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“Chenle, what are you—”
“If you tell me to stop, I’ll stop,” Chenle says. Kun knows he will—he may like to push boundaries, but he knows where the limits are. Usually. “Do you want me to stop?”
Kun doesn’t. He really, really doesn’t.
It’s not the first time they’ve done something like this, though never so openly. Though it’s dark out, just the two of them in the car—they’ve only ever done this in empty dorms and apartments, behind locked doors, voices hushed just in case. Now Chenle sighs openly, and Kun wonders with a rush what he sounds like when he lets himself go, doesn’t try to hold back.
The lights passing by outside cast deep shadows on the angles of Chenle’s face, bathing his features in red and blue, and Kun has to remind himself to keep his eyes on the road. He can’t see what’s happening much below Chenle’s chest, but it’s for the best—he can hear the rustle of his sweatpants, the slick slide of his hand, see the movement of his arm—can see the way his eyes flutter shut, his lips part on a moan—and it’s only when Chenle’s eyes open, darker than before, that Kun’s gaze snaps back to the road. He hears more than sees Chenle’s smirk when he speaks again. “I like it when you look at me.”
“You should want me to look at the road so I don’t kill us both,” Kun bites back, but there’s no heat in it, and Chenle chuckles. “Fair enough.” What a way to go, Kun thinks, doesn’t say. It’s not the first time he’s been half-convinced Chenle’s going to kill him.
They drive in silence for a while longer, broken only by Chenle’s soft moans, the sound of his hand on his cock. He doesn’t speed up often, as though he’s not trying to get himself off with any urgency, just keeping his strokes steady, his eyes trained ceaselessly on Kun.
Finally, Kun has to speak up—can’t wait any longer to ask the question he should’ve asked before they got in the car, though he wonders whether the answer would have been different, then. It’s both a disappointment and a relief, breaking the hush that’s fallen between them: “Am I dropping you at the dorm or your apartment?”
“The apartment,” Chenle says, his voice shaky. “My parents aren’t home.”
Kun hates himself, sometimes. He won’t take it as an invitation, and Chenle knows this, knows he has to ask. “Can you stay over? Will you?” Lips bitten red, hand down his pants, and even now he keeps it vague, as though he can’t bear to ask outright. Kun curses internally, wishing he could kiss him (knowing Chenle doesn’t need the reassurance, except when he does. Soon, he tells himself). “Yeah,” he says. “I can. I will.” Chenle doesn’t respond, but Kun doesn’t miss the hitch of his breath, the way his hand speeds up, just a little.
They're almost never alone like this—truly alone, just the two of them, not surrounded by managers, staff, bandmates, any number of others. For some reason, their managers had agreed when Chenle had asked if Kun could drive him home (“I’m exhausted, hyung; it’ll just be us two, I can nap in the backseat”): too many members to keep track of, maybe, things starting to slip through the cracks, but this once, Kun finds he doesn't mind.
Doesn't mind, although he might be losing his mind: another mile, and Chenle starts to talk. For Kun's benefit, or his own, or a bit of both, and now, now he's stroking his cock with intent, touching himself like he’s imagining it’s Kun’s hands on him instead. “Do you like seeing me like this, gege?” Kun shifts in the driver’s seat, resisting the urge to reach down, to touch himself, palm his hard cock through his jeans and relieve even the slightest bit of pressure. You have no idea how much. “Even if you can’t touch—you like to watch, don’t you? I see the way you look at me, sometimes.”
Kun doesn’t know if Chenle means what he’s saying—if he even knows or cares, for that matter, pulling himself closer to the edge, and Kun along with him—but he wouldn’t be surprised if it’s true. There are times he catches himself staring, hardly even aware he’s doing it, but now—now all he can catch are glimpses in the rearview mirror, gazing a little longer at each red light, dreading the moment the red illuminating the sweat on Chenle’s skin turns to green. It's a tease, a test, but when Chenle has to shut his eyes, grip himself tighter, take a moment to remember how to breathe, he feels like he's giving back nearly as good as he gets.
“I do,” Kun starts to say; his voice catches in his throat, and he starts again. “Chenle...I do. You look—” he hesitates, then thinks fuck it. “You're gorgeous.” The noise Chenle makes is somewhere between pleased and surprised; he hadn't expected Kun to respond, Kun thinks. Kun likes catching him off guard. Chenle likes it too, a smile tugging at his lips as Kun dares to ask, “Are you close?”
“Mmhmm,” Chenle manages. Each time Kun's gaze drifts to the rearview mirror, Chenle's eyes are on him, his expression more and more wrecked, yet—defiant, somehow. He thinks Kun won't give him permission, so he won't ask; Kun isn't sure himself, but as he watches Chenle fall apart, he's not sure he could bring himself to make him stop.
They're at a red light when Chenle's hips arch off the seat, his arm going still; he lets out a whine that goes straight to Kun's cock, and it's only after a long moment that Chenle lets his eyes fall shut, breaking eye contact at last. He's breathing heavily, coming down, and Kun waits until the light turns green to speak.
“Did you come?” he asks, voice low. He doesn't know why he asks questions he already knows the answer to.
“Yeah,” Chenle says. No shame. He's looking down at his hand, but he looks back up at Kun, their eyes meeting in the rearview mirror once more. “The way you were looking at me…” he trails off, and even from this angle, in this light, Kun can see the way Chenle's gaze drops to his lips. He groans.
“You still want me to come over?” That's not the real question here.
“Ask me what you really want to ask me,” Chenle says. Kun can't stand it, the way Chenle can see straight through him.
“You want to come again?” He doesn't ask can you—he's made that mistake before, and was met with the usual snide comments about what an old man he is—and really, whether Chenle still wants this after he's come down is what matters more.
He does. (He really, really does.)
“If you think you can make me,” Chenle says, the challenge glinting in his gaze.
Kun doesn't respond. They've just pulled into the parking garage of Chenle's apartment complex, and Kun finds a spot quickly, throwing the car into park and killing the lights. He unbuckles and turns around in his seat to find Chenle leaning in to meet him halfway.
He crushes his mouth to Chenle's, one hand fisted in his shirt, kissing him like he's been desperate to since Chenle smirked at him in the rearview mirror, eyes shining like headlights as he murmured do you mind if I…
It's reckless, doing this so openly—even in the dark, even if they're the only ones in the garage. Kun forces himself to pull away, both of them breathing heavily once more. Reckless doesn't even begin to cover it, he knows, when Chenle's hand is still sticky with his own come, when Kun's still achingly hard in his jeans. He can't bring himself to care, not when Chenle's looking at him like that, and oh, maybe Chenle's not the only one who likes being watched.
Kun hands Chenle a packet of wet wipes from the glove box and reaches for his own bag. He waits until Chenle's hand is clean, the evidence balled away in his fist, before he meets his eyes. The heat’s still there, the tension still humming between them, and Kun finds himself grinning in spite of himself. “Yeah,” he says, finally; Chenle looks confused for a moment before realization dawns, the challenge sparking in his eyes once more as Kun finishes the thought. “I think I can.”
Chenle grins right back.