Chapter Text
He’s expecting the pop and sparkle of the fireworks; the way the flashbang results in delayed reverberations deep in his bones--both beautiful and vaguely reminiscent of memories of thunder anxiety. He predicts wine-warm cheeks, watching friends pair off, the faint pangs of New Year’s kiss jealousy he’ll tell himself emphatically are not jealousy. He doesn’t need kisses as the ball drops. In another country, the ball is dropping hours from now. In another country, it’s already dropped. Kisses now, kisses then, it’s all the same.
Just a wish to be kissed.
Hongjoong doesn’t need kisses. Because in just a few days, the reality of his deepest wishes will come true. An internship at a fashion house in London. A nothing position that’s everything because it could be a foot in the door. He’s got no clue what door, but it’s more than Hongjoong of a year ago had, toiling on his final semester project, buried in fabric, sure he’s been spending money--borrowed against a future and his parent’s hard won savings--on a future that for most isn’t much more than a pipe dream.
So sure, he’d love a kiss. He wouldn’t say no to kisses on most days, provided they’re with someone who is passable and has very few expectations. But he doesn’t need one. He doesn’t expect one. Therefore, he should look forward to an evening of laughter, of preemptive nostalgia, of missed opportunities.
It starts, as most do with his friend group, with an impromptu dance floor. Impromptu in the most literal of senses: a shouted direction from Wooyoung, a few moved couches, a chair pushed unceremoniously into a corner, and the lights being switched down low. Hongjoong had no clue that Mingi even had LED lights; clearly he’s been missing out on something. Hongjoong would be the first to admit he’s spent the better half of a year on the fringes of his friend group, buried in a variety of textiles, in increasingly frustrating patterns and stitches, eyes blurred with exhaustion and stress mounting with every internship application rejection.
He’s barely had a chance to get to know Wooyoung’s new boyfriend, hasn’t wrangled more than a name from Mingi on the new guy he’s obsessed with (Yunho he’s learned tonight, somehow even taller than Mingi, singularly kind and effusive and somehow, oddly, so unreadable Hongjoong’s not sure what to do with himself). He knows Yeosang, who came hand-in-hand as a matched set with Wooyoung (and would be ashamed to admit he was sure until recently that Wooyoung and Yeosang were well on their way to becoming a thing until San entered stage left). At the very least he’s had a chance to get to know Jongho in the past few months over once weekly lunches on campus. As for the last of the group? Well.
Hongjoong wracked his mind for the better part of two hours trying to remember who exactly Seonghwa is. He was introduced with a careless, “This is Seonghwa-hyung, of course.” by Mingi. As if he’s meant to know. As if he’s heard countless stories. Which, to be fair, he might have. It’s a blur.
Needless to say, Hongjoong hasn’t had quite enough to drink to join the fray of flailing limbs--ranging from ridiculously good (Yunho) to ludicrous to a degree that indicates a lack of investment rather than skill (Jongho). Hongjoong’s been known to enjoy dancing. Just with much, much more alcohol in his system. He can’t quite say if the same is true for Seonghwa, or if he’s simply politely abstaining from dancing to keep Hongjoong from being a sadsack, haunting the edges of the impromptu dance party taking place.
“I’ve been hoping for this,” Seonghwa opens, just quietly enough Hongjoong has to lean in to hear. Seonghwa smells citrusy, light and slightly woodsy. It’s delicious.
“This?” Hongjoong gestures, champagne in glass, only just not spilling.
“Well, no,” Seonghwa says, eyes flickering away, then back. Were the lights up, Hongjoong would bet what’s left in his bank account (almost nothing after plane tickets and a deposit on an apartment that’s likely to be a shared dump), that he’s blushing. He just has that kind of face. “Meeting you.”
“Me?” Hongjoong pauses, taken aback, but hoping to disguise it with a deep swig of his drink. Fuck, he has got to remember who this guy is.
“Mingi talks about you like you walk on water,” Seonghwa says. He tucks his hair behind his ear; it’s long, waving slightly, a rich brown that feels both completely natural and not quite natural. He’s so beautiful Hongjoong’s not sure his tongue is working properly.
“Oh, well…”
“Not that you do,” Seonghwa rushes, then closes his eyes. Hongjoong struggles against his own second-hand embarrassment. It’s not like he’s doing much better, conversationally. “But you know, when someone has so much praise, you begin to wonder…”
“I promise, I’m not nearly that amazing,” Hongjoong says. He knows he’s coming off too dry, perhaps self-effacing. On the other hand, he’s no miracle. Walking on water, indeed.
“I hear you’re going off to be a designer,” Seonghwa says, proving that he, at least, has been paying attention to Mingi.
“Well, to intern for a label that represents a small designer,” Hongjoong says.
“In London,” Seonghwa continues, completely ignoring Hongjoong’s capitulations. “That’ll be…it’ll be amazing, won’t it?”
“London?”
“And the fashion,” Seonghwa continues. Hongjoong hates to be a cliché, he really does, but there’s literally no other way to describe Seonghwa’s eyes than shining, bright with what might be envy.
“You’re interested in fashion?” Hongjoong turns to him, now fully invested. As interested and supportive as his friends are, none of them truly understand his secondary--well now primary passion. Hongjoong and Mingi had bonded years ago over a love of music, and Hongjoong will harbor a passion for it for the rest of his life. But as they’ve grown, Mingi’s become more entrenched, sure of his path along the musical road. Hongjoong, diverted by a passing interest in clothing, had eventually found himself completely swayed from his original dreams. It’s never caused a wedge, but there’s something about the wonder in Seonghwa’s tone that makes Hongjoong feel he must share more than just a polite, passing interest.
“Well…” Seonghwa looks into his own glass of champagne, as if it could answer for him. “I’ve…ugh, this is embarrassing.”
“Oh, now you have to tell me.” Hongjoong nudges Seonghwa with a familiarity that indicates he’s probably just a hair past sober. How did that happen?
“I’ve done a little modeling. Would love to do more. You know. It’s a dumb pipe dream-”
“No,” Hongjoong says, perhaps too decisively, considering the tiny jolt that runs through Seonghwa in response. “I can definitely see it.” Seonghwa is objectively beautiful, sure, but he’s also got amazing proportions, striking bone structure. The kind of face that could wear a dozen expressions; that could wear many faces to reflect the spirit of a collection. He doesn’t say any of that out loud, aware that he doesn’t want to make Seonghwa uncomfortable.
“Oh. Well.” Seonghwa’s clearly fighting a smile, pursed lips doing nothing to disguise how delighted the compliment makes him. “Thank you.”
Hongjoong rolls his eyes, but with a smile too wide to disguise his own interest. Seonghwa is cute. And hot. Like, way too hot for Hongjoong’s well being.
“Don’t dance?” Seonghwa says. Hongjoong blinks, thrown by the change in conversational tack.
“Well, no. I mean, yes. Sometimes.”
“Wow, you covered a lot of ground there,” Seonghwa says. Hongjoong takes the teasing in stride; well, maybe more than teasing. It’s almost…flirting. Seonghwa bites his lip, finger tracing the edge of his champagne glass. Okay, so he’s definitely flirting. Hongjoong’s ears burn. He’s never been so grateful for some dark and some LED lights.
“Generally, I need a bit more to drink,” Hongjoong admits. “You?”
“Oh, I love to dance,” Seonghwa says. “I turned my ankle a few days ago, is all.”
“Oh, no!” Hongjoong looks down, as if he has the power to discern any level of injury through Seonghwa’s ridiculously tight pants. Jesus Christ they’re tight. Seonghwa’s legs are long, thighs clearly defined. Hongjoong’s fingers tingle, vague want settling hot in his belly. “Should you be standing? Come on, let’s sit--”
“Where?” Seonghwa’s openly laughing at him, but it’s so pretty Hongjoong can’t bring himself to mind. Hongjoong purses his lips, thrown.
“Did you bring a coat?”
“Yes, of course.” Seonghwa nods toward the door where a precariously stacked pile of winter gear has taken up residence.
“We could…” Hongjoong starts, then scratches his neck. “Maybe wanna go outside? Mingi has some chairs on the balcony.”
Seonghwa’s head tilts: Hongjoong is being studied. He’s not sure why, or for what, so finds no reason to hide his interest. Seonghwa is gorgeous, sure, but he also seems easy to talk to, approachable, shares at least one interest, is blisteringly hot and if Hongjoong hasn’t lost his mind, flirting with him. Hongjoong’s not going to leave him marooned on the sidelines on New Year’s Eve.
“Yeah, let’s,” Seonghwa says finally. It doesn’t take long to bundle back up; Hongjoong nods toward the balcony when Mingi shoots him a curious look. Seonghwa snags an open bottle of champagne on his way out. He’s only limping mildly--Hongjoong would like to be the kind of gentleman who opens the door for someone, or smooth enough to pull out a chair in some way that doesn’t seem mildly babying, but Seonghwa beats him to the door.
“Oh, holy shit!” Hongjoong shivers hard; not only is it colder than he realized, but there are no actual chairs. “Why the fuck doesn’t Mingi have chairs anymore?”
Seonghwa doesn’t bother to hide his laugh; Hongjoong shouldn’t find it so cute. He’d challenge anyone not to find the way his eyes scrunch adorable. Hongjoong wraps his arms around himself, struggling to appear approachable while living the reality that he’s going to freeze to death.
“It’s winter, I assume he wants to keep them from getting ruined by the weather,” Seonghwa says.
“Mingi?” Hongjoong can only stare. “I feel like you’re giving him a lot of home making credit.”
Seonghwa bumps Hongjoong’s hip with his own. “And yet…”
“And yet,” Hongjoong repeats, only just keeping his teeth from chattering. He doesn’t miss the way Seonghwa leans his body weight onto one foot. The thump of music behind them is less demanding; despite the cold, the quiet is attractive. Easier to talk at least. Fewer eyes on him.
“You’re killing me,” Seonghwa says at last, snagging the fabric of Hongjoong’s coat. “Come here.”
“Your ankle!” Hongjoong’s protest is ridiculously weak, considering his burrowing into Seonghwa’s side the moment he’s bundled under his arm.
“We’ll lean on each other,” Seonghwa says. Hongjoong wants to wrap his arm around Seonghwa too, only he can’t like this. Seonghwa has him pressed up almost back to front. Honjgoong leans against the railing; Seonghwa has one long arm on the railing right next to him. He radiates a kind of warmth Hongjoong envies.
“Tell me more,” Hongjoong demands, trying to override the fizzing attraction that’s making an increased nuisance of itself in his belly. He wants to take off his coat, to ask Seonghwa to unbutton his. To burrow in, to feel how long and lean those muscles really are. Seonghwa smells so good this close it’s making him dizzy.
“I would love to,” Seonghwa says, then stops. Hongjoong has to twist a little to catch the expectant look. Hongjoong can’t help but get lost in it. Until it becomes weird. Seonghwa cracks first, laughter light but deep, shaking against Hongjoong’s body.
“You’re laughing at me again!”
“I can’t help it!” Seonghwa defends, pulling Hongjoong impossibly closer. “I would love to tell you more. But I don’t know what you want to know more about.”
“Oh, fuck me,” Hongjoong moans. How embarrassing can he be? “Okay, so. Listen. The thing is, you’re stupid hot and apparently I’m unable to process it.”
“Oh,” Seonghwa says, forehead buried against his shoulder. Surely he’s not shy. “Thank you. You, uh. You too.”
Hongjoong snorts. “I’m not so fragile you have to say it back.”
No!” Seonghwa’s free arm gestures wildly enough to jostle Hongjoong and threaten their balance. Hongjoong just barely turns and catches Seonghwa before he has to put weight on his bad foot. “You really are. I just wasn’t expecting--”
“Oh.” Hongjoong pauses. He’s fully holding Seonghwa now and he’s so, so aware of how close they are. “Wait, were we not flirting? I thought we were--”
“I am!” Seonghwa defends; the whole exchange is ridiculous enough to warrant the mutual giggles, which take long moments to peter out. Hongjoong pulls away from Seonghwa reluctantly. “No, wait.” Seonghwa presses himself closer. The wrought iron edge of the balcony railing digs into Hongjoong’s waist.
Hongjoong can’t help the smile; he’s been told he’s self-assured enough to be a breath from cockiness, the way his face transforms when he knows he’s gotten what he wants. “Is this okay?” He tightens his hold a little. The railing is uncomfortable, but Seonghwa is so warm and close that Hongjoong could care less.
“Yeah.” Seonghwa puts more weight on him--Hongjoong assumes to take it off of his ankle. They’re close enough now that casual conversation feels ludicrous, but Hongjoong has no idea what the hell else he’s meant to do. “Am I too heavy?”
“Please tell me you’re joking,” Hongjoong says, pulling back to meet Seonghwa’s eyes. He does not seem to be joking. “I’m pretty sure--”
“Hey, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa interrupts, hands sneaking up the front of his coat, wrapping around the back of his neck. His fingers are freezing; it’s horrible. Hongjoong chases away the shiver of delight that prickles his whole body into a burning awareness. It’s been…a really long time since anyone has touched him. “Do you have any--”
“Guys,” Mingi interrupts, throwing the door open; he’s loud, clearly sloppy, pink cheeked. And happy in a way that hurts Hongjoong’s heart. He’s going to miss Mingi. “It’s almost midnight! Come on, fireworks!”
Hongjoong laughs, burying his face in Seonghwa’s coat.
“Aish, pabo,” Seonghwa says. “We’re on the balcony, you come out here.”
“Oh,” Mingi says, clearly confused. “It’s so cold though,” Mingi whines. Seonghwa is laughing into Hongjoong’s hair. It tickles. Hongjoong wants to bite.
“So close the door and watch from the other side,” Seonghwa proposes. Hongjoong isn’t imagining Seonghwa’s body language. He wants to share the new year with his friends, sure, but he’s reasonably sure he was about to get kissed.
“No way,” Yunho says. Hongjoong peeks over Seonghwa’s shoulder in time to see Yunho and Wooyoung fighting to get past each other through the door.
“Careful!” Hongjoong says as more of them spill onto the tiny balcony. “Seonghwa’s ankle!”
“Oh, yeah.” Yeosang, who has butted right up against them, smiles prettily. If it were anyone but Yeosang Hongjoong would have snapped a bit harder. “Sorry, hyung.”
“It’s fine, Yeosang-ah,” Seonghwa says softly. Hongjoong likes that he’s just as gentle with Yeosang as he deserves. “C’mon, time for fireworks.” It takes a moment for Hongjoong to realize Seonghwa is addressing him, that the gentle nudging is intended to get him to turn around. Hongjoong pouts.
“What comes first,” he starts, surprised by how bold he’s about to be. “Fireworks or countdown?”
“Countdown,” Yeosang replies, completely oblivious to the push and pull happening right next to him. Seonghwa bites his lip, clearly fighting to keep the laughter in.
“Hey,” Hongjoong gets up on his tiptoes, which has the unintended but delicious consequence of bringing their bodies closer together. His lips don’t quite touch Seonghwa’s ears, but they’re close. “Do you have someone?”
Seonghwa shakes his head, turning to whisper back. “You?”
“No,” Hongjoong snorts. “Not for a stupid long time. I’ve been told I’m married to my work.”
“I don’t know, a hard worker, that’s pretty sexy,” Seonghwa replies. Hongjoong knows he’s smiling too widely. Seonghwa’s neck is so close, and his skin is so lovely. It takes all of his willpower not to lean in and kiss just behind his ear.
“You don’t have to do that,” Hongjoong says softly, swallowing hard. “I’ll let you kiss me no matter what.”
“I me-” He is cut off by Wooyoung, then the rest of the group as they begin to count down. Hongjoong pulls back just enough to meet Seonghwa’s eyes, lips just a breath from each other.
“Fuck it,” he says, leaning in before they’ve reached five. And, oh, was he wrong. He did need kisses. Desperately. Their lips have barely touched before Hongjoong’s greed takes over. He’s on his toes, fingers in Seonghwa’s hair, tongue in his mouth within seconds. He’d try to spare some embarrassment over his desperation if Seonghwa weren’t meeting him with the same energy.
Hongjoong expected to end the night flushed with alcohol and laughter. The remnant flash and sparkle of fireworks playing behind closed eyes. The bone deep vibration of each explosion a part of a wonderful “last time together” party. Instead, that pop and flash, the brilliant lights behind closed eyes, belong to Seonghwa. Hongjoong hauls himself just a touch closer, groaning when Seonghwa bites his lip, then licks over it. He whines when Seonghwa pulls away, only too late realizing how quiet the balcony has become. Arousal simmers, tingles through his fingers, coalescing in his core.
“Fuck, how long--” There’s no one else out here.
“No, clue,” Seonghwa says, raspy and low. “I can’t believe they opted to give us privacy over teasing.”
“Oh, I’ll hear about it later.” Hongjoong closes his eyes. He doesn’t move an inch.
“Well, if we’re gonna hear about it anyway…” Seonghwa leans in, ghosting a kiss against the corner of Hongjoong’s mouth before making his way to Hongjoong’s cheek, then behind his ear. His shiver is part lust, part genuine cold that’s begun to make itself known yet again.
“What if we--” Hongjoong pauses, gasping, when Seonghwa bites his ear gently. “It’s cold.”
“Is it?” Seonghwa, clearly amused, tucks a laugh just behind Hongjoong’s ear.
“Shut up,” Hongjoong whines. “I don’t have enough meat on my bones for prolonged winter exposure.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Seonghwa says. Hongjoong squeaks when Seonghwa palms his ass with a sure hand. “Seems pretty--”
“Do not finish that sentence,” Hongjoong says, any bite undercut by his giggles. “A great ass isn’t enough to keep someone warm.”
“I don’t live anywhere close to here,” Seonghwa says, bringing them back on track abruptly. “I was going to spend the night at Wooyoung’s. If we go anywhere it has to be yours.”
“I don’t have a mine,” Hongjoong reminds him. “I’m moving. I’ve been crashing here.”
“Fuck,” Seonghwa groans, forehead grinding against Hongjoong’s collarbone.
“Fuck it, they already know what’s happening.” Hongjoong untangles reluctantly, only barely remembering to offer his arm in support. Seonghwa takes it with a smile. He’s taller than Hongjoong but light as a feather, even leaning on him as he limps his way back into the apartment. It’s stunningly warm; Hongjoong’s cheeks sting. Thankfully, everyone is otherwise occupied; tucked into corners talking, or in Wooyoung and Yeosang’s case, wrapped up in each other, dancing to music that’s still down low. San, next to Yunho, watches like a hawk without a trace of jealousy. Hongjoong can’t begin to untangle what’s happening there. He’ll ask someone later. For now, he has one clear mission--sneaking past them all.
“Aren’t we a bit old for this?” Seonghwa giggles when Hongjoong manhandles him into Mingi’s small spare bathroom.
“Shut up and kiss me,” Hongjoong demands, shedding his coat without compunction. He’s working the buttons of Seonghwa’s coat when Seonghwa complies, pressing him up against the door. The knob digs into his back, too painfully to ignore this time. “Here, wait,” he says against Seonghwa’s lips. He presses Seonghwa away gently, nodding toward the counter. “Sit.”
It’s precarious, and slightly less than sexy, working out the logistics of getting a coat off while also making space on the small counter for Seonghwa to perch. They manage. Like this, Seonghwa’s even taller. Hongjoong has to really tilt his head to receive his next kiss, something he usually dislikes. Right now, it’s delicious, much like being tucked into Seonghwa’s arms--the feeling of being small, of being held, but not feeling fragile. Seonghwa is malleable enough that Hongjoong never once feels overpowered or out of control.
Well, other than by the force of want that overtakes him as soon as Seonghwa’s lips capture his. Hongjoong lets himself be drawn closer, Seonghwa’s legs wrapping around him. There’s no way to align their bodies like this, but Hongjoong can’t help but palm Seonghwa’s hips, to pull him as close as possible. The way Seonghwa licks into his mouth is downright filthy, unabashed. There’s no reserve to Seonghwa’s reactions; Hongjoong can sense the naked honesty in every breath, in the scrabbling fingers making their way under his shirt.
“Shit, where were you hiding these?” Seonghwa asks, panting against his cheek. Hongjoong allows Seonghwa to divest him of his shirt, biting his lip when Seonghwa’s hands go right back to his pecs. “God, I could fuck these.”
“Holy shit, what the fuck.” Hongjoong’s cock throbs. “You can’t just say--”
“Shut up and get your hand on me, now,” Seonghwa says, pinching one of his nipples mercilessly.
“Fuck, yeah,” Hongjoong says, fumbling with the button of Seonghwa’s tight, tight jeans. He’s not sure he’s ever fucked someone so direct. They’re sidetracked by the logistics of actually getting Seonghwa out of his pants, only this time there’s no laughter, no awkward pausing. Seonghwa’s mouth doesn’t leave Hongjoong’s skin for a moment as they wrestle him out of his pants, hands busily mapping Hongjoong’s back, shoulders, and chest. He really seems to like Hongjoong’s chest. It’s not a hardship, letting a beautiful man feel you up, even when you stub your toe trying to strip him.
“Now what?” Hongjoong asks, hand already wrapping around Seonghwa’s dick. They both groan. He’s wet--more than just a little. Were it him, Hongjoong might be apologizing, faintly embarrassed by being so betrayed by his own body. Hongjoong’s no prude, but he definitely has more reserve than Seonghwa does.
“Like this,” Seonghwa says, wrapping his hand around Hongjoong’s. He clearly likes a tighter grip. There’s no need to lick his palm--Seonghwa’s precome is more than enough.
“Fuck, you’re so hot,” Hongjoong pants, unable to look away from the way their hands work Seonghwa’s cock. Seonghwa is rocking into the touch subtly, abs clenching and releasing.
“Kiss,” Seonghwa demands, reedy and out of breath. He’s surely close, throbbing in Hongjoong’s hand. Seonghwa releases the death grip he’s had on the edge of the counter, trusting Hongjoong to keep him steady. He directs Hongjoong into a kiss with the palm of his hand; everything is spit and tongue, gasping breaths. Seonghwa’s fingers aren’t remotely gentle in Hongjoong’s hair, gripping so hard it hurts when he comes. He’s loud, leaning into the pleasure with ease. Hongjoong is so hard he might just die.
“Do you object to come?” Seonghwa asks, apropos of nothing. His fingers gentle, running through Hongjoong’s hair, lighting his body up everywhere. Seonghwa leans back, propping himself up on the counter, body on shameless display. Hongjoong wants to rub himself all over it.
“No,” he says, leaning in to kiss Seonghwa’s chest, his belly, wishing uselessly he’d been able to get his mouth around Seonghwa’s cock. It’s long, thinner than his own, pink and softening against his thigh.
“Lick.” Seonghwa’s fingers press up against Hongjoong’s lips--touch a suggestion despite the command in tone. Hongjoong could easily demure, not that he wants to. Seonghwa’s come carries a faint tang, followed by a bitterness. Hongjoong closes his eyes, only slightly overcome by how dirty it feels. Good dirty. Delicious dirty.
“Help me down,” Seonghwa says, more softly. Hongjoong’s chin is wet, traces of Seonghwa’s come drying. Hongjoong’s never felt so marked up, so used.
“Down?” he repeats, stupidly.
“My knees aren’t hurt,” Seonghwa says, plainly.
“Oh,” Hongjoong manages, taking Seonghwa’s hands automatically.
“Unless you object to fucking my mouth?” Seonghwa says, a faux delicate tone betrayed by the mischief in his eyes.
“No! I don’t, I mean…” Hongjoong closes his eyes. Seonghwa’s hands are already busy getting his pants unbuttoned, pushing them down only enough to free his cock. Seonghwa pulls him forward by the ass, palms blazing hot. He mouths at Hongjoong’s hipbone. It takes a moment for Hongjoong to realize Seonghwa, despite his self-assured approach, is waiting for permission. Hongjoong gets his fingers in Seonghwa’s hair. “Okay.”
“You don’t have to be gentle. You’ll know if I need a break,” Seonghwa licks his way down to the base of Hongjoong’s dick, pinching his ass hard in demonstration.
“I hope you don’t have any expectations,” Hongjoong says, breath catching behind his ribs when Seonghwa takes him in, going deep right away. What the fuck? Hongjoong’s never been a deep-throating kind of guy. Not that he minds the thought, but any kind of blowjob is welcome. He’s literally never experienced whatever black magic Seonghwa is currently doing--taking him so far in, pulling away to mouth over the sensitive head of his cock, suckling and then taking him back in. There’s something about the complete lack of inhibition that untangles any and all of Hongjoong’s normal reserve. It doesn’t take long before Hongjoong is lost to it, fucking him, hands hard in his hair. Seonghwa moans; it’s clear he enjoys being used as much as Hongjoong is enjoying it. His orgasm hits like a truck-- pleasure having simmered in the background for so long Hongjoong has absolutely no control over when and how his body responds. Seonghwa pulls back, letting Hongjoong’s come paint his lips, his cheek, before going back down, gently sucking the tail end of Hongjoong’s orgasm through each lingering throb.
“Fuck,” Hongjoong says eventually. He’s got one hand on the counter, just barely holding himself up. Seonghwa’s forehead grinds against his hip. It takes him several recovery minutes to realize Seonghwa is frantically jerking himself off. He only has enough time to tilt Seonghwa’s head back, to smear the remains of his come across Seonghwa’s lip before Seonghwa is gasping. He comes all over Hongjoong’s shins, which is a new experience. Hongjoong realizes he has his fingers in Seonghwa’s mouth, much deeper than they should be, too late. The lingering pleasure on Seonghwa’s face is breathtaking. Hongjoong allows him to suckle at his fingers as long as he needs.
A loud series of knocks reverberate from the door. “Are you guys done yet?”
Hongjoong startles hard, almost knocking Seonghwa into the cabinet. He absolutely burns with embarrassment, surprised by Seonghwa’s bright giggles.
“Fuck off, we’re busy,” he calls before Hongjoong can cover his mouth.
“Oh, my god,” Hongjoong whispers, closing his eyes. “I’ll never live this down.”
“Well, they already knew,” Seonghwa says, holding his hands out. Hongjoong helps him up, careful to take some of his weight. Hongjoong struggles to hold on to his embarrassment in the face of Seonghwa’s bright smile. He leans in for another kiss, this one gentle, the tired but satisfied aftermath of excellent chemistry and connection.
“Let me help you,” he says at last, pulling away reluctantly. He’s exhausted, the aftermath of orgasm settling into his bones. He helps wipe any remaining come off of Seonghwa’s body. Maybe he lingers a little. He’ll probably never see Seonghwa again, and he wants to commit the beautiful lines of his body to memory. They’re clumsy, getting him back into his pants, and there’s little dignity in trying to get the come off of his own pants, but they laugh their way through it, particularly when Wooyoung and Mingi start heckling them from outside the bathroom. Hongjoong feels drunk on happiness--despite being embarrassed, it’s a moment he’ll hold on to when he’s alone and far from home. How brilliant it is, to be young and stupid and cared for. To connect with another human so intimately, even if just for a moment.
“Hey,” he says, pulling Seonghwa in just as his hand lands on the doorknob. “Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” Seonghwa says, smile lopsided.
“This was…” Hongjoong can’t find the words. Seonghwa touches his cheek, fingers so soft Hongjoong’s eyes flutter shut.
“Yeah.” The kiss Seonghwa bestows on his cheek is careful, gentle, so at odds with the demand and heat from moments before. “Have a wonderful life, okay? I’m sure you’ll be brilliant.”
Hongjoong swallows. He’s excited for his future, truly. He’s so lucky to have such a good opportunity ahead of him. Still. The affirmation, even from a near stranger, means a lot.
“You too,” he says, and means it.