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It’s not that Seonghwa watches Hongjoong, not really.
It’s just that Hongjoong looks out for everyone else; he has all eight of their schedules memorized and susses out potential problems or conflicts or other issues almost before they can start. He works tirelessly for them, and that doesn’t even touch on his own responsibilities as a producer.
He takes care of them, watches out for them, nurtures them, celebrates every little accomplishment as the world will stop if he doesn’t. He makes sure they know he’s there for them in a thousand ways, and never seems to miss a step.
Hongjoong as Captain is…breathtaking, to Seonghwa’s way of thinking.
Hongjoong is the first to see the tiniest sign that one of them is under strain, nearing their breaking point. Signs Seonghwa himself has missed time and time again, despite trying his best to be watchful, to take some of the burden from Hongjoong’s shoulders
Hongjoong calls that odd sort of sixth sense leader’s intuition.
Seonghwa calls it a superpower. And when it gets really bad, he calls it insanity, though only ever to himself.
It’s just that sometimes, he forgets to give himself the same grace. It’s not that Hongjoong thinks little of himself, not really. It’s that he gets so caught up in everything that he forgets that he also needs little things like sleep and food and rest. He’ll go and go and go like the energizer bunny until all at once, the battery is dead, and he collapses like a marionette whose strings have been cut.
Over the years, Seonghwa has taken to keeping an eye on Hongjoong, because he figures he’s the most well placed to do so. He’s the oldest, older than Hongjoong even, and because of that Hongjoong doesn’t watch him as closely as he does the others. He trusts Seonghwa, after a fashion, to know his own limits. And that allows Seonghwa the freedom to watch out for Hongjoong instead.
He’s watching him now, for sure. The year-end music show scene is hectic and mind-numbing, a whirlwind of performances and awards and flying back and forth between Korea and Japan sometimes three times in the same week. It’s a good time to see some of their industry friends they can’t see all that often otherwise, but it’s also a dangerous time, when all eyes are on them and even an accidental flicker of your gaze in the direction of another idol can start a wildfire of speculation on the internet for weeks. He hates that part, because there are plenty of folks he’d love to be able to greet happily when they meet on the big stages at awards shows, or allow himself to enjoy another group’s performance without making sure his face is expressionless at all times.
Still, they’d all signed on for this, and they all know the score.
By New Year’s Eve, though, the strain is palpable. Part of it is because they’re all exhausted, and part of it is because they’re all excited; tomorrow they all get two weeks home with their families.
Or, almost all of them.
Hongjoong, Seonghwa had discovered just that morning, won’t be going home. He’s going to stay— probably because he’s working on something for their next comeback, or because he wants the extra time to practice his dancing, or any of a million other things that Seonghwa would find trivial and Hongjoong finds compelling.
It’s a little hurtful, if Seonghwa’s being honest, because he’s almost positive Hongjoong had purposely not told him, to prevent him from worrying that for two weeks there’d be no one to make sure Hongjoong ate, or slept, or even left his studio and touched grass at least once.
It’s hurtful, and it also pisses him off. After this many years of cohabitating, going everywhere and doing everything together, they’re all more than a little codependent, and it pisses him off that it had been so easy for Hongjoong to just keep this to himself. From the kids, sure, he can understand that.
But from Seonghwa?
So he stews about it, through practices and performances and staged photos with other idols and painfully polite interactions that are bland as sawdust on his tongue, and he watches Hongjoong.
And watching, sees the telltale signs of a mask about to slip.
Hongjoong is exhausted, worn to a fray, and holding on by a thread.
He calls his mother at the ungodly hour of ten pm and wakes her when he makes his decision, and explains that something came up for work and instead of arriving late tonight, he’ll have to delay a few days.
The rest of the team is leaving from the show, stopping only long enough at their respective dorms to shower except Jongho, who says he’s leaving from the show in full makeup and he’ll take it off on the car ride. Wooyoung, who is going home with San for a week before they take a week with his parents, is going back to San’s dorm. Their bags are already packed. They have been for at least a week, in anticipation of this much needed break. His own is, as well.
Seonghwa watches Hongjoong smile for the cameras and wonders why they can’t see how brittle it is; how it doesn’t reach his eyes anymore. Surely Seonghwa isn’t the only one who can see through it as if it’s made of glass.
But apparently he is, because the managers keep dragging him here, there, and everywhere, posing him, directing him like he’s a little doll. It sets Seonghwa’s teeth on edge, and he’s on the point of stalking over there and dragging Hongjoong bodily to the waiting van when Hongjoong suddenly turns to look at him across the dressing room crowded with staff and their members and stylists and at least one reporter.
Catch me, those eyes say desperately. I can't do this for a minute more.
It’s the first time in Seonghwa’s memory that Hongjoong has actively sought his help and for a moment, a heartbeat, he’s frozen. Can I? Should I? Do I dare?
But of course he can, and should. He must, because if Hongjoong falls, if Seonghwa allows Hongjoong to fall, then everything he’d promised himself has been for nothing. If Hongjoong falls, they all fall, like dominoes.
Seonghwa strides forward, putting his best smile on like slipping on a warm and comfy sweater, and grabs Hongjoong by the wrist. He bows to the photographer, mutters something about a manager needing the Captain about something before they leave, and tugs Hongjoong away, rather more roughly than he intends. He leads him out of the dressing room, through hallways full of running staff and other groups filming TikToks, or taking pictures for Insta, and beyond them, finally, the heavy metal fire doors to the alley.
The night air hits them and Hongjoong, who had followed along in Seonghwa’s wake easily at first, finally realizes what he’s doing and tugs his arm out of Seonghwa’s grasp. There are a line of maybe twenty cars in the long alley behind the venue, and far along it one flashes its lights to let Seonghwa know they’re there.
“What are you doing?” Hongjoong hisses, resisting when Seonghwa grabs at his wrist again. “We can’t just leave, what the fuck?”
“We can, and we are,” Seonghwa mutters, mindful that they’re outside and the closest staff is half a block away. If Hongjoong really wants to get away from him, to shake him off and go back inside, Seonghwa will have to let him because there are eyes everywhere. So many fucking eyes, all the goddamn time.
Hongjoong hesitates, and Seonghwa can feel that he’s trembling; fine tremors beneath his skin that have nothing to do with the late December air and everything to do with pushing himself beyond his goddamn endurance. Again.
“Let’s go,” he says, starting down the alley for the car that had flashed its lights, and is relieved when Hongjoong follows instead of fighting.
They don’t speak about it in the car, aware that the ever present camera is probably running on the dash and even if it isn’t, this isn’t something Seonghwa wants even the staff to know about it if he can help it. It’s bad enough that he’ll have to let the staff who was supposed to take him home tonight know he won’t be going quite yet, but Seonghwa texts him as they drive through a city filled with New Year’s revelers. There’s a light show at the River, and he watches it absently. He’s still got hold of Hongjoong’s wrist, and while Hongjoong doesn’t precisely acknowledge it, he doesn’t pull away either. Seonghwa would love to think it’s because he likes the feeling of Seonghwa holding onto him, but figures it’s more likely that Hongjoong is too exhausted to protest.
He tries not to let that bother him either. They’ve had their hands on each other before, their mouths on each other, but Seonghwa had never gotten the impression it was anything more than stress relief, coupled with the fondness they all bear for each other, on Hongjoong’s part.
He isn’t sure when it came to mean more to him, and it doesn’t matter. Not tonight. Tonight Hongjoong had pushed himself almost beyond endurance and Seonghwa will never forget that when Hongjoong had realized how dire his situation was, the first person he’d looked for had been Seonghwa. Joongie can be mad all he wants now. The moment his exhausted, panicked gaze had landed on Seonghwa’s is seared into his mind like a brand; and nothing he says or does because he’s embarrassed or angry now can take that away. When Hongjoong had needed someone, he’d chosen Seonghwa. That can be enough.
Hongjoong holds himself together until the door of the dorm he shares with Wooyoung and Jongho closes behind them. Seonghwa expects an outburst, so he isn’t surprised when Hongjoong yanks his hands away and shoves him back a step.
“What the fuck, Hwa?” he shouts, his eyes dull despite his heated words. “You can’t just drag me around like some little kid! We had schedules!”
“Schedules were just about over,” Seonghwa responds placidly.
“They’re not over until the managers say they’re over, and you know it! Do you know how much bullshit I’m going to catch for this?”
The answer to that, of course, is none. Seonghwa had texted their manager while they’d been in the car and explained that Hongjoong was ill. While not technically true, it absolutely would have been in another few minutes if Seonghwa hadn’t stepped in. It’s one thing for an artist to collapse in front of staff or other artists; it was a thing that happened sometimes with their crazy schedules, crazy diets, crazy lifestyles.
But in front of a reporter?
That could have sparked a world of trouble not only for them as a group but for them as a company, and their managers knew it.
But Hongjoong isn’t in the mood to hear reason, so Seonghwa stays silent and lets him rant. He hears that he has overstepped, presumed too much, that Hongjoong is a grown ass man and knows his own limits, already has a mother, doesn’t need to be babied or watched over or protected.
“Were you going to tell me about staying home this vacation?” Seonghwa interrupts when he’s heard all he can stand. “Or were you going to let me fuck off to Jinju while you stayed here and shouldered everything alone again?”
“That doesn’t matter!” Joong shouts after a brief hesitation that tells Seonghwa all he needs to know. Joong would have kept it to himself, let them all enjoy two weeks of sleeping in and home cooked food and family and friends while he holed up in the studio and worked.
“Yes it fucking does!” Seonghwa shouts back, raising his voice for the first time.
Hongjoong narrows his eyes. “Did you just fucking yell at me?” he asks incredulously.
“Sure did. Act like a baby, get treated like one. I’m trying to fucking help you. You were about to keel the fuck over in that dressing room, don’t bother fucking lying.”
“So what if I was?” Hongjoong snaps. “I can worry about myself, Seonghwa!”
“I might believe that if there was literally any evidence of it. Since there isn’t, it’s my job now. You’re going to shower and you’re going to get some fucking sleep, and in the morning we’ll talk about the rest. Now go.”
Hongjoong’s mouth falls open in absolute shock. Never, in all their time together has Seonghwa spoken to him like this; he’s very rarely strong-armed his way through anything, and he almost never has to go against what Joong says because Joong is a good, smart, fair leader. Hongjoong’s face is pale except for the tips of his ears and his cheeks, and he looks so furious that for a moment Seonghwa thinks he’s going to haul off and punch him in the face.
After a moment, he starts swearing at Seonghwa instead, and Seonghwa knows he’s won, at least this round, even if Joong doesn’t.
Hongjoong is still cursing inventively when Seonghwa scoops him up in a fireman’s carry that Jongho had taught him. He ignores Hongjoong’s small fists beating at his back and bands an arm across the back of his legs to keep from being kicked. He dumps him at his bathroom door with a hearty smack to his ass that he can’t quite resist, and has the satisfaction of seeing both shock and a flicker of something else on his face before it turns mutinous.
“Those all sound interesting,” he says conversationally about the very inventive curses Joong had hurled at him, “but I think some of them are physically impossible.” He shrugs. “We can always test them out if you like.”
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Hongjoong hisses low and deadly.
Seonghwa, who by now has had just about all he can take, snakes his arm out and grabs Hongjoong by the chin, tilting his face up. He squeezes until finally Hongjoong looks at him.
“I’m your hyung,” he says quietly, “and for once you’ll do as you’re goddamn told.”
There a minute more of Hongjoong doing his best to stare him down, but it’s less effective than it usually is since he has Hongjoong’s jaw clamped in his hand and his head tilted to expose his neck.
Usually it’s Hongjoong’s leader energy that turns Seonghwa on; he’s always so in control and gives orders so well and when they’ve fooled around before it has always given Seonghwa a quiet, tingling thrill to be good for him.
But there’s something in this, something in the way Hongjoong’s gaze falters as he battles with himself that makes Seonghwa want to press his advantage, see how far he can take it. Something to think on, for another time. Tonight, Hongjoong needs a shower and sleep and Seonghwa’s going to make sure he gets it.
Finally, Hongjoong yanks his face away from Seonghwa’s hand and Seonghwa lets him, stays there for a few minutes after Hongjoong closes himself into the bathroom. Once the water is running he makes his way to Wooyoung’s room for some sleep clothes, figuring that out of him and Jongho, Wooyoung is the least likely to mind.
He’d figured that by the time he’d gotten out, Hongjoong would be in bed, hopefully asleep and not working with his laptop and mixer, but his shower is still going and so Seonghwa takes a seat on the couch. He’d missed the new year by ten minutes, but he figures that tomorrow at lunch he can watch the ball drop in Times Square and it’ll be just as good.
Another year older, he thinks to himself. Another year wiser. He hopes so, anyway.
The shower in Hongjoong’s bathroom turns off. Seonghwa figures he has a few minutes before Hongjoong shuffles out, before the battle starts again over getting some goddamn sleep, before Hongjoong is bristling and spitting like a wet cat. Seonghwa wants to think he can get the upper hand again but it’s probably wishful thinking. After all, it’s not as if he can physically wrestle Joong into bed, pleasing as the mental images may be. That’s perhaps a step too far.
So he steels himself, ready for anything from shouting to reprimands to Hongjoong blatantly ignoring his presence until he gives up and goes away.
In no way is he prepared for Hongjoong to step quietly out of the bathroom with a towel slung around his hips and climb directly onto Seonghwa’s lap.
Seonghwa sits frozen; his lap is suddenly full of warm, damp Joongie and he’s caught so off guard that he isn’t sure what to do at first. Hongjoong presses his forehead into Seonghwa’s shoulder, his wet hair dripping onto the collar of Seonghwa’s sleep shirt, and sighs.
“I’m sorry,” he says, so quietly that Seonghwa can barely hear him over the beating of his own heart. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that.”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” Seonghwa says, pushing back his immediate urge to say it’s fine or I understand or no big deal, the way he’s done before. He has an idea that isn’t what Hongjoong wants, deep down. It had been in his eyes, just for a moment, when Seonghwa had him by the jaw before his shower. Seonghwa figures he’s got a good grasp on where Joong’s mind has settled; if someone is ordering him to rest then maybe he won’t see himself as weak for needing it.
Seonghwa can do that for him, if that’s what it takes to get him to just stop for a day, for two, and just be Joongie instead of the Captain.
His arms slip around Hongjoong. He can feel water from his hair and chest seeping into his t shirt and it shouldn’t be hot, but it is. He tries not to be distracted by all that golden skin, Hongjoong’s bare shoulder so close to his mouth, but then Hongjoong turns his head and his lips skim the side of Seonghwa’s neck. Seonghwa presses a kiss to his shoulder, and feels the gasp against his throat. He does it again, and Hongjoong shivers.
He does it one more time, nipping at the skin a little with his teeth, and Hongjoong moans softly against his neck.
Interesting.
Seonghwa kisses Joong’s shoulder again, feels the beads of water against his lips, then without warning bites down hard. Joong jolts, sucking in a breath, and Seonghwa feels his hips kick a little.
So that’s the way it is.
Very interesting indeed.
He draws his arms back from around Joong and grips the tops of his thighs instead. Below the bright white towel the skin is smooth and golden and beautiful and Seonghwa has always loved the times he’s been allowed to touch. He squeezes them now, kneading the muscles a little, loving the way they feel bracketing his hips, loving the weight of Joong against him, loving Joong.
Because he does, because he would give him the world if it was at all within his reach, he scruffs Hongjoong by the back of his neck and pulls him roughly upright. He holds him immobile that way, waiting until Hongjoong meets his eyes, and lets himself appreciate the sheer beauty of Kim Hongjoong in nothing but a white towel, wet hair uncombed and tumbling over his forehead.
It’s fucking breathtaking, and Seonghwa decides then that no matter how badly Hongjoong needs sleep, he also needs a good fucking.
Hongjoong’s eyes finally settle resentfully on his, and Seonghwa tightens his grip just slightly.
“Apologize again,” he says gruffly, and it surprises them both even if Seonghwa hides it better. “I didn’t believe you the first time.”
Hongjoong licks his lips nervously. Seonghwa keeps his gaze steady, his grip just this side of painful, and as he watches, goosebumps rise along Joong’s arms and torso. Seonghwa’s cock twitches in his borrowed sweatpants but he ignores it, focusing on Hongjoong’s internal struggle instead.
“I’m sorry,” Joong mutters, his mouth barely moving.
Seonghwa says nothing, merely raises a brow, tightening his grip on the back of Hongjoong’s neck until he gasps, his eyes drifting closed.
“I’m sorry,” he says again, a little louder now. The goosebumps have made their way down to his thighs now and his nipples are hard.
“Sorry for what?” Seonghwa asks, keeping his voice steady through sheer force of will. Any moment it’s going to be very obvious to Hongjoong that Seonghwa is more turned on than he thinks he’s ever been and then he’ll lose the upper hand. There’s something so unbelievably hot about watching the formidable Kim Hongjoong give in to him by inches that he isn’t sure how long he can hold out.
“For…” Joong licks his lips again and because his eyes are closed Seonghwa lets himself watch it, think about that tongue on his skin, on his cock. “For swearing at you.”
“Mmhm…” Seonghwa says, his tone marginally encouraging. He begins to massage the sides of Hongjoong’s neck, his thumb on one side, fingers on the other. With his free hand he mimics the motion on Hongjoong’s thigh, and watches Joong’s lips part on a gasp. The crisp white towel is tented above his cock. “And?”
“A-and… for yelling at you?” Hongjoong manages, his voice breathy.
Seonghwa lets his hand move up Hongjoong’s thigh, almost to the hem of the towel, still massaging roughly. “And?” When Hongjoong doesn’t answer, he squeezes a little harder. “And?”
“I can’t—” Hongjoong breaks off, shuddering as Seonghwa squeezes again. “I can’t think while you’re doing that.”
“Awwww,” Seonghwa mocks, drawing a line with his thumb along the inside of Joong’s thigh, dipping just beneath the hem of the towel. “Poor Joongie.”
Hongjoong scowls at that, but that expression slides off his face as Seonghwa’s hand moves slowly and inexorably further beneath the towel. Beneath the thumb on his neck, Seonghwa can feel Joong’s pulse thundering. All at once he releases Hongjoong’s neck and grabs a fistful of his hair instead.
Hongjoong’s hips kick, his cock pulsing beneath the weight of the towel. “Ah,” he gasps, “please!”
“Please what, baby?” Seonghwa murmurs.
“Ohhh,” Joong breathes.
Seonghwa has never quite dared to call him that before, although he’s thought it countless times, but watching the shiver that moves through Joong when he does is a little bit like seeing god. He’s painfully hard, and is grateful that Joong’s eyes are still closed as he whispers touch me, please touch me, because Seonghwa is certain that in that moment all that had been on his face had been pure and naked want.
Seonghwa clucks his tongue, striving to appear unhurried and unfazed. His thumb drags along the creamy flesh of Hongjoong’s inner thigh. “I am touching you, baby.”
“More,” Hongjoong whispers. “Touch me more.”
“Hmmm,” Seonghwa murmurs speculatively. “Are you asking me, or telling me?”
Hongjoong looks down at him, and his eyes are open and honest on Seonghwa’s for the first time. “Asking. I’m asking, Hwa,” he whispers.
Seonghwa drags Hongjoong’s face down toward his so their mouths are only a heartbeat apart. “Are you sure?” he asks roughly, while he still has the presence of mind to do so. “I’m not going to be gentle, so you need to be sure.”
Hongjoong stares at him for a moment, breathing hard. Seonghwa can feel the fine tremors moving through him, muscles taut as a bowstring, and then Hongjoong closes the minute distance between them, crashing their mouths together, his fingertips digging into Seonghwa’s shoulders like he can get to Seonghwa’s skin through the shirt if he only presses hard enough.
The kiss is desperate, breathless, becoming messier the longer Seonghwa lets it go on without moving, without giving Hongjoong what he wants.
Seonghwa wants him to beg.
It’s not something he’d ever given much thought to, even in his own deepest fantasies, but he knows without a doubt that it’s something he wants right now, tonight; for Hongjoong to be so wrecked with pleasure and anticipation that he begs Seonghwa to fuck him, begs Seonghwa to make him come.
Seonghwa lets go of Hongjoong’s neck and clamps his hand on Joong’s other thigh, sliding it roughly up beneath the towel until his hands are bracketing his hips. He presses his thumbs against them, rubbing circles there while Hongjoong pants into his mouth, wanting Seonghwa’s hands on his cock and not understanding why it isn’t happening.
Hongjoong breaks the kiss and looks down at him with dazed and frustrated eyes. “Touch me,” he says again.
“I am,” Seonghwa says, and dips forward to hide his smile against the flushed skin of Joong’s chest at his impatient huff. He presses a kiss there, then drags his mouth back and forth teasingly across Joong’s nipple before sucking it up into his mouth and flicking it with his tongue. He feels the roll of Joong’s hips, feels his hands thread into his hair to hold his head in place, and he pulls off the nipple with a pop.
Hongjoong hisses in frustration. “Why are you stopping?” he asks, his tone just this side of whining.
“Because I can,” Seonghwa reminds him. “You don’t get a fucking say. Now, kiss me again. I want your mouth nice and wet.”
Hongjoong stares at him and for the briefest second Seonghwa thinks he’s taken things too far. Almost instantly he shuts that down. He’d told Hongjoong he wouldn’t be gentle; he’d meant with his words as well as with his actions.
And Hongjoong had agreed, by kissing him.
He holds Hongjoong’s gaze, and schools his expression into one of mild expectation, and slowly draws circles with his thumbs at his hips while he waits.
Hongjoong shivers. “Fuck you,” he breathes.
“Maybe,” Seonghwa concedes. “If you’re good and do as you’re fucking told.”
“Jesus fuck,” Hongjoong mutters, and kisses him.
Seonghwa licks up into Hongjoong’s mouth, and slides his hands around to get two solid handfuls of Joong’s ass, kneading it roughly. Joong moans into his mouth and angles his head, kissing him dirty, his small hands dipping down to slide up beneath Seonghwa’s t shirt, scoring his skin with the nails he always keeps so pretty. Seonghwa fights his own shiver, not ready yet to let Hongjoong know he’s at all affected by him, despite his throbbing cock.
He pulls off the kiss, reaching up to touch Hongjoong’s swollen, spit-slicked lips. He presses one finger inside and Joong gets the message immediately, licking and sucking, and Seonghwa has to squeeze his eyes shut against the picture of his cock being received the same way, breaching those gorgeous lips, pulsing and heavy on that little pink tongue. He adds another finger instead, watches Hongjoong take it in with his eyes closed, his lashes making dark fans on his lightly freckled cheeks.
Then they’re kissing again, and Seonghwa brings his wet fingers down beneath the towel. Hongjoong shivers in anticipation, but Seonghwa bypasses his leaking cock entirely, scooping beneath him to press a fingertip against his entrance instead. Hongjoong sucks in a breath, tensing as it pushes against him.
“W-wait—”
Seonghwa stops, breaking the kiss so he can look at Hongjoong, searching for anything in his eyes that tells him this is a hard no, that he needs to shift his focus. He sees want on the verge of becoming need, he sees nerves, and that’s all. He presses gently inside, watching to see if that changes.
“Mmmm,” Joong hums and closes his eyes, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.
That’s answer enough for Seonghwa. He presses his finger further in, a little faster than he normally would but nowhere near as fast as he wants to. The heat, the tightness, the quiet sounds are all so deliciously Hongjoong that Seonghwa has to keep refocusing, reminding himself he’s in the driver’s seat this time around.
He’s barely halfway in when he starts to feel the drag. Spit is barely acceptable as lubricant for a handjob; it will never last through working Hongjoong open enough to take Seonghwa’s cock.
Luckily, it’s not just Joongie who lives in this apartment. Wooyoung also lives here, which means there’s probably lube in every available drawer. Always be prepared, is their Youngie’s life motto.
Seonghwa thinks he might just adopt that as his as well when he reaches blindly with his free hand for the endstand beside the couch and yanks the drawer open. He finds what he’s looking for almost instantly, and grins against Hongjoong’s panting mouth. He pulls his finger free long enough to use the travel sized bottle and immediately the scent of strawberries fills the air. He gets his fingers good and slick and pushes back into Hongjoong without warning, dragging a long, low moan from him.
Soon Joong is rocking his hips down, fucking himself on Seonghwa’s finger, his breath coming faster. The rolling motion of his hips has loosened the knot of the towel at his waist and Seonghwa pulls it roughly away. They’ll need it eventually, but not just yet. Right now what he wants is to see all of Hongjoong, to have him naked and mindless with pleasure on his lap while Seonghwa works him roughly open, pressing against his walls to stretch him enough to take him inside.
He adds more lube and a second finger, letting the kiss break when it becomes clear that Hongjoong can’t do much more than gasp and shudder. It’s okay, Seonghwa needs to concentrate on not coming in his borrowed pants; the sounds Joong is making are going straight to his cock and he has to convince himself not to just yank his waistband down and bury himself in Joongie now before he’s properly stretched.
Hongjoong’s head drops to Seonghwa’s shoulder, blocking his view of Joong’s flushed and leaking cock. Seonghwa grins and stops working his fingers into him, causing him to sputter and moan and rock back against Seonghwa’s hand. “So impatient,” Seonghwa murmurs, feeling fond despite himself. “Sit up.” When Hongjoong doesn’t do so immediately, he starts to pull his fingers out. “Sit up, or this stops now.”
With a wordless sound of protest, Hongjoong sits up, sinking back onto his fingers with a grateful moan.
“Good boy,” Seonghwa whispers, and watches Hongjoong’s swollen, neglected cock throb.
“Oh my god,” Hongjoong gasps. “Say that again.”
“Do as you’re told, then. Can you do that?”
Eyes closed, brow knit, Hongjoong nods.
“Can’t hear you, baby,” Seonghwa tells him, giving his ass a light smack and watching his lips part on a breath. “Can you do as you’re told?”
“Yes,” Hongjoong says at once.
Seonghwa smacks his ass again, harder this time. “Yes, what?”
“Yes… Seonghwa?” Hongjoong manages, breathless with anticipation now.
Another smack. This one is hard enough that the crack echoes through the empty apartment. “Try again.”
“Ahh, fuck!” Hongjoong hisses. “Yes, Sir.”
“Good boy,” Seonghwa breathes, and crooks his fingers in a come-on gesture inside of him.
Hongjoong jolts and cries out, his head thrown back to expose his throat, eyes squeezed shut against the onslaught of sensation as Seonghwa presses against that spot again and again. His hand moves immediately to his cock and Seonghwa pushes it roughly away.
“No touching,” he snaps. “You don’t get to touch yourself or me until I say, understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Joong groans, and reaches back to brace his hands on Seonghwa’s knees instead, and Seonghwa has never seen anything as beautifully obscene as Hongjoong fucking himself on Seonghwa’s fingers, chest heaving as he drags in air that rushes out of him in low moans and high, keening cries.
Seonghwa tugs his own shirt over his head, palms himself once to ease some of the pressure in his cock, and continues fucking his fingers into Hongjoong, pressing against his walls and feeling his muscles clench and release.
“Please,” Hongjoong gasps as Seonghwa slowly eases in a third finger. “Please just fuck me, I can take it, please.”
“You’re still too tight to take me, baby,” Seonghwa says. Pain-play is one thing, actually hurting Hongjoong is completely different and something he’d rather die than do, even accidentally.
“That’s cause I haven’t… I’ve never…” Hongjoong trails off, gasping as Seonghwa’s third finger eases further in. He stills, trembling.
Oh my fucking god, Seonghwa thinks, not quite believing his own ears. He’s never fucking bottomed before.
“Well, I have,” Seonghwa says gruffly to mask his surprise. “I’m telling you to let me stretch you more.”
Hongjoong scowls. “I don’t want to fucking wait anymore,” he snaps, but Seonghwa’s watching his eyes and sees the mischievous gleam there. Make me, he’s saying. Make me do as I’m told, you know you want to.
And the hell of it is, he does. He wants to turn Hongjoong into a senseless, trembling mess despite himself, to wrestle control of this from Hongjoong’s hands over and over until all he knows, all he feels, is Seonghwa.
He delivers a stinging slap to Hongjoong’s ass, sees the pain and pleasure mingled in his wide eyes. “What the fuck did I tell you to do?”
“What I’m told,” Hongjoong whispers.
“And are you going to?” Seonghwa demands. He crooks his fingers inside him again, and has to bite his lips to keep in his own groan when Hongjoong gasps out his name. For a moment he’s afraid he’s going to come untouched, that in seeking to torture Hongjoong a little he’d ended up pushing himself over the edge, but he breathes through it, his face expressionless, his gaze heavy on Hongjoong’s.
“Yes, yes, Jesus Christ, just don’t stop,” Hongjoong babbles. His flushed cock is leaking precum onto Seonghwa’s belly and his eyes are closed, his breathing ragged.
Seonghwa reaches into the drawer again, never taking his eyes off of Hongjoong. At last he finds what he’s looking for, and he brings it to Joong’s mouth, tapping it against his lips to get his attention, still fucking his fingers up into him. “Open this for me,”
Hongjoong takes the condom and struggles with it for a minute as he tries to get his eyes to focus. He looks simultaneously adorable and unbelievably fucking hot, and now Seonghwa realizes his true dilemma. Does he put it on himself, or let Hongjoong roll the condom down his cock with his small, pretty fucking hands and risk nutting just from that like he’s back in high school.
He thinks that risk is far too high, so he slowly withdraws his fingers from Hongjoong instead.
Hongjoong whines at the loss and Seonghwa nearly comes before he gets his pants down far enough to free his cock.
“Kiss me,” he says, and Hongjoong does, his hands framing Seonghwa’s face gently. Seonghwa does his best to focus on that and manages to get the condom on and slicked with lube without loss of control. As he does, his knuckles graze the underside of Hongjoong’s cock and he swears viciously into Seonghwa’s mouth, hips kicking, rutting up against nothing.
There’s never been anything in Seonghwa’s life to date that could be hotter than having a frustrated, horny Hongjoong straddling his lap as he lines up the head of his own swollen cock with his entrance. Then he eases himself past the rim and the sensation of having the head of his cock encased in that tight, wet heat nearly sends him over the edge. In desperation, he grips Hongjoong’s jaw and squeezes almost harder than he means to. “Don’t. Move.” he grits out. Hongjoong nods frantically, panting as his body adjusts to the intrusion, and holds himself still. Seonghwa can feel his thighs trembling where they bracket his own.
If he fucks this up by coming too soon, he’ll never forgive himself.
Slowly, by thinking of every recipe he knows, he manages to avoid catastrophe. Hongjoong is sinking down onto him an inch at a time, parted lips and a thousand yard stare, looking fucked out and seven different types of gorgeous.
Seonghwa gentles the grip on his jaw, thinking it’s probably too late to worry about bruising. “You good, baby?”
“I’ll be good,” Hongjoong murmurs dazedly.
Seonghwa’s cock throbs in response.
Hongjoong’s eyes snap into focus. “Sir,” he adds testingly, and moans when Seonghwa’s cock throbs again. Then he grins.
Seonghwa sees the balance of power shifting and does the only thing he can think of to prevent it; he grips Joong’s hips and drags him down the last two inches until they’re flush.
“F-Fuck, oh my god, oh my god that’s so much,” he stammers, squeezing his eyes shut.
“And you’re taking it so well, pretty,” Seonghwa tells him, and is rewarded with a hitch in Joong’s breathing that tells him he’s on exactly the right track. “Feel so good on my cock, baby.”
“Jesus fuck,” Hongjoong whispers. He rocks his hips just a little, hissing, then does it again with a broken little moan. He opens his eyes. “Fuck me, okay? It feels so good, you feel so good, just… fuck me.”
“Are you asking me, or telling me?”
“Asking!”
Seonghwa shakes his head. “That’s not how you ask.”
“Please.”
“Hmmm, that wasn’t very convincing.”
Hongjoong whines in frustration. He rocks his hips, but Seonghwa’s hands are keeping him from fucking himself on Seonghwa’s cock so he can’t get the kind of friction he wants, and Seonghwa knows it. He’ll give in eventually, and then Seonghwa will fuck him til he cries.
“I’ll just jerk off then,” Joong snaps.
“Touch your dick,” Seonghwa says conversationally, his eyes narrowing, “and I pull out. You can jerk off from now until doomsday but it’s never going to be as good as coming on my cock. Now,” he adds when Joong’s hand falls away from himself, “you and your hand can go to fucking town, or you can ask for what you want like a good lil boy, and maybe I’ll show you what getting railed is like. Your choice.”
Hongjoong’s hips rock again and he leans forward until their foreheads touch. “Baby,” he whispers. “Baby, please.”
Seonghwa grips his hips and flips them so he’s pressing Joong down into the couch cushions, still buried inside him. Hongjoong arches up to kiss him and so the first of a string of curses is pressed to his lips when Seonghwa’s hips snap against his ass.
Seonghwa loses himself in it, in the slick heat and the nails digging into his back and his name on Hongjoong’s lips, the slap of flesh on flesh and teeth sinking into the juncture of his neck and shoulder. He pounds into Hongjoong until Hongjoong is nearly sobbing, angling after that spot inside him that makes him go crazy. Hongjoong meets him thrust for thrust, taking him beautifully, kissing him dirty and cursing into his mouth every time Seonghwa’s cock hits him just right.
“More, god, please,” he gasps as Seonghwa gathers him up close. He locks his legs around Seonghwa and sucks a mark low on his neck, crying out as Seonghwa fucks up into him, bracing one foot on the floor.
The angle changes everything, and Seonghwa knows immediately that he’s not going to last long at all like this. He changes to a slow, dragging stroke that has Joong moaning his name like a prayer, and reaches between them to wrap a hand around Hongjoong’s cock, matching the strokes to his thrusts.
“Fuuuck,” Hongjoong wails, pressing his face into Seonghwa’s neck and wrapping his arms around him. “Please, oh my god, don’t stop, Jesus Christ, you feel so good, baby, please!”
It’s feeling Hongjoong spill over his hand that sends Seonghwa over the edge. He fucks them both through it, whispering Hongjoong’s name over and over against his sweat-slicked skin until they’re both trembling with exertion and aftershocks.
He lowers Joong back to the couch gently, almost reverently, and is surprised when Joong’s arms tighten around him as he moves to pull out of him.
“Don’t,” Hongjoong whispers, keeping his face pressed to Seonghwa’s neck. “Not yet, okay?”
“Okay, baby,” Seonghwa says, but there’s something in Hongjoong’s tone that has him leaning back to get a look at his face. “Hey,” he says, nudging him, “look at me for a minute. Are you okay?”
Hongjoong’s lashes and cheeks are wet and he’s blushing furiously, but he does as he’s told and looks up at Seonghwa. “What?” he asks grumpily.
Seonghwa braces a forearm beside Joong’s head and uses his free hand to brush at the wetness on his cheeks. “What’s all this?” he asks gently. “Did I hurt you for real?”
Hongjoong shakes his head, dropping his gaze. “M’okay. It was just… like, a lot,” he admits grudgingly.
Seonghwa presses a kiss to his forehead, then huffs out a laugh. “I’ve heard of fucking someone til they cry, but I’ve never actually seen it done.” He grins proudly.
Hongjoong stops rubbing his nose to narrow his eyes. “If you go bragging about this, I swear I’ll—”
“Hey,” Seonghwa interrupts, suddenly sober. “I don’t run my mouth about you and me. I never have.”
Hongjoong sighs. “I know that.” He presses a sleepy kiss to Seonghwa's mouth. “I don’t think I can make it to my room,” he admits after a moment, smiling sheepishly. “Holy shit, I feel like I could sleep for a week right here. ”
“Let me clean us up, then I’ll take you to bed,” Seonghwa promises.
He ends up giving Hongjoong a piggy back because it gives him an excuse to climb right into bed with him. Hongjoong is pliant and warm and sleepy and altogether too endearing for Seonghwa’s peace of mind, but as he draws the blankets up over them both he sees that Hongjoong’s eyes are open on his.
“What is it?” he asks.
Hongjoong smiles tiredly. “Just wanted to say thank you,” he murmurs.
“For the dick?” Seonghwa jokes.
“Noooo,” Joong whines, hiding his face in his pillow for a moment. “God, why are you like this?” Then he laughs. “Don’t answer that.”
Seonghwa snorts. “What for, then?”
Hongjoong looks at him again. “For getting me out of there tonight. For understanding that I needed you to.” He scoots forward, presses a kiss to Seonghwa’s astonished mouth. “I couldn’t do what I do without you. The rest of the world might never know that but I wanted to make sure you do.”
“If you make me cry right after the best sex I’ve ever had, I swear to god,” Seonghwa sniffles.
Hongjoong hums sleepily. “I love you,” he murmurs. “You can’t get mad at me for that.”
Seonghwa couldn’t have argued with that even if he’d wanted to. “I love you, too,” he whispers, and closes his eyes.