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“Ugh, hold on, let me just set up the camera.” Chan clears his throat, and turns to the camera, pretending he didn’t already adjust the setting and the position just right.
It’s really hard to look away from him. He’s fucking gorgeous .
When Changbin said he’s ‘ his type ’, Chan was left kinda stumped.
He didn’t have a type.
He was pretty much preference-free when it came to sex.
Which is why he was so good at this job.
Sure, some took a bit longer to get him all hot and bothered - usually he’d just find something hot about every person that came into the room, and focus on that. Works like a charm. Changbin calls it ‘ being professional ’, and ‘ having your head in the game ’.
The trick in his job - would be to ease the other person into it. Get them into the right mood, get them comfortable and interested, get them to agree to do things even while the camera was still running.
For the most part, the people who usually went through with it; either liked it or were ridiculously gullible, and Chan doesn’t feel bad for either. He knows just the type to wander in for the interview; no name actresses looking for their big break, trainees that got kicked out of their agencies, and college boys looking for a new source of income. This is easy money.
The dude sitting on the black couch is nothing like that at all.
There is absolutely nothing typical about him, either.
He peeked in, knocking only after he had already shoved his head through the door, wielding a large coffee cup, and his cellphone in his other hand and asked if he’s too early.
Chan was so dumbfounded, that it took him like maybe 3 seconds to actually come up with something to say. Now he was looking around curiously, as if taking in the interior of the room.
His lips are the most perfect thing Chan had laid eyes upon.
They would look so good around his cock.
When his eyes land on him, finally, after having roamed the room for a long minute, Chan returns to his camera.
He sips from his coffee.
“So what’s your position around here? You do the auditions?”
Right on the nose.
Chan isn’t supposed to mention the word ‘auditions’ because that would imply that they are connected to some sort of production team and that there was some role involved. They’re not. So that would be a lie, therefore illegal. “Not exactly. I’m just casting personal. I do the interviews.” He continues to fiddle with the camera some more.
“Figures. You’re dressed too casual to be somebody important.”
Chan actually looks down as if he doesn’t remember what he wore in the morning; a black hoodie, black ripped jeans and a beanie. It’s not like the viewers are coming to watch him. The only part of him they’re going to see is his cock.
He looks back at him and snorts; “You got me there.” He agrees, just for the sake of it.
“So who's the dude I talked with? His voice sounded different.”
“Changbin. He’s the casting director.”
“I see.” He sips from his coffee; “Changbin.” He repeats after him, as if it’s a name he needs to memorise, and Chan supposes if he were here for a real audition, it is.
Chan topples down onto the armchair after he finishes with the camera, and picks up a pen. He clicks it a few times. Force of a habit.
It’s been awhile since he was nervous about this.
The guy is fucking sharp, on top of it all. Chan is going to be surprised if he’ll agree to do it. Generally, Chan rarely ever gets people storming off before they took off their clothes - but this one might, though. He’s too smart to be sitting on their couch.
He usually doesn’t really care about the end result, because tomorrow they’ll have another person wandering in, ready to get down on his knees and do just about aanything for some cash (or his five minutes of glory on camera). But fuck, it’ll be a god damn let down to see him walk away. He wants him to stay.
He wants to fuck him.
He’s staring at the camera pretty intently, eyes narrowed down at the blinking red light.
“Is the camera making you uncomfortable?” Chan asks.
He inhales when he turns to him, sinking into the couch and leaning back. “Not really.”
“Stage fright? Or something else we need to know about?”
“Definitely not.” He snorts, as if it’s obvious.
“Alright. Well, let’s start;” He clicks his pen again, even though he doesn’t write anything; “Bang Chan here, conducting interview 143. Introduce yourself to the camera.”
“Lee Minho, 23 years old.”
Chan’s name and Minho’s family name are going to be censored with a beep sound; not that it matters. Minho’s name is actually pretty common. So common that it slightly surprises Chan. Someone as spectacular as him should have a spectacular name.
Chan snorts; “That’s it? What is it that you do with your life?”
“Recently finished Performing Arts school… Umm, serve tables during the day, perform with a dance crew during late evenings and weekends.”
“Wow, sounds busy.”
“It’s definitely challenging. But keeping busy is good, too. Especially when it allows you to pay the bills.”
“So what brings you here?”
“Well… considering I got my diploma and all, I was looking for an opportunity to fit in the acting industry. But auditioning takes a long time - and I need the easy money. At least for now.”
“Why acting? I mean, since you already got stuff going on with your dance crew.”
He shrugs; “Dancing is nice and all when you’re young… but there’s really nothing professional you can do with it past your 20s.” He looks down for a moment, as if he’s troubled by what he just said, before looking up; “Let’s just say that I don’t like being the back-up dancer anymore.”
Chan swallows.
“Would you say you’re good at dancing?”
“I’m okay. Not spectacular.”
Dancers have great bodies, though. Chan shifts a little in his seat.
“You don’t need to humble yourself down.”
“I’m not trying to.”
“You look fit. So that’s a nice perk that comes along with being a dancer or an athlete.”
Minho turns to him, cocking his head a bit to the side, as if he’s touched.
“Thank you.” He says. It sounds genuine, and that sort of catches Chan off guard.
Fuck. He can feel that rushing right into his balls.
“You’re welcomed.” He replies, clears his throat, and clicks his pen a few more times, before pretending to go over his CV. He already did multiple times, though. He has no idea why they even ask for them, when they don’t even matter. Maybe just to keep face. “You played a few minor roles before, didn’t you? Can you say you like acting?”
“I love it.” He smiles is small and catty, and Chan actually needs to bite onto the inside of his cheek.
What the fuck, he’s stunning. His smile is beautiful. And he definitely got an actor vibe to him — or at least, a model one. He looks like the type of guy that always gets what he wants.
Chan has the itching urge to be what he wants right now.
“You do understand this could destroy your chances at acting, right?” Chan realizes it’s out of mouth, only a moment after he said it. It’s not something he’d usually ask during these interviews, in fact, he’d try to steer the conversation around it or at least give the impression like this might even promote them further in the industry. The point is to get them to cooperate, not to scare them off.
“I never really thought about that.” He says, leaning back, and raising his hand to put it on the back of the sofa.
He gives the type of impression that he’s controlling the situation, and not Chan, and Chan’s mouth waters a little. He wants to break him, see his fingers dig into the leather, totally lose control.
“I guess it’s just something I wanted to try my luck at.” He adds.
“Why’s that? Do you think you can bring something new to the table?”
He chuckles, like what Chan said was funny; “Bring something new? To porn? I don’t think there’s anything that hasn’t been done before.” His legs are crossed and the leg that’s on top of the other swings up and down idly, like a cat’s tail. Not angry or nervous; slow, but deliberate.
Chan tries not to get distracted by it.
It’s a bit too confident.
And it makes him lose confidence, as if they’re playing a game, and Minho is winning.
Chan takes a large gulp, and with it a large inhale. His mouth is filled with spit. Like a dog before meal time.
“You’d be surprised. Humans are gross. New kinks spring up every now and then.”
“So what kink am I casted for?”
“Well… this is more of a general audition.”
“No actual roles in mind, or are you not allowed to discuss them?”
“A bit of both.”
Damn, he’s sharp. It feels like he’s already suspecting something. He has no idea how’d Changbin got him to come here.
“I see.” He looks around some more, and picks up his coffee cup to have another sip - though this time he keeps eye contact with Chan.
It’s been awhile since Chan got hard before he got touched. Usually a blowjob gets him going. Now, he doesn’t need one. He’s ready to devour him.
He licks his lips.
Enough with the chit-chat.
“So, tell me, do you watch adult videos?”
“Sometimes.” He admits, but doesn’t elaborate. Chan wonders if he switched on any red bells yet; if he did, Minho doesn’t show it on his face or his body posture.
“What would you think would be expected of you if you were in an adult video?” This question is for protocol. He asks it in every video, usually as a way to ease them into the situation. They can always refuse if they’re not feeling like it - and some do. Some get upset and leave. Some threaten to report this to the police when they realize there’s no thick pile of money at the end of the recording session. Some threaten to post it on twitter unless he pays up, some even try to take his picture after they do. All in all, 6 months into it, no police came knocking on their door and no protesting crowd was formed outside the building to call out about injustices.
Changbin says that it’s because Chan’s actually quite good at this; people want to have sex with him once he’s talking. They’re into it, into him . It’s not exactly a trade secret Chan is keeping to himself, but if they look visibly uncomfortable, scared, or just like they’re not feeling it, Chan would rather let them go. There’s just nothing quite like enthusiasm. His viewers would agree.
“Suck some cocks.” Minho’s tone doesn’t even change when he says that. He says it in the same manner he said his age and name. “Get fucked in the butt. That sort of thing, probably.”
“Is that something you’d be willing to do for money?”
“Hmm,” He leans his head to the left, a little, almost comically. “Depends.”
“On what exactly?”
“On whose doing the fucking.”
Chan’s throat feels dry. “What if I’m doing the fucking? Would you be able to do it then?”
His eyes go up and down Chan’s body, as if he’s assessing him anew. “You?” He asks that distractingly, without looking up at Chan’s eyes — but it doesn’t sound like mockery, either. Surprise, maybe. Awe. When his eyes finally stop on Chan’s, he can tell that a decision formed inside that pretty head of his. “Yeah, I could do it.”
Chan nods, before he can stop himself, fiddling with the pen for a moment, and the next thing out of his mouth is pure instinct; “Do you like being touched, Minho?”
“Of course, I do.” He puts down his coffee cup, and makes a delicious little sound with his lips, as he sucks in his lower lip for leftovers of coffee.
“Where do you like to be touched?” Chan hates coffee, detests it even — but the smell of it in the room right now is overloading his senses, and makes his hands and crotch itch.
“Mmnn...” he actually takes a moment to think about it, his eyes skirting from the ceiling to the floor. Even his lips pucker up a little; almost into a comical pout. “I guess my legs,” He reaches down to caress his down his knee, but then his hand rides up; “Thighs.” He stops right at his crotch, but doesn’t touch it, just shifts in his seat. “I can be a little bit sensitive when it comes down to it, no matter where you touch me.”
“Is there any —” He pauses; “particular things you prefer? Kinks?”
He snorts and leans back on the couch again; “It’s dumb - but,” He waves his hand, and Chan can’t help but smile along along with him. The video is going to be the most popular on their site by a long shot, he can already tell. “I guess I like being bitten.”
Chan’s pen falls off his hand, but he catches it before it reaches the floor. He expected something dirty. Something that would make his ears ring. If anything, that makes Minho feel vulnerable. Like he exposed a part of him he really shouldn’t have. Chan can almost taste his skin between his teeth.
He clears his throat and fiddles with the camera for a moment; “Uh, we should,” He starts, his head in total disarray. “The producers usually want — well, to see you.” He stands up, trying to ignore the aching in his crotch. “All of you.”
“All of me,” He repeats after him, amused, but still gets off the couch. “Should I strip, then?”
Chan is just setting up the camera higher when he says that, and he feels the urge to look at his face and just — take him in.
He’s already taking off his jacket and lets it sit at the tip of his fingers before it drops on the couch.
“Turn around, first.” He instructs, going back to the camera; “Do it slowly.”
Minho smirks but does as told, fiddling with his belt.
The minute his head turns, Chan is already adjusting his cock in his pants, before they burst open. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Changbin was right — he is more his type than anybody who walked in through the door in the last six months.
It’s not even how he looks, although that’s definitely a factor. It’s just that there’s something about him — about the way he carries himself, that smells of power and submission at the same time and it mixes so sweetly together, that Chan’s head spins.
He takes his sweet time with the belt. Chan zooms in on Minho’s ass.
Minho’s back is straight as a ruler, poised like it belongs to a noble, and the curve of his ass is small and elegant, like all of him. Jesus fucking christ, it’s a nice butt; the way the pants hug it leaves little to imagination; and Chan can already feel it in his hands, ready to be destroyed in all the sweetest ways.
He’s so entranced by it, that when Minho turns his head to him, Chan’s hands fall off the camera. His entire body feels tense like a guitar string. He’s hyperconscious of everything Minho does, and if he comes any closer, he’ll probably lose control.
His profile — the long slope of his nose, and the slight rise of his chin, and how long his eyelashes are. Chan is almost angry that he’s going to share this with the viewers; it feels too valuable to give away.
“Help me with the belt...? I think it got caught in the back.”
Chan’s throat is dry, and his jeans are tight, and his head clouded, but he still takes a moment to brace himself.
Minho was looking at the floor when he asked, but he looks up to Chan’s face after a moment, his lips slightly parted, as if he needed to make eye contact for the request.
If he’d just pull on the belt, it’ll go through, but Chan didn’t need to see that to understand that he’s baiting him to come closer.
At first he wants to pretend to help — play the little game he does — but he’s too impatient, too eager to finally touch him. He slides his hand around his waist without thinking, and drags him closer to his body, breathing out when it meets his own.
Minho makes a small hum, but doesn’t opposes, even when Chan fits his nose into his nape, and drags it up into his hair.
He smells like apples and something baked, like food, and it makes his eyes flutter closed as he takes him in. Even the way his scent runs up his nose, deep and rich, how easily he shivers in his hands just screams of sex to him right now.
Minho doesn’t say anything, just turns his head a little, so Chan can see his wicked little smile, and gives him full access to his neck. Chan rubs his cheek on the skin, gasping at how soft it feels against him, before finally biting into it.
The sound Minho makes is broken and aborted — like he didn’t expect it, and Chan pulls him even closer, so he could feel his hard on with his lovely butt.
“Mr. interviewer,” Minho feigns a scandalized tone; “I think you’re getting a bit ahead of yourself.”
“Am I?” He says that emptily, because his head just shuts down, then clears his throat; “You can — think of it as a demo tape. If the producers like what they see — you’d definitely land a couple of interviews in no time.”
“Huh,” Minhos runs his hand the arm Chan has around him, his fingers small and cold, he fits them underneath Chan’s sleeve easily; “Well, I guess I should do a good job, then.” He’s not even sure why he’s playing along.
He can’t honestly be this gullible — that’d be out of character of him.
Minho turns so he could study Chan’s face up close, before adding; “Showcase my skills.” Although he says that, he’s already looking at Chan’s lips, and Chan doesn’t need him to finish that sentence.
When their lips meet, Chan can feel the anticipation boiling his blood, building up at the pit of his abdomen, coiling like a snake.
It’s soft at first, almost shy, then Chan takes the lead, and Minho sighs into him, melting as he places his hands on Chan’s shoulders.
It’s not the first time Chan kissed a man, but it feels like it, because his body is tense with lust.
When they break apart, Minho’s breath is heavy and irregular, and he allows Chan to bite onto his chin.
He does it roughly, feeling the moan inside Minho’s long neck.
Just Chan playing into what Minho wanted, although he clearly doesn’t need to.
They rub their faces on each other like animals for a second, just enjoying the touch. It’s both innocent and intimate in a way, and Minho lifts his hips to meet Chan’s, desperate for friction. Now that it’s allowed, Chan wants to touch him everywhere, with all of him; leaving his marks on his body, his scent on his clothes, coat his skin with his cum. He wants him to leave limping, and then call him at 2am, asking for more. It’s a first for him, because he never actually thought about what happens with the people that come here after they leave.
It takes Chan a couple of minutes to snap out of that initial daze, and then he clutches onto his arms, and pushes him at the couch, bending him down until he’s forced to clutch onto it for support.
Minho’s laugh is short and childish; he’s not used to rough handling. Nobody in their right mind would have the guts. Chan bumps his crotch onto his ass, closing his eyes at the muted grind against his cock. He pulls his belt off with an ease, and then his printed shirt out of his pants, running a hand down his back, when he rolls his hips against him again.
Minho hums, placing his knee on the couch for more stability; “I know you like the view, but shouldn’t you be holding the camera?”
“In a moment,” Chan promises emptily, and pulls his pants down, falling to his knees before him. Minho’s butt fits just right in his hands, just like he envisioned it. It’s pink and bare and perfect, and it spreads so easily for him, almost as if he’s welcomed.
Minho hisses sharply at the stretch, arching his back a little, then gasps when Chan bites onto him.
“I thought we’re evaluating my skills?” He asks when Chan bites his other butt cheek too, this time harder. There’s a sense of urgency in his tone, like he’s panicking, but when Chan runs his tongue on his entrance, the moan that escapes his lips is sweet and long.
Chan latches onto him, running his hand down to his balls and onto his cock. Minho keeps biting onto his lip, most of his moans nasal and aborted, like he’s trying to be quiet. Chan really shoves his face in there, until his thighs are shaking, and he can hear Minho’s fingernails scraping the couch.
His lips separate off his ass with a wet sound, and Chan needs to help by fisting his own cock for a moment. His spit running down the inside of Minho’s fleshy thighs, and it’s a view he would like to entomb in his brain.
Minho topples down on the couch with his back to Chan, pants still lowered to his feet. “Do you do this with all your interviewees?” He’s red and out of breath, pumping at his dick idly.
Chan stands up to remove his own pants and shirt. Minho spins back to him, shoving the pants and his shoes off as he does in an unexpectedly messy manner that makes Chan snort, and bend down to give him a long kiss. He really shouldn’t think about that right now. He should focus on Chan, instead.
“Mmnn, distracting me with ass to mouth action?” Minho snorts. “This is a weird porn interview.”
Chan pushes him down on the couch; “Let’s just say you’re definitely the first ass I’ve eaten in this room.”
“But not the first guy you’ve fucked,”
“I didn’t fuck you yet.” Chan pulls out his own dick, and Minho’s eyes are glued to it for the longest moment, before they hurriedly return to Chan.
When he’s towering above him like that, he seems small and vulnerable; his cheeks flushed and his lips swollen from biting. But then Minho reaches out instinctively and pulls at Chan’s cock until it reaches his mouth. He licks the precum off, and Chan toes curl on themselves.
It’s sensitive and throbbing, so Chan almost stumbles when his grip tightens. He wanted to fuck him first, but Minho’s in control now, his fingers on his balls.
He wets it with his tongue, running it along his length, assessing it from both sides, as if he’s not sure what to do with it, before attempting to swallow him whole right away.
Fuck.
Chan puts his hand on his hair, but doesn’t pull at him yet, let’s him have a go at his dick without any guidance. He doesn’t seem to need instructions, but he’s obviously inexperienced with blowjobs.
He sucks in noisy, obscene and loud, and Chan hisses, feeling his balls throbbing; Minho draws back a little, then allows himself to sink deeper. He can’t take him in fully, not with that cute little mouth of his, but he really does try.
His mouth is hot and wet, and when he tries to fit everything in, he chokes a little and draws back, coughing slightly for a moment, before he's back for more.
It’s a bit sloppy — but he sure as hell makes up for it with enthusiasm, making more encouraging obscene little sounds as he sucks.
Chan collects a fistful of his hairs and helps him a little. Minho looks up, meeting his eyes, as he goes in as deep as he can, holding him deep for a moment, before drawing back, a trail of spit and pre-come still connecting his dick with Minho’s mouth.
He pulls at his hair when he’s about to put it back into his mouth. He’s far too close, now. “No,” He orders, and pushes him on the couch. “I want to fuck you,” He says that, but he’s not sure where he wants to cum yet. He wants to do it on his face, but also inside of him, as deep as he can.
Minho nods, agreeable now, ready for him.
Chan finds the lube, and coats his fingers before running them down Minho’s cock and balls to his asshole.
His dick is big, full, and pretty, because Minho is pretty all over. His balls are a bit reddened, soft under his fingers — but his insides are tight and hot.
Minho bites his lip again, and throws his head back when Chan fingers him, making almost no sound, besides sharp intakes of air through his mouth, whenever Chan’s fingers are inside.
“When was your last time?”
“When was yours?”
“I asked first.”
“I asked second.”
“Last week,” Chan admits; “Job requirements.”
“So you do all the interviews and fuck all the interviewees?”
“I get checkups regularly,” Chan tries to ease his mind; “And we’ll use a condom—”
“Don’t use one,” Minho cuts him off; “I doubt you’ll be having any sex after you’ve had me.”
Chan laughs and leans down to give him an open kiss.
“How confident,” He marvels, leaning down to give him an open kiss. “Let’s put you to the test, though — if I’m pleased, I’ll find another job and take you out to dinner.”
“If I’m pleased, I won’t put you in jail.” Minho is smiling as he says that, though, spreading his legs for him, so Chan can sit more comfortably between him. Chan licks his lip, before biting it. Cute. He’s a bit angry and possessive, but he’s not backing down, and it makes him want to fuck him even more.
His smile drops when Chan’s fingers slip out, and Chan spreads his buttcheeks; he’s glistering and lubed up all the way from the balls up his crack. Chan had never really taken his time to prepare any of his interviewees, and wow, maybe he should start doing that, because it makes his dick throb almost violently.
It feels like if he won’t fuck him now, he’ll die. And Minho is all ready for him, pink and abused, quivering and dripping wet onto the black leather couch.
Fuck, that turns him on.
He pulls him closer by the hips, lining his cock with Minho’s. He sighs shakily, almost as if he’s relieved, and Chan runs his hand underneath his tshirt. “You’re beautiful,” He can’t help himself, rubbing his finger on his nipple.
Minho smile isn’t exactly bitter or big, but he still says; “I bet you say that to everybody.”
“I don’t.” It’s the truth. “Only when I really mean it. You really shouldn’t be doing this.”
He pushes in gently, running a thumb on the trail of hair low on Minho’s stomach, below Minho’s cock that twitches at his touch.
Minhos is about to reach for it, but Chan grips it first, liking the feeling of it in his hand as he pushes in further. It’s a bit of a struggle, and he needs to draw back to draw in further, but once he starts pumping at Minho’s cock, Minho almost looks grateful, his chin hitched up and the muscles of his tummy contracting at the touch.
He really is sensitive.
When he finally makes it all the way inside - almost balls deep, Minho makes another broken sound, and moves his hands up his shoulder, to his neck, to his hair, as if searching for a button, or a pause setting.
Chan waits with him, pulling his bangs out of his face, before bending down to kiss him. Minho’s hands settle on his shoulders then, and Chan moves his hips back, before slamming back in.
He lets him adjust, and breath, pressing his nose to his cheek, before giving him another thrust.
“Okay…?” He asks.
Minho doesn’t reply, his ears and neck are red, and Chan kisses him softly, before thrusting in again.
He moans, and pulls onto his hair until Chan grunts. “Gently,” he warns.
“Sorry.” Chan nibbles at his jaw.
He’s tight around him that it’s almost painful and Chan feels like there’s still more to go in - so much more inside to explore with his cock, but he goes slowly, gently, kissing and biting, finding a pace to suit them both, as if it’s a punishment and a reward at the same time.
Minho wraps his hand around the hand that Chan has on his cock, and squeezes it hard; “That feels good ,” He tells him.
“Yeah?” Chan encourages; “Fuck, you feel good to me, too.” His own voice sounds a bit hoarse to his ears. Minho starts helping with his hips, meeting him halfway, his thighs clenching onto Chan’s waist to draw himself up and inside of him.
The couch doesn’t creak, but the leather makes a wet sound for every thrust. His mind clouded, and he can almost feel the beginning of an orgasm, but Minho pushes him out and off, and Chan loses his balance a little, surprised.
He lands on the other side of the couch, out of breath and undone, so close that he’s in pain. Minho climbs on top of him, looking pretty satisfied with himself.
He pumps Chan’s dick, once, twice, cooing softly and puckering his lips, when Chan grunts, and sinks in slowly on him, helping with one hand. “That’s more like it,” He says, just sitting there for a moment, on top of him, with Chan’s cock in his ass, feeling himself as he moves his head in a circle idly.
Chan wants to cum so bad, he can’t form words.
When Minho starts to move, the thrusts are shorter and faster, his cock bouncing off Chan’s belly until Chan catches it, and for some reason that makes him laugh.
This is probably the best fuck Chan had in years — maybe ever. He feels sorry to cum so fast, but he cannot hold it in when Minho moves like that, almost vibrating on top of him — he explodes.
Chan doesn’t scream, but it sure feels like he did. His eyes are shut hard for a moment, his toes curling into themselves inside his socks. He feels gone. Minho continues to ride him, and it prolongs Chan’s orgasm by a few more seconds, until he’s cumming himself. He places his hands on Chan’s chest, so he won’t topple down on top of him.
Minho breathes loud and hard for a moment, and then snickers again, as if he’s had so much fun, he needs to laugh, too.
Chan’s orgasm was so strong, he’s totally spent. He’ll need a few more minutes to be able to communicate.
Minho shifts a little, careful to keep Chan’s cock still inside of him, before raising both of Chan’s hands above his head, and giving a kiss.
“I’m pleased ,” He tells him, and it makes Chan laugh.
He feels something cold on his wrists, before a metallic click makes Chan open his eyes.
He tries to draw his hands back, but he can’t. They’re stuck to the exposed water pipe right next to the couch.
Kinky son of a bitch.
Chan half-laughs. He’s going to need at least 10 more minutes before he’s back to business, but Minho is already getting up.
He groans when Chan finally slips out of him, and fishes his phone out of his jacket.
The voice recorder app was running and Minho stops it, and gets off the couch.
“H-hey,” Chan says, trying to move his hands again. His head doesn’t settle on what’s happening, yet.
He glances at him, looking somewhat sorry for a millisecond, before placing his phone to his ear.
“What’s going on…?” He asks, still unsure. His post-orgasm lightheadedness is mixed with a feeling of absolute dread.
Minho bends down to give him a kiss on the mouth, before holding up his finger to his lips, as if Chan should be quiet.
“Yeah, are you still at the station, Jisung?” He moves forward to the desk, to the tissues, and wipes his butt and his thigh. “Can you get a car down to a location I’ll send you? I’m done with the casting couch case.”
He pulls the phone away from his ear.
Even Chan can hear on the other side of the line screaming.
Minho rolls his eyes, and looks back at Chan. “Of course, I read him his rights this time,” He says that like it’s obvious, and then puts his hand on the phone’s bottom; “You’re arrested, by the way,” He announces it in a way that makes Chan laugh at the absurdity of it all.
This man — Lee Minho — is not an actor, but a cop. Undercover.
And he fucked him to crack his case.
He tries to sit up, his hands slowly becoming numb from being held that high above him.
“So remain quiet, and all that, otherwise I’ll use it against you.” He puts the phone back into his ear, taking himself another wipe. “—Okay, okay, calm down.” He tells the person on the phone, that’s still yelling, and sits on Chan’s lap. “No, I didn’t maim him, idiot, he’s fine.” He reaches down to palm Chan’s dick. “He’s more than fine,” Minho adds as an afterthought and looks up to Chan’s face. “He’s super satisfied with the arrest. He’s going to rate my arresting skills 5 stars.”
Chan still isn’t sure to react to what’s happening, beside squirming at the drag of Minho’s finger over his wet, flaccid dick.
He can hear the person on the line screaming; “Tell me you didn’t fuck the perpetrator!”
“I totally didn’t!” Minho is quick to react; “Tell him I didn’t,” Minho shares the phone, and Chan isn’t sure what to say, but Minho urges him with the eyebrows. “Ugh, yeah, he didn’t fuck me.” He confirms, realizing there’s not much he can do right now beside cooperating; “I fucked him.” he adds.
Minho clicks his tongue on him, his grip on Chan’s dick tightening, and he’s not sure what that thud on the other side of the line means, but it sure sounds like somebody hitting his head on his desk.