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One of Keeho’s favorite parts of his job is going live. There’s no ego boost quite like booting up Weverse Live and turning on the camera, watching the fans flood in and interacting with them while they tell him nice hair, oppa or love the new album!! in the tiny chat window. He loves interacting with fans, loves their excitement, engaging with them in a way that’s more casual than so many other celebrities are afforded.
One of Keeho’s favorite parts of his job is going live with Intak.
What the fans don’t know, what he could never turn the camera around and show them by parading around the dorms or tuning in while they’re at a hotel room, is that oftentimes Keeho and Intak are sharing a bed. The reality is, they roll out of the same room at eight in the morning on days when they don’t have recording schedules, tangled limbs and cold toes shoved into each other’s calves (“ow, get some socks on those things,” Keeho had hissed this morning, before burying his face in Intak’s neck and kissing him there).
The reality is, Keeho and Intak are together together, not like the way of chemistry names or ship edits on TikTok, but actual, real-life dating— and nobody can know.
They trudge to the studio room, Keeho first, humming beneath his breath as he looks for the familiar door. It’s an inconspicuous hallway that doesn’t get a ton of traffic, which is why when Intak trails behind and scrolls on his phone, he feels confident enough to reach out and curl his first two fingers in the back pocket of Keeho’s sweats. Keeho unlocks the door to the room, keys nearly jamming in the lock when Intak reaches out to give his ass a squeeze.
“Don’t do that on camera,” Keeho quips, knowing Intak never will. He just likes to tease, likes to watch the way Intak scratches his neck and tugs his beanie down over his ears. Keeho closes the door behind them and playfully tugs at Intak’s jacket to get him to sit down in one of the small chairs. It’s almost comical, seeing Intak sit on what is essentially a glorified step stool while Keeho takes the fancy gaming chair.
Intak reaches out, while the camera is still off and Keeho is typing away at the computer, to rub the back of Keeho’s neck. Long, slender fingers working out the knots in his muscles, Keeho sighing in relief and leaning back into Intak’s touch.
“Feels good?” Intak asks, looking over with a smile when Keeho hums. Keeho is always focused on Intak’s face, the way his wide eyes always search for him, how his nose scrunches up when he thinks, how his mouth falls open when Keeho works him open. How he’s smiling now, content and familiar, licking his lips before Keeho swoops in and steals a quick kiss.
“Okay, okay,” Intak laughs, mouth still pressed against Keeho’s. He swats playfully at Keeho’s stomach with the back of his hand. “Start the Live.”
Keeho smiles, lets his body fall back into his chair and switches on the Live. Soon comments are flooding in, and he and Intak watch the viewer count climb. They crack jokes and hum along to music as they give their audience a few minutes to join, but Keeho still feels the itch to touch. He’s grateful the camera is aimed high, recording them from the chest up and giving fans more of a view of the studio door than their own seats. It gives Keeho a chance to creep his hand over, rub at Intak’s thigh and slide his hand up higher.
Subtly, like he’s done dozens of times before, Intak pries Keeho’s hand off him. He gives the camera no mention of what’s happening, acting like everything is fine as he squints slightly to read the tiny comments flying by in too-small font in the corner of the display screen. Keeho drags his hand back to his own lap, flexes his fingers.
So this is the game they’re playing.
“Spoiler for next comeback” Keeho says, playfully as he reads through the laundry list of emojis and spam messages. He leans towards Intak, turning his face towards him and giving the camera a view of his chiseled side profile, and Intak plays along. He engages with Keeho, answering his questions and fiddling with the camera angle, but he doesn’t make any obvious effort to reciprocate Keeho’s physical affection. Then it happens— Keeho reads a comment about them dating, unsurprising in the previous comments they’ve gotten from fans. They never obviously deny or confirm anything, just play into the fantasy, the coy mystery that comes with idol life. Keeho leans in to pretend to give Intak a kiss, like he’s done countless times before, but Intak pulls away.
It feels pointed, almost scolding. Keeho does not get scolded.
Keeho laughs, smiles brightly. Listens to the way Intak chuckles lowly under his breath, his body obviously angled as far away from Keeho as he can manage. It’s a joke they’ve played so many times before, but this one feels different. Keeho presses his tongue behind his teeth, annoyed that Intak keeps leaning away. He has to flash the camera a smile, let their viewers on Live know that they’re just messing around. Playful banter for the fans, and judging by the reaction in the chat Keeho has convinced them.
It isn’t until the camera is off, after they’ve given hand hearts and waved to the fans, that Keeho lets it get to him. Irritation sitting hot beneath the collar of his t-shirt, adjusting the hood pulled up over his head while Intak scrolls on his phone next to him. His legs are spread in the chair, thick thighs covering most of the seat, and Keeho can’t stop looking at them. When Keeho reaches a hand out, he feels distinct muscle beneath his fingertips and he smiles as Intak squirms.
“Yah,” Intak quips, tries to bat the hand away but Keeho only tightens his grip. Intak is still looking at the phone in his hand, but Keeho can see the way his cheeks tint pink and his tapping on the screen wavers. His beanie is pulled over his ears but Keeho can bet they’re red, too.
“Come on,” Keeho coos, leaning in closer and grinning when Intak inhales sharply. “Don’t ignore hyung.”
Intak mutters something that sounds like stop, clicks his tongue, tries to push Keeho’s hand away again when it creeps higher, squeezing the bend between his leg and his hip, fingertips reaching out to brush against his cock. Keeho smiles when it twitches.
“You never call yourself hyung,” Intak mumbles, trying to close his legs but Keeho is faster. Now both hands are on Intak’s knees as Keeho forces them back open, face close to Intak as the heel of his palm presses against bone.
“I do it when I know you like it,” Keeho says, plainly and without fanfare.
His face is so close to Intak’s, noses almost brushing. Intak’s eyes are wide, always verging on watery, eager for praise. Keeho presses his palms to the inside of Intak’s knees harder now, forcing Intak’s legs open wide enough so Keeho can slot his body between them. Intak’s entire core tenses, Keeho can tell by the way his abdominal muscles tense under his thin black tee, flexing and fluttering at every little movement. Keeho is thankful Intak took his jacket off, giving Keeho an unobscured view of his toned body beneath his t-shirt.
“I don,’t—” Intak starts, pushing his chair back and wincing when it hits the wall. His gaze never leaves Keeho’s face, eyes so wide they reflect Keeho’s grin in them. “I don’t like it. Stop.”
Keeho moves his hand from Intak’s knee to his crotch, heel of his palm pressing down achingly on Intak’s dick. He relishes in the way Intak fills up beneath his touch, growing hard and achingly stiff against the fabric of his pants.
“You’re a fucking liar,” Keeho drawls, chuckles when Intak squirms. Something about seeing Intak sweat is turning him on, Keeho feeling himself getting hard, his loose sweatpants doing little to hide his own arousal. By the way Intak’s gaze flits down for just a moment, he can tell, too.
Intak opens his mouth to speak but the words die in his throat, and Keeho swears for a moment he shifts his hips further up into Keeho’s touch.
Good.
Fueled by this new development, Keeho turns it up a notch. He squeezes Intak through his pants, fingers wrapping around his length and giving it a stroke through scratchy fabric. Intak’s mouth drops open in a low moan, and his eyes flutter shut. Keeho steps even closer, until he has Intak backed up against the wall of the studio and he’s looming over him. Here, at this angle, Intak looks so helpless. Melted wax in Keeho’s hands, like he could form Intak into whatever he wants him to be.
The thought is intoxicating.
Keeho’s other hand comes up, cradling Intak’s face and tilting it up by the chin to look up at him. It’s tender, achingly so, and when Intak’s eyes open he has a look of awe. Lips slick with spit, eyes glassy as he stares up at Keeho. It’s beautiful, in a way, how willing Intak is in this moment. Gone is the shyness and hesitancy of his behavior on camera, turning his face away from Keeho’s kiss and laughing under his breath. No more fidgeting behavior, of blunt nails picking at lint on his shirt and feet shuffled against the floor. Now there is only eagerness.
The eagerness melts away as Keeho moves his hand from Intak’s jaw to his neck, squeezing in a way that has Intak’s eyes rolling back and his body slumping against the chair. He wheezes in what Keeho can only assume would be a loud whine under other circumstances, breath warm against Keeho’s wrist. Keeho feels his thumb press into thick muscle, and he faintly wonders if the studio door is locked. He imagines what it looks like on the other side, frosted glass showing only their hazy outline, a thousand different scenarios running through someone’s mind if they were to see them.
By now Intak is bucking his hips up, trying to chase the feeling of Keeho’s hand against his bare cock. Intak’s hands travel downward, gripping Keeho’s wrist and pressing his hand more into his crotch.
“Please,” Intak wheezes out, swallowing as thickly as he can manage beneath Keeho’s grip. “More.”
Luckily for Intak, Keeho is a very good listener.
Keeho shucks down Intak’s pants and underwear, until they catch on his knees and Intak has to awkwardly scramble to lift his hips up just enough to push his body free. He kicks off his pants and they land somewhere in the studio, a muffled thump against the floor. Intak cringes a little at the sensation of his bare ass against the chair, squirming to get comfortable as Keeho loosens his grip on his neck.
The high whine Keeho gets in response is proof that was the wrong choice.
“No, no, please,” Intak begs with a raspy tone, reaching out clumsily to grab Keeho’s hand to place it back around his windpipe. “Need it.”
It feels like the world stops on its axis, just for a moment. Keeho is incredibly aware of his hand on Intak’s neck, feeling his pulse rabbiting against his palm. He feels his feet planted firmly on the floor, hears the quiet clunky sound of the air conditioning kicking on in the corner of the room.
He hears his own heartbeat, blood thrumming hot and pulsing in his ears.
Things move quickly after that, Keeho’s hand stroking Intak until his cockhead is flushed red and Keeho has to swipe a thumb up to gloss it with precum. The action makes Intak’s core flex, almost curling in on himself from the overstimulation. Keeho bites his bottom lip in concentration, watches the way Intak’s lids flutter the more pressure Keeho adds to his neck. They’ve done this before, of course— Keeho knowing exactly where to press to get the right reaction from Intak without completely depriving him of air. They’re careful about their hook-ups, Keeho being sure to never leave any bruises. Keeho learned years ago that the camera lens always seemed to highlight them.
Intak is loudly bucking into Keeho’s hand now, shameless and stuttering in his movements as he edges closer and closer to release. His body is practically flailing against the chair, rhythmic thumping against the wall as he jerks his hips. Keeho has to press his own knee to Intak’s, steadying his movements and quieting him with a stern look. Intak looks up at him, sweat painting his chest glossy and his chain necklace resting on the swell of his pectorals.
“You always get so horny after a Live,” Keeho teases, voice dripping with malice. He presses his knee to the small opening on the chair beneath Intak’s legs, crowding the space and pressing his forehead right to Intak’s. Forcing them to make eye contact, Keeho suddenly feels like he has all the power. “So predictable.”
Keeho lets his hand fall from Intak’s throat, dragging its way down Intak’s chest and through a sticky trail of sweat. The scent mingles with his cologne and precum, musky and earthy and filling the tiny studio with something so undeniably Intak. Keeho watches his chest heave with each stroke Keeho gives him, the handjob becoming dry and uncomfortable by the way Intak starts to wince.
“Hyung—” he whines, before his eyes fly open and his other hand clamps over his mouth. Keeho laughs properly at this, lips stretching into a devious grin. He has Intak exactly where he wants him.
“What was that?” Keeho asks, leaning back so he can loom over Intak again. His hand squeezes Intak’s cock, his fingers sticky and pressing into the skin just this side of too hard. “What do you want hyung to do?”
Intak opens his mouth to speak, closes it. Keeho can see him fight through the haze of arousal to try to come up with words, and when he speaks again his voice is hesitant and clumsy.
“Spit,” Intak starts, swallows thickly, “in your hand.”
Keeho smiles. He gathers the spit in his mouth, moving his hand slowly from Intak’s cock and watching him writhe at the loss of sensation. He flattens his hand out, palm up, before looking Intak in the eyes and letting a trail of spit pool into his hand. He feels the warmth spread practically to his fingers, feels the slick against full lips, watches Intak’s mouth fall open in awe.
When he wraps his hand around Intak’s cock again, Intak lets out a little sigh of relief. The glide is much smoother now, Keeho flexing his wrist with ease as he finds the perfect pace to jack Intak off.
“You’re so fucking needy,” Keeho scolds, and Intak is too worked up to reply. His mouth is hanging open and he lets out a shuddering breath before sagging forward. His forehead leans against Keeho’s shoulder, whimpering a little as Keeho’s hand moves faster.
“I should turn the camera back on,” Keeho starts up again, reaching down to cup Intak’s balls. The sudden handling makes Intak jump, leaning into the touch and turning his face to mouth helplessly at Keeho’s neck. “Let the fans see you like this. What would they say?”
Intak doesn’t reply, just snaps his hips up and lets his teeth graze the skin of Keeho’s neck. His hands are balled into fists on top of his thighs, like he’s waiting, like he knows he can’t touch Keeho.
“No touching,” Keeho teases, leaning further into Intak’s space just to make a point. Intak’s face tints darker, red cheeks mingling with the flush of arousal spreading across his body. His hands twitch in their fists, and Keeho can tell he’s pressing them down into the meat of his thighs just to control them. Keeho presses one flat palm to the center of Intak’s chest, pushes him back against the wall and listens to him whine as his teeth leave Keeho’s neck.
He’s too far gone now to care, Intak’s eyes squeezed shut and sweat making his shirt stick to his skin. Keeho can’t stop now, jerking him off faster and relishing in the way Intak squirms from stimulation. At the last minute Keeho thinks of an idea, yanks the shirt up and shoves the hem into Intak’s mouth.
When Intak finishes it’s hot, thick streams coating his own abs and dripping down to his navel. There’s even a small amount that reaches to his collarbone, enough for Keeho to move his hand from Intak’s cock to drag two fingers in his release.
“You’re insane,” Intak croaks, when Keeho pulls the shirt out from between clenched teeth. His chest is heaving and Intak’s not even willing to fight it when Keeho rubs his come-coated finger across his bottom lip. The sight is incredible, glossy and messy and enough for Keeho to jack off to in the shower, long after he’s sent Intak to clean himself up. Intak looks spent, sagged against the wall and cringing when his shirt sticks against his own come-coated chest. Keeho grips his jaw, harsh with fingers sinking into skin— but when he kisses Intak it’s with a gentle touch.
“You love it,” Keeho mutters against Intak’s lips, tasting Intak’s familiar release. Intak groans, and it mingles with the sound of Keeho’s laugh as he pushes away and saunters towards the studio door.