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Kyungsoo’s scrolling through his phone when he cracks up in the front seat, which is unusual in itself since Kyungsoo isn’t exactly known for his hysterics, unless they’re directed at other people rather than because of them.

 

“What’s so funny, hyena?” Chanyeol leans forward to peer over Kyungsoo’s shoulder, and Kyungsoo clutches his phone to his chest.

 

“Okay, okay,” Kyungsoo chuckles, wiping his nose on his sleeve.  “Okay.  Give me your hand.”

 

Chanyeol wrinkles his nose.  “This isn’t gonna be gross, is it?  Like the time Jongdae spit in my hand?”

 

“No!” Kyungsoo shakes his head, still giggling; Chanyeol warily extends his hand, palm up, and Kyungsoo holds it in both of his.  “I’m going to read your palm.” He says in a mock-mystic tone that quivers with laughter.

 

A grin quirks Chanyeol’s mouth, and he watches as Kyungsoo traces lines on his palm.  It tickles.  “Ah, a long lifeline.  And this one means you’re going to be rich.”

 

“This is my hand, right?  Not Joonmyun-hyung?” Joonmyun throws Chanyeol an offended look, but Chanyeol doesn’t see and Kyungsoo is absorbed in staring at Chanyeol’s hand.

 

“Please, I need concentration!” Kyungsoo frowns.  “And…yes.  I see.  I’ve read your palm, and it says it belongs on my butt.” He finishes dryly.

 

Chanyeol jerks his hand back, laughing uproariously, and Jongdae laughs behind him too.  Kris snorts into his cupped hand.  Zitao doesn’t get the joke and pesters Luhan until he repeats it, and then giggles for the rest of the way home.  Kyungsoo glows with the success of a well-executed joke, and Chanyeol stares at the back of his head thoughtfully while Kris dozes on his shoulder.

 

*

 

“Chanyeol—fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna—” Kris rakes short nails down Chanyeol’s back to grip his stuttering hips.  Chanyeol makes a guttural, growling noise, shoving Kris’s knees into his chest; Kris arches into an orgasm instantly, his whole body tensing and releasing into a shuddering mess, come flowing over his stomach and pooling in his navel as Chanyeol fucks him through the aftershocks.  It’s a handful of thrusts later that Chanyeol hunches his back over Kris’s body and sinks his fingers into Kris’s thighs, gripping too tightly as he comes with a groan.

 

Chanyeol collapses, resting his full weight on top of Kris and heedless of the mess on his stomach and how sore Kris’s legs must be right now.  Kris grumbles under his breath.  “Gross, Chanyeol.”

 

“Gimme a minute.” Chanyeol pants, tucking his hands under Kris’s shoulders.

 

“You’re heavy.” Kris wheezes, rolling them both onto their side, where Chanyeol rubs his nose against Kris’s collarbone.  They stay like that for a few minutes, catching their breath and cooling off. 

 

“So, I was thinking.” Chanyeol mumbles quietly, and Kris looks down at him with raised eyebrows.  “That was a pretty funny joke Kyungsoo told today.”

 

“You think we should fuck him?” Kris asks, always to the point.  “I don’t think that’s what he had in mind with that joke…”

 

“I mean, I wouldn’t mind.” Chanyeol shrugs, sounding nonchalant, but Kris knows better than to assume that means anything; and sure enough, there’s a mischievous gleam to Chanyeol’s eye that wasn’t there a moment before.  “Should we go for it?”

 

Should we?  Does Jongin eat your Poptarts out of the freezer?” Kris laughs.

 

“Ye—wait, what?  Oh, hell no!” Chanyeol makes to get up, instantly annoyed, but Kris drags him back down onto the bed, rolling them over and pinning him by his wrists under his greater weight.  Chanyeol squirms, still whining about Jongin, but Yifan cuts him off.

 

“Of course we fucking should.  If he’ll let us, of course, but there’s no reason we shouldn’t try.”

 

“Well…” Chanyeol chews his lip.  “It could blow up in our face, like when we tried to seduce Luhan.”

 

“Well, your black eye went away after awhile, and he’s still cool with us, so no harm done.  You’re forgetting it got us in with Sehun, after all.” Kris grins down at him. 

 

“Yeah…more like in Sehun.” Chanyeol snickers.

 

They stay in bed for a long time, but distraction proves a significant obstacle to planning.

 

*

 

Kyungsoo isn’t stupid, he sure as hell isn’t blind, and he’s definitely not innocent, and it’s really fucking frustrating when everyone assumes he’s this wide-eyed paragon of virtue.  Wide-eyed, maybe, but it has nothing to do with his experience level.

 

What’s even more annoying is when they assume he can’t interpret the glances they cast in his direction.  He knows desire, can read it on Joonmyun’s otherwise impassive face when he glances up at Kyungsoo over his magazine, has seen it pass over Luhan’s features whenever Minseok enters the room, can practically smell it on Sehun when he follows Yixing around.  Oh, and he knew about Kris and Chanyeol before they did.  One could realistically call it a very sensitive gaydar, but Kyungsoo’s mostly just good at reading people.  And probably slightly deprived.

 

Kyungsoo’s been around, and he knows the feeling of a gaze scouring the expanse of his exposed neck above the loose collar of his t-shirt.  He doesn’t know where it’s coming from, but it doesn’t make him feel uncomfortable.  Nobody in the group fails to interest him in some way or another, and he’s patient.

 

The answer comes sooner than he expects.  Chanyeol drapes himself over the back of Kyungsoo’s neck as Kyungsoo adds gochujang to the pot simmering on the stove.  “What’s for dinner?” He asks, rocking back and forth, his lips just a bit too close Kyungsoo’s ear. 

 

“Ddeokbokki.” Kyungsoo replies, squirming as Chanyeol presses closer.  He giggles when Chanyeol’s hands settle on his ribs.  “And if you don’t stop tickling me, you can’t have any.”

 

“Sorry.” Chanyeol’s hands drop to Kyungsoo’s hips instead, squeezing slightly.  That isn’t better.

 

“What are you doing?” Kyungsoo asks suspiciously, stirring the soup, and Chanyeol pats him on the ass.

 

“You said my hand belonged on your butt.  Just fulfilling the prophecy.”

 

“You’re a moron.” Kyungsoo’s face flushes; Chanyeol has caught him off-guard.

 

“Why are you so red, Kyungsoo-yah?” Chanyeol teases, squeezing Kyungsoo’s right butt cheek lightly in his big hand, and Kyungsoo squeals, dropping his spoon into the soup pot.

 

“Chanyeol!” Kyungsoo says sternly, grabbing for the spatula next to the stove and swatting at Chanyeol’s hand, catching him across the knuckles with a sharp whack.  Chanyeol yelps and retracts his hand quickly.

 

“You didn’t have to hit me.” He whines, and Kyungsoo busies himself fishing the spoon out of the soup.

 

“Well, instead of helping yourself, why don’t you ask?” Kyungsoo fires back, and Chanyeol stares, rubbing his knuckles petulantly.  “Set the table, won’t you, please?” He continues as if nothing happened.

 

Chanyeol sets the table, eyes fixed cautiously on Kyungsoo’s spatula, his sore hand throbbing.

 

*

 

“Ahh…that was awesome, hyung,” Zitao sighs in satisfaction after a fourth helping of extra-spicy ddeokbokki.  His face is red from all the pepper in the food, but he pats his stomach and smothers a burp into his napkin.  “What’s for dessert?”

 

“You would.” Minseok side-eyes Zitao, smirking, and Zitao sticks his tongue out at Minseok.

 

“I made cake.” Kyungsoo says, slurping soup into his mouth.  “But you can’t have any until the dishes are finished.”

 

Chanyeol was hitting on him earlier; that much Kyungsoo is certain of.  What he’s not so certain of is how Kris fits into the puzzle.  Chanyeol has eyes for no one but Kris, as far as Kyungsoo knows, and Chanyeol’s attention makes him feel uncomfortable for that reason alone. 

 

That is, if it weren’t for Kris, Kyungsoo would have pushed Chanyeol down across the table and fucked him, probably long before today.  The mental image has him flushing as he takes the cake—vanilla, with whipped cream—from the fridge.

 

Kyungsoo cuts up cake for each of them, and they all settle on the sofa to watch a movie; that is, all except Chanyeol and Kris, who are making a show of finishing up the dishes, dawdling and casting looks in between themselves and over at Kyungsoo as he wraps up the cake.  He has an idea why, so he cuts a little square of cake and picks it up with his fingers.

 

"Here, try it." Kyungsoo offers it to Kris, who glances down at him suspiciously.  Chanyeol’s face brightens, and he glances up eagerly, spoon sticking comically out of his mouth.

 

"Er, thanks, but I don't like sweets that much." Kris says, but the color in his cheeks and the uncomfortable way he squirms gives him away.  Bingo, Kyungsoo thinks.  Right where I want you.

 

"It's not too sweet.  Try it." Kyungsoo wheedles.  Chanyeol is staring, spoon halfway to his open mouth, and Kris catches his eye for half a second before leaning forward to let Kyungsoo feed him.  He puts one hand on the counter to steady himself as Kyungsoo’s fingertips brush his lips, unintentionally trapping Kyungsoo between the sink and his body.

 

Kyungsoo pushes the cake into Kris’s mouth with the tip of his finger, and Kris closes his lips around the tip of it as Kyungsoo withdraws.  He can’t help the flush that heats his face as Kris gazes half-lidded down at him, confirming his theory.

 

“Can we have more dessert?” Chanyeol rests his chin on Kris’s shoulder, reaching beneath his arm to settle a warm hand against Kyungsoo’s ribs again.  “I mean…you did say to ask.”

 

“Are you two trying to seduce me?” Kyungsoo murmurs, leaning back to rest his elbows on the counter, trying not to strain his neck looking up at Kris.

 

Kris looks over his shoulder at Chanyeol, who grins guiltily, and then back at Kyungsoo with the same guilty smile and a little shrug.

 

“Then you could’ve asked before now.  No need to call me dessert.” Kyungsoo smirks up at them.  He’s so tiny, Chanyeol realizes, much tinier than either of them.  This is going to be interesting.

 

Chanyeol pushes Kris forward gently so that he presses against Kyungsoo from knee to chest.  Impatient, Kyungsoo clicks his tongue and grabs Kris’s t-shirt collar instead, jerking him down to kiss him so hard Kris grips onto the counter for balance.  A low, appreciative noise rumbles in Chanyeol’s throat.

 

The angle makes Kris’s neck hurt, but it doesn’t matter when Chanyeol leans lightly against Kris’s back, hands pressing into his waist under his shirt.  One of Kyungsoo’s hands is already beneath the waistband of Kris’s boxers, resting against Kris’s hip.

 

“I didn’t think I was going to end up in the middle.” Kris murmurs against Kyungsoo’s mouth.

 

“You don’t want to?” Kyungsoo asks around Kris’s lower lip caught between his teeth.  “Are you sure?”

 

“Pretty sure, yeah.” Kris grabs Kyungsoo by the waist, ignoring his surprised gasp, and hoists him bodily onto the counter.  “That’s better, you’re killing my neck.”

 

“Should have noticed I was short before you decided to try to fuck me.” Kyungsoo pulls Kris in again with a hand on the back of his neck, and his blunt language sends a hot rush of arousal flooding into Kris’s belly.  Chanyeol’s hands pull at Kyungsoo’s legs until they wrap around Kris’s waist, and Kyungsoo moans faintly.  He’s hard when he presses against Kris’s hip.

 

Chanyeol burrows his face into Kyungsoo’s neck, kissing softly over the little birthmarks that form a constellation on his damp skin, and that’s when Kyungsoo moans for real, the sound muffled by Kris’s tongue in his mouth.

 

Someone clears a throat behind them quietly, but it seems astonishingly loud to all three; they break apart instantly, though it’s too late now to hide what they’re doing.  Sehun is standing in the doorway, impassive as ever, and he walks lazily over to the cake as if the other three are merely sharing polite conversation.

 

“What are you doing?” Kyungsoo asks, wiping the back of his mouth with a hand.  “You can’t have two pieces of—”

 

Sehun turns to stare silently at each of the three of them—and very pointedly at where Kyungsoo’s legs are still wrapped around Kris’s hips—and helps himself to another piece of cake, and Kyungsoo shuts up.  He decides Sehun can have it if he wants to after all.

 

He doesn’t say a word until he reaches the door, having cut himself a larger piece of cake than he would ever have gotten away with in any other non-blackmail situation, and he turns back to look at them with his spoon in his mouth.

 

“Joonmyun hyung has a headache, so you might want to keep it down.” He says quietly, his voice unsteady with suppressed giggles, and shuts the door behind him.

 

“Yeah, we probably shouldn’t be doing this in the kitchen.” Chanyeol runs his hand through his hair.  “We should move to Kris’s room.”

 

Kyungsoo shakes his head, wide-eyed.  “But—Sehun—”

 

“Relax.” Kris grins, tipping Kyungsoo’s face up with his fingers.  “Sehun won’t tell.  He wouldn’t want us telling on him, either.”

 

“You fuc—” Kris cuts Kyungsoo off with a kiss, and his protest melts into a moan. 

 

“That’s right.  We fucked him, and he loved it.” Chanyeol whispers in Kyungsoo’s ear, slipping his hand under Kyungsoo’s shirt to feel his stomach quivering.  “And you will too.”

 

Kyungsoo thinks he should feel some kind of unhappy that these two buffoons already fucked Sehun, but he doesn’t; the thought makes him feel hot all over, excited.  He wonders how Sehun sounded with his voice twisted up into a tight moan, imagines Sehun all flushed and soft and docile as Kris and Chanyeol melted him with the heat of their hands.  He makes a little sound of protest as Kris breaks away from him, his full lips pink and already slightly swollen from the pressure of Kris’s mouth.

 

“Whose bedroom?” He pants.

 

“Mine will be clear all evening.  Joonmyun is spending the night somewhere else.” Kris says smoothly.

 

“How do you know?” Chanyeol raises an eyebrow, and Kris grabs the front of Chanyeol’s shirt and jerks him close, speaking against his mouth.

 

“I have my sources.” Kris murmurs, and Chanyeol gulps visibly.  He parts his lips eagerly for a kiss, but Kris merely nibbles his lower lip softly before pulling away.

 

They lead Kyungsoo down the hall together, Chanyeol’s hand in the small of Kyungsoo’s back and Kyungsoo’s hand dwarfed in Kris’s.  Sehun catches sight of them at the end of the hall and ducks into his room with a snort of laughter.

 

Chanyeol closes the door behind them, and it seems as if that was what Kyungsoo had been waiting for the entire time.  The instant he hears the lock click, he grabs Kris and shoves him down on the bed, straddling Kris’s hips as if Kris is about to run away.

 

“That’s better.” Kyungsoo grins down at Kris, planting his hands on either side of Kris’s head and kissing him fully.  “And get the fuck over here, Chanyeol.”

 

Kris feels the bed dip and Chanyeol’s weight settling on his thighs behind Kyungsoo, and Chanyeol’s warm fingertips trace around Kris’s where they squeeze into the flesh of Kyungsoo’s thighs.

 

Sehun had been needy and pliant and mostly obedient when Kris and Chanyeol had trapped him between them and teased him until he broke down, hot and panting under their combined onslaught.  Neither of them are used to being bullied in their own bedroom, but given that it’s Kyungsoo, it’s not exactly surprising news.  Kyungsoo gets bossy when he’s nervous.

 

Kyungsoo peels his t-shirt over his head in one swift motion.  “Why are you both still dressed?  You are so slow at this.”

 

Chanyeol shakes his head, pulling Kyungsoo up to lean against his chest.  “Sassy Kyungsoo.  Just relax.” He whispers, loud enough for Kris to hear.  Kyungsoo shivers as Chanyeol takes the lobe of his ear between soft lips.

 

“Kyungsoo-yah.” Kris says gently, palming the tight front of Kyungsoo’s jeans.  “Stop worrying and let us take care of you.”  He squeezes fingers around the bulge of Kyungsoo’s fly, relishing the little sigh of pleasure that passes his lips.

 

They make quick work of Kyungsoo’s clothes, and then their own; Kyungsoo finds himself on his back slotted beneath Chanyeol’s body, knees bracketing Chanyeol’s hips as Chanyeol devours him, lips first.  Kris’s hands splay across the softness of Kyungsoo’s thighs from behind Chanyeol, wide and hot-palmed and smooth, and Kyungsoo can’t help the gasp that leaves his throat or the ripple of tension that runs through him.

 

“Stop thinking about it.” Chanyeol whispers against Kyungsoo’s mouth, wrapping his hand around Kyungsoo’s cock and giving it a firm stroke.  Kyungsoo shifts beneath him, wrapping small fingers around Chanyeol’s knuckles and squeezing a little tighter.  “We’ll make you feel good, I promise.” His tongue dips into Kyungsoo’s mouth again, wet and warm.

 

Chanyeol twitches as they kiss, a low groan spilling from his mouth, and that’s about the time that Kyungsoo realizes Kris’s hands aren’t on his thighs anymore.  “Kris.” Chanyeol tears his mouth away from Kyungsoo’s, hands fisting into the sheets to either side of Kyungsoo’s head.

 

Kris responds with a low chuckle and Chanyeol hisses something unintelligible.  “Bastard.” He manages through gritted teeth.  Kyungsoo cranes his neck over Chanyeol’s shoulder to see, but all that’s apparent is Kris’s arm moving gently and a wicked smirk on his lips.

 

“I know you like it, don’t pretend.” Kris murmurs, his elbow jerking suddenly, and Chanyeol bites into the flesh above Kyungsoo’s nipple sharply, a whine in his throat.  Kyungsoo moans too.

 

“Bite me again.” He whispers, and Chanyeol takes the hard nub of Kyungsoo’s nipple between his teeth just as Kris does something else with his hand, and Chanyeol ruts back against him, his bite harder for the way he jerks into Kris’s attentions.  Kyungsoo’s back arches off the bed, and Chanyeol’s jaw slackens in order to let out every swear word Kyungsoo’s ever heard, and a few he’s sure Chanyeol made up.

 

“Now stop keeping Kyungsoo to yourself and let me have him for a bit.” Kris grins, and Kyungsoo only has a second to collect himself before Chanyeol rolls them both over again.  He finds himself straddling Chanyeol this time with Kris behind him, a cock pressed rigid against his lower back and one against his hip.  Two pairs of warm hands spread over his thighs, his belly, stroking, kneading, rubbing.  It’s nice.

 

But it’s even nicer when Chanyeol’s fingers wrap around his cock for real this time, and when slim fingers grip into his ass cheeks and press thumbs into the dimples in his lower back.  Nice when Chanyeol settles his own cock next to Kyungsoo’s in his hot hand, sliding together through the circle of his fingers.  Kyungsoo can’t help the little staccato moans that leave his lips, and Chanyeol laughs breathlessly.

 

The cold shock of lube on Kris’s fingers as they slide into the cleft of his ass has him gasping as Chanyeol pulls him down into a kiss.  Kris teases him, the pad of his fingertip circling Kyungsoo’s entrance as the other hand pulls his cheeks apart gently.

 

“Fuck,” Kyungsoo moans, trying to push both into Chanyeol’s hand and back against Kris’s wet fingers stroking him, but only manages to shiver and buck in their hold, until Kris has mercy and sinks his index finger in to the knuckle.  “Fuck.”

 

“Feels good?” Chanyeol murmurs, pulling Kyungsoo down by his elbows to kiss him.

 

“Shut up.” Kyungsoo growls, biting at Chanyeol’s lips and forcing his tongue past his teeth in a kiss Chanyeol returns with gusto, squeezing their cocks together, his hand trapped beneath Kyungsoo’s weight.

 

Kyungsoo inhales sharply, his body jolting when Kris fits his middle finger in alongside the first, twisting them lightly until the tips rub against something soft.  “More.” He demands breathlessly against Chanyeol’s mouth, rocking his hips backward eagerly.

 

A third finger has Kyungsoo twisting up and into the intrusion, his face scrunched in concentration, lower lip caught between sharp teeth.  “More.” He commands again, voice constricted, and Kris lets out a breath between his teeth before dripping more lube onto his fingers and slipping his pinky in alongside the others.  Kyungsoo moans outright.

 

Joonmyun bangs on the adjacent wall.  Chanyeol jumps a little, but Kyungsoo is focused on controlling his harsh breathing, and Kris doesn’t break his concentration either, his eyes fixed on his fingers buried in Kyungsoo’s body.

 

“So fucking good.” Kyungsoo grinds out.  “More, Kris.”

 

“How does someone as tiny as you take so much?” Kris asks incredulously, his voice thick.  “At this rate you could take both of—oh…” His hand, restricted by the tight ring of Kyungsoo’s muscles, trembles as the idea enters his head, and he swallows the last word loudly.

 

 “Then fucking do it!” He snaps, digging his fingernails into Chanyeol’s shoulders and drawing a hiss from him.  Chanyeol looks at Kris over the curve of Kyungsoo’s shoulder, and the surprise he feels is mirrored in Kris’s expression.

 

“Are—are you sure?” Chanyeol asks, and Kyungsoo groans when Kris flexes his fingers.

 

“If both of you don’t get in me right fucking now, I will make you go jerk off in the corner and cry.” Kyungsoo bites out fiercely.  The threat doesn’t carry much weight—not with most of Kris’s hand inside Kyungsoo, not to mention the way Kyungsoo is red-faced and sobbing for breath—but it’s enough to spur them into action, enough for Kris to retract his fingers and fumble for the bottle of lube.

 

“Here—turn around.” Kris murmurs, and Chanyeol makes a noise that sounds like complaint.  “Ride him like this.”

 

“Do you think we’ll—” Chanyeol begins uncertainly, and Kris looks up, his sweaty hair mussed and stuck to his forehead.

 

“—fit?” Kris finishes.

 

“I’m sure,” Kyungsoo interjects, sounding faintly hysterical.  

 

Chanyeol sits up with Kyungsoo facing Kris in his lap, and even with all the prep and lube, he’s still tight as Chanyeol slides in all the way.

 

Chanyeol lets out a long breath as Kyungsoo seats himself firmly against Chanyeol’s hips, clinging to Kris’s shoulders.  “Fucking god.  Finally.” He moans, pushing the bridge of his nose against Kris’s neck.  “So good.  Kris, hurry the fuck up.”

 

“Easy, baby.” Kris traces a finger around Kyungsoo’s entrance stretched around the thickness of Chanyeol’s cock, and it seems impossible.  He squeezes a finger in alongside Chanyeol, and it slips in easily, dragging a rough noise from Kyungsoo’s throat and a matching one from Chanyeol.

 

The pressure of his own dick against Kyungsoo’s hole makes him hesitate—there’s so much resistance, he can’t understand how he’s not hurting Kyungsoo—but he’s patient, and Kyungsoo keeps murmuring encouragement and curse words in equal measure, and finally, finally, he slips in, and Kyungsoo lets out a desperate moan.

 

“Oh god, oh god, oh my fucking god.” He whines as Kris slides in by degrees.  Kris bites his own lip and then Kyungsoo’s to distract from the tightness, so intense it’s driving the breath from his lungs, and Chanyeol’s clutches Kris’s biceps tightly, holding on for dear life.

 

“Jesus, Kyungsoo.” Kris rumbles.  “So goddamn tight.  Does it hurt?”

 

“No—no, it doesn’t hurt.” Kyungsoo wheezes through swollen lips, his knees riding high on Kris’s ribs, hands clawing at Kris’s hips to pull him in deeper.  “Just—oh god, fuck me already.”

 

Kris takes a deep breath to steady his shaking hands, slipping them underneath Kyungsoo’s trembling knees; Chanyeol’s hands spread and grip into the soft flesh of Kyungsoo’s thighs.  Kyungsoo forces himself down on the two cocks splitting him in half with a surprisingly loud moan.

 

Kyungsoo drags Kris into a sloppy kiss, or rather tangles his fingers in the hair at the back of Kris’s neck and forces their mouths together to smother Kyungsoo’s wail as Chanyeol begins to move his hips smoothly.  Kyungsoo’s never been stuffed full like this before, never been sandwiched between two people and stretched almost to breaking, like a balloon ready to burst, and Chanyeol had been right:  He fucking loves it.

 

The friction is delicious, spurring Kris to move as well, trying his best to offset his thrusts against Chanyeol’s, both of them holding Kyungsoo suspended between their bodies.  Each time Chanyeol pulls out, Kris is still there, thick and hot; each time Chanyeol thrusts up and Kris withdraws, the head of Kris’s dick is pushed up against that soft spot inside Kyungsoo, and the overstimulation drenches Kyungsoo’s body in a tremendous cold shock, like a splash of ice water on his hot skin.

 

Joonmyun pounds on the wall again, but Chanyeol sinks his teeth into the side of Kyungsoo’s neck on an upthrust, and Kyungsoo’s moan jumps two octaves into a high-pitched wail of ecstasy.  His legs twitch, held open by two pairs of strong hands that lift and drop him back down now, bouncing him in their laps.  His body feels like it’s melting, squeezed between Chanyeol and Kris, heat uncoiling low in his belly.  “Close…!” He gasps as Kris sucks a mark into the side of his neck.

 

Kyungsoo loses it completely.  He comes, his entire body constricting and jolting rhythmically as he paints Kris’s stomach and chest with spurts of milky white, his vision hazy, choking for breath as his nails score over Kris’s shoulders.

 

Chanyeol’s next to let go; there’s so much sensation, squeezed tight by Kyungsoo and stroked by Kris, and his orgasm is marked by a sharp grunt muted into Kyungsoo’s neck.

 

Kris pulls out quickly, wrapping his long fingers around his cock—Kyungsoo’s eyes widen in slow-witted amazement; he hadn’t really gotten a clear look at Kris before they’d started, and he’s huge—but he only has a second to register his own surprise before Kris’s release streams over his chest and belly, catching in his pubes and slicking his stomach.  Kyungsoo exhales harshly as Chanyeol lets go of his legs, and he lets them fall to either side of Kris’s hips, struggling to catch his breath.  Chanyeol is still inside him, but nothing hurts much except his abdomen, where he’d fought to keep his legs steady as they fucked him.

 

Fuck.” Kyungsoo says loudly, ears buzzing in the aftermath of his orgasm, hardly able to feel Chanyeol’s lips on the back of his neck or the way Kris’s hands coast flat over his ribs.  He turns his head to kiss Chanyeol over his shoulder, the angle awkward and sloppy, but it feels good.  Kris nuzzles his way into their kiss from the side, and they spend a few minutes like this, Kyungsoo comfortably slotted between them, completely unraveled in pleasant exhaustion.

 

“Looks like there was a bit more of you in my palm lines than you originally read, don’t you think, Kyungsoo-yah?” Chanyeol mutters in Kyungsoo’s ear, and Kyungsoo giggles.

 

The door bangs open.  Kyungsoo jumps, his wits suddenly coming back to him all at once, and even Kris whips around.  Joonmyun is standing in the doorway, clearly livid—at least until the scene in front of him filters through his brain.  His face goes pale, and he opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

 

Kyungsoo swallows, certain he’s about to get in trouble, but Chanyeol speaks up first.

 

“Like something you see?” He says cheekily.  Kyungsoo wants to punch him.

 

“N-no.” Joonmyun stammers, all the fight and fury draining out of him.  “Just—just—can you please not do this here?” There’s a touch of imploring in his tone.  “Or choose quieter members, or something.”

 

Kyungsoo can’t hold back a breathless giggle.  Kris shrugs his shoulders.

 

“Joonmyun, seriously, I think we kept him quieter than you usually do.”