Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chan is sick of being the leader and the eldest, and somehow still being the only virgin in the group.

It's almost ironic. He's the one they rely on, the one who gives advice, the one who keeps everyone steady. He's seen it all, heard it all, talked them through heartbreaks, hookups, and regrets at three in the morning. And yet, when the conversation shifts into shared experiences, he's suddenly on the outside looking in.

It's not like he hasn't had chances. He has. Plenty.

But something always felt off.

Either the connection wasn't deep enough, or the moment felt rushed, or a quiet thread of doubt tightened in his chest. He could never quite shake the fear that the wrong person would treat his inexperience like a novelty. Like gossip. Like proof that the dependable, confident leader of Stray Kids wasn't as put-together as everyone assumed.

So he waited.

And now the waiting feels heavier than it used to be.

He was never meant to tell anyone, but tonight, after another endless rehearsal, it slips out. Just him and Minho are in his and Jeongin's dorm, sitting on the stools in the kitchen.

"You ever feel like you're missing out on life? Being an idol?" Chan asks, leaning against the counter.

"Hm, not really," Minho answers truthfully. "But you know, I have Jisungie, so I am luckier than most idols out there. What exactly do you feel you're missing out on?"

"I—" Chan hesitates. "I'm twenty-eight, and I've never… had sex. Not even close."

Minho blinks, schooling his shock, then gives him a gentle, private smile. "You know it's nothing to be ashamed of, right? No one ever really teaches us how to handle this stuff, especially with our jobs."

Chan shrugs, cheeks hot. "It just feels stupid. Like everyone assumes I've done it all, but I haven't. Not with all the rules and eyes on us… you know."

Minho moves a little closer. "Well… if you want someone you trust, you could sleep with me."

Chan swallows, eyebrows knitting. "But… what about Jisung? Why would you even offer this to me?"

Minho's expression softens. "Jisung and I trust each other, and we've slept with other people while we were together before. He wouldn't mind, as long as he's in the loop. Actually," Minho tilts his head, "he would probably want to be there, if you're okay with that. We don't do secrets."

Chan tries to picture it—Jisung's open, teasing grin, his easy acceptance of things that would make anyone else squirm. The knot of nerves in his stomach loosens a little.

"Are you sure? I wouldn't want to make things weird between you two," Chan says quietly.

Minho reaches over and squeezes his wrist. "You won't. If you choose to accept, we'll take care of you, hyung. I promise."

For the first time, Chan thinks about saying yes.

He feels the warmth of Minho's hand still on his wrist as he stares at the countertop, his mind spinning. Did he really just admit that? It had always felt like a secret too big and embarrassing to share, something lodged so deeply in his chest that he barely acknowledged it himself.

Now it's out in the open, and instead of judgment, he's met with this soft, impossible offer.

Is this really what he wants?

His first instinct is to run—not literally, but to retreat back into himself as he usually does. To brush it off. But Minho's steady, unflinching acceptance makes it hard to hide.

He thinks about what it's been like all these years. Being the leader, the person everyone looks up to, the one who is supposed to have it all together. He thinks of scrolling through bubble messages from fans and posts on Twitter, the ones that talk about him like he's out of reach, someone impossibly cool and experienced.

He remembers talking to friends in the business, hints dropped by the members, everyone assuming—of course Chan's done everything. Of course, Chan's lived.

But he hasn't. Not really. Not in that way.

He thinks then of the close calls and the almosts. Each time, he pulled away. Sometimes, it was fear of being caught and outed, being anything but straight as an idol is terrifying, even if he is bisexual. The fear of losing everything he'd worked for if the wrong person talked.

But sometimes… it just didn't feel right. Like he was putting on someone else's skin.

It's not that he doesn't want it. God, he does—desperately, sometimes, lying alone in the dark with a hand wrapped around himself, wishing for someone else's warmth, someone's hands on his skin, someone who knows him for who he really is, and not just the version in the spotlight.

He's just never been able to trust anyone enough to take that leap.

Until now?

He glances at Minho and remembers all the late-night conversations with his cute, evil bunny. They've kept hundreds of secrets for each other, including when Minho started falling for Jisung almost as soon as they met. They have an unspoken understanding born of years of working, struggling, and growing up side by side.

If there's anyone he trusts, it's Minho. And by extension, Jisung—the goofy, endlessly supportive presence that radiates joy. His first recruit into their unique family.

The idea of sharing something so intimate with people who genuinely care for him—people who know the weight of their shared secret lives and still love him anyway—sends a strange ache through his chest. It makes the prospect less terrifying, somehow. Even the idea of Jisung being there doesn't feel embarrassing; if anything, it's a comfort, a reminder that he won't have to navigate this alone.

But, of course, there's still fear.

Fear of being awkward, of messing up, of not living up to whatever expectations exist. Fear of being too much or not enough—fear of letting go of control.

But when he looks at Minho, he doesn't see judgment. He sees patience, kindness, and if he's honest, a bit of excitement, too. Like he's honoured to be trusted with this.

It doesn't hurt that Minho is incredibly hot.

He lets out a shaky breath, the tension in his shoulders easing. The fear is still there, but so is a flicker of hope. Perhaps this could be the start of something new—not just for his body, but for some part of his heart that's been locked up for far too long.

He lifts his eyes to Minho, feeling the unfamiliar thrill of possibility. "Okay. Let's do it."

The days that follow pass in a blur, with a simmering tension that underlies everything. Minho had told him, gentle and reassuring, "Don't worry, I'll explain everything to Jisung. We'll make it easy for you, hyung."

Now, standing outside their apartment door, Chan's heart thuds loud enough to drown out all the distant city noise. The hallway feels too bright and quiet as he hesitates, finger hovering over the doorbell.

He'd agreed to this. He wants this. Minho had smiled, eyes warm and proud, and Chan had felt the first real flutter of excitement beneath all the nerves. He trusts them, he reminds himself. He trusts them.

There's laughter from inside—Jisung's unmistakable cackle, and Minho's sweet dulcet jingle—and that familiar comfort tugs at his chest, softening the sharp edge of fear.

The door opens, and Minho greets him with a grin, his presence immediately easing his tension. Jisung appears behind him, resting his chin on Minho's shoulder, his fluffy cherry hair and his easy, welcoming smile, no hint of awkwardness in his eyes.

"Come in, hyung," Minho says, stepping aside. "Take your shoes off and relax."

Chan steps inside, heart hammering, nerves jangling.

Jisung pulls him gently toward the living room, the apartment awash in warm lamplight. Chan toes off his shoes by the door and follows, noticing—not for the first time—how cosy the space is, despite them both insisting they haven't built a home here.

Their love is everywhere, dotted around the space.

Jisung sits first, patting the cushion right beside him. "Here, hyung," he says, beaming up at Chan with that love-heart smile.

Chan lowers himself onto the couch, knees close together, hands fidgeting in his lap. He's hyper-aware of every sound—the clatter of the kettle in the kitchen, the soft exhale of Jisung's breath as he leans in, close enough that their thighs brush.

"You okay, hyung?" Jisung asks, voice low and gentle. "It's cool if you're nervous. Want me to distract you?"

Chan lets out a shaky laugh. "Can you?"

Jisung grins, nudging his shoulder. "I can try. You've survived worse, you know. Remember when we had to perform in front of JYP the first time?"

Chan snorts despite himself. "I think I repressed that memory."

"Well, you looked after all of us then. Let us look after you now, yeah?"

It's so simple, the way Jisung says it—like it's the most natural thing in the world. Chan loosens up, and he leans just a little further into the warmth at his side.

Jisung's hand finds his arm, fingers tracing mindless patterns over the fabric of his hoodie. At first, the touch is absent, just comforting. But slowly, his palm slides lower, thumb stroking small circles against his skin. The touches are soft, almost instinctive, but there's something deliberate in the way Jisung lingers.

Chan shivers, skin tingling under the attention. He glances over, meeting Jisung's gaze.

"It's okay if you're excited." He's not sure how Jisung knows exactly how he's feeling. "It's supposed to be exciting."

Chan blushes, ducking his head. "I don't really know what I'm doing."

Jisung squeezes his forearm. "You don't have to. This isn't what tonight's for."

In the kitchen, Minho moves around quietly, humming under his breath as he pours steaming tea into three mugs. Chan can smell the delicate, grassy scent of the blend they'd brought back from Japan.

Jisung's hand doesn't leave him, and his touch becomes soothing, almost hypnotic. Chan feels his nerves ebb away, replaced by a new kind of anticipation—a fluttery warmth low in his belly, growing every time Jisung's thumb circles his wrist or his pinky brushes against Chan's side.

He tries to settle into the good feelings, to focus on the steady sounds from the kitchen, anything but the wild thrum of his own heart. But the question keeps rising up, stubborn, refusing to be ignored.

"Jisung… can I ask you something?"

"Of course, hyung. Anything," Jisung replies right away.

Chan looks down, gathering his thoughts, then braves a glance back at Jisung. "Are you really okay with this? With… with me and Minho, you know? I mean… I know he said you'd be fine, and you seem to be relaxed, but it just—it feels like such a big thing to me. I don't want to mess things up for you two. I don't want to hurt you."

Jisung's hand pauses just above Chan's wrist, fingers curling softly. He doesn't answer right away, and for a moment, his heart seizes with worry. But then he realises Jisung was just measuring his words, trying to find the right ones. He shifts a little closer and regards Chan with an honesty he's never doubted but always marvelled at.

"Hyung," Jisung starts. "I promise, I'm not just okay with this, but I want this for you. For both of you, actually." He lets out a sweet laugh. "Minho and I… we're solid. We've always talked about everything, and we've been with other people before. But this is different than just, I don't know, getting off? This is about taking care of someone who means a lot to both of us."

"When you say you slept with other people, who exactly? How can you do that without worrying they'd tell?" Chan asks, unable to feel insecure about his inability to be so cool about it.

Jisung laughs, brushing it off. "Well, you know, hyung has friends he can trust in the industry. Like Minhyuk-hyung."

"Minhyuk-hyung? Really?" Chan gawks. "You both…"

"Fucked him? Yeah."

"How do you even do that?" he asks. "Aren't you… scared? That someone would find out?"

Jisung smiles gently. "I get it, hyung. It's risky, yeah. But you learn who you can trust. Minhyuk-hyung, he's like us—he knows what it's like, how much there is to lose. We only ever do anything with people who understand, and we don't really do it that often. It's like people who keep secrets, because they have their own to keep." He leans in, voice soft. "That's why this is safe. That's why you're safe. I promise, this stays between us."

Chan nods, letting the reassurance sink in. He's always envied the way Jisung and Minho move through the world together, trusting each other so completely. Still, a part of him is wary.

Jisung must sense it, because he squeezes Chan's arm again, this time grounding him with a steady gaze. "If at any point you want to stop, or you feel weird, just say. Seriously. Minho and I just want you to feel good and cared for. That's all."

Chan bites his lip, overwhelmed by Jisung's sincerity. "You make it sound so easy."

Jisung laughs, a bright, sweet sound. "Well, that's what I'm here for. For real—if you only want to hold hands all night, that's fine. If you still want to go all the way, that's great. Minho's just happy you trust him. I'm happy I get to see you like this." His smile softens, affectionate and a little awed. "You're so much braver than you think."

Chan lets out a shaky breath, a smile tugging at his lips.

Just then, Minho returns from the kitchen, the scent of warm tea trailing behind him. He settles on Chan's other side, knees pulled up onto the couch.

It suddenly feels small, the space between them. Chan's still riding the gentle shock of Jisung's honesty, but even more, it's Minho's calm that steadies him.

Minho passes him a mug, then rests his own on the coffee table, turning slightly to face him. "So, let's talk through everything first. We want you to feel safe, hyung. And we also need to be really blunt, so be prepared for that. We also want to make sure we are all on the same page, especially since this is your first time."

Jisung leans in. "Minho and I… we have kind of a flexible dynamic. We're both vers, Minho is a dom top and submissive bottom, whereas I can switch either way," Jisung says with a wink. "And when Minho bottoms, it's really intense for him."

Minho nods, not looking the least bit embarrassed—Chan honestly can't imagine him like that. "It's true. I feel things really deeply when I'm more vulnerable, and bottoming makes me feel extremely vulnerable. Sometimes I get so far gone that I can barely talk anymore. I just… make noises and kind of lose myself in it. That's why Jisungie stays close—he's there to guide and check in, especially if I can't speak. He's an expert at reading me."

Jisung smiles lovingly at his boyfriend. "He gets so loud, though. Babbling, moaning, sometimes he just melts into the sheets. If he ever needs to stop and can't say it, he'll tap you three times. And if you hear him say 'pudding,' that's his safe word. Everything stops, no questions asked."

Chan cocks an eyebrow. "Pudding?"

Minho chuckles. "Yes, hyung. It's something I love and can easily remember and find in my brain. That way, I don't have to think too hard when saying it."

Chan nods in understanding.

"Also, if you need us to stop, you can just say so, and we will. It's really important that you feel safe and in control. Tonight, we thought maybe you should try topping for your first time, if that's okay with you?"

"I—" Chan starts. His breath comes in shallow gasps, feeling a heat building in his stomach as the conversation unfolds. "Yeah, that sounds good."

Jisung glances down, then back up at him. "There's just one other thing… Would you be okay if I guided you a little and then touched myself while I watch? I-I have a feeling I'm going to get really worked up seeing the two of you together. But if that makes you uncomfortable, I'll keep my hands to myself. I want you to feel totally safe and comfortable."

Minho snorts, reaching over to nudge Jisung teasingly, but still looking at Chan for his answer.

Chan, surprised but oddly flattered, takes a breath and nods. "I think I'm actually okay with that," he manages, feeling his cock stir at the thought.

Minho's hand comes to rest on his thigh. "You're doing great already, hyung."

Jisung's hand glides up Chan's arm again. "We're here for you. Nothing's going to happen unless you want it to. And if you want to try anything or have questions, just ask."

Chan's pulse pounds in his ears; he's partially nervous and partially horny as hell, but a part of him is in disbelief that he's here, with them, with all this care and honesty. His body responds before he can even process it, heat pooling low, and when Jisung's eyes flick down and notice the tenting in his sweats, he just grins wider.

"Well, that's a good sign," Jisung teases softly.

Minho leans in, lips brushing just behind Chan's ear. "Whenever you're ready."

Chan's breath comes quick, and he moves to place his mug on the table. "I—can we… start with kissing?"

Minho's eyes flash with something he hasn't seen before—lust.

"God, yes," Minho breathes, shifting closer until their knees are pressed together. He raises one hand, tentative at first, then surer as he cups Chan's jaw and tilts his face up. The touch is gentle but confident, his thumb stroking the corner of his mouth, while his eyes stay trained on his lips.

Jisung shifts too, his fingers gliding up from his knee to mid-thigh. "Just breathe, hyung. Let him take care of you."

Chan's world narrows to the soft drag of Minho's thumb, the heat radiating from Jisung's palm, the anticipation fizzing beneath his skin. Then Minho leans in, and their lips meet—tentative at first, then deepening as Minho coaxes his mouth open, tongue slick and teasing. The kiss is nothing like Chan has known; hot, slow, searching. Minho is tasting him like he's waited years for this.

Chan melts into it, a low, needy sound slipping from his throat as Minho's tongue sweeps into his mouth, possessive and sweet all at once. Jisung's hand squeezes his thigh, fingers kneading in circles through the fabric of his sweats.

The sensation, paired with the slide of Minho's tongue, makes him shiver, his hips twitching.

He loses the sense of time, lost in the wet heat of Minho's mouth, the way their lips move together, Minho's little hums of approval vibrating against his skin. When Minho finally pulls back, Chan's chest is heaving.

Before he can catch his breath, Jisung leans in, eyes shining with mischief. "Can I have a taste, too?"

Chan, still dazed, just nods, letting himself be guided.

The kiss with Jisung is lighter, playful—Jisung's teeth catch Chan's bottom lip, tongue flicking teasingly. Chan lets out a little whimper, overwhelmed and grateful as Minho's hand slips up his thigh, strong and steady.

Jisung pulls away with a soft smile, brushing his thumb over Chan's cheek. "You're doing so well, hyung."

Minho scoots even closer, his palm now resting high on his thigh, warmth seeping through the fabric, sending sparks shooting up his spine.

Minho pauses, searching his face. "Can I touch your cock, hyung?"

Chan nods, wild with anticipation, hardly trusting his voice. "Yeah—please."

Minho grins, eyes dark and hungry, slipping his hand up and cupping Chan through the clothes. The first touch makes him jolt, hips bucking up into Minho's palm while a helpless, desperate moan tears from his lungs at the sudden, impossible pleasure. He's never been touched like this before, never by someone else.

"Wow," Minho breathes in awe, fingers curling around his hard length. "Fuck, you're so big, hyung. That's so hot."

Jisung's hand is still on his thigh, rubbing comfortingly, but his eyes are fixed hungrily on Chan's face, drinking in every shaky breath. "You look so good."

Minho strokes him slowly through the fabric, learning the shape of him with his firm grip, and every movement sends a new shockwave of sensation through his body. He throws his head back against the couch, clutching at the cushion, the only thing keeping him from flying apart, the twin anchors of Minho's hand and Jisung's praise.

Minho pauses, then, his fingers hovering on his waistband, looking up at him with a question in his eyes. "Can you take these off for me, hyung? I want to see you so bad."

Chan's hands are shaking, but he nods, heart pounding as he hooks his thumbs into his waistband and pushes both his sweats and boxers down over his hips. The cool air hits his skin, causing him to shiver. His cock is flushed and hard, already glistening with precum. He kicks them away and sits back, suddenly feeling incredibly exposed.

Minho's gaze travels hungrily over him, lips parting. "God, Channie-hyung," he breathes, voice thick. "You're so sexy."

Then Minho's small hand wraps around him, fingers barely able to close around his girth. The sensation is almost unbearable—warm skin against his most sensitive spot, a touch that's simultaneously new and somehow meant for him. His hips jerk up on instinct, a needy moan escaping his lips before he can think to muffle it.

Jisung's hand presses more firmly into his thigh, his eyes drinking in every reaction, clearly as affected as he is. "You can let go, hyung," Jisung whispers. "We want to see you feel good."

Minho's thumb swipes over the head, gathering the slick there and spreading it down his shaft. The touch is so careful, but it drives him wild—each stroke a little firmer than the last, more confident as Minho slowly explores what makes him shudder, what draws out his sounds.

It's almost too much. Chan is reduced to helpless noises, his whole body straining for more, hips bucking greedily into Minho's fist. Minho holds him steady, murmuring quiet encouragements until Chan is trembling, head tipped back, and thighs tensed.

Every time Minho's grip tightens or shifts, every time his palm slides over the swollen head, his body jerks, and another moan is forced out of him. His hands clutch desperately at the sofa cushions, needing something to anchor him in the dizzying pleasure.

Minho's hand slows, then stops, fingers lingering at the base of his shaft. The loss of friction is sudden and sharp, and Chan can't stop the needy whine that slips out, hips instinctively chasing after his touch.

But Minho just smiles, soft and adoring, brushing a thumb over his thigh. "Shhh, hyung. Let's take this to the bedroom, okay?"

Chan nods, pulling his sweats back on. Jisung's fingers lace gently with his, then tug him up. Minho stands too, and together, they lead him down the hall, hand in hand. In that moment, in the care of his two members, everything else falls away.

The bedroom is dim, the covers slightly rumpled, and the pillows soft and inviting. Minho turns to face him, cheeks flushed, his eyes sparkling in the soft light. Jisung, still holding his hand, grins and gestures toward Minho.

"Hyung," Jisung murmurs, "how about you undress him?"

Chan sucks in a breath, nerves and excitement colliding as he steps close. He starts with his shirt, his fingers trembling as he slides it up and off, revealing smooth skin stretched over lean muscle. He tries not to stare—but god, his body is beautiful, the kind of beauty that makes his breath catch. His eyes travel from his strong arms to his broad chest, and then down, unable to stop himself from lingering on his covered thighs—thick and sculpted, the result of years of relentless dancing.

Chan has spent so long trying not to look, not to want; after all, Minho and Jisung have always been a thing. But right now he can't look away. He drinks in every detail: the taut muscles, the faint scar from a past injury, the playful glint in Minho's eyes as he helps Chan tug off his sweats and boxers.

And now Minho stands, utterly bare, strong muscles, soft skin, and a large cock—that anybody who danced with him already knew about. He's there, letting Chan see him—really see him—for the first time.

He's utterly gorgeous. Chan can't help the reverent, shaky exhale that escapes him. He's just a man, and Minho is breathtaking.

Minho goes quiet, something softening in his face as he sits back on the bed and leans into the pillows. He looks utterly at ease, legs spread open and cock already half-hard, but there's a new, vulnerable edge to the way his hands curl into the sheets. It's a silent invitation; a kind of surrender.

Then Jisung steps in behind Chan, his chest pressed to his back, arms wrapping around his waist. His voice is playful but gentle. "Is it okay if I undress us too, hyung?"

Chan swallows, nodding. "Yeah, please."

Jisung wastes no time after his confirmation, his fingertips winding around the hem of his shirt and slowly dragging it up over his head, baring his torso to the warm air. He skims his hands down Chan's sides, then slips off his sweats again, leaving him just as exposed as Minho. There's a moment where Chan almost tries to cover himself, nerves prickling, but Jisung's hands are steady and reassuring, soft kisses pressing against his shoulder.

As Jisung strips off his own clothes, Chan can't help but stare—caught between nerves and awe, unable to do anything but take him in. Jisung moves easily, shoulders rolling as his shirt comes up and off, hair tumbling messily as he tosses it aside. His chest is broad and defined, his strength collected in thick biceps that flex subtly as he moves.

Chan's gaze drifts down, tracing the lines of his tattoos, then landing on the taper of Jisung's waist—a gentle inward curve that makes the lines of his body all the more striking. His abs aren't sharply chiselled, but still defined, outlines beneath a faint, irresistible layer of softness. There's something about it—about the way Jisung looks healthy, warm, touchable—that tugs at a deep longing in Chan, something he's always tried to ignore but never quite could.

Below, Jisung's thighs are lithe, calves defined, but it's the easy confidence in the way he stands—completely naked and unconcerned about it—that makes Chan's breath hitch. He's magnetic in a different way than Minho, all youthful warmth and playfulness, but with a quiet strength that's impossible to miss.

Jisung catches him staring and grins. "You're allowed to look, you know," he teases, stepping closer so their bodies nearly brush.

Chan laughs, the sound coming out low. "You're… beautiful," he manages. "Both of you."

Jisung's smile softens, his gaze flicking to his boyfriend and then back to him. "So are you, hyung. Let's not keep him waiting, huh?" Then he's already moving, kneeling beside Minho on the bed.

Minho is lying back against the pillows, legs spread just enough to be inviting. For a heartbeat, Chan just stands there, letting the reality of the moment wash over him—he's about to do something he's only ever imagined, surrounded by the warmth and trust of two of the people who know him best.

Jisung pats the mattress between Minho's thighs, beckoning him closer. "Come here, Channie. Get between his legs. Lean down and kiss him—just feel what it's like to be skin to skin. Slow is good."

Chan's knees hit the edge of the bed, and he climbs up, heart thundering. His hands find Minho's thighs—they're warm and solid, the muscles flexing a little under his touch. He positions himself between them, the heat radiating off Minho's body drawing him in, and then their chests brush, bare skin meeting bare skin, and Chan feels dizzy, like an electric charge has flooded through his body all the way down to his toes.

He leans down, lips finding Minho's with a shaky sigh. Minho's hands come up, sliding over Chan's shoulders. The kiss is slow, exploratory, Minho's mouth so soft and sweet, then deepening, a teasing flick of tongue making Chan groan into his mouth. The friction of their bodies is overwhelming; his cock slides against Minho's hip, the sensation shockingly raw.

It's hot. So hot. Chan's nerves sing as he lets himself press closer, feeling every inch of Minho's body under his own. The slide of skin, the thump of Minho's heart against his chest, the way their stomachs brush as Chan shifts to settle lower—it's a thousand little details that make him tremble.

Suddenly, his cock slips against Minho's, and the feeling is so intense, so new, that a loud, broken moan rips out of him before he can even think to hold it back. He freezes, heat rushing to his face, embarrassment blooming, but then Minho's head falls back, his eyes sparkling as he lets out a needy moan of his own, hands gripping Chan's shoulders even tighter.

Chan's heart nearly stops. He's never heard Minho sound like that. It echoes through him, making him want more, making him braver.

Jisung laughs softly, moving closer to stroke calming fingers down Minho's calf. "That's a good sign, hyung. Keep going."

Chan nods, pulling Minho into another kiss, letting his hands roam over his thighs, his chest, his sides. Their cocks brush again, and Chan's breath stutters, pleasure sparking hot in his belly. The heat between them is undeniable, sweet and dizzying.

He's so distracted by the rush of sensation that he almost doesn't notice Jisung slipping off the bed, padding over to the nightstand. There's the faint sound of a drawer opening, and when Chan glances up, he sees Jisung returning, a bottle of lube and a condom in hand.

Jisung grins at them both. "Don't mind me. Just getting this ready for you."

He sets the supplies down on the bed beside them, his hand resting reassuringly on Chan's shoulder for a moment before he sits back on his haunches, watching with open delight.

Jisung gives him an encouraging nod, settling at Minho's hip and reaching for the lube he set aside. "Try touching his cock a bit, hyung," he says softly, his tone both instructional and supportive. "He likes to be touched everywhere when he's like this."

Chan nods, hands trembling as he lets a finger trail down Minho's stomach, skin impossibly smooth and warm. He wraps his hand around Minho's big cock, feeling the weight and pulse beneath his palm. Minho's breath catches, his hips jerking up into Chan's hand.

He lets out a low moan—so different from the quiet, collected Minho that he's used to seeing most days. His head drops back against the pillows, dark hair fanned out, lips parted. "Fuck, hyung—" he babbles, "feels s'good."

Chan strokes him gently at first, watching the way his thighs tense and his stomach flutters with every pass of his hand. He can't look away, can't believe he is the one making him fall apart. Minho's body trembles, and he moans again, louder, eyes fluttering shut as he melts into the sheets.

"See how much he loves it?" Jisung says, voice soft with pride. "You're making him feel so good. Go slow, pay attention to how his body reacts. You'll know what he likes."

Minho's hips start to move on their own, chasing his hand, and any lingering awkwardness fades under the weight of his pleasure. He revels in the sound of his moans, the way his body writhes, already sinking into that open, blissed-out space that Jisung had described.

After a moment, Jisung pops the cap on the lube and squeezes some onto his fingers. "Okay, hyung. Watch me for a moment."

Chan moves to the side, letting Jisung move between Minho's legs, watching as he spreads them further apart. The sight is overwhelming. Minho laid out and vulnerable, his cock flushed and leaking, and now Chan can see his tight, pink hole, too. He's gorgeous.

Jisung leans in to press a kiss to Minho's knee, then brings his slicked fingers to his entrance. He circles gently, eyes flicking up to check Minho's face, then slowly presses one finger inside as he talks Chan through it.

"You want to go slow at first. Lube's important. Start with one finger, let him get used to the feel, then add more. If he pushes back against you, that's a good sign—it means he wants more." Jisung's finger slides in, and Minho shudders, a whimper escaping him.

Chan's eyes are locked on the way Minho's body responds, the way his legs part further, the unconscious roll of his hips against the intrusion. Jisung's glances at him, withdrawing the finger. "Try it, hyung. Here, let me get you ready."

Jisung squeezes more lube onto Chan's shaky fingers, then guides his hand between Minho's thighs. Chan's heart hammers in his chest as he presses a slick finger to Minho's fluttering hole, mimicking what he saw Jisung do. He circles gently, then slowly presses in, every muscle in his body on edge.

Minho moans, hips rocking toward his hand. "Don' stop—"

"Keep watching his face," Jisung murmurs, reassuring. "He doesn't make much sense when he talks like this, but if he needs you to stop, you'll be able to tell by his reactions. If he moans or pushes down, you can go a little deeper or add another finger. It's all about relaxing him, making it feel good."

Minho's body is so responsive, every touch drawing out new sounds—shaky gasps, breathless whines, desperate pleas. Each reaction only makes him more confident, more eager to learn what Minho loves.

Jisung continues to murmur encouragements— "That's perfect, hyung. Keep moving your fingers like that," —while he trails soft kisses up Minho's thigh. "Touch his cock while you do it, it helps him relax even more."

Chan brings his other hand to Minho's shaft as he adds a second finger, stroking him in time with the slow stretch. Minho's body arches, caught between the sensations, and he lets out another moan that turns into a babbled plea.

As Chan's fingers gently work Minho open, Jisung moves again, his palm wrapping around Chan's hand, where it's stroking Minho's cock. Jisung's grip is practised and confident, showing Chan the rhythm that Minho likes—slow and twisting at the base, a firmer squeeze at the head. Chan feels the heat of Jisung's hand over his, the shared focus on Minho's pleasure.

"That's it, hyung," Jisung murmurs, encouraging. "Just like that. Now, try adding a third finger."

Chan obeys, easing a third one inside, watching in awe as Minho's body stretches, easily taking the intrusion. Minho throws his head back, a long, helpless moan spilling from his lips. His hips roll desperately, pushing down onto Chan's fingers, chasing more sensation, his cock pulsing in their joined hands.

With every stroke and press, Minho grows less coherent, his words dissolving into moans and babbled nonsense. His legs tremble, thighs flexing, hands fisting in the sheets. It's like watching him float away, lost in the pleasure they are giving him.

"Fuck, isn't he just perfect?" Jisung breathes, not expecting an answer. "He's getting close, hyung. When he gets like this, you know he's really feeling it. Just keep doing that just for a little bit longer…"

Chan can barely breathe; the sight and sound of Minho coming undone beneath him is almost too much to take. He keeps stroking his cock with Jisung's steady guidance, fingers working inside, watching him with a sob, lost to the sensation.

Finally, Minho lets out a series of high-pitched whimpers, his body tensing and trembling, and Jisung squeezes Chan's shoulder. "That's it, hyung. He's ready for you now. Let me prepare you."

Jisung lets go of Minho, reaching for the condom and lube. He rolls the condom onto Chan's cock, causing him to hiss. The latex is cold but slick. Then, he squeezes a generous amount of lube into his palm and slicks Chan up, making sure he's fully coated. Even this, having Jisung's hands on him, makes Chan's cock throb, his whole body trembling with anticipation.

Jisung leans in, voice soft in Chan's ear. "Just do what feels right, hyung. Move slow, listen to his sounds and watch his face. I'll let you two have the bed."

He presses a gentle kiss to Chan's cheek, then slips away and settles into the chair beside the bed, his eyes never leaving them as his own lubed-up hand wraps around his small cock. "Whenever you're ready, hyung."

Chan positions himself full between Minho's legs, hands shaking as he lines himself up. Minho's eyes are glazed, lips parted, cheeks flushed all the way down to his chest. He looks utterly wrecked already, completely open for him.

He presses the blunt head of his cock to Minho's entrance, heart hammering, and pushes forward—slow, cautious, feeling the impossible tightness, the heat. Minho whines, high and desperate, hips pushing back to take him deeper.

It's overwhelming—hot, wet, tight, and so much more intense than anything he's ever felt. He can't move. Can barely think. The sound of Minho whimpering, the sight of his body arching and trembling for him, makes Chan's cock twitch hard inside him. He's not even halfway in and already he knows—he's going to cum.

Oh fuck, he thinks, panic and pleasure warring in his mind. He's really going to cum. He can't—he can't—

But the pressure is too much, the heat too intense, Minho's walls squeezing him perfectly. Chan's hips buck forward on instinct, sinking all the way in, and his body takes over. He shoves his face into Minho's neck, muffling a broken, desperate cry as his orgasm crashes over him. He comes hard into the condom, not even a minute after he entered Minho, hips jerking as his whole body shakes, lost in the blinding white rush of release.

Through the haze, he hears Jisung's breath hitch, feels Minho's arms wrap tight around him, holding him close.

Shame threatens to swallow him whole. He can feel how quickly it happened, the overwhelming pleasure having taken him before he had any chance to control it. His first instinct is to shrink back, to mutter an apology, the embarrassment burning hot in his chest.

"I'm… I'm sorry," he breathes, still buried deep in Minho, unable to meet his eyes. "I couldn't… it felt too good—"

But Minho only whines, shaking his head, lips curling into a soft smile. He looks up at Chan with the kind of pure adoration that makes his throat tighten.

"Don't be sorry," Minho whispers, hands coming up to cup Chan's jaw and pull him down. "You were perfect, hyung. So perfect—come here."

Before Chan can protest, Minho draws him into a kiss—slow and deep, savouring him as if he wants to memorise it. Chan melts, letting Minho's lips and tongue reassure him, chasing the last dregs of shame away. They kiss for a long time, mouths moving lazily together, Minho's hands stroking up and down his back.

Chan's mind spins as he kisses Minho, a realisation blooming inside him. He wants to make Minho feel even better.

He wants to show him more, to pay him back for the trust, the pleasure, and the sweetness of his patience. Minho's body is still warm and open around him, his cock still nestled inside him, and slowly, Chan feels himself harden again.

Minho gasps softly into his mouth as Chan's cock swells inside him, and Chan grinds gently back into him, feeling a jolt of power and want. He pulls back just enough to look down at Minho's flushed, wrecked face, searching his eyes for any hesitation, but he only finds encouragement and desire.

Chan glances at Jisung, his cheeks pink. "Um… Jisung, can I—can we get another condom?"

Jisung blinks. "Wow, already?" He laughs, proud and delighted, and scrambles in the drawer for another condom. "Damn, hyung, you're full of surprises."

Chan carefully pulls out of Minho, making him whine. Jisung moves in, pulling the used condom off for Chan, then tying it up and tossing it in the trash. His fingers trail over Chan's hips, a silent reassurance, a reminder that everything is still good, that he's doing well.

Chan takes the condo, rolling it onto himself. He looks down at Minho, who's watching him with hooded eyes, dazed and hungry for him.

"Can I flip you over?" Chan asks.

Minho's lips part, and he draws in a shaky breath, then nods, a smile spreading across his face.

Chan's chest swells with pride—this isn't just happening to him anymore; he's a part of it, making his own choices, learning what he wants. Gently, he helps Minho onto his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows, legs spread wide, ass tilted up.

Jisung is back in the chair now, still watching, eyes dark and hand moving slowly on his cock.

Chan kneels behind Minho, taking a moment to admire the view. His back is all lean muscle and smooth skin; the curve of his spine, the way his thighs flex and tremble is addictive. Chan slicks himself up with a bit more lube and then lines himself up, this time with a little more confidence.

Minho moans when he presses the head of his cock in, pushing slowly, stretching him open again. Minho's body welcomes him, heat and tightness enveloping Chan as he sinks in, and this time, he's ready for the overwhelming sensation, grounding himself in the sounds Minho makes, the soft, helpless moans and whimpers, the way he pushes back eagerly for more.

He starts slow, rocking his hips gently, finding a rhythm that lets him savour every sensation. The drag as he pulls out, the squeeze of Minho's body as he presses back in. Every time he pushes a little deeper, Minho lets out a choked, high-pitched sound.

"God, Minho," Chan groans.

He lets his hands roam—one gliding up Minho's back, feeling the dip of his spine, the sweat gathering between his shoulder blades. The other hand holds Minho's hip, fingers digging in just a little harder each time Minho pushes back.

Minho is completely gone—moaning, babbling, lost to the sensation. He throws his head back, hair clinging to his damp forehead, lips parted as he whimpers.

Chan finds a pace that feels both natural and powerful, grinding his hips down, angling to hit what he hopes will find that spot inside Minho that draws out even more of his sweet sounds. Minho's whole body shakes, and Chan's confidence grows with every reaction, every arch and clench.

Sweat drops from Chan's chin, coursing down his chest and back. The air is thick with heat and the scent of sex, the sounds of Minho's moans and the sharp slap of his hips against his plush ass. Chan's own head falls back, pleasure sizzling up his spine.

Jisung's voice drifts over from the chair. "Fuck, hyung, you're so hot. Don't stop. He loves it—look at him, he's so close."

Chan glances up, catches a glimpse of Jisung, pumping his small cock as he watches, eyes dark, lips bitten red.

The sight spurs him on—he grips the headboard with one hand, holding himself steady, and with the other, he hauls Minho's hips back against his cock, slamming in with deep, hard strokes that make Minho sob.

"Fuck—" Minho's voice is ragged, almost lost, his body jerking with every thrust.

His hands bunch in the sheets, knuckles white, and his back bows as Chan pistons into him, harder and faster, his sweat dripping onto Minho's skin.

It's too much in the best way. Chan can feel himself teetering on that edge again, the pleasure blinding, but he holds on this time, desperate to see Minho fall first.

Suddenly, Minho's whole body goes taut, and a strangled moan rips from his throat. His cock jerks, untouched, and he spills all over the sheets beneath him, his entire body shuddering with the force of it.

At the same time, Chan hears Jisung groan, the sound shaky and overwhelmed as he comes, painting his stomach.

Chan's focus narrows to Minho—the way he trembles, the warmth and slickness surrounding his cock, the way his hole twitches and tightens around him. Sweat drips from Chan's brow onto Minho's spine. He feels himself slipping.

He loses the last of his restraint, slamming into Minho, fingers biting into the soft flesh of his ass as he chases his release. With a low, guttural cry, Chan thrusts deep one final time, grinding hard into Minho as his orgasm rolls out of him, cock pulsing in his perfect, tight heat.

His vision whites out—nothing but the rush of sound, the feel of Minho trembling and pulsing around him, the echoes of Jisung's blissed-out moans. He collapses over Minho, breathless, mind spinning, heart pounding, utterly overwhelmed and perfectly, and finally, spent.

Chan's body feels heavy, still pressed against Minho, his sweat-slicked chest rising and falling with each breath. He barely notices Jisung slipping off the chair, padding over to the bed with a soft, proud smile. He feels Jisung's gentle hands on his back, stroking slow lines between his shoulder blades.

"Let's take care of him now, hyung," Jisung murmurs. "You did amazing, but even if it wasn't super intense, he still needs a bit of help coming down."

Chan nods, moving carefully to slip out of Minho, watching as he shivers at the loss. He removes the condom like Jisung did, throwing it in the trash, and then Jisung is there, helping to ease Minho onto his side, away from where he spilt on the sheets. He wraps him in a warm embrace, murmuring soft words and stroking his hair.

Then Jisung glances up at Chan, a small smile curling on his lips. "Are you okay, hyung?"

Chan nods. "Yeah, I am."

"Okay, good. Then, would you do me a favour, please? Would you grab one of the pudding cups out of the fridge?"

Chan blinks, but nods, grateful to be helpful. He pads quietly to the kitchen, heart still pounding, and finds a spoon and then the little plastic cup nestled among bottles of water and leftovers. He brings it back to the bedroom, the spoon tucked inside, and finds Jisung propped up against the headboard, Minho tucked into his side, still looking blissed-out and a little dazed.

Chan settles down on Minho's other side, handing over the pudding cup with a smile. Jisung accepts it, scooping up a spoonful. He brings it gently to Minho's lips, feeding him tiny bites between soft praises and strokes to his hair, his voice so sweet.

"There you go, my big baby. You did so well taking Channie. Proud of you."

Minho hums, eyes half-closed, letting Jisung feed him, and when Jisung offers a spoonful to Chan, he takes it too, the sweetness on his tongue grounding him, making the world feel soft and safe.

Once they've all rested there for a while, wrapped in each other, Minho nudges them. "Can we shower now, please?"

They shuffle to the bathroom, still pressed close together, still laughing quietly. The hot water soothes away the last tremors, and Jisung washes Minho's hair while Chan holds him steady, pressing kisses to his shoulders and cheeks.

Jisung ruffles Chan's hair with wet hands, and Minho leans back into his chest, a silent thank you in the way he so willingly melts into him.

As the steam fades and they emerge, clean and glowing, Minho turns with a sleepy smile. "You gotta let me top you next time, hyung."

Chan's face heats, but he manages a grin, heart fluttering in his chest. "Next time?"

"Oh god, can you imagine Channie-hyung's ass being fucked? Holy shit," Jisung laughs, towelling off. "Oh yeah—and you gotta fuck me, too, hyung. Your cock is even bigger than Minho's—might be my new favourite." He flashes a wicked, joking grin, winking at Minho.

Minho rolls his eyes, swatting Jisung with his towel, scowling when Chan laughs. "Yah, don't encourage him, Channie. He's already impossible."

Jisung just cackles, pressing a quick kiss to Minho's lips before reaching for Chan, sliding his arms around his waist. "I mean it. If you're okay with it, next time, I get a turn."

Chan laughs, the sound bright and free, and pulls both of them close. There's something blooming in his chest—something hopeful, and maybe dangerous, but so warm that it aches. He holds them tighter and lets himself hope that "next time" isn't just a promise, but a certainty.