Archive of Our Own ^beta

On that one particular night, they’re just too drunk to drive.

They can call a taxi— but Chan decides, on a whim, to ignore that possibility, just so he can spend some more time with Minho. He’s been off to some seminar for a whole month and Chan jumped on the very first opportunity to see him. Besides, it's the weekend. Changbin’s not feeling well because he had too much to drink. Might as well stay and keep an eye on him. Minho never mentions a taxi either.

Chan opens the sofa bed, and Minho brings pillows before disappearing to make sure Changbin got a cup in his bed stand. 

They talk a little, the way they always do, while settling in and it’s moments like this Chan lives for. Watching him taking off his shirt, a little bit tipsy, while discussing a particularly big mole on Jisung’s underarm that he had — against Jisung’s wishes — decided to take a picture of to show to his doctor because it could be cancer and Jisung is too carefree. 

Once his head hits the pillow, though, it takes less than five minutes for Minho to fall asleep. One second they’re laughing about something, and then he’s knocked out, mid-sentence, like a toddler.

Chan bites his lip, and reaches out to pull the blanket over his shoulder, running the back of his fingers on his jaw.

Minho makes a soft little noise from the back of his nose.

Fuck, he’s a looker. 

The more time he knows him, the prettier he gets. 

Chan sighs softly.

He touches him again. Exactly the same way. Afraid to change something and get a different response. And when Minho leans into it, he decides to run his hand into his hair.

This time the response is definitely louder . 

Chan knows Minho likes his hair touched. He once confessed to Felix in secret that it’s one of those things he liked most during sex. Chan overheard. But it’s one thing hearing that and spending an unhealthy amount of time imagining it while he jacks off, but it’s a whole entire thing watching it happen right before his eyes.

He tests this again, this time fisting a handful and pulling. Not too rough. Just enough for his head to lull back after Chan’s hand, pliant.

Minho’s lips part, and the sound he makes is no longer nasal. It’s his voice, but not in words, in a broken tiny plea. It’s everywhere between them, all over Changbin’s tiny living room. Chan feels the echo of it in his cock.

He’s not sure what happens inside his brain at that specific moment. He’s half-drunk. Logic is hard. He hasn’t seen Minho for a hot minute, and he doesn’t like being deprived of his favorite things. They’re sharing a bed— sharing a blanket . He can feel the warmth of his body. He’s right there — fast asleep but responsive , and that’s all there is to it.

He runs his fingers down the nape, and then to his back and pulls him closer by the waist.

Minho doesn’t wake up. He should’ve by now, surely - he’s getting moved in his sleep and he just closed his eyes - Chan would’ve. He should push a hand into his chest by now. He hates skinship, and he hates cuddling. It’s literally all he’d ever complain about his ex, but sometimes when they’re alone or watching tv together, he’d curl up against him, leaning his head into his chest or shoulder and that would be fine.

But now he’s close and silent. Chan leaves his hand there, splayed across his back, holding him.

Minho smells of the dried squid and the cheap beer they just had all together. But there’s a faint smell of something clean and warm. A note of vanilla; but not the overly sickly vanilla you’d usually find in perfumes. It’s much finer than that. Much classier.

Lee Minho is like that all over.

There’s nothing tacky or wrong about him. Even when he’s goofing around there’s a sense of control and coolness about him. The type of friend everybody wants to have.

He’s never overdone, never too much. He always leaves you right at the edge of your seat, on your toes, waiting for more.

His skin is darker than Chan’s, but it’s milky compared to Chan’s — milky and soft and flawless, and the way he carries himself, just something about him, feels elegant - perfect.

Waiting to be destroyed in all the sweetest ways.

He bites his lip and runs his hand further down Minho’s body to his ass and squeezes it.

Minho makes another sound. The same one as when he pulled his hair.

So Chan squeezes again, and then his lips part again.

How deep asleep is he, exactly?

This time when he squeezes, he moves his hand too, spreading his butt-cheeks apart.

Minho makes a soft little moan, so Chan persists, kneading it. Chan had imagined touching it before, but in his mind it was firmer. Minho takes time to work on himself and manage his body, so Chan imagined cupping it and meeting sturdy muscles. Instead it’s supple. Malleable. So easy to spread and move and squish.

Minho stirs, finally.

Another tiny noise from the back of his nose, a small, lazy smile on his features.

He’s definitely awake now, and in the second, he’ll catch Chan’s hand, tear it off and shove it down Chan’s own ass for good measure. At least, that’s what Chan thinks.

Minho shifts closer, and Chan jolts away and onto his back, not sure what to expect.

Nothing apparently. Minho’s face lands on his shoulder and he takes a long, deep inhale — and when he exhales, Chan can feel his breath ghosting all over his shirt.

Chan lays there on his back, a little bit frozen and a lot bit hard.

If he was awake, he’d already say something.

Minho scoots even closer, his arm running on the width of Chan’s body to his other shoulder.

Okay. Definitely not awake. He wouldn’t get caught dead cuddling while awake. Might as well get away with a couple more things, then. He snorts and buries his face into his hair. Minho uses a shampoo with a strong sea salt smell and it reminds Chan of the ocean and of home.

He spends over 5 minutes trying to pry his arm from underneath Minho, where it got caught when he scooted over, as slowly as gently as possible, stopping every time he stirs or makes a noise.

It’s still underneath Minho’s head, but at least he’s much more comfortable now. He collects him even closer with his, now freed, arm and then turns back to him so he could give him a full embrace.

Feels nice just to hold him like that, even if he’s asleep. He’s so incredibly… supple . His body is so easy right now, so pliant. Chan could just eat him. He’s so fucking cute.

Usually he stiffens up when Chan is giving him affection, almost as if he’s putting on a show for somebody. Acting disgusted and unfamiliar just to be contrary. And sometimes he’s all up in his space and sits in his lap unprompted — but it’s never agreeable. It’s always controlled. And Chan likes having control for once. 

Chan sighs and finally settles, deciding to go to sleep. He rests his hand on the back of his waist.

Minho’s shirt is hitched up and his skin feels smooth.

He runs his thumb on it.

Minho’s breath is idle and long. He moves his leg on Chan, too eventually, half on top of him. 

He’s not sure how long it stays like this, but it feels like eons. His thoughts are still swimming all over his head. It’s nothing too tangible; just how much he wishes he could have this. Exactly this. Just him and Minho. Comfortable. No longer nervous or awkward or tense with each other, but comfortable. 

His body is too awake to shut down. His thumb finally meets the waistband of Minho’s underwear. He doesn’t think too hard about it, just presses his fingers into the skin and under it, like he would do to a jeans pocket.

Fuck, he has a nice ass.

It feels even better unclothed. Extremely smooth, and even more malleable. He moves it deeper  into his underwear, so he could properly cup him. His hand fits fully around it. Perfectly shaped.

He really can’t help himself.

And his own boxers feel tight by now. 

He runs his hand even deeper into his underwear, they’re on the tighter part, pushing hand’s hand into the skin — and it feels fucking good to just grab a handful. Spread him wide. Just like he deserves. Minho makes a noise into his shoulder. Like a hum. And it doesn’t sound like he dislikes it.

Fuck, the things he would do with him, if only given the chance.

He’d ruin other men for him forever. He’d know exactly where to touch and what to bite. He’d know how to make him feel good.

Minho places his hand on Chan’s.

Chan stops.

The boxers separate between their hands, but Minho’s hand is warm on top of his, steady.

Now he’s definitely awake. He has to be. Probably trying to figure out what’s in his underwear. Somebody fucking shoved a hand into his underwear. His friend who he probably trusts to not do this type of shit, shoved a hand into his underwear.

It actually occurs to him, right then and right there, probably for the first time since Minho fell asleep — that Minho had never consented to this touching in any shape or form. He didn’t because he was asleep , not because he was allowing the touching. Normally he’d shake Chan off or push him away already if he was just hugging him. but Chan wasn’t just hugging him, he was actively preying on him.

Dread paralyzes Chan into his spot. Dread and guilt. He could’ve just moved his hand away by now, but his body works against him, frozen into place.

For a long second, Minho doesn’t do anything, and then, as if out of the blue, he presses on Chan’s hand and pushes it out of its spot. Not out of his underwear, though, but between his cheeks, where he presses it even deeper until another soft noise comes out of his lips and his head lulls back.

His eyes are still closed.

He didn’t wake up?

Chan presses again on the spot, experimentally, feeling him.

The area feels hot to touch. His middle finger sinks in even further, until it finally meets some resistance — at the every middle of it, where it's most hot.

Minho’s reaction is vocal. He makes a soft little “ Ah ,” and removes his hand, only for it to land on Chan’s shirt, clutching onto it.

Chan tries to breathe through his nose for a moment, just to focus his head. He’s either much drunker than he thought he is or actually possessed, because he feels like he’s not in control, which is terrifying.

Minho reacts exactly the same to another push on his entrance, a bit more vocal than what you’d expect from somebody who is dead asleep. He pushes closer to Chan, burying his face into his shoulder.

It’s slick down there too. Not watery slick. Oily slick. Chan slips his hand out of the boxers, meeting a small displeased noise from Minho, but he feels like he needs to see his fingers to confirm.

It’s dark and there’s only a soft dark yellow illumination from an outside streetlight, it looks pretty translucent, and by the consistency, he takes a wild guess that it’s lube.

Did he play with himself before coming to Changbin’s?

Chan tries to convince himself it could be something else. When he came over, Chan was already nursing his second beer with Changbin, and he was fresh out of the shower. The ends of his hair were a little wet. So it could be some soap or lotion that slipped inside while he bathed. But for it to stay wet and slick for hours?

Maybe he liked staying a little wet throughout the day. Knowing that he’s ready for cock, if the opportunity arises.

Fuck.

Chan’s body is on fire. He’s hard as a rock. He feels full, like he’s about to unload, which is insane. It usually takes him a while to get hard and to perform. He’s bored with normal sex, and he always feels like he needs to outperform and do better. He was actually famous in college for his long foreplays, and it had only gotten worse afterwards, when his obsession with Minho deepened.

He couldn’t just sleep with anyone. He wanted him . He wants him. More than anything he wants him. And there he is.

He squeezes his own cock, through his boxers, eyes rolling back from the sudden gratification of touch.

Minho makes a noise, that sounds a bit like a click of tongue. Then he huffs and bunches Chan’s shirt into his fist, pulling at it. Impatient.

Very on brand for awake-Minho. Not that he’d think Minho would have a different personality while he’s asleep, but it felt somewhat deliberate.

He squints in the darkness, trying to find something on his face, but he’s not sure what he’s looking for. He gets easily distracted by how his eyelashes rest on his cheeks, or the long slope of his nose. Everything on his face is so pretty.

Chan isn’t a hot headed person. Very rarely does he lose his head. But at that moment, he’s blank. He’s struggling to think . He can’t get his head to focus on what it is that he’s doing. He knows it’s not okay, but it feels okay.

“Hey,” Chan can’t help himself; “Are you really asleep?”

He doesn’t raise his voice above a whisper, though.

And he should. “Minho,” He calls his name out loud this time and moves his hand back into his boxers and squeezes.

He can’t be asleep after that. He can’t be.

“I’m drunk.” He says into his hair, then adds; “I’m sorry.”

Minho doesn’t move.

“I really want to touch you.” Chan admits, pumping himself through the boxers; “Fuck, I can’t stop myself. Please wake up.”

Minho hums, and leans back into his chest. Maybe he’s awake but embarrassed. Doesn’t want to acknowledge it happening. That’s why he’s not opening his eyes. He has to be. There’s no way he’s drunk enough to not wake up after getting manhandled and being talked to. Loudly.

“I want you so bad, I can’t,” Chan isn’t sure if he says it out loud or not, but Minho hurriedly assures him. 

“Yes,” He says, his voice fast and breathless; “Yes, me too…” 

And that’s all Chan needs. 

He pulls Minho’s boxers down, just so he can do something with his hand other than touching his cock.

He stretches his ass cheeks, squeezing slightly, holding him well spread for a moment with both of his hands, and then immediately wishing he could see it properly, not just above Minho’s shoulder. He wants to see all of him. He wants to taste him.

Minho whines, and finds Chan’s hand again, moving it back to his entrance, and presses gently.

Exactly the way he did before.

It baffles him. 

He doesn’t want Chan to touch his dick, he doesn’t want to just get off. 

He wants something inside of him. He wants to be filled. And there’s something so fucking arousing about that, that it makes his head spin, the room around him spin when he closes his eyes.

He teases his finger inside really slowly, and it’s a greedy little hole. Even wetter inside. He’s sucked right in.

Chan bites his lip.

He works up to a second finger, but goes slow on purpose, rubbing his face into Minho’s hair.

Minho’s breathing picks up. He can feel it on his shirt.

Then he loosens his clutch on the shirt, and moves to his back, as if he needs to hold onto his hand as he fingers him.

Chan can feel his fingernails through the fabric, and it’s the sweetest pain, keeps running shivers down his back.

Finally, he opens his mouth.

And he’s loud.

Louder than Chan expected him.

He’s rather soft-spoken when they’re alone. He can be loud when he’s fooling around with Jisung or Hyunjin or Changbin, but this is a different type of loud.

Chan keeps shushing him, kissing his forehead and struggling not to laugh in the process, also because he’s so close, he feels like if he shifts his leg he’ll come.

If Changbin is still awake, he can definitely hear them.

He moves Minho’s boxers out of the way, and pumps him off to climax.

Thankfully, Minho screams into his shirt.

Chan keeps his hand on his dick and his fingers inside when he’s coming down for long moments.

When he finally removes his hand, Minho whines softly, but that’s it.

Chan wipes his palm on the inside of his shirt, in order to not soil Changbin’s sheets.

He uses the same hand to bring himself off, though it takes him exactly three pumps. He’s completely undone, his mind buzzing.

Minho stays exactly how he was before, so Chan pulls back his boxers, giving him a few kisses on the forehead and hair, but doesn’t move him, preferring to stay as they are, hugging close.

Minho murmurs something, face still buried into his chest.

Doesn’t take long for Chan to fall asleep, too.

.

He wakes up because he feels Minho’s warmth shifting away.

It’s the middle of summer, and although the AC is working, Chan does feel a little bit sweaty and sticky.

“Hey,”

He sits up groggily on the edge of the bed and looks back at Chan for a moment. “Morning,” Minho replies and fixes Chan’s bed hair, even though his head is still on the pillow.

Chan grins.

A stupidly happy kind of grin.

He goes to take a piss and wash off his crusted hand, first, and when he returns Minho is already picking up the sheets off their makeshift bed. Chan rubs his hands together, anxious.

They need to have a proper conversation, right now.

Before Changbin’s fully awake and needs their attention — he already heard him groaning in his room, which means he’s slowly coming to, and he’s going to have one heck of a hangover. He’s also slightly scared he’s going to blurt out something like “ do you want to be my boyfriend? ” which will make Minho cringe to death.

“This sofa has springs coming out of it,” Minho says all of the sudden, as if he needs to fill the silence. “But somehow that didn’t stop me from sleeping like a fucking baby."

Chan chuckles, coming off nervous. He helps him with the other side of the sofa; “So, um, about last night.”

Minho looks up to him questioningly.

“What— err, happened. Last night. We probably need to talk about it.”

“Changbin puking?”

“No, after Changbin went to sleep.”

Minho stops folding the sheet and waits for him to elaborate.

To be honest, Chan vaguely knew Minho won’t be easy about this — he never is.

He takes a deep inhale, but then nothing comes out.

Minho lifts his eyebrow. “Did I talk in my sleep last night?”

“Well, no, but…” He trails off. Then freezes into his spot.

“If I said something out of the line, I apologize.” He’s smiling when he says that; “Jisung says he has full conversations with me when I’m asleep, and I don’t remember anything. He also once tried to wake me up by drumming on pots and pans and I didn’t even move. I’m basically dead until dawn.” He continues folding the sheet, turning away from him to put it on the coffee table; “What’d we talk about? If I told you I bleached Jisung’s asshole once, that’s an utter lie.” He turns back to him; “I do it every semi-regularly every other week. That guy is much hairier than he looks.”

Chan doesn’t breathe. He swallows a lump in his throat and nods. He feels cold sweat on his back. His arms feel limp. He can’t lift them. He can’t move.

“How’d you sleep?” Minho urges him into conversation, after also moving the pillows.

Chan slept fucking great after assaulting him in his sleep.

He slept like a fucking champion.

Didn’t wake up once.

How the fuck did he manage to convince himself that Minho was awake?

How fucking drunk could he have been to do something like that?

“Why does it smell like ass in here?” Changbin is out of his room.

“Because you projectile vomited all over.” Minho supplements him with an answer. “Got mad at us trying to fucking help you, and proceeded to also have explosive diarrhea without closing the door like 4 times during night. I counted.”

Minho looks toward Chan soon after he says that.

Maybe he wants to back him up.

“It was like three and a half,” Changbin complains.

“Painkillers on the counter.” Minho instructs, taking the pillows to put them back in the storage.

Chan isn’t sure what happens after that.

He’s unable to process it. He remembers murmuring something about having a hangover, and remembers having breakfast and the next time he’s fully aware is when he’s in the car, on some dirt road that leads away from the highway.

There’s nothing but the sound of cicadas all around him, and he’s holding onto the wheel so strongly his knuckles are white.

He screams.

He always knew there was something wrong with him.

He always knew what he felt for Minho was wrong and he could never act on it.

But this was the end of the road. 

He could never trust himself not to do this again. 

.

He has a drawer for Minho.

A special drawer, in the walk in closet of his apartment. 

Third drawer on the left is his belt drawer —  But if you reach your hand past it, and push a little on the wood, it clicks open, and you can draw out a secret compartment. You need to know what you’re looking for, really. 

It slides out with quiet hiss. Black spongy padding, and red sewn rims. 

The rich people who lived here before Chan must have hidden some precious belongings there; diamond jewelry or expensive watches, maybe even art or financial securities. For a kid who grew up in the system, Chan had seen such things only in movies. Yet here he is, with his own drawer. And he uses it to keep Minho’s things.

Some of it is sentimental, in a way. 

The first time the two of them hung out alone, they went to see a movie. Chan kept those movie tickets. They were in his wallet for years. Chan just couldn’t throw them out.

A ring Minho forgot at Chan’s place once. Chan just kept forgetting to give it back — and eventually it became irrelevant and forgotten. 

He has something even older, in there, too. From the very first time they met. 

Well — the very first time Chan met Minho. 

Chan saw him down a busy hallway on faculty. No idea who he was. Maybe the way Minho was discussing something fervently, or the way the wind gusted through his hair from an open window, maybe just the way he smiled — and Chan thought he’s the prettiest thing he had ever seen.  He followed him until he waved off his friend, and went into the subway. He stood right behind him, holding onto the same pole, and he smelled just as delicious as he looked. 

Minho went into a pizza parlor from the back. Probably his work place. Chan waited until somebody else came in, so he could put his foot in and slip in after them. It was quite a risky thing to do, especially because it was on a whim. 

Minho is taking off his clothes briskly, late for his shift, and when his name tag falls out of his locker and rolls all the way to Chan’s feet, Chan finally gets what he came here for. 

A name. 

Lee Minho. 

Such an ordinary name for such an extraordinary person. 

8 years have passed since, but Chan still likes the way his name is etched into the plastic little nametag, exactly like how it’s etched into Chan’s heart. 

And there’s other things there too.

Like Minho’s old iphone. The one he lost exactly when his high school ex came to visit from the states. Just hearing what he put Minho through made Chan sick to the stomach. Minho was better off. He deserves someone that treats him well. It’s also how he could keep track of Minho’s conversations and doings, since it was still logged into his accounts. It made Chan’s life so much easier. 

A bunch of pictures he took when he ended up rooming right across Minho’s dorm window. Back then they didn’t really know each other, and Chan wanted to look at him even when he wasn’t in his room.

There’s a bunch of paperwork he collected across the years, too. Permits, notes, government documents — like Minho’s juvie file, that Chan needed to go away, since it was setting him back from living his life. He got too curious to get the entire thing destroyed and saved himself a copy.

There’s other things in there too. That might a little bit sinister.

Like a pair of underwear he swiped out of Minho’s dorm.  A lock of Minho’s hair, from when they were at the barber’s, together.

Evidence of things Chan had no business doing, like all the past-boyfriends Chan had eliminated out of Minho’s life. Either by ruining them completely, by making them totally undateable, or by finding some way to get between them. He’d always find a way to do it quietly, in a way that won’t leave any traces back to him.

None of these things would tie him to anything unless you put it all together. So Chan keeps it all safe right there, in the apartment he owns, in a hidden drawer.

Don’t get him wrong, Chan wants nothing for Minho but his happiness. Even if he’s not with him. He’d actually prefer it, because he always knew that deep down there’s something vile and dark inside of him. 

He has no delusions about himself. He’s not a savior. He’s not some greater good, a knight in shining armor that protects Minho from behind the scenes — he’s more of a dark shadow that follows Minho around everywhere he goes. 

He always knew he’d have to step down. Let Minho do his thing with the person he chooses. He always thought he’d know exactly when it’ll happen. He’ll be able to know right away when Minho would fall in love. Minho never did, and Chan continued spreading his control over his life slowly, until it could fill a whole drawer — and now, he finally crossed a red line. 

A point of no return. 

Now — he doesn’t have the right to stay by his side until it’s time.

He can’t function at all. He barely eats. He stares at a muted TV every day until dawn, and then heads to work, without sleeping a wink.

What he did never leaves his mind. Not even for a second.

Whenever he closes his eyes, he imagines him again on Changbin’s sofa. Limp. Unconscious. Even the way he raised his voice when Chan was touching him, now sounds like screams of terror.

Minho doesn’t suspect it at first.

Why would he? Everything seemed fine. There was no evidence on the sheets. And he trusted Chan enough to sleep with him on the same bed before, so why not now?

He calls him to talk about something at work the very next day. Pretty mundane. Chan’s answers are almost automatic. He wants to pretend it’s okay. He wants to talk to him.

Next day, he invites him out. He wants to buy new training shoes.

Then he wants to go to the movies. Or grab a meal together.

Chan wishes he had the strength to not answer the phone, but he can’t. He desperately wants to hear his voice — desperately wants to be assured everything is okay between them.

He has an excuse why he can’t see him face to face for each time. It easily slips out of his mouth, before he can control it.

He’s tempted a couple of times. Especially when Minho mentions others coming. Because a buffer might make it easier for him to see him, but he can’t walk out of the house.

His knees are shaking from fright.

He can’t face him yet.

He needs a bit more time.

Everything he did before was so easy. He’d regret it, but only at first. Feel a little guilty. But at the end of the day, it’d serve some kind of purpose for Minho, or he’d still be able to fix it.

There’s nothing he could fix here.

He can’t take away what he did. He can’t undo it.

At some point Minho asks him if everything’s okay, via text.

Chan contemplates for hours to just tell him like that. Tell him what he did. Via text. He types it all out. But then he thinks that’s the most evil thing to confess over text.

Yes , he tells him. Just stress at work . He sends that message at 3am on a Tuesday, which in retro respect probably meant the exact opposite.

When Minho asks if Chan wants him to come over the next day, Chan flat out refuses.

No, no, no, no, no.

He’s can’t.

Not yet.

He can’t be alone with him. 

He needs more time.

Jisung and Felix come over the next day, uninvited.

They take one look at him and at his apartment, and then exchange a look with each other, and Chan knows he looks like hell.

Apparently, Minho ratted him out. And there’s a party at Seungmin’s later. And they’re there to help him get ready.

Jisung helps him shave.

Felix cleans up the living-room from week old take out boxes. He wants to clean up the bedroom too, but realizes it’s undisturbed. Chan didn’t touch his bed. He’s not sure why.

They don’t ask questions. Which is suspicious. Maybe Minho told them not to ask questions since Chan didn’t want to open up yet. 

He’s as good as new in a couple of hours and on his way to the party. Because Minho knew he wouldn’t be able to refuse them both up front.

But Minho is also there.

He feels nauseous from the moment he steps into Seungmin’s house. He can’t look into people’s eyes. His head is spinning. And then he sees him, and it’s like everything quiets down at once. He can’t even hear the music.

He’s laughing at something Sana said, cheeks a bit rosy from drinking and laughing.

And it’s like nothing happened.

Fuck, he looks good.

He barely styled his hair, and he’s not wearing anything fancy, a simple shirt and comfy pants — and he still looks like he’s the best dressed at the party.

Chan remembers the smell of him.

Remembers the way he felt in his arms.

Minho notices him after a moment, furrows his eyebrows, and excuses himself, so he could go talk to him.

So Chan does the best thing he could think of. Escapes to the bathroom.

Chan spends the entire night avoiding him, walking away even when he’s in the middle of a sentence if he sees Minho coming closer.

By the end of the night, Minho is openly staring at him with narrowed eyes across the room with an obvious stank face.

He doesn’t like being ignored and avoided, but Chan doesn’t want to tell him there — he doesn’t even know how to start.

He’s able to hold his gaze for a couple of long seconds, but he looks away, eventually, body shaking.

And he’s a piece of shit, just for that, because none of this is Minho’s fault.

At this point he already knows something is up.

He knows something happened that night.

But he probably thinks he did something — told something to Chan, he shouldn’t have. He probably doesn’t even suspect what Chan did. Nobody of a sound mind would assume that from a long time friend.

He considered it a couple of times during the two weeks since it happened. He thought he might be able to just avoid him, and then when the initial shock passes, pretend nothing happened. It’ll be so much better if he’ll just keep it to himself.

His own burden to carry.

But when he looks at him, he knows it’s not fair. He deserves to know. He deserves to have a reaction. Deserves to slap him, to punch him, to stop being friends with him. Chan can’t make that decision for him.

It’ll destroy their friendship — and probably his friendship with the others, too. But it’ll be the right thing to do.

And he wants to do the right thing when it comes to Minho — that was always the case. 

He wants to leave early. He can’t drink. He won’t allow himself to, not after last time, but Seungmin keeps finding things for him to do, so he can stay, and Chan gets oddly addicted to having Minho’s gaze on him.

He’s truly shameless.

When it empties out, Minho is gone. Chan didn’t see him leaving, though, which is strange. Maybe he slipped out quietly. Maybe he’s upset Chan is avoiding him. Maybe it’s for the best.

Chan stays put though, keeping busy with cleaning and putting everything back to the fridge or the pantry. Filling in the dishwasher.

“I promised the girls I’ll take them home,” Seungmin catches him when he’s heading out of the Living Room, and Chan realizes they are the only ones left. The music had been lowered like an hour ago, but there was still chatter — and now, all of it is outside.

“Can you deal with Minho-hyung? He’s drunk to fuck and I tried getting him off my bed, but he said he’s only going to go home with you. He’s all yours, do whatever you want with him.” Seungmin runs a hand on his hair in the mirror before turning to him.

Chan feels his insides twist.

Minho was always a heavy drinker, atop of being a lightweight — it gave Chan a feeling of innate superiority whenever Minho would call him to come and get him from some company event because he got plastered, or when he’d hear Jisung in the background complaining about how selfish it is to call Chan at 2am to come pick them up, because he’s not their dad and they’re old enough to take a cab.

Chan would often have the strangest, most unhinged and most genuine conversations with him when he’s drunk in his car.

Nayeon and Mina are discussing something, and wave Chan’s way from the doorway, before heading out, when Seungmin is wearing his shoes. He hears a couple of more people outside. Can’t somebody stay with him?

Can’t somebody else stay with Minho?

“I can’t.” He says; “I can’t today — Can somebody else stay with him?”

Seungmin looks up, a little wide-eyed, and then takes a deep inhale; “What happened? Did you have a fight?”

“No—”

“I know what’s this about.”

Chan straightens.

“You finally told him no, and he didn’t take it well. And now you’re avoiding him, because you’re too nice—”

“No—”

“Hyung, setting boundaries with people like Minho is healthy . You’re already busy as hell, you can’t let him trample over you.” Seungmin continues, fully assured that this is the only reason that Chan could have to avoid Minho.

“It’s definitely not that.” Chan admits, more quietly, and looks at the floor. 

“Even if it’s not that, I’m still sure it’s Minho’s fault somehow.” He waves his hand dismissively; “He’s probably out cold by now. Just take him and discard him somewhere. Like at Jisung’s. Knock and run away. Then he’s Jisung’s problem.”

“I can’t be left alone with him.” Chan tries again, this time raising his voice. He’s not shouting. He’s stating a fact. “Today.” He adds, as if it might sound less angry.

Seungmin straightens, as if he’s been called to attention.

He also seems to sober up, eyebrows slightly furrow.

“Okay,” He says, slowly. He glances at the opened door, then rubs his hair; “He can sleep here. It’s fine. I’ll be back in half an hour. Make sure to close the door.”

“Okay.” Chan bites the inside of his cheek and picks up a discarded plastic cup off one of the stands. “I can’t — he’s probably going to be sick so I’ll wait until you come back.”

“He’ll be fine. It’s not his first rodeo. He’s a grown ass adult. Just—” Seungmin waves his hand dismissively around the house; “Finish cleaning up and go home. You look tired, hyung.” He taps his shoulder. “Also turn on the dishwasher.”

Chan rubs his face, and then snorts; “I didn’t realize I was the helping personal.”

“You’re also my favorite hyung.” Seungmin gives him a long, careful look. Chan snorts again, and waves him off.

“Go already.”

Seungmin is already closing the door, but fits his head into the opened slit to say “There’s also unfolded laundry in the dryer so you can help yourself to that as a treat—” Chan throws the cup at him, which makes him close the door faster.

He hears Changbin laughing outside with the rest of them and rubs his face. He can still call out for him to stay. He and Changbin live in the same neighborhood. He can drive him later.

It wasn’t a huge party, honestly just some music and snacks with alcohol. An adult get-together. They do that now. Seungmin loves hosting these since he got promoted into an associate position at his firm. Chan was a little jealous, since he used to be the main host — but he found that it gave him more time alone with Minho, so ultimately he didn’t mind. 

Seungmin had followed in his exact footsteps, like a protégé of sorts, so Chan didn’t mind him sharing with him the space he had fulfilled within the group. He was still the most respected one, the one that made the most money out of them all, and the one they’d all come to whenever they needed something, and this is who he’ll stay. Seungmin knew his place. They all did — they was how their little friend group had stayed exactly perfect, just like how Chan needed it to be.

It all feels so little in his head, now — like things from another lifetime. Him worrying about the balance of their friend group just so it would seem correct in society’s eyes. 

He peers down the hallway from the main door.

It lengthens before his eyes.

Stretches like some visual effect in a movie.

The door of the bedroom is half opened. There’s a low light there, but it’s silent.

Maybe he did fall asleep.

Chan swallows and picks up the cup he threw off the floor, and then collects two more beer bottles on the shoe stand. Turns off the music. 

He finishes putting everything in the dishwasher and just stands there, staring out of the window.

He’ll need to talk to somebody about this.

Maybe he’ll tell Seungmin when he returns.

It’s okay if he’ll never look at him again the same way — none of them will, when they find out anyway.

Now that he thinks about it, maybe that would be wrong of him to assume. It’s possible Minho wouldn’t want to tell anybody about this. He’ll hate him, and probably not want to hang out with him anymore — but he won’t want the others to know. Somehow that makes it even worse.

Chan will be the one to step down from the group. The one to alienate himself from the rest of them, in order to respect Minho, and he’d have to do it without any explanation or reason.

He’d rather they all know what he did. This way, they are the ones taking a step away from him. They’ll be the ones who alienate him.

He jumps when he hears the toilet being flushed and looks back at the hallway.

He can’t hear anything else.

Minho probably feels sick, but at least he’s awake.

Chan can handle himself when he’s awake.

This is good.

They’re alone now.

He can just tell him.

The door is slightly moved when he’s in the hallway, but his entire body is fighting against him taking another step.

His stomach is tight, his muscles are tense, and his knees feel like noodles, like he might collapse the very next step he take — but it has to be right now. Neutral territory. It’s not like Minho is frequenting Seungmin’s bedroom. He doesn’t want to do it in his own apartment, where Minho would feel cornered, or in Minho’s apartment, where Minho might feel defiled. He’ll still feel defiled, but at least the memory of it won’t be inside his own safe space.

Chan takes a couple of steps closer but then stops again.

It takes them another minute to actually put his hand on the door handle, and when he does, Minho grunts, so he probably already sees him and he can’t walk away anymore.

He opens the door wider.

He’s lying on the bed on his back.

His arm is on his face, hiding the light in the room, and his shirt is all crooked, exposing a shoulder and his belly. His pants are also unbuttoned, exposing a light happy trail.

He might have not pulled his underwear up correctly after the bathroom, but Chan has a better guess. He didn’t wear any.

It feels deliberate — but it’s not. He’s not playing into Chan’s fantasies, he is the embodiment of Chan’s fantasies. Never liked putting on underwear. 

Minho groans. Probably because he doesn’t feel like speaking.

“Did you puke?”

No reply. He didn’t hear him puking, but he might have zoned off.

“Are you okay? Minho…?” He can’t help but take another step closer. He wants to feel his cheeks or his forehead, but wouldn’t dare to touch him. “Do you need something?”

He lifts his other hand and attempts to reach the lamp. He’s not even close. But Chan gets the hint and hits the lights.

He continues to stand there, by the lamp. In the darkness.

He’s frozen in his place.

But his eyes aren't, they slowly adjust to the low light from the window and continue to roam on Minho’s frame. He imagines touching him again. The feel of his body.

“Minho,” He calls out, more surely. He wants to make sure he’s aware enough to talk. “Hey. Can you talk…? Minho?”

It’s so silent in the room, Chan has his answer.

Even if he is awake, he’s not sober or feeling well enough to talk.

He rubs his face in frustration, looking back at the door, wishing Seungmin would come back already.

“Can you call me kitten?” 

Chan whips his head back to him immediately. 

“Like you did the other time.” He adds, just in case Chan didn’t catch that. 

He doesn’t whisper it or imagine it.

Chan hears him loud and clear.

He never calls him like that blatantly. If he does, it’s only when he was sure Minho was drunk. When they’re alone. When Minho isn’t paying attention. And he never really did pay attention — he never actively called him out of it or gave him a questioning look for the nickname. 

Minho never said a word about it, nor made it awkward — Chan honestly wondered if he even noticed.

“I don’t think you’d want me to do that.” Chan says gently; “I need to talk with you, um — about what happened. The other time.” He runs his teeth on his lip; “Do you want to do it when you’re better?”

“Okay.” He lifts his hand up and waits.

Chan stares at it for a moment.

He shouldn’t touch him.

Minho wouldn’t want that if he knew the truth.

But he still takes his hand. The temptation is too strong. Especially when Minho actively looks for it. He will never be strong enough to refuse it.

Minho interlaces their fingers easily and sighs softly, but keeps his other arm over his face.

He murmurs something — Chan can’t make it out. He thinks he hears the word beer, but isn’t sure. Then says; “ god ,” audibly enough for Chan to make it out.

Chan swallows and crouches by the bed, keeping his hold onto Minho’s hand, but letting his arm rest on the bed, since it was caught up in the air between them.

“I’d rather we talk now, because — I can’t… I just need to tell you what I did to you.” 

Minho makes a weird gurgling sound — like he wants to puke. 

“Are you feeling okay? Do you want me to drive you home, Minho?”

“ No ,” He shifts and pulls onto Chan’s hand; “Help me—” the rest is a jumble and Chan can’t really make out what he’s saying.

“Help you with what?”

“I can’t bear it anymore.” He adds.

“Do you want to puke?”

Minho pulls at his hand again, but when Chan squeezes it, he realizes he just wants to draw his hand back to himself, so he releases him.

Minho huffs and runs his hand up his body slowly, his shirt tugging even further up. Chan wants to touch him. His hands itch. His cock throbs in his pants.

“Hyung,” It comes out like a little soft plea, and Chan looks away, his breath hitching. “ Please .”

“W-what is that you need? I didn’t hear you.” He stands up abruptly, unbalanced. His own throat feels dry; “I’ll bring you — some water. Or maybe—”

“No,” he struggles for a moment, then turns over onto his belly. “Take it out.”

Chan feels a lump in his throat.

Minho’s pants are hanging by a thread on his hips. He can see the dimples on his back and the very start of the curve of his butt.

Chan feels his mouth filling in with saliva, almost like a dog in front of a food plate.

Minho’s body is to die for.

He tones all the right muscles, but his form isn’t wide — his thighs and ass through, even when he’s lying on his belly are just right .

Chan doesn’t have a resolve, even right now, after everything he did, he can’t stop these thoughts from occurring.

He wants to touch him.

His hands itch for it. Maybe even worse than before, because he knows how his ass feels like in his hands.

He is going to go to the living room and put himself on the couch and wait for Seungmin, and Seungmin will deal with him.

“Hyung.” His tone shifts. It’s no longer a whine. He’s not asking. That’s a demand. 

Okay, he’s definitely awake. So at least there’s that. Minho isn’t facing him, he’s facing the other way, so Chan can’t really see him, but he does lift his head off the bed for a moment. 

“What — what is it?” He asks again, taking a cautious step forward; “Something in your pocket?”

Minho doesn’t have back pockets in these pants.

Minho struggles again, reaching his hand into his pants. And then his other hand, too.

He stops eventually, head flopping back into the mattress, frustrated; “I can’t reach it.”

“Is it your — underwear?”

He did wear underwear, after all. That has to be why. It rolled together or bunched up down there and now he wants to pull it back up.

Minho moves his head. It’s not a nod, exactly, but it feels like it.

Chan looks back into the hallway.

Seungmin would never help him with that, that’s for sure. He’d probably give him a cup of water and leave him be, even if he whines.

Chan bites his lip.

He’ll help him with this, but he’ll look the other way the entire time, and he’ll be careful and quick. He won’t touch anywhere and won’t — do anything he shouldn’t.

He’s sober. So there’s no alcohol overriding his self control. He’ll probably never touch alcohol ever again. And he would never hurt Minho.

He rubs his hands together, nervous, and takes a step closer.

He contemplates how to do it, and realizes he won’t reach from his spot, so he puts a knee on the bed.

He can finally see his face.

His nose is scrunched up and his eyes are pinched closed. He’s embarrassed, probably.

“It’s okay, I’ll — I’ll do it quick.” Chan assures, speaking gently, just in case. It’s not like they didn’t see each other naked before. This is fine. He once bathed and clothed Jisung fully after he got really sick. They’ve also been in a public bath-house with the others because their university dorms would sometimes have only cold water in the winter. If Minho doesn’t know — this should be fine. They went to a bath-house resort together once — they were actually going there again in a couple of weeks for Changbin’s birthday. Chan wasn’t going to come. He already made his mind up about it, he just didn’t know how to explain it to Changbin, yet. He wanted to talk with Minho, first.

“And then I’ll bring you some water and we’ll talk, okay? I’ll be quick.” 

Minho hums and pushes his face into the mattress, away from him. 

Chan nods, more to himself than to Minho, and then reaches his hand in.

He’s very careful, and touches only the very side of his body. He doesn’t find anything there, though.

“Is it — uh, further down?”

Minho hums, biting his lip. “Yeah, take it out.”

Chan kills the urge to rub his face in frustration and just brings his pants down a notch more so he can shove his hand further down to fish out the underwear.

He doesn’t have to, though — there’s no underwear. He did, in fact, have no underwear on. What he wanted Chan to take out was most probably his buttplug.

A pink cat paw buttplug, nested right there in his butt. .

“Are you kidding me?”

Minho snorts and puts his hand on his face, to hide his embarrassment. “Take it out.”

“You can’t reach it?” Chan asks it so loudly, he hears it echoing in Seungmin’s big apartment.

“No.” He sounds so small when he says it, as if he really can’t; “My arm is short.”

“How did it get in there if your arm is short? Magic?”

“Don’t yell at me.” Minho’s voice is still incredibly gentle. He buries his face into the blanket.

Chan sits down on his legs and stares at him for a long moment.

He doesn’t move for the longest time.

“A cat paw buttplug?” Chan questions it out loud, unable to hold himself back.

He came to a party with all his extended friend group with no underwear and a buttplug — a cat paw buttplug. This was the type of thing Chan would imagine while jerking himself off — not the type of thing that actually happens in real life.

“Hyung~” He whines into the mattress, so it’s a bit muted.

Chan bites his lip and raises off his sitting position so he could lean down his ear; “Should I really take it out?” He reaches down to press his finger on it. “Or did you just want me to see it?”

Minho makes a sound, much like the sound he made when Chan was fingering him, just muffled by the mattress.

Chan wants to ask for a reply, but then his finger runs on the rim of the handle, and Minho lifts his face off the mattress to moan.

If he had any resolve, it’s all gone now. Gone for good.

He sits back down, and pulls his pants down fully his butt in one move, then cups it and spreads it up, so he could take a better look.

“Fuck, that’s perfect.”

And it is.

Just for him.

Minho once again buries his face into the mattress.

Chan teases it out a little, and then lets it slide right in. Once, twice, and Minho lifts his hips a little, demanding more.

“Should I help you, Kitten?”

“Yes,” Minho says hurriedly; “Please, hyung.”

That’s damn coy. Especially from Minho. He doesn’t play nice, most of the time. Docile and polite in bed? Chan would’ve never guessed — but somehow it turns him on, just as well.

“Since you’ve said please nicely…” He takes his time plucking it out, making sure to let it sink back in whenever there’s too much resistance.

The buttplug is just right. Not too big, and not too small. Exactly right to fit into him, especially if he’s well trained. Chan couldn’t see it properly last time, but now that he does, it’s such a pretty little hole.

He kisses his butt cheek.

And then, unable to resist, he runs his tongue on his entrance, exactly where the buttplug was nested..

Minho moans, bucking — but Chan holds him down, and gives another lick. He also shifts, so he can pull his thighs apart.

He latches on, sucking — trying to fit his tongue into the tiny gap the buttplug left. Minho yells, sometimes into the mattress, and sometimes just out loud, shamelessly, lifting his hips. His hand goes from clutching the sheets to pumping at his own dick.

When Chan uses his tongue, he gets louder and louder, breathe heavy. 

Chan touches himself too, near the end, but he stops because he helps Minho cum into his hand.

Minho topples down immediately, breathless.

Best ass he ate.

Such a greedy little hole.

Seungmin has tissues by his bed and is probably going to kill him when he comes back.

Chan runs another tissue on his cock, and his ass, and then plugs him back with the buttplug. It goes it with zero resistance, loosened up and wet, and Minho hisses, fingers digging into the sheets. He snorts, gives him another kiss on his left butt cheek, and then draws his pants up.

He kisses his way up on his back and then kisses his nose, too, slumping next to him.

“Good?” He tucks Minho’s hair out of his eyes. His face is all red, eyes closed, but he looks impossibly content, even though he’s breathing with his mouth. Minho doesn’t answer, just breathes through his mouth, so Chan waits for him to calm down.

When he does, he scoots closer, breathing through his nose, but makes zero indication that he even remembers Chan’s question.

Chan is about to ask again, but Minho scoots a bit closer, and clutches onto his shirt. “Minhyuk-hyung…”

Chan laughs, because he thinks it’s a joke.

Albeit a cruel one — it has to be.

Minho had never mistaken his identity while drunk. He was never a sloppy drunk, either.

And even if he didn’t see who was answering his questions, surely he can recognize Chan from Minhyuk, right?

Chan clutches onto his face, harshly, so he can properly look at him.

Minho doesn’t react. 

He doesn’t open his eyes.

Doesn’t burst out laughing.

He makes a soft little sigh, the way a sleeping person would make. 

“Are you joking right now?” Chan doesn’t sound like himself to his own ears. It’s like somebody else spoke.

He shakes his face from side to side.

No response.

Slight nose scrunch.

Chan loosens his grip, and he falls onto the mattress, limp.

It finally dawns on him that he didn’t see Minho open his eyes — not even once — the entire time.

He never even checked. He literally told him, that he has full on conversations with Jisung while being asleep — and Chan didn’t even think that there’s a possibility he might be actually sleeping, and not just drunk.

Drunk — asleep, dreaming about fucking Minhyuk-hyung .

Minhyuk-hyung, that was just at the same party. Not Chan. Minhyuk-hyung. In his dream. 

He springs out of bed, feeling instantly disgusted with himself.

If he was hard a second ago, now his cock is limp. Almost lifeless.

Disgusted with everything.

And also — fucking angry.

He’s out of the house in seconds — and he can’t even return, because he doesn’t remember the code to Seungmin’s door.

He doesn’t remember anything in that specific moment. 

All he sees is red. 

He needs to breathe air, but it’s sickly warm outside.

He feels like he’s choking.

He’s dizzy so he sits somewhere — at some piss-stained alleyway that makes him so nauseous, he actually pukes.

The first time could be an accident. A mistake. He was drunk. Minho was drunk. They were drunk together. He could’ve never forgiven himself, but given the circumstances, Minho might have not fully hated him. Maybe even he would have understood. Shit happens. All Chan needed to do is to come clean and if he did, that would be the most important thing.

But this time Chan was sober.

Sober and fucking edged. Nothing was obstructing him. No alcohol was hazing his senses. He already did wrong — but he did wrong yet again. He could’ve made sure. He could’ve stopped and considered things for just one second. Instead he just assumed. His dick made the choice.

From the moment he got into that room, he made the choice.

He convinced himself that it’s fine.

That Minho’s awake. That Minho’s pretending. That Minho wants this just as bad as him.

But Minho didn’t want none of it — Chan did. And he couldn’t stop himself.

He couldn’t stop himself from taking. 

,

Lee Minhyuk is Chan’s co-worker, so he sees him on Monday, and the sight of his face physically repulses Chan.

Up until the weekend, Lee Minhyuk wasn’t just a senior at his company, but a mentor, and a hyung whose company Chan highly regarded both at work and outside of it.

He came to lecture his class back when Chan was just a sophomore at college, and saw potential in Chan for the same craft. Chan was cool under pressure, a gross overachiever, and also had an analytical head that allowed him to crunch up numbers at the speed of light. 

If he had seen anything out of the ordinary in Chan, he pretended to ignore it for the sake of fitting him into the right place and the right time to better his own position. 

Chan knew he was going to make something out of himself, even without Minhyuk’s advice, but it had set him on what felt like a correct path, and eventually, led them into the same workplace, since the finance field they deal with is pretty niche.

Now when Chan looks at him, he’s nitpicking.

Trying to find faults.

If he liked Minhyuk before, there is absolutely no reason for that opinion to change, just because of Minho.

He forces his own thought track to stop every single time — because… Minhyuk would be perfect for Minho. Somebody who might actually suit him. He’d treat him well. He’d make him happy. He’s not hiding skeletons in the closet. He’s not going to take advantage of him while he’s dead asleep.

He’s somebody Chan can approve of long term. Somebody he can trust Minho with when he removes himself.

The only issue is that Minhyuk already has a boyfriend. And they’re serious. Minhyuk is also not the type to cheat or look the other way. He’s pretty loyal and keeps his boyfriend engaged, too. Yet another trait that Minho would benefit from. He needs somebody to keep a tight leash on him.

The possibility of him hooking up with Minho out of the blue isn’t on the table, until Minhyuk and his boyfriend break up. And even then, Chan wouldn’t want Minho to be his rebound after a long term relationship that soured.

If the boyfriend were to do something absolutely horrible, something that would make Minhyuk fall out of love at once — now would be the time for it. Chan gets a few ideas just from getting Minhyuk to talk about him when he’s having his coffee.

If Minho is truly in love with Minhyuk — Chan would do it.

It would be his way of fixing things.

Albeit in a crooked, convoluted way — but at least, it will give him a semblance of peace to know that Minho ended up with the person he loves. Somebody who Chan respects and admires. Even if it means framing some innocent bystander with the unthinkable. If it’s for Minho’s happiness — it’s fair. 

Fuck.

He wants to be relieved.

He can’t undo what he did. But he can make Minho happy. From afar.

And that should relieve him somewhat.

But it doesn’t.

His insides feel broken. Everything is shattered into pieces. And he’s so angry, all the time. At least formulating a plan of some kind keeps him busy.

Minho calls.

Minho texts.

Chan doesn’t answer.

Chan also can’t come to hang out if there’s even the slightest possibility Minho would be there. He needs to remove himself from Minho’s life completely, effective immediately. 

No more compromises. No more convincing himself that ‘it’ll be okay’. 

He holds out for another two weeks.

Then, it’s Changbin’s birthday. He already excused himself. Said he’s overloaded at work.

Chan thought they’ll take it well, along with the fact that everybody seems to think that he and Minho had some kind of a fight that Minho caused, even though Chan had assured them a million times that he didn’t do anything.

He comes home the day before the trip for an intervention.

They actually made him a sign that said ‘INTERVENTION’ in English.

Minho isn’t at the intervention, thankfully, but the rest of them take turns making quirky little speeches about how Chan has to come to Changbin’s birthday and can’t be a slave to corporate Korea.

It’s actually hilarious. Chan laughs the whole time, from the moment he realizes what is happening. Their reasons are kind of ridiculous, too. If he had one weakness, it’d probably be his friend group. They are his family, who he hand picked and molded to be exactly how he wanted his friend group to be. He eventually, begrudgingly, agrees.

It’s just one weekend, and he can still avoid Minho, exactly the way he did at the party last time. This time, he will use whatever means necessary to keep himself physically away from Minho.

Even if it’ll hurt everybody in the process.

They order pizza. Help themselves to Chan’s pantry.

Only when they’re leaving, does Chan find out that it was all Minho.

He planned the entire intervention.

He bribed Felix with doing the sign. Okayed their speeches in advance. Drove Hyunjin and Jeongin to Chan’s house right after they finished work, so they’ll all be there on time, before Chan beats traffic.

He knew exactly who to use to break Chan’s resolve — knew exactly how to do it. Made sure it’s all humorous because he knew it’d make Chan laugh. 

Chan can’t even hate him for it — he hates that he’s flattered. Minho would put so much effort into doing this. Minho wants him to come and enjoy himself. Chan hates himself even more. 

.

They separate between two cars, and Chan drives one of them, while Minho drives the other one, so besides a nod in the morning, and a single glance across the table when they have lunch at some rest stop along the way, they don’t really interact until they’re there, 5 hours later.

They pick rooms via lottery, since there’s only two singles, and Changbin gets one because he’s the birthday boy.

Minho gets the other one. He gloats about this for 3 minutes — but when Jeongin keeps trying to scare Chan that lights are out by 9pm or else he’s locked out, Minho trades with him, no words exchanged. He takes Chan’s keycard right out of his hand and places his own, before leaving with his luggage after Jeongin.

At first, he’s somewhat pleasantly surprised and relieved.

He felt like once actually there, with nowhere to escape, Minho would just act like nothing happened the last couple of weeks, forcing Chan into conversation — or actually try to confront him and talk. Chan had piled up excuses in his head, built up a whole web of solutions for every possible scenario — and then it never came.

Minho was giving him space.

Maybe he thought he’s to blame for something — so he’s doing the adult thing, and taking a step back until Chan is ready to talk.

Somehow, this is even worse. Because he didn’t do anything. And he has no reason whatsoever to feel guilty and try to make amends with him. Chan should be the one making amends.

He tries talking to him at dinner, several times.

Minho doesn’t seem upset with him or sad— he answers or asks something back, but in a very polite - almost too polite - manner. Never for too long either. Always turning back to the conversation in the room.

On the second day, Chan finds himself chasing after him, attempting, to no avail, to talk.

In the morning they hike up on the mountain, which is a bad idea, since most of them are hung over from dinner yesterday.

Hyunjin keeps complaining that the mosquitos are the size of his head. Changbin, the birthday boy, who actually planned to hike up the mountain for his 27th birthday — is sweating and falling behind because he’s hung over. And Jisung keeps finding corpses strewn around the wilderness because he listened to one too many murder podcasts. It’s always a piece of plastic, or even just a boulder sticking out of the ground. 

Chan and Minho are constantly torn between babysitting somebody and trying not to get lost, because the path is unmarked. They make it to the top around midday, then take the cable car down (they were not aware that there was a cable car).

By the time they’re back, they’re sweaty, itchy, and all everybody want is to actually get into the hot spring and relax. They sit there in the hot water in their swimming trunks all together for exactly 5 minutes, then decide they’re done with that, and decide to go exploring the picturesque little town they’re in, instead. It’s too hot to sit inside a hot spring midday on a hot august day, simple as that.

When they’re already at the karaoke, somewhere close to midnight, Minho finally breaks character — rightfully annoyed.

Chan doesn’t remember why he was leaning down to whisper in his ear — but it was probably for the fourth time that evening. Just making comments. Itching to get him to smile or laugh at his joke.

Minho turns around, and runs his eyes on him, and Chan realizes belatedly he had also left his hand over Minho’s side of the couch.

“Hyung, we can’t both be this fickle.” He tells him, then cringes, because Jisung’s voice breaks when he tries to reach a note he really has no business reaching. He pats his chest; “I thought you’re mad at me, so I gave you space — now, you’re not letting me breathe. Actually, it kind of feels like you’re flirting with me.”

Chan opens his mouth.

Then closes it.

Then opens it again.

Minho squints, waiting for a reply. No such thing comes. Chan can’t respond to that. His brain doesn’t have the capacity.

Changbin is pouring shots, and gets to them. Sitting on Chan’s lap as he does — and honestly, Chan is thankful, because he still can’t think of anything to say.

Minho keeps eye contact with him, when he takes a shot, but doesn’t pursue the conversation, thankfully — and soon after, he takes Felix and Jeongin to the hotel. Felix has a bad back, and he already strained himself enough with the hike, and Jeongin likes sleeping early.

Chan stays with the guys for a bit longer, then takes a walk. To clear his thoughts.

It’s a clear warm night. Monsoon season is over, but there’s a cool breeze and the silence in the garden he strolls in distracts him from thinking, so he doesn’t get a lot of it done, but enough to come to a conclusion.

Minho is right.

He’s giving mixed signals.

Christ, he assaulted him in his sleep. Not even once. Twice .

Then, instead of coming clean about it, shut off completely and distanced himself from everybody. And when Minho took a step back, just like Chan wanted — Chan immediately paddled back. He actually paddled back so far, he might have overdone it. Came off flirtatious. The sole thought of Minho not pushing back against him is unnerving to him. It feels alien.

He’s not himself when he’s with Minho. Something takes over him when he’s with Minho. A different entity. He realizes it. The sole defining character trait about him is that he has everything under his control. It’s what was always correct with him. 

But he’s not in control with Minho. 

The existence of his drawer proves it— proves the amount of attempts he took to try and be in control of Minho, and him always been just a tad out of his grasp. 

He needs to come clean.

He can’t leave it be.

He has to. He’ll find time.

He’s back to his room between 3 or 4 am and immediately bursts into laughter.

“Absolutely not.” He says, out loud, even though literally nobody’s listening.

Especially not Minho, fast asleep on the traditional Korean bamboo mat of Chan’s single room.

Chan closes the door.

Shakes his head. Nope. 

Then he opens it again.

The moon is setting right behind him, illuminating the entire room in a ghostly silver hue. Minho’s wearing a bathrobe. With nothing underneath. At least, no shirt. 

“Nope. No. This is on purpose.”

He closes it again. He can sleep outside on a bench.

He walks away. He sits down on a bench right outside a cabin.

Then comes back, with his hands in his pockets and stands before him.

This is a test.

It has to be.

Divine powers are fucking with him.

Something about this isn’t right.

He nudges him gently with his foot. “Wake up.”

Minho stirs a little, and the bathrobe he wore slips from his thigh.

Chan walks around the little tea table in the middle of the room, raising both of his hands to his head. No. He’s better than this. He’s not like that. He had only a couple of drinks. He’s in control. He can just put him on the bed, and go sleep on a bench outside.

He crouches. He can just pick him up.

Minho hums.

It’s a flimsy summer robe. A short one with that. They were also given a set of shorts, to compliment it, but Minho didn’t wear them. Of course he didn’t.

He pinches his arm.

“Wake up.”

He pinches him again. Then again.

Then pinches his thigh, which Minho immediately reacts to, fighting off Chan’s hand, then turning to the other side. The robe slips off his shoulder and pink little nipple peeks out of the exposed skin.

Chan zones out. He uses all the strength in his body to not reach out and feel it.

Long 50 seconds he convinces himself to not do it. He counts them in his head. Then reaches out and pinches his nipple, anyway.

He contorts a little, then giggle-snort in his sleep — but when Chan doesn’t stop pinching, he shifts, and places his hand on Chan’s wrist.

It’s such a pert nipple. Feels good between his fingers.

Minho hums, head lulling backwards, only further opening his robe.

Chan stares at the exposed skin of his upper thigh for longer than he should’ve.

It’s piss o’clock.

His head isn’t working anymore.

He lets his nipple go. Minho sighs in response.

Chan picks up the bottom rim of the robe, then hisses, shaking his head, and lets it fall back.

“Do you honestly want me to believe you came all the way to my cabin in the middle of the night?”

No answer.

“In a tiny robe? With no underwear, and a buttplug in? Do you seriously want me to believe that?”

There's silence first. But then Minho shifts again, stretches. “I want you to fuck me.”

That is Satan talking. Not Minho. 

Chan isn’t religious. Most of his foster families and the orphanage were indeed religious — but it never stuck. He couldn’t fully believe in that. But there is something truly abhorrent in how sweet his voice sounds in that state.

Something evil .

“Ain’t no fucking way you’re asleep right now.”

Minho’s mouth moves. Like he wanted to say something, but didn’t. Or maybe Chan imagines it. But he doesn't imagine the small half-smile on his face.

He desperately wants him to be awake.

“Hey,” he drops his tone and picks him up by the hair off the floor; “Open your eyes, or I’ll do whatever I want with you.”

He hisses slightly, but doesn’t fight it. He also doesn’t open his eyes.

Chan holds him there, almost as if he’s waiting.

“Do whatever,” He’s probably repeating it after Chan. Unaware of what he’s saying.

But for Chan that’s permission. He picks him up off the floor, onto his shoulder, and then to the bed on the other side of the room.

He throws him on it, using a little force, and for some reason it makes Minho stifle back a little laugh. Probably because it’s bouncy.

Like it’s a game.

Maybe it is for him, in his dream.

Chan crawls over him, standing on his knees and undoes his robes, still watching his face. For anything really. For anything that would indicate that he’s awake. That he’s just messing with him.

He runs his fingers under Minho's robe, on his torso. On his milky skin. In the darkness, the contrast of their body is so visible. Chan's hand seems light on his skin — light, and yet dark. Like a nightmare.

He flicks both of his nipples, and when Minho squirms, making a small noise from the back of his throat, still smiling, Chan takes the robe off his shoulders.

He’s fully naked before him.

Ripe like a forbidden fruit.

Chan takes off his own tee-shirt, and then unzips his pants, still watching his face.

Not even a wink? A glance?

He takes himself out of his boxers, without even bothering to take off his shorts all the way, and runs his palm along his head.

He’s not fully hard, common sense battling inside of him that Minho should be awake for this.

“Not going to peek?” He asks him.

Minho doesn’t budge.

Chan waits for a while longer, palming himself, then flips him on his back, so he can truly take the robe off of his body.

Chan isn’t sure if it’s supposed to be this easy to undress a limp body — or he’s supposed to meet with some resistance.

Today his buttplug is black, with pink heart shaped diamond handle.

Chan snorts; “How many of these do you have?” He pulls at it. It’s slightly bigger than the last one so it gets sucked back in.

Chan bends down and kisses Minho’s ass, making an obscene wet noise on one of his butt cheeks. “Fuck, you have a perfect ass.”

He doesn’t even bother being quiet. If Minho is actually asleep and wakes up because Chan is being loud, so be it.

He kisses the other cheek too, and Minho easily lifts his hips again, just like he did before; “Hyung,” He says softly, into the pillow.

Chan teases the buttplug out, trailing his tongue along his ass. Spreading kisses on his lower back. “If you say Minhyuk’s name again, I swear to god…” He threatens silently, and almost as if on cue, as if all he needed is to hear Minhyuk’s name, Minho breathes it out loudly.

He’s probably just repeating things.

Chan should stop.

He plucks out the buttplug without teasing him further, and he makes a broken little sound. A disappointed hum.

Chan eats him out, mostly teasingly, just to hear him raising his voice again.

He trails his kisses up, just to give him a breather, then fits in a finger — and Minho immediately says; “Ah, Minhyuk-hyung—” into his pillow. 

Fuck that.

Chan throws all the pillows off the bed.

“No, scream it. I want Changbin to hear you saying Minhyuk’s name.”

Minho then proceeds to shove his face into the mattress, and Chan grabs him by the chin, and turns it to the side so he could see it properly. He’s biting his lip, eyes still closed, then reaches out to touch his own cock idly.

Chan doesn’t like that either. If he’s coming, he’s coming from his ass being fingered. He take both of his wrists and holds them behind his back as he fingers him. He’s leathered up much thicker than before. Probably freshly applied before he arrived in Chan's room.

Was he doing it while Jeongin was already sleeping soundly in his bed? 

His fingers slip in and out with an ease, so Chan adds another finger.

Minho clutches onto the sheets.

He barely says any name after that. He wants Chan to stop switching fingering lightly and eating him out, because he wants to cum — but every time he’s close Chan stops, and waits until he is begging him to continue. 

He attempts flutily to rub his cock against the mattress, desperate to get off, but Chan doesn’t let him. He’s patient and slow, taking his time.

Minho’s so loud, he’s almost hoarse. His knees are shaking, and whenever he wants to slump back on the bed, or find some kind of friction, Chan lifts him back up on his knees.

He’s probably doing this for around an hour, because it starts to lighten softly outside. He can also hear the morning birds.

“Enough,” He says, sounding out of breath; “Enough. Please .”

“Please what?”

“Fuck me.”

“You want me to fuck you? I can’t hear you.”

“Yes!” He raises his voice, but the lowers it again; “Please, fuck me, hyung.”

Chan pulls his fingers out.

Minho is breathing so heavily, you can hear it all over the room. It’s deafening in his ears.

He seems so at loss, his thighs shake a little before he slumps back on the mattress.

“Which hyung?” He asks carefully.

When no reply comes, he flips him over, so he could see his face.

Minho’s red all over, up to his neck — his hair is an absolute mess from dragging his head on the mattress. His cheeks are a little wet, too. He’s leaking precum, so he squeezes his dick softly, until he whimpers, knees bucking.

“Which hyung?” He asks, wiping his left cheek with his thumb.

“Chan,” Minho swallows thickly, head lulling; “Chan-hyung.”

“Now it’s Chan-hyung, huh?” He snorts. “Well, Chan-hyung will be happy to oblige.”

And he does.

He fucks him good. He fucks him until he’s screaming, and when he comes, dick untouched, he picks him up to his arms, mounting him on his lap, and fucks him sitting.

It doesn’t take Chan very long to cum like that, but he does so situated really deep inside of him, with Minho’s limbs wrapped tight around him like a snake, holding for his dear life.

Only then and there, in his post-nut clarity does he feel fully in control again — in a way he hasn’t felt in years.

.

Chan wakes up to witness Minho putting his robe back on hastily, eyebrows furrowed.

It’s still pretty early. They must have slept for less than a couple of hours.

He doesn’t look too horrified or shocked that he was naked, at first, but then it starts to sink in that he is indeed naked, with only a robe, and he starts looking around himself, confused.

He pats himself all over, even his butt.

For a second, Chan thinks he’ll start screaming now — he’ll start screaming, look over, realize Chan is awake and slap him. But instead he walks back closer to the tea table and checks underneath it.

When he looks back on the bed, Chan closes his eyes. 

When he opens them again, Minho climbs back onto the bed and tries to fit his hand under Chan, wriggling his fingers.

“What?” He asks, half asleep, somewhat amused.

“Nothing.” He whispers back; “Sorry, go back to sleep.”

He crawls on the floor, under the bed.

“What are you looking for?”

“Nothing.” He springs back up into standing. “Just — probably fell off when I walked here.”

Chan knows what he’s looking for. He feels it up with his hand, and holds it. Had Minho wriggled his fingers just a little bit further, he’d probably would’ve found it, too. 

The buttplug, that is.

But unless he says what it is, Chan won’t give it back.

“What was it?” He asks, sitting up.

His body feels tired.

Minho looks rejuvenated, though, like he slept the whole night. Like it wasn’t him, yelling himself hoarse while getting fucked.

“Nothing.” He rubs his face, frustrated; “Just — forget it.”

Chan doesn’t know what to believe.

Minho sits down back on bed, and sighs deeply; “Look — I came here yesterday hoping to talk to you alone, but I guess I just fell asleep — so I’ll talk now.” He takes a deep inhale; “I know I probably told you something out of the line back at Changbin’s place—”

“No—”

“I know I did. Otherwise you wouldn’t react this way—”

“Minho, no.” He sits up; “I’m the one who messed up—”

He rolls his eyes at him; “Don’t cut me off—”

“You don’t even remember what you did, so why are you apologizing—”

“Because you’re—”

“I was touching you. In your sleep.”

He said that, but then, belatedly, understands that he should probably add the fact that he also just fucked him, hours ago.

Because he obviously doesn’t remember that, too. He was sleeping .

He couldn’t even figure out where his cute little buttplug went.

He looks down, the feeling of icy cold dread spreading all over his chest, down his arms, into his fingers. Fuck, he feels like he might actually puke.

Minho searches for his eyes until Chan lifts them, then bites his lip, trying to stifle a laugh. “What— what did you do? Hug me against my wishes?”

Chan’s opens his mouth, but no words come out.

“Oh no. I should really call the police on you now.” He shakes his head, in mock disappointment.

“No — no. It wasn’t like that. It was like that — but I also. Touched your — butt.”

“Oh, calm your tits down, Mr. Goodie-two-shoes.” He dismisses him with a wave of a hand and heads to the bathroom; “I touch yours all the time. I touch everybody’s. For Hyunjin’s 25th birthday he got three ‘Refuse a Butt Squeeze’ vouchers. He didn’t appreciate it, but, like — I still think it was a thoughtful gift. I hand-painted them.”

Chan rubs his face in frustration, because he can not believe now out of all times is the one time Minho chooses to utterly dismiss him.

Minho starts pissing with the door opened and peeks back into the room, while still pissing. “Besides, I have a nice ass. I honestly don’t know what took you so long.”

Chan isn’t sure what expression he wears on his face — he just knows that his eyebrows are hitting his hairline when he stammers to get a word out, and Minho mirrors him.

Changbin opens the door to Chan’s room without knocking; “Hyung, I’ve decided I’m going to get laid today.” He stares at him for a second; “Why are you still in last night’s clothes?”

“Aren’t you too old for that now?” Minho asks from the bathroom, washing his hands. “I heard you don’t have sex after 27.”

Changbin turns back to Minho, then back to Chan; “Aren’t you guys fighting? What is he doing here?”

“We have made amends. Chan was at fault and he apologized.”

“We were not finished talking—” Chan narrows his eyes at him and Minho narrows his eyes back at him, defiantly, but it’s not like Chan is going to talk about this with Changbin here.

“Yeah, right—” Changbin rolls his eyes, then turns back to Chan; “Did you hear the couple last night? I think from downstairs? Fucking crazy ass bastards.”

Chan feels his ears ringing.

“I slept like a baby.” Minho says, wiping his hands on some clean shirt from Chan’s opened duffle bag, instead of on a towel; “Probably on the other side of your wall.”

“No fucking way. The entire cabin shook. There’s no way you didn’t hear that shit. I have been inspired to live a kinky, sex-crazed lifestyle too. Especially on my birthday. So today, you are going to activate your best wing-man game and help your bro out.” He puts both hands on Chan’s shoulders.

”S-sure.” Chan’s eyes flick to Minho, standing behind Changbin.

There’s a smug expression on his face.

When he’s looking back, just to see if he caught his expression correctly, he’s already wiping his face off, too.

“Honestly, after yesterday, my body also feels like it’s been through a night of torture.” Minho admits, picking out a pair of shorts out of Chan’s duffle bag, and measuring it to his body. “My hips are killing me.”

Chan doesn’t breathe.

His muscles feel numb.

His brain feels fucked .

And his entire body seems to shirk on itself with guilt.

“But I’ll play your wingman, if you guys want.”

“No, thank you.” Changbin rolls his eyes; “Last time you told the girl I was buying drinks all night, you’ll help her in the bathroom and she thought you’re hitting on her.”

“She kept saying there was something wrong with her bra!” He insists, wearing Chan’s shorts on, flashing his naked butt as he does. Besides a couple of huge hickeys, there’s also a thumb print up on his hip, where Chan held him when he fucked him.

Minho bruises easily. Chan knew that.

“Come on, I’m as gay as christmas, how the hell did she miss that?”

“Well, you should’ve explained you were gay before you went off to help her.” Changbin didn’t even notice. Chan wonders if it’s because he’s imagining it all. Maybe it’s all in his head.

.

When they are at the hot spring one last time before they leave, Chan purposely asks him about the marks on his butt. It comes out of his mouth like puke — he can’t keep the question down. Hyunjin, the closest one standing, naturally curious, peeks too, and looks a little concerned, even turning Minho’s butt toward him, just to check it in the light.

Minho says he probably fell on his ass somewhere, without even turning around — and that is that.

Hyunjin insists, and tells him that it looks like a handprint. Minho just asks him why he’s so interested in his ass suddenly. So Hyunjin dismisses it.

Chan wanted him to look in the mirror. Chan wanted him to see. He wanted to see the realization on his face.

He woke up naked in Chan’s bed with the buttplug missing, with a handprint on his ass, and a couple of hickeys down his back side — but would it truly not occur to him that Chan might have done something to him, if nothing occurred to him until then?

He knows Minho’s smarter than that. Maybe he’s just being stubborn. He doesn’t want to see it. He doesn’t want to believe in it, because in his head, Chan is that Hyung he can always rely on.

In fact, for the rest of the week, Minho acts like it’s water under the bridge.

Chan might have just imagined the last 4 weeks, because the way Minho sees it, they’re picking off right where they left off.

He sends him pictures of cats he meets around the neighborhood.

Also calls to gossip about some woman that works with him.

On Tuesday, when he’s at work, he sends him a money transfer request for 400 dollars that says “new shoes”.

No explanation follows.

Something about that is beyond cheeky. Especially when they barely spoke for a couple of weeks. Especially because Chan still felt they’re still unstable.

Minho begs to differ. The way he sees it, they’re more stable than before, because he doesn’t even send puppy eyes emojis, or asks if Chan can afford it, or just hints how much he wants it, which is how he’s done things until that point. 

He’s so exceptionally polite when he wants something from Chan, because he knows all that ass licking is going to get him what he wants — this, though… This is definitely something else.

Chan allows it, somewhat amused.

Chan mentions it very casually in the conversation when they talk later in the evening, Minho is outside, having just dropped off Jeongin home.

“Don’t you think I deserve it?” He slurps on a milkshake noisily; “Since you groped my butt while I was sleeping?”

Chan barks out a half-nervous laugh, because wow .

“You also didn’t talk to me for four weeks after that. That felt a little manipulative of you. To avoid me.” Minho reminds; “I feel like I deserve some kind of compensation since you were at fault, after all.”

Any other person would’ve stopped being friends with Minho on the spot. Chan gets a boner.

He also invites himself over on Friday. 

They watch a movie.

Minho promptly falls asleep.

He usually stays awake, even if it’s a stupid or boring, so he can discuss it with Chan after it’s over. But today he’s tired. He mentions it twice. He stayed up late to finish up on commissions. His head lands on Chan’s shoulder, and his arm automatically wraps itself around Chan’s.

There’s a semblance of restraint, at first.

For long minutes, Chan tries to convince himself he’s not going to do it again.

He had fucked it out of his system. 

He is sated and in control now. 

Then Minho stretches, displeased about his sleeping position, and weasels himself under Chan’s arm into his crotch. Face first into his crotch.

It’s either it’s in his head and he’s making this up — or Minho’s doing it on purpose. Those are the only two viable options and Chan’s brain can’t deal with any of them.

He fucks his mouth roughly, holding onto his hair. He’s pretty intuitive with the suction for somebody’s who's sleeping, becoming a little sloppy midway. Chan tries fingering him, but there’s no buttplug today, so he’s drier than usual — so he takes him to his room, where there’s lube and plenty of room.

There’s only the two of them on that penthouse, so nobody can hear him scream — and he screams . Begs . Pleads . Faster. Harder. Right there, fuck, right there, Chan .

He doesn’t mention Minhyuk once.

.

In the morning they have breakfast, and then head out to stroll around some shops.

Felix is doing a picnic later, but before that Chan promised to jump by to a housewarming of a co-worker, so Minho tags along.

He knows some of Chan’s co-workers, and Minhyuk and his boyfriend will be there — and Minho honestly doesn’t really seem to mind, because he got a new Celine shirt.

And boy, does Chan love flaunting him. It’s not the first time he turns up with him to some event, and he’s technically just a friend, not a significant other or a spouse — but Chan loves the sense of superiority of walking into a room with him.

He just feels expensive.

Finance is a pretty competitive field, so everything is a dick measuring contest, even who you bring over to a party. 

Minho’s under-dressed. He’s not wearing the most expensive brand name, just a simple white button up Chan just bought him and light colored jeans. He’s not some kind of celebrity, nor is he a hot wife with big plastic boobs — but by god, does he make everybody pale in comparison.

He knows exactly who to interact with — he’s polite and friendly to Chan’s friends, and knows which of Chan’s colleagues Chan hates, and treats them with disdain.

Considering what a fucking delight he is to everybody else, it’s downright insulting.

He decides to nap in the backseat of Chan’s car while they head to Felix’s — and Chan feels a little insane for stopping at the back of some gas station to fuck him. 

It’s almost like he’s giving him the opportunity to do so, anyway. 

They’re a little late to the picnic, because Chan took his time.

The spot Felix picked for the picnic is pretty isolated, so Chan lets him sleep in the car for another half an hour with the doors opened, under his jacket. 

Jisung asks where he is, and then gives him a weird look when Chan says he’s napping in the car, and goes to wake him up. Chan tells him that he already tried, but he pays him no heed.

“If you won’t stop coddling him, you’ll get stuck with him for life.” Seungmin warns him; “He’ll literally mooch off of you even when you have a wife and children. He sees kindness as weakness.”

Chan snorts and looks down.

He should probably clarify that it’s not Minho preying on Chan. It’s actually the other way around. But he doesn’t know where to begin. Haha, funny story, I’m actually fucking him while he sleeps.

“Jesus fucking christ,” Seungmin actually jerks in fright beside him, when Jisung arrives with a groggy Minho in tow.

“What the actual fuck happened to you?” Hyunjin asks.

Chan looks back at Minho and realizes he’s done a number on him.

His lips are still red and swollen, burst at one spot. His neck is full of fresh bites and red spots from where Chan sucked at it.

“I’ve got an allergy from something I ate yesterday.” He plops down on the first surface he sees, seemingly exhausted. “Woke up like this.”

“No wonder you wanted to nap.” Felix pats his hair. “Poor thing.”

“I’ve never heard of a dick allergy before. Seems severe.” Hyunjin looks away, sipping at his beer.

Seungmin snorts.

“I slept at Hyung’s so fuck off.” Minho clarifies, then finally turns to him; “What did we even eat last night?”

Chan’s heart palpitates in his chest.

“Some popcorn. You fell asleep before we could order.”

“Oh.” He says, and looks down, eyebrows furrowed, trying to figure out what it could possibly  have been. Chan sees the gears in his head turning. 

This is it. 

Now he’ll figure it out.

“As if you’ve never had a dick appointment before coming over somewhere.” Hyunjin rolls his eyes.

“Why would I lie about not having sex?” Minho gives him an odd look, and it’s properly dismissed after that, because Felix is immediately changing the subject about the food.

Minho leans on him, when Chan stands by him later, and Chan runs his hand on his hair.

“Did we really only eat popcorn?” That’s what he’s suspicious about. About the food Chan has fed him. Not about the possibility of Chan fucking him while he sleeps. It doesn’t even occur to him.

“Yeah.” He promises.

Minho’s eyes flutter closed from Chan’s touch.

“God, my body feels exhausted, even though we didn’t do anything today.”

Chan fucked him for fuck knows how long last night — and was late to the picnic by at least 45 minutes.

“Sorry,” he says, but he doesn’t mean it.

“Why are you apologizing?” He snorts, but doesn’t open his eyes.

Chan fists a handful of the hair that he’s stroking, and pulls. Not roughly. Just gently. Teasingly.

Minho opens his eyes slowly and stares up at him but doesn’t say anything.

Chan doesn’t say anything either. 

.

They knew each other for more than 9 years, but have been officially acquaintances for 8, and good friends for only 5 of those years. 

There was a time where Minho pulled away from Chan almost completely. 

Chan still didn’t know why — maybe because of his ex. Chan made quick work of him. Found out he was dealing drugs to the student body. Technically, he only gave some to Minho and Felix, but with a bit of fabrication and creativity, it could look like a lot more. He got 4 years for possession and sales of illegal substances because of an anonymous tipper.

Out of all of those times, Minho was drunk in his behalf countless times. And slept in his bed half of those times, too. One time butt naked. There were ample times they were both inebriated. But Chan would never even think about this. The thought wouldn’t even appear in his head. Sure, he’d look down at him and note that his skin is milky, or that he’s the most perfect of god’s creation, or that he smells good — but he would never act upon it. He never allowed himself to do that. He felt like there were times where he and Minho would even openly flirt. Minho gave him all the right cards to play if he wanted to pursue him more seriously.

But he knew nothing good will ever grow out of them hooking up. Best case scenario is just a hookup between friends. And he’s positive Minho would want to stay friends after they’re done. And he knows he won’t have the strength to refuse it. He’ll just be more messed up when it ends.

He was never a good person. 

He may come off as one. He pretends to do the right thing here and there, just to keep up with appearances. He did what he needed to do in order to fit in and be an active, functioning part of society. One might say he even excels in his effort. But most of the things he’s done, especially when it comes to Minho, are beyond vile.

He taught Minho subconsciously to rely only on him.

And it started as early as in college. 

Minho was going to study abroad for student exchange in his sophomore year — and Chan couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing Minho his entire senior year. So he sabotaged it. Chan was student body president, and was on the dean’s list every year since Freshmen’s. He knew most of the professors and much of the faculty staff. So there was some kind of a mix-up, and another student went instead of Minho. He regretted it instantly, seeing how upset Minho was about it. Before, he seemed so nonchalant and a little annoyed by it, like he didn’t exactly want to go, but right then, he said that ‘nothing ever goes his way’, and Chan couldn’t have that. 

Everything had to go his way. 

He stayed up all night, and found a scholarship trip from another university, with all expenses paid, through some pulled strings. They just happened to need one extra student with Minho’s major— it would look good on his cv, and he’d only be gone for a month. Chan was wrong, and worked hard to make it up to him.

He kept Minho away from jobs he disapproved of, too. At first because he knew Minho can do better, but he soon found out that it is most jobs.

Chan made sure he either quits or is laid off of anything that’s too demanding — because that would mean he would see him less. Nothing that requires long hours or travel. Nothing that has him interacting with too many people he doesn’t know. 

It caused him to be a bit of a slacker in everybody’s eyes. He’s always between jobs, now. Freelancing. Doing whatever. One time he’s doing a mural for some company. Then he’s laid off and doing some digital art on fiverr. Then he’s already working in an animal shelter, but he can’t do that for very long because it’s too demanding and he feels sorry for the animals that don’t get adopted, so he goes back to painting rated furry art on Patreon. That actually pays well. 

And every time he needs to buy something, there’s always Chan around to afford it.

Jisung had pointed out once jokingly that Chan is Minho’s only source of stable income, which both Minho and Chan vehemently denied. But Chan saw the look on his face. The uncomfortable, downright embarrassed look. Jisung never mentioned it again, given the reaction — but they all know it’s true. Even Minho.

Chan severed Minho’s ties with friends he disliked, too. Other friend groups. Childhood friends. He didn’t like Minho having too many friends, because he didn’t like other people pointing things out to Minho. Everybody in their friend group liked and  respected Chan, so they would never talk against him. Chan liked him isolated. His only good friends are Chan’s good friends.

If he’s drunk, he can only call Chan. Nobody else will come pick him up. Chan will do so even at 3am in the morning.

If he’s got some weird little idea in his pretty head again, he’ll call Chan, because only Chan will entertain it. Chan will support him, and even give him some starter money to see where that business venture will go. Usually nowhere — but most of the time he pays him back off from his commission costs.

If he’s sick, Chan will buy him his meds — and lately, even if he needs to vent, he prefers to call Chan over Jisung. 

In his head this would have an expiry date. It all ends once he’ll know Minho doesn’t need him anymore. That there’s somebody out there that will be able to fill his shoes. Keep Minho the way Chan keeps him. Free to do as he pleases, all his whims answered, spoiled rotten under their care.

Admittedly, these thoughts — of doing something to him, of touching him without his consent — don’t even turn him on.

He doesn’t want him limp and unconscious.

He wants him moaning. Willing. Talking back, even while being supposedly asleep. What stimulates him over and over again is that he suspects Minho is awake. It’s almost like he’s hypnotized by the possibility. Drawn to it like a sailor to the sound of a siren.

Maybe it’s how his brain is convincing himself what he’s doing is okay. That what he did isn’t wrong, after all.

But deep inside he knows what it is.

He’s been dancing around a Pandora box. Minho was always inside his reach. All he needed was to take, but he wanted to pretend to be better than that. Now he found a way to open the box, while keeping it shut. He can have him — without actually having him.

And he fucking loves the thought of that.

He’s despicable. 

A disgusting piece of shit. 

He’s beyond repulsed with himself. And he has no idea how he’s able to look at himself in the mirror. 

But every morning, once Minho is awake, his consciousness is clear. 

Minho doesn’t remember shit. 

So Chan decides that he wants to get caught.

Whenever he’d dare to dream of ever hooking up with Minho, he knew he’d be gentle. He knew he’d kiss him everywhere, ask a million times if he’s okay and if he’s ready. Actually, even in his own little fantasies and daydreams, Minho would be a little annoyed with how slow and gentle he’s being. He wanted to treat him right. The way nobody would.

But in reality, all Chan does is take.

He’s rough with him. Downright mean.

He pushes his face into the couch, pinches his nipples until they’re red and swollen, absolutely ruins his gag reflex.

Sometimes he purposely doesn’t let him cum. Minho is very insistent to come over soon after that, as if his subconscious is egging him in on it, and then when he falls asleep, he’s needy as hell. It makes Chan giddy to know he has that sort of control over him.

He might have taken it easy at some point — but sleeping Minho enjoys it, and encourages it.

Chan obsesses over seeing where the line is drawn. Surely there has to be a line somewhere. Surely at some point he’ll open his eyes.

Surely if he’ll pinch his nipples enough, he’ll wake up. Surely if he won’t clean his cum out, he’ll figure it out.

Something has to work.

He longs for it. He wants Minho to kick him off himself. He wants him to actually beat him up — he knows he can. He’s taking boxing classes pretty seriously. Chan knows because he’s paying for it. So a punch on Chan’s jaw. Maybe break a few bones. Tell him he’s a piece of shit.

He wants Minho to tell all of their friends. 

Make a huge scandal out of it. 

Blow it out proportions. He wants him to say that he was awake the entire time. He just couldn’t deny him because Chan has complete control over his life.

He wants them all to drop Chan instantly. He wants them all to look at him like he’s a scumbag, because that’s what he is.

He wants him to go to the police, too. He wants him to put an official statement. 

He wants to lose his job when his superiors find out. Get told to leave mid-day, while everybody watches.

He wants there to be a trial, and he wants to say that he was fully conscious of his actions, and to plead guilty.

He wants to be the monster — because he is.

He can’t bring himself to stop.

He wishes for it when he’s blowing the candles on his birthday cake. He wants it to be over. He wants it to be done. But when everybody leaves the birthday party, Minho stays back to help cleaning. He doesn’t actually help out, they end up talking about a bunch of stuff — some of it serious and some of it isn’t, and when he promptly falls asleep on the couch, Chan carries him to his room, and fucks his brains out for hours. He goes slow on him — excruciating slow — because he likes to hear him beg.

The more time passes, the bolder he gets.

He leaves marks where they can be seen by all.

And Minho always has some kind of an excuse. Mosquito bites. Allergies. Some kind of a phantom diseases. He even goes to the doctor several times.

Chan wonders how the doctor is looking at him. Chan wonders if the doctor is hinting at him that it might be from rough handling or love making. Chan wishes he could be in the room, but Minho never asks him to come with him and Chan doesn’t want to push it.

At times Chan can see him faltering to explain it. Like his brain is pointing in Chan’s direction, but Minho is stubbornly refusing to believe it. He’d even glance his way, eyebrows furrowed, but then immediately dismisses it like the possibility of it is too far fetched.

When they go camping all together, he waits until it’s silent, before getting out of his tent, and heading straight for Minho’s, just inches away from Jisung and Jeongin’s bigger one. He keeps his hand on his mouth when he fucks him. It’s not only Jisung that hears them, though.

In the morning they all complain about hearing thumps after heading to sleep. At some point some of them even poked their heads out, but it was pitch black, and they didn’t hear any other sound, so they all immediately returned to the comfort of their own safe tents.

They make up all kinds of theories. Serial killer trying to lure them out of their tents. Moles under the surface. Some kind of a night bird. Ghosts.

Chan honestly wonders if they’re all pretending, surely by now they’re old enough to know what sex sounds like — and Chan and Minho are the only ones who didn’t hear the mysterious noise.

Just the two of them.

What are the odds of that?

.

He arrives at Hyunjin's one day, to find out Minho had fallen asleep on his bed, since he took too long to choose an outfit.

It leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

He knows Hyunjin. He loves him like a brother. But there’s a part of him that instantly looks at him with contempt.

Does he stroll by Minho’s sleeping form and isn’t tempted? How can Chan be assured of that? How will he ever know no one takes advantage of Minho when he sleeps?

When Hyunjin finally goes to the shower, keeping the door opened so he can still talk to Chan, Chan lowers Minho’s waistband and slides his dick on his ass until he cums, keeping his hand on his mouth — he wipes his dick off on Minho’s underwear, without even checking if Minho came.

He isn’t happy about it, even in his sleep, because he keeps on telling Chan to ‘put it in’ softly.

He’s in a bad mood the entire evening. Lashing out not once, not twice, but three times at Chan for the pettiest things, and keeps scratching his crotch, saying he’s itchy. Even Jisung scolds him quietly in the back seat when Chan is driving them home, telling him he’s being an absolute jerk. Minho pays him no heed.

Chan drops them all off, and then drives straight to Minho’s apartment — even though in the morning they made plans for Minho to crash at his place afterwards. 

He slams the door of the car on him. 

And doesn’t send him a single text the entire week. It’s all sorts of dramatic. 

And amusing.

Next time they meet is at Seungmin’s, nearly two weeks later - to watch a documentary one of his friends filmed and directed. Won an award and everything.

There’s a couple of people Chan doesn’t know there. Some friends from Seungmin’s job.

It’s still cozy though. Everybody brings their own dishes, and there’s not much alcohol or music.

Although Minho doesn’t apologize, he makes Chan’s favorite dish, and after cutting it up, hands Chan the first piece, too. Very honorary.

With Minho the devil is in the details. If you look away for a second, you might miss the entire gesture.

All things considered, Chan hates himself even more. He was the reason for Minho’s bad mood. Perhaps Minho’s subconscious was finally catching up. Trying to fight back. Now Chan is forcing him to grovel before him, acting like a scorned hyung that Minho needs to make amends with.

For the documentary, they sit together on the double sofa, just the two of them. Minho cuddles up to him, and falls asleep, clearly overly comfortable inside the big fluffy blanket over them, and Chan’s body warmth, and the fact that they’ve buried the hatchet.

Chan can tell because his head falls on his shoulder. He shifts a little, to get more comfortable, and rubs circles with his thumb on Minho’s arm.

Minho sighs against his shirt.

Somebody passes by them to get himself another drink.

Somebody’s talking in whispers.

But the majority have their eyes on the screen.

So Chan drops his hand down, onto his waist, and then even lower, to his waist band.

Minho makes a small approving sound, and spreads his legs a little, as if allowing him to do as he pleases.

So Chan reaches out to grab him.

“What are you doing?”

The question is asked out loud, into the quiet of the room.

Everyone turns to the two of them. Including Minho, eyes wide when he looks up to his face. He detaches himself from Chan's body, and leans down the other side of the couch and Chan can tell that he is tense. 

Chan feels himself coloring.

Dread and embarrassment spread down his back into his arms. He actually feels his own balls shrinking from shame. He let himself go. He was so sure he didn’t even check if Minho was actually asleep.

“Ah — sorry, I thought… your thigh. Sorry.”

He sees some girl leaning down to her friend’s ear to whisper something, and Minho leans as far away from him as possible, and sits like that for the rest of the movie.

Most people are back to the screen. Seungmin glances at them twice afterwards, somewhat pensively.

Minho looks a little cautious when he gets into his car. Chan thinks he’ll ask to be driven back to his apartment, but they start talking about his favorite songs and he cheers up almost instantly, though he does end up leaving to sleep in Chan’s spare bedroom when he’s sleepy, which is probably the first time in years.

Chan decides to honor that — at least for that day.

He can’t sleep or shake off the feeling out of his body. He must have passed by the guest room 8 times, until he actually hears his name being called, and he’s pretty sure he’s going to get scolded for not going to sleep, but Minho’s asleep. Humping a pillow that he positioned between his legs.

Chan throws the pillow out of the way, and relieves him best way he knows how, and Minho’s eternally grateful for it, cooing about how good it feels.

That day it feels dirtier. And he leaves the room almost instantly instead of cuddling.

The guilt eats at him. He barely sleeps. 

He wanted this, did he not? To get caught, and get outed for his actions. To face consequences. 

But now that he got a taste of what to come — and it still didn’t stop him, he feels hollow. He thought he was better than this, but he’s not. 

He feels the need to step back away from him, again. 

He doesn’t want him to feel guilty about it, though, so he acts like nothing is wrong. It’s Christmas season, then. The dead of the winter. Seoul is cold and Minho needs a new winter wardrobe. And rent. Because electricity has gone up with the constant heating in the apartment. 

Chan doesn’t touch him once. 

He’s actually very proud of himself. Not when Minho falls asleep in the car while they go Christmas shopping with Jeongin. He stares at him through the rear view mirror in silence, the entire time Jeongin goes out to buy them pumpkin lattes. 

He gets out of the room when Minho falls asleep on the bed next to him, face buried into his chest, because they were spending Christmas together, since the rest of them had families to celebrate with or are coupled up.

He doesn’t sleep, because he’s tempted. God, he’s tempted. His hands shake until morning hits. 

Even when Minho convinces him to stay over, after everybody leave the apartment on new years eve, Chan barely acts.

He’s so needy next to him, begging , moving Chan’s hand on his crotch, so Chan helps him get off, but never touches himself. 

He can do this. He can — stop .

.

Minho enters the code to the door of his penthouse and walks in casually, then feigns surprise when Chan is in his underwear, holding a tub of yesterday’s fried chicken he didn’t finish.

“Jesus, you scared me.” He resumes getting his shoes off, after throwing his bag on the floor of the hallway in Chan’s apartment.

“I scared you? I live here. You just walked in without even calling first.”

“Get over yourself. My apartment got flooded, so I’m staying with you.” He takes his coat off.

“What— What do you mean got flooded, you live on the fourth floor—”

“Pipes burst open. My land lord is livid and saying I clogged them, but I really didn’t, scouts honor —” he totally did. Probably did some weird experiment with cat’s litter, or something of the sort. “So now he also wants me to pay for repairs.” He sighs dramatically, hanging his scarf, too. Chan is going to pay for it, obviously. “Now I can’t live there. It’s a matter of pride. So I’m crushing with you for a bit.”

“For a bit— For how long?”

Minho is already checking to see what’s in Chan’s fridge, paying him no heed.

“Kind of sounds like you don’t want me here, Hyung.” He says after a moment of staring. “No beer?” He turns back to him.

“No. I told you, I’m not drinking anymore— since— I, uh, it’s not that I don’t want you here. Just a heads up would be nice.”

He can’t stay with him.

He can’t.

Chan can do it once a week. He can control himself. Pretend he can’t hear Minho calling his name from his room.

But every day?

For more than a week?

No.

Minho finally looks back at him, giving a nice full once-over. Chan actually feels self-conscious all of the sudden, for standing there in his underwear, so he straightens and looks away from Minho, down on the floor.

“Here,” Minho says, and taps on the bottom of Chan’s chin, lifting it as he does; “Heads up.”

He takes a chicken bit out of Chan’s bucket, and heads to put his stuff in the room.

He doesn’t even hesitate in the entrance to the guestroom, heads immediately for the master bedroom, like he owns this house. And he does, in a way. He owns Chan’s life, just like Chan owns his.

He just doesn’t realize it.

Chan runs a hand on his face.

It’s a weekday, and tomorrow he has a few important things in the morning to tend to, so he can’t exactly stay up until he’s exhausted.

Maybe he can do it.

He hadn’t slept with him for weeks now. Maybe he’s over him. Maybe now that he sated a deep greedy part of him, he can just move on with his life.

Both of them can.

.

Chan grew up in the system and has very little memories of his mom. 

He never even knew if she died or abandoned him, since one day he was just taken there by CPS when she failed to come home for two weeks or two. A missing file has been reported by the neighbors and the landlord. She never turned up. No body - no case. 

He was too small to understand then — but old enough to know that she was a bit frightened of him at times. 

It wasn’t just his mom, though. It was the teachers at the orphanage. The foster families that would take him in every now and then. The other kids. 

He always wondered what exactly gave him away. 

Because he didn’t cry when Simba’s father died during Lion King? 

Because he was the only one who wasn’t scared of cockroaches, and would often pick them to release them outside? Maybe because he broke another kid's hand, when they tried to bully him. Or because he was too good at math and English and kept everything organized and boxy and planned. 

It might be because he often overdid it. 

His biological dad was an old politician that died of a heart attack when Chan was 17 — he has no idea why the guy had even bothered to leave him some money, but it allowed him to have a cushioned start to adulthood. A fresh start, away from the orphanage and the rumors about him. 

And he did right by it. 

He hid in plain sight.

Chan was calculated. He signed up for every scholarship and got himself involved in every social event to make sure he gets the best opportunities. He grinded himself to death the first year of university. He got into stock market meetings, waited at stock exchange conventions to listen to what the rich people are saying about trading — so he could get a down payment on an apartment as early as 25, the minute he’s done with all his schooling.

He picked his friends with tweezers. 

Felix, who was already labeled weird by his peers due to his anxiety and codependency and was just happy to have friends. Hyunjin, that had some kind of classified criminal record, and could potentially never find a proper job. Changbin, that constantly needed to be bailed out after another night of drinking. Jisung who always had problems with money. Jeongin that was perhaps a little too obsessed with death. And Seungmin, who was just like Chan, in too many ways to count. 

They needed Chan, either for his money, or status in school, or the friend group itself. It allowed their oddities or issues to remain invisible, because it maintained a sense of normalcy when looking in from outside, but had there been without a structure to rely on, they would stick out like sore thumbs between normal people.

At first glance, Minho wouldn’t fit in in such a crowd. He seems a little bit too normal. 

But there’s more to him than meets the eye. 

Alcoholic, neglectful mother. No biological dad, but 4 step-fathers, 2 of which are currently in jail. Minho was a bit of a delinquent himself, in high school — but considering his family life, it’s a given. It was minor charges. Theft, blackmail, two violent accounts in highschool. Got a couple of months in juvie. 

It looked like he really turned his life around. Got a scholarship to a good university, was working and studying and trying to make-do despite not having the best start he could’ve had. But that wasn’t entirely true. Minho got smarter after every time he got caught. He evolves and molts every time he needs to, finding the best way to thrive under the circumstances. 

It’s not even that, it’s the way he conducts things.

He’s vindictive, and holds grudges for years — but if he needs something, you’re going to be his best friend. He is never at fault for anything. And if he is, he will find a way to make everybody around him feel shit about it, too. 

The more Chan learns about him, the more he finds him fascinating. 

He watches him sleep sometimes, running his hand on his hair.

Chan never really understood the concept of love — but he thinks it’s very alike to what he feels for Minho. 

In some kind of impossible way, against the odds, he loves him in a way that is probably impossible for somebody like him. 

And he doesn’t want to hurt him.

Minho purrs in his sleep. He enjoys Chan’s touch. He’s used to it. He even sends a hand down to touch himself, because Chan wouldn’t.

When this happens, Chan turns to the window.

Minho spoons him, rubbing his face into his nape.

In the morning, it’s snowing, so Minho wants to sleep in. He actually attempts to keep Chan in bed, by pulling at his shirt and whining that he wants to cuddle and that Chan is warm. They have to actually wrestle for this. 

Chan stays at home and gets a lot of work done until Minho actually gets out of bed. Then, all work is out of the window.

Minho decides to start his day with yoga.

Wearing the skimpiest training shorts Chan had ever seen.

In the living-room. While Chan is trying his best to do a conference call.

And he’s so fucking flexible.

“Since when are you even into yoga?” He’s not sure why his tone comes out slightly accusatory, but he couldn’t focus on his clients at all, and it’s because Minho decided to lift his leg up so high, it reached the stars.

“First of all, it’s not yoga, it’s Pilates.” Minho says while he’s taking himself a drink. He’s not even sweaty. “Secondly, I’ve been doing Pilates for awhile now. Do you think these thighs are natural?”

Chan is forced to look at the said thighs. They’re back to milky clear now. Spotless and perfect, like a baby’s. There’s not a trace on them. A little more than a month ago, they were filled with bite marks and hickeys, especially on the inside, where Chan would take his time to suck on every bit of delicious skin. He remembers how he withered. How he called his name.

Finally he returns his gaze to Minho’s face, sipping from his water; “Well, they don’t look unnatural either.”

“They’re a product of hard work, Hyung.” He sighs dramatically. “All this stretching made me a little sleepy.” He admits, stretching.

It doesn’t even take him 15 minutes, until he’s downed on the armchair.

Not on the sofa, because the sofa isn’t facing Chan, but the armchair. In the most uncomfortable position. One that nearly flashes the inside of his crotch to Chan.

Chan takes a deep inhale and gets up.

He still can do this.

He puts a blanket on top of him and goes back to work.

He’s awake in less than 15 minutes, though.

Chan promises him he’ll cook for lunch, so he’s just bored all over the living room.

At first he’s watching something on TV, while swinging his pretty legs off the back of the sofa idly.

Then he’s watching the snow off the window.

Then he’s showering, but it takes him a whole hour to actually go to the shower. And then he’s back from the shower wearing Chan’s old white shirt, smelling like temptation itself.

God, that’s cruel.

He doesn’t even understand he’s doing it. Otherwise it’s on purpose.

After lunch, Chan gets maybe another hour of work, until Minho decides to sit on the opposite side of the dinning table, sleepy.

He obviously wants attention, but doesn’t know how to ask for it without sounding bratty.

He’s smeared all over the table. Rolling his chin from side to side idly, then reaches out to Chan’s hand and toys with his fingers.

He doesn’t normally initiate skinship like this. Awake. Aware.

It makes Chan’s insides turn into sticky goo.

He interlaces their fingers eventually and lifts their hands together slightly.

Squeezes gently.

Then harder.

Chan doesn’t see the screen. He doesn’t see anything. Only thing he can feel is Minho’s touch on him.

Minho sighs dramatically and finally gets up, but doesn’t remove his hand from Chan’s until he’s just too far away. “I think I’ll go take a nap.” His voice sounds so small; “All that food made me sleepy.”

“Okay.” Chan tells him.

He jerks off furiously in the bathroom, before finally getting back to work.

Next day is even worse.

Chan on purpose sits with his back to the living room, so he doesn’t witness any more Pilates.

But Minho is cooking that day.

So he’s in the kitchen. Wearing an apron. You can’t even see his skimpy little shorts underneath it. It’s all very wrong. He regrets everything. He should’ve faced the living-room today. He’s been tricked. 

Chan should’ve just left for the office, even if it meant a two hour traffic due to the stormy weather.

He calls Jisung. They talk for over an hour. On speaker phone. About dicks. Jisung is rating dicks, and Minho, wiping cream cheese off the rims of the bowl he’s holding only to put it in his mouth, announces festively that it’s been so long since he had a “big juicy cock”, he doesn’t remember the taste of it.

It’s actual torture.

Chan excuses himself to masturbate twice until he finally decides to just move his computer to face the living room.

But then Minho is done cooking, and decides to be a little housewife that cleans up, bending to pick things off the floor and vacuuming, still wearing skimpy little shorts, his pajama shirt that gives him sweater paws and the apron.

When Chan can’t take it anymore and tells him to stop because there’s a cleaning lady that comes in every Monday, Minho dismisses him and tells him it’s the least he can do for letting him stay there.

Chan wants to cry before it’s even lunch time.

He goes to nap straight after lunch, again.

And it’s so perfect just to have him around like that, too. Chan could keep him just like that. A pretty little thing around his house.

He wouldn’t have to work, Chan would provide for his every need.

He wouldn’t even have to get out of the house. He would only need to be Chan’s.

They get along well, together. They find things to talk about it, even if it’s seriously dumb nonsense.

Fuck, it messes with his head.

He waits until Minho is asleep and leaves to the living room, and in the morning, leaves before he wakes up.

He has to. He needs a breather.

Minho sends him a couple of messages asking him when he’ll be home.

When he is home, dinner is ready, and Minho is freshly showered.

When Chan comes to the room to change his clothes, he immediately notices the vibrator.

He used Chan’s lube.

On the bed that they slept in, as friends.

In the room that Chan didn’t mind sharing with him, as friends.

In the house he already rudely invaded, after his own apartment got flooded.

Even Jisung would get upset with him if he pulled that kind of stunt on him.

But not Chan.

He hears Minho coming after him, and turns to the closet automatically, fingers already unbuttoning his dress shirt.

Minho notices his mistake, too. How can you not when it’s glaring pink on top of Chan’s dark gray sheets. He mutters a small “fuck”, and hides both the lube and the vibrator behind his back, and then squints at him, cheeks pink.

“What?” Chan asks, pretending he didn’t see anything, so they can keep the status quo.

“Nothing.” He is immediately back in a good mood, as if he got away without punishment. Practically skips out of the room with the evidence.

It’s not even a big vibrator. Somehow it would’ve relieved him if the vibrator was Chan’s size or bigger. But all the little toys Chan keeps seeing are small. Maybe he thinks he can’t take something big in, because it’s been so long.

He wants to fuck him.

He wants to fuck him so much that he’s strained the entire time they’re having dinner.

He wants to fuck him when they’re watching a show on tv.

He wants to fuck him when Minho falls asleep, rubbing his face into his shoulder.

He heads outside and stands there in the cold balcony for well over 10 minutes.

The snow is nothing but dirty sludge, but Chan thinks about diving into it, face first, to cool down.

He breaks on Friday.

For the stupidest reason, too.

Minho is loitering around the sofa, complaining about being cold for well over an hour. The heat is cranked up to maximum. Chan is literally sweating through his tee, trying to get some work done.

By the fifth time, he just heads to the closet, and finds him a puffy old blanket, then dumps it on the armchair, giving him a stern look.

He’s chewing a snack, sitting with his legs on the coffee table, staring at his phone, when he finally looks up and frowns.

“Why’d you put it over there, when I’m over here?”

It’s literally one hand stretch away from him. “I need to work.” Chan reminds him, and heads back to the table.

“Hyung, are you pissed off at me?” Minho asks after him in a small voice, causing Chan to look back. “You can just say if I’m annoying you. I can crush at Jisung’s.”

He curled his lower lip in, chin lowered, raising his big eyes at Chan.

“I’m not pissed off,” He rubs his face; “but you know where the blankets are, and I really need to finish this report.”

“If you’re not pissed off, then—” He makes a whole effort to stretch his arm. For the blanket. “I really can’t reach it. My arms are too short.”

Chan bursts into a short, half-annoyed laughter. “You’re almost there.”

Minho stretches his hand a bit more, the very tip of his finger almost touches the blanket.

He makes noises, too. As if he’s really straining himself to reach it, when he can just get off his ass.

“All these Pilates lessons, and you still can’t reach it?”

“I don’t like your tone.” Minho says, raising his chin. “Fine. I’ll just move in with Jisung. He’ll never leave me cold. Look at my toes, I’m about to get a frostbite.”

He wriggles his toes.

“Jisung won’t last a day with you in his tiny apartment. He’d boot you out by the afternoon just for tinkering with the heating.”

“Then Hyunjin. He owes me. He’ll be too scared to raise his voice and serve my every whim.”

Something in that really rubs Chan off.

Because nobody, not even Hyunjin will serve his every whim like Chan will and he knows it. “Is that so,” is all he says.

Minho doesn’t look up from his phone, texting somebody. Then getting a reply and curling his finger into a longer hair on his nape; “Oh — Minhyuk-hyung said he’s free and I can come over, if I want.”

“Let me see that,” Chan tries to grab his phone, and Minho immediately clamps the phone to his chest, and glares at him; “Hyung, don’t overstep. I have private conversations with Minhyuk-hyung that I don’t want you to see.”

“About what?”

“About stuff.”

“Are you talking with him right now?”

“As a matter of fact, I am.”

“That’s super weird, because he’s in a meeting with shareholders right now.”

“How scandalous of him to text me during a meeting.”

They stare at each other for a moment.

Chan doesn’t even need the element of surprise to lunge at him. They wrestle a little. Minho actually puts an effort into trying to push him off himself, but it’s only for a moment. Chan overpowers him because he knows how. He bends his arm behind his back until he screams, and pries the phone from underneath him.

“Asshole,” He pushes him off, eyebrows furrowed and face red, clearly upset for real this time. For a second, Chan regrets it, because it’s probably humiliating. He could’ve probably used less strength. There was no need to be that aggressive. 

His last message was to Jeongin, and he just said he can’t hang out because he got a hot date later. He doesn’t see Minhyuk in his inbox. At least not in the last two months.

Chan snorts, and throws the phone back at him. He scrambles to catch it. “That’s what I thought.”

“Give me the goddamn blanket or I’m leaving.” He’s not playing around anymore, his tone is harsh, but Chan can’t hide his amusement.

“Where will you go?”

“To a hotel.”

“With what money?” Chan reminds him, still slightly amused.

“Your money. Which you’ll send once you realize you’re a piece of shit.”

He’s not wrong.

They stare at each other for a long moment, but Chan eventually pushes off the coffee tables, running his tongue against his cheek, picks up the blanket and dumps it on him.

At least he’ll definitely keep quieter now.

He’s already walking back to the table, when Minho says, “Good boy.” in an oddly permissive tone, like this was all a lesson to Chan, and not to him. 

He actually stops on his tracks, but doesn’t turn around.

He watches the back of his head from his spot by the laptop, and soon enough, his head starts drooping. He catches himself once, twice, but the third time he just makes himself comfortable for sleep inside the blanket.

Chan finishes his report in record time and rails Minho into the couch.

He holds him by the hair, too, on his knees, holding both of his hands behind his back. He keeps bending, begging, trying to support himself, but Chan won’t let him until he cums — and then he takes his time.

Fuck, he missed his body.

The warmth of it around his cock.

How easy it is to make Minho shake. He takes off his shirt, just so he could spread kisses all over his back and neck. Every inch of perfect skin.

And Minho missed it, too.

He can tell.

When Chan flips him, so Minho can straddle him while he fucks into him, Minho sighs, and hugs him tight, rubbing his face into his neck.

He’s so compliant and quiet that day, like a shy kitten who's been put to his place. Keeps murmuring into his ear that he wants Chan to cum deep inside.

Chan complies. He is a good boy , after all.

He wakes up for dinner, still seemingly a little on guard with Chan — keeps complaining about feeling like he ran a marathon. Chan was wrong for giving him such a weighty blanket. Chan was wrong for heating up the food he made in the microwave instead of the oven. Chan’s plating is all wrong, too. He should’ve woken him up so Minho could plate it correctly.

He takes a hot shower, and then he’s already yawning, ready for bed, before it’s even 9pm.

Chan isn’t sleepy, but that’s okay — he knows just the right activity to do in bed, even after Minho’s asleep. For hours. If in the afternoon he didn’t really mind the amount of times Minho cum, this time he actively doesn’t let him find release. Every time he’s close, Chan stops and waits, until he’s squirming, running his fingernails on his back. He gets him to raise his voice eventually. Screaming his name, demanding to be let to cum.

That’s better.

As cute as he is coy, he’s much cuter blurting out empty threats.

.

By next week, he’s back to being covered in hickeys, and wondering out loud if his allergies are back.

It took exactly zero time for Chan to pick up where he left off.

He actually doesn’t hold back this time.

It’s not like Minho will wake up.

He understands that it’s dangerous.

He settles the dispute with Minho’s landlord by unloading a thousand bucks on him. It’s probably ten folds the damage Minho has caused, so he agrees to let him live there until his contract is over in April, but he has no plans to extend the invitation for next year's lease, because it’s not the first time and he’s pretty done with his Minho’s antics.

Minho insists that his pride prevents him from stepping foot inside the apartment, and refuses to go back home.

That’s perfectly fine with Chan.

He made his choice.

On Jeongin’s birthday, Seungmin actually asks him if he’s seeing someone.

“What do you mean?”

“You tell me.” Seungmin says, still watching Minho; “He said he lives with you, now.”

“Yeah.”

“Honestly, I don’t want to ask — but he’s all…” he mentions his cup in a circular motion; “Banged up.”

It’s a nice way to put it. Minho’s lip is busted again from when he gave Chan a long blowjob. Chan actually received a work call while he was giving it. Good thing his mouth was occupied, otherwise there’d be no mistaking his moans.

He’s louder than ever.

“Thought he might be seeing someone who is a bit rough with him. He had — um… marks on his neck. Last week.”

Yeah. He guided Chan’s hands to his neck once, so Chan choked him just a little. He got scared almost immediately when Minho started to struggle for air. He liked to power trip, but this was too far for him — even if Minho liked it.

“Felix said — well, I mean, he’s a worrier.” Seungmin rubs his hair; “He suggested maybe he’s err, seeing someone new because he doesn’t want to barge in on you after his apartment thing went through.”

“Nah, he’s at home all day long.”

He realizes the implication of this, once it’s out of his mouth. Seungmin’s expression doesn’t change much, just a curious move of an eyebrow.

“Mostly just experimenting with cooking. He decided to start a cooking tiktok account.” He adds. “Says there’s tons of money in it.”

“Of course, he did.” Seungmin rolls his eyes, distracted by the subject tone. “Anything besides finding a job. God forbid he is actually forced to work.”

Chan avoids answering this, because this is the happiest he has been with his life, ever.

Minho’s job might as well be to make Chan happy, and he truly works around the clock for it. Especially when he’s sleeping.

He knows he’s being greedy.

He knows this will have an expiry date.

At some point he’ll get too cocky, and then this all thing will blow in his face, but that’s fine with him now. At least he gets to have this. The very peak of his life.

He honestly likes working from the office, because he gets to actually meet people face to face, and it gives everybody a good impression, but he was barely in the office the last couple of weeks.

He prefers to stay at home, watching Minho being a little busy bee. He always finds a way to make himself useful in Chan’s house. 

Their house. 

And Chan enjoys watching him.

He also gets to fuck him, the moment he runs out of energy. Which is a lot. He’s always tired, these days. Complains that he’s getting old, without even suspecting that it’s because Chan is using his body like a human flashlight.

He actually started refusing him in his sleep. Saying no, or pushing at him gently. Chan is fine with that and backs down easily, just holding him.

He’s been going at it like an energizer bunny. He needs several minutes, and he’s hard again — he can actually get hard again while he’s still inside of him. He’s aware he doesn’t have a limit when it comes to Minho and if it depended on him, he’d have him every second of every day for all eternity. Maybe some pointers for when he goes overboard are good. 

.

You’d think that all this sex would tire Minho’s libido, but it has the opposite effect on him. Subconsciously, at least. He’s already pretty lewd in his sleep, but it obviously influences him when he’s awake.

He gets a boner just sitting next to Chan and watching a non-explicit make out scene on tv.

Chan wishes he could muster the courage to help. He doesn’t. He excuses himself to the bathroom ‘to poop’. Chan needs to pretend he doesn’t hear his little moans while he pauses the movie, waiting for him to return.

He also crosses his legs whenever Chan takes his time creasing his hair.

Pavlov’s dog king of reactions. His body remembers. 

One day he witnesses him listing to Jisung all the foods he ate, so Jisung can check online if they’re aphrodisiacs — and then they both ponder together what else can it possibly be that keeps Minho beyond horny.

Jisung decides Minho just needs to get laid.

“Maybe it’s because you live with Chan-hyung,” he tells him; “He’s so sexually repressed, your energy is working extra hard to make up for it. Hence the overstimulation.”

Minho snorts.

So does Chan.

That’s fucking funny.

On the day they’re supposed to go out to the club, Minho cancels.

He’s sick.

Chan fucked him until morning. Filled him up with cum until he’s leaking, ass gaping, shaking. His thighs were so sore, he couldn’t get off the bed when he woke up.

Chan brings him breakfast in bed, before work. He seems so content to be served like this and pampered. Happy.

Says out loud he should get sick more often.

When Chan comes back home, he’s asleep, humping a pillow.

So needy.

Like a bitch in heat.

He really can’t get enough. Poor thing.

Chan tries not to get too excited at the implication of this — if he could get him addicted enough to his cock, fucked out and ruined for any other man… maybe he could have him.

There would be no one else for him, anyway. He’d just have to accept it. No matter what kind of monster Chan would be, he would be Minho’s monster. It wouldn’t matter then, if Chan was doing it to him without his consent, while he’s asleep. It would be a mindless decision. Maybe he’d get a little mad, but then he’ll be happy to present his mouth for fucking.

After this, though, Chan keeps finding his little toys all over the house.

In the closet room. On the shelves in the bath. Chan mostly pretends not to notice. One time he comes home from work, and it’s on the counter in the kitchen, right next to a set he set up in the kitchen for his tiktok cooking.

Freshly used, still dripping wet with lube.

Minho catches him holding it, and grabs it out of his hand. 

It’s his new lemon squeezer. 

Like Chan doesn’t know how a plug looks like — or how lube feels like. His face is all red and he immediately disappears in one of the rooms. Busy. Okay, then. Chan lets him avoid him for the next two hours, and when he calls him for dinner, they eat in awkward silence.

Minho knows Chan knows it’s not a lemon squeezer. There’s no denying it. But Chan doesn’t address it. And Minho won’t bring it up either. Almost like they agree to never talk about it, because it’s the first time this has ever happened and for the sake of their friendship, has to be the last. Minho must think Chan is a fool, at this point, because this is ridiculous.

When Chan comes home on Monday, his cleaning lady hands him a butt-plug. She usually leaves before he’s home, but today she must have waited for his return, just to give him an expression of disdain.

She says she found it under the couch.

It’s the paw print one. Chan’s favorite. By its frequent usage, he assumes it’s also Minho’s favorite.

Minho is out with Jisung and Felix in the mall, so he’s not home — but Chan can’t help but wonder what sort of face he’d make if he were witnessing this scene.

She doesn’t say if this has already happened a couple of times — but Chan has a feeling it did, because she stayed until he’s home to give it to him.

Chan apologizes, and hands her another 50,000 won for the trouble.

He puts it in Minho’s drawer, for sake keeping. 

It joins the other buttplug from when they were at the hot springs, last summer.

Chan ought to teach him a lesson, if he’s so neglectful with his toys.

Minho is looking for it everywhere in the evening.

Chan asks him several times what he is looking for, but when Minho just keeps insisting he lost something, he tells him that maybe the cleaning lady trashed it.

He’s very upset about it.

His black lemon squeezer is on the sink in the bathroom, right next to Chan’s electric toothbrush the next day. Shameless. Chan tosses that one in the drawer, too.

And the vibrator turns up, too, around a week later.

Minho shoved it under Chan’s pillow, because Chan came early from work.

He looks for that one for pretty long, too. For days, actually, until he gives up finally. He’s very frustrated.

Now he only has Chan’s cock to turn to.

He’s very thankful for every thrust and every mouthful.

Chan arrives home and notices an opened package in the trash.

He bought two chain bracelets from the same brand. One for himself, since he wanted one — and one for Minho. They weren’t a matching set, per se — a little different from one another, but the brand had a unique signature style so it felt like it’s matching, and it was too expensive to be something everybody around Seoul were wearing casually.

He bought it because when Chan was browsing the site, not really aiming to buy anything, he sat down beside him and started commenting on the ones he liked. Then he saw the price range — especially on the bracelet he liked, whistled, and walked away, dismissing it. Maybe he thought Chan couldn't afford it.

Minho deserved it, though.

Chan had been more away for work, because of a new, extremely important overseas client. The deal is in the millions, and Chan would be stupid not to give it the needed attention he deserves. But perhaps he’s been a bit less attentive to Minho than usual. Awake-Minho gets it. If Chan closes the deal, this means Chan is richer.

Asleep Minho does not.

He’s been very deprived. Not only does he miss his toys, he also doesn’t have Chan around, and he is very vocal about needing more cock. He’s ready to cry for it, if he has to — and Chan really likes to bully him until he crosses a line. The last few days, he’s been using exclusively his mouth, and cumming on his face. Maybe putting in a finger or two. His ass sucks onto it greedily as he tries to grind on them to no avail. They’re not as big as Chan’s cock, they don’t widen him enough and he needs more, more, more .

So when Chan sees the box, he thinks maybe Minho got curious and opened it. He’d be cheeky enough to actually wear it, without even asking if it’s for him, and Chan would let him.

But it is not the bracelets.

He vaguely remembers seeing this company on his credit charges, though.

Minho had been on his case the other week to buy him some new kitchen appliances for his tiktok.

Eventually Chan gave in, and gave him his credit card. But he thought all the appliances were already at home. They drove to get the big mint colored kitchenaid from the store on Saturday. And the specialty tools for making pasta also arrived, Chan helped him assemble it the other day.

He googles the name on the wrapper he finds in the box, because it has the words “pleasure wand” on it.

It’s a prostate vibrator. A bigger one. Which he bought secretly. On Chan’s credit card.

“What’d you buy, kitten?” He asks after Minho greets him after a shower.

“Just some kitchen stuff for my tiktok.”

Thing is there is no tiktok account.

He’s been so busy with it, Chan thought he’s actually serious about it for once. But then Felix told him that he keeps asking about the name so he can subscribe and support him, but Minho just waves his hand and tells him he’s collecting videos for now and will start posting once he has enough. 

It’s been months . 

And honestly, Chan wouldn’t have minded. It amuses him to no end that he lies about finally being serious about something, just so Chan can buy it for him.

“How many followers you have there, already? Seems like it’s doing well.”

“Just okay. It’s kind of flopping.” He seems in a very good mood. Probably fucked himself raw while Chan was gone at work.

Oh, how he wishes he could see it. Awake-Minho, bouncing off a dildo. 

Did he buy all those brand new appliances just as a rouse? So he can hide his expensive sex toy between all the purchases? If he was more careful and if Chan was less nosy, maybe Chan wouldn’t even know.

But now he knows.

He could’ve just asked for a money transfer. Chan would’ve given him any sum of money, no questions asked.

But he had to push it. He had to buy it on Chan's credit card. It's almost like he wants him to see. Maybe he bought appliances, and decided to buy just one more vibrator.

“That’s really weird.” Chan says; “All your meals are really delicious.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Minho doesn’t sound sad, just sounds like he’s rehearsing a practiced line. But then he lifts his eyes off his phone and catches himself, immediately straightening. “Guess sometimes it’s just not meant to be. We can return the kitchen aid, I guess. It was pretty expensive. I kept the box.” He looks away promptly.

Never wanted the kitchenaid, after all. Damn.

“It’s fine.” Chan snorts; “Don’t give up yet. Maybe you just need to make one viral video.”

Minho sighs dramatically; “Yeah, maybe.” He heads to plop down on the couch; “I’m actually very sensitive and all this emotional turmoil is hurting my confidence and affecting my mental health. I’m exhausted.”

Chan snorts. He’s exhausted because he probably toyed with himself for hours. Not because of his mental health.

He’s asleep before 10pm comes around, and Chan pulls down his underwear and takes off his shirt.

He likes it when he’s fully bare before him. There’s really nothing he can hide from him, now. Chan can see it all.

He can tell that he used his ass well, a couple hours ago. A good warm bath softened the area up further.

Then he lets him fuck his new toy which he conveniently just shoved into the drawer of the stand in his side of the bed. After he cums, Chan fucks him. And after that, he and the toy both get to share Minho’s greedy little ass. One thrust for Chan, and one for the toy — all while Chan holds onto his hands, so he doesn’t touch himself.

Chan doesn’t stop until he finally admits that he likes Chan’s cock better.

He already knew that — but he still wanted to hear it out loud.

.

Hyunjin’s birthday comes up along with a museum grant for some of his art restoration projects, and they’re all invited over for for a black tie event.

Minho acts like he can’t come because he doesn’t have a suit. Tells Chan to have fun and drink some champagne for him. Which in brat language means ‘buy me a suit, or else I’m not going.’

Chan takes Minho to buy him a suit, under the guise of buying himself a new one, although Chan has an Armani one which he’s been wearing for special occasions.

The more suits Minho tries on, the more clerks gather around their booth, eyeing him.

He’s such a looker. He makes the models on the ads around the store look like just some men. And all the while, he keeps fretting over Chan. Opening a button on Chan’s dress shirt, slapping a clerk's hands off of Chan, when the poor woman tries to help him with his cuffs so he could do it himself, telling Chan how much he liked the navy suit on him other than the gray one.

It’s almost like an ego trip.

When he starts dressing up in Chan’s closet room on Saturday next to the mirror, Chan stands there like a deer caught in the headlights.

His body is lean and his back is poised straight. Everything looks good on him, but a tailored suit is truly devastating. He always sees him around the house, wearing shorts or sweats, but now he looks like he should be a trophy husband of a dirty rich oil tycoon, spend his weekends in the most expensive hotel in Dubai, gambling and gossiping with the capitalist elites of the world.

But instead, Chan gets to have him.

He hopes he’ll magically fall asleep in it just so he could take it off as meticulously as Minho put it on, but Minho already said that he will cherish this suit with his life, because it’s the most expensive thing he owns.

It actually gets him longer than Minho to dress up, because he keeps pausing and stalling so he could look at Minho.

When he finally comes out, after Minho has already called to confirm that they’re driving Jisung, he helps Chan fix his collar, clicking his tongue. “Maybe we’re overdressed, Jisung said he wore a white shirt and some tailored pants he had around.”

“No, it’s fine. You look good.”

Minho’s eyes skirt to his, and he attempts not to smile, because that would mean he’s flattered.

He looks down suddenly; “No belt?”

“I gained a little weight.” Chan admits. It’s barely noticeable, but he thought maybe the belt would be an overkill.

“Go wear a belt.” He pushes at him, checking his watch; “We have another 10 minutes to spare before Jisung gets impatient and calls Felix.”

Chan sighs and heads to the closet. He might as well also give Minho the bracelet. Now is a good time. He didn’t want to give it to him out of the blue. He’s been keeping both of their bracelets inside his secret drawer.

He wears the belt first, then opens the drawer and wears his own first.

Technically, it won’t be as noticeable because of the suit, as he’s trying to fasten it, his eyes land on Minho’s toys. His three buttplugs are there and his purple vibrator — but also the pleasure wand. The one he recently bought.

Chan snorts, because surely, he would’ve remembered putting it there.

And he didn’t.

He was actually fine with him using it. It was bought with Chan’s credit-card, and it has been called inferior to Chan, so Chan allowed it. Last he seen it, it was shoved between the mattress and the wooden bed frame. And that was yesterday.

He furrows his eyebrows.

He tries to remember if he was tired — maybe he just took it to the drawer automatically, but he can’t recall that either. He picks up Minho’s bracelet box, and immediately finds it lighter. Pure platinum is pretty heavy.

He opens it just to confirm it. The box is empty.

It’s possible the maid had found the drawer, but Chan honestly doubts it. She cleans up very superficially in Chan’s closet. Sometimes he wonders if she expects to find a dead body inside one of the drawers.

Minho’s already at the door, in his coat; “Hyung, how long does it take to put a belt on?”

“Sorry,” Chan says, taking the coat off of Minho’s hand and shrugging it on before picking up his car keys, and watching his face.

In the elevator, Minho talks about the nasty weather, and the way he hates dress shoes.

In the car, he keeps fixing his pants.

“It’s so uptight, it keeps getting into my butt crack.” He complains finally, pulling it down. “And I’m horny as fuck, on top of it.” He lifts his hand up for the grab handle, and Chan hears the jingle of it.

A metallic sound of a bracelet.

He doesn’t dare to glance over, until he’s stopped at a red light — and it is. It is his bracelet. On his hand.

Minho was just adjusting his crotch inside his pants again. He doesn’t even move his hand away hurriedly. He’s hard. Probably needs to have his fill. Chan didn’t fuck him last night, because Jisung was over, sleeping in the guest room. The heating in his house is dead. Chan dropped him off at work in the morning, and when he came back home, Minho was wide awake, and jittery.

He’ll act proper when he’s with people, but he’s gotten too comfortable while living with Chan, because Chan will just pretend he didn’t see, right?

But there’s no way he’d act normal if he found the drawer. 

He wouldn’t be able to. 

Nobody would be able to. 

All the incriminating papers. The lock of hair. The underwear. His iphone. Surely it was a shock. 

Chan did not give him that bracelet. There were other stuff there he might have recognized as well. Little trinkets that Chan should have never kept.

He would’ve remembered if he did. He wanted to make it special. He wanted it to be a thing.

His head is spinning. He shouldn’t be driving.

“It’s because of my dreams.” Minho says all of the sudden. “I keep having the most unhinged dreams.”

“Dreams,” Chan repeats after him, and maybe it sounds like a question.

“Yeah.” Minho says; “Some really — vile stuff. And my body feels… so weird because of it. I’m just always horny. Hyunjin said it’s because I drink a lot of soy milk and it has estrogen in it, and estrogen makes you horny, but me and Jisung googled it, and it’s definitely not that. Seungmin says it’s early male menopause. Because apparently that’s a thing.”

Why is he talking to him about this now?

Chan was never his best friend, the way Jisung and Hyunjin were. The type of friend that helps you bleach your asshole. That was never them. Chan was always a little nervous with him. A little too eager. And he’s sure Minho had felt that. He remembers a time where Minho was scared to stay alone with him. And although that had definitely changed — they were still a bit off. From the start.

At least in Chan’s head, they were.

If he’s telling it to him now, mentioning names of other guys left and right, it’s because he had already told everybody, though. This is an actual big issue.

“So I’m the last one you tell,” Chan says it out loud, before he can help himself.

Minho doesn’t say anything for a moment, and then, after awhile, says; “Look, I’m sure you were wondering about, the uh — the buttplug thing. Back before. Like a month ago. I’m sorry I left it on the counter. You’ve been such a good sport about it, I feel bad I never mentioned it or apologized. Especially when I live with you — I just don’t know what’s going on with me lately. I feel like my body’s constantly on fire, and those dreams are driving me nuts.”

Chan isn’t sure if he’s pretending or trying to drive him crazy, or if he’s the one who's crazy after all.

“Dreams.” Chan repeats again. “They’re not dreams.”

“What?” Minho half-laughs, but it sounds nervous.

“What if they’re not dreams?”

Minho is quiet.

Chan glances at him, very briefly, and he’s staring ahead. Not at Chan.

“What do you mean they’re not dreams?”

“Who are you fucking in your dreams ?”

"I never said I was fucking anybody—” Minho stops talking, and then snorts; “I must have spoken in my sleep, huh?”

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Who are you fucking?”

“Why does it matter?”

“You’re fucking me.”

“I’m not fucking you.” Minho says, his tone oddly contrary.

“So who are you fucking then?”

“Not you.”

Right. Chan minds the road, tightening the grip on the wheel. 

“Lee Minhyuk.” Minho finally admits; “I have a stupid embarrassing crush on him. I know he’s taken—”

Chan starts laughing.

“If I said your name, it’s because — in my dreams he keeps telling me to call him like that. Over and over again.”

“Is that so?”

“Why are you using that tone?”

“What tone am I using?”

“A condescending one. It’s freaking me out.”

“I’m freaking you out?”

“Yes. I’m sorry about the — I probably should’ve told you I’m having some weird issue before.” He takes a deep inhale. “And it’s weird you never called me out on it, to be honest.”

“What would I need to call you out on?”

“If I keep whispering your name, in my sleep? You don’t find that weird? You were just fine with it?”

“I mean, considering you weren’t actually sleeping and you knew exactly who's on top of you…” He parks the car in front of Jisung’s building, using the back of Minho’s seat to prep himself to see the back of the car more properly.

“What are you insinuating, exactly?”

“I’m not insinuating anything.”

“That you were having sex with me while I was asleep?” Minho finally says it, but his voice sounds shrill and it forces Chan to look at his face.

And he does look somewhat spooked. Actually a little bit red, too.

He puts the car on parking without taking his eyes off of him.

Minho looks away from him, and shakes his head. He’s breathing through his nose, but it’s loud. “I know you wouldn’t do that to me.”

Chan waits for a moment, but he refuses to turn back to Chan. 

“Especially when you know — you know I sleep soundly — you know I…” He trails off, and Chan wonders if right now, images keep flooding and all the dots start to connect. 

He desperately wants to see his face, but he doesn’t face him. 

“Where did you get that bracelet?” He realizes that’s his only proof.

If Minho knows about the drawer — then he must have been awake the entire time.

Otherwise, nothing would make sense.

“What do you mean?” He immediately touches it.

“Did you take it from the drawer?”

“What drawer? You gave it to me.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes you did — it came in the mail, and you gave it to me — what are you saying, exactly? That I stole it? Because—”

The door opens, and Jisung slides into the back seat.

“You could’ve — like… honked, or something.” he sniffs.

Chan turns to the wheel.

Now his head is really spinning.

“What’s up?” He asks, carefully, clearly aware that him entering the car ended the conversation. When none of them replies, he says; “Shouldn’t we drive? We’re kinda late.”

Minho clears his throat, like he’s trying to get rid of a lump in his throat. A lump that Chan put there. “Yeah, we should drive.”

Chan takes another moment to just get a hold of himself, before taking the car off of parking.

“So what’s up? Are you guys fighting? If you get a divorce, I’m staying with Chan.”

“We’re not. Everything is fine.” Minho says.

Chan glances at him, but he’s looking out of the window.

“Did your heating get fixed?” He clears his throat again.

“Not yet.”

“Want to stay with us today, again?”

“Y-yeah.” Jisung says slowly, and doesn’t comment on it again.

He obviously asks, because he doesn’t want to stay alone with Chan again.

He avoids him the entire time that evening.

And when they’re back home, he tells him he’ll sleep with Jisung in the guest room before Chan can even ask to speak or explain himself.

Chan lets him have a moment and tells him he’ll sleep on the couch. They can talk in the morning.

He doesn’t sleep.

He just tries to make sense of it all, but can’t.

The only logical explanation is that he is crazy. Absolutely mad. Totally off the rails.

Which is not something he didn’t see coming.

It’s just that he didn’t know whatever he had could manifest in such ways. 

Maybe he has some kind of dissociative disorder that makes him lose time. Maybe a personality disorder. Or worse, his brains are so jumbled up, he can’t keep track of what he does or how he does it.

He hopes to talk to Minho in the morning, but his bag is packed and he’s leaving with Jisung, and he just won’t meet his eyes.

.

Chan has no idea why he comes to Felix’s party.

Perhaps because he wants to see Minho. Perhaps because he knows that at some point there will be a restraining order against him. Perhaps because he might actually be admitted somewhere and never see him again — and he just wants to see him. One last time.

And see Minho he does.

It’s been less than a week since they last saw each other, but it felt like eons.

He’s been mulling it over for days until he finally booked an appointment. He needs to be diagnosed. He needs to know what he has.

Now he questions it all. 

He questions if Minho had even been talking during their nightly activities, or if he’s convinced himself he were — if he deluded himself he was talking so he could have an excuse to do it. He questions half of the things he’s done were done by him, or if they were actually allergies. Questions if he was capable of hurting Minho like that, or if he’s convinced himself. Maybe he haven’t touched him at all. 

Maybe he just imagined it all. It was all in his head. 

Chan hopes that. Chan hopes that this was his delusions. How much easier this would make everything, wouldn't it? If he was just hallucinating things, and projecting them on Minho.

He went last night, straight after work. But it was not as easy to open up before a strange bald man, as Chan thought it would be. He imagined it would pour out of him all at once. It didn’t. He was strained to talk about his family. He remembered small bits and pieces of his mom. The man was squeezing it out of him, and when the topic of Minho came up, he totally shut down.

He didn’t know what he was expecting — that he’d walk into the room, ask to be admitted to a loony house, because he’s dangerous both to himself and his surroundings?

But the man told him to come next week, and the week after that, and they’ll figure it out.

Chan thinks maybe he’ll just figure it out, if he’ll just keep coming — the way others do. That there’s something wrong with him. That he’s not normal. That he’s disturbed.

But here he is. At Felix’s party. 

Minho is still the prettiest thing in the world — and Chan is still the monster under his bed.

He’s laughing at something Changbin is saying, raising a beer cup to his mouth, and Chan sees the bracelet on his hand.

He actually touches it, feeling it around his wrist, as if out of a habit.

He's been wearing it, then. That piques a small hope in Chan that maybe he could still make amends.

When he finally notices Chan, he seems a bit shocked — and then he looks away. 

Maybe not.

Chan goes to hug Felix, and talks with him for a while.

Just a pleasant conversation.

Chan’s head is blank the entire time, though. He keeps thinking how he can just — talk with him.

Just to apologize.

Just to explain that it’s all a horrible mistake he made — He knows he shouldn’t do that, though. He knew what he was doing. Now he needs to face the consequences.

But that doesn’t make him yearn any less for Minho.

Nothing would.

Jisung notices Chan’s bad mood, mid conversation.

“You good?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re not mad I woke you up like seven times during the night?”

“What night?”

“When I was sleeping over? On Saturday.”

Chan vaguely remembers Jisung walking around the apartment and asking him if he’s sleeping, smelling like cigarette smoke.

“I had a fight with Jeongin, and it stressed me out, and when I’m stressed, I smoke like a coal-powered train. We’re not hooking up, by the way, I’m glad you asked.”

Chan chuckles.

“So not mad?” 

“No, not mad.”

“Good. Because Minho has been giving me shit about it for a week. So testy.”

“About what?”

“About waking you guys up. You know how he is.” He waves his hand dismissively. “He wakes up when a pin drops on the floor. God forbid, I walk out of my room — and he can’t sleep all night. His door was literally closed. I don’t know how he heard me.”

“No, he doesn’t.” Chan snorts.

“What?”

“He doesn’t wake up.”

“Of course, he does. He says he got that from when he was sleeping with some druggies his mom would bring over. It’s a whole trauma thing. ”

Chan snorts because that’s funny, but then his ears are ringing when he realizes Jisung isn’t joking.

“No, he isn’t — he says that he can sleep through a nuclear war.”

“Nah, he’s a light sleeper. I dormed with him for two years, hello? Dude, he was sleeping at your house and you never noticed?”

At this point even Felix and Seungmin who were sitting beside them tuned into the conversation.

“He told me you danced with pots and pans around him, and he didn’t wake up.”

“Hyung, not again.” Seungmin sighs; “You have to stop blindly believing everything he says. He really has you wrapped around his little finger—”

“I kind of agree with Seungmin on this. I feel like he’s preying at you, at this point — oh.” Jisung stops talking. He's looking directly behind Chan, and when Chan looks behind him, he sees Minho showing him ‘cut it out’ signs on his throat, before promptly stopping and turning back into conversation with one of the girls girls.

Chan looks back at Jisung, because his brain feels broken.

Not again. 

Jisung and Seungmin go back and forth trying to tell Chan to just stop being friends with Minho for a while until he cleans up his act, and then Minho tells them to mind their own business, sounding very unlike a victim of assault, standing directly behind Chan. Chan can barely hear them. He’s not present in that conversation.

At some point, Jisung finally goes to greet Jeongin, who just turned up.

Minho slides his hand down from his shoulder, to his chest.

He can tell that it’s Minho’s hand right away.

Nobody at that party would dare to touch him like that — like he knows his body.

He leans into his ear.

“Come on, babe.” He whispers; “Did you really think I’d stay asleep through your cock slamming inside of me? Give yourself some credit, with that size, it’d wake the dead.” He kisses his cheek, then straightens and heads to greet Jeongin, too.

Chan isn’t sure when he gets up and walks out of the party without saying goodbye to anybody — it might have been an hour since then, and it might have been minutes. He can’t tell. He can still feel Minho’s kiss on his cheek, though.

He’s about to get in his car, when Minho comes out behind him. He must have ran out after him, because Chan wasn’t walking purposely slowly.

He pauses, though, and just stands there, like he needs to get an okay.

Chan gives him a long look, but doesn’t say anything, and climbs into the car.

He waits for a moment, and Minho opens the door and climbs into the passenger seat.

They don’t say a word to each other — until they’re in the elevator of Chan’s building.

Minho had been staring at him the whole ride, openly, as if he expected him to flip out or start yelling. He didn’t dare to start a conversation, though, and Chan didn’t know where to start — he didn’t know what to say.

He hesitates entering into the elevator after him for some reason, but eventually goes in and stands on the exact opposite side, leaning on the wall in front of Chan. 

Chan wonders if he’s expecting a punch. 

If he was confident, before, he seems almost to go in on himself, slightly scared. When he raises his eyes at him, they’re big like plates and Chan realizes that all he really wants to do is to kiss him. 

“Are you mad?” He asks, finally, almost like he can’t wait anymore, even though they’re literally moments away from the apartment. 

“No.” Chan says. 

Two seconds pass, and the elevator arrives to his penthouse floor. Chan pushes off the wall and heads to open the door of the apartment.

“You’re right not to be mad.” Minho tells him, right behind him the entire time. “You did take advantage of me. If I was sleeping.”

“But you weren’t.”

The door opens. Chan pushes at  it, then turns to look back at him. 

Let him enter first, of his own accord, into the house that they’ve shared together this past few months. 

Minho notes this, raises his chin and walks in.

“But you didn’t know that. And you kept on fucking me — way past the moment it was okay. That’s so convoluted of you, Hyung.” He judges, turning around to him, and leaning on the back of the couch.

Chan pushes the door closed, until it slams shut, but keeps his eyes on Minho.

Minho grows uncomfortable almost immediately, realizing he’s all alone, and nobody can hear him scream here. Nobody heard him before. 

“You’re not weaseling yourself out of this by guilt tripping me again.” 

“But your guilty face was so delicious.” Minho melts at once, like he’s the one who can’t help himself with Chan and not the other way around, then bites his lower lip; “The way shame mixed in with fear. I get hard just thinking about that.” He touches his crotch. 

Chan needs a moment to digest that, and how it makes him feel. Strung up like a string. 

“Next time you gaslight me like that, I’ll screw your pretty little head right off. I’m not joking.” He uses a stern voice to say this too, just to make sure it comes across correctly, because he’s not longer sure where the boundary line exists. 

Minho presses his lips together, trying to appear more serious, even though Chan can tell he’s straining not to smile. “Okay.”

“A fucking year…” Chan says that mostly to himself. He feels like even if he was fucking Minho anally, Minho was fucking him back, in a way. Fucking his brain. Messing with him and rewiring every neuron until it’s all just scrambled eggs. 

He’s not sure if he’s relieved or conflicted. If he’s scared or happy. 

He was never in control. Not even once. For a whole year. Minho had the reins the entire time, puppeteering him. 

“To be fair, I did try to just tell you a couple of times at the start there — even on the morning of the first time, in Changbin’s place. But you kept acting like such a coward every time, always running away — it was fun to see you stomping all over your high morals and forgetting all about them a moment later.” 

Chan feels as if somebody threw cold water down his back, when he remembers Changbin’s apartment, and the sofa.

He remembered how hard it was to look in the mirror after that. How evil and dirty he felt — now he feels almost… defiled himself in a way. 

“Then I wondered — how clear I can make it to you until you break.”

“You never made it clear enough. Just opening your eyes would’ve been enough, but you’ve never done that.” 

“Let this be a lesson to the both of us, where our red lines are crossed.” Minho leans down to the . “I went too far fucking with you with the bracelet, which is a damn shame. I was hoping to mess with you a little more,” He curls his lip; “But you took too damn long giving it to me. And I really needed to wear it. So ultimately, it’s all your fault.” He sighs softly, almost affectionately, caressing the bracelet. 

“I wanted to ask you out properly.” It comes out of his mouth before he can help himself; “I thought maybe if…” He trails off. His brain is so jumbled up he’s not even sure what was going on in his head the last few weeks. He’s been so busy making sure Minho is fucked out and needy that reality sort of slipped out of his grip. He was sure that Minho was so addicted to his cock, that he’d say yes to any proposition Chan had on his lips —  he thought that he’s so ruined, that nobody else could have him anyway — he could be his.

Minho makes a small huff from the back of his throat, like he doesn’t want to laugh. “Probably would’ve burst out laughing if you did ask me out of the blue — after you’ve fucked me sideways in every hole I have in my body.”

Chan isn’t angry. He doesn’t have the right. 

But he’s not sure what he’s feeling either. 

It’s not remorse. He rarely — if ever — feels remorse for his actions.

Minho meets his gaze easily.

“Well, I guess there is some poetic justice in it. You broke it, you bought it.” Minho adds, 

“Are you really not scared of me?” Chan asks carefully, taking a step closer; “After seeing the drawer?” 

Minho considers the question for a moment; “I was at first. Rather than scared — I was more stumped about how much you know about me. How much control you have over my life. How long you knew me before we ever met — How you can just remove people from my life the minute you decide you don’t like them. Even Jisung… you planned everything around me becoming friends with him.” 

Chan opens his mouth to oppose this, almost out of habit but Minho lifts his hand; “I know you did. And if that didn’t work, you had Hwang Hyunjin who also was in Juvie — not sure what exactly you were planning to do there. Make us bond over the fact that we were both diagnosed kleptomaniacs?” 

Chan swallows a lump in his throat. It took a while to get hold of Hyunjin’s file since it was classified — but he needed to add people to the friend group carefully, so he was plan B for Minho to befriend. He didn’t want to ruin the balance he created. An environment where Minho can thrive in and come back to when all his other friends have disappointed him. Hyunjin, ultimately, was a good addition. And Chan stopped worrying over him. He got rid of his files, when he realized he doesn't need them anymore. Years ago. He had enough ammunition against Hyunjin and the Juvie file didn't even matter anymore, and he was confident Hyunjin would never go against him.

“When — when did you see the drawer, exactly?” 

“For the first time? Oh, I don’t know.” Minho dismisses him; “I was still in college — but you had just moved into this place after your first bonus.” He looks around the living room; “And left me here all alone one Saturday. In your big little mansion. With all your stuff. Obviously I’d snoop around.” He takes a long deep inhale. “I used to break into rich people’s houses for free loot in high school — I found that drawer like ten minutes in. You’re way more transparent than you think you are. At least to me.”

Chan remembers how he drew back from him almost completely at that time — kept finding reasons for somebody to be present in the room when Chan was there with him, and would try to avoid conversations. 

“But then… it started slowly dawning on me how easy my life had been going at the time… everything I ever wanted, I got. You got it for me. Nobody ever liked me that much to go to such lengths for me. Not even my mom. And here you are — putting people in jail for me, making sure I’m happy. Keeping all these sentimental little things from me. A copy of my diploma. My hair. My toys . It was actually kind of romantic… ”

“Jesus.” Chan half-snorts, putting a hand on his face. He feels like the word is lost in context. He trudges past Minho to sit down on the couch because his knees feel weak. 

It takes Minho a moment to follow him and he sits on the coffee table, so they can face each other on the same eye level — and for the longest time he doesn’t even speak, just watches his face. 

“You and I — we’re not the same.” He finally says; “But we are a little alike. We hide well between people, but there’s only so much you can play pretend to be normal. I kept wondering why would you do all of this, and never even take the bait, and I gave it to you on a silver platter, too many times to count.”

“I just thought — think — that you deserve somebody who is less fucked up.”

Minho looks different now, in the morning light of the living room. Like it’s a different Minho. Like somebody replaced him. He’s just as attractive, but he feels a little more dangerous, and Chan can’t decide yet if he likes it or not.

He takes a deep inhale, a smug little smile resting on his lips and then gets off his spot, and pushes him back onto the couch, so he could straddle him. 

“That’s what I thought too,” He sighs dramatically, running his hands through Chan’s hair, so he’s forced to look up to his eyes; “That’s why I decided to show you I am worthy of you.”

“Worthy of me.” Chan repeats after him, like an echo, alien even to his own ears. 

“I don’t want somebody who is less fucked up than me. I want you.”

Chan waits for a second, almost as if he’s waiting for a punchline to that, but when there’s none, he says; “What about Lee Minhyuk?” 

“Oh,” Minho bristled; “Honestly I felt a little embarrassed when I couldn’t keep quiet while you were eating me out — and then you looked a bit too happy with yourself. I decided to humble you.” 

Chan laughs, because he didn’t sleep a couple of nights after that. 

“And then you’d get mad every time I’d say his name, so I kept repeating it, just to get you all fired up.” He bends down for a kiss, and Chan can’t believe he can just do that — kiss Minho like that, when he’s awake, aware, with his eyes wide open. 

It feels like a dream. 

His lips taste exactly the same, and his body feels exactly the same — but somehow it still feels a bit sweeter than any other time.  

“Although I am a bit sad. I had so much plans for you, and now Jisung busted my entire ploy. I’ll have to up my game, if I want something.”

“Or you could just ask.”

“What would be the fun in that?” He gives him another peck. And then another one the jaw.

Chan pushes his hips into his crotch, until he hisses, shoving his face into Chan’s cheek as he wraps himself around him. “By the way, I was going to make up with you anyway. My lease is over next week, and the landlord already called me a sociopath to my face. ” 

“Oh no. That creep. I’ll help you move tomorrow.” Chan kisses his temple; “You’re better off here, anyway.” 

“Yes.” Minho sounds extremely content with Chan’s response. 

They make out softly for a second, before Minho suddenly, purposefully, bites onto his lip — painfully. Enough to draw blood. 

Chan immediately pulls away from him, finger raising to touch his lip to check if it’s actually busted, but Minho stops his hand, and licks the blood off, smiling. “Sorry. Did that hurt?” 

“I’m going to fuck you now.” Chan isn’t sure why his blood on Minho’s tongue even turns him on. “And you’re going to keep your eyes wide open the entire time.”

“Okay,” He follows up with an eager kiss on his cheek, and then on his cheekbone, rolling his hips down; “Let’s do that.” 

.

Jisung calls him just when he’s having dinner.

It’s actually been awhile since Chan spoken to him, actually, so he doesn’t hesitate to answer.

“Hey, Hyung.”

“Hey dude, what’s up?”

“Nothing much.” He sounds a little hesitant and it follows a long silence.

Chan wonders if he got into debt again. This would be a forth time this year. Chan doesn’t mind loaning him some money every now and then, he knows all about his gambling addiction — but honestly, usually the money he gives him lasts for awhile.

“You coming on friday?”

“Yeah. Do you need a ride?”

“Yes. That would be great. Are… you… umm going to drive Minho?”

“Yes?” Chan laughs. “Why?”

“Nothing much.” He repeats, and then finally empties it out; “To be frank, Hyung, I’m a little bit worried about him. Is he at home?”

Chan looks at the empty seat next to his on the table. Minho’s food is getting cold. But he couldn’t wait until they were done eating. He had to get his fill.

“Uh, yeah. He’s around here somewhere.”

“And is he— okay? He hasn’t been answering his phone since we returned from Busan. It’s been a little less than a month, but we usually talk once a day, or at the very least once a week.”

“Huh.” He looks around and easily detects Minho’s phone on the counter. “Well he has been very busy since we came back…” Chan admits.

They went to a weekend in a spa resort in Busan, which was relatively tame. Most of the time they just ate, and got massages or hung around the unique pools and saunas the place had to offer. For Minho and Chan though, it was an opportunity to see where they can fuck without getting caught.

They got caught.

At least three times.

And every time, Chan didn’t stop.

Minho’s eyes would roll back from pleasure at that, cheeks and ears red with embarrassment and thrill.

“He’s very serious about the tiktok thing.” Chan adds to it, when the silence stretches, and there’s only the wet sound from below grabs a handful of Minho’s hair and shoves him deeper on his dick, so he stays quiet. “He’s been barely home because of that.”

“Is that really why , Hyung?”

“What do you mean?”

“Because — I don’t know.” Jisung is obviously pacing around his apartment, because Chan can hear his steps. “I know it’s none of my business, but are you guys still dating?”

“Yes.” Chan immediately assures him.

One of the condition of Minho fully moving in with Chan was to tell the friend group they are dating, just so he wouldn’t use it against him at some point. So all things considered, they’ve been dating for more than half a year now. At least publicly.

In reality, Chan thinks of their connection as something more — spiritual . Chan wouldn’t want to say they’re soulmates, because that would be too cheesy, but it’s not something anybody around him would be able to understand. Nobody would truly understand them, even if he explains it in the most coherent way. He refuses to have it any other way, now that he knows that it exists. Every single day he wakes up to a new sick little game that makes his toes curl. Every single day he is engaged and challenged. Every single day is heaven. 

Minho weasels himself into situations that even he doesn’t know how to get out of, just to see what will happen if he presses the wrong button.

It’s an eternal power struggle — and if Chan relaxes or loses his focus for just a second, he loses. And he doesn’t like to lose.

“Okay. Okay. And do you guys — talk? About stuff?”

“What?” Chan half laughs, mostly because Minho slurps, tongue slippery and long.

“He just— I mean, I’m sure it’s nothing. He just said some stuff — to me and Felix. During the weekend.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Just — he probably exaggerated.”

Oh.

Oh, no.

Chan looks down.

Minho is still latched onto his cock, sitting on the floor between his legs, head leaning on his thigh. His cheek stretched from trying to contain Chan’s cock in his mouth, but he’s looking up, curious.

Chan should’ve known. He’s been far too horny and accommodating lately, and when he’s horny, it usually means he’s winning.

“What’d he say?” He runs his hand on Minho’s hair, drawing it out of his eyes. Minho pulls away from Chan’s dick, letting it slip out of mouth, his fingers are cold, and he has to use his entire hand to hold Chan upright so he can run a tongue on his length, and then dig himself into the base of his crotch, fitting his nose into his balls.

He runs his tongue down his length again as Jisung speaks; “Just. I know it’s nonsense. Sometimes he says stuff just to make drama. So I just want to know you guys are okay. And that he’s okay. Because he’s not answering his phone. He doesn’t even answer Felix. And you know Felix, he — worries . And he’s made me paranoid too.”

Felix called him last night to make small talk. Chan didn’t think much of it, just that he was either lonely or bored again, but it was a rather long conversation, and at some point Felix made him go around the room to check the air-conditioning unit for mold, because he saw on TV there’s some type of killer mold hiding in air conditioner vents and Chan humored him, knowing how he can get when he gets his anxiety on a roll, but now he’s wondering if he’s made him go around the rooms to see if he can hear Minho around the house, or something, because he was too scared to flat out ask if Chan had done something to him. He did ask about Minho, and what he’s up to — Chan answered that he was a bit tied up at the moment, so he can’t speak. Which was the honest truth. He was tied up. Quite literally. On the bed.

Maybe they both think he killed him or something. It almost amuses him.

“He’s fine, Jisung. You’ll see him on Friday, alive and well.”

“I didn’t mean— I’m sorry if it sounded like I’m accusing you—”

“I know, I know. It’s all good. I’ll try to get him to call you back when he comes back, how about that?” He picks up his chopsticks to get the last piece of meat off of his plate, since he likes eating Minho’s food when it’s still fresh and warm.

Jisung answers a meek “ Yes ”, seemingly comforted that Chan is still comfortable eating and doesn’t seem worried or anxious — but it doesn’t sound like the conversation went the way he wanted it to go either.

“Don’t worry, no hard feelings taken. I’d be worried for him too, if he disappeared suddenly and I couldn’t reach him. I guess I see him at home every evening, so I’m less worried for him.”

“Okay. Good. Thank you. Please make him call me back. I won’t calm down until he does.”

“Promise, I will,” Chan stops a hiss from coming out, when Minho swallows him again, fitting his dick so deep down his throat, he feels the very back of his throat.

Fuck, he’s such a good cock sucker.

It almost makes Chan’s eyes roll back. He bites his lip.

The silence stretches and Jisung sighs, and says; “Okay. Bye.” since Chan isn’t assuring him further.

“Bye.” Chan hurriedly hangs up, just so he drop the phone and shove Minho deeper down his cock with both of his hands.

He makes a couple of guttural noises that Chan feels on his cock, approving of any rough handling — and just before he heaves, Chan pulls him off his cock.

His cock slides out of his mouth in one slippery noise, and feels unpleasantly cold and wet. Minho coughs twice, head limp, hanging off the hair Chan is clutching.

His pretty lips are already a bit swollen, and Chan didn’t even finish yet.

He was probably hoping to get himself to look a little more miserable and abused for Friday, but now Chan won’t let him have his way.

“What did you tell them, kitten?”

Minho wipes the spit off his chin, so he could suck it off of the back of his hand.

“Did you tell them I’m hurting you?”

“I would never.” He furrows his eyebrows slightly; “Even though you do.” He finally picks himself up off the floor to his knees, so he can kiss down Chan’s happy trail to beneath his shirt, rubbing himself into Chan’s abdomen. “You mess me up good.”

“Didn’t we say we don’t involve the friend group when we play?”

Minho latches onto Chan’s nipple, but Chan pushes at him lightly, dragging his chair backwards, just so he can see his face properly.

Minho stares at him for a moment, face guilty and eyes big, then huffs. And starts getting up groggily, using Chan’s thigh to help himself get up. “Well, I don’t remember ever agreeing to that.”

“But you did.”

Minho drops the coy act finally, obviously scorned and leans his bottom on the table. He’s still between his legs, but standing now, clad in nothing but one of Chan’s hoodies. It’s oversized even on Chan, so on him it’s a tad bigger, fitting snugly right past his butt.

“Fucking Han Jisung. I can’t believe he had the gall to call you and accuse you of shit, when he literally lives off of your kindness.”

“And you don’t?”

“Do I not repay your kindness handsomely?” Minho runs his hand on Chan’s jaw, cupping his face.

Chan leans into his touch, smiling.

He makes him feel things. Like a warm bubbling in the very pit of his abdomen. Happiness, he’s told. He wouldn’t trade this for anything else in the world.

He noses around Minho’s wrist, to lift the sleeve up just to kiss the now red-blue marks the bondage rope left on his wrist; “They probably think I already killed you and got rid of you. Yesterday Felix made me go around the apartment, to see if he can hear your voice or something.”

Minho bursts into laughter, squeezing his eyes shut from delight at the thought of it. “That’s damn funny. Felix definitely already mapped up possible locations of where you dumped my body. And Jisung loves listening to all these murder podcasts, he’d definitely be on board with that. Oooff— if Jisung hadn’t ruined my scheme, I would’ve called them out of the car and whispered that you’re taking me into the woods somewhere for the weekend.”

“You’re evil. Felix will get a heart attack.”

“Oh! Or maybe - Maybe they think you chopped me up to pieces and ate me. Like in Hannibal.”

Chan bites onto the base of Minho’s thumb, so he hisses, half-laughing. “I don’t think you’d taste very good when you’re dead.”

“Cows are cute and they taste good when they’re dead, why wouldn’t I?” He pushes some of the side dishes plates away and preps himself up on the table by leaning his foot on Chan’s thigh.

“Do you often fantasize about me eating you, kitten?” Chan kisses the inside of his thigh.

Minho picks up Chan’s chopsticks, and grabs a meat out of his plate. He doesn’t answer until he swallows after chewing, letting Chan kiss higher and higher up his thigh; “No.” It sounds more like a decision he made in that specific moment, rather than something he actually considered. “I mean, depends on what kind of eating we’re talking about, I guess.” He picks up another piece of meat, and holds a hand beneath it, offering it up to Chan.

Chan gladly takes it off the chopsticks. Minho’s meat is always cooked into perfection. Not too raw — and not too overcooked.

“But either way, I see it, you won’t be able to kill me.” Minho lifts his chin up to him as he chews; “If I die, so do you. That’s the only way you’d ever get rid of me.” He looks into his eyes, as if he wants to make sure what he means sinks deeply into Chan’s head.

“Yes.” Chan agrees, because he feels the same.

A life without Minho after having experienced a life with him, would always be a half-life, and he doubts he’d want to experience it, even if things between them eventually sour. The only way for them to separate would be if they were both dead.

It’s a little scary, he supposes, but it’s how they are, and he’s happy to know that Minho thinks of this the same way as he does.

Minho smiles, and leans down further to give him a sweet kiss on the lips, before straightening up to pick up the last piece of meat off of Chan’s plate.

Chan kisses his knee, and continues peppering the inside of Minho’s thigh with kisses, hand running down his other thigh up to his waist, underneath the hoodie.

His skin feels so good under his hand, he squeezes on it, until Minho makes a soft noise from the back of his nose, picking up a side dish, before sliding his foot down to press on Chan’s cock.

It’s weird how fast all of this became normal. He looks forward to domestic things, like just having dinner together after he comes back from work, because they come hand in hand with sex and the freedom to be himself. No censor. No pretending. Minho doesn’t care about the terrifying thing Chan says next — he might actually find it funny or romantic.

He actually questions it now — questions how is it possible that he’d convinced himself that he was happy without this?

Chan had wanted to fit in and pretend to be normal to be in control — but there is nothing sweeter than being exactly who he is, with the right person by his side.

Chan likes providing, and Minho likes consuming.

Minho enjoys rough handling, and Chan enjoys inflicting pain.

They are perfectly matched together — or rather, Minho is an overmatch. Chan needs to be on the edge of his seat, constantly bettering himself to keep up with him, and if anything, that’s the best possible scenario for Chan.

He kisses his way to his crotch, sighing softly when he lifts up the hoodie just a tad.

A thin trail of precum still connects the fabric and Minho’s perfectly pink cock.

His own cock twitches under Minho’s foot, and he bends down further to kiss it.

Minho moans, chin hitching up a little as he chews on something crunchy.

“But kitten,” Chan looks up, running his fingers on him, until he reaches the top of member, where there’s a few more droplets of cum; “Since we did agree on not involving the friend group—”

“I don’t think that’s fair.” He says, his voice soft and small, hand gliding on Chan’s shoulder to his neck as Chan gives him a few small encouraging licks. “I didn’t remember agreeing to that. It must have slipped my mind.”

“Nothing slips your mind.” Chan says against him, and he shudders. “There has to be consequences.”

Chan doesn’t make a habit out of touching his cock — especially during sex. He likes it when he comes untouched, just because Chan’s dick is balls deep inside of him. There’s exceptions to this, obviously, like when he edges him or milks him until he’s dry and begging Chan to stop. So now it’s sensitive.

He withers at the first lick.

“Next time, then.” He sounds a bit breathless. “I’m allowed to have a grace period.” lifting his foot finally off of Chan’s crotch, so he can flex it above Chan’s shoulder, toes curled.

“Mmn, no.” Chan bites gently the very top of his cock, and he convulses almost violently, dropping down backwards onto the table. Some of the ceramic dishes clink and get pushed around.

“Fuck, my elbow got into the kimchi.” He raises it up to check the damage, eyebrows furrowed, and then turns to Chan, almost as if he’s about to scold him, but decides against it.

“We both know you’re going to question how long the grace period extends next time.” Chan squeezes him lightly as he gets to his feet.

“That’s not true.” Minho says, running a hand on Chan’s chest. “I can be well-behaved.”

“You’re a lot of things. But well-behaved isn’t one of them.” Chan gives him a kiss and pulls his hoodie off, so it doesn’t dirty further.

“I can be. You just need to let me have the opportunity to better myself.” Minho hugs him, fitting his face into the crook of Chan’s neck; “If I’m always punished, no wonder I always feel in a disobedient mood. Ever heard of gentle parenting?”

“Parenting? Oh wow,” Chan snorts into his hair.

“I’m just an example. Cats don’t understand punishments, either.” He finally looks up, and he looks a little bit too smug. Like he knows he’s going to talk his way out of this. Honestly, Chan might have let it slide.

“Alright then,” He yanks him off the table, and turns him to the table. “You can think about your punishment while I fuck you.” He bends him down into the table.

Minho squeaks , shoving some plates from underneath him, just in time for Chan to slam his face into the wood. Some of them fall off into the floor, cluttering in a heap and breaking. Chan can actually feel a shard or two near his feet.

“That’s not very gentle,” He says, his voice equally amused and excited. He even stands on the tips of his toes, to lift his butt better for Chan, and Chan would never refuse such an invitation.

“I think it’s very forgiving,” Chan disagrees, rubbing his cock on his entrance. “Given the circumstances.”

He’s always oiled up and ready for him, as if he’s always waiting for Chan to fuck him. Chan’s past girlfriends would never get a soaking wet pussy like Minho’s.

He sinks into him slowly, letting the warmth swallow him.

Minho breathes immediately change into heavier, audible ones. He runs his hands on the table, dropping a few more dishes so he could have more space. Chan gets a hold of his hair, but keeps his face pressed into the wood.

It takes a moment to figure out the angle — and Chan helps Minho raise his knee on the table, just so he could get deeper inside.

“Fuck, that’s good.” He says, biting onto his lip, his ears and cheeks immediately coloring from the intrusion.

Chan had been both with men and women, some more fucked up and some less — but he never actually been with somebody who liked sex as much as Minho, and it turns him on to see him so turned on by just getting a cock inside of him. Even if he’s faking it, which Chan would never put past him given his track record, his body is honest with him, accepting and easily reddening from Chan’s touch.

He gives him a few slow thrusts, though there’s not that much vigor in him after Minho was giving him a blowjob earlier. He’s already pretty ready to burst.

“I already have a few ideas.” Chan admits into his ear when he picks up his pace, lifting him by the hair off the table “Do you want pointers?”

Minho’s nails scrape on his table when Chan slams into him again; “Isn’t this enough? Ah—” He raises his chin, voice shrill; “Just fuck me like that, just like that…”

Chan slams into him and shoves him back onto the table, until he lets out an excited little laugh.

“I would never use sex as a punishment, kitten.” He kisses up his back, but doesn’t move. Minho withers again, moving his butt eagerly back and forth, begging for more friction. “Especially not when I know you like it so much.”

He’s already bitten and marked all over. There’s a couple of marks from the rope on his back and arms and a huge hickey up his nape.

“How are you so close, already?” Chan continues fucking him; “What exactly turns you on? The punishment?”

“Fuck,” Minho lifts his butt even higher, standing on the tip of his toes in one of his legs so Chan will hit the right spot.

“Or is it something else?”

"No." He says it sharply, between breaths. 

“Nothing else?”

“Nothing else, fuck, just fuck me and stop talking.”

Chan doesn’t believe that, but obliges, lifting his ass so he can thrust into him better. Sometimes they fuck like this — like animals, Chan doesn’t slow down — he’s too close, and today had been a long day, and Minho takes it, his voice raising higher and higher.

It doesn’t take either of them to cum long after that. And when Chan does, he pushes him even further into the table, using his entire weight.

Minho’s eyes are closed, mouth opened with a silent plea on his lips, entire body flushed and limp underneath his. 

Chan doesn’t move for a moment, enjoying his scent. He got a little sweaty from the activity. He kisses his shoulder blade. 

“Want to shower together?” He finally moves off of him, slipping out of his butt. 

“Yes.” He says, still a bit out of breath, he sways one of his legs. Chan catches it and kisses it, but gets distracted when he hears rattling. 

Probably his phone, since he never takes it off of vibration only mode. 

He bends down over Minho, who refuses to move off the mess that is now their dining table, so he can see who's calling. 

“Felix.” He informs Minho.

“Probably thinks you’re going to rough me up, if I am alive — for telling on you.”

“What… exactly did you tell them again?”

He sways both of his legs playfully, until Chan catches the other one and decides to answer. 

“Hi, dude.” 

“Hey.” Felix’s voice is very short; “Listen, I think maybe Jisung gave you the wrong impression, because—”

“No, no, it’s all good. In fact, here — Minho is home now. Let me find him and put you on speaker.” 

Minho has turned around now, but still is still lying on the table, prepped up on his elbows.

He almost does it but right before he does, he puts the phone to his chest, to muffle what he’s going to say; “Did you think of a punishment, yet?” 

“No.” He raises his chin, defiant; “Do me your worst.”

Chan hums, a small, crooked smile stretching on his lips; “Just don’t push your luck.” He warns, and then clicks on the speaker button on his phone. 

“Okay dude, you’re on speaker.” Chan almost sing-songs it. 

“Oh— okay.” Felix says, then waits. 

Minho continues staring at Chan, trying to restrain his own smile from appearing. 

“Minho?” Felix says, unsure. 

Minho breaks eventually, sighs and takes the phone off of Chan’s hand, but instead of talking to him, he hangs up.

Chan’s mouth hangs open.

Minho hops down the table.

“Anyway, did you buy the soap I like? With the blue cap? I forgot to remind you about it since I was busy all day. We might need to take a fast shower,” He uses Chan’s discarded hoodie to clean the cum trailing down his thigh. “I don’t want to be naked for when the police burst in.”

“They’ll stop being friends with you, dude.”

“Nah, I’ve done worse.” He waves his hand dismissively; “Imagine how pathetic you’ll look when you still date me after I’ve basically accused you of murdering me, though.” 

Ah, so that’s what it was. 

Minho gives him a short squeeze on the Chan’s semi-flaccid dick, and a sweet peck on the lips, and leaves to sift through into the grocery bags Chan brought home. 

Chan thinks it through for a moment, and lets him have his moment. 

He seems absolutely ecstatic about this, and takes out the blue capped soap he likes, very satisfied that Chan remembered without reminding. 

Chan holds onto his chin and lifts him up so he can look into his eyes when he understands he doesn’t have the upper hand. 

“Hopefully not as pathetic as you when I accidentally reveal your actual tiktok." He also gives him a small kiss, but then leaves to the bathroom without staying to see the meltdown, Minho is frozen to the spot, though. His eyes widen in shock but he doesn't say anything, paralyzed in his embarrassment. 

"You wouldn't!" He yells after him just when Chan opens the lights in the bathroom; "You're bluffing!"
Which makes him laugh. 

The bathroom is already pretty steamy and hot when Minho opens the door, Chan’s phone in his hand, above him, indicating that he had even called Felix on facetime, just so he could make sure he’s perfectly fine. 

And he is. Besides the tiny reddened cheek that had been pushed into the table, he looks perfectly fine when he’s wearing a hoodie on. “... it should be fixed tomorrow, I think. I’ll call the phone guy. Also, here’s the culprit.” He flashes the camera at Chan for a second, long enough for Felix to see that he is naked with his dick hanging out. 

Chan immediately draws the towel to himself; “Dude!” He scolds.

It makes Felix giggle, though, which was the whole purpose. 

“Oh please, he’s seen your godzilla dick already plenty of times. Calm down. Anyway, he’s not killing me yet, as you can see. Still alive.”

“Busy with tiktok.” Chan reminds out loud, checking the water in the shower. It’s already hot enough to peel skin off. He actually prefers cooler water, but Minho likes it hot enough to leave burns, so if they’re taking showers, they take it the way Minho likes it. 

“We didn’t think he was!” Felix says, which is only a half truth.
“He is abusing me, though.” Minho squints at Chan, which makes Chan laugh out loud. 

“Oh my god,”

“See this mark on my cheek? He pushed me into the table when he plowed me.” He points to the reddened spot. 

Felix sputters, half-laughing, because by now everything sounds like a blunt joke Minho is saying. He overshares constantly. Just to see where the boundary is. 

“Come on, Felix doesn’t want the dirty details.” Chan says. 

“Yes I do!”

“Yes, he does.” 

They speak in unison, and it makes Felix laugh again, cutting it short this time; “I’ll call you back, because Jisung is calling. He’s probably going out of his mind, too.” 

“Okay~ You both need to chill. And stop listening to murder podcasts.” 

“Okay~” Felix laughs in reply again, though this time, his laugh is slightly strained.

Minho waves to the camera, and the minute the app closes, announcing how much time the call took, he drops the smile off his face, eyes skirting to Chan. 

He hands him the phone. 

“So petty.” Chan says, relieving him off of his phone; “Aren’t you a little too embarrassed about that tiktok? Even keeping a separate phone for it.” 

If anything that confirms it to Minho that Chan definitely knows, because he found the phone. 

“Promise right now that you won’t tell a soul.” 

“Why would I do that?” 

“Because you’re my boyfriend and there has to be a red line you can’t cross and that is my red line.” 

“Need I remind you that five minutes ago, you almost got Felix calling the police on me?” 

“Well — but that was fun .” He insists, taking off the hoodie, so he can slip into the walk-in shower and let one of the water sprays over his body.

“For you.” Chan walks in after him, closing the door after them, and kisses his nape. 

“And for you.” 

“Can’t believe people knowing about your tiktok would hurt your ego more than bowing out of one of your better schemes.” 

Minho adjusts the water to even hotter; “I’m flattered that you think this is one of my best.”

He snakes an arm around his wet body, until he reaches his cock, and kisses his wet nape.

He’s hard again. And although he gets turned on from a thousand different things, it’s usually not enough to get this hard, this fast. 

“Mmnn, kitten… you’re not telling me something again.” He says into his skin.

Minho turns around, wrapping his hands around his neck. “Good thing about this is that you have all the time in the world to find out.”