live. love. laugh. ♥. (halcyondusk) wrote,
live. love. laugh. ♥.

[exo] compliment me; kris/lay; nc-17

Title: Compliment Me (aka Fucking Zhang Yixing)
Pairing: Kris/Lay
Rating: NC-17
Summary: As the leader, Kris does appreciate that the other members
are starting to talk more during interviews, but he doesn't appreciate it when Lay opens his mouth and consequently kills the cool image that he's built for himself. So, Kris thinks up ways to get Lay to compliment him—ways which involves bathrooms and getting on his knees. mostly PWP.
Word Count: ~4,500

compliment me (aka fucking zhang yixing);;-
// because yixing has thrown our lovely duizhang under buses during interviews too many times to count //

“Why do you like to make my life so hard?”

Wu Fan pushes Yixing into the van, wiping his forehead with the back of a hand. They’d just finished their Music High recording, and thankfully the recording hadn’t gone disastrously awkwardly this time, because at least the members were talking—but Wu Fan’s not exactly sure that letting the other members talk was the best idea for maintaining their group image. Yixing, for one, was finally warming up to the camera again, and coming up with the darndest things—things that completely ruined the cool image that Wu Fan had worked so hard to build up for himself.

Yixing smirks as he settles into his seat, dragging Lu Han down to sit next to him. “What are you talking about?” he asks nonchalantly. “You told us to speak more, so I did! You’re the leader, come on, you can handle this.”

Wu Fan sighs and turns around the the seat in front of Yixing as the van starts moving. He eyeballs Yixing. “Okay, yeah, I told you speak more—but not about my sleeping habits. Or my skincare habits. Or any other habit, for that matter, in case you decide next interview you want to screw me over more than you have already and direct everyone to my tragic high school photos or something,” he grumbles. Yixing hides a smile behind his fist, and Lu Han grins widely, eyes twinkling, then he sees Wu Fan’s glare and tries to put on a poker face, to no avail.

Wu Fan suppresses a sigh. Both Yixing and Lu Han were evidently enjoying this ‘expose the leader’ business too much for their own good.

“Am I allowed to talk about your supernatural powers? You know, tell everyone you’re a dragon and you can fly?” Yixing asks with a grin, imitating Wu Fan’s famous flapping motion, at which Lu Han snickers and Wu Fan slams his head onto the headrest, recalling their Ifeng interview.

Damn Yixing.

No, that is not okay.”

“But it’s one of the things in the script!”

Wu Fan furrows his eyebrows. “Uh, I am aware of that. And I’m also aware that I am—well, the company made me—a dragon, thank you very much,” he grumbles. “The company’s creative directors have reminded me many times. But I would like to avoid that if possible, because, uh, I can’t think of anything more embarrassing to do than introduce yourself as a flying dragon on national television.”

“Well, at least you’re not a unicorn,” Lu Han quips, poking Yixing in the side. Yixing squirms instinctively, biting his lip as he whacks Lu Han on the arm. “Just saying, I think unicorns are much worse than dragons. At least you can breathe hypothetical fire and fly…hypothetically. He can only heal things. Hypothetically.”

“You’re a deer,” Yixing deadpans, poking Lu Han back. “We belong in the same family of useless galloping animals.”

“But ge, aren’t deers real animals?”

The three of them turn to stare at Zitao, who just spoke. He’s sitting quietly in the backseat, but he’s evidently been listening in on their conversation. Lu Han looks at Yixing, who shrugs back, and Wu Fan rubs his eyes tiredly.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure they’re real,” he says, “but that’s not the point. My point is, Yixing, I am never handing you the microphone again unless you promise me you won’t sidetrack from the script, goddammit.”

“Make me,” Yixing says back, jokingly defiant, and Wu Fan rolls his eyes and sits back in his seat with a resigned sigh and plans exactly how to do that.


“You’re gonna do what I say,” Wu Fan breathes, grabbing Yixing’s wrists and pinning him against the tiled bathroom walls. They’re backstage at yet another interview, on a precious ten minute break just before the second part of filming’s scheduled to begin, and Wu Fan’s taken this time to drag Yixing into the bathroom to give him a few ‘pointers’ on the direction of the interview.

Yixing stares back at him, biting his lip. A dimple forms on his right cheek, and he looks more amused than intimidated, which is not what Wu Fan had been going for. But then again, Wu Fan supposes with a grimace, they’ve known each other for four years, and he’s probably as intimidating to Yixing as Zitao without his wushu stick—which is to say, as intimidating as a newborn puppy.

“Yes, duizhang,” Yixing teases, opening and closing his hands. Wu Fan stares at him. Yixing stares back. His eyebrow twitches. Wu Fan frowns.

“Zhang Yixing, are you undermining my leadership?”

“No, duizhang,” Yixing retorts, jerking one hand out of Wu Fan’s viselike grip. He presses that hand against Wu Fan’s shirt, and Wu Fan can feel the heat of Yixing’s hand on his chest. “I’m being very respectful of your position of leadership, most honourable duizhang. See, I’m even calling you leader!”

“Now you’re just taking the piss out of me,” Wu Fan says, unhanding Yixing and letting his hands drop down. He backs away. “I almost wish I hadn’t told you to speak up more.”

Yixing offers a small smile. “You know how I am though.” He quietens slightly. “You know it was only because I was nervous during the first couple of interviews that I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t say anything.”

Wu Fan chuckles and brings a hand back up to play with the knot of Yixing’s tie. He knows, knows very well, how badly those first interviews had turned out, and how they’d all been scolded for them. Wu Fan knows that the interviews hadn’t capture them—any of them—for who they actually were, least of all Yixing. The cameras missed how brightly Yixing’s smile shone offstage, how inadvertently hilarious he was when he was fooling around with the other members, and also how hard he pushed himself behind the scenes. Yixing’s persistence and constant vying for improvement—his never-changing humility—was one of the reasons that Wu Fan liked, and grew to love, Yixing so much.

Yixing had, surprisingly, been the most nervous of them all to make a debut, and Wu Fan wasn’t sure if it was because he had the expectations of child star Zhang Yixing on his shoulders, or because he’d been away from the Chinese entertainment scene for so long that he was no longer familiar with it, and the imminent prospect of debut was like a deadweight sinking his already waning confidence into the depths of murky oceans—but Wu Fan had spent the night before their first Chinese interview with Yixing just sitting in the kitchen, holding his hands and talking it out. In any case, it was evident now that Yixing was starting to feel more confident with the name Lay attached to him, promoting as a member of EXO, and not as the child star of Star Academy.

Wu Fan loosens Yixing’s tie. “Well, at least you’re over that now,” he says. He trails a finger down Yixing’s exposed collarbone, tugging at the shirt collar. “But I still think you need to control what you say. Especially in this interview, since it’ll be aired on a non-cable channel.”

“But it’s interesting,” Yixing protests, curling his fingers over Wu Fan’s wrist. They’re very fragile, Wu Fan notices, and calloused from hours of guitar practise. “I’m sure everybody wants to know about how you rub products into your face. On my right. For thirty minutes a night.”

“Maybe I can change your mind about, uh.” Wu Fan presses up against Yixing. His breath is shallow on the crook of Yixing’s neck, and he brings his free hand down to the bottom edge of Yixing’s shirt, pulling it out from where it’s tucked into Yixing’s jeans and pressing the pads of his fingers against the smooth skin of Yixing’s waist. “About the kinds of things you say about me.”

“What, you want me to compliment you?” Yixing asks incredulously, licking his lips. He reaches over and tugs on Wu Fan’s collar, flattening out the creases, and grins cheekily. “But I am complimenting you.”

Wu Fan rolls his eyes. “I’m sure you can find something to say that doesn’t involve talking about my height or my skin and then making me sound like a lazyass by saying it’s because I love sleeping.” Wu Fan smirks as he pulls his hand out of Yixing’s grip and finds the crotch of Yixing’s jeans, fumbling with the zipper. Yixing gulps, back pressed against the tiles as he meets Wu Fan’s gaze. “Although you have to admit I am very good in bed.”

“Braggart,” Yixing breathes, just as Wu Fan grips the zipper and yanks it down mercilessly. Yixing suppresses a groan and grits his teeth as Wu Fan rubs him through the fabric of his briefs, cupping him. Wu Fan slides a warm hand past the elastic of Yixing’s briefs, directly palming Yixing’s cock, and Yixing hisses.

“You were saying?” Wu Fan smiles as Yixing curses at him and winds his fingers through Wu Fan’s hair. He grips tightly as Wu Fan slides a thumb gently over the slit of his cock. A flash of panic crosses Yixing’s face when his eyes settle on the door.

“Wait, are you—here—now?” he asks, looking back at Wu Fan nervously. “But the door—”

“You were saying?

“Okay,” Yixing says, slightly breathless as he arches into Wu Fan’s hand. He groans, more audibly this time, when Wu Fan jerks him once, roughly, and lets go to tug Yixing’s briefs down over his pale thighs, revealing his hardening erection. Yixing shivers, gulping. “Okay, you’re not a braggart, you’re quite—very—good in bed, but can you at least—door—lock the door—”

“—I never brag,” Wu Fan mutters. He moves away from Yixing and reaches over to the doorknob, firmly twisting it locked, then gets down on his knees. He pins Yixing down by the hips, fingers digging into the grooves of Yixing’s pelvic bones. Yixing throws his head back against the tiles, fingers finding their way back to interlace with Wu Fan’s hair. “I’m very honest about my abilities. See, that’s something good you can say about me.”

“I—I could,” Yixing agrees, sounding uncertain. Wu Fan presses his lips to Yixing’s cock, parting his lips slightly to let his hot breath stream onto Yixing’s sensitive skin, before darting his tongue out to touch the tip of it to the underside of Yixing’s erection. Yixing makes a quiet choking sound in response. Wu Fan darts his tongue out again, experimentally flicking it against Yixing’s length, just short, brief touches, but it’s enough to get Yixing’s half-hard cock to fully stiffen, and enough to get Yixing moaning his name in that low, needy tone of his that comes out whenever he’s on the brink of losing all restraint. Yixing’s voice is loud in the small room, and Wu Fan finds himself getting hard.

“Fuck, ge, Wu Fan ge,” Yixing breathes. Wu Fan licks a slow stripe up Yixing’s cock, from the base to the head, swirling his tongue around the tip and tasting the salty precome leaking out of Yixing’s cock. The taste of Yixing is almost foreign on his tongue, and Wu Fan licks again, relishing the long groan escaping from Yixing’s lips. He hasn’t done this for so long—they simply haven’t had the time—and Wu Fan’s missed Yixing like this: tense, slightly red faced, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure, from him. Wu Fan curls his tongue and wraps his lips around Yixing’s cock, sucking gently.

“You’re so fucking irresponsible,” Yixing chides weakly. Wu Fan hums, gripping Yixing’s hips even tighter and bobbing his head around Yixing’s cock. “You know, I should say that too, that you’re an absolutely irresponsible leader—” Yixing thrusts his cock deeper into Wu Fan’s mouth, and Wu Fan fights his gag reflex as the tip of Yixing’s cock hits the back of his throat, “giving blowjobs to your group members in the toilets when we’re meant to be—fuck—in the waiting room with the other members.”

Wu Fan quickly slides Yixing’s cock out of his mouth, using a bit more teeth than he knows is comfortable for Yixing, purposefully scraping again the sensitive skin. Yixing hisses, fingers tightening in Wu Fan’s hair. Wu Fan licks his lips and stands up, wincing in pain as he shakes Yixing’s hands off. He grinds up against Yixing, pressing his body against Yixing’s, and moves, knowing that the coarse fabric of his jeans would be almost painful on Yixing’s hard cock. Yixing makes a frustrated sound, a cross between a hiss and a moan and a curse, which Wu Fan cuts off halfway by pressing his lips to Yixing’s. Yixing keens into the kiss, parting his lips and sliding his tongue into Wu Fan’s mouth.

“Irresponsible? Am I?” Wu Fan asks, pulling away. He slides a hand down to Yixing’s erection, giving a slow pump. “Wrong answer. Say that and I won’t finish you off.”

“Being late to language lessons,” Yixing retorts. Wu Fan grips Yixing’s cock tighter, twisting his hand around the shaft, rubbing a thumb roughly over the tip. Yixing was really pushing his luck here.

“Like you’re one to talk,” Wu Fan says. “At least I remembered all my books.”

Yixing grits his teeth and frantically unbuckles Wu Fan’s belt, shoving his hand down the front of Wu Fan’s jeans and palming him. Wu Fan curses at the sudden movement. He hadn’t been expecting Yixing to get back at him by doing this—but then Yixing strokes him, and he’s not exactly protesting either.

“Pretending to be cool all the time.”

Wu Fan bites his lower lip as Yixing breathes out the words and his thin fingers tug Wu Fan’s underwear down and wrap around his cock. Wu Fan’s cock twitches. A tingle of pleasure runs through his body from the base of his torso, a pool of heat building up just below his stomach as Yixing pumps him languidly.

“When did I ever pretend to be cool,” Wu Fan growls, unable to keep his arousement out of his voice. “I’m just like this.”

“So vain.” Yixing tsks and looks him in the eye, cheeks flushed, lips turned up in a smirk. He gives Wu Fan another slow pump, dexterous fingers rubbing circles over the frenulum, then moves to cradle Wu Fan’s balls. It almost feels like Yixing’s trying to declare a competition with him, with the way that he’s biting his lip in concentration, staring so intently into Wu Fan’s eyes.

Wu Fan chuckles. If Yixing was, then Yixing’s playing a losing game.

Wu Fan holds Yixing’s gaze, a smirk of his own on his face, and begins to pump Yixing’s cock at the same pace that Yixing’s stroking him, matching slow stroke for slow stroke. A slow burn of pleasure builds up inside him as Yixing touches and tugs and rubs gentle circles onto his hardening erection, speeding up steadily, and Wu Fan strokes Yixing back with the same intensity, choking back a moan and squeezing Yixing tightly when Yixing rubs a thumb over the slit of his cock; scraping a fingernail unforgivingly down the underside of Yixing’s length when Yixing takes Wu Fan in both hands and quickens the pumping to a frantic pace. Neither of them break their gaze, but Yixing’s breaths get more and more ragged, shakier, and Wu Fan hazards a guess from the moan that inadvertently makes its way out of his lips that he’s in a similarly undone state himself.

“Come on,” Yixing says, breaking the silence. His voice cracks a bit, taking on a husky, pleading tone. “Faster.”

“Faster?” Wu Fan breathes. He nuzzles Yixing’s neck, kissing at the hollow just above Yixing’s clavicle. He stops pumping altogether, eliciting a frustrated grunt from Yixing. “Only if you promise me you won’t ruin my image this interview.”

“I can’t believe you’re negotiating with me now,” Yixing mutters. “Okay, duizhang, I promise I won’t ruin your image, now please—”

Yixing punctuates his sentence with a particularly vicious tug on Wu Fan’s cock. Wu Fan bites back a curse and sucks a bruise on the skin just under where Yixing’s collar would hide it. It’s taking all of his concentration to hold back from coming before Yixing—he’s teetering on the brink from Yixing’s touch, trying to suppress the almost unbearable pleasure building up in his belly, barely resisting the burning urge to climax in a sticky mess all over Yixing’s hands.

“If you say something weird about me, you’re in big trouble, got it?”

Yixing nods hastily without hesitation. Wu Fan hums in satisfaction and nips on Yixing’s skin before moving away. Yixing closes his eyes and rests his head on the wall as Wu Fan drops back down to his knees and takes Yixing’s cock entirely in his mouth again, more urgently this time, bobbing his head around Yixing’s length, licking stripes up the underside. He hollows his cheeks as he sucks, building up the pace, and Yixing’s gripping his shoulders, thrusting in and out, faster, faster, faster, until he arches his hips into Wu Fan’s mouth one last time and squeezes Wu Fan’s shoulder in warning as he comes at the back of Wu Fan’s throat, slamming his head back onto the tiled walls and quivering as he lets out a long, shaky breath.

Wu Fan swallows—tries to swallow—but there’s too much, and he ends up coughing slightly, letting Yixing’s cock out of his mouth with a wet plop and wiping the remnants of Yixing’s come away from the corner of his lips with the back of his hand. He’s still hard—unbearably so—and he moves up to press a kiss to Yixing’s jawline, trailing up his neck, then kisses Yixing on the lips, open-mouthed and sloppy, letting Yixing taste the flavour of his own salty come.

“Zhang Yixing,” Wu Fan murmurs, as Yixing bites on Wu Fan’s bottom lip and laps up the come from the corner of his mouth. He grabs Yixing by the shoulders and pulls him away from the wall, then takes the spot where Yixing had been just a moment ago. He curls a hand around his own cock, shivering. “Finish off what you started.”

“Why should I?” Yixing asks, grinning. Wu Fan curses and pushes Yixing down by the shoulders, and Yixing complies with a chuckle, getting on his knees. He grabs Wu Fan’s belt and tugs down until his pants are bunched around his knees, trailing a finger over Wu Fan’s inner thigh, then cups Wu Fan’s ass with one hand and takes Wu Fan’s cock in the other, guiding it into his mouth.

Yixing's hands play deftly around the base of Wu Fan's cock, fingers curling to gently fondle Wu Fan's balls. He looks up at Wu Fan with earnest eyes, pink lips fitting perfectly around the tip, and he sucks gently, the vacuum of Yixing's mouth sending tingles of pleasure through Wu Fan. Wu Fan braces himself against the wall, willing his weakening knees to hold strong. Yixing swirls his tongue in small circles around Wu Fan's slit, delicate flitting movements, and the wet heat is a sensation Wu Fan has sorely missed. Yixing's tongue finds exactly the right spots on the underside of Wu Fan's cock. It sends Wu Fan's mind into a messy tumble of disorganised thoughts, disconnected words like fuck and Yixing and a mash of Chinese, Korean and English expletives surfacing in the haze of his mind and out his mouth.

“More,” Wu Fan gasps, bringing a hand to the nape of Yixing's neck and drawing Yixing in. He clenches his jaw and bucks his hips forward, fucking Yixing's mouth as roughly as he could with Yixing still gripping the base of his cock, in control, restraining his movements.

Yixing swallows, taking more of Wu Fan in, until the head of Wu Fan's cock is at the back of his throat, and he raises his soft palate and swallows around the tip. Somewhere at the back of his mind Wu Fan registers that Yixing still has to sing later, and he wonders if this is okay, but from the way Yixing swallows eagerly again, humming this time so that the sound vibrates all the way up Wu Fan's cock and resonates headily through his entire body, Yixing doesn’t seem to mind.

“Fuck,” Wu Fan says, hastily calculating how long they've spent in this bathroom—it’s got to be longer than ten minutes. “Fuck, hurry up, we need to get back to the others.”

Yixing chuckles, letting Wu Fan's cock out with a soft plop. “See, what did I say about you being irresponsible?”

“Just shut up and get on with it,” Wu Fan growls. Yixing loosens his grip on Wu Fan's cock and kisses a line down it before grabbing the sides of Wu Fan's thighs with both hands and sucking hard on the head, quickening the pace of his bobbing.

Wu Fan threads his fingers through Yixing’s hair and clenches, careful not to grip too tightly and hurt Yixing. His breathing is shallow, and Yixing looks back up at him with teasing, mirthful eyes, a sudden flash of something darker and more lustful crossing them as he hollows his cheeks and sucks, and Wu Fan holds back a curse as he feels his heartbeat quicken from Yixing’s stare, the knot of tension in his torso winding up, tightening, and he’s close, so close, the pressure building up faster and faster.

Yixing moves one finger to trace patterns on Wu Fan’s inner thigh, trailing upwards to draw circles on the part of Wu Fan’s cock he can’t fit in his mouth, bobbing and sucking, using more tongue, very gently scraping Wu Fan’s length with his teeth—and it feels so good, so fucking good, because it’s Yixing on his knees in front of him gazing up at him with wanton eyes, sucking him off, Yixing, whose cheeky smile and unrestrained laughter always makes a rush of warmth and affection well up in Wu Fan’s chest, Yixing, whose offhanded, unscripted comments about Wu Fan’s hours of sleep and skincare routines don’t actually concern Wu Fan as much as he’s making them out to, because at least Yixing’s getting more lively on camera, and Wu Fan knows his comments are out of love, and—

Wu Fan comes in Yixing’s mouth with a quiet choked gasp and a curl of his toes.

Zhang Yixing.

His heartbeat pounds in his ears, a deafening thrum, and the miry haze of his mind begins to clear up as he comes down from his climax. He untangles his fingers from Yixing’s hair.

“So,” he says weakly, trying to backtrack to the reason he’d dragged Yixing into the bathroom in the first place. He clears his throat. “Um. Right. So if you’re going to talk about me, say good things. Compliments. But no backhanded ones. That means no throwing me under a bus.”

Yixing swallows, licking Wu Fan’s come off his lips. His chest is still heaving up and down as he catches his breath. He grins. “What a shame, I was going to talk about how you like to make sex faces at the mirror after showering.”

“When did I ever—”

There’s a pounding on the bathroom door. Yixing hurriedly gets up off his knees and pulls his pants back up, zipping himself up.

“Are you guys done in there?”

Wu Fan and Yixing exchange a look. It’s Lu Han, and he sounds rather exasperated.

“We’re, uh, done,” Wu Fan calls through the door.

“Okay,” Lu Han shouts back. There’s a moment of silence. “Just saying, it might be a good idea if you took the fucking out of the only bathroom backstage—because one of the sound assistants was just about to walk in—and I had to distract him. You owe me one.” There’s another pause. “Can you hurry up and get out? I need to pee.”

Yixing grins guiltily, wiping his mouth, and he tidies his fringe, doing up his tie and tucking his shirt in. Wu Fan fixes his own hair, putting his still tender cock back into his underwear and buckling himself up. Yixing eyes him up and down. He fixes Wu Fan’s collar, smoothing out the creases in his shirt, and brushes a stray lock of hair out of Wu Fan’s face.

“You want compliments, right?” Yixing smiles, tiptoeing to press a quick kiss to Wu Fan’s lips. “Well then, can I compliment you on how well you give blowjobs?”

“You do that,” Wu Fan mutters darkly as he pulls away from Yixing and unlocks the door, “and you won’t be getting any more.”


“And we just heard about Tao’s skills in martial arts,” the MC says, looking down at his notes. “Then, is there a special skill that the leader has? Something that we don’t know?”

The members fall silent, not wanting to answer the question. Yixing meets Wu Fan’s eyes, a small smile playing on his lips, and Wu Fan gives him a pointed look. Lu Han looks between the two of them and rolls his eyes.

“Actually, Yixi—Lay, would know the best, because they’ve been training together for four years.” Lu Han says breezily. Wu Fan furrows his eyebrows as the MC ‘ahh’s and turns to Yixing.

“Lay, can you tell us?”

“Well,” Yixing says slowly, grinning. “He’s...very talented with his mouth?”

Lu Han breaks out into a coughing fit, and Wu Fan has to stop himself from groaning out loud. He mentally headdesks. This was not what he meant by giving him compliments. He glances up at the monitoring screen—Lu Han sounds like his coughs are going to turn into laughter at any minute now, Zitao looks bewildered at Lu Han, and Minseok and Jongdae are absolutely—blissfully—lost without the translator translating for them.

The MC tilts his head, puzzled. “Talented with his mouth…?”

“I mean,” Yixing clarifies with a grin, “he’s talented with, uh, speaking—he can speak three languages, and he’s good at rapping, isn’t that right, duizhang?”

Fucking Yixing, Wu Fan thinks. He glares at Yixing, who’s still grinning that shit-eating grin. Fucking Yixing.

Wu Fan plasters on a smile and faces the camera as he plots out exactly how he’s going to punish Yixing when they get back to the dorms tonight.

Fucking Zhang Yixing.

a/n: i come back from hiatus and of course the first thing i post is porn why. i'm sorry this is probably nonsensical and horrible i just caught up on exo-m interviews guhhh uhm. yes. this is meant for deasyellow i hope you feel better bb n_____n.
Tags: fandom: exo, pairing: kris/yixing, rating: nc-17
  • Post a new comment


    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.
← Ctrl ← Alt
Ctrl → Alt →
← Ctrl ← Alt
Ctrl → Alt →