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The door to Chan’s hotel room opens with the quiet beeping of a keycard. He hears it clicking shut again before there’s the telltale sound of Seungcheol toeing off his shoes and hanging up his jacket. He walks in with a grin, his hair tousled from the wind, sweat dripping down his temples as always when he returns from his daily morning run.
“Baby,” he grins, making a beeline for Chan and giving him a quick kiss. “Did you know we had a physical fight in the garage last week?”
There’s a mischievous look in his eyes, his right hand waving around one of those tabloids from their hotel lobby.
“No way!” Chan exclaims around a mouthful of croissant, reaching for the paper and opening it. They’re on the title page this time, pixelated pictures of Chan leaving their garage looking disheveled, followed by a slightly sweaty looking Seungcheol.
“BREAKING NEWS” it says. “SOUTH KOREA’S STAR RACERS LEE CHAN AND CHOI SEUNGCHEOL CAUGHT IN TUSSLE.”
“Ah,” Chan breathes out. “Was that when you…”
“When I bent you over the hood of my new Mercedes? Yup,” Seungcheol interrupts, popping the last ‘p’ and grinning smugly. “You do look a bit rough in that picture though.”
Chan smiles and thinks back to a week before, Seungcheol so excited to finally get to ride his brand new car that he just had to take Chan then and there, quick and dirty right on the shiny, polished hood. They hadn’t noticed the Dispatch photographer before it was too late, too caught up in themselves and their own desire for each other.
Here's the thing: for some reason, the media and the public eye think that South Korea’s Star Racers, Seungcheol and Chan, have an ongoing rivalry, that they can't stand each other and will only be in the same room if either paid or threatened. They’ve dubbed them “mortal enemies”, “rivals”, one particular tabloid even going as far as claiming they were “ruining South Korea’s teamwork with their constant fighting”, which could not be further from the truth.
Sure, they bicker a lot. Both in private and in public. But if one were to look a little deeper and see past their quips and comments, one would find nothing but love, warmth and compassion, a years-long relationship built on mutual trust and love. You’d find rings, engraved with their anniversary and each other’s names, worn on their right-hand pinkies so as to not raise any questions. You’d find hushed words, whispered confessions and intertwined hands where nobody can see them. And, well, you’d find Chan being bent over the hood of a car, getting his soul fucked out of him.
“Seungkwan’s gonna have an aneurism when he sees this.” Chan comments, skimming the article. There's speculation if Seungcheol ambushed him, or if he was the one at fault.
Then, as if on cue, Chan’s phone lights up and starts vibrating, a picture of his PR manager appearing on screen. Chan rolls his eyes and picks up.
“ Lee Jungchan , what did I tell you about having sex where you can be caught?” Seungkwan immediately yells, not even giving Chan the chance to say anything.
“Ouch,” he winces. “Did you have to use my full name?”
“Yes I did!” Seungkwan quips from the other end of the line. “The media is already making a thing out of this, and God forbid they ever actually catch you two, because I don’t want to imagine the PR mess that will bring, and-”
“Speaking of sex,” Chan interrupts Seungkwan, a playful grin on his face. From across the room, Seungcheol raises an eyebrow at him. “How’s Wonwoo-Hyung?”
“ Ya, Lee Chan! ”
🏎️🏎️🏎️
The camera flashes are blinding, the crowd of reporters bustling with noise, but Chan feels like he’s on top of the world. He won this race, crossed the finish line seconds before Seungcheol did, and the feeling of coming first fills him with so much pride and joy that he simply can’t stop grinning.
For the Press Conference he’s sitting right between their general manager Wonwoo and his coach Soonyoung, who’s next to his PR manager Seungkwan, followed by Seungcheol’s own PR manager Jeonghan, who’s next to Seungcheol himself. Next to Chan, Seungkwan taps his microphone, the shriek of the auditory feedback silencing the bustling of the reporters.
“Let’s begin!” he says, and immediately dozens of hands shoot up.
He answers an uncountable amount of questions about his training, his future career plans, the race itself. Seungkwan immediately shoots down any reporters who attempt to ask about the “recent scandal” with a stern look, and Chan loves him a little bit for that.
“Chan, this is the fourth race in a row where you placed right in front of Seungcheol with just a small margin,” one reporter asks towards the end. “What can you say about this? Especially considering your relationship with each other?”
It’s an obvious reference to their whole “rivals” act, something they both enjoy playing into, so Chan just grins wider and decides to put some fuel to the fire.
“Well, Seungcheol over here is a few years older than me,” he starts, his eyes shining with mirth. “Someone more naive, someone with less experience than me, would think that would automatically make him better, right? But truth be told, Choi Seungcheol is getting old, he’s simply not as fit and amazing at racing as he used to be, and quite honestly I think it’s time for him to retire.”
The crowd falls silent, eyes immediately darting towards Seungcheol, who looks accordingly taken aback. The same reporter opens her mouth to ask Seungcheol something, but he lifts a hand and stops her from talking.
“See,” he says, a smile on his face. “It’s true, I am getting older, that’s nothing I can stop from happening. But I like comparing us to the cars we drive. Everyone always goes for the shiny new ones, the ones with more gadgets and a sleeker design, but after all…” he turns to Chan, his eyes twinkling. “You really only learn how to properly ride on the older models, hm?”
🏎️🏎️🏎️
The door to their shared hotel room has barely clicked shut before Chan finds himself backed up against it, Seungcheol in his line of vision with furrowed eyebrows and a little pout. It would be incredibly cute if Chan didn’t know where this particular mood of his usually gets them, which is exactly where he wants them to be.
“Why’d you call me old?” Seungcheol pouts, poking an accusing finger into Chan’s chest. “I’m twenty-eight, that isn’t old Chan-ah.”
“Oh Hyung,” Chan grins, a twinkle in his eyes. “But you are! Your back keeps hurting and just last week you complained about your knees giving you trouble. Face it, you’re getting older and weaker and–- hmpf! ”
Without Chan realizing, Seungcheol crashes his lips against the younger’s and sneaks a hand around his thighs to hoist him up, trapping him between the door and himself. He kisses him roughly, Chan precariously balanced on one of Seungcheol’s thighs, his back against the wood of the door. There’s a hint of possessiveness in the way Seungcheol’s tongue sweeps across Chan’s lower lip before he bites it lightly, pulling it between his teeth before letting go. His hands wander to the top of Chan’s pants to tug his shirt up, calloused hands running over a tiny waist, grabbing tightly, and Chan can’t help but mewl into his mouth.
Seungcheol’s lips start wandering down, kissing along Chan’s neck and worrying a small mark in between the junction of his shoulder and neck. The back of Chan’s head meets the door with a small thud , and he lets out a quiet whimper.
“I’ll show you old,” Seungcheol growls against his neck, then moves his hands back under Chan’s thighs and moves him up higher, balancing him on his hips. He turns and moves from the door to their shared bed in three long strides, Chan clinging to his neck. His fiancé all but throws Chan onto the mattress, then moves to hover over him, his lips back on Chan’s neck and his hands back on his waist. He presses a thigh between Chan’s legs, hot and thick, and Chan arches up into the touch, eyes fluttering shut. His brain already feels foggy, he’s boneless, and they haven’t even started yet.
“You little brat, you just had to act all cocky in front of the press today, didn’t you?” he whispers into Chan’s ear, his voice low and raspy, almost like a growl. His mouth wanders lower on Chan’s neck and he removes his right hand from his waist to make quick work of the buttons of Chan’s button up, all but ripping them open. His left hand is still there on his waist, warm and firm, pressing Chan down into the mattress.
Then, just as quickly as he pressed Chan down, he’s up again, standing at the foot of the bed and looking down at his panting fiancé. His left eyebrow raises mockingly.
“Up.” he orders, voice hard, and Chan shudders. Fuck.
“Safeword?” Seungcheol asks as soon as Chan has moved up to kneel on the bed.
“Pitstop,” Chan answers, rolling his eyes. They go through this every damn time , but it’s Seungcheol’s way of making sure he’s safe.
A smirk appears on Seungcheol’s handsome face. “Good boy,” he says, and Chan suppresses another shudder. Fuck.
Immediately, Seungcheol’s expression hardens again. “Strip,” he orders again, voice returning to that hard tone of before.
Again, Chan rolls his eyes.
“And why would I do that?” he asks, reveling in the way Seungcheol’s jaw clenches ever so slightly. He looks mad, in the best way possible. Chan can’t wait for what’s going to happen to him.
“Because-” the mattress dips slightly under the weight of his knees. He moves up towards Chan, taking his chin and resting his thumb on his lower lip- then slowly, carefully presses it into Chan’s mouth.
“Because you want to be good for Daddy, don’t you baby boy?”
And, oh, Chan thinks, that’s where we’re going then. It’s not difficult to get Seungcheol riled up in any way, but getting him into that mood is a much harder feat in itself. There is no way he can just let this go to waste, so instead of complying, Chan sucks lightly as his fiancé’s thumb, then lets it go with a small pop and leans back.
“No, I don’t think I want to be good, Seungcheollie,” he replies with what he knows is a shit-eating grin, and it only widens when he sees the absolutely baffled look on Seungcheol’s face, which is quickly replaced by one of controlled anger. He has one eyebrow raised in a perfect arch, jaw clenched and lips pursed.
“Fine then,” he says, and god does he sound furious. Chan revels in it. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Then, within a second and before Chan can realize, Seungcheol has him propped up over his knees, ass up, suit pants pooling at his knees. It’s terribly impressive how quickly he can manhandle him, Chan thinks, before he hears a choking noise from above him.
“Are those… are those panties!?” he hears and- oh right. He’d put on a brand new pair of frilly, baby pink lace panties between the race and the interview, knowing his pants were bound to come off at some point–- as a treat for his financé, so to say.
“Yep!” Chan giggles, then wiggles his butt around a little. “Wore them for you, Daddy, do you like them?”
Seungcheol definitely does if the sound of him choking on his own saliva is any indication, but instead of answering he swallows loudly, then gently puts one of his hands on Chan’s left cheek.
“They’re cute,” he murmurs, voice calm again. “Too bad you’ll ruin them.” he says–- and then brings his palm down onto Chan’s ass with full force. The younger yelps, more from surprise than any actual pain, but Seungcheol still gently pats his head.
“Color?” he asks, tugging a strand of hair behind Chan’s ear. God, Chan is so, so green right now, and he expresses as much with loud enthusiasm. Seungcheol gently pets the shell of his ear one more time before moving his hand back to Chan’s behind.
“How many races did we have this season already?” he asks, absentmindedly stroking his fingers along his fiancé’s lower back.
“Twenty-two,” Chan replies. He can guess where this is going.
“And in how many of these did you come first?” he asks again. Chan scoffs.
“Twenty-one,” he says, bitterly remembering the one race where Joshua from Team USA had come before him. He’d been so pent up after that Seungcheol had barely been able to sit for a few days following that particular race.
“Twenty-one then,” Seungcheol says. “Keep count, baby.”
Within the fraction of a second, Seungcheol brings his hand down on Chan’s ass again. He stutters out a weak “One”, knowing that if he doesn't comply and forgets to keep count, the consequences will be bad.
By the eighth hit, Chan feels his eyes prickling with unshed tears. By the tenth, they start rolling.
By the seventeenth hit, his head has started to fill with white noise, his ass burning, tears and snot running down his face. It hurts, it hurts so fucking good, and he wants to both move away from and into Seungcheol’s hand.
By the twenty-first hit, when he moans out the last number, Chan realizes that he is painfully hard, a wet spot forming at the front of his panties, sticking to his cock.
Behind him, Seungcheol carefully pulls the panties over Chan’s sore ass and presses two gentle kisses to each cheek.
“Good boy, did so good for me,” he murmurs quietly, almost to himself, while laying Chan down on his back and wiping the tears from his face. The look on his face is open, loving, so unlike the hard persona he’s donning during this.
“Color?” he asks again, and Chan has to take a deep breath before replying with a secure and steady “green.”
“Good,” is all Seungcheol says before hooking his fingers under Chan’s panties and pulling them over his legs. Chan’s dick springs free, slaps against his own stomach. It’s an angry red color and all but dripping with precum. Immediately, Seungcheol takes it in his hand, gently stroking up and down. With how pent-up he already is, it only takes a few seconds for Chan’s legs to start shaking with want.
“Say, baby,” Seungcheol says, still absent-mindedly stroking his dick. “Do you like coming first?”
The small, rational part in Chan’s brain screams at him. This is an obvious trap, a neon-green sign blinking DO NOT ANSWER.
Naturally, Chan shuts the rational part of his brain up and walks right into Seungcheol’s trap.
“Yes,” he answers, his voice hoarse. Seungcheol raises an eyebrow at him.
“Yes, what? ”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Good boy,” Seungcheol says on the upstroke, twisting his wrist just right, and Chan convulses. He shakes apart, lips open in a loud moan, eyes rolling into the back of his head as his orgasm overtakes him. Seungcheol strokes him through it, makes sure Chan can ride his high out as long as possible– and then, he doesn’t stop.
When Chan whines in protest, Seungcheol tuts.
“Now, baby,” he says, a mocking tone to his voice. “I thought you liked coming?”
With Seungcheol’s continued ministrations, it doesn’t take long for Chan to come all over himself again. And then once again, with Seungcheol’s deft fingers buried deep inside his hole.
By the time Seungcheol finally unzips his own pants to take his cock out, Chan is at four orgasms and counting. He’s sweaty, shaking with every breath, eyes glossed over and a string of drool collecting at the corner of his mouth. His hands are tied up above his head, Seungcheol’s silk tie wrapped around his wrists with a neat bow.
And then Seungcheol looks down at him, almost lovingly, and thrust into Chan in a single motion.
He doesn’t give him any time to adjust. Instead, he immediately sets a breakneck pace, fucking into Chan like he’s nothing but a toy for Seungcheol to use. Like he’s nothing but a cocksleeve. All Chan can do is moan helplessly, wrap his fists around the restraint, and hold on for the ride. Seungcheol’s fingers dig deep into his hips, his balls slapping against Chan’s ass every time Seungcheol fucks into him. And everything hurts, but it hurts so good.
Despite his apparent indifference in Chan’s own pleasure, Seungcheol still hits his prostate dead-on with every thrust. It has Chan shaking, almost sobbing, and he’s so out of it he doesn’t even realize when Seungcheol moves a hand away from his hip and to his cock.
It only takes the lightest touch for Chan to orgasm a final time, his dick spitting whatever little amount of cum is left in his body. Seungcheol doesn’t care, continues fucking into him. He chases his own high with a desperate speed before finally releasing inside Chan.
When Chan’s brain slowly boots up again and he drifts back into reality, it’s to the sight of his fiancé gently removing the tie around his wrists and massaging the tender skin. He smiles up at Seungcheol, tired and so worn-out, but so happy. Filled with love and familiarity. Seungcheol leans down to pepper kisses all over his face, his wrists, his arms and shoulders. He caresses Chan’s thighs, wipes the dried cum from his stomach, trails kisses wherever he goes.
“We have to shower,” he whispers eventually, lips hovering right over Chan’s heart. He pinches his hip gently when Chan doesn’t react, and Chan kicks him in the side in retaliation.
“Carry me, I can’t walk,” he whines, and Seungcheol pulls away from him with a teasing grin.
“What, I thought you said I was too old ?”