Chapter Text
The two of them tangle together like second nature, without even thinking about it. Their fingers clasp together like a lifeline during long car rides, they wind their long arms around each other’s slender waists absentmindedly on photoshoot sets, they rest weary heads on each other’s shoulders in green rooms. It’s natural, how much they touch, considering how long they’ve been Taeyong and Yuta to everyone around them. They’re a package deal.
-
They lay face to face on Taeyong’s bed, legs tightly entwined, foreheads pressed together, breathing onto each other’s lips. Yuta is toying with the strings of Taeyong’s sweater, the purple one with the English phrase across the front that they share on occasion. Taeyong has one hand resting on Yuta’s waist, the other curled under his shirt, against the bare skin of his chest, feeling his heartbeat against his knuckles. Taeyong could easily fall asleep like this, surrounded by the warmth and comfort Yuta gives him, but he doesn’t want to, doesn’t want to lose a second of Yuta’s attention zeroed in on him and him alone.
He remembers the first time he took things beyond lazy cuddling – the first time he needed more physical comfort than what he got from Yuta’s embrace. They had been cramped together on an armchair in their living room, Taeyong’s legs draped across Yuta’s, his head tucked into Yuta’s neck. He’d felt small and cared for. He’d felt almost perfect. His heart had been racing, booming in his ears, and he struggled to keep his breathing in check as he lifted his head off Yuta’s shoulder, steeled his nerves, and asked for what he craved:
“Can you – would you ever – do you wanna maybe kiss me?”
(An odd request, really, to ask of someone you’ve openly referred to as your brother, but Taeyong has never really been all that normal. Besides, it had been building, in Taeyong’s mind – building from the pull he felt between them that seemed so gravitational, between the gentle, lingering touches that Taeyong had started laving over Yuta’s skin, whenever he could reach it. His desire had come onto him slowly, and he’d truly believed for the longest time that what sated him was Yuta’s body, his touch, the solid presence of his best friend. That had changed one late night in the dark of Taeyong’s bedroom, when Yuta nuzzled himself into Taeyong’s neck and just barely grazed his lips to Taeyong’s pulse point; he’d been slapped with the urgent realization that Yuta would give him so much more, if he wanted, and god, he wanted, from that first innocent touch of Yuta’s lips, from then on even so much as sharing a gaze felt electric. Taeyong has sharp eyes that would catch Yuta’s flicker to his lips when he would pout. This really had been a long time coming.)
Yuta had tilted his head, hot whiskey eyes boring straight to Taeyong’s nervous, nervous soul, crippling him, and he had already started cursing himself for reading it all wrong, for ever wanting more when Yuta leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of Taeyong’s mouth.
“I want to,” Yuta breathed, airy against Taeyong’s lips, “but only if you’ll kiss me back.”
Taeyong had let out a strangled gasp, crashing his lips to Yuta’s and tangling his fingers in his hair, clacking their teeth together with his overzealousness. Yuta’s hand on his hip, firm, had schooled him calm again, and they kissed languid and timeless, slow and full of words unspoken that they could just feel.
His heart bloomed, chest filling with warmth, and he knew; yes, he knew that this is what perfect felt like.
These days, Taeyong’s heart doesn’t race with panic, but with affection, as he nudges Yuta’s nose with his own and shifts the angle of their heads to be just right to slot their lips together. It’s soft, sensual, gets Taeyong’s blood flowing hot and slow like molten glass in his veins. It’s heady, the feeling of Yuta’s fingertips coming up to trace his jawline as it moves. Yuta’s lips are fuller than his own, slightly chapped but still soft as a dream.
There’s no teeth, no tongue, just the gentle push and pull of them sharing breaths between kisses, getting steadily wetter, lips starting to slide slick and beautiful. Yuta lets out the prettiest, softest whine that Taeyong takes hungrily into his own mouth, gives a gentle suck to Yuta’s bottom lip in response. This is how it is, a give and take between them, care and be cared for, and Taeyong will give anything to keep it this way.
They fall asleep this way, tied up in each other, fading into unconsciousness in the space between their kisses.
-
They’re addicted to the stage, feeding off the feeling of pounding bass in their chests and the ringing screams of their own names in their ears. It’s a drug they can’t get enough of, sends them soaring, a high it takes a while to come down from.
All the members have their own methods to wind down after a performance. Some will sneak out to use their residual energy to practice, run choreo, work out, if that’s their thing. Some sit quietly at home, watching some mindless show on low volume, letting the quiet leech the adrenaline from their bodies until their eyes drop closed and they get their well-deserved rest. Some prefer to be alone, others can’t stand isolation. There’s eighteen of them, they all work something out.
Taeyong and Yuta wind down together. Always.
It’s with practiced ease that they fall into each other, breathless with heads spinning a mile a minute. They crash through the door, fall gracelessly onto Yuta’s bed, a tangle of sweaty limbs and needy, demanding mouths. Taeyong has his hands sunk deeply into Yuta’s hairspray-sticky hair, keeping him close, chests pressed tightly together. Yuta’s leg is hooked around Taeyong’s waist.
The kiss is sloppy, a disgusting mess that they both feel so alive for, far too wet with far too much tongue but they can’t stop, it feels so right. Feels like just what they need right now.
Yuta pulls at the shoulders of Taeyong’s sweater, whimpers, and Taeyong bites his lip in heated parting before shimmying back to tug off his pullover, not thinking completely clearly.
He’d been sweat-soaked after that performance, the intensity he always delivers paired with the summer heat means that when it came time to change he neglected to put on a shirt, just slid his hoodie on, mind absolutely fried, and started hustling the members out the door.
This – this could be a big mistake. This is not a line they’ve crossed; they’ve touched under clothes, pressed hands to the planes of each other’s chests and dragged nails down, but. Never taken anything off. There’s always been that thin barrier between them, and perhaps that’s what kept things normal and okay between them. Taeyong starts reeling, immediately thinking far too hard, that he’s fucked up, that this is never what Yuta wanted from him, liked how easy what they had was without starting to push boundaries and god, Taeyong would break if Yuta leaves, if he loses having Yuta like this.
The two of them are both still panting, overheated, but Taeyong’s blood is running cold. He can’t look Yuta in the eye, holds himself stock-still, waits for the rejection he knows is coming.
It doesn’t come.
Instead, he hears a hushed moan from Yuta, feels the bed shift beside him and Yuta inches closer, closer, until suddenly Taeyong feels a leg thrown across his lap and a weight settling onto his upper thighs. His breath stutters out, heart pounds harder that it did during their first kiss, and Yuta – now perched prettily on his lap – pushes his open palms up from Taeyong’s hips, glides up and up against his slick skin until he’s clutching reverently to the sides of his jaw, fingertips brushing the cropped hair at the base of his neck.
Yuta presses his forehead to Taeyong’s almost innocently, but there’s nothing innocent about this, about how heavy they’re still breathing, they aren’t even kissing anymore, and the stage high is long gone – they’re just drunk on each other now.
They stare into each other’s eyes, trusting, so trusting, wanting.
“You’re gorgeous,” Yuta rasps, and crashes their mouths together again, teeth biting and tongue licking hot into Taeyong’s mouth, searching for more.
Taeyong brings his arms up, shaking but sure, loops them tight around Yuta’s waist and groans, half with pleasure and half with unhappiness. He’s shirtless, bare in front of Yuta, losing his mind with dizzying kisses and the drag of Yuta’s own shirt against his nipples. He wants it off. He wants their chests together, the feel of skin on skin, to make Yuta feel as helpless as he does.
So he tugs at the hem of Yuta’s shirt, bites harsh onto his bottom lip to get his attention.
“You too,” he’s breathless against Yuta’s lips, dizzy with desire, “Wanna see you too, please.”
“Yeah, yeah, baby, okay,” Yuta hurriedly wrestles his shirt off, misses how the pet name he lets slip affects Taeyong underneath him. Something red hot burns under his skin, something so different from the gentle tingling he usually gets with Yuta, and he feels it, feels how this has shifted everything, changed their whole dynamic, but he’s not scared, not when Yuta is back on top of him, slick lips slotting rough and perfect against his own. Taeyong feels his own desperation mirrored in Yuta’s sloppy kisses, feels wanted, and this is all that he needs, Yuta’s bare chest pressed tightly to his own, raising goosebumps and kicking up his heartbeat. This is all he wants, ever.
“You don’t know what you do to me.” Yuta’s words travel from his lips directly to Taeyong’s.
And Taeyong can’t help the honesty that slips out when he says, “Wanna do everything to you.”
Yuta groans, loud, drops his head into Taeyong’s neck and laves hot, open mouthed kisses, mindful to not leave marks but still making Taeyong’s blood roar in his ears. His grip on Yuta’s hips is vice-like, doesn’t want Yuta to leave when he needs him so desperately.
“You can tell me to stop if you don’t like it, Taeyongie,” Yuta mutters into his collarbone, and Taeyong doesn’t quite understand how Yuta could think he would ever dislike anything he could do to him, but he can’t reply, can’t respond, not when Yuta shifts his hips, lining up with Taeyong, and oh.
Oh, god, Taeyong hadn’t realized, been too focused on Yuta’s mouth, the feeling of his bare skin, the rasp of his breaths, to realize the burning he’s feeling is arousal and he’s hard, achingly hard in his sweatpants, all for Yuta. The realization sends him spinning, and the feeling of Yuta’s own hard cock lined up with his own and forcefully rocking down puts him out of his mind, all he can do is moan, high and breathy. It’s impossibly good, so good it hurts, and Taeyong can’t get enough.
Can’t get enough of Yuta, Taeyong winds one arm around Yuta’s slim waist, rolls his hips to meet Yuta’s and hears his groan, low and sexy in his ear. Taeyong’s other hand reaches up to Yuta’s hair, tugs him back to face him, wants his lips back, and Yuta is so sweet, so perfect, indulges him in another messy kiss, broken apart by their moans.
Their grind doesn’t ever go slow, starts and stays rough and frantic. Yuta ruts down onto Taeyong, who tries his best to keep up, get more of that addictive friction. Taeyong’s mind is nothing but Yuta Yuta Yuta, Yuta and his breathy moans, Yuta and the twist of his muscles under Taeyong’s fingertips, lithe and strong, how Yuta’s heavy cock presses hotly against his own, the feeling muffled through layers of fabric but still so goddamn good. Taeyong’s underwear is too rough against the head of his cock, but that small zing of pain that comes with every incessant roll of Yuta’s hips is fucking incredible, makes this all the more intense.
Taeyong doesn’t know how long it lasts, how long they spend grinding rhythmic against each other, panting into each other’s mouths and choking out moans of each other’s names. He’d spend forever here, surrounded by Yuta, pleasure ever building, cocks painfully hard against each other through their pants, but Yuta starts to whimper, his body starts shaking on top of Taeyong, and he presses is head back into Taeyong’s shoulder to whisper:
“I’m so close, Taeyongie, so close, please come with me, I wanna make you feel good,” his lips are slick against Taeyong’s neck, his words bringing him closer, closer, so quickly he’s drowning in Yuta and how amazing his weight feels on his cock, how incredible the push-and-pull pressure is, how perfect perfect perfect this is.
“Yuta,” he gasps, “Yuta, I’m gonna–”
“Yes, please,” Yuta begs, grinding down faster, rhythm getting sloppy as he brings them closer, “Come with me, please baby, come with me.”
It’s the name, the baby, the feeling of being claimed by Yuta that tips Taeyong over, sends his eyes rolling back and his body tensing bow-string tight underneath him. Taeyong moans, high pitched and loud, whimpers as Yuta keeps rocking through his orgasm until his own hips stutter to a stop and he gasps into Taeyong’s neck. Taeyong can feel Yuta’s cock twitching as he comes, and he goes lightheaded with just how much he likes it.
And then, suddenly, the haze of arousal dissipates, and Taeyong is terrified, scared absolutely shitless about what they’ve just done and what it means. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if Yuta regrets this, wouldn’t know how to handle it if he can’t gravitate into his touch at every moment because he lost his head one night and ruined everything. If Yuta leaves, Taeyong has nothing, is nothing, and his eyes well up in fear.
But Yuta lifts his head, looks Taeyong in his wide, teary eyes for just a moment, before leaning down for a kiss.
It’s a chaste kiss, an old kiss, something they’ve practiced and perfected. It’s comfortable. It leaves no doubt, no fear in Taeyong, and his terrors vanish as he basks happily, safely, in the afterglow.
Yuta smiles down at him, wide and a little lopsided. “I’m too tired to clean up.”
Taeyong hums, pulls Yuta down into his side, into the way they’ve cuddles a million times. “We can just stay here.” It’s unlike him, but if it’s what Yuta wants, Taeyong can bend to fit. He can stay, pants messy and heart full, warm enough wrapped up in Yuta that they don’t need blankets. It feels like a dream, coming down like this, coming down from a different high, but always coming down together.