10. Afterburn

TEN

Both nightsof the engagement pass by in the blink of an eye, and the second show is no less eye-catching or astounding than the first.

After the second concert, Charis is still buzzing as he trips off the stage. He's breathing hard from exertion. His limbs feel worn out, thrumming like honey, but he's still in that charmed space where nothing hurts yet—that place where nothing can reach him. He's making a blank face, only breathing, exhilarated. Mouse whoops, and Soohyun grins, wolfish and vibrant.

They're all buzzing in these moments. It was a show at the Geodesic Dome in their hometown of Seoul, so there's no need to try to sleep in an unfamiliar hotel bed tonight. They load up into the van out the back, into the blaring cold night, vast in the loading dock behind the auditorium. They sneak away with the fences all up around them, keeping the fans out, and they go back to their dorm.

Once they're back home, not everyone disperses all at once. It's late—nearly 3 in the morning, but Charis doubts any of them will be getting to sleep any time soon. Maybe Kiki will. He's more strict about those things than others. He takes his sleep where he can get it, has no problem pushing his body and mind in service of a goal but sees no reason to push them when there's nothing to be gained.

Charis really admires that a lot. He's never told Kiki, and he probably never will, but there are times that seem more and more often these days when Charis wishes he was more like that.

Miyong goes off to his room to play video games, while Soohyun and Xiao Yu make a late-night run to the gym. Kim Joon waves at Charis on his way out the door. He has a sleek plastic bag hung over his wrist and a black baseball cap on his head. Like the rest of them, he's already washed up—showered off the sweat, pulled on a heather blue jacket. Metamorphosed back into a caterpillar, shedding off the glitz and glamor of the stage.

Charis raises his hand in greeting, and Kim Joon steps out the front door and pulls his hat down lower over his eyes, striding through the neighborhood streets like he's nothing but comfortable here. He grew up nearby, if Charis remembers right. He went to school not too far from here. He probably does know the neighborhood. Charis wonders if it's changed.

Charis does miss it—the glitz and the glamor. The stage.

He doesn't have anywhere he could or should be. He doesn't work out like the muscle squad of their group. He games casually with the others, but he doesn't like it well enough to seek it out. It's not one of his hobbies.

He's still too keyed up, too buzzing under his skin. Mouse's door is open, slightly ajar with energetic music pouring from it, the volume turned to something reasonable for the hour. Warmer light leaks around the edges, spilling into the dim hallway.

Charis knocks on the door before pushing it open.

"Hey," Mouse says, looking up from his e-reader. "You can't sleep?"

Mouse looks softer and sharper in his bedroom, with all his stage makeup taken off and his hair washed back into its natural, soft state. It's still just a little damp from his shower, curling at the edges where the blow dryer didn't quite reach. It's a look that Charis has seen on him many times. They shared a room for so long. He's seen so much of both him and Miyong.

"I guess."

Mouse looks up at him, calculating. "Do you want me to pay attention to you or not? I'm good either way."

Charis shrugs a careless shoulder. He'd changed into one of his bigger t-shirts after his shower. It's one from their last tour, soft and bleachy pastel, tie-dyed, with the word "charmer" printed in English lowercase on the front. "You can keep reading."

After another long look, Mouse does, his attention so easily flicking back to his book. Charis gets beside him on the bed, climbing up and tucking his long legs against Mouse's body. He turns his head to the side and breathes him in, his breath falling into a soft, rhythmic pattern.

Charis brings up an arm and holds him around the middle. He noses his way along to Mouse's neck.

"What would you say if I wanted to have sex with you?"

Mouse stirs, raising his head. Charis doesn't loosen or tighten his grip, only keeps it steady right where it is around Mouse's middle. "Yeah? You changed your mind?"

He rubs his hand up and down Charis' arm with Charis still spooned up close behind him. The touch is neither too light nor too rough, just knowing and sure.

"Mm," Charis mutters beside Mouse's ear. "Too keyed up, can't sleep." Now he squeezes Mouse a little tighter. "Feel like I'm going out of my skin."

Mouse finds enough space to turn around in Charis' arms.

"Then I'd say I'm into it. Always thought you were so pretty, Pocky."

They're so close together. Now Charis is holding Mouse's back. He's tall and slender. He feels good to hold.

"You wanna kiss, or no?"

Charis shrugs. He nods.

Mouse kisses him so good. It starts out gentle, leaving Charis space to pull away, to pull back if he decides it's not what he wants.

That isn't what Charis wants, but in the other direction. He doesn't want to be gentle right now. He doesn't want to be delicate or careful. He groans into Mouse's mouth, pushing harder with his lips.

He hasn't done this before, but he doesn't want to make a big deal of it. He tries following his instincts, tries kissing harder when he wants to kiss harder. He's rewarded with a groan when he presses closer. Mouse adapts to him. He tries kissing Charis with a rough abandon, pressing firmly with his lips and delving inside Charis' mouth with his tongue when Charis doesn't protest.

Charis groans at the sensation. It lights something strange at the base of his spine, a tickle of revulsion blending in together with something darker and sweeter.

"More," he pants against Mouse's mouth. "Harder."

It feels good. It feels good when Mouse kisses him. It feels good when Mouse gets a hand in his hair near the base of his skull and tugs.

He loves Mouse. Mouse makes him feel safe, one of the first friends he made here. They wrap themselves up in each other, pushing close, twining limbs together. They kiss like starving animals, more teeth and tongue than anything else. The sounds they make fill the room. No one else has gotten to hear Charis like this, and there are thousands of people who'd like to, who dream of having him in their bed, the Ice Prince finally having a thaw.

It's special and it isn't. Charis can't keep track of the way he does or doesn't want it to be.

"Charis, you look so good like this. I want to eat you alive."

So maybe that's why it's Mouse. Maybe that's why it has to be Mouse. Because Mouse isn't going to be weird about this. Could never be weird about it.

He's glad that Mouse doesn't treat him with kid gloves, is unashamed of showing how much he wants him.

Mouse feels raw, honest desire zip down his spine like lightning. Charis looks so good like this. Mouse isn't a flatterer. Charis is pink all down his neck, with a red flush that's starting to crawl. Mouse intends to make them both feel good. He's done this before, with Kiki and sometimes with others.

He reaches out and lifts up Charis' soft, light-colored hair and lets it spill down around his shoulders like rain.

"What do you want to do?" Mouse asks. "Do you want to fuck? Do you just want to get off?"

Charis considers it. When he does, he reaches down, reaching for the drawstring on Mouse's sleep pants. He plays with it in his fingers, and Mouse leans back, permission and an invitation and room to work.

He strips Mouse down, and he lets Mouse touch his body. They've seen each other before, backstage and in dressing rooms. They look good together. Mouse's body feels good, warm and smooth when he's pressed up against him. Mouse lets Charis lean over him, pressing him down into the bed. Charis hisses when the sensitive flesh of their erections brushes together. It makes him leak, hard and sensitive.

"Here, like this," Mouse says. He licks his hand and then gets it around the both of them, giving Charis encouragement to rut into it.

It's not like Charis is a blushing virgin. It's not like he's never touched himself before.

Charis groans. Mouse's eyes are slitted beneath him, narrowed in pleasure at the feel of his hand wrapped around them, the feeling of Charis' penis moving against his. Charis leans on his forearms, braced on either side of Mouse's body. The way Charis looks at him makes Mouse tingle throughout his body, crisp and focused with a gaze that's just starting to go muzzy at the edges.

Charis pants in his face, a sweet chorus of breath. Mouse loves the way he chases his own pleasure, fucking Mouse's hand like he was born to do it.

"That's it," Mouse says, pushing him closer with a hand on his ass, guiding his hips. "There you go, beauty. Come on, come on. Do it for me."

Charis makes a muffled sound. Mouse's clear cheeks are blushed with a deep red splotched over them.

"I'm gonna cum," Charis gasps.

"Yeah, fuck yeah. Do it."

The friction of Mouse's strong, lean hand on his dick, the feeling of Mouse's cock beside his, it's all so wet and good. It unspools pleasure at the base of Charis' spine, sucker punches him in the gut. He makes a soft, choked sound and then cums, spilling sticky, milky fluid onto Mouse's flat, taut belly, up his chest and across the shelf of his collarbones.

Mouse isn't far behind. He strokes himself a few more times and then makes a soft, sticky, gut-punchy sound. Charis can feel Mouse's dick twitch against his as his orgasm hits, as he starts to spurt.

Charis leans down and kisses Mouse once, then rolls over onto his back with a small grunt, sparing them both the horrifying feeling of wetness smearing between them. They don't talk, and it's not awkward. It's comfortable as they both rest until they get their breath back.

He feels better, after. More settled. The combined fluids of his and Mouse's lovemaking are still damp on his skin. He's lightly feathered with sweat, worn out and satiated. The others will be back soon. After a while, Mouse sits up, using the muscles in his core to lean far enough that he can snag a package of makeup wipes. He passes one to Charis and uses another to clean up the mess on his belly. He crumples it up and tosses it in the direction of the trash.

"Stay the night if you want," Mouse offers once they're both relatively clean.

Charis means to go and take another shower.

"This would hurt Soohyun if he knew," he says.

"So don't tell him."

Mouse pushes him until he rolls over, and then he traces lazy, ambling patterns across Charis' back. His body is still bare, which means there's very much skin for Mouse to touch.

"Feels nice," Charis murmurs with his head pillowed on his hand. He still hasn't got up to take that shower.

"Good. I'm glad."

"Wanna stay with you, hyung," Charis murmurs after a little while.

"So stay. My door is open to you. You're already invited. I'm not gonna make you tolerate my presence, too."

"It's never about you."

"That's not what I mean."

Mouse's bedroom is less cozy than his. Mouse's diva personality comes through in the decor he chooses, sharp, dramatic colors that make the space feel moody. Still, the air feels clean, like it's easier for Charis to pull it in and out of his lungs. The sheets on Mouse's bed smell good. They smell like the big container of laundry detergent they all share, and like Mouse's perfume, a masculine scent that worms its way in and under his guard, leaking through the cracks in the door surrounding his heart like a tide there's no way to fight.

Charis starts singing a song gently under his breath. He gets so lost in it that he doesn't notice the way Mouse subtly stills behind him. Mouse leans imperceptibly closer to the sound of Charis' voice.

Charis plays idly with Mouse's fingers while he sings, cradling them in front of him and petting them with his own.

"You have a pretty voice, Pocky." Mouse pulls his hand back so he can lean on his elbow. "Do people tell you that enough?"

Charis shrugs. He's used to being what he is—utilitarian and useful. Not the best but certainly not the worst. "We don't need to make this about my insecurities."

Although he's not even a year older than Charis, Mouse huffs, "Brat."

He picks up the pillow and smothers him lightly with it in the face.