Work Text
It comes out of the blue.
Seokmin's head is on Minghao's chest, and Minghao's running his fingers through Seokmin's hair. Seokmin’s not saying anything, but he's humming, tracing patterns against Minghao's skin. Minghao is a cuddler by nature, even if he likes putting up a front that he isn't. And Seokmin, well, Seokmin’s the best kind of cuddler. He goes pliant when there’s a soft surface and a person involved, moulding his body to whatever Minghao needs. Today, he’s tucked around Minghao’s side, head tucked under Minghao’s chin. “You know,” Seokmin looks up at him, eyes wide and bright. “You don’t have to be so gentle with me all the time.” Minghao’s not sure where Seokmin’s going with this, raising his eyebrows, even more puzzled when Seokmin blushes and avoids meeting his eyes. “I just mean,” he trails off. “I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to be rough. With me. When we fuck. I’d like it, actually.” It comes out of Seokmin in one breath, Minghao’s hand freezing in the motions of petting his hair. “You want what?” “Spank me or blindfold me or like, tying me up is fine too, I think,” Seokmin mumbles, not once meeting Minghao’s eyes. “I always wanted it but like, you look like you’d be good at it.” Minghao hasn’t tried. He likes to think he’s a giving lover though, even if he and Seokmin aren’t really lovers. “Thanks?” Minghao croaks out. “We don’t have to though!” Seokmin hurriedly continues. “You can just ignore what I said. I like this too. It feels nice but um, I would, um, like to try.” Minghao’s not sure if this is the right time to bring up the fact that the kinkiest thing he’s ever done is fuck someone in front a mirror. Fuck Seokmin in front a mirror. For the most part he likes to think of himself as a gentle lover, and he is. But he’s also a pushover, in different ways to Seokmin, maybe, but a pushover nonetheless. A pushover who wants his bandmate slash occasional fuckbuddy slash boy he definitely has a thing for to enjoy the sex they’re having. And if Seokmin wants to get kinkier, well, Minghao’s more than willing to learn. “We can try,” Minghao says after a tense moment of silence. Seokmin’s head jerks up so fast Minghao swears he hears something crack, his hand automatically moving from Seokmin’s hair to the nape of his neck, massaging gently. “Okay,” he repeats, louder, clearer. “If you want to try it, we can do it. I can do it for you. What do you want to try the most?” “I wanna be tied up.” Now that Seokmin’s put the image in his head, Minghao dick is very interested in what Seokmin possibly looks like tied up, face down, ass up. His heart is a whole other matter. That is solely interested in getting Seokmin to understand that Minghao would do anything for him. “Gimme some time to look it up? I don’t wanna hurt you on accident.” The fact that Seokmin trusts Minghao enough to bring it up is a step in what Minghao thinks is the right direction and has him feeling like maybe he’s beginning to get through to Seokmin. The last thing Minghao wants is to hurt him because of his own ignorance. And eagerness, if he’s being honest. It’s scary how much he wants to fulfill any desire Seokmin has. “Ah, Myungho-yah,” Seokmin teases. “You’re so valiant aren’t you? I’m not a princess who will break.” He isn’t; Seokmin has a fortress built around a maze surrounded by a moat and Minghao feels like he’s hacking at Seokmin’s defenses to no avail. Seokmin’s a lot of things, yes, but he’s not a princess. Someone more precious maybe. Minghao’s still trying to figure out. They hook up a lot and occasionally watch movies together, but that’s about it. There’s no name, no label, nothing to show that they are they now. It sits funny on Minghao’s chest and he wants to address it but even on a good day Seokmin’s skittish. “Sleep,” Minghao says instead, tugging him even closer. “We have to be up early tomorrow.” Seokmin’s smile is shades lighter than his usual blinding one, but it still oozes fondness. 🌙 Minghao doesn’t say anything as he crawls into Junhui’s bed and flops on top of him, Junhui grunting, his attention never leaving the game he’s playing. Minghao knows better than to demand his attention, the same way Junhui knows that if Minghao’s voluntarily seeking him out there’s something Minghao needs help with. Junhui can be a big brother, sometimes. Junhui doesn’t exactly stop playing his game but he does shift so Minghao’s lying on him comfortably and he doesn’t have to strain tapping away at his phone. “Someone asked me to tie them up but I know nothing about bondage but I really would like to do it for them,” Minghao mumbles. “You’ve tied me up,” Junhui says. “This is just the same thing, except you also want to fuck them.” “That is not the same thing,” Minghao hisses. Junhui laughs, petting Minghao’s hair placatingly. “Seriously,” Junhui continues. “The choreography is not even that far away from bondage.” “What do you even know about bondage, ge?” Junhui’s silence is telling, and when Minghao jerks his head up to meet Junhui’s eyes, Junhui is grinning, pausing his game and setting his phone aside. He looks like he’s about to divulge a secret, and Minghao sincerely hopes Junhui’s not going to tell him about his sex life. He likes Junhui but he has to draw the line at Junhui using himself as an example. “Please do not tell me you’re going to teach me how to tie someone up,” Minghao whines and Junhui laughs, loud and free. Minghao’s thankful no one else is in the room because Junhui wouldn’t be laughing like this if there was. “C’mon, you could be learning from someone worse. Like Chan. Or Seungkwan.” Minghao makes a face at the mental image. Junhui has a point. “Fine, okay, teach me what you know.” “First,” Junhui says, leaning in close. “Who are you tying up?” Minghao can feel his ears heating up and he could play it off with anyone else but this is Junhui. Who is extremely perceptive if he wants to be. Who has probably been keeping track of the number of times Minghao had to shuffle keycards around to make sure he got Seokmin as a roommate. “You’re blushing,” Junhui teases. Minghao grumbles even more, hides his face in Junhui’s side. Junhui goes back to petting his hair, humming; Minghao’s pretty sure it’s a Jolin Tsai song. “Have you told Seokmin-ah?” Junhui finally asks, Minghao’s head jerking up. He knows Junhui is observant, anyone who knows Junhui knows this but it’s still a surprise that Junhui managed to narrow it down so easily. Minghao shakes his head, and Junhui’s brow furrows slightly. “You should tell him,” Junhui urges. “Seokmin likes being told.” “Can we not talk about this?” Minghao pleads. His feelings for Seokmin are still a huge, tangled mess. They’re not set in stone or anything like that. In fact, if anything, Seokmin’s been brushing Minghao off with half-hearted excuses since Mingyu and he moved into the spare closet together. Minghao’s not sure what that is about, but he’s hoping that finally doing this will help. Junhui looks at him and Minghao tries not to flinch away from his searching gaze. Whatever Junhui finds has him smiling before turning back to his game, tapping away. “I’ll teach you.” Minghao doesn’t say his thanks. Junhui understands. 🌙 Out of all of them, Seokmin’s probably the best at keeping up with his idol image. He doesn’t falter through the role at any point, even when he’s made to play the fool of the group. The same finesse extends to his social life; Minghao’s cliquey but Seokmin has it down to an art. Keeps his friends close and his enemies closer and his favourites closest. He’s good at keeping in everyone’s good graces, but when you’re on his shitlist, well, the last time that happened Soonyoung spent nine months grovelling for Seokmin’s attention. For some inexplicable reason, Minghao has landed himself on Seokmin’s shitlist. It’s not like Seokmin gets blatantly petty the way Mingyu does. Minghao knows how to deal with that. He doesn’t blow up the way Soonyoung does either. Minghao knows how to deal with that. Seokmin’s way of cutting people off hurts because he still smiles at you but there’s a filter over it. And Seokmin has been doing that to Minghao, stiff smiles and a stiffer body when Minghao throws an arm across his shoulder. Stands at the opposite side of the room and doesn’t make a move to meet Minghao’s eyes and roll his eyes when Mingyu’s being annoying. He is there, and then he is gone, and Minghao’s left with a Seokmin shaped hole in his life he’s not quite sure how to fill. Sure, Minghao has company when he drinks wine and paints now that Mingyu and he have moved in together but it’s not the easy ebb and flow he has with Seokmin. All things considered, it’s easier, but Minghao’s not looking for easier. Surprisingly enough, it’s Jeonghan who tells him to snap out of it. “Landed on Seokmin-ah’s shitlist, didn’t you?” He asks while Minghao’s washing dishes. Minghao tenses up; while it’s true that Jeonghan knows best how to get through to Seokmin, it’s a little bit embarrassing that Minghao’s in this situation. So he shrugs instead. “Yeah, I guess,” Minghao says, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. “It would help if you stopped staring at him every time he avoids you and actually talk to him, y’know? Anyway, here, wash my glass for me,” Jeonghan sets a cup by his elbow before leaving with a wide grin. Minghao knows he should talk to Seokmin, but he’s just as stubborn as Seokmin is when it comes down to it. Except in this case, someone has to back down; Minghao’s not getting any points if he’s the one who pushes Seokmin into backing down. Coming to the realization is painfully easy. Actualizing it is a little bit harder. They’re in Manila when Minghao finally corners Seokmin in his hotel room; Jeonghan had abandoned him in favor of drinking with Soonyoung. “Myungho-yah,” Seokmin says when he comes out of the shower, towelling his still wet hair. “Jeonghan hyung went out with Soonyoung if you’re looking for him, I’m afraid.” Seokmin’s smiling apologetically, but it still looks like there’s a shutter drawn across his face. Like Minghao’s peering into a house that used to be familiar, but now all the furniture has been rearranged. “I’m here to talk to you, actually,” Minghao says, picking at the corner of his phone cover. “I’m really tired, Myungho, and we’re leaving for the photoshoot tomorrow—” “I know you’re avoiding me,” Minghao interrupts. “Oh,” Seokmin says, sitting down on the edge of his bed. He doesn’t meet Minghao’s eyes, shoulders slumped as he picks at the covers. It’s a talent how someone who can command as much attention as Seokmin can when he wants to is also capable of making himself seem so small in comparison to the man he is on stage. “Why have you been ignoring me?” Minghao asks, unable to hide the hurt in his voice. He supposes that’s what gets Seokmin to meet his eyes with a sad smile, shrugging his shoulder. “I figured you had Mingyu now and didn’t need me anymore, it’s not like we were serious or anything.” Let it be said for the record that while Minghao thinks Seokmin is absolutely wonderful, he also believes Seokmin can be an idiot at times. Especially when it comes to his emotions. “So you’re saying you’ve been avoiding me because I moved in with Mingyu? You think I don’t want to spend time with you?” Seokmin nods jerkily. “Gyu and you have more things in common than us, I mean you paint together, drink wine together, I’m sure you have more fun with him than with me. I can’t even get drunk without passing out.” Minghao wants to laugh, wants to sigh, wants to shake Seokmin by the shoulder, wants to find a way to tell Seokmin he only wants Seokmin. He doesn’t do any of it, instead getting up to sit next to him, tentatively intertwining their fingers together. He doesn’t miss Seokmin’s sharp inhale or the way his shoulders tense up. “I don’t know what we are,” Minghao begins. “I want you to decide the terms, I don’t wanna push you into anything. I told you this before, Seoku, I like you. I’m not sleeping with anyone else, specially not Mingyu .” Seokmin laughs at that and it’s a wet sound, like he’s on the verge of tears. When Minghao meets his eyes, they are glittering with unshed tears and he wants to coo, to kiss them away, to reassure Seokmin there’s nothing to cry over. “I miss you,” Minghao admits. “I miss you too,” Seokmin confesses. Minghao’s heart soars at the words — maybe he’s crossed the moat that guards Seokmin’s heart. “Sleep with me tonight?” Seokmin asks. Minghao grins, bursting into laughter when Seokmin starts blushing. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he whines out, Minghao giggling even as they situate themselves. He doesn’t realize how much he’s missed cuddling Seokmin until he’s got Seokmin molded against his front, Seokmin tugging Minghao’s arm tight around his chest. “In the context of uh, fucking, though,” Minghao says, pausing when Seokmin hums in interest. “I learnt how to tie people up. So we can still do that, if you want to.” “Who taught you?” Seokmin asks, amused, shifting in Minghao’s arms so he’s facing Minghao. “Jun-ge…” Minghao trails off, frowning when Seokmin bursts into laughter. “You’re not upset?” Minghao asks. “‘Course not, Myungho. I’m happy you went to someone you trust. But I’m also really tired, and we have a schedule tomorrow.” “Sleep,” Minghao says, pulling Seokmin closer and pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead, then another to his nose when he sees the way Seokmin is smiling at him, soft, pleased. When he wakes up in the morning, their legs are intertwined. Minghao’s arm is numb where Seokmin’s head is resting on it but he would take that a million times over than have Seokmin freeze him out again. 🌙 The problem with being an idol, or rather, with being a member of Seventeen in particular, is that free time is rare and hard to come by. Work doesn’t come to a halt now that they’re done with the tour no, now it’s all about preparing for their comeback. Denial has a fire burning low in Minghao’s gut always, watching Seokmin with a newfound hunger. It doesn’t help that Seokmin’s glued to Minghao’s side whenever they’re not practicing and Seokmin watches him with the same kind of intensity too. Especially if Minghao’s dancing. They finally catch a break the weekend before their comeback and while Minghao would usually capitalize on it to practice with Junhui, desire and frustration has him kicking Mingyu out of his room and dragging Seokmin in, pressing Seokmin into his bed and straddling him. They trade eager kisses, Seokmin already whimpering into his mouth, biting down on Minghao’s lips when Minghao rolls his hips against Seokmin. “How do you want me?” Seokmin asks, voice thick with desire. Minghao hums, leaning down to kiss him again, thinks of all the ways they could do this, thinks of Seokmin face down, ass up, strong thighs bound in red cord. Under him, Seokmin is pliant. Languid. Minghao moves his hands and Seokmin molds himself with his touch. Minghao kisses his way down Seokmin’s body: chin, Adam’s apple, sternum, navel, mouths at Seokmin’s cock through the fabric of his sweatpants, grinning at the way Seokmin groans. “So noisy, Seoku, do we need to gag you?” Minghao teases, pulling Seokmin’s sweatpants and underwear off. Seokmin keens, high in his throat, and this, this is real music. “Do you want that?” Minghao asks, gentler this time. He’s still trying to figure out what Seokmin likes, pry it out and file it away. Seokmin doesn’t look at him when he mumbles out a maybe. Minghao doesn’t press. Instead he strips Seokmin of his sweatpants, guides him into position. “Sit up, c’mon,” Minghao cajoles, the springs of the bed squeaking under their weight. Seokmin’s blush deepens, licking his lips nervously when he looks at Minghao. “Can you take your clothes off too?” He asks, voice small. Minghao peels his shirt off then his pants, kissing Seokmin gently, thumb brushing the high point of his cheekbone. “Anything else?” He bites down on the baby that nearly slips out, grounded by the taste of blood in his mouth. Seokmin shakes his head, says I trust you, repeats their safeword, kisses the corner of Minghao’s mouth with a smile on his lips, tugs at Minghao’s heartstrings. “Okay,” Minghao exhales. He’s practiced. A lot. With Junhui, without Junhui, mindlessly tying knots. It’s not the act itself that scares him, it’s who he’s doing it with. It’s the tiniest potential he could hurt Seokmin, this close to their comeback. “I’m not a princess, Myungho,” Seokmin says gently. “I know.” Minghao finds the bight easily, thumb rubbing the skin of Seokmin’s ankle gently before tying a single column tie. It’s different to glance up and see Seokmin leaning back on his hands, smiling down at Minghao. He’s half-hard, and it makes Minghao a little dizzy seeing how it comes together; your imagination when you’re jacking off can’t hold a candle to the real thing. Seokmin gasps when Minghao pushes his shin against his thigh, wrapping the first loop low on his thigh. “I got to 5 loops when I was practicing with myself,” Minghao says casually. “Yeah?” Seokmin asks, sounding breathless already. “Yeah,” Minghao hums. “I think we can only get you to three, Seokminnie, your thighs are so thick.” Minghao drags his nails down Seokmin’s thigh, kisses his kneecap. “So fucking beautiful.” Seokmin keens, his blushing spreading down his neck. “Myungho, you’re embarrassing.” “Sure,” Minghao agrees, carefully wrapping the rope around the column of Seokmin’s thighs, making it to three wraps before he starts working the rope through the spiral. Michelangelo? Michelangelo wishes he could have based the perfect man on Seokmin; his eyes squeezed shut and head tipped back, the line of his neck exposed, hard against his stomach, precome smeared there. Minghao’s seconds away from dropping painting as a medium and picking up sculpting instead, wrapping the second length of rope and repeating the motions with Seokmin’s left leg, hauling Seokmin onto his knees when he’s done. And this? This is straight out of Minghao’s fantasies. “Comfortable?” Minghao asks, slipping his fingers under the rope. “I’m good.” Minghao shuffles in front of Seokmin, kissing him, smirking when Seokmin tries to lean forward to chase him when he pull aways. “You look really pretty,” Minghao whispers, leaning forward to kiss Seokmin again. Then he’s kissing down Seokmin’s neck, nipping at the skin there, moving down a familiar path, Seokmin fidgeting as the kisses go lower, one hand cradling the back of Minghao’s head. Minghao looks up to grin at him, maintains eye contact as he kisses the head of Seokmin’s cock and takes him into his mouth, bobbing his head down the length of it. Seokmin moans, a low sound that’s pulled out of his chest, hands fisted in Minghao’s hair. Sometimes Minghao wishes Seokmin would take; use his grip in Minghao’s hair to fuck into his mouth or grip Minghao’s throat in his strong hands until he’s dizzy from want. But this works too, Seokmin bound and making these soft sounds, each one filling Minghao up with equal parts desire and fondness. He pulls off Seokmin’s cock with a soft pop, turning his head to kiss to palm of Seokmin’s hand that’s cradling his face. “Not gonna tie my hands up?” Seokmin asks. Minghao thinks he meant to tease but it comes out too honest, too wanting. “Do you want me to?” he asks, sitting up and kissing the inside of Seokmin’s wrist. Seokmin nods, flushing even deeper. “Gonna need you to say it, baby,” Minghao says. Minghao would do it anyway, but it’s more rewarding like this, when Seokmin asks, tells Minghao what he likes instead of bottling it all up. “Myungho,” Seokmin says, fluttering his eyelashes. “Please tie my hands up.” The way Seokmin says it has a dam breaking in Minghao, sheer want incinerating everything in its path, leaving behind the urge to fuck Seokmin so good all he remembers is Minghao’s touch for days to come. “God, Seokmin,” Minghao mumbles out, kisses Seokmin harsh and hungry. “You’re so perfect, aren’t you?” Seokmin can’t shy away from the attention with his legs immobilized and this, this is good too. Minghao doesn’t need to ask Seokmin to hold his wrists together — he does that himself, shyly holding them out for Minghao, biting down on his lip. He doesn’t have the rope for it but he does have a silk scarf that’s long enough to work; Minghao can easily buy another and tell Burberry the first went to a good cause if he ruins it beyond use. And if he doesn’t, well, all it’s going to do is serve as a reminder of this night. He ties up Seokmin’s wrist in feverish desire, slipping his fingers under the scarf to make sure it isn’t too tight. “Do you want me to get the blindfold too?” Minghao asks, running a gentle hand through Seokmin’s hair. Seokmin tilts his head back into the touch, whining when Minghao presses a kiss to his Adam’s apple. They’d only used the blindfold twice before Seokmin had decided to ignore Minghao, and both times had shown Minghao just how sensitive and responsive Seokmin can be. And Minghao wants, wants to see Seokmin wrecked and ruined, wants to see the blindfold damp with his tears and his skin glistening with sweat. Sometimes, Minghao feels like his want for Seokmin will drive him crazy. He’s the starving man here, starving for Seokmin to realize this means more to him than just sex. Good, kinky sex, but worth more than that anyway. “I’m right here,” Minghao says, slipping the blindfold over Seokmin’s eyes. “Gonna be here the whole time, baby, will always be here.” It’s a little bit too close to the truth but Seokmin shivers, mumbling out a broken version of please . Minghao’s hands itch for his camera, to take a picture of Seokmin like this, to show everyone he did this, to show everyone how perfect Seokmin is for him. Channels it into rubbing circles at the top of Seokmin’s thighs, so close to where he wants to be touched but not giving in, not yet. Minghao wants him to ask for it, will drag this out for as long as he can to keep Seokmin like this, messy and perfect and wanting. “Ah, Myungho, please,” Seokmin whines out when Minghao drags his nails alongside the cord that binds his thighs, following the shape of it. “Please what?” “Touch me,” Seokmin pants out. “But I am, Seoku.” “Not like that,” Seokmin says, moaning when Minghao swirls his tongue around one of his nipples, arching into the sensation. “Fuck me, please , any way you want.” “Any way I want?” Minghao repeats, smiling. Seokmin nods, gasping again when Minghao drags his teeth along his collarbone. Anyone still in the dorms has already either left, put on headphones or is listening in to Seokmin, probably. That has the possessive part of Minghao sated, the knowledge he’s the one doing this to Seokmin. “Can I fuck your thighs, baby?” Seokmin makes a noise of assent, nodding eagerly. Minghao spreads way too much lube on the insides of Seokmin’s thigh, laying kisses down Seokmin’s spine in apology when he flinches from the cold. Seokmin’s usually pliant when they fuck but even more so today, and Minghao would never call Seokmin submissive, he’s still demanding, still has an edge to him, but the way he whines, the way he melts into the bed, has fire burning in Minghao. “Gotta keep your thighs close together for me baby, can you do that?” Minghao’s wanted to fuck Seokmin’s thighs for as long as he’s been aware of them. And that’s been a very long time, wanting even when he was still struggling with Korean and was a scrawny, skinny kid. One of Seokmin’s thighs was like two of his put together, thick and strong, a lot like Seokmin. The slow drag of Minghao’s cock between Seokmin’s thighs is definitely different : it’s softer and smoother, definitely wetter too. The sound that fills the room is obscene, actually, makes Minghao’s ears burn even as he keeps grinding his hips into the tight heat of Seokmin’s thighs, drawing out the movement. Seokmin struggles to rock back, groaning when Minghao’s cock brushes against his balls and along his cock. It’s not enough friction to get Minghao off but it draws out the desire simmering in Minghao, screwing into Seokmin harder, grip on his hips even harder. Minghao’s pretty sure he’s going to leave more marks on Seokmin than he intended to. The thought doesn’t bother him much. Seokmin whines, high and displeased, trying his best to get more friction. He sounds like he’s on the verge of tears, babbling nonsensically. “Myungho,” Seokmin stutters out. “Please, please, it’s not enough, please, Myungho.” “What are you asking for, baby?” He continues rocking his hips between the tight heat of Seokmin’s thighs, dizzy with the smooth, wet slide, the way he can feel Seokmin’s muscles tighten and relax, the slow drag of his cock against the seam of Seokmin’s balls. Minghao knows what Seokmin wants. He wants it too. “If you don’t fuck my ass,” Seokmin begins, all attempt at being firm lost when Minghao wraps a lose hand around his dick, bucking into the touch. Minghao can’t help but giggle, plastering his chest to Seokmin’s back. “What are you gonna do, baby?” “Myungho,” Seokmin begins, sweet, simpering and oh, Minghao knows this tone, has heard it countless times when he’s wheedling Jeonghan or Joshua into buying him something. “Myungho, please fuck my ass? I’ve been so good, right?” Seokmin pleads. “Okay,” Minghao kisses Seokmin’s shoulder blade, surprised by the turn of the tide, although it shouldn’t surprise him anymore, the way he wants to give and keep giving to Seokmin. A voice that sounds surprisingly like Junhui’s is calling him a whipped fool, and he is, kinda. Minghao pulls away and stares at the slick mess between Seokmin's thighs and it's like something else takes root, unfurls in him as he presses down gently on the nape of Seokmin's neck, pushing him down onto his chest. Then he's licking up Seokmin's thighs and he's predictable, but Seokmin's thighs look so good bound in red and his ass looks better. Seokmin's thighs tense in his hands when Minghao drags his tongue around his rim, making a noise loud enough to echo through the dorm.
It's always fun doing this to Seokmin because no matter how they do it, Seokmin always turns into a mess, too fast, too eager. The best part about this, Minghao thinks, as he continues to brush his tongue over Seokmin's hole, is that Seokmin can't rock back against Minghao's tongue and maybe, for all that he was hesitant about tying Seokmin up, seeing how desperate Seokmin gets is the reward for his anxieties.
“Minghao,” Seokmin groans out, Minghao freezing up when he hears his name drip from Seokmin’s lips. Not Myungho. Minghao . “Minghao,” he repeats.
“Yeah?”
“The blindfold… too much, wanna see, ah,” Seokmin mumbles out.
Minghao murmurs praise even as he undoes the blindfold, covering Seokmin’s eyes with his hand and slowly fanning his fingers out so Seokmin can adjust to the light slowly.
“Did so good for me baby, are you okay?” Minghao asks, kissing Seokmin’s shoulder.
Seokmin mumbles out a noise of assent, eyes shiny with tears and oh, the blindfold is damp with them. His eyes are glittering and they're more brilliant than the diamonds Minghao sees at Cartier store displays, warm brown and shiny and full of trust.
"Can you fuck me now, please?" Seokmin begs.
Minghao nods in assent, scrambling off the bed to grab a condom. Seokmin heaves out a sigh of relief when Minghao teases his lube slicked fingers around his rim and Minghao giggles, Seokmin looking back over his shoulder to smile at him. He's still meeting Minghao's gaze when he slides the first finger in and Minghao sees how his expression cracks, mouth dropping open, already trying to fuck back against the slow thrusts of Minghao's finger.
"You wanted it that bad?" Minghao asks and he's more curious than he is teasing.
Seokmin nods. "More than you know."
Minghao believes him, carefully adding another finger and relishing in Seokmin's pleased groan. It's easy to finger him open, even if they haven't done it in a while. Seokmin's little noises are enough of a guide for Minghao, moaning loudly when Minghao finds his prostate and keeps his fingers there, rubbing the spot relentlessly. He's amazed when Seokmin pushes his chest into the mattress, openly crying, offering himself up to Minghao.
"Still want me to fuck you?" Minghao asks, gently, slipping another finger into Seokmin. "I can just make you come like this, Seoku, I'll get myself off."
Seokmin looks at him over his shoulder with an expression approximate to a glare, despite the fact that he looks fucked out and his eyes are red-rimmed and god, the power in it all has Minghao weak in his knees. Has him wanting to give Seokmin everything he asks for.
"I'll choke you if you don't fuck me," Seokmin threatens half-heartedly, even as his eyes flutter closed.
Minghao's tempted to tell Seokmin that’s not an offer he will refuse, pulling his fingers out and marvelling at Seokmin’s groan, rolling the condom down his cock and slicking up his length with more lube. In front of him Seokmin has his back arched invitingly, lower lip stuck out in a pout. Like Minghao could deny him. “Gonna fuck you now, Minnie, fuck you so good,” Minghao says, sinking into Seokmin slowly, hands tight on his hips. Despite the prep, Seokmin’s still tight and hot around him, breath coming out in a long, drawn out groan as Minghao pushes in. It’s a test for him as much as it is a test for Seokmin; Minghao’s never been a vocal lover, verbal yes, but he gets Seokmin around his dick and suddenly he’s only capable of animalistic noises, nails digging into Seokmin’s hips. Under him, Seokmin is rutting slowly against the sheets, whimpering as Minghao waits for him to get adjusted. Minghao grinds his hips against Seokmin, pleased at the noise he makes when he drags his nails down Seokmin’s thighs too. At this point, he’s teasing Seokmin, one hand tight on his hip, the other teasing at his nipples, refusing to move even as Seokmin’s voice cracks around his pleas. He waits until he’s at the end of his own patience before he draws his hips back and snaps back in, hard and slow, Seokmin moaning into a pillow. It’s easy to pick up a steady pace from there, rocking into Seokmin at a rhythm Minghao knows won’t get him off, only makes him babble desperately to come. With his thighs tied up, and balanced ungainly on his chest, Seokmin doesn’t really have the leverage to push back either. Seokmin is in Minghao’s mercy, and that thought is dangerously heady. He keeps fucking Seokmin insistently, using his grip on Seokmin’s hip to pull him back onto Minghao’s cock on every thrust in, Seokmin’s voice tapering off into a crescendo of gasps. Minghao’s not sure how long they fuck like that, fixated on where Seokmin’s rim is stretched around his cock, the red against the gold of Seokmin’s skin, all the noises Seokmin makes. “Minghao,” Seokmin cries out, the sound almost ripped from him. “Minghao, please, I need to come.” “Need is such a strong word,” Minghao manages to say, even as he picks up the pace and wraps a hand around Seokmin’s length, twisting his wrist on every downstroke. Anyone left in the dorms definitely hears the wail Seokmin lets out. Even Minghao’s surprised by in, fucking sharply into Seokmin. His cock must drag against Seokmin’s prostate because he whimpers, babbling nonsense as Minghao continues to jack him off. Minghao’s beginning to feel the familiar firebrand of orgasm creeping up on him, bending forward to mouth at Seokmin’s shoulder blades Seokmin groaning from the shift in angle. Minghao’s trump card to making Seokmin come fast? Praise. It always works like a charm, and today is no different. “You’re so good for me baby, you can come now. Sat through everything, look so pretty, so good for me,” Minghao babbles, chasing his own orgasm as he rocks into Seokmin. It takes another three thrusts before Seokmin comes into his hand with a drawn out cry, Minghao coming shortly after, riding out their orgasms in the tight heat of Seokmin’s body, teeth scraping against his shoulder. He’s glad the outfits for the promotional era all suits, and that Seokmin’s in a turtleneck most of the time because all the marks will be hidden. Minghao’s also thinking of stealing one of the turtlenecks so he can fuck Seokmin in just that: Seokmin looks hot in them with his hair swept off his forehead. Minghao pulls out and discards the condom, cleaning up Seokmin’s come and untying his wrists. Seokmin’s eyes keep fluttering closed as Minghao begins working on the knots on his legs, laid out against the mattress. “Stay with me, Seokminnie,” Minghao says, brows furrowed in concern. Seokmin opens one eye lazily, grinning. “You fucked the brains out of me, I think.” Minghao laughs at that. At least he accomplished something tonight.
“You called me Minghao earlier,” Minghao says, trying to sound casual even as he undoes the ties and massages Seokmin’s thighs. He’s not trying to get Seokmin worked up again; Seokmin can be insatiable on a good day, touch light and gentle as Seokmin stretches out pliant in his bed. Seokmin tenses up under his hand and when Minghao meets his eye he’s flushing, hands gripping at the sheets. “I’m sorry if I messed it up,” he says instead, still fidgeting. “You didn’t.” It’s true. Seokmin isn't the best at Mandarin in their group, the dubious honor of that goes to Seungkwan, but he’s halfway decent. “Is it alright if I keep calling you Minghao?” Seokmin asks tentatively. Minghao bites back on the teasing you can call me anything you want. It’s not quite the truth; there’s something rearing its head in interest at Seokmin calling him by his name the same way his mother and Junhui do, simultaneously hungry and sated and Seokmin’s only used it a handful of times. “I would love it, yeah.” Seokmin’s answering smile is brilliant, steals some of the air from the room, has Minghao dazed and leaning in to kiss him, soft and chaste. “What was that for?” Seokmin sounds both confused and pleased. “Do I need a reason to kiss you?” Minghao asks, smiling indulgently. Seokmin throws a pillow at him, flushing deeply. The rest of it passes in comfortable companionship, Seokmin changing the sheets and Minghao dumping them into the washing machine. They end up settling into Minghao’s bed, a bottle of wine split between them as they watch Begin Again . Seokmin ends up falling asleep, Minghao pulling the blankets over him, the two of them tucked close together in Minghao’s too small bed. Maybe what Minghao wants isn’t too far out of his grasp. Maybe.