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Changbin wakes from his unplanned nap with all the grace of an ancient beast rising from a thousand year slumber—bleary-eyed, half his hair sticking straight up, and the red indentations of his bracelet pressed into his cheek. He’s vaguely horny and somewhat less vaguely hungry. He sits up and debates between the merits of a quick wank since Chan isn’t in the other bed and the dried mango in the pantry that he had been sure to write ‘BINNIE’S’ across so that Jisung couldn’t feign ignorance when he ate the entire pack in one sitting. Making a decision isn’t as easy as Changbin thought it would be when his head is pounding and he’s still stuck back in his dream, scrambling at the algae-slick wall of a canal to escape the pack of killer dolphins on his tail while Hyunjin is above him, pelting them with chips to keep them at bay instead of helping him out of said canal. What that has to do with him waking up horny, Changbin doesn’t feel like trying to figure out.

Eventually, his stomach gurgles and clenches unpleasantly, making his decision for him. Changbin sighs softly and stumbles to his feet, knees popping. He drags his sock feet across the wood and slinks into the kitchen, pawing through the pantry to find his mango. The dorm is silent, which can only mean that everyone is out for—Changbin checks the clock on the microwave—for dinner. Damn, he really did sleep all day. He’d been fixing up lyrics that Jisung handed him to vet since around eleven, and then started getting tired around one. Four hour nap? Seemed likely. And also the reason he felt like absolute shit.

Changbin pours some water from the filter pitcher and chugs it before eating his snack. It makes his head hurt worse, but it’s for the best in the long run. He munches mindlessly on the mango, eyes fixed on the window ledge, wondering if it would be worth it to take a sleep aid tonight to keep him from falling into a nocturnal schedule. It was nice of his members to let him sleep, but he needed to power through the day instead of passing out, even if they were on break from promotions. Maybe he could go back to sleep after eating, wake up with Hyunjin at four. Mmm…but he shouldn’t sleep right after eating, it wasn’t good for his metabolism…

There’s the sound of shifting in another room, and the low rumble of a voice. Changbin blinks and looks up. Someone else was home? Maybe Felix, he had wanted to call home at some point and talk to his extended family. The kitchen is too far from the rooms to be able to tell where it came from. Changbin waits for the telltale sound of Felix’s low voice, but it doesn’t come. It’s not any of his business, so Changbin continues to chew. In the end, he leaves a few pieces and pulls the sticky note with his name off the package, knowing Jisung will understand what it means.

Changbin pads out of the kitchen, deciding to read a little instead of forcing his brain to work on lyrics, when he hears noise again. It’s not coming from the maknae line’s room, which is what he expected, but from Minho and Woojin’s room. It’s pitched strangely, almost like a keening, and Changbin stops. He waits to hear it again, but there’s nothing besides some more quiet shuffling. It really, really isn’t any of his business. Even so, Changbin has heard all of his members squealing as Chan tries to tickle them, or grunting over a hard fall, or whining because dinner is taking longer than ten minutes, and that noise hadn’t sounded like anything he’d ever heard before. Changbin had even walked in on Hyunjin doing something under his comforter that had made him hiss and sigh and then screech when Changbin opened the door, but it didn’t sound like that either.

Changbin is unpleasantly reminded of the time Woojin tried to shovel tteokbokki into his mouth faster than his jaw could keep up with chewing and ended up choking and having an ugly coughing fit, and he squares his jaw and creeps towards his hyungs’ room. He won’t bother them, just make sure no one’s hurt and then sneak back into his room, leaving them none the wiser.

Closer to the room, he can hear the shuffling clearer. It sounds like Chan on restless nights, rolling himself up in his comforter or kicking his feet out from under it. There’s a muffled noise that’s definitely coming from a human, too—not the keening that had the hair standing up on the back of Changbin’s neck, but something more akin to the groan Jeongin had let out when he smacked his stomach on the pavement after slipping running on the wet street. Changbin swallows and crosses his arms. The door to the hyungs’ room is cracked and Changbin peers in.

Surprisingly, it’s Chan with Woojin in the room. They’re sitting together on Woojin’s bed, shoulder to shoulder, and Chan’s face is pressed into Woojin’s shoulder. Changbin’s heart stutters—both of their faces are pulled tight, pained, and he’s sure, he’s so sure that they’re crying. Chan, especially, is shaking, his hand wrapped around Woojin’s upper arm and squeezing tightly. Changbin doesn’t know why—they finished promotions so successfully, it couldn’t be related to the band. Problems back home? Something PD-nim said? Maybe—

Woojin’s hand is over Chan’s mouth, and that strikes Changbin as a little odd. There’s no one else at home besides Changbin, but they wouldn’t stay quiet just for his sake. Woojin’s other hand is on a pillow in his lap, except no pillows in their apartment have hair that falls like that, and the hair is connected to a small, strong body with hoop earrings that catch the light—

Changbin whips around so fast that he’s worried he made a sound. He definitely gasped a little and his heart pounds as he presses himself against the wall, waiting for them to hear him, waiting to get caught, waiting to have to come up with a reaction other than just staring at his hyungs with wide eyes. He doesn’t know what he’ll say, doesn’t know how to react, because yes, there is a dating ban and yes, they’re all young and have needs and yes, it’s not uncommon for members to—but he’d never seen it firsthand—and those were his hyungs, all of them—

Suddenly the shuffling makes sense. Woojin is still, a muscle tensed in his neck and gritting his teeth to keep from making a sound, but Chan doesn’t have that kind of self-control, moaning loud enough that Woojin has to shut him up physically, heels digging into the mattress as he kicks weakly, because Minho is—Minho is

Changbin had woken up vaguely horny. He wondered what the hell killer dolphins had to do with his libido, but Chan crying out into the silence of the apartment? That puzzle piece might just fit.

Except it doesn’t, because Changbin doesn’t think that way about his hyungs, he really doesn’t. He’s comfortable in his sexuality, comfortable enough to say that he’s caught himself looking at Hyunjin’s mouth when they’re talking enough that it might be a bit of a problem, and that he didn’t mind flirting a little with that female trainee because the way she covered her mouth when he made her laugh made his heart pound, but he doesn’t think about sex with his hyungs, thanks. Chan really is like his older brother; he’s known him too long to find him anything but annoying and grudgingly one of the most important people in his life. He hasn’t known Woojin as long or as closely, but Woojin is warm and safe and feels nice draped across his body, even if Changbin kicks up a fit on principle. And Minho is…Minho is…

There’s a wet pop from inside the room as Minho lets go of Woojin and Woojin lets out a shaky, heavy exhale. Minho’s voice is low and deep, like he’s trying to lull the oldest members to sleep, not blowing Woojin until he loses control and whatever the hell he’s doing to Chan to turn him into that. “You don’t have to cover his mouth.”

Woojin grunts. “What if they come back?”

“Then we’ll hear them unlocking the door.” A sigh. “They won’t, anyway. I texted Jisung.”

Why do you talk to him about this?”

Minho snorts. “He doesn’t know what I get up to. I tried to tell him once and he screeched at me until I stopped. Probably thinks I fuck myself on a dildo in the shower.”

There’s a muffled whimper. Minho’s voice gets higher, sweeter. Dangerous. “Does it hurt, baby?” A louder whimper. “Let him go, hyung. I like it when he cries.”

“Your funeral. He gets embarrassed hearing himself, and then gets turned on because he’s embarrassed. It’s a positive feedback loop. You sure?”

“Mmm.”

Woojin must let Chan go, because the whimpers get much, much louder, less whimpers and more panting broken up by reedy moans and garbled half-words that could either be Korean or English, Changbin doesn’t know. His throat goes dry. He didn’t know Chan could sound like that. He didn’t know anyone could sound like that. Chan sounds like he’s being cut open or something equally painful. Changbin almost convinces himself that Minho really is hurting him, because it’s easier to deal with the coiling in his stomach if it’s from fear over Chan’s safety and not—something else.

“St—stop,” Chan whispers. “I need—please—”

“You need to come? You know that’s not how this works.”

“Hyung…” Chan begs.

Minho laughs, and Changbin starts when realizes Chan isn’t talking to Woojin, who is only barely hyung to him, but Minho. “Our dongsaeng is so cute, isn’t he hyung? But rules are rules. When it’s the three of us, hyungs come first. You’re going to have to bear it, baby.”

Shit,” Woojin hisses at the same time Changbin mouths holy shit. Woojin and Minho go quiet, presumably…well.

But Chan keeps squirming, keeps breathing unevenly, keeps pleading quietly and Changbin—part of Changbin has to know. His head is swimming. Chan has always been his tough, goofy older brother. Chan is the hardest on them in practice, because he loves them the most. Chan is reliable, and silly, and their leader. Chan isn’t—this.

Changbin swallows and turns to peer back through the door, feeling like he’s watching the scene from outside his body. His chest is tight but he has to know what is driving his hyung to—to submit to his other members like this.

Minho’s lips are so red that Changbin could almost believe he put on lipstick, and are sliding up and down Woojin so torturously slow that Changbin can feel it, the ghost of Minho’s mouth on him, and his eyes jump to the ceiling, sweat breaking out along his spine. When he gathers himself enough to look back down he notices how peaceful Minho is in comparison to his partners—eyelids fluttered shut, breathing evenly, hair gently curled over his forehead. He gives a blowjob like he might take a nap at any time, leave his partner hanging, but his cheeks are hollowed in a way that Changbin feels again, god, he wishes he could control himself but he’s half-hard just observing and it gives him goosebumps.

Woojin, on the other hand, has his eyes squeezed shut, baring his clenched teeth, head back against the wall. Changbin watches his throat bob as he swallows and his fingers twitch in Minho’s hair, as if barely resisting just shoving Minho down instead of letting him take the lead. Changbin swallows, and looks at Chan.

He doesn’t understand, until he does. Chan is naked from the waist down; Changbin sees his cock and flushes (why is that what gets him to blush so hard?), but at first he doesn’t understand why Minho’s hand is beneath Chan and not around said cock. And then he realizes Minho is fingering Chan, and that Chan is a whimpering mess because he likes that Minho is fingering him apart, and that the hand around his cock—Chan’s own hand—isn’t jerking himself but holding himself back from coming because Minho told him to and it all comes together and Changbin nearly faints. Chan is a sub. He’s a sub to his younger member, an obedient sub, and Changbin is so hard it hurts and he doesn’t even understand why.

He pulls away again, head swimming and he thinks he’ll die. He’ll just die right now. Dying is simpler.

“Hold on,” Minho says, and Woojin growls.

“What?”

A silence. The mattress creaks and Changbin is too overwhelmed to understand what that means until the door opens and Minho steps into the hallway.

Changbin gapes and tries to make a noise, but his brain is completely offline and all he can do is stare at Minho’s puffy, red, wet lips.

Minho runs his tongue over them and crosses his arms. His mouth turns up into the same smile he wears before he pranks Jisung, or before he pounces on Seungmin, or, apparently, before he makes Changbin melt through the floor from how much he wants to die.

“Oh, Binnie, I didn’t know you were out here,” Minho says conversationally, in the exact tone of voice of someone who definitely knew Changbin was out here the entire time. “Did you just get home?”

“I—” Changbin tries, voice crackling. “I—the kitchen. I was napping…and then…”

Minho raises his eyebrows and glances around. In a mock whisper, he asks: “You’ve been home the whole time?”

“I didn’t,” Changbin tries again. Swallows. “See. Or hear.” He gestures at the hallway. “I can just go—”

“I think you’re lying to me, Binnie,” Minho says, smiling. His voice drops. “You shouldn’t lie to hyung.”

“I,” Changbin squeaks.

“You could’ve left, right?” Minho says. “After the first time you looked in on us. You could’ve left. But you didn’t. Why?”

“No,” Changbin says. “I didn’t mean it like—I was just—”

“You’re just a pervert,” Minho says sweetly. Changbin’s stomach drops. “You’re just a little voyeur, enjoying from the outside.”

“That’s,” Changbin says, “not—”

Minho flutters his eyelashes at Changbin. “If you wanted me to blow you so bad, all you had to do was ask.”

“Holy shit,” Changbin whispers.

“The way I see it, you have two choices,” Minho says, holding up two fingers. “You can stay out here, and either listen to us fuck, or run back to your room or get off in the shower or something equally as cowardly. Or, you can join us.”

“I can’t join you,” Changbin sputters.

Minho turns that over. “No,” he says. “I guess not.” His eyes flick to Changbin’s. “But you could watch.”

No, Changbin says in his mind, but his mouth picks that moment to go dry and stop working.

Minho takes him by the elbow. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s ask them.”

Changbin does not want to ask his hyungs to let him—let him—let him watch them fuck. He doesn’t even want to see it. Even if he did want to watch them fuck—which he doesn’t—he doesn’t have the balls to ask that. He doesn’t think anyone on Earth has the balls to ask that. And yet he is pushed, useless socked heels digging into the floor, into the hyungs’ room to meet his doom.

Woojin’s face is carefully blank, maybe a bit thoughtful, and he only looks at Changbin for a moment before he turns to Minho, deferring to his authority. Chan, on the other hand, is flushed red and glassy-eyed, finally quiet. His T-shirt has been pulled over his crotch and he’s still shaking, curling into Woojin. He looks up at Changbin with wide eyes and Changbin’s traitorous gaze slips to the length of Chan’s creamy bare thigh running up to his ass before he regains control of himself and then they’re both staring at each other, red.

“So,” Minho says. “What’s the vote on letting Changbinnie in on our fun, hm? I, for one, want him.”

That startles Changbin. So does Woojin’s ensuing, “Sure. I don’t mind.”

It’s Chan who protests, shaking his head and pressing his forehead into Woojin’s shoulder.

“No, baby?” Minho says. “Why not? I thought you liked him.”

Whatever that means.

“Too embarrassing,” Chan whispers.

“Is it?” Minho asks. “But you like being humiliated, don’t you? If you’re worried about him, don’t be. He’s turned on by the idea of being your hyung.”

Changbin wants to protest that, loudly, forget the way his stomach swoops, but he doesn’t say anything when Chan gets redder.

“And you’re turned on by the idea of deferring to him,” Minho concludes. “So why are you complaining?”

Chan rubs the tops of his thighs and Changbin watches him. He can’t be allowed to want this. Can he?

“But if…” Chan swallows. “But if h-hyung joins us then…” Changbin feels like fainting again. “Then I can’t…”

Minho’s face lights up. “Ah. I understand. You’re that close, are you?”

When it’s the three of us, hyungs come first. You’re going to have to bear it, baby.

Woojin hums sympathetically. “Those are the rules for the three of us, though. Binnie makes four.”

“Fair,” Minho says. He turns to Chan. “If Binnie stays to watch, I’ll ride you right now.”

Please,” Chan blurts out, and it’s aimed at Changbin. “I—I—you don’t have to look—”

“He does,” Minho corrects.

Chan’s eyes are wet. “You never have to look me in the eyes again, just—this one time—just—”

Changbin doesn’t know when moved from Minho’s side to touch Chan, one hand on his shoulder and the other cupping his cheek. “Please don’t cry,” Changbin whispers. “It’s okay, I,” he swallows. “I don’t mind.” He swallows again. “Hyungie looks after you, right?”

Chan nods, pressing his face into Changbin’s hand, and Changbin’s heart lurches. He brushes his thumb over Chan’s cheek and Chan shudders. Changbin touches the side of his mouth, where his dimple would be, and Chan opens his eyes and looks Changbin in the eyes when he takes the tip of his thumb between his lips, running his teeth over the pad of Changbin’s finger. Changbin’s breath catches.

“You’re so sweet when it comes to Binnie,” Minho observes from right over Changbin’s shoulder. Changbin and Chan startle apart, but Minho isn’t fazed. “You haven’t been this cute since we first started.” He tilts his head. “I suppose it’s because it’s Binnie, isn’t that right, hyung?”

“Aigoo,” Woojin sighs, running his fingers through Chan’s hair, an arm around his shoulder. “Lay off of him, Minho-ya.” Chan presses his shoulder into Woojin’s, and his shirt hikes up a little higher.

Woojin smiles, running a finger over the shell of Chan’s ear. “There’s another, new dom in the room and he can’t help it, he has to let them know he’s good, that he can please.” He presses his fingers to Chan’s jaw, turning him to face Woojin. “That he can do more with his mouth than just talk.”

Woojin kisses Chan in front of both of them, slow and open-mouthed, Chan melting into the kiss. Minho lets it happen, watching them without blinking. Changbin can’t, though. He looks at Chan’s hands, fisting in the end of his shirt to hold it down. Woojin hums contentedly.

“Hot,” Minho comments. “But don’t you think Binnie should have a try? Baby’s the only reason he’s here.”

“That’s not true,” Changbin blurts out.

They all turn to look at him, and he refuses to look up, ears burning. He hadn’t meant—he had just meant that Minho kind of pushed him into the room—not that—

“That so?” Minho purrs. “Good boy.”

Changbin’s throat goes dry.

And then even drier, when Minho wraps his arms around Changbin’s stomach, pressing his chest to Changbin’s back and humming in his ear. “I’m glad. I like you a lot, Changbin-ah. You’re not afraid of me, but you won’t fight me like hyung does.” Woojin snorts. “And you’re handsome—”

“But not a prick about it,” Woojin interrupts.

“Bold words from someone who told me that he came just from seeing my mouth wrapped around his cock.”

Woojin shrugs as if to say you got me there.

Minho laughs quietly. “Have faith in me, Binnie. Follow my lead,” he slips his hands under Changbin’s shirt and strokes his stomach, “and you’ll feel good. We all will. Okay?”

“Okay,” Changbin says in a small voice. Minho seems satisfied with that. He squeezes Changbin slightly.

“Hyung,” Minho says, nodding at Chan. “I want him.”

Woojin tugs Chan into his lap and wraps his arms around him loosely. Minho shakes his head. “I don’t want him to move.”

Woojin nods and locks their fingers together, pulling Chan’s hands onto Woojin’s thighs, and hooks his heels over Chan’s ankles. Chan’s throat bobs but he accepts it, looking up at Minho.

“Binnie,” Minho says smoothly, “you want to touch him, right?”

Changbin’s mouth flaps open and closed. “Oh no,” he says. “I couldn’t—I don’t know—”

“I only asked if you wanted to touch him,” Minho says. “Not if you could or could not. Answer the question.”

“I,” Changbin says. Looks at Chan, looking at him. “Yes.”

“Chris?”

“Please,” Chan says softly.

“Get on the bed,” Minho instructs. “Kneel between his thighs, but don’t touch him yet.”

Changbin does as he’s told, sitting back on his heels.

“Put your hands on his thighs. I’ll let you decide how soft or rough you want to be. Slide your hands up until you’re grabbing his hips.” Minho leans against the wall, lips turned up, and crosses his arms. “Don’t worry about what he wants or doesn’t want. The only thing Chris wants is to please you.”

Even if he says that, Changbin can’t not think about Chan. He lights the pads of his fingers on Chan’s mid-thigh, higher than he’d ever dared to touch before. The too-quick rising and falling of Changbin’s chest is matched by Chan’s, eyes flickering between Changbin’s eyes and his hands. Changbin slowly presses his warm palms to Chan’s cool skin, running his fingers over him. Chan squirms a little, mouth falling open.

“Go on,” Minho says, low.

Changbin doesn’t want to hurt him, but he doesn’t think the little gasp Chan lets out when presses his fingers into Chan’s skin as he drags his hands up his legs is a bad noise. Chan squirms a little more and Woojin resists him, keeping him pinned down. Changbin grasps his hips, thumbing at the V-shape he can feel and Chan looks him in the eyes. Looks at him like he’s seeing Changbin for the first time, eyes wide and trusting. His chest heaves. Changbin wants to kiss him.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Minho murmurs. “Knowing that he feels as good as he looks.”

“Yeah,” Changbin says distantly.

“Tell him,” Minho says. “He’s being so obedient for you; tell him what he feels like, how he makes you feel.”

“Shit,” Changbin says. “I don’t—I don’t know—”

“You do,” Minho says. “So say it.”

Changbin takes a breath. “Chris has…such pretty legs. And I like…I like how shy you’re being, pulling your shirt down, even though I can see…” He glances at just the edge of Chan’s ass. “It’s almost…more lewd.”

Woojin hums in agreement.

“You’re always taking the lead,” Changbin says. “It must be nice to have them—um, us—to take care of you for once. To be vulnerable.” He taps his pinkies against Chan’s skin, licking his lips.

“I want to kiss you,” Changbin whispers.

Chan makes a noise and tries to tug his hands out of Woojin’s grasp, but Woojin holds him still. “No,” he chides gently. “Minho-ya didn’t say so.”

“But hyung,” Chan says. “He—”

Woojin shrugs. “Ask him, not me.”

“No,” Minho says before Chan can ask. “Be patient, baby. If we all gave into what we wanted immediately, this wouldn’t be any fun, would it?” To Changbin, he says, “Push up his shirt. If he likes you touching his legs this much, I can only imagine how he’ll like your hands on his chest.”

“But only your hands, not your mouth,” Woojin adds. Minho nods.

Changbin’s eyes are wide. “Can I?” he asks Minho, then turns to Chan. “Can I?” he asks, softer.

Chan bites his lip and nods.

“Because this is your first time, you may not understand how this works,” Minho explains. “We do what we want with Chris, and hyung makes up his mind on the spot how much he’ll let me play with him. Chris’s yellow light is ‘morning,’ and his red light is ‘evening.’ You don’t need to worry about his boundaries—Woojin-hyung and I know them well and we will guide you. If Chris is uncomfortable with what’s happening, he can use his safewords and we will stop.” Minho moves forward, grasps Chan by the chin, presses his thumb into Chan’s mouth and Chan’s eyelids flutter, accepting it.

Minho glances at Changbin. “Do you understand, Binnie? Chris doesn’t want to make any decisions. He wants you to use him. So touch him like he’s your property. You’re not hurting him—this is what being a submissive is all about. This is what turns him on.”

Changbin turns back to Chan. “Then I want to hear him say it’s okay.”

“It’s okay,” Chan says softly. “I trust all of you.”

Changbin nods and Minho steps away again. Changbin slides his hands up Chan’s sides, catching his shirt and dragging it upwards. Chan’s breath hitches in his throat and he squirms futilely against Woojin’s grasp to bend his legs inwards, to cover himself at least a little. Changbin scratches his nails over Chan’s ribs and he squirms harder, breathing unevenly.

It’s not like Changbin hasn’t seen Chan shirtless before. They share a room and all the duties that come with it—changing clothes, wandering in and out from a shower, tearing their shirts off in the summer and standing in front of the oscillating fan until their sweat dries salty and cold. He’s seen the definition on Chan’s body as many times as he’s seen his own slim figure that can’t seem to keep the deep valleys of musculature that Chan has. But it’s another thing entirely to hold his chest as it heaves, to have his thumbs beneath Chan’s dark, brown nipples.

Changbin looks down Chan’s body from his breast all the way down to his wet, pink cock and then back up, committing it to memory. He hasn’t quite decided if this is a fever dream or not, but if it is, he wants to remember the steady tremor through Chan’s body and how good he looks when he’s pinned like a butterfly to a board, an exhibition in fine art just for the three of them.

Chan shifts in place. “Binnie, please…”

“Hyung,” Changbin corrects, voice barely wobbling.

Chan’s neck goes pink. “Hyung,” he murmurs. “Hyung, I want you.”

“Yeah,” Changbin says. “I think I really want you too.”

He scratches his thumbnails across Chan’s nipples, flicking them once, twice, three times. Chan’s back arches and he squeezes his eyes closed. “A-ah, hyung—”

“You asked me for this,” Changbin says. “Are you saying you regret it now?”

“No,” Chan says. “No, I—nghh.”

Changbin pinches Chan’s nipples, watching how every squeeze sends a shudder through Chan’s body. “Tell me,” Changbin murmurs. “Do you love it, being handled like this?”

“I love it,” Chan pants.

“Even when we’re cruel?”

“Especially then.”

“Do you want me here?” Changbin wonders. “Would you rather Woojin-hyung did this to you?”

“No,” Chan says. Changbin pinches him hard and Chan cries out.

“I’m not good like they are,” Changbin says. “I don’t know what you need.”

“I need you,” Chan says, eyelashes wet. “I love you, hyung.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t have gone that far, baby,” Minho chides. “Look, you’ve broken him.” To Changbin, too stunned to move, Minho says, “That’s your taste, Binnie. But remember, you’re just our little voyeur. You don’t know what to do, so just watch.”

Minho pulls Changbin away from Chan, off the bed, Woojin slipping out as well. “It’s easy, once you know how to play your partners. So keep your eyes on me, and do as I do. Chris’ll let you fuck him next time, won’t you baby?”

Chan doesn’t answer, but the slide of his glazed-over eyes to the side says enough.

“C’mere,” Woojin says to Changbin, leading him over to Minho’s bed. This time, it’s Changbin in Woojin’s lap, his arms wrapped loosely around Changbin’s waist and chin tucked over his shoulder. Woojin is warm and solid, and Changbin catches his breath leaning back against his hyung.

“Watch him,” Woojin says, nodding at Minho. “He’s not in charge just because he’s pretty.” So Changbin watches.

He watches Minho shrug his jacket down to his elbows, pulling Chan to the edge of the bed and pushing himself between Chan’s thighs. He lets the jacket drop to the floor behind him, then reaches behind his head and pulls off his T-shirt in one smooth motion. He lets it dangle off his fingers before dropping it to the side.

Minho pauses stripping to stretch his arms over his head, flexing the muscles in his upper arms and making the veins on his forearms pop out. His shoulder blades press together, muscle bunching like the back of a big cat, accentuating the line of his spine running down to sweatpants hung loosely at his hips.

“Is it still good, baby?” Minho murmurs. “Still think I’m pretty?”

Changbin can feel Woojin roll his eyes, but Chan only has eyes for Minho, the physique of a man who lived and breathed for dance and dance alone.

“Fuck, yeah,” Chan breathes. “I’ll never get tired of looking at you, hyung.”

“Mmm,” Minho says. “That’s good. I’ll never tire of your face when you’re inside me, so I think we’re even.”

Minho slides his sweats off his hips, and they’re loose enough to drop to the floor mid-way down his thighs, revealing his perfect, infuriatingly perfect ass. He hadn’t been wearing boxers underneath, and while that made sense given the context, Changbin still feels his face warm. Woojin wolf whistles and Minho glances over his shoulder, rolling his eyes.

“Classy, darling,” he says.

“Only the best for the best,” Woojin returns sweetly.

“Changbinnie, still watching?” Minho asks, like he’s not the only completely bare person in the room.

“Yeah,” Changbin says roughly.

“This part’s not so hard,” Minho says. He pushes Chan onto his back and Chan scoots back onto the bed so Minho can straddle him.

“Wait,” Changbin says. “Don’t you need to, um.”

“Yes,” Minho says. “You do. Fortunately, hyung was a dear and took care of that for me.”

“Pianist fingers,” Woojin explains in Changbin’s ear. “I was fingering him when Chris came in. He was all put out that we didn’t ask him to join us, but when Minho-ya gets the idea in his head that he wants to ride someone, well…”

“He gets what he wants,” Changbin says.

“I’m not complaining,” Woojin says, then whispers, “Between you and me, I think he’s really cute when he’s pretending he’s not close.”

“I can hear you,” Minho says.

“Wasn’t trying to keep it a secret,” Woojin replies.

Minho sighs and rolls his eyes. He holds out his hand. “Lube.”

Woojin fishes around in his covers and comes up with a small bottle that he tosses to Minho. “Condom?” he asks, dangling one up.

“Hm,” Minho says. The corners of his mouth turn up. “Nope.”

Chan and Changbin’s breaths catch simultaneously, but Woojin just furrows his brow. “I do not want to listen to hours of you complaining about douching cum out of your asshole.”

Minho’s eyes are half-lidded. “Not even if I let you come in me, too?”

Woojin drops the condom and holds up his hands.

“Hm,” Minho hums. He opens the bottle of lube and pours a healthy amount onto his fingers, then strokes Chan’s cock. Chan gasps and his hands shoot up to grab Minho’s arm.

“Don’t touch me,” Minho orders sharply. Chan freezes, fingers curling and nails digging into his palms, but he lowers his hands and lets Minho coat every inch of him in cold lube with only a tiny whimper. Minho pours more lube onto his fingers, but this time reaches behind himself to press inside, eyes fluttering shut and lips barely parted.

It’s something holy to watch, Minho rocking back on his own fingers and feeling it with the rest of them when he’d been so high and mighty only moments before. Even Woojin, who seemed to make it his job to take the piss out of Minho, quiets down to watch the gentle sway of Minho’s hips back and forth, head tilted back. It’s a moment of vulnerability before Minho sinks his claws into the three of them.

“It’s easy to understand, isn’t it,” Woojin sighs into Changbin’s ear. “Why we’re so mesmerized by him. Why we’d do anything for him.”

Changbin understands. It’s why he hadn’t fought hard in the hallway. Why he feels it in his gut when Minho calls him good boy. Minho is a black widow and the rest of hyung line are his foolish suitors, drawn to his danger and beauty even when they know he’s destined to bite their heads off.

“Okay,” Minho sighs. He presses his fingers into Chan’s sides and uses him as leverage to push himself forward, sitting up on his knees and keeping one hand behind him to guide Chan’s cock inside him, slowly, slowly.

“Oh, god,” Chan chokes. Changbin’s knees are weak and he’s not even standing.

Minho keeps his face carefully blank until he’s fully seated, then lets out a contented sigh. He settles in with a wiggle and Chan gurgles, hands fisting in the sheets. “Hyung,” Minho says lightly. “Make sure he watches.”

Woojin doesn’t reply, but Changbin becomes aware of how very present Woojin is around him. And then Minho moves.

As Changbin should’ve expected, Minho dances. It’s not enough to bounce in place and rattle the bed, no, that would be easy. Minho rolls his ass in a slow, deliberate circle as he rides Chan, and Changbin can see the muscles up and down his back contracting to keep the movement fluid. It’s the same control Minho uses when he’s playing at dancing sexy, but when he dances at the company he’s clothed and Changbin can’t see nineteen years of passion and hard work carved into Minho’s body as he rolls himself from side to side.

Minho takes his time even when Chan’s breathing gets louder, that same torturously slow pace. His eyes are closed and he braces himself on his palms and knees. Chan’s shaking something awful, but he digs his teeth into his bottom lip and tries to claw holes in fabric to obey Minho. Changbin doesn’t want to look, but he can’t look away from the pretty indents above Minho’s ass and the way Chan slides in and out of him so easily, like they were meant to be slotted together like that, perfect halves coming together to form one complete piece of art.

“Can’t you feel it?” Woojin murmurs. “Can’t you feel him on you? It pisses me off, how slow he goes, until all you can do is cry and beg for him to slam down on you.” Woojin hands fall to Changbin’s thighs, nails scratching at his jeans. “He takes Chris so well, you just know he can take both of us all the way down—can you imagine? Something that beautiful, warm and tight around every inch of you.”

Changbin wants to tell him to stop, tell Woojin to stop talking like that, Changbin can’t help but get riled up—but that’s the point. That’s why Woojin’s wide, warm palms are on his legs, like Changbin’s hands had been on Chan. His heart lurches and he realizes that while Woojin listens to Minho, Woojin is not a sub. And Changbin is very small, very available, and very, very turned on.

“Won’t you put on a show?” Woojin asks, loud enough for Minho to hear.

“I’m busy,” Minho sighs.

“Aw,” Woojin says. “But Changbin-ah hasn’t been able to take his eyes off you and he’s so hard for you, Minho-ya.”

Minho opens his eyes but doesn’t look at them or stop moving. “A show…” he murmurs. “You want a show? Fine.” Minho stops his lazy dancing and starts to ride Chan in earnest. And then, he starts to moan, high and whiny and punctuated by deep, sensual gasps.

Hah, fuck,” Minho cries. “Mm—oh, baby—oh baby you’re so good, shit, yeah, just like that.”

God,” Chan chokes out.

Minho’s mouth falls open entirely, red lips wet and bright. He gasps as he thrusts back onto Chan and lets out swears and mewls and half-words when he pulls off of Chan almost entirely before going back down on him. He chants yes yes yes under his breath and his brows pinch tight with how good it must feel to have Chan inside him, to be stretched wide and stuffed so full that all he wants to do is just drive himself onto Chan so he can relive the feeling of being filled up over…and over…and over…

“Oh my god,” Changbin whimpers. He has to look away—he’ll really—if he keeps watching, he’ll—

Woojin’s hands tighten on Changbin’s thighs. “Eyes on Minho,” he growls. “He’s doing this for us, all for us, so be good.”

“But if I keep watching,” Changbin chokes.

He jumps as Woojin presses his mouth to Changbin’s ear, his lips a smile. “Let me guess,” he murmurs. “You’ll come?”

Changbin’s heart pounds.

“Stamina like that won’t fly around here,” Woojin continues. “How good is your self-control, Changbin-ah?”

“Hyung,” Changbin says as Woojin’s hands move to press against his stomach, pushing his shirt up. “Hyung, don’t—”

“Morning, evening,” Woojin reminds him.

Changbin bites his lip and doesn’t say anything as Woojin touches the skin of his stomach, sliding his hands under his shirt.

“Oh,” Woojin sighs. “Oh, this is so nice. You’re so small, I—”

Changbin knows. Woojin has been hard since Minho started riding Chan. Experimentally, Changbin wiggles against Woojin’s crotch. Woojin’s breath catches with an attractive shudder and he squeezes Changbin’s torso. Changbin feels a rush of pleasure down his spine which is quickly followed by a pulse of adrenaline when Woojin says, “Oh, that was bad.”

Woojin’s hands move higher and he growls into Changbin’s ear, “Do you know what mistake you made when you touched Chris? Did you think Minho-ya and I weren’t watching? If someone doesn’t know how to please their partner, they default to what pleases them the most.” Woojin drags his teeth over the lobe of Changbin’s ear. “I know how to really make you squirm, Binnie.”

“Wait—ah!” Changbin gasps. “Ngh, fuck!

Woojin doesn’t play with Changbin—he pinches his nipples hard, rolling them between his fingers, and Changbin arches his back in Woojin’s grasp, gasping. He tries to escape but Woojin is bigger and stronger than Changbin and the touch turns Changbin on so much that his muscles go weak and all he can do is sag into Woojin’s arms and cry out as Woojin teases him.

His head lolls back and in his surrender to Woojin, Changbin locks eyes with Minho once more. Pretty, panting, fucking-himself-on-Chan Minho. He watches the smile spread across Minho’s face at Changbin’s predicament, then the knowing slide of his eyes to Chan’s face. Changbin follows his gaze and meets Chan’s wide, starry eyes at seeing Changbin too compromised to keep himself together. He watches Chan as Chan comes from seeing Changbin a frazzled, pre-fucked mess.

Minho doesn’t slow through Chan’s orgasm, riding him even as Chan whines at the overstimulation. He hangs his head between his arms and lets out a few real, open-mouthed pants before he’s coming too, across Chan’s torso. Chan slumps back into the sheets, unbothered.

Minho sits back without pulling off, brushing his hair out of his face. He collects himself with a few deep breaths.

It must be nice to have an orgasm, Changbin thinks, feeling close to bursting even as Woojin lowers his hands to Changbin’s hips.

“Hyung, are you ready?” Minho asks.

“God, yes,” Woojin says.

“Do the work for me,” Minho says, sitting up and sliding off of Chan. “God, why am I so into both of you? No one will be able to make an honest man of me now. Up, Chris.”

Chris manages to roll out of Minho’s way and Woojin peels himself from Changbin’s body, pecking him on the cheek before he leaves. Woojin crawls behind Minho and Minho sighs as Woojin fits his body against Minho’s back.

“Changbin,” Minho says, gesturing vaguely. “Sit at the edge of the bed.”

Changbin obeys, jeans chafing uncomfortably against his crotch.

“What did you think?” Minho asks, and at first Changbin thinks he’s talking to him. But Minho’s eyes are on Chan, propped up against the wall.

“What did I think about…what?” Chan asks.

Minho narrows his eyes, smiling with faux sweetness. “I got Binnie all riled up and crying for you and you can’t even thank me? Even after you came so hard just seeing him being manhandled.”

“I,” Chan says.

Minho stuffs a pillow under his hips and lies on his stomach, propping his chin up on his hands. “I’m curious—what was it, exactly, that did it for you? I thought you didn’t have a dominant thought in your head, but did you really want to be in hyung’s place, turning Binnie into a shuddering mess?”

Chan swallows visibly. “…No.”

“But you do like how he looks.”

“I…yes.”

A knowing sound. “Tell him.”

Chan looks at his hands in his lap, swallows. He climbs to his knees, then slides off the bed. He shuffles across the floor to Changbin, sinking back down to his knees in front of him. He lifts up his hands, but pauses, glancing back at Minho. Minho nods, still smiling. Chan places his hands on Changbin’s knees and looks up at him through his eyelashes.

“I want to blow you, hyung,” Chan says softly. “Please let me—I know hyungs are better at this than me but please—I want—”

Changbin’s throat bobs and he cards his fingers through Chan’s curly hair, so downy to the touch. He tucks a strand behind Chan’s ear and Chan closes his eyes, still murmuring. “I wanna…I want to make you happy…”

“You do,” Changbin says. “So much.”

“Mmm,” Chan says. “Will you let me?”

“Yes, Chan-ah,” Changbin says. “I want you the most.”

For once, Minho doesn’t say a thing, just sighs as Woojin presses him into the mattress. The two of them watch Chan and Changbin with warm eyes, and their silence is enough permission for Chan.

Chan’s hands slide along Changbin’s thighs and he undoes Changbin’s belt, pops the button, pulls down his zipper. Changbin’s grip in Chan’s hair tightens and suddenly it’s all very, very real and Chan’s hands are so warm, nearly pressed against him.

“I’m scared,” Changbin admits.

Chan looks up at him with wide eyes. “Why?” he asks.

“I just like you so much,” Changbin says quickly. “What if this changes everything?”

Chan cups Changbin’s hand with his own, pulling it down so he can press a long, warm kiss into his palm. He smiles up shyly at Changbin, his dimples showing. “I think I would like it if everything changed just a little.”

Changbin exhales, half a laugh. “Okay,” he says. “Okay, you’re right.”

“Love you, hyung,” Chan says.

“Love you too, Chan-ah,” Changbin returns.

He’s not afraid when Chan touches him for real. Changbin sucks in a breath as Chan paws at the front of his briefs, tugging them down so that he can press fingers to skin, touch Changbin intimately enough to make him squirm. Chan exhales over Changbin’s cock and Changbin watches through eyes squeezed so tight he can barely see, as Chan runs his lips over the length of him, tongue flickering out to tease the head before he takes Changbin in his mouth.

Oh my god,” Changbin whispers.

He can’t breathe because Chan is careful with him, so slow it’s painful, making sure Changbin is comfortable with his mouth around him, as if Changbin could hate having Chan in any way. He bobs up and down, teeth pulled back and mouth pillowy soft and wet. He squeezes Changbin’s knees as if for confirmation that he’s okay, and Changbin blurts out, “I’m in love with you.”

Chan stutters, sucking in a sharp breath, hollows his cheeks with meaning and Changbin opens his eyes because he has to see, he has to see him when he’s working so hard to make Changbin feel good. Chan watches Changbin with half-lidded eyes, brows pulled together like he can’t believe he’s lucky enough to be here, to do this to Changbin.

“You’re unbelievable,” Changbin hiccups. “You’re so amazing.” Chan sucks harder and Changbin forgets how words work, but he lets his hands clenching and unclenching in Chan’s hair do the talking for him. He pants openly, unafraid of the eyes of his hyungs on him, world narrowed to a boy between his legs and how much he loves him.

He wants it to last, but Changbin has been toyed with too much and he hadn’t lied about his stamina being low. His breaths get quicker, his voice pitching a bit higher, and he begs the air, begs himself, “Please, no, a little longer, please, I want to stay like this a little longe—ah, Chan-ah, Chan-ah—I’m gonna—I can’t—”

Changbin’s entire body shudders, from his chin to his toes as he comes. He should’ve known, but Chan doesn’t pull away, swallows until he has cum and saliva dribbling down his chin and the side of his mouth, and when he finally lets Changbin go, his lips are shiny and wet and white with Changbin’s cum. His hair is sticking out at odd angles from Changbin pawing at it and he’s looking up at Changbin for approval, to know if he did a good job.

“You’re perfect,” Changbin rasps. “You’re so—perfect.”

“’S too nice,” Minho mutters faintly. Woojin, who has Minho pulled against his bare chest and is stroking his ribs, hums noncommittedly with his eyes closed and face pressed into Minho’s hair.

“Oh go on then,” Minho sighs. “Cuddle. I can see it in your lovestruck eyes how much you just want to hold each other.” He sniffs and turns his nose up at them like he isn’t snuggling back against Woojin.

Chan gets to his feet and presses Changbin back into the bed, but it’s with no heat, just a smile on his face that reaches all the way to his eyes. He flops onto his side, tangling his legs with Changbin’s even though they’re both sticky and should really take a shower. He smiles so hard that Changbin has to smile back at him, helplessly.

“Hi,” Chan says.

“Hi,” Changbin says back.

Chan leans in, whispering loudly in Changbin’s ear. “Can I tell you a secret?” Changbin nods, so Chan continues. “I like you a whole lot.”

Changbin snorts. “Okay, hyung,” he says.

“A lot a lot,” Chan insists.

“I know,” Changbin says, linking their hands. “I like you a whole lot, too.”

Chan holds his gaze, but his smile falters a bit. “I like being with Minho and Woojin too though, is that—”

“Hey,” Changbin says, squeezing his hand. “It’s okay. They’re, uh, really hot.”

“Yeah,” Chan agrees. “But not nearly as cute as you.”

Changbin laughs quietly. He squeezes Chan’s hand again. “I think I’m going to die if I don’t kiss you now,” he admits.

“Then, by all means,” Chan says, leaning in.

They melt together and Changbin’s heart throbs painfully when Chan’s nose brushes his and he tilts his head to kiss Changbin better. Changbin thinks that maybe this is what he felt from the moment Chan chose him to be one of his own, this connection that was so natural Changbin didn’t even think to call it love until now, this—

Changbin pulls away, crinkling his nose. “Wow,” he says. “That…does not taste good.”

From the other bed, Minho snickers.

“It doesn’t, does it?” Chan agrees. “What do you think, shower then run down to the convenience store for ice cream?”

“Will you buy?” Changbin asks.

“Of course,” Chan says, nuzzling their noses.

A pillow smacks Changbin in the ass. “Gay,” Woojin calls.

“Get a room,” Minho adds. “This is a romance-free zone.”

Changbin flips around. “You are literally cuddling.”

“Yeah, but it’s no homo cuddling,” Minho says.

“Hyung, you don’t even know what the word ‘heterosexual’ means,” Changbin says, rolling his eyes.

“Maybe not,” Minho says from the nest of comforters, pillows, and Woojin that he’s made for himself. “But I still know that you shouldn’t have your gay feelings talk in the same room as the other guys you fucked. Please, take Channie-hyung on that convenience store date, he won’t shut up about how much he wants to go on late night ramyeon runs with you and kiss you in front of the Han River.”

“Wow,” Changbin says, wiggling their connected hands. Chan presses his face into the back of Changbin’s neck and groans something unintelligible.

Changbin eyes Minho and Woojin suspiciously. “You’re really not mad about me stealing away your third?”

Minho gestures vaguely at the air. “You have my blessing. Go forth, be merry, have many, many embarrassingly gay midnight trysts where you tell each other how in love you are. You are young, you are happy, and you deserve nothing but the greatest happiness you can give each other. Mwah, mwah. Au revoir.” His catlike smile peeks out from the blankets. “If you feel the itch for something more, you know where we’ll be.”