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They’re in Seungmin’s room, backs against the wall, a movie on Seungmin’s laptop playing mostly as background noise. Jeongin’s in an oversized hoodie and sweats, legs spread lazily over the duvet. Seungmin’s half-slumped against his side, arms folded, sipping from a can of something fizzy.
“Hey,” Seungmin blurts out of nowhere. “Bite me.”
Jeongin chokes on his own spit. “What?”
Seungmin doesn’t look away from the laptop. If he looks, he might take it back. “I want you to bite me.”
There’s a beat of silence.
Then he feels Jeongin’s stare on the side of his face. Slowly, Seungmin drags his eyes up from the screen.
Jeongin’s watching him like he’s not sure if this is a bit or a confession. “Like, sexually?”
Seungmin looks up and stares at him for a second, raising one eyebrow. "Seriously?"
Jeongin laughs once, short and disbelieving. It dies quickly when he realizes Seungmin isn’t joking.
“Seungmin,” he begins carefully, like he’s talking someone off a ledge, “you want me to use the teeth. Like really use them.”
Seungmin rolls his eyes and finally turns his body fully toward him. “I’m not asking you to rip my arm off. I’m not that weird.”
Jeongin’s gaze flicks over his face, searching. His mouth presses into a line. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You already hurt me,” Seungmin points out. “A little. In a good way. I want more of that.”
It feels embarrassingly honest, said out loud like this, but Jeongin’s the one person he trusts not to turn it into a joke he can’t control.
Jeongin’s eyebrows lift, and this time he doesn’t bother hiding how interested he is. “You’re a bit of a masochist, huh?”
“A bit,” Seungmin admits. He can feel his ears warming, but he keeps his tone flat. “I like it when you’re mean. When you say shit you probably shouldn’t. When you hold me down.” He hesitates, then shrugs, like it’s not a big deal. “I think I want you to be more.”
“More mean?” Jeongin asks.
“More you,” Seungmin corrects. “You’re holding back. I can feel it. You keep acting like I’ll break. I won’t.”
He’s not blind. He’s felt the brakes every time Jeongin’s hands tighten and then loosen, every bitten-off word. Jeongin’s careful in bed in a way that feels kind but also infuriating.
Jeongin’s jaw works. His fingers flex against his own knee, clench, unclench.
Seungmin can almost see the argument happening behind his eyes, the part of him that wants to snap and the part that’s too fucking considerate.
“I’m telling you because I trust you,” Seungmin adds, quieter. “If I say stop, I know you’ll stop. I know you.”
Jeongin swallows. The muscles in his throat jump. “What do you want, exactly?”
Seungmin counts on his fingers so he doesn’t chicken out. “Biting. More teasing, less apologizing. You saying mean shit. Dumb slut, good boy, all that. You fucking me harder. Maybe hands. Neck. Hair. Bruises where I can hide them.”
His ears are on fire by the end of the list, but his gaze doesn’t waver.
He knows he’s nailed it when Jeongin’s eyes go dark and lazy, when they flick down for a second. Seungmin lets himself look too—and yeah. The front of Jeongin’s sweats is absolutely not flat anymore.
Seungmin takes a sip of soda to hide his smile.
Jeongin drags a hand down his face. “You’re insane.”
“Obviously,” Seungmin says. “You’ve met me.”
Jeongin licks his lips, thinking. “Okay. Rules.”
Seungmin nods once. “Rules.”
“No actual choking,” Jeongin says. “I can put my hand there, squeeze a little, but I’m not fucking with your air. I don’t like breathplay.”
“That’s fine with me,” Seungmin answers immediately.
“No biting your face or hands,” Jeongin continues. “Neck, shoulders, chest, thighs. Nothing that’ll have Chan asking questions at practice.”
“Annoyingly responsible,” Seungmin mutters. “Fine.”
He’s already buzzing. Jeongin still looks like himself—messy hair, hoodie, socks—but there’s a different tension in him now, something coiled and intent that wasn’t there five minutes ago.
“Good,” Jeongin says.
He takes the can gently out of Seungmin’s hand, sets it on the nightstand, and in the same motion pushes Seungmin back onto the bed.
Seungmin goes down with a soft oof, eyes widening for a millisecond before the mattress catches him.
“Clothes off,” Jeongin demands.
The tone is different.
The tone makes the hair on the back of Seungmin’s neck stand up. Lower, sharper, threaded with something that goes straight to his dick.
His body moves before his brain finishes processing it. “You’re pushy,” he mutters, already dragging his t-shirt up over his head.
“You literally asked for this,” Jeongin scoffs lightly. “Explicitly.”
Jeongin's hoodie hits the floor in one smooth motion, then his sweats. Seungmin tries very hard not to stare at the way his thighs look when he crawls up the bed, caging Seungmin in with his arms.
It doesn’t work.
Seungmin lies back bare, chest rising a little too fast, skin buzzing. He feels exposed and ridiculously turned on and a tiny bit like prey.
Jeongin looks down at him and hums.
“Look at you,” he says, slow, letting his gaze drag over Seungmin’s chest, his stomach, the obvious way he’s hard. “You look so nervous even though this is exactly what you wanted.”
“Shut up,” Seungmin says, heat crawling up his neck.
“You asled me to be mean and you’re telling me to shut up already?” Jeongin quirks an eyebrow. “You’re not very bright, are you, puppy?”
The nickname lands like a slap. Seungmin makes a tiny sound he didn’t consent to making, and his cock twitches.
Jeongin’s eyes flick down. His mouth curves.
“Oh,” he drawls. “You like that.”
“I will deny everything in a court of law,” Seungmin says, somehow managing monotone while his pulse is hammering.
Jeongin laughs under his breath, low and delighted.
“Hands up,” he orders. “Over your head.”
Seungmin obeys, fingers curling in the pillow.
Jeongin catches both wrists easily in one hand and pins them there, leaning over him. He’s careful about the weight, Seungmin can tell, but the point is clear: if Seungmin wanted to move, he’d have to try.
His muscles tense automatically. Then, as the reality of the hold filters through the anxiety and hits whatever masochistic part of him exists, he exhales and lets himself sink into it.
Jeongin feels it, the way he goes from braced to pliant. He smiles.
He dips his head and kisses him hard, no build-up, no testing. Lips pushing, teeth tugging at Seungmin’s lower lip. Seungmin gasps into his mouth when Jeongin bites down just enough to sting, then shudders at the warm swipe of tongue over the spot.
A small, embarrassing noise leaks out of him.
Jeongin pulls back just enough for his breath to ghost over Seungmin’s wet mouth.
“You know I’ve been holding back,” he murmurs. “Wanted to put my teeth in you since the first time you called me your boyfriend.”
Seungmin’s eyes roll. “You’re so—ah—” His insult dies when Jeongin’s free hand pinches his nipple, sharper than before.
He jerks, a hiss forced out of him. Pain flares, bright and thin, then settles into heat.
“There it is,” Jeongin says, pleased. “You like a little pain, don’t you?”
“Maybe,” Seungmin grits.
“It’s not ‘maybe’ when your dick jumps every time I rough you up,” Jeongin says. “Be honest. I know you've journaled about this.”
Seungmin’s ears go volcanic. “Fuck you.”
“That's the idea, yeah,” Jeongin smirks.
He mouths down Seungmin’s throat, kissing, nipping. When he reaches the place where jaw meets neck, he opens his mouth and bites.
Not gentle.
Teeth sink in just enough to cross the line. It’s more pressure than pain at first, then it sharpens, blooming outward.
Seungmin’s whole body arches off the bed, wrists straining against Jeongin’s grip. The sound that comes out of his mouth is halfway between a gasp and a whine.
“Shh,” Jeongin murmurs against his skin, tongue smoothing over the mark. “You wanted it.”
He does it again in the same spot, harder. The second shock hits different, right into the bruise forming underneath.
Seungmin lets out a broken moan, humiliated and high off it.
“That’s it,” Jeongin whispers. His lips are soft over the throbbing mark. “Take it for me. You look so pretty when you’re marked up.”
“You’re so annoying.” Seungmin's voice sounds wrecked in his own ears.
“You're getting off on this. Don't lie,” Jeongin shoots back.
He lets Seungmin’s wrists go, hands dragging down his arms to his sides, then to his hips. His thumbs dig into the sharp bones there, possessive, keeping him exactly where Jeongin wants him.
His mouth trails lower. Throat. Collarbone. The cap of a shoulder. Each new place gets a kiss, a scrape of teeth, or a full bite, soothed after with tongue. Some sting, some just bruise; he’s picking spots that shirts will cover.
By the time he reaches Seungmin’s chest, his skin feels like a map of tiny hurts and simmering heat. His nipples are hard, the cool air hitting them when Jeongin breathes.
“Look at you,” Jeongin says again, voice rougher now. “All marked up and I haven’t even gotten to the good part.”
“You’re so in love with yourself,” Seungmin manages.
Jeongin laughs, then closes his mouth around one nipple and bites.
This time the sound that bursts out of Seungmin is loud, unfiltered.
Jeongin groans against him, the vibration making it worse. He rolls the sensitive nub between his teeth, nowhere near gentle, while his hand drags down Seungmin’s stomach and wraps around his cock.
Seungmin’s brain blanks.
“Fuck—Jeongin—”
“There you go,” Jeongin murmurs, letting the abused nipple go with a final, sharp tug. “That’s my good puppy. You take it so well.”
Something flips in Seungmin’s chest at the words. A strangled noise scrapes out of his throat before he can swallow it.
Jeongin’s grin turns sharp. He heard it.
“You like that too,” he teases. “You’re such a little freak. Getting off on praise and being called names.”
“Complaining is my special interest,” Seungmin gasps. The joke sounds ridiculous with the way his voice is shaking.
Jeongin starts stroking him. Slow at first, firm, thumb smearing slick over the head. His other hand doesn’t rest. It moves to Seungmin’s ribs, caressing his waist and rubbing soothing circles into his skin.
“Tell me what you are.” Jeongin's voice has gone low and focused.
“Annoyed,” Seungmin responds automatically.
Jeongin squeezes, just a hair too hard, enough to sting. “Try again.”
Seungmin’s breath stutters. His eyes fix on a crack in the ceiling because looking at Jeongin’s face would annihilate him.
“I’m—” he starts, then cuts off with a sharp breath when teeth sink into the jut of his hip.
It’s a mean bite. Quick, hard, right on the bone. Pain ripples out in a line.
“I’m—ah—your—” His face is on fire. “Your boyfriend.”
“Mm,” Jeongin hums against his skin. “What else?”
He adjusts his grip, speeding up his hand just enough to make it impossible to think.
“Come on,” he coaxes. “You want the teeth, you use the words. That’s the trade.”
“I’m—” Seungmin’s voice drops. It feels like the words are stuck in his ribs. “I’m your slut.”
Jeongin’s reaction is immediate. He groans, a low sound that feels like it goes straight into Seungmin’s cock.
“Fuck,” Jeongin breathes. “Yeah, you are.”
His hand leaves Seungmin’s dick. Before Seungmin can protest, Jeongin is sliding down the bed, fingers hooking into the waistband of his sweats and yanking them down and off in one rough motion.
The cooler air makes him twitch. The warm, wet heat of Jeongin’s mouth replacing Jeongin’s hand makes him swear.
Jeongin takes his time, tongue dragging up the underside, circling the head, sucking just hard enough to feel greedy. When he looks up, eyes dark, lips wrapped around him, Seungmin has to let go of his hair in favor of grabbing the sheets to keep from yanking him closer.
“You taste good too,” Jeongin grins when he pulls back, smirk curving his spit-slick mouth. “I should’ve done this earlier.”
“Then you’d be even more unbearable,” Seungmin croaks.
“Probably,” Jeongin agrees easily.
He gives him one more slow lick, like he’s saying goodbye, then wipes his mouth with his thumb and sits back on his heels.
“On your hands and knees."
Seungmin hesitates for half a heartbeat. There’s something unbelievably intimate about turning his back like that, presenting, letting Jeongin see him open.
Jeongin must feel him seize up. He crawls back up, braces one hand by Seungmin’s head, and uses the other to cup his cheek, thumb stroking once under his eye.
“Hey,” he says, softer. “You don’t have to.”
His mouth is still swollen. His hair’s a mess. He looks frustratingly sincere.
Seungmin lets out a long breath. “I know.”
He rolls, onto his stomach, then pushes himself up onto his knees, forearms braced under his chest. He hides his face in his arms because if he sees Jeongin’s expression right now, he will combust.
“Don’t say anything,” he whispers.
He can feel Jeongin looking at him. Naked, on his knees, thighs spread without meaning to.
“God,” Jeongin sighs. “You’re perfect.”
“Shut up,” Seungmin groans into his arms.
Hands drag down his back, broad, warm palms, mapping the line of his spine. They pause at his hips, thumbs pressing in like brackets.
Jeongin leans in and bites the meat of one ass cheek.
Seungmin yelps, the sound muffled in his arms.
“That’s one,” Jeongin's voice is close, smug. “I’m gonna ruin you. You’re going to feel me tomorrow every time you sit down in the studio.”
“You’re such a dick,” Seungmin huffs, which would probably have more impact if his ass didn’t push back a little.
The mattress dips, springs squeaking quietly as Jeongin reaches for the lube. Seungmin hears the cap flip, the wet sound of it on fingers.
A moment later, one hand spreads him open.
“Pretty,” Jeongin says.
“Don’t call my asshole pretty,” Seungmin mutters.
Jeongin laughs, then two slick fingers press in at once.
The stretch steals his breath.
He gasps, back arching, one knee sliding an inch. Instinct says close, but the rest of him says more, and he ends up pressing back instead, forcing his muscles to give.
“Fuck,” he grits out. “Okay. Okay, that’s—that’s fine.”
He can feel his body remembering, loosening faster this time. Jeongin uses steady pressure and patience. He works the two fingers in and out until the burn eases into a full, filled feeling, then adds a third.
It’s too much for a second. Seungmin’s hands claw at the sheets.
“Breathe,” Jeongin reminds him. His voice is closer to his usual, anchoring.
Seungmin drags in air, lets it out slowly. His body adjusts around the new stretch, muscles relaxing one by one.
“You’re so good for me,” Jeongin cooes, and there’s a note in his voice that makes Seungmin’s chest ache. “Look at you. Taking me so easy now.”
“Practice,” Seungmin mutters, but his voice is thinner, frayed at the edges.
Jeongin chuckles and changes the angle.
His fingers curl just right and hit something inside that makes Seungmin see static.
The sound he makes is ugly and desperate.
“There?” Jeongin asks, breath coming faster now.
“Yes, fuck, yes, there, more, please—” The last word slips out unplanned, raw.
Jeongin pulls his fingers out.
Seungmin whines pitifully.
“You’re evil,” he hisses, high and breathless.
“Be patient."
Seungmin feels him shift behind him. The slick, heavy press of the blunt head against him draws a shiver from somewhere deep in his spine.
“Breathe,” Jeongin says again. “Relax for me.”
“Don’t tell me what to—”
The protest breaks off in a choked moan when Jeongin pushes in.
One long, steady stroke, slow enough that Seungmin feels every millimeter. The stretch is intense, deeper than fingers, the heat of him different.
By the time Jeongin’s halfway in, Seungmin’s forehead is pressed to his arms, knuckles white in the sheets.
“Ready?” Jeongin asks. His voice is strained.
“Yes,” Seungmin says, too fast. “Just—fuck. Move, please.”
Jeongin sinks the rest of the way in until his hips are flush to Seungmin’s ass.
They both groan, the sound weirdly in sync.
“Jesus,” Jeongin pants. “You’re squeezing me like you want to break my dick.”
“You're complaining?” Seungmin mumbles into his arms.
"Not at all." Jeongin pulls out a little and thrusts back in, harder. The angle now is perfect; every push drags over that spot inside that made him see white before.
He finds a rhythm quickly. Deep, consistent, and just on the edge of too hard. The room fills with the sound of skin hitting skin, the creak of the bed, their breathing.
Seungmin goes.
There’s no other word for it. His mouth is open, noises spilling out he doesn’t recognize as his and drool pooling on the pillowcase. Every exhale is a moan or a curse, half-strangled. His arms shake with the effort of staying up; his knees inch farther apart, opening himself more without meaning to, making the angle even worse in the best way.
“Look at you,” Jeongin growls, voice rougher than Seungmin’s ever heard it. “You’re so needy. Taking my cock like you were made for it.”
“Shut up,” Seungmin gasps. It would be more convincing if he wasn’t pushing back on every thrust like his life depended on it.
“You tell me to shut up but your body’s honest,” Jeongin says. “You hear me talk and you just clamp down on me. You like being called a slut, huh?”
A humiliating sound tears itself out of Seungmin’s throat, high and broken.
Jeongin's hand cracks down on Seungmin’s ass, a sharp smack over an already sore spot.
Heat explodes across Seungmin’s skin. His voice jumps an octave. “Oh my god,” he pants. “Do that again.”
“Such a good slut,” Jeongin taunts, and hits him again, lower, right where ass meets thigh. "Begging to be hit."
Seungmin keens, hips jerking back, fucking himself harder onto Jeongin’s cock.
“Say it, puppy,” Jeongin's tone drops to something dangerous. His hand wraps bruisingly around Seungmin’s hip, hauling him back in time with each thrust. “Tell me what you are.”
“I’m—” Seungmin squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m your—ah—your slut.”
The noise Jeongin makes is downright feral.
“Yeah,” he says, fucking into him harder. “You’re my slut. My pretty little pain freak. Taking my cock like it’s the only thing you deserve.”
Seungmin’s whole body shudders at the words.
“Don’t—” he gasps. “Don’t say it like that, I’m gonna—”
Jeongin’s hand slides around his front and wraps around his dick again, stroking in time with his thrusts. The rhythm is brutal, perfect.
“You’re gonna come just from me talking about it, huh?” Jeongin pants. “You’re that far gone? My dumb puppy, so pathetic.”
Seungmin’s thighs are burning, his arms trembling, every muscle screaming. The pleasure is cresting so high it almost hurts, hovering just this side of overload. Every thrust nails that spot, every stroke of Jeongin’s hand ratchets him tighter.
He’s hanging there, right on the edge, nowhere to go.
“Jeongin,” he chokes. “Hyung—”
They both freeze for half a second.
Seungmin hears it a beat late. The honorific hits the air and seems to hang there, wrong and hot. Jeongin’s younger. He knows that. They both know that.
It should be mortifying.
Jeongin makes a sound that’s half laugh, half groan.
“Oh, you’re fucked,” he breathes. His next thrust drives in harder, deeper. “Did you just call me hyung?”
“Shut up,” Seungmin whimpers, mortified, which doesn’t help because his body reacts like it’s been waiting for that exact disaster. His cock jerks in Jeongin’s hand.
“Say it again,” Jeongin demands.
“Absolutely not."
Another sharp smack to his ass. Pain stings across a fresh bruise.
“Say it,” Jeongin repeats, low. “Or I’m not letting you come.”
“You’re bluffing,” Seungmin gasps. He’s not sure who he’s trying to convince.
Jeongin slows his hand, just enough for Seungmin to feel the edge slip a few inches away.
Panic flares.
“Fuck—fuck, okay,” Seungmin babbles. Pride is so far gone it’s not even on the same continent. “Please, hyung, please—”
The effect on Jeongin is immediate and obscene. He groans, deep and ruined. His hips stutter, then slam in harder, chasing the word like it’s the only thing getting him off.
“Jesus,” he grunts. “You’re never living that down.”
“Don’t care,” Seungmin gasps. “Just—please, don’t stop, please—”
He doesn’t get the rest out. The coil in his belly snaps, sharp and vicious. He comes with a strangled scream, spilling hot over Jeongin’s hand and his own stomach, body clenching around the thick heat inside him.
His vision goes white around the edges.
Jeongin swears, the tight fluttering around him dragging him over the edge too. His thrusts turn jerky, shallow, his grip on Seungmin’s hip bruising as he buries himself as deep as he can and comes, spilling hot inside him in pulses.
“Oh, fuck—Minnie,” he groans against his shoulder. “You’re milking me dry.”
Seungmin’s brain is mostly static. “Your fault,” he slurs. “You—ah—you did this.”
He feels Jeongin fold over him, chest pressed along his back, breath hot and ragged against the nape of his neck. The weight is grounding, heavy in a way that makes his body immediately start to settle even as his muscles tremble.
“Good?” Jeongin asks after a moment, voice softer.
Seungmin has to sift through the wreckage of his nervous system to answer. He takes a breath, catalogues: no sharp pain, just a deep ache, an all-over throb, a rush of endorphins still fizzing under his skin.
“Good,” he says finally. “Intense, but really good.”
Jeongin exhales against his skin.
“That was so good,” he murmurs. He presses small, gentle kisses between Seungmin’s shoulder blades, over teeth marks and bruises. The contrast makes something in Seungmin’s chest twist. “You did so well. Took it so fucking well, baby.”
Seungmin makes a muffled noise into his arms. “Don’t call me baby, I’ll die.”
“You just let me bite you and throw you around and call you my slut,” Jeongin points out, amused, fond. “But ‘baby’ is the line?”
“Shut up,” Seungmin says weakly.
Jeongin huffs a laugh against his skin, then slowly pulls out, careful and controlled. Seungmin winces at the empty feeling.
He doesn’t fight when Jeongin nudges his shoulder. Between the two of them, they get Seungmin to roll onto his side. Jeongin slides in behind him, spooning, one arm looping around his waist, hand spreading warm over his stomach.
Seungmin sighs, the change in position easing the strain in his back and shoulders. His body feels heavy, used, perfectly wrecked.
“Better?” Jeongin asks.
“Yeah,” Seungmin says quietly. “Yeah. That was—fuck.”
“Too much?” The apology is already creeping into Jeongin’s tone.
Seungmin reaches back without looking and finds his hand, lacing their fingers together. His palm is still slick; Jeongin doesn’t seem to mind.
“Perfect,” Seungmin tells him. “You’re annoying. It’s perfect.”
There’s a tiny hitch in Jeongin’s breath behind him.
He squeezes Seungmin’s hand, thumb rubbing slow circles over his knuckles like he’s soothing him, even though Seungmin is the one who feels like his brain’s been replaced with warm pudding.
“You’re going to see these in the mirror tomorrow and lose your mind,” Jeongin snickers.
“I’m going to see them and jerk off while you’re at the studio,” Seungmin replies calmly.
Jeongin groans, full-body. “You’re trying to kill me.”
“Good,” Seungmin mutters. “You deserve it.”
He feels Jeongin smile against his neck. There’s a pause, then a quiet, unforced, “Love you, Minnie.”
It’s not the first time, but it still makes Seungmin’s chest go annoyingly soft. His lips twitch.
“Love you too, Innie.”
He can’t see Jeongin’s face from here, but he can imagine it perfectly: the dopey, satisfied curve of his mouth, the way his eyes go crescent when he’s genuinely happy.