Archive of Our Own

Paris welcomes them with downpour. It's atmospheric, in a way - the reflections of restaurants and shops illuminate the streets alongside warm hued streetlights and the cloud of rain paints a haze, straight out of a dream. There's a blend of people, some certain in their paths as they cross pavements they've walked hundreds if not thousands of times - paying no mind to their surroundings as they hurry towards their destinations, home, probably - and those who lounge in the bustling restaurants that line the streets, drinking in the atmosphere. Tourists, likely.

Youngjae falls somewhere in the middle. From his seat in the taxi, he marvels at the structures that interweave to form the skeleton of the city - tall, beige buildings framed by metal balconies winding around them, narrow windows neatly lined across, some lit up with signs of life, faint shadows painted across drawn curtains. Time blurs as he takes in the view, so different from home. The architecture carries a timeless elegance, limestone history untouched unlike the ever-changing industrial landscape of Seoul. An endless chase of modernity, as if constant building and rebuilding of the same steel structures is a mere inevitability of the circumstances of their existence. In comparison, the classical edifices are alluring - standing true despite the constant evolution of the world around them.

He wonders if the sentiment would crumble if he were to take a closer look, if the firm insistence on remaining unchanging leads to the inevitable decay of the buildings, all corroding from the inside. How long do they stand on their own without accepting maintenance? Does this innovation take away from their identity, or is it simply a necessity to keep them standing?

The hotel seems to be a mix of the two - stone protruding into a curve around a revolving door entrance, now-familiar iron gates of balconies visible across the building. The lobby is similar to the hundreds of others they've been in, a seeming constant irrespective of the location. It's classic in a different sense to the exterior - polished and neat. The members shuffle into one elevator, the managers in the other, suitcases already taken care of.

Jihoon's been thrumming with energy since the taxi ride, when the manager had announced the room allocations. He shakes droplets of rain out of his hair and with them, energy rolls off of him in waves, bouncing around the steel frame of the elevator. Perhaps in the past, Youngjae would have pretended he hadn't noticed, would have tried to steady his own racing mind before it caught onto any implications. He would've tried to focus on other things, but Jihoon would be so there, fidgeting with his hands in Youngjae's peripherals. Unlike Youngjae, he has never shied away from his emotions. His heart is on display in a pocket by his chest, though it is barely contained. Always feeling in wholes and not parts.

Youngjae has always been tuned to Jihoon's frequency, even before he'd accepted the fact, back when he'd tried to stifle the subconscious flutter under his ribs, fighting a battle he refused to name. Now, the waves travel through his skin, before fizzling out into a low hum, pleasant in his chest as they beat along to the rhythm of his heart. He could try - if he wanted - to attribute it to age, or the decompression that comes with having settled into their careers, and it wouldn't be entirely untrue. But the real reason for his ease - the biggest puzzle piece - beams at him like the sun as Youngjae bumps their shoulders together in an unspoken grounding gesture.

The elevator doors open with a ding and the members file out into the hallway, shortly accompanied by a handful of staff.

The manager claps his hands, "Right, I'll be in this room if you need anything. Remember you have to be up at seven tomorrow. Don't stay up too late," he turns to Jihoon, "and no funny business. I mean it." Jihoon just beams at him. Youngjae's used to it enough to bite back the urge to put on a facade of annoyance. The staff are accustomed enough to no longer bat an eye. (That, and the diligence that never slips. For all his teasing, Jihoon's never been a second late to their call-times, hates the thought of inconveniencing others with sloppiness.)

Past Youngjae never could understand how he does it. The shamelessness - no - the candour. Like his world won't stop turning if he's seen.

There's a tug at the corners of Present Youngjae's lips as he occupies himself with the keycard in his wallet, not even a hint of tightness in his throat. With a sigh - lighthearted, at least - and shake of his head, the manager retreats to his room. Dohoon whispers something to Jihoon, who shoves at his shoulder with a roll of his eyes. Youngjae opens the door to their room.

There's not much that shocks him when it comes to hotels, given that they're in and out of them like some second home, though on occasion he's pleased with an assortment of local snacks left in each room as amenities by the hotel staff. Today, there are two white envelopes with their names penned on them in smooth calligraphy - Mr. Jihoon and Mr. Youngjae - and a couple of boxes, a bottle of champagne sits beside them.

He stares for a moment, then it crashes over him like a wave.

For once, finally, they're in such close proximity with no camera tracking their every movement, no staff breathing down their necks. Just the two of them, two double beds, a bottle of champagne and the damn envelopes.

It's all far too close to something Youngjae has buried - a life that's always felt out of reach. A place for him to breathe, wholly, on his own like he's finally breached the surface after being underwater all this time, no longer running on borrowed air, fleeting touches and mock barriers. It's a rush, all the oxygen surging into his lungs at once. It's dizzying.

Jihoon's voice pulls him back to the present, "Hyung, you should shower first. I might take a while."

The energy that had earlier settled into him picks up - not quite restlessness, but there's a subtle tugging at his chest. Awareness, perhaps.

It would be embarrassing to the Youngjae of the past - the simple fact of that they're sharing a room being enough to tip him off balance when he's supposed to be the composed one. It's not like they'd never been roommates before, but things have changed. Youngjae's become familiar with Jihoon's insistent hands, how his smile feels against his lips, his little gasps - but the label that encompasses it all is still fresh, corners still glued down in place, unpeeled. Now that they're alone - as official boyfriends - the knowledge loops in his brain like a broken record while the stream of the shower plays as a reminder of the presence behind it all. There's another tug of anticipation beneath his ribcage, but instead of swallowing it down, he presses two gentle fingers to it and breathes.

He reaches over to the desk, picks up his envelope and places it next to Jihoon's. Mr. Jihoon and Mr. Youngjae.

Jihoon finds him like that - sitting on the edge of one of the beds, staring at the envelopes. He walks over, a couple of droplets dripping down his wet hair and onto the carpet, and plops himself on the floor between Youngjae's legs, his back towards Youngjae, like it's the most natural thing in the world. "The floor's dirty," Youngjae says, but he just hums in response. Youngjae picks up the towel from around his shoulders, and Jihoon's humming a melody he recognises but can't name. His eyes are closed, shoulders relaxed in contentment as he dries his hair, hands tapping rhythmically where they rest on his crossed legs.

When he puts the towel aside, Jihoon tips his head back to meet his eyes. He's achingly boyish like this, looking up at him, but Youngjae can see lines that have sharpened over the past two years. A testament to his growth, though he's still the same Jihoon who burst through the practice room doors with a force that uprooted something he thought he'd long buried.

His voice is cheesy - a clear attempt at making him laugh, "Bonjour, Monsieur Youngjae."

Still, Youngjae's heart flutters. He whispers, "It's bonsoir, you fool."

Jihoon's eyes turn to crescents as he beams, leans back so his head fully rests against the edge of the bed frame between Youngjae's legs, still looking up at him. It must be straining his neck, but he doesn't make a move to change it. He's so undeniably beautiful - radiant not just from the shower, but in an idiosyncratic glow, one that warms Youngjae to the core. It blooms when he registers that Jihoon's attempting to alleviate the stirring in his chest - attentive in a way that still stuns him.

"Jihoon-ah." It's a miracle his voice doesn't waver.

Jihoon's smile softens out, eyes swimming with a look Youngjae's learned is reserved for him. "Yeah?"

"Kiss me."

A blush paints his face red immediately - Youngjae watches patiently as he blinks a couple of times, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. Then, he reaches his hands up to pull him down towards him.

It should be ridiculous, the angle shouldn't work, but Jihoon's lips pull into a smile and Youngjae presses into it. The energy in his ribcage unfolds itself, begins to flow in his veins like the first few flickers of a lit candle's flame. He pulls Jihoon up and turns him around so they're facing each other, barely getting a chance to look at him before he reattaches their lips with a vigour that tips Youngjae onto the bed with a small inhale, Jihoon instantly reaching for a pillow to place under his head. When they pull back, it's with a slick sound that goes directly to Youngjae's core. He wants. He wants with an urgency he didn't know he could ever experience. Jihoon's chest heaves as he balances himself on his hands. His face - ever so readable - is scrunched up like he's trying to keep himself steady.

It had, at the beginning, been overwhelming to be wanted so candidly, in the all-encompassing way Jihoon can't control - that he knows overwhelms him, too. He'd never wanted to change that; in truth, it had been a catalyst of his own adoration, to see the unrelenting love he pours into his craft, his people - the way it amplifies when Youngjae is the one to receive it. His own hands simply felt too small to hold the weight of being loved so deeply.

Now, he finds the sensation swelling inside of him, as he smooths a hand over Jihoon's forearm and his eyes pry open with awe.

Tenderness - audible even to his own ears - bleeds into his voice. "Are you okay?"

Jihoon takes a deep breath and nods, expression softened into sincerity by the grounding touch. "I'm okay." Youngjae smiles up at him, enveloped by warmth. Then, earnest as always, "I want you."

It's raw, more than ever. There's a vulnerability in the way his voice wavers. A reminder of the novel situation they're in, of the strength of his desire. Youngjae wants to stick his hands in Jihoon's feelings, to let them flow over him like honey, painting him until his own skin disappears beneath it - hoping it stains. He thinks Jihoon understands it, too.

Jihoon's shoulders are firm under his touch as he leans up to meet him in a slow, steadfast kiss. I feel it too, he tries to say with every press of his lips, so much. He kisses back with just as much fervour - Youngjae's toes curl where his legs are wrapped around his calves. When Jihoon's tongue slips in his mouth he makes a small noise of surprise, tries to breathe as he licks at him. It's too much - the heat pooling in his stomach, the way Jihoon's devouring him. He pulls back.

His lips are slick, mouth parted to reveal a tongue almost matching the hue of his cheeks. Youngjae traces the soft, tinted skin with a thumb before speaking. "Jihoon-ah, shall we?"

Jihoon's eyes widen, and on his cheeks there's a fresh wave of heat that Youngjae now cups his hand around. He marvels, for a brief moment, what an indescribable feeling it is to witness the effect one can have on another.

"How-" he swallows, choking on something Youngjae can't see but knows well. "How do you want me?"

It's fascinating, even to himself, that there's not an ounce of embarrassment in his veins - instead there's adrenaline. It's new, it's exhilarating, a feeling he'd previously avoided - never thought he'd crave. He leans up to whisper against Jihoon's lips, so he can feel the hitch of breath against his own when he says, "Want you inside me."

A wounded noise fills the gap between them - Youngjae swallowing it up with a soothing kiss. "There's stuff in my suitcase." He watches with fondness as Jihoon rummages through his bag with attempted care at keeping the contents in place, though his keenness doesn't allow for it.

When he climbs back onto the bed, he meets Youngjae's eyes in question, to which he nods, a smile tugging at his lips at the sight. A few strands of hair have begun to stick up, and Youngjae runs a hand between them, revelling in the way his head follows his hand like a magnet.

"Are you sure about this? It's not too much?" He asks, direct in a way he knows Jihoon needs.

He shakes his head and smiles - a gentle thing despite the energy Youngjae knows is building up in him - eyes curving into soft crescents. "I've never been more sure in my life."

Youngjae laughs softly and links their hands together, bringing them up to the hem of his shirt. Jihoon's eyes are wide as they trace the movement, lips falling apart as the first sliver of skin is exposed. He flushes with delight at being wanted so openly. It was something he'd struggled to get used to - it's what took him so long to finally accept it - the fact that he is capable of being admired with the weight of Jihoon's heart, the raw effect he has on him. Now, it warms him completely, seeping in every crevice of his body, down to the bone.

Jihoon thumbs along his waist as though he's mapping it for memory. A puff of breath tickles his stomach as he leans down to press a kiss there, heat immediately sinking through the layers of his skin, rushing to the spot. As he hikes his shirt higher, he leaves hot kisses in its wake, the sensation lingering even after his lips lift. He's so focused, but when his eyes lift up, Youngjae shivers both under his gaze and the pecks that continue to trail up his torso.

His eyes flicker to one of the buds on Youngjae's chest, and he nods. First, there's a delicate close of his lips, a kiss to acclimate him to the new sensation. It's strange - the touch doesn't affect him nearly as much as the thoughtfulness does; there's a care that bleeds into Jihoon's every action, as though it's as subconscious as the pumping of his heart. The way he manages to swallow down his own eagerness to provide what he thinks - knows - Youngjae needs, like it's nothing for him. Like the first, second, and third thing in his mind will always be Youngjae, Youngjae, Youngjae.

(Secretly, he looks forward to the day when Jihoon lets his own desire take the reigns. For now, he revels in the meticulosity, lets himself mould into his touch, cards an appreciative hand through his blond strands hoping it fills for words he's too overwhelmed to say.)

Then, Jihoon rolls it between his teeth experimentally and his head falls back, a shudder running through his body. Immediately, he soothes it over with his tongue and the heat and slickness is so much. He lets Jihoon lap and bite, huffing out small breaths as he squirms at the sensation - wet, warm and jolting - until he pulls back, wide eyes flickering from the puffy bud to Youngjae's face. Astonishment paints his features as he takes in Youngjae’s appearance - presumably looking as affected as he feels, and his chest blooms with pride as Jihoon’s cheeks flood pink - both equally stunned by their effect on each other. With his hands cradling Jihoon's face, he pulls him down for a kiss before breaking them apart, thighs twitching at the slick sound, and takes a proper look at him.

The tips of his blonde strands kiss his brows, a furrow in them mirroring one Youngjae recognises - one he sees daily. It's a look of sheer resolve, born of a desire to be the best he can, to perfect every angle until he there's no room for error; his sweat-stained shirt and the passage of hours upon hours proof of his dedication. It's breathtaking. It's heartbreaking. It draws out a blend of astonishment and concern Youngjae's both marvelled with and endured time and time again with a lump in his throat and hands that itch to reach out - to admire with one hand and, with the other, soothe into calm.

(At first he'd watched, hesitant to breach the sacred atmosphere that encompassed Jihoon and his dynamic reflection. Then, as time passed and their eyes met through the mirror more often, the air around the younger boy had become less untouchable - transcendence bleeding into something softer: a routine of their own.

On the fourth occasion, Jihoon had flopped to the floor next to him, boneless. Youngjae had taken it as an invitation.

"I don't know how you do it."

Jihoon smiled, catching on, "I don't know how not to. It's like… I have so much energy in me all the time that I need to do something constantly to expel it, and it's only really gone when I've completely exhausted myself."

He learned, through time, that this was Jihoon's way of regulating himself - through drive. Never through a state of mediated steadiness Youngjae had learned. When Youngjae brought it up, a couple months later, Jihoon turned to him, incredulous: that's possible? They both laughed.)

Here, without hesitation, Youngjae breaches the space between them to smooth the crease out with a kiss, hearing a quiet hitch of breath ring through the air.

He runs a soothing thumb across his cheek. "Jihoon-ah," he smiles to himself as he pictures his heartbeat picking up at the term, "You know, I'm not expecting this to be perfect. I don't want it to be, either." Jihoon's lips part in surprise, "I just want you to let yourself feel everything. No holding back - that's all I need. Think you can do that, can you let go for me?"

Jihoon swallows, eyes glassier than they'd been before. Youngjae can only imagine the feelings swelling up inside of him, crashing over him like waves. He lets the words sink in, and when the furrow softens out into something devastatingly tender, he speaks again to bring him back up to the surface.

"Besides, it's hot when you're a little sloppy," he brushes their noses together, "Shows me how much you want me." He swipes a tear away from Jihoon's cheek as he chokes out a laugh.

"I love you," he croaks out, eyes alight with wonder.

A surge of affection rushes through Youngjae's veins. "I love you," he replies with a smile he can feel in his cheeks. God, would he die for this boy - and to think it took him this long to accept.

Jihoon sniffles, a cute thing that rips out a giggle from them both.

"Still with me?" Youngjae checks, voice bleeding with a fondness audible even to his own ears.

Jihoon nods, "Thank you," he breathes out, pressing a brief, sweet kiss to his lips. His eyes shine, no longer with tears but with delight. Youngjae thinks back - back to the trainee Jihoon who had brushed him off all those years ago. The Jihoon whose fire burned so bright it had almost gone supernova, how truly lucky he feels to witness the boy in all of his glory, to be illuminated by him. He's never felt more alive than when he's in the pull of Jihoon's orbit.

Jihoon speaks again, voice low but a sheepish smile pulls at his lips. "I just-I want you so much it makes me look silly."

There's a flutter in Youngjae's chest - gentle and steady like the beating of a butterfly's wings. "You always look silly."

Jihoon pouts, mirth swimming in his gaze. "Hey, I'm cool…!"

(There you are, Youngjae thinks, smiling to himself.)

Youngjae leans back in, words caressing Jihoon's ear - feeling a shudder in the air. "Why don't you prove it to me, then."

There's a sharp inhale and then Jihoon's pulling back, tugging his shirt over his head. It's not a clean movement, his arm getting caught in the sleeve, but he smiles and Youngjae thinks: there we go.

Back then - before all of this - he'd convinced himself Jihoon was so young, that he didn't know what he truly wanted when he'd been pining after him. It was simply a puppy crush - Youngjae was the shiny new toy he'd eventually get sick of as he bit closer and closer to the core. As he maps out Jihoon's torso, running his hands over the slopes of his body - carved as a result of his dedication to his craft - he almost shakes his head at himself. As if Jihoon, the boy who had signed away half of his life to fulfil his passion, would be mistaken in following his heart. How wrong he'd been. It had been him who wavered, had blocked off the part of him that wanted.

Jihoon's chest heaves under the palm of his hands, a flush already beginning to paint the skin. Where Youngjae's softer, Jihoon's firm to the touch.

Youngjae sheds his shirt and Jihoon's gaze immediately fixes itself on his pecs, still puffy from where his lips had been minutes before. He laces their hands together, once again, and revels in the shared warmth as he brings them up to squeeze at his chest, smiling at the small gasp that falls out of Jihoon's mouth as a shuddered breath escapes his own. Then, Jihoon takes initiative, moving their hands lower and lower until they reach the waistband of his trousers. Youngjae lifts his hips up, noticing the way the Jihoon gulps as he hooks his fingers through both layers of fabric, and together they tug until he's bare.

Jihoon gasps again, blinking in an almost-comical way, taking in the form from head to toe. Youngjae flushes under the attention, and even more so when he speaks.

"Hyung how-" he sucks in a breath, "How are you so beautiful everywhere."

Youngjae throws his head back in a delighted laugh, instinctual, but when he catches Jihoon's gaze on his cock and the way he bites his lip, he feels himself twitch, and within seconds the patience bleeds out of him. He sits up to free Jihoon's length and he's winded by a feeling he's never known to this extent. He understands his words - there's truly something so breathtaking about seeing Jihoon in his bare form. He's about to lean in when Jihoon stops him with a hand to the shoulder, he's visibly fighting the urge to squeeze his eyes shut again.

"Not today. I won't last." Youngjae savours the way there's not an ounce of shame in his voice.

He tilts his head to the side, playing with the lobe of Jihoon's ear. "You think you can last while prepping me?"

Jihoon stills, as if the question is still computing in his mind, then nods before grabbing the bottle of lube, uncapping it to warm the gel between his fingers. With the dip of Youngjae's head, the first finger goes in - smooth from the thorough prep he'd done in the shower. Without the discomfort, he gets to take in all the changes in Jihoon's expression. Concern, as he flickers his gaze up. Wonder, as he watches the digit disappear. Something Youngjae can't name but has seen time and time again, as he takes in the sight.

Jihoon's voice comes out broken, like he's speaking around something colossal. "Did you- In the shower?"

"Got myself ready for you." Jihoon gasps and the movement of his finger stutters. Youngjae smiles, deciding not to tease further despite the thrill running through his body, "Add another."

It's so different to how he'd prepped himself. Where he'd been clinical and methodical, Jihoon's fingers are deliberate, exploratory, as though to map out Youngjae from the inside, memorising every inch of him. When there's a crook of his fingers, his head flies back in a gasp - Jihoon reaching the spot he's never been able to find himself. His hips kick up under their own volition as his body takes in the novel sensation, the tips of his fingers tingling with it.

"Good?" Jihoon asks, voice slightly wobbly from what he knows is the reciprocal effect of his impact on Youngjae's body.

Youngjae doesn't know if he smiles now, or has been smiling this entire time, but Jihoon's eyes meet his and his look of concentration melts under the exchange.

"So good, Jihoonie. You're - ah - so good." The words pull a whimper out of him, as if he's the one being taken apart. He presses a heated kiss to Youngjae's lips as the third finger pumps in, swallowing down his panting as if it's the only air he needs to breathe.

Youngjae breaks the kiss, fighting the urge to chase the rhythm of Jihoon's fingers with his hips. He cradles Jihoon's face in his hand as he asks, "Ready?"

His eyes widen, as if the reality of their situation had just sunk in. Then, he nods. "I'm ready." He pulls his fingers out, pressing short, sweet kisses to his lips to make up for the emptiness. Youngjae still feels the stretch of his smile against his own lips, and thinks Jihoon does too.

Jihoon reaches for the condom, but he stops him in his tracks. He rips the foil with his teeth, just to relish in the bob of Jihoon's throat as he takes the sight in. Now that he's learned to welcome the force of Jihoon's desire, it's a dizzying sensation that swirls in his veins. The reactions he draws out of the younger boy are wildly addictive, he wants to push and pull until they both come apart under the weight of it all. He wants the steadiness, the rush, the tenderness - the fast, the slow, and everything in between.

More than anything, he wants Jihoon.

With one hand, he reaches for one of Jihoon's, pressing them both down into the mattress. With the other at the base of his blonde strands, he brings Jihoon down to his level to press their lips together, wet and hot, before parting to take in his slack expression as he enters Youngjae for the first time. A bead of sweat rolls down Jihoon's forehead, and Youngjae's overcome with the urge to taste it on his tongue.

Jihoon presses into him with little ahs falling from his lips, but his eyes never break away from Youngjae's, an attentiveness that comes to him as easy as breathing. Even with the prep, it's a strange feeling. He waits, patient as ever, until Youngjae feels his expression smoothen, adjusting to the stretch and feeling his body make room for Jihoon; the final brick of the wall between them disappearing in the utmost, intimate accommodation, after all this time and all the doubts that shielded him from a craving he thought he'd have to suppress for life. Finally.

When Jihoon croaks out a broken hyung, he thinks to himself he'd do it over and over again. For him.

There's a lump in his throat - a physical manifestation of the years, the longing, and finally, the having - as his body moulds itself around Jihoon. Jihoon's expression mirrors the feelings building up inside him, and it pushes him to swallow down so he can talk. "You can move, Jihoon-ah."

He stares at him in shock, as though he's about to ask him if he's sure, so Youngjae rolls his hips experimentally and he snaps out of his daze, eyes squeezing shut as his hand tightens around him. Jihoon stutters, "W-Wait a minute!"

Youngjae's eyebrows raise in amusement and he bites down a laugh as affection bubbles up, "Take your time, baby."

Jihoon's hips stutter at the term, punching a moan out of them both as Youngjae clenches around him.

God, the sight of Jihoon above him, thick lips parted in pleasure, shiny eyes flitting back and forth to take in all of Youngjae, the hand that comes to his waist to steady them both. The way his eyes trail down to where they're joined, wide in disbelief. Youngjae thinks of what it'd be like to fuse the two of them together, witnessing first-hand the extent of each other's desire in its raw, whole form. But when their eyes meet again, Youngjae thinks there's no need. He feels it all in the space between them. Jihoon nods at him, taking in a shaky breath, before he starts to move.

Weightlessness - it's a sensation Youngjae had accepted he'd never feel, always looking straight ahead of him with his feet rooted to the ground while others floated, head brushing the clouds. There's a lull in his mind unlike anything he's felt before, as if alongside the pushes inside of him, Jihoon's ability to completely immerse himself in feeling enters his system too, nothing but the haze and sparks of pleasure like thunder and lightning coursing through him. The golden glow from the lamp reflects around Jihoon like he's the sun, Youngjae basking in the warmth of the rays. There's a smile curled on his face, one Youngjae sees when his figure is slumped to the floor of the practice room, wholly content after an exhilarating session. To think he unconsciously draws out the same reactions in him as his passion, his life's work - his first love - to think he could hold up to even a fraction of it. It's a feeling he could dedicate hours, years, to search for the words to truly encompass it and still fall short. Jihoon's fingers press deliciously into the meat of his thigh, the pressure superposing with the pooling in his gut, as he moans out feels good, hyung you feel so good. He feels his own lips moving subconsciously, words spilling out without his control but it doesn't bother him - they're truths Jihoon deserves to hear.

With every thrust there's a new wave of pleasure flaring through each one of his nerve endings. Jihoon's moans sound like they're ripped from his chest, guttural. He's so full - full of Jihoon, full of his adoration for him, an all-encompassing feeling he's never experienced before. Jihoon's thrusts are getting sloppier as he's groaning more, deep sounds, that tip Youngjae closer to the edge. "Hyung- hyung you're so-," his voice breaks off with a strangled moan. It cuts through the haze, resurfacing Youngjae from underwater.

"I know, baby- ah. You're doing so good, feel so good. You're so good to me."

That's all it takes for Jihoon to fall apart, burying his head against Youngjae's chest as his thrusts grow even sloppier but his rhythm never slows - dancer stamina and determination to get him off. Jihoon knows him, truly knows him, all the years of unrelenting attention amassing. Despite the post-orgasmic haze, it's like his body inherently caters to Youngjae's needs, like that in itself is a need to him. Before he can even request it, Jihoon lifts himself off of his chest so they can face each other as he lifts one of Youngjae's legs with the hand that had been digging into his thigh - he takes the hint and wraps both of his legs around his waist. The new angle, the hand (calloused in some places, smooth in others) that takes his length, smearing the slick precum around the head, the hot, wet kiss he places to his lips - Youngjae feels like his chest is going to burst from it all.

When Jihoon, flushed with a sheen of sweat over his whole body, says "Let go for me, hyung," voice rough around the edges, he comes with a loud gasp of his name, pleasure bursting behind his eyelids like fireworks as his back arches towards Jihoon, whose gentle thrusts guide him through his orgasm. The weightlessness takes over again.

When he comes to, he notices Jihoon pressing small kisses to his torso, tongue flickering out occasionally. He laughs, "Are you a dog?"

Jihoon whips his head up and his eyes curve into that sweet, sweet smile of his. "You taste good."

With a hand to the back of his head, Youngjae guides him up to a kiss. It's slow, bleeds a golden warmth under his skin, achingly tender.

Jihoon pulls back from the kiss with a slick sound, and his expression turns… sheepish? "I have a confession."

Youngjae hums and plays with the strands at his nape. "What is it, Jihoonie?" A shiver runs through his skin when he says his name, he feels it under his fingertips and smiles to himself.

"I didn't know how you'd want me, so I prepped too."

Laughter bubbles up Youngjae's chest, a sound he's never heard from himself - like the effervescence of a carbonated drink. The situation is so absurd. It's so them. "You perv," he laughs out.

Jihoon looks down and huffs, amused, "Guess that makes two of us."

Youngjae cups his face with one hand, directing his eyes to meet his own. "I should do something about that then, don't you think?" He says it mainly for the reaction, knows they're too tired to do anything but shower and huddle into bed together.

Jihoon splutters, hiding his face in his hands but the delightfully reddening tips of his ears are still visible. "Choi Youngjae, you've lost your mind."

Youngjae laughs so loud he thinks they'll get a complaint from their hotel room neighbours. (It's Dohoon and Shinyu - so he doesn't particularly care.)