Work Text:
The green room is buzzing with activity. The staff are packing up, the members are chatting as they come down from the adrenaline rush of performing, the PA system is crackling with asinine updates. Nicholas has sequestered himself away from the rest of the room, tucked into one of the dressing areas: a small, closed-off space with makeshift walls made of PVC and curtains, a full-length mirror, and a rack of stage outfits.
He can still feel energy thrumming under his skin. He's too keyed up to relax into the post-concert glow; he doesn't want to lose that high just yet. That's why he's here, admiring the way his makeup has smudged into something more sensual than the stylist's original vision, twisting this way and that to see the full effect in the mirror. He's still in his stage clothes. The fabric clings to his shoulders and thighs, highlighting the lines of his body.
He looks really fucking hot. The thrill of it sings through him, and it's hardly a conscious decision when he pulls out his phone and starts snapping mirror selfies.
He tries a couple different poses before resting his forearm against the glass, leaning in to get the perfect angle as he takes another photo. Of course it's right then that someone pulls the curtain aside and steps into the dressing room, immediately crowding into Nicholas' space. He barely has time to react before familiar hands are settling on his waist.
"So this is where you've been hiding away," Yuma says, hooking his chin over Nicholas' shoulder and grinning at him in the mirror. "I've been looking all over."
"Ah, sorry," Nicholas says. He feels heat pulse through him—embarrassment at being caught hamming it up in front of the mirror, but also the familiar rush of arousal that seems to always accompany any interaction with Yuma these days. He feels like Pavlov's dog, close to drooling just from Yuma's touch, already anticipating what will come next.
"Get any good pics?" Yuma asks. "Think Luné will like it? Seeing you look like this?"
Nicholas makes a small noise in his throat. He tries to straighten his posture, pulling his arm away from the mirror, but Yuma just presses closer. He keeps Nicholas in place, trapped, forced to stare at his own flushed reflection as Yuma's hands wander under his cropped shirt and explore the sensitive skin just above his waistband.
"Shame that they can only see it in pictures, though," Yuma continues. His voice is light, amused, as if he's merely thinking aloud and not torturing Nicholas with each deliberate touch. "The real thing is much better."
"Yuma," Nicholas hisses. His heart is rabbiting in his chest. He can still hear people moving around in the main part of the room. The snap of a makeup case closing, a burst of laughter. He and Yuma have been doing whatever this is for a while now, but it's always been behind closed doors. In their dorm, in practice rooms, in recording booths. Never like this. "What if someone sees?"
"Then they'd be lucky," Yuma says. His sharp grin sends electricity jolting down Nicholas' spine. "No one else is here, though, only me. Guess I'm the lucky one, huh?"
Nicholas gasps, biting the noise off quickly. The arm he has braced against the mirror slips slightly. He has to splay his fingers out, palm flat against the glass, to keep from sliding further. His reflection stares back at him, eyes wild and lips parted around another silent whimper as one of Yuma's hands travels downward, brushing across the front of Nicholas' pants. Nicholas is hard, the bulge obvious, and he can't quite manage to swallow the sound that escapes from his throat when Yuma squeezes.
"Yuma," Nicholas tries again, desperate.
"Yeah?" Yuma replies, still sounding unbothered. He works his hand over Nicholas, slow and persistent, until Nicholas is trembling.
"Please," Nicholas whispers, no longer a token protest but rather a plea for more. Yuma indulges him, undoing the button of Nicholas' pants and pulling the zipper down before bringing a hand up to Nicholas' mouth.
"Spit," he says, and Nicholas immediately obliges. Yuma hums in approval, sliding his hand beneath Nicholas' waistband and wrapping his fingers around his dick.
Nicholas makes a choked noise, collapsing forward until his forehead rests against the mirror. His breath fogs the glass, obscuring his view. He doesn't need to see, though, to imagine how it looks, Yuma's forearm flexing as he moves his hand over Nicholas. The slide is kind of rough, too dry even with Nicholas' spit to ease the way, but he can't find it in himself to care. Not when it feels so good even through the sensitivity—or maybe because of it.
"There you go," Yuma murmurs, his lips brushing the back of Nicholas' neck. Their bodies are aligned, pressed close, and Nicholas can feel the hard length of him against his hip. For a moment he allows himself to imagine what it would be like if Yuma pushed his pants down past the swell of his ass and slid into him right here in the dressing room. He's still pretty loose from when they were messing around at the hotel last night. He could probably take it.
Yuma twists his wrist just right and Nicholas moans. Thankfully it's drowned out by a burst of static from the PA system. Nicholas squirms, but Yuma's grip is relentless. The time he's been investing into the gym is really paying off. Nicholas may be the taller of the two of them, but he feels completely swallowed by Yuma's embrace. He knows that he could break away if he wanted to—that if he truly wanted to stop, Yuma would let him go in an instant—but stopping is the furthest thing from his mind when he's this close.
His hips jerk in Yuma's hold. At this rate he might bruise. Fingerprints along his waist—the stylists would murder him. Nicholas wants it, desperately. Yuma kisses Nicholas' neck, trailing his lips down to the junction of his shoulder. Nicholas can feel how ragged Yuma's breath is. The knowledge that he's as affected by this as Nicholas is only makes the fire in the pit of Nicholas' stomach burn hotter. He grabs the hand Yuma has on his waist, prying it away so he can tangle their fingers together and bring their linked hands up to the mirror. Yuma might not be able to leave marks on Nicholas' skin, but at least now a trace of them will still exist as mingled fingerprints lingering on the mirror's surface.
Yuma grazes his teeth across Nicholas' skin, just sharp enough to sting, and that's all it takes for Nicholas to finally tumble over the edge. Yuma works him through it, only easing his touch when Nicholas shudders from oversensitivity. Then Yuma buries his face in Nicholas' shoulder, muffling a curse against his skin. His hips grind against Nicholas' ass and Nicholas presses back into his hold, helping him along.
Nicholas lifts his head, looking past the smudges and condensation to stare at his reflection in the mirror. For a moment he admires how he and Yuma look together, the way that Yuma envelops him. It's enough to make his mouth go dry with another wave of desire.
"Look," he says. "Do you see how good you made me feel? I'm a mess thanks to you."
Yuma gasps, glancing up and meeting Nicholas' eyes in the mirror. Nicholas pulls Yuma's hand to his mouth and starts to lick his own mess from Yuma's fingers. He makes sure to hold Yuma's gaze while he drags his tongue across his palm, humming low and pleased.
"Nico," Yuma groans. His eyes are wide, pupils blown as he watches Nicholas work. Nicholas swirls his tongue, taking two of Yuma's fingers into his mouth, and Yuma shivers. His eyes squeeze shut as he thrusts forward with enough force that Nicholas ends up shoved against the mirror, completely caged in.
"That's it, baby," Nicholas says as Yuma shudders through his orgasm. "Feels good, right?"
"So good," Yuma mumbles. "You feel so good, Nico, so perfect." His words are hot against Nicholas' neck, searing the skin.
They stay there even after Yuma falls still, his full weight trapping Nicholas against the mirror. Their heavy breaths start to slow as the fog of desire dissipates, the rest of the world filtering back in. There are still people in the room. They could so easily have heard them, could have pulled back the curtain to see how easy Nicholas is for Yuma, Yuma's needy hands on him and Nicholas flushed and desperate, doing nothing to stop him. The thought makes heat burn under his skin, only sharpened by the danger of it. If someone had found them—
Then they'd be lucky, Yuma's voice echoes in his mind. Nicholas shivers.
He pushes himself up, making space to wriggle out of Yuma's hold and turn around before he can get carried away all over again. He levels Yuma with a look. "Not that that wasn't hot, but what the hell were you thinking?"
"Um," Yuma says, obviously still dazed. He blinks. "That you were really sexy, mostly."
"Christ," Nicholas mutters. "You're a menace." The words come out too fond to be a reprimand. When Yuma smiles up at him, Nicholas smiles back.
Yuma snakes an arm around Nicholas' waist. Nicholas raises an eyebrow at him, pushing his wandering hands away so that he can fasten his pants. Yuma pouts at him, and Nicholas laughs.
"Why don't we head back to the hotel now?" he asks, the implication heavy.
Yuma immediately perks up, nodding eagerly, and Nicholas snorts. "Go clean up," he says, smacking Yuma's butt.
Yuma only hesitates for a moment longer, leaning into Nicholas' space and pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth before darting away. Nicholas stares after him, letting himself indulge in the warm feeling in his chest. Then he turns back to the mirror and sighs at the mess they made. He uses his sleeve to halfheartedly scrub at the most egregious smears, hopefully obscuring them enough that it won't be too obvious what he and Yuma were up to.
He leaves their fingerprints, though.