lucille

by cherrysub

Summary:

He loved his husband, he loved the little, gentle things he did, but--

But there was only so much Jeongguk could do for him.

Notes:

for clarity: it's not technically cheating bc jk does consent but its sort of,, rlly not negotiated well ?? so when boundaries r crossed someone gets hurt bc nobody had set boundaries clearly in place u know

pls mind the tags. jin is a mean dom. separated into two chaps bc it was getting long

Chapter 1

Up this close, the smell of paint is overpowering. 

 

The wall digs into Namjoon’s cheek, every blemish and bump imprinting into his skin as he’s shifted, hands knotted tightly in the small of his back, whimpering under the cock being shoved into him. His eyes flutter wide open at the stretch, the gape, and then squeeze shut tightly, head turned so he can look back and gasp out a watery, “C’mon, c’mon, harder-- ” 

 

Sweat beads on Jeongguk’s forehead. There’s something like desperation on his face; latently, Namjoon realizes that it’s not the right kind of desperation, that his husband shouldn’t be panicking and worrying during sex, but at the moment he can’t bring himself to care. He wrestles against his bindings, cock jolting when they don’t move an inch. It’s the one thing Jeongguk’s always been good at, tying him down. 

 

“You’re not gonna hurt me,” He wheezes, shoving his hips back towards Jeongguk, eager. Jeongguk huffs and scrubs at his forehead and squeezes Namjoon’s hip hard. “C’mon, baby, c’mon, give it to me--” 

 

It had started well. It had. Jeongguk had come home in a mood, and when he wrestled Namjoon onto the floor, Namjoon took what he was given. Jeongguk could always start rough, always bruise him up a little in the beginning, but--

 

But he got too soft. He loved Namjoon too much to hurt him, he said. Why did Namjoon want to be hurt? 

 

Jeongguk’s lips trail across the back of his neck, hands rubbing soothingly at his hips, and Namjoon would purr at the treatment ordinarily. He loved his husband, he loved the little, gentle things he did, but-- 

 

But there was only so much Jeongguk could do for him. He sees it on Jeongguk’s face, when he pulls away and turns Namjoon around to suck his cock, guiltily tugging his own condom off and knotting it with both hands. Jeongguk has always been perceptive. It’s one of the things Namjoon loves about him.

 

“You know,” He says, later that night, reaching around to hug Namjoon’s middle, burying his face in Namjoon’s shoulder. His voice is muffled, trembling with uncertainty, but Namjoon listens with the focus of a hound. “If you… If you ever, you know, met someone that you.. Really liked. And you wanted to, uh…” His hands smooth down Namjoon’s belly, fingers shaking when Namjoon’s wrap around them. “If you ever… wanted to, uhm. Have sex with them. If it’s someone that can, like, you know…” 

 

Namjoon’s lips stick together when he tries to speak. “Hurt me?” 

 

“I.. I really don’t like you being in pain.” Jeongguk’s voice comes off terrified and brittle against the nape of his neck. “It makes me sick to my stomach. I-- I love you so much, I can’t… I know I can’t…” 

 

Despite the dissatisfaction that coats his gut whenever this comes up, Namjoon knows he’s in the wrong. He pushes Jeongguk off of him, heart aching a little when he scrambles away like he’s been burned, and turns around to cup his face, drawing him close again. 

 

“Jeongguk.” He says, and he frowns deeply at the tears already welling up in Jeongguk’s eyes, cradling his cheeks. “Baby. You don’t have to do this, you’re enough for me.” 

 

There’s something heartbreaking about Jeongguk’s expression when he whispers, “No, I’m not.” 

 

Because he’s not wrong. Because he knows Namjoon like the back of his hand, and Namjoon is a fool for thinking he could’ve hidden this. Because Jeongguk admitting that he’s not enough for Namjoon to get off should fill him with horror or guilt but instead all Namjoon can manage is a shaky sigh, trying to ward off the immediate memories of old friends and phone numbers. 

 

Jeongguk loves him. Jeongguk is sacrificing for love. Namjoon knows he’s a hypocrite for not being able to do the same. 

 

Namjoon had always been enough for him.

 

They don’t talk about it again, but Jeongguk doesn’t forget. There’s nothing but trepidation on his face, the next day that he works and Namjoon doesn’t, and when Namjoon nears to kiss him, he clings like a child. 

 

“I love you.” He whispers, and there’s that needy quality to his voice, that desperate, breathy weakness. “I love you so much.” 

 

Namjoon fucks him in the doorway, careful not to pull or push too hard when he gets Jeongguk onto his knees, because Jeongguk is normal. Jeongguk doesn’t like being slapped or hit or scratched, not on purpose; doesn’t like being called a slut or a whore or a worthless bitch when Namjoon shoves into him, whispering pretty things, watching him come apart all over the floor. 

 

It’s not enough. It’s never enough. He shoves his cock back into his sweatpants before Jeongguk can see that he hasn’t come, seeing him off with a lazy kiss and ignoring the soft, dreamy eyes that he gets. 

 

It’s almost pathetic, really, how little he can wait. Jeongguk is out the door and less than five minutes later Namjoon is digging through his phone contacts, waiting for a bath to fill up, feet tapping nervously against the tile. 

 

Seokjin is up for it. Seokjin is always up for it. He’s more than a little surprised that Jeongguk is (reluctantly) okay with Namjoon sleeping around, but he’s enthusiastic at the offer, and Namjoon can’t shake the old thrill from his bones when he texts him an address several minutes later. 

 

He cleans himself. He shaves his legs and groin and puts perfume in his hair. He pulls the special occasion lingerie out from the top shelf of their closet and tucks away the delicious heat that spirals through him when he remembers the last time he wore this particular piece, on the second night of his honeymoon , back when he could still be fucked by his husband and feel the satisfaction deep in his bones. 

 

He’s a fool for ever thinking it would be enough. 

 

Seokjin isn’t home yet, and as much as he knows where the spare key is, Namjoon feels like he should wait outside, this time. The cool air does wonders to clear his head and he digs a cigarette out of his bag eventually, leaning on the railing of the stairs and staring out over the city, keeping his overcoat held tight in front of him. 

 

He’d always liked the view from here. Seokjin was the best roommate he’d ever had, and Namjoon is convinced it was all because of their similar taste in landscape. 

 

The stairs rattle when Seokjin comes up behind him, giving him away well before Namjoon has turned and flicked the cigarette over the railing, leaning back against it and letting just the very top of the overcoat slip open, sun kissed skin and dark lace drawing Seokjin’s eyes immediately. 

 

There’s something warm on his face. Something excited and happy, when he cups Namjoon’s cheeks and kisses him, crowding him up against the railing. Namjoon’s hands come up to grab his wrists, sinking into the kiss, the way Seokjin overpowers him already, and sighs into his mouth. 

 

“Been a while,” Seokjin murmurs, one hand dropping to push his coat out of the way and grip his waist through the soft lace. He doesn’t seem surprised by the set, only appreciative; dark eyes rake over Namjoon, picking and pulling him apart, and Namjoon shivers, tugging the coat down to his biceps, eyes searching his face for approval. He finds it in the way Seokjin’s eyes light up. “So pretty, sweetheart. Can’t believe you got him to agree.” 

 

Seokjin takes his hand, keys dangling from the other as he turns to unlock the apartment. Namjoon’s cheeks flush with heat when their fingers fit together, neat and perfect. “He suggested it.”

 

Seokjin’s laugh is delightful, still round and happy when he lets them in and then turns, pushing Namjoon up against the door to close it, reaching past him to lock it. His lips ghost over Namjoon’s cheek, his nose, his ear. “He could tell, huh? Wasn’t doin’ it for you?” 

 

Namjoon swallows hard, sagging back against the door. Seokjin comes close enough to smother and Namjoon fists both hands in his collar, whimpering. 

 

Seokjin’s smile is wicked. He thumbs at Namjoon’s cheek, pressing a dry kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Pretty little slut. He never knew, did he? He treated you too good.” 

 

When he yanks Namjoon away from the door and shoves him down the short hallway, Namjoon goes. The layout of his bedroom has changed, a few pieces of furniture missing or rearranged, but Namjoon is quickly knocked onto the bed, scrambling to lie on his back before Seokjin reaches him, spreading his legs obediently. 

 

This--He knows this. He’s familiar with this. 

 

He loves this. 

 

“He must’ve really seen it. How bad you wanna be treated, like a little breeding bitch.” Seokjin’s smile is charming, all soft edges and sweet tones, fingers gentle when they trace the lace across Namjoon’s chest despite his biting words. “He must’ve known that you wanted to be someone’s whore. Maybe that’s why he sent you to me.” His fingers curl around Namjoon’s choker and he yanks, hard, eyes half-lidded when Namjoon gasps under him. He runs his thumb over the pretty little diamonds, thoughtful. 

 

“Did you tell him how much you like being full, sweetheart?” Seokjin’s other hand travels down to his belly, briefly pressing against his bladder and belly button before he rubs at the soft spot just above Namjoon’s cock. “Did you tell him how much you can take? How good you were for us, back when we spread you open for--what, two, three cocks?” Namjoon’s cock plumps up rapidly, and he whines, fingers tangled in the duvet to stop himself from rutting up against Seokjin’s hand, because he knows how mean Seokjin will be if he does. 

 

“Used to be such a good little slut,” He whispers, and there’s that ache, that tang of grief. He sits back to run his hands over Namjoon’s thighs and Namjoon takes the opportunity to breathe, relishing in the already throbbing marks from where his necklace cut into him. “Then you went and got married. To Jeon Fucking Jeongguk, of all people.” 

 

Part of Namjoon wants to protest. Jeongguk is sweet to him, and he does love him, he does. Namjoon had never understood the petty rivalry between them, not back in high school nor in college, and especially not when they both went off to be successful in their respective careers. 

 

Jeongguk was an athlete. Seokjin was an actor. Namjoon had never seen any cause for jealousy. 

 

“I’ll get you nice and loose again.” Seokjin’s thumb nails dig into his nipples, sharp and sudden, and Namjoon arches into his hands, choking. There’s something vindictive in the way he rakes his nails down Namjoon’s ribs, tearing through the lace like it’s paper, nothing at all like the gentle, terrified way Jeongguk had touched him, so scared of ripping or destroying it. 

 

So scared of destroying him. Jeongguk had always been so scared of causing hurt. 

 

“Once you’re trained back into the cockslut you were meant to be, we’ll bring Jeonggukkie down here.” A sneer. A harsh laugh. Seokjin shoves the lace aside and gives Namjoon an approving pat when he spreads his legs. “Let him see how you need to be fucked. Maybe he’ll get it right, once he sees how much you love it.” 

 

Namjoon sighs, turning his face into the sheets when Seokjin shoulders his way between his legs and sucks a dark bruise into the join of his hip and thigh. 

 

“Missed you.” He says, fidgeting in Seokjin’s hold. “Missed you, hyung.” 

 

Seokjin’s laugh is hoarse when he pulls away, a flower trail of hickies left in his wake. “I know.” 

 

He slaps the outside of Namjoon’s thigh hard enough to hurt, pushing away and off of the bed. He shrugs his coat off, pulling his tie free with a soft hush, and Namjoon starts to scramble further up the bed, certain he’s going to be tied there. 

 

Seokjin’s eyes cut to his, cold and sharp, and Namjoon’s fear both freezes and excites him. “Did I tell you to move?” 

 

Namjoon swallows hard, pressing his palms flat against the bed on either side of him and once again spreading his legs. “No, sir.” 

 

“Sir?” Seokjin’s brow twitches, a thinly-veiled surprise that makes Namjoon giddy. He comes closer with the tie bundled in his fist and Namjoon eyes it, eager. His hand it gentle when it cups Namjoon’s face. “My good slut. So polite.” 

 

His hand comes down on Namjoon’s thigh again. Namjoon jumps. “On your knees. Now.” 

 

He’s breathless already, turning and fumbling his way onto his hands and knees, arching his spine just-so. Seokjin runs a fond hand over his ass and Namjoon threatens to shake apart, waiting, wrists pressed together in front of him. 

 

He knows this . 

 

Seokjin drags his nails across Namjoon’s bum, up his hips and back and along the sharp curve of his shoulder blade. His steps are soundless on the carpet but Namjoon trembles the farther up the nails go, the closer he comes, and by the time Seokjin is sitting delicately on the bed in front of him, he’s already pushed his hands out, ass in the air and elbows touching the bed. 

 

Seokjin is, seemingly in the spirit of easing him back into things, uncharacteristically lenient about it. He tuts and Namjoon holds his hands up, and Seokjin is quiet as he works the soft silk around them, just a hair too tight, biting into his skin. 

 

One, pretty finger sinks in between his skin and the tie. Namjoon tries to ignore the surge of affection that hits him when Seokjin loosens it, just a little. 

 

“I won’t tie you down.” He says, almost offhandedly, and stands up, disappearing somewhere behind Namjoon. Namjoon doesn’t dare turn his head and look, keeping his hips in the air and his arms in front of him, trying to calm his own breathing. There’s the roll of a drawer, the clink of things coming together. “Not until you make me, at least. Gonna stay still for me?”

 

Namjoon presses his head into the bed and waits. The first strike is vaguely expected, but nothing prepares him for it, not after so long. 

 

It’s hard, whatever it is. No soft whips or flogs. He cries out, thighs shaking from the impact, bound hands curling tight in the sheets. Still, he doesn’t move forward, doesn’t squirm away or run. 

 

Seokjin runs the paddle along his backside, tapping twice when Namjoon flinches. His voice is a purr. “There we are.” 

 

The second strike is deceivingly softer, but angled at the underside of his ass, just above his thigh, it stings. Seokjin hits him with the full board, hard enough to jostle him, and Namjoon chokes on a sob, fingers trembling where they tangle in the sheets. 

 

“Taking it so well,” Seokjin growls at him after the third strike, thumb digging into his already burning cheeks. “Poor slut. You couldn’t get this at home, could you?” 

 

Namjoon doesn’t expect him to come around the bed. Doesn’t expect the paddle under his chin, the threat of being hit somewhere so close to his face. He sniffles hard. “N.. No, sir.” 

 

“How many can you take?” 

 

It’s a real question, he thinks. Something like a boundary, something like a check-up in place of real negotiation. Namjoon doesn’t push himself up, too afraid of being slapped on the cheeks or mouth, focuses somewhere on Seokjin’s mouth when he whispers, “Twenty.” 

 

“Twenty?”

 

“Twenty, sir.” 

 

Seokjin whistles, and Namjoon winces when the paddle is dragged along his ribs; not painful, but jarring, a firm reminder. 

 

The fourth strike comes down, and Seokjin’s voice is freezing over the sound of Namjoon choking and crying out. “Better start counting, doll.” 

 

By the tenth, he’s crying, biting down hard around his knuckles immediately after spitting out his number. Seokjin grunts after every impact, each blow varying in strength, and Namjoon wonders how long its been for him. Was there anyone else? Were they as good as Namjoon? 

 

The twelfth spank lands high up on his thigh with bruising force, and Namjoon screams into his hands, hips twitching frantically, caught between the instinct to scramble away and the need to be good, be good for him, be good for his Seokjin. 

 

“Good boy,” He purrs, somewhere around fifteen. The hands on his ass are freezing in comparison, smoothing over his raw skin, judging. There is no challenge in Seokjin’s voice when he says, “Sure you can handle five more?” But Namjoon takes it as one anyways. 

 

“‘M good.” He croaks, and then clears his throat, sniffling pathetically. His ass hurts, and his thighs burn, and he’s going to bruise so good, and Jeongguk is going to see it. “More, want more, please, sir, please--” 

 

Seventeen, he counts. Eighteen. He looks down and there’s drool all over his hands, but everything in his body is dumbed down and numb, every struggling inch of his focus going to the burn in his ass. 

 

“Two more.” Seokjin croons, fingernails digging over his hole only briefly. He avoids Namjoon’s hard cock, runs the paddle over his balls with just enough bite to make him jump. Namjoon wonders if he could ever convince him to spank him there, to step on him, to abandon safety protocol once and for all. 

 

Namjoon jerks when the tip of his finger slips in dry. Seokjin sighs. 

 

“Desperate little thing,” He mutters, and strikes Namjoon upside the hip with the paddle. “You’re already loose? Did he fuck you before you came here? Couldn’t help yourself?” 

 

Namjoon hiccups into his hands, and Seokjin doesn’t protest when he sags a little lower to press his face into his forearms. He’s sobbing, shaking and trembling under the pain, under the growing ache in his cock, the way Seokjin pulls his finger away before he can do anything real with it. 

 

“Count.” He reminds Namjoon sternly. Namjoon warbles out a trembling Nineteen. 

 

Seokjin stations one hand on his ass, two fingers resting daintily at his hole, and Namjoon should really think more of it. He should, but he’s already floating so far, and he can’t see beyond the sting of his skin, the thrill that chokes him when he tries to reach around to massage it and simply can’t. 

 

On the twentieth strike, Seokjin shoves both fingers into him dry, the stretch aching and burning, his body screaming at the intrusion. 

 

On the twentieth strike, Namjoon cums, shaking and screaming against the sheets, wiggling away from Seokjin’s dry fingers. 

 

He’s dumb with it, the pain, the orgasm sweeping away the last of his awareness. Seokjin’s fingers are suddenly a lot easier to take when he pushes them back in, the paddle dragging threateningly over his hip, and Namjoon swallows hard several times, trying to turn his head and look. 

 

“Twenty.” He croaks, after a long, long moment. Seokjin’s smile is bright. 

 

“There’s my boy,” He coos, the paddle gone from his hand. He tries to pull his fingers away but Namjoon sobs, desperate, chasing after them, and he stops, pressing his hand close to Namjoon’s sore ass. He smooths a hand down his back, following the trembling line of his body, and Namjoon shakes under the attention, under the gentle kisses Seokjin layers over his burning skin. “That’s my baby. You did so well, sweetheart. So good for me.” 

 

“Good.” Namjoon echoes mindlessly, eyes rolled back in his head when Seokjin very carefully turns him onto his back, still fingering him open. “‘M good.” 

 

“Such a good boy.” Seokjin whispers, crawling alongside him slowly, nosing at his ruddy cheeks and wet eyes, pecking the tip of his nose. Namjoon giggles dumbly and Seokjin smiles, thumbing over the base of his cock. 

 

Namjoon hisses. Seokjin kisses the sharp curve of his jaw. “Tell me what you want, sweet thing. Anything.” 

 

“Wan’ you.” Namjoon grinds down on his fingers, sore and oversensitive and probably bleeding in more than one place. The sheets are too rough on his backside, too harsh, and he is, suddenly, completely convinced that the only substitute is skin. He turns his head and puckers his lips out, whining when Seokjin chuckles instead of taking the hint and kissing him. “Wan--Want you, c’mon, Jinnie, please--”

 

“Okay.” Seokjin kisses him, free hand cradling his cheek, barely able to keep his smile out of it. “Okay. C’mere, get your leg up over my hip. There we go.” 

 

Seokjin’s cock slides into him with little difficulty, one hand cupped under his hip so that he can pull Namjoon’s ass back against him more firmly. He sighs, hips jerking as he sinks in, Namjoon clenching and closing around him, whimpering loudly from in front of Seokjin, blunt nails digging into the forearm across his chest. 

 

He doesn’t fuck into Namjoon, no matter how tight the fit is, no matter how his own release begs to creep up on him, tension zinging through his neck and shoulders. Doesn’t thrust or hump against him, aware of how delicate the skin of his ass must be, one hand snaking around to toy with his cock in hopes of waking it up just a little. 

 

Namjoon whines, oversensitive, and jerks away from his hand, rolling his hips back against him. Seokjin pulls his hand away with a bitten sigh, burying his nose in Namjoon’s neck, grunting. 

 

“Baby,” He digs his teeth into Namjoon’s neck, sucking hard, and Namjoon whimpers and bucks against him, drooling dumbly onto the pillow. Seokjin wraps both arms around his middle, presses his cock in as deep as it will go, and rests there, slowly relaxing. “Baby. Does he know you’re sleeping over?” 

 

Namjoon mumbles, incoherent. Seokjin giggles into his skin. He’s already dozing off, limp and exhausted in Seokjin’s arms, ass held like a vice. 

 

“I’ll tell him.” Seokjin whispers, stretching out over him to dig through the pockets of his discarded coat. His phone is half-dead and he has notifications on for a bajillion things, and when Seokjin is able to unlock it without even trying a passcode--a familiar sort of concern wells up in him, the pressing need to nag at him for being so disorganized. 

 

He takes one look at Namjoon’s doped out expression and decides against it. Later. He can yell later. 

 

He pulls the camera app open, struggling to hold the phone up at a flattering angle, and makes sure to include everything down to the way Namjoon stretches to take his cock, legs spread for him even in sleep. The pretty, ruined lingerie, ripped and torn at the sides. The burning imprints that just barely peek out over his thick thighs. 

 

Seokjin doesn’t need to include his own face. Jeongguk will recognize him. 

 

Seokjin sends it with a giddy laugh, wondering how he’s going to grind that one out alone. That Seokjin was fucking his husband to sleep and Jeongguk was somewhere, alone, probably overworked and desperate. 

 

He’s staying over, Seokjin says, lips pressed to Namjoon’s shoulder as he types. Don’t wait up.

 

“Sound good?” He asks. Namjoon sighs noisily in his sleep.

 

Seokjin sends it before he can wake up again. 

Jeongguk looks at him with enough hurt to stagger. 

 

Namjoon takes in his watery eyes, his red nose and the way he’s bitten his lips raw, and guilt threatens to knock him off his feet, because he should’ve known better. He should’ve known. He limps his way to the couch and Jeongguk’s breath catches in a sob at the sight of it, and Namjoon tries not to flinch when he sits down and Jeongguk dives into his arms, weeping. 

 

“Baby,” He coos, running his fingers through Jeongguk’s hair, sighing when he feels tears leaking through his shirt, sticking uncomfortably to his belly. Jeongguk clings to his middle like a child and Namjoon clears his throat to stave off the lump caught in it, because what has he done ? “Sweetheart. I’m here, I’m right here.” 

 

“Hyung,” Jeongguk cries, burrowing into him. “ Hyungie .” 

 

Namjoon’s heart breaks for him. Breaks for himself, because he knew he was a fool, but this--he’s never been one to let his cock rule over common sense, and here he is, about to lose it all because he did. He cradles Jeongguk, clinging back just as tightly, until the sobbing dwindles into little whimpers and sighs and nothing more. 

 

“Namjoon-hyung,” Jeongguk says softly, pulling away from his belly, a beautiful mess in his own right. It hits Namjoon like a kick to the teeth because why couldn’t he be happy with this, when this was so good, was so beautiful and gentle and kind. Why couldn’t he be content with what he had? 

 

Jeongguk’s lip wobbles, and Namjoon’s heart breaks. “Kiss me. Please, kiss me, please-- ” 

 

Namjoon cradles his face with both hands, layering delicate kisses over his brow, his puffy eyelids, and Jeongguk’s breath hitches. He paws impatiently at Namjoon’s chest, fingers hooking in his shirt, and Namjoon is hit with a strange calm, muscle memory taking over when he pulls Jeongguk up enough to straddle him, kissing him deep. 

 

Jeongguk whimpers. Namjoon presses his feet flat against the couch and shifts to slot a knee between Jeongguk’s, one hand fixed on his chin, the other dropping to the small of his back. Jeongguk gives a tentative grind against his thigh, choking, and Namjoon’s lips trail off into his ear. 

 

“That’s it,” He croons, teeth pulling delicately at the shell of Jeongguk’s ear. He had been so excited, showing it off just a few months ago, so proud when it had kicked Namjoon’s horny brain in the metaphorical face. “My love. That’s it.” 

 

Jeongguk humps against him, frantic, and Namjoon shushes his every whimper and whine, both hands sinking to guide the rock of his hips. Jeongguk is hard against his thigh, panting desperately against Namjoon’s lips, and Namjoon’s heart and belly clench up tight when he throws his head back and moans, rolling freely against Namjoon’s leg, fists clenched tight in the front of Namjoon’s shirt. 

 

He’s beautiful. He’s so fucking beautiful. 

 

Namjoon lifts him only for a moment and Jeongguk whines like his favourite toy has just been stolen from him. He grins, burying his chuckle in Jeongguk’s throat, and pushes his hips flat against Namjoon’s, slotting their cocks together through the thin layers of their sweats. 

 

Jeongguk’s head falls forward, elbows bracketing him on either side of the couch arm. Namjoon shuts his eyes and basks in the feeling of being trapped, of being caged in, of Jeongguk hesitantly pushing his hands away and taking over, grinding down hard--

 

“Y-You like that?” Jeongguk’s voice trembles, too tentative and careful to be sexy. When Namjoon looks at him, his cheeks are flushed with heat and exertion, hands shaking from where they dig into the couch beside Namjoon’s head. “S.. Slut.” 

 

Namjoon’s hand slides up to hold onto his wrist, surprised, mouth agape when Jeongguk delivers a particularly brutal thrust on the tail end of the line. He moans, sinking into the couch, and Jeongguk’s swear is astonished. 

 

“Yeah.” Namjoon pushes back at him, hips working spastically, groaning loud enough to rattle his own bones when Jeongguk shifts his weight onto one elbow and pins Namjoon’s free hand to the couch. He laces their fingers, softening the touch, and somehow it suits him. “Yeah. ‘M a little painslut, only good for--” Jeongguk’s hips jerk hard and he chokes. “F-For takin’ cock. God, please-- ” 

 

“You really--” Jeongguk’s breathlessness comes with an air of shock, and Namjoon huffs when he slows down, the fingers entwined with Namjoon’s too gentle for his taste, now. Jeongguk looks at him, eyes full of something like heartbreak, and Namjoon bites his tongue. “You’re.. Really like that. You want to be called that?” 

 

Namjoon flinches, wiggling his wrist in an attempt to free it, and Jeongguk seems to realize he’s misspoken. He presses their hands together, desperate, and dives down to hug Namjoon, an apology spilling out of him. 

 

“No, I didn’t--Shit, I didn’t mean to--” Namjoon pets through his hair with a sigh, cock still hard against his hip, eyes shut as he tries to ignore the wave of frustration that rolls over him. Jeongguk layers apologetic kisses over his neck and jaw and the tension leaks out of Namjoon like water, leaving him boneless against the couch. “Or--I mean, uh… I-I’m not sorry… bitch?” 

 

“Sweetheart,” Namjoon picks his words carefully, but it doesn’t stop the laugh from bubbling out, fond smile fixed in place when he pushes Jeongguk back enough to see his face. Jeongguk is pouting, the determined scrunch of his brows nothing short of endearing. 

 

“You are terrible at this.” Namjoon thumbs the crease away, brain going fuzzy and soft when Jeongguk leans into the touch, because he’s in fucking love. He’s in love with his husband and he doesn’t know why that can’t be enough for him. “It’s okay. I told you. I won’t see him again if you don’t want me to.” 

 

Jeongguk’s eyes go big and starry, wonderful and beautiful despite the sad set of them. He shakes his head, delicately pulling out of Namjoon’s grip, and Namjoon tries to push away the hollow ache that hits him when he slips off the couch entirely. 

 

“It’s okay.” He says, and the smile he gives shakes around the edges. He goes around the opposite end of the couch, avoiding Namjoon’s grasp. “I just…” 

 

Namjoon’s heart catches in his throat, because this is it, this is where it ends, he’s fucked up--

 

“What does he.. Do to you?” 

 

It takes him several long seconds to register the question. Jeongguk’s cheeks are red, but his eyes are downcast, his grip on the back of the couch hard enough to strain his knuckles white. It’s so clear he doesn’t want to know, so clear that he doesn’t have to know, but--

 

“He spanked me.” Namjoon croaks, wetting his lips nervously when Jeongguk flinches. “He spanked me until there were welts and I couldn’t walk. He made me count them, and if I lost track then I got double and he called me.. Ah…” 

 

Jeongguk doesn’t look at him. “What did he call you?” 

 

Namjoon’s voice wobbles, and they both ignore it with the politeness of a stranger witnessing an accident. “A dumb bitch. A stupid breeding hole.” 

 

Jeongguk is shaking, all the colour gone from his face, and Namjoon moves to scramble off the couch, moves to console him, but--

 

Jeongguk puts his hand up. Namjoon freezes. He speaks whisper soft. “Could you.. Do you mind sleeping out here tonight?” 

 

Mutely, Namjoon nods, lips pressed together tightly. Jeongguk doesn’t look at him as he turns around and guns for the bedroom, doesn’t turn and look him in the eye, and Namjoon crumples against the couch, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, choking. 

 

He knew it. He knew he shouldn’t have said anything. Why did Jeongguk even ask? Did he need proof? Confirmation that his husband was an unfaithful slut? Grief is the buffer to his guilt when he reaches for his phone, fingers trembling with the weight of a bad decision because he’s so desperate for the relief, for the space, to be far, far away from himself, right now. 

 

By the time Jeongguk comes out to drag him to bed, soft from sleep and yearning for the love of his life, Namjoon is gone. 

 

“You’re pathetic, y’know?” 

 

Namjoon can barely hear over the sound of the machine working, every little breath punched out of him, in time with it’s thrusting. Seokjin has it mounted to the bed, still and secure despite the way it hammers into him, and Namjoon doesn’t quite manage to raise his head enough to see. 

 

It takes several tries for him to warble out, “Wha…?” 

 

“You.” Seokjin uncrosses and recrosses his legs, looking down his nose at Namjoon, a tight little sneer pulled across his lips. “You’re so fucking desperate. Hungry for anything.” His fingers twitch on the remote and Namjoon sobs as the thing jabs deeper into him. 

 

“It’s pathetic,” Seokjin says, and the machine fucks into him faster, and faster, and faster. Namjoon’s voice breaks when he cries out, scrabbling at the bedsheets, fingers fisting tight. 

 

“Sir--” He wails. The machine doesn’t stop for him, doesn’t pause or slow down even when the pounding starts to hurt. Namjoon’s legs splay out like a particularly clumsy calf when it punches the breath out of him. “Sir, can’t--can’t, I can’t, please-- ” 

 

“You’ll take it.” Seokjin crosses his arms, now, too. His fingers hover threateningly over the buttons on the remote and Namjoon shudders, cheek pressed into the bed, drooling. “I know you can take it. You just want to be fucked, don’t you? Bred nice and full.” 

 

The machine slows, but no relief comes. Namjoon sobs into the sheets as it pierces deeper, deeper, digging so deep it hurts. The toy rubs up against his prostate with every twitch and slide and it’s too much , he can’t get away from it, not even enough to make it feel better. 

 

“So desperate you’re letting a machine fuck you.” Seokjin rises from his seat, coming around the bed to slide a finger into either of the restraints around Namjoon’s ankles, checking. Namjoon closes his legs obediently, gasping when the slide is that much tighter, and Seokjin slaps the back of his thigh, approving. “My little breeding hole. Pretty slut.” 

 

Namjoon keens, arching into his touch when Seokjin runs a hand from his ass to the small of his back, fingers tickling over his ribs. Seokjin massages the pinched skin between his shoulder blades, deceivingly gentle, inspecting him like a prized pet on display. 

 

Namjoon whines, impatient, and ruts back against the machine. Now that it’s not going as fast, now that he has the room to think, he wants it, wants anything, as long as it drills him into the bed again. Seokjin’s fingers sink into his hair, pulling his head back with enough force to sting, his roots screaming in protest. 

 

“Wanna help me out?” Seokjin crouches in front of him, hand still holding his head high, despite Namjoon’s hissing. He slaps Namjoon on the cheek, just hard enough to sting, and Namjoon falls limp and silent, eyes big as he waits. 

 

Seokjin’s sneer is vicious when he stands, undoing his belt and looping it neatly around his hand. “Since all you can do with that pretty mouth is whine and cry,” Shame burns through him, cock twitching spastically when the machine rolls back into shallower territory, fucking him in quick, short jabs. “I’m going to help you put it to good work, useless bitch.” 

 

“Yes, sir.” Namjoon says, fingers curled in the sheets, mouth watering when Seokjin shucks off his pants and kneels on the bed. “Thank you, sir.” 

 

“Don’t thank me yet, slut.” Seokjin sits back on his heels, fiddling with the remote, and Namjoon gasps in staccato when the machine suddenly picks up, fucking into him hard enough to have him skidding forward, rocking back frantically to keep from falling off the bed. Seokjin grins, pleased. “Take it. C’mon, mouth open.” 

 

Namjoon looks up, and Seokjin is kneeling, cock out and in hand. He surges forward eagerly, flinching when Seokjin slaps him, gripping him by the hair to hold him still. The machine continues pounding him forward, vibrating so hard that Namjoon shakes along with it. 

 

“You stay still, and you take it.” Seokjin pushes his head, backing him up onto the machine, and Namjoon whimpers when it pushes the toy up against his prostate more firmly, throat tightening up because he’s going to cum all over at this rate. “How many times do I have to tell you that?” 

 

“Sorry, sir.” Namjoon gasps, sticking his tongue out when Seokjin dares to press the head of his cock to it, pulling away quickly with a sigh. “‘M sorry, sir, ‘m your dumb bitch. J-Just a dumb hole.” 

 

“My stupid little sleeve, aren’t you.” Seokjin pets his hair, other hand guiding his cock into Namjoon’s mouth, cutting him off. “Don’t hold your breath, baby. Choke on it.” 

 

Seokjin forces his cock in all at once, and Namjoon’s throat spasms, wretched little noises gurgling out of him as he gags. Fingers coil in his hair on either side of his head, just tight enough to threaten, and Namjoon closes his watering eyes, canting his hips upwards and digging his fingers into the mattress. 

 

It’s too much. It’s too good, too much, all at once--the machine is consistent, steady and fast in a way a person could never be, and Namjoon can’t pull off of Seokjin’s cock in time to warn him. Cum spurts out of his untouched cock, pooling sadly in the sheets beneath him, and he sobs as the toy continues regardless, fucking up against his prostate with no reason to stop. 

 

Seokjin tosses the remote to the side, clicking his tongue, and Namjoon chokes when he pulls out and slaps Namjoon across the face, ignoring the tears rolling down his cheeks, the way he gasps for air. 

 

“Pathetic slut.” He mutters, and Namjoon shivers, dick twitching weakly in an attempt to harden up again. The machine fucking into him has ridden dangerously into painful territory, too much simulation on his sensitive prostate. “Cumming just from this. I could let a stray in to fuck you and you wouldn’t care.” 

 

Namjoon sobs, pawing desperately at his thighs, Seokjin’s hard cock bobbing in front of his face, because he needs to service his sir, needs to get him off, needs to be a good slut. Seokjin takes him by the chin. 

 

“You’re going to cum again.” He croons, and Namjoon gives a sad little cry. “You’re going to cum again, and again, and again, until I decide you’re done. If you’re so desperate to get fucked like a whore, then you can take it like one.” 

 

Namjoon opens his mouth, pleading, and Seokjin slides to the hilt again, head falling back with a groan. He fucks Namjoon’s mouth with abandon, now, fingers underneath his slack jaw as if Namjoon can’t support his own head. As if he’s that useless, that incompetent. Namjoon shudders under the dual stimulation, the sobs steadily growing more and more weighty as his sore cock starts to perk up, so good it aches. 

 

Seokjin plants his knees firmly against the bed, hands sliding up to cradle Namjoon’s head. Namjoon chokes and gags, mouth bitter with precum and sweat, and when Seokjin starts to cum, he drives deep, forcing Namjoon all the way down onto his cock, hard enough to having him gagging dangerously for a moment. 

 

He digs his nails into Seokjin’s thighs as the machine fucks into him, eyes shut tight, enjoying the feeling of being full. Of taking two cocks at the same time, like a good slut. It drills into him with the same force it has been but even consistency feels good, at this point, has Namjoon’s cock drooling pathetically again, stringy cum leaking out of him. 

 

“You’re hard again.” There’s a breathless quality to Seokjin’s voice, something amazed in the way he pets Namjoon’s bulging cheeks. He can’t swallow around Seokjin’s cock in his mouth, is forced to deal with the bitter taste and unpleasant consistency. Seokjin doesn’t seem to care. “I haven’t touched you once, and you’re hard. Desperate slut.” 

 

It’s enough. The words, the way he chokes even as Seokjin is going soft, the machine fucking into him without a care in the world--it’s enough to have him sobbing, opening his mouth as wide as he can to scream, a second orgasm ripping through him, tearing his coherency to shreds. 

 

Even in the aftermath, the hazy, desperate feeling, Namjoon realizes it's too much. It hurts too much to feel good, anymore, the drill of the machine genuinely painful. He pulls off of Seokjin’s cock without swallowing at all, cum and drool dripping down his chin, and lurches forward to get away from it, hiccuping. 

 

Seokjin seems to realize, too, that something is off. He takes the remote in hand, dialing it down several notches, and Namjoon whimpers. “Remember your word, sweetheart?” 

 

“Candy,” Namjoon gasps, and Seokjin flicks the machine off immediately. Namjoon sobs when it stills deep inside him, cries even when Seokjin helpfully pulls him forward and off of it. “Candy, candy, Hyung--” 

 

“Hyungie’s got you.” Seokjin’s lips are everywhere, all over his face, his neck, his hair. Namjoon blinks and he's laying on the bed, far away from the machine and it’s evil little dildo. Seokjin leans over him, cooing. “I’ve got you. Pushed you too hard, baby, I’m sorry. Hyung is sorry.” 

 

Namjoon opens his mouth to say something, latently realizing he should be reassuring him, but nothing comes out. He’s too far gone, still, floating somewhere warm and fuzzy where he wants, no, needs Seokjin to hold him. 

 

He paws at Seokjin’s chest, sniffling, and Seokjin curls around him immediately, shushing him. Namjoon sobs and shakes apart in his arms, overwhelmed by the bump in his otherwise good experience, sad and ashamed because he could’ve done it, he should’ve been able to do it, he could’ve done better. 

 

Seokjin kisses his temple, the skin above his ear. “Did so well for me, sweetheart.” He whispers, and Namjoon cries, turning to bury his face in Seokjin’s neck. “So good. Such a good boy for me. You took it so well, ‘m so proud of you.” 

 

“‘M sorry,” Namjoon blubbers, clinging to him as if Seokjin will pull away anytime now. “N’mjoonie’s sorry, didn’t--didn’t mean to--” 

 

“There’s nothing to apologize for, Namjoon-ah.” Seokjin is a grounding presence, every word dripping from his lips like honey, so firm and confident that Namjoon can’t help but to believe him. “I’m sorry for pushing you so hard. I’ve got you. You’re okay.” 

 

Seokjin tries to kiss him despite the disgusting after taste, the mess of snot and tears, and Namjoon pushes away, embarrassed. Seokjin sits up on his elbow, concerned, and Namjoon covers his face with both hands. 

 

“‘S gross.” He mumbles. Seokjin’s expression shatters with relief. 

 

“You’re so dramatic.” He pulls Namjoon back into the hug, and then kisses him deeply, both hands framing his face. Namjoon’s legs shake under the intensity of it, knees weak, and he grips both of Seokjin’s wrists, desperate to cling in any way. 

 

When Seokjin pulls back, he’s smiling, cupping Namjoon’s face and kissing all over his chin and cheeks. Namjoon giggles under the attention, lost somewhere far away, preening with his whole body when Seokjin wraps around him and coos, “Beautiful. You’re so beautiful, Namjoonie.” 

 

Namjoon is calmed down within the hour, dozing in and out, whining mindlessly the few times he wakes up and Seokjin isn’t at his side. Two hours later and the machine is disassembled and Seokjin is gently ushering him out of bed and into the kitchen, whispered promises sealed with a handful of kisses across the back of his neck. 

 

He can’t sit well, not without spreading his legs awkwardly, but Seokjin has the grace not to laugh at him. He slides a glass of water in front of Namjoon, twisting the mouthpiece of the metal straw higher, and Namjoon lets out a dry laugh at the sight of it. 

 

“Eco friendly.” He says, as Seokjin leans against the table next to him and grins. “Sexy.” 

 

“No sex to be had if the planet goes to shit.” Seokjin rubs the nape of his neck, smiling fondly, and Namjoon wraps his lips around the straw and starts to drink. The cold water is a blessing, washing the taste and soreness out of his mouth and throat, and Seokjin giggles when he drains his cup. “More?” 

 

Namjoon nods eagerly, and Seokjin is still laughing as he rises, taking the cup to the counter and propping the fridge open. Namjoon catches sight of his pre-packaged meals and is too caught up reminiscing, remembering Seokjin setting aside Sundays to cook and freeze food for the rest of the week, to realize that he’s hungry. 

 

His stomach roars rather rudely at Seokjin, who turns and grins, full cup in hand. 

 

“You’re staying for dinner, I take it.” He says, and Namjoon isn’t one to disagree. 

 

Seokjin tears into one of the packaged meals, splitting it neatly in half even though he insists on hand feeding Namjoon from both of their plates. He's adoring, lovingly showering Namjoon in kisses between bites, and Namjoon melts under the attention. 

 

“You seemed upset, earlier.” Seokjin says, very carefully, after he’s tasked Namjoon with wiping down the table. His back is turned, up to his elbows in dish water, and it softens the invasiveness of the question. “Get into a fight?” 

 

“Jeongguk-ah--” Namjoon starts, and then stops, frowning. He doesn’t know how to word it, doesn’t know how to put the words into the air, because nobody is innocent here, but he’s definitely done worse than his husband. “I think.. He might be jealous.” 

 

Seokjin snorts, one of the dishes clanging noisily as he deposits it in the dry rack. Namjoon shuffles over, tentatively pulling the towel free from the stove and drying them by hand, eager to be of help. Seokjin kisses his temple. “Didn’t he suggest this?” 

 

“People are allowed to regret their decisions. I think we need to talk about it.” 

 

Seokjin sighs, but it’s resigned, and Namjoon is staggered once more at how much he’s.. Grown. Become an adult, like the rest of them. Seokjin had honed shrugging off important conversations and talks into something of an art. 

 

“We do. All of us.” He turns around, gently taking the towel from Namjoon to dry his hands. Namjoon shuffles forward to burrow into his chest and Seokjin doesn’t fight him, simply stretching his arms out and around Namjoon to clean between his fingers. “Get him down here. We’ll have dinner.” Distaste colours his voice when he tacks on, “Muzzle the little beast. Don’t want him to attack me for.. Well.” 

 

Namjoon slaps his chest, cheeks burning. His hole throbs. “Shut up.” 

 

Seokjin knocks their foreheads together, smiling sweetly when he squints at Namjoon. “Make me.” 

 

Tomorrow, he’ll have to have a conversation with Jeongguk. A real one, an adult one, one that they should’ve had before all of this started. 

 

But, for tonight: he kisses Seokjin into the counter. 

 

When Namjoon creeps into the apartment, early in the afternoon, it’s quiet. 

 

Jeongguk isn’t home, but he was, recently. It’s in the freshly washed dishes on the drying rack, the chair knocked askew from where Jeongguk had pulled his jacket off of it. It’s the smell of his cologne lingering in their closet when Namjoon tip-toes to grab a fresh change of clothes, feeling like an intruder in his own home. 

 

Jeongguk will be home soon. He doesn’t work today, and anxiety tended to make his errands short and strictly necessary. If he was out seeing his friends, he would’ve taken one of his clean, leather jackets, but when Namjoon goes to steal one after his shower, they’re all still there. 

 

He’ll be home, and they’ll have to talk. They’ll have to talk it out like adults because the faster Namjoon runs, the worse he makes things. The longer he avoids it, the larger he allows this gap to grow--he doesn’t want to lose Jeongguk, but he steels himself and accepts the possibility that he might have already. 

 

Jeongguk deserves better than what he’s gotten. No matter what, Namjoon knows that. 

 

He’s hardly a proficient cook, but he’s old enough to remember Jeongguk’s favourite recipes, smart enough to avoid little mistakes like touching hot burners or chopping too closely to his fingers. He rushes through it, intent on finishing before Jeongguk gets home, throwing together one of the ugly green smoothies that Jeongguk likes and leaving two glasses of it on the table. 

 

The door opens and shuts with a soft click, and Namjoon hears the pause when Jeongguk sees his shoes. When he realizes that Namjoon is home and, considering the noise, definitely not asleep. Namjoon bites his tongue, carefully plating the rest of their food, not turning his head until Jeongguk crashes into his back with a whumpf . 

 

Arms wrap around his middle, Jeongguk burying his face in the nape of Namjoon’s neck. Their height difference isn’t dramatic, but Jeongguk still has to tip toe to nuzzle him, and it makes Namjoon’s guilty heart throb painfully. 

 

“Hey,” He greets, and Jeongguk kisses the back of his neck. Namjoon feels his nostrils flare at the sight of the food and can’t quite help the smile that graces him, swatting away Jeongguk’s eager hand when it tries to snatch some off the plate. “Stop that. Go sit down.” 

 

Jeongguk seems reluctant to pull away, clinging to him until the last possible second, and Namjoon sets his spoon down, turning around and catching Jeongguk in his arms. He grins, lost in the starry-eyed adoration, and kisses just beneath his eye. 

 

“Hey, sweetheart.” He says, more softly, and Jeongguk melts. Namjoon sways with him for a moment, choosing his words carefully, before stamping another kiss on Jeongguk’s chin. “You didn’t do anything wrong, and I’m not.. Leaving. But we do need to talk.” 

 

Jeongguk, predictably, tenses up. Namjoon’s chest squeezes painfully tight at the terror on his face. “It’s not bad. I promise. I don’t want this to--to fester. We need to air it out now before it’s too late. Okay?” 

 

He nods, very slowly, and Namjoon swallows hard when he cradles Jeongguk’s face, because Jeongguk still leans into the touch, because Jeongguk loves him. Jeongguk loves him and he’s giving Namjoon a chance to explain his own fuck ups and Jeongguk loves him and he shouldn’t. 

 

Namjoon pushes him towards the table with the excuse of dinner, scooping up both plates to follow him. Jeongguk bounces on his heels at the sight of food, eager, and Namjoon can’t wipe the fond smile off his face, sliding his plate towards him with little finesse. “Go on before you start chewing on the table instead.” 

 

Jeongguk bares his teeth, playful, and Namjoon grins at his food, picking at it neatly. Across from him, Jeongguk digs in like a dog, groaning appreciatively when he picks apart certain pieces. 

 

“It’s really good, Hyung.” He praises, kicking his feet at Namjoon. Namjoon pins one playfully and Jeongguk grins at him through a mouth full of food, clearly ready to demolish him in footsie. “It’s really good.” 

 

“Glad you like it.” Namjoon says, because he can’t quite fathom that it might be the last time he ever makes it. For Jeongguk, at least.

 

He prays to a god that he doesn’t believe in that this goes well. 

 

Dinner is easy. Happy. Jeongguk laughs at his smoothie but downs it anyways, kissing him on the cheek when they’re washing dishes and promising him that he did good, for a beginner. 

 

“A little easier on the kale next time, Hyung.” He says, giggling, like Namjoon’s heart doesn’t jump straight into his throat at the reassurance that there is a next time. 

 

They take it to the couch, because it feels less impersonal. Jeongguk drinks the rest of his smoothie for him, because Namjoon hates it and Jeongguk thinks its cute. They sit right next to each other because they’re married, and they’re in love, and Namjoon is a fucking fool. 

 

“I.. need you to know.” He starts, after a long silence, after Jeongguk starts to get antsy with it. Jeongguk wiggles his fingers into Namjoon’s and Namjoon takes them with a husky laugh, squeezing tight, terrified to let go. “I need you to know that I love you. No matter what, I love you, and I don’t--I do not regret loving you, or marrying you, or--or sharing my life with you. Okay?” 

 

Jeongguk’s lips tighten, but he nods, swallowing hard. 

 

“Okay.” He says, very softly. “Me, too. Always loved you, too, Hyung.” 

 

Namjoon’s heart breaks. 

 

“Sex.. is not, and will never be more important to me than you are.” Namjoon’s voice is firm, because this--this is true. He had been unsatisfied with the sex, deprived of that fuzzy, floating headspace for so long--but he loved Jeongguk. If Jeongguk wanted to stop entirely, if Jeongguk ever decided he no longer wanted sex at all, Namjoon would’ve been fine with that. He would’ve been fine, because Jeongguk’s wellbeing meant more to him than that. 

 

He wonders when he forgot that. When he stopped putting Jeongguk first. Guilt is heavy on his tongue. 

 

“If you want me to stop seeing him--” Jeongguk opens his mouth, as if to protest, and Namjoon squeezes his hand to quiet him. “Not if you think I want to see him. If you want me to stop seeing him, I’ll stop. I’ll never go back to him again. We’re--” He swallows. “We’re supposed to communicate clearly, with shit like this, and if you don’t like him in the first place, it’s never going to work. And that’s okay, but we need to figure it out upfront.” 

 

Jeongguk hesitates for a long, long moment, fiddling with Namjoon’s fingers. He thinks the closeness helps, with Jeongguk. The intimacy, even for things like this, always tends to loosen him up more quickly, get him talking faster. 

 

“I.. want you to be happy.” He says, at long last, gently twisting Namjoon’s wedding band around his finger. “And if it was just--just sex. I.. could deal with that.” 

 

Namjoon tightens his finger when Jeongguk tries to slide his ring off, suddenly possessive of it. Jeongguk slips it back into place without question, raising Namjoon’s hand to kiss it apologetically. 

 

His voice is tight, when he speaks again, all watery eyes and wobbling lips. “But it’s more than that, isn’t it? To you. It’s more than just sex.” 

 

Namjoon opens his mouth, and then snaps it shut, thrown off. It’d be a lie to say he felt nothing for Seokjin, because he did--he had, for a long time, and marrying Jeongguk meant putting those feelings to the side. Marrying Jeongguk meant a strictly professional friendship with Seokjin, because anything more veered too close to intimacy, dove too deep into that familiar comfort that they had shared for so long. 

 

He’s in love with Jeongguk, now, but it doesn’t erase the fact that he was in love with Seokjin for so long, either. 

 

“It.. It is.” The words feel too big for his mouth, too soft for his sandpaper tongue. Namjoon swallows several times, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to ignore the way Jeongguk’s hands tremble around his. “I.. I think I need to--I want to..” He tips his head back, breathing deeply, and both of Jeongguk’s hands wrap around his, grounding despite their shake. 

 

It takes Namjoon several long minutes to force the words out, and even then, it’s into the air. “I think you need to see it. What it’s… What it really is. I want you to watch. Even if you can’t do it to me, I want--I want you to understand it.” 

 

Jeongguk pulls away, just a little, and Namjoon’s head snaps back down to look at him, panicked. Jeongguk’s expression is riddled with conflict, a confused sort of hurt between his brows. He doesn’t look at Namjoon. “I don’t know if I can watch you.. Be with another man.” 

 

“I don’t know how else to explain us to you.” Namjoon says, and tries to ignore the sting when Jeongguk flinches at us. “I--If you really don’t want to, we won’t. I’ll stop seeing him and we can pretend it never happened, I promise. I just…” 

 

Jeongguk squeezes his hand again, framing either side of his palm, fidgeting. “You need this, don’t you?” 

 

Namjoon swallows around his heart, trying to crawl up his throat. “Yes.” 

 

Jeongguk laces their fingers together with finality, the silence dragging on for a long moment before he looks up. He nods once, twice, and then breathes deeply, shoulders sagging under the weight of it. 

 

“Okay.” He says, and nods again, leaning forward to press his face into Namjoon’s shoulder. “We’ll do it. I.. I’ll try.” 

 

“You don’t have to--” 

 

“I want to try.” Jeongguk’s voice is whisper soft against his skin. “I love you. I want to try.” 

 

Namjoon smooths a big hand down his back, itching at the dip of his spine, and Jeongguk arches into the touch like a starved cat, sighing. 

 

“We’re okay.” He breathes, pressing his lips into Namjoon’s neck, steadily inching into his lap. “I can hear you thinking, Hyung. Stop. We’re okay.” 

 

Namjoon doesn’t expect his voice to crack. Doesn’t expect Jeongguk to be the okay one, because Namjoon just keeps fucking up, over and over and over. “Promise?” 

 

Jeongguk pulls back, straddling him, both hands on either side of his face. He kisses the mole under Namjoon’s bottom lip, giggling when Namjoon chases after the matching one on Jeongguk. “We’re okay. I promise.” 

 

“Jeongguk--” Namjoon paws at his back, swallowing hard, because suddenly there’s not enough air, suddenly he can’t breathe. He drags Jeongguk closer to him and Jeongguk goes without question, teeth catching on the shell of his ear, the jut of his jaw. “Jeonggukkie, can we--” 

 

“I’m here.” Jeongguk presses their foreheads together, fingers sliding along Namjoon’s jaw, holding his head still. “I’ve got you, Hyung.” 

 

He breathes life back into Namjoon, kissing him deeply, unmoving when Namjoon’s fingers cling to his wrists and arms. They stumble off of the couch together, interlocked, and Jeongguk keeps them from tripping and stumbling hard enough to fall, giggling when he runs his shoulder into the door frame, and then Namjoon’s hip into one of their bed posts. 

 

Jeongguk cages him, arms on either side of his head, one hand caught up in his hair. He needs to cut it soon, doesn’t like how it tickles the back of his neck, but Jeongguk has always liked it longer, and sometimes Namjoon could indulge. 

 

“Let me do it this time.” He says, and Namjoon nods eagerly, already spreading his legs so that Jeongguk can slot himself between them. Jeongguk grins, all boyish excitement and pearly teeth, wrestling Namjoon’s pants off of him. Under his breath, he mutters, “ Sweet .” 

 

“Dork.” Namjoon doesn’t protest when Jeongguk hikes his legs up over either shoulder, making grabby hands at his underwear. 

 

Jeongguk pulls them off of him and digs his teeth into Namjoon’s thigh. “Dingus.” 

 

“You-- hahhfuck .” Jeongguk takes the tip of Namjoon’s cock into his mouth and sucks, hard, and Namjoon thrashes, neck aching with how hard he throws his head back. “Ah, ah, give me a warning--”

 

“So pretty, Hyung.” Jeongguk pushes his hips higher with both hands fixed firmly around his thighs, mouthing at his balls, always just a bite too eager. “You showered, right?” 

 

“ Uh --Yeah. Before you got home.” Jeongguk presses a too-careful kiss to his taint and Namjoon’s entire body throbs with want . “Why do you--” 

 

Jeongguk has eaten him out many times before, but the initial lick, the sudden intrusion--it still takes Namjoon off guard, squeaking and tossing his hips dangerously. Jeongguk tightens his grip, lips tightening around his hole suddenly, and Namjoon gasps, fingers fisted in the sheets, breathy little ah-ah ’s punched out of him everytime Jeongguk’s teeth tease at his rim. 

 

“Oh, God, fuck.” Namjoon tries to raise his head, tries to prop himself up, but any movement dislodges his thighs from Jeongguk’s shoulders and Jeongguk shrugs him back up, licking into him eagerly. Namjoon tries to throw a hand out for his hair, falling short and digging his nails into his own thigh instead, whimpering at the sting. “Please, please--” 

 

“Got you.” Jeongguk bites hard enough to break skin in the join of his ass and thigh, and Namjoon jumps hard, hard enough that he nearly takes Jeongguk’s head off with his knee. Jeongguk is grinning when he finally lets Namjoon drop, crawling back over him, licking the side of his face like an overeager dog until Namjoon relents and lets him kiss. “Pretty Namjoonie-hyung.” 

 

“Your mouth was just on my ass.” He mutters, but doesn’t push Jeongguk away when he crowds closer, one hand pressed against his chest, sighing softly when Jeongguk’s knee presses into his groin. “Jeonggukkie.” 

 

Jeongguk pulls away, grinning, thumbing at the swell of Namjoon’s pecs. “Want me to put it back?” 

 

Namjoon squints at him, jerking again when Jeongguk leans down and wraps his lips around Namjoon’s nipple, sucking hard. “Th--That’s dirty, you can’t ask ‘nd then--” 

 

“Hyung.” Jeongguk bites him, sliding a hand between them to undo his jeans, kicking them off eagerly to the edge of the bed. Namjoon flinches when it jostles the sore spot on the back of his thigh, outright groans when Jeongguk wraps a hand around his thigh and pushes it up to his chest, prodding at the bite. “Does that.. Feel good?” 

 

“Bites are good.” Namjoon says, breathlessly. “Bruises are good. Everything is good, everything is--You’re so good, baby, feel so good, please just--” 

 

“Okay.” Jeongguk looks dizzy with the praise, a blush risen high on his cheeks, giddy smile in place. He fumbles for the lube on the nightstand, giggling when Namjoon starts to pry his underwear off with his toes alone, impatient. “You’re like a monkey.” 

 

“Rude.” Namjoon refuses to acknowledge the swell of satisfaction that raises up when he does manage to get the briefs off, holding them and his leg high in the air. “It’s a talent. You wouldn’t understand.” 

 

Jeongguk kisses him so softly that it takes Namjoon off guard. He melts into the bed, whimpering, and their lips click when Jeongguk pulls away, shy. 

 

“Hi.” He whispers. Namjoon feels boneless. 

 

“Hi, baby.” 

 

Jeongguk preps him slowly, fucks him open on his fingers, stretches and scissors like it’s the first time, like he doesn’t know how little it takes for Namjoon to be ready. He presses their foreheads together, cockhead resting at the hole, and Namjoon wraps both arms around his neck, canting his hips upwards, waiting. 

 

“Want you,” He breathes, head falling back under the stretch, under Jeongguk splitting him open again, both hands pulling Namjoon back onto his cock. “Wan--Want you, fuck, ah--” 

 

Their skin sticks together when Jeongguk presses in deep, whimpering under the adoring kisses Namjoon presses all over his face. His hips jerk on reflex and Namjoon moans, fingers lacing in Jeongguk’s hair, hips rolling frantically. 

 

“Move.” He begs, and Jeongguk obeys without pause. Namjoon chokes into his ear. “Move, move, c’mon--” 

 

Jeongguk barely pulls out, grinding his hips deep and slow, and Namjoon threatens to shake apart under the attention, under the constant pressure against his prostate. He’s still sore from the machine, and everytime Jeongguk shifts too quickly it stings, and it hurts so good that he’s unraveling like yarn against the duvet, trembling. 

 

Jeongguk’s nose brushes up against his. Namjoon opens his eyes and surges forward to kiss him, moving up the bed with ever slow thrust, readjusting his hands to cling to Jeongguk’s shoulder blades when Jeongguk shifts and plants his elbows on either side of Namjoon’s head. 

 

“Feels good, Hyung.” Jeongguk whispers, voice wrecked and broken against Namjoon’s skin, finally pulling out to thrust properly, diving back into him with enough force to hurt. He ruts against Namjoon, gasping breathily, trying desperately to reciprocate the sloppy kisses Namjoon plants on him. “Feels so--so good. Hyung, Hyungie, Namjoon , fuck-- ”

 

He slides one hand down under Namjoon’s knee and uses it to push his leg up to his chest once more, holding it there with his elbow so he can lick into Namjoon’s mouth. Every playful remark about ass-breath is wiped clean from Namjoon’s brain, eyes rolling back in his head, scrabbling to hold Jeongguk closer, closer, closer-- 

 

Namjoon watches him come apart, watches him shake and tremble, throwing a hand between them to wrap around Namjoon’s cock and tug hard. The stimulation is a pleasant surprise, and Namjoon gasps into his mouth, bouncing with his movement, cock twitching spastically when Jeongguk buries himself deep inside and cums, twitching all over, gasping for air. 

 

There’s just--something. There’s something about it, about the way Jeongguk looks him in the eye, the way he gasps and pants and tightens his fist around Namjoon even through his own orgasm. It’s the intimacy, the affection, the way Jeongguk stalls himself so deep and wraps around Namjoon, like he just wants to be closer--

 

It’s everything all at once. Namjoon is driven over the edge, groaning, thighs trembling under Jeongguk’s hold and around his waist. Jeongguk jerks him off until he’s sore with it, gently batting his hands away, trying desperately to get more air than his aching lungs will allow. 

 

Jeongguk collapses onto him, cum leaking out past his own cock, and Namjoon can barely move, reaching one hand up to bury it in his hair and then laying there, silent, gathering his breath.

 

He’s in love. This is what it’s like, having sex with the person he loves. This is what it’s like to fuck someone that loves him to the moon and stars, that would give the world up for him and still be convinced it wasn’t enough. 

 

This is enough. This should be enough. He should be able to do this everytime, be this satisfied, all the way down to his bones. 

 

Tears spring to his eyes, because this should be enough. 

 

Was love not enough? Was the fact that he adored his husband not enough? Was it some unnatural test that he had already gone and failed, seeing if he could get over himself, fix himself and come back to Jeongguk whole? Jeongguk didn’t deserve that, didn’t deserve to be left with broken toys. 

 

Logically, he thinks, Love never guarantees anything. Love is a concept, an emotion, and-- 

 

“You’re thinking again.” Jeongguk mumbles against his chest, without looking up. There’s an exhausted quality to his voice, and Namjoon would feel scorned were it not for the way he curls around Namjoon, suckling on his collarbone in an innocent, adoring way. “Stop it. Where are you?” 

 

Namjoon looks down at him, combing his hair out of his face, guilt and adoration swamping him in equal measure, because he got fucking lucky. He got so fucking lucky, to be given this, to be blessed with this and to still be allowed to want more-- 

 

“I’m here.” Namjoon whispers, and when Jeongguk looks up, he kisses him slow. “With you.” 

 

He means it. He means it. 

 

He thinks Jeongguk knows that. 

It’s a little weird, he thinks, seeing Jeongguk dress up so.. Properly. 

 

He’s not a sloppy dresser, not by any stretch, but he’s a lover of big sweaters and hoodies and comfort. He picks at the lapels of his blazer and Namjoon can’t remember the last time he’s even worn it. 

 

It’s always been a point of contention, between he and Seokjin. Jeongguk was younger than both of them and, as a result, a child; naive, dumber, inexperienced. Namjoon had taken issue with the philosophy. Jeongguk had taken it as a challenge. 

 

Namjoon was younger, too. Seokjin praised him for being wise. 

 

All of them knew it was a Jeongguk-exclusive issue, and all of them politely pretended that it wasn’t. 

 

“Baby,” He starts, and when Jeongguk looks at him, he spreads his fingers, holding out his hand. Jeongguk’s breath leaves him in a nervous rush, and he grabs it, tangling their fingers and holding tight. Namjoon turns his head into Jeongguk’s shoulder. “You really don’t have to do this. We can still leave.” 

 

Jeongguk rests his head on top of Namjoon’s. “Do you still want to?” 

 

Namjoon opens his mouth, hesitant. It had been easy to say, alone and isolated, far from any consequences he would have to face. Now, the guilt bites him, has him clenching his jaw and swallowing. 

 

Jeongguk squeezes his hand in response to his silence, voice firm. “Then we’re doing it.” 

 

Seokjin answers the doors in sweats. Well-fitted and casual. He scoffs at Jeongguk, giving him a bland once over, and says, “You’re trying too hard.” 

 

Jeongguk grits his teeth. Namjoon squeezes his hand and frowns at Seokjin, letting out a soft, “Hyung.” 

 

Seokjin’s expression softens when he looks at Namjoon. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes, and then steps back into the apartment, leaving the door open to them. 

 

“Shoes off. Go sit in the kitchen.” Namjoon steadies Jeongguk without a second thought when he wrestles his sneakers off, and Seokjin eyeballs them with his lips pressed together, a cautious sort of observation. He clears his throat. “Jeongguk-ah. You’re here to watch, aren’t you?” 

 

Jeongguk looks up, a deer caught in headlights, and nods very slowly. Seokjin’s expression doesn’t change. Namjoon would’ve almost preferred the vicious smiles, a biting remark, something other than this--this seriousness. 

 

“Namjoon-ah.” Seokjin says, and then holds his arm out. Namjoon’s hands shake when he releases Jeongguk to go to him. 

 

Seokjin kisses him. Jeongguk gasps like he’s been hit. Namjoon moves to pull back, to check on him, and Seokjin’s hand crawls up the back of his head, tangling in his hair and holding tight. Namjoon moans. 

 

“Went and got your husband involved.” Seokjin whispers to him, and Namjoon’s throat closes fast, trembling under the biting kisses pressed into his throat. “That desperate to have someone else watching you? Greedy little thing.” 

 

Jeongguk is standing awkwardly, when Seokjin finally releases Namjoon, wrapping an arm around his waist and looking at him. He shifts on his feet, eyes downcast, and Seokjin’s voice comes out sharp. “If you can’t handle this, leave now. It’s only going to get worse.” 

 

Jeongguk looks up at him, wide-eyed. Namjoon’s belly turns in shock when Seokjin’s voice softens, expression just a touch gentler. “I’m not letting you hurt yourself for him. If you just wanted to see it really happening, you have. You can leave.” 

 

Jeongguk is still. He glances at his shoes, and then at Namjoon, and shakes his head, swallowing hard. 

 

His voice comes out whisper soft. “I’m staying.” 

 

Namjoon trembles. Seokjin squeezes him once and then releases him, sighing. 

 

“Alright, then.” Seokjin stands with his hands on his hips, shaking his bangs out of his eyes. “Kitchen. Both of you. We’re talking this out.” 

 

Jeongguk stumbles towards the kitchen in a daze, shaking his head. Namjoon presses his hand into Seokjin’s chest and kisses him gently. “Thank you.” 

 

Seokjin huffs at him. “If he freaks out, I’m tying him up.” 

 

Namjoon lights up. Seokjin sighs more loudly. 

 

There’s tea waiting, a plate full of cookies cooling in the middle of the island. Jeongguk sits on a stool, eyeballing them, and Seokjin plucks one off the plate and breaks it in half. “Help yourself.” 

 

Jeongguk snatches two off the plate. Seokjin squints at him. Namjoon tries to hide his laugh behind his hand. 

 

“Namjoon-ah.” Seokjin calls, and Namjoon comes closer, opening his mouth obediently so that Seokjin can feed him half of the cookie. Seokjin purrs. “Good boy.” 

 

“They’re really good, Hyung.” Namjoon covers his mouth when he chews, grinning. Seokjin’s always been the best chef out of all of them, always better at doing the adult chores. Even Jeongguk liked his food. 

 

“‘Course they are.” Seokjin says, and then, “Jeongguk-ah. Come.” 

 

Jeongguk inches forward, wary. Namjoon smiles encouragingly at him and he scoots closer, eyes flicking between them, blinking hard when Seokjin presses the other half of the cookie up against his lips. “C’mon. ‘Ahh.’” 

 

Jeongguk parts his lips, confused. Seokjin presses the cookie in and then sighs, dusting his hands off. 

 

“You used to let me feed you all the time.” He mutters, snapping apart another cookie only to break it into many little pieces. He doesn’t look at either of them. “What happened to us?” 

 

Namjoon knows he doesn’t just mean Jeongguk. Knows he doesn’t just mean the rivalry or the mean words. 

 

They had been such good friends. All of them. Seokjin could be petty and Jeongguk could take jokes too far but it had never been this bitterness, this painful, frigid wedge in their relationship. 

 

It had been a slow-building thing. Study dates with all of them became study dates with Seokjin and real dates with Jeongguk, and even those dwindled the busier Seokjin became with work and school and other people that weren’t them. Namjoon hadn’t seen it before it was too late, too far on to fix, and he hates himself for it, now, because maybe if he had said something, maybe if he had noticed--

 

Well. Maybe he wouldn’t be here, now, trying to convince his heartbroken husband to let him sleep with another man.

 

Jeongguk clears his throat, and then frowns, eyebrows tugged down. “You know why.” 

 

“Oh, really?” Seokjin is picking at crumbs, at this point, but nobody tries to stop him. “Do tell. I seem to have forgotten.” 

 

Jeongguk scowls at him. His eyes don’t drift, fixed on Seokjin’s face, and Seokjin is unbothered, pulling another cookie free to crumble. “You.. What did I even do to you?” 

 

“Married my best friend.” Seokjin snaps the cookie and pops half into his mouth. “Got the love of my life to look at you right before I told him.” Seokjin breaks the other half once more, rolling his eyes. “You know what you did. Don’t play stupid.” 

 

Jeongguk glowers. “You knew I liked him and you slept with him anyways. You started that.” 

 

“And it looks like I did a better job, too, huh.” 

 

“Stop.” Namjoon cuts in, sliding his hands onto the counter to cover both of theirs. “That’s not--that’s over with. That’s not what we’re here for.” 

 

Jeongguk swallows hard. Seokjin’s expression takes on an amused edge. 

 

“Pretty slut is so desperate to hurry up and sit on something.” Seokjin grins at him, at the way his cheeks burn red, and Jeongguk chokes. “Poor baby. We’ll hurry up.” 

 

Namjoon whines. A protest burns in his throat but never makes it out, and he shakes his head, releasing them both to knuckle at his eyes. 

 

“Please.” His voice comes out hoarse. “Please start talking.” 

 

“Hyung.” Jeongguk is looking at him, Namjoon knows he is, and he squeezes his legs together tightly, sighing. Jeongguk’s expression is fuzzy, horrified and amazed. “That’s… Already?” 

 

“He’s always like this.” Mean. Seokjin is so mean. He snorts, eating the rest of his cookie, and cuts Namjoon a freezing glance. “Stupid whore. Gets so hard just from a little talk. He’s so easy, I don’t know how you can’t do it.” 

 

Jeongguk swallows hard. Namjoon sits on his hands, pressing his thighs together and staring at his knees. No words come out. 

 

“Let’s make this quick.” Seokjin pats his cheek. Jeongguk gapes. “I do the talking. I do the fucking. You sit and watch and don’t do anything until I tell you to.” He lays his hand flat on the counter, frowning. “Even if you think you need to, don’t intervene. We have a system set up. If he needs to stop, he lets me know, and I stop everything immediately. You don’t get in the way of that. Understand?” 

 

Jeongguk nods very quickly, hands clasped in his lap. Seokjin sighs. 

 

“You can touch yourself.” He says, and when Jeongguk squeaks in alarm, he rolls his eyes. “But do it quietly. I haven’t had another person sit in in a long time with him, I don’t know if he still reacts well to it, and I don’t need you freaking him out.” 

 

“You’ve had--” Jeongguk’s eyes are wide. He stares at Seokjin, mouth agape. “More than.. What?” 

 

Seokjin sneers, fingers tangling in Namjoon’s hair, wrenching his head back. Namjoon and Jeongguk both gasp. “Pretty thing took three of us, one time. Gaped so prettily.” Seokjin kisses his temple, a gentle contrast to the sting in his scalp. “That’s not the point, for today. Just sit still and be good.” 

 

Jeongguk chokes. Namjoon keens. Seokjin digs his fingers into the nape of Namjoon’s neck and smiles, vicious.

 

His breath sends goosebumps rocketing across Namjoon’s skin, lips moving just above the shell of his ear. “Ready, sweetheart?” 

 

Namjoon nods fast. Seokjin slaps him. Jeongguk gasps. 

 

“Use your words.”

 

“Yes.” Namjoon’s voice comes out a croak. He wets his lips several times, nodding eagerly. “Yes, sir. I’m ready. Please, sir.” 

 

Seokjin pets his head, expression a touch fonder than usual, just a hair gentler than he would be when Namjoon was already this low. “My good slut. So ready for it.” 

 

He glances sidelong at Jeongguk, who flinches like he’s been hit. “Come. There’s already a chair set up for you.” 

 

Jeongguk trails after them like a lost puppy, but Namjoon is barely aware of him, kicked onto his knees as soon as he stands up from his stool. Seokjin toes at his thighs, urging him forward, and Namjoon crawls to the bedroom on his hands and knees, humiliated. 

 

“You want it so badly,” He crows, always just a step behind, shoving Namjoon with his foot every now and then. “Work for it. Faster, bitch.” 

 

Namjoon barely makes it past the threshold of the bedroom when Seokjin shoves him hard enough to fall, elbows giving out from under him and head smacking into the floor. Seokjin’s foot rests atop his head, pinning him there, and he presses his hands flat into the carpet, whining. 

 

“Want it here?” On the floor. No lube, no condom, no prep--Jeongguk isn’t even in the room yet, peering over Seokjin’s shoulder, sick with curiousity. Namjoon shakes his head as best as he can and Seokjin’s foot moves between his shoulder blades. “Really? You’re arching your back like you do. Bet you’re already all stretched out for me. Bet you let him fuck you on the way over, desperate little slut.” 

 

Namjoon hiccups. Seokjin releases him and kicks him in the ass again, and he jolts forward, scrambling up onto the bed like an overeager dog and going down on his elbows again, ass in the air, knees spread wide. 

 

“Chair is over there.” He says softly to Jeongguk, almost as an afterthought. He runs an appreciative hand over Namjoon’s ass, fiddling with the seam of his skinny jeans. “I don’t think you’ve ever come over with this much clothes on, sweetheart.”

 

Namjoon turns his head, staring back at him, and wiggles his hips, enticing. Seokjin slaps the back of his thigh. He jerks. 

 

“Didn’t want your husband to see how much of a slut you are on your own, hm?” He hooks his fingers in Namjoon’s jeans and tugs them off with half as much difficult as Namjoon had putting them on. An appreciative sigh is punched out of him and he stops halfway down Namjoon’s thighs, running delicate fingers over the pretty lace wrapped around his ass and balls. Seokjin prods at his plug and Namjoon shudders. “Ah. So that’s why.” 

 

He runs his finger under the lace to push it to the side, grabbing Namjoon by the hip and dragging him further down the bed, standing off to the side. “Can you see, Jeonggukkie? Did you even know he had a pretty little thing like this?”

 

Jeongguk doesn’t answer. Namjoon can’t raise his head to see, burning face buried in the sheets, whimpering softly. Seokjin’s fingers trace the plug. 

 

“I think it’s safe to make noise.” He says, very lowly, and Namjoon startles when he hears Jeongguk sigh, breathy and sharp. “Look at him. Pretty slut wants to hear it.” 

 

Seokjin tugs at the plug. Namjoon’s breath catches. Seokjin’s voice comes out a drawl. “Don’t even need to prep you today, do I? That eager?” 

 

Namjoon whines into the sheets. Seokjin yanks his head up. 

 

“Words, whore.” He pulls so hard that Namjoon’s hands fly out to support himself, head aching and burning, spine arching uncomfortably until his hips fall flat against the bed. “I didn’t teach you to be this quiet.” 

 

“Sorry, sir.” Tears prick at his eyes. Namjoon tries to squint and his scalp screams in protest, and he whimpers when one breaks free, rolling into his ear. “Joonie is sorry. ‘M sorry. Want it, please, please, please--” 

 

Seokjin drops him. Namjoon hits the bed with a whumpf. Seokjin pulls his jeans the rest of the way off and slaps his ass hard enough to send him scooting up the bed. Namjoon cries out. 

 

Jeongguk must move. Must shift or stand, because Seokjin goes rigid, squeezing Namjoon’s ass with one hand, and snips, “Don’t move. I told you.” 

 

Namjoon turns his head just as Jeongguk falls back into his seat, knees pressed together, eyes huge and round. Seokjin looks between them, massaging Namjoon’s ass appreciatively, and then hums, layering himself over Namjoon’s back to speak right into his ear. 

 

“He’s got his hand down his pants.” He whispers, fingers digging into Namjoon’s hole beside the plug, dry and rough and verging on too full. “Wanna see him? Wanna see what you’re doing to him?” 

 

Namjoon whimpers, going up on his elbows and nodding fast, rolling his hips into it when Seokjin pulls the plug free and replaces it with one, two, three fingers, easy. “Please. Wanna see, please, sir.” 

 

“Jeongguk-ah.” Seokjin manhandles him into turning around, fingers dug hard into his ass like a morbid bag strap, and Namjoon’s legs kick, narrowly avoiding nailing him in the chin. Seokjin drops him to the bed and slaps the back of his thigh, hard enough that Namjoon thinks he might’ve split skin for a moment. “Look this way.” 

 

Seokjin pulls his fingers free, and Namjoon’s hole is already throbbing with the ache, running on what little lube hadn’t been absorbed from earlier. He turns his head to see where Seokjin is, to prop his hips up and get them back, and suddenly Seokjin’s cock is at his rim, on him, breaching him.

 

Namjoon’s hands fly out to grip the sides of the mattress. The burn is so bad, the stretch so painful, so sudden, so fucking dry; he squeezes his eyes shut, burying his face in his arms, hips jolting in little attempts to get away from it. Seokjin’s fingers bury in his hair. 

 

He pulls and Namjoon goes, sinking further onto his cock, burning hot inside. He hiccups. “Look at him. You said you wanted to see him, slut, so look.” 

 

Seokjin doesn’t pull so hard on his hair, this time, seemingly aware of how much pain the dryness brings already. Namjoon opens his eyes, turning his head into Seokjin’s neck and whimpering, watching Jeongguk squeeze his thighs together tight, hand pressed against his cock. 

 

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t twitch or grind up into his hand. He stares at Namjoon, face full of familiar worry, and Namjoon whines mindlessly when Seokjin ruts forward, palm pressing down on his belly. 

 

It hurts. His hole is aching and burning and everywhere where the lube hadn’t sunk in earlier clenches spastically around Seokjin’s cock. Namjoon’s knees are shaking so badly that when Seokjin tries to prompt him to sit himself up, he can’t. 

 

“Look at him.” He croons in Namjoon’s ear, one hand sliding up, fitting around his throat, not squeezing or restricting just yet. “He’s so hard, baby. You want him to touch you? Want him to feel how wet you are?” 

 

Namjoon’s cock gives up an embarrassingly timed spurt of pre-cum, drooling into the sheets, and he watches Jeongguk eye it, watches him squeeze himself through his jeans, jaw clenched tight. 

 

Seokjin pushes his shirt up to his chest, groping him. Namjoon’s eyes flutter shut, head falling back onto his shoulder, moaning low in his throat and rolling back onto Seokjin’s cock. 

 

Jeongguk shifts. Namjoon hears it. “Is he--”

 

“I told you not to talk.” Seokjin snaps at him, hips jabbing into Namjoon hard. “Sit still and be good for me.”

 

Jeongguk whimpers . Seokjin freezes. Nobody else really seems to catch it. 

 

He pulls Namjoon back onto his cock by the hips, raising him into the air with a grunt so he can throw his legs out in front. Namjoon is effectively sitting on him, thighs spread over his, and Seokjin guides him down, thumbs spreading him open. 

 

“C’mon, love.” Namjoon sinks down and Seokjin reaches behind him, groping for the lube he knows he had tossed earlier. “Come on. Doing so good. Look so pretty.” 

 

Namjoon balances himself on Seokjin’s thighs, sniffling, and Seokjin watches him bounce, watches him try to lift himself up on trembling legs. He wraps one arm around Namjoon’s waist, pulling him down so that Seokjin’s cock is buried deep inside, and holds him there, kissing the back of his neck. 

 

“Gonna open you up, pretty.” Namjoon’s sigh is full of relief, when Seokjin’s lubed up fingers touch him, trailing around his rim. He sucks a bruise into Namjoon’s shoulder. “Doing so good. So good. You did so well, sweetheart.” 

 

Namjoon’s breath catches in a sob. Seokjin pushes another finger in alongside his cock and he shudders, trying to ride it, whimpering when Seokjin reaches a hand around to touch his balls. 

 

“So good.” He whispers, and then, to Jeongguk, “Jeongguk-ah. Come here.” 

 

Jeongguk stumbles when he stands, tugging his shirt down to cover his groin. Seokjin beckons him over and he pauses when his knees hit the edge of the bed, staring at Namjoon, eyes tracking Seokjin’s fingers when they trail up to pinch at his nipple. 

 

“Sit down, love. Hands out.” He presses his chest into Namjoon’s back, finger slipping out to grab the lube again. Namjoon whines. Seokjin silences him with careful teeth, pressed right up against his neck. “You’re gonna help me stretch him some more. Can you do that?” 

 

Jeongguk nods, fingers trembling when Seokjin thumbs the cap open and drizzles lube over them. Seokjin’s hips kick. Namjoon sobs.

 

“Good boy.” He whispers, and Jeongguk ducks his head, blushing all the way up to his ears. He holds the lube in his hand, like he isn’t sure where to put it, and Seokjin presses his feet flat into the bed and falls backwards, taking Namjoon with him. He slides his palms up under Namjoon’s knees and holds them up, spreading him open. “Go on. He can take it.” 

 

Jeongguk’s fingers trail over Seokjin’s balls, digging into Namjoon’s entrance, and he swallows hard, head hitting the mattress. Namjoon is hysteric with the stretch of it, with the way Jeongguk thrusts two of his fingers in a little sloppily, mindless of the pain. Seokjin reaches down and thumbs at the sensitive head of his cock, hushing him. 

 

“You’re okay.” He cooes, pulling Namjoon’s ear into his mouth. “You’re okay, my pretty baby. He’s making sure you’re all nice and open.” 

 

Namjoon is drooling, glossy-eyed and dumb when he turns to look at Seokjin. Seokjin kisses him and he whines, legs twitching, hole clenching around the both of them. Jeongguk, below them, chokes on his own breath. 

 

“He’s gonna fuck you.” Namjoon can do little more than lick into his mouth, at this point, so stupid with the pain and now the stretch, and Seokjin tries not to giggle at him, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Gonna put it in right next to me. You want that? Wanna be our pretty little sleeve? So good at keeping my cock warm, baby.” 

 

Namjoon’s hips buck up. Jeongguk’s fingers slip out and Seokjin buries a swear in Namjoon’s shoulder at the gape, the way Namjoon has to clench hard to close around his cock. His voice is punched out of him for a moment. 

 

“Doing so good, Jeongguk-ah.” He wheezes, legs straining with the effort of not moving. Jeongguk’s fingers slide back in with ease and Seokjin sighs, eyes fluttering shut, tweaking Namjoon’s nipples absently in an attempt to keep him still. “Just prep him as much as you would if you were fucking him. He’s already so loose.” 

 

Jeongguk’s fingers slip out, and they both shiver. Seokjin pushes up on one elbow, cradling a panting Namjoon with the other, and watches him fumble, staring at his hands and then at Namjoon’s gaping hole like he isn’t sure what to do.

 

“Sweet thing,” He calls, and Jeongguk’s head snaps towards him, cheeks colouring. Seokjin wonders if he was wrong, but Jeongguk inches forward obediently, and Seokjin slides a hand down the join of Namjoon’s hip and thigh. “Come on. He’s ready.” 

 

Jeongguk shoves his jeans down to his knees, pulling his cock out and shivering. Seokjin eyeballs him, satisfied, and turns to hush Namjoon’s breathless whining, letting Namjoon lick into his mouth with all the finesse of a puppy. 

 

They both freeze up, when Jeongguk presses in. Seokjin feels it, feels Namjoon clench up, feels the resistance; and then he forces the head of his cock in and it punches the air out of Namjoon, has him gasping and panting, fingers digging into Seokjin’s arms. 

 

The tighter the slide gets, the harder Namjoon tries to wiggle away. Seokjin holds him still, cooing into his ear, and Jeongguk starts making desperate, strangled sounds. Seokjin digs his teeth into Namjoon’s shoulder, hissing, curling his toes in the sheets to keep from bucking up. 

 

Above him, Namjoon has gone dead silent. 

 

Jeongguk buries himself as deep as Namjoon’s body will allow and then collapses over them with a wheeze, burying his face in Namjoon’s chest, hands and arms trembling where they come to rest on the mattress at Seokjin’s sides. 

 

Concern flickers to life, a dent in his confidence that Seokjin knows he can’t let grow. He keeps his hips pinned in place, gently urging Jeongguk to stay still as well, and turns his lips into Namjoon’s ear, delicate. “Namjoon-ah. Need your word, baby?” 

 

Namjoon wheezes, and then gasps in staccato, and Seokjin goes very still because it sounds like he’s dying but-- 

 

Namjoon rolls his hips down. Jeongguk cries out. Seokjin throws his head back to keep from moving. 

 

“Fuck.” He hisses, and Namjoon knocks his head into his shoulder and sobs. His hips work restlessly between them, not very fast but so, so deep, voice broken on a wail when Jeongguk sinks into him even further. “Fuck, ah , Namjoonie--” 

 

“Hyung,” Jeongguk pistons into him, cock rubbing up quick against Seokjin’s, fingers scrambling for anyone, anything, and finding one of Namjoon’s limp hands. “Hyung, Hyungie, hah-- ” 

 

“Not so fast.” Seokjin tries to say, but it comes out watery, and he clears his throat, frustrated. He reaches a hand between Namjoon’s legs and groans deep in his throat when his fingers come away wet, sticky with cum and sweat. Namjoon sobs and grabs his hand, shoving it back onto his cock, grinding desperately into his palm and then back onto their cocks. “N--Uh, fuck . Jeongguk-ah. Slow down, now.” 

 

Jeongguk whimpers, but his hips still, giving a handful of helpless jerks before he really listens. Seokjin pats blindly at his hand and Jeongguk dives further forward, burying his head in Namjoon’s neck, trying to bring him into his arms until Seokjin’s hand stops him. 

 

“Good boy.” He whispers, and Jeongguk twitches against him. Namjoon gurgles weakly into the air. Seokjin tries to breathe through his nose, feeling the way Namjoon’s cock swells against his hand, the desperate rut back and forth when he and Jeongguk take up separate rhythms, thrusting in opposite time. “There’s my good boy. Gonna cum? Getting close?” 

 

Jeongguk nods into Namjoon’s neck, so fast that his head knocks into Namjoon’s chin. Namjoon barely notices, straining his neck to catch Seokjin’s mouth, drooling all over him, and Seokjin indulges in the messy kisses, warmed. 

 

“Hold his legs up.” He gasps to Jeongguk, swatting Namjoon’s hands away and reaching around to jerk him off proper, thumb digging into the head. Namjoon weeps. Jeongguk pushes his knees so far back that they nearly touch his chin. “Good. Doin’ good, baby, go ahead.” 

 

Jeongguk groans. He jerks forward, pinning Namjoon down and humping into him like his life depends on it, and Namjoon hiccups and cries out brokenly, hands scrabbling to grab at his head and neck, fingernails leaving long marks across his shoulders. 

 

Seokjin swears, slides one hand up and around Namjoon’s neck, pulling him down to kiss. He thrusts faster and faster and he feels Namjoon’s cock spurting between his fingers, but he pays it no mind, blurry with the thought of release, light-headed at the feeling of Jeongguk cumming against his cock. 

 

Jeongguk shudders and stills when he cums, drilling his hips forward one final time and staying there, and it makes the slide so much wetter, so much filthier, and Seokjin pounds into him, punching gasps out of both of them, one hand trapping Namjoon’s cock against his belly and the other lacing with someone’s fingers. 

 

Jeongguk kisses lazily at Namjoon’s soft belly, eyes watery and hands trembling, and Seokjin shudders when he holds up their intertwined hands, looking Seokjin in the eye. Not a mistake. Not a misgrab. 

 

Jeongguk pulls away and out and Namjoon sobs at the emptiness, but he trails lower, sinking onto his elbows and pressing his mouth up against Seokjin’s balls, and--

 

And that’s it. There’s no way he can hold up against that, no way he could keep this up any longer. 

 

Seokjin’s cum oozes out of him, and Jeongguk laps it up eagerly, has both of them shuddering and shivering with oversensitivity. Namjoon is broken, above him, so limp that Seokjin would be worried were it not for the way he panted, gasping for air and clarity. 

 

It’s going to hurt. It’s going to start hurting, real soon, and Seokjin knows that, because Namjoon never took the aftermath of pain well--he was too sensitive, out of the moment, too soft for the sharp stings and burns. Physical aftercare is a must for him.

 

“Jeongguk-ah,” Seokjin calls, and Jeongguk pokes his head up, cheeks red. Seokjin beckons him up, slotting his knees on either side of Namjoon’s hips and turning them onto their sides, and holds Namjoon open again. “C’mon. Put it in.” 

 

Jeongguk fumbles for his flagging cock, pressing into Namjoon’s gaping hole and shuddering when there’s no resistance other than Namjoon gasping weakly into the sheets. Seokjin digs his thumbs into Namjoon’s hips and pulls out slowly, breathing uneven, and Namjoon moans. 

 

“I’m gonna get water. Don’t let him sleep.” He drags one of his fluffier blankets off of the armchair next to his bed, layering it over them. Namjoon sighs, buries his head in the sheets, and doesn’t respond. Seokjin sighs. “Or.. Y’know what, let him be. I’ll clean him up first.” 

 

“I’ll help.” Jeongguk blurts out, detangling from Namjoon, and Namjoon lets out the most heartbroken, desperate wail that he’s ever heard. Seokjin turns on his heel, alarmed, and Jeongguk is standing there like he doesn’t know what he’s done, staring at the way Namjoon reaches out for him, sobbing. 

 

“You don’t just--” Seokjin grabs him by the arm and shoves him back into bed, spreading Namjoon’s legs and pushing Jeongguk’s soft cock back into him with clinical touches, swearing under his breath when Namjoon hiccups a few times and then stills, sniffling. Seokjin scowls at him. “You can’t just leave him empty and alone, after that, Jesus . No wonder he couldn’t trust you with this.” 

 

Jeongguk flinches. Seokjin ignores the sudden punch of guilt and turns away, dragging the blanket back up and over Namjoon’s shoulder. 

 

“I didn’t know.” Jeongguk’s voice is tiny. Seokjin pets Namjoon’s head, watching him sink into the sheets in order to avoid looking at Jeongguk. “Jin-hyung. I didn’t know. I don’t know about--I don’t know anything about this.” Softly, brokenly, he whispers, “I need help. I don’t want to lose him.” 

 

Seokjin glances sidelong at him, jaw stiff. “You think I did?” 

 

Jeongguk’s eyes are watery, expression desperate, and Seokjin’s heart breaks for him. It does. It’s not like he doesn’t understand, not like he can’t see how bad of a situation Jeongguk is in, how useless he must feel if his husband is seeking out other men. 

 

But he’s hurt. He’s been hurt, for years, and Jeongguk hadn’t said shit about it. Seokjin releases his jaw with a pop, sighing. 

 

“We’re talking this out.” He says, and Jeongguk nods woodenly, looking every bit the kicked puppy he is. Seokjin digs his knuckles into his eyes, grumbling, and then stands up, cuffing the back of his head. “All of this, numbnuts. You two are seriously missing some info.” 

 

Jeongguk nods. He cradles Namjoon to his chest, keeping their legs wrapped tightly together, and Seokjin can’t stop looking, can’t get it out of his head, because they’re in love, and they’re happy, and he shouldn’t be breaking up marriages like this.

 

With enough finesse, he won’t have to. He thinks. 

 

“I’m getting soap and water. Keep your dick in him until I come back.” Seokjin stands, shuffling around for his sweats and pulling them on slowly, wincing when it drags over the mess of lube and cum dried on his skin. “Just.. stay there. I’ll clean you up too.” 

 

“Thank you.” Jeongguk whispers. Seokjin pulls his shirt on. 

 

“Hyung,” He calls, just before Seokjin makes it through the door, and Seokjin turns, hands on his hips, waiting. Jeongguk doesn’t look at him, doesn’t move his head from where it rests on the bed, but the room is silent enough to hear a pin drop. “I’m sorry.” 

 

Seokjin’s throat tightens suddenly and he turns away, rubbing the back of his neck, uncomfortable. He won’t cry, not over this, not after so long; he capped this years ago, locked it in a box and swallowed the key, and Jeon Fucking Jeongguk and his stupid genuinity isn’t going to ruin that. 

 

He opens the door. Jeongguk is silent, back turned when Seokjin looks at him. 

 

“Jeongguk-ah.” He calls, very softly. Jeongguk doesn’t move. Seokjin hesitates.

 

After a long, long moment, he says into the air, “I know.”