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Summary
In that moment, he hated Minho, despised him with every fiber of his being. His best friend, who he loved more than anything in the world, who loved him more than anything in the world. He thought of Minho’s big brown eyes, so soft and trusting, always glimmering with playful mirth whenever he looked at Chan. Chan threw his head back, biting the inside of his cheeks hard to suppress the maniacal laugh that threatened to wrack his body. If he would only look at him now… Minho’s whole world would shatter. The softness would mold into serrated steel, the trust would shatter like glass. That ever-present sparkling joy would be wiped away, leaving only fear and hurt behind. And Chan fucking loved it.
He would never hurt Minho, of course not. No, Chan was doing this for Minho. It was for his own good, really. Sweet little Minho, so tortured by his wet dream, begging so sweetly for his hyung to take him. Really, Chan was only doing what he was asked.
“It’s just the tip, baby. I promise," Chan teased as he began to thrust inside him. "You can take it, can’t you Minho?”