KPop: First Kiss (GDragon/Seungri, NC-17) [4/4]

[maayacolabackup]

#

Seungri goes out every night.

Jiyong doesn’t know where he goes, only that he comes back late, smelling of girl’s perfume and sex, and Jiyong doesn’t ask questions.

It’s none of his business. They’ve established that.

Still, Seungri comes into Jiyong’s room and slips into bed with him, and Jiyong welcomes him, because he doesn’t know how to say no, just as much as he doesn’t know how to say yes.

Seungri’s hair is always damp, and Jiyong can feel it sticking to his face.

Seungri whines, when Jiyong crawls out of bed before the sun rises to write things down. He scribbles down inspiration, and then gets back into bed. Seungri has kept the sheets warm.

That Seungri sleeps with him every night, like when they were younger, is not something that they talk about during the day, where things are the same as they’ve always been, both of them giving one-hundred percent to every performance and every interview. Jiyong just smiles and straightens his cotton candy suit and puckers his lips in Seungri’s direction, and Seungri charms the audience with adorable smiles and waggling eyebrows.

When they harmonize, Jiyong thinks he’d like to duet with Seungri forever, because Seungri is such a star.

Yang Hyun Suk calls, one week before their last show, and congratulates them. Seungri smiles at the praise, and Jiyong is glad it was offered; both of them have worked hard, and Seungri has taken most of the burden for interviews because Jiyong’s Japanese is so limited.

“It’s been fun, right?” Seungri says, as Jiyong taps a beat on the kitchen table. Seungri is making them each a sandwich, and Jiyong looks up to watch him. Seungri turns to look at him, too, and the bags under his eyes are dark. He looks especially like a panda today, for some reason, and Jiyong feels a smile tugging at the edge of his lips.

“Nyongtori is always fun,” Jiyong says. “Because maknae is my favorite.”

“Am I?” Seungri asks, and there’s more there. Jiyong pretends he can’t see it.

It’s nothing. Maybe someday he’ll believe that, but until then, it’s fake it till he makes it.

“Yes,” Jiyong says, and he writes it all down in a song no one will ever see, hiding his heart in the lyrics.

“Do you ever wish things could be different? That you weren’t famous?”

Jiyong stops, and considers. He thinks about waking up and not having to worry about someone catching him doing something he’s not supposed to. No one’s expectations but his own to live up to.

Then he thinks of a life without music. A life without BIGBANG. A life without Seungri. “No,” Jiyong says. “Even with the cost, I’d never give it up.”

“Me either,” Seungri says, and he puts the top pieces of bread on their sandwiches. “We both love this job, huh?” Seungri smiles at him, and it’s a melancholy smile.

“Among other things,” Jiyong says, and takes a bite of his sandwich.

#

Jiyong is a masochist, in a lot of ways.

Being close to Seungri hurts.

Still, he doesn’t want to stop, even if it’s killing him inside.

#

“Hey,” Youngbae says. “You sound tired.”

“I am,” Jiyong says. “In more ways than one.”

“I see,” Youngbae says, and he sighs. “Jiyong, you’re always so hard on yourself.”

“I’m the leader,” Jiyong says. “I have to be.”

“You don’t have to make yourself miserable,” Youngbae says.

“I’m not-“

“You’re not fooling anyone, Jiyong,” Youngbae says. “Seunghyun calls you ‘the hopeless martyr.’”

“You didn’t hit him for the sacrilege?”

“I put Splenda in his instant coffee,” Youngbae replies. “I live a life of non-violence. The point stands.”

“There are so many reasons why-“ Jiyong pulls his knit cap low on his forehead, as if to hide away.

“Yeah,” Youngbae says. “There are. And there are ways around them.”

“Complicated ways,” Jiyong says, and he’s staring at the living room ceiling.

“You’re not the only one who’s miserable,” Youngbae says. “Open your eyes.”

“They’re open,” Jiyong says. “So open.”

“Then you’re not seeing what I see,” Youngbae says. “I’ve got to go. See you soon.”

“Thank you,” Jiyong says, and there’s the dial tone, and Jiyong is left alone with his thoughts.

#

Seungri has a way of making Jiyong want to be weak. He looks at Jiyong, eyes open, with a gentle smile that Jiyong thinks might be just for him, and he wants to hold Seungri close and never let anyone else look at him. He wants to tattoo his name across Seungri’s heart, so that he can trace the lines with his finger and know that what’s underneath the ink will always belong to him.

Jiyong tells himself no all the time, but never has it been so difficult and so painful, because every bit of him is fighting what Jiyong knows is the right answer.

But Seungri also has a way of making Jiyong want to be strong. When he sees Seungri on stage, performing and smiling and blowing kisses to girls almost as hopelessly in love with him as Jiyong is, Jiyong wants to protect him, and protect his dream. “If I wasn’t a singer,” Jiyong had told an interviewer, “I’d want to be Seungri’s manager.”

It’s ultimately that feeling that keeps Jiyong from reaching out and taking. Because in the end, maknae isn’t really his. Seungri belongs to his girlfriends, to his music, and to everyone he pleases when he steps on stage.

Seungri isn’t his. That’s the way it is. He’s taught himself to be happy with what he has, and maybe, someday, he’ll fool his heart into thinking it’s enough.

#

They have a day off, and Jiyong is so tired. He just wants to sit on the couch and watch television, and Seungri seems to agree, curling up onto the other side of the couch as they watch in silence.

As the afternoon passes, Seungri slowly unfurls, stretching to take up more and more of the couch until he’s laying on his back, head resting in Jiyong’s lap. Jiyong rests his hand on Seungri’s stomach, and Seungri, as always, starts fiddling with Jiyong’s fingers. “I love your hands,” Seungri says. “They look so strong.”

Jiyong doesn’t say anything, and just keeps watching the television, trying his best to ignore the rapid pattering of his heart. The pads of Seungri’s fingers are smooth, and Jiyong loves the way they linger at his knuckles. It’s erotic, and Jiyong can’t help but shift a bit. He frees his hand from Seungri’s grasp, and slips his hand under Seungri’s t-shirt, letting his palm rest flat on the skin of his belly. The muscles quiver beneath his hands, and Seungri is still, doing nothing to pause Jiyong’s explorations. Jiyong lets his fingers dance across Seungri’s abs, feeling the indents of Seungri’s hard-won six pack, and the smoothness of the skin, soft like butter beneath Jiyong’s questing fingertips.

Seungri releases a low moan, and Jiyong suddenly realizes what he’s doing, and jerks his hand away like he’s been burned. I’m going to hell, he thinks, and he stands up abruptly, leaving Seungri gazing at him, looking hurt and confused and uncomfortable, neck twisted in a strange position as he tries to keep his eyes on Jiyong.

“Sorry,” Jiyong mumbles. “That was… that was a mistake.”

Seungri sits up, and puts his hands flat on his thighs. “Of course,” Seungri says. “Of course it was a mistake. It’s always a mistake.”

Seungri’s voice, Jiyong thinks, sounds choked, and strange. Like it’s somewhere between angry and hurt.

“I’m sorry,” Jiyong says again. “You can forget it.” Jiyong presses his lips together, and his hair is tickling his neck, and it itches. “I don’t know why…”

“How many times are you going to take it back?” Seungri asks, and Jiyong can barely hear him, but he gets it. He gets it, and it sends fear racing into his gut, where it boils.

“I don’t know,” Jiyong says. “As many times as I have to.”

“I can’t take this anymore,” Seungri says. “I’m going to go insane.”

Jiyong steps forward, and drops his hand onto Seungri’s shoulder. He wants to apologize, but he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know how to explain to Seungri that Seungri is like a drug, and Jiyong can’t just stop; that something about Seungri is constantly pulling him closer. “Maknae…”

“Stop it,” Seungri says, and he brushes Jiyong’s hand off his shoulder. “I don’t want to play anymore.”

“Play?” Jiyong asks, and his throat is dry.

“Whatever stupid game this is,” Seungri says. “Whatever this is, I’m so tired of it, hyung.”

“Seungri,” Jiyong starts, but he’s not sure what to say. “Seungri, it’s not…”

“You can’t…” Seungri starts to say, but he stops, and then he rubs both hands across his hair. “I can’t keep letting you do this to me.”

“Do what?” Jiyong says, and he keeps his voice light, but his heart is thudding painfully in his chest. His left hand spins the rings on his right, twisting them around his fingers to distract himself from the way his hand still tingles from the touch of Seungri’s as he pushed Jiyong away.

He’s never pushed Jiyong away quite like this.

“You know,” Seungri says. “You have to know, by now, how I feel. About… about this. All of this. You.” Seungri’s eyes dart up to look into Jiyong’s for a moment, and Jiyong tries to read what he sees there, and tries to make sense of the way his stomach tumbles over itself at the dark shadows under Seungri’s eyes that look a little darker than usual. “And if you don’t know, it’s because you don’t want to.”

“I don’t know everything, maknae,” Jiyong says, and his voice cracks, just enough that Seungri notices. Seungri notices, and takes a step back. “I know you think I know everything, but I never have. Explain it to me.” Jiyong says it like he used to bark commands in rehearsal, but Seungri doesn’t fall into line. He doesn’t give Jiyong that eager look. Instead he winces, and Jiyong’s heart freezes.

“I didn’t think you knew everything, hyung,” Seungri replies, and his eyes are back on his feet, back curled in a way that’s all wrong; it’s not Seungri at all, to look so defeated, so down. Even when they were kids, and nothing Seungri had done had been good enough for Jiyong, Seungri had always stood tall and strong; recklessly confident and brave. Seungri’s back had always been straight, eyes daring Jiyong to look away. Jiyong had never quite managed take his eyes of Seungri since. “But I thought you knew this.”

But now Seungri looks like the weight of the world is on his shoulders, and there’s something Jiyong can’t see, and Jiyong’s chest is tight with it. Seungri starts to walk away, into the hallway toward the front door, but Jiyong reaches out and grabs Seungri’s wrist, holding firm. “Don’t walk away from me,” Jiyong says, and he tries to sound commanding but maybe he just sounds desperate.

“You’re hurting me,” Seungri says quietly, and Jiyong drops Seungri’s arm quickly, and Seungri carefully cradles his wrist and looks out the window, over the Tokyo skyline.

“I’m sorry,” Jiyong says. “I didn’t mean to grab so hard. I just-”

“Not my wrist,” Seungri says. “Not my wrist, hyung.” Seungri sighs, and his hand grabs a fistful of his jeans, and Jiyong studies the way his nails are short and square, larger than Jiyong’s own. His eyes trace that hand up to Seungri’s strong forearm, up to his bare bicep. The line of his jaw. The way the muscle there is so tight that Jiyong can see the tension. “Just. Stop. Stop all of it. The touching. The words. Please. I can’t…“ Seungri pauses, and licks his lips, and Jiyong lets his hood fall forward and cover his eyes. He wants to hide away from the misery he sees in the curves of Seungri’s form, because he doesn’t want to understand it. “Stop it.”

Jiyong doesn’t want to stop it. Jiyong likes the way Seungri shivers uncomfortably under his teasing fingers, and the way Seungri offers him secretive smiles when he thinks no one is looking. The way he looks to Jiyong for approval, when he thinks he’s been clever, and the way he automatically sits next to Jiyong, in Jiyong’s personal space, even when they’re alone in the room and there are plenty of seats. He likes the way Seungri’s skin is soft under the pad of his thumb, and the way Seungri’s thigh is hard beneath his palm.

Seungri is like an oasis of sanity for Jiyong when the world is moving too fast. Seungri is someone Jiyong can count on to look at him with those earnest, pleading eyes, and Jiyong knows he will never let Seungri down, because Seungri only wants what Jiyong is able to give; nothing more and nothing less.

Except now, Seungri wants something else from Jiyong, expects something else from Jiyong, and Jiyong doesn’t know how to give it. Jiyong doesn’t even know exactly what that something is, that makes Seungri look at him with those wet eyes, mouth full and lush and swollen from worrying teeth.

He doesn’t know what Seungri is asking for, now, when Seungri shimmies away from his hold in a way that’s not as joking as it was when they were kids. And he can’t figure out why Seungri looks so sad and afraid, when all Jiyong wants to want is to smile at him dotingly, enjoying the way Seungri charms with his smug grin and obnoxious laugh.

Seungri is the one person Jiyong never lets down. Except now…

“I don’t get it,” Jiyong says. “What’s wrong with the way things are? I’ve been trying, and I know I made mistakes, but-“

“I’m not a toy,” Seungri says. “I’m a person. I’m not a melody you can change to fit your lyrics. I’m not a jacket you can spruce up with new sleeves and a chain. I’m a person. And I feel things, when you touch me. When you press close to me, almost kiss me, I want-“ Seungri bites down, hard, on his lip. “Just. I’ve had enough. I don’t know if it’s just me.” Seungri sighs. “I don’t know how you feel, no matter how much I try to figure it out. But when you touch me, it means something different to me than it means to you, maybe. And it hurts, that it will always be that way. That it will always mean something different. It hurts that it doesn’t matter how much I...”

“But I don’t know why anything has to change,” Jiyong says, and panic is racing up his veins and lodging in his heart, because he feels like maybe Seungri is disappearing before his eyes, slipping through Jiyong’s fingers. Jiyong doesn’t want that. Seungri is… “I tried so hard to-“

“Because I don’t want to be just convenient,” Seungri says. “I don’t want to feel like this anymore, hyung. I’m... you’ve always been everything. But sometimes I feel like nothing.”

“You’re not nothing,” Jiyong says. “You’re so far from nothing you wouldn’t possibly believe it. But we all have things that come first-“

“I want to come first,” Seungri says. “You know me. I have to be the center of attention. I’ve wanted you to look only at me for so long, I… I thought, maybe, when you kissed me…” Seungri laughs, and hiccups, because he’s almost crying. “But somehow, I knew you’d take it back. Knew you’d regret it, even if you ever did manage to actually want me.”

“I don’t know what I can give you,” Jiyong admits, shakily, and Seungri swallows. “I have a responsibility-“

“I wish you were mine,” Seungri says. “I don’t want it to be a game anymore. I don’t want it to be pretend. I don’t want to go out with all these girls just because I can’t have you.”

Jiyong wants to stop him, wants to say anything. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. Jiyong was supposed to be suffering all on his own, and Seungri was supposed to be happy. Seungri was supposed to be free. But now, Seungri is saying all these things that make Jiyong want to give in. That make Jiyong want to forget that there’s so much more at stake here than his stupid, unwavering heart.

So Jiyong says nothing at all, and Jiyong doesn’t need to look to see that Seungri is shattering in front of him.

Seungri walks out, and he closes the door behind him, and Jiyong is left standing alone in the middle of the living room, palms sweating and chest so tight he can barely breathe. Jiyong is lost, and he doesn’t know what’s just happened. All he knows is that he can’t make it go away by sneaking into Seungri’s room and curling around him, wrapping an arm around Seungri’s strong, grown-up waist and burying his nose in the sweet lavender scent of Seungri’s hair.

He can’t make it go away like that, because Jiyong doesn’t understand Seungri’s feelings right now. Worse, he doesn’t understand his own.

It’s all Jiyong’s fault, really. Because Jiyong isn’t strong enough.

#

“Hey, maknae,” Jiyong whispers, but Seungri is asleep, head pillowed on his arms and bangs askew. His watch will leave an indent in his cheek that Jiyong will taunt him about later.

It’s always like this, but it’s Jiyong’s job to be the responsible one. It’s Jiyong’s job to stay awake.

“I love you,” Jiyong whispers, and no one hears him, but he feels a little bit lighter, because he knows it’s the closest to telling Seungri that he’ll ever allow himself to get.

#

Jiyong has a new phone, now, one of the ones they endorse, but he takes the old one with him on trips sometimes, and let’s Seungri’s voice wash over him, that annoying laugh comforting in a way that makes Jiyong feel like Seungri’s right next to him.

#

Jiyong hears Seungri come home at three in the morning, far later than Jiyong had expected him, but Jiyong doesn’t know what to do about a Seungri that’s upset with him.

He’s not quiet, almost like he knows Jiyong is awake, and Jiyong hears him slip his shoes off, and get water from the fridge.

It hurts, Jiyong hears echoing in his head. It hurts that no matter how much I-

Jiyong breathes slowly, the cotton of his sheets feeling rough against his skin, as he waits for Seungri to go quiet, to creep into his own room for the first time in two weeks, and end this seemingly endless night.

Tomorrow, they can awkwardly navigate around each other in the kitchen. Jiyong will reach out to touch and hold himself back, and Seungri will refuse to meet Jiyong’s eyes, and maybe, just like last time, after a while, they’ll both claim to have forgotten, and things can continue the way they were. They can both pretend that they don’t want more. Jiyong will bury it all inside himself and write really sad songs and Seungri will smile and smile and tell cheesy jokes and do terrible impersonations, and Jiyong will watch him and wish…

Jiyong is telling himself that it’s for the best. That maknae can be happy with his girlfriends and Jiyong can be happy by himself, channeling his love into music and his lust into dance beats. Jiyong is telling himself that it’s too dangerous, that he’d be risking too much, and that he could lose everything all in one fell swoop if he gives in to this.

But the truth is Jiyong is a coward. Jiyong is the world’s biggest coward, because he’s scared that at the end of the day, he’ll have to let Seungri go to save them both.

Jiyong’s door opens. Jiyong’s not nervous, because he knows it’s Seungri. “You’re awake, right?” Seungri whispers, and Jiyong swallows.

“Yes,” he says, and Seungri walks over to the bed. He’s wearing the jeans with the frayed pockets that Jiyong had given him, and Jiyong knows it just by the way they cling to his thighs as he walks, even in the darkness. Seungri stops by the edge of the bed and pulls back the covers, hesitantly climbing into bed like it’s not something he’s done hundreds of times before. Jiyong shifts to the side, like he always does, to make room.

The denim of Seungri’s jeans is scratchy against Jiyong’s bare legs, the seam of them tickling the sensitive spot on the inside of Jiyong’s knees as Seungri worms his way into Jiyong’s space.

For a few minutes, they’re both silent. Jiyong takes the time to memorize the way Seungri’s hair smells like lavender still, after all these years, and the way that even though Seungri is all muscles and strength where he used to be soft pockets of fat, he still fits perfectly into the spaces Jiyong leaves for him to fill.

“I’m sorry,” Seungri says, breaking the tableau. “I’ve been trying to pretend like it meant nothing. I’d been trying for years before that, but it got harder after…”

“Yes,” Jiyong says. “I understand.” Jiyong understands perfectly, and can feel the same things mirrored in his heart.

“I thought, for a while, that there was something wrong with me. Because you’re not-“

“Not…?”

“A girl, for one thing. I don’t like men,” Seungri says. “It was just you, and with you, it was more. And I kept thinking it would go away. That it was hero worship, or something like that-“

“Seungri,” Jiyong says, and then he clears his throat. “Maknae, you don’t have to-“

“But then I got to know you, and you were still… I went on so many dates, and none of them were you.”

Jiyong exhales. It has been both of them, after all.

“But I can do it,” Seungri says, and his voice sounds wet, and soft, and earnest. So earnest that Jiyong hurts hearing it. “I can get over you, if I have to. I’m the best, right? I can do anything. I know I can… I can be okay with this. Just don’t… don’t go away. I want to always be your favorite. I promise, it’ll go away.” There’s a desperation there, and Seungri’s fists clench in Jiyong’s tank top, like he’s scared Jiyong is going to pull away, or that Jiyong will be angry at him for feeling all the things Jiyong’s felt too. “Don’t… please don’t pull away from me. I know I said I wanted you to, but I-”

Jiyong lets his arms slide around Seungri, pulling him closer. “Maknae is my favorite,” Jiyong says, and Seungri sniffles, pressing his nose into Jiyong’s collarbone, pressing against his tattoo there, right on one of the red stars, and Jiyong wonders if it’s possible to explode with love. If it is, he thinks, he’s in danger of it, his fingers trembling as they glide in soothing circles across Seungri’s back. “Maknae will always be my favorite.”

Seungri has offered Jiyong a way out. Jiyong blinks twice, and tries to convince himself that it’s for the best. For the both of them. That this is what he needs to do, even if it’s not what he wants.

“Hyung,” Seungri says, and he pulls back a little, and Jiyong can make out every detail of Seungri’s face, because Seungri is close enough that Jiyong can smell the liquor on his breath, and the faint scent of sweat. He can see the sheen of wetness in Seungri’s eyes, and the way Seungri’s lips tremble. “I…”

Jiyong thinks, in a moment of clarity, that maybe, sometimes, it might be okay to be selfish. Seungri looks like he might fall apart in Jiyong’s arms, his spine curving gently under Jiyong’s palms and his eyes searching Jiyong’s for assurance like they’re both teenagers and Seungri is afraid of rejection.

Jiyong doesn’t want to reject him. Jiyong doesn’t want to reject himself anymore, either.

And yes, he thinks, it will make things more complicated. And yes, it will make things harder. But in the end, Jiyong thinks, maybe it’s worth it.

Something in Jiyong snaps, and he doesn’t even realize he’s going to kiss Seungri until he’s already doing it, head tilting to the side and moving closer until Seungri’s mouth is under his own. Jiyong lets his eyes fall closed, and Seungri’s mouth is as soft as he remembers, and this time it’s Seungri who tastes faintly of soju.

Jiyong concentrates on the way Seungri’s mouth immediately parts beneath his own, and the way Seungri makes these tiny gasps that go straight to Jiyong’s cock, and the way Seungri melts into him, hands releasing Jiyong’s tank-shirt and instead slipping under it, long fingers along Jiyong’s ribs, skating along them and leaving gooseflesh in their wake.

Seungri’s always been so quick, Jiyong knows; smarter and more clever than Jiyong will ever be, and Jiyong appreciates that more now, because Seungri has rolled them over, straddling Jiyong and pushing his shirt up in the same breath. “Can I....?” Seungri gasps, when he pulls back enough that they can both breathe in, and Jiyong feels the words against his lips, because Seungri doesn’t move away.

“Yes,” Jiyong says. “Oh god yes.” And Jiyong lets his hands fall to Seungri’s thighs, letting his palms glide up the firm muscle encased in denim. And then Seungri is kissing Jiyong again, and Jiyong lets him.

Seungri kisses like he does everything else, eager to please and full of enthusiasm, and Jiyong drinks it in the same way he does with everything Seungri does. Seungri slips his tongue into Jiyong’s mouth, and Jiyong curls his own tongue around it, enjoying the tiny noises Seungri can’t help but make. “So noisy, maknae,” Jiyong says into Seungri’s mouth, and Seungri laughs, and that’s loud too, because everything Seungri does is loud, and Jiyong’s glad that things feel normal again, even if this is different.

“No one is here but us,” Seungri says, when he breaks away to pull his black t-shirt over his head. “Plus, you think I’m cute.”

“Most of the time,” Jiyong says, but then he pushes his hands up, across Seungri’s sexy, sculpted abs, letting his thumbs brush across the hair at Seungri’s navel, dragging a whining sound out of Seungri’s oh so expressive mouth. “But right now, I don’t think you’re cute at all.”

“Is that a good thing?” Seungri says, and there’s a playful something in his eyes that reminds Jiyong of the mischievous look Seungri has on his face when he’s about to play a prank, and Jiyong loves it. Loves everything about Seungri, who’s all grown up and maybe not so cute at all anymore.

“It’s a very good thing,” Jiyong purrs, and it makes Seungri shiver, and lean down to capture Jiyong’s mouth again. Jiyong enjoys the way Seungri is being aggressive, and the way Seungri grinds down against him on every exhale.

But then Seungri sits up straight, and the play of his muscles beneath his skin is fascinating to Jiyong, the way everything Seungri does is fascinating to Jiyong. “You’re not drunk,” Seungri says, and Jiyong’s hands settle at Seungri’s waist, enjoying the way Seungri leans into his touch.

“No,” Jiyong says. “Not at all.”

“Good,” Seungri says. “Because neither am I.” Seungri looks down at Jiyong, and he looks defiant, and it makes Jiyong want to move.

So he does, pushing up with his hips and unbalancing Seungri, sending him toppling down onto Jiyong’s chest, and Jiyong flips them, so Seungri is spread out beneath him, looking up at Jiyong with wide eyes. Jiyong presses a gentle kiss to Seungri’s mouth, and then a hungry one, and Seungri whimpers as Jiyong fumbles for Seungri’s wrists, pinning them to the bed with his own hands on either side of Seungri’s head. Jiyong kisses across Seungri’s cheek and over to his jaw, licking at the now salty skin and Seungri is panting into his ear. Jiyong’s cock is begging for attention, but he ignores it, instead licking along the shell of Seungri’s ear, where Seungri’s industrial piercing gleams in the faint moonlight coming in through the window.

Seungri wriggles beneath him, and Jiyong licks a path down Seungri’s neck, along the vein there, pausing to feel Seungri’s quickly beating heart there. Jiyong kisses and sucks hard enough to bruise, because they wear enough make-up to cover it, and also because he wants the world to know, somehow, that maknae is his.

“You’re mine,” Jiyong says aloud, and Seungri gulps, and his hips jerk up at it, and then Seungri turns and nudges at Jiyong with his nose until Jiyong finds his mouth again.

“Yeah,” Seungri says. “I always have been.”

Jiyong’s heart is so full. “Good,” Jiyong says, tone rough, and then he’s kissing his way down, lingering at Seungri’s collarbones and lavishing attention upon the space between his pectoral muscles. Seungri gasps and writhes under Jiyong’s tongue, and when Jiyong releases his wrists, sliding the flat of his palms down Seungri’s arms and letting his hands rest on either side of Seungri’s torso. Seungri’s hands make their way into Jiyong’s hair, clenching the strands between his fingers, tugging too hard. Jiyong loves that too. He loves everything right now.

Mostly he loves Seungri, all of Seungri, every inch of him.

His tongue circles Seungri’s belly button before leaving a line of saliva from hipbone to hipbone along the waistline of Seungri’s favorite denims. “Please,” Seungri says, Jiyong smirks against the skin, bringing his hands down to toy with the button to Seungri’s jeans.

“I can’t hear you,” Jiyong says. “You’ll have to be louder.”

“Touch me,” Seungri says, and he sounds like he’s having trouble finding his breath, but it’s insistent, and demanding, and Jiyong concedes, undoing the button and dragging the zipper down.

“You’re not wearing underwear,” Jiyong says with a laugh, even as he nuzzles at Seungri’s fully erect penis with his nose, pressing a soft kiss to the shaft as he pulls it out.

“They make the jeans fit weird,” Seungri says, or starts to say, before Jiyong takes him into his mouth.

Seungri’s hips persistently push up as Jiyong sucks at the crown, and Jiyong has to push down on Seungri’s pelvis with both hands to keep from choking.

“More,” Seungri says, and Jiyong licks along the shaft before relaxing his jaw so he can take Seungri in deeper, and Seungri rewards him with these delicious noises that make Jiyong even more aroused.

Jiyong’s mouth wraps around Seungri’s erection the same way his mouth wraps around words, teasing and tasting and driving Seungri insane as Seungri struggles to keep his eyes open. Jiyong watches his every move carefully, and that seems to drive Seungri even more wild. His pale skin is flush, and Jiyong has never seen him look more beautiful than he looks right now, teeth digging into his lower lip and eyes bright and pleased.

Seungri’s hands tightening in his hair is the only warning Jiyong gets before Seungri spills down his throat with a low mewl, this gorgeous sound that Jiyong has never heard his maknae make before but he’d love to hear him make again, rich and full and so dirty Jiyong thinks he might come untouched. Seungri tastes like sea-salt against his tongue, and Jiyong lets the softening erection slip out from between his lips before crawling back up Seungri’s body.

Seungri pulls on his tank-shirt, dragging Jiyong down to him, And Seungri’s still mostly wearing his jeans but Jiyong can feel Seungri’s cock press against his own. He hisses, and so does Seungri, because it’s still too sensitive, and Jiyong tries to lift his hips away but Seungri hooks an ankle around Jiyong’s calf and keeps him close. “I don’t want you to pull away,” Seungri murmurs, and Jiyong kisses him.

Seungri doesn’t seem to mind his own taste in Jiyong’s mouth, because he licks at Jiyong’s cheeks and doesn’t bother to move his hands from between them.

Jiyong feels hot, so hot, and he can’t help the way he presses into Seungri’s thigh, the urgent need for friction driving his hips forward in shallow thrusts.

Seungri’s kisses slow, and now he’s wriggling again, freeing his arms from between their bodies and moving them down to the elastic waist of Jiyong’s boxers, slipping them beneath the band to cup Jiyong’s ass.

Jiyong moans into Seungri’s pliant lips, and Seungri kneads, and Jiyong feels like he’s boiling. “Maknae,” Jiyong says, and Seungri sloppily kisses around Jiyong’s mouth, landing open-mouthed on Jiyong’s chin and nose.

“I don’t really know,” Seungri says hesitantly, even as his hands slide. “What to do with a guy.” Jiyong laughs.

“You’ve always been a fast learner,” Jiyong says, and then Seungri’s hand wraps around him. “See, you’ve always learned the choreo the fastest.”

“I just want to impress you,” Seungri says, and Jiyong chokes on his laugh as Seungri’s thumb teases his slit.

“You’re amazing, maknae,” Jiyong manages, and Seungri pulls his hand up and spits into it, and this time when he takes Jiyong in hand it feels even better. “Oh god, I want to fuck you.”

“Yeah?” Seungri asks, and he slows his hand. “You can, if you want.” And then he meets Jiyong’s eyes. Seungri is looking at Jiyong like he’d trust Jiyong with anything and everything, and it makes Jiyong want to pull Seungri even closer.

“Okay,” Jiyong says. “Okay.” And Jiyong pulls away from Seungri, far enough away to pull off his shirt and push his boxers down. Seungri is staring at him like he’s never seen him naked before, even though they’ve seen each other without clothes before. Jiyong supposes it is different now, because now, when he wants to kiss Seungri, there’s nothing to keep him from pressing his lips to Seungri’s belly, watching Seungri tremble as Jiyong slides his jeans down his legs. Seungri’s cock is already starting to harden again, and when Jiyong’s knuckles brush against it Seungri’s hips cant upward toward his touch, the way Seungri does in everyday life, moving toward Jiyong like a magnet. “These are nice jeans,” Jiyong says, and Seungri offers him a catlike smile.

“I trust the person who bought them for me implicitly with fashion,” Seungri says, and Jiyong arches an eyebrow.

“Obviously,” Jiyong says, and Seungri laughs, and Jiyong reaches under the bed, leaving one of his hands resting reassuringly on Seungri’s thigh, blindly fumbling for his travel bag. Inside he finds his lube, a couple of tubes of it, and he tosses them onto the bed. “Do you know how this works?”

“I looked it up on Naver,” Seungri says. “I have a general idea.” He blushes a deep red. “Then I erased my search history.”

“Smart boy,” Jiyong said, and he’s nervous, all of a sudden, because this has never meant this much. This has never been so important. Jiyong wants to get it right, because he wants to take care of Seungri. “This will…”

“I know,” Seungri says, and he smiles, and Jiyong can see his dimples, and this is maknae. Jiyong knows how to touch maknae. And maknae won’t push him away.

“Okay,” Jiyong says, and he slicks three fingers.

“I’ve always liked your hands,” Seungri says, and Jiyong wants to laugh but he can’t, because he’s struggling to breathe. Seungri is so tight around his fingers that Jiyong can’t help but imagine how it will feel around his erection, slick like silk.

“I know,” Jiyong says, and he licks his lips because they feel dry, and then Seungri reaches forward and tugs on his arm, and Jiyong leans down, two fingers deep, and licks Seungri’s lips too. “Maknae is mine,” he says again, and Seungri shivers, and clenches around Jiyong’s hand, and Jiyong can’t wait.

“You’re too patient,” Seungri says. “Hurry, hurry, hurry.”

“Always so demanding,” Jiyong whispers, and then he’s sliding home, and Seungri is arching into him, nails dragging lines into Jiyong’s back, and it hurts just right.

“You love it,” Seungri says and Jiyong grabs a hold of Seungri’s thighs, pushing them up, rubbing along the tense flesh as Seungri’s eyes flutter shut. “You… you think I’m cute.”

“I love it,” Jiyong agrees. I love you.

“Who doesn’t?” Seungri says, and then he isn’t saying anything, just grunting and panting as Jiyong pulls out and pushes in hard, increasing his pace as Seungri unravels beneath him. It’s all sweat and sweet sounds and tension that runs from Jiyong’s spine all the way down to his toes. He’s close, and he wraps a hand around Seungri, stroking him hard, and Seungri gasps and spills onto Jiyong’s hands, and Jiyong follows, spinning and tumbling into climax.

He waits to pull out, slow and easy, and collapses next to Seungri, Seungri wincing at the tightness in his thighs for a moment before his face smoothes. He turns and curls into Jiyong, their skin sticking together with perspiration and release, and Jiyong will probably regret not cleaning up in the morning, but right now he doesn’t want to let Seungri go.

“I’m impossible not to love,” Seungri says sleepily. “Impossible.”

Jiyong runs a hand through Seungri’s hair, damp with sweat and clinging to his forehead. Then he reaches down and intertwines their fingers. “You are,” Jiyong says, and Seungri’s drowsy smile is the most perfect thing he’s ever seen.

“You can’t take this back,” Seungri says firmly, and Jiyong drowsily pets him.

“Okay,” he says, and smiles. His heartbeat slows to a comforting rhythm.

#

Little-Seunghyun is looking at Jiyong with wide innocent eyes. “Am I doing it right?”

“Yes,” Jiyong says, and Little-Seunghyun glows with pleasure. “You always work so hard.”

“It’s because of you,” Little-Seunghyun says, and Jiyong feels a tug in his heart.

“You’re all right, maknae,” Jiyong says, and it comes out gruff, but Little-Seunghyun looks like Christmas has come early.

“Do you love me yet?” Little-Seunghyun asks, and Jiyong crosses his arms.

“Don’t push your luck,” he says, and Little-Seunghyun deflates, and Jiyong wants to wrap an arm around his shoulders, and hold him close until he smiles and prances some more.

And maybe, Jiyong thinks, he loves him just a little.

#

“Aww,” Youngbae says, when they finally make it to the meeting room, Seungri carrying Jiyong on his back. “The couple is late.”

“Nyongtori!” Jiyong says, like it’s an explanation, and Seunghyun rolls his eyes.

“If I didn’t know better…” he says, and Seungri laughs and flashes him a ‘v’ with his fingers while Jiyong lets a smirk crawl up his face. He buries it into the soft fabric of Seungri’s jacket so no one can see.

Really, they got to the building on time, but Seungri had been so energetic and smiley as he explained to Jiyong about how he’d managed to convince the taxi driver who took him home from his talk show appearance yesterday to sing a part of VVIP to him on the ride that Jiyong had dragged Seungri into an abandoned rehearsal room and slammed him into the wall, kissing him until Seungri had melted beneath him, held up only by the pressure of Jiyong’s fist pressing into his sternum, clenched into the fabric of Seungri’s shirt.

Then it had taken them a few minutes to rearrange their clothes, and Seungri had looked so flustered that Jiyong just had to kiss him again.

Soon, Jiyong thinks, as he peels himself away from Seungri to sit next to Youngbae on the couch, they’ll have to tell the other members. Soon, they’ll have to figure out how not to get caught by anyone else. Soon, Jiyong will have to go up to Yang Hyun Suk’s office and tell him what’s going on, just in case. All these things he’ll have to do to protect their career, and everyone else’s careers.

Soon, Jiyong will have to be smart, and not selfish, and he’ll have to be careful about pulling Seungri into empty hallways and kissing him senseless.

But soon is not now, and Jiyong relishes in the little touches that mean nothing and yet mean everything, grabbing hold of Jiyong’s heart and tugging on it. He winks at Seungri, and Seungri grins back at him unabashedly, and Jiyong realizes that actually, to an outside eye, nothing’s really changed.

But for them, everything has changed, and Jiyong’s never felt so full.

Later, as they’re leaving the building for their first talk show all together since NYONGTORI had finished their promotions in Japan, Jiyong walks up beside Seungri and grabs his hand, linking their fingers together, and Seungri makes a face at him, like he always does. “Are they dating?” Daesung says, doing a female fan impersonation, and Jiyong grins at him cheesily.

“We’re Nyongtori,” he says, and Seungri squeezes his hand and doesn’t let go. “Of course we are. Maknae is mine.”

“We know, we know,” Youngbae says, and he gives Jiyong a long, considering look, before he shrugs, sliding his sunglasses down onto his nose. “Not like everyone isn’t used to it.”

Jiyong leans over and kisses Seungri sloppily on the cheek. “Maknae is so cute,” he says, and Seungri rubs at his cheek bemusedly, a pleased expression sneaking into his eyes. Then Jiyong turns back to Youngbae and flashes him a grin. “They’d better be used to it by now.”

“Gross,” Seunghyun says, and scratches at the back of his neck. “When’s the wedding, lovebirds?”

Jiyong doesn’t answer, just keeps walking forward, and it’s all okay. Everything will be okay. Jiyong doesn’t know how things will turn out at the end of it all, but as Seungri’s thumb strokes the back of Jiyong’s, he figures as long as he has Seungri, the smartest and cleverest of them all, they’ll figure something out.

“Hyung, pay attention!” Seungri says, and Jiyong realizes he’s been talking all the while.

“I always am,” Jiyong says, and Seungri shines as bright as a star in Jiyong’s eyes.