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The screams that fill the arena are like a drug to him.
The moment Seonghwa steps off the stage, ears still ringing, buzzing with the hum of cheers, he feels a shiver running down his spine. He wants more. He wants all the eyes on him; he wants to stand centre stage, under the heat of the spotlight, and feel the pulsing of the applause on his very skin.
The rest of the fan meet concert goes by in a blur.
He remembers looking at the fans—smiling, interacting, completing hearts with people in the crowd—and looking at his members, all grinning wide as they finished the songs. He remembers the feel of the leather pants, and the material of the leopard print jacket he was wearing—is still wearing.
There are still goosebumps down the length of his arms and a shiver that traces down his spine, his mind expecting the cheers to continue. Every step he takes feels like the most important one he’s ever taken, even as it leads them back towards the green room. The show might be over, but Seonghwa won’t be able to leave this mindset for a while—the one that paints him as a star, the one that makes him feel untouchable, makes him feel powerful, feel compelling.
Seonghwa smacks Mingi’s ass as the other passes by. Mingi turns towards him, wide-eyed, mouth opening to say something, a smile creeping onto his lips. He’s still wearing the matching leather trousers, and the leopard print waist coat highlights his wide shoulders and slim waist, as well as his round ass.
Seonghwa moves right past him: a confident stride. “Mingi-yah,” he calls over his shoulder, a smirk creeping onto his lips, “you looked hot out there.”
He hears Mingi mutter “hyung” with something that resembles astonishment.
It’s true, too. It wasn’t the first time Seonghwa had got hard on stage—how could it be, when he thrives under the bright lights—but it was certainly one of the most memorable. He wonders if Mingi noticed, with his hips swaying so close, but the length of Seonghwa’s jacket had likely covered the erection under the unforgiving material of leather.
The rest of the members stream into the room, one by one, adrenaline still buzzing beneath their skin. Seonghwa turns towards Mingi and sweeps his eyes down the length of the younger’s body; he still looks very attractive, after all. “You got a perky ass with a great sway—what else am I supposed to say?” Seonghwa says with a shrug, eyebrow arching with amusement as he notices Mingi’s cheeks turning pink even through the makeup.
Seonghwa turns towards one of the mirrors. His gaze sweeps down the length of his body. The jacket is flattering, making his shoulders look wider. The leather pants make his legs look great, long and lean, tight around the thighs in the way that makes him look stronger. He can’t help but check himself out, again and again, smirking when the other members make comments about how good he looks.
Seonghwa’s gaze snaps to the door when Hongjoong enters. He moves away from the mirror and leans his hands on the back of the couch. Leaning forward, his eyes follow Hongjoong as he walks through the room. He claps some of the members on the back, hugging others, grinning wide as they all happily recall the various moments from the stage. But Seonghwa can’t bring himself to care about the congratulations and celebrating the concert just yet. His focus is elsewhere.
Hongjoong is still wearing that skirt.
The frills are so cute, colourful and bright, layered over each other. It’s so short. Combined with the heel on Hongjoong’s shoes, the skirt makes his legs look longer, even when they’re covered by the material of the pants under. Immediately, the image from before—when he was monitoring Hongjoong and Yeosang’s performance backstage—returns in full force.
Hongjoong, wearing that skirt, and only that skirt.
Seonghwa shuffles closer to the couch. He can feel his cock twitching at just the thought of Hongjoong’s strong thighs bare, left uncovered by the shortness of the skirt. He’d run his hand up Hongjoong’s leg, fingers massaging the muscle, before his knuckles would graze the material. He tightens his hold on the couch now, even just thinking about it. His tongue follows the line of his teeth, throat working as he swallows, the images hitting him in full force. Hongjoong would look so good with Seonghwa’s hands on his waist, the waistband of the skirt sitting just beneath Seonghwa’s pinkies.
As Hongjoong moves towards Mingi, Seonghwa can’t help himself. “That skirt is so cute,” he voices.
Hongjoong glances towards him, just a fleeting look, before he wraps Mingi in a hug, whispering what is likely compliments in his ear. As he pulls away from Mingi, he pats him on the shoulder and then turns to look at Seonghwa. His eyes linger—finally, Seonghwa wants to scream, look at me, look at me—and scan down the length of Seonghwa’s body. He wonders whether it’s just his imagination when he notices Hongjoong lingering on his crotch, but before Seonghwa can make a snide remark, Hongjoong moves towards him.
“Well done,” he says, as his arms move to wrap around Seonghwa’s waist. “You did well, Seonghwa,” he whispers, his lips so close to Seonghwa’s ear that he feels the warmth of Hongjoong’s breath on his earlobe.
Seonghwa brings one hand to the back of Hongjoong’s head, keeping him pressed close, then slides his other hand down to Hongjoong’s ass. He grips hard, fondling Hongjoong’s plush ass through the material of just the pants; the edge of the skirt grazes his hand and Seonghwa feels his cock twitching once more as his fantasies come to life. He only wishes the pants weren’t in the way.
“So cute and adorable,” Seonghwa murmurs in response, his words accompanied by another firm squeeze of Hongjoong’s ass. “Got a tight little ass,” he says quieter, pressing his lips to the rim of Hongjoong’s ear, closer than he’d ever dare around other people.
Hongjoong pulls away, forcing away from Seonghwa’s hold on his head, and quickly glances around. Seonghwa doesn’t take his eyes off of him, feeling the thrum of anticipation as he lets his gaze descend towards Hongjoong throat, focusing on the freckle on his skin. Fuck, he wants to lick it so bad right now.
The tips of Hongjoong’s ears are a little pink when he looks at Seonghwa again. Seonghwa looks down at him through heavy-lidded eyes, impatient to slide his hands over Hongjoong’s body, desire humming under his skin. He reaches down with his other hand and cups Hongjoong’s ass with it, then pulls the other forward until Hongjoong’s body is pressed firmly against his. He has to stifle a groan when Hongjoong’s front presses against his erection.
“Maybe you should wear this without anything under next time, sweetheart,” Seonghwa mutters, his breath hot, meeting Hongjoong’s in the small gap between their faces. He expects Hongjoong to look shocked—perhaps outraged at his indecency in front of their team—and the emotions flicker over his face, but they’re so brief Seonghwa almost misses them.
Instead, there’s a glimmer of realisation in Hongjoong’s eyes. His lips curve up in a smile that borders a smirk, far too calm and composed. He grabs Seonghwa’s arms—tighter than usual, his grip firm—and pulls them away, but he doesn’t step away. Seonghwa already misses how Hongjoong’s ass felt under his hands, but their hips are still aligned, stood so close that he can feel pressure against his hard cock, and there’s not a doubt in his mind that Hongjoong can feel just how hard he is too.
His hand presses to Seonghwa’s hip. It’s an innocent enough touch; high enough that nobody would question in, low enough to make heat simmer beneath Seonghwa’s skin. Seonghwa knows it’s anything but innocent though. Hongjoong’s fingers tighten over his hip, squeezing once, like a promise, and then he steps away, not giving Seonghwa another glance as he turns towards the room and begins talking to someone else.
Seonghwa is left just standing there, his cock hard and breathing heavier than he should be given the situation. He watches Hongjoong walk away, his eyes glued to that skirt swishing with every step.
When one of the managers comes in and announces that they should be getting ready to leave, the members begin to disperse. There are smaller dressing rooms down the hall, each taken over by whoever arrived first, or dictated by the order they had their makeup done in.
As they file out of the room, Seonghwa casts another look at himself in the mirror. He looks so fucking good in this outfit. His mind conjures up the memories of the screams around them, louder with every thrust of his hips, even more so when he grabbed Mingi’s waist and pulled him into Seonghwa’s waiting body. His cock twitches at the mere memory, and he takes a deep breath to try and control himself.
It doesn’t work.
When he leaves the green room, instead of moving towards the dressing room where his own bag is, he turns the other way.
Seonghwa bumps into Yunho on the way out of the dressing room, who gives him a bright smile and some encouragement. If he’s confused as to why Seonghwa is here—in this dressing room—then he disguises it well, though the knowing quirk of his lips already tells the full story. Seonghwa walks into the dressing room and immediately locks the door behind him.
At the sound of the door locking, Hongjoong looks up from across the room.
Seonghwa immediately lets his eyes roam down the length of Hongjoong’s body. He’s already taken his shirt off, as well as the little clips in his hair. The skirt and—unfortunately—the pants underneath, still remain. “Seonghwa?” he murmurs, looking confused, before the same kind of recognition reaches his eyes the way it did to Yunho just seconds ago. Hongjoong, however, doesn’t hide it. He breaks out in an arrogant grin, running his fingers through his hair and leaning back on the vanity table, watching Seonghwa in return.
Seonghwa begins moving towards him, feeling like a panther stalking its prey.
That’s how he feels tonight. Like a predator, ready to pounce, strong and dangerous—top of the food chain. The arrogance bleeds into his every step, and it looks like Hongjoong can recognise it with ease.
He stops right in front of Hongjoong. There are so many things he wants to say about Hongjoong in that skirt—so many thoughts he’s had over the past few days of the fan meet. But they all die on the tip of his tongue as he meets Hongjoong’s gaze and drowns in the depths of it.
“You had so much to say earlier,” Hongjoong says, breaking the silence. “No more comments?”
Seonghwa can sense the challenge, and he’s not about to back down. He smirks, finally leaning into the previous feeling, letting his gaze openly drop down the length of Hongjoong’s body. “You’d look pretty on someone’s lap like this, baby,” he says, smirk widening into a grin. “All spread out, all—”
Hongjoong reaches out and grips just above Seonghwa’s jaw, effectively stopping him. Seonghwa’s eyes widen slightly, caught off guard, the previous bravado beginning to fizzle away with every second he watches Hongjoong’s eyes darken. It feels like the very air in the room changes, thinning out; Seonghwa finds it difficult to breathe suddenly, body frozen under such a simple touch from Hongjoong.
Hongjoong’s eyes burn dark and hot, like molten steel. “You’re forgetting yourself, sweetheart,” Hongjoong mutters, putting emphasis on the pet name, no doubt recalling Seonghwa’s earlier words. He squeezes once, just a bit harder, and Seonghwa whines, feeling a short but sharp sting in his jaw that quickly blurs the line between pain and pleasure. “Even with a skirt on, I’m the one who’ll make you cry on my cock.”
Seonghwa tries to keep up the facade, but then Hongjoong leans forward and crashes their lips together. His hand leaves Seonghwa’s jaw and moves down to his hip, where he pulls Seonghwa forward, pressing their hips together. Seonghwa moans into his mouth when his erection presses against Hongjoong’s hip, moving his hips once, grinding forward to seek out more of the contact. He whines when Hongjoong’s grip tightens and he presses Seonghwa’s hips back with ease, forcing him to stop, then claims Seonghwa’s mouth for himself, tongue pushing past his lips to explore every nook and crevice.
He finds himself melting into the kiss, his arms coming up to wrap around Hongjoong’s shoulders. His shoulders relax as he kisses him back, over and over, letting Hongjoong control the pace, like he always does. Hongjoong’s other hand splays over his stomach, then slides under the material of his shirt to do the same, fingers hot on Seonghwa’s skin. His blunt nails dig into the meat just above Seonghwa’s hip, hard enough to likely leave behind faint half-crescents and a trail of heat in their wake.
Seonghwa registers Hongjoong’s words only then.
There’s a momentary feeling of embarrassment at how quickly he crumpled, before the determination returns tenfold. Seonghwa pulls away from the kiss, smirking to himself when Hongjoong tries to chase his lips. “Cry?” he echoes. “I’d like to see you try.”
He knows Hongjoong might not be competitive, but when it comes to Seonghwa, it’s an entirely different game.
Hands still on Seonghwa’s waist, Hongjoong spins them around, until it’s Seonghwa’s lower back presses against the edge of the vanity table. He gasps at the rough gesture, and when Hongjoong presses further into him, he feels the solid line of his cock under the skirt and pants. Just the thought makes him want to throw his head back and moan, but with the last remnants of his arrogance, Seonghwa glances at the barely there space between their bodies and smirks. “See?” he mutters. “You love wearing that skirt so much, you’d probably wear it to sit on my cock too.”
Hongjoong laughs, but it’s a humourless sounds, one that sends a shiver down Seonghwa’s spine. It certainly doesn’t reach his eyes, and when he stops laughing, the expression he settles on is solemn. The sudden change makes Seonghwa think about their earlier days, at how strict the leader—their captain—was back then; it’s something Hongjoong has worked on, certainly, but he also found other avenues of exercising that control, of bending people to his will and following his orders.
Seonghwa. He found Seonghwa.
“Watch your mouth, bunny,” Hongjoong warns, and the tone of his voice is enough to send Seonghwa hurtling towards the floaty feeling he always gets around Hongjoong.
“Or what?” he mutters, before he can even think about the repercussions.
Hongjoong’s hands on his waist tighten—fuck, he hopes they leave bruises now that there are no concerts—and he turns Seonghwa around, so quick he gets a bit dizzy with it. He faces the mirror suddenly, and Hongjoong shoves him against the vanity table, forcing Seonghwa to bend over it.
He keeps a hand low on Seonghwa’s back, while his other moves to the button on Seonghwa’s pants. As soon as his fingers ghost over the bulge of his erection, Seonghwa lets his head drop forward with a groan. He catches his own reflection in the mirror and it immediately brings a blush to his cheeks.
How could he keep up this facade? He’s already red-faced and panting, eyes glazed over as he stares back at himself, and Hongjoong has barely touched him.
Hongjoong pulls his pants and underwear down to his thighs, then wraps his hand around Seonghwa’s cock. He slides his palm over his sensitive head, already weeping precum, and Seonghwa moans at the sensation, letting his head fully drop to the vanity table, pillowed by his hands. Hongjoong spreads the moisture over his length, humming to himself, certainly pleased by Seonghwa’s reaction.
“Did you think you were some bad boy up on that stage?” Hongjoong murmurs. He leans forward, pressing his front to Seonghwa’s back, and like this, Seonghwa can feel the outline of Hongjoong’s cock pressing against his ass through the material still in the way. He wants Hongjoong to take it off—he needs Hongjoong to take it all off. He whines at the words, unable to respond as Hongjoong wraps his hand around Seonghwa’s length and starts moving up and down, stroking him slowly, his grip just on the side of too light, too loose. “You can’t even thrust properly, darling,” Hongjoong continues, and Seonghwa whines again, trying to dispute the accusation, “only thing you know how to do is ride cock.”
As if to punctuate his point, Hongjoong grips his hip and pulls Seonghwa back, so he can feel Hongjoong’s hard cock through the material again. His hips roll back automatically, even without Hongjoong’s instruction, chasing the sensation.
“See?” Hongjoong mutters. He chuckles darkly, a sound that both sends a shiver down Seonghwa’s spine and fills him with anticipation.
Hongjoong continues stroking him, and Seonghwa thinks he might be going insane. His eyes are closed, his forehead pressed to his hands that lie flat on the table. There’s sweat rolling down his face, down his back, seeping into the material, but what he focuses most on is Hongjoong’s touch and smell. There are still traces of his perfume clinging to the clothes, the scent spicy and musky, and it makes Seonghwa’s head spin. His touch isn’t as tight as he wants it to be, and his hips start a slow rhythm of back and forth, trying to fuck into Hongjoong’s hand and then back against his clothed erection.
“Hongjoong,” he breathes out, on the verge of begging.
“What is it, bunny?” Hongjoong asks, his voice calm, unaffected. Seonghwa whines at the nickname, pushing his hips back once more, urging Hongjoong to tighten his fist around Seonghwa’s cock and let him feel some respite. “Need more?” he asks, and Seonghwa almost sobs out an agreement. Before he can say anything though, Hongjoong continues. “You thought you could satisfy someone with this little cock? How adorable.”
Fuck. The comment shoots a wave of molten hot lava through Seonghwa’s very core. Hongjoong tightens his fist around Seonghwa’s cock, just for a moment, and the squelch that follows is downright filthy; his cock is so wet, the precum continuing to dribble, spread down his length by Hongjoong’s hand.
“Look at this,” Hongjoong murmurs, followed by another one of those chuckles that makes anticipation build in Seonghwa’s stomach. Hongjoong trails his other hand into Seonghwa’s hair, fingers tightening in the strands, and with a tug pulls his head up. Seonghwa groans at the sting, eyes opening, catching his own reflection in the mirror again. His bottom lips is swollen where he’s been chewing on it, and the hazy look in his eyes has only gotten worse. Hongjoong tugs again, then pulls his hand away from Seonghwa’s cock.
“No, wait, no, I—” Seonghwa starts, suddenly desperate, turning over his shoulder to look at Hongjoong. There are pleas already on his lips, ready to beg, but there’s just one small spark of his previous bravado that clings on, that refuses to give Hongjoong the satisfaction.
“Look,” Hongjoong orders, then brings his hand up to show Seonghwa. He can see just how wet Hongjoong’s hand is, Seonghwa’s precum covering his fingers, webbing and stretching between them. His mouth opens to say something, but he’s mesmerised by the sight. Hongjoong leans closer, pressing his front to Seonghwa’s back, placing his lips by Seonghwa’s ear. “I might be the one wearing a skirt, but it’s your pussy that’s wet and dripping all over my hand…”
With that, he lets Seonghwa’s head fall back to the table. Seonghwa shivers, unable to take the words and the embarrassment that wells up inside him. His bottom lip trembles, so he bites down on it once more. He tries to think of the perfect retort, the response that will surprise Hongjoong, that will make him freeze and understand that Seonghwa can have the upper hand too, but his brain feels like it’s melting. He’s too hot, far too hot, still wearing so many clothes, and the air has become so thick—Hongjoong’s perfume on his tongue—that he finds it difficult to breathe, to even pull air into his lungs and think rationally in this situation.
Hongjoong’s hand doesn’t return to his cock, and Seonghwa feels like crying out in need. Maybe he could order Hongjoong to do so—to keep touching him, to make him come, to let Seonghwa stuff his mouth with his cock—but the chances of his boyfriend carrying out the request are slim.
Hongjoong suddenly pulls back. He shoves Seonghwa’s underwear and pants further down, exposing more of him, and he feels the slick of his own precum spreading over his skin. It will soon become sticky when it dries, but that’s the least of his concerns. Hongjoong then grabs his ass with both hands, fondling the perky cheeks for a moment, before spreading them wide. Seonghwa feels the cold air on his exposed hole, a shiver of anticipation racing down his spine.
Suddenly, he feels moisture hit his rim, and when Seonghwa looks in the mirror, over his shoulder, he can see Hongjoong spitting down on his hole. Hongjoong rubs through the moisture with his thumb, spreading his spit around Seonghwa’s rim, barely dipping the digit in and just the teasing touch has Seonghwa whining and trembling.
“Gonna be a tight fit today, baby,” Hongjoong says, but his tone doesn’t imply he’s put off by the idea. His thumb rounds Seonghwa’s rim as he speaks. “But you deserve it, don’t you? For being such a brat.”
Seonghwa moans as Hongjoong breaches the ring of muscle with his thumb, just for a second. He hears Hongjoong chuckle, and then he withdraws the digit. Instead, Hongjoong spits down on his hole again, slides one of his other fingers through the spit, then pushes it inside. Seonghwa pushes his head against the table, arching his back further.
“You look so pretty like this, babygirl,” Hongjoong murmurs, voice laced with desire. The new nickname makes Seonghwa’s cock twitch with arousal once more. Fuck, he needs to be touched so badly. His length is throbbing, left untouched, forgotten as Hongjoong begins stretching him out. One of his hands begins to snake down to touch himself, already imagining just how good it will feel. He feels a sharp sting on his ass, a slap echoing the dressing room. The skin burns, and Seonghwa hisses, glancing up into the mirror. He meets Hongjoong’s gaze in the reflection, and the man raises his dark eyebrow as if in a challenge. “No touching,” he orders, and Seonghwa barely stifles the disappointed whine.
His skin burns where Hongjoong touches, not enough lube for this, sweat already gathering all across his temples. A drop trails down the side of his face, and he feels Hongjoong’s finger retreat for just a second; there’s the filthy sound of Hongjoong spitting again, and then there are two fingers being pushed inside his hole. Seonghwa moans, the burn finding the perfect balance between pain and pleasure, and he would happily take more of the pain if it meant getting Hongjoong’s cock inside him sooner.
Fuck, his bravado had crumpled as soon as he entered this room.
“So tight,” Hongjoong groans behind him. “Such a whore, but always so fucking tight.”
Seonghwa moans at the words.
“Aren’t you?” Hongjoong continues, his tone contemplative. “Filthy whore. Look at you.” Seonghwa glances up in the mirror and meets Hongjoong’s gaze. He can see his own reflection and how utterly wrecked he looks already, with swollen lips and drool drying in the corner of his mouth. “Couldn’t follow through with that whole arrogant persona, could you, babygirl?” Hongjoong pouts at him, mocking and belittling. “No, of course not…”
He scissors his fingers inside Seonghwa, punching another guttural groan from his throat.
“In fact,” Hongjoong continues and Seonghwa focuses on the deep timbre of his voice as opposed to the way his fingers keep moving in and out of him. His fingers still then, however, and it takes Seonghwa a few seconds to notice before he whines, impatient. “I think I’d like to hear just how good and polite you are…”
Seonghwa tries to move his hips back, forcing Hongjoong’s fingers deeper, but the other’s hand moves to his hip and grips it firmly, stopping his movements. Seonghwa wants to be good, he does, but he also wants to see how far he can take this bravado—this arrogant mindset he settles into so easily on the stage—and how far he can push Hongjoong in this situation.
“How do good girls speak to their boyfriend?” Hongjoong asks him. He pushes his fingers in once, then pulls them out again, a breathy chuckle leaving his mouth as Seonghwa’s hips try and follow the movement. He can’t even focus on the question. All he can feel are Hongjoong’s fingers inside him, still, hot and unmoving, and it’s beginning to drive him insane with every second that passes.
“I don’t… I don’t know…” he breathes out, high and whiny, his fingers dragging blunt nails across the wood of the vanity table.
“Then think, babygirl,” Hongjoong says, firmer. He pushes his fingers inside and deeper, just so, the perfect angle to press against Seonghwa’s prostate.
Seonghwa feels like screaming. His cock is throbbing, desperate to come, but every time he wants to slide his hand down and touch himself, he reminds himself that Hongjoong has forbidden it. He tries to think of something else—something other than the pressure on his prostate and the way it makes him shiver and tremble—and just returns to the same thought of his neglected cock.
“I-I don’t—” Seonghwa cuts off with a shuddering moan as Hongjoong presses harder against his prostate. Why is he even putting up a fight? His brain feels fried, any previous thoughts and conflicts long gone. All he can think about now is what will get him release the quickest—what will satiate his need to come, what will ease the pressure on his hard cock.
“What do good girls say?” Hongjoong repeats the question.
“O-Oppa,” Seonghwa stutters, then moans when he feels Hongjoong’s fingers begin to move inside him again. “Oppa, please,” he continues, more confident, even more desperate. He hears Hongjoong inhale sharply behind him, and his touches become more pointed, firmer, harder, as if Hongjoong is slowly beginning to lose his own tact and control too.
“That’s it,” Hongjoong murmurs. “Be a good girl for oppa.” He tangles his other hand in Seonghwa’s hair, pulling slightly, and continues stretching him with two fingers.
“Hongjoong, please, I—” Seonghwa groans with frustration as Hongjoong stops his movements entirely. “Oppa, please, please, fuck me, please,” he chokes on a sob, the desperation turning to frustration, vision clouding with unshed tears.
Hongjoong’s fingers retreat suddenly and Seonghwa keeps his head pressed against the table. He considers whether he could reach down and touch himself—it would only take a few strokes—but he fists his hands and keeps them pressed on either side of his head instead.
Seonghwa waits with bated breath, every second stretching on and on. There’s a shuffling sound behind him, and he’s missing Hongjoong’s presence, so Seonghwa turns his head over his shoulder to check what’s happening.
He’s met with the sight of Hongjoong mostly naked. He’d taken the pants under his skirt off, so now his toned legs are on display; Seonghwa can’t help how hard he swallows when his eyes land on Hongjoong’s thick thighs. He’d clearly taken his underwear off too, and that’s been kicked off to the side.
What Hongjoong has left on, however, is that short, frilly skirt.
It’s too short to cover the way his cock stands erect beneath the material, tenting it, his swollen head just peeking out past the colourful fabric. “Oh fuck,” Seonghwa finds himself whispering, filled with so much anticipation that it’s beginning to eat him alive, “please,” he whispers, finally meeting Hongjoong’s eyes, “please, oppa, please, please.”
Hongjoong presses a hand against Seonghwa’s back, forcing him down against the table again. He moans at being manhandled with such confidence, and if he turns his head, he can just about see the edge of Hongjoong behind him in the mirror reflection.
“See how pretty you beg?” Hongjoong whispers. Seonghwa feels him rubbing the head of his cock against his rim, then more moisture as Hongjoong spits on the same spot once more. Seonghwa can feel his toes curling with impatience, ready for Hongjoong to push in and fill him, fuck him through the adrenaline still coursing beneath his skin. “You put on quite a show, bunny, but we all know you’re my good girl.”
Hongjoong presses in, slowly, groaning at the tightness around his length. Seonghwa can feel the burn of the stretch, teeth gritting in response, but he presses his forehead against the cool surface of the table and breathes through it, focusing on Hongjoong’s words instead. He doesn’t know why the words send so much heat through him—why they make him feel like he’s touching live wire, thrilling and dangerous, goosebumps down his arms and every hair standing in anticipation. He likes them, and perhaps he shouldn’t. Maybe he should be embarrassed, that’s certainly his first instinct, but the words burrow deep into his very being and something deeper—something he’d kept hidden so well—answers with a resounding call.
When Hongjoong pulls back a bit and presses in again, Seonghwa can’t help the groan that leaves his mouth. It’s tight, so fucking tight that he wants to scream, but there are already too many people around just beyond that door.
“Next time you’ll know your place, sweetheart,” Hongjoong says behind him. He pulls back, then thrusts in hard and fast, knocking the breath out of Seonghwa’s lungs. “Think you could ever fuck anyone like this?” He does it again, punctuating his point, so deep inside Seonghwa that he wonders whether he’d be able to see Hongjoong’s cock bulge in his stomach. “With your pathetic, little cock?” He can hear the pout in Hongjoong’s voice, and it makes the desire stir even more in his gut, chasing the feeling Hongjoong’s words leave behind.
Seonghwa gets lost in the rhythm of it then.
The in and out of Hongjoong’s cock. Hongjoong’s breathy groans and moans. The feel of the cool vanity table beneath his cheek. The warmth of Hongjoong’s hands on his bare skin, and the way his clothes rub against his skin in his half-undressed state.
His cock bobs with every movement of Hongjoong’s hips. He’s rough enough to force Seonghwa’s body into the same back and forth, and he wonders pathetically about how much it would truly take to come in this moment. A simple, singular touch to his cock would likely have him blowing his load, especially given how he keeps leaking precum over the length—over his pussy, he recalls Hongjoong’s words.
“Gonna fill you up so good, babygirl.” Seonghwa clenches around him, and Hongjoong groans. “Gonna be dripping my cum for days to come, so fucking deep—” he cuts off with another groan, his thrusts losing rhythm for just a moment, before he returns to the steady in and out, the slap of their bodies filling the dressing room. “My pretty girl,” he adds, one hand leaving Seonghwa’s waist to trace up Seonghwa’s spine, under his shirt, gliding through the sweat, then back down.
When Seonghwa lifts his head enough to look at his reflection, he’s met with the fucked out look on his face again. He can see Hongjoong behind him, his hands gripping Seonghwa’s hips, his chin tilted down and eyes eagerly watching as he fucks in and out of Seonghwa’s tight hole. Hongjoong’s shoulders tense as his grip on Seonghwa tightens, and he sees a bit of a bounce in his pecs as he pistons his hips back and forth. There’s the dark flash of his arm tattoo, too.
And there, right in the corner of his vision, Seonghwa sees the skirt.
It sways and swishes back and forth in time with Hongjoong’s hips. He can see where it begins to tent slightly to accommodate for Hongjoong’s cock, and every once in a while, Seonghwa feels the material graze the skin of his ass on a particularly deep thrust. He remembers Hongjoong’s earlier words and how right he was—but then again, he’d let Hongjoong fuck him under any circumstances, it just so happens that the skirt was extremely attractive.
“Hongjoo—” Seonghwa moans, then cuts himself off. “Oppa, I’m so close,” he murmurs, breathy and high-pitched. He closes his eyes tightly, trying to hold on until Hongjoong gives him the go ahead. Each thrust is perfectly timed, rubbing against his prostate, bringing him closer and closer to the edge. He’s sure he could come untouched now—he knows he will, soon too, if only Hongjoong could give him the word.
“Are you, baby?” Hongjoong asks, his fingers digging harder into Seonghwa’s hips. He moans at the sensation, hoping there are finger-shaped bruises left behind after. “You think you deserve to come?”
Seonghwa’s bottom lip trembles and he bites down on it quickly. No, he doesn’t—he knows that. Not before Hongjoong. Not after how he acted and how far he pushed. “No,” he whimpers pathetically, “but please, let me,” he begs anyway, hoping Hongjoong shows him some mercy tonight.
“You’re right, you don’t,” Hongjoong breathes, and the way his own tone pitches makes Seonghwa think he must be getting close too. “Not before I put a baby in your tight, little cunt.”
Hongjoong slaps his ass too, the sound echoing the dressing room, and Seonghwa can already imagine it. He’s seen it before. He can see it now too, imprinted on the back of his eyelids: Hongjoong coming inside him, pulling out, his cum thick and dripping from Seonghwa’s hole. Maybe Hongjoong would gather it with his fingers and press two back inside, pushing it all back inside, ensuring it stayed inside Seonghwa like a claim nobody else would know about.
“Oh fuck,” Seonghwa sobs then, feeling the tears gathering in his eyes, feeling the moisture on his eyelashes. “Please,” he gasps, imagining the vulgar action over and over, how the cum would look pooling around Seonghwa’s hole, how opaque it would be dripping down his perineum and how displeased Hongjoong would look at the fact some managed to trickle out.
“Good girl,” Hongjoong mutters, and then he’s groaning, his hips stilling deep inside Seonghwa.
Seonghwa feels the rush of warmth as Hongjoong’s comes inside him. The heat in his gut erupts, his own cock twitching as Hongjoong’s length presses against that bundle of nerves inside him. He follows Hongjoong over the edge moments after, now that he knows he’s gotten permission, coming all over himself and his clothes without so much as touching his cock.
Fireworks erupt behind his eyelids, shiver racing down his spine, trembling beneath Hongjoong’s steady hands on his waist. It’s all too much—the warmth, the sweat, the stretch around Hongjoong’s length, the smell of his perfume, the feel of his skirt pressed to Seonghwa’s skin—and not enough all at the same time. His mind blanks, brain short-circuits, and Seonghwa is left a drooling mess, holding onto the table for dear life, as if the very floor beneath his feet could slip away at any second.
Drained, mind hazy and feeling weightless, Seonghwa presses his sweaty forehead against the surface of the vanity table. He tries to catch his breath, his lungs burning with the lack of air, but Hongjoong suddenly pulls out, punching another quick gasp out of him. Seonghwa feels the trickle of cum over his perineum, then down to his thighs; he can’t find it in himself to care that it will get on the clothes. It’s the last day of the fan meet, after all.
Behind him, Hongjoong clicks his tongue with disapproval. The sound has Seonghwa’s head lifting, trying to see. When he follows Hongjoong’s eyes down, he notices the younger idol is holding the material of the skirt between his fingers, gently rubbing a small patch of white liquid into one of the brightly coloured frills.
“Look at the mess you made,” Hongjoong mutters, his voice low. He sighs then looks up. That dark spark in his eyes is still there, and it sends a shiver down Seonghwa’s spine. He wants to argue that it wasn’t his fault—that it’s Hongjoong’s cum on the skirt, not his—but he finds himself unable to argue when Hongjoong is looking at him like this, still stuck in that firm, commanding mindset that he gets into when it’s just the two of them. It always thrills Seonghwa, and even now, when he knows they don’t have time to go again, he waits with bated breath to see what Hongjoong will do next. “On your knees,” he orders.
Seonghwa goes more than willingly. He turns and drops to his knees in front of Hongjoong. The other tangles his fingers into Seonghwa’s hair—firm enough, but substantially softer than usual—and directs Seonghwa back to his crotch. “Need you to clean it all up, babygirl,” he says softly, almost reverently, his tone at odds with the sheer authority that Seonghwa feels emanating from his very being.
He moves Seonghwa’s head closer, lifting his skirt slightly to expose his soft cock, still covered in a layer of his own cum. Hongjoong doesn’t need to guide his head any further. Seonghwa is desperate to be good—always has been. In the days of their debut, that desperation often manifested in thoughts and feelings of uncertainty—of hopelessness, of dejection and gloom—all because it was difficult to separate his success as an idol from his success as a person. But he’s found a way to channel it into other things, like this, where the line isn’t as blurred.
Seonghwa mouths across Hongjoong’s soft cock, tongue trailing over the skin. He’s hot and wet, his cum musky and salty on Seonghwa’s tongue, but he diligently traces his tongue over every inch of skin, trying to do as told. He feels Hongjoong’s cock twitch with interest again when Seonghwa places his lips over his head and sucks it into his mouth, but then the fingers in his hair tighten in warning. Seonghwa whines at that, before he’s pulled off entirely and Hongjoong nods down approvingly at him.
“Good girl,” he whispers. He pets Seonghwa’s head gently and his eyes close at the praise and the soothing touch. “Oh, you missed a spot…” Seonghwa opens his eyes and looks at Hongjoong pointing to the cum stain that has soaked into the material of his skirt already.
Seonghwa wants to argue that it’s impossible, but he knows any disagreements will be quickly dismissed. And he wants to be good—so, so bad. He laves his tongue over the material, tasting traces of the same salt and musk—or perhaps that’s the aftertaste in his mouth—over and over again. He catches the material between his lips and sucks on it slightly, trying to draw the moisture out, and he hears Hongjoong inhale sharply above him.
“Seonghwa-yah,” he whispers finally, his voice tight.
Seonghwa opens his eyes—unsure of when he even closed them—and drops the material from between his lips. He glances up at Hongjoong, noting how his pupils are blown and the red tint high on his cheeks, then back down at the skirt, where his ministrations have done very little to get rid of the stain.
“You’re so good,” Hongjoong murmurs, petting him again. Seonghwa trembles at the words; it’s as if Hongjoong knows exactly what to say to him, exactly what he wants to hear. “Wait for me,” Hongjoong says, then takes a step away from Seonghwa.
Seonghwa wants to follow, but instead, he stays on his knees and watches Hongjoong quickly move around the room. He takes the skirt off, and Seonghwa eagerly follows his naked body with his eyes. It doesn’t last long, as Hongjoong quickly gets dressed—no underwear, a pair of loose sweatpants and a black shirt and hoodie—before he returns to Seonghwa.
There’s a wipe in his hand, and he carefully cleans up around Seonghwa’s mouth before offering his hand to him. His legs are shaky when he stands, slightly numb from kneeling, but Hongjoong keeps a hand on his waist, steadying him. Seonghwa can feel the cum trickling out of him as he stands again, but Hongjoong glances down at his watch and scowls, before looking up at Seonghwa and sighing. “We need to go, darling,” he whispers, bringing one hand up to cup Seonghwa’s cheek. His thumb moves back and forth over his cheekbone, comforting. Hongjoong leans in and presses a quick kiss to Seonghwa’s forehead. “I’ll make it up to you later, I promise,” he says. Seonghwa finds himself nodding.
As the haze slowly clears his mind, he finds Hongjoong tucking him back into his underwear and pulling up his pants. Seonghwa grimaces at the feeling of cum-stained material touching his skin, but as Hongjoong gives him a quick look over, he seems satisfied that the result of their actions isn’t immediately noticeable. Finally, he smiles and leans forward, pressing a short kiss to Seonghwa’s lips before he links their hands together.
“Okay?” he asks, checking in.
Seonghwa nods. “Mhm.”
“Good.” Hongjoong begins pulling him towards the door. He grabs his bag on the way, and by the time they walk out into the corridor, their hands are back by their sides once more.
Seonghwa smiles at and thanks the staff they bump into, but it’s less and less people now as everyone focuses on packing away. They make their way towards the back entrance, where the other members are already crowded together, waiting. Hongjoong shoots the manager a small apologetic smile, an easy excuse on his lips that is quickly accepted. The other members send them knowing looks, and Seonghwa knows there’s a blush already burning red on his cheeks.
Even as they file into the cars, he can see the other members scrambling to go in the car that doesn’t have him and Hongjoong in. He thinks he even sees them play a quick game of rock, paper, scissors before Jongho groans. Jongho goes into the car without so much as another look at them, and when they all sit down, he puts his headphones in and looks anywhere but at him or Hongjoong, his cheeks looking a darker shade of red than before.
Hongjoong sits down beside him and links their fingers together again. He leans in, pressing his lips to Seonghwa’s ear. “I’ll make it up to you at home, sweetheart,” he whispers. Seonghwa feels the smile on Hongjoong’s lips.
“Promise?” Seonghwa mutters in response.
“Always, my star.”
Seonghwa can’t help but smile at the words. After all, that’s still his favourite pet name from Hongjoong.