Chapter Text
Kim Doyoung is, undoubtedly, the most well-known person in the room.
It's the case in most places he goes, and he feels an awful sense of entitlement in thinking that, let alone being told it, —no matter how many interviewers seem to remind him he's a record breaking million-seller, he never gets over the sense of embarrassment that severely overshadows any pride he's supposed to feel— because he's no different than anyone else. He's no different to idols who've trained just as long as him, or actors who've spent thousands on classes just to end up with a minor role. He's not even any different to strangers on the street.
He's just lucky. Things worked out well for him.
And that somehow put him in the place that he is now, one of South Korea's most popular faces, a household name that brands will pay incomprehensible amounts of cash just to have on their product.
Whether or not he feels he deserves it is something he probably spends too much time contemplating.
Award season is particularly draining on him.
He's not an actor. Not a good actor, at least. A few years into his career, his company suggested he attempted to branch himself out of being only an idol— why, Doyoung didn't exactly know. He was doing just fine without anything added to his resume, but he'd agreed nonetheless. Thanks to his name, he'd gained a couple of decent roles. None of which had he done particularly well in, and yet he still receives awards for them.
He's a performer of a different kind; a singer and a dancer. An idol. That's what he'd spent the majority of his lifetime training for, and that's what he was actually decent at. Sure, he may have acted first, but a minor role in a film when was eight was nothing compared to the teenage years he'd given up for the career of an idol.
Now, in his mid-twenties, he'd surely achieved that and more, but not much progress with his acting skills.
Still, on the night of a particular award show, —this one exclusively for actors, though Doyoung had been to his fair share of combined ceremonies for both idols and actors— he'd ended up with two awards. Best supporting actor and a fan-voted award he couldn't recall the name of. He'd presented the usual speeches that he'd perfected over the years of receiving them; thanking his fans who'd gotten him there, promising to do better and work harder.
But he feels as if they're so painfully undeserved.
The whole thing reminds him of a cycle of thought he can never quite escape from for all too long— that he doesn't know if he deserves any of what he has, and it drains him of any of the inspiration he once had. He can't remember the last time he'd actually sat down and worked on a song.
He doesn't dislike his lifestyle, of course. He wouldn't have worked so hard to get there if he didn't. But in no way had he anticipated it would be anything like it is.
When he'd entered the afterparty, every pair of eyes had gone to him. People whispered amongst themselves and moved out of his way as if he were royalty. It'd been something he'd thought he'd enjoy at first, before he'd realized how horribly alienating it is, and how the majority of people would shy away from talking to him.
Thankfully, he'd found a few actors he knew well enough to approach and start a conversation with; Jaemin and Jaehyun. That was another element of the whole 'actor' scene he didn't find comfort in. When it came to idol events, he knew practically everyone, but here— he was lucky to recognise a few.
He stands with the two, sipping from a glass of wine and occasionally contributing to their discussion about something he only pays a fraction of his attention to.
Bringing the glass to his lips for what's surely the dozenth time in the last minute, he registers he's been asked something, though hasn't a clue what. "Hm?" He hums casually, lowering the glass.
"We were gonna go get some more drinks. Did you wanna join?" The younger of the two, Jaemin, asks, while the other raises a curious eyebrow.
Doyoung shakes his head softly after a moment of thought. "I'm good here. I'll catch up with you two later?"
Both nod, and Doyoung forces a friendly smile before he brings the glass upwards again, taking a long sip. The atmosphere around him is lively and bright, though he feels quite the opposite.
Retrieving his phone from his back pocket to check the time, he habitually unlocks the screen, and is halfway through reading a selection of notifications; congratulations on his awards, mostly, when there's the sound of someone politely clearing their throat to get his attention.
When Doyoung looks up from the light of his phone screen, his gaze settles upon a man standing ahead of him. Doyoung doesn't recognise him, not directly at least— maybe in that, 'he's one of the thousand faces he'd seen that day' kind of way. He's maybe a few years younger than himself, and what Doyoung presumes to be an actor. He probably wouldn't be there if he wasn't, after all. And undeniably, he's pretty. Pretty enough to stand out amongst a room full of good-looking celebrities.
"Are you okay?" Doyoung questions, when the other doesn't say a word, or seem to react much at all to anything.
"Oh!" He lights up, as if he's just realized Doyoung's there, although he'd been the one wanting his attention a moment earlier. "Yeah, I'm— I'm Taeyong. I mean, I'm okay too, but Taeyong is my name, you know?"
He's also drunk, Doyoung notices fairly quickly, though the empty glass in his hand, dangerously close to slipping between his fingers, was already telling of that.
"You're Doyoung, I know that. Everyone does. You're really cool," Taeyong continues rambling, and lifts his glass to take a sip, —of surely what's not his first— then realizes that it's empty, and his lower lip juts out in a pout. "Can I have that?" He points to Doyoung's still partially filled glass.
"Kinda seems like you've had enough to drink already, Taeyong," Doyoung answers, and Taeyong only giggles. It's cute. "Did you come here with someone?"
"Like a date? No! Of course not," He hiccups. "Because honestly, I wanted to talk to you because I think you're really attractive. You're a good singer too, but I wanna make out with you, not sing with you. Singing would be pretty nice too, but I don't think I'm really good at—"
"I meant, like a manager or something," There's a smile at Doyoung's lips when he speaks, he realizes. And either he's a little tipsy without knowing it, or Taeyong is a lot more than just cute. Probably both, now he thinks about it. "You wanna make out with me?"
Taeyong giggles again, and though Doyoung expects him to deny it, or at least appear a little flustered, he just hums. "Who doesn't?"
For a while, Doyoung makes casual conversation with Taeyong. He's 22, an up-and-coming actor who's only been in the industry for close to a year now, hence why Doyoung hadn't recognised him as much as he would if it were someone with half a decade of experience. He's had a few minor roles and a standalone side role in a drama currently airing.
And he downs the rest of his drink, then another, when he's offered one from a waiter, and it makes himself enjoy the younger's presence a little more. He's nothing close to a lightweight, especially not one of Taeyong's degree, so he knows his mind is at least somewhat coherent enough to make sure he, or the other, don't do something overly stupid.
He soon takes notice of the other on the verge of dropping his glass again, so Doyoung steps closer to gently take it from him, placing it on a nearby table.
It leaves them close— maybe a little too close for two people that had just met. Doyoung can see him better than ever now, he can see the slight messiness to how his hair had obviously been done hours ago, and he can make out a pretty scar near his eye. Most of all, his eyes are drawn to Taeyong's lips.
Leaning a little into the closeness, Taeyong rests a hand at Doyoung's chest, the slight gesture practically giving Doyoung butterflies.
He'd figured he'd left the whole careless hookup thing in the early days of his career. It was all too much of an effort these days, and he had more than enough to lose if anything of the sort were to ever come out to the public. But something about the man, —who's fingers now trail down his chest, so painfully slowly— is nothing less than irresistible.
"I used to be a dancer, you know," Taeyong mumbles, particularly fascinated with a small thread on Doyoung's suit jacket. "Flexible."
The simplicity of the comment and what it insinuates makes Doyoung's breath catch in his throat. He can't remember the last time someone had made him react like that to anything at all, really.
"Don't you wanna see me prove it?" The other looks up to him. It's the first good look he gets at his eyes, and they practically make him just as breathless as the comment a moment ago. He wonders how Taeyong isn't a model on top of the acting and dancing.
"How?" He finds himself asking, although whatever sober, responsible part of his mind is left tells him he shouldn't.
"Come to my place?" Taeyong tilts his head innocently, and Doyoung's heart races in his chest. As much as he wants to blame the alcohol on how someone who's practically a stranger has this kind of effect on him, something tells him he can't.
He knows the answer he should have, and that's no. He's at the peak of his career, he shouldn't be so thoughtlessly sleeping with somebody, who's in the industry as well, no less. Neither of them are entirely sober, or thinking completely rationally about what they're doing—
"Yeah." He's agreeing anyway, nodding slightly. Something about Taeyong is so precious, that he can't find himself wanting to say no to anything he'd ask.
The other lights up all over again, looking like he might kiss him then and there. And Doyoung wouldn't mind, in all honesty, if there weren't so many people around, and if being seen in public showing any kind of affection didn't send the media into a frenzy.
Doyoung sends a quick message to his manager, telling him he's not feeling well and heading home from the afterparty early. It's been so long since he'd lied out of a schedule like this, even the simple text gives him a little thrill.
They head out through a back exit, and even in the late hour, with a tipsy mind, he's still cautious of anyone being around to see the way Taeyong holds onto his hand. It's enough luck that he can even leave somewhere without being bombarded with cameras, let alone that no one's around to see him and a pretty drunken actor head off into the night.
Taeyong's place is close. He's guessing it's a cute apartment, though he can't really tell, because the other doesn't bother to turn on a light when they reach it, instead just mumbling something Doyoung can't make out, guiding him towards what he assumes is his room with a tug of his arm.
And then they're there, at his bed, —Taeyong doesn't bother to turn that light on either, but open curtains let the centre of the room bask in the perfect amount of a combined light from the street and the moon, and makes the atmosphere all the more intimate— and quickly they're kissing with an eagerness Doyoung hadn't expected. Taeyong's lips taste of makeup products and alcohol, and there's something so addicting about it.
They fall into place so naturally, it's as if they've done it all before, Taeyong leaning back onto pillows while Doyoung settles above him, kissing him hungrily. God, when was the last time he'd even kissed someone? Whenever it was, and whoever it was with, it was nothing compared to Taeyong.
The male hums beneath him, and Doyoung feels fingers fiddling with the buttons of his suit jacket. He can tell the other's needy already, and to say he likes that feels like an incredible understatement.
With one hand up near Taeyong's head to keep himself steady, he lets the other reach to the younger's hand, easily unbuttoning the jacket with two fingers. As much as he doesn't want to endure even a second without his lips against Taeyong's, he pulls apart to shrug the jacket off his shoulders, and carelessly tosses it to the side.
When he leans back down to kiss the other all over again, he pauses, lips only an inch away from Taeyong's. "You're sure about this?" He questions lowly, fingers tracing over the buttons of Taeyong's shirt— he'd rid himself of his own jacket upon entering the apartment. The material of his shirt is so thin, he can practically feel the softness of his skin already.
Taeyong takes a breath, seeming a little distracted by the touch. Was he really that sensitive? "Yeah." He answers after a moment, nodding to confirm what he'd said.
"Okay." Doyoung exhales too, leaning in for a much gentler kiss, unbuttoning the several lowest buttons. With the thought of the other's sensitivity fresh in his mind, he slides a hand beneath the newly parted fabric, and feels Taeyong tense beneath him as fingertips graze over his skin. He smirks faintly into the kiss, then moves to bring lips to Taeyong's neck, earning a pretty gasp from the other.
"Doyoung—"
"I won't leave anything anywhere visible. Don't worry," He reassures, letting his fingers slide up a little further. When Taeyong doesn't give much of a response, Doyoung adds, "Hyung will take care of you."
That draws a soft noise out of Taeyong, and the other's nodding absentmindedly again, so he takes it as a sign to leave a slight trail of kisses along his neck, and a moment later, to suck at the skin above his collarbone.
Taeyong exhales sharply, tilting his head at an angle for Doyoung to have more room to work with. It's certainly tempting to leave a hickey, but he's not stupid. Not that stupid, at least.
He returns to work unbuttoning Taeyong's shirt, and soon sits up properly to take off his own, movements eager with anticipation.
Their lips find one another's again, and Taeyong seems just a little needier, raising his hips seeking more contact between them, whining whenever Doyoung neglects his lips for more than a moment— and the older loves every moment of it. He wants to spoil him with everything he has. By now, he's hard— hard to the point of painfulness, almost, and he wants Taeyong to know that. Their bodies press against one another's, and Taeyong breathily moans against his lips.
Maybe it's the alcohol in his system, but the whole scenario feels a little like a dream. For once, Doyoung's focus isn't on himself. Not on his career, or on his fans or his schedule or anything of the sort. For once it's on another, and he can forget, even just for the time being, of the person he is outside of this room.
Part of him wants to draw out their time together as long as possible, spoil every inch of Taeyong's skin with attention, though for the most part, he's more impatient with every touch between them, something so irresistible about the other.
Forcing himself to sit upright in-between Taeyong's legs, he exhales, starting to undo his belt. Taeyong sits up enough to slide off his shirt, their clothes becoming a messy pile amongst the floor.
Tossing his belt towards the rest of the clothes, Doyoung gives a hum to gain Taeyong's attention. "You have lube, right? I probably have a condom somewhere in my wallet if—"
"I do, yeah," Taeyong gestures to the drawer of his sidetable by his bed, seeming to struggle a little with pulling his pants off. "Can you get them, please?"
There's something a little endearing about the way Taeyong asks him— Is Doyoung supposed to feel that way? He's here to fuck him, not think about the way he seems slightly flustered asking, and his cheeks are pink from what's probably a combination of too many drinks and profusely making out. Taeyong's so effortlessly likeable, and Doyoung has the overwhelming urge to look after him in every sense.
"Mm." He answers, shifting to the side of the bed to lean towards the drawer, finding the small bottle he's looking for, and a moment later, a condom to accompany it. He places both atop of the sidetable, and closes the drawer softly, hurrying to rid himself of the rest of his clothes.
When he settles in place again, Doyoung finds his breath caught in his throat. He'd known Taeyong was a good looking guy from the moment he'd seen him, but seeing him there, as if all for him— Good looking was an understatement. He's pretty, maybe the prettiest Doyoung's ever seen.
They're kissing again, with a little gentleness compared to the last, though Doyoung only lets it linger for a few minutes. "Can I prep you, baby?"
He's not sure whether it's the name or the question that brings another flush to Taeyong's cheeks, and the other nods. "Yeah— Please."
Who was anyone to deny him asking so nicely?
Doyoung hums, leaning over to retrieve the bottle, and lifting the cap. It's been so long since he's done anything of the sort with anyone, it's a miracle everything between them feels so instinctive and easy. Repositioning himself between the other's thighs, and gently urging him to spread them a little further, —which Taeyong does obediently, and Doyoung thinks back to the comment he'd made earlier about being flexible, which had proved to certainly be the case— before spreading a generous amount of lube along his fingers.
"You'll be careful, right?" Taeyong voices thoughtfully.
Looking up, Doyoung lets their eyes meet. "Yeah, of course," He speaks softly. Bringing his free hand to Taeyong's hip, where his thumb immediately traces circles. Compared to just a moment ago, he seems tense. "I said I'd take of you, didn't I?"
"Yeah." The other breathes, and Doyoung finds himself searching Taeyong's expression for something— for trust.
"And I will. I've got you." He tells him in what's almost a whisper, leaning down to press a careful kiss to his hip. "You wanna move onto your stomach? Or are you good like this?"
"I wanna see you." Taeyong says in answer, and all over again, Doyoung wants to kiss him. He's past the point of contemplating whether that's is or isn't right in the longerm. He's here now, that's what matters.
"Okay. I'll go slow," Doyoung mutters, urging Taeyong's legs to spread a little further, and for him to bend his leg in the slightest. "Relax for me, baby."
And Taeyong seems to, so Doyoung gives his hip a soft squeeze, hand staying there to keep him somewhat still, and brings lubed fingers to slowly circle over his hole, massage the surrounding skin gently. The other gives a shaky exhale, and Doyoung swallows at the sight. He hasn't even started yet, and Taeyong's expression is painted with the prettiest kind of pleasure.
When he's sure Taeyong's ready, Doyoung inserts his first finger as slowly as he can manage, and God— He's tight. It makes Doyoung breathless all over again, and he stops, marvels over how on earth he's going to fit, let alone last long enough to find out.
He pushes the thought to the side though, and wills himself to focus on keeping the other man relaxed. He's grown tense again, and Doyoung hums quietly. "Do you want me to—"
"Keep going," Taeyong interrupts. "I'm okay."
Doyoung gives it a moment before he continues, and when he's knuckle deep, he gives the slightest of experimental movements inside of him, curls his finger, and earns an immediate moan from Taeyong. "Doyoung."
Ignoring how the other moaning his name goes straight to his aching cock, Doyoung offers the subtle movement again, then once more. He watches Taeyong, how his head leans back against the pillows, how his chest rises and falls with his breath and how his hips seem to dare to move along with everything Doyoung does. It's so intimate, watching Taeyong in the moonlight. And though Doyoung's done this and more before, it's never felt like this. Never been close to this.
"You're doing so good," He praises softly, earning a needy whine. "You want another finger?"
"Yeah— Yes, please, fuck." Taeyong stumbles over his words, and Doyoung feels like he might lose his mind, —in the best possible way— over how sensitive the other is, how he's almost gone with only a single finger of Doyoung's inside of him. He's so pretty like this, and Doyoung imagines what it would be like if this were something more than a one night stand— lazily fingering the other until he comes all over himself, whenever he pleases. He's driving himself insane.
When he thinks Taeyong can take it, he slips in a second finger a little faster than the last, and it's equally as overwhelming when he's reminded of just how tight he is, and how good it'll feel to fuck him. As well as offering the movement of curling his fingers that Taeyong likes, he's sure to give slight thrusts in and out of him, to spread his fingers apart, all while Taeyong's whining and moaning for more beneath him. His hips jolt against Doyoung's movements, and he arches himself in hopes of getting something more, something deeper.
"More," Taeyong breathes shakily. "Please, please, please. Feels so good. I need you." He rambles, fists formed around bunches of the bedsheets.
Doyoung's there contemplating between adding a third finger to the mix and just fucking Taeyong then and there long enough that Taeyong practically sobs for him, and that gives Doyoung enough of an answer as to what to do.
In a moment, he's tore open the condom packaging and popped the bottle of lube again, spreading it thickly over his cock, though he can barely manage to give the attention to himself— he's already close.
Placing a hand beneath Taeyong's thigh to lift slightly, Doyoung carefully positions himself, heaving a long breath. In all honesty, he's scared. Taeyong's so tight, so fragile and gentle, he can't help but worry he'll hurt him, more than ever after promising to take care of him. He litters Taeyong with soft kisses; his neck, his chest, his shoulders, before he lines himself up, dragging fingertips along the other's thigh.
And with that, he starts to sink himself into Taeyong, everything in him trying to stay slow. The other gasps so prettily, and whimpers with every second Doyoung takes.
"Fuck, Taeyong. You're so tight." He hisses, unable to refrain the words spilling from him.
When the other doesn't stop him, he keeps going until he can't go anymore. And fuck, he's inside of Taeyong, who feels so perfect around him that he can barely form a thought, nor the words that he wills himself to ask after a few moments of panting, beyond breathless from it all. "Are you okay for me to move?"
Taeyong brings a hand to grip at Doyoung's arm. "God— Yeah, I am."
"You're so fucking pretty, you know that?" The words leave him carelessly.
And Taeyong manages to giggle, and if Doyoung's sure if his heart weren't racing already, it would now.
Slowly, he starts to move. Treating Taeyong as delicately as he is, he first gives slight rocks forward of his hips to test the waters. Instinctively, the other's back arches for more, so Doyoung goes again— just a hint harder. Taeyong gasps softly, and his grips onto the older's arm so tightly that Doyoung's sure he's going to have some kind of bruises, but he can't care less.
They fall into a rhythm of movement, a mess of moans and incoherent rambling. Doyoung still doesn't let himself go fast though, both for Taeyong's sake and for his own, knowing he won't last.
But Taeyong won't have a second of it. "Hyung, please." He begs, with a rock of his own hips. Doyoung would be addicted to how desperate the other is for him, if he weren't as equally in need of him, of fucking him as hard as he could.
"Are you sure?" Though Taeyong hadn't even asked of anything specifically, he knows exactly what he wants.
"Yes, Doyoung. Fuck, so sure. I need more. Please."
It might be the hottest thing he's ever seen, —scratch that, it definitely is— and Doyoung really can't say no to him like this.
So he lifts Taeyong's thigh a little further, moves himself back, and fucks into him— hard. The other practically sobs with pleasure, and Doyoung doesn't bother to ease himself into the pace, just goes as fast as his body will let him, driven by the chorus of groans between them.
It's breathtaking, to say the least. Never has he ever felt close to how he feels fucking Taeyong. It's more than that, it's almost like a connection of some sort. Something like the world perfectly aligning just for the two of them.
It's not long until without a word, Taeyong comes, and Doyoung almost does the same at just the sight alone, of his pretty little whines as he rides his high out with Doyoung still fucking into him. Everything about it feels straight out of some dream Doyoung might have.
"Fuck," Doyoung mutters. "You're so good."
And it only takes him a few more moments until he's coming to his own release, and without a doubt, it's the best Doyoung's ever had.
For what feels like a while, they're a breathless heap amongst one another. There's nothing accompanying them but their heavy breathing, yet it feels so peaceful.
And even after catching their breaths, after calming down and cleaning themselves up, they remain there together wordlessly, in a beautiful kind of silence in the dead of the night.
"Hyung," Taeyong eventually mumbles softly, gaining Doyoung's attention in an instant. He'd figured the other had drifted to sleep, or was awfully close to doing so. "Can you stay? Please?"
Doyoung's a little speechless for a moment. The questions so far from the expectations of whatever casual hookups he's had in his career, he's not sure how to answer. As much as he liked Taeyong, until that moment he'd figured that was all things would be for them. That he'd leave and they'd both go about their lives without so much of another thought about one another. That's how it always went.
Taeyong, sleepy and still not quite sober, hums and continues anyway. "I don't sleep good on my own. I have a lot of nightmares." His voice is low, soft, and more apparent than anything that he's barely awake, or thinking much about what he's saying.
The older frowns a little at that. "You do?"
"Yeah," Taeyong answers, looking like he's fighting to keep his eyes open. "Really sucks."
Doyoung certainly knows that he shouldn't stay. He has enough responsibilities that he probably shouldn't have come at all— But, in one of the many instances of that night, he can't bring himself to say no. Not when Taeyong's so tired, and asking him so sweetly, and definitely not when he'd told him he'd take care of him.
"Sure. I'll stay." He tells him in an echoing soft tone, shifting closer so he can gently run fingers through the younger's hair. It's as soft as it seems, and Taeyong, though already appearing content and on the verge of falling asleep, seems to relax at the touch. It feels all too natural, all too right.
There with Taeyong, for the first time in as long as he can remember, Doyoung feels content.