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Title: Dress You Up (In My Love)
Fandom: TVXQ
Pairing: Yunho/Changmin; Changmin/Yunho
Rating: NC17
Summary: Yunho’s on a deadline and has lost all his design inspiration. Changmin has an idea that proves mutually beneficial.
Notes: AU. Very early birthday fic for [ profile] diagon ;) Fashion!HoMin, comes between Perfect Fit and Roman Holiday.
Content notes: Dogging. Cross-dressing. Boot worship.

Dress You Up (In My Love)

Changmin opens the door to his studio, juggling the extra-large wild cherry latte, the pumpkin and cinnamon muffin in its bag, the book of swatches he’d taken home to peruse last night, and his leather satchel. His keys snag on his scarf as he takes quick steps across the stripped wooden floorboards and puts everything down on the nearest table. Extricating the keys, he returns them to his pocket and unwinds the scarf from his neck as he glances at his workspace.

There’s a crumpled paper bag on his drawing table, abandoned right on top of the sketches he’d been working on yesterday. Changmin goes a little closer. Picking up a mechanical pencil, he pokes open the bag and looks inside.

Pear drops.

Making a disgusted face, Changmin backs away. Pineapple lumps he can deal with. Pineapple lumps are quite nice. But pear drops—they’re simply unacceptable. It’d be bad enough if they did actually taste of pears, but they don’t. They taste of evil, but in a bland, cloying way, plus they’re the colour of phlegm during a bad cold, and...

Changmin feels sick now. His hand slips and he knocks the pear drops into the nearest wastepaper bin.

Mood improved, Changmin looks around the studio. He remembers the good old days when this place was beautiful and austere, all clean lines and immaculate surfaces, angle-poise lamps positioned just so and fabric carefully laid out on the cutting table and forms like blank canvases waiting for his art.

That was before Yunho. Now the forms all have names painted on their necks, there’s a bolt of cloth hanging from the latch that opens the skylight—how did Yunho manage to get it up there?—and there’s a paper pattern on the floor and another obscuring the prettily-arranged images on Changmin’s mood board.

A tumbled pile of CDs clutter Yunho’s drawing table alongside a sheaf of Gwangju warehouse manifestos. There’s the signed photo of Siwon that always manages to fall in the bin whenever Changmin strolls past and which suffers the same fate again now. Several sketchbooks of different sizes lie closed, pencil shavings littering their surfaces, and there’s three coffee mugs lined up in a row. One is half empty; the others have a circle of dregs dried onto the bottom.

Yunho’s shoes are still by the door. The sofa bed is still in its sofa form. Yunho has never been able to work out how to open it, no matter how many times Changmin has demonstrated the technique. That can mean only one thing.

With a sigh, Changmin picks up the wild cherry latte and goes into the largest of the two fabric rooms.

Yunho is asleep on several rolls of coloured cotton, head pillowed on a tacky leopard-print fake fur, body blanketed by silk and jersey knit.

Changmin looks down at him with a surge of snuggly warm affection. Yunho works so hard. Not only is he designing for Evisu and taking care of their apartment and their two insane dogs, Lagerfeld and Pucci, who had somehow barged into their lives courtesy of a friend of a friend who was possibly on the run from the police—Yunho was rather vague about the details and Changmin decided not to ask questions—he’s also overseeing the market stalls in Gwangju and keeping his business partner Donghae in order, plus maintaining a social life with all the friends they’d made on Stitched Up and giving the occasional guest lecture on urban style at the university Jiheun attends.

He does all this whilst Changmin flies back and forth to Milan for his work at Versace. Perhaps it’s not the best way to conduct a relationship still in its first flush of excitement and passion, but Yunho never complains at Changmin’s absences or his grouchiness while he waits for the jet lag to clear or just his grouchiness, full stop.

Even so, Yunho shouldn’t sleep on the fabric.

Changmin nudges his boyfriend’s feet. “Hey. Sleeping beauty.”

“Hrghhh.” Yunho stirs amongst the cloth and shuffles a bit as he wakes. He blears up, focusing first on the coffee and then on Changmin’s face. A smile brightens Yunho’s dozy features. “Oh,” he says, “it’s an angel.”

“Got you a muffin, too,” Changmin says.

Yunho’s smile flicks onto full beam. “Not an angel, a seraph!”

“Threw away your skanky pear drops.”

The smile dims slightly. “They’re still in the bag, right?”

Changmin gives him a withering stare. “You are not fetching them out of the bin.”

Carefully Yunho moves the silk and jersey knit to one side, then he sits up. “I didn’t want them anyway,” he says, but there’s that look on his face and Changmin knows he’ll have to toss the pear drops out of the window unless he wants to spend the rest of the day tasting the manky things whenever he steals a kiss.

Yunho gets to his feet and replaces the rolls of cloth on the shelves. Changmin keeps hold of the latte. He’s learned from experience not to hand over hot beverages until Yunho is out of the fabric room. He watches Yunho put things away and realises that the shelves have been rearranged.

“Yesterday these were all ordered according to palette,” Changmin says, frowning. “Please explain your logic regarding the current arrangement.”

“Ah.” Yunho combs his hands through his hair, attempting to make it lie flat. “See, I was trying to finish up my collection and I had this amazing idea to order all our fabric alphabetically, first by type of cloth and then by colour. So here,” he touches the nearest set of shelves, “we have velour and velvet and voile, and you can see I’ve arranged it alphabetically by shade and hue.”

He seems proud of this completely ridiculous achievement. Changmin stares. “How long did this take?”

Yunho yawns. “Um, a couple of hours?” He smiles.

Changmin narrows his eyes.

“Five hours,” Yunho says. “Okay, six. Eight. Eight!”

Changmin turns around and leaves the fabric room, carrying the coffee with him.

“You don’t think it’s a good idea?” Yunho bounces after him, does a handstand that morphs into a forward roll, then vanishes into the bathroom before Changmin can inform him in extensive detail why it’s a terrible idea.

While Yunho is performing his morning ablutions, Changmin puts down the coffee and rustles a hand into the paper bag to steal a piece of muffin. He needs the sugar hit and he’s not going to risk eating a pear drop from the bin. By the time Yunho emerges from the bathroom a few minutes later, Changmin is wiping crumbs from the corner of his mouth and half the coffee has gone.

Yunho’s happy expression falters only a little.

Refusing to feel guilty, Changmin busies himself rearranging his mechanical pencils. He flicks a look at Yunho. “I missed you last night.”

Yunho brightens. “I missed you too, baby.”

“No,” Changmin says with emphasis, “I really missed you.”

“Oh.” Comprehension dawns. Yunho tries to grab at him. “Oh. Were you horny, baby? You should’ve come over. You should’ve called me.”

Changmin turns away. Never mind that he’d been so horny he’d had to give himself three orgasms before he could fall asleep. He is never going to admit that. Nor to the fact that he’d jerked off watching episode seven of season five of Stitched Up. He’s never going to get tired of that episode. It has so many highlights: Yunho in the filthy-hot outfit Changmin had designed for him; their bantering in the work room while the sexual tension wound tighter and tighter; plus, the outfit Yunho had made for him had been sexy as all fuck. By the time Changmin reached orgasm he’d been so worked up he wasn’t sure if he was getting off to Yunho or the clothes.

“I wouldn’t have interrupted your work,” Changmin says, trying to bury these distracting thoughts. “You’re on a deadline.”

“I’d have pushed it back for you.” Yunho gives him a soppy look.

That’s the thing. Changmin knows he would.

These days, Changmin plans for every last eventuality. He blocks off a schedule and manages it to perfection, always leaving himself extra time for unforeseen circumstances such as sewing machines blowing up and garments melting. But Yunho... He always leaves things to the last minute, and while it worked in his favour on Stitched Up, in real life it’s a less desirable trait, especially when a third party is waiting on him.

Changmin frets about this. He’s tried to instil best practice and lead by example, which is the main reason they’re sharing the studio, but most days Yunho ambles around chatting on the phone or trying to decide which is the second-best Aqua song of all time, ‘My Oh My’ or ‘Doctor Jones’. This debate had been partially resolved when Changmin said that actually, everyone knew that the second international album was better and he rated ‘Bumble Bees’, which made Yunho go quiet for a good half hour.

“Anyway, I wasn’t horny,” Changmin lies. “I missed you because Pucci ate something bad at the park and he was sick on the kitchen floor. I had to clear it up, and Lagerfeld decided the mop was his new chew-toy and rather than stay back like a good dog he kept attacking the mop and then he rolled in the sick and... It was really disgusting.”

Yunho looks appalled. “I hope you bathed Feldie.”

“No, I just let him go around the apartment smelling of doggy vomit.” Before Yunho can take him at his word, Changmin continues, “Of course I bathed him. And then Pucci decided he was feeling better and practically broke down the bathroom door trying to get in, so I opened the door because I didn’t want him to chew the handle off again, I didn’t want to be trapped in there like last time, and I don’t know how he did it but in the meantime Lagerfeld managed to turn on the taps and then—”

“Changmin.” Yunho’s expression is very serious. “A pug cannot turn on taps.”

“Your dog,” Changmin says pointedly. “You taught him everything he knows. He can turn on taps.”

“Really? Wow. He always acts so clueless when I’m around.”

“It’s an act,” Changmin says. “I’m starting to think it’s a common denominator in all males from Gwangju. Act clueless to get the cuddles, but when necessity calls for it, be very practical.”

Yunho frowns. “Why would it be necessary for Feldie to turn on the taps?”

Changmin wishes he’d bought two of those muffins. The sugar hit is wearing off. “I don’t know! Maybe the water wasn’t warm enough for his liking. Why are we having this conversation?”

“You started it.” Yunho drains the last of the coffee and tosses the cardboard cup at the bin. It misses. “We have such smart puppies. We could make money off that, you know.”

“Our life is already a circus.”

“But it’s fun.” The smile is back in full force as Yunho goes over to retrieve the cup. He flips it into the bin then says, “Oh dear, Siwon’s fallen in the bin again.”

“Maybe it’s a sign.”

“Maybe.” Yunho pulls out the photo and gives it a wipe with his shirt cuff. “A sign that I should put it in a frame to keep it safe.”

Over Changmin’s dead body. Next time that picture is going in the shredder. Keen to change the topic, he says, “Why don’t you show me what you were working on last night?”

“Um.” Yunho looks pained. He turns a few pages of the sketchbooks and waves a hand at the paper patterns. “I’m... They’re...”

Dread licks across the back of Changmin’s neck. “Jung. The designs. Show me.”

“Oh, Changmin.” Mouth turning down, Yunho gathers the sketchbooks. “I don’t know what’s wrong lately. The only way I seem to be able to generate any creativity is by leaving it to the last minute and sort of forcing it out of me, but that’s horrible, like I’m design-constipated or something. And I’m fairly certain the end product is, well, shit.”

He shoves the sketchbooks at Changmin and takes a walk to the far side of the room. The drapes are closed. Yunho fiddles with the pull-cord and finally opens the curtains, then stares out of the window at the streets below.

Changmin turns his attention to the sketches. He flips through the books, then studies the discarded paper patterns and the length of fabric hanging from the skylight, then looks at the designs again.

They’re okay. They’re workmanlike. But they’re not Yunho.

“They lack joie de vivre,” Changmin says as kindly as he can.

Yunho gives him a bewildered look. “Maybe. But they have buttons.”

There’s no arguing with that. Changmin decides it’s best to move on. He closes the sketchbooks and directs an enquiring look at his boyfriend. “Now what?”

That was the wrong question to ask. Panic flashes through Yunho’s eyes. He scrunches into himself for a moment and then straightens up, swinging his arms and wandering in a circle. “I have three more days to complete three fully-realised looks.”

“Yes,” Changmin encourages.

“No.” Helplessness torpedoes through Yunho. He sinks down onto the sofa bed, shoulders slumped. “I’m completely out of inspiration. I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Nonsense.” Changmin hopes he sounds brisk and supportive rather than bossy and know-it-all. “The same thing happened to me at St Martin’s. I had temporary burn-out. All I needed was to take a break then give myself a fresh challenge, and I produced some of my best work.”

Not strictly true, but he’s not going to tell Yunho that. It’s not like Yunho can take a break, either, because the Evisu deadline is frighteningly close. Changmin decides to focus on the challenge aspect. “I don’t advocate leaving things to the last minute,” he says, “but it’s been a strategy that’s worked for you before in a competitive environment.”

“During Stitched Up, you mean.” Yunho’s smile is wan.

“Exactly. So let’s have a competition.” Determined that this is the answer to the problem, Changmin claps his hands in delight at his own brilliance. “Yes! A competition. You like winning. I like winning. Let’s compete against one another in a series of timed challenges, just like on Stitched Up, and each challenge will be one of the three designs you need to complete for Evisu.”

Yunho gives him a beady look. “You’re couture. You don’t even like urban fashion.”

“One should be able to turn one’s hand to designing anything. Even urban fashion.” Changmin is proud of himself. He can be diplomatic. “Besides, it’s good practice to be flexible. In case I ever go on one of those TV shows again. Daniel Franco did it on Project Runway in seasons one and two. Not saying that I’d be idiot enough to go back on Stitched Up, but...”

“You’d really do this for me?” Yunho asks. He’s all starry-eyed, as if Changmin had offered to bring him the moon.

“I love you.” Changmin scowls, which probably isn’t the appropriate expression to match his tender words. “Ugh, why do you have to make this a big deal?”

Yunho smiles and smiles. “Changminnie,” he says, and there’s hearts and flowers in his voice. He flings himself into Changmin’s arms and hugs tight, and Changmin holds him close and breathes him in, sleepy warmth and minty toothpaste and wild cherry latte.

“Anyway.” Changmin clears his throat and lets go. “Instead of prizes, the contest will be about forfeits. And to make things fair, we’ll ask our friends to be the judges. Milhye would do it, and didn’t you say Spoon was in town? And I’m sure Jiheun could spare some time after class.”

He’s totally making this up as he goes along, but Changmin thinks this sounds pretty damn good. He makes a note to ask their friends to judge Yunho the winner every time. Changmin can put aside his competitive nature for the next three days if it helps Yunho through this rough patch.

Enthusiasm gleams from Yunho’s expression. “What kind of forfeits?”

“Well...” Changmin edges closer and patters his fingers over Yunho’s thigh. “Loser gives the winner a blowjob, for example.”

Yunho’s enthusiasm goes supernova. His grin lights the whole room. “I might lose on purpose. I love sucking you off.”

Time to up the stakes. “Loser gives the winner a blowjob in the back seat of their car tonight, parked up at the Han River.”

Yunho’s eyes widen. “You want us to go dogging?”

“No!” Changmin jerks back, horrified. Then he thinks about it properly. The idea of an audience is actually rather hot. Perhaps if they wear masks. Or ski masks; he’ll need the access. “Maybe,” he says cautiously, not wanting to rule it out. His dick certainly likes the thought. “Winner decides where it takes place.”

It’s not just his dick that likes it, either. The zipper on Yunho’s jeans is having a hard time of it right now, with an emphasis on ‘hard’. “Changminnie, you’re so dirty,” Yunho tells him, all breathless and hot. “You’re almost a skank, suggesting such a thing.”

“It was just an example,” Changmin says, playing innocent.

“Posh boy has a mind full of filth.” Yunho kisses him, then pushes away from the drawing table and picks up his phone. “I’m gonna call Milhye, Spoon, and Jiheun to see if they’re free this evening.” He turns and beams at Changmin, real excitement shining in his eyes. “And then you better bring your game face, baby, ‘cos I’m feeling all inspired!”

Changmin permits himself a smile. He has the best ideas.


Turns out that Spoon has a hot date and can’t make it, but Milhye and Jiheun both arrive at seven o’clock sharp, full of eager anticipation. Changmin ushers them into the studio and invites them to sit on the sofa bed while Yunho opens a couple of bottles of Prosecco. Some chairs have been placed in front of the sofa bed to serve as a makeshift coffee table, and on them are arranged three boxes of pizza and a large tub of ice cream.

They’d worked from nine to five, then Yunho had gone home to shower, change, and take the dogs out for a walk while Changmin tidied the studio. He was proud of himself for resisting the urge to edit his outfit. Now he’s had time to study it with a dispassionate eye, he thinks the top is too much. It’s pretty enough on its own, but teamed with the skirt he thinks it’s overkill.

As for Yunho’s look, Changmin can’t decide if it’s fabulous or just bizarre. That’s the problem with urban clothing, in Changmin’s opinion. So much of it resembles a piece of sacking that’s been kicked around the floor before being sewn into a shapeless blob. Not that Yunho has made a shapeless blob, but the aesthetic is similar.

Changmin is glad he had the great idea of asking Milhye and Jiheun to be the judges, because frankly he can’t decide which design is better suited to the Evisu line.

Both looks are on the forms, concealed from the judges beneath plain drapes of muslin. Lagerfeld had tried to pull one of the drapes off earlier, but after a sharp scolding from Changmin, the pug had crawled beneath the sofa bed and put his nose on the floor. He’s still there now, sulking and moping.

Pucci is ambling around the room, wagging his huge, fluffy tail. Changmin keeps an eye on the Leonberger. Even though this is just for fun, his nerves are jangled at the prospect of the contest. Even though he’s doing all this to be a supportive boyfriend, Changmin is a Shim and the Shims are winners, so stage-managing a loss goes against everything in his DNA. Butterflies of anxiety flutter in his stomach, and Changmin is about to scold Pucci for nothing at all when the Leonberger’s tail smacks into the signed photo of Siwon and knocks it down the back of the radiator.

Maybe it’s a sign. Changmin makes a note to reward the gigantic beast with a doggy treat later when Yunho isn’t looking.

At last they’re ready. Lagerfeld is coaxed out from beneath the sofa bed and curls up between Milhye and Jiheun, who’re getting stuck into the wine and pizza. Pucci lies down on the floor beneath Yunho’s drawing table and assumes a bored expression.

“Right,” Changmin says, standing beside his form. “You know why you’re here. I ask you to judge fairly and honestly—” he emphasises the words and Jiheun sort of swallows her lips trying not to laugh, “and bear in mind the needs of the client, in this case Evisu, when you make your final decision.”

“You should host Stitched Up rather than Jaejoong,” Milhye remarks.

“I dress too well.” Changmin signals for Yunho to put down the Prosecco and get ready to reveal their garments. “On the count of three. One, two—”

Yunho yanks the drape off his form. “Ta-daa!”

Stifling a sigh, Changmin carefully removes the muslin from his look.

Milhye and Jiheun sit and stare in silence for a while. It’s nerve-racking. Changmin thinks maybe he should’ve put on some music. Even Aqua would be an improvement on this tense hush.

“It’d be better if these were on actual human beings,” Jiheun says at last. “Just a suggestion, take it or leave it.”

Reaching for her wine, Milhye tuts. “You can’t be Zhou Mi. He never judges the runway show.”

“He’s the only one with a critical eye.” Jiheun smirks. “Okay, do you want to be Jaejoong, Kyuhyun, or Madame Oh?”

Milhye wrinkles her nose. “Do I have to choose? Oh, all right—I’ll be Jaejoong.”

“You’re dressed too well,” Changmin says, nonplussed. “Be Madame Oh.”

“I’ll be Kyu,” Jiheun announces, pouring more Prosecco. “Ugly, ugly, ugly!”

Lagerfeld jumps up, yaps, then leaps onto the floor and starts turning in circles.

The girls laugh. “Ugly, ugly, ugly,” Jiheun chants again, and the pug spins in the opposite direction, barking wildly.

Changmin shakes his head and gives Yunho a disparaging look. “Jung. Your animal will make itself sick.”

“Did you teach Lagerfeld to do that?” Taking pity on the dizzy dog, Milhye picks him up and gives him a cuddle.

“He did,” Changmin says, jerking his chin at Yunho. “He thought it’d be funny.”

“It is.” Jiheun grins and helps herself to a slice of pizza. “How many times did you say it on the show, anyway?”

Changmin pauses. He doesn’t actually know.

“Seventeen instances were broadcast,” Yunho says, “compared to fifty-five instances of Kyuhyun saying it. It took me until episode eight to get Feldie to do that trick, though, by which time Changmin had pretty much stopped using it as his catchphrase.”

Lagerfeld yips.

“Precisely,” Changmin agrees. “Ladies, the garments? Do you want to ask us any questions?”

“Price points,” Jiheun says, sitting forward. “Since it’s for Evisu then they have a strict pricing structure and specific fabrics and colours, right? So whose look can be manufactured to the cheapest price point to ensure maximum profit?”

Changmin looks over at Yunho. “I... didn’t think of that.”

“I did.” Yunho’s smile is a little bit smug.

“Naturally. You work for them.” Annoyed that he hadn’t thought to factor in cost, Changmin grits his teeth. “Guess I’ll lose points for that.”

“Afraid so.” Milhye pretends to put a cross on an imaginary scorecard. “Designer Shim, do tell us about your style decisions.”

“I decided to use an unusual palette,” Changmin begins, shooting Yunho a glare. If he loses this challenge, it’s only because of Yunho’s hare-brained idea of rearranging the fabric store. Changmin hadn’t been able to find anything. He gestures at the skirt, knee-length and pleated with a button-down front fastening, all in brown satin with stripes of orange velvet. “The palette is...”

“Something my granny would wear,” Jiheun finishes for him.

“And the top,” Changmin continues. “I wanted it to be fun yet structured.” He looks at the garment again. It’s an eau-de-nil cotton vest with crossover support at the bust and a gathered ruffle at the low-waisted hem. The ruffle is wrong, he’s sure of it.

“Mm.” Milhye picks anchovies off her pizza. “The proportion is off. The ruffle is eating the skirt.”

“It is,” Jiheun agrees. “Pleats and ruffles are so 80s. You really shouldn’t.”

Changmin sweats. This is the hardest critique he’s had since St Martin’s.

“I think the skirt is cute,” Yunho offers.

“You’re not a judge, your opinion is invalid.” Jiheun is turning out to be some kind of dictator. Until now, Changmin had always thought she was a sweet girl. She waggles her eyebrows at Yunho. “Designer Jung, you hot stud. Tell us about your look.”

Hot stud? Appalled by the obvious favouritism displayed by the judges, who have now drunk the best part of two bottles of wine, Changmin wonders if he can overrule any decision they make—if indeed they’re capable of making a decision.

Yunho slings an arm around his form and leans against it, beaming at his giggling audience. “It’s simple enough. Right price point, right fabric. A denim mini that’s essentially a deconstructed pair of jeans. An asymmetrical slit here and an off-centre fastening to give a bit of interest, and for the top I made a tracksuit jacket out of this really gorgeous print...”

Changmin sniffs. The print isn’t gorgeous, it’s a weird outsize floral thing, red and white long-petalled chrysanthemums on a black background, but whatever.

Jiheun and Milhye look at each other and scrunch their faces.

“I think they really need to walk,” Milhye says.

Jiheun nods. “Like I said half an hour ago.”

Yunho tilts his head, flirting. “Would you model for us? Both of you?”

Of course they say yes. Changmin dresses Milhye and Yunho dresses Jiheun, and it’s almost like being back on Stitched Up for real, except this time when the models offer their opinions, they actually know what they’re talking about.

More Prosecco is opened. Milhye looks through Yunho’s CDs and puts on the Bomfunk MCs, which is hardly the right kind of music to walk to but at least it’s not Aqua. Changmin tries to lessen the effect of the ruffle with some sneaky tacking stitches. Jiheun calls him a cheating cheat who cheats. Yunho says he’ll film them walking on his phone so they can make an informed decision as to the winning look, but when the girls start to strut, Pucci jumps up and walks with them. Yunho laughs so much he can’t keep his phone steady, and the evening descends into chaos.

Yes, it really is just like being on Stitched Up.

Approximately forty minutes later, the girls are back in their own clothes and are trying very hard to appear sober as they make their deliberations. It takes them all of ten seconds to declare that it’s a close call, but in their opinion Yunho is the winner.

Yunho takes a bow.

At first Changmin is disappointed, then he’s annoyed, then he’s annoyed at feeling annoyed, and finally he gets a warm glow of satisfaction at the realisation that all his careful planning had turned out exactly the way he’d wanted.

It also means he gets to give Yunho a blowjob just as soon as their guests leave.

Inventing some spurious excuse as to why it’s time for them to go now, Changmin escorts the girls downstairs. Milhye and Jiheun stagger out to the waiting taxi, shrieking with laughter, blowing kisses, and promising they’ll be back for more tomorrow.

By the time Changmin gets back upstairs, Yunho has cleaned things away and even put the empty bottles in the recycling bin. Lagerfeld and Pucci are wolfing down a pile of doggy treats from the top of a pizza carton.

Changmin grabs the tea towel out of Yunho’s hand and throws it onto the floor, then pins Yunho against the door and leans in close. “You’re the winner,” he breathes. “I’m going to go down on you. I’m going to blow you until you can’t stand up straight.”

Yunho fists a hand in Changmin’s shirt and drags him nearer. “Not in front of the puppies.”

They kiss, hot and avid. Yunho snakes his arm around Changmin’s neck. When they break for air, he says, “Let’s take them home and get them settled.”

“And then?” Changmin asks, just about resisting the urge to hump Yunho’s thigh.

Yunho gives him a wicked smile. “Then we’re going to the Han River.”


Changmin is so glad he had this idea. He knew he was going to lose the first challenge, which is of course why he hadn’t had much to drink. He knew he’d be driving. Sometimes his perspicacity amazes even him.

He parks the car beneath the shadow of one of the bridges over the Han River and closes all the doors with the central locking. He hopes he got the location right. There’s a couple of other cars parked not too far away but there’s no one peering in the windows and neither of the vehicles is rocking back and forth. Either the passengers are shy or they’re voyeurs hoping to see some action.

Yunho seems a bit jumpy. He unfastens his seatbelt and sits forward, then back. He stares at the other cars and then fumbles for the light above the rear view mirror. He looks determined. “We have to put the light on.”


“Because.” Yunho blinks up at the light. “So other people know we’re, uh, that we’re going to...”

Changmin gives him a look and switches it off. “This will only work if we’re anonymous.”

Yunho turns it back on. “But Donghae says—”

“Donghae? Donghae goes dogging?” Changmin’s not sure why he’s so surprised by that. “Okay. I don’t want to know.” He flicks the light off again. “And it stays off this time, unless you want us plastered all over the scandal rags tomorrow.”

The car parked diagonally opposite them suddenly flashes its headlights.

Yunho scrunches down in his seat. “What does that mean?”

“How should I know? You’re the dogging expert.”

“Maybe I should call Donghae and ask.” Yunho starts to reach for his phone.

“You will not!” Changmin grabs for Yunho’s arm. They stare at each other. The night runs darkness over them, sharp lines and curves of light and shadow describing Yunho’s features. His eyes glitter, darker than the river. The car engine ticks as it starts to cool. Now the heaters aren’t on, a chill begins to settle.

“This isn’t as sexy as I thought it’d be,” Yunho says. He sounds mournful.

Changmin will make this sexy. He knows he can. If there’s one thing he’s learned from having Yunho as his boyfriend, it’s that distraction is key—and it can work both ways. He tugs on Yunho’s arm. “Let’s get in the back.”

They slide their seats forward and then clamber through the gap. Yunho bangs his head on the roof. Changmin gets his foot stuck between the gearbox and the driver’s seat. Eventually they sprawl across the back seat, scuffling and rearranging themselves on the cool, smooth leather.

The crunch of tyres on asphalt makes them go still. Another car pulls up nearby, its headlights off.

“Maybe they think we’re selling drugs.” Yunho sounds worried now.

“They don’t.” Changmin did not go to all this effort for nothing. Yes, they could climb back into the front and go home and he could give Yunho a blowjob in the comfort of their own bedroom, but he’d made all these plans and—and... Oh, who’s he trying to kid, he thinks it’ll be really hot. He just needs to distract Yunho some more.

“Kiss me,” Changmin says, making his voice a sultry purr. “It’s dark in here and—” he tries to think of something believable, “I’m scared of the dark.”

That works. Yunho turns to him, all solicitous. “Oh, baby. Come here.”

They fit against one another and kiss. Gently at first, and Changmin can tell Yunho’s still got half his mind on the other cars. Not content with this, Changmin puts one hand around Yunho’s nape and strokes up over the razored softness into the thick texture of his hair. Splaying his hand, Changmin grasps at Yunho’s hair and brings him closer.

Yunho moans, the sound rich and hungry. He flickers his tongue over the seam of Changmin’s mouth, and Changmin opens for him. They lick at each other, delicate, and then Changmin nips at Yunho’s lower lip. Yunho love-bites back. Their kisses get harder. Now it’s Changmin who moans. He shifts position to sit astride Yunho’s lap, keeping his head low and wrapping both arms around Yunho’s neck, tongue slippery and plunging.

Yunho’s hands go to Changmin’s waist beneath his jacket, fingers cool against the sliver of bare skin. Changmin shivers, his body tightening. Yunho feathers another gentle caress and Changmin grinds against him, a swift roll of the hips that makes them both groan.

Desire builds, hot and sweet. Their kisses are bolder, wetter. Changmin shimmies again, his cock aching. He can smell their arousal now, a warm scent of need that’s familiar and exciting.

“I love you,” Yunho whispers against Changmin’s mouth. “I love you.”

Changmin murmurs agreement and strokes a hand over Yunho’s cheek. When he next breaks the kiss and opens his eyes, Changmin sees that his cunning plan has worked. The car windows have fogged up. Unless someone shines a flashlight in on them, they should be able to remain anonymous, just two bodies in search of pleasure.

He puts Yunho’s hand high up on his thigh. “Touch me.”

Expression dazed, Yunho gazes at him. “Changminnie...”

“No names.” Fuck, the idea of it is making him really hot. “Pretend I’m a hooker.”

A smile quirks Yunho’s lips. “You’d kiss me less if you were a hooker.”

“Not if you paid extra.” Changmin kisses him deep and hard as if this proves his point. “Or imagine I’m some trampy little Gwangju slut. I can do your dialect. I can. Wanna hear, big boy? Wanna hear me talk like a skank?”

“God, no. Don’t.” Yunho humps him, holding Changmin’s thighs and rutting up, leaving Changmin in no doubt just how much Yunho is turned on. Changmin hopes it’s not his execrable imitation of a southern accent that’s got his boyfriend so hot.

They kiss again, and then Changmin eases away. Yunho sprawls back against the seat, loose-limbed and with his eyes half-lidded as he watches Changmin slide off his lap and squirm down into the foot well.

With slow deliberation, Changmin unfastens the fly button and draws down the zipper. He does it mostly by touch, trying to keep his gaze on Yunho’s face. In his peripheral vision he sees movement—a figure outside. Two figures.

Excitement flares white-hot, the thrill of it so strong it sends a kick of lust all the way through him. Changmin says nothing; he merely smiles appreciatively as he frees Yunho’s dick from jeans and underwear.

Yunho doesn’t appear to have noticed their audience. His attention has narrowed, his gaze fixed on Changmin’s mouth. He makes tiny greedy noises and rolls his hips, offering his cock.

“All for me,” Changmin says. It comes out rough and unsteady, and he feels possessive. Not just because of their audience either, although that brings a whole new dimension to what they’re doing. He imagines those guys looking in through the fogged windows and glimpsing Yunho’s gorgeous huge dick. God, that’s hot, but not as hot as the reality right in front of him. Only he can smell and taste and touch it, and it’s all for him.

“Just for you, baby.” Yunho wraps a finger in a lock of Changmin’s hair and urges him closer. “Put your mouth on me. Please.”

Changmin tilts his head, teasing. He breathes over Yunho’s cock, admiring the heft of it and the taut skin, the bead of pre-come leaking from the slit and leaving a wet trail down the thick shaft. Full of anticipation, Changmin nuzzles at it then licks, lapping up the full length of Yunho’s dick before easing his mouth around the swollen crown and giving it a long, luxurious suck, moaning his approval at the same time.

“Ohhh. Oh yeah.” Yunho thumps both hands on the seat either side of him, hips canting as he thrusts forward. “Oh baby, that feels... It feels—oh.”

Changmin sucks on him. The wet sound seems so loud, almost as loud as the thudding of his pulse. Despite this and the background of Yunho’s soft, low moans of pleasure, still he’s aware of faint noises outside. He pulls off. Playing as much to the audience that can’t see everything as to the audience that can, he mouths all around Yunho’s cock, licking and sucking every inch from tip to root, and then he buries his face between Yunho’s spread thighs and nuzzles against his balls, loves into all that heat and musk and hair, all that contradiction of soft and hard.

Greedy now, Changmin makes Yunho all wet. He loves this; loves pleasing Yunho, loves hearing the babble of incomprehensible nonsense that’s one long litany of ecstatic adoration. Changmin knows it’s all for him—not just Yunho’s dick but everything Yunho is, and it’s such a fucking turn-on.

“Baby,” Yunho gasps, high and excited, “people are watching. Oh God, they’re watching us. Oh, that’s—that’s...”

It’s something, all right. Yunho’s cock thickens, gets even harder, pre-come spilling from him. His hands claw at the seat, and God, he smells so good. Changmin hums and curls a lick at the underside of Yunho’s shaft.

“Take it. Suck me.” Yunho slides down in the seat, head tilting back as his hips work. “You want me to beg? I’m begging. I’m begging so hard.”

Changmin laps at the glistening pre-come. “How many people are watching?”

Yunho writhes. “I don’t know. I don’t care.”

“I want to know.” Changmin is amazed that he sounds so calm.

Rolling his head from side to side with a helpless moan, Yunho glances outside the car. “Ten. Maybe ten guys. Oh fuck.”

“They want you,” Changmin says, voice low. “They’d love to be me, sucking on your big stiff dick.”

“Maybe they want you,” Yunho counters, trying to get his cock back between Changmin’s lips. “Please, baby. I’ll do anything.”

“Give them something more to see. Undo your shirt.”

“Oh, don’t make me,” Yunho says in tones that suggest he’s more than willing to be made in every way possible. He pulls at his shirt, hands unsteady as he unbuttons it and lets it fall open, and then his head tips back and he arches up, feet pressed down hard on the floor.

“Like that,” Changmin says. “Like that,” and strokes him, takes Yunho back in his mouth as he runs a greedy hand over Yunho’s belly up to his chest.

Heat burns across Yunho’s body, igniting the smell of fresh sweat and the spike-sweet scent of his cologne. Changmin splays his hand and strokes rough touches across Yunho’s chest, groping him, lightly scoring his fingernails over the skin. He swallows more of Yunho’s dick and brushes his thumb over a nipple.

Yunho jerks and mews. Changmin relaxes his jaw and takes more, breathing deeply through his nose, filling his head with Yunho’s scent and taste. He pinches Yunho’s nipple and Yunho gasps, hips working and working, and he says, “Stop, oh God, baby, I’m gonna come, I’m—”

Changmin pulls almost all the way off and gets one hand around Yunho’s cock. He strokes as he sucks, feeling the quiver and snap of tension. Yunho shudders and cries out, the sound of Changmin’s name garbled and tight as he twists and bucks, riding the orgasm.

Semen floods Changmin’s mouth. He swallows, the seed hot and slightly sweet-tasting—legacy of the Prosecco, maybe. He moans and some of it overspills, dribbling from his lips and down over his hand. That makes it all seem even dirtier, and when he’s sucked every last drop from Yunho’s cock, Changmin licks it from his hand to the muffled sound of applause from outside.

The windows are fogged so much the condensation has started to streak, making clear stripes through the mist. Changmin looks up at the shadowy faces of the anonymous men watching them and smiles. His own dick is rigid, his body aching with need, but he ignores it in favour of the delicious languor spreading through him. He murmurs kisses over Yunho’s quiescent cock and tucks it away, then unfolds himself from the foot well and curls up on the seat with his head on Yunho’s bare chest, happy and satisfied.

He may have lost the competition this time around, but right now Changmin feels like a winner.

* * *

March 2016

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