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So often it was the unsaid that lingered in the aftermath of the day’s long schedule. Hao had agreed to sleep in Hanbin’s room—after pestering Taerae into switching, bribing him with a late-night order of spicy mala tteokbokki. Shadows pooled in the corners of the room, where the lamp’s reach barely touched, and the two beds stood on opposite sides, leaving each of them partially revealed, partially veiled, as if mirroring the quiet distances they sometimes kept from one another. Hanbin’s eyes were fixed on his phone, drifting through messages or clips, unaware how his small movements pulled Hao’s attention. Hao let him be, stretched out on Taerae’s bed as if it were his own, though every so often his eyes strayed back toward Hanbin.
Of course, there were evenings when Hao wished for bluntness. Yet now, when Hanbin laughed, tilting his head back with careless ease, Hao understood why he never managed it. What between them had always thrived in suggestions, that Hanbin seemed to delight in a few things and Hao in another few as well—oftentimes what complemented each other. To name them outright would be to drag something mercurial into the dirt, and Hao feared it might crumble under such scrutiny.
And so, when Hanbin looked up briefly, catching Hao’s eyes, he smiled—a small, unassuming thing that had never not twisted something in his chest whenever he did. He smiled back, at least in thought, and even though his own face could fail him, like how the expression never quite reached his own eyes sometimes, Hanbin would still know it meant to convey one.
What Hanbin did not know was something inside Hao felt unsettled, a feeling he couldn’t quite name. And if such recklessness had no name, then Hao could not master it, only carry it. Perhaps it was an ugly feeling, such as a hint of envy or a need to measure himself against the one he cherished most. After all, they both had fallen and risen from a battleground they fought each to their own. The stages they had walked, whether through grueling practices or moments of spotlight, had shaped them distinctly, even as they so often found themselves having so much in common.
Hao had never truly admitted to himself how often he weighed his worth against Hanbin, a gold rush, the golden boy, everyone’s darling. Hanbin, whom everyone praised for his thoughtfulness, for kindness, and for every good thing the world seemed eager to bestow on him. And still, in those shared moments, whether cast toward the public or reserved in private for just the two of them, Hanbin had cared for him with such unthinking ease, regardless, that Hao could neither resent nor resist it.
All things considered, they had always been less of rivals and more of something else. Something neither dared to name, even with a mortal name such as boyfriends. For what they had was not rivalry, nor merely affection, but something nameless, something that seemed at once fragile and eternal.
He glanced at Hanbin, the man still unaware of the emotions churning within Hao, the soft glow catching his face as he laughed at something on his phone with such open, unguarded joy. If Hao had not known the sun, he might have thought Hanbin was one. Hanbin had always been the center of everyone’s orbit—whether it was the fans’, the group’s, and most inexorably, Hao’s own. And yet, Hao could not shake the thought that perhaps, just this once, Hanbin longed to circle someone else. To rest, to lean, to give himself over, and mostly to orbit Hao in return, even if such a shift spelled the end of the world.
Maybe it had never been about competing at all. Hao knew he could not possibly be the sun himself, not in Hanbin’s sense, even if he had been crowned the first place of the show and stood as the group’s official center. Those were not any less in weight, but they were not in the same medium as what Hanbin carried. Hanbin’s brightness was more unstudied and less fickle, yet impossible to hold or fix in one form, and all the more irresistible for it.
So, what would it take, or what would it mean, to become the person Hanbin sought?
The thought lingered with him as he rose and stepped into the bathroom. He had seen it in passing, the slightest slump of Hanbin’s shoulders and a faint yawn he tried to hide behind his hand. They were small betrayals, It clung to him even as he turned on the faucet and washed his hands.
"Hyung, come here,” Hanbin called, his voice muffled but eager. “Gyuvinnie just sent something hilarious. You have to see this.”
“I’m in the bathroom, Bin-ah. Wait for me a little,” Hao replied, raising his voice just enough to carry back through the door.
“Ah, sorry! Okay then.”
By the time Hao finished, he heard another yawn or two, and then silence. When he stepped back into the room, Hanbin was already curled on his side, eyes shut, his face tranquil but Hao could not help but notice the weariness nestled on his features. For all his radiance, even Hanbin needed release from being the flawless one.
Hao leaned close, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead before settling beside him on Hanbin’s bed. “Sleep well, baobei.”
—
Hao felt the faintest of fingers along his shoulder as he stirred awake, a touch so light it almost wove itself into the remnants of his dream. When he lifted his lashes slowly, the first thing he saw was Hanbin’s face, close—too close, perhaps, though hardly something he would complain about. The soft, guileless smile that lingered there made something coil inside him, and a slow, drowsy smile spread across his own lips before he could stop it. He reached for Hanbin’s hand, curling his fingers gently around it.
“Morning, Hanbinnie,” he whispered, the sound spilling to his own ears, carrying their shared sleepiness.
Hanbin’s laugh was soft, fond. Then again, everything about him was—Hao helplessly added that to his stream of thought. Hanbin tugged the blanket down from Hao’s face and shoulders, and before Hao could protest, pressed a quick kiss to his nose. Warmth spread across his skin like sunlight did all at once, or was it only the pale morning slipping past the curtains; Hao could no longer tell the difference.
“Did you sleep well?” Hanbin asked, his voice low, half-muffled by closeness.
“I did.”
Another kiss followed, featherlight on the very same spot. “Good.”
Hao scrunched his nose, feigning annoyance though his chest swelled with its opposite: a tenderness threatening to undo the mask of indifference entirely and all at once. “You’re starting to make this a habit.”
“Should I stop?” Hanbin teased, raising an eyebrow.
“I didn’t say so.” Hao smirked, though the expression faded almost as quickly as it came. The chill from the still-running AC brushed over him, and a shiver ran through his spine.
Hanbin, of course, noticed immediately. He reached out, pulling the blanket back over Hao’s shoulders with careful attentiveness, fingers brushing the nape of his neck. “Thought you might still need the blanket, hyung,” he murmured, beginning to move away as if he had done his duty.
“Yah! Get in here, I’m still cold!” Hao called.
Hanbin laughed, unbothered, as if he had already known what would come after. “Thought you would ask that.” He slipped down beside Hao, tucking himself close. “Better?”
Hao could only nod at that, staring at the ceiling for a long moment before letting his eyes fall shut. He melted into the warmth at his side, where Hanbin and comfort had once again become indistinguishable. Yet even in this comfort, he could not silence a tugging thought.
Hanbin never missed an opportunity to make him feel cared for. But was Hao giving any of that back?
And if not, was it really, finally, the time to try?
“The ceiling. You’ve been staring at it too long,” Hanbin’s pout tugged at the corners of his lips.
“I just…” Hao hesitated, realizing that he would fail to muster a believable excuse at the moment, then letting a fraction of his thoughts slip out. “I was thinking about how tired you looked last night. You don’t have to do everything alone, you know.”
Hanbin blinked. It seemed to Hao a genuine surprise, like the thought had never once occurred to him before. A small smile surfaced, tender where self-deprecation might just reside. “I don’t mind. It’s just who I am.”
Hao’s mind wrestled with words he wanted to say. About how Hanbin was quick to shoulder weight that no one asked him to bear alone. About how the very kindness Hao admired in him so often turned into self-neglect when it was never returned, and how, at that, Hao himself was aching to be allowed to step—if not step, then crawl, even—into that space. He lay too still that the sterile chill of the room began again creeping into his skin, and against it the warmth of Hanbin’s arm brushing his own. Still, he hesitated, as though admitting the truth might alter his delicate projection of equilibrium between them.
“What if,” Hao began at last, “someone else wants to take care of you?”
Hanbin tilted his head, unsure. “Someone else? Why would anyone—”
“It’s me.” Hao cut in before his courage could slip. The confession tumbled out in a rush that his pulse hammered. “I want to. For once.” He stopped to draw in a steadying breath, willing his voice not to shake as he gave the thought its full shape. “I want to take care of you too, Hanbin-ah.”
“Oh, hyung …”
“I know,” Hao hurried, afraid he might be misunderstood. He sat up slightly, resting on one elbow as if to steady himself. “I know that you’ve said you felt more comfortable looking after me, and I don’t want to take that away. I don’t want you to think I’m ungrateful and—”
“Shush,” Hanbin reached out, sitting up as well, placing his finger lightly against Hao’s lips. Then, as though to seal the command, he bent and pressed a brief kiss to the very spot he had silenced. The method worked because even Hao’s spiraling train of thoughts was cut clean off.
“Of course, I enjoy taking care of you, hyung ,” Hanbin said. “But our relationship should be a two-way thing, don’t you think? And there are times when I want to be taken care of, too.”
Hao stilled. A flood of feeling washed through and almost unmoored him. He wanted to tell Hanbin that he had long carried his wish in silence, that it seemed foolish now, almost laughable, how simple the asking could have been if only he had dared sooner—but the words tangled against the rawness of wanting too much. “We could wait for that, Hanbinnie” were the words, insufficient and faint, he managed to say.
“Oh but—what if we couldn’t?” Hanbin’s voice dropped softer, conspiratorial, as his thumb began tracing idle circles into Hao’s knuckles. He leaned close, so near that his breath ghosted over Hao’s ear.
“Because, say,” Hanbin whispered, “what if I want it now?”
His lips brushed so close Hao almost thought it was another kiss when Hanbin added, quiet and sly, “Will you not take care of your baby then?”
The weight of Hanbin’s words sank and never returned, but so did his heart. For a moment, Hao was helpless in the confusion of it. How did Hanbin want to be cared for? What was he asking for, exactly?—He was unsure what exactly Hanbin meant or what kind of care he was asking for.
“Well, in that case…,” Hao exhaled. “Guide me, baobei," he finally said.
In a swift motion, Hanbin caught his hands, pressing them against his own cheeks as though framing himself for Hao’s keeping, before tugging him close into a kiss. Their position was far from ideal—Hanbin, sitting cross-legged, and Hao, pulled forward with force, struggling to steady himself as he landed on his knees for support.
The not-so-first meeting of mouths was clumsy, unlike all the tender prelude Hao had sung in his head. But instinct overtook it, and before he knew it, he was pressing closer, tongue meeting lips, and a breathless moan tore itself from Hanbin’s throat.
“Mnh—ah, Hao,” Hanbin gasped.
The sound of his voice was enough to ignite something in Hao, a fire that roared through his veins as though he had swallowed the very essence of a wildfire. Every inch of his skin seemed to burn with it. He groaned into their kiss, pressing Hanbin deeper into the bed, fulfilling an unspoken desire to bind them together—so close that the boundaries between them might blur, melt, and vanish, until neither could tell where one began and the other ended.
Their kisses stretched on, languid and endless, while Hao’s hands wandered, tracing imaginary lines along Hanbin’s face before drifting down to his chest. Wherever Hao touched, Hanbin seemed to ache, his body silently begging for more of that caress—and Hao, helpless to deny him, obliged and obliged again. Every soft gasp, every shiver of anticipation drove him further into the frenzy, illusionized hunger dressed as selfless giving.
But Hanbin—Hanbin was a true giver, and ever so giving to everyone, he had always been too ready to extend himself to others. Yet, here, for once and to Hao’s knowledge, he took. No one else would ever receive Hanbin’s devotion in this very form, and probably not even Hao, not the way Hanbin gave himself now for the very first time, and so Hao longed to give him more than he ever had to anyone before. Hanbin might have been the true altruist between them, but Hao knew that he was simply his—he owed nothing to anyone except Hanbin.
His hands slipped lower, finding the hardening buds beneath fabric, fingers impatient to unfasten the shirt and graze them directly. Hanbin seemed to sense his intent, tightening his own grip on Hao’s shirt. As the fabric parted, Hao rolled the peaks gently between his fingers, tugging and circling with unhurried care until Hanbin’s soft whines broke against his lips. He continued to tease, rubbing the sensitive tips until every sound seemed to reverberate through them both, as though they shared one nervous system split into two bodies of the same whole. The thought compelled Hao to pull back just enough to catch his breath.
Hanbin’s cheeks were flushed red, lips parting in a disapproving pout at the space Hao suddenly allowed to fall between them. “Don’t fret, Bin-ah,” Hao murmured, his thumb grazing the damp corner of Hanbin’s mouth. “We’ve barely started.”
Hao did not think it was possible for Hanbin’s cheeks to turn even redder, but they somehow did. Even with the warmth creeping across his complexion, Hanbin still managed a playful smirk. “Is that so? Show me then.”
Hao leaned in, watching as Hanbin’s blush spread slowly to his ears. He blew softly against them, whispering, "Be patient, silly,” before gently catching the earlobe between his teeth and soothing the bite with kisses.
Hanbin sobbed, his upper body tensing as he shivered from Hao's composed touch. Hao could sense how deeply Hanbin yearned, his desire practically radiating from him—every part of Hanbin’s being seemed to be calling out, craving his hand, his mouth, his anything. It was unbearably, physically evident that Hao noticed a stirring within himself: his chest sinking, his heart fluttering, his skull burning with uncontainable thoughts. He was caught in the intersection between Hanbin’s unabashed surrender and the fantasies it ignited, watching the pliant boy beneath him.
It was as if God had created Hanbin and filled him with every last drop of humanity’s longing—only for Hanbin to generously offer it all to Hao. The thought alone rendered him a mere spectator, gazing down in awe, almost forgetting that Hao was meant to participate in the moment rather than marvel at it.
“Hao…” Hanbin called, his voice pitched low and uneven.
It jolted back Hao to himself, as though yanked out of some endless dream and flung mercilessly into the present. His reverie fractured; in its place came the startling clarity of Hanbin’s eyes on him, wide and unguarded, their dark irises glistening pleas. Hao’s breath stalled, and beneath the pause came the violent thrum of his heartbeat, stuttering as if it might leap out of him altogether. He blinked down at the boy beneath him, a creature of pure yielding he was—his Hanbin—waiting and in patience. “Yes, baobei ?”
Hanbin bit his lip, teeth sinking into the soft flesh, then forced it free, letting the color bloom across his mouth. His hands curled weakly against Hao’s shirt, holding him there. “Why…? Don’t you want to fuck me this time around?”
The bluntness of it startled Hao. When he thought about caring for Hanbin, he did not imagine it like this at all. At first, he had only thought about smoothing his hair or massaging his back while he dozed on the couch. Or trying to cook any Korean soup dish when he was tired and sickly. But he should have known better; after all, only minutes ago he had been bent over Hanbin’s chest, sucking his nipples. The thought of soup seemed almost laughable in comparison. Even then, this was still a fissure Hao had yet let himself peer into, but he also knew that he eventually would have to face it regardless, that someday the question of their bodies and what they could make of them would demand an answer.
“What?” Hao’s brows furrowed, his throat drying, robbed of air. “Did you really think—”
—that I would take you like that?” went unspoken. It felt deceitful to speak further that he had to cut himself short. On the contrary, he had thought of such things far too often, even if he had always been the receiving end until now, yielding under what he convinced himself was Hanbin’s insistence, and only because he had permitted it for Hanbin. It had been, more or less, a controlled surrender. But now that he was handed the power outright, it felt as though to take it up would change the very nature of their bond, recasting him from the one who merely allowed Hanbin to the wielder of his own desire.
Hanbin did not know it yet, but Hao sure could be dangerous.
“You said you want to take care of me, gege,” Hanbin interrupted before Hao could finish. It unsettled him, infuriated him even, how Hanbin had been behaving with sly defiance all morning, provoking him at every turn. He called him gege just now. Hao’s pulse leapt, an urge to seize Hanbin rose in him, to remind him who it was that allowed him such liberties.
“Ah…”
Hanbin pressed on, his voice softened a lower pitch needier. “All this time— Haven’t I been your good boy already, gege?”
Hao’s chest was as though sinking. This was anything Hanbin had yet confessed to him. Yes, Hao thought. Too good, even. And yet—was this not what he had longed for? To hear Hanbin beg like this, to feel him surrender with no pride left to shield him, to be offered wholly and without reservation? Hao’s mind raced, torn between the impossible sweetness of being seen as caretaker and the feral greed of wanting him as lover. His hands trembled at Hanbin’s sides, and his heart caught in such a perilous place in-between.
“Hanbin-ah…” Hao’s voice was rough. “Do you even know… what you’re asking me for?”
Hanbin only looked up at him, lips parted, and the tiniest shake of his head was enough to undo Hao utterly, more than anything he could have said. In that instant, greed washed over Hao; he wanted—needed—to have Hanbin in this moment, fully and completely. Hao let out a low, primal groan, his body tensed with desire. As if sensing Hao’s hunger, Hanbin guided Hao’s hand, dragging it down over his chest, across the taut plane of his abdomen, lower and lower still.
“Please have me like this,” Hanbin finally guided Hao’s hand downward, resting his fingers against the thin fabric that covered him right where he was the easiest to enter. “Want your fingers here,” he tried pressing them inward through the barrier of his shorts, and if not for the final layers of cloth, Hao’s remaining restraint would have failed terribly at holding him back. Who could resist such an invitation?
Hao’s breath stuttered. He had barely thought Hanbin could actually be so bold when prompted, and just as shamelessly explicit in what he wanted. Gone was the careful, bashful boy who once tiptoed around desire. In his place stood a Hanbin insistent and relentless in pursuit, wholly and entirely fixed on having Hao. This Hanbin might have been the beast Hao had stirred into being, and now it had turned on him. But, then again, like all creatures that bared their teeth, born of his keeping and raised on one’s patience—Hao would then know the ways to tame Hanbin.
“Hm? Where can I get the lube for you?” Hao asked.
“Bedside drawer, middle section. No need to get the condom, though, hyung.” Hanbin’s smile was shy at the edges as he pointed to the drawer.
The drawer met Hao beneath his hand as he pushed himself from the bed, his fingers grazing the cool wood before sliding it open. The middle section held exactly what Hanbin had said: a bottle of lube and a neat row of condoms. As he retrieved the bottle, his eyes caught on something else: their 4-cut photostrips. Hao could not help but grin at himself. What on earth had Hanbin been doing with those being in the same section, of all places?
He returned to Hanbin who was, by then, already occupied with his lower parts, two spit-slick fingers working their way into his own hole. Hao swallowed his own spit at the sight.
“My, my,” Hao murmured teasingly. “You couldn’t even wait for me, huh?”
Hanbin’s cheeks had long burned with the color red, yet he did not waver; his fingers remained where Hao’s should have been, and with a set jaw he drove them in deeper. “You have no idea—ah. Don’t you, hyung?" He curled his fingers again, searching relentlessly until he hit the spot that made his body jolt and arch.
When he struck it, his whole frame bent backward, a soft moan escaping his lips, and Hao nearly cursed aloud at himself for not being the one inside him.
“How I would be the prettiest with your cock inside me,” Hanbin whispered through uneven breaths. “How I would actually give myself over and let you do whatever you want to me. But—”
Hanbin withdrew at once, the hollow ache inside seemed to bloom even outwardly—he clenched and shivered, breath caught like a sob at the base of his throat. In his eyes, for an instant, a wounded feeling hesitation that Hao, compelled beyond thought, leaned closer toward him. “But what, Bin-ah?” he asked gently.
“—I thought I was scared if you didn’t want me that way, and that… would’ve been fine, truly,” his voice cracked, tears brimming at the corners of his eyes. “I like doting on you. But later, I realized that I was more afraid of giving in,” Hanbin admitted, stripped of his previous confidence, as if each word cost him a little more of himself. “Had you not asked, I-I would have never done it.”
Hao’s heart, really, was just a matter of every fragile thing that existed in the world, and yet only when he saw Hanbin’s did he feel the unbearable urge to shelter it. A fine china shattered from a fall—his selfless Hanbin bared and fractured his own heart, and cried still beautifully. Hao reached out to cup his Hanbin’s face with both hands, thumbs brushing away the wetness on his cheeks, as though he might piece the shatters back together.
“Hanbin-ah. Let gege take care of you, okay?”
“I’ve laid myself bare only to you, hyung.” Hanbin said again at last, his eyes still glistening with the remains of his cries. “Physically and emotionally. I’ve been opening myself up for you, so please… don’t hold back on me anymore.”
He leaned back against the pillow, as though surrendering fully. He parted his legs wide, showing himself without shame, offering Hao the sight of his said opening—even if it was barely loosened—laid plain for Hao alone.
Hao let out a ragged breath, his resolve finally breaking. Hanbin was spread open before him, vulnerable and trusting and most importantly, all his.
“You’re so pretty here, Bin-ah,” Hao breathed, almost breaking on the words in his delivery. He moved nearer, drawing in a long breath before letting his tongue circle the rim. Hanbin’s back arched, involuntary whimpers spilling from him. Hao caught his wrist gently, guiding them upward until Hanbin’s trembling hands landed on his hair. Understanding his intent, Hanbin clutched the strands tightly and pulled, dragging Hao’s head closer to stay buried where he was needed most.
“ Ge—ah. It’s so good,” Hanbin gasped. “Yes, like that—a—ah!”
He tugged on Hao’s hair, clinging to the strands to the end of the world. As desire surged through him, Hao gently urged the younger’s knees upward, folding them closer to his chest, granting himself an unhindered path to please the younger. He paused now and then, occasionally lifting his head to drink in the sight of Hanbin’s body beneath his touch.
From this angle, Hanbin must be scarcely making out Hao’s face, and yet it did not matter. Hao took his craftsmanship seriously—he knew how he must appear to the younger: his lips slightly parted, eyes dark and dilated, beneath which the faint sheen of sweat glimmered. He must look untamed, feral even, yet precise in his intent; a contradiction that only made him all the more captivating. He knew, in this brief moment, he looked like the one who could both wound and console, command and indulge, all the impossible, made-possible presence Hanbin could barely hope to resist.
When Hao finally slid his fingers inside, Hanbin’s body arched abruptly as a high-pitched sound escaped him unbidden, both the sweetest betrayal and compliance to each other’s ears. Curved into a knowing, mischievous smile, the words falling low and teasing from Hao’s lips. “Got you there.”
“I thought you were supposed to take care of me—hh—hah—”
Hao did not relent. “Oh, but I'm taking care of you right now, Bin-ah. It seems to me that you’re…,” Hao’s fingers curled inside, exploring, pressing, which extracted just another whimper that made his chest swell with pride and his heart with adoration, “…enjoying this too much.”
“Mmh—hhh— Hao, please…”
“Please, what?”
“Please stop teasing me… Or I’ll com— Ah!”
“Stop teasing?” Drawing out his fingers, Hao drawled, prolonging the denial, his voice a mock innocence that belied what he had just done. “But you’re so cute when you beg. Tsk, you should’ve seen yourself.”
Beneath him, Hanbin squirmed helplessly. Hao had exactly stopped teasing him and yet he was still as miserable as if still demanding satisfaction. The juxtaposition was exquisite. Hao watched the flush rise along Hanbin’s cheeks, the fingers knotting into the sheets, and felt a sharp thrill: Hanbin was wholly at the mercy of his presence, and yet within that helplessness lay a demand—that he be seen and be met.
“See, baby. You should’ve begged for something else that actually mattered right now,” Hao pressed in once again, curling his fingers just so, and Hanbin arched his back instinctively, breath hitching and cheeks flushed. “Where did your confidence go, Hanbin-ah? Say it properly. Tell gege exactly what you want.”
Hanbin’s confidence might promptly swell at times, but all his pride would dissolve completely under Hao’s influence. Hanbin’s voice emerged desperate and raw, teetering on tears, hands clutching at Hao’s shorts. “I want you to fuck me, gege —please, just—just fuck me—please…”
Hao paused, startled for an instant by the almost comic recognition that he still wore his shorts. He had forgotten such a simple thing in his own hunger that it hung a sheepish smile at the corner of his mouth. How had he gotten so carried away?
With a swift, careless gesture, he kicked them aside, revealing himself fully, his cock already straining forward. “You’re very eager,” Hao whispered, guiding his cock to Hanbin’s entrance, the head brushing against the soft entrance. He pressed, not yet pushing in; instead, he circled the head slowly, dragging it across that delicate ring, smearing the lube in teasing sweeps. The motion made the man beneath him squirm, his thighs quivered, and his breath hitched in a gasp so small it could break Hao’s restraint if not for his self-determination.
“Hao… gege… please. Inside,” Hanbin choked out, and the way he said it, eyes shining wet and cheeks flushed red, tore something tender and raw from his chest. Everything thumped and thumped and Hao had to not give in to the rhythm too fast up there than the pace he had set below.
Hao swallowed, the sight of Hanbin asking—no, offering himself was really catastrophic for his resolve. One palm anchored against Hanbin’s thigh, the other angling his cock just right, he leaned forward and kissed the soft part of Hanbin’s knee. “Tell me if it hurts, alright?”
Hanbin gave a shaky nod, arms gripping the sheets beneath him. When Hao finally pressed in, his body had already braced open, welcoming him as Hanbin partially wrapped his legs around Hao’s hips. The heat between them pressed close, binding them together before Hao could begin setting a rhythm.
The revelation was that Hanbin’s body proved startlingly receptive, despite being unbelievably tight where it met Hao’s inside. Hao exhaled, breath snagging—inch by inch, deeper. Beneath him, Hanbin scattered: fingers tangled in the sheets, chest rising too fast, lips falling open, the moan, the lashes fluttering, eyes unfocused, head tipped back when Hao pressed in again, another inch, another abandon.
“You’re doing so well,” Hao whispered, barely breathing himself. His palms cradled the narrow hips, stroking ever so gently as he held them steady. “So good for me, baobei. So beautiful like this…”
To say that Hao was overwhelmed was too small a measure for what swelled in his chest. Hanbin, otherwise composed and put-together outside of his room, lay undone beneath him now. The knowledge might tempt Hao toward cruelty, knowing just how easily he could take advantage of Hanbin in this mercy. There was something so bare, even rivalling the state of their naked bodies, like Hanbin had peeled himself open for Hao to see all the way through. Hao confirmed it as he kissed Hanbin everywhere he could reach: his lower stomach, his ribs, his chest tattoo, the narrow strip of skin just above the sharp just of his pelvis; and every one of them gave under his mouth.
“Hanbin,” he began softly, pressing a kiss to the space just below Hanbin’s navel, “I should’ve asked earlier, but… is this your first time taking someone like this, right? Does it feel good?”
Hanbin’s lashes fluttered, his head giving the smallest nod. “It’s only you, hyung. I want it to be you, anyway.”
“And to answer the other question?”
Hanbin whimpered, the sound breaking from him high, almost sounding like he was pained. “Feels too good, hyung. Feels too good…”
Hao suspected it must, especially with it being his first time, but he chose to soothe rather than name it. “I know. I’ve been there,” Hao said, lightly teasing. He leaned down, kissing along Hanbin’s throat, his collarbone, the slope of his shoulder. “Let yourself feel it, baby. I’ve got you.”
But when Hao rocked his hips in again, Hanbin’s breath came out even shakier now. He made a sound, soft, almost a hiccup, and Hao lifted his head to look.
Tears. Wet, slow, catching against his lashes one after one falling down to the pillow beneath his cheek. His teeth were gritted, the way someone beared down against hurt only to keep from crying out.
“Bin—” Hao stilled, afraid he had gone too far.
Hanbin only pulled at him, weakly at first, then more insistently. His arms bound themselves across Hao’s back, his thighs tightening faintly at his sides in an almost desperate bid to keep him in. “Don’t stop,” he whispered. “Please… please keep going.”
Hao hesitated. “You’re crying.”
“I know,” Hanbin said, meekly. “Please fuck me through it.”
Hao stopped himself at the brink. The tears at the corners of Hanbin’s eyes should have been a warning, or at the very least a call to gentleness, but instead they tore something open in him, made him want to press him down, to devour, to coax the tears faster just to know they belonged to him. He hated—no, he ached—that he could not bring himself to hate it, that all he could feel was the hunger to see Hanbin ruined by the very pleasure he was giving.
“You’re sure?” he asked, though he already knew what the answer would be. It cost him nearly all his restraint to stay gentle, to hold back against the hunger gnawing inside him.
Hanbin nodded against his shoulder, his cheek wet where it pressed to Hao’s skin. “It’s embarrassing,” he rasped, “but I think I’d cry even if you’re barely touching me. I don’t really know what to do with feeling this much.”
Hao’s hand smoothed slowly through his hair, the strands damp with sweat and clinging to his temple. “You don’t have to know,” he murmured. “Just let me take care of you, yeah? Like what we’d agreed to.”
Hao began to move again, before easing back just enough to let Hanbin breathe, only to press in deeper the next time. Hanbin’s body followed him—he tensed, melted, and then tensed again. His fingers curled around Hao’s shoulder as if steadying himself against the swell.
“Gege,” he whispered. “It’s never been like this. I-I’ve never felt like this before.”
Hao pressed his forehead to Hanbin’s, eyes fluttering shut. “That’s not a bad thing.”
There was always a first to everything for Hanbin, and Hao might not have been there for all of them, but he’d come late enough to witness the unlearning. The first time Hanbin slept over in his dorm room despite the rules. The first time he reached for Hao’s hand in public, fumbled it, then did it again.
But, mostly, Hao remembered the first time he said I love you and laughed right after—certainly not because it was funny, but because, for once, he knew enough to mean it, and he knew Hao loved him back. Hao had a glimpse of that night, when Hanbin admitted that he’d never been touched by a guy before, between the sloppy kisses and the way he kept laughing into Hao’s mouth like it might sabotage himself. Even then, Hanbin had scrubbed it off with a half-joke, saying, You’re corrupting me, Hao-hyung!
And now, red in the face and clinging to him, another first had slipped in, and no less important.
Hao kissed—because if there was a thing he could not prevent himself from doing, it was kissing—the corner of Hanbin’s mouth, then lower, into the space beneath his jaw where the skin pulsed warm. There, Hanbin twitched, fingers digging lightly into Hao’s shoulder as though to keep himself anchored.
Hanbin made a sound, almost a sob, muffled against Hao’s shoulder. “I didn’t think it would feel like this?”
“Hm?”
“I didn’t think I’d want it to feel… this good for me, but it does,” Hanbin mumbled, his cheeks scarlet, mortified by the admission, even as his legs closed more firmly around Hao’s waist.
“What does?” Hao asked, though not completely oblivious to what he meant.
“This,” Hanbin said, arching helplessly into the next thrust. “I’m giving myself over, but also you. You’re giving back. I don’t know what to do with that.”
It broke Hao how excruciatingly considerate Hanbin could be at all times, even in the throes of his own undoing, and Hao wanted to shake him free of it. “You don’t have to do anything, Bin-ah,” Hao said, stroking his cheek with one hand while the other held firm at his hip. Hao smiled, then, because he had been waiting to say this for a long time: “I’m not taking that liberty away from you. But you don’t have to carry it all the time either, you know.”
“Mhm, right,” Hanbin breathed, curling into him more. Then, shyly, after a beat, he added, “But there’s also… I didn’t expect bottoming to feel this nice. I mean, you already saw just then, I did finger myself—,” he paused, the red in his cheeks bloomed even more, “—just to see, but I’ve done it a few times already before I began to find it enjoyable.”
Hao tried to keep his face steady, like it hadn’t struck him so much as it had made him want to soothe the younger. Like it hadn’t been circling Hao’s mind for weeks now—the image of it, Hanbin alone in some late hour, curious and probably a little ashamed, the pads of his fingers careful, pressing inward in slow increments, biting his lips to keep quiet. His knees drawn up—Hao added the mental picture of it, despite having the very real thing right here, right now—until pleasure crept inside Hanbin like guilt, and knowing him, maybe he once stopped halfway through, flustered at himself for even trying. Maybe he had come in some night when he couldn’t help it anymore.
As much as it was torture, the imagined permission Hanbin hadn’t given himself was ruinously hot. Expected, even. Of course, Hanbin would do that to himself, never initially saying nor thinking he deserved the very thing he wanted. And maybe Hao was fucked up too, for finding the repression arousing, and for another reason—a fact that Hanbin had held himself back for so long, only to finally come undone under him like this, so impossibly yielding, so warm, and so much hotter than if he were to give it away easily.
“Yeah?” Hao said softly, thumb grazing along Hanbin’s cheekbone, brushing the damp strands of hair aside. He made himself keep still, though every part of him wanted to give him even more, and admittedly, not all of that desire came from a clean place. Some of it was hungry, primal, and even selfish in the worst, most human ways: that he needed to excel, to be better at what had always been Hanbin’s domain: giving. But none of it negated the love. If anything, the love lived in the mess of it.
Hanbin nodded, the motion small, almost shy. “It felt… good then,” he murmured, “but nothing like this.”
His voice cracked in the middle, and so did Hao’s restraint with it. He bent forward until their foreheads touched, the nose catching on the damp of Hanbin’s skin, breath tangled with his. Hanbin tilted his face up as if it could get him any closer to Hao than he was right now. His legs still tucked around Hao and hands clutching at the curve of his back, pulling him impossibly closer.
Hanbin was so… soft under him, pliant in a way he had never been to him before. And Hao—Hao was barely hanging on by a thread, trying not to look down at where they were still joined, trying not to feel how warm and fluttering Hanbin was around him, how his body kept wanting to pull him in deeper.
He could not stop thinking about how new this was for Hanbin, and how good he had made it for him. How much trust it took. How Hanbin was letting him have him, and that Hao really had him, finally, in a way he knew no one else ever had.
He curled forward, kissed beneath Hanbin’s jaw, and whispered, “You’re going to make it really hard for me to be good, baobei.”
Hanbin made a noise in the back of his throat, high and broken, laughter and a sob stitched into one helpless sound. He arched without meaning to, just enough to prompt Hao to slip deeper, and it nearly undid him, or both of them. Hao groaned, muffling it in the comfort of Hanbin’s shoulder, pressing their bodies together as if they could melt through the least barrier left between them.
“You don’t have to—” Hanbin started, the words trembled out, but Hao’s mind had already caught them, turned them aside before they could tumble further.
“No. Don’t even think to finish that sentence,” he murmured, nudging in slow enough to keep himself sane. “I know I don’t have to.”
“And that’s precisely why I want to do it,” Hao added, pressing their cheeks together.
Hanbin’s mouth trembled open as though he had more to say, but all that came out was a tear, sliding quick between their pressed faces. The slight wetness startled Hao, and then drew him in—he turned, caught it with his tongue, and kissed the place it had fallen. He pressed another kiss against Hanbin’s jaw, then lower, brushing the pulse in his throat, tasting more salt. Every part of Hanbin seemed to open under him, and he wanted to, desperately, inwardly almost to the point of his own breaking, deserve it.
He loosened one hand from the bedsheet and slid it down between them until his palm closed around Hanbin’s cock. A startled cry swallowed halfway into Hao’s mouth when he caught it in a kiss, the wet press of their lips turning the sound into something fractured yet sweet. He stroked slowly at first, lingering on the way Hanbin arched into his hand, clutching him tight as if one pleasure could never exist without the other.
“So good for me, Hanbin… so good that I want nothing more than to be just as good to you,” Hao whispered, his lips brushing the shell of his ear.
He might have lied about goodness, because even as he spoke the words he could not help not to press harder around Hanbin’s cock. He thought of how often it had been him on the receiving end, how often he had let Hanbin’s sweetness soften him, and now, with the balance at last tipped, there was a strange, almost petty satisfaction in taking back what he had so long surrendered. His palm closed a little too tight with the thought of it, enough to split a startled cry caught in Hanbin’s throat. But instead of pulling away, he only shuddered and pushed harder into Hao’s fist as though he was trying to wring pleasure out of what must have also felt hurt.
Hao’s breath caught; he loosened slightly, then squeezed again, deliberately this time, dragging his palm in slower, torturous strokes. Hanbin’s cock was flushed dark red, already wet at the tip, and still he was seeking more, grinding helplessly into the cage of Hao’s fist as if he could force it open merely with his insistence. Hanbin’s movement grew frantic in his hand and it messed with Hao’s head that he found it joyous—exultant even—that Hanbin would chase even pain so long as it came from Hao’s hand.
“But unlike yours… it seems that my goodness knows bounds, Bin-ah,” Hao whispered, tightening his grip once more before pressing his thumbnail down over the swollen head.
“Gege—gege,” Hanbin cried out, the word spilling raw and unguarded from his mouth, and with it came the hot rush of release in Hao’s hands. The sound tore straight through Hao’s last reserve. All his vows of gentleness collapsed under the weight of that desperate cry, the way Hanbin offered up his need so nakedly, so beautifully ruined. Hao brought his fingers to his lips, tasting him, the salt and musk smeared across his tongue, and then he bent back over Hanbin, driving deeper with a sudden, reckless thrust.
He spilled deep inside, clutching Hanbin’s waist tight, unable to stop himself from rutting through and prolonging it until Hanbin squirmed and whimpered under the overstimulation. The more he wanted to give him pleasure, the more he ended up taking, using every twitch and cry as an attribute to push harder, chasing his own undoing in Hanbin’s surrender. And still Hao kissed him through it, whispering hoarsely. “See what you do to me, baobei? You end up making me… worse.”
But Hanbin only shook his head, weakly, denying him that regret. “You were good to me, though, hyung,” he murmured, and even in his exhaustion, it was resolute enough that Hao did not try to argue. Instead, he tightened his arms around him, arms tightening in equal parts gratitude and an instilled fear that Hanbin’s trust would ask more than he could ever responsibly give. He pressed his lips to Hanbin’s damp nape, tasting salt again, and wondered if he would ever stop wanting both to protect and to destroy, if that contradiction was what love between them had always been.
For so long he had been afraid that whatever he gave would fall short beside the ease with which Hanbin seemed to scatter care over everyone else, as though Hao were destined to stand in the shadow of that generosity, grasping at scraps. Yet now, with Hanbin pliant in his arms, his body marked by Hao’s insistence, there was no question left. This, too, was care—rough, possessive, but offered wholly—and Hanbin had not only endured it, he had asked for and welcomed it.
“I was jealous,” Hao admitted, his voice breaking as he let himself sink against Hanbin. “Of you. Of how everyone loves you, notices you, how easily you shine… and I-I wanted to be the one you turned to first. I wanted you to need me.”
Hanbin’s lips parted, a faint motion of response, but Hao beat him to it, brushing a clumsy kiss against the damp corner of his mouth, then another to the soft hollow of his cheek.
“But I was wrong,” he said between the touches; the words scattered and so did his breath across the skin. “You gave yourself to me, Bin-ah. You let me take care of you in my own way, and you wanted it. That’s more than I ever thought you’d give me.”
“You’ve always taken care of me, hyung. Even when you thought you couldn’t,” Hanbin smiled, small. “I love you.”
He drew Hanbin closer, holding him so tightly there could be no space for doubt to creep in. The contradiction that had tormented him finally collapsed into one single thing that remained: love. With his lips pressed to Hanbin’s hair, breathing in the salt and musk and warmth that clung to them both, Hao no longer felt at the margins of Hanbin’s light. He was within it, inseparable, the place where Hanbin’s endless giving came to rest.
And when the quiet finally settled over them once again, there was nothing else left unsaid.