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As soon as they’ve been poured into the waiting car, passenger door firmly shut behind them, Joshua is the first to break into a small fit of nervous, just mildly tipsy laughter. Minghao can’t help but join in after a moment, focused first on successfully peeling off his suit jacket before he overheats. He had genuinely been blindsided by just how wholeheartedly Joshua had thrown himself into participating in the shoot, but he can’t deny that it had gotten him the results he had been after, either; their brand new KakaoTalk contacts are clear proof of that.
“Are you going to be alright for practice?” Minghao asks him with mostly light-hearted concern. Unsurprisingly, Joshua just waves off his question lazily.
“It’s just for revision—and Hoshi’s running it. It’s fine.” He drawls out the last part, and Minghao knows they’re both thinking of Soonyoung showing up to practice after his shoot with Youngji—still fresh in their minds after Sunghoon had referenced it at the table. At the time, everyone had been concerned by how tipsy he had been when he finally stumbled through the studio doors, yet also extremely entertained by the sight of how determined he had been to get on with the schedule and put his muscle memory to the test, even through the fog of alcohol.
Minghao knows he’ll end up mildly regretting the amount of drinks he had ended up downing by himself in this shoot—sometime later when the hangover rises up to punish him, if he doesn’t head it off with bucketfuls of water soon—but right now the feel of it blankets his senses just enough for that concern to be easily pushed to the side. Better to focus on the here and now, with Joshua likely to be in worse shape than him at the other end of the night anyway.
“Still—you didn’t have to drink it all so quickly,” Minghao presses. It had all been a part of the concept Joshua had carried into the shoot, he knows, but even so—he had really put true sincerity into his interactions throughout the evening.
“It had to be real, Myungho.”
Joshua wriggles around in his seat until he can more easily frown at Minghao with dramatic flair, emphasising the grave seriousness of authenticity in all of his public appearances. He manages to keep it up for a few whole seconds as well—which Minghao has to acknowledge before they let the bit slip away completely with another burst of giggles.
Settling down, he watches how Joshua plays with the neckline of his shirt distractedly, where the cut of his jacket exposes it and a smooth scoop of skin. The alcohol flush that had fully crept over his hyung’s skin by the end of the shoot shows no sign of abating just yet, and he’s pretty sure he hasn’t come away unscathed either—although hopefully rather less like a tomato in shade.
“..Why did you tap out so quickly?” The vaguely shaped curiosity had bubbled up in his mind, now that the cameras were off them, and although normally he wouldn’t necessarily give voice to it—he blames the alcohol for letting it slip out. He’d really thought Joshua would be up for sitting through the much-hyped headlock for more than a mere heartbeat, after all.
Joshua’s response is slow to come, though; he clearly knows what Minghao is talking about, yet he still tries to get away with silence as his only answer. It’s a valiant effort, until the weight of being pinned under expectant eyes grows too much and he's forced to give in.
“..Wasn't appropriate.” The words are forced out quickly, Joshua’s gaze carefully averted towards the car’s ceiling as his mouth twists.
“Not appropriate...?” Minghao echoes the end of the vague response sceptically, dissatisfied when Joshua refuses to give him anything else to work with. His hyung just sits there with his arms and legs crossed—drawn in rather than as loose and free as he normally is with this number of drinks in him—and his dramatically flushed complexion. In fact—had he gotten even redder whilst Minghao had been looking at him, these last few moments?
The answer is obvious, really, once the gears get turning to put it all together. Minghao makes a sound of disbelief.
“You were totally getting off on it, weren’t you!”
He just barely remembers to bring his rising voice down to an impassioned hiss, sparing a thought for the poor driver that has to put up with their muffled antics in the backseat. Joshua still looks at him with wide eyes and mouths a soundless plea for him to shut up.
Ignoring him, Minghao peers suspiciously down at Joshua’s black slacks—lucky for him that the jacket’s hems would have been sitting low enough to hide anything too untoward, if he couldn’t have kept a hold of his self control. The way his legs are crossed now, though, it’s tricky to tell if the recollection had shaken his resolve at all. Or maybe he had already arranged himself through his pants so that it wouldn't be at all obvious to an onlooker, from the very start.
“Are you still—”
“No!” Joshua snaps out, finally reaching out to ineffectually smack at Minghao’s arm. With what appears to be great effort, he resettles himself in his seat to resume a relaxed position, not a care in the world—only to ruin it when he recrosses his legs a second later, conspicuously.
Joshua catches how Minghao watches the movement, bristles where he’s not-quite slumped—because even now no small part of him appears to remain conscious of his posture—in his seat.
“I’m fine.”
His expression says so much more, and Minghao is content with what he picks out from it.
It’s what lets him lay the verbal poking to rest for the remainder of the ride, opening up space for the relative quiet to seep in and charge the air between them. A time for phones to be pulled from pockets, fleeting glances exchanged over the top as they sway with the turns of the car—splayed legs occasionally jolting with a bump and brushing against each other with invisible sparks.
Minghao would be happy to leave it at that, and save any more ammunition for when some other members are in range to hear him use it, for when he wants the rest of the group to get fired up—but the syrupy alcohol could just as easily get swallowed up into the first flash of heat inside him, if given the opportunity to be set alight.
He leaves the ball in Joshua’s court.
Given all that, it’s really no surprise that, after their thanks have been given to the driver with only the slightest stumble on their exits from the car, Joshua decides to make a beeline to the active travel facilities rather than to the elevator that would take them up to their practice room. Minghao hadn’t had to use these before, but Joshua’s varied cardio habits had likely left him more than familiar with them; alongside a more standard locker-room setup, Hybe also provides its staff with several separate, single occupancy rooms with the whole shower-toilet-facility combination, spread generously over each of the basement parking levels—one of which Joshua pulls him into now.
Locking the door is barely an afterthought—Minghao's attention is far more keenly focused on the feeling of the liquid still sloshing inside of him even with the food he had happily partaken of to somewhat soak it up, the way the dramatic flush leaking out from underneath Joshua’s impeccable foundation looks even more extreme under the room's harsh lighting.
Almost sunburnt, from both alcohol and arousal.
Up until now, Minghao had truly had no reason to put up a fight against Joshua's whims—practice is a distant afterthought, one for a future, slightly more sober him to be mildly mortified about, perhaps—and he's more than happy for Joshua to take the reins and start off; hardly a moment spared to drop his almost-forgotten jacket on the changing bench before he's swallowed up in a hungry kiss.
One hand is quick to run down his back appreciatively just a few kisses later, stroking over the curve of his muscle as he shivers under its warmth. Minghao sneaks one of his own down to toy with hidden, hot skin in response, brushing over hems and waistbands searchingly before he can feel the curve of Joshua's waist under his palm. Soon he huffs into Joshua’s mouth when he feels a knee slide between his legs for a brief, aggressive moment, the other hand quick to replace it with an assessing palm and squeeze of his front.
Minghao's body, of course, is more than onboard with the current direction they're moving in—perhaps even quicker to get on with the program than his mind is.
“So this is what you were putting Seokmin through last year?” Minghao laughs in disbelief, only a little taken aback by how quickly Joshua is moving now, Minghao’s interest verified and only spurring him on. Sober him would have probably seen it coming from a mile off—it's not like either of them have been very subtle since they left Churai.
“I didn’t put him through anything—he was sticking his fingers in my mouth.”
Joshua pouts up at him from where he had begun to sink down to the floor, eyebrows drawn and eyes glimmering dangerously. Whilst Minghao had been distracted he had quickly shed his jacket and thrown it carelessly to join Minghao’s, the curves of his exposed arms now all-too visible. His hyung really turns into an unchecked menace when his guard is down. The way his knees splay so easily to balance against the tiles emphasises it—particularly where the now unmistakeable outline of his arousal presses against his pants.
Just this relatively short delay will undoubtedly result in no small amount of heckling and knowing side-eyes from the other members who will be waiting for them to make their appearance, but. It's the alcohol in both of them that's to blame here. And if Joshua’s own track record with Seokmin wasn't enough, the two of them also have a history of doing completely advisable things together whenever wine enters the equation, as well.
“Ah, hyung—well. If you insist.”
He’s less casual about it than he’d like—the way his fingers fumble as he undoes his pants, shoves them down just enough to feel how the cool air soothes his skin. It’s almost alarming how Joshua’s eyes are practically magnetised towards his dick when he slips it free of his boxers, going so far as to wet his lips with mostly subconscious desire. He's already moving as he spares Minghao a moment for an assessing glance up through his lashes, just to confirm what he already knows.
Minghao himself is certainly not unfamiliar with the feeling of Joshua's mouth around him, but there's a certain looseness—sloppiness, maybe—that doesn't quite come through when he's fully sober. The act of giving head by its very nature is never tidy, but it's as if like this Joshua has taken a sidestep right into the headspace where he doesn't spare a single care for the drool and mess and inherent debasement of it all, when normally it takes a little more work and foreplay to help him settle more unreservedly into the depths of it.
Again, the way Joshua's walls come down so easily when there's alcohol in the mix—truly a cheat code that never gets old. Not that Minghao can get too smug about it; he’s done enough offhand monitoring to spot when an inebriated impulse or two of his own had slipped through for the world to see.
But right now, it's just the two of them in private—no cameras or senior hyungs to impress or act a certain way for.
And Minghao can’t help himself—the recollection of the shoot in this context has his stomach twisting in an unexpected way, and as his hands begin to thread into Joshua’s hair they can’t resist brushing over his ears as well, feeling the heat radiating off of them as Joshua sucks on his cock, the wet sound ricocheting off the tiles.
“You really did like having Sunghoon-hyung wrapped all around you, didn’t you?” He asks quietly, one hand distracted and sweeping at where a stray strand of hair is caught against Joshua’s eyelashes. The feeling of his non-committal hum of acknowledgement is too good as Joshua's jaw shifts around him. It's followed by the sudden tickle of Joshua's tongue tip running over his slit, the sensation prompting Minghao's hips to buck forward before he gets a hold of himself, bolstered to continue his train of thought.
“You would have let him do whatever he wanted if the cameras were turned off in there...”
Minghao’s sentence trails off in an exhale as he grasps tightly at the scraps of purchase he can get on Joshua’s hair, holds his head steady as he resettles his weight and begins to fuck into his mouth with proper intention, this time. His hyung had been waiting for it, really, mouth hanging slack in expectation as soon as he felt Minghao’s fingers begin to move and tug.
He’s only just brushing against the soft resistance of Joshua’s throat when he thrusts deep enough, feeling how his muscles flex in response as tears begin to spring to his eyes. The alcohol isn’t helping, Minghao knows that, but Joshua still looks terribly debauched and they’d only just started. Though it’s not like he’ll be able to last very long at this rate, either.
“Did it get you excited when hyung mentioned his meetups too?” Minghao asks suddenly, detachedly aware of how low his voice dipped once he gave voice to the other element lingering in his mind from the shoot.
A vague, muffled sound that could be interpreted in any number of ways, Joshua’s tongue beginning to slide temptingly against his shaft once his movements had stilled for long enough. Still too active, right now.
Minghao tests his own patience by holding out for just a little longer, waiting to time the next snaps of his hips to punctuate what he pants out next.
“The group isn't good enough for you, now? Our hyung isn't satisfied with taking the 12 of us?”
The first unexpected thrust had won him a choked, wet sound of surprise, and it only galvanises Minghao to be even rougher as he feels the desperate tensed-relaxed contraction of Joshua’s throat around him. By the end of it he can't help but tug Joshua down by his hair until his nose is just shy of brushing against skin, chasing that urge to grind into deep, wet heat until he's satisfied and just shy of completion—finally giving his hyung a chance to catch his breath after he lets go of his hair completely.
He had already looked a little dishevelled at the start of this, and now—now Joshua is coughing and blinking away reflexive tears, one hand finally brought up to brace his weight against Minghao's thigh as the other swipes habitually at the strings of saliva that had kept them connected for an extra, weighty second. His lips are puffy and yet his foundation is still so annoyingly perfect; it's only through close inspection that some of the additional red blotchiness of his skin can be picked out, the telltale shades leaking to his ears and neck.
The encouraging thing here, of course, is that Joshua doesn't even try to bat something back at him in response—like he normally would in practically any other context. It tells him that he's on the right track.
Minghao strokes one hand over himself, carefully. It wouldn't take much to bring him over the edge at this point—he's all-too conscious of it—and he buys himself time whilst he lets Joshua recover from the mild assault on his mouth.
And he can still feel how the alcohol is on the tail end of working through his body, too.
“Hyung,” he says softly, snapping Joshua's attention back from where it had begun to float off. His eyes look so round, like this—so different and soft compared to the sharpness he usually keeps close to the surface.
“Keep your mouth open so I can fill it again.”
Not too gentle, but not too harsh in tone, either. It's a careful balance to strike. Minghao taps the head of his cock against Joshua's lips in an additional cue until they drop open for him once more, distracts himself for a moment by sliding it slowly through the spit smeared over his chin and watching how the wet shine mixes with his own precome.
Joshua's saliva is lending itself well to easing the glide of his hand, and Minghao pushes forward just enough to take advantage of the invitingly flat tongue just waiting for him. The angle he chooses to enter from is the utterly wrong one to allow Joshua to close his mouth around him, but he can still see his jaw work as if he were about to try anyway—giving up, frustrated, when Minghao keeps pressing down rather than in, targeting the resistance of his tongue rather than returning to his throat, forcing him to sink lower on his haunches to accommodate it.
With Joshua's mouth held open like this, Minghao can see exactly how a new flood of saliva begins to pool and glimmer in his mouth, slowly beholden to the weight of gravity. Minghao tightens his grip on himself just slightly, a rougher squeeze on the next strokes, and hopes Joshua can feel the exact moment a trickle begins to spill over the corner of his bottom lip—renewing the wet trails that had been drying on his chin.
Something about how that adds to this tableau is enough to push him that extra bit over the edge.
The first pulse of cum smears over Joshua's tongue, followed by the next, and for the rest Minghao draws back—rests on Joshua’s bottom lip as he paints one cheek in white, some of it catching on his nose, his chin.
At this point he's beyond caring about it dripping down to stain his clothes—but Joshua had helpfully been styled in black, anyway. Surely some alcohol stains from today were a foregone solution, and anything from this wouldn't be too dissimilar.
Minghao watches how Joshua's throat works in an ineffective swallow, some of the milky white at the back of his mouth disappearing whilst the rest continues to pool down. He really was about to pull away completely after that, clean himself up and give his hyung a hand, but—he's keeping his mouth open so pliantly, not even pushing against the persistent weight of Minghao's cock on his lips to stop the liquid from threatening to spill out of his mouth altogether.
The sight has him hesitating, but he firms his resolve even before the first trickle of white runs quickly down Joshua's chin, a match to the mess on his face.
“If you really want to be used that badly—” Minghao begins with a put-upon sigh, a disguise for the shaky flutter inside his chest before it can creep into his voice. He pushes back into Joshua's mouth carefully—the extra wetness is a little soothing on his cock, now almost completely softened, as he displaces more of it with his movement—and watches how his eyes gain a little more clarity from where they had fallen half-lidded, the slightest trickle of confusion breaking through.
There's a particular psychological aspect to this, and it takes practice to overcome it exactly.when and where you want to. Focusing on the mild discomfort sitting in your lower stomach, bringing awareness of a mild level of fullness to the conscious forefront of your mind. And, eventually, hitting that mental switch that says it’s okay for muscles to loosen and let go.
Minghao hadn't partaken of anything with the specific intention of alleviating any unpleasant flavours prior to this, but he knows that at least the alcohol will have done something to help dilute the bitterness.
The tension leaves him with a sigh as he feels the gentle stream come out—fairly certain that he's angled so that it'll trickle out over the back of Joshua's tongue and not right into his throat, but also not hitting every taste bud on its way there. Or maybe that's part of it, for Joshua—there's something rapturous in how his eyes shut completely for it, every time, like he's concentrated on drinking up the sensation.
And on literally drinking it, too.
It’s not long before Minghao’s done, and he's quick to pull out and push Joshua's jaw up with firm fingers until his mouth is shut, before anything else can spill out and add to the mess he's made. Finally, his hyung swallows and looks up at him, dazed. So visibly used and marked, even temporarily, by Minghao alone.
A unique atmosphere creeps in at times like this—a softness, when the idea of being a brat is the furthest thing from Joshua's mind. He clearly hadn't even touched himself once, pants not even unbuckled, and Minghao is reluctant to bring things to a close too abruptly as he tucks himself away.
(The timer keeping track of just how late they are to practice wells up in the back of his mind, and he shoos it away quickly.)
Joshua works his mouth as if preparing to dig up words and speak, and Minghao quickly shushes him, plucking at his shirt.
“Get up, hyung. I'll help you with that.”
Shakily, Joshua eventually joins him on his feet, and Minghao pulls him close again with a quick hand cupping around the back of his neck as he studies what he had done to Joshua's face. With his palm over Joshua's nape he can feel the shift of skin over the knob of his spine, the physical shiver that runs through him under Minghao's touch.
“Come on,” he says sweetly, leading the way for just a few steps over to the other side of the room where the shower facilities are waiting, gentle pressure on Joshua's neck bringing him along in his wake.
It’s a bit awkward, how he arranges them in front of the tiled corner, but he thinks he makes it work; the grate is not too far from Joshua's feet, and he gives into the urge to drape himself over one side with an arm slung around Joshua's shoulders for balance, the other quick to start dealing with his pants. Joshua’s body is warm and Minghao eagerly moulds himself to the shape of his shoulder, his arm, his side, even as he feels his hands move to catch at Minghao's in weak warning.
“Myungho—” Joshua begins, voice raw—ironically sounding so dry, now. Minghao hums as he painstakingly pushes down Joshua's pants enough to admire the sight of his neglected dick, trying his best to hook his chin over Joshua's shoulder to monitor his efforts. He's pretty proud of how well he's doing with one hand, the pleasure of accomplishment only growing when he sees and feels how Joshua's hands are only barely clinging to his wrist and falling away instead of maintaining a token resistance, the way he shifts his weight and gives him better purchase.
There’s fresh precome welling up, and he uses it to ease the way as he slowly strokes once, twice, enjoying the broken sound Joshua makes as he sags into his grip. He tears his eyes away just enough to shift and press a dry kiss against his clothed shoulder, gives into the urge to turn and trace his lips over the exposed, reddened skin of his neck. The flush would look so much better when accentuated with a string of hickeys, but the visual wouldn't be enough pay-off for all the trouble he'll get into after the deed is done.
Not this time, at least.
“It's okay—you can let go,” Minghao coaxes quietly, pausing just long enough to spit into his palm before he takes Joshua back in hand.
He’s got a goal in mind as he slides his hand up to polish at the head of Joshua's cock, determinedly varying the pressure as Joshua trembles underneath him. He’s almost always so quiet when it comes to this—unless there’s enough of them there to break him down completely, a rare and precious accomplishment—but his hitched breath and soft sounds, cut off before they can leave his mouth, are more than enough to work with.
The only warning he gets is a quiver of Joshua's chest, a soft sob escaping his mouth after it opened for a desperate gasp, and it's the cue to slowly slide his hand back down the shaft.
Minghao had taken a gamble on how full Joshua's bladder would be after the drinks he had eagerly downed, far more than would probably make it through to the final cut. And his reward is the close-up sight of the twisted shame-relief that crosses his face as he relieves himself in Minghao's hand—carefully pressing down around the base to direct the flow towards the convenient drain—and the stumble of resettling their weight until Minghao is the one keeping him upright, rather than the other way around.
He keeps up a steady flow of soothing sounds and praise, because his Shua-hyung is doing so well for him, just for him and his eyes alone, and when he’s done it hardly takes a gently massage of his shaft before he's coming—undone, yet safely falling into Minghao's waiting arms.
The first breaths afterwards feel almost sacred, lungs synced and soaking in dopamine. He waits until he knows Joshua has somewhat returned from the last aftershocks of it all—signalled by a breathy laugh and wondering shake of his head.
“You're insane,” he says through his smile, rolling his head back just enough to look at Minghao side-on.
He's reluctant to pull his weight away from Minghao and stand of his own accord, and Minghao doesn't mind at all; he had planned things so that clean-up would be extremely easy, this time. A quick blast of the shower once they're out of range to wash away evidence of their activities, and Joshua is pliant as he dabs paper towels at his face to clean him up a bit, mildly reluctant as he is to do so.
A token scrub at his shirt collar—it's probably nothing worse than spit, but Minghao wouldn't bet on it—and you could hardly guess that Joshua had been up to no good at all. That is, if you ignored the conspicuous flushed skin around his cheeks and mouth, where some make-up had come off under Minghao's attention, the temporary plumpness of his lips, the lingering dilation of his pupils as he tracks Minghao's movements.
So, all in all, anyone looking too closely would clock him immediately. But if they stay on (modified) schedule, it'll only be the other members—who will already be ready to pounce when they make their appearance, no doubt.
With that in mind, and once again conscious of how much time they had spent on this detour, Minghao interrupts Joshua where's he squinting into the mirror over the sink, rubbing gingerly at his skin as if he could reapply his foundation if he tried hard enough.
“We really need to get going...” He breaks the news with a touch to Joshua's side, stifling a laugh when he checks the time on his phone and looks at him in the mirror, betrayed.
“Myungho, why didn't you stop this earlier? They're going to kill us.”
There's a thrill underlying the whine in his voice, undermining any attempt at genuine concern as he rushes for the door—not forgetting to grab Minghao’s discarded jacket with his own and toss it over along the way.
“They'll only want to put their hands on you when I start telling them how the shoot went,” Minghao corrects Joshua smugly.
As much as Joshua scolds him light-heartedly on their way to the elevator, even he can't deny that he's looking forward to what they've just set in motion; it's been a relative while since anyone's riled up the whole group in one go, and if even Minghao was feeling a bit possessive after the shoot... this night will just be a prelude to how they'll act after it gets aired, undoubtedly.
He's pretty sure there's a fleck of something that both of them missed still spotting the side of Joshua's jaw, now pretty obvious from this angle—if Soonyoung is fired up enough over their tardiness it might just be the perfect thing to set him off in the way that Joshua is clearly anticipating.
And Minghao can't wait to instigate it and watch it happen.