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Across the room, fans blow a heavy stream of air toward the green rooms couches.
Sinking into the heavily worn leather gives Yuchan’s hips a moment of relief, and a chance to slouch into the hug of worn cushions. The cold leather cools even the sweat soaked spots of his jeans and tank top. And, for a moment he doesn’t remember his skin is still sweating through body paint.
Yuchan leans forward, resting his shaking arms on his knees, and groans into his palms.
Byeongkwan’s rough fingers dip under the back of Yuchan’s morph mask to scratch through the drummer’s sweat soaked hair. The air from the fans hitting a clear spot on his wet neck sends a chill through the drummer, cooling him down quickly.
Someone from the crew quickly grabs the broken sticks from the floor at Yuchan’s feet. They quickly replace them with an open bottle of water and information, “New ones are next to the door.” Probably on the table with Donghun’s back up mic.
He wouldn’t need to think about it now. Now he could just let his arms flex through the urge to tap into his thighs as they begin to bounce. Yuchan needs the break, but the energy it takes to play for a two hour set keeps him marking the rhythm of their set even backstage.
“You’re playing really well,” Byeongkwan hums, a warm tone that settles the praise into Yuchan’s chest.
As Yuchan grins up at the bassist through his mask, Byeongkwan's fingers scratch further up the back of the back of elastic fabric. The pull could feel like a threat - pulling the edge up past the faceless drummer's chin in front of crew hurrying around the band. However, they’ve had enough pulls and tugs on stage for Yuchan to know Byeongkwan won’t tug the mask further, even here.
The fingers carding through his hair pull back from his mask, and Yuchan’s eyes jump from the floor between his feet.
Byeongkwan holds his water bottle between his hands and tilts it briefly toward Yuchan. “Don’t forget to drink something.”
“Yeah, ‘kay.”
Yuchan doesn’t take Byeongkwan’s offered bottle, though, and reaches down for the one placed previously at his feet. Without even bothering to move the mask from his mouth, Yuchan throws his head back and drinks through sweat, dirt, and spit on the front of his mask.
The crowd cheering from their seats just outside, mixes in the venue’s hum. White noise echoing an energy of excitement that Yuchan swallows down with his water.
The pattern of their last song loops, rolling Yuchan through the motions in his legs without thought. Quick pops of his toe on a peddle not there, and his hands still bouncing out the buzzing roll of his sticks. A sound that paired with Donghun’s sorrowful vocals makes Yuchan feel like his hands are growling on stage behind them.
The feeling of Byeongkwan’s fingers on the back of his neck feels hotter this time as they dip back under his mask.
Yuchan holds his breath, the ghost of fingers pulling his hair leaves tingles down his spine as his hands still stumble through the groove he’s playing on his thighs. He remembers being jerked, pulling his attention away from his kit and the blur of the venue’s floor being full of bodies moving with their music.
The sound of the screams still chills Yuchan’s skin. Echoing as they watch Byeongkwan lift his mask just enough to spit across Yuchan’s.
“You got 5 minutes, the VCR’s already started.” Hansol’s voice sucks Yuchan from the recollection, leaving him with only the sound of blood hammering through his head. “Donghun and Junhee are touching up their paint right now, and Sehyoon’s getting his strings fixed. Do you need anything?”
Yuchan doesn’t answer initially, staring up at their stage manager through glossy vision. The crusting paint on his arms feels overstimulating all of sudden, and his head swims under the empty echo of the crowd. He’s dizzy until the fingers in his hair squeeze him around the back of his neck.
“Let’s get you some air.”
Still fresh from their tour of the venue earlier in the day, Yuchan knows Byeongkwan’s not leading him outside. As much as a cigarette would probably chill him out enough to get his head back into his rhythm, he doesn’t complain when that’s not where they end up. As much as it would replace the feeling of Byeongkwan’s spit drying on his lips.
Stumbling by the hand, Yuchan’s lead into one of the venue’s smaller bathrooms. A small little thing that barely fit the sink and the toilet, but the door locks, and Byeongkwan can turn off the lights.
It’s not air, but it is private.
In the dark, lit only by the flickering crack under the door, Yuchan can only make out the shadow of Byeongkwan’s hands reaching to hold him by the neck once again. Worn fingertips dig into his skin to pull Yuchan closer, and inches apart Yuchan’s eyes have to jump back and forth between the gold of Byeongkwans eyes.
“What’s going on in your head?” Byeongkwan whispers.
It’s tempting to melt into Byeongkwan’s heavy form this close. This close, Yuchan’s long lost the itch in his fingers to keep playing. Holding Byeongkwan back, though, weighs his hands heavily at his sides. “I’m exhausted,” He whispers back.
Byeongkwan chuckles and Yuchan swears he can feel it in his gut. His voice is soft and smooth after laughing, and Byeongkwan hums, “You‘re playing with your whole body out there.”
The fingers on the back of Yuchan’s neck move now, dipping under the neck of his tight tank-top to scratch between his shoulders. Carefully, Byeongkwan takes a step back and Yuchan follows with his steps just outside Byeongkwan’s.
Briefly Yuchan bites back, “You’re not helping, teasing me out there.” He steps again after Byeongkwan, and reaches around the man to brace against the sink behind him. “All I can do is take it.”
The fingers under his shirt move to grab him by the jaw and Yuchan has to fight the urge to rest his head in the hold.
“You don’t have to just take it.”
Denying himself the urge to melt in against Byeongkwan’s frame, Yuchan growls back at Byeongkwan’s taunt. “You know what I mean.”
Byeongkwan’s fingers move to the back of his jaw and squeezes him carefully, just enough for the pressure to encourage Yuchan to open his mouth under the mask. “Do I?” The man hums.
Thickly, Yuchan swallows against Byeongkwan’s palm. Then the hand holding him falls. Byeongkwan’s fingers swiftly glide from his neck to his collarbone. Even in the dark, Yuchan knows the thought that comes with the dig of his thumb into his chest before they fall further down his torso.
“You could grab me back y'know?” Byeongkwan doesn’t though. He doesn’t hold Yuchan firmly by his hips, instead letting his hands rest on his stomach. It takes a considerable effort not to press himself into the hands he knows wants to command him. “I think they’d lose their shits.”
The hands on his stomach move then to Yuchan’s wrists. This time they’re firm in their touch as Byeongkwan guides Yuchan to the decorative buckle on his belt. The prick of blunt mental thorns twisting around roses grounds Yuchan’s grip of the buckle. The heat of Byeongkwan’s skin brushing against his cold knuckles tingles through his fingers.
“Take me by the belt, and pull me,” with a quick mixture of pulling and pushing into Yuchan’s hands, Byeongkwan leverages himself up to grind down against Yuchan, “into you.”
“Your bass-” Yuchan stumbles, grasping at some semblance of not thinking with his dick on stage. However, the roll of Byeongkwan’s bulge leaves Yuchan with the mental permission to stumble deeper into their public display.
Yuchan presses back in against Byeongkwan, crowding the other against the sink with his body. Fingers snake up his arms and sink back into the tangles of his hair beneath the edge of his mask.
Leaning up into Yuchan’s body, Byeongkwan whispers, “Who cares. This close, you can grab my ass.”
This close, Yuchan can hear how breathless the thought makes Byeongkwan too as he laughs through his mask. Yuchan licks his lips and growls softly between them. Even through the nylon, they’re familiar with the crash of lips they share.
Byeongkwan’s hands push the edges of his mask up the back of Yuchan’s head as he grabs fistfuls of messy hair. Nails dig into his scalp before dragging down to his neck and shoulders, and Yuchan growls again against Byeongkwan’s mouth. Biting the fabric of his mask only nips at Byeongkwan’s lips.
Rumbling against Yuchan’s chest, Byeongkwan laughs with his nose still pressed to Yuchan’s. “Fuck I need to taste you,” He growls back.
Yuchan’s swift to reach for the edge of his mask and pull it up over his face, leaving it bunched and messy around his hair. Byeongkwan pulls him back in with little grace, knocking their teeth together before their lips.
This time Yuchan can taste the stale cigarettes on Byeongkwan’s breath. He chases the taste with his hands at the back of Byeongkwan’s neck. A lingering hunger burns in his chest for sharing one between them in the shitty venue bathroom.
Byeongkwan’s hands move from the back of Yuchan’s neck and dance down his body. As his hold moves, the man licks into Yuchan’s mouth, against his teeth, and groans - the noise something Yuchan can only swallow. And as Byeongkwan’s hands grope at his bulge between his pants Yuchan can only whine back.
Sharp teeth break Yuchan’s bottom lip, and metal is quickly all he can taste between their lips.
The hand on his dick digs into his balls before simply grabbing him by them. “B-byeongk-”
The bassist bites over Yuchan’s whimper, “I want to fucking eat you out there.”
The grip on Yuchan’s balls through his jeans pulls slowly down, dragging pressure back up to his throbbing cock, until Yuchan’s crumbling into Byeongkwan's chest.
The knock on the door startles Yuchan out of the haze dragging him further and further from their set waiting to be played just outside. Hansol’s voice is tired and audibly worn, even through the door. “You had 5 minutes, it's been 9, you need to get out there.”