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After two years of lost opportunities, constantly being talked down to, and strangers pinching his cheeks, Seungri can emphatically say he hates being the maknae of Big Bang.
He’s nineteen years old, for fuck’s sake; he shouldn’t be treated like a baby. And yes, he realizes that that’s just petulant enough to be incredibly ironic, but it’s the truth. He hates being coddled and looked after, hates being “adorable” while Taeyang and Seunghyun and Jiyong and Daesung all get to be sex symbols. He tried to talk to Jiyong about that once, but he just pinched Seungri’s cheek and told him he was adorable when he pouted.
Seungri didn’t talk to him for the rest of the night.
His solo song and accompanying video (which was really just thinly-veiled softcore porn) were his attempt to break into that arena of sex appeal, but the public is slow to accept change and even quicker to forget it; the shock lasted fifteen minutes and then they were back to finding him cute. It was so unfair.
The worst part (even worse than the cheek-pinching) is that even the other members see him that way.
He can prove it.
---
Daesung is a fantastic cook. His specialty is sweets (even though he doesn’t eat them himself), but everything he cooks is, in Seungri’s opinion, beyond delicious. If it weren’t for Daesung, they’d be relying on cereal and takeout. He’s always looking after their eating habits, making sure they get at least one balanced meal a day and plenty of vegetables. For someone with such a busy schedule, Seungri’s not sure how he finds the time to put so much into his cooking.
The problem Seungri has with Daesung and his cooking is this: Daesung will cook Seungri anything he asks for. No matter how hectic things are or how tired Daesung is, no matter how ridiculous Seungri’s request is, Daesung will always find a way. He doesn’t do that for anyone else. Seungri’s seen him laugh in disbelief at Jiyong’s outrageously elaborate demands, heard him promise Seunghyun or Taeyang, Later, when I have more time, but he always says yes to Seungri. He’ll stop whatever he’s doing— he’ll even go out and buy the ingredients if he doesn’t have them.
Seungri decides to test the limits of Daesung’s willingness when they both have the day off and the house to themselves, with no other members to interfere (Jiyong and Seunghyun are out finishing the filming of their commercial for Baskin Robbins and Taeyang is on a radio show with someone from Super Junior).
Seungri wakes up to an empty bed; Daesung is an early riser even on his days off.
Seungri stretches, rolls out of bed, and pads over to the bathroom to brush his teeth. The volume on the TV in the living room is much lower than usual; Daesung must have turned it down so as not to wake him. Ever the considerate one, Daesung.
“Morning, hyung,” Seungri says with a wave as he enters the living room. Daesung smiles, eyes bright, and beckons for Seungri to sit. Seungri plops down beside him, shoulder-to-shoulder and thigh-to-thigh.
“Did you sleep well?” Daesung asks. His voice is gentle next to Seungri’s ear.
“Yes. It’s nice to sleep in for a change, yeah?”
Daesung nods, then shuffles a little closer to Seungri and rests his head on his shoulder. Daesung’s skin is always warm to the touch, but he constantly complains of being cold: he has chosen Seungri as his personal space heater. They lapse into companionable silence, neither of them paying much attention to the colorful early morning talk show.
“Have you eaten yet?” Seungri asks, perfectly aloof. “I’m hungry.”
“No. Would you like me to cook you something?”
Seungri smiles.
---
Two hours later, Daesung is covered in flour and the table in front of Seungri is piled high with more food than all five of them could eat in a week. Seungri stares in disbelief at Daesung, humming cheerfully as he flips yet another pancake to add to the stack (which is at least a foot high) teetering on the countertop to his left.
Okay. This has gotten a little out of hand.
“Daesung!” Seungri says.
“Yes?” Daesung replies, turning to face him. He’s got a spatula in one hand, flour smeared on the bridge of his nose, and a giant smile stretching his lips.
“What are you doing?” Seungri asks, gesturing at the feast set out before him.
“… Cooking?”
Seungri clenches his jaw. “Yes, but why are you cooking?”
“Because you asked me to.”
“You don’t have to cook me things just because I ask you to. You don’t cook everything Jiyong, Youngbae or Seunghyun ask for.”
“I—well, I don’t always have time for— ”
“But you always have time for me. How can you have time for me and not for anyone else?”
Daesung swallows, eyes wide with something almost like fear. “I just—I like cooking for you. More than… the others.” Daesung isn’t looking at him anymore. He’s staring down at the spatula clutched in his hands, fiddling with the handle as he trips over his words.
“But why?”
Daesung cocks head to the side and juts his lower lip out just slightly in an expression Seungri has come to know as his “thinking face”. It is sometimes accompanied by the stroking of an imaginary beard.
“It’s because I’m the maknae, isn’t it?”
Daesung’s eyes light up and he nods, eager. “Yes! You’re so young, Seunghyun. You shouldn’t have to waste your youth cooking!”
Aha! Seungri thinks, and then the triumph at being proved right is replaced by anger at being proved right; he makes a sound somewhere between a sputter and a scoff. “You have got to be kidding me!” he cries, fighting the urge to flail his arms in exasperation. “You’re only a year older than me!”
“Oh. Right.” Daesung seems to be at a loss for words. It looks like he’s blushing. That’s weird. “Still.”
Seungri sort of feels like smacking his head against the table, but there’s a delicious-looking omelette in the way that he really should dispose of first.
Daesung: confirmed.
---
Seunghyun likes to go out drinking, but his schedule and the reputation he has to keep prevents him from doing it that often. Instead, he stays in and mixes drinks for his friends. He does all the fancy bartender moves, flipping the bottles and pouring from behind his back. Jiyong draws the line at flaming shots because he really doesn’t want their kitchen to burn down, but Seunghyun experiments with just about everything else.
Yes, Seunghyun likes making drinks for his fellow band members. Everyone except Seungri; Seungri found that out two weeks ago.
And okay, so Seungri is underage, but so is Daesung!
Here’s how it happened:
Seungri had never been that interested in drinking, but he figured he could make an exception for his friends. One night when he knew they were going to be drinking, he joined them at the table. Their conversation ceased when they saw him, surprise evident on their faces; Seungri arched an eyebrow in question. After an awkward second or two, they looked away and continued on as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
“Aren’t you usually on your computer at this time of night, Seungri?” Seunghyun asked, gaze flicking back and forth between Seungri and the bottles of liquor on the table.
“Yes, but I thought I’d join you tonight.”
“Ah. Ah, okay,” Seunghyun said. His voice was light, but Seungri noticed the furrow in his brows before he could turn his back to him.
He sat quietly and listened to the other members talk about the interview they’d done earlier that day, about their plans for their upcoming break. Seungri chimed in now and then, but there was some strange, nameless tension preventing him from really breaking into the conversation. He was just about to ask what the hell was going on when Seunghyun set a drink down in front of him.
“Thank you,” Seungri said, a little irritably. He picked the drink up and examined it, wary from all the odd looks the other members were giving him. Were they pulling a prank on him? Were they poisoning him?
Seungri threw caution to the wind and took a sip. Huh. It was good.
“It’s good,” he said. “Tastes very… fruity.” And not at all poison-y, he added to himself.
Seunghyun nodded in thanks. Everyone else got their drinks and Seunghyun sat down with them, and they drank, and they talked, and it was nice— Seungri didn’t know why he hadn’t joined them before.
When he took the second, much bigger sip of his drink, he noticed something… off about it. Curious, he took another, smacking his lips to get more of the flavor.
“Wait,” he said, eyes narrowing, “There’s… there’s no alcohol in this!”
Everyone but Seunghyun had the decency to look guilty. “Of course not, Seungri,” he said matter-of-factly, “You can’t drink.”
“We were hoping you wouldn’t notice,” Jiyong added, shrugging.
“I know what alcohol tastes like!” Seungri snapped. He stood up and shoved his chair in with a little more force than was necessary; his drink trembled on the table. “Whatever. If you didn’t want me to drink with you, you could’ve just told me.”
He left. Daesung and Taeyang called after him to come back, but he ignored them.
A half hour later, when Seungri was in bed but very much not asleep (he was too angry to sleep), Daesung slipped into the room on tip-toes. He didn’t say anything, just took off his jeans and crawled into bed. Normally they slept on separate sides, so when Daesung slid his arms around Seungri’s waist and hooked his chin over Seungri’s shoulder, Seungri knew Daesung was trying to make him feel better.
Truth be told, it did make Seungri feel a little bit better. But not enough to count.
“They just worry about you, you know,” Daesung murmured into the space between Seungri’s neck and the line of his jaw, “They don’t want you getting into trouble.”
“Just—” Seungri cut himself off with a frustrated sound before he could say anything he’d regret. “Leave me alone.”
Even though Seungri couldn’t see Daesung, he could imagine the confused, hurt expression on his face all too vividly. Daesung pulled away from Seungri and rolled over to face the wall.
The space between them had never felt so wide.
Seungri has dwelled on it, though.
Seunghyun: confirmed.
Seungri knows he swears; he’s heard him swear when he thinks he’s alone, but he doesn’t let out so much as a “damn” when Seungri is around. He’s obviously censoring himself around the maknae. Seungri’s just not sure how to prove it.
His first attempt is half-baked: he decides to start cursing every other word, hoping Taeyang will succumb to peer pressure, join in, and disprove his theory.
In the first hour of his experiment, the manager overhears him and tells him that if he doesn’t watch his mouth, he’ll wash it out with soap. He was joking, but Seungri glares at him all the same; he’s definitely going on the list. Seungri does stop with the sailor talk, though. As satisfying as it was to see Daesung’s eyes widen comically at every heartfelt “fuck”, it’s definitely not worth tasting soap for a week. The manager might have been joking, but Jiyong would have no reservations about putting him in a headlock and shoving a bar of soap in his mouth. He’d probably think it was hilarious.
His second attempt involves tricking Taeyang into cursing; unexpected pain usually does the trick.
Every morning, Taeyang wakes up, has some fruit for breakfast, and heads off to the gym. One night after Tae goes to bed, Seungri leaves his shoes in the path from Tae’s bedroom into the kitchen. It’s a doubly effective plan: when Taeyang stumbles on Seungri’s shoes he’ll be mad at Seungri for leaving them out and about stubbing his toe—there’s no way he won’t let a curse or two slip.
Seungri wakes up earlier than ever that morning. Careful not to disturb Daesung snoring softly beside him, he gets out of bed and walks quietly into the kitchen. He grabs a bottle of iced coffee from the fridge, sits down at the kitchen table, and waits.
Twenty minutes later, he hears Jiyong waking up. For a moment he panics, worried his plan is going to be foiled, but then it occurs to him that having Jiyong awake is even better; now he’ll have a witness.
The hostel is almost completely silent this early in the morning. Seungri can hear Jiyong singing an unfamiliar tune under his breath as he moves around his room, stopping and starting in a way that suggests he’s testing out the melody. He woke up five minutes ago and he’s already composing a new song—that’s why he’s their leader. There is the faint sound of running water, and then Seungri can hear the muffled sounds of Jiyong humming even as he brushes his teeth. Seungri smiles to himself.
Jiyong comes into the kitchen wearing an oversized tank top and boxers, his bangs held back with a tiny hairband.
“Morning, Ri,” he says through a yawn, “You’re up early.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” Seungri lies.
Jiyong eyes the half-empty bottle of iced coffee on the table. “Maybe you shouldn’t drink so much sugar then, dongsaeng,” he scolds, tapping Seungri lightly on the back of the head. Seungri bats his hand away and takes another swig of his coffee just to spite Jiyong. He sticks his tongue out at him after he swallows. Jiyong sighs in a long-suffering sort of way.
Jiyong sits with him at the table as he eats his healthy breakfast of cereal and glass of orange juice. He (silently, with his eyes) nags Seungri until he gets some real food as well. Seungri is pouring the milk into his cereal (not too little, not too much—Seungri hates soggy cereal) when he hears Taeyang yelp and stumble and crash into the wall. Jiyong jumps up and runs over to him, Seungri following close behind. Taeyang is sprawled on the floor, biting his lip. Jiyong is swearing enough for the both of them, hovering over Taeyang as he gingerly touches his hurt toe.
When he winces, Seungri feels terrible.
Jiyong ends up being the one to swear at him for leaving his shoes out as well. Then he smacks him over the head hard enough to bruise. Seungri complains loudly about it, but every time Taeyang messes up one of his steps in practice that day because of his toe, Seungri thinks he deserves the pain.
Taeyang: given up on (for now), out of extreme feelings of contrition.
What he does have a problem with is that after a day when Jiyong really tears into Seungri, he finds him, cuddles up to him, and apologizes.
Kwon Jiyong apologizes.
That bears repeating: Kwon Jiyong apologizes.
“Kwon Jiyong” and “apologize” shouldn’t ever even be in the same sentence together.
Okay, so he doesn’t ever actually say, “I’m sorry”, but that guilty look in his eyes makes the meaning behind his soft words and touches perfectly clear. Seungri’s asked around and Jiyong doesn’t apologize, in that way, or any other, in even the vaguest sense of the word, to anyone else.
He’s probably never apologized to anyone else in his entire life.
“Maybe he feels bad because he thinks he’s just taking out his frustration on you,” Taeyang said one morning, after Seungri inquired as to whether Jiyong had ever apologized to him: the answer was no. He paused to take a bit of his grapefruit, chewing thoughtfully. “Or maybe he thinks he’s being overly critical and you don’t deserve it. You know how he gets.”
Seungri nodded as if he was placated by Taeyang’s explanation, but in the back of his mind he was already putting a plan together to disprove it.
Seungri does deserve it when Jiyong yells at him; he makes mistakes that need to be corrected just like anyone else. But alright, maybe Jiyong doesn’t think the maknae’s mistakes are anything to get worked up about. Maybe Seungri isn’t being held to the same standards as the other members in his leader’s eyes. If Taeyang’s right about all that, then when Seungri does something he really deserves to be yelled at for, Jiyong won’t apologize later.
And, action:
“No, it goes like this! Over, down, then out!” Jiyong snaps, demonstrating with a perfectly fluid move of his arm. “How many times do I have to show you, Seunghyun?”
Oh, if he’s using Seungri’s given name, he really is mad. And rightly so, as Seungri has been purposely misunderstanding his directions all afternoon. Jiyong was admirably patient for the first few hours, but Seungri can tell he’s now stepping on the last of Jiyong’s fraying nerves.
Seungri lets the moment build. He can almost see Jiyong’s blood pressure rising. Seunghyun is staring openly at the two of them, eyebrows raised. Taeyang is pretending to tie his shoelaces. Daesung is worrying his lip, looking like he’s mere seconds away from jumping between the two of them and trying to fix everything.
“Well?” Jiyong demands.
With every gram of insolence in his being, Seungri says, “Go fuck yourself.” Then he storms out, slamming the door hard enough that the glass rattles in its frame. Just in time, too, because whatever Jiyong throws after him hits the door with a THUNK! that sounds heavy enough to knock someone unconscious.
Near-miss concussion aside, the whole thing goes pretty well.
“That’s it!” he cries, and then, “Ow, shit,” because he nicked himself with his razor in his excitement. After the little cut on his jaw stops bleeding, he gets dressed, grabs a box of crackers from the kitchen, and holes up in his room with Star Wars to wait.
This is going to be good.
Jiyong doesn’t bother knocking on the door, just comes right in and stands in the doorway with his hands on his hips. Seungri tries his best to look innocent. He feels an odd sort of kinship with Luke Skywalker trying to make sense of just exactly why Yoda is making him run through the swamps of Dagobah carrying him on his back.
“Are you done being a pissy little fucker yet?” Jiyong asks in a biting tone.
Seungri doesn’t answer him.
Jiyong sighs (again, long-suffering) and pushes a hand through his hair. He kind of looks like he wants to punch Seungri, but not enough that he’s willing to incur the wrath of YG for fucking up Seungri’s pretty face. “You realize you have absolutely no excuse for acting that way?” he says, “I know you’re stressed out, but we’re all stressed out. We have to have those moves down by the middle of next week.”
Jiyong sounds tired— the kind of tired that gets etched into your bones and doesn’t go away no matter how much you sleep. Sometimes Seungri forgets how much energy he expends into forwarding their career, how little he keeps for himself.
Seungri wants to apologize, even though he planned this, because now he feels guilty for weighing Jiyong down with yet another burden, even a contrived one. He can feel the words hovering right on the tip of his tongue, so he bites it to ensure they won’t slip out. Jiyong sits down next to him on the bed, slings an arm over his shoulder and sighs, again. And there it is, those fingertips moving on his upper arm in soothing circles—that’s the apology.
Seungri forgets the guilt and lets his anger at being proved right, yet again, take over. He grabs Jiyong by the shoulders, flips him over, and pins him to the bed with strong hands and well-placed knees.
Jiyong first looks surprised, and then put out. “If you’re going to hit me, please avoid my face.”
“I’m so sick of you treating me like this,” Seungri announces, his grip tightening on Jiyong’s wrist. “It’s infuriating.”
“Like what? Sheesh, you’re acting odd today.” He sounds so calm. Seungri wants him decidedly less composed, right now. He shifts until he’s covering Jiyong’s body with his own, undulates a little, and bends his head down to speak directly into Jiyong’s ear: “I’m not a baby. I can take it when you yell at me,” he whispers, husky and slow. Jiyong’s wrist starts trembling beneath Seungri’s fingers, almost imperceptibly so.
“What in the world has gotten into you?” Jiyong asks. He sounds disapproving, but he sure doesn’t look it. He doesn’t try to push Seungri away, either. “Get off me.”
“Doesn’t sound like you want me to.” He lets go of Jiyong’s shoulder and slides his hand down his chest, over his stomach. He stops just above the waistband of his sweatpants, licks his lips and smiles the way he learned when he was filming his music video.
“You think I’m treating you… like a child?” Jiyong’s eyes flash, dangerous, and all of a sudden everything shifts; Jiyong grabs the TV remote from Seungri’s pillow and switches the TV off, just as Lando is revealing his double-dealing, and Seungri begins to think he may not be the one in control here.
Oh, right: Jiyong was the one who taught him that smile.
“You always come to… comfort me. After you yell at me. But I’m not a baby, I can take it.” He curses himself for the waver in his voice, but he can’t help it, not when Jiyong’s free hand is slipping under his loose shirt and trailing patterns up his stomach, every feather-light touch deliberate and inexplicably erotic. Jiyong angles one of his thighs to rub agonizingly gently against the growing bulge in Seungri’s boxers.
Oh, he is so not in control.
“Can you?” Jiyong asks, amused, tilting his head to the side and biting back a smile.
“Yes,” Seungri hisses, partly because yes, he can, but mostly as an affirmative response to Jiyong increasing the pace and the pressure of his thigh's movements. But it's still not enough. Seungri’s never been this turned on before without being able to just reach down and jerk himself off. Jiyong’s hand (the one Seungri had been pinning to the bedspread before the balance of power flipped) comes up to stroke Seungri’s cheek, thin fingers trailing along the line of Seungri’s jaw. He slides it up into Seungri’s hair, grips the short strands for emphasis as he thrusts. Seungri sucks in his breath.
Jiyong copies Seungri’s move from before, but in reverse: he cranes his neck up to whisper in Seungri’s ear, “Are you sure you can take it?”
“Yes. Please,” Seungri whines, rutting unashamedly against Jiyong’s thigh.
“That’s what I wanted to hear,” Jiyong chuckles. The hand that had been resting on Seungri’s stomach slips into his boxers and wraps around his cock, warm and dry. Seungri lets out a choked gasp. Oh god, Jiyong’s fingers feel amazing. They’re working him with long, slow, completely erratic strokes; sometimes there are pauses as long as ten seconds between because Jiyong is staring into Seungri’s eyes, waiting for him to beg. His thumb comes up to flick against the head of Seungri’s cock and the pad swirls over the tip, gathering up the precome already collecting, and then Jiyong’s hand is gone and Seungri lets out an impatient noise, thrusting his hips in search of more friction.
Oh, there it is, Seungri thinks when Jiyong’s hand appears up by his face. He presses his thumb against his lips and licks it clean with a single swipe of his tongue.
Seungri dies a little bit inside.
Jiyong’s smile is positively devious. “You want to fuck me?”
Seungri’s eyes widen and he nods, frantically. Jiyong laughs and runs a reassuring hand up Seungri’s trembling thigh.
Before Seungri can quite work out how it happened, he’s on his back and Jiyong is hovering over him. Seungri is a little sick of being manhandled, so he sits up in defiance and pulls his shirt off. Jiyong takes his off as well, and then he’s tugging off Seungri’s boxers and grabbing the base of his cock and swallowing it down, all in one swift movement.
Seungri arches off the bed with a sharp cry. Jiyong gags and chokes on him and Seungri tries not to whimper at the feel of Jiyong’s throat convulsing around him. He pulls off of Seungri to catch his breath. This time Seungri does whimper, at the loss of that wet heat.
“Don’t do that!” Jiyong scolds, putting a firm hand on Seungri’s hip to make sure it won’t happen again. “If you rub my throat raw I’ll lose my voice, and then I really won’t be happy with you.”
Seungri nods dumbly, not quite sure what he’s agreeing to. He’d agree to anything if Jiyong would just—oh, fuck yes, Jiyong’s mouth is back on him again, lips sliding almost all the way down and then back up and off, and Jiyong watches precome form at the tip of his cock as he pumps Seungri with his fist. He licks at the head, sucks it into his mouth, and then goes back to teasing Seungri with short flicks of his tongue.
Seungri feels like he’s going to die. He’s got one hand fisted so tightly in the sheets that his knuckles are turning white and he’s biting down on the other to try and stop the pathetic pleading noises from escaping. His hips are jerking minutely against Jiyong’s hold, wanting so badly to break free. If Jiyong wasn’t so (deceptively) strong, Seungri’d be fucking his mouth until he couldn’t breathe right now.
Jiyong pulls off of him with a soft, wet sound, and then he’s leaning over Seungri again, licking his lips, eyes bright.
“Tell me you have lube,” he says, his voice rough. Rough because he was just sucking Seungri off, and that is so fucking hot Seungri doesn’t even know what to do with himself. It’s almost paralyzing in its intensity.
“Seungri-yah!” Jiyong says impatiently, snapping his fingers in front of Seungri’s face.
“Wha—? Oh, night stand, bottom drawer,” Seungri manages to say. Jiyong reaches out, but his arms aren’t long enough to grab the drawer handle. He scrambles over Seungri to get closer, and Seungri realizes with a jolt that he can feel Jiyong’s cock pressing against his hip, hard and warm and thick, through the thin fabric of his sweatpants.
Seungri, bold with the fact that Jiyong is hard for him, moves his hand to palm at Jiyong’s crotch. He knows his movements are inexpert at best, clumsy at worst, but Jiyong arches into his hand and lets out a high-pitched whine all the same, momentarily distracted from his search. After a moment he reaches out again (with a shaking hand, Seungri notes with an air of triumph) to rummage through the drawer. He comes back up with a condom, a tube of lube, and a smile, and then his sweatpants are on the floor and he’s straddling Seungri’s hips.
“Do you want me to—?” Seungri asks, gesturing at the tube and then at Jiyong; he can feel himself blushing.
Jiyong shakes his head, mischief sparking in his eyes. “Just watch.”
Seungri nearly swallows his tongue when Jiyong lubes up his fingers and, with no hesitation, pushes two inside himself. He watches, mouth dry, as Jiyong works them in and out. Every little noise of pleasure that escapes his lips makes Seungri’s cock twitch. The lube is getting everywhere, the creases of Jiyong’s thighs shiny with it, and Seungri can feel it, slick and warm, against his own skin as Jiyong grinds down.
“Oh—oh, fuck,” Jiyong moans, and Seungri watches in awe as he lets out a sound between a gasp and a moan and his whole body tightens, back arching in a perfect curve.
That’s it, Seungri can’t stand just watching anymore— he has to touch. He reaches out, tentatively, brushes his fingertips against the muscle stretched around Jiyong’s fingers. Jiyong breathes in sharply. Seungri gathers up some of the excess lube and carefully slides a finger in beside Jiyong’s, pumping in and out steadily, calmly, even as his mind is completely off kilter, spinning, imagining how that tight heat is going to feel wrapped around his cock. Seungri moans.
“Jesus—okay, I can’t wait any more,” Jiyong rasps. “Condom. Where’d the condom go?”
Seungri spots it on the far edge of the mattress and lunges for it, tearing it open with his teeth (with a bit of a struggle that he will ask Jiyong to leave out when he remembers this later) and slides it on. Jiyong runs his hand over Seungri’s cock, smearing it with the lube still on his fingers, and says, with a cheeky smile, “Always practice safe sex, Ri.” Then he grabs Seungri’s hips with his filthy fingers and sinks down onto his cock in one, smooth motion.
“Fuck!” Seungri chokes. It feels amazing and perfect and his heart skips a beat and all his breath rushes out of him, kind of like he just got punched hard in the solar plexus. He’s dying, this time he really is dying.
“God, okay,” Jiyong purrs. He holds Seungri’s hips down but Seungri keeps thrusting up anyway, futilely, because he no longer has any control over his pelvic area. Jiyong grinds his ass back and forth, teasing desperate noises out of Seungri. Seungri’s afraid they’ll never get to the actual fucking, but then, with a roll of his hips only a dancer could execute without severely pulling a muscle, he manages to brush Jiyong’s prostate, and that’s it—Jiyong lifts himself up and drops back down. Both he and Seungri let out a heartfelt moan. The muscles in his thighs flex as he rides Seungri’s cock, his stomach taut and shiny here and there with traces of his own precome.
Seungri feels a little useless just lying there, so he reaches out and grabs Jiyong’s cock, jerking it in time with his thrusts. Jiyong moans, and then laughs as he bends down to kiss Seungri. It’s sloppy and their teeth keep clacking together, but when Seungri wraps his arms around Jiyong’s back and pulls him down just that much further, the angle is perfect. Seungri can tell by the way that Jiyong gasps into his mouth, over and over, that he’s hitting his prostate on every stroke.
“Seungri, Seungri, Seungri,” he whispers against Seungri’s collarbone, the soft use of his name completely contrary to the loud, animalistic noises he lets loose every time Seungri hits him just right. Jiyong swivels his hips and digs his nails into Seungri’s shoulder and Seungri comes, back arching off the bed as he moans (okay, maybe screams) Jiyong’s name.
When he opens his eyes again, he sees Jiyong jerking himself off, eyes shut tight, teeth worrying his lower lip. Seungri sits up slowly, still shaky in his movements after such an intense orgasm. He wraps his hand around Jiyong’s and starts stroking along with him, fingers dipping into the precome leaking from the tip. Jiyong lets out a shaky moan at the added friction and the movement of his hips stimulates Seungri’s oversensitive cock, sending slight tremors through his entire body.
“Yes,” Jiyong gasps. With one last tug, he comes all over their hands and Seungri’s stomach.
“Oh my god,” Seungri says about five minutes later when his higher brain is functioning again. Jiyong has pulled off of him without Seungri noticing and is sprawled on top of him, somehow taking up the entire bed with the spread of his limbs. His fingers are lazily carding through Seungri’s hair as he nuzzles Seungri’s neck.
“That was hot,” Jiyong murmurs.
“That is completely not how I meant for that to go.”
“Sure it wasn’t,” Jiyong teases, lightly running a fingertip over Seungri’s collarbone.
“It wasn’t!” Seungri says, petulant. He’d been thinking more along the lines of mutual handjobs until Jiyong tearfully admitted that yes, Seungri did deserve to be treated like an adult; giving Jiyong a good, thorough fucking but still somehow not being in control was not the plan.
“We’ll call it a happy accident, then,” Jiyong says with a smile. He kisses the corner of Seungri’s mouth, gets up, gathers his discarded clothes, and heads to the door with a bit of a limp in his step. “We should do this again sometime!” he calls over his shoulder as he leaves.
Seungri groans and buries his face in his pillow.
However, the next time Jiyong yells at Seungri during practice for not giving it 130% (Jiyong requires 20% more than the average high school gym coach), he doesn’t come apologize.
Seungri counts that as a win.
Seunghyun is next. He’s not quite as easy as Jiyong, so Seungri decides to put a little more thought into his approach.
He starts out with smoldering looks and lingering touches. He tries his best, but Seunghyun doesn’t pay any of his advances any mind; perhaps constant exposure to Jiyong has made him immune.
He then tries “accidentally” flashing him—stretching his arms up and arching his back until his stomach is exposed, bending down or twisting to the side to show off his hips and the thin trail of hair leading down from his navel. Daesung’s giving him odd looks, but Seunghyun is still completely unaffected.
When Seungri casually announces that darn, he forgot to put on underwear, Daesung chokes on his coffee, Taeyang patting his back until he starts breathing normally again, but Seunghyun just raises his eyebrows and turns back to his phone.
During practice, when Jiyong tells them they should all freestyle to give him some ideas for choreography, Seungri dances on Seunghyun like he’s a stripper and Seunghyun is the pole.
“I’m going for something a little less… slutty, Seungri-yah,” Jiyong says when the music stops, smiling behind his hand.
“I-I liked the hips,” Daesung says, then blushes and looks very intently at a scuff mark on the floor.
Taeyang looks a little scandalized.
“Is there something you’d like to tell us about how you got the president to sign you?” Seunghyun asks, looking down at Seungri with mirthful eyes. Mirthful—not even the least bit lustful. The man’s a rock.
Everyone but Seungri laughs; he crosses his arms over his chest and says, “That’s not funny, hyung.”
Seunghyun ruffles his hair and Jiyong claps his hands and order is restored.
Oh, duh, Seungri thinks, and he’s got a foolproof plan.
“Seungri, are you… drinking?” he asks, sounding hesitant and, unless Seungri’s imagining it, a little impressed.
Seungri grunts and puts on his troubled expression, the one he practiced in the mirror earlier. Seunghyun furrows his brows and sits down across from him. He looks concerned. Oh yeah, Seungri is an awesome actor. He pours himself a glass and knocks it back, managing not to wince at the sharp burn. That’s the first glass he’s actually had tonight; the rest he poured down the sink.
“You shouldn’t drink,” Seunghyun says, but there’s not even a trace of admonishment in his tone; he’s never been very good at disciplining. “And you definitely shouldn’t drink alone. It’s sad.”
Seungri shrugs, stares down at the table in a way that he hopes looks forlorn. “Do you… want to join me?” Seungri asks, voice small.
Seungri holds his breath, afraid Seunghyun is going to leave, but then he grabs the bottle and pours himself a drink.
Seungri gives himself a mental high-five.
“I think I’m a little drunk,” Seunghyun announces, looking at the bottom of his empty glass.
They’re on their second bottle now. Seunghyun’s probably had twice as much to drink as Seungri, but he’s very much not a lightweight; it only started visibly affecting him a half hour ago. He slurred a word and Seungri took that as an invitation to crawl into his lap, sure that Seunghyun wouldn’t push him off when his brain was so fuzzy with alcohol. He didn’t. Seungri’s been getting bolder with every drink Seunghyun swallows.
At the moment he’s slowly rubbing his ass against the bulge in Seunghyun’s tight jeans, lightly enough that it could be interpreted as unintentional. He can feel Seunghyun hardening against him. Seungri grinds down once, with intent, and Seunghyun lets out a low moan.
And then shoves Seungri out of his lap.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he demands, jumping to his feet. He looks guilty.
Seungri, pretending he didn’t yelp when he hit the floor, stands up and adjusts his mussed clothes, and then visibly adjusts his erection, fighting back a smile when he hears Seunghyun swallow. He looks up at Seunghyun through his lashes, feigning innocence. “Whatever do you mean?”
“I’m drunk. You’re drunk. We—we shouldn’t…” Seunghyun trails off, looking anywhere but at Seungri. “You should go to bed,” he finishes firmly.
Okay, time to drop the act. Seungri grabs Seunghyun by the front of his sweatshirt and shoves him up against the wall.
“Seungri!” Seunghyun exclaims, eyes wide.
Seungri licks his lips, leans in and cranes his neck up to breathe the words against Seunghyun’s mouth: “Yes, hyung?”
Seunghyun’s eyes narrow and Seungri knows he’s zeroing in on Seungri’s steady hands, steady stance, noticing that’s he’s not slurring his words like he was. Evidently he puts it all together, because he turns Seungri around and shoves him roughly into the wall. “You’re not drunk.”
Seungri smirks, eyes lidded. “I have no idea what you mean.”
“The fuck you don’t,” Seunghyun growls. He cups Seungri’s cock through the worn denim of his jeans and Seungri moans, unashamed.
“Oh darn, you caught me.”
“You are such a little ass,” Seunghyun laughs, humorless, and then he’s rubbing Seungri’s cock with sure movements, squeezing until Seungri gasps, staring straight into his eyes, unblinking, and Seungri realizes it’s a challenge; he thinks Seungri’s going to back out. Seungri is not going to back out. He reaches down and unbuttons Seunghyun’s jeans, smiles as he slowly, slowly unzips them.
Seunghyun, never one to back down, undoes the fastenings on Seungri’s jeans as well. He takes it a step farther and tugs them down to reveal naked skin—Seungri isn’t wearing anything underneath.
“Shit,” Seunghyun breathes.
“Did you not believe me when I said I wasn’t wearing underwear? Because I was telling the truth.”
“Cheeky little fucker,” Seunghyun says, pulling the jeans down past Seungri’s thighs until his erection springs free. He crowds him closer into the wall and starts jerking him off with quick, rough strokes. Seungri groans and bucks into Seunghyun’s hand, and his other hand comes down to grasp Seungri’s hip, works its way back to knead at his ass. While Seunghyun is rubbing his thumb against the head of Seungri’s cock, his fingers graze Seungri’s entrance and Seungri wants Seunghyun to fuck him now.
“Fuck me,” he says. He’s way too turned on to be subtle, and blunt sure worked for Jiyong.
Seunghyun’s hands stop moving. “What?”
Seungri puts his hand of Seunghyun’s broad chest, slides it down and slips it into the front of Seunghyun’s open jeans. He reaches down into his boxers and rubs teasingly at the head of his cock, smearing precome as he runs his fingers down the length of it. “I said I want you to fuck me, hyung. Come on, you know you want to.” He wraps his hand around the base, twists his wrist once, twice— Seunghyun makes a rough sound low in his throat, grabs Seungri by the waist, picks him up (as if he weighs nothing at all) and slams him up against the wall. Seungri wraps his legs around Seunghyun’s hips, purely out of fear of being dropped.
“You really want me to fuck you?” Seunghyun asks. Seunghyun’s so close that Seungri can taste the alcohol on his breath and the look on his face, his eyes darker than Seungri’s ever seen them, would be terrifying if it wasn’t so hot.
“Yes. There’s lube in my back pocket,” Seungri says, gesturing at the jeans bunching around his lower thighs.
“You planned this?” Seunghyun says, astonished, but he reaches down to rifle through Seungri’s pocket all the same.
“Well, I didn’t plan this exactly, but—oh.” Seungri’s words are cut short when Seunghyun reaches behind him and presses against his entrance with slick fingers, the cool lube warming quickly from the heat of Seunghyun’s fingers and Seungri’s bare skin. He teases for a bit, rubbing in slow circles, and then he pushes one finger all the way in. Seungri gasps.
Okay, that’s… weird. Jiyong sure made this look a lot more fun than it feels.
“You’re such a slut, Seungri. Jiyong’s probably going to kill me for this, but I’m going to fuck you in half. I’m gonna pound you until you’re screaming, until you can’t even fucking breathe,” Seunghyun growls, low and gravelly, his breath hot on Seungri’s neck and god, his voice is deep.
“Jiyong won’t care. I fucked him last week,” Seungri says, breathless.
Seunghyun looks surprised, then incredibly turned on. He slides a second finger into Seungri’s ass, and, without giving him a chance to adjust to the stretch, pumps them in and out. He ignores the look of discomfort on Seungri’s face as he moves them around inside him, evidently searching for something.
It feels weird, Seungri thinks. Jiyong must be crazy or something, because this doesn’t—
“Oh, fuck!” Seungri cries, and his spine arches so suddenly he smacks his head against the wall. A shudder runs through him and he decides that Jiyong’s not crazy, he’s a genius (actually, probably both). He grinds down on Seunghyun’s fingers to get him to do that again, but, to Seungri’s dismay, Seunghyun pulls them out instead. Seungri makes an impatient noise. Before he can complain, Seunghyun’s back and pushing three fingers into him.
There’s not enough lube to ease the uncomfortable stretch, and it hurts a little, but the pain just makes it feel even better when Seunghyun’s fingertips finally brush against his prostate again, press firmly against it, and Seungri whines high in his throat. Seunghyun thrusts his fingers into him over and over and over, relentless, until Seungri’s squirming and begging for Seunghyun to fuck him.
Seunghyun’s fingers disappear, leaving Seungri feeling remarkably empty, and then Seungri feels the blunt pressure of Seunghyun’s cock against his hole and he looks him in the eye and says, “You ready?”
“I forgot the condom!” Seungri exclaims, smacking himself in the forehead. “Jiyong’s going to be so disappointed, he told me to practice safe sex.”
Seunghyun lets out a bark of laughter, half incredulous, half amused at Seungri’s expense. Well, maybe the latter half is more like two-thirds, but it’s not his fault Seunghyun fried his brain with his magic fingers and now he’s talking nonsense.
“Don’t worry, I’m clean,” Seunghyun laughs, and then he says, again, “Are you ready?”
“Yes! Fuck me already,” Seungri demands, impatient.
“You sure are pushy,” Seunghyun mutters, but it turns into a groan when he starts pushing into Seungri.
Fuck, it hurts. It hurts, it fucking hurts. Seunghyun’s cock is stupidly huge and it hurts. Seungri bites his lip, blinking back the tears forming in the corners of his eyes. He is not going to cry— it doesn’t hurt that bad. It hurts less when Seunghyun starts stroking his cock again, licks the sweat from Seungri’s neck and sucks a hickey into the skin below his ear. Seungri’s trembling starts to cease and he loosens the death grip he has on Seunghyun’s shoulders.
“Okay?” Seunghyun asks. His voice is raw, wrecked, and Seungri’s cock twitches at the sound of it.
Seungri nods. The first thrust hurts a little and so does the second, but by the third Seungri has adjusted and it’s starting to feel good. Seunghyun has stopped jerking him off. He puts one steadying hand on the wall and lifts Seungri’s thigh with the other, changing the angle. The next thrust hits Seungri’s prostate dead on and he cries out, fingers scrabbling for a tighter hold on Seunghyun’s shoulders as he fucks himself down on Seunghyun’s cock in an attempt to get him deeper.
“You’re such a slut,” Seunghyun says.
“Shut up and fuck me harder,” Seungri growls.
Seunghyun removes his hand from the wall and slowly, deliberately, moves it to Seungri’s hip. His grip is tight, tight enough that Seungri’s sure he’ll find finger-shaped bruises there the next morning. The grip on his thigh tightens as well and Seunghyun lifts him up even higher, nudges his leg up so it’s slung over Seunghyun’s shoulder.
When Seunghyun thrusts in, Seungri wails. It’s perfect—his legs are cramping and his back hurts from being slamming into the wall and sweat is stinging his eyes and it’s fucking perfect, amazing, the best thing Seungri’s ever felt, writhing against the wall and gasping out curses as Seunghyun fucks him. He’s relentless, slamming against Seungri’s prostate again and again until Seungri feels like he’s going to explode, can’t decide if he’s screaming for Seunghyun to stop or never, ever stop.
Seunghyun starts jerking him off and Seungri sobs, “Yesyesyes, fuck”, arches his back, smacks his head against the wall (again), and comes. Seunghyun slams into him once, twice, and then his hips stutter to a stop and he comes inside Seungri, letting out a low moan. He pulls out and Seungri gasps, trembling through the aftershocks. Seungyun lazily sucks a hickey onto the other side of his neck and Seungri whimpers.
“Fuck,” Seungri breathes when he finally opens his eyes to meet Seunghyun’s.
“You really are a slut,” Seunghyun says with a self-satisfied smirk.
Seungri makes an outraged noise and, forgetting what a precarious position they’re in, shoves him. Seunghyun’s knees buckle and they both end up sprawled on the floor, laughing.
“You’re such a jerk,” Seungri says, pushing feebly at Seunghyun’s side.
“Whatever,” Seunghyun says, smiling crookedly. He stands up and stretches, bones cracking, and then extends a hand to help Seungri to his feet. Seungri leans into him for a moment, just until he stops feeling so wobbly. Then he pulls up his jeans, pats Seunghyun on the cheek, and turns to head out of the kitchen.
“Woah, woah, hold on a second there.” Seunghyun grabs Seungri’s shoulder and turns him back around. “That’s it?”
“Yeah. What, did you want to cuddle or something, hyung?” Seungri asks, smirking.
“Well— no. So you just… wanted me to fuck you?”
“Yep.”
“Oh. Awesome.” Seunghyun smiles, slaps Seungri on the ass, and walks out.
Later that night when he’s in his room on the computer, Seunghyun pokes his head in and says, “Hey, Seungri. You want to join us for a drink?”
Seungri smiles. Check and mate.
He’ll find out soon enough, as he’s already decided to corner Taeyang in his natural habitat: the gym.
He’s on the floor stretching when Seungri walks in, looking very sweaty and fuckable in his wifebeater and basketball shorts. Seungri’s wearing similar attire, except his is a size too small for him—tight clothing is always a plus. Taeyang doesn’t notice him at first because he’s got his earphones in, his iPod lying on the floor next to him. Seungri crouches down and presses the pause button; Taeyang looks up, confused. Seungri smiles at him.
“Oh, hey Seungri,” he says, his breathing only slightly uneven; Seungri wants to hear him panting. “I didn’t know you were coming. I’m about to go on the treadmill. You wanna join me?”
Seungri nods. He does a few cursory stretches first, because if he pulls a muscle Jiyong might actually kill him.
Seungri tries his hardest to keep pace with Taeyang on the treadmills, cranking up the speed and incline on his to the same settings as Tae’s, but he’s in better shape and Seungri gets a stitch in his side after the first fifteen minutes. He slows his treadmill down to walking speed and Taeyang does the same, even though his breathing is only a hair shy of normal, and then Seungri powers the treadmill down and lets the last motion of the track carry him off.
Taeyang follows him, grabbing his water bottle from one of the shelves full of weights. Seungri pays no mind to him at first, too busy planning his seduction, but then Taeyang tips his head back and starts gulping the water, swallowing over and over. Seungri watches, enthralled, as water spills out from between Tae’s lips and trails in rivulets down his throat, disappearing into the neck of his wife-beater.
Okay, maybe these super tight shorts were a mistake; Seungri’s half-hard and it’s going to be completely obvious if he keeps standing there like an idiot. He didn’t expect to get turned on this fast— he never quite realized how perfect Tae’s body was until this moment, and thoughts of what he could be doing to that body in the near future are making his head spin.
He gets down on the floor and starts doing push-ups, because that seems like a thing he’d normally do if he was working out with Tae and not imagining what his throat would look like swallowing Seungri’s cock.
“You’re hardly ever in here this early, Seungri-yah,” Taeyang says, sitting down cross-legged on the floor and scrolling through his music (the clicks are audible through the earphone dangling around his neck).
“I couldn’t sleep,” Seungri lies. He’s pretty sure he’s used that one before.
Taeyang hums in acknowledgement. “I’m going to do some more stretches and then go back on the treadmill, but then I can spot you on the weights?”
“Actually, I think I’ll stretch with you.”
And by stretch, Seungri means something decidedly more… athletic.
This is it, the opportunity he’s been waiting for. He can just casually offer to help Tae with one of his more ambitious stretches, and before he knows it he’ll be bent in half and Seungri’ll be pounding his ass. Or some variation of that. Anticipation has his blood pounding in his ears (and other places), nerves making him noticeably fidgety.
This time he won’t have Jiyong’s sluttiness or a bottle and a half of soju to help him out; he’s on his own.
It starts out innocent, stretches for biceps and quadriceps. Taeyang corrects him a few times, a hand on his shoulder or his waist, and Seungri feels himself getting more and more impatient with every touch. When Taeyang bends over and touches his hands, palms flat, to the floor, and the muscles in his thighs shift and tighten and Seungri notices he’s in the perfect position to be fucked until his knees gave out, he decides it’s time to act.
He tells Taeyang he knows a really good stretch for hamstrings, and in no time flat, Taeyang is on his back on the floor with his knee pulled up past his stomach, his shorts stretching and clinging revealingly over his crotch.
Seungri crouches at his feet and says, “No, you have to get your leg back more like—here, let me help,” and places his hand on the back of Taeyang’s thigh. His skin is hot to the touch, slick with sweat, and when Seungri presses in a little more confidently, he can feel muscles twitch beneath his fingers. He slides his hand down slowly, skirting the edge of the skin hidden by Tae’s shorts, and pushes forward.
When Tae’s knee is almost touching his chest, Seungri’s got his hand so far inside Tae’s shorts he can feel the edge of his boxer briefs. Tae’s eyes are closed. He hasn’t seemed to notice Seungri’s slow advance. However, there’s no way he can miss it when Seungri cups the back of Tae’s knee with his other hand to hold his leg in place, slips his fingers inside the tight-fitting leg of Tae’s underwear, and gropes the perfect curve of his ass.
“Seungri!” Taeyang squawks, eyes flying open. He tries to squirm out of Seungri’s grasp, but Seungri’s got him pinned with his hands and his heavy gaze.
“Yes, Youngbae-hyung?” Seungri asks, smiling flirtatiously. He lets his fingernails scrape over the skin of Tae’s ass and Tae shivers involuntarily, biting his lip before he can protest again. It’s awkward trying to grope Tae inside his shorts, but Seungri’s afraid if he starts stripping him he’ll run screaming. Seungri manages to maneuver his hand around inside the leg of the loose-fitting shorts anyway, settling over Taeyang’s crotch and palming his cock through the cotton and rubbing.
Taeyang’s eyes are wide, his cheeks flushing the lightest tinge of red as he hardens against Seungri’s hand.
“W-what are you doing, Seungri?” he asks, breathless, but he’s not trying to get away. His hips jerk ever so slightly, and that’s enough encouragement for Seungri. He slips his hand out of Tae’s shorts and lets go of his knee, and then his hands go to waistband of Tae’s short and he tugs them down and off, tossing them somewhere to the side.
Seungri scoots down until he’s at eye level with the erection tenting Taeyang’s tight boxer briefs. He licks his lips, nervously, and says, “I was planning on sucking your cock, hyung.”
“Oh,” Taeyang breathes. He props himself up on his elbows and watches, captivated.
Seungri lowers his head and breathes in and out, slowly, as his heart beats rabbit fast in his chest. He brings a hand up and strokes Tae roughly through the fabric, hoping Tae won’t notice that he’s shaking if he makes him shake, too. His fingers brush over a damp patch and he sucks in his breath, because he wasn’t expecting that (it’s almost invisible on the black fabric), and a little more of his blood rushes to his cock at the realization that Taeyang is not just hard for him, he’s leaking for him.
God, okay, Seungri wants Taeyang’s cock in his mouth now. He lowers his head and mouths at the wet spot, wraps his lips around the head of Tae’s cock through the fabric and sucks until Tae is bucking his hips and gasping Seungri’s name. Seungri pulls off, his hand taking the place of his mouth and stroking idly as he stares at Taeyang until he opens his eyes. He stares back at Seungri, his pupils blown wide, his normally smiling eyes dark with lust. Seungri squirms a little under that intense gaze, fighting the urge to just rub himself off through his shorts.
“Cock tease,” Taeyang huffs, and Seungri’s erection jumps a little because that’s the closest he’s ever heard Tae come to swearing, and now he knows what he reallyswearing for him to let him come.
“Do you want me to suck you off?” Seungri asks, breathily.
“Yes,” Tae whines, hips thrusting up in a perfectly fluid motion; Seungri likes being in control for once, but he’d be lying if he said he wouldn’t like to find out what those dancer hips would feel like fucking him.
Right now, though, Seungri is going to suck his hyung’s cock. He pulls Tae’s boxers down around his knees and Tae’s cock springs free, dark with blood and so, so hard for him. Seungri puts his hands on Tae’s hips to hold them down because he really doesn’t want to suffocate on cock, how embarrassing would that be, and lightly brushes his lips against the head, then down the length, licks a thick stripe along the underside on his way back up before pulling off and smacking his lips.
Tae lets out choked sound and his hands come up to grip Seungri’s hair. His fingers scramble for purchase in the short strands as he tries to push Seungri’s head back down. Seungri flicks his tongue out to taste the precome smeared all over the tip and Taeyang whimpers, wordlessly pleading for more. Seungri puts his lips around the head, sucking lightly and then, when Taeyang is least expecting it, takes him as far into his mouth as he can without gagging.
Tae cries out and his back arches off the concrete floor, his hips jerking in Seungri’s hold. Seungri notices how Tae’s wifebeater is clinging to his torso with sweat; he wants to rip it off (literally, tear it right the fuck open) and trace lines around all of Taeyang’s muscles with his tongue.
“Please,” Tae keens, head falling back against the floor as Seungri tongues the slit. He pulls off and, once Tae is looking at him, licks the precome very deliberately from his lips. Tae groans, fingers flexing and tugging Seungri’s hair hard enough to make him wince, but the pain goes straight to his cock and it throbs.
“Please what?” Seungri asks. He slides up Tae’s body, straddles his hips and rubs the bulge in his shorts against Tae’s bare cock. Tae whines, high in his throat, at this new friction. Seungri, acting on his urge from before, beckons for Tae to sit up so Seungri can pull his shirt off, and then he licks a line between Tae’s pecks. Tae actually does rip Seungri’s flimsy wifebeater open—it’s old and worn out, but it’s still impressive and Seungri nearly comes in his shorts.
“Who do you think you are, the Korean Hulk?” Seungri pants as he licks the sweat from the hollow of Tae’s collarbone. Tae murmurs something Seungri doesn’t catch and then he tugs Seungri’s shorts down around his thighs.
Seungri moans when his cock is exposed to the open air. He wraps his hand around both his and Tae’s cocks and starts stroking them, hesitation. Tae lets out a broken moan, then another and another, and then they turn into hitching gasps as Seungri jerks them off, fingers dipping into the precome gathering between the heads of their cocks and using it to slick the way.
“F-Fuck,” Tae pants when Seungri twists his wrist just the way he likes, and Seungri lets out a choked gasp and comes all over Taeyang’s stupidly perfect stomach. Seungri’s trembling and he kind of feels like he’s going to black out, but he steadies his hand and keeps jacking Tae off— luckily Tae’s hand joins his so he doesn’t have to do all the work. He manages to open his heavy-lidded eyes just in time to see Tae throw his head back, let out a fucking gorgeous sound, and come all over himself. Seungri’s cock twitches half-heartedly at the sight, and then he collapses on top of Tae.
“That was kind of like a bad porno,” Taeyang says, a few minutes later when they’re both breathing regularly again.
Seungri makes an affronted sound and punches Tae weakly in the shoulder, too sated to be properly offended.
“No, it wasn’t bad!” Tae says, ruffling Seungri’s hair fondly, “It was good, really good—but seducing me in the gym? With stretching? Doesn’t that sound like the setup to a cheesy porno?”
“That depends. How much porn do you watch, hyung?” Seungri asks, his smile teasing.
Taeyang scoffs. “Not as much as you. Everyone knows where your porn stash is.”
“They do not!” Seungri cries. Taeyang laughs at him and Seungri can’t help but join in. He rests his head against Tae’s (stupidly perfect) chest for a minute or two until he thinks his legs will be steady enough to support him. When gets up, his stomach sticks to Tae’s from the mess they made.
“We should probably take a shower before we go back,” he says, making a disgusted face at the dried come on his stomach.
Taeyang looks down at his own stomach, makes a face, and agrees. They gather up all their discarded clothes (“I can’t believe you ripped my fucking shirt,” Seungri grumbles, and Taeyang says it was too tight anyway and then he smiles a little wickedly and promises he’ll make it up to him) and stumble into the gym showers.
Taeyang turns the water on cold and shoves Seungri under the spray, presses him up against the cold tiles and Seungri gasps, then chokes when Tae drops to his knees, smiles, and swallows Seungri’s cock.
“I’ve worked with Jiyong for eight years,” he says, giving Seungri a meaningful look and a good-natured pat on the shoulder.
“Oh,” Seungri says.
“I can’t believe you thought I was a virgin,” Tae says, amused, as he walks away.
Seungri almost regrets his victory on this one, because his cock now gives a little interested twitch every time Taeyang swears. “Fuck” is especially potent; the second time he hears Taeyang say it, Seungri ends up panicking backstage before a TV appearance because he’s half-hard and his pants are revealing. Sometimes Tae will say it like he did the first time Seungri heard it, drawn out and heartfelt and breathless, and then he’ll look at Seungri squirming in his seat and smile knowingly.
Seungri can’t believe he thought Taeyang was a virgin.
“… What?” Daesung stares at him, mouth agape.
“Do you want to have sex?” Seungri repeats slowly.
Daesung says, “I—I’m sorry, what? No!” and runs out of the kitchen.
Seunghyun, who Seungri didn’t realize was sitting in the living room, says, “That was smooth.”
Seungri scowls. “Shut up.”
After the fourth time, Seungri mouths, “What?”
Daesung blushes and looks away.
When Daesung flinches away from him, yet again, Seungri whispers, “Are you okay?” Daesung is looking down at his hands folded in his lap; he nods without looking up. Daesung is the kind of person who doesn’t like talking to people if he can’t make eye contact, so Seungri finds all of this averting of the eyes very odd, but the MC starts talking before Seungri can question it further.
Delayed, but not deterred—Seungri will get to the bottom of this.
“Did I… do something?” Seungri asks.
Daesung turns a page in his book. “Yes.”
“Would you mind telling me what?”
“Yes.”
“Come on,” Seungri whines. “Could you at least give me a hint?”
Daesung makes an aggravated, you-make-me-want-to-tear-my-hair-out sort of sound and lowers his book. “Are you kidding me, Seungri? You asked me to have sex with you!”
Seungri stares at him blankly. That was what was bothering him? “So?”
“So you don’t just ask people that!”
“I asked, you said no. What’s the big deal?”
Daesung gapes at him. He shakes his head and picks his book back up, not bothering to explain his outrage; it’s obvious he’s just pretending to read until Seungri gives up and leaves. Too bad Seungri doesn’t give up that easily.
He scoots closer to Daesung, close enough that he can feel the warmth from his body, and puts his hand on Daesung’s thigh. Daesung immediately shifts his leg away, but Seungri follows the movement, hand steady and fingers splayed over the soft fabric of Daesung’s pajama pants. He catches Daesung’s wide gaze over the top of his book and asks, voice low, “Why did you say no?"
“Because, I— I… ” Daesung trails off and then huffs, staring intently at the words on the page he’s not reading.
Seungri carries on as if Daesung hadn’t said a thing. “It’d be so good, you know,” he says in his huskiest voice. He slides his hand deliberately up Daesung’s thigh, fingers tracing the boundary between friendship and something more.
“Seungri, we—we can’t,” Daesung says, but the look in his eyes says something more along the lines of, Yesyesyes.
“Say yes,” Seungri murmurs. His free hand knocks the book from Daesung’s limp hands and then settles firmly on his chest, pushing him back slightly into the pillows.
“Seunghyun!” Daesung cries, sounding a little panicked and a lot turned on.
“Say yes,” Seungri coaxes, his fingers just barely brushing Daesung’s crotch.
“Why?” Daesung asks.
The tremor in his voice makes both Seungri’s cock and his pride swell.
“Because I want you,” Seungri practically purrs, inching his way up Daesung’s body.
“Oh my god, why is this happening to me,” Daesung half groans, half laughs. Seungri, feeling a little insulted, frowns and squeezes the hardening bulge in Daesung’s pajama pants—that’ll teach Daesung to properly appreciate a good seduction. Daesung sucks in his breath and lets it out in a moan when Seungri starts rubbing.
“Okay, okay fine—yes,” he gasps, hips thrusting up into Seungri’s hand.
“Awesome,” Seungri says. He straddles Daesung’s hips and tugs his shirt off over his head. He flicks his bangs back into place and smiles down at Daesung, his hips working in short thrusts to rub their clothed erections together. The teasing friction is enough to make Daesung harden fully.
“What do you want?” Seungri asks. Daesung is on the verge of begging, he’s sure of it.
Daesung lets out a sharp cry when Seungri grinds down harder, and then he grabs Seungri with strong hands and flips him over onto his back.
Daesung’s book slides off the bed and hits the floor.
“Daesung, what!” Seungri complains, upset that the tables are being turned on him. Again.
Then again, it is pretty hot to have Daesung hovering over him, pinning him to the bed with his toned arms. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this,” Daesung breathes into his ear, fingers clenching at Seungri’s shoulders so tightly that Seungri thinks they’d start trembling if he let go for even a second. Daesung nips at his earlobe, the line of his jaw; moves his right hand to the back of Seungri’s neck (it is trembling) and kisses him.
Seungri freezes.
Woah, woah, no, says Seungri’s brain. You didn’t kiss anyone else—well, except for Jiyong, but he kisses everyone. Kissing is crossing a line!
Unfortunately, Seungri is a nineteen-year-old man (not a baby) and the reasoning coming from below his waist, which sounds something like, Full lips, so fucking full and perfect, god— they need to be everywhere, wrapped around my cock now, is a lot more convincing. Seungri kisses him back and Daesung moans wholeheartedly into his mouth, a rough, uneven, impossibly musical sound that goes straight to Seungri’s cock.
He won’t ever be able to hear Daesung sing without getting hard again.
Daesung’s hand rests on his stomach as he kisses him, teasing its way down with light touches. He slides his hand into Seungri’s boxers at the same moment that he slides his tongue into Seungri’s mouth. Daesung strokes Seungri’s cock with long, languid movements that leave him breathless. Seeing as Daesung’s kiss is also stealing his breath away, he should be passing out from oxygen deprivation anytime soon.
Yes, Jiyong kissed him, but not like this—Daesung moves his mouth over Seungri’s has if he can’t remember how to do anything else, as if talking and eating and breathing pale in comparison to the importance of kissing Seungri. When Seungri’s breath is coming in shallow pants, Daesung pulls away but just barely, so their lips are still touching.
“I can’t believe this is really happening,” Daesung says quietly.
“Your lips are amazing,” Seungri breathes, running a finger along Daesung’s plump lower lip. Daesung takes Seungri’s finger into his mouth and circles it with his tongue, a blush appearing high on his cheeks as he sucks it. Seungri’s cock throbs with the desire to have those lips sliding down his length, stretching obscenely around the base, smeared and slick and shiny with his precome.
“Suck me off, Daesung, please,” Seungri begs, fingers clenching tight in sheets.
“Okay.” Daesung smiles, relaxed and easy, and slides down Seungri’s body. He tugs Seungri’s boxers off and Seungri kicks them to the side, probably to the same place Daesung’s book landed.
Placing his hands on Seungri’s inner thighs, Daesung spreads his legs apart so he can lie between them. Seungri squirms; he feels exposed, more than naked under Daesung’s intense gaze. When Daesung leans down to press his lips to the head of Seungri’s cock, his bangs fall into his eyes. Seungri bites his lip and reaches down to brush them back, fingers remaining clenched in Daesung’s hair.
“You’re so gorgeous like this, Seunghyun-ah,” Daesung breathes against his cock, lips just barely brushing it as he speaks, “So, so gorgeous.” He mouths up one side and down the other, all the while murmuring Seungri’s given name. He’s the only one who’s used it like this and it’s making Seungri’s head spin.
“Fuck!” Seungri cries when Daesung finally takes him into his mouth. His lips feel just as amazing as they look. Daesung sucks him off just as intently as he kissed him, if not more so, and Seungri is starting to feel lightheaded with how badly he needs to come. Daesung keeps pulling off whenever Seungri gets close: to lap at the precome forming at the tip, to press a kiss to Seungri’s inner thigh. Seungri doesn’t mind all that much, though— every time Daesung takes him back in, he takes him deeper.
This time, Daesung pulls off completely and licks his lips, absentmindedly. He crawls up Seungri’s body and reaches for his bedside table, rummaging around in the drawer. With a tube of lube in hand, he kisses Seungri messily and breathes against his lips, half-pleading, half-demanding, Seungri let him fuck him.
Seungri nods and says, "Yes, yes."
Daesung lets out a ragged moan. He stares at him, eyes dark, as he takes off his t-shirt and wriggles out of his pajama pants and boxers. He doesn’t break eye contact when he’s naked and straddling Seungri, nor when slipping down to settle between Seungri’s legs once more. Seungri spreads them wider, feeling himself blush. Daesung mutters, “Fuck.”
Two of Daesung’s lubed fingers press against his entrance, cold and slippery—unsteady. He pushes them in, slow, and takes Seungri’s cock back into his mouth. He sucks him unhurriedly as he opens Seungri up, echoing the pleased noises Seungri makes.
Daesung clears his throat to get Seungri’s attention; the sound vibrates through his cock and Seungri groans. He struggles to open his eyes, vision hazy as he watches Daesung suck air in through his nostrils and swallow, his lips touching down to the very base of Seungri’s cock. Seungri chokes on the air he’s breathing.
“Fuckfuckfuck, oh my god,” Seungri gasps. He can feel his cock hitting the back of Daesung’s throat, constricting around him and taking him even deeper, and then the very tip of one of Daesung’s fingers brushes his prostate and he is gone, back and shoulders arching off the bed as he comes down Daesung’s throat.
Seungri’s limp cock slides wetly out of Daesung’s mouth; he doesn’t remove his fingers.
Daesung hovers over him, smiling smugly. His hair is a mess and his cheeks are red and his lips are slick and shiny and swollen, just as Seungri imagined they would be. Seungri cranes his neck up to kiss him, tangling his fingers in Daesung’s hair and pulling him down so he can feel the heady warmth of skin against skin. His fingers bump Seungri’s prostate and Seungri whimpers—he’s too sensitive and it’s too much, but his cock starts to harden again all the same.
Daesung breaks the kiss, drags gentle fingers down Seungri’s cheek as he stares into his eyes. He cups Seungri’s face and touches their lips together, ever-so-lightly.
Butterflies appear in Seungri’s stomach, migrate to his heart and start to flutter.
“Are you ready?” Daesung asks, twisting his fingers until Seungri gasps.
“Yes, please Daesung, please fuck me,” Seungri breathes. He shuts his eyes because the way Daesung’s looking at him is dizzying.
Daesung pulls his fingers out and wipes them on the sheets. Seungri watches, rapt, as heslicks up his cock. Seungri angles his hips up. He can feel Daesung’s thick length nudging against his entrance, and he tries not to tremble. Daesung grasps his wrist. Seungri thinks for a moment that Daesung’s going to grab the other and trap both his hands up above his head, but he just wraps his fingers around it, reassuring, and holds on as he thrusts in.
It hurts, but not as much as last time. Seungri bites his lip as he waits for his body to adjust. Daesung’s fingers comb through his sweaty hair, brushing it back off his forehead. Seungri soon starts thrusting back impatiently on Daesung’s cock, because he’s used to it now and he wants to get fucked, now.
“Move,” Seungri pleads.
Daesung complies with one shallow thrust, then another, and then he pulls out almost all the way and thrusts back in. Seungri gasps, his fingernails digging crescent-shaped marks into Daesung’s back. After a few more experimental thrusts and a cursory re-adjustment of Seungri’s hips, Daesung hits his prostate. Seungri cries out and clenches around him. Daesung starts fucking him faster.
“Oh god yes, Daesung! Harder, fuck me harder, you’re so good,” Seungri says between embarrassingly high-pitched moans. He’s babbling but he doesn’t care because Daesung is good, so good, his hands and lips running up and down Seungri’s body as he fucks him, in the pursuit of erogenous zones that Seungri didn’t even know he had. There’s one particularly sensitive spot right under Seungri’s ribs: Daesung worries it with his teeth and lips, leaving red-purple marks that he then presses into with his fingers. It makes Seungri’s cock so hard he can’t even see straight.
“Seunghyun,” Daesung breathes, leaning down to crush his lips against Seungri’s. Seungri lifts his legs and wraps them around Daesung’s waist. They both moan when Dasung slides in deeper. Daesung slams into him over and over and over as Seungri gasps into his mouth, his body jerking with the almost constant stimulation to his prostate. The movement of Daesung’s hips gets faster, more erratic and Seungri can’t remember which way is up, so he just clings to Daesung’s shoulders and wraps his legs around him tighter and keeps kissing him, lips sloppy.
Seungri orgasms without a single touch to his cock; Daesung slams into him just right and Seungri hoarsely calls out his name, every muscle in his body going taut as comes.
Daesung starts to say something, something that starts with a breathy, “Seunghyun, I-I,” but it’s cut off with a sharp moan when Seungri clenches around him, and he thrusts in one last time, his fingers gripping Seungri’s hip hard enough to bruise, and comes. He sucks in a shaky breath and collapses on top of Seungri, his heart beating wildly.
“Seunghyun-ah,” he whispers, fingers dragging down Seungri’s sweat-soaked chest. Seungri winces when Daesung pulls out of him, but the pain is forgotten when Daesung slides up his torso and kisses him, the upward curve of his mouth evident against Seungri’s lips.
Seungri’s heart jumps in his chest and he thinks, I love you.
“Fuck,” he says aloud.
“Again? Okay,” Daesung laughs, smile bright.
“I-I should…” Seungri stutters, not quite sure how to say, I need to the fuck out of here, without hurting Daesung’s feelings because he’s suddenly feeling a lot like the axis Seungri’s world revolves on and he can’t handle this right now.
“Noooo, stay,” Daesung says, in that drawn-out, soothing way of his, and Seungri can’t say no.
He can’t quite bring himself to panic at the moment either, not when Daesung is giving him a lopsided smile and adjusting his pliant body until his back is resting against Daesung’s front. Daesung wraps his arms around him and tangles their legs together, one of his hands resting insistently against Seungri’s heart.
“Shit!” Seungri yells, and then claps a hand over his mouth.
Now would be a really bad time to wake up Daesung.
“Shit, shit, shit,” he hisses under his breath as he wriggles free of Daesung’s warm, clinging body. His stupid heart clenches at the sight of Daesung’s sleeping face and this time he thinks it: Shit.
This is so, so not good. He can’t fall in love with one of his band mates—he certainly can’t fall in love with one of his best friends!
Carefully, so the mattress won’t creak, he climbs out of bed and dresses swiftly, escaping for the kitchen. He starts brewing a pot of coffee, because he has to do something to try and distract himself from the memories. They just keep replaying over and over and over—
Daesung steps into the kitchen exactly a minute and a half later (Seungri's been staring at the little digital numbers on the oven the whole time, unblinkingly), wearing only a pair of boxers and a sleepy smile.
Seungri hates him for being so gorgeous.
“Morning Daesung-hyung,” Seungri says politely. Formally. His voice is measured and he’s not looking at Daesung, because he knows if he does all the feelings threatening to burst up and spill out of him will, and then everything will be ruined. They’ll probably kick him out of the band for being a lovesick freak.
Daesung looks a little taken aback. “Good morning,” he says, carefully. “You’re… okay?”
“Yes,” Seungri says brusquely.
“Well, you just… weren’t there when I woke up, and I thought that—Why did you leave?”
“I just wanted some coffee,” Seungri says, lifting his cup.
“Ah,” Daesung say, nodding. The silence stretches between them as Daesung stares expectantly at him, as if Seungri is forgetting something.
“Um. Did you… want some?”
Daesung’s face falls, smile faltering and splintering a little on the edges.
“No,” Daesung says. He walks out of the kitchen and Seungri hears the bathroom door shut.
Okay, so that definitely wasn’t what he was forgetting. Seungri wishes someone would kick him in the stomach to make the pain in his chest more bearable.
He stops doing everything else for him too: staying up past his normal bedtime to play video games with him, watching silly cartoons with him in the morning after he finishes reading, even laughing at Seungri’s lame jokes—he was the only one who ever got them. It’s like Seungri doesn’t even exist. Their conversations have devolved to awkward, stilted small talk, as if they haven’t been friends and living together and sharing a bed for three years.
They never used to speak much, but that was because they were comfortable enough to not need words around each other. Now Seungri has some words he’d like to get out, but he no longer knows how to say them, not to this new, standoffish Daesung. Things like: “What’s wrong with you?” and “Fucking look at me,” and “I miss you.”
That’s when Seungri decides he has had enough.
“I, he—what?” Seungri sputters. That is not the explanation he was expecting to hear when he asked Jiyong why Daesung was acting so oddly lately. Apparently Jiyong already knew they’d slept together. Was he psychic?
“Wow, you really are that dense.”
“How was I supposed to know?” Seungri cries, but the pieces are coming together now: the way Daesung lights up when he looks at him, the smile in his eyes almost as heart-warming as the one on his lips, those mornings when Seungri wakes up in Daesung’s arms and Daesung, in sleep, looks quietly happy in a way Seungri rarely sees him, and— and the cooking.
Wow, Seungri really is that dense.
Seungri’s mind spins and his heart soars and he feels tentatively hopeful, even though he’s not sure if this means everything’s going to be better or if he fucked it all up for good. He’ll just have to talk to Daesung in the morning and find out. He’s taken refuge in Youngbae’s room for the night, and now that Seungri knows why Youngbae’s been glaring at him the past two days, he really doesn’t want to try to confront him.
“Fix this,” Jiyong says, pointing his file menacingly at Seungri. Seungri nods, frightened, and scurries back to his room.
His very empty room.
He is going to kill Taeyang.
Of course, Jiyong thinks the whole thing is hilarious.
Behind the entertaining personality Daesung puts on for the cameras, past the things he says to make the fans laugh, protesting that no, he and Seungri really aren’t that awkward, Seungri can see a quiet sadness in his eyes. There is truth to the distance between them and it’s all Seungri’s fault. He plays along despite the ache in his heart, trying to be his usual self. However, it’s not to please the fans this time—he doesn’t want anyone suspecting that there might truly be something wrong between him and Daesung.
At one point the MCs mention, laughingly, that they slept in the same bed the night before. It stings, and no one bothers to correct them. No, Seungri thinks, Daesung slept in Taeyang’s bed because I fucked everything up.
Why aren’t you looking at each other, then, if not because of awkwardness? Gura-hyung asks, and Seungri looks down, faking a laugh that sounds so hollow to his own ears that he can’t imagine anyone will buy it. Daesung seems to be taking the whole situation a lot better than he is, smiling and laughing and making jokes. Seungri wonders if maybe Jiyong was wrong, if maybe Daesung doesn’t like him at all. He tries to smile too, but it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.
“Daesung,” Seungri says, putting a hand on his upper arm. Daesung shrugs it off and shoots him an ugly glare. It’s a 360° change from the way Daesung was looking at him just a minute before, light and playful, as if all of this is a big joke. He sure is a good actor.
“I heard you slept with everyone else, too,” he spits, “What was I, just another piece for your collection?”
Seungri’s heart jumps into his throat. It feels like he’s suffocating. “No! No, Daesung, I—!”
“Why don’t you go fuck yourself and finish the set?” Daesung hisses. His jaw is clenched tight with anger, his eyes shining with unshed tears. Seungri’s never seem him this upset before.
“I’m… I’m sorry,” Seungri whispers, feeling lost and helpless and hating himself.
“I thought you liked me.”
Daesung’s voice breaks, and so does Seungri’s heart. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but he has no idea what to say, doesn’t know what magical combination of words he could possibly put together to fix this. I do like you, doesn’t seem nearly adequate. Something shatters behind Daesung’s eyes in the silence.
“Thirty seconds!” the manager calls from across the set.
Daesung turns abruptly and walks away from him, wiping furiously at his eyes.
Seungri would give anything at that moment to disappear.
Eventually, the show becomes more about the group as a whole, not just Daesung and Seungri, and Seungri has time to sit and think while everyone else talks. He wonders if things with Daesung will ever be like this again, easy and simple and comfortable. He wonders if Daesung could still like him, after everything he’s done.
He wonders if he deserves it.
The van is cramped, but there isn’t a single part of Daesung that’s touching Seungri.
Nine days after Intimate Note, Jiyong kicks the both of them out of practice because Daesung refuses to look at Seungri to get his cue and keeps stepping on Seunghyun.
“Work out your issues, for fuck’s sake! I’m not your guidance counselor!” he yells before he slams the door.
Daesung glares at the door for a moment and then turns on his heel and walks away so fast Seungri doesn’t catch up with him until they reach the kitchen. Seungri grabs Daesung’s shoulder and turns him around.
“Daesung, please. Please, just—let me talk to you.”
Daesung doesn’t remove Seungri’s hand, but his entire body is tense. He looks at Seungri expectantly. This better be good, his eyes say.
Seungri attempts to swallow his nerves: he fails. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Daesung. I—I don’t know what else I can say. I was just— sick of everyone treating me like a baby, like… like I’m not worth anything just because I’m young, and I thought that maybe I could at least get my friends to see me as an adult if I…”
“If you slept with all of us?” Daesung finishes, incredulous.
Seungri winces. It sounds even stupider out loud. “Yes. I know it was dumb. I’m an idiot and an asshole and I’m so, so sorry I hurt you. The others didn’t… they didn’t mean anything, but you... I—I like you, Daesung,” he says quietly, voice wavering, and ducks his head to hide the blush he knows must be coloring his cheeks. He’s more than a little confused to hear Daesung laughing.
“Daesung!” he cries, snapping his head back up. “I’m trying to confess to you right now!”
Daesung laughs even harder, doubling over with the force of it. “Oh my god,” he chokes out, breathless, “Oh my god. Only you would ever think that—I can’t, it’s too much,” he gasps, breaking out into a fresh bout of laughter. Seungri pokes and shoves him and whines, “Stop.” Daesung clutches his ribs and attempts to take deep, relaxing breaths. He puts a steadying hand on Seungri’s shoulder and wipes tears from his eyes.
Seungri has never been this confused. “I’m… not quite sure what that was supposed to mean,” he says, hesitantly.
“You are the most ridiculous person I know,” Daesung informs him, not unkindly. “Who else but you, in the whole entire world, would think that was a good plan?”
“I don’t know! I was desperate and then Jiyong seduced me and Seunghyun was impervious to my wiles and I thought Youngbae was a virgin and I—I don’t know! Do you want to hit me? I kind of want to hit me so I could understand if—”
“Seungri!” Daesung laughs, stopping Seungri’s rambling with a shake to his shoulder. “I don’t want to hit you. I did want to hit you, but—here, come here.” Daesung pulls Seungri into his arms. Seungri is a little afraid he’s about to be strangled.
“What are you doing,” he says warily, voice muffled by Daesung’s shoulder.
“I cannot believe you thought we thought you were worthless because of your age. You’re our maknae. We love you.” Daesung’s soft tone on the last three words leads Seungri to think he’s saying something else— something with three less people in the “we”.
Embarrassed that he revealed so much of his insecurities, Seungri says, “Could you… focus less on the first half of what I said and more on the second half?”
“What second half?” Daesung asks.
“The… you know. The part where I said that I… that I—” Seungri stops awkwardly trying to remind him when he notices Daesung’s mischievous smile. The fucker is playing him. “Daesung! Screw you, don’t do that to me!”
“But I want to hear it again,” Daesung coaxes, smile turning soft.
“Do I have to?”
“If you want me to forgive you, yes,” Daesung says.
“I… I like you,” Seungri says. He ducks his head again, slightly, in an attempt to hide behind his bangs. He feels like a teenage girl, what with all this business of flapping butterflies and fluttering hearts. Daesung puts two fingers under Seungri’s chin and lifts his eyes to meet Daesung’s. “I like you, too,” Daesung says, and kisses him.
When they break apart, Seungri blurts out, “Jiyong said you’ve liked me for a year. Why didn’t you say something sooner? I know I… probably wasn’t much help, but I just figured out I liked you when—when we were…” Seungri trails off, embarrassed to say it all of a sudden.
“Having sex?” Daesung finishes, laughing at the way Seungri blushes. “That’s why. You’re too innocent.”
“I am not!” Seungri cries.
“Do you know what rimming is?” Daesung asks, eyes glinting.
“No...?” Seungri wonders if he should be frightened.
“See, you’re innocent.” Before Seungri can protest, Daesung kisses him again. “And I have something to show you,” he purrs, voice liquid. He smiles, grabs Seungri’s wrist, and tugs him into their bedroom.
“Oh my god!” Taeyang shouts. His eyes go wide and he hides them behind his hand. “Sorry! I am so sorry, Jiyong just asked me to check and see if you’d, um, made up and— ”
The loud moan Seungri lets out when Daesung nudges against his prostate cuts Taeyang off; Seungri can see his blush all the way across the room.
“I’lltellhimyouhavebye.” Taeyang dashes for the door and slams it shut behind him.
“I’m better than he was, right?” Daesung murmurs as he thrusts minutely, teasingly, into Seungri.
“Yes,” Seungri gasps. “You’re better than all of them were, you’re—oh god, please move.”
Daesung smiles and does as he's told.
“I really like you,” Daesung whispers, pressing a lazy kiss to the corner of Seungri’s mouth.
Definitely worth it.