They stumble out of the elevator, the heels of their sneakers nearly catching on the doors as they slide closed behind the both of them.
Hanbin lets out an uncharacteristic little laugh that echoes through the empty hallway, and grasps at the lapels of Bobby's jacket, attempting to press his mouth back against the base of Bobby's throat. God, there are so many steps to their door. Has it always been this many steps from the elevator? Bobby really isn’t too sure.
It’s only one in the morning, but they're already both drunk. Bobby always knew his terribly low tolerance would come back to bite him in the ass, one day. Neither of them have ever been particularly good with holding their alcohol.
They'd nearly hooked up at the party itself, barely a few drinks in. Someone must have spiked the soda, figures Bobby. Inhibitions lowered just enough to act on the long-standing attraction he’s always felt towards Hanbin, inhibitions lowered just enough to lean into his space and kiss him until they’d both sank back against the couch cushions. Inhibitions lowered just enough to breathe against Hanbin’s lips, “Nobody’s going to be home until tomorrow.”
“Yeah?” Hanbin had murmured back, just a little hesitant, but wanting enough to forget about every other factor in this equation. “Come on.”
Bobby's somewhat glad they hadn't stayed. Making out where a dozen other people could see them probably isn't too brilliant a plan. He’s just glad they got out of there before anyone they knew could notice them, moving through the crowd just a little too close together, sneaking too many glances at each other.
“Keys,” says Hanbin into his ear, distracting him from his thoughts, and Bobby thinks, yes, keys are probably important for getting into the flat. Wouldn’t want to disturb the neighbours by lingering too long in the hallway and all. He’s pretty sure they wouldn’t appreciate being woken up by the sound of—well. Yes.
He fumbles with the key to their flat, a little too preoccupied by the way Hanbin is kissing down the nape of his neck to fit the key into the lock on the first try. In the end, Hanbin just grabs them out of his hand, unlocks the door with hands barely steadier than his own, and shoves Bobby in without another word.
Before Bobby can even turn around, the door’s already locked tight and Hanbin’s tugging him back against the wall and kissing him in full this time, hot, searching kisses that make Bobby clench his fists in Hanbin’s t-shirt. God, Hanbin’s mouth is so fucking soft. Bobby slides his palms up under Hanbin’s shirt, skin against warm skin, and feels Hanbin rock back up against him, his own hands curling tight into Bobby’s hair, knocking his snapback off to the floor without any care.
They’ve never done this before. But who gives a damn? All Bobby needs is more of the way Hanbin is licking into his mouth, craving and needy and so eager. Bobby’s never seen Hanbin more enthusiastic about anything else in his life. “God,” mumbles Bobby against Hanbin’s mouth, groaning when Hanbin lets his hand fall from Bobby’s hair, absently pressing the heel of his palm against Bobby’s burgeoning arousal. “It’s like you haven’t gotten laid in years.”
“If you don’t say anything idiotic in the next one minute, I’ll suck you off. That sound like a good plan to you?” says Hanbin instead, and Bobby chooses that moment to shut up. “Great.”
It’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen in his life. Probably a little bit of conflict there too, in the least foggy part of his mind. Watching his roommate-and-best-friend slide down to his knees in front of him and tuck his fingertips into the hem of his jeans is the single most confusing experience he’s ever had in his life. But it’s hot. Can’t deny that.
He’s probably going to regret this so much, tomorrow. Hanbin’s probably going to regret it even more. There’s probably an unwritten rule in place somewhere that says something along the lines of ‘thou shalt not fuck around with your best friend whilst drunk because seriously, that usually doesn’t go too well when everyone sobers up in the morning.’
But, then again. Blowjobs.
“So, like,” breathes Bobby, keening when Hanbin wraps a hand around him, leaning forward to flick his tongue over the head of his cock lightly, almost as if he’s just fishing for a reaction from Bobby, “does this mean you’re actually gay, or—”
“Well, I—” says Hanbin, glancing up through his lashes, brow furrowing slightly as he considers the semi-question, “I just like using my mouth. I guess.” And that’s one perk that comes with a drunk Hanbin: too-honest answers and impetuous motions.
“Oh. Okay,” says Bobby, and his head thunks back against the wall. “Fuck—do that again.”
His hands manage to find their way into Hanbin’s hair after a while, tugging hard every time Hanbin hollows his cheeks in around Bobby’s cock, every time Hanbin licks a long, hot line up the underside, every time Hanbin looks up at him and sucks just a little bit harder. Hanbin seems to like it, though, whenever Bobby pulls a little too hard. Huh. Add that to the list of things he never knew about his best friend.
Then again, he might just forget about all of this by the time morning comes.
He chances another glance down. Hanbin’s mouth is just stretched over the head of his cock, now, tongue hot and wet. Pre-come trails down the side of Hanbin’s lip, dripping along his chin a little. Bobby’s harder than he’s ever been in his life, just seeing Hanbin like this. Doing this.
“Fuck,” mumbles Bobby, when Hanbin takes him in so deep he feels like he’s going to explode at any second, “I’m gonna—”
Hanbin just hums in reply, and fuck, the vibrations that accompany are enough to make Bobby’s knees weak. He’s so close to coming, so ready to spiral off the edge at any given second, and Hanbin is doing that thing with his tongue again, and—
He comes with a bitten-back groan, head knocking back against the wall. It takes a few moments to realise that Hanbin’s stood back up on wobbly feet, leaning against the drawers. Bobby watches hazily as Hanbin wipes a little bit of come off the corner of his mouth, and licks it off his fingers slowly, gaze trained completely on Bobby the entire time.
God, does Bobby want those fingers on him instead.
“You’re a fucking tease,” exclaims Bobby, syllables slurring together, and Hanbin just smiles, coy. Or maybe that’s just a very fond grimace. Bobby really can’t tell at this point. “So much for being shy. Can’t even take off your shirt in public, and you’re pulling shit like this.”
“No one’s watching,” says Hanbin, leaning back in, and Bobby reaches around to cup the back of his neck and pull him closer, kissing him again, running the other hand through his hair. Hanbin’s so fucking soft to the touch. Bobby wants to touch him all over, Bobby wants to run his fingers across the lines of Hanbin’s body until Hanbin is saying only his name. Or something along those lines.
Blame the sentiment on the drinks, figures Bobby.
“Kim Jiwon,” breathes Hanbin, and that immediately catches Bobby’s attention, “what are you waiting for?”
Fantastic question right there.
There’s a slight struggle to take their clothes off as fast as possible, as they make their way to their room. Bobby gets stuck in his own shirt, and he watches Hanbin attempt to pull off the same sock for thirty seconds. Coordination shot to hell, but they manage anyway.
He’s seen Hanbin without his clothes on before. They’ve shared showers, they’ve shared a bed in the cold of the night when the heater’s broken down, but it’s never been like this. He’s never been allowed to look before, really look at him.
“Hey,” says Hanbin, knuckling him in the shoulder, “you’re being a creep.”
“M’not,” says Bobby, “just admiring.”
Hanbin’s face flushes a pretty shade of red, and there he is, the Hanbin that he knows, all shy and sheepish and embarrassed about everything. Bobby kisses him, kisses him for the umpteenth time tonight, kisses him until they’re both completely immersed in each other, until there’s nothing else surrounding them but the heat that comes with absolute need.
“You locked the door, right?” asks Bobby, breathless as he pushes Hanbin back against the bed, tucking his face against Hanbin’s neck to suck a hard kiss into the dip of his shoulder, reveling in the soft groan that Hanbin lets out, and the way Hanbin shivers from head to toe. “Fuck if anyone walks in while we’re in the middle of this.”
“No one’s going to come in,” says Hanbin, and his hands fumble to pull Bobby nearer, nails digging into skin when Bobby’s mouth trails downwards. “Mm,” says Hanbin impatiently, “are you going to fuck me, or what?”
Bobby pauses, and lifts his head to glance up at Hanbin, who just stares back at him, brow furrowed, gaze progressively hazier from the alcohol. “Really?”
“Dude,” says Hanbin incredulously, “I’m on your bed. Naked. Were you expecting us to play video games until we pass out?”
Bobby can think of a million better things they can do until one of them passes out from the high. And one of those things involves hiking Hanbin’s legs up until his knees are against his chest. Hanbin lets out a little yelp, but falls quiet when Bobby pulls out a packet of lube from behind the pillow Hanbin’s got his head resting on.
“You’re disgusting,” says Hanbin, “at least I keep my shit in a drawer.”
“For emergencies,” says Bobby, voice muffled as he rips the packet open with his teeth, “some things can’t wait, you know.”
He’s never realised how responsive Hanbin can be. He has, to a certain extent, but not like this. The sounds Hanbin makes are enough to make Bobby aroused again, the same flickering flame rising up his spine with each pleased murmur Hanbin lets out when Bobby slides his fingers inside him.
“Man,” says Bobby, “you look really fucking good like this,” watching the way Hanbin curls his fingers when his toes in turn curl just a certain way, watching the way Hanbin’s eyes flutter shut and his face pull into an expression that Bobby wants to remember until the day he goes to his grave. Hanbin’s breathing hard already, hips bucking up into Bobby’s hand, and Bobby is feeling needier by the second, wanting nothing more than to replace his fingers with his own cock and satisfy the feeling that’s rising in his gut, steadier by the second.
“Yeah?” Hanbin bites his lip and presses his cheek against the pillow, a low, near-desperate sound slipping through gritted teeth when Bobby curves his fingers again, rubbing against that one spot that makes Hanbin’s entire body react, a shudder that even Bobby can feel. “God,” whispers Hanbin, “do—do that again.”
Hanbin’s absently palming at his own cock as Bobby works his fingers in. Bobby can’t help the way his gaze shifts. It almost feels too filthy, this whole situation. He’s about to fuck Hanbin, something he’s probably only dreamt about doing, and even then those dreams had left him in a state of guilt for thinking about his best friend that way.
“Hey,” says Hanbin suddenly, and Bobby meets his eyes. Hanbin looks at him with that same intensity that he holds whenever he’s concentrating hard on something, and for that one moment, the fogginess of the alcohol seems to clear out. Everything sharpens. Hanbin tucks a palm around the back of his neck, draws him in closer, and says, eyes still locked with his, “We’re doing this. Don’t fucking regret it before it’s even started.”
“I’m not,” mutters Bobby, but Hanbin can see right through him, and has always been able to see right through him. “I can’t regret you.”
Hanbin’s gaze softens for a moment. “You’re such a sap,” he finally says. It’s commendable how steady his voice is right now, when Bobby feels like he’s being run over by a train just looking at him. “We’ll sort shit out tomorrow. Hurry up, we don’t have all day.”
“All night, you mean,” says Bobby, “and we do. Sort of.”
Well, more or less. Whose great idea was it again to call everyone up for breakfast tomorrow? Probably Yunhyung’s sick plan to make fun of everyone with hangovers and lord over the rest of them with his superior tolerance to the drink.
“Whatever,” says Hanbin, shifting impatiently, “hell if I’m going to wait all night for this to happen.”
“Dude,” says Bobby, “I don’t even know if—like, are you—”
“Christ. You’re so bad at this, I swear to god—just—lie down.”
Bobby hardly has time to get a word out before Hanbin is hooking one leg around Bobby’s, and grabbing him by the shoulder to flip their positions. Martial arts classes paid off, he guesses. Hanbin straddles Bobby’s waist, looking down at him with those dark eyes, so wide and wanting, and god, Bobby is so hard he can’t even believe he just got off twenty minutes ago.
His hands find their way to Hanbin’s waist almost with ease. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” says Hanbin, bracing himself against the headboard with one hand, and shifting closer. “Fuck. Oh.”
God, it’s good. The stretch is tight, and hot, and Bobby nearly comes undone with the first few inches that Hanbin sinks in, limbs trembling. There’s heat surrounding him completely, every little pinprick of pleasure igniting beneath his skin, and god, Hanbin looks so fucking good this way. Bobby never wants to know any other sight but this.
They find their bearings after several moments; Hanbin shifting slightly, experimentally, testing just how much he can take, and Bobby propping himself up a little, remembering to breathe so he doesn’t come embarrassingly fast.
Hanbin runs a hand through his own hair, fingers gripping tight when he rolls his hips down against Bobby's, tight and hot and slow. Bobby watches the motion, almost entranced. The way Hanbin’s eyes flutter, the way his lower lip trembles when he exhales. It’s fucking beautiful. He’s fucking beautiful. Or maybe, Bobby’s just really fucking drunk. "Jesus," whispers Hanbin, voice wrecked, eyes falling shut completely, "why didn't we ever do this before?"
"No fucking clue," mutters Bobby, breath hitching when Hanbin shifts forward slightly, the angle making both of them exhale sharply. "Come on, move."
"Shut up," says Hanbin, and Bobby does, the second Hanbin pulls himself back up to slam himself back down onto Bobby's cock without warning. Above him, Hanbin lets out a long breath that drags into half a whine. The sound itself goes shooting straight down Bobby’s spine, all heat and nothing else. "Fucking hell."
Bobby reaches around to clasp his hands around Hanbin's hips, and Bobby pulls Hanbin closer as he thrusts upwards. It makes Hanbin nearly lose his balance, voice going hoarse with the next moan that slips out of his mouth. "You're really fucking tight," says Bobby near-conversationally, trying his hardest to not come right there and then, "when was the last time you even had sex?"
"Probably sometime after the last time you did," snaps back Hanbin immediately, grinding down against Bobby's cock hard, biting back another moan. "Fuck—I'm going to die, I swear to god."
"It's definitely—definitely been a while then. Hanbin, fucking—oh, god."
“Fuck you—where’s the rest of the lube,” mutters Hanbin, hands slick, and Bobby bites his lip so hard he nearly draws blood, when Hanbin pulls off just the slightest to reach around the pillow and grab another packet of lube, haphazardly ripping it open to add all of it, and the slide is so much easier and so much more frictionless that all Bobby can feel for the next minute is wet and hot and so fucking brilliant that stars are going off behind his eyes. “Ah,” goes Hanbin, voice hitching in his throat when he starts the rhythm off again, “ah—oh, that’s—that’s better.”
Bobby just lets out a huge breath, too distracted by the immense pleasure that’s building up to say anything at all, hips almost moving on their own accord. God, it’s—this is—
“Hey,” comes Hanbin’s voice, low and needy, “hey, come on, don’t make me do all the work, you asshole.”
Bobby pushes himself back up, grabs Hanbin by the arms, and flips them over easily. “Yeah?” he breathes, and Hanbin only has time to be surprised for a second before Bobby is pressing forward, continuing that almost-staccato rhythm Hanbin had begun, and Hanbin’s mouth falls open in a soundless moan, head tipping back. “Better?”
Hanbin’s fingers are curling into his shoulders, nails digging in harder with each thrust. “Don’t stop,” are the only words he can get out, “ah, fuck—please—”
Bobby catches Hanbin’s wrists, pins them to the mattress, and leans in to press their lips together, messy and off-balance. The angle shifts again, Hanbin letting out several inhales in quick succession when Bobby bears his weight down against him, driving deeper into Hanbin with each thrust. He catches each arching sound that Hanbin makes, lets loose his own in response, and attempts to keep the singular memory of each and every soft, shaky moan in his mind forever. Or well. Just as long as he possibly can, maybe.
“Jiwon,” comes Hanbin’s voice, low and keening, sounding closer to a whimper than anything else. Sweat sticks his hair to his forehead, sticks their skin together with loud, almost obscene noises as Bobby moves against Hanbin, uncoordinated rhythms and jerky movements. It’s skin on skin, wet and tight and hot all at the same time, and Bobby can feel everything building up underneath his skin, running like live-wires from the tips of his fingers to the soles of his feet.
But it’s still not enough. It’s almost terrifying how it’s still not enough to sate the ache in his chest. Bobby wonders about the state of his own cognisance at this point in time, wonders how he’s even conscious enough to remark upon the things he’s feeling and the way Hanbin looks, practically wrecked, debased, gone to pieces, undone, broken, ruined. Ruined by him.
He’s sure the neighbours can hear them at this point. The headboard lands a hard blow to the wall with each rock of the bed, chipping the blue paint off the wall. Hanbin lets out all these sounds, these fucking gorgeous sounds that Bobby wants to replay in his head every single night. That is, if he even remembers this night as it is, tomorrow.
Fingernails drag down his back. Toes curl, heels tighten. Bobby lets out what sounds close to a choked sob, and says what seems to be Hanbin’s name, and says it again. Everything is overwhelming, hot and heady and too much to bear. Bobby says his name again, says it like he means something with the word, says it like there’s nothing else he can say, and really, there really isn’t else he can.
There’s really something to be said about fucking while drunk. They say driving under the influence is dangerous. This is danger of a whole different kind, the danger that comes with tipping too sharply over the edge when someone says ‘harder, faster, more.’
Hanbin comes first, clenching hard around Bobby, back arching high, voice a sweeping refrain in the room empty save for them. It’s what does Bobby in, the expression on Hanbin’s face, it’s what makes Bobby stutter and come as well, spilling into the condom. Hanbin’s eyes, pupils blown, mouth falling open with a loud, high cry of Bobby’s name, the flush of his skin across the expanse of his chest and the curve of his cheeks. Bobby doesn’t know what his own face looks like, in that moment. All he knows is Hanbin, for those few seconds.
And after those few seconds, the exhaustion hits, and there’s really nothing Bobby can do to combat the combination of unmovable limbs, and the warmth that exudes from both their bodies. Bobby catches his breath, and falls back against Hanbin, tucking their faces together unmindfully, and catches the wave of sleep that washes over them too.
Hanbin’s lips move in the imitation of words, but Bobby doesn’t feign hearing them, and instead, tugs him closer, despite the messy sheets and the stickiness that lingers. Bobby’s never had a better night than this one.
Waking up in the morning proves slightly difficult, though.
The light is piercing, adding to the throb behind his temples that no amount of massaging can relieve. Bobby nearly doesn’t get up, but he chances a look at the clock on the wall, and they have to meet the others in an hour. “Shit,” he mutters, blinking repeatedly. Hanbin is still asleep, face pressed into the curve of his shoulder. Bobby spares a minute to observe him. It’s rare to see him like this, all calm and without worry.
He needs a shower, probably. A shower, a hell of a lot of coffee, and aspirin.
“Hey,” says Bobby, shoving at Hanbin’s shoulder gently, and Hanbin lets out a groan, burying his face deeper into the pillow. “Get up. We have to leave soon.”
“Fuck.” Hanbin’s voice is hoarse. “I feel like someone’s just upturned a pot of gold over my head.”
Bobby laughs at the reference. “Yeah?” He runs a hand through Hanbin’s hair, and gets up, wincing at the immediate sledgehammer-to-the-head pang that comes. “Shit,” he repeats, “never drinking again.”
“You said that the last time you had a hangover,” comes Hanbin’s voice from behind him. “You also said you’d never hook up with anyone at a party ever again. Look where we are now.”
“With you in my bed. Good look on you, there.”
It’s a miracle they even manage to swing themselves out of bed. Hanbin nearly trips over the corner of Bobby’s desk on his way to the shower, and neither of them can find the keys to the door until they remember that Hanbin had thrown them aside when they’d come home yesterday. There’s a rush of clothes, bags, and painkillers, before both of them are making their way out of the flat.
They stand side by side in the elevator, and pretend not to observe each other behind their sunglasses.
Something in Bobby’s throat drops all the way to his ankles when he sees the bite mark Hanbin is surreptitiously trying to cover with a scarf that keeps loosening around his neck. He did that yesterday. Fuck. They had sex yesterday. The others are never going to let them live this down.
Obviously, the first one to to say anything about it is Junhwe, who only peers at them for two seconds when they sit down, before saying, “Who topped?”
“Junhwe!” hisses Hanbin, and Bobby just snorts into the coffee that Jinhwan had ordered early for them.
“Ah,” says Junhwe, “but of course. Cough it up, Donghyuk.”
Donghyuk regretfully pulls out his wallet, busy wallowing in the throes of his own hangover as well. Beside him, Jinhwan is just shaking his head, digging his fork into toast.
“I can’t believe you bet on us,” says Bobby incredulously, “you fuckers. Bet you both will end up doing the exact same thing at the next party.”
“What, hook up? No way,” says Donghyuk, “I have better taste than that.”
As Junhwe splutters his protests, Yunhyung turns to them and says, “So, are you dating now?”
“What? No,” says Bobby hesitantly, chancing a glance over at Hanbin. Hanbin says nothing, and sips at his coffee. “We haven’t really. Uh. Talked about. Anything. Yet.”
“You should,” says Yunhyung solemnly, “it’s right under that rule about not fucking with your best friends while you’re drunk."
“Trust you to remember that,” says Hanbin, dismissing the topic easily with a glance and the hidden threat of I’ll string you all up by your guts if you ask again.
They don’t talk about it. Maybe they try to, but there’s never really the right moment to bring up the topic of having drunken sex with your best friend, and where that’s gonna go from there. Maybe they do attempt to, but hell, Bobby would rather rewatch the Red Wedding than bring it up.
It manages to resolve itself, in the end, a whole week later when they find themselves standing alone in the middle of their shared room.
Bobby guesses it’s inevitable. The past week, he’s thought of nothing but Hanbin, to be fair with himself. It’s excruciating, relieving the hazy memory of that night. It surprises him how much he can still remember of that encounter, but then again, maybe he can because it’s Hanbin.
“So,” says Hanbin first, fiddling with the hem of his shirt, and determinedly looking anywhere but at Bobby, nearly giving Bobby a stroke with his next words, “is this endgame going to be some kind of relationship, or are we going to just... stay friends?”
His heart thunders in his chest, strangely enough. “What do you say?”
“I,” says Hanbin, “well. I like you.” Something seems to break with the expression on his face, and the expression on Bobby’s own, and Hanbin continues, in a breath, “fuck, I really fucking like you. I’ve always liked you, you idiot.”
“I’m just as much as an idiot as you are,” shoots back Bobby, before softening. “And I like you too.”
Hanbin just smiles, a little awkward, a little sheepish. “You wanna just try this out first?”
“Yes!” says Bobby almost immediately, “I mean, yeah, let’s,” and the look of relief on Hanbin’s face probably matches his own. God, he’s so whipped. He’s so done in for this kid. How did this even happen? And he’s not even going to start on the other one. “Also, hell if we don’t do that again.”
“Speaking of which,” says Hanbin, moving towards the door. He locks it with a single motion, and Bobby smiles so widely that Hanbin lets out a laugh. “We’ve got no classes today.”
“God,” says Bobby, reaching over to kiss him, “I fucking love college.”