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Chan’s been in a foul mood all day. It permeates the air around him, like his personal stormcloud, hovering over his bleached, shorn hair, and spitting little bolts of lightning out at anyone who dares look at him for too long. Changbin noticed earlier in the studio when they were sketching out the guide for a handful of tracks they were submitting to the company, noticed when Chan walked out without saying goodbye to either him or Jisung, and then continued to notice when he met Chan in the gym later in the day for PT.
“You okay?” He tries once, when they’re setting up for hip thrusts. Chan is glowering down at the floor with an uncharacteristic scowl on his face; even their trainer is giving him a wide berth tonight, shooting Changbin a confused expression as he backs away from them. Changbin shrugs apologetically in return. Chan will feel awful about it whenever he breaks out of whatever funk he’s in—he can apologise to their trainer himself.
“Fine,” Chan grunts. He makes it through his set with dizzying ease, racks the weight and slips out from under the bar. “Your turn.”
Changbin nods and takes Chan’s place. They finish the rest of their workout in dead silence which is only broken by their trainer’s instructions and then they go home without bothering to shower. Another red flag popping up in Changbin’s brain. Chan hates the feeling of sweat drying on his skin.
“You staying for dinner?” Chan asks while staring fixedly out the window. His water bottle dangles from his fingers. It’s still full despite their three kilometer run at the end of the workout.
Changbin looks over at him, eyeing the thundercloud hovering over Chan’s head. The cab smells like their combined sweat, humid and heavy, while the heater sluggishly pumps away, trying in vain to combat the cold that presses in around them.
“I can go home.”
“I’m going to make food. Come eat.”
Changbin’s not going to turn down a cooked meal. He would have just gone home and ordered delivery. “Yeah, okay.”
Chan nods and they lapse into silence until they’re back in Chan’s building. The lock chimes sweetly when Chan pushes open his front door, and is instantly covered by the sound of Jeongin watching television.
“I didn’t know he’d be home,” Chan mutters.
Changbin raises an eyebrow at his back, bent over as Chan fastidiously unties his shoes and places them in their designated spot—third shelf, two spots over from the right. “Is that going to change anything?”
Chan shrugs and leads their way in. Jeongin is intently watching a drama, biting the cuticles on his thumb, but he lifts his eyes briefly from the TV when they enter.
“Hi hyung.”
“I’m going to shower,” Chan says. “Then I’ll start dinner.”
“Take your time.” Changbin has nowhere to be. Hyunjin’s off in Paris for one thing or another—Changbin hadn’t exactly been paying attention when he’d left, garnering a sticker with its eyes rolling out of its head when he’d sent Hyunjin a questioning text in the morning—and he doesn’t exactly like being at home alone. Jeongin doesn’t turn his attention away from the television when Changbin sits down next to him but he does scoff when Changbin dumps his feet in Jeongin’s lap.
“Get off, hyung.”
“I’m sore, maknae-yah,” Changbin whines. “Let me be.”
Jeongin must be too invested in his drama, though, because he doesn’t argue further with Changbin. Only sighs and allows Changbin to keep his feet in his lap while he stares fixedly at the screen where some man is shouting while staggering down the street. Changbin ceases paying attention. He pulls out his phone and scrolls disinterestedly through his messages, flicking in and out of apps until he gets bored and the drama goes into commercial break.
Jeongin mutes the tv and stands without warning, nearly dumping Changbin’s feet on the floor. Changbin whines up at him as he pulls his legs back up on the cushion. “You’re so mean to your hyung.”
“Is it mean of me to get water?” Jeongin asks, rummaging around in the fridge. “Do you want anything, hyung?”
Changbin hums. “No. Channie’s going to cook for me soon.”
“Channie?”
Changbin cranes his neck to find Chan standing in his doorway, shirtless, as he smacks the last of his moisturizer over his arms, scrubbing roughly.
“Channie hyung,” he parrots obediently. “Can I shower?”
“Go ahead. What do you want for dinner?”
Changbin shrugs as he gets up from the couch and sidles past Chan in the narrow doorway. Their shoulders brush against each other. “Whatever you want. I’m stealing a shirt from you. I forgot to pack one.”
Chan doesn’t reply and Changbin pokes around in his closet for a suitably baggy shirt before stepping into his bathroom. It’s still humid and warm but it smells noticeably like Chan’s bodywash—saccharine vanilla and dates hanging heavy in the air. He showers languidly, washes his hair and steals some of Chan’s soap. It’s sweeter than anything he uses and Changbin sniffs bemusedly at the bottle before he puts it back. When he steps back into the living room, the television is off and Jeongin is gone.
“Did you scare the maknae off?”
Chan scoffs from the kitchen. He’s chopping something harshly, the thud of the knife discordant and obnoxious against the gentle sizzle of onions in the pan. “He wanted to have dinner with Seungmin. I didn’t stop him.”
Changbin’s sure he was happy to leave with the way Chan is scowling down at the pan, that thundercloud expanding to fill the apartment, a growing storm. A warning sign to evacuate. Only Changbin’s foolish enough to remain. He drifts closer to the squall and leans against the counter, crossing his arms.
“What’s up with you?” His tone isn’t particularly rude but Chan bristles anyway. He smashes the flat of his knife against a garlic clove and chops it roughly, necklace bouncing roughly against his sternum with his movements.
“Nothing is up with me. I just can’t sleep.”
“That’s not new, though.”
Chan shrugs. His jaw is tight and Changbin traces the line of muscle down his neck before he turns away.
“Let me know if you need help.”
“Like I need your help,” Chan shoots back and Changbin only barks a laugh before he drops onto the couch. He understands why Jeongin left when he did but Changbin doesn’t fear getting into an argument with Chan, fears his temper even less.
With practiced speed, Chan makes steak with an onion and garlic sauce and a side of fried rice from a tub of day old rice he finds in the fridge. Changbin watches him out of the corner of his eye while he cooks and turns his attention back to the television whenever Chan turns around to reach for a utensil or a paper towel.
When he’s done, Changbin gets up to set the table. He finds kimchi in a tub that looks like it came from Jeongin’s house and sets it on the table and frowns when Chan reaches around him for a bag of lettuce.
“Are you not eating rice?”
“No.”
Changbin purses his lips and sits down at the table, waiting for Chan to join him before he reaches the rice. “Thanks for the food, hyung.”
“You only use that tone when I do something for you,” Chan scoffs but it’s slightly lighter than before. He only takes the steak from the serving plate and chews it angrily before shoving a lettuce leaf into his mouth. He looks like a disgruntled rabbit; an annoyed wolf puppy, being forced to eat his veggies.
Changbin’s amused. He eats his fill, thankful to be done with the annoyance of dieting. Chan is a good cook. He’s been teaching himself recipes for years but since they moved into these new apartments, his skills have blossomed. He’s made good friends with the ahjumma who runs the banchan store three blocks down, he’s got a rotation of Youtube chefs he watches, and he feeds Changbin without having to be asked most days.
What a giving hyung.
Changbin watches Chan eat; he only touches the protein and his sad little bag of lettuce, that scowl still affixed to his face like stubborn varnish on an old painting.
“So… Are you going to tell me what’s wrong with you?”
Chan looks at him, chopsticks paused halfway to his mouth. “Nothing.”
Changbin scoffs. “Yeah, right. You’ve been pissed off all day. You snapped at Jisung, you were in a mood at the gym—”
“I’m not in a fucking—” Chan cuts himself off with a harsh exhale. He slaps his chopsticks onto the table and rubs his face with a hand. Changbin leans back in his chair and stares at him, waiting him out. He’s good to hang out here all night if that’s what it takes to get Chan to talk.
Chan’s hand drops away and he tips his head all the way back, staring up at the ceiling.
“I can’t get off.”
Changbin blinks. “What?”
Chan glares up at the ceiling. “Do I really have to say it again?” He demands.
Changbin stares at him. This isn’t exactly what he expected. He’d expected—well, anything else really; for Chan to be annoyed because of work, or a rude comment some careless staff member had tossed out when they were at Gayo Daejeon last week, or—or anything else. Not this.
“You can’t jerk off?” Changbin asks. “What—is your hand broken?”
Chan turns that glare onto him. It’s about as menacing as Felix’s wet kitten stare. Chan is plenty intimidating when he wants to be which means he doesn’t want to be right now.
“Obviously fucking not,” Chan snaps back. His ears are turning red now, the flush spreading down his neck, over his bare chest.
“Then what’s the problem. I’m not recommending you porn if that’s what—”
“Porn is not my problem,” Chan hisses through gritted teeth. He groans and slumps against his chair, closing his eyes in defeat. “My dick doesn’t work. Anymore.”
“Um.” Changbin is so ill-equipped for this conversation. “Do you need to see the doctor, hyung?”
“I already did,” Chan says. He’s back to staring at the ceiling. “He says it’s because—I don’t eat.”
“Well, eat more,” Changbin suggests. Quite reasonably too, he thinks. Chan still has a quarter of steak left on plate.
Chan scowls at him. “I have a set regimen. It’s trainer approved and everything.”
“Well, if your dick isn’t working then, clearly—”
“That’s not the point,” Chan groans. “I like the way I look. I don’t want to eat more food. I just want to have a fucking orgasm for once. Fucking hell, Bin.” This last bit is uttered in English, muffled as Chan scrubs a hand over his face again, and while Changbin might have failed many of his English classes, these are words with which he has much familiarity.
Changbin purses his lips, briefly annoyed before dismissing it. He’s well used to Chan’s moods by this point. “You can have an orgasm without an erection,” he says, short and prim. “So, there’s your solution.”
Chan’s head pops up back up. “What?”
It’s his turn to stare like a deer in headlights apparently. It’s good that they’re trading their disbelief off like this—probably healthy in some manner.
“Get some lube and find your prostate,” Changbin says. “It’s like magic.”
He wipes his hands clean on a napkin and pushes his chair back, considering his work done for tonight. He should get paid more, really, for all the work he does for this team. Emotional labour or whatever Hyunjin calls it.
“Wait.” Chan scrambles up from his seat as Changbin gets to his feet. “Bin, hold on.” Changbin turns to him. Chan’s blush has spread down his torso. “I don’t… I don’t have—I’ve never done—that.”
Changbin stares at him. “Do you need help finding a video or something? I know you’ve watched porn.” He’s walked in on Chan watching videos of cartoon girls with heaving, anatomically impossible breasts one too many times to know that Chan definitely doesn’t have an issue in that department—nightmare fuel, really. Changbin deserves some kind of medal for putting up with all that he does.
“Just—” Chan looks helplessly at him. “Bin.”
“What?” Changbin says. “Do you want me to help you or something, hyung?” He laughs incredulously, a short huff of a sound that dies in a puff when Chan continues to look at him. “You’re fucking joking.”
“If I’m going to do this, shouldn’t I do it correctly?” Chan asks as if that isn’t an insane thing to say. As if they’re talking about a song or nailing their choreography or any of the other hundred things Chan applies his meticulousness to.
“Do whatever you want!” Changbin says, a wild laugh bubbling up in his chest, even as something hot stirs in his gut. “Why involve me in it?”
“Because,” Chan says and then looks at Changbin with that look on his face. That fucking look on his face that Changbin has never been able to refuse. To glance away from. The pink has flowered over his cheeks now, alabaster morphing into sandstone. “Bin—because—you’ll do it right. Because I trust you to do it…the right way.”
Changbin slumps like his tendons have been sliced. Well, fuck.
They walk to Changbin’s house in silence.
Because Chan has no supplies and Changbin has everything. When did he become the prepared one out of the two of them? The world must have turned upside down at some point; this has to be a dream that he’ll wake up from.
When they enter, he half expects Hyunjin to be around, lounging on the couch, or in his room drawing, with the light filtering through the crack. But Hyunjin’s in Paris and they’re all alone.
Changbin pushes open his door and Chan slips in behind him, rubbing his hand anxiously over his elbow. Changbin watches him fidget for a moment. He’d put on a loose sweatshirt and shorts despite the freezing weather outside and he looks small, toes curling into Changbin’s pink rug.
“What do you want from me, hyung?”
Chan doesn’t look at him. Changbin exhales and then shuts his bedroom door. No one else is in the house but it feels reassuring, somehow.
“Do you want me to fuck you?” He asks curiously and Chan’s head shoots up, ears reddening again.
“I’m not—that isn’t why I asked—”
“Then what do you want?”
“I want to have a fucking orgasm,” Chan growls, apparently at the end of his rope; he almost stamps his foot as he frowns at Changbin. “You told me you knew how to do it, so do it. Help me.”
Changbin gives in. Whatever. This will just be a strange night atop so many other strange nights; he’s watched Felix wax himself in their three person bedroom, grimacing while Felix poured hot wax on his legs; he’s watched Jeongin drink so heavily on his birthday that he threw up in their tub and had to be cleaned off, masticated shrimp bits and all; he’s watched Minho flirt with an off-duty bodyguard in Rome at two in the fucking morning while they were all delirious from jet lag, and head off to his room with him without saying a word of English. Strange, weird nights. This will just be another one of those nights. Whatever.
“Fine,” he says and points to his bed. “Get naked, I guess.”
He should have followed his father’s advice and became an accountant when he had the chance.
Chan’s hairless—everywhere. When Changbin stares at him in askance, Chan only rolls his eyes up to the ceiling and blushes faintly.
“I like being clean.”
“Yeah.” The pop of the lube cap is astonishingly loud. “I can tell.”
“Have you… done this before?”
Changbin eyes him for a moment then slides off his bed and pops open a drawer to drag out a dildo. Chan’s eyes widen and Changbin puts it back and shuts the drawer.
“I contain multitudes,” he says dryly. “There isn’t just one way to get your dick wet you know.”
“Apparently,” Chan says. He spreads his legs when Changbin gets back on the bed. Chan’s cock is soft against his abs. It hasn’t stirred once. He wasn’t lying about that, then. Changbin’s own cock is starting to throb ever so slightly, just a hint, a threat. Changbin ignores it. This is so not the time for it to get involved. Chan’s stomach muscles tense when Changbin coats two fingers with lube and Changbin peers at his face.
“Are you freaking out?”
“No,” Chan lies.
Changbin scoffs. “Right. If you actually start freaking out, you’ll tell me, right?”
Chan licks his lips. “Yeah.”
“Okay.” Changbin pushes Chan’s inner thigh aside with his clean hand. “Try to relax, hyung. Close your eyes if you want.”
One orgasm coming right up, he thinks stupidly before tracing a tentative finger around Chan’s hole. Chan exhales shakily and his mouth parts when Changbin pushes in. His eyes fall shut and Changbin digs his teeth into his lower lip. It’s so quiet, he can hear his heartbeat in his ears. Chan is tight, tense, the fingers of his left hand clenching in the sheets as he adjusts. When Changbin eases the second finger in, Chan punches out a little gasp, his eyes peeling open.
“Can I—can I try?”
Changbin nods and shuffles backward. Chan’s hand slides lower seeking out.
“It’ll probably be easier if you get on your knees,” Changbin starts to say but Chan’s seagull limbs stretch further than Changbin’s arms ever could and he’s prodding curiously at his own hole, brows furrowed in concentration. Changbin drizzles lube onto his fingers and Chan pushes inside, his mouth dropping open, lips petal pink.
“Fuck,” he says as he wiggles his fingers around. “It feels—good.”
“I’d hope so,” Changbin says.
“Feels weird,” Chan adds and Changbin huffs a laugh.
“Yeah, that too.”
He feels like he’s sitting outside his own body, watching himself watch Chan writhe and twist on the sheets, trying to contort himself into a position pleasing enough to push his fingers up into himself, a frown wrinkling between his eyebrows. Distantly is aware, that he’s getting harder, unlike Chan who remains confoundingly soft.
“Reach up and in,” Changbin instructs and Chan obeys, shivering and tensing when he feels it. “There you go.”
“I can’t—” Chan’s brow furrows in frustration, even as he grits his teeth. “It keeps slipping away—fuck.”
“You want me to help?” Changbin offers before he can think twice about it. What the fuck is he doing? Chan nods and pulls his hand out and Changbin replaces it with his own, pushing a third finger in once he feels Chan’s loose enough. He finds his target easily and is absurdly pleased with himself when Chan gasps and moans, melting into the mattress, the first look of pleasure crossing his face. It feels—weirdly good. To teach Chan something for once. To take the lead between them when Changbin has always been the one following, waiting, listening to his hyung.
Changbin swallows dryly, his throat clicking. “Good?”
Chan’s starting to sweat, a thin sheen coating his neck and chest as he rolls his hips until Changbin’s hand. “Ye-yeah,” he pants. “Right there—fuck—fuck.” His hand finds his cock automatically and his mouth twists when he realises there’s no use in tugging at it.
“Ignore that,” Changbin says. “It feels good, right? Focus on me.” He doesn’t mean to say that. He meant to say focus on this, but Chan’s hand drops away—obediently, Changbin thinks, the word ringing dully through his brain. He ignores it, pushes right up against Chan’s prostate and rubs his fingers in tight, unrelenting circles until Chan comes. He’s not quiet about it, jaw gritted as he groans into the still air and twists up into nothing. His muscles tense, veins standing out under his skin and his hole clenches tight around Changbin but his cock is soft as it’s been this whole time. When he flops back onto the bed, panting, he peels his eyes open to stare incredulously at Changbin.
“Fuck.”
Changbin snorts. His mouth is so dry. “Yeah,” he says. “I told you—like magic.”
“That felt so fucking good,” Chan breathes. “Holy shit. Thank you.”
Changbin makes a face. “Don’t thank me, hyung. That just feels weird. It’s—” It’s not fine. It’s so outside the realm of fine, Changbin thinks he has to be on the worst hidden camera prank to ever exist. “It’s whatever. Glad you could have an orgasm. Now you know for next time.” He makes to push back but Chan sits up abruptly and snags his finger into the waistband of Changbin’s track pants.
“What about you?” He asks seriously.
Changbin balks. “What about me?”
Chan looks down and Changbin follows his gaze down; the pants don’t hide a damn thing. He opens his mouth to brush it off, make a joke, something, anything, but before he can, Bang Chan opens his mouth and says, “You should fuck me.”
When Changbin stares at him, speechless, Chan adds, with that same fucking look on his face, “I want to feel good again.”
Fucking hell. Fine. Changbin’s already in so deep. Why not let the water come up to his nose, over his head.
“Fine,” he says. “But I don’t have any condoms.”
Chan shrugs. “I haven’t fucked anyone in years.”
“Believe me, hyung,” Changbin says dryly. “We can all tell.”
“I can’t believe you’re still soft,” Changbin says, when his pants are off and his cock is out and he’s ready to—you know, fuck his impotent hyung.
At that, Chan looks a little ashamed. “You get used to it,” he murmurs, watching Changbin slick his cock up with lube. “It’s nice not to have worry about adrenaline boners, y’know.”
Changbin thinks he’d rather take the risk of zoomed in videos of his crotch on stage than not being able to get hard ever again, but to each their own, he supposes. “Yeah,” he says. “Sure, I guess. You make yourself look so nice everywhere else, but this?” He reaches down and thumbs over Chan’s cock. “This you’ll ignore?”
Chan shivers. “It’s—the fans like my body,” he tries weakly as if Changbin doesn’t know that. As if he doesn’t notice the way Chan lasers and waxes and primps himself up to be perfect for the stage—doll-like, gorgeous, the very definition of a fan’s wet dream.
“The fans would scream if you showed a shoulder,” Changbin shoots back. “You put yourself through hell and back because you like it.”
Chan opens his mouth but only a rush of air escapes him when Changbin pushes in, unceremoniously, without warning. “I do like it,” he says and maybe it’s supposed to be firm, but it only comes out petulant, already undone by one silly little orgasm, already confessing his basest desires.
“How long has it been?” Changbin asks, pressing in, in, in, until he’s flush against Chan’s hips. “How long since your dick stopped working?”
Chan’s mouth works soundlessly, his knees clenching around Changbin’s hips as he tries to adjust. “A—a few months,” he gasps. “It’s, it’s normal, y’know. Your sex drive drops if you don’t—eat—”
“And you keep making me food, anyway?” Changbin pulls all the way out and Chan whimpers. His hole clenches around nothing. He cooks for Changbin every free day they have—watches him put away carbs and fats and butter and salt, all the while denying himself. Changbin had gone crazy on his diet, he doesn’t know how Chan has been holding on for so long. Changbin barks a short laugh. “Masochist,” he accuses before fucking back in. “God, hyung, I knew you were a little fucked up but this is—”
“I’m fine,” Chan manages, a cut-off noise punching out of him with every thrust Changbin starts to build. “This works for me.”
“Yeah,” Changbin says. He squeezes Chan’s soft cock as he steadily fucks him, marveling at the way it feels in his palm. “You keep telling yourself that, hyung.”
He picks up the force and Chan’s eyes go hazy and unfocused, as he clutches at Changbin’s forearm, nails digging in tightly. His mouth hangs open, soft ah-ah-ah’s spilling from him with every slap of Changbin’s hips against his ass.
“There you go, hyung,” Changbin says. He doesn’t know what prompts him to speak but Chan shudders and clenches up around Changbin tightly.
“Please, Bin,” he gasps. “I need—need it.”
Changbin’s sure he does. He pushes back on Chan’s thigh—the hamstring is tight, it’ll need stretching out later, he notes absently—and angles his cock until it’s mashing up against Chan’s prostate with every thrust. Chan’s eyes roll back in his head and his hole tightens, throbbing and hot around Changbin’s cock as he comes for the second time.
Changbin fucks him through it until Chan’s moans start to sound less like pleasure and more like pain and then pulls out to jerk himself off into his hand. Chan’s a damp mess on his sheets when Changbin blinks the sweat away from his eyes; he looks more relaxed than he’s seemed in months, melting into his the mattress, his limbs loose and spread akimbo where Changbin had left him.
“Thanks, Bin,” Chan says, through thick lips, eyes shut as he breathes heavily. “I needed that.”
“Yeah.” Changbin slips off his bed and grabs his box of tissues to wipe his hand clean. “Get yourself a dildo, okay? I’m not doing this for you every time you get pissy.”
Chan flaps his hand at him, still panting, and Changbin snorts. “I’m taking another shower.”
“‘Kay,” Chan slurs. “I’m gonna…nap for a moment.” He seems to drift off almost immediately. Changbin stares at him for a moment, briefly incredulous, before heading into the shower. He can take Hyunjin’s bed for tonight. At least there’s no mess to clean up. Chan would hate to wake up to that.
Hmm. Maybe that’s one perk.