There's a stain darkening the front of Kibum's pants. His head lolls forward as he peers at it, gravity providing the direction in lieu of rational control. His eyes blur, focus, then blur once more at the gray, the near-black, and the tan of a hand that squeezes at his thigh affectionately.

He's fallen apart. Pieces of himself are spinning drunken, blind, beneath skin that's no longer his. He watches the unfamiliar sight of strong fingers pushing against his muscles to find and release knots of tension with the pinpoint accuracy of a loving and thorough creator, and he shifts as the motion pulls wet fabric against the sensitive mess his has become. A hiss escapes the flushed tower of his throat. A kiss grazes at his jaw, and an ache blooms slowly and inevitably as words form and reform, dissolving with each touch of Jinki's lips. 

"What a sight you are," he says. His tone is appreciative, yet Kibum shivers. 

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's not supposed to mean anything," Jinki responds, amused. His smile could charm the dead. "It does mean you're a vision."

He leans in sharply, jostling their shoulders eagerly together. 

"Let me show you."

He turns Kibum's head so that they face each other fully. It's a sight far more potent than the half-image he had been at the corner of his field of vision, a comforting presence with a warm touch and warmer words. 

Kibum looks into the darkness of his eyes, and sees his own complete, absolute surrender. He sees himself, loose-limbed, debauched, and trembling at a touch. His clothes are disheveled and sweat has soaked through the collar of his shirt. A persisting half-hardness distorts the fabric across his lap, and there's that stain again. It looks like he will never be able to clean it away, and the whole world will look and know where it came from. The whole world will know him as Jinki made him, the type of person to be brought apart by a barroom . He feels acutely lewd for the first time in his life. 

"You're overstating it," Jinki wryly says, and the spell breaks. "There's only about fifty people in here with us, and I don't really share. Maybe a few lucky ones got to see you."

"See me come," he finishes as a correction. He follows it with a soft inquiry, as there's something else in Jinki's words that prods at him, flattering but oddly barbed and sardonic. "Lucky?"  

Jinki nods fervently and kisses him on the forehead, resting there as he affirms.

"Any one of them would be lucky to have you."

The wording runs around in Kibum's chest, and Jinki pulls back at the audible hitch in his breath. He his head, observing. The words are smooth and repetitive like a marquee, with an emphasis that pulses and skips beneath each word.

Any one, but there's Jinki; would be, but is.

In theory, anyone would be lucky to have Kibum. In reality, only Jinki has him, and luck has nothing to do with it.

The thought isn't distressing, but it's too philosophical to be useful. He instead falls into Jinki's side. Instinctively, he begins to nuzzle into his shoulder, and the motion tugs at the collar of the shirt enough that bare skin - the strong line of collarbone - is exposed. It seems tantalizingly intimate, and Kibum can't help but pull and follow until it joints with his shoulder in a perfect, smooth ball. His tongue darts out to the sudden dryness of his lips as Jinki does nothing to stop him.

There is no reason to stop, and he has nothing to be afraid of with Jinki. He loves him. 

"I do," Jinki murmurs from above. There's a weight to his words. "But there are consequences."

"You've kissed me," Kibum whispers. He is confused, but he is faithful.

It's an affirmative noise tumbling and rumbling in Jinki's throat, and it sends a corkscrew spiral piercing into his chest. 

"I've kissed you, but you've never kissed me. It's important, lovely," he boops his nose like a child, and Kibum can't help but wrinkle it in response. "You don't get to turn back if you start it." 

He frowns and pulls back. It seems ages ago that he didn't know him, love him, and even when they were strangers he had no doubts that Jinki wanted him. The atmosphere around them feels serrated. 

"Why tell me that?" he demands. "What are you thinking? That that's what I want - to turn back?"

Jinki looks surprised, and it stokes at Kibum's rising ire for a brief, infuriating moment before he opens his mouth. 

"I took you because I wanted you. You want me right now, don't you?", his fingers draw at the corner of his lip teasingly, and he instinctively laps for it. "It's because I made you."

He reaches for his hand and brushes his thumb gently across the delicate indentations of bones there, as he lifts his eyes back up to meet Kibum's. 

Remember when there was no us, and in his eyes there's who they were before. Jinki is fiddling with his sleeves while Kibum sits, distant and closed-off and nowhere close to drunk. He is ready to send him scurrying away and go back to being alone. He doesn't know it yet, but he'll forget what line he used in two drinks, and forget his face in five. The next morning he'll wake up and wrap the blankets around himself while no one makes him tea. No one will the hair back from his forehead. No one will kiss him.

He comes back to himself, present, and Jinki's holding his hand like he's afraid he'll pull away and leave him forever. It seems absurd - borderline obscene - for him to be uncertain of Kibum's feelings for him. Determination swells and smothers his senses like coal dust. 

He pushes himself forward to press their lips together, and a small, sweet sound of gratification comes from Jinki at the contact.

It's absolutely lost on Kibum.

The sound of his own heart is thudding in an urgent, desperate tempo for more. It's dizzying in its scope, how much he wants. His hands come up to cup his jaw, and the feel of his cheeks curling up for a smile has him because - because he made Jinki smile. It's something, and he memorizes the feeling of it beneath his hands, but it's not enough. He clambers forward and swings his legs over broad thighs, straddling him shamelessly. He dips down to kiss him more, to feel his smile against his skin, as though he could capture it in the palm of his hands.  Jinki's hands are light on his hips as Kibum swivels down out of desperation and hunger. He's had his kisses, he's had his smile, and he wants his - against his thigh, in his hands, in his mouth, anywhere.  

Jinki tilts his head back, his lips slick and shiny, and his grip turns tight, stopping Kibum's frantic movements in their tracks. A whine rips itself out of him. He doesn't feel embarrassed because Jinki knew what this would do to him; his eyes are heavy-lidded and knowing - what it's doing to him right now is expected.

He's been through this before, but this is new to Kibum. He needs - wants - why won't he take - he tries to move forward and Jinki holds him tighter and he can feel the bruises bursting into being beneath his skin. 

It provokes another moan, making those thick lips to quirk into a merciless smile. 

"You never answered me before, now that I think about it," he drums his fingers against his overheated skin. "What do you want?"

Kibum groans as irritation and arousal swirl and blend into each other. He struggles to remember the moments just before he came. It's a mess of desire and compliance and the overriding, inevitable careen into pleasure.   

"Whatever you wanted," he grounds out. 

Jinki's face turns chiding as he nods.  

"We'll need to work on being honest with me, but, " he shifts and Kibum feels his own twitch in hopefulness beneath a layer of dried . "I won't lie to you now. I want to you, lovely. Do you want to get ready for me?"

It's like he's speaking it into being, when Kibum can feel it: the thick weight of Jinki's prodding at his unprepared, dry entrance. The phantom wetness of pre- slides between his cheeks and curves to tickle at his sack. 

"Yes, please, just - just me," he breathes, bringing his hand back up to his mouth.  

Jinki looks fascinated and persuaded as he swallows his index and middle finger, deep enough so that his lips graze against the knuckles. He digs his fingers into the soft, unmarked flesh of Kibum's hips. He wonders feverishly if he will bleed, if he would love that part of him just as much. 

"Don't be ridiculous. I love every part of you, and if I wanted to make a mess here, I would, trust me. But I'm thinking a little more, lovely - you want me to you? You're taking your fingers well, and you took mine earlier. Remember?" he hums, pleased, as Kibum nods, only half-certain of what was real and what wasn't. He pulls his fingers from his mouth, dripping wet, and begins to reach for his fly when Jinki captures his hand in his.

"Are you sure your mouth is finished?"

His hand shakes in Jinki's grip. He isn't. The thick weight of his is still demanding acceptance at his entrance, but it's between his legs, but it's also at the edge of his lips, musk and sweat a heady combination. He wants more, he wants to taste, and he knows that whatever he can think to give, there's three more to be taken from him. He wants to do them all and is lost in overstimulated indecision. 

"Jinki..." he whines, and the man relents and lets Kibum tilt forward into the gravity of his presence. He lets go of his hip and reaches up to at his hair, smoothing it down as he pets him. There's no mistaking what it is, and it sends his into another twitch of excitement at the reminder of the dynamics of this, this...

Relationship, and he turns his head into his palm to kiss at it thankfully. His ministrations continue and with each pass Kibum can feel his mind being soothed. The desire for more is still there but it's quelled and tamed.

No - it's Kibum that feels tamed. It's Kibum that feels mastered. 

"Jinki," he his lips and opens his eyes. He says calmly and with absolute certainty, "I want to your ."

"Good, lovely," he says as his fingers gently scrape pink lines into the base of his neck. "I wanted you to want that. I've wanted it since I first saw you. "

He leans forward, his face pressing against Kibum's chest as he reaches behind him to push the table away. The sound of the metal legs scraping against the floor is an ugly one that he doesn't process. He removes himself from Jinki's lap and kneels down between his legs as his mouth fills with saliva. Jinki leans forward against, his broad chest providing a momentary umbrella over Kibum, and the ugly sound comes back as he tugs the table. He's sequestered away beneath it, hidden away from prying eyes, and he feels a flush of gratitude that Jinki is so thoughtful about their privacy.  His thoughts get interrupted as Jinki pulls lightly at his hair, reminding him that what he asked for is right in front of him. 

He tugs at the small, warm zipper in fumbling jerks that betray the excitement that still roils quietly beneath his skin. His fingers graze at the slight bulge, and it moves beneath his touch, and his heart jumps as he comes to the realization of just how much he will be asked to take into his mouth. Nothing could deter him, though, and he glances upwards in search of approval once he's pulled it out. The other man pushes his fingers to his lips as he smiles. 

Kibum silently slides Jinki's between his lips and its weight lies heavy and perfect as he laves his tongue along the underside, content to feel it stiffen beneath the slow, languid pace. With each pass he feels more serene, more certain of the place he's taken as his own. He keeps his mouth soft, welcoming and lets the underside of his upper lip drag gently across the small veins that run unevenly across the circumference of his . Jinki is quiet above him, but his hand stops moving at the base of his skull and he begins to push Kibum further down his shaft. It's threatening to choke him, but he takes a breath in through his nose and the scent calms him. He swallows obediently, letting his eyelids flutter shut in pleasure when he feels the slick coat the inside of his throat. 

His swallows pulse rhythmically, each one deeper and each one making his breaths shallower. His own burgeoning arousal is ignored when Jinki slides his hands down to tug at Kibum's shoulder, drawing his arm upwards so that he can feel how his thigh tenses because of Kibum. It flexes as he pushes himself forward, trembling with effort before he draws back. He moves, forward and back, like a tide, and Jinki lets out a single, restrained hum of enjoyment that thrums through his entire being as justification for his existence.

He increases the pace and rocks back and forth even as pain radiates from his knees, bumping against the back of his throat in a consistent reminder of his place. His fingers curl, unwillingly, so that he can hold on and he can feel Jinki's blood rushing everytime he tightens his throat around his length. 

"Stop - I said stop," Jinki says, suddenly, and Kibum halts, drool dripping from the corner of his mouth wantonly. He nervously raises his eyes, but Jinki doesn't look angry at all. He runs his hands up Kibum's arms until they curve around his shoulders. 

"I don't want you to hurt yourself like this," Jinki says sweetly. His fingers smooth down the line of his jaw until they find the line of wetness still lining down his chin.  

"Hold still, lovely. I'm going to your face. Hold your mouth open for me?"

Kibum shakes as Jinki shifts forward until he's sitting at the edge of his seat. His hand comes up to the base of his skull once more, holding him steady. He begins, ing in and out with little restraint. It scrapes against the roof of his mouth brutally. His eyes water and he squeezes them shut as he sags back onto his heels. Jinki s his mouth expertly, holding Kibum so that he has nothing to exert in an effort to keep upright. He is nothing but a warm, welcoming place. 

His lips are bruised and his throat raw when Jinki comes, and he has never felt more treasured.