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Sweat drips down Chanyeol’s face as he groans around the dick sitting heavy in his mouth. His snapback is pushed sideways and he can feel a wet warmth-one he hopes is just beer-seeping through denim where his knees meet the ground of the alleyway. He feels a jolt of excitement shoot through his body, fingers tingling and head floating, and he hasn’t even started sucking yet.

‘A little dick sucking doesn’t make you gay, Park Chanyeol.’ He assures himself, head finally moving forward, mouth tightening with suction. ‘Besides, maybe if you suck hard enough, some of Tyler’s talent will transfer.’ His mind helpfully supplies as teeth graze sensitive skin.

“Shit, watch your fucking teeth.” Tyler yelps, jerking his hips away, dick popping out of Chanyeol’s mouth. “I asked for a fucking blow job, not a teeth job.”

“Fuck you.” Chanyeol croaks out, anxiety briefly twisting his gut before he’s reattaching his mouth, lips awkwardly pulled over teeth, tongue flat along the bottom row. He’s not gay, he just wants to do a good job.

Chanyeol has time to wonder if Jongin’s dick tastes the same way, or if the color even affects the flavor, before his mind goes blank and he concentrates on the tangy taste and the steady in and out of the man he’s spent the last year attempting to emulate.

“You like my dick in that pretty little mouth, bitch?” Tyler grunts out, hips jumping forward violently.

“You were born for my dick to meet your mouth, you fucking homo.” And Chanyeol can only whimper, because he’s not gay but his pants are somehow getting tighter and his ears are flushing red.

A large hand finds the back of his head, another the nape of his neck, and he’s locked in place, unable to pull away from the object jamming into the delicate walls of his throat. He reaches up blindly to Tyler’s waist hoping to slow everything down, gagging as his nose presses repeatedly into dark hair, drool trickling out of his abused mouth in a stream. Filth is still spilling from Tyler’s mouth and it sounds like music to Chanyeol’s ears.

Chanyeol’s breaths are getting harsher, coming out like sobs and everything feels too hot. He’s just brought a hand to his own crotch, skinny jeans painfully tight, erection screaming, when his head is harshly pushed back and Tyler is shuddering. Warmth splatters on his face and suddenly Chanyeol stops breathing, orgasm tearing through his own body as his palm rubs hard on his own dick.

Tyler’s already shoved himself back into his pants, snatched the cap from Chanyeol’s head to place over his own and hurried back onto the street with a “I think you’ve found your true calling. Thanks, dude.” thrown over his shoulder before Chanyeol can even collect himself.

He kneels there dazed, staring at the dumpster in front of him, mind still blank. A bit of cum slides off his chin and lands soundlessly on the ‘n’ of his illionaire hoodie. He comes out of his stupor with a start - he forgot to ask for an autograph.

Chanyeol stumbles to his feet, grasping the wall for support, jeans uncomfortably damp and head beginning to pound. He brings a finger to his face, scoops some of the cum off, and pops it into his mouth. He grimaces at the taste and wonders how he’s going to brag to Kris and Baekhyun that he knows for a fact his dick is fatter than Tyler, The Fucking Creator’s without giving himself away.

And He’s not gay, he just wanted to know what talent tastes like.