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Community college has the strangest ways of throwing wildly incompatible people into the same room together. Jeongin learns that fast when he ends up sitting next to Adonis reincarnated on the first day of Communications.
Seo Changbin.
He’s built like he was assembled with very specific priorities in mind. Thick chest. Thick arms. Thick thighs. A ridiculous ass Jeongin notices against his will the first time Changbin drops into the uncomfortable plastic chair next to his and has to adjust because the seat is clearly not designed for that much man. There’s a little softness over everything, a little chub to his cheeks, a little plush to his stomach.
Jeongin stares for two whole seconds, then yanks his eyes back to the syllabus like he’s in danger of being shot.
Changbin, apparently oblivious to the effect he has on people, leans over and whispers, "Did she just say speeches? Like out loud? In front of everyone?"
Jeongin glances over.
Changbin looks genuinely stricken.
Jeongin snorts. "That is usually what that means."
"Do you think she’ll give me a pass if I tell her I’ll piss myself out of anxiety?"
"I don’t know, but I’d love to see that conversation."
That’s how it starts. Their weird, not-quite friendship forms out of mutual hatred for public speaking and the kind of accidental proximity community college forces on people who would never orbit each other otherwise.
Changbin stares at the day’s outline on the projector. "If she makes us do icebreakers, I’m leaving and changing my name."
Jeongin, who has already resigned himself to the horrors of general education requirements, says, "That seems dramatic."
Changbin turns to him with total sincerity. "You don’t understand. I’m not built for whimsy."
Jeongin’s eyes flick down before he can stop them.
No kidding. He thinks to himself, then forces his gaze back up before he starts drooling.
"I think you’ll be fine."
They settle into each other’s orbit with embarrassing ease after that. Changbin misses class once because he has a production lab that runs late the night before and sleeps through his alarms. Jeongin sends him a picture of the slides without being asked. Changbin replies with three crying emojis and a message that says i owe u my firstborn
Jeongin types don’t reproduce and gets back wow okay rude.
After that, Changbin starts texting him first sometimes.
Changbin: what’d i miss
Changbin: did she say the speech outline is due thursday or next tuesday
Changbin: if i faked a flat tire would u send me the notes
Jeongin always answers.
Mid semester rolls around and they’ve learned enough about each other to fill the strange pockets between friendship and convenience.
Changbin is a music production major because he likes building things nobody can hold. He sleeps at terrible hours, lives on caffeine and gym discipline, and says horrifyingly earnest things about the meaning of life when he forgets to be funny first.
Jeongin is pre-med with a schedule that makes Changbin stare at him like he’s participating in a long-form punishment ritual. He color-codes his notes. He sends reminder texts. He once corrected Changbin’s use of vasovagal in a joke and Changbin has not let him forget it.
"You’re such a nerd," Changbin teases one day, stealing Jeongin’s highlighter while saying it.
"You say that like you aren’t the brawns part of this equation."
Changbin gasps. "Are you calling me dumb?"
Jeongin takes his highlighter back. "You started it."
What they have going on is easy. Something bordering on friendship even though they rarely interact outside of class. It requires no energy. There’s no expectations other than the occasional note exchange or last minute-study session at the library.
Finals season hits, and with it comes a level of mutual academic despair that upgrades whatever this is from class-friendship into something more durable.
Changbin starts missing breakfast because his sleep schedule becomes inhuman. Jeongin starts bringing an extra granola bar because he notices but pretends he didn’t. Changbin pays him back by texting him pictures of the lecture slides whenever Jeongin has to leave early for lab.
It’s practical. Efficient. Normal.
Summer term starts, and somehow they end up in another gen ed together.
Changbin drops into the seat beside him on the first day and says, "Oh, thank god. I thought I was gonna have to make a whole new class friend."
Jeongin looks over. "Class friend."
"You know what I mean."
"That’s all I am to you?"
Changbin grins. "Study buddy?"
"No."
"My academic companion?"
"Worse."
Changbin leans back in his chair, looking deeply satisfied with himself. "You like me."
Jeongin turns back to the syllabus before his face can give him away. "You wish, leech."
Changbin laughs.
Jeongin imagines him naked.
Jeongin does that more often than he wants to admit. Not always naked, exactly, but close enough that it ruins his concentration for hours afterward.
Changbin stretching with his shirt riding up. Changbin laughing with his head tipped back. Changbin chewing on the end of a pen, completely unaware that Jeongin is sitting beside him quietly developing a problem.
It isn’t serious at first. Nothing more than a passing, inconvenient attraction. Then it becomes a habit. Then a secret. Then something Jeongin has to actively manage every time Changbin leans too close, smelling like laundry detergent, sweat, and whatever cheap body spray he keeps in his gym bag.
Whatever. It's fine. It's a completely normal friendship as far as Jeongin's concerned.
Changbin: did u understand chapter 4
Changbin: what room did she move class to
Changbin: be honest do u think i could get away with skipping tomorrow
wrong person followed by actually no right person. answer the question
Jeongin answers all of them.
So when he gets home from class one brutally hot Thursday afternoon, drops his bag by the door of his apartment, and checks his phone while kicking off his shoes, nothing about the sight of Changbin’s name at the top of his screen feels unusual.
At first.
Then an image loads.
Jeongin stops moving.
For one completely blank second, his brain refuses to process what he’s seeing.
Until it does.
He stands there in his entryway, apartment still and sun-warmed around him, staring at a photo of Changbin’s dick.
It fills most of the frame.
Jeongin’s backpack slips off one shoulder and thuds to the floor.
There’s enough of Changbin in the shot to make recognition immediate, even before the contact name at the top of the screen does the work for him. Thick thigh. The lower curve of his stomach. A sliver of gray shorts shoved down out of frame. His hand at the base, fingers broad and familiar in a way that makes Jeongin’s stomach do something ugly and delighted.
Changbin is hard.
Very hard.
Jeongin knows that shouldn't be his first coherent thought, but it is. The second is worse.
Jesus Christ.
His body has briefly suspended all nonessential functions in order to devote full processing power to the fact that his class friend, his loud, built-like-a-fantasy class friend, has accidentally texted him a picture of his cock.
Jeongin stares.
He doesn’t mean to. The first look is instinctive, shocked, the kind of glance anybody would take before immediately backing out and pretending they never saw anything.
The second look is a choice.
Changbin’s skin looks flushed under it anyway. His thighs are spread to frame the shot. There’s a dusting of dark hair at the base, trimmed but not shaved. His cock sits thick in his hand, broad and heavy-looking, the head shiny with precome.
Jeongin’s mouth goes dry.
He has never, not once, let himself build a real fantasy around Changbin. That would’ve been stupid. Pointless. The kind of thing that makes ordinary interactions unbearable.
He's noticed things, obviously. Anyone with functioning vision would notice things.
The width of Changbin’s chest under fitted T-shirts. The way his ass strains against those stupid gym shorts he’s constantly wearing. The way his thighs spread when he sits, dense and powerful.
The slight softness over his stomach that only makes the rest of him look thicker. Better. Real.
Jeongin has noticed all of it and done the mature, responsible thing, which is to aggressively ignore it and make fun of Changbin every time he says something accidentally endearing.
That strategy feels less effective with Changbin’s cock on his screen.
Then, Jeongin’s brain finally snags on the background and processes it fully.
It’s not some carefully staged bedroom picture taken in flattering light with enough distance to pretend there was dignity involved. It’s a campus bathroom stall. Fluorescent lighting. Changbin probably looking over his shoulder every three seconds to make sure nobody comes in while he’s got his dick out.
Jeongin should be appalled, put off.
Instead, all he can think is that it is the most deeply Changbin thing he’s ever seen.
Mortifying. Impulsive. A little unhinged. And, unfortunately, incredibly hot.
His phone buzzes again in his hand, making him flinch so hard he nearly drops it.
Changbin: holy fuck
Changbin: Jeongin i’m so sorry
Changbin: wrong person
Changbin: oh my god
Changbin: please delete that
Jeongin closes his eyes for one second.
When he opens them, he’s still in the doorway, still too warm from the walk home, still staring at the evidence of Changbin’s misclick.
He should answer right away. Something normal. Something easy.
deleted
all good
no worries
Instead, because his self-control is taking the afternoon off, he looks again.
This time he lets himself actually study the image.
The angle is slightly from above, enough that the top of Changbin’s cock catches the light differently than the underside. Jeongin’s eyes track over the flushed skin, the prominent veins, the broad head—
Then he notices it.
A mark.
Barely visible at first. A darker little shape near the base, half-hidden where Changbin’s hand doesn’t quite cover everything. A faint irregular patch peeking out from under his fingers, easy to miss if he weren’t already looking too closely for reasons he has no defensible explanation for.
Jeongin zooms in.
The image gets grainier. He squints.
It could be nothing. Friction. A bruise. A mole. Weird lighting.
It could also be a perfect excuse.
His pulse kicks.
Another text comes through before he can decide whether that thought makes him a terrible person.
Changbin: i’m gonna actually kill myself
Changbin: like actually
Changbin: pretend this never happened
Changbin: i meant to send it to Jihyo
Jeongin’s eyebrows go up.
That adds a whole different set of questions he absolutely does not need answered right now.
He drops onto the edge of his couch, elbows on his knees, phone still in his hand. He types, deletes, types again.
Jeongin: It’s okay.
He stares at that for a second, then sends another.
Jeongin: But have you always had that mark?
Typing bubble cycles for a minute.
Changbin: what mark
Jeongin swallows, gaze dropping back to the image like he needs to verify it again. The warmth that spreads through him at the idea of Changbin reopening the chat and realizing Jeongin looked closely enough to notice something that small is immediate and embarrassing.
Jeongin: Near the base. Kind of on the side.
Jeongin: Might be nothing.
The typing bubble appears. Disappears. Comes back.
Changbin: wait what
Changbin: hold on
Changbin: what the fuck do u mean "might be nothing"
Changbin: Jeongin
Jeongin bites back the smile trying to form. He’s well aware that his pre-med student status is influencing Changbin’s reaction big time.
He makes himself wait ten seconds before replying. It feels strategic in a way that should concern him.
Jeongin: I’m studying medicine. I notice things.
Jeongin: I just don’t remember seeing you mention anything like that before.
Which is technically true. Changbin has, in fact, never mentioned marks on his genitals in any of their prior conversations.
The typing bubble appears so fast it almost makes Jeongin grin.
Changbin: why would i mention that before
Changbin: why would that ever come up
Changbin: wait do u actually think something’s wrong
There it is.
Jeongin leans back against the couch cushions, phone balanced in one hand, and stares at the ceiling for a second.
He’s not proud of how quickly his brain slots into place around the opportunity.
Not because he wants Changbin to freak out. Not even a little. The faint thread of concern is real. It’s just that the concern is now standing directly beside a much less noble motive, and they’re shaking hands.
He lowers his gaze back to the screen.
Jeongin: I can’t tell from that angle.
Jeongin: Send one from below.
It feels too forward, so he sends something else to soften the blow.
Jeongin: Sorry. I’m not trying to freak you out. I just want to make sure it’s not vascular or some kind of skin change.
The message sits there, neat and calm and plausible.
Jeongin’s heartbeat is not neat or calm or plausible.
Changbin: oh shit okay
Changbin: dude thank u
Changbin: i didn’t even notice anything
Jeongin exhales slowly.
A second later another image appears.
Then another.
Then another.
Jeongin stares at the first new one and has to set his phone down in his lap for a second before he does something stupid like groan out loud in an empty apartment.
Changbin has clearly taken his instructions seriously.
The first shot is lower, exactly what Jeongin asked for, Changbin’s hand lifting his cock slightly so the underside is visible. The second is even more explicit, legs spread wider, his balls visible this time, thick and full in the background of the frame. The third is from an angle that suggests Changbin is holding the phone down low and aiming blind, which should make it ridiculous and somehow does not.
Jeongin presses his tongue hard into the inside of his cheek.
The mark is easier to see now. Small. Likely benign. Definitely not urgent. Probably a freckle, if Jeongin had to make an educated guess.
Changbin’s cock is also easier to see now. Thick enough that Jeongin’s hand actually aches with sudden imagination. Heavy. Pretty in the blunt, shameless way some men are pretty. The underside flushed darker. The shaft veined. His balls high and tight in one photo, lower in another, likely because he’s nervous now.
Jeongin notices everything. He can’t help it.
His phone buzzes again.
Changbin: ?????
Changbin: is it bad
Changbin: im kinda freaking out rn
All Jeongin can focus on is the mental image of Changbin standing in some campus bathroom with his shorts around his thighs, taking progressively more clinical dick pictures because Jeongin told him to and because his first response to mild concern from a person who’s a whole year away from real med school is apparently oh shit better cooperate!
Jeongin rubs a hand over his mouth.
Jeongin: I don’t think it’s serious.
He pauses, then types: but I’d feel better checking it in person.
He stares at the message before sending it.
Then sends it anyway.
He imagines Changbin reading the text in a cramped stall, broad shoulders hunched, one hand still occupied, trying to decide whether this has crossed the line from helpful into weird.
Changbin: in person???
Changbin: bro in the bathroom on campus???
Changbin: i do not want anyone seeing my possibly mutated dick
Jeongin can see him so clearly. The offended panic. The complete sincerity.
Jeongin: Obviously not, dumbass.
Jeongin: Come by my place after your last class.
Jeongin: I’ll take a look.
He adds, because he cannot help himself:
Jeongin: It’s probably nothing, but if it’s bothering you, I’d rather just check properly.
Changbin: i have one more class at four
Changbin: ur place is the apartment near the south lot right
Jeongin’s mouth curves despite himself.
Jeongin: Yes.
Changbin: ill be over in a bit. and if u tell anyone i’ll kill u
Jeongin looks down at the series of photos still open on his screen, then back at that message. A hot little thrill moves through him, sharp and electric.
Jeongin: I won’t.
He sits there a moment longer, alone in his apartment with Changbin’s dick still in his phone and the surreal knowledge that, in a few hours, Changbin is going to show up at his door under the impression that this is purely a medical evaluation.
Jeongin drops his head back against the couch. Then he opens the photos again.
Just to double-check the mark, obviously.
—
Changbin shows up around an hour later, a little sweaty from the heat, backpack hanging off one shoulder, gym shorts riding high on his thighs.
Jeongin opens the door and gets exactly one second to pretend this is normal.
Changbin, to his credit, looks deeply unhappy about the entire situation.
"This is so humiliating," he announces, stepping inside. "I can’t believe this is my life."
Jeongin shuts the door behind him and keeps his face professionally neutral.
"It’s not humiliating," he says, which is a lie. Objectively.
Changbin glares at him while toeing off his shoes. "I’m about to show you my entire dick, dude."
"For medical reasons."
"That doesn’t make it any less embarrassing."
Jeongin takes Changbin’s backpack so he’ll stop clutching it like a shield and hangs it by the door. "You’re catastrophizing."
Changbin makes an affronted noise. "I think I’m allowed to catastrophize a little. What if I have, like, penis cancer?"
Jeongin ignores that and starts down the hall. "Bedroom’s this way. Better lighting."
Changbin follows with the slow reluctance of a man walking toward his own execution.
Jeongin still can’t believe Changbin let him talk him into this with about four carefully worded texts and one flimsy excuse about vascular changes.
Jeongin’s room is clean in the way only anxious people’s rooms are clean: the bed made, the desk organized, not a single article of dirty laundry on the floor.
Changbin stops in the doorframe and scans the space. "You keep your room like a serial killer."
Jeongin points to the bed. "Sit down."
Changbin drops onto the edge of the bed and spreads his knees wider than necessary, all thick thighs and tense energy. Jeongin’s gaze dips there for half a second before he drags it back up.
"Okay," Jeongin starts, aiming for calm. "Let me see what you were talking about."
"You mean what you were talking about."
"Tomato, potato."
"That is not the expression."
Jeongin huffs. "C’mon, man."
Changbin exhales hard through his nose, then hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts and underwear. There’s a strange hesitation to the movement, embarrassed but trusting. Jeongin feels it low in his stomach.
"Only enough for me to see," Jeongin says evenly. "You don’t have to strip yet."
"Yet?" Changbin echoes.
Jeongin keeps his expression blank. "If it comes to checking the surrounding skin, I’ll need a clear look. Don’t make it weird."
"Don’t make it—" Changbin cuts himself off with a scowl and tugs both layers down.
Jeongin has to work very hard not to let anything show on his face.
Changbin’s cock lies soft against his lower stomach, thick even at rest, his balls heavy beneath. The mark is there too, faint and off to one side near the base, exactly where Jeongin noticed it in the photos. Small enough that any actual doctor would glance once and move on.
Jeongin is not an actual doctor.
He steps closer and crouches for a better angle. His hands stay to himself. For now.
"I’m only looking," he mutters. "Don’t tense up."
Changbin lets out a short, humorless laugh. "Okay. Sure."
Jeongin hums like he’s taking that into account as part of an exam. In reality, he’s trying not to stare too long at the soft weight of Changbin’s cock in his own hand as he lifts himself out of the way so Jeongin can see better.
"Does it hurt?" Jeongin asks.
"No."
"Itch?"
"No."
"Any change in sensation? Tenderness, numbness, anything like that?"
Changbin shifts on the mattress, trying to settle into the weirdness. "No, I told you, I didn’t even notice it till you said something."
"That doesn’t mean it’s nothing," Jeongin replies smoothly.
It probably means it’s nothing.
He leans in, squinting as if he needs a better angle. "Lift a little higher."
Changbin obeys, cheeks pink.
Jeongin’s throat goes dry.
He studies the skin with a seriousness he hopes looks legitimate. The mark is barely raised, if at all. No obvious inflammation. No discoloration beyond the little irregular patch he already saw.
Definitely a freckle.
Jeongin could end this now.
He does not.
Still crouched between Changbin's spread knees, he shifts his weight and lets the pause sit a beat before tilting his head.
"Hm."
Changbin’s fingers tighten where he’s holding himself up and out of the way. "What does hm mean?"
"It means I want to check the surrounding tissue before I tell you it’s definitely nothing," Jeongin replies.
Changbin narrows his eyes. "You’re phrasing this like you want me to trust you."
"Did you want someone untrustworthy to fondle you instead?" Jeongin jokes experimentally.
That gets a reluctant snort out of him. Good. The tension in Changbin’s shoulders drops by a notch.
Jeongin straightens. "Lie back for a second."
Changbin does, propping himself up on his elbows instead of fully reclining, legs still open, shorts and underwear pooled mid-thigh. His cock stays soft, resting heavy against his lower stomach, and Jeongin’s chest tightens with a stupid, almost grateful pulse of desire at that.
This isn’t some porn scenario where Changbin magically knows what Jeongin’s doing. He’s actually, genuinely here for what he thinks is a medical opinion.
Jeongin is taking that trust and doing terrible things with it.
He reaches out at last.
Only with two fingers. Only to the inside of Changbin’s thigh, a few inches from where he actually wants to touch.
He presses lightly into the muscle of Changbin’s thigh, then drags his fingertips up in a slow path toward the crease where thigh meets pelvis. Changbin twitches.
Jeongin knows it isn’t anything more than nerves. Nothing close to arousal. His brain lights up anyway.
"Sensitive?" he asks.
Changbin shifts on his elbows. "I mean. You’re touching my inner thigh, man. Isn’t that like, an erogenous zone?"
"I’m surprised you know what that is."
Then, because he can, he lets his fingertips brush the edge of Changbin’s balls. The contact is feather-light. Barely there.
Changbin inhales sharply.
Jeongin keeps his face composed. "Any discomfort there?"
Changbin’s voice comes out a little tighter. "No."
"Okay."
Jeongin cups Changbin’s balls in his palm, gentle but secure, lifting them slightly to check the skin beneath. They’re warm and pleasantly heavy, resting full in his hand. Changbin presses his lips together, eyebrows furrowed as he watches.
Internally, Jeongin is losing his mind.
Externally, he peers downward with clinical focus, thumb barely shifting the sac one way, then the other.
"No swelling. No obvious textural changes." He pauses, then glances up. "Still no tenderness?"
Changbin licks his lips. "No."
His face is pink now, chest rising a little faster.
Jeongin's having trouble keeping it together now that he knows exactly how warm and heavy Changbin feels in his palm.
Changbin twitches again.
Jeongin notices. Of course he notices. How could he not? Changbin's cock is slowly thickening right before his eyes.
Changbin sucks in a breath.
Jeongin keeps his tone level. "That can happen."
Changbin blinks. "What can? A fucking hard-on?"
"Mild involuntary response." Jeongin makes himself meet Changbin’s eyes instead of staring at the space between his legs. "It’s not unusual. I’m touching a sensitive area. You shouldn't feel embarrassed."
Changbin stares at him for a beat. "Okay."
His voice comes out flatter than usual.
Jeongin could end it there. Reassure him. Step back. Tell him the mark is fine and send him home.
Instead, he places two fingers at the base, right beside the faint little mark, and presses the skin in a small circle.
"Any discomfort here?"
"No," Changbin says, too quickly. His cock betrays him, of course, continuing to harden.
Jeongin hums and lets his touch continue a little farther than necessary. Not enough to be obvious, though. Hopefully.
Changbin’s cock jumps in his hand.
Jeongin feels it. Changbin feels it. The room goes very quiet.
Jeongin lifts his gaze to Changbin’s face.
Changbin is blushing harder now. Color has spread over his cheeks and down his neck. He doesn’t look turned on so much as betrayed by his own nervous system.
"This is awful," he mumbles.
"It’s physiology."
"Physiology, my ass."
Jeongin releases him, slowly, and Changbin’s cock settles against his stomach again. Jeongin can feel his own restraint fraying bit by bit.
Changbin scrubs both hands over his face and exhales like a man trying to push his soul out through his nose.
Jeongin folds his arms to stop himself from reaching right back down.
"The mark itself doesn’t look concerning," he says.
Changbin visibly deflates. "So I don’t have penis cancer."
"You don't have penis cancer."
"Great. Fantastic. Love that for me. I’m gonna go lay in the road for a while."
Jeongin should probably smile, say "glad I could help.", and escort him out. Resume being a normal human being with shame and intact morals.
"Well, we haven't ruled everything out."
Changbin cocks an eyebrow. "What?"
"It might be worth it to look for anything involving referred sensation, pelvic floor tension, gland irritation, anything deeper that might be contributing."
Changbin turns his head to look at him, suspicious despite the pink still burning in his cheeks. "You just listed like six fake medical things."
"They aren't fake."
"They have a very fake energy."
Jeongin steps in again anyway, two fingers pressing along the crease where Changbin’s thigh meets his pelvis, testing the skin and soft tissue like he has every right in the world to be there.
"I'm just saying. There's one more thing I could check."
Changbin stiffens under his hand.
"Oh, no," he says immediately. "No, absolutely not, I know that tone."
"What tone? I don't have a tone."
"You absolutely fucking do. That’s your ‘I’m about to say something insane but pretend it's completely normal’ tone."
Jeongin withdraws his hand, straightening up slightly so Changbin has room to think. He keeps his face composed, professional, pretending this is all still somehow within normal academic use of a Thursday afternoon.
"If there’s any deeper irritation or tension contributing to the sensitivity, I’d want to rule out pelvic involvement with an exam."
Changbin stares at him for a long beat. "That sounds even faker."
"It isn't fake."
"It was ornate."
Jeongin rolls his eyes. "Do you want me to simplify?"
"No," Changbin says, deeply suspicious. "I want you to not say ‘pelvic involvement’ while I'm half naked on your bed."
Jeongin considers that. "That’s fair."
Changbin waits. Then: "So, what are you thinking?"
Jeongin inhales carefully. "A prostate exam would tell me more."
Changbin blinks at him once. Twice.
Then he points at Jeongin accusingly. "I knew it! You're fucking with me!"
Jeongin doesn't react. "I most certaintly am not."
"You are not slick, Yang Jeongin."
"I didn’t say I was."
"You didn't have to. You're like a fucking fox. Always plotting."
Jeongin bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.
Changbin drags his hand down his face again, exposing a look of profound inconvenience and deep contemplation. Jeongin thinks he can count a full two and a half minutes before Changbin speaks again.
"Would an actual doctor do that for this?"
Jeongin answers without missing a beat. "Depending on what they were trying to rule out, yes."
Changbin squints at him. "That answer had too many words."
"It was accurate."
"It was lawyerly."
Jeongin lets the silence stretch.
Changbin groans. Loudly. "Why is this what my life is now? I was supposed to go home and eat chicken and rice."
"You can still do that."
"Not if I die of humiliation."
"You’re not going to die of humiliation."
"Shut up, dork."
Jeongin says nothing. He knows when to leave room. Changbin is easy to push into resistance and even easier to steer when he thinks he’s steering himself.
Sure enough, after another few seconds, Changbin asks, "Would it hurt?"
Jeongin shrugs one shoulder. "Probably not. It’ll feel strange. Maybe a little pressure. I wouldn’t be rough with you."
Changbin gives him a look. "You realize that sounds terrifying, yeah?"
"Do you want me to lie instead?"
"No."
"So?"
Changbin exhales and looks away toward Jeongin’s desk, toward the blinds, anywhere but Jeongin. "Fine."
Jeongin’s pulse jumps. "Fine?"
Changbin points at him again, weakly this time. "If this turns out to be some weird pervert scam, I’m reporting you to, like, God or something. I heard you two are close."
Jeongin huffs a laugh. "Noted. Now, roll over."
Changbin mutters something blasphemous under his breath and obeys.
The moment he turns onto his stomach, Jeongin understands on a spiritual level why civilizations collapse.
Changbin’s back is broad, shoulders thick from lifting, waist narrowing down into a pair of hips that look like they were crafted by someone with a vendetta against Jeongin personally. The shape of his ass is absurd. Full. Dense. A softness rounding the edges of all that muscle that makes the whole thing feel offensive.
Jeongin’s brain leaves the chat for a second.
Changbin glances back over his shoulder. "Why are you staring at me like that?"
Jeongin clears his throat. "Lie flatter."
Changbin narrows his eyes but lowers himself onto the bed. "That was not an anwser."
"And spread your legs a little."
"That wasn’t an answer either."
Jeongin gives him a flat look until Changbin sighs and parts his thighs another inch. The movement shifts his shorts lower. More skin. Jeongin briefly considers whether brain surgery would be easier than surviving this.
He walks over to the nightstand and pulls the drawer open.
Lube sits there, innocent and useful.
He picks it up.
Then, midway through flipping the cap, he pauses.
A terrible idea walks into his head.
Jeongin sets the bottle back down, then closes the drawer with one hand and steps back toward the bed.
Changbin hears the little click of plastic on wood and lifts his head a fraction. "What, you changed your mind?"
Jeongin closes the drawer with his hip and steps closer to the bed. "Not exactly."
That gets him a look over Changbin’s shoulder. Suspicion, embarrassment, and something newer sitting beneath both. Changbin’s face is flushed all the way down his neck now, his mouth parted slightly from the way he’s been breathing into the sheets. He does not pull his shorts back up. He does not close his legs.
Jeongin rests one hand on the back of Changbin’s thigh and lets his thumb press into the thick muscle there. Slow. Grounding. His voice stays level.
"I’m thinking irritation is less likely to be structural and more likely to be surface-level sensitivity," he says. "If that’s the case, too much friction could skew the response."
Changbin blinks at him. "You just made that up. And it doesn't even make any fucking sense."
Jeongin’s hand slides higher, settling over the warm curve of Changbin’s ass. He feels the subtle tightening under his palm.
"No," he says calmly. "I revised my approach. It totally makes sense."
Changbin stares at him for another second, then huffs a laugh into the bedspread. "Right. Sure."
Jeongin says nothing. He just keeps his hand there and lets the silence do some work for him.
Changbin isn’t stupid. Jeongin knows that. Under the jokes and the gym-bro himbo routine, Changbin is sharp in weird, sideways ways. He catches tone. He catches timing. He catches when someone is choosing not to say a thing out loud.
Which means he’s probably caught on by now.
Not fully, maybe. Not enough to call it what it is. But enough to understand that this has drifted past medicine and into something murkier, and that Jeongin is still speaking in the same calm, controlled cadence because it’s the only thing keeping either of them from combusting.
Changbin lowers his head back down onto the bed. "Okay," he mutters. "Revised approach. Very normal words to hear while my ass is out."
Jeongin almost smiles.
"You’re the one who agreed to a thorough exam."
"I should start calling you Dr. Evil."
Jeongin’s hand leaves his ass long enough to spread him just slightly, only enough to expose the center of him more clearly. Changbin inhales through his nose, body going taut, then forcing himself to relax again.
Jeongin bends closer.
His heart is slamming so hard it feels visible.
He tells himself he's going to say something else first. Another line of bullshit. Something about external stimulation and reflexive response and observing tissue reaction.
"Stay still." Is all that comes out.
Changbin makes a quiet sound into the comforter. Not protest, but not exactly agreement either. More like reluctant acceptance.
Jeongin’s thumb digs into the plush curve of one cheek, holding him open.
Then he puts his mouth on him, laving his tongue over Changbin's pink, puckered hole.
Changbin jerks so hard the mattress creaks.
Jeongin has exactly half a second to process the fact that he’s actually done it before instinct takes over. He flattens his tongue and drags one slow lick over the tight ring of muscle, from just below to just above, deliberately thorough.
Changbin makes a strangled noise.
"Jeongin—"
Jeongin lifts his head just enough to speak, his mouth still close enough that the words warm the damp skin. "External stimulation," he says evenly. "I’m checking whether the sensitivity is localized."
Changbin goes very still.
Then, because apparently he's decided he’s finished playing dumb, he lets out a shaky breath and says, "You are the worst fucking liar I've ever met."
Jeongin’s hand tightens on his thigh. He lowers his mouth again.
This time he licks slower. More pressure. More intent. His tongue presses and drags and circles, tracing the same spot until Changbin’s whole body starts reacting in little helpless bursts. Hips twitching. Fingers knotting in the comforter. Thighs trying to close, then spreading again when Jeongin’s grip keeps them where they are.
Jeongin is losing his mind.
Changbin wants this. Jeongin knows it deep in his bones. He can hear it in the way Changbin’s breathing keeps catching. He can feel it in the way his hole keep fluttering under every pass of Jeongin’s tongue.
Jeongin hooks an arm more firmly over Changbin’s thigh. "You’re fine. Don’t tense up."
Changbin lets out a laugh that breaks halfway through. "You are not allowed to say that while doing whatever this is."
Jeongin hums against him. The vibration makes Changbin jolt again.
"Oh my god."
Jeongin licks him again, slower this time, and Changbin’s hips push back into it.
Jeongin smiles into him for one brief, hungry second before smoothing his expression back into neutrality and lifting his head again.
"Interesting," he murmurs.
"Shut up."
"Lie still."
"You’re literally—" Changbin cuts himself off on a sharp inhale when Jeongin’s thumb presses down on one cheek and his tongue slips lower. "I hate you."
Jeongin responds by pressing his tongue harder, the wet muscle pushing insistently at the tight ring until Changbin gasps and buries his face in the comforter.
The tension in Changbin’s body finally starts to melt instead of fight. The plush flesh under Jeongin’s hands loosens. His thighs spread a little wider on their own. His hips tilt, presenting without meaning to.
Jeongin’s cock aches painfully in his jeans.
He works his tongue in slow, rhythmic passes, every now and then giving a firmer push just to hear the way Changbin reacts. The sounds get prettier each time.
"Good," Jeongin murmurs, and this time the praise is not clinical at all.
Changbin shudders.
Jeongin notices that too. Files it away.
Changbin's hips are moving openly now. Small, desperate presses back against Jeongin’s mouth. Seeking. Testing. Every time Jeongin gives him a little more, Changbin follows it instinctively.
Jeongin’s hand never leaves Changbin’s hip.
He keeps it there, broad and warm, thumb sinking into the plush curve while his mouth works lower, slower, meaner. Every time Changbin pushes back, the flesh of his ass gives under Jeongin’s grip.
"Easy," Jeongin murmurs, finally lifting his mouth long enough to speak. "You don’t have to chase it."
Changbin turns his face to the side, cheek flushed against the comforter, breathing ragged. "Shut up."
Jeongin smiles against him, licks him once more, then pulls away and sits back on his haunches.
Changbin feels the shift.
"What now?" he asks, voice gone thin in the middle.
Jeongin reaches over to the nightstand and opens the drawer, grabbing the lube again with actual plans to make use of it this time.
"What are you doing?" Changbin presses.
Jeongin coats two fingers and brings them down to Changbin's entrance, brushing them over the damp, worked-open center of him. "Just testing something."
Changbin exhales sharply. "You lying sack of shit."
Jeongin presses one finger in.
Changbin’s body tightens around it. His ass clenches hard enough that Jeongin can feel the resistance in his knuckle.
His own breath catches.
Jesus.
Changbin is tight, yielding in tiny, reluctant increments while every muscle in his body fights the intrusion. Then slowly, shakily gives way.
Jeongin’s brain fills with cotton.
He's spent the last twenty minutes playing this game like he can keep one foot on solid ground if he just keeps his voice level enough. Keeps his hands careful enough. Keeps one phrase ready in his pocket about pressure and sensitivity and physiological response just to keep up his charade of composure.
That footing vanishes the second Changbin clenches around his finger.
Jeongin swallows hard. His mouth is wet, his jeans are painfully tight, and his hand on Changbin’s hip flexes.
Changbin turns his face more fully to the side. His cheek is flushed bright now, lips parted, breath sawing out rough over the comforter. "Well," he pants, "bit hard to pass this off as an exam, huh?"
Jeongin lets out a breath that sounds a lot less controlled than he wants. "You’re the one who let me get this far."
"Key words: let you."
Jeongin pushes in another fraction, slower this time.
Changbin’s whole back arches. A sharp, broken sound escapes him before he can swallow it down. His fingers curl into the sheets.
Jeongin closes his eyes for one second.
When he opens them, he can’t quite find the cool, detached tone again.
"Fuck," he mutters, more to himself than to Changbin. "You’re so tight."
It’s said with a different weight than everything that came before. No fake clinical cover. No polished lie.
Changbin hears it. Jeongin can tell by the way his shoulders tense and then ease, by the way his hips give that tiny involuntary push back into Jeongin’s hand.
His finger works deeper, patient but not nearly as neutral as before. He feels every little flutter and squeeze around him, every stuttering attempt Changbin makes to adjust, and it’s driving him quietly insane.
"Relax," Jeongin murmurs.
Changbin groans. "You really talk too much."
"I really need you to listen."
The honesty slips out too quickly. It sounds bad. It sounds needy. Jeongin feels his face heat and hates that Changbin can probably hear the difference.
Changbin goes still for half a beat, then lets out a quieter breath. "Oh."
Jeongin crooks his finger slightly, testing.
Changbin jolts. His thigh kicks once against the mattress. A shocked moan tears out of him.
Jeongin freezes again, pulse pounding violently now. He knows what he touched. The look on Changbin’s face, what little he can see of it, tells him Changbin knows too.
"Did that feel good?"
Changbin laughs once, wrecked and a little hysterical. "You think?"
Jeongin does it again.
Changbin's hole clenches hard around Jeongin’s finger, then opens in a helpless shudder.
Jeongin’s restraint cracks down the middle.
He leans over him, chest hovering over Changbin’s back, mouth close to the shell of his ear. "Fuck, Changbin."
Changbin sucks in a breath. "Wow. We dropped bedside manner fast."
Jeongin presses a kiss just below his ear, throwing pride out the window. He should feel embarrassed. He can't be bothered to.
He presses a second finger to that wet heat, barely nudging it against the tight ring of muscle. His movements are less controlled now, greedier in a way he can’t hide.
"You’re losing your little nonchalant act," Changbin breathes.
Jeongin gives a short, ragged noise of acknowlegdment. "Can you blame me?"
He’s wanted Changbin in abstract, manageable pieces for months. Wanted the shape of him in the next chair over, the heat of his grin, the broad, impossible body he tried not to think about at three in the morning.
This is not abstract anymore. This is Changbin on his bed, spread under his hands, letting him touch.
Jeongin presses the second finger in.
Changbin curses into the comforter. Jeongin’s thumb digs into the plush curve of his ass, grounding him there while the stretch slowly deepens.
"Breathe through it," Jeongin mutters, but the words come out rough and low now, less instruction than plea. "Come on, just take it."
Changbin’s hips push back before he can stop them. "You sound pathetic."
Jeongin laughs again, this one almost embarrassing in how wrecked it sounds. "I am pathetic."
Changbin makes a startled little noise at the admission.
Jeongin works the second finger in fully and stills there, jaw clenched, trying not to lose his mind over the hot, tight stretch around his hand. His forehead drops for a second against the back of Changbin’s shoulder.
"You let me talk you into this," Jeongin murmurs. "You came over. You got on my bed. You spread your legs for me."
Changbin shudders under him. "You need to stop talking."
Jeongin curls his fingers deeper.
"Why?" Jeongin whispers. "It’s true."
He presses another open-mouthed kiss to the back of Changbin’s neck, then bites lightly without thinking.
A weirdly thick sound escapes Changbin's throat.
"Jeongin," he whines. "Fuck."
Jeongin’s fingers move faster. The wet sounds are obscene in the quiet room. Changbin is opening for him in earnest, body giving up piece by piece. His hips keep rocking back to meet the motion.
Jeongin can’t stop staring at the way Changbin takes him.
He can’t stop talking either, much to Changbin's dismay.
"You’re so fucking pretty like this," he mutters. "Do you know that? God, Changbin, you look so good right now."
Changbin turns his face enough that Jeongin can see one eye, blown wide and dark. "You're making this way worse."
Jeongin’s mouth brushes his temple. "You love it."
Jeongin presses his fingers deep again, drags them back, thrusts them in harder. Changbin’s ass clenches desperately, then loosens. His breathing turns jagged. One of his hands slips free of the sheet long enough to reach back blindly, grabbing at Jeongin’s wrist like he doesn’t know whether he wants to slow him down or pull him deeper.
Jeongin nearly loses it at the touch.
He catches Changbin’s hand with his free one and pins it gently to the mattress, fingers lacing for a second before squeezing.
"Tell me to stop," Jeongin says, and his voice is trembling enough that it sounds like he’s begging Changbin not to.
Changbin hears that too. His mouth twitches despite everything.
"You want me to?"
Jeongin nudges his nose into Changbin’s cheek, almost nuzzling in his own desperation. "No. I don't."
His own hips are rocking uselessly against nothing. His cock aches so hard it almost hurts.
Changbin is the first one to say it.
Not directly. Not cleanly.
He jerks under another rough thrust of Jeongin’s fingers and groans into the bed, "Oh my god, just—"
"Just what?"
Changbin's breath halts. Jeongin can feel the embarrassment in the tight line of his shoulders, in the way his hole clenches once around Jeongin’s fingers.
Jeongin leans over him farther, covering him with his body. He presses his mouth to Changbin’s ear. "What do you want?"
Changbin lets out a broken breath. "You know."
"Say it, please."
It comes out needy as fuck. There's a hot and mean spark in Changbin’s expression when he glances back.
For a second, they just look at each other.
Changbin breaks first. "God damn it, just fuck me already," he snaps.
Jeongin stops moving entirely.
Changbin looks like he wants to die for having said it and like he means it more than anything he’s said all day.
Jeongin's vibrating from head to toe. "Yeah?"
Changbin turns his face away. "Don't make me repeat myself."
Jeongin dips and presses a shaking kiss to Changbin’s shoulder.
"Okay," he whispers. "Okay. Fuck."
Then he pulls his fingers out slowly, like it hurts him to do it.
Changbin makes a ruined sound at the loss.
Jeongin barely hears it over the blood pounding in his ears.
He gets off the bed to quickly deal with his jeans, shoving them down with his boxers, kicking both aside in a clumsy, graceless mess that would embarrass him if he had any functioning dignity left.
He tugs his shirt off, climbing back onto the bed at the same time, and almost eats shit when he loses his balance.
"Nice one," Changbin snorts.
"Shut it."
Jeongin grabs the lube and squeezes the bottle over his cock, hissing as the cool substance slides over the heat of him. He works it down the shaft with his fist, slow at first, then firmer, spreading the slick from head to base while Changbin watches over his shoulder.
He slicks two fingers again and leans in, one hand settling on Changbin’s hip while the other guides the lube over that prepped entrance. Changbin’s ass clenches once at the renewed touch, then loosens when Jeongin drags his thumb over the plush, warm curve beside it.
There’s so much of him to hold. So fucking beautiful. Mass he wants to hold in his hands and worship.
More important things are happening right now, though. He slides his hand under Changbin’s lower stomach and grips.
Changbin makes a startled noise as Jeongin lifts his hips sharply, pulling them higher off the mattress. The new angle bares more of him, cheeks parting, lower back bowing. The softness over Changbin’s hips makes the position look filthier somehow, the curve of his ass fuller now that it’s tipped up for Jeongin.
"Jeongin—"
Jeongin doesn’t answer. His other hand comes to the back of Changbin’s neck, fingers spreading wide.
He pushes.
Changbin’s face goes down into the sheets with a muffled gasp.
The reaction is instant. Changbin’s goes pliant under Jeongin’s hands.
"Stay there," Jeongin says, voice low and rough.
Changbin’s laugh comes out smothered by the bedding. "That was weirdly hot of you."
"I try."
Jeongin uses his thumb to spread a little more lube over Changbin, then lines himself up. The broad, flushed head of his cock presses against the slick heat between Changbin’s cheeks. He pauses there, breathing hard, stunned by the contact alone.
Changbin writhes once, a small, frustrated push back.
"Fuck," Jeongin breathes.
He rocks forward and lets the head catch at Changbin’s entrance.
The resistance is real. Warm, tight, giving only at the center. Changbin sucks in a breath under him, body trying to brace.
Jeongin’s hand leaves the back of his neck long enough to slide down and spread over the small of his back, rubbing once. "Breathe."
Changbin’s reply is muffled. "Fuck off."
Jeongin keeps going.
Slow. Controlled. Enough that Changbin can take him without much struggle. Enough that Jeongin can feel every single pulse and squeeze and involuntary response as Changbin opens around him.
When he gets halfway in, he has to stop lest he bust in an embarrassingly little amount of time.
Changbin, face mashed into the comforter, says, "If you stop now, I’ll fucking kill you."
Jeongin laughs in disbelief and pushes deeper.
By the time he’s fully seated, both of them are too far gone for coherent thought.
Changbin’s ass settles hot and full against Jeongin’s hips, and the little softness over all that gym-built muscle makes every tiny movement feel obscene. It gives when Jeongin shifts. Moves when Jeongin grips. It’s so much body, so much real weight and warmth in his hands that Jeongin feels dizzy with it.
"Jesus Christ," he mutters, then draws out and pushes back in harder.
Changbin cries out. The full curve of his ass ripples against Jeongin’s hips and sends an actual shudder through him.
Whatever scraps of restraint Jeongin had left are ash now.
Jeongin lifts Changbin’s hips higher and fucks him at the new angle. Deep, rough, rhythm a little unsteady from how badly he wants this. Changbin’s body answers enthusiastically, meeting each thrust with a loud smack and filthy moan.
Jeongin could lowkirkenuinely die from this.
Changbin tries to say something smart. Jeongin hits deeper and the sentence dies before it can form.
Jeongin laughs, wrecked. "What was that?"
Changbin’s answer is incoherent and furious.
Jeongin does it again.
One of Changbin’s hands flails back and catches at Jeongin’s wrist. Jeongin traps it gently against the small of Changbin’s back and keeps moving.
The position is foul. Filthy. Changbin face-down, hips up, one arm pinned, ass moving with every thrust. Jeongin’s brain is no longer producing useful output.
"You look so good," he blurts.
Changbin lets out a broken laugh. "You need new material."
"No, I really don’t."
Jeongin reaches underneath him and finds Changbin’s cock, hard and slick against the sheets. He wraps a hand around it and Changbin yelps.
"There you are," Jeongin grins.
Now they’re both really done for.
Changbin’s reactions stop having any buffer at all. Every stroke of Jeongin’s hand gets a full-body answer. Every thrust punches another sound out of him. Jeongin starts saying whatever arrives in his head because apparently his internal censor has died.
"You feel so fucking good. Made for my cock, huh?"
Changbin makes a desperate sound and pushes back harder, ass meeting Jeongin’s hips with a wet, heavy smack.
"Don’t say things like that," Changbin pants.
"Why?"
"Because—" Changbin chokes on the rest when Jeongin thrusts particularly hard, then tries again. "Because you sound like you mean it."
Jeongin leans over him, mouth at his ear again, still fucking him deep and slow and devastating. "I do mean it."
Changbin goes tight around him for half a second.
Jeongin keeps stroking his cock, faster now, his hand slick with pre. Every pull on Changbin’s shaft matches a thrust. Every thrust sends another gorgeous movement through the full curve of Changbin’s ass, every bit of softness and muscle under Jeongin’s palms shifting with the force.
Jeongin can feel him getting close.
He’s not far behind.
But he keeps going, because Changbin looks too good like this, because every thrust makes that rounded ass move under his hands, because he spent too long pretending not to want this and now that he has it he’s greedy in the ugliest, most human way.
He wants more. He wants all of it.
"Jeongin," Changbin gasps, face still pressed into the sheets, voice shredded raw. "Jeongin, I’m—"
"I know," Jeongin breathes.
His hand tightens on Changbin’s cock, thumb dragging over the wet head, and the next thrust goes deep enough to make Changbin’s whole body seize around him.
"Come on," he encourages, half-coaxing, half-pleading now. "Come for me. You’re right there."
Changbin lets out a broken sound. It takes him all at once.
His whole body locks. Ass clenching brutally around Jeongin’s cock. Cock jerking in Jeongin’s hand with hot pulses that spill over Jeongin’s fingers and onto the sheets. The cry that tears out of him is muffled by the bed, but no less wrecked for it. His thighs tremble so hard Jeongin has to tighten his grip on his hips to keep him where he wants him.
"There you go," Jeongin groans. "That’s it. That’s it—"
He keeps stroking him through it, not slowing, and Changbin’s body twitches helplessly under the overstimulation, little aftershocks running through him. The sound he makes then is softer, more helpless than before, and it sends Jeongin right to the edge.
Changbin tries to get words out. Fails the first time. Manages them on the second.
"Jeongin, I can’t—"
Jeongin's already there.
He lets go of Changbin’s cock and plants both hands on his hips, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks. Then he fucks him through the last of it, chasing his own finish with the same rhythm that’s been driving them both insane. Each thrust slaps heat through him. Each one makes Changbin’s ass move under his palms. That full, rounded give at the point where their bodies meet is what finally ruins him.
He thrusts deep, once, twice, and then he’s coming so hard it almost knocks him out.
His head drops forward between Changbin’s shoulders. His breath tears out of him in a broken groan. His cock jerks hot inside Changbin, each pulse dragging another rough sound from his chest. He holds him there as he spills, buried deep, hips shaking with the force of it.
For a few long seconds, neither of them can do anything but breathe.
Jeongin stays bent over him, forehead damp against the back of Changbin’s neck, both hands still tight on his hips. Changbin is sprawled under him, equally wrecked, chest heaving against the sheets.
The room slowly comes back into focus around them.
The blinds half-open. The late sun gone softer. The air hot and humid with sex and sweat and the faint clean scent of Jeongin’s sheets under all of it.
Changbin is the first one to move. Just enough to turn his head sideways and get one eye on Jeongin over his shoulder.
His face is flushed all the way down. Hair a mess. Lips swollen from biting them. He looks devastating.
Jeongin probably looks worse.
Changbin’s mouth twitches.
"When can I make my next appointment?"