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Seungcheol has never looked at him like this.
It's far from the first time they've messed around with each other. It's not even the third, or fourth, or fifth—over the past decade they've had their fair share of rushed handjobs under shared covers, blowjobs in the shower, an angry fuck that'd come off the tail-end of a frustrating day of unending schedules leading into a surprisingly easy discussion about what exactly they wanted out of this (followed by even more sex)—but this feels different.
Then again, it should. He wouldn't do this for just anyone.
(And Choi Seungcheol has never been just anyone.)
Seungkwan holds one foot out in a point, admiring the pretty scalloping along the top edge of the Louboutin heel. The black leather of it is glossy under the warm hotel lights; the red sole of it a deep contrast against the body of it, against Seungkwan's all-black outfit. He hasn't changed out of what he'd worn to the show just hours earlier, a velvet two-piece and a few pieces of jewelry.
The only substitute he'd made were his boots for the high heels. The very gorgeous, very expensive stiletto heels that they'd let him take home as a gift for his ambassadorship. The obscenely tall heels that make his ankles look even daintier, that force him to push his shoulders back and tilt his hips as he walks just to balance on them.
It's hotter than he'd expected. He can't lie; there's a terrible little thrill in the pit of his stomach at the sight of himself. The heels make for such a feminine contrast against the rest of his figure. The broad shoulders of the jacket, the width of his hands, his hair tousled and straw-blond around his face, a complete one-eighty from the dark brown he'd had just two days before. He'd had to resist touching himself in the bathroom when he'd first seen himself in them.
He looks good, and he knows it.
Seungkwan finally meets Seungcheol's eyes. "Do you like them?"
Seungcheol doesn't say a word. He's still staring at Seungkwan in that same way—eyes dark and sharpened by obvious desire, almost disbelieving that what he's seeing is the truth. His hands flex at his sides, like he's holding himself back from charging straight at Seungkwan and grabbing him by the shoulders and shoving him up against the door.
And, honestly? Seungkwan wouldn't mind that in the slightest if it were any other night. But they're playing a calculated game here, rules brokered and established over months and months, and so, it's in Seungcheol's favour to play nice. To listen to Seungkwan instead of turning into a rabid dog set on its favourite chewtoy.
After all, they're in Paris. Seungcheol can afford to be patient for once in his life.
"Seungcheol-hyung," Seungkwan calls, saccharine-sweet. He pushes off from the door-frame to take a few steps closer to him, magnetised by his full attention. Seungcheol's eyes follow the movement of his hips without a single blink. "I asked you a question."
The question seems to have finally gotten through to Seungcheol the second time around. Seungcheol presses his lips together and swallows, blinking hard. "Yeah," he admits, voice low. "I like them, Seungkwan."
"And?" Seungkwan prompts, coming up to him. "What else?"
Seungcheol doesn't hide the once-over he gives Seungkwan. He's savouring it, that slow sweep from head to toe and back up again. Seungkwan can see the tremble of his long lashes when they finally look each other in the eye again, could count every pore on his nose if he wanted to, could simply tilt his head and fit their mouths together perfectly.
In his heels, they're the same height. Seungkwan feels dizzy.
"I like the way you look in them," Seungcheol says, a sudden rush of syllables streaming out without a single pause in between. "They look really good on you, Seungkwan. Like you should always be wearing them. Even when you've got nothing else on."
Oh, he's a flatterer. Saying whatever Seungkwan wants to hear so that Seungkwan will let him touch. He can't deny that it's working, though—Seungkwan can't help the shiver that runs up his spine at the thought. Wearing them just because they make his hyung want to fuck him.
"I was gonna tell them that they'd be a present for my sister," he tells Seungcheol, unable to keep the satisfaction out of his voice. "But they didn't even ask when I told them what size I wanted."
Seungkwan steps back, and Seungcheol sways on the spot, having obviously anticipated a kiss and looking a little put out by the abrupt gap he gets instead. He stays though, stays put while Seungkwan moves towards Seungcheol's bed, rolling up the sleeves of his jacket. Stays right where he is as Seungkwan primly takes a seat on the edge of the bed and crosses one knee over the other, showing off the long line of his calf down to his foot, cradled snugly within the high heel.
"Bring a chair over," Seungkwan says—demands, and the lump in Seungcheol's throat jumps, betraying his eagerness. He does as he's told, and Seungkwan has to remind himself to relax, to not get ahead of himself despite the flare of heat curling low in his gut. "Closer—mm, right there. Take your belt off and sit down."
The belt clinks as it falls to the floor. Seungcheol doesn't even bother to kick it aside, eyes on Seungkwan as he sits. Seungkwan takes the chance to really look at him for the first time tonight—he's wearing a pair of simple leather trousers, a suit jacket similar to Seungkwan's own.
Seungkwan's nose wrinkles; Loewe's done Seungcheol dirty. He deserves better, he deserves to have been put in something far more fitting, something to complement his dark hair, his butterfly lashes, his lovely red mouth. Something to show off his tight ass, his broad shoulders. Something for Seungkwan to enjoy watching him strip out of, piece by piece.
It's a selfish thought, but Seungkwan likes being a little selfish sometimes. Especially when it comes to Seungcheol, who is nothing but willing to give, and give, and give.
Seungkwan splays one hand over his knee. Trails it down slowly, and then back up again, fingertips dragging the hem of his trousers up, just an inch. Seungcheol's arm rises as if to reach out—but Seungkwan stops him with a click of his tongue. "No touching until I say so," he says, letting some bite bleed through. "They're very expensive, and hyung might ruin them by being so needy."
He waits.
"No touching," Seungcheol eventually repeats, cowed by the clear instruction and the bruise to his ego. His hands come to rest along the edges of the chair, fingers folding over in a firm grip. "But you get to?"
"I get to," Seungkwan agrees, and without warning, he unfolds his legs and taps at Seungcheol's ankle with one heeled foot. "Knees open."
Seungcheol obeys with a shudder; the stretch of his leather slacks is taut across his thick thighs as he plants his soles on either side of the chair. To anyone, he could come off as relaxed—but Seungkwan knows better. He knows that Seungcheol's white-knuckled, stir-crazy beneath his stillness.
One stiletto heel catches on the edge of the seat as Seungkwan rests the toe of one shoe right against the bulge in Seungcheol's pants. He hardens right under Seungkwan's touch, unable to help himself.
It feels almost like an out-of-body experience seeing Seungcheol's eyebrows furrow and his jaw clench at watching the pretty high heel in his lap rub slowly over his cock. Pressing down slowly, steadily—until Seungcheol's inhaling sharply through his nose. "Seungkwan-ah," he says, a note of panic in his voice.
"I won't break it," Seungkwan tells him, lips immediately forming in a pout. Silly man. Always thinking the worst. The both of them are far too alike sometimes. "Don't you trust me?"
He pushes down harder. The sound that escapes Seungcheol is strained, but he doesn't tell Seungkwan to stop. Doesn't tell Seungkwan to move away. The restraint is enough to tell Seungkwan that yes, he does trust him. He trusts Seungkwan to do whatever he wants to him. Even if it's stepping on his fucking cock until he cries.
The arousal hits Seungkwan like a head-on collision, settling under his skin and making his pulse skyrocket.
Seungkwan leans back on his palms, lifting his foot just enough for the tension to drain from Seungcheol's body and for him to exhale with relief. "Seungkwan," Seungcheol says again, this time almost a plea. "Fuck." His eyes are still transfixed on the toe of Seungkwan's shoe now slowly tracing the clothed outline of his cock. The black-and-red of it would look incredible against his naked skin, Seungkwan imagines. Against Seungcheol's erection quivering against his belly.
Seungkwan could do it. He could tell Seungcheol to strip down right now. He could make Seungcheol come like this if he kept it up. No hands, no touching himself, no touching Seungkwan. Just a poor attempt to grind up against the soles of Seungkwan's Louboutins until he comes, desperate and needy, completely unsatisfied by the meagre orgasm granted to him.
Seungkwan wants more than that.
"You can touch," Seungkwan finally murmurs, allowing Seungcheol to cradle his foot in his hands. Seungcheol's hands are big and warm, rough from the weights he favours and a lack of hand-cream, but careful as they work at his ankle, sweep up along his calf.
He can only watch with bated breath as Seungcheol bends low and presses a kiss to the top of Seungkwan's foot, and then asks, "Will you take the trousers off?"
Seungkwan moves to acquiesce, but gets stopped by Seungcheol when he starts toeing the heels off first. "Keep them on," he says, all big pleading eyes and wanting mouth. God. He's so handsome it's unfair.
Moments later, Seungkwan's left in his briefs and the heels, still wearing his shirt and suit jacket even though it's feeling far warmer in here than when they first started. He lounges back on the edge of the bed and eyes the way Seungcheol has slipped out of his seat, kneeling on the carpeted floor. The first touch he makes is gentle, but it's followed by a brush of his lips against Seungkwan's bare skin. "Your fucking legs," Seungcheol whispers, and he kisses all the way up to the inside of Seungkwan's thigh.
The kisses leave Seungkwan's skin tingly and sensitive. Seungcheol's mouth doesn't linger too long—just the hint of teeth and a soft lave of his tongue over each spot he fixates on, but the feeling remains even after Seungcheol's moved onto his other thigh. If he keeps this up, Seungkwan might be too keyed up to enjoy the rest of the night.
Seungkwan clasps Seungcheol's chin with his fingers, tilting his face up. "Seungcheollie-hyung's pretty on his knees," he says, "but hyung would look prettier on the bed, wouldn't he?"
He gets a nod, and then Seungcheol's standing slowly, using the bed to push himself to his feet. Seungkwan glances at Seungcheol's knee, right where he knows the surgery scar is, and looks up at him with an obvious question: doing alright?
Seungcheol's expression smoothens out, a wordless reassurance, and he thumbs at Seungkwan's lip once before walking across the room to the desk, dropping his jacket on the chair as he goes. Seungkwan scoots back on the bed, concern allayed, and watches as Seungcheol picks up the champagne on the table (another gift from tonight's party) and undoes the foil wrapper around the neck with practiced hands. In moments like these, it's easy to remember that Seungcheol's used to this sort of casual wealth. He pops the cork off the bottle with barely more than a hiss, and pours them both a glass each.
The champagne is still bubbly when he hands Seungkwan his flute and sits down with his own. He's still hard, pants tented in the front, but he doesn't rush Seungkwan for anything.
Seungkwan rests against the headboard comfortably, taking a sip. His own arousal doesn't feel at all frantic, or urgent to be resolved. It's a nice, simmering pleasure under his skin that matches the sweet rush of alcohol in his mouth.
They're in no rush. They have the entire night to play.
Seungcheol's still facing away from him on the bed, so Seungkwan runs the toe of one heel between Seungcheol's shoulderblades. Skims over the tattoo right between the flex of his traps, traces the knobs in his spine. Seungkwan doesn't let himself look very often, doesn't get to soak it in, but they're alone now. Seungkwan can drink his fill. He admires the broadness of Seungcheol's body, the strength in his jaw. He admires the way his own legs, smooth and bare, look in the shoes, and imagines being pushed down against the bed with his ankles over Seungcheol's shoulders.
"You're enjoying this," Seungcheol remarks, turning his head to look at Seungkwan.
"Of course I am." A sudden frisson of uncertainty follows the words, making his carefully crafted persona waver for a second. "Don't tell me you're not."
Seungcheol drains his flute. He plops it on the bedside table before crawling over to Seungkwan, careful not to knock Seungkwan's glass out of his hand as he leans in to ask for a kiss. He's been good, Seungkwan decides, he can have it—and he lets Seungcheol suck at his lip, lick into his mouth, kiss him until he's letting out a soft, breathy noise. "Now I am," Seungcheol says, and he tucks a bit of Seungkwan's hair back over his ear. It's enough for the anxiety to settle again, allowing Seungkwan to regain control of himself, of the situation. "Seungkwan?"
He tastes of expensive champagne, smells of that expensive cologne he likes to buy. Seungkwan wants to bury his face in Seungcheol's neck and breathe him in. Taste him.
"Hold still." Seungkwan tugs Seungcheol's collar down and tips his glass, letting the last dregs of his drink trickle down the side of Seungcheol's jaw and neck. Seungcheol doesn't move, but there's a muscle in his throat that twitches when it hits. Gold champagne flowing down his pale skin. Seungkwan starts right there, dragging his tongue along the line of it, making sure to hold Seungcheol in place with one firm hand on the back of his neck. He tastes so, so good.
Seungcheol swears when Seungkwan starts pulling at his shirt, wanting to follow the trail of it all the way down. Off it goes, one more layer peeled off for Seungkwan to get his mouth on him, and—Seungkwan's breath catches, confronted by Seungcheol's very fit chest. He's insane. He's crazy—how does a man who'd been stuck doing physical rehab for a year get to look this fucking good?
It's Seungkwan's turn to swear as he runs his hands over Seungcheol's stupidly toned arms, muttering under his breath, “You're fucking crazy. Why are you so big.”
“You like it.” Seungcheol looks down at him with that infuriatingly smug smirk. The one that says he knows he's hot. The one that makes the pit of Seungkwan's stomach burn with equal parts annoyance and lust. “You like that I’m bigger than you. In more ways than one.”
“You mean here?” Seungkwan’s hand shoots down, grabbing Seungcheol through his pants, and Seungcheol lets out a satisfying hiss, jerking up into his grip. “Mmhmm. I do like it. I like that it's the only thing hyung’s good for.” He squeezes a little tighter, and watches Seungcheol's mouth fall open. “You wanna prove me wrong?”
Seungcheol doesn't move an inch, as if he's afraid that Seungkwan will take it back. “Yeah,” he says, voice rough. “Yeah, I wanna.”
“Tell me how.”
“My mouth.” Seungcheol absently licks his lips, and Seungkwan's cock stirs at the thought of it. Seungcheol's soft, pretty mouth, shiny with spit as he kneels between Seungkwan's legs.”If you'll let me.”
Seungkwan shimmies out of his briefs and tosses them aside. He allows his knees to fall apart, exposing the throb of his own hard cock against his thigh, ignoring the flush that rises to his face when Seungcheol stares without compunction.
“Get me wet,” Seungkwan tells him. “No fingers until I say so.”
They take a moment to rearrange themselves; Seungkwan gets comfortable on his hands and knees as Seungcheol sits down, shifting closer until all he needs to do is lean in—Seungkwan lets out a soft breath when Seungcheol presses a kiss to his tailbone.
His hands greedily find their way to Seungkwan's ass, squeezing lightly as he finds the perfect place to rest them. His thumbs are careful as he spreads Seungkwan apart, holding him in place for Seungcheol to guide his mouth down the curve of his cheek, and then over his hole.
The first touch makes Seungkwan jerk, clench, and then tremble from head to toe. Seungcheol doesn't do this often, and when he does, it's usually with Seungkwan doing most of the work, riding his face until he comes. Now, Seungkwan gets to sink into the sheets, tensing and untensing as Seungcheol's tongue licks him open. He doesn't have to worry about a single thing—Seungcheol is doing exactly as Seungkwan told him to.
It's sloppy and wet, exactly the way Seungkwan likes it. Seungcheol nuzzles between his cheeks, kissing him, running his tongue along his rim and fucking it in until Seungkwan's cock aches with arousal. He doesn't know how much time passes—but Seungcheol keeps it up without any hesitation or pause, as if eating Seungkwan out is all he's made for. "That's it, ah," Seungkwan moans, burying his face against the soft, feather-down pillow, eyes fluttering with each suck of his sac, his rim, each teasing bite that Seungcheol leaves on his skin before he returns to getting Seungkwan dripping with his spit. "Oh—hyung-ah, unh—"
His mouth is incredible. His mouth is perfect. Soft and pillowy and so, so eager against Seungkwan's hole. The world could end right now in a billowing ball of flame, and all Seungkwan would need is this—Seungcheol single-mindedly ensuring that Seungkwan will be wet enough with his spit to take his fingers, and then his cock. His big, stupid, amazing cock that'll light Seungkwan's nerves up with every fucking hit, like every other time he's fucked Seungkwan.
"Stop, stop," Seungkwan gasps, lifting his head to look over his shoulder at Seungcheol. "I want your fingers now."
Seungcheol's eyes are glassy, mouth and chin wet with spit. Seungkwan can't help himself—he flips onto his back to take him in, stomach clenching with fuzzy pleasure when he's reminded that Seungcheol's mouth was just on him. His tongue, in him.
It's a moment of reprieve for the both of them when Seungcheol gets up to retrieve lube and to rinse his mouth out, knowing well enough that Seungkwan will still want to kiss. The tap turns on in the bathroom as Seungkwan stretches his legs across the sheets, making sure his shoes haven't slipped off yet.
He can feel how slick he is with just Seungcheol's spit between his legs. Soon, he'll be wetter, fuller. Just to keep his arousal peaked, Seungkwan touches himself to the thought of it, of being filled up, of Seungcheol making him feel good.
When Seungcheol returns, clambering onto the bed like a predator intent on its prey, it's easy enough for Seungkwan to spread his legs in response. Two slick fingers enter him without resistance, and Seungkwan already needs more. "More," Seungkwan urges, hand still loosely curled around his own cock, "more, c'mon."
"You're hot when you're bossy," Seungcheol remarks, but he quickly remembers his place when Seungkwan twists his fingers into Seungcheol's dark hair and tugs.
Seungkwan loosens his hold and brings Seungcheol in for a kiss, lips a soft, wet smack against his. Seungkwan can taste the mouthwash, the champagne, that deep, familiar taste that all of Seungcheol's kisses come with. "You're hot when you listen to me," Seungkwan murmurs against Seungcheol's mouth, breath hitching when he feels the fingers inside him pull out. "Give me more and you can fuck me sooner."
More lube, enough to plaster the inside of Seungkwan's thighs with it. Three fingers in, and the slight burn is just enough of an edge to the hot arousal building up in his gut that Seungkwan is starting to lose track of time and space. Where he is, how long they've been in this bed, it doesn't matter. Not when Seungcheol's mouthing over his pulse, whispering about how wet he feels, how easily he'd opened up for Seungcheol, how he's been waiting so well, so patiently for this. "Can I," Seungcheol begs against his skin, "can I feel you, please, I wanna."
"Use your big boy words." Seungkwan forces his eyes open to find Seungcheol staring at him, looking hungrier than ever. "What do you want to do?"
"I want to get my cock in you. I wanna fuck you, I wanna make you come."
Seungkwan's dizzy, already desperate for it, but Seungcheol still waits for an answer. He's handed the decision over to Seungkwan, given him control. "Yes," Seungkwan says, "yes."
They both undress fully. Seungkwan is too wound up to take his time with this, yanking his jacket and shirt off with little care. He makes to kick the heels off, but Seungcheol stops him there with a single look.
He's gorgeous everywhere, Seungcheol is. Broad and fit, hulking over Seungkwan in a way that's always fucked with Seungkwan's head ever since they were teenagers and Seungcheol started putting on muscle mass in a way that Seungkwan never could with his delicate ankles and proclivity for cardio over weight training.
Seungcheol must feel good about how the night is going, because he stops Seungkwan when he makes to get on top of him, telling him to lie back down instead. A rush floods Seungkwan's system almost immediately when Seungcheol leans in, face shadowed in the light. Seungkwan hasn't been fucked on his back for a while, not since Seungcheol hurt his knee. He's missed it, missed the way Seungcheol covers Seungkwan's entire body with his own, missed the way Seungcheol makes him feel small and trapped, even when Seungkwan's calling the shots.
A pillow is shoved under his hips. Seungkwan holds himself open, hands under his knees, ankles dangling in the air. He's open and ready for Seungcheol, hard and wanting, completely exposed in the thin, cold air of the hotel room.
Seungcheol rakes his gaze over Seungkwan's body. He hoists Seungkwan's feet up as he shifts a little closer, hooking them over his shoulders. When he bears forward, Seungkwan's bent almost in half—it's so hot that Seungkwan moans before Seungcheol can even get in him.
They kiss, and it's then that Seungkwan feels Seungcheol pressing in. Even after being opened up, it still feels like he's being split by the head of Seungcheol's fat cock. Seungkwan swallows him up, feels Seungcheol's hips meet his ass, feels the depth of Seungcheol inside him like it's almost in his lungs, smothering his breath and stoking something white-hot and incredible inside him.
Seungcheol says something completely unintelligible, head hanging as his shoulders tremble. It's so much, it's not enough. And then, he moves—and it's enough to make Seungkwan's vision blur. With every thrust, his insides cling to the thick heat of Seungcheol's throbbing cock, shuddering and contracting around it like all his body wants is to keep it inside him forever.
It feels so good. It feels crazy. Seungkwan can taste the impending orgasm on his tongue. Seungcheol grinds in at an angle, and Seungkwan's hand flies to his own cock, gripping himself tight to stop from coming right then and there. "Hyung," he whines, voice tremulous and high, "slower, slower."
Obedient as ever, Seungcheol does as he's told. His movements slow, but they're just as even and strong as they'd started off being, and it's enough for Seungkwan to hold his orgasm off right at the edge, just so he can enjoy the way Seungcheol feels inside him for longer.
He loves it, loves feeling Seungcheol so alive, pulsing and hot inside him, shocking his system into overdrive with each slick thrust. And he doesn't speed up, not even when Seungkwan can see the need on his face, the way he's beginning to tire. Seungcheol's ruined him for other men with how considerate he is of Seungkwan's pleasure, how expressive he is. Seungkwan doesn't even have to guess at how he feels. He can just see it on his hyung's face.
And right now, Seungkwan knows that Seungcheol needs more from Seungkwan too.
He pushes Seungcheol off him, grabs at Seungcheol's wrists and guides his hands into place until Seungcheol gets the memo. He hauls Seungkwan up into his lap, huffing out a relieved breath when he finally gets pressure off his knee. Seungwan doesn't even have to do anything; Seungcheol's so strong that he manages to maneuvre Seungkwan where he wants himself.
The change in angle, the weight of his own body dropping down onto Seungcheol's cock, the fact that Seungcheol can now get his mouth onto Seungkwan's nipples, the way he'd manhandled Seungkwan to get him in the perfect spot, all of it is almost too much for Seungkwan. His legs feel like jelly, his nails scrabble at Seungcheol's back and hair for some sort of stability, his mouth is slack and open and letting out an endless babble of words like, touch me, I love your cock, you feel so good inside me, fuck—
Seungcheol shuts him up with a bite to his throat. "You looked so hot tonight," Seungcheol rasps, fingers digging into the meat of Seungkwan's thighs, "so fucking pretty, the hair and the suit and the shoes, the fucking shoes—"
"I'll wear them for you whenever you want," Seungkwan gasps, and Seungcheol's hips jerk up, fucking harder into Seungkwan even as his forehead falls against Seungkwan's shoulder. "Anything for my good boy."
"Seungkwan," Seungcheol begs, voice wavering dangerously. He's close, Seungkwan can tell, Seungkwan wants him to be even closer, he wants Seungcheol to come.
He blindly claws along the lines of Seungcheol's tattoo, leaving angry red marks for the morning after. Drags one hand up to his nape and guides Seungcheol's head up, bringing them face-to-face again. "Good boy," Seungkwan repeats, and Seungcheol's eyes shutter and close. "Seungcheol."
"Seungkwan," Seungcheol echoes, and he asks for a kiss that Seungkwan grants him, letting their tongues press together until it's barely an actual kiss, just them breathing into each other's mouths, desiring the intimacy over actual pleasure now. "Fuck. Please."
No other words pass between them after. Seungkwan forces himself to ride Seungcheol with every last ounce of energy he has, meeting Seungcheol's increasingly desperate rolls of his hips up into him. Their gazes are locked together the entire time; Seungkwan wants to see it, see the moment when Seungcheol loses it. "You're gonna make me come," Seungkwan tells him, grinding his leaking cock against Seungcheol's abs. "Don't stop, don't stop—"
It overtakes him like an eruption, a ceaseless wave of pleasure expanding beyond his core and spreading through his limbs. He tightens around Seungcheol so violently that it makes Seungcheol stutter and spill inside him. Even through the layer of latex, Seungkwan can still feel the heat of his spend, and imagining it coating his insides makes Seungkwan's cock twitch and spurt even more.
Seungkwan strips his cock within the circle of his fist the entire time, rocking back onto Seungcheol's cock with desperation as the orgasm wrings everything out of him. The sound he lets out is loud enough to echo off the bathroom tiles through the half-open door. It drowns out the grunt and groan that Seungcheol makes against Seungkwan's skin.
They hold each other close the entire time, not letting go until both of them have returned to consciousness. By then, Seungkwan feels like he's going to pass out if he's upright any longer, and Seungcheol disentangles the both of them slowly once Seungkwan's gotten his attention again.
He's set back down on the mattress gently, and Seungkwan wipes the sweaty hair out of his eyes as he takes a breather. "Fuck," he mutters, heart threatening to pound out of his chest. That felt insane. Even with the inevitable mental clarity descending upon him far too soon, his mind doesn't change: he'd relive this night anytime if Seungcheol ever wanted him to.
"Yeah," comes Seungcheol's voice, sounding just as exhausted as Seungkwan feels. His hands are rubbing along Seungkwan's calves, moving towards the heels. He tugs them off Seungkwan's feet, and it feels almost as good as the sex to finally stretch his toes again. Seungcheol laughs at the sigh he doesn't even bother to hide, and runs a hand over the light red lines left behind by the snug fit of the shoes.
"Don't you dare throw them," Seungkwan says, watching them dangle from his other hand. "I meant it when I said they were expensive."
"Wasn't going to," Seungcheol says, rolling his eyes. The bed dips when Seungcheol leans over to place the shoes down, before clambering back up towards the pillows. His hair falls around his face as he hovers over Seungkwan to kiss him one more time, and Seungkwan pushes it back with his fingers, tucks it over Seungcheol's ears. He kisses back, letting Seungcheol keep it sweet and soft. It's almost like Seungcheol remembers how Seungkwan gets needy after he's had a good orgasm, always wanting to stay close and to kiss and to cuddle. Seungcheol remembers. Seungcheol knows. It makes Seungkwan's heart do something terrible. "Kwan-ah?"
"Mm?"
His next words come out of left-field. "Thanks."
Seungkwan squirms. "For what," he mumbles. "For letting you fuck me? Not exactly a hardship."
Something complicated flashes across Seungcheol's face for a moment, but Seungkwan doesn't have time to decipher it by the time he's speaking again. "I can't thank my date for a good time?"
"A date?" Seungkwan's eyebrows shoot up his forehead. "Funny. I don't remember getting wined and dined tonight."
"The champagne and getting your ass eaten didn't do it for you?"
"Hyung," Seungkwan splutters. cheeks warming immediately. Did he have to spoil the moment immediately by being this crude? "Seriously—"
Seungcheol catches his hands before he can use them to hide his face. "Thank you for making this trip memorable," he says, rubbing his thumbs along the inside of Seungkwan's palms. It's soothing. "In more ways than one. And thanks for being here with me. I know this week's been weird—and it's a big change to get used to, even if we both knew it was coming. So I guess it was just… nice. To have this with you. Something familiar. Something good."
He doesn't have to say it in full. Seungkwan knows exactly what he means.
"You're not always this sweet," Seungkwan says warily. "You trying to get another round out of me?"
Seungcheol snorts. "Maybe," he says. "Or maybe I'm just feeling generous."
"If you were feeling generous, you'd order room service." Seungkwan snatches his hands out of Seungcheol's grip and shoves him back lightly. "I think I deserve dessert."
"Do you," Seungcheol says, amused but fond. "Yeah, yeah. I'll get you your dessert. Bathroom's all yours."
He makes to get up, but Seungkwan catches his wrist after a split-second of hesitation. "I—" he starts quietly, and Seungcheol's entire focus narrows down to him once again, eyebrows furrowing like he expects Seungkwan to say something concerning. "It's nothing, it's just—thank you too, I guess. For spending your time with me. You made me feel really sexy. You made me feel wanted. And that doesn't happen too often, so. Thanks."
It's embarrassing to say it, but Seungkwan's almost relieved that he's finally let the words out. Spoken the insecurity into existence, allowed someone else to know what plagues him every single time he lets someone in like this. One of the few people he trusts more than anything in this world—someone who's seen him intimately, someone who knows what his personality is like and still hasn't run off screaming.
Seungcheol's voice is soft when he responds. "Ah, Boo Seungkwan." He presses a light kiss to Seungkwan's forehead, and Seungkwan glances up, blinking when Seungcheol cups his cheek. He's looking at Seungkwan with that long-suffering smile, the one he wears when he's watching the group get up to no good. In this moment, he's Seungcheol, ever-dependable, Seungkwan's leader. The image of him converges with the memory of him from just minutes ago as he'd been inside Seungkwan, but it doesn't freak Seungkwan out the way it did the first time they'd messed around.
He's just Choi Seungcheol.
"Ice cream it is," Seungcheol adds, and he sweeps his thumb over the corner of Seungkwan's answering smile before getting up. This time, Seungkwan lets him go, and takes a moment to gather himself before moving to the bathroom.
They eat their expensive ice cream (butter pecan for Seungkwan, chocolate for Seungcheol) in Seungkwan's clean, dry, lube-and-come-free bed, legs loosely brushing together as they watch a movie on Seungkwan's phone to bring them both back to regular programming: as friends, team-mates, colleagues who know just a little too much about each other.
Away from all of this, and back to reality.
Seungcheol ends up staying the night, hogging all the blankets and only relinquishing them when Seungkwan kicks at him and snatches them back. It's comforting having another body in his bed for a night like this, where he's far away from home.
In the morning they head to the airport, bleary-eyed and bone-tired. Smile for fans and press as is part of their job scopes. Both of them are tucked into their hoodies and hats, masks on. They don't speak on the plane, choosing to catch up on sleep or social media, but once they're back in the comfort of their own car, Seungcheol leans in close and says, "Text me when you're done unpacking. I want to drop by."
"You're kidding." Seungkwan finishes wrestling with his seat-belt and turns to look at him, confusion rising in his chest. "You're not tired from—everything?"
"Calm down." Seungcheol raises an eyebrow, and Seungkwan's face colours. Okay, yeah, but can he blame him for thinking that, though? "My brother's gonna be home and I don't wanna deal with him right after a long-haul flight. And you don't mind when I bring Kkuma over."
Seungkwan helpfully doesn't point out the fact that Seungcheol's apartment is big enough that he could just stay in his room and avoid his brother for a week if he wanted to. "Not sick of seeing my face yet?" His puffy, no-makeup, sticky-red face. His gigantic eye bags and the pimple on his chin. Last night's performance entirely scrubbed away—now, there's nothing but Seungkwan as he is. All bared for Seungcheol to see.
"No," Seungcheol says, and he sounds far too earnest for someone who'd just lied through his teeth. Even after all this time, he still can't hide anything from any of them, too expressive for his own good. "You're not getting rid of me that easily, Seungkwan-ah."
He almost sounds like he's saying, I want you as you are.
Seungkwan swallows down the teeny-tiny little bit of hope in his throat, and tries not to sound too happy when he replies, "Shower before you come over. No outside clothes on my sheets."
"It's been twelve years. You think I don't know that by now?" But Seungcheol's leaning back in his seat, looking satisfied despite being nagged at once again. Relaxed. Relieved, even, that Seungkwan had said yes. Like he'd been afraid that Seungkwan would have told him no.
(Silly man. Always thinking the worst.
Just like Seungkwan, not realising that their reality's been different for a while now.)
Seungkwan turns away to face the window, hiding his smile. Perhaps this will be just as easy for them to have, too.