Pairing: Gongchan/everyone, basically everyone/everyone
Summary: B1A4: high school students by day, professional cosplay troupe by night. The sex, of course, is just an added bonus. 7,895 words.
Sewing buttons onto a fake school uniform is one thing that Gong Chansik is, unfortunately, talented at. There are of a lot of other, more interesting things, though, that he’d rather be doing, like—
“Sucking cock,” Sunwoo says, lounging on Jinyoung’s bed, and Jinyoung gives him a glare.
“Sunwoo, not now,” Jinyoung grits out.
Sunwoo grins at him and shoots back, “Ha, you’re only mad because you’ve never experienced it before.”
“I—I have,” Jinyoung sputters, and Chansik snorts under his breath, but Junghwan catches it.
“Liar,” Junghwan sings, and Jinyoung reaches over to flick his forehead.
“That makes two of us, then,” Jinyoung says, and Junghwan scrunches his nose.
It’s Friday afternoon, and Dongwoo somehow still has the energy to nag Sunwoo about the car—“Did you remember to get the oil changed? Have you added gas? It’s a long drive, you know, and there aren’t—” and Sunwoo, though abrasive at times, is oddly diligent about these kinds of things. Maybe because he’s too damn competitive to let anything get in the way of another win at the convention this weekend. This time, it’s Junjou Romantica, Dongwoo’s understated and abso-fucking-lutely brilliant idea, at least by Sunwoo’s standards, because all he has to do is go pick up some giant bear plushies from the local warehouse store. Dongwoo likes reading these obscure shoujo-manga, which no one really gives him shit for anymore (they all have their kinks, too—Sunwoo and torn cloth, Jinyoung and ribbons), but the problem is, the characters’ school uniforms are always so simple that you have to get every detail perfect in order to please the judges.
This time, it’s Junjou Romantica, which is, fortunately, one of the less-obscure ones. Jinyoung is the one who designs the costumes, Chansik and Junghwan take turns putting them together, Dongwoo’s in charge of the hair and makeup, and Sunwoo does all the miscellaneous work—hardware, props, et cetera. They set up shop in Jinyoung’s house every week, because Jinyoung’s bedroom is in the basement (as per his parents’ attempts to remove themselves as much as possible from his obnoxious guitar playing). Junghwan usually does the more complicated outfits because he gets help from his older sister, but Chansik’s alone on these ones, the stupid, everyday clothes that they could just as easily buy from the nearest department store. Chansik vaguely remembers Dongwoo handing him some print-outs on Monday with a list of hand-delivered instructions: “Here, read some passages from the manga, it’ll give you an idea for the characters, I want Hiroki and Nowaki, and—”
Chansik vaguely remembers burying the print-outs under his homework and studying Jinyoung’s costume designs instead.
So that’s how they end up onstage late Saturday evening, Dongwoo and Chansik, staring blankly at Sunwoo in the audience who is frantically motioning to them. One moment, he has Junghwan’s hand in his, and the next, he’s wrapped around Junghwan like a fucking koala, or like—
“I think he wants us to act the part,” Dongwoo whispers, and Chansik gives a wary nod.
He’ll probably later regret his instructions to Dongwoo to “do whatever the hell you want, just make Sunwoo quiet down.”
But currently, Sunwoo’s being an obnoxious mess, and Jinyoung is hissing something in his ear, and Junghwan is laughing—probably at the fact that Sunwoo succumbed and actually read one of Dongwoo’s shoujo-manga.
The other acts have dances, songs, poses prepared, and Dongwoo and Chansik settle for an impromptu skit. They’ve been in this position one too many times, so it’s not entirely strange when Dongwoo nudges Chansik’s side and mumbles, “You’re—uh, supposed to be the initiator.”
“What the fuck is an initiator,” Chansik says, but with a cheeky little grin that he knows Dongwoo can see.
“Chansik, don’t,” Dongwoo starts, but furrows his eyebrows and rubs his temples. Sunwoo is giving them something of a thumbs-up.
“Say it,” Chansik says, his grin growing. His shoe lifts help him lope Dongwoo around the shoulders properly, and he can feel his own coarse, styled hair pressing against Dongwoo’s forehead.
“Dominant, Jesus, Chansik,” Dongwoo mutters, and Chansik laughs—it’s odd that Dongwoo’s still uncomfortable saying the terms out loud after years of reading fucking yaoi manga, pouring through volume after NC-17-rated volume ages before he turned seventeen.
“Love you,” Chansik says, loud enough for the judges to hear, and Dongwoo, catching onto the skit then, furrows his eyebrows more and draws his mouth in a thin line and scoffs.
Frankly, Chansik has no idea what he’s doing, but he takes from Sunwoo’s exaggerated signals that he’s doing a pretty good job. Chansik grins and tugs at his black turtleneck, and Dongwoo swings on his white wool coat, and they walk off stage with Chansik pressing a kiss into Dongwoo’s hair, and then into Dongwoo’s lips, giving the audience—and the judges—a tease.
About an hour later, when they’re back in their hotel room and safe from the crowd, Sunwoo shouts, “We’ve done it again!” giving a celebratory thump on the bathroom door, Dongwoo and Chansik supposedly changing out of their outfits inside.
The problem now is, Dongwoo is too fucking turned-on to even function.
“I knew this would happen,” Chansik says.
“Sorry,” Dongwoo mumbles, leaning against the counter. They’re still in full-gear, but Dongwoo now has his glasses on, propped up under his styled bangs. He pulls Chansik in by the beltloops for a kiss, and Chansik doesn’t object, not when Dongwoo’s clothed cock is pressing against Chansik’s thigh, and Dongwoo is breathy and needy under him.
Chansik knew this would happen, because he’s slept over at Dongwoo’s house too many times—too many nights of staying up late perusing through old manga, too many nights not to know that Dongwoo jacks off to this shit when he thinks Chansik is already asleep. And sometimes, Chansik gets uncomfortably turned-on, too, especially when Dongwoo starts making noises—
Like the ones he’s making right now, groaning and threading his fingers through Chansik’s hair as Chansik sinks to his knees. Chansik presses his face into Dongwoo’s crotch and takes a moment to admire his handiwork—expertly sewn seams, clasp hooked just right; all the easier to take it off, Chansik thinks, licking his lips unconsciously and dragging the zipper down with his teeth.
“God,” Dongwoo breathes, forcing Chansik impossibly closer, and Chansik grins around Dongwoo’s briefs.
“Pants too tight for boxers?” Chansik says, and Dongwoo’s hips jerk forward at the vibrations.
“It’s your fault,” Dongwoo chokes out, because Chansik is tugging down the briefs in one swift movement and running his tongue up and down the sides of Dongwoo’s cock.
The shower is on—has been on—and it muffles their sounds, but also makes the small room hotter, steam fogging up the mirror and the mirror subsequently making these obscene squeaking noises as Dongwoo slides up against it, his thin shirt riding up his back.
Chansik licks Dongwoo’s cock before taking it all in, mumbling, “Maybe I did it on purpose, hyung,” because he knows how much Dongwoo likes it, likes when Chansik talks at him, presses his hips back into the counter with thin, strong fingers. There will be bruises there the next day, but they’re not wearing anything revealing—not this time, at least—and if anyone sees, it’ll only add to the role-play.
When Dongwoo’s grip on Chansik’s hair tightens, Chansik feels his own pants also tightening. Chansik pulls back, but Dongwoo forces him forward—and there’s something about this Dongwoo, this unadulterated, forceful side of Dongwoo that they can only tease out of him when he’s either extremely angry or extremely aroused, that is so fucking hot. Dongwoo suddenly cants his hips forward, and Chansik, surprised, coughs at first, then pulls back, then takes Dongwoo whole again, letting out a hoarse moan. By now, Chansik’s grown pretty used to multi-tasking, and he unhooks his own pants with his right hand and steadies Dongwoo’s cock with his left. Chansik only trembles slightly when he wraps his hand around his own cock, just because it’s been a busy week for all of them and he hasn’t gotten any, and because Dongwoo’s cock is touching the back of his throat and Dongwoo throws his hand over his mouth to muffle a shout.
“Fuck, Chansik, I—” Dongwoo chokes out, and Chansik doesn’t stop, looking up at Dongwoo through his fringe. That’s the thing about Chansik that Sunwoo was probably talking about: he gets on with it, doesn’t stop, especially not when giving head in a hotel bathroom between conventions—which is probably where most of their sex happens, anyway.
Chansik bobs his head up and down, waiting until Dongwoo opens his eyes—then, meeting Dongwoo’s gaze, he gives one last hard suck, and then pulls back, and then Dongwoo is coming all over Chansik’s face and lips with a loud moan.
Chansik wipes it off his cheeks with his left hand, and stands shakily, giving Dongwoo an expectant look. Dongwoo only has to touch Chansik, to suck on the junction between his jaw and his neck, and wrap his hand around Chansik’s cock before Chansik comes, too, collapsing against Dongwoo and biting into Dongwoo’s shoulder to muffle an embarrassing whine.
They take a moment to catch their breaths, and Chansik rests his forehead against Dongwoo’s shoulder, glancing at Dongwoo’s pants.
“How many times has this happened,” Chansik mumbles, nudging at the stain on Dongwoo’s thigh with his knee, and Dongwoo laughs breathlessly.
“Payback,” he says and pushes Chansik off and kicks off the ruined pants. “It’s your fault, anyway,” he continues, and Chansik looks up to meet this attempted—and failed—seductive look that only comes out dorky and exaggerated.
“You’re sexier when you’re angry,” Chansik says, shoving Dongwoo, still half-dressed, into the shower.
“I feel like part of the reason why we keep winning is because we’re all boys,” Dongwoo says, rolling the flowery blue ribbon between his thumb and his forefinger.
“Or, maybe it’s because we’re fucking hot,” Sunwoo says, leaning back on Jinyoung’s rolling chair and crossing his feet up onto the bed.
“Not there,” Junghwan snaps, pushing Sunwoo’s feet off the flattened fabric. “Are you stupid, that outfit is yours!”
“Who cares, we still win,” Jinyoung says.
It started with Sunwoo and Junghwan, the only two ridiculous enough to put themselves out there and form an anime club at their high school. They were met with lukewarm interest—until Jinyoung, closet anime geek, joined. Then, it was suddenly “cool” to be part of that crowd, and Junghwan, though slightly ambivalent about it for a while, didn’t complain, because Jinyoung was also the only one who was willing to do the paperwork and officially register the club at the high school and find a teacher to be their advisor. Dongwoo didn’t join until his girlfriend at the time coaxed him to join, and then simultaneously broke up with him as soon as she saw Jinyoung. (She and Dongwoo had dated for a brief period of time because they read the same type of manga—and that only spelled disaster on both departments, especially when she started endorsing Shinyoung and Dongwoo didn’t find himself completely averse to the idea.)
The club was already going strong by the time Chansik found out about it, and they’d extended to reserving panels at nearby conventions, and even traveling hours to get to some of the more famous ones. Sunwoo was the one who approached Chansik in the hallway on a dare from Junghwan. Chansik was sitting by the back stairwell during study break, rereading one of the earlier volumes of Death Note because it was all he had with him, when Sunwoo came tumbling down the stairs. He stood awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head for a moment, before grinning and saying, “You would make the perfect L,” and running off before Chansik had the chance to even process what he’d said.
That was Chansik’s first convention outfit, and it was supposed to be his last, but one of the older girls in the club had obtained alcohol, and Chansik suddenly found himself grinding against Junghwan’s backside, and then he was waking up on the floor of a hotel room with Junghwan and Dongwoo in one bed, and Sunwoo and Jinyoung in another, and then it was all downhill from there.
It’s been a year since then, and they’ve progressed to arguing about whether or not to stuff Junghwan and Jinyoung in a schoolgirl outfit and some long, flowing robes, respectively.
“I’ll do it,” Dongwoo says quietly, but Jinyoung immediately shoots down that idea.
“We saw what happened last time,” he says, eyeing Chansik, who shrugs.
“On second thought,” Sunwoo says, grinning at Junghwan, “if we put Junghwan in that short skirt, I don’t know if I’d be able to control myself, either—”
“See,” Junghwan says, flushing and effectively cutting Sunwoo off with a hand over his face. “No skirts.”
“One day,” Sunwoo grumbles, and Junghwan glares.
Chansik doesn’t mind—not for now, at least, because the outfit he’s working on is so complicated that he’d rather not shirk it just to add another costume, anyway. Also, he has no idea where to get that strange pastel shade of green they would’ve needed for the schoolgirl uniform. The long white wigs aren’t a problem, because the cosplay is popular—which makes it about as difficult as the last one, because Chansik and Junghwan have to hand-stitch everything in order to make it the slightest bit impressive. And Chansik is currently finding himself especially miffed with the way the sleeves slit near the shoulders, so he blurts out, “Man, Sunwoo, why’d you have to go pick fucking Inuyasha?”
“It’s a classic,” Sunwoo protests, throwing his hands up. “And no one does it anymore!” He reaches forward and ruffles Chansik’s hair. “And look at your face, you have the perfect eyes for Sesshoumaru.”
“Ten bucks you didn’t even read the whole thing,” Junghwan says, eyes crossing as he threads a needle.
Sunwoo shrugs. “Doesn’t matter, it’s in the skill.”
“Our skill,” Chansik retorts, and Sunwoo laughs.
“Okay, but I’m a better actor than all of you put together.”
And Chansik can’t argue with that—Sunwoo and Junghwan still make the best facial expressions, and when the characters don’t have to be particularly foxy-looking, or tall-and-built, or youthfully lanky, the stage roles go to the two of them.
So why is it, then, that Chansik is supposed to end up onstage for his second convention in a row, with a giant furry worm draped over his shoulder and a stupidly itchy wig that gets caught on every other door-handle flowing behind him in—“Long shining tendrils of moonlight,” Jinyoung says flatly while fitting the wig cap onto Chansik’s hair.
Dongwoo paints stripes onto Chansik’s cheeks and tells him to knock ’em dead, and Chansik nudges at his fake sword and grits out that he will.
“Come on, it’s not that bad,” Sunwoo says. “You should be honored to be my older brother.”
Junghwan snorts, and then the stage manager calls them up.
It’s a private showing this time, and the judges get in real close to examine the needlework, and Chansik beams when they compliment the embroidery. He leaves the stage happy enough to tolerate walking through the convention a couple rounds to have pictures taken with the other contestants. It’s a tough draw at a high-visibility convention, and they come out with a second-place, so in celebration, Sunwoo manages to convince Jinyoung and Dongwoo to go buy alcohol.
And that’s how Jinyoung, Junghwan, and Dongwoo end up strip dancing on some of the hotel tables to a loud and raucous audience, and Sunwoo and Chansik end up stumbling into their hotel room before either of them has any idea what they’re doing.
“This is kind of gross,” Chansik mumbles against Sunwoo’s lips.
“Shut up,” Sunwoo says, and nudges a knee between Chansik’s thigh, and it’s all Chansik can do not to collapse against the wall, because he doesn’t want to give Sunwoo that kind of satisfaction (yet). Sunwoo does do them both a favor though, and pries off their wigs, and Chansik’s sweating because it’s suddenly hot. The bobby pins slide out, and Sunwoo’s mussed hair is surprisingly soft as Sunwoo slams Chansik against the wall again, pushing closer. It’s Sunwoo’s voice that always gets to Chansik, especially when he growls, “That’s the last time you get to play the older brother.”
“It wasn’t my—choice,” Chansik says, his breath hitching when Sunwoo grabs his crotch through the layers of fabric, having done this too many times and knowing exactly where to aim. Sunwoo grins against Chansik’s jaw, sucking at the skin. “Not there,” Chansik warns, because those things take a hell of a long time to fade, and they have another convention next weekend, and—
“You’re mine,” Sunwoo mumbles against Chansik’s neck, and not really is all Chansik can think, but he doesn’t have the mental capacity to voice it, not when his judgment is blurred with alcohol and Sunwoo is grinding against him, too many layers of fabric in the way. “Sorry,” Sunwoo says, and tugs at Chansik’s neckline with just enough strength to tear it, the obnoxious sound ripping through the room. Chansik pauses for a moment, shivering at the air suddenly blowing at his bare chest, but again—it’s something about Sunwoo, the fact that he has the fucking audacity to tear apart Chansik’s most intricate outfit yet, that makes Chansik both angry and irrationally aroused.
“Fuck you, hyung,” Chansik hisses, and Sunwoo laughs.
“I’d like to see you try,” he says, voice low, which is a signal that he really would like it—and it’s a flurry of movements and simply a matter of rips and kicks and snaps of thread, and they’re half-lying in a pile of red-and-white fake silk, Chansik straddling Sunwoo with the bottom half of his legs still buried under costume.
Sunwoo’s grin is suspiciously sly, one of his hands hidden in the folds of costume, and the other sliding up Chansik’s bare side. “You know,” Sunwoo continues as he splays his hand across Chansik’s torso, and Chansik trembles, despite himself. “One thing I like about these costumes,”—rough tug to bring them chest-to-chest—“is how easy,”—kiss, another hickey—“it is,”—Chansik moans, arching into Sunwoo’s touch—“to hide things.”
Chansik hears the too-familiar snap of a bottle of lube opening, and he narrows his eyes. “You planned this, didn’t you?”
Sunwoo’s grin only grows into something bordering on wolfish, and all Chansik wants to do is kiss it off him—so he does, biting down onto Sunwoo’s lower lip and eliciting a growl. He shoves his tongue into Sunwoo’s mouth, and Sunwoo sucks, hard, before pushing back; the thing about Sunwoo is that he’ll never go down without a fight, and that’s exactly what Chansik likes—Sunwoo puts up the strongest fight out of all of them, his only weakness being the occasional Junghwan, and more often than not, he gets what he wants. And Chansik’s too busy trying to dominate the one thing that Sunwoo sometimes eases up on—kisses—that he doesn’t notice Sunwoo’s hand moving between them, under the silk.
Chansik gasps when he feels Sunwoo’s hand suddenly between his legs, sliding up his spread thighs. “Fuck,” he groans when Sunwoo begins feeling around for Chansik’s entrance, spreading obscene amounts of lube everywhere, and Chansik can only flinch and shiver every time the liquid touches his skin, which is currently just short of on fire. Sunwoo has surprisingly deft fingers—not as nimble as Junghwan’s, but for not doing any sort of needle or design work, Sunwoo still manages to keep up, sliding his middle finger into Chansik as Chansik grits his teeth and instinctively pushes out.
“Relax,” Sunwoo says, struggling to keep his breath steady. “It’s just this for tonight. I bet I can get you to come with just my fingers.”
Chansik doesn’t doubt it—when Sunwoo curls his middle finger, hooking it, Chansik’s legs jerk and he yelps, tightening the headlock he currently has on Sunwoo. Sunwoo laughs against Chansik’s neck and eases another finger in while continuing to tease Chansik until Chansik is reduced to a fucking trembling mess in his arms, rocking into Sunwoo’s lap. Sunwoo grunts and arches forward to meet him, and Chansik moans at the friction, nails digging into Sunwoo’s shoulders.
Sunwoo torturously makes it a goal to draw out all variations of Chansik’s embarrassing whines, and the longer Chansik holds them in, the more prolonged Sunwoo makes it, teasing Chansik by pulling his fingers out and circling his entrance until Chansik is all but fucking himself on Sunwoo’s fingers. “Sunwoo, I—” Chansik starts, and finishes it in a shaky gasp when Sunwoo leans forward, pressing their crotches together again, and that’s when Chansik realizes that Sunwoo isn’t as in control as Chansik had originally thought. Chansik reaches between them to guide Sunwoo’s hand back toward his entrance, and Sunwoo’s fingers are stiff and slightly shaking as they both cry out, desperately moving against each other.
When Sunwoo hooks his finger inside Chansik again, Chansik comes with a violent jerk, and Sunwoo soon after, rubbing against Chansik’s thigh and feeling Chansik tighten around his finger. He groans into Chansik’s neck, and after a while, he mumbles, “We have to do this more often.”
Chansik snorts. “Isn’t Junghwan enough of a handful for you?”
“Yeah, well,” Sunwoo says, “Sometimes he’s with Jinyoung, like now, and—”
Chansik can hear Sunwoo’s words slurring as exhaustion overtakes him. Suddenly, there’s a thump against the door, immediately followed by some insistent pounding. “Yeah, coming,” Chansik says, stumbling toward the door with the remains of his costume tied around his lower half.
The door swings open to Dongwoo half draped over Junghwan, who’d been the one to fall against the door. Jinyoung is the only semi-conscious one—at least until Dongwoo tilts his head up, takes a long look at Chansik, and mutters, “You are several million people’s wet dream right now.”
Next week, Jinyoung decides that second place is unacceptable. Chansik assumes it’s because Jinyoung is still miffed about having to untag several Facebook pictures of himself shirtless and half-pantless and unabashedly feeling Junghwan up at that last convention. The other reason might be because—
“You are getting this outfit perfect, because it’s my outfit,” Jinyoung says for the fifteenth time that afternoon, swinging the rough design in Chansik’s face. “I want those glove slits exactly the same distance from each other, and the gloves have to be perfectly fitted.” He orders Sunwoo to about five secondhand stores around town for red colored contacts and special wire frames for Dongwoo, especially because Sunwoo is the only one not participating in the cosplay this time.
They put up with it for about two days—or until Junghwan and Chansik find themselves alone in the workshop together, Jinyoung out for a tutoring session. And Junghwan is the one who comes up with the brilliant idea. “This is not okay,” Junghwan starts, and Chansik nods alone, biting pins between his lips and running his hand down a half-sewn collared shirt—a fucking collared shirt that won’t even show, that they could buy from any boutique in a five-kilometer radius. But Jinyoung wants it “fitted, smooth, and exactly like that one,” he’d said, pointing at a design that he’d straight-up copied from some half-a-second frame in one of the middle filler episodes. “I propose a strike.”
“He’ll kill us,” Chansik mumbles, spitting out the needles and some stray thread. “Plus, we’re already halfway done with these outfits.” And they look frustratingly good, too.
“This is so stupid, and I refuse to wear a blonde wig,” Junghwan says, and Chansik laughs.
“You’d look ugly, anyway, hyung,” he says. Junghwan sticks his tongue out but doesn’t protest. “Jinyoung will probably let the hair thing go, as long as the dark wig is styled exactly right. He’d probably rather you look good, to be honest.”
“This doesn’t solve our problem,” Junghwan says, and when Chansik looks over, Junghwan’s knuckles are white around the dark purple fabric, nearly tearing it apart.
“Remember, he doesn’t have all the power,” Chansik says, rubbing his chin. “He might be the costume designer, but we’re the ones who put it together.”
“Exactly,” Junghwan replies, exasperated. “Which is why a strike—wait.”
And the only (and, hopefully, last) time Chansik had seen a glint that suspicious in Junghwan’s eye was when he’d spiked Sunwoo’s drink at a sleepover after they’d gotten into some fight and Sunwoo refused to apologize, and Junghwan then proceeded to strut around in sailor-fuku (from where he’d obtained that, Chansik has no idea) until Sunwoo cracked and gave Junghwan much more than just an apology.
The sex has been going on for a while. Given that Chansik’s rite of passage into the group was based on sex, Chansik could only speculate how long the four of them had been at it before he joined. “Uh, a couple months, probably?” Junghwan told him when he’d asked, because Jinyoung could only rub his temples in embarrassment, and Dongwoo hid his face against the desk, and Sunwoo was too proud to say anything. “You, my friend, are shameless.” Dongwoo and Jinyoung were so embarrassed then because they’d been the ones who started it, playing up their little “pairing” thing for the audience, and then somehow finding themselves in an actual relationship before they knew what the hell they were doing. Sunwoo was somewhat jealous of the whole thing, but Junghwan only replied, “Ew, gross, not with you,” when Sunwoo asked him out. “Jinyoung, on the other hand—,”which then sparked Sunwoo’s brilliant idea of seven-never-have-I-ever-minutes-in-heave
“’Wait’ what?” Chansik says slowly, and Junghwan’s grin grows.
“Give me that,” Junghwan says, motioning to the costume that Chansik is currently working on, which happens to be Jinyoung’s. “Do mine, and I’ll do yours and Jinyoung’s.”
“No unnecessary lace,” Chansik warns, and Junghwan winks at him.
“Don’t worry, I’m on your side. You’ll like this one.”
And by the time Junghwan finally finishes on Saturday afternoon, there’s no time for a dress rehearsal, and Jinyoung herds them all into the dressing rooms with Sunwoo carrying the excessive amount of props in a huge trash bag. “There better be some really fucking huge prize for this,” Sunwoo mumbles.
“My pride,” Jinyoung snaps, and Chansik just catches the sly smile on Junghwan’s face before he hangs Jinyoung’s outfit in his dressing room and disappears into Dongwoo’s.
Chansik has trouble believing that the shriek he hears a couple moments later had come from a human being.
The problem with Junghwan is that he knows all of their measurements by heart. Chansik is working on it, but he can’t be assed to memorize them like Junghwan can—Junghwan’s done stage work before, and he’s been in theater, having to memorize lines, movements, directions, so a couple numbers is easier than cake. And the problem with Junghwan is that he knows all of their measurements by heart, right down to ring sizes for each of their fingers.
Thus, Jinyoung knows exactly who to suspect.
“Lee fucking Junghwan,” he growls, and Chansik slips into his own dressing room to avoid the wrath.
“Looks good, doesn’t it?” Junghwan calls, and his voice is light, careless, and much too satisfied with himself.
It’s only when Chansik glances at his own outfit—or, what was supposed to have been his own outfit—when he realizes exactly what Junghwan had done.
Chansik has to admit, though, when he puts on the collared shirt and the slitted gloves and the tuxedo, the tie, the red contact lenses, that Junghwan sure did his research. “Wow,” Chansik breathes, and Junghwan doesn’t miss it.
“I bet you look dashing,” Junghwan calls again from his own stall, and Jinyoung grumbles something incomprehensible. There isn’t time to get new outfits, of course, and Jinyoung somehow has to put up with it, because these are by far Junghwan’s best creations yet. He’s gotten every detail, right down to the folds and ruffles in the collars, bowties and flower-adorned top hats, pinstripes and ribbons on the socks. And Jinyoung has a strange weakness for ribbons.
“You outdid yourself, hyung,” Chansik says, and when Junghwan pushes his way into Chansik’s dressing room clad in a dark purple coat and blue contacts, Chansik adds, “Alois.”
“Always knew you’d make ‘one hell of a butler,’” Junghwan says, smoothing down Chansik’s coattails and dragging him out into the open area, where Jinyoung is begrudgingly getting his make-up done and eyepatch fastened and hair chalked a dark teal by a trying-not-to-laugh Claude-Dongwoo.
The public stage is a success, audience squealing and howling and wolf-whistling, and all Chansik has to say to Jinyoung is, “Young master,” before the audience is half ready to carry them offstage and into the trophy room and set them up as the trophies.
After the showing, Jinyoung and Chansik have to share a dressing room to leave spares for the next couple of participants, and the first thing Jinyoung hisses when the curtain pulls shut is, “You were part of this, too, weren’t you?”
Chansik smiles into the mirror, adjusting the strand of hair that hangs down between his eyes. “You were being bossy.”
“Not bossy enough, obviously,” Jinyoung mumbles, and Chansik laughs.
“Come on, we won, and you look fantastic, hyung. Look at all those ribbons.”
“They were supposed to be for you,” Jinyoung says.
And when Chansik raises an eyebrow, saying, “Oh?” he knows that Jinyoung immediately regrets letting those words slip out. Chansik moves behind Jinyoung more quickly than he ever thought he could and pushes Jinyoung toward the mirror. “It’s not hot if they’re on you?” he says, pressing his lips to Jinyoung’s ear. Jinyoung shivers visibly, and Chansik continues, “Because I beg to differ.”
“Not now, Chansik, not in here—fuck,” Jinyoung finishes, clenching his teeth to bite back a moan, because Chansik is grinding against his backside. Jinyoung closes his eyes just as Chansik grips his hips, and Chansik stops. “What the fuck, Chansik—”
“Thought you said not here,” Chansik says. Jinyoung looks up again and their gazes meet in the mirror. “Look at yourself, hyung.” Chansik carefully undoes the eyepatch, and the lavender lens underneath is partly terrifying and partly sexy, and Jinyoung has a ribbon tied around his neck to substitute for a bowtie. “Now I know why you like your ribbons so much.”
“Fuck you, Chansik,” Jinyoung grits, and it’s becoming sort of a pattern, Chansik thinks. Chansik takes his time in undoing one of the ribbons sewn into Jinyoung’s pocket, not once looking away from Jinyoung, and as the silk slides around Jinyoung’s wrist, Chansik can hear Jinyoung’s breathing quicken, becoming more labored. And surprisingly, Jinyoung doesn’t object when Chansik ties a tight knot, binding Jinyoung’s wrists together.
“You like that?” Chansik says, running his gloved hands up and down Jinyoung’s arms.
“If you tell any of the others, you’re dead,” Jinyoung manages to get out, and Chansik laughs.
“Don’t worry, hyung,” Chansik says. “Your secret’s safe, for now.”
He decides not to let Jinyoung answer to that, and decides to cup Jinyoung’s crotch, which has Jinyoung stumbling and barely catching himself against the mirror by his shoulder. Jinyoung pants as Chansik continues to work him through the fabric—Junghwan’s fabric—that, again, he’d taken hours upon painstaking hours to stitch. “There’s no easy way out of this, is there,” Chansik mumbles, feeling the area around Jinyoung’s thighs and purposely pressing down on Jinyoung’s sensitive spots, leaving Jinyoung gripping at the edge of the mirror with what limited motion he has.
“Chansik, just hurry the fuck up, Junghwan and Dongwoo—”
“Know exactly what’s going on in here,” Chansik says, settling for the zipper on the side and maneuvering his way to Jinyoung’s underw—“Wow, hyung.”
“Blame Jung—hwan—” Jinyoung says, ending in a groan when the fabric of Chansik’s gloves touches his bare cock.
“I’ll remember to thank him later,” Chansik says, flicking his thumb against the slit, and Jinyoung chokes.
Chansik pushes Jinyoung right up against the mirror, and the glass fogs up when Jinyoung breathes on it, and there’s just enough room to fit Jinyoung’s bound wrists, the ribbon holding up nicely, even as Jinyoung muffles his grunts into it to avoid being heard from the other changing stalls. Jinyoung’s shout is hoarse and high-pitched when he comes, tensing against the mirror.
And Jinyoung, for how lazy (“And old,” Junghwan would add) he is, recovers surprisingly quickly; Chansik has barely pulled away when Jinyoung has the ribbon off his wrists and on the floor. He’s also surprisingly strong, as can be attested to by Dongwoo, and Jinyoung slips out and shoves Chansik’s back against the mirror, mumbling something along the lines of, “Enough of this,” and sliding down to his knees.
Chansik knows he’s in for a ride when Jinyoung grabs the coattails and the backs of his thighs all in one movement and tugs him forward. “Where the hell did you learn to—” Chansik starts, but his breath catches in his throat when Jinyoung presses his face against Chansik’s clothed crotch; because Chansik isn’t wearing underwear either, and somehow, Jinyoung knows it.
Jinyoung doesn’t seem to give Junghwan’s outfit any fucks—he glances at the tent in Chansik’s pants and wraps his mouth around it, and the saliva that drips down his chin just makes it hotter, especially when Chansik bucks forward and Jinyoung grunts, pushing Chansik’s hips back with strong hands.
It’s the hands that do it, Jinyoung’s hands that are strong enough to hold Chansik back and simultaneously grope Chansik’s ass through the slacks that Junghwan has stitched just a size too tight, and Chansik’s coming, coming against the fabric and Jinyoung’s mouth, shouting into his sleeve.
Jinyoung stands and holds Chansik up, and leans in to kiss Chansik, ruffling his already mussed hair. “I wish I could be angry at you for more than two seconds.”
Chansik laughs breathlessly into Jinyoung’s mouth, popping the first button on Jinyoung’s shirt and pushing it off his shoulders. “Love you too, young master.”
So by the next convention, they’re all somewhat sated (though it’s been a little more than a month for Dongwoo, who has gone back to reading yaoi manga and getting a head start on Sekaiichi Hatsukoi)—except Junghwan. And Chansik makes it his goal to point that out every time the five of them get together.
“Do you guys honestly think that Dongwoo and I didn’t do anything in our Kuroshitsuji outfits back there?” Junghwan says, ironing on the school emblem patch to Chansik’s next outfit. Jinyoung and Sunwoo go silent then—they’d been pestering Junghwan, and Junghwan takes it surprisingly well; Dongwoo is absorbed in manga, and no one knows whether Junghwan is telling the truth or not. Junghwan grins and hums and presses down the light purple fabric, swinging the blazer’s lapels back and forth.
“Okay, seriously,” Sunwoo says to Chansik later that day; they live the farthest from Jinyoung and usually carpool together in the evenings, especially when Junghwan and Dongwoo, who share morning classes with Jinyoung, decide to spend the night. “Of all people, how do we not know Junghwan’s kinks?”
“He finds everything kinky,” Chansik says, and Sunwoo laughs.
“Honestly, that kid has the power to tease us all to our wits’ ends, and there’s nothing we can do about it,” Sunwoo groans, and Chansik looks down at the bag in his lap; Junghwan instructed him to take the blazer home and finish the rest of the uniform by himself (“You know my measurements, right?”) because Junghwan has a big exam tomorrow (“Says the kid who’s spending the night with Jinyoung and Dongwoo,” Chansik snapped, and Junghwan shrugged, giving the excuse of study buddies).
“Hm,” Chansik says suddenly, and Sunwoo looks over at him. We’re the ones who put it together comes to mind, and Chansik clenches the fabric of the blazer in his fist. Junghwan isn’t the only one who can mess with outfits last-minute—and it’s his fault, anyway, for trusting Chansik with the entire task, especially right after inadvertently showing Chansik what, exactly, he could do with this sort of power.
It’s going to be a long-shot, but the rewards could be far more than simply worth it.
“You read the instructions, right?” Chansik says with his eyes squeezed shut.
“This will work, I swear,” Dongwoo replies, and although Dongwoo tends to be the most careful out of all of them, it doesn’t quell Chansik’s anxiety all that much.
“I know it’ll work, hyung,” Chansik says, “but the question is whether I’ll look tragic in this or not.”
“You look great in anything, trust me,” Dongwoo says. “Leave the dye in for twenty minutes and come back, and we’ll rinse it out.”
“I can’t believe I’m letting you do this.”
“It’ll look better than a wig,” Dongwoo says, patting Chansik’s shoulder, and Chansik groans. He can’t really object—the blonde wigs usually look the worst, anyway, and out of all of them, he’ll look the best blonde. The hotel maids will have a hell of a time cleaning this up, though, but Chansik is a little preoccupied with the abnormally puffy sleeves of the dress—yes, dress—that Junghwan will wear tomorrow. Dongwoo is the only one Chansik can trust not to let out the secret, and fortunately, Dongwoo is also the one in charge of dyeing Chansik’s hair; when Dongwoo glances at the dress, he says, “Are you sure that’ll fit?”
“It’ll accentuate his curves,” Chansik says, and Dongwoo snorts. And then both of them fall into an awkward silence, because Junghwan actually does have a fair amount of curvature to him, and it’s actually pretty—
Dongwoo clears his throat and says, “Well, good luck tomorrow, hope he doesn’t maul you.”
Chansik grins. “If Jinyoung didn’t kill me, I feel like I have pretty good odds with Junghwan.”
“Uh,” Dongwoo says, rubbing the back of his head and looking away, and Chansik stares expectantly. “Here,” he mumbles, tossing Chansik something, a bottle of—
“Hyung, you’re assuming that he’ll—”
“I feel like you’re pretty sure about this,” Dongwoo says with a laugh. “And even if Junghwan isn’t big on cross-dressing, the Chansik I know—when you want in someone’s pants, you get it.”
And the next day, Junghwan—who’s overly giddy at being done with his exams—certainly doesn’t expect it when Chansik walks into the changing room alone, if his startled jump is anything to go by. It’s a nicer changing room this time, with vanity lights all around the mirror and a separate, larger room for Dongwoo and Jinyoung and Sunwoo. Dongwoo had somehow convinced Jinyoung to leave Chansik and Junghwan alone—“It fits the pairings in the anime more, anyway,” and Junghwan gives Chansik a once-over before looking away—and coming back for a double-take before settling on his hair.
“You dyed it,” Junghwan says, and his voice is oddly uneven.
Chansik grins. “Have I finally stumbled upon your kink, hyung?”
“Nope,” Junghwan sings, breaking the gaze and looking back into the mirror so nonchalantly that Chansik grits his teeth together and drops the outfits, hidden under a bag, onto the counter. Dongwoo has already finished their make-up (“Why do I have so much more eye shadow than everyone else?” Junghwan had been complaining), and Chansik motions toward the bag.
“Change,” he says, and Junghwan laughs.
“Don’t order your hyung around like that,” he says, but lifts the white plastic anyway, turning away as he wrestles with the coathanger.
Chansik watches Junghwan carefully when Junghwan’s gaze finally comes to settle on the dress. Junghwan stills for an almost undetectable moment, blinking once before falling into his usual grin again. “Okay, Chansik,” he says. “Was this a dare from Jinyoung?”
“Nope,” Chansik says, leaning purposely close to Junghwan, who tenses as Chansik’s breath brushes past his neck. “I just wanted to see you in a dress.”
“Teenagers,” Junghwan sighs, and Chansik punches his shoulder right before Junghwan tugs off his t-shirt and jeans and steps into the dress. Junghwan has a soft body, and Chansik, in his blue-purple blazer—another detailed school uniform—can’t help but stare. Junghwan notices and laughs. “Like what you see?” He slides his arms into the sleeves, murmuring, “Wow, you did a good job,” as the fabric clings right against his forearms, “Looks like you finally got around to memorizing the measurements,” and he waves into the area behind him. “Zip me up.”
Chansik steps up behind Junghwan and pulls the zipper up slowly, trailing his fingers against the inside of the dress right up Junghwan’s back, and Junghwan talks all the way through it, saying, “You know, you ruined the entire point of the cosplay, I was supposed to be a girl dressing up as a boy, which would’ve been convenient because I am a boy, and—”
And then, Chansik kisses the back of Junghwan’s neck, right where the white collar meets his hairline. Junghwan cuts himself off in a muffled gasp, and when Chansik looks up, Junghwan is staring at their reflection in the mirror, hands gripping the edge of the counter and knuckles white.
“Because I—I am a boy—and then the—the outfit—” Junghwan tries to continue, but it’s too late.
“I knew it,” Chansik breathes. “You’re into this, hyung, aren’t you?”
“If you didn’t know, you wouldn’t have made this—” Junghwan starts, getting defensive, but Chansik turns him around and kisses his still-moving mouth, sucking on his lower lip and hoisting him onto the abnormally deep counter.
“Hyung,” Chansik says, grinning at Junghwan and squeezing his thighs, and Junghwan wraps his arms around Chansik. As he leans forward, the zipper undoes itself, but neither of them can bring themselves to care, not when Junghwan is desperately sucking Chansik’s tongue into his mouth and wrapping his legs around Chansik’s torso. Chansik pushes Junghwan back against the mirror and crawls up onto the counter, kicking his shoes off and pulling Junghwan into his lap. “Hyung,” Chansik repeats, lower this time, and Junghwan responds by grinding down into Chansik’s lap, skirt and everything.
Chansik groans, and Junghwan makes quick work of Chansik’s slacks—Junghwan knows exactly what clasps Chansik likes to use for school uniforms and undoes it with two fingers, pushing Chansik’s pants down just enough so he can practically sit on Chansik’s erect cock. Junghwan unbuttons Chansik’s shirt—carefully, because they still have a showing today—and Chansik throws his head back against the mirror when Junghwan shifts in his lap, rubbing their cocks together.
“Do you—have,” Junghwan breathes, and Chansik nods, fumbling around the counter and finding the bottle Dongwoo had given him buried under the plastic clothing bag. And when Junghwan looks simultaneously miffed and relieved, Chansik exactly understands Sunwoo’s satisfaction from before.
The mesh that Chansik used to shape the dress is scratchy against his hand as he reaches under the folds of fabric. Junghwan’s skin suddenly feels ten times smoother, causing Chansik to rub his palms against it, humming into Junghwan’s neck in satisfaction. Junghwan, though, won’t have any of it—he whines impatiently, reaching between them to grab Chansik’s cock—“Shit, Junghwan,” Chansik says, because how Junghwan got lube all over his hands Chansik has no clue, and Junghwan is pumping him, shuddering against him when Chansik eases a finger in.
“Ch—Chansik,” Junghwan groans. “As much as—as nice as this is, we don’t really have time—” and when Junghwan assumes that Chansik still doesn’t get the picture, scissoring Junghwan open with agonizing slowness, he grunts, “Gong Chansik, I can fuck myself better than you’re—”
“Then do it,” Chansik says. Junghwan’s stare when he looks up is challenging, and Chansik pulls his mouth into a small smirk.
And suddenly, Chansik’s back is flush against the mirror, and Junghwan is holding Chanisk’s hips in place with his knees, guiding Chansik’s cock toward his hole with a sure hand. The fact that they’re both still dressed—Chansik can’t see what’s going on—makes everything a little hotter, and Chansik’s grip on Junghwan’s arms tightens when he feels Junghwan slide down onto him, letting out a long, shaky breath.
“So you did do something with Dongwoo,” Chansik mumbles, noting the minimal prep, and Junghwan’s expression changes into this annoyingly cheeky grin—that Chansik ends up kissing off him, and Chansik bucks his hips up for good measure, causing Junghwan to yelp and tighten around him.
Junghwan is a screamer, and Chansik fucking loves it, loves forcing that shouty voice out of him. So the invitation for Junghwan to fuck himself only holds true for a short bit, while Junghwan moves up and down, carefully angling Chansik’s thrusts. Because Chansik can only control himself for so long—they have a showing to attend, anyway—and he growls, gripping Junghwan’s hips through the cotton dress, through all the mesh and fabric and begins meeting Junghwan halfway—and pushing more, forcing Junghwan down onto him.
Junghwan lets out these obscene, drawn out moans as he arches toward Chansik. And Chansik’s hands have wandered under the dress, pressing bruises into Junghwan’s thighs as he moves Junghwan for him, Junghwan a panting mess with his arms wrapped around Chansik’s neck. He starts, voice cracking, “Chansik, I—” and then comes all over the inside of the dress. Chansik fucks him through it, coming with a hoarse cry half-muffled into Junghwan’s neck.
They’re both breathing hard afterward, Junghwan kissing Chansik’s jaw lazily, and Chansik biting his lip, tilting his head to Junghwan’s tongue.
The knock on the door is too well-timed not to be planned. And Jinyoung’s voice is flat, angry, and slightly—breathy, when he says, “Get your asses out here right now, and make sure Junghwan’s is still in one piece.”
Junghwan and Chansik look at each other and laugh, and Junghwan leans down for a slow, languid kiss, lips moving against each other’s before Chansik pulls back and says, “So that’s why you were so averse to dressing up as—” and Junghwan slaps him and Chansik laughs, adding, “I should’ve said that onstage, perfectly in-character.”
They blame Junghwan’s trembling legs on the short-stumpy heels, and the skit is so convincing that their team claims first without much competition, especially with Chansik’s loud “Haruhiiiii!” and Sunwoo carrying that ridiculous little pink bunny around and Jinyoung mourning his separation from his (nonexistent) twin lover.
And on the long car ride back, Jinyoung is already drawing in his sketchbook. It’s not unusual for him, but when Chansik looks over and spots cat ears, he pales—just in time for Jinyoung to call out, “Okay, so who wants to be my Sacrifice this week?”
a/n: animanga used: junjou romantica, inuyasha, kuroshitsuji (black butler), and ouran high school host club with this dress. (and guess what the sacrifice one at the end is from hehe). so this is for sai12 and judysaurus and bulletthestars because we decided to do......welp, it's pretty self-explanatory. /o/ also potaoto because gongchan. also thanks to halcyondusk for the first couple of lines. (also can you tell i really like the idea of junghwan in a dress /goes away)
also big huge thanks to all readers for always sticking with me ;w;