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maayacolabackupTitle: Relax
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Seungri/ Jiyong
Summary: Seungri thinks Jiyong needs to loosen up. (~3.5k)
Notes: orgasm denial/control for kink_bingo
“What crawled up your ass and died?” Seunghyun says, and Jiyong scoffs.
“I’m just tired of you guys acting like children,” he snaps, curling his fingers into his trousers at the knee. Seungri is sitting on Seunghyun’s lap, playing some stupid game where they make faces at each other, and Daesung and Youngbae are playing some game between their mobile phones. “We should be-“
“What?” Seunghyun says. “Getting ready, somehow, for an interview where they’re going to ask some of the exact same questions for the hundredth time, only this time in Chinese so none of us can answer?”
“Yes,” Jiyong says snottily, and Youngbae absently reaches over and pats Jiyong’s knee.
“It’s alright, Jiyong,” Youngbae says. “Really.” He’s still staring at his phone, and Jiyong’s lip curls in disgust.
He knows he isn’t being fair, wanting everyone in the band to be as bent out of shape as he is, but Jiyong’s got a lot on his plate and seeing them so carefree makes him want to ruin their moods.
Jiyong never said he was nice. There’s also the fact that Seungri is paying more attention to Seunghyun than to him, which is always high on the list of things that piss Jiyong off.
He hasn’t seen Seungri in a while. Three weeks maybe, and usually Seungri would be all over him, but today he’s not.
Jiyong doesn’t much like that.
Maybe that’s making his mood even worse, and Jiyong frowns his way through the interview. He hopes they pass it off as him not understanding Mandarin and don’t think he’s an absolute diva, even if he is.
“You,” Youngbae says, when it’s over, “need to take a nap.” He says it in his stern voice that reminds Jiyong of being a trainee.
“Fine,” Jiyong says.
When they get back to the hotel, Jiyong takes the stairs. He figures that cancels out his terrible posture—he can hear Hwangssabu telling him to 'stand up straight' in his head, and his frown etches deeper into his face.
The hallway is empty. They’d rented the whole floor, because Chinese fans can be a little scary, sometimes, in their enthusiasm. (Not that Jiyong wants them to like him less. Just that he’d like to be able to sleep without worrying if someone is going to jimmy the lock.)
Suddenly, there are footsteps behind him. Jiyong spins sharply on his heel, dress shoes squeaking even on the carpet.
“It’s just me,” Seungri says, resting against the wall.
Jiyong licks his lips. “I’m not worried.”
“No, you’re prissy, though.”
“Prissy?” Jiyong purses his mouth and brushes invisible lint from his trousers.
“And you’ve bitten your nails to the quick,” Seungri adds. His hair is growing out. It brushes across his forehead. Jiyong likes it.
“You’ve taken out your industrial piercing,” Jiyong says. “You almost broke my hand when we got it.”
“I want to look like me,” Seungri replies, stepping closer. He smells like expensive cologne. Jiyong had missed that smell.
Seungri moves even nearer. “So now you’ve got time for me,” Jiyong says bitterly, and Seungri narrows his eyes, putting one hand on his hip.
“I always have time for you, hyung,” Seungri says, and Jiyong crosses his arms over his chest.
“Seems like you had more time for Seunghyun-hyung than me-“
And then Seungri is pushing at Jiyong’s shoulders, pushing him into the nearest bedroom. The door comes open behind them. It’s not Jiyong’s room so it must be Seungri’s. He hadn’t heard the beep of a card key, but he is otherwise occupied paying attention to the heat of Seungri’s chest against his own.
They stumble into the room, door clicking closed as Seungri keeps pressing forward, leaving Jiyong no choice but to walk backward. “Of course I missed you, hyung." His voice is cloying, so Jiyong doesn't trust him.
“What are you doing?” Jiyong says calmly, as Seungri pushes him down to the bed with a devious smile. “Why are you grinning like that?” Jiyong’s not in the best mood, and Seungri knows that. It’s sweltering hot, and his hair is clinging irritatingly to the sides of his face and his neck, in a way that makes him want to just shave it again.
“You seem stressed,” Seungri says, and he slowly starts unbuttoning Jiyong’s shirt.
“Well, yes,” Jiyong says. “My solo album drops in, like, two weeks. I am allowed to be stressed.” Jiyong is starting to regret that he’s wearing a shirt with so many buttons. He likes the look of it, but the way Seungri’s short, square nails are scratching along his chest are making him wish it were already off.
“Well, then,” Seungri says. “Let me help you relax.” Seungri’s wearing an obnoxious t-shirt that says “wo ai ni” in weird, touristy font, and he’s looking down at Jiyong like a cat who sees a canary that looks particularly delicious. “The other members are going to kill you if you don’t chill out.”
“To be honest,” Jiyong says, even as he tugs at Seungri’s t-shirt, “that look on your face is making me more stressed.”
“Liar,” Seungri says blithely, ignoring Jiyong’s sarcasm. “You’re already hard.”
That’s true enough, and Jiyong tugs harder on Seungri’s ugly-as-fuck t-shirt that he’d probably bought at the airport. It feels like it’s made out of rayon, which makes Jiyong grimace and feel like he needs a shower. “Where did you even get this shirt?”
“Shh,” Seungri says, pressing his index finger to Jiyong’s lips. Jiyong raises an eyebrow. “Don’t talk; you know how my fabric choices always raise your blood-pressure.”
“I prefer you naked, anyway,” Jiyong mumbles, but then Seungri is pressing four fingers to Jiyong’s lips to muffle the sound. He pulls his hand back, and uncurls Jiyong’s fingers from his t-shirt.
“Now, since you’re so stressed, here’s what’s going to happen,” Seungri says, speaking like he does when he’s trying to guide the band through a Japanese variety program. “You’re going to lie here, and do absolutely nothing.”
Jiyong swallows as Seungri pushes Jiyong’s shirt off his shoulders. “What.”
“I know this will be hard for you,” Seungri says, “since you’re an anal-retentive control freak.” Jiyong snorts, against his will, and Seungri smiles at him cheekily. “But the best way to relax is to let someone else do all the work.”
Jiyong licks his lips, intrigued, and considers.
Seungri doesn’t let him consider long, though, because he’s leaning forward and licking at the shell of Jiyong’s ear, which is a low-blow because Seungri knows how much Jiyong likes that. “Okay,” Jiyong whispers, and he lets his body relax.
Seungri’s grin grows larger as he presses his nose to Jiyong. “You know I like to be useful, hyung.”
“Mm,” Jiyong says, as Seungri’s fingers dip teasingly into the hollows of Jiyong’s collarbones.
“Prove my worth,” Seungri whispers into his cheek, and Jiyong clenches his hands into the bedsheets to prevent himself from grabbing Seungri’s shoulders and pulling him down for a kiss.
Seungri leaves light kisses on Jiyong’s forehead and cheeks and chin, hovering over Jiyong’s lips for an agonizing moment before finally coming down and kissing him.
Seungri is gentler than Jiyong. Jiyong is usually rough, taking what he wants and leaving Seungri a puddle of jelly in the meantime. But Seungri likes to take his time. Seungri’s got a different kind of ego than Jiyong does. He likes to coax Jiyong slowly into oblivion, the same way he coaxed Jiyong slowly into loving him; with a steady flow of admiration and worship that makes Jiyong feel like Seungri has all the time in the world for him.
It works out perfectly, because Jiyong likes to be worshipped.
Seungri’s doing that now, tongue twining with Jiyong’s as his hands explore the revealed planes of Jiyong’s chest. Seungri smiles against his lips, and Jiyong can feel it.
When Seungri pulls away, so they can both take a breath of much needed air, Seungri lets his eyes run down Jiyong’s torso. “The workouts… are nice.” Seungri slides down, away from Jiyong’s mouth, which Jiyong is not a huge fan of, so that he can sit on Jiyong’s thighs.
“Heavy,” Jiyong says, and Seungri smacks his stomach.
“Didn’t I say not to talk?” Seungri tries for a stern face but Jiyong can see the amusement in his eyes. Jiyong’s belly stings, but he kind of likes it.
Jiyong thinks about making a comeback, but Seungri’s game seems interesting so he doesn’t. Seungri’s fingertips lightly skate over where he slapped, and then he leans forward and licks, tongue dragging up the barely defined line down the center of Jiyong’s abs. It’s blink and you’ll miss it, but Jiyong’s never been one for heavy muscle, anyhow. “Very nice.”
Jiyong rolls his eyes, but his breath hitches. Seungri catches it, because Seungri’s always been smart and always been observant, and in response, he circles his tongue around Jiyong’s belly button. He blows on the just licked area of skin, and Jiyong shudders, hips shifting slightly in an effort to press against his trousers.
Seungri chuckles, and brings both hands down to Jiyong’s trousers, unbuttoning them quickly while his other hand supports his weight.
“No underwear?” Seungri asks, like he’s surprised; like Jiyong ever bothers to wear underwear when he knows Seungri is going to be within taking distance. Jiyong pushes his hips up, and Seungri brings both hands to push them back down. “You’re so impatient.”
Jiyong wants to put his dick in Seungri’s mouth so Seungri shuts the fuck up.
“That glare doesn’t look very relaxed, hyung,” Seungri says, and he grips Jiyong lightly in his right palm as his left drags Jiyong’s trousers down with the other. They’re not as tight as usual, so maybe Jiyong hadn’t got this particular pair from the women’s department. Seungri’s touch is too slow. “Maybe this is too stressful, after all.”
Seungri’s hand pauses, and Jiyong growls. “Maknae, I swear-“
Seungri’s hand leaves him completely. “Hyung, if you’re going to get all overexcited,” Seungri says, “maybe we should watch TV instead.”
Jiyong does not want to watch TV. Maybe he had wanted to, before Seungri had shoved him down to the bed all aggressive like he was on a mission, but now he definitely wants to do other things that don’t involve the television in any way.
Jiyong presses his lips together in a firm line, and doesn’t say anything at all.
Seungri gleefully leans down and presses a kiss to the head of Jiyong’s cock. “Was that so hard?” Seungri asks, and he’s got that tone in his voice that he gets when he’s about to say something completely embarrassing on a variety show, but for some reason, it’s turning Jiyong on.
He must be really tired to be thinking that.
A triumphant gleam enters Seungri’s eyes as he leans down and blows hot air across Jiyong’s tip, pushing the foreskin back with his thumb as his lips hover dangerously close to the slit, and Jiyong’s heart rate speeds up. His shirt is sticking to his back with sweat now, despite the almost too-cold air conditioner in the room, and his shirt is almost trapping his arms to his side.
That’s all forgotten as Seungri takes him in. Seungri’s mouth is just as hot and wet as Jiyong remembered it, and three weeks had felt almost like an eternity with only his own hand in the shower.
Maknae knows he’s good, though, the way he’s slurping Jiyong in and licking that glib tongue around the base of him, lathing along the vein on the underside of his cock.
Jiyong shudders, and Seungri preens, and Jiyong guesses that even if they fuck these days, the more things change the more they stay the same.
Seungri says something, around Jiyong’s cock, that Jiyong obviously can’t understand, but the motion of Seungri’s throat sends Jiyong’s hips jolting off the bed.
He’s getting closer, now, and Seungri knows it, pulling up to stroke him hard and fast with his fist until Jiyong feels his balls start to tighten. “Maknae-“ Jiyong starts to says, but he knows it’s a mistake before he even finishes the word. Seungri’s hand grips him at the base, the pressure just right to halt his impending orgasm in his tracks.
Jiyong makes a low grunt of rage, and Seungri reaches up to tap him on the nose. “You’re face is so red, hyung. Maybe this was a mistake.” Seungri lets him go, completely. He stands up from the bed, and Jiyong realizes he’s completely dresses, still, even if his cock is pressing out, hard, against the confines of his jeans. “I’m going to go get some water. Give you a change to catch your breath.
Seungri leaves him alone in the bedroom.
Jiyong’s not sure if he’s more angry or shocked, cock throbbing against his belly as he watches Seungri disappear from the bedroom, leaving Jiyong unsatisfied on the bed.
Jiyong is going to kill him.
Seungri comes back around five minutes later, hands in his pockets and a jaunty smile on his face. “Feel better hyung?” he asks, and Jiyong stares at him murderously. He’d considered finishing himself off, but a part of him is still curious about what Seungri is up to.
So Jiyong doesn’t say anything, which seems to be exactly what Seungri wants. Seungri nuzzles at Jiyong’s dick, and Jiyong’s throat is dry; almost painfully so, but he can’t concentrate on that when he feels the press of a slick finger along his crack.
Seungri holds up an aluminum packet of the stuff, and Jiyong stifles a chuckle, because of course Seungri’s perverted enough to carry packets of lube in his pockets. “Hoped I might get lucky,” Seungri says, in response whatever face Jiyong must be making.
Seungri’s free hand is sliding up and down Jiyong’s thigh, across the fine dusting of hair there, and Jiyong wants to tell him to hurry up, because Jiyong’s been so close for so long now, but he knows it’s useless. Seungri will do anything for Jiyong, but he can be stubborn, too, when he wants something.
Jiyong bites down on his lip as Seungri spreads him apart. Seungri is flushed and pleased, ears pink with pleasure as he looks, and Jiyong kicks him, lightly. Seungri’s eyes tell Jiyong he’s thinking about calling Jiyong his girlfriend again, but Jiyong thinks he remembers the kick to his kidneys he’d gotten for that last time well enough to censor him.
Jiyong hisses at the first press of a finger into him. Seungri goes slow though, giving Jiyong time to get used to the intrusion. Jiyong wants to snap at him, something like “Don’t treat me like a girl just because I’ve got pink hair,” but then Seungri is pumping his finger in and out, and adding a second one. And Jiyong is too busy enjoying the stretch inside him to be worried about his manliness quotient right now.
They don’t usually do it like this. Seungri is right, Jiyong is a control freak; he likes things at his pace, all the time, regardless of what it is. But sometimes, when it’s like this, Jiyong likes the way Seungri takes charge, and takes a little, too. He can see how much Seungri wants him. It’s painted in his eyes, and in the tiny stutters in his breaths, and in the way he squirms in his jeans as he slips a third finger into Jiyong, exploring the spongy insides of Jiyong with mesmerized eyes.
“So tight,” he says, and then he finds Jiyong’s prostate, and Jiyong jerks at the pressure. He feels like he could explode, if Seungri would just-
Seungri pulls his fingers free, and Jiyong swears under his breath, so on edge that he’s almost, almost willing to beg for Seungri to fuck him.
Seungri slowly pulls off his shirt, and undoes his jeans, dropping both in a pile on the floor. Jiyong’s trousers are dry-clean only, and he wonders if they’re in a crinkled pile on the floor somewhere, or something, He tries not to worry about it. Seeing Seungri’s engorged, full cock helps distract him, though, thick and hard where it sticks up from the black hair. He’s slicking it with lube; another packet pilfered from god knows where, maybe the same terrible place he’d gotten that monstrosity of a shirt. Jiyong’s eyes peruse Seungri’s body as he trembles and waits. Seungri’s got hair that runs along his thighs, too, and up his belly. Jiyong likes to run his hands along it sometimes, and muse about when Seungri grew from boy to man underneath his mouth and fingertips.
And then Seungri is back, muscular frame hovering over Jiyong’s, mouth covering Jiyong’s mouth and kissing him hard, lips and tongue exploring every facet of Jiyong’s mouth. There’s reverence in it, so Jiyong lets him do what he wants. Seungri pushes up on Jiyong’s thighs, toward his chest, and Jiyong grabs hold to help hold them there. "Feeling relaxed?"
Jiyong digs his fingers into the skin at Seungri's wrist, and Seungri gets the point.
Seungri slides inside him just as slowly and as carefully as he’s done everything else, teasingly, perhaps, and Jiyong drags his nails up Seungri’s back as Seungri finally gets all the way in. It’s too much, and not enough, and Jiyong just wants him to move.
Since he’s not allowed to talk, he just digs his heels into Seungri’s ass, and Seungri squawks and falls forward. Jiyong grunts with pleasure as Seungri goes a bit deeper. “Now that’s not very leisurely,” Seungri says, through clenched teeth.
“Shut up and fuck me, maknae,” Jiyong says, breaking Seungri’s rules, and Seungri shivers at the sound of Jiyong’s voice. Jiyong knows Seungri likes his voice like this, when it’s rough and low, and he plans on taking full advantage. “Otherwise I’m going to be very, very stressed out.”
Seungri’s hips snap back, and then he’s driving home, hard thrusts that shake Jiyong’s whole body with the force of them. It doesn’t take long—not with the two times Jiyong had been denied his release plus the firm, decisive grip of Seungri’s surprisingly sure left hand around him, and Jiyong tightens around Seungri as he comes, loudly, his whole body clenching and releasing with the force of it. He falls back deeper into the mattress, boneless, as Seungri keeps fucking his spent body, the twinges as Seungri’s cock hits him in the right places prolonging the aftershocks of Jiyong’s orgasm.
And then Seungri releases, with a whine, and Jiyong can feel him twitching inside of him, spilling.
Seungri pulls out, and rolls over beside him, and Jiyong stretches up, ignoring the come on his belly. He feels surprisingly languid; maybe his maknae had had the right idea after all.
“Feel better?” Seungri asks, and Jiyong glares at him out of the corner of his eye, which only makes Seungri lean over and kiss him like it was an invitation to. It wasn’t, but Jiyong kisses him back anyway, because Seungri still smells faintly of that cologne Jiyong likes, and he does, kind of, feel better, even if there’s a cramp in his thighs from the way Seungri had pushed them up.
“I don’t even know why I like you,” Jiyong says, curling his fingers around Seungri’s neck. “You’re such a pain in the ass.”
“Is that literal?” Seungri drowsily responds, and flops over so Jiyong is staring at his back.
“I really don’t know why.”
“No one else will put up with you all the time. That’s why.” Seungri says it gruffly, but Jiyong can hear the soppiness in his voice.
“You’re not putting up with me,” Jiyong says, wrapping his arm around Seungri’s waist. “You lo-“
The door to the hotel room opens.
“Um,” Seunghyun says. “Why are you naked in my bed?”
“It’s Seungri’s fault,” Jiyong says, shaking his head because of course Seungri just shoved him into the nearest room, and Seunghyun makes a face at him. “You can have my room.”
“I don’t want your room,” Seunghyun says, and he brings his hands up to his collar and undoes a single button. “I want you both to make it up to me that you’re in mine.” Seunghyun tilts his head to the side. "If you're no longer in bitch mode, that is."
Jiyong feels a tingle in his toes, and somewhere a little higher up. “You realize you’ll have to take off your shirt for this.”
“I expect you to say ‘wow, fantastic body’, or I’ll be sorely disappointed.”
Seungri puts a pillow over his head. “I’m not moving.”
“That’s alright, maknae,” Seunghyun says, with the same maniacal gleam in his eye that he gets when he obtains a special edition Be@rbrick that President Yang doesn’t have. “You can just… relax.”
Jiyong feels a smile stretch across his face, and thinks this afternoon has really turned around.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Seungri/ Jiyong
Summary: Seungri thinks Jiyong needs to loosen up. (~3.5k)
Notes: orgasm denial/control for kink_bingo
“What crawled up your ass and died?” Seunghyun says, and Jiyong scoffs.
“I’m just tired of you guys acting like children,” he snaps, curling his fingers into his trousers at the knee. Seungri is sitting on Seunghyun’s lap, playing some stupid game where they make faces at each other, and Daesung and Youngbae are playing some game between their mobile phones. “We should be-“
“What?” Seunghyun says. “Getting ready, somehow, for an interview where they’re going to ask some of the exact same questions for the hundredth time, only this time in Chinese so none of us can answer?”
“Yes,” Jiyong says snottily, and Youngbae absently reaches over and pats Jiyong’s knee.
“It’s alright, Jiyong,” Youngbae says. “Really.” He’s still staring at his phone, and Jiyong’s lip curls in disgust.
He knows he isn’t being fair, wanting everyone in the band to be as bent out of shape as he is, but Jiyong’s got a lot on his plate and seeing them so carefree makes him want to ruin their moods.
Jiyong never said he was nice. There’s also the fact that Seungri is paying more attention to Seunghyun than to him, which is always high on the list of things that piss Jiyong off.
He hasn’t seen Seungri in a while. Three weeks maybe, and usually Seungri would be all over him, but today he’s not.
Jiyong doesn’t much like that.
Maybe that’s making his mood even worse, and Jiyong frowns his way through the interview. He hopes they pass it off as him not understanding Mandarin and don’t think he’s an absolute diva, even if he is.
“You,” Youngbae says, when it’s over, “need to take a nap.” He says it in his stern voice that reminds Jiyong of being a trainee.
“Fine,” Jiyong says.
When they get back to the hotel, Jiyong takes the stairs. He figures that cancels out his terrible posture—he can hear Hwangssabu telling him to 'stand up straight' in his head, and his frown etches deeper into his face.
The hallway is empty. They’d rented the whole floor, because Chinese fans can be a little scary, sometimes, in their enthusiasm. (Not that Jiyong wants them to like him less. Just that he’d like to be able to sleep without worrying if someone is going to jimmy the lock.)
Suddenly, there are footsteps behind him. Jiyong spins sharply on his heel, dress shoes squeaking even on the carpet.
“It’s just me,” Seungri says, resting against the wall.
Jiyong licks his lips. “I’m not worried.”
“No, you’re prissy, though.”
“Prissy?” Jiyong purses his mouth and brushes invisible lint from his trousers.
“And you’ve bitten your nails to the quick,” Seungri adds. His hair is growing out. It brushes across his forehead. Jiyong likes it.
“You’ve taken out your industrial piercing,” Jiyong says. “You almost broke my hand when we got it.”
“I want to look like me,” Seungri replies, stepping closer. He smells like expensive cologne. Jiyong had missed that smell.
Seungri moves even nearer. “So now you’ve got time for me,” Jiyong says bitterly, and Seungri narrows his eyes, putting one hand on his hip.
“I always have time for you, hyung,” Seungri says, and Jiyong crosses his arms over his chest.
“Seems like you had more time for Seunghyun-hyung than me-“
And then Seungri is pushing at Jiyong’s shoulders, pushing him into the nearest bedroom. The door comes open behind them. It’s not Jiyong’s room so it must be Seungri’s. He hadn’t heard the beep of a card key, but he is otherwise occupied paying attention to the heat of Seungri’s chest against his own.
They stumble into the room, door clicking closed as Seungri keeps pressing forward, leaving Jiyong no choice but to walk backward. “Of course I missed you, hyung." His voice is cloying, so Jiyong doesn't trust him.
“What are you doing?” Jiyong says calmly, as Seungri pushes him down to the bed with a devious smile. “Why are you grinning like that?” Jiyong’s not in the best mood, and Seungri knows that. It’s sweltering hot, and his hair is clinging irritatingly to the sides of his face and his neck, in a way that makes him want to just shave it again.
“You seem stressed,” Seungri says, and he slowly starts unbuttoning Jiyong’s shirt.
“Well, yes,” Jiyong says. “My solo album drops in, like, two weeks. I am allowed to be stressed.” Jiyong is starting to regret that he’s wearing a shirt with so many buttons. He likes the look of it, but the way Seungri’s short, square nails are scratching along his chest are making him wish it were already off.
“Well, then,” Seungri says. “Let me help you relax.” Seungri’s wearing an obnoxious t-shirt that says “wo ai ni” in weird, touristy font, and he’s looking down at Jiyong like a cat who sees a canary that looks particularly delicious. “The other members are going to kill you if you don’t chill out.”
“To be honest,” Jiyong says, even as he tugs at Seungri’s t-shirt, “that look on your face is making me more stressed.”
“Liar,” Seungri says blithely, ignoring Jiyong’s sarcasm. “You’re already hard.”
That’s true enough, and Jiyong tugs harder on Seungri’s ugly-as-fuck t-shirt that he’d probably bought at the airport. It feels like it’s made out of rayon, which makes Jiyong grimace and feel like he needs a shower. “Where did you even get this shirt?”
“Shh,” Seungri says, pressing his index finger to Jiyong’s lips. Jiyong raises an eyebrow. “Don’t talk; you know how my fabric choices always raise your blood-pressure.”
“I prefer you naked, anyway,” Jiyong mumbles, but then Seungri is pressing four fingers to Jiyong’s lips to muffle the sound. He pulls his hand back, and uncurls Jiyong’s fingers from his t-shirt.
“Now, since you’re so stressed, here’s what’s going to happen,” Seungri says, speaking like he does when he’s trying to guide the band through a Japanese variety program. “You’re going to lie here, and do absolutely nothing.”
Jiyong swallows as Seungri pushes Jiyong’s shirt off his shoulders. “What.”
“I know this will be hard for you,” Seungri says, “since you’re an anal-retentive control freak.” Jiyong snorts, against his will, and Seungri smiles at him cheekily. “But the best way to relax is to let someone else do all the work.”
Jiyong licks his lips, intrigued, and considers.
Seungri doesn’t let him consider long, though, because he’s leaning forward and licking at the shell of Jiyong’s ear, which is a low-blow because Seungri knows how much Jiyong likes that. “Okay,” Jiyong whispers, and he lets his body relax.
Seungri’s grin grows larger as he presses his nose to Jiyong. “You know I like to be useful, hyung.”
“Mm,” Jiyong says, as Seungri’s fingers dip teasingly into the hollows of Jiyong’s collarbones.
“Prove my worth,” Seungri whispers into his cheek, and Jiyong clenches his hands into the bedsheets to prevent himself from grabbing Seungri’s shoulders and pulling him down for a kiss.
Seungri leaves light kisses on Jiyong’s forehead and cheeks and chin, hovering over Jiyong’s lips for an agonizing moment before finally coming down and kissing him.
Seungri is gentler than Jiyong. Jiyong is usually rough, taking what he wants and leaving Seungri a puddle of jelly in the meantime. But Seungri likes to take his time. Seungri’s got a different kind of ego than Jiyong does. He likes to coax Jiyong slowly into oblivion, the same way he coaxed Jiyong slowly into loving him; with a steady flow of admiration and worship that makes Jiyong feel like Seungri has all the time in the world for him.
It works out perfectly, because Jiyong likes to be worshipped.
Seungri’s doing that now, tongue twining with Jiyong’s as his hands explore the revealed planes of Jiyong’s chest. Seungri smiles against his lips, and Jiyong can feel it.
When Seungri pulls away, so they can both take a breath of much needed air, Seungri lets his eyes run down Jiyong’s torso. “The workouts… are nice.” Seungri slides down, away from Jiyong’s mouth, which Jiyong is not a huge fan of, so that he can sit on Jiyong’s thighs.
“Heavy,” Jiyong says, and Seungri smacks his stomach.
“Didn’t I say not to talk?” Seungri tries for a stern face but Jiyong can see the amusement in his eyes. Jiyong’s belly stings, but he kind of likes it.
Jiyong thinks about making a comeback, but Seungri’s game seems interesting so he doesn’t. Seungri’s fingertips lightly skate over where he slapped, and then he leans forward and licks, tongue dragging up the barely defined line down the center of Jiyong’s abs. It’s blink and you’ll miss it, but Jiyong’s never been one for heavy muscle, anyhow. “Very nice.”
Jiyong rolls his eyes, but his breath hitches. Seungri catches it, because Seungri’s always been smart and always been observant, and in response, he circles his tongue around Jiyong’s belly button. He blows on the just licked area of skin, and Jiyong shudders, hips shifting slightly in an effort to press against his trousers.
Seungri chuckles, and brings both hands down to Jiyong’s trousers, unbuttoning them quickly while his other hand supports his weight.
“No underwear?” Seungri asks, like he’s surprised; like Jiyong ever bothers to wear underwear when he knows Seungri is going to be within taking distance. Jiyong pushes his hips up, and Seungri brings both hands to push them back down. “You’re so impatient.”
Jiyong wants to put his dick in Seungri’s mouth so Seungri shuts the fuck up.
“That glare doesn’t look very relaxed, hyung,” Seungri says, and he grips Jiyong lightly in his right palm as his left drags Jiyong’s trousers down with the other. They’re not as tight as usual, so maybe Jiyong hadn’t got this particular pair from the women’s department. Seungri’s touch is too slow. “Maybe this is too stressful, after all.”
Seungri’s hand pauses, and Jiyong growls. “Maknae, I swear-“
Seungri’s hand leaves him completely. “Hyung, if you’re going to get all overexcited,” Seungri says, “maybe we should watch TV instead.”
Jiyong does not want to watch TV. Maybe he had wanted to, before Seungri had shoved him down to the bed all aggressive like he was on a mission, but now he definitely wants to do other things that don’t involve the television in any way.
Jiyong presses his lips together in a firm line, and doesn’t say anything at all.
Seungri gleefully leans down and presses a kiss to the head of Jiyong’s cock. “Was that so hard?” Seungri asks, and he’s got that tone in his voice that he gets when he’s about to say something completely embarrassing on a variety show, but for some reason, it’s turning Jiyong on.
He must be really tired to be thinking that.
A triumphant gleam enters Seungri’s eyes as he leans down and blows hot air across Jiyong’s tip, pushing the foreskin back with his thumb as his lips hover dangerously close to the slit, and Jiyong’s heart rate speeds up. His shirt is sticking to his back with sweat now, despite the almost too-cold air conditioner in the room, and his shirt is almost trapping his arms to his side.
That’s all forgotten as Seungri takes him in. Seungri’s mouth is just as hot and wet as Jiyong remembered it, and three weeks had felt almost like an eternity with only his own hand in the shower.
Maknae knows he’s good, though, the way he’s slurping Jiyong in and licking that glib tongue around the base of him, lathing along the vein on the underside of his cock.
Jiyong shudders, and Seungri preens, and Jiyong guesses that even if they fuck these days, the more things change the more they stay the same.
Seungri says something, around Jiyong’s cock, that Jiyong obviously can’t understand, but the motion of Seungri’s throat sends Jiyong’s hips jolting off the bed.
He’s getting closer, now, and Seungri knows it, pulling up to stroke him hard and fast with his fist until Jiyong feels his balls start to tighten. “Maknae-“ Jiyong starts to says, but he knows it’s a mistake before he even finishes the word. Seungri’s hand grips him at the base, the pressure just right to halt his impending orgasm in his tracks.
Jiyong makes a low grunt of rage, and Seungri reaches up to tap him on the nose. “You’re face is so red, hyung. Maybe this was a mistake.” Seungri lets him go, completely. He stands up from the bed, and Jiyong realizes he’s completely dresses, still, even if his cock is pressing out, hard, against the confines of his jeans. “I’m going to go get some water. Give you a change to catch your breath.
Seungri leaves him alone in the bedroom.
Jiyong’s not sure if he’s more angry or shocked, cock throbbing against his belly as he watches Seungri disappear from the bedroom, leaving Jiyong unsatisfied on the bed.
Jiyong is going to kill him.
Seungri comes back around five minutes later, hands in his pockets and a jaunty smile on his face. “Feel better hyung?” he asks, and Jiyong stares at him murderously. He’d considered finishing himself off, but a part of him is still curious about what Seungri is up to.
So Jiyong doesn’t say anything, which seems to be exactly what Seungri wants. Seungri nuzzles at Jiyong’s dick, and Jiyong’s throat is dry; almost painfully so, but he can’t concentrate on that when he feels the press of a slick finger along his crack.
Seungri holds up an aluminum packet of the stuff, and Jiyong stifles a chuckle, because of course Seungri’s perverted enough to carry packets of lube in his pockets. “Hoped I might get lucky,” Seungri says, in response whatever face Jiyong must be making.
Seungri’s free hand is sliding up and down Jiyong’s thigh, across the fine dusting of hair there, and Jiyong wants to tell him to hurry up, because Jiyong’s been so close for so long now, but he knows it’s useless. Seungri will do anything for Jiyong, but he can be stubborn, too, when he wants something.
Jiyong bites down on his lip as Seungri spreads him apart. Seungri is flushed and pleased, ears pink with pleasure as he looks, and Jiyong kicks him, lightly. Seungri’s eyes tell Jiyong he’s thinking about calling Jiyong his girlfriend again, but Jiyong thinks he remembers the kick to his kidneys he’d gotten for that last time well enough to censor him.
Jiyong hisses at the first press of a finger into him. Seungri goes slow though, giving Jiyong time to get used to the intrusion. Jiyong wants to snap at him, something like “Don’t treat me like a girl just because I’ve got pink hair,” but then Seungri is pumping his finger in and out, and adding a second one. And Jiyong is too busy enjoying the stretch inside him to be worried about his manliness quotient right now.
They don’t usually do it like this. Seungri is right, Jiyong is a control freak; he likes things at his pace, all the time, regardless of what it is. But sometimes, when it’s like this, Jiyong likes the way Seungri takes charge, and takes a little, too. He can see how much Seungri wants him. It’s painted in his eyes, and in the tiny stutters in his breaths, and in the way he squirms in his jeans as he slips a third finger into Jiyong, exploring the spongy insides of Jiyong with mesmerized eyes.
“So tight,” he says, and then he finds Jiyong’s prostate, and Jiyong jerks at the pressure. He feels like he could explode, if Seungri would just-
Seungri pulls his fingers free, and Jiyong swears under his breath, so on edge that he’s almost, almost willing to beg for Seungri to fuck him.
Seungri slowly pulls off his shirt, and undoes his jeans, dropping both in a pile on the floor. Jiyong’s trousers are dry-clean only, and he wonders if they’re in a crinkled pile on the floor somewhere, or something, He tries not to worry about it. Seeing Seungri’s engorged, full cock helps distract him, though, thick and hard where it sticks up from the black hair. He’s slicking it with lube; another packet pilfered from god knows where, maybe the same terrible place he’d gotten that monstrosity of a shirt. Jiyong’s eyes peruse Seungri’s body as he trembles and waits. Seungri’s got hair that runs along his thighs, too, and up his belly. Jiyong likes to run his hands along it sometimes, and muse about when Seungri grew from boy to man underneath his mouth and fingertips.
And then Seungri is back, muscular frame hovering over Jiyong’s, mouth covering Jiyong’s mouth and kissing him hard, lips and tongue exploring every facet of Jiyong’s mouth. There’s reverence in it, so Jiyong lets him do what he wants. Seungri pushes up on Jiyong’s thighs, toward his chest, and Jiyong grabs hold to help hold them there. "Feeling relaxed?"
Jiyong digs his fingers into the skin at Seungri's wrist, and Seungri gets the point.
Seungri slides inside him just as slowly and as carefully as he’s done everything else, teasingly, perhaps, and Jiyong drags his nails up Seungri’s back as Seungri finally gets all the way in. It’s too much, and not enough, and Jiyong just wants him to move.
Since he’s not allowed to talk, he just digs his heels into Seungri’s ass, and Seungri squawks and falls forward. Jiyong grunts with pleasure as Seungri goes a bit deeper. “Now that’s not very leisurely,” Seungri says, through clenched teeth.
“Shut up and fuck me, maknae,” Jiyong says, breaking Seungri’s rules, and Seungri shivers at the sound of Jiyong’s voice. Jiyong knows Seungri likes his voice like this, when it’s rough and low, and he plans on taking full advantage. “Otherwise I’m going to be very, very stressed out.”
Seungri’s hips snap back, and then he’s driving home, hard thrusts that shake Jiyong’s whole body with the force of them. It doesn’t take long—not with the two times Jiyong had been denied his release plus the firm, decisive grip of Seungri’s surprisingly sure left hand around him, and Jiyong tightens around Seungri as he comes, loudly, his whole body clenching and releasing with the force of it. He falls back deeper into the mattress, boneless, as Seungri keeps fucking his spent body, the twinges as Seungri’s cock hits him in the right places prolonging the aftershocks of Jiyong’s orgasm.
And then Seungri releases, with a whine, and Jiyong can feel him twitching inside of him, spilling.
Seungri pulls out, and rolls over beside him, and Jiyong stretches up, ignoring the come on his belly. He feels surprisingly languid; maybe his maknae had had the right idea after all.
“Feel better?” Seungri asks, and Jiyong glares at him out of the corner of his eye, which only makes Seungri lean over and kiss him like it was an invitation to. It wasn’t, but Jiyong kisses him back anyway, because Seungri still smells faintly of that cologne Jiyong likes, and he does, kind of, feel better, even if there’s a cramp in his thighs from the way Seungri had pushed them up.
“I don’t even know why I like you,” Jiyong says, curling his fingers around Seungri’s neck. “You’re such a pain in the ass.”
“Is that literal?” Seungri drowsily responds, and flops over so Jiyong is staring at his back.
“I really don’t know why.”
“No one else will put up with you all the time. That’s why.” Seungri says it gruffly, but Jiyong can hear the soppiness in his voice.
“You’re not putting up with me,” Jiyong says, wrapping his arm around Seungri’s waist. “You lo-“
The door to the hotel room opens.
“Um,” Seunghyun says. “Why are you naked in my bed?”
“It’s Seungri’s fault,” Jiyong says, shaking his head because of course Seungri just shoved him into the nearest room, and Seunghyun makes a face at him. “You can have my room.”
“I don’t want your room,” Seunghyun says, and he brings his hands up to his collar and undoes a single button. “I want you both to make it up to me that you’re in mine.” Seunghyun tilts his head to the side. "If you're no longer in bitch mode, that is."
Jiyong feels a tingle in his toes, and somewhere a little higher up. “You realize you’ll have to take off your shirt for this.”
“I expect you to say ‘wow, fantastic body’, or I’ll be sorely disappointed.”
Seungri puts a pillow over his head. “I’m not moving.”
“That’s alright, maknae,” Seunghyun says, with the same maniacal gleam in his eye that he gets when he obtains a special edition Be@rbrick that President Yang doesn’t have. “You can just… relax.”
Jiyong feels a smile stretch across his face, and thinks this afternoon has really turned around.
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