Chapter Text
Moving to Los Angeles sounded exciting in theory. In reality, it took less than a week for Sehun and Jongin to realize that hunting for affordable housing near UCLA was a total nightmare.
Living together in a two-bedroom apartment in Westwood wasn’t part of the plan, but neither of them had enough cash to be picky. The apartment sat on the third floor of an old brick building—small, but cozy enough for two college students trying to survive in one of the most expensive cities in the country.
The contrast between their rooms was almost laughable. Sehun’s room was neat and organized, with books lined up on shelves, stationery neatly arranged on his desk, and almost zero clutter. Jongin’s room looked like it had been hit by a tornado. Oversized hoodies hung off the chair, his dance shoes were scattered across the floor, and his bed was a perpetual mess.
They had been inseparable since kindergarten. They shared lunchboxes, survived the brutal Korean education system together, and finally faced the culture shock together after moving to the United States. For as long as Sehun could remember, he was always the one in charge. Meanwhile, Jongin somehow always managed to lose important things, forget deadlines, and fall asleep anywhere if left unsupervised for more than five minutes.
But three months ago, their friendship got a hell of a lot more complicated.
It happened on a miserable Tuesday night in the middle of the winter quarter, with rain relentlessly drumming against the apartment windows. Jongin’s heat cycle hit a week earlier than expected, catching him completely off guard while Sehun was in the kitchen prepping meals for the week.
The shift was undeniable. The scent of peaches and honey that usually lingered faintly around Jongin suddenly grew heavy, filling the apartment with an unmistakable, restless edge. When Sehun rushed to check on him, he found Jongin curled tight on his bed, buried in a makeshift nest made of clothes he had shamelessly stolen from Sehun’s laundry basket.
He was shaking from head to toe, his cheeks soaked with tears, looking utterly miserable. Seeing his lifelong best friend in that state wiped every other thought from Sehun's mind. But when Jongin reached out through his feverish haze, clawing at Sehun’s shirt with tear-stained cheeks, begging his childhood friend to make it stop, Sehun’s alpha instincts completely snapped.
That night was filled with raw, friction-heavy, untamed fucking. There was no slow buildup, just the desperate, needy noises of a drenched omega taking his alpha best friend’s thick cock on a messy mattress for three straight days, clinging to each other until the heat finally burned out.
Neither of them meant for things to change. But when it was over and the haze finally cleared, there was no dramatic fight, no panicked attempt to pretend like it never happened, and definitely no emotional confessions like in romantic movies. They knew each other too well for that shit.
Instead, the next morning found them sitting at the kitchen table, sharing a box of stale Pop-Tarts and discussing the situation with surprising practicality.
The conclusion they reached was simple.
Friends with benefits. No strings attached. No catching feelings. No possessive scent-marking. No jealousy at college parties. Just two best friends hooking up behind closed doors because the American college experience was stressful enough.
“Hey, if you don’t pass the ball right now, I’m throwing this entire console out the window,” Jongin grumbled, his thumbs moving fast over his PS controller.
It was late Friday night, and the living room was lit only by the blinding blue glow of the television screen playing a game of FIFA. Jongin sat cross-legged on the thick gray shag rug, his back leaning heavily against Sehun’s shins. Sehun leaned back on the couch, his long legs stretched out on either side of Jongin, his own controller held lazily in his large hands.
Jongin wore a thin, faded white t-shirt—one of Sehun’s old shirts he claimed as loungewear—and loose gray sweatpants. His honey-skinned neck was completely bare, exposing smooth, flawless skin where the collar slouched down.
“Calm down, man. Your positioning sucks,” Sehun muttered in his usual deadpan monotone, though a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. He intentionally pulled a trick on screen, driving his digital avatar away from Jongin’s character.
“Oh Sehun, you asshole!” Jongin groaned, throwing his head back in frustration. The back of his skull hit Sehun’s hard kneecap, making the alpha snort with amusement. “I practiced at the dance studio for six hours nonstop today. My thighs are literally shaking, my coordination is shot, and you’re out here playing like my bully.”
“If your thighs are shaking, you shouldn't be playing video games. You should be lying down in your room,” Sehun said, his dark eyes flickering down from the TV screen to look at Jongin’s messy brown hair.
From this angle, Sehun’s sharp alpha instincts could pick up the shift in the room's atmosphere. Jongin was running hot—unusually warm even for someone who had just worked out. The scent of peaches and honey, which was usually soft and clean when Jongin was on suppressants, started to feel thicker, almost syrupy. It wasn’t the sharp sting of a full heat, but it was concentrated enough to make the air inside the apartment feel incredibly foggy.
“I don’t want to sleep yet. Smelling your stupid laundry didn’t work today,” Jongin muttered, his voice dropping into a softer, slightly whiny tone he only used when they were completely alone. He shifted his weight, his lower back rubbing against Sehun’s shin unconsciously in a search for physical comfort.
Sehun’s jaw tightened slightly. The loose collar of the thin white shirt slipped a bit off Jongin’s shoulder, revealing the smooth, tan curve of his collarbone. But it wasn’t his skin that caught Sehun’s eye. It was how the thin cotton fabric clung tightly to Jongin’s chest.
Ever since they started their fwb arrangement three months ago, Sehun had noticed a strange, subtle transformation in his best friend’s anatomy. While Jongin had always been lean and toned from years of rigorous contemporary dance, his omega traits seemed to be developing faster now that he was regularly exposed to Sehun’s dominant alpha pheromones. His waist felt a little softer when Sehun held him from behind, his skin felt sweeter to the touch, and his chest...
There was a distinct, soft curve forming right under the cotton of his t-shirt. A pair of small, soft mounds that definitely weren’t there when they were teenagers playing soccer in Seoul.
“Jongin,” Sehun called out, his voice dropping an octave, losing its playful edge and replacing it with a low, gravelly vibrato.
“Hmm?” Jongin didn’t look back, his eyes still glued to the screen as he tried to score a goal. “What? If you’re going to tell me to do the dishes, it’s your turn this week—”
“Drop the controller.”
The command wasn't laced with alpha authority—Sehun never used his voice to force his friend into submission—but the sheer weight and seriousness of his tone made Jongin’s fingers freeze. Jongin slowly lowered the plastic controller to the rug, his breath hitching for a fraction of a second as the heavy, cedarwood scent of Sehun’s pheromones suddenly flooded the space between them.
Jongin twisted his body around, his round, expressive eyes looking up at Sehun with a mix of confusion and latent, instinctual obedience. “What’s wrong? Are you getting weird again?”
Sehun didn’t answer with words. He tossed his own controller onto the couch cushion, reached down, hooked his hands under Jongin’s armpits, and hauled the dancer straight into his lap.
“Whoa!” Jongin gasped, his hands instinctively gripping Sehun’s shoulders to steady himself. Straddling Sehun’s thighs, his entire body went pliable the moment their chests flushed together. His sweatpants rubbed against the rough denim of Sehun’s jeans.
As a highly athletic omega, Jongin’s first instinct should have been to break out of the hold, but the moment his chest made direct contact with Sehun’s solid chest, his entire frame went soft.
“You’re throwing off heat like a broken radiator,” Sehun murmured, his large palms sliding down from Jongin’s armpits to rest firmly on his hips, squeezing the soft flesh through the sweatpants. “And your scent is turning into straight up candy. Are you sure your suppressants aren’t expired?”
“Of course not,” Jongin sighed, his eyelids already getting a bit heavy as he breathed in the comforting, intoxicating cedarwood scent from Sehun’s collarbone. He leaned forward, burying his face in the crook of Sehun’s neck, his nose brushing against the warm pulse point there. “I checked the bottle. The campus pharmacy gave me the usual dose. I think... I think I’m just tired. My body feels heavy.”
“Your body feels heavy because you don't know how to rest,” Sehun murmured softly, though his hands did the exact opposite of helping Jongin rest. His long, slightly calloused fingers began to track up from Jongin’s hips, sliding under the hem of the thin white shirt, making direct contact with the hot skin of his waist.
Jongin let out a soft, shivery sigh at the touch. Sehun’s hands were always cool, a stark contrast to the heat that always pooled in Jongin’s lower stomach whenever they were within arm's reach.
“Sehun...” Jongin whispered, his lips brushing against the alpha's skin as he spoke. “We agreed on only twice a week for the benefits part. We already did it on Wednesday.”
“The contract has an emergency clause for exhausted roommates,” Sehun countered smoothly, his dry humor remaining intact even as his heart started to thump harder against his ribs. His hands slid further up Jongin’s ribcage, his palms tracing the smooth, perfect slope of his friend's sides.
But as his hands reached the chest area, Sehun’s fingers stalled.
The sheer weight in his hands caught Sehun completely off guard. Jongin’s tits were swollen and tight, pressing hard against his palms. The moment Sehun’s thumbs brushed over his nipples, a sharp, gasping whine tore out of Jongin’s throat, his spine arching as he instinctively tried to pull away from the overwhelming sensation.
“Ah! Wait—stop, don’t touch there! It hurts!” Jongin hissed, his eyes flying open, bright and watery from the sudden discomfort.
Sehun’s alpha instincts immediately reacted to the sound of pain, his grip instantly softening but not releasing. He stared down at Jongin’s chest, his brow furrowing with concern. “What do you mean it hurts? Did you pull a muscle during dance practice?”
“No, it’s not a pulled muscle,” Jongin whimpered, his face flushing a deep, dark crimson that bled all the way down his neck. He tried to pull his shirt down, his arms suddenly looking very defensive over his chest. “It’s been like this since morning. It feels... tight. Like it’s being pressed from the inside. Even the fabric of my shirt moving over it is driving me crazy.”
Sehun stared at him, his analytical mind trying to process the information. He reached out, his thumb and index finger gently catching the edge of Jongin’s loose collar, pulling the white cotton fabric away from his chest to get a clear look under the dim blue light of the television.
What he saw made the alpha’s breath catch dead in his throat.
Jongin’s chest was not flat. His tits looked swollen, the skin appearing tight and flushed with a tender, rosy pink. But the most striking detail was his areolas—they were slightly darker than usual, puffy, and both tips stood completely erect, glistening with a strange, faint moisture that was beginning to seep into the inner fibers of his shirt.
“Jongin...” Sehun’s voice was barely a whisper, completely stripped of his usual deadpan sarcasm. “What the fuck is this?”
“I don’t know!” Jongin cried out softly, hiding his face in Sehun’s shoulder once again out of sheer embarrassment. “It’s sensitive! Don’t look, it’s humiliating!”
Sehun wasn’t listening. His hands found their way back onto Jongin’s bare skin, his palms slowly and carefully moving upward until they were fully pressing against the soft mound of Jongin’s left tit. He gave it a gentle squeeze, just a soft, experimental pressure to check for any abnormal lumps.
“Sehun... stop—ah!” Jongin cried out softly, his hips hitching forward in Sehun’s lap as a sudden, intense wave of relief and pleasure shot straight to his chest from the pressure.
But as Sehun squeezed, a strange, dark patch began to bloom rapidly on the outside of the white shirt. Right over the peak of Jongin’s left tit, the cotton fabric turned sheer, soaked through by a warm, thick liquid that was rapidly leaking from the straining nipple.
Sehun froze, his eyes widening to the size of saucers. He pulled his hand back, staring at his palm, then back at Jongin’s shirt.
The liquid wasn’t clear like sweat, nor was it sticky like oil. It was a milky white fluid that was dripping slowly from the peak of his tit, tracing a thin, pale line down the smooth skin of his honey-toned stomach. A sudden, incredibly potent scent of warm, sweet milk—like fresh vanilla cream mixed with peaches and honey—exploded into the living room air, completely drowning out the cedarwood.
For three long seconds, the only sound in the room was the buzzing crowd noise from the FIFA match on television.
“Oh Sehun,” Jongin whispered, his voice trembling as he stared down at his soaked shirt, his eyes wide with horror. “Tell me I did not just leak fluid out of my chest.”
Sehun, a critical-thinking college student who was supposed to have an answer for every scenario, could only stare at his best friend’s tits like a fucking idiot. Slowly, he reached out his index finger, dabbing it right into the warm, white puddle on Jongin’s shirt, and brought it to his lips.
He tasted it. It was warm, thick, and incredibly sweet—tasting distinctly of heavy cream, natural sugars, and the raw essence of Jongin’s omega biology.
Sehun swallowed, his throat clicking in the silence. He looked up, his dark alpha eyes flashing with a primal, utterly unhinged hunger.
“Jongin,” Sehun said, his voice flat but vibrating with a terrifying intensity. “You’re lactating.”
“I’m what?”
Jongin’s voice hit a high pitch, a sound Sehun hadn't heard since they were twelve and Jongin accidentally dropped his ice cream into a toilet. The omega scrambled backward in Sehun’s lap, his hands cupping his tits as if he could block out the white fluid currently soaking through the graphic on his shirt.
“You're leaking milk,” Sehun repeated. He stared at his own index finger, which still had a faint white sheen, then back at his best friend. “Like, actual milk. You’re literally producing milk, Jongin. And before you ask, no, I didn’t secretly knock you up during our last ‘roommate emergency’ session. I know exactly where I came, and your birth control is digital.”
“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” Jongin chanted, his face flushing so hot Sehun could practically feel the heat radiating from him from a foot away. He stared down at his chest, where the white shirt was now completely translucent over his left tit, clinging to the swollen, enlarged nipple. “This is a mistake. My body is having a glitch. Sehun, do something! Call a doctor—no, don’t call a doctor! What if they put me in a lab? What if they think I’m a medical anomaly?”
“Hey, calm down,” Sehun said, even though his own heart was hammering against his ribs. The sweet, warm scent of vanilla cream and peaches was getting thicker by the second, filling the small living room until the air felt heavy, almost intoxicating to his alpha senses. “First of all, nobody is putting you in a lab. Second of all, look at it. It’s not stopping.”
Another drop of warm milk spilled over the fabric of Jongin’s shirt, landing right on the thigh of his gray sweatpants.
Jongin let out a pathetic little whine, his shoulders slumping. “It feels so heavy. It feels so tight. Like... like someone stuffed a pair of water balloons under my skin. Even breathing deeply hurts.”
Seeing the genuine discomfort on Jongin’s face instantly broke Sehun out of his shock. He had spent most of his life taking care of Jongin, and old habits die hard.
With a soft sigh, he reached out and gently caught Jongin’s wrists, guiding his hands away before Jongin made himself even more uncomfortable.
“Hey, look at me. Don’t press on them like that, you're just making it leak faster,” Sehun murmured, his voice softening into that low, steady rumble that always managed to anchor Jongin during his worst moments of anxiety. “Take your shirt off. Let me see what we’re dealing with.”
Jongin bit his lower lip, his eyes darting away for a second. Shame rolled off him, compounded by the fact that he still had no idea what the fuck was happening to him.
But there was no point in being modest around Sehun. They had known each other for almost their entire lives, and privacy had long since become a flexible concept between them.
After a moment of hesitation, Jongin slipped his fingers under the hem of his wet shirt and pulled it over his head. The discarded fabric pooled onto the floor beside their forgotten PS controllers, neither of them casting a glance at it.
Sehun’s breath hitched in his throat.
Without the barrier of the fabric, Jongin’s chest was completely bare under the flickering, dim blue light of the television. The change in his anatomy was striking. His soft, supple tits looked fuller, rounder, and heavy with fluid, bouncing slightly with every shallow breath Jongin took. The skin was pale and stretched tight, with faint blue veins visibly tracking under the surface, forming lines toward the enlarged, puffy nipples.
Right at the peak of his left nipple, a small bead of pearl-colored milk formed, glistening like a jewel before slowly tracking down the smooth, tan slope of his tit.
“Fuck, Jongin...” Sehun muttered, his jaw clenching. His alpha pheromones flared instinctively to wrap around the shivering omega, trying to soothe his distress.
“Don’t look at me like I’m a freak,” Jongin whispered, his gaze fixed somewhere over Sehun’s shoulder, his cheeks burning.
“I don’t think you’re a freak,” Sehun said honestly. He shifted his position on the couch, pulling Jongin back into the space between his thighs. “I think you’re an idiot who probably forgot to read the fine print in his omega health handbook. But right now, we need to get the pressure off before you run a fever.”
Jongin blinked, looking up. “Get the pressure off? How? I don’t have a pump, Sehun! I don't even have a baby!”
“We don’t need a pump or a baby,” Sehun said, a sudden dark glint in his eyes. He leaned forward, his hands sliding up to cup the sides of Jongin’s ribcage, his thumbs resting right under the swell of his swollen tits. “You have an alpha. And according to basic biology, I’m highly qualified to help you empty these.”
Jongin’s heart did a violent flip. “Wait, you mean you’re going to—ah!”
Before Jongin could finish the sentence, Sehun’s large hand fully cupped the heavy tit. He applied a gentle, steady upward pressure, lifting the weight of it. The relief was so immediate, so sharp, that a loud, embarrassing gasp tore out of Jongin’s throat, his spine arching into the touch.
“Better?” Sehun asked, his thumb slowly wiping away the milk that smeared against Jongin’s skin.
“Ngh... yeah,” Jongin whimpered, his fingers clawing into Sehun’s jeans for support. “But it’s... it feels hot. Inside.”
“Let’s fix that then.”
Sehun didn’t hesitate. He leaned down, his shadow eclipsing Jongin’s frame as he brought his lips directly to the peak of Jongin’s swollen left nipple. He opened his mouth wide, taking the entire puffy areola in, and sealed his lips around it.
“Oh!” Jongin skyrocketed, his hands immediately flying to Sehun’s blonde hair, his knuckles turning white as he held on for dear life.
Sehun began to suck. He used slow, deep, rhythmic draws, mimicking the natural instinct of a newborn but with the sheer suction power of a grown alpha. Almost instantly, the tight, painful blockage inside Jongin’s tit seemed to snap. A steady, heavy stream of warm, thick milk flooded straight into Sehun’s mouth, rich with the pure taste of Jongin’s essence.
“S-Sehun! Ah!”
Jongin’s head thudded back against the couch cushions, his eyes rolling back as a wild, electric heat shot directly from his nipples straight down to his lower stomach. It wasn’t just physical relief from the pressure; it was a heavy, intoxicating rush of pure lust. The sensation of Sehun’s mouth actively milking him dry instantly short-circuited his lower body, his lap pooling heavy as a thick rush of slick began to soak into his sweatpants.
Sehun swallowed a mouthful of the sweet milk, his throat clicking loudly in the quiet room, before immediately latching back on. He used his hands to gently massage the outer edges of the tits, softening the hardness, driving the thick fluid toward his waiting mouth. He swallowed again, and then again, completely unfazed by the bizarre nature of the situation, entirely consumed by the intoxicating taste of his best friend.
“Sehun... fuck, it’s too much,” Jongin mumbled, his hips shifting restlessly in Sehun’s lap. “It feels too good, stop... no, don’t stop, just keep going, please...”
After a few more deep, powerful tugs, the left tit finally began to soften, the angry redness fading into a relaxed pink. Sehun reluctantly pulled his mouth away, a thick string of white saliva stretching from his lower lip to Jongin’s swollen, glistening nipple.
Sehun wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes completely dark, his pupils blown with arousal. “The other side is still hard. Lean back.”
Jongin couldn’t even argue. His brain was completely fried from the intense nipple play. He slumped back against the armrest of the couch, his legs tangled with Sehun’s as the alpha shifted his attention to the right tit.
The moment Sehun’s mouth closed over Jongin’s right nipple, a ragged sob escaped him. His hands fumbled aimlessly over Sehun’s broad shoulders, pulling him closer, anchoring himself against the violent waves of pleasure rolling through his body. Sehun worked with dedicated focus, his tongue swirling around the stiff peak before sucking deep, draining the second reserve with a slow, heavy rhythm that had Jongin whimpering like a lost puppy.
By the time Sehun finally broke the seal, both of Jongin’s tits were soft, pliable, and completely drenched in a mix of spit and milk. Jongin panted, his chest heaving, his entire body trembling from overstimulation.
“There,” Sehun breathed, his voice incredibly rough and deep. He looked down at Jongin, his hands still resting on the dancer’s slim waist. “The swelling is down. Does it still hurt?”
Jongin shook his head weakly, his eyes half-closed. “No... doesn’t hurt anymore. But... but now it hurts somewhere else.”
Sehun smirked, a low rumble vibrating in his chest. He looked down. Through the thin gray fabric of Jongin’s sweatpants, a glaringly obvious, rock-hard tent pressed outward, and the unmistakable, sweet scent of omega slick was beginning to seep through the cotton, mixing with the heavy aroma of milk.
“Well,” Sehun murmured, his fingers slipping under the waistband of Jongin’s sweatpants, finding the skin of his hips running incredibly hot to the touch. “We can’t leave a roommate in an emergency state. It violates the contract.”
“Fuck the contract,” Jongin panted, reaching up to grab the front of Sehun’s shirt, pulling the alpha down until their lips were barely an inch apart. “Sehun... I’m so close to the edge. Touch me. Please.”
Sehun didn't need to be told twice. He hooked his hands under Jongin’s knees and pulled him right off the couch, sliding down until they were both on the thick, gray shag rug on the living room floor. He stripped Jongin out of his sweatpants and boxers in one swift motion, exposing his long, toned dancer’s legs to the cool room air.
Jongin was completely wrecked, his cock dripping clear fluid, and his thighs glistening with the sheer amount of slick his body was producing in response to the lactation.
They didn't bring lube out to the living room, and as starved as he was, he refused to hurt his friend. Instead, Sehun quickly unbuttoned his own pants, letting his thick, fully hardened cock spring free into the open air.
He grabbed both of Jongin’s thighs, pulling them up and pressing them tight together. He positioned his wet head right in the center, pinning himself between the smooth, muscular friction of Jongin’s inner thighs.
“Ah! Sehun!” Jongin cried out, his hands slamming into the rug above his head as Sehun slammed his hips forward, sliding his cock smoothly through the tight, slick-drenched gap of Jongin’s thighs.
The friction was unbelievable. Because Jongin’s legs were incredibly toned from years of dance, the grip around Sehun’s shaft was tight, mimicking the snug warmth of an actual penetration. Every time Sehun shoved forward, the head of his cock rubbed directly against the base of Jongin’s stomach, smearing the excess slick and stray drops of milk across their skin.
“Sehun... oh my god, Sehun, faster,” Jongin begged, his head rolling side to side on the rug. He lifted his hips, trying to meet Sehun’s heavy, rhythmic thrusts, his own cock friction-rubbing against Sehun’s hard abs with every movement.
The sound of their wet skin clapping together echoed loudly in the dark living room, competing with the TV background. Sehun was relentless, his broad shoulders shifting as he drove his hips forward in a fast, brutal rhythm. His hands found their way back to Jongin’s chest, his fingers mercilessly pinching and twisting the sensitive, milk-wet nipples to keep Jongin right on the edge of breaking.
“Don’t touch—ah! It makes me want to... it makes me feel like I’m going to leak again!” Jongin cried out, his toes curling as Sehun squeezed his left tit hard.
A small spurt of white milk suddenly shot out of the nipple, catching Sehun right across the cheek.
Instead of slowing down, the sight of Jongin squirt-milking under his touch sent Sehun completely over the edge. His alpha instincts went entirely feral. He leaned down, his teeth lightly snapping against the skin of Jongin’s neck—not hard enough to leave a permanent mark, but hard enough to claim him for the night.
“You’re so fucking loud,” Sehun growled, his hips moving in an unhinged, panicked pace, the friction generating an intense, burning heat between their bodies. “Look at you. Covered in your own milk and slick all over the rug. Who’s the freak now?”
“I am... ah! I am, make me cum, Sehun, please!”
Jongin’s thighs clamped viciously tight around Sehun’s cock, the friction hitting its absolute peak. With a loud, broken cry, Jongin’s entire body went rigid. His cock twitched, shooting thick ropes of white cum all over his own stomach and Sehun’s chest. Right at the exact same moment, his tits contracted one last time, sending a final spray of warm milk over his caramel skin.
The tight grip of Jongin’s wet skin was too much. Sehun didn't even have the breath to make a sound. He just shuddered, driving his frame forward one last time before absolutely blasting his load between Jongin’s locked thighs. The sudden, wet rush glued their skin together, leaving them both completely spent.
The living room was shrouded in an eerie silence, broken only by the sound of their ragged breathing.
Sehun collapsed forward, burying his face in the crook of Jongin’s neck, his chest heaving rapidly against Jongin’s wet body. Jongin’s legs slowly unclasped from Sehun’s waist, falling limply onto the rug, completely exhausted.
For a long time, neither of them moved. The flickering blue light from the television illuminated the absolute wreckage. The scattered controllers, the soaked shirt, and two childhood friends covered in sweat, cum, and fresh milk from head to toe.
Finally, Jongin let out a weak, raspy laugh, his fingers lazily tracing the back of Sehun’s neck.
“Hey, Sehun?”
“Yeah?” Sehun mumbled against his skin.
“We are definitely going to need a new rug.”
Sehun snorted, a low smile pressing into Jongin’s neck as he finally lifted his head. “I’ll put it on our Walmart shopping list for tomorrow. Right next to the sports bras.”