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Summary
"P-Pretty," Chan pants out. "You're so pretty."
Felix sits up and positions himself in between Chan's legs, kneading at the dense muscle underneath the skin of each lusciously soft thigh. "You're pretty too, sweetheart. So pretty for me."
OR
Felix wants to prove to Chan how pretty he is and thinks the best way is through dolling him up then fucking him like it's a life-or-death situation.
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Summary
The early morning light spills through the blinds in ribbons of pale gold, striping the duvet in colourful bands that shift with the lazy drift of dust suspended in the quiet air. Chan is already inside him, buried deep, moving in that unconscious, searching roll of his hips — barely fucking him, just a slow, grinding press that pushes deeper and deeper until Felix can feel him at the root.
"Had a dream," Chan murmurs against his skin, voice wrecked with sleep. "Couldn't help myself."
Or, Chan and Felix spend a slow morning together.
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"Shh, fuck," Jisung breathes, and the word trembles like he's the one being split open in more ways than one. "I'm sorry, shit, hyung, I'm sorry—"
Minho feels the apology land somewhere beneath his ribs, confused and confusing, because Jisung's hips never slow. If anything, he thrusts deeper, cock punching past Minho's gag reflex with a wet, obscene click, and Minho's eyes flood with fresh tears. He still doesn't fully grasp what's happening — his mind is lagging, useless, only catching up in fragments.
Jisung above him, Jisung inside him, Jisung sorry but not stopping.
Or, Minho wakes up with Jisung's cock in his mouth, and Jisung is sorry, but not sorry enough to pull out.
Minho takes all of it. -
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Summary
When he speaks, his voice is low, rough, and horribly, terribly calm. Every word is a puff of warm breath against Chan's puckered hole, and Chan feels sweat trickling down his nape, feels goosebumps rising on his arms despite the heat coiled in his belly.
"What is it? Are you trying to say something, hyungie?"
The question hangs in the air, light and mocking, dripping with the kind of condescension that only someone who knows exactly how much power they hold can muster. Like Chan's desperate writhing is simply amusing to him.
Jeongin takes Chan apart with tongue and fingers, and he can only beg for more.
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Summary
"Alright jagi, call me when you get home, I love you." A sweaty, breathless
Minho replied with a grin plastered over his face as he reached for a towel and
dried off his face and neck.Jisung rolled his eyes as if it were obvious, "You know I always do hyung. I love
you too."And Jisung always called him.
Always.
Until he didn't.