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Beomgyu’s on his phone, curled up on his side when the door opens.
His bedroom is bathed in the dim yellow of this lamp that Taehyun and Kai got him for his birthday, and on his phone, a mellow playlist from Melon sings out from his speakers. Outside, the rain is tapping, gentle but insistent, against the glass of the window pane. The arrival of summer storms always makes him just a bit sentimental — they make him think of lazy Augusts in Daegu growing up, free from the shackles of school work and afternoon sports and the damp grass tickling his ankles.
He’s been in Seoul for how many years now, and still the recollection persists; he’s always been a creature of nostalgia, of sights and scents and feelings long since pressed into the scrapbook of memories.
The bed shifts, the weight of another person making it dip and sag. Beomgyu lets out a huff, chuckling when hands slide under his shirt, wrap around his waist. “Took your time, hyung,” he murmurs, but lets out a louder little giggle when lips press against the back of his ear.
“You’re so ticklish.” Yeonjun speaks into the warmth of his skin and Beomgyu can feel the hum of it seep underneath. “Missed you today.”
It was Sunday, Yeonjun’s busiest day. Beomgyu’s missed him too.
Their fingers lace together over his stomach, and for the first few minutes, they simply bask in each other’s presence, re-fitting themselves around each other as if they’d forgotten in the hours they’d spent apart. The honeymoon phase, Soobin called it, and while Beomgyu pouts at the term, Yeonjun just laughs and buries his face in his hair, delighted.
“You’re my honey, anyway,” Yeonjun tells him, making him splutter and blush.
Oh well. If it makes Yeonjun happy, Beomgyu’s not going to contest.
Yeonjun is tracing sweet little spirals on the tiny bumps of his abs, and Beomgyu wants to roll his eyes, give Yeonjun an impatient glare, but he’s enjoying the ministrations far too much to protest. He makes a small noise, instead, and drops his phone so his eyes can flutter closed and he can fully experience every touch and stroke that his boyfriend seems insistent on giving him.
Beomgyu tilts his head back so that Yeonjun can scrape teeth and tongue down the column of his neck, exhaling at the way each pressed kiss sends want to curl in his gut. This far out from comeback season, they’re free to do whatever they want to each other, within reason, and Beomgyu doesn’t mind admitting how much he loves to push the limit of whatever their management company is willing to give.
Besides, they both have very few things they can call theirs to begin with. A little mark or two wouldn’t hurt.
“I have an early lesson tomorrow,” Beomgyu sighs, breath starting to quicken. He shakes off Yeonjun’s hands to reach around behind him, keeping Yeonjun in place by locking his fingers at the point of his nape. “We can’t do too much.” Still, the little moan that escapes him when Yeonjun’s thumbs wander up to flick and rub at his nipples betray his true sentiments. “I mean it, hyung.”
“Beomgyu,” Yeonjun says, a whine coloring his tone. He pulls him closer, brings him so that every inch of Beomgyu’s back is pressed against his chest. He’s shirtless again, Beomgyu notices, woeful. “It’s been so long, I’m starting to forget the feeling of being inside you.”
It makes Beomgyu want to break. It makes Beomgyu want to be broken.
But he has so many things he wants to work on, and it’s only the fact that he hasn’t seen Yeonjun all day that he’s even home and not at the company, poring over the computer at their designated studio.
“Tomorrow, hyung, I promise,” he says, and he turns around slowly in the circle of Yeonjun’s arms so that he can tell Yeonjun his next words to his face.
Beomgyu knows even before opening his eyes that the other is pouting, the plump jut of his bottom lip and his furrowed brow greeting him when their gazes meet; an enamored laugh escapes him. His hyung is so cute. Like this, he knows he is adored. Like this, he knows he is wanted.
“I miss you too, you know,” he whispers, assurance spilling fervent and easy from his lips. “I don’t want you to think I don’t.” He leans forward to kiss him, light and chaste, the sweet sound of it softly punctuating his sentences. “I just want to finish this one thing first.”
Yeonjun is so wide by now that when he flattens his palms across Beomgyu’s lower back to pull them closer together, he almost fully envelopes Beomgyu in his arms. He’d be loathe to admit it to anyone, but it’s one of his favorite things, to be encompassed by Yeonjun, to feel completely surrounded and not be cognizant of where he ends and where Beomgyu begins.
It’s intoxicating, to be cherished like this. Beomgyu inhales; cotton, musk, citrus. He gives Yeonjun a tiny grin before reaching up to cup his face in his palms, squeezing gently. Affection makes his heart sing. That’s his whole world in his hands.
Yeonjun wrinkles his nose at him, before pressing their foreheads together, understanding.
“It’s okay, I get it,” he says, and Beomgyu knows he does. They’re both terrible at keeping a sustainable work-life balance, but ever since they started dating for real, they promised to try. “Tomorrow, then.”
Beomgyu inhales sharply, eyes fluttering shut when he feels Yeonjun press his nose to his, the little touches leaving him breathless. He bites his lip, yearning to have him inch just a bit closer. It’s so intimate it makes heat sear up his neck, settle around the tips of his ears. Oh, he wants this. He wants him.
“Can I still kiss you though?” Yeonjun whispers.
Please, Beomgyu tries to say, but he’s already surging forward to slot their lips together, jaw falling open so Yeonjun can slide his tongue into his mouth, wet and silky. He moans, tangling their legs so that they’re entwined, inseparable. “Hyung,” he whines, as Yeonjun nips at his bottom lip with his teeth. “Hyung, please. Don’t stop.”
“Can’t, won’t stop,” Yeonjun murmurs, pressing wet open-mouthed kisses all over Beomgyu’s face. “Want you. Always want you.”
The words make Beomgyu’s heart stutter, stop, restart. He’s never taking this for granted, Yeonjun’s unrelenting, steady adoration. And he knows Yeonjun feels the same about him.
“Want you too.”
They roll over until Yeonjun’s body settles over his, pressing Beomgyu lightly into the mattress. Yeonjun nudges Beomgyu’s knees apart so he can tug them around his waist, encouraging him to lock his ankles together at the small of his back.
Leaning down, Yeonjun finds his way back to Beomgyu’s mouth, and the blood coursing through Beomgyu’s veins feel like molten gold when he licks into it, curls his tongue around his; it’s dizzying, almost, feeling the weight of Yeonjun’s desire in the spit-slick glide of his lips, in the velvet thickness of their shared breaths.
Beomgyu never wants to be unburdened of it.
They kiss like this, slow and sensual, the desaturated yellow glow of his bedroom filling his head with a pleasant hazy buzz. Hands stroke without intention, content to simply feel muscles ripple and flex underneath their fingertips. The music playing on his phone has faded into silence, and only the occasional giggle interrupts the sound of their lips meeting over and over, in the quiet of the space between them.
Eventually, the pulsing ache tightening his gut peters out into warm embers, and they both become content to just press their lips together as exhaustion makes their eyelids start to droop and their arms heavier to lift.
“Hyung, m’sleepy,” Beomgyu says drowsily; he yawns against Yeonjun’s mouth, making the other snicker into the side of his throat.
“Me too,” Yeonjun says, after his chuckles die out. He guides Beomgyu’s head to lay his shoulder, tucking it neatly under his chin. “It’s late, anyway. We should sleep. You have an early start.”
Beomgyu is barely conscious now, but he still puckers his lips so that he can place a soft smooch on whatever patch of Yeonjun’s skin he can reach. His mouth feels tingly, pleasantly so. “Turn off the light before you drift off, please,” he murmurs, before placing his hand on Yeonjun’s chest. Like this, he thinks he can feel Yeonjun’s heart beat against his palm, pounding lightly underneath his ribcage.
How sweet, Beomgyu muses, his thoughts starting to split and scatter in the moments before slumber. But isn’t he forgetting anything?
His head jerks, just a bit, when he remembers. Oh. How could he forget?
“Love you. Hyung, love you.”
It’s only when he feels a kiss pressed to his brow and he hears words whispered into the crown of his head that he deems it safe to go to sleep now. These are the sights, the scents, the sounds he keeps close to him, intrinsic to the person he was, he is, he hopes he always will be.
“I love you too.”
A boy who loves. A boy who is loved.