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Yangyang maintains eye contact with Ten, perched on a chair in the corner. Yangyang is heavy and clouded, stepping backwards until his knees hit the bed. He lets his button up fall off his shoulders, leaving him in his fitted tanktop that clings to his waist and the small swell of his chest.
Ten wants to touch but Yangyang wants to put on a show and who is he to deny him? Yangyang tilts his head back. The light catches the glint in his eye. He runs his tongue against the edge of his front teeth and then licks his lips quick.
“Okay, baby,” Ten whispers, encouraging.
He puts his hands back and sinks into the comforter on his elbows, jutting his chest out, still staring at Ten. Ten leans back too and lets his legs fall open. A small smile crawls across Yangyang’s mouth. He palms over his chest, his abs, and down to his crotch but doesn’t indulge himself. He smooths his hand back up to his neck and pushes it back, showing off the graceful line of it. Huh. What a little show off. He trails his hand down again to palm over his thighs and slowly, ever so slowly, he spreads them open. Yangyang’s starting to fill out his shorts, it’s obvious. He’s not hard enough to tent his shorts but, Ten licks his lips, there’s a good bulge, good enough to play with, get a boy worked up about and that’s exactly what Ten wants to do, knead and squeeze until Yangyang’s squirming and gasping, drunk out of his mind with sensation. He’ll let Yangyang touch himself. It’s cute for now.
“You make a pretty picture, wanna frame you. Show you off. Kun would have a heart attack if he saw you like this, or would he know exactly what to do with you?”
Yangyang trails his hand up to his mouth and dips his thumb in, sucking on it like candy, eyes still so so dark, pitch black.
Ten walks over to Yangyang slowly until he’s stood between his legs. He caresses Yangyang’s cheek with care, a gentle petting. Yangyang lets his thumb fall out of his mouth. His eyes are wet and glassy. He leans back further on his elbows to get a good look at Ten. “Touch me,” he mouths as he drags his thumb off his cheek.
Ten obliges. How could he not? He slips his thumb in and traces the back of Yangyang’s front teeth, letting the soft flesh of his thumb catch on Yangyang’s canines. Yangyang tries to arch up but Ten sets his thumb firm against Yangyang’s gums. “Ah ah, you want me to touch you, you gotta let me do it, baby.”
Yangyang huffs, not ungratefully. It’s a gentle, animal noise but his eyes grow petulant until Ten pets over Yangyang’s bottom teeth and his eyes start to glaze over again, fluttering.
“Pretty,” Ten comments, cocking his head to the side. “You’re a dentist’s wet dream.”
Yangyang tries to protest but Ten slides his thumb over Yangyang’s tongue, petting gently. Yangyang moans and his tongue curls up, trying to wrap around Ten but he just manages to start drooling instead. Ten scoops it up as it spills out onto his cheek and his chin, feeding it back to Yangyang, making him whine. He closes his mouth to suck on Ten’s thumb like a lollipop and Ten laughs, it’s more of a pant than anything else and he, subconsciously, grinds down against Yangyang. He licks his lips and straightens his posture to a steadier kneel. He tilts his chin up, eyes dipped down at Yangyang’s flushed cheeks and he pries his mouth open. Yangyang lets his mouth go slack and Ten strokes the roof of his mouth with his knuckle, switching to the pads of his fingers after Yangyang whimpers, almost gagging as Ten tests the bounds of what he can do to Yangyang.
Even after he’s gagged, maybe even because of it, Yangyang’s still drooling for him, rutting up against him, trying to get himself off. Ten doesn’t think Yangyang’s close, his brain’s too mushy and electrified to connect all the sensations and give any kind of output that isn’t just—
“Jesus fuck,” Yangyang pants as Ten slips his hand out of Yangyang’s mouth. Ten pets over Yangyang’s bottom lip absently, making it slick with spit as Ten watches Yangyang’s face as trying to make sense of what’s happening to him.
“Oh baby ,” Ten laughs, “you really just need your mouth fucked, yeah? Don’t worry, I can tell. Yeah. Yeah, I know what you need.” He pets Yangyang’s tongue and spreads his middle and pointer fingers, running them parallel against his bottom gums and it’s gross. Yangyang is making such a mess of himself, he’s so far gone, practically flat against the bed rutting up into Ten in his lap, who’s straddling Yangyang’s hips now, crushing up everything Yangyang ever thought he wanted out of sex as Ten fucks his mouth with his fingers.
“Suck for me, darling? I know you want to.” And Yangyang does. His eyes flutter open. Ten’s looking at him like he can’t believe he got so lucky. Yangyang lets his head fall back and garbles something—he’s not even sure what. Not even sure what he’s chasing other than more, right now, everything, and Ten’s eyes are shining and he’s grinding down, a sweet pulse, purposeful and then a little off-rhythm. Before Yangyang can help Ten’s burying his head in the hollow of his throat and biting like he’s doing his best to turn him twice and going ah, ah, that’s good, baby, stay there , and then he’s letting out a soft sigh, fingers still stuffed in Yangyang’s mouth, thumb catching on the sharp edges of his teeth.
“So,” says Ten in the early hours of the next morning, after he’s made Yangyang come three times and then mocked him for getting sleepy after. “You really want Kun, huh?”
Yangyang says: “Wuh?” To be fair, he’s kind of distracted—mostly by the curve of Ten’s spine, the lamplight spilling onto the bed, turning him bronze. And also he think he might still be a little stupid from last night.
“I brought him up and you—”
“No I didn’t; shut up,” interrupts Yangyang, even though he’s not really sure what he did do. Kun’s—pretty. Like, really pretty. All of Yangyang’s friends and friends-of-friends are unfairly hot but Kun’s always been different. The way he carries himself, maybe. His makeup never smears during late nights out. Yangyang’s always wondered what it would take to make his eyeliner smudge. And he’s always doing things for Yangyang that make his head sort of fuzzy: a guiding hand on the small of his back, a mouth a little too close to the shell of his ear. He knows Ten has a—thing with him, something that’s been going on for longer than Ten’s thing with Yangyang, and where it should make him a little jealous it mostly just makes him jealous he can’t see.
And apparently he was thinking about it for too long because Ten’s smiling like he always does when he’s privy to a secret. “I wouldn’t mind, you know; it would be hot. And Kun wouldn’t mind either,” Ten says lightly, like he’s commenting on the weather, and Yangyang sits up so fast he gets dizzy.
“Wuh?” he says again.
Ten beams, brilliant. “Let’s go for dinner today. I’m pretty sure he’ll be able to make it.”
“Wait,” says Yangyang, tripping off the bed, scrambling to his feet. “Wait, like, he as in—you mean—”
“I’ll text you the address.” He winks—pulls on his clothes, his shrug. “Dress nice, yeah?”
“Ten—” Yangyang begins, but Ten’s already gone, the door whirring back and forth behind him.
He’s pretty sure both of them were too caught up to pay for this room, exactly, so much as they just flew in and got—occupied—but he pays for it anyway because he’s not a dick. Then he goes home and showers. Changes. Takes his time with his hair, since Ten’s always managing some kind of fancy wavy thing with his, and if he’s not he’s wearing something shimmering and long to elevate it. Considers makeup and then balks as he lifts the brush to his face, mostly because he’s afraid if he tries himself he’ll look kind of clownish. Tries not to wait around for Ten’s text—he might not be able to go out during the day anymore and he might be pretty reliant on Ten for figuring out a lot right now but he’s still his own person, all right, and he has other things he likes to do other than think about him like… he’s coming up blank right now, but he does.
He still jumps when he gets a text. It’s not from Ten—it’s from Kun , and Yangyang had honestly kind of forgotten about that part of the equation, but just seeing his contact pop up makes him drop his phone. He peeks at it through his fingers. It just says: Do you want me at dinner tonight? Then: Ten asked me, but I wanted to make sure. You know how he gets.
Yangyang texts back so quickly he somehow manages to mistype two characters in a three-character text. Kun sends a laughing emoji and a thumbs up anyway. When Yangyang had gotten introduced to the whole vampire thing he’d thought they’d all be too ancient and fashionably gothic to even use phones, but it’s closer to Twilight than he’ll ever let Dejun know: they just text like old people. Or maybe it’s just a Kun thing. Either way it’s charming and Yangyang wants him badly enough that he’s tricked himself into thinking it’s hot, so he undoes a few of the buttons on his shirt and then fixes his hair for the fortieth time.
Ten texts him the address ten minutes before he has to be there. He makes it just barely on time, walking the last block so he doesn’t look suspicious, and Kun and Ten are already seated on the same side of one booth. Their heads are bowed together; they’re angled so all they can see is each other. Ten’s laughing and Kun isn’t. Yangyang remembers— Kun wouldn’t mind either —and then wonders what they’d do if he just slid in between them. Placed his hand on Kun’s thigh, sat back on Ten’s lap.
He slides into the opposite booth instead, clearing his throat so they get a warning as if both of them couldn’t sense him the minute he walked in. “Uh,” he says. “Hey.”
Kun props his chin up against his fist and smiles, sweet. He’s pretty today, too, like he got made up for the occasion, though that’s probably just wishful thinking—neat gloss and blush packed under his eyes and a blouse that sits low enough that Yangyang has to tear his gaze from his collarbones. “Yangyang,” he says. His eyes flicker to Yangyang’s open buttons, then back to his face, settling on his mouth. “Hi. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
Yangyang swallows. Kun watches the bob of his throat. Ten’s grin curves into something a little conniving. “I,” Yangyang begins, floundering, then: “Uhhh, yeah. How, uh, have you been?”
Kun laughs. It’s a nice laugh; Yangyang’s always thought so. He mostly hears it over drinks, through a crowd, so up close it slaps him in the face. “All right,” he says. “Same as always. And you? Adjusting well?”
“Better than—than before,” Yangyang says, because before is when Kun caught him having half a breakdown looking for anything to feed on an hour before the sun rose. It’s the only time they’ve ever talked one-on-one, and it was such a terrible first real impression that Yangyang’s kind of been going out of his way to avoid him ever since.
Kun wouldn’t mind either .
“You, um,” he says. “You look… really good.” Barely testing the waters. Ten shifts to face him, now, eyebrow arched: are you going all the way or not? He runs his tongue along the edge of his teeth, remembers Ten’s fingers in his mouth the night before. “Kun-ge,” he tries again, but he doesn’t know what to say—isn’t it too forward? They’re at dinner —not like they’re having anything but overpriced wine, really, but still, and who the hell knows if Ten meant he thinks Kun would probably be into it or if it’s something they’ve, like, discussed, and—
“Hopeless,” says Ten, exasperated, but his eyes are crinkling fondly. “Yangyangie told me he wants—”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Do you not, then?” Kun asks. His tongue swipes anxiously across his bottom lip. He has a nice mouth, too, small and plush.
Yangyang replies, his voice smaller than he wants it: “Do you?”
At this, Kun laughs, breathless and disbelieving, and Yangyang’s heart drops through his chest, into the floor, before Kun says, “Have you seen yourself? How could I not?”
From then on it’s inevitable. They sit and drink more wine and Yangyang starts to feel a little fuzzy again. Not because of the alcohol; it’s not like he was a bad drinker even before it maybe-stopped working altogether—because Kun keeps pouring more for him, his hand steady, his pinky brushing against Yangyang’s index finger every time he sets the bottle down. It’s the only point of contact he has with either of them. It makes him feel like a livewire. Usually Ten’s leaning against him or ruffling his hair or trying to kiss his cheek or—or something , all the time, always in Yangyang’s space, but he’s keeping his distance. Yangyang has to remind himself they’re in public so he doesn’t do something stupid like beg him to touch him, just once, just to ground him.
Kun gets looser with alcohol even though it doesn’t work on him. Maybe just looser with time. He leans in closer and doesn’t back away; he takes a long sip from his glass, lets wine trickle from the corner of his lip. His tongue darts out to catch it and Yangyang keeps staring after. “So shameless, suddenly?” Ten asks, pressing his smile into his palm, and Kun reddens prettily.
“I—I like shameless,” says Yangyang, and Ten outright laughs. “ Hey .”
“I’m not—it’s cute,” Ten explains, still laughing. “I forgot you get so…”
“So…?” Yangyang tilts his head, blinks. Ruffle my hair , he thinks, shove me a little, touch me, touch me, touch me —
“Kun can pick up the bill this time,” Ten decides instead of replying, and when Kun makes an affronted noise he waves a hand and says, “Don’t be cheap; I’ll pay for the room.”
Kun makes a different noise, then, low and off-balance. “So soon?” he asks. Glances at Yangyang and then away.
“We all know what we want,” says Ten, slipping his hands into his coat pockets where Yangyang can’t reach. “What’s the point of dragging it out?”
Yangyang’s sure as soon as they’re in the hotel room they’ll be kissing but instead Ten takes his sweet time—unbuttons his coat. Fumbles with the last one even though Yangyang knows he can do it easily. Folds it, places it on the nightstand, takes a seat on the bed and crosses his legs. “Something wrong?”
“Ten.” Yangyang’s voice cracks.
“Words, baby,” Ten hums. “Tell us what you need.”
Us hits Yangyang like a punch to the gut. He turns to Kun, who’s just—watching. Eyes dark. Pretty lips parted. Yangyang wants the warm wet of his mouth; Yangyang wants his big hands on his face; Yangyang wants—
“Touch me,” he says like he did last night, except this time he’s fully clothed, too wound up to put on a show. His throat is dry. He feels like he’s going to come apart at the seams. “Please.”
Ten’s voice is silky and light. “You heard him,” he says, curving around Kun, his eyes fixed on Yangyang so weightily it’s like a touch of its own. “He’s feeling needy. Best to give him what he wants when he’s in a mood.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” Kun snaps halfheartedly, but he steps forward. He presses his thumb to Yangyang’s jaw and coaxes it open—digs his finger in just hard enough that it hurts just a little, that if he pushes harder Yangyang might bruise, and says, “Is this what you want?”
“Yeah,” says Yangyang, gasping, aching, and Kun finally leans in.
Yangyang thought—he doesn’t know. That Kun would be gentle. Sort of demure. He speaks so politely. He always looks pristine. Maybe he is and Yangyang can’t tell because he wants it so bad; all he knows is the kiss burns . He tries to surge up into it and Kun holds him back with just his hand—wraps the other one around the scruff of his neck, pulls him away and then gently pushes him down as he maneuvers himself onto the bed. The carpet’s going to make his knees sting; Kun offers him a pillow and he bats it away. It makes everything feel so—
“And this?” Kun asks. His voice is low, a little shaky, but his grip is steady.
“Please,” Yangyang repeats. Kun exhales, sharp, and lets Yangyang sway toward him.
Yangyang unzips Kun’s fly with his teeth because he knows Ten’s into it. He’s rewarded by a hand in his hair, sweeping his bangs back from his face. Kun’s skirt is a little tight—Yangyang just barely manages to yank it down with his underwear, all in one go. He takes Kun in one hand, strokes from the base to the tip until he’s hard. He thinks that saying you’re so big is too corny even if it’s true, so instead he settles for something at about the same level: dips his head forward, kitten licks at his head and starts bobbing, pulls back and looks him in the eye.
“Tastes good,” he says, quietly. Kun makes a noise like it’s been startled out of him. Holds Yangyang still again, pushes his dick into his mouth, one slow centimeter at a time, until it’s halfway in. His eyes are glued to him, enraptured. Ten’s are, too. Yangyang shudders.
“Look at you,” says Ten. His thumb catches under Yangyang’s eyelashes. “Be good and suck him for me, yeah?”
Yangyang’s a little too eager to obey. He sucks around the head and shaft, swirls his tongue and catalogs the sighs Kun starts letting out—choked off, contented, a little overwhelmed. His back arches; his eyes flutter shut. Basking in it. He’s so handsome Yangyang almost can’t stand looking at him, but he can’t look away.
“Good boy,” he says, the phrase slipping out of him clumsily like it’s unfamiliar. “Just—just like that, you’re amazing—”
He glows with the praise. Bobs up and down, focused, his tongue flat on the downstroke, so he can keep being amazing, so he can keep being good. Ten’s murmuring something he can’t even make out, his voice mean and fond, his rings cool against Yangyang’s cheek, his throat, his collarbones as he settles behind him and undoes his buttons. Yangyang lets out a hiccuping whimper as Ten’s hand squeezes his chest, and Kun groans, then, pitches forward so he’s in a little deeper.
Yangyang begins to slip into the easy, comfortable headspace he always does when he does this: his world narrows to the taste of Kun on his tongue. The weight of him. Ten’s hands and tongue and teeth, leaving marks on his shoulderblade. All he hears is Kun’s quiet noises, the rush of his heartbeat in his ears; all he thinks is I’m good, I’m good, I’ll be good .
“Gonna—Yangyang,” says Kun after what could be minutes or years, dragging him out. His voice is taut, a shade too high, offensively pretty. “Baby, I’m gonna—”
He sinks down further—nose against the base. Feels two hands settling into his hair, one with rings and one without, holding him in place as if he’d ever move anywhere else. Kun thrusts once, twice, erratic, and then he’s coming with a quiet cry and Yangyang’s swallowing it all.
Come has never been the best thing in the world to him, but when he pulls back he licks his lips for show anyway. His eyes are damp. Ten fits two fingers under his chin and tilts his head back so Yangyang’s leaning against him, sitting on his heels, knees spread apart. “Kun might need some time to recover,” he says, and if Yangyang can’t feel his smile he can hear it. “You know how stamina gets when you’re a bit older…”
“We’re the same age,” Kun protests.
“So you’re ready, then?” He presses a kiss to Yangyang’s throat. Lets his hand creep to his stomach, a little lower, undoes the buttons of his slacks and palms Yangyang’s front. He’s already so hard it’s a little painful—he can’t hold back a whimper, can’t stop himself from rutting into Ten’s hand, chasing the little pressure he’s getting. “Don’t just wanna watch? It’ll be a fun show.”
“I,” says Kun. Yangyang hears the click of his throat as he swallows.
“Yangyangie’s already so worked up,” Ten continues. “You don’t want to make him wait more.” He pauses, considering. “Maybe you do. He always looks so nice like this—”
“ Ge ,” Yangyang pleads, and he’s not even sure which of them he’s calling for, but he gets a quick inhale from both. Kun pulls him up onto the bed; Ten presses him down into the sheets and kisses his cheeks, his jaw, the corner of his mouth. Kun’s hands find their way to the dip of his waist and then to his hips.
“You won’t take long, will you?” Ten’s voice is sharp and a little breathy. His thumb presses against Yangyang’s bottom lip, then onto his tongue, just far back enough to make him gag for a moment. “You’re so close. Bet you can come just like this.”
Yangyang shakes his head, bucking up, but Kun’s hands anchor him down. All he gets is air and the too-light friction of his briefs. “You can,” Kun says, soft, his grip unyielding. He’s so—strong. Yangyang isn’t sure if he could break out of his hold if he tried. The thought of it makes him moan, brings him a little closer to the edge, and Ten can tell because he hooks his thumb around his canine and spreads his fingers in his mouth and says that’s it, baby, just like that , and—
—Yangyang comes, letting out something close to a sob. His vision’s spotty and he feels like jelly, but he paws at Ten’s front, pulls out his dick and loosely strokes it until Kun takes over, purposeful, precise. Ten’s always beautiful but he’s most beautiful like this, staring at Yangyang fucked stupid and spread out beneath him, thrusting into Kun’s hand and making quiet, punched-out noises like he’s embarrassed to be making any at all.
It only takes a few minutes before he pulls out of Kun’s grip and comes all over Yangyang’s chest, spreading it thin with his fingers after and then dipping them in Yangyang’s mouth, pushing it onto his tongue. “Gross,” Yangyang mumbles, and Ten laughs as Kun hurries to the bathroom, emerging with a few washcloths.
“You should see yourself,” Kun says. His touch is soft when he cleans Yangyang up. “You look… you were…”
“You did well,” Ten agrees. Simple. Tender. He wipes his hands on a washcloth and dabs Yangyang’s face after. Kun curls up at his side, lets a hand fall carefully to his hipbone, lets a mouth fall carefully to his shoulder. Ten presses an affectionate thumb to Yangyang’s cheek and lies down, too, and they kiss and shift and entwine until they’re a messy tangle of limbs, melting together and staying there.