Ship/Member: joshua/minghao Major Tags: N/A Additional Tags: references to past trauma? Permission to remix: yes
***
“What do you like?”
Minghao presses his lips to a spot just under Joshua’s ear; slow, deliberate.
“Anything you want,” Joshua says, breathy. It’s a line he’s used over and over again. Minghao huffs, amused. The sudden puff of air is hot on his neck.
“You don’t have to do that,” Minghao says, drawing back enough to kiss his jaw, his throat, and then repeats, “What do you like?”
Minghao looks at him then, one hand cupping Joshua’s jaw. He drags his thumb up over the shape of his chin, presses the soft pad of it into Joshua’s bottom lip.
“I want you to fuck me,” Joshua says, watching for the shift in Minghao’s expression. He’s hoping for hunger. He gets a smile - a sweet one, out of place.
“I figured,” Minghao says, not unkindly, “Tell me how you wanna be touched. I want to make you feel good.”
Joshua is good at this part, usually. Some guys are only looking for someone they can toss around. Someone to make them feel big. Some guys want him shy, blushing. The way they talk to him, the way they touch him - there’s always something to give it away.
Minghao hovers above him, patient. He seems content to explore Joshua’s skin with his thumb, the pad of it now a little wet from his lips. Even the way he holds his body is languid and easy, as if it doesn’t matter how long this takes or where it goes. Joshua has no idea what Minghao wants him to say.
“I don’t want you to ask me,” Joshua says, and it comes out wrong, he knows it comes out wrong. Minghao is already pulling away, the warm weight of him shifting back, and there’s a little spike of panic in Joshua’s chest. “Wait, wait. Do you want me on my stomach?”
It’s too fast, it’s fucking weird; Joshua bites his lip and lays a hand flat on Minghao’s chest, looks up at him like he’s embarrassed. He hopes Minghao reads it as desperate, needy. There’s an odd pinch to Minghao’s eyes, and Joshua doesn’t know how he’s fucking it up this fast. How he’s fucking it up at all.
“Do you wanna be on your stomach?” Minghao asks, voice slow. Joshua does, honestly - he wants his face pressed into the pillow, he wants Minghao to do what he’s supposed to do. He wants Minghao to stop looking at him. He wants Minghao’s hand heavy on the back of his neck.
“Yeah, please,” Joshua says, eyes hooded. He lets his voice drop low, a little whine on the please. He hopes desperately that Minghao doesn’t ask him another question. He’s already guessing as it is - he can’t seem to find the angle, how Minghao wants him to be.
“Okay. We can do that,” Minghao says, making no move to let Joshua roll over, “But I wanna take it a little slower for now. Is that-” is that okay, Joshua’s mind supplies, while Minghao visibly changes tack, “That’s what I wanna do.”
Joshua nods, not trusting himself to say anything he could predict Minghao’s reaction to. He thinks it might be the way Minghao kisses that’s thrown him off so much. It feels like the end itself and not the means; the way Minghao holds the back of his head, the way he takes his time with every kiss. It keeps Joshua grounded there, so he can’t disappear into the feeling and come back later; sore, accomplished. It means he can’t do it right.
“Let’s try this,” Minghao says, between kisses, his weight settling back between Joshua’s thighs, “If I do something you like, tap my shoulder.”
Which is - definitely fucking weird, and probably a technique Minghao learned on a meditation app, but if Minghao needs feedback to get off, Joshua can do that.
Minghao seems to see something in Joshua’s face, though, because he adds, “Only if it’s really good,” he kisses with teeth, bites down on Joshua’s bottom lip, “Only if I make your toes curl, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Joshua agrees, breathless without even meaning to be. The sweet smile is back on Minghao's face; Joshua doesn't know what to make of it. He keeps quiet. He doesn’t close his eyes.
[FILL] earth eats away at itself
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: references to past trauma?
Permission to remix: yes
***
“What do you like?”
Minghao presses his lips to a spot just under Joshua’s ear; slow, deliberate.
“Anything you want,” Joshua says, breathy. It’s a line he’s used over and over again. Minghao huffs, amused. The sudden puff of air is hot on his neck.
“You don’t have to do that,” Minghao says, drawing back enough to kiss his jaw, his throat, and then repeats, “What do you like?”
Minghao looks at him then, one hand cupping Joshua’s jaw. He drags his thumb up over the shape of his chin, presses the soft pad of it into Joshua’s bottom lip.
“I want you to fuck me,” Joshua says, watching for the shift in Minghao’s expression. He’s hoping for hunger. He gets a smile - a sweet one, out of place.
“I figured,” Minghao says, not unkindly, “Tell me how you wanna be touched. I want to make you feel good.”
Joshua is good at this part, usually. Some guys are only looking for someone they can toss around. Someone to make them feel big. Some guys want him shy, blushing. The way they talk to him, the way they touch him - there’s always something to give it away.
Minghao hovers above him, patient. He seems content to explore Joshua’s skin with his thumb, the pad of it now a little wet from his lips. Even the way he holds his body is languid and easy, as if it doesn’t matter how long this takes or where it goes. Joshua has no idea what Minghao wants him to say.
“I don’t want you to ask me,” Joshua says, and it comes out wrong, he knows it comes out wrong. Minghao is already pulling away, the warm weight of him shifting back, and there’s a little spike of panic in Joshua’s chest. “Wait, wait. Do you want me on my stomach?”
It’s too fast, it’s fucking weird; Joshua bites his lip and lays a hand flat on Minghao’s chest, looks up at him like he’s embarrassed. He hopes Minghao reads it as desperate, needy. There’s an odd pinch to Minghao’s eyes, and Joshua doesn’t know how he’s fucking it up this fast. How he’s fucking it up at all.
“Do you wanna be on your stomach?” Minghao asks, voice slow. Joshua does, honestly - he wants his face pressed into the pillow, he wants Minghao to do what he’s supposed to do. He wants Minghao to stop looking at him. He wants Minghao’s hand heavy on the back of his neck.
“Yeah, please,” Joshua says, eyes hooded. He lets his voice drop low, a little whine on the please. He hopes desperately that Minghao doesn’t ask him another question. He’s already guessing as it is - he can’t seem to find the angle, how Minghao wants him to be.
“Okay. We can do that,” Minghao says, making no move to let Joshua roll over, “But I wanna take it a little slower for now. Is that-” is that okay, Joshua’s mind supplies, while Minghao visibly changes tack, “That’s what I wanna do.”
Joshua nods, not trusting himself to say anything he could predict Minghao’s reaction to. He thinks it might be the way Minghao kisses that’s thrown him off so much. It feels like the end itself and not the means; the way Minghao holds the back of his head, the way he takes his time with every kiss. It keeps Joshua grounded there, so he can’t disappear into the feeling and come back later; sore, accomplished. It means he can’t do it right.
“Let’s try this,” Minghao says, between kisses, his weight settling back between Joshua’s thighs, “If I do something you like, tap my shoulder.”
Which is - definitely fucking weird, and probably a technique Minghao learned on a meditation app, but if Minghao needs feedback to get off, Joshua can do that.
Minghao seems to see something in Joshua’s face, though, because he adds, “Only if it’s really good,” he kisses with teeth, bites down on Joshua’s bottom lip, “Only if I make your toes curl, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Joshua agrees, breathless without even meaning to be. The sweet smile is back on Minghao's face; Joshua doesn't know what to make of it. He keeps quiet. He doesn’t close his eyes.