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#so lets take massages as a soonhoon thing (like gym) (like producing in the studio) and make it seoksoonhoon
seoksoonhoon · 2 years
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gonna turn this into seoksoonhoon so badly try stopping me please dont what is this picture SUPPOSED. TO. MEAN.
necessary disclaimer i don't know how a concert works + seoksoon centric (smitten soonyoung)
threw this out in 10min
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“No post-concert dinner today?” Seokmin asks, pointing in the (otherwise) usual route to the carpark. His voice is cautious, patient, strong in the same way he sings. Soonyoung freezes, regardless—something that feels a lot like regret, like "oh fuck I didn't tell him"—turning to meet Seokmin’s eyes.
“No, not today, uh–” A cough. “Jihoon and I made some arrangements… have some things to do there–” Soonyoung gestures vaguely in the direction of the waiting room. Seokmin wraps his arms around Soonyoung’s shoulders. Oh, god. His palms are sweaty. This has no right being this challenging, this one sentence—
“We’re gonna get a massage. Yeah.”
(The flourish of his hands, for finality as much as to curb his anxiousness.)
It is rather ironic, if anything—how flustered Soonyoung can get around Seokmin. On any other day, from the past three and a half years they’ve been together, their increasing proximity would be no big deal, but, god, Seokmin was glowing tonight. Seokmin was… is—a ball of indispensable energy.
(And that is definitely, definitely what makes it so difficult today, Seokmin’s makeup still untouched, black eyeshadow still smoky, the sparkles of his eyes accentuated so much more. The moon blasting its radiance in the dark, Soonyoung’s light miniscule beyond compare.
Seokmin’s energy, lustrous. Seokmin’s energy, a ball of fire. Seokmin’s energy, a campfire. A heater in their living room during winter. Seokmin, comforting where he burns.)
“Can I join?” Seokmin then says, tilting Soonyoung’s head up with both hands. Oh, he thinks, god, was Seokmin ever this close, all for him, all within his reach? Their proximity, foreheads almost touching, Seokmin’s hands on his neck, his cheeks, fixing his hair, his smile, his smile—
“I thought you didn’t like massages? That time, in Bangkok like, four years ago, you tried it, and, I– Yeah–” Soonyoung buries his head in the crook of Seokmin’s neck, his face flushing red, head too heavy with the desire to scream. His heart is palpitating too fast for post-concert adrenaline, too fast to slow down now—god.
(He does scream, in fact—but it’s all muffled Seokmin presses him closer to the fabric of the shirt he’s wearing, and Soonyoung is so grateful, so thankful, so, so grateful for Lee Seokmin and his stupid thin black tank top. Fuck.)
Seokmin only rests his head on top of Soonyoung’s. “Relax, Hosa. Concert over. Let’s go to Jihoonie-hyung now, okay?”
Seokmin doesn’t complain at all (grateful) when he thoroughly melts into his embrace, allowing himself to be carefully guided through the members grabbing their stuff and staff members packing up the area. There’s a door which is half-opened, which Seokmin (again, so carefully!) tilts up his head. “Is this the room?” and Soonyoung’s response merely comes in the form of a nod.
“Mmhm. Also, Soonie-hyung, just between you and I, four years ago, ah, I didn’t have you and Jihoonie-hyung yet, okay? I’ll try anything with you both, you know that, right? Love you.” Seokmin presses a quiet kiss to his forehead, a kind of silent appeasement that feeds into Soonyoung's noisy head.
(When they enter the room, shrouded by light, Seokmin moves away to pounce on Jihoon, who greets him with an equally ferocious tackle (and kiss)
Soonyoung thinks—yeah. He knows.)
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