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The tread of a boot crushes Chan’s trachea as his fingers, slick with his own sweat and blood, slip off the toe in a futile attempt to shove it away. His vision swims as his body cries out for air that it can’t find, and he grits his teeth hard enough to hear them squeak over the pounding of his heart beat in his ears.
“Alright, that’s enough.”
Changbin’s voice is sharp and gruff, laced with an annoyed grunt. The boot leaves Chan’s neck, and he draws breath in so harshly and quickly that it makes him cough hard enough to retch. He turns to the side to spit bile and blood onto the concrete floor.
“Again,” he rasps, voice mangled from the beating.
“No.” Changbin is firm, and when Chan looks up at him, he’s not even looking at him, but instead tapping at the screen in his hands.
“You really want me to kick your ass a fourth time in one day?”
The taunt is grating to Chan’s ears, the sound of his own voice — stolen, sickening in how wrong it sounds from anywhere but his own chest — wretched in the silence of the combat room.
CB97 — Chris, as Jisung had named him — stares down at Chan mockingly, dimples pinched into his features as he grins at Chan’s suffering. His hair is slick with sweat and there’s a small tear in his top lip that he tongues at, but other than that, he’s remarkably unscathed.
The walls are closing in on Chan, the air wheezing once more from his lungs. He can feel the burning stare of his team — the pity in Minho’s eyes as he watches him wriggle on the ground like a worm; the wide-eyed stare of Yongbok from where he sits with his head on Jisung’s shoulder across the room; the look on Jisung’s smug fucking face as he gazes at Chris, paying Chan no mind at all. Even Jeongin, with his own clone — IN01 — pinned and tapping out, glances his way from the commotion.
Claustrophobia ties Chan’s veins into knots, and he feels a burning in the pit of his stomach as he launches himself off the ground at Chris.
His clone — a stolen body with faux sentience that Chan wants to tear from its skin — side steps him, planting a hand between his shoulder blades to shove him harshly back to the ground. Chan lands face first and only manages onto his hands before he’s being stepped on — thick, heavy sole popping the knots in his spine as he’s forced back down.
“Chan, enough,” Changbin bellows. “Get up. You’re done for the day.”
Chan rolls the second the foot pinning him is lifted out of the way. Panic seizes him. He’s never quit, never been forced to stop. Quitting gets you nowhere. The whole point of this bullshit is to train, to get better.
It had been Jisung’s idea. Of course it had. He’s always tinkering with things, quirking with high tech shit that Chan could never possibly begin to understand. He had approached their benefactor one day with a proposition — a training initiative, he had called it. With the proper access to equipment, he could clone each of them in order to train specifically on their weaknesses — against each other, but primarily, against themselves.
The number of tests and samples Chan had to endure just for Jisung to get what he needed to create CB97 was weeks’ worth of torment. Having to sit hooked up to a bunch of wires and tubes and electrodes while Jisung babbled on and on about how perfect his clone would be was a specific brand of torture Chan would never have been able to imagine if he hadn’t lived it.
Even now, Jisung is strange about it. He treats CB97 like he’s real — a person — like they’re friends. Hell, Chan and Jisung aren’t even friends, so watching Jisung chat and laugh with a shitty copy of himself makes Chan’s blood boil.
“No, Changbin, I can—”
“Chan. You’re done. Go take a shower.”
His jaw clicks when he grinds his teeth. Changbin is their combat leader. Chan may call the shots from a tactical standpoint, but even he yields to Changbin when it comes to matters of combat and training. Once Changbin makes up his mind, it’s impossible to argue with him. Chan has known him far too long to forget that fact.
Out of the corner of his eye, Chan catches the sight of CB97’s fingers. He’s holding his hand out to help Chan up, but the look of his face — his hideous fucking face — smiling down at him, is enough for Chan to see red again.
He slaps the offered hand away and stands on his own. Pain sears through his body, settling with a scream into his joints as he forces himself to stand straight. When he shoulders past CB97, the clone holds his hands up, taking an exaggerated step backwards. “Sorry, hot shot,” he says, sounding the furthest thing from apologetic.
Without another word, Chan storms off, head low. Just before he steps out of the combat hall, he spits a mouthful of blood onto the floor. Even though he doesn’t turn back, he can hear Jisung’s grating voice: “Another resounding victory, huh Chris? C’mon, let’s get you set up for your recovery.”
“Recovery? Hardly. I’ll take the chance to spend time with you, though,” Chris replies, and Chan’s stomach swoops when he hears the flirtation in his tone. He slams the side of his fist into a metal door as he stalks down the hall. Blood drips from his nose onto the linoleum, and he doesn’t bother to stop it.
That night, Chan lays in his room, hands folded over his diaphragm and eyes trained on the ceiling. He can’t sleep. That’s not new for him, but the thoughts running through his head at highway speeds are less common.
There’s a fierce rage that’s burning like wildfire in his ribcage, tickling at the valves of his heart and causing smoke to billow into his throat until he feels like he could choke on all the unspoken feelings.
Hatred simmers at the very surface of it all.
The minutes tick on into hours, and he doesn’t know what time it is when he leaves his pod. He strides down the hall with a single-minded focus until he’s standing in front of the door that houses the clones and their equipment.
Rage makes Chan blind as he punches in the access code, scans his fingerprint, and waits for the airlock to release and the door to hiss open. It shuts behind him, and the dim glow of the running equipment in the room is just enough to see a form move.
Reflexively, Chan throws the body up against the shut door behind him. The lights flick on then, and Chan isn't surprised to see Jisung's smug face as Chan drives his forearm into his throat against the door. Jisung’s hand raises from the light panel to hold both up in surrender.
"What the fuck are you doing in here, Jisung?" Chan growls.
Jisung grins at him, his head turned to the side in a placating gesture. "I should be asking you that... Don't you know this room is off-limits at this hour?"
Chan grits his teeth. Of course he knows that.
"You're in here, aren't you?"
"I have special permission. As the genius behind it all, after all." He says it in the way he always speaks — with an air of arrogance that makes Chan as jealous as it makes him furious.
“Don’t start with me, Jisung. I’m not in the fucking mood.” Chan shoves away from Jisung, pressing just hard enough for him to cough as Chan steps back. He rubs at his neck and watches as Chan turns his back on him. "What are you really doing here?" Chan asks.
"Waiting for you, obviously." Chan's lip curls in disgust. There's no way Jisung actually knew he would come in here at this hour. He can't be that predictable. "What are you doing here is the better question, no?" Jisung asks as he steps around Chan's side, leaning into his peripheral.
Chan glances at him — a glare he can't hold back. "It's none of your business, Jisung."
With a sigh, Jisung hops up onto the counter to Chan's left. When he speaks next, he's not looking at Chan. He's looking at CB97, "asleep" in his pod. Upright, stiff, looking less human than he normally does. It makes Chan feel a bit better, in some ways.
"Well, try not to get hurt too bad, yeah?" Jisung says.
Chan ignores him, instead marching across the room to press the buttons on the pad in front of CB97's pod. The system beeps and then buzzes softly, and in the next few seconds, CB97's eyes are opening.
He looks surprised to see Chan. But when his eyes cut to the side, landing on Jisung, the surprise fades to a strange knowing. A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, and Chan has never felt so ugly in his life.
"Get up," Chan says, brusque.
"Why?" CB97 says, stretching his arms over his head like he has the ability to feel stiff.
"We're training."
"Now?” CB97 asks, leaning forward. He’s still up on the platform of his resting spot, and it makes him have to lean down to scrutinize Chan. “I can still see your black eye, and whoever reset your nose should get a new job."
It takes every fiber of Chan's being to restrain himself when he hears Jisung laugh over his shoulder. "Be nice to him, Chris. He's just a bit lost."
Chan has no idea what he means by that. Doesn’t want to know. "Enough talking. Get up. Do whatever it is you do. Just hurry up about it."
“Well, normally Jisung wakes me up much nicer than you do, but I guess if you're in a rush to get your ass kicked, I'll move quicker.” He speaks in a drawl that Chan has felt slip away from him over time, as he grows older and more jaded. Chris’s limbs are loose as he hops off the platform, landing chest-to-chest with Chan.
Chan steps back, allowing Chris the space to get to the tablet beside the pod, tapping at it, fiddling in a way that Chan isn't privy to. Jisung typically monitors the clones' vitals and other things like that. Chan has never thought about it much before now.
Chris looks at him, expectant. "Lead the way, hot shot."
"Be nice to each other!" Jisung calls as they file out of the room. "I have it on good authority that Chris can be nice and gentle too."
Chan doesn't take the bait, at least not the way Jisung wants him to. He doesn't look back, doesn't yell, doesn't march back into the room to take him by the throat and shake him. Instead, he soldiers on and tries not to think about the sickening image of Jisung's hands on Chris's skin.
It's a complete violation — Chris using Chan's stolen body to tangle up with Jisung of all people.
Actually, Chris probably can't help it. It's Jisung Chan should be mad at.
They enter the training bay, and the buzzer above the door is loud and grating. Chan is thankful it's a bit removed from the rest of the facility, because he really doesn't want to deal with Changbin right now. He's sure Jisung will tell him all about it in the morning, but for now, he needs this moment of solitude. Just him, staring at a mirror that distorts his features into something unrecognizably familiar.
"You know what your deal is?" Chris says, far away now that Chan has marched, head down, further into the bay. Chan turns to face him. Tens of meters of space separate them now, and Chris's voice is distorted from the vaulted ceiling and the distance between them. Chan doesn't deign him fit for a response, but Chris presses on anyway.
"You hate yourself."
Chan stops, physically flinching at the words. No, he thinks, I hate you. A response doesn’t come to him as he twists the words over in his head. He’s never said that out loud. Never shown it. No person has ever said those words to him.
No, not a person, Chan reminds himself. This is an artificial being. A lifeless mockery of Chan himself. This is Jisung's sick perverted image of him brought to life by the wasted billions of a benefactor too stupid to realize when he's being played for a fucked up fantasy.
"Shut up," Chan says. "We're training."
"Whatever you say," Chris says. He shifts one foot back as Chan dashes forward.
They clash together, with Chris parrying Chan’s first swing and grunting as the second thuds into his abdomen. He recovers quickly, throwing his elbow toward Chan's face. Chan manages to lean back just enough to avoid taking it to the cheek. Chris steps out of his space, spins, sticking his leg out. Chan stumbles over it, but catches himself on one palm and kicks his own leg up, foot aimed for Chris's knee. He pulls back just in time to keep from having it crack under the blow.
"Better than this morning, I'll give you that," Chris says, with a cocky smile playing at his mouth.
"Shut up," Chan grits, rising back up to swing at him.
Chris ducks, darting a jab right up under Chan's aching ribs. The injury screams in pain, but Chan carries on despite it, throwing his fist again to catch Chris in the jaw. It makes him stagger back, and Chan watches as he spits on the ground before facing Chan again.
This time, he goes low, and Chan has to move too quickly. He gets caught at the knee, and Chris capitalizes on the way he loses his balance to send them both to the floor. Chris scrambles on top of him, and Chan rushes to cover his face with his forearms as Chris rains blows down toward his head.
"You can never beat me, Chan," he says, and Chan grunts in pain when he drives his fist up under Chan's arm to catch the side of his head, ears ringing from the hit. "You can't beat me, not like this. You know that. Just give up."
"Never," Chan grunts, pulling his hands away from his face to try to reach Chris, to gain some sort of leverage.
Chris punches him right in the nose, and Chan shouts as he feels blood pour out of it again. "I know it hurts. C'mon man, just quit." The pity is loud, and it echoes through Chan’s skull, shakes to his very core. Pity is wasteful. It serves no purpose. If he can be pitied, it means he’s weak.
Chan gets his hands up against Chris's arms, trying to shove him away as Chris fights to get his fingers around Chan's throat. “Give up. It’ll be easier,” Chris says, and his eyes are wide in a way that Chan has never seen before. He looks young, boyish. Scared, almost.
Horrified, Chan feels the sting of tears at his eyes. "I can't," he says, choked out and wet-sounding.
"You can," Chris says, thumbs pressing into Chan's throat until he feels the urge to retch. "You can just rest. It's okay." A tear runs hot down Chan's face and he pinches his eyes shut so he doesn't have to look at the strange sincerity in Chris's face anymore. "You need to let people in, Chan. It's why you're weak. You hate yourself so much, you won't even let anyone else get a look at you from the inside."
"Shut up," Chan chokes out, fingers scrabbling at the backs of Chris's hands, desperately trying to claw him off. "You don't know me."
"I do know you. And I'm not the only one who knows you. Your team knows you. Jisung knows you," Chris says.
Chan fights to shake his head. "He doesn't—" he bites out. The grip Chris has on him is just enough to strain, but he can still push the words up out of his throat. "He doesn't know me. He made you. You're nothing like me. You're selfish and cocky and fucking—"
"I am you, baby," Chris says, and this time, when he smiles, it seems softer somehow. Chan has to wonder if his vision is getting fuzzy at the corners. "Jisung made me this way, because this is how you are. Strong. Confident." Chan licks his lips, tasting the blood from his nose, and he glares up at Chris. "It's why he likes you so much, you know. And I know you want him."
"I don't." The very thought of it makes Chan’s stomach turn.
"You do. And it's okay. You can have him, you know. You just need to fight for it. You're allowed to have things you want, Chan. You just need to stop holding yourself back." Chan stills, trying to pull a deep breath, but it's hard with the way Chris is sitting on him.
Does he want Jisung?
Jisung is… He's smart and insufferable and cocky and grating. But he's sharp and capable, and he can hit a target with a rifle from two thousand meters away without flinching.
Chan could never have him.
There's not many people who could step toe-to-toe with someone like Han Jisung. He’s a maverick. A weapon, in the deadliest meaning of the term.
"It's okay," Chris whispers, and then his hands are slack at Chan's neck.
Air rushes into Chan’s lungs as the fight seeps out of Chan's system. He’s tired. He’s so fucking tired. Chris looks down at him with some cocktail of pity and kindness that makes Chan sick.
"I hate you," Chan warbles.
"I know," Chris says. "But I don't hate you."
Chan flinches, face jerking to the side, when Chris leans down. He doesn't seem deterred, his lips landing on Chan's cheek instead. Chan’s hands come instinctively to Chris’s chest, but he can’t find it in himself to push him away when he speaks against his cheek. "Let me in. If anyone, why not me? I understand you.”
Chan shuts his eyes. He wants the ground to open up and swallow them both, remove the blip of their existence in an instant, leave Jisung wondering where he went wrong.
Chris's mouth is soft and wet against Chan's.
With a sigh, Chan's mouth opens under him, and Chris hums, pleased. "That's it," he murmurs. "I'll show you how good you can be."
In the morning, Chan will allow himself to taste the sting of regret. For now, he has nothing to lose as he opens for Chris, tongues twisting together into a wet kiss.
Chan's fists curl at his sides, fidgety and restless. Chan presses down into him, and Chan's body aches. It aches from the beatings, both mental and physical. It aches with a hefty want that he normally shoves under the surface, doesn't let himself feel.
Chris shifts, moving lower so he doesn't have to strain so much to kiss Chan where he lays on the cold concrete. Chan lets him, shifting with him so Chris can run his hands down over his chest.
Jisung was right. He can be gentle. His touch is so soft, so careful, like Chan is made of glass and he may shatter apart in his palms if he touches him too harshly. The very thought of it makes Chan's throat close up with emotion.
He twists his face away, desperate for a breath. His nose is clogged up with blood and he pants as Chris trails his mouth over his cheek to his jaw, tonguing at the sharp edge of it before kissing his neck. It's so sensitive, the skin unused to gentle touch, that Chan shudders underneath him. "It's okay," Chris says, the words tickling Chan's throat. "I'll be nice. I'm sorry I hurt you."
I'm sorry.
No one has ever said that to Chan. Not like this. Not with their mouth pressed to his skin, drinking him in as they lick at his sweat and nip at his neck. Not with their hands caressing his sides, smoothing over his bruised rib cage to come back up to his chest and then sink back down.
"Let me touch you for real. Make you feel good," Chris says, and Chan just nods, not trusting himself to speak without sounding pathetic. "I'll fuck you the way Jisung likes it and you can learn."
Chan moans, caught off guard at the image that conjures in his mind. Chris touching Jisung like this, sitting in his lap to kiss him, stealing away minutes in Jisung's bedroom to keep to themselves. He pictures how Jisung would have coaxed him into it, lured him in like a mouse drawn to the cheese at the edge of the trap. Or maybe it had been built in — this desire for Jisung. Maybe Jisung fully believes it’s part of the core of Chan’s being.
When Chris sits up, it's to tug Chan's shirt up, revealing his tense abs and giving him better access to his belt, unclipping it before reaching for the fastenings of his pants. He wriggles back even further, lifting himself enough to not put his weight into Chan's knees. Chan lifts his hips just enough to help Chris tug his pants down.
He grins when he finds him bare, and shakes his head. "I should have known. We're the same, after all, yeah?" Chris says.
Chan doesn't know what to say, what to do. He just watches on — useless, as usual — as Chris shuffles back, tugs Chan's pants off the rest of the way, and settles in between his spread legs, so he can bend down and suck his cock into his mouth.
The image is jarring. He's never thought about what he would look like sucking cock before. No one has ever told him much about it, there's never been a photo taken. But Chris's mouth is so pretty as he pushes his lips out to kiss at the tip before tonguing at his slit.
Moisture beads at the tip, spilling onto Chris's tongue, and Chan reaches down, fingers twisting into his hair to make him hum. Chris blinks up at him, letting Chan's cock finish filling out right on his tongue before he sinks even lower, so it can bump up against his soft palette.
"Yeah," Chan breathes the word out, startled by his own voice, but Chris moans and pulls off.
"Tell me how you like it. I'll give it to you. You deserve nice things, remember?" Chris says, jerking Chan with one loose fist. He spits messily over the tip of Chan's cock so he can slick his grip, and Chan hums.
"Wet," he grits. "I like it wet."
Chris grins at him. "I do too."
It gets wetter when Chris gags on him, bobbing his head up and down, hollowing his cheeks just right with every upstroke of his fist, twisting in the same exact way Chan would if he were jerking off.
"Fuck," Chan says, hips lifting as he feels arousal bloom in the pit of his gut, pushing him toward the edge. He covers his face with one forearm, groans into the tight fabric of his shirt sleeve. It’s embarrassing, how quickly he’s ready to fall apart at the seams.
Touch starved and desperate. Easy. Salivating and waiting, like a dog.
Chris pulls back, ignoring Chan's groan of dismay as he crawls over him to kiss him on the mouth. It's interesting, tasting the musk of himself on Chris's tongue. He doesn’t hate it.
Chris holds himself on one palm, and the other hand scurries up under Chan's shirt, squeezing at his pec and thumbing over his nipple. Chan groans, and finally he can't sit still anymore. His hands dig into Chris's hair, holding him close as they kiss. Without his permission, Chan's body seeks out pressure from Chris, grinding his cock up into his hip.
"Hang on," Chris says, and then he's retreating again, sitting up to fish around in his pocket. What he finds is a small tube and Chan can't help but glare at him.
"You carry lube around?" Chan says, incredulous. Somehow that feels like it's against regulation for the clones.
Chris scoffs at him. "Of course not. Jisung handed it to me on my way out the door."
Chan pauses at that. Jisung is such a self-satisfied asshole. Chan should advocate for them to train against each other’s clones instead just to have an excuse. Punching HJ13 wouldn’t have the same satisfaction as punching Jisung himself, but it would come awfully close.
Insecurity stirs in Chan’s chest. "If he wanted to fuck me so bad, why did he have to make you?" He can’t help but ask, because he really doesn’t understand.
Chris hums, contemplating his reply as he pours lube over his fingers. He doesn't answer right away, instead lifting one of Chan's thighs up and out of the way, pressing it back until Chan groans from the position, a furrow working into his brow from the pain in his back.
Chris rubs over Chan's rim as he responds. "He's greedy. You know that. He always wants more. Wants what he can't have. You weren't making yourself available to him. What with your self-loathing and all. You're a bit self-centered, you know," he says, and then he's pressing his finger inside.
Chan can feel every knob, every bump of each knuckle as it disappears inside his body. It's his finger, there's no reason for it to feel so alien and jarring. But Chan likes it nonetheless. Likes it even more when Chris hurries to get a second finger inside him. Likes it enough that he doesn’t argue with Chris and instead stays quiet.
"Jisung hates this part. He's impatient, really," Chris comments, but he does it absently, tilting his head to get a better look at Chan's hole swallowing up his fingers.
"That—" Chan starts, then grunts as Chris presses another finger inside so he can drag the trio of them roughly over his prostate. "That tracks, yeah."
"Yeah?" Chris says, a taunting lilt to his voice as he grins down at Chan. "You think about him much?"
"No," Chan says automatically. And he doesn't, not really. Thinks about how he doesn't make sense, maybe. Wonders how he ended up in a place like this with a man like Jisung.
Chris just hums, driving his fingers in and out quickly. Working efficiently to open Chan up. He's not trying to make him come. Jisung must want it like this, quick and dirty and rough. Chan likes it slower, wants it to be drawn out, until his pleasure pulls apart like dough — heavy and drooping between someone else’s hands.
Maybe one day he’ll be bold enough to ask for it the way he wants it.
When Chris pulls his fingers out, Chan can feel his rim gape, fluttering as it shuts around nothing. Chris grabs him by the hips and turns him over, lifts him until he settles his knees under himself.
"Like this?" he asks, because it seems wrong. Chan has never known Jisung to turn his back to anyone. "He likes it like this?"
"Nah," Chris says easily, shuffling to tug his cock out. "Jisung likes to have control. He likes to ride mostly. But you..." Chris says it with a quiet reverence. "I figure you need it like this."
The press of his cock inside of Chan is so slow and long that it feels never-ending. Chan gasps into the concrete, fists curling next to his head as his mouth pops open for him to drool all over the floor.
Chris fucks him gently to start, letting Chan get used to the feeling, before he picks up his pace until they’re both panting and the sound of Chris’s hips hitting Chan’s ass is loud in the training bay. It echoes off the walls, along with Chan’s voice as he chokes on the sounds that come from his throat.
“Yeah,” Chris moans, and the sound skitters through Chan’s veins right to his throbbing cock, swinging between his legs. “You’re so pretty, huh?” Chris says, dragging his hands down Chan’s back, thumbs dipping into the dimples framing his spine. Chan whines, turning his face so he can press his forehead into the floor instead. “No? You don’t think so?” Chan shakes his head. “I think so. And we’re the same right?”
“No,” Chan grunts. “We’re— We’re different.”
Chris hums, and it sounds so deeply satisfied that Chan shamefully reaches down to stroke himself. Chris continues to fuck him exactly how he needs, dragging him back into every thrust as he says, “That’s new. I thought you didn’t think I was real, huh? Just a fake. A useless copy. You changed your mind?”
Maybe he has. Maybe Jisung really is the world’s greatest genius. Maybe he really has cracked the code to creating life. Just because it has Chan’s voice, his voice, his cock, doesn’t mean it’s Chan.
Chan doesn’t say any of that. Instead: “Shut up.” He whimpers, tightens his grip as he jerks himself. “Just— Can you just make me come already?”
Chris laughs, and it finally sounds pleasant to Chan’s ears. “Whatever you say, hot shot.” Chris picks up speed, his hips slapping into Chan's ass as he thrusts smoothly in and out. Chan groans, biting down on his blood-split lips until they sting from the pressure of his teeth. His ribs ache where Chris holds onto his waist to haul him back on his cock. Chris leans over his back, teeth dragging against his neck. “Come on, pretty. Wanna feel you clench when you come,” he says, words hot against Chan’s skin.
Chris’s hand is hot — clammy, almost — as it strokes over Chan’s abdomen, low, pressing into him as Chan’s back arches when his orgasm is ripped from his core. He gasps, shuddering as his thighs tense — straining to push back into Chris as he rides out his pleasure. He makes a mess of the floor between his knees, but he can’t even think about that as his brain fizzles out into some quiet, dull thing.
“So good,” Chris says as Chan’s hole flutters around his cock. His voice is rich and warm as he groans right into Chan’s ear. He swears softly as he sits up to fuck into Chan even harder, chasing his own climax. Chan bites at his lower lip to keep from whining too loud as sharp sparks of overstimulation shoot through his spine.
Heat fills him when Chris comes inside, mashing his hips into him as deep as he can. Chris leans his head back as he comes, groaning to the ceiling, letting it echo into the room. Chan lays there with his eyes shut, clinging to the feeling of euphoria before Chris moves to pull out and help him out of his cramped position on the floor.
The second Chan’s ass hits the concrete, Chris is leaning into his space to kiss him. Chan struggles to breathe through it, his nose still clogged. He gasps into Chris’s mouth, trading breaths with him as he lets him lick past his lips — messy with spit and blood.
Chan startles at the sound of someone clapping. His head whips toward the noise, and he spots — there, in the shadows at the edges of the training bay — Jisung perched with another figure draped around his shoulders.
“That was quite the show, boys,” he says, and Chan can hear the grin in his voice as he hops down from his seat and begins to approach them with his companion in tow.
Chris helps Chan to his feet, and embarrassment puts color in Chan’s cheeks as he feels Chris’s cum lose its battle with gravity. When he looks up from tugging his pants up over his hips, Jisung has gotten close enough that Chan can see the figure accompanying him.
It’s HJ13.
“Wouldn’t you agree, Hannie?” Jisung follows up, pulling HJ13 — Hannie — into his side with an arm around his waist.
Hannie lays his head on Jisung’s shoulder, biting back a matching grin. “Everything I expected it to be and more, I have to say,” Hannie says, eyes flicking between Chan and Chris.
Chris steps up to him, pulling him in by the neck to kiss him. It makes Chan lose his breath, seeing himself kiss Jisung like that. It’s a shocking image, and Chris certainly makes a show of it, jaw working as he licks into Hannie’s mouth until he hums, fitting their bodies flush together.
When Chan looks away, seeking out Jisung, he finds that Jisung is already staring at him. There’s something smoldering in his eyes — some caged animal trapped inside of him. Some beast that’s waiting for Chan to stumble so it can pounce.
“Well?” Jisung says.
A pause stretches between the two of them. Chan’s brain is turning over itself, struggling to come back online after everything that’s happened tonight.
With the way Jisung is smiling, it’s mostly teeth when Chan kisses him.