prompts: closed

Daehyun memorized the steps to generosity, reluctantly, in a cramped dorm of five other boys with grabby hands, even worse that he wasn’t the youngest anymore. Eating the last of the cereal even though Youngjae hadn’t eaten yet wasn’t sharing, taking up the rest of the hot water while Junhong was fighting sleep to take his shower wasn’t caring, and hogging everyone’s attention was frowned upon, too. He’d end up doing it anyway when he wasn’t being mindful.

He’d remember his mother’s snarky words about other neighborhood kids not knowing how to share with others and how she’d been grateful she raised her children to be kind.

Daehyun still has a lot to learn about sharing these days.

“Can you wait?” Himchan giggles in front of the stove, elbowing Jongup in his side as he keeps stirring his chopsticks in the small pot of noodles.

“Just a taste, hyung,” Jongup’s voice is already delirious with laughter.

Truth is, Daehyun is selfish. Some part of him too spoiled by his family’s generosity and the fact that everything, everything was given to him in the largest chunks and he didn’t have to split his share. Its turned into him wanting to covet Himchan’s time, space, attention, all of it for himself.

“Here, just a taste,” Himchan relents, holding the noodles up to Jongup’s mouth, “and then get out of the kitchen!”

Daehyun takes another swig of his beer and leans on the fridge, trying to keep the jealousy he feels broiling in his chest at bay. His stomach rolls, sick of himself. It’s just Jongup and he wasn’t like this before he and Himchan stumbled onto this thing they’ve got going on.

Those two have always been close. They live together for fucks sake, but Daehyun’s got his wires all crossed.

“Move!” Himchan is yelling, but he’s pulling Jongup in closer, smiling ear to ear like he might just kiss him.

—

When they’re done eating they all pile into the living room to watch a shitty movie Youngjae found. With the lights off the city lights shimmer, distracting Daehyun as the movie starts up. Himchan sits on the floor next to him while Youngjae and Jongup fit themselves on the couch behind them.

The couple of beers he’s drank leave him buzzed, warm and kind of brave. Enough to twist his pinky around Himchan’s even though Youngjae and Jongup could surely see it over their shoulders without trying.

Himchan stares at him with low eyes and ruddy cheeks, and then does Daehyun one better by lacing their fingers together as he turns back towards the tv.

Daehyun swears Himchan’s hand trembles in his.

—

“What was that for?” Himchan whispers once they make it to his room.

He presses in close, pinning Daehyun to the door, kissing him one, two, three times like he can’t pull away. Daehyun tightens his arms around his neck, bringing him impossibly closer, wants Himchan to feel how hot he is, let their bodies meld together in Himchan’s dark room.

“What was what?”

“You don’t ever—like, let me— you know!” He hisses.

Himchan’s hands feel cool as they slide under his t-shirt, makes goosebumps raise and his nipples hard without much effort. Daehyun has to resist a hysterical giggle at Himchan’s desperate panting and shaky hands, knowing that if the light was on his face would be red as hell, too. All because of him.

“What, don’t ever let you hold my hand in front of other people? In front of Youngjae or Jongup,” he says, petulant.

Himchan’s shoulders pull up, body going rigid, before tucking his face into Daehyun’s neck, right where his pulse is kicking up a storm.

Daehyun tilts his face towards the ceiling, head hitting the wood with a defeated thunk. He’s always held on too tight and wanted too much. Himchan’s going to see him for the spoiled brat he really is.

“That was mine, hyung!” Youngjae yells from his room, a screeching laugh following.

“I get it,” Himchan says after a minute of silence.

Daehyun keeps his eyes on the shadows dancing across the ceiling and swallows, throat so dry it clicks.

“Get what?”

“Jealousy. Like, even though I know it’s hopeless, I still find that little crush you have on Yongguk annoying,” Himchan whispers, smiling as he pulls back to look at Daehyun.

Daehyun almost chokes him.

“I do not—“

“Yeah, just like I don’t have a crush on Jonguppie but you’re still upset. I get it. It’s stupid, we’re stupid, but look at us.”

Daehyun can only make out so much of Himchan’s face in the dark but it’s still hard to look him in the eyes. He’s taking twisted comfort in the fact that Himchan’s felt the same way he has and probably tried to talk himself down from another senseless precipice of possessiveness without much luck.

“It’s not healthy,” Daehyun mumbles.

“Talking about it is, though. It’s best for us both to know that I’m not interested in Jonguppie like that and you don’t have a chance with Yongguk,” Himchan snickers, cupping Daehyun’s face with warm hands.

“Hey!” Daehyun squawks, “If I wanted to I’d have a chance!”

“I’m fine, you made me stand up too fast,” his words sound garbled to his own ears as they tumble out the door and into the freezing cold of Chicago.

Youngjae walks briskly, keeping ahead of him and a hand on his wrist; his dark, glossy hair tossed back by the wind and his shoulders tense. Daehyun trips a couple times, almost slips while trying to keep his eyes on the back of his best friend’s head. Youngjae keeps him upright.

“Are we going home?” He breathes.

“Ah, something like that.”

—-

The ceiling fan doesn’t stop spinning in their room, they couldn’t figure out how to get it to stop and didn’t want to bother with the foreign staff to ask. Daehyun makes himself dizzy trying to follow it ‘round and ‘round from his bed in the dark, Youngjae pressed into him from shoulder to hip.

“I like the hotels we’ve been staying in,” Youngjae admits in a hoarse whisper.

“Why? They’re trashy.”

“I think they’ve got—character? I don’t know, it feels comfortable,” Youngjae turns to him when he answers, cold breath making Daehyun shudder.

He’s drunk like he hasn’t been in so long. Daehyun is still afraid about the future, who isn’t? But all six of them are more solid than they’ve ever been, open about everything, linked indefinitely. His fear can’t consume him any longer.

And he and Youngjae have gotten closer, their lines blurred, like their mouths meeting, both of them turning on their sides at the same time. This is their speed, time to stop fighting it.

“People outside,” Daehyun mutters against Youngjae’s cheek.

Shadows filter in through the tiny crack in the curtains, voices low. Youngjae shushes him and pushes him onto his back, looms half on top of Daehyun to kiss him quiet. The alcohol doesn’t mute the thrumming under his skin, he has to fist his hands in the jean jacket Youngjae still has on to keep from whimpering.

Their legs get tangled up, jackets and sweaters and shirts shoved off, both of them panting, wanting more. Daehyun says as much while Youngjae is making a lazy ring of hickies across his chest and palming him through his jeans.

“We can—“ Youngjae starts with hooded eyes, but sharp knocking at their door interrupts them.

They scatter apart, searching for their shirts in the dark.

“Yes?” Youngjae hisses, loud enough for whoever is on the other side to hear.

“Hyung,” Junhong calls miserably, “I—I think I lost my room key.”

They relax at that and Daehyun gets the door, his eyesight going for a moment from the bloodrush, and ushers a sheepish Junhong inside. He sits at the edge of the bed they were just on and waits for one of them to scold him.

“It happens. Just stay in here for tonight, it’s too late to go ask for another,” Daehyun says instead.

“Okay.”

Junhong doesn’t ask questions that aren’t meant to be answered. Like why Daehyun’s got fresh, red marks across his throat and sporting a chubby in his jeans, or why Youngjae is busy making too much noise in the bathroom.

“You sure, hyung?” He asks, one part of his hair hanging in his eyes.

“Of course we’re sure,” Youngjae huffs from the bathroom.

“You could have waited inside, it’s cold.”

Youngjae rolls his eyes and grips Yongguk by the wrist, leading the way without hesitation, always sure in his step.

“I wanted to wait for you here,” he says with finality.

—-

This restaurant is small enough for them to hear the cooks sharing a joke in the back, hollering over the noise of pots, pans, and plates. Youngjae told him he’d love it last night after they spoke about the bridge of his new solo. If it were anyone else, he’d have made up an excuse, or flat out said no. Seeing Youngjae on short notice (less than a week to think it over) doesn’t make him want to hide away.

They’ve been texting back and forth, Youngjae sending him pictures of the other members, him and the other members, and then just him. Him after getting his makeup done, him at home, in bed. Yongguk got a kick out of knowing Youngjae was posing and taking a million pictures to choose one or two, all for Yongguk.

“Did you forget to check the weather?” He asks, staring pointedly at Yongguk’s ripped jeans as he shrugs off his jacket.

Yongguk goes stiff when Youngjae’s fingers creep up his thigh and tuck away into one of the rips, cold fingertips pressing into his inner thigh.

“No,” he answers, and his knee slams up into the table when Youngjae leans forward, touching higher up on his leg.

Youngjae’s hand slithers back where the hell it belongs as he picks up a menu, hint of a smile on his face. Yongguk likes him but he’d like to choke him right now, and then ask for him to do it again.

—-

Food gets stolen from his bowl three times in the span of five minutes. He doesn’t notice until it’s already being chewed on and swallowed, his portion shrinking.

Youngjae’s got a way with words, he’d be a conman if he wasn’t an idol, Yongguk’s sure. He’s got Yongguk wondering if they’re really doing what he thinks they’re doing (dating)—no he knows they are—sometimes. Either way, it’s what Yongguk wants and why else would Youngjae feed him with his own chopsticks when there could be other people watching (they aren’t), or teasing Yongguk about his haircut when he’s the reason Yongguk cut it this way in the first place.

Yongguk’s heart doesn’t stop hop-scotching until he’s paid the bill and catches Youngjae’s eye. He’s got a coy look and he tugs at the neck of his sweater when his gaze drags along Yongguk from head to toe.

“Himchan and Jongup went to some party,” Youngjae leans back in his seat, spreads his legs wide, self assured, not exactly beating around the bush.

“I could stay until they got back,” he tries, already grabbing for his jacket.

“Or you could just stay, hyung.”

“Weren’t you talking about this game?” Jongup asks, holding the iPad to the mirror so Junhong doesn’t disrupt the noona doing his hair.

He shifts in the seat, surprised that Jongup remembered his babbling from last night, the lights off and Junhong nervous about their next concert.

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” he says, an intense look coming over his face.

The conversation is over. Junhong wants to ask how—no, why he remembered that. The little things haven’t mattered to a lot of people before. That’s what he really liked about Jongup from the beginning, the nice body and crooked smiles and his laugh came after.

He was listening, even when Junhong thought he wasn’t.

—-

After the hiatus is probably when interviewers stopped asking the really invasive questions about whether they’d kissed anyone yet, the two quiet maknaes who couldn’t say a word to girl groups.

He’d wanted them to, a little, his knee jiggling with anticipation. The question still hasn’t come up. Junhong isn’t good at holding back anyway.

Unfiltered, he’d want to say: His first kiss was in a ratty dorm room on a dusty carpet in front of an even dustier window. They were waiting for him to turn 18 and the days dragged on, Junhong felt those days like a weight. Jongup was sitting across from him, cross-legged, and listening to him with low eyes. Junhong didn’t care about having his first kiss, but he needed to complain and it was a safe topic.

He remembers Jongup crawling up to him, so slow Junhong missed it until their noses were almost brushing.

“Close your eyes.”

Junhong felt clumsy and exhilarated, curling his hands into fists at his side when Jongup’s palm cupped his face, soft, warm, and engulfing, his mouth more so. But he was gone just as quick when the other members came tumbling through the front door, calling for them.

He didn’t feel any different like some people at school said they did after their first kiss. Jongup sure didn’t look any different, leaning back on one hand and picking at the stiff carpet under them with the other, his eyes low and bored, nothing like Junhong: wide-eyed with his heart like thunder.

Jongup was as disinterested as he was with anything else. Junhong wanted him that much more.

——

They’re both scrolling on their phones with bleary eyes, side by side on their shared bed. Everyone else is up and getting ready to head out on their own adventures for the day, while he and Jongup haven’t decided what to do, and their camera man is waiting for them to get their shit together downstairs.

“Boat ride,” Jongup says suddenly, squinting at his screen.

“An actual boat ride, hyung?” Junhong asks, disbelieving.

“Mh. Says mainly couples do this, but we can do it, too.”

Jongup rolls out of bed with a grunt and tosses his phone behind him, shedding his long-sleeve shirt. Their door is open and someone could come up here and see Jongup stripping down to One Punch Man underwear, but Junhong doesn’t mention that.

“So, we’re going on a date?” Junhong asks with a dry laugh, nervous about how Jongup might receive it.

“Ah,” Jongup sucks his teeth, smiling as he throws one of his shirts at Junhong’s face. “If that’s what you really want.”

He’s got no idea.

—

Somewhere between helping Jongup get his life jacket on and Junhong taking pictures of his smiling face, the river a glittering backdrop, he realizes this is impossible. Having Jongup know how he feels about him and reciprocating those feelings, there’s not even that tiny twinkling of hope in him left. Jongup won’t notice if he hasn’t already, if he has, he isn’t acknowledging it. It puts a damper on the boat ride. On his whole day, actually.

“You’re quiet,” Jongup says when the filming crew walks away from their little picnic/tent set up.

Their ice cream is melting fast and Junhong wants to melt with it under Jongup’s gaze, no-nonsense and just that side of irritated. He bristles somewhat, too, irrationally and suddenly upset at the fact that Jongup hasn’t noticed how he feels. He could speak up and admit it clearly, but Junhong’s practically got a neon sign on top of his head. He’d never gotten so up in another person’s space before and Jongup was his first kiss and the closest thing to love.

“I’m quiet because you’re quiet, hyung,” he shoots back.

Jongup’s hair whips around gently in the wind, leaves rustling, and the camera crew is packing up to leave. It’s a tense moment. Waiting to see if Jongup might see through his lie.

“Makes sense,” he hums at the same time Youngjae calls out to them from across the park.

Jongup staggers up, waving one arm wildly.  Junhong holds out his hand for his ice cream when he sees him debating on just throwing it away.

“I’ll be back,” Jongup calls softly over his shoulder, a smile that Junhong always yearns to see flashing at him.

—-

“2, 3, 2, 3–“ Youngjae repeats over the trill of cicadas.

Sticky palms and messy hair and the beginnings of heat rash have him annoyed.

“It’s a video,” Youngjae giggles, Jongup following.

This morning, though, Himchan’s voice is gentle, whispering his name. He turns towards the sound and smells toothpaste and the peachy face wash Himchan uses each day without fail, opening his eyes to see him already smiling down at Yongguk. Himchan’s blocking most of the sun, fresh-faced with a pretty smile, he can’t help but croak out a good morning, smiling himself before closing his eyes again.

Warm lips press to the apples of his cheeks, a big hand brushing his short hair back. Yongguk thinks nothing of it until Himchan’s trailing kisses along his neck, his throat, the pad of Himchan’s thumb caressing his jaw. He full body shivers when Himchan comes up, putting them nose to nose, and hums, and feels himself half-hard already.

“Your breath fuckin’ stinks—“ but Himchan kisses him sloppy anyway, cradling Yongguk’s face.

Yongguk trails a hand down his naked back, trying to pull him closer, but Himchan pulls away to make his way down his body, mouth wet over his chest and stomach, and Yongguk almost moans when he pulls the sheet back, leaving him bare, and he throws an arm over his face.

“Not gonna suck you off,” Himchan snickers, taking him in his hand.

Yongguk groans, tilting his hips up, his cock feeling too sensitive, too hot in Himchan’s cool hand. He chances a look over at him, Himchan naked except for his briefs, tented ridiculously.

“Take those off,” Yongguk laughs, his knees drawing up when a thumb rubs over the head of his dick after.

Himchan rolls his eyes and goes for the lube in the bedside drawer, it’s not sticky around the edges of the cap like the one Himchan keeps at his place. Yongguk thinks it’s disgusting that he doesn’t clean it after he’s done. He also knows he’s a clean freak and most people probably don’t do that.

“ ‘s too early for anal,” Himchan says as he wriggles out of his briefs and tosses them at random.

Yongguk scoffs as he rolls over on his side behind him, he knows the drill and he’s eager to slide between Himchan’s thighs. The room is warm enough for them to forgo the blanket, to forget it all together. He kisses behind Himchan’s ear and reaches over his hip to jerk him off, enjoying the way Himchan’s breath gets extra nasally and how he rolls his hips back.

Himchan reaches behind himself with an unsteady hand to grab for him and position him between his thighs, and they both sigh as he pushes into the tight clutch of Himchan’s slick thighs, brushing up against his balls.

Yongguk doesn’t pull back too far, keeps rocking into him steadily, twisting his wrist while he strokes Himchan in time with his thrusts, and his mouth pressed to the soft skin of Himchan’s shoulder.

“Not too quick,” Himchan growls, batting at his hand, red in the face.

“Because you don’t want to come first?”

Himchan doesn’t respond, panting and twisting in Yongguk’s hold, his thighs trembling. Yongguk feels his orgasm at the base of spine and right behind his balls, coming at him quick.

“Himchan,” he grits out, warning him.

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead,” Himchan answers unsteadily.

They come almost at the same time, Himchan going tense when he feels Yongguk spilling between his legs, and does the same into Yongguk’s hand.

He stays snug to Himchan’s back and tries not fall right back to sleep. Yongguk isn’t at his best after morning sex, all he wants to do is knock out until the sun goes back down, but he’s got a mess to clean up.

Ganji’s fur is stark against the dark comforter at the foot of Daehyun’s bed, the TV on the wall making the shadows dance. Himchan scratches behind Ganji’s ear as he tries to make out who’s who on the bed.

“He’s been asleep since you hung up the phone,” Junhong mutters, shifts so Himchan can see where he’s got a leg hooked around Daehyun’s hip under the blanket, his head on his chest.

Himchan sheds his shirt and pants, and climbs up on the bed, gracelessly, and tucks himself under the covers. Daehyun groans when he feels cold feet against his leg, almost rolling away if Junhong wasn’t half on top of him, and Himchan opts for pushing his bangs away from his forehead and soothing the irritated wrinkle between his brows.

“I haven’t finished watching this drama yet. Daehyun hyung said it wasn’t going to drag, but now look,” Junhong says under his breath, lidded eyes on the television.

“I’ll finish watching it with you,” Himchan shrugs, though he’s hoping Junhong will nod off before then, looks like he needs it.

Daehyun snorts, chokes, coughs and turns towards Himchan, dislodging Junhong effectively.

“Come over here, I’ll move him towards the wall.”

Himchan gets a knee to the stomach as Junhong climbs over them and Daehyun fusses, half-asleep when he’s pushed over, cracking one eye open to glare at Himchan before grunting, and shuffling closer.

Junhong gets one of his legs locked between his and snakes his arms around Himchan’s own, face in his neck. He should’ve turned the TV off and closed the door, at least the television is set to turn off after sometime.

“G’night, hyung,” Junhong mumbles.

Himchan swallows and watches the shadows morph and shift on the ceiling, getting drowsy, feeling Junhong’s heart beating steadily against his arm and Daehyun’s breath against his neck.

The sun is dipping low and his bed is bathed in the last of the honey light as he just does that, licking his palm and shoving it into his sweats, pushing his face into his pillow with a sigh. He’ll take the opportunity when it presents itself, he hasn’t slept with anyone since he’s moved here and he’s too busy, or tired, to set the time aside to do this. If he strains enough, he can hear the the couple over the slam of their headboard against the wall.

“You could at least use lube,” a small voice says.

Daehyun looks over his shoulder, the noise on the other side of the wall crescendoing before coming to an abrupt end, and he watches one long, pale leg peel away from the shadows, another one following after. He can’t find it in him to make a single sound as it—whatever it is, shows itself completely, too tall with dark hair and a boyish face, naked and steam rolling off its skin.

“How’d you get…here?” Daehyun stammers, he meant to say in his apartment, but he’s not sure this thing is meant to exist on Earth.

“Lots of ways,” it answers, “I can get sent here or I answer a call I might like.”

Daehyun turns on his back, belly up when it stands over him. A tattoo spans across its abdomen and another one spiraling down its right arm, Daehyun can’t help his eyes from straying.

“Sorry, it gets hot down there, y’know? Not much use for my clothes anymore.”

“Down there, as in hell?”

“Mh-hm. They call me Zelo, I can’t use my old name,” he says, looking around Daehyun’s room.

He must have been human at some point. Daehyun wonders how he ended up in hell, what’d he do that was so bad. Daehyun’s heart leaps into his throat as Zelo ambles towards him.

He’s got eyes that flicker between hazel and an inky black every time he blinks too quickly, coupled with a disarming smile and a ruby nose ring nestled in his right nostril. Daehyun’s dick doesn’t seem to mind that there’s a demon looming over him, can only focus on the fact that Zelo’s got nice legs and a pretty mouth and nothing to be ashamed of.

“Hyung,” Zelo whispers, leaning in so close that Daehyun can see into the bottomless pit of his eyes, “let me in.”

___

He couldn’t move initially, completely numb and his ears ringing. Zelo knocked around his head, looking into memories he hadn’t thought of in years while telling him to stay calm. He told Daehyun he’d feel different—good, might not be able to handle it, but he couldn’t turn an offer like that down.

Daehyun feels full and feverish, his skin thrumming, and the warm, tingling feeling he gets when he’s turned on magnified by a thousand. He can’t hear anything else everytime Zelo speaks.

“Like it?” Zelo asks from somewhere in his head.

His hands have been under Zelo’s control since the demon crawled up inside him. Feeling him up, rucking up his shirt to thumb at his nipples, pawing at him through his sweats. Daehyun answers with a gurgling moan, his thigh knocking into the bottle of lube to his left.

“Been awhile, huh?” Zelo croons,

Memories flit before him, quick: old dates, one night stands, a boy he liked in high school. None that come close to the thrill of Zelo making him spread his legs apart and guiding his fingers to press through his clothes to get at his hole, eager and overwhelming.

“Gonna turn you over,” and Daehyun’s body obeys, chest flat to the bed, ass up.

“I didn’t know what desperation smelled like ‘til I got to hell,” Zelo tells him, using Daehyun’s hands to tug his sweatpants to his knees, and reaching for the lube.

Daehyun’s shaking, hard and desperate, anticipating what Zelo’s going to do to him—make him do to himself next. If he had any sense, he wouldn’t be letting a demon possess his ass and then use it, but the loss of control almost makes his eyes roll back.

“Could smell you a mile away, hyung.”

He make a high, panicky sound when his wet finger circles his entrance, his thighs straining with the effort to close, but he’s not in charge. Another thrum of want makes his dick pulse out a line of precome, hole puckering against his finger.

“I’m gonna get you all stretched out,” Zelo titters, sliding one of Daehyun’s shaking fingers into him up to the last knuckle. “And then if you want it bad enough, I’ll come crawling out and fuck you.”

Daehyun might be hyperventilating against his pillow, sounding pathetic while he opens up all easy and warm for fingers that don’t feel like his own, can’t be because he’s never been able to make himself this keyed up.

Zelo gets four fingers of Daehyun’s fingers deep in him, lube rolling sticky and cold down his balls, and telling him how hot he looks and what he sounds like when Zelo forces Daehyun to curl his fingers to press against his prostate.

“Get out,” Daehyun cries, trembling from how much he wants to come.

Zelo slithers out of him in a cloud of pitch-black smoke, sweaty and inky-eyed, his dick brushing the tattoo across his belly, kneeling behind Daehyun. Daehyun’s wrist aches when he regains feeling and he twists out of his sweats and boxers, leaves his shirt shoved up on his chest.

“Want me right here?” Zelo murmurs, spreading lube on his cock with a sure hand, and pressing the head to Daehyun’s rim.

“Yeah, please, just—“ he begs, reaching back to spread himself open, knows what he looks like when he does that.

Daehyun feels him deep when he finally gets in him, long and thick, makes Daehyun tilt his hips up for it to fit all the way. Zelo blankets his back, pins him down with inhuman force and fucks him like he’s been needing, forcing punched moans out him, can’t do more than take it.

“Don’t you think your neighbors can hear you?” Zelo says, pulls out and gets Daehyun on his back without lifting a finger.

He puts Daehyun’s knees almost to his fucking ears and pounds into him that way, licking into his mouth, thumb forcing its way alongside his tongue.

“Holy fuck, holyfuckholyfuck,” Daehyun keens, toes curling and his cock throbbing, panting after.

“Far from that.”

The bed shrieks beneath them, bedframe trying to withstand what Zelo is doling out. He wonders briefly if angels are this great a lay and why are demons so bad, again?

Daehyun bites into his palm to cover what he’s sure would have been a scream as he comes abruptly, nailing his chin, his shirt, and streaking his belly while Zelo fucks him through it, and then past it, folds him in half to get at his mouth as he comes inside, pulsating.

“You came inside,” Daehyun mutters in a daze, feeling it spill out while Zelo keeps pushing into him.

“Already been inside you anyway,” Zelo says sheepishly.

Daehyun groans as he pulls out and lets his leg fall flat on the bed, thighs burning. Zelo stands to stretch in the faded light of his bedroom, cracking his neck, and then suddenly stilling.

“Are you going to be able to get into me like that all the time now? Am I, like, permanently possess-able?” He asks.

Zelo snorts, his dick soft, still wet between his legs, and shakes his head.