Archive of Our Own

The package arrived on a Thursday at 4pm.

Yunho knew because he'd been tracking it obsessively for three days— refreshing the shipping page between rounds of Valorant, between bites of instant ramen, between the comfortable silences that made up most of his existence.

The kind of silence Mingi filled without trying. The kind Yunho had grown addicted to in ways he didn't want to examine.

Three hundred dollars. Three hundred dollars he didn't have, pulled from a savings account that was supposed to be for textbooks. For food. For things that mattered in the real world, the one outside his head, where Spiderman wasn't real and Jeong Yunho was just a lanky computer science major who spent too much time in front of screens.

But god. God. He'd wanted it.

The want had been a living thing. Had curled in his chest every time he saw the listing, every time he imagined the fabric against his skin. Custom fit, the description promised. Exact measurements. Like it was made for him and him alone.

Mingi had laughed when Yunho told him. Not meanly— Mingi never did anything meanly, which was part of the problem, part of why Yunho's thoughts tangled themselves into knots around his best friend's smile. "You're really doing it? Yunho, you’re broke,"

"I know,"

"Like, we had ramen for dinner four nights in a row broke."

"I know."

"And you're gonna drop three hundred on spandex,"

Yunho had shrugged. Tried to, anyway. Tried to seem casual about the heat creeping up his neck, about the way his fingers itched to just order it already. "It's not spandex. It's— it's a blend. Performance fabric."

Mingi had grinned at him. All teeth and fondness and something that made Yunho's stomach flip. "You're such a fucking nerd,"

He was. He knew he was. Video game obsessed, comic book obsessed, perfectly content to spend Friday nights in their apartment instead of at whatever party Mingi got invited to. Mingi, who everyone loved. Mingi, who was so easy with people it seemed like a superpower all its own. Mingi, who came home smelling like cologne and other people's cigarettes and always— always— ended up in Yunho's room anyway, sprawling across his bed like he belonged there.

Maybe he did.

The box was smaller than Yunho expected. Brown and plain and discreet. He'd signed for it with shaking hands, carried it to his room like it was something precious. Something secret.

He didn't tell Mingi.

Mingi was in class anyway— some business elective he claimed to hate but always got A's in because of course he did. Yunho had two hours. Maybe three if Mingi stopped for food after.

He locked his door.

The suit slid out of the packaging like water. Like sin. Red and blue and perfect, the webbing darker than he'd imagined, the spider emblem raised slightly, textured. He held it up to the light. It looked small. Too small.

His heart hammered.

He stripped methodically. Hoodie first, then his shirt. Sweatpants. Boxers. The air in his room was cool against his skin, raising goosebumps along his arms, his thighs. He felt vulnerable, exposed. Definitely ridiculous.

The suit changed that.

It took effort to get on— he had to sit on the edge of his bed, work each leg in carefully, pull the fabric up over his calves, his knees, his thighs. It clung. God, it clung. He stood to work it over his hips, his ass, and the fabric—

The fabric fit like it was painted on.

He'd given them his measurements. Had stood in his room with a measuring tape and careful notes, feeling stupid and eager and desperate in equal measure. But he hadn't expected this. Hadn't expected the way it molded to every line of his body, the way it smoothed over muscle he didn't know he had. The way it made his legs look longer, his waist narrower, his—

He swallowed hard.

The top half took more maneuvering. He had to work his arms through, pull the suit up over his chest, his shoulders. Find the hidden zipper at the nape of his neck and tug it closed. The fabric settled against his skin like a second heartbeat. Like something alive.

Yunho turned to the mirror.

Oh.

Oh, shit.

He looked— he didn't look like himself. Couldn't be himself because Jeong Yunho didn't look like this, didn't have a body that warranted staring at, didn't—

But this one did.

The thought slipped in sideways. Settled in his chest with a strange weight. Spiderman could look like this. Could stand with his shoulders back and his chin up and his hands flexing at his sides. Could own the way the suit displayed everything— the cut of his hipbones, the length of his legs, the shape of his dick clearly visible through the—

Yunho's breath stuttered.

He'd known, logically, that the suit would be form fitting. That was the point. That was the aesthetic. But seeing it, feeling the way the fabric cupped him, outlined him, left absolutely nothing to the imagination—

His phone buzzed.

Mingi: yun where are u
Mingi: skipped last class
Mingi: bring me snacks im dying

Yunho stared at the messages. At his reflection. At the way his pulse jumped in his throat, visible even through the suit's high collar.

Something reckless unfurled in his chest.

He'd never been reckless. Never been the kind of person who took risks, who pushed boundaries, who did things just to see what would happen. That was Mingi's territory. Mingi, who lived like he had nothing to lose. Mingi, who Yunho had been half in love with since freshman year, since they'd been randomly paired as roommates and Mingi had walked in with that smile and Yunho's entire world had tilted on its axis.

But right now— right now in this suit, in this skin that wasn't quite his—

Yunho raised his phone. Angled it carefully. The front facing camera showed too much, showed his face and he wasn't ready for that, wasn't ready to be seen and probably made fun of. So he switched to the back camera. Held his hand up in front of the mirror.

Just his hand. Gloved in red. The webbing pattern stark and perfect.

He took the photo.

His thumb hovered over Mingi's name.

Send.

The message delivered with a soft whoosh. Yunho watched the screen. Watched the little indicator that meant Mingi was typing. His heart was doing something complicated in his chest. Something that felt like freefall.

Mingi: no way
Mingi: no way
Mingi: DUDE
Mingi: LET ME SEE
Mingi: you cant just send me a hand yunho thats so mean
Mingi: im coming home
Mingi: wait
Mingi: ARE YOU WEARING IT RIGHT NOW

Yunho stared at the messages. At his reflection. At the way the suit made him feel like someone else. Someone braver. Someone who could want things and take them.

He typed: maybe later

Nauseous, Yunho was so nauseous.

Mingi started typing. Stopped. Started again.

Mingi: you are the worst
Mingi: im buying all the snacks for myself
Mingi: you can starve spider FREAK

Yunho smiled. He could feel it stretching his face, something sharp edged and pleased. Could feel the way his body hummed with a strange energy, with possibility.

He took another photo. This one of his chest, the spider emblem centered, his face cropped out. The suit clung to his pecs, outlined his abs— abs he didn't know he had until the fabric revealed them. He looked at the photo for a long moment. Deleted it.

Not yet.

He could hear the apartment door opening, the toeing off of shoes. Mingi's voice calling out as he padded to Yunho’s room, "Yunho!"

Yunho's heart lurched. He grabbed his sweatpants from the floor, yanked them on over the suit. The fabric bunched strangely, the suit's texture obvious underneath. He tugged on a hoodie, zipped it up to his throat.

"Yeah!" he called back. His voice sounded normal, almost steady. "Yeah, I’m here,"

The door opened. Mingi stood there with a convenience store bag in one hand, hair slightly mussed from the wind, cheeks pink. He looked— he looked like Mingi. Like sunshine and easy smiles and everything Yunho had been trying not to want for Three and a half years.

"So?" Mingi's eyes were bright with curiosity, eager. "Let me see it,"

Yunho's mouth curved. He felt it— the shift. The way Spiderman's confidence bled into his posture, his tone. "I said later."

"You're wearing it right now." Not a question. Mingi's gaze dragged over him, searching. "Under your clothes. You are, aren't you?"

The suit felt like a brand against Yunho's skin. Like a secret. "Maybe,"

"Yunho."

God, he liked the way Mingi said his name. Liked the frustration in it. "What?"

"You're seriously not gonna show me?"

"Nope."

Mingi made a noise— something between a laugh and a groan. He moved into the room, dropped the bag on Yunho's desk. "You're such a tease,"

Yunho's pulse jumped. The word hung between them, sharp and loaded. He wasn't a tease. Had never been a tease. That required confidence he didn't have, required knowing someone wanted to be teased in the first place.

But Mingi was looking at him with something in his eyes. Something dark and interested and—

"Maybe I am," Yunho heard himself say.

Mingi blinked, stared, then laughed, the sound bright and surprised. "Okay, spiderboy. Whatever you say,"

The nickname should've been mocking. Should've made Yunho cringe. But instead it settled into his bones like warmth, like permission. Like an identity he could slip into when Jeong Yunho felt too small, too uncertain.

He smiled. Watched Mingi watch him. "I like that."

"What, spiderboy?" Mingi was still grinning, but there was something else there. Something cautious.

"Yeah."

A pause. Mingi's gaze flickered over him again, slower this time. Looking for the outline of the suit, maybe. Looking for proof. "You're being weird,"

"Am I?"

"Yeah," Mingi moved closer. Close enough that Yunho could smell his cologne, could see the exact shade of his eyes— brown and warm and fixed on Yunho's face. "I don't know if I like it or if it's freaking me out,"

Yunho's heart was a wild thing in his chest. "Both?"

"Probably," Mingi reached out, tugged at the zipper of Yunho's hoodie. Just a little. Just enough to reveal the collar of the suit underneath— the red fabric stark against Yunho's throat. "Holy shit. You really are wearing it,"

Yunho didn't move. Didn't breathe. Mingi's knuckles were warm against his chest through the layers. "Told you,"

"Just— " Mingi's voice dropped. Went rough around the edges. "Just a peek? Come on—"

The temptation was there. Was a living thing curling in Yunho's gut, urging him to give in, to show Mingi everything. But the suit thrummed against his skin and he felt—

Powerful, in control. Like he could make Mingi wait, make him want, make him ask.

"No," Yunho said softly.

Mingi's hand fell away. He laughed, but it sounded strained. "You're really gonna make me beg, huh?"

Yes. God, yes. "We'll see,"

Something flickered in Mingi's expression. Something that made Yunho's stomach tighten, made heat pool low in his belly. But then Mingi was stepping back, running a hand through his hair, grinning again. "Fine. Be like that. But I'm eating all the gummy worms,"

"You're the worst,"

"Says the guy in a full body spandex suit under his clothes like a— a— "

"Superhero?" Yunho offered.

"I was gonna say pervert, but sure. Superhero," Mingi grabbed the bag from the desk, started rummaging through it. His shoulders were tense. His movements just slightly too sharp.

Yunho watched him. Felt the suit against his skin like a second pulse. Felt the shift in the air between them, the way something had changed and couldn't be taken back.

He didn't want to take it back.

Later— after Mingi left, after Yunho peeled the suit off with shaking hands and stood in front of the mirror again in just his boxers— he took another photo. This one was calculated, deliberate.

His neck. The column of his throat. And just visible at the bottom of the frame, the webbed pattern of the suit's collar against his skin.

He sent it to Mingi at 2am.

Mingi didn't respond until morning.

Mingi: i hate you
Mingi: i hate you so much
Mingi: the real spiderman would show me

Yunho smiled at his phone. Felt something dangerous and thrilling coil in his chest.

-

It became a game.

Yunho told himself it was just a game. Something harmless. Something that existed in the safe space between them where nothing had to be real, nothing had to mean anything.

Except it did mean something. He knew it did. Could feel it in the way his stomach flipped every time he pulled the suit on, every time he angled his phone just right, every time he watched that little indicator that meant Mingi was typing, deleting, typing again.

The photos came in intervals, carefully strategic. Calculated in a way Yunho had never been calculated about anything in his life.

Three days after the 2am photo, he sent another. His torso, the suit visible under a shirt he'd deliberately left unbuttoned. The spider emblem peeking through, the fabric clinging to the ridges of his abs. His face cut off at the nose.

Mingi's response came in seconds.

Mingi: fuck you
Mingi: fuck you fuck you fuck yu fuck
Mingi: ill find that suit and burn it

Yunho had grinned at his phone. Felt that dangerous thrill again, that sense of power he was becoming addicted to.

Yunho: studying hard?

Mingi: i was
Mingi: cant focus now thanks bro

Good. Good. Yunho wanted him unfocused. Wanted him thinking about the suit, about what was underneath it, about Yunho's body in ways he maybe hadn't before.

Or maybe he had. Maybe that was the point. Maybe Yunho was just now giving him permission to look.

The thought made heat curl low in his belly. Made him take another photo— this one of his hand splayed across his stomach, the suit's webbing pattern stark against red fabric, his sweatpants slung low enough to show the sharp cut of his hipbone.

He saved that one. Didn't send it.

-

A week in, Mingi started retaliating.

Not with photos— Mingi didn't need photos, didn't need to try. That was the difference between them. Mingi just existed and people wanted him. But he started doing other things. Little things that made Yunho's pulse spike.

Like walking around the apartment in just shorts after his morning shower, skin still damp, hair dripping. Like sprawling across Yunho's bed when they watched movies, his leg pressed against Yunho's thigh, his breath warm against Yunho's shoulder. Like looking at Yunho with dark eyes and asking, "You gonna show me the suit today?" in a voice that was too low, too interested.

Yunho always said no.

But he started wearing the suit more often. Started putting it on under his clothes just to feel it, just to carry that secret against his skin. Started noticing the way Mingi's gaze would catch on his collar, his wrists, anywhere the fabric might be visible.

Started liking it.

Two weeks. The photo was his hand— gloved, fingers spread— pressed against the mirror. The angle showed his forearm, the way the suit clung to muscle, the webbing pattern intricate and perfect.

Mingi: i need to see this whole thing
Mingi: you know that right
Mingi: cmon

Yunho's heart was a drum. He typed, deleted, typed again.

Yunho: patience mingi

Mingi: i have none
Mingi: zero
Mingi: aren’t you my best friend
Mingi: this is cruel and unusual

It was cruel. Yunho knew it was cruel. But he couldn't stop. Didn't want to stop. The game had become something else— something charged and breathless and teetering on the edge of more.

He took another photo. The spider emblem again, centered on his chest. His nipples visible through the fabric, the suit so tight it left nothing hidden. He stared at it for ten minutes before deleting it.

Too much. Not yet.

But the idea lingered. The thought of Mingi seeing him like that, seeing everything, made Yunho's skin feel too tight, made his cock twitch with interest he was trying desperately to ignore.

The photos continued.

Each one a little more daring.

A little more knowing.

His neck, webbed fabric stark against his throat. The curve of his ass in the suit, his sweats pulled down just enough to show the shape of him. His thighs spread, sitting on his bedroom floor, the suit leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.

That one he deleted immediately. Too much. Way too much.

But he thought about it.

God, he thought it so much— about Mingi seeing it, thought about the sound he might make, the way his pupils would blow wide and dark.

Mingi started responding less with words, more with strings of emojis. Keyboard smashes. Please let me see it yunho please please dont be a dick.

Yunho saved every message. Read them late at night when the apartment was quiet and Mingi was asleep down the hall. Read them and felt that power surge through him again, that addictive sense of control.

Four weeks. A month. The photos had become routine— expected, even. Mingi would check his phone and sigh, would look at Yunho with exasperation and want in equal measure.

"You're gonna run out of angles eventually," Mingi said one morning over coffee. His hair was sleep mussed, his voice still rough with it. He looked soft, approachable. Yunho wanted to bite him.

"Maybe," Yunho said instead.

"Then what?"

"Then I guess you'll have to see it in person."

Mingi went very still. His mug paused halfway to his mouth. "Yeah?"

Yunho's heart kicked. He hadn't meant to say it. Hadn't planned— but the words were out there now, hanging between them like a promise. "Eventually."

"When's eventually?"

"When I feel like it," Yunho repeated. But something had shifted. The endgame was approaching. He could feel it— the way the tension between them had built to something unsustainable, something that needed to break or suffocate them both.

Mingi set his mug down. Leaned forward with narrowed eyes. "You like this, you freak,"

Yunho's pulse jumped, the insult lodging itself backward in his chest. "Like what?"

"This. Teasing me. Making me— " He stopped, swallowed. "You like having me like this,"

Yes. God, yes. "I don't know what you mean, Mingi."

"You’re full of shit," But Mingi was smiling slightly. Something sharp in it. "You've never been like this before."

"Like what?"

"I don’t know— confident, cocky. Like you know something I don't."

Yunho's mouth curved. "Maybe I do."

"Yeah?" Mingi's voice dropped, went rough. "What do you know, Yunho?"

Everything. That Mingi wanted him. That the photos were working. That every time Mingi looked at him now there was hunger in it, need in it. That the space between them was combustible and all it would take was one spark—

"Wouldn't you like to know," Yunho murmured.

Mingi's eyes darkened. For a moment Yunho thought he might push. Might reach across the table and grab him, might demand answers Yunho wasn't ready to give.

But then Mingi leaned back. Picked up his coffee. "You're gonna be the death of me, spiderboy,"

The name made Yunho's stomach flip. Made him want to close the distance between them, made him want to show Mingi exactly what he knew, exactly how much power the suit gave him.

-

The group hangout was Wooyoung's idea.

"Just a chill night," he'd said in the group chat. "My place. Bring snacks. We'll watch trash TV and pretend we don't have exams next week."

Mingi had agreed immediately. Yunho had hesitated— group settings weren't his thing, never had been. But Mingi had looked at him with those big hopeful eyes and said, "Come on, it'll be fun," and Yunho had caved.

He always caved when it came to Mingi.

They walked to Wooyoung's apartment together. Mingi talked the whole way— about his classes, about some drama in his friend group, about nothing and everything. Yunho listened and made appropriate noises and tried not to think about the way the suit's seam pressed against his dick with every step.

Wooyoung's apartment was already full. San was there, sprawled on the couch with a bag of chips trying to feed Yeosang. Seonghwa and Hongjoong were in the kitchen, bickering about something. Jongho was on his phone in the corner.

"Yunho!" Wooyoung grinned when he saw them. "You actually came! Mingi, did you bribe him?"

"Didn't have to," Mingi said easily. He dropped onto the couch next to San, and Yunho sat beside Jongho. His skin felt too hot under the suit.

The evening settled into comfortable chaos. Bad reality TV on the screen, everyone talking over each other, the easy rhythm of friends who'd known each other too long. Yunho relaxed into it— into the familiar noise, the lack of expectation. He could just exist here. Could fade into the background the way he preferred.

Except Mingi kept glancing at him. Little looks from the corner of his eye. Like he was checking something. Like he was waiting and Yunho had been thinking about the suit all day.

Yunho put it on before they'd left, just to see if he could. Hidden beneath his hoodie and a pair of jeans, invisible but there, a secret against his skin.

It made him feel reckless. Made his pulse kick every time Mingi shifted, every time his eyes flickered down Yunho’s body, or his laugh rumbled low and pleased.

Made him pull out his phone and open his camera.

The bathroom at Wooyoung's was small, cramped, but it had a mirror. Yunho locked the door and pulled his hoodie up, caught the fabric between his teeth. The Spiderman logo was stark across his chest, the suit's neckline visible beneath. He tugged his jeans low— not off, just low enough to show the jut of his hipbone, the way the blue fabric clung to the V of his pelvis.

His free hand hooked into the waistband. Casual. Teasing. Like he might pull them lower if someone asked nicely.

The angle was high, cutting off at his nose, but his mouth was visible, hoodie between his teeth, expression bored even though his hands were shaking.

He looked—

He sent it to Mingi and walked back into the living room before he could panic, before he could take it back.

Mingi was exactly where Yunho had left him, sprawled on the couch, scrolling through his phone. Yunho sat down across from him, heart hammering so hard he was sure Mingi could hear it.

Watched Mingi's phone light up. Watched him glance at it absently, then freeze.

Watched his eyes go wide, then dark. Watched his tongue flick out to wet his lips, watched his throat bob as he swallowed.

Watched him shift in his seat, subtle but unmistakable.

Oh.

Oh, that— that was new. That was better than any of Mingi's texts, better than his teasing or his complaints or his half hearted threats. That was Mingi, visibly affected, flustered, and Yunho felt drunk on it, felt powerful and reckless and more confident than he'd ever been in his life.

Mingi was typing.

Mingi: you cant be serious yunho

Mingi: are you really wearing it rn

Yunho didn't look at him. Kept his eyes on the TV even though he had no idea what was happening on screen. Typed back with fingers that felt steadier than they should.

Yunho: wanna see?

Mingi's head snapped up.

Their eyes finally met.

Mingi's face was carefully blank, but his jaw was tight, his pupils blown wide. Yunho smiled— slow, sharp, too many teeth— and hooked his thumb into the waistband of his jeans. Tugged down, just an inch, just enough to show the blue fabric beneath, the sharp jut of his hipbone.

Mingi's gaze dropped. Locked on Yunho's hand, the hint of suit peeking out. His breath hitched, audible even over the noise of the movie, the chatter of their friends.

Then he looked away, jaw working, eyes narrowed, and Yunho felt like he'd won something.

His phone buzzed.

Mingi: fuck you spiderfreak

Yunho grinned so wide he knew he looked like an idiot. Didn't care. Felt like he could do anything, say anything, and Mingi would just— take it. Would keep looking at him like that, like Yunho was something worth staring at.

He sent back a single spider emoji.

Mingi's laugh was quiet, almost inaudible, but Yunho heard it. Felt it sink into his chest, warm and pleased and dangerous.

-

Yunho got bolder.

Another photo: Yunho in his bedroom, suit visible beneath his unzipped hoodie, hand splayed across his stomach. The mask on this time, full coverage, anonymity that made him braver.

Another: Yunho's legs, suit clad and stretched out, ankles crossed, taken from an angle that made them look even longer.

Another: Yunho's back, the suit's webbing stark and perfect, his spine a clear line beneath the fabric.

Mingi's responses got shorter. More frantic.

Mingi: dude
Mingi: DUDE
Mingi: youre such an asshole i hate you

Yunho: :)

Mingi: i need to see it
Mingi: in person
Mingi: pls pls please please let me see it yunho please please pleas ease

The typo made Yunho's chest go tight. Made him picture Mingi typing too fast, fingers clumsy with desperation, and— fuck. That was so much better than it should've been.

But he didn't give in. Not yet.

He wanted Mingi on the edge. Wanted him desperate. Wanted him to beg.

-

Another week passed.

The final photo was unplanned.

Yunho hadn't meant to send it. Hadn't meant to take it, even. But it was late, past midnight, and Mingi was in his room and Yunho was sprawled on their shared couch, legs stretched out, one arm thrown over the back cushions.

The suit was underneath his clothes— hoodie, sweats, the fabric loose enough that no one would know. But Yunho knew. Could feel it against every inch of his skin, slick and perfect and making him feel like someone else entirely.

The TV was on. Some show Yunho wasn't watching, just background noise to fill the silence of the apartment. Mingi had gone to bed an hour ago, mumbled something about an early class tomorrow, and Yunho had stayed out here because he was restless. Pent up. The suit felt like it was burning against his skin, making his pulse kick every time he shifted, every time he thought about Mingi just twenty feet away, sleeping, unaware.

Or— not unaware. Because Mingi had been staring at him all week. Had been quieter than usual, his responses to Yunho's texts getting shorter, more desperate. Yunho had felt the weight of his attention like a physical thing, heavy and deliberate and impossible to ignore.

He wanted—

Fuck. He wanted so many things he couldn't name.

Yunho pulled out his phone. Opened his camera. Stared at the blank screen for a long moment, heart already starting to race even though he hadn't done anything yet.

One more photo, he thought. Just one more.

He pushed himself off the couch, padded quietly to his bedroom. Closed the door behind him with a soft click that sounded too loud in the silence. The mirror on his closet door was full length, slightly smudged, but it would work.

Yunho stripped his outer clothes off slowly. Hoodie first, then his sweats, until he was standing there in just the suit. Full coverage. Mask and all. He looked—

God. He looked insane. The suit clung to every line of his body, left absolutely nothing to the imagination. He could see the definition of his abs, the shape of his thighs, the— everything. He was already half hard just from the anticipation, from thinking about Mingi's face when he opened this photo, and the outline was visible, obscene.

Yunho sat on the floor. Back against his bed, legs spread wide, one knee bent slightly. Casual. Like this was nothing. Like his heart wasn't trying to hammer out of his ribcage.

He pulled the mask off. Let his face show for the first time.

His hair was messy, pushed back from his forehead. His expression— he tried for bored, unaffected. Head tilted just slightly, eyes half lidded, mouth set in something that wasn't quite a smile but close. Confident. Sexy.

He looked like he knew exactly what he was doing. Looked like he was daring someone to do something about it.

He took the photo.

Looked at it.

Oh my god.

The image was— it was pornographic. There was no other word for it. Everything showed. The bulge between his legs, the way the suit molded to his body, the casual sprawl of his limbs. His face visible, recognizable, and somehow that made it worse. Made it more real. Not Spiderman anymore. Just Yunho. Jeong Yunho who wanted his best friend so badly he was willing to ruin everything for it.

He'd taken it for himself, kind of. Just wanted to see what he looked like, wanted to have proof that he could be this person— confident and bold and brave.

But then—

His thumb hovered over Mingi's name in his contacts.

Fuck it, Yunho thought, and pressed send before he could talk himself out of it.

Then he was moving, stumbling back to the couch, yanking his sweats and hoodie back on over the suit with shaking hands. His phone felt like a bomb in his pocket. The suit felt like it was suffocating him, too tight, too hot, every inch of fabric a reminder of what he'd just done.

Oh god.

Oh god, what had he done?

He collapsed onto the couch, tried to look casual, tried to look like he hadn't just sent his best friend— his roommate, his best friend— an obvious thirstrap, a photo that was basically an invitation to— to—

Yunho's hands were shaking. He pressed them against his thighs, tried to breathe normally even though his lungs felt too small.

Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty.

Then—

The sound of Mingi's door slamming open, so loud and sudden that Yunho flinched, heart leaping into his throat.

Mingi stormed out into the hallway. He was wearing sweatpants slung low on his hips and a tshirt that was too big, slipping off one shoulder. His hair was mussed, standing up in the back like he'd been lying down, and his face—

His face was flushed. Eyes dark and wild, pupils blown so wide they looked black. His chest was heaving like he'd just run a marathon.

He had his phone clutched in one hand. The other hand came up, finger jabbing in Yunho's direction.

"Fuck you," Mingi said, voice rough and wrecked, and—

Oh no.

Yunho's face burned. Heat crawling up his neck, his cheeks, the tips of his ears going hot. His stomach twisted with nausea, with panic, because— because this was it. He'd pushed too far. Sent that photo and ruined everything because he couldn't control himself, couldn't keep the suit from making him brave and stupid and reckless. Couldn't stop himself from wanting, from needing, from hoping that maybe— maybe—

"Mingi, I— "

But Mingi was already stalking forward, closing the distance between the couch and the hallway in four long strides. He looked furious. Looked like he wanted to—

Yunho braced himself. Thought distantly, he's going to hit me. He's going to punch me and I deserve it.

But then Mingi's hands were on Yunho's jacket, fisting in the fabric, and he was pulling. Yanking so hard Yunho lurched forward, nearly toppled off the couch entirely.

"Let— " Mingi's voice cracked. His hands were shaking, clumsy and desperate as they scrabbled at Yunho's zipper. "Let me see it. Let me— I need to— "

Oh.

Oh.

The panic evaporated, replaced by something hot and electric and dizzying. Mingi wasn't angry. Or— he was angry, but not the kind of angry Yunho had thought. He was angry because he wanted. Because he'd been teased for weeks and weeks and that final photo had broken something in him.

Yunho laughed. Couldn't help it. The sound bubbled up from his chest, bright and exhilarated and maybe a little hysterical.

"Mingi," he said, and his voice came out lower, more controlled than he felt.

"Shut up," Mingi snapped, and finally got the zipper down, shoved the jacket off Yunho's shoulders. His hands went immediately to the hem of Yunho's hoodie, yanking it up, and—

And froze when he saw the blue and red fabric underneath.

"You— " Mingi's breath punched out of him. His hands pressed against the suit, palms flat against Yunho's stomach, and Yunho could feel the heat of them even through the fabric. "You're really wearing it. Right now. You were just— sitting here— "

"Yeah," Yunho said, grinning now, sharp and mean.

Mingi made a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a sob. His hands slid up, mapping the suit, the webbing pattern stark under his fingers. He was trembling. Actually shaking, and when Yunho looked down he could see—

Mingi was hard. The outline visible through his thin sweatpants, obvious and desperate, and Yunho felt something in his chest go tight and hot.

"Off," Mingi said, tugging at the hoodie again, and Yunho just— went limp. Dead weight, letting Mingi struggle with the fabric, watching him get more and more frustrated.

"Yunho," Mingi hissed, yanking harder. "Help me— "

"Why?" Yunho's grin widened. "You're doing fine on your own,"

"You're such an asshole— "

But Mingi was determined. He grabbed Yunho's arm, manhandled it— and fuck, when had Mingi gotten so strong? He was all lean muscle and long limbs and he used that leverage now, managed to wrestle Yunho's arm out of the sleeve even as Yunho laughed, bright and delighted.

"Mingi— "

"Shut up, shut up, just— " The hoodie came off finally, Mingi tossing it somewhere behind him, and then his hands were back on Yunho, sliding over the suit, gripping his shoulders, his biceps, his chest. "Oh my god. Oh my god, you actually— it's real, you're— "

He looked wrecked. Eyes glassy, mouth open, breathing hard. His hands were everywhere, greedy and desperate, like he couldn't decide where to touch first.

And Yunho—

Yunho felt invincible. Felt like that confidence from the photos was real, was something he could wear just like the suit. He reached up, tangled his fingers in Mingi's hair, and tugged.

Mingi gasped. His hips jerked forward involuntarily, and Yunho laughed again, low and mean.

"You're so desperate," Yunho said, and Mingi's face flushed darker.

"Fuck you— "

"Is that what you want?" Yunho pulled harder on Mingi's hair, watched his eyes flutter closed. "Want me to fuck you?"

"Yes," Mingi breathed, and then louder, more desperate, "Yes, please, I need— I've been going insane, Yunho, you don't understand— "

"I understand," Yunho said, and pulled Mingi down into a kiss.

Mingi melted into it immediately. Opened his mouth, let Yunho lick inside, whimpered when Yunho bit his bottom lip hard enough to sting. His hands were still roaming, still mapping every inch of the suit like he couldn't quite believe it was real.

Yunho kissed him until Mingi was panting, whining, until he was grinding down against Yunho's thigh in desperate little circles. Then he pulled back, watched Mingi chase his mouth, watched his eyes blink open all glassy and unfocused.

His lips were already red. Swollen and slick with spit. And he was beautiful. The most beautiful thing Yunho had ever seen. Even desperate and wrecked and falling apart, maybe especially desperate and wrecked and falling apart— he was perfect.

"You're so pretty," Yunho said, and his voice came out rough, couldnt help himself. "So fucking pretty, Mingi. You know that? The prettiest thing I've ever seen,"

Mingi whined. Actually whined. His hips jerked forward— an unconscious movement, seeking friction— and Yunho could still feel it.

The hard line of Mingi's cock pressing against his stomach through the thin fabric of his sweatpants.

Mingi was hard. Achingly, obviously hard. The outline was visible even through the fabric, and when his hips rolled forward again— desperate and needy— Yunho could feel the heat of it, could feel how hard Mingi was, straining against his sweatpants like he was about to burst out of them.

"Fuck," Yunho breathed, and Mingi whined again.

Louder this time. His hips rolled forward again, grinding his cock against Yunho's stomach, and the friction made his whole body shudder. Made his eyes roll back. Made him gasp out something that might have been Yunho's name but came out too broken to tell.

Yunho's hands slid down. Over Mingi's back, his waist, gripping his hips. Then lower— grabbing Mingi's ass through his sweatpants and squeezing.

Mingi gasped into his mouth. His hips jerked forward harder, and the friction must have been just right because his whole body shuddered, a broken moan escaping him.

"You're so sensitive," Yunho murmured.

"Please— " Mingi's hands were clutching at Yunho's shoulders now, nails digging in even through the suit. "Please, I need— I need more— "

His hands slid lower. Found the waistband of Yunho's sweats and yanked, desperate and frantic.

"Off," Mingi demanded. His voice was frantic. "Off. I need to see all of you. Need— please— "

Yunho lifted his hips. Let Mingi shove his sweats down, and the rest of the suit was revealed. The way it clung to his thighs, his calves, every line and curve on display. And his cock— hard and straining against the fabric.

Mingi made a sound that was barely human.

Slid off Yunho's lap and dropped to his knees between Yunho's spread legs so fast Yunho heard the impact— but Mingi didn't even seem to notice. Didn't even flinch. His eyes were locked on Yunho's dick, and his hands were already reaching, sliding up Yunho's thighs.

"Mingi— " Yunho started, but Mingi wasn't listening.

His hands wrapped around Yunho's cock through the fabric. Both hands, fingers overlapping, and he squeezed. The pressure was perfect— firm and deliberate— and Yunho's head fell back against the couch with a groan that came from somewhere deep in his chest.

"So big," Mingi breathed. His voice was awed. His hands stroked up and down, learning the shape of Yunho through the suit. "I knew you would be but— fuck— you're so— "

He leaned forward. Pressed his face against Yunho's cock through the suit. Nuzzled into it like he couldn't help himself, like he needed to be as close as possible. And then his mouth opened and he was—

He was mouthing at it. At Yunho's cock through the fabric. Hot and wet. His tongue dragged over the material, tracing the outline, and his lips closed around the head through the suit, sucking, and Yunho could feel it. Could feel everything— the heat, the pressure, the way Mingi was moaning against him like just this was enough to drive him crazy.

"Fuck— " Yunho's hands flew to Mingi's hair. Gripping tight, tangling in the soft strands. "Mingi, what are you— oh my god— "

Mingi pulled back just enough to speak. Just enough that Yunho could see his face— lips red and swollen, eyes glazed and desperate.

"Want to taste you," Mingi said. His voice was hoarse. "Want you in my mouth. Want to feel you down my throat— wanna choke on it. Please, Yunho, please let me— "

But there was no opening. No zipper where Mingi was touching, where his mouth had been. The suit was seamless, perfect, designed to show everything but not provide access, and Mingi's expression was rapidly shifting from desperate to frustrated.

His hands slid over the fabric frantically. Searching. Pressing and pulling, looking for a seam, a zipper, a way in, something. And when he couldn't find what he was looking for— when his searching fingers found nothing but smooth, unbroken fabric— something in him seemed to snap.

His fingers curled. Dug into the material. His nails caught on the fabric and he pulled— hard, desperate, with all his strength—

“Wait, Mingi—“

Rip.

The sound was loud in the quiet apartment, sharp and final.

Mingi's fingers had clawed straight through the suit— actually tore the expensive custom made fabric like it was tissue paper— creating a ragged hole right where Yunho's dick was straining. The edges were messy, threads hanging loose and frayed, and through the opening Yunho's cock was visible. Flushed dark, leaking.

Mingi froze.

His eyes went huge. Wider than Yunho had ever seen them, and for a second he just— stared. At the torn fabric, at Yunho's exposed dick, at what he'd done. His hands were shaking where they still gripped the edges of the tear, and when he looked up at Yunho his expression was panicked.

"Oh my god— " His voice cracked completely, shattered. "I'm so sorry— I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to— I just— fuck— I wasn't thinking, I just needed— I'll buy you another one, I swear, I'll buy you ten, a hundred, whatever you want, just please— please don't be mad, I'm so sorry— "

The panic in his voice— the genuine distress— made something in Yunho's chest twist. Made that soft, tender thing he'd been trying to ignore swell up until it filled his entire chest, until he couldn't push it down anymore.

"Mingi." Yunho's voice came out softer than he intended, gentle. He loosened his grip in Mingi's hair— softer now, almost soothing. His fingers carded through the strands. "Look at me. Baby, look at me."

Mingi's eyes met his. Wide and wet and so scared, like he thought Yunho was going to push him away, tell him to leave, end this before it even really started.

"I don't care about the suit," Yunho said, and meant it with every fiber of his being. "Do you understand? I don't give a single fuck about the suit right now. Not when you're here, yeah?"

"But you— you spent so much money— "

"Mingi," Yunho's hand slid down to cup Mingi's jaw. His thumb brushed across Mingi's cheekbone. “Do you really think I care about some fabric when I have you?"

Fresh tears spilled down Mingi's cheeks. But his expression was shifting— from panicked to something else. Something softer and more vulnerable and so full of emotion Yunho felt it like a physical weight.

Yunho pulled him up. Into another kiss that was different— softer and sweeter. Like Yunho was trying to say with his mouth what he couldn't figure out how to say with words. I love you, the kiss said. I've loved you for years. You're everything to me. You're mine and I'm yours and nothing else matters.

Mingi kissed back like he was trying to crawl inside Yunho's skin. Like he wanted to get so close they became one person. His hands were clutching at Yunho— at his shoulders, his neck, his face— desperate to hold on, to make sure this was real.

When they broke apart, both of them were breathing hard. Mingi's face was a complete mess— tears and spit and his eyes red and puffy— and he'd never looked more beautiful.

"You're so pretty when you cry," Yunho said softly, reverently.

Mingi made a sound that was half laugh, half sob.

Yunho’s grip in Mingi's hair tightened again. Back to that firm, commanding pressure. Both hands fisted in the soft strands, and he pulled until Mingi's head was tilted back, throat exposed and vulnerable.

Mingi's eyes rolled back. His whole body shuddered, and a whine escaped him— high and desperate and so needy it made Yunho's cock twitch.

"Fuck— " The word came out strangled. Half whimper, half moan as he sunk back to his knees.

His mouth was on Yunho before he even finished.

His lips wrapped around the head, tongue flicking over the slit, and Yunho groaned.

but Mingi didn't tease, didn't take his time. Didn't even ease into it, just opened his throat and swallowed— took Yunho down in one smooth, practiced motion until his nose was pressed against the torn fabric, against Yunho's pelvis, until Yunho was buried to the root in Mingi's throat.

"Mingi— " Yunho's hips jerked up involuntarily, forcing himself even deeper, and Mingi gagged but didn't pull off. Just held there, throat working around Yunho's cock, tears streaming down his face from the strain. "Mingi— holy shit— you feel so— "

Mingi pulled back just enough to breathe. Just enough to gasp in air, spit dripping from his lips, connecting him to Yunho's cock in obscene strands. Then he was sinking back down. Taking it all again. Over and over, fast and desperate and so messy, like he couldn't get enough, like he'd been starving for this and was finally getting fed.

"So good," Yunho said, and his voice came out strained. But there was something soft underneath it. Something tender. "You're so good for me, Mingi. So perfect, baby,"

Mingi moaned around him. The vibration went straight through Yunho's cock, up his spine, and Yunho had to bite his lip to keep from coming right then.

The wet sounds, the way Mingi's lips stretched around him, the way drool was starting to leak from the corners of his mouth. Yunho couldn't look away, couldn't do anything but watch as Mingi sucked him like it was the only thing he'd ever wanted.

"Mingi— fuck— you look so good like this— "

Mingi whimpered, tried to take him deeper, and gagged slightly. His eyes watered but he didn't pull back, just kept going, kept trying, and—

It wasn't enough. Yunho needed more. Needed to feel Mingi everywhere, needed to take and take until there was nothing left.

The confidence from the suit, from the photos, from weeks of teasing— it all coalesced into something sharp and demanding. Something that made Yunho pull Mingi off his cock, made him stand up even as Mingi whined in protest.

"Yunho— "

"I'm not done with you," Yunho said, and his voice came out rough, commanding in a way he'd never heard himself sound before.

He stood up, and Mingi stayed on his knees, looking up at him with wet eyes and swollen lips. Yunho's cock was right there, level with Mingi's face, and he couldn't resist— pressed forward, rubbed the head against Mingi's cheek, his lips, smearing precome across his skin.

"Open," Yunho said, and Mingi's mouth fell open immediately, tongue out, waiting.

Yunho pushed back in, deeper this time, holding Mingi's head steady with both hands. Set a rhythm that was faster, harder, using Mingi's mouth the way he'd been dying to. Mingi took it, took everything Yunho gave him, gagging and drooling and still making these little encouraging sounds like he wanted more.

"That's it," Yunho groaned. "Take it— fuck, you're so good at this— "

Mingi's hands came up, gripping Yunho's thighs for balance. His nails dug in through the suit, sharp little points of pressure that made Yunho thrust harder.

He could feel his orgasm building but— no. Not yet. He wasn't ready to be done, wasn't ready to give up the feeling of Mingi's mouth around him, the power of having Mingi on his knees, desperate and pliant and his.

Yunho pulled out. Mingi gasped, sucking in air, and Yunho could see tear tracks on his cheeks, could see how wrecked he looked.

"You okay?" Yunho asked, something softer breaking through the haze.

"Yes," Mingi said immediately. "Yes, please, don't stop, I need— "

"What?" Yunho's thumb brushed over Mingi's wet lips. "What do you need?"

"More." Mingi's voice was wrecked, broken. "I need more. Need you to— to use me. Please, Yunho, I want it to hurt, I want— "

Oh.

Oh.

Something in Yunho's chest cracked open. Mingi was begging so pretty, looking up at him with glassy eyes and swollen lips and asking for it to hurt, and how was Yunho supposed to resist that?

"Yeah?" Yunho pulled him up by his hair, kissed him hard and filthy, tasting himself on Mingi's tongue. "You want it rough?"

"Yes— "

"Want me to bend you over and fuck you until you can't remember your own name?"

"Yes— "

Yunho kissed him again, bit his lip, his jaw, his throat. Mingi was whining, hands scrabbling at the suit, trying to touch, to hold on. But then his fingers found the seam at Yunho's thigh and—

Fabric tearing again, and Mingi paused, eyes going wide.

Yunho just laughed. Couldn't help it. The absurdity of it— they were finally doing this, finally touching each other, and Mingi was still afraid of ripping a suit.

"It's fine," Yunho said, and Mingi groaned.

"Fuck, I really can’t help it— "

The desperation in his voice made Yunho's cock twitch. Made him want to give Mingi everything he was asking for.

They stumbled toward the coffee table— low and sturdy, the perfect height. Yunho spun Mingi around, bent him over it, and Mingi went willingly, eagerly, pressing his cheek against the cool wood.

"Like this?" Mingi's voice was small, high and breathy and Yunho wanted to devour him whole. "You want me like this?"

"Yeah," Yunho breathed, hands sliding over Mingi's back, his sides. "Just like this."

He pulled Mingi's sweatpants down, his boxers, until Mingi was bare from the waist down. His ass was— perfect. Round and firm and Yunho wanted to bite it, wanted to mark every inch of skin.

"You're so beautiful," Yunho said, and Mingi made a choked sound, hips pushing back.

"Please— "

Prep was— frantic. Yunho found the lube in Mingi's room, and when he pushed the first finger inside, Mingi gasped, body tensing.

"Okay?" Yunho asked, pausing.

"Yes," Mingi said immediately. "More. Please, more— "

Two fingers. Three. Mingi was so responsive, so vocal, gasping and moaning and pushing back onto Yunho's hand like he couldn't get enough. By the time Yunho had him properly stretched, Mingi was trembling, practically sobbing into the coffee table.

"Please, please, I'm ready, I can take it, Yunho, please— "

Yunho stroked himself, kissed Mingi’s hole with the tip of his dick, and pushed inside in one slow, steady thrust.

Mingi's back arched, a broken cry escaping him. He was so tight, so hot, clenching around Yunho in a way that made him see stars.

"Fuck," Yunho gasped. "Mingi, you feel— "

"Move," Mingi begged. "Please, Yunho, move, I need— "

So Yunho moved.

Started slow, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, and Mingi cried out, hands scrabbling for purchase on the coffee table. The angle was perfect— deep and rough, exactly what Mingi had asked for.

"Harder," Mingi gasped. "Please, harder, I can take it— "

Yunho gripped his hips hard enough to bruise and gave Mingi what he wanted. Fucked into him with enough force that the coffee table scraped against the floor, that Mingi's voice broke on every thrust.

"Yes, yes, oh god, Yunho— "

It was too much. The sounds Mingi was making, the way he was clenching around Yunho, the sight of him bent over their shared coffee table, taking everything Yunho gave him. The suit was still on— mostly, minus the tear on his thigh— and it made Yunho feel powerful, made him feel like he could do anything.

He leaned forward, pressed his chest against Mingi's back, and kissed his shoulder, his neck. Mingi turned his head, seeking Yunho's mouth, and Yunho gave it to him— a messy, desperate kiss that was more panting than anything else.

"So good," Yunho mumbled against his lips. "You're so good for me, taking me so well— "

"Yours," Mingi gasped. "I'm yours, I've always been yours— "

That broke something in Yunho. Made him lose whatever control he'd been clinging to. He fucked into Mingi harder, faster, chasing his orgasm but also just— wanting to make Mingi feel good, wanting to hear more of those desperate sounds, wanting to claim him in every way possible.

"Touch yourself," Yunho said, voice rough, and Mingi obeyed immediately, one hand flying to his cock.

"I'm close," Mingi gasped. "I'm so close, Yunho, please— "

"Come for me," Yunho said, biting down on Mingi's shoulder.

Mingi came with a loud, broken cry, body going taut, clenching so tight around Yunho that it was almost painful. His come splattered across the floor, across his hand, and he was shaking, trembling, still making little wounded sounds.

Yunho pulled out quickly— too close to the edge himself but wanting, needing—

"On your knees, baby," he said, voice wrecked, and Mingi obeyed immediately, sliding off the coffee table and onto the floor. He looked up at Yunho with glassy eyes, mouth open, face still wet with tears and drool, and—

Perfect. He looked perfect.

Yunho bit his lip, stroked himself twice, and came across Mingi's face with a groan that felt ripped from his chest. Striped across his cheeks, his lips, his chin— marking him, claiming him, making him Yunho's in the most primal way possible.

Mingi's eyes fluttered closed, mouth falling open wider, and he made this small, satisfied sound like this was exactly what he'd wanted.

For a moment, they just— breathed. Yunho's hand threaded in soft hair, Mingi still on his knees, both of them wrecked and spent.

Then Mingi laughed— soft and disbelieving.

"We just— " He gestured vaguely at himself, at the mess. "Shit."

"Yeah," Yunho said, and his legs felt like jelly. He slid down to sit on the floor beside Mingi, suit still on (minus the tear, minus the various stains), and pulled him close.

Mingi went willingly, tucking himself against Yunho's side. His face was still a mess, but he didn't seem to care.

Yunho kissed him— slow this time, sweet, and immediately tasted himself on Mingi's lips. And okay, as incredibly hot as that was in theory, in practice Yunho just felt— sticky. Gross. The suit was clinging to his sweat damp skin, there was mess everywhere, and he kind of really, desperately wanted to cuddle his obnoxious best friend without feeling like they'd just rolled around in a disaster zone.

"Come on," Yunho said, pushing himself up on shaky legs. "Bathroom."

"Now?" Mingi's voice was wrecked, sleepy. "Can't we just— "

"No." Yunho grabbed his discarded hoodie from where Mingi had thrown it earlier, used it to gently wipe at Mingi's face. "We're gross."

"Romantic," Mingi mumbled, but he was smiling, and then— oh god, he was swiping at his own cheek, bringing his fingers to his mouth, and Yunho felt his face burn.

"Stop that," Yunho said, ears hot, and Mingi laughed.

"Why? It's yours."

"You're insane,"

"You like it."

Help him, Yunho did. He really, really did. But that didn't mean he wanted to sleep in the evidence of what they'd just done.

He managed to get Mingi mostly clean— or at least, clean enough that he wouldn't stick to everything he touched— and then hauled him up by the arm. Mingi came willingly, still laughing, still looking at Yunho with those soft, fond eyes that made Yunho's chest feel too tight.

They made it about three steps toward the bathroom before Mingi's fingers found the ripped seam of Yunho's suit, tugging at it gently.

"Looks better ripped," Mingi said, voice soft.

Yunho huffed, rolled his eyes even as he pressed a kiss to Mingi's bare shoulder. "You're just saying that so you don't have to buy me another one,"

"Shut up, I'm serious." Mingi sounded genuinely offended, pulling back just enough to meet Yunho's eyes. "It looks— I don't know, real. Like you actually wore it for something."

"I did wear it for something," Yunho said, grinning. "I wore it to seduce my best friend,"

"Worked, didn't it?"

"Yeah," Yunho said softly. "It did."

They kissed again— slower, sweeter, the kind of kiss that made Yunho's heart do stupid things in his chest. Mingi's hands came up to cup his face, gentle and reverent, and Yunho melted into it, let himself have this.

They still weren't even halfway to the bathroom.

When they finally broke apart, Mingi was smiling— that wide, genuine smile that Yunho loved, the one that made his whole face light up.

"I can't believe I let you fuck me in a Spiderman costume," Mingi said, and just like that, the moment shifted back into something teasing, something familiar.

"You didn't just let me," Yunho protested, nipping at the soft skin of Mingi’s neck. "You begged for it,"

"Details," Mingi waved a hand dismissively, still grinning. "I'm telling everyone this is how we got together, by the way,"

"Mingi, no— "

"Mingi, yes." He was already walking toward the bathroom, pulling Yunho along by the wrist. "I'm telling Wooyoung first. He's going to lose his mind,"

"You're not telling anyone," Yunho said, but he was smiling too, couldn't help it.

"Watch me."

The shower was— domestic. Soft in a way Yunho hadn't expected. They took turns under the spray, washing each other's hair, Mingi's fingers gentle as they worked shampoo through Yunho's strands. The suit was finally peeled off— carefully, Mingi mourning every new rip and stain they discovered— and tossed in the corner to deal with later.

"I really will buy you another one," Mingi said, hands sliding down Yunho's back, tracing the line of his spine. "If you want."

"Maybe," Yunho said. Then, quieter, "I liked the way you looked at me when I wore it."

"I liked the way you looked, period," Mingi said, and kissed the back of Yunho's neck. "Suit or no suit,"

They stumbled to Yunho's room afterward— closer than Mingi's, and neither of them wanted to let go long enough to walk down the hall. Collapsed into bed in just boxers, sheets cool against their overheated skin.

Holy shit, Yunho thought, staring at the ceiling, Mingi's weight warm and solid beside him. Best purchase ever.

Mingi shifted, rolled onto his side, and propped himself up on one elbow. His hair was still damp, falling into his eyes, and he was looking at Yunho with something soft and mischievous.

"What?" Yunho asked, suspicious.

"Nothing." Mingi leaned in, rested his head on Yunho's sternum, and looked up at him with wide, faux innocent eyes. "I was just thinking,"

"That's dangerous."

"How about," Mingi said, grin widening, "I buy you a Nightwing suit instead?"

Yunho stared at him. "What."

"You heard me," Mingi's fingers traced idle patterns on Yunho's stomach. "Nightwing. You know, Dick Grayson? The ass that could— "

"I know who Nightwing is," Yunho interrupted, face burning. "You are not buying me a Nightwing suit,"

"Why not? You'd look good in it. Better than Spiderman, even,"

"You're just saying that because Nightwing's suit is even tighter,"

"Maybe." Mingi's grin was wicked now, absolutely shameless. "Is that a yes?"

"No."

"That sounds like a yes to me."

"Mingi— "

"I'm already looking up custom suit makers," Mingi said, pulling his phone from somewhere— when had he even grabbed that?— and Yunho lunged for it, tried to wrestle it away.

They ended up tangled together, laughing, Mingi's phone abandoned somewhere in the sheets as Yunho pinned him down and kissed him breathless.

"You're terrible," Yunho said against his mouth.

"You love me," Mingi said back, and—

Yeah. Yunho really, really did.

"Go to sleep," Yunho muttered, rolling off him and pulling Mingi close, tucking him against his chest. "Before you get any more ideas,"

"Too late," Mingi mumbled, already half asleep. "Already ordered the Nightwing suit. Should be here in two weeks."

"You did not."

"Guess you'll find out."

Yunho sighed, pressed a kiss to the top of Mingi's head, and let himself relax. The suit— the stupid, expensive, now ripped Spiderman suit— was still on the bathroom floor. They'd deal with it tomorrow. Along with the mess in the living room, and the coffee table that was definitely going to have marks, and whatever fallout came from finally, finally crossing this line.

But for now—

For now, Yunho had Mingi in his arms, warm and solid and his, and that was more than enough.

Even if Mingi did end up buying him a Nightwing suit.

(Which he absolutely did)