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For someone who's currently trying his damn hardest to not act like an idiot on stage right now, Mingi is doing pretty well.
He's not exactly sure when it started. Maybe it was when he let his thoughts wander while he was on stage, maybe it was when he got a little too close to Yunho while the two were performing choreo, or maybe it was because, in classic Mingi style, he did what he did best; 'make love to the air', or however Jongho called it. Regardless of how it started, Mingi feels something burning in his gut he hopes to everything is just adrenaline settling in his blood. It wasn't uncommon for performers to feel like this on stage with the nerves and the adrenaline. Mingi hopes it's that.
The show is coming to a close now, he knows. Maybe he's thankful he started feeling this later in the show so he didn't have to deal with it for long, or maybe he wishes it had settled in earlier so it would have worn off by now. He tries his hardest to ignore the pressure growing between his legs, but with the way he was currently moving to the music, it was almost impossible to do so. Even if, all things considered, his clothes weren't particularly restricting, he felt hot and tight in his clothes. He hoped he was playing it off, adjusting his shirt and tugging at his collar during his verses in a way he knew would match to the song. Their makeup for Lemon Drop made them look sunburnt and red anyway, and he never felt more thankful for that than now.
He feels unnatural and sticky, especially when he finishes his verse and starts moving in sync with the others. At least, he thinks he's moving in sync. It was hard to tell when all he could focus on was the now almost unbearable tightness in his jeans. He moves his hands to cover it in a way that matches with the choreo and his hand accidentally brushes against the tent in his jeans. He stops a choked, pitiful noise, knowing his mic might still be on and he couldn't risk that. Is that the only reason you don't want to risk it? He asks himself. Well, it's not like he never felt himself up on stage. He's done it a lot, so much actually, it was probably accepted at this point. He allows his mind to wander and indulge the thought for just a few seconds, until he's no longer indulging the thought, and his hands feel against himself as he rolls his hips up in a way he hopes isn't conspicuous. Maybe, if he was lucky, no one would point out that this might not be the best song to do this to. Then again, Yunho nearly leapt across the stage during less than appropriate moments. Maybe this wasn't so bad.
Any hopes for him to stop fade away when he begins to palm himself through his jeans, faintly aware that Jongho just hit his high note and that meant the song was a little over halfway over. Mingi's mind felt clouded by what he was passing off as adrenaline. He tries to stop, really he does, but he keeps his hand gripped tight around his crotch as he spins and lowers himself along with the others for the choreo. His fingers press hard against himself and a small, whiny noise leaves his throat, to which he passes off as an ad lib. He feels Hongjoong glance at him, so he averts his gaze and tries to act like that was intentional and not because he was feeling himself up on stage. Not like he's never done this before, he tries to remind himself to make it more acceptable, for some reason. His fans were used to him acting like this on stage, he tells himself over and over as his hand works harder, faster, and he finds himself becoming frustrated at how little this is helping the slowly growing fire in his belly. He can almost feel the tears prick at the corner of his eyes out of frustration. The little friction he's giving himself wasn't enough. He feels his breathing coming heavier and he tries to signal to someone that they should turn his mic off, feigning some kind of episode, but he doesn't think anyone gets what he's trying to signal.
Why the fuck can't he stop?
He knows his final verse is coming up, sees the others moving around stage like they belonged there when he feels like he's bumbling around like a chicken with its head cut off. He sees Yunho approach him, grinning, and he stops a mournful noise from leaving his mouth. That was quite possibly the last thing he wanted to see while feeling like this. He tugs at his shirt again, white fabric sticky on his skin, as Yunho moves away and Mingi moves to the front to give his final verse. He hopes he sounds normal, but he's all too aware of the way he sounds too breathless, voice is an octave higher, whiny. He backs away from the front and takes his position beside Hongjoong. He gives the best pose he could possibly manage right now, still trying to keep his hand positioned to hide the, probably very obvious, tent in his jeans. The music comes to an end and he can hear the crowd cheering, see the cameras focus on the members, so he gives his best wink and grin, before the others take a step back and he knows that's their signal that their show is over.
He can't take it anymore. He can feel the unpleasant stickiness in his boxers from pre smothered over his boxers and he knows he probably looks a mess right now. He knows if he checks twitter tomorrow, or even tonight, he's probably going to see videos of himself feeling himself up on stage. Should he care about that? Yes. Does he? Well… it might not look any different from his usual, and it's not like he had never been hard on stage before.
He can't be bothered to be concerned about it now. Once they're given the go ahead, Mingi's legs carry him faster than his brain can process. He knows they have to get ready for send off so he hopes this won't take long. He just can't take the heat in his gut. His pitiful attempts of relieving himself on stage only seemed to do the opposite.
He tries to find a place backstage that's tucked away at least a little semi-private. He moves quickly, slowly slotting himself between two shelves, far away from the others who he can faintly hear talking and laughing. His ears burn.
Mingi settles himself between the shelves, one hand on the shelf to lean against it, and the other feeling its way down his body to press against his clothed, aching cock. He has half the mind to quickly take of his mic and set it on the shelf beside him as he rocks his hips into his hand and hangs his head. Small, breathless noises leave his lips as he practically fucks up into his hand like it's going to give him any kind of serious relief. His fingers press against fabric and he finds a good grip on himself through the material of his jeans. He squeezes, breath coming out strained and whiny.
"Mingi?" Oh, fuck. Mingi should stop what he's doing, turn around and say he was just catching his breath from a winding performance, and maybe he would have if it was anyone else. But this wasn't anyone else. He feels his cock twitch against his hand and he has to bite his lip to stop the embarrassing noise that's about to leave him.
"Yunho," He sounds absurdly fucked-out. Winded, voice tight. He's still moving his hips into his hand and he can feel eyes boring into the back of his head like they're going to burn holes there. He should stop himself before he does something stupid. Well, too late, he's already doing something stupid. "Y-Yunho," He says again, this time desperate, like he's calling for him.
"You—Are you—?" He can tell by the way Yunho's voice sounds that he doesn't have to ask. He's affected by what Mingi's doing. Good. Mingi hangs his head and lets out a long groan, looking over his shoulder at Yunho who's standing behind him, stiff as a board. Mingi gives him a look, the look he knows Yunho can't resist. Puppy eyes and a pouty lip, and in seconds he feels Yunho's body pressed against his as he drapes his entire form over Mingi's body. "You snuck away without me?"
"K-knew you'd find me."
"Know I can't resist you," Yunho's lips find the side of Mingi's throat while one of his hands go to the opposite side of his neck to feel there, fingers faintly wrapping around his neck. Mingi leans back the best he can, pressing himself against Yunho who presses a wet kiss against the skin of his throat. Yunho's other hand goes down to feel where Mingi's hand currently was, replacing it swiftly. Relief is almost immediate. He finally feels sated, throwing his head back as Yunho slips his hand down into his jeans and boxers. They both know they don't have a lot of time. They most definitely had to get to send off, and most definitely had to get to the hotel rooms after that. But, Yunho can spare this much time for Mingi. He could always spare time for Mingi.
"Were you like this on stage?" Yunho asks as his hand works swiftly despite being restrained by the fabric. His large hand squeezes and a finger goes to tease against the head of Mingi's cock which makes him jolt back a bit and let out a mournful noise. Mingi knows he's breathing too fast, he's getting lightheaded, so he tries to ground himself by digging his fingers into the steel of the shelf. The sting is a little grounding, but it's mostly Yunho's teeth now nipping at his throat that keeps his head level. He's making marks, Mingi knows he's making marks. Good. He's not against that at all.
He remembers to respond to Yunho's question and gives a nod and a short whimper when Yunho squeezes as a reward to the reply. He feels him grin against his skin, free hand pressing closer and bringing Mingi's throat against Yunho's mouth.
"I'm happy to help you then, Princess," Yunho says against his ear in a husky voice that tells Mingi he's enjoying this. He can tell in other ways, too, like the way he feels something poking at his backside. And, as if he needed anymore evidence, he feels Yunho's hips slowly begin to rock against him. His hand moves in time with his hips and Mingi's eyes squeeze shut while tears brim at the corners of them. He's so close. His legs feel like jelly beneath him, not quite real, but at the same time he knows this is so real. Yunho is behind him, humping him over his clothes like he's a crazed sex fiend, but it's not like he could say anything about that with the way he was acting, and does act, on stage. And he can hear the noises he's making. Desperate and small, so small you wouldn't be able to guess the noises belonged to a 6 foot tall man if you heard them by themselves.
"Yunho… Close…" That's all the words Mingi can manage. It's all too much. He's still hot and covered in sweat from being on stage. Yunho's body heat isn't exactly helping that, but it's not unwelcome, either.
Yunho's wrist flicks skillfully once he hears Mingi's shrill, whimpering pleas for him to move faster. For him to give him more. His fingertips tease the slit of his cock and his hips rock faster, harder, knocking Mingi against the shelf so he's forced to brace himself even harder against it so he doesn't fall over. He hears Yunho's noises, short grunts and heavy breaths as his hand works in his pants. It's wet and gross, sticky feeling, but he can't bring himself to really care right now. His legs spread farther apart almost like an instinct as Yuho's hand works faster.
"Do you want to make a mess for me?" Yunho asks. Mingi knows this is a rhetorical question. Mingi would always make a mess for Yunho, he would make anything for Yunho, do anything for Yunho. Everyone knew that. He's the first one he went crawling to for anything. Went crawling to him with big, doe eyes and a pouty lip that he knew would get him anything. Not like Yunho would put up much of a fight when it came to him anyway, but the look was a bonus.
Mingi knows it's rhetorical, but he answers anyway. He nods, baring his throat so Yunho can kiss more of the skin there. So he can suck more dark marks on his skin that he knows the Internet would be questioning. He hopes they question. He wants to hear the theories, but it's not like they wouldn't have one culprit in mind, anyway.
His head starts to spin and he tries to warn Yunho, but all that comes out are pitiful moans and whimpers. He turns his head so he can look at Yunho the best he can over his shoulder and finds the other man's face buried in the side of his neck, eyes closed and eyebrows furrowed while he humps against him desperately. His voice comes out husky, grunting lowly as his hand on the side of Mingi's neck goes down to feel his hips.
"Come on, Princess…" Eyes still closed, voice muffled by Mingi's skin, Yunho speaks like he's the only person on earth Mingi wants to listen to. His wrist was still working, his hips still moving against Mingi's ass and he faintly wonders if he's going to let him do anything about that. Probably not. They were already most definitely late as it was. Mingi could make it up to him later, though. He would make it up to him later.
Mingi's body goes alight with a white-hot feeling that sets his nerves abuzz with something he can't quite name. He does, however, feel his legs go stiff and his head hangs low as he opens his jaw and drawls out a long, choked moan as he cums into Yunho's hand that's still working in his boxers. He rides him through it, catching almost everything he gave him and wrist still moving even though Mingi's cock was done twitching. Mingi winces at the slight overstimulation, but it doesn't last for long. Yunho leaves his hands in Mingi's pants for a moment while he keeps his hips humping against him. Mingi stays there, catching his breath and shaking against the shelves. Yunho keeps him there, strong arm wrapped around his waist to hold him so he didn't fall.
After a few moments, Yunho finally pulls his hand out, but it's quickly pressed against his waist as he holds Mingi there and aggressively rocks his hips against him.
"Sorry, Princess," Yunho whispers huskily into his ear, "You just… I need…" Mingi's exhausted. He nods, letting himself lean back against Yunho with his head on his shoulder. Yunho's lips find Mingi's neck again, licking and biting all he could find. "You're so good, so good, Mingi," The praise warms him from the inside out. He likes being good for Yunho. He wants to be good for Yunho. He finds a faint grin crossing his lips as he nods again, rolling his head against Yunho's shoulder as he holds him in place. "Always good… Did so good…"
"Yunho…" Mingi finds the strength to say his name as he feels his hips stutter against him. A low, choked noise leaves Yunho, followed by heavy breathing and more quiet praises. Finally, his hips slow down, and he holds him there for a moment. They were both still covered in sweat, and Mingi can feel the stickiness of his own release on his waist where Yunho put his hand. Not that it really mattered. They could clean up rather fast… He only hoped they still had a little time. Showing up in the state they were in was just asking for questions.
"Gotta get back now, Princess," Yunho says while gently moving the other man's face so he was facing him. Mingi goes willingly and accepts the kiss he's given willingly, too. Soft, tender and sweet, like most kisses Yunho gave him. "You okay?"
"Never been better," Mingi says with a sly grin that tells Yunho he wasn't lying. The grin is returned to him and, much to Mingi's dismay, Yunho finally lets go of him. They clean up the best they can, grabbing a dust rag and wiping themselves off. Thankfully, the wet spot in Yunho's pants wasn't horribly noticeable. It could, in theory, be passed off as sweat if anyone had any intense questions about it.
Mingi tries to ignore the stares everyone gives him as he signs items that are being show to him. He signs a few photocards, signs a plushie or two, and hands them back while answering simple questions. 'What's your favourite song? What movie did you last watch? Do you like this picture I drew of you?'
His pen writes across a photocard of him with pink hair and he grins at it. But, when he looks at the fan, she's only staring at his face. Or rather, his neck. He feels his ears burn as he quickly hands the photocard back to her. She looks at him like she had just seen a ghost, almost like she doesn't know how to react to whatever she's seeing. Mingi gives her a grin, then moves onto the next person. He most definitely saw her take out her phone camera and snatch a picture of his throat, though. Perfect.