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Changkyun hates budget meetings the most.
Budget meetings last the longest — the director drones on and on about stocks, investments and money, all of which Changkyun doesn’t particularly care for. Changkyun is in the entertainment industry to entertain, damn it, not to produce an ungodly amount of money for the company he’s signed under. So why the hell must he be sitting here, in the stuffiest meeting room of their building, watching projections of excel spreadsheets with fonts several sizes too small to be read? Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.
On the right side, Kihyun and Minhyuk are diligently taking notes on their laptops. How they are able to read the size seven font is still a mystery to Changkyun. Beside them, Hyunwoo stares at the projected screen, looking half asleep. And then, Jooheon, sitting nearest to the front, talks with their manager — though Changkyun strongly suspects that their talk has no correlation whatsoever to finance, as Jooheon is trying hard to scrunch his face in a manner that will not show his grin.
Keyword: trying. Jooheon receives Minhyuk’s death glare not soon after — Changkyun tries his best to not snicker.
Changkyun sits at the back, on the far end of the long meeting table that is currently holding seventeen people. He sits here, because it is here that he can safely scroll through his phone underneath the table and not get scolded by the director — or worse, by Kihyun.
He’s looking at a board of casualwear on Pinterest, when a notification drops down from the top of his phone:
MESSAGES:
[09:13] Ki-hyung: Stop looking at your phone.
Ah. He’s been caught. No matter. Changkyun dismisses it with a flick of his left thumb, sending it up and away from his phone screen. A moment later, as Changkyun is looking at a particularly comfortable grey hoodie, another notification slides down:
MESSAGES:
[09:15] Ki-hyung: You’re still looking. Stop it.
Changkyun raises his head, glances towards where Kihyun sits. Oh crap. He’s got the Angry Mother eyebrows going. If Changkyun doesn’t put his phone down now, there’s likely to be unpleasant consequences. Then, as if reading his mind, Kihyun breaks eye contact to type on his laptop, and then a moment later Changkyun receives another message:
MESSAGES:
[09:16] Ki-hyung: Pay attention or no extra rice for lunch.
Alright. That got him. Changkyun nods as obediently as possible and pockets his phone. As he looks up again, he sees that Kihyun has pasted on his Proud Mother eyebrows. Great. He’ll score two extra servings this afternoon — that is, if Hoseok does not finish it first.
“This month’s revenues are as follows…”
Changkyun sighs. They’re not even thirty minutes in and he’s already been robbed of his only source of entertainment. What the hell is he going to do for the next hour, stare at tiny numbers? He doesn’t think he’ll be able to stay awake like this.
His eyes start to droop; he drifts off—
And then, suddenly, the figure on Changkyun’s left moves, after being immobile for about twenty minutes. He startles — he’d forgotten that Hyungwon is beside him, the quiet bastard. Hyungwon uses his right hand to push the fingers of his left hand and crack them, and then the reverse. The digits make audible cracks, a series of loud ticks in the stuffy and silent meeting room.
Then, after rolling his wrists in circular motions, rousing several more cracks, Hyungwon doodles on a notepad. To an untrained eye, i.e. those sitting far from him, i.e. Kihyun, it will look as if he is performing some incredibly complex calculations that are very related to economics and the pie chart currently displayed on the projection.
But Changkyun is not untrained, nor is he far from Hyungwon — his hyung is drawing little frog caricatures on his notepad, and then coloring it with a green highlighter, occasionally smudging the ballpoint ink. Changkyun stares at the pen’s nib as it glides across the paper; perhaps he does so a little too murderously. He can’t help it though — he lost his entertainment, and here Hyungwon is, lavishly enjoying his notepad and pen.
Changkyun pouts. Unfair.
Hyungwon covers his mouth with his left hand. The bastard is laughing at him! What on—
And then, Hyungwon taps the pen twice. Changkyun’s attention flicks towards the notepad.
The ballpoint glides across the paper. Hyungwon produces an untidy hangul scrawl that almost looks like abstract typography. However, Changkyun is used to reading Hyunwoo’s handwriting, to which Hyungwon’s is very legible in comparison, so even though it’s not the neatest of handwritings Changkyun is able to make out the words:
Bored?
Changkyun raises his glance, meeting Hyungwon’s nonchalant gaze. He nods, a little jerk of his neck. The corners of Hyungwon’s lips raise just that much. He taps the pen again.
Changkyun’s eyes follow the pen like a cheetah’s would a grazing deer.
Want to have some fun?
Changkyun looks up again. Hyungwon is staring at him — he has the same gaze on. Nonchalant, uncaring, bored. Changkyun gulps. He scoots his chair closer to Hyungwon’s, takes the pen, and scribbles:
What kind of fun?
Hyungwon smirks. It reaches his eyes; the way they narrow just slightly, the way his eyebrows raise in that cocky questioning way — one just slightly higher than the other. If there was such a thing as a devilish smirk, Hyungwon is wearing that right now. Changkyun worries even more. Hyungwon leans closer — their shoulders are touching now.
Hyungwon gets even closer; Changkyun gulps again. Hyungwon’s hand settles next to his lips, shielding the rest of the room from whatever he’s going to whisper to him. Changkyun tries his hardest to stay still — he stares at the director, babbling about budget cuts.
As Hyungwon breathes his words, the lightest puff of air flutters across his ear — Changkyun squirms.
“Grip to pause, squeeze to stop,” Hyungwon whispers.
And as he does so, his right hand grips Changkyun’s left, as if to demonstrate. It then squeezed lightly, as if Changkyun is a moron who doesn’t know how to follow instructions — but then again, maybe he is one, with the way his head swims with Hyungwon’s breaths in his ear, his arm against his own’s, his hand around Changkyun’s left arm.
Changkyun nods. Hyungwon leans back with a satisfied smile. The director switches slides, and they move on to… to—
To something that doesn’t matter, Changkyun’s brain supplies, because Hyungwon’s palm is on Changkyun’s thigh under the desk. His palm, warm through the fabric of Changkyun’s sweatpants, caressing his thigh in short strokes; towards his knee, and then up, towards his crotch.
Oh. This kind of fun.
The slide changes again, but Changkyun can no longer read the numbers on them because he has his eyes clenched shut, because the pads of Hyungwon’s fingers are on his dick, because that little gentle touch sends the nerve impulses in his little axons awry, makes them go to all the wrong paths—
Hyungwon traces a line across his slowly hardening cock, and Changkyun thinks finally, finally, finally, touch me—
But that’s all he does; Hyungwon goes back to caressing his thigh.
Changkyun almost, almost whines.
And then he remembers that he is in the stuffiest meeting room, having a budget meeting, with people that are very much not Hyungwon, encapsulated in this silence save for the droning of the director—
“No sound,” whispers Hyungwon, who picks up on anything, and Changkyun could do little else but nod. Nod and keep his face impassive.
He could do this. Easy.
Breathe in. Breathe ou—
No, no, hard — hard like his cock is becoming, because Hyungwon squeezes his hand on the inside of his thigh, and then stroking it, up to his crotch, where his pinky finger just brushes against his length, and oh Changkyun wants so much more but he can’t whine, can’t beg, can’t do anything as Hyungwon teases him with the lightest of touches, his long fingers playing with the nerve endings on his thigh.
He grips Hyungwon’s hand lightly, tries to push it to where he needs it most, but Hyungwon’s hand is firm on his thigh, unmoving, stubborn, and oh, Changkyun wants to whine so, so badly, and he thinks he might just emit a little sound, to hell with his dignity, his reputation.
The whine is just on the edge of his throat—
And then Hyungwon takes him in his hand, through the sweatpants.
Changkyun moans quietly, involuntarily.
Hyungwon coughs loudly, voluntarily.
Changkyun feels his face heat up — the director has stopped talking, and when he looks up the old man is staring at Hyungwon with annoyance. Changkyun steels his face, hoping to god or whoever is watching over them that his face is not as flushed as he feels it to be.
“Sorry, Director-nim,” Hyungwon says smoothly, his hand still on Changkyun’s fucking dick. “Sore throat.”
The director nods, albeit still a little peeved. “As I was saying—“
Who cares about what the director was saying? Hyungwon’s hand is stroking his cock — slow, measured strokes that sends shocks down his spine, onto his legs, and then to the tips of his toes. Changkyun is panting now, each inhale sounding more and more like a gasp — how long he’ll be able to stay quiet, he does not know.
He looks to the side; Hyungwon’s face is as placid as can be. Bastard.
“We’re moving on to employee suggestions,” the director says, gesturing at a woman to his left. “Starting with Minhee. Please.”
“Thank you, director,” Monhee or Minho or Minhae says. She rambles on about budget cuts for transport but Changkyun’s ears are filled with his own breaths, with his almost whines, with blood rushing past his eardrums.
Minhae or Monho or Munhee stops speaking. Changkyun has opted to very pointedly not stare at the director. Oh, look, the streets look so nice through the window today. He is not at all on fire. His cock is not at all hard. And Changkyun is absolutely, absolutely not getting a handjob in the stuffiest meeting room in the whole buil—
“Next, Changkyun-ssi.”
Oh, his luck is just so fucking terrific, isn’t it?
He grips Hyungwon’s hand, his vision still sort of swimming. Hyungwon stops. Completely. Thank god for small mercies.
“Er,” he starts, ever so eloquently, “I personally think that the pay for… er, our set dressers is not enough.”
“Alright, noted. How do you suggest we fix that?”
Hyungwon’s hand is still on his thigh — Changkyun is still gripping it. “Er… I suppose some revenues could be cut, and then… moved to their earnings—“
Suddenly, the hand grips his cock. Changkyun lets his moan exit as a cough — though it sounds more as if he’d choked on a particularly large piece of asparagus or something. He squeezes Hyungwon’s hand. Squeeze to stop, squeeze to stop—
“Are you alright, Changkyun-ssi?”
Hyungwon’s hand is still moving, still moving in tiny little circles, stroking just on the sensitive spot under the head of his dick. Changkyun thinks he’s combusting alive.
“E-er, I— uh—“
Hyungwon squeezes, again, firmer this time—
“F-fuck—“
Hyungwon, from the side, pretends to lean in, removes his hand from Changkyun’s thigh and places it on his back.
“You alright?” He says, loud enough for everyone to hear.
Bastard. Fucking bastard.
Changkyun pants, looks down, shakes his head. He wants Hyungwon so much; he’s so close. Can’t do it here, though. Can’t wait either. He places two fingers on Hyungwon’s thigh, taps twice. Their signal for whenever Changkyun just needs to come, needs to be filled, needs to fill something, needs Hyungwon—
Hyungwon takes Changkyun’s hand in his. His hearing is plagued with the sound of rushing blood, but he can make out the words ‘director’, ‘escort’ and ‘sickness’.
One second he’s being led out of the meeting room, every movement torture for his oversensitized skin, and the next he finds himself in the studio next door.
The click of a lock, twice. A flick of the lightswitch. The room turns bright — mirrors line the walls.
Changkyun looks at himself.
His cheeks are flushed, and so are the tips of his ears. His fringe is in a chaotic disarray, and his eyes a little foggy. Dilated pupils. Short breaths. Oh god he needs—
“My little baby,” Hyungwon’s sultry voice from behind. “So needy, but he can’t whine, can he?”
Changkyun whines. God, he whines. Hyungwon kisses him, captures the whine down his throat.
“Look at you,” says Hyungwon as he presses Changkyun onto his back against one of the mirrors. “So, so flushed. So pretty.”
“Won— please—“
“Oh, he’s begging me so prettily, isn’t he?” A hand reaches under his hoodie, under his shirt. A palm touches his waist; Changkyun squirms, moans small. “What do you want, pet?”
“ Haa— I—“
A thumb flicks his nipple. Changkyun yelps. A grind of Hyungwon’s hips against his — Hyungwon’s cock is just as hard as his. His knees buckle, Hyungwon pushes him firmer against the wall. Oh, he wants. Wants Hyungwon. Anything. Everything.
“P-please—“
A hand strokes his cock — root to tip, above the fabric of his sweatpants.
“Oh— oh god—“
“My hand, pet? Is that it?”
A thrust of Hyungwon’s hips. Rough. Fast. Changkyun moans, loud, glad that practice rooms are soundproof. Hyungwon kisses him again to swallow the sound anyway.
“Against me, like this?”
Changkyun’s about to reply with yes, yes, yes, when Hyungwon kneels, his face just in front of Changkyun’s cock, looking so sweetly innocent. He mouths at his head over the fabric. Changkyun cries out.
“My mouth, then? Have you release down my throat?”
Fuck. Fuck, fuck—
“Yes,” he pants out, hands trying to find purchase in the slippery mirror behind him to no avail. ”Y-your mouth, please—“
Hyungwon smiles. Such an innocent and serene smile. Changkyun wants to cry.
“So polite, my baby. So good."
With that, he pulls Changkyun’s sweatpants down. Finally, finally, his cock is exposed to the cold air. Hyungwon noses at his thighs, kisses the vee of his pubic bone, nuzzles at his cock.
A lick on the frenulum. Changkyun whines.
“Hyung, m-more…”
Hyungwon delivers. Broad licks from the the base, and then a swirl around the tip. God, Changkyun’s body is now just one giant firework. Sparks are flying to places they’re not supposed to.
“Hnaaah—“
Changkyun’s hands fly to Hyungwon’s head, gripping at the hair. That makes Hyungwon look up. Hyungwon, with his round, round eyes. Flushed cheeks. Rosy, thick lips—
And then. And then warm, wet heat encapsulates him—
“Fuck!”
Hyungwon laughs with Changkyun in him, and oh, it shouldn’t sound so melodious but it does and Changkyun moans, pants, whines.
Hyungwon begins to bob — gently, at first, teasing. Sends Changkyun into a whimpery mess of flesh.
His tongue teases at the sensitive underside of Changkyun’s cock, and some distinct part of his brain that isn’t filled with arousal wonders how long it would be before his knees fail, before he loses his balance.
And then Hyungwon takes Changkyun deeper — his eyes fluttering shut. The back of Hyungwon’s throat feels impossibly tight. Changkyun arcs his hips forward, causing Hyungwon to moan, and the little vibrations it causes makes Changkyun’s toes curl, makes him raise his head and bump its back on the glass behind him.
Changkyun is close. Too close. Any moment now, and so that same coherent part of his brain has the conscience and decency to warn his hyung.
“Hy— Won— I—“
Hyungwon looks up, then. His eyebrows are furrowed with exertion. There is perspiration on his forehead, and a flush decorates his cheeks, the tips of his ears, his neck. His lips — god, stretched around Changkyun like that — the outline of his cock visible against his cheek—
“Haanh— fuck— co-coming—“
He tips over the edge, emptying into Hyungwon’s throat. Hyungwon coaxes him through it, strokes the base of his cock with his hand, licks him clean until Changkyun is trembling with aftershocks and oversensitivity. Oh, he is floating. His senses are gone.
And then finally, his knees buckle. He falls to the ground, just as Hyungwon giggles and gathers him into his arms, kisses the tip of his nose.
“Look at you. Sated. So pretty for me, aren’t you?”
In the midst of all the blood still rushing past his ears, his distorted vision, his jelly legs, Changkyun smiles. Dopey, satisfied, well-fucked.
“For you.”
***
MESSAGES:
[10:15] Ki-hyung: Wipe the practice room clean with disinfectant.
[10:15] Ki-hyung: I don’t want to hear any excuses.
[10:16] Ki-hyung: You're not getting an extra portion.
***
In the stuffiest meeting room of their company, there comes the sound of a pen tapping against the table. A notepad beside him. A messy hangul scrawl.
Changkyun smiles.
Budget meetings last the longest.
But oh, Changkyun loves budget meetings the most.
End.