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“You’re literally such a freak.”
Soobin hums in agreement. Whether or not he really agrees with Yeonjun isn’t relevant; what’s relevant is the way the tips of Yeonjun’s fingers press down firmly against Soobin’s tongue, salty and slightly bitter from the whiskey Yeonjun had accidentally spilled on his hand earlier before Soobin so generously offered to clean it up for him (with his mouth). Soobin whines, his hands twisting into the fabric of Yeonjun’s velvety shirt. Yeonjun chuckles darkly, condescendingly.
“Don’t mess up my outfit, kitten. The crowd will know we were up to something.”
Soobin’s knees shake. Good, he wants to say. Let them know. Let them know that no matter how desperately they wish they could be the one backstage with rockstar Choi Yeonjun, it was Soobin—just some nobody who happened to catch Yeonjun’s eye for the night, just one of many.
Maybe that’s what spurs Soobin into acting so rashly, into thinking that Yeonjun is never going to remember his name when he moves onto the next tour. He’ll remember the way Soobin came up to him all nervous before the show, shaking and wide eyed, doe eyes gleaming with admiration and widening with shock when famous rock drummer Yeonjun propositions him; he’ll remember how quick Soobin was to nod and grind his half-hard cock against the slender leg parting his own; he’ll remember someone he called kitten all night–but if someone ever asked him who Soobin was, he wouldn’t have a goddamn clue.
“Kitten, the concert starts in 15,” Yeonjun says.
Soobin whines, sliding his tongue between Yeonjun’s fingers, sucking on his fingertips. He squirms against Yeonjun’s leg, pressing into him for that sweet friction, chasing pleasure, but Yeonjun uses his free hand to grab his waist, pushing him back against one of the guitar cases.
“You have 15 minutes to get off,” he says. “I’ll be nice and lend you my hand too.”
Soobin’s head feels fuzzy, like he’s hearing Yeonjun through cotton stuffed in his ears. He can’t blame it on alcohol; he hasn’t had any yet–so he’ll blame it on the fact that he is entirely infatuated with Yeonjun. He’ll blame it on the high of meeting someone famous, and when Kai interrogates him about his little encounter (because lord knows Kai won’t let this go and Soobin’s not good at keeping secrets) he’ll blame it on the adrenaline of being in a new place, new experience.
Yeonjun unbuttons the front of Soobin’s jeans and slides his hand down the front. His palm is rough, probably from all the drumming, but the warmth is welcome against the cold AC of the venue. Soobin shivers, overwhelmed as he slumps forward into Yeonjun’s touch, his mouth still licking Yeonjun’s knuckles.
“You really like my fingers, don’t you?” he chuckles. His thumb swipes over the head of Soobin’s cock, and he moans softly.
Soobin nods vigorously, pushing his hips more into Yeonjun’s hand. He mumbles something around Yeonjun’s fingers, and Yeonjun pulls them out of his mouth. “Say that again, pretty.”
Soobin swallows the saliva in his mouth, grateful that he’s been decent enough that he isn’t drooling all down his chin. “Said… Said I’d like them more inside me,” he breathes. He’s just a little bit taller, but slumped against Yeonjun’s thigh and hands, he’s nearly eye level with him, able to see Yeonjun’s eyes shift from dark to darker.
Yeonjun groans and tugs at Soobin’s cock harshly before shoving his fingers back into his mouth to stifle the inevitable whimper from the back of his throat. “Damn, wish we had time, but I’m not even staying the night, kitten. We’ve got a plane to catch right after this set.”
Soobin sobs, bucking up into Yeonjun’s rough hand, his own tangled in Yeonjun’s shirt. A couple of the buttons have come undone and the chains hooked onto the belt loops of his trousers had unclasped, swinging back and forth against Soobin’s leg. Yeonjun doesn’t even care anymore.
“Take me with you,” Soobin teases, tongue sliding between Yeonjun’s digits, wet.
Yeonjun exhales, amused. “Clingy kitten. You don’t want me to leave?”
Without warning, Soobin forces Yeonjun’s fingers to slide across his slick tongue, into his mouth until his fingertips brush against the back of his throat. It must be shocking for Yeonjun considering he feels him grip Soobin’s cock much too hard, but Soobin smiles to himself, triumphant and smug. Tears spring to his eyes as he swallows around Yeonjun’s fingers, his soft, velvety throat constricting around the fingers in his mouth. Yeonjun groans loudly, wiggling his fingers to feel more of Soobin’s throat, and Soobin resists the urge to gag. He looks at Yeonjun with his watery eyes and flushed cheeks, literally gagging for any part of him he can get into his mouth.
“Fuck. I’m so fucking pissed,” Yeonjun growls. “You’d look fucking fantastic with my cock in your mouth.”
“Y-Yeonjun…” His voice is breathy, a desperate plea forced out of his throat from pleasure. It’s different moaning a celebrity’s name just centimeters from his face and seeing the glint of unfiltered arousal of just hearing his name. Perhaps that’s the high of performing–just hearing people scream your name.
“Y-Yeonjun…” he whines again, more confidently. Someone should hear them. He hopes someone hears.
Lips brush against Soobin’s cheek, the ghost of a chuckle gliding past his ears. “That’s right, kitten. Call my name.”
Soobin's plush lips hang open as he yanks at Yeonjun’s shirt as he suddenly comes over his tight fist. It spills slowly from the head of his cock, drop by drop over his knuckles.
“Shit, you came just from that?”
Soobin’s brain is soupy mush, his face hotter than hot, his body wracked with lucid satisfaction and the disappointment of a wonderful thing over so quickly.
“—m sorry,” he mutters, fighting to keep his eyes open, suddenly drowsy. He thinks he smells weed somewhere. Can he get high off of just smelling weed?
“Shit.” Yeonjun leaves Soobin slumped against the guitar case and the table as he leaves to grab a nearby towel, cleaning his knuckles. He struts back over to Soobin, and the bulge in his black jeans are unmistakable, unmissable. He makes no move to hide it; Soobin grins.
“Lookin’ at something?” Yeonjun teases as he cleans up Soobin’s cock with the towel.
Soobin winces, whines like a baby trying to squirm away from him, but Yeonjun holds him down with one hand against his abdomen.
“I know it’s rough and sensitive, kitten, but I’m not an asshole. I’m not sending you back out all messy.”
Soobin continues whining until Yeonjun finally finishes cleaning off his dick, maneuvering his soft dick back into his jeans. The room has finally stopped spinning, and he stands up properly, leaning forward toward Yeonjun.
Yeonjun catches Soobin’s chin in his hand, his thumb pushing firmly against his bottom lip, soft, swollen, wet. “You gonna be alright out there?” he asks.
Soobin nods dumbly, the tip of his tongue peeking out of his mouth to lick at Yeonjun’s thumb, but Yeonjun pulls his hand back.
“Shit, your mouth is dangerous,” he laughs.
Soobin’s eyes flicker down to stare at Yeonjun’s crotch, cock straining against his leather pants. “It’s really noticeable,” he murmurs. “Are you sure you—”
“Set’s on in less than five, babe,” he interrupts. “Unless you’re a miracle worker, we won’t make it. Don’t worry, kitten. Just be satisfied that you’re the one who did this to me.”
The tips of Soobin’s ears turn pink, his cheeks hot. He did. He did do this to Yeonjun. It was all him, and the smile that stretches his face like the dazed bunny he is does nothing to hide his satisfaction. The show goes accordingly. Soobin is another forgetful face in the middle of the sweaty crowd swaying side to side, drunk on just the sound of Yeonjun’s voice. A ripple of fans notice Yeonjun’s tight pants in the first minute of his appearance on stage, but it’s quickly forgotten after the first few songs. By the end of the night, Soobin, too, is forgotten.
After the tour ends, Yeonjun releases a new single called “Backstage Kitten.”