♡ i can't wait for you to come my way ♡

The price to pay for a not totally shitty place to live near your workplace is, well… a considerable amount of money. But also, roommates.

You do like them. The roommates. You found them by accident through mutual friends—they had just rented a very spacious housing unit and were looking into renting the unoccupied bedroom in it to help pay their lease. You were looking for a place to live that didn’t require a lengthy commute to your new job and didn’t cost your entire salary.

Enter this arrangement, whatever the hell it is. You do like your roommates, but, by God, they can be so loud. 

Tonight is yet another Friday night where you came back home a little earlier than usual. Your team from work always goes out for drinks on Fridays, but two of the members are currently pregnant which gets in the way of late-night drinking with the full team. Which gives everyone a good excuse to head home not too late. Which is absolutely fine by you—if you’re going to drink on a Friday night, you’d rather it be in the much more comfortable setting of your own home.

It’s about 8:30 when you get home. By the various pairs of shoes you notice by the door, you guess that only two out of three of the roommates are here presently. You leave your own shoes over there as well and make your way into the apartment, discarding various items on the way. Your light jacket goes into a closet, your purse on a small coffee table in the living room and your bra is thrown into your bedroom, landing somewhere between your desk and your bed. You will pick it up later. 

You pass the small corner of the apartment that your roommates use as their home office. Three computers are cramped on narrow desks, right next to the bathroom. 

“Hey,” you tell Jisung and Changbin. “You guys worked from home all day?”

“Nah, just had to review some stuff,” Changbin explains, flashing a smile at you, looking away from his monitor for no more than a second. “A lot of stuff coming up next week.”

“There’s leftover rice in the fridge if you’re hungry,” Jisung adds. He, on the other hand, turns away from his desktop computer and swirls his chair in your direction. “We bought beer, too.” 

You can tell that Jisung notices that you are currently not wearing a bra under your blouse. He’s gracious about it, they always are, the three of them, but they always notice that stuff. 

You weren’t sure about living with men, but the mutual friend assured you they were good guys. Still… just like anyone, you like to feel free and comfortable at your place, and this is what you were most unsure about at first. But so far, absolutely nothing blatantly inappropriate has happened, and you’ve even grown closer to the three of them. They’re a likable trio, and you consider them more than roommates. More than acquaintances, even. 

A year and a half into this living arrangement, they’re your friends.

And hell, for what it’s worth, you’re not blind either. They’re all good looking guys, they work out, take care of their image… You see all of it, but as responsible adults, both parties are perfectly able to cohabit together. 

So Jisung notices that you’re not wearing a bra, but he casually leans back into his chair and crosses his arms over his chest with a smile on his face. 

“Chan isn’t home, as I’m sure you’ve noticed,” Jisung says, his gaze finally trailing back up to somewhere roughly above your neck. “The boss wanted to talk with him.”

You gasp, putting a hand over your mouth in surprise. “Oh god, is it really happening then?” you ask, your heart jumping in your chest at the revelation. “Is he going to get that big promotion?”

“I think so,” Changbin replies, also turning away from his screen now. “Either that or he gets fired.” 

“He can’t get fired,” you point out. “He’s too good at his job for that.” 

“I’m better than him,” Changbin insists. 

Jisung gives him a not-so-gentle slap behind the head. Bickering ensues. Noisy bickering, as usual. Again—you like your roommates. But they can be so loud.

You’re not particularly hungry as you’ve had food with the drinks earlier, so you announce that you’ll shower now and relax later, hoping that the other two will also relax at some point in the evening, allowing you a few hours of, well, calmness. It all depends on what they decide to do… if they choose to play video games, then you’ll hear them shout and complain until 2 or 3 AM. 

At least they’re funny. And they always order more food and drinks than they need, so you get plenty of leftovers. The eye candy is just a bonus… 

The shower helps relax you a little. You take your time washing your body and cleansing your hair, even allowing yourself a few special skin treatments along the way. By the time you stroll out of the bathroom in the blue silk bathrobe your sister gave you on your last birthday, the sky has effectively gone dark. You can hear conversations in the kitchen while you brush your damp hair, so you make a quick job of finishing that and exit the bathroom.

“Chan!” you cry out, finding him around the kitchen island with Changbin and Jisung. He has a wide smile on his face, and the three of them are holding shot glasses. You notice a bottle of amber liquid resting on the island, too. All of this can only mean one thing. “You got it, then?” 

“I sure did!” Chan pushes a glass towards you and fills it with the liquid. As you get closer, you notice on the bottle that it is imported American whiskey. “I was even given this whiskey!” 

“Fucking ass kisser” Changbin utters dryly, but his smile is revealing his true feelings. 

“Oh my god, Chan, congrats.” He opens up one arm and you give him a quick hug, wrapping one arm around his waist for a few seconds before pulling away to taste the whiskey. It burns your tongue, then your throat, then your eyes. But the flavor is complex and unique. “You deserve this!” 

“Thank you.” You notice Chan’s flushed cheeks, and wonder how many shots he’s had already—but even if it were 5 or 10 shots, it doesn’t matter tonight. He should celebrate. He works harder than anyone you know and is so dedicated to his job that he often forgets himself. “Thank you for putting up with me when I’m so stressed about work. All of you.” 

“Ah, shut up, let’s not be too emotional, let’s just drink,” Jisung says to ease the sudden increase in emotion in his friend. “Felix is coming over later, maybe more people too. Should be here soon. We’re gonna play the new game expansion.” This, he mentions to you, as a polite warning that you will not be getting the calm evening you were hoping for. But that’s alright—Chan deserves a fun night.

The guys have been particularly enjoying a newly released video game and while you liked it too, you definitely did not like it as much as they did. They had been expectantly waiting for the new expansion to drop and you feel like they did deserve some unrestrained fun, and to be as childish as they wanted. All of them often worked late hours and skipped sleep to have a good job performance, after all.

But Chan especially. So you actually take the bottle of liquor and pour him a generous shot, sliding it towards him, before pouring some for each of you as well.

“To Chan and his success,” you say, raising your glass. 

Changbin and Jisung echo you, and the four of you down the shots before slamming your glasses on the countertop. Chan’s ears are bright red, and it’s quite endearing. He’s not used to being the one being praised. It’s always him showing appreciation to others and much less often him getting the attention. 

“Have fun, you guys,” you say with a smile. “Thank you for sharing your celebratory liquor with me,” you add to Chan, dipping your head politely, “it was delicious.” 

You make your way towards the hallway to get to your room—you’ll at least change into clothes, especially if they have people coming over. 

“You’re welcome to join us,” Chan calls from the kitchen after you’ve disappeared. You smile to yourself, thinking of the genuine warmth in Chan’s voice when he speaks to you—or to anyone, really. You don’t know many people who are as kind and as caring as he is. So, it makes sense that he wouldn’t want you to feel excluded. “If you want, of course.”

“Thanks, Channie, I’ll come and say hi later!” you reply from the hallway and enter your room before closing the door behind you.

Tonight isn’t so different from other Friday nights for you—you put on your noise-canceling earphones and browse the internet to unwind a little while deciding on which drama you’d like to see next. You always select carefully, as you don’t like to waste two or three episodes deciding if you like the show at all. 

The little party outside of your room, however, is quite inviting. You usually try not to mingle too much, so as not to bother your friends. After all, they work together for the same company, and while you celebrate Chan’s success, you’re simply not a part of their team, and you know to respect this.

You think of Chan’s clear invitation, though. How he said you were welcome to join them. 

You also think of the smell of his cologne and the warmth of his body when you hugged him earlier. 

Again. You are not blind. You have eyes to see and these eyes see that you live with three very good looking dudes who work with other very good looking dudes. But Chan is a little bit more your type than the others. Not that you have a type and not that you’ve ever considered Chan to be anything but your roommate and friend. 

But. Chan is a little bit more your type than the others. 

You close your eyes and sigh. Your initial plan when moving in was to stay here no more than one year, giving you enough time to acclimate to your new job and neighborhood while seeking an apartment for yourself.

But the guys always order more food and more drinks than they need. But the guys always have excellent music playing in the background. But the guys always respect you and your space. 

But Chan is a little bit more your type than the others. 

This is the whiskey whispering things to your mind and you know it. The whiskey and the beers you had when you were out earlier, too. That, and the very long week you’ve just had at work—everything is working together to distort your thoughts. 

This isn’t the first time you think about those things. A few weeks ago, you came back home after lunch, when the building your office is located in had to be closed because of an electrical issue. You didn’t think anyone would be home, honestly. But if someone had to be home on a weekday afternoon, you wouldn’t have expected it to be Chan out of all people.

But Chan was home that day and he didn’t hear you get in, you figure. You hope he didn’t. You hope he doesn’t know what you saw—the door of his bedroom wasn’t completely closed but the sounds that came out of it simply couldn’t be mistaken. He had been watching porn and apparently furiously jerking himself off to it. 

You had never really thought of him that way before. Like. Sexually. You had simply noticed that he was handsome, selfless, and sweet. And, frankly, you didn’t really think of him that way today. Sexually. It was just the whiskey and the fact that Chan works out and smells nice. That was all. Nothing else. 

Well. That, and maybe a little bit the fact that you’re lonely and very busy with work. Too busy to seek out and date, even casually. 

And Chan is a little bit more your type than the others.

There are a few things you normally do on a night like this. You either get drunk enough that you’ll fall asleep within an hour, you either take out your favorite sex toy and get off a couple of times until you feel better, or you open the dating app you’ve been using for a few months and see if any of this can take some of the edge off. 

You take out the earbuds to get a better sense of what’s going on in the living room. It sounds like the big video game celebration is still going, and like there’s a little bit of a ruckus out there—probably the same group of 8 that usually crowds the living room, a few Friday nights once in a while. Maybe you could sneak your way out of your room and go grab a beer in the fridge… 

So you choose to do that, taking your phone with you after you’ve opened the dating app. You don’t use it for dating. You use it for fucking, like everybody else. It’s not that successful and literally, all of the hook ups you’ve had from it so far were rather disappointing. 

But tonight you just need a distraction. 

So you swipe left and right on your way to the kitchen. It’s easy to go unnoticed because the living room isn’t connected to it, but you can only smile when you hear the boys having their fun. ‘Felix how could you kill me! I thought we formed an alliance!’ ‘Oh my god Jisung, did you just fucking kill Seungmin?’ ‘CHANGBIN YOU’RE SHOOTING AT ME, YOU NEED TO SHOOT THE OTHER TEAM!’ 

The whiskey is still on the kitchen island. You hesitate but ultimately choose to pour yourself a glass, as it had been offered to you earlier anyway. You don’t even wait until you’re back in your room to drink it, hasty of experiencing that unique flavor again. Except that you almost choke on it when, after a few random swipes, the dating app presents you with the profile of someone you know very well. 

In his profile photo, Chan is standing in a corner of his office at work, smiling wide and making a funny pose. You know this picture was taken by Changbin a few weeks ago, because Chan himself showed it to you on his phone, explaining the backstory that came with it.

More whiskey follows the one you’ve already had. This is expensive imported stuff and you should pace yourself. 

It feels rude to swipe left on Chan, so you decide not to do it and swipe right instead. To your surprise, you’re notified of a match. Meaning he has swiped right on you before… 

But just to be polite, right? 

You pour more whiskey into your glass and quickly return to your room, afraid that someone—Chan especially—would leave the living room and see you sneaking around for liquor.

You continue browsing the app, trying very hard not to think about the match with your friend. It’s almost working—or maybe the whiskey is working, rather—until you get a message. From him. On the dating app. When he could very well text your phone number, as he always does.

Chan: lol  Chan: is that what you’re doing in your room rn lol come hang out 

You click your tongue, chasing the whiskey with more whiskey. You ignore the message for a few minutes, deciding to look at other matches you got. One other guy has already messaged you to compliment the shape of your tits on your profile photo, so you engage in conversation with him. You would never do this if you were sober.

But you’re not sober.

So you click on the conversation with Chan. 

you: aren’t you playing games with your friends?  you: i took more whiskey btw. thanks! 

He responds almost immediately. 

Chan: they’re all better than me. i keep dying so i’m letting the kids play while i watch Chan: also you can have as much whiskey as you want :) 

Texting one of them while living in the same apartment instead of getting up and telling them directly something isn’t a new concept. In fact, it’s almost a daily occurrence for the four of you. You regularly send voice messages to Jisung to berate him when he doesn’t clean up after himself in the kitchen, or Changbin likes to facetime at least one person when he finds a bug in a corner, as he feels lonely when he has to get rid of them on his own. The apartment even has his group chat and it’s quite active. 

You really, really like your roommates. They’re your friends. 

But Chan is a bit more your type than the others.

you: ok thanks! don’t let them be too mean to you Chan: :p come say hi later!  you: sure! 

You leave the conversation there because the other chat you’re having with the guy who likes your tits is getting a little heated and it makes you feel things. ‘fuck I bet you’d let me come on your tits’

He is wrong. There is no way in the world you would let him do that. But you’re bored, and you can’t get the smell of Chan’s cologne out of your mind, so you reply ‘wanna see?’ 

You finish the whiskey in one go after sending that risky text. You feel warm under your skin and pull your tank top just above your bare tits, preparing to take the picture—you asked him if he wanted to see, but you know what the answer will be. They always want to see. So you angle yourself, arch your back, and take a few nudes—you already have a small collection of them on your phone, but you like to update them once in a while. 

You make a quick job of sending your two best pictures as you don’t particularly like doing such things. The act of sending the pictures itself is still strange and foreign to you, despite it being common practice in people in your age range. 

For what it’s worth, you know you’re not going to go out tonight and meet this guy. You’re certainly not going to let him come on your tits… You’re just trying to distract yourself from the guy you really can’t think of—

A notification pops up on your screen.

Chan: uh. did you mean to send these to me?

You look at your phone in disbelief. You must be drunk—there is no reason for Chan to keep on messaging you from the dating app. Maybe he sent the message to you instead of someone else, because you haven’t sent him anything. And there’s no reason for him to be sending you this text, these words, in this order—

But you already have opened the app again and checked the text conversations in it. 

And this is how you realize you’ve sent the nudes to Chan instead of sending them to titsl0v3rb0i69. 

You hear footsteps in the hallway and you hold your breath, hoping nobody will come knocking at your door right now because you can feel your face is bright red from embarrassment. There’s nothing left for you to do except to seriously start looking at other apartments, preferably on the other side of the city entirely. Hell, you’ll settle for paying more rent if it means you can leave this place sooner. 

You’re never gonna be able to look Chan in the eyes again.

It was him in the hallway. You can tell because you recognize his footsteps, and you hear the sound of his door closing behind him. His bedroom is right next to yours, something that never bothered you until tonight. Until right now. Poor guy is probably so shocked and embarrassed that he needs a minute on his own—you can still hear the gaming party in the living room, so everyone is still there. 

How difficult can it be to change your identity? To become a new person and move somewhere far away?

Out of all people, you had to send these to him. It had to be him who saw your fucking tits? Why? You want to tell yourself it’s all going to be okay, that, after all, you and Chan are both adults—if he uses the dating app, he is no stranger to sending and receiving nudes as they are a common occurrence on such apps. You want to tell yourself that you’ll just get over it, over the embarrassment, the shame. But you know you never will.

Because Chan is very, very much your type.

you: Chan im so sorry you: i really didn’t mean to send this to you. im sorry  you: fuck i’ll move out asap 

Chan reads the texts, his back still leaning against his bedroom door which he just closed behind him. He reads your words, he reads them in your voice, imagines your cheeks flushed with shame. He always liked your face, always thought you were pretty and had nice hair. Cute lips. You almost always have lipstick on and he’s certain that your lips taste nice. 

Chan: you don’t have to move Chan: i deleted the texts. i barely saw anything 

That was a lie. He had noticed you sent photos, so he had opened them, of course. He didn’t expect… this. So he clicked on them. In the middle of the living room, with all of his friends/coworkers around. Thankfully, they were too absorbed in their game to notice anything.

But he had just turned away a little, and he had looked. At you. He had looked at your tits, the smoothness of them. The curve of your arched back. The second photo showed the bottom half of your face, your lips slightly parted, and blood rushed to his cock. 

So Chan is in his room now, trying to calm down. He takes deep breaths, but he’s a little too aware of the fact that only a wall separates him from you. You’re right there, on the other side… 

you: really? you didn’t see it? 

Here is one thing about Chan—he is not a very good liar. He is not a good liar and he doesn’t enjoy lying, not even through text, so it takes a lot of effort for him to be texting you about these lies.

Chan: i saw just a glimpse Chan: im sorry. shit, im sorry 

He takes more deep breaths but it doesn’t make much of a difference with the embarrassing situation that’s currently happening in his shorts. 

He’s seen you before. Not naked naked, but he’s seen you through the crack of your door when you were just changing shirts because of unexpected weather, he’s seen you with just a towel around your body. Seen you in more revealing outfits.

For an instant, Chan considers these memories of you not-fully-dressed, and he realizes that it ever rarely ended up with his cock remaining soft. 

Chan is drunk and this is why he finally admits to himself that he thinks you’re hot. This whole time, he tried so hard to fight it. Blamed his lack of hook ups for the occasional lewd thought about you. Blamed his busy schedule for his lack of hook ups. Blamed the fact that it was easy to have these thoughts about you because you are his roommate, and he spends a lot of time with you.

you: why are you sorry? it’s my fault  you: if you didn’t see too much… then it’s ok  you: please don’t think that i’m just a slut who sends nudes to anyone  you: im just drunk. and bored 

Chan reads your texts and it doesn’t help. It doesn’t help at all, because he hadn’t even considered the very obvious fact that since these nudes weren’t meant for him, they were meant for somebody else. 

He wants to stop his brain from typing the text he is currently typing, but there is a severe lack of blood flow to his head, and any attempts from his two last brain cells to prevent the texts from happening simply… fail.

Chan: lol im drunk too Chan: and bored 

The very second he presses ‘Send’ on these, Chan wants to disappear into the ground forever, and be forgotten. He simply wants to be unmade, for these are the cheesiest, lamest, fucking dumbest risky texts ever sent in the history of humanity. 

For these, he blames his aching cock, rendering his underwear uncomfortably tight. 

He just needs to jerk off—which he will do right now. It happens sometimes, as it happens to anyone else, for sure.

Then he’ll go back to the living room and get even drunker, and hopefully, he will be able to laugh it off with you as early as tomorrow. 

It’s not his fault that you’re cute and smart and really nice. It’s not your fault either so he doesn’t blame you for it. But it’s certainly not his fault if you smell good and if he saw you in this blue robe earlier, the one he likes so much. If he was going to fuck you, which he won’t because you’re his friend and his roommate and he doesn’t want to mess anything up, but if, he’d hope you’d be wearing it while he fucks you.

He prays that nobody notices him when he leaves his bedroom and darts towards the bathroom. It’s common courtesy in this apartment to notify the other tenants when one is going to shower—in case they need to use the bathroom before—but Chan ignores that unwritten rule and starts the shower to warm up the water a little. He just needs to jerk off, and then he’ll be fine. It’s been a long day, and you weren’t wearing a bra under your robe. And he saw your tits, your beautiful, round—

His phone vibrates on the counter as he’s pulling his shirt off his shoulders. The shirt falls to his feet as he dares to look at the screen.

you: but. why are you bored?  you: the living room is full of your 7 closest friends and you got a big promotion! you: go with your friends, Channie. im really sorry about the pictures. i didnt want to ruin your night 

Channie. His cock twitches painfully when he reads this. Fuck—sometimes, other people will use this nickname with him. Occasionally. As a joke, mostly. But it never feels quite the same as when you do. When you say it, it makes him feel special, like he matters to you in a unique way.

And he likes that feeling a little too much. But that angers him. He’s an adult, and yes, he’s too busy for dating or for hook-ups, but he does respect you. He respects you and he fucking wishes his cock would respect you, too. 

If you think that him seeing your nudes ruined his night… Then, truly, Chan is deep, deep into the friendzone and there is nothing he can do about it. 

Chan is not a good liar.

Chan: you didn’t ruin my night. don’t beat yourself up Chan: you could never ruin anything for me Chan: goodnight <3 

Chan knows that he will not text you anymore tonight, for these were the three worst texts sent in the history of ever, and he deserves to be struck by lightning for sending these pathetic messages to you.

Again. He blames the sudden blood flow to his cock for becoming the worst idiot alive in a matter of seconds.

He manages to get out of his boxers and pants—not without a fight, as they feel much tighter than they usually are, and that irritates him even more. He hates that just a couple of nudes did this to him. 

The water burns him so he adjusts it until it’s more comfortable, and Chan just stands under the shower until he feels calm. Or almost calm. He’s still thinking of you—now, it’s impossible to think of anything else—but he’s peaceful about it. He’s in the friendzone but he gets to be your friend, to laugh with you. You often watch horror movies with him and he likes it because you get scared and you sometimes hide behind his shoulder… 

And he gets to smell your hair and feel you close. 

As a friend. 

Well. Friend or not, that doesn’t stop Chan from locking his strained cock into his hand, staring down straight at it, almost as if he still can’t believe it’s hard. He squeezes faintly, just enough to feel himself, and pumps one, two, three, four, five, six… until he lets go of himself, ashamed. This is wrong. It feels so, so wrong—it’s even worse because he brought his phone in here and he didn’t delete your pictures like he said he did. 

This is wrong and unfair to you, his friend... But he’s so hard, for you. His fingers find his phone which he left on a shelf opposing the water to keep it dry. His fingers also find your nudes again, and the phone returns to the shelf, screen left on. 

Chan’s mouth is watering at the mere idea of feeling your nipples in between his lips… how he would twirl his tongue on them just to feel you. To tickle you. 

No no no. This is wrong, too wrong. 

Chan’s eyes avoid his phone now, but they land on your shower products. He always thought you smelled good, and he doesn’t even think twice before grabbing the first bottle he sees, opening it up, and taking a good whiff of it. 

Fuck—your body wash just reminds him of your skin, the feeling of it against his when he hugged you earlier, in that blue robe… but Chan doesn’t hesitate to pour a generous amount of the soap into his open palm and begin to rub the foam onto his chest, his arms, to cover himself with all of you. Your products smell like sunshine and like flowers and like you.

Chan doesn’t bother with rinsing out the body wash and moves on to your shampoo, which he lathers generously on his hair, his cock still aching but he ignores it. Ignores how tight and sore his balls feel. Ignores how it makes him feel to smell you on him. 

But he thinks about you. Your hands, cute and delicate, taking him, touching him. Your pink lips locked tight around his cock. 

Your tits bouncing when you ride him, and the smell of you, just you… his hands on your waist, pulling you onto him, slamming you on his cock until you come undone and until he fills you up— 

Chan’s train of thoughts is interrupted when he touches his cock again, as it sends a jolt of electricity through his body. Fuck, he’s just so horny for you, like he bottled it up all this time and it just needs to get out… 

He squeezes himself so hard that he just knows he will feel sore from it tomorrow, but as Chan strokes himself, he can’t stop a deep moan from escaping his lips, followed by a whimper—he bites into his own fist to muffle the sounds, hoping nobody heard that, leaning with his free hand on the ceramic wall, his forehead pressed against it. He doesn’t even need to look at your nudes on his phone—the images are printed in permanent ink into his brain. 

He doesn’t want to think of you, he respects you. But he thinks of your tongue, he thinks of your tits, he thinks of pulling your hair while he fucks you from behind, your back arched just like in the pictures. You, screaming his name with that pretty mouth of yours…

Chan comes without warning—he just feels one powerful wave in his gut and pleasure takes control of his whole body for a few seconds. He feels the pulse of his length in his hand and watches as his cock twitches under his own touch, and as his thick cum spills out of him and goes into the shower drain, some even splashing on the ceramic wall he’s facing. The rubbing and squeezing continue until he’s empty and until all of the aftershocks have stopped making his shoulders jerk, the pressure within him finally alleviated. 

If post-nut clarity is real, then it hits Chan at that moment. How he disrespected your friendship and your trust in him. 

He uses his own body wash to clean his hands and cock and rinses his body and hair with care. When the water’s off, he finally deletes the nudes off his phone. It was so wrong. What he did was so wrong.

A random towel is grabbed from the closet. Chan dries himself with it and does a short walk of shame from the bathroom to his room. His friends are still having fun in the living room. Your bedroom door is still closed and he can see from the small crack under it that your light has been turned off. 

He gets in bed, ready to sleep, feeling somewhat calmer after a strong orgasm and a hot shower. Calmer, but not soothed.

Chan doesn’t sleep.

You wait after Chan’s shower is over and after he returns to his bedroom to decide what you should do. 

By now, a few of the guests have left the apartment, leaving Jisung, Changbin, Felix, and Minho still in the living room. There’s music playing at low volume and discussions at an even lower volume, but no more loud video games, no more shouting. 

The thing that you want to do is rather straightforward. You want to get out of bed, reach for your closet, find in it your vibrating sex toy and get yourself off. 

But Chan is in the room next to yours and you would bet all the money in your bank account that he isn’t asleep. 

And there are the four other guys in the living room—all of them could hear you, maybe.

But Chan is a little bit more your type than the others. And the whole ordeal tonight—it makes you feel things.

You could, also, not use the vibrating toy, which is loud. You could get yourself off using your hands alone, or using the toy without turning it on, which you do rather often to avoid being heard. 

It’ll have to do.

Your clothes land on the floor in a matter of seconds, and your legs spread open just enough for your hand to reach your folds, which you find definitely not dry after what you heard, while Chan was showering. You close your eyes, your cheeks warm, a strange flutter in your stomach.

Chan went to take a sneaky shower. And you heard him moan at some point into it. A muffled moan but it was there and you are certain you did not make this up. 

You jump at your own touch, at the contact of your cool fingers against your wet heat, but that doesn’t stop you from parting yourself open, fingers kneading nicely with familiar motions, juices coating you in a matter of seconds. 

But it doesn’t feel like it usually does—it’s nice, and you like the way you touch yourself, hover onto your clit, tease your entrance… but you feel empty. Ashamed and empty. You know, you just know, that your fingers won’t be enough. You guess that even if you managed to muffle the sounds of your vibrator, it still wouldn’t be enough.

For just a second, you wonder where that insatiable hunger is coming from.

Your room is dark, but you twist your neck to look at the wall separating your room from Chan’s. God fucking dammit. 

Did he moan… did he moan because of you? Because of the nudes he saw? Or was it an unrelated moan? 

Did he just… did he jerk off in the shower? It has to be that, right? But then, could it be possible that he did it to the thought of you?

The problem is that you’re not drunk enough. You can still feel the whiskey affecting you, but to get over… whatever the hell happened tonight, you need to be a lot more drunk. 

So you find your robe on the back of your chair and wrap yourself tightly in it before leaving your room to sneak to the bathroom, where you feel like a little clean-up is in order. 

While you’re drying your hands on your towel, you notice that the products on your designated shelf of the shower, have been moved. In over a year of living here, it never happened before, as the guys had very little interest in your preferred products.

You lock eyes with your reflection in the mirror. Flushed cheeks, round eyes, disheveled hair—you’re a mess. You’re a stupid, horny mess. 

Maybe not just horny.

Maybe disappointed.

Maybe you made the mistake of sending those nudes to Chan. It was an honest mistake, you didn’t mean to do it. But it happened and he didn’t do shit about it. Maybe he jerked off in the shower, maybe he didn’t. Maybe you were hoping he would send you a picture back, just a quick little dick pic in return, signaling that he had enjoyed what he had seen. Maybe you were hoping he would at least say that you’re beautiful or something like that.

But Mr. Manners himself is way too fucking nice and now you are frustrated, in more ways than one.

You quickly make your way back to the kitchen and find the whiskey still on the kitchen island. There is a lot less of it than there was earlier, but it’s fine. You guzzle down a couple of shots right there and it burns your throat just right. 

Maybe you should text titsl0v3rb0i69. Maybe he doesn’t live too far from here. Maybe he could fuck you and make you forget Chan.

There is one second during which you consider going into the living room and acting all nice to Jisung. If one guy would be down for it with you tonight, it would be him. If you had sent him the nudes instead of Chan, you definitely would have gotten a response out of Jisung. 

You pour yourself another shot and drink it, and that’s when Chan appears in the kitchen. 

For some reason, you’re surprised to see him there, as if the apartment wasn’t leased in his name, as if you hadn’t come across him in this very kitchen hundreds, thousands of times. But he’s here. You see him pull his headphones down and they rest on his neck. You faintly hear the music that’s coming out of them. 

It’s dark in the kitchen, as you left the lights off, but you can tell Chan has a very serious expression on his face.

In the living room, there is a lively conversation about politics. And also about internet memes, for some reason.

“Hey,” Chan says to you from the other side of the kitchen island. 

There is a bottle of American whiskey in between you, but it feels like nothing. But it feels like everything.

But Chan is a little bit more your type than the others.

“Hey,” you echo, your voice trembling, your mouth dry, while Chan pours himself two shots of whiskey and drinks them one after the other.

That’s it. You’re thankful the room is dark because you’re blushing and you can feel it. You’re also feeling warmth pooling at your core, despite the cleanup job you did over there earlier. 

Chan has you wet, and all he did is… nothing. He did jack shit in response to your nudes, and that has you turned on? How fucking pathetic is that?

This is when Changbin enters the kitchen. He’s obviously in a fantastic mood and doesn’t notice the awkwardness in the room.

“Chan, man, we were celebrating without you!” Changbin points out with a laugh. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” Chan replies, his voice smaller than usual. Less steady. “I was, uh, tired.” He drinks another shot quickly, avoiding looking at you or Changbin.

“Sure. Big day for you,” Changbin chimes in with a nod, then he leans back towards the living room to speak to the guys over there. “You guys want anything?” 

“Just bring the lemonade pitcher,” you hear Jisung say. “And glasses. I’m thirsty.” 

You’re thirsty too. You ask Changbin to pour a little bit of the lemonade into your glass before he leaves with it.

The conversation about politics vs internet memes resumes. The taste of lemonade clashes with the taste of the whiskey.

Chan is no longer on the other side of the kitchen island, he’s near the fridge, to your left. 

“Look, Channie—” you begin, turning to him, your heart beating fast in your chest, “I’m really sorry.” 

You hear Chan inhale sharply, almost as if he had been hurt. But he doesn’t look hurt. You know this because he’s taken a few steps towards you, and he is so close now that you recognize the song that’s playing from his headphones, still hanging around his neck. 

You gulp painfully, looking up and into his eyes. 

“Channie—” but you don’t really know what to say. You don’t really want to say anything, anyway.

You can smell him. His body wash, his deodorant, the laundry softener lingering on his black t-shirt. Him. That’s how close he is—much closer than he was just a second ago, or are you just making this up? 

This is a song he plays often. You realize that you only know this song because of him and because he plays it when you two are hanging out, alone. 

It doesn’t surprise you when Chan reaches out his hand to cup your face, doesn’t surprise you when his thumb brushes on your cheek, on your mouth… you part open your lips for him, your breath shallow, an earthquake taking place in your chest.

From the bottom of your heart, you didn’t mean to send him these nudes. 

But you did, and he is finally doing something about it—Chan’s thumb is on your open mouth, your tongue just barely pressing against it. 

Under Chan’s touch, all of the frustration you felt earlier evaporates in a second.

He says your name slowly, meaningfully, his voice husky and deep. “I know we’re drunk, but can I please kiss you?” he then asks under his breath.

You manage a nod and, in the process, Chan’s thumb rubs against your lips, which feels a million times better than your hand between your legs did earlier. So much better, that you have to repress a whimper but not for long—a second later, his face is just centimeters away, the song playing louder from the proximity, and then Chan’s whiskey mouth is on yours.

He wraps you in his strong arms, pulling you closer to him, as his lips force yours open. The sounds of your wet tongues and lips meeting make you dizzy, and when you let out a small moan of appreciation, Chan deepens the kiss, his tongue pushing past your lips hurriedly, purposefully. 

You stretch your arms to wrap them around his neck, pulling him closer, molding your body against his. You become aware of your breasts pressing onto his chest, and of the fine silk of your robe, cool against your warm skin. You wonder if Chan can feel your nipples. You wonder if Chan can feel how much you want him. 

Your ass hits the counter behind you when Chan pushes you backward, and he groans into your mouth when he presses his crotch firmly against you. You only stop kissing when you need oxygen. 

But you need Chan more. 

You’re pretty sure he’s hard. 

“Chan—” you whisper, your mouth trailing away from his mouth. You pause, pressing your tongue against his earlobe before closing your lips around it. He moans when you begin sucking just slightly, and he pushes you harder against the counter. “—wait—” 

You’re the one telling him to wait but you’re also the one going back to kiss him hard on the lips, you’re the one moaning into his mouth. You’re the one who runs your hand through his wavy hair, which you know means he simply let it air dry after his shower earlier. This is your favorite look of his—casual, laidback. 

Eye fucking you. 

But Chan responds to your hesitation and pulls away from you, a glazed look in his eyes, his mouth wet with your kiss. 

“Sorry,” Chan whispers, taking a couple of steps back. “Shit. Shit shit.” 

A loud series of laughter erupts from the living room, making you both jump and look in the direction of the door frame. From what you gather from the conversation, the guys are headed this way for a late-night snack as well as beers, as the lemonade didn’t quite cut it for them, apparently. 

You look over at Chan, the warmth in your gut more prominent than ever. In one swift motion, you grab the bottle of whiskey on the kitchen island with one hand and Chan’s wrist with the other, and you drag him away from the kitchen, away from everyone else.

You guys make it to Chan’s room because it’s closer than yours, and hurriedly close the door behind you just in time before being seen by anyone. Or so you hope. 

It’s dark in here except for the small lamp on Chan’s bedside table on the wall opposing the door. 

You unscrew the bottle and drink some whiskey, offering the liquor to Chan when you’re done. He eagerly takes it from you. When your fingers brush him, your heart flutters. 

His mouth is glistening again but with whiskey this time. You kiss him, licking the American whiskey off his lips.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he whispers, pressing his forehead against yours. “Your mouth tastes so good…”

You feel a shiver pass through you, all of you, when he says that.

You need him. Now.  But Mr. Manners has other plans. 

“We don’t have to…” Chan begins, putting the lid back on the whiskey and setting the bottle on his desk. “We really don’t have to if you don’t want to.” 

You pull away from him, away from the door, further into his room. It smells like him here. You’re not often in his room. Rarely. 

“Aren’t you hard right now?” you ask openly. You’re drunk and horny. “Didn’t I fucking feel you just moments ago?” 

Chan squirms uncomfortably near the door but takes a step towards you. He’s wearing black shorts and you can’t see, but you felt him. In the kitchen, more laughter, and plates clinking. 

“We don’t have to even if I am,” he tells you, his voice low, his eyes on you, on all of you. Your body. “I respect you.”

You contemplate it. Hell, even in your drunken state, you appreciate it. But you have other plans. “Then fucking disrespect me, Channie.” 

Chan’s headphones are taken off from his neck and he leaves them near the bottle of whiskey on his deck, and he pulls you close, kissing you once more. God, kissing him is a little too good. In your mouth, his tongue is insisting. His tongue is wet and warm and exhilarating.

His hands are on you, now, caressing your body and feeling you up, through the fabric of your robe. 

“What if this ruins our friendship?” he asks, his face somewhere in your neck. 

“You said it yourself earlier. You said I could never ruin anything for you.” 

Chan was a fool to think it would never come to this. 

“You said it earlier,” you tell him. He can see that your cheeks are flushed, despite the relative darkness. “You said I could never ruin anything for you.”

He lets his hands rest on your waist. Standing in his room, with you, right now, is surreal. It’s something he hadn’t even dared to dream of, even if he is slowly becoming aware that he’s wanted this for a long time. 

In the end, you give him a quick kiss. “Channie. It’s okay if you don’t want to. But if you want to fuck me, do it. I really, really want to fuck you.” 

There’s something about this undeniable consent that turns Chan on even more. He looks into your eyes as you undo your robe, revealing to him your beautiful and inviting body. Your smooth skin, your soft and perfect breasts. Ultimately he allows himself a few seconds to look at them. He’s dreamed of that. But he doesn’t dare to gaze below your waist—Chan is afraid it would drive him mad to do so just then.

You sit on the edge of the bed and pull him closer. When he goes to sit next to you, you stop him, making sure he stands in front of you. And then you make sure he’s looking at you in the eyes when you tug on the waistband of his shorts, doing a quick job of pulling them down. They fall around his ankles, and you waste no time cupping his aching cock over his underwear. 

You’re not looking at his face now, you’re looking at what your hand is touching, biting your lower lip. “Channie, you’re so hard…” You lean over, lift his shirt just a little, and kiss his navel. “Didn’t you come earlier, in the shower?”

The honest question startles Chan, but he’s drunk and you’re relentless in your slow rubbing of his length. It’s making him crazy, even through fabric. 

“I heard you,” you go on, a shy smile painting itself on your pink lips. “I hope you moan like that when you come again.” 

You emphasize your wish by pressing harder on his cock, effectively making him moan. The laugh that escapes your lips is sinful. 

The underwear quickly join the shorts at Chan’s ankles, and he kicks them both away.

“Oh fuck…” is all you manage taking in the sight of his erect length. “Channie. Were you hiding this from me this whole time?” 

Again, Chan makes a move to go sit next to you, as he’d very much like to lie down and kiss you some more. But you open up your slender hand and delicately spit into it. He’s too stunned, too hard, to even realize what is about to happen, but you immediately grab his cock and experience the feeling of it in your palm. Chan is experiencing the feeling too, and it’s so sudden and good that he feels his guts tighten, the muscles of his thighs tense up. 

“Like this?” you ask, finally looking up at him, giving a few tentative strokes, rotating your wrists to accentuate the motion. 

“Y—yeah,” is all that Chan can manage, watching your hand work on him. You stroke all of this length slowly, often squeezing at the base, taking your time. It feels good there, and all over, too. Feels like he’s floating.

Your hand slows down even more when it reaches his tip again, and your thumb brushes on it, smearing his precum onto his length. “You’re leaking, Channie…” 

As if he doesn’t know. As if he isn’t ready to come right then and there at the sight of your bare tits and your thighs. 

“Wonder if you taste good…” 

You lean in a little, mouth open, the tip of your tongue visible. God, you are so beautiful. You lock your lips around his tip and he feels your tongue twirl and twist against him. He jerks, surprised by the softness of your mouth, by the shock of pleasure that just shot through him. 

And then you pull away from him, your tongue out, showing him the precum you’ve gathered from him, resting on it. There’s some on the corner of your mouth, too, lazily dripping down onto your chin. Chan watches carefully as your tongue retreats into your mouth and as you swallow what you just took from him.

“You do taste good, Channie…” you wet your lips with your smooth tongue, spreading the taste of him all over your mouth. “Did you like it?” 

Chan nods, his legs weakening. “Y—Yeah.” He whimpers when you take him in your hand again, but his head falls back when you reach with your other hand to fondle his balls, palming them, squeezing them nicely. “Oh, fuuu—” 

His cursing is lost to an exhale, covered by the sound of your laugh. 

You take him inside your mouth again, using one hand to pump and work what you can’t quite fit in. Your head bobs onto him, emphasizing everything, the way you often tease his tip with your tongue, how plush your mouth feels around him, your hand tugging and squeezing his balls, the sound it makes when your mouth moves around his girth… 

It doesn’t take long before Chan’s eyes roll at the back of his head, and before his hands stretch out to lay on top of your head. Doing so makes it so much better for some reason, and all he can do is buck his hips into your mouth. When you moan around him, the vibrations from your voice rumbling against his flushed cock, Chan thinks for sure he will come. But he doesn’t, by some miracle. Fuck, he never wants this to stop. 

You’re good at this. 

Chan hasn’t had that much sex. Like, in general. He’s had some. With women he didn’t really know, with women he never even saw the morning after. It’s just easier this way. After they’re done fucking, he’ll let them fall asleep in their own bed—he never brings girls here—and sneak out of their place. And that had always been okay.

He hadn’t had that much sex but he had enough to know this is the best oral he ever received. The way you sometimes tighten your grip but never on the same area twice, whether it’s with your lips or your hand, the way you make efforts to take just so much of him in your agile mouth—it’s close to being torture. Because you know exactly when to slow down, too. 

Your hollowed cheeks when you give him a good suck. The way you fondle his balls, too. Kindly. Lovingly. It’s close to being torture. The best kind of torture.

Tonight he will fuck you and he will wake up in the same apartment as you. Realistically, you would continue to cohabit, same as before. 

And that does not bother Chan. It doesn’t scare him, because tonight doesn’t feel like the hook ups he has with other girls. It’s you. He knows you. He likes you. 

It makes a delightful pop sound when you release his cock, and Chan groans, his fingers closed into fists in your hair. He looks down at you and you look up at him, your beautiful lips swollen and raw from the sucking, your chin covered in drool and precum. 

Chan lets go of your hair to rub you clean with his thumb, but when he goes to wipe himself on his thigh or something, you grab his wrist and take his thumb in your mouth eagerly, not letting any of his taste get away from you. When you’ve licked him clean, you bite into his flesh delicately, making Chan’s cock twitch painfully. 

He thinks about how today went. His day started normally, he worked hard, skipped lunch break to review some stuff… he was asked to meet with the big boss, got a promotion, which was followed by several meetings… They gave him this bottle of American Whiskey, which he shared with his friends and with you. You drank a lot of whiskey.

Chan wonders if you were just whiskey drunk when you accidentally sent him the nudes.

But, by god, isn’t he glad you did. 

Chan pushes you against the mattress. He does so nicely and politely and you let him do so while he kneels by your side. He can’t wait to fuck you but, also, he can—he wants to touch you, to feel you, even if his balls are sore, even if his cock is straining. You still haven’t let go of his thumb and he watches your face, your mouth, as you lie on your back in his unmade bed, as you nibble and suck gently onto his thumb. 

“Can I touch you there?” Chan whispers, his free hand lingering on your inner thigh, his fingers dancing on your skin. You tense up when he touches you, and he bites his lip when a frown appears on your brow. It’s not the bad kind of frown. And it’s so fucking hot.

“Please, Channie, fuck, yes, yes,” again, the consent sends electricity through his body, and Chan moves his hand further up between your legs. 

He’s barely grazed the smooth skin of your heat but he knows you’re wet. He feels it on your thighs, feels the warmth emanating from you. There’s a loud ringing in his ears. He makes sure to look at your face when he finally presses two fingers against your wet folds.

He never would have expected the sound that you made at that moment. Fuck, he gets close to coming, again, and he gasps as he focuses on you and not on the throb in his cock. 

“Channie,” you whine, squirming on his bed, spreading your legs open just for him, exposing your smooth, wet pussy to Chan. “Yes please, please, please, I need it… need you…” 

You arch your back, opening your legs even further, rolling your hips to fuck yourself onto his hand. Shit, this is too hot, and Chan feels warmth flood his face at that sight—you, using his hand to chase your high, your tits moving with you. Now that you’ve released his hand from your mouth, he uses it to touch them, cup them, squeeze them. 

You’re so wet against his hand. He rotates his wrist until the inside of his fingers is facing your folds, and he gently rubs you, making small rotating motions, alternating with back and forth rubbing to tease your entrance. The blue robe looks so good on you. 

And you look so good in his bed. 

You’re warm and wet. A lot more than he had anticipated. Still on his knees, he caresses you slowly, feeling your whole body come alive under his touch. Your head sinks into the mattress, and another moan again, louder this time—the most beautiful moan he has ever heard.

But also a little loud. Loud enough to be heard outside of this room, for sure. 

He considers it. You, still fucking yourself onto his hand. His flushed cock. 

The crowd, still cooking in the kitchen. His friends.

To hell with it. He uses the hand that’s not fucking you to muffle your voice, pressing it against your mouth. But fuck, it’s almost as if you like it because you only make more sounds… and writhe harder on the bed. 

God, he loves feeling you. So he feels you. Your soaking wet cunt, your mouth biting at his hand. He explores your pussy with his fingers and you stare at him when he brings his hand to his mouth so he can discover your taste. You taste sweet, you taste nice, and he thinks he might want more of that. 

When he brings his head close to your navel, he also lets go of your mouth to spread you open and lift your thighs just enough so that they can rest on his shoulders. Shit, you smell good, too. He can’t be moving too much, because his cock is rubbing against the bed in this position, and he might just come all over himself… 

But, he focuses on you. 

“I’m not… I’m not used to this,” he tells you, his voice low, leaving a few light kisses on your inner thighs. 

“Channie…” He can’t handle how hot you sound when you say his name, when you beg him. 

Chan forgets his lack of experience and uses two fingers to spread you open, kissing your inner thighs, your lips, your entrance, before his tongue reaches you, and you melt. 

You know better than to let the whole apartment know he’s making a mess of you, so you bite down on your own fist as Chan licks and laps at you, making sure every flick of his tongue is as impactful as possible. At least, being so busy doing that makes the ache in his cock a lot less distracting. 

When Chan presses his face harder against you, and your hips meet him there, rolling and bucking and you’re effectively fucking his face, biting your fist is no longer enough to soften the beautiful sounds you’re making. You sound so hot—Chan is pretty sure he could come just to the sound of your voice right now. And maybe the fact that you’re grinding against his face. 

“Fuck yeah… yeah… yes… Channie…” your hand finds his head, his hair, and you press on it for leverage, to get a better angle. Chan just continues his diligent work. “Oh my god, oh god, god…”

The string of curses escaping your mouth doesn’t lie. You bury your face in his pillow just nearby, your body going limp except for your back—you’re arching it so nicely, Chan just knows you’re feeling good.  

He feels a throb under his tongue as you accelerate your grinding. He needs to breathe but when he feels a second throb, he decides he’d rather run out of air than stop now.

So he keeps going, and sneaks a couple of fingers in your entrance, feeling your slick walls around him. Shit. Shit. Shit. Bad idea. He might just come now. You feel too good, too wet—and now you’re not just grinding against his face, your fucking his fingers, and he’s stretching you with them. Your pussy is smooth inside and out, and it feels like heaven.

There’s another powerful throb, and your walls clamp around his fingers before he can even add a third one. Wetness floods Chan’s mouth, your wetness, and your moans flood the room. The pulse of your pussy would be enough to push him over the edge under other circumstances but to witness something as beautiful and magical as your climax feels too special. It never really happened to him before, and he likes it. It was never so… intimate.

He laps at you gently until you calm down, until your back is relaxed again and you’re lying motionless on his bed. Your chest heaves with your deep breathing, and the sounds of your exhales are like music to him. He did this. He did this to you. And it feels good.

Your face is red and there is a little sweat pearling on your temples… but you are the hottest thing Chan has ever seen, has ever touched, has ever tasted. 

He wipes the lower part of his face with the back of his hand as you tug on his shirt to pull him closer, kissing him hard. 

Your mouth tastes like him and his, like you. Your legs are still open and he’s in between them, and Chan feels his cock begging for some attention. 

“You did so well,” you whisper to him, your mouth against his, your hands busy pulling his shirt off his shoulders. When he’s fully naked, you feel his strong body under your palms. “Channie… can you fuck me, now?” 

Chan dives in for another kiss, blindly fumbling in the drawer of his bedside table. Your hips are rolling again, your core threatening to graze over his flushed length. 

His fingers finally encounter the familiar wrapping of a condom, so he quickly pulls it out of the drawer and straightens his back to apply it. You prop yourself up on your elbows, watching him carefully. 

“You’re so big…” you whisper as he barely manages to apply the condom. But he does so, and he watches you watching him. 

“I didn’t know you liked cock this much,” he tells you, feeling a little bit bolder after you came all over his face. He really wishes you had sent him nudes before, on accident or not. 

“Haven’t actually had your cock yet, babe,” you tell him with a smirk that gives him chills. But your voice is trembling and he wants to fuck you dumb. “Please, Channie...” 

You calling him babe gives him dangerous ideas—fuck, he almost wants to fuck you over and over all night and sleep with you, in this bed, so that you can call him like that tomorrow morning, too. 

Chan looks at you straight in the eye when he takes his cock in his hand to guide himself inside you. Your smirk disappears. Your breathing stops, too, when he pushes himself inside you, burying his whole length in your wet heat. 

God, you are tight, and wet, and good. Chan takes a few seconds to enjoy this feeling, hoping he will never forget it. The way your pussy hugs his cock, how good it just feels to stretch you…

It’s you who moves first, pushing yourself even further onto his cock from under Chan’s weight, closing your eyes and your head falling back onto the mattress very quickly. You’re whispering things, filthy things, curses, but he can’t make out all of them.

Chan leans over, his face hovering over yours. You’re beautiful. You’re a mess, your breath smells like his cock, and your pussy is tight. Is he just horny or is he falling in love?

“So big…” you manage, your voice weak and strained. 

In any case, Chan gives a careful thrust, kissing your neck as he does so, before slamming his hips into yours, harder, a few times. You wrap your legs around him, obviously in a hurry to feel even more of him, and that closeness does something to him, and he needs to fuck you even harder. 

So Chan pulls out, mostly to readjust his angle and his weight on you, but in doing so he catches a glimpse of your pussy—flushed, white and creamy and beautiful. Shit. Shit. You’re wet like that, good like that, and it’s all for him. 

You catch him staring and surprise him when you sit on the bed and put your hands on his shoulders. You raise your knee just enough and push Chan down onto the mattress, rolling with him until he’s lying on his back, just like you were a second ago. 

His back sinks within the blankets and the mattress as you climb on him, your hands on his abdomen to keep your balance. You straddle him and waste no time guiding his cock, the condom covered in your slick, back inside you. 

Chan feels you sink onto him, taking him all, and he watches his cock disappear inside you all the way to the brim.

You’re full with him and you bend over to kiss him, your hands on his chest now, keeping him in place. And that’s how you begin to ride Chan, moving your hips softly, tentatively at first. Perfectly. 

Using his body for support, you move onto all of his length, up and down, the rolling of your hips sending waves of pleasure into him every single time you sink back down. Every time, Chan fears he might slip out, but you quickly take him all again, and again, and again—

Chan is sweating now but so are you. Your hair is sticking to your face, and the way you’re relentlessly bouncing on his cock, chasing your high, makes him dizzy. Your tits are bouncing with you, and he squeezes them sometimes—but every time you slam onto him a little harder, he falls back down in the bed. When he’s not squeezing your tits, he’s gripping at your waist and he knows, he just knows, that it will leave bruises.

You’re a little too good at this. 

Chan presses his hand against your lower belly, waiting for the right angle until he can reach your clit with his thumb. When you feel him there, you put your own hand on top of his, making him press harder. By now, you’re fucking him faster, and the bed is slamming against the wall, but both of you are too far gone to actually realize what this entails. 

You say his name, over and over. “Chan, Channie… babe… Channie, yes, yes… don’t stop…” He likes the way his name sounds when it comes out of your mouth, just like he had liked the way his cock had looked inside that mouth.

“Channie Channie Channie Channie I’m so close so close so close don’t stop fuck fuck fuck fuck—” 

Again? Shit. He’s close, too, but he ignores it. If he fucking comes, then, he comes, but he wants to feel you clamp around his cock, no matter what. It was so good when it was just his fingers, he can’t imagine how that would be.

It does surprise him when you come, and it seems like it surprises you, too. Your eyes roll at the back of your head, and then your head follows—it falls in between your shoulder blades as your back arches for him, making you reach an even deeper point, if even possible. The sounds it makes when you sink onto him now are unholy. Wet, filthy. Every time you move on him there’s more juices and more slick gushing out of your perfect cunt and he feels it trickling down on him, smearing his cock, his inner thighs. Fuck. Fuck.

Your walls clamp hard, and Chan feels the pulsating orgasm overtake you. He sees you come undone, your pussy throbbing around his cock as you just go limp, as pleasure fills you. You’ve never been as beautiful as this, he is sure of it.

Chan comes too—of course, as if he could help it—somewhere in the middle of there. It’s sudden and strong, and your pussy is unbelievably tight around him when he feels the first spurt of cum flood in the condom, his cock pulsing within you. You feel it, too, and you moan.

And he moans. 

“Channie, yes,” you groan, slumping over him now, your face in his neck. But you’re still riding him, not quite done with your release. “Moan for me, just like that.” 

As if he could help it. Your cunt is better than anything he ever fucking felt, and he’s still coming, his muscles tensing up, his hips bucking into you from below. You ride him the whole time, draining his balls expertly. Every load he shoots soothes him, makes him see stars. He fills the condom, his eyelids fluttering, his face buried in your hair.

“Oh god,” Chan manages when it’s over. It’s over, but his legs are trembling and he feels weak and dizzy. Everything you just did feels so dirty.

You keep him inside while finding his mouth to kiss him softly. He kisses you back, his fingers brushing on your waist, your ass, your thighs.

You retreat a little, his softening cock released from your wetness. He moans when his cock slips out of you, followed by a trail of your sublime slick. Chan kisses you before turning away to carefully remove the condom and dispose of it after tying a knot in it. He has tissues on his bedside table, and he helps you clean up. 

“We gonna regret this, aren’t we?” you ask, his back facing you as he’s still trying to wipe up all of the slick you’ve smeared onto him. There’s just so much of it. So much of his own cum, too. He fucking loves it.

Chan looks behind his shoulder. You’re sitting on the bed, your back leaning against the wall. You look properly fucked out and he loves it. He loved every moment of this with you. It was the best sex he ever had and the best anything had ever felt. 

“Maybe,” he admits because despite all of this, the situation is complicated and he knows it. “I liked it, though.” 

Your lips curve into a soft smile and you join him on the edge of the bed, putting your head on his shoulder. “I liked it too, Channie.” You kiss his skin where your mouth is closest to it and make an attempt at closing your robe, but it’s been crumpled badly in the past half hour.

Chan leans towards his desk and hands you a clean t-shirt that had been resting on the back of his chair. He even watches you after you’ve gotten up to shrug the robe off and put his shirt on. Your pussy is still flushed, still beautiful. 

“I like this, too,” he tells you, his cheeks turning warm again. 

You look into the mirror over his dresser, checking yourself out from a few angles. “Yeah, looks good on me,” you say, “but you looked better.” Even if he just came, this makes his cock twitch a little, and there’s a fuzzy feeling in his gut.

You wink at him from the reflection in the mirror and turn to pick up your crumpled robe on his bed. When you begin to walk away, Chan grabs your wrist softly and pulls you in for a kiss. A last kiss. 

Or maybe not.

“I might want to do this sometime again,” you whisper against his mouth. 

“Any time,” he tells you, his hands on your thighs. “I’m glad you sent me those nudes. Too bad for that other guy they were intended for…”

You chuckle and he does the same. In the end, he lets you go and watches you exit his bedroom. It doesn’t take long before he hears the water running in the shower, however, Chan is a bit thirsty from all the fucking and kissing, so he quickly puts some clothes on and heads to the kitchen. 

The apartment is dark and quiet, which is why he nearly has a heart attack when he finds Jisung in the kitchen, drinking a glass of water and eating cut-up fruit. The only source of light comes from the street lights outside, but it’s enough.

Chan stops in his tracks, cheeks flushing with shame. He tries to collect himself, tries to act cool as he goes to grab the pitcher of filtered water in the fridge—maybe Jisung didn’t hear anything, after all. Right?

“Hey, Channie,” Jisung says to his back, and Chan understands the meaning behind that, behind the intonation. The heat on his cheeks gets worse as he faces his friend to get a glass from the cabinet. 

“Hey,” he manages almost spilling water all over the kitchen island. “Uh—look—” 

“If you’re going to apologize, don’t,” Jisung warns him. “Next time, just try to fucking keep it down, will ya? Didn’t need to hear any of this. Can’t unhear it anytime soon.”