Chapter Text
Mark is a personable, likeable guy. He has never had trouble making friends in his life. But sometimes this backfires a little on him, as someone who tends to get lost in his own thoughts. Sometimes, his brain simply can’t keep up with all of the conversations and people and thundering music after so many parties, so he has to retreat somewhere where it’s quieter for a deep breath. This is one of those times.
He picks at the tab of his beer can with his fingernails and stares into space in the kitchen of this frat house—he has no idea which one it is, the only reason he and teammates get invited to frat functions is because of sports team prestige. It’s not as quiet as he was hoping, but at least nobody is shouting directly into his ear anymore. His face is screwed up in an expression of intense scrutiny and focus, but all he’s thinking about is the quickest way to empty his mind and get back to talking to the boys. Of course, there’s no way to think about nothing, although he’s definitely tried. So he has to think about something. Something zen. He’s imagining a rink, harsh lights beaming down on smooth, unblemished ice while darkness shrouds the empty seating. He’s gliding across it in big figure eights that grow tighter and tighter, blades scraping up snow as turns grow sharper. Relaxing stuff.
He’s yanked out of his happy place by a voice humming ‘excuse me’ close to his ear. The voice belongs to a guy ladling the toxic-looking pink punch that Mark wouldn’t trust in even the most desperate of times into a Solo cup. The guy is built like a slinky little housecat turned human being—narrow shoulders with prominent blades, and a nipped-in waistline accentuated by the sleeves of a checkered button down tied around it, slender legs on tiptoe as he leans over the cooler serving as a makeshift punch bowl. He’s cute. Doubly so when he glances up, using his little finger to pull a stray lock of wavy hair out of his face after puffing his cheeks up and trying to blow it away fails to do the trick. It’s a little ridiculous how charmed Mark feels, honestly.
“Hello?” the cute guy asks with a smile, tilting his head to one side.
“Oh, uh, sorry, I was just…” Mark’s eyes dart around in search of inspiration for an excuse. Wondering if you knew the punch recipe. Lost. Trying to meditate at a frat party because I have problems. Looking for some change I dropped on the floor. Thinking maybe I should open the window and air the place out. About to rearrange the fridge magnets. Curious about the cabinetry. Ready to make you my wife.
“Wait, you’re Mark, right?” Mark is temporarily relieved that he doesn’t have to pick between any of his increasingly terrible and panicked candidates for an explanation, but the question throws him even further off his game. As if he was even on his game in the first place.
“Uh, yeah. That’s me.”
“I’m Renjun.” He extends his hand and Mark takes it, trying very hard not to remark on its softness and smallness. He forgets that a handshake is a two-person effort, letting Renjun loosely jostle him back and forth.
“That was a pretty bad handshake.”
“Sorry, uh,” Mark is not very good at keeping his head screwed on around attractive people, and Renjun is very attractive. “I’m really bad at, um, formal stuff. Like greetings. It’s nice to meet you, Renjun.”
“It’s okay, I’m just teasing. It’s nice to meet you too, Mark,” Renjun reassures him with an amused little purse of his lips. “You’re on the hockey team, right? Center? So’s my boyfriend.”
Renjun continues on, something about how excited the team was to have a genuine Canadian boy as a forward—nobody ever cared when Mark tried to explain that the only places to find ice in Vancouver is in overpriced cold brew and indoor rinks. But Mark is only half-listening, talking himself through the dejection he probably had no right to feel. Well, that’s that brief fantasy duly crushed. He supposes that he’s just glad to have figured this out before shooting his shot and risking getting punched out by one of his teammates. It doesn’t matter how good your team bond is when it comes to that kind of thing. Athletes are territorial, and generally hopped up on testosterone and mounting pressure to be bigger and better.
“Wait, uh, who’d you say your boyfriend is?”
“Right D.”
It was typical puck bunny stuff to just name the position instead of the guy, but Mark was still clinging on to the few moments in time when he’d been terribly in love with Renjun and found it easy overlook this.
Wait, hold up. Not fucking Jeno. This conversation was rapidly getting out of hand. Jeno was their captain and right defenseman, and also, a strange guy. He was built like a brick shithouse, nothing but a slab of veins and muscles arranged into a model-like inverted triangle. Despite the fact that his taste in food was junky and underdeveloped even for a college guy, he maintained a body fat percentage that made even the hardiest gym rats on the college’s other teams absolutely sick with envy. When he was serious and commanding, everyone stopped to listen. A displeased sidelong look from Jeno on the ice was enough to make Mark consider packing up his gear and heading back to Vancouver on the first plane home. He was good at strategy, too—some quick advice from Jeno had been clutch in some of their most memorable games. But most of the time, he was… pleasantly dopey.
Like, weirdly so. He got along famously with his teammates because he was so placid and easy-going that Mark often wondered if there was something else in the gummies he was always squirreling away. Sure, he was smart when he had to be, but in all other situations he seemed happy to turn his brain off entirely and busy himself with doling out bear hugs and chest bumps. Half of the reason he was so good as a captain was that he spent most of his time attached to his teammates by the hip. It was effective—the team’s newcomers inevitable warmed up with Jeno’s intense team bonding efforts, made up of equal parts childish roughhousing and friendly clinging. There was an indulgent sweetness to him that made everyone want to both acquiesce to him and tease him, Mark included. Even if it made him that much scarier when he engaged captain mode.
Mark thought they were pretty close after almost a full season of practicing, traveling, and partying together. So he was aware that Jeno was seeing somebody, and based on how often he gotten mercilessly ribbed by the other guys for quietly baby-talking into his phone in the corner of the locker room after practice, he was pretty smitten with this somebody. But Mark never would’ve pictured anyone like the cute little guy standing in the kitchen before him now. He felt guilty, like maybe he needed to work on his preconceptions of the world. He also felt frightened, like maybe accidentally making goo-goo eyes at his boyfriend was the kind of faux pas that would cause mild-mannered-but-intimidating Jeno to crack one of his shins wide open with a stick in a back room.
“Jeno? Number 23? Jeno ‘Right D Big D’ Lee?” Mark regretted bringing up the crude locker room nickname immediately. Well, at least he wasn’t speaking with Yangyang ‘Left D Bent D’ Liu’s boyfriend.
“That’s the one,” Renjun beams. “I’ve been waiting for him to introduce me to you. He talks a lot about you.”
“You’re gonna say that and not tell me if it’s good or not?” Mark chuckles nervously, his eyes trained on Renjun as he was sidling closer, Solo cup in hand.
“Of course it’s good. You’re having a really good season. I’ve seen you play, too.”
“Oh, thanks, man… We’re just a really good team, honestly.”
Renjun smirks in a way that Mark finds a little bit nefarious on such pretty features. “You’re not wrong. There’s a lot of individual skill, but what’s the point if you can’t do it all together?” Renjun slips his arm around Mark’s, gently leading him away from the kitchen. Mark wistfully looks back over his shoulder at the half-empty beer he’s forced to abandon on the counter, unable to shake the feeling that he’s going to wish he had finished it later, but his recovery from lovesickness hasn’t progressed enough for him to do anything but follow Renjun.
Renjun is asking him about a recent game that was way tighter than it ever had any reason to be, and Mark is doing his best to answer in a way that sounds thoughtful even though he really relies more on strong intuition and snap decisions than he does deliberate strategy. They pass by the other guys in the main room, the party room—Donghyuck and Jaemin are trying to convince Sungchan to have a round with the tequila ice luge, by the looks of it. Yangyang is the first to spot him, turning to mutter something into Hyuck’s ear. His teammates all look over to him and start jeering and hollering like animals, which is about what Mark should have expected. Mark is starting to feel more and more concerned about having their captain’s boyfriend hanging off of his arm by the second. It’s a miracle Jeno isn’t with them to see this as it is.
“Oh, hey, the guys are all—We’re not gonna—? But Saturday… is for the boys… Nope, okay, then,” Mark mumbles nonsensically, pulled right on past his safety net.
“It’s too busy in here. Come.” This obviously made no sense—if it was quiet Renjun wanted, it was good enough in the kitchen. But he followed along anyway, lifting his shoulders in a shrug and giggling nervously, which earned him a warm look. At the standard Greek party, every unlocked room that wasn’t set up for a hall crawl was free game, so it was just a matter of finding one that wasn’t occupied or disgusting.
Mark felt very naïve for not anticipating what happened next, as well as a pang of guilt about the fact that maybe somewhere deep inside he actually kind of did anticipate it and went along anyway. Renjun had pushed him to sit on the edge of the bed (one with an actual bedframe, a rarity), straddled his leg, pressed his pink punch-stained lips to Mark’s. And as much as Mark would’ve loved to enjoy it for just a second, loyalty comes first. Hell, for all he knows, this is some sort of bro test orchestrated by his teammates that he’s failing miserably.
“But… your boyfriend,” Mark barely manages to stammer out, wiping the back of his hand against his mouth and leaning back defensively. “Jeno. He’s totally going to kick my ass, and I’m not that kind of guy. We’re bros, man. I can’t do that to him. You can’t do that to him.”
“Oh, Mark.” Renjun’s brows furrow with concern. “I’m sorry, I thought you knew. Don’t worry about that. We have an understanding.”
“Yep,” comes a low voice from the hall. Jeno rounds the corner into the room and Mark starts like he might’ve jumped clean through the glass of the bedroom window right then and there if it weren’t for Renjun in his lap. Oh fuck.
“Dude, where did you come from? Yo, I wasn’t trying to do anything greasy, okay? I am so not that kind of guy.” Mark is looking back and forth between Jeno and Renjun, waiting for one of them to tell him that he’s being pranked or something. But they’re both looking at him curiously, like he’s the one who’s acting strangely. His thoughts do a double-take. “Wait, hold up. Like, what kind of understanding?”
“He doesn’t mind if someone else on the team is into me. He thinks it’s good for morale and team chemistry, actually.”
“That’s why I’m captain,” Jeno adds proudly, casually taking a seat on the edge of the bed beside them. “Other guys don’t have their team like I have my team.”
“That’s exactly right, baby.”
“Jesus Christ.” Mark feels like he’s being repeatedly sucker punched. “What does that even mean?”
“It’s some one-for-all team spirit shit. My bad, honestly, I was supposed to introduce you guys and loop you in a long time ago. Been a busy season and all…”
“Oh.”
How is he supposed to look at Jeno the same ever again? And what about his teammates, for that matter? He doesn’t even know which ones are in on this whole arrangement. What if it’s everyone but him? “This is a joke, right?” Silence. Apparently not.
“So like, how many someone elses on the team are uh, into you…?”
“C’mon, we can’t talk about other people’s business like that.” Renjun looks terribly pleased to be withholding the answer.
“Oh, um. My bad.” Mark’s apology reflex feels like a particularly embarrassing trait right now. “And, um, what about him?” He glances nervously at Jeno.
“You’re one of those, huh? Usually they just want me. Well, he can join, I just don’t let him do anything with anyone else unless I’m there.” Mark had meant the question in more of a curious does-he-just-show-up-like-this-to-watch-or-something type of way, so Renjun’s answer causes his mouth to fall open and his eyebrows to head for the ceiling. He knew open relationships were a thing, but he didn’t have the faintest clue how they worked. The bizarre nonchalance of these two were just muddying those waters further. “You’d have to be stupid not to keep your man on a short leash. No offense, baby.”
“None taken,” Jeno laughs, his full-face smile radiating with the joy of a man who has no cares at all for how fucking weird this is.
Mark tries to mentally retrace his steps and figure out exactly how his attempt to take a break from the chaos of this stupid party wound up creating more chaos. And while he’s doing that, Renjun’s fingers are tracing over his cock through his blue jeans, triggering an embarrassing twitch. Mark is simultaneously too drunk and not drunk enough for this.
“You really don’t have to—I mean I know we just met but you’re super hot, but like… I mean, I didn’t mean that, sorry Jeno, but also good job man, you have mad game for pulling this, but like, this is actually crazy…” Mark’s aimless defenses are cut short when Jeno grabs him by the face, championship ring digging into his jaw as he’s forced to look directly at Renjun.
“You like him, don’t you?” Mark’s mouth feels full of cotton, his gaze fixed on pretty eyes, pretty lips. It’s a rhetorical question. Anyone would like him. Jeno plucks the cup out of Renjun’s hand and throws it back for himself, flinging it over his shoulder onto some poor frat boy’s pillow when it was done. He cracks a piece of ice loudly between his teeth. “How about you just pick up from where you were before I showed up?”
Renjun gives him a charming little grin and even poor confused Mark can tell what it means: Shall we? With Jeno’s blessing (or insistence), Renjun’s kiss is twice as bold, tongue slipping against Mark’s like it’s a perfectly comfortable and familiar place. He makes these soft noises into Mark’s mouth that makes his pulse throb in his neck so hard that it verges on distracting. Mark’s lids are slammed shut—he’s trying to block out every thought that isn’t related to not disappointing Renjun as he tries to keep up with the kiss. Especially thoughts about his good friend Jeno being right next to him. That proves to be difficult when Jeno throws his leg over the thigh not occupied by Renjun. Trapping him. Mark has to wonder how many tricks like this they have in their weird swinger handbook, and immediately feels hot sweat rolling down his chest under his sweatshirt.
Oh god. There’s a bigger hand palming the front of his jeans, slipping open the button and zip as if gallantly making way for Renjun to slip his fingers right under the waistband of his boxers, thumb toying with the slit of his cock. Mark’s insides tense and he just knows by the way Renjun suddenly bites at his lower lip and giggles that the pearl of precum teased out of him must have been something to behold. “This shit is crazy,” Mark remarks in breathless disbelief as Renjun moves to brush his lips along the outside of his ear.
“Babe, let me get your bag.” Jeno reaches over and grabs the leather strap on Renjun’s shoulder, lifting it over his head with perfect timing to slip between the drags of his tongue and kisses against Mark’s ear. It’s ticklish, but it doesn’t make him want to laugh and shrink away. Instead, it makes his eyes want to roll back into his head. He lets out a sound that’s incomprehensible even to him, something between a giggle and a moan. Once Jeno has spilled out the contents of Renjun’s tiny crossbody onto the bed, he reaches over again to untie the shirt wrapped around his waist, too; and while he’s at it, he grabs Mark’s hand by the wrist and slides it under Renjun’s shirt. Mark holds on for dear life.
Renjun’s fingers are wrapped around him, and Mark tries to buck against them as they slide down his length too slowly, but he can barely budge with both men wrapped around his legs. Jeno’s hand is big enough to almost completely envelop Renjun’s, following the even rhythm of his strokes and squeezing Renjun’s grip tighter around him in firm pulses. They’re holding hands around his cock. Mark feels hot everywhere, but he’s completely aware that his face must be bordering on incandescent. He has to drape one arm around Jeno’s shoulders just to keep himself sitting upright, and Jeno doesn’t seem to mind at all, tucking himself in closer.
“S-Somebody locked the door, right?” Mark asks for no reason at all. Secretly, he was hoping that by speaking he would snap out of the fever dream he was convinced he must be having before it was too late for him and his newfound degeneracy. But there’s no answer, just Jeno’s teeth suddenly digging into his neck. It makes him wince, but he’s not surprised by it—Jeno is pure strength, whether he’s decimating the team’s knuckles with fist bumps or accumulating penalties for bodying guys into the boards with the force of a runaway train. It’s a very notable contrast against the sweet little laps and kisses from Renjun on the other side of his face.
“What do you think we should do, Mark?” Renjun purrs against his ear, nudging the tip of his nose to Mark’s cheek until he turns to face Jeno, who catches him in a relentless kiss like he can tell that he’s too chickenshit to answer. The intensity leaves him gasping and dizzy, mouth glossed. Thanks, captain.
“He’s gotta fuck you,” Jeno growls, looking Renjun up and down like a starved animal. How did a guy this conventionally good-looking end up so freaky?
“We’ll get to that.” Mark twinges hard in Renjun’s grip at the thought. “You’re so impatient. Have some fun, first.”
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Is this really a normal thing for you guys…?” Yet again, nobody answers Mark’s question. They’re busy exchanging impish looks. They make such a cute couple in their shared bizarreness that Mark is willing to abandon his half-hearted interrogations and protests as they untangle from his legs and head for the floor.
It’s a little crowded with both of them arranging themselves to kneel between his legs, but Renjun is small and Jeno is happy to have his shoulder be used as a thigh rest. The next few moments are a confused mess: Jeno asks him for the lube, and Mark scrambles to spot the bottle shaken out from Renjun’s bag earlier to pass to him. Renjun’s pink tongue is lapping at the head of Mark’s dick and he has to bite hard into his own lip to recenter himself or he might blow his load on the spot. Jeno’s attention is divided between watching Renjun’s pretty little mouth wrapped around Mark and undoing Renjun’s belt—he’s got his jeans halfway down his thighs when he leans in to teasingly encourage him.
“Does he taste good?”
Renjun hums in the affirmative, and the way the sound chokes out of him when he takes Mark deeper makes him twitch on his tongue.
“All the way,” Jeno purrs as he flips open the cap of the lube, drenching his fingers and reaching behind Renjun like this is the most normal thing in the world.
Renjun looks up at Mark as he sinks down, burying him to the hilt, and Jeno’s looking at him with the kind of pride and joy he wears on his face after an especially good game. “Oh my god,” Mark groans through clenched teeth. He is no longer convinced he will survive the night.
Jeno smirks at Mark and mouths ‘watch this’. Mark isn’t sure what he’s supposed to be watching for as Jeno leans even closer to Renjun, eyes narrowed with concentration. It only takes a few seconds of exertion from Jeno before Renjun pulls away mid-suck with an open-mouthed gasp, shaking his head. “Ugh, Jeno Lee… Slow down…” Mark doesn’t blame Jeno for not taking his complaining seriously. Not with Renjun needily rocking back against Jeno’s fingers and groaning as he rubs his face against Mark’s thigh. Jeno looks back at Mark again and snickers, pleased with his little distraction as he grabs his cock and continues from where his currently indisposed boyfriend left off. Jeno sucks his dick like he’s starving for it, and Mark absolutely cannot take it anymore, finally flopping back onto the bed.
No one seems deterred by this at all—in fact, when Mark finally props himself up on his elbow, he gets to witness Renjun getting his revenge. His pretty little fingers are laced through Jeno’s dark hair as he forces him to pick up the pace, then forcibly pushing him down to swallow Mark all the way into the back of his throat. Mark wants to ask them if they’re having fun, but his mouth is barely holding back a long stream of blasphemy.
Jeno pulls back and Renjun leans in again, and now they’re each trading long licks on either side of his cock—they have a perfect alternating rhythm, and watching it makes Mark’s brain melt out of his ears. It’s completely unlike anything he’s ever felt before, his voice sliding up several octaves as he curses through his teeth. He whines as he comes, thighs throbbing as Jeno and Renjun lap up every last drop, eventually caught up in a messy kiss with Mark’s cum on their tongue. How does a man persist after this?
“Hope you got some left in you,” Jeno mutters, his enunciation slightly off as Renjun nibbles at his lip mid-sentence. “I got him good and ready.”
Mark is the opposite of good and ready. He’s trying not to die from shock in a strange room in a strange frat house. Sitting up once he’s finally free to bring his legs together again takes him a lot of time and effort, a plight unnoticed by Renjun and Jeno—they’re squirming around on the bed beside him, Jeno manhandling Renjun seemingly every which way between warm kisses.
“You guys are fucking crazy,” Mark grumbles as he stumbles away from the bed, his point thoroughly made when Jeno presses his chest to Renjun’s back, wraps his arms around him and rolls over, pulling Renjun to lay on top of him. A double stack of horny menaces.
He’s impressed that Jeno has somehow managed to wrestle one of the skinny little legs of Renjun’s pants over his Chelsea boot, but he’s even more impressed by the sheer shamelessness of the both of them when Jeno hooks his arm under Renjun’s leg, offering him up on a platter to Mark. Renjun has his arms stretched out with a smile, inviting Mark to nestle in them.
God, I am not your strongest soldier. Mark stands stock still, looking at the waiting couple like a drooling dimwit. He’s not even sure if he’s remembering to blink. It takes about one heartbeat for his dick to spring back to life.
“Stop standing around like you’re part of the furniture, man. Fuck him.”
Mark’s kind nature and inability to string together a good comeback meant he was horrendous at handling chirps on the ice—Hyuck once chirped him so hard during a particularly vicious gong show of a game that they almost came to blows despite being teammates. But being beaked by Jeno with his cock out? Absolutely devastating.
“Please? Mark, I can’t wait anymore.” Renjun plays the good cop role, his voice hushed and honeyed.
Mark is so pathetically, hopelessly outmatched by these two. If either one of them told him to jump off the roof for their amusement, he’d do it. The moment he’s in Renjun’s reach, he’s being reeled in by handfuls of his sweatshirt. He hears ‘fuck me’ in one ear and ‘fuck him’ in the other, and with Jeno oh-so-helpfully grabbing Renjun’s ass to keep him open as Mark nudges himself up against his entrance, he sinks in easily.
Renjun feels incredible around his cock and sounds just as good, groaning as he hooks his free leg around Mark to pull him in flush. It’s all too much for Mark even try and take in—he has to close his eyes, barely cognizant of who is playing with his hair or who’s jerking his head in for deep kisses.
Renjun was right about Jeno being impatient. Whenever Mark is going too slow for his taste, which seems to be all the time, Jeno digs a heel into the mattress to lift up, bringing Renjun with him. It’s sick and twisted and extremely fucking hot. Never has anyone been more committed to teamwork than Jeno—he’s putting his whole hip thrust PB into making sure Renjun and Mark enjoy every last second of each other. Mark is just trying to keep up, peering through his lashes to see Jeno smiling brightly at him over Renjun’s shoulder, having the time of his life. He pushes a broad palm against Renjun’s lower abdomen, and Mark thinks he must be delusional from experiencing too many improbable things in too little time, because he swears he can feel the extra pressure.
“C’mon, deeper, deeper. I want you to breed him.”
“Oh, god.”
“Mark, please, fill me up.”
“Oh, god.”
Jeno’s hand wraps around Renjun’s dick and the gorgeous sounds of his moans double against Mark’s ear. It’s enough to have his rhythm stuttering, but it doesn’t even matter with Jeno savagely bucking Renjun up against him. Renjun breaks first, trembling between their bodies as he comes. Thank god Jeno is so sturdy, because Mark bears down on Renjun with everything he has as he finishes, both halves of his brain disintegrating into static with every pulse. He doesn’t really recall anything after that—everything is vague as he flops off of the pair and turns into a puddle of ooze on all levels except physical.
He’s barely tucked his dick back in by the time Jeno has switched up so that he’s on top of Renjun, hands locked in around his waist as he drives him into the bedsprings. Poor Renjun looks as messed up as Mark feels.
“Go get him another drink, yeah? You can have another round when I’m done.”
“Yes, captain,” Mark mutters stupidly, trying to refasten his jeans as he rolls up off the bed. He can hear Jeno starting to hiss some of the filthiest shit he’s ever heard in his life about Mark’s cum into Renjun’s ear, something that he absolutely does not have the fortitude to hear out to the end, closing the door on the happy couple.
He shakes his head as he moves back into the crowd, eyes wide as he struggles to make his way past stubborn groups of drunk idiots. I can’t believe that just fucking happened. Oh my god. Mark is so wrapped up in his shellshock that he somehow misses the voices of the teammates he’d come with all shouting his name. He lets out a thundering yell that has probably been brewing inside of him since he met Renjun when Donghyuck grabs him from behind, lifting him a few inches off the ground.
“Markyyyyy! Mark Lee!”
The rest of the guys crowd around him, and he’s exchanging high fives and being dapped to hell and back again by all of them, his eyes darting around as he smiles nervously. “That’s our guy! Let’s have a fucking celly!”
“Wait, what? What are we celebrating?” Mark asks, voice filled with alarm. Oh no. Don’t tell me.
Yangyang holds a bottle of vodka in the air and Mark realizes he’s going to have to open his mouth or end up wearing it. They’re all chanting for him, patting him on the back when he finally chokes and sputters vodka all over the sticky flooring.
Life-ruining injuries are no longer the scariest thing about being a college athlete.