Ship/Member: Mingyu/Jihoon Major Tags: AU-Idolverse, Explicit sexual content Additional Tags: Bad sex Permission to remix: Please ask
Title from 'Dirt Being Dirt' by Carl Phillips
***
Jihoon twists a little in his seat, but doesn’t bat Mingyu’s hand away as it presses down on his thin, gray sweats. There must be nothing under. Mingyu can feel him good.
The light in the room is dizzying; it’s a little tacky, if Mingyu’s being honest. But Jihoon likes it this way. He’s proud of it, showing it off to Mingyu when the paint was still just drying. Already, Mingyu imagines himself in the room just looking at the background behind Jihoon when he called. When he spun around to boast the muralled wall, the specks of painted stars in the ceiling, and then showed him the tall mirror, Mingyu thought — there. That’s gonna be Mingyu’s spot. And Mingyu’s spot it became. The following night when he’d come over, barely out of his soft and sponsored sweater, fucking Jihoon standing. His whole length dwarfing the dimensions of the mirror’s entire height. In the morning, on the couch just across it, watching his face contort in lust, in wonder. In the heat of it, Jihoon underneath him, babbling with spit dripping down the sides of his open mouth as he let Mingyu pound him like he wanted to rip him open: You make a mess of me. Fuck. You make me something I’m not.
Jihoon makes the tiniest bit of a grunt when Mingyu cups his balls through the cloth.
He’s currently in an overseas call with a new label, one that caught his name in the album sleeve of Mingyu’s latest mini. They’re interested, he updated Mingyu earlier over the phone while he was on the drive on the way to Jihoon’s studio. He’d wanted to come over because he wanted to whine about the posts he’d seen about himself, wanted Jihoon to placate him like he always does. But Jihoon was so cheerful, cutting Mingyu off every time he tried to say anything. They want me to write them an English song, he’d said, laughing in slight disbelief.
That’s good! That’s great! Mingyu just said as he drove past Samsung Tower. He forgot to signal as he turned left, speeding a little now. He doubted anyone would flag him down, not when he’s in the middle of the moneyed streets of Gangnam.
When he arrived, Jihoon was already on the call. Camera’s turned off, though, so he twisted in his chair and waved Mingyu in. He took his shoes off. Then his coat. And his jacket. He pulled another chair and positioned himself right beside his producer.
In this muted light, with just the glow of the 32-inch iMac and the purple and childish shimmer of the studio’s lights, Jihoon looks easy. Perfectly like himself. And it lets rise an unspeakable feeling in the pit of Mingyu’s most hidden, private space.
“Oh, this isn’t polished yet, just something I’ve put together the last few days. It’s not for anyone in particular, but, um,” Jihoon is saying and then without even glancing at Mingyu who’s ogling at his screen, he’s clicking play.
The song fills the studio. It’s slow, it’s seductive. Of course, it’s good. Mingyu thinks, this should be mine.
Mingyu’s hand slips under Jihoon’s sweatpants. He instantly presses mute and gasps, leaning his head back. Mingyu grins at him sideways, teasing the tip of Jihoon’s cock with his warmed palm.
Then Jihoon unmutes himself and answers their other questions. No, not for this one. Mingyu pulls Jihoon’s pants lower. Yes, sometimes, if you need that too. He lowers his head and nips at Jihoon’s cock, before licking all of him in one long, slow and wet stripe. I will have to see how I can fit my sound into your artist’s discography. He goes down on his knee, spreading Jihoon’s legs apart. Oh, of course. He’s one of my most valued artists. Mingyu looks up at Jihoon staring at him. His mouth stretches even more open, presenting itself. Inviting Jihoon to move. Isn’t he? He makes my music come alive. Right? God, what a voice. Mingyu swallows all of Jihoon and then with his other hand, Jihoon touches his neck. He can feel under his fingers his own cock as it slides in and out of Mingyu’s throat. His eyes water. Jihoon swallows before he speaks, impressively hiding the wobble in his voice. Oh, I’m sorry. You can’t take me away from my artist full-time. Yeah — that’s right. He is. Mingyu nods, bobs his head more and more. Jihoon’s mouth flutters open. But of course, there can be other arrangements. Just let me know. He grabs the top of Mingyu’s head. Gee, it’s gotten quite late my time now. Mingyu lets his teeth glide the sides of Jihoon’s cock. Yes, of course. Just send me the invite. I’m a one-man studio so... he laughs airily just as Mingyu slides off his cock, all wet and hot, pumping him and angling the tip into his open mouth. Bye, nice speaking with your team! And Jihoon comes.
He pulls the headset off his head and pushes Mingyu down the carpeted floor. They fuck like that, shirts still on, hard and soft and rough.
“Please.”
It’s the first word he’s spoken since he’s gotten inside the studio. Earlier, he texted Jihoon to say he needed something from him. Judging by the articles spreading, Jihoon thought it was some advice. Or comfort. Or the usual pep talk he’s already memorized several variations of to mollify the child in Kim Mingyu.
“Please what?” Jihoon challenges as he slows down without pulling out. He ruts against Mingyu’s chest slowly. His eyes shimmer as they blink back tears.
“You want me to give you that song? You want me to work only just for you? You want me to tell you you’re good? That those articles are trash? That those people, those people who like you for who they think you are, they don’t really know you? You want that? You want me to tell you that all over again when this happens again next month?”
“More, more,” Mingyu begs, locking Jihoon around his long legs as he pistons up to meet Jihoon’s every heated and tight slide back down his cock.
“You want me to give you everything, don’t you, Mingyu?” Jihoon says, breathless and with the slightest spike of hurt. I could, I could. But what have you given me?
What would it have been like, if they didn’t make it? Mingyu, twenty-four, broke and perfect, singing in a small bar, every other night, coming home to Jihoon every night, a bed just big enough for someone small and someone larger. Jihoon wonders now, what it would have been like to have Mingyu just for himself.
“Yes, please,” Mingyu gasps, “everything.” His mouth hot against Jihoon’s chest as he fucks frantically up, as he busts his load inside Jihoon’s ass.
And Jihoon takes it.
“I’m no one without you,” Mingyu whispers, desperate, coming down from the high, panting and shining with sweat.
Jihoon shuts his eyes, feeling overripe and rotten, and slips out of Mingyu’s cock. Cum drips down between his legs when he gets up, looking down at a sweaty, disheveled, handsome Mingyu. Soloist and rising artist of the year. Awarded and loved. Adored and hated. Spat on one day. Dressed down in nothing but barely a ripped shirt the next. Lusted after. Jacked off to. Cried over.
Jihoon wipes himself clean. Looking at Mingyu like that, splashed by the light Jihoon loves overhead, it almost looks like the latest proof that, while pretending this does not amount to nothing is hardly ever necessary: the album, the fame, the small snippets of interviews that signal Jihoon’s existence in Mingyu’s life. The time they spend skirting around the question, the answer. What do you need from me? Why should I give it to you? I’m grateful for you, Mingyu used to say. Like a used side of an oft-rewinded tape. Over and over. Whether it was for a new demo, at the end of the promotion, onstage for an award. But a part of Jihoon feels like it’s not earned. It’s not the answer to his question.
This could be yours and more. Instead, Jihoon just says, “It’s yours. The song.” Unplugging the computer off and walking away.
[FILL] YOU BROKE IT. NOW WEAR IT BROKEN.
Major Tags: AU-Idolverse, Explicit sexual content
Additional Tags: Bad sex
Permission to remix: Please ask
Title from 'Dirt Being Dirt' by Carl Phillips
***
Jihoon twists a little in his seat, but doesn’t bat Mingyu’s hand away as it presses down on his thin, gray sweats. There must be nothing under. Mingyu can feel him good.
The light in the room is dizzying; it’s a little tacky, if Mingyu’s being honest. But Jihoon likes it this way. He’s proud of it, showing it off to Mingyu when the paint was still just drying. Already, Mingyu imagines himself in the room just looking at the background behind Jihoon when he called. When he spun around to boast the muralled wall, the specks of painted stars in the ceiling, and then showed him the tall mirror, Mingyu thought — there. That’s gonna be Mingyu’s spot. And Mingyu’s spot it became. The following night when he’d come over, barely out of his soft and sponsored sweater, fucking Jihoon standing. His whole length dwarfing the dimensions of the mirror’s entire height. In the morning, on the couch just across it, watching his face contort in lust, in wonder. In the heat of it, Jihoon underneath him, babbling with spit dripping down the sides of his open mouth as he let Mingyu pound him like he wanted to rip him open: You make a mess of me. Fuck. You make me something I’m not.
Jihoon makes the tiniest bit of a grunt when Mingyu cups his balls through the cloth.
He’s currently in an overseas call with a new label, one that caught his name in the album sleeve of Mingyu’s latest mini. They’re interested, he updated Mingyu earlier over the phone while he was on the drive on the way to Jihoon’s studio. He’d wanted to come over because he wanted to whine about the posts he’d seen about himself, wanted Jihoon to placate him like he always does. But Jihoon was so cheerful, cutting Mingyu off every time he tried to say anything. They want me to write them an English song, he’d said, laughing in slight disbelief.
That’s good! That’s great! Mingyu just said as he drove past Samsung Tower. He forgot to signal as he turned left, speeding a little now. He doubted anyone would flag him down, not when he’s in the middle of the moneyed streets of Gangnam.
When he arrived, Jihoon was already on the call. Camera’s turned off, though, so he twisted in his chair and waved Mingyu in. He took his shoes off. Then his coat. And his jacket. He pulled another chair and positioned himself right beside his producer.
In this muted light, with just the glow of the 32-inch iMac and the purple and childish shimmer of the studio’s lights, Jihoon looks easy. Perfectly like himself. And it lets rise an unspeakable feeling in the pit of Mingyu’s most hidden, private space.
“Oh, this isn’t polished yet, just something I’ve put together the last few days. It’s not for anyone in particular, but, um,” Jihoon is saying and then without even glancing at Mingyu who’s ogling at his screen, he’s clicking play.
The song fills the studio. It’s slow, it’s seductive. Of course, it’s good. Mingyu thinks, this should be mine.
Mingyu’s hand slips under Jihoon’s sweatpants. He instantly presses mute and gasps, leaning his head back. Mingyu grins at him sideways, teasing the tip of Jihoon’s cock with his warmed palm.
Then Jihoon unmutes himself and answers their other questions. No, not for this one. Mingyu pulls Jihoon’s pants lower. Yes, sometimes, if you need that too. He lowers his head and nips at Jihoon’s cock, before licking all of him in one long, slow and wet stripe. I will have to see how I can fit my sound into your artist’s discography. He goes down on his knee, spreading Jihoon’s legs apart. Oh, of course. He’s one of my most valued artists. Mingyu looks up at Jihoon staring at him. His mouth stretches even more open, presenting itself. Inviting Jihoon to move. Isn’t he? He makes my music come alive. Right? God, what a voice. Mingyu swallows all of Jihoon and then with his other hand, Jihoon touches his neck. He can feel under his fingers his own cock as it slides in and out of Mingyu’s throat. His eyes water. Jihoon swallows before he speaks, impressively hiding the wobble in his voice. Oh, I’m sorry. You can’t take me away from my artist full-time. Yeah — that’s right. He is. Mingyu nods, bobs his head more and more. Jihoon’s mouth flutters open. But of course, there can be other arrangements. Just let me know. He grabs the top of Mingyu’s head. Gee, it’s gotten quite late my time now. Mingyu lets his teeth glide the sides of Jihoon’s cock. Yes, of course. Just send me the invite. I’m a one-man studio so... he laughs airily just as Mingyu slides off his cock, all wet and hot, pumping him and angling the tip into his open mouth. Bye, nice speaking with your team! And Jihoon comes.
He pulls the headset off his head and pushes Mingyu down the carpeted floor. They fuck like that, shirts still on, hard and soft and rough.
“Please.”
It’s the first word he’s spoken since he’s gotten inside the studio. Earlier, he texted Jihoon to say he needed something from him. Judging by the articles spreading, Jihoon thought it was some advice. Or comfort. Or the usual pep talk he’s already memorized several variations of to mollify the child in Kim Mingyu.
“Please what?” Jihoon challenges as he slows down without pulling out. He ruts against Mingyu’s chest slowly. His eyes shimmer as they blink back tears.
“You want me to give you that song? You want me to work only just for you? You want me to tell you you’re good? That those articles are trash? That those people, those people who like you for who they think you are, they don’t really know you? You want that? You want me to tell you that all over again when this happens again next month?”
“More, more,” Mingyu begs, locking Jihoon around his long legs as he pistons up to meet Jihoon’s every heated and tight slide back down his cock.
“You want me to give you everything, don’t you, Mingyu?” Jihoon says, breathless and with the slightest spike of hurt. I could, I could. But what have you given me?
What would it have been like, if they didn’t make it? Mingyu, twenty-four, broke and perfect, singing in a small bar, every other night, coming home to Jihoon every night, a bed just big enough for someone small and someone larger. Jihoon wonders now, what it would have been like to have Mingyu just for himself.
“Yes, please,” Mingyu gasps, “everything.” His mouth hot against Jihoon’s chest as he fucks frantically up, as he busts his load inside Jihoon’s ass.
And Jihoon takes it.
“I’m no one without you,” Mingyu whispers, desperate, coming down from the high, panting and shining with sweat.
Jihoon shuts his eyes, feeling overripe and rotten, and slips out of Mingyu’s cock. Cum drips down between his legs when he gets up, looking down at a sweaty, disheveled, handsome Mingyu. Soloist and rising artist of the year. Awarded and loved. Adored and hated. Spat on one day. Dressed down in nothing but barely a ripped shirt the next. Lusted after. Jacked off to. Cried over.
Jihoon wipes himself clean. Looking at Mingyu like that, splashed by the light Jihoon loves overhead, it almost looks like the latest proof that, while pretending this does not amount to nothing is hardly ever necessary: the album, the fame, the small snippets of interviews that signal Jihoon’s existence in Mingyu’s life. The time they spend skirting around the question, the answer. What do you need from me? Why should I give it to you? I’m grateful for you, Mingyu used to say. Like a used side of an oft-rewinded tape. Over and over. Whether it was for a new demo, at the end of the promotion, onstage for an award. But a part of Jihoon feels like it’s not earned. It’s not the answer to his question.
This could be yours and more. Instead, Jihoon just says, “It’s yours. The song.” Unplugging the computer off and walking away.