hand around his own dick so as not to come on the spot.
“We can’t,” he all but whines, but his fingers trace the space between Felix’s ass cheeks anyway, finger dipping to tap against his hole just a bit, pink and inviting.
“Nnnghh…” Felix’s grip on his own legs goes white-knuckled. “No, not… Fuck!” He pushes back against Chan’s finger and then twists to the side. “My thighs,” he pants. “You can… You can fuck them.”
Chan’s eyes snap to the press of Felix’s thighs, smooth and strong, and… “You’re a genius,” he breathes out.
Felix laughs, flushed and beautiful. “Still needs lube though,” he says. “Hope you’ve got some.”
Chan does. It takes him less than twenty second to retrieve it from his suitcase and then he’s warming it between his fingers, spreading it between Felix’s thigs, over his cock and balls, pressed against his stomach from the angle. Felix ruts against his hand, already wet, already…
“Close, close, hyung please hurry, I want…”
Chan wipes his hand on the bed sheets and gathers Felix’s legs up, and over his shoulder. And then he’s pressing in, dick sliding between Felix’s thighs, dragging over his taint, the glide smooth and perfect.
Given the circumstances, it’s no wonder that neither of them lasts long, the emotional release overwhelming any physical efforts to keep it at bay. Chan starts shaking apart a mere dozen thrusts in, Felix’s desperate “Yeah, please, Channie, I want you to come on me, show me…” doing nothing to delay the inevitable. His hips snap forward, all innate rhythm falling apart as he comes, turning his head to bury his groan into the hard jut of Felix’s knee.
He gives himself only long enough for his vision to clear before he lowers Felix’s legs, straightening them with shaking hands, groaning at the sight of his own release, white streaks covering Felix’s thighs, stomach, his cock, red and painfully hard. Chan shuffles down, clumsy with want and exhaustion, shoves his face into the damp grease of Felix’s groin and licks. He cares way less about his own voice than he does about Felix’s but letting himself do something he explicitly denied Felix seems selfish, so he only mouths at the head of Felix’s dick, wrapping his hand around the rest of it.
Felix has raised himself up on his elbows and is staring down at his body at Chan, at the way he’s jacking Felix off against his tongue, in stunned disbelief.
“Chris,” he breathes, “Chris,” as he comes all over Chan’s face, his open mouth, waiting tongue, the bitter salt of it oddly grounding.
The quiet afterwards feels like a balm, all of Chan’s earlier restlessness drawn out until only stillness remains. He lies there for long minutes, listening to their breaths even out, his cheek pressed against Felix’s sticky thigh in a way that’s going to get uncomfortable sooner rather than later. At some point Felix’s hand reaches down, groping around until it finds Chan’s, lacing their fingers together.
It’s good, really good, but it can’t last forever. It’s not like having sex with his best friend is some kind of magical solution to all of Chan’s problems, and one by one they start to crowd in again; the competition, getting Hyunjin back, the comeback that looms large, the million or so details that Chan needs to make a decision on before that… But surprisingly what happened between him and Felix doesn’t make it to the list.
Huh.
Chan sits up, grimacing a little at the way their skin catches, and finds Felix smiling sleepily up at him.
“Shouldn’t we be freaking up about this?” Chan asks. “I would’ve expected at least one of us to freak out. Probably me.”
Felix makes grabby hands at him and Chan gives in easily, tipping down next to him, sighing with contentment when Felix rolls into his arms unhesitatingly.
“Hyung,” he says. “You can freak out tomorrow if you need to.” His hand splays over Chan’s chest, warm and heavy over his heart. “Pretty sure I’ve just proven that I can handle it.”
Chan makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob and curls himself around Felix tight, tight, as if he could shield them both from the world waiting for them outside the hotel room. Maybe he can, just for a little while.
“We’ll handle it,” Chan promises, dropping a kiss into the Felix’s hairline, salty with sweat. “All of it. Together.”
***
Title: Saltation
Author:
kat_lair Fandom: Stray Kids
Pairing: Bang Chan/Lee Felix
Tags: Protective Bang Chan (Stray Kids), Post That One Stunt in Kingdom, you know the one I mean, Protectiveness, Worry, Feelings, Porn with Feelings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, First Kiss, Intercrural Sex, Jealousy
Rating: E
Word count: 6,062
Summary:
“Chris.” Felix’s voice is gentle, the lines of his body softening, trying to reassure. “It’s okay to worry. But nothing happened. I’m fine.”
“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Chan nods. “Of course, you are. I can see that.”
Felix tilts his head, considering. “That’s not enough right now though, is it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Seeing,” Felix says. “It’s not enough.”
Chan sucks in a sharp breath.
Author Notes: Whoo SKZ comeback today! Not that this fic has anything to do with that, since it was written a Good While Back as a way to process the many emotions I have about Felix’s Kingdom performance stunt and Chan’s reaction to it Beta by the amazing
dreamersdare.Saltation on AO3
Felix runs across the riser and leaps onto Wooyoung, and Chan’s heart misses a beat. Felix executes a jaw-dropping stunt with a ferocity that leaves the audience gasping and the members whooping with pride and Chan almost loses his shit on camera. Felix flies across the stage and hits his mark like a pro, and afterwards his grin is brighter than the stage lights and Chan… Chan feels like punching someone, his teeth grinding together hard enough to hurt.
Okay. So. There are… mitigating circumstances.
Chan is willing to admit that he is currently perhaps slightly... on edge. The competition alone would do it, despite the fun of it, but on top of that he... They've lost Hyunjin. Temporarily, he tries to remind himself. Temporarily if he has anything to say about it and as soon as they are done with Kingdom he will be saying something about it. Possibly at length. Almost certainly with the kind of tone he doesn't let himself use very often. So, there's that. And he knows separating them into different units for performances is part of the show but right now having any of the others out of his sight is scraping his nerves raw, leaving him in a permanent state of futile alertness of ‘something not quite right’ which is fucking exhausting. He'd like to think it's no different when it's Felix but he hasn't gotten to where he is by lying to himself so yeah, it's different. It's worse. Because Felix...
It's just different.
And part of it is because Felix isn't taking Hyunjin's departure well. None of them are, of course, but the two of them are close. Not like that, Felix had told Chan when he'd asked because being a leader made it his business to know even if he didn't want to. But Felix had told him no, had told him 'we tried but we both... Hyunjin likes someone else' and Chan hadn't asked any more questions because these things he didn't need to know, not unless it went from feelings to actions. But they are close and Felix had gone thin lipped and flat eyed at the news and attacked every performance since like he had something to prove, like doing well enough would bring Hyunjin back. And the sad thing is that it might. Doing well, winning, would give Chan the kind of leverage he could and would use to make it happen. They all know that even if no one has said it out loud. So, he can’t exactly tell any of them to take it easy, to pace themselves. Absolutely cannot single Felix out for any kind of kid gloves treatment. Doesn't mean he has to like it.
So, when Felix, Minho and Jeongin come running to the viewing room after the cameras have finally turned off, immediately surrounded by the members shouting congratulations and pulling them into hugs, Chan takes a step back. When Changbin picks Felix up and twirls him around until he’s laughing, Chan crosses his arms and leans on the wall by the door, and tries to keep a smile on his face, tries to pretend he doesn’t feel like an elastic band pulled too tight. From his vantage point, it’s easy to see the way Felix’s eyes scan the room, the way he looks around until he spots Chan, the way his pleased expression morphs into something questioning, something unsure.
Chan forces his posture to loosen, the smile he sends Felix almost sincere, the ‘proud of you’ he mouths at him over everyone’s heads nothing but the truth. He is proud, he is, Felix did amazingly, they all did, and they deserve every back clap and compliment, deserve to feel good about what their hard work just achieved. It’s not Felix’s fault Chan feels like his stomach is a ball of lead. It’s not Felix’s fault Chan is fixating on the risk rather than the outcome, on the might-have-been rather than what actually happened. He knows everyone involved is a highly skilled professional, knows the supporting choreographers would’ve never allowed anything truly dangerous to be included, but it doesn’t stop the cold tendril of worry winding itself around his insides, the need to put his hands on Felix and shake him, to demand what the hell he had been thinking doing that.
His anger at Felix for putting himself at any kind of risk and doing it where Chan didn’t see – behind his back in practice, if not in intention – and couldn’t protect him, is entirely irrational, he knows this. Which is why he grins and nods and does a silly fake swoon, hands over his heart, for good measure, until tentatively Felix smiles back.
It’s the best he can do right now, and Chan busies himself by going to talk to the managers, ostentatiously doublechecking tomorrow’s schedule even though he has that thing memorised. After a while, Minho drifts closer, and Chan excuses himself from the conversation to check in.
“Everyone’s ready,” Minho says, jerking his head toward the dressing rooms. “Cars are gonna be here in ten.”
“You go ahead,” Chan says. “I’ve got some things I need to finish here.”
Minho’s eyebrow arches slowly. The look on his face says he knows exactly what flavour of bullshit Chan is trying to shovel and isn’t having any of it. “Hyung,” he says. “You trust that I know my craft as a dancer, right?”
Chan blinks, momentarily thrown. “What…? Yes, of course. Why?” He frowns in confusion.
“Then trust me when I say that the stunt Felix pulled? It looked riskier than it was. I would’ve never let him do it if I didn’t think he could, or if I didn’t trust everyone involved to support him the way they needed to.”
Chan exhales, equal parts relieved and irritated. “That obvious, huh?”
“Yes. And no.” Minho shrugs. “That you were worried was obvious. That you’re pissed… Much better hidden.”
And just like that the irrational anger is back. “Make sure the kids get back safe,” he tells Minho. He’s not mad at him, he’s not mad at Felix, but he is mad and it makes his voice cold and hard in a way he can’t do anything about right now, in a way that makes Minho’s other eyebrow hike right up.
“Sure,” he drawls. “Though I think Felix was going to go celebrate with Wooyoung and the rest of them.”
Chan breathes through that. Everything in him is screaming to go drag Felix back to where he belongs (who he belongs with, his mind pipes up unhelpfully) but he’s not so far gone as not to recognise a dick move or stop himself from making one.
“Fine,” he grits out. “Tell him to have a good time.”
Minho barks a laugh. “Good answer, hyung. May not have to smack you on the head after all.” With that he turns around, shooting “Don’t be too long,” over his shoulder.
Chan mostly ignores Minho’s advice. He talks to the show crew, triple-checking schedules and other minutia until one of the producers starts giving him a stink eye, and then he goes to sit in one of the empty studios for a few hours, pulling out his laptop only to stare at the folder with all the unfinished projects, opening and closing files but barely making any changes to anything. Briefly, he thinks about doing a live, but has enough sense left to recognise a Very Fucking Bad Idea for what it is. No way is he fit for public consumption now and in no way would he be handling any inevitable questions about Hyunjin professionally. Finally, he packs up, gets a car to the hotel they’re staying at and goes straight to the gym. It’s thankfully empty, barring a woman who Chan vaguely recognises as a manager of one of the other groups running on a treadmill, headphones on. He heads to the weights and starts his usual workout, never mind that he already did it once this morning. Maybe he’ll skip tomorrow so when Changbin gives his usual lecture about rest days and recovery time, he won’t have to lie.
An hour later, Chan’s body is sweaty and tired but his mind is still circling around the same thoughts like a skater skimming a hole in the ice; Felix could’ve been hurt, I could’ve lost Felix too, Felix put himself at risk, I wasn’t there to watch his back, Felix is not here, Felix is with…
It’s stupid and immature and ugly, and it makes Chan want to claw out of his own skin. He’s better than this, he knows he is, and hopefully tomorrow he’s going to feel ashamed for not trusting Felix to know his own limits, not trusting Minho to look after him, but right now…
Right now, Chan needs to go and take a long shower and try to sleep and absolutely, under no circumstances, talk to anyone until he’s sorted his fucking head out.
The first two steps of his plan go smoothly enough. He gets to his room without any problems and stands under the shower for almost twenty minutes, letting the hot water soothe his overworked muscles. The sound of running water acts like white noise and by the time he’s towelling off and stepping into his pyjama pants, his thoughts have at least slowed down a bit and the hollow pit of worry in his stomach is somewhat muted.
Trying to sleep is a familiar activity and Chan is about ten minutes into staring at the steadily blinking light of the smoke detector when there’s a knock on his door.
Instantly, the worry surges back, hundredfold. For someone to come physically looking for him at this hour must mean something is seriously wrong. Chan is up in an instant, still pushing one arm through the sleeve of a t-shirt when he yanks the door open. He’s expecting one of the managers, maybe security, and is momentarily thrown to find Felix on the other side instead.
“What?” he asks, first scanning Felix from head to toe and then the empty hallway behind him, looking for any obvious explanation. “What’s going on?”
“Finally!” Felix huffs. “Where have you been?” He steps closer, clearly expecting Chan to back up and let him in.
When Chan doesn’t, Felix frowns up at him, all annoyance and confusion. “Hyung?”
“Is something wrong?” Chan asks.
Felix narrows his eyes at him. “Well, I wasn’t sure but I am now. Yes, I’d say something is wrong.”
Right. Chan should’ve guessed. He can feel the way his grip on the door tightens. It’s an effort to keep his face from doing the same, one that he mostly fails at judging by Felix’s expression.
“Felix,” he says, aiming for neutral because ‘kind’ seems unachievable. “Unless someone is literally dead or kidnapped, whatever it is can wait until tomorrow.”
“Everyone’s alive and safely in their beds. Or in someone’s bed at least,” Felix says. “And I don’t want to wait until tomorrow.” He juts his chin up, stubborn. Defiant.
Chan knows that look. It doesn’t crop up a lot but when it does… He breathes in, forces himself to hold it for a count of three and then exhales slowly. It does absolutely nothing to calm down the urge he has to grab hold of Felix’s oversized hoodie and to either physically push him away or…
Or.
“Felix.” Chan doesn’t want to do this. He is not fit to be around people right now. Least of all Felix. “Leave. Please.”
Something in Felix’s eyes softens at the request, probably at the genuine distress he can hear underneath the tension in Chan’s voice.
Unfortunately, it doesn’t translate into giving up. “Make me,” he demands. There’s a certain arrogance to it, born out of the knowledge that Chan will do no such thing.
And yet, right now, he considers it, thinks about just putting his hands on Felix’s shoulders, shoving him backwards, and shutting the door in his face. And maybe some of that bleeds through to his expression because there’s a flash of something like surprise, apprehension even, in Felix’s gaze.
In the end, Chan steps aside wordlessly, holding the door open for Felix to walk through.
Only the bedside lamp is on, but Chan absolutely does not want to see anything in the harsh glare of the overhead lights, so he makes no move to turn them on.
As soon as the door closes behind them, Felix whirls around. “Okay,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “Okay. What… Where’ve you been?” he repeats the question. “This is like the third time in as many hours I’ve come to knock on your door. If you hadn’t been in now, I would’ve woken up one of the managers and sent a search party after you.”
It should be sweet, soothing even, a clear confirmation that Felix had worried about him too, had tried to seek him out, except right now even this rubs Chan the wrong way. “Thought you’d stayed with the Ateez boys to celebrate.” It comes out accusatory, explicitly jealous, and Chan wants to bite the words back as soon as they are out.
“I was going to.” Felix’s reply is slow, somehow measured, like he’s testing his footing before committing, as if the ground is liable to give out under his feet. Which… Well, it’s probably fair enough. “But Minho-hyung said…” He hesitates.
“What did Minho say?” Chan almost doesn’t care about the answer. The fact that he said anything is already enough to earn Minho some choice words tomorrow. Not that it’ll do any good.
Felix regards him silently for a few seconds, clearly deciding whether to answer him or not. “That you needed me here,” he says finally. “But that you would never ask yourself.”
Chan rocks back onto his heels as if slapped. “I…” He can’t lie. He can’t lie even though he should.
He settles for a half-truth. “I was just worried,” Chan says, trying for a nonchalant shrug which doesn’t really work when his arms have wrapped themselves around his middle. It’s not himself he’s trying to protect. He’s holding onto his own forearms with a white-knuckled grip so as not to reach out. “Overreacting.”
“Chris.” Felix’s voice is gentle, the lines of his body softening, trying to reassure. “It’s okay to worry. But nothing happened. I’m fine.”
“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Chan nods. “Of course, you are. I can see that.”
Felix tilts his head, considering. “That’s not enough right now though, is it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Seeing,” Felix says. “It’s not enough.”
Chan sucks in a sharp breath.
“And it’s not just worry either,” Felix continues. He’s still talking slowly, sounding out his thoughts as they come, far too insightful. Normally, Chan loves how well Felix knows him, loves that he doesn’t need to explain his moods, that they just get each other without words a lot of the time, but right now it makes it impossible to hide the way he desperately wants to.
“You’re angry,” Felix says. He doesn’t sound upset about it. More… intrigued.
It makes the muscle in Chan’s jaw twitch.
“Felix,” he tries again. “You should go.” It’s worded like a suggestion but comes out sounding like an order.
Felix only looks at him. “Maybe I should,” he says and takes a step closer. Another. “But I’m not going to.”
Fuck.
Felix is close enough now that Chan can make out each individual freckle, even in the dim light, his head tilted back just a bit. It’s not just stubbornness anymore, it’s goading.
“You need to know that I’m fine,” Felix says. “That I’m here.” He grabs hold of Chan’s arms and pries them loose and open, very deliberately stepping within easy reach. “I’m here,” Felix repeats, setting Chan’s hands on his own waist. “And you can be angry at me all you want, Chris.” He flashes a grin, bright and challenging. “I can take it. I’m not going anywhere.”
Chan breathes, hands flexing of their own volition, fingers digging into the soft dip of Felix’s waist, the sharp jut of his hipbones pressing into Chan’s palms when he drags his grip lower, tighter.
“Yeah,” Felix breathes. There’s an edge to his smile, eyes gone dark and Chan… Chan is fast losing even the illusion of control he thought he had over the situation. “What’s got you so wound up, hyung?” Felix asks? “Tell me.”
“Shut up.” It’s nothing but a whisper. Chan has already lost and they both know it.
“No.” Felix puts his hands flat against Chan’s chest and then he pushes, one solid shove that moves Chan backwards a full step, half dragging Felix after him, slow to let go. “Tell me. Or better yet, show me.”
Chan gapes at him, shocked, the worry-anger-possessiveness he’s been trying to tamp down rising to the surface.
“You mad about the stunt?” Felix asks. “Or you mad you weren’t the one to catch me?”
And oh. Oh wow.
Felix shoves him again and Chan…
Chan snaps.
He grabs hold of Felix’s wrists and yanks, bringing them flush against each other, Felix’s arms folded against Chan’s chest. “Stop it,” he bites out. “What are you trying to do?”
“This,” Felix says and twists his hands in Chan’s grip. There’s no effort to actually pull away, if anything Felix seems to be pushing closer, his fingers tangling in Chan’s t-shirt as he rotates his wrists, almost as if… “Hyung,” Felix looks up at him, bold and breathless. “I’m telling you, it’s okay. This is okay.” He twists his hands again and when Chan tightens his grip on instinct Felix’s voice drops an octave or two. “I’m here and I’m not fragile. I could handle that stunt, even if it had gone wrong, I would’ve been able to handle it.”
Chan stares at him like he’s seeing him for the first time. It’s not that he ever thought Felix weak or fragile, he knows just how strong he is, how he bends but doesn’t break. He knows Felix can handle himself. It’s just… He didn’t think it would be fair to expect Felix to…
“Chris.” Like always, the name feels different when Felix calls him that, like it’s something special just between them. This time he pulls against Chan’s grip with a purpose and Chan loosens his hold immediately. Felix grabs Chan by the shoulders, shakes him a little. “I can handle you.”
It lands like a punch to the gut, all that simmering, murky emotion from earlier washing white hot in an instant. The decision to move is not a conscious one but pure instinct. Felix said ‘jump’, he said ‘trust me’ and Chan…
Chan’s got him pinned against the mirrored door of the wardrobe, two-fisted grip on Felix’s hoodie as he chokes out “What were you thinking?” voice breaking like a surf on rocks, “putting yourself at risk like that?”
“That I wanted to win,” Felix answers without hesitation. “For Hyunjin, for all of us. That I wanted to make everyone… Make you proud.” Chan inhales sharply at that but Felix is not done. “That it was worth it.”
“You could’ve gotten hurt.” The possibility of it shoves a spike of fear through Chan’s heart, makes his voice hard and brittle.
Felix doesn’t deny it. “But I didn’t,” he says instead. He wraps his hands over Chan’s clenched fists, coaxes them open little by little. “I didn’t, hyung. I’m fine, I’m here, with…” He bites his bottom lip then, a first visible sign of anything like nerves, and it burns through Chan, the heat of it licking over his insides like a flame. “With you.”
He swallows, Chan’s eyes tracking the movement helplessly. “You can make sure,” Felix rasps. “Here.” He presses Chan’s hands flat against his own chest, over his heart. “Can you feel it? Channie, can you…”
Chan can. His hands travel all over Felix’s torso, frantic at first, pawing at him like he’s looking for hidden injuries even though he knows there aren’t any, and then slower, more purposeful. He sweeps his palms over Felix’s shoulders, down his arms, pausing to circle his wrists again, so thin, easily fitting into curve of Chan’s fingers. He can feel the twin peaks of Felix’s hipbones even through layers of clothing, the way his stomach muscles tense when Chan rubs a hand over his middle, up to his chest, fingers tangling in the strings of his hoodie. Felix watches him do it all with dark eyes, mouth open, his breath fast and shallow.
When Chan presses his fingers against the pulse point on the side of Felix’s neck, in clear imitation of Felix’s own habitual gesture, he tips his head back on a shaky sigh and Chan wants to put his mouth where his fingers are, wants to swallow the strong beat of Felix’s heart, wants to feel it flutter in his own throat, wants to…
“Felix.” His hand is cupping Felix’s neck now, light but steady. It’s his voice that shakes, not his grip. “Felix,” he says. “This is enough.”
Felix regards him with a half-slitted gaze, the back of his head still tipped against the slick surface of the mirror. “Is it?” he asks. His fingers skate over Chan’s waist, his ribs, featherlight but deliberate.
Chan swallows but doesn’t move. Felix’s earlier ‘I’m here, with you’ ricochets in his mind in time to Felix’s slow blinks, with you, with you. With him.
Here. With Chan.
Still.
“It will be.” Chan knows this like he knows the sky is blue. Felix is already more than enough, already a gift, like all of them. Chan doesn’t need anything more. “It will be if you say it is.”
Felix laughs, a hoarse chuckle that sounds equal parts fond and dirty, or maybe that’s just the way his throat vibrates against Chan’s palm. “Should’ve known you’d make me do all the work,” Felix murmurs. “I say it’s not enough, hyung.” He pushes off the wardrobe door, presses himself against Chan’s grip, brings his own hand to hold Chan’s in place when he goes to withdraw. “I say…” His other hand comes up, fingers stroking along the curve of Chan’s jaw, over the shell of his ear, making him shiver.
“Chris…” Felix’s voice is strained, his fingers stealing into Chan’s hair, nails scratching at his nape. “I say kiss me.” It lands somewhere between a demand and a question and hits Chan like an arrow through his chest; piercing and wicked and unavoidable.
“Please?” Felix presses impossibly closer, his breath ghosting over Chan’s face, warm and real. “Don’t you want to? Hyung, don’t you…?”
Chan stares at him for a second or two, uncomprehending. Wanting has never been the question, wanting has never once featured in the reasons why he doesn’t…
He tugs Felix closer by the throat and crashes their mouths together.
It’s heavy and needy from the start, uncompromising and unhesitant as if this one step, the latest of the thousands that have come before but not the last, was all that was needed and now they are across the border, in a new country, passports stamped. Felix’s grip on Chan’s hair is tight enough to sting, tight enough that it has to be real, something he can trust. He bites Chan’s bottom lip, hard enough to almost draw blood, certainly to bruise and Chan rears back, cursing.
“Fuck! Lix, what…?”
“Like you mean it!” Felix snaps out and shoves him. “Isn’t that what this is about, hm?” Another shove. The words seem angry, but Felix’s tone doesn’t quite match.
Chan blinks, confused, at first thinking Felix is shoving him away, but then the back of his legs hit the bed. He glances down, at the edge of the mattress nudging at the backs of his knees, and then at Felix, flushed and breathing hard and here, when he could be literally anywhere else in the world, could have his pick of company.
“You want this,” Chan says, hearing the awe in his own voice, the way it cracks, bleeds into something more… solid, something he can believe in.
“I want you to want this.” Felix pushes him again.
Chan falls, but he doesn’t fall alone. He grabs two fistfuls of Felix’s hoodie and pulls him down with him, rolling as soon as his back hits the mattress. Underneath him, Felix lets out a little ha! of surprise, half laughter, half unmistakable arousal.
“Don’t ever think I don’t,” Chan says, a harsh half-growl that makes Felix whine, his body arching up, pressing against Chan’s.
“Chris,” Felix moans, and Chan swallows his own name as he kisses him, deep and deliberate, a confession instead a concession. “Chris, show me…” His hands scrabble at Chan’s shirt, rucking it up, fingers pushing underneath, greedy and eager.
Chan shudders into it, helpless for a few seconds before he forces himself to push up and away. Another time he’s going to let Felix do that as much as he wants, as long as he wants, but right now he needs to touch more than he needs to be touched, because Felix had been right. Seeing is not enough, not now when there are other options. He sits up, straddling Felix’s thighs, yanking his own t-shirt off one-handed, already distracted by the view.
Felix too is staring, his eyes flitting between Chan’s torso as if he hasn’t seen Chan topless hundreds of times, and then dropping lower. Chan lets him look. In a different context, Chan can imagine himself squirming, getting shy, but now, with the adrenaline still lapping at the edges of his mind, he keeps himself still, focused on the way Felix’s chest rises and falls, the slack gape of his mouth that Chan wants to push his fingers into.
So he does. Felix’s tongue darts out to lick at the pads of Chan’s fingers as soon as he presses them against his bottom lip, shameless and wanting. He moans around Chan’s fingers, keeps going far past the point Chan would’ve stopped, until his lips close around Chan’s knuckles and Chan can feel the flutter at the back of Felix’s throat, the rhythmic squeeze of it as Felix swallows around him.
Chan can feel the way saliva builds in his own mouth as he slowly fucks his fingers in and out of Felix’s, crooks them to press at the roof of his mouth, traps his tongue, explores the hard ridges of his teeth, the soft give of the inside of his cheeks. He feels drunk, wondering if he could fit his entire hand into Felix’s mouth, dizzy with the need to be inside, as close as possible, and…
“Felix.” He pulls his fingers away despite the way Felix chases after them. “Felix, take…” He pushes his hand into the gap between Felix’s hoodie and jogging bottoms, curves them around his waist. “Take your clothes off,” he says. “Please.”
“No.” Felix arches under Chan’s hands, in direct opposition to his words. “You do it.” His voice sounds wrecked already and maybe tomorrow they will both regret this but right now none of that matters.
Chan bends down, pushing Felix’s clothes out of the way so he can rub his face against his stomach, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses on every stretch of skin he reveals. He licks over the line of Felix’s ribs, revelling in the way Felix huffs and twitches in response, ticklish. His nipples are hard before Chan even gets to them and when he worries one between his teeth, Felix’s hands fly to his hair to keep him there while he writhes and moans, choking on Chan’s name in a way that makes his hips kick forward, pressing against Felix’s slim thigh on instinct.
They work Felix out of his hoodie together, hands tangling in their haste, Felix’s hair a mess as he flops back to the bed. Chan runs his palms over every inch of available skin, squeezing over the muscle in Felix’s shoulders and arms, cupping the line of Felix’s throat hard enough to feel the wild flutter of his pulse, touching, touching, touching to make his brain believe what his eyes see, because Felix said he can, because Felix wants him to.
By the time his fingers curl under the waist band of Felix’s jogging bottoms, there’s a visible wet spot on the front of them. Chan grips Felix’s hips to keep him still and leans over, touching the tip of his tongue against it.
Felix cries out, hips trying to jerk up, hard enough that Chan has to use most of his strength to keep him still as he fits his mouth over the curve of Felix’s erection, traces the shape of it through the fabric.
“Fuck, please, please, Chris…” Felix arches, twists, one hand burying itself in Chan’s hair, the other one frantically shoving his own pants down.
Chan growls, prying Felix’s fingers out of his hair with force, getting up for long enough to finish undressing Felix, shucking out of the rest of his own clothes before crawling back onto the bed. Felix spreads his legs to make room for him, reaching down to wrap both hands around Chan’s cock, the hard, dry drag of it the best thing he’s ever felt.
“You want me,” Felix breathes out, voice thick with lust and wonder, as if he hadn’t really believed it until he, quite literally, had the proof in his hands.
Chan could spill over them all too easily. Instead, he catches Felix’s wrists, first one, then another, and pushes them up and down, on either side of Felix’s head.
“I want you,” he confirms. He’ll say that as much, as often as Felix needs to hear it. “I want you.” He kisses Felix on the mouth, the corner of his jaw. “I want you.” His teeth graze over the bump of Felix’s Adam’s apple, the tendons of his neck, and the urge to bite down and leave a mark makes his mind go staticky. “I want you,” he says, feeling the way Felix arches and twists under him, panting as his body grows taut with pleasure before going lax again.
“Chris, fuck me, I want… Channie-hyung, please.” His legs wrap around Chan, heels digging into the back of his thighs, pushing down until their erections drag together, wrenching a groan from both of them, deep and harmonised.
And god, god, Chan wants to but… “We’ve got dance practice tomorrow,” he grits out. “We have weeks of it, if we make it that far.” And as much as he wants to fuck Felix, wants to bend him in half and make him cry from how good Chan can give it to him, turns out he wants them to win Kingdom more.
Their eyes meet and Chan can see understanding and reluctant agreement reflected back.
“Guess that means you won’t fuck my mouth either?” Felix asks, grinning and unrepentant in the face of Chan’s pained moan, the uncontrolled twitch of his hips.
“After,” Chan promises, and then, quieter, his whole body stilling because maybe this isn’t… “If… If you want to? I…”
Felix twists against the grip Chan has on his wrist and Chan lets him go. As soon as his hand is free, Felix cups it around the back of Chan’s neck, and pulls him down into a kiss, long and thorough.
“After,” he breathes as they finally pull apart. “I’ll hold you to it.”
Chan kisses him again, just because he can. Because he’s allowed.
Felix hums into it, happy and turned on and all Chan’s right now. Eventually, the roll of their hips grows more urgent, and their kisses devolve into little more than desperate open-mouthed panting, their lips pressing together more by accident than design.
“Wait, wait,” Felix says, shoving at Chan to make room between their bodies. “Here, let me…” He unwraps his legs from around Chan and pulls them up and together, knees against his chest.
It’s quite the view.
Chan has to scramble to wrap a hand around his own dick so as not to come on the spot.
“We can’t,” he all but whines, but his fingers trace the space between Felix’s ass cheeks anyway, finger dipping to tap against his hole just a bit, pink and inviting.
“Nnnghh…” Felix’s grip on his own legs goes white-knuckled. “No, not… Fuck!” He pushes back against Chan’s finger and then twists to the side. “My thighs,” he pants. “You can… You can fuck them.”
Chan’s eyes snap to the press of Felix’s thighs, smooth and strong, and… “You’re a genius,” he breathes out.
Felix laughs, flushed and beautiful. “Still needs lube though,” he says. “Hope you’ve got some.”
Chan does. It takes him less than twenty second to retrieve it from his suitcase and then he’s warming it between his fingers, spreading it between Felix’s thigs, over his cock and balls, pressed against his stomach from the angle. Felix ruts against his hand, already wet, already…
“Close, close, hyung please hurry, I want…”
Chan wipes his hand on the bed sheets and gathers Felix’s legs up, and over his shoulder. And then he’s pressing in, dick sliding between Felix’s thighs, dragging over his taint, the glide smooth and perfect.
Given the circumstances, it’s no wonder that neither of them lasts long, the emotional release overwhelming any physical efforts to keep it at bay. Chan starts shaking apart a mere dozen thrusts in, Felix’s desperate “Yeah, please, Channie, I want you to come on me, show me…” doing nothing to delay the inevitable. His hips snap forward, all innate rhythm falling apart as he comes, turning his head to bury his groan into the hard jut of Felix’s knee.
He gives himself only long enough for his vision to clear before he lowers Felix’s legs, straightening them with shaking hands, groaning at the sight of his own release, white streaks covering Felix’s thighs, stomach, his cock, red and painfully hard. Chan shuffles down, clumsy with want and exhaustion, shoves his face into the damp grease of Felix’s groin and licks. He cares way less about his own voice than he does about Felix’s but letting himself do something he explicitly denied Felix seems selfish, so he only mouths at the head of Felix’s dick, wrapping his hand around the rest of it.
Felix has raised himself up on his elbows and is staring down at his body at Chan, at the way he’s jacking Felix off against his tongue, in stunned disbelief.
“Chris,” he breathes, “Chris,” as he comes all over Chan’s face, his open mouth, waiting tongue, the bitter salt of it oddly grounding.
The quiet afterwards feels like a balm, all of Chan’s earlier restlessness drawn out until only stillness remains. He lies there for long minutes, listening to their breaths even out, his cheek pressed against Felix’s sticky thigh in a way that’s going to get uncomfortable sooner rather than later. At some point Felix’s hand reaches down, groping around until it finds Chan’s, lacing their fingers together.
It’s good, really good, but it can’t last forever. It’s not like having sex with his best friend is some kind of magical solution to all of Chan’s problems, and one by one they start to crowd in again; the competition, getting Hyunjin back, the comeback that looms large, the million or so details that Chan needs to make a decision on before that… But surprisingly what happened between him and Felix doesn’t make it to the list.
Huh.
Chan sits up, grimacing a little at the way their skin catches, and finds Felix smiling sleepily up at him.
“Shouldn’t we be freaking up about this?” Chan asks. “I would’ve expected at least one of us to freak out. Probably me.”
Felix makes grabby hands at him and Chan gives in easily, tipping down next to him, sighing with contentment when Felix rolls into his arms unhesitatingly.
“Hyung,” he says. “You can freak out tomorrow if you need to.” His hand splays over Chan’s chest, warm and heavy over his heart. “Pretty sure I’ve just proven that I can handle it.”
Chan makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob and curls himself around Felix tight, tight, as if he could shield them both from the world waiting for them outside the hotel room. Maybe he can, just for a little while.
“We’ll handle it,” Chan promises, dropping a kiss into the Felix’s hairline, salty with sweat. “All of it. Together.”
***