what i have, i held in these hands (part one)
what i have, i held in these hands - version two
g-dragon/top
rated r (sexual situations)
part one: 3,662 words
alternate reality. top fails his audition and gives up on yg.
notes: this is a loose remix of gdgdbaby's what i have, i held in these hands. thank you for letting me borrow the idea, lucy. ♥ apologies for any mistakes i made as far as the k-hiphop scene goes. i’m definitely not an expert at all of the different groups and their members. also, if anyone had read the work-in-progress the first time around, i've cut it up differently. :)
They've always had language in common. It wasn't Korean or English or some convoluted combination of both: it was the love of it, the ebb and flow of it, malleable like the rice sculptures Seunghyun made out of the samgak kimbap his mother packed for him at lunch. They'd hunkered in semi-circles then, trading cassettes gone fuzzy, copies of copies of copies. Seunghyun was older and bigger, but he knew the same kids Jiyong did. Jiyong devoured the carefully-constructed mixes he passed to him sometimes, a track list in precise Hangul folded into neat squares and shoved into a tinted tape box.
Then Seunghyun had moved away and Jiyong had joined YG and he made new hyungs and new friends. The wide sincerity of his smile, the exuberance thrumming through his body, the wit swirling through his mind: these made things easy for him. He got to know the feel of Teddy's shoulder knocking against his, Sean and Taebin and Jinu's intricate versions of handshakes. He learned to add flow to his moves the way Se7en did and they all taught him how to dress.
When they told him he was to be an idol, that along with Youngbae they would be dancing on stage, synchronized with other boys in matching outfits, all he could feel was rage. He trashed the dance studio before cleaning it up again, teeth clenched inside cheeks still smooth with the remnants of baby fat. Youngbae came in, silent, and helped sweep the paper shreds of Jiyong's torn-up schoolwork from the floor. They'd sat cross-legged, knee to knee and decided that they would be the very best no matter what, and Jiyong had thought of 1TYM: how the three of them fit together, ballads and crisp raps going back and forth. He racked his brain until it hurt that night, going through his mp3 player until a DMX track came on and he remembered.
---
"Are you asking me?" Seunghyun is mostly grown up now, tall and awkward as they hunker together in his bedroom. He adjusts his bandana so it slides back up his eyes and fixes him with a look, the light in his eyes the opposite of the frown on his mouth. "An idol group?"
"A different one," Jiyong corrects. He looks up at the faded Seo Taiji posters on Seunghyun’s wall and then back. "The best one."
That was all it took.
---
In the mornings they study at separate schools and hang with separate groups of friends; at night they trade verses back and forth, over the phone or in person, on the weekends.
One day Jiyong tosses Seunghyun his notebook, hawk eyes watching his lips curl into a smile as he skims down lyrics. "You allowed to say this shit? Thought this was gonna be for little girls."
Jiyong shrugs. "I don't care what girls think about me."
Seunghyun laughs, then, until he sees Jiyong's face close off, sees his hands reach for the notebook. They're shaking. “Hey, hold on, I was kidding. I don't care if you... you know." He nudges him with his own book's corner. "You can read mine too, if you want."
---
“Delete that part.”
“I think it sounds good.”
“I think you should delete it.”
“Big shot YG protege telling me how to do things.” Seunghyun saves the track, ignoring the swat Jiyong aims at his shoulder. “Be a good dongsaeng and get me some water, yeah?”
Jiyong laughs. He throws an empty water bottle at his head instead. Seunghyun scowls, reflexes a little too slow to duck: the plastic bounces off of his head and into the trash can.
“Holy shit,” Jiyong exclaims, “big shot YG protege telling you to throw trash away. Look, I even showed you how.”
“I hate you.”
Jiyong leans over the screen, laughing again. “Look, hyung, you can save it that way but the sound quality won’t be as good. Here,” he says, and Seunghyun scoots over, the both of them sharing the rickety computer chair, “I’ll show you how.”
---
So they get to know each other again, and without the buffer of a large group of people it’s easier, somehow. Jiyong comes over more often, ostensibly to make music. Seunghyun’s mother still remembers him: she pats him on the head like he’s still a child before disappearing into the farther reaches of the house. Seunghyun flings noodles at him when they fend for themselves on Saturday afternoons, television blaring in the background. When he lands his target his face lightens up, goes soft, and Jiyong likes that, even though he gets pelted with bits of carrot. He wins most of the fights, anyway.
What’s better than the food fights is the shopping. It’s like the mix tapes, only instead of lo-fi cassettes Seunghyun shows him hidden places in Seoul. There’s more English spoken than Korean in them; they’re places Teddy and Kush wouldn’t dare take him to, too afraid of Hyunsuk’s wrath. They’re record and DJ stores, mostly, but when Jiyong asks about clothing shops Seunghyun takes him there too.
“Don’t tell anyone about this,” he chides as they cross into a below-street level building. “It’s my spot,” he says in English, and the guy behind the counter just laughs and shakes his head, nodding at Seunghyun as they browse for what seems like hours, emerging with shopping bags and more ideas for songs.
Jiyong’s notebooks have new scribbles in the margins, the handwriting economic compared to his own spread-out scrawl, and his new clothes have Youngbae all jealous until he comes along too, and then it’s the three of them, the banter flowing easy.
---
There's something in the way Jiyong moves, swaying with the beats they painstakingly construct on Seunghyun's computer. He locks himself in the closet in lieu of a recording booth, sometimes, and the sound of his voice reverberating through the headphones is almost better than watching his hips move or his hands jab. Seunghyun shivers, then, and he thinks of Jiyong going to Sinchon or Itaewon with whatever friends he has now. He imagines him weaving through crowds with eyes on him, hungry needy interested ones. It made a fierceness rise in him that he calls being protective, calls being a friend.
"Hey," Jiyong says. He jumps. "you look pissed."
"I'm fine," he mumbles, clambering out of the chair.
The song comes out angry this time, rapid-fire with swagger shot through it. When Hyunsuk plays it in his office the next day a few heads poke in to ask about it.
Jiyong beams, then. "It’s good, right, hyung?"
Hyunsuk nods, head still bobbing as the music dies down. "I want to meet this Tempo."
---
Jiyong climbs into the back window of the club, hood pulled low over his head as he makes his way through the crowd. Seunghyun and some others are on stage, bass a tangible thing in the air around them. It courses through the air in beats that get into Jiyong's chest, the same as his heart.
When Seunghyun loops the cord around his fist and presses the mic to his mouth the beats fade out and words push in, ones Jiyong hasn't heard yet. He squirms in his sweater. They're dirty in a playful way, a cheeky smile playing along Seunghyun's lips even through the filth and it gets his brain going places. He thinks of controversy, of scandal, of their new group going 19+ and how people would gasp, how Seunghyun would gasp when Jiyong slithered against his body, groping along the hardening line in his jeans --
The knock on his shoulder doesn't really surprise him. It’s harder than a greeting should be, and wider, and these things tell him it’s Seunghyun. "How'd you get in here?"
"Magic," Jiyong lies. "And connections."
"Oh yeah?" Seunghyun is breathing hard, sweat beading his forehead from the hot lights. He wipes at the droplets along his jaw. Jiyong licks his lips, chewing on the chapped corner of one of them. "YG connections?"
"Yup. My connections. Or ours, I guess."
"What?"
"You're in for an audition."
Seunghyun whoops and claps Jiyong on the shoulder. He waves his friends off, mouth going a mile a minute as they walk from the club to the subway to the stop nearest his house.
"You're quiet today," he says, finally. "‘Sup with you?"
Jiyong looks up into his hyung's face, eyes wide and curious under unruly brows and pushes him up the steps to his house. Seunghyun stumbles until he's pressed into stucco and the jutting corner of a windowpane, Jiyong's hands fisted in his ridiculous nylon jacket.
"I don't know," he replies, and stands up on tiptoe, pressing their foreheads together. "We're going to be the best, you and me."
It doesn't take long for Seunghyun to react to the rough, insistent kiss, a growl curling in his throat. Jiyong's stomach flips over at that, breath coming in ragged pants as Seunghyun grabs at him, all over, everywhere. He rubs a hand against the front of his jeans, arousal pooling in his stomach at the gasp he gets in return. His fingers knock themselves against Seunghyun’s belt buckle as he reaches for it and he hisses at the pain, punching defensively when Seunghyun laughs.
"Come here," he whispers, the words all raspy from smoke, and he keeps an arm around him, pressing Jiyong into his side as he fumbles for keys and the door to his house that is silent with sleep.
Jiyong'd thought he'd have to do the most work. He'd imagined Seunghyun blinking up at him in confusion, rolling them over at his insistence, getting lube on the sheets and the condom on wrong, but he hadn't expected this. He hadn't expected being so hard he was dizzy, Seunghyun's fingers nimble as he works at layers of clothing, the both of them wrestling LRG and Bape from shoulders and hips, shoes falling in solid clunks to the floor at the foot of his bed.
"Fuck," Seunghyun swears, and Jiyong flushes red with pride and a new kind of pleasure. He likes how Seunghyun watches the way he stretches and moves under him, the thin angular lines of his body bared. He likes the way his brows knit together at the sight, likes how his lips part and how rapidly his chest falls and rises.
"I don't know how to do this," Jiyong admits, once his leg is hooked around Seunghyun's hip, and they're awkward again, aware until his hyung covers for the both of them.
Seunghyun looks down at him with hooded eyes, presses a kiss to his flushed lips and murmurs, "I do,” and then "how do you want it?"
Jiyong moans at that, rolling his hips against the other boy’s. He gets more bone than groin and Seunghyun laughs again, but it’s warm and low and he shifts over a little, until they’re flush against each other. He slides back against him, rocking into the heat and the friction until Jiyong's head spins, until he's embarrassingly close to coming, cock hard and slick with precome. "Wait, wait," he gasps. "Wait, I want you to fuck me."
Seunghyun drops his head against Jiyong’s collarbone and swears again. "Jesus Christ," and he sits up to rummage through his bedstand. "You didn't answer me," he says thickly. The sound of ripping foil is loud in the room. "How do you want it?"
"What do you mean?"
A small smile turns up a corner of his mouth. "You want your ass up in the air or drove into the bed?"
His reply gets tangled in his throat. Instead, he watches Seunghyun unroll the condom onto himself; when he looks up, their eyes lock. Then he coughs, fills up the silence with words, voice going thin as he continues. "I don't care, I just, whatever, any way, I just want it, come on."
"For a rapper, you're not being very good with words."
For once, Jiyong has no sharp retort.
“Please,” he says instead, and Seunghyun’s eyes go dark. He reaches for him, jerking him off slow. When he twists his wrist on the upstroke, Jiyong moans, hips jerking upwards. Seunghyun hides a smile along the curve of his jaw and slows a little, lets him fuck into the wet ring of his fist.
“Stop laughing at me,” Jiyong pants into his ear, “you’re not taking this serious.”
“Sorry,” he grins. “I get stupid when I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“What?” His voice comes out high and Seunghyun coughs into his shoulder, half-sitting up.
“I’ve never fucked a guy before.”
“You haven’t?”
“No, but I jerk off, so...” he gestures to Jiyong’s groin, tongue planted firmly in cheek. “And I mean, I’ve had girlfriends. Older ones.”
“So they...”
“Yeah.” He wipes his hand on Jiyong’s arm and ignores the pinch he gets in return. “So you wanna do this or not?”
“I already said I did.”
Seunghyun uncaps the bottle of lube, spreads some of it along his fingers. Jiyong can feel himself going jittery, nerves adding to the excitement pooled in his stomach.
“Relax,” he says, “or this’ll suck for both of us.” He flips the bottle’s cap closed, drops it to the sheets and shifts a little, presses a finger to him. Seunghyun studies the way Jiyong’s face creases at the sensation. “You really haven’t done this before, have you.”
“No.”
“I’ll go slow,” he promises, and he keeps true to his word. He breathes out, shaky, when Jiyong nods and he adds another finger, the rhythm smooth and unhurried. Jiyong whimpers even through the discomfort, he says his name, half-gasped and without the -hyung, until he moves.
The brush of his abdomen against Jiyong's cock is too much and he shoves at his shoulders, half-sitting up. "Hold on," he gasps, and Seunghyun’s hand leaves him. "Hold on, I can't," and then Seunghyun lolls onto his elbow as he waits for Jiyong's brain to catch up with his body. "I don't want to come yet, we have to fuck first."
"Alright," he murmurs, "okay," and he props Jiyong's knees up near his shoulders, another amused frown wrinkling his brow. "Do you shave your legs?"
"Shut up with that shit," Jiyong snaps, and this time they both laugh, breathless, until Seunghyun slides wetted fingers against himself and the bottle of lube falls to the floor with a soft thud.
"Be quiet, 'cause everyone's sleeping. And tell me if it hurts," he adds, eyes flickering to Jiyong's face and down again as he moves.
Jiyong hisses, a new ache settling in with the burn and the stretch, until he knocks at Seunghyun's back and he stops.
"Too much?"
"No, just... just wait a second."
He does, lip trapped under white teeth. He waits until Jiyong nods, jaw clenched, and then he's sinking into him, all the way into him, eyelashes fluttering as he exhales, stuttery. The slow thrusts get Jiyong's eyes watering, fingers curled into Seunghyun's skin as they move, awkward and kind of painful until he adjusts the angle of their hips and Jiyong gets out a surprised "oh."
"Better?" Seunghyun pants, and he nods, squirming at the brush of his cock against his prostate.
"Don't go easy on me," he says, and Seunghyun rolls his eyes. Still, he thrusts a little harder, thrusts faster until the pain only adds to the pleasure spiking through Jiyong’s veins.
He gets off on the rough slide inside and out again, how breached he is, legs splayed and open, how surprised Seunghyun gets when he rolls up against him, how each muffled whimper gets him going faster than he should. "More," he grits out.
Seunghyun stops holding back. He grips the length of him, stroking roughly, eyes roaming over Jiyong's face, his chest, the wet slide of his cock into and out of him. "Wanna watch you come," he breathes out, face flushing even as the words leave his lips, the headboard thudding dully against the wall as they move. The balance between how it hurts and how good it feels tips precariously and that's what gets Jiyong over the edge, coming hard against Seunghyun's fist, against his stomach.
Seunghyun's hands are groping along his ribs now, fisting into the sheets, breath shallow and gasping against Jiyong's ear. It doesn't take long for him to follow, tensing, a broken sort of moan leaving his lips as he drops boneless against him, pressing him into the mattress.
For a while, the sound of their mingled breathing is the loudest sound in the room. Then Seunghyun scrambles up onto his elbows. "Sorry," he says, and he pulls out of him, settles on his back. His eyes flick towards the door. "D'you think they heard us?"
"Probably." Jiyong eyes the clock but sleep is tugging at his eyelids, warm and lethargic. "I have to go home."
"What?" Seunghyun says, and then, "oh, yeah, of course, I guess you want to get ready for tomorrow."
"So should you." When he sits up he winces automatically, balled-up fists digging into the messed bedsheets to take the weight off of his ass. "Shit, how am I supposed to dance now?"
"Dance?" he repeats, rolling onto his side.
Jiyong smirks. "Didn't I tell you? Dancing's part of the audition."
"But I--"
"Me and Youngbae'll be with you, so you don't have to worry."
"But--"
"Move how you just did, you followed a rhythm fine."
Seunghyun turns a weird shade of red and Jiyong laughs, ignoring the ache in his thighs to lean forward and kiss under his jaw.
"I was kidding. It’s just rapping. You're fine, hyung."
"I guess." Seunghyun's movements are jerky as he pulls his clothes back on, tossing Jiyong's shirt at his head. "I'm not really good at that," he admits, voice muffled under the fleece of his hoodie. "So..."
"We have teachers, whatever. That doesn't matter."
With their clothes on and hair reasonably fixed, Seunghyun's eyes dart from him to the window and the door and then the clock, over and over. "This is awkward."
Jiyong sighs. "Only if you make it awkward," he replies, tugging at the corner of the bedspread before he stands.
Seunghyun stays perched on the bed, but at the movement he gets up, scratching at the back of his neck. "I'll walk you back home."
"Halfway across the city?" Jiyong asks. "I'm not a girl, you don't have to treat me all careful."
"The subway, at least," Seunghyun amends. "It’s late."
They walk back in companiable, if awkward, silence. Seunghyun grabs for his hand once, but the look Jiyong shoots him gets him holding onto his jacket sleeve before he drops his arm entirely, grumbling to himself. "I was trying to be nice."
"I'm not a girl," he repeats.
"I’ve seen that for myself."
Jiyong turns away from the sprawling map to laugh at him, open and free, and Seunghyun ignores the annoyed protest he starts up to kiss him again, all tongues and teeth before the chime of an approaching train gets them breaking apart.
Jiyong looks at him with big eyes, the smile tamped down into something more intimate as he steps through the doors. "See you tomorrow?"
"Yeah."
He leaves without boxers on, new music and the feel of Seunghyun’s mouth etched into his brain.
---
After the audition he finds him curled against the back of the building, under the awning, hood up, huddled on a step. "Hey."
Seunghyun just nods, a cigarette jutting from his lips, hands set around his knees as he sits.
Jiyong squats down, ignoring the muscles that pull in protest. "You can always go again. He says you can audition another time."
Seunghyun says nothing.
He tries again. "If you need help, I can..."
"I don't need your help," he says quietly. The shade leaves him pale, the bruise at his collar almost visible under the t-shirt he's wearing.
"Just let me..." and Jiyong's slipping a hand between Seunghyun's knee and palm until he softens, arms dropping.
Silence. Jiyong fights the impatience seeping in slowly.
"I didn't really... an idol group."
"What?"
"My friends made fun of me anyway."
"What?" Irritation courses through him now, thick and fast. "And you care what they think?"
"Of course I do." Seunghyun's tone turns mulish, hand leaving his to re-lock around his legs. "Don't you care what your friends think of you?"
Jiyong stutters into silence. Then he stands, suppressing a wince. "Are you telling me we made all of those stupid cd's and you're just going to give up?"
He shrugs, shame flashing on his face. "I can't fucking change what he wants me to change, okay? I'm not good-looking enough, I'm too." He blinks and stands, throwing the half-finished cigarette to the ground. "I'm too big, right?"
"You’re not even fat, you can exercise--"
"Oh, so you think so too?"
"No, what the hell..." Jiyong exhales and steps forward, grinding Seunghyun's cigarette down into the concrete. "Oh, yeah, I think you’re really huge, ‘cause ..."
"‘Cause of last night, right."
"Don't go there."
"I guess I wasn't too big to fuck you, but too big for your stupid fucking band, right?"
"That wasn't my decision," he insists.
"But you knew what he'd say. Fuck you for leading me on."
"No, I didn't--" and then he stops. He opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out, only a frustrated noise that comes with the inexplicable urge to cry. Cry, at his age.
"You know what," he says finally, "you can go do whatever you want. I'll find someone else." He cuts narrowed eyes at him, ignores the sudden hurt in Seunghyun's face. "Someone we don't need to train from the gut up."
He doesn't look back as he walks away, shoulders straight and proud.
part two
g-dragon/top
rated r (sexual situations)
part one: 3,662 words
alternate reality. top fails his audition and gives up on yg.
notes: this is a loose remix of gdgdbaby's what i have, i held in these hands. thank you for letting me borrow the idea, lucy. ♥ apologies for any mistakes i made as far as the k-hiphop scene goes. i’m definitely not an expert at all of the different groups and their members. also, if anyone had read the work-in-progress the first time around, i've cut it up differently. :)
They've always had language in common. It wasn't Korean or English or some convoluted combination of both: it was the love of it, the ebb and flow of it, malleable like the rice sculptures Seunghyun made out of the samgak kimbap his mother packed for him at lunch. They'd hunkered in semi-circles then, trading cassettes gone fuzzy, copies of copies of copies. Seunghyun was older and bigger, but he knew the same kids Jiyong did. Jiyong devoured the carefully-constructed mixes he passed to him sometimes, a track list in precise Hangul folded into neat squares and shoved into a tinted tape box.
Then Seunghyun had moved away and Jiyong had joined YG and he made new hyungs and new friends. The wide sincerity of his smile, the exuberance thrumming through his body, the wit swirling through his mind: these made things easy for him. He got to know the feel of Teddy's shoulder knocking against his, Sean and Taebin and Jinu's intricate versions of handshakes. He learned to add flow to his moves the way Se7en did and they all taught him how to dress.
When they told him he was to be an idol, that along with Youngbae they would be dancing on stage, synchronized with other boys in matching outfits, all he could feel was rage. He trashed the dance studio before cleaning it up again, teeth clenched inside cheeks still smooth with the remnants of baby fat. Youngbae came in, silent, and helped sweep the paper shreds of Jiyong's torn-up schoolwork from the floor. They'd sat cross-legged, knee to knee and decided that they would be the very best no matter what, and Jiyong had thought of 1TYM: how the three of them fit together, ballads and crisp raps going back and forth. He racked his brain until it hurt that night, going through his mp3 player until a DMX track came on and he remembered.
---
"Are you asking me?" Seunghyun is mostly grown up now, tall and awkward as they hunker together in his bedroom. He adjusts his bandana so it slides back up his eyes and fixes him with a look, the light in his eyes the opposite of the frown on his mouth. "An idol group?"
"A different one," Jiyong corrects. He looks up at the faded Seo Taiji posters on Seunghyun’s wall and then back. "The best one."
That was all it took.
---
In the mornings they study at separate schools and hang with separate groups of friends; at night they trade verses back and forth, over the phone or in person, on the weekends.
One day Jiyong tosses Seunghyun his notebook, hawk eyes watching his lips curl into a smile as he skims down lyrics. "You allowed to say this shit? Thought this was gonna be for little girls."
Jiyong shrugs. "I don't care what girls think about me."
Seunghyun laughs, then, until he sees Jiyong's face close off, sees his hands reach for the notebook. They're shaking. “Hey, hold on, I was kidding. I don't care if you... you know." He nudges him with his own book's corner. "You can read mine too, if you want."
---
“Delete that part.”
“I think it sounds good.”
“I think you should delete it.”
“Big shot YG protege telling me how to do things.” Seunghyun saves the track, ignoring the swat Jiyong aims at his shoulder. “Be a good dongsaeng and get me some water, yeah?”
Jiyong laughs. He throws an empty water bottle at his head instead. Seunghyun scowls, reflexes a little too slow to duck: the plastic bounces off of his head and into the trash can.
“Holy shit,” Jiyong exclaims, “big shot YG protege telling you to throw trash away. Look, I even showed you how.”
“I hate you.”
Jiyong leans over the screen, laughing again. “Look, hyung, you can save it that way but the sound quality won’t be as good. Here,” he says, and Seunghyun scoots over, the both of them sharing the rickety computer chair, “I’ll show you how.”
---
So they get to know each other again, and without the buffer of a large group of people it’s easier, somehow. Jiyong comes over more often, ostensibly to make music. Seunghyun’s mother still remembers him: she pats him on the head like he’s still a child before disappearing into the farther reaches of the house. Seunghyun flings noodles at him when they fend for themselves on Saturday afternoons, television blaring in the background. When he lands his target his face lightens up, goes soft, and Jiyong likes that, even though he gets pelted with bits of carrot. He wins most of the fights, anyway.
What’s better than the food fights is the shopping. It’s like the mix tapes, only instead of lo-fi cassettes Seunghyun shows him hidden places in Seoul. There’s more English spoken than Korean in them; they’re places Teddy and Kush wouldn’t dare take him to, too afraid of Hyunsuk’s wrath. They’re record and DJ stores, mostly, but when Jiyong asks about clothing shops Seunghyun takes him there too.
“Don’t tell anyone about this,” he chides as they cross into a below-street level building. “It’s my spot,” he says in English, and the guy behind the counter just laughs and shakes his head, nodding at Seunghyun as they browse for what seems like hours, emerging with shopping bags and more ideas for songs.
Jiyong’s notebooks have new scribbles in the margins, the handwriting economic compared to his own spread-out scrawl, and his new clothes have Youngbae all jealous until he comes along too, and then it’s the three of them, the banter flowing easy.
---
There's something in the way Jiyong moves, swaying with the beats they painstakingly construct on Seunghyun's computer. He locks himself in the closet in lieu of a recording booth, sometimes, and the sound of his voice reverberating through the headphones is almost better than watching his hips move or his hands jab. Seunghyun shivers, then, and he thinks of Jiyong going to Sinchon or Itaewon with whatever friends he has now. He imagines him weaving through crowds with eyes on him, hungry needy interested ones. It made a fierceness rise in him that he calls being protective, calls being a friend.
"Hey," Jiyong says. He jumps. "you look pissed."
"I'm fine," he mumbles, clambering out of the chair.
The song comes out angry this time, rapid-fire with swagger shot through it. When Hyunsuk plays it in his office the next day a few heads poke in to ask about it.
Jiyong beams, then. "It’s good, right, hyung?"
Hyunsuk nods, head still bobbing as the music dies down. "I want to meet this Tempo."
---
Jiyong climbs into the back window of the club, hood pulled low over his head as he makes his way through the crowd. Seunghyun and some others are on stage, bass a tangible thing in the air around them. It courses through the air in beats that get into Jiyong's chest, the same as his heart.
When Seunghyun loops the cord around his fist and presses the mic to his mouth the beats fade out and words push in, ones Jiyong hasn't heard yet. He squirms in his sweater. They're dirty in a playful way, a cheeky smile playing along Seunghyun's lips even through the filth and it gets his brain going places. He thinks of controversy, of scandal, of their new group going 19+ and how people would gasp, how Seunghyun would gasp when Jiyong slithered against his body, groping along the hardening line in his jeans --
The knock on his shoulder doesn't really surprise him. It’s harder than a greeting should be, and wider, and these things tell him it’s Seunghyun. "How'd you get in here?"
"Magic," Jiyong lies. "And connections."
"Oh yeah?" Seunghyun is breathing hard, sweat beading his forehead from the hot lights. He wipes at the droplets along his jaw. Jiyong licks his lips, chewing on the chapped corner of one of them. "YG connections?"
"Yup. My connections. Or ours, I guess."
"What?"
"You're in for an audition."
Seunghyun whoops and claps Jiyong on the shoulder. He waves his friends off, mouth going a mile a minute as they walk from the club to the subway to the stop nearest his house.
"You're quiet today," he says, finally. "‘Sup with you?"
Jiyong looks up into his hyung's face, eyes wide and curious under unruly brows and pushes him up the steps to his house. Seunghyun stumbles until he's pressed into stucco and the jutting corner of a windowpane, Jiyong's hands fisted in his ridiculous nylon jacket.
"I don't know," he replies, and stands up on tiptoe, pressing their foreheads together. "We're going to be the best, you and me."
It doesn't take long for Seunghyun to react to the rough, insistent kiss, a growl curling in his throat. Jiyong's stomach flips over at that, breath coming in ragged pants as Seunghyun grabs at him, all over, everywhere. He rubs a hand against the front of his jeans, arousal pooling in his stomach at the gasp he gets in return. His fingers knock themselves against Seunghyun’s belt buckle as he reaches for it and he hisses at the pain, punching defensively when Seunghyun laughs.
"Come here," he whispers, the words all raspy from smoke, and he keeps an arm around him, pressing Jiyong into his side as he fumbles for keys and the door to his house that is silent with sleep.
Jiyong'd thought he'd have to do the most work. He'd imagined Seunghyun blinking up at him in confusion, rolling them over at his insistence, getting lube on the sheets and the condom on wrong, but he hadn't expected this. He hadn't expected being so hard he was dizzy, Seunghyun's fingers nimble as he works at layers of clothing, the both of them wrestling LRG and Bape from shoulders and hips, shoes falling in solid clunks to the floor at the foot of his bed.
"Fuck," Seunghyun swears, and Jiyong flushes red with pride and a new kind of pleasure. He likes how Seunghyun watches the way he stretches and moves under him, the thin angular lines of his body bared. He likes the way his brows knit together at the sight, likes how his lips part and how rapidly his chest falls and rises.
"I don't know how to do this," Jiyong admits, once his leg is hooked around Seunghyun's hip, and they're awkward again, aware until his hyung covers for the both of them.
Seunghyun looks down at him with hooded eyes, presses a kiss to his flushed lips and murmurs, "I do,” and then "how do you want it?"
Jiyong moans at that, rolling his hips against the other boy’s. He gets more bone than groin and Seunghyun laughs again, but it’s warm and low and he shifts over a little, until they’re flush against each other. He slides back against him, rocking into the heat and the friction until Jiyong's head spins, until he's embarrassingly close to coming, cock hard and slick with precome. "Wait, wait," he gasps. "Wait, I want you to fuck me."
Seunghyun drops his head against Jiyong’s collarbone and swears again. "Jesus Christ," and he sits up to rummage through his bedstand. "You didn't answer me," he says thickly. The sound of ripping foil is loud in the room. "How do you want it?"
"What do you mean?"
A small smile turns up a corner of his mouth. "You want your ass up in the air or drove into the bed?"
His reply gets tangled in his throat. Instead, he watches Seunghyun unroll the condom onto himself; when he looks up, their eyes lock. Then he coughs, fills up the silence with words, voice going thin as he continues. "I don't care, I just, whatever, any way, I just want it, come on."
"For a rapper, you're not being very good with words."
For once, Jiyong has no sharp retort.
“Please,” he says instead, and Seunghyun’s eyes go dark. He reaches for him, jerking him off slow. When he twists his wrist on the upstroke, Jiyong moans, hips jerking upwards. Seunghyun hides a smile along the curve of his jaw and slows a little, lets him fuck into the wet ring of his fist.
“Stop laughing at me,” Jiyong pants into his ear, “you’re not taking this serious.”
“Sorry,” he grins. “I get stupid when I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“What?” His voice comes out high and Seunghyun coughs into his shoulder, half-sitting up.
“I’ve never fucked a guy before.”
“You haven’t?”
“No, but I jerk off, so...” he gestures to Jiyong’s groin, tongue planted firmly in cheek. “And I mean, I’ve had girlfriends. Older ones.”
“So they...”
“Yeah.” He wipes his hand on Jiyong’s arm and ignores the pinch he gets in return. “So you wanna do this or not?”
“I already said I did.”
Seunghyun uncaps the bottle of lube, spreads some of it along his fingers. Jiyong can feel himself going jittery, nerves adding to the excitement pooled in his stomach.
“Relax,” he says, “or this’ll suck for both of us.” He flips the bottle’s cap closed, drops it to the sheets and shifts a little, presses a finger to him. Seunghyun studies the way Jiyong’s face creases at the sensation. “You really haven’t done this before, have you.”
“No.”
“I’ll go slow,” he promises, and he keeps true to his word. He breathes out, shaky, when Jiyong nods and he adds another finger, the rhythm smooth and unhurried. Jiyong whimpers even through the discomfort, he says his name, half-gasped and without the -hyung, until he moves.
The brush of his abdomen against Jiyong's cock is too much and he shoves at his shoulders, half-sitting up. "Hold on," he gasps, and Seunghyun’s hand leaves him. "Hold on, I can't," and then Seunghyun lolls onto his elbow as he waits for Jiyong's brain to catch up with his body. "I don't want to come yet, we have to fuck first."
"Alright," he murmurs, "okay," and he props Jiyong's knees up near his shoulders, another amused frown wrinkling his brow. "Do you shave your legs?"
"Shut up with that shit," Jiyong snaps, and this time they both laugh, breathless, until Seunghyun slides wetted fingers against himself and the bottle of lube falls to the floor with a soft thud.
"Be quiet, 'cause everyone's sleeping. And tell me if it hurts," he adds, eyes flickering to Jiyong's face and down again as he moves.
Jiyong hisses, a new ache settling in with the burn and the stretch, until he knocks at Seunghyun's back and he stops.
"Too much?"
"No, just... just wait a second."
He does, lip trapped under white teeth. He waits until Jiyong nods, jaw clenched, and then he's sinking into him, all the way into him, eyelashes fluttering as he exhales, stuttery. The slow thrusts get Jiyong's eyes watering, fingers curled into Seunghyun's skin as they move, awkward and kind of painful until he adjusts the angle of their hips and Jiyong gets out a surprised "oh."
"Better?" Seunghyun pants, and he nods, squirming at the brush of his cock against his prostate.
"Don't go easy on me," he says, and Seunghyun rolls his eyes. Still, he thrusts a little harder, thrusts faster until the pain only adds to the pleasure spiking through Jiyong’s veins.
He gets off on the rough slide inside and out again, how breached he is, legs splayed and open, how surprised Seunghyun gets when he rolls up against him, how each muffled whimper gets him going faster than he should. "More," he grits out.
Seunghyun stops holding back. He grips the length of him, stroking roughly, eyes roaming over Jiyong's face, his chest, the wet slide of his cock into and out of him. "Wanna watch you come," he breathes out, face flushing even as the words leave his lips, the headboard thudding dully against the wall as they move. The balance between how it hurts and how good it feels tips precariously and that's what gets Jiyong over the edge, coming hard against Seunghyun's fist, against his stomach.
Seunghyun's hands are groping along his ribs now, fisting into the sheets, breath shallow and gasping against Jiyong's ear. It doesn't take long for him to follow, tensing, a broken sort of moan leaving his lips as he drops boneless against him, pressing him into the mattress.
For a while, the sound of their mingled breathing is the loudest sound in the room. Then Seunghyun scrambles up onto his elbows. "Sorry," he says, and he pulls out of him, settles on his back. His eyes flick towards the door. "D'you think they heard us?"
"Probably." Jiyong eyes the clock but sleep is tugging at his eyelids, warm and lethargic. "I have to go home."
"What?" Seunghyun says, and then, "oh, yeah, of course, I guess you want to get ready for tomorrow."
"So should you." When he sits up he winces automatically, balled-up fists digging into the messed bedsheets to take the weight off of his ass. "Shit, how am I supposed to dance now?"
"Dance?" he repeats, rolling onto his side.
Jiyong smirks. "Didn't I tell you? Dancing's part of the audition."
"But I--"
"Me and Youngbae'll be with you, so you don't have to worry."
"But--"
"Move how you just did, you followed a rhythm fine."
Seunghyun turns a weird shade of red and Jiyong laughs, ignoring the ache in his thighs to lean forward and kiss under his jaw.
"I was kidding. It’s just rapping. You're fine, hyung."
"I guess." Seunghyun's movements are jerky as he pulls his clothes back on, tossing Jiyong's shirt at his head. "I'm not really good at that," he admits, voice muffled under the fleece of his hoodie. "So..."
"We have teachers, whatever. That doesn't matter."
With their clothes on and hair reasonably fixed, Seunghyun's eyes dart from him to the window and the door and then the clock, over and over. "This is awkward."
Jiyong sighs. "Only if you make it awkward," he replies, tugging at the corner of the bedspread before he stands.
Seunghyun stays perched on the bed, but at the movement he gets up, scratching at the back of his neck. "I'll walk you back home."
"Halfway across the city?" Jiyong asks. "I'm not a girl, you don't have to treat me all careful."
"The subway, at least," Seunghyun amends. "It’s late."
They walk back in companiable, if awkward, silence. Seunghyun grabs for his hand once, but the look Jiyong shoots him gets him holding onto his jacket sleeve before he drops his arm entirely, grumbling to himself. "I was trying to be nice."
"I'm not a girl," he repeats.
"I’ve seen that for myself."
Jiyong turns away from the sprawling map to laugh at him, open and free, and Seunghyun ignores the annoyed protest he starts up to kiss him again, all tongues and teeth before the chime of an approaching train gets them breaking apart.
Jiyong looks at him with big eyes, the smile tamped down into something more intimate as he steps through the doors. "See you tomorrow?"
"Yeah."
He leaves without boxers on, new music and the feel of Seunghyun’s mouth etched into his brain.
---
After the audition he finds him curled against the back of the building, under the awning, hood up, huddled on a step. "Hey."
Seunghyun just nods, a cigarette jutting from his lips, hands set around his knees as he sits.
Jiyong squats down, ignoring the muscles that pull in protest. "You can always go again. He says you can audition another time."
Seunghyun says nothing.
He tries again. "If you need help, I can..."
"I don't need your help," he says quietly. The shade leaves him pale, the bruise at his collar almost visible under the t-shirt he's wearing.
"Just let me..." and Jiyong's slipping a hand between Seunghyun's knee and palm until he softens, arms dropping.
Silence. Jiyong fights the impatience seeping in slowly.
"I didn't really... an idol group."
"What?"
"My friends made fun of me anyway."
"What?" Irritation courses through him now, thick and fast. "And you care what they think?"
"Of course I do." Seunghyun's tone turns mulish, hand leaving his to re-lock around his legs. "Don't you care what your friends think of you?"
Jiyong stutters into silence. Then he stands, suppressing a wince. "Are you telling me we made all of those stupid cd's and you're just going to give up?"
He shrugs, shame flashing on his face. "I can't fucking change what he wants me to change, okay? I'm not good-looking enough, I'm too." He blinks and stands, throwing the half-finished cigarette to the ground. "I'm too big, right?"
"You’re not even fat, you can exercise--"
"Oh, so you think so too?"
"No, what the hell..." Jiyong exhales and steps forward, grinding Seunghyun's cigarette down into the concrete. "Oh, yeah, I think you’re really huge, ‘cause ..."
"‘Cause of last night, right."
"Don't go there."
"I guess I wasn't too big to fuck you, but too big for your stupid fucking band, right?"
"That wasn't my decision," he insists.
"But you knew what he'd say. Fuck you for leading me on."
"No, I didn't--" and then he stops. He opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out, only a frustrated noise that comes with the inexplicable urge to cry. Cry, at his age.
"You know what," he says finally, "you can go do whatever you want. I'll find someone else." He cuts narrowed eyes at him, ignores the sudden hurt in Seunghyun's face. "Someone we don't need to train from the gut up."
He doesn't look back as he walks away, shoulders straight and proud.
part two