Archive of Our Own

The atmosphere in the dressing room is loud and chaotic.

Everyone is still getting ready, stylists frantically moving around them, applying last minute touches to makeup, moving stray strands of hair strategically out of faces. The smell of hairspray hangs heavy in the air, and at this stage in their career, it smells like home to Hongjoong.

Hongjoong is the first one to be ready today, and it gives him the opportunity to sit down on the plush mustard couch and relax, even if just for a few minutes.

Still, his heart is thumping with excitement too hard for him to stay still for long. Hongjoong sits up and glances at all the members, one by one, scanning down the length of their outfits, smiling when they make eye contact.

He reaches for the small coffee table and grabs a chip from the bowl, popping it carefully in his mouth, crunching on it as he glances at his phone. There are a lot of notifications flooding in, congratulating them on a new tour, but he ignores them for now and shoves his phone back in his bag. There’s an ice bucket with a bottle of expensive champagne as well, large ice cubes that look too fancy for just their dressing room, but it seems the venue sent the very best to congratulate them; the champagne sits untouched, as none of them had the confidence to touch it before such a big performance. It does look very attractive right now though, condensation dripping down the long bottle neck, before disappearing back in the ice bucket.

From the corner of his eye, he catches Seonghwa walking into the room, the last one to get dressed. Hongjoong stands up to go and greet him, calm his nerves before the concert, assure him that all the new songs will turn out just fine, when he notices Seonghwa’s outfit.

Seonghwa’s trousers are deep purple, the same colour and fabric as his long-sleeve cropped jacket. The material looks soft to the touch, velvet-like, with intense colouring. They’re tight in all the right places, highlighting Seonghwa’s slim waist and perky ass, his thighs and long legs. His shirt is… well, it’s barely there. In lieu of a shirt, the stylists have decided to give him what looks like a leather harness crossing over in front of his chest, doing very little to hide the lithe lines of his waist and the defined muscle of his stomach and chest.

What strikes Hongjoong the most, however, is the colour and material of Seonghwa’s outfit.

Hongjoong reaches up to the sleeve of his own outfit, and runs his fingers over the deep purple captain armband stitched into the black fabric over his bicep. It looks the same colour, the exact same material, as if the stylists had cropped Seonghwa’s jacket and used the material leftover to make Hongjoong’s iconic armband.

He feels speechless suddenly, the breath knocked out of him.

They’re matching. The most important part of Hongjoong’s outfit had once belonged to Seonghwa.

“Seonghwa-ya,” Hongjoong calls out, above the noise.

It’s almost as if the rest of the room quietens, unused to Hongjoong both raising his voice in a setting like this and addressing Seonghwa so loudly and so directly. Some of the other members hide their smiles behind their hands as Hongjoong feels his own cheeks beginning to burn, wondering if it’s visible under all the makeup.

“You look beautiful,” he says, just about holding onto his composure when some staff coo at him. The other members laugh and shake their heads, and Seonghwa’s eyes widen at the direct compliment, caught off-guard.

Hongjoong wishes he could say many other things out loud.

Your legs look so good that I want to take the trousers off and kiss my way down them, pressing my lips to every bit of soft skin along the way.

I’d let you keep the harness on while I fuck you, just to see what your waist would look like with it and my hands on it.

You’d keep the jacket on, and I’d rip the armband off my outfit just to give it to you, just to promise you that no matter what part of yourself you give me, I’ll be here to keep it intact and to protect it, to return it to you should you ever ask for it back.

Seonghwa’s eyes flicker around the room, unsure of how to react, and Hongjoong watches him work through the different options, before his eyes soften and a gentle smile stretches on his lips. His shoulders visibly relax and he runs his hands down his stomach, looking down at the outfit—or lack thereof, Hongjoong thinks—before he glances up at Hongjoong and his smile widens. With the dressing room lights reflecting in his eyes and his hair styled to perfection to frame his face, Seonghwa looks breath-taking.

“We’re wearing couple items,” Seonghwa says finally, pointing to Hongjoong’s armband.

It’s Mingi who snorts first, unable to contain it. They both glance toward him, then at each other, before looking away bashfully.

Some of the staff look at Hongjoong curiously, so he clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck. “What are you talking about…” he murmurs, lips pressing into a pout as he speaks, dismissing the thought. Seonghwa laughs loud enough for Hongjoong to hear, the sound making the butterflies in his stomach come alive, and he knows Seonghwa knows he’s not being truthful. They’d rather keep up the act in front of the staff.

A voice in his in-ear tells him they need to get to the stage, so Hongjoong stands and claps his hands once, grabbing everyone’s attention. They thank their stylists and makeup artists, then head towards the stage, giddy and loud, talking amidst each other as they walk through the darkness backstage, lit up only by the crew walking around with little torches. Hongjoong takes the opportunity to slip an arm around Seonghwa’s waist and pull him into his side, chuckling when Seonghwa makes a surprised noise and crashes into his side.

“You look amazing,” he breathes, unable to stop thinking of more compliments in his head. “There’s a part of me that wishes we didn’t have to perform right now, that we could stay backstage and I could—”

“Joong!” Seonghwa scolds quickly, turning towards him and covering his mouth his his hand, forcing him into silence. Once Hongjoong has stopped talking and they’ve both paused moving, Seonghwa urgently motions to his own head microphone. They haven’t switched the microphones on yet for the members, otherwise they’d be able to hear Mingi barking to himself, San’s heavy breathing as he does push-ups, or even Wooyoung’s laughter as he tries to goad Jongho into opening another button on his shirt. But they could be switched on at any moment.

When Seonghwa retracts his hand, Hongjoong can’t help grinning—there’s something hot about the idea of almost getting caught, especially here. It’s a thought that doesn’t occur often, not with how much time they spend in the public eye, but he can only blame it on just how good Seonghwa looks right now, and the adrenaline pumping through his veins as they near the first performance of the first day of a brand new tour.

“Thank you,” Seonghwa whispers finally, gaze shifting from Hongjoong’s face to the other members, as well as the staff moving around them. “And I wish you could too,” he adds, quieter, in case the microphones are switched on, then walks away, leaving Hongjoong behind, mouth agape.

He rallies the group, leading them into their pre-show chant before they all clap each other on the shoulders and get into position. Hongjoong glances around the members, trying to find Seonghwa’s gaze as the introduction to Crazy Form begins and the lights start to dim. Seonghwa sends him a smile, too hot for the moment they’re in, like a promise, and Hongjoong grins back, before turning to face the crowd and perform like his life depends on it.

Hongjoong tries to focus, he really does.

Usually, it’s not a problem.

The fans always come first, and interacting with them feels comfortable and easy, yet today he finds himself easily distracted. He stares at the big screens each time the camera pans to Seonghwa, grinning dopily at the image, before the camera catches him smiling and he has to clear his throat and remember what the conversation was about.

During the dance interlude, when he reaches his hand towards Seonghwa, towards his angel—towards his light—before his own wings are ripped out, his gaze lingers just a moment too long; holding Seonghwa’s eyes with something akin to a vow, holding so long that the dancer he’s with has to almost force him into position.

When it’s time for Seonghwa’s solo dance break, Hongjoong stands backstage, monitoring it on the small screen, completely entranced. The sheer emotion on Seonghwa’s face, the camera zooming in on the sweat beads trickling down the grooves on his stomach. Hongjoong finds himself breathless just thinking of his tongue following the same line. He almost misses his next cue, and only after Yunho calls his name does he start sprinting towards his place.

There’s a quick change before Matz, and once they meet backstage again, both changed, Hongjoong runs his gaze down the length of Seonghwa’s body again. He’s wearing tight pants with white swirling patterns, and a shirt that looks sheer upon first glance, but is simply in such a natural tone that Hongjoong almost mistakes it for Seonghwa’s tanned skin. The outfit is tied off with a large, brown fur coat that matches Hongjoong’s in everything but the colour. Immediately, he steps forward, one hand sliding to Seonghwa’s waist, the action hidden under the sheer amount of fabric. Seonghwa shivers in response, then exhales harshly, a sound that might be mistaken for fatigue, but Hongjoong knows is anything but, especially as Seonghwa shakes under his fingers.

“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong breathes, the only word he’ll allow himself to say—the only one that is appropriate for everyone on the same channel as them to hear.

Seonghwa’s gaze sweeps his face, noticing the desperate eyes, lips parted, the sheer amount of desire burning in Hongjoong’s gaze, and nods quickly. “Me too,” he says, just as breathless, sealing the promise that’s been hanging between them all night. “Not long until the end,” he adds, corners of his lips curving into a smirk that tells Hongjoong everything he needs to know about what will be happening after the concert.

Before they go into Arriba, Hongjoong sits back on the chair, leaning his elbow on the prop table, reaching under to grab a bottle of water and a towel. He takes a few sips through the straw, presses the towel to his sweat-covered neck, and laughs at something San said, before his eyes slide over to Seonghwa again.

He’s still trying to regulate his breathing from the last performance, chest heaving up and down, but his expression doesn’t betray him. There’s a bead of sweat trailing down the side of his face, following the sharp line of his jaw, and Hongjoong’s eyes follow it, wishing to let his tongue follow the same path, before Seonghwa wipes the sweat with the back of his hand and the illusion is broken. He notices Hongjoong’s eyes on him then, so he raises a subtle eyebrow. Unsure of what else to do, Hongjoong lifts the bottle of water towards him.

Seonghwa takes a few steps towards him and takes the bottle from him, lips wrapping around the straw as he has a drink. He’s smiling up at him, thinking about how pretty his lips would look wrapped around Hongjoong’s cock instead, when screams tear through the arena. Hongjoong blinks once, twice, looks at the crowd, then at the big screens.

The screens have captured him giving Seonghwa the water bottle: the water bottle he just drank out of himself.

Seonghwa glances at the screens, then smiles slyly, before handing the bottle back to Hongjoong and playfully shoving his shoulder, nose scrunching with mock disgust.

Hongjoong is just glad the camera captured that, and not the erection he’s trying his hardest to hide in the tight pants he has on.

They say their goodbyes, voices emotional as they thank the fans for coming. Once the curtains are drawn, they huddle and hug together, praising each other, adrenaline high, singing and cheering as they move down the hallways to gather their stuff and leave. Hongjoong grabs Seonghwa’s hand and pulls him the opposite way, carefully scanning the backstage before crowding Seonghwa against one of the huge, backup speakers.

“Stay with me,” he whispers, sure the microphones are off now. “Don’t leave, not yet.”

Seonghwa looks curious, head tilted slightly. He’s wearing their tour shirt, paired with a cute, beanie hat with bunny ear-like shapes flopping down. Hongjoong wets his lips, tip of his tongue following the line of his bottom lip as he scans down the length of Seonghwa’s body, before his gaze quickly flickers to their surroundings once more. In a quick, swift move, he reaches under Seonghwa’s shirt, pressing his hand against his bare waist, catching the lewd groan that Seonghwa lets out in the space between them.

Hongjoong tightens his hold on Seonghwa’s waist, the press of his fingers bruising as he leans closer, voice just above a whisper. “Can you change for me, baby?” he asks softly.

Seonghwa’s hand grips Hongjoong’s shoulder and he nods, his lips pressed tight together to make sure he doesn’t make any noise.

“You know which outfit, star?”

Again, Seonghwa nods quickly, eyes fluttering shut at the fond nickname.

“Good,” Hongjoong praises, and though Seonghwa’s eyes are open again, they’re dark with desire and want, something Hongjoong is more than eager to supply. “Say goodbye to the rest, get changed, and meet me in the main dressing room.”

He doesn’t dare lean forward and kiss Seonghwa, even if there doesn’t seem to be anybody around. This is the only way they’ve managed to keep the secret for so long, by allowing themselves look and touches that can be explained, that can be laughed off one way or another.

“Go.”

Hongjoong steps aside and lets him slip away, though it’s harder than he could have imagined. He grabs his own phone and sends a few messages to the members, congratulating them on a great show and promising to go over the things that didn’t quite work first thing in the morning, but for now he excuses himself and Seonghwa, using a post-show meal out as an excuse.

If they know what he truly means, most of the members don’t let on. Well, all except for Wooyoung, who sends him a list of lewd emojis that probably aren’t far from what really will happen in response.

He thanks the staff backstage and dismisses his manager, saying that he and Seonghwa will return alone later. He gets a lot of follow-up questions, which he recognises is fair, but each one makes his fingers impatiently tap against his thigh, waiting for the questioning to be over so he can find Seonghwa.

There are still staff continuing to pack everything away, but they have another show here tomorrow, so it won’t take them as long today. Hongjoong makes a beeline straight for the dressing room, wondering if Seonghwa is already in there.

When he opens the door and steps through it, he’s met with dim lights coming from the dressing tables on one side of the room. The overhead lights are switched off, and for a moment Hongjoong thinks something happened and he missed Seonghwa, but then his name is being uttered softly, and he focuses on the mustard couches he sat on before the show.

“Seonghwa,” he breathes, pausing to lock the door behind himself, and then moves towards his boyfriend.

Seonghwa stands from the couch and meets him half way.

They don’t need words, not yet.

Hongjoong cradles Seonghwa’s face in his hands and kisses him: deeply, earnestly, eagerly.

Seonghwa is always so responsive to him, always has been, just in different ways.

Back when they first debuted, a simple lingering look from Hongjoong would make Seonghwa flush. On the very few occasions where Hongjoong accepted physical affection, or even less often, when he initiated it, the touches always sent Seonghwa blushing like crazy—reduced to a stuttering mess with a dusting of pink high on his cheeks.

Now, Seonghwa is still just as responsive, just in different ways. Each time his tongue trails over Seonghwa’s, each time Hongjoong nips at his bottom lip, Seonghwa reacts so beautifully: whines, desperate whimpers, high-pitched moans that encourage Hongjoong to keep going.

Hongjoong kisses him like a man dying of thirst, finally having found his oasis after wandering the sandy dunes for days. He doesn’t care how fleeting the mirage may be, he’s going to get his fill—enough to last him a lifetime.

He kisses Seonghwa, and when he thinks he might be done he kisses him again, making up for all the time in the day they had to pretend to be just friends, pretend to be colleagues, pretend to be people who only have chemistry on stage.

Seonghwa tastes like mint, like the chewing gum he had before coming here, like the perfume that always clings to every part of his body. But he also tastes like warmth and comfort, so when Hongjoong swipes his tongue over Seonghwa’s, when he tries to devour him whole—when he runs his hands over Seonghwa’s waist and pulls him closer, bodies pressing together—he only wishes he could savour the taste for the rest of his life.

Hongjoong begins walking them towards the couch, hands firm on Seonghwa’s waist, guiding him, lips still pressing frantically against each other. He runs his hands from Seonghwa’s waist, up his chest, then neck; he cradles Seonghwa’s jaw in his hands, tilting his head so their lips press firmer together, so it becomes even more heated. From here, he runs his hands to his shoulders and helps Seonghwa shrug off the jacket, the cropped material that Hongjoong carried the remains of on his arm. It falls to the floor as they walk.

Hongjoong stops by the couch, lips separating from each other, and glances down.

The harness looks so pretty on Seonghwa, black leather against tanned skin, placed strategically so nobody can see his nipples. Hongjoong presses his hand flat just under Seonghwa’s rib and slowly glides it up, sliding under the leather material, so his thumb can rub over Seonghwa’s nipple. The other whines at the touch, leaning forward to press his lips to Hongjoong’s cheek, then the corner of his mouth, begging for attention.

Hongjoong is conflicted about the harness. It looks so good on Seonghwa, but seeing his boyfriend’s chest and shoulders in all of their glory is even more magnificent of a sight.

Finally, Hongjoong reaches behind and undoes the clip that loosens the harness. Seonghwa shrugs out of it and it falls to the floor.

He leads Seonghwa a few more steps back, until the backs of his knees hit the large couch. He grips Hongjoong’s arms as he loses his balance and falls, dragging Hongjoong with him, right on top. They huff out a laugh together, before Hongjoong kisses him again, soft and sweet, like honey on his tongue.

Seonghwa lies back on the couch, melting into the mustard yellow plush fabric, and Hongjoong leans back for a moment, just admiring him.

“Joong,” he murmurs, a blush starting to form high on his cheeks. He fidgets with his hands, moving to rest them over his stomach, over his chest, before Hongjoong reaches forward and gently grasps his wrists, moving his hands out of the way, pressing them into the couch cushions beside Seonghwa’s body.

“Let me admire you for a moment, baby,” Hongjoong whispers, unable to take his gaze off of Seonghwa. Later, the other will probably whine about how embarrassing it was, but in this moment, Hongjoong doesn’t care.

Tonight, he’s adamant that he’s going to worship Seonghwa; that he’s going to take the beautiful man he saw walking onto the stage, performing for thousands, and make him fall apart right here and right now, just for Hongjoong.

He hovers over Seonghwa, one hand resting on the back of the couch, and runs the other down the length of Seonghwa’s waist. Hongjoong’s eyes follow everywhere his hand goes.

He nips at the skin of his collarbone, tongue dipping into the crevice before he continues kissing down Seonghwa’s chest. His hand starts touching wherever he can reach, up and down his chest, side, neck, running through Seonghwa’s hair and back again as Hongjoong presses his lips against Seonghwa’s skin, hot to the touch.

Hongjoong leans down and kisses Seonghwa’s chest, just over his frantic heartbeat, then continues a line of kisses all the way to Seonghwa’s nipple, tonguing the bud briefly, making the other whine.

His fingers begin to work on Seonghwa’s pants, undoing the buttons carefully, aware he has to wear the outfit tomorrow as well. He slides them down Seonghwa’s legs, then sets them aside. He moves back to hook his fingers in the waistband of Seonghwa’s underwear, then slides that down too; he can feel his mouth water at the sight of Seonghwa’s cock bobbing out, already hard and hot, pretty and pink, precum pooling at the tip.

Not yet, though, no matter how much Seonghwa whines, no matter how much Hongjoong eyes his cock hungrily.

He grabs Seonghwa’s hips and pulls him forward, until his feet touch the ground and he’s slouched against the back of the couch. “Joong,” he whines impatiently as Hongjoong sinks to his knees in front of him, the material of his jeans pressing into the plush rug on the floor.

“Just relax, star,” Hongjoong whispers, and he can see the way Seonghwa’s lips curl up fondly at the nickname.

Hongjoong rests his hands on Seonghwa’s waist, fingers pressing into the skin, feeling taut muscle beneath. Seonghwa’s waist always looks so small in his hands, so perfectly shaped just for him. He leans forward and presses a featherlight kiss against the jut of Seonghwa’s hip, ignoring another impatient whine, and follows the dip with his tongue; Seonghwa tastes like sweat and a faint note of his usual soap, strawberry-scented.

He presses kisses down the side of Seonghwa’s hip; he presses kisses to his stomach, dips his tongue in his navel, follows the faint line of hair towards his cock, but is careful to not touch it just yet. Hongjoong’s hands slide down to Seonghwa’s thighs then, fingers pressing harder into them, before he dives down and lets him mouth follow the same path.

He kisses Seonghwa’s thighs, sucking gentle bruises into the skin, refusing to let up even when Seonghwa tangles his hand in Hongjoong’s hair and whispers his name, over and over.

Tonight, he’s going to worship Seonghwa, like he deserves to be worshipped.

He presses kisses down his legs: long and lingering, short and forceful, tongue flicking out to taste the skin, lips dragging across the surface. He pushes Seonghwa’s legs apart and sucks bruises into the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, glancing up at Seonghwa through his eyelashes.

Seonghwa watches him carefully in response, one hand tangles in Hongjoong’s hair and the other twisted into a couch cushion beside him. His grip on Hongjoong is firm, but never demanding: it’s there to anchor him, to keep him focused, to stop himself from getting lost in that floaty mindset he sometimes gets into when Hongjoong begins to worship every inch of his skin. His eyes are almost black, focused entirely on Hongjoong, following his every move, filled with so much desire it makes Hongjoong breathless for a short second.

Seonghwa mewls, soft and pathetic, hips grinding up to get some friction, but Hongjoong is far from done. He kisses the side of Seonghwa’s knee, while his hand slides down the length of his smooth leg, until his fingers can wrap around Seonghwa’s ankle. He lifts Seonghwa’s leg then, resting his foot on Hongjoong’s shoulder; Seonghwa tilts his head and watches as Hongjoong presses a soft kiss to the bridge of his foot. Seonghwa jerks slightly, ticklish, and Hongjoong smiles against his skin as he presses another kiss to his ankle, then just above it, lips parted as his tongue presses against the same place.

“You’re so beautiful,” Hongjoong whispers. His hand slides up to Seonghwa’s outer thigh again, lips moving across the skin as he returns to the sensitive skin of his inner thighs and slowly sucks another bruise into it. He gently rests Seonghwa’s foot back on the floor.

Hongjoong smirks, then leaves a lingering kiss on the underside of Seonghwa’s cock, making him moan, back arching off the couch, before Hongjoong moves to the other leg. Again, he slides his hand down the length of Seonghwa’s leg, grasping his ankle and resting his foot on Hongjoong’s shoulder, repeating exactly what he did to his other leg.

“Joong,” Seonghwa huffs out, more clipped than usual, losing patience quickly. “Are you going to fuck me tonight, or not?”

Hongjoong closes his eyes and groans into the skin of Seonghwa’s thigh. “Fuck,” he whispers, feeling how his cock twitches in the confines of his jeans; he breathes through the need to just come in his pants at Seonghwa’s words, then gives his thigh a sharp bite. Seonghwa yelps, fingers in Hongjoong’s hair pulling, and Hongjoong finds himself grinning as the brief sting of pain mixes deliciously with the sheer pleasure of seeing a bruise blooming on Seonghwa’s thigh. He meets Seonghwa’s eyes for a moment. “I will,” he promises, and Seonghwa whines, unable to break eye contact. “But not if you’re a brat about it.”

“Please, I’ll be good,” Seonghwa promises quickly, breathlessly.

“We’ll see, baby,” Hongjoong murmurs, then returns to pressing kisses to Seonghwa’s thigh.

Fuck, he loves pressing his lips to Seonghwa’s skin and feeling the warmth he radiates. He loves lavishing Seonghwa’s skin with his tongue, tasting the hint of sweat after a long concert, the aftertaste of his soap, the underlying scent of his perfume.

Out of the corner of his eye he spots something, and an idea forms.

Hongjoong leans away from Seonghwa and grabs the ice bucket from the table, recently replenished with ice and an unopened bottle of champagne—perhaps the venue thought they might celebrate after the concert. And oh, Hongjoong is certainly going to. He grabs one of the large ice cubes and holds it in his fingers for a moment, while Seonghwa watches curiously. Hongjoong moves the ice cube into his other hand, and places the initial one across Seonghwa’s thigh.

Seonghwa shivers instantly, a sharp breath punched out of him as ice cold fingers press into his sensitive skin, right over the bruises Hongjoong had sucked into the very spot moments ago. Hongjoong chuckles, grinning as he watches Seonghwa’s cheeks turn even more red.

With the melting ice cube still between his fingers, he presses his hand against Seonghwa’s other thigh, feeling him jolt under the sudden temperature change. “Joong,” he gasps, eyes wide, and Hongjoong watches him carefully, gauging his reaction. Seonghwa doesn’t look deterred, however, quite the opposite: his eyes burn darker, alight with a fire so hot Hongjoong fears he might get burned, so at odds with the ice in his hand.

So Hongjoong smirks, then leans forward, hot lips soothing the cold burn of the ice. Seonghwa moans at the sensation, fingers twisting into Hongjoong’s hair, caught between pushing him away and pulling him closer, thighs pressing closer together, trapping him between them.

Hongjoong moves the ice across Seonghwa’s skin, watching it leave behind a wet residue, looking at the way goosebumps rise.

Where the ice goes, his mouth follows, creating a vivid contrast that has Seonghwa twisting on the couch, head thrown back, teeth worrying on his bottom lip to stop it from trembling. He looks absolutely wrecked already, and Hongjoong is only getting started.

“You look so pretty like this, baby,” he coos, the ice cube completely melting away.

Seonghwa whines, trying to bring Hongjoong’s head closer to his cock, hard and leaking, shiny with precum dripping down the sides. Hongjoong doesn’t, ignoring the desperation written on his face and in his movements.

Instead, he grabs another ice cube and presses it against Seonghwa’s other thigh, soothing the blooming bruises. Seonghwa moans again, trembling under his touch.

“And you sound so amazing,” Hongjoong breathes. He presses a kiss to soothe the cold, lips lingering against Seonghwa skin, nipping gently. “You always look so pretty on stage,” he continues, whispering the words into Seonghwa’s skin, loud enough only for him to hear. “Always sound so good on stage too,” he adds with a huff of a laugh. Hongjoong moves the ice cube around Seonghwa’s thigh, then glances up as the other moans his name. “But here… it’s all for me.”

He slides the ice down Seonghwa’s leg, down the side of his knee, all the way to his ankle, then back up again. Where the ice goes, his mouth always follows, head tilting to press kisses to the side and back of Seonghwa’s knee, then down to nip at his ankle, tongue gathering the moisture from Seonghwa’s skin.

Another ice cube melts.

Hongjoong leans away for a moment, regarding Seonghwa curiously before a smirk stretches on his lips.

He grabs another ice cube, and presses it to the side of Seonghwa’s cock.

Seonghwa jolts, back arching, legs trying to close but Hongjoong is in the way, so his thighs end up squeezing either side of Hongjoong’s chest. He moans, loud and unadulterated, gaze falling to Hongjoong’s hand on his cock, warm fingertips pressing the ice to the sensitive skin just under the head of his cock. “Hongjoong,” he breathes, desperate, wrecked, and Hongjoong’s chest fills with a sick sense of satisfaction that has his lips curving into a wide grin.

He takes pity on Seonghwa then, just a little bit.

He keeps the ice cube where it is, but presses his mouth to the top of Seonghwa’s cock, lips parting as he slides down the length and takes it in his mouth. Seonghwa grips his hair tighter, another lewd moan escaping his mouth; the contrast between Hongjoong’s hot mouth and the chill of the ice must feel dizzying.

Seonghwa’s length is hot in his mouth, and Hongjoong can’t help but moan around it, sending vibrations that have Seonghwa arching his back. He pulls back for a moment, tongue flat against his cock head, before he sucks on it slightly and hears Seonghwa mewl. He moves the ice cube to the other side of his cock and Seonghwa shivers in response; Hongjoong’s lips press against the spot the ice occupied previously, intrigued by the difference in temperature. He licks a stripe up Seonghwa’s cock, gathering the water and precum alike on his tongue before he takes him fully in his mouth again. Hongjoong swallows him down with expertise, pressing in as far as he can. He starts moving his hand up and down the length, bringing the melting ice cube with him.

“Joong,” Seonghwa gasps. “Baby, I’m—”

Hongjoong moves the ice cube and presses it just under his balls, making Seonghwa jump, his grip on Hongjoong’s hair tightening.

“No, Joong, wait, no—” Seonghwa whines, eyes opening and looking at him, and Hongjoong pulls off him quickly, only so he can give Seonghwa a crooked grin.

“Too early, baby,” he coos. “You can wait a bit longer.”

Hongjoong leans lower and grazes his lips over his balls, a few feather-light kisses and kitten licks to spur him on. When he glances up, he can see how frustrated Seonghwa looks, eyebrows pinched together, lips parted, eyes dark. He almost feels bad for making him wait, but he looks so fucking good the more desperate he gets, so while Hongjoong wants to spoil him—wants to kiss and lick every inch of his skin—he also wants to see Seonghwa be a good boy and wait.

“Good boy,” he tells him as much, and can see some of the tension drain from Seonghwa’s shoulders. He loves how well Seonghwa responds to praise and compliments.

Ice melted, Hongjoong wraps his lips around the head of Seonghwa’s cock and takes him in again. His hand eagerly moves over the part he can’t quite get his mouth on, and he starts thinking of where it would look the hottest for Seonghwa to come. Would it be on his face? Or in his mouth? Hongjoong wishes it could be all over that jacket, the one that bares the same colour as his captain armband, but that can’t happen with the concert happening tomorrow.

Seonghwa’s cock hits the back of his throat and Hongjoong feels the tears gathering in his eyes, Seonghwa’s hand dropping down to tangle in his hair again. His grip tightens and he moans louder, shameless and lewd, unbothered by anyone else that might be around. He continues bobbing his head up and down: feeling the way Seonghwa tenses under him, feeling how hot and hard his cock is in Hongjoong’s mouth, feeling how it pulses and twitches.

Seonghwa comes with a loud moan, his grip in Hongjoong’s hair tightening. His body tenses, his cock twitches inside Hongjoong’s mouth and he stays still, waiting for Seonghwa to ride it out, waiting until his body stops trembling. He swallows some of it, but focuses hard on keeping the rest on his tongue.

Hongjoong pulls off carefully, then leans over Seonghwa. Seonghwa looks fucked out already, body completely melted into the couch, eyes hooded, lips parted as he tries to catch his breath. Hongjoong grasps his chin with his fingers and pulls down, parting Seonghwa’s lips further. He then leans down and kisses him, letting the cum on his tongue drip into Seonghwa’s mouth; in response, Seonghwa moans and kisses him harder, his arms coming up to wrap around Hongjoong’s neck. They kiss for a long moment, Hongjoong’s sense overwhelmed by Seonghwa in every way.

Hongjoong pulls back, mouth empty, and grins at Seonghwa.

He can feel the way his own cock is digging into the zipper of his jeans, and he’s still fully dressed, still clad in the tour t-shirt. He pulls it off over his head and almost instantly Seonghwa reaches out, running his hands down Hongjoong’s chest lazily, before gripping his waist and pulling him in for another kiss. Hongjoong is only a weak man, so he caves in almost immediately, and they exchange another series of heated kisses before he remembers what he originally wanted to do.

Hongjoong pulls away and reaches down for one of the ice cubes. He pops this one in his mouth, holding it firmly between his lips and doesn’t explain when Seonghwa looks confused.

Instead, Hongjoong leans down and presses his mouth right above Seonghwa’s nipple.

“Hongjoong,” he whines, his fingers finding Hongjoong’s bare shoulders, blunt nails running down his upper back. Hongjoong circles the edge of the ice around Seonghwa’s nipple, once, twice, three times, before he presses it directly on the bud. Meanwhile, he other hand moves to play with Seonghwa’s other nipple, thumb brushing back and forth, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, making Seonghwa moan and writhe beneath him.

He pulls back, crunches the rest of the ice cube between his teeth, and swallows it, before latching onto the nipple with his lips, tongue repeating the same movements the ice did before, contrasting temperatures making Seonghwa moan even louder. Fuck, he sounds so good like this, so pliant under Hongjoong, so willing to let Hongjoong take him apart.

He kisses his way across Seonghwa’s chest and wraps his lips around his other nipple, tongue moving back and forth, feeling it perk up and harden. Hongjoong leans away for a moment to grab another ice cube and slip it between his lips, before he moves from Seonghwa’s chest and to his stomach. He follows the line of muscle down the middle of his stomach, running the edge of the ice across his skin, allowing the warmth of his lips to soothe it right after. Seonghwa twitches and writhes beneath him, clearly enjoying the sensations, and Hongjoong can already see his cock starting to fill out again.

Hongjoong’s hands grip Seonghwa’s waist, thumbs digging into his hip bones. The ice melts quickly in his mouth, leaving his tongue and lips cold, and he presses them to Seonghwa’s waist, outlines the jut of his hip with his lips, nipping on it gently. He could keep touching Seonghwa like this forever.

Seonghwa grinds up against him, his cock rubbing against the material of Hongjoong’s jeans, right over his own neglected erection. It pulls a guttural groan out of him, which he presses against Seonghwa’s skin, and it has Seonghwa murmuring his name, fingers gently threading into the hair low on Hongjoong’s nape.

He pulls away for a moment, to reach into his bag, the one he left in the dressing room earlier. He rummages around for a moment and comes back with a small bottle of lube, which has Seonghwa raising an eyebrow at him, though a wicked grin spreads on his face. Hongjoong pulls away entirely, getting to his feet and moving to undo his jeans.

Still on the couch, Seonghwa sits up, hands wrapping around Hongjoong’s waist before dropping to his ass, pulling him forward. He undoes Hongjoong’s jeans for him. A quick glance up at Hongjoong through his eyelashes and he’s leaning forward, mouthing over the shape of Hongjoong’s cock through his underwear, tongue darting out to taste the dark patch of precum already there. As if by reflex, Hongjoong’s hand twists in Seonghwa’s black hair, his head falling back, mouth open in a silent moan. Fuck, he could stay here like this, let Seonghwa swallow him down until there are tears in his eyes.

He gently guides Seonghwa’s head away with the last of his self-control. “Not tonight, baby,” he murmurs.

Seonghwa pouts and looks up at him, but then proceeds to pull down his jeans and underwear together. Hongjoong steps out of them and sets his jeans on the side of the couch.

Then, he moves around Seonghwa, sitting on the couch, hands grabbing at Seonghwa’s waist while he encourages him to move, a wicked glint in his eyes. Almost immediately Seonghwa scrambles into his lap, straddling him.

Hongjoong reaches for his jeans, still on the couch beside them, and grabs the piece of material he’s carried with him most of the day.

Seonghwa watches carefully as Hongjoong grabs his arm and slides the purple captain armband on him. It looks amazing on him, as most things do, but once Hongjoong settles it in place on Seonghwa’s bare arm, in the same place Hongjoong would wear it, he can’t help but sit back and marvel at him again. He looks so gorgeous, completely naked all except for the armband, sat in Hongjoong’s lap, his cock hard and leaking again, eyes dark and hooded.

“It belongs to you,” Hongjoong whispers, and the way Seonghwa’s bottom lip trembles Hongjoong knows he understands the meaning. This isn’t about the armband; it’s about the part of Hongjoong that it represents. Seonghwa reaches up and touches the armband gently. Hongjoong only hopes Seonghwa will hold his heart in his fingers with equal tenderness.

Seonghwa leans forward and kisses him, cradling Hongjoong’s face in his hands.

It’s sweet, relaying all the emotions that he feels.

It quickly turns more heated though, especially when Seonghwa grinds back, the head of Hongjoong’s cock pressing between his cheeks.

Hongjoong grabs the lube and pours some on his fingers, before quickly reaching behind Seonghwa. He presses the first finger in confidently to the second knuckle, knowing Seonghwa will relax under his touch; he does just that, arms wrapping around Hongjoong’s neck and leaning forward to kiss his cheek, lips lingering on his skin. Hongjoong moves to kiss Seonghwa’s cheek, then his jaw, his neck, a line of kisses until he reaches under his ear, nipping gently on the sensitive skin, ensuring he doesn’t leave marks.

Fuck, he really wishes he could leave marks.

He wishes he could show the thousands—millions—of people that see Seonghwa every day that he already belongs to someone.

He showers Seonghwa’s skin with kisses instead, feeling pleased when Seonghwa tilts his head and gives him more room, humming pleasantly, his hands placed on Hongjoong’s shoulders now.

Hongjoong kisses every part of Seonghwa he can reach while his fingers build a slow rhythm of in and out, deeper each time. He adds a second fingers soon after, and Seonghwa arches his back slightly, allowing Hongjoong the perfect opportunity to suck his nipple into his mouth, gently pressing his teeth to the bud before soothing it with his tongue. He stretches Seonghwa open, face pressed against his neck, panting with the last of his own self-control; his cock begs for release, throbbing with the need to be inside Seonghwa, but he takes his time opening him up. He even adds a third finger, which has Seonghwa moaning his name, nails scratching across Hongjoong’s back.

“Joong,” Seonghwa murmurs, needy, desperate, and when Hongjoong meets his gaze, he sees just how far Seonghwa is gone. Lips parted, a blush high on his cheeks, dark eyes so hazy that Hongjoong is sure Seonghwa is beginning to lose control over himself. He’s so beautiful.

Hongjoong pours more lube over his own swollen cock and then it’s Seonghwa who loses patience, reaching back and wrapping a hand around Hongjoong’s length. He inhales sharply, eyes squeezing shut, realising just how pent up he is, just how on edge he has been while worshipping Seonghwa the entire time; Seonghwa’s touch on his cock is heavenly, stirring something low in his stomach already, heart hammering at the simplest of caresses.

Seonghwa presses the head of his cock against his rim, then pauses. Hongjoong opens his eyes and finds Seonghwa looking at him, as if waiting for Hongjoong to look back. “You’ve spent all evening watching me,” Seonghwa whispers, low voice dripping with honey. “And you choose to look away now?”

Never.

Hongjoong leans forward and kisses the corner of Seonghwa’s lips, a desperate whine leaving his lips unbidden. The corners of Seonghwa’s lips curve up in a satisfied smile and he finally presses down, letting Hongjoong’s cock stretch his rim, pushing in slowly. His hands fly to Seonghwa’s waist, so small beneath his fingers, and while his mind cycles through a repetitive mantra of leave a mark, hold firm, make sure everyone knows, Hongjoong’s fingers slide over the skin softly, worshipping every inch.

Seonghwa exhales sharply as Hongjoong bottoms out, and the heat that envelops his cock is heavenly. He always fills Seonghwa so well, always so hot and tight, like he was made just for Hongjoong. Hands wrapped around Hongjoong’s neck, he leans forward and kisses him, and it’s sweeter than Hongjoong thought it would be, lips pressing together in something that drips of tenderness, that threatens to pull undone the very fragile threading of Hongjoong’s heart, that makes him consider if—just for a moment—they belong to each other and nobody else.

Seonghwa lifts himself and presses back down again, slow and deep, and the move has Hongjoong groaning against his mouth, fighting a battle to keep his eyes open, to keep seeing Seonghwa’s blissed out expression. He sets a steady rhythm of up and down, taking his time, as if watching Hongjoong become undone beneath him. Even when Seonghwa’s eyes glaze over, less focused on the moment in time and more on everything he’s feeling, he doesn’t look away from Hongjoong.

Hongjoong leans in and leaves kisses all around his face, high on his cheeks and over his eyebrow, on the corner of his eye and the tip of his nose, then the corner of his lips, on his chin—everywhere he can reach. Seonghwa grinds his hips down, circular undulations that push Hongjoong’s cock deeper, that make Hongjoong feel just how hard he’s throbbing inside Seonghwa.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so amazing,” Hongjoong breathes against Seonghwa’s skin. From the corner of his eye, he sees the captain armband on Seonghwa’s arm, and the reminder makes him groan into the sharp line of Seonghwa’s collarbone.

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa whispers, voice cracking. His fingers dig harder into Hongjoong’s shoulders, his thighs trembling, and he can tell Seonghwa is getting closer.

Hongjoong places one hand on Seonghwa’s hip, helping him move up and down his cock easier, while Hongjoong’s other hand wraps around Seonghwa’s cock, thumb spreading the precum all around the head, teasing and light. Seonghwa rocks into his touch, then fucks himself back on his cock and Hongjoong groans, pressing his forehead to Seonghwa’s collarbone, lips pressing kisses to the skin. He so badly wishes he could suck a bruise into that very spot.

Seonghwa comes first, with Hongjoong’s name on his lips, thighs trembling and Hongjoong’s cock buried deep inside him. He moans, then presses his lips to Hongjoong’s, spilling all over Hongjoong’s hand and their stomachs.

Hongjoong ignores the mess and reaches for Seonghwa’s ass with both hands, gripping harder, helping him lift a few more times, slamming down on Hongjoong’s cock before he’s coming too. Eyes squeezed shut, he groans and presses his face into the crook between Seonghwa’s shoulder and neck, murmuring praises and how good Seonghwa feels, lips ghosting over skin. He spills inside Seonghwa and stays there, gentle kisses on Seonghwa’s neck, whispering about how pretty he is, how good he looked in his outfits today, how insane he drove Hongjoong.

They sit together for a long while, until Hongjoong wraps his arms around Seonghwa’s waist and tilts them both sideways onto the couch. Seonghwa yelps when he does, but with his arms and legs still wrapped around Hongjoong, he follows with only a small laugh. Hongjoong runs his fingers over Seonghwa’s waist and back, tracing intricate patterns into his skin, before he starts writing out the words that constantly repeat in the back of his mind whenever he sees Seonghwa: pretty, beautiful, handsome, amazing, talented, love.

“Some staff saw me getting changed back into this,” Seonghwa murmurs later, when they’re lying pressed together on the couch, both spent.

“What did you say?” Hongjoong asks, then nuzzles the side of Seonghwa’s face.

“Said we were supposed to wear our favourite outfit for the after party,” he says, huffing out a laugh.

Hongjoong wraps his arm around Seonghwa’s waist. “Was it worth going to the after party?” he asks teasingly. Seonghwa would never willingly show up to the after party, especially by himself.

He can almost feel Seonghwa roll his eyes, without having to look at him. “Always is,” he murmurs. He presses his nose against Seonghwa’s cheek, nuzzling him again, earning a gentle laugh from Seonghwa. “I love you,” he whispers, the words that have been hanging on the tip of his tongue all evening.

Seonghwa turns his head slightly, so he can meet Hongjoong’s eyes and the other can see the bright smile that light up his face, that makes his eyes shine brighter than the stage lights ever could. “I love you too.”

They clean up quickly, using some towels and tissues they find in the dressing room to clean up as much mess from their bodies as possible. It looks like the couch managed to get away mostly unscathed, but Hongjoong doesn’t think he’ll be able to look at it the same way tomorrow. They put the clothes away neatly on hangers, then grab whatever clothes they have lying around in the dressing room. Hongjoong finds a couple of shirts at the bottom of his bag, feeling his chest fill with sudden affection when Seonghwa pulls the black shirt over his head, the words ‘Balmain Paris’ etched on the chest. It feels like a claim, one Hongjoong can’t make publicly, but nonetheless one that would be perceived as such.

Hoods pulled over their head, they head out of the dressing room. As they walk out, flashing their passes to the security along the way, Hongjoong orders an Uber to the hotel.

“Hongjoong-ah,” Seonghwa murmurs, catching his attention. Chest filling with fondness, Hongjoong looks at him. “I’m thinking of doing a live when we get back,” Seonghwa says. They stand side by side, shoulders pressed together, at the side exit of the arena, waiting for the taxi to arrive. It’s close to 2am now, and everyone that would have been here for the concert earlier in the night has dispersed, leaving them looking at the empty streets of yet another city.

Hongjoong hums. “How about a shower first?” he suggests.

Seonghwa glances at him briefly, a smile growing on his lips. “Have you not had enough tonight?” he asks, voice soft but teasing.

Hongjoong laughs and slides his hand into the pocket of Seonghwa’s hoodie, so he can tangle their fingers together. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he says.

“Will you go live with me?” Seonghwa asks.

“Can we have some food first?”

“I have instant ramyun in my suitcase.”

“Sounds perfect.”