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The studio is bright at all hours of the day. There are no windows. It could be noon. It could be dinner time. It could be the crack of dawn, for all Chan knows, the way his skin pales under the fluorescent lights. But he figures it's around two in the morning from the ache in his bones, the fuzz in his brain. Most of all, from Jisung.
“Aish, I can't do this any longer,” he whines, slumping over the desk. “We should call it a night and try again tomorrow.”
His big black puffer coat rustles when he turns his cheek. Jisung’s so tiny that he's always too cold. He blinks his bleary eyes, half-lidded with a lust for sleep, and Chan feels guilty about it.
It's Chan's fault that they haven't come up with anything. It's Chan's fault when anything goes wrong with the group, to be clear—because it's Chan's responsibility to raise them, to make sure they can handle whatever idol life throws their way—, but it’s especially Chan’s fault now.
The label wants a sexy concept for the new comeback, and they need a demo for an upcoming producer meeting. Jisung and Changbin will meet up tomorrow to write their verses. Chan's just supposed to do the hook and help out with the beat. It should be easy, especially with Jisung’s help. It’s the kind of thing he should be able to do in his sleep.
But nothing is fucking coming.
“I'm not giving up.” Chan shakes his head, stubborn. “We can do this. I just can't think of anything, because, like—” He cuts himself off mid-sentence. He was about to say something unprofessional, to cross a line he usually doesn't allow himself to.
“Because what?”
“Nevermind.”
“No, say it. If something's on your mind, you need to get it out. No wonder you can't be creative.”
Chan sips his Red Bull with a shaky grip. “I'm just not in the… mood?” he says, voice pitching up. “Like. Usually, when I write songs like this, I'm… Turned on.” He grimaces. “Or thinking about memories of—certain activities. But, um…” He feels himself blush. “Lately, those activities haven’t been happening very often.”
It had helped, the past year or so, that Chan had been in a relationship. When he was asked to write a hot song, he'd just think about his girl, and the lyrics would flow. They weren’t always amazing lyrics. He often felt like there was something missing, though he couldn’t figure out what. But they were good enough. He was good enough. Until he wasn’t. Until he was clingy, or corny, or actually, maybe he was better off as just a friend.
"Oh," Jisung says. "Okay.”
“Like, sex,” Chan adds. “I haven’t been having sex.”
“Uh, yeah, I gathered,” Jisung laughs, diffusing the tension. “Thanks for sharing.”
Chan holds his hands up. “You asked!”
They haven’t talked about this shit in a while. Sex stuff, feelings stuff. Haven't since Jisung first realized he had a huge crush on Minho, and Chan had to help him through it. Wanted to help him through it. Liked feeling like he was needed.
They’re still close! They’ll always be close. But it’s— different. Jisung has Minho to talk to these days. This feels like returning to a once-familiar lowland, the oxygen too rich, the pressure heavy in Chan’s chest.
“I should have realized,” Jisung says. “You just got dumped, of course you don’t want to think about, like, love and stuff. You can go home, I can—”
“No. I want to do it,” Chan insists, sharper than he intends. “I have to get over her, right? I have to make music. I like making music.” He looks over at Jisung, who hangs onto his words attentively. He listens well these days. Chan’s still not used to that, how much he’s grown up. “If I quit tonight, I'll just go home and feel like a failure. You know?”
“Yeah, I get that.”
Chan knew he would. That's the crux of their bond; they're both too hard on themselves. Overthinkers. The world is too much for them both sometimes. Except Jisung has gotten better at handling it all over the years. Chan, on the other hand, feels like he gets closer to breaking every day.
“I just wish there was something I could do to snap myself out of it,” Chan mutters.
They stare at the desk: the recording software open to the shittiest beat known to man, Jisung's notebook full of scribbled lyrics splayed out before the monitor. Chan blinks. It is so late. He is either going to come up with the best song of his life, or completely hit a wall. There's no middle ground at this hour of the morning.
“There's one thing we could try,” Jisung says. “If you really want to get unstuck.”
Yeah, Chan does. “What is it?”
“It's weird.”
There is something about the way Jisung says it that makes Chan feel… something. He is probably reading into it. What he is feeling is probably just his ever-present shame.
“If I say it and you don't like it, promise you will just, like, forget about this forever.”
“Okay.”
“I mean it. Forever.” Jisung tugs his bottom lip into his mouth, eyes going large and round with concern. Cute. It makes Chan want to give him whatever he wants, makes anyone want to give him whatever he wants. Jisung must know that.
“Just tell me.”
Chan's heart thumps, too hard; he's not sure why.
“We could edge ourselves,” Jisung says casually.
Chan chokes on his Red Bull. His dick jumps, once, quick and harsh and outside of his control.
“What do you mean?”
He stares at Jisung, waiting for him to burst out laughing. You should’ve seen your face, hyung. Chan is easy to fool. But Jisung just looks back at him, steady. A hint of caution at the corners of his eyes, but nothing teasing. Nothing cruel.
He is, apparently, serious.
Holy shit.
Heat blooms across Chan's cheeks.
“We could, like. Touch ourselves,” Jisung continues, swiveling back and forth in his chair. Chan wonders if this conversation is affecting him, too. “Jerk off until we're really, really close, then stop and write for a little. Let it die down. Then touch ourselves again until we almost cum, but, you know, stop before we actually do.” Jisung’s hand flexes in his lap. “You just have to, like. Stroke yourself really slow, for a long time, and let it kind of start feeling better and better, until it's almost too much—”
Chan is, without a doubt, getting hard now. He clears his throat.
“I know what edging is, Jisung.”
“Oh.” Jisung's hand, once flat, now curves over something at the center of his hips. “Then why'd you ask?”
“I wanted to know—” Chan swallows, eyes lingering low, then snapping back up to Jisung’s. “You think it will… help?”
“Oh. It'll help.” Jisung sounds awfully certain. “I mean. I've done it before.”
“Here?”
“Yeah, here,” Jisung grins, and Chan can't tell if it's sheepish or shit-eating. “It works every time.”
“Damn, Jisung. That's crazy.” Chan should admonish him, but his brain’s not firing on all four cylinders. “You– You could get caught.”
Jisung shrugs. “Haven’t yet.”
Chan’s heart is racing, and his dick is swelling beneath his zipper, and he wants to touch himself so fucking bad. Even though they’re just talking. Even though Jisung is still wearing a fucking parka.
It's just because they're talking about sex stuff. And Chan hasn't thought about sex in so long. He doesn't feel this way about Jisung—Jisung is like a brother to him. And Chan isn’t—he doesn’t even think he’s gay. Even if he were, Jisung, importantly, is with Minho. Chan is not a homewrecker. Chan is a good guy. That's his brand. His whole thing.
“What about —”
“We're open,” Jisung answers before Chan can finish. He tilts his head. “You were going to ask about Minho-hyung, right?”
Chan nods.
“Don't worry, he won’t be mad,” Jisung reassures him. Then he laughs. Chan doesn’t get how he can be so normal about all this. Nothing about this is normal. “He’ll be proud, if anything. He doesn't think I can pull you.”
“He—” Chan's voice cracks. “You guys have talked about me?”
“Of course we have, Channie, you're really fucking hot.” Jisung leans back, his erection obvious under the thin grey fabric.
“Wow,” Chan says. That is literally all his brain can come up with. Just a giant, flashing, Wow.
“But this doesn't have to mean anything if you don't want it to,” Jisung adds. “We're just jerking off.”
“Yeah, right,” Chan agrees, not believing it. This will absolutely mean something to him. He has never been with another guy. Has never thought about another guy, not like this.
Well, that's not exactly true.
When he watches porn, Chan likes watching guys. Solo videos, mostly. He likes to watch them get themselves off. To copy what they’re doing. He's never thought too much about it. He's always too… preoccupied, in the moment. And then he cums, and the moment is over, and then he's too guilty and ashamed to think about it until the urge comes back around again and he clicks on another video, rinse and repeat.
They look different every time. Chan can't even see their faces in most of them, just their hands as they grip their cocks, their holes as they finger themselves, their chests as they cover themselves in cum. It’s just something to get himself off quickly. He doesn’t have a type.
If Chan were gay, wouldn't he have a type?
“If you think it's weird, we can just forget it,” Jisung hedges, blushing.
Chan does think it's weird. He thinks it's weird, and horrible, and wrong. Not of Jisung. Of Him.
And yet.
“No, I don't want to forget about it,” Chan says. “Let’s try it.”
Jisung looks down at Chan's dick where it tents his black jeans. He licks his bottom lip, then looks back up at Chan like he can’t wait another second. “I'm gonna start now, okay?”
Chan nods again. He doesn't trust himself to say anything else right now.
Jisung smiles, shrugging off his parka first so it scrunches behind his back. He lifts his slender hips, tugging down his boxers and sweatpants together, setting his cock free. There is the rustling of fabric as Jisung hikes up a leg to give himself a better angle. Instinctively, Chan averts his gaze, then remembers. He's supposed to see this. Jisung wants him to see this.
Chan's seen Jisung's cock before—he thinks, anyway. He must have. Changing backstage or on a trip together, sharing a room or something. Jisung is a horrible planner and never brings enough underwear. But he's never really let himself look. Jisung’s cock is cute, chubbed up and flushed pink. He's smaller than Chan, smaller than the guys Chan watches, but it suits him.
Jisung grips himself tighter and gives himself a couple long, slow, strokes. The way his head lolls back in the chair is sinful. He lets out a low moan, and Chan wishes he could record it for the backtrack.
After a few seconds of Chan just staring, Jisung blinks his eyes back open, hazy. He gives him a sardonic look.
“Come on. You're not going to make me do it alone, are you?”
“Oh– yeah. Of course not— Sorry.” Chan unbuttons his black jeans and shimmies them off, kicking them down until they're around his ankles. His dick springs forward with a slap. He's so hard already, which is somehow humiliating. He wants to hide it.
“Damn, Channie, you're hung,” Jisung gawks. And then Chan is less humiliated. The praise sends a shockwave through him. “Go ahead, touch yourself.”
Chan listens.
He wraps a firm, steady fist around the base of his cock and glides upward, smearing the precome that's beaded on his tip around the head before sliding his hand back down with just the right amount of pressure. He repeats the motion a few more times, rocking his hips a little in the chair, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.
“Keep doing it just like that. That’s perfect,” Jisung tells him, and Chan’s body twitches. “Feels good, hmm?” There’s the sound of Jisung spitting into his palm, the slap of skin against skin. “I told you so.”
It does. It feels so fucking good, touching himself like this. In here. It's so fucking wrong. Anyone could find them; they could get fired. It would be a scandal. Twitter would have a fit. The thought of that turns Chan on even more, and he strokes himself harder, rougher, staring straight ahead, his cock full and heavy in his hand. He can't look over at Jisung; he doesn't know why. He just can't. It's too much. He has to pretend he's alone, he's just a dirty boy playing with himself in the studio, he should be punished.
But he's not. Alone. Jisung is right beside him. Jisung whimpers every so often, his chair groaning under his weight. There's the rhythmic patter of Jisung's own hand as it comes back down against his hips with every tug of his cock. And no matter how hard Chan tries, he can't not picture what Jisung looks like over there, with his big round eyes begging to be fucked. When he closes his eyes again, he imagines what Jisung would look like bent over the studio desk, a cock in his ass— maybe Chan’s— maybe Minho fucks him in here, maybe if this works out, they'd let Chan watch—
“Shit, I have to stop,” Chan hisses, easing his grip and leaning forward in his chair as his dick spasms once, twice, three times. The sudden lack of sensation makes him squirm wildly but he doesn't lose control; he doesn't cum. He's good.
“So pretty, Channie, wow,” comes a low voice beside him. Chan chances a look over at Jisung, who is still playing with himself lazily, his fingers pursed into a pinch as he focuses just on the head of his cock, gliding up and down over the tip. His baggy t-shirt’s rucked up a little above his hips and Chan can see his belly button, the little happy trail he doesn't bother to shave when they're off schedule, the tight lines of his tanned abs.
Yeah, so Jisung is, like, insanely hot—they all are. But Chan's never let himself go down that path. This path.
“Thanks,” Chan says. It was a compliment, so shouldn't he say thanks? Return it? Or is that weird? “You're—” He looks Jisung up and down. “You're pretty too, Hannie.”
Jisung smiles, sugary, a little cocky, the kind of look the kids would tease him about if they were here. Thank God they’re not. Now that he’s looked back at him, Chan can’t tear his eyes off Jisung.
“Should we write some, or do you want to go again?”
“Do you have any—” Chan hesitates because it feels gay to ask. And then it feels like he's profiling Jisung to assume. But he can't edge himself all night—are they going to edge themselves all night? Jesus—without it. “Um, you don't happen to have, like, lube, do you?”
“Oh. Yeah, here,” Jisung says. pulling some out of the side table by the couch in the back.
“How long has that been there?”
Jisung shrugs. “A while.”
“How often do you do this?!”
“I don't know. When I feel like it.” Jisung rolls his chair over to where Chan is sitting. “Here.”
He holds up the bottle of lube like a question, turned upside-down in his hand.
“Yeah,” Chan says. His eyes keep drifting to Jisung’s cock, he has to actively concentrate on Jisung’s face. Jisung seems to think it’s funny. Or something. Chan’s too turned on to scold him. “Please.”
Jisung squeezes, and they both watch as the lube lands on Chan’s shaft, a little bit of it dripping onto the neatly-trimmed pubic hair at his base, the upper curve of his thigh. It's cold.
“Can I?” Jisung asks, and Chan automatically agrees before he thinks twice about it, and then he's like oh, my God, fuck. Because Jisung’s hand is wrapped around his dick, tugging at him until he's all slicked up, too, the glide easy.
Chan’s dick is in another dude’s hand.
Jisung’s hand.
Chan watches. He likes how big he looks with Jisung’s fingers wrapped around him, likes the feeling of Jisung’s firm grip even more. Most of all, he likes that it’s Jisung who’s stroking him, holding his own cock tight in his other hand. It’s ten times better than touching himself, twenty times better than when his girlfriend used to do it.
Oh, God. He is so, so—
“That's too much,” Chan blurts. Jisung backs off immediately. “Sorry.”
“No, don't apologize!” Jisung says gently. He rolls his chair back to his usual spot on the other side of the desk, leaving the lube on the table between them. “I thought you wanted that. My bad.”
“I did.” He does. He does and he doesn't. “It was just, um, a lot. This is— this is a lot for me.”
“We can stop,” Jisung says. and Chan knows he’s being sincere, even though he can hear the filthy sound of Jisung’s lubed-up fist as he circles it around himself slowly. “We can stop whenever you want, hyung, I mean it.”
“I don't want to stop,” Chan admits.
“Okay. So let's… keep going,” Jisung says.
Chan’s hand inches its way back to his cock. Even just having his fingers graze the base makes him feel crazy, so turned on. Knowing Jisung is probably watching. He has the fleeting thought that he wants to finger his ass, but he doesn't want to freak Jisung out. Freak himself out, honestly. Jisung would be fine with it.
He settles for stroking himself again.
They ease back into it, both of them working themselves in a steady rhythm, and Chan turns his brain off little by little. Jisung is so at ease that it helps Chan be at ease, too. Masturbating is normal. Healthy. Right? And it feels so, so good. And they're not even touching each other. Just themselves. It's just like when Chan does it at home.
Except sometimes he catches Jisung in the thick of holding himself back, thighs pressed together and body clenched tight, trembling with barely-contained pleasure. Except sometimes Jisung murmurs little words of praise, tumbling easily from his lips. Like Chan, seriously, your dick is so pretty. Look at you making yourself feel so good. You deserve this, hyung, I bet that feels so nice, you're so thick, Channie, so big; I bet it would feel so good inside. And that gets Chan so worked up he has to take break after break after break.
Five or so rounds later, and his dick is a throbbing, angry mess. He is overstimulated and euphoric. Chan is dying to cum, it's so late at night, but he also wants to make this last forever.
They do get the demo done, to their credit. Chan writes his lyrics and, while they wait for their bodies to relax, they scoot up to the desk and lay down layers of the beat. Chan’s not sure if it's any good, but he thinks it has to be sort of hot, since Jisung—this—definitely is. Jisung’s thrown his sweatpants completely to the floor and he's wearing nothing but socks and his t-shirt, his cock twitching every so often of its own accord until he jerks himself a couple times to calm it down, wiggling in his chair as they work.
“I'm literally so close, it's crazy,” Jisung breathes as they finish up the bridge.
“Me, too.” Chan squeezes his eyes shut. Opens them again and he’s still here, in the studio he’s been in a thousand times before, next to Jisung, dick out and hot in his palm. He squeezes himself, lets himself enjoy the pressure. It’s not enough, but it’s good. “We’re almost done.”
“One more round?” Jisung offers. “And then we can let ourselves — ?”
The idea of watching Jisung cum soon, working himself through his orgasm, is so insanely appealing that Chan has to take a few deep breaths.
“Um, yeah! Sounds good.”
It does, but it doesn't. Because Chan wants to cum, but he wants more, too. He wants to cum with Jisung, not just next to him. Ever since Jisung's hand wrapped around him earlier, he's been thinking about it. Wondering if he should ask him to try it again. But he's shy, is the thing. He has this persona—Chan knows people think he's sexy, sometimes he can even see it, too, but he doesn't know how to ask for what he wants, like this. Sometimes he feels awful even thinking about it. Like any thought that springs up on its own must be dirty, must be wrong, because he’s so used to being programmed that being given the freedom to think for himself feels like breaking a rule inside his own brain.
“How do you want to do it?” Jisung asks. “Do you want me—?”
“Yeah,” Chan says. “I– I think we could try it again?“ His dick’s filling out further just thinking about it. Quivering. “Like, together.”
“Okay, cool.” Jisung looks around the room. “How about the couch?”
They make their way over and Chan sits back against the smooth black leather, Jisung on his lap. He slides his thighs apart so he can scoot closer. He smiles again, like it’s all easy for him. Like it’s a little weird that it’s Chan, but it’s not weird that it’s this. Chan is trying his best to believe it, because he really does want to.
“Would you– do you mind taking your shirt off?” Chan asks. “So I can see you?”
Jisung tugs it over his head, revealing more gorgeous golden skin, the tattoo that trails up his ribs and the other one across his chest. He is so cool. So unapologetically himself. He's really grown into it all, and Chan feels, like. Proud and horny at the same time. Like maybe he had some hand in making this man, this kid who used to overthink everything and now says fuck you to the company. Two tattoos and getting off inside the studio. He's a genius. He's insane. His nipples are small and brown, erect; Chan finds himself staring at them, finds his mouth watering.
“I like them played with,” Jisung says, guiding Chan’s hand to his chest. “You can touch, if you want.”
Chan does.
He rolls the left bud between his fingers, pinching and pulling, and Jisung throws his head back, grinding his hips down atop Chan's thighs so that their dicks brush together.
“You really like that, huh?” Chan asks. He actually, finally, smiles. Because Jisung is cute. So obsessed with making himself feel good. It's rubbing off on Chan, slowly.
Jisung nods, giving a little moan. “Sometimes Minho makes me cum just from that,” he admits. “I'm really sensitive.”
Feeling bold, Chan reaches his free hand around and grips the flesh of Jisung’s ass, then smacks it. Jisung preens.
“Minho’s a lucky man,” Chan murmurs.
Jisung nuzzles up against him. “I guess you're lucky, too.”
Chan’s losing track of time. They were supposed to come over here to finish each other off, and now he's kneading Jisung's ass and staring into his eyes.
“I want to kiss you,” Chan says, then adds, “Wait. No. That's probably a bad idea. Sorry–”
“We can kiss.” Jisung drapes his arms around Chan's neck. “Why wouldn't I want to kiss?”
“I thought it would cross a line,” Chan says, which sounds crazy as soon as it comes out of his mouth. Because Jisung is already naked and straddling him. Right.
“Have you met me? I beg the guys to kiss me, like, every day.” Jisung is shameless about that kind of thing; they all tease him about it. Chan just hadn’t thought about it like this.
Chan rests his hands on Jisung’s hips and looks up at him. He smiles, because he does want to do this, he just… doesn’t know how to do this. Because Jisung is gay, and it’s just one part of him, and it’s not a big deal. Chan is… Whatever Chan is, it’s a very big deal to Chan. Because he was told it had to be. Jisung feels the ways he’s different and writes a song about it like a homing missile. Chan feels the ways he’s different and beats them out of him until he bleeds.
“Yeah, but that’s not—” He blushes under Jisung’s gaze. “I don’t know, sorry.”
“It's still me, Chan,” Jisung says. “I know this is, like, different, but don't overthink it.”
So Chan kisses him. Jisung is liberal with his tongue and teeth, his lips are plump but a little chapped, different from a girl’s. There’s stubble at the center of his lower lip, this tiny patch he’s never been able to laser off all the way. Chan runs his tongue along it, grinning into him. It feels good. It feels exactly like kissing Jisung should feel–teasing, passionate, messy. Fun.
He pulls Jisung’s waist closer with one hand, and wraps around both of their cocks with the other, eliciting a gorgeous gasp from Jisung. Jisung chases the friction between them, his mouth pushing against Chan’s along with his cock, his body rutting up and down, panting. Chan does his best to keep a firm grip on both of their cocks and lets Jisung control the movement, fucking into Chan’s fist, humping Chan from above, frotting their cocks together as their mouths meet again and again.
“God, that feels so good, hyung,” Jisung moans, taking a break to plant little kisses on Chan's neck. Chan could use, like, a hundred more of those kisses; he wouldn’t even need to cum.
“Yeah?”
“Mmhmm,” Jisung hums, and Chan adds his other hand to cup both of their dicks together tighter. “Minho and I can never do this, our hands are too small.”
Chan laughs, a laugh that's cut off by a whine of pleasure as Jisung's cockhead catches against his own, which is growing more sensitive again after their short break. He bucks his hips up and Jisungs body bounces a little against him.
“I like it,” he says, which really means nothing, except it feels like a lot to admit. “I like this, I like you. Like your body. Like— Like all of it.”
“Me too, hyung,” Jisung says, rutting against him harder. “We can do this again. Can't we? Hm?”
“Of course,” Chan breathes. “Whenever you want.”
“M-maybe we can invite someone else,” Jisung pants. “I mean— Would you like that?” His chest is flushed rose-gold. His cock is hot against Chan's, the flesh of his ass jiggles every time his body rocks against him. “M-maybe you can fuck me while Minho watches— Maybe he can fuck you, too—”
“Yeah,” Chan moans. His orgasm is getting closer, for real this time. He's not going to deny it again, it's going to hit and he's not going to be able to stop it. “Shit, yeah, let’s fucking do it.”
“Would you like that?” Jisung asks again. “Getting fucked, Channie?”
“I—” Chan feels dizzy. Jisung’s words are like a flood; he never wants it to end. What a relief, not to overthink for once. What a relief, to feel. To let go. To know Jisung will catch him. Won’t think he’s weird, or cheesy, or bad, or wrong. “Yeah, I think so—”
“Do you ever– ah, fuck, do that again—” Jisung says, crashing his lips against Chan's and breathing the words against his cheek, the corner of his mouth. “You ever p-play with your ass, Chan, you ever think about it —”
“God, yeah,” Chan admits. “All the fucking time— fuck, Jisung—”
Chan is never going to think about sex the same way. Was he even having sex before this? How is this, humping his younger bandmate in the studio, hotter and more intimate than anything he's ever had with any woman?
Why does he want to do it again? And again?
“You'd make such a pretty bottom, Channie—” Jisung coos, then whines as Chan twists his hand over their cockheads, making him squirm. Chan knows exactly how he feels. He’s just as close as Chan is, just as gone. Their cocks are leaking, flushed red against each other, every nerve on fire. “Your ass is, like, crazy— Fuck, wanna see — Who— Who do you wanna—”
Chan can't take it anymore. He lets out a horrible noise, like an animal felled, and he swears against Jisung's skin as he cums onto his own fist, drowning both of their cocks, stronger than anything he’s ever felt before.
Jisung whimpers something that sounds like don't stop, close, and Chan collects himself from his life-altering orgasm just enough to free his own overstimulated cock and close his fist around Jisung's, pumping him until he shatters in his arms, hot cum jetting from his cock until it slows down to a dribble.
Jisung shakes against him, completely undone, crashing onto Chan’s chest, his breathing belabored. Chan thinks about how he did that. How it's all because of him.
“That was so good,” Jisung sighs. “Whoa.”
“Yeah, it was.” Chan pauses. “You don't regret it?”
“Are you kidding me?! Our song is gonna be great,” Jisung grins, then kisses him, tender. “You were great too, Channie.” He sits up, appraising him. “Really fucking hot, like I said.”
Chan's lips twitch up at the corners, and he tries to think of a response, but he just blushes. He's back to being embarrassed, but not quite guilty. He's too happy to feel guilty, Jisung's too cute to feel guilty. For now. Maybe if Jisung never leaves he’ll never feel guilty again.
“You didn't say who you want to fuck you,” Jisung muses, like he's asking Chan what type of milk he wants in his latte. Chan still has to get used to that. To all this. “Don't worry, I know it's Changbin.”
Chan opens his mouth to protest, but his cheeks betray him, bright red. His ears, too. No words come out.
“He'd definitely be down,” Jisung adds.
“You know from experience?”
Jisung looks behind them at the desk, then back at Chan, abashed. “Maybe.”
“Jesus, how many people have you fucked in here, Jisung?”
“Don’t get mad!” Jisung scoff-laughs, indignant. “I told you, it works!”
Chan’s not mad. Not exactly. He's just, like…
“You could have invited me sooner,” he pouts.
“I didn't think you wanted to. I didn't think…” Jisung’s eyes drift down to their sticky bodies, pressed together, their tired cocks side by side. “Yeah, it sounds stupid, but I didn't think you were gay.”
Jisung pops off his lap and comes back with some baby wipes, which he apparently also keeps in the side table drawer. He hands them to Chan and Chan insists on cleaning Jisung off first, then himself, rebuffing Jisung’s multiple (feeble, obligatory) attempts to help. Because, yeah, that was good, but it's still them. He's not ready to let Jisung completely pamper him. Yet.
“I don't know what I am,” Chan says after a minute.
“That's okay, you don't have to know. You can be whatever you want,” Jisung says, casual but sincere. Chan feels, again, that strange pride swell in his chest. Jisung is such a good man. Chan is maybe not so bad himself.
Chan sets the wet wipes to the side. He grips Jisung’s waist with both hands, then lets his hands trail down his sides, idly patting his hips and thighs. Jisung’s body feels exactly the way it’s supposed to, the way it’s felt for years. Just in a different context. Maybe things don’t have to be so hard, like this. Or maybe they do, and maybe Jisung can help make it all easier.
“Thanks,” Chan says. “I want— We should do this again, though. I meant that, earlier.” He looks at Jisung. Smiles. “If that’s okay.”
“Duh.” Jisung matches his grin. “When?”
“I don't know.” Chan mulls it over until a thought occurs to him. It's dumb, but it's honest, and it'll make Jisung laugh. “When's Changbin free?”
Jisungs laugh is the same as always. Giggly, infectious, totally unrestrained.
Before Chan knows it, he's laughing, too.