Another award show. It doesn’t matter which one, they’re all the same after so many attendances. Even without YG giving them many opportunities, Minho knows this all too well. Bobby’s in the same boat. Which is why they’ve excused themselves extra long after their MOBB subunit performance to make out before returning to the public eye, where all those full tables of equally-bored idols as they watch their peers will just have to wait before they rejoin their masses.
Performing always did something to Bobby. It wasn’t a solely sexual thing; with all his professionalism for his age, which Minho had to admit was impressive, Jiwon hardly got boners onstage. But there was a definite change between the mildly-anxious Jiwon of before stages and the Jiwon after. Exuding grade, might, undesirable attractiveness. This was when he truly became Bobby. Getting in his line of sight after made Minho feel something primal, the urge to submit in whatever way was demanded of him. And after a few kisses in the studio as they worked late into the night on this mini album, sweet and innocent, there had been something to the post-stage Bobby that had sent them full force into motion.
Minho isn’t sure what they are, really. He isn’t sure he cares. Jiwon’s always cared for him, treasured him as someone close since they bonded in WIN. The angle from which he expresses his appreciation seems to be the only thing that’s changed. It really doesn’t matter to either of them. The mutual respect is there, the care has never left. Now there’s just more ways for them to comfort each other. This is one of them, Minho hoisted up onto a hectic makeup counter in their dressing room, back against the mirror as Jiwon kisses at his jaw in a way that makes him feel far too many good things. The brush of his lip piercing, fake as it is, makes each kiss linger and burn its way into his body’s memory in the best way. Jiwon feels this and takes a moment to smile into his clavicle, nuzzling it minutely. It makes his heart -something above his belt for once this evening- throb.
Someone walks in and stumbles to a stop. That someone is conveniently Hanbin, looking for all the world like the choice to come here is now one of the worst he’s ever made. The unabashed gawking must eventually get to Jiwon. Minho has to give him credit for the way he refuses to back down to the way they’re practically grinding, hips still flush together as he stands between Minho’s thighs. It’s not Jiwon, but Bobby , that grins, looking thoroughly fucked already.
There’s something thrilling -invigorating, even- about getting caught by Hanbin. A man with so much sexual energy on stage and yet so little actual sexual experience. So much potential and nobody to practice on. It’s a pity, really. Minho knows they both have a thing for him, Jiwon and himself. They’ve never been entirely exclusive, either (they had shared Seungyoon over expensive bottles of champagne on nights quite similar to this one with ease). If this night were to end the same, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.
“Enjoy the show?” His voice is entirely void of malice. Hanbin continues to stare as though the scene has yanked the floor out from under him. And yet, he stands surprisingly tall even as Bobby pries away and crosses the distance to the door. Minho feels the heat spread throughout his own body, singing all his own nerves, as he brings the back of Hanbin’s trembling hand to his smirking lips. Cold metal of his lip piercing no doubt a stark and thrilling contrast against the soft plushness of Bobby’s lips.
Something in Bobby’s eyes must spell danger like they always do. It spells careless and nearly messy emotion. And Hanbin falls for it so easily.
It doesn’t take much. It never does.
Hanbin makes sure they at least lock the door to prevent any further guests.