Archive of Our Own ^beta

It’s too early in the night for Haechan to be hitting so far above his weight class. Not that he’s ugly or anything. Anyone who didn’t know him would think nothing of the pretty boy on the couch, grinning and chatting up the girl in the butterfly crop top and matching butterfly clips in her hair. She’s gorgeous. If her make-up is any indication, she knows it. Haechan has the gall, the gumption, the pure audacity to be biting his lip as he eyes her, murmuring things that make her laugh.

But she’s not laughing because she likes him, she’s laughing because he’s fucking funny, and girls that hot don’t fuck class clowns.

It’s getting late, at least late for real adults. Back in undergrad, they’d just be getting started. There’d be a bong on the coffee table. The furniture would be cheaper and the kids messier. Jaemin’s undergrad crew had been the kind of kids who presented themselves as genius professionals but completely trashed themselves after the sun went down.

None of them had followed Jaemin to grad school. They’d all gone into business like they’d intended in their majors, and he’d completely lost his mind and gone for an MA in philosophy. He’d found himself with a very different crew of people, thoughtful on a large scale, utterly lost in their own lives. The host of this party is a rich kid from China studying foreign languages and politics. The girl with the butterfly crop top is in prelaw. Haechan studies music, and is still, despite the accomplished crowd, smarter than almost anyone in the room except for her.

She probably doesn’t realize that. He turns into a dumb prick when he really wants to impress someone. It’s a good thing that Haechan has never tried to impress Jaemin.

Jaemin gets a drink at the bar, a wooden, antique thing warmed by a yellow lamp for a little midcentury modern moment. Chenle put the whiskey in a decanter. Jaemin enjoys the pour into a highball glass over one big cube of ice. Chenle likes to show off and Jaemin likes to admire.

A hand pats his back. “What’s been up with you?”

“Mark.” Jaemin nods. “I just got through a busy season at the office.” Jaemin works part time in accounting at a law firm and hates it. “Tonight, I’m trying to think about something else.”

Mark looks like he dressed up, hair styled, baggy jeans and hoodie even more street style than his usual clothing choices. He’s letting one of the Chinese students seduce him. From the way Renjun eyes them from across the room, it’s going well.

“Who?” Mark asks.

“Don’t laugh.”

Mark eyes him. “Aight. Who?”

“Haechan.”

Mark laughs.

“Look at him. He’s hopeless.”

“I mean… You don’t think Giselle is gonna go for it?”

“No.”

“I think they’d be cute together.”

“How many guys do you think have tried to take her home?” Jaemin said. “Look at her face and give me a serious guess.”

“Like, a ton,” Mark says without hesitation.

“Yeah,” Jaemin says. “She’s got enough options. She’s not going to start with him.”

Jaemin and Haechan aren’t close—they rarely talk—but they’re closer than Haechan probably realizes. Haechan and Chenle are close. Chenle and Jaemin are close. Chenle practices languages by repeating gossip in as many languages as he has friends who speak them.

And even if Chenle hadn’t talked about the guy Haechan danced with at the bar who got his hopes up and then went home with someone else, or the girl in his choir he finally asked out only to get shot down, Jaemin would still know that Haechan’s love life is a barren patch of dirt, because he watches.

A year ago, Jaemin had noticed the pattern. At any gathering, Haechan is talking to someone. Towards the final hour, he’s getting closer, trying to keep their attention, but the same shit always throws it off: he’s too eager, or he gets nervous, he doesn’t flip from joking around to flirting in a way that seals the deal. When the party breaks up, he heads out to a bar with other friends, or he goes home alone. Jaemin doesn’t know where Haechan gets the confidence anymore.

Nothing will be different tonight. Haechan looks as good as he always does—ripped jeans on tan thighs, black hair artfully careless. His t-shirt fits well enough to show off exactly where his long legs start. As always, the party is noticeably better with him there stoking the conversation and keeping the mood light. There’s no debating serious concepts with Haechan around unless you want everything you say turned into a joke or expertly argued into pieces. People in their circle know not to challenge him anymore. The only thing sexier than someone sinking shame-faced into their seats after Haechan gets through with them is Haechan himself trudging out of a failed proposition.

Haechan’s starting to lean into Giselle now, and she hasn’t been encouraging him more than anyone else. She gets this look on her face, a tactical, uncomfortable look, the usual look when someone realizes they’re going to have to shoot him down. It feels like a risk. He can be sharp. He can be bitter. He holds grudges.

Giselle turns his way to talk quietly, actually leaning into the arm he has behind her on the couch for the first time that night. She has a serious face, says something quiet. Haechan’s smile slips, then returns, he looks cheerfully defeated. He says something and laughs. She laughs too, pulls away looking relieved. Behind her, Haechan wilts.

Ten feet away, Jaemin is pretending to listen to the conversation happening next to scorned Haechan and his pretty loss. He leans back in his chair, sighs, enjoys that spike of his heartrate just like he had the first time he listened around a corner to some cute twink telling Haechan, “ew no.” His faces warms, and he’s happy for the low lighting, glad for the stiff press of his zipper on the front of his pants. It’s really getting bad. Back in the beginning, it hadn’t affected him quite like this.

Giselle must have been very sweet about it. Haechan doesn’t feel the need to pull away this time. His arms stays where it is on the back of the couch. He rejoins the conversation with the same energy he had the whole time. It’s a relief. Before they met, Jaemin didn’t know what it felt like to be sick with pity. It adds something to the initial rush, but always leaves Jaemin shaky and uncomfortable.

The first pair of people leaves, and like a crack in the dam, others leak behind. The party is by no means over. Chenle cracks open another bottle of wine. Mark is well settled with his jacket off and Renjun next to him, and doesn’t look like he intends to move for a while. A small group has started a game of cards in the living room.

But Jaemin is conspicuously not talking to anyone, and he has a decision to make. He could keep giggling along with the conversation between Mark and Renjun, or he could lean to the other side of his seat and start talking to Giselle. He’s managed it before, to walk out of party with Haechan’s target. More than once, in fact. Those were great nights, exhilarating and stomach rending, feeling Haechan’s dark eyes on his back as he closed the door.

He’s not sure he can get away with it again. Once, and he can plead ignorance. Twice, and he can plead coincidence. Three times is a pattern. Giselle would be three, and then Haechan would have no reason not to suspect.

Jaemin’s also not sure he likes his chances. Giselle is smart. He hasn’t known her to date anyone, also hasn’t heard her flirt. She hasn’t talked to him more than to ask him to pass the wine, hasn’t laughed at his half-assed humor.

He knows he’s just looking for excuses anyway.

Giselle gets up too soon anyway. Jaemin pulls his legs in so she can get past. She leaves Haechan alone on the couch, tied up in his conversation with Chenle and Jisung. Jaemin is still listening to Mark’s dumb story. Giselle gets her friend from the group playing cards, and they put on their jean jackets and leave. Haechan watches her go. Jaemin thinks he sees him sigh. It throbs through him again.

The trickle of people turns into a flow. Even Jisung gets up to leave.

“Aw, we’re ending the night?” Haechan says. “It’s so early.”

“Sorry, man,” Chenle says. “I’d love to keep going, but I have to be up tomorrow.”

Haechan sighs and stands. It’s only ten. He probably hates to end his night like this.

Sure enough, he says to the living room at large, “Yo, if anyone wants to go out to a bar, I’d be down.”

But Jisung is already gone. Chenle is clearly staying. Jeno is fast asleep in an armchair by himself. Mark glances at Renjun, who gives him a tiny head shake. “Sorry, bro,” Mark says. “I think we’re headed home too.”

Haechan nods, turns away.

“I’m game,” Jaemin says. “There’s a cool place on the next block I want to try out.” There’s a place on the next block. He hasn’t heard a thing about it. From the outside, it doesn’t look that great.

Haechan looks wary, but he’s the one who made the offer. Supposedly, they’re friends. He’s not going to back out now.

At the door, Haechan puts on a leather jacket. It fits him well, and looks like it’s real leather, worn down attractively, but it’s an odd match with his graphic tee and his skate shoes. He probably bought it second hand. It’s predictable. He’s always going that one extra step to look cool, that one inch out of effortless and into visibly trying.

As they leave into the dark, Haechan can’t quite hide his crushed spirits. He watches the sidewalk, shoulders hunched. “So, Jaemin,” he says anyway, perfectly covering his mood for a moment, “What do you order first in a bar?”

“If they don’t have house cocktails,” Jaemin says, “IPA on tap.”

“Yeah, that’s a safe answer,” Haechan laughed. “I guess I do that too.”

The conversation drops.

They haven’t hung out alone before. Jaemin doesn’t usually have so much trouble finding something to say, but usually he’s pretty comfortable with silence. “Favorite bar close enough to school to walk to?” Jaemin tries.

“There’s a dive bar right off campus,” Haechan says. “If you can catch it without too many undergrads, it’s great.”

“I know that one,” Jaemin says. He distinctly dislikes it, but mostly because of the undergrads. “You don’t like it with undergrads?” he asks anyway. “They’re easy to get home.”

Haechan scoffs. “I’m not that desperate,” he says, which is cute, because of the three actual success stories he’s heard of Haechan’s exploits, two were undergrads he found in a bar and never heard from again. Who’s to say those are even true though? Jaemin has never heard or seen him score in person.

The place is packed. There’s only one stool left at the bar, and its right by the rubber mat where the servers put dirty glasses. Jaemin lets Haechan take it. The crowd has them closer than two dudes at a bar usually get, but at least there’s no live music. If they both speak up, they can hear each other. They order IPAs on tap and pay without opening a tab.

“Philosophy, right?” Haechan asks.

“Yeah. And you’re music. I’ve heard you sing.”

Haechan nods slowly. He’s trying to figure out when. “You went to Sweeney Todd last fall,” he remembers. “The whole crew was there.”

“I’ve been to like four of your plays,” Jaemin says. “I had a boyfriend in the program for a while. Jaehyun?”

Haechan’s eyes bug. “You dated Jaehyun Jung?”

Jaehyun had been the perpetual lead in all the school’s musicals and operas until he got his MA, dumped Jaemin, and moved to New York. The school has yet to find someone equal to him.

Haechan had a crush on Jaehyun. Jaemin heard that through Chenle, saw it at an end-of-semester event where Haechan had approached to flirt and Jaehyun had referenced a partner and gotten out of there. Jaemin had cum stupid fast that night, fast enough that Jaehyun laughed at him, and Jaemin didn’t dare explain.

Jaemin grins. “Yeah, he’s hot, right?”

“Yeah,” Haechan laughs. His smile fades.

“He was fucking great in bed,” Jaemin says. “Kind of emotionally unavailable though. We didn’t even bother trying long distance. I was getting kind of bored anyway.”

Haechan laughs weakly. “Wow, bored of Jaehyun Jung. I can’t imagine.”

Their beers arrive, and Jaemin sips his while Haechan scrambles for conversation. “He was super cool. Didn’t leave roles for the rest of us. Not that I get cast as a lead very often, even with him gone.”

“Let me guess. They keep type-casting you as comic relief.”

Haechan laughs, but he looks bothered. “Because I look so funny, haha,” he says.

“No, you know what I mean. You can sell a joke like no one else in the department.”

“Oh. I mean…thanks.”

Jaemin watches him, his favorite hobby. Haechan slowly sips his beer, lost in thought. Eventually his eyes flicker to the side, and he notices Jaemin watching. His expression goes carefully blank the way it always does when he notices Jaemin watching. He looks away. He’s already halfway through his beer.

“So,” Jaemin starts, “Come here often?”

“Sorry,” Haechan groans. He shakes his head out like a dog. “My mood sucks. I gotta rally.”

“Because of Giselle?” Jaemin says.

That gets him a double-take. Haechan struggles to say something, chin wobbling adorably. It’s hard to tell under the dim lights, but he might be blushing. It hits Jaemin right between the legs, watching him squirm.

“I saw that,” Jaemin admits. “Sorry buddy. Next time?”

“It’s always ‘next time,’” Haechan mutters, definitely bitter.

“Yeah, you don’t get lucky all that often, and I know you try.”

Haechan narrows his eyes at Jaemin, fully offended.

“Chenle doesn’t keep secrets,” Jaemin reminds him.

Haechan plays it off well. He rolls his eyes and flops his head down on his arms, but the embarrassment is real. It’s too good. Jaemin can’t tear his eyes away.

Haechan’s head finally comes back up. He can’t meet Jaemin’s eyes yet, but he says, “Yeah, I just can’t close the deal, I guess.”

“Any idea why?” Jaemin asks.

Haechan snorts, but it sounds mirthless. “If I knew,” he says, “I’d probably be in bed with Giselle right now.”

“Nah,” Jaemin says. “Giselle was bad judgment. She’s not the type to go home with people, and I bet she prefers to pick the targets over being one.”

Haechan scowls.

“But maybe the judgment is part of the problem,” Jaemin says. “Maybe you aren’t choosing the right people.”

“Are you telling me to aim lower?” Haechan says. He’s still not looking at Jaemin, and he looks less and less like he’s humoring him, and more like he’s about to get angry. Jaemin smothers a giggle behind his hand. The bar noise helps.

“Lower than Giselle, definitely, but I don’t think that’s your problem all the time. You’ve got enough going for you.”

“Yeah?”

Jaemin grins. “Yeah, you’re cute. You dress like you care. You’re pretty funny. You smell fine. That should be appealing enough.”

Haechan’s head tilts to the side, dangerous. Jaemin was careless with his compliments, but he knows they were lukewarm, if not backhanded. Haechan has at least enough self-respect not to accept them without thinking about it first. If he’s as confident as he projects, Jaemin may have even injured his pride.

Haechan meets Jaemin’s eyes to say something, but stops, wary. Jaemin can only imagine what he looks like, drinking in Haechan’s every twitch with eyes that won’t close. He’s riveted. He can see it behind Haechan’s eyes when the hook sets.

“You’ve thought about my appeal a lot, huh?” Haechan asks, and his tone has changed to how it does when he flirts, a lilt that would sound mocking if it wasn’t just a little uncertain of itself. Terrible. Jaemin’s not going to reward that.

“Are you sure you’re ready to know what I think of you?” he asks, in the kind of teasing tone flirting is supposed to have, making Haechan’s attempt sound weak. Haechan stalls on responding a beat too long. Jaemin turns away and goes back to his beer. “It’s fascinating how often this happens to you,” he says.

“Wow, you’re like, keeping track,” Haechan says, definitely annoyed now. “Cool, cool. That’s fun. I thought you didn’t think I was worth talking to, because you never fucking do it. But I’m pretty funny? Is that why you’re always staring at me?”

“That’s why I listen to you. I stare because you’re cute.”

“Cute,” Haechan scoffs, but he’s studying Jaemin now.

“Maybe,” Jaemin says, looking away so he doesn’t grin, “you need to talk to people who are actually interested in you, and you might actually get someone home.”

Haechan glowers at his nearly empty beer. He heaves a sigh. He has every reason to ignore Jaemin’s hint. Someone already refused him once that evening. But Jaemin likes his odds on this one. He has never, not once in his life, been turned down.

“Are you saying I should ask you?” Haechan asks.

Jaemin pushes his lower lip out. “Can’t take hints. That’s another problem. And what’s with this doubt? Do you always come at people like you’re expecting a no?”

He does, is the thing. There’s often a caution to the way he approaches people now, an attitude of I really won’t blame you if you turn me down that people distrust. It’s delicious. It’s strung through Haechan’s tone as he asks, “Jaemin, do you wanna go home with me?”

For a moment, Jaemin thinks about just how fucking good it would feel to say no. It makes him grin.

He’s a little too attached to the alternative though. Haechan looks like he’s about to get up off his stool and leave his beer unfinished on the counter, so Jaemin says, “My place or yours?”

Haechan processes for a few seconds. “You’re fucking with me.”

Jaemin leans in. “I would love to be fucking with you.”

Haechan gapes. Jaemin wants to shove something in his mouth. Haechan must notice him eyeing it, because it closes.

“My place is clean,” Haechan says. “It’s close.”

“Aww, were you expecting someone?”

Haechan does abandon his beer on the counter. He trudges out with his hands in his pockets. Jaemin follows. The come back together out front, and Haechan barely waits for Jaemin to make it to him before he starts to walk. Jaemin keeps pace.

“You’re serious?”

“I’m going to be less serious every time you question it.”

Haechan huffs. He’s breathing hard. The crisp air blows his hair back. He looks anxious. “You have to be fucking with me,” he mutters. “Talk about not in my league.”

“Do you think?” Jaemin purrs.

“Shut up, man who dated Jaehyun Jung. Chenle tells me who you get up to too, you know. This is a bad fucking idea.”

“Have you tried Tindr?”

“Gave up apps after undergrad,” Haechan mutters. “Never went well.”

“You have to know you come off as a little desperate at this point, right?”

“I am desperate,” Haechan snaps.

Jaemin loves that. He wants to skip. Haechan’s leaving him in the dust with his long legs.

The apartment really is close, three stories up in a nice old building. “It’s small,” Haechan warns.

“Do you live by yourself?”

He nods. The door unlocks. Jaemin has to take a deep breath before he steps over the threshold and examines the space he’s wondered about for a year. He bounces on his toes as his gaze eats it all up.

Haechan kicks off his shoes. Jaemin closes the door behind him and locks it just for fun. It’s a studio, one low room leading up to a wall of windows. “The fuck? It’s nice!” Jaemin says. Haechan’s got an IKEA shelf of open cubes separating a small dining table and chairs from the bed, which faces a sitting area and windows. Everything is clean and uncluttered. It looks vacuumed. He’s got wall-mounted shelves and framed posters up. The bed is made. He’s got area rugs. He turns on a few lamps and the lighting becomes warm and cozy.

Ok, it’s a little crammed. The computer desk backs right up to the bed so tightly it looks like the chair barely moves. Narrow lanes of space wind between the furniture. His bedding is all gray and so is his couch, which has no throw pillows. The area rugs are black and gray. All the furniture is black, or plastic, or particle board. The TV is comically huge and so crowded with wires and game controllers that it looks hazardous. There’s no evidence anywhere that he goes to school.

“Nice?” Haechan asks.

“The best that Target can provide,” Jaemin says.

“Christ, you’re an asshole.”

Jaemin points to a mostly plastic lamp, one of the ones with several bulbs on stalks that can be moved around. “Room Essentials? Ehhhh.”

“I will kick you out,” Haechan says, but he’s already taking his jacket off.

“Bro, your mattress is off the floor, so you already beat my expectations.”

Haechan’s cheeks are definitely pink. He sulks on his gray rug. “Do you fucking hate me or what?”

Jaemin pulls his jacket off, leisurely, grinning. Haechan has no idea what he’s gotten himself into yet, but Jaemin saw his hands shake on the keys when he let them in. “Why would you think that?” he asks. He unfastens his belt and Haechan fails to speak. He looks like a starving dog with food dangled just out of reach.

“How many people have you actually had back here to fuck?”

“Why would I answer that at this point?”

“It’s actually not important,” Jaemin says. “What’s important is, what percentage of the people you ask actually let you get in bed with them?”

Haechan is frozen in the middle of his own apartment, glowing red from his ears to his collar, expression like he’s just been slapped.

“Ten percent?” Jaemin guesses. He pulls his shirt off.

Haechan stops listening. He stares at Jaemin’s chest, jaw slack, eyes wide.

“Five percent?” Jaemin guesses again, getting meaner. Even Haechan would give up if nineteen people out of twenty refused him. Jaemin’s cock throbs in jeans. He stalks Haechan across the fucking gray rug and Haechan backs away.

Haechan’s cheeks are fever hot under Jaemin’s fingers. He’s let his dark hair sweep over his face like he wants to hide his eyes. The leather jacket dangles from his hand. Jaemin pulls it out of his grip and tosses it to hang over the TV. Haechan remains stiff.

So Jaemin gives him a little incentive. He drops to his knees.

Haechan wobbles. Jaemin grabs the backs of his thighs and helps him stay standing. “You ok up there?” Jaemin asks.

“Dunno,” Haechan mumbles back.

Slowly, Jaemin pops his fly and pulls down the zipper in his teeth. Haechan’s already at half mast, which sparks pure satisfaction all through Jaemin’s body. “I’ve wanted to do this for a while now,” Jaemin purrs.

“What?” Haechan asks, voice thick with stress.

“Because I think you’re fucking hot, Haechan.” He mouths, right up against the soft cotton peeking out of the V of his zipper. “I think every fucking person who turns you down is an idiot.”

Haechan finally breathes in. His eyes bug. Jaemin decides he’s had enough and pulls Haechan down by the hips. He falls on his ass and nearly slams his head against the TV console. As he struggles to get his elbows under himself, Jaemin crawls up and knocks him flat. “You flirt like a nervous virgin though,” Jaemin says, “so I can’t blame them.”

Haechan squeezes his eyes shut with beautiful shame. Jaemin’s cock throbs hard, pressing insistently against the inside of his jeans. Haechan tries to cover his face. Jaemin pins his wrists to the floor.

“No, let me see you,” he breathes. Haechan squirms, but doesn’t try to pull away. It’s a gorgeous angle, his head slightly tipped back and showing all his moles, his hair falling away from his face. He turns away and shows his jawline, the full pout of his lips. Jaemin catches his eyes following Jaemin’s flexed arm with hungry wonder.

Jaemin finally grinds down. Haechan’s hands squeeze closed against the carpet. His eyebrows pinch in.

“How long has it been?” Jaemin breathes.

Haechan looks distressed. Jaemin stops moving.

“J-Jaemin, don’t—”

“Answer, baby.”

He groans and knees Jaemin’s butt, but not hard enough to move him. “Like, five months,” Haechan whimpers.

“I thought it was three. What about that girl from the bar you told Chenle about?”

“She came over,” Haechan whines. “We…I mean, we tried.”

“So you’re just really bad at sex,” Jaemin says. “I was wondering…”

Haechan actually tries to throw him off. Jaemin releases his wrists. “That won’t scare me off,” he says. “Trust me, it won’t be bad sex while I’m here—”

Haechan stops struggling immediately, turning from distressed to curious like a dog seeing a squirrel.

“—I’m just figuring out how this is going to go tonight. You have fucked men, right?”

Haechan mumbles, “Yeah.”

“How many times, Haechan?”

He won’t look at Jaemin’s face, won’t answer, chest heaving, turned away with his arms over himself like Jaemin is just a bro going for titty twisters. That’s enough answer for Jaemin. Haechan’s hard-on is shoving into his ass too, which is beginning to answer another question.

“I need honesty on this next one,” Jaemin says, and leans over Haechan’s body on his hands. Haechan’s gaze flashes down his bare chest, then up into Jaemin’s face where he gets caught, eyes locked. “Have you bottomed?”

He gives Haechan as much time as he needs, and Haechan spends it panting on his fucking gray rug, looking everywhere like he’s waiting for someone else to help him. Jaemin resists the urge to coo praises, or maybe insults.

“You want me to bottom for you?” Haechan asks, voice still thick in his throat with stress.

“What do you think, beautiful?” He runs a heavy hand up Haechan’s chest and notes the jump of his muscles when he passes over a nipple.

“Will you be nice about it?”

“Aww, is it your first time?”

Haechan shoves his chest with actual violence. It does nothing. He sinks back into himself with palpable embarrassment. Jaemin loses control and grinds down hard, sighing. “I promise,” Jaemin starts, and gets down on his elbows. He lays a kiss on the corner of Haechan’s lips. “I will be a perfect gentleman,” he continues, and kisses the fullness of his lips, delicate, plush, “for your first time,” he finishes.

Haechan clings to his biceps. He gazes straight up into Jaemin’s eyes. “If you don’t blow my fucking mind…” Haechan says, threatening but for the shake in his voice.

Jaemin has no doubt Haechan could seriously fuck his life up if he chooses to, clever and vengeful little guy. “I’m not about to make an enemy of you,” Jaemin says. “I know you can be mean.”

Haechan sags into his gray rug. Jaemin grins. Some of the tension comes back.

“But do you know how to take cock, baby?”

Haechan glares up at him. “Do you think I’m scared to do it myself?”

“Maybe a little.” Jaemin grabs one of the hands that Haechan is clutching close to himself and puts it on his own waist. Haechan’s hand trembles against his side. Jaemin’s half undressed and pinning him to the floor and he’s still acting like he doesn’t have permission to touch.

“Alright, let’s see how crap your mattress is,” Jaemin says, and stands. He lifts Haechan under the arms, not letting him get his balance before throwing him onto the bed. Haechan grunts and scrambles, and Jaemin chases. He backs Haechan into his headboard, which jars the shelf separating them from the dining space. The stacks of records and knick-knacks jostle. Jaemin gets back over Haechan’s body, sitting on his hips to keep him still, and grabs the hem of Haechan’s shirt.

Haechan’s arms squeeze in. Jaemin snickers.

“Shy?”

“N-no,” Haechan mumbles.

“Would you rather fuck in the dark?”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Kick me out then,” Jaemin says. “Spend another night alone.” He grinds his ass back, finds Haechan’s cock fully hard against his crack, forced past his open zipper. “Something tells me you like it.”

He keeps grinding, full on lap dance mode while Haechan bites back whimpers like he’s not sweating and shaking before their clothes are even off. “Are we gonna finish like this?” Jaemin asks. “I’ve been thinking about this for a year and you won’t even take your clothes off for me?”

“Uh, wuh?”

“I’m so disappointed I could cum.”

Haechan gasps, his cock flexes against Jaemin’s ass, but he still can’t move. His eyes stay wide, cheeks brilliant red, gaze flickering over Jaemin’s body like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. His arms are clenched over his body again. His hips kick with every grind of Jaemin’s ass back. When his gasps start catching at the top of every breath, Jaemin kneels up and off him.

“Do you think I’d actually let you cum in your pants?” Jaemin asks.

Haechan recoils so hard that Jaemin is worried for a second that he actually did cum just from that. But no, looks like its just an uncontrollable cringe of horror.

“What were you going to do if I did let you cum like that?” he asks. “Cry?”

“Oh my god,” Haechan slurs into his pillow.

Jaemin shoves his shoulder back flat to the mattress and Haechan flinches and guards himself. “Watch me,” Jaemin hisses. He yanks his belt out of his beltloops in one motion. Haechan makes an involuntary moan. Jaemin stands, shoves his jeans and briefs over one hip. Haechan’s eyes follow it. Jaemin slowly inches them down over his other hip, and steps out of them. His cock springs free, all eight inches. Haechan eyes bob with it. His jaw drops. He shuffles further back into the headboard like he’s trying to take shelter there.

“Can you handle it?” Jaemin asks.

Haechan shakes his head.

“Pitiful,” Jaemin growls. “Will you try?”

Haechan’s panting through an open mouth, curled in on himself in absolute misery, but he nods. He fumbles with his pants but doesn’t seem to have the strength to pull them off.

“Aw, baby,” Jaemin coos. “Let me help.” He drops down again, takes hold of both sides of Haechan’s jeans, and yanks them over his butt. They don’t come easily. Haechan knows his assets, and the jeans cling to every contour of his pretty legs. Jaemin presses a palm into Haechan’s stomach to pin him down so he can yank the jeans off. He admires them pooled around his ankles for a moment, locking them together in a sloppy, undignified way, but Haechan has at least enough wherewithal to kick them all the way off.

He reaches down and yanks his ankle socks off too before Jaemin can stop him. Jaemin wants to tease him for foot stink, but there’s not enough bad smell to mention. A small letdown. The important thing is that they’re both bottomless, and Haechan is still pulling his knees in like he wants to hide, and still has his shirt on. Jaemin isn’t going to touch that. Either Haechan is going to be brave enough to take that off himself, or they’re going to do this whole thing with him half clothed because it’s cute. He looks like a teddy bear wearing only a t-shirt. He says so.

Haechan looks surprisingly flattered, but doesn’t have any verbal response. Jaemin slides his hands under the shirt and grips the sides of Haechan’s waist to pull him fully flat on the bed below the pillows. Haechan grabs his forearms, but is too locked up in indecision to fight. His waist is a little squishy, so pleasant on Jaemin’s hands, indenting under his thumbs. He finally lets his hips fall flat, and Jaemin gets to see his cock.

He’s cut, like Jaemin. Also like Jaemin, he’s got dark and wiry pubic hair, though Haechan’s hair is more visibly brown. Unlike Jaemin, he doesn’t seem to do much with upkeep, though his hair grows shorter and sparser than Jaemin had been imagining from the loose waves of his normal hair. Also unlike Jaemin, he’s a bit small.

“Cute!”

“You fucking asshole,” Haechan snaps, but his voice is thick with stress again. His eyebrows pull in with real hurt and Jaemin’s cock fucking aches.

“No, oh my god,” Jaemin says. He cradles the whole thing in his palm and giggles. “Bet this feels so good,” he says, and closes his fist. Stroking the whole thing takes only the barest flick of his wrist. He can run all his fingers over the head and get back to the base in a moment. He plays with going faster and faster, until Haechan is gripping his bare shoulders and squirming under him, rocking like he wants to get away but also can’t bear to lose the pleasure he’s been struggling to find for months. He keeps making little whines that might have been meant in protest but come out needy.

“I wonder,” Jaemin murmurs, and deepthroats him with no warning. It’s fucking easy. Haechan barely makes it past the back of his tongue. Haechan’s hips kick. He shouts. He cums down the back of Jaemin’s throat. Jaemin swallows, but stays there suckling for a minute to get it all while Haechan spasms and whimpers.

He pulls off. Haechan flops over sideways in a loose fetal position with his eyes closed. “That’s probably it for you,” Jaemin says. He tries to sound annoyed even though he’s fucking delighted. “Is it always that fast? You finally get someone back here and it’s over in ten minutes?” Haechan’s eyes squeeze shut even tighter, but he doesn’t respond.

Jaemin reaches under his shirt again to rub his lower back in wide, soothing circles. Haechan shivers. “Take your time,” Jaemin says. “You still look pretty.”

Haechan finally opens his eyes and looks up. He looks resentful. Jaemin hopes his abs are as flexed as they feel as he leans over Haechan’s body. “I still wanna hit if you think you can handle it.”

“I can,” Haechan says. “Lube’s, um…it’s in the bathroom. I can—”

Jaemin gets up to find it before Haechan can move. The bathroom is absolutely tiny, the kind of place where the toilet blocks half the shower and you can hit your hip on the sink if you stand up too fast. The tile is cracked, the grouting probably hasn’t been fully cleaned in decades. It smells fine though, even good, and feels dry. The surfaces are spotless. Jaemin is, once again, impressed, though it would have been more fun if it was a mildew-filled mess like the inside of a mop bucket that Jaemin could mock.

But the lube is on the shower shelf, and Jaemin snatches it up with glee. “Having fun with yourself in the shower, huh?” he says as he comes back into the main room.

“Uh-huh.”

“Suction-cup dildo on the wall or are you a fingers-only kind of guy?”

Haechan glares.

“Fingers, huh?”

“Fuck yourself,” Haechan snaps. He starts to get out of bed. Jaemin pulls him back with more force than he needed, and Haechan crashes back down onto his hard as fuck mattress with barely a bounce. He goes too easily, hunkers down without further argument.

“Sorry, cutie. Lemme make you feel good,” Jaemin says. Haechan says nothing, but he gathers a pillow into his arms to hold like the word “cutie” has infected him. Jaemin is overcome with cute aggression. He grabs Haechan’s ass and squeezes. He shakes it. Haechan launches up on his elbow and strikes like an annoyed cat. Jaemin catches his wrist and licks up his arm, and Haechan fights it back in against himself and goes back to a little defensive ball.

“Are you fucking crazy?” he squeaks. “Fuck, how are you this weird?”

“Practice,” Jaemin answers. He flicks Haechan’s balls through his drawn up thighs, and Haechan jolts. “Speaking of practice…” he grinds his thumb against Haechan’s perineum. Haechan looks like he wants to strike out again. His expression passes from confusion to surrender. He sinks back into his pillow with his eyelashes fluttering.

“Good?” Jaemin asks. There’s even less hair behind his pubes, asshole almost clear of it. His legs are hairless but for some peach fuzz on his thighs and a little curling around his ankles. His beautiful soft, smooth legs are natural. Jaemin caresses the whole length of them. “So pretty,” he breathes. Haechan sighs.

“You like that?” Jaemin growls.

“Mm.”

“Maybe this is another problem,” Jaemin says. “You keep trying to bag bottoms, but you are one.”

“Fuck off,” Haechan groans. “Fuck me and shut up.”

“Rude,” Jaemin snickers. He pops open the lube bottle and Haechan’s lungs fill and release. “Good boy, get loose for me.”

Haechan rolls his eyes, but he looks mortified, and Jaemin nearly fumbles the lube bottle for the way it draws him in. Jaemin pushes against his entrance with cold lube. He’s tight, and not opening up well, like he’s not good at this at all. It’s mesmerizing, but so is the way Jaemin’s grip sinks into the tan flesh of Haechan’s thigh.

“It’s not working,” Jaemin says, forcing disappointment into his voice again. Haechan purses his lips, and his hole winks against Jaemin’s finger. “Closer,” Jaemin says, and then puts real force into it. He pushes inside. Haechan gasps and clutches his pillow. “Let me know if it hurts, ok?” Jaemin says like a kindergarten teacher.

“Hurts,” Haechan hisses.

Jaemin sighs. He props himself up with his other hand and slumps there, waiting.

“You’re just gonna stop?”

“I mean, I don’t want to,” Jaemin says. “I kinda want to cum tonight, but you’re bitching out on me.”

Haechan sucks in a quick breath and it sounds like he wants to sob. Jaemin stares right at him, refusing to give him privacy while he schools himself. Haechan’s cheeks are almost blotchy with redness, even through his tan, which Jaemin hadn’t known was possible. He’s still breathing hard, like he’s been for most of the evening. Jaemin tries to imagine what it feels like, the unrelenting hot wash of humiliation. His cock throbs again, stomach nearly turning with the kind of sympathy that always gets him fucking into his fist too late at night.

He thrusts his finger again. Haechan squeezes his eyes shut and breathes, and this time Jaemin moves easily.

“There you go,” Jaemin says. “Just needed some practice.” He pulls his finger out, replaces it with the lube bottle, and squirts it right in. It doesn’t make it very far, bubbling and flowing out of him, but the mess was the point. Jaemin catches it with his fingers, guides it up, and shoves it in. Haechan cries out.

“Where is it?” Jaemin asks. “Here?” He hooks his fingers and swipes toward Haechan’s front, imagining he’s finding the back wall of Haechan’s cock from the inside. Haechan’s ass squeezes his fingers in a little flutter. After cumming once already, Haechan should be able to feel it. He finds a spongy little spot and circles with a light touch. Haechan’s high voice breaks on a stressed little whimper.

“Sing for me, gorgeous,” Jaemin teases. “That feel good? Show me.”

Haechan’s jaw twitches with how hard his teeth lock. Soundless air hisses through them. He doesn’t move as Jaemin keeps petting, just winds tighter and tighter. Jaemin finally pulls out. He leaves Haechan there sagging on the bed while he retrieves the condoms he keeps in his wallet like a good boy. He tears one open.

“Not gonna offer to help?” he says.

Haechan sits up. “Oh, sure—”

“Too late,” Jaemin says, and rolls it on. Haechan’s eyes dart away, hurt. While he’s still processing, Jaemin forces his hips down and parallel to the bed, again with more force than he really needed, and hoists Haechan’s cute little ass in the air. When Haechan tries to get up on his hands, Jaemin shoves between his shoulder blades. Haechan’s elbows fold and he crashes into the bed.

Jaemin lines up and pushes.

He keeps the hand in the middle of Haechan’s back, mostly because Haechan might pull off too fast if he decides to try and that might hurt, but also because Haechan is vibrating like a scared little dog, and Jaemin wants to absorb it up his arm like some kind of anime vampire consuming his life force. It almost overtakes the pleasure of finally feeling some squeezing heat around his cock.

Jaemin bottoms out, all eight inches of him vanished between Haechan’s narrow hips. He stills. He’s mean, but he’s not cruel, and Haechan needs to adjust. “Wow, you took that well,” he moans. Haechan turns his head to the side to gasp against the blankets. He’s sweaty, red. His hair is wrecked. He eyelashes flutter in half blinks as he learns what it feels like to have Jaemin all the way inside him.

His brown t-shirt has fallen down the curve of his spine to bunch where his little waist twists. Jaemin finally takes his hand off Haechan’s back to push it higher, revealing more skin. Two freckles sit close together right in the middle of his back. Another small one sits at the base of his spine where some people have dimples.

Haechan’s breathing finally evens. He’s starting to press back like he doesn’t even realize it, testing the stretch at his rim. “Are you going to be a pillow princess or do you know how to work for what you want?” Jaemin murmurs.

Haechan casts a glance back. His eyes are red-rimmed, lips bitten pink and open. It seems like he doesn’t know what Jaemin’s asking for, because he doesn’t move. Jaemin shows him, pulling him back in a dirty grind while he keeps his own hips still. “Can you keep that up?” Jaemin asked.

Haechan whimpers. He gets his elbows back under himself and pushes back. To his credit, he keeps up the motion—at an excruciating, useless pace, motion too shallow to do much of anything. He heaves in air like he’s sprinting. He must have a good angle because tiny moans come out on his gasps. He sounds a bit surprised, like he didn’t know it could feel like this, which makes Jaemin grin down at his back, savoring what he’s about to do.

“Ok, you’ve earned it,” he says. “You can stop.” He takes Haechan’s hips in his hands and draws swiftly out to the tip. His sinks back in like a piston, one smooth glide. Haechan’s hands squeeze in the blankets. He lets out a really weird surprised grunt. Jaemin lets out a gleeful giggle and does it again, a little faster this time, and then again, but faster.

He’s up to maybe fifty perfect of the pace he’s aiming for when Haechan figures out that he’s not fucking prepared for what’s happening. He lets out a high-pitched, stressed-out whimper and braces a forearm higher on the bed. He shoves his forehead into the mattress like he needs to hide.

Jaemin goes to work. He wants to lose his breath, wants to feel it in his ass the next day. The problem is going to be lasting long enough. For himself, of course. Not Haechan. No matter what, he’s going to last longer than Haechan’s used to.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” Jaemin hisses. “You’re still pretty virginal, right?”

Haechan only whimpers. He’s can’t swallow back his moans when he’s too busy remembering to keep breathing. He clings to the sheets. Moans trip and slip out on his panting breaths, sobbing little whines when Jaemin punches in particularly hard.

“You sound so pretty,” Jaemin says. “You always sound so pretty. God, I love your voice. How does anyone ever say no to you?”

Haechan’s sounds cut off for a few seconds now that he’s drawn attention to them.

“You shouldn’t do that,” Jaemin snickers. “I just told you it’s nice. Now you’re gonna stop? You’re hopeless.”

“You—you’re trying…to embarrass me,” Haechan gasps.

Jaemin snickers. “Wow, you noticed,” he says. After a beat, Haechan forces himself up to turn around and glare.

Well, if he wants it like that.

Jaemin pulls out. He shoves Haechan onto his back, who looks absolutely alarmed. “You don’t mind missionary, do you?” Jaemin asks. “Or is it what you’re used to?”

Haechan’s gaze roams over Jaemin’s chest, so Jaemin drives back in with an exaggerated flex. Haechan’s head falls back against the bed again, eyelids fluttering.

“You don’t care, huh?” Jaemin asks. “Doesn’t matter that I’m making fun of you, does it? You’re that desperate.”

Haechan whines, but he’s going cross-eyed with every one of Jaemin’s thrusts. He wraps a loose hand around Jaemin’s wrist where it’s planted on the bed. His legs hang wide where Jaemin steers them.

“How many people would have to reject you for you to give up?” Jaemin asks. “How long would it take you to get the picture, huh?”

Haechan’s eyebrows pinch. He tries to look up at Jaemin’s face but his gaze catches on Jaemin’s shoulder and stays there. Smartest boy Jaemin knows fucked stupid.

“You wouldn’t, right?” Jaemin continues. He’s finally getting breathless, staring down at the way Haechan rocks on the bed with every hard thrust into him. His jaw hangs slack. He’s got a thumb tucked into the hem of his t-shirt, keeping it in place below his belly.

Jaemin grabs it and yanks it up. Haechan’s yelps, tenses, flattens against the bed like he wants to sink through the mattress. Jaemin slips out of him.

“You love this, right?” Jaemin says. His cock throbs, but he can’t think about getting back inside yet. Haechan has given up trying to cover himself. He’s miserably red, sweating, shirt pulled up to his nipples as he clings to both of Jaemin’s wrists and finally meets Jaemin’s eyes with a pathetic, pleading pout. “It’s fucking crazy that you haven’t kicked me out yet. You like this too, don’t you?”

“I fucking hate you,” Haechan whimpers.

His tummy is flat but undefined, just a little soft around his belly button. Jaemin smooths his thumbs over it and Haechan’s dark little cock jerks like it wants to reach for Jaemin’s hands, but it can’t. It’s too short.

He’s still a little soft when Jaemin takes him in hand, and he must still be sensitive, because Haechan writhes.

“I have a thing for pathetic pretty boys,” Jaemin admits. “No one who actually knows how to fuck is going to waste their time on you. Aren’t you fucking lucky to have me?”

Haechan’s back arches. His cock hardens in Jaemin’s fingers. His face looks glazed over, dazed with mortification, desperate with need.

Jaemin squirts lube right into Haechan’s ass again and works his cock back inside. Haechan grabs for him, fingertips scraping Jaemin’s forearms and knees. Once Jaemin’s cock is deep in, he braces both of Haechan’s legs against his shoulders, and slips both his hands into Haechan’s grasping fingers. He leans his weight down on them, folding Haechan in half. Haechan’s fingers squeeze between his. He thrusts. Haechan’s tummy bunches up into cute little rolls. Jaemin wants him to feel it tomorrow and remember, so he gathers his strength and tries to show Haechan just how hard he’s wanted to use him every time someone else passes him up.

“Your cock is adorable,” he hisses out, though his breath is going. “Look at it bounce.”

Haechan’s hand pulls hard on his. Jaemin won’t let it go, so Haechan turns his head to the side, hiding half his face against the sheets. It really is cute though, short little cock bouncing against Haechan’s tiny tummy rolls with every thrust. Jaemin wants to eat him up. He leans down and bites Haechan’s thigh, hard.

Haechan cries out. His legs flinch in and catch on Jaemin’s shoulders.

“You taste good,” Jaemin says.

“What the fuck?” Haechan wheezes.

Jaemin releases one of Haechan’s hands. It goes right to Jaemin’s chest, like he wants to be able to push Jaemin away if he needs to—as if he would even be able to—but it trembles there on the shape of Jaemin’s pec, not truly stroking since he’s too shy, but loose enough that Jaemin’s tit moves in his palm as he rocks. Jaemin doesn’t mind, just happy that Haechan is finally touching him without being told to. With his newly freed hand, he reaches down between them and tickles the flat spot where Haechan’s frenulum tapers to the tip of his cock. He flicks his finger like he would with a nipple, or a clit. Haechan’s hips jump against his.

“Agh! That’s fucking weird!” Haechan says. He tries to move his hips away, but Jaemin’s still pounding in, and he can’t figure out how to move from where he’s bent.

“If it’s so weird,” Jaemin gasps, “why is your cock fucking spitting on me?”

Haechan jerks his hips, which only curls him up tighter. From the way his eyes squeeze shut and his fingers clench, it’s clear he’s gotten himself to an even better angle. His gasps turn broken. Jaemin pounds in without flagging, though his core burns and the one arm holding him up is beginning to shake.

Haechan’s doll lips open in a darling little ‘O’. He knees squeeze in tighter. Jaemin keeps driving in at that angle, keeps flicking his finger over the head of Haechan’s cock, until his broken gasps turn into frantic moans, and he cums all over his cute tummy rolls.

“Fuck, again?” Jaemin whines, even though this is exactly what he wanted. “Why did you cum so fast again? What about me?”

To make the point, he drives in harder, faster, clutching Haechan’s thighs open to keep him exactly where he wants him. Haechan’s thighs fucking shake. His body contorts. A red print of Jaemin’s teeth slowly darken in the meat of his inner thigh.

Jaemin’s racing against Haechan’s sensitivity. As much as he loves watching Haechan slowly go from moans to sobs, he doesn’t mean to actually torture him, so when veins start showing in Haechan’s neck, he stills. “You know you can tell me to stop, right?” Jaemin asks. “You don’t have to take it until it hurts just for me. Or are you used to letting your partners walk all over you because you’re scared they’ll change their minds?”

It’s a rhetorical question. Haechan’s a direct person. He’s not a pushover. Jaemin knows that he can get mad when he needs to and draw lines where it’s necessary. He’s watched him do it multiple times with Chenle and Mark, but the furious mope on Haechan’s face is too good.

“I w-wanna be good…” he starts, and then trails off into silence with a humiliated curl to his shoulders, and Jaemin’s cock pulses with need. He almost whimpers with how good Haechan’s embarrassment is this close, how fucking delicious. His stomach flips with desire.

Haechan’s aftershocks are still rocking him. Every time Jaemin’s cock shifts so much as a millimeter, his whole core locks up. Jaemin pulls out without warning and lets Haechan’s hips drop back to the bed.

“Do I have to do this myself?” Jaemin asks. He strips the unfilled condom off and flicks it onto the gray rug with a sigh. He sits back on his heels and fists himself, exaggerating how long it takes for him to get from base to tip, how well the girth spreads his fingers.

Haechan pushes up on shaky elbows and nearly falls into Jaemin’s lap, mouth open. Finally doing something himself.

“Good boy,” Jaemin croons. He guides Haechan’s head down by the hair.

Haechan manages about two inches. Tears spring to his eyes. His fists the base of Jaemin’s cock. The other hand keeps him up, and Jaemin doesn’t lay down to make it easier. He stays sitting on his heels. Haechan forces his neck into a weird angle, licks the tip, tries to force deeper with loose, unpracticed lips.

“This your first blowjob, baby?” Jaemin breathes.

Haechan pulls off and shakes his head. Jaemin has never seen him quite so wordless, not even when some girl told him that he was ugly and should go fuck himself. He’d come out of that with a wry smile and a self-deprecating joke while Jaemin slipped into the bathroom to hide the tent in his pants. Right now, he looks fucking shattered, damp and teary, down on his belly with cum in his shirt and his cock deflating on his hip.

The blowjob sucks, but it doesn’t matter. A shiveringly satisfying orgasm washes over Jaemin. He yanks Haechan off by the hair and cums across his lips. Haechan flinches. His eyes squeeze shut, and Jaemin stripes from his nose to his forehead. Some of it follows his tear-tracks down. More drips from his lips and eyelashes. He lets out a puff of air strung through with a warble of a moan. He brings his shaking hands to his face to wipe it away.

“Fuck, Haechan, fuck you’re killing me,” Jaemin groans. He’s wobbly, but he pulls Haechan up to his knees, more gently this time. Haechan shirt is already gross, so Jaemin pulls it up and gently wipes the stipes of cum off his face. Haechan keep his eyes squeezed shut, submitting to the mercy of Jaemin’s hands. “Fuck, you’re so hot. You look so good like that. Oh my god, you did so fucking good.”

Haechan finally opens his eyes, and it’s into a venomous, dangerous glare. Jaemin giggles nervously.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he said. “Hold still. It’s nearly gone. Christ, Haechan, you’re so hot. You’ve been driving me crazy.” He pulls Haechan by the cheeks into a deep kiss. Haechan jolts, hesitates, nearly shoves Jaemin away, but Jaemin holds them so gently together, and Haechan’s hands rest on Jaemin’s arms. Slowly, he kisses back.

He’s shaking, so Jaemin lowers him back down to the bed. He pulls Haechan’s filthy shirt off and chucks it on the floor, then pulls the sheets over both of them. “You okay?” he asks.

Haechan grunts, so Jaemin peppers kisses across his cheeks and nose. “God, those fuckers don’t know what they’re missing,” Jaemin murmurs. “If you were here with Giselle right now, I’d be at home with my dick in my hand, thinking about you.”

“What?” Haechan mumbles. “Are you serious?”

Jaemin pulls back and the warm light of the apartment comes between them. “Haechan, I am so serious about the embarrassing crush I have on you.”

Haechan searches his face, suspicious. There’s still a little bit of cum in one eyelash that will have to wait for the shower to be washed away. “You’re a fucking freak, you know that?”

“Oh yeah,” Jaemin says. “I get weird.”

“I noticed.”

Haechan shifts onto his back, away from Jaemin, but when Jaemin snuggles up with his head on Haechan’s chest, Haechan’s arm curls around his back.

“Ok, yeah, that was fucking hot,” Haechan mutters.

“I know.”

Haechan’s finger traces little circles on his arm. His body is lovely from Jaemin’s angle, dotted with little freckles and moles, soft but trim. Jaemin runs his hand from hip to hip and then fits Haechan’s waist into the palm of his hand. He wants to get the most while he’s still allowed to be here. If Haechan kicks him out as soon as he recovers, Jaemin wants to know he made the most of it.

“Clear some shit up for me,” Haechan says. His soft voice growls really low, rough with misuse. It makes Jaemin shiver.

“Hm?”

“Do you think I’m pathetic or not?”

Jaemin looks up, because he needs the advantage of his pretty face not to get kicked to the curb right now. “No. Mostly I think you’re very impressive and capable,” he says. “If you weren’t, I wouldn’t find your pathetic sex life so interesting.”

Haechan’s expression remains steely. He’s still absently tracing his thumb over Jaemin’s arm, and it’s beginning to feel like a lot. “Why…” he starts.

“It’s hot,” Jaemin says. “It turns me on when hot guys get humiliated. It turns me on that other people keep being fucking stupid and missing out on what I want.”

The look on Haechan’s face is kind of scary, and Jaemin has to look away. He’s got that giddy feeling like he’s looking over the edge of a high place, but Haechan probably won’t like it if he starts laughing. His own cheeks burn. Embarrassment is not sexy when it’s his own though, and he doesn’t enjoy it.

“I kind of feel like I should kick you out and tell everyone I know, because fuck you.”

Jaemin mumbles, “You don’t wanna start that war. I know exactly what Renjun said to you when he turned you down, and I will absolutely tell Chenle.”

Haechan’s arm drops from Jaemin’s shoulder. “How the fuck do you know that? Were you listening outside the door or something?”

“Yes.”

Haechan’s jaw twitches. “Just how often have you been eavesdropping on me when you think I’m gonna get rejected?”

Jaemin’s face burns. He’s sinking lower on Haechan’s side, trying to hide. “Kind of a lot.”

Haechan rubs a hand over his face, looking, once again, fucking mortified, and Jaemin hopes Haechan doesn’t notice when Jaemin’s cock twitches against his leg.

But of course he does. Haechan sits up and pulls himself out of Jaemin’s arm. “You fucking creep,” he mutters.

Jaemin catches his legs, holds on, lying in the sheets and twisted around on his back with his eyes hooded and seeking. Haechan makes the mistake of looking at him and freezes.

“I’ve got a really bad crush on you,” Jaemin murmurs. Haechan really is as needy as Jaemin thinks, because he looks torn. “I’ll come whenever you call. You’ve already got me wrapped around your finger.”

It’s deadly effective. Jaemin can see it in his slumped shoulders and defeated sigh. He pulls the blankets over his messy, soft little cock to maintain some dignity, but he’s still blushing, and he still can’t meet Jaemin’s eyes for more than a second. Again, his gaze lingers on Jaemin’ body, visible from the base of his ribs up to his muscular shoulders. Jaemin flexes.

“Doesn’t have to be like this every time either,” Jaemin says. “I can have sex without antagonizing you, I promise. And I can help you get better at this.”

“I don’t need your help,” Haechan grumbles.

“Don’t you want it though?”

Haechan doesn’t answer.

“Can I take care of you tonight?” Jaemin presses. “Wash your hair, make you a drink, change your sheets. I promise I’ll be nice.”

Haechan caves. “You definitely should,” he says. “You owe me.”

And despite his dearest desires, Jaemin does not blurt out, Aw, did I hurt your feelings? like he wants to. He gets up and pulls Haechan with him, grinning from ear to ear as he leads Haechan to the shower where he intends to mortify Haechan with the kind of body worship that only brides get. Haechan follows, already helpless.