good for you
pairing: hongjoong x seonghwa (hj!top, hwa!bottom) explicit genre: +18 smut, established relationship wc: 5,6k summary: Hongjoong wasn’t lying: Seonghwa was good. And now, he had to prove it. Or, the truth behind that moan in “In Your Fantasy.” warnings: insecurity, comfort, possessiveness, praise kink, making out, blowjobs, anal sex, anal fingering, mirror sex, unprotected sex, accidental recording a/n: so… this is my first time posting here. I’m still figuring things out, but I did my best! originally published on ao3
The air conditioner from their hotel room murmured in the background. They’d been working for hours now, or at least trying to. The track sat paused for a moment now, and the mic was still live. Hongjoong hadn’t said anything about leaving it on. He forgot eventually.
Seonghwa sat back in the bed with his fingers tangled in his own hair, head tipped back against the wall. His phone lay abandoned beside the keyboard, and his eyes were distant, unfocused in that way Hongjoong had come to know too well. The kind of look that meant he was thinking in spirals again, that he’d lost the thread of the song somewhere between his own self-doubt and the compulsion to get it right.
Across the room, Hongjoong leaned against the edge of the table, watching him with his arms closed. He didn’t say anything at first, just let the silence press down until Seonghwa was frustrated enough to break it himself. It didn’t take long.
“It sounds flat,” he muttered eventually, barely audible. “Everything about it. I’m not hitting the right phrasing, the tone is… off. I sound fake.”
“You don’t,” Hongjoong replied immediately. “You sound like you always do.”
“Exactly.”
Hongjoong’s brow twitched. He pushed off the table and crossed the room slowly. “We stopped recording because you kept making that face. You seem like you hated every second of it.”
Seonghwa dragged a hand down his face and said in a tight voice: “I do.”
“No,” Hongjoong corrected, crouching beside the bed now. “You hate that it’s not perfect.” He tilted his head slightly, studying him. “But that’s not the same as bad.”
Seonghwa didn’t answer. His jaw was clenched, and his lips pressed into a line, like he was trying to swallow whatever he wanted to say. Hongjoong leaned in a little more.
“Say it.”
Seonghwa’s eyes flicked to him. “Say what?”
“Say what’s really bothering you.”
“I already told you—”
“Not the technical shit,” Hongjoong cut in. “You think I didn’t notice? You’ve been spiraling since you saw that comment this morning.”
Seonghwa’s breath hitched.
“I’m not mad,” Hongjoong added, his voice softer now. “But don’t lie to me. Not about this.”
After a moment, Seonghwa spoke.
“They said I was trying too hard to be sexy,” he murmured. “That I’m selling some type of fantasy because I don’t have anything else to give.”
Hongjoong didn’t move, but Seonghwa could feel the change in the air. He was containing himself. His fingers curled slowly into fists against his thighs, and his jaw was tight.
“And you believed them.”
“I didn’t want to,” Seonghwa admitted. “But when you already feel like you’re toeing the line between your own art and indulgence… and then people just confirm it for you…it sticks.”
He laughed bitterly. “Maybe I just don’t know the difference anymore. Between being enough and just being… looked at.”
Hongjoong stood. He stepped around, reached over, and tapped the track back to the beginning. The demo for “Skin,” the one Seonghwa had rewritten three times and still wasn’t convinced with.
He didn’t press play yet.
“You’re not pretending,” he said quietly, stepping in close beside him, voice low at Seonghwa’s ear.
Seonghwa closed his eyes. Didn’t speak.
“Do you even hear yourself?” Hongjoong asked, closer now, leaning over him. “You don’t know how you sound when you stop filtering yourself. When you mean it.”
He reached forward and pressed play.
The room was filled with Seonghwa’s voice.
Hide me in secret But baby, only if you want Whatever you want You know you deserve it
“You hear that?” Hongjoong asked, leaning down just enough that his breath brushed Seonghwa’s neck. “That’s the part I didn’t touch.”
He moved slowly, like he had all the time in the world to prove a point. His hand hovered for a moment, like he was asking permission he didn’t quite know how to voice, before he leaned in and pressed a kiss just below Seonghwa’s jaw.
It was careful. Not from hesitation, but from his own effort. Because this part didn’t come easily to Hongjoong. He’d always been better with actions, just not physical contact. But with Seonghwa… he wanted to be better at this. And lately, he'd been trying.
The kisses had started some years ago, and eventually they were more than just kisses. Neither of them had said what it was; it wasn’t quite dating nor just messing around. They danced around it, careful not to define it, as if giving it a name would somehow break it.
Maybe they should talk about it. But then again… maybe this was enough.
Hongjoong kissed him again, this time just beneath his ear, deliberate and slow. He wanted Seonghwa to know that he meant every single second of this. Every brush of lips, every word spoken between them, every glance.
“What if you’re being explicit? It sounds so fucking hot.”
Seonghwa’s hands gripped the edge of the bed with pale knuckles.
“You’re not just performing,” Hongjoong whispered, lips grazing his skin again. “And yeah, it sounds sensual. But that’s not shameful.”
Seonghwa’s breath caught again, sharper this time. His hands left the sheets, found the edge of Hongjoong’s hoodie instead, curling in the fabric like it could hold him steady.
“And you don’t have to tone it down just to be respected,” Hongjoong continued. “You can be beautiful and still be brilliant. Shit, you can turn people on and still be a fucking genius.”
He kissed him again, this time at the edge of his mouth.
“You’re not just a visual,” Hongjoong breathed. “You’re the center of this track. You’re the reason it’s alive.”
Seonghwa let out a breath that shivered apart halfway through. His head dropped forward, his body was tense; Hongjoong knew that praise always got him.
“You can’t keep doing this,” he said after a while, voice hoarse. “Saying things like that.”
Hongjoong pulled back just enough to look at him. “Why not?”
“Because I’ll believe you.”
“Good.”
And then he finally kissed him on the lips. More than comforting, Hongjoong was trying to claim. He was done waiting for Seonghwa to stop apologizing for being exactly what he was.
Seonghwa responded with a sound low in his throat, pulling Hongjoong down with him as they twisted together into the sheets. The music kept playing, fading into the background as mouths met again and again, now desperate. Eventually, Seonghwa rolled them over, straddling him, and Hongjoong didn’t fight it. Just looked up at him with his hands splayed on his thighs, his eyes fixed on the eldest.
“You’re a mess,” Seonghwa said, breathless, trying for a smirk but not quite making it.
“And you’re gorgeous,” Hongjoong replied quickly. He didn’t mean to praise Seonghwa actually, it was a fact.
Seonghwa stilled for a beat, eyes narrowing slightly. “Since when do you say things like that?”
“Since I got tired of watching you pretend you don’t need to hear it.”
A flicker of something passed through Seonghwa’s expression. He leaned down slowly, lips brushing against Hongjoong’s, his voice softer now.
“Shut up.”
“Make me,” Hongjoong murmured, already leaning in.
So, he did.
Seonghwa kissed him like he meant it now, his weight a warm press atop Hongjoong’s body. There was no hesitation anymore. His hands roamed without destination, fingers brushing Hongjoong’s cheek, his neck, the curve of his shoulder, his chest.
The music still played faintly from the monitors, forgotten. The mic, red-lit, on top of the keyboard.
Hongjoong let himself sink into it, one hand tracing a slow path up Seonghwa’s spine beneath his shirt, feeling the subtle arch of bone, tense muscle slowly loosening under his touch. He pressed his lips slowly to Seonghwa’s jaw, then along the line of his throat.
The air between them was thick now. Seonghwa’s hips shifted above him, a subtle roll that made Hongjoong exhale sharply through his nose, fingers digging into the fabric of his shorts. He felt a slight tremble in Seonghwa’s thighs.
Their mouths met again, hungrier now. Seonghwa’s lips were parted, his breath uneven, and when Hongjoong licked into his mouth, he felt the way Seonghwa melted into it and gave in. One of his hands slid into Hongjoong’s hair, tugging just enough to draw a quiet groan from deep in his throat. Hongjoong’s fingers slid up beneath the hem of Seonghwa’s shirt again, this time bolder, his palms splayed over warm skin, tracing ribs.
Seonghwa gasped softly when fingernails scraped gently down his sides. His head dropped to the crook of Hongjoong’s neck, lips brushing there, then sucking lightly at the skin as if to anchor himself. Hongjoong tilted his head back to give him space, breath catching when Seonghwa’s teeth grazed just beneath his ear.
There was nothing rushed about it. They kissed like they had nowhere else to be. The room had disappeared around them. Time, too. There was only this.
Hongjoong ran his hands down Seonghwa’s back again, gripping his waist firmly and pulling him closer, until they were flush. He could feel every line of him. His tongue slid over Seonghwa’s lower lip again, coaxing, tasting, and Seonghwa let him in with a quiet whimper that sent heat spiraling low in his stomach.
Seonghwa moved with more confidence now, the rhythm of his body aligning with Hongjoong’s touch. He straddled him fully, hands on either side of his face, and kissed him deeper. His breath came in short gasps between kisses, his lips red and slick and trembling slightly every time they broke apart.
Hongjoong couldn’t stop touching him. His hands traced every inch of skin they could find, each pass purposeful, worshipful. The curve of Seonghwa’s waist, the dip of his lower back, the ridges of his spine; all of it, sacred. He mouthed at his throat again, biting lightly, then soothing the spot with his tongue, feeling the tremor it sent through Seonghwa’s body.
Somewhere, the demo looped again, their unfinished track threading in and out beneath the rustle of fabric, the sound of lips meeting, breath hitching, the occasional low groan that neither of them could contain. If either of them noticed, they didn’t care.
Seonghwa’s fingers ghosted over Hongjoong’s jaw as he kissed him again. His hips still moved, and Hongjoong met him there, hands firm on his hips, guiding him.
Seonghwa moaned softly against his mouth, this time not from pressure but from the overwhelming tenderness of it all. From being seen, held, and wanted in the exact way he’d always been afraid no one would.
Hongjoong swallowed that sound like a vow.
He pulled back just enough to look at him: eyes heavy-lidded, lips kiss-bruised, long black hair falling into his flushed face. Beautiful.
For a while, there was nothing but the slide of lips and tongues, the quiet sounds of their breathing, the way Seonghwa’s body moved against his. At some point, their clothes had ended up forgotten on the floor. Seonghwa shivered when Hongjoong’s fingers brushed over the sensitive skin of his stomach, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he ground down against him deliberately, and Hongjoong’s grip tightened instinctively.
“Shit,” Hongjoong breathed, breaking the kiss to press his forehead against Seonghwa’s. “You’re—”
Seonghwa kissed him again before he could finish, swallowing the rest of his words. They stayed like that for what felt like hours, trading kisses and quiet touches, neither of them willing to pull away. It was only when Seonghwa’s phone buzzed loudly against the nightstand, a reminder for something neither of them cared about right now, that they finally stilled. Seonghwa pulled back just enough to look at him, lips red and eyes hazy. Hongjoong smirked.
“What?”
Seonghwa shook his head, exhaling a quiet laugh. “Nothing.”
Then he leaned in again. Hongjoong’s fingers traced idle patterns against Seonghwa’s bare shoulder, the hotel sheets tangled around their waists. The room smelled like sweat and the faint citrus of Seonghwa’s shampoo.
“It is good,” Hongjoong murmured again, lips brushing the nape of Seonghwa’s neck. “You are good.”
Seonghwa exhaled sharply through his nose, shifting away just slightly, but Hongjoong didn’t let him. He tightened his arm around his waist, pulling him back against his chest.
“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa warned.
“No,” Hongjoong said, pressing a kiss to the curve of his shoulder. “You don’t get to pretend you didn’t hear me.”
Seonghwa turned his head, just enough to glare at him over his shoulder. His lips were still swollen, his hair a mess from Hongjoong’s hands, and the sight of him like this; flushed and disheveled and his, even if neither of them would say it out loud, made something possessive curl low in Hongjoong’s gut.
“You don’t have to lie to me,” Seonghwa muttered.
Hongjoong’s jaw tightened. He rolled them over in one smooth motion, pinning Seonghwa beneath him, hands bracketing his head. Seonghwa’s breath hitched, but he didn’t push him away.
“When,” Hongjoong said slowly, “have I ever lied to you?”
Seonghwa’s throat worked as he swallowed. His hands came up, fingers curling loosely around Hongjoong’s wrists, but he didn’t pull him closer or push him away. Just held on.
“You don’t have to—”
“Yes, I do,” Hongjoong cut him off, voice low. “Because you won’t fucking listen.”
Seonghwa’s eyes flickered, something vulnerable flashing across his face before he steeled himself again. Then, without breaking eye contact, he slid one hand down Hongjoong’s chest, over his stomach. Hongjoong’s breath stuttered, and Seonghwa smirked.
“Then shut up,” he murmured, “and let me show you how grateful I am.”
Hongjoong opened his mouth to argue, but Seonghwa’s hand curled around him, stroking once, just shy of too tight, and the words died in his throat.
“Fuck,” he hissed, hips jerking forward instinctively. Seonghwa’s smirk widened.
He pushed up on his elbows, forcing Hongjoong to sit back on his heels as Seonghwa settled between his thighs. His fingers traced the length of him, slow and teasing, before he leaned in, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of Hongjoong’s thigh. Hongjoong’s hands fisted in the sheets. Seonghwa’s tongue dragged a hot, wet stripe up his cock, and Hongjoong’s head fell back with a groan.
“That’s—” He choked on the words as Seonghwa took him into his mouth, sinking down in one smooth motion. “—not what I meant.”
Seonghwa hummed around him, the vibration shooting straight to Hongjoong’s spine. His hands came up to grip Hongjoong’s hips, holding him in place as he worked him over with his mouth slowly. Hongjoong swore, fingers tangling in Seonghwa’s hair.
“You’re, fuck, you’re impossible.” Seonghwa pulled off just long enough to glance up at him through his lashes, lips slick and swollen.
“Then stop talking,” he said with his voice wrecked, before swallowing him down again.
Hongjoong’s grip tightened. He should argue. Should pull him off and make him listen, should force him to hear the words he’d been trying to say for weeks. But Seonghwa’s tongue curled just right, his throat working around him, and Hongjoong’s thoughts scattered.
Fine. If Seonghwa wanted to shut him up like this, Hongjoong would let him. For now. He’d tell him again later, and again after that. As many times as it took for Seonghwa to believe it.
But for now, Hongjoong tugged sharply on Seonghwa’s hair, pulling him off with a wet pop. Seonghwa’s lips parted in protest, but Hongjoong didn’t give him time to speak. He flipped them over, pressing Seonghwa back into the mattress, kissing him deep and filthy, tasting himself on Seonghwa’s tongue. Seonghwa arched against him, hands scrambling at his back, his shoulders, his hips, anywhere he could reach.
Hongjoong broke the kiss just long enough to growl against his mouth: “You’re good.” Then he swallowed Seonghwa’s answering moan, and didn’t let him argue again.
Hongjoong didn’t pull away after the kiss. Instead, he pressed closer, fingers sliding up Seonghwa’s chest, tracing the line of his collarbone. Seonghwa exhaled sharply, hands still fisted in the sheets.
“We should, ah—”
Hongjoong didn’t let him finish. He kissed him again, deeper this time, swallowing the protest before it could fully form. His hands moved with purpose, sliding down to the dip of Seonghwa’s waist, savoring the way his breath hitched when his fingers brushed over sensitive ribs.
Seonghwa was beautiful like this: flushed, lips parted, his body arching just slightly under Hongjoong’s touch. Hongjoong took his time, letting his palms skate across warm skin, memorizing the way Seonghwa shivered when his thumbs grazed over his nipples.
“Hongjoong—” Seonghwa’s voice was ragged, half a warning, half a plea.
Hongjoong ignored it, shifting his attention lower. His fingers hooked into the waistband of Seonghwa’s boxers, pulling them down in one slow, deliberate motion.
Seonghwa’s breath stuttered as the cool air hit his skin, his cock already half-hard, flushed and perfect against his thigh. Hongjoong’s mouth watered. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the inside of Seonghwa’s knee, then higher, along the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, teasing, dragging it out just to hear the way Seonghwa’s breathing fractured.
Hongjoong paused, pressing one last kiss to the crease of Seonghwa's thigh before pulling back. "Wait," he murmured. He reached for the nightstand, fumbling for the small bottle he'd tossed there earlier. The lube was cool against his palm as he slicked his fingers, watching the way Seonghwa's breath hitched at the sound of the cap clicking open.
He didn't rush. Instead, he dragged his clean hand up Seonghwa's thigh, thumb brushing the base of his cock, already flushed and leaking against his stomach.
"Look at you," Hongjoong murmured, leaning down to press an open-mouthed kiss just below his navel. "So fucking perfect."
Seonghwa whined, hips lifting off the bed, chasing the touch.
Hongjoong smirked but didn't give him what he wanted, not yet. Instead, he let his fingers trail lower, tracing teasing circles around Seonghwa's rim, just enough pressure to make him gasp.
"Hongjoong—"
"Shh," Hongjoong soothed, pressing in with one finger, slow, watching the way Seonghwa's back arched, his mouth falling open on a silent moan. He worked him open carefully, curling his finger just right, relishing the way Seonghwa's thighs trembled around him.
By the time he added a second finger, Seonghwa was a mess beneath him with his chest flushed, lips bitten red, hands fisting the sheets. Hongjoong crooked his fingers again, dragging a broken moan from Seonghwa's throat.
"There! Fuck, there—"
Hongjoong hummed, scissoring his fingers and stretching him, before finally, finally, leaning down to take Seonghwa into his mouth.
He wasn't usually one for blowjobs; the angle was awkward, the taste sometimes too much, but this? The way Seonghwa's breath stuttered, the way his hips jerked, the way his fingers tangled in Hongjoong's hair desperately, this was worth it.
Hongjoong hollowed his cheeks, sucking him down, his own cock aching where it was trapped in his shorts. He could feel the way Seonghwa tightened around his fingers, could hear the way his moans pitched higher, more frantic.
"Close, fuck! I'm close—"
Hongjoong didn't stop. He worked him faster, fingers fucking into him in time with the bobs of his head, until Seonghwa was trembling and his thighs shaking.
Hongjoong could feel his own arousal like a live wire under his skin, his cock straining against the mattress. He reached down with his free hand, his own breath coming in short and uneven bursts.
Seonghwa’s moans were ruining him. The way his voice cracked on Hongjoong’s name, the way his back arched off the bed, the way his fingers tightened in Hongjoong’s hair, it was too much. Hongjoong’s hips jerked, his own orgasm crashing over him unexpectedly, spilling hot and sudden into the sheets as Seonghwa’s thighs clenched around his shoulders.
He pulled off with a gasp, his fingers still working Seonghwa’s cock, stroking him through the aftershocks until Seonghwa came with a choked-off cry, his release streaking across his stomach.
For a moment, the only sound in the room was their ragged breathing. Hongjoong leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Seonghwa’s hipbone, then his stomach, tasting salt and sweat and him.
Seonghwa huffed a laugh, but his eyes were dark, still hazy with pleasure. He tugged Hongjoong up, kissing him slowly and deeply, his free hand sliding down Hongjoong’s back possessively.
Hongjoong pulled back just enough to murmur, “I should clean us up,” but Seonghwa’s grip tightened.
“More,” he murmured, his voice rough. “Please.”
Hongjoong’s grin was slow and wicked. “Greedy.” But he didn’t hesitate.
He kissed him deep, swallowing Seonghwa’s gasp as his hand slid between them, fingers wrapping around Hongjoong’s cock first, stroking him back to full hardness with practiced ease. Seonghwa arched into the touch, hips jerking up when Hongjoong’s thumb swiped over the head, smearing precome down his length.
“Fuck—” Seonghwa broke the kiss, panting, but Hongjoong chased his mouth, biting at his lower lip as his other hand found Seonghwa’s cock, squeezing just enough to make him whine.
“You’re so fucking pretty like this,” Hongjoong muttered against his lips, stroking them both in tandem, slow and filthy. “All desperate for me.”
Seonghwa’s breath hitched, thighs trembling. “Shut up.”
Seonghwa surged up, flipping them so Hongjoong was beneath him, but Hongjoong just laughed breathlessly, his hands already mapping the curve of Seonghwa’s hips. “Yeah, like that. Take what you want.”
Seonghwa kissed him instead, deep and messy, grinding down against him, their cocks sliding together in the slick heat between their bodies. Hongjoong groaned, his fingers digging into Seonghwa’s waist now, but then he paused, an idea flickering in his dark gaze.
“Turn over,” he murmured, nudging Seonghwa onto his stomach.
Seonghwa went willingly, sighing as Hongjoong’s hands smoothed down his spine, lips pressing between his shoulder blades. He heard the rustle of Hongjoong reaching for his bag, the crinkle of a condom wrapper, but Seonghwa reached back blindly, catching his wrist.
“No,” he breathed. “I want to feel you. Just—just you.”
Hongjoong’s exhale was shaky. “Are you sure?”
Seonghwa nodded, pressing his face into the pillow. They hadn’t talked about it, not really, but they hadn’t needed to. The exclusivity between them was an unspoken agreement.
Hongjoong’s fingers traced his rim, slick with lube, teasing before pressing in, one then two, curling just right to make Seonghwa gasp.
“God, you’re still tight,”Hongjoong muttered, scissoring him open, “Always so fucking perfect—”
Seonghwa shuddered, pushing back against his fingers, but Hongjoong didn’t let him rush. He took his time, stretching him again until Seonghwa was writhing, cock dripping onto the sheets beneath him.
“Joong, please—”
Hongjoong let out a breathless laugh.
“I’ve got you.” Hongjoong lined himself up, pressing in with a slow, relentless push, groaning as Seonghwa’s body yielded to him. “Fuck, fuck—you feel—”
Seonghwa couldn’t answer, too lost in the stretch, the heat, the way Hongjoong filled him so completely. But then Hongjoong’s hands were on his hips, hauling him up, and suddenly, Seonghwa’s back was flush against Hongjoong’s chest, their bodies slotting together.
And then he saw it.
The mirror across the room.
Them.
Seonghwa’s breath caught. He could see everything; the way Hongjoong’s arms wrapped around him possessively, the way his own cock stood hard and leaking against his stomach, the flush spreading down his chest, his throat.
“Look at you,” Hongjoong murmured, lips grazing the shell of his ear. One hand slid up to cup Seonghwa’s jaw, tilting his face toward the mirror. “Look how good you take me.”
Seonghwa whimpered, hips jerking as Hongjoong thrust up into him, the angle deeper like this. His reflection was a mess; his lips were parted, his eyes glassy, and his long hair sticking to his forehead.
“Hongjoong, I—”
“Say it.” Hongjoong’s voice was demanding, fingers tightening on his chin. “Say you’re good.”
Seonghwa shook his head, but Hongjoong snapped his hips up, punching a moan out of him.
“Say it.”
“I—I’m—” Seonghwa choked on the words, but Hongjoong didn’t relent, fucking into him with sharp, measured thrusts, each one dragging a broken sound from his throat.
“Say it, or I’ll stop.”
It was a lie, they both knew it. But Seonghwa cracked anyway.
“I’m good,” he gasped, “I’m good, I’m—fuck—”
Hongjoong groaned, burying his face in Seonghwa’s neck as his rhythm faltered, hips stuttering. “Yeah, you are, god—you’re so fucking good—”
He came with a shudder, spilling deep inside him, teeth sinking into Seonghwa’s shoulder to muffle his groan. Seonghwa whined at the feeling, but Hongjoong’s hand was already between his cock, stroking him fast and filthy, thumb swiping over the head with every upstroke.
“Come on,” Hongjoong panted, mouth hot against his skin, “Let me see you. Let me see how pretty you look when you come.”
Seonghwa’s hips jerked, his orgasm crashing over him so hard his vision whited out, spilling over Hongjoong’s fingers with a sob, his body clamping down around the still-hard cock inside him.
Hongjoong held him through it, murmuring praise against his sweat-damp skin, fingers gentle now as they milked him through the aftershocks.
When Seonghwa finally sagged back against him, boneless and spent, Hongjoong pressed a kiss to his temple.
“Told you,” he murmured, smug but tender. “All you.”
Seonghwa couldn’t argue this time.
They collapsed into each other. Seonghwa’s head rested on Hongjoong’s shoulder, his fingers splayed across his chest, both of them sticky with sweat. The demo still looped faintly in the background.
Hongjoong finally stirred, dragging a hand over his face as he reached for the laptop on the low table beside them. The screen blinked to life, and then he stilled.
The mic was still on.
Recording.
He stared at it for a long moment, mouth parted slightly, blinking once, twice.
“…Seonghwa,” he said slowly, glancing down at him. “You do know we’ve been recording this entire time, right?”
Seonghwa let out a low groan, pressing his forehead into Hongjoong’s bare shoulder.
“You’re joking.”
Hongjoong tilted the screen toward him, showing the steadily growing waveform. “I wish I was.”
For a moment, they just lay there in stunned silence. Then Seonghwa laughed softly, his cheeks still flushed.
“Please tell me you’re going to delete that.”
“I mean…” Hongjoong drawled, quirking a brow. “Do you want me to?”
Seonghwa lifted his head just enough to meet his gaze, skeptical.
“You’re not seriously thinking of keeping it.”
“I might be.”
“You’re insane.”
“But you don’t mind?” Hongjoong asked, quieter now, less teasing, more curious. “If I keep it? Just for… reference?”
Seonghwa hesitated. His face was still pink, but he gave a small shake of his head. “No. I don’t mind.”
Hongjoong smiled. “Good.”
He didn’t listen to it that night. Didn’t even touch it for days. He just labeled the file something innocuous, Layer 17 (ambient), and tucked it into a folder of vocal scraps and texture samples. Left it alone for a while.
It wasn’t until the second week of working on the title track that he stumbled over it again.
He was layering harmonies, adjusting atmospheric reverb, trying to fill the space in some parts of the song with something that didn’t feel flat. Something more sensual. He kept cycling through old recordings, pulling snippets from past sessions, some breaths, half-spoken phrases, until Layer 17 blinked up at him from the list.
Curious, he clicked it.
The sound of low moans, breathy sighs, and the occasional soft whimper muffled between kisses filled his headphones. It was too much, the memory surging back, the skin under his hands, Seonghwa’s mouth hot and open against his lips.
Beneath it all, barely audible: the looping melody of their song.
And then it hit him.
It fits.
He soloed one of Seonghwa’s moans and dragged it into the track. Aligned it in the chorus and tucked it beneath the synth line.
His fingers paused on the keys.
Then, he pressed play.
It sounded good. Too good. He played it again. And again. And then he laughed; half in disbelief, half in pure, possessive satisfaction.
Of course it was Seonghwa.
No one would ever know where it came from. No one would hear it and think Seonghwa made that sound because of me. Only he would know that. Only he had made him tremble like that, fall apart like that.
That knowledge sparked something low in his spine.
They weren’t official or defined. But Seonghwa was his.
The idea alone made his breath catch; how that single and fleeting sound could leave a mark no one else would see, it was a secret between the two.
He sat back with his headphones slipping slightly, his heart beating just a touch faster than it had a moment ago.
Still, he didn’t use it without asking.
He waited until rehearsal ended the next night and pulled Seonghwa aside in the studio, with the door shut, the others trickling out one by one.
“So, uh,” Hongjoong started, trying not to smile. “Remember that recording?”
Seonghwa narrowed his eyes. “Which one?”
Hongjoong clicked a few keys. The audio played briefly, just a snippet, but Seonghwa recognized it instantly. He froze, his spine straightening.
“Hongjoong—”
“Wait,” he said, holding up a hand. “Just listen.”
He hit play on the full track, the title track. And in the background, layered just beneath some parts of the song, was that sound. That breath. That moan. The one Hongjoong had coaxed out of Seonghwa himself.
Seonghwa listened in silence. When it ended, he blinked slowly, lips parted.
“…That’s actually good,” he said, surprised.
“I know,” Hongjoong said, smug. “It doesn’t sound like you were…you know.”
Seonghwa flushed again, but this time it was softer.
“It’s not like anyone will know,” he murmured, eyes flicking toward him. “Unless you tell them.”
Hongjoong grinned. “I won’t. Not unless they guess.”
They didn’t. Not at first.
But the first time the finished version played for the whole group, everyone was piled into the control room, their snacks and drinks were forgotten as the final chorus swelled and fell, and there was a moment.
Just one.
A beat of silence as that layered moan slipped through the speakers one last time.
Yeosang tilted his head. San blinked. Jongho glanced at the monitor, confused, before going back to bobbing his head. Mingi didn’t even notice.
But Wooyoung turned slowly in his chair, lips quirking into a smirk so dangerous it could’ve been illegal.
“…Is that what I think it is?”
Hongjoong didn’t even look at him, but Wooyoung burst into laughter, nearly doubling over in his seat.
“You freaks! Oh my God. You layered sex into the fucking title track!”
“It’s not—” Seonghwa started, mortified.
“I knew that breath sounded too familiar,” Wooyoung cackled, wiping at his eyes. “I just didn’t think you’d be bold enough to use it like ten fucking times!”
Seonghwa buried his face in his hands.
Hongjoong, meanwhile, leaned back in his chair, pretending to ignore Wooyoug.
The others didn’t even react much, just side-eyed the two of them with varying degrees of amusement and resignation. It wasn’t exactly a secret anymore, not when they weren’t cautious. Not when San had walked in on them once and pretended he saw nothing, or when Yunho had seen some text messages between the two. The others weren’t blind. And Hongjoong and Seonghwa, for all their composure, weren’t exactly subtle.
Still, no one made him take it out.
Months later, Seonghwa stood at Songzio’s fashion week venue, draped in black tailored fabric, his black hair pushed back and his fingers bare, intentionally so. There was one ring missing. It wasn’t an overlooked detail, but rather left behind.
He moved through the crowd smiling, bowing, and pausing just long enough for the cameras, for the stylists, for the brand reps who whispered compliments about him. He took it all in stride.
After the cameras had moved on and he was finally able to drift toward the velvet rope, he spotted their fans. Their ATINYs. He stepped closer, just enough for a small moment to exist between them.
“Seonghwa-ssi,” one fan said gently, her voice almost lost beneath the buzz. “Your MD ring… you’re not wearing it.”
He glanced at his hand, feigning mild surprise, then let the smallest smile pull at the corner of his mouth.
“I only brought the members with me this time,” he said smoothly.
All of them cheered, then one fan said. “Of course. Family comes first.”
Seonghwa smiled more, looking at his ring. He knew what he was about to say would rattle them, and yes, maybe that was part of it, but not all. He looked at the crowd, then at the ground.
“No,” he said, the smile sharpening. “Kim Hongjoong comes first.”
Their reaction was immediate; eyes blown wide, hands flying to their mouths.
He didn’t linger, just gave a quick smile as he turned away, disappearing past the last wave of lights and into the quiet corridors backstage. He needed a moment to himself.
He pulled out his phone, thumbs gliding over the screen, tapping into the familiar thread where only one name sat pinned at the top. Someone had captured that exact moment, and it was viral after a few minutes.
He sent it without a caption.
A minute.
Then his phone vibrated with a reply:
[Hongjoong] You're insufferable.
Seonghwa smirked.
They hadn’t given it a name, yet, but it had been going on for a while now. Still, it didn’t matter.
What mattered was the quiet part underneath it all. That invisible thread between them. The grounding sense that even with the world watching, Seonghwa belonged somewhere. Not to a schedule, or a brand, but to someone.
To Hongjoong.
It wasn’t just the ring. It was everything he didn’t need to wear when the truth was already stitched under his skin.
And maybe no one else could see it. Maybe it would always be hidden. But he knew, and Hongjoong knew.
That he was his, and that Hongjoong was his too.
And Seonghwa had never felt prouder of anything.
