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This never happens to him.
And by never, Maki means never. As in, he has taken measured steps every day for the past three years to ensure this, specifically, does not happen. No suspicious five-minute breaks mid-practice. No awkward conversations with Euijoo. No needing to reshoot behind the scenes content because of something that will get fans talking for all the wrong reasons. It’s happened to Taki a few times, and Nicholas once or twice, but never Maki. He doesn’t think he could live it down.
Normally, he’s on top of things. Always prepared. If something does come up, he either endures it until they get home or takes care of it before they leave for work. Simple as that. Light work.
Here’s the thing, though. He couldn’t take care of it this morning, not even after waking up in a cold sweat and rushing to the bathroom, because Harua was taking forever in the shower and Nicholas chose this one day to be an earlybird for some reason and by the time Maki was dressed Euijoo was already shepherding everyone out the door. No alone time whatsoever.
So here he is—spending hour two of an eight-hour dance practice schedule crammed in a company bathroom stall with his dick in his hand and a severe lack of anything to get off to. All because waiting things out didn’t work and his sweats hide nothing.
Maki was right. This is just as humiliating as he always thought it would be. He’d made some terrible, bullshitty excuse about his stomach before darting to the bathroom, which means it’s only a matter of time before one of the older members comes in all worried. And what is Maki supposed to tell them then?
His head tips back, resting against the cold tile wall. It shouldn’t be this embarrassing. They’re all guys, aren’t they? If he just explained himself, he’s sure the others would get it. There’d be some teasing, sure, but who cares? Normally, he wouldn’t.
Maybe he’s just still thinking about the dream he woke up from this morning.
The memory has his face heating up, something turning in his stomach—not quite nausea, not quite butterflies. God knows he’s not using that for jackoff material. If he’s lucky, he’ll forget about it as soon as possible.
Creak.
And there’s the bathroom door. Just his luck. Maki steels himself, praying it’s a staff member who’ll mind their business instead of Euijoo coming in to make sure he isn’t dead.
“Maki?”
He bites his cheek, hard. Not Euijoo. The voice is a different kind of soft—another brand of mellow.
“Hey,” he replies, not moving an inch. Trying to sound upbeat. Like he isn’t unsuccessfully jerking off in a bathroom stall. Like Jo isn’t the worst possible person to be in here with him at the moment. “Sorry. I’ll be out soon.”
Since it’s Jo, Maki’s hoping he’ll leave it. He doesn’t. After a pause, his voice floats over the stalls again, laced with concern. “...Are you okay?”
“Fine!” he says through grit teeth. Holding still is starting to get painful, and he gives himself a pity stroke before continuing. “Must’ve eaten something bad, though.”
Jo hums, all owlish sympathy. Maki deflates against the wall. Why did it have to be him of all the members? If Nicholas were here, Maki could just say something like “jerking off, leave me alone” and go on his merry way. He and Jo are just as close—maybe even closer—but it’s different. They don’t talk about this kind of stuff. Not to mention—
“I think I have some antacid tablets?”
Wow. He’s so thoughtful. Maki’s also about to explode if Jo doesn’t get out of here soon, so he agrees, the words rushing out in an exhale. “Yeah, sure, that’d be great.”
“Okay, Be right back.”
Maki waits for the door to close before puffing out the air trapped in his chest. He tugs at his aching dick, weighing his options. Time’s up. He now has approximately two minutes to wrap this up before Jo gets back.
Fine. Porn it is.
This is so bad, not remotely the time or place, but Maki’s got his earbuds on him and it’ll have to do. He’s far past shame by now. Switching his browser to a well-used incognito tab, he digs up his go-to video in less than thirty seconds. It’s pretty awful—something deplorable he found while experimenting and keeps permanently on speed dial now. He frowns at the title for a moment before tapping on it.
“pretty twink gets edged until he cries”
Yup. Super classy. The first time Maki watched it he came fifteen seconds in, which was all the confirmation his closeted questioning self needed, really. Somehow, it feels even more disgraceful under fluorescent restroom light than it does in the darkness of his room.
Whatever. Desperate times. Maki puts an earbud in and sits back.
The guy in the video really is pretty—glossy black hair and watery eyes and pretty lips. His face only comes into frame every now and then, which always made Maki feel better for some reason. He’s like a blank slate. A mystery. If you squinted hard enough, you could picture him as anybody. Someone similar. Somebody you knew.
There’s that gutwrenching feeling again. Maki’s skin burns, breath hitching a little as he tries to distract himself, fucking his fist to the sound of the man’s whimpers. The top, little more than a beefy arm that comes into view every now and then, jerks him off in slow, steady movements. One twist of his hand has the bottom squirming and covering his face.
Maki’s grip tightens around himself, a hissed “shit” escaping his lips. That bit’s always gotten him for some reason. Something about the shyness mixed into the shamelessness— god.
Still, it’s not going quickly enough. Maki skips forward thirty seconds or so, finding where things get more intense. The bottom is a little teary now, whining for the top to let him come. Something in the pit of Maki’s stomach tugs, and he gasps, tilting his head back, chasing the end—
And letting his phone slip out of his hand.
It has to be the most disastrous fumble in history. Time seems to slow down as the phone clatters against the floor, managing to thread the needle and slide beneath the stall door, completely out of his reach. Panicking, Maki shoots up, stumbling forward and crouching to reach through the narrow space and grab it. Long fingers close around the phone before he can.
Fuck. Jo.
It all flashes before Maki’s eyes like a pre-death montage. The video. The website it’s on. The godforsaken title spelled out in big white letters. The pretty twink in question is still moaning in Maki’s ears, reminding him that he should really get out there and rip his phone from Jo’s hands. Make another stupid excuse or just beg him to pretend he didn’t see anything. But he doesn’t move at all. He’s frozen. After a few seconds, he musters enough bravery to take an earbud out. The bathroom is silent.
No one slides his phone back under the door. Maki would recognize those white sneakers anywhere, though.
God. Why did it have to be Jo? Jo, who’s basically his best friend—who thinks the world of him—catching Maki watching gay porn in the company bathroom. Jo, so innocent and sweet, whose view of Maki has probably been forever tainted now. If it were K, he’d get a lecture. Taki, maybe he could laugh it off with. But Jo?
“Um. Maki?”
Jo’s voice breaks the silence, cryptically toneless, and Maki’s heart leaps into his throat. He rises to his full height, hastily stuffing himself back into his pants. When he speaks, he tries to sound just as unaffected—but it only comes out sounding guilty as hell.
“...Yeah?”
“You don’t actually need antacids, do you?”
Maki’s either bright red or sheet white right now—he isn’t sure which. “No.”
The lewd noises have gone quiet in his remaining earbud—Jo must have shut the phone off, finally. “That’s why you were taking so long,” he says in slow realization. Somehow, that weird, thoughtful tone of his feels even worse than being shamed and called a pervert. Maki wishes he would sound surprised, or even disgusted, because really, Jo should be. He’s one of the few members Maki hasn’t officially come out to yet—and isn’t that just painfully ironic? They’ve been friends since before the group existed. Hell, their moms hang out.
It never felt right. So many things have changed since they debuted. Maki didn’t want their relationship to be one of them. Plus, he never knew how Jo would react to that information. He always acted so stiff about romantic stuff—like he wasn’t sure how to handle it. Maki’s never been able to shake the feeling that talking about it would just weird him out. So he never did.
Jo is clearly waiting for him to speak, so Maki forces a dry laugh. What the hell else is he supposed to do? “Yeah,” he says. “I’m really sorry, man.”
“It’s fine,” Jo replies. “We all do it.”
Even you? Maki almost blurts out before thinking way, way better of it. The curiosity still hits him like a bag of bricks, though—in more places than he’d care to admit. He chokes out another chuckle to smother that train of thought. “Right. Can I, uh, have my—”
“Do you need help?”
All the air gets sucked out of Maki like a deflating balloon. “What?”
A cough, slightly awkward, from the other side of the door. “If you aren’t done, I mean. It’s been a while, and everyone’s waiting, so…”
Maki is dumbstruck. Baffled. He would kill to see what kind of expression Jo is making right now—whether or not it matches his own huge eyes and dropped jaw. He can’t look flattering, that’s for sure. Not that he can be blamed, though. Not when Asakura Fucking Jo just made the offer Maki thinks he did.
There’s no way, right? He must mean something else. Either way, Maki is cornered. So, taking a shaky breath, he replies. “Uh… sure?”
What the fuck is he doing? Why isn’t he asking follow-up questions? Why isn’t he saying no?
Another pause. “Okay,” Jo says at last. “Can you let me in?”
Thank God he has his pants back on. Pocketing his earbuds and feeling completely unsure of what’s coming next, Maki slides open the latch.
The stall door creaks open, revealing Jo—who looks the same as he always does, really. Tall. Aloof. Slightly lost. Very pretty. His hair’s a bit messy from practice, sweat still glimmering on his forehead. He probably ran over with the antacids, didn’t he? Maki feels mildly sick watching him edge in, crowding the limited space.
“I could have come to you,” he tries to joke, but Jo is already sliding the lock into place behind him.
“Here,” he says, handing Maki his phone. His ears are bright red, poking out from his dark hair, and the sight fills Maki with fresh horror. Oh, he definitely saw what was on that screen. “I didn’t look much,” Jo tacks on, like that makes it any better.
Maki’s throat feels tight, sealed shut. It takes some effort to speak. “Okay,” he mutters, sliding his phone into a back pocket. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” Jo replies. For a moment, Maki really thinks he’s just in here to give him emotional support or something. He’s always been a comforting presence, after all. But no, Jo’s eyes are already sinking downwards, reminding Maki that he is very much still sporting an obvious boner. He watches Jo’s Adam’s apple bob, watches him lift his gaze again and make eye contact, head tilted imploringly, and holy shit, what is happening?
“I’m sorry,” Maki starts, his voice a tad higher pitched than normal, “but what exactly are we—”
The words die in his mouth as Jo gets on his knees, sinking to half his height on the dirty tile.
Oh, God.
“I’ve only done this a few times,” Jo admits, tucking stray hair behind a scarlet ear, “so I’m sorry if it’s not very good.”
“What—what are you doing?” Maki splutters. Jo looks up at him, eyes glinting with fluorescent light, brow scrunched in mild confusion. The sight doesn’t help Maki’s current state in the slightest; he resists the urge to cover himself.
“You said you wanted help,” is the slow reply, like Maki’s the crazy one here.
“Yeah, but you—where—how— who have you done this with?” At the question, Jo’s ears get even redder somehow, and Maki’s stomach curls with something between dread and another emotion. “You know what, I don’t even want to know. Probably Yuma or something.”
Jo looks mildly mortified at the suggestion. "Huh?"
“Never mind.” Maki rakes a hand through his hair. The other hovers over Jo’s shoulder—a natural position that feels much less so under the circumstances. “You really want to go through with this?”
“Yeah,” Jo says, still seeming perplexed. “You’re my friend. Why wouldn’t I?”
“I’m bi, Jo,” Maki blurts out, exasperated, and wow, that’s one way to come out to your best friend. Impeccable timing, truly. “I like guys.”
“I know.”
“What?”
“I mean, I did see some of the video you were watching. And you wore that one hoodie on live a while ago.”
“Well, yeah, but—” He falters, trying to collect his thoughts. Trying to process how to even remotely handle this situation. It spun out of his control so quickly. “I never told you. Most of the others know. Doesn’t that bother you?”
Jo considers this. It’s a bad time to notice it—now, when he’s on the floor at face level with Maki’s crotch and about to do something Maki didn’t even think him capable of —but he’s really cute when he thinks hard. It shows on his face, in his eyebrows, in the slight purse of his lips. Maki’s dick throbs, and he wants nothing more than to run away, to curl up in a ball on the floor somewhere, because maybe there was one other reason he never told Jo that he liked boys. A reason that never really came to light until he woke up this morning from that stupid wet dream—one that involved the same pretty face looking up at him now.
“I kind of knew for a while, to be honest,” Jo finally says. “I always figured you’d talk to me when you felt like it.”
So honest. So pragmatic, even now. Maki has no clue how he does it. Despite the gnawing, aching pit in his stomach, he laughs—genuinely this time. “Well. Guess I’m ready now.”
Jo cracks a smile too, though it’s paired with a self-conscious grimace. “If you’re, um, not comfortable with this—”
“Are you kidding? If anyone, I’d want it to be you.”
It’s supposed to be friendly, silly, an ease back into familiar territory, but Maki realizes a little too late how that sounds now that the truth is out. Luckily, it only seems to relieve Jo.
“Okay,” he says. “Good.” Then, with a small clear of his throat, he reaches forward, fingers grazing Maki’s waistband timidly. “Can I…?”
“Oh. Yeah.” And just like that, Maki is burning up again. He looks up, trying to focus on a speck of paint on the bathroom stall as Jo carefully tugs down his sweats, then his boxers. His touch, still spidery and soft, sends goosebumps skittering up Maki’s arms. This is so fucking weird.
“I’m pretty close,” he says, as casually as possible for someone in this situation. “It should, uh, be quick.”
Jo just hums below him. Maki still refuses to look, to fully process whatever’s about to happen. All he feels is the tickle of hair against his pelvis, gentle fingers curling around the base of his dick, and then—
And then something he’s not quite ready for.
Jo’s lips part around his head, taking it in softly, and Maki nearly comes on the spot. Pain explodes in his lower lip as he bites down, willing himself to keep it together. His legs get weak, jellyish, and he braces an arm against the wall of the stall to keep his knees from giving out. It doesn’t get any better as Jo eases forward, head falling into a slow bobbing motion as he takes more.
“Holy shit,” Maki rasps out. “Oh my god.”
It goes without saying that he’s inexperienced. Hasn’t hooked up with anyone, really, God forbid another guy. When would he? This—it feels better than anything he’s ever done by himself. Better than all of those shitty videos online made it look. Maki always thought getting a blowjob would feel weird. Dirty. And sure, the situation in general is kind of dirty, but there’s also something strangely warm about it. Uncharacteristically tender.
Maki thinks he knows why. I like this comfortable atmosphere, he remembers hearing Jo say once, on some long-past live of theirs. Being together has always been easy for them. Comfortable. Even now, even here, even during this, there’s a familiarity to it Maki wouldn’t feel with anyone else. The hesitating, faltering movement. Jo’s slow breathing, out through his nose, warm against Maki’s skin. It’s good. Blissfully, scorchingly good.
“Jo,” he tries to say, body curving at the pleasure. His hand finds Jo’s hair—settles there uncertainly, not wanting to grab. Not yet. “Jojo—”
The nickname gets choked off as Jo pulls back again, suckling on his tip and forcing Maki to bite his tongue. He really does have experience. Where the hell it came from, Maki has no idea. And yeah, maybe he was completely totally lying about not wanting to know earlier. It's tearing him up that Jo's been with someone, been with a guy before, and never told him about it. They could have been talking about this all along. It doesn't seem fair.
Deep down, he knows that there’s a worse, less-justified part of him that’s just upset that he didn’t get to be the first.
“Maki?”
He looks down. Jo’s pulled off, looking up at him with shiny lips and fluttering eyes. Maki’s stomach rolls. Holy shit. Who knew he could even look like this? It feels fake. A wet dream come to life. His wet dream.
“Yeah?” he asks, voice a little weak.
Jo maintains the eye contact for all of two seconds before looking away timidly. “Is this okay?”
Ugh. Cute. How can he be cute at a time like this? Maki laughs again, shakily. His hand is still resting on Jo’s head, and he rubs his hair, threading his fingers into it. “Are you kidding?”
“I don’t want to make you do anything,” Jo insists, his ears still visibly red. “We can still stop.”
“I don’t want you to stop,” Maki says, well aware he sounds a little breathless—and a more than a little needy. “Please don’t.”
Jo looks up, eyes widening a little. Like he’s just realized where they are—what they're doing. Their eyes meet, and Maki suddenly, sharply wonders if this is too much. If he’s been the one subconsciously pushing Jo into something he isn’t comfortable with. If standing here, desperate and demanding, is flaring up some instinctive elderly duty in Jo to appease him, and he’s about to be the responsible one and cut things off.
But all Jo does is blink up at him, slowly, a little like a cat, and say, “Okay. I won’t.”
Not a rejection. Another request rushes out of Maki—quickly, before he loses his nerve. “Can you, uh, look at me, too? Like you are right now.” Another flicker of mild surprise on Jo’s face has him flaming, scratching furiously at his neck. “When you can. If you want.”
God, is sex supposed to be this embarrassing? He's even worse off than he thought.
The humiliation only intensifies as Jo’s lips twitch in another almost-smile. “I’ll try,” he promises. Then he goes straight back to work.
This time, Maki’s prepared for the weak-kneed feeling that comes with it. It gives him more time to watch as Jo wraps his mouth around him again. He can’t fit it all—only gets about halfway down Maki’s dick before faltering, wrapping his fingers around what’s left. He’s always had a small mouth. Not that it matters; it feels insane either way. Maki, dry-mouthed, slides his hand to cradle the back of Jo’s head instead, ruffling his silky hair. A little groan slips out when Jo hollows his cheeks, slowly pulling back enough to look upwards. They lock eyes, and Maki’s hips jerk a little.
“Fuck,” he whispers. “You’re gorgeous.”
Oops. It kind of slips out. The red in Jo’s ears spreads rapidly to the rest of his face, and he sinks forward again—almost like he's trying to hide. Maki barely has time to find this adorable before Jo's free hand lifts, gently curling around his thigh for support as his ministrations become more thorough. Deliberate. Carefully, his tongue traces a vein on the underside of Maki’s length, and wow.
Maki gasps. Groans at the light scrape of teeth against him, hardly intentional. He’s so sensitive all of a sudden, overcome with the need to be touched anywhere. Everywhere. Thoughtlessly, his grip on Jo’s head tightens, pulling him closer—chasing the pleasure. The resulting gagging sound, from somewhere deep in Jo’s throat, snaps him out of it. Horrified, Maki lets go.
“Oh shit, I’m sorry—”
But Jo doesn’t get off him. Instead, he pushes farther forward, fingers digging into Maki’s leg, mouth stretching, inhaling deeply. It takes a while, but he doesn't give up until the tip of his nose brushes Maki’s abdomen, taking him fully. Maki can only watch, slack-jawed, insides burning. He feels himself in the back of Jo’s throat and squeezes his eyes shut, channeling all his focus into not exploding in his mouth.
“God, you’re crazy,” he whimpers.
A stifled hum is all Jo can offer back. Unsteady whistles of breath ghost over Maki’s skin, along with something damp. Tears? Is Jo crying?
Something turns in Maki’s gut at the realization. He smooths his hand against Jo’s head, hoping it’s reassuring. “’s good, Jojo,” he manages. “You’re amazing.”
His point proven, Jo eases back, fingers coming back around the base of Maki’s dick to work what he can’t easily take. Eyes closed, he bobs his head again, movements speeding up, and Maki sucks in a hiss, repressing the urge to pull him back in again. To fuck his face properly. Jo’s so willing, so good at taking him—maybe he’d let him do it.
The thought is intoxicating, making Maki twitch in Jo's mouth. The small something in the pit of his stomach is building, getting hotter, more demanding, and the little noises Jo’s making around him only add to the fire. They mingle with the wet, sloppy, lewd sounds echoing off the stall walls, filling the bathroom, amplified by the tile. Maki can’t even imagine how loud they’re being. Can people walking by outside hear them? What if someone comes in?
Jo’s tongue swirls around him, doing something insane, and Maki forgets all about it. His body curls in on itself instinctively, preparing.
“Jo,” he gasps out. “I’m close. I’m gonna—”
Understanding, Jo nods. Pulls back, nearly off completely, before remembering to look up like he was asked to. His eyes are shiny, red-rimmed, all but confirming what Maki suspected earlier. His stomach twists. Tugs as, shyly, Jo licks a stripe over his head.
“Fuck.”
There’s no time to move. A spike of white pleasure, a hardly stifled cry, and Maki’s hand is curling into Jo’s hair, knees nearly buckling as he spills right onto Jo’s pretty mouth—his rosy cheeks. It's so much, more than he's ever come in his life. And Jo just sits there and lets it happen , waiting until Maki is through to dart his tongue over his lips, catching whatever leftovers he can reach. Just like he does at the dinner table after a good meal. The sight is so fucking filthy, and Maki is ashamed to say it’s all he’s going to be thinking about for months.
“I’m sorry,” he pants, fumbling for a wad of toilet paper. “I didn’t mean to—I was going to pull away—”
“It’s okay,” Jo replies, voice a little hoarse, and God, how are they going to explain that to the members? Instead of getting up, he stays on his knees, letting Maki bend down and clean his face as best he can. It’s unfair, really—how can he still look so perfect? There are only little clues hinting at what happened before. The light blush dusted across his cheekbones, probably from the crying. His damp eyelashes, clinging together. “I don’t mind.”
“Oh." Maki swallows, catching himself brushing a thumb over Jo's cheek. He rips his hand away. "Uh. Good.”
A few seconds of awkward silence follow. Wow. What are they supposed to do now? How is their relationship going to recover from this?
Maki busies himself with tossing the toilet paper away, trying not to think about it. He’s just starting to redress himself when Jo rises to his feet, brushing off his sweats—which, like Maki’s, hide absolutely nothing. Nothing at all. Maki eyes can’t help but zero in on the obvious bulge between his legs. The confirmation that Jo was just as into what just happened as he was. Maki looks up, and his face is sheepish. Embarrassed. So fucking pretty.
“Um,” Jo says.
Maki kisses him.
It’s unplanned. A spur of the moment thing. Gratitude for the blowjob, sure, but also months upon months of pent up romantic yearning, sexual frustration, you name it, all channeled into a single, sudden, stupid kiss. Jo’s lips part against his in a small breath, maybe an attempted oh, before his hands slides up Maki’s arms, holding on for dear life.
They don’t stop, which is farther than Maki thought they’d make it, honestly. At first, it’s chaste. Swapping unbroken pecks, feeling each other out—Maki trying not to pass out from how fast his heart is beating. Jo’s grabbing him so tightly he thinks his biceps are going numb. Something about that intensity, mixed with the timid way he kisses him, hits Maki in the chest, nearly knocks the air out of him, and he fumbles blindly for Jo’s waist—something to grab onto. They stumble forward, Jo’s back thumping gently against the stall door. It’s what finally pulls them apart.
“I like you,” Maki blurts out, the moment he has enough oxygen to do so. Because fuck it, he’s ruined their friendship enough already. “I have a big fucking crush on you, Jo.”
Jo’s eyes are huge. He’s flushed all over, a little out of it, but the words bring him back to reality, pulling his gaze up from Maki’s lips. “...Oh,” he says, practically whispers. Then, after a pause, “I… didn’t know about that one.”
Maki feels winded. Floored by what he just admitted to. He sags forward, planting a palm on the stall door, boxing Jo in. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. “It’s really bad timing, and god, this is such a mess, but I had to say it. Now, we need to stop.” He swallows, mouth prickly and dry. “Tell me to stop, Jo.”
Jo doesn’t tell him to stop. He just blinks blearily at him, slithers a hand around the nape of Maki’s neck, and kisses him again softly. Hungrily. Tenderly. It’s an oxymoron, whatever. All Maki knows is that he’s extremely doomed, and they’re going down together.
It’s hot this close. Stifling between their shared warmth. Their torsos press flush, and Maki’s hands wander beneath the hem of Jo’s hoodie, eager to touch. Jo shivers but doesn’t break the kiss, making a low, pathetic noise into Maki’s mouth that sets his nervous system on fire. His fingers skim over defined muscle, around Jo’s ribcage, and up his back, pulling him closer. Their mouths slacken, and cautiously, he prods his tongue between Jo’s lips.
The reaction is instant. Jo stiffens up, his body heat spiking beneath Maki’s fingertips, but once again he takes it with stride, parting his lips further to let him in. His arms settle limply over Maki’s shoulders, his neck craned awkwardly downwards to kiss him back, and Maki attempts to bridge the gap, shifting onto the balls of his feet. There’s zero space between them now, and when their hips brush, Jo tenses again, another distressed sound getting swallowed up in Maki’s mouth. God, they really shouldn’t be doing this here.
Briefly but selfishly, Maki wishes they were in the dorms. This would be so much easier if they didn’t have dance practice to get back to. This is something he didn’t even know he’d been wanting—something he wants to make last. They just don’t have that kind of time.
So he cuts corners, shoving his thigh right between Jo’s legs. Two hands settle on his shoulders, squeezing painfully.
“Mm—”
“Jojo,” Maki mumbles, in between sloppy kisses Jo isn’t too eager to break. “Use me.”
“I—” Jo flushes hotter, clearly struggling to collect his thoughts. He’s so cute like this, Maki might go insane. “I can’t—”
“You helped me. Now it's my turn.”
Hesitantly, Jo shifts his hips, rubbing against Maki’s thigh. A relieved sigh rushes from his lips. Maki braces his hands against Jo’s waist, guiding his movements. They fall into a rhythm. Something jerky, a little awkward, like pent-up teenagers hooking up for the first time—which is close enough to where they’re at, to be honest. One of Jo’s hands slips upwards, loosely tangling in Maki’s hair, and something about the action is so simple and intimate, it makes his throat tighten up.
The words slip out, without much thought or filter to them. Mindless praise, sweet and sticky. “That’s good, you’re good, so good, Jojo.” Another kiss, more grinding, hot air puffing between them. “You okay?”
“It feels good,” Jo pants, eyes clamping shut in embarrassment. His spare hand lifts to cover his face, stirring up a hauntingly familiar image in Maki’s head. “I’m almost…”
“Go ahead,” Maki encourages him. Gently, he pulls Jo’s hand away, kissing him sweetly. Then he grabs his waist again, retracting his leg and rutting against Jo properly, savoring the burst of pleasure blooming upwards—and the stilted whimper Jo lets out. “Keep going. Don’t hold back.”
“Ah—” Jo’s eyes snap open, panicked. He glances down, and Maki understands immediately, fumbling with Jo’s sweats and yanking them down to his knees. The boxers go next, leaving Jo completely exposed.
“Can I?” he asks, and Jo nods quickly, more enthusiastically than Maki’s seen him agree to just about anything. Wasting no more time, he wraps a hand around Jo, large and long and leaking, and only manages a few jerky pumps before Jo groans loudly, coming onto his shirt.
The silence only lasts a few seconds.
“I—” The words come out shaky, stifled by panting, as Jo’s head drops to rest on his shoulder. “I’m—I’m sorry—”
It’s messy, and Maki knows he should clean it off before it stains, but his arms do something else. He collapses forward, pulling Jo into a weary, breathless hug. Crushing their bodies together so he can memorize the feeling of being this close. Who knows when it’ll happen again?
Jo hugs him back, and for a moment, they stay like that. Slumped against the stall door, still gasping for air.
“Thank you,” Maki says, the words muffled in Jo’s hoodie. “For helping.”
Jo’s reply, whispered against his ear, is completely unexpected. “I like you, too.”
“Wait.” It’s incredible, how quickly Maki’s energy comes back. He pulls away at lightning speed. “What did you say?”
With what looks like unbearable effort, Jo meets his eyes, blushing cherry red yet again. “I like you, too,” he repeats. “I have for a while.”
“Huh?”
“I thought you didn’t feel the same.”
Maki can’t believe his ears. “You thought what?”
Jo looks away, squirming under his staring. “You’re not as obvious as you think you are. I was never sure.”
Somehow, with all the insane shit they just did, this is still the craziest thing Maki’s heard all day. “Well, you’re not obvious at all,” he protests. “All this time, I’ve felt so gross for thinking about you that way. You couldn’t have given me a hint or something?”
“Maki,” Jo’s brow furrows a little as he stares down at him again, “why would I offer to do any of this if I didn’t like you?”
It takes a moment, but the meaning behind his words sinks in. Maki’s jaw drops. “No way,” he says, jabbing a finger into Jo’s chest. “You were planning this?”
Mortification dawns on Jo’s face at the accusation. He shakes his head quickly. “No, I—I wasn’t planning it. I promise I wasn’t. But when the opportunity came up—”
“Opportunity?” Maki repeats, simultaneously aghast and delighted. Jo buries his face in his hands.
“...I’m not normally like this.”
“Holy shit,” Maki mutters to himself, wonderstruck. He tightens his arms around Jo, pulling him closer. “You’re a freak, Jojo. I had no idea.”
Even Jo’s hands are red now. His defensive mumble comes from somewhere behind them. “At least I don’t watch gay porn in the company bathroom.”
“Wow.” Maki can’t believe anything that’s going on right now. This is a completely new side of Jo—and he thinks he’s kind of obsessed with it. “Touché. You got me there. How about we make a deal, then?”
Jo’s hands part, slightly. He peers through the cracks in his fingers. “...Sure.”
“We keep each other’s secrets. You don’t tell the others what I was doing, I don’t tell them how you helped me out.” Maki rocks back on his heels, feeling suddenly sheepish. “And who knows? Maybe we can, uh, do it again sometime.”
A beat. Jo lowers his hands, blinking slowly. “Oh. Really?”
“I mean—it doesn’t have to be that. But we should talk about it.” He gestures vaguely between them, still entangled and crammed against the stall door. “This.”
Jo nods solemnly, if not a little red-faced. “Right.”
“Right.” Maki lets go of him at last, stepping back and clapping his hands—like they just had a work meeting or something. Smooth. Why is he feeling awkward now? “So, let's go out and tell them—”
The words catch in his throat as Jo dips down, brushing a kiss against his cheek. Maki’s entire body freezes at the contact—like he didn’t just have his dick in Jo’s mouth five minutes ago. The whiplash is crazy. He stares as Jo straightens again, smiling a little.
“I’m looking forward to it,” he says. So strangely formal, even now. With a sudden, polite duck of his head, he turns around, unlatches the stall, and leaves. The idea of him walking back into the practice studio with ruffled hair, glowing ears, and flushed cheeks has Maki rubbing his forehead, laughing out of secondhand embarrassment and endearment and sheer disbelief.
Yeah, their secret isn’t lasting a damn day.