please please me (yuta/johnny)
Johnny's been a little stressed, and Yuta offers some relief. Or: Johnny Seo Has A Mommy Kink Send Tweet (this constitutes as rarepair hell, right?)
Characters: Johnny, Yuta
Genre: smut, fluff, porn WITH feelings
Warnings: mild angst, choking, mommy kink
Rating: Explicit
Length: 2.7k
He doesn’t even notice it at first. It’s just been a kind of slow and steady decline that Johnny hasn’t had the time or energy to tune into. But suddenly, over lunch, Johnny realizes he kind of feels like shit. It’s probably stress, and lack of sleep, and he should probably just go rest his eyes or something, but he’s beyond the point where he can practice logic and self-care. He sits there at the table, moodily stirring the remnants of the broth in his bowl while his members chatter around him, unaware.
He supposes he’s just feeling spread too thin lately. His physique isn’t at its peak, so he can’t even really perform his duty as eye candy, and between their comeback and his personal worries, things aren’t too peaceful inside his mind. He wishes he could snap himself out of it, but he doesn’t know how.
He feels a presence at his side, and realizes he doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting here like this. He chances a look to the side, and sees Yuta’s familiar outline.
“Hey.” Yuta’s hand is on his arm now, and Johnny fights the urge to shake it off. He just wants to be left alone to wallow; he doesn’t have the energy to try and pretend to be social. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Johnny mutters, not looking at him. “Just tired is all.”
“Oh, I think it’s a little more than that,” Yuta replies. He rubs his thumb back and forth against Johnny’s skin. It’s actually kind of soothing, but Johnny’s too embarrassed for it to have its intended effect. “Johnny.” Yuta’s voice is so soft. “Look at me.”
Johnny looks reluctantly. Yuta’s eyes are concerned, eyebrows pinched a little; his lips are barely parted, and he tilts his head, like he’s trying to see into Johnny’s brain better. His pretty orange hair is brushed to the side off of his forehead. Yuta’s other hand finds one of Johnny’s; he squeezes lightly.
“You’re upset,” Yuta says. “You’ve been upset for days. I told you you can always come talk to me.”
It makes Johnny feel stupid. How had Yuta noticed when he himself had not? “I’m fine,” Johnny says, yanking his hand away maybe a little too aggressively. “Leave me alone.”
Yuta does not leave him alone. “You like to push people away when you’re hurting,” he says, “even though you love being around people, even though it’ll only make you feel worse.”
Johnny gets the sensation of being cracked open, like a snail without its shell, small and vulnerable in the headlights of Yuta’s gaze. He shrinks into himself a little. “That’s not it,” he says. “I don’t need you to deal with it for me.”
“Johnny,” Yuta says patiently. “Let me take care of you. Hm?”
Johnny lets him lean close and press a kiss to his shoulder. He trembles a little under the touch—he realizes it’s been days since he’s touched someone else beyond the brushing of hands. Yuta’s lips almost burn him with the wanting they spark, and his fingers twitch when Yuta pulls away. He pushes himself off the edge of the precipice, closing his eyes. “Okay,” he murmurs.
Yuta smiles, sweet and a little devious. “Okay.” He stands, picking up Johnny’s bowl and carrying it to the sink. Johnny blinks his eyes open and watches him dumbly for a moment, and then lurches to follow him, unsure. Yuta runs some water in it and then turns back to see Johnny shifting from foot to foot a meter away, hands twisting in the long sleeves of his shirt.
Yuta reaches out to him and Johnny takes his hand. He lets Yuta lead him out of the kitchen and down the hall to his room. Even though Yuta is a good three or four inches shorter than him, Johnny feels small next to him, helpless in the best kind of way. Yuta pulls him along and Johnny follows after, almost stumbling because he’s too busy watching Yuta’s back to watch where he’s going.
“Sit,” Yuta says, pointing to his bed once they’re safely inside his room. “I’m gonna take you outside of your own head for a little bit, how does that sound?”
Johnny sits, watching Yuta walk up to him, nodding. “Okay,” he breathes out.
Yuta bends down and kisses him, slow and gentle, hands cradling Johnny’s face. Johnny lets his eyes flutter shut and tries to let Yuta’s touch wash away the worry buzzing through his mind. Yuta will take care of me. It’s dizzying, how quickly and easily Yuta can take down all of Johnny’s walls and scoop up the pieces of him that are heavy or hurting so that the burden on Johnny isn’t so great.
It’s been like this since they were young, though, so it doesn’t really come as a surprise. Johnny had always tried to be the hyung type, looking out for the others and giving advice since he’d been training the longest. Yuta had been the first of the younger trainees to force Johnny to take a break from his caregiving. Johnny had fought him the whole way, desperate not to give up what he thought was the only thing that made him useful. But Yuta had won, and even when Johnny doesn’t feel like admitting it, he knows he’s been grateful ever since that he never gave up on him.
Yuta pulls away; a string of spit connects their lips for a moment before snapping in the air. Johnny reaches out for him weakly, head fuzzy. “Yuta,” he mumbles. When did his tongue become so graceless in his mouth? When did the desire start surging through him with every beat of his heart? “Mommy,” he slurs.
Yuta’s gone to get lube and a condom, and he blinks at Johnny as he returns, understanding dawning on his face. “Oh, that’s where we are today.” He sets the lube and condom down on the bed next to Johnny and brushes a hand through his hair. “No wonder you were working so hard to push me away.”
Johnny lets out a shaky breath. “Mommy,” he repeats, this time nearly in a whimper.
Yuta crowds him, wrapping his arms around Johnny’s body and pressing kisses to his hair. “Right here, baby,” he says, and Johnny thinks he could melt into a puddle right here in his room. “I’ve got you.”
Yuta lays him back, kissing him to help incentivize him to move. He gets him comfortable against the pillows and then starts working Johnny’s clothes off. Socks go first, then sweatpants, then underwear. Johnny’s cock is only half-hard, lying heavy against his thigh, and Yuta bends to press a kiss to the tip before taking a hold of the hem of Johnny’s shirt. It’s odd but somehow sweet.
Yuta rewards him with kisses as he peels Johnny’s shirt off. It seems he’s determined not to leave an inch of Johnny’s skin unkissed, not one spot neglected. He presses his tongue flat against one of Johnny’s nipples and giggles softly when Johnny gasps. He throws Johnny’s shirt aside and crawls up the bed so they’re nose to nose. He kisses everywhere except Johnny’s lips, taking extra time along the soft, thin skin of Johnny’s neck. Johnny thinks he should be reciprocating in some way, but he doesn’t really know how. Yuta’s still fully dressed, which means he doesn’t have access to much. He settles for shakily combing his fingers through Yuta’s hair.
Yuta smiles against his skin. “Just relax, baby,” he says. “I said I’d take care of you.” He trails his hand down to Johnny’s cock, where he’s now dripping precome. “You don’t need to do a thing.”
He works Johnny’s cock slowly—he’s not trying to make Johnny come, but instead just letting a haze of pleasure settle over Johnny’s whole body. Johnny’s brain is slow, foggy; all he can do is whine and gasp while Yuta presses wet kisses to his collar, his chest, his stomach.
It’s almost like Johnny’s drifting off, but not quite. He’s wandering somewhere not-quite inside his body, sort of a half-step out. There’s no worry here, no stress; there’s nothing bad at all. Just Yuta and his hands and his lips, and all the other nice things that come along with him.
He feels a finger circling his entrance, already slick, and he realizes Yuta’s already moved away from his cock. He cracks his eyes open to watch, tracing over the sweet line of concentration between Yuta’s brows as he nudges Johnny’s legs wider and sinks his index finger inside of him.
It doesn’t hurt, but it also does nothing to sate the desire building in Johnny’s body; instead, he only wants more. Yuta’s face eases into a smile when Johnny huffs out a moan.
“How do you feel, baby?” Yuta asks softly.
It takes Johnny’s brain a second to realize he’s been asked a question. “Good, mommy,” he breathes out. “Feel good.”
“Can you give me a color?” Yuta asks.
“Green,” Johnny sighs. He doesn’t even have to think about it. He feels like he’s floating in warm honey; his limbs are heavy and not quite his own.
Yuta adds a second finger, taking his time and being very careful, like he’s worried about startling Johnny out of his peaceful bliss. Johnny’s pretty sure that would be incredibly difficult, but he doesn’t have the energy to protest, and plus, everything feels so good. Yuta will take care of him, just like he always does, and nothing else matters.
Yuta pushes a third finger in beside the other two. The stretch isn’t even that painful from how meticulous Yuta’s been, but he wraps his other hand around Johnny’s cock anyway in case he needs distracting. Johnny feels himself falling apart under Yuta’s hands, and knowing it only seems to make the deterioration go faster. He’s panting and his cock is drooling precome; it dribbles over Yuta’s fingers, his knuckles, until his hand is glistening with it.
Yuta squeezes his pinky in and then pumps his fingers in and out until he meets little resistance and Johnny is whimpering. It feels good but it’s not enough, and still all Johnny can do is let Yuta have his way, desire too heavy on his tongue for him to properly voice.
“Ready, baby?” There’s amusement in Yuta’s tone, and if Johnny weren’t in so deep, he’d probably huff in indignation.
But all he does now is nod. “Yes,” he says in a small voice, “yes, please.”
Yuta’s hands leave him, and Johnny hears fabric rustling as Yuta finally undresses. He opens his eyes, watching Yuta slick his cock up and position himself in line with Johnny’s hole.
He tips forward, folding Johnny in half, almost, as he brings Johnny’s legs with him. He kisses Johnny slow as he pushes in, swallowing all of Johnny’s little noises with a hum. “Take me so well, baby,” he says quietly. “So good for me, always.” Something close to pure joy works its way through all of Johnny’s insides. No matter who Johnny sleeps with, and how many times, no one’s praise makes him feel the way Yuta’s does. It anchors him; he’s good, for once he’s good and it’s not because of something he does but instead just something that he is.
“Mommy,” Johnny moans quietly. Mommy mommy mommy. His brain repeats the few words he can cling to over and over, echoing across the canyon between his body and the state of consciousness that he’s sunken into.
Yuta fills him just right; it’s never too much of a stretch, and as much as Johnny enjoys the reward of being a champ and taking whatever’s thrown at him, it’s nice not to have to. Yuta’s cock fits him nice and snug, and still hits that spot inside of him that makes Johnny shake.
“What’re you thinking about, baby?” Yuta’s asking him. He pets down the side of Johnny’s neck, over his pulse point.
“Nothing,” Johnny says. It’s mostly true. Whatever’s in his mind is more or less abstract and fleeting. He’s too busy getting fucked to have space for much else.
“Good,” Yuta croons, and wraps his hand around Johnny’s throat, squeezing on either side of the column of his trachea.
Johnny’s head swims; whatever thoughts were left now escape him immediately. Now it’s just the pleasant cloudiness mixed with the consistent pleasure as Yuta rocks his hips in and out and in and out.
Johnny’s jaw is relaxed, lips parted, mouth barely open. He breathes shallowly, gazing up at Yuta through unfocused eyes. Everything is soft and safe and good here, and Johnny can’t imagine what he was so stressed about earlier. Yuta’s mouth is moving, but Johnny can’t hear him, nor can he see clearly enough to read his lips.
Yuta comes closer, and then Johnny feels the hotness of his breath in his ear. “You’re so gorgeous,” he says, and Johnny lets out a choked little sob. “You look like you’re close.”
He releases Johnny’s throat, and all the blood goes rushing back into his brain. He almost comes on the spot, but Yuta hasn’t said he can yet, so he clenches his teeth as he gasps in lungful after lungful of air. “M-mommy,” he wheezes, arching off the bed. “I am, I am close, please.”
“Wait a little longer?” Yuta wheedles, scraping his teeth over Johnny’s skin. “Wait for me.”
“Mommy,” Johnny protests, but he relaxes back down into the mattress, blowing out little breaths in an attempt to calm himself down. Yuta runs his fingers through his hair rhythmically, and Johnny breathes in time.
“Good,” Yuta murmurs, “so good.”
Yuta fucks him, speeding up slowly and steadily. Johnny can tell he’s working his way to orgasm, can tell he’s trying to hurry a bit so that Johnny doesn’t have so long to wait. But still, Johnny can’t help but squirm and whine. He’s so hard it hurts, and he needs it soon or he might cry, and crying will shatter this little bubble of peace that Yuta has created for him.
“Mommy,” Johnny whispers. “I can’t, I—I need to, I don’t wanna be bad, please—”
And Yuta, perfect and wonderful Yuta, Johnny’s mommy, takes pity, smiling at him even though his face has been confronted in concentration. “Okay, baby,” he grits out. “Come for me, then.”
Johnny’s hips stutter of their own accord, and with Yuta’s next thrust in he’s spilling hot and wet across his stomach. The pleasure fans out across his body in almost violent waves, and he only barely registers that Yuta’s gone still inside of him, barely registers the feeling of Yuta’s come filling up his hole. He’s still twisting in the sheets, eyes screwed shut, panting openmouthed as his orgasm finally begins to subside.
He must pass out briefly, because when he comes to, Yuta is gathering him up in his arms, trying to lift him off the bed.
“Yuta?” Johnny mumbles. His tongue still feels clumsy, his head still full.
“Right here, baby,” Yuta says. “You with me?” Like Johnny could be anywhere else. “Think you can stand?”
“If you help me,” Johnny says, pushing himself to his feet and steadying himself on Yuta’s shoulder. “Oh, god.”
“Lean on me,” Yuta says. Johnny can tell he’s biting back a pleased giggle, and is vaguely grateful for the attempt to salvage Johnny’s dignity.
Johnny lets Yuta help him to the bathroom. Yuta starts the water, and Johnny stays right at his side. Yuta runs a hand up and down his arm, keeping him grounded. Coming out of subdrop is never a fast or easy process, but Yuta manages to ease him out of it just as effortlessly as he eases him in.
They clean up and then throw on random pj shirts and cram into Johnny’s bed, side by side. Johnny is warm and sleepy and peaceful, and though the stress is looming again on the horizon, it no longer seems so overwhelming.
Yuta holds him close, pressing kisses to his hair. “Love you,” he says quietly.
“Love you, too,” Johnny mumbles.
Yuta laughs softly. “Wore you out,” he says, sounding only faintly apologetic. “Go ahead and rest, baby.” Another kiss. The warmth of his palm drags Johnny deeper. He can feel sleep at the edges of his mind, waiting to take him. “I’ll be here when you wake up, and we can get dinner together.” Dinner, Johnny thinks blurrily. Suddenly his lunch seems so far away. Dinner sounds nice. “Sleep well,” Yuta continues. “You did well.”
Johnny is smiling as he’s carried off into unconsciousness.
