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The feeling of it creeps up on him slowly. Yeonjun’s never been one to pay attention to feelings in a much deeper sense. At least not in the way Beomgyu always seemed to be – consumed by every little thought, every crippling ghost of a feeling that would simmer inside him.
He’s watched him endlessly and loved him endlessly, too.
It all went smoothly: from reluctant acquaintances when Beomgyu had almost waddled into the practice room, flushed red with uncertainty and wide-eyed, to co-workers when they’d debuted, to best friends.
He doesn’t know when it happened. It hadn’t been a moment of gleeful awareness, where he’d glimpsed Beomgyu one morning, his hair matted to his forehead and sticking at the back, eyes puffy and swollen with sleep, rimmed-red like they always were, and mouth like a wine-red stain across a blank canvas – it hadn’t been. It’d been a built-up of endless moments; moments in which Beomgyu had grabbed his hand softly, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of his lips and looked at him doe-eyed, sparkling with delight, and moments when he’d pulled away, rosy-cheeked and much more beautiful than Yeonjun could ever begin to comprehend and teased Yeonjun relentlessly until he’d get a squawk out him that made Beomgyu giggle endlessly. It had been moments after moments, rose-tinted and terrifying but he hadn’t thought much of them.
There hadn’t been any reason for him to.
If Yeonjun ignores the intricate period in which he’d truthfully, in the very secrecy of his own soul, questioned the unsteady beat of his heart relentlessly, he can attribute his recent surge in dizzy spells to comeback preparations.
The year 2023 had been busy, and 2024 seemed only to be getting busier. It’s been dance practice after dance practice, hours on end until their bodies hit the ground all sore and aching, then vocal lessons until his throat ran dry and scratchy and he could barely speak anymore. After that, comeback season then a world tour, and so on. Ceaseless. Terrible. A strain on his body that he couldn’t seem to sleep off no matter how hard he’d tried. Yet he was grateful. He got to live his dream. He got to do it with his friends.
In some terrifying alcove of his brain, he knew it was because he got to do it with Beomgyu.
Yeonjun had never been able to explain to himself why it ignited such a morbid fire inside him.
He knows Beomgyu from inside out, yet he’s never been scared of him the way he finds himself to be now, on the set of their music video, dressed in a dark suit that feels somewhat too rough on his skin, white lace tied too tightly around his chest. He’d gotten ready first. They had pushed Yeonjun into a chair and done his makeup, blush high on his cheeks as he looked at himself. Their hands had been gentle and Yeonjun had long since stopped acknowledging the foreign hands that danced over his skin, tapping color into his lips, tightening the fabrics around his body. Then they’d dressed him up, and it had been fine at first. The concept was interesting. They had longed to do something like this and he knows the reactions it will get from the media and their fans. So Yeonjun had let them tighten the lace around his body, cold fingers tickling the back of his neck, the planes of his shoulders, his stomach – he’s long since been desensitized to it all.
It had been fine.
Yet when Beomgyu had walked in, dressed so similarly to Yeonjun and yet so differently – it all seemed to stop being alright. It felt as if Yeonjun’s body seemed to cave in, tumbling so wildly and uncomfortably, so unlike himself.
It felt like being doused in iced water. Starting from the very top of his head, it spreads throughout his entire body, like electricity, zapping down the length of his spine, all the way to his toes. The cold feeling goes away soon, though. Instead, his hands shake as he quickly shoves them into the pockets of his pants, clammy with sweat that hadn’t been there before.
Yeonjun’s heart thumps violently in his chest.
He feels sick.
Objectively, he’s known for a long time that Beomgyu is a beautiful man. It’s hard not to when it’s all he seems to stumble upon when he goes online. He’s known it when they first met, too, although back then Beomgyu had yet to grow into his features. But there’s something different now. Back then, he’d thought him cute. Throughout the years, he’d found him beautiful in a way that’s been somewhat platonic. As if understanding the universe: the sun goes down every night and comes back up in the morning and Choi Beomgyu is beautiful.
Now – now that he looks at it with the newfound knowledge that settled inside the very depth of his chest – Beomgyu’s beautiful in a way that makes Yeonjun’s insides crawl with heat.
The revelation hinders him. They film the music video just fine – Yeonjun’s always been a professional above all else – and he’s satisfied with the results whenever he sits back and watches what they’d shot on the monitor. Yet he can’t seem to stop his eyes from drifting away and locking onto Beomgyu whenever they get so much as a second of respite. The younger boy is happily swaying back and forth with Huening Kai, a bright smile on his face, the heat from the room flushing his skin red. It creeps down his neck, right underneath the thin white lace that sits tightly against his skin.
Yeonjun sighs.
With every glimpse of the dainty fabric, his heart skips a beat. It’s terrible – the way his brain seems fuzzy and his mouth is dry the more he seeks out Beomgyu’s form inside the room.
“Are you okay?” It’s Soobin who asks. Sweet, lovely Soobin, his brother – Yeonjun cringes. He used to say that about Beomgyu, too.
“Yeah,” Yeonjun swallows. It’s futile. His mouth is still dry, and he has yet to avert his gaze from where Kai is teasingly pulling at the lace around Beomgyu’s neck. With a swoop, Yeonjun’s stomach seems to tumble inside his body. “Yeah – I’m – I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” He mutters.
As he makes a mad dash for the exit of the room they’ve been cooped up in for the better part of the day – night too, really, he hadn’t slept in a long time – he can hear Taehyun’s confused inquiry. His ears burn with shame. He doesn’t linger to see what answer Soobin gives.
He slams the door open to the bathroom.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck –”
Inside, the temperature is lower. It helps with the almost unbearable warmth of his cheeks and his ears, but even that isn’t enough to stop his hands from shaking. He fists them, curling his fingers tight enough until his nails dig into the palms of his hands. On today’s to-do list, there have been many things written down. Wooyoung likes to tease him about it. He calls it manic-virgo-girl-things and gifts Yeonjun cute gel pens to write his lists down. When Yeonjun had written his list at the very beginning of the week (small rituals to keep him sane), realizing that he wants to maybe fuck his bandmate hadn’t made it to the top of it.
It hadn’t made it there at all.
What’s worse, he thinks as he looks at himself in the mirror, is that it’s not even just about maybe fucking Beomgyu. It’s so much more than that. With the newfound knowledge that Beomgyu is attractive in a way that’s not a platonic observation or a normal, casual acknowledgment of all things around him, it’s like a dam breaks open. Countless images flash before his eyes at rapid speed. They vary, too; from holding Beomgyu’s hand again to kissing him sweetly, to lifting the lace tied around his neck to give himself enough space to suck a deep mark into the pale column of his neck right over his pulse point. It’s like whiplash. Yeonjun’s dizzy with it.
He’s dizzy enough that by the time the day comes to an end, in an impulsive moment of weakness, he grabs the lace that’s been tied around Beomgyu’s neck and shoves it into the pocket of his pants. He’s the last one to climb into the van, and he settles – blissfully – between Kai and Taehyun. He doesn’t think he can make it through an entire car ride pressed against Beomgyu. Kai and Taehyun have enough decency to respect Yeojun’s personal space. Beomgyu doesn’t. So he calls it a small victory and settles more comfortably. The piece of fabric inside his pocket feels like lead. It’s a terrible reminder that he’s weak. It’s a testimony of everything that’s about to go wrong in his life.
It wouldn’t be unheard of to hook up with Beomgyu. Friends hook up all the time. San and Wooyoung have been able to manage their career despite constantly being all over each other behind closed doors. They’re functional enough that no one bats an eyelash anymore. Yet something that rests deep down inside Yeonjun, aches when he thinks of Beomgyu like that. Beomgyu isn’t the type; such a romantic at heart, it had always been somewhat incredible for Yeonjun to see with just how much conviction Beomgyu could plan out and dream about his future. It had been endearing to witness it: the quiet glimmer in his round eyes, the shyness with which he’d speak into the dead quiet of the room about his wants. He’d been too vulnerable for Yeonjun to sully it.
Deep down, in that same very spot inside him, he knows he cherishes Beomgyu too much to be able to simply fuck him and never speak of it again. He’s more than just a casual affair, despite how badly Yeonjun has always wished for himself to just be casual for one damn time in his life. Even now, after only a few hours of his grand revelation, Beomgyu consumes him whole.
He sighs. It almost seems like the hundredth time.
Yeonjun ignores the questioning look that Taehyun throws his way. He shrinks in his seat, leg bouncing almost aggressively, and zips up the rest of his hoodie to hide the growing flush of his skin. He feels pathetic.
When the van reaches the underground parking lot of their apartment complex, Yeonjun gives their driver approximately three seconds before he bolts out the car door. It’s been too long since he’s felt this jittery – last time it had been an intricate ordeal of not sleeping for a couple of days, skipping breakfast, and having three and a half iced americanos with an extra shot of espresso on an empty stomach, after which he’d crawled into the warmth of his bed and pressed his fingers to his pulse points alternatively in order to calm the unsteady beat of his heart (he’d skipped coffee the next day) – and it’s always unpleasant. Yeonjun ignores the yells of the rest and simply punches in the number of the floor their apartment is on, watching as the doors begin to close.
It’s Beomgyu’s foot that stops them.
He’s breathless as tumbles inside right next to Yeonjun. The doors slide closed right before everyone else can filter in, and Yeonjun pales as he is faced with the dreadful realization that he’s trapped for a good few minutes with the recent object of both his desires and nightmares. He shudders.
In the dim light of the elevator, Beomgyu’s just as beautiful. Given the cold season, his skin is paler than usual, but it seems to glow with every flicker of the overhead lightning. He grins at Yeonjun – lopsided and charming in that little way of his, where his skin dents over both of his cheeks, whiskers underneath his eyes. All of a sudden, he’s brighter than he’s ever been.
And all of a sudden, as he drinks in the sight in front of him, Yeonjun realizes that the idea of casual affair has never been on the table.
“You seem a little flushed, hyung.” Beomgyu has yet to stop smiling. He shuffles closer to Yeonjun, their shoulders brushing. “Are you alright?”
“What?” He croaks. Instinctively, he moves a little bit further away from Beomgyu. “I – I’m okay, Gyu-yah. Don’t worry about me.”
Beomgyu hums. He doesn’t seem to mind the jitteriness of Yeonjun’s action. Instead, he leans onto the side wall, his head thumping against the metal. It’s a soft sound, but Yeonjun’s heart somersaults nonetheless.
“You ran out of the van, hyung. I think I have the right to worry.”
“I’m alright.” Yeonjun insists. His heart seems to be stuck in his throat. He doesn’t know what to do with himself anymore. He can feel the violent ripples of his revelation with every moment that passes by.
When Beomgyu turns to look at him, it’s terrifying. Somehow, lost somewhere in between his features, Beomgyu looks at him as if he knows. Yet Beomgyu, despite the loud persona he’s been parading around for years, knows when to address something and when to let it drop completely. It’s something most people fail to see; the gentle awareness he possesses, the kindness that unfurls inside him almost violently.
So it doesn't come as a surprise when all Beomgyu does is flash him another pretty grin – the kind that brightens him entirely, right to his very core – and simply steps out of the elevator once the doors slide open. He's always been gentle.
Minutes later, in the privacy of his own room, Yeonjun spirals.
He's changed into his pajamas as soon as he closed the door, quickly discarding his clothes to the ground. Yeonjun takes off his makeup just as quickly, the wet wipes perched blissfully on top of his nightstand. When he crashes into his bed, it's as if everything doubles in intensity. He's never been one to acknowledge or ruminate over his feelings. It has always been easier to simply push them down as far as possible to the back of his mind and simply pile more on top until he'd eventually come crashing down under the weight of them all.
Yet now it seems impossible to think of anything but Beomgyu. His thoughts drip everywhere: in the way that Beomgyu walks, in the way that he simply sits sleepily in the common room whenever he comes back from a schedule, taking a few minutes to process the day that he's had, in the way his voice pitches low whenever he's tired enough to stop masking his accent. Everywhere and nowhere, all at once.
It overwhelms Yeonjun.
Choi Beomgyu has been a constant in his life for enough years and Yeonjun can't bear losing him. He doesn't think Beomgyu to be cruel. He's always taken the matters of the heart seriously, with a solemnity so uncharacteristic of himself that it never failed to baffle Yeonjun. Beomgyu would be gentle with him, like he is with everything else. He'd let him down easy, a shy I'm sorry, hyung. Nothing has to change. I cherish you most on the tip of his tongue. Yet Yeonjun can't bring himself to accept a reality in which Beomgyu isn't his in one way or another.
He throws an arm over his eyes.
There was lace wrapped around Beomgyu's waist, too.
And a piercing placed on the very center of his lips.
Yeonjun lets out a soft whine.
Before he can stop himself, he rises from his bed. As if possessed, he grabs the pants he's discarded on the floor and digs inside the pockets until he retrieves the piece of fabric. He drops the pants back on the floor. Shame burns his ears. In the very palm of his hands, lays the sole source of it. It still smells faintly of Beomgyu's perfume – a dainty, sweet scent that makes Yeonjun’s head spin – and the fabric feels good against the tips of his fingers. It felt good wrapped around his body, too, when they'd filmed the music video.
Beomgyu’s always had such sensitive skin. Yeonjun can imagine the shivers that ran down Beomgyu’s body when the stylists had wrapped it tightly around his neck, and then the rest of it around his waist. He fists the fabric. Beomgyu always shudders when touched delicately around his neck and at the very bottom of his spine.
Yeonjun’s cheeks grow warmer.
It's hard not to imagine the way Beomgyu would shudder underneath him were he to push him into his sheets and wrap the lace just as tight, if not even more, around his neck. He'd blush cherry red in that little way of his, where it creeps to his ears and down to his cheeks and he can't help but let a little giggle rip itself out of the depth of his chest. Beomgyu would squirm under Yeonjun’s weight. He doesn't particularly like being held down whenever they're wrestling for whatever reason, but maybe he'd fall limp were Yeonjun to rut into him slowly, his teeth marks etched deeply into his skin.
Yeonjun brings the fabric to his nose. He inhales deeply. Like this, it smells even sweeter. Beomgyu's recently changed his perfume, yet the sweetness of it is similar. Dainty and pretty, and heady – it all makes Yeonjun’s head spin with it. He can feel himself harden in his pants and his eyes flutter shut as he inhales one more time.
Beomgyu, Beomgyu, Beomgyu.
It courses through his brain like a mantra.
Yeonjun settles on the edge of his bed, heart beating wildly in his chest. A hand digs into the waistband of his pants. He's aching with it, fire pooling in his belly. It takes another deep inhale for him to curl his fingers around his hard cock. It's dry enough that he sucks in a sharp breath before removing his hand.
“Fuck,” he exhales.
Yeonjun draws in a sharp breath and lunges for his nightstand, opening it much too loudly for the late hour, but he doesn't find it in himself to care. He pulls out a bottle of lube and uncaps it, smearing the cool gel over the palm of his hand before grabbing his cock once again. This time, the slide is smooth.
He lets himself fall back on his bed, his eyes closed. Beomgyu's face is burnt bright in his memory: it's a confusing amalgam of different moments in which he'd encountered him. All of them had been latent: the first time he'd let his hair grow and when Yeonjun had pulled a bit too roughly on the ends of it, drawing a sharp breath out of the younger, the moment he'd dyed it bright red and Yeonjun hadn't been able to look away from him for too long. Yet they all fizzle out into one bright, burning image: the white lace around Beomgyu’s slender neck and tight, thin waist, and the glimmering piercing resting on the plush center of his red lips.
Yeonjun squeezes around the head of his cock. He groans, eyes squeezing shut. It all builds up inside him quickly, like wildfire. From the top of his head to his feet, pleasure courses through him violently. He can feel the way he throbs with each tight jerk of his hand, heat licking at his spine. Beomgyu’s scent cloys his senses. It's all sweet and flowery, settling inside Yeonjun’s bone marrow almost as if carving a space of its own.
He moves his hand down, bottom lip tight between his teeth.
“Fuck,” he repeats. “Beomgyu,” Yeonjun says it tentatively, just to see how it tastes in his mouth. It feels natural – though; the way the syllables roll off the tip of his tongue.
He moans again.
With every stroke of his hand, his body burns brighter. He moans Beomgyu's name again. It's a breathy, needy sound he can barely hear over the wild thump of his heart. Yeonjun takes in another deep breath through his nose. He pictures Beomgyu underneath him again, flushed bright red and covered in his own sweat, cock heavy as it rests on top of his abdomen. Yeonjun would bury his nose right underneath his ear where he smells most like himself and breathe him in until there's nothing left of him but a shuddering whimpering mess leaking against Yeonjun’s thigh.
The shame of it lights Yeonjun on fire.
Yeonjun cums with Beomgyu's name sweet and heavy in his mouth. It's saccharine, dripping down the sides of his tongue as he jumbled the syllables. It's everything and nothing, all at once. His cum is warm as it splatters over his tummy, sticky and it feels as if it's burning away at his skin relentlessly.
When he takes in a deep breath, the sweetness of Beomgyu’s scent still clings to him, yet it's much fainter than before. Yeonjun drops the fabric as if burnt.
“I'm fucked,” he whispers. He looks at the lace on the bed where it sits limply, shapeless – a shameful reminder of his revelation.
“I'm so fucked.”
—
The knowledge that he may have underlying feelings for Beomgyu sits heavy with him for several days. In a panicked hurry, he shoved the white lace under his pillow and hadn't moved it since. The members know not to go through his room, yet he's still scared that somehow Beomgyu knows. Or if he doesn't know, then he'll somehow find out. Every time he remembers it, he cringes and his heart skips a beat.
Yeonjun has taken to hitting up the gym. He figures as long as he finds the right way to let out whatever pent up latent desires that have decided to awaken, he'll be fine.
He's not fine.
Despite how much he goes around punching bags and lifting weights with Taehyun (if the younger boy had been surprised by Yeonjun’s sudden obsessive interest in his gym schedule, he had the decency to not address it) – at the back of his head sits the awful, evil knowledge that Beomgyu likes beefy men. So he stops working out. He's gotten his abs weeks prior and his fans loved it , even if it didn't show up on camera until he'd filmed a TikTok. He's allowed to rest and eat as much as he wants to, damn it all, as long as it sits in accordance with his comeback diet.
His next attempt is to look through the contacts on his phone to find a decent hookup. He debates for a brief moment if he's desperate enough to text his one (1) situationship from years ago, but it's an easy decision. Despite the way he'd shamefully sniffed at the lace that Beomgyu wore around his neck, Yeonjun likes to think he still has some shred of decency and dignity buried somewhere he can't seem to be able to reach anymore.
So he discredits the idea of hooking up with someone quickly. He burns with the same shame he'd all but perished with nights prior when he realizes that Beomgyu’s pretty eyes are burnt much too brightly behind his eyelids to be able to even attempt looking at someone else, let alone get it up for them.
Yeonjun's nightmare continues and materializes properly on day eight of P.B.R (post-Beomgyu-revelation). It's one of his rare days off mid-comeback preparations. With how busy he's recently been getting, an amalgam of filming for variety shows, MC-ing, and trying not to keel over and flat-out die in the middle of dance practices, Yeonjun has been looking forward to this day for weeks. He's taken his cute gel pens and equally cute bullet journal and he’d written down all the things he'd like to do, like maybe finish the book he'd borrowed from Yunjin too many months ago to still feel embarrassed for not having read it yet, or go for a sneaky walk down by Han River and maybe buy himself a sweet treat.
Maybe, if he was ambitious enough, compile all three in one long overdue self-help date with himself.
He's in the middle of making his second cup of coffee of the day using Taehyun’s over-the-top espresso machine that he had acquired during the lockdown years prior and has been a constant source of secret joy in Yeonjun's life (even if he only uses it in the most bastardized way possible) when Beomgyu walks in.
Yeonjun all but forgets about the ten-second rule of expiring espresso shots.
In front of him, the scene unfolds at a dreadfully slow pace. Beomgyu tumbles through the door, flushed and sparkly-eyed, with makeup around his eyes that isn't usually there unless they have a schedule. He's dressed normally, though – a soft, cream sweater a few sizes too big for him with sleeves long enough to drape over his delicate hands and loose pants (Yeonjun’s so, so grateful Beomgyu has mostly given up on the terrible skinny jeans). Yet what makes Yeonjun stutter in his actions is the dainty piece of white lace that sits tight around Beomgyu’s slender neck.
Yeonjun pales.
While he knows that, realistically, there isn't any possible way for Beomgyu to sneak into his room and figure out the greatest source of Yeonjun’s shame lies right underneath his mountain of pillows, his heart still skips a beat. He clutches at the edge of the counter and watches as Beomgyu brings up his hand to push back a strand of hair that keeps slipping out of its messy arrangement.
“Hyung!” He cheers. Beomgyu is gleeful and beautiful, and more than anything else unsuspecting and Yeonjun is a terrible, terrible human being for wanting to absolutely destroy him.
Yeonjun chokes down on a sharp inhale, and snaps himself out of his reverie quick enough to save his espresso shots one second before Taehyun would make him throw them away. He turns his attention to the glass he'd perched on top of the granite island and grabs his coffee to pour it over the heavily iced water. There's condensation dripping on the sides that, somehow, makes Yeonjun feel less insane. If he focuses on the way each droplet rolls down his glass, maybe Beomgyu will disappear.
“Hyung!,” Beomgyu's voice is shrill. It's in that way of his, where he gets loud all of a sudden, despite how quiet he normally is.
So much for hoping he'll disappear.
“Morning, Gyu-yah,” Yeonjun's voice cracks on the last syllable. He cringes, cheeks flushing bright red, as he clears his throat. “How's it going?”
When Yeonjun chances a look at Beomgyu, the boy had moved three steps closer to him. The brightness of his eyes is dizzying. Up close he smells exactly like the lace did all those nights ago: flowery, sweet, so terribly Beomgyu. Yeonjun’s head spins and he can hear the way his blood rushes through his veins, right with the pulse in his temples.
“Nothing much! I have vocal lessons with Taehyunnie today, so I'm looking forward to it.” Beomgyu tells him. He reaches out to grab an empty cup, brushing his arm against Yeonjun’s.
Electricity zaps through him again.
Yeonjun clears his throat again. He takes a sip of his iced coffee. It's not bad, but it isn't good either. Maybe he did let those espresso shots expire.
“Your, uh –,” Yeonjun manages to make a vague motion toward the lace wrapped around Beomgyu's throat. Eloquent, he chides himself. Yet he doesn’t think he can find it in himself to say the word “ lace ” out loud. “What's with that?”
If Beomgyu can tell that Yeonjun’s flustered, he ' s kind enough not to say anything about it. Instead, he flashes him a pretty grin and instinctively raises his hand to fiddle with the fabric.
“Oh, this?” There's a rosy hue spreading all over Beomgyu's cheeks. Yeonjun all but doubles in pain. “With the comeback so soon, I felt like I had to get used to it, you know? For the performances, hyung.”
“Ah,” Yeonjun manages. Such eloquence again. “ I see.”
“My neck is very sensitive, you know?”
Yeonjun does know. He knows it very well. Throughout the years, he's tickled and touched Beomgyu (platonically) enough times to know what makes him squirm and squeak. He used to cherish knowing all that. Beomgyu teases him (all of them, really, but it's mostly him) relentlessly. It felt like an advantage. Yet now – now it feels like the biggest betrayal of all times. What had once seemed like a heavenly divine gift, feels more like a putrid, shameful evil omen.
Beomgyu leaves the room before Yeonjun gets to say another word, with a cheery smile on his face. His empty cup sits on the island right next to Yeonjun, like a bleak reminder of their encounter.
Yeonjun sighs. His heart has yet to calm its erratic beating. Thump after thump – it's almost as if it has a mind of its own.
“I'm so fucked,” he says again. It's almost a given.
He doesn't get anything done that day.
Instead, in the privacy of his room, he bookmarks every Beomgyu post he can find om Twitter.
—
It's night ten P.B.R that he finds himself holding onto the white fabric again in the secrecy of his own room. Beomgyu’s scent has all but faded from it, but a faint trace of it still manages to linger. Yeonjun’s not sure if it isn't just him dreaming about it.
Their almost kiss in the shower earlier that night had once again awakened something terrible inside him.
He’d been doing better at controlling himself.
After his numerous (read: he's tried two things) failed attempts at channeling his pent up desires into something else, Yeonjun had settled on the most natural course of actions: if he pretends the problem doesn't exist, then there isn't any problem at all. It wouldn't be the first time he'd died on this hill. Wooyoung likes to call it unhealthy-response-to-trauma. Yeonjun vehemently disagrees.
However, the gods have never been friendly enough to him and the odds are never in his favor. Yeonjun, twenty-four and a half years old, has long since made his peace with the knowledge that most things do not go according to plan. He likes to think, though, that eventually, things do work out according to whatever tapestry of the world has been woven.
But in discordance with the woven world tapestry, Choi Beomgyu likes to make everything somewhat difficult. He shows up to dance practice with the lace wrapped tightly around his neck, pulls at it when he gets too warm for it, and allows the heavy flush of exertion to creep down his neck under the plain black t-shirt he wears. It's almost as if he decided to make the lace everyone's problem. Even Kai – sweet, loving, baby Kai – has a staring problem.
It makes Yeonjun’s blood boil.
At the back of his head, he's distinctly aware that Kai has stepped out of the cubicle when asked if he'd date Beomgyu. It makes Yeonjun’s blood boil even warmer.
Then, after a second of seeing red, he reigns it in himself. It's not Kai's fault that Yeonjun has been mourning his time A.B.R ( ante-Beomgyu-revelation). And it's certainly not Kai's fault Yeonjun has seemingly lost his ability to control the rampant thoughts plaguing him. He's been in a perpetual state of somewhere in between terrifying dizzy spells and uncontrollable urges to grab Beomgyu and kiss him.
Maybe fuck him too.
When asked about it, Beomgyu answers the same way he'd answered Yeonjun. With the comeback so soon, I have to get used to the feeling of it. It's like a grim reminder to Yeonjun that he's weak to the little squeaks and shivers that come out of Beomgyu whenever touched. It's even more grim when he makes peace with knowing he'd be even more delighted if he were to get the chance to draw those sounds and shivers out of Beomgyu in the privacy of his room.
The day cannot seem to end. It drags on and on, and Yeonjun all but had to channel all energy inside his body to keep himself from hardening in his pants. It's exhausting. Especially when Beomgyu dances in Yeonjun’s direct eye-line, all flushed and sweaty, pupils dilated and red mouth parted.
By the time their dance practice comes to an end, Yeonjun is left in a confusing state of mild but persistent arousal and exhaustion.
He calls dibs on the shower first and no one dares challenge him. In hindsight, Yeonjun should've known the dead silence and lack of protests would be a concern especially when Beomgyu’s always been one to claim the first shower for himself, always talking about how awful it is to shower when the bathroom is moist. In hindsight, Yeonjun should have learned a long time ago that silence is always the calm before the storm. Yet he didn’t learn – never does, really. Every single time he lets himself slip into a blissful state of blind trust, he gets absolutely destroyed (read: the many times he’s walked through the door only for iced water to come pouring down on him and many other instances that he’d rather not reminisce). Yet, like the good older brother figure with the patience of a saint, he always gives them all the benefit of the doubt.
Which is why, five minutes after the hot water hits his sore skin, he regrets every choice he’s made that lead him to this situation. The shower curtain is pulled roughly, almost ripped off its hinges. His heart somersaults in his chest, and he jumps in place, hands desperately and instinctively coming to cover himself. He sees an ankle first. It’s a dainty little thing, pale from lack of sunlight, but delicate nonetheless. Them, it’s the smooth expanse of his seemingly endless legs. Slowly, as if to torture himself, Yeonjun’s eyes make their way up, drinking in the dip in the person’s hips, the small, tight waist, the rosy hue of their nipples. Finally, they lock eyes.
The lace is still wrapped around his neck.
Yeonjun all but combusts.
They’ve showered together countless times. Being idols with busy schedules that more often than not coincide means they’ve long since lost the decency of showering by themselves. Usually, it’s the firm rule of don’t look down and don’t stare. They never properly sat down to talk about it. It was mostly a given. So showering with Beomgyu isn’t new.
Showering with Beomgyu after realizing he may want to bend him over and do unspeakable things to him is, however, a novelty.
Showering with Beomgyu with the white fabric tight around his neck is something not even his sick brain could conjure.
With a gulp, Yeonjun turns around as quickly as he can. He thinks he’s tired enough to be unable to get hard, but he doesn’t trust himself much these days.
Not when you’d fucking sniffed at it.
He wills himself not to get hard, though.
“Hyung,” Beomgyu’s voice is breathy. His hands settle onto Yeonjun’s shoulders. Beomgyu’s touch is warm, burning him the longer he lingers. “Are you alright?”
Yeonjun’s eyes squeeze shut. He grabs his shampoo bottle, pouring a larger-than-usual amount of product in his hands before lathering it into his wet hair. He doesn’t know what to tell Beomgyu. On one hand, the realization eats away at him and it feels like it will never give him any peace. On the other hand, facing Beomgyu and telling him about it seems much too mortifying of an ordeal. Suddenly, it’s like he forgets how to speak. He continues to rub the shampoo into his hair, nails scratching at his scalp.
Yeonjun doesn’t even know what he’d tell Beomgyu. One awful thing about never acknowledging your feelings is that you never have the time (or intention) to process them. It would all make sense to him if he’d let himself understand it. But it’s terrifying.
“Hyung?” Beomgyu’s hands cover his. He pulls them away gingerly. “Can you turn around?”
Yeonjun does. It’s always been particularly hard to say no to Beomgyu. Even when they had been trainees, Yeonjun had loved him too much not to coddle him. It helped that Beomgyu had always looked at all four of them as if they were something much too precious.
“What's wrong?” he asks. His voice is gentle, and barely above a whisper. If they hadn't been a breath away, Yeonjun wouldn't have heard him over the splatter of the water against the shower tiles. He cups Yeonjun’s face into the palm of his hands. “And don't tell me nothing is. I've known you for too long, hyung. You've been skittish and jittery. It's worrying me.”
Yeonjun can almost see the way his own heart falls out of his chest, breaking in a thousand sharp shards at his feet, bloody and battered. Like this, Beomgyu looks small. He's less Choi Beomgyu the idol and more Choi Beomgyu, Yeonjun’s best friend. It hurts him to see Beomgyu like this, unsure and wide-eyed with concern. With the terrible thoughts he's been having about him, Yeonjun doesn't feel like he deserves his concern.
“Your – why are you wearing it now?”
Beomgyu blinks. Instinctively, he lets one hand drop from where it's been soothingly and unconsciously drawing circles into Yeonjun's skin to touch the wet fabric. He flushes bright red, all the way to his hair line, and bites his lip, averting his eyes.
Yeonjun’s heart skips a beat.
Beomgyu's always been too cute.
“I – I've been wearing it so much, I guess I forgot about it.” He whispers. Then his eyes narrow. He looks at Yeonjun intently despite the bright blush dusting his cheeks. “Don't change the subject, hyung.” He accuses. “What's wrong? Don't you trust me anymore?”
And oh, if Yeonjun’s heart hadn't broken before, it sure did then. Beomgyu looks smaller than ever as the steam around them engulfs him. He's beautiful with his dark hair matted to his forehead and his trembling hands. He's beautiful with the lace wrapped so tightly around his neck, moving fluidly along with him.
Before he knows it, Yeonjun leans in. This closely, Beomgyu smells sweet and flowery, just like his perfume. Just like the piece of lace shoved under Yeonjun’s pillow. His head spins. His skin burns. Heat spreads through Yeonjun’s entire body the closer he gets to Beomgyu, filling in every crevice of his body, burning him alive. His eyes flicker to Beomgyu’s lips as his tongue darts out to wet his own. It's unbearable warm inside the bathroom, steam settling everywhere around him, and his heart feels ready to jump out of his chest, but Yeonjun has never felt more alive.
Beomgyu's blush deepens as he lets out a soft sound that goes straight to Yeonjun's cock. His eyes flutter shut as he tilts his head to the side, almost as if patiently waiting.
And Yeonjun would have kissed him. He'd have taken his mouth to himself just so he could see what he tastes like and put an end to his misery. He'd been close enough to count every single one of Beomgyu’s fluttering lashes, and every small freckle littering the smooth expanse of his skin.
He'd almost won.
A loud bang on the door makes the both of them pull away startled. Yeonjun's heart beats wildly in his chest as he takes a step back, and then another one, until his back presses against the cold shower wall. Beomgyu looks equally spooked, his chest heaving with every stuttered breath he takes. He's flushed down to his tummy, but Yeonjun can't bring himself to linger anywhere near that, so he diligently remembers the original rule of don't look down and don’t stare.
It's much worse to look into Beomgyu’s eyes.
Another loud bang on the door startles them again.
“You're taking too long!” It's Soobin's voice. The words are muffled, but telling enough.
Quickly, Yeonjun turns around. He steps under the stream of water to rinse his hair and then turns around to draw the curtains back. Hydrating hair mask be damned. He can skip it one time. Just as quickly, he steps out of the shower, grabbing his towel.
He doesn't look back. If he looks back, he'd crumble.
He can't bear the repercussions.
So Yeonjun makes a mad dash out of the bathroom, half naked and still damp, slamming the door behind him. He almost runs into Soobin, avoiding the collision in the last possible second and drawing a high pitched squeak out of the man. By the time he makes it to his room he's more exhausted than he's ever been.
His heart has yet to cease its erratic beating.
Much to his embarrassment, the first thing Yeonjun does is dig under his pillow for the lace. He pulls it out as if it were an unmeasurable treasure, and cradles it gently in his hands. It's cold enough inside the room that his skin erupts in goosebumps, but he doesn't care enough. He propels down on the bed, hands already digging under his pillow for the bottle of lube he'd stashed under it. Uncapping it quickly, he wills for his hands to stop shaking. If he's gonna turn getting himself off to the faint scent of Beomgyu into a recurring thing, he's got to at least have the decency to own up to it.
Yeonjun raises the fabric to his nose. He inhales deeply, letting his eyes flutter shut. It barely holds onto the scent, but Yeonjun’s known Beomgyu for long enough to have it memorized and ingrained in him.
He wraps a hand around his cock. Yeonjun’s half hard, but he doesn't think it's gonna take him too long until he's throbbing. The image of Beomgyu flushed and wet in the shower, lace wrapped tightly around his beck is enough to fuel him for the rest of his life. The little gasps, the softness of his skin, the rosy hue of his nipples – they're all jumbled images that don't cease to play in his mind like the montage of a movie.
Beomgyu's always been particularly pretty. Even more so in the recent months. Yeonjun aches with it. He tugs at his cock once, pleasure pooling inside him like liquid fire. Every stroke draws a sharp inhale. The sweet, flowery smell envelops him whole, sinking inside his skin like scented oil.
He moans loudly – much too loud for a house with walls this thin, but he can't find it in himself to care. It spreads through him steadily: electric and buzzing with each movement he makes and every breath he draws in.
Like this, it's easy to picture Beomgyu underneath him, flushed and pliant, taking Yeonjun deep inside him. Beomgyu dishes out more than he can take – Yeonjun knows that.
Beomgyu is easy to rile up.
Loud, too.
His head hasn't stopped spinning.
It's another whine, the squelching sound of his hand as he strokes himself, then a deep inhale.
Sweet.
Like flowers.
It's night ten P.B.R. when it all comes crashing down on him, too.
The sound of his door slamming open is deafening. Yeonjun jumps in his skin. He sits up quickly, shoving the flimsy piece of lace away, thighs shaking with fading pleasure.
He doesn't have time to mourn his ruined orgasm.
In the door frame, Beomgyu breathes shallowly. His eyes are wide and unblinking as he takes in the scene in front of him. Slowly, bit by bit, his cheeks redden, mouth parting as if to speak. Before he can, Taehyun's voice filters through the house.
Yeonjun can feel himself flatline.
They're all going to see me like this. He laments, weakly. I was the cool hyung. They looked up to me.
As if coming alive, Beomgyu steps into the room and shuts the door loudly behind him. He presses himself against the hardwood, hand moving swiftly to the doorknob to lock it. The sound of it pierces Yeonjun’s ears. If his heart had been beating lovesick before, now it beats awaiting dread.
He licks at his lips. “Beom-”
“I thought you were mad at me.” Beomgyu interrupts. “You've been avoiding me for a week and a half, and I thought I did something to upset you.”
Yeonjun squeezes his eyes shut. He grabs his blanket, pulling it over himself. He doesn't need to look to know that the lace he'd stolen lays right there for Beomgyu to see.
“Beomgyu,” he says, softly. “I- I'm sorry.”
“Why are you sorry, hyung?”
He can hear Beomgyu's footsteps as he walks further into Yeonjun’s room, but he doesn't open his eyes. Instead, he brings his hands up, dragging them down his face, hiding. He's nowhere near well-equipped to be dealing with this.
“Why are you sorry, hyung?” He asks again. Yeonjun can feel the bed dip as Beomgyu sits down next to him. The younger boy stretches over him and pulls away immediately. “Because you made me feel like you were upset with me, or because you were getting off to this?”
Yeonjun squeaks. He shudders, tears gathering in his eyes. He's most definitely not equipped to deal with it. All it takes is for one tear to roll down his cheek, burning him, before everything breaks. Yeonjun lets out a sob, burying his hands in his hair. Tugging at his roots feels grounding, but it isn't enough to keep him from crying.
Arms wrap around him, pulling him in. Beomgyu is warm, and the soft sweater he's pulled over himself after their shower feels nice against Yeonjun’s cheek as Beomgyu pulls him close. His ear presses right over the middle of his chest, where Beomgyu's heart beats wildly.
“Don't – don't cry, hyung. Why are you crying?”
“I'm sorry,” Yeonjun repeats. “I didn't… I didn't mean for you to think I'm upset I just – it's – I'm so confused.”
Gently, like always, Beomgyu cradles Yeonjun's face in his hands. He tilts his head back, forcing Yeonjun to look him in the eyes. Instinctively, Yeonjun squeezes his eyes shut. He shudders against Beomgyu's body, shaking with every tear that manages to escape him.
Pathetic, Yeonjun thinks. I'm absolutely pathetic.
“Hyung, my Yeonjunnie - hyung,” Beomgyu's voice is airy when he coos at him. “Please look at me.” When Yeonjun shakes his head, he giggles. “No?” He giggles again. It's a sweet sound. “Please?”
Yeonjun has never been good at telling Beomgyu no. So he opens his eyes slowly. In front of him, pretty and unchanged, with cherry red cheeks and pupils blown out, Beomgyu beams at him.
“Hi,” Beomgyu giggles.
Yeonjun smiles, too. It's hard not to when Beomgyu’s so lovely.
“Can I kiss you, hyung?”
He nods. Yeonjun can't bring himself to speak. If Beomgyu kisses him – really kisses him – he's not entirely sure he'll survive it. It's a good way to go, though. Beomgyu's face as the last thing he'll see. He thinks he could die happy.
When Beomgyu leans in, his perfume envelops him entirely. Until he'd come to the realization of his feelings for Beomgyu, he'd appreciated the scent casually, like everyone does. However, since the day Beomgyu had walked in on the filming set dressed in a dark suit with lace wrapped tightly around his neck and waist and a glimmering metal piercing on the center of his bottom lip, the scent of his perfume had done nothing but awaken some deeply buried desire in Yeonjun. It's delicate and pretty enough that he can't help but want to devour him whole.
The first brush of their lips sets Yeonjun’s heart on fire. It runs through him head to toe, a wild chase to the finish line. He presses in deeper, hand finding purchase at the back of Beomgyu's head, tangling his fingers in between the strands. Kissing Beomgyu feels natural. It feels like he should've done it long ago. He presses in closer, digging his fingers tighter in Beomgyu's messy hair. The younger boy moans into him, mouth parting and fingers twitching where they're still holding Yeonjun’s face. It feels electric; every movement of Beomgyu's lips as Yeonjun deepens their kiss feels as if it isn't enough.
How could it ever be enough?
So Yeonjun pulls him closer by his nape until Beomgyu's more or less resting in Yeonjun’s lap and there's barely any space left between the two of them. Like this, Beomgyu is barely a centimeter taller than Yeonjun, yet he feels small in his arms nonetheless. He pulls him closer, still, until their chests touch.
Beomgyu moans.
Inside Yeonjun, at the very core of himself, he burns with the sound.
With a last harsh kiss to Beomgyu’s lips, Yeonjun pulls away. He tangles his fingers tighter into Beomgyu’s hair, pulling his head back. The lace around his neck is still somewhat damp from the shower, and cold, but it doesn't bother him. Instead, Yeonjun pulls it down with his free hand, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the heated skin.
“Hyung –,” Beomgyu gasps.
Yeonjun hums. His eyes flutter shut, teeth grazing the skin of Beomgyu's neck softly before biting. It earns him another choked gasp. As if possessed, Yeonjun sucks harder at the skin, worrying it between his teeth. He's lucky there are no live appearances yet. It's harder to conceal bruises when there's no editing involved.
“Hyung,” Beomgyu insists. His voice is breathy and shaky. His fingers dig into Yeonjun's shoulders, pulling him closer. “I – I like you, hyung,” He whispers.
Yeonjun all but collapses inward. He lets go of Beomgyu’s hair in order to wrap his arms around him and turn the both of them around until Beomgyu's settled underneath him. Inside his chest, Yeonjun barely feels like himself anymore. I like you hyung is a loud, repetitive sound that buzzes in his ears.
“Fuck –,” he whispers to himself.
Splayed out underneath him, Beomgyu is a vision. His dark hair is matted to his forehead and his eyes are rimmed-red, dark, and intense in that way of his when he's just a bit dizzy from how hard he's focusing. There's a glassy look to them, too, like he's overwhelmed. Yeonjun swallows dryly. Beomgyu’s mouth is red and slick with spit, puffy from when he'd kissed Yeonjun, and his cheeks are flushed.
He's all Yeonjun has ever wanted and yet so much more.
“Like you too, Gyu-yah,” Yeonjun finds himself muttering. “Like you so much.”
Beomgyu's eyes flutter shut. Underneath Yeonjun, he spreads his legs apart. Tentatively, one of his hands finds purchase at the hem of his sweater, pulling it up until he reveals his bare chest. He's rosy with embarrassment, but still so pretty. Yeonjun's mouth dries.
He bends down to press a soft kiss to Beomgyu’s chest, right above his heart. He can feel the unsteady way it beats, almost as if it has a mind of its own. Yeonjun doesn't mind it. He can't; not when his own heart is leaping inside his chest. Yeonjun presses another kiss, open-mouthed, and takes his nipple into his mouth, sucking softly. It rips a cry out Beomgyu, sweet and breathy, fingers digging into his scalp as he presses Yeonjun's head closer. Yeonjun grazes his teeth over the sensitive skin, kissing and sucking at it until Beomgyu’s legs clamped tightly around his waist, trapping him. The sharp sting around the roots of his hair with every involuntary tug has Yeonjun moaning into Beomgyu’s warm skin. Yeonjun moves onto the other nipple. With every bite, Beomgyu's hips cant up, rubbing their cocks together. It feels good against Yeonjun's bare skin, yet it's dry enough that he wants more.
He always wants more. It's impossible not to, when Beomgyu shudders so prettily against his sheets with every movement Yeonjun makes.
“Can I fuck you?” He finds himself asking. “Please? Let me – please.” He's never been so desperate before.
Beomgyu pulls Yeonjun's head out of his chest with a sharp tug of his hair. He presses their mouths together, wrapping his arms around his shoulders, drawing him in. He tastes good – sweet. Everything about Beomgyu is sweet.
Yeonjun’s hand finds purchase at Beomgyu’s thigh. He lifts his leg, wrapping it tightly around his waist, before rutting into him once. Pleasure booms behind his closed eyelids. With a stutter, he drops his forehead in the crook of Beomgyu's neck, nose pressed tightly right where he smells most like himself. Pressing a chaste kiss to his heated skin, the lace ticklish against Yeonjun's chin, he ruts his hips forward again.
Beomgyu moans loudly in his years. He wraps his leg tightly around Yeonjun's waist, nails digging into his scalp. He throws his free arm around Yeonjun’s neck, pulling him impossibly close until Yeonjun doesn't know where he begins and Beomgyu ends.
“Please,” he finds himself asking again. “You smell so good,” he whispers. “You're so pretty, too, please – just, fuck” he shudders. His hips have yet to stop moving. With every thrust, he can feel the way warmth spreads through him.
It's pathetic – to get worked up so easily. To be so desperate when you've been barely given a taste. Yet Yeonjun's had Beomgyu for a long time, just never close enough to feel his shallow breath on his lips. Certainly not close enough to kiss him and feel the wetness spread through Beomgyu’s underwear with every thrust of Yeonjun’s hips.
Yeonjun ruts harder into him. Every time, a high-pitched, wet whimper rolls out Beomgyu. It's music to Yeonjun's ears – the way Beomgyu's breath catches in his throat and the way he scrambles to find purchase at any bit of Yeonjun he can find. Beomgyu moves his hips, too – slow little thrusts that meet Yeonjun’s. The more time passes, the more desperate he seems to get too, moving his hips erratically and without any rhythm.
“Hyung,” he whines, “Yeonjun-hyung, I –”
Yeonjun pulls away from him just in time to see the way Beomgyu’s eyes roll to the back of his head and his red mouth parts, a high-pitched whine caught in his throat. Beomgyu throws his head back, white lace tighter than ever around his neck. His nails dig into Yeonjun's shoulder for a second, before he shakes one last time and goes lax.
Beomgyu's eyes flutter shut for a bit, fingers twitching over Yeonjun’s skin, before he opens them again, heavy-lidded. A soft, shy smile ghosts over his lips, before he moves to wrap a hand around Yeonjun's cock.
His touch is electric. Yeonjun shakes above him, eyes squeezed shut. Yet Beomgyu doesn't move his hand. He holds it around Yeonjun’s cock, and pushes at his lower back with his heel, urging him to move.
Yeonjun groans, burying his face back into Beomgyu's neck.
“Fuck,” He exhales, hips moving in the circle formed by Beomgyu’s fingers. He's relentless. There's pressure at the base of his spine, heat licking at his bones. “I'm gonna – Beomgyu. Fuck, fuck. You're unreal”
It takes two shallow thrusts for him to cum. It splatters over Beomgyu's abdomen, pearly white over the flushed skin. Yeonjun twitches. He can barely feel his legs.
When he deems himself stable enough to stand up, he wordlessly grabs the packet of wet wipes from inside his nightstand, cleaning the two of them up. He discards Beomgyu’s underwear into his hamper and tugs the sweater off before giving him a change of clothes from his wardrobe.
By the time he's done disposing of everything, Beomgyu's snuggled underneath his blanket. His neck is bare of the lace, having discarded it on Yeonjun’s nightstand right next to the one he had stolen from the set.
He settles next to Beomgyu. The younger boy looks halfway asleep. The rosy hue is still present on the apples of his cheeks, but he looks sated, a small smile tugging at his lips.
“You mean it, hyung?” He whispers.
Yeonjun stops breathing. “Mean what?”
“That you like me, too?”
He can feel himself smile too. There's a certain gentle, unfurling feeling inside his chest. It's fuzzy at the edges, and he can't quite put a finger on it, but Yeonjun deems it close to being in love. He's not sure he's allowed to say that to Beomgyu yet.
“Yeah, Gyu. Hyung likes you, too.”
Beomgyu hums, but doesn't reply anymore. He settles better on the pillow, shoving an arm underneath. Their legs intertwine under the covers.
Right before he's about to fall asleep, Beomgyu speaks again.
“I knew about the lace you were hiding, by the way,” Beomgyu whispers as if it's a grand revelation. “I saw you take it right before we left for the day. I got to the van thirty seconds before you.”
Yeonjun’s eyes snap open. He's suddenly wide awake. He looks towards Beomgyu, only to find him peacefully asleep.
He lets out a pitiful groan.