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Chan and Jisung are on the couch.
Changbin is standing, over by the door, shifting his weight from right to left and looking as if he’s wishing he was anywhere else but here, but Chan hasn’t moved and neither has Jisung, both of them sitting on the couch, Jisung with a hand over his mouth. Chan feels a similar desire to hold his head in his hands, but that would require looking away, which he isn’t very keen on at the moment.
“I feel stupid.”
“Sh. Don’t speak.”
“Hyung-“ Changbin starts to whine, but Chan shoots him a glare and he falls silent again, chewing on his bottom lip.
The room is so quiet he can hear the little clock on his desk ticking, can hear Changbin breathing shallowly through his nose.
“It looks even better than it did on the website.”
Chan makes a small noise. “I agree.” His eyes rove over Changbin’s figure. “It looks a little too small, though, huh.”
Jisung frowns. He was the one who personally took Changbin’s measurements, writing them down on a sticky note to compare to the size chart on the website. “Yeah, I guess it does. Is it comfortable, hyung?”
“No, asshole, it’s not-“
“Hey hyung, turn around, will you? We haven’t seen the back yet.”
Changbin flushes a bright pink, then, from his hairline to the tops of his bare shoulders. He turns desperately to Chan. “Come on, this is so dumb, tell him to stop.”
“It’s not dumb, Bin. It looks great on you.”
Great is an understatement. Great fails to fully capture how Chan is straining in his jeans, the desire to hang his head in his hands and have a full breakdown nearly consuming him. Great is not nearly a good enough word for how Changbin looks in the tiny dress Chan and Jisung had bought for him, fidgeting by the door to the studio as if he might take off any second.
He was right, the dress does look a little small. The narrow ribbing warps around his stomach and thighs, stretching and distorting, the soft pink knit going translucent when he shifts his weight and it stretches between his legs. Chan can see the outline of his bellybutton, the curve on the bottom of his stomach. The whole thing is tight, wrapping tight around Changbin’s chest and abdomen, encasing his hips and thighs, ending halfway to his knees. Chan watches as he tugs it down self consciously.
“Can I take it off now?”
Jisung makes a noise of protest, moving as if to leap off the couch. Chan slams a hand down on his leg. “No, we’re still looking, Bin. We haven’t seen the back of it yet.”
Changbin takes another step back, pressing against the door, as if scared of someone sneaking up behind him. His voice is thin, tiny. “Please, hyung, I don’t wanna. It’s-“ His voice catches a little. “It’s too small. It doesn’t look right.”
Chan’s blood roars in his ears, the desire to march over and spin him around by the shoulders suddenly magnifying by a hundred. “I’m sure it looks fine! Right, Jisung?”
“Yeah,” Jisung replies insistently, leaning forward in his seat. His bangs flop on his forehead as he nods. “Yeah! I’m sure it looks really good.”
Chan would do anything to record the sweet, small sound that Changbin makes next. He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. “Okay,” he says eventually. “Okay, but you can’t laugh, okay? This is already embarrassing.”
The tense silence that follows is so loaded it’s a wonder Chan’s shoulders aren’t cracking from the weight of it. “Changbin,” Chan replies gravely, “I don’t think there is a universe in which we would laugh at this.”
Changbin nods, tiny jerks of his head. The whole room is quiet, everyone holding their breath as he slowly rotates until his face is to the door.
Jisung makes a pained noise. “Oh, Bin,” Chan breathes. “I told you it would look good on you.”
It’s worse than his imagination, somehow. The heart-shaped cutout sits on his lower back, framing the soft sides of his waist, the point edging right down to the top of his ass. It’s tight enough that a little bit of flesh squidges out along the edges. Chan wants to bite it. He wants to sink his thumbs into the dimples at the base of his spine, wants to run his fingers over the tops of his shoulders down to where the dress cuts into his back, down the sides of his torso to press his fingers into the softest part of his belly.
“Are you wearing underwear?”
“Jisung!”
Jisung somehow has the gall to look affronted. “What? I can see like, your whole ass. No way you’re wearing boxers under that.”
Changbin spins around again, backing into the door. His lips are red and swollen from being bitten. “Stop looking at my butt.”
“Come here,” Chan beckons. He needs to have Changbin under his fingertips now. He needs to get his hands around his hips yesterday. “No one will look at your ass, promise.”
“You’re a dirty liar,” Changbin accuses in a whine, although he stomps across the room obediently, letting Chan drag him down to sit between them on the couch. Before he can even blink, Jisung has a hand on his thigh, sliding up under the edge of his skirt. His eyes go wide.
“Hyung, I can’t believe you walked down from the bathroom without underwear.”
Chan snorts at the way Changbin goes pink immediately, a retort already launching its way from his lips. Despite all his arguing, he doesn’t even resist, doesn’t even stop scolding Jisung as Chan manhandles him onto his lap, ass up, his arms a messy pile over Chan’s thighs.
It’s unfortunate that he can’t see the delicious way Changbin’s stomach folds when he sits, anymore, but Chan wills himself to be patient, to enjoy the view of Jisung dragging a hand up the inside of Changbin’s thigh, in between his cheeks.
“Kind of bold of you to pretend that you don’t want us to look at you when you squirted lube into your own ass and walked down the hallway without underwear.”
Chan can see the scowl forming between Changbin’s eyebrows as he cranes his neck around to glare over his shoulder. “Brat, I didn’t- o-oh-“
He can’t see what Jisung’s hand is doing in between his legs, the sight obscured by Changbin’s skirt, but he can imagine, from the way Changbin melts into his lap, eyes pinching closed. Unconsciously, Chan brings a hand up to comb through his hair, a mess of curls, soothing. “It’s okay, Bin, you don’t have to pretend. Jisungie’s gonna make you feel good, yeah?” His own voice sounds strained. He wets his lips. Changbin has to know, is flattened in a heap over his crotch, his face is right there, and Chan should be generous, he should be kind and try not to overwhelm Changbin more than he needs and he should be selfless, put Jisung before himself, but-
He has a hand on his cock in an instant, diving underneath the waistband of his sweats to pull himself out, a wet gasp pushing out from his lips. Changbin mirrors him, groaning lowly, his head collapsing. Jisung is staring down at him, wild-eyed, one hand skating around the exposed part of his lower back, rubbing his thumb along Changbin’s spine as his other hand moves underneath his skirt.
Chan wants to see, wants to see where Jisung’s shorts fingers are pressing into his entrance, stretching him out, the rim going pink and swollen, wants to see how the backs of his thighs jiggle when he moves, wants to dig his fingers into the stretch marks striping down from his hips to his thighs like Jisung is now, painting the pads of his fingers over the pale lines. He wants it so badly that the guilt is just a tiny whisper when he lifts Changbin’s head up by his hair and positions it over the shiny, reddened head of his cock, and the sound that tears out of his throat is less pleasure and mostly pain.
“Bin, Bin, sorry, you’re okay, you’re-“ Chan’s voice dissolves. Changbin is lowering his head, mouth wet and warm, over his length, the tips of his hair edging into his eyelashes, hands scrambling against the couch to get better leverage. He’s vaguely aware of Jisung pulling away briefly to run two hands over the fullest part of Changbin’s ass, one shiny and leaving dark wet marks on the fabric, the other dry. He has a short moment to regret not being able to see the way his hole sucks Jisung in before Changbin sinks down fully onto his own cock, a wanton moan vibrating through his abdomen.
Changbin isn’t doing much more than warming him, sucking overzealously for a moment at a time before Jisung thrusts into him hard enough to send his body jolting, and his mouth goes slack again, head dipping until it’s forced back with a gag. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel good enough for Chan’s vision to swim, to have to blink away lightheadedness every time Changbin chokes on his length.
“Jisung, how does he look from there?”
Jisung answers with a breathless laugh, because he knows Chan, and doesn’t wait to indulge him. “He looks fucking gorgeous, you look incredible, hyung, so fucking-“ His hips stutter. “Like a wet dream.” Chan hears a small noise escape his own mouth. “His thighs are so thick, you know, makes me wanna fuck them, next time, and-“ Jisung’s hands roam, squishing and squeezing like he’s trying to get an accurate description for Chan, who’s sitting approximately a foot away. “Literally the best ass I’ve ever seen, incredible, hyung—hyung, you should get his tits out.”
Changbin whines around his cock, likely in protest, but he doesn’t resist when Chan reaches under him to tug down the top of the dress, revealing the soft swell of his chest.
“What’s his tits feel like, hyung?” Jisung asks with a smirk.
Changbin shakes in his lap, redoubling his efforts in swallowing around the head of Chan’s dick. Chan snakes a hand down to grope at him, fingernails grazing over his nipples, squeezing into his flesh, feeling it squish around his fingers. “Like they’d bounce if I fucked him.”
“Oh, that’s a good idea,” Jisung breathes, his hips snapping quicker. “When I’m done, we’ll flip him over for you, yeah? I know you like seeing his face anyway.”
Changbin’s eyes snap open, then, staring up at Chan with watery irises. His cheeks are slicked with spit, a disgusting, shiny mess of it dripping down his chin. Chan’s stomach jolts. “Enough,” he groans, dragging Changbin’s head off his length. His fingers trace around a puffy nipple, rolling it under his thumb, and Changbin collapses again, dripping mouth laying slack against Chan’s hipbone.
“Jisung-ah, hurry up.”
“I’m close,” Jisung stutters out with a gasp. Every thrust jostles Changbin in his lap. “I’m close, gonna fill him up, stuff him full, god, until he- fuck -drips with it-“
“No,” Chan interrupts. Jisung whines. “No, pull out. We didn’t buy this for him for nothing.”
Jisung’s hips twitch, a gasp widening his lips into an O. “Shit, you’re right, you’re so- god, hyung, feel so good, I’m-“
He pulls out suddenly, leaving Changbin to collapse in a panting heap in Chan’s lap. Chan watches as he fists a hand over his own cock, fingers a wet blur. The pink head touches down every few seconds at the small of Changbin’s back, sticky strands connecting the skin when it bobs back up.
And before he knows it Jisung is coming, his moans forced out of his throat high and whiny, come pooling in the heart-shaped cutout of Changbin’s dress. Chan watches as some of it slips into a dimple, as Jisung slows down, his breathing heavy and his arm shaking as he milks out a final drop.
“Good,” Chan manages to force out, his tongue heavy. Everything feels as though it’s been dipped in lead, slow and clumsy. He lifts Changbin off of his lap, less gently, perhaps, than he should, to settle back down against the couch cushions. His legs are stiff, half asleep from Changbin’s weight. His dick bobs between his thighs. The short walk he does to circle around to stand behind Changbin is the longest two seconds of his life. And then he’s gripping his hips in both hands, leaning in to lick a stripe of Jisung’s come off of his spine.
He’s vaguely aware of Jisung muttering something that sounds like Really? That’s nasty but the rest of the sound filtering in through his ears is radio static. He can feel Changbin under his tongue. Taste him. His hands dig into the soft part of his stomach as his mouth moves over come-sticky skin, dipping his tongue into each of his back dimples, digging in his teeth closer to his sides where the flesh has more give, where a layer of fat sits over his obliques, perfect for Chan to squish with his thumbs, to suck a bright pink mark.
Chan’s need is a pit in his stomach, swallowing everything he touches. It wasn’t enough to watch him get fucked, it wasn’t enough to lick the delicious, perfect, soft exposed part of his back clean of Jisung’s release. No, it surges like a wave, he needs to touch more, see more, feel Changbin’s body wrapped around him, yielding and soft and perfect and easy. He’s easy. Chan could see him naked any time, sure, but to see his tummy expand with every inhale in a tight dress, to watch his tits bounce while Chan fucks him for the second time, his second cock of the night, that maybe feels like it might be enough. It wouldn’t, nothing could ever be enough to make Chan feel like he’s not insane with how much he wants Changbin’s mouth, his lips, his messy, sloppy, spit-soaked lips, his hole, where Jisung just fucked him wet and pink and open and gaping, him, just him, the need crawling under his skin. Nothing would be enough, not even laying Changbin bare in all senses of the word, used up, his. Because then he would want this again. To see his body when he’s not naked, the shape of him on a beautiful display, the pleasure of unwrapping him.
His throat is so thick and clogged he has to force out, “Bin, can you sit up?”
Changbin does, slowly, sitting back on his calves, feet tucked underneath him. He shouldn’t be allowed to look like this, Chan thinks, his hair a mess of curls, his cheeks pink and smeared with spit. None of this should be allowed, Changbin shouldn’t be allowing this. But he does, he follows Chan’s urging grip on his waist easily, lets his limbs be maneuvered around.
He gets Changbin laid out on his back properly, a hand each on the backs of his knees, holding them up, before he realizes that Changbin is saying something, the words little more than a gasp, a soft mantra on each exhale.
“Please please, I wanna come, please, hyung, I need to- I wanna come, please-“
Chan squints down at him, Changbin’s mouth parting in shudder breaths as he babbles. He’s still, unbelievably, leaking lube, a shiny film spread across the backs of his thighs. This was what Chan was waiting to see, the squished flesh of his legs and the swollen pink gape where Jisung fucked him open. He wastes no time slicking himself up. “What’s stopping you?”
Changbin’s eyes widen, the sounds coming from his mouth slurring into a moan as Chan slides smoothly in to the hilt. “Hn-huh?”
Chan spares a glance at where Changbin’s cock is swollen hard, the short length bouncing against his stomach. “You wanna come?” He rolls his hips, resisting the reflexive moan that rises in his throat. “Then come. Who’s stopping you?”
He vaguely registers Jisung snorting out a laugh over the roar in his ears, the wild rush of blood that makes his pulse quicken and his thighs twitch. Changbin’s mouth is hanging open, drool gathering on his bottom lip, and his eyes are glassy, still round in disbelief. He’s jostled a little up the couch cushion with every thrust, his chest bouncing with the force, his stomach rolling and contracting underneath the tight material of his dress. Chan’s mouth waters.
“God, you’re so mean,” Jisung giggles from his seat on the couch.
The flesh of Changbin’s tits bouncing is mesmerizing. Chan blinks a couple times. “He likes it.”
He doesn’t, really, Changbin doesn’t, not the same way Jisung does, anyway, but he tolerates it, barely shoots Chan a feeble glare before his eyes roll back into his skull with a well-placed thrust.
“Please, hyung,” he gurgles on his next exhale. “Need to, need to come.” He clenches rapidly down on Chan’s length, like a stuttering heartbeat. He’s hardly listening, he can’t, not when Changbin’s stomach is squishing and expanding under his hands. Blood roars in his ears, surging down into his fingertips, making them dig in harshly, as if the need has no other outlet than that subtle aggression. He’s speaking automatically, grunting out his response.
“Okay, and? Then come.”
Chan doesn’t really expect anything. His pace continues, hips slapping roughly against the backs of Changbin’s poor thighs. He doesn’t really think about the things he says before he says them, really, and so he doesn’t expect for Changbin to tense up, his stomach going rigid, a shocked expression passing very briefly over his face before he wails out, “Oh, fuck,” and spills untouched onto the soft hem of his dress.
Jisung giggles, a surprised, baffled exhale. Changbin’s eyes flutter closed, his limbs twitching. Chan’s movements slow, as he watches cum seep into the fabric, turning it a dark reddish pink, the same shade as Changbin’s swollen head.
His muscles jerk and spasm, overloaded. There’s a trail of drool trickling out of the corner of Changbin’s lips, plush and sharp on the corners and Chan is leaning down to kiss it away before he realizes what he’s doing, and his lips against Changbin’s chin turns into his tongue in his mouth, licking at the backs of his teeth, sucking the spit from his tongue.
The taste sits heavy in the back of his mouth, and Chan swallows, as if tasting Changbin in all his corporeality, his carnality, would somehow quench the need still simmering in his stomach, as if consuming him like this would be enough. As if Chan could open his mouth and inhale him and be satisfied.
It wouldn’t be, he knows. He straightens back up, pulling his length from Changbin’s pulsing hole, and slams home.
It doesn’t last, couldn’t, not with Changbin whining with his eyebrows screwed into knots. Chan pulls out too suddenly, fisting over his cock with a dry hand, and Jisung, as if reading his mind, hoists Changbin up by the shoulders, until Chan’s fist is nearly grazing his chin, and with a final groan, come is splattering over his chest.
The moment that follows is quiet, no sounds but the ringing in Chan’s ears, Changbin’s heavy breathing. A bead of come drips down over his left pec, leaving a glazed pathway in its wake.
Jisung breaks the silence with an airy laugh. “My turn, I guess,” he breathes.
It makes a pretty picture, Chan thinks, Jisung’s pink lips touching down to lap come off of Changbin’s chest, his tongue darting out over his nipple. He’s still gripping Changbin’s thigh in one hand, he realizes, and belatedly, sets it down gently against the couch.
None of them speak until Jisung has cleaned the last drop off of Changbin’s collarbone, and Changbin’s eyes creak open. “Was that worth it?”
Jisung giggles again, bubbling and breathy and high. Changbin smiles in response, his nose scrunching into a crinkle, and Chan’s stomach is fizzing with carbonation. “Of course,” Jisung answers, giddy. Changbin’s eyes fall to the side, meeting Chan’s.
He swallows again, the taste of him still heavy on his tongue. “It always is.”