Archive of Our Own

The screen glowed in the dark room, illuminating Jiahao's flushed face and the sheen of sweat on his collarbones. His breath hitched as he adjusted the phone, propping it against his pillow.

"Geonwoo-yah," he breathed, his voice already shaky. "I'm... I'm ready."

On the screen, Geonwoo's smirk was audible. "Already? Hyung, you're eager tonight. Show it to me, hmm?”

Jiahao bit his lip, camera trembling as he angled it downward. His sweatpants were already kicked off, discarded somewhere near the foot of the bed. The silicone toy glistened between his thighs, half-buried inside him, and he heard Geonwoo exhale sharply.

"Fuck, hyung," Geonwoo murmured. "You're already opened up for me."

"Been... been thinking about you all day," Jiahao breathed, rolling his hips to sink deeper. The stretch burned perfectly. "Since the rehearsal. Saw your face on my lockscreen and I had to—had to touch myself in the bathroom stall."

"Dirty," Geonwoo laughed. "Touching yourself in public like that. What if someone heard you?"

"They'd know," Jiahao gasped, working the dildo in slow, torturous thrusts. "They'd know I'm yours. That you own me even when you're not here."

Geonwoo's tongue swept across his lower lip, eyes tracking every shiver of Jiahao's abdomen. "Move the camera closer. I want to see your face when you fuck yourself."

Jiahao obeyed, propping the phone against his pillow. His reflection stared back—flushed cheeks, blown pupils, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. The toy dragged against his prostate and he moaned, loud and unguarded, knowing the walls were thick enough, knowing the other members were already tucked in their own rooms.

He squirmed, his fingers trailing down his stomach. "It's been weeks. And tomorrow's..." He trailed off, his hand moving faster.

"Waterbomb," Geonwoo finished for him. "I'll be watching."

The dildo slid deeper, and Jiahao whimpered. "Fuck... Geonwoo-yah, please…”

"Please what, hyung?" Geonwoo teased. "Tell me what you need."

"Talk to me," Jiahao panted. "Tell me what you want."

Geonwoo chuckled, the sound vibrating through the phone. "Hmm… I want to know if my pretty hyung is going to strip tomorrow. You always do. Flaunting those abs for everyone."

Jiahao's movements faltered. "Huh? N-no, I wasn't planning to..."

"Really?" Geonwoo sounded skeptical. "Because I know you, hyung. You love the attention."

"Not this time," Jiahao insisted, his fingers tightening around the toy's base. "I won't, I—please, keep talking, I need your voice—"

"Tell me first." Geonwoo's command cut sharp. "Promise me. Look at the camera and promise you won't take your shirt off tomorrow. That you'll stay covered. That nobody gets to see what's mine."

Jiahao whined, high and broken, but he dragged his eyes open, staring directly into the lens. "I promise," he managed, words hitching as he fucked himself harder. "I won't strip, Geonwoo-yah, I swear, please—"

"Good boy," Geonwoo purred, and the praise sent electricity sparking down Jiahao's spine. "Hyung knows what happens if he breaks that promise, right? You know the consequences waiting for you?"

Jiahao's hips bucked. "Yes, I know, I'll be good, I'll be—"

"You'll be punished," Geonwoo interrupted. "I'll tie you to the bedframe for hours. Edge you until you're crying, until you're begging me to let you cum, and then I'll deny you. Again and again. You'll wear my marks for weeks, hyung. Everyone will know exactly who you belong to."

"Geonwoo—!"

"Tell me you love me," Geonwoo commanded.

 "Love you, I love you.” he drunkenly mumbled. "Fuck, I love you so much..."

"Then show me," Geonwoo demanded. "Show me how much you love me.”

Jiahao shattered, back bowing off the mattress, his cum painting his stomach as his body clamped down around the dildo. He sobbed Geonwoo's name like a prayer, riding the aftershocks until his muscles gave out and he collapsed into the damp sheets.

"Thank you," Geonwoo said softly. "Now get some sleep. I love you too.”

Jiahao had dressed carefully the next morning. He wore a sleeveless white top which was nearly translucent already, but the blue vest the stylists made him wear covered enough—if he kept it zipped.

"We got matching black nails," Sangwon laughed, adjusting his own shirt.

"Yes," Jiahao muttered, fingers finding the pull of his zipper, tugging it higher. "Crazy."

The festival ground was already packed when they arrived, it was obviously hot but not that kind of hot that would send someone into a heatstroke (fortunately). Jiahao kept checking his phone in the dressing tent, rereading Geonwoo's message from three hours ago.

my nunu:

don't forget. I mean it, hyung. I want you covered up there. for me.

He had replied with a string of emojis, heart and lock and key, but his stomach fluttered now looking at it. Geonwoo wasn't controlling in the bad way—he never was—but he had this way of making promises feel like physical things, like contracts signed in spit and cum. Jiahao wanted to be good for him. Needed to be.

The set started at four. They ran onto the stage already screaming, adrenaline pumping hot through Jiahao's veins. The water cannons erupted immediately, cold pressure slamming against his chest, soaking through the blue vest in seconds. It clung heavy to his shoulders, the white shirt underneath going transparent as glass, his pink nipples pebbling hard against the fabric.

Jiahao moved without thinking, body taking over, hips snapping sharp through the choreography. He was the main dancer for a reason—every isolations precise, every body roll filthy in the way that drove fans wild. Water streamed down his spine, pooled in the hollow of his throat, dripped from his jaw. He caught sight of himself on the giant screen to his left—hair plastered dark to his forehead, mouth open as he sang, the blue vest suctioned tight to his torso.

Good, he thought, I'm still covered. He'll be proud.

Anxin was being silly beside him (as usual), bouncing with that manic energy he always had. The younger boy grinned, water flying from his hair, and reached out, messing around with his Hao-ge like he always did. Then, his fingers caught the zipper pull of Jiahao's vest.

Time slowed. Jiahao felt the vibration of the metal tab sliding down, tooth by tooth, the fabric parting open. Cool air hit his damp sternum. He should have stopped it. Should have grabbed Anxin's wrist or laughed it off or zipped back up.

But the bass was thunder in his bones, the crowd chanting his name, and Jiahao let his arms rise above his head instead, let his body twist, let the vest fall open.

The collar of the white sleeveless shirt had ridden down slightly, stretched loose across his pecs. One hard nipple slipped free, pink and wet and exposed to the sun, to the thousands of eyes, to the cameras broadcasting live.

Someone screamed—probably not even for him specifically, just the general hysteria of the moment—but the sound went straight to Jiahao's cock. He jumped, high knees, arms windmilling, and felt the fabric shift more, felt the air tease his bare skin. He didn't fix it. Kept dancing, kept singing, the vest flapping open with every sharp movement, that single nipple pebbled tight and obscene.

He imagined Geonwoo watching from wherever he was—laptop screen glowing, hand probably already down his pants. The thought made Jiahao's hips roll filthier, made him arch his back on the next move, presenting himself without meaning to, meaning to.

Backstage, the other members were already peeling off soaked clothes, grabbing towels, bitching about the heat. Jiahao stood frozen by the makeup mirrors, chest heaving, vest still hanging open, that one nipple still out like a secret he hadn't decided to keep.

"Hyung, shower's free," Sanghyeon called.

Jiahao didn't move. His fingers trembled as he pulled his phone from his back pocket—which is still working, thank god. He saw one notification from Geonwoo and opened it.

my nunu:

i love you hyung you look so pretty up there

Jiahao's knees went weak. He leaned against the vanity, typing back with wet thumbs.

hao:

thank you i love you

Three dots. 

my nunu:

i know. can we meet? if it's fine with you, once the boys are all settled later in the evening or if not, we can meet tomorrow Saturday or sunday even. just tell me, i miss you so much hyung.

hao:

no no later is fine I'll sneak out

my nunu:

okay perfect, hope you already took a shower please don't be sick, im gonna be off now

Jiahao stared at the screen, at the care wrapped in those words, at the way Geonwoo never made him feel small even when he'd just exposed himself to the world. He hummed, finally moving toward the showers with his vest still open, nipple still hard, anticipation coiling hot in his gut.

He'd be good tonight. Or maybe he wouldn't. Either way, Geonwoo would be there to handle it.

The living room clock read 11:42 PM. Jiahao sat on the edge of the couch, phone gripped tight enough to turn his knuckles white. The screen showed Geonwoo's last message sent twenty minutes ago.

my nunu:

hyung, i'm here. room 1408. take your time but hurry. be careful on the streets, ok?

A second later, something heavy thumped against the floorboards. Xinlong laughed, that high-pitched cackle that meant he was either winning a game or losing his mind, and then Sanghyeon's voice drifted through the hallway. "If you break that lamp, I'm telling manager-nim!"

"Xiaozhu’s no fun," Anxin whined, loud enough to carry through the ceiling. "Come on, one more round. Long, hold him down."

Jiahao shifted on the couch, thigh bouncing. Leo had disappeared into his room an hour ago, door clicking shut with the finality of a man who valued sleep over chaos. But the kids were still very much awake.

He checked his phone again. 11:45.

Fuck.

The floorboards creaked. Jiahao looked up to find Anxin standing at the base of the kitchen counter, hair sticking up in every direction, shirt inside-out. He had a gaming controller in one hand and a bag of chips in the other, pausing mid-step when he caught sight of Jiahao sitting alone in the dark.

"Hao-ge?" Anxin tilted his head, biting down on a chip. "Why are you lurking here like a ghost?"

"I'm not lurking," Jiahao said, too fast. He forced his shoulders down, tried to look casual. "Just... tired. Waiting for the shower to free up."

Anxin crunched loudly, eyes narrowing. He walked over, flopping onto the couch cushion beside Jiahao, close enough that their thighs touched. "No one's in the shower right now. And you showered already. I heard the water running at like, nine."

"Did I?" Jiahao laughed, the sound brittle and wrong. "Forgot."

"Bullshit." Anxin turned fully, setting the chips aside, controller abandoned on the coffee table. "You're wearing jeans."

Jiahao looked down at himself. Dark denim. Boots. A hoodie zipped to his throat despite the apartment being warm. He looked like he was going somewhere, not like he was winding down for bed.

"And perfume," Anxin added, leaning in suddenly, nose brushing Jiahao's collarbone. "Why’d you spray on perfume when you're about to shower again?"

Jiahao jerked back, hitting the armrest. "Anxin—"

"You're going out." It wasn't a question. Anxin's eyes went wide, suddenly alert, all traces of his silly didi vanishing. "Oh my god. You're sneaking out. Is it a girl? It's a girl, right? Please tell me it's not that backup dancer from the—"

"No," Jiahao said, then immediately cursed himself for confirming half the suspicion.

Anxin pounced on it, grinning sharp. "No, it's not her? Or no, you're not going out?"

"It's nothing," Jiahao tried, standing up, moving toward the kitchen like he wanted water. "I'm just... restless. From the festival. Too much energy still."

"You're the worst liar I've ever met," Anxin said, following him, bare feet padding soft against the tile. "Your ears turn red when you lie. Did you know that? They're glowing right now. Like, actually glowing."

Jiahao clapped his hands over his ears, realized what he'd done, dropped them just as fast. "I'm not lying."

"You're meeting someone." Anxin leaned against the counter, blocking the exit back to the living room. "Who? Tell me. I won't tell the managers, I swear. Is it serious? Have you been hiding a girlfriend this whole time?"

"There's no girlfriend," Jiahao said, the truth slipping out because Anxin was looking at him with those huge eyes, all earnest curiosity, and Jiahao had never been able to maintain boundaries with this particular kid. Anxin had a way of burrowing under skin, of making confessions feel inevitable.

"Then who?" Anxin pressed, stepping closer. "A guy? That's fine too, hyung, you know I don't—"

"Anxin, please." Jiahao's voice cracked, desperation leaking through. "I just... I need to go somewhere. Tonight. It's important."

"Important how?" Anxin wasn't letting up, persistent as a mosquito, and he reached out, grabbing Jiahao's wrist. "You're shaking. Hyung, you're actually shaking. What's wrong? Did someone threaten you? Is it blackmail? Oh god, is it a drug thing? I knew that guy at the afterparty was sketchy—"

"It's Geonwoo," Jiahao snapped, then froze, the name hanging between them like smoke.

Anxin blinked. Once. Twice. "Geonwoo? Our Geonwoo?"

Jiahao closed his eyes, defeated. "Yes."

"But he's on hiatus. He's at his parents' place, isn't he? I thought—"

"He's here," Jiahao whispered, opening his eyes to check the hallway, paranoid now, ears straining for Sanghyeon's footsteps or Xinlong's descent. "He's at a hotel. Twenty minutes from here. And I'm late, Anxin. I'm so fucking late and he's waiting and if I don't go now—"

"Wait," Anxin held up both hands, palms out, processing. "Wait, wait, wait. You and Geonwoo-hyung? Like... you and him? Together?"

Jiahao didn't answer, but his silence was its own confirmation.

Anxin's mouth formed a perfect O. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face—not mocking, not cruel, but something almost tender. "Holy shit. How long?"

"Eight months," Jiahao admitted, the relief of saying it out loud making him dizzy. "Since before his hiatus."

"And you're sneaking out to...?" Anxin trailed off, eyebrows wiggling suggestively.

"Don't," Jiahao groaned, covering his face. "Please don't make it weird."

"It's already weird, hyung. You literally have a secret boyfriend in a hotel room and you're wearing your nice underwear, I can see the waistband—"

"Anxin!"

"Okay, okay." Anxin grabbed his shoulders, forcing Jiahao to meet his eyes. "I'm going to help you."

"What? No—"

"Xinlong and I were just messing around, we weren't actually staying up. I'll tell him to go upstairs first. We'll go to bed now. Then, I'll make sure Sanghyeon takes his sleeping pills—he has those, right? The herbal ones? I'll slip them into his milk if I have to." Anxin was already moving, grabbing his chips, heading for Sanghyeon's room. "Give me five minutes. Everyone will be down. Then you can go."

"Why are you helping me?" Jiahao asked, genuinely bewildered.

Anxin paused on the third step, looking back, soft in a way he rarely let people see. "Because you looked like you were going to cry standing there in the dark. And Geonwoo-hyung's been miserable for months, and if you're the reason... if you make him happy..." He shrugged, suddenly awkward. "Just go. Be happy. I'll cover for you."

Jiahao stood in the kitchen, heart hammering against his ribs, listening to Anxin stomp on the floor and announce loudly that he was exhausted, that everyone needed to sleep, that the fun was over.

At 11:58 PM, the dorm went quiet.

Jiahao grabbed his bag, didn't bother with a mask or hat—too suspicious at this hour—and slipped out the front door, running before he even hit the sidewalk, desperate to get to room 1408, desperate to be good, desperate to be his.

The elevator was too slow. Jiahao watched the numbers stutter upward, each digit burning into his retinas like a countdown to something inevitable. One. Two. Six. Seven. Nine. Twelve. Fourteen. The gaps between floors felt like years, his pulse hammering so hard he could feel it in his throat, his wrists, the hollow behind his knees. He kept checking his phone—12:47 AM now, fuck, fuck—and the signal bars kept flickering, mocking him.

The doors slid open with a soft chime that sounded like a gunshot in the quiet hallway.

Room 1408 was at the end of the corridor. Jiahao walked fast, boots muffled on the carpet, his leopard-print tote bag thumping against his hip with every step. The pattern was ridiculous, something he'd grabbed in a rush, but it was his favorite and Geonwoo had always liked it. Said it looked expensive. Said Jiahao looked expensive wearing it.

He didn't check his phone again. 

The doorbell was brass and cold under his finger. He pressed it before his brain could catch up to his hand, heard the soft chime echo inside, and then—

The door flew open.

Geonwoo's hand shot out, fist closing around Jiahao's hoodie, and yanked. The world tilted, the hallway disappearing, and then Jiahao's back slammed against the wall inside the room, the impact knocking the air from his lungs. The door clicked shut with a finality that made his stomach drop.

Geonwoo's face was inches from his, breath hot and smelling of whiskey. "You really took your time, didn't you?"

"I—" Jiahao's voice cracked. Geonwoo's forearm was pressed against his collarbone, pinning him in place. "The traffic, I couldn't get a taxi, and then the elevator—"

"I don't fucking care." Geonwoo's eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, something feral moving behind them. "Didn't you read my message? I told you not to ring the doorbell."

Jiahao blinked, confused, still trying to catch his breath. "What? I didn't—"

Geonwoo's free hand found the strap of the tote bag, pulling it hard enough that the fabric dug into Jiahao's shoulder. "The fucking message, hyung. I sent it. Don't ring. Just knock. Did you read it?"

"I didn't see—" Jiahao fumbled for his phone, hands shaking as he reached for the bag. "S-sorry, I didn't see, let me check, I was rushing—"

He was rambling, fingers scrabbling at the zipper of the tote, trying to find the pocket where he'd stuffed his phone. But Geonwoo didn't wait. His hand left Jiahao's collarbone, grabbed the entire bag by the handles, and ripped it from Jiahao's arm.

The leopard-print bag sailed across the room and hit the floor with a heavy thud, contents spilling—wallet, lip balm, a half-crushed pack of gum, his phone skidding under the desk.

"Geonwoo—"

"Shut up." Geonwoo's mouth crashed against his, teeth catching his lower lip hard enough to sting, and Jiahao gasped into the kiss, tasting the whiskey and something sharper, hungrier. Geonwoo's hands were everywhere, pushing under the hoodie, finding bare skin, nails dragging down his ribs with just enough pressure to leave marks.

Jiahao's knees buckled. Geonwoo caught him, an arm snaking behind his thighs, and lifted. The world tilted again—the ceiling, the lamp, Geonwoo's jawline sharp as a blade—and then Jiahao was being carried across the room, past the mini-fridge, past the window with the city lights glittering below, toward the bed that dominated the space with its crisp white sheets.

He landed soft but the breath still whooshed out of him. Geonwoo was on top of him immediately, knees bracketing his hips, hands working the zipper of Jiahao's hoodie with brutal efficiency. The fabric parted, cool air hitting his chest, and Jiahao arched up into it, into Geonwoo's hands, into the rough palm that closed around his throat.

"Arms up," Geonwoo commanded.

Jiahao obeyed, raising his arms above his head. Geonwoo had planned this—the black silk scarves were already tied to the headboard, waiting. He looped them around Jiahao's wrists with practiced knots, pulling tight enough that the fabric bit into his skin, that Jiahao felt the immobility settle deep in his bones.

"Too tight?"

"No." Jiahao's voice was barely a whisper. "More."

Geonwoo's mouth twitched, not quite a smile, and he pulled the knot one notch tighter. Then he was moving down, rough hands shoving the hoodie off Jiahao's shoulders, yanking his jeans down his hips, stripping him bare urgently.

Jiahao lay there, spread out and tied, chest heaving. The hotel room was warm but his nipples were hard, peaked tight from the air and the fear and the want. Geonwoo paused at the foot of the bed, looking down at him, and the expression on his face made Jiahao's cock twitch against his stomach.

"Turn over."

It took effort with his hands bound, but Jiahao managed it, rolling onto his stomach, cheek pressed against the pillow, arms stretched above him. He felt exposed, ass in the air, the cool air hitting places that made him shiver. Geonwoo's hands found his hips, thumbs pressing into the dimples above his ass, spreading him open without preamble.

"Fuck." Geonwoo's voice was gravel. "Look at you. So pink and already loose for me."

Jiahao buried his face in the pillow, mortified and aroused, feeling the heat of Geonwoo's gaze on his hole. He knew what he looked like—wrecked before they'd even started, fluttering and wet from the anticipation alone, the muscle clenching at nothing, desperate to be filled.

Geonwoo didn't make him wait. His mouth was there, hot and wet and obscene, tongue dragging flat from the base of Jiahao's balls all the way up to his hole. Jiahao cried out, the sound muffled by the pillow, hips bucking back involuntarily. Geonwoo's hands tightened on his cheeks, holding him open, and then he was pressing inside, tongue fucking into him with shallow, filthy thrusts that made Jiahao's vision blur at the edges.

"Geonwoo—" Jiahao gasped, fingers clawing at the headboard, the scarves creaking with the strain. "Oh god, please—"

"Quiet." Geonwoo's breath was hot against his rim, the vibration of the word making Jiahao jerk. "You don't get to make noise yet."

He went back to it, deeper this time, the point of his tongue pressing past the tight ring of muscle, licking inside with long, slow drags that had Jiahao's thighs trembling. It was too much and not enough, the wet heat of Geonwoo's mouth driving him insane while his cock hung heavy and untouched between his legs, leaking onto the sheets.

Geonwoo pulled back just enough to speak, his thumb replacing his tongue, rubbing circles around Jiahao's rim until Jiahao was whining high in his throat, hips rolling back to chase the pressure. "You're so fucking open already. Were you thinking about this in the taxi? Thinking about me eating you out while you sat there with your pretty bag on your lap?"

"Yes," Jiahao sobbed, not even ashamed. "Yes, the whole way, I couldn't stop—"

"Couldn't stop what?" Geonwoo's thumb pressed inside, just the first knuckle, and Jiahao's back arched like he'd been shocked. "Tell me."

"Thinking about your mouth," Jiahao choked out. "About you tying me up. About you fucking me until I can't walk tomorrow, until I'm ruined, until—"

Geonwoo buried his face back in, replacing his thumb with his tongue, and this time he didn't tease. He ate Jiahao out with single-minded focus, the flat of his tongue pressing wide against his hole, then the tip flickering fast, then pushing inside to fuck him open. The sound was filthy, and Jiahao could feel himself getting looser, wetter, his body giving in to the assault.

"So good for me," Geonwoo murmured against his skin. "So fucking pretty when you take it. You gonna let me do this all night, hyung? Tie you here and eat you out until you're crying, until you're begging me to stop?"

"Please," Jiahao begged, not even knowing what he was asking for, just knowing he needed more, needed everything, needed Geonwoo to destroy him and put him back together. "Please, Geonwoo-yah, I need you inside, I need—"

"You'll get what I give you."

Geonwoo's hands slid under Jiahao's hips, lifting him higher, changing the angle, and then his tongue was back, deeper than before, fucking into him with a rhythm that matched the way Jiahao was grinding back against his face. The pleasure was building, coiling tight in his gut, his cock throbbing against his stomach untouched, dripping steady onto the white sheets.

Jiahao was making sounds he didn't recognize, his whole body shaking with the effort of holding back. He wanted to touch himself so badly, wanted Geonwoo's hand on him, wanted to cum with that tongue still inside him, but the scarves held firm, unyielding, keeping him exactly where Geonwoo wanted him.

"Don't you dare cum," Geonwoo warned, like he could read Jiahao's mind, his thumb circling Jiahao's rim again, spreading the wetness, making him slick and open. "Not yet. Not until I'm done with you. You owe me for making me wait, for ringing that fucking bell, for showing your nipple to the entire fucking world today."

"I didn't mean to," Jiahao whimpered, though they both knew he had, at least a little. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'll be good—"

"You'll be better than good." Geonwoo bit the meat of Jiahao's ass, hard enough to leave teeth marks, and soothed the spot with his tongue. "You'll be perfect. And you're going to take everything I give you tonight. Every finger. My tongue. My cock. Again and again until you can't remember your own name. Until the only word you know is mine."

Jiahao sobbed into the pillow, nodding frantically, his hole clenching around nothing, desperate and empty. "Yes. Yes, please, Geonwoo, please—"

Geonwoo laughed, dark and pleased, and went back to work, his mouth covering Jiahao's hole completely, sucking and licking and fucking him with a relentless rhythm that had Jiahao seeing stars. The pleasure was sharp, edged with the pain of denial, of being held open and used, and Jiahao knew this was just the beginning—that Geonwoo had hours of this planned, that he wouldn't be walking straight for days, that every time he sat down tomorrow he'd feel this, remember this, ache for it all over again.

"Mine," Geonwoo growled against his skin, the vibration sending shockwaves up Jiahao's spine. "Say it."

"Yours," Jiahao gasped, tears pricking his eyes, his cock leaking a steady stream onto the sheets. "I'm yours. Only yours. Always yours."

"Good." Geonwoo's tongue pushed inside one last time, curling to find the spot that made Jiahao scream, and then he pulled back, leaving Jiahao empty and shaking and so wet he could feel it dripping down his thighs. "Now hold still. I'm not even close to done with you."

Jiahao whimpered, pressing his face harder into the pillow, and waited for whatever Geonwoo would do next, his body burning, his mind blissfully blank, his heart hammering out a single rhythm: his, his, his.

Geonwoo pulled back, and Jiahao heard the rustle of fabric, the metallic whisper of a belt being undone. He turned his head, cheek still pressed to the pillow, and watched through blown-pupil eyes as Geonwoo stripped with brutal efficiency. The shirt came off first, revealing the sharp cut of his shoulders, the defined lines of his abdomen that Jiahao wanted to trace with his tongue. Then the sweatpants, shoved down and kicked away, and Geonwoo was naked, cock heavy and flushed against his stomach, already wet at the tip.

Jiahao's mouth watered. He shifted on the bed, arms still bound above him, and lifted his feet, ankles crossing in the air, trying to be helpful, to be good, even tied up like this. He hooked his toes in the waistband of Geonwoo's briefs—the last barrier—and tugged, clumsy and eager.

Geonwoo looked down, a sharp laugh escaping him. "Desperate, aren't you?"

"Please," Jiahao breathed, flexing his toes, feeling the heat radiating from Geonwoo's skin. "Want to see you. Want to touch you."

Geonwoo stepped out of the briefs, kicked them aside, and then he was on the bed, crawling up Jiahao's body until they were chest to chest, skin sliding against skin. He reached up, fingers working the knots on the scarves with surprising gentleness, and then Jiahao's hands were free, blood rushing back into his wrists with a prickling warmth.

Jiahao didn't hesitate. His arms came down around Geonwoo's neck, pulling him in, and their mouths crashed together, messy and open, spit slicking their chins. It wasn't kissing so much as devouring, teeth clicking, tongues sliding against each other in filthy, desperate strokes. Geonwoo's hands roamed down Jiahao's sides, nails dragging, leaving red trails that bloomed and faded, and Jiahao arched into the pain, into the heat, into the weight of Geonwoo pinning him down.

They rolled, tangled together, shedding the last scraps of fabric—Jiahao's hoodie finally pushed off his arms, his underwear tugged down and flung across the room. Naked now, completely, skin to fevered skin, and Jiahao couldn't stop touching, his hands mapping the ridges of Geonwoo's back, the curve of his ass, the tense muscles of his thighs.

Geonwoo broke the kiss, panting against Jiahao's mouth, and then he was moving down again, but not to where Jiahao expected. He bypassed Jiahao's cock—aching and neglected, twitching against his stomach—and kept going, pressing open-mouthed kisses down Jiahao's hip, his thigh, his knee.

"Geonwoo—" Jiahao's voice cracked as he realized where Geonwoo was headed.

Geonwoo didn't answer. He grabbed Jiahao's ankle, fingers circling the bone, and lifted. Jiahao's breath hitched as Geonwoo pressed his lips to the arch of his foot, the touch shockingly intimate, sending a jolt straight to his cock. Geonwoo's tongue darted out, licking a stripe up from the heel to the ball of Jiahao's foot, and Jiahao moaned loudly, his toes curling against Geonwoo's cheek.

"You have such pretty feet," Geonwoo murmured, the vibration of his words making Jiahao squirm. "Always dancing on them. Always working so hard." He sucked Jiahao's big toe into his mouth, tongue swirling around it, and Jiahao's hips bucked off the mattress, his cock leaking a steady stream of precum onto his stomach.

"Fuck, fuck, Geonwoo—" Jiahao was babbling, his hands fisting the sheets, his other foot pressing against Geonwoo's shoulder, needing to anchor himself to something solid. "That's—oh god, that's so—"

Geonwoo released his toe with a wet pop and moved to the next one, lavishing the same attention, sucking and licking like he was starving for it. His eyes were locked on Jiahao's face, watching him unravel, watching him fall apart from something as simple as a mouth on his foot.

Then Geonwoo paused. He reached up, catching one of Jiahao's hands where it gripped the sheets, and brought it to his lips. He studied the nails, painted a glossy black that caught the lamplight, and ran his thumb across the smooth surface.

"You painted these yourself?" he asked, his voice low, fascinated.

Jiahao nodded, his throat tight. "Yes. Yesterday. Before the festival."

Geonwoo hummed, his eyes darkening, and then he took Jiahao's index finger into his mouth, sucking the digit deep, his tongue swirling around the pad and the nail. The heat and wet suction made Jiahao gasp, his hips jerking up at nothing, the sensation somehow as intense as if Geonwoo had wrapped his mouth around his cock instead. Geonwoo worked his way down each finger, one by one, sucking the black polish, nipping at the knuckles, his eyes never leaving Jiahao's face.

"Pretty," Geonwoo mumbled against Jiahao's palm, pressing a kiss to the center. "My pretty hyung. Painted yourself up just for me."

Jiahao whimpered, his fingers trembling in Geonwoo's grip, his whole body oversensitive and burning. Geonwoo placed his hand back on the sheets, patting it gently, and then he was shifting, kneeling up between Jiahao's legs, bringing Jiahao's feet together, pressing the soles against his cock. The heat of it made Jiahao gasp—Geonwoo was burning up, slick already, precome smearing against Jiahao's arches.

"Hold them there," Geonwoo commanded, his voice rough, wrecked.

Jiahao pressed his feet together, making a tight channel, and Geonwoo started to move. He thrust forward, sliding his cock between Jiahao's soles, the friction wet and filthy, his head falling back with a groan that sounded torn from his chest.

"Fuck, hyung, your feet—" Geonwoo's hips snapped faster, his cock dragging against Jiahao's skin, using him, taking what he needed. "So soft. So fucking soft."

Jiahao watched, transfixed, as Geonwoo fucked his feet, the muscles of his abdomen contracting with every thrust, his cockhead peeking out from between Jiahao's arches, flushed and angry and beautiful. He could feel every vein, every pulse of Geonwoo's heartbeat against his soles, and it was making him dizzy, making him leak onto his own stomach without a single touch to his cock.

"Look at you," Geonwoo panted, his eyes opening, dark and blown. "Lying there taking it. Taking my cock on your pretty dancer's feet. You like that, hyung? Like being used like this?"

"Yes," Jiahao sobbed, his hands moving to his own cock, needing to touch, needing relief. "Yes, please, Geonwoo-yah, please—"

"Don't." Geonwoo's hand shot out, slapping Jiahao's wrist away. "Don't you dare touch yourself. This is for me. You're just going to lie there and take it while I cum all over your feet, and then you're going to stay like that, covered in me, while I decide what to do with you next."

Jiahao whined, but he dropped his hand, letting it fall back to the sheets, submitting completely. 

"Going to mark you," Geonwoo gritted out, his hips stuttering, his cock swelling between Jiahao's feet. "Going to cover you in it. So everyone knows. So you can't forget who you belong to."

"Please," Jiahao begged, tears streaming down his temples, his cock throbbing untouched, his whole body trembling with the effort of holding back. "Please cum on me, Geonwoo. Please, I need it, I need you—"

Geonwoo threw his head back, neck corded with strain, and came with a shout that echoed off the hotel walls. Hot stripes of cum splattered across Jiahao's feet, his ankles, dripping down onto the sheets, marking him in the most primitive way. Geonwoo's hips kept jerking, milking himself against Jiahao's soles, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his chest heaving.

He collapsed forward, catching himself on his hands, caging Jiahao beneath him. His hair was plastered to his forehead, sweat glistening on his collarbones, and he looked down at Jiahao with something that was equal parts satisfaction and renewed hunger.

"Look at you," Geonwoo whispered, reaching down to smear his come across Jiahao's skin, rubbing it in like lotion. "Covered in me. And you still haven't cum." He leaned down, licking the tears from Jiahao's cheek, tasting the salt. "Poor Hao. Wanting so badly. Should I let you? Or should I make you wait a little longer?"

Jiahao sobbed, arching up against him, feeling the mess between them, the stickiness of Geonwoo's release against his own untouched arousal. "Please," he choked out. "Please, Geonwoo, I'll do anything, I'll be so good, just please—"

Geonwoo smiled, sharp and predatory, and pressed his thigh between Jiahao's legs, applying just enough pressure to make Jiahao see stars.

"We'll see," he said, and started to move.

Geonwoo rocked his thigh forward, slow and deliberate, grinding the hard muscle against Jiahao's aching cock. The friction was too much and not enough, Jiahao's hips jerking up involuntarily to chase the pressure.

"Stay still," Geonwoo warned, his hand sliding up to grip Jiahao's jaw, thumb pressing against his lower lip until Jiahao opened his mouth, let the digit slide inside. "If you move, I'll stop. I'll leave you like this all night."

Jiahao whimpered around Geonwoo's thumb, sucking on it helplessly, his eyes rolling back as Geonwoo continued that slow, devastating rhythm with his thigh. The slide was wet now, Jiahao's precum smearing between them, making the friction slick and filthy. Geonwoo watched his face with predatory focus, cataloguing every flutter of eyelashes, every hitched breath, every time Jiahao's teeth grazed his skin.

"You're leaking so much," Geonwoo observed, his voice conversational, cruel. "Making a mess on my leg. Is this what you wanted? To hump against me like a desperate little thing?"

Jiahao nodded frantically, sucking harder on Geonwoo's thumb, his hands gripping the sheets to keep from reaching out, from grabbing, from taking. The restraint was burning him alive, every nerve ending screaming for more contact, more friction, anything to push him over the edge.

Geonwoo pulled his thumb free with a wet sound and leaned down, capturing Jiahao's mouth in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue, no softness left in him. He bit Jiahao's lower lip, hard enough to bruise, and then soothed the hurt with his tongue, over and over.

"Turn over," Geonwoo commanded against his mouth. "On your stomach. Ass up."

Jiahao moved, clumsy with desperation, scrambling to obey. He turned, pressing his face into the pillow, his knees sliding apart on the damp sheets, presenting himself without shame. He could feel Geonwoo’s gaze on him, tracing the curve of his spine, the spread of his thighs, his hole still wet and open from earlier, fluttering in the cool air.

Geonwoo’s hands found his hips, thumbs spreading him wider, and then there was heat, breath, and Geonwoo was there again, licking into him with renewed fervor. Jiahao screamed into the pillow, his back arching, his hands fisting the fabric above his head. Geonwoo wasn't teasing now—he was ravenous, his tongue fucking deep, curling to find the spot that made Jiahao's vision white out, his nose pressed against Jiahao's skin, his grip bruising.

"Please," Jiahao sobbed, his cock throbbing against his stomach, untouched, neglected. "Please, Geonwoo, I can't—I need—"

"You need what?" Geonwoo pulled back, his voice wrecked, his breath hot against Jiahao's rim. "Tell me exactly. Beg for it."

"Fuck me," Jiahao choked out, tears soaking into the pillowcase. "Please fuck me, Geonwoo-yah, I need your cock inside me, I need you to fill me, please, please—"

Geonwoo made a sound like a wounded animal and then he was gone, the heat of his body vanishing. Jiahao whined at the loss, his hips bucking back at empty air, but then he heard the tear of foil, the wet sound of lube, and his whole body went taut with anticipation.

The first press of Geonwoo's cock against his hole was electric. Jiahao gasped, his fingers clawing at the headboard, as Geonwoo pushed in, slow and relentless, not stopping until he was buried to the hilt. The stretch burned, perfect and overwhelming, Geonwoo's cock thick and pulsing inside him, filling him completely.

"Fuck," Geonwoo groaned, his forehead dropping to rest between Jiahao's shoulder blades, his hands gripping Jiahao's hips hard enough to leave fingerprints. "You're so tight. So fucking tight around me, hyung. Can you feel it? How perfectly you take me?"

Jiahao nodded, unable to speak, his body trembling around the intrusion. He could feel every inch, every vein, the heat of Geonwoo branding him from the inside. He pushed back experimentally, and they both moaned, the sound harmonizing in the quiet room.

Geonwoo started to move, pulling out almost completely before slamming back in, setting a brutal pace from the start. The bed creaked, the headboard knocking against the wall in a steady rhythm that matched the slap of skin against skin. Jiahao met every thrust, pushing back to take Geonwoo deeper, his prostate singing with every angle, every drag of Geonwoo's cock against that spot inside him.

After a few more thrusts, he flipped Jiahao onto his back, grabbed his legs, and pushed them up toward his chest, folding him in half. The angle was brutal, Jiahao's hole exposed and vulnerable, and Geonwoo sank back in with one smooth thrust that punched the air from Jiahao's lungs.

"F-fuck—" Jiahao tried to speak but Geonwoo was already moving, his hips snapping forward hard enough to rock the bedframe against the wall. 

"Words," Geonwoo taunted, leaning down to bite at Jiahao's jaw. "Use your words, hyung. Tell me how it feels."

"Good," Jiahao gasped, but the word dissolved into a moan as Geonwoo hit that spot inside him, that perfect angle that made his vision spark white. "So good, it's—oh god, right there, don't stop, please don't—"

Geonwoo didn't stop. He kept pounding, his cock dragging against Jiahao's prostate with every thrust, turning Jiahao's brain to static. Jiahao's hands flew to Geonwoo's shoulders, nails digging in, but Geonwoo grabbed his wrists, pinned them above his head with one hand, and used the other to deliver a sharp slap to Jiahao's thigh.

"Hands up," he commanded, and then he was kissing him, messy and deep, swallowing Jiahao's whimpers while his hips never slowed.

Jiahao lost track of time. The room narrowed to the point where they connected, to the stretch and burn and perfect friction. He was babbling, he knew he was babbling, but he couldn't stop, couldn't make the words form into anything coherent.

"Please, I—Geonwoo, it's too—your cock, it's splitting me, I'm gonna—no, wait, we forgot the—" He didn't know what he was saying anymore, his tongue heavy and useless in his mouth. "Fuck, ngh, you're so, no, I’m, I’m so full—"

Geonwoo laughed against his neck, breathless, feral. "You're gone, aren't you? Completely fucked stupid. Can't even talk anymore."

Jiahao nodded frantically, tears streaming down his temples, his mouth opening and closing on sounds that weren't words, just noises, desperate animal noises. Geonwoo spanked him again, hard, the crack of palm against flesh echoing, and Jiahao's back arched, his hole clamping down tight around Geonwoo's cock.

"That's it," Geonwoo growled. "Moan for me. Like a dumb bitch. Let me hear how stupid I've fucked you."

Jiahao obliged, the sounds tearing out of him high and broken, shameless. He couldn't stop, each thrust driving another moan from his throat, another gasp, another whine. He sounded wrecked, used, completely undone.

Geonwoo slowed just enough to adjust his grip, his free hand sliding up to pinch Jiahao's nipple, rolling it between his fingers, tugging hard until Jiahao was sobbing with the sensation, until his chest was flushed red and his nipples were peaked and sensitive.

"Pretty tits," Geonwoo murmured, leaning down to suck one into his mouth, his tongue flickering against the bud while his cock kept moving, shallow thrusts that kept Jiahao on the edge without pushing him over. "So sensitive. You like that? Like me playing with you while you're too stupid to think?"

"Uh-huh," Jiahao managed, the sound barely human. "Ah, ngh, please, more, Geonwoo, I—"

Geonwoo pulled off his nipple with a wet sound and brought his hand to Jiahao's mouth, pressing two fingers against his lips. "Suck."

Jiahao opened immediately, letting Geonwoo push his fingers inside, sucking on them with desperate enthusiasm, his tongue swirling around the digits, his eyes rolling back. He could taste salt, could feel the rough texture of Geonwoo's skin against his tongue, and he sucked harder, moaning around the intrusion.

"Good boy," Geonwoo praised, his hips snapping forward again, harder, deeper. "Such a good dumb boy. Taking my cock so well. Taking my fingers. You'd take anything I gave you right now, wouldn't you?"

Jiahao nodded, sucking harder, his hips jerking up to meet Geonwoo's thrusts, his whole body trembling with the need to cum. But Geonwoo wasn't letting him, was keeping him right on the edge with every angle, every drag of his cock against that spot inside him.

Geonwoo pulled his fingers free with a pop and leaned down, capturing Jiahao's mouth in a sloppy kiss, sharing the taste. He spanked him again, then again, the rhythm matching his thrusts, and Jiahao was making sounds he'd never heard himself make.

"Going to make you squirt," Geonwoo whispered against his lips, his hand sliding between them to wrap around Jiahao's cock, his thumb pressing against the slit. "Going to fuck you until you can't help it. Until you make a mess all over yourself. Want that? Want to be my messy little slut?"

"Yes," Jiahao sobbed, the word clear for once, desperate. "Yes, please, make me, I need it, please—"

Geonwoo adjusted his angle, aiming directly for Jiahao's prostate, and started pounding in earnest, his free hand working Jiahao's cock in tight, twisting strokes. The dual sensation was too much, overwhelming, Jiahao's head thrashing against the pillow, his hands still pinned above him, his body completely at Geonwoo's mercy.

"Come on," Geonwoo urged, his voice ragged, his own control fraying at the edges. "Let go. Be a good dumb bitch and squirt for me. Now."

Jiahao screamed, his back bowing off the mattress, and then he was cumming, but it wasn't just cum—it was wet, messy, shooting out of him in thick pulses that splattered across his stomach, his chest, Geonwoo's hand. He kept cumming, kept gushing, his body shaking violently, his hole clamping down so tight around Geonwoo’s cock that the friction bordered on pain.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck—" Geonwoo groaned, watching Jiahao fall apart, watching him make a mess of himself, and then he was cumming too, burying himself deep and spilling inside, his hips jerking with aftershocks.

Jiahao was still babbling, incoherent, tears streaming down his face, his body twitching with oversensitivity. Geonwoo didn't pull out immediately, stayed inside him, connected, his mouth pressing lazy kisses to Jiahao's cheek, his hands stroking soothing lines down Jiahao's sides.

"Shh," Geonwoo murmured, pressing kisses to Jiahao's sweaty forehead, his eyelids, the corners of his mouth. "I've got you. You're okay. You did so good."

Jiahao whimpered, nuzzling into Geonwoo's neck, his body still trembling, his mind blissfully blank. He tried to speak but only managed a garbled sound, his tongue too heavy to form words.

"Love you," Geonwoo mumbled, his voice muffled against Jiahao's neck. "Love you so fucking much, hyung."

Jiahao turned his head, cheek against the pillow, and reached back blindly to find Geonwoo's hand, threading their fingers together. "Love you," he whispered, his voice wrecked, his body thrumming with satisfaction. "Missed you. So much."

Geonwoo finally pulled out, dealing with the condom with clumsy hands, and then he was gathering Jiahao in his arms, pulling him close, tangling their legs together. Jiahao buried his face in Geonwoo's neck, breathing in the scent of him and felt the last of the tension drain from his bones.

"Stay," Geonwoo murmured, his hand carding through Jiahao's hair, gentle now, reverent. "Don't leave. Not yet."

"ʼm not going anywhere," Jiahao promised, pressing closer, letting his eyes fall closed.

Geonwoo laughed, soft and satisfied, his arms tightening around Jiahao's waist. "Good. That's exactly where I want you. Just be quiet now. Let me take care of you."

Jiahao nodded, or tried to, and let himself drift, safe in Geonwoo's arms, completely ruined.

The morning light crept through the curtains in thin gold stripes, falling across the wrecked sheets and the tangle of limbs. Jiahao was face-down in the pillow, his body a map of bruises and marks that bloomed purple and red across his skin. Geonwoo was plastered against his back, one arm thrown over Jiahao's waist, his face buried in the nape of Jiahao's neck, breathing slow and even.

The phone vibrated on the nightstand, skittering against the wood like an insect. Once. Twice. Three times.

Jiahao groaned, the sound muffled, and tried to swat at it without opening his eyes. His hand flailed, knocked over an empty water glass, and finally closed around the device. He squinted at the screen, the brightness making him wince, and accepted the call.

"Hello?" His voice was wrecked, throat raw from last night.

"Hao-ge?" Anxin's voice was too loud, too cheerful, drilling into Jiahao's skull. "Where are you? Breakfast is ready and Sanghyeon's asking questions. I told him you went for an early jog but he's getting suspicious. You need to get back, like, now."

"Yes, yes," Jiahao mumbled, sitting up, the sheet pooling at his waist. "Okay. I'll be back in an hour."

He ended the call and sat there for a moment, staring blankly at the wall, his brain slowly booting up. The bed shifted behind him, and then Geonwoo's arms were wrapping around his naked waist, pulling him back against a warm chest, a morning-hard cock pressing against the small of his back.

"Don't go," Geonwoo mumbled, his mouth finding Jiahao's spine, pressing lazy kisses down each vertebra. "Stay. Five more minutes."

"I need to get back," Jiahao said, but he was leaning back into the touch, his head falling to the side to give Geonwoo more access to his neck. "Anxin's covering for me but Sanghyeon's already suspicious."

Geonwoo made a displeased noise, his teeth grazing Jiahao's shoulder, his hands sliding up to cup Jiahao's chest, thumbs brushing over sensitive nipples. "Tell them you're sick. Tell them you're dying. Tell them anything."

"I can't—" Jiahao started, but then he paused, his phone still clutched in his hand. He swiped it open, navigating to his messages, scrolling through the notifications from last night. Geonwoo's name appeared multiple times, but he kept scrolling, looking for the specific one, the warning about the doorbell.

It wasn't there.

He scrolled again, slower this time, checking the timestamps. The last message from Geonwoo before he arrived was the one with the room number.

Jiahao turned his head, looking over his shoulder at Geonwoo, who had his eyes closed, face buried in Jiahao's back, looking smug and half-asleep. "Didn't you say you texted me? Told me not to ring the bell?"

"Mm?" Geonwoo made a noncommittal sound, his hands tightening around Jiahao's waist.

Jiahao twisted around fully, shoving at Geonwoo's shoulder with his free hand. "You said you sent me a message. Told me not to ring the doorbell. I checked—there's nothing there."

Geonwoo opened one eye, then the other, and the corner of his mouth twitched upward in a smile that was pure mischief, pure evil. "Hehe," he said, his voice still rough with sleep. "I was just joking."

Jiahao stared at him, processing.

"You—" Jiahao started, his voice climbing in pitch. "You lied? You threw my bag across the room because of a fake text? You tied me up? You—"

"I wanted to see your face when you thought you'd fucked up," Geonwoo admitted, unrepentant, his smile widening into a full grin. "Wanted you desperate. Apologetic. Wanted an excuse to punish you." He reached up, tracing the bruise he'd left on Jiahao's jaw the night before. "Worth it. You were perfect. So scared. So sorry."

Jiahao felt the heat rising in his chest, a mix of indignation and arousal, the memory of last night flashing through his mind—the fear, the submission, the way he'd completely fallen apart. He'd been manipulated. Played. And some dark, traitorous part of him loved it.

"You asshole," he breathed.

Geonwoo laughed, bright and delighted. "Your asshole, technically."

Jiahao moved. He twisted in Geonwoo's grip, using his weight to shove Geonwoo back onto the mattress, climbing on top of him, his knees bracketing Geonwoo's hips. Geonwoo went easily, his hands flying up to steady Jiahao's waist, his eyes wide with surprise and amusement.

"You think that's funny?" Jiahao demanded, grabbing Geonwoo's wrists and pinning them above his head, mimicking the position from last night but reversing their roles. "You think it's funny to trick me? To make me think I messed up?"

Geonwoo was still grinning, his morning wood pressing up against Jiahao's thigh, completely unbothered by the aggression. "I think it's funny that you fell for it. That you were so eager to be good for me that you didn't even check." He bucked his hips up, grinding against Jiahao. "I think it's funny that you loved it. That you're hard right now just thinking about it."

Jiahao looked down at himself, realized Geonwoo was right, and felt his face flush darker. He tightened his grip on Geonwoo's wrists and leaned down, his nose brushing Geonwoo's, his voice dropping to a threatening whisper. "You're going to pay for that."

"Make me," Geonwoo challenged, his eyes sparkling.

Jiahao kissed him, hard and messy, all teeth and tongue, grinding down with his full weight. They'd have to shower thoroughly. He'd be even later getting back to the dorm. Sanghyeon would definitely know something was up.

He didn't care.

Geonwoo's arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer, and Jiahao decided that an hour could stretch into two. Maybe three. After all, he had a debt to collect.