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Chan plopped in the middle of the couch.
Legs spread, arms extending over the back of the couch, he dropped his head back, staring at the brightly lit ceiling.
He was freshly-washed, the scent of spicy vanilla body wash clinging to his skin. Despite wearing nothing but a clean pair of black boxers, Chan didn’t feel cold; his limbs were relaxed and loose, a small elation still lingering in his bones from previous exertion, a content lilt in his heart.
He could hear water running in the background, the soft murmur of a shower having a soothing effect as much as the one he had had ten minutes ago.
He exhaled a satisfied hum and straightened his head. He took in the surroundings of the living room: a big screen TV, gaming console, board games, book shelf; his gaze ultimately falling on the small coffee table in front of him.
He bent forward and picked up his phone. He unlocked it, recoiling instantly as he came face to face with his own mug, the front camera being the last app opened. He quickly left it and went to his camera roll instead.
In the media tab, his most recent video was a fairly lengthy one, as far as videos taken on a phone go, taken in the past hour or so. He tapped on it and paused before it got a chance to play.
Filmed from above, the frozen still showed Chan himself from the waist up. He was laying on a bed, swollen lips stretched into a toothy smile, dark curls spilling over a white pillow. There was a pink blush high on his cheeks, spreading down across his neck and bare chest.
Chan’s ears grew hot, feeling embarrassed seeing himself like that. A part of him wanted to hide his phone under a pillow and never retrieve it, but the other, more curious part was looking at the small video viewer at the bottom of the screen, condensed with all the stills, giving a glimpse of the treasure trove hidden within.
Chan’s recently spent dick twitched, a lick of flame lighting in the pit of his stomach. He chewed on his bottom lip, his thumb hovering over the play button.
He glanced to the closed door of the bathroom, then back to his phone. With a minor hint of guilt, he pressed play.
The first thing Chan heard was his own voice.
“...what?” Chan inside the video said through a huff.
Then, his smile faded, replaced by a tiny confused frown.
“Are you filming?”
A rich chuckle from behind the phone rang out in lieu of a response.
“Come on, don’t!”
Chan in the video wasn’t pleased, his arms flailing as he tried to reach his phone. The frame shook and pulled back out of video-Chan’s reach, now only showing the top of his head and the bed frame.
“You said you were okay with it!” the honey voice of the cameraman argued.
Chan seemed to have given up his struggle because the shot panned back to him, this time sporting a petulant pout.
“I am. But not me.”
“Why not?
A hand came into view at the bottom of the frame, making its way up Chan’s abs to his chest, stopping as it cupped a defined pec. Chan in the real world, the one holding the phone, watched with bated breath, feeling a deep connection to his video counterpart.
“Who would want to miss out on this?”
A thumb brushed the hard nub of Chan’s nipple, making Chan in the video audibly hiss. Chan in the real world swallowed.
“Are you watching without me?”
Chan quickly paused the video and whipped his head up.
Minho had come out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist, and another one in his hair as he rubbed it dry.
“No,” Chan said, casually locking the phone and setting it screen-down next to him. Then, he got a towel to the face, and yelped.
“It was only the beginning!” he backtracked as quickly as he had lied.
“I told you to wait for me!” Minho reprimanded, hand free of the hair towel.
“You were taking your sweet time in the shower!” Chan countered, removing the wet towel from his face.
“You were, too, but I waited!” Minho said, his hands on his hips.
Chan took a not-so-subtle sweep of Minho’s body, somehow both gym-defined and soft. Chan’s mouth involuntarily watered, like he hadn’t seen it a thousand times before. “Well then, you’re a better man than me,” he mumbled, setting the towel to the side.
“We both know that,” Minho said, plopping to Chan’s right on the couch. “And?” He scooted closer, nudging his head at the other side of the couch. “Did it come out well?”
Chan grabbed his phone again and brought it up, holding it horizontally with both hands. Minho crossed a leg over one of Chan’s, now completely leaning on Chan’s side.
He tapped on the screen in Chan’s stead and started the video from the beginning. There was Chan’s bafflement at being filmed again, and Minho’s sweet laughter accompanying it.
“I don’t get what your problem is, you look really good,” Minho said, amused by Chan’s timidness in the video.
“It feels weird seeing myself on screen, I don’t know,” Chan said, feeling himself heat up again as he watched himself get groped by Minho on the phone.
Minho scoffed and paused the video, turning to face Chan. “I’ve seen your photo gallery before, you have so many gym pics in there!”
“They’re progress photos!” Chan sputtered, unready for the baseless accusation. “They’re for personal use only!”
Minho rolled his eyes. “Yeah, and for sending me in the middle of the night when you’re horny.”
“That’s just, eh-uh, an additional use,” Chan returned, convincingly. “A bonus.”
“Mhm, sure,” Minho hummed, facing the phone again, head resting against Chan’s. He resumed the video.
After sufficiently fondling Chan’s chest and overly sensitive nipples, followed by Chan’s breath becoming shallower and face darker, Minho in the video, the one holding the phone, dragged his hand down Chan’s body again, the camera following its trajectory.
“How about this then?”
The shot showed where Minho was sitting, his legs on each side of Chan, Chan’s hands holding down Minho’s thighs. In the middle were their dicks, almost stacked upon each other, hard and fleshy. The hand in the video encircled the cocks by the base, pulling them upwards, showing off the dark pink and shiny heads.
“Nice,” Minho in real life said.
Chan snorted, dropping his right hand down to rest on the inside of Minho’s left thigh, sprawled over Chan’s right leg.
“No?” The camera swiftly panned to video-Chan’s face, waiting for an answer.
Video-Chan’s mouth was partly agape, gaze entranced where Minho’s hand held their dicks together. His throat visibly bobbed as he unpeeled his eyes to look up at Minho.
“It’s good.” Chan’s voice was thick as molasses.
Real-Minho cackled next to Chan’s ear. “You’re so gone.”
“I’d like to see you,” Chan said, squeezing the relaxed softness of Minho’s thigh.
“You’re about to,” Minho said, lightly slapping the back of his left hand on Chan’s chest in return.
The video weirdly zoomed into Chan for a moment, the phone suddenly shoved into his hands, as he clumsily accepted it and turned it around. Finally, the screen showed the other side of the room, or rather, Minho stradling Chan’s hips. His shoulders were hunched, glaring at the camera from underneath his brow like he had crawled out of a television screen.
Both Chans burst into laughter at the same time.
“Why do you always have to make things unsexy?” Chan demanded through a giggle, shaking Minho’s leg.
“Well, you’re laughing, aren’t you?” Minho returned, pointedly pinching Chan’s nipple where his hand remained on Chan’s chest. Chan let out a startled squeal.
In the video, Minho’s glare remained, but his mouth twisted into an eerie smile, as he moved backwards, lowering himself between Chan’s legs.
“Why am I scared for my dick right now?” Chan wondered.
“Like that doesn’t turn you on,” Minho quipped, brushing Chan’s nipple mindlessly this time around. Chan shivered regardless, but refused to vocalize the effect Minho had on him. It was a badly kept secret, anyway.
Video-Minho had lowered down until he was level with Chan’s dick. He lifted it by the base, a cheshire-cat grin splitting his face as he pressed the shaft to his cheek.
“Your cock looks huge from this angle,” Minho pointed out, tracing his knuckles down Chan’s stomach, over dips and divots of relaxed muscle.
“Hah, yeah,” Chan said distractedly, only then realizing he had been holding his breath. He was less focused on his dick, which really was the centerpiece of the frame, and more on what Minho was doing with it.
Video-Minho batted his eyelashes at the camera, a model of innocence and coyness, and then, still holding eye contact, licked a long strip of Chan’s dick lengthwise. Real-Chan’s breath hitched, squeezing the inside of Minho’s thigh with purpose, instinctively moving his palm up, underneath Minho’s towel.
Minho in the video smiled crookedly when he got to the tip of the cock. He kissed the top chastely, and then he wrapped his mouth around it.
“Shit,” Chan in the video exhaled as Minho hollowed out his cheeks, and went down.
Simultaneously, real-Chan felt the ghost of a breath next to his cheek.
“How am I doing?” Minho asked lowly, nibbling on Chan’s earlobe. His fingers danced atop of Chan’s boxers, the cotton fabric pulled taut over Chan’s erect dick.
Video-Chan’s hand came into shot then, raking his fingers through Minho’s hair. Video-Minho groaned around Chan’s dick.
“Fuck,” Chan cursed under his breath, mirroring his video counterpart, goosebumps prickling at the side of his neck where Minho’s soft lips made their harbor. “So good.” He moved his hand further up, finding Minho’s cock bulging against the confines of the towel, just like Chan’s was.
Chan’s senses were overwhelmed, the messages his brain was receiving jumbled. With dazed eyes, he was watching his dick getting sucked by Minho’s pretty lips, while at the same time, those lips were mapping a wet trail over the sharp cut of Chan’s jaw.
Surrendering to tactile stimuli, Chan turned his head laggardly, meeting Minho’s eager mouth in a kiss.
The kiss was hungry from the first impact, with opened mouths and imploring tongues. Minho dipped his hand underneath the elastic band of Chan’s underwear, wrapping his hand around Chan’s throbbing cock. On the first upward stroke, Chan moaned headily inside Minho’s mouth.
Minho smirked, his free, right hand coming over to the back of Chan’s neck to deepen his reach.
The hand holding the phone dropped limply to Chan’s thigh in favor of his other hand taking Minho’s dick in his grasp, setting it free from the towel. Minho gasped with Chan’s indulgent strokes, his mouth raiding Chan’s plush lips even more greedily than before, the muted noises a sweet melody that only made sense tuned to Chan’s radio frequency. In their immediate vicinity, the mutually enthusiastic jerking off was supported by the faint sounds of dick-sucking and video-Chan’s moaning palette of expletives.
Chan wanted to pull Minho closer, their points of contact not enough. The softness of Minho’s mouth and the rhythmic stroke of his hand were equally intoxicating, while the spicy vanilla scent of Chan’s body wash, which Minho had clearly co-opted, penetrated Chan’s nostrils with all its complex layers, dizzying. Heat was coiling in Chan’s gut, every fleeting thought, rogue sound, and stray touch tipping the glass of his mind closer to the edge.
“Wait, wait, I’m close.”
Chan in the video whimpered loudly, jolting both men on the couch.
Minho huffed a laugh, parting from Chan’s lips. “I hear that often.”
Chan playfully bit Minho’s lower lip. “Dick.”
“Mm, you love it,” Minho said, closing in on Chan again. But he didn’t meet his target, eyes wandering down Chan’s nose instead. He let go of Chan’s dick, who made an annoyed grumble in protest, and reached down to prompt Chan to lift the hand with the abandoned phone in it.
Minho in the video wasn’t sucking dick anymore. He smacked his lips, glistening and red, dark pupils blown wide.
“Was that good?”
“Fucking amazing.”
Video-Chan’s voice came in breathless and full of awe. The hand in video-Minho’s hair slid down, cupping his cheek, beckoning him closer, and Minho crawled up, the camera going out of focus as Minho joined Chan in what seemed like a passionate makeout session, if the wet noises were anything to go by.
Real-Minho stuck his tongue out. “Gross.”
“You’re gross.” Chan nudged his shoulder.
Minho hummed, pondering as he rubbed Chan’s cockhead with the palm of his hand, the glide smooth thanks to the precum. He stopped his ministrations just as the video started coming into focus again, but only so he could pause it.
“What?” Chan said, looking at Minho with downturned eyebrows, a whiny plea hidden inside his sparkly eyes while Minho got on his feet.
“I have an idea,” Minho said with a mischievous smile, bending down for one more open-mouthed kiss to a perplexed Chan.
“Be right back. Wait for me!” he added as he skipped to Chan’s bedroom.
Chan scoffed, resting back on the couch. As if he wouldn’t.
Minho really did return only a moment later, padding barefooted over the apartment. “Your bed is still a mess.”
“I didn’t get a chance to clean,” Chan said, following Minho’s voice with his head.
Minho stopped in front of him, holding a bottle of lube. He raised an eyebrow. “But you could watch the video?”
Chan lifted one shoulder up in a shrug. “Priorities.”
Minho contained an amused smile, and nodded at Chan. “Take your boxers off.”
Chan blinked dumbly at him for a second, before his brain caught up and he stripped in record time. Minho offered him the bottle as he removed the towel around his waist, chucking it to the side.
Before Chan did anything, he put his hands behind Minho’s ass and yanked Minho between his legs. He looked up, a glazed expression of placidity, and traced the length of Minho’s dick with the ridge of his nose until his upper lip caught on Minho’s cockhead, giving it a long, self-serving suck.
Minho hissed, hands coming to the top of Chan’s head to further muss his curls, blunt nails digging into scalp.
Chan pulled back with a pop, and took the lube bottle from Minho’s hand, Minho’s musky taste lingering on his tongue. He lathered a generous amount of lube over his dick, while Minho took a recovering breath and turned his back to Chan.
With the strength of a thousand men, Chan fought the primal instinct to stick his face in Minho’s godly ass, and instead wiped the excess lube on his hole. Minho grabbed Chan’s knees on either side, legs spread wide, and started lowering down. Chan held his dick upright, a target marker for Minho’s entrance.
Minho sank on Chan’s cock slowly but smoothly, still somewhat loose from the session barely an hour ago.
When Minho bottomed out, he leaned back on Chan’s torso, putting his legs over Chan’s. He adjusted accordingly with a shimmy of his hips, and let out a content little sigh.
“Comfy?” Chan asked, hands coming around Minho’s stomach.
“Mm,” Minho confirmed, head resting above Chan’s shoulder, cheeks touching. “I thought our positions weren’t the best for watching. Better?”
“Perfect,” Chan said, planting a wet kiss on Minho’s cheek.
Minho scrunched his nose and reached for Chan’s phone, tossed on the side of the couch. He held it up almost at head-level, moving it slightly to the side so it was at a perfect midpoint between their faces.
“Can you see?” Minho asked.
Chan affirmed with a hum and a kiss to Minho’s shoulder, before hooking his chin on the shoulder. The video resumed.
There was shaking, and showing what appeared to be a wall, but then the camera flipped to a close-up of Minho’s face that would be unflattering by all laws of nature if the subject wasn’t Lee Minho himself.
“Is it standing?” Chan’s voice could be heard in the background.
“Yeah, I think this should be fine.”
Video-Minho pulled back, revealing a side view of the previous scene: Minho stradling Chan, both of them naked, both curiously looking at the phone that was propped up on a chair by some of Chan’s crumpled clothes. The frame was crooked, but it showed everything important.
Confirming the phone wouldn’t lose its balance and fall, video Chan and Minho looked at each and shared a knowing smile. Minho reached for the nightstand and grabbed a bottle of lube from it, the same one that was currently on the coffee table. He poured some of the thick clear liquid into his hand, making a quick show of stroking Chan’s dick with it for the camera, and then smeared some behind himself. He wiped his hand to the side.
“My poor sheets,” real-Chan wallowed, shaking his head.
Minho cackled. “Shut up.”
Video-Minho straightened up on his knees then, ass above dick, took Chan by the base in one hand and started sinking down. He was doing it a lot slower than Minho had a minute ago, face crumpled in a grimace. Chan in the video was attentive, rubbing Minho’s thighs up and down.
“That doesn’t look the most comfortable,” Chan said.
“Nothing I can’t handle,” Minho said, short of breath. He had hooked his feet behind Chan’s calves, rocking lazily in place. “But yeah, it’s been a while since I bottomed.”
“Maybe you should do it more often, would hurt less,” Chan said, rubbing his face in the crook of Minho’s neck. He was being enticed by the warmth of Minho’s body heat, the vanilla scent mixed with sweat, and the snug tightness around his cock.
“As if you’d survive that without your begging,” Minho huffed, his voice changing to a put-up whine. “Minhoooo, please fuck meeee.”
“I don’t even sound like that!”
“You’re right, you’re worse,” Minho quipped, returning his attention back to the phone screen. “Ah, fuck, look at me go.”
Minho in the video seemed to have adjusted enough, because his hands were now leaning back on Chan’s thighs, looking down at Chan with a coy smirk as he started rolling his hips. Video-Chan was looking up at Minho like a god had descended upon him, strong hands caressing Minho’s thighs, then going up his sides and stomach.
Video-Minho couldn’t hold his smirk for long before pleasure started taking him over.
He tipped his head back and moaned, hips grinding in consistent waves, like sand on a shore. Minho was rarely vocal during sex, but the one in the video seemed like he didn’t mind letting go and putting on a show for their future (present) selves to see.
“Shit. You’re riding me so good,” Chan shared close to Minho’s ear, holding Minho’s waist tighter as Minho’s rocking became deeper, more deliberate.
“Yeah, you,” Minho gulped, struggling to keep his head upright. “It’s ‘cause. It’s ‘cause your cock feels good.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Minho breathed, eyes fluttering shut as he surrendered, tipping his head over Chan’s shoulder. The hand holding the phone lost strength, falling and resting on his own leg, loosely gripping the device, while his other hand reached up and behind Chan’s head, holding his hair like an anchor.
Prompted by Minho’s grip, Chan sucked and licked over the long expanse of Minho’s shoulder, salty sweat flavoring his tongue as he moved up Minho’s neck, mouthing the soft skin of his cheeks. Chan loosened his hold on Minho’s body, one hand seeking downward.
A guttural groan escaped Minho’s throat when Chan wrapped his hand around Minho’s bobbing cock, jerking him off in time with the rocking of Minho’s hips.
Minho’s grip tightened on Chan’s hair, the grinding becoming more erratic, making Chan moan into Minho’s skin, his mouth finding itself leaving blooming hickeys on Minho’s shoulder again.
Something compelled Chan to open his eyes then, and glimpse over Minho’s shoulder.
What he saw was the skilled workings of his hand over Minho’s dick, the tip of it looking obscene with the leaking precum, and right next to it was Chan’s phone, muffled grunts and moans coming from it, and Minho’s perfect silhouette riding Chan like the royal chariot.
Chan moaned one last time, teeth sinking into the already bruised flesh, and Minho gasped, propelling him to clench around Chan, white spurts staining his stomach and chest, as waves of pleasure overcame both men, Chan filling Minho up.
Gradually, exhausted breaths took over the room, chests moving up and down, mouths dry and tacky. Chan felt like he was weightless, even though there was a substantial weight on him. Maybe that was what heaven felt like.
Then, a loud moan ripped through the room.
“Minho, fuck!”
Minho started chuckling, his body shaking above Chan. “Those guys are still going at it,” he said, voice raspy.
Chan huffed a few laughs himself, nuzzling into Minho’s neck. “They had a good time, didn’t they?”
Minho locked the phone with a click, cutting all noise from it, and threw it limply to the side. “You could say that.”
The silence was nice, lulling Chan into comfort and security. Though, as his body started cooling down, other sensations came to the forefront: like how his muscles absolutely were aching under Minho’s weight, or how his hair wasn’t wet just from the shower anymore, as well as all the accumulated sweat where their bodies were touching.
But Chan had more pressing matters to attend to.
“Can I sleep in your bed tonight?”
“Huh?” Minho tilted his head to the side, knocking into Chan. “Where’s this coming from?”
Chan rested a cheek on Minho’s shoulder, looking at Minho’s side profile. “Well, you see, mine’s a mess,” he said airily.
Minho kept his face expressionless as he looked down at Chan. “You snore.”
“I’ll make it up to you,” Chan continued to tease, leaving a play-bite on Minho’s cheek.
“How? Can I film you?” Minho pretended like he was musing as Chan peppered his face with kisses. “I need to show you how pretty your lips look around a dick.”
That made Chan stop and consider. “Fine. I guess I can be persuaded.”
Minho smiled, returning Chan’s kisses with a soft one on the lips.
“So, what now?” Chan asked through a content sigh.
“Shower. Again.”
Minho put his feet on the ground and his hands on Chan’s knees and tried getting up, but all he did was make a strangled geriatric sound as he slid immediately back onto Chan’s dick, his legs weak like a baby deer’s.
“This was a bad idea,” he huffed.
“I’ll help,” Chan said. He wiped his dirty hand with one of Minho’s towels that was in reach and then put his hands on the couch. “On the count of three, okay? One, two, three–”
Somehow, through joint effort, they managed to stand up, Chan still holding Minho close to him. It felt safer, though an uncomfortable feeling of oozing was making itself known in the space between them.
“This was an awful idea,” Minho repeated.
Chan laughed. “We’ll do it together, come on.”
They waddled to the bathroom like two melded penguins, bickering about who’s going to clean the floor later, and closed the door behind them.