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As soon as Seungcheol is seated in the back of the van, Jeonghan’s hands are all over him. On his thighs, in his hair, pressed to his chest, pulling him in by the neck.
“Jeonghan-ah,” Seungcheol manages to say, nearly breathless. “The driver–”
“I told him to take his time getting to the car,” he interrupts, putting his head on Seungcheol’s shoulder and his face in the crook of his neck. He takes a deep breath through his nose. “You smell good.”
“I smell like sweat,” Seungcheol argues in a near whine, trying to squirm away, suddenly self-conscious about his post-concert state. He desperately needs a shower.
Jeonghan holds tight, his breaths hitting the sensitive skin of Seungcheol’s collarbones. “You smell good.”
“You’re a perv.”
“Only for you.” Jeonghan grins impishly. He nearly does pull away after noticing Seungcheol’s attempt at escape, but Seungcheol reaches out and tugs him back in. Jeonghan lets out a low giggle. “And you love it.”
Seungcheol doesn’t argue because he can’t refute it. Instead, he wraps an arm around his shoulder. Jeonghan’s hand falls to Seungcheol’s stomach, and when he’s not denied (as if Seungcheol would ever truly deny him of anything), he slips his hand under his shirt.
“My strong Cheollie,” Jeonghan sighs, never shying away from letting his fingertips roam. “Dependable, pretty Coups with pretty clips in his hair.”
(Clips Seungcheol only left in after the concert ended because he knows how much Jeonghan loves to see him dolled up. He would go about all of his days with bows in his hair if Jeonghan wanted.)
Seungcheol flushes despite the fact that Jeonghan has always been unsparing in his compliments, but never insincere. He knows Jeonghan’s filter completely vanishes when they’re alone together, knows that every word that comes out of his mouth is one he means. He melts into Jeonghan’s hands.
“I’m so happy.” He knows he doesn’t need to elaborate, because he’s said it so many times already: so happy he’s back on stage with his family, performing in front of the fans he adores as much as they adore him, doing what he loves even if there’s a slight hindrance. He’s happy he gets to be right here again, sitting beside his soulmate after performing together, unleashing all the affection he couldn’t give out as liberally during the concert. Of course, they’re still very affectionate on stage—and he’s seen all of the posts, heard all of the teasing from the members, so he knows he’s not very discrete—but he prefers having Jeonghan all to himself. He knows Jeonghan feels the same way. No one could ever have either of them like they have each other. No one ever will.
“We’ve been through a lot,” Jeonghan whispers. “But we’re here now.”
Seungcheol kisses Jeonghan’s jaw. “We’re here now.”
On Seungcheol’s day off, he wakes up to the rustling of take-out bags and a kiss on the cheek.
“Han-ah?”
“You’re cute when you’re sleepy.”
He blinks his eyes open when he feels fingers in his hair. Jeonghan is kneeling next to the bed, his other hand in front of his own mouth like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. He smiles when their eyes meet.
“I’m not cute the rest of the time, though?” Seungcheol pouts, trying to pull a reaction out of Jeonghan, a tease that’ll turn into playful banter.
“Of course you are. But I’d also say pretty, sexy, hot, beauti-”
Seungcheol sits up and kisses Jeonghan quiet, because that isn’t the response he’d expected, and it’s the only thing to stop Jeonghan from getting more vulgar in his word choice.
“Are you hungry?” Jeonghan asks against his lips, fingers tightening just slightly in Seungcheol’s hair.
“For you? Always.”
Jeonghan hums. “I meant the lunch that I brought you, but this definitely works too.”
Jeonghan carefully crawls over him and lays beside him, hardly getting comfortable before Seungcheol pulls him back in, greed overcoming him at Jeonghan’s proximity alone. Jeonghan groans against his mouth, clawing at Seungcheol’s hip through his boxers, pulling him closer. He’s always encouraged Seungcheol’s impatience, encouraged him to take whatever he wants. He loves being the object of his greed.
The feeling is mutual.
“Wait,” Seungcheol starts, holding Jeonghan by the shoulder when he tries to kiss him quiet again. “Aren’t you supposed to be recording today?”
“Moved some things around. Wanted to see you.”
Between the words Jeonghan speaks, Seungcheol finds the true meaning: “I pestered Jihoon into doing it later because I wanted to be the first thing you thought of when you woke up.” As if he’s not anyway.
“That’s irresponsible, Yoon Jeonghan,” Seungcheol chides as offers his neck to Jeonghan’s roaming mouth.
“Can’t I take the day off to turn you on? We’ve been working for ten years, baby, what’s a couple of hours?”
“You’re crazy if you think we’re going for hours, old man.”
Jeonghan bites the juncture of his neck and shoulder, eliciting a noise somewhere between a yelp and a moan. “You’re older than me,” he replies, kissing the now tender spot as if to make it better.
“By two months.”
“Fifty-seven days.”
“You’re annoying.”
“You think it’s hot.” Jeonghan plays with the hem of Seungcheol’s sleep shirt, fingers dancing across the skin right above the waistband of his boxers. “Can I touch?”
They both know Jeonghan really doesn’t need to ask anymore, but they also both know how much he likes to ask just to hear Seungcheol say what he wants. It’s some sort of ego boost for Jeonghan, Seungcheol thinks, but to him, the gesture is really sweet.
“Please,” Seungcheol breathes, letting his hand fall to Jeonghan’s thigh, slipping up his shorts. “Let me, too.”
They get each other off like that, too lazy to remove all of their clothes (even though they both always complain about laundry after), breathing into each other's mouths. Seungcheol thinks he cries out an “I love you” as he comes, only confirmed by Jeonghan murmuring against his chest as he rests his head on it, “I love you more.”
The food goes cold. They eat it anyway without complaints.
“You’re such a sap, hyung.”
Seungcheol tugs off his beanie and throws it at Jihoon’s head. “At least look at me if you’re going to say something we both know already.”
Jihoon spins around his chair slowly, like a movie villain (sans the lap cat, although Seungcheol imagines Soonyoung would be happy to fill that role).
“Big sap,” Jihoon repeats, the corners of his lips just slightly turned up as he shakes his head. “Fans are gonna start figuring it out, you know.”
They already know, Seungcheol has half a mind to say, but would rather not explain just how he knows that because it’s not information one finds without intentionally seeking it out.
“Big talk coming from Mr. ‘until this song ends,’” Seungcheol says, in reference to the song the younger had written Soonyoung that was recently (unofficially and unexpectedly) revealed.
Jihoon feigns nonchalance, but the tips of his ears turn bright red. “Well, I didn’t mean for that song to be… It’s different!”
Seungcheol leaves it at that, because he can’t argue: for Jihoon, writing lyrics is like confiding in a diary, communicating what he finds difficult to say plainly, or offering support to his loved ones. For Seungcheol, lyrics are the closest he can get to explicitly telling the world that he’s Jeonghan’s, and Jeonghan is his.
His feelings have to stay encoded in the backbeats, and he’s okay with that, because he gets to belt the words to Jeonghan on stage in front of thousands, and Jeonghan will sing with him, and no one can do anything to stop them.
Often, Seungcheol gets in his own head.
It could be about anything, at any given time. It comes with the anxiety disorder, as well as knowing that eyes are on you at almost all times.
He’s usually by himself when it happens, left alone with his own thoughts, and somehow, Jeonghan always senses it.
Come over?, the text reads.
Be there in 30, he replies immediately.
Before he has the chance to knock, the door opens, and Jeonghan pulls him inside as if he’d been staring out the peephole for Seungcheol to arrive. Immediately he’s enveloped in warmth and love and something so tender he feels his eyes burn.
“How did you know?”
Jeonghan hums against his neck, nuzzling closer. “Your tone was off in your Weverse post.”
They stand there—chest to chest, Jeonghan’s arms locked around his torso, Seungcheol’s looped under Jeonghan’s—for a while, Seungcheol letting Jeonghan rock them side to side. Whenever Seungcheol feels like he’s been thrown overboard, Jeonghan is his life preserver.
A life preserver with an affinity for Seungcheol’s ass.
“You ruined the moment,” Seungcheol whines, though he doesn’t try to swat Jeonghan’s hand away.
Which just gives Jeonghan the green light to double down. “How so?” he asks teasingly, his other hand sliding down to Seungcheol’s hip. “I love every part of you, Coups-ya.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Seungcheol replies, but he can’t stop his body from shuddering.
The hand smooths up Seungcheol’s back, across his shoulder blades, landing on one of his biceps. “So strong,” he says so softly Seungcheol isn’t sure he meant to say it out loud. “You’re so strong,” he repeats, this time intentional. “You've been doing so well since you’ve come back, you know that, right?”
Seungcheol knows because the whole group praises him after each section of the concert, dresses him up in compliments him as they change during the VCRs.
It never hurts to hear it again, though.
Jeonghan steps back but links their hands, pulling Seungcheol to the bedroom. “How are you, though, seriously?”
“Tired,” Seungcheol says before he even fully processes the question. He sits down on the edge of the bed. “Head’s just being… much.”
Jeonghan stands between Seungcheol’s legs, mussing his hair with a soft smile. “Can I take care of you?”
Would you be willing to let go? Would you be willing to let me take the wheel, to sit back and let me guide you? Would you give me the pleasure of making you feel good?
“Please.” Seungcheol tugs at the bottom of Jeonghan’s t-shirt. “Lemme wear this.”
Jeonghan takes it off with no hesitation, but doesn’t offer it to Seungcheol. Instead, he guides Seungcheol’s arms up, pulling his shirt off and swiftly replacing it.
“I think that was your shirt to begin with.” Jeonghan laughs, adjusting the collar so it sits just right.
“Looks better on you,” Seungcheol says, already feeling a little dizzy. “Smells like you.”
“I love you.” Jeonghan kisses Seungcheol’s forehead, then each of his cheeks. “Can I eat you out?”
“I need to shower—”
“It can wait.”
“You are not eating my ass until we’ve showered.”
Jeonghan pouts, and in other circumstances, Seungcheol might’ve given in, but he stands his ground for this.
Seungcheol sees the moment Jeonghan realizes he’d said “we.” He spins on his heel to the bathroom. “I’ll heat up the water.”
Seungcheol always takes his time washing Jeonghan’s hair. It’s soothing for him, the familiar motions, the way the soap suds up beneath his fingers, the way Jeonghan sighs happily every time he does it. He tugs on it every now and then, partly because he knows Jeonghan likes it, but also to make sure he doesn’t fall asleep standing up.
Jeonghan takes his time washing Seungcheol’s body. There’s really nothing sexual about it. He rubs the washcloth across every inch of Seungcheol’s skin, cleansing him of the debris of every struggle, every negative thought. He clears Seungcheol’s head. He loosens the knots in his shoulders. He spends a bit longer than necessary squeezing Seungcheol’s ass, sure, but this benefits and soothes them both, so who’s complaining?
Seungcheol kicks Jeonghan out so he can get himself ready. He pouts as he leaves, but Seungcheol knows Jeonghan loves the idea of him being on the other side of the wall, opening himself up for him. It makes Jeonghan feel like a voyeur, listening closely to hear the little noises Seungcheol makes. Seungcheol only knows all this because Jeonghan did straight up tell him while they were a little too drunk, and that night became one of many revelations that they both only felt a tiny bit embarrassed about the next day.
It’s hard to get truly embarrassed with one another. When you’ve been by someone’s side for as long as they have—the years are in the double digits now—what’s the point in hiding? Especially when they were barely on the cusp of their twenties at the time.
To some embarrassment, though, Seungcheol gets so caught up thinking about this that his fingers are fully pruned by the time he gets out of the shower.
He makes a mental note to send Seungkwan some money for the water bill.
Jeonghan takes his sweet time with him despite knowing he’s prepped. He always says he wants to “take his time,” but they both know this means to tease Seungcheol to tears.
Seungcheol revels in it, and they revel in each other until they’re worn out, still clinging to each other as they drift off.
Jeonghan pads into the room swimming in Seungcheol’s hoodie, a glass of water in each hand, the pocket of his sweatshirt bulging with snacks. He sets the glasses on the nightstand, unloads his kangaroo pocket, and crawls up the bed to nestle into Seungcheol’s side, resting his head on his bicep and his arm across his bare chest. Seungcheol grabs his hand and tangles their fingers together.
“I wish I could mark you up,” Jeonghan whispers, voice void of any teasing tone.
“You do, though,” Seungcheol replies, even though he knows what Jeonghan really means.
“Where people can see.” Jeonghan pulls closer to nose at Seungcheol’s neck.
People always assume Seungcheol is the possessive one of the pair. Which, he won’t say he’s not, but Jeonghan can—and usually does—take it to the next level.
Seungcheol’s inner leo thrives on it. Sue him.
“People are always looking at you, you know? Like they wanna eat you up.” Jeonghan kisses his neck gently. “Wish they wouldn’t. Wish I could keep you for myself.”
Warmth swirls through Seungcheol’s chest and simmers in his belly.
“Wish I could too.” Seungcheol buries his nose in Jeonghan’s hair.
Jeonghan nips at his neck. Seungcheol wants so badly to give him full access to his skin, to let him do what he wants, but he’d also rather not have to avoid eye contact with the makeup artists.
“I love you,” Seungcheol breathes instead. He’ll engrave the words into Jeonghan’s skin with his tongue, will sigh them into his mouth, do anything and everything to make sure he always knows it.