Hyuntak presses down a little more, this time with the soft skin just below his toes. His heartbeat spikes at the feel of Suho’s arousal beneath the thin fabric of his shorts. Hard, heavy, the same heat he’d felt pressed against him just last night.

The faint image of Suho’s cock flashes in his mind, something he thought he’d shoved away but it surfaces now with startling clarity. He dips his toes against the outline and Suho exhales sharply, almost a shudder.

Suho’s fingers stay hooked inside his sock, unmoving, anchored there like he has no intention of letting go. The contact, the pressure, paired with the uneven sound of Suho’s breath, makes Hyuntak’s own chest rise and fall faster, his breath starts to get ragged.

When he presses hard this time, Suho’s other hand flies up to clamp around his ankle. “Tak.” The way he says it — low, broken, half-warning makes Hyuntak’s chest clench. Suho’s gaze drops to his toes, to what he’s doing, while Hyuntak keeps his own eyes fixed on Suho’s face.

Honestly at this point, he doesn’t give a damn. Because it seems that today, for some fucking reason, Suho is holding back. Maybe it’s the inhibitor still coursing through his system. Maybe it’s sheer force of will.

Either way, it grates at Hyuntak, a quiet implication that he hates admitting, that some part of him likes Suho better when he isn’t restrained. When he’s all over him. Or maybe it’s not even about that. Maybe it’s the insecurity crawling under Hyuntak’s skin.

It’s reckless. It’s insane. But Hyuntak lets go of the last thread of sanity and deliberately shifts, slotting the space between his toes around Suho’s cock. Bold, shameless, a provocation he knows he can’t take back.

Suho reacts instantly, a strangled sound in his throat as his hand leaves Hyuntak’s ankle and lands heavy on his thigh instead. The grip is hot, firm, pulling at flesh in a way that sends a jolt straight to Hyuntak’s groin.

Suho’s breath ghosts over his knee, each exhale burning, making his pulse trip over itself. (Oh my fucking god.) Hyuntak swallows as he continues, toes dragging up and down over the thick outline beneath the thin fabric of Suho’s short, which isn’t helping either.

His fingers clench hard into the couch cushion unconsciously, while Suho comes apart in silence right beside him, head bowed, jaw tight, one hand bruising the inside of his thigh as if holding back from more.

And the sight, fuck, the sight is undoing him. Hyuntak watches Suho with wide, fevered eyes, every detail burned into memory. The way he grips. The way his breath shakes. It’s enough to drive Hyuntak insane, if he isn’t already there.

He bites down on his lower lip, pushes just a little bolder. His toes hook into the waistband of Suho’s shorts, dragging it down by a fraction. Just enough. Just an invitation. He stops there, breath ragged, waiting for Suho to finally break, to yank his shorts down

and let Hyuntak press further, to his skin. Suho moves. At last. His fingers shift, tug at the waistband like he’s seconds from giving in and then the loud sound from the kitchen cuts through the moment. They both gasp and turn toward the sound.

But before Hyuntak can even pull his foot back, Suho is already on his feet, face flushed, obvious hard-on pressing against his sweats as he bolts toward the kitchen. Hyuntak freezes, gaping, until the embarrassment hits him like a punch.

He sits up too fast, scooping the stack of clothes into his arms and nearly stumbles on his way to his room. He shuts the door behind him, chest heaving, pressing a palm to his burning face. His heart feels like it’s hammering in his throat.

And then the irritation creeps in. The way Suho jumped up, like it was easy to walk away. He tells himself it makes sense. Suho is cooking, after all. The pot was already simmering and Sieun would not appreciate it if the apartment burned down while he was gone.

But the reasoning doesn’t soothe him. If anything, it only makes the sting worse. Because Hyuntak was the one who took the initiative. He was the one pushing, testing, wanting. And yet Suho backed away again. Whatever excuse he’s making, whatever line he’s refusing to cross,

Hyuntak is left standing there like a fucking fool. “Asshole,” he mutters, shoving his clothes into the wardrobe. He drops onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, biting the inside of his cheek until it hurts. But the more he thinks, the more his pride kicks in.

Ahn Suho isn’t the only asshole here. Hyuntak’s never been the type to quit halfway. Right now, he wants Suho to crack. To stop acting like he’s got all this restraint. He wants him to fucking lose it. He isn’t Go Hyuntak if he’s not competitive, stubborn and reckless.

So he strips off his sweats and pulls on shorts so thin and short they might as well be boxers. His skin prickles at the exposure, embarrassment crawling hot under his collar but he forces it down. This isn’t about shame. This is about proving a point.

If Suho’s going to keep holding back, then fine. Hyuntak will just push until there’s nowhere left for him to retreat. Even if he’s just a beta. he’ll make Suho lose his mind.

At the back of his mind, deep, deep down, he just wants to be touched. By Ahn Suho. But that’s not relevant. Not really. And he doesn’t think about it. He pushes the thought aside and steps out of his room, shoulders squared like nothing happened.

Suho glances up, clearly surprised at how fast he’s recovered and that pisses Hyuntak off. This asshole. Still, Suho’s eyes drop for a second, wandering down to his bare legs, lingering on the hem of his shorts. Hyuntak almost smirks at that. Embarrassed, sure but whatever.

Suho is standing near the counter and the wide open path toward the cupboard is clear. But Hyuntak intentionally takes the smaller gap, sliding between Suho and the countertop. His ass brushes against Suho’s lower body briefly, but enough contact.

He hears the sharp intake of breath right beside his ear and he acts like it’s nothing, reaching for a glass. His heart is beating so loud he swears Suho must hear it. That tiny act of seduction messes with his head. It’s petty and stupid but he tells himself it has to be done.

He pours water from the fridge and gulps it down like he’s calm. They eat in silence. Hyuntak steals glances at him across the table, watching how Suho keeps quieter than usual, jaw set, eyes down. Good. Let him stew in it.

After lunch, Hyuntak takes the dishes. Suho moves out of habit, leaning near the sink as if he can’t help but hover. And Hyuntak… Hyuntak stops thinking altogether. He grabs one of the cups, still dripping wet, and instead of leaving it to dry in the rack by the sink,

he lifts it to the cupboard above Suho’s head. No logic. Just an excuse to lean in close, stretching across Suho’s space until their faces are just a breath apart. His arm is raised, his neck bared and he swears he can feel Suho’s breath warm against his skin. Then it happens.

Suho’s hand, almost without thought, finds his waist. Not his shirt, not brushing fabric but bare skin. Hyuntak’s body hums at the touch, and for a second he lets himself stay there, milking the closeness, letting Suho’s hand burn into him. But eventually, the excuse runs out.

Hanging there any longer would look obvious. So he pulls back, taps the water off his hands, shakes them over the sink. Suho’s hand slips away, slow and reluctant. He stares down at his own palm and Hyuntak can’t help the slight grin that tugs at his lips. And it keeps going.

This little game. The push, the tease, the international brushes and stolen proximity. Hyuntak knows it’s stupid, knows it’s immature and he’s been pulling stunts like this for the past two weeks, pushing Suho’s buttons.

He keeps telling himself it’s competition, that he just wants to make Suho crack. He just wishes it wouldn’t come back to bite him in the ass this time like all those times it did. They stay in the living room for a while, the air thick with silence.

Hyuntak keeps catching himself doing unnecessary little things like leaning too close, brushing shoulders, reaching for things he doesn’t need. Things that aren’t like him at all. Suho, in pre-rut, doesn’t call him out or tease him the way he normally would.

He’s too focused, too distracted, as if every move Hyuntak makes pulls him deeper into his own head. In his defense, that’s exactly the effect he wants. At one point Suho sprawls across the sofa like an asshole, taking up the entire space.

Hyuntak climbs on him anyway, something he usually does just to piss him off. But this time, instead of sitting anywhere else, he drops himself directly onto Suho’s crotch, pressing down hard with his ass. The sound Suho makes is quite loud.

For a second, Suho’s hand lingers tight at his waist, almost like he won’t let go. But then Suho jerks upright so fast it nearly sends Hyuntak tumbling. Hyuntak stands too, slipping away to the corner of the couch with a mask of nonchalance, acting like nothing happened.

Suho doesn’t say a word. After that, no matter what Hyuntak tries, Suho still doesn’t give in. By the time night falls, Hyuntak’s tired of his own stupid game. After dinner, he takes a long shower, letting the water run over him while his thoughts spiral.

If he’s being honest, it hurts a little. Not so much but a dull ache at the loss of contact. Suho’s still him, still clingy in that quiet way but he hasn’t made a move since their makeout that morning. Nothing. He doesn’t understand the sudden restraint. He doesn’t fucking get it

He’s made it obvious. If pressing on him, leaning into him, showing over and over that it’s fine, that he wants it aren’t any fucking enough. Hell, Suho already touched him last night. So why the hell is he holding back now?

The more he thinks about it, the more infuriating it becomes. Because sometimes it feels like he’s the one in heat. He’s the one restless, wanting more, aching for contact. What the fuck. “Fine,” Hyuntak mutters, dragging a towel across his damp hair.

Another clings low on his waist as he meets his reflection in the mirror. His lashes are heavy, his mouth pulled into a thin line. “Suit himself.” He throws on sweatpants and the first hoodie he grabs, then heads to the kitchen.

He digs out some candies, unwrapping one and sitting on the counter with his phone, chewing slowly. He hears the bathroom door open. Suho steps out, nothing on but a towel slung around his waist. Hyuntak stands from where he’s sitting and walks past him,

barely giving him a glance, determined not to give him any attention. He doesn’t expect anything and doesn’t even brace when Suho suddenly grabs him and slams him back against the wall. The impact bites sharp into his spine, forcing a hiss out of him.

Hyuntak glares immediately, eyes narrowing as his back throbs from the force. Hyuntak’s ready to curse him out for the slam against the wall but the words die on his tongue when he sees Suho’s face. Serious. Flushed.

Eyes half-lidded, heavy with something that makes Hyuntak’s chest tighten. And Suho isn’t even looking at him, his gaze is fixed on the hoodie. “That’s mine,” Suho says finally, voice rough. Hyuntak blinks, brows rising. He glances down at himself.

“The fuck are you on about? This is mine.” At that, Suho’s eyes lift, locking with his. His fingers toy with the hem of the hoodie, almost like he can’t stop himself from touching it. “It’s too big on you. If you haven’t noticed.”

Hyuntak scoffs, ready to bite back, but then he actually looks. The hoodie is blue, sure. His color. His style. He’s certain it was his when he pulled it on but now, with Suho’s words, memory catches up. Suho has one too. Same color but slightly lighter. Definitely bigger.

And this one.. yeah, it’s roomy. Looser than his own. More fabric hanging around his wrists and shoulders than there should be. Not by much, he tells himself, because fuck if he’ll admit it. Just a little. Pride curdling in his chest, Hyuntak sighs and glances back at him.

Suho hasn’t moved, hasn’t looked away. He’s staring so much and the intensity of it makes Hyuntak’s skin hot. Too fucking hot. “Might’ve gotten mixed up in my pile,” Hyuntak mutters, trying to sound bored, to cover the way his ears feel like they’re on fire. “So what?”

Silence stretches. Suho doesn’t answer. He just keeps staring until Hyuntak feels his skin heating under the weight of it. Hyuntak huffs, heat climbing up his neck. “I’ll take it off—” He doesn’t get to finish.

Suho moves faster than he can think, slamming his mouth against Hyuntak’s in a kiss that feels less like a choice and more like restraint finally snapping. The force of it steals Hyuntak’s breath, rough, cutting his words right out of his throat. Rude bastard.

The kiss iis nothing like the one in the morning. There’s no hesitation, no tentative brush of lips. It’s rushed, messy, all open mouths and tongue, a headlong dive into something Hyuntak wasn’t braced for. Suho’s hands are locked on either side of his jaw, rough and desperate.

Hyuntak can barely react, can’t even think, not with the sudden attack on his lips that feels more like he’s being devoured than kissed. Suho’s weight presses closer and Hyuntak feels the damp warmth of Suho’s forehead against his own, water still dripping from his hair.

The contact makes his breath stagger, his body burn hotter than he wants to admit. And just as abrupt as it started, it ends. Suho rips himself back with a gasp, leaving Hyuntak drowning in the loss of it, lips tingling.

“Keep it on,” Suho rasps, his voice wrecked. His palms are still cupping Hyuntak’s face, thumbs pressing into his cheeks. Hyuntak’s fingers are on his wrists before he even realizes it, breath ragged, vision swimming.

He hasn’t recovered when suddenly he’s being dragged again. Suho’s grip doesn’t let up. He shoves him down, firmer than usual, until Hyuntak stumbles back and lands on the couch. “What the hell—” is all Hyuntak manages before Suho is already moving,

situating himself on the floor, crowding between his legs. His big hands hook into the waistband of his sweatpants and tug, knuckles brushing his skin. “Suho—” His voice cracks as panic catches up with him. He shoots forward, grabs Suho’s wrists, forcing him still.

His eyes are wide, trembling. “What do you think you’re doing?” For the first time, Suho falters. He actually looks startled. But it lasts all of half a second before that familiar grin curls at his mouth infuriatingly, even with his chest heaving.

“You seem to be waiting for this to happen, no?” Hyuntak’s whole body floods hot. He yells, louder than he means to, heart in his throat. “No!” But Suho doesn’t seem to hear him. Or maybe he doesn’t care. He dips lower, nosing shamelessly at his crotch.

Mouth hovering over the growing heat still trapped by fabric. Hyuntak’s fists clench in his sweatpants, holding them up in a pathetic barricade. The sight alone makes Hyuntak dizzy. Suho kneeling between his legs, looking up at him with those fucking eyes, intent and unrelenting.

Then Suho’s lips part, and for one terrifying, thrilling second, Hyuntak knows he’s about to do something unholy.

“W–wait—” Hyuntak blurts, his hand flying to Suho’s cheek out of pure panic. His voice comes out rushed, shaking. “Fine, fine. I… I waited for this. But not there, hm?” He swallows hard, heart pounding. “Just—just fucking kiss me right here.”

For a moment, Suho stills. His eyes search Hyuntak’s face, unreadable. Then, slowly, he takes Hyuntak’s hand from his cheek and presses his lips to his palm. The gesture is gentle and it knocks the air right out of Hyuntak’s lungs. He relaxes despite himself, his chest loosening.

And just when he thinks the moment has softened, Suho moves again, swift. He yanks Hyuntak’s sweatpants down just enough to bare him and Hyuntak’s body betrays him, already hard from everything that came before.

Mortified, Hyuntak jerks, his hands scrambling to cover himself but Suho catches them, locking their fingers together in a firm clasp. “I’ll kiss you here,” Suho murmurs, voice thick. Then he leans down, brushing a single peck against Hyuntak’s cock.