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Summary
“Jesus fucking… Christ, Jisung.” Chan grimaced and immediately wormed two fingers into Jisung’s mouth, digging deeper than necessary so he could find the sweet spot to make him gag.
Chan had every intention of making him throw it all up so he could drag him out of the club and back to their apartment, instead of spending the night in a hospital waiting room. But when Jisung’s mouth tightened possessively around his fingers, when his tongue twisted between them and a low, satisfied hum rumbled in his chest, Chan buckled.
Because Chan always buckled.
OR: Jisung likes it when it hurts. Chan hurts him best.