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"Hmm…"
Yeosang drags out the hum, unaware or uncaring of Mingi's predicament, which he just so happens to be the cause of. The seconds pile up and Mingi's kind of confused now, sitting with his mouth open for Yeosang to inspect his newly shaved-down tooth. It's not a big deal, Mingi thinks. The tooth had to go. It's been a nuisance for so many years that it's surprising, looking back, that he didn't get it sorted sooner.
There wasn't time to, or it didn't seem like there was, back then. He thought about it a lot though, even before the people at the company told him he's alright with dancing and rapping but, hey, how about fixing his teeth? Thought about it a lot when he'd take a selfie, or when he checked their photoshoots and lingered on Hongjoong or Wooyoung's smiles. When he left the studio with his tongue raw, night after morning after day.
It was a given his mom would be upset about the change. She hates when he changes himself. He loves her and knows she loves him more than anyone else. Sometimes, it feels like she loves who he was before becoming an idol best, when he was just her kid. He'd known some of the fans would be upset at first too, but they'd all get used to it. Mingi would get used to it. He made all of the counterarguments small, small, small in his mind, until there was no reason whatsoever not to go ahead, get it fixed. It's just a fucking tooth.
He hadn't expected it to feel so alien. The reflection in his phone stays strange, no matter how he turns his head this and that way. There's nothing digging into his lip when he smiles now, the weightlessness a strange thing. The smile feels—is—forced, and he's had enough self-reflection over the years to realise what this is—that he's waiting to emerge, new and confident, different from before. Never works. The change is always unexpected, never a direct result of cosmetic stuff. Even so, it's a little worse, he thinks, to still feel awkward in front of the camera with an insecurity erased.
He blinks the thoughts away, eyes a bit dry. It's been a minute, maybe two, and Mingi is embarrassed now, unable to look Yeosang in the eyes, not that he could if he wanted to—Yeosang is still staring at his mouth intensely, his eyebrows slightly furrowed. That can't be good. Mingi lets his shoulders sag, closes his mouth he realises he's just been holding open for inspection like a good dog. His jaw hurts a little. He even forgets about his dick, hard in his pants 'till a minute ago, from Yeosang's attention alone.
He's so bad at pretending to be what he wants to be. Silly to think the tooth would change that. Yeosang seems puzzled by the shift and looks at him, but doesn't say anything for a while. Mingi doesn't want him to. He goes to get up, or thinks to ask to be left alone, say he needs rest or something, but before he can, there's fingers gripping either side of his chin.
Yeosang tilts his head this and that way—it feels different when he does it—tracking the movement with his eyes. Ignores Mingi's wide ones and puts his other hand on his upper lip, lifting the plump skin with his middle finger. He drags the digit over Mingi's lips a few times. Anything Mingi could have said dies on his tongue. He isn't at all sure he's alive.
Yeosang holds his face in place and with the one finger follows a path across his upper lip and down, then back up underneath, inside. He tracks the bottom of Mingi's front teeth with his thumb, rubbing the underside with the pad, and prods further, sliding across his palate and deeper into his mouth. Mingi lets out some kind of yelp and gags a little, remembering his hard dick when Yeosang sits on his lap to get closer, hand still on his chin, finger still in his wet mouth.
He thinks of Yeosang putting that finger in him, elsewhere, and moans, dying a little more. Bit by bit he disintegrates, in front of Yeosang of all people, who watches him with focus Mingi's only seen in the practice room at four in the morning, when the moves just won't work out and they must, or else he's failed, gone and disappointed his prim parents for nothing.
He's drooling and Yeosang won't pull out, still knuckle-deep inside him—not at all proper—close enough Mingi imagines he could pierce his brain if he wanted to. He can't help the moans, high-pitched and constant as they are, sound gurgled by the spit. Yeosang, brows set, moves his hand away from Mingi's chin to the back of his neck and grabs onto him there, then with the skill of someone who spent his youth perfecting every movement of his body grinds his hips down on Mingi's erection.
The sweatpants they've both got on show everything in perverse detail and Mingi feels like crying, mouth locked around Yeosang's fingers, when he looks down to see the tented, wet material. Yeosang's hard too, and on another moan of Mingi's he removes his finger, all at once and all too sudden, and replaces it with his mouth.
His tongue is eager and he's good, so good with his hand digging into Mingi's nape, with his teeth biting into his lip, with his cock rubbing against Mingi's wet one through their pants. Mingi misses the finger in his mouth like air and fuck, Yeosang must realise, or maybe it's the whining, and he separates their mouths.
Yeosang's face is glistening when he pulls off and Mingi realises it's his spit rubbed all over Yeosang's chin. He's drooling like a dog and Yeosang looks wild too, eyes a bit crazed. Mingi needs him and whines, and needs and whines, and there might be stray tears running down his face. He's never been this pathetic, or he has and Yeosang just brings it out in him.
"I know," says Yeosang, panting, and starts to move his hips again. The sweatpants rub against Mingi's dick with every pass. He's closer to god than he's ever been.
"It's okay. Open up."
Yeosang holds three fingers up to his face. Mingi meets his eyes—there's nothing else—and takes him in, sucking on his fingers like he's starved and he is, has been for a while as nothing satisfies the ever-growing hunger inside.
But it's Yeosang, and his fingers are long and kind of rough, and Mingi fills his mouth and mind with them, swallowing around them like he would if he was giving head, and cums so hard it's all white for a second, and if Yeosang's fingers weren't connected to his hand Mingi would have swallowed them and choked, probably died right on this shit couch he spent too much money on.
He comes back to himself when Yeosang removes his hand from his slack lips. His pants are cold and he's pretty sure they'll need two rounds of washing. Maybe he'll offer to wash Yeosang's too, since he hates doing laundry. His jaw returns to normalcy and it aches, sears even. He finds he likes the feeling.
"You bit me," says Yeosang, stretching his back. Their soft dicks touch for a second and a zap travels up Mingi, painfully.
"What?" he asks, distracted.
Yeosang shows off his hand, and Mingi still has trouble focusing but he sees the deep indents and almost jumps out of his skin, except he can't, thanks to Yeosang's weight on him.
"What the fuck! I almost bit off your fingers! Like the fucking carrot thing, oh god, I could've easily left you fingerless because I came too hard, what the fuck—"
"That's a myth," interrupts Yeosang, still studying his fingers. Mingi pauses the spiralling, trying to comprehend. "It'd be really hard to cut through bone with your teeth. Definitely not as easy as through a carrot."
He's serious, Mingi realises, and he almost doubles over with relief, starts laughing so hard he hiccups and gasps for air, more tears running down his face, wetting it in drool's stead. It's ridiculous, all of it, and he can't believe this just happened, and Yeosang? The Yeosang he's known for years just did that and Mingi's never wanted something as bad as this and, holy shit. What now?
He takes a few deep breaths and calms down. Yeosang's still on his lap, looking at him like he can't get enough.
"I'll miss your tooth," he says. Something about his expression won't let Mingi get defensive, not even insecure. Yeosang toys with his mauled hand and smiles that secret smile of his. Mingi wants to capture it somehow, anyhow.
"Thing is, when you laugh like that, or smile like you mean it, I'm not looking at your teeth. I don't think anyone is. It's all of you, shining so bright, like you were born to be happy."
Mingi is glad for the deep breaths from before. He holds the air in, can't look away from Yeosang—doesn't want to, if he can help it.
"But I'll miss your tooth. It was… precious. You're still Mingi though. Whatever you're looking for, it's already there."
Yeosang looks at him, a little pink in the cheeks, and Mingi realises no amount of introspection can lead you to every answer. Some come to you. As they untangle limbs and stumble into the bathroom, Yeosang waddling a little from how he was straddling Mingi, he is sure of at least two.
For one, Hongjoong's going to kill him tomorrow.
Two — well, he's in love.