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Seungyong’s first thought is an unfair one.
He thinks, are all Chinese players so touchy? Despite the fact that he knows only Tianyu has been so forward and comfortable with him—holding his hands and shoving things into his fists and pressing his fingers into Seungyong’s shoulders, and forever, always, smiling at Seungyong like he’s happy to see him, like he’s been searching out Seungyong’s gaze and is excited to see his attention finally on him.
It’s unfair, because it makes Seungyong’s overactive imagination think things, like maybe Tianyu actually cares about Seungyong, or that he’s deliberately trying to gain Seungyong’s attention because he—because he wants it.
Back in Korea, Seungyong never had to think so much about his teammates. He misses that right now.
“Yongyong,” Tianyu whines, because even when he’s older than Seungyong, he still remains more of a brat. “What’re you doing?”
“Practicing,” Seungyong says. He has no intention of losing his ludicrous paycheck due to perceived negligence or lack of ability. But he’s also not the son of a rich family who plays pro League purely out of fun. He swipes Tianyu’s hand out of his face. “Stop that.”
Tianyu’s now draped himself along the back of Seungyong’s chair, a place he finds himself more often than Seungyong would like to admit noticing. He frowns and pouts and Seungyong is a fucking sucker. “Yongyong,” Tianyu says sadly. “You’re not even in game.”
No, but he's in queue and isn't that enough? Seungyong looks up, ready to say something peevish and frustrated only to have all the words stop in his throat when faced with Tianyu's dumb, beautiful idol face. Full lips, high cheekbones, wide, round eyes—that absolutely fucking unfair beauty mark just under his eye that Seungyong finds himself shamefully obsessed about.
"Ugh," Seungyong says instead, flicking his gaze away and frowning. For a man covered in so many tattoos, Tianyu shouldn’t be this cute. "Whatever."
"Smile for me, Yongyong," Tianyu says, sliding down along Seungyong's chair until his chin is propped up on Seungyong's shoulder. "Aren't you happy to see me?"
"No," Seungyong retorts. Tianyu makes an honest to god pained little gasp at that, and Seungyong sighs, bringing a hand to his face. "Fine, yes."
“I love looking at your face, too,” Tianyu chirps, and Seungyong hears someone choke and cough in the background. Probably poor, innocent Jiale, easily tricked and with utterly no idea how the world works.
Seungyong just sighs again. “What do you want?”
“Make me food?” Because Tianyu is a useless rich boy who’s never had to make his own instant ramyun before.
“No,” Seungyong says, only to find himself face-to-face with that stupid, dumb pout again. And no, this time he will say no, no, no— “Fine. Yes, just stop that.”
Tianyu immediately brightens. “Stop what?”
Seungyong shoves a hand in Tianyu’s face, forcing it back a foot and making it that much more manageable. “You know what.”
“Of course,” Tianyu says, making no move to remove his face from Seungyong’s hand. In fact, Seungyong can feel Tianyu smile against it.
-
“You look happier, “ Dohyun tells him one day, casual and off-the-cuff while he’s slurping down some noodles. It’s one of the few times they both have time off enough to grab a meal, at last one familiar face in a foreign place.
Seungyong shrugs. “That’s what winning does.” He waves a hand. “And having money.”
Dohyun glances over at him. “Right,” he says. “And nothing to do with the giant hickey you have?”
Seungyong freezes. Tianyu didn’t—he better not have. “What?”
Dohyun sighs, dropping his chopsticks to pick up his phone and snap a quick picture. He holds out his hand, screen up and zoomed in so Seungyong can see the red bruise on his neck. “Find yourself a cute fan?”
Found himself a useless, clingy teammate instead maybe. “No,” Seongyong says, slapping a palm over his neck and letting his head thump against the table. “Oh my god.”
There’s a beat of silence that Seongyong is incredibly grateful for, Dohyun returning back to his noodles with an obvious slurp. Until, “Found yourself a cute teammate?”
What. Seungyong raises his head, horrified. “Excuse me?”
“Of everyone on our team, I didn’t expect you to swing that way,” Dohyun says idly. “Maybe Jihoon or Siwoo?”
“I don’t,” Seungyong says, even when he can hear ringing in his head. “How do you even know about this sort of thing?”
“I’m on the same team as Tian Ye.” Dohyun rolls his eyes. “He asks me to talk to Jihoon to see how his lost first love is doing, it’s depressing.”
“You’re taking this really well, considering.”
“I’ve been backstage, I’ve seen how your midlaner fondles you.”
“He doesn’t fondle me—”
“And you let him,” Dohyun interrupts. “You look at him like he’s the only person in the room. And like you want him to touch you.” He looks a little disgusted. “I can’t believe you made me say this, hyung. I think my appetite’s all gone.”
Seungyong shuts his mouth, lips thinning. “We never talk about this again.”
“You better treat me to more meals, hyung.”
-
Tianyu is holding his hand.
Seungyong can’t help but look down periodically to observe that fact along with a few others. Tianyu’s hand is actually quite soft and warm. Not too sweaty. His palm fits snugly against Seungyong’s. The force of his grip is steady but not painful.
He’s holding Seungyong’s hand and not letting go.
They’re standing in line for some food stand or something, Seungyong’s not actually sure. His brain stopped working somewhere around the moment Tianyu took his hand in his own with a sunny smile, blathering on about this new food stand he saw on Weibo that looked amazing, how they needed to try it right this instant, and didn’t that sound like a fun thing to do on their break?
Tianyu had then led them, Seungyong a limp, obedient doll stumbling after him, continuing to talk about the merits of Wolong nuts (the wait is so long, but they're worth it!), or maybe it was about jianbing, or danbing, or one of the other assortment of Chinese bings that all tasted pretty good even if Seungyong was never quite sure what the filling was.
“Seungyong?” Tianyu asks, a little concerned, head tilted and peering at Seungyong’s face. “Are you okay? You haven’t said anything in a while.”
You’re holding my hand, Seungyong thinks, while his mouth replies, “You’re holding my hand.”
Or maybe they were connected for once.
“Oh, right!” Tianyu laughs, with not even the slightest bit of self-consciousness. He swings their connected hands, shooting Seungyong a teasing little smirk. “Are you too charmed to speak?”
Seungyong stares. He does, and he can feel all of the blood in his body rush against gravity to his head, his cheeks flushing hot and his mouth dropping open. This is an easy enough of a joke to play off, but Seungyong just splutters complete gibberish, a coherent, “dnsfjksd.”
Tianyu actually looks concerned now, raising his free hand to touch Seungyong’s forehead. “Are you okay?” he asks, even when he continues to hold Seungyong’s hand, continues to swing it gently, like this were a romantic comedy, swaying with the wind.
Seungyong raises his own hand, the one not holding Tianyu’s—oh god, he’s holding Tianyu’s hand—and pokes Tianyu right on the beauty mark under his eye, really stabs his finger that Tianyu jumps away with shock.
“Stop that,” Seungyong says, snatching his hand back, ignoring how warm and tingly it feels. “What are we buying?”
“I’m buying, don’t worry,” Tianyu says with a laugh, like nothing even happened. Like Seungyong isn’t panicking inside. “You’ll like it, I promise.”
-
That’s how things always are with Tianyu. Make me food, it starts, I’m taking raptors, and then, it’s just holding your hand, after leash me blue, and always just one kiss, let me kiss it better if it hurts, just the tip, please let me put it in, please, please, please—
Seungyong's been reduced to a useless jungler even in real life, forever chained to his laners' needs. Or maybe not all of his laners, rather it's one in particular.
"Yongyong, look at me," Tianyu coaxes, hands gently tugging at Seungyong’s wrists. Seungyong refuses to budge, hands steady where they cover his blushing face, cheeks hot and red with embarrassment. “I want to see you.”
It’s not fair—though Seungyong has realized by now that nothing involving Tianyu is fair—that Seungyong is the one in this position: splayed out on his back, exposed and vulnerable and needy for Tianyu in a completely unexpected role reversal. He’s the one who wants Tianyu like this, desperate for Tianyu’s affectionate touches, grasping onto Tianyu’s for dear life.
“Yong-er,” Tianyu breathes into Seungyong’s ear, mouthing messily against his jaw. “A-Yong, Yongyong. Xiao Yong.”
“Stop it,” Seungyong face burns hotter, thrills running down his spine with every pet name. “Shut up.”
“Stop what?” Tianyu teases, pressing a kiss to each of Seungyong’s fingers. “My sweet, cute, Yongyong—”
Seungyong raises a hand to slap at Tianyu’s mouth, not surprised when it’s immediately caught in Tianyu’s grasp, when Tianyu leans in to kiss just under Seongyong’s newly revealed eye.
“There you are,” Tianyu says cheekily, sweetly.
“Shut up,” Seungyong snaps back for the fifth, the hundredth, the millionth time today. “Get on with it.”
Tianyu has the gall to laugh at that, settling himself further between Seungyong’s legs, hands petting down Seungyong’s sides to rest at his hips. His cock is hard against the cleft of Seungyong’s ass, and it’s not the first time they’ve done this, not even close, but Seungyong’s still just as embarrassed, as ashamed as the first time.
“So good for me,” Tianyu says, fingers digging bruises into Seungyong’s hips with the first push in.
Seungyong turns his head, hiding his face against the pillow. His gasps end up muffled against the sheets, and he’s pliant when Tianyu tilts his head back to kiss him again. “Shut up,” he says against Tianyu’s mouth, breath cut off into a moan as Tianyu thrusts again, cock heavy and thick in him, inexorable and unrelenting as Seungyong’s body has no choice but to accept him.
“Hurts,” Seungyong pants, because it always hurts, especially at the beginning, even when he shifts his hips so Tianyu is that much deeper, arms wrapped around Tianyu’s neck in a death-grip. “Please.”
“Is this okay?” Tianyu asks with genuine concern, eyes peering deep into Seungyong’s. “Are you okay?”
Seungyong is in the middle of a gay panic disaster; of course he isn't okay. But his brain is a traitor, Pavlovian trained to respond to Tianyu's every word positively. "More,” he says, gasps as Tianyu presses in at a different angle, sparking something that feels good, finally, finally.
Tianyu wraps a hand around Seungyong’s cock, stroking slowly along with his thrusts. “Yongyong,” he mumbles, pressing more kisses against Seungyong’s cheeks, his nose, his forehead. “Please, please, please—”
It hurts, it’s the best Seungyong has ever felt, it’s embarrassing and shameful and Seungyong still comes anyway, dragging his fingers through Tianyu’s hair and pulling as hard as he can. It’s unfair, that Tianyu wants him this way, that Tianyu makes him feel this way, reduces him to this pile of mush of feeling and nothing else.
“Tian-ge,” he says. “A-yu, Tianyu-hyung.” His jaw feels slack in the wake of his orgasm, every muscle in him feels lax and lazy, warm and comfortable with sparks of pleasure fizzling with each thrust of Tianyu in him. “Like you,” he breathes against Tianyu’s neck, hopefully inaudible so this never comes back to haunt him.