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Taeyang can be determined when he wants to be.
It was late, too late for any of the other members to be left in the recording studios or the large, echoing practice room. Keeho found comfort in being here at night, alone, uses it as time to think. It’s why he frowns at first when he hears the quiet
click
of one of the doors down the hall.
Keeho pops his head out of his recording studio, squinting at the too-bright fluorescent lights that line the hallway. He really should put in a request to get those switched out to something warmer, more ambient.
“Theo?”
Taeyang stops with his hand on the doorknob, turns only his head to look at Keeho. Even this late he looks alert, eyes sparkling with something mischievous but the smile he wears is calming. He tilts his head a little at Keeho, gives him a look that they both know what it means.
“Taeyang,” Keeho corrects, voice quieter when he adds
“Hyung.”
Taeyang’s smile shifts to something more like a knowing smirk, and he turns his full body towards Keeho. His hand is still on the doorknob. “I was looking for you,” he says, voice even and calming. “I was worried when I heard you weren’t back yet.”
Keeho rubs the back of his neck, looks back to his desk for a moment. An audio program sits open, recorded and re-recorded lines of track staring back at him in technicolor. “I wanted to get some work done on this new song,” he explains, hoping Taeyang doesn’t ask to listen. He’s been plugging away at it for hours, frustration beginning to sit hot at the nape of his neck as he clicks away at the screen.
Keeho turns back to Taeyang, who doesn’t seem particularly interested in what Keeho is telling him. In fact, it seems like he’s hardly listening at all, just staring at the loose collar of his t-shirt. Keeho had been tugging at it in annoyance and he flushes now, just a little, when he realizes how low it sits on his chest.
“Need a break?” Taeyang asks him, as Keeho sheepishly adjusts his shirt.
Keeho clears his throat. “Sounds good.”
Taeyang opens the door, stepping off to the side and letting Keeho slide past him and into the large practice room. His footsteps echo in the space, and Keeho practically flinches at the sound. He is so aware of his own body, of the way his heartbeat thumps in his chest and his breath lives in his throat. He is so aware that he and Taeyang are alone.
A single light flicks on, bathing the center of the room in amber. Taeyang makes a clicking noise with his tongue as he walks into the room, reaching out to rub the expanse of Keeho’s shoulders. His hand is warm even through the fabric of the shirt.
“So tense,” Taeyang teases, and Keeho feels himself melt into the touch. Keeho has been in front of his computer for hours, hasn’t seen another person in probably twice as long, and pitifully, he misses the human connection. He wants to protest when Taeyang lets his hand fall away and he walks past him. Keeho trails after him, quietly, until Taeyang stops abruptly and Keeho almost runs into the expanse of his back.
Taeyang turns his head, looking just barely over his shoulder, his brow arched in thinly-veiled amusement. He always seems to appease Keeho with looks like this, calming the heartbeat that seems so loud it pounds in Keeho’s ears. He reaches out to hook his finger in the waistband of Keeho’s sweats, leads him like a dog to the center of the room. Keeho lets himself be guided, ears heating up and curiosity stirring in his chest.
“I think we should—” Keeho starts, but Taeyang is faster.
“Sit.”
Keeho blinks. They’re standing in the middle of the practice room, the chairs stacked up and pushed into a far corner of the darkened room. He realizes, humiliatingly, what Taeyang means.
Keeho sinks to the floor, kneeling against the laminate paneling before shifting and letting his ass hit the ground. Taeyang smiles down at him, body turned fully towards him and standing with his hands in the pockets of his jeans. Even with the serene smile, Keeho can see the tint of something fiery in his eyes.
“Good boy,” Taeyang says, laughing a little when Keeho swallows thickly and reaches out. Taeyang removes one hand from his pocket, takes Keeho’s slender fingers in his own, and allows Keeho to tug him to the floor. Taeyang is suddenly in his space, nudging Keeho’s legs open wider and pressing his knee to the meat of Keeho’s inner thigh. He looks beautiful like this, face close enough to Keeho’s that he can count his lashes, see his spit-shined lips. He always looks beautiful, Keeho thinks.
“On your back or your stomach?” Taeyang asks, as casually as anything.
Beautiful with a dirty mouth, Keeho thinks, blush so strong it starts to creep down his neck. Instead of replying he simply lays back, fingers knitted in Taeyang’s t-shirt and bringing him down with him. Their kiss is languid, unhurried as Keeho slots their lips together. There’s a faint taste of black coffee as Taeyang sweeps his tongue into Keeho’s waiting mouth and for a moment Keeho imagines it— watching his Adam’s apple bob up and down as Taeyang takes another drink. Keeho wonders if he’s been waiting for him, nursing cup after cup to stay awake so they can have their fun now, alone with nothing but their shared breaths to keep them company.
Taeyang’s touch works quickly, already shucking Keeho’s sweatpants down to his knees and palming him through his underwear. Guitarist fingers, Keeho always admired, thick and calloused and masculine in a way that makes Keeho’s head spin if he looks at them for too long. Keeho sighs, high and strangled, as he kicks his pants off and hears the soft
thud
of them landing somewhere to the left. One less barrier between him and Taeyang.
“Missed this,” Taeyang says, when he’s pulled away from Keeho’s eager mouth and licking a flat, wide stripe down his neck. Taeyang bites down at the soft flesh there, just below Keeho’s ear and causing Keeho’s breath to hitch in his throat. The words are just as intoxicating as the way Taeyang begins to suck a hickey against his neck.
Missed this.
Missed you. Want you.
Keeho feels high on Taeyang’s attention, always has, every glance his way or laugh Keeho managed to coax out of Taeyang was considered a victory. He keens into Taeyang’s touch, grips the back of his biceps to pull him closer. Blunt nails leaving marks like crescent moons just above the key tattoo, below the tiny crown. Keeho wants, selfishly, for his nails to leave their own permanent marks on his skin. A tattoo he carries around for life, ones that Keeho can point to and say
I was here once. I mattered once.
Taeyang continues to kiss him, mouths melting hot and honey-like together, as he slips off Keeho’s underwear. He throws them to the side without looking, bringing his hands back as soon as he can to touch Keeho. Calluses feel rough against the sensitive skin of Keeho’s cock and he jumps a little, Taeyang letting out a quiet
sorry
against his lips as he strokes him.
“S’okay,” Keeho slurs, turns his head to chase Taeyang’s lips more. He leans up into Taeyang’s touch, wanting to be as close as possible. Chasing the burn.
Taeyang’s expert hands slide down until they’re at the waistband of his own jeans. He pops the button open, flat side of his thumb pulling down the zipper. He pushes the denim just past his hips, enough to free himself from his underwear, all while not breaking their kiss. Keeho had watched him in interest, feeling like he can’t bear to miss a second of the way Taeyang moves. Taeyang must notice, because he hums into Keeho’s mouth and breaks the kiss, tilting Keeho’s chin up with a finger.
“Hey,” Taeyang says, voice calm but taking on an amused color. “Focus on my face.”
It’s dizzying, the way Taeyang can command him. Keeho nods dumbly.
“Good boy,” Taeyang says, again, mirroring the same words he said when they first walked in. This time it feels heavier, though. More meaning behind the phrasing. Keeho wants to press forward, wants to ask Taeyang what he’s looking for from him, but he quickly gets his answer.
Taeyang spits into his hand, moving his fingertips in circular motions against his thumb to coat them. When he reaches down to thumb Keeho’s hole, the sensation is warm.
“Ah,” Keeho lets out, like a sigh. He feels himself relax into Taeyang’s touch even if there’s an initial burn. Taeyang works him open, first with a thumb, then his long pointer finger. Then the middle. Then he’s sliding in and out with his digits and Keeho is squirming, arching his back into the touch because it’s not enough. Even with Taeyang’s other hand fisting his cock it’s not enough. Taeyang lets out a subtle hum, like he’s bored. Like he’s not sitting here with Keeho nearly unraveling beneath him.
“Need you,” Keeho says, feels the high points of his cheeks heat up as he says it but he can’t find it in himself to care much anymore. Fingers digging crescent moons into Taeyang’s arms again. “Need you now.”
Taeyang smiles, his hand slowing until he finally pulls out of Keeho, who whines. “That’s what I was waiting for,” he says.
Keeho wants to protest, wants to point out that he’s been waiting just as long, but then he feels Taeyang at his entrance and the world narrows into just this feeling. He pushes in, slowly, dragging against Keeho until his body takes him in fully.
Keeho whines, high-pitched, and a wave of embarrassment finally washes over him. The desperation builds as Taeyang continues at a lazy pace, bracing his forearms against the floor on either side of Keeho’s body as he bottoms out achingly slow. It isn’t until Keeho lets out another whine that Taeyang finally picks up the pace until it’s one Keeho is familiar with, the one he always tries to coax out of Taeyang.
It’s addicting, the way their bodies move against each other. Keeho doesn’t even mind the ache that starts to build in his shoulders, slamming back in small rhythmic motions against the floor as Taeyang thrusts into him. He moves from the position only once— leaning his upper body up so he can kiss Taeyang again, hot and wanting against the soft slide of skin on skin.
Keeho settles back against the floor, taking in the way the low light halos around Taeyang’s head, reaching out to touch him. Keeho’s hand trails down Taeyang’s chest, twists in the fabric of his shirt, and starts to reach underneath to feel the soft skin of his hip.
Taeyang laughs, hips canting up into Keeho and stretching him in a way that makes him feel like he’s floating. Keeho doesn’t even mind when Taeyang pulls his hand away, pins both of Keeho’s arms above his head by his wrists, because his reward is Taeyang leaning down to lick into his mouth. Keeho lets his eyes close, embracing the warmth of Taeyang’s body against his, inside him, soft against his lips. And then the warmth is gone, Taeyang stops kissing him, and Keeho opens his eyes at the exact same moment that Taeyang begins to really slam into him.
“Oh God, you—” Keeho starts to say, feels his words catch in his throat when Taeyang rolls his hips. He doesn’t know what he’s saying, not exactly, but Keeho recognizes the flash of something darker that passes over Taeyang’s face. His quickening pace brings a newfound energy in Taeyang, and he sits up to his full height, looming over Keeho and blocking out the light almost completely.
“Cute,” Taeyang says, voice mild as he reaches somewhere off to the side. He doesn’t even sound breathless as his cock slides in and out of Keeho, faster than they’ve tried in months. His eyes never leave Keeho’s face, and Keeho feels like it’s a challenge. The light gleams off of something shiny in Taeyang’s hand moments later, and Keeho feels his heart hammering in his chest when he realizes what it is.
“So pretty for me,” Taeyang assures him, but Keeho feels the urge to cover his face. Taeyang angles his phone perfectly, leaning back just enough to capture as much of Keeho’s upper body as he can in the shot.
It’s such a compromising position, Keeho’s back pressing into the cold laminate paneled floor of the practice room. His hair is fanned out, flush crawling all the way down his neck until it disappears beneath the collar of his t-shirt. He barely has a grip on Taeyang’s waist, Keeho realizes, his fingers keep slipping and catching in the belt loops of his jeans with each intense thrust.
“You can’t show anybody,” Keeho pleads, breath hiccuping, as Taeyang takes another photo. His phone volume is up and the shutter noise of the camera rings loud in Keeho’s ears. He shivers at the air conditioning hitting the bare skin of his legs, missing the warmth of his clothes or maybe Taeyang’s body draping over him. Taeyang reaches his hand out again, taking as much of Keeho’s wrists as he can in one hand, and takes another few photos. Keeho can only imagine how the angle looks, the scandalous pose and blush coloring his cheeks.
Taeyang hums, over exaggerated as he tilts his head. He’s not thinking, just figuring out the best way to mess with Keeho’s emotions. He removes his hands from Keeho’s wrists and moves south to push up Keeho’s t-shirt more, exposing the skin of his waist and snapping another photo. Keeho imagines the precum on his stomach catching the light overhead, and his cheeks burn.
“Why not?” Taeyang asks, fucks up into Keeho again. At some point he had slowed his pace, dragging both of them back to his lazy thrusts and edging Keeho’s orgasm that was just beginning to build tight in his core. Taeyang’s free hand is steady now, anchored to Keeho’s hip bone and pulling Keeho down further on his cock. It’s the kind of stretch that nearly reaches into pain, as Keeho feels his eyes flutter shut at the movement and another whine escapes his lips.
Keeho can’t answer him, but the horror seeps into his bones anyway. It would ruin his career, whatever dynamic he had with the rest of his members, if Taeyang leaked them. He can’t.
Still,
a small part of Keeho’s brain tells him,
imagine the thrill.
The humiliation of seeing himself fucked out on the internet, the fact that it was Taeyang of all people that posted the content. Keeho finally gets Taeyang’s attention, finally gets to know what it feels like to have his cock inside his ass the past few months, and maybe leaking the footage means that Taeyang feels the same. That he has a certain possessiveness running hot in his veins, the same jealousy Keeho feels whenever Taeyang looks at someone else or laughs at their jokes. That maybe Keeho can’t make a lasting mark on Taeyang’s body, but he can leave a lasting impression in his mind.
The same desire to shout out their relationship from the rooftops— whatever relationship that may be.
Keeho feels himself take a breath, feels Taeyang hot inside him, and his eyes open to take in the way Taeyang’s gaze is smoldering above him. The light no longer halos around him, instead Taeyang’s body seems to eclipse it almost entirely. If the public can’t know about them, maybe there’s someone who can. Through shaking breaths, Keeho instructs Theo to open his messages, to tap the group chat at the top of his screen, Jiung and Intak’s names in bold characters at the top of the conversation.
Keeho shivers for an entirely different reason this time, lifting up his own shirt until he pulls it off his body entirely, exposing himself to Taeyang’s camera and letting him take another photo. He angles his chest out, reaches down to drag his own precum up to his sternum, and looks directly into the camera lens of Taeyang’s iPhone. The shutter noise blends into each other as Taeyang snaps picture after picture, switching eventually to taking short videos. Keeho feels the natural pull to the camera that Taeyang would always tease him for. Faux-scandalous whispers that echo in Keeho’s mind about how desperate he was for attention, now colored with a sense of pride as he poses. Excitement is hot in his core when Taeyang smirks and taps away on his phone, finger hovering over the button and waiting for the signal.
“Send it,” Keeho says.
The familiar message chime rings out, knowing that an influx of photos and video are blowing up their group chat. That Keeho can scroll through them later that night, admiring his and Taeyang’s handiwork. That better still, Intak and Jiung can gawk at them, let desire grow hot under their skin until they’re approaching the two of them and asking exactly what kind of arrangement they can all work out.
The thought is hot, pride welling up inside Keeho just as his orgasm snaps and he spills over himself. Taeyang sighs contently at the sight, eyes fluttering shut as his hips still, buried deep into Keeho and finishing sticky and slow inside of him. He gives himself a few seconds to catch his breath, still looming over Keeho, but when he moves to pull out Keeho lets out a whine.
“No,” he says, voice rough and fucked-out. He pulls Taeyang down onto his chest, wraps his arms around the small of Taeyang’s waist and holds him against him. “Stay.”
Stay he does, Taeyang humming quietly and peppering kisses against Keeho’s neck. One hand reaches up lazily to card through Keeho’s hair, the angle awkward until Keeho tilts his head down and Taeyang pulls back. Just enough for their lips to slot together again. Just how they always should be, and the same thought echoes in Keeho’s brain.
I was here once. I mattered once.