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Chapter Text

"are you saving face?" joonmyun whispers against jongdae's temple, his fingers nimble and tortuous around jongdae's cock, and jongdae arches into the caress, bites his lip hard to keep a breathy whine from slipping forth.

minseok's eyes, from across the room, are burning.

and yes, yes jongdae is trying to save face, writhing weakly when joonmyun's teeth graze his jawline, but he won't let on. not yet. wants joonmyun to work for it.

and not yet.

"or maybe," jongdae tries, voice already too wavery and weak "maybe, it's not as good as it could be."

joonmyun's laugh is tight, and his next stroke is cruel.

jongdae's fingers scramble up his own bare thighs before tangling in joonmyun's star wars sheets

"don't fight it," he urges, nosing along his throat. "doesn't he deserve to see it, too? our hyung? see you wrecked?"

the kiss dropped on his skin is tender as joonmyun's arm loops around his chest to hold him steady. minseok's eyes are still fucking burning.

"if not for me, then do it for him. come on. jongdae, he'll like you good"

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they've been anticipating, talking about this for months, joonmyun going into wonderful explicit detail about all the things he'd like to do and have done to him, hyung, fuck. but he's suddenly shy when minseok presses him bodily to the kitchen counter, neck lolling back in invitation but fingers trembling at minseok's biceps.

"i've built it up so much" he confesses around a moan. "been so long."

"how long?" minseok asks with a bite to his throat, and joonmyun hisses.

"10 years? jesus. do that again."

minseok does, and joonmyun's soft moan blossoms into a hitched whimper. his hands slide down and around to minseok's ass, drag him closer. hard, minseok grinds against joonmyun's thigh, and it's his turn to hiss.

joonmyun smiles, maybe smirks as he presses forward once more.

"want you to do it first."


"yes." his legs part, cock dragging against minseok's.

"i dream about those hips, dream about that cock."

minseok groans, and his head falls forward to crash against joonmyun's.

"inside me," joonmyun clarifies, and minseok can almost taste the teasing lilt in his voice. "come on, hyung. you promised."

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sehun isnt allowed to touch without permission, but joonmyun grants him some leniency when he does this. like he knows how good it feels and how desperately sehun needs something to cling to as his body twists towards the teasing hot pressure of joonmyun's tongue along his rim.

it's featherlight still, a caress meant to ease him into it, but sehun can't help but tug hard at joonmyun's bleach-coarse strands, fingernails dragging over his scalp as his legs tremble over joonmyun's straining shoulders

joonmyun's cheek curls in a smile, and his tongue presses harder, his fingers digging hard into sehun's waist. and sehun tugs again, heels knocking together over suho's spine, body arching helplessly toward the caress.

"more" he hears himself gasp, another thing he isn't allowed normally.

another gift and then one more, the wet friction increasing until he can't breathe

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sehun tastes like a mix of sweat, sunblock, and offbrand mosquito repellent when kyungsoo licks over his neck, but he's got his arms looped tight around ksoo's shoulders and a whine trembling out of his mouth like he's insisting that this is the one thing about this ~romantic trip that will work out.

yes it's raining.
yes they got the worst, muddiest, rockiest campsite in the area.
yes they're subsisting entirely on marshmallows and graham crackers until the storm dies down.

but kyungsoo is gonna keep kissing his neck, gonna kiss lower, too. because sehun deserves it, right, hyung, is the most romantic amazing boyfriend, right.

kyungsoo smiles into his skin and lets his teeth drag over sehun's pulsepoint, feels the rumble of a sweet, shaky moan against his mouth.

yes, yes, yes.

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"you did the laundry," kyungsoo hums against joonmyun's throat

kyungsoo lets his lips drag, his words blow hot, his fingers press tight but teasing to joonmyun's ribs, where he's most sensitive.

joonmyun hums back, breath hitching just the slightest, but his chest thundering against kyungsoo's. he raises his eyebrows like he's not affected. "i did."

"sorted and even used fabric softener and scented dryer sheets," kyungsoo continues, dragging his nose up joonmyun's throat, letting his lips part to taste his chin, the shudder of his moan. his fingers press tighter before dragging around to joonmyun's front, grazing, testing.

"i did."

his voice is still steady, but his pulse is even faster, his chest trembling minutely, and kyungsoo smiles at him slow and sweet before dropping to his knees

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minseok likes to say that yifan's fingers are so long and thick that riding them is almost as good as riding yifan's cock.

it's not, yifan knows it's not. because minseok moans so much louder when yifan thrusts into him, but minseok just keeps panting as he writhes down onto yifan's crooked fingers. "so good you probably dont even have to get the condom, so good i could probably come from this alone."

minseok's fingers tangle in his hair, tug hard as if to prove the point.

yifan's own cock is so hard it's aching, pulsing, grazing minseok's thigh with every increasingly needy writhe upwards.

and yes, minseok probably can come from this alone, but he doesn't want to. no after a minute of deliberate teasing he's gasping for it.

"fuck, yifan. fuck me. yifan. fuck me"

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kyungsoo is on chanyeol's lap, mouthing at chanyeol's throat as he teases him through his pajama pants.

kyungsoo isn't wearing pants, and chanyeol's hands are very insistent and very tight on his thighs. too tight. kyungsoo would bite him in warning, but he knows chanyeol would like that too much for it to be a proper punishment, so he stops kissing him instead, shifts to rest his own crotch against chanyeol, all heavy and firm and mean and too much.

"chanyeollie, still. stay still for me."

chanyeol trembles so hard that he threatens to knock kyungsoo completely off, but he does stay still—or at least tries—lip catching between his teeth, fingers biting into ksoo's skin, breathing harsh against kyungsoo's temple, pulse harsh against his throat.

he's still and desperate and he's wanting and so so so good. he's always been kyungsoo's favorite to take apart.

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chanyeol is already arching, already grasping at jongdae's shoulders when jongdae digs his teeth into his throat, but he arches sharper, grasps harder. and jongdae smiles into him with a shaked hum that has chanyeol's insides twisting painfully.

chanyeol can feel how kiss-swollen his lips are, how kiss-labored his breathing is, and his body is trembling beneath chanyeol's fingers. but chanyeol can't—won't—make the mistake of thinking he's in control.


"again," he gasps, and jongdae bites once more, higher, softer, nipping along his jawline.

the painful heat makes his hips buck, makes jongdae press against him harder—hard, fuck, jongdae is so fucking hard, pressing against him so fucking hard.

jongdae's hips feel tiny in his trembling hold, even shifting like that to put more force into his grind.

and chanyeol can't—won't make the mistake, but he almost wants to, craves the sharper sting of jongdae's teeth, the bruising firmness of his fingers, the burn of his harsh, lilting words

"again" he rasps, lifting him shakily, dropping him hard, feeling the rattle of bones, the shuddery kiss of eyelashes near his collarbone.

"oh my big boy," jongdae hums, lifting then rolling, liquid and hot. "my chanyeollie."

chanyeol moans, his fingers shakes, and jongdae rocks into him with another bite. this one succulent and lingering. hard hard hard.

"i'm gonna eat you right up."

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minseok had known jongin was good with kids when he'd first met him—teachers, they have to be, or at least good enough at faking it—but jongin doesn't look like he's faking it with minseok's daughter right now, not as he sits across from him on her race car rug. in fact, he looks very very content to listen her prattle on about the best racecars to invite to their car tea party.

the red one has a peanut allergy, just like her daddy, but she carries a special pen so it should be fine, right. she races very fast.

jongin nods fervently like he really truly means it, and sehee grins.

jongin does too.

and minseok cant help but grin, too, his cheeks stretching so wide they hurt.

jongin isn't mr. kim now, doesn't—doesn't have to be right now, was only required to spare a quick "hello" before the babysitter took over and they left for their date.

but he's still mr. kim, apparently, still choosing to be, and he'd removed his shoes and joined sehee on the rug as requested, helped her choose guestlist, also as requested.

he'd chosen this, and it makes minseok's stomach swoop, makes tenderness crawl up his throat.

it's another 10 minutes before he's completed his task, a grand total of 12 guests invited, and minseok's chest feels so full, his spirit so light that he kisses him as soon as he can, firm and deep, for the first time, pressing him against his front door. he crinkles the bushes in his front yard, stands on his tiptoes in his haste to get at jongin's mouth, impress upon him just how much this means.

jongin gasps, freezes, but responds in time, kisses back just as firm and deep.

"thank you," he presses into jongin's mouth, and jongin smiles, a little dazed, a lot beautiful.

"you're welcome."

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hakyeon's hand slides down his throat, tender but firm, a silken rope, and joonmyun almost moans "hyung," breathes it instead. and he hates how he has to look up at hakyeon to meet his heated gaze, hates how small he feels, how powerless—even if only for a moment. then another as hakyeon's ringed thumb drags over his adam's apple.

joonmyun isn't one of his, doesn't need caring, cares for his own—joonmyun wants to tell him—the entire weight of, can bear it. doesn't need this, feels entirely put out by this.

he wants to say, but the words get caught somewhere in his throat, twist into a moan when hakyeon's thumb skims upwards, skims over his parted lips.
tender but firm, a fleeting kiss of skin on skin that leaves joonmyun's knees weak, makes him feel even smaller, helplessly, painfully so.

joonmyun's hands tighten on hakyeon's biceps, keep him upright, keep from melting back into the vanity.

they're barely touching but joonmyun's next exhale is ragged with need or want or something equally terrifying.

he licks his lips, licks the pad of hakyeon's thumb, swallows, and hakyeon's eyes on his are terribly fond. joonmyun hates—hates even more, how much he has to crane to see it.

"hyung" he manages, shuddering as hakyeon's hand presses into the small of his back, fingers fanning in the laziest possession of a caress. "im a leader."

i don't need this. i don't need this. i don't need this.

hakyeon's lips graze his jawline, his breathing hot and wet and not nearly ragged enough. "joonmyunnie, i am, too"

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"harder" sehun whimpers, then tacks on a shuddery "please," a shivering "hyung." he's dizzy with pleasure, dizzier with every resounding snap of joonmyun's hips against his ass, but still lucid enough to know it's always a request, not a demand.

he has to ask and be good for it.

earn it. always, always, always.

his hand stumbles forward to drag over suho's cheekbone, an imploring caress as his neck twists back helplessly against their sheets, and joonmyun's hips snap faster, his cock dragging just so.

"harder baby boy?" joonmyun presses into his trembling throat. "harder?"

sehun whimpers, writhes. "yes." please, hyung, hyung, hyung.

joonmyun hums into the next thrust. deliciously, devastatingly hard. "always ask so nicely."

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sehun is already nude; the both of them already entangled; joonmyun already hard—first thing in the morning

so it's the easiest thing

takes only a minute shift of sehun's hips, and joonmyun's breath is heating at the nape of his neck, his fingers tightening on sehun's waist, sehun's rasped "good morning" blooming into a shuddery moan.

joonmyun smiles, moans too as he presses forward, hard and insistent enough for sehun to feel the pulse of his cock even through the fabric of those ugly pants joonmyun always insists on wearing even though they are such an inconvenience, a hindrance on the immediate sex that sehun craves first thing in the morning.

"hyung" he gasps. "more" he urges, pressing back just has hard, just as insistent. and joonmyun kisses across his neck, bites at the shivery, sensitive place where neck meets shoulder, the exact place that always makes sehun sob.

he does now, too, gropes clumsily back to tug at those offensive pants, get at smooth, rolling muscle, smooth, warm skin.

joonmyun drags—bare now—and hot and pulsing across sehun's bare ass, and he sobs again. once more as joonmyun's hand splays over his waist.

sehun shifts, curls forward into the fingers at his navel, arches back into the cock at the swell of his ass.

"baby boy" joonmyun whispers, and his cock drags along the seam of his balls, presses there. electricity jolts up his spine. sehun whimpers, scraping at suho's fingers, willing them tighter and firmer and lower.

"what do you need?" and sehun can hear the rasped fondness in his tone as he grinds forward again and again, affection and arousal and need searing across his skin.

"thighs" sehun whimpers. "thighs please."

joonmyun smiles, whispers his name as he does just that, just just just right.

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there's too much love and naked adoration and need and trust in chanyeol's oversized, liquid eyes every time they fuck, every time they touch. like this—or like kyungsoo—is all he could ever want.

and it's so fucked up, why does he always—how can he want him so much when kyungsoo can't even begin to—

kyungsoo pushes his hips harder, fucks his mouth faster and there are tears now, too, glittering on dark, dark eyelashes as he swallows and fucking moans for more all throaty and loud and vulnerable and raw.

and it's so fucked up and dirty and hot, chanyeol's throat working around him all hot and slick and jittery. and he's still fucking moaning—still desperate for more.

fuck fuck fuck

don't want me, he wants to tell him. don't need me. not like this. stop. i can't i can't i can't, but all he manages is a tight moan of chanyeol's name, drawn out and reedy and wet as he comes

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the first time jongdae kisses him on the mouth, it's a joke.

the smack too loud, jongdae's eyes too bright and the press of lip to lip, too brief.

jongin starts and jongdae cackles and jongin knows he doesn't mean it. knows also that he isn't meant to understand.

the second and third time are jokes too, jongin is pretty sure. even if jongdae smiles into the corner of his mouth, tells him he's always been his favorite, sweet and so handsome. even if he lingers when jongin starts, stops, swallows.

jongdae swipes at jongin's bottom lip, and it's a joke, or it becomes one.

because jongdae pulls away, rights his shirt collar, eases jongin's fisted hands open and jongin isnt brave enough to pull him back

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sehun doesn't know his name, but he doesn't really need to. just that the man's fingers are tight, his kiss searing, his cock hard and pulsing against the bare skin of sehun's hip.

sehun moans, and the man presses more insistently, dragging against the waistband of sehun's tight fuck-me-pants. and his hands squeeze briefly tighter, painfully tighter.

sehun still doesn't know his name, but a breathy "daddy" has him jerking like it's enough, mouthing his way across sehun's throat.

he smells of alcohol and cologne and sweat, tastes hot and sweet, and he drowns out all else—the cheap freshener the club has put in the stall, the disembodied sound of someone else washing their hands, the squeak of his own sneakers against the ugly tile.

the only thing that matters—the only thing that could matter is sehun's daddy, urging him to his knees.

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it's hard for yifan to concentrate with the way that minseok keeps bending over to lift weights, popping his hip and arching his spine like he knows that kris is watching (he honestly probably does). it's also hard with how pretty minseok's face flushes and how sharply his chest heaves and fuck, the sounds—little breathy almost moans of exertion, the kind he only makes when they've been at it for hours, kris using his mouth or his hands or his cock to the very best of his ability, minseok responding in that understatedly explosive way.

in short, it's hard. kris is—hard. and he can't concentrate on getting healthy or making positive life changes, not when he just wants to fuck minseok. alternately, have minseok fuck him, he's not that picky.

"minseok," he whines, and minseok turns, laughs, a fond sort of derision in the tilt of his eyelashes and the curl of his mouth.

and of course, of course, he had known.

"showers?" minseok proposes, and yifan stumbles as he scrambles to get up.