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Hanbin is accustomed to raising dogs. Conflict, accidents, illness: all these are easily handled with experience and calm demeanor. So when Gyuvin begins skulking about, metaphorical tail between his legs, Hanbin waits. Sooner or later, he’s sure to stumble upon whatever mess Gyuvin has made.
They usually spend mornings together before schedules, sipping hot water with lemon and eating fruit or yogurt in sleepy, companionable silence while they wait for Hao to stop snoozing his alarm. Now, the silence feels charged—like Gyuvin is holding his breath, waiting to be scolded.
Hanbin approaches Gyuvin where he's hunched over the counter, pouring granola into a bowl. Hanbin leans in—and barks, familiar high-pitched 멍멍! which makes Gyuvin startle and jerk his hand. Gyuvin curses, then, as granola spills across the floor.
They watch the pieces scatter. Gyuvin's eyes, round and shining, finally meet Hanbin's.
“Hyung,” Gyuvin says. “I am so, so sorry.”
“It's just granola, Gyuvin-ah.” Hanbin reaches out, tousling his hair. Gyuvin allows it, but seems to shrink at Hanbin's touch. So Hanbin waits—Gyuvin will spill his guts, if Hanbin only waits.
Hanbin is good at waiting.
“No, I…” Gyuvin looks away, white-knuckling the counter. “Hanbin-hyung, I have to tell you something. And please don't hate me for it, just—ugh. Promise you won't hate me, alright?”
“I could never hate you.” Hanbin moves to put the kettle on.
“Promise me,” Gyuvin begs.
Hanbin nudges Gyuvin, urging him to turn. He takes Gyuvin's large hands in his own, swinging them. “I promise. What is it, puppy?”
Gyuvin exhales. “I saw you. And Hao-hyung. The other night.”
“The other night…” Hanbin's brow furrows.
“I didn't mean to,” Gyuvin blurts in a rush. “Really, I didn't, I heard you coming home and wanted to see if you were down to game, but Hao-hyung was already there and he, um—”
Hanbin realizes, then, what Gyuvin is referring to. He feels himself go hot from the tips of his ears down to his chest. “Oh.”
It's embarrassing, sure, but…it's not the worst thing that's ever happened. They live in each others’ pockets; they don't have much free time, free space, or very many opportunities for relief.
“Well…it's no big deal,” Hanbin says. “I mean, it happens. Sorry, we…ah, we probably shouldn't have been doing that in the living room.” He gives a self-conscious little laugh.
But Gyuvin still looks anxious. “What if…” He trails off, swallowing with an audible, comical Gulp! “What if I told you I kind of…”
Gyuvin slips his hands from Hanbin's grasp. He lifts one, and makes a hesitant, lewd gesture.
“Oh…” Hanbin's heart thumps, a lopsided feeling. “Oh, well, that's—that’s okay, that's not a big deal either, it's only natural, right?”
Gyuvin hunches inward. “I didn't want to tell you,” he mutters. “I'm sorry. I thought I could just—but it's like I can't stop thinking about—”
Hanbin blinks, then clicks his tongue and reels Gyuvin in for a hug. Gyuvin's body stiffens at his touch.
“Sorry,” Gyuvin repeats, muffled against Hanbin's shoulder.
Hanbin’s heartbeat quickens. He speaks without thinking, then, murmuring: “Was it—ah, did it feel good?”
Gyuvin pulls back. Stares in disbelief. “Are you asking me if touching myself felt good, hyung? Don't make fun of me, please.”
Hanbin’s ears are red. “I just—I mean. I like to be…useful?”
Gyuvin's next words are apprehensive. Cautious. “Why are you saying this to me?”
“Well, I…” Hanbin looks up at Gyuvin through his lashes. “You're just a puppy. You can’t help it. So...so, hyung should take responsibility. Right?”
“I…Hanbin-hyung, I don't…” Gyuvin trails off. But his sweats are tented—Hanbin sees.
Hanbin takes a step forward, then another, crowding Gyuvin against the counter. Gyuvin's head hits the cabinet behind him with a hollow-sounding thunk.
“Let me take responsibility for this, too,” Hanbin says, tracing the outline of Gyuvin over his pants.
Gyuvin releases a breath, blinking his eyes open. “Hao-hyung is gonna kill me.”
Hanbin laughs and slips his fingers into Gyuvin's sweats, sliding them down. “He won't.” He cups his hand, holding it just below Gyuvin's chin. “Spit.”
Gyuvin spits. Hanbin grasps him, pumping slowly.
“Is this how you touched yourself?” Hanbin asks. “When you were watching me?”
“Tighter. Did it…” Gyuvin's voice wavers. “Did it feel good when he…”
Hanbin can't help but tease. “You're asking me if getting fucked felt good?”
Gyuvin groans, shameless. “Yes.”
“It did,” Hanbin tells him, honest, serious. “It always does.”
“I could—maybe, maybe I could—”
“I don't think so,” Hanbin says, amused. His grip on Gyuvin is unforgiving, the kitchen quiet. The only sounds are Gyuvin's soft moans, and the slick repetition of Hanbin's hand as he speeds up.
“Don't sneak around, next time,” Hanbin says. “Just ask. Okay?”
“Ah—too much,” Gyuvin says. “Hyung, it's too much—”
The kettle begins to whistle.
Hanbin asks again. “Okay?”
“Okay,” Gyuvin chokes.
“Good boy,” Hanbin says. One more stroke and Gyuvin comes with a whimper, head smacking against the cabinet again.
Hanbin turns the stove off and snags the dishtowel. “Here, Gyuvin-ah. And then clean up the granola, too, please.”
“Okay. Sure, hyung,” Gyuvin says faintly, still with his head tipped back, his eyes closed.
Hanbin steps delicately away to wash his hands. Gyuvin wipes himself down, then tugs his sweats up before kneeling to clean the floor.
As if on cue, Hao appears with a yawn. “Morning,” he says, sleep-rough.
Hanbin pats his hands dry before making his way over to kiss Hao on the cheek. “Morning.”
“What’s got you in such a good mood?” Hao asks.
Hanbin smiles. “Ah, our silly puppy made a mess. I was just helping clean it up.” He places a mug of steaming tea at Hao's elbow.
“Hanbin-hyung was helping me,” Gyuvin intones, without looking up.
Hao's eyes narrow. He purses his lips, watching Gyuvin pick up bits of cereal. Then he sighs. “It's too early for this. You two are so weird.”
Hanbin laughs.