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They had all gathered in Chan and Jeongin’s apartment. It was the last day before several of them had to head to Milan. But today, they could all watch something together one more time. Not just anything. This.
The dorm living room had been upgraded to a "very serious viewing environment," which basically meant Chan had commandeered the massive flat-screen, killed all the lights for that "cinematic vibe," and parked his ass so close to the TV he could've licked the pixels of the London scenery if he tried.
"It's not just any attendance," Chan insisted, eyes glued like a hawk on a particularly juicy rabbit. "He's the ambassador and have you seen Twitter. He is basically like London royalty by now."
"It's a fucking seat," Minho deadpanned, sprawled out like he owned the place. "He's gonna plant his butt in it and clap politely."
"It's a Burberry seat and everyone will watch him," Chan shot back, not blinking. "Huge difference."
Jisung, munching on chips, chimed in: "Yeah, because nothing says 'fashion icon' like a fancy chair that probably costs more than a new mic."
Chan's knee was jackhammering the floor like he was drilling for oil. The livestream for Burberry's London Fashion Week show kicked off—flashes popping, celebs preening, models backstage looking like they survived on air and disdain.
It showed which well-known personalities had arrived. Among them were many British stars, some actors, singers, and several other Asian celebrities. But as soon as everyone started screaming and the cameras began flashing wildly, the others knew that Seungmin had arrived. At the very latest when the first loud, wild shouts of “KIM SEUNGMIN!” could be heard.
Seungmin’s fans were like him... fucking wild.
Then the camera swept to the left...
And boom. There he was.
Seungmin. Winking and smirking.
Hair gelled back so razor-sharp it could slice bread. Face all cool detachment, like he invented unbothered. Rocking a sheer-as-hell shirt under a coat that screamed "tailored by gods with a grudge." The material shimmered just right, teasing glimpses of his body and... a fake nipple piercing glinting like it was auditioning for a jewelry ad.
“Holy shit, is that what I think it is?” Chan gasped for air.
Changbin patted him on the head like an amused mother.
“Your boy is wearing a see-through top and has a nipple piercing. We’re going to see his nipples all over Twitter for the next few days. The four of you could show up naked in Milan — he’ll still be the main topic.”
The pants? Criminal. Skintight, hugging every curve like they were painted on by someone with zero chill. Tailored with evil precision, leaving nothing—absolutely nothing—to the imagination.
Chan let out a sound. It was guttural, somewhere between a growl and a whine, like a wolf spotting prime territory.
Felix's phone clattered to the floor. "Hyung, did you just... growl-bark?"
"I did NOT," Chan hissed, but his face was flushing redder than a stoplight, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat like his jeans had suddenly shrunk two sizes.
On screen, Seungmin was now sitting down, crossing his legs. The pants strained, outlining... everything.
Chan's hands flew to his face, but his eyes peeked through his fingers like a kid watching a horror movie.
"Holy shit," he muttered, voice cracking. "Those pants are a weapon. A straight-up assault on my sanity."
Hyunjin was wheezing so hard he nearly toppled over. "He's glitching out. Full system error."
"Why do they style him like that?" Chan demanded, gesturing wildly at the screen. "He's a guest! Not... not a model! They should know he doesn’t like dressing too provocatively or showing too much skin.”
“Doesn’t look like he’s uncomfortable,” Minho commented.
"Imagine if he had to strut down the runway," Hyunjin said with a smirk. "You'd be a puddle."
Jisung leaned in, eyes wide. "Zoom. In. Now. I gotta see that piercing up close—purely for science."
"I AM NOT—" Chan yelled, already snatching the remote and zooming in like his life depended on it.
The fake silver bar twinkled under the lights, nestled against sheer fabric that left zero secrets.
Chan's breath hitched. Audibly. "Fuck," he whispered, shifting again. "I need him back here. Now. In my lap. Or something. God."
Felix gasped, fanning himself dramatically. "He's gone full feral. Hornier than a teenager discovering his own hand."
“Even though I’ve seen it way too often and really don’t want to talk about it, I’m afraid Chan wants something other than his own hand right now,” Jeongin muttered to himself.
"He texted me earlier," Chan ranted, scandalized. "'Hyung, what if I look dumb?' Dumb? THIS is dumb? He looks like sex on legs! Illegal sex!"
On screen, Seungmin lounged back, arm slung over the chair, chatting with some celeb like he wasn't currently melting Chan's brain from across the ocean.
The camera zoomed closer: That jawline, sharp enough to cut through Chan's thoughts. Slicked hair screaming "pull me." Smug little smirk that said, "Yeah, I know I'm destroying you."
Chan bolted upright. "I can't believe he waltzed out the door in that and just... he did not tell me he would be getting dressed like this... just a fucking 'Bye, hyung, I am gonna miss you'... Like he wasn't packing heat in those pants!"
Minho grinned. "You waved him off and you will be off to Milan yourself. Your fault."
"I DIDN'T KNOW HE'D BE SERVING THIRST TRAP FOR EVERYONE WHO STREAMS TO SEE."
Jisung was rolling on the floor, tears streaming. "He's not even modeling! Just sitting there, existing, and you're about to combust."
"That's the PROBLEM," Chan groaned, palming his face—but not before stealing another glance. "Casual devastation. And that's not fair. He is gone for 5 more days because of the shootings and the commercial and I will be away in Milan and busy and I have to wait 5 whole days to have him with me. That's like a whole week without him."
The others exchanged amused glances while their leader was clearly clinging dramatically to the last seconds of the live broadcast.
They knew that ever since the two of them had finally gotten together a year ago, they were constantly glued to each other. Felix and Jeongin had meanwhile come to see themselves as therapy partners, suffering together whenever Chan and Seungmin were separated due to schedules or even worse, when they saw each other again after a few days and everyone within a five-kilometer radius could hear Chan making Seungmin scream and the furniture shake.
The show was over and Chan's phone buzzed.
Seungmin:
Were you watching?
The guys swarmed him like piranhas.
"Be cool," Felix whispered. "Normal reply, so he won't be insecure, because he still has to go to the afterparty."
Chan typed: You look good.
Hyunjin snatched the phone. "Lame! That's dryer than... uncooked ramen."
Chan deleted it. Tried again: Why are your pants trying to kill me?
Dots appeared.
Should I bring them home?😇
The stream just showed Seungmin adjusting his coat and greeting the Designer. The sheer shirt clung. Piercing flashed. Pants... outlined... well... everything Chan loved to play with.
Chan made the growl-bark again, louder. His free hand gripped the couch arm like it owed him money.
"There it is!" Jisung crowed. "The horny wolf call!"
"I'M NOT—fuck, okay, maybe a little," Chan admitted, squirming.
And another text appeared: didn’t you like how they dressed me?
He exhaled shakily, dignity in shreds. "I fucking like too much. I am watching with the others and it's fucking embarrassing. Come home. Now. In those pants. Or out of them. Whatever."
The reply was nothing but mean: "But hyung, you always say you love me dressed up."
Minho cackled. "He has a point. You almost fucked him on stage, when he wore that white outfit with the almost sheer shirt."
Chan dragged his hands down his face, groaning. "I meant classy! Not 'make me want to bend you over the nearest surface'!"
The aftershow interviews started proper with Highlights from the show, but Chan was blind to the models. Every front-row cutaway? Seungmin, looking like pure sin.
He shifted once, coat parting—more skin tease.
Chan collapsed back, hand subtly adjusting his jeans. "I can't. I'm done. Ruined."
Felix applauded. "Fashion Week wins. Chan's libido... oh fuck... Jeongin in five days, one of us has to get ready for a long sleepover."
Chan waved vaguely at the TV. "He's coming back to this dorm. My space. My bed. Looking like... that."
"Your bed?" Hyunjin echoed, eyebrows up.
"Yes. Mine."
Jisung smirked. "Can't wait for you to act casual when you will see him in five days."
"I'm fine," Chan lied, voice strained.
Then Seungmin dropped an Insta story: Backstage mirror selfie. Coat open. Sheer shirt on full display. Piercing winking. Pants hugging like a second skin.
Caption: London air🐶🇬🇧
The room hushed.
Chan stared, mouth agape. Then—flop. Face-first into the cushions.
"I need my puppy back," he mumbled, muffled and desperate. "In my bed. Under me. Now."
Laughter erupted like a volcano.
Minho patted his back. "Don't fret. London's got Ambassador Hotness, but that lap Puppy's yours."
Felix grinned. "With bonus menace."
Chan peeked up, glaring. "He better bring those pants. And that piercing."
The growl-bark echoed once more.
They never let it die.
Seungmin's flight touched down late, the London fog still clinging to his thoughts as he dragged his suitcase through the dorm door. Fashion Week had been a whirlwind of flashes, fittings, shootings with other ambassadors, a Vogue interview, but the real buzz was the string of increasingly unhinged texts from Chan. The man had gone from "You look nice" to "Get home so I can fuck you" in record time. Seungmin smirked at his phone, replaying the last one: Pants optional. You without underwear mandatory.
He'd barely kicked off his shoes when the ambush hit.
Strong arms yanked him into a hug that was 10% affection, 90% possession and 100% love.
Chan's face buried in his neck, inhaling like Seungmin was oxygen. "Finally," Chan growled, voice low and wrecked. "You have no idea."
Seungmin laughed, but it hitched as Chan's hands roamed down his back, gripping his ass through those infamous pants he had picked like promised. "Missed me that much, hyung?"
"Missed? You tortured me." Chan pulled back just enough to eye him up, gaze scorching. The sheer shirt was gone, swapped for a simple Burberry tee on the flight, but the pants? Still on. Still lethal. "That livestream? Those pics? I was this close to booking a ticket from Milan to London and dragging you out of your schedules."
Seungmin's smirk widened, playing innocent. "What, the outfit? It was just fancy London fashion."
"Just fashion?" Chan echoed, backing him toward the bedroom, kicking the door shut. The others were mercifully out... they knew the incoming storm and didn't want to witness... again... Chan fucking Seungmin... again. They had to witness it way too often. "You looked like a walking wet dream. That piercing? Those pants hugging your dick like they owned it? I barked, Minnie. Actually barked. In front of the kids."
Seungmin burst out laughing, but Chan silenced it with a kiss... hard, hungry, all teeth and tongue. Hands tugged at his shirt, yanking it off. "Off. All of it."
"Hyung," Seungmin teased, but his voice was breathy as Chan shoved him onto the bed, crawling over him like a predator. "You survived Fendi right? I saw your pics... the suit game strong, especially with the missing shirt."
Chan's laugh was dark, fingers already working Seungmin's zipper. "Fendi was nothing. You? You broke me." The pants slid down, revealing everything, and Chan's eyes darkened to black. "Fuck, look at you. Still got that fake piercing on? God, yes."
Maybe it would not be fake anymore... Seungmin was against having real piercings... but this... he had kept the styled bar in, just for this and maybe this was the right place to have a real piercing, considering his boyfriend's reaction to it.
Chan's mouth latched onto it immediately, tongue flicking, teeth grazing. Seungmin arched, gasping. "Hyung... fuck!"
"Been thinking about this since the first camera pan," Chan muttered against his skin, hands everywhere, stroking, squeezing. He stripped himself fast, clothes hitting the floor in a heap. Hard, leaking, he ground against Seungmin. "You sitting there, all smug, knowing you'd have me like this."
Seungmin's hands tangled in Chan's hair, pulling him up for another kiss. "Guilty. Wanted you feral, I love when you get desperate and rough and attack me."
"Mission accomplished." Chan grabbed lube from the drawer... always prepared, slicking himself quick. Fingers prepped Seungmin efficiently, but teasingly, curling just right to make him whine. "Gonna fuck you so good, puppy. Till you forget London ever happened."
Seungmin moaned, legs wrapping around him. "Do it. Please."
After Seungmin was begging for more, Chan thrust in deep, relentless from the start. No gentle buildup, because this was pent-up horniness unleashed. The bed creaked as he pounded, skin slapping and breaths ragged. "So tight... fucking god... fuck, Minnie, you're perfect. That ass in those pants? Mine now."
"Hyung... harder," Seungmin begged, nails raking Chan's back. Chan obliged, angling to hit his favorite spot, over and over, turning Seungmin into a mess of moans and pleas.
Chan could feel it... he was losing it... pinning him down, whispering filth: "Gonna fill you up. Make you scream my name."
And Seungmin did, loud and shameless, as he came first, spilling between them. Chan followed seconds later, thrusting deep, groaning like the world ended.
They collapsed, tangled and sweaty. Chan kissed his forehead, much softer and sweeter now. "Welcome home, London royalty."
Seungmin chuckled, spent. "Thank you, my Italian King."
"Round two?"
"Hyung!"
But yeah, round two happened.