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Younghoon can’t stop thinking about it, even hours after the fact. He’s fresh out of the shower, drying his hair at the foot of Chanhee’s bed, Chanhee curled up in a fetal position an arm’s length away from him and completely absorbed in whatever funny video he’s watching on his phone. Chanhee suddenly rolls over onto his back, laughing without abandon, the hem of his pajama top riding up slightly. Younghoon’s grip on his towel slackens as his fingers reflexively twitch with the desire to touch the smooth strip of milky skin exposed by the movement.
His mind flashes back to their last music show recording, particularly on the bit of choreography that’s been bothering him. He can still picture it as if in slow motion—Chanhee sliding down a dancer’s back while another splays a hand over his stomach. Younghoon’s position in the formation is the perfect spot to see it up close, much to his annoyance.
It’s just part of the choreography, he had reminded himself, the many times he bore witness to them rehearsing that part over and over again until Chanhee could smoothly execute the motion and his little spin before reaching for Sangyeon’s hand. It’s just work, he’d think, even as his baser instincts itched to knock the dancer’s hand away and stop touching—with such seeming familiarity—what was his. It’s nothing to worry about, he’d convince himself, after every performance where he noticed Chanhee hanging out with the dancers to talk about god knows what before trotting back to the members’ waiting room.
It’s just irrational jealousy on his part, but he’s still bothered because Chanhee, shy, stranger-touch-averse Chanhee, isn’t. The way the younger coolly goes through the motions without the slightest bit of discomfort, like he’s used to it, makes Younghoon seethe at the people who put their hands on him so often to make it so.
Chanhee’s top rides up higher as he stretches out his hands to align his phone above his face, and Younghoon’s quick to act on impulse, reaching out and aiming for Chanhee’s side to tickle him.
Chanhee glances sidelong at him, unfazed. “Have you forgotten that I’m not that ticklish?” he asks, putting his phone down and catching Younghoon by the wrist.
“I haven’t,” Younghoon says, throwing his towel aside so he can tackle Chanhee in earnest, pinning him to the bed with one hand and continuing to run his fingers up and down Chanhee’s side with the other. Chanhee squeals when Younghoon correctly prods at the exact spot in his side that is ticklish, bursting out laughing as Younghoon persists relentlessly with his attack.
“Stop! I give, I give,” Chanhee screams, tears in his eyes. He wriggles around to no avail, Younghoon trapping him in place as the older kneels on either side of his thighs.
There are footsteps thundering in the corridor, and Sunwoo appears in the open doorway, wide-eyed for a split second before schooling his face into a blank stare. “Everything’s fine, hyung, they’re just being disgustingly lovey-dovey like usual,” he hollers at (presumably) Changmin down the hall. He raises an eyebrow at Younghoon and Chanhee before shutting the door.
Younghoon’s suddenly hyperaware of his shorts-clad thighs pressed against Chanhee’s silk pajamas, and his hands now resting on Chanhee’s bare hips. Chanhee’s face, already pink from Younghoon’s tickling, flushes deeper after Sunwoo’s unnecessary comment. He looks so vulnerable in that moment that Younghoon acts on impulse again, leaning forward to kiss the pout off his plump lips.
Chanhee lets out a pleased little sigh, the tension leaving his shoulders as he probably decides that Younghoon has gotten bored of tickling him in favor of making out, which is true. He wraps his arms around Younghoon’s neck and Younghoon relaxes with him, shifting his position so that he’s fully lying on top of Chanhee, arms braced on either side of the younger so as not to crush him under his weight.
One of Younghoon’s hands move to wander over Chanhee’s chest, expertly unbuttoning his pajama top one-handed, the fabric sliding off Chanhee’s shoulders and pooling at his sides. Chanhee shivers visibly, both from Younghoon’s hand, still cold after touching a wet towel, and from the way Younghoon trails butterfly kisses down his jaw.
Younghoon nips at the pale skin over the slope of Chanhee’s neck almost hard enough to bruise, and Chanhee gasps, one of his hands flying up to tug at Younghoon’s hair a little too harshly.
“What’s up with you? You’re more aggressive today,” Chanhee says, his breath hitching as the flat of Younghoon’s palm grazes over a bare nipple, sliding further down to rest over Chanhee’s stomach.
“You don’t like it?” Younghoon asks, lifting his head from kitten-licking at the barely-there mark he left on Chanhee’s skin.
Chanhee’s irises are dark with desire, and he responds by rolling his hips, the delicious friction eliciting a hiss from Younghoon. Younghoon will never stop being smitten at the way Chanhee coyly looks at him from beneath his lashes, even if sometimes it’s a calculated move like it is now, when he crushes their mouths together and he feels the smirk forming over Chanhee’s lips. He sucks hard on Chanhee’s bottom lip until the younger takes the hint and opens his mouth enough for Younghoon’s tongue to slip in.
Kissing Chanhee always leaves Younghoon breathless because Chanhee responds with the same fervor he reserves for eating something delicious—which, in hindsight, is probably how he would describe Younghoon’s kisses.
(“Kevin’s teaching me English slang,” Chanhee once said proudly before plundering Younghoon’s lips and licking very enthusiastically into his mouth. When he finally pulled away to come up for air, he laughed at the dazed expression on Younghoon’s face. “He says a hot person is a snack. So you’re my snack!”
Younghoon nuzzled at Chanhee’s neck, inhaling the scent of his expensive perfume. God, he was so adorable. “It’s rude to mention other members’ names when you’re making out with me,” he scolded, but Chanhee just giggled and kissed his protests away.)
He’s not worried about Chanhee’s devotion to him, not at all. It’s other people that he doesn’t trust—people who gaze at Chanhee with longing, so mesmerized by his beauty that their infatuation reflects so obviously in their eyes. People who vie for his attention despite how he never even tries to feign reciprocal interest. People whose touches on him linger unnecessarily long, Chanhee himself too unassuming to think anything of it.
Anybody outside their team and their fanbase who has the audacity to think that they can have Chanhee… Younghoon will never stand for it. The members are practically family, and Younghoon trusts all of them with his life; they all accepted Younghoon and Chanhee’s relationship with no questions asked. The adoration of The B is perfectly acceptable—Chanhee’s an idol, after all, and Younghoon knows that their true fans will always respect them enough to draw the line between fantasy and reality. Everyone else could frankly take a hike because they have no business endearing themselves to Chanhee.
The sound of Chanhee’s whimpers snap him back to attention, and he blinks in belated bewilderment at the love bites he subconsciously placed all over the other’s chest.
“Hyung, you’re too much! I can’t wear a mesh shirt in tomorrow’s live performance at this rate,” Chanhee grumbles, pushing Younghoon’s face away from him and inspecting the very obvious purple marks contrasting sharply with his pale skin.
“You’re wearing a zipped-up hoodie over a crew neck t-shirt tomorrow. I asked the stylist,” Younghoon says without missing a beat.
“How very meticulous of you,” Chanhee says dryly, slipping out of Younghoon’s embrace and padding over to his dresser to examine the damage. “Oh my god, I look like I got mauled. Bbanghoon!” he whines, stamping his foot like a petulant child, so ridiculously cute despite his annoyance.
Younghoon can’t help but laugh as he rolls onto his back and gives Chanhee his best butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth face.
“It’s not funny! This’ll take days to fade. I can’t change in front of the others like this, and our concert’s coming up soon too…” Chanhee marches back to the bed and unceremoniously sits atop Younghoon’s stomach, wrapping his slender hands around Younghoon’s neck and pretending to strangle him.
“Kinky,” Younghoon teases, earning himself a light flick on the forehead.
Chanhee scowls at him, leaning back to cross his arms over his chest with a huff. “Seriously though. You’re usually the one who tells me to be careful about leaving marks. Are you gonna tell me what you were thinking, or would you rather sleep alone tonight?”
Younghoon averts his eyes. It’s one thing to mark Chanhee like a man possessed, and another thing altogether to actually admit why he did it. Chanhee would call him crazy. Or laugh at him. Maybe both, in that order.
“Hyung,” Chanhee prompts sternly, poking him in the cheek.
Younghoon pouts, and he can see Chanhee’s gaze softening instantaneously. The tactic isn’t very effective, though, because Chanhee pinches his neck and clicks his tongue at him.
“Yah, don’t think that doing aegyo is going to get you out of this,” Chanhee says as he stifles a laugh.
Younghoon sighs and grabs Chanhee’s hands, interlocking their fingers. He acquiesces with a heavy sigh. “You’re mine. I hate it when people touch my things without my permission,” he says sullenly.
Chanhee blinks, looking torn between acting baffled or offended. “Wow, so I’m a thing now? Come to think of it, you once called me a prop, years ago.” He shakes one of his hands free from Younghoon’s and pokes him hard on the shoulder, no real heat in his voice.
“I called you my darling on national TV and got away with it, and the prop excuse was your takeaway from that incident?” Younghoon remarks incredulously.
There’s a faint smile playing on Chanhee’s lips, the expression on his face a clear tell that he’s reminiscing that particular memory. “You were taking up too much screen time and I had to give the others a turn. I guess the line you came up with was apt for the situation, now that I think about it.”
“That came out wrong. Anyway, you understand what I’m talking about. Don’t make me say it,” Younghoon pleads. He steadfastly avoids Chanhee’s eyes, tracing his purple handiwork on Chanhee’s chest with his fingertips.
When he doesn’t get a response right away, he looks back up at Chanhee, who looks genuinely clueless.
“You know. During your part in our new song, with the dancers…” Younghoon trails off as recognition dawns on Chanhee’s face and the younger breaks into a chuckle. Not the reaction Younghoon wanted, and he can’t help but frown at Chanhee’s apparent opinion on the matter, his eyes dropping back to Chanhee’s chest, fingers sullenly poking at the marks he made.
Chanhee captures Younghoon’s wandering hand, lifting it to his mouth and biting playfully at his fingertips. “You’re so silly,” he chides, tone dripping with fondness that makes Younghoon’s heart ache. “What do you want the dancers to do? Ask you nicely if it’s okay with you for them to do their job? If I overshoot on the slide, I’d miss my mark and wouldn’t be able to turn in time for Sangyeon-hyung to grab my hand.”
“Yeah, but,” Younghoon protests, already sensing that he’s going to lose the argument either way, “they shouldn’t get to touch you like that.”
“Like what?” Chanhee arches an eyebrow, and the wry amusement on his face just rankles for some reason.
Younghoon puffs his cheeks. “Like…really intimately. As if that weren’t enough, you’re so at ease about it, like you’re used to having their hands on you—”
“I really don’t think you want to finish that sentence,” Chanhee cuts in sharply, eyes narrowing. Younghoon snaps his mouth shut for a split second, then—
“You were the one who said I should tell you what I’m thinking! Pabo,” Younghoon says irritably. If Chanhee’s just going to make light of his concerns, he doesn’t want to share them anymore.
Chanhee winces. “Yeah, sorry. What do you want me to say? Of course I’m used to it. I had to practice that move so many times because it had to be perfect. Do you think Changmin would let me off the hook if I did a sloppy job?“
Younghoon stares stubbornly back at him and says nothing, the mental image of someone else sliding their palm across Chanhee’s toned stomach seared into his mind’s eye like a cursed reel. He tugs his hand out of Chanhee’s loose grip, planting it directly over where the dancer had touched him. Chanhee doesn’t even flinch at the contact, making Younghoon wish that he could erase all of the younger’s tactile memories of that move from their countless dance rehearsals.
“For all your maturity, hyung, you can be such a kid sometimes,” Chanhee says, soft at the edges again in the face of Younghoon’s defiant pout. “It doesn’t mean anything for me because it’s just work. It shouldn’t mean anything for you too. Do you think we’d last this long if I got jealous every time you worked with actresses or other idols?”
“You can get jealous! I like it when you’re possessive,” Younghoon says honestly, and Chanhee laughs.
“No, you don’t. You’d be annoyed with me for being petty,” Chanhee says.
“I would not!” Younghoon protests. He pauses. “You think I’m being petty?”
“That’s not what I said,” Chanhee says, giving Younghoon a look that implies he’s going to pretend-strangle him again if he utters any more nonsense. “I just meant that you shouldn’t get so worked up over that dance move. Besides, the hyung I do the routine with is straight. If you took the time to talk to the dance team you’d hear most of them complaining that our spartan dance practice schedules are keeping them from going on dates with their girlfriends.”
“I thought I was straight until I met you. That tells us nothing,” Younghoon tells him.
“You know, I’m trying to reassure you here! You’re looking less kissable by the minute with every argument you insist on coming up with.”
“Lies. I’m always kissable.”
Chanhee clicks his tongue and adjusts his position, lying prone so that he’s draping his entire weight over Younghoon. “You’re right about that, at least,” he concedes, deciding that putting his mouth over Younghoon’s again is the only way to shut him up.
It’s after another half hour of heated kisses and lazy fondling, when the pads of Younghoon’s fingertips brush against the middle of Chanhee’s stomach and cause him to shiver, that Younghoon is reminded once again of that troublesome dance move. He detaches himself from Chanhee with some difficulty—Chanhee chases his lips as he tries to pull away, but he manages to put some distance between them by shrugging out of Chanhee’s arms as gently as possible.
Chanhee, deliciously rumpled, sighs, his pout all the more emphasized by how shiny and swollen his lower lip is after Younghoon’s ministrations. “What now?”
“You said you weren’t ticklish, but you got turned on when I touched you here,” Younghoon says, giving Chanhee’s solar plexus a light poke. He can feel his lips starting to form a pout to mirror Chanhee’s own, and he tries to school his face into a more neutral expression because Chanhee will inevitably roll his eyes at him again if he doesn’t.
Chanhee’s silent, just stares incredulously at him with wide, unblinking eyes for a full five seconds, before he lets out a long, exasperated exhale. “So help me, I’m really going to strangle you now,” he whispers in a long-suffering tone. His hand reaches for Younghoon’s neck, but instead of making good on his threat, he pinches the thin skin at the hollow of Younghoon’s throat just hard enough to make Younghoon flinch.
“No marks,” Younghoon admonishes him, and Chanhee rubs soothing circles at the spot with his thumb.
“There isn’t one. And that’s rich, coming from you,” Chanhee retorts. He leans into Younghoon, the tips of their noses barely brushing, and his breath ghosts over Younghoon’s lips as he sighs again. “You fool. I get turned on because it’s you. Because you’re kissing me, and putting your hands all over me, and making me want to do dirty things with you on this bed even though we can’t, not when the promotion cycle isn’t over yet. Even if ten different people helped me with that dance move, I don’t care about them touching me because I’m not affected by any of them. It’ll always be you. Only you.”
This close, Younghoon can see the little flecks of brown in Chanhee’s irises, and beyond that, just warmth, and love, so honest and encompassing that the figurative dark cloud over his head dissipates, the little green monster in his heart no longer rearing its ugly head. Chanhee reaches up and cards his fingers through Younghoon’s hair, light, tender strokes that soothe him and gradually make his eyelids feel heavy. “Okay,” he whispers softly, the only word he manages to utter over the lump of raw emotion in his throat. That, and— “I love you.”
Younghoon says the words so often and at such random moments that Chanhee ought to be sick of hearing it, but he never is, his eyes always sparkling, the corners of his lips curling up in a gentle smile so soft and beautiful his whole face glows with it. This face, and this smile, only for Younghoon.
“I know. I love you more,” Chanhee says teasingly, and when Younghoon makes a sound of protest, he opens his mouth wide in an exaggerated fake yawn. “Let’s go to sleep. If we get into another silly debate, we’ll be arguing until the sun is up again.” He stretches his arms once like a contented cat, then snuggles up into Younghoon’s side, his small face fitting perfectly into the crook of Younghoon’s neck. His eyelashes tickle Younghoon’s skin as his eyes flutter closed.
Younghoon cradles the back of Chanhee’s head with the palm of his hand, staring at the top of his head until Chanhee’s breaths even out. When he starts to drift off himself, he murmurs a stubborn “I love you most!” and feels the curve of Chanhee’s smile against his skin.