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The lights were bright. The set was loud. Everyone was laughing — and Mingi wanted to scream.
They were filming a variety show — one of those casual, lighthearted ones with games, snacks, and dumb forfeits. Easy enough.
Until it wasn’t.
Until the MC pulled out the box.
And out came the Pepero sticks.
“No way,” Wooyoung gasped dramatically, slapping Yunho’s chest like they were actors in a sitcom. “You’re kidding.”
Mingi chuckled like everyone else did. But there was a flicker of something in his chest. A tiny snap.
And then came the words:
“Yunho and Wooyoung, you’re up first!”
The members roared with laughter and teasing. Even Mingi smiled—at first.
He didn’t realize how tightly he was gripping the edge of his seat. Not until Yunho and Wooyoung stood up in front of him.
And suddenly, it was real.
They were just feet away, in full view of the camera and the group. Yunho, all calm and smug, holding the Pepero in his mouth. And Wooyoung, eyes glinting with mischief, leaning in slow.
Mingi swallowed.
He could’ve looked away. Should’ve. But he didn’t. He stared.
And it was so slow.
Yunho didn’t break eye contact.
Wooyoung’s lips parted, his tongue briefly peeking out—like he was tasting the air.
And then their mouths met in the middle. A soft crunch. An almost-kiss.
The room erupted with screaming laughter and shouting. But Mingi didn’t laugh. He couldn’t.
Because he’d seen it — that tiny brush of lips before they pulled back. That almost-moment.
And the way Yunho’s tongue slid out to clean the corner of his mouth after.
Mingi’s thighs pressed together under the table. He was hard. Already. Just like that.
"That was way too close!" San wheezed, tossing a pillow across the room.
The MC grinned. “You wanna try again? That wasn’t close enough for a real win!”
“Oh no,” Wooyoung said, already laughing.
But Yunho? Yunho smirked.
“We can do better,” he said, voice low and confident.
Snap.
Mingi’s spine stiffened. His cock throbbed.
He hated this.
He loved this.
He wanted to scream and watch and leave and fuck all at the same time.
The second attempt started.
This time, Wooyoung took the Pepero.
Yunho leaned in, hands behind his back, slow and deliberate.
Their lips didn’t just brush.
They pressed.
Brief, soft, but it was there.
And Mingi saw it.
Saw Yunho’s mouth part ever so slightly.
Saw Wooyoung’s teeth grab the end of the stick, their noses touching.
The kind of intimacy that didn’t need words.
Mingi’s nails dug into his jeans.
“Still not satisfied,” the host joked. “You wanna go for the record?”
And Yunho—God, Yunho—turned to look directly at Mingi. Just a flick of the eyes. Just one glance.
Then he nodded. “One more.”
One more.
Mingi couldn’t fucking breathe.
This time, there was no stick left.
Just mouths.
Just lips.
And when they leaned in—third time, slower than all the others—Mingi felt it in his cock.
That soft touch. That second-long pause before they pulled away.
Like they knew.
Like they wanted him to watch.
The room exploded again. Everyone howled. Wooyoung bowed dramatically, face flushed. Yunho laughed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
And Mingi?
Mingi was stiff in his seat, cock painfully hard, thighs clenched together, sweat sliding down the back of his neck.
He didn’t speak.
Didn’t move.
He just sat there—burning.
Across the room, Yunho finally turned to him with that same smug look.
One brow raised. One corner of his mouth tugging up.
“You good, princess?”
Voice low. Smooth. Only for him.
And Mingi?
He didn’t answer.
He just nodded once, sharp and silent, like it was the only thing holding him together.
The camera kept rolling.
The show went on.
But Mingi? Mingi didn’t hear a fucking word of it.
All he could hear was his heartbeat—loud, pounding, like a warning.
Or a countdown.
Wooyoung was still laughing breathlessly beside Yunho, wiping invisible crumbs off his shirt like he hadn’t just brushed lips with someone else's boyfriend.
Yunho leaned back in his chair with a smug, lazy confidence that made Mingi want to either strangle him or ride him until the smugness shattered.
Probably both.
The next game started — something stupid with charades. Laughter erupted around the room. Everyone was shouting guesses.
Mingi was silent.
He sat stiffly beside Yunho. His hands gripped the cushion under the table. His thighs pressed tight. His cock ached in his jeans. His whole body was tense with pent-up heat he couldn't express.
And then Yunho leaned over.
Casual. Innocent. Like it was nothing.
His shoulder brushed Mingi’s.
His mouth tilted toward Mingi’s ear.
And in the softest whisper — so quiet it didn’t match his usual boldness — Yunho said:
“You looked like you were gonna come in your pants.”
Mingi froze.
His fingers clenched the cushion.
A sharp breath hissed between his teeth.
His hips twitched forward without meaning to.
He couldn’t speak.
Didn’t trust himself to.
Yunho leaned back again, smirking like nothing happened. He raised a hand to give Wooyoung a high-five across the table, joking loudly about “best teamwork of the day.”
Mingi’s jaw clenched.
But then—
A hand.
Under the table.
On his thigh.
His breath hitched — quiet, but real.
Yunho’s hand rested there for a moment.
Then slowly started to move.
Fingers sliding, slow and dangerous, higher and higher. Not rough — no, not yet — just intentional.
“I saw how hard you were,” Yunho whispered again, low enough no mic could catch it.
“Did you like watching me kiss him, baby?”
Mingi’s heart punched against his chest.
He tried to say “stop” but it came out like a whimper instead.
Yunho’s hand reached his inner thigh, palm cupping the heat between Mingi’s legs through the denim.
And Mingi jerked.
His body was trembling. His cock was pulsing. He was humiliated and turned on beyond belief.
“You were jealous,” Yunho murmured. “But you liked it. I could see it in your fucking eyes.”
Mingi’s head dropped forward slightly. His hair fell in his face. He couldn’t look at anyone. He couldn’t breathe.
He was so hard it hurt, and Yunho’s hand — God, that hand — was pressing, rubbing slow circles right against the bulge like it was his job.
A loud laugh broke across the set.
Someone guessed the charade right. The game shifted again. Another distraction.
Mingi barely noticed. His whole world was Yunho’s palm and the wicked edge in his voice.
“Do you want me to stop?” Yunho asked, like it was a real question.
Mingi clenched his teeth.
Then shook his head.
No.
No, he didn’t want him to stop.
He wanted him to keep going until he fucking exploded.
But that’s not what he got.
Yunho’s hand slipped away. And Mingi almost groaned out loud from the loss.
He looked up, lips parted, eyes wide — and Yunho had the audacity to be watching him with the softest smirk in the world.
Like he was proud.
Like he’d just ruined him a little… and knew it wasn’t over.
Mingi sat through the next twenty minutes of filming in agonized silence.
Throbbing. Wanting. Clenching and unclenching his thighs. His cock hard and leaking in his jeans. His face red and his skin boiling.
Every few seconds, Yunho’s knee bumped his. Every now and then, his fingers would almost reach under the table again… only to pull back.
He was fucking edging him.
Publicly.
---
When the director finally shouted “Cut! That’s a wrap!”, everyone cheered.
Mingi stood up so fast his chair scraped the floor.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t wait.
He just turned and left the room, head down, fingers trembling.
He needed a fucking release or he was going to snap.
Behind him, Yunho casually stood up.
Stretched. Rolled his shoulders like he hadn’t just touched his boyfriend’s cock on live television.
Wooyoung raised a brow. “Where’s he going?”
Yunho just smirked.
“Taking a break.”
Then he walked off — following the trail of heat and desperation Mingi had left behind.
---
The second Mingi slammed the dressing room door shut, he braced himself against the wall and finally let out the moan that had been clawing at his throat since the damn Pepero game started.
“Fucking hell,” he whispered, dragging a shaky hand through his hair.
His cock throbbed in his pants. Painfully hard. His body was a fevered mess of frustration, jealousy, and need. His hand went straight to his zipper — he needed to breathe, to touch, to come, to anything—
The door clicked open again.
He didn’t have to look to know who it was.
“Yunho,” he spat, his voice already wrecked, “you’re a fucking bastard.”
The door shut with a soft click.
Then Yunho’s voice — all deep velvet and sin — “Yeah?”
Footsteps.
“I’m your bastard, though.”
He was on Mingi in seconds. No hesitation. No apology.
Just his hands grabbing Mingi’s face and kissing him like the world was ending. Mouths open, wet, messy, tongue sliding past lips like they’d skipped the warmup and gone straight to ruin.
Mingi gasped against him, shoving back hard, their bodies slamming together.
“You made me sit through that entire show hard as fuck—!”
“Good,” Yunho growled against his mouth. “You deserved it.”
He reached down and cupped Mingi’s cock through his pants again — no camera, no witnesses this time — just full, palm-to-cock pressure that made Mingi’s knees buckle.
“God—Yunho—”
“Say it again,” he rasped, licking into Mingi’s mouth. “Say my fucking name.”
“Yunho.”
A moan. A warning. A need.
Clothes came off too fast. Buttons popped. Zippers dragged. Pants kicked away. Mingi shoved Yunho back toward the makeup table, making him stumble and laugh.
“You think it’s funny?” Mingi snarled.
Yunho licked his lips, sitting on the edge of the table with his legs spread wide. “I think it’s hot when you’re jealous.”
Mingi dropped to his knees.
And then—
“Wow.”
Both of them froze.
That voice. That fucking smug, devil-wrapped-in-satin voice.
Wooyoung.
Leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed and his eyebrow cocked. One corner of his mouth lifted.
“I was wondering where you two went,” he purred.
He looked Yunho up and down. Looked at Mingi on his knees.
Smirked wider.
“I knew I felt eyes burning a hole through my head during that game.”
Mingi flushed. “Wooyoung—get the fuck out.”
“Make me,” he replied, already walking in.
Yunho didn’t move. He didn’t stop Mingi. He didn’t speak.
He just watched them both — the way Mingi trembled with pent-up hunger, the way Wooyoung approached like he knew he was wanted.
“Is this a private show?” Wooyoung murmured, standing between Yunho’s knees. “Or can I have a taste?”
And just like that, Yunho grabbed him by the waist and yanked him forward.
Mingi stood, stunned for half a second—then Yunho reached out and pulled him in too.
The three of them collided like fire and gasoline and raw need.
Mouths, hands, moans — everything blurred.
Wooyoung gasped when Mingi kissed him — hungry, deep, possessive.
Yunho bit at Mingi’s neck while palming both of their cocks together, stroking slow, firm, teasing as fuck.
“Fuck—Yunho—”
“You like this?” Yunho whispered in Mingi’s ear while Wooyoung sucked marks into his throat.
“You want me to fuck him while you watch?”
Mingi moaned so loud it echoed.
---
Clothes? Gone.
Air? Hot.
Room? Soaked in tension.
Wooyoung lay back on the couch, spread wide, flushed red, cock hard against his stomach. He grinned at them with glossy lips and a voice that dripped filth.
“Are you two just gonna stare or is someone gonna fuck me already?”
Mingi swore and dropped between his legs.
“God, you’re so needy,” he growled — and licked a long, slow stripe up Wooyoung’s cock.
Wooyoung moaned, back arching, hips twitching.
He loved it.
And Yunho?
Yunho stood behind Mingi, jerking his own cock slowly, eyes burning.
“I wanna fuck you while you suck him,” he said lowly.
Mingi’s breath caught.
“Do it.”
Yunho knelt behind him, lubed fingers teasing his hole, slow and patient.
Mingi moaned around Wooyoung’s cock, sloppily sucking while Wooyoung whined, fingers gripping the couch like lifelines.
Then Yunho pushed in — thick and slow — stretching Mingi open while Mingi groaned around the cock in his mouth.
It was a mess. A glorious, filthy, hot fucking mess.
Mingi’s moans vibrated around Wooyoung’s dick. Wooyoung cursed and tugged at his hair, panting, needy, eyes rolling back.
Yunho gripped Mingi’s hips and fucked into him deep and mean.
“You’re so fucking hot when you’re jealous,” Yunho growled.
“You like watching me kiss him now, huh?”
Mingi whimpered — he wanted to be mad, but fuck, he couldn’t.
---
Wooyoung came first. Loud. Shaking.
Crying out Mingi’s name like a prayer, spilling into his mouth, his stomach, whatever Mingi let him reach.
Mingi pulled off, lips swollen, face flushed, and moaned, head tipping back as Yunho slammed into him faster.
“Yunho—fuck—I’m gonna—”
“Come for me,” Yunho hissed, slamming into him one last time before grabbing his cock and stroking fast.
Mingi came hard, face buried against Wooyoung’s thigh, body twitching as he collapsed.
Yunho lasted seconds longer, then spilled deep inside him with a low, possessive growl.
---
When it was over, they were a tangled mess. Breathing hard. Skin slick. Chests heaving.
Wooyoung flopped over, hair stuck to his forehead.
“…Well,” he panted. “That was the best show I’ve ever been on.”
Mingi snorted and buried his face in a pillow.
Yunho just smirked and stretched his arms behind his head.
“Good thing we’ve got no schedule tomorrow.”