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The lights are warm. Gold. Romantic in a way this event doesn’t deserve.
Champagne glasses clink. Cameras flash. Laughter hums around the room. But Yunho doesn’t hear it. Not really. Not when Mingi’s across the room in that black silk shirt — the one that slips slightly off one shoulder every time he raises his glass.
Yunho swallows. Hard. He shouldn't be looking.
They came separately. They’re supposed to act like professionals tonight. Shake hands. Nod politely. Look good for the press. No touching. No heat.
But then Mingi shifts in his seat at their shared table, legs spreading subtly. Just enough to give Yunho a flash of thigh where his slacks ride up.
Fuck.
Mingi doesn’t even look at him.
Not at first.
Not until Yunho’s grip tightens around his champagne flute, and then — only then — does Mingi flick his gaze over. Slow. Heavy-lidded. A smirk tugging at one side of his mouth.
Yunho’s dick twitches in his pants.
He downs the rest of his glass and excuses himself from the conversation.
When he returns, Mingi’s already standing, stretching like a cat, back arched slightly, shirt riding up. The movement is so subtle, so sensual, it could be innocent.
It isn’t.
Yunho leans in close as they pass each other. “You’re playing with fire.”
Mingi tilts his head, lips brushing his ear. “I’m hoping to get burned.”
Yunho barely keeps his composure.
—
Twenty minutes later, they’re seated again — close, too close, side by side. Nobody notices how Yunho’s hand dips under the linen tablecloth. Nobody sees how his fingers ghost along Mingi’s thigh, the slow stroke up to his inner seam.
Mingi’s breath catches, just once. He keeps smiling at the people talking across the table.
But his legs part a little wider.
Yunho doesn’t go higher. Doesn’t touch what Mingi wants him to. Just strokes slow, circular patterns into the muscle there. Like a warning.
Like a promise.
"You've got five seconds to behave," Yunho murmurs, teeth clenched in a smile.
Mingi turns his head slightly, whispering back, “Or what?”
“Or I’m going to fuck your throat the second we walk in the door.”
The silence between them is deafening.
A bead of sweat forms at Mingi’s temple. He sips his drink, lips wet, voice level. “Then I’ll keep misbehaving.”
Yunho wants to drag him out of here right now.
—
They manage to survive the rest of the event — barely. Every glance is loaded. Every shift of Mingi’s hips makes Yunho’s jaw tighten. Mingi touches Yunho’s arm when he laughs, deliberately letting his fingers linger.
It’s torture.
Yunho’s cock is already hard when they reach the car.
Neither of them says a word during the ride home.
But Mingi leans over, slow and silent, and rests his palm on Yunho’s thigh. Starts stroking again. Higher this time. Over the bulge in his pants.
Yunho doesn’t stop him.
He just breathes harder.
The door slams behind them. Yunho doesn’t even bother locking it.
He’s already on Mingi — hands tangled in his shirt, mouth crashing against his. It’s not soft. It’s not slow. It’s starving.
Mingi groans into the kiss, deep and guttural, clutching at Yunho’s jacket with shaking hands. “Off,” he gasps. “Take it off—”
Yunho shrugs it off, tosses it somewhere, not caring where it lands. Mingi’s shirt follows. Buttons rip. Silk slides. And there he is — flushed, already panting, chest heaving under Yunho’s hungry gaze.
“Fucking tease,” Yunho mutters, lips bruising along Mingi’s throat. “You knew what you were doing.”
“You liked it,” Mingi smirks, breath hitching as teeth scrape his jaw. “You’re hard as hell.”
“I was hard the second you spread your legs at that table.” Yunho drops to his knees without warning. “You wanna keep playing? Or do you want me to suck your cock until you beg?”
Mingi’s breath catches.
Yunho doesn’t wait.
He undoes Mingi’s belt with practiced fingers, pulls his pants and briefs down in one rough motion. Mingi’s cock slaps up against his stomach — flushed, heavy, already leaking.
“Goddamn,” Yunho mutters under his breath, eyes dark as sin. “You’re so ready for it.”
And then he wraps his lips around the tip.
Mingi chokes on a moan, one hand flying to Yunho’s hair. He doesn’t push, doesn’t guide — just holds on, helpless, as Yunho sucks him deep. Slow, wet pulls. Tongue swirling around the head. Humming low in his throat like he knows it’ll drive him crazy.
“Oh my—fuck, Yunho—”
Yunho doesn’t stop.
He devours. Sinks down, takes him in one smooth glide, throat flexing around him. Pulls back with a slurp, tongue flicking the slit. His hands grip Mingi’s thighs, firm and controlling, keeping him still even as his knees wobble.
Mingi’s voice is ragged. “You’re gonna make me come like this—”
Yunho pulls off, lips glistening, smirking. “Good.”
“But I wanna fuck you.”
Yunho’s eyes burn.
He stands. Grabs Mingi’s chin. Kisses him hard — deep and messy, tasting himself on Yunho’s tongue. It makes him whimper.
Yunho breaks the kiss, breath hot. “Then do it. Show me how bad you need it.”
---
They stumble into the bedroom like animals.
Clothes fly. Hands roam. Mingi gets Yunho onto the bed — rough, fast, greedy — and kneels between his legs, stroking his cock slowly, watching the way Yunho writhes.
“I’m not gonna last if you keep doing that,” Yunho pants.
“That’s the point.”
Mingi grabs the lube. Spreads Yunho’s legs. Slicks his fingers and wastes no time — presses one in deep, curling it slowly while Yunho arches off the bed with a low, broken groan.
“Fuck—Mingi—more—”
“Say please.”
Yunho’s voice cracks. “Please. God, please.”
Two fingers now. Scissoring. Stroking his spot until Yunho’s toes curl.
Mingi leans down, hot breath against his entrance. “Gonna rim you too. Wanna hear how loud you get.”
Yunho barely manages a gasp before Mingi’s mouth is on him — licking slow, deep, obscene circles around his hole while his fingers move inside, stretching him open, slick and ready.
Yunho screams.
He fists the sheets, body twitching, already trembling from the stimulation. “You’re gonna make me fucking—Mingi—fuck—”
Mingi pulls back with a groan. “Look at you. Wrecked already. And we haven’t even gotten started.”
Mingi’s fingers slip out of him slowly. Wet. Twitchy.
Yunho is already wrecked — face flushed, thighs trembling, cock rock-hard against his stomach. He’s gasping like he just ran miles, hair stuck to his forehead with sweat.
Mingi licks his fingers clean and reaches toward the nightstand.
Click.
The drawer opens.
And Yunho moans out loud just at the sound.
“You want the plug?” Mingi teases, lifting the small black one between his fingers. “Or the dildo first?”
Yunho doesn’t answer — just spreads his legs wider and nods, eyes begging.
Mingi chooses both.
He slicks the toy generously, then pushes Yunho higher on the bed, placing a pillow under his hips. “Keep your knees open. You close them and I’ll tie you up.”
Yunho whines. Obeys.
The dildo is thick. Realistic. A stretch. Mingi works it in slowly, watching Yunho’s face with every inch. One hand holding it, the other jerking Yunho off in slow, deep pumps.
Yunho thrashes.
“Look at you,” Mingi murmurs, voice low and so turned on. “Taking it so well. You love this shit.”
“You love this shit,” Yunho moans. “You’re so fucking hard right now.”
Mingi glances down — his cock is twitching, visibly leaking against his own stomach. He lets go of the dildo, leaves it inside Yunho, and climbs up to straddle him, rubbing their cocks together, grinding down.
Yunho loses it.
They rut like that — hot skin, desperate friction, toy buried inside Yunho’s body. But it’s not enough. Not even close.
“Flip,” Yunho growls suddenly. “Your turn.”
Mingi freezes, then smiles.
He flips without a word, hands braced against the mattress. Hips up. Head low.
Yunho kneels behind him, dragging his tongue up Mingi’s spine, over the tattoo, across his shoulders. “You’re not gonna be able to talk after this.”
“I don’t need to talk,” Mingi pants. “Just fuck me.”
Yunho spits on his hole. Slicks him up. One finger. Two. A third. Mingi pushes back onto them, panting.
Then Yunho grabs the vibrating plug.
“Yunho—” Mingi says, suddenly breathless. “Don’t you—”
Click. The plug buzzes to life.
Yunho shoves it in deep.
Mingi shrieks into the sheets, fists clenching, back arching. His cock jerks against the bed untouched.
“Feel that?” Yunho murmurs, pressing the base in tighter, vibrating it faster. “Bet you’re dripping.”
He reaches under and confirms it — Mingi’s cock is soaked. He strokes him once, twice.
“Yunho—please—I’m gonna come—”
“No. Not yet.”
He turns off the plug.
Mingi sobs.
Yunho pulls it out and replaces it with his own cock, pushing in one slow, brutal inch at a time.
Mingi is already twitching.
The first thrust is deep. The second is filthy. The third knocks Mingi forward so hard his head bounces against the pillow.
They find rhythm. Slap of skin, moans echoing, the mattress creaking with every brutal thrust.
“You gonna break the bed?” Mingi moans.
Yunho leans over him, biting his shoulder. “You’re gonna break it.”
He fucks him harder.
The headboard bangs.
The lube bottle falls off the nightstand.
The wood under them groans.
Mingi’s legs give out, but Yunho holds him up, one arm wrapped under his hips, thrusting fast and deep, cock pounding right into his prostate, over and over.
Then—
CRACK.
The middle slats give out.
The bed drops an inch.
They both freeze.
Then—
They burst out laughing.
Yunho is still inside him, panting, soaked in sweat. Mingi’s face is buried in a pillow, shoulders shaking with laughter, voice wrecked. “You—fucking—broke it.”
“You were the one moaning like a pornstar!”
“You were the one destroying my insides!”
They keep laughing, breathless, twitching, still inside each other.
And then…
“Another round?” Yunho smirks.
Mingi lifts his head slowly. His hair is a mess. His thighs are shaking. His voice is gone.
But he still smiles.
“Only if I get to ride you this time.”
---
The bed frame creaks beneath them — bent and uneven now, half-collapsed from Yunho’s last round of relentless thrusts.
But Mingi doesn’t care.
He’s straddling Yunho’s lap now, thighs spread wide, cock dripping against Yunho’s stomach, hole still twitching and wet from the plug and the pounding he just took.
His hands brace on Yunho’s chest. Their eyes lock.
“You okay?” Yunho asks, voice hoarse, palm gentle on Mingi’s hip.
Mingi smirks. “Shut up and let me fuck myself on your cock.”
And he sinks down.
All the way.
Yunho chokes on a moan, fingers digging into Mingi’s thighs as that tight heat swallows him whole. “Holy—fuck—”
Mingi starts riding. Slow, rolling grind at first — just enough for them both to feel everything. Every inch. Every slide. Every filthy sound of wetness and friction.
Their bodies are sticky with sweat. The room smells like sex. Mingi’s head tips back, lips parted in a silent moan as he bounces faster, harder, taking Yunho in deeper each time.
“You look so fucking good,” Yunho groans, reaching up to tug Mingi’s hair, just enough to pull his head back and expose his throat. “Look at you. So cockdrunk.”
Mingi whimpers.
Then slams down — once, twice — so hard the broken bed frame shudders.
Yunho grabs his ass with both hands. “You’re gonna kill me.”
“Die like a man,” Mingi pants, slamming down again, voice cracking. “With my cock in your mouth.”
Yunho laughs. But then he flips them again.
Mingi yelps, back hitting the mattress. Yunho’s already inside him again, folding him in half, fucking him deep and desperate — one hand around Mingi’s throat, the other stroking him in tight, slick pumps.
“I’m gonna—” Mingi gasps, whole body convulsing. “I—fuck—fuck—I’m—”
His orgasm explodes through him — cum painting his chest, moans pouring from his mouth, legs trembling, face red and so beautiful.
But Yunho doesn’t stop.
He thrusts through it.
Overstimulating. Ruthless.
Mingi’s voice breaks.
“Please,” he begs. “It’s too—fuck—I can’t—”
“You can.”
Yunho fucks him harder. Eyes wild. Teeth clenched.
And then it hits him.
His orgasm crashes over him like a wave — hips stuttering, cock buried deep as he spills inside Mingi with a guttural groan, body collapsing forward as they both tremble together.
Silence.
Heavy breaths.
Sticky skin.
The bed shifts under them again — one last protest from the wreckage of wood and screws.
Mingi lets out a breathless laugh. “We actually broke it.”
Yunho kisses his neck. “Worth it.”
They lie there, tangled, ruined, covered in sweat and cum and love.
And Yunho whispers, against Mingi’s ear:
“Next time, we break the couch.”