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It happens so fast that Chan could almost convince himself he’d hallucinated it.
But no, there’s the faintest trace of warmth still lingering on his lips, the fleeting phantom press of Changbin’s lips to his. He only just resists the urge to trace his own fingers across his lips in wonder—did that really just happen?
Did Changbin really, unprovoked and with no forewarning, plant one on him in greeting?
And now he’s across the studio, responding quickly to a text as if it’s nothing. As if he hadn’t just quite literally kissed Chan.
He’s… reeling. It’s just so utterly bizarre and out of left field he’s not even sure how to react. As normal, Changbin had walked into the studio, bag slung over his shoulder and scrolling through something on his phone. Then, just as casually, he’d glanced at Chan, said, “Hey, bro,” and swooped down to kiss his lips.
It had been over before he’d even registered what was happening, nothing more than a chaste peck. Nonetheless, Changbin’s lips had been on his, and he doesn’t know what to do about that.
“Sung texted me,” Changbin says, and it rattles Chan from his haze, from where he’s frozen from trying to process what had just happened. “He’s going to be late, of course. Wanna get started without him?”
And Chan comes back to himself a little. He has the program already opened on his laptop because he’d started without Changbin. And Changbin himself seems perfectly nonchalant, as natural as if he’d greeted Chan with the customary head nod instead of… that.
Is he going crazy? Or is it just… not a big deal? Changbin isn’t making a big deal (or any deal) out of it, so maybe Chan should just follow suit. Maybe Changbin had been on autopilot, just hadn’t even realized what he’d done. So Chan can respect that and at least not embarrass him about it.
“Yeah,” Chan says, nodding, trying to ignore how different his lips feel. “Yeah—what else is new, anyway? It’s exactly like Jisung. Let’s get started.”
And they do just that, and there’s absolutely nothing strange or out of the ordinary.
It keeps happening. Not in front of the others, at least at first, but Chan and Changbin spend a decent amount of time alone together, so it happens not infrequently.
And he’s so casual about it. They started as chaste, barely there pecks. Entering the studio? Changbin swoops down with a chill, “Hey, man,” and presses their lips together for a bare half-second. Chan enters their shared bathroom to shower? “It’s all yours, hyung,” and their noses are slotted side-by-side, Changbin’s lips on his before he’s pulling away and exiting the bathroom without another word.
He… doesn’t know what to do about this. He barely has time to reciprocate, and he can’t believe that that’s his number one concern here, if Changbin expects him to reciprocate his… greeting kisses.
No, no, that’s definitely not his concern. His concern is… why? Why has Changbin suddenly and inexplicably started kissing him? Nothing’s changed. He doesn’t seem to do it with any of the other members, nor does he kiss Chan when the others are present.
And he’s the leader, he ought to be responsible and bring this up to Changbin, and he will! The second he figures out how the fuck he’s supposed to ask. Hey, you’ve been randomly kissing me? Everything okay?
(And it’s not like he really minds, at the end of it all, anyway.)
It escalates slowly. One day, Changbin is barely brushing his lips against his. The next, one of his hands finds leverage on Chan’s hip while their lips are pressed together. He stays there longer, leaves Chan in the dilemma of—how much is he meant to reciprocate? Would it be weirder if he moved his lips or didn’t? If he leaned into the warmth and pressure of Changbin’s lips or didn’t?
He ends up frozen in indecision long enough that he fears it’ll be weird when Changbin finally pulls away, maybe a couple of seconds later. But he gives no indication, just leans over and taps some of the keys on Chan’s laptop, adjusting settings for him.
He’s… a little dizzy from it, actually. But Changbin makes no sign that there’s anything out of the ordinary, so… okay.
Jisung comes (late, as usual), and it’s business as usual. They work, they bicker, so it goes. When they wrap up, Changbin goes to the gym and Chan and Jisung make to head home.
“Hey,” Chan says, even though he’s not positive he should be bringing this up to Jisung. “Has Changbin seemed… different to you lately?”
“Different…?” Jisung asks, wrinkling his nose in confusion. “Different how?”
He’s kissing me suddenly. But Chan can’t just say that, so instead he shakes his head and says, “Nothing. I’m overthinking it.” Jisung being Jisung, he lets it go.
Chan is in the kitchen when Changbin gets back, trying to determine how much effort he’s willing to invest in dinner. He’s alone, and Chan hates how his skin automatically erupts in goosebumps in anticipation of what he knows is coming.
“How was it?” he murmurs, still bent towards the open fridge, trying to decide if he has it in him to fry some eggs up.
“Fine,” Changbin says casually, shrugging his bag off at the door, toeing his shoes off. “Thought you might show up.”
“Got tired,” Chan says, resigning himself to another night of instant noodles because he’s too tired. “Rest day.”
Changbin snorts, as if he doesn’t understand the concept, and circles around to Chan. This is where he’d normally press their lips together quickly, but now, his hand comes to the small of Chan’s back. “Gonna go shower,” he says quietly.
Chan feels too hot. Changbin’s hand has been on the small of his back before, surely—ushering him along in a line, steadying him, but this feels entirely more intimate. There’s no real need for it, it’s just something that Changbin wants—that Chan wants.
He feels too hot but a chill runs up his spine, his skin prickles all over with tiny goosebumps. And he forces out, “You don’t need to update me, Bin.”
“Sorry,” he mumbles, and his hand comes to cup Chan’s jaw. With the slightest encouragement from Changbin’s hands, Chan is stepping forward until they’re bumping together at the knees, the stomachs—the hips. And instead of moving forward himself, Changbin draws Chan’s face to his own, actually pulls him to his lips, and Chan is powerless to resist.
He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, and he swears he isn’t usually so useless and pathetic when it comes to kissing. But this—these are special circumstances. Uncharted territory. He keeps his hands fisted by his sides because, even though Changbin has initiated everything, even though Changbin’s lips are pressing against his and moving softly and gently, he doesn’t know if Changbin wants him to touch or not.
It feels ridiculous, but so does this entire situation. Changbin is hanging from his lips, holding Chan against him like he’s afraid he might run. Changbin has been kissing him for weeks without any form of explanation—and Chan is afraid that he might offend him by gripping his hips, leaning into his touch. He can recognize that it’s stupid, just like he can recognize that he should probably talk to Changbin about this, but he… doesn’t. He can’t.
Changbin pulls back slowly, and only just—there are perhaps millimeters separating their lips. “Did you shower already?” he asks, and his thumb strokes Chan’s cheek roughly.
His brain has short-circuited; he’s forgotten how to form words. He’s—Changbin is all around him, his hands are searing their handprints into his skin, through his clothes. He doesn’t know what it means, but he knows he likes having Changbin’s weight against him, their bodies pressed together too close to be only friends.
It takes him a few seconds to run Changbin’s simple question through his addled brain. There’s an awkward few seconds’ pause between Changbin speaking and Chan answering, but Changbin stays so close to him, looking softly in his eyes and still stroking his damn cheek.
“Yeah,” he manages eventually, breathing the word out.
“Okay,” Changbin says, and he leans forward to press their lips together again. It’s chaste, just a quick movement of lips, the soft smack of the kiss, and Changbin is pulling away again, centimeters instead of millimeters. “Then I’ll take my time.” His thumb swipes at the corner of Chan’s mouth, like he’s cleaning something from there, but Chan knows there’s nothing—he hasn’t eaten.
And then he’s gone, pulling away from Chan and heading for the bathroom. Like it’s nothing. Like it had been nothing.
Chan is gripping the edge of the counter and trying to catch his breath, reeling from it, from Changbin’s nonchalance. He shouldn’t be this affected from a kiss, but—where is this going to end?
He has a brief but vivid flash of Changbin dropping to his knees and offering him a hello blowjob, and he suddenly regrets giving Changbin unlimited use of the shower when he thinks he might be in need of a cold one.
He forces the thought from his mind, balls it up and flings it as far as he possibly can, and then he considers: does Changbin think they’re dating somehow? Had Chan somehow given him that impression? The shower thing, it had been… so suggestive. In a why don’t you join me? way.
Fuck, is—is Chan supposed to join him?
No. They’re friends, and he is positive that he hasn’t accidentally stumbled into a relationship with Changbin. So what gives? What is this? And why hasn’t Chan bothered to bring it up to Changbin yet?
It’s a thing just for them, something private, some type of dirty little secret—until it isn’t.
Until Changbin does it in front of Jisung.
Jisung isn’t late for once, Changbin is. He and Chan are chilling on the couch in the studio, waiting for him to come. He bustles in straight from the gym, duffel bag over his shoulder.
“Sorry,” he breathes, a little flustered. “I—I lost track of time, I’m not very late, am I?”
Jisung looks up from his phone and snorts. “Dude, only you would lose track of time in the gym.”
“Nah, Channie has too, before,” Changbin argues, and he reaches out to pat Chan’s head. He’d probably ruffle his hair if it weren’t for the beanie he’s wearing, and Chan knows that he’ll leave it at that. Jisung is here, and Changbin has never kissed him in front of any—
Changbin swoops down and kisses him, sweet and tender, their lips staying together for just a few seconds that feel like an entire lifetime. “Right?” Changbin asks, looking directly in his eyes with a soft smile.
Jisung doesn’t even flinch; Chan’s face heats and he’s certain he’s tomato red.
“Whatever,” Jisung says, standing from the couch and stretching. Because this is—nothing, apparently Changbin fully kissing Chan on the lips is nothing at all. “Let’s just get started on the guide before we’re here all night.”
Changbin pulls away, but not before he winks at Chan. What the fuck is this?
“Get in the booth, then, Sung-ah,” Changbin scolds, turning and nodding at the glass. “It’s all you.” He glances back at Chan, who is still so shell-shocked that he’s stuck on the couch, unable to move if he wanted to. “You coming, Channie?”
It’s… normal. Apparently. Changbin greeting him with a kiss. Jisung hadn’t even reacted, and Chan is apparently the only one that Changbin kisses. He hadn’t even attempted it with Jisung.
It’s normal, apparently, so why is he the only one left floored?
He shakes his head to snap himself out of it and forces himself to his feet, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Changbin in front of the glass window of the booth Jisung is now situated in.
“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, Jisungie—whenever you’re ready.”
The Pocky game is—it’s a little 2018, isn’t it? It’s a little… desperate rookies desperate for views and engagement, isn’t it?
So why are they, as a seasoned, respected group, doing the fucking Pocky game?
And look, part of being an idol is the fan service. Chan has accepted that since well before debut. Hell, he doesn’t even mind it, really—he gets to be touchy feely with his members in public, and it has the added bonus of annoying the hell out of some of them, namely Seungmin.
But… the Pocky game. With Changbin as his partner. Fuck.
He’s pretty certain that Changbin won’t cross the line and actually kiss him in front of the crowd of STAYs, but he’d also been pretty sure that he wouldn’t kiss him in front of Jisung, and look at how that had turned out.
He clamps the biscuit end between his front teeth, automatically making his lips recede, a natural reaction to playing a game intended to make you kiss or almost kiss your best friend in front of a crowd of anticipating fans.
Changbin is damn good at being an idol, Chan will admit—he usually thinks he’s the most naturally disposed to it out of the eight of them. He goes slowly, biting his way down the chocolate end.
Chan doesn’t know where to look; he settles for looking down at the snack. He fears if he looks up Changbin will be looking straight at him, and he doesn’t know what he’ll do in that case.
But Changbin is going slow, probably mostly to tease STAYs, but also leaving Chan trembling, caught in the limbo of I hope he does and I hope he doesn’t.
He’s aware that he’s not staying still, but it catches him off guard when Changbin roughly grabs him by the hips; there’s a piercing squeal from the crowd and the yells of a few of the members. “Stay still,” he mutters with his teeth clenched around the chocolate, soft enough that it might just be for Chan.
It’s making Chan tremble worse; his legs have turned to utter jelly. Changbin’s head is tilted at a 45 degree angle so their noses don’t get in the way. Chan squeezes his eyes shut, which probably makes everything look a thousand times worse, but—he can’t. He doesn’t think he can handle this. He can feel Changbin’s breath hitting him, he can smell his skin—feel the heat of his hands on his hips, still steadying him.
He’s murmuring, so soft that Chan is now positive no one else can hear them. They don’t have mics on—don’t need it for a silly fanservice kissing game. He whispers, teasing, “Should I Lady and the Tramp it?”
Chan exhales shakily around the stick, every muscle in his body tense. Changbin’s going to do it, he’s so going to kiss Chan in front of everybody and he doesn’t know what he’s going to do about—
Changbin’s teeth clamp harder. Chan hears the crunch between them and he’s pulling away, urging Chan to drop what little remains of the snack into his palm below; Minho rushes over with a tape measure, incredulous, to measure what little of the stick remains.
It kind of ruins Chan. It’s like Changbin doesn’t acknowledge what’s happening until they’re kissing. Until he’s mere centimeters away and breathing against his lips to tease him about it.
He can’t stop thinking about kissing Changbin.
Changbin kisses him to greet him, but—can he do the same? Would it be weird? Or, like—say he just wanted to kiss Changbin generally? Outside of a greeting? Like—recreationally?
…Can he just do that?
Changbin is in his room; Chan is alternating between pacing the hallway and hovering uncertainly in the vicinity of Changbin’s room.
Changbin had come home while Chan was in his room on his computer. He’d come in his room without any pretense and mechanically tilted Chan’s head back to kiss his lips. “‘m back,” he’d mumbled, sounding sleepy. And he’d gone to his own room—as ever, like it was nothing.
Chan wants his lips on his again. He gets it so often now but it feels like not enough. It feels like—because he doesn’t know the reason for it, he needs more.
Fuck it.
He barrels into Changbin’s room without so much as a knock. Normally, he’d never be so rude, but he’s scared of losing his nerve.
He bolts in, and—Changbin is sleeping, a lump in his bed and facing away from the open door.
He stirs at the sudden intrusion, glancing over his shoulder. “Channie?” he asks, groggy.
“I—” Chan balks, losing his nerve like that, like someone’s flipped a switch. What is he doing? He can’t just—just barge into Changbin’s room and demand an explanation or a kiss or both. “Sorry, I—it can wait.”
He turns on his heel, attempting to retreat with his tail between his legs, to curl up in his own bed and probably lose sleep over this, but Changbin calls, “Wait, Channie. C’mere.”
Chan inches his way into Changbin’s room, sheepish even though he’s been invited. He stands at his bedside, and Changbin rolls over, stretches his arms out.
And—“Goodnight kiss, Channie?”
Oh god. Changbin has kissed Chan countless times and in countless ways, but Chan has never kissed Changbin. And he’s asking for it. He’s asking for it and he’s—
He’s smirking.
He’s smirking and teasing because he knows this is affecting Chan and he’s enjoying it. Relishing it.
Chan wants him so badly and he doesn’t even know if Changbin wants him back. This whole thing has the cadence of a joke, and even though Chan is pretty sure Changbin wouldn’t be so cruel as to do this whole thing as a joke, the lack of confirmation is kind of driving him mad.
He finds himself stooping by Changbin’s bed, leaning over him to cage him in with his arms before he’s even really aware. He tries to steer clear of purely emotional reactions, but this—he can’t help it.
“Why?” he asks, and he sounds lost, confused—small. “Why do you keep kissing me?”
Changbin’s eyes had widened the moment Chan had lurched forward to him, unexpected, but now his face settles into some kind of sly contentment. “Have you looked at yourself?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “You’re just kissable.”
“I’m—” Chan blanks, blinking slowly at Changbin. Stupidly. “I’m kissable.” He echoes it back like a statement, though the confusion is plain on his face. “You’ve been kissing me because I’m kissable.”
“Isn’t that understandable?” Changbin asks, and he’s grinning; Chan can see the white of his teeth in the dim light. “I mean, isn’t that a good enough reason to want to kiss you?”
Chan blinks again, confused. Is it a good or a bad thing that he’s kissable? Because he kind of has it stuck in his head that he’d like for Changbin to like him. But if he’s willing to kiss him (and he knows that he is), maybe that’s enough.
“Come kiss me goodnight, Channie,” Changbin says softly, and it sounds oddly like an… order? A command. And Chan’s honestly helpless to refuse—there’s not much he can deny any of the members, and especially not when it’s such a reasonable request.
Before he can get it together enough to bend down to Changbin, he knocks Chan’s arm out from under him and sends him sprawling atop Changbin.
“You think too much,” Changbin criticizes, but his voice is soft and his hand is cupping Chan’s jaw, gentle and warm.
Their lips meet—or, as usual, Changbin pulls Chan to his lips. He’s still halfway kneeling on the floor but Changbin quickly rectifies that, tugging him to the mattress fully, their bodies pressed flush.
Changbin is cradling his face and kissing him like he’s everything he’s ever wanted—which, strictly speaking, feels like too much for Changbin’s description of him as merely kissable. Their legs tangle indiscriminately as they lay side by side; Chan finds his arms locking around Changbin’s waist because he somehow doesn’t feel close enough, despite everything.
This is surely crossing yet another boundary, or extending the ones they have present. Changbin keeps upping the ante, so what’s toeing one more line? His tongue swipes along Chan’s bottom lip and he opens up immediately. He’s Changbin’s to claim in any capacity that he’d like to.
And claim he does, rolling Chan onto his back and kissing him deep and possessive, a way that Chan’s not positive he’s been kissed before. It has his back arching up like the weight of Changbin isn’t enough to keep him tethered to mattress. Changbin fists a hand in his hair like he’s just as desperate as Chan feels.
And then it lessens, the intensity of it all. Changbin pulls back, peppers a few more kisses to Chan’s lips, breathing heavy against him.
“Sorry,” he apologizes, like he’d done anything at all wrong. Chan can’t think of a single thing to fault him for. “Sorry, it—I might have gone too far.”
Too far. It’s ridiculous, Chan thinks. He wants to crane his neck back and see what Changbin’s lips might feel like along his throat. He wants to run his hands along his torso and map every inch of it like it’s his. Too far is a laughable concept; the whole thing had been not enough.
Changbin is moving to roll off of him, probably to thank him for the goodnight kiss and send him on his way. It would be cruel—the whole thing has been, to kiss Chan out of the blue and not give him anything more. It isn’t what Chan wants, and his hand shoots out to stop him before he’s thinking about it.
“Don’t apologize,” Chan says softly. “It—It wasn’t too far.”
Changbin’s eyes look into his own, searching. Gauging. Then: “It wasn’t far enough then, Channie?” The teasing lilt has affected his voice again. “You want me back?”
Back. The confirmation that Changbin isn’t just kissing him for the hell of it sends a flurry through Chan’s stomach, a burn through his veins.
And it’s preposterous. Does Changbin think that Chan would have tolerated his kisses if he didn’t want him back? He balks. “Do you think I would have let you kiss me all the time if I didn’t?” he challenges.
Changbin’s thumb rubs Chan’s lower lip, harsh and teasing. “Thought you might have just been going along with it.”
He snorts in derision, and another grin spreads across Changbin’s face.
“So…” Changbin tries, testing the waters. “It wasn’t far enough?”
Chan wants Changbin. He’s only been kissing him almost every day for the past month, but with the power of hindsight, it now feels teasing more than anything. Changbin wants him, and he’s allowed to want him back, to request that Changbin make up all the teasing to him.
“When you said I look kissable,” Chan says, tugging Changbin’s hand away from his face, “does that extend to fuckable?”
Changbin’s face passes through a few emotions, all of which amuse Chan. Confusion to wide-eyed shock to something darker that has his eyes narrowing again. He breaks free of the grip Chan has on his wrist and moves his hand back to tangle in Chan’s hair.
“Maybe I was hoping you’d think that of me,” he says pointedly, and he finally tilts Chan’s head back to kiss along his throat.
“Fuck,” Chan gasps, and as Changbin’s teeth scrape along his neck, his hands fly down to grip his hips. Automatically, Changbin is grinding his front against Chan’s, which only makes him crane his neck more. “Why didn’t you—why didn’t you say anything?” Chan asks, and his hand slides down to grip Changbin’s ass, to direct his hips against his.
“Why didn’t you?” Changbin counters, nipping at the base of Chan’s throat. “Besides, you’re cute when you’re dopey and confused.” His hips stutter as Chan’s fingers dig into the meat of his ass—a sign that despite his cool demeanor, he’s not unaffected.
The second sign is pressing right up against Chan’s front, rutting against him despite the stuttering of his hips.
Chan had mostly just been confused, and he thinks that Changbin knows that. But he’s not going to admit to it. “Decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth,” he says gruffly, impatiently hiking Changbin’s hoodie now. Now that he has permission, permission to touch and kiss and any host of things, he’s not going to waste any time.
So he rips his hoodie off and flings it across the room like it’s offended him. And automatically, naturally, his hands come up to grope at Changbin’s chest. He pinches and tugs and pulls and it has Changbin stifling a moan against his skin.
“Sit up,” Chan urges softly, resituating so Changbin is straddling his lap. He takes his hands off his pecs to do so, giving Changbin back a modicum of coherency.
“Want me to ride you like this?” Changbin asks, grinding his hips down pointedly. Chan pulls his own shirt off, wanting the sensation of skin to skin.
And honestly, he’d let Changbin have him any way he wanted. He’s not picky, so long as he gets him in the end. “Anything you want,” he says, not caring if it sounds a little pathetic.
Apparently Changbin doesn’t think so; a shudder rips through his body and he grips at Chan’s shoulders, insistent. “I want to think about you every time I sit down tomorrow,” Changbin admits. “I want you to make me remember.” He grinds down on Chan’s lap; Chan’s hands come to tease at his nipples again. “Let me suck you off,” he begs.
Changbin’s going to tease him, he knows it, and he’s not positive he can handle it, not after everything, the whole month of teasing.
“Let me finger you,” he counters, and Changbin grins wildly, recklessly.
“Why not both at once?” he asks.
And they’re kicking off sweatpants and basketball shorts, flinging them unceremoniously across the room. Changbin’s already flipping around to get at Chan’s cock, but he swats at his ass quickly.
“Lube, Bin,” he reminds him.
“Bedside drawer, where the fuck else?” he responds, as impatient as Chan is feeling.
And he wraps his lips around Chan’s cock without even giving him a chance to hunt for it. Chan’s fingers immediately dig into the globes of Changbin’s ass. He’s straddling his shoulders to be in the proper position for Chan to finger him while he sucks his cock. He’s arching his back, clearly enjoying himself, doing his damndest to take as much of Chan’s cock as he can manage.
Chan curses again and lunges for the bedside table—if Changbin is going to be driving him crazy it’s only fair he fights back a little. He has to dig around blindly due to the angle, but he eventually lands on the tiny plastic bottle. In the time it takes him to do that, the head of his cock has grazed the back of Changbin’s throat a few too many times to be accidental.
It’s with shaky hands that he coats his fingers and presses one into Changbin. He falters for one second, pausing near the base of Chan’s cock, but doesn’t otherwise react. And Chan kind of wants to make Changbin lose it, hear him beg. He feels it’d only be fair, honestly.
In the end, Changbin’s fine with one of Chan’s fingers working in and out of his hole. He manages with two. Chan presses three inside and he soldiers on, trying his hardest to keep from wriggling and trying to focus entirely on Chan’s pleasure.
Then he crooks his fingers just right and he falls apart entirely, losing any rhythm he’d built up on Chan’s cock and whining high and needy in his throat, pressing back against Chan’s hand.
“Is that it?” Chan croons, enjoying being the one in the teasing position for once. Changbin’s answering groan tells him enough, as well as the sudden lack of movement on his cock. He doesn’t even mind; it’s more gratifying to him that Changbin is enjoying it to this extent, to the point of being unable to focus on anything else.
“God, right there, Channie, please,” he begs, breathless and sweet.
Chan obeys, stretching forward to mouth absently along over of Changbin’s cheeks, sinking his teeth into it intermittently. Honestly, he thinks he’s content to make Changbin come like this—maybe even twice, if he’ll let him keep going.
But, amongst the squelching and the breathy pants, the fingernails digging into his thighs, Changbin whines and pulls away, a Herculean task.
“Stop, I—fuck me, Channie,” he begs. He barely moves, just swings a shaking leg over Chan’s body and pressing his hips to the air, begging for it.
“What if I want to kiss you during?” Chan asks, though he’s already sitting up and positioning himself. He drags the head of his cock across Changbin’s slick, open entrance, feels him press back against him.
“I’ll kiss you as much as you want after,” Changbin bargains, still pressing his hips back. “I want you now, like this.”
“Okay, dear,” Chan murmurs, bracing a hand on his hip. And then he’s sinking in, inch by inch, drawing one long moan from beneath him.
It’s… something. He’s been near Changbin but not like this, not where he can physically feel him pulsing all around him. Not to the point that he can meld his chest along his spine, wrap a secure arm around his waist. Not where he can stretch to press a kiss to the nape of his neck.
“Channie,” Changbin croaks, squeezing around him, white hot. “Come on.”
“You want it hard?” he asks, still too tender. He’s pressing more kisses to his skin, because he’s allowed to do that. He always has been, but he hadn’t known until just recently and he’s taking advantage.
It could qualify as dirty talk, and Changbin groans at it, a low, overwhelmed noise. But really, Chan is just making sure. He wants to do whatever Changbin wants to do.
“Yeah, hyung,” Changbin breathes, bowing his forehead to the mattress. “I told you, make me remember it tomorrow.”
Chan is nothing if not obedient; at the end of it all, he just wants whatever Changbin wants. And if Changbin wants to be pounded into the mattress until he loses coherency, Chan can handle that.
So that’s what he does, pistoning his hips in and out. It feels incredible, of course, but the best part is hearing Changbin’s cries below him. Honestly—Chan is pretty sure at least Jisung is home, if not also Hyunjin, but Changbin doesn’t seem to be thinking about that, about the others maybe hearing him get railed.
So Chan reaches around to press a hand against his mouth, reminding him, “Shh, baby, the others.”
His hand muffles the worst of Changbin’s whines and whimpers, but he still isn’t quiet. Chan glances down at his cock sliding easily in and out of Changbin’s tight heat, the arch of his back, and realizes—yeah, he could come like this. Pretty easily, pretty quickly.
But he’s worried about Changbin first and foremost. “Bite your arm, Bin,” Chan murmurs. He removes his hand from his mouth and helpfully presses the back of his head towards his forearm. Changbin gets the message, clamping his mouth messily around his own arm, muffling his noises as best he can.
Now, with one hand free and the other on Changbin’s hip for leverage, he can sneak down to wrap his hand around Changbin’s cock. It’s a good thing he’s biting his arm, for he cries something that sounds an awful lot like Chan’s name and quickly falls apart.
He’s writhing and whining and panting; Chan murmurs vague praise and encouragement against his skin but he’s not even sure if he’s cognizant of it over his own noise, his own pleasure. Chan doesn’t care, he keeps on encouraging him until he’s going limp and spilling white between Chan’s fingers, on his own mattress and probably up his own chest. Chan kind of wants to suck it off his chest, he kind of thinks.
And then he’s coming himself, unexpectedly. He’d been so focused on Changbin’s pleasure he hadn’t realized his own, and it hits him like a train. He has just enough time to pull out and finish over Changbin’s ass, the back of his thighs.
He’s breathing heavy and so is Changbin; Changbin mutters out a low, “Fuck.”
“Hang on,” Chan requests, feeling shaky. “I—towel.”
He doesn’t get dressed to run to the closet in the hall to get a towel. He’s not covered in come and his dick is quickly softening. The odds of him running into Hyunjin or Jisung are low—but not impossible.
“Christ, hyung!” Jisung swears, immediately turning his back and covering his eyes. “Jesus, I’m used to you not wearing a fucking shirt, but—fuck. I come out for a midnight snack and your entire cock is out!”
“Sorry, Sung,” Chan says, and he has a wild thought of ruffling his hair, but his hands are unfortunately… dirty. “Uh—Dinner’s on me tomorrow, to make up for it.”
“And dessert,” Jisung mutters petulantly, stalking into his own room without a backwards glance at Chan.
Honestly, it’s Jisung—it doesn’t feel awkward, even though it should. They’ll be able to look each other in the eye tomorrow, pretend this didn’t happen. It’s Jisung, and Chan suppresses a fond little smile as he snatches a clean towel from the closet.
Changbin is still valiantly holding himself up, trying to keep from getting more come on the mattress. Chan wipes his back off first, the globes of his ass and the backs of his thighs, almost reverent.
“Sit up, Bin,” he requests, and Changbin obeys, skirting around the small splatter of come on the bedsheets.
“You’re washing my sheets tomorrow,” Changbin deadpans, letting Chan rub the towel across his skin. He reaches for a water bottle on Changbin’s bedside to wet a corner.
“It’s your come,” Chan points out, sticking his tongue out childishly at Changbin. It’s like—whatever tension had been between them is gone. Vanished. They’ve laid everything bare, so there’s nothing to worry about now.
“And your fault that I came,” Changbin retorts.
“Fault,” Chan scoffs, dragging the towel a little rougher over his nipple than necessary, making him jump. “Like it’s a bad thing.”
“C’mere, asshole,” Changbin says, grabbing Chan to drag him well away from the wet spot, settling on the other side of the mattress.
“You’re the one who decided to kiss me instead of telling me how you feel,” Chan murmurs, and he feels Changbin’s lips brush his neck—intoxicating.
“People say actions speak louder than words,” Changbin defends.
“I don’t think that’s what they meant,” Chan says. Changbin cranes both their necks at awkward angles just so he can kiss him again. Despite the fact that he’s damn near breaking Chan’s neck, it’s strangely nice. He’s lined up along Chan’s spine, his lips are soft and warm as ever, and Chan doesn’t have to fret over whether Changbin would be weirded out if he kisses him back.
He just kisses him back, and they separate too soon due to the awkward angle. “Kiss you more in the morning,” Changbin promises, pressing his lips to his neck over and over. “As much as you want.” He settles then, nuzzling into the back of Chan’s head. Then, like it’s nothing, he murmurs, “You might have to let Sungie kiss you a little, though.”
Chan jolts—he remembers running into Jisung in the hallway, but the sudden mention of kissing him has him on edge. “Kiss—?” he wonders, and Changbin shushes him, strokes his chest to make him settle back down.
“You think Jisung acted like me kissing you was no big deal without an ulterior motive?” he points out. “I might have promised that he could kiss you. You know, if you want.”
That was… weeks ago. Has Jisung been hanging on to the promise of kissing Chan for weeks? God, and Chan—doesn’t hate the idea, he thinks. Of kissing Jisung.
“Well,” he mutters, “if you promised. Let’s not leave the kid hanging.”
Changbin chuckles into his hair. “Right,” he mumbles. “It’s for Jisung.”