Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Annyeonghaseyo, you're watching Music Core — and it's time to welcome our next performers!"

The stage is electric, cameras sweeping wide across the cheering crowd. TXT's five silhouettes step into place under the spotlight, all sharp black outfits and glinting jewelry, the backdrop flashing their latest comeback logo: The Star Chapter: Together.

Backstage, everything is a blur of schedules, managers, and makeup fixes. On screen, it's flawless.

Standing beside the monitor is Gunwook — tall, sharp, handsome — holding a cue card he's only half reading. As one of today's MCs, he's in charge of the brief artist interview segment before the performance. His voice is steady, but his eyes flick to Beomgyu more than the script.

Beomgyu stands second from the right, mic in hand, grinning like the cameras belong to him.

They always do.

"TXT's new title track has been a hot topic this week!" Gunwook says with a practiced smile. "How do you all feel about the comeback response so far?"

Soobin answers first, calm and leader-like. Then Hueningkai chimes in, all sunshine.

Gunwook nods... and then looks straight at Beomgyu.

"You look amazing today, by the way."

It's quick. Casual.

But unmistakably not on the card.

Beomgyu startles, blinking once before letting out a soft laugh. He stammers something like, "Oh—uh—thank you," while hiding his pink face behind the mic.

The fans scream.

Taehyun, standing beside him, doesn't move. His smile is perfectly still.

Gunwook chuckles and adds, gentler this time:

"I'm serious. You're... really beautiful."

This time, it lands.

Even Beomgyu seems caught off guard, mouth parting slightly, face warm.

And Taehyun watches it all happen — live, on broadcast, with no room for denial.

It takes exactly twelve minutes after the show ends for the internet to catch fire.

Someone clips the moment — Gunwook calling Beomgyu beautiful — overlays a slow-motion zoom, slaps a sparkly pink filter on top, and adds a caption that says:

"Beomgyu bagging both genders on national television 😭🙏🏽"

Within the hour, there are fancams. Then reaction edits. Then TikToks of people duetting the clip, hands on their chests, mouths open, mouthing "BEAUTIFUL???" like they just saw God reincarnate.

Taehyun doesn't look it up.

He doesn't have to.

He sees Beomgyu giggling at his phone all the way home.

In the van, Beomgyu sits on the window side, earbuds in one ear, scrolling with a smirk. His screen is tilted toward the glass, but the occasional reflection gives Taehyun enough of a view:
A paused clip. A blurred moment.
Beomgyu's pink cheeks frozen on screen.
Gunwook's lips parted in mid-compliment.

Taehyun stares at the back of the seat in front of him.

He tells himself it's stupid. A fleeting comment. Part of the job.

But the words keep replaying anyway:

"You're really beautiful."
"I meant it."

It's the way Beomgyu had smiled after. Like the compliment had lodged itself somewhere soft inside him. Like he'd let it stay.

They get home just before midnight. The dorm is quiet, most lights off, manager's footsteps distant.

The others scatter — Soobin to the kitchen, Hueningkai to his room, Yeonjun mumbling something about replying to Weverse posts.

Taehyun heads straight to the bathroom. Locks the door. Turns on the tap.

Washes his face like he's trying to scrub off a feeling.

When he walks out, Beomgyu's on the couch, hood over his head, legs tucked up like a lazy cat. He's still giggling.

He doesn't even look up when he says, "Someone just said Gunwook had gay panic on air. Should I be flattered or scared?"

Taehyun doesn't answer.

He walks past him like he didn't hear it.

But inside, something sharp is curling like smoke.

Beomgyu's Phone (DMs, Unseen)
[9:48PM] gunwookie 🔥

hey... hope I didn't embarrass you on air 😅
you just looked really good. i meant what I said though, fr

[10:01PM] beomgyu 🐻

it was kind of a lot 😭
but nah, you were sweet. thanks

[10:03PM] gunwookie 🔥

anytime.
(maybe not on air next time lol)

[10:04PM] beomgyu 🐻

haha yeah please 💀
heart rate still recovering

Taehyun doesn't see the message.

Not yet.

But he sees the way Beomgyu locks his phone with a smile he doesn't try to hide.

He sees the way Beomgyu kicks off his slippers and hums under his breath like nothing in the world is wrong.

He sees the way the world looks at Beomgyu — soft, hungry, worshipful — and the way Beomgyu has always pretended he's too oblivious to notice.

But Taehyun knows better.

He knows Beomgyu likes it.

Later, as he lays in bed, Taehyun watches the clip.

Not because he wants to.

Because he has to.

The screen glows against the darkness of his room. Gunwook's voice is calm, his eyes bright. He says it again.

"You're really beautiful."

Beomgyu's laugh is small, real, unguarded.

The kind of laugh Taehyun used to think was only his.

Beomgyu always thinks too much before hitting send.

He rewrites the message three times. First too formal, then too flirty, then too plain. Finally, he gives up and just types what he actually feels:

"Hey, just wanted to say your compliment meant a lot. Thank you again :)"

He sends it.

Then immediately regrets the smiley face.

He stares at the screen like it might explode. The little "Read" checkmark pops up. A second later, Gunwook replies:

"Of course!! You're gorgeous, hyung. I meant it."

Beomgyu bites his lip.

There's no subtext. No flirting. Just a genuine, straightforward compliment. He should feel awkward, maybe. But instead—

He smiles.

The room is dim, his side lamp the only light on. Everyone else is asleep — or pretending to be.

He turns on his side, phone still glowing beside him, a soft little digital secret. Gunwook's message lingers at the top of the chat, no reply necessary.

Beomgyu doesn't know why he feels warm about it.

Maybe it's just the novelty. Not often someone says things like that to him on camera and actually means it.

Not often someone looks at him like that with no agenda.

He locks the screen. Sets the phone on his nightstand.

Doesn't notice the faint creak outside the door. The soft hush of footsteps.

Taehyun isn't trying to see anything.

He just left his charger in the living room. That's all.

But when he walks past Beomgyu's half-open door — just a sliver, just enough — he hears the tail end of the typing sound. That soft, stupid digital click-click Beomgyu always forgets to mute.

Taehyun pauses.

He could walk away. He should.

Instead, he turns just enough to see the faint rectangle of Beomgyu's phone, still unlocked, face-up on the nightstand.

He shouldn't look.
He looks.

Just a glimpse — enough to see the last message thread still glowing on the screen. Gunwook's name.

Taehyun's eyes skim the words.

"You're gorgeous, hyung. I meant it."

He doesn't read Beomgyu's message.

He doesn't need to.

Later, when Beomgyu wakes up to pee, he finds his phone screen dark.

Locked.

He doesn't remember locking it.

But he shrugs it off.

The next day, Taehyun doesn't speak to him.

Not coldly. Not rudely. Just... nothing.

He sits beside him in the van like usual. Hands him his water bottle without a word. Ties his shoelaces backstage, helps him with his mic pack, nods once when the manager says "Fifteen minutes to stage."

But he doesn't look at him.

Not really.

Beomgyu notices.

At lunch, he tries to joke about it. "You mad I got complimented harder than you yesterday?" he teases, nudging Taehyun's elbow with his own.

Taehyun doesn't smile.

Just says, "Did you like it?"

Beomgyu blinks. "What?"

"The compliment," Taehyun says, tone even. "From Gunwook. Did you like it?"

Beomgyu's mouth opens, then closes.

"I mean... yeah? It was nice. Why?"

Taehyun shrugs. "No reason."

He walks off before Beomgyu can ask anything else.

That night, Beomgyu lies in bed staring at his phone again.

The message is still there.

He doesn't reply.

He doesn't delete it, either.

And across the hall, Taehyun lays awake, hand clenched under the pillow, breath steady and tight.

The leash around his control is thinning.

And it's about to snap.

It starts with silence.

Not the kind that settles in comfortable spaces — shared headphones, sleepy van rides, brushing teeth side by side.

This silence feels wet with something unspoken. Like a wound. Like sweat behind the ears. Like the moment before a storm, when everything in the air tilts.

Beomgyu feels it.

He just doesn't understand it yet.

They're in the waiting room, hours before the next stage taping. Everyone else is sprawled out — Yeonjun sleeping with his mouth open, Soobin half-reading lyrics, Hueningkai curled in a beanbag.

Beomgyu's legs are crossed over Taehyun's lap.

Not in a romantic way. Not claiming.

Just casual. Familiar.

Taehyun doesn't move them.

But he doesn't touch him either.

His arms stay crossed. His body rigid. Eyes fixed on the script in his lap like he's memorizing every line even though they've said it fifty times.

Beomgyu feels the tension before he names it.

Later, when the room empties out, Beomgyu slides closer.

"Okay, what's going on with you?" he asks, voice low, amused. "You've been all stiff and murdery since yesterday."

Taehyun doesn't answer.

Beomgyu leans in further, poking. "Come on. If I said something stupid just tell me so I can be dramatic about it and cry."

Silence.

And then —

"You messaged him."

Beomgyu's breath catches.

"What?"

Taehyun finally looks up.

Eyes cold. Voice flat.

"You messaged Gunwook. After the show."

Beomgyu blinks. "Wait—how did you—"

"That doesn't matter," Taehyun interrupts. "You said thank you. You smiled while you typed it. Like it meant something."

Beomgyu sits up, defensive. "It didn't mean something. It was a polite reply. He gave me a compliment, Tae—"

"And you couldn't stop thinking about it."

The words hit like a slap.

Beomgyu's mouth opens. Closes.

"I didn't do anything wrong," he says, but it's quiet now.

Taehyun stands.

Towers over him in a way that doesn't feel like comfort anymore.

"No," he says. "But you wanted to be wanted."

There's a long pause.

Beomgyu's heartbeat starts ringing in his ears.

"That's what this is about?" he whispers. "You're jealous?"

Taehyun doesn't reply.

Not with words.

His hand comes up — not to hit, not to push, but to brush Beomgyu's hair back from his face, gentle. Almost too gentle.

But his eyes burn.

"You like it when they look at you like that," he murmurs. "You need it."

Beomgyu's throat tightens.

His voice comes out smaller than he expects. "And what about you?"

Taehyun's fingers pause.

Beomgyu swallows. "What about when you look at me? Doesn't that count for anything?"

Taehyun's jaw twitches.

Then he leans in.

So close their foreheads almost touch.

"So why did you thank him?"

Beomgyu's heart stutters.

He doesn't have an answer.

Not one that would make sense to someone who's already been watching, counting, waiting.

The silence stretches.

Taehyun pulls back.

"I don't like sharing," he says, low and quiet.

And then—

He turns and walks out.

That night, Beomgyu doesn't sleep.

His phone lights up twice with new DMs.

He doesn't open them.

He thinks about Taehyun's hand in his hair.

He thinks about the way the word sharing sounded like a threat.

And for the first time since debut, Beomgyu feels owned.

It happens three days later.

Three days of ignoring. Pretending. Clicking tongues. Rolling eyes.

Three days of group rehearsals, shared microphones, matching outfits, smiling in sync in front of fans like nothing's wrong — when everything is.

Three days of Beomgyu feeling that tension like a collar he can't take off.

Every time he laughs too loud, Taehyun looks.
Every time someone touches his waist during practice, Taehyun sees.
Every time Gunwook walks by and smiles that respectful, puppy-like smile—

Taehyun's jaw tightens like he's chewing on barbed wire.

Beomgyu eats it up.

He's furious. He's flattered.
He's miserable. He's on fire.

And he doesn't know which one he likes more.

So when they're alone again — backstage after pre-recording, everyone else showering or snacking — Beomgyu pushes it.

He turns, lifts one eyebrow.

"So what, you ghost me now when you get mad?"

Taehyun is sitting on the makeup counter, head tilted back, sweating through his shirt.

"You're not that irresistible," he replies.

Beomgyu smirks. "You sure? 'Cause you've been glaring at anyone who so much as breathes near me."

"Don't flatter yourself."

"Gunwook said I looked beautiful today."

Taehyun's eyes cut to him. Sharp. Cold.

Beomgyu takes a step closer.

"He said I looked like a star."

Another step.

"He said—"

Before he can finish, he's shoved.

Not roughly. Not violently.

Just enough.

His back hits the wall. His breath catches.

Taehyun follows.

One hand planted beside Beomgyu's head.

One knee pushing between his thighs.

That cool, calm voice finally cracks.

"You enjoying this?"

Beomgyu stares up at him. Lips parted.

"Enjoying what?" he whispers.

Taehyun leans in. His mouth just an inch from Beomgyu's jaw.

"The way I lose control over you."

Beomgyu's breath shakes.

He tries to bite back the smile — fails.

"You make it sound like I don't want you to."

And that's it.

That's the matchstick.

Taehyun grabs his chin and kisses him hard.

No prelude. No testing.

Just lips crashing, biting, mouths parting like it's the only thing that will shut them up.

Beomgyu moans into it. Whines, honestly.

He doesn't mean to, but Taehyun's hand finds his waist and squeezes, and Beomgyu folds. Melts. Clutches at the front of his shirt like he's falling.

Taehyun pulls back just enough to whisper:

"You love playing with fire, don't you?"

Beomgyu is panting. "Only if it's you that burns."

Taehyun laughs once. A dark, quiet sound.

Then he kisses him again.

Slower now. More deliberate. Bruising.

Their teeth click once. Tongues clash.

Beomgyu's fingers are in his hair, yanking. His leg curls around Taehyun's hip like he needs it, like he's desperate for whatever punishment this is.

But Taehyun doesn't lose himself.

He stays just in control enough to make Beomgyu come apart first.

Always.

When they finally break apart, Beomgyu's mouth is red and swollen. His chest heaving. His eyes wide.

Taehyun's voice is calm again.

"Next time you message him..."

He leans in, kisses the corner of Beomgyu's mouth, gentle.

"I'll make sure you can't walk to reply."

Chapter Text

“If you want them to know you’re mine, then I’ll make sure they never forget it.”

The hotel suite was dim, the only light a golden strip spilling in through the gap in the heavy blackout curtains. Midnight silence clung to the walls — too still, too tense.

Beomgyu closed the door behind him, laughing softly under his breath, still flushed from the late-night filming. “Gunwook was actually kind of funny today, right? I didn’t think—”

“You think I didn’t see it?”

The words hit like a gunshot.

Beomgyu stilled.

Taehyun stood at the window, arms folded, still in his stage clothes. His jaw clenched, eyes like a blade in the low light.

“You couldn’t wait to thank him,” Taehyun said, voice low and dangerous. “Touching his arm. Laughing at every stupid thing he said.”

“It wasn’t like that.” Beomgyu's voice tightened.

“Wasn’t it?” Taehyun turned to face him fully now, tension bristling in every line of his frame. “You like the attention, don’t you?”

Beomgyu narrowed his eyes. “Don’t start with this possessive shit, Taehyun. It was just work.”

Taehyun moved fast.

One sharp step forward. Beomgyu stepped back instinctively — and that was all it took. Taehyun shoved him, spine slamming against the wall, breath catching in his throat. A hand landed flat beside his head. Another gripped his chin hard.

“Just work?” Taehyun’s voice was a whisper, but it was venom wrapped in velvet. “You giggling in his face like some helpless little—”

Beomgyu’s jaw flexed. “You’re jealous.”

“You like making me jealous.”

“No—”

“You like the attention,” Taehyun said again, quieter this time, like it was a truth he was carving into Beomgyu’s skin.

The silence after was thick. Neither of them moved.

And then it broke.

Taehyun kissed him.

No — claimed him.

Mouth colliding with Beomgyu’s, teeth clashing, breath stolen. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was fury and fire and a thousand unsaid things. Beomgyu groaned into it, hands clutching at Taehyun’s shirt like it was the only solid thing in the room.

Taehyun bit his lower lip, not gentle. Beomgyu gasped. Taehyun kissed harder.

They stumbled — back against the wall, then across the room, knocking into a chair, a lamp, like they needed to crash into everything to survive the heat between them.

Beomgyu broke the kiss first, panting. “You— you’re insane.”

Taehyun’s fingers slid into his hair, gripping it. Tugging.

“You like it,” he whispered.

And Beomgyu’s knees nearly buckled.

The first kiss had been all teeth.

It didn’t feel like a kiss at all—more like punishment, like Taehyun was trying to bruise the taste of someone else off Beomgyu’s mouth. And Beomgyu? He took it. Let him. Welcomed the punishment with fingers curled into the front of Taehyun’s shirt and a body that arched into it like flame to gasoline.

They stumbled back blindly, Taehyun pushing him, pressing him, dragging him until the backs of Beomgyu’s knees hit the edge of the bed and he fell back in a tangle of limbs and breathless defiance.

“Take it off,” Taehyun said, voice low, raw.

Beomgyu didn’t move fast enough.

So Taehyun did it for him.

Fingers yanked fabric, buttons popped and flew like shrapnel. The sound of cotton tearing. And then cold air hit bare skin, followed by Taehyun’s palms—rough, greedy, unapologetic.

“You think I don’t know how you look at me,” Taehyun muttered, dragging his mouth down Beomgyu’s neck. “How you act out just to get this.”

Beomgyu gasped, nails digging into the sheets. “This isn’t— I don’t—”

“You like the attention,” Taehyun growled, teeth grazing skin. “Say it.”

Beomgyu’s hips jerked up instinctively when Taehyun grabbed him, unceremonious, possessive.

“T-Taehyun—”

“No prep,” Taehyun bit out, voice like steel. “You wanted it raw, didn’t you? Wanted to push me until I snapped.”

Beomgyu’s legs were already trembling, his mind half-lost somewhere between the words and the way Taehyun’s touch burned right through him.

His body gave in before he could argue—arched back, head thrown to the side, mouth open in a helpless moan.

Taehyun leaned over him, one hand gripping Beomgyu’s jaw hard enough to hurt.

“Say it.”

Beomgyu blinked, dazed.

“Say you’re mine.”

He swallowed hard, chest heaving.

“…I’m yours, Taehyun. I’m— I’m yours.”

“Louder.”

“I’m yours.”

That made Taehyun smile. Dark. Dangerous.

And then he took him.

Hard. Deep. Unrelenting.

Hair wrapped around his fingers, bruises blooming like ink across Beomgyu’s thighs, his hips, the side of his throat.

Every thrust knocked the breath out of Beomgyu’s lungs, replaced it with desperate, high-pitched gasps. The headboard hit the wall. The sheets twisted. Somewhere in the chaos, Beomgyu’s fingernails raked down Taehyun’s back like he didn’t know where else to put the wildfire.

Taehyun didn’t stop.

Didn’t slow down.

Didn’t give an inch of softness.

Only heat. Possession. The ache of finally having what was his.

It was too much.

It had always been too much—Taehyun’s control, his voice, the way he knew exactly where to press, what to say, how to pull Beomgyu apart piece by piece until all that was left was want. Need. Desperation.

And Beomgyu hated him for it.
Hated how good it felt to be ruined by him.

“Look at me,” Taehyun hissed, hand tangled in Beomgyu’s sweat-damp curls. “Don’t you dare hide.”

Beomgyu opened his eyes. Barely.

Taehyun’s face hovered above him, flushed and furious, sweat dripping down the edge of his jaw. His pupils were blown wide, lips parted, teeth clenched like he was fighting himself more than anything else.

“You brat,” Taehyun muttered. “You always—”

He didn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t have to.

He drove back in with a force that made Beomgyu cry out—raw, unfiltered.

The world narrowed to breath and skin, sheets twisted at his waist, bruises forming like constellations across his hips. Every time Beomgyu’s body tried to retreat, Taehyun followed. Matched. Surpassed.

“I can’t—” Beomgyu whimpered. “Taehyun, I’m— I’m gonna—”

“Then come,” Taehyun said, breath ragged. “I want to see you break.”

Beomgyu shattered.

His entire body arched, locked, convulsed—white-hot pleasure tearing through him in waves, leaving wreckage in its wake. A sob broke from his lips, his chest heaving as his vision blurred with stars.

Taehyun didn’t stop.

Not immediately.

Only after Beomgyu had gone boneless, trembling, wrecked beneath him—his limbs too heavy to move, his breath coming in desperate little pants.

Only then did Taehyun still, forehead pressing into Beomgyu’s shoulder, his arms finally, finally, wrapping around him.

A moment passed.

Two.

Silence returned like the tide after a storm, slow and uncertain.

Beomgyu blinked up at the ceiling, dazed, swallowing down the ache in his throat.

“You didn’t hold back,” he whispered hoarsely.

“You didn’t want me to,” Taehyun replied, quiet, but not apologetic.

Beomgyu let out a soft, breathy laugh. “Asshole.”

“Brat.”

They lay there, tangled in each other, bare and bruised and breathless.

And for the first time in weeks, Beomgyu didn’t feel like running.

The room was still now.

Silent in that post-storm kind of way—where the walls still held echoes, and the air pulsed with leftover heat. The bed creaked faintly as Beomgyu shifted, limbs lazy and heavy, like he’d been wrung out and left to dry in the sun.

Taehyun hadn’t moved.
His weight was draped across Beomgyu’s back, steady, grounding. One hand loosely held Beomgyu’s wrist, like muscle memory wouldn’t let go. Like dominance lingered even after the high.

“You’re crushing me,” Beomgyu mumbled into the sheets, voice shredded and hoarse.

“You like it,” Taehyun murmured back, lips brushing the nape of his neck.

Beomgyu rolled his eyes, but he didn’t try to shove him off.

His body was too worn out. Too satisfied. Too quiet in the aftermath.

They lay like that for a long time—warm skin against warm skin, breath syncing slowly in the dim light.

Eventually, Taehyun shifted, just enough to press a kiss between Beomgyu’s shoulder blades. Another to the side of his neck. Soft this time. Careful, like undoing the violence of before with reverence now.

“You okay?” he asked, the kind of gentle only Beomgyu ever got to hear.

Beomgyu hummed, eyelids fluttering. “Yeah.”

Taehyun curled his fingers into Beomgyu’s hand.

“You were good for me tonight,” he added, low and honest, like praise was something sacred.

Beomgyu’s cheeks flushed, and he was suddenly grateful for the dark.

“Don’t get used to it,” he muttered, nuzzling deeper into the pillow. “I’m still a brat.”

“I know,” Taehyun chuckled, reaching up to push a few strands of hair from Beomgyu’s forehead. “But you’re mine.”

The words landed between them, soft but absolute.

Beomgyu didn’t reply—just reached back blindly, tangled their fingers tighter.

That was enough.

Post-sex silence is a kind of music.

The kind only two people who’ve ruined each other’s names know how to hum.

Beomgyu lies splayed across the bed, still catching his breath. Taehyun disappears for a moment—water running in the bathroom, towel being wrung out, a rhythm as intimate as the bruises painted across Beomgyu’s skin.

When he returns, the air shifts again.

Warm towel. Gentle hands. Taehyun wiping between Beomgyu’s thighs with a tenderness that makes the younger flinch—not from pain, but from being seen too clearly.

“You don’t have to—” Beomgyu starts, but stops when Taehyun presses the towel between his legs again, more delicately this time.

“I want to.”

That shuts Beomgyu up.

When it’s done, Taehyun tosses the towel aside, then crawls back onto the bed. One knee between Beomgyu’s legs, one hand curling around his jaw—not rough now, but anchoring.

His thumb brushes the swollen curve of Beomgyu’s lower lip, then glides down to trace the fresh bruise blooming along his collarbone.

“You’re all marked up,” he murmurs, pride undercutting the softness. His eyes drop: neck. Thighs. Inner wrist. “Mine.”

Beomgyu huffs a half-laugh, head tipping back against the pillows.

“You sound deranged.”

Taehyun leans closer, foreheads nearly brushing. “Next time, don’t make me remind you.”

A beat.

Beomgyu’s laugh is breathless, rasped-out mischief. “Possessive freak.”

Taehyun doesn’t even flinch. He just leans in, presses a kiss just under Beomgyu’s ear, and whispers:

“Only with you.”

The next morning, their dressing room is a bubble of tired banter and iced Americanos. Everyone’s half-functioning. Stylists flutter around. Schedules blur. But when Beomgyu walks in, hair still a mess from being rushed, the collar of his hoodie doesn’t hide everything.

Soobin catches the glimpse of a bruise on Beomgyu’s neck, just above the drawstring.

He raises an eyebrow. Subtle, but pointed.

Beomgyu meets his gaze dead-on and grins.

“Mosquitoes.”

Yeonjun chokes on his coffee. Hueningkai snorts from the makeup chair.

Taehyun, without even turning, throws Beomgyu a look over his shoulder—a single flick of his gaze. Calm. Cold. Commanding.

Beomgyu shuts up instantly. Not because he’s embarrassed. But because he likes it.

Because he knows what that look means.
Because only he gets it.

That night, when the dorm lights are low and the world is quiet again, Beomgyu pulls on Taehyun’s hoodie. It's oversized and smells like Taehyun's cologne—amber and pine and something unspoken.

He doesn’t crawl into Taehyun’s bed. Not tonight. Just clings to the fabric like a tether.

Falls asleep with his fingers curled around the hem, Taehyun’s scent in his lungs, and the bruises on his body like lullabies.

Marked. Kept. Known.

His.

Chapter Text

The notification comes just as Beomgyu’s rehearsal ends, sweat still clinging to his skin, heart still wired from the lights.

A familiar name lights up his screen.

Gunwook
hope I didn’t cause trouble that day haha 😅

The words are harmless. Playful.
But they sit in his stomach like a swallowed stone.

Beomgyu doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even smile.
His thumb hovers, then retracts.

He stares at the message a second too long, then locks his phone and walks down the hall.
The edges of noise blur—shouted cues, hallway laughter, the clatter of makeup cases. None of it lands.
None of it matters.

His body’s warm but his hands feel cold.

When he reaches the bathroom, Taehyun’s already there.
Shirt damp from the quick change, toothbrush in his mouth, foam at the corner of his lips.

Beomgyu slips in behind him like muscle memory, arms winding around his waist.
He presses his cheek between Taehyun’s shoulder blades and breathes in.

Shampoo. Sweat. Him.

Taehyun lifts a brow in the mirror but doesn’t move.

Beomgyu’s voice comes soft, hoarse. Like something broken down to truth:
“Only you.”

A beat of silence.

Taehyun spits into the sink, rinses his mouth, and turns.

He doesn’t ask.
Doesn’t need to.

He just holds Beomgyu’s face in both hands — thumbs brushing damp cheeks — and kisses his forehead, slow and grounding.

And maybe that’s the real answer.

Because danger doesn’t always come with sirens.

Sometimes, it texts you with an emoji.
And sometimes, the only antidote is this—
the quiet declaration of someone who already chose.

The MC lineup drops.

Taehyun’s name is there. So is Beomgyu’s.

Just like last time.
Only now — the battlefield has changed.

Beomgyu shows up in full glam.
Skin glassy. Lips tinted cherry dusk. Hair mussed like something feral and touched.

But there’s no mischief in his smirk. No coy glances.
No weaponized flirting.

Because Taehyun’s watching.

And Beomgyu wants him to know — wants everyone to know — he’s already claimed.

During the script run-through, Beomgyu leans back in his chair, eyes trailing lazily to Taehyun’s cue cards.
Not Gunwook’s jokes. Not the scripted lines. Only him.

Taehyun doesn’t say a word.

But his jaw flexes when Beomgyu laughs a little too politely at another idol’s banter.
His fingers tighten around the mic when someone nudges Beomgyu too familiarly.

Still, he holds it in.
Because the real conversation happens backstage.

In the hallway — as stylists buzz around them, shoes click against tiles, nerves charge the air — their fingers brush. Once.

Taehyun doesn’t look.
Beomgyu doesn’t either.

But that brief graze?

Electric.

A single point of contact that ignites everything beneath the skin.
Like a wire pulled too tight, ready to snap.

The camera catches nothing. But under the surface, the war is already being won —
by glances, by restraint, by the way Beomgyu leans slightly toward Taehyun like a tide pulled by gravity.

He walks offstage after the live smiling just a little too softly.

Because there’s no need to play games when the only one you want is already watching.

Their hotel room is quiet when it begins.

No lights on — just the city glow outside the window, tracing Taehyun’s shoulders in pale gold as he leans over Beomgyu, breath slow, eyes unreadable.

Tonight isn’t loud.
It isn’t rushed.
But it’s hungry.

Beomgyu’s shirt is halfway off when he breathes, “You don’t have to mark me again.”

Taehyun pauses.
His gaze drags over every healed bruise, every faded shadow.

His thumb brushes the hollow of Beomgyu’s throat, so gently it makes Beomgyu shiver.

“I know,” he says finally. Voice low, quiet, dangerous. “I just want to.”

And then his lips are everywhere —
Worship, not war.
Kisses to every place he touched too hard before.
Neck. Collarbone. Inside wrist. The soft, secret spot behind his knee.
Even the arch of his foot.

Beomgyu whimpers.
He aches at the tenderness — how it undoes him more than anything rough ever could.

This isn't about proving a point.
It’s about showing love in Taehyun's native language: patience. Intensity. Fire wrapped in velvet.

Their movements turn molten.
Beomgyu gasps under him, legs open and trembling. Taehyun's hands glide over every line of his body like he’s reading scripture —
slow, thorough, devout.

He doesn’t rush.
He pulls pleasure out of him, lazy and relentless, until Beomgyu’s shaking, eyes glassy with it.

“You feel so good when you let go,” Taehyun murmurs.
“So fucking good.”

Beomgyu cries out, half-sobbing.
Taehyun kisses the tears off his cheeks like they’re holy.

When it’s over, Beomgyu's chest rises unevenly beneath Taehyun’s palm.

Taehyun kisses every spot again. Reverent.

Because now — there’s no need to brand.

The body beneath him is already his.
Not by bruise.
By trust.

The stage is blinding. The fans are deafening.

But Taehyun?

He always sees him.

Not the glittering version of Beomgyu that dances and winks.

But the real one — the one whose fingers tremble before going live, who tugs on Taehyun’s sleeve like a nervous kid.

And Beomgyu doesn’t even realize how often he reaches for Taehyun now.

His hoodie strings in dressing rooms.
His wrist when they pass in corridors.
His scent — worn like armor even on his off days.

It sneaks up on him.

Until one day, Beomgyu’s mid-sentence backstage when Taehyun gently curls a hand around the back of his neck.

Just that.

Just... pressure.
Guidance.
Claim.

Beomgyu shudders.
His mouth goes silent.

“Breathe,” Taehyun whispers, warm at his ear.

And Beomgyu does.
Because it's him.

Later, in a busy hallway, Taehyun’s palm drifts to the small of his back.
His mouth brushes Beomgyu’s ear again:

“I’ve got you.”

It’s not public. Not secret.

It’s just theirs.

And Beomgyu — once untouchable, unclaimed — finds himself craving it.

Not dominance.
Not performance.
Just Taehyun.

His steadiness.
His scent.
His gravity.

Final concert night.

They bow.
They shine.
They soar.

And someone looks at Beomgyu too long.

A dancer. An idol. Someone irrelevant.

Their eyes linger too long on his waist. His sweat-glazed throat.
That flushed, breathless post-stage glow.

Taehyun sees it.

Feels it.

And something ancient snaps.

Their room.
The moon is high, casting shadows across tangled sheets.

Beomgyu barely gets a word out before Taehyun is on him.

No talking. Just hands. Mouth. Hunger.

The kiss is molten. Bruising. Their teeth click once.
Taehyun's grip on his hips? Bruising.

Beomgyu melts.
He lets himself be pressed down, thighs splayed, heartbeat violent.

Taehyun's mouth is everywhere — collarbone, jaw, inner thigh, behind the knee.

He licks, bites, groans, claims.

“Tae—” Beomgyu gasps, voice wrecked.

Taehyun’s grip tightens. He rolls his hips harder, deeper, more.

“Why,” Beomgyu cries, panting, “why do I love it when you get like this?”

Taehyun presses a kiss to the sweat at the nape of his neck. Growls against his skin:

“Because you were made for me.”

Beomgyu breaks.

Not from the stretch.
Not from the force.

From that voice. That truth.

After.

The silence hums.

Beomgyu's body is covered — neck, thighs, chest — in fingerprints and love.
His muscles twitch.
His eyes close.

He picks up his phone with shaking fingers.

Types.

"Thanks for the compliment. It brought me closer to the person I belong to."

He hits send.

Then drops the phone. Turns into Taehyun’s chest.

Where everything is warm. And quiet.
And right.

Beomgyu's POV

He thinks back.

Not to compliments or fan screams.
But that first time.

Taehyun’s voice in a dim hotel room, soft and shaken:
“You’re so pretty.”

Like it hurt to say.
Like Beomgyu wouldn’t believe it unless it was torn from him.

Later, in bed, he cried from how much he felt.

And Taehyun had whispered, near tears himself:

“You’re crying and I still can’t stop looking at you.”

Taehyun’s POV

He lies beside Beomgyu, hand brushing his spine.

He remembers every moment.

Every look.

Every time Beomgyu shattered under his hands, not from force — but from love.

He kisses his back.

“You’re mine,” he whispers.
“No one else gets to see you like this.”

Beomgyu breathes in.
Then, finally:

“I don’t want them to.”

Outside, the city flickers.

Inside — shadow. Skin. Home.

And Beomgyu’s last thought before sleep is this:

Taehyun’s chest against his back.
Taehyun’s name in his mouth.
And the silence, finally, saying everything.