Archive of Our Own

Perhaps it’s kind of problematic to think so but there’s little else that tops the sensation of getting fucked. Specifically by Chan. Even more specifically, when it’s like this—hot and lax, unhurried but for the slowly building rhythm between them. No other plans and no schedules and no managers hammering on the locked bathroom door warning five minutes! while Felix thrusts into Chan’s mouth and tries not to lose his erection. He’d never say so aloud because again, kind of problematic, and Felix already has so much on his plate to add outing himself as a sort of nymphomaniac onto that heaving platter. Does it count as nymphomania when it’s just for one person?

“Where is your head?” Chan murmurs, dragging Felix out of a spiral about his burgeoning possible-sex-addiction. It doesn’t help his fears that Chan is grinding his hips in a manner that has Felix hot all over, pleasure sparking along his skin. He’s on his back in Chan’s new bed, cradling Chan’s hips between his legs, supported by the two pillows so as to not strain his spine, clenching every time Chan bottoms out.

“Thinking about you,” Felix replies with a little breathless cackle. He reaches for Chan, arching to meet his smile, kissing away the sweat that’s beaded on his upper lip, moaning when the rhythm stutters.

“If you’re still thinking, I’m not doing my job right,” Chan murmurs but he licks into Felix’s mouth, hand tight on his thigh as he rocks in, the slap of his hips harsh in the quiet of the room. When the orgasm comes, Felix welcomes it. Chan’s hand is hot around his cock, stroking him through the wave of pleasure that starts at his toes and overwhelms him for a brief, trembling moment before rushing back, leaving him boneless and shuddering. Felix clenches around Chan lazily and watches him through lidded eyes as he rocks back from the comedown, watches Chan’s eyes scrunch tight, hands fisting.

“Lix.” The plea is lost in an exhale.

“Pull out, hyung,” Felix says. He clenches again, pleasure starting to edge over into overstimulation, the press of Chan’s cock inside him starting to flirt with pain. He doesn’t mean to tease, but it’s just so tempting. Chan looks distraught, tension writ in every strained line along his neck and shoulders, the muscles standing in sharp relief. He looks monstrous for a moment, practically inhuman with the effort he’s exerting. A deep, shuddering breath and then another as Chan fights for control before he abruptly pulls out, still hard.

Felix lets his legs fall to the side, clenching around nothing. It’s the one thing he dislikes about this game—he misses feeling Chan’s come slide out of him. On the other hand, the lack of cleanup is nice because neither of them like using condoms. Kneeling over him, Chan is still breathing deeply, eyes shut. His cock is flushed red, coated in lube, the head damp and pearling with precome. Felix’s mouth waters but he knows Chan won’t let him touch now.

“Hyung.” Chan opens his eyes and he stares at Felix, unmoving until Felix pats the bed. “Chris. Come here.”

Chan moves. Slowly, mechanically, as if he’s afraid any sudden change will make him lose control until he’s resting flat on the bed still breathing in short sharp huffs, hands shoved under his back like he’s being handcuffed. Felix curls around him, taking care to avoid his cock, now resting against his hip. It’s probably throbbing. Probably aching.

“Poor thing,” Felix says sweetly, cutely. Chan has his eyes shut, teeth gritted as he fights for control, lost in his head and Felix takes the moment for himself. He runs his hands over Chan’s body, exploring. Tucks his sweaty hair behind ear, lingering at where his near-mullet is damp against his nape. His pulse is racing when Felix curls a curious hand around his throat, wondering briefly, before dismissing the thought and dragging the flat of his palm down Chan’s chest, over the rigid plane of his stomach, still tense. Chan’s breathing slows, cock twitching when Felix catches his nipple on the way back up. He pinches experimentally and Chan groans at the back of his throat.

“Don’t.”

“Hmm.” Felix decides to let him be. Chan fucked him so nicely tonight. He pulls away and squeezes Chan in a hug. “Feeling okay?”

Chan nods. He turns his face and Felix kisses him, light and generous. He doesn’t want Chan to get excited again. They lay there, breathing against each other until Chan starts to squirm as the sweat dries tacky between their skin.

“Cleanup time?” Felix asks, singsong like primary school rhymes.

Chan finally opens his eyes, meets his gaze with a warm smile the provenance of which Felix can’t fathom. He wouldn’t be nearly so calm seconds from an ebbing orgasm. “God, yes please.”

The shower is always a two-step shuffle, one of them adjusting for the other so that the spray can hit both of them, but today Felix couldn’t care less about being cold. His eyes are drawn to Chan’s cock, still hard, still red.

“Will you stop looking?” Chan sounds embarrassed. He squeezes body wash into a washcloth and beckons Felix closer. The perfumed scent of vanilla and dates fills the enclosed space and Felix shamelessly shuffles closer. He loves Chan’s body wash.

“Why can’t I? It’s pretty.”

Chan’s face spasms. “Pretty?” He repeats incredulously.

Felix trails a finger down Chan’s body, water streaming in dancing rivulets over the planes and edges he’s worked so hard to cultivate. His cock is ruddy, aching to be touched and Felix wants to. He teases a single finger tip over the shaft and watches with no small delight as Chan inhales, body tensing, ab muscles clenching attractively.

“Yeah,” he says, pulling away. “I like it like this. I like you like this.” He smiles at Chan and takes the cloth from his loose hold. “Turn around.”

In their day to day, Felix takes no joy in witnessing Chan suffer—but this isn’t a bad sort of suffering. Chan was the one to suggest it but that means very little in the scheme of things. Bang Chan will always be his own best torment, his best warden. Felix has watched him struggle in this honeytrap of his own making, mouth watering as Chan denies himself again and again, as he pushes himself back from the edge and bears the punishment with a grace resembling legends of old who were doomed to have their eyes picked out by birds.

“It helps me focus,” Chan explained when Felix made him talk about it. It had been weeks at that point of Felix getting off and Chan brushing him away with a little smile when he reached for him, distracting Felix with a kiss or a change in subject as if anything could detract Felix from the cloying reminder of Chan’s pleasure still sitting out of reach.

“It helps you focus,” Felix repeated, not entirely sure what he was saying. He couldn’t fathom it, was certain he would go insane put in the same position, if he were constantly close to coming and then was pulled away from it. He has no clue how Chan endures it, why he seeks it out on purpose.

Chan looked away, embarrassment flushing over his features in a crimson wave. “I know it’s weird—” he started immediately and Felix shook his head, cutting him off before the self-flagellation could begin in earnest.

“Not weird, I’m just calibrating.”

The longer he thought about it though, over the months that passed, he really didn’t understand Chan. It’s not like Felix needs sex, needs to have an orgasm every day to feel satisfied, but he wouldn’t like being asked to never have one. He’s never denied himself when jerking off—the thought has honestly never even occurred before. If, for some wild reason, Chan asked him to hold off for one night, if he stopped Felix from coming and asked him lovingly, sweetly—maybe even ordered him—to not come, Felix could do it. He wouldn’t be happy about it but he would do it. But there would have to be an end date, some line in the sand to bring him back. Even thinking about an endless stretch without release evokes a sense of dread that Felix doesn’t like examining too closely.

Besides, why would anyone have sex if they weren’t seeking immediate pleasure? What about their hectic, stressful lives makes Chan want to apply more pressure upon himself? Chan likes it, though. He’s made that very clear every time Felix asks. And it makes sense really—if Felix takes a step back to examine the situation from an objective perspective. Constantly denying himself is practically part of Chan’s genetic code.

Besides.

Felix thinks he’s starting to like it too.

A week or so passes and it’s early morning when Felix wakes with his forehead pressed to Chan’s hot, naked back. There’s no need for a heater even in the dead of winter, with Chan around, Felix thinks, wriggling closer and shoving his toes between Chan’s legs. He’s burning warm, the space under the doona practically an oven with how much heat he’s radiating.

Exhaling damp air against Chan’s shoulder blade, his body loosens back into the mattress. He doesn’t want to get up quite yet even though the clock on Chan’s bedside table is getting dangerously close to the time they have to be at rehearsal. Felix drags his hand slowly over Chan’s stomach, feeling over the relaxed dips and divots around his muscle, appreciating his body for what it is. Then his hand slides down, teases at the snug waistband of his briefs. Daringly, he sneaks it even lower. Cups Chan’s soft cock, the weight heavy against his palm. He rubs his hand, not teasing, not even gripping really. He just likes the heft of it in his hand—

Chan stirs with a questioning hum. “Why are you holding my dick?“ He mumbles sleepily.

“Why can’t I? It’s mine.”

Chan makes a noise between confusion and amusement. Wakefulness lapping against his skin like waves, slowly pulling him up into this plane of consciousness. “Your dick?”

“Mmm, yes. Mine.” Chan’s dick twitches under his hold as if agreeing. Felix squeezes ever so softly and can practically feel the blood rushing in under his palm. Chan groans at the back of his throat. His warm throat that bobs when he swallows as Felix presses a kiss to the back of his neck.

“Turn around.”

It’s slow, their movements liquid, syrupy and languid as Chan twists onto his back and Felix throws a leg over his hip, straddling him until he can curl up against Chan’s warm chest, pushing the doona off them until it pools over Chan’s legs.

“You should always look like this.” When Chan makes a questioning noise, Felix adds, “Shirtless.”

Chan’s laugh rumbles through his chest as Felix scoots down, his hips squarely over Chan’s feeling his length, hard under his body now. Chan’s laugh peters into a creaky low sound. “Lix,” he mumbles, tense already. “Please.”

Felix thinks his pleas are pretty but it feels kind of crazy to say that out loud. To want Chan to beg for him more. To listen to him beg Felix for clemency.

One of Chan’s hands slides up, slow, slow, slow, golden honey dripping down a newly formed comb, and closes around his hip. He squeezes, a silent appeal that Felix chooses to ignore. Instead, Felix reaches down and takes his hand, pulls it off his hip and guides it to his own cock, half-stiff since he felt Chan harden.

“Get me off.”

It’s not an order, there’s no strength behind it but a quiet request, and Chan, fluffy haired, sleep still lingering at the curve of his mouth, obeys. His hand slides under the band of Felix’s boxers and pulls out his cock, stroking it. Felix sighs, finds purchase on Chan’s stomach, grinding down against his hips, catching Chan’s clothed cock, stiff under his body. Chan’s eyes tighten, sharpen ever so slightly.

“Lix.”

“Don’t come,” Felix warns sweetly. He arches his hips up into Chan’s touch, lazily chasing the pleasure.

“You’re making it very hard,” Chan replies. His hand moves a little faster and Felix breathes heavier, head falling back as the impending orgasm sneaks up on him, easy in the morning calm. His weight falls heavier onto Chan’s body and pleasure lights through his system when Chan tenses all over, losing some semblance of control and thrusting up against Felix, his cock sliding up against Felix’s groin.

Felix laughs, breathless, braces his knees in Chan’s firm mattress and pushes off his hips, lifting away from any sort of pressure. “Not you,” he teases, nails digging into Chan’s pale skin, watching the flesh turn pretty pink and red under the touch. Pleasure rocks through him as he sees Chan’s jaw grit, trying to keep himself from pulling Felix back down. His hand continues to jerk Felix off, albeit far more unsteadily than before. “This is all about me.”

Chan’s eyes darken. “Yes,” he agrees.

Felix comes while still giggling, toes curling as his orgasm spills over him like sunlight. He collapses back on Chan’s hips, smile broadening when he feels Chan’s cock twitch under him, desperate and needy.

“That was fun.” He leans down to kiss Chan, grinning against his mouth. “Morning, babe.”

“You’re trying to kill me,” Chan mumbles into his mouth. His cock is still hot against Felix’s thigh and Felix wants—but they’re out of time. Chan returns his kisses and sighs at the back of his throat. “Morning.”

They lie there for a moment, and something in Felix wants to prod. To push him further but Chan stirs and presses a kiss to his temple before nudges Felix off him. He slides out of bed first because he’s always more conscientious of their time than Felix ever will be. Felix watches him head for the bathroom, an insistent bulge going ignored, and it takes everything in him not to reach out and pull Chan back into bed again. Tease Chan again, just a little more, wind him up, just a little tighter, make him scream.

Hmm. Maybe he should think about that.

Fortunately, for him, or maybe unfortunately, they’re much too busy. Felix barely has time to catch his breath between schedules let alone sit down and seriously consider the implications of being a willing, somewhat enthusiastic participant, in his boyfriend’s self-inflicted long-term blueballing effort.

It’s not like the topic comes up that often either—most nights Chan is away in his studio and Felix is pestering Seungmin to spend what little free time they have gaming with him. If they do end up in the same bed, fucking itself becomes tedious and Chan will usually just get Felix off with his hands or his mouth before rolling over, tugging Felix bodily into him and falling asleep. Being treated like Chan’s life-size body pillow would maybe be annoying if Felix was any other person and Chan wasn’t who he was.

So, he doesn’t think about it. It’s not a big deal anyway. Chan wants this. Chan chose this. And Felix still has great mindblowing sex with his boyfriend so—whatever. In the grand scheme of things, he can ignore this little oddity, this tiny, niggling interest that just won’t stop wiggling at the corner of his brain demanding his attention. Felix is too busy for it, anyway.

Still.

He has to take his chances where he can get them.

“I think you like torturing me,” Chan manages. His head is tipped up to the studio ceiling, sweat glistening along his throat, hands tight around the armrests of his chair, his knuckles white.

Felix, mouth full of Chan’s cock, can only hum. They’d slid back here after dance practice, their members’ eyes following them knowingly, and the acknowledgment of what they’re doing in here has shivers sparking along Felix’s skin. Next time one of them enters, they’ll know what transpired—but they won’t know the whole truth. They won’t know that Felix sank to his knees as soon as the lock snapped shut, and they won’t know that Chan said his name, voice gravelly with need, and they won’t know that Felix pulled off as soon as Chan’s cock began to pulse against his tongue.

He sits back on his heels and watches with no small amount of interest as Chan’s cock flops against his hip, heavy and red and twitching.

“You like torturing yourself,” he replies idly, focused instead on the sight before him. His own pleasure is an insistent pulse against his loose sweats but he ignores it in favour of waiting the handful of seconds it takes for Chan’s orgasm to recede before swallowing him back down. Chan’s groan is musical, guttural. Felix smiles as best he can, reaches for his tight fingers and tugs them free, brings them to his hair. Chan doesn’t push—trying too hard to keep the edge at bay, but his fingers clench tightly, pulling at Felix’s hair.

Honeyed seconds pass. Felix doesn’t even have to suck, just runs his tongue up and down, wraps his lips around the head and pulls off with a little laugh he can’t quite suppress when Chan starts breathing rapidly.

“Fuck,” Chan groans and his fingers yank, losing control for a second, dragging Felix forward, pain sparking on his scalp.

Felix moans, jerking off balance but at the last second, he shuts his mouth, and Chan’s cock glances off, sliding against his cheek. Chan almost sobs with the loss and Felix pushes back on his heels, removing himself from Chan’s vicinity entirely. Chan flops backward on the chair, thighs splaying outward and pants up at the ceiling. His hands clench and release on his shorts, shaking with the effort to not touch.

Felix stares up at him, unable to look away. Denial looks so good on Chan. He’s flushed red all over, black hair stuck to his temples with sweat and his cock bobs mid-air, angry and weeping. Felix’s mouth waters.

He wants more. Above him, Chan twitches in silent agony.

“How long has it been?” Felix murmurs, in the middle of a green room maybe two hundred feet away from the Japanese stadium they will soon perform in. The mid-afternoon, post-lunch haze has hit them squarely in the gut and Chan draped against his side with his phone playing Genshin while Felix watches Tiktoks with an airpod in.

Chan stills, automatically assessing the room for nearby eavesdroppers. No one is around; half the kids are asleep on various couches, and Seungmin, the only one in the vicinity who is also awake, is focused on a drama with his back turned to them and his airpods in. On Chan’s screen, a female character bounces in place, waiting. Felix wants to roll his eyes but he’s more focused on Chan’s reaction.

“A month?” Chan says questioningly, the words sliding out of him reluctantly. “More?”

“Definitely longer than that,” Felix agrees. He hasn’t seen Chan come in several weeks. “Are you telling me you can’t remember the exact date?”

Chan who prepares everything, down to the angle of his toothbrush in line with his toothpaste, who has backups for his backups, whose calendar is filled with tasks to complete down to the minute. That man can’t remember the day he stopped letting himself orgasm?

Chan’s lashes flutter. “Sixty-seven days,” he admits quietly, throat bobbing. Felix stares with fascination as red crawls up his neck, up over his cheeks. It’s longer than he’d expected, but Chan’s self control has always impressed and infuriated him in equal turn. He’s always been good at denying himself.

“Hmm.” Felix leans forward to nuzzle Chan’s temple, innocuous to anyone watching, and whispers in his ear, teasing and also somewhat not. “Freak.”

Chan stiffens. But he doesn’t disagree.

It doesn’t take long for the cracks to start showing. No matter how much he’d like to believe otherwise, Chan isn’t Superman. He’s not invincible and even he, for all his masochism and restraint, will eventually start to break.

It’s a little thing at first, a sidelong snap at Changbin who’s bugging him about a song. Not enough to raise any alarms but Felix, his feet thrown over Jisung’s lap while they play KartRider on their respective phones, notices. Changbin’s jaw tenses and then relaxes when Chan immediately apologises.

“Sorry, Bin, sorry. I’m… I shouldn’t have snapped. ‘M just a little stressed right now.”

“We have the time,” Changbin replies. He doesn’t touch Chan but he does shift a little closer, voice dropping and Felix loses the thread of their conversation. He keeps his eyes on Chan for a second longer and it’s all he needs to lose the game.

“Boo,” Jisung complains, dropping his phone on his lap. “You got distracted!”

“Sorry.” Felix tears his eyes away from Chan, now half-obscured by a camera-wielding staff member teasing Hyunjin about his puffy face. “Let’s go again.”

Two days later, a tiny snafu with their sound system has Chan on edge all through their fanmeeting in Tokyo. His jaw is clenched as they file off stage after rehearsal and he immediately wheels towards their translator, dragging the poor woman towards the sound team. The kids give him a wide berth for the rest of the day and Felix catches Changbin frowning at Chan’s back while Chan gripes with barely managed politeness about the multitude of issues that have piled up over the day. He knows the point where he’ll have to deal with this is rapidly approaching, but they haven’t touched the breaking point yet. Not just yet.

The next time Chan gets Felix in his bed, they’re in Osaka? Kyoto? It doesn’t really matter, he supposed. All hotel rooms are the same, and their routines are always the same and Chan always gets his extra keycard, just in case. But this time Chan arrives before he even has the chance to shower, and bends Felix unceremoniously over the mattress to fuck him until his nails rip tiny holes in the sheets and the pristine doona is smeared with the makeup he didn’t have time to wash off before Chan got ahold of him.

“Oh, oh!” He gasps, face dragging against the sheets, spine liquefying as Chan’s cock bullies its way back inside him. “Fuck—what’s—gotten into you—”

“You,” Chan says, his hand tight on Felix’s hip as he yanks him back. It’s rough and mean in a way Chan hasn’t been with Felix in years—not since before their breakup. Felix suspects half of his caution has to do with all the weird feelings about that—the other half is because Chan’s careful about his back. But none of that delicacy exists now, in the way Chan pins him to bed and makes his cock drag against the mattress with every harsh thrust. It doesn’t take much, Felix is on a hair trigger from the adrenaline of their fanmeeting; Chan hits just the right angle and Felix comes, panting and shuddering as he spills all over the sheet. Fuck.

“Fuck,” Chan hisses, echoing Felix’s singular thought. His hand tightens on Felix’s waist, gripping to the point of pain before he’s gone—ripping himself out and staggering backward, gasping like he’s been punched in the chest. Felix flops face-first into the bed and breathes, hearing Chan pant behind him. When he gets the strength to turn around, he rolls, avoiding the wet spot and stares at Chan, leaning against the opposite dresser, his hands clenched tightly into fists. He looks angry but not at Felix. At himself. His eyes are shut, frown digging deep into his forehead and his veins are standing stark out against his neck and arms. Felix lays there and watches him silently.

For the first time it occurs to him then, that his boyfriend might be a little fucked in the head.

“Is this the first time?” Felix asks. They’re back in Korea, in the privacy of Chan’s studio, alone for once. Which is good because Chan isn’t really paying attention to him so Felix prods his toe through the gaps in Chan’s ergonomic chair to poke at his spine and adds, nonchalantly, “Or have you always been casually masochistic and I just didn’t notice?”

Chan whirls around from the computer to stare at him, ears bright red. “What?” He manages strangled and then his eyes flick to the studio door.

“It’s locked,” Felix informs him and stretches his feet out along the length of Chan’s couch. “Well?”

Chan stares at him for a long moment, apparently calibrating. “What’s got you so interested in this?” He says finally, scooting closer, knees jutting up against Felix’s thigh.

“What’s got me interested?” Felix asks incredulously. “You don’t let yourself come, dude.”

Chan makes a face. “Don’t call me dude.”

“Man, bro,” Felix adds, poking Chan’s side lightly with his toes with every word. “Dude.”

“Stop,” Chan laughs, grabbing Felix’s foot and squeezing. The pressure feels good on his sore arch. Chan shrugs and looks away. “I dunno… It just—it feels right.”

“It doesn’t look like it,” Felix says before adding carefully, “You look—scary. Sometimes.”

Chan frowns at him, his hand loosening somewhat. “Scary?”

“I like it,” Felix tells him before Chan can start overthinking that. “I think it’s hot when you look that turned on. But…You also don’t look like you’re having a good time sometimes, and I want you to—you know, when we fuck.” It’s his turn to shrug, feeling somewhat awkward but if he lets himself become shy and Chan’s always reticent, then who the fuck is flying the plane? No one, that’s who, and then they’ll end up crashing headlong into a mountain and not speaking for another two years. He switches to Korean. “I want to make you feel good, hyung.”

“You do,” Chan says, eyes soft. He’s back to squeezing Felix’s foot, thumb digging absently into his arch, the way Felix does to him sometimes when they’re in the middle of dance practice and Chan starts grimacing in that way that tells Felix his feet are cramping. “You always make me feel good, Lix. That’s not—that’s not why I do it.”

“It helps you focus,” Felix says and Chan nods slowly, looking thoughtful.

“Yeah… But it also… I don’t know how to explain it, exactly. It feels good that I can—that I don’t have to need this. Like the act of not letting myself have it, that itself feels like a reward. Does that make sense?”

“Kind of,” Felix says even though he can’t understand it at all. He’d go insane in Chan’s position. “I don’t know why you feel the need to make life more challenging for yourself but… I guess I get it. And I support you and I don’t think your preferences in bed are weird,” he adds because he knows that’s important to say, important for Chan to hear.

Chan laughs, eyes crinkling up cutely. “Thank you.”

“Is this the first time, though?” Felix prods.

Chan shakes his head. “I used to do it—before.” Before, when they were together the first time, when life was hard, and they were barely sleeping and Chan was sleeping the least out of all them. Felix stares at him incredulously and Chan laughs. “I know, I know, but it—it helped. We barely got time alone, anyway and I never had the time to jerk off in the shower like you—”

“That was like three times, max!” Felix protests because otherwise he was always showering with either Hyunjin or Jisung because for some reason no one in the company had considered the very real implications of putting ten men in a house with two bathrooms.

“And we were never alone,” Chan continues, laughing. “Unless we wanted to traumatize Changbin so—” a shrug, “I got good at not needing to jerk off and then even if I could—not coming felt better sometimes. It felt like my mind was sharper.”

“But never this long,” Felix says and Chan hums.

“Never this long.”

Something in Felix stirs. He thinks about Chan’s temper, how short it’s been recently. How often he’s been fucking Felix. How close he’s been to coming. They might be at the tipping point soon, might be reaching the line where Felix has to do something. But Chan’s lax and smiling now, reminiscing about their old dorms and his hands feel heavenly on Felix’s feet, so Felix lets it be for now. He’ll deal with it later.

Later, funnily enough, arrives rather quickly.

The American leg of their tour starts and Chan grows brittle as the tension builds and the never-ending loop of cities continues without break. The kids start to avoid him around soundcheck and Felix knows the fans have begun to take notice. He tries his hardest to alleviate the tension, but he’s also grown enough now to know that he can’t hold himself responsible for all of Bang Chan’s shitty moods. That way leads only trouble.

They get a blessed day off between concerts and the rest of the kids take full advantage, heading out in different clumps to explore Los Angeles as if they haven’t been to the city fifty million times and will be back another fifty million before their careers end. Felix forces Chan away from his laptop and takes him on a cheesy date to the beach where they buy snow cones from a tiny hut and wander out into the water with their pants rolled up to their calves. Chan nearly drops his cone in the water when Felix splashes at him and his ensuing yelp gets glares from a yoga group several yards down. Felix cackles and Chan chases him through the shallow waves, hissing under his breath, his cheeks bright red.

When they go to lunch, they crowd into a corner booth and look out at the waves and share overpriced pizza and swap milkshakes back and forth and jostle each other for the last fry on the plate. At the end, Felix pays before Chan can even blink at the check. He stills with his hand halfway to his pocket and then smiles at Felix.

“Wowww, do you like me or something?” He asks teasingly, in English.

“Or something,” Felix replies also in English, partially for the benefit of their bodyguard who looks as though he’s trying to melt into the wall, ignoring them as studiously as he can. Chan laughs and, under the table, fits his foot around Felix’s ankle, knocking their legs together. Felix knocks back, unable to keep the silly grin from taking over his whole face.

When they get back to the hotel, warm and sweaty, and possibly a little sun burnt, Felix drags Chan into the shower and holds out the bottle of lube he’d stashed there earlier in the day.

“Oh really?” Chan asks, with a smile, reaching for the bottle. “You sure?”

“Not me,” Felix says, pulling it out of reach. “You.”

Chan blinks. “Me?”

Felix hasn’t topped in a while; he likes Chan on top, really. Prefers the way Chan holds him, the way he can toss his body around and maneuver him into whatever position he likes. Felix can’t exactly do the same, not unless he wants to pull a major muscle and besides—Chan has control issues. So he tops. Most of the time. But some days, like today, Felix will take Chan apart, slowly and carefully under his fingers until Chan starts to squirm against the cold tiles and arch up into Felix’s body, a pretty pink flush on his cheeks.

“Yes, right there,” he breathes, lashes dark with water and Felix kisses the full swell of his mouth, feeling Chan clench around his fingers before he carefully slides out.

“Bed?” He asks and Chan nods. They dry off cursorily and shuffle their way over to the bed. Felix wraps his arms up around Chan’s neck as they kiss and then slowly presses Chan back on the soft mattress before pulling away and standing between his legs.

“Like this?” Chan asks with mild surprise even as his knees knock against Felix’s side, squeezing slightly.

“Better on my back.” The bed is lofted high enough that Felix can remain standing and he reaches out and drags Chan closer to the edge. He coats his fingers again and pushes three back into Chan as he bends over him to kiss away any lingering tension. Chan melts. It’s been a while since Felix got to do this for him. The last few months have been chaotic, messy, they’ve barely had time to slow down and when they have had the time to fuck, it’s usually been rushed. It’s been a while since Felix got to watch Chan fall apart under his touch.

“You’re so beautiful, hyung,” he whispers, kissing down Chan’s jaw, down his chest, over his clenching abs, careful not to leave any marks. There’s no telling when Chan will start stripping on stage and the last thing they need is another uproar about the possibility of a blurry hickey on Chan’s pale skin.

Chan squirms, his eyes shut. “Please—Lix…”

“Let me take care of you,” Felix says. He kisses Chan on the mouth again and then pulls his fingers out, straightening to coat his cock with lube.

Chan peels his eyes open to stare blearily at him. “Don’t let me—I don’t want to come.” The words drag from him like it takes great effort just to say them.

“I’m taking care of you,” Felix repeats, pushing Chan’s legs apart. They part easily, allowing Felix to step between and tease the head of his cock against Chan’s fluttering hole. “Let go, hyung.”

“That’s exactly what I don’t—oh,” Chan moans, long and low as Felix pushes inside in one smooth thrust. Chan gasps, his mouth falling open and he’s staring unseeingly up at the ceiling, spine arching to accommodate the new intrusion, his hands clenching in the sheets.

“Good?” Felix asks. He doesn’t want to hurt Chan—that’s not the plan today.

“So—so good,” Chan gasps. His heels kick restlessly against the sheets, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. “Fuck—Lix.”

“Yeah,” Felix agrees, kind of breathless himself. He shuts his eyes, revelling in the sensation of being buried deep inside Chan. “You feel really fucking good, hyung.”

Chan blushes and he arches up, hips twitching up off the bed. “Come on,” he says. “Please.” Felix doesn’t need more of an invitation than that. He grips Chan’s thigh, the muscle rock hard under his palm, and uses the leverage to start moving. Chan seizes up instantly and his eyes squeeze shut.

Felix isn’t even fucking him that hard, just barely meeting his hips right up against Chan’s before he pulls away but Chan must be so sensitive. He shakes with every move, every drag against his walls, and he’s louder than he’d ever allow himself to be in the apartments with Jeongin right outside. Here, there’s no one to hear him. Here, he falls apart, moaning and whimpering Felix’s name in half-bitten off gasps.

“I’m—Lix, I’m gonna come,” he stammers and Felix immediately stills. He’s barely out of breath. He’s sure not even a minute has passed.

“Already?” He says in wonderment, baffled. So turned on it hurts.

Chan turns bright red and he opens his eyes, but can’t meet Felix’s gaze. “I’m… It’s a lot,” he whispers, almost shamefully, looking away. His hole clenches and releases and it takes everything in Felix not to thrust forward. “I feel… It feels too good.”

Isn’t that the point? Felix wonders. He rubs Chan’s thigh reassuringly. “We can take a minute,” he soothes. “I’m not going anywhere, hyung. You let me know when you’re ready.”

Chan nods and reaches out a hand. Felix feels his insides collapse into mush, like soaking wet cotton candy and he takes Chan’s hand, interlacing their fingers. He can’t quite reach Chan’s mouth from this angle so he leans down and presses a kiss to the inside of his knee.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, lips pressed against Chan’s warm skin, his cock still buried deep inside him. “I love you so fucking much. I’ve got you.”

They take a moment, breathing in tandem before Chan nods. “Okay,” he says shakily. “Okay, keep going.”

Carefully, Felix pulls out and resumes. He keeps the rhythm languid and easy, barely angling for his prostate. He pushes in, stills and then pulls all the way out until his cock is resting at the edge of Chan’s hole. Then pushes back inside, easy as breathing.

But it takes nothing to make Chan fall apart, so fast, all over again. He starts moaning, gasping, his whole body twitching and shuddering as if Felix is taking a battering ram to his insides and not fucking him with all the delicacy of a hummingbird landing on an outstretched fingertip. His legs wrap tightly around Felix, tugging him forward and he starts grinding up against him, desperate, begging in a broken, pleading voice.

“Please,” he starts gasping, fingers gripping the sheets. “Oh, Lix—Felix, please, please, please, stop—I’m going to—”

“You can,” Felix encourages. He picks up the pace, just a little bit, knocking into Chan just a little harder. He might as well have smacked him across the face. Chan shrieks and tries to pull away but his body won’t let him, Felix won’t let him. He grabs ahold of Chan’s hips and holds him down, pushes back in until he’s so deep, his thinks he feels Chan’s organs shift to make room for him. His body knows what he needs, Felix thinks. Even if his brain doesn’t.

“I can’t!” Chan sobs. He’s pushing his hands down in the sheets, scrabbling uselessly, trying to pull away, at the same time that his legs tighten, holding him close. Stupid man. Fucking himself up until his own wires get crossed, until his own brain can’t tell what he really wants. What he needs. “Felix—please, please stop—stop!”

But Felix isn’t listening. He’s pushing past. He’s crossing the line Chan’s so carefully drawn in the sand and he’s taking control now.

“No,” he says patiently, even as the sound of his hips slapping against Chan’s is loud, sloppy in the room. “You’re done. You’ve pushed yourself too hard and I’m telling you, you’re done now.”

Chan gapes at him, betrayal warped by pleasure. “Lix,” he gasps and it comes out in a moan when Felix mashes his cock into his prostate, mouth hanging open, struggling to draw in air. “You—please.”

It’s almost pitiful. Felix ignores it. He draws back, as far as Chan’s legs will allow him and fucks back in, burying himself deep. Chan sobs, clenching so tight, he chokes Felix to a standstill and Felix can only watch Chan’s eyes slam shut, his head fall back, and his body contort into a gorgeous, idyllic arch as he comes untouched. Spurts of come, more than Felix ever thought the human body could produce, stain his skin, dripping down his ribs and over his side in pearly, white strings. Chan comes and keeps coming, keening, his voice breaking when Felix grinds his pelvis up against him, drawing it out further.

“There you go, hyung,” Felix says, satisfied. He doesn’t chase his own pleasure, too transfixed by the sight before him. Chan is stunning in the throes of pleasure. He can’t believe Chan kept this from him for so many months.

Finally Chan falls limp against the sheets and his legs slacken. He lays there, limbs akimbo, unmoving, chest hitching in faint twitches. Felix pulls out, ignoring his still hard cock and crawls onto the bed so he can pull Chan into his arms. Chan’s still crying, but less raggedly so now.

“Come here,” Felix says and tugs Chan as best he can into the circle of his arms. Chan’s practically dead weight, so overwhelmed he’s unable to move but he does nuzzle a little closer which helps ease the fear. Felix presses a kiss against his slack mouth. “Don’t hate me,” he whispers. “You needed it.”

Chan makes a faint noise but he doesn’t move otherwise and Felix remains where he is, holding him tight.

When Chan comes back into himself, they shower again. Chan is sluggish, blinking slowly at Felix as Felix maneuvers his arms up to scrub the come off his body before nudging him back under the shower spray. It’s only when they crawl back into bed that Chan speaks for the first time.

“You made me come.” His voice isn’t accusing, almost toneless but Felix winces anyway.

“I had to,” he says and he curls up into Chan’s arms, too selfish not to seek his touch. They turn into each other, like facing commas and Chan’s exhale ruffles his hair with every breath. “You were getting really touchy and snapping at everyone. I could tell you needed it.”

“I couldn’t,” Chan replies.

“Well…” Felix moves his eyes over Chan’s face, rubs his thumb over the everpresent dark circle under his right eye. “You don’t always know what’s good for you. You push yourself too much.”

Chan hums. He doesn’t say much else for the remainder of the night but he does nestle close into Felix’s arms and falls asleep with his head buried in Felix’s neck. Felix stays awake a little longer, watching Tiktoks on mute over his head and hopes—prays everything will be okay.

Next day, the concert goes well. Chan is bright, practically effervescent in his crowd work and the fans eat it up, cheering and screaming every time Chan rips open his shirt, causing another spray of buttons to scatter all over the stage. Their poor stylists.

During a quick change between songs, Changbin catches Felix by the arm and reels him in to mutter in his ear. “Whatever you did—good job.”

Felix grins at him as they leap back out onto stage, but there’s still a small flutter of anxiety in his stomach as the heavy bass starts back up. He and Chan hadn’t spoken much in the morning. Felix had checked in, ensuring Chan was okay to perform and Chan had nodded.

“I’m feeling good,” was all he’d said before heading to his room to prepare for the concert day. He’d kissed Felix’s temple before he’d left, at least. So there was that.

They end the concert on a high, chattering and grinning and sweat-soaked as they clatter backstage. Hyunjin slings his arm around Felix’s shoulder dragging him up against his body and Felix laughs brightly, even as his skin slips under Hyunjin’s damp touch. He catches Chan’s eye as they arrive back in the dressing room and Chan tilts his head, nodding to the hallway where several staff are hauling things back to the vans. Felix follows him to the bathroom, the nervousness that’s building immediately giving way to surprise and then adoration as Chan pushes the door shut behind him and gathers him up in his arms to kiss him deeply.

“Thank you,” he says when they part, cupping Felix’s cheeks and staring into his eyes. “You were right.”

Felix wrinkles his nose. “I often am,” he agrees, trying for pert and landing somewhere inordinately fond. “You should listen to me more.”

“You’re right,” Chan says, deeply fervent before he kisses him again, pushing Felix up against the door with the force of his mouth. Felix parts his lips, feels Chan trace his tongue over his teeth as he kisses him deeply before saying against his mouth, “I love you.”

Felix squeezes him tightly around the ribs, hugging him close. “I love you too,” he says, so relieved, so happy, he could float away.

(A Month After That:

Felix pauses mid-thrust and Chan lets out a broken moan, before tossing his head around to glare accusingly at him, his hand clenching over the top of his headboard.

“Why’d you stop?” He begs, teary. He’s so sensitive these days. It hasn’t really gone away, despite the numerous orgasms Felix has so lovingly granted him. Felix loves it. Loves the way it takes so little for Chan to fall apart.

“I was thinking,” he says contemplatively, dragging his cock out and resting it against Chan’s fluttering hole.

“Now?” Chan asks. “You’re thinking now?”

“How about we try again?”

Chan stills. Felix pulls full away and turns him around. They rearrange themselves with Chan on his back and Felix between his legs, nudging his knees open again.

“You were the one who stopped me last time,” Chan says warily, his hands resting on Felix’s waist.

“Because you went too hard,” Felix replies, tracing a finger over Chan’s hard cock. His mouth waters. “I’ll stop you, this time. This time…” He pauses and lets a grin curl over his mouth. “You don’t come until I let you.”

Chan stares up at him, mouth parting. His hands clench mindlessly. “Yeah?” He asks. “You—you’re in charge?”

“Mhmm.” Felix pushes back inside him and Chan exhales, trembling minutely. “What do we think… Five days? Starting right now?”

Chan’s lashes flutter. His eyes are so dark. “Make it ten,” he says and Felix’s smile broadens.

“Challenge accepted.”)