“Would you fuck me? I’d fuck me. I’d fuck me hard. I’d fuck me so hard.”
Tao’s ideal used to be “someone who can match me”: a person athletically fit, scandalously attractive, musically blessed, and unrealistically passionate when it just evolved into “me.” It’s not that no one was ever good enough for Tao, of course not. Tao just didn’t see why he had to settle when he could have the best.
He rolls his hips to the silence in his shared bedroom, preferring the sound of his feet padding along the floor, the sound of his hands on his skin as he runs his fingers along his torso.
Tao has always dreamt of being a superstar, found it inconsiderate to humanity to waste such gorgeous features and god-given talent on being anything less than internationally famous. As far as he’s concerned, he’s halfway there, but.
Sometimes, the only show he needs to put on is for himself.
He stares into the mirror, eyes heavy with a look he could only give himself. Tao is almost shameless already, but he’s got nothing to hide if the person looking back at him already knows how fucked up he really is. Who else could get him as hot, hard and dirty as himself? He remembers struggling to not moan his own name when he was with Kris, with Sehun, with Minseok. They just understood the biting of his knuckles raw as something they had done to him when really Tao was thinking of ways he could fuck himself better, could tug on his balls just short of painfully, just the way he likes. He trails a hand along the smooth ridges of his ribcage, and up, up, up, dips his fingers into the slope of his collarbone, tight skin on solid bone. He squeezes his hand tightly around his neck, just to see his Adam’s apple jump between his knuckles before sliding up to run his fingers along the sharp edge of his jaw.
He has to build himself all the way up before he can take himself deep, deep down.
Tao sits up to tug his leopard print boxer briefs off the curve of his ass, past his dick to rest snug on his thighs and kneels before the mirror, rolling his head around his neck.
“Fuck,” he breathes, hot breath fogging against the glass as he leans forward to lightly press his lips against his own reflection, like some seedy underground twincest porno he’d only heard about on the internet, not that he was looking. He gives his mirror image the up and down and wishes the hand stroking him off was another person’s strong, confident grip. But, he thinks as he fists his foreskin tightly on his cock’s head, there is no one as good as him. He keens low, rumbling from deep within his chest, heat coming off of him in waves as he licks his lips in a wanton display of immodesty, fucking his fist in front of a mirror he shares with three other people.
His knees slip, legs sliding further open and he leans back, one hand set behind his foot so he’s laid out in front of the mirror, each bronzed, toned muscle flexing as he breathes in and out, in and out. His skin, moist from effort, gleams in the harsh, fluorescent light of the room, and Tao wonders.
Would Tao ever find someone as fucking perfect as the person he saw before him? Someone who would worship him in the way he deserved, someone who would fuck with the all of the lights on– no, fuck in public, fuck in the most inappropriate places at the most inappropriate times? Someone to finally match his exhibitionist mantra?
Tao chokes on a heady moan as he takes his sac into his hand, kneading himself all around, pressing his fingers into his perineum. “Mmm, you’re so good, aren’t you, baby?” he says, biting his lip as he strokes himself, the wetness of the precum between his fingers and cock smacking as his wrist flicks faster and faster.
He cums all over himself, hard enough to hit his chin and his neck, semen rolling down his chest, down his abs to rest in his happy trail, a sticky patch of black and white on tanned skin. Tao takes the mess in his hand and reaches down to stick his sloppy fingers in his ass like an afterthought, to remind himself that there’s always more he can do to himself, do for himself.
“世界对我来说没有不可能,” he says, fiendish smile curling on his face.
a/n: the chinese is tao's famous "nothing in this world is impossible to me" quote. he is just the sweetest bab ever u can have it all babe i believe in u. also i have been meaning to write this forever i'm glad i finally got it out of my system. dedicated to all the tao stans who know this is actually the truth. and happy birthday johnnyride i hope this was enough partial clothing narcissism complex tao and mini xiutao for you
2. when i need it | kris/everyone | nc-17 | 800 words | warnings (highlight to read): bukkake, snowballing
Kris gets tired every so often, what with the effort it takes to maintain that haughty, superior air until the moment he comes back to the dorm or the hyperawareness needed to lead eleven other slightly less conscious men. It’s okay, the rest of the band says, we understand. You’re just doing your job.
Kris’ job isn’t particularly hard, though. It’s just the fact that his role is so drastically different outside than it is behind closed doors.
He is kind, considerate, mild-mannered, and a little too soft. These are things his fans can perceive without explicitly knowing why or how.
Sometimes, Kris just wants to be led.
A hand curls around the back of his neck as Tao slips further in Kris’ wet mouth, his lips just barely managing to cover his teeth, velvet tongue sliding out beneath the length. The thing about Kris’ blowjobs is that while they were a little teethy compared to Sehun, Jongin, or even the extra rare Yixing, all of them were kind of into that shit. You’d have to be at least a little into pain to sign your fucking golden years to a company that treats you like a machine. And that’s why Kris needs this sometimes, needs to be put on his knees to remind himself that he’s still human after all.
Kris hears the rhythmic slicking of cocks in hands even through the sounds of his throat working around the thick cock in his mouth and he gags, making an unattractive choking noise. Tao only grasps Kris’ hair tighter, pinches his nose shut, and fucks his face a few more times before pulling out, dick wet with spit. Kris gasps for air as soon as Tao pops out, his heart racing to pump oxygen into his lungs, tears rolling down his sweaty face. He grasps the cocks closest to him, unable to differentiate faces in his dizziness and lust blinding him; he thinks he can tell from their shirts–they’re all still wearing today’s tops–but instead, his eyes flutter shut as he sucks the tip of someone’s dick into his mouth greedily.
“Who gets first money shot this time?”
The members usually try to claim a stake on parts of Kris’ face while they’re being serviced. It gives them something to talk about, really, because sometimes the panting of eleven other guys in the room is too serious to keep themselves hard, like the banter makes it easier to pretend that they’re in some silly porno-with-plot and not slaves to SM’s bonds of convenience. When they first started doing this, everyone really just wanted to cum in Kris' little hungry mouth but it seemed like such a waste, his immaculate skin begging to be stained in sinful white. Some of the rougher members liked to aim for Kris’ open eyes, Junmyeon or Kyungsoo grinning cruelly when his eyebrows furrow in pain, fanned eyelashes against his cheeks saturated in spunk, sweat and satisfaction.
Most importantly, it humiliates him, reminds him of the sick reality that while thousands of people worship the ground he walks on, it is that same ground he finds himself nude and kneeling, his friends’–or brothers, even– semen all over his face and chest.
This time, Kris sits in the middle with his eyes already closed (to Kyungsoo’s dissatisfaction), tongue hanging out shamelessly while he tugs on Baekhyun and Lu Han in one hand, Jongdae and Minseok in the other. The rest of the band waits patiently in their unspoken groups to come gracefully in and around Kris’ face.
Chanyeol goes down on Kris usually, another one of the members who needs to be put in his place when his persona gets to be too much. It doesn’t really take much to get Kris off at this point, having been edged consistently through today’s session. All Chanyeol does, really, is slide Kris’ foreskin in a tight and agonizingly slow pull down his shaft and stuff his face as full as he can go. Kris cums hard without warning, his dick jammed deep in Chanyeol’s mouth where his nasal passage and throat meet and Chanyeol chokes, surprised when a bit of it spurts out of his nose. He lets it drip along his fingers before laving his tongue in the mess, never once breaking eye contact with Kris, his eyes glassy in post-orgasmic bliss. He grasps Kris’ chin, still wet with cum and presses his tongue into his mouth in a gratuitous display of filth, semen from the corners of their mouths, the tips of their tongues.
Tao reaches over to pat Kris on the head and bends down to look him in the eye. “You’re disgusting, you know that, duizhang? You’re sick. But you’re our leader and nothing can change that.” And Kris tilts his head to kiss Tao’s knuckles, grateful for the praise.
a/n: areyou happy for the gagging yeolie i decided it was appropriate
for the record i have nothing to say it had to be done. maybe i'll extend it into an au idk