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Déshabiller

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Déshabiller (French)

    / ,dεza’biːje/
    (v.) To undress.

 


“You’re younger than I expected.”

“Careful,” Hongjoong warns past the pins between his teeth. He carefully smoothes out a roll of double weave China silk, only taking his hands off of it after mentally marking his next step. He adjusts the pincushion on his wrists, pulls the pins from between his lips one by one, before finally turning.

“Sorry, it was meant to come out with a bit more awe.” The model meets Hongjoong’s gaze with a grimace, picking at the sleeves of his jacket. He’s tall, slender, and Hongjoong can already imagine him in the crisp lines of one of his suits. His fingers itch to reach for the navy double wool crepe suiting on his shelf, as his eyes flick over the sharp lines of the models face and blue black shine of his hair. He would look devastating. Instead he reaches for his measuring tape. “You just don’t see many designers with a reputation like yours at our age.”

“It’s nothing special.” The words come out easily, as he picks up his journal from the table. He looks away from the model, flipping through the pages, until he comes to the one with the days date carefully penned into the corner. He eyes the name written underneath the date and the empty spaces for his measurements. “I was lucky. A good internship will do that.”

“Park Seonghwa-ssi,” he reads, pushes his glasses further up his nose, finally looks back up. He cocks his head, considering, before pointing at the stool in the middle of the floor. “If you don’t mind.”

“Please, call me Seonghwa,” he smiles and it softens his face, makes him look younger. He steps up onto the stool without any complaints and puts his feet together. “A good internship doesn’t mean anything if your work isn’t good. You shouldn’t sell yourself short. Is this good?”

“It’s perfect,” Hongjoong answers, feeling a smile tug at the corner of his lips. It’s not often that he isn’t dealing with troubling models questioning him for everything he does or managers telling him they’re on a deadline. He sets his book off to the side and measures him from hip to knee. “If you’re going to make me call you Seonghwa, then you should call me Hongjoong.”

Hongjoong scrawls the measurements into his notebook, before tapping his fingers against the inside of Seonghwa’s knee. He shifts his feet apart, far enough that he can measure his inseam.

“Do you measure every model personally? Wouldn’t it have been easier to have my label send you my measurements?” Where other models would have made it sound like an inconvenience, Seonghwa sounds genuinely curious.

“Yeah, I don’t trust them to send me the right measurements.” Hongjoong scoffs as he lifts Seonghwa’s shirt enough to wrap the tape around his waist. His lips twist, the words coming out far more bitter than he meant for them to be.

“That sounds like there’s a story there,” Seonghwa’s voice is soft. Hongjoong is silent, slowly noting the measurements. It’s an offering and he doesn’t know what to make of it. Most models, they’d rather talk about themselves or not at all, but here Seonghwa is trying to lead Hongjoong into conversation about himself.

“You can come down,” he says, sliding his pencil behind his ear and setting his notebook down again. He collects the tape, waits for Seonghwa to step down to the floor, before measuring his arms. “I can work with measurements being too big, but when a label sends me measurements that are too small, there’s nothing I can do about that.”

“You’d think they’d realize that fudging with measurements isn’t going to give their model any benefits. Is she going to look better in a blouse that fits, or something that’s too tight?” He scowls at the memory as he measures the width of Seonghwa’s chest. “It was such a waste of a stunning red silk duchesse satin.”

Dropping the tape on the table, he writes down the last measurement, before setting the book off at the end of his workspace. He looks back to Seonghwa, who’s smiling and shifting his weight from foot to foot. “That sounds like a horrible time. I don’t know what duchesse satin is, but it sounds like a good reason to do your own measurements.”

“It is. I don’t mind it though, it gives me a chance to meet everyone before the first fitting.” Hongjoong shrugs, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. He feels off center, having just rambled to a complete stranger over something that happened a year ago. “That’s all I needed for today.”

“Right, that was quick.” Seonghwa laughs, his hand rubbing at the side of his neck. “How many fittings do you think we’ll need to do?”

“Already ready for it to be over?” Hongjoong teases, delighting in the way Seonghwa’s eyes go wide.

He’s immediately waving his hands in front of him, “No, no, not at all! I just haven’t done this a whole lot, so I’m still figuring it all out.”

“It’s alright, I’m just messing with you. It should be two fittings, maybe three if I’m not sure of something.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Seonghwa sags in relief, smile finding its way back onto his face. He takes a step backwards towards the door. “I’ll see you for the fitting then.”

“Yeah, I’ll book it through your label.”

“I can’t wait. It was nice meeting you, Hongjoong.” Seonghwa finally turns around and whisks out the door. He waves over his shoulder, “Enjoy the rest of your day, I’ll see you soon.”

“Right,” Hongjoong says, eyes on the door as it closes behind him.

  


“It’s one in the morning, Hongjoong.” The reprimand doesn’t surprise him when the door to his studio is thrown open. Yunho sighs, probably taking in the state of the room and how he’s got all his dark fabrics laid out. He listens to him rummage around behind him, but doesn’t turn, fully focused on the paper in front of him. “Have you eaten today at least?”

“There was a model,” Hongjoong offers instead of answering. He lifts his pencil from the paper, only long enough to point to the other end of the table.

“There’s always a model.” He can hear Yunho walk across the studio and doesn’t look up to see him pick up his journal. Instead, he listens to him flip through the pages, before coming to a stop. He didn’t make it hard to find, having circled the name in the top corner with pen. “Park Seonghwa?”

“He’s going to be my finale.”

“You liked him?” Yunho sets his journal back down, before coming to stand beside him. Hand on the back of his chair, he leans over to look down at the current start of Hongjoong’s sketch.

“Hmm,” he hums back, setting his pencil down to reach for the set of watercolour pencils. He pulls out his darkest blue and quickly shades in where he needs. He reaches for his brush next, dips it in the glass of water, before sweeping it over the splash of colour. The brush travels easily over the thick paper, following the lines of his sketch and highlighting the curve of a waist.

“You don’t like models,” the words come out distracted.

“He was different,” Hongjong states. His lifts his brush from the paper, hand falling still. He looks up, eyes on the window in front of him and meets his own gaze through the reflection. He blinks slowly, before flicking his eyes across the glass to catch sight of Yunho. There’s a smile tugging at his lips and Hongjoong wonders just how much he gave away.

 


A knock on the door pulls Hongjoong out from behind the changing screen where he’s busy collecting the pieces of a pale lavender printed suit. He sorts the hangers as he hurries across the studio to unlock and open the door. “Sorry, didn’t realize I locked it. Come in.”

“No, it’s my fault. I’m early. Traffic was light this morning,” Seonghwa explains as he pushes through the doorway. He smiles, despite the early hour and watches as Hongjoong rushes to hang up the pieces in his hands. ”Busy morning?”

“Not really, I just finished another fitting and got carried away making notes. I had an idea and forgot to clean up.” Hongjoong walks over to the table by the door and picks up the coffee he’d set there earlier. He takes a drink, grimacing at the bitterness of it, before looking Seonghwa up and down.

“I have two pieces that you’ll be wearing for the show. One is early in the lineup and the second one will be the last piece.” Hongjoong states over the edge of his cup. He takes another drink, hiding the nervous twist of his mouth behind the gesture. He watches Seonghwa nod along, before he freezes, eyebrows drawing down.

“You want me to wear the final piece in the show?”

“Yeah,” He shrugs, sets down his cup and walks over to the hanger.

“Are you sure?” Seonghwa’s voice raises in pitch on the last word and Hongjoong is glad he has his back turned to him. He nods, plucking two of the garment bags off of the rack and double checks that they’re the right ones.

“Pretty sure.”

“Hongjoong, that’s, are you really sure? There’s models with way more experience than me.”

“Experience doesn’t matter,” Hongjoong finally turns around, keeping his face as blank as he can. Seonghwa’s staring at him, eyes wide and mouth dropped open the tiniest bit.

“It does matter! This is your debut show as a solo designer. This is your line.” Seonghwa gestures around the room with his hands, and Hongjoong can see he’s moments away from telling him what a terrible idea this is.

“It’s alright,” Hongjoong offers, keeping his voice low. It’s enough to stop Seonghwa in his tracks, and Hongjoong takes the moment of silence to hang the garment bags on the changing screen. He ventures back to the table, digs out his sketchbook and flips through the pages. “This isn’t some irrational decision. I thought about it.”

He doesn’t admit that he only spent a few hours making the decision, but it seems to be enough to have Seonghwa shuffling over to his side.

“Are you sure you don’t want someone with more experience to close out your show?" 

“Completely sure. Here, look.” Hongjoong spreads out the sketches he made the night after Seonghwa came in to get his measurements done. The page is covered in sketches, but two of them are painted. One a pale grey with lavender highlights and the other a dark navy blue.

“Oh,” Seonghwa leans forward and Hongjoong looks up from the sketchbook. He catches the way Seonghwa goes to reach out, before drawing his hand back to himself, attention fully on the page laid out in front of him. There’s awe there and it has his stomach twisting, because the sketches were for him.

“These are amazing. Are they the pieces?” Seonghwa finally looks up and Hongjoong drops his gaze back to the sketches quickly.

“Yeah. I changed what I was going to do last minute, because I knew that I wanted to do these two instead. I would like you to wear them, but if it makes you uncomfortable, I can move something around.” Hongjoong’s lips twist down into a frown at the thought, but he doesn’t want Seonghwa to feel forced into wearing the final piece in the collection.

“You’ve really thought about this?” It comes out soft, and from the corner of his eye, he can see the way Seonghwa drops his gaze back to the paper.

“I have.”

“You’re really something,” Seonghwa laughs and it fills the room. He throws his head back, staring at the ceiling and Hongjoong looks back to him. He can see the way Seonghwa swallows, eyes closed and lips pinched into a frown. Hongjoong waits in silence, until Seonghwa finally gathers himself and meets his gaze. “If it’s something you’re serious about, I’ll do it.”

He can’t help the smile that spreads over his face at the words, relief fluttering in his chest. “Good, because I wasn’t looking forward to resizing them.”

Seonghwa turns to face where he’d hung the garment bags, fingers curling around his wrist. “Those are them?”

“Yeah, ready to try them on?” Hongjoong asks, stepping over to unzip the bags. He rehangs one of them, listens to the way Seonghwa draws in a sharp breath behind him. They’re not finished, but it’s easy to see how they’ll look when they’re done. He looks back at Seonghwa, catches the tail end of a nod and holds out one of the hangers. “This one first.”

Seonghwa doesn’t move behind the changing screen, just drops his jacket on a chair and starts deftly undoing the buttons of his shirt. There’s no embarrassment on his face as he strips down to his boxers, reaching out to take the first shirt Hongjoong is holding out to him. It’s not unusual, not in their industry at least.

“I still need to make alterations to the shirt, but they’ll be done by the next fitting.” Hongjoong explains, passing over the pants. Seonghwa nods, pulls on the clothing carefully, before shrugging into the jacket Hongjoong offers next.

“Is it weird that I can’t wait to see how it looks finished?” Seonghwa asks, shuffling his feet when he finally has everything on and done up.

Hongjoong smiles, before stepping forward to tug at the hem of the jacket. He moves to the sleeves, reaching for the pincushion at his wrist and pulling a few pins free. He starts pinning the sleeve back, just a bit, before he finally answers. “I don’t think it’s weird. Flattering, but not weird.”

“It was a last minute design switch, but it felt right.” He shrugs as he finishes with the sleeves. He circles around Seonghwa, but nothing else looks like it needs adjusting. With a satisfied hum, he drops down to his knees, fingers tugging at the hems of the pants. For what he wants, he needs them shorter. “Usually my roommate would have run me up the wall about making things harder for myself with changing everything, but I guess even he could tell that it was something I needed to do.”

Seonghwa watches him, hair falling into his face as he drops his chin to his chest to look down. “Then I’ll happily admit that I can’t wait to see what the entire collection looks like day of the show.”

“You and me, both.” Shooting a smile up at him, Hongjoong finishes with the pant legs, before pushing himself back up to his feet. “Can you walk around for me?"

“Sure, just tell me when to stop,” Seonghwa says after a moment, giving his head a quick shake. He walks across the length of the studio, before circling back and walking down to the other end. He continues around the room, walking at an even pace so that Hongjoong can study the way the fabric bunches gently around his thighs on each step, and pulls across his shoulders.

“You can stop.” He offers after Seonghwa’s third walk around the studio.

“I’m going to need you to pull your shoulders forward for a moment,” Hongjoong is already pulling pins free as he goes to stand behind him. He pins the centre line, up near the collar, before tracing his fingers down the line of Seonghwa’s back. He pinches the jacket down at the small of his back, pins it, before tapping him on the shoulder. “You’re good, you can take it off now." 

“Oh, yeah, okay.” Seonghwa looks at him over his shoulder with a nod, before he takes off the jacket.

He passes the garment over with careful fingers, before taking off the pants slowly. He’s weary of the pins, as he hands it over as well.

“Wait,” Hongjoong jerks to attention the minute Seonghwa goes to start unbuttoning the shirt. He goes still and Hongjoong quickly hangs everything up, before stepping in behind him again. “I forgot about the shirt adjustments.”

“Sorry, I’ll do this quick,” he apologizes as he starts pinching the shirt up at his shoulders. Seonghwa nods, tugging at the bottom of the shirt to pull it down. “Is it too cold?”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Seonghwa’s response is quick.

“Let me know if it gets too cold. I can turn the heat up. I’ll try to be fast,” Hongjoong assures as he pins the shirt where he’s decided he’ll be making the alterations. He smooths his hand down Seonghwa’s back, holds the hem of the shirt and goes over how he’s going to want it to look. He drops it, reaches up to Seonghwa’s other shoulder and darts it as well. He works quickly, creating the guides, making sure they’re exactly what he wants, before he steps back.

He knows that he’ll have the shirt finished that night.

“Alright, let’s get you into the next suit,” he says finally, and watches the way Seonghwa shuffles closer to the changing screen.

Hongjoong grabs the second suit, trades the shirt Seonghwa was wearing for a black silk one and tries not to watch him change out. Something coils nervously in his stomach as Seonghwa quickly buttons the shirt up, skin disappearing beneath the dark fabric.

“They’re not even finished and you can tell how incredible they are,” Seonghwa breaks the growing silence. His voice is soft as he carefully slips into the pair of dark wool slacks. 

Hongjoong jerkily nods his head, before passing over the jacket. He loses his breath when Seonghwa straightens, smoothing out the lines of the suit with his hands. It’s everything that Hongjoong expected it to be, if not more. He can see where he needs to bring it in still, but he can also see how it will look finished and he itches to get back to sewing.

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa falls still, eyes on the mirror next to the changing screen. After a moment, he finally turns to look at Hongjoong, expression pinched into something tight. Hongjoong doesn’t know what to expect, until Seonghwa’s face breaks into a smile, his eyes crinkling. “I really get to model these?”

“That was my hope.”

“Alright, because I know I was hesitant at first, but I’m not anymore.” He looks back to the mirror and Hongjoong chokes on a laugh. “Even if you changed your mind, I’m still doing it.”

“I’m glad.” Hongjoong finally steps forward. Pinning this suit is much slower than the other one, if only because he can’t stop his hands from trembling, just a bit. Seonghwa doesn’t seem to mind, eyes darting between the mirror and him, watching him work.

When he finally finishes and they have both the suits hung up, Seonghwa’s smile still hasn’t faded.

“I have to go,” Seonghwa huffs when he pulls his phone out of his jacket pocket. He stares balefully down at the screen, before looking back at Hongjoong. “So next fitting?”

“Yeah, just one more I think. I’ll get in contact about the time.”

“I can’t wait. I’ll see you next time,” he’s out the door before Hongjoong can work up a proper response. He watches it fall closed, before turning back to the suits and taking them down. He brings them to his table, settling in for what he knows is going to be a late, but productive night.

  


“I am not changing the cut of the suit just because you think it’s unflattering.” Hongjoong hisses through his teeth when he hears the door to his studio open. His shoulders ache with how tense he is and he knows if Yunho was here, he wouldn’t hear the end of how he should unclench his jaw.

“I wasn’t going to suggest that. You know better than me after all.” 

Hongjoong jerks around in his chair, grimacing as soon as he sees Seonghwa standing in the doorway. He’s got an eyebrow raised and a smile pulling at the corner of his lips, but he doesn’t look offended. 

“Sorry, I thought you were someone else. It’s been a rough morning,” he apologizes, running a hand through his hair.

“It’s alright, I didn’t take it personally.” Seonghwa shrugs, standing in the doorway.

“You can come in,” Hongjoong waves him over, but Seonghwa just smiles and holds up two cups from where he’s standing.

“I would, but I don’t want to bring coffee into your studio without permission.” 

“Oh fuck, I think you might actually be an angel.” He groans and waves Seonghwa in. He takes the coffee gratefully when Seonghwa hands it too him and cradles it. The heat settles into his hands and he realizes for the first time how sore they are from how he’s been working. “Thank you, this is really nice.”

“It’s nothing,” Seonghwa smiles, sitting down in the empty chair beside him. Hongjoong sips at the coffee, making a low please hum in the back of his throat at the taste of caffeine. “It’s not too sweet is it?”

“No, this is really good.” Hongjoong murmurs around another drink, his shoulders sagging. “You have no idea how much I needed this.”

Seonghwa laughs and Hongjoong watches the way his face scrunches up, feels something flutter low in his stomach. “I’m glad you like it. I wasn’t sure what you drink, but whatever you were drinking last time didn’t seem like something you enjoyed.”

“This is so much better,” Hongjoong nods, leaning back in his chair.

“That’s good,” Taking a drink from his own coffee, Seonghwa smiles down at his cup. Hongjoong finds that he doesn’t mind the silence that falls over the studio, it’s not uncomfortable like he would have expected it to be. Instead he finds himself relaxing for the first time since his first appointment.

“They’re done,” Hongjoong says offhandedly, taking another drink to hide his sudden nerves at the words. Seonghwa freezes, cup resting against his thigh as he stares at Hongjoong with wide eyes.

“They’re done?”

“Yeah,” he nods, gesturing to where he has two garment bags hung up, separate from everything else. They’re the only two fully finished pieces amongst the collection, have been done for days in reality. Everything else is nearing the end, but those two, he knows he’s spent longer and worked harder on them than he has any piece in his career. He’s proud of them and he hopes that Seonghwa likes them, because his opinion matters.

It shouldn’t, because he’s just a model, but Hongjoong’s not stupid enough to say that he isn’t utterly charmed by him.

“Can I try them on?” Seonghwa asks and Hongjoong laughs at the awe so evident in his voice. 

“That’s why you’re here. I’ll take your coffee,” he reaches out and takes the cup from Seonghwa’s slack grip. As soon as he has the cup in his hand, Seonghwa pats his hand gently, before pushing up from the chair and venturing over to where he has the suits hung up. He watches him unzip the first bag and his gasp is worth the hours of sewing he put into them.

“Oh Hongjoong,” Seonghwa’s voice is quiet, but it fills the room.

Hongjoong grins, sets the coffees down on the table and gets up to help him sort through the layers.

  


First looks are always an interesting event, Hongjoong finds. He’s seen what his suits look like on the models during the fittings, but it’s different, having someone else in the room with them to study the lineup as the models file in one by one. Yeosang’s perched on the edge of a chair, a book in his lap.

He flips through the pages, studying the photos of the suits, the shoes, the accessories, everything that will hopefully come together the way Hongjoong wants it for the final show.

“He’s your finale, right?” Yeosang asks, flipping to the next page in the book. Hongjoong glances over, catches sight of a dove grey suit on the pages and nods.

“Yup.”

“Wooyoung says he’s good. We can put a request in for him for the next show if he does well.”

Hongjoong nods, not telling Yeosang that he’s already come to the decision to request Seonghwa. The conversation drops when the door creaks open and they both turn towards it.

When Seonghwa steps forward, Hongjoong is not afraid to say that he is wearing some of his best work. The pale dove grey wool of the suit is soft, a drastic counterpoint to the dark tones of the pieces that will be near the end of the show.

He’s up immediately, getting Seonghwa to lift his arms so he can check the fall of the jacket over the white dress shirt. He tugs it down, eyes the deep neckline and the shorter hem. The cut pulls in enough to highlight his waist, before flaring at his hips to draw the eyes down. The pants are nothing daring, outside of a shorter length to accommodate the heavy black combat boots.

“Alright, walk for me.” Hongjoong says, stepping back. From the front, everything looks good. The stylists had listened to him when he said he wanted this look soft and they’d pulled Seonghwa’s bangs down over his forehead. They’ve got him in blue contacts, nothing but a pale glossy lip colour and a handful of rings on his slender fingers. It’s perfect, but perfect doesn’t matter if the suit doesn’t work.

Seonghwa lips twitch up for a moment, before he sets his face back into a neutral expression and he walks forward.

Taking another step back, Hongjoong bites at his lip, keeps his eyes trained on Seonghwa and waits.

He walks forward without hesitation, shoulders relaxed and gait precise, despite the heavy weight of his boots. It’s practiced, but Seonghwa makes it look natural and every hunch that Hongjoong had about him being perfect for the finale is confirmed. The minute Seonghwa walks past him though, he focuses on his back.

The suit is meant to highlight the line of his shoulders and it does just that, but that’s not the part Hongjoong’s eyes fall to. Seonghwa swings his arms gently as he walks and it pulls at the back of the jacket. On each pull, the fabric drags apart, from the bottom of the collar all the way down to the small of his back. 

It could have gone badly, the cutaway in the back of the jacket. Instead it’s just enough that on each step, the fabric pulls apart to hint at the back of the shirt Hongjoong had altered. The lavender coloured lace peaks in and out teasingly, and Hongjoong’s fingers twitch at the thought of sliding his hand through the slit and tracing his fingers up the line of Seonghwa’s spine.

The moment breaks when Seonghwa turns around, a large smile on his face. “How is it?”

“Good, it looks good.” Hongjoong swallows, throat clicking. “You can go put on the next piece. Can you send out Hyungwon next?”

“Sure,” Seonghwa beams, before walking back across the room and out the door.

“Really?” Hongjoong turns to look at Yeosang who’s watching him with an eyebrow raised.

“What?”

“Don’t what me. We both saw that.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Right, so I can tell Wooyoungie that he’s free to invite that model he’s been eyeing up back to our place for drinks with San tonight.” Yeosang shrugs, going back to thumbing through the run of show list to pull up the next model sheet. 

“I hate you,” Hongjoong says, shoulders slumping.

“You can hate me after the show.” With a hum of noise, Yeosang looks back up, a small smile on his face.

“I like that you put Hyungwon in a lavender print to follow up that last one. It’ll look good during the show,” Yeosang taps his finger against the photo of the suit in the book. He looks past Hongjoong, towards the door. “It’s mutual, you know. He was watching you just as much as you were him.”

Hongjoong doesn’t say anything in return, just folds his arms across his chest and waits for the next model to step into the room.

  


The apartment is quiet when Hongjoong finally stumbles through the door at ten. He kicks off his shoes, locks the door behind him and turns on the lights as he makes his way to the kitchen. There’s a note waiting for him on the counter.

 

'Went to Mingi and Jongho’s.

Will be back in the morning with breakfast.

Congrats on surviving your final night before the show!

Dinners in the fridge, so you better eat.’

 

Yunho’s messy scrawl brings a smile to his face as he pulls open the fridge. Sure enough, there’s a wrapped bowl of curry in there that he quickly throws in the microwave. He takes the time waiting to just enjoy not doing anything. He spreads his hands open against the counter and doesn’t feel the itch to go back to his studio.

Everything is done, right up until something goes wrong tomorrow, but for now, it’s finished.

There’s not a single piece of fabric left to stitch or clothes to hang. It’s the calm before the storm of the show.

The microwave beeps and he jerks back to attention. He grabs the bowl and eats it standing at the counter. It’s only just pushing eleven and there’s nothing he needs to do immediately.

He eats slowly, before he takes the time to wash the dishes and sets them out to dry. It’s nice, not pushing himself into the early hours of the morning for once. He wouldn’t trade what he does for the world, but having a moment of peace when it’s been weeks of rushing around has him more relaxed than he’s been in ages. Even with the show looming over his head, he can’t bring himself to be worried. He’s done all he can and for now, it’s out of his hands.

With that in mind, he heads for the shower. He turns the water hot, slides in under the spray and doesn’t think. Just relishes in the way the heat sinks into his muscles, eases the aches in his shoulders and hands. He washes, takes his time, and only slips out when his skin starts to turn pink.

He dries himself off, hangs the wet towel up, before digging around in the closet for a new one. The trek to his room is quick and he kicks the door closed behind him. It’s dark, but he knows the room well and finding the lamp on the nightstand is easy. The soft glow fills the room, and he throws the clean towel down across his bed.

Pulling open the nightstand drawer, he rummages around until he finds the bottle of lube he keeps there. As soon as it’s in his hands, he crawls up onto the bed, resting on his knees over the towel. He cocks his head, before popping the cap on the lube and squeezing a liberal amount onto his fingers.

He warms it in his hand as he sets the bottle down on the nightstand and settles in. With his clean hand, he reaches out for the headboard to keep himself steady. He spreads his knees apart, before dropping a lube coated hand down behind him. The first finger is an easy slide, but it’s still an adjustment. It’s been months since he last did this, ages since he last jerked off and he feels stiff. He shifts his hips, tightens his grip on the headboard, before drawing the digit free and pushing it back in.

He does it a few more times, before taking a breath and pressing a second finger in alongside it. He closes his eyes, let’s his head fall back and sinks them in as far as he can, moving them carefully. The sting doesn’t start until after he’s worked up a rhythm and scissors his fingers. It’s not enough, not yet, but Hongjoong can’t help but appreciate the pleasant burn in the base of his spine.

The slick sound of him working his own two fingers into himself fills the room and momentarily he wishes he had turned on his speakers to drown it out.

He starts up a rhythm, riding his own fingers with his back curved to make the reach easier. The moment it stops stinging, he adds the pressure of a third finger, sinks the three digits in slowly with a low groan. His fingers flex against the headboard, keeping him from falling back with how his legs are trembling.

Hongjoong bites down on his lip and breathes carefully, waits until he thinks he can move again.

The first thrust of his fingers has his toes curling, the ache of being full, something he hasn’t had in a while. He gives a quiet moan as he curls his fingers, working them out at a steady pace, before pushing them back in. His cock twitches and he huffs, the twist of his fingers riding the edge of not enough.

It doesn’t matter how far he tries to slide them in, he can never reach where he wants and it makes frustration bubble in the pit of his stomach. He can feel sweat beading at his hairline, as he continues to steadily rock his hand back up behind him. It’s good and nice, being stretched around his fingers, but that’s all it is.

He slips his fingers out, curls forward and reaches down between his thighs this time, before sliding them back in. The change of angle is a stretch on his arm, but he still can’t get his fingers where he needs them. It quickly becomes apparent that it’s not going to be enough for him to get off to and his wrist is starting to ache at the change in angle.

“Fuck,” with a curse, he pulls his fingers free and flops down on his back. He reaches for the bottle of lube again, spreads it out onto his fingers and reaches for his cock without hesitation. The coldness of the lube has him hissing, but he’s beyond caring. Instead, he wraps his fingers tightly around the base, before dragging upwards and it’s so much more satisfying.

He arches up, thumb pressing against the head of his cock, before he slides his hand back down. He chews on his lip, before running his free hand through his hair to push it out of his face. His fingers trail down the line of his neck, further down his sternum, before he spreads his hand over his chest. Gently, he drags his nails over his nipple, timing it with a twist of his wrist.

Thrusting up into his hand, he increases his pace, mind working on how nice it would be to have somebody else’s hands on him, taking him apart instead. He imagines long fingers wrapping around his cock and how satisfying it would be for them to slide into him, filling him in a way his own fingers just couldn’t.

He moans at the thought, rocks up into his hand and can’t help but picture the slender curl of Seonghwa’s fingers around the coffees he’d brought to the last fitting. The way those fingers had deftly unbuttoned his own shirt so that he could pull on the nearly finished piece Hongjoong had tailored specifically for him. The gentle curve of his spine peaking out from the back of the suit jacket Hongjoong had designed with him in mind. His thighs tense as he palms the head of his dick on an upstroke, sensitive, at the thought.

The idea has him working his hand around his cock quicker, wondering how good it would feel to have Seonghwa pressing him down into the bed and working his fingers into him so patiently. He would be good, watching for every reaction, cataloging them.

He’d probably tell him how good he looked, spread open on his fingers. 

That’s the thought that sends Hongjoong unexpectedly over the edge, arching up on a pathetic mewl of noise. He comes over his hand, come dripping down the curve of his stomach as he shudders his way through his orgasm. He shakes as he loosens the tight curl of his fingers, cock flopping spent against his hip. He lifts his hand, spreads his fingers and stares at the sticky mess of come and lube coating them.

He makes a small sound in the back of his throat, before he reaches for the box of tissues on the nightstand.

After a basic clean, he digs out a pack of wet wipes from his drawer, cleans his fingers off, before kicking the dirty towel off to the floor. He turns off the light, curls up under the covers and tries not to think about how attracted he is to Seonghwa. One more day, they’re only working together for one more day and then they’ll both go their separate ways. He doesn’t have time to think about how much he actually likes him, not when their industry is so cutthroat and either one of them could be chewed up in a moment.

  


Yunho sweeps back into their apartment ten minutes after Hongjoong’s alarm has gone off. He’s laughing and talking away, and that’s the only reason Hongjoong knows he’s not alone.

Peeking over the back of the couch, Hongjoong is greeted with a coffee being shoved into his face. He grunts, taking it gratefully and savouring the first sweet mouthful. He curls back up in the corner of the couch, knees pulled up to his chest and coffee clutched in his hands.

“Morning hyung,” Jongho greets softly as he drops down on the other end of the couch and starts pulling bowls out of a paper bag. Yunho cards his hands through Jongho’s hair, before he picks up one of the bowls and passes it over to Hongjoong wordlessly.

“You look like shit, didn’t you sleep?” Mingi grabs one of the bowls. He sits down on the floor in front of the couch and leans back against Jongho’s leg. He grins, knowing perfectly well that he’s out of range from being kicked and that Hongjoong isn’t willing to put down his coffee to throw something at him.

“Fuck off, Mingi.” His voice comes out raspy and all it earns him is a loud laugh.

“You have to be at the venue for one right?” Yunho asks, settling on the couch with his own bowl. He pops open the lid and sets it down on the table, before reaching for a smaller container and opening the lid on that as well.

“Yeah,” Hongjoong nods, sitting up and leaning towards the table. He sets his bowl and coffee down, takes the lid off and reaches for the chopsticks Yunho’s holding out for him.

“He’ll probably head over early so he can see his pretty model sooner,” Mingi gives a yelp when Yunho’s hand reaches out to slap at his stomach. Jongho snorts, digging his toes into Mingi’s side and watches the way he scrambles away. He smiles after him, before turning to Hongjoong who shakes his head in amusement.

“Is it alright if I go with you? I can take pictures of the setup.” Jongho asks, steering the conversation to safer territory, despite Mingi grumbling as he settles back down in front of him. He doesn’t seemed phased, just pats Mingi on top of the head and continues to smile like it’s an everyday occurance.

“Yeah, that would be alright.” Hongjoong responds, digging into his kimchi jjigae.

They fall into silence, but it’s familiar, something born from years of friendship. Hongjoong finds himself relaxing, despite the fact that he’s two hours away from what will be one of the most stressful evenings of his life. Yunho reaches out, cards his hand through his hair and down the back of his neck. Hongjoong glances towards him, catches his smile and returns it.

“They’re going to love you.”

“Let’s hope so,” Hongjoong murmurs back, thankful for the confidence his friends have in him.

  


There isn’t time to think as soon as he arrives at the venue. He rushes through the backstage door and quickly finds his technician for the night sitting in the office. He recognizes her quickly from when he’d been in the venue before.

“You’re the first one here.” Soyou states and Hongjoong nods.

“I need a rolling rack.”

“Yeah, I’ve got it ready for you. Come on,” she lifts herself up and out of her chair, and leads Hongjoong down the back hallway. The rack rattles as they drag it down the hallways, echoing off the high walls. When they take it to the door, Hongjoong’s glad to see that the Soyou hasn’t taken his rather rushed entrance personally.

“I’ve got the dressing rooms unlocked and Eden’s already in the booth doing a run through of the lights and music. He’ll be your main tech for tonight, but we’re both here if you need anything.” She smiles, before heading back to her office.

Hongjoong stands there for a moment, takes in a deep breath, before he pushes back out the doors with the rack and drags it over to the car. Jongho’s already there with the doors open, pulling garment bags out and readying them to hang. He’s locking the doors as Jongho grabs his heavy gear bag, when another car pulls up beside them.

“Hey,” Maddox greets them, stepping out of his car. He slides his sunglasses up onto his head, taking in the rack and their bags. “Yeosang’s on his way with all of the accessories, and I’ve got the shoes in my trunk. We’ve got an hour before models start showing up, right?”

Hongjoong checks his watch, goes over the timeline in his head. “Yeah, but some of them will show up earlier to run the space. Stylists will be here in two hours and then it’ll be chaos. We have an hour for setup.”

“More than enough time,” Maddox grins, popping his trunk open. He hefts out a large box, before Jongho’s going over to help him get it back closed. “Eden’s running tech for us tonight? I’ve got the music for him, so I’ll help get the dressing rooms setup and then go find him.”

Maddox ushers them back into the building and from there it’s getting the clothes setup in one of the dressing rooms, making sure the other ones are set up for the makeup and hair stylists and talking to the technicians. Hongjoong loses Jongho halfway through, as he wanders off to photograph the setup of the staging area and possibly the arrivals of the models. Yeosang takes his place, the run of show list in his hands.

There’s barely time to think, as Yeosang sweeps him out of the booth and back to the dressing rooms. Wooyoung and San are perched in chairs, facing each other as they play on their phones. They look up with matching grins when they arrive in the dressing room.

“You look like you’re starting to stress out,” Wooyoung greets, earning him a shove as Hongjoong steps past him to go through the boxes that Yeosang had brought with him.

“I don’t know why I put up with you,” he throws back as he counts the sets of gloves in the box. San giggles, loud and amused, and Hongjoong can see Yeosang roll his eyes through the mirrors lining the walls.

“You wouldn’t know what to do without me, that’s why. No one does your models hair like I do, just like San always beats your expectations with his makeup.”

“Hongjoong,” Yeosang’s deep voice pulls him up from the box and he looks over his shoulder. He’s looking out the door and it takes him a moment before he turns back to face the room. There’s a small smile on his face, “The first three models are here.”

“Are you ready?” Twisting in his seat, San tilts his head and looks up at Hongjoong.

Taking a deep breath, Hongjoong sets the gloves back into the box, eyes on the door. “Yeah, I think I am.”

  


Stepping backstage is an experience. Out of the bright lights, Hongjoong doesn’t have to hold himself to attention. In the darkness of the staging area, his hands are allowed to shake. He barely keeps himself from dropping down into a crouch, it’s only the models rushing around that keep him standing. Maddox slaps him on the back as he runs off to the side of the stage, headset dangling from around his neck.

He can’t see Yeosang in the darkness, but he assumes that he’s already made his way back to the dressing rooms to make sure that everything is being put away correctly.

“Come here,” Hongjoong doesn’t have time to react, before he’s being swept into Seonghwa’s orbit. Seonghwa grabs his hand and pulls him through the bustle of models slipping out of clothes. The chatter backstage is loud, dizzying, and Hongjoong doesn’t fight when Seonghwa pulls him out into the hallway and then into one of the dressing rooms. The door closes behind them and muffles the noise, turning it into a low drone.

“You put everyone in the first five dressing rooms,” Seonghwa states as he turns on the lights. Hongjoong blinks stupidly, momentarily blinded by all the lights running along the tops of the mirrors. All four walls are lined by them and they bounce the light through the room, but it’s otherwise empty. No bags sitting on the counters, no racks of clothing or open makeup kits. “You didn’t use the last two rooms.”

“Why are we here?” Hongjoong finally asks, looking down to where Seonghwa is still clutching at his hand. He’s wearing the gloves from the show and following the line of his wrist, he can see that he hasn’t changed out of his suit yet either.

The garment falls like a dream, he notes distractedly. 

Looking at him now is different from the fittings or in the dim halls of backstage. Here, the show isn’t looming over his shoulders. Here, under the lights, he can appreciate that Seonghwa is the prettiest models he’s ever worked with.

A deep neckline, shorter hem and slim fit. The suit accentuates the trim line of Seonghwa’s waist and make his legs seem impossibly longer. He’s still wearing the waistcoat under the jacket, but the black silk shirt he’s wearing under that has the first three buttons undone. He’s lost the tie somewhere between the stage and finding Hongjoong. The suit is stunning and Hongjoong isn’t afraid to say that it’s some of his best work. 

But Seonghwa…

The dark cool navy of the suit should make Seonghwa look ghostly, with his dark hair and pale blue contacts. Under the unforgiving dressing room lights, at least. But San’s team, they’d softened the look. They’d painted Seonghwa’s lips the softest shade of pink, lined his eyes with a dark liner and then smoked them out in red. He looks devastating.

“Your show was amazing,” Seonghwa sounds breathless. Hongjoong’s fingers twitch in his gloved hand, eyes pulled to the upturn of his lips.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” the words catch in his throat. He swallows, sees the way Seonghwa’s eyes drop down for a moment, before looking back and meeting his gaze.

“No, it doesn’t.” He steps forward, right into Hongjoong space, forcing him to step backwards. He leads him until Hongjoong’s back is pressed into the mirrored wall behind him. “I want to kiss you.”

In that moment, the idea of kissing Seonghwa is a familiar burn. It’s the desperation of working until the dawn for a deadline. It’s hand stitching a hem that’s come loose ten minutes before a models meant to be walking down the runway.

It’s a bad idea. They’re both still running on the adrenalin of the show, and it’s never a good idea to get involved with a model. There’s a million reasons why he should push Seonghwa away and go find his friends who are probably waiting for him in the lobby.

Instead, he ignores every single one of those reasons.

“Please.”

Hongjoong twists his hands in the lapels of Seonghwa’s suit jacket, pulls him down and slots their lips together. Their teeth clack harshly at the angle, but Seonghwa reaches up with one gloved hand, tilts Hongjoong’s head just right and the slide is much smoother.

Teeth drag over Hongjoong’s bottom lip and he parts them, chokes on his breath when Seonghwa gently licks into his mouth. His tongue traces over the edge of his teeth and Hongjoong shudders against him. He unclenches one of his hands, lifts it up to drag it up the back of Seonghwa’s neck and keep him in place. Seonghwa doesn’t pull away, just presses into him further and Hongjoong feels the last of his hesitation fade.

Seonghwa kisses him with a single minded focus, like there aren’t thirty people outside the door running around or a couple hundred waiting in the lobby. He kisses him until he’s panting, lips swollen and sagging back against the mirror. 

“Fuck,” Hongjoong gasps when Seonghwa finally pulls away. It pulls a laugh from him as he leans back in, but stops short of kissing him again, only gets close enough to press their foreheads together.

“You are dangerous,” Seonghwa says, fingers clenching around Hongjoong’s hips where they’d fallen somewhere between the start of the kiss and now. “You snapped back at me that first meeting, and fuck, you turned around and I was done. 

“You would not have hesitated to kick me out if I said the wrong thing. The look you gave me, it was one of the hottest things I’ve seen.”

Hongjoong swallows at the admission, feels his throat click. Heat pools low in his belly, because his own reaction to Seonghwa hadn’t been far off. That burning flare of attraction that he was so quick to bury under a wave of inspiration. “I made the changes to the collections because of you.”

“I know,” it comes out so gentle, in comparison to everything else he’s had to say. “I knew the minute you showed me the sketches.”

It’s quiet, Hongjoong not knowing what to say when he feels like he’s been laid so bare. Seonghwa doesn’t give him time to fret, kisses him again, a barely there brush of his lips that has Hongjoong chasing after him.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”

“Why didn’t you?" 

Seonghwa pulls back and quirks an eyebrow. “Do you really think you’d have let me kiss you before the show was over?”

“No,” Hongjoong submits, tightens his fingers around the nape of Seonghwa’s neck as he considers his next words. “I didn’t realize it was more than just wanting to design clothes that you could wear until last night." 

“Last night?”

“When I fingered myself open and couldn’t help but imagine how much better it would be if they were your fingers.” He looks up through his lashes, watches the way Seonghwa’s pupils blow wide and his mouth falls open on a curse.

“Fuck, Hongjoong.”

“If you want,” he hums, not wanting to lose the opportunity to have Seonghwa.

“Dangerous,” Seonghwa repeats, before he takes a full step backwards. Hongjoong goes to follow him, but he puts a hand against his shoulder and presses him back against the mirror. “No, just, wait right there.”

“I’ll be right back, please don’t leave.”

He’s out the door before Hongjoong can work up a response, a familiar place for him to be. There isn’t the knowledge that they have another fitting booked or that he’ll see him for the run of the show, not this time, but he’s not worried. He shrugs out of his jacket and waistcoat, throws them off onto one of the counters and waits.

Seonghwa returns quickly, face red. He shuts the door, leans back against it, before he’s laughing. He doesn’t understand what’s going on, but Hongjoong can’t help himself from smiling. “Everything alright?”

“Yeosang says that he’ll look after the strike and the guys in the lobby. He took one look at me and read me like a book.”

“Yeah, he does that.” Hongjoong nods, before he tilts his head and flicks his eyes over Seonghwa. “Do you really want to talk about Yeosang?”

Seonghwa flushes, but Hongjoong hears the click of the lock before he’s stalking back across the room and right into his space. His hands are hot where they cup Hongjoong’s face, but he leans into the contact anyways. “I really don’t.”

“Good,” Hongjoong winds his hand up into Seonghwa’s hair and pulls him back down.

“I got tested last week,” Seonghwa states, pressing a kiss against the curve of Hongjoong’s jaw.

“Fuck, I got tested six months ago, but it’s been longer than that since I’ve been with anyone.” He responds easily, arching up against Seonghwa’s touch. “Do you really want to do this?” 

“Yes,” Seonghwa says as if it’s that easy. His hands drop down to settle on Hongjoong’s hips, fingers tapping out a gentle rhythm as he kisses him again. Hongjoong bites at Seonghwa’s bottom lip and pulls it in between his teeth, lets go long enough to lick into his mouth and drag a groan of noise from him.

“If I didn’t make it clear, I’d really like it if you fucked me,” Hongjoong states, laying himself bare. He pulls the hem of his shirt out from his pants, grabs Seonghwa’s hands and slips them up around the bare skin of his waist. The drag of leather has him shivering, but from the way Seonghwa’s eyes have darkened, he’s not the only one affected by this.

He doesn’t get a response, at least not a verbal one. Instead, Seonghwa pins him against the mirror again, rolls his hips in and Hongjoong can feel the hard press of him against his side. He moans, head falling back as Seonghwa’s weight presses into him and shudders when Seonghwa drags his teeth down the line of his throat.

The hands around his waist move up and Hongjoong feels his shirt pull. A tug and two of the buttons fall to the floor.

He can’t bring himself to be mad about it, not when Seonghwa bites in against the sensitive skin under his ear and then laves his tongue over the spot. Hongjoong tries to twist, to spur the contact on, but all he can do is grip at Seonghwa’s shoulders with how thoroughly he has him pinned.

Seonghwa drags his teeth over the spot one more time, before he’s kissing him again. It makes Hongjoong dizzy, the way his hands keep sliding up his sides just not enough, not when he can feel Seonghwa pressing into him, hot and heavy. Another jerk and Hongjoong listens to the sound of more buttons clattering to the floor. Another pull and Hongjoong can’t help the laugh that tears out of him.

His shirt is left hanging, but Seonghwa is kissing him and he hasn’t been kissed like this in ages. Hard enough that he can feel his lips bruising and like he’s seconds away from losing his breath. The hands around his side disappear, but Seonghwa slips a thigh between his legs, presses it upwards, and he doesn’t bother mourning the loss of contact.

He wouldn’t have time to mourn it though, because Seonghwa wraps his hands around Hongjoong’s wrist, guides it up and presses it back into the mirror. It’s cold, but Hongjoong’s shivering for an entirely different reason. With his free hand, Seonghwa traces his fingers over the line of Hongjoong’s shoulder, trailing them over his collarbone and down his pectoral. The drag of leather makes his skin prickle, but it isn’t until Seonghwa thumbs over his nipple that he whines pathetically.

“I’ve got you,” Seonghwa doesn’t pause, doesn’t give him time to feel embarrassed about the noise. He just spreads his hand over his clavicle, before he moves the entirety of his hand down. The heat of his palm through the leather is almost too much and Hongjoong jerks against the touch, skin sensitive. The hand around his wrist tightens, pulls it even higher, and Seonghwa presses forward enough to pin his hips to the mirror.

Seonghwa kisses him, bites at his bottom lip, before licking back into his mouth. The stretch of his arm burns, but he can’t bring himself to do anything but use his free hand to cling to the hem of Seonghwa’s suit jacket as he kisses him breathless.

The hand on his chest slides down and he gasps, back arching into the touch, but Seonghwa’s hand dips lower without giving him the satisfaction. His fingers skip over the lines of his ribs, dig into the soft curve of his waist and then stop at the top of his slacks.

He stills there, outside of the way he runs his tongue over the line of Hongjoong’s teeth. He nips at his lips, drags Hongjoong’s hand to the side just enough that he has to tilt to accommodate the strain. The way he moves is easy for Hongjoong to follow, but it’s not enough.

“Pants,” Hongjoong gasps when Seonghwa breaks away for a moment.

“Yeah, right,” he drops Hongjoong’s arm, gets his hands between them, on his belt, and kisses him again. Hongjoong melts into the kiss and finally lets go of the lapel of his jacket to help. Between their fumbling hands, they manage to get his belt loose and his pants unzipped. Seonghwa breaks away, drops down to his knees without fanfare and presses his lips against the wing of his hip. He jerks at the contact, but Seonghwa pulls away, fingers working at the laces of his boots so that Hongjoong can toe them off.

Standing back up, Seonghwa brackets him in again and he pushes his pants down the trim line of his hips. As soon as he has them kicked off, left in nothing but the shirt hanging from his shoulders, Seonghwa traces the palm of his hand up the gentle curve of his cock. He moans, hands slapping back against the mirror as he rocks up onto his toes to follow the contact. His hand is gone quickly and Hongjoong chokes on a curse.

With a grunt, Hongjoong works one of his legs out from between them. He wraps it around Seonghwa so that he can dig his heel into the back of his thigh to drag him in closer. Seonghwa snorts, but his hands slide down the curve of his hips and down his thighs, before he pulls back long enough to drag him up with a firm grip. Hongjoong wraps his legs around Seonghwa’s hips without hesitation, panting wet-mouthed and pliant.

“Please tell me that when you left it was to get lube and a condom,” Hongjoong asks, looping one of his arms around the back of Seonghwa’s neck.

“Yeah, I did. They’re in my pocket.”

Seonghwa lifts one of his hands up to his mouth, teeth on the finger of the glove and Hongjoong jerks at the sight, hand slapping out to wrap tight around the width of his fingers. “Fuck no, can you keep them on?”

His face flushes, but he doesn’t flinch away from the way all of Seonghwa’s attention focuses on his face. He holds his gaze, slowly releases his grip and lets his hand fall between them. Seonghwa doesn’t seem thrown by the request, just slowly lowers his hand from between his lips and cocks his head. “You are so much more than I expected.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“Good, really fucking good.” Seonghwa grins, his hand reaching out to wrap around the side of Hongjoong’s neck and pull him in. His grip is tight as his thumb digs into the underside of his jaw and Hongjoong is helpless to do anything but moan into the way Seonghwa kisses him open mouthed. The fingers against his thigh press in, hard enough to feel like they’ll bruise, if only for a moment, before his grasp disappears again.

Seonghwa rolls his hips up, the movement causing Hongjoong’s cock to drag between their bellies, rough against the fabric of the suit. He spent hours on it, so many hours, sewed through his finger once, but he can’t bring himself to care when Seonghwa is so fucking hot against him.

He throws his head back on a moan, knocking against the mirror as he shifts his hips just to see if he can’t get more contact.

There’s a click as Seonghwa drags his teeth down the exposed curve of his neck. He shudders into the touch, nails digging into his shoulder and thighs clenching around his waist as he tries to hold on as tightly as he can.

A whine of noise tears out of him when Seonghwa touches a blunt finger to his hole before pulling at his rim, the slide of lube and leather going right to his cock. He twists, claws at Seonghwa’s shoulder and keens when he pushes the digit in to the first knuckle. He pauses there and Hongjoong curses. “Move, please fucking move.”

“Tell me if it’s too much,” Seonghwa mouths against his cheek, before he’s pressing his finger all the way in. His fingers are slender and one finger is nothing compared to the three he’d worked himself down onto the previous night. Even so, with just a single finger he’s able to reach far deeper than he could manage on his own, and the unfamiliar drag of leather is filthy.

He doesn’t have time to adjust, because Seonghwa draws it out and thrusts it back in. He crooks his finger, presses it along his inside walls, pulls it back out. Another click and Hongjoong is trying to crawl up Seonghwa at the cold chill of lube as he adds more.

“Sorry, sorry, I don’t want to hurt you,” Seonghwa laughs, kisses his cheek, the corner of his mouth, as he works his finger back in. The slide is easier as he thrusts his finger in and out quickly.

“You can add another,” he gasps when the initial shock of the chill wears off. Seonghwa listens to him, adds a second finger alongside it, rocks his hand and they both slide in easily. He bites his lip at the deep press of his fingers, moans low in his throat and slaps his hand back against the mirror behind him. His nails drag up the slick surface of it as he resists the urge to wrap his hand around his cock and messily jerk himself off.

His hole flutters around the two fingers working him open, Seonghwa moving them in, slow but steady. Hongjoong opens his mouth to demand more, another finger, a faster pace, but all that comes out is a sharp mewl of noise as Seonghwa twists his wrist and spreads his fingers apart.

Hongjoong’s back bows, biting his lip at the way Seonghwa pulls out, fucks his fingers back in and crooks them. He settles them deep, traces his thumb up the line of Hongjoong’s perineum and pants hot against the side of his neck. There’s a clatter of noise, before Seonghwa is wrapping his gloved hand around the base of his cock and Hongjoong nearly screams. 

His hand slides against the mirror, squeaking loudly in the room, before he’s reaching between them to curl his fingers around Seonghwa’s wrist. He shudders as Seonghwa’s hands still, two fingers deep and fingers tight around his cock. His hips stutter, torn between grinding back on how deep those two fingers are pressing into him or fucking up into the perfect circle of his hand. His muscles clench, indecisive on just what he wants to do, but Seonghwa doesn’t give him time to consider it further.

“Kiss me, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa says, voice dropped low. Hongjoong unclenches his jaw, drops his lip from between his teeth and takes in a shuddering breath. He looks at Seonghwa, his hair starting to fall into his face, lips kiss bitten and red, and pupils blown wide. He’s everything that Hongjoong imagined and more, and he wants him to positively devour him.

He lurches forward in his grip, bites at Seonghwa’s bottom lip and pulls it between his teeth. He gives one sharp suck, before he licks into Seonghwa’s mouth, not caring for anything beside the drag of heat. Seonghwa groans into his open mouth and Hongjoong matches him on a moan when he finally moves his hand up the length of his cock. His grip is heavy, sliding smooth through a mix of precome and the lube on the glove. He swallows Hongjoong’s noises, but they still ring loud in his ears when he jerks his hand up the length of his cock, thumb curving over the head and pressing.

He times the press, pulls his two fingers out and slams them back in to drag along his prostate. He feels his body jump at the contact, fingers twisting around Seonghwa’s wrists in what must be a painfully tight grip. He doesn’t pause, just works his hand back down his cock, in sync with the fingers inside of him. He works himself up to a steady pace, sucking on Hongjoong’s tongue as he fucks his fingers up into him and continues with the rough drag of leather over his dick.

It’s not until Hongjoong’s legs start to slip that he finally lets up, settles his grip tight around the base of his cock and pulls his fingers entirely free. That’s enough for Hongjoong to jerk his head back, hitting the mirror with a loud noise as his chest heaves on a sob. “No no no, please.”

“Shh, shh, I said I’ve got you.” Seonghwa uncurls his fingers from around his cock, presses him harder into the mirror, and settles his hands, sticky and hot, around his thighs. “I need you to look at me.”

It takes everything in Hongjoong to pry his eyes open, to drag them down from the ceiling and look at Seonghwa. He can’t bring himself to care how he must look, not when he was so close to getting off and Seonghwa pulled him back before he could. He pants, tries to focus on the way Seonghwa is watching him and not how he’s gripping him so tight and sure.

“Tell me to stop if it’s too much,” Seonghwa orders. Hongjoong falters for a moment, before messily jerking his head in acknowledgement. “I need you to use your words for me, Hongjoong.”

His tongue feels thick in his mouth, but he manages to croak out a response, voice already rough from the pitches of his cries. “Okay.”

Seonghwa pauses for a moment, before he’s lowering Hongjoong’s legs from around his hips and down to the floor. He wobbles once his feet are under him, but Seonghwa paws at his hips and spins him around. He braces his hands out against the mirror at the sudden change in his orientation, eyes catching on their reflection instantly.

They make a pair, standing there. Hongjoong’s hair is a mess, but he guesses it matches with the way his shirt is hanging off of his shoulders. The strip of skin showing down his chest is flushed, and his cock is curved right up to bump against his stomach, red and leaking. Seonghwa really is an image behind him, still fully dressed in his dark blue suit. He’s imposing, with the way his hands are gripping his hips, gloves shiny, and one of his booted feet is gently tapping at Hongjoong’s bare ones to get him to knock his feet apart.

“Fuck you’re stunning,” Seonghwa says, lifting one of his hands from around Hongjoong’s hips. He brings it up, gets his fingers under the curve of Hongjoong’s jaw, tilts his head to the side. From here, it’s hard not to see the way they’re reflected in the other mirrors. Seonghwa is curved along his back and the angle, it makes him look tiny. He makes a small noise, tries to jerk his attention away, but Seonghwa holds him still.

“You did this, you know,” Seonghwa comments. It’s odd, right up until Seonghwa uses the hand not holding his jaw to unbutton his jacket. He starts to shrug out of his and Hongjoong barely notices the fact that he’s no longer holding him still to watch, until he’s throwing the jacket off onto one of the counters.

Even with the grip gone, Hongjoong can’t tear his eyes away. Can’t help but trace the line of Seonghwa’s waist under his waistcoat and how tiny it is. Can’t help but admire how long his legs look under his slacks. Can’t help but groan at how small Seonghwa makes him look underneath him.

He looks better than anyone else has, in Hongjoong’s work. It was made for him and there is not a single flaw that Hongjoong can see with any of it. It makes something hot twist in his belly, because he wants to do it again and again.

“Fuck,” Hongjoong manages to get out past the way his breath is sawing in and out of his lungs. It makes Seonghwa smile, his face crinkling, before he’s dropping down to his knees.

Seonghwa bites at the underside of his thigh, licks gently at the mark he’s made as his hands settle on the curve of his ass. His thumbs press in, pull his cheeks apart and Seonghwa leans in.

The first tentative touch of his tongue has Hongjoong shuddering, moving like he’s not sure whether he should pull away or push into it. Seonghwa doesn’t give him a chance to do either, just pulls on Hongjoong’s hips for a better angle and flutters his tongue against his hole.

“Seonghwa,” his name comes out on a drawn out groan. It seems to urge him on, because Seonghwa tilts his head and licks in deeper. Hongjoong jerks forward, knee slamming against the mirror when Seonghwa gives one wet thrust of his tongue inside. His back arches, hands dragging down the mirror, and a stream of noises escape him.

Seonghwa braces his hips, fucks his tongue up into him and Hongjoong is torn between bearing down onto his tongue or pulling away from the feeling of not enough. His tongue catches on the edge of his rim, licking messily against him, before he gives a particularly hard suck that almost has Hongjoong’s legs shaking out from underneath him.

“Seonghwa please, please,” Hongjoong gasps, his moans turning into half-sobs as he squirms in his grasp. He presses his cheek against the mirror, barely holding himself up as Seonghwa’s tongue thrusts into him again and again 

His face feels hot, breath coming in short staccato bursts as he trembles in Seonghwa’s grip. He wants to reach down and wrap a hand around his cock, knows it would only take a few pulls to come over his hand, but the unyielding force of the mirror under his hands feels like it’s the only thing keeping him from shaking apart.

His voice breaks on a particularly loud cry and Seonghwa finally pulls back, hooks his thumb against his hole and presses it in. He bites at the soft skin in front of him and Hongjoong whines, limbs threatening to give.

He pushes himself back up to his feet, spins Hongjoong back around and kisses him like he’s trying to devour him whole. Hongjoong shakes, hands curling against his biceps and trying to keep himself from falling as Seonghwa guides him across the room again.

The edge of a counter digging into his back is all the warning he has, before Seonghwa’s lifting him up onto it and hiking his legs around his hips again. He lays Hongjoong back, kisses him until his noises become softer and his trembling becomes less prominent. He pulls back, presses a kiss to the corner of Hongjoong’s mouth and leans back up. Hongjoong props himself up on his elbows, curious. 

There’s a rustle and Hongjoong laughs when Seonghwa drops a condom on his stomach. He watches as Seonghwa strips off the gloves, throws them down to the floor and then nimbly works at his belt. He gets it unhooked, flicks the button of his pants open and draws the zipper down. Hongjoong has to lift his legs a little higher around his waist, but it’s worth it to see the way his pants slide down his hips.

“You sure you want to do this?” Seonghwa asks and Hongjoong squeezes his thighs around his waist in response.

“I would really like it if you fucked me,” Hongjoong purrs. He lays back against the counter, arches his back. He knows he must make a sight, by the way Seonghwa’s breath punches out of him. He trails one of his hands down his chest, nails scraping against his skin and leaving pretty red lines as he goes. He spreads his fingers through the mess of precome on his stomach, settles it there, cock throbbing, knowing Seonghwa is watching him.

He cocks his head, lips pulling up at the corners as he looks at Seonghwa through hooded eyes. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Seonghwa presses his underwear down with his thumbs, and Hongjoong’s mouth waters when his cock springs free. The head is shiny and if Hongjoong weren’t so enraptured by the idea of having that cock inside of him as soon as possible, he would have entertained the idea of rolling off the counter to suck it into his mouth. As it is, he picks up the condom on his stomach, tears open the foil packaging and holds the condom out for Seonghwa to take.

He rolls it on quickly and pulls out a small bottle of lube. He’s not sure when he managed to pick it up from when he dropped it earlier, but Hongjoong doesn’t care, because he’s drizzling a small amount out onto his cock.

Seonghwa stills there, one hand around his cock and eyes on Hongjoong. His eyes flick over his face and whatever he sees there seems to be enough, because the next thing Hongjoong knows is that Seonghwa is nudging the head of his cock between his cheeks. 

Hooking his fingers underneath one of his knees, Seonghwa lifts his leg a little bit higher. He angles Hongjoong’s hips, presses in until he’s sliding home. Hongjoong’s back bows and exhales with a desperate, half-vocalised sound. The stretch burns slightly, but he’s left feeling far fuller than before and that’s more than a fair trade.

“Fuck you feel good,” Seonghwa groans, leaning forward and mouthing at the underside of Hongjoong’s jaw. Hongjoong’s hands snap out, fingers digging into his arms and holding him there. He shivers, feeling like he’s seconds away from falling over the edge with how worked up he is.

Seonghwa buries is face into the crook of his neck, biting at the swell of his shoulder. He keeps his hips still, outside of the twitch of his muscles that Hongjoong can feel under his hands and thighs. Hongjoong drags in a shuddering breath, slowly unlocks his fingers from around Seonghwa’s arms and twists his hips.

The drag of Seonghwa inside of him pulls a whine from his throat and he digs his heels into his back to pull him in tighter. Seonghwa bites out a curse, responding to his movement by rolling his hips back and fucking right back into him

Hongjoong’s back arches, his toes curl, and he whines into the humid air of the dressing room.

He drives into Hongjoong, rocking them back against the counter and burying himself deep. They kiss, messy and uncoordinated, before Seonghwa picks up the pace and rolls their hips together. Hongjoong rocks his hips up to meet him, both of them trying to find the best angle. 

Seonghwa gasps, hikes Hongjoong’s leg up even higher and pushes back in, fucking the breath out of him. Hongjoong’s palms slip on the counter as he tries to push himself back to meet him.

Hongjoong twists, lets his teeth close on the skin of Seonghwa’s neck to muffle a particularly loud moan. Seonghwa jerks, chokes on a, "God," and comes with an unexpected shout.

The look on Seonghwa’s face is just enough for Hongjoong. He arches up, biting his cheek and eyes squeezing shut. He feels it in his gut first, before his cock jumps between their slick bodies and he’s coming hot over his belly. He feels every convulsion, every wave. Seonghwa kisses him through it, his hand swatting away Hongjoong’s, and pumping him fast and skilled.

“Stop stop,” he finally whines when the drag of Seonghwa’s palm becomes too much, batting at his hand weakly. Seonghwa lets him go, rolling his hips back enough to slide free. He pants hotly against Hongjoong’s neck, sagging against Hongjoong so that all of his weight presses him down into the counter. 

“Fuck,” Seonghwa murmurs, voice sounding worn, and it drags a laugh from Hongjoong.

“Yeah,” Hongjoong agrees.

“That was not my plan.”

“No?” He feels Seonghwa shake his head, before he’s standing back up and pulling Hongjoong with him. He folds himself down to the floor, pulling him off of the counter and down into his lap as he goes.

Hongjoong laughs. His hips ache where they’re spread on either side of Seonghwa’s and he has his hand curled up into his hair, but he has no desire to move. With a snort, Seonghwa buries his face against Hongjoong’s shoulder, hands trailing up and down his sides.

“That was not how I expected to end my show.”

“I was going to ask you to dinner first,” Seonghwa starts and Hongjoong only laughs harder. He presses his lips to the underside of Hongjoong’s jaw, before pulling back enough to meet his gaze. “We can still do that though, if you want. Dinner, I mean.”

“Dinner sounds good. We’ll have to go out to the lobby first though.” He stretches out his legs, goes to push himself up, but Seonghwa drags him back down. 

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Hongjoong smiles, leans in, kisses him soft and slow. It’s such a contrast to how frantic they had been earlier. It’s nice though, settles low and warm in his belly. He goes to stand up again and this time Seonghwa lets him. His legs feel weak, but Seonghwa stands up and he’s perfect to lean into while he gets his bearings.

“We need to clean up first,” he murmurs, wiping his hand down his thigh, feelings the remnants of come and lube sticking to his fingers. “I’m not going out like this. You wrecked my shirt and pants.”

“It’s a good thing you’re a designer and brought a change of clothes then, isn’t it?” Seonghwa guides him over to one of the counters with a sink, turning on the tap and hefts him up onto it. “Let me clean you up and then I’ll make the walk of shame to find our spare clothes.”

“Mmm, I’m alright with that plan.”

“Good,” Seonghwa leans in, kisses him again. Hongjoong sags into it, hands reaching up to fit along the sharp curve of his jaw. He jerks back though, when Seonghwa wipes a damp cloth up the inside of his thighs. Looking down, it pulls a strangled laugh from Hongjoong to find him using the corner of his shirt. “I’ll buy you a new one, because we really did fuck this one up. After we get through your meet and greet, and dinner. I’ll take you out to buy another shirt next time.”

“It’s fine, losing the shirt was worth it.” He shrugs, knocks his foot against Seonghwa’s shin. “We can do something a little more fun than buying me a new shirt next time.”

He watches Seonghwa’s shoulders sag at the mention of a next time and he tugs him in close. “Come on, we should get out there. You need to survive meeting my friends before we can get to dinner.”

Seonghwa cocks his head a little at the statement, but doesn’t question it, just lets Hongjoong pull him into another kiss.