Work Text:
Sometimes, on nights like these, where you’re about to see the sun rise for the second time without a wink of sleep in between, you think you might regret pursuing a career as an idol.
The schedules are never ending, and you’re up at the break of dawn and stuck in the same damn building for almost 24 hours. Now, it’s partially your own fault - classes always end at eight at the latest - but your resilience and willingness to push yourself outside of trainee classes is what landed you the chance to even debut in the first place. The teachers and managers had praised you for your hard work and your dedication, and when you had been offered the chance to debut just under two years into your training, you knew it had all been worth it.
You shiver to think of having to stay a trainee for as long as some of the other idols in the company had. You’d barely survived your time there, fueled by adrenaline, espresso shots, and the fact that everything starts to get pleasantly blurry when you’re running on little to no sleep.
It had certainly paid off. Your group was only five people, and as Chae, your leader had said, you were small but mighty. Your debut had turned a lot of heads, more heads than the company was expecting, and they were scrambling to do extra promotion work to take your popularity off even further. It felt surreal, to see your group name in the charts, your debut EP a work of love between the five of you, and you’re already so, so hopeful for the future.
Admittedly, this had partially been because you had run into Bang Chan in the hallways earlier and he had recognized you. His eyes had softened as you passed each other, and he had said your name like a question. When you told him that yes, that was indeed you (with far too many stuttering words in between), he complimented your music and your lyrics.
“I’m really excited to see what you guys can do,” he had said, politely nodding his head at you, “Don’t be a stranger. If you ever need any producing tips, I’m always here.”
“I basically live here, it’d probably be harder to not see me around,” you had said, tone informal, before your brain could snap into place, “Oh my god I’m so so sorry! Joesonghabnida! Sorry, Chan-ssi, I didn’t mean to be so informal!”
He had just laughed you off, checked his watch, and reminded you again that you could always come around. You drag through the rest of the day in a drunken haze, still riding off the high of meeting Bang Chan of Stray Kids. You felt like you’d just achieved every fan dream you’ve ever had.
“I feel so lucky.” you said with a dreamy sigh to Chae afterwards, who just rolled her eyes.
“He literally works here,” she reminds you, jabbing sharply at your side to make you jump, “You were going to run into one of them eventually.”
“Imagine what would happen if they were to meet Changbin,” Jihoo, your maknae, teased from across the practice room, “Do you think they’d get down on one knee right then and there?”
“Jihoo,” you whine, though there’s pink dusting your cheeks, “Stop it. I wouldn’t embarrass myself that bad. Plus, I’m prepared now! I’ve met their leader, I can meet anyone.”
“Uh huh,” she says back, unconvinced, “Tell that to the dwaekki shrine on your side of the room.”
“Also sounds kinda like mister Bang was flirting with you,” Chelsea, as unhelpful as always, pipes up from her position against the wall, “Offering to give you producing tips? More like you’re going to see his tip-”
“Yah, stop it, that’s enough,” Chae says, cutting off that thought before it can even weasel its way into your head properly, “You guys got an extra minute. Everyone back into positions.”
“Bet you’re imagining what kind of positions Chan could have you in-”
“Chelsea.”
You thought that would be in. Weeks blur by, your schedule full of photoshoots and dance challenges and long hours in the studio with Chae, building beats and harmonies until your ears ring and your head feels like it’s going to explode. Post-debut is a haze, a blur of performances and appearances and interviews where your hair feels too stiff and your smile feels painted on. The dorm is sleepy in the aftermath, barely anyone ever functional enough when they do get to actually come home that night to do much more than sleep. Chae chides you for sleeping on the studio couch for the third time this week, and you bite your tongue when you want to point out that she had fallen asleep in the practice room last night, not her bed.
It’s now, when your schedule couldn’t possibly have enough room for you to even breathe, that your manager comes over to you tentatively, tablet in hand, barely looking up to acknowledge you.
“We got contacted by one of the other groups in the company,” she drones, voice tired around the edges, too, “They’d be willing to send a couple of their members to film the dance challenge to your song alongside members. They can only spare one or two people, but it would be a good chance to get some extra publicity.”
“There’s a catch, or you wouldn’t be giving me the exposition,” you say, eyes squinting up at her, “What’s different about this then when we filmed with NEXZ?”
“Seo Changbin, that’s what,” she says, “And before you can back out, you’re the only one with availability that matches his. They just ask that you learn the choreo for their newest song…Do It, I think?”
She watches you bluescreen in real time, mouth opening and closing uselessly as you try and process what she just told you.
“You’re meeting with him at seven tonight in one of the practice rooms on the fifth floor,” she says with a sigh, massaging the wrinkles forming between her eyebrows, “Please don’t cause me any more headaches. Be normal, and just film the stupid video.”
“Wait, tonight?” you hiss out, broken out of your reverie by the looming fact that you’ll be meeting your ult bias in the flesh, alone in a practice room, tonight, “I don’t have enough time to learn the choreo-”
“I already explained that to them,” she said, tone flat, like you’re the idiot for not knowing she’d already be three steps ahead, “He’s willing to walk you through it. You’ve both got free time in your schedules tomorrow, too, if you can’t get to filming both tonight. Don’t let us down.”
You don’t get a chance to interject before she’s walking away, heels clicking against the cold tile floor, the sound echoing and sharp, and you become hyperaware of the fact that this is real. The guy that you’ve had perhaps the biggest celebrity crush on quite literally since they debuted was going to be meeting you. Tonight. Alone. In a stupid JYP practice room, under the ugly LED lights that make you kind of feel like a troll.
“Okay, okay.” you mutter to yourself, feet bringing you to the studio on autopilot. “You’re fine, This is fine.”
“What’s fine?” Chelsea says from behind you, making you jump.
“Woah, hey,” you respond, startled, heart already in your throat thinking about tonight, “Scared me. And nothing, like I said, it’s fine.”
“Doesn’t sound fine,” she says, reaching around you to type in the code to the studio, “You’ve been standing in front of the door like a psycho for a minute now, muttering to yourself.”
You withhold, not willing to concede that perhaps Jihoo had been right, after all, and you were going to make a complete and utter fool of yourself tonight. You think you’re going to be able to pretend that everything’s normal, that you’re completely and utterly fine, until you’re inside the studio, and Jihoo is perched on the couch, giving you possibly the biggest shit-eating grin you’ve ever seen on her.
“Soooo…” she starts, eyes sharp and amusement clear on her face, “A little birdie told me something interesting today!”
You groan, and Chae peeks around you, curious.
“What? Hey, what’s she talking about?” She says, eyes bright and questioning.
“A little birdie told me someone is going to be doing a dance challenge soon…alone, with another idol…”
“Uh huh,” you say, giving her an exasperated look, “Look, you clearly already know who it is. Stop dragging it out.”
“Why didn’t you tell us you were doing a dance challenge with the love of your life??” she squeals, jumping off the couch to grab you and shake you by the shoulders. “I can’t believe you. This is betrayal, you know?? How come I had to hear from manager-nim??”
“You’re doing a video with Changbin??” Chae exclaims, bouncing up and down on her heels. “Can someone record the whole interaction for us? I want to see the whole thing. Especially the part where you turn into a tomato and profess your undying love.”
“Ch-ch-ch-changbin-ssi! I luh-luh-love you! Be my b-boyfriend!” Jihoo mocks, shifting her voice to make it sound like yours.
She strikes a nervous pose, making her eyes really big and fidgeting with the hems of her hoodie sleeves.
“Don’t tease,” you pout, cheeks puffing up, “I’ll be totally cool. Nonchalant, even. No proclamations of love. He’s just a boy, it’s not that serious.”
Both Chae and Jihoo snort, and you pry yourself free of them, sliding into one of the production chairs, refusing to look at any of them as you fiddle with sound settings. They murmur something between themselves that you don’t catch and burst into a fit of giggles, and you turn a dial aggressively, trying not to look over your shoulder and glare at them.
“Hey though, on a serious note?” Chae says, and the sincerity in her voice makes you tilt your head to look at her. “You’ll be fine. If he thinks you’re weird we’ll sick Chelsea on him.”
“She’ll eat him alive.” Jihoo says, nodding in mock seriousness.
“Alright, enough about the Changbin stuff,” you say, his name feeling heavy in your mouth, “Jihoo, you still need to re-record your lines. I don’t have all day, and neither do you.”
“Because you have a date with Changbiiiin!” she sings, skipping into the recording booth, and you flip her off without sparing her a glance.
Everything goes smoothly from there, minus a few more jabs from Jihoo about your “date” later, and suddenly you’re saying goodbye, and the clock on your phone is blinking at you, big bold numbers reading “6:11”. You’ve got nothing until your meeting with Changbin, and the reality of meeting your bias is starting to settle heavy in your bones. You don’t think you can eat now, not with the swirl of anxiety and nerves overtaking your stomach, so you do what you’ve always done - go to a practice room and drown yourself in dance.
You find your texts with your manager and let your feet carry you to the practice room where you’re supposed to be meeting Changbin. A quick knock and a peek in shows that the room is empty, and you let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding. You’ll be teaching him one of your songs, too, and while you’re pretty sure you could do this dance fully asleep, you go through it a few times, letting the familiarity of the moves settle the buzz of nerves under your skin. You don’t need the music, the song basically carved into your mind at this point, and you sing it quietly as your body moves through the steps again and again (and again).
It’s not enough. You stop midway through the choreo, the part of your mind that was on autopilot protesting as your arms keep moving through the next beat. You give yourself a quick shake and slap your cheeks between your hands.
“Get it together.” You huff, looking at yourself in the mirror.
You can see the tension in the way you stood - shoulders high, fingers shaking, feet shifting too often to just be because you don’t like to sit still. You dig out of your phone, connect it to the speaker in the room, and flip through half-speed mirror videos until you’ve found one that looks pretty accurate. You’ve got about twenty minutes to 6:45 now, and you suppose you can try and teach yourself the “Do It” choreo now. Save Changbin some of the trouble (and you the embarrassment of totally fumbling the moves in front of him).
The music, a bit distorted from being slowed down, fills the room, and you prop your phone, making sure the video is on repeat. You let your mind shut off for a moment, let the idol in you take over, and hone in on the dance, watching the instructor with sharp eyes. She’s very deliberate in her movements, mouthing out counts over the song so you know when things are supposed to hit.
You kind of black out after that, as you always do when you’re learning choreo. It’s like a different version of you takes over, the version of you that pulled you through all the late nights as a trainee. You don’t learn choreo, you let it take over you, let the music pull you like a puppet on strings. You have to admit that the Do It choreo is good, so well-synced to the music that it’s not hard to get lost in the way your body flows to the beat.
Which is exactly why you don’t hear the knock on the door, or the way the door eventually opens behind you, or the footsteps of someone approaching. You finally think you’ve got the back half of the choreo down, and just when you’re about to repeat the choreo again, you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder, and you about jump out of your skin. The sound you let out of your mouth is a mix between a yelp and a screech, like a cat who got its tail stepped on.
“Sorry, sorry!” The tapper says, sheepish, “Didn’t mean to scare you. I did knock and call out to you first, I promise…”
You flush a deep scarlet, your phone still looping the slowed-down music over the speaker, and will yourself to stare at the person in front of you.
You should’ve known that Jihoo would be right. You don’t think you’ve ever seen someone more beautiful than Seo Changbin. His hair is messy, the kind of messy that makes you want to run your fingers through the strands, and he’s wearing a pair of glasses and a too-tight tank top that should be criminal. Your eyes drop to the way his arm muscles bulge almost obscenely, and you’re biting your lower lip nervously, brain already imagining many non-professional uses for those arms.
“I uhm- I’m so, uh, so sorry!” You squeak, forcing your eyes back up to actually look him in the eyes.
Fuck, he has pretty eyes. You’re distracted again, and you’re pretty sure that your cheeks might be on fire from how hot they feel.
“No no no, it’s okay, I promise!” He says, waving his hands frantically to emphasize his point, “I probably could’ve been louder. I was just a bit nervous to interrupt you.”
You laugh, a tinkling sound, the kind that falls out of your mouth without your control. “Was I that bad at the choreo?”
He doesn’t catch the sarcastic lilt to your voice, and he shakes his head, eyes wide. “No, nothing like that, I promise! You were actually uh, pretty good at it. You were really…feeling the music.”
Everything feels surprisingly…easy, after that. You properly introduce yourself, bowing a full ninety degree bow as you apologize to him for missing his entrance. He laughs when you call him “Changbin-ssi”, insisting that you call him anything else.
“Makes me feel old,” he says, nose wrinkling as he thinks about it, “You’re not that much younger than me. I’m not old enough to be Changbin-ssi yet, let me hold on to my youth for a little bit longer!”
He’s so dramatic. You kind of thought it was a bit that he did for the cameras, all the drama and the jokes and the big smiles, but you realize quickly that Changbin might actually just be like that. He’s endlessly kind, guiding you carefully through the parts of the choreo that you couldn’t quite grasp without being harsh about it.
“Your foot is landing at the wrong angle, so it’s making it harder for you to hit the next step,” he points out, sliding behind you to adjust your foot angle with a careful nudge of his foot, “There. If you land like this every time, then the next step will feel more natural. Try it with me.”
The two of you flow between learning choreo and easy conversation, and while the thump of your heart against your ribcage doesn’t stop, it does slow down, your nerves settling into something closer to your normal state. You decide to record the dance video for your song tonight, and then the “Do It” one tomorrow, to give you more time to grasp it.
“I actually already learned the choreo for your song,” he admits, hand rubbing at the back of his neck, “I thought the choreo was cute, and the song is really catchy. Pretty sure Hyunjin knows all the words at this point from how many times I’ve played it in the dorm.”
You have to spend the rest of the time pretending that this information doesn’t make your heart flutter and your face feel warm. You send a quick flurry of texts to Chae that includes too many hearts and at least one “he listens to OUR music chae. Changbin listens to our music!!!!!” when you’re taking a water break that Changbin had insisted on.
The video drops that night on your group’s accounts, and it’s a hit. Despite only showing the two of you interacting outside of the dance for a split second at the start and the very end of the video, fans are commenting on how much they “love” the dynamic between the two of you.
“I didn’t know I needed this collab until it happened” and “how dare JYP deprive us of the two of them for this long” were the top comments within an hour of the video dropping, and by the next morning, you’re waking up to a text from your manager about doing more dance videos with Changbin.
“Can’t believe you didn’t fumble,” Chelsea says over breakfast, “Didn’t think you had it in you.”
“They went from groupie to trending ship on Twitter, I’m lowkey jealous,” Jihoo says, “I want to give a speech at your wedding. When is the wedding, by the way?”
“Stop it,” Chae says, seeing the way you look like you want to drown yourself in your untouched bowl of cereal, “...I’m going to be the one giving the speech.”
“Chae, not you too!” You groan, giving up on having any peace this morning. “There’s no wedding. Why are you guys so shocked that I was able to be professional last night??”
“Because you’re obsessed with the guy, sue me for thinking you’d be a little weird around him.” Jihoo responds, and you huff, stuffing your mouth with breakfast so you don’t have to respond.
The rest of your schedule for the day is a total blur until you’re standing outside of the practice room on the fifth floor again, raising your hand to knock on the door tentatively.
“Come in!” A muffled voice yells through the door, and you pop in, and you have to take a second to stop yourself from making an extremely inappropriate comment.
Somehow, Changbin has managed to find an even tighter tank top than the one he wore yesterday. It’s black and way too tight to be legal, his chest practically stretching the material thin from how much it’s pushing against the flimsy fabric. The grey sweatpants he’s wearing are leaving very little to the imagination as well, and you’re pretty sure if you look hard enough you can see the outline of his cock through the material. You wonder if he’s even allowed to wear that kind of thing in a video that’s going on the internet. Selfishly, you kind of want to keep the image of it to yourself.
“Everything okay?” He says, snapping you out of your extremely inappropriate reverie.
“Y-yeah!” You say with a gulp, trying (and failing) not to let your eyes roam, “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry it’s uhm…been a long day?”
Your tone is perhaps the least convincing thing you’ve ever heard, and he studies you carefully, like he can tell you’re lying, but he doesn’t push. Just beckons you further into the room with a grin, and a bounce in his step.
Everything is going fine at first. You’ve got the same flow as yesterday, the same easy banter and energy that filled the room before. You’re bouncing off of each other in a way that feels almost natural, in a way that you’d only ever dreamed about. He refuses to let you keep using the mirror video to polish the Do It choreo, something about having a “perfectly good model right here” and how it’s “basically betrayal” to try and use a mirror video when he could just teach you himself.
“Alright sunbaenim, teach me, then!”
That’s the moment when things shift, though you don’t realize it until later. You miss the way that the title makes Changbin’s ears turn pink, miss the way that his breath catches in his throat and his fingers twitch at his side. Had you been paying attention to the shape of his dick in those grey sweatpants, you would’ve caught the way it twitched, just once, filling out just a bit. It’s not noticeable if you’re not looking for it, and you’re not, not yet, too focused on trying not to make yourself look stupid in front of Changbin as you’re fixing the choreo.
It’s when he’s adjusting your footing again, a weird tension building that you can’t explain, that you feel it. He’s behind your back now, body pressed against yours as he explains the way you’re supposed to be shifting. It’s too close to just be friendly, the kind of close that makes your brain get a little fuzzy around the edges. You can feel his breath against your cheek, his hands big as they come to rest on your waist like they belong there. And as he guides you backwards into a step you overcorrect, stepping just a bit too far back, and your ass presses directly against his crotch. Both of you stop breathing for a second, his cock slotted perfectly into your ass, and you have to do everything in your power not to buck back and grind him into you.
Because Changbin is hard. Well, not fully, but he’s definitely chubbed up, the shape of him too firm and solid against you to be completely soft. You don’t react - can’t react - because he’s stepping out of your space quickly. You glance at him in the mirror through your lashes, heat flooding your veins, and you see the way that his neck has red creeping down it, his fingers flexing subtly by his sides like he’s trying to hold something back.
“Thanks sunbae,” you say, voice breathy and a little teasing, “I’ll get it this time.”
He nods, tongue coming out to lick over his lips, and shakily starts the music again. You know the choreo now - you both know that you do - but a little part of you can’t help but mess up the arm movements at the end, movements sloppy and off-beat. You hadn’t messed it up before, not once, this part being one of the things you got before Changbin had even come in the first day. You could tell he knew it was on purpose by the way his eyes sharpened when you met his in the mirror and he stops the music, shaking his head. There’s something swirling in his eyes, making them darken, and suddenly you feel very small under his gaze. You swallow nervously, and he catches the movement, eyes flicking to your throat and then back to your face through the mirror.
When he slides up behind you this time it’s deliberate. He’s impossibly close again, and his voice is low, rumbling against your back in a way that makes you shiver.
“You know that move, c’mon,” he says, mouth dangerously close to your ear, “Sunbae will remind you.”
He grabs your hand from behind loosely, and he counts off the beats in your ear. The two of you step together as one unit, and he guides your hand from behind, sharp and controlling. You can’t take your eyes off of him in the mirror, and he’s staring right back, intense and heavy. When the two of you hit the final pose, he presses forward into you again, on purpose this time, and the outline of him makes you gasp before you can choke it down.
“You make it very hard for me to be professional,” he says, hand releasing yours to come grip at your hip, “But you’re doing it on purpose, aren’t you? Teasing me, making me break. Making me like this.”
He emphasizes his point by bucking forward again, and your head falls back onto his shoulder, a whine pulling out of your throat. Both of his hands are on your hips down, and he rolls forward again lazily, grinning down at you.
“Naughty hoobae.” he hums, fingers sliding to sit under the hem of your shirt.
“Naughty sunbae,” you pant back, your brain struggling to comprehend that you’re really in this sort of position with Changbin right now, “Coming on to your poor, innocent hoobae. What would the company say?”
“Is that what happened?” He chuckles, low and mean, “Because if I remember, somebody messed up easy choreo just to get me like this. Am I wrong?”
“You were distracting me, sunbae,” you pout, head lolling as he builds up a rhythm against you, “Looking so good in that tank top. You were teasing me with your arms.”
He just hums against you, then, after a moment of thought, lets you go, stepping back. You stumble, struggling to find your footing for a moment without his warmth against your back. You spin around once you’re steady again, confusion written on your face, and Changbin just cocks an eyebrow at you, looking so fucking smug as he takes in your state.
“What? Thought I was corrupting my ‘poor, innocent hoobae,’” he says, playing dumb, “I’m sorry, we can get back to the choreo now. That was really inappropriate of me.”
You sputter, indignantly, before your face hardens into something like determination, and you step over to him in two big strides and grab him by that offending tank top, yanking him down and crashing his lips to yours. The unnamed tension that had been building since you called him “sunbaenim” snaps, and he groans into your mouth, pressing into you.
The practice room starts to feel warm, air sticky with arousal and full of the sloppy sound of lips colliding. It’s messy, all spit and teeth, as the two of you fight for dominance. You know you’ve lost, you know you can’t win against him, not when he’s built like that, but you fight back anyways, because you’ll be damned if you go down without a fight. His hand comes to cradle the back of your head, kindly at first, but when you bite into his lower lip, the touch gets meaner, fingers tangling into your hair to control your movements. The easy dominance makes you moan into his mouth, heat curling in your gut, and you buck forward, whimpering at the lack of friction where you need it.
He pulls back, panting, and studies your face. You’re sure you already look fucked out, all pretty and flushed under his hooded gaze, hips twitching upwards when his grip tightens in your hair.
“Tell me you want this,” he says, breathing labored and eyes dark, “Please. Need to know that you want this.”
You shiver in his hold, so turned on you can barely convince your mouth to form anything other than a moan. “Please. Want it, need it, please. Please, sunbae?”
He groans, forehead falling forward to rest against yours. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
You want to say something teasing back, but you can’t, because before you can open your mouth, Changbin is slipping his fingers into your loose dance pants, guiding them down slowly. You know it’s because he wants to give you the chance to stop him, give you a chance to tell him no, but it feels like torture, like he’s teasing you by making you wait. You’re squirming by the time he’s guiding you to step out of each leg, arousal leaking through the fabric of your underwear.
“Fuck.” He says, and it’s the only warning you get before you feel yourself being lifted into the air, your legs over Changbin’s shoulders.
You squeak, unprepared to be lifted like this, and he walks until your back is pressed to the cold mirror and his breath is hot against your arousal.
He presses forward to mouth at you through your underwear, spit mixing with your liquid arousal and darkening the wet spot at the front of the fabric. You both let out a moan as he mouths at you, your eyes rolling back as you finally get a taste of the friction you’ve been craving, hips pressing forward and legs wrapping around his head. He’s impatient, though, and you feel his fingers release you, only his shoulders and the mirror behind you holding you up now. Your hands scramble to find his hair, grounding yourself, and his fingers come to slide under your underwear. You open your mouth to ask how he could possibly get those off without putting you down, but you’re interrupted by a riiiip! sound filling the room, and another glob of precum escapes you because Changbin just ripped your underwear off.
“Oh my god.” You moan out, blinking down at him like he’s crazy.
He has the audacity to wink up at you as he drops the shredded remains of your underwear on the floor, fingers coming back up to grip at the fat of your hips as he dives into your heat. His tongue teases the rim of your entrance, circling around it before dipping just the tip of it in. He’s collecting your arousal on his tongue greedily, obscenely slurping it up. He’s making a show out of it, knowing that it’s turning you on, evident by the way you’re dripping by the time he’s done teasing you.
“Such a needy hoobae,” he coos against you, the vibration of his words making a bolt of pleasure shoot up your spine, “Dripping for me already. Fuck, you taste so good.”
His tongue finally, finally dips into your entrance, and your head hits the mirror with a clunk, a moan ripping out of your throat as he eats you out ravenously. He’s not sloppy - he’s precise, and that’s what makes it so dangerous. You’re hurdling towards your edge embarrassingly fast, the flick of his tongue curling into your sweet spot with ease making you shake in his hold. He holds you steady, greedy mouth pressing you further into the mirror as he tongue-fucks you. He moans appreciatively when your fingers wrap through his hair and tug, using his face to get yourself off. You can’t help it, it just feels so good, and soon you’re babbling, the coil in your stomach winding tighter and tighter until-
Until he stops, pulling back just as you’re about to come. You wail, hips bucking forward, chasing his mouth, but he tsks, strong hands pinning your hips to the mirror.
“You were so naughty earlier, teasing me,” he says, looking up at you through his thick lashes, “Did you really think you deserved to come like this?”
“‘m sorry, sunbae,” you sob, twitching, body still like a livewire, “Please, please let me come, I didn’t mean to be a naughty hoobae-”
It’s a cruel trick, calling him sunbae, because you know now that it’ll get you what you want, and you try not to smile when he shudders, fingers flexing and digging deeper into your skin.
“Brat.” He huffs, but he’s already lifting you off of his shoulders, placing your unsteady feet on the floor.
You lean against the mirror hard to keep yourself upright, knees bucking under your own weight, and Changbin curses when you look up at him through teary lashes. His fingers are fumbling for the waistband of his sweatpants, and he hooks them into his boxers too, yanking them both down just low enough to free his cock.
He’s not long by any means, probably just below average in length, but he’s thick, the kind of thick that makes your mouth water. If you didn’t crave him inside you so bad you’d probably beg him for a taste, and you lick your lips as you stare at him.
“Next time,” he grits out, one hand coming down to jerk himself off once, twice, “Next time I’m going to get you on your knees and make you use that naughty mouth to get me off.”
“Mhm, yeah? What makes you think I’m going to listen to you?” You retort, like you’re not shaking and leaking at the thought of taking him down your throat.
“Because brats like you like being put in their place.” He responds.
He manhandles you until your hands are splayed across the mirror, and you’re looking yourself in the eyes, back arched back. You don’t recognize yourself at all, hair messy and pupils practically heart-shaped as Changbin lines himself up, guiding his tip to tease at your entrance. You find his eyes through the mirror, and he grins, sharp and predator, before a hand comes to grip at your hip. The other one guides his tip until it’s pressed perfectly against your entrance, just stretching it open enough to accommodate the head of him.
“Changbin.” You sob, trying to buck back, but the hand on your hip has an iron grip on you, and you can’t move.
You let out another weak sound, tears brimming at your waterline, and he makes a disapproving sound in the back of his throat.
“That’s not my name, jagi.” He says, condescending. “If you want my cock, you have to ask properly.”
“Sunbae, sunbae, please!” You wail, and you get the breath knocked out of you when he bucks forward, sinking into your wet heat in one go.
“Oh oh oh, fuck me.” He moans, voice strained and breathy. “Shit. You’re so tight, squeezing me so good, perfect little hoobae hole sucking me in so good-”
He cuts himself off with a groan as you buck your hips back, desperate for him to just move already. The hand that was guiding his cock comes up to tangle into your hair, and he uses it as leverage as he starts to buck into you, setting an unforgiving pace.
Changbin is loud, almost louder than you, voice echoing off the walls as he takes you against the practice room mirrors. If not for the iron grip he has on your hair and on your hip, you don’t think you’d still be standing, legs jello underneath you as he plows into you just right. He’s brushing against your sweet spot with every thrust, and the girth of him is almost too much, the kind of stretch that burns. The pain is quick to morph into pleasure as he keeps using you, moaning when you flutter around him, body overwhelmed by just how good he feels.
“This was all I could think about yesterday,” he admits between moans, pace getting sloppier and harder as he loses his inhibitions, “Th-thought about-fuck! Bending you over the couch, puh-pressing my perfect little hoobae ‘nto the cushions an’ fucking into you ‘ntil you couldn’t even-hah-couldn’t even remember your own name-shit!”
His words start to blend into each other, slurring as he gets drunk on the pleasure of your wet heat surrounding him. You try to warn him that something’s coming, that you’re dangerously close, but the only words you can get out are “please” and “sunbae!”. He gets the picture, though, and suddenly he’s pulling out. You sob at the loss, until the world spins, and he’s lifting you again, pressing your back into the now slightly-fogged mirror before he slips back in.
You’re both so wet that he slips back in with no resistance, the mix of both of your precums acting as lube. The new angle pushes him deeper than he was before, and you throw your arms around his neck, pulling his mouth down to meet yours in a messy kiss. You’re not even really sure it can be called a kiss, the buck of Changbin’s hips too aggressive for your mouths to really press against each other properly. You’re both just slobbering on each other, wet kisses pressed against anywhere that your mouth can reach. It’s gross, and it pushes you closer and closer to the edge that you’ve been deprived of twice now.
“Please please please!” You moan, crying properly now, tears rolling down your cheeks as you gasp, head falling back.
“I’ve got you, got you, c’mon, need you to come, you can do it, come for me, come for sunbae-hngh!”
He tips over first, and the swell of him inside of you as he comes, hot cum painting your insides, is what pushes you over. You convulse around him, heels digging so hard into his back that he’s certain it’s going to leave bruises at the small of his back. He keeps bucking, thrusts getting weaker as you both ride out your highs, and before his idol brain can stop him, he’s leaning forward and biting, right into the junction where your shoulder meets your neck. It makes you clench around him even harder, another weak moan slipping out of your mouth.
Neither of you move for a second, still shaken from your intense orgasms. Everything feels so heavy now - the air is thick with sex and sweat, your limbs feel like they belong to someone else, and your eyelids fight you as you struggle to open them. His head lifts from where it’s buried in your neck when you make a small sound, something between a whimper and a gasp, and when your eyes meet, you’re both surging forward again.
This kiss is softer, but no less heated than the previous ones. Unsaid words are pressed into this kiss, and your body relaxes against him as you kiss him, sense slowly becoming your own again.
He reluctantly pulls away from you to slip himself out of you. Both of you hiss, hypersensitive, and you wince when his cum slips out of you too, dripping down onto the vinyl hardwood of the practice room floor.
He carries you over to the couch wordlessly, placing you gently on the cushions. You’re reluctant to let him go, but he gives you a look, and you unwrap yourself from him, letting him hobble off on unsteady legs to his bag. He looks ridiculous, sweatpants and underwear still around his thighs as he waddles away, his ass just barely peeking out over it. You wish now that your limbs were a little less heavy so that you could’ve reached out and smacked it as he walked away.
He comes back with your water bottle and his, as well as a washcloth that he procured out of nowhere. When you give him a questioning look, he finally breaks the silence, opening your water bottle and handing it to you delicately.
“I keep a clean rag in my bag in case I get too sweaty,” he says, defending himself, and you snort, making him grin, “Hey! It’s a valid concern!”
“You’re hot when you’re sweaty, though,” you say, mostly because your brain is mush and can’t stop your intrusive thoughts from winning, “Why would you want to take that away from anyone?”
He flushes, a deep pink, somehow embarrassed despite having been buried inside of you moments earlier. “Yah! You can’t just say that!”
“What? That you’re hot?” You blink up at him lazily, surprised by the sudden upperhand you’ve been handed. “Awww, can sunbae not handle a compliment? So cute, sunbae!”
He blushes deeper, using his water bottle to wet the washcloth in his hand. He uses a gentle hand to clean up your entrance, pouting at you through his lashes.
“‘m not cute.”
You coo at him, reaching out to pinch his cheek. “Says the cutest guy ever.”
“Shut up.” He says, fully red now, heat spreading down his neck and to his chest.
He guides you back into your pants, apologizing quietly about your decimated underwear, the scrap of fabric getting discarded in the practice room trashcan. You tell him it’s perhaps the hottest thing that’s ever happened to you and he groans, burying his face in your stomach. He says something that gets muffled into your stomach, and you laugh, amused by just how soft he is right now.
“Dude you were literally inside of me, why are you embarrassed that I think you’re hot?” You say, and he groans again, burying himself further into you.
“Don’t call me dude,” he complains, “And I don’t know, maybe because my bias is calling me hot?”
He freezes against you, and you freeze too.
“I’m your bias?” you say, right as he says:
“You didn’t hear that!”
The air goes still for a moment, before you’re speaking up, unwilling to let this go.
“You’re joking, right? Changbin. Sunbae.”
He groans again, ears colored red. “Don’t call me that. I’m trying to disappear.”
“Into your bias’ shirt?” you tease, and he just grumbles, fingers curling into the fabric of your pants, “For the record, you’re my bias too.”
His head snaps up, eyes glowing. “Really?”
“Really,” you confirm, “Jihoo clowned on me so hard before I came up here yesterday. Chelsea said she can’t believe I ‘didn’t fumble.’”
“Oh thank god, this is far less embarrassing now,” he says, eyes twinkling with mischief, “Wait, is that why you jumped so high when I tapped your shoulder?”
“Don’t turn this around on me, mister ‘my bias called me hot,’” you say, pointing a finger at him, “Now can we please get out of this practice room? This was fun, but I don’t want to fall asleep on the fifth floor of the JYP building. Not a very hot or sexy move.”
He laughs, and helps you stand. You almost buckle, and he offers to carry you, but you have to refuse, knowing just how bad that would look if dispatch caught that on camera. He insists on holding your hand anyways (“in case you fall!”), which you suppose will look just as bad, but you don’t care. He calls you a car and sits with you the whole time, fingers playing with yours.
“Can I…” He trails off, just as the car is pulling up.
“Can you what?” You respond, looking up at him.
“Can I get your number? You can totally say no-”
You cut him off with a quick kiss, not caring who else might be around right now. Both of you already but your careers at jeopardy by fucking in the building, a quick kiss feels like nothing now.
“Obviously.”
You exchange numbers and he walks you to the car, opening the door for you. The driver sends you a knowing look and you flush. Changbin hovers near the door for a moment, hesitant and unsure what to say, and you smile up at him as you buckle your seatbelt, teasing.
“See you tomorrow, sunbae.”
He flushes, but grins back at you anyways. “Good night, hoobae.”
When you get back to the dorm, Jihoo gawks at the mark on your neck, and Chae just groans, already preparing herself for the damage control she’s probably going to have to do. But you couldn’t care less, not when your phone pings, and “Changbin <3” pops up at the top of your screen.
From: Changbin <3
>Hope I didn’t go too hard on you.
>Let me know that you got home safely, please!
>And good night, hoobae. Can’t wait to see you soon <3