Archive of Our Own

Seonghwa gets home at three in the morning feeling worse than when he left.

Usually hookups serve a purpose of providing quick relief and a way to crawl out of his own head for an hour or two when schedules become too much and expectations pile too high on his shoulders and he can’t breathe beneath all the pressure pressing down on him.

He’s used to leaving them feeling lighter, with a pep in his step, but tonight he just feels wrong. His body hurts as he moves, and this isn’t the loose satisfied ache he is used to either, but fingers pressing into his hip with bruising force and a hand tightening around his throat harder than he liked, than he allowed. Except he’d frozen for half a second too long before pushing him away and by then the mood had already soured into something ugly and disappointing.

Seonghwa knows what he likes, he enjoys roughness sometimes, the art of giving and taking but only when it’s given carefully. Tonight the hands touching his body were too greedy for his liking, taking and demanding like his body existed solely to be used for stress relief. And Seonghwa let him. Because for one humiliating second, with fingers squeezing around his throat and pressure forcing his head back, his brain replaced those hands with someone else’s. Dark eyes and a sharp voice, control that would have felt grounding instead of selfish.

Hongjoong.

Shame crawls hot beneath Seonghwa’s skin and he presses the heels of his palms against his eyes hard enough to see stars. Pathetic. So unbelievably pathetic. This is exactly why he keeps seeking out other people in the first place, to burn the feelings out and redirect them somewhere safer, anywhere except toward Kim Hongjoong.

The apartment is dark when he slips inside, the others hopefully asleep already, the dorm wrapped in heavy silence broken only by the distant hum of traffic outside the windows. His jaw tightens as he walks towards the bathroom, determined to wash away any lingering touches from his body.

He scrubs himself until his skin stings beneath the rough drag of the cloth against his neck, but it doesn’t help as he can still feel phantom fingers there and the wrongness of them. Because somewhere deep down, horrifyingly, his body kept comparing every touch to imagined versions of Hongjoong’s instead.

What would it feel like if Hongjoong touched him there? Would he hold him carefully afterward? Would he notice immediately when something became too much? Would he praise Seonghwa in that soft low voice he uses when one of the members is overwhelmed?

The thoughts make his stomach ache. He braces his hands against the shower wall and drops his head forward. This has gotten so bad, so far out of hand.

By the time he crawls into bed the sky outside is already beginning to pale faintly toward dawn. And when his alarm rings a few hours later it feels like he only blinked. Every inch of his body feels heavy, his head foggy. He groans quietly into his pillow before forcing himself upright, his head spinning a little, but schedules don’t stop just because he made bad decisions.

When he drags himself into the bathroom and flicks the light on, he freezes upon seeing his reflection in the mirror and the bruises blooming dark against the pale column of his throat. He steps closer just to see how the marks stand out horribly against his platinum hair and pale skin, ugly reminders of hands he doesn’t even want to remember anymore.

His stomach twists and for a second he genuinely considers calling in sick, but practice is important right now and he already knows Hongjoong will notice if he’s absent and will definitely ask questions. He tries to cover it up with makeup, laying layers of color corrector and concealer over the bruises, trying to dull the angry color enough that it won’t stand out under the practice room lighting. It helps somewhat but it’s still noticeable if someone looks too closely though. Eventually he gives up with a frustrated sigh and splashes cold water against his face.

When he steps out of the bathroom he sees San wandering through the kitchen half asleep. Seonghwa smiles privately and moves down the corridor towards Mingi’s door, knocking softly. “Mingi-ya?” A muffled groan answers him from inside. Good enough. “At least pretend to get up,” he calls weakly and another incoherent sound follows.

His smile grows bigger and he retreats back toward his own room to get dressed. He picks a turtleneck, not left with much of a choice but to hope that it covers up his bruises. Maybe if he keeps his head down and survives practice quietly today he can just forget the entire night happened. And maybe eventually, the phantom memory of wrong hands around his throat will fade too. When he thinks about being touched there again, the only hands his body still aches for belong to his Captain.

By the end of practice Seonghwa thinks he’s gotten away with it because no one has said a word to him so far.

By the final run-through his body feels like it’s moving several seconds behind everyone else’s, his legs heavy and every muscle sore from exhaustion and effort. Sweat sticks his black turtleneck uncomfortably to the back of his neck, the fabric suffocating as it clings to bruised skin hidden beneath layers of makeup and cotton.

The only one who seemed to notice something was off was the person he wanted the least to notice it. Hongjoong kept looking at him across mirrors and during breaks, a concerned frown on his face.

Hongjoong was an attentive leader. He picked up on things faster than anyone else in the room—when Jongho started favoring one leg before their maknae ever admitted his knee was bothering him, when Wooyoung got too loud because something was eating at him emotionally, when Yeosang grew quieter than usual. He noticed Mingi’s anxiety, Yunho’s dissatisfaction, when San hadn’t eaten and when Seonghwa hadn’t slept and was moving slower than usual.

Halfway through practice, during a break, Seonghwa finished his americano and stared blankly at the empty cup in his hands, wondering vaguely if caffeine poisoning was possible.

“Already gone?” Hongjoong’s voice appeared beside him.

Seonghwa looked up tiredly, at Hongjoong standing there holding his own half-empty cup of iced americano, dressed in loose black practice clothes damp with sweat, strands of dark hair sticking to his forehead from hours of dancing.

Pretty, Seonghwa thought annoyingly. “Needed it.” he hummed weakly.

Hongjoong studied him carefully, his gaze moving slowly across his face, taking in the dark circles beneath his eyes and the redness around them, the way his shoulders drooped slightly with exhaustion and without a word he held out his own drink.

Seonghwa blinked at him. “You don’t have to—”

“Take it.”

Leader voice, impossible to argue against. Seonghwa accepted it automatically before his brain even caught up, fingers brushing Hongjoong’s briefly around the cup. “Thank you.” he murmured quietly.

Hongjoong nodded once, but instead of leaving immediately, he lingered. “You okay?” The question was soft enough that the others around them didn’t hear it over their own conversations.

Seonghwa forced a smile onto his face. “Just tired.”

Hongjoong’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. Like he knew that wasn’t the full truth of it, but after a moment he only sighed softly through his nose. “Eat after practice.” he said gently and walked away.

And somehow it made Seonghwa feel even worse, because Hongjoong was always taking care of them like this, carrying all seven of them on his shoulders so carefully that sometimes Seonghwa wondered who carried him. And Seonghwa—Seonghwa has been in love with him for years. Which felt especially miserable today.

Practice ran late and by the end of it, he felt disgusting. Sweat clung everywhere, soaking through his shirt until the fabric stuck damply against his skin. The second Yunho finally clapped his hands and announced they could wrap up, he grabbed his bag and headed straight for the showers.

He washes fast, scrubbing at his skin harder than necessary, trying not to think too much about yesterday or remembering that for one awful second he imagined Hongjoong instead. When he finally turns the water off, his skin glows pink from heat and the bruises stand out darker now, finger-shaped shadows around pale skin. He stares at them in the mirror for a second too long before dragging a towel around his waist and heading back toward the dressing room, accepting his fate.

He pulls out clean clothes from his locker with damp fingers, wanting to get out of here as fast as possible. Sweatpants, fresh boxers, a hoodie—

“How did you get this?”

The voice comes from directly beside him and a fingertip brushes softly against the side of his throat. Seonghwa jumps violently, his heart practically launching into his throat as he spins around. Hongjoong stands close, too close, brows drawn together deeply as he traces one visible bruise gently with his finger.

“It’s nothing,” Seonghwa says immediately, a little too fast and a little too defensive as he yanks the hoodie over his head in a rush, lower half still wrapped only in the towel.

“Seonghwa.”

Hongjoong’s voice sharpens slightly, enough for him to freeze and look up, just to be met with Hongjoong’s open frown, concern written all over his face. It makes him look away instantly, his chest tightening. He aggressively pulls on his boxers and sweatpants instead of answering.

When he straightens up fully dressed, Hongjoong still hasn’t moved and is still watching him with the same expression, waiting. The silence stretches too long for Seonghwa to bear it further and he exhales sharply through his nose.

“None of your business, okay?”

He keeps his eyes fixed somewhere over Hongjoong’s shoulder because actual eye contact feels unbearable right now. Especially when part of him desperately wants to add: Not when it wasn’t you. Hongjoong scoffs quietly and lifts one hand toward Seonghwa again, his fingers settling beneath his chin before tilting his head upward gently to examine the bruises now visible above the hoodie collar with a darkening expression.

At the gentle touch all the fight drains out of Seonghwa, and he just stands there, letting the other man do whatever he wants, his thumb stroking his throat slowly back and forth in absent soothing motions. He gathers the courage to look at Hongjoong again, and something on his face must give him away because Hongjoong’s expression softens slightly even if his voice doesn’t.

“It is absolutely my business when my members are doing stupid shit like this.”

Seonghwa recoils at the harsh words, hurt slicing through his chest unexpectedly. He is too tired and emotionally wrung out to be scolded right now. He pushes Hongjoong’s hand away from his neck and swallows hard. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out and his throat suddenly feels very tight. He glances around the room instead and his gaze catches on Wooyoung who is very obviously pretending not to eavesdrop. The second their eyes meet, Wooyoung grabs his bag awkwardly. “I’m leaving,” he announces to nobody and disappears immediately, leaving the two of them alone. Coward.

He exhales shakily and moves to walk past Hongjoong who catches his wrist before he gets two steps. “Seonghwa, you can’t— do you know how dangerous this is?”

“It’s fine.” He tries tugging his wrist free but Hongjoong doesn’t let go.

“Seonghwa, you can’t just let someone do this to you.”

And it almost sounds like his Captain is pleading with him now, which turns the already sour taste in his mouth worse, making something in him finally snap. “I asked for it, okay?” The words come out harsher than intended and they are only half true but he hopes they are enough for Hongjoong to let it go.

Of course, that’s a silly thing to hope for. The other’s gaze darkens briefly, then he tips his head back toward the ceiling, squeezing his eyes shut and taking one hard breath. “That’s so not the point,” he says quietly through gritted teeth.

“What is the point then?” Seonghwa shoots back immediately. “Stay out of my sex life.” This time he successfully pulls his wrist free.

Something hurt flashes across Hongjoong’s face so quickly he almost misses it. “I don’t care what you do or who you do it with,” he says sharply. “If it’s done safely. Choking is dangerous no matter what. Things can always go wrong.” His jaw tightens visibly. “And people need to actually understand what they’re doing before doing shit like this.”

Seonghwa just stares at him in silence, his pulse hammering harder. Hongjoong looks and sounds angry, which is a rare and terrifying sight, and he doesn’t think he’s ever been on the receiving end of it this directly before.

“If you’re going to engage in this I’d rather you do it safely.”

Silence crashes heavily between them after that as there are no other words to be said.

How dare Hongjoong care this much while having no idea what he’s doing to Seonghwa just by existing. How dare he touch Seonghwa’s throat so gently while talking about other people touching him there. How dare he sound jealous, which is ridiculous because Hongjoong is just worried, because he is a good leader.

A good leader who apparently knows way too much about sex.

So not the point. Seonghwa can’t breathe properly around the feeling in his chest anymore so grabs his bag quickly before he says something stupid.

“Yes, Captain.” he whispers softly and avoids Hongjoong’s eyes as he turns around to leave.

He walks away without glancing back because if he sees even one hint that Hongjoong understood the weight behind those words he genuinely thinks his heart might give out on the spot. He lets the door shut behind him.

Seonghwa falls apart when he gets home.

He curls up on his bed and weeps into his pillow, everything hurts and the weight of the day is pressing down onto him, the humiliation of Hongjoong seeing him like that added onto everything. He feels pathetic. He’s in love with his captain, his best friend, the person he absolutely cannot want like this, and somehow even his failed attempts at getting over it only circle right back to him in the end.

He cries himself to sleep.

When he wakes up, the room is dark. For one blissful second he doesn’t remember why he feels awful, then his throat aches when he swallows and everything crashes back immediately. He groans softly into his pillow and checks his phone that says it’s early evening, meaning he slept for hours. His body still feels heavy and miserable as he drags himself out of bed and pads toward the living room.

The dorm smells faintly like takeout and Wooyoung and San are sprawled across the couch together watching something loud on TV.

“Oh, hyungie!” Wooyoung cheers up when he catches sight of him, his tone too nasal for Seonghwa’s mood right now but he forces a polite smile onto his face.

“Hi Youngie,” he greets softly and heads into the kitchen to fix himself something to eat.

He heats leftovers, leaning against the counter with his hip while he waits, rubbing at his eyes. He pulls out his phone, scowling when he sees that he has two unread messages from Hongjoong that he hasn’t noticed before. His stomach flips hard enough to make him lose all remaining appetite.

The first message is from earlier that afternoon.

please eat something

The second was sent only an hour ago.

im sorry if i was too harsh but these things are important to me. please dont let him do it again

Seonghwa stares at the screen for a long moment then scoffs softly under his breath. Not ‘you are important’ but ‘these things’ and also ‘too harsh’? That’s what Hongjoong thinks the problem is?

The kitchen doorway creaks and Wooyoung slips inside, pausing when he sees the expression on Seonghwa’s face. “Okay,” he says, letting out a breath. “Spill.”

Seonghwa sighs heavily. Normally he would avoid this conversation entirely and the refusal rises to the tip of his tongue out of habit. But he’s exhausted and emotionally raw, and honestly a little desperate to get all this out of his chest before he explodes.

“It’s complicated.”

Wooyoung settles beside him against the counter, arms folding loosely across his chest as he waits and words stumble out of Seonghwa without much thought, fragmented at first and tangled together with too many emotions he still hasn’t sorted through himself. He tells Wooyoung about his night and about wanting to feel wanted badly enough that he stopped paying attention to his own discomfort until things had already gone too far.

Wooyoung lets Seonghwa speak without interrupting once, and when he falls silent, his gaze flicks toward the visible marks along Seonghwa’s neck.

“Can I see?”

Seonghwa hesitates before giving a reluctant nod.

Wooyoung steps closer carefully, reaching up to tilt Seonghwa’s chin toward the light, fingers warm and gentle against his jaw.

“This is bad,” he mutters.

Seonghwa grimaces. “I know.”

“No,” Wooyoung says, quieter now. “Hyung, I don’t think you do.” His fingers brush lightly over one mark and Seonghwa suppresses the instinctive flinch. “Was this consensual?”

Seonghwa honestly doesn’t know how to categorize it. Nothing about it had been violent enough to feel simple. There had been too much hesitation, too many moments where Seonghwa could have stopped things but didn’t, mostly because he’d already disconnected from himself halfway through.

“Kind of? Halfway? It’s complicated Woo.”

Wooyoung’s face darkens instantly. “Block his number.”

He lets out a tired sigh. “Wooyoung.”

“I mean it.”

“He’s not some predator.”

“Hyung.” Wooyoung’s voice stays calm but becomes clipped. “You came home upset, bruised, and dissociated enough even a day later that Hongjoong hyung nearly lost his mind looking at you. I think I’m allowed to dislike the guy.”

At the mention of Hongjoong, something uncomfortable twists low in Seonghwa’s stomach just as the microwave chimes. “He overreacted.” He pulls the bowl out too quickly, nearly burning his fingers on the ceramic. Steam curls upward between them as he carries it to the counter, setting it down harder than necessary.

Wooyoung silently reaches into the drawer beside him, grabbing chopsticks and handing them over. “Did he?”

Seonghwa stares at his food, saying nothing. Because objectively, maybe Hongjoong had every right to be upset. He knows how bad he must have looked walking into practice that morning.

Wooyoung leans back against the counter beside him. “I think hyung was scared.”

His grip tightens unconsciously around the chopsticks and the question comes too quickly. “Why would he be scared?”

Wooyoung gives him a long look. “Because someone hurt you.” Seonghwa forces himself to eat a bite of food he can barely taste instead of answering, because he finds that a bit too dramatic to be true. Wooyoung watches him for another few seconds before speaking again. “Can I ask you something honestly?”

Seonghwa immediately distrusts the tone. “You might not get an answer.”

He gets ignored. “Are you ever going to admit you’re in love with him?” Seonghwa nearly chokes around the food in his mouth, coughing and trying to swallow with wide eyes. “Oh my god,” Wooyoung says softly. “You are.”

“I’m not.”

“Hyung.”

“I’m not,” Seonghwa repeats, weaker this time. Unfortunately, he can hear the lack of conviction himself.

Heat crawls violently up his neck and Wooyoung stares at him for a long moment before rubbing a hand slowly across his mouth like he’s trying not to laugh. “How long?”

Seonghwa drops his forehead briefly against the cabinet behind him, the cool wood pleasantly grounding against overheated skin. “I don’t know,” he mutters.

“That’s a lie.”

It is.

He exhales slowly through his nose. “How long have we known him?”

Wooyoung lets out a strangled sound. “That long?”

He closes his eyes, humiliation settling over him. He avoided saying his feelings out loud for years, pretending they would eventually fade on their own. That if he ignored them long enough, if he buried them beneath enough casual hookups and distractions and rational thinking, eventually Hongjoong would stop mattering quite so much. Instead, somehow, it had only gotten worse.

“I tried to get over it,” he admits quietly.

“With other men?”

Fair.

He laughs once under his breath, though there’s no humor in it. “When you phrase it like that, I sound pathetic.”

“No,” Wooyoung says gently. “Just lonely.”

Seonghwa spends so much of his time standing carefully at the edge of things he desperately wants and pretending that doesn’t hurt, lonely kind of became the baseline. “It’s manageable,” he says quietly.

Wooyoung looks unconvinced. “Is it?”

“Yes.”

Another lie.

He stares down into the bowl in his hands because looking anywhere else suddenly feels impossible. He’s too aware of himself now and bruises on his skin, the exhaustion in his body, the humiliating vulnerability of having someone else finally name the thing he’s been hiding for years.

“I know it’s stupid,” he says after a moment, scoffing

“Hyung, being in love with someone isn’t stupid.”

“It is when they can’t love you back.”

Wooyoung goes very still. “Do you really believe that?” he asks carefully.

Seonghwa lets out a quiet laugh. “Come on.”

“No, I’m serious.” The younger man studies him closely. “You genuinely think Hongjoong hyung doesn’t feel anything for you?”

Seonghwa finally looks up. “He doesn’t.” he says with practiced certainty.

“Right,” Wooyoung says slowly, drawn out. “That’s why he loses his mind every time you get hurt.”

“He worries about everyone.”

“Not like that.”

Seonghwa looks away again immediately. This conversation is dangerous because the moment the possibility exists, even theoretically, Seonghwa knows he’ll start noticing things he’s worked very hard not to notice before. Hongjoong seeking him out first in crowded rooms, the unconscious touches, how he says ‘Seonghwa hyung’ when he’s frustrated but slips into a quiet ‘hyung’ when he’s vulnerable or tired.

“You’re reading too much into it,” he says quietly.

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

Wooyoung tilts his head slightly. “Then why did he get that upset today?”

“Because I was reckless.”

“That’s part of it.”

“And the other part?”

Wooyoung holds his gaze steadily. “He was jealous.”

Seonghwa’s face heats instantly. “That’s insane.”

“It really isn’t.”

“He was angry because I scared him.”

“Exactly.” Wooyoung says it so simply that Seonghwa falters, suddenly the distinction feels thinner than he wants it to. Wooyoung watches the realization flicker briefly across his face and sighs softly. “Hyung,” he says, gentler now, “I’m not saying this to mess with you but I genuinely think he loves you too.”

Unfortunately, now that the thought exists more certainly than before Seonghwa can’t let it go.

Eventually he escapes back to his room under the excuse of being tired, which isn’t entirely a lie but he spent most of the day sleeping so his mind is wide awake. He lies there staring at the ceiling while Wooyoung’s words loop endlessly through his head.

No, he’s reading too much into things, he has to be. Otherwise he has wasted years quietly loving someone who might have loved him back. The possibility terrifies him more than rejection ever did. If Hongjoong really does feel something—Then what? What are they supposed to do with that? They exist practically glued together twenty-four hours a day and a relationship could ruin everything.

His phone buzzes suddenly beside him and Seonghwa startles hard enough to nearly drop it off the bed.

One new message.

From Hongjoong.

did you eat?

Seonghwa stares at the words for a very long moment. Then another message appears before he can answer.

and put something cold on your neck before sleeping

This is exactly the problem, Hongjoong cares so much, in every tiny possible way. Seonghwa presses the heels of his palms against his eyes.

Maybe Wooyoung is right and Hongjoong really does pay special attention to him or maybe Seonghwa just wants it badly enough that every act of kindness feels romantic now.

He finally types back after almost three full minutes.

yes captain

The reply comes immediately.

good

He stares at the screen and smiles helplessly, small and fond and aching all at once. He eventually forces himself up to follow instructions, wrapping ice carefully in a towel before holding it against the bruises on his throat.

Seonghwa can’t sleep.

He’s been staring at his phone silently for hours, and now it's well past midnight.

His first mistake is opening his chat with Hongjoong and staring at it for too long, even scrolling back a bit to look at earlier messages. His second mistake is typing without thinking much about it and his third is hitting send.

How do you do it safely?

He gnaws on his bottom lip, he should absolutely not be thinking about this right now. He is about to resend the message thinking better of it when a reply pops up.

i could tell you
or you can come here and i could show you

Seonghwa chokes on air, sitting up in bed and staring at his phone, rereading the messages over and over again, not believing his eyes. He must be taking too long to reply because another message pops up.

Hwa?

He stares at the screen so hard his eyes start burning. He rereads the messages again and the words send heat flooding through his entire body so quickly it almost feels dizzying.

He swings his legs off the bed and sits there for a second staring blankly at the floor, pulse racing so hard he can feel it in his throat. His fingers twitch around the phone, he should not go. Absolutely not. It’s after midnight, Hongjoong is his captain, his best friend. What is he doing?

I’m coming

The typing bubble appears instantly.

okay star

Star.

Seonghwa exhales shakily and stands up. He pulls on loose sweatpants and a hoodie, then makes the five minute walk to Hongjoong’s studio. By the time he reaches the door his palms are damp. He hesitates, then knocks softly.

“Come in.”

Hongjoong’s voice is quieter than usual and when Seonghwa pushes the door open with trembling hands he sees the studio lights dimmed lower than he’s used to. Hongjoong sits curled sideways in his chair, one headphone hanging around his neck, his shirt sleeves pushed up his forearms. He looks softer like this. Sleepy. Less like Captain Hongjoong and more like just…Joong. His eyes lift immediately the second Seonghwa steps inside and soften even further.

“Hi”

Seonghwa closes the door behind himself slowly and neither of them speaks for a second, then Hongjoong gestures lightly toward the couch.

“Come sit.”

Seonghwa obeys before even thinking about it. He sits on the couch stiffly, hands clasped together too tightly in his lap. Hongjoong turns fully toward him in the chair and for a moment he just studies him.

“You okay?” he asks quietly.

Seonghwa laughs nervously. “I don’t know yet.”

That earns him a small smile. “Fair.”

Silence settles briefly between them again. Hongjoong’s gaze flicks briefly toward Seonghwa’s neck, his expression tightening faintly. “This was irresponsible, Seonghwa,” he says above a whisper, his tone incredibly gentle “the point is never carelessness like this.”

He swallows and brings his knees up to his chest, nodding slightly, the same embarrassment he felt this morning in the changing room making a home in his chest.

Hongjoong’s gaze sharpens slightly and suddenly Seonghwa feels very aware of the fact that they are alone and of Hongjoong’s eyes on him. “Pressure in the wrong place can cause real damage,” he says quietly. “People pass out. They bruise blood vessels. Worst case scenario, you can genuinely cause brain damage.” Shame immediately crawls hot beneath his skin, because of course he is aware. A small crease forms between Hongjoong’s brows, understanding dawning. “You already knew that,” he says softly.

Seonghwa presses his lips together and nods once. “…Yeah.”

Something complicated flashes across Hongjoong’s face, more on the sadder side. “From previous partners?”

The question should feel intrusive and make Seonghwa defensive but instead it feels strangely intimate, like Hongjoong is trying to piece together a version of him he never got to see.

He looks down at his hands resting in his lap. “…One.”

“And they treated you well?”

Seonghwa laughs quietly under his breath, though there’s nothing amused in it. He shrugs weakly. “Sometimes.” He did. If Seonghwa wanted him to.

Hongjoong’s jaw tightens, his pulse jumping visibly beneath his skin. And for one startling second Seonghwa sees it clearly—not just concern but possessiveness. Their eyes lock and something shifts quietly in the room. His breath catches slightly when Hongjoong stands and crosses the space between them until he’s standing directly in front of the couch, close enough that Seonghwa has to tilt his head back slightly to keep eye contact.

Hongjoong looks down at him for a long moment, then very slowly lifts his right hand and pauses. “May I?”

Seonghwa already knows what he means but his pulse jumps harder anyway. “Yes.”

Hongjoong’s fingers settle lightly against the side of his throat, bringing warmth into his skin. It’s nothing like the rough careless grip from the night before and makes him exhale shakily.

Hongjoong’s thumb strokes once beneath his jaw. “You’re tense,” he says softly.

Seonghwa swallows carefully beneath his hand and immediately regrets it when Hongjoong’s eyes track the movement with frightening attentiveness. Up close like this, there is nowhere to hide from him. The dark warmth of his gaze pins Seonghwa in place far more effectively than the hand around his throat ever could. Hongjoong looks calm on the surface, composed in the way he always does when he’s focused on something important, but Seonghwa can see the strain underneath it too—the restraint. The carefulness. Like Hongjoong is constantly measuring himself against Seonghwa’s reactions, making sure every touch is wanted before allowing himself another inch.

Heat licks slowly up his spine the longer Hongjoong looks at him like that. Protective and curious, even a little possessive, hidden deep beneath the softness. It settles low in his stomach, warm and dizzying, until he becomes hyperaware of every point of contact between them. Hongjoong’s palm against his neck, his thumb beneath his jaw, the way he’s standing between Seonghwa’s knees close enough that he can feel his warmth.

It would be so easy to lean forward. To give in, to let Hongjoong pull whatever reactions he wanted out of him.

“You’re touching my throat.” he answers, his voice a little wrecked.

A tiny amused smile appears. “Fair point.”

Seonghwa’s pulse jumps hard enough that he knows Hongjoong must feel it. Or maybe he only sees it on his face, because the other man is watching him closely. Too closely, reading him apart piece by piece with that terrifying attentiveness of his. His fingertips brush lightly against the side of Seonghwa’s neck, barely there, and he forgets how to breathe for a second, his entire body reacting to the contact, heat blooming beneath his skin.

“Breathe, Star.”

The nickname slides warmly through Seonghwa’s chest. He drags in a shaky breath obediently, eyes still locked onto Hongjoong’s and neither of them looks away. Hongjoong’s expression softens faintly when Seonghwa listens. He lets his fingers settle more fully now, his palm warm against the side of Seonghwa’s throat without applying any actual pressure yet, thumb stroking once again beneath his jaw.

“You okay?”

Seonghwa nods immediately. “Yes.” His voice comes out softer than intended. “How are you doing that?” he whispers before he can stop himself.

Hongjoong tilts his head slightly. “Doing what?”

“Making me—” He cuts himself off immediately, too embarrassed to finish.

Hongjoong watches him carefully, then something unbearably fond appears in his expression. “Hwa,” he says softly, “you’re very easy to read.” Seonghwa swallows and presses his eyes shut, too overwhelmed to say anything. Hongjoong studies him for another long moment before speaking again. “Your partner last night squeezed straight inward,” he says quietly. “Too hard. Too fast. That’s why you're bruised like this.”

His fingers ghost carefully over the marks still visible against Seonghwa’s pale skin. Something dark flickers briefly across his face before smoothing away again. “You don’t just grab someone’s throat because you think it looks hot.”

The irritation in his voice makes warmth twist low in Seonghwa’s stomach. He swallows carefully beneath his hand, Hongjoong’s gaze immediately dropping to the movement, then slowly lifting back up to his eyes.

“Pressure should be gradual,” he murmurs. “And your partner needs to watch you constantly. Breathing patterns, reaction, awareness. It’s no longer fun if you pass out from lack of oxygen.” His hand shifts slightly as he speaks, guiding Seonghwa’s attention with it. “Most of the pressure goes here,” he says softly, fingers resting carefully along the sides of Seonghwa’s neck instead of the center. “Not directly on the throat. This targets the carotid arteries, creating a feeling of lightheadedness without obstructing the airway. If someone is pressing directly on the windpipe, they’re doing it wrong.”

Seonghwa listens with frightening focus.

Hongjoong’s voice has gone low and calm again, steady in a way that makes his nerves also settle down. “The front is delicate,” he continues quietly. “Too much force there can actually hurt someone.” His thumb brushes gently beneath Seonghwa’s jaw again. “We never cut everything off completely. That’s not the point.”

The seriousness in his tone undoes Seonghwa a little. He looks so focused, and so in his element, tall and commanding while keeping his tone soft, soothing Seonghwa whose heart is pounding so loudly now he’s certain Hongjoong can feel it against his palm.

Hongjoong definitely notices something because his eyes darken slightly. “Do you trust me?”

He doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

Something shifts in Hongjoong’s expression at the immediate answer and his hand very gently tightens. It’s not enough to hurt, barely enough to restrict and just enough for Seonghwa to suddenly become hyperaware of every single thing happening in his body that reacts at once, a slow wave of heat rolling down his spine and curling low in his stomach so intensely it’s almost startling. Hongjoong’s breathing skips a beat when he instinctively melts a fraction deeper into his touch, utterly consumed by him.

Hongjoong’s thumb brushes once beneath his jaw in silent grounding. “There,” he murmurs softly. “Breathe through it.”

Seonghwa obeys before he even realizes he’s doing it. A slow breath in. A slower breath out. His world narrows strangely around Hongjoong after that. Nothing about this feels greedy, instead it feels horribly intimate, like Hongjoong is holding something fragile in his hands and actively choosing to be gentle with it.

The haze building slowly in the edges of his thoughts feels different from the panic of last night too. Softer. Warmer. His mind isn’t being forced into silence, it’s being guided there and given permission to quiet down. Hongjoong watches him carefully the entire time, eyes moving constantly between his face and throat like he’s tracking every breath and swallow, every tiny shift in expression. His hand loosens slightly almost immediately when Seonghwa’s breathing changes, checking and giving him space to pull away if he wants. Instead Seonghwa leans unconsciously further into the touch.

His Captain smiles at him at that, his other hand coming up to pat Seonghwa’s head, pleased with being trusted this much already.

Gradually, the pressure increases again, a little more than before.

Oh,

Oh.

Weightlessness blooms in his chest, spreading through his limbs like a gentle current. He doesn’t know how to describe it—the quiet hum of pleasure, the calm that settles over him like a blanket. It’s not what he expected, but it’s everything he didn’t know he needed. His breathing slows and just as quickly Hongjoong loosens his grip entirely. Air rushes easier into his lungs again and the sudden absence makes his head spin in a completely different way.

Hongjoong’s hand stays there though, grounding him back down gently. “Good job,” he says quietly. “That’s enough.” Seonghwa blinks slowly at him, trying to gather his thoughts back together. Hongjoong watches him with careful concern now. “How do you feel?”

Seonghwa opens his mouth.

Closes it again.

How is he supposed to explain this? That somehow thirty careful seconds beneath Hongjoong’s hand felt more intimate than entire relationships he’s had before? That he feels strangely safe right now? That he thinks if Hongjoong asked him for anything in this exact moment he might say yes without thinking?

“I’m—good?” A small breath of relief leaves Hongjoong, only then does Seonghwa realize Hongjoong was nervous too. “You rearranged my brain a little, I think.” he laughs weakly.

That startles a real laugh out of Hongjoong. “Sorry,” he says, sounding not sorry at all.

“You absolutely are not.”

“No,” Hongjoong admits easily, stepping a little closer between Seonghwa’s knees. “Not really.”

The proximity alone makes Seonghwa dizzy again. Hongjoong looks down at him quietly for another long moment, his thumb brushing once more against his throat, then finally—slowly—he lowers his hand. The absence of it feels disappointing and Seonghwa almost chases the touch before catching himself. Hongjoong notices that too. His eyes flick downward briefly then back up, and suddenly both of them are breathing a little unevenly.

Oh.

Oh no.

Neither of them moves or speaks as tension grows thicker by the second.

“I think,” Hongjoong starts, swallowing. “if we keep talking about this tonight, I’m going to kiss you.” he says quietly, his pupils swallowing the color of his eyes completely.

He looks almost startled by his own honesty immediately afterward and Seonghwa is stuck there staring at him, his heart hammering, years of buried feelings clawing violently up his throat all at once.

“Captain—”

The title slips out accidentally, Seonghwa’s pulse stuttering, he didn’t mean—

No, that’s a lie. Part of him absolutely meant to.

Hongjoong exhales carefully through his nose. “Dangerous choice of words right now, Star.”

Seonghwa thinks his heart might genuinely stop.

Hongjoong looks wrecked. His hands are curled into fists so tight at his sides Seonghwa can see the tension in his knuckles, shoulders drawn taut beneath his shirt like he’s physically holding himself back from something. From him. A muscle jumps once in his jaw before he tips his head back toward the ceiling, squeezing his eyes shut for a brief second like he’s gathering whatever control he still has left.

And somehow that destroys Seonghwa more than if Hongjoong had simply kissed him outright. Heat unfurls slowly through his stomach, dizzying and deep, licking upward into his chest until breathing becomes difficult. Hongjoong is standing so close that if Seonghwa leaned forward even slightly their bodies would touch. He’s towering over him and looking down with dark eyes and barely-contained want. Seonghwa’s body reacts to the power before his brain can catch up, pulse fluttering wildly beneath skin Hongjoong already touched tonight. The memory of that careful pressure against his throat flashes hot through his mind again and he has to press his thighs together slightly just to ground himself.

God.

He wants this so badly.

And the worst part is how natural it feels to look up at Hongjoong like this. How right it feels. Like some hidden part of Seonghwa has been quietly waiting years for Hongjoong to look at him this way.

“Maybe,” he says softly, pulse racing wildly, “you should.”

Hongjoong clenches his jaw and looks to the side, evening out his breathing. “I refuse to be your rebound because last night didn’t go how you wanted it to.”

The words land like a slap and for a second he can only stare at the sharp line of Hongjoong’s jaw, the tension gathered in his shoulders, the way his arms fold protectively across himself like he regrets saying any of this out loud.

Hurt.

Hongjoong sounds hurt.

And suddenly Seonghwa understands. All this time he thought he was the only one suffering quietly through it.

“That’s not—” He tries to explain immediately, but the words tangle somewhere behind his ribs and nothing comes out. Hongjoong finally looks back at him, waiting for how that sentence ends. If Seonghwa doesn’t say it now, he never will. “It’s only ever been you.”

Hongjoong blinks, his expression shifting instantly from guarded frustration to pure confusion. “What?”

Seonghwa’s pulse pounds harder. He almost backs out, but he’s already fallen too far over the edge now. “The other people,” he says quietly, staring at Hongjoong like he can somehow force him to understand everything he never said, “they were the rebounds. Not you.”

Hongjoong just stares at him, completely motionless.

He lets out a shaky breath. “I kept thinking maybe if I slept with other people enough, eventually I’d stop wanting—”

You.

“I thought maybe I could get over you,” he admits softly. “Forget you.”

Silence. Then Hongjoong exhales sharply and reaches for him almost like he can’t help himself anymore. His hand cups Seonghwa’s face carefully, warm palms against his cheek, gentle fingers spreading beneath his jaw.

“You have no idea,” He says quietly, voice rougher now, “how much I wanted to hurt every guy you were with.” His thumb strokes slowly beneath his cheekbone. “The rage I felt every time.” His gaze darkens slightly. “Because it wasn’t me.”

All those years, all those glances, all that restraint. And Hongjoong wanted him too.

His hand slides slightly, thumb brushing once across Seonghwa’s lower lip almost absentmindedly. “Does that mean,” Seonghwa whispers finally, voice softer now, “you’ll kiss me now?”

Hongjoong pulls him to his feet and kisses the breath out of his lungs. Seonghwa understands instantly why nothing else ever worked. Why no one else ever felt right. Kissing Hongjoong feels devastatingly inevitable, like one way or the other it was always going to happen. One of Hongjoong’s hands settles firmly at his waist, pulling him close enough that their bodies press together fully, while the other cups the back of his neck like he cannot stand the thought of him slipping away now that he finally has him. The kiss itself is overwhelming immediately, warm and deep and hungry in a way that makes Seonghwa’s knees weaken embarrassingly fast.

Years. They lost years to this. The thought flashes through his head before dissolving completely when Hongjoong kisses him harder.

A soft sound escapes him before he can stop it and Hongjoong reacts instantly, his fingers tightening slightly against the back of his neck, and Seonghwa feels the answering shudder that moves through him. He grabs fistfuls of Hongjoong’s shirt instinctively, grounding himself through the warmth beneath his palms. Hongjoong is solid against him, steady and real and finally finally his, and Seonghwa feels almost dizzy trying to process it.

Hongjoong kisses him again before he can think too hard. Their mouths move together messily, desperately learning each other after years of holding back, and Seonghwa feels every bit of restraint Hongjoong has been clinging to begin unraveling little by little. It’s there in the way he crowds closer and how his breathing grows uneven, interrupted by the low sounds he keeps swallowing down whenever Seonghwa kisses him back too eagerly. He has dreamed about this too many times, late at night alone in his bed, wondering how Hongjoong would taste, how his hands would feel, whether he kissed softly or rough or somewhere in between.

The reality destroys every fantasy effortlessly. Because Hongjoong kisses him like he’s wanted this forever. Like a man starving.

Seonghwa’s back hits the wall beside the couch at some point and he barely notices, too consumed by the feeling of Hongjoong everywhere. His thigh presses between Seonghwa’s legs without thought as he steps closer again, and the sudden contact drags a broken gasp from his chest. Everything about this feels dangerous now that he knows Hongjoong notices these reactions and likes them. His thumb brushes slowly along the side of Seonghwa’s throat again, who tilts his head back instinctively into the touch. The movement seems to undo something in Hongjoong completely.

“Seonghwa,” he says quietly, a warning to himself more than anything.

But then he kisses him again anyway. Everything begins blurring together pleasantly around the edges after that. The soft scrape of Hongjoong’s rings against his skin and the warmth of his breath, kissing Seonghwa like he cannot get enough no matter how many times their mouths meet.

Hongjoong’s forehead presses briefly against his after one particularly breathless kiss, both of them breathing hard now. “You drive me insane,” he whispers.

Seonghwa laughs shakily, heart pounding wildly. “You think this is easy for me?”

Hongjoong’s hand slides higher beneath his hoodie slowly, fingertips brushing across his waist before spreading over his ribs. The sudden contrast of cold fingers against overheated skin makes Seonghwa hiss softly into the kiss, his back arching instinctively away from the temperature shock before immediately pressing closer again, biting Hongjoong’s bottom lip lightly in the process.

Hongjoong pulls back just enough to stare at him, his eyes dark and bright all at once. “Careful,” he murmurs, thumb pressing lightly into Seonghwa’s side in playful reprimand. “You don’t get to bite me just because you startled yourself.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Mm.” Hongjoong clearly doesn’t believe him, but there’s too much fondness in his expression for Seonghwa to feel embarrassed for long.

Especially when Hongjoong’s hand stays beneath his hoodie, palm warm now against his ribs after adjusting to the heat of Seonghwa’s skin, his fingers spread wider, and Seonghwa feeling every inch of contact like it’s branded into him..He has wanted this for so long. Not just sex but the affection tangled into it, the attention. The way Hongjoong looks at him like he’s simultaneously precious and devastating.

They kiss again.

And again.

Losing rhythm entirely after a while. Sometimes slow and lingering, mouths brushing lazily while they smile breathlessly against each other’s lips. Sometimes hungry enough that Seonghwa’s thoughts blur completely.

They are learning and exploring, a soft sound against Hongjoong’s mouth earns another deeper kiss while a shiver beneath his hands makes his grip tighten slightly. When Seonghwa tilts his head back instinctively into one particularly rough kiss, Hongjoong exhales sharply through his nose like the sight nearly took him out.

“Seonghwa,” he says quietly once they finally part enough to breathe properly. His forehead drops briefly against Seonghwa’s. “the amount of self-control I’m exercising tonight is truly remarkable.”

The confession sends another dizzy pulse through Seonghwa, knowing Hongjoong wants him this badly while still holding himself back makes heat curl low in his stomach even harder. “You’re doing great.”

Hongjoong laughs once under his breath. “Don’t encourage me.” But he kisses him again anyway. Softer this time. His hand slides fully around Seonghwa’s side beneath the hoodie, fingertips tracing lightly over warm skin along his ribs. Seonghwa shivers instantly at the touch, hyperaware of every careful movement. “So sensitive,” Hongjoong murmurs quietly against his mouth. “What do you want, Star?”

Seonghwa realizes with sudden startling clarity that Hongjoong would give him whatever answer he asked for right now.

He wants everything. Too much. He wants Hongjoong’s hands and mouth and attention, wants the rough edges hiding beneath his careful restraint, wants to give in to the feeling curling warmly through him every time Hongjoong takes control of a situation and submit to him.

Wants—

“Anything you give me.” he is quiet for a second, listening to Hongjoong’s shallow breathing and looking at him. “Just…you.”

Hongjoong’s eyes close briefly and a curse slips softly from his mouth. “You can’t say things like that to me tonight.”

“But it’s true.”

“That’s not helping.” Seonghwa laughs softly and the sound seems to affect Hongjoong more than it should because his gaze immediately snaps back to his mouth. “Will you get on your knees if I ask nicely?”

Yes, Seonghwa will.

“Depends if I get a reward after.”

Hongjoong’s smile turns dangerous around the edges then, unbearably fond even through the obvious hunger burning underneath it. His hand slides up Seonghwa’s side beneath the hoodie again before squeezing lightly.

“Of course,” he says easily. “If you behave for me I’ll give you a nice reward after.”

The promise sends heat curling low through Seonghwa’s stomach, and goosebumps up his spine. He steps forward, swapping their positions so Hongjoong’s back is against the wall, hitting it with a quiet thud instead, who lets it happen with visible surprise flickering across his face, eyebrows lifting slightly as Seonghwa presses closer.

“Oh?” he murmurs.

Seonghwa doesn't say anything in response, but slowly sinks down onto his knees. Hongjoong's face hardens with raw, undisguised hunger as he watches him descend, his eyes tracking every movement with zero attempt to hide what he's feeling. A hand lands gently on the top of his head, patting him affectionately. Seonghwa nearly melts on the spot, heat floods straight through him so fast his head spins a little, stomach twisting helplessly beneath the unsaid praise.

He reaches for Hongjoong’s waistband with slightly shaky fingers, watching his expression carefully. His cock springs free red and aching, making Seonghwa’s breath catch at the sight. He leans closer slowly, letting himself linger just enough to watch anticipation tighten across Hongjoong’s face. He presses soft teasing kisses along his inner thigh first instead, smiling faintly when Hongjoong exhales sharply above him.

“Seonghwa,” he warns quietly.

But Seonghwa can’t help himself, not when Hongjoong reacts so beautifully. He wraps one hand around the base and teases with small kitten licks and soft kisses, watching Hongjoong’s head tip back against the wall in frustration, his hand tightening slightly in Seonghwa’s hair without guiding him anywhere. He feels strangely drunk on the attention already. He lets his mouth brush lightly against heated skin again before pulling back just enough to look up innocently. Hongjoong’s face is wrecked, his lips parted, chest rising harder now beneath his shirt, eyes dark enough to make Seonghwa’s stomach flip violently.

“Baby,” he says softly, almost pained. “Please. I’ve been hard since I texted you.”

Seonghwa bites back a smile. Not like he hasn't, but every instinct currently screaming through him wants to please his Captain and be good for him. He sits back onto his heels, making Hongjoong groan at the loss of contact, dropping his head briefly against the wall.

Once he has Hongjoong’s full attention again, he tilts his head slightly. “Fuck my mouth then.”

Hongjoong blinks at him twice like he genuinely isn’t sure he heard correctly. Seonghwa’s pulse pounds harder under the scrutiny, especially when Hongjoong’s gaze holds his for another long second before his expression shifts again. “Come here,” he says quietly. Seonghwa immediately moves closer again, hands cupping the side of his face briefly before sliding down to rest against his shoulder. “Grab my thighs,” he instructs calmly. “And if you need a break, tap twice. Understand?” Hongjoong’s eyebrows lift slightly when Seonghwa only nods. “Show me.”

Seonghwa’s thoughts blur pleasantly for a second before he forces himself to obey, lifting both hands to rest over the skin above Hongjoong’s knees, tapping twice with his index and middle finger. Hongjoong approves this with a nod and cards his fingers through Seonghwa’s hair. Later, when he’s feeling a little more present, he will mentally award Hongjoong bonus points for still prioritizing clear communication even in a moment like this.

And also for noticing the exact moment Seonghwa’s breathing changes, thumb brushing gently along his cheek. “Stay with me.”

Seonghwa nods immediately. “ ‘m fine.”

He opens his mouth before he can think too hard about it, pulse fluttering wildly as Hongjoong’s hands settle more firmly into his hair, guiding himself inside Seonghwa’s waiting mouth who could get addicted to this version of Hongjoong terrifyingly fast.

Hongjoong is very careful and gentleman-y at first, fingers tangled gently in Seonghwa’s hair while the other hand steadies against the wall beside them, giving him all the time he needs to adjust. The first few thrusts are shallow, controlled, barely pushing past Seonghwa’s lips before retreating again. Even when Hongjoong slips a little deeper experimentally, he immediately pulls back the second Seonghwa’s throat tightens around him.

It’s been a while since he let anyone do this, so Seonghwa is grateful for the warmup, tilting his head up slightly, humming happily around Hongjoong without thinking. The vibration drags a low groan from the other man instantly, head dropping back against the wall and eyes squeezing shut for half a second in pure overwhelmed pleasure.

“Fuck,” he breathes.

The sight sends a dangerous thrill through Seonghwa, Hongjoong looks beautifully undone like this, his hand tightening briefly in Seonghwa’s hair before easing immediately again, and he almost wishes he’d pull harder.

“That’s it,” Hongjoong murmurs, gaze darkening when he looks down again. “So good for me.”

The praise lands straight in Seonghwa’s stomach, making him relax farther and open up for more, making the next thrust slide in deeper. He gags around it lightly, his eyes watering. Hongjoong pats his head in sympathy before trying again, slower this time. Seonghwa focuses on breathing through it, forcing himself to relax instead of fighting the feeling, and when Hongjoong successfully slips deeper he groans softly beneath his breath.

“There you go,” he praises quietly.

Seonghwa’s entire body heats at the approval. The pace gradually picks up after that, Hongjoong sliding deeper and deeper with each thrust, giving Seonghwa time to adjust every single time before pushing farther. He tries to keep up eagerly, swirling his tongue underneath whenever he can, careful with his teeth the way he learned long ago. Hongjoong reacts beautifully to it, his hips jerking suddenly once when Seonghwa licks along him properly, tonguing the large vein on the underside, and a curse slips from his mouth before he can stop it.

“Fuck—” Seonghwa feels absurdly pleased by the reaction. Hongjoong looks down at him with blown pupils and flushed cheeks, breathing visibly uneven now. “Where the hell did you learn all this?” he asks breathlessly.

There are several answers to that actually. And somehow he doesn’t think Hongjoong would enjoy hearing about the men Seonghwa learned from, so he only hums innocently instead. Hongjoong narrows his eyes slightly like he knows exactly what that silence means, but before he can question it further, his free hand lifts toward Seonghwa’s throat. His fingertips trace lightly along the outside of his neck first, making him shiver as he traces the visible outline of his own cock there with obvious fascination.

“Feel that, Star?” he murmurs softly, his voice wrecked.

Seonghwa can barely think through the haze settling over his mind. The weight on his tongue is strangely comforting and has a way of grounding him. The lightest pressure presses against the front his throat externally, not enough to restrict anything, just enough to make him hyperaware of Hongjoong’s touch there while he’s already stretched around him.

He gags softly when fingers push down harder, making his entire frame twitch in surprise. Hongjoong pulls back a second later, letting him breathe properly again, hand softening against his throat at once. “That’s it,” he coos gently. “Good job.”

Seonghwa’s lungs drag in shaky breaths while tears gather helplessly at the corners of his eyes from the intensity of it all. “Oh, baby,” Hongjoong murmurs, his eyes softening. His thumb brushes carefully beneath Seonghwa’s eye, catching the first tear before it can fall fully down his cheek. “So pretty like this.” The praise makes Seonghwa’s stomach flutter helplessly. Hongjoong keeps petting gently through his hair while wiping away each tear with impossible tenderness, gaze fixed entirely on him like nothing else exists anymore. “You’re doing so well for me,” he says quietly. “Taking me so beautifully.”

Hongjoong’s hips begin moving again slowly, giving Seonghwa a moment to settle before building the rhythm back up. By now he knows what to expect enough that his body adjusts easier for him, relaxing open with each thrust until he takes Hongjoong all the way, his nose brushing the skin above his pelvis, throat tightening around his entire length and making him groan.

“There you go, Star. Knew you could take it.”

Praise pours over Seonghwa in a constant stream now, soft and warm and endlessly encouraging, and he finds himself melting deeper into it with every passing second. His eyes flutter closed briefly as he focuses on breathing through the rhythm, letting himself follow Hongjoong’s guidance completely. What he doesn’t expect is Hongjoong’s hands returning to his neck like a man possessed, applying external pressure as he slides down the back of his throat, making an already tight space even tighter, making Seonghwa’s throat convulse around him, fresh tears pouring from his eyes.

He gives Seonghwa one second to breathe as he pulls back, then does it again with his next thrust, fingers pressing against the bulge in his throat. Seonghwa has a moment of near-panic where he squirms in his place. He gags then half recovers, then gags again, lightly coughing the second time when the pressure doesn’t let up. His body wants to get away from the feeling, his conscious self fighting the instinct, wanting to be good for his Captain.

Seonghwa’s body can barely process everything at once, this is completely new for him and even pushing his limits a little. Hongjoong is careful to always let him breathe right after, giving him a couple seconds to recover while profusely praising him for being brave and good. It doesn’t even cross his mind to tap out.

With the added intensity, his thoughts begin drifting at an alarming speed, the edges of the room blurring. His body grows warm and heavy while his mind turns pleasantly quiet in a way he almost never gets to experience.

Some distant part of him notices Hongjoong slowing slightly after a while, watching him more carefully. He blinks his eyes open enough to find Hongjoong already looking down at him with softened concern beneath the obvious pleasure. “There you are,” he murmurs quietly when their eyes meet again. “Still with me?”

Seonghwa nods faintly, or at least he thinks he does, everything feels hazy and slow now.

Hongjoong’s expression shifts immediately into something gentler and almost awed, he sees Seonghwa slipping under his warmth and praise and control and is choosing to let him. He brushes his thumb softly along Seonghwa’s cheek, wiping away tears he hadn’t even realized were still falling. “You okay, baby?” he asks quietly.

Seonghwa hums softly in response, unable to form anything more coherent.

Hongjoong smiles faintly at that. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Thought so.”

The hand at his neck softens completely then, turning soothing, stroking slowly beneath his jaw while continuing to guide him gently through everything. Hongjoong’s face swims slightly before settling back into focus again. Pretty. He looks so pretty like this. Flushed cheeks and dark eyes and parted lips, concern softening the edges of his expression even while desire lingers there underneath. Seonghwa thinks vaguely that he could stare at Hongjoong forever and never grow tired of it.

Another tear slips free that Hongjoong wipes away instantly with his thumb. “Aww,” he coos quietly, the sound affectionate and a little mocking. “Sweet thing.”

Seonghwa melts deeper at the tone alone, the only thing tethering him properly to the room anymore being Hongjoong’s voice and hands, who seems to realize this too. A shaky sound escapes Seonghwa before he can stop it, somewhere between a whine and a sigh, and Hongjoong’s entire expression softens in response.

“Yeah,” he whispers warmly. “I know, baby.”

He continues fucking his throat after that, gently holding Seonghwa’s face with his palms.

His rhythm breaks first, control beginning to slip from his grasp. His hips start stuttering unevenly, thrusts losing their perfect cadence as soft curses spill from him under his breath. His hands tighten helplessly in Seonghwa’s hair every time pleasure hits him particularly hard. His movements turn sharper and needier, chasing his own release, pushing against the back of Seonghwa’s throat hard enough to make his eyes water anew.

However, Seonghwa wants more. And as much as he wants to let Hongjoong come down the back of his throat, he’s not sure he’ll get what he wants if he lets him. Before he can overthink himself out of it, he taps Hongjoong’s thigh twice, who pulls back with his hips stuttering, guiding Seonghwa upright enough to breathe comfortably.

“Hey,” he says softly, concern replacing pleasure in an instant. “You okay?” Seonghwa nods quickly despite how dazed he feels. Hongjoong smooths his hair back carefully from his forehead. “What do you need, Star?”

Seonghwa tries to answer immediately and fails completely. His brain feels too soft and foggy from everything before, thoughts moving frustratingly slow while Hongjoong waits without rushing him even slightly. “I…” His voice comes out ruined. Breathless. “I want—”

Hongjoong’s expression softens, petting his hair and cheeks. “What is it?” he asks gently.

Seonghwa forces himself to meet his eyes. “Wan’ you to fuck me instead. Come in me.”

For one second Hongjoong just stares at him, then a startled laugh escapes him “Oh,” he murmurs, visibly trying not to smile too hard. “That’s what you were thinking about down there?”

Seonghwa flushes harder but Hongjoong just cups his face, clearly endeared beyond belief. “I can do that Star. You’ve been so good for me.”

Seonghwa smiles hazily at the praise, feeling satisfied with himself. Hongjoong helps him carefully back onto his feet, hands steady at his waist when his legs wobble slightly from the sudden movement. Seonghwa feels strangely giddy as he steadies himself against Hongjoong’s chest who presses kisses all across his face in quick succession.

“You let me play for so long.” a kiss against his forehead. “So brave,” on the tip of his nose “my pretty Star.” on his cheek.

He’s almost careful about undressing Seonghwa afterwards, like a shy virgin and not at all the man who just destroyed his throat. His fingertips brush against Seonghwa’s warm skin every few seconds as if he can’t help himself. He keeps leaning in between movements too, pressing absentminded kisses against Seonghwa’s throat and jaw and cheeks while whispering things that make his stomach flutter helplessly.

“So pretty.” Another kiss. “Seriously unreal.”

His hoodie disappears first, then the rest follows gradually until he ends up completely bare beneath Hongjoong’s gaze who looks at him with hunger behind eyes, like he genuinely cannot believe he’s allowed to touch him. His hands slide carefully over his waist before guiding him backward onto the couch cushions, easing him down with almost shy gentleness.

It’s so different from the confident commanding energy from earlier that Seonghwa can’t help smiling faintly. “You’re acting nervous,” he murmurs.

“I have a beautiful man in my hands demanding beautiful things from me, I’m allowed to be.” he kisses Seonghwa’s mouth softly before pulling away, the couch dipping beneath his weight. “Wait here,” he says.

Seonghwa blinks up at him lazily while Hongjoong moves toward his desk drawers, rummaging through them. “…Please tell me your studio isn’t secretly stocked for this,” Seonghwa says weakly.

“I spend unhealthy amounts of time here,” Hongjoong replies distractedly. “You’d be surprised what’s hidden in these drawers.” A victorious noise leaves him a second later as he lifts a bottle triumphantly. “Found the lube.”

Seonghwa snorts softly into the cushions. “No condoms?”

Hongjoong opens another drawer, then another. “…Huh.”

Seonghwa laughs quietly, warmth curling through him at the sight of Hongjoong looking genuinely betrayed by his own organization system. “We get tested every six months anyway,” he says after a moment. “So unless you’re against it…”

Hongjoong looks back at him immediately, expression softening. “No,” he says quietly. “I’m not against it.” Then, after a beat: “And for the record, imagine if I hadn’t had lube in here. What exactly would we be doing right now?”

Seonghwa grins helplessly. “Playing cards?”

Hongjoong walks back over, shaking his head fondly before climbing onto the couch again, fitting himself carefully between Seonghwa’s spread legs, pushing them further apart with his hands so he can settle properly between them.

“Traffic lights okay from now?” he murmurs softly against Seonghwa’s lips.

Seonghwa’s brain stalls completely because the term feels familiar, something he's definitely heard before but right now he's coming up short. His thoughts are still floating pleasantly somewhere behind him from earlier and he can’t quite reach that far down inside his mind to pull the meaning up.

“…Mm,” he hums thoughtfully. “Remind me?”

Hongjoong pulls back just enough to stare at him in disbelief. “You know,” he says, shaking his head with visible fondness, “I’d really like to have a conversation with these men you’ve apparently been hooking up with.”

Seonghwa flushes immediately. “Joong—”

“No, seriously,” he continues, gently brushing fingers along Seonghwa’s thigh. “You’re out here doing insane things and nobody explained this to you?”

Seonghwa hides part of his face against the couch cushion. “That sounds worse when you say it out loud.”

“It is worse out loud.” Despite the teasing, his voice stays warm and patient, brushing Seonghwa’s hair back before explaining softly, “Safewords. Green means you’re good. Yellow means slow down or check in. Red means stop completely.”

Seonghwa nods easily. “Green,” he murmurs.

Hongjoong’s eyes darken slightly at the immediate answer. His hand trails slowly along the outside of Seonghwa’s thigh afterward, fingertips barely touching skin.

For a long while after that they don’t really do anything except kiss. Hongjoong sprawls over him comfortably, one hand constantly wandering curiously across Seonghwa’s body as if he can’t stop exploring. Seonghwa’s own hands slide around Hongjoong’s neck eventually, fingers disappearing into soft hair while he kisses him back lazily.

It feels unfair suddenly that he is completely naked while Hongjoong still has his clothes on. But every coherent thought keeps dissolving under Hongjoong’s mouth before he can complain properly, especially when he starts kissing lower, his lips brushing slowly across Seonghwa’s throat, then collarbones, then lower still until his breath catches sharply.

“Joong—”

Hongjoong hums softly against his skin and then his mouth closes around one of his nipples, making Seonghwa jerks so hard his back nearly leaves the couch entirely. A broken sound tears out of him before he can stop it, body bending upward in an honestly concerning angle.

“Settle.” Hongjoong chuckles, splaying a hand out on his chest and pushing him back down.

Seonghwa tries. He really does, but his nipples are sensitive and Hongjoong’s mouth is warm and relentless, tongue flicking teasingly before sucking just hard enough to make his vision blur around the edges. Another helpless whimper slips out of him, embarrassingly soft, and Hongjoong makes a pleased sound low in his throat at the noise. His thighs twitch around Hongjoong’s hips, shaking harder every second. He can feel how wrecked he’s becoming, how every slow drag of lips and fingertips sends another wave of heat crashing through him until he’s squirming beneath the attention with nowhere to put all of it.

“Joong— please—” The plea comes out tiny and barely audible.

Hongjoong lifts his head just enough to look at him, eyes dark and intent, and Seonghwa nearly melts under the weight of it. “Please what?”

Seonghwa opens his mouth, then closes it again with a frustrated sound. His thoughts feel syrup-thick, hard to hold onto for more than a second. Hongjoong’s hands keep moving while he waits—one sliding down his side, the other pinching lightly at his neglected nipple before soothing over it with his thumb.

Seonghwa jolts with a gasp.

“Oh, you’re gone,” Hongjoong coos softly, almost fond. “Look at you. Can’t even think anymore.” Seonghwa turns his face away with a strangled sound, but Hongjoong just catches his jaw gently and turns him back. “No hiding,” he says, voice warm but firm. “I want to see you.”

His chest rises sharply, thighs trembling harder on either side of Hongjoong, muscles jumping every time lips close around one of his nipples again. Hongjoong sucks carefully, tongue flicking over the sensitive peak until Seonghwa is making broken little noises nonstop, hands clutching uselessly at the couch cushions. He feels molten under Hongjoong’s hands, every touch dragging him deeper into that floaty, aching haze where all he can do is feel.

His Captain takes his time with it too. Like he enjoys watching Seonghwa unravel piece by piece beneath him. By the time he finally eases back, Seonghwa is breathing hard, lips parted, body twitching at the slightest touch. Hongjoong smiles at the sight—small and devastatingly pleased—before tugging his own shirt over his head and tossing it somewhere behind him.

Seonghwa stares for a second, visibly overwhelmed all over again. Hongjoong laughs quietly. “Cute.”

Then he leans back over him immediately, pressing Seonghwa deeper into the couch with the warm weight of his body. His kisses turn slower now, lingering along Seonghwa’s jaw, his throat, his collarbones. Everywhere he can reach, he leaves affection in soft kisses and careful hands.

The faint click of a bottle opening makes Seonghwa shiver and then Hongjoong is slowly easing a finger inside, met with close to little resistance as Seonghwa is basically a puddle underneath him. A second joins quickly, Hongjoong pausing every few moments to kiss the trembling inside of his thigh or smooth a reassuring hand over his hips when they jerk instinctively.

He can only whimper, fingers tangling weakly in Hongjoong’s hair who smiles against him, utterly charmed, and presses another kiss to his pulse before continuing with patient care, never rushing him for even a second. He even balances the faint sting of it perfectly—gentle praise in his ear, soothing hands stroking over his hips, fingers curving just right until the discomfort blurs into something warm and dizzying instead.

“There you go,” he murmurs, kissing the corner of his mouth when Seonghwa whines quietly. “Breathe for me.”

He keeps brushing against that sensitive spot inside Seonghwa with devastating precision, careful enough not to overwhelm him too quickly, every drag of slick fingers making another broken sound fall out of him.

“Joong— ah—”

Hongjoong hums approvingly. “Feels good?” Seonghwa nods instantly, too overwhelmed to pretend otherwise. “So responsive,” he coos. “My pretty boy’s taking me so well.”

By the time Hongjoong presses another careful finger inside him, Seonghwa is openly squirming beneath him, completely unable to stay still anymore. The stretch burns pleasantly, chased immediately by waves of pleasure that leave his thoughts scattered and useless.

It’s too much and not enough all at once. “Please,” Seonghwa breathes eventually, voice wrecked. “Captain, please—”

Hongjoong glances up at him immediately, attentive despite the teasing smile tugging at his mouth. “What do you need?”

He swallows hard, thighs shaking violently around Hongjoong’s waist. “Need you,” he admits in a tiny voice.

Hongjoong leans down to kiss him before he can spiral further into embarrassment, lips warm and lingering against his own. “Needy thing,” he murmurs fondly. Seonghwa makes a frustrated little noise and tries to tug him closer by the shoulders. Hongjoong resists just enough to make him squirm again before finally relenting with a soft sigh. “Alright,” he says gently. “I’ve got you.”

He withdraws his fingers carefully, wiping them on Seonghwa’s trembling thighs, then soothing his hands over them when he jolts at the loss. Then he takes one of Seonghwa’s hands in his own, threading their fingers together before lifting Seonghwa’s knuckles to his mouth.

“Look at me,” he says softly.

Seonghwa does. He keeps his gaze locked with Hongjoong’s as he slowly presses forward, giving him plenty of time to feel every inch of closeness, every wave of warmth and pressure. Seonghwa’s breath catches almost immediately, his back arching clean off the couch with a broken gasp.

“Joong—”

His mouth falls open around the name. The feeling of finally having Hongjoong inside him is overwhelming and perfect and so intense it makes his whole body tremble. His free hand scrambles uselessly against the couch cushions while Hongjoong steadies him with their intertwined fingers.

“That’s it,” Hongjoong murmurs, eyes impossibly bright as he watches every expression cross Seonghwa’s face. “Doing so well for me.”

Seonghwa can’t answer. He can barely think. Every nerve in his body feels lit up, his thighs quivering uncontrollably around Hongjoong’s hips while he tries to adjust to the fullness of him. Hongjoong doesn’t move, just stays there patiently, thumb stroking over Seonghwa’s knuckles while he watches him come apart.

When he bottoms out he gives Seonghwa a couple seconds to adjust before he starts moving, the drag of it sending a sharp breath tearing from Seonghwa’s lungs, his entire body tensing for one startled second before melting all over again. Pleasure rolls through him in deep, aching waves, hot enough to make his vision flicker. Hongjoong’s forehead presses briefly against his shoulder, his own breathing uneven now, and Seonghwa feels the tiny shudder he tries to suppress.

His hips move before he consciously means them to, chasing the slow rhythm Hongjoong sets. They fall into it together naturally, bodies finding something comfortable and intimate instead of rushed. Every measured movement drags another helpless sound from his throat, each one softer and more wrecked than the last.

Hongjoong is kissing every inch of skin he can reach, Seonghwa’s jaw, his throat, the damp corner of his eye when tears begin slipping free again. “You okay?”

Seonghwa nods too fast, breath hitching. “Too much,” he admits weakly, “Feels too good.”

He hides his face against Hongjoong’s shoulder with a broken little whine. He doesn’t know what’s happening to him. Every touch feels amplified somehow, every breath Hongjoong presses against his skin sinking deep into his chest until emotion and pleasure become impossible to separate. None of this should feel this devastating, yet it does because this is Hongjoong. This is the person Seonghwa trusts with every soft, hidden part of himself. The person carefully holding him together while also unraveling him piece by piece. All those past hookups suddenly feel distant and hollow in comparison. Blurry snapshots of hands and mouths and bodies that never reached him the way this one does. None of them ever looked at him like Hongjoong is looking at him now.

His fingers tighten weakly in the back of Hongjoong’s hair, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him impossibly closer. He comes willingly, surrounding him with warmth until Seonghwa can barely tell where one of them ends and the other begins. His entire body trembles with every slow thrust, every deliberate drag that leaves pleasure licking hotly up his spine. The pace stays gentle, almost reverent, but that somehow makes it worse. Hongjoong refuses to rush him, refuses to let the moment become anything except this unbearable, intimate closeness.

Another tear slips free, and Hongjoong catches it instantly with his thumb. “Hey,” he murmurs softly, kissing beneath Seonghwa’s eye. “Talk to me.

Seonghwa tries. The effort alone makes his face crumple slightly. “Can’t,” he whispers finally, embarrassed by how small he sounds. “My head’s all…” He trails off helplessly.

Hongjoong smiles gently, brushing their noses together. “Floaty?” Seonghwa nods immediately. “Mhm. Figured.” he presses another lingering kiss to his mouth. “You’re doing so good for me, baby.”

A shattered sound leaves Seonghwa before he can stop it, his hips jerking instinctively against Hongjoong’s who groans softly at the movement, grip tightening briefly where his hands rest on Seonghwa’s waist. He whines quietly, overwhelmed by how intensely Hongjoong watches him. Everything feels too big for his body—the affection, the pleasure, the overwhelming safety of being held like this. He buries his face against Hongjoong’s neck with a shaky gasp again, breathing him in desperately while they keep moving.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Hongjoong admits quietly at one point, almost like he doesn’t mean to say it out loud.

The couch creaks softly beneath them, drowned out by uneven breathing and quiet little sounds Seonghwa can’t seem to stop making. Hongjoong answers every single one with praise murmured against his skin, fingers stroking comfortingly through his hair whenever he gets too overwhelmed.

He angles his hips just slightly, and the change is catastrophic. Seonghwa’s entire body jolts beneath him, a startled, wrecked sound punching out of his chest. The new angle sends pleasure crashing through him so suddenly that his mind blanks completely, head falling back against the couch cushions as his spine arches hard off the fabric.

Hongjoong’s eyes flash at the reaction. “There?” he asks softly, though the tiny smirk tugging at his mouth says he already knows the answer.

Seonghwa can’t answer. He genuinely can’t. His whole body feels too full of sensation to process language anymore.

And then Hongjoong reaches between them, wrapping his fingers around Seonghwa, whose mouth drops open in a soundless gasp, thighs trembling violently as the double end of pleasure hits him all at once. It’s unbearable in the best possible way—too much pressure, too much pleasure, too much warmth flooding through every nerve ending until he doesn’t know what part of himself to focus on anymore.

Hongjoong thumbs the sensitive dip under his head and he mewls, actually mewls. The sound embarrasses him somewhere distantly, but embarrassment requires functioning thoughts and he’s long since lost those. All he can do is squirm helplessly beneath Hongjoong, body twitching uncontrollably every time the latter moves his hand.

“S-so much—”

“I know,” Hongjoong coos immediately, leaning down to nuzzle their cheeks together. “You’re taking it so well, baby.”

Seonghwa shakes his head weakly, nails digging desperately into Hongjoong’s shoulders as though grounding himself is the only thing keeping him from floating away completely. His body doesn’t know what to do with this much feeling except throw itself desperately toward the edge. Hongjoong watches it happen in real time, eyes dark and intent as Seonghwa falls apart beneath him piece by piece. Every tiny twitch of his hips, every broken sound, every helpless squeeze of his fingers around Hongjoong’s shoulders gets noticed immediately.

“You’re so sensitive,” He murmurs, almost sounding charmed by it.

Seonghwa whines loudly when Hongjoong swipes his thumb over him again.

He tries to warn him, hands scrambling weakly against Hongjoong’s shoulders, trying to pull together enough thought to speak, enough breath to form actual words instead of wrecked little noises. Hongjoong catches on before he manages it. “Shh,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to Seonghwa’s cheek. “I know.” he presses another kiss beside his mouth. “Can you take two?” he asks quietly.

It takes Seonghwa several long seconds to even understand the question. His thoughts feel slow and syrupy, dragged under by sensation. “Maybe?” he says eventually, voice terribly unconvinced. “It’s—been a while.”

Hongjoong tuts softly at that, clearly unimpressed. “A while?” he repeats. “What kind of men have you been with?”

Clearly, not the generous kind. Seonghwa makes a helpless sound somewhere between a whine and a sob when Hongjoong’s pace picks up just slightly—just enough to steal whatever breath he’d managed to recover.

“Should we see, then?” Hongjoong asks, voice warm with teasing affection. “This is your reward, baby. Enjoy it.”

Seonghwa crashes violently, coming all over his stomach and Hongjoong’s hand, pleasure slamming through him so hard his vision whites out completely, his entire body locking for one impossible second before the feeling breaks over him in wave after wave after wave. A dizzy sound tears from his throat as his back arches hard enough to hurt, fingers clawing desperately into Hongjoong’s back. Everything goes hot and bright and unbearably overwhelming. He barely registers Hongjoong praising him through it, stroking him carefully through the aftershocks, guiding him through every trembling wave instead of abandoning him to it. He twitches violently beneath the attention, oversensitivity hitting almost immediately.

“Too much,” he gasps weakly, though even that sounds wrecked beyond repair.

Hongjoong only slows down gently, hand eventually falling away while his hips keep moving in shallow, measured grinding motions meant to ease Seonghwa through the lingering intensity instead of overwhelming him all at once again. Even that feels almost unbearable. He hisses softly every few seconds, body twitching hard against the couch cushions each time Hongjoong brushes against him just right. His nerves feel raw in the most delicious way possible, every touch amplified until he can hardly breathe through it.

He has no idea how long they stay like that. Time has become meaningless somewhere along the way. When he finally opens his eyes again, his vision is blurry with unshed tears and lingering dizziness. His entire body feels loose and shaky, twitching helplessly every few moments from the overstimulation still coursing through him.

After another couple of seconds Hongjoong pushes deeper, hitting his abused prostate again which makes him cry out outright, head turning instinctively into the couch cushion as another sharp wave of pleasure crashes through him.

“Oh my god—”

Hongjoong groans quietly at the sound, one hand sliding up Seonghwa’s side soothingly even as he keeps moving. Every thrust drags Seonghwa further into overstimulation, pleasure bordering so closely on pain now that his body can’t distinguish between them anymore. It leaves him trembling violently, nails digging into Hongjoong’s back hard enough to leave marks while broken sobs spill helplessly from his mouth.

“Captain,” he cries weakly, voice cracking around the title. “I can’t— it’s too much—”

Hongjoong leans down, pressing his lips against Seonghwa’s who doesn’t even have the coordination left to respond properly. “What’s your color, Star?” he asks quietly against his mouth.

“Green,” He answers instantly despite everything. “’S green.”

No hesitation. Hongjoong’s eyes soften immediately at the response, pride flickering briefly across his face before he kisses Seonghwa’s cheek tenderly.

For one brief, terrible moment of clarity, Seonghwa glances downward between them. He’s already hard again, flushed and aching from the relentless pleasure, but that’s not what steals the air from his lungs. It’s the visible movement low in his abdomen every time Hongjoong rolls his hips, the outline of his cock inside Seonghwa’s slender frame visible.

A broken moan falls from his mouth as his head drops back hard against the couch, eyes pressing shut. That’s so hot.

Seonghwa’s body stops knowing what to do with all the feelings at once. Everything feels unbearably intense, too much emotion, too much want crashing through him all at once until he can’t separate one feeling from another anymore. His fingers clutch desperately at Hongjoong’s shoulders, seeking purchase anywhere they can.

Hongjoong catches one of his hands, threading their fingers together and squeezing firmly. His lips drag slowly across Seonghwa’s exposed throat, warm and damp and impossibly tender after everything he’s already pulled from him tonight. He shivers hard beneath him, another weak sound escaping his ruined voice as he tilts his head back instinctively, offering himself up without thought.

Then Hongjoong’s hand follows, splaying out and applying pressure just at the right places, palm broad and warm where it cups his throat, fingers settling carefully while he watches Seonghwa’s face the entire time.

“Oh, fuck—”

The world narrows and every sensation amplifies until it’s unbearable—Hongjoong inside him, the steady drag of his hips, the warmth of his body pressed over Seonghwa’s, the rough sound of his breathing against his mouth. His hands claw weakly at Hongjoong’s shoulders, not pushing him away, just needing somewhere to grab onto to bear the overwhelming feelings crashing through him. The slight lack of air makes his head spin frighteningly fast, pleasure sharpening into something almost blinding.

He comes apart a second time with a wrecked cry, body arching violently beneath Hongjoong as pleasure crashes through him so hard it hurts. Hongjoong hasn’t even touched him directly, the relentless intensity of everything together making him come untouched. His whole body trembles uncontrollably through it, twitching and shaking, painting his stomach white.

Tears spilling freely from the corners of his squeezed-shut eyes while broken little wheezes leave his chest. Hongjoong eases the pressure around his throat, his hand softening into something soothing instead, fingers stroking gently over the flushed skin there while Seonghwa shakes apart beneath him.

“That’s it,” he praises softly, voice rough with awe now. “God, look at you.”

Every nerve in his body feels completely fried, overstimulation hitting him all at once now that the high is fading. He twitches violently at every shallow thrust that follows, weak little sobs leaving him helplessly while Hongjoong keeps fucking him through his orgasm.

Too much.

His body is wrung out entirely, pushed so far past its limits he doesn’t know how he’s still conscious. He’s about to tap out, completely spent when he notices how close Hongjoong is to breaking, his thighs trembling, pace falling apart.

And suddenly, Seonghwa can’t stop now. Not when Hongjoong has taken such careful care of him through every overwhelming second and not when Hongjoong looks this wrecked over him.

So he sobs quietly and forces his hips to move despite the way his body screams at him to stop. Every shallow, pathetic grind pulls another wrecked sound from his throat, tears slipping endlessly down his temples into the couch cushions beneath him as his body fights him.

“Hwa,” Hongjoong breathes shakily, clearly realizing what he’s doing. “Baby—”

Seonghwa shakes his head immediately, desperate and exhausted all at once. “Wanna—” he pants brokenly. “Wanna help—” The words barely make sense, slurred together through sobs and exhaustion, but Hongjoong understands anyway.

His entire expression crumples. “Oh, sweetheart.”

His ears start ringing as Hongjoong slams into him harder, chasing his high. The room is blurred and distant around the edges, he can hardly hear anything except his own ragged breathing and the occasional rough sound Hongjoong lets slip when Seonghwa moves with him just right.

Hongjoong kisses him desperately then, messy and deep and emotional. “You’re so good to me,” he whispers shakily against his mouth. “So fucking good.”

He cries harder at that, nails digging weakly into Hongjoong’s back while he holds onto him with the last shreds of strength he has left.

Everything after that happens almost too quickly. Hongjoong’s rhythm breaks completely, his whole body going tense above Seonghwa while a low, wrecked sound gets pulled from his chest. He buries his face against Seonghwa’s throat, holding him tightly as he spills deep inside him, whole body shaking.

When his hips finally still, the last thing Seonghwa manages is a weak gasp against his shoulder before everything goes black, his body simply giving out completely, given over all he can.

“Hwa?” Hands come up to cradle his face carefully. “Hwa— hey.” Hongjoong strokes quickly through Seonghwa’s damp hair, patting his cheek gently while trying to bring him back around. “Baby, c’mon. Open your eyes for me.”

Seonghwa makes a tiny sound eventually, brows twitching faintly. He’s so far down inside his head everything feels far away.

“There you are,” Hongjoong whispers shakily, pressing frantic little kisses against his forehead and cheeks, anywhere he can reach. “Don’t scare me like that.”

For a very long time, they simply stay like that. Seonghwa is floating somewhere outside himself still, suspended in the warm haze left behind by everything Hongjoong dragged out of him tonight. His limbs feel heavy and distant, every muscle melted completely boneless against the cushions beneath him. Even breathing takes effort.

Hongjoong, though, never stops touching him. Soft kisses keep landing against his forehead, his damp cheeks, the corner of his mouth. Gentle, grounding things accompanied by quiet praises that Seonghwa can’t quite catch but hears the tone of them anyways. He pants softly through all of it, eyes shut while he focuses entirely on dragging air steadily back into his lungs. His heartbeat still feels too fast, his nerves buzzing faintly beneath his skin.

Beneath the exhaustion and lingering overstimulation, he feels deeply, completely satisfied and sated, his bones jelly-like and thoughts quiet.

Naively, he attempts to sit up. His arms immediately give out beneath him and he flops gracelessly back into the couch with a weak whine of frustration, limbs refusing to cooperate.

Hongjoong laughs softly under his breath. “Stay down for now,” he says gently, resting one warm hand against his chest to keep him settled.

He grumbles something incoherent in response but doesn’t try again. For several minutes, neither of them says much after that. There’s only quiet breathing filling the room and the occasional rustle of fabric when Hongjoong shifts closer. The city lights outside cast everything in soft gold and shadows, leaving Hongjoong looking almost unreal where he hovers above Seonghwa.

His hair is a mess now, falling loosely over his forehead from how many times Seonghwa grabbed at him. His lips are swollen pink from kissing and there’s sweat dampening the slope of his neck and collarbones, tiny signs of exertion Seonghwa never thought he’d find this beautiful before tonight. His eyes are looking at Seonghwa with something so openly tender that he almost glances away. There’s pride there, unmistakably. Affection so thick it softens every sharp edge he usually carries, utterly devoted in the moment.

Hongjoong spends the next several minutes carefully coaxing him back down from the floaty edges of subspace with gentleness. He keeps talking softly, asking easy questions Seonghwa can answer without thinking too hard to get his brain going, because no one ever pushed Seonghwa that far before. Every answer earns another soft stroke through his hair, another kiss pressed somewhere warm against his skin. He keeps him tethered patiently, never rushing him back into himself before he’s ready.

They stay there wrapped around each other, basking quietly in the aftermath while the room settles into silence around them. Hongjoong continues tracing idle patterns over his skin while he lies boneless against him, warm and exhausted and impossibly content.

Eventually, the warmth and haze wrapped around him begin thinning enough for awareness to creep back in around the edges. Sweat cooling unpleasantly against his skin and sticky dampness drying on his stomach and thighs. Then the uncomfortable heaviness of his own body pressed bonelessly into the couch, every muscle loose and aching from how thoroughly Hongjoong had taken him apart. A tiny whine slips out of him before he can stop it, pure frustration. For him, this is the most unbearable part of sex, the need to get clean right after. He squirms weakly beneath Hongjoong, nose wrinkling in displeasure. The movement makes several muscles in his thighs protest sharply enough that he grimaces.

Hongjoong’s fingers, which had been lazily stroking through his hair, pause for a second before resuming softer than before. “Hm?” he murmurs. “What’s wrong?”

“I feel gross,” he mumbles eventually.

Hongjoong’s mouth twitches faintly at the wording. “Gross?”

“Dirty,” he corrects, cheeks warming. “And disgusting.”

The second the words leave his mouth, Hongjoong’s expression softens into an amused smile, like Seonghwa has said something ridiculous but endearing. “You are definitely not disgusting,” he says gently.

Seonghwa huffs weakly at him. He knows Hongjoong is trying to help, but that doesn’t stop the awareness crawling under his skin now that the intensity has faded enough for embarrassment to settle in. Everything feels messy and exposed suddenly. Too real. His mouth feels awful, dry enough that his tongue sticks slightly to the roof of it when he swallows and his throat scratches unpleasantly too, though he says nothing about that part.

Hongjoong seems to consider the situation for a moment before saying, “I think I saw wet wipes somewhere. I’d have to get up to find them.”

The thought of Hongjoong moving away from him makes something anxious twist quietly in his chest. It’s ridiculous, probably. Hongjoong is literally just going to the other end of the room but after everything tonight the idea feels strangely upsetting. Still…the need to feel clean outweighs that.

“Okay.” he mumbles reluctantly, making his choice.

“I’ll be right back,” Hongjoong promises softly, pressing one quick kiss to his forehead before finally untangling himself from the couch.

The second his warmth leaves him, Seonghwa regrets agreeing, the room suddenly several degrees cooler. He stares blankly at the ceiling for several seconds before lifting one hand into the air and squinting at it with deep suspicion. His fingers still don’t feel entirely connected to the rest of him. Slowly, experimentally, he wiggles his thumb. Then his index finger. Then his middle finger.

Huh.

Has his hand always looked like that?

He rotates it a little, staring at the shape of his knuckles, his brain still so slow and floaty that the question genuinely seems important for a few seconds. By the time Hongjoong returns, he is still staring at his own hand. He tears his gaze away and blinks up at Hongjoong dazedly, who is holding a packet of wipes in one hand and an americano cup filled with water in the other.

Seonghwa reaches for the wipes but has his hands lightly slapped away and the straw of the cup nudged carefully against his lips instead. Cool water spills into his mouth and down his scratchy throat, instantly soothing some of the rawness there. Hongjoong watches him carefully the entire time, adjusting the angle of the cup whenever he gets a little too eager and nearly chokes on it. Once he finishes, Hongjoong lifts the cup to his own lips and takes a few sips before setting it aside and opening the wipes instead.

The first cool swipe across Seonghwa’s stomach makes him shiver. Something about this feels almost more intimate than everything that happened before and he suddenly becomes acutely aware of how exposed he is beneath all this attention, making heat rush into his cheeks.

“All that,” Hongjoong muses, one eyebrow lifting slightly, “and you’re getting shy on me now?”

Seonghwa lets out an offended little huff. “It’s different,” he mutters.

“How?”

He opens his mouth then closes it again because, honestly, he has no idea how to explain it. Everything earlier had happened in such an overwhelming haze of pleasure and emotion that embarrassment hadn’t had room to exist. But now the intensity has faded enough for him to realize just how thoroughly Hongjoong saw him tonight. The realization leaves him feeling strangely exposed in a way he can’t quite put into words.

Hongjoong’s expression softens immediately when Seonghwa goes quiet, studying him carefully. Before he can retreat into himself any further, Hongjoong leans in and kisses him slow and warm, one hand coming up to cradle the side of his face.

“Hwa,” he murmurs softly against his lips. “None of that.” Seonghwa’s eyes flicker away instinctively, but Hongjoong catches his chin gently and turns him back. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about,” he says quietly, voice steady enough that Seonghwa feels it settle deep in his chest. “Do you understand me?”

Seonghwa swallows. Hongjoong brushes his thumb slowly across his cheekbone before continuing, gaze impossibly tender now.

“You trusted me with all of that,” he says. “You let yourself go for me. You submitted so completely into my hands, because that's what that was.” His voice lowers slightly, something reverent threading through it. “That’s not embarrassing, Star, that’s a gift.” Hongjoong kisses him again before he can spiral under the weight of the words. “You looked beautiful,” he whispers against his mouth. “So undone. So responsive.” His hand slides soothingly through Seonghwa’s hair. “Do you know how good you were for me tonight?”

Seonghwa’s face burns immediately. Hongjoong smiles softly at the reaction, utterly fond.

“It was a pleasure taking care of you,” he admits quietly. “Holding your submission in my hands like that…” He exhales faintly, eyes darkening with emotion more than desire now. “God, Hwa. You were incredible.”

No one has ever held Seonghwa this close after sex or said so many reassuring words to him to make the ugly feelings blooming in his chest disappear, because one way or another they always arrived. Until now. Hongjoong isn’t looking at him with amusement or judgment, he’s looking like every vulnerable thing Seonghwa gave him tonight was something to treasure carefully. The ugly feelings disappear almost as quickly as they came. He melts beneath the affection helplessly, eyes lowering while Hongjoong presses one last soft kiss to his forehead.

“There we go,” Hongjoong murmurs warmly and scatters soft little kisses all over his face with relentless affection. One lands on his forehead. Another beside his eye, then his cheek, the corner of his mouth.

He makes a protesting noise almost instantly. “Joong—”

Another kiss against his nose. “You were so good for me.”

“Stop—”

A kiss to his temple. “So pretty when you let go.”

“Kim Hongjoong—”

Hongjoong hums innocently and keeps going anyway, smiling against Seonghwa’s skin while he squirms helplessly beneath the attention. Every time he turns his face away, Hongjoong just follows him, pressing another kiss somewhere new.

“Cute,” he even murmurs after Seonghwa lets out another distressed sound.

Seonghwa finally breaks into helpless giggles, shoulders hunching while he tries unsuccessfully to fend Hongjoong off. “Off, stop— stop, oh my god—”

Hongjoong only laughs and catches both his wrists easily in one hand before kissing the center of his forehead again. Seonghwa squirms harder, laughing breathlessly now while Hongjoong continues peppering kisses across his cheeks.

“Idiot,” he accuses weakly, pushing at Hongjoong’s face with both hands.

Hongjoong lets himself be shoved back this time, though he’s still grinning so fondly it makes Seonghwa smile wider too. “Now now, is that how you speak to your Captain?”

Seonghwa glares at him through lingering laughter. Unfortunately, Hongjoong looks so pleased with himself that the glare loses all effectiveness immediately.

“That’s enough,” he declares seriously. “No more.”

Hongjoong leans forward one last time anyway and steals another quick kiss from the corner of his mouth. “Okay,” he says easily.

A beat passes.

Then—

“One more thing though.”

Seonghwa narrows his eyes suspiciously. “What.”

Hongjoong’s smile softens instantly into a little naughty smirk. “You really were amazing.”

Seonghwa immediately groans and throws a throw pillow at his face while Hongjoong dissolves into laughter.

After that, Hongjoong finishes cleaning him up with careful hands, slowing noticeably whenever he twitches or jerks helplessly, nerves still completely overloaded from earlier. “Sorry,” he whispers once after making him flinch particularly hard.

Seonghwa shakes his head immediately and throws an arm over his eyes instead, hiding there while Hongjoong works. The quiet that settles between them afterward feels soft and comfortable.

“That was…” he starts eventually, when his thoughts are more accessible to him, voice rough with exhaustion. He pauses, trying to gather the right word now that his brain is functioning again. “Intense?”

Hongjoong looks up immediately and smiles, softer than anything Seonghwa has seen from him all night. He tosses the wipes aside before leaning down to kiss him gently, this time properly on his lips. “You’re right, it was,” he agrees quietly. “But you handled everything really well.”

Seonghwa frowns faintly at that, fingers coming up to dab uselessly at his damp cheeks. “I cried my eyes out,” he mutters.

Hongjoong lets out a quiet laugh—not mocking, just soft with fondness—and shifts closer. He catches Seonghwa gently by the wrist before he can keep rubbing at his face and tilts their foreheads together instead.

“Come here.”

Seonghwa stills automatically.

Hongjoong studies him carefully from only inches away now, big dark eyes focused entirely on his face. Up close like this, Seonghwa can see every tiny detail—the softness lingering around his mouth, the faint flush still dusting across his cheeks, the way concern and curiosity always seem to coexist in his expression.

Hongjoong brushes his thumb lightly beneath one of Seonghwa’s eyes, inspecting the slight redness there. “Doesn’t that happen often?” he muses quietly.

Seonghwa swallows, gaze flicking away. “Not—not really?”

Hongjoong pauses at that, the teasing ease in his expression hardening into something more attentive. “No?”

Seonghwa shakes his head slightly, suddenly feeling strangely vulnerable again for an entirely different reason. “I mean…” He exhales awkwardly. “only a handful of times?”

Because sex had never felt like this before. Pleasure, sure. Want. Attraction. Physical release. But not this overwhelming or intense, not enough to pull tears out of him often just from feeling too much all at once.

“Huh,” Hongjoong says softly. Seonghwa watches the realization slowly settle across his face.

He immediately gets defensive about it. “I know it’s not—”

“Hwa.” Hongjoong cuts him off gently and he stops talking. Hongjoong’s thumb strokes once more beneath his eye before he leans in and presses a soft kiss beside it. “That’s not embarrassing,” he murmurs. “At all.” Seonghwa looks unconvinced. Hongjoong sighs quietly through his nose, clearly deciding he’s going to have to work harder to get the point across. “You cried because everything hit you hard,” he says carefully. “Because you felt safe enough to let go.” His eyes search Seonghwa’s face. “Do you know how much trust that takes?” Seonghwa’s throat tightens a little. Hongjoong smiles faintly when he sees it. “And honestly?” he adds more softly, fingertips brushing Seonghwa’s hair back from his forehead, “you looked beautiful.”

He groans and tries to turn his face away again. Hongjoong catches him before he can escape far. “Nope,” he says lightly. “You’re not running from compliments.” Seonghwa glares at him weakly but the other man just grins, utterly unrepentant, before his expression softens again. “I mean it, though,” he says quietly. “There wasn’t a single second tonight where I looked at you and thought anything except…” He pauses briefly, eyes flicking over Seonghwa’s face. “God, he’s incredible.”

He huffs quietly, but this time there’s no real embarrassment left in it when he lets Hongjoong pull him closer again, only an incredible amount of feeling. And gratitude and love.

As always, there is also a need for him to give care back. “You took care of me really well too,” he admits quietly once Hongjoong pulls back.

Something shifts in Hongjoong’s expression, gratitude, fondness, relief. His hand slides into Seonghwa’s hair, scratching lightly against his scalp while his eyes soften. “How’s your head?” he asks after a moment.

“Mushy,” he answers honestly.

Hongjoong snorts softly. “Yeah, I figured.”

Seonghwa coughs a little then, throat scratchy enough to sting unpleasantly. Immediately Hongjoong’s attention sharpens again, his fingers brushing gently across the skin of his throat several times, featherlight now compared to earlier.

“I hope you don’t have vocal practice tomorrow,” he murmurs, making Seonghwa groan weakly. Luckily, he doesn’t. “Drink some warm tea with honey when we go home.”

He blinks slowly.

We.

Not you.

We.

The tiny word makes a home in his chest. “We?” he echoes quietly.

Hongjoong studies him for a second like he’s deciding whether to backtrack. Then he sighs softly and smooths his thumb across Seonghwa’s cheek. “There’s no way I’m leaving you alone after something this intense,” he says simply.

Seonghwa hums happily at the answer before he can stop himself. Hongjoong visibly tries not to smile too hard at the sound and fails.

They remain tangled together on the couch long after that, most of Seonghwa’s attention fixed entirely on Hongjoong. Or more specifically, on his hands. His pointer finger moves lazily across Seonghwa’s body in absent, thoughtless patterns, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it anymore. Along the curve of Seonghwa’s ribs first, then down the inside of his wrist, then back up again toward his waist. Small, gentle, repetitive touches.

There’s something deeply grounding about being touched with no urgency behind it or expectation that he’s never experienced before.

He shifts slightly, turning his head just enough to look at Hongjoong properly, whose gaze is lowered, focused on where his fingers drift over skin, his expression soft and relaxed beneath the messy fall of dark hair over his forehead.

Then Hongjoong asks quietly, “Was everything okay tonight? Anything you didn’t like?”

The question catches him off guard a little and he has to think seriously before answering, replaying the night slowly in his head. “No,” he says after a moment, voice quiet. “I liked everything.” Hongjoong still watches him closely, patient and attentive, clearly waiting to see if there’s more. And because there is, Seonghwa eventually says, “When you did the—pressing down on my throat while—” he can’t get himself to say it. “That freaked me out a bit at first,” he admits. “But once I settled into it, it was—um—hot?”

Hongjoong goes visibly pink and Seonghwa stares at him in delight, watching the flush spread visibly across his cheeks and the tips of his ears, his eyes darting away for a second as if he suddenly can’t bear direct eye contact anymore.

“That,” he says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand, “was completely spur of the moment.”

“Mm. Not an excuse. You’re a freak.” Seonghwa laughs tiredly.

Hongjoong laughs quietly under his breath, still pink-cheeked. “Well,” he says, “now you’re stuck with me, so.”

Seonghwa blinks slowly. ”Am I?”

Hongjoong’s eyes widen, panic flashing across his face as realization catches up with him. “I mean—” he starts quickly. “If we— if you wanted—”

And maybe Seonghwa is projecting, but what’s clear to him from both of their ends is hope. That they made the right choice and this won’t ruin them in the future. Before Hongjoong can embarrass himself further, he reaches up and slides his hand into the hair at the back of his neck, fingers curling there instinctively. He pulls him downward gently until they’re close enough to share breath again.

Tonight had stripped him raw emotionally just as physically, leaving him wrecked and nothing hidden anymore. And somewhere between the care, the praise, the overwhelming tenderness threaded through every rough thing Hongjoong did to his body, Seonghwa had realized he was tired of rebounds and unsaid feelings. And looking at Hongjoong like this, stripped down to the absolute core, he realizes there’s no point pretending anymore.

“I want to be yours,” he says softly.

Hongjoong’s eyes flicker over his face, searching for any sign he didn’t mean it, and Seonghwa only pulls him closer in response because it’s terrifyingly true. He must find what he’s looking for in his eyes because Hongjoong exhales shakily and then kisses him slow and deep. “You can’t say things like that,” he murmurs against Seonghwa’s lips, “unless you want to start another round.”

Seonghwa recoils instantly in genuine horror, his entire body protesting violently at even the suggestion. “No,” he says immediately. “Absolutely not. I’ll die.”

Hongjoong bursts into helpless laughter. “You’re dramatic.” Seonghwa glares weakly while he keeps laughing into his shoulder. Then he kisses him again. “I want to be yours too,” Hongjoong whispers, kissing him again, slightly deepening it.

Eventually, after nearly twenty minutes of doing little more than lying tangled together, Seonghwa starts feeling awake enough to think about moving. Not that he particularly wants to, but he needs a real shower and a real bed.

The dizzy emotional haze has faded almost entirely now, leaving him warm, tired, and deeply content beneath the steady weight of Hongjoong wrapped around him. His thoughts feel clear again even if the rest of his body still feels vaguely like soup—heavy-limbed and boneless, strangely disconnected in places, like his brain and muscles are communicating through static.

For a few moments, he simply lies there listening to Hongjoong breathe, then he exhales softly and starts trying to gather himself together enough to move.

“Ready to leave?” Hongjoong asks quietly.

“I want an actual shower,” he admits, voice still rough. “And then I want my bed. Or yours. Doesn’t matter.”

Hongjoong smiles softly against his shoulder. “Yeah. Okay.”

Reluctantly, he climbs off him, Seonghwa almost reaching after him at the loss of warmth. Smiling faintly, Hongjoong reaches down for his own clothes first, pulling his sweatpants back on quickly before tugging a shirt over his head. Even half-dressed and sleepy-eyed, he somehow still looks devastatingly attractive.

Seonghwa stares for approximately two seconds too long, getting caught.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“That was a very specific look for ‘nothing.’”

He ignores him pointedly, watching the corner of Hongjoong’s mouth twitch upward before he steps back toward the couch and reaches for him carefully.

“C’mere,” he says softly. Seonghwa lets himself be guided upright, a dull ache pulling through his lower back beginning to settle. Hongjoong catches his half-wince immediately. “Back?”

“Mm.” he exhales quietly. “Just sore.”

Instead of responding verbally, Hongjoong shifts closer and slides one arm carefully around his waist while his other settles on Seonghwa’s thigh, holding himself up. He leans over him slightly so they’re nearly face to face, close enough that Seonghwa can feel his breath brush faintly against his cheek.

Taking advantage of their closeness, Hongjoong presses his lips to his cheek and his thumb into one of the aching muscles near his spine.

Seonghwa exhales immediately. “Oh.”

Hongjoong’s mouth curves faintly. “Yeah?”

He massages slow, firm circles into the tight muscles in Seonghwa’s lower back patiently, treating every tiny reaction from him seriously, adjusting pressure immediately whenever he shifts or breathes differently.

He pulls away after about a minute, kissing Seonghwa’s cheek again in the process. “Better?” he asks quietly.

Seonghwa nods once, feeling warm all over for reasons that have very little to do with the massage itself. “Mm.”

Hongjoong studies his face for another second like he’s making sure he means it before finally seeming satisfied, gathering Seonghwa’s clothes from the floor. He crouches down in front of him and guides his sweatpants back up his body without a word. Seonghwa watches him through sleepy eyes, lifting his hips, too tired and comfortable to feel remotely self-conscious anymore. There’s something deeply intimate about allowing someone to handle him like this so casually, especially since Hongjoong doesn’t make it awkward, he simply pulls the fabric carefully back into place over Seonghwa’s hips before reaching for his hoodie next.

“Arms up,” he murmurs and Seonghwa obeys automatically.

When Seonghwa emerges through the collar, slightly dazed and blinking sleepily, Hongjoong just…stops for a second. There’s so much softness in his gaze it makes Seonghwa want to squirm.

“What?” he mumbles. Hongjoong only smiles and leans forward to kiss the tip of his nose. He scrunches his face instantly, shoulders hunching up with embarrassed delight. “Joong,” he complains weakly.

“You’re cute,” Hongjoong says simply and rises back to his feet, gently taking both his hands. “C’mon,” he murmurs.

Seonghwa lets himself get pulled upright and immediately sways dangerously. “Oh,” he says faintly. His legs buckle just enough to make him stumble directly into Hongjoong’s chest, who catches him instantly, laughing softly while wrapping an arm securely around his waist. Seonghwa presses his face into his shoulder with a deeply offended pout. “I don’t think they quite work yet,” he mutters into the fabric.

Hongjoong laughs harder at that, the sound warm and bright above his head. He presses a kiss against Seonghwa’s forehead while adjusting his grip to support more of his weight. “Well,” he says lightly, “unless you want to sleep here, I suggest you scold them into working because I’m not carrying you home.”

Seonghwa pouts harder, leaning nearly his full weight against Hongjoong who simply holds him closer, tightening his arm around his waist.

In the morning, Seonghwa finds himself face to face with Wooyoung in the kitchen.

“Oh my god, did it finally happen? Tell me it did!”