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“Aren’t you tired?” Changbin asks when Seungmin barges into the apartment, hair still damp from his shower, an unsettling gleam in his eyes. “Did you walk here?”
“As opposed to flying?” Seungmin snarks, kicking off his sandals at the front door. Changbin watches him, bewildered. It’s nearing three in the morning. The sounds of the fans’ screams are still ringing in his ear and his every footstep feels heavy and exhausted. They’d just wrapped a year long tour, just finished their last day in Seoul and here Seungmin is, bright-eyed with a bounce in his step as if they hadn’t just finished a three and a half hour show, complete with two encores because none of them wanted to leave.
“I know your stamina is shit,” Changbin says. He means to follow it up with how do you have the energy for this, but he doesn’t get the chance. Seungmin practically barrels into him, knocking against his chest and Changbin steps back, eyebrows furrowing.
“Can you just—” Seungmin cuts off as he bends down, catching Changbin in a messy kiss, nipping at his lower lip. Changbin inhales reflexively, mouth dropping open and Seungmin presses the advantage, bird-boned body leaning into Changbin’s, his teeth sharp as he deepens the kiss.
Changbin hisses, gets a fist in Seungmin’s damp hair and yanks his head back. “Don’t bite, puppy.”
Seungmin whines, his hands scrambling up Changbin’s body, sneaking under his shirt and stroking his stomach, up his chest. “Hyung, come on. Come on, you know what I’m here for.”
Changbin does. Seungmin had made a habit of showing up at his door throughout the tour; Malaysia, Japan, Peru, it didn’t seem to matter, no rhyme or reason to it—when the show was good, or when the show was bad, Changbin would shower, would just finish scrubbing the last layer of makeup off his face when a knock would come at the door and Seungmin would push inside as soon as the knob turned and get Changbin to fuck him, on the bed, up against the desk—on one memorable ocassion, right up against the window when they were thirty floors high and sure no one else would be able to see the way Seungmin whined and shuddered against the glass, his wrists pulled behind his back, cheek smearing sweat and the remnants of his makeup against the pristine window while Changbin slapped his hips in harshly and muttered sweet nothings about everyone watching Seungmin take it like a good dog. It hadn’t taken long for Seungmin’s knees to give out—Changbin’s rather proud of that time.
They stumble back through to Changbin’s room and Changbin kicks the door shut, hopes Hyunjin’s asleep, before Seungmin’s on him again, kissing insistently, nails dragging down his arms. Saliva pools under his tongue, when he gets a lungful of Seungmin’s bodywash, the clean smell of his cologne layered on top. Seungmin pushes him down on the bed and yanks Changbin’s shirt up, fingers digging into the flat of his stomach.
“Should I be offended?” Changbin muses up at the ceiling while Seungmin efficiently strips them both of their clothes. He’s always frantic, desperate, but never clumsy. Even when he’s begging Changbin to do the worst, he knows what he’s doing. Seungmin straddles him and Changbin wraps a hand around the back of his neck, pulls him down while Seungmin squirms, tries to get away without much avail. “You never seemed this into my abs before.”
“It’s new territory,” Seungmin mutters, pupils blown. He already seems lost, shuddering as he grinds down on Changbin’s hips. Changbin catches his mouth in a short kiss and feels Seungmin’s spine bow, tense, already frantic. “Oh—hyung—”
“Seriously?” Changbin lets him go and watches with raised brows as Seungmin ruts his cock down on his stomach, the head flushed and dripping, precome smearing into Changbin’s skin. Seungmin moans and rolls his hips harder, angling his dick so it bumps up against the smooth, taut skin. He doesn’t have abs like Chan does, there isn’t even anything for Seungmin to catch on, but he seems so into it, already flushed and panting. “Is this even doing anything for you?”
Seungmin nods frantically, his hair flopping over his face. He reaches down for Changbin’s hand and leads it up to his neck. “Please—hyung, please—”
“Puppy—”
“Please—” Seungmin whimpers. “We haven’t done it in so long—I don’t—I want it.”
They haven’t done this since the tour kicked off because it would be quite difficult to explain why their main vocal couldn’t sing all of a sudden, why his neck was ringed in bruises. Changbin hasn’t let himself think about it in months, a year now. He doesn’t like what it does to him, how good the rush feels when he sees Seungmin’s face go slack, when he takes the breath from Seungmin’s lungs, when he holds him down, pins him against the bed and doesn’t let him move. Seungmin loves it, Changbin knows—which takes the edge off the sting of self-contempt. The hardest he’d ever come was when Changbin had taken him on his stomach, his full weight pressing down on Seungmin’s body, one hand holding both of his skinny wrists in one, pulled over his head. He likes it when Changbin uses the strength against him, when he smacks Seungmin’s nape, when he pulls his hair, when he reduces him to putty between his hands.
And now he wants it again and he’s begging so sweetly; always so nice, so obedient when he knows Changbin will give him what he wants.
Changbin grits his teeth and wraps his hand around Seungmin’s throat—thumb on the left, fingers on the right, squeezes once, incrementally—kind of hates himself for the bolt of pleasure he gets from Seungmin’s answering moan, the way his body seizes, paper doll bones locking together from the simple touch. His cock kicks in his underwear as he squeezes again, holding for a count of three seconds—Seungmin’s mouth drops open, a noiseless whimper escaping him—before letting go.
“Yes,” Seungmin gasps. “Yes, hyung, yes—like that—please—” His head falls back and his rutting gets wilder, cock bouncing off Changbin’s body, barely getting friction and his face twists in frustration but he’s too gone, lost in the delirious need, eyes rolling back in his head when Changbin chokes him again, almost falling backwards when Changbin releases him. Changbin gives, in takes charge, and rolls them. Seungmin bounces once, flat on his back, mouth open and gasping before Changbin slides atop him, pressing him down into the mattress.
“There you go,” he murmurs, angling his body down so their hips are pressed against each other and Seungmin has plenty of space to grind up against him. Seungmin moans, grabs him tighter, pulling him down, his nails catching on Changbin’s back and ruts wildly against Changbin’s stomach, sparking bolts of pleasure when he bumps Changbin’s cock. “This is what you needed, isn’t it puppy? Hmm?”
Seungmin slurs out a ragged yes, that goes nowhere when Changbin wraps his hand around his throat and presses down yet again. He hates it, loves it, watching the blankness sweep Seungmin’s face, the way his eyes go hazy and dark, the way his mouth flaps uselessly, struggling for air.
“Are you going to come?” Changbin asks, fingers throbbing as he lets go. Seungmin goes so quiet in these moments, it’s dizzying to contend with, the power he holds in the palm of his hand.
Seungmin whimpers, drags his knee up around Changbin’s hip and pulls him down with barely strength so he rub off against him. In the same move, he tilts his head back in invitation once more and Changbin closes his hand around his throat again, watching the skin bleed yellow around his fingertips. “Good dog,” Changbin whispers, practically breathless himself as he counts. One, two, three—
On six, he releases; Seungmin sucks in a gasp and comes. It rolls him through like a wave and Changbin waits for him to go slack on the bed before pushing up on one arm and wrapping his hand around his own cock, jerking off once, twice, before he follows, painting Seungmin’s stomach white.
After, they lay there together, panting and Changbin looks over and sees the red prints on Seungmin’s neck, in the shape of his fingers and endures the self-loathing that bites at him, not dissimilar to the way Seungmin will nip.
“That was good,” Seungmin mumbles. He’d gone limp while Changbin cleaned them both up and now he’s on his front, sinking into the mattress, his eyes lidded. “Thank you.”
“God,” Changbin makes a face. “Don’t thank me for that, Seungmin-ah.”
“No, I mean it.” Seungmin turns into him, wrapping his bony limbs around Changbin’s body and nudging insistently at his face with his nose until Changbin turns to look at him, his puppy. “I wanted that. I always do—with you.” He kisses Changbin briefly and then bites his lower lip, making Changbin flinch. “Don’t get in your head. Silly hyung.”
Changbin hums. “Yeah. Go to sleep.”
Seungmin cuddles up closer, nearly jabbing Changbin in the side with his elbow. “Do it with your bicep next time,” he mumbles. “Want to feel it.”
Changbin stares up at the ceiling, suddenly wide-awake with the possibility, while Seungmin snuffles and then begins to snore in his ear.