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There’s steam coming out from under the bathroom door when Chan passes by, and sweet sounds filtering out right along with it. He pauses the shuffling of his feet, wondering if he can determine who’s there, if he might be welcome to join–he’s not even sure who’s home at the moment, much less who’s been here long enough to get a shower going and get someone else involved and–
“Yen-ah,” moans the voice, and that answers both of Chan’s questions. Minho is letting himself be fucked, which is rare. The image he conjures up makes him twitch: Jeongin behind Minho, chin tucked over his shoulder, murmuring into his ear as he fucks into him. Minho with both hands up against the glass so he can’t sneak either down to wrap around his cock, because Chan knows damn well Jeongin is the one in charge of deciding when Minho gets to come. He’s been fucked stupid enough times on Jeongin’s cock to know exactly what it must feel like as he pushes inside, what words he might be whispering to Minho.
He reaches down to squeeze his cock through his shorts.
Minho’s voice is increasing in volume and fervor. Mostly he moans, just syllables and gasps, but sometimes he tries for Innie’s name. Once or twice he gets through it; mostly it devolves into pleasure. Chan can picture him up against the shower door, his cock pressed into the glass, trying to rub himself off, to get any friction he can. He can picture Jeongin yanking him back, growling at him. “You’ll come on my cock or you won’t come at all,” words he’s said verbatim to Chan as he gripped his hips hard enough to bruise, to leave proof that he’d been there.
Chan can feel the fabric of his underwear dampening with precum. He takes a shaky breath as he palms himself to the sound of Minho’s breaking voice. He should find it within himself to be embarrassed about how much he’s worked up already, but–Minho is beautiful. Jeongin is beautiful. He’s so lucky to have them, to have any of them, all of them, together–fuck. It’s some kind of miracle. And another is this: the way he can picture them so vividly that he can almost feel Minho’s breath against his cheek, feel Jeongin leaning over Minho to mark up Chan’s neck.
He needs to see it.
He swings the door open, and it’s silent but Minho looks up anyway, his jaw already dropped. His hands, right on the glass where Chan had pictured them, curl into fists.
“Channie-ah,” he gasps. “Hyung–fuck!”
His cock is purple-red at the tip, untouched against his hip. Jeongin’s long fingers are grasping his hips. He looks up at Chan over Minho’s shoulder, smirks in invitation, then scrapes his teeth against Minho’s neck.
Minho keens and closes his eyes, throwing his head back. “Yen-ah, please, I can’t, I can’t–so close, please let me come!”
Jeongin thrusts into him again, which makes Minho cry out again. Chan reaches into his shorts and strokes his cock, unable to keep his hands to himself a second longer.
“Don’t ask me,” Jeongin says, smoothing a kiss over the red mark he’d left on Minho’s neck. “Ask your Channie-hyung, since you were loud enough to make him come check on you.”
Minho wrenches his eyes open. They’re red-rimmed now, and Chan thinks he sees a single tear slip down his cheek. “Hyung,” he gasps. “Hyung, Channie-hyung, please, I can’t, I can’t, been good–please.”
So far gone he can’t even form sentences. Chan wonders how long Jeongin’s had him like this, how far along he’s been strung. Pictures Jeongin on his knees, tongue thrust into Minho, bringing him close and then pulling the rug out from under him, again and again until he finally slid his cock inside. Chan shudders. He wants to give Minho what he wants, because he’s soft for Minho (for all of them) and also because he knows it’ll be so fucking pretty, watching his baby come all over the glass of the shower door. But it’s not his scene, not really. It’s Jeongin’s; Chan just came barging in on it.
“Has he, Innie?” Chan asks, stepping closer as Minho’s fingers clutch at nothing in a bid to reach out for him. “Has he been good?”
Jeongin hums, casually thrusts into Minho again. Almost looks like he’s considering it, but Chan knows better, knows he’s just drawing it out to see if he can get Minho to beg some more. Minho bites his tongue, though, and Jeongin smiles as he rewards him with another kiss, this time to his cheek. “Yeah, he’s been good. So fucking tight, hyung, he’s such a good little cocksleeve.”
Chan presses his free hand to the glass against the imprint of Minho’s. “Hmm. Good boy, Minho, baby. You can come, then, since you’re making Innie feel so good.”
Jeongin reaches down to stroke Minho once, twice, three times in tune with his thrusts, and Minho scream-sobs as he paints a gorgeous picture all over the glass. He shakes through it with Jeongin’s arms tight around his waist; when Jeongin slips out of him, he turns and hides his face in Jeongin’s neck, and fuck, Chan wishes there wasn’t a shower door between them.
“Hyung,” Jeongin murmurs, looking up at Chan. “Don’t come yet.”
Chan hadn’t been aware, up until now, that he was seeking permission to come, too, but he’s more than happy to let Jeongin take care of him. He stops stroking himself, watches as Minho lifts a teary face to look at him.
“You’re not done yet,” Jeongin says to Minho. “You have to clean up after yourself, baby. Can’t leave a mess, can we?”
Minho shakes his head, and Chan groans as he goes to his knees and uses his tongue to start cleaning his mess, licking up his own release from the glass. Jeongin seems similarly affected; Chan catches his hand shaking as he jerks himself.
“Good boy,” Chan praises, unable to help himself. He has to squeeze the base of his cock to hold himself back. “Good boy, Minho, you’re so fucking good for us.”
“Isn’t he,” Jeongin agrees. “Think he wants a reward, yeah? Channie-hyung, you gonna give him what he wants?”
Chan nods dumbly. “What–what do you want, baby?”
Minho cleans up the last stripe of his come and turns to show it to Jeongin. Chan can’t help the moan that falls from his mouth. Jeongin nods, and he swallows. He looks back to Chan. “Your come?” he requests. “On–on my face? Both of you?”
Jeongin looks up at Chan and quirks a brow.
Chan strips faster than he’s ever stripped in his life, maybe. He nearly slips as he gets into the shower, and Jeongin has to reach out and steady him with a laugh. “You alright?”
Chan nods, not trusting himself to speak.
“How long were you listening before you came in?”
His face goes very red. “I–a couple minutes, maybe,” he splutters.
“Fuck.” Jeongin leans in and kisses him, and Chan moans into his mouth. “That’s hot, hyung. S’what he wanted. Wanted you to find him like this, to see him all fucked out like this.”
Chan breaks away to look down at Minho, who’s blinking rapidly. Slowly, he lets his tongue loll out of his mouth again.
“Fuck,” Jeongin swears again, and his hand moves rapidly on his cock. Chan has half a mind to reach out, to take over, but before he gets the chance, Jeongin is coming, coating Minho’s gorgeous face with his release. Chan gets no more than a few tugs on his own cock as he watches before he’s adding to the mess. Minho groans as he takes it, licking up what he can from near his mouth.
Jeongin leans over and kisses Chan again, cupping his face this time (which Chan knows is an indulgence specifically designed for him) and petting through his hair. When they part, he pets through Minho’s hair, too. Minho makes a soft noise of contentment. Feeling entirely spent, Chan sags against the wall. Jeongin spares another laugh at him. He hauls Minho to his feet and pulls him gently beneath the spray of the water. “Grab the shampoo and make yourself useful,” he says as Minho flops against him.
Between the two of them, they get Minho–and themselves–cleaned and dry. They have to all but carry Minho back to Chan’s bed, where Chan wraps around his back and holds him close. Jeongin lays in front of them, fidgeting with Minho’s fingers. Eventually, Minho twists in Chan’s arms and raises an eyebrow at him.
“It’s a damn good thing you didn’t fall when you were getting in,” he mumbles, voice scratchy with disuse. “Can you imagine having to explain the circumstances to staff?”
Chan groans and hides his face in Minho’s shoulder; Jeongin only snickers at him, which Chan thinks probably serves him right. But he takes Chan’s hand in his own, too, presses a kiss against each of his fingertips before setting it down against Minho’s thigh again.
“We’re sleeping here,” Minho says, decisive even though his syllables are half-slurred with exhaustion. “Innie, you too. No complaints or there will be no repeat performances of the evening’s activities.”
“You’re so full of shit, hyung,” Jeongin laughs softly, but he doesn’t make any attempt to leave. He places his hand on top of Chan’s.
Chan closes his eyes and breathes them both in.