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The thing is that Choi Yeonjun is usually prepared for most things. Sure, he's still caught off guard at times – he's only human, after all, and fourth gen it-boy comes with many perks, but not with invincibility. He's been doing well, truly, and he manages most things with the dignity of a trained idol with years of experience (even if sometimes he still feels like he debuted mere minutes ago and not five years and more) .
However, this – this was just something else.
Being an idol doesn't come with a manual on “how to manage experiencing the latent (and recently awakened) desire to fuck your dongsaeng” or, more accurately, “how to manage wanting to absolutely ruin choi beomgyu 101”. If it did, he thinks he wouldn't have experienced the five stages of grief over and over again in the span of thirty agonizing seconds.
It started out simple: they had their fittings on different days because everyone had fittings and they were all busy enough that sometimes their schedules did not line up. So Yeonjun knew two facts: he, himself, would be dressed in a denim racer jacket and they'd put a fake eyebrow piercing on his face, while Soobin would get one of those t-shirts they loved to wear during their Lovesick tour. Yeonjun is a curious person, but not nearly curious enough to go hunt down the rest of the members and ask them about it. Plus, their schedules hadn’t aligned. Beomgyu was busy rehearsing, Soobin was out enjoying his break with his middle school friends, Taehyun and Kai knocked out most of the time. It was fine. It was expected. Yeonjun was prepared for that, too. They’d had busy weeks [read: year(s)] and they were tired of everything: touring, dancing, meeting people and running places, and, as usual, although softly and irrelevant, tired of each other, too.
So they’d all split to do their own thing; fittings for the con included.
As soon as he sees him, Yeonjun gets dizzy. It’s been getting warmer in Seoul lately, the heat and humidity sweltering, even, so he doesn’t think much of it at first. Sure, Beomgyu’s dressed all prettily; he always is. He’s pretty. It’s common knowledge, Yeonjun knows. But it’s the mesh clinging to his arms that irks him badly enough that he has to take a sharp breath. Spots cloud his vision, dark and swimming in front of his eyes, like he’s not oxygenated enough.
It’s warm, is what he tells himself. Hope MOAs are okay out there, as he looks away from Beomgyu.
Suddenly – he can breathe again, like that weight inside his lungs is gone. Except Beomgyu steps in his direct eyesight again, and Yeonjun’s hit with yet another dizzy spell. Sweat beads at his nape, underneath the heavy collar of his denim jacket. Beomgyu flashes him a dazzling smile; it’s one of those Beomgyu smiles, that he only reserves for the people he cares for. The gentle, genuine ones, where his lips curl so cutely, and there’s that dimple in his cheek, and his eyes are bright again, like they’ll never dim no matter what any of them would do and Yeonjun’s insane. He shrugs of his jacket halfway,
“Hyung?” Beomgyu’s voice is gentle. He reaches out to touch Yeonjun’s shoulders, warm fingers grazing the skin. Yeonjun feels as if he’s on fire. “You’re red.” He says. The fingers squeeze at Yeonjun’s arms and his heart does that thing where it squeezes so hard he feels like he’ll pass out. “Are you coming down with something?” Then, wide-eyed and flushed, like he's too stressed, “do you need something?”
You, I need you, Yeonjun’s mind supplies. It's in this sick, whispered tone, and he flinches when he registers his thoughts entirely.
Yeonjun pulls away as if burnt. His skin is on fire and his heart won't stop beating rapidly in his chest, like it wants out. Yet Beomgyu is nothing but patient. Despite that bratty attitude he displays to the camera, Beomgyu is somewhat of a saint. Most nights at the dorm he's holed up in his room, quiet as he reads or plays games or strums his guitar. Most things Beomgyu does are done quietly in that delicate way of his, like he's too scared of jostling something too harshly. Like he can't bear the idea of it at all.
“I – uh,” It feels like his throat is closing up. Maybe I'm having an allergic reaction, he thinks, but then it's a quick mental scan over what he'd consumed that day (read: two iced-americanos back to back, ice chewed and all that, and a chamomile tea immediately after because he felt his pulse quicken in that very telling way) and he comes up with nothing.
Still – he can't stop staring: the t-shirt swallows Beomgyu entirely, but that isn't new. The boy has never been fond of tight clothing and all his sweaters had a tendency to go past his fingertips in that cute way where it'd make him look incredibly tiny. In winter, Yeonjun always feels lightheaded. Now – now that he looks at Beomgyu and feels just as lightheaded, he thinks he understands.
What is new is the mesh top underneath, a little loose but still somehow curving around his arms delicately as if made to torture Yeonjun and no other reason at all. He hates it, for a second, and then his heart skips another beat and he's up on his feet in a second, cheeks on fire.
“I'm okay –” he hurries to say, but Beomgyu's eyebrow is raised as if to mock him. “I'm okay,” Yeonjun insists. “I'm just… nervous. Yeah. MC-ing and all that. I have to introduce sunbaenim. ”
Beomgyu gives him a strange look. Yeonjun understands. It's a pathetic excuse and he wouldn't believe it either.
Still, sweet and gentle like he always is, Beomgyu flashes him another one of his pretty grins, dizzying and charming. “You were the MC at Inkigayo for a long time, hyung. You'll do well! Fighting!”
Then, as if the world turns against him, Beomgyu giggles. It's a sweet sound that rings loudly in the room and it makes Yeonjun’s heart skip a beat. He doesn't do anything anymore. Can't do anything anymore. Beomgyu reaches out to grasp at Yeonjun’s jacket, pulling it back on his shoulders carefully. With that, seemingly satisfied, he tugs at the mesh on his arms and turns around on his heel, cherry cheeked and bright, bleary eyed.
From the corner of his eye, he sees Soobin laugh at him.
Yeonjun burns with shame.
—
Like most things he's mastered throughout his life, dissociation comes easy. If he doesn't think about Beomgyu's outfit, then it isn't happening. Plain and simple, a recipe for success.
Yeonjun loves winning. (He never wins)
Yet it's Blue Hour and he has to look Beomgyu in the eye and hold his hand. The fabric of his mesh top touches his fingers, and his skin heats up again, dangerously so, and it feels like he's set ablaze. Beomgyu's eyes are bright and the shimmer on his lids catches every flicker of the spotlights. It's like Yeonjun’s got tunnel vision. His stomach swoops and then he's free-falling, with Beomgyu's eyes locked on him, round and sparkly and pretty. His heart lodges in his throat like a lump and he can't seem to be able to swallow anymore.
Still, he powers through.
The con is an amalgam of bright lights and loud noise and sparkling eyes made to torture him, and at the end of it he doesn't really know what to do with himself. His jacket hangs low on his shoulders, and Beomgyu won't stop looking at him, fingers twitching at his side like he wants to reach out. Yeonjun wishes he would. He did it in the US too, on tour, and Yeonjun had felt himself tremble at his gesture, but even then he'd attributed it to anything else but Beomgyu.
It's not that he isn't aware of him or his whereabouts. Beomgyu is beautiful. He's talented, too, and his voice is deep and soothing. Yeonjun knows other people want him. He sees it backstage when Heeseung wraps an arm around him and praises him, and had seen it too, when Jeongin wouldn't take his eyes off of Beomgyu's lips at the 2023 SBS Gayo Daejeon. It's this inherent awareness that Yeonjun wishes he didn't possess, because now, looking at Beomgyu in his pretty outfit, with Heeseung's fingers digging into the meat of his shoulder, Yeonjun feels like throwing up.
Other men want him, too, he laments, weakly.
With that newly acquired knowledge, Yeonjun sets out on a mission. He walks at a furious pace to catch up with them, and wraps an arm around Heeseung, too, right after dropping his jacket low on his arms, letting it bunch around at his elbows. He's been working out lately. Yeonjun doesn't really know what compelled him to, but he ran to the gym once Beomgyu's Workout ZZANG aired (back then he told himself it was because he couldn't let his dongsaeng get beefier than him, but now, with these poisonous thoughts about Beomgyu seeping into his brain, he thinks there may have been another (undiscovered) reasoning behind him begging Taehyun to go work out with him) and now he's grateful for it.
Heeseung jumps in his skin. His arm drops from Beomgyu as he turns to look at Yeonjun and Yeonjun counts it as a small victory.
He loves to win.
Truly.
“Yeonjun-hyung!” Heeseung's eyes are wide, and there’s a faint blush blooming on his cheeks.
Yeonjun drops his arm. He takes a step back, heart beating madly in his chest. Beomgyu's looking at him like he's lost his mind, but he doesn't care. Other men want him, too . Yeonjun cannot have that.
The thing about Choi Yeonjun is that when he wants something it becomes some sort of fixation. He's never been casual a damn day in his life and he takes that and applies it to everything he does, be it choreo or hitting some note or passing whatever level of Candy Crush he's managed to get to (he's currently on level 10417). Naturally it applies to this situation, too.
So he does what he knows best. A little smoldering look, dropping his jacket a little lower, flexing the muscles in his arms. MOAs love that. Heeseung has to fall for it, too.
Except Heeseung doesn't get to do anything before Beomgyu's side stepping them and reaching out to tug Yeonjun’s jacket back on like he did at the tour stop in the US and like he can't seem to stop doing. There's a faint blush blooming on his cheeks, dusting the tips of his small ears, too, and Yeonjun all bust combusts at the sight of it.
“You can say all that and do all that with your jacket on, hyung,” is what Beomgyu mutters under his breath. Then, he turns to Heeseung again, fingers still curled in the fabric of his jacket, holding on for dear life. “It was nice seeing you, Heeseung-ah.”
“You, too, Gyu.” Heeseung mumbles, but his eyes haven't left Beomgyu's form once. “You did great today. Looked very pretty,” he adds.
Yeonjun all but convulses, right then and there, itching under his skin to just do something. He doesn’t do anything, though. If there is one thing he still has, lowkey, it's his Virgo pride (and fixations). Instead, he walks with Beomgyu further backstage, where no one can really reach them, and then turns to him once they're alone, heart in his throat, ready to spill over in saturated colors.
Except now that they're alone, door to the random dressing room locked, and the mesh shirt is still on as if to torture him, and Beomgyu’s eyes seem to only get brighter and prettier, Yeonjun feels like he's walked himself into a trap. How do you tell your best friend of way too many years, your dongsaeng, that you want to fuck him? More than that, how do you tell him that the sight of other men wanting to do the same is so repulsive it makes you sick. Yeonjun is not homophobic. He simply realized, in the few hours that have passed since they got ready for their performance, that he's against all men having even an inkling of a crush on Beomgyu.
It's just not how the world should work.
“Why–” his voice cracks. Shame fills him from head to toe when he sees Beomgyu eyes widening and that lovely little smile tugging at his lips. Yeonjun clears his throat, and tries again: “Why do you keep pulling my jacket back up?”
It's not what he wanted to say at all. What he means, deep down inside him, is do you like me, too? Is there a chance you're jealous, too? But he's never been the bravest. Sure, he likes a challenge, and he never backs down once he starts, but Beomgyu is different. Beomgyu is delicate and a romantic at heart and he dreams with his eyes wide open and cherry red cheeks and Yeonjun has always held that knowledge close to his heart, like it's something precious. Because it is. And wanting to fuck Beomgyu has nothing to do with that. However, wanting to hold Beomgyu’s hand and kiss him until they're both dizzy and gasping with air, and to crawl into his bed at the end of a long, tiring day, has everything to do with it. Latent or not, now that he really thinks about it, Beomgyu has settled into his heart long time ago, when he was all round and soft and clumsy features he had yet to grow into, and when Yeonjun had been tasked with caring for him in a way that was special.
Beomgyu's blush deepens. He reaches out to smooth a wrinkle in Yeonjun’s jacket even if the fabric doesn't allow for wrinkles. Beomgyu lingers a little, his pink tongue darting out to lick at his lips before his lashes flutter and he offers a pretty, shy smile to Yeonjun.
“Others can see it, too, hyung.” He says, like it's the most natural answer in the world. Yeonjun supposes it is, because most things Beomgyu says are correct. But still, it makes his heart flutter in his chest, sickening pleasure and pride gooey in his veins like liquid fire.
“And that's bad?”
Beomgyu hums. It's nonchalant, like he's not making Yeonjun shake in front of him. “Yes.” He answers.
“Why?”
Then, Beomgyu's hands dip under his jacket and flatten on top of his tanktop. He's warm to the touch, enough that Yeonjun can feel it burn his skin through the fabric. Beomgyu's hands settle over his chest, just shy of where his heart is. Yeonjun thinks it's for the better. His heart has been rushing madly in his chest, thump thump thump, like it has places to go, and he doesn't think he can take Beomgyu knowing about it.
“Others can see that, too” he repeats. He smiles all serenely, big round eyes and curled, doll-like lashes, and curls his fingers over Yeonjun's chest, nails digging in. “They shouldn't.”
“Oh” is all he says. And then, his mind goes oh? “ Can I kiss you?” Yeonjun asks.
Now that it's out there, the desperation unfurls inside him all at once. All those years of pent-up feelings resurfacing like a whirlwind: when they were trainees, and Beomgyu had that softness and warmth to him like dough, malleable and easy to hold, when Beomgyu first let his hair grow out and Yeonjun had gotten so angry at it he couldn't stopped pulling on the ends and then when he cut it and dyed it red to match the blush on his cheeks and Yeonjun both mourned the lenght and couldn't keep still around him, and, most importantly, every single moment where it had been just the two of them and Yeonjun wished, somewhere deep inside him, that the world would come to a halt for just five minutes more so they'd never part.
“Please,” he finds himself saying, when Beomgyu only stares at him, dark red hue on his cheeks and lashes fluttering with every slow blink. “Please, please,” he whispers. It's broken and wet, and his eyes sting like he'll burst into tears at that very moment. Yeonjun supposes it's not far from the truth. “Just once,” he adds, “it doesn't– it doesn't have to change anything, or – or mean anything.” When Beomgyu doesn't say anything still, he continues at a rapid pace, like he's running out of time. “Please, Gyu-yah, you're so pretty and I – I just want to kiss you.”
Before he knows it, Beomgyu’s lips are on his own. They're dry and a little chapped, and taste like that cherry balm he loves to use, but nothing really matters to Yeonjun anymore. What matters is that Beomgyu is kissing him and he feels as if he's on fire. He lowers himself just a little, arms wrapping around Beomgyu’s waist, and tilts his head to the side to deepen the kiss. From there it feels easy but complicated at the same time.
Yeonjun has kissed many people before. He loves it, craves it, even, sometimes more than having sex. He likes the intimacy of it. Kissing isn't hard. However, kissing Beomgyu is an entirely different thing.
Still, he can't disappoint him. Not when other men want him, too. So Yeonjun licks into his mouth and pulls him closer and closer until there’s barely any space left between them. He feels as if he's set ablaze. Beomgyu fits in his arms like he was made for it, tiny and big all at the same time, and he feels soft enough that Yeonjun can't help but melt under his touch as he feels Beomgyu's fingers curl into his hair, nails grazing at his nape. He shudders and sighs into his mouth, and kisses him harder in hopes that it will stick.
Right then and there, with Beomgyu caged in his arms in some dimly lit, slightly grimy dressing room, Yeonjun thinks that there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. All consuming thoughts come to a halt, all insecurities, all hardships – everything and anything stops. There’s Beomgyu in front of him, with his pretty eyes and soft skin, smelling sweet like he always does, melting into Yeonjun the deeper he kisses him.
“Beomgyu,” Yeonjun mutters. Fire in his veins, fire in his heart, fire in his lungs. Beomgyu, Beomgyu, Beomgyu. There’s nowhere else he’d rather be, truly. Tears sting at his eyes again, and he squeezes them shut so maybe none of his feelings can spill over. He doesn’t think he can take crying in front of Beomgyu; he’s already begged for a kiss and fumbled so pathetically in front of him. “Gyu,” he pulls away. “Can I –,” he stops.
Kissed dizzy and flushed red, Beomgyu is even more beautiful. His mouth is dark red and slick with spit and there’s that dazed, faraway look in his eyes as he blinks slowly, like he doesn’t really know what happened. He’s more beautiful than he’s ever been, all warm in Yeonjun’s arms, and soft to the touch like quicksand.
“Hyung?” His blush deepens. Then, he presses another kiss to Yeonjun’s lips, open mouthed and wet, and digs his nails into his nape. It’s the same fire bubbling again, in his veins, in his lungs, in his heart, smoldering. “Yeonjun-hyung,” the words are sighed out in his mouth, and Yeonjun’s body feels as if electrocuted. Suddenly, it’s no longer about kissing Beomgyu and holding him close. Suddenly, it’s about making him cry and seeing him cum.
“Can I fuck you?” The words feel like a rushed breath when they tumble out of him clumsily. “Please,” he adds because it feels like he has to, because Beomgyu deserves to be begged for. He deserves to be cried for.
Beomgyu giggles. Sweet sound that rings in the silence of the room, almost as if to mock Yeonjun. “You're so –” he starts, but he giggles again, eyes crinkled at the corners. “You're so cute, hyung. Are you really going to cry?”
Virgo pride out the door, he'll do anything for him. “Please.” Yeonjun repeats. The tears are back, and this time he doesn't stop them. He crowds Beomgyu into the wall, fingers digging into his waist. It's so small, I could wrap my hands around it, he thinks. Then, with that thought branded into his brain, he's on fire all over again.
Beomgyu steals another kiss from him, sweetly, like he isn't in any rush. Like they're not holed up in some distant dressing room and like the protocol team is not going to send out a search party for them soon. Like they have all the time in the world, just him and Beomgyu, in that blissful bubble of theirs where nothing can reach them.
“You can, hyung,” he says. It's solemn, like he's trusting him with the whole world. Yeonjun agrees with it. “Let me just –” he pushes at Yeonjun’s chest until he takes a step back, hands dropping from around his waist. Yeonjun doesn't have time to mourn it because immediately after Beomgyu gets rid of his shirt and it's just the fish-net mesh top and his small, tight waist and oh god are his nipples pierced? Yeonjun sees dark spots, dizzy and his vision blurs. He doesn't know if it's from the tears.
Stupidly, like he's forgotten all words, he gapes. Then, his mouth falls open and it's a simple moaned oh. Beomgyu laughs.
“When did –” Yeonjun shakes his head as if to clear his mind. He swallows. “When did you get them?”
“A while ago? I thought I told you?”
“No– no , I would've remembered that.” He says.
I would've died, he thinks, there's no way I would've forgotten that because I would have simply passed away .
Beomgyu laughs again.
Foreign but still so familiar fingers wipe at the corner of his mouth and, oh, he's drooling a little. Yeonjun burns with shame greater than himself. He figured he'd get through this with at least a bit of his pride intact, yet now, with Beomgyu touching so gently but with such amusement, like there's no greater joy in the world than to see Yeonjun combust so shamefully in front of him, he figure it's alright to give it up entirely.
Beomgyu coos. “You're really so cute, hyung.”
Then, he kisses him again, open mouthed and wet, like he wants Yeonjun to fall apart. He lets himself fall back into the wall, and drags Yeonjun with him, until they're chest to chest, pressed tightly enough that he can barely breathe anymore. Impatient fingers push at Yeonjun’s jacket until it falls on the ground at their feet, and then Beomgyu shoves his hands under his top, cold and unforgiving, pressing them against the warm skin of Yeonjun’s tummy. He shivers, a breathy moan sighed into Beomgyu’s mouth and then the tears return tenfold when Beomgyu whimpers so prettily in the quiet room.
“You're so pretty, Gyu,” Yeonjun whispers. He wraps his hands around Beomgyu’s waist again tightly and dips his tongue into his mouth, licking into it. He's sweet to the taste, and, more importantly, it feels like he's Yeonjun's, even if it's just for a brief, stolen moment in some dressing room, away from all the prying eyes and expectations. “So, so pretty.”
“Yeah?”
Yeonjun steals another kiss. He lingers, for a second, and then he pulls away, chest heaving. “Yes. Always.”
Beomgyu blushes. For all the brave, teasing facade he’s been putting on, his doubts always seem to crack through, even if for a simple, short glimpse. “I didn’t … I didn’t know you thought of me like this,” he says, and his voice is so small, so meek, like he can’t believe Yeonjun at all.
If he really thinks about it, Yeonjun can’t really say that he has looked at Beomgyu like this. At least not consciously, but Yeonjun has always been good at not acknowledging possibly life altering things. If he digs deep inside him, reaches inside himself with clumsy hands, he knows that he’ll find Beomgyu there, in all the shapes he’s seen him over the years, from when he’d first shown up on the muddy, grimy stairs of BigHit, when he’d cried the first time in his arms, when he’d twisted his ankle on stage, when he’d fallen sick on tour, when he’d laughed so bubbly and brightly, like there’s nothing to upset him in this world. If he reaches inside, he knows that warmth in the pit of his stomach comes shaped like him, all round eyes and flushed cheeks and delicate fingers.
“Always,” Yeonjun insists, “my Gyu-yah.” He presses his mouth to his again, like he can’t get enough. “Always.”
Beomgyu moans into his mouth again, fingers curling into the waistband of his pants. He pops the button open, tugs at the zipper, and shoves a hand down his boxers. He’s still cold, but his touch feels charged. Beomgyu wraps his fingers around Yeonjun’s cock and sighs.
“You’re big,” he says. “Knew you’d be, but that’s –” he drags his hand up. It’s dry, but Yeonjun feels as if he’s set on fire, right from the top of his head to his toes, languid flames licking away at him. “Can't wait to have you inside me,” Beomgyu ads. “Gonna feel so good.”
Yeonjun’s brain stops working. He doesn't know where Beomgyu has learned to speak like this. Doesn't want to know. Suddenly, Heeseung's face appears in front of his eyes, like a vicious, all too vivid of a nightmare, and then Jeongin, and Lim Jimin and all those men on Beomgyu's variety show, and Yeonjun wants to cry again. He doesn't, though. Other men can want him, but Yeonjun has him right then and there and he'll be damned if he doesn't make sure no other man will ever want him again.
He kisses Beomgyu again, hard and unforgiving, and works on unfastening his pants as well, pushing them down over his ass. Then, he wraps a hand around his cock, too, and bends lower to take one of his nipples into his mouth, teeth grazing over the metal peeing through the mesh. He sinks them into the skin, lightly so as not to hurt him, but hard enough to have Beomgyu tremble under his touch. It earns him a whine, and a stutted fuck, hyung, in that wet, low voice of his like when he's tired and slurring his words, satoori dripping from his tongue.
“I - ah, there's a packet of lube in my pants, hyung. And a condom”, Beomgyu says. He's long since given up on stroking Yeonjun’s cock. Instead, his red mouth falls open, breathy moans rumbling in his chest.
Yeonjun lets go of him, bending down to fish out the lube. It's a small packet, but it should be enough to open him up and then some. He turns Beomgyu around, hands pressing into the small of his back until he'd bent over just right. For a second, Yeonjun’s selfish. He drinks the sight in: the curve of his spine, the small of his waist, the flare of his hips and the soft skin of his ass. Then, he rips at the packet, and drizzles a bit on his fingers, before sliding his finger over Beomgyu’s rim. He's tight and pretty everywhere, and when Yeonjun hears the small, pleased sigh, he dips one finger in.
It's like heaven.
Beomgyu runs just as hot on the inside as he does on the outside, and he's tight enough to make Yeonjun’s head spin and for all the remaining blood in his body to rush south. Then, it's a second finger when Beomgyu urges him to, and then a third, and Beomgyu’s shaking in his arms, knees trembling, and Yeonjun doesn’t think he's faring any better. Not when the boy of his dreams is gasping and moaning his name, all choked out and wet.
“I'm okay, hyung,” he says, “I'm ready. You can —” another moan that settles in the pit of Yeonjun's stomach. “You can fuck me, now, I promise.” And he sounds so earnest, like he trusts that Yeonjun wouldn't hurt him at all. It makes Yeonjun tear up again as he fumbles with the condom until he manages to rip the foil enough to fish it out. He rolls it down his cock, giving himself a couple strokes, fire in his tummy, bubbling brightly.
He dribbles the rest of the lube on it, flattening the shiny packet with his clumsy fingers until there's nothing left in it. Then, he pushes the head in. It's like something explodes inside him. Weak in the knees and teary eyed, Yeonjun starts pushing in, as slowly as he can so he doesn't jostle Beomgyu at all. Still, it's like he's in the middle of a Herculean task. Beomgyu feels just right around his cock, tight and warm and wet from the lube. Yeonjun thinks he could die like this.
When he bottoms out, he sees spots again. He’s dizzy, and his knees tremble as he bends over Beomgyu just enough to press his mouth to the skin of Beomgyu’s shoulder. Tears gather in his lash line again as he begins moving his hips. Yeonjun pulls out almost all the way, and then pushes back in, harshly. He moans into Beomgyu’s skin, teeth sinking into it. It’s not deep enough to leave a mark, even though he desperately wants to. Yeonjun pulls out again, and the thrusts into him just as hard. Little by little, working the both of them into a quick orgasm.
Still – it feels incomplete. “I want to see your face, Gyu-yah” he whines, wet and with tears rolling down his cheeks. “I want to see your face so badly, I’ll die if I don’t, Beomgyu, please. ” he says into Beomgyu’s skin.
Beomgyu laughs. “Later, hyung. You can – ah, ” he stops when Yeonju thrusts into him again, fingers curling around Beomgyu’s cock. “You can fuck me like that later, back home.”
It earns another whine out of Yeonjun, but he complies. Beomgyu’s words sound like a promise. He fucks into him again, breathing in his sweet, flowery perfume until he’s dizzy with it. Yeonjun tugs at his cock.
“M’so close,” Yeonjun cries into Beomgyu’s neck. He presses another kiss to the heated skin, and curls his fingers tighter. There’s pressure building behind his eyes and in the pit of his stomach, white and hot, like he’ll explode at any given moment. “So close, Gyu-yah, I –,”
“You can cum, hyung,” Beomgyu whispers. He sounds just as winded as Yeonjun feels, and, not for the first time, he wants to see Beomgyu’s face. He wants to see the blush on his cheeks, the red slickness of his pretty mouth. Wants to kiss him like he did moments prior. But this is good, too, even if it’s momentary. Beomgyu had said later, so Yeonjun will give him what he wants now and he’ll take for himself what he craves most then, when Beomgyu will lay underneath him in his bed, smelling of himself, and Yeonjun will get to look at his pretty face when he cums.
Yeonjun moans. It’s in the hollow part of Beomgyu’s neck, with his thighs trembling. “You feel so good,” he says.
And he does. Beomgyu feels like he’s his, like there’s no place else Yeonjun would rather be but buried inside Beomgyu, his nose in his nape. But then – then it’s the images of other things they could do; like go for a walk and hold hands, and share portions of food with more intent than before, and have Beomgyu drowning in his clothes, cuddled up in his bed in that quiet way of his, or make Spotify playlists for each other. He tears up again, speeding his movements. He thrusts into Beomgyu one more time before he cums, frantically tugging at Beomgyu’s cock, too. It earns him a low pitched moan, deeper than before. Beomgyu clenches around him, cum dribbling down Yeonjun’s fingers. He gives a couple more thrusts until he’s shaking above Beomgyu, and Beomgyu’s whining, overstimulated.
“Fuck,” is all he can manage to say. He feels like he's liquefied, barely able to hold himself up anymore.
“Fuck, indeed,” Beomgyu sighs.
Reluctantly, he pulls out with a wince, taking the condom off. He ties it, dropping it by their feet to throw out on their way out. The sight of it brings a fresh wave of tears to his eyes. They spill past his lash line, rolling down his cheek, scorching marks in his cheeks.
Alarmed, Beomgyu turns to face him. “Jjunie-ah,” he calls. When Yeonjun doesn't answer, he cups his face in his hands. “What's wrong, hyung?”
Another sob rips itself from the depth of his chest. “You had lube on you,” he says.
Beomgyu tugs Yeonjun closer to his body. “What?”
“You fuck other men.” He laments. Yeonjun wants to perish all together when it does earn him a stifled giggle as delicate fingers thread through his hair.
“You're so cute, hyung, I think I'll keep you forever if you'll let me.”
Yeonjun cries harder.
Later on, Beomgyu kisses him all dizzy and keeps his promise.
(Forever)