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Yunho is a totally normal guy. He is well-within the bounds of whatever lines polite society holds fast to, and an exemplary idol because of that. He doesn’t have any illegal or even unsavory proclivities.
Probably.
It does get hard — hah, okay, it feels difficult, rather — when Seonghwa is so — when he’s just —
Those big lamplighter eyes and willowy limbs, pretty hands and strong shoulders. Yunho can see the allure, easily. His hyung is lovely, and sharp, and all kinds of contradictions that, well, kinda make his pants tighter.
He’s good at hiding it, though. That’s part of the job, you see. Being able to feel things and then squirrel them away. He doesn’t gawp at Seonghwa like he did when they had just started training together, fascinated by him, by the burbling simmer in the bottom of his belly that he got from just looking at him.
No, no. He’s much more composed now. He doesn’t flee after kissing his hyung on the cheek only to get tangled in stage curtains. Yunho now has been places, seen things! He has felt heartbreak and lust and he knows now what to do not to look like a kicked puppy at Seonghwa’s feet.
At least, he does until Seonghwa steps out once, during a shoot, and is at eye level with him.
“Um,” Yunho says. He laughs, strained, when Seonghwa only breaks their eye contact to blink, slowly, like a cat. “Haha!”
Seonghwa’s hair has been getting longer, and today it’s styled down and fluffy, softening his face. His shoulders are bare, showing off the gentle swell of biceps between a sleeveless top and — Yunho gulps — elbow length black leather gloves. His bottoms are a baggy, artfully-torn denim skirt-pant combination, and he’s wearing thick lucite and leather platforms to boost him up, up, and out of here.
It’s high fashion. It looks lovely on him. Yunho opens his mouth to compliment his hyung and instead what comes out is something like: “Hngh.”
Seonghwa laughs and it tinkles like a bell, nothing like his usual guffaw. “Do I look nice?” he asks, quiet in the clamor of tight back hallways, stepping closer to Yunho.
A breath away, it’s even more obvious. Yunho has to look up at him like this, and it sends a bolt of electricity down his spine, shivering into his hands, his toes, his…. “You always look nice, hyung.”
Seonghwa’s full, pink lips turn down. Not the right answer. “But now?” he emphasizes, stepping back to do a little twirl, catching himself on Yunho’s shoulder when the boots slow him down, so much higher of a heel than he’s accustomed to.
Yunho puts his hands on his hips to steady him without thinking about it, and feels nothing but the mounting horror and embarrassment over how much their proximity alone is turning him on. Seonghwa leans into the pout, propping his other arm around Yunho. He rakes his fingers through the hair at the nape of Yunho’s neck, and the leather is warmed through by his skin as it brushes over Yunho’s. “Tell me.”
The heat that’s been slowly rising to Yunho’s face boils over. “You look…” Yunho bites off a sigh, not yet without his wits enough to say exactly how much this is fucking with him, “you look so beautiful.”
Seonghwa pinkens. Finally. Like he wasn’t expecting to hear exactly what he wanted — like Yunho doesn’t always give him exactly what he wants, when he can. When he’s lucky enough to be asked. “Thank you, Yunho-yah.”
Daring enough to ask and sweet enough not to expect it. The tender, freakish longing that Yunho tries to tamp down, that rears its ugly head inside Yunho at every glimpse of his hyung pulses, groans in agony.
Seonghwa’s nervous mouth works around something, the grimace of his true smile clawing around in Yunho’s viscera. “I feel… I feel really pretty. And you —” he hiccups, Yunho gripping tighter at his waist in anticipation, “you always make me feel like —”
Like what, like what, like what.
They’re already halfway in the dressing room. Seonghwa pulls him in all the way and shuts the door, eyes shifting around with understandable anxiety until he’s satisfied with the emptiness, surrounded by nothing but trunk cases and clothing racks, mirrors and a small loveseat.
That’s where Yunho goes, pushed in the middle of his chest. “Ow?” He rubs a little at where he’d been poked, but before he can question it — oh, god — Seonghwa perches in his lap, skirt-hem pulled up daintily for him to spread his legs over Yunho’s thighs.
“Did I guess wrong?” Seonghwa asks, eyes round as saucers. His hands on Yunho’s chest feel like they could burn clear through all of their extraneous layers of clothing. Yunho wishes they would. “I just. You always make me feel like you… want me.”
Yunho closes his eyes, humiliation washing over him in a hot, never ending wave like nausea. He thought he was so good at hiding it, and squirreling it away, and waiting to think of all of the ways his hyung made him crazy until he was alone with a bottle of lotion.
A hand, then, under his chin. Long fingers in leather. “I was right, wasn’t I?” It’s not a question. Seonghwa can already read him like a book — his embarrassment at being caught out must be clear as day. “You want me?”
Yunho is going to explode on the spot. Or implode. Probably the former, based on how this conversation alone has him throbbing in the loose polyblend pants the stylists slid him into.
He doesn’t want to open his eyes. It’s not fear, exactly — there’s a dread in him that’s been there, the certainty of knowing that eventually, you’ll be found out. That despite his best efforts, Yunho wears his heart on his sleeve when it comes to this.
That’s why he’s caught off-guard when Seonghwa leans in, a laugh on his breath, and kisses him.
It’s enough to make him open his eyes when they separate, lips sticky from product and spit. The hopeful, anticipatory gleam in his eyes is sharp, now, and heavy, like a cleaver. He’s flushed, eyes half-lidded — erotic. Yunho’s dormant hands fly up to his hips, dragging them closer, and — “ah!” — Seonghwa gasps like something straight out of porn.
“Fuck.” Yunho wants — he wants everything. He wants to burst into tears. He wants to hold Seonghwa down on his lap and rut against him until he comes. He wants to keep kissing until the end of the world, Seonghwa’s soft peach of a mouth already bruising from their franticness here. Yunho wants to use and be used and kiss and be kissed and —
Seonghwa makes the menu a lot shorter. He rubs against Yunho’s tummy leisurely, biting his lip at the texture of jeans and underwear and Yunho pressed against his cock. Yunho’s hands are numb, squeezing fitfully at Seonghwa’s hips until he’s wrapping those gloved fingers around his wrists, guiding him down and over his ass. Yunho, never one to be slow on the uptake, slips his hands down the hem of Seonghwa’s pants.
“You’re so cute,” Seonghwa says, dreamy, running his hands up Yunho’s chest, his shoulders, through his down, fluffy hairstyle. “You like the gloves, don’t you?”
“I like all of it,” Yunho gasps, caught between fucking up into the heat of Seonghwa on his lap and pulling him yet closer, hands trapped by the texture of Seonghwa’s smooth, short underwear curling under his fingers. Wires cross in his brain. “You’re so hot, no—”
For a second, nobody moves, or squeezes, or ruts, or breathes.
Seonghwa is the first to start again, laughing under his breath. “What were you gonna say?”
“I —”
Seonghwa brushes some of Yunho’s hair off his face, where he’s started to sweat. He’s gleaming with his own, frizzing up his textured hair. “I’m already wearing heels, and gloves, and — well. You might as well just say it, huh, Yunho?” God. The teasing tenderness is going to drive Yunho to actual insanity before this is done.
Instead of having to look Seonghwa in the face the first time he says it — for real, at least — Yunho slumps forward, head to shoulder. Seonghwa coos, and with his hot, hot cheek against Seonghwa’s chest, Yunho says… it. “Noona.”
Even though he asked, Yunho can still feel the sharp, surprised intake of breath it draws out of Seonghwa. He feels his cock twitch. It’s enough to make Yunho feel like melting onto the ground, sugar-ice under the hot summer of Seonghwa’s body. “Say it again.”
“Hyung…” Yunho whines, instinctive, and he nearly screams at the sharp yank at his hair it elicits. “Noona!”
“Good boy.”
Yunho lifts his head off of Seonghwa, sensitized all over, enough to feel drunk. Seonghwa — his Seonghwa, his noona — he’s watching with soft, soft eyes, rubbing his thumb over the corner of Yunho’s mouth. The praise makes Yunho feel ditzy and soft, kneading at Seonghwa’s ass absently. Everything feels slow and sweet like honey, less frantic.
They kiss again and it’s filthy — Seonghwa’s long tongue feels like it’s searching for something in the back of Yunho’s mouth, and when Yunho sucks on it he moans wetly, nasal and pathetic-sounding. It gives Yunho some semblance of peace to know he’s not the only one crumbling.
Hands flutter, then settle on their waistbands. “Can I —”
“Please, please.”
Seonghwa digs through Yunho’s pants first, pulling his cock out. It’s making a mess, drooling precum all over Seonghwa’s fingers like it recognizes the pretty hand around him. Maybe from Yunho’s fantasies. “Messy,” Seonghwa says with a giggle, like him even looking at it isn’t enough to make Yunho blow his load, let alone teasing him.
“You,” Yunho manages, “you too, n-noona. I want to see.”
Seonghwa shimmies a little, sliding the slick black fabric of his underwear down his shaft, under his balls. All of him is breathtaking — the thick patch of black hair at the base of his cock, how smooth and silky it looks, his hot, hot flush, tracked all across his cheeks and neck and shoulders.
“Let me,” Yunho insists, digging his hands out of their crawl over Seonghwa’s soft ass cheeks to spit in his right palm, knowing he can just about manage to fit two together in the circle of his spindly fingers. (As to how he knows, well, that’s a story for another day.)
He strokes them together. Seonghwa’s cock is slimmer and shorter than his but not by much, and they’re both leaking enough to make a disastrous mess on their brand-name clothes. Yunho slows on the upstroke just enough to sweep his thumb over their cockheads, squeezing them together in a wet kiss.
Seonghwa throws his head back and keens. His leg twitches at the sensation, and the platform of his heel knocks violently against Yunho’s knee. “Ow, jeez —”
“Sorry,” Seonghwa says, pretty and pleading, still humping into Yunho’s hand minutely. “I’m not used to these….”
Yunho grabs at the clear heel, and the corners bite into his skin with the severity of angle — unforgiving plastic. It’s uncomfortable, and the angle is weird, and Seonghwa is fucking perfect, shoe digging against his hand, eyes hawkishly concentrated on Yunho as they move sloppily toward something together. “You should wear them again.”
“Yeah?” Seonghwa pants, hips rolling into Yunho’s grip, fingers tightening again around the back of his neck. “You want noona to wear them for you?”
Yunho sobs, slurring so much he can’t even tell what he’s saying: a noona, a please, maybe. Seonghwa surges up to kiss him — and — he whines through his nose, low voice straining under the weight of his orgasm, spilling over Yunho’s hand, Yunho’s tender cock.
“So good,” Seonghwa shivers, mouth moving against Yunho’s panting lips, hips still slickly sliding against Yunho’s, cock softening in Yunho’s ever more frantic grip, “so good for noona, Yunho-yah.”
Yunho’s eyes sting as he cums between them, shaking.
The post-nut clarity is slow coming. Seonghwa wipes his hands tenderly over Yunho’s forehead, his wet eyelashes, his chin, his mouth where he had started to drool. He kisses Yunho, soft and hunting, and Yunho feels fucked out, brainless, melting into the couch under him.
They made a mess. Yunho grimaces at the cooling cum smeared between the two of them, all over the bellies of their nice clothes. Seonghwa’s black top, with its artful cutouts and long, uneven hemline is absolutely worse for wear.
But Seonghwa doesn’t seem like he minds one bit. Indeed, he’s practically purring, smiling with his lips pressed together like he’s holding back a giggle, eyes sparkling. “I guess I do look nice.”
Yunho laughs. “I guess so.”
“Same time next week?”
“Maybe not at a shoot.”
“No,” Seonghwa says, and his face is amused, his eyes dark like he’s not even close to being done with Yunho. He shivers, nerves alight. “But noona has plans for you.”
“Okay,” Yunho says faintly, well and truly fucked. “Sounds like a date. Noona.”
Seonghwa smiles, all teeth.