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The drive up was cramped, two SUVs packed to capacity with gear strapped to the roof rack and tempers fraying by hour three. Changbin was driving, his grip firm on the steering wheel as he navigated the winding mountain roads, while Hyunjin sat in the passenger seat with his phone plugged into the aux cord, singing along to their own songs with his typical off-hours haphazardness.
Minho was wedged in the backseat between a cooler and Chan, his shoulder pressed against Chan's, their thighs touching from hip to knee. Every time Changbin took a curve, Minho would brace himself against Chan's chest, his hand sliding across Chan's thigh under the guise of steadying himself. By hour four, his fingers had crept high enough that Chan reached down and pinned his wrist, throwing him a warning look.
Minho scowled at having his fun ruined and grumbled as much under his breath.
"All good?" Changbin asked, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror.
"Fine," Chan said, his voice perfectly level despite the pressure of Minho's palm millimeters from his fly. "Just crowded."
"Almost there," Changbin assured.
Hyunjin twisted around in his seat, still humming whatever song had been playing. "Minho-hyung, I can’t believe you actually did it. You got us all to go camping during our one week off."
"Seungmin said the same thing," Minho replied, letting his fingers trace idle patterns on Chan's. "I don’t see what’s so surprising. I can be quite persuasive when I want."
"You sure can be," Chan said quietly, his hand still covering Minho's, holding it in place. "It’s too much power."
Minho grinned at him, sharp and dangerous.
The campsite was even more remote than Minho had expected. It was a large clearing by a lake, surrounded by pines that blocked out the afternoon sun in shifting patterns. The group spilled out of the cars, stretching and complaining.
Seungmin immediately got his ankle twisted in a root.
"We haven't even been here thirty seconds," Felix said.
Seungmin sank to the ground. "I think it's broken. We have to go back."
"You're an idiot."
"Where’s the first aid kit?"
Jisung crouched beside him and poked his ankle.
Seungmin yelped.
"It looks fine," Jisung said.
Hyunjin abandoned the cooler he'd been carrying and wandered toward the lake.
"Guys."
Nobody looked.
"Guys."
Changbin was unloading gear.
"Guys."
Minho finally glanced over.
Hyunjin pointed toward the water. "We have to go swimming."
"Oh, hell yeah,” Chan said.
“No way,” Minho said at the same time.
They looked at each other, Minho scowling, Chan grinning.
"Okay," Changbin called out, unloading duffel bags from the trunk. "It’s maknaes and hyungs. You guys get the blue tent, we’ll take the green."
Minho caught Chan's eye over the roof of the car, one eyebrow raised. Four of them in one tent. That was a bit of an unfortunate development.
Chan's jaw tightened, his gaze dropping to Minho's mouth before he turned away to grab his bag.
"Hyung," Jisung whined, dragging his sleeping bag toward the younger tent, "why do you guys get the big tent?"
"Because we're older and we deserve comfort," Changbin said.
Setting up camp became a choreography of near-misses between Chan and Minho. They worked in parallel, Chan and Changbin wrestling with tent poles while Minho and Hyunjin strung up a tarp between trees for the communal area. Every time Minho walked past Chan to fetch another stake or roll of rope, Chan's hand would ghost across the small of Minho's back, or their shoulders would brush, or their eyes would catch.
Hyunjin paused in his hammering of a stake, looking between them with a curious expression, but said nothing.
Much to Minho’s chagrin, they did end up swimming in the lake. He managed to get by letting himself float on his back, and once he got steady, certain he wasn’t going to start spontaneously sinking, he had to admit it was rather peaceful.
Jisung lasted exactly eight seconds before screaming about how cold the water was.
Felix was laughing so hard he accidentally inhaled lake water and immediately began coughing.
Seungmin drifted calmly, several feet away. "Natural selection acquires another victim."
As the other’s continued bantering, Minho felt a hand close around his ankle underwater, tugging him toward the deeper section where they couldn't stand. Chan's other hand found his waist, fingers digging into his skin beneath the surface, hidden by the churning water and the others splashing nearby.
"You're playing with fire," Chan said, his mouth close to Minho's ear, his breath warm against lake-chilled skin.
"You’re going to drown me," Minho replied flatly, “Can’t swim this deep.”
“You don’t need to swim if I’m holding onto you.”
He felt Chan's cock twitch against his thigh through the barrier of wet swim trunks.
“Great,” Minho rolled his eyes before settling his gaze on Chan, a fraction more serious. “You better not let go then.”
Chan grinned, pulling Minho closer for just long enough to brush his lips against the corner of Minho’s mouth, and then he shoved him away, back towards the shallows.
Minho’s shout rang out loudly, followed by Chan’s laughter, drawing everyone’s attention.
Chan swam off with long, graceful strokes. He stopped further out and turned back towards the shore.
“Come on, Min,” he called out. “There’s only one way to learn!”
Minho flipped him off, stalking out of the water in search of a towel and more solid ground. But he carried the heat of Chan's grip with him for the rest of the day, through the walk around the lake's perimeter, through the card games they played on the wooden picnic table, through the slow building of the fire as the sun began to set.
Dinner was as chaotic as expected. It took nearly forty minutes longer than it should have to get food cooking. Nobody could agree on anything. Hot dogs got burned on sticks, arguments broke out over the optimal marshmallow roasting technique, Changbin and Chan wrestled over the last beer while Seungmin complained about the mosquitoes. As darkness settled and the fire burned down to embers, everyone pulled their camp chairs into a loose circle.
Seungmin poked at the fire with a stick, sending sparks spiraling upward. "We could be in hotel beds right now."
"Hotel beds don't have stars," Minho said, leaning back in his chair, his hand dangling over the armrest close to where Chan sat beside him. Their pinky fingers were interlaced.
"Hotel beds don't have Chan-hyung's snoring either," Jisung muttered.
Chan kicked at Jisung’s chair leg, and the group dissolved into laughter.
"Let's play a game,” Hyunjin suggested.
"No."
"Helpful as always, Seungmin."
Felix leaned forward in his chair. "Truth or dare."
A collective groan echoed through the campsite.
“Jeez.” Felix frowned. “Anyone else want to throw out an option then?”
A moment of silence passed.
“Fuck it,” Hyunjin laughed. “Truth or dare it is.”
"Perfect. Jisung goes first.” Felix grinned.
"Wait, why me?"
"You volunteered."
"Pretty sure I did not."
"Truth or dare?" Felix pushed.
Jisung sighed. "Dare."
"I dare you to run down to the dock and scream that you're king of the mountain."
"There is no mountain."
"Okay, king of the lake."
Jisung shrugged and stood up. "Easy."
He sprinted toward the shoreline. The group watched him disappear into the darkness. Three seconds later his voice echoed across the water.
"I AM THE KING OF THE LAKE… AND THE FISH LOVE ME."
When Jisung returned, slightly out of breath and looking entirely pleased with himself, Seungmin shook his head.
Felix was laughing too hard to speak.
"Hyunjin," Changbin said, pointing. "Your turn."
Hyunjin immediately chose truth.
Minho leaned forward.
"Who's your favorite member?"
Hyunjin narrowed his eyes. "You're trying to start a fight."
"Answer the question."
“Innie, obviously.”
Minho scoffed. “That’s the easy way out.”
“Hey!” Jeongin pipped up, offended.
“Sorry,” Minho said, not sounding sorry at all.
From there, the questions became increasingly ridiculous. Felix refused to reveal his first celebrity crush, instead eating a completely crisp marshmallow on a dare. Seungmin refused every dare that involved singing. Chan somehow escaped almost entirely unscathed, answering questions with enough sincerity that nobody bothered teasing him.
Jisung had to confess the strangest thing he'd ever eaten (a dried cricket he’d accidentally bought while ordering lizard food online). Changbin had to reenact an argument he'd once had with a GPS (and somehow lost). Hyunjin had to rank everyone's fashion sense (Jeongin and Chan tied for first).
Gradually, the group quieted, the weight of their usual lives settling and then lifting in the mountain air. Minho watched the firelight dance across Chan's profile.
"We should do this every year," Felix said softly.
"As long as Minho-hyung plans it," Seungmin said, "and not Changbin-hyung. He'd make us hike five kilometers first."
"I would not," Changbin protested. “Well… maybe one or two.”
Everyone chuckled, but nobody seemed interested in ruining the rare calm that had settled across the group, all of them getting lost in their own thoughts for a while.
As the fire died to glowing coals and the group dispersed to their respective tents, Minho lingered by the cooler, pretending to search for another drink, waiting until the others had gone.
Chan appeared beside him, silent, his hand finding Minho's in the dark, interlacing their fingers.
"Hyunjin and Changbin are already in the tent," Chan said, his thumb tracing circles on Minho's palm. "They’ll probably fall asleep soon. Everyone’s tired."
"How long do you think it’ll take?" Minho asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"An hour. Maybe two." Chan's hand tightened.
Minho turned to face him, close enough to smell the smoke in Chan's hair, the beer on his breath. "I don't want to wait."
Chan's eyes dropped to his mouth, and for a moment Minho thought he might kiss him right there, beside the dying fire. But Chan pulled back, his jaw tight, and nodded toward the lake. "Twenty minutes at most."
Minho watched him walk away, the line of his shoulders tense beneath his shirt, and counted the minutes by his own heartbeat.
He stood at the end of the dock, the wood rough and splintered beneath his bare feet, the night air cool enough to raise goosebumps across his arms. After a while, he heard footsteps, heavy and deliberate behind him, the boards creaking under Chan’s weight.
"You're sure the others are asleep?" Minho asked, not turning around. He could see the glow of the dying campfire from here, distant and orange, and the shapes of the tents huddled against the tree line. Hyunjin had been snoring when they'd left, and Changbin had been dead to the world, headphones still clamped over his ears.
"Asleep enough," Chan said, close now, his breath warm against the shell of Minho's ear. His arms encircled Minho’s waist.
Minho leaned back into him, feeling the hard line of Chan's cock already pressing against his lower back through the material of his sweatpants.
He reached back to rub Chan's thigh, fingers digging into the muscle there. "What if someone wakes up?"
"Then they'll get an eyeful." Chan's teeth caught Minho's earlobe, tugging until Minho exhaled sharply. "Turn around."
Minho turned. Chan's face was carved by moonlight, his eyes dark, pupils blown wide. He was beautiful, his jawline sharp as ever, the tendon in his neck standing out as he swallowed. Minho reached for the waistband of his own shorts, pushing them down his hips until they caught on his thighs, his cock springing free, heavy and already flushed dark with blood. The air was cold against heated skin.
Chan made a noise in his throat, and pushed Minho's hands away to take over, yanking the shorts lower until they landed around Minho's ankles. Minho stepped out of them, naked now except for his t-shirt, the hem brushing the top of his hips.
Chan's hands were everywhere—rough palms skimming up Minho's thighs, thumbs spreading him open, tracing the crease where his thigh met his groin.
"How do you want it?" Chan asked, his voice already low.
Minho reached for Chan's pants, undoing the drawstring, shoving the fabric down until Chan's cock bobbed free, thick and perfectly curved.
"Fast," Minho said, wrapping his hand around Chan's length, feeling the heat radiate off him, the slight tackiness of precome. "Hard. I don't want to be out here all night."
Chan spun him around roughly, hand between Minho's shoulder blades, bending him over the railing. The wood was weathered, smooth in places where countless hands had gripped it, and Minho wrapped his fingers around it, holding on firmly. He heard Chan spit and then felt the press of Chan's fingers against his hole, circling, pushing in without hesitation.
Minho hissed, his spine arching involuntarily.
Chan's fingers were thick and Minho’s rim burned as they worked him open, scissoring, curling to find the angle that made his knees buckle. Chan pressed in hard, and Minho bit down on his own lip to keep his moan muffled.
In short order, Chan lined himself up, the thick head of his cock kissing Minho's rim, spreading his own spit around and appreciating slight give of Minho's body. “Ready?”
"Yeah," Minho breathed, pushing back, impaling himself. Chan's hands gripped his hips, fingers digging in, and he thrust forward in one smooth motion, bottoming out in a single stroke.
Chan was big, always had been, and the stretch was intense, creating a burn that radiated from Minho’s rim up through his pelvis. He could feel every vein, every ridge of Chan's cock as Chan pulled back and slammed in again, setting a steady pace. The dock swayed slightly beneath them, the water slapping louder as if in rhythm.
"Fuck," Minho groaned, his head dropping forward. "Fuck, Chan—"
Chan angled his hips, hitting Minho's prostate with every thrust, a relentless pounding that had Minho's cock leaking steadily onto the wood beneath him, leaving dark spots. Chan's breath was ragged, harsh exhalations that sounded almost pained, and his grip on Minho's hips was iron-tight, holding him still through the onslaught.
Minho reached down with one hand to jerk himself off, desperate for release, his fist tight and dry. The friction was almost too much, but he needed it, needed the edge of pain to balance the overwhelming fullness of Chan inside him. He was close, his balls drawing up tight against his body, the base of his spine tingling with the approaching orgasm.
Chan slowed suddenly, his thrusts becoming shallow, teasing. “You feel so fucking good, Min. You’re so tight around me. You look so good on my cock.”
Minho felt his brain filling with static, Chan’s words doubling the effect of his thrusts.
“I wanna show you off,” Chan went on, “wanna show everyone how well you take me—how fucking hot you are.”
"Chan," Minho gasped.
“Should fuck you in the open more often. Moonlight looks good on you, Min.”
Chan laughed breathlessly, snapping his hips forward with renewed force. The sound of skin meeting skin was loud in the stillness, punctuated by the wet slap of the lake and their combined breathing. Chan's hand slid from Minho's hip to his stomach, pulling him upright, changing the angle so Chan's cock dragged against Minho's walls with every stroke.
Minho turned his head, seeking Chan's mouth, and Chan met him halfway, their lips coming together in a messy, desperate kiss. Chan's tongue pushed into his mouth, claiming him there, while his cock claimed Minho's body below. Minho could taste the beer they'd shared earlier, the lingering sweetness of the s'mores.
"Hold on," Chan gritted out, slowing his thrusts, becoming erratic. "I want—" He pulled out abruptly, and Minho huffed at the loss, his hole clenching on empty air. "Turn around. I want to see you."
Minho spun around, leaning back against the railing, his legs trembling. Chan stepped in close, lifting one of Minho's legs to hook over his hip, guiding himself back inside, deeper, the head of his cock dragging against Minho's walls in a way that made Minho's mouth fall open, free for Chan’s taking.
"Want to feel you come on my cock," Chan muttered against Minho's slack lips, his hand sliding down to wrap around Minho's cock, his grip firm, thumb swiping through the precome gathered at the tip. "Want to feel you squeeze me dry. I need—" He broke off, his hips stuttering, his rhythm faltering. "Minho, I'm close, I'm gonna—"
"Come," Minho urged, his voice wrecked. "I’m so close—"
Chan groaned, long and low, and thrust deep, staying there, his cock pulsing as he spilled into Minho's body. Minho felt the heat of it, Chan's release coating his insides, and he was so close himself, his cock throbbing in Chan's fist.
Chan gasped, his forehead dropping to Minho's shoulder, his chest heaving. "Fuck, Minho, I—fuck, I need to piss. Bad."
Minho's breath hitched, his hole clenching involuntarily around Chan's softening cock, still buried deep. The thought of it sent a fresh spike of arousal through him, his cock jumping in Chan's hand.
"Then go," Minho said, his voice steady despite the tremor in his legs. "You know you can."
"Minho—"
"Do it," Minho repeated, canting his hips down, feeling the wet mess of Chan's come already inside him. "I want to feel it."
Chan made a broken sound. He pressed Minho harder against the railing, his cock buried to the hilt, and Minho felt the moment Chan let go—the hot, impossible rush of liquid flooding him. It was a sensation unlike anything else, a pressure building inside him, filling the space around Chan's cock, making Minho feel impossibly full, stretched beyond capacity.
Chan's head fell back, his throat working, a groan tearing out of him. Minho could feel it pooling inside him, the heat of it radiating through his abdomen, and his own orgasm crested, his cock jerking in Chan’s fist, spilling over his fingers and onto Minho’s stomach. His muscles clamped down around Chan, milking him, and Chan shuddered, his hips twitching as he finished emptying himself into Minho's body.
They stayed like that for a moment, panting, Chan's forehead pressed to Minho's shoulder, his cock still buried deep. Minho could feel the liquid inside him, shifting with every breath, a strange weight that made his stomach feel heavy, full.
"God," Chan mumbled, his lips moving against Minho's collarbone. "You're—fuck, you're incredible."
Minho laughed, breathless, his fingers carding through Chan's sweat-damp hair. "We need to clean up. I can't walk back like this."
Chan gathered Minho into his arms, lifting him without complaint. The motion settled his cock impossibly deeper within Minho’s body, making both of them grunt. But Chan kept himself sheathed as he walked them down the dock towards the water’s edge.
Minho felt the frigid water against his ass first and gasped at the cold. It was a direct contrast to the heat of Chan, still plugged within him.
Chan pulled out slowly, and Minho felt the gush of warmth escaping him. He shuddered. Chan held him steady as he washed himself, the shock of the cold clearing his head. Then Chan did the same, his cock still half-hard, bobbing against his thigh.
They got dressed in silence, the wetness between Minho's legs already cooling, and walked back to camp with their fingers interlaced.
Both tents were dark when they made it back to camp. They ducked into the closer one, shimmied out of their damp clothes, and slid on dry, loose boxers.
Minho could hear Hyunjin's soft breathing from one corner, Changbin's deeper snores from the other. Their sleeping bags were laid out in a row, and Minho moved carefully, stepping over bags and shoes, until he reached Chan's bag—a double-wide, luxurious thing that Chan had insisted on bringing. Now Minho understood why.
Chan unzipped it quietly and climbed in, then held the flap open, patting the space beside him. "Come here."
Minho slid in beside him. The sleeping bag was warm, Chan's body heat already permeating the space, and Chan zipped it up behind him, enclosing them in a cocoon of darkness and warmth. Minho was facing away, his back to Chan's chest, and he felt Chan shift, pressing close, his cock—already hard again, insatiable—nestling in the cleft of Minho's ass.
"Again?" Minho whispered, amused, pushing back against him.
"Can't help it," Chan murmured into his hair, his hand sliding down Minho's stomach, bypassing his spent cock to trace his rim with a gentle finger. "You feel too good. Can I?"
Minho slid his own boxers down and reached back, guiding Chan's cock to his entrance, still loose and wet. Chan pushed in slowly, inch by inch, until he was fully seated, his pelvis flush against Minho's ass. They lay like that, joined, Chan's arm heavy over Minho's waist, his breath even and warm against Minho's nape.
"Just stay," Minho whispered, his eyes already heavy. "Just... like this."
Chan didn't move, his cock throbbing inside Minho, a steady pulse that matched Minho's heartbeat. It was intimate, the fullness. Minho felt safe, cocooned, and he let himself drift, Chan's presence anchoring him as sleep pulled him under.
He woke to movement.
At first, he thought it was a dream—the slow, rhythmic push and pull, the drag of Chan's cock against his inner walls, waking nerve endings that had gone momentarily quiet while he was asleep. But then he felt Chan's hand clamp over his mouth, gentle but firm, and Chan's lips at his ear, his words barely audible.
"Shh," Chan breathed, his hips rolling in a steady, maddening pace. "Hyunjin walked out about five minutes ago. Could be back any moment."
Minho's eyes snapped open. The tent was still dark. Chan was fucking him in slow, deep strokes, pulling almost all the way out before pushing back in, the head of his cock catching on Minho's rim every time.
Minho pushed back, meeting Chan's thrusts, his own cock hardening against the fabric of the sleeping bag. Chan's hand moved from his mouth to his waist, holding him tight, and he angled his thrusts more intentionally.
Minho bit his own lip, stifling a moan as Chan found his prostate, grinding against it as he felt Minho tighten in response. The heat between them built slowly, coiling in Minho's gut like the fire embers from earlier, entirely different from the frantic round on the dock. Chan was taking his time, using Minho's body for his pleasure while Minho lay trapped beneath him, unable to make a sound.
The tent flap rustled. Minho froze, his heart hammering against his ribs, as Hyunjin ducked inside, the beam of his phone flashlight sweeping across the tent before he clicked it off. Chan stopped moving entirely, his cock completely buried inside Minho, his hand firmly holding him down. They held their breath as Hyunjin shuffled to his corner, the sound of fabric against fabric carried through the tent as he climbed back into his sleeping bag, the zipper pulling up.
Hyunjin settled, his breathing evening out almost immediately, but they waited, Chan's cock throbbing inside Minho, both of them motionless, the anticipation making Minho's skin feel taunt and tingly. Chan's breath was harsh in Minho's ear, controlled but ragged at the edges.
When Hyunjin's breathing deepened, Chan moved again, resuming his slow, deep strokes, pulling almost all the way out before pushing back in with agonizing precision. The sound of skin meeting skin was muffled by the sleeping bag, but still audible, still dangerous. Minho reached down to touch himself, but Chan's hand was already there, wrapping around Minho's cock, stroking in time with his thrusts.
“Come with me,” Chan whispered against Minho's shoulder, his teeth grazing the muscle there.
Minho nodded frantically, his own orgasm cresting, and Chan's hand tightened, his thumb pressing into the slit of Minho's cock just as Chan thrust deep and stayed there, pulsing, coming inside Minho for the second time that night. The heat of it, the wetness, brought Minho's own release, his cock jerking in Chan's fist, spilling onto the sleeping bag liner, his body clamping down around Chan.
He basked in it, vaguely noting that his heavy breathing would be obvious to anyone awake. But it took a second for him to collect himself.
They lay still, trying to calm their panting, Chan's cock still twitching occasionally with aftershocks. Minho could feel Chan's come mixing with the remnants of earlier, a mess inside him that he knew he'd feel tomorrow.
"I wish," Chan muttered, his lips moving against Minho's sweat-damp hair, "I could piss in you again. Fill you up until you're leaking, keep it inside you all night."
Minho shivered, his spent cock giving a weak twitch at the thought. "The mess," he whispered back. "We’re in a fucking sleeping bag.”
"I know." Chan pressed closer, his arms tightening around Minho's chest, his cock softening but not pulling out. "But I want to. Mark you inside. Make you mine."
"You already did," Minho said, his eyes closing, exhaustion pulling at him. "Twice."
Chan made a soft, satisfied sound, nuzzling into Minho's neck. He shifted his hips, settling, and Minho felt the fullness shift into something comfortable, natural. Chan's breathing slowed, evening out into the rhythm of sleep, his weight heavy and reassuring against Minho's back.
Minho lay awake a moment longer, feeling Chan inside him, around him, the pulse of Chan's heartbeat against his spine. The tent was quiet, the night deep, and somewhere outside, an owl hooted. He smiled into the darkness.
How they were going to extract themselves from this situation in the morning was a problem that Minho had no intention of facing until the sun itself dragged him out of it.
With Chan's arms encasing him, he let himself fall back into sleep, warm and claimed and safe.