Seungcheol is two things in the current moment.

One - though this may not count entirely, for Seungcheol finds himself in this state every second of every day - is madly in love. Madly in love with Seungkwan, specifically.

Like a subconscious thought, Seungcheol is reminded of how much he loves the former through the simple things: the way his eyes light up talking about something he loves; the way his accent comes out during a passionate discussion; or the way he holds Seungcheol’s hands, fingers timidly locked watertight to his - your typical, cliche kind of things. Like now, how Seungkwan mashes the buttons on the game console with so much intensity, you’d think he was trying to break it. It’s oddly endearing.

Two - and here’s where the problem occurs - is needy. Desperate, , , however one decides to put it. All that for Seungkwan, specifically.

Like a teenager, fresh from the hormone train, Seungcheol can’t help (and believe him, he’s tried) but find his eyes wandering. Wandering down the curves of Seungkwan’s body, wandering up to the fine details and the tiny units of his skin, wondering how did God create someone so perfect, pretty, handsome, hot.

(And Seungkwan sits, oblivious, tongue poking as he concentrates fiercely on the game, which certainly isn’t helping at all.)

Seungkwan in ripped jeans should be illegal.

Jail is where he’s going, while Seungcheol is probably going to Hell.

Sitting on his hands has been the only method capable of stopping them wandering, but even that is becoming useless the more Seungcheol looks at Seungkwan’s thighs.

Is it normal to be by such things?

Seungcheol doesn’t care at this point, all he cares about now is the images - the many, many images of those thighs in any y predicament one's mind can fathom: pressed against Seungcheol's, in Seungcheol's rough grip, over Seungcheol's shoulders, clasped in stockings--

Oh, great, now he's hard.

Seungkwan's oblivious - he's always oblivious. Seungcheol looks at this thighs, then back to the beautiful side profile. He just wants to touch them...

His hand is steady as he reaches it out, calm and collected, unlike the erratic pace of his heart, as he lays his palm flat against Seungkwan's thigh.

Seungkwan pays him a look of acknowledgment, a soft smile before he returns his attention back to the friend across the table that speaks. 

Seungcheol's thumb over the tears in Seungkwan's jeans, brushing against the smooth, milky skin. Seungkwan is unresponsive, as usual, so Seungcheol moves his hold hand, rubbing up and down, up and down. No one else sees either, it's all hidden under the white table cloth.

It's like Seungkwan's immune to these things. Just the other day, Seungcheol found the way Seungkwan walks around after a shower with nothing but the thin towel highly unacceptable. He beckons Seungkwan over, laptop ready with a very suggestive song on pause. (Seungcheol read in a woman's health magazine that he stumbled upon - he wasn't intentionally looking for it, it was just there... - that an easy way to, quote, get your man in the mood was to show him some music. He was merely testing that theory out.)

"I found this song I think you might like," he says, clicking play and leaning back into the kitchen chair. Seungkwan leans over his shoulder, water droplets still beading and falling off her skin as Seungcheol cranes his head to subtly take in the view of the curve of Seungkwan's delicious .

Take a hint, take a hint, take a hint... he begs, frantically eyeing the laptop screen, Seungkwan's face, and his over and over again.

Seungkwan nods along to the rhythm, slowly, feeling the way the gritty tune and beats caress his ears. "It's a good song."

"It is--"

Seungcheol's attention follows Seungkwan the latter casually stands up and walks away. That was it? It's a good song? Yeah, Seungcheol knows, he wants to to it-- nevermind.

Seungcheol questions if Seungkwan really is an innocent, oblivious mouse or is just a little dense.

He squeezes Seungkwan's thigh, moves his hand right up to the junction of his hips and lets his fingers brush over the front of his jeans. 

...

Nothing. Nada. No response.

Seungcheol's fingers are itching, his leg is jittering and he's beyond desperate. He waits, surprised by his own patience until the friend across the table finishes his statement and the conversation flickers to something else. He takes Seungkwan's hand, his heart beating quickly, the blood rushing dangerously to his head and his crotch, and places the latter's palm flat over the bulge in his own pants.

Yeah, now Seungkwan notices.

Seungcheol can see Seungkwan's Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows, eyes boring into where his hand was held. He dampens his lips, pulling his gaze away like it was a chore and looks at Seungcheol with red, red cheeks. "Oh," he says.

Seungcheol's heart melts in a mixture of adoration and pity. He looks so timid with his doey eyes and tinted cheeks. 

Seungcheol knows he's at the point of no return when all he can think is how much he wants to wreck the lil' cutie until he can't walk for a week.

"Come to the bathroom with me," he whispers, "so I can you."

Seungkwan looks around nervously like he's about to steal something from Tiffany's. He tugs his hand away from Seungcheol and reaches for the latter's sleeve, tugging on that instead as he starts to silently slip from the chair.

With a smirk, Seungcheol follows.