[personal profile] maayacolabackup




Being a teenager is rough enough without having everyone’s eyes on you, but it’s even rougher when you’re famous all over Korea, and millions of teenage girls know your name, weight, and exactly how many zits you have on the left side of your jaw. Jongin battles acne and awkward crushes on half of SNSD and days where he can’t stand his nose, and he survives those skirmishes better than he expects to, despite the constant teasing of his band mates and the criticism of antis. It’s all part of growing up, and Jongin’s just doing that more publicly than most.

But there are some things that Jongin can’t just...wait out, knowing it’ll get better when he gets older, because they’re simply too embarrassing to tolerate. There are some things that Jongin is positive aren’t, well, universal issues.

Things that Jongin can barely admit to, even inside his own head.

Jongin realises that he really does have a bit of a problem when he comes in his pants, on stage, without even touching himself.

It’s the usual routine. He’s dancing ‘Two Moons’ with Yixing, the other members watching keenly from the sidelines; only today the front of his pants feels uncomfortably tight, and he’s pretty sure it’s not because his dick has grown three sizes like the Grinch’s heart. (Although he would love it if that were the case). The material presses and chafes, and the friction is strange; Jongin can feel the slide of the smooth polyester fabric against the cotton blend of his underwear. He’s far too aware of the resulting tingle in his thighs, and coiling heat in his stomach. Jongin’s eyes widen in dismay.

The bass thumps loudly once, dropping the beat.

Jongin shifts, then comes.

Shit.

There are cameras, and there are people, and there are eleven other sets of inquisitive eyes focussed on him. Jongin panics and sprints the fuck offstage, hands held in front of the wet patch of his performance pants. He never thought he’d miss the ones with the dropped crotch, but he sure misses them now.

There’s a dark corner backstage where none of the staff are milling about. Jongin slumps against the wall, breathing deeply. How the fuck did it get to this point? he thinks.

Jongin peels his hands off his pants. There’s a very visible patch there, and the bottom of his torso is still tingling with the sensation of orgasm. He’s shivering, and it’s not the shiver of tiredness; it’s not the shiver that overcomes him when he’s been in the dance practise rooms for eighteen hours straight and his muscles are no longer cooperating. This is a shiver of fuck, I want more.

Fuck.

Yixing runs backstage seconds later, when the cameras stop rolling. He regards Jongin with legitimate concern. “Are you alright? Is your injury acting up again?”

“N-no,” Jongin says. His groin is hot and sticky with come. His mind is in shambles. “No, I’m...fine...”

“Oh.” Yixing frowns, eyebrows knitting together with confusion. He doesn’t sound convinced. “Oh, okay. It looked like something was wrong.”

“Yeah, something is wrong,” Chanyeol snickers, waggling his eyebrows. Jongin glares, but Chanyeol’s grin only gets wider. “Viewers, please redirect your gaze to Exhibit A: Kim Jongin’s crotch.”

There’s a long, uncomfortable silence. Jongin wishes he could crawl into a cave and expire. Jongdae, always inquisitive, bends over to inspect it in more detail, and Jongin’s pretty sure that yep, he’s going to die of embarrassment any second now.

“I think he came in his pants,” Jongdae announces bluntly.

Yixing stumbles and almost falls flat on his face.

Joonmyun frowns. “I see. That’s a problem.”

“Is this the first time it’s happened?”

“Well,” Jongin mumbles, “I’m pretty sure you would’ve all noticed if it happened before.” Jongin strategically doesn’t mention that time last week in the van when he’d barely escaped spilling into his jeans from the bumping of the vehicle over a patch of uneven road. There’s no reason to make things more awkward than they already are.

“So that’s why your face was all funny last week in the van,” Chanyeol muses aloud, face stretched into a Cheshire grin. Jongin considers homicide.

“Go die,” Jongin mumbles, his face so hot it feels like he’s melting.

“Wait!” Kyungsoo’s eyes are wider than saucers. “Does this mean...you can’t perform anymore?”

“I think he can still dance,” Chanyeol says flippantly. “He’ll just cream himself every single time he does. The fangirls will love that.”

“Not—not every time,” Jongin protests. “It hasn’t happened—”

“How did he dance before, though?” Jongdae queries, looking almost as amused as Chanyeol. Minseok raises a perfectly manicured eyebrow curiously.

“The...” Jongin winces. “The pants. With the low crotch. They don’t, you know, rub...” He lets the sentence trail off, because it’s enough information for everyone to get the picture.

“Wow, Jongin,” Sehun says, leaning against Zitao, who has an arm slung over his shoulders as he tries to follow the Korean conversation. “You are the actual lamest.”

“Quiet!” Joonmyun commands. No one listens. “No, really, listen to me! Jongin, I think you should see a doctor. It has to be a medical condition, right? You can fix this!” Joonmyun’s plaintive cries fall on deaf ears as everyone else continues to talk over each other.

“Hey man,” Baekhyun says, laying a hand on Jongin’s bicep. Jongin shrugs him off, but Baekhyun just slaps his arm again. “You know, I used to want to become a doctor. I could take a look for you if you—”

“—oh, fuck off—”

“—language, Jongin!” Joonmyun reprimands.

“Baekhyun, you wanted to be a vet, that’s not the same thing—”

“—vets are doctors too!”

“Jongin’s dick isn’t a dachshund!”

“Can we not?” Jongin asks, biting down on his lip. “Can we just not? I’ll...I’ll solve it. It’s not going to be a problem again.”

“Bring back the terribad pants ASAP,” Jongdae advises. “Do you want one of us to talk to the coordinators for you?” His smile reminds Jongin of a hungry lion.

Jongin can’t even begin to imagine how that conversation would go down. The only certainty is that whatever Jongin thinks is the worst Jongdae can do, the reality will be far more mortifying. “No!” Jongin shouts, and then he closes his eyes. “That’s...no. Just...no. I’ll—” He takes a deep breath. “I’ll handle it.”

“It looks like you don’t even have to handle it, if you know what I mean—”

“Chanyeol!” Kyungsoo sounds like he’s at the end of his rope.

“You were all thinking it, though,” Chanyeol says, holding both hands up to preemptively protect himself from swats as both Baekhyun and Yixing raise their hands threateningly. Baekhyun, though, might be too busy laughing to actually shut Chanyeol up.

“Er...good luck.” Kevin pats Jongin comfortingly, before turning around and leaving with the others.

There’s one person in the shadows who hasn’t said anything the whole time. Jongin’s eyes scan over the members’ retreating backs and land on Lu Han. Lu Han turns around at that moment. Their eyes meet.

Lu Han doesn’t look concerned in the slightest. In fact, Jongin swears that he’s smirking.

Lu Han smirking is never good news. Ever.

Fuck.





One day, Jongin thinks, he will live down coming on stage. Unfortunately, he’s pretty sure that day is not today. Or tomorrow.

Or any time in the next ten years, if Park Chanyeol has anything to say about it.

“What if Jongin secretly has a voice kink?” Chanyeol postulates over lunch. “Like the sound of Kev-Kev and I about to rock out to ‘Two Moons’ is just too much for his dick to take.”

“No one gets off on your voice, Chanyeol,” Jongin snaps, and Baekhyun blushes. A painful silence falls across the lunch table, which Jongin thinks is really just too bad for everyone. He coughs. “Anyway, no, it doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

“How many times have I told you not to call me Kev-Kev?” Kevin asks, reaching over to Yixing’s packed lunch with his chopsticks to steal one of his pickled radishes.

“Then would you rather be called Fan-Fan?” Chanyeol asks, stealing Yixing’s pickled radish from where Kevin’s dropped it in his own lunchbox. “Or Ken-Ken? Your pick.”

“He prefers ‘Big Kev’,” Yixing says, blinking. “At least in the bedroo—”

“—you know what?” Kevin says, stabbing Chanyeol’s hand with his chopsticks. “How about we drop this and get back to the main issue here? Jongin’s...penile difficulties.

“Way to throw me under the bus,” Jongin mumbles, and Kevin smiles at him apologetically.

“Most people that have these kinds of issues have problems getting it up,” Kyungsoo grumbles. Everyone turns to stare at him. “Not...that...I have...those problems. I’m just saying. He’s lucky he doesn’t have the impotence of a ninety-year-old.”

Kevin now looks a little regretful at having changed the subject to this, or like he’d rather be dead than here, and Jongin doesn’t blame him. Jongdae, though, is looking at Kyungsoo with a suspicious gaze. Kyungsoo flushes and averts his eyes.

“But really, Jongin,” Chanyeol says, gesticulating wildly with cutlery to emphasise his point and nearly taking out Baekhyun’s eye. “You need to learn how to control your carnal desires.”

“Oh my god,” Jongin says, because Jongin’s problem is not his carnal desires, or any other kind of desires; it’s just a physical response that he can’t control.

“I’m trying to eat,” Minseok says, longsuffering, and Baekhyun cleverly cuts in with a comment about seeing Taeyeon’s underwear during the last SM Town show, and for the rest of lunch, Jongin is left to stare miserably at his donkasu while Jongdae plies Baekhyun for colour and cut details. (“There were ribbons, I swear!” Baekhyun says, and Jongdae’s eyes are filled with stars.)

As lunch winds down, the members peel off one by one, until only a few of them are left lingering around the table. One of those people is Lu Han.

Lu Han always eats slowly and steadily, chewing each bite as if he’s trying to savour it. But today, he’s not eating at all. He’s just staring at Jongin, eyes glittering with a mixture of mischief and something else Jongin can’t quite place. Jongin studies the piece of fried pork held aloft between his chopsticks to avoid the heat of that gaze, and the way it makes the hair on his arms stand with something like anticipation.

“I could teach you,” Lu Han says quietly.

Jongin looks up again from his lunch. “Huh?”

“I could teach you.” Lu Han’s face is angelic, but Jongin can see the deviousness in the set of his brows and in the quirk of his lips. There’s a lot implied in that statement, and Baekhyun sniggers. “If you wanted to learn.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jongin shoves another bite of rice into his mouth, and concentrates on ignoring the way Lu Han’s tongue flickers out obscenely to lick up one of his chopsticks.

Jongin really hates the way he can feel himself stiffening, heat pooling in his belly.

Thank god no one’s staring at him from under the table.

“Okay,” Lu Han says airily. He leans back and his eyes flicker down to catch a glimpse of the tent forming in the crotch area of Jongin’s pants. “But let me know if you change your mind.”

“I won’t,” Jongin says, and he spits grains of rice all over the table because he hadn’t swallowed yet.

“Jongin, that’s disgusting,” Kyungsoo says, as Lu Han laughs, picking up his styrofoam container and throwing it in the trash.

“Yeah, Jongin, learn to swallow,” Chanyeol quips. “Talking before you’ve even chewed your food. Tsk tsk. Do you do everything prematurely now?”

“Your face is premature,” Jongin says, glowering. “Now shut up or I’ll punch you in the nuts.”

“I’d threaten the same...but you’d probably ejaculate,” Chanyeol says as he too stands up from the table.

“I hope you die in a terrible fire,” Jongin grumbles to the wood, but he thinks it’s probably less effective when his cheeks are so red.

Chanyeol laughs. “I command fire, darling.”

“Then I’ll get Minseok-hyung to freeze your ass.”

“Okay, kids,” Baekhyun says, like he’s not as much a child as the rest of them, “now that we’re two seconds away from ’I am rubber and you are glue’, we should probably get back to work.”

“Fine, fine,” Chanyeol says, and Jongin rolls his eyes until he catches sight of Lu Han, who still lurks by the rubbish bin, hands in his pockets. He’s wearing one of his white tank shirts, and Jongin can’t stop himself from following the lean line of his bare arms all the way down to pretty wrists.

“Offer still stands,” Lu Han says, smiling an eye-crinkling smile, when Jongin catches himself staring and guiltily looks back up to Lu Han’s face.

Lu Han chuckles and walks out of the room, leaving Jongin alone with his thoughts.

The fabric of Jongin’s pants rubs against his erection hard enough that he has to bite back a groan.

Jongin buries his face in his hands.





He changes his mind promptly four days later, when he almost comes during an easy rehearsal from the rub of his too-loose sweatpants.

Chanyeol laughs so hard he starts to cry, and Jongin doesn’t think it’s fair that even an oversized giraffe thinks he’s a joke.

“It doesn’t even matter how tight your pants are, anymore,” Chanyeol squeals, wiping away an actual tear. “This is Christmas in August, I swear.” The statement is riddled with mirthful hiccups.

“Maybe you need to get laid,” Sehun says. “Or jerk off enough that your dick is too tired to get an erection.”

“Do you think I haven’t tried that?” Jongin shifts uncomfortably, and that sets Chanyeol off laughing again. Baekhyun tries valiantly to keep a straight face. Jongin considers telling them both that sometimes he can hear them fucking, but he’ll save that card for later.

“This is Christmas for the entire year,” Jongdae says. “It doesn’t actually get any better than this.” He sounds awed at his own amazing fortune, and Jongin would strangle him but it’s not worth the jail time.

“Now, now. Play nice,” Lu Han says, and his voice is pitched low and even. It’s not loud, but it cuts right through Chanyeol’s donkey braying and finds its way straight to Jongin’s erection.

“I hate you all,” Jongin says, and he runs to the bathroom.

He jerks himself off quickly; too quickly, and the speed of his hand is uncomfortable as he pushes his foreskin back to glide his thumb more easily across the slit, gathering moisture and spreading it downward to ease the burn of his dry palm. He spits into the other hand, and then fists himself with both together, fingers locked as he closes his eyes and huffs his way toward completion. It takes less than a minute for him to come, jizz sliding down his knuckles and between his fingers, and Lu Han’s gleaming eyes at the forefront of his mind.

“No,” Jongin says aloud, and it echoes in the empty bathroom. “No.”

Only even as he says ‘no’, he’s thinking about Lu Han’s teasing smile and Lu Han’s arms and Lu Han’s voice when he speaks Mandarin, ends of his words rolling into Beijing ‘r’s so it sounds almost like he’s purring. So the ‘no’ ends up becoming a ‘yes’, as Jongin finds himself hard again already.

This sucks, Jongin thinks, and he can still hear Chanyeol’s mocking laughter outside the restroom and all the way down the hall.

(Although Jongin is starting to think he might have internalised the sound.)





While it only takes Jongin four days to change his mind, it takes him seven more before he gathers the courage to think about talking to Lu Han about it, but then it’s another thirteen before Lu Han comes back from China...

All in all, it takes the next gruelling thirteen days of ejaculating in the most inconvenient times (and places—he’d almost shot his load into the fucking fruit basket after staring at the bunch of bananas for too long) for Jongin to swallow his pride, actually act on that scrounged-up bravery, and consult Lu Han.

Jongin waits inside EXO-M’s dorms on the day of M’s arrival back in Korea, sitting at the edge of the seat, half because he’s nervous and half because letting his dick touch the seat might cause unwanted reactions, and Jongin’s really not keen for any unwanted reactions today.

The door latch clicks.

Jongin jumps in his seat, and curses audibly at himself when a reactive tingle shoots through his torso and he’s inconveniently stirring in his pants.

“...Jongin?”

Kevin’s the first one through the door. Jongin looks up from his groin, faltering under Kevin’s big yaoi hands inquisitive gaze. The arch of his angry eyebrows clearly indicates that he was not expecting Jongin here. “Don’t you have a photoshoot? What are you doing here?”

“Pitching a tent, obviously,” Jongdae murmurs, eyeing Jongin’s crotch as he flings his bag down. “Hey, Dancing Machine #2, it’s late; are you planning on camping here for the night?”

“N-no,” Jongin stutters. “I just wanted to talk to—”

Then Lu Han walks into the room, face drawn and haggard, a shadow of stubble sprinkled on his chin, and Jongin decides, no, maybe not today.

Sure, Lu Han had offered, but it’s unfair of Jongin to do this, to take Lu Han's time for something so ridiculous, not when they’re all running on three hours of sleep a day. Time is limited. He should be dealing with this himself.

The other members had definitely been teasing him with their offers, he’s sure of that. So what if he’d gotten off to Lu Han’s voice that day in the dance practise room—and then again that night, the Mandarin version of Baby Don’t Cry drowning out his groans—this is his problem, and as much of a fuss as Chanyeol likes to make, Jongin shouldn’t be randomly dragging his bandmates into it.

“Hey.”

Jongin meets Lu Han’s eyes. Lu Han gives a small smile, the corner of his lips upturning. Maybe Lu Han’s playing along with this joke too, Jongin thinks, maybe he’s just teasing, at Jongin’s expense.

“Hey,” Lu Han tries again, waving a hand in front of Jongin’s face. “Looking for me?”

"No," Jongin says. "Well yes, but no. I mean. It can. Wait. Until you're not tired." Jongin flushes, and Minseok coughs awkwardly.

"We are SM idols," Lu Han says. "I'm always going to be tired."

"Not like this," Jongin says. "With the dark circles and stuff." Jongin studies his knees when Lu Han offers him a tiny grin.

"What do you want, Jongin?" He doesn't have to look up to know that Lu Han's smile has become predatory.

"It's about...that thing." Jongin knows he's mumbling too much to be understood. "That we discussed."

"I see," Lu Han says.

“We’ll give you two some privacy.” Yixing grins, then loops his arms around Kevin’s and Jongdae’s necks, marching out of the living room. Minseok simply shakes his head sadly, and follows suit, Zitao tailing after him.

“So,” Jongin says.





Jongin’s had exactly two and a half previous sexual encounters.

The first time was in the second year of middle school, when a girl from his PE class had tried to give him a handjob back in the lockers, and he came before she’d even finished pulling down his zipper. The only face more mortified than his at the time had been hers, and she'd backed away from him with wide eyes and had never spoken to him again.

The second time was at the afterparty for Calvin Klein's show, and Jongin had been cornered by a (hot) European model in the men's lavatory, and that time, Jongin had been shoved up against the sinks, and all it had taken was the thrust of the man's thigh between his own two times before he'd come shaking and shivering as the man explored Jongin's mouth. That had been less embarrassing, until Jongin came again four minutes later, and then the man noticed. "Already?" The man had asked in mediocre-sounding Korean, and Jongin hadn't really wanted to correct him.

(There was...one other time, when he was in the third floor showers, next to some of SM’s upper level dance practise rooms, and Taemin had bumped into him and brushed his dick by mistake while heading out of the room. Jongin likes to regard that as an accident, and he hopes Taemin never finds out.)

So it's not really like Jongin even knows what he'd asked for, yesterday, as Lu Han had stared at him like a cat who had a mouse exactly where he wanted him. Still, Lu Han had seemed so confident, and Jongin really does need help. There isn't anyone else to ask, either, since he's pretty sure that no one else in his band has the same problems as he does, and seem more interested in laughing than helping.

"Are you sure you can help me?"

"Very."

Very, Jongin learns, seems less and less like a boast as Lu Han takes his hand and begins to speak.

Lu Han’s had exactly...

Actually, Lu Han’s had so many sexual encounters that he can’t even keep track. Jongin sits in awe, slack-jawed, as Lu Han rattles off the outrageous things that he’s done.

“...and then the first time with a butt plug was first year of high school. The girl shoved it in pretty hard too. Didn’t use nearly enough lube,” Lu Han says nonchalantly.

“Oh.” Jongin finds something stirring inside him just from Lu Han’s words. He squashes the feeling down, ignoring the way that the wet patch at his crotch is steadily spreading.

“What about with guys?” Jongin falters. Lu Han might know what to do with girls (and more than one at once), but male and female anatomy are two different things. “I mean, I’m a guy, and—”

Lu Han grins. “Don’t you fret. I have experience with both chicks and dicks.” He laughs. "Who do you think taught Kevin how to fuck Yixing? I practically had to hold their hands."

Jongin blanches. “That's...not something I needed to know.”

“Holding their hands while they were jerking each other off, mind you.” Lu Han inspects his fingernails. He sighs dramatically. “Kevin almost tore off—”

“—so,” Jongin says, taking deep breaths and gingerly lifting and holding the fabric of his pants crotch so he gets a bit of relief from the constant friction. “How are you going to help me?”

“I’m going to train your cock,” Lu Han says, as matter-of-factly as ever, and if Jongin was drinking something, he’d have spit it all over Lu Han’s face.

“This was a mistake.”

“Not at all,” Lu Han says. “Or don’t you trust your hyung?”

“It’s—” Jongin bites his lip. His mind runs through all the possibilities, and then Joonmyun’s words from two years ago flash in his mind. As a responsible leader, Joonmyun had insisted on taking Jongin’s...sexual safety into his own hands and warning him with very emphatic and graphic descriptions (and to be honest, Jongin would like to forget that experience very much). “You’re not...”

“Hmm?”

“...diseased, are you?”

Lu Han raises an eyebrow. “I’m an expert, Jongin. I take the utmost caution. I’ve got papers if you’d like. Trust me, Jongin-ah.”

Jongin trusts Lu Han, on most days, as much as he trusts a hungry pit viper, but on the scale of things, that’s more than he trusts anyone else on this particular subject.

“Yes,” Jongin whimpers, and even though Lu Han’s smile is scary, Jongin still finds him incredibly attractive. “Okay. I guess so.”

“We’ll start soon, then,” Lu Han says. “As soon as possible.” He disappears into his bedroom, leaving Jongin alone in the living room, and it’s a long time before Jongin trusts himself to stand up and walk home without making a mess.

When he gets back to EXO-K’s dorm, Chanyeol takes one look at him and snorts. “Must’ve been a hell of a conversation.”

“One day, I’m going to put arsenic in your food,” Jongin informs him, straightening his back and ignoring his hard-on.

“I’m going to die of hilarity long before I die of arsenic poisoning,” Chanyeol replies. “This is funnier than your face-paint during MAMA filming. I’d thought that was as good as it was ever going to get. I’ve never been so wrong.” Baekhyun smacks his arm and he immediately quiets, tips of his ears flushing. Jongin would be thankful if he didn’t think slapping was some weird kind of foreplay between them.

Jongin slips into his room and puts on his headphones, and tries not to think too much about what Lu Han might have in store for him as he listens to his music.





It had been decided months before EXO’s official debut that Jongin would be the face of EXO-K, and Lu Han would be the face of EXO-M. At that time, Jongin hadn’t really known Lu Han all that well, but they’d been forced to practise for their teaser videos together, and learn the choreography for all the dance CFs they had lined up for them after debut, so naturally, they got close. During that busy period, Jongin had recorded seven songs, learnt fifteen dances, and slept about three hours a night.

The song Jongin remembers the clearest (and wishes he didn’t) is MAXSTEP.

He, Taemin, and Eunhyuk had learnt the choreography, in advance, for MAXSTEP from Gregg for last year’s SBS Gayo Daejuns, and there had been a particularly...challenging section. Popping wasn’t Jongin’s favourite style of dancing, not because of how it clashed with the smoothness he was used to, but because popping meant violently contracting his muscles, and when he contracted too hard...

Jongin forces those memories to the back of his mind.

“The shooting for the MAXSTEP music video will be next week Monday,” their manager tells them. He regards Lu Han with suspicion. “It’s a sponsored shoot, so be on your best behaviour.”

“Yes, sir,” Lu Han says, smiling. Their manager raises an eyebrow. “Best behaviour, promise.”

Jongin furrows his eyebrows. The glint in Lu Han’s eyes isn’t very reassuring.

“MAXSTEP.” Lu Han grins at Jongin as the door closes behind them. He’s standing awfully close to Jongin, and Jongin tries to shuffle away, wary of Lu Han’s predatory gaze. “Just us two. You know, dressing rooms are usually pretty spacious...”

Jongin’s eyes widen. “No. No!”

Yes,” Lu Han says. “And I have just the thing to try first. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.”





It’s not that Jongin is nervous. It’s more that he’s terrified, although he’s not sure what he’s more terrified about; doing something that will humiliate him in front of everyone, or humiliating himself in front of Lu Han. (If Jongin is honest with himself, he’s wanted to look good to Lu Han for a while now, but it’s hard to look good when Jongin’s body, which has always obeyed him so easily, seems to have a mind of his own.)

At least making an MV is one of Jongin’s strong points. Dancing and performing is something that comes naturally. His self-confidence could use the help.

“So we have the dance portion of the video,” the PD says, and Jongin nods along, “and then we have the close-ups. You’ll each have different sets.”

One of the creative assistants grabs Jongin by the elbow and pulls Jongin away from the main set, to a smaller set that’s so bright it hurts his eyes. He blinks, three times in quick succession, and then his vision clears.

It’s a pile of gold ingots surrounded by speakers. Metallic gold speakers.

“This is where we’ll be filming your solo shots!” the creative assistant says, looking almost proud at the golden mess in front of her. She points to the block of ingots in the middle. “That’s where you’ll be sitting!”

Lu Han’s cackling evilly to one side.

“Wanna swap pants?” Lu Han offers, when they’re in the dressing room and the stylists have come around with their costumes. He holds out his gold, low-crotched hammer pants. “Kai, SM’s golden child, now even shinier! Look, you can colour co-ordinate with your set. And not jizz all over the bricks. Mostly the latter.”

“They’re called ingots,” Jongin says, glowering, adjusting his many golden necklaces. He swears that Jongdae’s talked the production team into giving him as many weighty metal things as they could so he would shrink down to Jongdae’s height. “And at least I’m not wearing a dead raccoon around my neck like Eunhyuk-hyung.”

“Kai?” The stylist rushes through the door, holding something even more furry and more ridiculous than Eunhyuk’s fur adornment. She hands it to Jongin. “Sorry for being so late. This is your vest!”

“Oh.” It looks like a dead skunk. Or like someone had murdered the Cheshire Cat and decided to use its pelt as a robe. Lu Han snorts, patting Jongin on the back. "Oh,” Jongin mutters, “fuck my life."

Lu Han grins. “No thanks.” He leans in to whisper in Jongin’s ear. “But I’ll gladly fuck you instead.” He waltzes out of the dressing room before Jongin can come up with a clever response.

Jongin definitely doesn’t think about how those bricks would feel digging into his back as Lu Han pushes him down.

After all, Jongin is a professional now.





Jongin goes first when they shoot solo scenes. Of course he does. “Just act, uh, natural,” the PD says, as Jongin ascends his throne of gold.

“Don’t do that,” Taemin whispers as Jongin walks past him. “Unless you don’t want people to find you attractive, that is. You already have to make up for that outfit.” Taemin chuckles into his hand. “You look like my grandmother.”

“You’re the worst friend ever,” Jongin growls, adjusting his fur. At least it’s soft, he consoles himself. Taemin snickers. “All my friends are the worst friends ever.”

“Jonghyun-hyung’s going to smack you when he finds out that you’ve stolen his title of Bling King, my lady,” Taemin says snidely as Jongin walks away from him, stomping over to his ingots and settling himself among them like it isn’t absolutely bizarre. Jongin knows this is not the weirdest thing he’s ever done, nor is it the weirdest thing he will ever do, so he curls his lips into a stage smirk and bears down on the camera, exactly the way that the company’s taught him, and the way he knows his fangirls will go crazy over. A smirk here, a lip-bite there, a tug on his necklace, that half-opened mouth that would have anyone else looking like a goldfish. He’s got this down.

Watching, though, is much, much harder than filming, in both the literal and figurative sense. Jongin finishes his solo sections easily enough, and moves to Set B so he can watch Lu Han. Lu Han’s shots are just as simple to shoot as Jongin’s, but something about the way Lu Han keeps licking his lips between takes makes Jongin distinctly uncomfortable. There’s a room full of tired people shouting instructions and asking for different angles and endless takes, yet every time Lu Han’s tongue darts out from between his lips to wet the parched skin, Jongin can feel volts of electricity raising hairs on end.

A familiar sensation sits in the pit of his stomach. Not now, Jongin thinks frantically, and then he sharply looks back up at Lu Han, hoping Lu Han hasn’t noticed.

He’s noticed. One of his eyebrows is lifted ever so slightly in amusement, and Jongin swallows tightly at the delight that lurks at the corners of Lu Han’s lips.

“Alright, Lu Han, Kai, you two can take a break. We’ll see you again in thirty minutes to run through the second group choreo.” The PD sighs, rubbing his eyes. “Don’t wander too far.”

“I’m sure we can entertain ourselves,” Lu Han says in a low sweet voice that sends a shiver down Jongin’s back. “We’ll be in the dressing rooms.”

“That’s fine,” the PD says, already redirecting his attention to Henry, who looks like he’s dressed more for an Arctic expedition than for a music video.

“Be careful, Lu Han-hyung,” Taemin says, gesturing at Jongin’s ensemble as Lu Han presses a hand to Jongin’s lower back and starts pushing him toward the dressing rooms. “Jongin’s apparently into wearing his kills, now, so not even the cutest deer are safe.”

“Who said I’m the prey?” Lu Han queries, face still angelic, and Jongin can’t suppress the shudder that runs through him from his head to his toe at Lu Han’s practiced innocence. The way that Lu Han had said it...he has plans. Jongin sucks his lower lip into his mouth with nervousness.

“Taemin?”

“Coming!” Taemin pats Jongin on the head, before skipping off to the set. Jongin stares at his back, his last lifeline gone.

“You asked for my help,” Lu Han says quietly. Jongin gulps. Taemin’s gone, so there’s really no more reason for Jongin to be dragging his feet. Lu Han sighs and pulls Jongin into the changing room. “Hey, you can back out if you want.”

“N-no,” Jongin says, after a moment too long of silence. “I want...I need your help.” Lu Han smiles triumphantly, then steps into Jongin’s space. Jongin unconsciously backs up, until he’s trapped between Lu Han and the wall. His heart is beating a mile a minute, and his stomach is twisted up like a pretzel, or like Zitao when he’s doing his weird acrobatic wushu shit in K’s living room while Sehun swears at him and tries to watch television through the space between Zitao’s head and his double-jointed left knee. “What are you—”

“—starting your lessons.” Lu Han answers before Jongin can even spit out the question. Lu Han’s so close now it’s scary, and his hair smells like hairspray and debauchery. His mouth is obscenely close to Lu Han’s chin, and for the tiniest of moments, Jongin thinks Lu Han is going to kiss him. Then he comes to his senses, and Lu Han’s hand is flat on his shoulder and he’s stumbling backwards, backwards—

Jongin’s back hits the wall with a thud.

“Ow,” he mutters. His protests are lost when Lu Han drops to his knees, one hand resting loosely on Jongin’s right hip. He bites his lip. “Be gentle.”

“Gentle isn’t in my vocabulary.” Lu Han smirks as he reaches into the right pocket of his blinding gold harem pants. Jongin doesn’t know what he’s got hidden in there (and it’s a valid confusion, considering there’s enough space that Lu Han could probably hide a pack-horse in just the voluminous right pant-leg), but he’s more than a little surprised when Lu Han produces a metal-looking ring.

Jongin stares at it for a second, perplexed, until Lu Han’s slow smile gives him a clue. “Is that—”

“Yes,” Lu Han says, and he rests a hand on Jongin’s side. His palm is warm though the thin fabric of Jongin’s shirt, and he almost wishes that his fur monstrosity of a jacket was long enough that Lu Han’s hand would be separated from him by another, thicker, layer. But it isn’t, and Jongin has to keep his breath from stuttering its way out of his chest as he focuses his eyes on the...thing...in Lu Han’s hand instead of on Lu Han’s twinkling eyes. “It is.”

“I don’t even know how it works,” Jongin mumbles.

“I’m going to slide this down your dick,” Lu Han says frankly, and Jongin’s not sure what kind of television Lu Han’s been watching to learn how to say all of this stuff in Korean, but it’s clearly not the bizarre children’s shows that Yixing watches on Saturday morning with one hand in the cereal box and the other around a bottle of peach tea as he repeats careful syllables after the little girl host. “And then you won’t be able to come until I take it off.”

“Oh,” Jongin exhales, and he can feel all the blood in his body rushing to his face.

“Is that alright with you?” Lu Han asks, but he’s not really asking; Jongin can see that Lu Han is not waiting for an answer by the way his shoulders are loose and his head is tilted cutely to the side, his thumb rubbing slow, infuriating circles into his abdomen.

“Where the hell did you even get that?”

“I stole it from Chanyeol,” Lu Han informs him, tone nonchalant.

“Wait,” Jongin says, blanching, “wait, you stole that from Chanyeol? So it’s probably been around Chanyeol’s dick before?”

Lu Han rolls his eyes. “What was I meant to do? Kevin borrowed mine. Come on, it’s just a bit of metal, deal with it—”

“—I don’t want things that have been around Chanyeol’s dick around mine!” Jongin bemoans, but Lu Han’s fingers are yanking down his zipper and his protests are lost in the thrill of...this. “That’s like...an indirect handjob—” Lu Han reaches past the elastic of Jongin’s underwear and curls his fingers around Jongin’s cock, tugging it out so the head peeks past the fabric. “Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa hyung what are you—”

Lu Han’s not looking at Jongin. Instead his eyes are fixed on Jongin’s mostly flaccid cock, and as he stares, Jongin feels himself wanting to shift back uncomfortably. He doesn’t, though, considering he had asked for this. He also can’t, snugly stuck between Lu Han and the wall. Whatever Lu Han’s up to, Jongin will grit his teeth and bear it.

“I have to get this on for it to work,” Lu Han murmurs, holding Jongin’s cock with one hand and slipping the metal ring on with another. The metal is cold and shocking on Jongin’s sensitive skin, and Jongin bites back a hiss and feels himself flush with horror and shame as his cock rapidly rises to full mast, electric tingles running all the way up his inner thigh, pleasurable pressure building too fast for him to control.

Lu Han’s fingers against his skin are so soft, and Jongin thinks even this, the lightest of touches, is going to drive him insane. It’s worse than the tight pants or the weird dreams because Lu Han is kind of, well, super hot, and he’s touching Jongin somewhere Jongin’s never really been touched before.

Lu Han gets it on halfway before Jongin can’t take it anymore, and he can feel the telltale quiver of release rippling through his body before he even manages to warn Lu Han to move away.

Shame choruses like an obnoxious dubstep refrain in his head as he tries to use his imaginary magical powers to teleport himself right off the nearest cliff.

“Hmm,” Lu Han murmurs, Jongin’s come dotting his left cheek. Jongin buries his face in his hands. “Hmm. You’re more sensitive than I thought.”

“Fuck you,” Jongin hisses.

“At this rate, you won’t even be able to,” Lu Han says. He tucks Jongin’s cock, still raw and tingling, back into Jongin’s underwear and gives it a little pat. “I’ll think of something else.”

“I thought you were going to help,” Jongin says, and he hates how whiny he sounds. He also hates the way Lu Han’s touch had felt better than his own hand had ever felt. He hates that humiliating himself in front of Lu Han like this, in private, is somehow even more embarrassing than just coming in his pants. “Or is this funny to you?”

Jongin doesn’t think it’s very funny. He doesn’t want Lu Han to think it’s funny, either. He trusts Lu Han, he thinks, to help him with his problem, and he doesn’t know anyone else he could ask. It had been hard enough to ask Lu Han, and Lu Han had offered.

“I like challenges,” Lu Han replies, after a moment of meeting Jongin’s embarrassed and angry stare. “I really like them.”

Then Lu Han stands and steps back, and Jongin realizes that in his distraction, Lu Han had managed to slide the ring all the way down to the base of him, and the metal isn’t quite so cold anymore. “What does this thing do, exactly?” Jongin asks, and Lu Han laughs—if a laugh is the name for the demonic sound that comes out of his mouth.

“Let’s just say,” Lu Han replies, “that you won’t be coming at all until I let you. We’ll call this a warm up.”

“Oh—oh,” Jongin replies, and as the sound of Lu Han’s voice rings in his ears, laden with promises, Jongin feels the metal contracting around the base of him.

They both break away from each other’s gaze as the door to the dressing room opens.

“Hey, Jongin,” a voice says, and before Jongin can react, the door opens, and Taemin walks noisily into the room. “Pretty sure they want us all—oh.”

Jongin freezes, horrified. Lu Han doesn’t move, and the memory of his breath is still tingling on Jongin’s crotch. “T-Taemin.”

“Oh.” Taemin blinks, looks over to Lu Han, then to Jongin’s crotch, then back to Lu Han’s face again, eyes narrowing. He purses his lips. “You’ve, uh, got a bit of...” Taemin pauses, as if he’s unsure how to break it to Lu Han that he’s got a face-full of Jongin’s jizz. Jongin imagines even Taemin, who’s been saying filthy things with that maknae face for years might find it a bit difficult to say, “oh gee whiz, Lu Han, there’s a bit of semen dripping onto your shirt, you’d better catch that.” Jongin uncomfortably zips up his pants, and wonders if he can bury his face in the heavy fur about his neck, and when he emerges again, this entire, horrible situation will be as though it never existed. “Er, there’s something on your face.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Lu Han replies easily, like they’re talking about the weather, and not Jongin’s come on Lu Han’s face. “Jongin’s rather quick on the draw.”

“I think you mean quick on the shoot,” Taemin corrects. “Hey Jongin, remember that time Gregg was trying to teach you how to do that staccato pop with your hips and you—”

“No,” Jongin says pointedly. “I don’t.” Lu Han reaches out and wraps a hand around Jongin’s wrist, and Jongin thinks it’s supposed to be comforting, but instead it just makes his heart beat faster. Lu Han’s warm fingers press against his pulse. Moments ago, they’d been pressed... elsewhere, and Jongin probably shouldn’t think about it when Lu Han still looks so amused, despite his facial decoration.

“I read somewhere, probably on Naver, that human beings tend to block out traumatic memories,” Eunhyuk says, and Jongin turns around to see he and Henry have returned from set to the dressing rooms. “Gregg and erections are not two words I would personally want to associate, so I can understand.”

“This isn’t happening right now,” Jongin says, desolately, and Henry laughs. “It’s just not.”

“If you don’t think Jongdae texted all the Chinese idols the moment that incident on stage occurred,” Henry says, “you are underestimating him.” Henry taps his chin thoughtfully. “I think he’s attempting to barter gossip for a date with Amber, but I can’t be sure...”

“Hey Lu Han,” Eunhyuk says. “You’ve got something on your cheek.”

"Say kimchi," Taemin says, and takes a photo of Jongin's miserable face and a frosted Lu Han with his mobile. "Jongin, that's not a smile."





Hours later, when Jongin recovers from, well, what is probably one of the top five most humiliating experiences of his life, he remembers the purpose of Lu Han’s trip into his underwear.

He shifts uncomfortably, the ring still right around the base of his cock where Lu Han had left it.

can i take it off? he texts Lu Han later, and Lu Han sends him back several ‘ㅋ’s and a If I were you, I’d do that in the shower

Jongin takes his advice, and it’s a good thing, because as soon as the pressure lifts, Jongin comes so hard he almost blacks out.





The next day, even Hyoyeon texts to offer him a few words of comfort. don’t worry about the photo taeminnie took! everyone will forget about it soon ^^, her text reads, and Jongin walks out of his room and sits down at the kitchen table with an impending sense of doom.

“Hey, champ,” Chanyeol says, a big, shit-eating grin on his face. He waves his phone in front of Jongin’s nose, the incriminating photo bright on the screen. Baekhyun’s right behind him, wearing a ridiculous purple snapback the wrong way round. Jongin makes a swipe for the phone in Chanyeol’s hand, feeling miserable inside. “When all the ladies see this, they're really gonna want to call you oppa.”

“Give me that—” Jongin lunges, and Chanyeol stumbles his way out of reach.

“Don't shit a brick, Jongin...I hear you've got enough of those.” Chanyeol claps his hands like a seal, still keeping his mobile out of Jongin's grasp.

“Do you all just hate me or something?” Jongin grumbles, shoving a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

“Not really,” Baekhyun says. “He just likes to laugh at your misfortune.”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice what was missing from my drawer,” Chanyeol whispers, breath ghosting over Jongin’s ear. Jongin stops mid-chew. “But for the sake of your training, I’ll let you keep it. Think of it as a token of my support.”

“I-it wasn’t my idea,” Jongin mumbles, ears heating up. Chanyeol waggles his eyebrows, and Jongin glowers at him. “It was Lu—”

“—so I heard you got a lesson yesterday,” Sehun says, walking into the kitchen. “From Lu Han-hyung.” Even Joonmyun, who’d been standing in the corner of the kitchen inconspicuously, carton of cereal in his hand, is shaking with what Jongin presumes is laughter.

“Does everyone in the world know about yesterday?”

“Well,” Baekhyun muses, “it’s kind of difficult to miss when you wake up in the morning and the first thing you see on your phone is a photo of your two bandmates in compromising positions. Nice fur, by the way. Very classy.”

At that moment, Kyungsoo walks out of his and Jongin’s room, bags under his eyes.

“Oh, you’re up,” Chanyeol says cheerfully. He loops an arm around Kyungsoo’s neck. “Poor thing. Get any surprise facials in your sleep?”

Everyone turns to stare at Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo looks mortified. “No! Of course not! Why am I involved in this now?”

“Because you’re rooming with this dancing machine. Oh wait, name change, that should be jizzing machine—”

Jongin hurls his spoon at Chanyeol.

“Children!” Joonmyun picks up the spoon and drops it in the sink. He puts his hands on his hips, trying to look stern. “Stop this right now. Jongin has a very serious problem, and I think what Lu Han’s doing to help him is...very brave.” Chanyeol sniggers. Joonmyun turns to Jongin. “By the way, you’re on bathroom duty this week. You need to clean the shower. I chucked out the shampoo, because...there were...” Jongin’s heart stops. Joonmyun pulls a face. “Let’s just say, there were things in my hair yesterday that really shouldn’t have been.”

Chanyeol’s positively howling with mirth by this point.

“Okay,” Jongin says, chair scraping on the linoleum as he stands up. He rubs his eyes. “Okay. You have fun here. I’m...going to the dance practise room.”

“Make sure you don’t end up on dance practise room duty too,” Jongin hears Chanyeol shout, as he makes his way out of the dorm.

Jongin decides today is as good a day as any to dump a carton of itching powder into Chanyeol’s underwear drawer.



>> part ii


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December 2012

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