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The roar of the stadium was a living thing.
It pressed against Taki’s chest like a second heartbeat, all bass and screaming fans and the thundering stomp of feet on the floor. The lights were blinding—pink, then blue, then a searing gold that made everything look like it was dipped in honey. His body moved on autopilot, muscle memory from countless rehearsals taking over while his brain tried to catch up with the fact that they were actually here, actually performing, actually living their dream.
And then Kei’s arm snaked around his waist.
“Cute,” Kei murmured against his ear, breath hot even through the in-ear monitor. The word was barely audible over the music, but Taki felt it. Felt it in the way Kei’s fingers pressed into the jut of his hip bone, possessive and sure.
Taki’s smile didn’t waver—couldn’t waver, not with thousands of cameras capturing every micro-expression—but something inside him clenched. He kept his eyes forward, tracking the choreography, even as Kei’s thumb traced a lazy circle against the fabric of his stage outfit.
This was normal. This was Kei being Kei. Everyone knew the oldest member was clingy, tactile, always needing to have his hands on someone. Taki had told himself this a hundred times.
It didn’t stop the heat creeping up his neck.
Across the stage, EuiJoo was hitting his mark perfectly, all sharp angles and effortless charisma. The leader was magnetic tonight—more than usual, if that was even possible—and Taki watched Kei’s attention shift like a compass finding north. One moment Kei was pressed against Taki’s side, and the next he was sliding across the stage, all liquid movement and calculated intent.
Taki’s chest did something complicated.
The choreography separated them naturally, and Taki found himself next to Harua, whose eyes crinkled in that knowing way that made Taki want to squirm. Harua didn’t say anything—couldn’t say anything, mid-performance—but the glance he shot toward Kei and EuiJoo was eloquent enough.
Kei had draped himself over EuiJoo’s back like an expensive coat.
His chin hooked over the leader’s shoulder. His arms wrapped around EuiJoo’s middle, fingers splayed across the flat plane of his stomach. EuiJoo didn’t break character, didn’t falter in his singing, but something in his expression softened at the edges.
The fans were losing their minds.
Taki could hear the screams spike, could see the sea of lightsticks shifting colors in his peripheral vision. He knew, objectively, that this was fan service. Knew that Kei’s clinginess was part of the group’s dynamic, a well-documented phenomenon that trended on social media every other week. Knew that EuiJoo, as the leader, was used to being the object of everyone’s affection.
Knowing didn’t help.
The next formation change brought Taki shoulder-to-shoulder with Yuma, who bumped him gently—a silent check-in. Taki nodded, barely perceptible, and Yuma’s expression flickered with something that might have been sympathy before they both had to turn and hit the next beat.
The concert stretched on like taffy, sweet and exhausting. Maki’s energy was infectious during their subunit stage, his grin so wide it almost split his face. Fuma’s steady presence anchored the group during transitions, his calm efficiency a counterpoint to the controlled chaos around them. Jo and Harua did their usual bit—Jo’s deadpan delivery making Harua giggle into his microphone—and Taki let himself get lost in the performance.
But his eyes kept drifting.
Kei had moved on from EuiJoo now, because of course he had. The oldest member was in perpetual motion, a hurricane of affection that touched down wherever it pleased. Currently, he had Jo in a headlock that looked aggressive but was actually gentle—Jo’s exaggerated flailing was pure theater, and the fans ate it up.
Then they slipped.
Or Kei slipped. Or Jo pulled him down. The details were blurry, but suddenly they were both on the floor, limbs tangled, and from the angle of the main camera—
They looked like they were kissing.
The stadium erupted.
Taki’s feet stopped moving for half a beat before his training kicked in. Jo’s laughter was audible even without his microphone, bright and surprised. Kei was practically cackling as he untangled himself, winking at the camera with the audacity of someone who knew exactly what he was doing.
EuiJoo, ever the leader, was already smoothing things over with a comment about Kei’s clumsiness, his voice warm with amusement. But Taki caught the brief flicker of something else in his expression—something sharper, more focused—before the leader’s face settled back into its usual composed mask.
The concert barreled toward its finale. Confetti cannons exploded. The members ran across the stage, waving at fans, collecting plushies and signs, their voices overlapping in a chorus of gratitude and promises to come back soon. Taki’s cheeks hurt from smiling. His body was a symphony of aches and adrenaline. And through it all, Kei orbited EuiJoo like a particularly persistent moon.
Hand on the small of his back during the ending ment.
Fingers brushing his wrist as they walked toward the extended stage.
Lips pressed to EuiJoo’s temple in a kiss that lasted just a beat too long to be purely performative.
Nicholas, Taki noticed, was watching too.
The older member’s expression was unreadable, but his posture was different. Tenser. His arms crossed over his chest, fingers digging into his own biceps. When EuiJoo laughed at something Kei whispered in his ear—low and intimate and barely caught by the microphones—Nicholas’s jaw tightened until Taki could see the muscle jump beneath his skin.
Taki knew that look.
He’d worn it himself, more times than he cared to count. The difference was that Taki had learned to swallow it down, to be good, to remind himself that Kei was his and he was Kei’s and whatever happened on stage was just work. Nicholas, apparently, had not learned that lesson.
Or maybe he had, and tonight was an exception.
The concert ended in a blaze of pyrotechnics. Backstage, the adrenaline crash hit Taki like a physical blow. He stumbled toward the dressing room, surrounded by staff members handing out water bottles and towels, the noise of the stadium still ringing in his ears even though the music had stopped.
The van ride back to the dorm was quiet. Not uncomfortable, exactly, but charged. Every member was lost in their own post-concert haze—Maki already half-asleep against Fuma’s shoulder, Yuma scrolling through his phone, Jo and Harua murmuring to each other in low voices. Kei sat next to Taki, their thighs pressed together, one hand resting on Taki’s knee with casual possessiveness.
EuiJoo and Nicholas sat separately.
That was unusual. They usually gravitated toward each other after performances, EuiJoo’s leadership instincts translating into physical proximity to his boyfriend. But tonight Nicholas had chosen a seat at the very back of the van, his eyes fixed on the window even though there was nothing to see but Seoul’s nighttime traffic.
EuiJoo sat near the front, his posture perfect despite the exhaustion pulling at his features. He didn’t look back. Didn’t seek Nicholas out.
Taki filed that information away for later examination.
The dorm was a relief. Familiar smells, familiar furniture, the particular quiet that settled over shared living spaces when everyone was too tired to make noise but too wired to sleep. The members dispersed toward their respective rooms in a slow shuffle, goodnights exchanged in murmurs.
Taki was heading toward the bathroom when Nicholas intercepted him.
The grip on his wrist was firm. Not painful, but insistent enough that Taki stumbled, his exhausted brain taking a moment to catch up with what was happening. Nicholas’s room was closer than Taki’s own, and before he could process the sequence of events, he was being pulled inside. The door clicked shut behind them.
Not fully closed. Taki noticed that. The latch didn’t catch properly—it had been broken for weeks—and a thin sliver of light from the hallway cut across the floor.
“Hyung?” Taki’s voice came out smaller than he intended.
Nicholas turned to face him. The room was dim, lit only by the desk lamp Nicholas had apparently left on before the concert. The shadows carved his features into something sharper, more intense. His eyes—usually warm, usually crinkled at the corners with barely suppressed laughter—were dark in a way that made Taki’s stomach flip.
“You saw them,” Nicholas said. Not a question.
Taki’s mouth opened, closed, opened again. “I—yeah. I saw.”
“Kei-hyung.” The name came out like a curse, low and bitter. “All over EuiJoo. All night. Touching him. Whispering to him. Making him laugh like—” Nicholas’s jaw worked. “Like he’s the one who gets to do that.”
The rational part of Taki’s brain wanted to point out that Kei was like that with everyone. That Kei’s love language was physical touch and EuiJoo was just the most convenient target because he was the leader and the leader was everyone’s emotional support and this was normal, this was fan service, this was—
“It made me sick,” Nicholas said, and Taki’s thoughts scattered.
“Hyung, it’s just—”
“Kiss me.”
The words landed between them like a grenade. Taki stared. Nicholas stared back, unblinking, his chest rising and falling with breaths that were just a little too fast.
“What?” Taki managed.
“Kiss me.” Nicholas stepped closer. Close enough that Taki could smell his cologne—something woodsy, something expensive—and the faint salt of dried sweat underneath. “Kei-hyung spent the whole night with his hands on my boyfriend. EuiJoo let him. They were flirting, Taki. You saw it. Everyone saw it.”
The words burrowed under Taki’s skin like splinters. He had seen it. Had felt it, that familiar burn of jealousy that he’d learned to smother so well he almost forgot it was there. Nicholas was pulling that feeling to the surface now, giving it air, letting it breathe.
“Don’t you want to make them feel it too?” Nicholas’s voice had dropped to something almost hypnotic. “Just a little. Just enough that they understand what it’s like.”
Taki’s heart was hammering against his ribs. “Kei-hyung… he won’t like it.”
“Good.”
The word was savage in its simplicity. Nicholas’s eyes glittered with something that might have been triumph or desperation or both.
Taki thought about Kei’s arm around EuiJoo’s waist. His lips against EuiJoo’s temple. The way EuiJoo had softened into the touch instead of pulling away.
His stomach twisted.
“Okay,” Taki whispered. “Okay.”
Nicholas closed the distance.
The first press of lips was tentative—a testing of boundaries, a question asked in breath and pressure. Nicholas’s mouth was softer than Taki expected, warmer. His hands came up to frame Taki’s face, thumbs brushing over cheekbones with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the intensity in his eyes.
Taki’s brain stuttered out a stray observation: This is what EuiJoo gets to feel every day.
And then Nicholas deepened the kiss, and thought became impossible.
His tongue traced the seam of Taki’s lips, asking. Taki opened for him automatically, a sound escaping his throat that he didn’t recognize. Nicholas swallowed it, one hand sliding back to tangle in Taki’s hair while the other dropped to his waist, pulling him closer until their bodies were flush.
The door clicked. Then clicked again.
Footsteps. More than one set.
Taki’s face ignited. He could feel the blush spreading down his neck, blooming across his collarbones, hot enough to burn. Nicholas’s lips curved against his—a smile, satisfied and sharp—and instead of pulling away, he bit down gently on Taki’s lower lip.
A whimper escaped before Taki could stop it.
“Don’t stop on our account.”
Kei’s voice. Amused. Mocking. The same tone he’d used when he’d whispered “cute” against Taki’s ear in the middle of the concert, like Taki was something entertaining, something to be played with.
Taki broke the kiss with a gasp, his chest heaving, his lips tingling and swollen. Nicholas didn’t chase him. Instead, the older member’s gaze fixed on Taki’s face with an expression of pure adoration—appreciating the flush staining his cheeks, the wet gleam of his mouth, the way his eyes had gone hazy and unfocused.
“Pretty,” Nicholas murmured, loud enough for the room to hear. “So pretty like this, Taki-yah.”
Kei was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his posture casual in a way that felt deliberate. EuiJoo stood just inside the door, spine straight, eyes tracking the scene in front of him with an unreadable expression. The leader’s gaze moved from Nicholas to Taki and back again, and something flickered there—something satisfied, something hungry.
“Enjoying the show?” Nicholas asked, and his voice was different now. Rougher. Directed at EuiJoo with an edge that made Taki shiver.
EuiJoo’s lips curved slightly. “You’re the one who texted us.”
“Yeah.” Nicholas’s hand was still in Taki’s hair, fingers flexing, tugging just enough to tilt his head back. “Wanted you to see.”
Kei laughed. The sound was bright and sharp and utterly without warmth. “Wanted us to see what, exactly? You making out with my boyfriend?”
Nicholas’s answering smile was all teeth. “Wanted you to see how it feels.”
The air in the room thickened. Taki’s pulse was a frantic drumbeat, too fast, too loud. He should say something—should stop this, should explain that it wasn’t what it looked like except it was exactly what it looked like—but then Nicholas ducked his head and pressed his mouth to Taki’s neck, and all the words dissolved into static.
His tongue traced a path from collarbone to jaw. Taki’s hands fisted in the fabric of Nicholas’s shirt without conscious decision, his body arching into the contact even as his brain screamed that Kei was watching, Kei was right there, Kei was—
“Look at him,” EuiJoo said, his voice so calm it was almost conversational. “Nicholas-ah. Look at you.”
Nicholas’s eyes lifted to meet EuiJoo’s. His mouth never stopped moving against Taki’s skin—licking, sucking, drawing sounds from Taki’s throat that he couldn’t control. The eye contact was deliberate. Provocative. A challenge delivered with tongue and teeth.
Taki felt Kei’s stare like a physical weight.
He’d never been on the receiving end of that stare before—not like this. Kei looked at him all the time: fond glances, teasing glances, glances that promised things later when they were alone. But this was different. This was Kei’s attention focused like a laser, tracking every place Nicholas’s body touched Taki’s, cataloging every moan that slipped past Taki’s lips.
Moans that were usually Kei’s name. Moans that now belonged to someone else.
“He’s so responsive,” Nicholas said, and the words were directed at Kei, a mocking echo of observations Kei had probably made himself a hundred times. “Does he always get this wet just from kissing? Look at his mouth. So pink. So pretty.”
Taki made a sound—half protest, half plea—and Nicholas’s hand tightened in his hair.
“Don’t be shy now.” Nicholas pulled back just enough to look at Taki’s face, his eyes bright with something fierce and possessive. “We should show them what we can do. Show them what it feels like.”
The hesitation was immediate. Taki’s gaze flicked to Kei without meaning to—instinct, habit, the gravitational pull of the person he belonged to. Kei’s expression was unreadable. His arms were still crossed. His posture was still relaxed.
But his eyes.
His eyes were dark.
“Go on,” Kei said, and the amusement in his voice was thinner now, stretched over something rawer. “Suck on him, Taki-yah. Show me.”
The command hit Taki’s nervous system like a jolt of electricity, sending a shiver down his spine. Kei’s voice, calm yet commanding, cut through the haze of arousal and hesitation like a knife. “On your knees, Taki-yah. Show me how obedient you can be.”
Taki’s breath hitched, and his body moved before his mind could catch up. He sank to his knees, the carpet biting into his shins, the rough texture grounding him in the moment. His hands trembled slightly at his sides, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths as he looked up at Kei, then Nicholas, his cheeks flushed and lips parted.
Nicholas’s gaze immediately darkened, his lips curling into a smirk as he stepped closer. His hand slid into Taki’s hair, fingers threading through the soft strands as he tilted his head back gently. “Look at you,” Nicholas murmured, his voice low and dripping with admiration. “Such a good puppy, aren’t you? So quick to obey. So pretty on your knees for me.”
Taki’s heart pounded, the praise wrapping around him like a warm blanket. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment as Nicholas’s fingers tightened slightly in his hair, grounding him. When he opened them again, he found Kei staring at him, his expression unreadable but his eyes gleaming with something sharp—something possessive.
“That’s it,” Kei cooed, his voice softer now but still edged with authority. “Such a good boy, Taki-yah. Always so eager to please. You’ll do whatever Nicholas asks, won’t you?”
Taki nodded, the motion small and hesitant, his throat dry. “Yes, hyung,” he whispered, his voice trembling but sincere.
Nicholas’s smirk widened, his thumb brushing across Taki’s lower lip. “Such a sweet puppy,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery and admiration in equal measure. “Look at how easy he is, Kei-hyung. One word from you, and he’s melting. Isn’t he adorable like this?”
Kei chuckled, the sound dark and approving. “He is. My little obedient puppy. Always so perfect.”
Taki’s face burned hotter, his chest tightening as the praise washed over him. He felt exposed, vulnerable, but also cherished in a way that made his stomach flutter. Nicholas’s grip tightened slightly, his other hand coming to rest under Taki’s chin, tilting his head up further.
“Now,” Nicholas said, his voice dropping lower, rougher. “Let’s see how good you really are, puppy. Show us what you can do.”
Taki’s breath hitched again, but he didn’t hesitate. He couldn’t. Not with Kei’s approving gaze on him, not with Nicholas’s praise ringing in his ears. With trembling fingers, he reached for Nicholas’s belt, his movements awkward but determined, his mind blissfully blank as he focused on the task at hand.
Kei leaned back against the wall, his arms crossed, his smirk widening as he watched. “That’s my boy,” he murmured, the words soft but carrying enough weight to make Taki’s knees weak. “Always so obedient. Always so perfect.”
Nicholas chuckled, his hand tightening in Taki’s hair again as he glanced at Kei, his smirk turning almost predatory. “You trained him so well, hyung. Look at him—already desperate to please.”
Taki’s ears burned, his hands fumbling slightly as he worked at Nicholas’s belt, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. He was lost in the moment, drowning in the praise and the warmth of their gazes, his body moving on instinct. He was Kei’s puppy. He was Nicholas’s toy. And he would do whatever they asked of him.
Nicholas laughed, low and satisfied. “So easy. Just like a good puppy.”
“Don’t use your hands,” Kei added, and Taki’s fingers—already reaching for Nicholas’s waistband—froze midair.
“Hyung—” Taki’s voice cracked.
“You heard me.” Kei’s voice was low, calm, and utterly commanding. It wasn’t a question—it was a statement, an order, and Taki felt it resonate deep in his chest, sending a shiver down his spine. His hands froze mid-air, trembling slightly as they hovered uselessly near the waistband of Nicholas’s pants.
Taki’s eyes flicked up to Kei, seeking confirmation, seeking reassurance, but Kei’s gaze was unyielding. He leaned against the wall, arms still crossed, his expression a mix of amusement and something sharper—something that made Taki’s stomach tighten with both anticipation and fear.
Nicholas chuckled above him, the sound low and teasing. “Poor little puppy,” he cooed, his fingers tightening in Taki’s hair as he tilted his head back further. “Got yourself into a bit of a predicament, huh? No hands. Just that pretty mouth of yours.”
Taki’s cheeks burned hotter, his heart pounding loud enough that he was sure everyone in the room could hear it. His lips parted instinctively, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he stared up at Nicholas, then back at Kei. Kei’s smirk widened, his eyes gleaming with something dark and possessive.
“Go on,” Kei said, his voice softening just enough to make Taki’s chest ache. “Show me how obedient you can be, Taki-yah. Use that pretty mouth of yours. You don’t need your hands, do you?”
Taki’s throat tightened, but he shook his head mutely. No, he didn’t need his hands. He could do this. He had to do this. For Kei. For Nicholas. For the way their praise wrapped around him like a warm blanket, soothing and suffocating all at once.
Nicholas grinned down at him, his free hand brushing over Taki’s cheekbone in a mockery of tenderness. “Such a good boy,” he murmured, his voice dripping with condescension and admiration. “So eager to please. Let’s see how good you really are, puppy.”
Taki leaned forward, his body trembling with effort and nerves, his lips brushing against the rough fabric of Nicholas’s pants. He hesitated for a moment, his breath hitching, before he opened his mouth wider, teeth scraping lightly against the waistband as he tried to grip it.
It wasn’t easy. The fabric was stubborn, slipping against his teeth and lips, and Taki’s movements were awkward, uncoordinated. He whimpered softly, frustration bubbling up in his chest as he struggled to pull the waistband down, his cheeks flushing darker with every failed attempt.
Nicholas laughed above him, the sound low and amused, his grip in Taki’s hair tightening slightly. “Poor thing,” he teased, his voice dripping with mockery. “Having a hard time, aren’t you? Maybe you’re not as good as Kei-hyung thinks you are.”
The words stung, and Taki’s eyes watered slightly, his cheeks burning with humiliation. He tried again, more determined this time, his lips pressing firmly against the fabric as he worked to pull it down. His teeth caught the edge of the waistband, and he tugged, the fabric finally yielding slightly.
Kei’s chuckle cut through the air, dark and approving. “There you go,” he murmured, his voice softer now but still edged with authority. “That’s my boy. Always so determined. Always so perfect.”
Nicholas grinned, his hand moving from Taki’s cheek to tilt his head back further. “Look at him,” he said, his tone mocking but tinged with admiration. “So desperate to please. Isn’t he adorable like this, Kei-hyung?”
Kei’s smirk widened, his arms still crossed as he watched Taki struggle. “He is,” Kei agreed, his voice low and fond. “My little puppy. Always so obedient.”
Taki’s chest tightened at the praise, his body trembling with effort as he finally managed to pull Nicholas’s waistband down, his lips and teeth working tirelessly. The fabric slipped lower, and Taki’s breath hitched as he realized he’d succeeded, his lips brushing against the smooth skin just above Nicholas’s hips.
Nicholas laughed again, low and satisfied, his fingers tightening in Taki’s hair as he looked down at him. “Such a good boy,” he murmured, his voice dripping with mockery and praise in equal measure. “Look at you—already so desperate to please. Isn’t he perfect, Kei-hyung?”
Kei leaned back against the wall, his smirk widening as he watched Taki, his gaze sharp and possessive. “He is,” Kei agreed, his voice softer now but still carrying enough weight to make Taki’s knees weak. “Always so obedient. Always so perfect.”
Taki’s ears burned, his chest tightening as the praise wrapped around him, warm and suffocating. He was Kei’s puppy. He was Nicholas’s toy. And he would do whatever they asked of him. No matter how hard it was. No matter how much he struggled.
Because he was theirs.
EuiJoo made a soft sound, something between a chuckle and a sigh, the kind of noise that lingered in the air like a whisper you weren’t sure you’d actually heard. He’d moved closer, Taki realized, though when exactly that had happened was a blur. Close enough that Taki could see the way his fingers were curled loosely at his sides, the tension in his forearms betraying the careful neutrality of his face. The leader’s posture was impeccable as always—spine straight, shoulders relaxed—but there was something about the way he tilted his head, the way his eyes tracked every movement, that felt predatory. Like he was savoring the scene unfolding in front of him, savoring the way Nicholas’s grip tightened in Taki’s hair, the way Taki’s lips trembled around Nicholas’s length.
“He’s trying so hard,” EuiJoo said, his voice smooth and low, almost conversational. It wasn’t clear if he was addressing Nicholas or Kei or simply voicing an observation into the charged air of the room. His gaze flicked to Taki, lingering on the way his cheeks hollowed, the way his jaw strained to accommodate what he’d been given. “Look at him struggle.” The words weren’t cruel, but they weren’t kind either. They were clinical, detached in a way that made Taki’s skin prickle. “Is his mouth good, Nicholas-ah? Does he feel good?”
Nicholas’s answer was a sharp inhale, a guttural groan that caught in his throat as Taki’s lips finally closed around him. The sound was raw, unfiltered, and it sent a shiver down Taki’s spine. He could feel every twitch, every hitch of Nicholas’s breath, and the pressure in his own chest tightened like a coil threatening to snap. His hands hovered uselessly at his sides—Kei’s command echoing in his skull—no hands, just mouth, just obedience. The effort was messy, uneven, saliva dripping down his chin as his jaw ached and his throat constricted. His eyes watered, the sting of tears blurring his vision, but he couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop. Not when Kei was watching. Not when EuiJoo’s gaze felt like a brand.
EuiJoo stepped even closer, his movements deliberate, unhurried. His fingers brushed lightly against Taki’s cheek, catching a stray drop of saliva before tracing the line of his jaw. The touch was fleeting, almost absentminded, but it burned. “Such a good boy,” EuiJoo murmured, his voice soft but carrying enough weight to make Taki’s knees tremble even though he was already on the floor. “So eager to please. Aren’t you, Taki-yah?” Taki nodded weakly, his lips still wrapped around Nicholas, unable to speak but desperate to be understood. EuiJoo’s thumb brushed against his lower lip, pressing lightly, urging him to take more. “Such a sweet puppy,” he added, his tone dripping with something that felt like admiration and mockery in equal measure. “Too bad Kei-hyung’s the only one who gets to play with you like this.”
Nicholas’s hand tightened in Taki’s hair, a possessive grip that made Taki’s scalp tingle. “Jealous, hyung?” Nicholas asked, his voice rough and teasing, though the way his hips stuttered betrayed his own desperation. EuiJoo laughed—a soft, breathy sound that felt like the ghost of a touch—but didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned in closer, his breath warm against Taki’s ear as he whispered, “Don’t stop yet, Taki-yah. Let’s see how far you can go.” The words were gentle, almost encouraging, but they carried an edge that made Taki’s stomach twist. He nodded again, his movements clumsy but determined, and focused on the rhythm of Nicholas’s thrusts, the weight on his tongue, the way EuiJoo’s fingers lingered just a little too long against his skin.
Kei’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and commanding. “Don’t use your hands,” he reminded, and Taki froze mid-motion, his fingers twitching at his sides. “You heard me.” The order was simple, but it carried the weight of obedience, of submission, of everything Taki had been trained to be. EuiJoo straightened, his hand retreating, but his gaze never wavered. He watched Taki with a kind of detached curiosity, like he was studying a particularly fascinating specimen. “He’s doing so well,” EuiJoo said, his tone almost musing now. “Isn’t he, Nicholas-ah? Look at him—already desperate to please.” The praise wasn’t directed at Taki, but it hit him anyway, wrapping around him like a warm blanket and a chokehold all at once.
“He’s trying so hard,” EuiJoo said, and Taki couldn’t tell if it was directed at Nicholas or Kei or just an observation laid bare. “Look at him struggle. Is his mouth good, Nicholas-ah? Does he feel good?”
Nicholas’s answer was a sharp inhale as Taki’s lips finally closed around him. No hands—Kei’s instruction echoed in Taki’s skull—just mouth and tongue and the desperate desire to be good, to follow orders, to prove something he couldn’t name.
It was messy. Sloppy. Taki’s jaw ached and his throat constricted and his eyes watered with the effort of taking Nicholas deeper without the leverage his hands would have provided. Saliva pooled, dripped, made obscene sounds that filled the room alongside Nicholas’s ragged breathing.
“Look at me,” Nicholas commanded, and Taki’s gaze snapped upward.
Nicholas’s hand fisted in his hair, controlling the rhythm. Guiding. Fucking into Taki’s mouth with increasingly desperate thrusts while EuiJoo watched. The leader’s expression had finally cracked—something hungry peeking through the composure, something that looked like satisfaction and arousal and a dozen other things Taki couldn’t name.
“You like watching your boyfriend get his dick sucked?” Kei’s voice came from somewhere to Taki’s left. Still mocking. Still sharp. “You’re hard, EuiJoo-hyung. I can see it.”
“So are you,” EuiJoo replied mildly. “Your boyfriend’s on his knees for someone else and you’re just… watching.”
“I’m not the jealous one.”
“No. You’re the one who caused this.”
Their voices washed over Taki like background noise, distant and distorted. Everything had narrowed to the stretch of his jaw, the weight on his tongue, the way Nicholas’s hips stuttered and his grip tightened and his breath came in broken gasps. Taki could feel him getting close—could taste it, could sense it in the building tension in Nicholas’s thighs, the way his rhythm was unraveling.
And then Kei said, “Stop.”
Taki stopped.
Nicholas groaned—a sound of pure, agonized frustration—and his hips jerked forward involuntarily before he controlled himself. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Pull down your pants, Taki-yah.” Kei’s tone brooked no argument. “Show them what you’ve got.”
The command landed. Taki’s fingers fumbled with his waistband, clumsy with residual arousal and the fog of subspace that Kei’s orders always induced. He shoved his pants down, turned, and the sound Nicholas made was worth every second of humiliation.
The dildo was cute. Pink, modestly sized, nestled between Taki’s cheeks like a secret. The base of it caught the lamplight, evidence of the preparation Taki had done before the concert—preparation he’d assumed Kei would appreciate later, in the privacy of their room.
Instead, EuiJoo was laughing softly, and Nicholas was staring like he’d forgotten how to blink, and Kei was smiling in a way that made Taki’s blood run hot and cold simultaneously.
“You prepped yourself,” Kei observed. “For me.”
Taki nodded, not trusting his voice.
“And now you’re going to let Nicholas fuck your thighs. Aren’t you?”
A whimper. Another nod.
“Ask him.”
Taki turned back to Nicholas, his cheeks burning hotter than ever, the flush spreading down his neck and chest in a way that made him feel utterly exposed. Nicholas’s expression had gone slack with want, his dark eyes locked on Taki with an intensity that felt like a burning brand. Taki’s throat tightened, his words coming out as a shaky whisper, barely audible amidst the charged silence in the room. “Hyung. Please. Please fuck my thighs.”
The words hung in the air, heavy and loaded, and Nicholas’s jaw clenched visibly, his fingers twitching at his sides like he was barely holding himself back. His gaze dropped to Taki’s thighs, wide and soft, trembling slightly as he knelt on the bed, his eyes pleading and his lips swollen from their earlier kiss. Nicholas let out a low, guttural sound, something between a groan and a growl, as if Taki’s words had flipped some primal switch inside him.
“Such a good puppy,” Nicholas murmured, his voice rough and dripping with admiration. “So obedient. So desperate to please. You’re perfect like this, Taki-yah. Look at you—already spread out for me, begging so sweetly.” His hand reached out, fingers brushing against the soft skin of Taki’s thigh, the touch featherlight yet electric. Taki shuddered, his breath hitching as Nicholas’s fingers trailed higher, teasing, testing, before moving away again.
Kei’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and commanding. “Don’t keep him waiting, Nicholas-ah.” He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his smirk growing wider as he watched the scene unfold. “Our puppy’s been so good for you. Look at him—already trembling, already desperate. Don’t you think he deserves a reward?”
EuiJoo chuckled softly from his perch near the door, his gaze flickering between Nicholas and Taki with a mix of amusement and something darker. “He’s been waiting for this all night,” EuiJoo added, his tone languid but laced with an edge that made Taki’s stomach twist. “Go on, Nicholas-ah. He’s asking so nicely. Don’t make him beg twice.”
Nicholas exhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths as he stepped closer to the bed, his gaze never leaving Taki’s. “You really want this?” Nicholas asked, his voice low and gravelly, like he needed to hear Taki say it again, needed to be absolutely sure. Taki nodded frantically, his eyes wide and pleading, his hands gripping the sheets tightly as if to anchor himself. “Please, hyung. Please. I need it. I need you.”
The words seemed to break whatever fragile restraint Nicholas had left. He climbed onto the bed in one fluid motion, his body hovering over Taki’s, the heat radiating off him almost overwhelming. “You’re so perfect,” Nicholas murmured, his voice softer now, almost reverent, as his hands slid up Taki’s thighs, spreading them apart gently. “I’ll take care of you, puppy. I’ll give you exactly what you asked for.” Taki’s breath hitched, his body trembling with anticipation, as Nicholas positioned himself, his gaze locking onto Taki’s with a mix of dominance and something dangerously close to affection.
The bed creaked as Taki climbed onto it, positioning himself on his back, legs lifted and pressed together. Nicholas followed him down, his body bracketing Taki’s smaller frame, his breathing harsh in the quiet room. When he spat into the gap between Taki’s thighs, the sound was obscene. The slickness of it—saliva and pre-cum mixing—made Taki’s stomach clench.
“So soft,” Nicholas murmured, almost to himself, as he guided himself into the tight space of Taki’s thighs. “So plush. Look at these thighs, EuiJoo-yah. Look at him.”
EuiJoo’s voice was a purr. “I’m looking.”
The first thrust pushed the dildo deeper into Taki. He cried out—couldn’t help it, couldn’t control it—as the dual sensations collided: Nicholas sliding hot and hard against the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, the toy inside him shifting with every movement, rubbing against places that made sparks burst behind his eyes.
Nicholas set a brutal pace, his movements desperate and near-feral, as if he were punishing himself on Taki’s body. Every thrust was sharp, urgent, driven by a mix of jealousy and possessive need that he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—contain. The bed frame rattled against the wall, a relentless rhythm punctuated by the slick slap of skin on skin, the sound obscene in the charged air of the room. Taki’s thighs trembled, slick with spit and pre-cum, the warmth of Nicholas’s cock grinding against the sensitive skin driving him to the brink of unraveling.
Taki’s moans climbed higher, needier, his voice cracking as the dual sensations overwhelmed him. The dildo inside him shifted with every thrust, rubbing against his prostate in a way that made his vision blur at the edges. His hands fisted the sheets so tightly his knuckles turned white, clinging to the fabric like it was the only thing anchoring him to reality. Kei hadn’t told him he could touch, and Taki wanted to be good—needed to be good—so he kept his hands pinned by sheer willpower, even as his body begged for release.
Kei stood to the side, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched the scene unfold with the precision of a conductor orchestrating chaos. His gaze flicked between Taki’s trembling form and Nicholas’s frantic thrusts, his expression a mix of amusement and something sharper—something possessive. “Look at him,” Kei murmured to EuiJoo, his voice low but carrying enough weight to cut through the haze of arousal. “So desperate to please. Isn’t he perfect?”
EuiJoo’s response was a quiet hum, his gaze fixed on Nicholas’s back. The leader’s expression was unreadable, but his fingers twitched slightly at his sides, betraying the calm façade. “Jealousy looks good on you, Nicholas-ah,” EuiJoo said finally, his voice smooth and teasing, though there was an undercurrent of heat that made Taki shiver despite the warmth radiating from Nicholas’s body.
Nicholas growled in response, his grip tightening on Taki’s thighs as he leaned forward, his pace faltering for just a moment before he regained control. “Shut up,” he muttered, though his voice was too rough, too broken to carry any real bite. His thrusts became more erratic, his breathing ragged, and Taki could feel him teetering on the edge, could sense the desperation coiled tight in Nicholas’s muscles.
Taki’s moans grew louder, more fragmented, his body arching helplessly as he teetered on the precipice of his own release. The sensation was overwhelming—Nicholas’s cock grinding against his thighs, the dildo hitting that spot inside him just right, the weight of Kei’s gaze and EuiJoo’s presence pressing down on him like a second skin. He was so close, so close, but he couldn’t—wouldn’t—touch himself until Kei gave the command. He wanted to be good. He wanted to be perfect.
Nicholas’s hips stuttered, his rhythm unraveling as he buried his face in the crook of Taki’s neck, his breath hot and ragged against Taki’s skin. “Fuck,” Nicholas muttered, the word muffled but strained with desperation. “Fuck, Taki-yah, you’re—you’re too much.” His thrusts became shorter, sharper, until finally, with a guttural groan, he stilled, his body collapsing heavily on top of Taki’s as he came in hot pulses across Taki’s thighs.
The room was silent for a moment, save for the sound of their labored breathing and the faint creak of the bed as Nicholas shifted slightly, his body still draped over Taki’s. Kei chuckled softly, the sound warm and smug, as he stepped closer, his gaze lingering on the mess they’d made. “Good boy,” Kei murmured, his voice dripping with praise, and Taki shivered, his body still trembling with the aftershocks of their shared pleasure.
“He’s close,” EuiJoo observed, clinical and amused. “Look at his face, Nicholas-ah. You’re going to make him come untouched.”
The words broke something in Taki. His back arched, his vision whited out, and he spilled across his own stomach in pulses that seemed to go on forever. Nicholas followed seconds later, his release splashing hot across Taki’s thighs, his groan muffled against Taki’s shoulder where he’d collapsed.
They lay there, breathing hard, tangled together on sheets that would definitely need washing.
Kei laughed. The sound was softer now, some of the sharp edges worn away. “You’re both a mess.”
“Your fault,” Nicholas mumbled into Taki’s skin. “You started it.”
EuiJoo moved then. The bed dipped as he settled beside Nicholas, one hand carding through his boyfriend’s sweat-damp hair with surprising tenderness. “On stage is work,” he said quietly. “You know that. Kei-hyung is just…”
“A menace,” Nicholas supplied.
“I was going to say affectionate.”
Kei made an offended noise, but Taki was already being gathered into familiar arms—Kei’s arms, Kei’s scent, Kei’s lips pressing soft kisses to his temple, his cheek, his swollen mouth. “You did so well,” Kei whispered against his skin. “My good boy. My perfect puppy. I’m sorry I teased you.”
The possessiveness in his voice was a balm. Taki melted into it, let himself be held, let Kei’s murmured praise wash over him like warm water. Somewhere behind them, EuiJoo was lecturing Nicholas in a low voice about boundaries and jealousy and trust, punctuated by soft bites to Nicholas’s shoulder that made the younger member squirm.
“We should go,” Kei murmured, already reaching for Taki’s discarded pants. “Get you cleaned up.”