Work Text:
The first time Jisung slept with someone after top surgery, he hadn’t let himself have what he wanted. I’m a man, he’d reminded himself, as he stripped down to his boxers in the half-dark of an unfamiliar bedroom. Other people see me as a man. I have to act like one.
“It’s okay,” Hajun had said, his hands roaming over Jisung’s sides, his fingers tracing the lines of Jisung’s ribs like someone discovering precious, long-buried bones. He’d known Jisung since their first year of university, had always been openly and comfortably queer and utterly unfazed by Jisung’s transness, and Jisung felt safe with him. “I like you how you are. We can do whatever you want.”
And what Jisung had wanted, so badly, was to go to his knees. To bow his head and hold his wrists behind his back and make Hajun feel good. The lingering effects of the beer he’d nursed for an hour at the bar had worn off, but his whole body had wanted to give itself over to Hajun anyway, to let Hajun tell him what to do and then do it so well that Hajun had no choice but to praise him, to kiss him, to whisper you’re good, you’re good, you’re so good into his ear.
Jisung hadn’t let himself.
“I want to fuck you,” Jisung had said, untruthfully and with a hitch in his voice, and Hajun had obliged, spreading his legs while Jisung opened him up, arching off the bed with a broken little moan when Jisung pushed into him with a strap-on cock. He’d kept his hands away from Jisung’s surgery scars, the skin still pink and raised and unready for touch; he’d brought his wrists together over his head and let Jisung pin them down; he’d dug his fingernails into Jisung’s shoulders as he came. It had been so good, Jisung thinks now, in so many ways, and yet it had been so far from what he had needed.
“You’re so hot,” Hajun had said, sweaty and panting in the afterglow. “God. I’d let you do anything to me,” and something in Jisung’s gut had coiled and squirmed, adjusting to a role he’d accepted but never asked for.
I’m a man, he’d reminded himself again, in the shower, cleaning the slick off his thighs and the come off his belly. He’d done so much to prove himself to everyone around him, fought so hard to make people look at him and see a man instead of a woman. He’d known, even then, that he would never think of Hajun as less of a man for letting himself be held down and told what to do, but he’d also known that for him, masculinity was different. For him, it was something he’d learned he needed to earn.
But it’s been two years since then. Jisung’s scars are pale and hidden by the swell of his pecs and his body is so much more immediately readable as a man’s. He’s legally changed his name, legally changed his gender. His ID number, when he gives it, makes it clear that he’s a man. He never served in the military, but people don’t know that unless they ask, and he’s started to wonder, off and on, if maybe it’s been long enough. If maybe he’s finally allowed to have what he wants.
He’s in the tiny studio he rents with Chan and Changbin, where they make the tracks they post on SoundCloud to a steadily growing listenership. They’ve been talking about putting together a mixtape, trying for broader distribution; they’ve been playing gigs at clubs around the city, small and crowded and exhilarating. And, for the past year, they’ve been fucking, and every time Jisung stretches out on top of Changbin’s body or tells Chan that no, he doesn’t want his hands pinned above his head, he wonders if maybe he’s denying himself something he doesn’t need to be denied. If maybe he’s building himself a prison of a different shape than the one he grew up in, the one that told the world he was a girl, and then a woman.
“Hey,” says Changbin, putting a hand on Jisung’s knee. “Breathe.”
“Huh?” Jisung looks at him, confused, before realizing that his leg has been bouncing up and down in a frantic rhythm for at least several minutes. The muscles in his thigh are sore. “Oh. Sorry.”
Changbin’s in one of the two rolling chairs in the studio and Jisung’s in the other, Chan pacing back and forth behind them along the strip of floor between the desk and the little couch. Over the years, they’ve all taken turns sleeping on that couch, and the leather is worn and sagging in the places where it’s borne the weight of their bodies.
“It’s fine,” says Changbin. “You okay, though? You’re so restless today.” He smiles, the warm affectionate smile he reserves for Jisung, and adds, “More restless than usual.”
Jisung makes a face at him — he knows he’s constantly moving, unable to sit still, as though his body is trying to mirror the speed of his anxious brain — and shrugs. Changbin’s not wrong. It’s Saturday and they’ve been working for six hours and Jisung has gone for two walks, three snack runs, one coffee trip, and several laps around the floor of their building. When he sits down, he fidgets, tears up paper, drums his fingernails against the keyboard of Changbin’s laptop.
“And that’s mine, by the way,” Chan says, nodding at the t-shirt Jisung’s wearing, “so if you could avoid pulling all the stitching out of the hem, that’d be great.”
“So that’s why it’s too big,” Jisung says, but he shoves his hands under his thighs so he doesn’t keep twisting at the fabric and picking at the one loose thread he’s teased out.
“What’s up with you?” Chan asks, nudging the back of Jisung’s chair with his hip. “Huh? Tell your hyungs.”
Jisung’s only halfway sure himself. The night before, a very stressed-out Chan had sucked Changbin off while Jisung watched, and every time Jisung had run his fingers through Chan’s hair and whispered good boy, he’d gone almost dizzy with jealousy. When is it my turn, he’d kept asking himself, as though anyone could know to give him something he’d never made it clear that he wanted. I want to be good for you too.
“I dunno,” Jisung says, instead of explaining any of this. “I’m just. I can’t get my brain to slow down.” And because it’s already on his mind, he nods at Chan and adds, “Like you last night, hyung.”
As soon as he says it, he realizes the implication, and he squirms. He’s still sitting on his hands.
“Do you want us to take care of you, baby?” Changbin asks. His voice goes slower and deeper almost immediately, inviting Jisung to play a game they’ve played a hundred times before, and Jisung shivers. The three of them have fucked in this studio so many times, in different combinations and configurations and positions, and Jisung’s body warms up to the idea before he even has time to process.
Usually, when they play this game, work turning to sex with the easiness that only comes from having slept with someone so often that their body feels like an extension of your own, Jisung takes the role he expects of himself. He pushes Chan onto the couch and bites at Chan’s neck until Chan makes Jisung come with his hands; he gets on top of Changbin and rides him, either dry through their clothes or skin to skin, until Changbin’s face is buried in Jisung’s neck and he’s gasping and wrecked. Usually, Jisung holds onto himself. Usually, he keeps himself together.
But the way Changbin had asked — do you want us to take care of you, baby — seems to Jisung like an opening, like the first step on a path Jisung now has the opportunity to choose. He can say yes. All he has to do is say yes.
“Yes,” he says. “Take care of me.”
Chan puts a hand on the back of Jisung’s neck to let Jisung know he’s there and then slides the hand down to rest on Jisung’s traps. He massages both sides, digging his fingers into the muscle until Jisung makes a little whimpering sound.
“Hm,” he says, his voice as syrupy and deep as Changbin’s. “But we have so much work to do still, don’t we? How can we take care of you and finish before midnight?”
“I’ll make you finish,” Jisung mutters, instinctively bratty, and it feels so good, so shockingly and overwhelmingly good, when Changbin turns his chair to face Jisung and reaches out to press a finger to Jisung’s lips.
“I thought you wanted us to take care of you,” Changbin says. “We can’t take care of you if you’re talking back to us.”
Jisung shuts his eyes for a moment, heat racing from his face down his neck and throughout his body, and then he looks at Changbin with his mouth shut. He nods.
“Maybe he could help us focus,” Changbin suggests to Chan, over Jisung’s head. Chan’s hand is still resting on Jisung’s shoulder, but the touch almost feels clinical now, and neither he nor Changbin are looking at Jisung. Something enormous swells up in Jisung’s chest and he feels himself settle like a forest after a storm, feels his muscles relax. His leg stops fidgeting. He’s in good hands. He doesn’t have to make decisions. He doesn’t have to be in control.
“That’s an idea,” says Chan. “We don’t want him to be distracting, though.”
Changbin grins, then, and it’s so specific, so hungry, that Jisung is overwhelmed by the desire to go to his knees. We can do whatever you want, he remembers Hajun saying, and he knows that what he’d wanted was this: to be so precious to someone that they would use him this completely, to trust someone so thoroughly that he would give them control. He’s spent so long wrestling with his body, shaping it with hormones and surgeries and binders, pleading with it to coalesce into the version of itself he’d always known it should be, and letting someone he trusts take over is like breathing after too long underwater. He should be scared, he thinks, but he isn’t. He and Changbin and Chan haven’t discussed in so many words what they are to each other, but Jisung knows. They all know. They don’t sleep with other people. The way they touch each other is intimate, the kind of private connection you only share with someone who loves you, and Jisung isn’t afraid. Jisung knows they will treat his body with a sort of care he’s never been able to afford it himself.
“Jisung,” Changbin says, gently. “Are you good with this? Are you okay if we tell you what to do?”
It’s that, more than anything, that makes Jisung sure. If he said no, Changbin would stop. Chan would stop. They would do something they normally do and nothing would change and they would still hold him afterwards.
“I’m good,” Jisung says. “I want — ” He trails off. His throat feels constricted.
“Tell us,” Chan says, firm and easy to obey. “I want you to say it, baby.”
“I want you to be in charge,” Jisung says, all in a rush, still in his chair with his hands under this thighs. He shuts his eyes. “I want to submit to you.”
He feels stupid, when he says it, feels like a caricature of something sexy that everyone knows to find funny but him, but Chan just makes a low rumbling sound in his throat.
“God,” he breathes. “God, you’re so fucking hot.”
Jisung hadn’t felt hot, before, but when Chan says it, in a tone of voice that doesn’t invite disagreement, he wonders if maybe it’s true. He squeezes his eyes even tighter and feels the mesh of the chair under his thighs, the pressure of his own weight on his fingers. The room is warm and smells like coffee and Chan’s cologne. It’s soundproof and the only noise is the whir of their mixing computer and the mismatched patterns of their breathing.
“Look at me,” says Changbin, and he wheels his chair so close to Jisung that their knees touch. He puts two fingers under Jisung’s chin. “Look at me, baby.”
Jisung opens his eyes. Changbin’s expression is so intense that he wants to close them again immediately, wants to hide from how thoroughly he’s being perceived, but Changbin told him to look, and so Jisung looks.
“How do you feel about cockwarming?” Changbin asks, and Chan makes a choking sound. “Hm? Do you want to get on your knees and be good for me? Make me feel good while I work?”
Jisung doesn’t even think about it. He slides off his chair to the ground and then he sits back on his heels, his hands in his lap. His head is pleasantly empty, his body tingling with the beginnings of proper arousal, and he nods.
“Please,” he says. “Hyung. Please.”
Chan, from behind Jisung’s chair, groans, and Jisung looks over at him. He’s got the heel of his hand pressed to the bulge in his shorts and he’s biting his lip, sucking it into his mouth. He breathes hard out his nose.
“Fuck,” he says. “You did that so well, baby. You listen so well.”
Changbin gets to his feet, a little unsteady, and nods at Jisung’s recently emptied chair. “You take that one,” he says to Chan. “He doesn’t need it anymore.”
“Don’t you need help with that first?” Chan says, and he slips in between the desk chairs to stand in front of Changbin. Jisung’s still kneeling on the ground and Chan’s back is towards him and all the skin on Jisung’s body is hot and cold at once.
“If you want,” says Changbin, and Jisung knows him well enough to recognize when he’s more of a wreck than he sounds. He lets his hands fall to his sides as Chan’s fingers work at the fly of his jeans, as Chan undoes the button and tugs the zipper down, and his eyes flutter shut as Chan drags it out.
“God,” Chan says. He slides a hand down to cup Changbin’s cock over his underwear and his wrist flexes as he spreads his fingers to wrap around the shaft. “You’re so fucking hot. You’re both so hot, what are you even doing with me.”
“Don’t start,” Changbin says, with no bite. “Save it for tomorrow, and I’ll — fuck — show you why I want to be with you.” Changbin hisses and stops talking, and Chan helps guide his jeans down over his hips. Changbin steps out of them, the thick outline of his half-hard cock visible through the dark fabric of his underwear, and he takes his shirt off in one quick motion before leaning in to kiss Chan. Chan loves to kiss, more than Jisung or Changbin, and his hands are on Changbin’s waist almost immediately. He pulls Changbin close and sighs, kisses so wet and messy that Jisung can see him lick his way into Changbin’s mouth.
Jisung loves to watch Chan and Changbin kiss. He loves the way Changbin cups Chan’s face, one hand cradling Chan’s jaw and the other tangled in Chan’s hair; he loves the way Chan lets his guard down when he’s being kissed, allows himself to be vulnerable in a way he so rarely does. Jisung loves to watch them and imagine that maybe, when one of them kisses him, he looks as good as they do. That maybe they watch him and want him as badly as he wants them.
“Work,” Changbin says, after a minute, his breath quick and his lips shiny. “We’ve gotta work, right? We’ve got so much to do.”
“Take these off first,” says Chan, pulling back the waistband of Changbin’s underwear and letting it snap gently against his hip. “Or Jisungie won’t be able to do his job.”
Changbin shuts his eyes and takes a breath to steady himself before pulling his underwear down and off. Chan and Jisung both watch him hungrily.
“I love your body,” Jisung says, before can stop himself. It’s true, though — he loves the soft swell of Changbin’s belly, the hard muscle of Changbin’s chest. He loves Changbin’s cock, the girth of it and the way looking at it makes his mouth water. He loves the way Changbin can stand naked in a room with two fully clothed people and in no way appear out of his depth.
“Yeah?” says Changbin, sitting shakily back down in his chair. “You want to show me?”
Chan takes a seat in the second desk chair, a flush creeping down his neck, and he shakes his head like he’s clearing it before directing his attention back to the track they’d all been working on. He jiggles Jisung’s mouse to wake the screen back up.
“Do you know what to do?” Changbin asks Jisung. “Or do you want hyung to tell you?”
Jisung does know what to do, but any desire to show that off is overwhelmed by the need to listen to instructions and obey them.
“Tell me,” he says. He hasn’t moved from where he’s kneeling, he’s barely even shifted his weight, and it’s the first time all day he’s been still. The first time his mind has gone quiet.
“I’m gonna sit here and work,” Changbin says. “Me and Channie-hyung. But I’ll spread my legs for you, okay? I’ll make room.”
Jisung shuts his eyes for a minute, lets the words wash over him. All he has to do is this, he reminds himself. All he has to do is exactly what Changbin says. He waits for Changbin to get into position, right at the edge of his seat to give Jisung adequate access, and then he moves to kneel between Changbin’s legs. He’s halfway underneath the desk and, if he sits up too quickly, he’s at risk of smacking his head.
It’s awkward, for a minute. Jisung’s not sure what to do with his hands, isn’t sure where to look or how to sit as Chan and Changbin start working, talking through a lyric that sounds wrong to the ear and dissecting an awkward transition between Changbin’s verse and Jisung’s. Jisung listens to the sound of his own guide track above him, his voice throaty from the cold he’d had the day he recorded it, and puts a hand on Changbin’s thigh.
Jisung knows Changbin too well not to notice the way Changbin’s breath catches in his throat, the way his muscle twitches under Jisung’s hand. It’s gratifying, that response, gratifying enough to calm Jisung back down, and he slides his hand higher, along the soft skin of Changbin’s thigh and then up to cup Changbin’s cock. It’s hot under Jisung’s palm, the skin velvety soft and the hair at the base wiry and coarse.
“Mouth, Jisungie,” Changbin says. “No hands.”
He says it so, so casually, like he’s just reminding Jisung the lock the door behind him when he leaves the studio or to bring a second drink from the vending machine, and it makes Jisung’s stomach clench with arousal. He squeezes his own thighs together, putting pressure on his clit, and feels his heartbeat in his own cunt.
Jisung rises a little higher on his knees, scoots as close as he can get to Changbin’s chair, and keeps his hands to himself as he wraps his mouth around Chanbin’s cock. Changbin’s not fully hard yet and it’s not too much of a stretch, and Jisung settles back down on his heels again, savors the heft of Changbin’s cock on his tongue. Experimentally, he rolls his tongue over the slit and around the head, tasting the salt of Changbin’s skin.
“Don’t make me come yet,” Changbin says, only the slightest tremble to his voice. “ Just keep me warm.”
It’s Chan who makes noise at this. From his vantage point, Jisung can see Chan’s hand go to his own crotch almost automatically, and Jisung wants to reach out and touch so badly. He wants so, so much, and he wants it so enormously.
“Relax,” Changbin says. “Relax, baby. I’ll tell you what you need to do.”
Jisung goes to nod and then realizes there’s a cock in his mouth. He breathes instead. He closes his eyes. For a minute, there’s a whisper of anxiety at the back of his bran: is he supposed to want this? Is he allowed to want this? Years of proving himself, of fighting for the sort of self-definition that seems incompatible with getting on his knees and letting a man use him like this, and yet he wants to be used. He wants these people who love him to use him, wants to give them what they’re asking for and, in turn, to let them give him what he wants.
But before Jisung can start to spiral, Chan reaches over and tangles a hand in his hair, just for a moment, giving it a sharp, grounding tug. He and Changbin are talking like Jisung’s not there, like they’re entirely alone in the room, but Jisung can feel Changbin swelling and hardening in his mouth. He can let go, he reminds himself. There’s nothing he needs to hold onto.
“Try a different synth, maybe,” Chan’s saying, shifting in his seat until his shin brushes against Jisung’s thigh, and Changbin hums in agreement and clicks around on a screen Jisung can’t see. It’s a familiar, comfortable rhythm, the back and forth of Changbin and Chan at work, and all Jisung has to do is keep Changbin warm. All he has to do is be an easy, welcoming place for Changbin to keep his cock.
Jisung shuts his eyes once he’s gotten comfortable, lets himself forget to be anxious. Changbin twitches in his mouth occasionally, his cock swelling and growing on Jisung’s tongue, and Jisung feels like his mind is emptying itself, like everything is slowing down and narrowing in on exactly this current moment. Nothing matters but this. Nothing matters but Changbin replaying the same few seconds of a drum loop above him, his thighs twitching and flexing as he moves; nothing matters but Chan agreeing with Changbin’s suggestions, utterly ignoring Jisung on his knees with with a cock in his mouth. Jisung’s jaw starts to ache after a while, spit starting to gather at the corners of his lips and run down his chin, and he doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter, because he’s making Changbin feel good.
They stay like that, the atmosphere both quiet and charged at once, until Changbin shifts in his seat, trying to disguise how turned on he is, and his fully hard cock brushes the back of Jisung’s throat. Jisung gags immediately and somehow barely registers it. His eyes water and he doesn’t mind. He pulls back off Changbin’s cock, letting it slide past his lips and out of his mouth, and has no idea how long it takes for him to do so.
“Oh, no, baby,” says Chan, rolling his chair back so he can look at Jisung. “You’re still there, aren’t you? Being so patient.”
“Such a good cockwarmer,” Changbin breathes, but he doesn’t sound commanding anymore. He sounds wrecked. Jisung can tell by the way Changbin’s eyes are squeezed shut and by the way his hands are clenching into fists on the arms of his chair that he’s fighting to keep his cool. His hips are twitching, tiny little motions like he wants to fuck into something warm and willing.
Chan reaches over and strokes a hand up Changbin’s bare thigh. Changbin gasps.
“Oh, wow,” Chan says, one eyebrow raised in a way that’s somehow both amused and affectionate. “You’re close, aren’t you? Just from that? Just from him holding you in his mouth?”
“Shut up,” Changbin hisses. “You know I like getting my dick sucked. Fuck.”
Chan looks from Changbin to Jisung and back again. “Want to finish the job, Jisungie? He’s almost there. It won’t take much.”
The words find Jisung as though across a great distance and, when they register, it’s the easiest thing in the world to say yes.
“Can I use my hands?” he asks, and Chan nods. Jisung rises up on his aching knees to take Changbin’s cock in one hand, to brace himself against Changbin’s hip with the other. In his periphery, he registers Chan stripping off his shirt and squirming out of his shorts, but it’s not urgent. Soon he’ll be able to touch Chan too. He has so much time, he thinks. He could touch them both forever. Let them touch him forever.
When Jisung swallows Changbin back down, the tang of Changbin’s pre-come on his tongue, Changbin finally breaks. He moans, so low and so guttural that Jisung dimly thinks to be glad that the studio is soundproofed, and his hand finds Jisung’s hair as Jisung twists his wrist, rolls his tongue around the head of Changbin’s cock.
“Yeah,” Chan says. “Pull his hair, Bin-ah, that’s good. He likes it.”
How does he know that, Jisung wonders momentarily, but he doesn’t care enough to worry about it, because Changbin is scratching the blunt ends of his nails over Jisung’s scalp, gathering a fistful of Jisung’s hair and tugging. Jisung squeezes his thighs together, feeling himself starting to get properly wet, and he tries to whine around Changbin’s cock in his mouth. The pain blurs with the pleasure, with the hazy calm of being used like this, and he wants to melt. He wants someone to catch him and, at the same, time he wants to make Changbin come. He wants to make Changbin come and then swallow every drop of it, wants to be so good that Changbin will stroke his back and his stomach and his thighs, that Chan will whisper into his ear that he’s perfect.
“Can I fuck your mouth,” Changbin manages, as the taste of him shifts to the particular bitterness that means he’s about to come. “Please, Jisungie, can I?”
It does something unspeakable to Jisung, being begged like that. Knowing that as desperate as he is, as willing as he is to give himself over to Changbin, Changbin is just as wrecked. Knowing that he has a power over Changbin that’s similar to the power that Changbin has over him.
Jisung squeezes Changbin’s hip, a quick indication of assent, and looks up into Changbin’s eyes. He opens his throat, relaxes as much as he knows how, and Changbin lets out a strangled gasp. He fucks into Jisung’s mouth once, twice, three times, the head of his cock hitting the back of Jisung’s throat, and then he comes, head thrown back, one hand still snarled in Jisung’s hair and the other reaching out for Chan. Chan takes it, tangles their fingers together and squeezes, and Jisung tries to keep his eyes open as long as he can. He doesn’t want to miss the sight of them touching each other, of Changbin enjoying what Jisung’s giving him.
“You’re so good,” Chan’s saying to Jisung, as Jisung swallows. “You’re doing so good, baby, so good for us, yeah?”
Jisung’s whole body is warm from the praise. His skin is tingling, his thoughts are slow, he barely feels the ache in his knees anymore. When he sits back, letting Changbin slip out of his mouth again, Chan reaches down to cup his jaw, to wipe his thumb through the drool and come that’s dripped from the corners of Jisung’s mouth and down his chin. Chan doesn’t let Jisung look away until Changbin has more or less returned to his senses.
“What do you need?” Changbin asks, still a little shaky from his orgasm, his eyes half-lidded. “What do you want, hm?”
Jisung’s not sure what makes him say it. Maybe it’s just that he’s already too blissed out to be self-conscious, his mind distinct from his body and both pliant and loose with want; maybe it’s that it’s so easy with Changbin, so easy to be exactly who he wants to be. Either way, before he can stop himself, he hears himself saying, “I just want to be good for you.”
Changbin’s eyes focus in on Jisung, his gaze sharpening despite his afterglow. “You wanna be good for me, baby?”
“Yeah,” says Jisung. “I want to do whatever you tell me to. I want to be a good boy for you.”
“Jesus,” says Chan, in English, his hand on his own cock again. “God, Jisung, you’re fucking incredible.”
“You’ve already been so, so good for me, though,” Changbin says, almost in a whisper. “Do you want to be good for hyung too? He hasn’t gotten his dick sucked yet.”
Jisung nods and Changbin gets to his feet, legs trembling. He holds out a hand and Jisung takes it, lets himself be pulled to standing. His knees are sore and he buckles, sways against Changbin for a moment until Changbin catches him in his arms.
“You okay?” Changbin asks, his lips so close to Jisung’s ear. It’s a question just for Jisung, something so personal and intimate that Jisung could cry, and he just nods, nuzzles his face into Changbin’s neck. Changbin holds him, rocks him, keeps him safe.
Behind them, Jisung hears Chan stand up and approach, hears him strip out of his boxers.
“You can tap out anytime,” Chan says, as fabric hits the floor. “We mean it. Whenever you want.”
But Jisung doesn’t want to tap out. He wants this: he wants to make his hyungs feel good, wants to be on his knees with a cock in his mouth and praise in his ears. He shakes his head.
“No,” he says, lifting his head and stepping back so he can look Changbin in the eye. “I want you to show me what to do. Please.”
Chan’s exhale is shaky and ragged. He comes to stand close behind Jisung while Changbin finds the hem of Jisung’s t-shirt, and he stays still while Changbin waits for Jisung to nod before sliding the shirt up over Jisung’s torso. Jisung holds his arms over his head and lets Changbin undress him and this, maybe more than anything, is an intimacy he wouldn’t afford anyone else. Chan’s behind him, kissing the back of his neck, resting his hands on Jisung’s hips, and when Changbin’s fingers brush Jisung’s scars, Jisung lets his head fall back onto Chan’s shoulder. The skin feels different, the way scarred skin always does, but when it’s Changbin, when it’s Chan, Jisung likes it to be touched. We see you, Changbin’s hands seem to be saying. We see you, and we want you.
Jisung shoves his shorts down his legs himself, steps out of his own underwear. He’s naked now, his hips and ass and cunt exposed for both Chan and Changbin to see, but they’ve seen him this way before. They’ve worshiped him this way before, Jisung spread out on a bed, both of them taking turns with their mouths between Jisung’s legs. As always, Jisung waits, just for a second, for an embarrassment that never comes.
Changbin lets go of Jisung and looks over Jisung’s shoulder at Chan. “Go sit down, hyung,” he says to Chan. “I’ll show him what to do.”
Chan steps out from behind Jisung and he makes his way over to the couch. His hand flexes against his own thigh and Jisung can tell how much effort it’s taking for him not to touch himself as he sits, spreading his legs like Changbin had done earlier. He lets his head fall against the back of the couch.
Jisung takes a moment to enjoy the sight of Chan naked. His cock is longer and bigger than Changbin’s, especially as hard as he is now, and the veins on his lower abdomen are prominent, standing out against his muscles. He’s ropey where Changbin is smooth, lean where Changbin is bulky, and Jisung wants them both horrendously, craves them both with an intensity he never would have believed before meeting them.
“Come here, baby,” Chan says, once he’s seated, and Jisung goes to him, falls to his aching knees again. Changbin settles himself behind Jisung, his thighs bracketing Jisung’s hips, and Jisung looks from Chan’s face back over his shoulder to Changbin’s.
“No hands,” Changbin says. “Use your mouth, Jisung-ah.”
“What if he can’t keep them to himself?” Chan asks. “Do you think he needs help?”
Jisung whines at this, high in his throat, and without being asked, puts both his hands behind his back. He crosses his wrists and waits.
“Oh,” breathes Changbin. “Oh, he’s so good for us. He’s such a good boy, isn’t he, hyung?”
“Fuck,” Chan groans. “Jesus. Hurry up, I need his mouth on me.”
Changbin laughs at this, a low chuckle, and he brings one hand to Jisung’s wrists and pins them there, trapping Jisung’s arm’s between his chest and Jisung’s back. He leans forward and the weight of him forces Jisung’s mouth closer to Chan’s cock.
“Please, baby,” Chan says. “Please, Jisung, I want you so bad.”
And Jisung doesn’t need telling twice. He lowers his head and stretches his already aching jaw, swallows Chan down like he’d swallowed Changbin. He can’t fit as much of Chan into his mouth, but he’s good with his lips and good with his tongue, and he can work the head and the top of the shaft without having to think too hard. Chan tastes good, familiar and salty and warm, and Jisung lets himself enjoy how filthy it is, lets himself enjoy the way Chan moans and gasps above him.
“God,” Chan groans, “god, fuck, you’re so good at this, why are you so good at this? No one sucks me like you do. No one’s ever come close.”
It’s comforting, the way Chan can’t shut up, the way he never stops talking when he gets his dick sucked. He keeps going, praising Jisung, telling Jisung how hot and wet and good his mouth is, how sexy Jisung looks with his lips stretched and his face red, what a good fucking boy Jisung is, until Jisung is so worked up that he thinks he might start crying with Chan’s cock on his tongue. He wants to knead at his inner thighs, wants to dig his fingernails in and touch himself, wants to grind against the palm of his hand until he comes. Wants to, and knows he can’t.
“Hey,” Changbin says, softly. “Let me touch you, yeah? Let hyung make you feel good.”
Jisung can’t nod, not with his mouth full, but he pushes his hips back against Changbin and whines around Chan’s cock, waits for Changbin to adjust himself so Jisung’s ass is flush with his cock. Changbin brings his hand around to Jisung’s clit.
In all the time they’ve been having sex, neither Chan nor Changbin have ever fucked Jisung, because he’s always been scared to let them. It’s always been something he likes, something he wants — he loves the feeling of being full, of spreading his legs and being stretched open, of letting someone push inside him — but he’s always been afraid that it’s different for him. He’s fucked both Chan and Changbin in the ass with a strap-on, he’s watched them both fuck each other, but it isn’t the same, he’s always told himself, because neither of them have ever had anything to prove. The world has always seen them as men. Their partners have always seen them as men.
Now, though, as Changbin rolls Jisung’s clit between two of his fingers, as he slides a third between the lips of Jisung’s cunt, Jisung wonders if maybe he’s been missing out. “Good boy,” Changbin whispers, “good boy, you’re so hot, you’re so good,” and nothing in the way he’s talking indicates that he thinks Jisung is anything but a man, anything but worthy of being fucked any way he wants. Maybe someday, in the future, Jisung can be a man who gets fucked in the cunt, and maybe he’ll come so hard he sobs.
“I’m so close,” Chan gasps, his hips fucking forward against Jisung’s face. Jisung’s given up on doing anything besides keeping his mouth as wide open as he can and licking at Chan’s slit with the flat of his tongue, and Chan throws his head back and starts to fuck Jisung’s face, sharp little thrusts that make Jisung want to grab for his waist. Jisung’s hair is falling into his eyes, drool running down his chin and making a mess of his jaw and neck, and he realizes that the high-pitched sound he’s hearing is coming from his own throat. His eyes are hot with tears that have nothing to do with emotion and everything to do with the fact that every nerve ending in his body is consumed, taken over, overwhelmed.
“Keep going,” Changbin says to Jisung, as Jisung lowers his head even further, sucks Chan down to the hilt. He can feel Chan’s balls against his chin and Changbin lets go of his wrists, brings one arm to wrap around Jisung’s torso as he keeps rubbing Jisung off with his hand. Jisung’s so close. Any minute now, he thinks. Any minute and he’s going to fall apart.
“Him first,” Chan manages, his voice high and desperate. “I wanna see him come, Changbin-ah. Make him come for me.”
Jisung feels his orgasm in his chest, in his belly, in every cell of his body. It curls tight in the lowest part of his abdomen and then it explodes, spreads outward, takes over. His calves and thighs clench, his heart pounds in his cunt, his hands spasm uselessly at his sides. It’s all he can do to keep his mouth open and his throat relaxed, to keep from hurting Chan, and what an impossible kind of trust, he thinks, to let someone come with your cock in their mouth, to believe in them so thoroughly that you don’t even pull back or flinch away. Jisung’s eyes roll back in his head. He feels his own slick run down his thighs.
“Good,” Changbin says, the arm around Jisung’s torso keeping Jisung upright. “Good boy, Jisung-ah, look at you, you’re so hot like this. I love watching you like this. I could watch you come every day and never get tired of it.”
Jisung rides the aftershocks, feels his muscles spasm and relax. He slumps against Changbin, Chan still hard in his mouth, and when Chan comes, he barely has time to warn Jisung it’s happening. One minute he’s compulsively grasping at the couch and at his legs, at Jisung’s hair, at anything within reach, and the next he’s coming down Jisung’s throat, sharp and bitter and surprising. Jisung can feel his eyelashes clump together with tears as he swallows Chan down. I’m good, he thinks. I’m doing so good.
Jisung doesn’t know how long it takes Chan to finish. They stay as they are for a long moment, Chan going soft in Jisung’s mouth and Changbin’s fingers working absently at Jisung’s oversensitized clit, and none of them seem inclined to move. Finally, Chan makes a little hissing sound and taps at Jisung’s jaw with his fingers, and Jisung lets his soft cock slip from his lips.
“Do you want to be held?” Changbin asks, softly, from behind Jisung, and Jisung nods. He makes a soft, broken little noise as Changbin lets go of him, and he watches desperately as Changbin gets to his feet and moves to sit on the empty half of the couch.
“How long have you wanted this?” Changbin asks, softly, adjusting himself and pulling Jisung up off the ground and into his lap. They’re both naked still and Jisung curls up against Changbin’s chest, lets himself be small.
“Always,” Jisung says. “I’ve always wanted it.”
“Baby,” says Chan, still slick with sweat, rubbing a hand over Jisung’s bare hip and along the curve of Jisung’s spine. “We would’ve given this to you anytime you asked.”
Jisung nods. He knows this and yet, in his cottony post-orgasmic haze, he’s having trouble remembering why he’d stayed so quiet about it. It had been so easy, he thinks. So easy to let them do what they wanted, to give up any semblance of control. What they want is what he wants, and what he doesn’t want is what they don’t want. It’s a simple cycle of trust: Chan and Changbin take what Jisung gives them and they give him back something precious in return.
“What does it mean about me?” Jisung asks, finally. His jaw is aching and his knees are red and mottled from the floor. He finds the muscle at his temple with his fingers, tries to rub the tension away.
“What do you mean?” Chan asks. His chest is still flushed and his cock is still heavy and dark, resting against his thigh like a weight.
“I mean,” starts Jisung, and then stops. Changbin’s fingers probe along his jaw and replace his own, massaging away the tension. “I mean, does it make me, like…less of a man.”
Jisung doesn’t miss the way Changbin inhales, quick and sharp and sudden, and Jisung thinks about Hajun, about how he’d wanted Hajun to pin his arms over his head. We can do whatever you want, and what does it mean, that this is what he’s always wanted?
The computer fan is still whirring in the background, a low and steady hum. The room is warmer now than before and the air is musky and sharp, heavy with the particular scent of sex.
“Do you know how vulnerable I felt, when you held me in your mouth like that?” Changbin asks. “How torn open?”
Jisung shakes his head against Changbin’s shoulder. “No,” he says. “Tell me.”
“You have so much power, when you do that,” Changbin says quietly, his lips moving against the hair at Jisung’s temple. “You could do anything to me that you wanted. I’m giving myself to you as much as you’re giving yourself to me.”
“Your trust is a gift,” says Chan. He shifts closer, leans down to kiss the back of Jisung’s neck. “We would never take advantage of it.”
“And we know you’re a man,” Changbin adds. “It doesn’t matter what you do, or what you want, or what you ask us for. I’ve never thought of you as anything else.”
“Yeah,” says Jisung, and his throat feels tight. He closes his eyes and lets Changbin hold him, lets Chan get dressed and go in search of water. He’s allowed to have this, he reminds himself. He’s allowed to ask to be loved this way.