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Nicholas was well aware that falling in love with your bandmate and best friend wasn't the smartest choice he could've made in his life; even if falling for Euijoo never felt like a choice, but rather something that had already been carved in stone for him.
Evidently, getting plowed into the sheets by your other bandmate while moaning out your best friend's name was a lot worse.
To Nicholas' defense—with his arms held up high, don't shoot—it wasn't like Euijoo and him would have ever had the chance to be anything. Even if Euijoo did reciprocate, there was no way he'd ever get his head far enough out of his ass to admit it, to Nicholas or just himself at that. Deep down, Nicholas understood, he really did. He was okay with how things were, he was fine with admiring from afar, let his heart squeeze inside his chest when Euijoo laughed, watch the corner of his eyes crinkle when he smiled, really smiled, hover and rotate around him like his own personal moon. It was all fine.
Still, Nicholas was just a man. There was nothing for him to do when Fuma decided one random afternoon, after Nicholas prodded his greedy fingers into his thigh one too many times that he had enough, pressed him against the nearest wall and crashed their lips together. All their pent-up tension—and boy, was there a lot of that—bled right into the kiss, though it was more a wet clash of teeth and tongue than anything else.
Nicholas cursed himself a little for not thinking about it sooner; hooking up with someone in his group. Fuma was hot, Nicholas was down—it was kind of genius. Sure, it could go horribly wrong, could rip apart their entire group, but did it really matter when it felt so mind-numbingly good?
The Euijoo-thing… that one just slipped out. Or, well, he let it slip out. To be clear, if he hadn't been absolutely positive that Fuma wasn't going to kick him out of his room while he was literally balls deep inside him, he would've never let his guard down. But alas, ever perceptive as he was, he just had this feeling, an inkling if you will, that Fuma and him weren't as different as they seemed—at least not when it came to Euijoo.
And well, he also had eyes. He saw the way Fuma's hungrily followed Euijoo everywhere he went. He picked up on the soft smiles, the lingering touches, on everything that Nicholas was sure was reflected in his own actions, his own heart and soul. He came to the only logical conclusion: Fuma and him were playing the same losing game, with Euijoo as their game master.
So he let it slip. The two-syllable word, the name of the person who's been haunting his dreams ever since he met him—it just rolled off his tongue as if it was all perfectly normal. As if Fuma wasn't fucking into him with the same relentless rhythm he'd come to love as much as loathe.
Euijoo.
Fuma faltered in his movements for almost a full second, blinked down at him three, four, five times as his mouth parted and his grip on Nicholas' hips tightened even further. The next second, Nicholas tried his best not to scream because Fuma's monstrous rhythm had just become ten times more monstrous. The rest was history.
History being Nicholas moaning out Euijoo's name almost every time he and Fuma fuck, and Fuma enabling him every time, egging him on, whispering filthy things into his ear, at times even groaning out Euijoo's name alongside him.
Nicholas sometimes had the nerve to feel a little ashamed about it all, but it was kind of hard to make himself care when Fuma just somehow knew how to drive him up the walls and hit every spot, quite literally. It was their own admittedly very freaky way of coping with it—wanting someone they couldn't have. It became comfortable very quickly, an unspoken routine whenever the stars (read: their schedules) aligned, to blow off steam, and then some. Fuma made it so easy to forget himself, with all his stability he radiated; he was so warm and gentle, even in the delightful times he wasn't.
They never really talked about it—not about the Euijoo-thing or the them-thing—but either way it didn't matter, it was clear they were both getting a lot more out of this than they could've hoped for. Weeks of sneaking around turned into months, and if anyone noticed how they had become a lot clingier than they used to be with each other, no one pointed it out. They lived in their own little perverted bubble.
Until Euijoo walked in on them that day.
Well—he walked in on Nicholas. In Euijoo's room. Waiting for Fuma to fuck him right there on his bed.
It wasn't exactly a position he could talk himself out of, he tried—before all his useless fight died in his throat the minute Euijoo stepped into the room, and did something Nicholas never thought he would: He indulged. He took what Nicholas had desperately wanted him to take for so long, and good god—Nicholas swore he almost died that day.
And that's when Nicholas made a grave mistake: He let himself get his hopes up. He let himself believe, for just a tiny moment, that Euijoo holding him so tenderly after the ridiculous dicking he gave him could've meant something, anything at all. Cue the grave mistake; nothing boiled over, everything just… went back to normal.
Euijoo managed to pretend like nothing even happened and Fuma—well, Fuma took the liberty of rolling his eyes at the whole thing. Nicholas got a little dizzy trying to process it; Euijoo acting the way he did didn't surprise him, not really, but Fuma's play in this? It confused Nicholas.
After all, Fuma was the one who orchestrated the entire thing, made sure that Euijoo would catch him the way he did, only for—what exactly to happen? Did he think that they'd magically figure their shit out this way? How could he have seen any other outcome as the one they both had to deal with now?
Maybe Nicholas should be grateful. Thanks to Fuma, he got to live out one of his greatest fantasies. Maybe he ought to be a little less obsessive and just leave it the way Euijoo wanted it to—meaningless and more importantly: a one time happening. He couldn't have everything.
But here's the funny thing. Nicholas has eyes. And now he sees the way Euijoo's start trailing after Fuma, boring holes into the back of his skull like he's trying to make him explode. He notices how it takes him approximately three times longer to compose himself when Nicholas steps into his space further than he needs to. When Euijoo doesn't actively go out of his way to avoid them both, he always seems to linger around them, like he's unsure of what to do now.
Fuma doesn't do anything about it. Nicholas desperately waits for him to take matters into his own hands again but he doesn't. His distancing is a little less obvious than Euijoo's; they keep seeking each other out without addressing the giant elephant, and their fucked up little routine remains. Only now, Euijoo is left out completely.
It's strange how quickly everything warped into uncertainty, how Nicholas feels like a cat with its claws buried deep in Fuma's flesh now, not willing to let him slip out of reach, too. So he goes along with it, shamefully stopping himself from dropping the name both of them crave, and somehow manages to feel even dirtier than if he'd just continued doing it.
It barely takes two more weeks of this weird limbo—and one stare too much from Euijoo—that Nicholas finally decides he's had enough.
Like he does with most things, he goes in without a plan; just bitter will and a determination strong enough to make him act before he gives himself time to think about it.
He puts his Euijoo documentation skills to good use and strikes on a day where no one can interfere—a miraculous day really, cleared off group-schedules with most of the members either out or on individual shoots, leaving only Fuma, Euijoo and himself to stay back in the dorms. If Nicholas were a fly, he'd rub his hands together like a very evil one right about now.
The first thing Nicholas does is shoot Fuma a quick text to come over—a pretty standard one for them, nothing outstanding—then he pulls up Euijoo's contact, types out something borderline insane, and watches his finger hover over the send button before committing. After that, he folds his hands under his head, takes a deep breath, shuffles deeper into the mattress, and waits.
Fuma always knocks when he comes over, and today isn't an exception. He shuffles in barely three minutes after Nicholas had sent the text—which he doesn't let himself dwell on. Not that he can anyway, with his head spinning from how fast he shot up from his bed to meet Fuma at his door to yank him into a harsh kiss, and more importantly, to pull Fuma away from it before he gets a chance to lock it.
"Hi," Fuma breathes against his lips the moment the back of his knees hit the bed frame.
"Hi," Nicholas says back, pushing at Fuma's shoulders with both hands, watching him fall onto the bed without resistance.
There are hands on his waist immediately, the tight grip keeping him anchored as he climbs onto Fuma's lap, leaning down to capture his lips again. Fuma tastes like he always does, minty and secure, and the knowledge that he must've hastily brushed his teeth before coming makes Nicholas smile deliriously into the kiss.
Strong hands slide up and inside his shirt, up and up until one reaches a nipple and the other his throat; one pulls, the other squeezes, and Nicholas falls forward with a gasp. He's already half-hard, every cell positively thrumming with nervous energy, and it's really no surprise that Fuma catches on so quickly.
"What's gotten my Kitty so worked up?"
Nicholas' heart does a stupid little jump, it edges on downright humiliating what that dumb nickname does to him every time. Fuma knows—of course he does, that bastard—a mean glint catching in his eyes as he pulls Nicholas by the throat to meet his stare.
Air feels like it's missing from his lungs as he digs his fists deeper into the mattress on either side of Fuma's head; his tongue flicks out to the corner of his mouth and Fuma tracks the movement like he's starving.
Leaning down enough so his lips ghost over Fuma's ear, the grip on his throat loosening up enough to let him, he can't help the power that rushes to his head as he breathes out, "You'll see."
He doesn't give Fuma the time to react before he grabs him by the shoulders, trailing sloppy, wet kisses down his neck; blunt fingernails scrape against the side of Nicholas' own neck and the pressure of rough hands at his throat already makes it hard to focus.
Like a pop-up on a computer, a window of Euijoo jumps up: sprawled out beneath him, just like Fuma is now, looking up with those round eyes of his, squirming, nails digging into Nicholas' waist.
If he saw them like this, Euijoo would be so eager to recreate this exact position, Nicholas thinks, the memory of the last time he caught them still simmering hot under his skin. What a shame Fuma never got to be a part of that. That was finally going to change soon.
The hand not currently on Nicholas' throat slides down to the curve of his ass, making his lips quirk up in a smile against his skin. Fuma tugs in a breath like he's about to say something—he doesn't get to. Nicholas distantly feels extremely giddy at how timing once again seems to be working in his favor.
Euijoo also knocks this time—three almost inaudible, cautious knocks. Fuma goes still under him, his hands stay glued onto Nicholas' body, and he thinks he can feel the older man hold his breath. Nicholas imagines the eyebrow he must be raising right now.
Releasing Fuma's neck with one last, tiny bite, he pulls back and gathers all his remaining courage to chirp out as indifferently as he can, "Come in."
The shift in the air around them is immediate.
Not letting himself turn his head toward the door, he takes in the sound of it opening. Fuma begins to scramble, trying to sit up, but Nicholas already pushes him right back down.
"Nicholas, what—"
He cuts Fuma short with a look, crooking his head as he watches, satisfied; Fuma's eyes are nearly double their size. He's seen him. Good.
"I—Oh," Euijoo stammers clumsily, making Nicholas' heart kick up speed again. "I don't…"
"I said come in."
There's an evenness to Nicholas' voice that makes him feel accomplished, and he can't stop himself from turning his head anymore, facing an incredibly floored-looking Euijoo.
He's frozen in the doorway with his hand still on the handle, mouth hanging wide open as his gaze ping-pongs between Fuma and Nicholas. A deer caught in headlights. Nicholas' heartbeat thuds loudly in his ears; he all but preens under Euijoo's gaze, tilting his head to blink up at him from under his lashes.
Nicholas watches Euijoo's hand slip from the handle, the soft screech turning to static as Fuma's grip on his waist tightens again. He's jostled forward, a quiet whine spilling from his throat—and Euijoo visibly swallows, like a damn domino effect.
"What the hell do you think you're doing," Fuma hisses into his ear.
Nicholas wants to laugh. "What? It's nothing he hasn't seen before." His eyes never leave Euijoo's when he adds, "Or done."
For a beat, it's dead silent except for their heavy breathing. Nicholas suddenly has to fight off the urge to squirm when Euijoo's eyes meet Fuma's, saying something he understands immediately. It's a question—he's asking for permission.
Just as Nicholas almost laughs for real this time—because, really, Euijoo should know by now that Nicholas gave it to him a long time ago—the room spins and he's flipped in one singular, fluid motion. Hands flailing uselessly, he ends up on his back as Fuma settles one of his muscular—and bare, thanks to the shorts he's wearing—legs between Nicholas's own. The weight of Fuma now pinning him to the bed washes over Nicholas so suddenly that he has to shut his eyes briefly.
When he opens them, Euijoo has stepped fully inside the room, closed the door behind him and slouched against it. He looks a little feral, eyes wide, drilling holes through Nicholas, like a wild animal ready to pounce.
Nicholas fights back a shiver, a whine, or both and everything at once. Fuma's hand presses into the center of his throat, effectively making him splutter for air; though he pays Nicholas no mind, squeezing tighter as his attention shifts to Euijoo. He licks his lips and murmurs, "Don't you wish he'd just… shut up sometimes?"
Everything blurs out for a moment, hazy and white hot; if Euijoo says anything, Nicholas doesn't catch it. Normally, he'd already have a snarky remark ready to fire off, but Euijoo standing there makes it difficult to concentrate. The room feels scorching, they're all wearing far too much clothing, and he's so hard it hurts.
His fingers catch in Fuma's shirt, and he yanks him down for a kiss like it's second nature. A kiss that is nothing less than messy, desperate desire, their lips moving with such speed it must look funny. Even as Fuma takes control, his hand gripping his jaw to angle him just right, Nicholas makes sure to look his part, moving deliberately, knowing he's being watched.
Tugging at Fuma's shirt wordlessly, the latter doesn't waste a second to pull back and rip it over his head. Nicholas sits up on his elbows to do the same, and with almost comedic timing, they both turn to look at Euijoo.
The brunette looks like he's just been punched square in the chest, hands balled into fists and gaze flying between them like he doesn't know where to look. Fuma crooks up an eyebrow—a silent demand—and Euijoo scrambles to take off his own shirt. It makes Nicholas feel ridiculously warm, a smirk creeping onto his lips before he can stop it.
A satisfied hum leaves Fuma's mouth, staring appreciatively for a second longer before he dives back down and latches straight onto Nicholas' nipple. His body arches on its own accord, his hands fly up to tangle into Fuma's hair, gripping tight and pulling as a means to ground himself. It proves to be impossible, not with Euijoo cursing under his breath as he crashes back into the door with a dull thump.
Nicholas must look a mess—flushed up to his chest, trashing about with every kiss Fuma trails down his stomach. An overwhelming swoop takes over, like he's being scooped out from the inside. Fuma keeps him pinned to the bed with a firm push to his chest, pressing a kiss to his hipbone before pulling down his joggers and underwear in one go.
His dick slaps against his stomach with a horrifyingly loud smack, making his head fall to the side, eyes scrunching shut in faint humiliation at being displayed like this. Fuma tuts, digging his fingertips into the inside of his thighs, and muses, "So hard already, and we've barely even started…" He sits back on his heels, ghosting his fingers over Nicholas' aching cock. Barely touching him where he needs it, not even really looking at him. "Pretty, isn't he?"
Nicholas doesn't dare to open his eyes; each breath feels like it could be his last. Then a voice from across the room makes it all even worse: "Holy shit."
It's the first real thing Euijoo has said since he got here, and a whine escapes Nicholas as he wiggles his hips impatiently.
"Hyung," he pleads.
Despite his calm exterior, Fuma must be feeling similarly insane as Nicholas, forcefully pushing his legs flush to his chest, a finger catching against his rim before he can process it. It's a little dry even though he—
"Always prepped. Aren't you being too presumptuous," Fuma muses.
"I—Ah," Nicholas whines, his head rolling uselessly on the mattress. All sense has been flung out the window. "For Juju…"
Euijoo makes a strangled sound in his throat—Nicholas wishes he could look, but his brain has cut off from the rest of him long ago.
"You don't get to decide that," Fuma bites out, pushing one finger in fully.
It's barely anything, but it's good—so good—with Fuma knowing exactly where to push, the sharpness of his words digging under Nicholas' skin. It's even better when one finger becomes two, then three, quick and just uncomfortable enough to make him slobber onto the pillow uselessly.
He barely registers his arms moving, his hand twitching on the sheets before curling into a claw-like grip. With effort, he forces his eyes open, blearily finding Euijoo's. He looks tortured—flushed, beautiful—like existing in this room with them pains him, like he's holding back. Even in Nicholas' delirious state does he notice the very obvious bulge he's sporting. A small, broken sound slips out of Nicholas, sounding strangely like a mix of Juju and Please.
"You need something, Kitty?" Fuma punctuates the words with rough, deliberate thrusts that knock the air from Nicholas' lungs. He needs—
"Ju— Juju."
A beat. Then a curse from across the room, a low chuckle from right next to him. Footsteps draw closer, and Nicholas' eyes fly open when the mattress dips. Euijoo is right there, kneeling over him, closer than he's felt in weeks.
Round eyes bore into his own; there's an intensity glimmering in them that Nicholas has only let himself bask in freely the first and last time they've done this. It's enough to make him shiver—Euijoo looks like he wants to eat him alive, and Nicholas wishes to be gnawed bare to the bone by him.
Fuma's fingers have set a tortuously slow pace; he drags a whimper out of him that pulls Euijoo out of his trance immediately, snapping his head toward where Fuma is sitting. Nicholas follows, finding him fixing them both with a stare; his free hand has disappeared into his own shorts, touching himself with a patience Nicholas usually loved testing.
"Go on," Fuma says evenly. "Kiss him."
Nicholas isn't quite sure who he's talking to, but it doesn't matter—one harsh exhale later, Euijoo practically throws himself on top of him, crashing his mouth on his. It's rushed and desperate, with Nicholas barely being able to keep up as he lies there—arms sneaking instinctively around Euijoo's bare shoulders—and takes it.
Euijoo's fingers fumble through his hair, clumsily pulling him in every which direction; the softness of his lips and the faint tremble of his jaw a stark contrast to how rough it is. The mess of it smears quickly across his chin, sticky, embarrassing slobber—it shouldn't feel as good as it does. A whine lodges itself in the roof of Euijoo's mouth, Nicholas thinks he can almost taste it, sweet and guilty, like Euijoo can't quite believe he's allowed to have this.
Before Nicholas can get truly lost in it all—and because Fuma just knows how to make everything even more difficult for him—the older man curls his fingers suddenly, pressing down on a particular sensitive spot. Nicholas hips lift off the mattress with a moan, clutching tighter onto Euijoo as his head slips sideways again. The kiss breaks, Euijoo's heavy, uneven breaths fanning across his face.
"Fuma-hyung," he whines.
Or at least he thinks he does, because suddenly a hand—smaller than Fuma's, smoother, but just as rough—grabs his jaw, forcing his head back to meet Euijoo's gaze. The younger swallows hard, eyes wide, and Nicholas can see the hesitation flicker across his features before he opens his mouth.
"Try again," he grits out, like it's painful when it scrapes against his teeth.
Nicholas' blood runs cold. He wishes Euijoo didn't know this about him, that he wouldn't understand exactly what Euijoo meant. But it's too late now; he's far too gone to care.
"Fuma-oppa… please."
As if they were somehow interlinked, Fuma and Euijoo take a critical hit from the words, noises of different frequencies leaving both of them. That does it. Nicholas physically cannot wait any longer—he needs it, everything, both of them, all of it. He scrambles, tries to sit up, blindly reaching for both of them simultaneously, one hand already fumbling with the hem of Euijoo's pants and the other trying to reach for Fuma's hand to get it deeper or out entirely. Euijoo makes a startled noise; Nicholas' movement is frantic, ungraceful in the most desperate way, and he might stop breathing for good if this goes on any longer.
Something deep rumbles out from the back of Fuma's throat as he removes his fingers and grips Nicholas' hand so hard it makes him yelp. He's ready to protest until he's yanked forward, forcefully positioned to sit up on his knees, hand twisted behind his back as the older man's chest presses up against him.
"This what you wanted?" Fuma grits out; he sounds so mean. His breath tickles Nicholas' neck, gooseflesh coming to life, forceful heaves dragging out of his lungs. A hand comes to rest on his thigh—Euijoo, Nicholas barely gets to think.
"No…" He shakes his head miserably, letting it hang limp. He can practically feel himself leaking all over himself. "Want you… to fuck me."
"Who?"
"Juju. You," he sobs. "Please, I need it so bad, I can be good, please."
Fingers dig deep into his thigh. Fuma laughs. "What, both of us? You really think you can take that?"
"Yes, yesyes. Please, I can."
"You're pathetic," Fuma just says.
It's meant to chip at his pride—maybe it does a little—Nicholas can't bring himself to care, keening when Fuma keeps him pinned, leaning away just far enough so he can fish something out of his nightstand. Finally.
"Stand next to the bed."
Mildly confused, Nicholas' body moves on autopilot, attempting to get out of Fuma's hold to obey his orders. But Fuma's grip is iron-tight, and it's when Euijoo inhales sharply that Nicholas realizes it wasn't directed at him.
With bated breath he watches as Euijoo all but jumps out of the bed, carefully moving to stand on the right side of it, just inches away from Nicholas. His pupils are blown wide, his lips still shiny from earlier and Nicholas wants him so badly he could scream with it.
Tentatively, Euijoo reaches out, achingly slow as if Nicholas was a figment of his imagination that could disappear if he rushed this. Euijoo's hand lands on his check, so soft, thumb swiping across his cheek and over his lips, catching on the pillowy surface.
"Fuck… Nichol," Euijoo breathes; his voice is wrecked, eyes never leaving his. "You look—"
The rest of the sentence gets drowned out as he gets yanked backwards once more; it's almost a little funny how much he lets himself get passed around like this—if only he didn't like it so much.
Nicholas had been so swept up in Euijoo's softness, he didn't even register that Fuma isn't holding onto him anymore. Instead, he's sitting up on the bed with his back on the headboard, guiding Nicholas by the hips to settle right over his lap, knees bent and propped up on the mattress. He's clad of his shorts and underwear somehow; Nicholas isn't allowed to wonder when that had happened when Fuma's dick—lubed up and equipped with a condom—pushes against his hole.
A ragged sound tears through him in surprise, the room spins a little. Euijoo comes back into focus, a hand carding through his hair, staring down at him in awe. "Relax," he whispers, and Nicholas feels a lot like crying.
He tries his best to follow through as Fuma lowers him down—arms snaked across his middle and squeezing down in support. It's almost too much too soon; even with all that prep, Nicholas isn't as prepared for it as he should be, wailing when he's fully seated. His legs already feel like jello; Euijoo's hand is firm where it rests on his scalp, tugging at his hair sharply to keep his head upright. Nicholas feels fuzzy, he can barely keep his eyes open.
Euijoo lifts his free hand to his face, slips his thumb into his half-open mouth and says, "Good job, Nichol."
Nicholas can't even process it when his orgasm tears through him entirely by surprise, to both him and the other two in the room. He shakes and spasms and moans, his cock spurting out his release as he cums completely untouched onto his stomach. It seems to go on for forever, both Fuma and Euijoo holding him through it.
When he slowly comes back to himself, the room can't seem to stop spinning, a deep ringing protruding his skull. "Jesus Christ, you're insane." It's Euijoo, he thinks stupidly, and his thumb slips out of his mouth again. He wants to nod out of instinct but he can't really seem to make his limbs move.
He faintly registers a low curse from behind him, and then he's lifted and—Fuck. Nicholas panics a little, whining miserably; Fuma is still inside of him, moving him up just enough to pull him back down, and Nicholas doesn't know if he's going to survive this. It's way too much, he's too sensitive, he wants to tell him that desperately, but again—his mouth doesn't seem to be working either.
Euijoo's voice cuts through the fog, he sounds worried. "Is he—"
"He's fine," Fuma answers, a little out of breath. "He can take it. Right, Kitty?"
Nicholas makes a muffled sound, not able to come up with a coherent reply. Fuma stills abruptly inside of him, and Nicholas almost full-on weeps.
"Nichol," Fuma says seriously, pinching his thigh. "Color?"
The gears in Nicholas' head start turning; he shakes his head, trying to clear the fog. "G-Green," he croaks out.
"Green. So green," he says again, a little deliriously.
Fuma presses a small kiss to his shoulder at the same time Euijoo softly brushes the bangs out of his face.
"Good," Fuma exhales before pushing down again. He starts setting a slow pace, controlled but hitting deep with every thrust. Tortured little sounds get punched out of him rhythmically, his hands scramble to take hold of Euijoo's forearms—anything to cling on to. Euijoo makes an equally afflicted noise, fingers tightening his hold on him, his hips thrusting forward into the air wildly.
Fuma's voice comes out uneven and slightly ragged this time when he says, "Fuck his mouth. It'll keep him grounded. And he likes it."
Euijoo chokes, and if Nicholas was in a better state he'd have a similar reaction. He nods dumbly, weakly reaching out, hand landing on Euijoo's hip.
"Fuck," Euijoo just says, not wasting any more time before pulling his joggers and briefs down just enough.
The moment his cock springs free, Nicholas perks up, eyes immediately locking onto it, hard and gorgeous like the rest of him. If he concentrates enough he might be able to still feel the way it had dragged against his walls that day—much like Fuma's had just a second ago. For some reason he stopped, letting him sit there squirming around him, lightly nibbling on the skin at his shoulder; it almost makes him want to gather up the fight buried deep inside him and protest.
Fingers card through his hair again; Nicholas tilts his head enough to look up as Euijoo's other hand guides his cock to his mouth, placing it on his lips with a shaky exhale. Without being told, Nicholas opens, still blinking up at him lazily. A thrill runs through him as Euijoo curses again, pushing forward and into his mouth.
Nicholas closes his eyes and tries to adjust to the intrusion, tries to relax his mouth enough to make it enjoyable for Euijoo, to make it good. He swallows around him, weakly bobs his head to try and get to more of him inside but quickly gags when Euijoo hits the back of his throat. He doesn't give him any time to settle either, already pulling out almost all the way before he pushes forward again, hand still wound tightly in his hair, keeping him there.
Euijoo pants heavily as he keeps fucking into his mouth, uncaring at the way Nicholas struggles around him, ignoring the embarrassing gagging noises and the tears welling up in his eyes. He blinks them open weakly, and quickly understands. Fuma's hand is curled around Euijoo's waist, leading him forward with every trust. Nicholas almost blacks out at the sight. He's already hard again, his legs cramp up hellishly, but he doesn't dare move.
After a particular hard trust Euijoo cries out, tugging at Nicholas' hair harshly. "I-I'm gonna—" he warns, but Fuma firmly keeps him right where he is.
Euijoo makes a panicked noise and tries to pull out but it's too late, he's already spilling warm inside Nicholas' throat. He moans around it weakly, tries to swallow it up; everything around him gets drowned by heavy static as Fuma finally lets up and Euijoo quickly pulls out. Some of the cum spills from Nicholas' lips and Euijoo curses.
Completely fucked out and somehow still craving more he blinks up at Euijoo who looks absolutely destroyed. He's breathing so heavily he fears he might pass out right in front of Nicholas. With a trembling hand and wide eyes he swipes across the cum on his chin softly, and it etches a a smile onto Nicholas' face and stirs a sick sense of twisted pride in him.
"Juju so easy…," he drawls out without much sense, though it comes out more like a messed up croak than much else.
Not even a second later he's lifted up and pushed face first into the mattress. Fuma hurriedly pushes his ass up, his legs apart and settles between them, putting his cock back inside of him with a forceful thrust.
"Getting everything you want and you're still mouthy," he grits out mockingly. "You're really everything but good today, Kitty."
Nicholas doesn't get a chance to respond with anything other than a cut off moan as Fuma sets a cruel and fast pace, hands bruising on his hips. His face is mushed up against the mattress, rocking forward with every hard trust; his hands curl into the sheets again, desperately seeking friction as his cock uselessly drags across the mattress. If he wasn't crying before he's sure he must be now, tears streaking down his cheeks.
"Please," he whimpers.
Fuma just grunts into his ear, snapping his hips forward as if to say ask properly.
"Please, Oppa. Touch me, please."
Fuma's pace falters for just a second before he pants out, "Ask him."
Nicholas makes a miserable noise, shaking his head, desperate pleas stuck in his throat. He needs it so badly. "Juju, please touch me. I need you… Please"
A groan, then the faint sound of shuffling next to him as Euijoo's knee dips on the bed again. Yes.
"Good kitty," Fuma says with a squeeze of his hips.
In the blink of an eye, Euijoo's hand reaches between Nicholas' body, quick fingers wrapping around his weeping cock. He moans, goes all but limp as the sensations of Fuma's thrusts and Euijoo's hand mingle together, overwhelming him in the best way possible.
One of Fuma's hands leave his hips; it's followed by a gasp and the sound of lips smacking together. Holy shit. He's far too gone to make himself turn around and look, but the bare image of Fuma grabbing Euijoo by the neck to kiss him is enough.
Somehow it's enough to finally push him over the edge, spilling all over Euijoo's fingers with an agonizing cry. Fuma's not far behind, following suit and spilling into the condom inside of him with a muffled groan and a particular deep shove that makes Nicholas shake.
There's only the sound of their heavy breathing as Fuma collapses on top of him, Eujioo landing somewhere across Fuma's back and the bed. Nicholas can't even think, all of his senses switched off, nothing but a deep satisfied buzz pulling through his entire body.
He's still laying there when Fuma eventually pulls out and discards the condom, moving him about gently to clean him up, before he does the same with Euijoo and himself. Euijoo pets his hair occasionally, and Nicholas feels all kinds of fuzzy and warm.
Nicholas doesn't know how much time has passed when he's scooped up by Fuma from behind, curling around him in a calming embrace. Euijoo hesitates, fidgets with his fingers where he's sitting on the bed, and he looks like he's about to get up and leave.
"Come join us," Fuma says gently.
Euijoo perks up, looking at Fuma before flitting his eyes to Nicholas. He just nods a little, arm stretched out for Euijoo to take. He does. There's a beat before Euijoo lays down on the mattress, facing Nicholas.
"Are you two…" Euijoo begins, voice breaking off with uncertainty.
Neither of them say anything for a few seconds, like they both don't know how to answer him. But there is a quiet understanding hanging heavy in the air around them.
"We… We don't really know," Nicholas says carefully, turning his head slightly to look at Fuma, who's already looking at him with that soft smile of his. Nicholas feels brave. "But whatever it is—whatever mess this is—we want you to be a part of it, too."
A sharp breath hit the air—surprised is the wrong word, Euijoo looks positively taken aback when he looks between both of them like he's trying to decipher a joke he doesn't understand. Nicholas slowly reaches out to find one of Euijoo's hands, trying to make him understand that none of this was a joke.
"If you want us too, that is," Fuma adds, sounding more self-conscious than Nicholas had ever heard him.
A laugh bubbles up in Euijoo's throat, and he's shaking his head in what appears to be utter disbelief.
"Of course I do," he says almost amused. "You're both crazy if you think I would've done any of this if I didn't."
The absurdity of it all makes Nicholas giggle, head falling forward and dropping onto Euijoo's chest. Fuma breathes out a short laugh of his own, extending his arms so it wraps around both Nicholas and Euijoo, pulling the latter closer. All three of them huddle into it, and Nicholas doesn't remember the last time he's felt this content so deep in every single one of his bones.
"Okay good. Now lets cuddle and sleep. Tired. Talk about all this tomorrow." It comes out muffled and slurred against Euijoo's chest, and it pulls a quiet laughter out of the two men Nicholas is sandwiched between.
"Right, okay. Talk tomorrow," Euijoo whispers, squeezing Nicholas' hand softy.
The world is quiet when Nicholas curls up in the safety of it all, the warmth of both of them lulling him to sleep, nothing but the quiet assurance that they would sort this out weighing on his mind as he drifts off.
If he dreams about pushing their heads together to make them kiss like barbie dolls, no one needs to know—he just simply does it after they talk it out.