Archive of Our Own ^beta

The green room pulsed with rushed backstage energy — the muffled beat of the song performed by the other group vibrating faintly through the walls, stagehands calling out cues, stylists brushing past the rooms with last-second adjustments.

Taeyang stood at the vanity, fixing the cuff of his sleeve. His lips were pressed together, focused. The white shirt sat clean and fitted over his wide shoulders, the black vest cinched just right at his slim waist. Black slacks, sharp and tailored, made his legs look even longer than they were. His hair was pushed back in a messy manner, showing off his forehead. The silver necklace at his throat rested flat against his skin, The small cross catching the light — as if watching over him — catching the warm light of the mirror.

He looked like temptation. Like the part of the performance no one was ready for.

He looked steady. Calm. Maybe too calm. Like he knew exactly how he looked. A temptation.

Hwiyoung stepped into the room, door clicked softly behind him. Taeyang’s eyes flicked up once — just once — but Hwiyoung saw it. He felt it.

He moved into his peripheral space slowly, dress shoes nearly silent on the floor. He wore the same outfit, mirroring him. But something about it looked different on him. His black slacks were tailored close to the line of his legs, hugging his waist tight. The white shirt clung to his chest, stretched a bit too tight over full pecs, sleeves snug on his arms. The vest was fitted — too fitted — that it made the fabric bow slightly at the buttons, like it was doing its best to keep it all together. A couple buttons of his shirt were undone, collar loose, skin visible. He wasn’t trying hard, but that was the thing. He never needed to.

He didn’t rush. He never did. Instead, Hwiyoung moved like smoke curling through a lock — quiet, warm, inescapable.

Hwiyoung stepped in closer. Right in front of him now. Close enough to feel the warmth of his body, to smell the stage cologne mixing with skin. He kept his eyes on the necklace, head bowing a little. The 3 or 4 centimeters difference in their heights sizzling the air around them. Enough to remind them both who looked up and who looked down. There was a slight curl to his lips — not a smile, not really. Something more knowing, lazy and laced with something dangerous.

Taeyang paused his work with his sleeve, hand slowly coming to a halt as Hwiyoung invaded his space like he owned it. Eyes scanning the other man quietly, almost observant.

“Hyung…” muttered Hwiyoung. The word dragged out just a little, like he was testing it.

His fingers came up slowly, brushing Taeyang’s collar. He traced the chain, light and casual, delicate fingertips skimming the cross resting at the base of Taeyang’s throat. He held it for a second, just enough to feel the heat off his skin.

Taeyang’s hands stilled at his side. His jaw twitched, throat moving with a swallow. His eyes softened, but darkened, too. “Need something?” he asked, voice low, warm.

Hwiyoung’s fingers toyed with the chain again. His thumb brushed under the charm, then pulled — not hard, just enough to feel the pressure. The silver pressed lightly into Taeyang’s neck.

“Mm?” voice already fraying at the edges.

Hwiyoung turned his head the other side, tongue teasing the inside of his cheek.

And Taeyang got it.

Because he knew Hwiyoung inside out. Like the back of his palm. Knew how he asks for things without words. Knew when he needed something to tame his raging wildness that sometimes is a two seconds from spilling in front of everyone. Knew that twitch of his lips, the shy seeking fingers, the silent beg behind his soft eyes.

Taeyang’s hand came up slowly, curling into the edge of Hwiyoung’s vest’s neck with a gentleness that felt deliberate. His fingers tightened there like he was trying to hold himself back. Catching Hwiyoung’s eyes again.

Feeling safe, understood and catered, Hwiyoung faced him, eyes shining with mischief of a child getting his way after all and tugged the chain a little harder this time, pulling Taeyang forward — just enough that their foreheads nearly touched, for breath to mingle and patience to snap.

“…Hyung”

It was Taeyang who leaned in.

Their mouths met firm but not hard. Taeyang kissed him like a tide rushing in, not a storm. Still urgent, still hot — lips pressing and passing each other, breathes whispered and shared. It with a restraint that made it ache deeper. Like he was savoring what he’d been dying to devour. Like the tension needed to bloom before it burned.

Hwiyoung whimpered low in his throat. He wanted it deeper, full, indulgent. He slid a hand around the back of Taeyang’s neck, nails just grazing the skin there. Taeyang kissed him fully now. No teasing. Mouths capturing and gliding. Like he was starving, like the seconds they had before curtain call weren’t nearly enough.

He pressed closer with a soft grunt — not rough, but full-bodied, like he couldn’t not. His other hand slid to Hwiyoung’s waist, holding him steady.

“Say it again,” Taeyang breathed against his lips, voice rough and wrecked, but almost tender beneath it.

Hwiyoung wanted to smirk but his lips swollen, eyes bright and need betrayed him.

“Hyung.”

It came out like prayer.

And then they were gone again — mouths locked, breath tangled, bodies pressed so close not even air dared pass between them. The necklace catching the light between them, cool and sharp, the perfect tether in a moment they both wanted to drown in.

The kiss should’ve stopped there — should’ve been a stolen moment, a dangerous spark before the lights called them back into performance. But neither of them were good at should.

Taeyang growled low, a sound buried deep in his chest, and pressed Hwiyoung harder against the vanity counter, the sharp edge digging into his hip. Hwiyoung gasped into his mouth but didn’t pull back, he arched closer, slotting one leg between Taeyang’s thighs, pressing their hips flush and parting his lips, letting Taeyang take him deeper. Sloppier.

The kiss became unfiltered — wet, open, obscene —tongues sliding with no rhythm, just want. Hwiyoung tasted faintly like mint and something richer, heady and familiar. He whimpered when Taeyang bit softly at his bottom lip, sucking it between his teeth before letting it go with a breathless drag.

“Shit” Taeyang sighed against his mouth. Breathe short and hot — strained.

And Hwiyoung smiled — heady with the taste of his man on his tongue, flushed and just as breathless.

Taeyang pulled him in again, lips messier now, mouth open and hot. Saliva exchanged and connecting their hungry tongues. His grip on Hwiyoung’s waist flexed, firmer but never harsh. Hwiyoung shivered when Taeyang licked at the roof on his mouth, whining desperately and gripping the front of Taeyang’s vest like he was bracing himself, like he was seconds from melting into the floor.

A knock came at the door — muffled, followed by a staff voice calling, “Two minutes, final check!”

Neither of them moved.

Taeyang pulled back half an inch, noses brushing, eyes locked and hazy with heat. His voice rasped like it had been dragged over flame.

“You’re a fucking menace.”

Hwiyoung licked into the corner of Taeyang’s mouth with a slow, deliberate drag.

“And you’re gonna go on stage with my kiss all over your lips.”

Taeyang’s fingers dug a little harder into his hip. He needed to anchor himself or else-

“One more,” Hwiyoung whispered, already leaning in again. “Just one more. I swear.”

Liar.

But Taeyang let him have it.

Because he can’t deny him.

Their mouths met again, this time slower — less frantic, more filthy. Tongues licking deep into each other’s. Hwiyoung moaned into it, soft and deep, as Taeyang cradled the back of his head like he was something fragile, even as he pressed and rubbed his body against Taeyang’s sinfully. Taeyang let out a ragged breath, dragging his mouth and trailing kisses down to Hwiyoung’s jaw — greedy, yes, but reverent, too.

Only when the second call came, sharper and more insistent, did Taeyang finally pull back. Both of them panting, eyes glassy. His voice came quieter now, pressed between the closeness of them like a secret.

“Button up and fix your shirt.”

He pulled away, reached up and adjusted his necklace, which was now crooked and sticking slightly to his neck with sweat. His hands moved to hwiyoung’s shirt, not trying enough but pulling his collars together.

Hwiyoung watched him, his lips were wet, red and swollen, eyes half lidded and glazed, hair a little mess.

Then, softer, came a whisper right against Hwiyoung’s mouth,

“Yum.”

With the tiniest flick of tongue from Taeyang.

Hwiyoung’s breath hitched — barely.

The door opened, and they turned, composed, calm, smoothing down their vests and sleeves like nothing happened.

But the heat clung to them — the chain still gleaming faintly in the light, the taste of each other lingering on every exhale.