#sub chris

Your brother had called you three weeks ago and told you to clear your schedule two weeks in advance. Something about finally having two weeks off, and something about a vacation…honestly, when he first called, you were only half listening, occupied folding your laundry while it was still warm and pleasant against your skin. You had assumed “vacation” had simply meant a break from work, time for the two of you to spend together in the comfort of your homes, not an actual vacation. Imagine your surprise when the call ends and he’s forwarding you roundtrip plane tickets to Hawaii. You immediately call him back, laundry going cold on your bed.

“Yang Jeongin.”

“Yes?” he says hesitantly.

“Why didn’t you lead with ‘we’re going to Hawaii’?? Also, how much are these tickets?? I have my own money Innie-yah, I can’t let you pay for any of this. You’re my namdongsaeng, not my hyung. I spoil you, not the other way around.”

He just laughs mischievously, that little shit. “Everything’s already paid for~ You can’t do anything about it.”

You can picture the stupid grin he has plastered across his face, eyes crescents and crinkled in a way that never bodes well for you.

“You don’t pay for a single thing while we’re there then,” you respond, “Adn don’t tell me you already paid for the hotel…”

His giggle in response is enough to make you groan. “Jeongin.”

“Ooooh, full name,” he says, voice full of trouble, “Am I in trouble??”

“Whatever. Whatever! What is this for, anyways?”

“They finally gave us a holiday,” is his only response, “We just had to compose and produce a whole song about it to get one. Light work, really.”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “Naturally. And I’m coming because…? Shouldn’t this be about you and the boys?”

“There’s no me without you,” he says firmly, like it’s a fact of the universe, “I wouldn’t have been able to be where I am without you in my life; I would’ve quit a long time ago. So you get to come on the vacations. They all love you anyways. Pluuuuus, Chan-hyung definitely has a crush on you.”

“Are we in high school?” you retort, though it’s weak, and your cheeks are heating up, “Shut up. And for the record, he definitely doesn’t.”

“Well you have a crush on him.”

You splutter, grateful you didn’t facetime him, because you’re pretty sure the flush is spreading down your neck, “I do not. Shut up, bro. Leave me be.”

He just makes a noncommittal sound in his throat, a knowing one. You yelp back, and then there’s two seconds of tense silence, before the both of you are bursting out in a fit of giggles. 

And now, two weeks later, you’re here. In Hawaii. The flight had been too expensive for your tastes, the kind of private jet experience that you thought people only got if they were in the movies or Taylor Swift. Having borderline personal flight attendants and full course meals on the flight wasn’t something you had anticipated, and wasn’t something you were looking forward too on the way back. The attention was a liiiittle too much at times, the two poor girls hovering at the front unless needed for basically the whole flight. The rest of them might be used to this kind of treatment, but you were not.

“Didn’t bring the rest of the family?” Hyunjin jabbed at Jeongin, grinning. “What’s so special about that one?”

“You did not just call me ‘that one,’” you squawked back, indignant, “Take that back right now. Hey. Jinnie. Hey. Take that back!”

You fake lunge at him and watch him yelp, scurrying off to hide behind Changbin, who puffs up at you.

“Unfair.” You say, right as Chan pipes up. “Two seconds of peace, that’s all I ask for,” he says, groaning, “Why did I sign up for this?”

“Appa, appa, we want ice cream!” Han jokes, pitching his voice up an octave to sound like a little kid.

“Appa, appa, are we there yet?” Felix mimics, stomping his feet, “I wanna be theeere already!” Chan just groans louder and starts to walk into the hotel. The drive from the airport to the hotel had been quiet, people still rubbing the hint of sleep from their eyes and voices, but now that you’re all out of the car and moving, the normal chaos has been restored.

The clock in the lobby of the hotel reads “12:49pm”, and the jet lag is already making your body a little sluggish. You know there’s plans tonight - someone wants to see the sun set over the water, and there’s some fancy dinner place reserved for afterwards - but your bones are aching a bit, calling for you to fall into your hotel bed and nap for a while. Depending on when sunset is, you might just do that.

“Hi there, we’re checking in for Christopher? Christopher Bang?” Chan’s at the desk already, idol voice on as he talks to the receptionist.

She clicks through a couple buttons on the computer, and then reaches out her hand. “ID?”

He passes it over, and she inspects it, nodding like it’s shown her the answers to the universe.

“I’ve got eight rooms, fifth floor, rooms 512-519? Does that sound right?”

Chan freezes, then blinks at her, wide-eyed. “Uhmm, it should be nine rooms, I believe.”

She hums, fiddling with the computer again before nodding. “We had unexpected damage in 520, so we can’t have guests staying in it right now. You should’ve gotten an email? You’ve already been refunded for that room, but I unfortunately don’t have any other openings until…”

She taps a few more buttons, fingers flying across the keyboard. “...four days from now. I can get you that room for the end of your stay?”

“No, no, that’s not necessary,” Jeongin chimes in, like he’s the group spokesperson, “We’ll make it work. Thank you!”

She nods, relieved that someone stepped in before Chan’s heavy stare burned a hole through her head. She pulls the keys out from a drawer under the desk and nods at all of you, sliding them across the cool marble.

“You’re all set then! Enjoy your stay.”

Jeongin swipes the keys before Chan can grab them, and he gets an exasperated look in response.

“You little shit,” Chan says, in English, and you laugh, “Ayen-ah. Give those back.”

“No, that’s okay,” Jeongin says, already rolling his luggage towards the elevator, “I’ve got it, hyung.”

The rest of them follow Jeongin like sheep, unaware of you and Chan hovering at the desk still.

“I don’t know how I’m related to him,” you say with a sigh, though it’s tinged with laughter, “Sorry about him.”

“Yah, we spoil him too much,” Chan says, starting to move towards the elevator after them, “He’s getting a complex.”

“We? You mean you all,” you huff, following after him, “Don’t lump me in with you freaks.”

“You agreed to be here with us freaks, doesn’t that make you a freak, too?” Chan says, tone teasing.

Everyone decides that it’s best to just throw all of the luggage in one room and figure out the rooming situation later. No one wants to deal with it now, not after the long, long flight, and Han is already bouncing off the walls, yammering on and on about going out to see the sights. Despite everyone pointing out to him that you all have all week, Jisung doesn’t care, and he insists that you have a “group adventure” (his words, not yours).

“It’ll be fun!” He repeats for the fifth time in the last two minutes (a new record), “We’re in Hawaii. Let’s not waste our time!”

You all follow along, and admittedly, even with that dull edge of tired energy in your body, you do have fun. The nine of you are chaos, too jacked up by finally being free from schedules (and you from work) to care that the locals give you all strange looks. You suppose a gaggle of what are clearly Korean tourists aren’t abnormal, but a group like you guys is probably an oddity. Hyunjin’s already speaking in rapid Korean with some lady at the “underground market” Jisung found (on a tourism page, so how “underground” can it really be?) and Minho is bartering with a very ruddy white man over some silly cat trinket that he’s set his eyes on.

“Do any of us even have USD?” you murmur, and Chan laughs.

He’s close - too close - and it’s driving you a little crazy. His knuckles brush the back of your hands more than once in the tight aisles of the outdoor market, once, twice, thrice. Too many times for heat to be spiking through your body every damn time, but it does without fail. It’s loud, and he leans down to your ear every time he’s talking to you so that you can hear him clearly. The brush of his warm air against the shell of your ear makes you shiver, but you stifle it, unwilling to admit to the effect he’s having on you.

“I made everyone convert a bunch of money at the airport,” he responds, voice low and warm and right against your ear, “Someone had to be responsible.”

“You didn’t make me,” you say back, tilting your head back to make eye contact, “Wow. I should’ve known you hated me.”

He genuinely snorts, nose crinkling in a way that makes you want to bite him. “I knew you didn’t need reminding. You probably got it before we even went to the airport.”

You huff, a little mad that he’s right, focusing back on the stall of knick knacks that you’re drifting by. The two of you have lost the group, though you don’t remember that happening, and a comfortable silence falls between the two of you.

It’s always like this with Chan - a quiet calm that feels both safe and domestic always washes over you, and you find that you can’t help but be yourself when he’s in your space. A cheesy part of you thinks something along the lines of “he brings out the best in me” or “I’m better because of him”, but you shake that away, embarrassed that you’re feeling anything for your namdongsaeng’s leader in the first place.

The crowd thickens, and the nine of you get split up a bit. You catch the bob of Hyunjin’s head near the far end, where there’s a miniature paint exhibit set up, and you think you see your brother with him (unlike Hyunjin, Jeongin is not tall enough to stick out in a crowd). You can hear Han, but you don’t know where his voice is echoing from. What you do hear is Chan sigh, already pulling out his phone to text the group chat.

He’s got the little “A” at the front of everyone’s names in the groupchat, and a tiny little sneaky glance at his phone reveals that your name has it, too. You try not to let it affect you.

It’s probably just for the trip, you tell yourself, taking a deep breath, he’s not interested. Don’t be delusional.

“We’ll all meet at five at the beach near the restaurant,” Chan says, leaning low to your ear again, “So if you want to wander off-”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” you huff, cutting him off, “Unless you want to wander off, you’re stuck with me. I don’t want to be alone in a foreign country where I barely speak the language, thank you very much.”

“Your English isn’t that bad.” he responds, though there’s mirth in his eyes.

“Whenever I try to make the ‘L’ sound,” you start, though your tongue can’t quite wrap around the letter right, “I literally can’t. You just heard me.”

“There’s ‘L’ sounds in Korean, too,” he says, furrowing his brows, “Which you make just fine, mind you.”

“The Korean ‘L’ is different,” you insist, “It’s soft. Kind. The English one is evil and out to get me.”

He snorts, rolling his eyes. You don’t know where in the market you really are now, your legs just carrying you to follow Chan wherever he goes. A quick glance lets you know that you’re in a clump of jewelers, the sun sparkling off the gems. It’s really crowded over here, and someone bumps into you, making you stumble. Chan’s hands reach out instinctively, warm and strong, to steady you.

“Careful,” he says, squeezing your arms where his hands rest, “You okay?”

You nod, flustered, heat spreading through your body from where his hands are holding you. A selfish part of you wants to lean into him, but you guide his hands off of you weakly.

“I’m okay,” you respond, and then in English, “I’m okay.”

He smiles, something softening in his eyes that you don’t want to place, “Good. And see? I should be having you tutor me in English. That was clean.”

You roll your eyes and try to push forward in the crowd, but you almost immediately are getting split up from Chan. You steady yourself and reach for his hand, lacing your fingers through his, squeezing once. His fingers instinctively close around yours, holding on, though his expression is unreadable.

You use your hold on him to force him to lean down, pressing yourself close so you’re talking into his ear. “So we don’t get lost!”

“Makes sense,” he says, and a flurry of emotions flies across his face that you can’t decipher, “Make sure to hold on tight then.”

He’s got more bulk to him - all those years of training really has made him into a fine man - and he presses forward into the crowd for the two of you, guiding you out of the biggest clump of people. When you can finally breathe without bumping into the person next to you, you relax, tension bleeding out of your shoulders.

“Look at you two, so cute!” you hear a voice call out in Korean, and your head snaps up.

The lady speaking is an older woman at the back of a stall, though she presses forward to continue speaking to you.

“Pretty rings for the pretty couple?” she calls, knowing she has your attention now. “So rare that I get to sell to Korean family out here, you know? I give you a special discount if you get them! Special Korean discount, family discount for you.” You’re about to call her out for the obvious scam tactic and drag Chan off when Chan moves forward, coming to inspect the table of wares the lady has laid out. Still attached by the hand, you can’t help but follow along after him.

He leans forward to inspect the rings in her hand, and shakes his head.

“Do you have any other rings? I want something unique.”

Her eyes light up, delighted that some stupid idiot fell for her tactics. You try not to roll your eyes to save Chan the trouble. She rushes back to the far side of her stall, rummaging frantically.

“You know this is a scam, right?” you murmur lowly at Chan, but he’s not paying attention, “Chan. Christopher. Christopher Bang.”

He stiffens, looking over at you. “Full name? C’mon, let me do this. I want something to remember these moments with you-I mean-remember the moments in, uhm, in Hawaii! So let’s just go along with it, yeah?”

You watch the tips of his ears turn a bright red, and your heart thumps heavy in your chest. You, for a moment, let yourself believe that maybe, maybe Chan might feel that same pull that you do, that draws him to you so easily. The clasp of your hands suddenly feels so much more dangerous, even more so than before.

“These here are the only versions I will ever make of these rings,” the lady chirps, snapping you out of your stupor, “Very rare. One of a kind.”

She’s wearing plastic gloves now, very gently handing a jewelry box. It’s a soft velvet, dark blue in color, and she handles it extremely carefully. When the lid lifts, you almost gasp. Because inside are the prettiest set of rings you’ve ever seen. There’s a thicker band on the left, words engraved on the inside that you can’t make out. There’s a thin band of a beautiful green gem that cuts through the middle, framed on either side by silver. The band on the left is thinner, the ring a little smaller in size, but it’s of the same style. There’s words carved into the inside there, too, and it’s very simple, but so pretty you can’t pretend you aren’t a little captivated.

“What’s it say on the inside?” you ask, because damn it, you’re invested now, too.

“This one-” she points to the larger of the two “-says ‘Until the Mother Earth’ and this one says-” she points to the thinner band “‘-Consumes Us Whole’. Very poetic, no? It’s made from peridot, which is made from the crystal layer of magma. Very fitting, right?”

“Can we try them on?” Chan says, and she thinks for a moment before nodding.

“Normally no, but for my new favorite customers, of course!” she says, carefully placing the box down and lifting the larger band from the box. Your hands unlink for a moment when she motions for Chan’s right hand. She slips the ring on, and you would be stupid to pretend that the ring wasn’t a perfect fit. Your right hand lifts almost on instinct, and the cool metal band holds onto your finger just right. You wonder if she eyeballed your ring sizes before she grabbed this box specifically, but the way she blinks as she glances between your two hands with thinly veiled surprise makes you think that perhaps this wasn’t on purpose, after all.

“We’ll take them,” Chan says quietly, like he doesn’t want to break the moment, “But do you have a chain I could wear it on, too? I uhm…Work with my hands? I don’t want to damage it, but-”

“You want to always have it on, I get it,” she cuts him off, eyes sparkling, “Young love is so sweet. I don’t usually do this, but the chain is on the house. Let me get you one. Could you put the rings back in box, so I can ring them up?”

You slide it back into the box carefully, and your fingers brush Chan’s again as he leans in to put his back, too. The air between the two of you feels thick, something palpable in the air that you’re too scared to grasp at. You feels his eyes on you for a moment, but you don’t look. Can’t look, because you don’t know what you would do if you saw how he was looking at you right now. The lady fumbles around in front of you, oblivious, pulling out a paper bag and slipping a chain in, as well as the box, and then starts clicking away at the register.

Chan’s hands come to cup at either side of your head, blocking out your hearing as the lady tells him the price. You go to look yourself but he pulls you into him without hesitation, and you end up face-to-face with his chest, so close that you’re sure he can feel your breath on him. He pulls out his wallet and pays, all while keeping you where you can’t see the price.

“We don’t need the receipt,” he says easily, like he hasn’t just ruined any other man for you, ever, “I don’t want them knowing how much it was.”

“Chan.” You say, exasperated, into his chest. “Let me pay you back.”

“Nope!” He says in English, popping the ‘p’.

You groan, poking at his side to watch him squirm. “Uncool. I let you stay and look and then you won’t even let me help pay.”

“If the roles were reversed, you wouldn’t let me help pay and you know it.”

You can’t even retort, because he’s definitely right. So you just poke at him again, a little mad at how easily he read you.

He grabs the bag from the lady and he finally lets you go. You spin around and thank the lady with Chan, who just smiles at you sweetly. As you turn to go, she stops just you, a glint in her eyes.

“He’s a keeper, sweetheart,” she says, “Don’t ever let that one go.”

“I won’t.” you answer, and it feels sincere on your tongue.

Chan’s hand reaches for yours again, and you’re off into the crowd once more, the weight of something new settling over the two of you like a blanket. The feel of his hand in yours is now a familiar feeling, a comforting one, and you let yourself get used to it, if only for today. If these moments slip away, if you wake up tomorrow and everything is back to how it felt before, then you think it must be best to treasure these moments with Chan while you still have them,

“Any more shopping you want to do?” he calls back to you, the crowd a little too thick for him to do anything but yell back to you.

You shake your head and he nods once, solemn, before dragging you off to god knows where. You trust him, though, so you let him guide you away, out of the crowded marketplace, out to the salty air. You aren’t right on the beach, but you can smell it in the air and feel it in the way the sun beats down on your skin, the air humid in a way that makes the wind feel sticky. The crowd is a little thinner outside of the square, the space more open for people to spread out. Still, Chan doesn’t let go of your hand, even though there’s no threat of getting lost anymore, not really. If anything, his grip tightens a bit, unwilling to let you go when your fingers twitch to open. If he knows the effect he’s having on you right now, he doesn’t mention it.

You pause for a moment for Chan to fumble with his phone, tongue peeking out in concentration. It draws your eyes to his lips - his perfect, kissable lips - and it takes everything in your power not to lean forward and press your lips to his. Suddenly there’s nothing you want more than to taste the salt on his skin, to feel his lips press against yours and find out what flavor his lip balm is. The answer is probably something lame, like sunscreen, but you’d like to imagine he tastes like something sweet.

“Alright, let’s go!” Chan says, the last phrase in English.

He’s moving before you can even ask where you’re going in the first place. You take a peek at a clock as you’re dragged away, noticing that it’s only 3:30pm - you’ve got an hour and a half before you’re meeting back up with everyone.

“Where are we going?” you ask, and he just shakes his head in response.

“It’s a surprise!” he sing-songs, taking a sharp right, “You’ll see when we get there.”

“Oh, suddenly you’re the Hawaii expert? One Google search and now you know all the spots?” you tease, and he shakes his head again.

“I did my research before, thank you very much,” he says, grinning so big back at you that your stomach feels like it’s in knots, “I just had to figure out the directions. It won’t take too long now.”

He was right, as always, and soon a winding, grassy path up a hill lies in front of you. It’s a little steep, and Chan walks slowly to keep pace with you. The smell of salt in the air gets stronger the higher you get, and you feel the air get knocked out of your lungs when you reach the top.

The hillside overlooks the beach, which stretches as far as your eyes can see in either direction. The water is so blue, shockingly so, and the view from the plane didn’t do it any justice. There’s other people here, spread out with picnic blankets or just their beach towels, watching over the land too. You can see the market you were in before from here, and it looks a lot smaller when you’re not inside of it. 

“Woah.” you say, because all other words seem to elude you.

Chan looks very pleased with himself, that pretty smile of his stretching across his face until his eyes are crescents on his face. He squeezes your hand again and brings you forward to an unclaimed patch of land, and then plops down. His arms wrap around your middle as he drops, and he brings you down with him. You yelp, kicking out, but he’s stronger than you, and he pulls you down into him. You land in his lap, and he quickly lifts you to place you next to him. You glare at him, cheeks warm, and he just sends you a sheepish grin.

“Sorry. Couldn’t resist.” is the only excuse he offers, and then he reaches for the paper bag.

He carefully opens the box and slips out the smaller band, eyes glancing over at you nervously. You don’t say a word, simply offer him your right hand the same way you did for the lady at the stall. His hand finds yours, and he slips the ring onto the ring finger on your right hand. It glints in the sunlight, making the green band in the middle look like it was glowing. You try not to react, but your breath gets caught in your throat anyways.

He’s slipping the chain out of the bag and gently sliding the ring onto it when you dare a look over at him. He moves to fumble with the clasp around his neck himself, but you stop him, gently grabbing the chain from him and maneuvering until you’re behind him.

“I’ve got you.” you say, carefully closing the clasp behind his neck. You guide it slowly to rest on his neck, your fingers brushing the skin there just to watch goosebumps spread across the expanse of his neck. 

The two of you just sit there for a while, the silence comfortable and warm. You feel yourself almost drifting a bit, the sun on your skin making you drowsy. You let yourself fall back on the grass, vision full of blue and white now as the sky stretches above you, the ring still cool around your finger despite the heat. You raise your hand to look at it, letting it catch the sun.

The grass dips next to you, Chan letting out an oomph! as he lands next to you, and you snort. He just giggles back, shoulder brushing against you. You let your hand fall back to your stomach, and Chan reaches his left hand to hold your right one, fiddling with the ring on your finger.

“It looks good on you,” he murmurs, “Looks right.”

You don’t say anything, and you let that warm feeling sink over you again. Everything is a little fuzzy, and your eyes get a little heavy, the jetlag catching up with you again. If it was anyone else, you would be embarrassed to be falling asleep on the grass in a foreign country, but you know Chan will keep you safe, so you drift away, dreaming of the sea and the boy next to you.

Voices are what wake you up. You blink the weariness out of your eyes as your brother’s voice fills the space, yelling your name and Chan’s. His hand slips from yours as he slides off the ground to greet them, and a little sound escapes your throat before you can help it.

“Sorry.” He whispers to you, before striding over to whoever’s behind you.

A look behind you indicates that everyone but Han and Minho are here, which is unsurprising - Han is always late to things, even when they’re things that he wanted to do in the first place. The sun is dipping below the horizon yet, but it’s lower than you remember it being, and you wonder how long Chan let you sleep there, in the grass.

You sit up, stretching your arms above your head. The ground was comfortable, but not that comfortable, and your back cracks in two places as you move. You wince, and that’s when your brother comes bounding over, an unfortunately very knowing grin on his face.

“So, are you in love yet? Got secretly married behind our backs yet? Had three grandbabies for eomma?” He teases, offering his hands to help you up.

You take them and let him help you up, but the second you’re on your feet, you’re shoving at him, groaning.

“It’s not like that!” You say, though the ring feels heavy on your finger when you say that.

Is it like that? You don’t even know yourself anymore.

“Mhm. That’s why the two of you were having a romantic moment on a hilltop. Alone. What is this, a K-drama? He’s so clearly into you it’s not funny,” he prods at you, something genuine drifting across his face, “And anyways, I approve of him. You deserve someone like him, and he deserves someone like you.”

Your face scrunches up, and you squint at him, looking for a hint of humor on his face, but it’s nowhere to be found. “You’re being serious.”

“Deadass,” he says in English, making you roll your eyes, “But seriously. If the two of you aren’t together by the end of this trip and I have to hear either of you complain about it, I will be locking you in a room with him until something happens.”

“Gross, Innie!” you say, though you’re smiling. “Thanks, I suppose. You’re a good namdongsaeng, or whatever.”

He just gives you that close-eyed grin, and then Han is bouncing up the hill, a weary Minho trailing behind him, and you’re absorbed back into the group, and you have to pretend like you’re not drawn to Chan the entire time.

The sunset is beautiful, and dinner is really good, and somehow you manage to beat Chan to the check (much to everyone’s chagrin), and things settle into something easy. There’s a small outdoor bar that sits right on the edge of the sand, and that’s where the nine of you settle. The drinks are overpriced and the bar food can’t possibly be good enough to warrant spending twenty USD on fries, but you order one drink and nurse it, glad to get a little buzz under your skin after today. Maybe it would loosen you up enough to talk to Chan (you doubt it, but it’s worth a shot). 

It only takes thirty minutes for chaos to settle in. Someone got Han too many drinks (your bets are on Minho, who likes to dote on a drunk Han) and now he’s slurring his speech and giggling a little too hard to be good news for anyone.

“About the rooming…uuhhhh…thing,” he decides, tone very confident for a man who almost just spilled half of his very pink drink, “I have an idea.”

“If that idea is you and Minho sharing a room, the answer is no - I don’t want to hear you two all night,” Hyunjin says, wrinkling his nose, “You’re so noisy.”

Well. You had your assumptions about Han and Minho’s not-so-subtle relationship, and you suppose you should’ve known you were right. You think Minho’s ears go red, but the smirk on his face makes you think it’s just a trick of the light.

“Stop listening then.” Minho says smoothly, steadying Jisung as he trips on air.

“Shhhh, I’m talking,” Jisung says, eyes big and glassy as he looks up at Minho, “Woah. Hey, handsome. Come here often?”

“The rooming.” Minho prompts, but you don’t miss the fondness settling into his eyes.

“Right!” Jisung exclaims, sloshing his drink as he rocks on his heels, “I have a genius idea. Want to hear it?”

Chan says “no” right as Jeongin says “sure, hyung”, and Jisung ignores Chan, much more excited that someone is willing to listen to his madness other than Minho.

“I think,” he starts, hiccuping once, “I think we should draw straws. We put one through eight in a cup, and then we have one of the numbers be doubled, and if someone gets the double number then they uhhh…”

“They room together,” Minho finishes, slinging his arm over Jisung’s shoulder, “I like this idea.”

“I don’t,” you pipe up, “What if you two get the same number?”

“They’re going to share a room no matter what,” Changbin says, “So really, we just just give up and give them the shared room.”

“Noooo!” Han wails, “It has to be fate. We have to draw straws. C’moooon, it’ll be fun!”

“Sure, why not?” Felix says, “It’ll be more fun that way.”

A few more people agree - Hyunjin and Jeongin, to your surprise - leaving only you, Chan, and Seungmin in dissent. Changbin seems amused by the idea enough to shrug, and the bartender, who’s listening to your very loud conversation, offers some popsicle sticks from behind the bar. Jisung lights up and snatches them before Chan can turn it down, and now you’re watching Jisung “write” (read: make Minho do it) the numbers on the straws.

“I’m not telling anyone what the double number is, you’ll know when you draw it,” Minho says, mischief in his voice, “Good luck, everyone.”

The “straws” are dropped into Jisung’s empty cup (who let him finish another one?) with their numbers down, and everyone leans forward to grab one. You sigh, but grab one anyways, certain that if you get the double room it’ll be fine. Someone will trade with you, or you’ll end up with someone who you could room without much fanfare. Your eyes find Chan for just a second, but you shake the thought. 

Everyone peers at their numbers, and leans over to show the person next to them. Jeongin, who’s on your left, got five, and Felix, who’s to your right, got three. You’ve got a one scrawled on the top of your straw, and you peer around nervously. You go around the circle, starting from Minho. Everyone reads out their number, and when it gets to you and you say “one”, you watch Chan stiffen, freezing.

“You said one?” He said, and you nod, confused.

“Yeah? That’s what my stick says?” You respond, tilting your head.

He flips his popsicle stick around, and right there at the top, in black marker, in the number one. The table whoops, and Jisung is grinning something wicked.

“Fate has decided!” He yells, a couple of heads turning to look at your group wearily as he yells, “The two of you will be staying together. It’s destiny.”

“It’s destiny,” Jeongin mimics, elbowing you under the table, “I think Hannie-hyung might be on to something.”

You and Chan hold eye contact across the table, and you hope that you look completely nonchalant and cool with this decision. You hope your nerves aren’t painted across your face, or the flush of your cheeks can be blamed on the alcohol coursing through your veins. His face is unreadable, jaw clenched in a way that shows he’s controlling his expression. You look away, let the conversation fall into something else, because clearly neither of you are going to address the elephant in the room now.

The drive back to the hotel is quiet, the drunkest people (read: Han Jisung) falling asleep on their feet as the car is arriving. You’ve only had half of some fruity thing that the bartender recommended, but the straw-drawing incident left a weird taste in your mouth, and you couldn’t finish it. Jeongin is a little tipsy next to you, his smile more open and his laugh a little giggly, and you help him into the car, unable to resist doting on your little brother. You know he doesn’t need it, but he’s less hesitant to let you coo at him when he’s drunk, a little more honest about how much he loves the attention, so you take advantage of that. He slides into the seat next to you and promptly falls asleep, heading dipping to lean on your shoulder. You pretend to be annoyed, but then Hyunjin starts being dramatic, groaning about how he wants to be the one that Jeongin falls asleep on.

“He’s my namdongsaeng too!” He wails, and you stick out your tongue.

“He was my namdongsaeng first.” you say, and outrage erupts, Jisung suddenly wide awake and arguing that he’s the favorite because of the cheek kisses he got this year, and Hyunjin talking about the 2kr episode.

“Shut up.” Jeongin whines into your shoulder, awoken by the noise. “Sleeping…”

The rest of the ride is when the silence settles in, no one wanting to disturb the maknae, and you make a very deliberate attempt to avoid eye contact with Chan the whole time. Looking at him meant acknowledging the issue at hand, after all. Ignorance is bliss, you suppose, and you were going to live in it for as long as possible.

You have to spend the whole elevator ride to the fifth floor telling Jisung to be quiet, because Minho convinced him that if he yells loud enough in the elevator it would echo, and he watches with joy as you struggle to support Jeongin and get Jisung to kindly shut the fuck up. Chan watches with amusement, glad for a moment to not have to be the responsible one, though his value about their image makes him step in before the elevator opens, reminding Jisung that people are trying to sleep.

“Ooooh, sleep sounds so good right now,” Jisung says, leaning hard into Minho. “Jagi, can we go to bed? ‘m tired.”

Jeongin, who for some reason still has the room keys, distributes them. He winks when he hands you the key to room 519, and you just send him a look back. “What room are we in?” Chan says, the first one to acknowledge the fact that you’re sharing a room, “519? Good, right at the start. Easy access.”

“Right, easy access,” you echo, head swimming with the idea of sharing a room with Chan, “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” “Okay with what?” He says, playing dumb.

“Sharing a room. With me,” you start, avoiding eye contact, “I’m sure it’s not ideal. We can just give the room to Jisung and Minho, or I can room with Innie.”

“No no no, I uhhh…I don’t mind,” he says, voice cracking, “I seriously don’t mind. I’m honestly a little glad it’s you.”

“Yeah?” you say, a little breathless, “Well, I’m glad it’s you, too.”

Your luggage is already in the room, since it’s the one that everyone piled all of their stuff into earlier, and you help people grab their luggage and get out.

The worst part about the rooming situation comes crashing down when you turn around the corner to the bedroom area and realize that there, pressed against the center of the back wall, is the bed. That’s right, not beds: bed, singular. One whole bed, not even a queen size. It’s a full at most, a twin on steroids at worst, and your throat goes dry. There’s no living space, so there’s no couch for you to crash on, and you guess the stiff-looking armchair in the corner is calling your name.

“Hey, what’re you standing here for-” Chan’s breath catches as he sees the same issue as you, the one bed glaring at the two of you from the middle of the room. “Oh. I can, er…I can take the floor. You have the bed.”

“Absolutely not,” you respond, before you can stop yourself, words tumbling out of your mouth like a waterfall, “We’re adults. We can share a bed, it’ll be fine. It’s not like it’s a twin bed. Two people can comfortably fit on there.”

You don’t mention that the two people would have to be a breath away from being shoulder-to-shoulder, but Chan agrees, though his voice shakes as he does.

“Okay. Okay. Sure, as long as you’re not uncomfortable. I uh-I usually don’t sleep with a shirt on, do you care?”

“Do whatever you need,” you respond, partially because you’re a people pleaser and partially because a greedy part of you wants to see Chan shirtless, “If you’re comfortable, I’m comfortable.”

The two of you get ready in thick silence, every step taking you one step closer to sharing a bed with the guy that you might just be in love with. 

The first night is fine. You’re tired enough from the jetlag and the bar that you slip into sleep fairly easily, curled up on your side of the bed. You can hear Chan’s quiet snoring when you wake up, so you know that he fell asleep just fine, too. 

Night two and three are much the same, though you’re hyperaware of him next to you, more so than you were before. You can hear your heartbeat in your head, and you can hear Chan’s steady breathing next to you. Each night you’ve been inching closer together, and the morning of the third day you woke up with your face pressed into Chan’s shoulder. The morning of day four, you wake up with an arm thrown over your middle and your face buried in Chan’s chest. You slip out from under his arm, careful not to wake him up, and don’t breathe a word of it to Chan. If he knew it happened, he never mentioned it to you.

Night four is when things come to a head. Chan and you have been pressed together all night, that magnetic pull you feel that drags you towards him stronger than before. His shirt is tight against his chest, and the sleeves bulge around his arms in a way that makes you drool. You don’t know how much more you can take of this trip before you just jump him in public in front of everyone.

At this point, you’re pretty sure everyone knows about whatever’s happening between you and Chan except for Chan himself. Changbin has made some teasing comments, Seungmin gagged earlier when the two of you smiled at each other, Jisung and Minho have been whispering and obnoxiously pointing at the two of you, and Felix murmured, in that low voice of his, that the two of you “looked good together.” Jeongin is still Jeongin, and tonight was the night that he noticed the matching rings.

“There’s no way,” he said, mouth agape, “There’s. No. Way.”

“What is it this time?” you had responded, tired of his bullshit.

“You and Channie-hyung have matching rings!”

He says it loud enough for Hyunjin to overhear, and he trips over himself as he runs over to inspect the ring on your finger. You let him have your hand, giving up on trying to hide it anymore. Hyunjin inspects the ring, watches the way it catches light.

“Wow. So it’s finally official?” Hyunjin says, hopeful.

You shake your head, yanking your hand away. “Babo. We’ve had these since the first day here. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Right…you just have matching RINGS…for no reason…” Hyunjin says, squinting his eyes at you. “Have you two been in a secret relationship this whole time?? Have you been laughing about this behind our backs??”

“No??” you respond, dragging a hand down your face, “You guys. We just thought they were pretty. Nothing more than that.”

You don’t tell them about the way the lady thought you were a couple, or the way every touch that day, accidental or not, made your heart explode out of your chest. You don’t mention the way that Chan has been looking at you, or the way you catch him staring at your hand where the ring sat, or the way you find yourself staring back, too. You don’t have to, because Jeongin and Hyunjin are already throwing a fit.

“You’re joking, right??” Hyunjin blurts out, right as Jeongin speaks.

“Are you two babos??”

Their voices overlap as they tell you off, and you wave them off and tell them you’re done with their bullshit, which just leads to more protesting from them. You’re rescued by an unknowing Felix, who comes over to ask Hyunjin for an opinion on something, and it completely derails the conversation.

And now, it’s bedtime. Chan’s freshly showered, in only a pair of loose-fitting shorts, the waistband of his boxers peeking out. His hair is damp as he climbs into bed next to you, and you don’t even pretend to not be staring at him, not when you’re fighting the urge to drool over how good he looks.

“Good for me to turn off the light?” He hums, reaching for the lamp.

“Yeah.” You respond, though your voice is breathless, your eyes still raking over his skin, still damp from the shower.

You watch a rivulet of water drip down the plane of his abs, which ripple as he moves. You only turn away when he catches you staring, right before he clicks off the lamp. You’re on your side, back facing him, before he can blink. You miss the way he smirks at the back of your head as the room goes dark.

“Good night.” he says, breath hitting the back of your head. 

He’s close, too close, but you don’t say anything, letting the bed dip dangerously close to you without a word. “Good night.”

You wake up, what feels like hours later, to a movement against your back. Chan’s arm is thrown over you, but this time, the hold is tight, pressing him back against you, hard. At first, you think he’s just shifting in his sleep, but as the sleepiness leaves your body, you realize with a dropping stomach that the movements are sharp, deliberate. He’s breathing heavy above your head, ragged little pants and quiet whimpers filling the space, and there’s something pressing against your ass that you can’t excuse away. It throbs against you, the thin material of your shorts doing nothing to hide the pulse of what you can only assume is his erection against your ass.

His hips roll a little harder against you, and the sound he lets out is sinful. It has your body setting alight with desire, a heat flushing down, down, down until you can feel your arousal dripping through your shorts, dripping down your thighs and onto the sheets.

He’s moaning now, though it’s not loud, a mix of low grunts and breathy sounds that make your eyes roll back. Your thighs clench as you seek friction for yourself, but you can’t get any, not when Chan’s holding you so close and using you to get himself off.

You have to stop this. You have to tell him you’re awake, that you know what he’s doing. That’s what you keep telling yourself, but the press of him against you is so addicting you can’t bring yourself to stop it. His rolling is getting inconsistent now, and you know he’s probably close, arms clenching even tighter around you. You have to speak up now, so you do, tentative at first.

“Chan?” you whisper, the sound feeling too loud against the chorus of his sounds.

No response. You try again.

“Hey, Chan?” you’re louder this time, but the pit in your stomach grows, because it’s dawning on you that, perhaps, Chan might not even be awake at all.

“Chan. Chan.”

You try to spin out of his hold, to press away from him, but it just forces your ass back against his cock, and a louder sound rips out of his throat when you do. Heat is crawling under your skin, like hot magma in your veins, but you know you have to stop him, especially if he’s asleep. You don’t want him to do something he’d regret.

“Chan, wake up. Hey, hey! Get off, Chan, wake up!” You say, voice getting progressively louder.

He stiffens against you as you squirm, and you feel the way his whole body shakes as he comes against you. He’s just whimpering now, little sounds, riding out his high as he tries to keep dragging you against his sensitive cock. Even asleep, Chan is greedy, body shaking with what you assume is overstimulation but still trying to chase that delicious pull of friction against you.

“Chan, please.” You groan, and now that he’s weaker from his orgasm, you can press yourself out of his arms.

That’s what wakes him up - the loss of your warmth against him. You finally manage to wiggle out of his grasp, rolling forward to your side of the bed, breathing heavy. You can still feel the wet spot between your legs and the wet spot on your ass. And you can tell by the way his breath is less controlled and stable that he’s waking up now, the sound shallower and more conscious.

“Mhmm…” he groans, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, before they snap open.

You can’t make him out very well in the darkness, but you can tell that he knows he came everywhere, because he starts quietly swearing in English. He doesn’t even really look at you until you shift again, his head snapping up to try and make you out in the dark.

“You awake now?” you say, voice a little tense with emotions you don’t want to place, not right now.

“Did I…?” He asks, though you both know he already knows the answer.

“...yeah,” you say, biting your lower lip, “Yeah uhm. You did.”

“Shit, I’m so sorry!” he says, embarrassment strong in his tone. “Oh my god. This is so…I’m really, really sorry. I’m going to - I’m going to clean up, yeah? You can uh-do whatever you need actually! I’m going to clean up, yeah, goodbye now!”

You snatch his wrist as he moves to stand before you can stop yourself. You want to blame your boldness on the weariness still shaking out of your bones, but you know it’s just because you’re so worked up now, body aching for more. Now that you’ve had Chan in some capacity, you’re not sure you can go back.

“Chan. Stop me if you don’t want this.”

It’s the only warning he gets before your leg comes over his to straddle him and your mouth is pressing to his. He groans in the back of his throat, a deep sound that rumbles through both of you, and then presses into you, kissing back. His hands hesitantly come to grasp at your hips, and the sound you make is enough for them to start exploring, fingers slipping underneath your sleep shirt to knead at the skin there.

Your hips press down in a circular motion, guiding his length against your heat. It’s desperate, the rhythm a little unsteady, but he makes an appreciative sound nonetheless. When you pull back to breath, you can make out the way he blinks up at you, almost reverently.

“Am I still dreaming?” he says, voice laced with disbelief.

“Was this-hah-what you were dreaming about?” you pant out, pace picking up as your own pleasure builds.

“All my dreams include you,” he responds, so sincere it makes another gush of arousal slip out of you, “But fuck, yeah. Dreamin’ that you were-shit-w-were fuckin’ against me, that I slipped everything to the side and just slipped right in-”

“If we’re doing this, I need to-shiiiiit-I need to get one thing straight with you. If we’re doing this, I’m-hrk! ‘m the one in charge, ‘kay? You just need to sit here and take. Wanna show you what you’ve been doin’ to be since-ooooh-since the first day of this god damn trip. Can you do that? Can you be-haaah-be good? Be good for me?”

He nods, eyes wide, mouth falling open. You shake your head, hips slowing down, leaning so that your mouth is dangerously close to his.

“Words, baby.” You say, the petname in English, loving the way it makes him tense up underneath you.

“Please!” he sobs, words like molasses on his tongue. “Please, want that. Want that so bad. Use me, do whatever you want, please, I’ll be good, I swear.”

He loses his train of thought when you lean forward to bite at his neck, one hand coming to rest on his throat. You don’t squeeze, don’t joke - just leave it there. It’s possessive, a claim, a reminder of who he’s supposed to listen to. Chan almost comes in his pants.

“You’re lucky I’m feeling impatient today,” you say between bites, teeth sinking in deep enough to leave a mark, “Or else I would make you beg to be inside of me. You already got to come, you know? You’re so selfish, but I am, too. Wanna feel you fill me up.”

He groans, head falling back. “Yeah? You like that?” you continue, though you’re slipping out of his lap to pull off your underwear and shorts. “Like the idea of filling me up? Painting my insides with come, instead of just my sleepshorts like you did last time?”

He’s sliding his underwear and shorts down just far enough for his cock to pop out. It hits his abdomen with wet plap!, and you think you might just be drooling. Because he’s big, the kind of big that you didn’t think was actually possible. There’s a thick vein that traces a path up from his balls to the fat mushroom head, which is leaking and so red it’s almost purple. You can’t help but reach a hand out, tracing your pointer finger up the prominent vein. Your touch is featherlight, and it makes his hips buck off the bed, wanting more. You bring your hand back to spit on it, right in the center of your palm, then you bring your hand back down to stroke at his length, revelling in how hot and thick it feels against your hand. Your hand barely fits around it, and the idea of this monster going into you has you clenching and dripping.

“Fuck, Channie, you’re so big,” you coo, sliding down so that your mouth is hovering right near his length, “I’m not even sure you’re going to fit.”

That makes him choke on a moan, a hand coming up to cover his face. “Y-you can’t just-hnnngh! You can’t jus’ say that, jagi.”

You just hum in response, leaning forward to press quick pecks up the side of his length around your moving hand. You swipe your tongue out right where the pearly precum is leaking from his tip, and the taste of him is so good - a bit salty, but not bitter like you were expecting - that you can’t help but drop your jaw and swallow around him. You only bring the tip into your mouth, suckling gently, but it makes him wail, eyes rolling back and fists white-knuckling the sheets.

“Feels so good,” he sobs, hips twitching from holding back from bucking into the heat of your mouth, “Fuck fuck fuck, jagi, I can’t-”

He cuts himself off with a sob as you open your mouth wider and take more of him. The stretch of your mouth is good, and you can only take him about halfway before he’s kissing the back of your throat, making you gag. Your free hand comes to fondle his balls, the other one forming a ring with your pointer finger and thumb, jerking off the length of him you can’t get into your mouth. He can’t take it, everything just feels so good, and he’s already so sensitive. He tries to warn you, he really does, but he can’t get any words out that aren’t your name or ‘please’ right now.

He comes down your throat with a cry of your name, so loud you’re sure whoever’s on the other side of the wall definitely heard, but you don’t care, not when he’s painting your throat white. You suck around him until he goes soft, and then keep going, even as his hands come to pull at your hair weakly and his thighs twitch underneath you.

“It’s too much, fuck, jagi, please?”

You don’t stop, not until you’ve nursed him back to full hardness with your mouth and your hands. Only then do you pop off and give him a proper look.

He’s a mess, hair dishelved, cheeks a bright red, chest heaving as he tries to get himself under control. You feel the same, the raw need for Chan to fill you overriding every function in your body. You slide yourself back up to line your leaking entrance up with his length, reaching a hand back to guide his tip to rub against the rim of it. Your juices mix together on his cock - your spit and both of your arousals dripping down his length - and it makes you groan, twitching against him.

“Please.” Chan whines, and that’s all it takes for your hips to drop, taking half of him in one go.

He’s too big and you’re too tight, so you can’t take him in all at once. The stretch is delicious, but you’re not dumb enough to hurt yourself, not now, not when you’re about to ride the boy of your dreams into oblivion. You slide up and down, riding the length of him that you can take, slipping just a little more of him into you each time your hips drop. When your ass meets his thighs you let your head loll forward, your body barely able to accommodate his full length inside of you. He’s a perfect fit, so fucking big that you’re sure your guts are rearranging to fit him inside of you, but the stretch burns so good, the pain bleeding into red hot pleasure and making your head spin.

You press one of your hands to his chest to stabilize yourself, and the other hand reaches for his, lacing your fingers together next to his head on the sheets. He squeezes your hand so tight you think he’s cutting off bloodflow, but you don’t stop him, not when you feel so full that you’re pretty sure a couple moves might have you coming all over him. “Fuck Channie, I can feel you in my throat,” you moan, and it makes him twitch inside of you, “Feel so good-ahn! Soooo good baby, that’s it. Might need your help to-hah-move. Can you help me, baby?”

His free hand comes to grip at your hip, fingers digging so deep you know that there will be fingerprint-shaped bruises splattering the skin there. When your shaky legs slam you down on his length, his hips buck up, meeting you in the middle.

The sound of skin on skin is obscene, a wet pap pap pap! filling up the room. You apologize to your neighbors in your head, but right now, all that matters is the way that Chan is filling you up, and the cute sounds he’s making as he does. A particular good buck of his hips up into you has you falling forward, and you press your lips against his to muffle the sound clawing at your throat when he presses against your sweet spot.

“Th-that’s it, good boy, Channie,” you moan, voice shaking as you try and choke down your sounds, “Come inside of me. Please. Need to feel you fill me up, need you to mark me, please, Chan!”

You clench around him, walls pulsing around his length as you come, drenching his cock with your release. He’s babbling now, hand slipping from your grasp to grip at your hip, both hands now guiding you up and down his length. You know he’s close - in the desperation in his movements, in how he uses you like a cocksleeve to get himself off - and when you clench around him tight and don’t loosen, it pushes him over the edge. He screams something that sounds like your name and ‘thank you’ all at once, body going limp underneath you as he paints your walls white.

Silence settles over the room as you both come down from your highs. You don’t want to move, but you know you have to, carefully slipping out of Chan’s lap on jello legs to wobble to the bathroom. You don’t turn on the light - you don’t want to see how sloppy you look in 4K right now - and instead focus on fumbling for a washcloth and wetting it. Only once the water from the sink warms up do you dip the washcloth into the sink, getting it sufficiently damp before making the long trek back to the bed. 

You carefully clean Chan up, heart fluttering when he hums as you clean him. You’re careful around his sensitive cock, though you do have to do one sweep of it to clean off the remnants of your mixed juices before it dries, making him hiss. You take the washcloth and haphazardly wipe yourself off and call it a day, tossing it off vaguely towards the armchair. You hear it hit the floor and shake your head, giving up. Not worth the effort right now, not when Chan is making lazy grabby hands at you. You don’t say a word, just let yourself be guided to bed, let him hold you from behind, the way he was holding you that started this whole mess. He drags the blanket over the both of you and tugs you impossibly closer, kissing the crown of your head.

“I don’t want this to be a one time thing,” he says, once the silence had finally settled into something breakable, “I want you. This. Forever, if you’ll have me.”

“I want that too,” you admit, voice hoarse from your earlier activities but still honest, “I’ve wanted you for so long, Channie. Jeongin’s been making fun of me forever.”

“Funny,” he says, shifting behind you to tangle your legs, “He’s been doing the same to me for just as long.”

And that’s that. There’s no dramatics, no ‘can I be your boyfriend?’s, because both of you already know that this is exclusive. You’re his, and he’s yours. Nothing more has to be said because you’ve been saying it with your actions, with your eyes, for so long that you’re pretty sure that you and Chan had already been official. This was just the icing on the cake, the admittance to each other of the truth you’ve been living all week.

When you wake up, there’s a banging on your door, and Changbin’s voice ringing out.

“I’m happy for the two of you, I really am, but please keep it down next time? Hotel walls are thin, and I don’t want to hear how Chan whimpers ever again, please and thank you! Breakfast’s in ten, we’ll see you down there.”

“Thanks, Bin-ah!” You croak, voice heavy with sleep.

“You should be apologizing to me, actually, but I suppose I’ll take it,” he yells back, “The whole floor definitely heard you. I hope you’re ready for a very awkward breakfast.”

The two of you make no effort to make yourselves look clean, and if your disheveled appearances didn’t give it away, the deep purple marks littering Chan’s neck and the splatter of purple on your hips when your shirt rode were very big indicators of what the two of you were up to last night.

“I told you so!” Jeongin sings, poking at the bruise on your hip just to watch you jump, “Wooow, he did a number, huh? Freaks. Sounded like you were filming a porno down the hall. But…”

He pauses, then shakes his head. “I’m happy for you. The two of you deserve the best.”

And if you and Chan link hands under the table, basking in the glow of the morning after and the warmth of your feelings being out in the open, no one’s the wiser.

Perhaps you’re grateful for the schedule mix up, after all.

“What are you working on, hyung?” He asked, pressing in closer to Chan.

Chan elbows him gently in the stomach, pushing him away.

“None of your business, Ayen-ah. Let me work in peace.”

He doesn’t even look away from his computer for a second to say it, and Jeongin gives you an incredulous look, like he’s on a sitcom and you’re the camera. You shrug at him, content to hole up on the couch and wait for your boyfriend to be done. The two of you didn’t really have any plans today, and you were happy to just share the space with him today. 

Jeongin leans in closer despite Chan’s warning, and Chan huffs, elbowing him a little harder.

“I’m serious Ayen-ah.”

“If it’s work-related, then I should be allowed to know!” He whines, draping himself across Chan’s back, “We work together. Your work is probably going to affect me, don’t I get a say?”

Chan groans, leaning back into Jeongin. “Jeongin, I swear to god-”

“You’re such a control freak,” Jeongin says with a laugh, pushing off of him, “I was messing around with you, but you took me seriously. Hyung, does Channie hyung ever take a break from having a stick up his-yah!”

Chan swats at him before he can finish his sentence, and he sticks his tongue out at him, settling into the couch next to you.

“Hyung, Channie hyung is being mean to me.” Jeongin says with a pout.

“How rude,” you say, pulling the younger boy closer to you dramatically, eyes twinkling, “You’re just trying to help.”

Chan rolls his eyes at your antics, but goes back to typing. You and Jeongin put something quiet on the TV and curl up, Jeongin’s appetite to mess with Chan successfully fulfilled now that he’s got you on his side.

But your brain is still caught up on the comment Jeongin made. It was little, and it probably was already out of his head, but you couldn’t stop thinking about it. You suppose it makes sense that the other members saw Chan as a control freak, with how in charge he always has to be in front of them. You also suppose that’s why he’s such a good boy for you in bed, because it’s his chance to let go and just not think for a while.

You also suppose you can use this to your advantage.

You wonder how much it would take for him to break in front of his bandmates. How much pressure you would have to put him under to see that leader facade of his crack and shatter, for his friends to catch a glimpse of the Chan you got to see all the time. 

You bring it up to him later, once he’s off of his laptop and Jeongin, who had already gotten bored of the show that he put on, wandered back into his room. You’re splayed across the couch, Chan resting between your legs with his head on your chest. He’s a comforting weight on top of you, and you’re watching some movie you’re only half paying attention to. You’ve been fighting a boner since the idea of messing with Chan in front of his members started to swirl in your head, and now, when you have a sleepy Chan resting peacefully on your chest, was not the time to get hard.

It was the time, however, to mess with him just a little bit.

“Hey, jagiya,” you murmur, voice low and thick, “Can I ask you a question?”

“You already did,” he says, making you huff, “Also, just ask it. What are you asking me for?”

“It’s a sex question.”

“Ah. Ask anyways.” He says that, but there’s red tinging his ears already, like he’s flustered that you’re even thinking something like that right now.

“Would you wear a toy out in public?”

His head jumps up, the crown of it almost smacking your chin as he does. He’s giving you a wide-eyed look, completely bewildered, mouth opening and closing uselessly as he blinks up at you. You shoot him a look back, unamused.

“You told me to just ask-”

“I didn’t think it would be like-would be like…that.” He hisses, pink dusting his cheeks. “Why’re you even thinking about something like that??”

“Ayen-ah called you a control freak earlier,” you said, holding eye contact just to watch him fluster more, “It made me think about using a vibrator on you in front of your members and seeing if you could handle it. See how much of a ‘control freak’ you really are.”

“Jagi!” he whisper-yells, face flushed.

He buries his face back into your chest, fists curling into your hoodie to try and ground himself. Unfortunately for him, his crotch is pressed right against your thigh in this position, and you can feel the half-chub he’s already sporting at the way you’re talking to him. He shifts his hips a bit, but it’s not subtle, and his cock twitches against your thigh.

You press your thigh up, flexing it, grinning when he chokes back a whimper into a keen. It’s high and in his throat, and it makes you sliiiiide a hand down his back and squeeze at his ass. You use your grip on him to press him into the meat of your thigh, and he squirms in your grasp, caught between pushing you away and pressing you closer.

“Like the idea?” You tease, laugh rumbling in your chest when his only response is to whine into your neck.

“C’mon, jagi, use your words,” you faux pout, tone just a little mean, “You’re in control, right? My big boy, all in control and humping my thigh like a dog.”

“Stop,” he whines, but his face comes up so that he can glare at you weakly, “‘nd I like it a little too much. It’s risky, we can’t.”

“We can,” you murmur, slowing his movements to just a grind, “You just have to be good for me and keep quiet. I know you can do it.”

He lets out a shaky exhale, body betraying him as he humps into your thigh harder. You ignore the throbbing of your own erection, focusing now on making him come on your thigh. A few whispered praises and a properly timed flex of your thigh has him tipping over the edge, eyes rolling back and mouth parting in the prettiest ‘o’ you’ve ever seen. No sounds escape his mouth, trapped in his throat as his hips twitch weakly against you.

He presses himself back into you, sticky mess leaking through his pants and onto yours.

“Order one.” he says, voice muffled in your neck.

You blink, shifting to try and look at him. “What?”

“The…you know.” he says, eyes averted. It clicks, and you snort, rolling your eyes at him for trying to be discreet when he’s asking you to put a vibrator in his ass in the foreseeable future.

“Let’s get cleaned up, then you can help me choose one, how about that? Sound good, jagi?” You say, shifting the two of you until you’re upright.

“Okay. Okay.” He responds, mostly to himself.

That was three weeks ago. A week and a half ago, the vibrator showed up in a discreet brown box on your door. The one you had chosen was a pink and round, a little string with a ring on the end tailing off of it for easy removal.

“Like a tampon,” you had murmured, earning you a smack to the back of the head and a glare.

It bluetoothed to a tiny remote, equally as pink as its counterpart. The dial had ten options, which you had turned through on your own just to make sure it wasn’t too intense - the thrill of getting caught was what turned Chan on, but actually getting caught would ruin the scene (and his trust in you). It was perfect though, and when the boys had a free slot in their schedule, you had suggested a group dinner.

“Only if I get to tag along, though!” You had said, to which Jisung had informed you it “wouldn’t be a party without you, hyung” (whatever that means).

You and Chan had set up a nonverbal safeword, plus Chan could text you if he needed to slow down, but not desperately. You had stressed to him over and over that this scene was completely in his hands, not yours.

“It’s about your pleasure, sweet thing, not mine,” you reminded him, “We stop at any point and I will still be proud of you. Promise me you’ll use your word or your signal if it gets too much or you’re uncomfortable, okay?”

He had huffed and puffed, complaining about how he’s “not made of glass”, but he conceded that he would let you know how he’s feeling the whole time.

Now it was the afternoon before, and you had Chan naked and spread on your bed, legs hanging off the edge of the bed. He’s on his stomach, looking over his shoulder to watch you as you grab the lube and the toy, placing it gently on the bed next to him.

“Still sure about this, jagi?” you ask, reaching a hand to rub circles into his hip, “If you don’t want to-”

“Just put it in me already!” he whines out, head falling forward to be buried in the sheets.

“Been thinkin’ about it all week. C’mon, please? Need it, need you to make me a mess in front of everyone.”

“Yeah?” you say, pleasantly surprised by his eagerness and his open mouth. You file the fact that he wants his other members to know away for a later day - while the idea of exposing him tonight was enticing, this was a scene between the two of you. You had thought about asking him to bring other people in, to show off just how good of a boy he can be to someone else, but you had to keep yourself composed today. Another day, you think, I’ll talk to him about inviting one of them in, just to watch.

For now, you pop open the bottle of lube in your hands, pouring a generous amount into your hand. You swirl it between your fingers to warm it up a bit before tracing Chan’s rim with your pointer finger, coating it in lube. He shivers, body trying to arch towards you. He clenches around nothing, butt flexing as you tease his entrance. When you continue to tease, pressing just the tip of your finger in and nothing more, he whines, long and drawn out.

“I’ve been good, jagi, just-just put it in already! Please?”

You sigh, but comply, slipping your lubed finger easily into his waiting hole.

“I just like to see you beg, jagi, you know that.” You say, curling your finger so that you catch his prostate on the drag out.

He hisses, back arching, and you press a second finger in, scissoring your fingers a bit to make sure he’s ready to take the toy. It’s small - basically a bullet vibrator on a string - but you don’t want this to be uncomfortable for him at all, so you take a little time to make sure he’s stretched just right. You don’t need more than two fingers, the toy too small for much else, and soon you’re reaching for the little pink thing. 

You don’t lube it up, instead pressing it in next to your still wet fingers. You’ve coated his walls enough that it slides in with ease, stretching him open so well with your fingers still inside of him. The sound he makes is pathetic, and it makes you want to make him come apart now, use your fingers to press the toy right to his prostate and crank it up slowly until he falls apart all over your sheets. 

Unfortunately for both of you, you have a dinner to get to, and he needs to be on edge. You woefully slide your fingers out, a slick pop! ringing out as they pull out of his entrance. He whimpers, hole clenching around nothing, hips pressing once down into the sheets before he catches himself and stops them. His fists flex and unflex, gripping at the sheets to ground himself enough to get up and get ready for dinner. You smack his ass lightly once with your hand not covered in lube, and he glares back at you. You just stick your tongue out, backing off to go wash your hands and get yourself ready, too.

Getting ready goes smoothly, and while you consider for a moment turning the dial to ‘1’ while Chan is changing, you hold back. The longer it sits in him, comfortable and silent, the more he’ll forget about it, which makes cranking the toy up even more fun. You can’t wait to see his face when he’s sitting down next to his friends, trying to act normal, and you slide the dial up.

“You ready?” Chan says, peeking into the room.

You’re changed, though you do have to adjust your loose pants to make sure that your chub isn’t noticeable. The hardest part of this for you was going to be keeping your own body under control while you watch Chan try and keep himself quiet.

“Ready!” you chirp, double-checking that the little pink remote and small bottle of lube are still hiding in your pocket.

The lube was more you being hopeful that Chan would let you fuck him in the car afterwards, when he’s all worked up and whiny and pliant for you. You love when Chan pushes back and fights your control, but you love it even more when he’s broken down, mind and body all yours to play with and make feel good. And anyways, it never hurts to have on you, just in case.

You drive the two of you to the venue in tense silence. The weight of words sit heavy on both of your tongues, so heavy both of you choose to say nothing at all, instead letting the tension brew and fester. You caught him shifting nervously in his seat a couple of times out of the corner of your eyes, throwing glances at you whenever your hand shifted even a little. You know what he’s thinking about, sure the shape of the vibrator is shifting inside of him every time you hit a bump in the road, hopeful eyes pleading for more but too ashamed to ask for it. 

The rest of the drive is a blur, and the walk into the restaurant is, too. Chan informed you earlier that they had rented a private booth in the back of the restaurant for privacy, and you let him guide the two of you to a back entrance, where someone is waiting to let the two of you in. 

Everyone but Jeongin is there, which is to be expected, because he’s never on time without Chan nagging him out the door. He also says there’s an “art” to being “fashionably late”, so you figure that he’ll pull in 20 minutes late and have to bashfully order after everyone else already has.

You slide in across from Minho, who just gives you a small nod as a greeting and continues to chat with Changbin. Jisung greets you both excitedly, mouth already running a mile a minute. You catch that he’s happy the two of you made it, but everything else is drowned out in the flow of conversation as everyone else greets the two of you. You settle in, and pick through the menu, fingers coming down below the table to squeeze Chan’s thigh once. He stiffens a little, playing it off by reaching for his own menu and trying to talk with Felix, who’s on his left.

You let things roll out for now, watching the tension in Chan’s shoulder melt into something calmer. Your finger circles the dial in your pocket, watching him intently for a moment as he speaks with Felix, but you wait. You’ll have plenty of chances to mess with him later, you remind yourself, settling in to jump into a conversation with Minho.

The server comes to take orders just as Jeongin comes in, trying (and failing) to seem suave as he plops down next to Felix. He flips the menu open and tells them to come to him last, eyes frantically scanning the menu. You stifle a laugh, casually ordering as you peer at Chan next to you. You wait until he starts to order, mouth opening to talk to the server, and you let your hand drift to your pocket and click the dial up, just once.

The restaurant is too loud for you to hear the quiet buzz of the vibrator nestled inside of him, but you can hear the little squeak that he lets out, and you can see the look he sends you. It’s small, unnoticeable if you weren’t watching his face closely, but you, ever observant, have to bite back a smile. You catch Minho furrowing his eyebrows at the way Chan’s voice cracked, but he doesn’t seem to catch on to what’s happening. Only after the server to the next person does Chan kick you under the table, eyes not meeting yours when you glance over. You bite your tongue again, corners of your mouth curling, but don’t give in to him. 

You instead click it up one more setting to watch him squirm, thighs tensing under the table as he shifts uncomfortably. The shifting makes the vibrator inside of him shift too, and he lets out a little breathy sound when it does, lower lip catching between his teeth.

Again, you catch Minho’s eyes drifting over across the table, but he doesn’t even look your way, clearly oblivious to why Chan is squirming, just aware that he is acting strange. You peer around Chan to ask Felix a question, dipping into easy conversation with him. Chan, unamused that you’re just leaving him like this, kicks at your ankle again, this time with more force. You drag your hand down his arm and squeeze the meat of his thigh, higher up than you should - a warning. He recognizes this, but you don’t miss the way his eyes narrow in defiance. He doesn’t do anything yet, though, so you leave it for now.

You leave it there for now, just up to the second setting, a low buzz inside of him that you know will be just present enough for him to feel, but not enough for him to actually get off. Even if he were to shift around until the vibe was pressed right to his prostrate, it wouldn’t be enough, not for him to come, anyways. Enough to drag him slowly towards the edge, but not fast enough to ever tip him over it.

Chan’s jaw has been clenching and unclenching since you turned the dial to two, doing everything in his power to keep his body stock still without making the tension in his body obvious. He’s doing a good job of it, too, tension curling in his fists and jaw to keep it from spreading anywhere else. He’s talking to Changbin about some song he’s working on right now, laughing quietly when Changbin whines about not having heard it yet.

“You know how Channie hyung is,” Jisung says, eyes glinting, “Such a control freak. We won’t be hearing that song until he’s heard it so many times he’s sick of it.”

“Hey I’m not-”

He’s cut off by you bumping the buzzing up not one level, but two. The vibrator is now on the fourth setting, teetering on high enough of a level for Chan to let a real moan slip out. Instead, a shiver wracks his body, and his hand shakes as he reaches for his water. He covers whatever sound was clawing at his throat with a cough, choked and clipped, taking a long swig of water. Some of it dribbles down his chin, hands too unsteady to guide the glass properly to his mouth, and you don’t hide your grin this time.

“You okay?” You ask, voice dripping with faux concern.

“Fine,” he hisses, biting the inside of his cheek, “Just took a weird breath. ‘m fine.”

This time, you meet Minho’s eyes across the table, who’s glancing between the two of you curiously. When you make eye contact, you just raise an eyebrow at him, tilting your head ever so slightly. He narrows his eyes at you, and he glances at your hands, suspicious, but both of them are above the table now. He huffs, sending you a look, but doesn’t say anything.

Chan’s having trouble, now - body unable to resist rocking into the vibrations. He tries not to, but every once and a while his hips twitch and he presses back ever so slightly, like he’s chasing a feeling. Felix isn’t paying any attention, too focused on the conversation he’s having with Jeongin to look right and see that his hyung is straining in his pants.

It’s obvious now, and he’s lucky he wore dark pants, because you know for a fact that, if you pressed your hand down on the front of his pants, there would be a wet spot there. Chan’s always been leaky, but you can tell from the flush clinging to his cheeks and the sweat beading down the back of his neck that this scenario was turning him on even more than normal.

At some point, his hand finds yours, fingers intertwining over the table. Jeongin and Hyunjin jokingly gag, and Changbin makes a comment about “young love”, to which Seungmin retorts with “old love, actually”, which sends the table into a fit.

A perfect chance for you to click the vibrator up another setting.

Chan lets out a real sound this time, and even though it’s quiet, you know he’s aware of it by the way his eyes scan the table. Once again, ever-observant Minho is already watching him, and when Chan’s eyes meet his, Minho gives him a once over. Like he knows. Chan isn’t sure that Minho actually knows the details of what’s going on, but Minho clearly knows something more than he should. There’s something predatory in his gaze, and it makes Chan feel small, and, embarrassingly, even more turned on than he was before.

You lean over, mouth so close your breath tickles his ear.

“Looks like Minho hyung knows something, hm? You like that? Like that Minho knows you’re being naughty at dinner, right in front of him? In front of everyone?”

Chan has to squeeze himself through his pants, left hand slipping to his front, to keep himself from coming right then and there. The point of this was that he was good, that he wouldn’t get caught, so why was it so hot that someone knew? That someone did see what he was doing?

“You okay, Channie hyung?” Minho’s voice rings out, cutting through the rest of the conversation easily.

Suddenly there’s seven sets of eyes (eight, including yours) on him. There’s varying levels of concern on their faces, some mixed with curiosity. You can’t help it - you click it up one more setting. His mouth falls open, but no sound comes out. You watch his entire body tense as he lets out a shuddering breath, trying to pull himself together enough to speak.

“You don’t look so good,” Minho pushes, rabbit teeth gleaming as he gives Chan a half-smirk, “Are you okay?”

“I-hah-I’m fine,” he responds through clenched teeth, glassy eyes locking with Minho’s, “Just-my stomach’s a little u-upset. Has been all day. But I’m okay!”

His tone is too cheery there at the end, forced and fake, and you watch the way all of his dongsaengs collectively started to retort.

“You’re so flushed, Channie hyung, are you sure you aren’t sick?” Felix says, ever the angel, leaning forward to press the back of his hand to Chan’s forehead.

“Yah! Such a control freak, never let us take care of you,” Changbin huffs, pointing an accusing finger at Chan, “Really on your dongsaengs every once and a while, huh?”

“I’m fine, r-really,” Chan says, and you click the dial up to seven.

He makes a sound that would have been a wail if he hadn’t choked it back, eyes pinching shut and face scrunching up. This immediately makes everyone jump to retort again, and he just lets his head fall to the table, fingers still tangled in your hand squeezing so hard it hurts.

He stays there for a second, head swirling as every movement he makes shifts the vibrator against his sweet spot, forcing him to bite his tongue so hard to hold back his sounds that he’s drawing blood. All he can taste now is the metallic taste of copper on his tongue and desire, so hot and heavy in his body that he feels it everywhere.

“‘m going to the bathroom,” he declares, voice shockingly clear for someone who’s leaking in his pants, “And I’m fine. I’ll be fine, stop worrying.”

He waves a hand at them as he presses out of his chair, turning around quickly so that (hopefully) no one can see the way he’s straining against his fly so hard it looks like it might burst. The lights are low and his pants are dark, so you think you’re probably the only one who sees it. Minho gives you a knowing look, a head motion beckoning you to follow Chan, but you shake your head lightly. Not yet, not when you want to press him further over the edge. Chan, despite his bratty behavior earlier, wouldn’t come without you. He would wait in that bathroom until either you came to join him, or he was able to calm himself down enough to be composed again.

“Do you think he’s okay?” Jeongin says, nervous eyes searching the table.

You’re about to jump in, but Minho beats you to it.

“Like you said Bin-ah, Channie hyung is such a control freak, he just needs to let go for a second and he’ll be fine. He just needs to find some sort of release.”

The two of you never break eye contact as he says it, knowing eyes peering into yours, half-lidded. There’s something glinting in his eyes that you just can’t place, but you let it go, faking concern.

“Well if he takes too long in there I’ll go check on him,” you huff, pretending to be worried, “He said the same thing earlier, too, when I asked if we should cancel on you guys. Always some nonsense about being ‘fine’ and how I ‘shouldn’t worry.’”

You reach into your pocket again and click the setting down one, settling it back to the sixth level. You can picture the way that Chan probably moaned in despair. While he knows better than to come without you, you also know that he can’t help but push the boundaries. If you know anything about him, and you reckon you do, he’s probably got a finger or two stuffed in his hole with the bullet, and one hand wrapped around his leaking cock.

Conversation starts to flow again, though it’s tentative, and you keep checking your phone. For a text, for a call, for something that indicates that Chan either wants your help right now or that he wants to call this off. You’ll give him ten more minutes before you go to “check” on him, so for now, you play the role of a concerned partner. 

You’re asking Felix about his latest modelling project when a text comes. Your phone buzzes on your lap, and you ignore it to let Felix keep talking. Only once Felix has turned the talking back over to you do you flip your phone over, checking the messages. It’s from Chan, and it’s just a photo attachment, nothing else. No caption, no warning. You know exactly what it’s going to be, and you’re careful to angle your phone just right when you respond.

There he is, pants pulled down around his knees, in a single bathroom. You realize with glee that the bathrooms here must be singles, which means you won’t have to be confined to the handicap stall in a dingy restaurant bathroom, trying to be quiet with other people in the room. This makes the risk reasonable, reasonable enough that you might actually help him out when you get to the bathroom.

You let yourself drag your eyes over him for a little longer. It’s a mirror shot, and he’s using one hand to take the photo, while the other hand is slipped around his back. And while you can’t actually see what he’s doing, the way his back is subtly arched forward is enough for you to know he’s probably got his fingers buried inside of himself, right there in the public bathroom. His cock is red, angry and wet with his own precum. It glistens in the fluorescent light of the bathroom, and it makes your mouth water.

You control your breathing, evening your face out to be neutral again. If you do get up to anything in the bathroom, it has to be quick - the others are likely already a little suspicious, and Minho is more than aware of what’s happening. You wouldn’t put it beyond him to tip everyone else off on what’s happening. The clock on your phone tells you that you have two more minutes left to hit that ten minute mark, so you leave him on read. You want him to know that you’ve seen it, but didn’t even deign him with a response. You know that it’ll mess with him to be ignored like that, but it will also push him towards willing submission. He’s going to be beyond desperate when you do finally mosey to the bathroom, ready to bend to your whim just to come already. You can feel your own cock stirring in your pants, and you’re endlessly grateful once again to the low light and the foresight of wearing dark pants.

“Should I go check on him…?” You say, tilting your head at Felix like you’re not already decided. “He’s taking a while…”

“He’s probably just taking a shit,” Jisung says matter-of-factly, and continues when Minho elbows him sharply, “B-but it probably wouldn’t hurt!”

“Want me to come with you?” Minho says, sharp eyes digging into yours, “If he is sick, you might want an extra hand.”

“I’ll text you if I need help getting him to the car or something,” you respond, heat crawling up your neck, “Hopefully he’s just…‘taking a shit’, as Sungie so crassly put it.”

“Yah! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to-”

Minho shushes him, rolling his eyes, but he keeps a keen eye on you as you step away from the table, pupils expanding when you throw him a wink over your shoulder. Two can play the teasing game, and you sure as shit aren’t going to lose to Minho.

You actually have no idea where the bathroom is, and after an embarrassing lap around the restaurant, you have to flag down a member of the staff to direct you there. There’s a set of three single restrooms around a back corner, far secluded from the restaurant, and lucky you, only one of them is occupied. You approach it and rap on the door sharply, three short knocks, just to hear the way Chan’s breath catches through the door.

“Everything okay in there, sir?” you say, voice dripping with mirth, “You’ve been in there quite a while. Was something unsatisfactory with our service?”

The door flies open and you’re dragged in by the collar of your shirt before you realize what’s happening. The door slams shut behind you as Chan presses you to it desperately, hand fumbling behind you to click the lock shut as he seals your mouths together. His tongue is pressing into your mouth the second your lips touch, hot and messy, and he’s fumbling with the buttons of your shirt as he kisses you. You let him get the first two before you’re grabbing his wrist, using your grip on him as leverage to flip the two of you around, caging him against the door.

“Needy baby,” you coo, letting your eyes drag down him, “Couldn’t even wait for me to help?”

“You took so long,” he whines, lips tugging into a pout, “I couldn’t help it!”

“I couldn’t leave right away, jagi, it would’ve been suspicious,” you murmur, breath hot against his neck as you lean down to nip at it, “Minho already knows what a slut you’re being. Thought you were supposed to be in control, what happened?”

He keens, a little too loud for your liking, hips bucking up towards you, searching for friction. You slap a hand over his mouth to muffle his sounds, listening for sounds outside the door. When there’s nothing you relax, pulling your hand away.

“God, it’s like you want the whole restaurant to know what we’re doing,” you sneer, “First your dongsaengs, now this? Come here.”

He wants to protest, tell you that he’s not a slut, but you’re dragging him away from the door and towards the sink, spinning him so that his hands are gripping at the cool porcelain and his back is arched towards you. You’re pressed behind him, and he can feel the swell of you against his ass, making him whimper as he presses back against it. You hiss, then grab his hair, yanking his head back so that he can see himself in the mirror.

He looks debauched, hair tousled and lips swollen. He’s drooling, and there’s tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. His eyes find yours in the reflection, and the hunger in your gaze paired with the vibrator, still buzzing incessantly inside of him, is almost enough to make him come. He swears, head falling forward as his hips buck down, body wound tight as he does everything in his power to hold back. You haven’t given him permission, after all.

You press three of your fingers against his lips, and they part without question, tongue swirling around your digits messily. He coats them in spit, already knowing what you need them for. 

“Good job.” You say, pulling your fingers from his mouth once you find that they’re sufficiently slick.

Your wet fingers come to press to his waiting hole, and your other hand untangles from his hair to press at the remote in your pocket, turning the dial down to the fourth setting. You don’t want him coming just yet, though the choked, sad sound he makes at the loss is almost enough for you to fold and give him what he wants.

Instead you press two of your fingers in without warning, curling them, searching for the little pink bullet nestled inside of him. He moans, loud and unabashed, the sound echoing through the space. His eyes widen as he brings a shaky hand to his mouth, teeth sinking into the skin to try and stop the sounds. It doesn’t stop the little breaths and whimpers from escaping, and when your fingers do brush the bullet inside of him? He reacts as if he’s been shocked, his whole body jolting and eyes rolling back into his skull.

You search for it again, long fingers scissoring and curling, a third finger slipping in when you’re sure he’s stretched enough to take it.

“That’s it, jagi, taking my fingers so well,” you say, voice sickly sweet compared to your ministrations, “So good for me. Are you going to come around my fingers? Make a mess all over the sink?”

He nods frantically, wide eyes searching for yours again in the mirror. He tries to say something through his fist, but it’s muffled, and you slow your movements down, loving the way that the loss of stimulation makes him wail. It’s a little too loud, but you let it slip this time.

“What’s wrong, jagi? Use your words.” You’re so mean about it, fingers coming to press as the vibe inside of him right as he opens his mouth to speak.

It makes him choke on his words, and even on the fourth setting, the pressure that you’re applying to the bullet is pressing it against his prostate so hard it has him seeing stars.

“Wanna-hnngh, fuck! Wanna come ‘round your-hck! come ‘round your cock,” he whines out, tears finally slipping out of his shiny eyes, “Wanna feel you, please? Please please please, wanna-ooooh-wanna, wanna-”

You cut him off by slapping a hand over his mouth. As much as you love the sweet sounds he’s making, you’re still in public, and you’ve been gone for far too long now to fuck into him like he wants. The erection straining in your pants is pleading for attention, but that’s not what tonight is about. You take a deep breath, and keep curling your fingers slowly, keeping him on that edge.

You pull your hand away from his mouth once you know he’s not going to make any more loud sounds, his breathing getting less shaky. You reach your now free hand into your pocket for the remote, and click it up once, to the fifth setting.

“Give me your hand.” You say, and he reaches a shaky hand back.

You place the little pink remote in his hand, guiding his thumb to rest on the dial. He blinks back at you, surprised, but you have a wicked look on your face, your smile all teeth.

“You’re in control, right? We don’t have time for you to come on my cock, jagi, so be a good boy and crank that toy up for me, won’t you? Oh, and don’t drop the remote - drop it, and you won’t come until we’re home.”

He bites his tongue, another moan threatening to tear its way out of his throat. He knows you’re teasing him, playing with the power that you hold over him, but the idea of being good is enough for him to nod, hand clenching tight around the remote.

Your fingers pick up their pace, thrusting into his sharp and quick. Your hand, now free, comes to cup his mouth again, cutting his sounds off into your skin. He presses into the touch, barely able to keep himself up as his legs shake. His thumb slips on the dial and he tries to steady himself, and suddenly the vibrator is on seven. And oh. Oh. He’s not even sure where he is anymore, his body fully succumbing to the burning pleasure coursing through his veins.

He can faintly hear you in the background noise telling him to be quiet, to be good, and he tries. Really, he tries. He thinks that he’s not making any sound, and he hopes it’s true, but all he can hear right now is static in his ears. He can vaguely feel the hot streaks of tears pouring down his face, and the way your hand squeezes at his jaw when they trickle down your fingers.

And then his thumb slips again. And shit, he’s seeing stars.

Because if his vision was whiting out, he could look down, and see that he had just set the buzzing to the highest level, ten. But the second the vibrations pick up, your fingers are finding the bullet and pressing it right to his prostate. And you don’t thrust your fingers anymore, you don’t even breathe - you keep the bullet there, pressed against his most sensitive thought, until he’s babbling under your hand and coming.

And oh, it’s so much. He’s spraying his come across the porcelain, hips bucking forward to try and escape the overwhelming feeling of the vibrations. He feels it everywhere, like a livewire connecting his prostate to his brain, and his orgasm keeps going, and going. It’s obscene how much he comes, and you use the hand that’s covering his mouth to tilt his head so that he’s looking at himself in the mirror, watching himself fall apart. He bites your hand, hard, face flushed with the exertion of coming but also with something akin to embarrassment, but you don’t relent. You wince at the sting, but let him ride out his high.

When it starts to hurt and you can see it on his face, you pull out of him, sticky fingers coming to crank the dial down to zero. He lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding, body slumping forward so that his forehead is pressed against the cool glass of the mirror in front of him.

Everything after that is a blur of you guiding him back together, wiping him down and helping him back into his clothes. You fuss with his hair and his collar the most, though you don’t think you can fix the way his collar is just slighted mussed now, crooked in a way that screams what the two of you just did. You sigh, taking a quick look at yourself in the mirror, and hope to god that your erection brings itself down by the time you make it back to the table, because you certainly don’t have the time to take care of it now.

You guide him back to the table, fingers interlaced, two full grown people stepping out of the same bathroom and trying not to be embarrassed about it. You decided to leave the vibrator in him, although you don’t think you’ll be turning it back on again until you’re at home (if at all - Chan might not be able to come again tonight after that release).

When you sit back down, hair pressed back neatly and the only evidence of your bathroom escapade the flush of Chan’s cheeks and the slight crook of his collar, you grin apologetically.

“Jisung-ah, I owe you an apology,” you say as you sit down, “You were 100% right. I had to wait outside the door for him.”

The table erupts in laughter, and Chan shoots you a confused (but grateful) look. His dongsaengs start poking fun at him for a joke he wasn’t even present for, and he plays up his confusion, much to their delight. As this happens, your phone buzzes twice in your pocket, and you glance down to read it.

From: Minho [18:23]

>Looks like the two of you had fun.

>You’ll let me watch next time, won’t you? It’s the least I deserve for keeping your secret.

You raise a challenging eyebrow at him across the table, and he just grins back, eyes heavy and lidded. He mouths “please?” and gives you his best pout, dramatic and fake. You just smirk back, knowing that he’s teasing, that he doesn’t actually mean it, but you can tell from the way Chan flushed earlier that he probably wouldn’t actually mind Minho being there to watch.

“Sure” is all you mouth back, loving the way that ever-composed Minho flushes and blinks back at you, eyes wide.

You message him, eyes lidded, corner of your lower lip catching in your teeth.

>Only if you’ll be good for me.

It’s going to be a long, long night.

I hope your enjoyed! Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated ♡

Today was a special kind of day.

Finally, after all the stress of the comeback and the media tour that came afterwards, the boys had a break. Of course, they only lasted maybe a couple hours into their first day of free time before Jisung was blowing up the group chat, begging people to get together for lunch. Despite working together, all of the kids were extremely clingy, and it was no surprise to you that they couldn’t even make it a day without each other.

Chris has immediately apologized to you - who he had promised the day to - but you just rolled your eyes fondly, telling him that, as long as they don’t mind, you’d like to come along. A chorus of yesses (and one sarcastic “no” from Minho) later, the two of you were getting ready for a late lunch.

Chan hadn’t meant to stare at you as you were getting ready, but he just couldn’t stop himself from peeking over every once and a while. You were humming quietly to yourself, hair still a little tussled in the back from bed, and suddenly he wonders how he could have possibly told the kids yes to lunch when he has you here, all to himself.

You catch him staring over your shoulder, eyes lidded and tracing your frame, and you sigh.

“Christopher. Focus.” You say with a playful sigh, stripping down to only your underwear.

You had stripped down with innocent intentions - you really did just want to change - but you couldn’t help the way that you got goosebumps when he whistled, low and appreciative. You send him a look over your shoulder, fumbling through drawers to find a nice pair of pants, but he just gives you an unapologetic smirk back.

“Now is not the time,” you murmur, though it doesn’t hold much heat, “Get yourself changed, Mr. Bang, we have places to be.”

He slides up behind you wordlessly, arms wrapping around your waist. His nose comes to tease at your neck, hot breath on your sensitive skin sending a shiver down your spine. Your subtle shiver just makes him pull you closer, smiling against your neck.

“Stop.”

You swat at him, and he just grumbles, burying his face further into the crook of your neck.

“Chan. Chris. Baby. Jagiya, come on.”

He still doesn’t let go and you groan, throwing your head back into his shoulder with a dull thunk. He just laughs, mouthing at your neck between giggles. Damn him for being so cute, because you should be wiggling out of his hold, but instead, you’re leaning into it, laughing along with him.

“Chris, we have to go, c’mon.” You huff, but you don’t move to break free from his hold.

He groans, pressing more of his body weight into you. He nips lightly at your neck and you swat at him blindly, which just makes him grin into your skin. When you let out another dramatic groan, he grumbles but relents, letting you go reluctantly.

“Fine, you hate me,” he starts as he stomps off to go get changed, “My own partner hates me and wants me dead.”

“So much drama,” you say with a laugh, sliding your pants on, “You’re going to take Jin-ah’s spot as drama queen if you keep it up.”

He makes some sort of mumbled protests, but you catch the way his ears start to tinge pink. You roll your eyes, and focus on getting yourself changed before Chan tries to jump your bones again.

And finally, finally, you’re dressed and out the door to meet the boys for lunch. You had fought over who got to drive, but after some discourse, he begrudgingly agreed to let you drive.

“Stop pouting.”

He puffs his cheeks a bit, and you roll your eyes for what feels like the millionth time today.

“You look like Jisung-ah with those puffy cheeks. Jagi, it’s your time off, I’m not going to make you drive. What’s got you so bratty today?”

He flushes at that, eyes flicking over to glance at you.

“‘m not a brat.”

“No? Sure are acting like one, might have to treat you like one later.”

You say it casually, like this is just a regular, everyday conversation, and it sends a spike of heat running through him. He shifts in his seat, bottom lip caught between his teeth.

“How about this,” you begin, sparing a glance at him just to catch his flustered state, “If you’re good at lunch today - don’t make that face - then you get whatever you want when we get home. How does that sound?”

He nods so fast you think he looks like a bobblehead. It makes you snort, but it doesn’t stop a smirk from tugging at your lips. Lunch with the boys is always a long event, and you’re not sure he’s got it in him, not when he’s been in such a bratty mood all morning, but you bide your time. You’ll have plenty of time to tease him later, at lunch.

– – –

Lunch starts without a hitch. The two of you are beaten there only by Felix and Seungmin, who seemed to have driven together. You sit down and start chatting away, Felix being his usually sunny self and Seungmin being the snarky dog he always is. It warms your heart that they keep true to themselves, despite everything.

Changbin and Hyunjin are next to file in, Jeongin hot on their tail. He complains to you the second he sits down that you “stole his driver”, but you’re quickly forgiven when you tell him you’ll bring him snacks next time you visit their dorm.

“This is why you’re my favorite, Channie-hyung would never do that for me.” he says, sliding into the seat next to Chan as he says it.

Chan jabs him with his elbow for that, and he whines dramatically, holding his arm like he’s just been stabbed.

Finally, Minho and Jisung come walking in, fashionably late as always (despite Jisung being the one who invited everyone here). You wave them over, patting the seat next to you, trying not to grin when Jisung plops down next to you, pulling you into a side hug. Perfect. Jisung, who was very touchy by nature. You knew he never meant anything by it, but Chan always got a little protective over you around him. You, admittedly, didn’t think that Jisung really had eyes for anyone that wasn’t Minho, but it was fun to tease Chan sometimes. Plus, if he loses his composure, then you get to do what you want to him when you get home. 

So you lean into Jisung when he makes a funny joke, or poke and jab at him whenever he says something stupid. You make a comment about how strong he’s gotten recently, making a show of squeezing his biceps and telling him you think his thighs could crush a watermelon now. Jisung flushes from the praise, giggling and blushing like he’s embarrassed. Chan’s hand crawls to your thigh at some point while you’re talking with Jisung, kneading the flesh, but other than that, he holds strong.

Somehow, he makes it the whole meal without throwing a fit. You didn’t up the ante any further, instead choosing the jump from conversation to conversation throughout the afternoon, perhaps making a slightly flirty comment to Changbin or Hyunjin here and there. But as the sun starts to sink in the sky and the dinner rush starts to hit the restaurant you’re sitting at, Chan still doesn’t break, and the boys decide it’s time to say their goodbyes. Jisung gives a dramatic goodbye (like they won’t see each other tomorrow at the latest), and Minho just rolls his eyes and grabs him by the collar of the shirt, dragging him off. You and Chan are off next, your fingers lacing together as you walk off towards the car. Jeongin pleads to have his hyung back as you leave, to which you inform him he does not want the two of you back at the dorm right now. He squeaks, cheeks reddening as he tells you just how gross the two of you are.

“And before marriage? Yah, you two are gross! At least Changbin-hyung and Hyunjin-hyung are married.”

“Yes, let us go home, wife,” Hyunjin says with a giggle, batting his eyelashes at Changbin, who swats at him with a YAH!.

You wave them all off, all but dragging Chan off to the car. All this teasing has you starting to feel a little warm, arousal now a steady thrum through your veins. Chan had clearly been affected, too - he’d been pressing his thighs together all night - and neither of you were even going to make it home if you didn’t pick up the pace.

The car ride home was thick with tension, air so heavy it was palpable. He spends the whole ride shifting in his seat, every shift giving him just a hair of friction against his straining erection. A couple of times, a breathy little moan slips past his lips, and it makes you clench your teeth. Normally you’d make fun of him for being so damn needy, but you can’t say a word, not when your arousal is soaking through your pants.

You spend the ride white-knuckling the wheel, squeezing so tight it starts to hurt. Every red light has it out to get you, and each time you’re forced to stop your fingers tap anxiously against the wheel. Every glance you spare his way is a mistake, because it just reminds you that you have to be patient, have to wait for what you want.

When you finally pull into the parking garage for your complex, both of you are panting and red, arousal clear across your faces (and through your clothes). You both wordlessly jump out of your seats, and as he comes around the car, your arms come to cage him against it, yanking him by the collar of his shirt into a heated kiss. He groans, deep and in his chest, as your mouth claims him, dominating the kiss. It’s messy, all teeth and spit, and when one of your hands tangles at the hair at the base of his neck and pulls, he lets out a moan. It echoes through the hopefully empty parking garage, reminding you of where the two of you are. You pull back, panting, and lace your fingers with his, dragging him to the elevator.

After what could possibly be the longest elevator ride of your life - all heated glances and impatient squeezes of the hand - you’re finally at the door of your apartment. The two of you barely make it inside before he’s pressing you to the wall at the entryway, mouthing desperately at your neck. You toss your keys haphazardly towards the bowl on the stand near the door, and use both of your hands to pull his face impossibly closer to yours, deepening the kiss.

You let the makeout last a little longer before yanking him off by the hair, heat spiking through you when it makes him moan.

“As much as-hah-I would like to just make out with you in the entryway forever, I believe I promised you a-hooh-reward, jagiya.” You pant up at him, clothes already rumpled from his desperation. 

“I just-hngh-just wanna cum,” he whimpers, eyes already glassy and you’ve barely touched him, “Please?”

A million ideas fly through your head, but you settle for something a little mean. You blink up at him, grin sharp and eyes sharper.

“That’s all you want? You’re sure? No other requests for me?”

He nods, panting, as he presses his forehead against you. “‘s all, that’s all I want, please.”

“Okay,” you say, pushing him off you, “Go to the bedroom and strip. I’ll be there soon, m’kay? Wait on the bed for me.”

He nods, turning on his heels eagerly and all of running to the bedroom. You follow behind at a walking pace, laughing when he sheds his shirt halfway down the hall, fumbling with his belt as he opens the bedroom door. He’s so impatient, and it’s so incredibly hot how he can’t control himself.

Unfortunately for him, you have plans for tonight, and while they do include getting him off, you’re certain they’re not what he had in mind.

When you finally make it to the bedroom, he’s a sight to see. He’s flushed all the way down his pretty chest, which is heaving from how heavy he’s breathing. His eyes are wild, but they light up when you come through the door. And his cock - oh God, his cock - is standing at full mast, leaking and red from how needy he is. There’s a smear of precum glistening against his abs from where his tip must’ve smacked his tummy when he yanked his pants down, and it makes you want to lick it right up.

You shake that thought from your mind, instead opting to slip out of your clothes, too. You take it nice and slow, making sure to turn around as you drag your underwear down so Chan gets a nice view of your ass. The sight has him whimpering, fingers digging into the silken sheets below him.

You grab the standing, full-length mirror, positioning it at the end of the bed. Chan opens his mouth to question it, but one pointed look from you shuts him right up. Instead, his eyes follow you as you position your back against the headboard, sitting yourself upright. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the reflection, eyes heavy with lust and body warm with arousal. You look like sin, but Chan? He looks like sex itself, hair messy and face flushed. You crook your finger at him, beckoning him over to you as you spread your legs. He leans down to mouth at your arousal, but before he can reach it, you grab him by the hair and yank, tearing a pained cry from his throat. 

“I didn’t tell you to do that, jagiya.”

“This is my reward, isn’t it? I should get to do what I want.” He responds, lips pouty and eyebrows furrowed.

You tighten your grip in his hair, unamused by his antics.

“Start acting bratty again and I won’t give you anything. A reward can be given, yes, but it can also be taken away. I know you can be a good, sweet boy, so be good for me.”

When you call him sweet, his whole demeanor shifts into something more submissive, more pliant for you. He lets you guide him between your legs, sitting so that his broad back is pressed into your chest and he can see himself in the mirror. He turns and hides his face in the crook of your neck when he sees his reflection, all wrecked and red and needy already, but you shake your head, gentle hand guiding him to look at himself in the mirror. He flushes even deeper, heat flooding his veins as he takes himself in. He’s steadily leaking like a faucet, cock twitching and pumping out even more precum when you tug at his earlobe with your teeth. Your chin finds its home on his shoulder, peering at him through the mirror. He feels more naked like this, like the mirror somehow strips him down even further, especially when your watchful eyes are peering at him through it.

“Lean back into me, sweet boy, there we go,” you murmur, voice sultry and low, “Let me make you feel good, okay?”

“Okay, okay, thank you.” He responds, breathless already.

He’s shaking slightly already, poor thing, eyes glassy and body just so responsive to your touch. You let your arms slide under his, fingers tracing up his thighs, past his cock (much to his chagrin), up the muscular plane of his abs, right to your target: his pecs. You cup them in your hands, pushing them together obscenely. He sends you a half-hearted glare over his shoulder, but the way his body arches into your touch lets you know that this feels good for him.

“Watch yourself in the mirror, jagi, or my touches stop.” You give him a warning squeeze, mouth coming to nip at the sensitive spot on his neck as you do.

He lets out a whimper, pitchy and pathetic, but he obeys. His skin is burning hot against yours, and he’s already sweating, chest heaving as he tries to hold himself together. Your finger reaches around to circle at his nipple, and that’s when a moan breaks free, unabashed and uncontrollable.

“H-hey, stop it-aahhn!”

When you had first discovered that Chan had just the most sensitive nipples, it had been completely by accident. You had flicked one when you were grinding down on him once, mostly playfully, and the choked noise that he had let out had almost made you cum then and there.

Now, it was common occurrence for you to play with his nipples when you were toying with him. His mouth always complained, but his body was far more honest, and none of the words that came out of his mouth were ever his safeword. You figure he’s just embarrassed by how aroused he gets from just a little bit of fiddling with his nipples.

“Jagi, jagi, h-hurts, stop it!” He whines out, but his head falls back to hit the headboard behind the two of you, and his cock is leaking even more than it was before.

His eyes still never leave the mirror, though, so your movements continue. Both hands have made their way to his pecs, though one is simply cupping his pec, while the other is rolling his nipple between your thumb and pointer finger. Your touch starts very kind - all gentle rolling and rubbing - but you can see him getting more and more desperate. He wants more, but until he admits it, you keep your touches kind, kissing at his neck lightly. 

“Jagi…”

“What is it, jagiya?” you say, eyes finding his in the mirror.

He’s teary, eyes pleading and lidded. He’s doing everything he can to beg without saying a word, still too stubborn to admit what he really wants. His cock is so red you think it might pop, the prominent vein that runs up his length bulging as more blood rushes south. It’s making a sticky mess between his thighs and on his stomach, and you know he sees it in the mirror when one glance downwards has him bucking his hips off the mattress, a whine tearing out of his throat.

“Jagiya, please?” He begs, eyes searching yours in the mirror.

You just tilt your head in faux confusion, mouth stopping its ministrations against his neck.

“Please what, sweet boy? Please stop? I can do that-”

“No no no, not-don’t stop! P-please, don’t stop.” He cries out as your hands pull away from his chest, body arching to follow your touch.

“What do you need then, jagi? If you want something, you have to use your words. I have no idea what you need if you can’t tell me.”

He knows you’re playing with him now, hands opting to run up and down his sides while you wait for his answer. Normally, the touch would be soothingly, but the lack of stimulation anywhere that feels good has him squirming against you.

“Jagi…” he starts, dragging out the ‘i’.

He’s clearly still fighting himself, wanting so badly to just give in to you and beg for what he wants. And when your mouth starts pressing kisses into the meat of his shoulder, he folds, unable to do anything but leak without any proper stimulation.

“Touch me, touch me, please? Need your touch, need it so bad! Please, please, touch me!” He begs, hand grabbing yours and bringing it back up to his chest.

You don’t move it yet, instead opting to make him beg a little more.

“I was touching you, jagi, before you pulled my hand away. Where do you need me to touch you?”

“My chest, my nipples, please, it felt so good and then you stopped and I-” he hiccups, tears threatening to fall if you don’t touch him right now.

“Good boy.”

It’s the only warning he gets before you’re shaking your hand free of his hold and tugging at his nipple, not very hard but enough for him to feel it. Your other hand comes to roll the other nipple between your fingers, and his body bends in the most perfect arch, pressing his chest further into his touch.

“Bet you could cum just from this, sweet boy,” you say with a grin, tongue peeking out to lick a looong stripe up the side of his neck, “You look so good like this, my perfect boy. Keep watching yourself, okay?”

He nods, not trusting his words. The only sounds that are escaping his mouth right now are moans and stuttering calls of your name. You can’t make out any other coherent words through his babbles, not until your touch isn’t enough. You’re still being too soft, alternating between gentle tugs and rolling, and it can’t be enough for him, not when he likes it a little mean.

“Need-hnnngh-need more!” He cries, heavy tongue fighting through the pleasure to beg.

You laugh, low and teasing, raising an eyebrow at him over his shoulder.

“More? So greedy…”

But your touch gets heavier, rougher, just the way he needs. You’re really tugging now, letting your nails dig into his flesh as you pull. You can tell from the way his voice shifts up an octave and the way his hips seem out of his control that he’s close now, but he’s trying to hold back. You drag one of your hands across his chest, making sure to dig your nails in deep enough to leave raised red marks in your trail, but even still he doesn’t let go.

“C-cum, wanna cum, can I? Can I please? Please please please, wan’ it, let me cum, let me-ahh!”

Oh. Your perfect boy, waiting for your permission to let go. It’s unbearably sweet, and you double your efforts, a pleased groan falling out of your mouth when his eyes roll back and he still doesn’t let go without your permission.

“Oh jagi, you’ve been so good. My best boy, my good boy. You can cum, you don’t need my permission tonight. Come for me.”

You dig your teeth into the meat of his shoulder as he comes, hips twitching off the bed as spurts of cum splatter his stomach and chest. You don’t stop your movements, milking him through it, and it has him twitching, painting his front white.

Even as he starts to come down, cock trying to soften, your movements continue. It has him whining out in overstimulation, his hands coming to grip at your thighs on either side of him. He’s brainless, tongue like lead in his mouth. He can faintly hear himself trying to beg - to stop, or to keep going, he’s not sure. He’s floating, the sharp edge of pain from being overstimulated dulling into burning hot pleasure. His spent cock twitches pathetically, both straining to soften and rising back to full mast without his permission.

You’re whispering praises in his ear, about how good he’s being, about how he can take just one more, can’t he? And take he does, twitching and squirming against you. His hazy eyes blink open to find yours in the mirror, and he’s never seen himself look like this before. He’s sweating, hair stuck to his forehead, body red and worn. He looks so weak right now in your arms, melting into your hold and your touch like he can’t move, can’t breathe without you.

“-almost there jagi, I know you’re on the edge. Let go for me when you’re ready, sweetheart, I’ve got you. Jagi’s got you.”

Your voice fades back in, and suddenly he’s coming again, small, pathetic spurts this time, cum watery and white. He faintly releases the loud, pitchy moaning is him, but can’t bring himself to care. He just feels so, so good, it’s like his mind isn’t even his own.

When he comes back down to earth you haven’t moved, but you have stopped touching his nipples. You’ve slid the two of you down the headboard a bit, pulling his head to your chest. He doesn’t remember rolling over, but his face is pressed to your chest, legs tangled with yours, and you’re playing with his hair with one hand, rubbing soothing circles into his back with the other.

He’s hit with the fact that he’s never felt safer than this. He trusts you so much, so much so that he let himself float away and trusted that you would keep him tethered. That you would be here for him when he came back down.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until your fingers come to sweep his bangs away and cradle his face.

“Hey, hey, jagi, what’s wrong? What can I do for you, sweet boy?” your eyes are full of concern, suddenly back to full alertness.

He just cries harder, fingers digging into your skin as he grabs at you.

“I just-hic–I jus’ love you so much!” He cries, lip trembling.

“Love you so much, thank you for-” he pauses, sniffling and rubbing at his tears.

“I don’t even know why I’m crying,” he says, laughing wetly, pushing his hair out of his face, “I just-I just love you so much, you know? And I don’t say it enough, but-mmph!”

You cut him off with a kiss, unable to help himself. Tears are welling in your eyes, too, because of course he’s being as sweet as honey after you just overstimulated him to hell and back. You pour everything you’re feeling into the kiss, and he reciprocates in kind.

When he pulls away to breathe, you cradle his face again, smiling down at him.

“We’re sticky, we should clean up.” You murmur, making no move to get up.

He flops down against your chest, groaning dramatically.

“‘m not goin’ anywhere.” He says, contently snuggling further into you.

You sigh, fumbling for the crumpled blanket to throw it over both of you.

“We’re going to regret this in the morning, you know.” You say, but you’re already yawning, curling further into the blanket and Chan’s heat.

“Mhm,” he says, yawning back, “But right now, I jus’ want to be right here. Nowhere else.”

And you’ll be mad in the morning when you wake up with dried cum stuck to both of you and messy sheets that should’ve been thrown in the wash last night, but Chan’s right.

There’s nowhere you’d rather be than here.

Chan is already regretting inviting Seungmin over.

Not because he doesn’t love Seungmin - Chan loves all of his members so much that the weight of it consumes him sometimes - but because he forgot that Seungmin is a lightweight, so susceptible to the Asian flush that Chan’s almost certain that Seungmin could take a sniff of one of their shitty beers and feel a little tipsy.

Chan invited him over after one of the longest recording sessions they’ve had in a while, telling Seungmin he deserves a chance to relax, to destress. The producing program had fought him the entire time, so he needed to relax, too. He’s pretty sure the program was actually eating the MIDI tracks by the end of their night, which had him two seconds away from tearing his own hair out. It never helped that Seungmin was a perfectionist and needed to record his lines over and over and over until the line didn’t sound like real words to them anymore. The program ate his “perfect” line one too many times, and Chan honestly can’t believe they actually managed to record a line that Seungmin liked that didn’t get eaten by the recording program immediately afterwards.

So maybe, just maybe, Chan had been stressed out enough to have forgotten about Seungmin’s alcohol intolerance. He was already starting to feel the pleasant buzz of alcohol under his skin by the time he realized that Seungmin was getting a little too loopy to only be one and a half beers in. But he had shrugged it off - Seungmin’s kind of strange in the first place - and kept passing him drinks when he finished his. No harm, really, because both of them are tucked into his dorm, and he wouldn’t mind having a sleepover with his dongsaeng. He knows that Seungmin misses the bustle of the old dorm, where all of them were packed in together. Misses the easy warmth that came along with it, how he could curl up next to someone and no one would breathe a word about it. Seungmin’s not good about asking for what he needs, much like Chan, and Chan knows that it was easier to not have to ask at all before.

…plus, Seungmin’s more clingy when he’s a little tipsy. He’s got his legs splayed over Chan’s now on the couch, and he’s playing with the hem of Chan’s hoodie aimlessly, rolling it between his fingers. Chan lets himself be a little greedy, and bask in the comfort of his dongsaeng being so willing to be near him so easily. 

At least, it was comfortable. Until Seungmin stops scrolling on his phone, tugging on Chan’s hoodie with more intention now. 

“Hyung.”

Chan gives him a look, already knowing something was up. “Yes, Seungmin, I would still love you if you’re a worm-”

“Hyung, no! I have a more important question for you.” Seungmin interrupts and oh no.

Seungmin’s got that evil glint in his eye that lets Chan know he’s got a bad idea. Sober Seungmin would never miss a chance to tease him, and a loose-lipped, definitely drunk Seungmin is somehow worse. Chan braces himself for impact, giving him his best deadpan stare through the haze of his own tipsiness. 

“Have you heard of petplay?”

Seungmin says with a grin that already makes Chan feel hot under the collar. Even if he has no idea what it is, that look tells him everything he needs to know.

“No, I hav-”

“It's this sex thing.” 

Chan sighs deeply, shaking his head.

“Why am I not surprised? Go on.” 

After all these years he knows Seungmin. He knows that drunk hangouts often lead to risqué topics just because Seungmin thinks it's funny and somehow got it into his head that Chan was all knowing when it came to sex. At least now he's not expecting Chan to explain it. 

“Pretty self explanatory really. ‘Pet’ and ‘play’. Someone acts like a pet and the other is like… their master.” 

Seungmin chuckles drunkenly and holds up his phone way too close to Chan's face. The older has to grab his wrist to pull it back so he can make any sense of what he's showing him. It's a video. A guy with puppy ears and a tail is on his knees, looking up into the camera. He's seemingly rutting against someone's shoe, tongue poking out from between his lips. Chan thanks whoever's up there that the video is muted. His face is already turning red, heat spreading throughout his stomach. That was….new. 

“Do you regularly watch porn on your phone while we hang out?”

He says as calmly as he can. If this turns into one of those “bro-y” moments where they watch porn together and pretend they're not turned on he'll have to go die in a ditch. This was just his dongsaeng teasing him, nothing more. 

Seungmin rolls his eyes.

“No. Duh. I just remembered our old Redlights performance. You know, where we all were on leashes? Turns out it's a whole fetish.” 

Chan groans and hides his face in his hands. 

“Why would you bring that up… it was so long ago.”

He mumbles into his palms. Seungmin has a shit eating grin on his lips, happy that his topic of conversation is having the desired effect. 

“Hey, Stays loved it. Do you think our stylists would do something like it again?”

He chuckles. 

Chan pulls back his hands to give Seungmin a deadpan glare.

“If you bring it up I'll place a JYP standee in your room while you sleep. No.”

Seungmin just laughs drunkenly, way too happy with himself. Chan can't lose to him. 

“Aren't you a little too into this? The puppy branding got into your head, huh?” 

He teases, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. 

“Puppy Seungmin is so horny he can't help but watch porn with his hyung in the room~”

Chan hums, tone sickly sweet. He feels Seungmin’s thighs twitch where they lay in his lap, eyebrows furrowed in mock irritation. Seungmin definitely didn't like that. Not at all. 

“N-no!” Seungmin yelps, “Yah, you’re as bad as Minho-hyung! I’m not a puppy. If anything, you’re the wolf in heat! Always flashing your tits for Stays like a dog begging for praise. Channie wants a treat, huh?”

Chan flusters, suddenly very glad that Seungmin’s ranting more to the ceiling than to him. He hopes the red on his face can be excused by alcohol if Seungmin looks over. Not because he’s into that kind of thing, or anything. But it’s a little embarrassing to be having this kind of conversation with his dongsaeng, especially one who loves to drag a bit out until it’s long dead.

Yeah, that’s why Chan’s mind is racing. He’s only imagining himself as the boy in the video because Seungmin is making him, talking about all this “wolf in heat” stuff. He needs to put a stop to this before Seungmin gets carried away.

“You’re quiet because I’m right!” Seungmin says proudly, pointing an accusatory finger “at” Chan (or at the space next to Chan’s head - the world’s a little blurry right now).

“Seungmin, seriously-”

“Channie likes being a good boy.”

It’s as if lightning strikes his body. Chan squeaks, an unbecoming sound, whole body jolting, almost knocking Seungmin’s legs off of his. If Seungmin thought he was some all-knowing sex god before, he’s just reduced himself back to blushing virgin. He’s pretty sure his cheeks are on fire, and he’s not drunk enough to play that kind of red off. He can feel it burning like magma under his skin, going down, down, down until he’s certain that it’s painted his neck a blotchy red, too.

Seungmin, bless him, is still giggling away, eyes wide and mouth curled into that evil little smile of his. Chan can’t look at him, can’t perceive him, not when his mind is still reeling from how easily Seungmin made this about him.

“Kim Seungmin-”

“Don’t full name me, puppy boy~” Seungmin sings, delighted with himself, “I’m the hyung now! Puppy shouldn’t be so mean to his-hic! His…his…uhhhh…I forgot what I was sayin’, hyung.”

Seungmin sends him a sheepish, dazed grin, and Chan is so, so glad that Seungmin is drunk right now. Hopefully drunk enough to have forgotten this entire conversation by the morning, fingers crossed. Which makes him feel less bad when he opens his mouth to dig right back into Seungmin, because Chan’s lips are a little loose too, and he can’t be the only one who’s feeling humiliated in the room.

“Oh c’mon Seungmo, we both know who the real puppy is,” Chan coos, bringing a hand down to pinch at Seungmin’s cheek lovingly, “You’re the one who showed hyung the video, you know. Bet that’s why you like when we manhandle you a bit, too. Just a silly dog who needs to be put in his place.”

Seungmin opens and closes his mouth as he tries to find the words through his drunken daze. That definitely didn’t affect him in any way. He didn’t twitch in his pants and he didn’t shiver. Chan was being a total bully and Seungmin doesn’t like being bullied because why would anyone? The younger man swallows dryly, turning his face away from him. 

Chan chuckles mischievously, happy to have the upper hand so easily, and grabs Seungmin's chin, shaking his head side to side. 

“Poor mutt can’t think? Awh…” 

He pouts mockingly, but he can’t hide the affection in his eyes. He’s just so cute, especially when he’s drunk and flustered. Seungmin's hands feel clammy as they push Chans away with a huff. His head spins from the shaking, everything looking more and more blurry by the second. 

“You’re a- a dickhead. It’s uhhh… hyungs fault. Changbin- Changbin hyung is just funny to piss off.” 

He says oh so very convincingly. Chan just giggles, reaching up to pet his hair. 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night man.”

Seungmin can’t help but pout, turning his face away to hide his painfully obvious flush. 

“Changbin hyung is definitely into it though. He gets like, excited when I say stuff?”

He mumbles in an attempt to change the topic. Chan snorts in laughter, nodding. 

“Do you still have that bruise from a few days ago?”

Seungmin groans and shows off the branding that’s still apparent on his wrist in the clear shape of the rapper's handprint. 

“He’s the biggest freak. I think he only works out so he can throw people around.” 

He huffs.

“Oh absolutely.”

And they keep talking the night away until they fall asleep, both drunken heaps on the floor. Neither of them bring up the petplay thing after that, but they both think about it. What it would be like. What it would feel like. If their partners would indulge them. Purely out of fascination of course, definitely not for any other reasons…

Links to Seungmin | Bang Chan

The life of an idol was a busy one.

You recognized this. You appreciated this. Your boyfriend was an idol, after all - you’ve been the highs and the lows with him, the good and the bad.

That didn’t give him any right to not be here tonight.

You’re dressed in your best, all velvet and sharp angles, the picture of sin. You’ve got the necklace that Chan bought you for your anniversary sitting delicately on your collarbones, glinting in the low light of your apartment. The date of your anniversary is carved into the metal, and usually, it makes you feel loved, like you’ve always got a little piece of him to hold close to your heart when he’s away. 

Right now, it feels like it’s choking you.

He had promised you he’d be home at 6 o’clock sharp. You had gotten yourself ready by 5 o’clock, but the nagging voice in your head told you he wouldn’t show up, just like always. And you had tried not to listen to it, but almost by instinct, you started making dinner anyways, a habit you had started by the nth time he had stood you up like this. Dinner would go in the fridge, wrapped in saran wrap and left with a little note: “I know you’re busy. Please make sure to eat <3”. It felt passive aggressive, but by that point, you were sick of crying, so you put your energy to better use. Plus, when he did make it, then you’d have leftovers for tomorrow, and you wouldn’t have to cook on sore, wobbly legs (date nights spent with Chan always end the same).

Your friends had told you to break up with him more than a couple times. Called Chan neglectful, said that he didn’t love you, told you that no good boyfriend would leave you stranded time and time again.

And they were probably right, but you know that Chan loves you. It’s in the way that your name slipped out in an interview and he couldn’t help the fond look that crossed his face, the way that his members send you dumb photos of him grinning at his phone when you text, in the way that his members let you into their circle without any questions.

“I feel like I already know you,” Jisung had said, “Chan talks about you soooo much you might as well live in the dorm with us.”

It’s the way that, when he does miss a date, he spends days making it up to you, even when he’s so busy he can barely be home.

It doesn’t make the moment hurt less, but you know he never stands you up for no reason. He’s married to his work, and you knew this coming in. He had warned you of how little time he would have, how much of his free time he would still spend working.

“I want to be selfish and ask you to love me,” he had murmured the night you got together, “But it’s only going to hurt you to be with me, with my work and all. I can’t let anyone down.”

And here you were again, a quarter to 7 o’clock, picking at your fingernails and pretending not to glance at the clock every two seconds. You’ve chewed your lip raw and destroyed the cuticles on some of your fingers by the time your phone does light up, the time now 6:53pm.

You don’t respond. He has the keys to your apartment, and you know for a fact he’s already on his way. No point in responding - if you’re being honest, you’re not sure he deserves a response right now. You’re not angry, not anymore. Just sad, in the kind of way that seeps into your bones and makes everything feel heavier, sluggish. You run a hand down your face and hurl your phone across the room, wincing as it chunks into the wall, falling to the floor. You hate him for this - for leaving you hanging again and again - but you hated yourself more for loving him through it. You couldn’t help but love him, because, even in absence, his love was genuine. It filled the room even when he wasn’t here, his voice in your head and a ghost of his touch on your skin.

The door clicks open eleven minutes later, not that you’re counting or anything. The way his breath hitches echoes down the hallway, and his hesitance to call out to you says enough. He knows you’re unhappy. The air feels heavy, and the silence is harrowing.

“Jagiya? Are you home?” his voice calls out to you, tentative.

You don’t respond. It takes everything in you to hold yourself together, to not snap at him. Even after everything, he doesn’t deserve that, and you know that yelling won’t solve anything. It’ll only make things worse for you now.

He peeks into the living room and sees you. And God, you look amazing. He can’t help the way his eyes rake over your frame, the way that your outfit makes you look like a god and a devil all at once. Heat flares through his body, a low thrum, but he squashes it as he comes around the couch and can see your face.

He sits down on the floor next to your legs, eyes looking up at you in earnest. He’s kneeling next to you, and only now do you tilt your head to look at him. He’s looking up at you with sad eyes, brow furrowed and lip tugged between his teeth.

“You shouldn't've waited,” he said, eyes searching yours, “You should’ve given up on me by now.”

That makes you freeze, fingers curling into a fist at your side. You don’t speak - not yet - but there’s emotions swirling behind your eyes that he can’t quite read. 

“I’m not worth all this,” he keeps going, voice getting shakier and louder as he goes, “Not worth the pain, the ache. I can’t even make one fucking date on time, I don’t understand what could possibly make you want to stay, and I-”

“Do you love me?” you say, voice cutting through his.

His whole body jolts, like you’ve just shocked him.

“Of course I love you, I love you more than anything, more than my music, my career. I love you so much-”

“Then why wouldn’t I stay?” You can’t help the way your hand moves to cup his face, brushing hair out of his face.

“Why wouldn’t I, when you’ve given me something worth fighting for? It’s not going to be perfect - God, I know it’s not going to be perfect - but I know you’re trying. Even if you’re not doing a very good job-”

“Hey!”

“-even then, I know you’re trying. We both have to try and make this work, even when it’s hard, because love isn’t meant to be easy. It’s not all rainbows and sunshine. I know when you miss a date or get here late it’s not on purpose. And it’s not okay, but we’re going to work on it - together.”

“I don’t deserve you,” he says, eyes shining, face pressing further into your touch.

“You don’t,” you respond, an edge of honesty in your voice, “But you don’t get to make that choice for me.”

He surges up off his knees and plants his mouth on yours, hulking body hovering over you. The kiss is anything but kind, all tongue and teeth and spit. There’s so much passion in it, so much love, that you’re moving to thread your fingers through his hair without thinking about it. One hand finds the back of his neck and presses him impossibly closer, deepening the kiss. He whimpers into your mouth and you swallow it greedily, and makes him shiver in your hold.

You pull back for a moment, hand on the back of his neck keeping him from surging forward and claiming your lips again. He whines, eyes searching yours, and you press your mouth into a flat line, unamused.

“You don’t even deserve my hands on you right now, sweetheart, what makes you think that whining is going to get you anywhere?”

He opens his mouth to speak, but you press your point finger to his lips, shushing him.

“Don’t talk unless I ask you to. I love you, but that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve a punishment for being late tonight, right?”

He blinks at you, eyes wide, but nods his head anyways. Smart boy, not speaking without permission.

“Glad you know your place,” you say, pushing him off of you, “Go to the bedroom, and strip. I expect to find you fully nude by the time I get there.”

He stumbles to his feet, hissing as he stubs his toe against the coffee table in his hurry. You have to hold back a snort as he hops on one foot momentarily, shaking it out like it burns with a quiet shit! You roll your eyes fondly, sadness already melting at the edges into something warm. Even with heat thrumming through your veins, something about Chan just feels so domestic, like you’ve been doing this together your whole lives.

There’s a pattering of feet down the hall, and then the click! of the bedroom door closing behind him. You don’t follow yet, knowing that if you succumb to your impatience that this won’t quite be a punishment anymore. Instead, you languidly stretch, and get up in search of your phone, which you were starting to wish you had treated with a little more kindness. You find it on the floor next to the entertainment stand, a tiny splinter of a crack at the top left corner of the screen. It could certainly be worse, you suppose, and when it still turns on and off and responds to your touch, you count it as a win. You place it on the corner of the entertainment stand for later, opting to make him wait around for a little bit longer.

So you walk into the kitchen and finish doing the dishes you abandoned earlier, the sound of running water filling the room. You know he can hear it from the bedroom, and a twisted part of you is glad he can. The anticipation needs to build and build, until it turns into desperation, and that desperation turns into submission. Tonight, you want to ruin him until there’s nothing left of him and then put him back together again.

Dishes done and all placed on the drying rack, you crack your back, tilting your head to listen around the apartment. It’s so quiet, and if you didn’t know Chan was naked and waiting for you in the bedroom right now, you’d feel like you’re alone. You don’t think you can wait anymore, not when the mere idea of Chan’s state has your thighs pressing together and arousal staining your pants.

And when you do creak the bedroom door open, you almost let out a moan at the sight before you.

There he is, in all of his naked glory, kneeling on the floor next to the bed. He’s naked, skin glistening under the lamp light, blonde hair falling forward to cover his eyes. His cock stands red and angry between his legs, leaking so much that there’s a trail running down his leg, his arousal staining the carpet below his knees. His hands are behind his back, and by the tension in his arms, he’s got his hands clasped together. It’s the picture of submission and sin, and it makes you want to jump his bones and ride him until he can’t speak.

Unfortunately for him (and you), that’s not what’s in the books for today, at least not yet. You don’t say anything yet, just breeze over to the closet. If the lack of acknowledgement fazes Chan, he doesn’t show it. His head stays bowed, arms and body still unmoving on the carpet. 

You take your time removing the black box from your closet, tossing it on the bed near his head haphazardly. He winces when it lands with a thump! but otherwise doesn’t move, still keeping up the good boy behavior. You wonder how many times you’ll have to edge him to get him to break.

“Stand up.”

You don’t even look at him as you say it, stripping yourself of your clothes. You hear the shuffling of feet, and once it’s stopped, you turn around, now also fully nude. His eyes still stay low to the ground, though you catch him stealing a glance at your face, eyes already hazy and filled with lust. You grin, unable to help yourself as you stalk over to him. You stand near him, and for a moment, he thinks you’re going to touch him. He leans forward, anticipating your hands, but you brush past him instead, fingers brushing his arm as you reach for the box you threw on the bed.

He sucks in a breath when he feels what you pull out of the box. The silken nature of the rope is deceivingly soft against his skin, but he already knows he’s going to bruise under your knot. The box is tossed carelessly off the bed, and you guide him to stand in the center of the room.

Naked and trembling before you, Chan feels vulnerable. You’ve messed around like this before, sure, but never with this much seriousness. You’re taking your role very seriously tonight, and it makes a bolt of arousal shoot down his spine, cock spurting even more precum when you finally start tying the rope.

There’s two pieces of rope: one long and one shorter. The long rope is wound around his chest and arms delicately, forming a harness around his chest and forcing his arms behind his back. The whole time, you’re watching his face for discomfort, but he shows no sign of it. You move on to the shorter rope, looping it around his ankles in a simple knot. The purpose of this restraint is less so true restraint and more so about making him feel weaker to you. He can’t walk like this, not really, and you use that to your advantage.

“On the bed, baby,” you say, hand gently pushing his lower back just to watch him stumble, “you can do that for me, can’t you?”

It’s beautiful watching him try. At best he can get an awkward shuffle, but his limbs are jello under your gaze and dominance, and it makes him stumble. You don’t let him fall, a hand reaching to loop through the ropes that bind his wrists. Your hold stays there, firm and in control, but you don’t help him move, just keep him from falling.

And he’s trying so hard, but the bed is just so far when he’s bound like this. When he finally, finally reaches the edge of it, your hand releases him and shoves him forward. He lands with an oomph!, face pressed into the sheets.

“Roll over, onto your back.” You say, trying to sound indifferent despite the fact that the sight of Chan face down, ass up on the bed sends heat curling through your abdomen.

He does so with a bit of struggle, arms still taut behind his back and legs almost useless to him. The rope digs into his skin as he flops back, arms straining underneath him. Once he settles, his eyes find yours, searching for approval. You don’t give it to him, not when he’s being punished. But even so, you lean down to adjust him so his arms aren’t bent at an awkward angle anymore, and shift a couple pillows under his head to alleviate some pressure on them (and so he can see you ruin him better). Your hands are gentle, and the way your teeth catch your lip in concentration gives away your concern. It turns him on even more, the gentleness of your hands and your gaze in juxtaposition to the sharp burn of the rope against his skin when he shifts just right. His cock twitches against his abdomen, and he hates the way that you notice, raising an eyebrow at him. He just flushes and turns his head, unable to look you in the eye when you’re being so mean. Teasing him when he can’t escape, all bound and red under your hands.

“Color, honey?” You murmur, thumb tracing gentle circles into his bicep.

“Green, so green,” he pants out, and you let out a little chuckle at his eagerness.

“Unless you’re using your safewords or you’ve been given explicit permission, I don’t want to hear a word out of you, okay?”

He nods, lips pressed tight.

“Already so good, my pretty boy.” You coo, lips curling at the corners.

You sit yourself down next to him on the bed, the warmth of your skin pressing into his side. You take your pointer finger and teasingly start running it down his body, starting at his neck. The touch is light, just with the tip of your fingernail, and he shivers as you reach his chest, body aching to arch into you. And even though you didn’t tell him to hold still he still tries, even as your finger comes to trace lightly around his nipple. He chokes on a sound when you pinch it, giving it a tug for good measure. His mouth falls open, but no sound escapes, and you can’t help the sharp grin that overtakes your features. Tears are already welling in his eyes - so on edge even though you’ve barely touched him - and it’s so cute you can’t help but tug at his nipple again. The reaction is the same, all glassy-eyed and twitchy, and it makes you bring your mouth down to the other nipple, tongue circling it gently. He tenses under you, and his teeth catch his lower lip, digging in to hold back his sounds.

Your hand that was teasing his nipple continues its journey downwards, coming to the ridges of his abs. You make sure to put a bit more pressure here, nails digging into the tough muscle, looking to leave a mark. He’s trembling now, mind now rendered unable to control his movements. You’re so close to where he needs you the most, and you bring your fingers closer, closer-

And you trace right around his aching length, fingers so close he can feel the heat radiating off of them. His hips buck lightly, and you slap his thigh lightly - a warning. His eyes plead with you, but you’re enjoying the teary, desperate look on his face too much to give him what he wants just yet. Instead, your mouth continues to work his nipple until it’s red and swollen, and your hand rubs circles into his thigh, tracing up to his hip just to squeeze up there, too. You work him like this until there’s real tears running down his face and he’s flushed all the way down his chest, a puddle of his precum forming on his abdomen.

And yet he still won’t break. No amount of teasing can force him to make a sound, not even a little gasp when you catch him off-guard with a sharp bite to his pec. The tears don’t slow, and it’s making you needy, too. Your thighs are pressed tight together, slick with your own arousal, and the wait is starting to become a punishment for you, too.

You don’t give in all the way, instead finally bringing your hand to his weeping cock. The touch is featherlight, barely a brush, but it has him sobbing, broken cries spilling out of his mouth.

So you stop.

“Aw, and you were doing so good,” you start, voice saccharine sweet, “What happened, honey?”

His hips buck involuntary, both at the loss of your touch and the sugar coating your voice. He’s so hard it hurts, whole cock flushed a deep red, balls pulled taut. You so much as breathed on him at the right angle and he’d explode right now, and the way he can’t help but hiccup wetly, teary eyes finding yours. He doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t need to - not when he’s straining so hard against the ropes his muscles bulge, not when he’s crying so pretty under you.

You sigh, letting your hand smear through the puddle of his arousal on his stomach. You bring your fingers to your mouth, making a show of sucking each and every finger clean, and it makes his eyes roll back into his head. But that won’t do, not when you’re putting on a show just for him.

“Don’t you dare look away from me,” you hiss, words laced with venom, “Or you’re not coming at all tonight.”

But he can’t handle it, and the second he looks at you again, his eyes are squeezing shut. You frown, and without a second thought, your hand comes down to his balls and gives them a light slap. It’s wet from how much he’s been leaking, and the sound is somewhat obscene, but the way his whole body jumps into the touch shows just how much he didn’t mind it. Another pathetic spurt of precum splatters onto his stomach, and his eyes fly open to find yours. They’re focused on you now, even through the tears. He hiccups again, and it makes you slap his cock this time, not with much force but certainly enough for him to feel it. You can tell he’s choking back a wail, eyes wide but never looking away from you.

“So you can listen,” you say with a huff, like you’re disappointed in him, “Why’d it take you so long, jagi?”

You sigh like he’s burdening you, rolling your eyes at him. You’re actually the most attracted to him you’ve ever been, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Fine, whatever. No words, but you can whimper and whine and moan all you want, okay? Don’t hold back. But if I hear a single word, you don’t get a thing tonight, you hear me?”

He nods frantically, eyes still locked on you. You grin, something feral and mean glinting in your eyes. You bring a hand up to his mouth, and he tilts his head - a question.

“Spit.”

He does, but from the angle he’s at, it barely makes it onto your hand. Rather, most of it dribbles down his chin and catches his neck. He flushes impossibly darker, wet with his own spit and arousal, and your fingers trace the path it made, scooping up what you can get of it.

“So pathetic, jagi,” you say, venom dripping from your voice, “Can’t even spit right, I have to do everything for you.”

You lean over him, making a show of gathering spit in your mouth, and then “miss”, spitting on his cheek instead of your hand. Tied up like this, he can’t wipe his face clean, and you watch intently as it drips down his cheek, leaving a trail in its path.

“Oops.” You say, but there’s no remorse in your voice.

You position yourself so that your face is inches from his cock, the hand that’s wet with his spit sweeping through the pit of arousal pooled on his stomach. You drag your hand down to his cock, and he squeals when you finally make a full fist around it, jerking him off slowly. The pressure is so much more than you’ve been willing to give him tonight, and all the teasing has him teetering dangerously close to the edge already. It’s dizzying, the warmth of your hand around his cock, grip just tight enough to tinge on that delicious border between pain and pleasure.

You allow your wrist to pick up the pace, watching his face carefully. He’s crying again, tears thick and wet as they stream down his cheeks, and you blow a stream of air at his cock just to tease. All he can manage is a wanton mix of moans, eyes pleading at you for something that he can’t say. He doesn’t have permission to speak, after all.

“I want you to count down from ten - slowly. When you’re finished, you can cum, okay? Count for me, jagi.”

“O-one.”

His voice is raw from disuse, and it cracks right at the end of the first number. You smile, pace still steady as you stroke his weeping cock.

“Two!”

He’s shaking under you, thighs straining as he tries to keep his hips from bucking up into your touch. His eyes go unfocused for a moment when you press a gentle kiss to the head of his cock, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Th-three-yuh!”

You bring your free hand to squeeze at his balls just as he tries to speak, revelling in the way it has him go cross-eyed. He couldn’t help the way his hips lifted off the bed into your touch this time, but you let it slide. You’re impatient now, too, and punishing him further would only delay your release.

“Four.”

He bites back a scream as you lick a fat stripe up his cock, hand circling his cock slowing down to let you. You trace the long, thick vein that runs up the underside. He tastes of precum and sweat, and you make sure to roll your eyes into the back of your skull exaggeratedly, just to make him flush. He’s embarrassed by the fact that it works. “Five.”

You spit right on the glistening head of his cock, adding to the slick, wet mess happening below you. It starts to bubble a bit near your hand from the friction. The sight makes you leak.

“Six.”

You reach the hand that was fondling his balls down to press at his perineum, and his whole body jolts. The way his cock jumps in your hand is telling of how much he’s holding back right now, straining so hard to not cum all over your hand. He’s only got four more seconds, and somehow it feels like eternity.

“Suh-seven!”

He’s really crying now, somehow even worse than before. He’s snotty and he’s hiccuping and he’s so gross. It makes you squirm, heat tearing through your body like magma.

“Eight-hnnn!”

“Good job, sweetheart, you’re almost there.” You coo, thumbing at his slit as you jerk his pathetic cock.

“Nine, nine, fuck!”

Your mouth sinks down around just the tip, hot and wet and warm, and he’s not even sure he’s speaking at all anymore. Everything that leaves his mouth is a garbled mess, and when you just hum around his tip in response, he’s seeing white.

“Ten, ten, ten, ohmygod please, fuck fuck fuck-ahn!”

That’s all you get before he’s shooting his cum down your throat, hips arched off the back into your mouth. You swallow fully around him, letting him sit in the back of your throat as he lets go. It’s obscene just how much he comes, filling your mouth with the salty taste of his release. You have to pull off a bit just to make enough room to accommodate the sheer amount of cum he’s shooting out so you don’t gag all over him.

You pull off his cock fully and stick your tongue out, making sure he sees just how much of a mess he made of your throat. He whimpers weakly, and he tries to reach out to you, to touch you, but he’s still restrained. It drags another weak whimper out of him, but it’s replaced by a moan when you lean forward to kiss him, forcing him to taste his own cum. He presses into the kiss as much as he can from his position, mouth frantic against yours. A mix of both of your spits and his cum dribbles down from the corner of his mouth when you pull away, a gross spit-cum trail connecting your mouths. You swallow what’s left of his cum in your mouth, eyes far too fond for this being a punishment.

“Swallow, jagi.” You murmur, humming contently when he does.

“God, you’re just so good for me. Thank you, honey, you can speak freely now.”

“Fuck.” He wheezes out, laughing breathily like he can’t help himself.

You ease him onto his front so you can begin to untangle the ropes from around him, gently unlooping the silken ropes from his body. He hisses, skin sensitive, rubbed raw from the way they dug into his skin. You litter kisses across the expanse of his back as you do, paying extra attention to the areas where his skin is scraped and pink. He melts into the bed as you do, a content rumble coming from the depths of his chest. Once his upper body is free, you trail kisses down his body until you get to his ankles, where he’s still bound. Carefully, you let your fingers hook under the rope, untying him. Once free, he rolls both ankles lazily, and you press a gentle kiss to each one. A quiet apology for the red they’re going to be for the next day or so.

“Jagi…” He mumbles, face smushed into the sheets.

You hum in response, still winding the ropes back together to be put back into their box.

“Jagi.”

“Mhm?” you respond, still not focused on him.

He rolls over with a dramatic huff, eyes focused on the ceiling above him.

“Can I make you feel good? Please?”

He reaches a hesitant hand out towards you, fingers hovering in the air. You place the ropes back in their box and toss them across the room, bringing a hand to lace your fingers through his. He smiles at you, eyes still hazy, and you can’t resist him. Your body leans down to press into his and you press a kiss on his lips. It’s long and sensual, just the right amount of tension and longing behind every shift against each other. You sigh into his mouth and he swallows it greedily, eager to please, even after you’ve wrecked him.

His hand that isn’t holding yours trails nervously down your side, leaving goosebumps in its wake. His fingers come to tease your entrance, and you press down into them, pulling his bottom lip between your teeth. He inhales sharply, and his eyes find yours as you pull away.

“Put those fingers to good use, jagiya,” you whisper, soft and kind now.

You don’t say it out loud, but he can feel it in the way you let him touch, in the way your eyes can’t seem to leave his face. You let out a pitchy sigh when he presses two slick fingers inside of you, pressing your weight down into them. And he knows exactly what he’s doing, his fingers reaching just deep enough to hit that spot inside of you that has you whimpering, head bowing forward. When a third one joins the mix, stretching and scissoring you so perfectly, you clench hard, body already hurdling towards the edge. You’ve been right there all night, and after watching him be so beautiful and perfect for you, you’re not sure you can hold back much longer.

“That’s enough, that’s-hah-enough.” You shiver as you guide his fingers out of you.

He lets out a disappointed sound, lip catching between his teeth in a pout. You roll your eyes, grabbing his still sensitive cock and throwing a leg over him to straddle him. He hisses at the contact, and his head falls back when you do sink down. You don’t give either of you a chance to adjust - you to the stretch, and him to the warm, wet squeeze of your entrance - as you start riding him, your body moving on its own accord. The stretch is so delicious, and a shock of electricity shoots up your spine when you sink down and his tip kisses your sweet spot. Your mouth falls open into a silent scream, and his hand detangles from yours to dig his digits into the fat of your hips. At first you thought it was to guide you, but the way that his fingers start kneading into you tips you off, and you realize that he’s grounding himself.

He’s the most fucked out you’ve ever seen him, cheekbones dusted a bright pink and eyes crossing when you clench around him. His tongue lolls out like he can’t help it, and you reach a hand to brush his sweaty bangs away from his forehead. He groans, and his hips start to hump up frantically, pace uneven but hard.

“Fuck jagi, j-just like that,” you pant out, voice thin and whiny from just how good he’s making you feel.

“Y-yeah? Am I-hnnn-am I doing good?” He looks up at you, glassy eyes begging for your approval.

“So-shoooo good jagi, just-hah-just like that, can you cum for me? Cum for me jagi, please, ‘m close, wan’ you to-ahh! come with me, please please please-”

You lose track of your words as you come, heat fluttering around him as your body seizes, shaking in his hold. He bucks once, twice, before he’s filling you, coming for the second time this night. You fall forward into him, tremors still wrecking your body. His hand comes to rub at your back, gentle circles until you stop shaking.

“You’re forgiven,” you huff against his neck, pressing kisses into his jugular softly. “Consider yourself lucky, you got off easy this time.”

“This was easy?” he says, incredulous, but his chest shakes with laughter.

“Mhm!” you respond, grinning into his neck. “You don’t want to know what happens if you pull something like this again.” There’s an edge of real hurt in your voice that he catches, and he presses a gentle kiss to your temple. “Lucky me, we’ll never be finding out,” is all he says in response.

You smile into his neck, nuzzling further into him. You want to settle into him and let the exhaustion tingling at the back of your mind take you under. 

“We’re so sticky and gross,” you mutter, shifting over him.

“And I’m still inside of you,” he hisses, body tensing, “‘m sensitive, be careful jagi.”

You ease off of his cock, rolling to stand on shaky legs. You offer him a hand, and he shakes his head. “Pretty sure if I tried to stand up right now I’d fall on my ass.”

You snort, waving your hand at him.

“I won’t let you fall. I’ve got you, jagiya.”

He drags a hand down his face, flustered all over again.

“You can’t just say things like that!”

“Like what?”

“Like-whatever. Let’s go.”

“Let’s go then.” You respond, voice teasing, helping him to stand.And as he leans into you, moaning and groaning about how sore he is, you realize that, despite everything, there’s no place you’d rather be right now.