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kisskissbanggang · 1 year

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Provocation pt. 3

[9.6k words/30min Read - Lee Know x Female Reader, Bang Chan x Female Reader - Non-Idol!au - NSFW/Smut w/Plot - Voyeurism, Developing Relationships, Multiple Orgasms, Alarmingly Short Refractory Periods, Cunnilingus, Blindfolds, Handjobs, Spit as Lube, Dom/Sub Elements, Creative Approaches to Identity Crises, Jisung Finally Enters the Plot]

[Part 1 | Part 2 | Chan | Also Chan | Come Say Hi!]

Despite how nervous you were, this was shaping up to be a gorgeous evening. Not only was the rooftop bar at Magnifique thankfully uncrowded since it was a weeknight, you even scored a table next to a space heater so you didn’t need your coat just yet. Your dining partner was enjoying himself thoroughly, especially with the Old Fashioned and appetizers you treated him to as the sun was beginning to set. This was as nice as the night was going to get, you figured, so it was time to suck it up and do what you came here to do in the first place.

“So,” you began, speaking somewhat confidently into your food, “I was wondering... who’s Chan?”

Jisung choked on his drink, reeling before he forced himself to swallow. You winced and slid your water across the table. He shot you a steely, skeptic glare as he carefully sipped. Your friend firmly set the glass back on the table and composed himself.

“What did Minho tell you?” he suspiciously interrogated.

“Nothing!” you defended. It was true. Minho shut down so hard that you’d never pressed the issue. You wouldn't be asking if it wasn't such a problem now.

“Bullshit!” Jisung laughed incredulously. “Minho never talks about Chan with anyone outside work, not even me, not even Dad, not even his mom.”

“Look,” you guiltily reasoned with Jisung, “I know I haven't been up front about me and Minho–”

“Oh my god,” Jisung groaned with a roll of his eyes. His fingers clumsily slipped off his glasses before pinching the bridge of his nose. But even then, he still seemed like he was about to laugh. “Do you seriously think I don’t know? Do you think anyone doesn't know?!”

Your face heated up immediately. Jisung started giggling into his drink.

“Come on, Ji, I–”

“You don’t think everyone at my last get-together saw you two dorks disappear into the kitchen together?!”

“Jisung!” you whined, “you sent me to get hors d'oeuvres–”

“I had to tell Seungmin you were single! He was convinced you weren’t. I wonder why–”

“Ji! I get it–”

“Maybe I was just blind! I've been to Ikea with you plenty but it never occurred to me–”

“OKAY, JISUNG!” you snapped. “I’m sorry, okay?!”

Jisung perked straight up at attention. Everyone around you was staring. Without even meaning to, you’d slapped your hands down onto the table with your outburst. Jisung was practically on the verge of tears, holding in a laugh until his face was red.

“Fine,” you pathetically grumbled with a wave, “continue. I deserve it.”

“I’m just saying,” Jisung facetiously shrugged. He was failing to hold back a giggle. “Where was my kitchen handy?”

Jisung howled when you kicked him under the table.

“Oh my god, Jisung, GROSS!”

“Now I'm gross!” Jisung sobbed out a hysterical guffaw.

You were both losing it by now, but you managed to stubbornly get argumentative for a second. “Like you were ever available anyway! I ripped off that bandaid a long time ago and you said no, remember?!”

Jisung swiped a tear away and put his glasses back on. “I was so smart to friend-zone you early on.”

“Smart,” you exaggeratedly rolled your eyes. “And all these years you’ve just pretended to not be interested in dating.”

It seemed you’d tripped Jisung up for a moment, judging by the way he paused, seemingly choking before he tried to subtly clear his throat. “I mean… yeah? Obviously. Because I'm not interested in dating.”

You searched for him to meet your gaze again. “Thank you, though. For understanding. I really appreciate it.”

“Hey,” he shrugged more earnestly now, “if someone's going to take care of Minho I'd like it to be someone I trust. Better yet, someone I like. You're perfect.”

“Thank you,” you smugly grinned. “Now! Who the fuck is Chan?”

The air between you got serious again. Jisung shifted uncomfortably in his seat, before leaning back and folding his arms across his chest. He looked like he was about to begin, paused, and ultimately cracked his neck to perhaps soothe his nerves. You patiently, nervously waited.

“... Fine,” Jisung nodded. “Chan's our boss.”

Your gasp was involuntary. “Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “And he’s even more Minho’s boss than mine. I’m over in Finance, but Chan’s the fucking VP. Minho’s an associate, but you knew that already.”

“Right,” you lied. Associate sounded important, which was probably how Minho could afford his nice apartment.

Jisung held up an eyebrow in doubt of you. “Chan stresses Minho the fuck out. If he brought him up to you, it can’t be good news.”

“It’s not like he’ll even tell me that it’s not good news,” you sighed. “He’ll tell me anything else.”

Your friend shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He was clearly considering something. “Fine. You didn’t hear this from me–”

“What?” you interrupted, stunned. “You’re helping me now?”

“I might as well!” Jisung groused. “He’s been acting so weird for a while. He’s left me on Read for three days and he hasn’t done that since that time he worked 36 hours straight. If you can snap him out of it then it’ll be a weight off my back before our parents catch on. Now do you want my help or not?”

“Yes,” you groveled, grabbing onto his hand with one of yours and calling over a waitress with the other. His glass was empty, after all.

“Okay,” Jisung steeled himself. “Again: you didn’t hear it from me. But you’ll catch Chan in the loft at Good Night. I’ve been asked to come out often enough to know he’s a regular.”

You thought about this amazing nugget of info for a moment. “And has Minho ever tagged along?”

“Has Minho? God, no,” Jisung scoffed. “But like I said, you didn’t hear this from me.”

“Oh, Jisung,” you gratefully exulted, grabbing onto his hand again. “Thank you, seriously–”

“Are you sure you can’t tell me what happened?” he tried again.

You considered this. It wasn’t like you could tell him Minho clearly wanted to fuck their boss.

Right?

“It’s probably just work stuff,” you fudged. “I’ll get to the bottom of it, I promise.”

Jisung seemed satisfied, thankfully. But now you had a new fire lit underneath you.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

It was just your luck that Minho happened to live in roughly the same neighborhood as this mystery nightclub. Considering the distance, it was a reasonable bus ride, but it honestly wouldn't be a terrible walk. Following that logic, it only made sense that you’d grab a cab.

Minho hadn’t even asked you where you were taking him tonight. Apparently, he was simply elated that you'd seemingly dropped the Chan nonsense for the time being.

The club wasn't your vibe by any means, by the way, but it wasn't a dealbreaker. The line to get in was modest, the cover was decent (which made up for it being cash only) and the fog machine wasn't obnoxious. In a move that shouldn't have been so surprising, Minho made a beeline upstairs to the loft.

“Been here before?” you teased over the music.

“No!” Minho laughed. “There's just a bit more light up here.”

This was a great date night barring any ulterior motives. Minho sat beside you in a cozy booth seat at a small table. It took every ounce of your reserved energy to not make it obvious that you were internally squealing when he casually smoothed a hand across to your far shoulder so he could hold you close. Truth be told, you liked whatever it was that you were growing with Minho.

The atmosphere in the loft made it easy to feel like you were still intimate despite the crowded accommodations. Minho talked low in your ear, his lips tickling you just enough to make you giggle like an idiot when you weren't being more careful. If you didn't know any better, though, you'd almost think your unintentional reaction nearly made him blush.

Minho cleared his throat and waved over a thankfully fast server. Soon, you both had a drink to distract you a little. You took a moment and surveyed the loft. Really, any of the gorgeous men chatting up the other patrons could've been Chan.

Any of them, but one in particular, once you caught sight of him.

And you weren't the only one who noticed.

Beside you, Minho coughed into his drink, making you jump. He floundered. He sputtered. Ears fully red now, Minho got up and fled into the chair across from your booth bench. Both hands flat on the table, he leaned forward, his gaze wild.

“You bitch,” he wheezed out with an affronted laugh, “you set me up! You knew he'd be here!”

You blinked innocently. “Who?”

Minho ignored you, and instead rubbed his temples in frustration for a second. “As if I'm stupid! You think I don’t know where he spends his off hours? I’m going to murder Jisung. How else would you find out? Of course this was a set-up, I knew it–”

“Min,” you sweetly interrupted. “If you're saying what I think you're saying, I'll tell you right now that I don’t even know what he looks like.”

Small lie, but harmless. You didn't know, but you had a good idea. Your retort made Minho pause, likely right in the middle of a clever remark. As a result, his mouth momentarily flopped open and shut like a fish. The only thing you could think to do was push his drink back into his hands. Minho clutched the glass and took a healthy swig. Once he was finally satisfied, he firmly set the glass back down, all while eyeing you steadily.

“So,” he carefully treaded, “this isn't a set up?”

“Never said that,” you mischievously grinned.

Minho cocked an eyebrow. “But you don't know what he looks like?”

“No,” you gleefully replied, arms folded indignantly across your chest. “I don't know what Chan looks like–”

You were cut off by Minho flailing. Either it was that you actually said it… Or that you said it just loud enough for your voice to carry.

And right on cue, your suspicion was confirmed.

The young executive with the soft brown waves, coordinated accessories, and likely incredibly expensive shirt that was engrossingly form-fitting in the chest and biceps – the one you’d been betting on when you caught sight of him schmoozing a cute date on the other side of the loft – definitely glanced up and around at the sound of his name. You certainly recognized him now. He’d been blonde when you first caught him looking at you at Minho’s office, but this was unmistakably the same man. Same strong nose, same dimple, same sweet little eyes that lit up when he laughed.

You understood the appeal.

“What’re you so worried about? He’s cute, Min,” you smirked.

Minho currently held a glare that either meant he could kill you or kiss you right at that second. “I'm glad I have your approval,” he grumbled.

“Tell me more,” you prompted him. You reached across the table and held his hand.

Minho paused, looking at your thumb brushing over his knuckles. He finally sighed. “There’s not much to say. We've known each other for a long time. He just… He makes me feel…”

“Like I do?” you gently teased, trying to keep him inside the comfort of your dynamic.

Except Minho met your gaze. “Actually?… Yeah.”

You sat up, a little caught off guard. Well, you figured, it was no wonder Minho felt shaken up by this whole development, starting from the moment he called you hyung in bed.

“But you still feel… Like this? About me? And that’s why you feel weird?”

“Yes,” Minho nodded heartily, “but also, like, it’s weird because I'm… Y'know. Straight.”

You raised your eyebrows curiously. “You sure about that?”

Minho’s shoulders drooped with a sigh. He roughly massaged his temples. “No? It's fucking confusing.”

“Then think about it this way,” you quickly suggested. “You’re straight. But there's currently an exception. One step at a time.”

“Well, it’s not like it even matters,” Minho babbled. “I'm with you!”

You both stopped now. Any discussions about you and your standing with each other was still on a minimal basis. But the butterflies in your gut were clear as day. There was a drawer in Minho’s dresser and bathroom counter with your crap in it. His shirts were in your laundry basket. You squeezed Minho’s hand.

“And I'm with you,” you reassured him. “But what’s wrong with trying? Are we exclusive or anything?”

Minho scoffed at the thought. “Hardly. It’s just, you know… What about you?”

“What if I help?” you thoughtfully suggested.

This was tempting, apparently, with how Minho blinked at you. The smallest sparkle lit up his eye. “You’d help? How?”

“Well,” you pondered, “I'm assuming it’s risky to just pick up your boss.”

Minho’s shaky confidence returned instantly, an exhausted sigh blowing ragged over his lips. “Jesus Christ,” he cursed with a defeated laugh, “imagine the consequences. His career? My career?! What would I even do?!”

You spied Chan on the other side of the loft, currently leaning incredibly close to a stunningly hot girl.

Minho raised an eyebrow when you shifted your drinks aside and ordered a couple waters. “We done already?”

“Of course not,” you retorted, “I just prefer to not drink when I'm scheming.”

“Scheming?” Minho stared at you, half aghast and half intrigued. You nodded in return.

“Come on, Min,” you invited, “tell me more about Chan.”

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

You looked ridiculous. This was now one week since you’d first stepped into the loft at Good Night. Minho dressed you, and from the way he could barely keep his hands off you, you were curious to see what Chan would think. First and foremost, your tits were shoved up under your chin. It wasn’t like you were suffering through a push-up bra or fashion tape situation, but you were surprised to find Minho had picked out an astonishingly nice corset top for you, all cropped and coquettish with ribbon details on the shoulders and everything.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you’d asked him.

“Quit whining,” he scolded. “Do you want him or not?”

Of course, the boobs would only help so much. Along with the gorgeous top that was horrifyingly body-hugging, Minho also supplied you with an elegantly long and chic skirt that sported a devilish slit up the thigh. The skirt perfectly coordinated with an equally cropped blazer that you currently wore draped around your shoulders. You’d never tried this look before, but it was surprisingly not bad.

“What do you think?” Minho had asked when you tried it all on.

“I look like an expensive hooker,” you determined. You kept nervously fussing with the buttons on the blazer.

“Perfect,” Minho chuckled as he fixed a dainty gold chain around your neck. He squeezed your hand away from the jacket buttons. When you batted him off, he swatted your hand instead. “We call that a ‘call girl’, by the way. How do you feel?”

You had thought about this. “I feel hot,” you decided.

“Good. That’s because you are.”

It was still true, days later. In your heels and the other cute accessories Minho picked out for you, you felt like you were unstoppable. (Which, truthfully, only made you feel more like you were really, truly falling for him – the way the accessories and outfit still felt like good matches for you, not the fact that he bought you things… Except maybe that was also there, at least a little.)

You snapped open your clutch purse to grab your cover charge. It’d been Minho’s idea that you also arrive separately. Even though he was only 15 or 20 people back in line, you still couldn't help but feel a little nervous for some reason.

When you couldn't find your cover right away, you pulled the bag closer to get a better look. Instead, you got a faint whiff of the cologne dotted on your wrists.

“You sure?” you’d asked Minho. He’d nodded heartily in return.

“Absolutely. I know what I'm doing.”

It wasn't even his cologne or anything. He simply recalled it as a detail Chan had divulged while tipsy once: cologne always smelled better than perfume. No matter what.

You wondered if Minho ever recalled silly little things you’d said along the same lines.

Finally, you found your cover charge, but not before you heard it.

“You! White skirt!”

The skirt was cream, idiot.

Wait.

That was you.

Holy shit, that was you.

Your head snapped up to attention. Sure enough, the bouncer was waving you forward.

Apparently, you actually looked as good as you felt.

Sneaking a look back at Minho, you recognized his look as burning pride, the way his grin bordered on smug.

The club was even more crowded than your previous trip, making you doubt your plan for just a second, but you remembered what Minho said.

“Don’t sit at the bar. Don’t even spend a minute looking for him. Sit on a lounge bench by yourself and don’t look at your phone. Just people watch for a minute. He’ll find you instead.”

Complete and total nonsense, but you were curious nonetheless. You honestly got in your own head. Whereas there'd been no thought to pushing Minho’s buttons, you didn’t even know Chan aside from what Minho told you.

Although Minho told you quite a lot.

“... And you know what else bothers me? He never lets anyone stay after he leaves the office. He’s always going on and on about how he doesn't want to leave anyone behind and everyone deserving free time. Does he even know how much overtime everyone pulls on days he’s not in the office to make up for it?”

Did Minho bitch about you like that? You hoped so. The idea of him griping at Jisung over how he was annoyed with every little thing you did was miserably adorable.

Getting lost in your thoughts for a minute helped pass time tremendously, as it turned out, but now you were worried that you hadn't caught sight of Minho yet. Even though he mentioned wanting to lurk in the background, it made you nervous to feel like you were on your own.

Even though you sort of were.

Was Chan even going to show? Minho had texted you when he overheard Chan talking about his plans for the night, but that never meant it was a confirmation. He easily could've–

“You’re here all alone?”

A distractingly forward voice cut through the noise and your internal distress.

Chan?

Turning to face the greeting, you were almost startled to find – sure enough – Chan sitting beside you on the lounge bench.

Why did you ever doubt Minho?

Chan was wearing a suit today, a casual number without a tie and his shirt dangerously three-quarters buttoned under his open jacket. He was brazenly sitting facing you, his knee nonchalantly nudged up on the bench and his arm slung across the back without touching you. You rapidly composed yourself.

“Excuse me?” you asked, seemingly nonplussed.

Chan blinked in response before visibly resetting himself.

“Be present, but not invested, not right away,” Minho had advised you before heading out here for the night. “Make him work for it.”

Here, Chan rolled his shoulders back and put his grin back on. “I asked if you’re here all alone.”

“I'm not,” you politely answered with a short shake of your head.

Chan automatically nodded in cordial understanding. “Fair enough. Apologies for interrupting you–”

He stared at your hand on his sleeve, stopping him from getting up.

“Is that usual?” you'd questioned Minho earlier tonight. “Making him work for it?”

And Minho had only grinned. “Not at all.”

Chan curiously held your gaze.

“I said I'm not here alone; I didn't say I wanted you to leave.”

He warily glanced around the loft. “What if I'm not into cheating?”

“Neither am I,” you shrugged innocently.

More intrigued than perturbed now, Chan eased back down onto the lounge bench. “So I take it that your companion is pretty private then?”

You cracked a sly grin. “Let’s say he has reason to not show himself.”

“Then you’re suggesting I know him? I know everybody,” Chan eagerly pressed on.

“Never said that. But I never said you don’t, either. He did say you're the curious type, though. Are you?” you teased.

Minho had warned you that Chan looked good when he blushed, but he didn’t tell you how easy it was to get him to do it.

But it wasn't just that. When you were first planning all of this together, you’d made sure to ask Minho. It was important to know, after all.

“Tell me what you want out of this, at least for the first round if that’s all we’ll get.”

Minho had considered it carefully, and you loved every second of his answer.

Currently, Chan looked on in abject anticipation.

“And maybe,” you resumed, “he thinks you like to show off. Maybe he wants to watch and know he got to see you with me, without you ever knowing who he is.”

You stalled before he could say anything, grabbing a hearty sip of your drink to gather some fortitude.

It seemed you weren't the only one in need of some renewed confidence either. Chan blinked at you again and swallowed down a tough breath, processing this.

“Not interested? I’m sorry to take up your time,” you politely apologized before moving to get up.

However, just like Minho predicted, it was Chan’s turn to put his hand on your sleeve.

“He wants to watch?” he carefully repeated.

“This time, at least,” you winked, aloof.

Chan’s ears burned bright coral.

You leaned into his hand on your arm. Even in the low lighting of the loft, nothing obscured his distracted gaze trailing down your throat to your chest.

“Everything okay?” you patiently implored.

Chan nodded dumbly. “I'm not used to being caught off guard, that’s all.”

A smirk tugged at your lip. “You’ll have plenty of time to get adjusted. Anyway, I’m sure you're a real quick learner.”

The gleam in Chan’s eye was woefully endearing. You were never much for “Labrador boyfriend” energy, but Chan reminded you more of a bouncy Rottweiler.

What would this guy look like in one of those handsome collars? Like, not even a lined, leather one, but just a chain pinch collar–

“–if your man doesn’t mind.”

Oh shit.

You were getting distracted. Chan had just finished saying something attractive, judging by his cocksure smolder. You leaned into your distraction, cocking your head curiously. “I’m so sorry,” you apologized, “what did you say? I was already imagining what’s coming next.”

Chan, gawped, floundering again. “I, er, was just saying I'd love to show you a good time, if your man doesn't mind.”

“Oh, Chan,” you cooed, “of course he doesn’t mind. He wants this, remember?”

Now he was just ogling you. Did you say something wrong?

“How did– who– so you do know my name?”

Fuck.

Your pause betrayed how much you were scrambling to stay cool. The most devious grin spread across Chan’s face before he scooted forward. Now you were hip to hip on the bench. You backed up an inch in surprise but Chan only leaned in, gaze hungry. “I was right,” he eagerly implored. “If you don’t know me, your guy definitely does. Who are you?”

“Chan,” you repeated, regaining composure as you did so and sitting up into his space, “of course I know you. I know lots of things.”

He devilishly met you in the middle, your lips a few inches from his now. “I bet you do,” he murmured. He was staring at your mouth, eyes half-lidded. “What else do you know?”

You called his bluff, pushing forward another inch until he pulled back, just barely. “I know,” you paused for dramatic effect, “that you want to get me in a taxi right now and do whatever it takes to find out everything I know.”

The bit about the cab was explicitly supplied by Minho.

“If there’s anything the idiot loves more than his job, his flat, or getting laid, it’s the Rover. He’ll turn himself inside out to give you a ride, especially if he thinks you're not expecting it.”

And damn it all if he wasn't right again, because Chan looked like he could eat you alive right then. Did Minho know everything about you, too?

“Come on,” Chan urged you as he got up. Despite his neediness, his hold on your hand was incredibly gentle, a smooth little motion of scooping up your fingers in his. “You tell me where and we’ll go. You into cars? I have–”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down champ,” you giggled, not letting go of his hand but using your other to play with the buttons on his suit jacket. “You’re just gonna take me? Wherever? Even his place?”

“I don't give a shit if you want to go to Brazil, if I’m being honest,” laughed Chan, “I’d book us a flight right this second. But if it’s about safety, that’s fine, I'll gladly take a cab.”

Minho did make it clear that although Chan was a jackass, he was not a creep. And, unsurprisingly, he was right again. Chan’s eyes followed as your hand lifted to cup his face. His chin was ridiculously smooth. God, he even knew how to shave. Minho had good taste.

“Come on, then,” you nodded towards the stairs, “show me your nice car.”

As it turned out, Chan's car was every bit as dumb as Minho told you it was, but you found yourself fond of how proud he was of the thing. It was nice, sure, but you were more interested in how spotless he kept it. When he opened the door for you, the Rover smelled almost brand new, like it’d just been detailed.

Driving with Chan was a whole other story. Thank god Minho lived close, because your mind was racing. One hand on the wheel, Chan’s other hand possessively held your knee. He’d asked, of course, if it was okay, and here you were, lost in thought as you watched his thumb brush little circles on your kneecap. He hadn’t been able to access your bare skin immediately, though. His pinky edged under the hem on the slit of your skirt so he could smooth the fabric out of his way. You liked his approach; it was forward without being overbearing, a neat little acceleration of how much you'd been firing each other up in the club.

The conversation was still mostly focused on him, at your insistence. He asked what you did for work, but all you told him was it was a boring little job. Nothing like his job, by the look of it.

“Eh,” Chan dismissed, “it’s a career. It’s second nature by now.”

He did keep trying, though, and when you wouldn't give up, he tried prying more info about Minho out of you. In fact, Minho warned you about this. He said Chan liked to tout having a silver tongue with clients, but your boyfriend preferred to say Chan simply talked so much that his clients would do anything to shut him up.

Wait.

Boyfriend?

Minho was your boyfriend, right?

It felt good to say it, at least in your head.

“Have you done this before?” Chan prodded. “Picking up guys together?”

You tried to get back in the game mentally. “Would it make you feel more special if we haven't?”

Chan’s face was pink again.

“Cute,” you teased, lifting a hand to ease your fingers back through his hair. You weren't surprised to find your hand didn't come back with hair product residue.

It should be said, you reminded yourself, that all these little revelations weren’t too different from similar ones you’d had about Minho in recent months. He was also astoundingly put together. It just made sense, you supposed, that Chan seemed to fit the same kind of image.

There was one spare parking spot for Minho’s building, but you already knew that. Minho had confirmed the week before that one of his neighbors was out of town. You were just about to open the passenger side door of the Rover when your phone buzzed.

>>STALL FOR ONE SECOND I got held up by coat check and only managed to leave a minute before you.

“Everything alright?” Chan asked, getting your attention back. The concern in his face told you that you may have been internally screaming at your phone.

“No, yeah, everything’s fine,” you reassured him before opening the door. Chan dutifully jumped out after you and jogged around to your side, offering you a hand. You looked at him, almost eye to eye in your heels. “I do want to know, though, for my own purposes…”

This wasn't part of the script, but you needed to stall, apparently.

And you were curious.

Chan looked on intently.

“I guess what I'm wanting to know,” you carefully continued, “was what brought you out here. The prospect… Or me?”

Chan’s gaze softened, matching his grin. His hand gently held you at the elbow. “It’s definitely a proposition I've never gotten before…But I also haven't met many women like you. Your guy’s pretty damn lucky.”

Okay, maybe you were getting more on board with Minho’s praise of the guy.

You paused, though, when Chan leaned in, his lips almost on yours when you stopped him. “Sorry, handsome,” you apologetically giggled, “you gotta save it.”

“No, what?” Chan whined, but he backed up immediately. “Don’t make me wait–”

“Don’t worry,” you laughed, taking his hand and leading him to the elevator, “you don’t have to wait long.”

As expected, Chan’s eyes were everywhere, even in the elevator, looking for any hint of who you were with, so you got his attention back again. His brows jumped when you easily wrapped your arms around his strong neck, herding him against the back wall of the elevator. He tested the waters a little, getting a hand around your waist before you swiftly swatted him off.

“What, you’re not gonna be good for me?” he cooly smirked, teasingly trying again before you roughly grabbed onto his hand. His eyes widened, looking caught. You kept your composure despite retaining your sharp grip on his hand.

“One thing you’re going to learn very quickly,” you smiled sweetly for him, “is if anyone wants me to be good for them, they have to earn it.”

Minho earned it. Who knew if Chan ever would.

“Of course,” Chan nodded attentively.

You combed your fingers through his hair again, liking how he seemed to enjoy it. “Do you want to be good for me?”

Chan raised an eyebrow. You leaned away a little.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I’ve just, er… I've never had anyone ask before.”

Hilarious. Of course. You should’ve known–

“– But I'd love to try.”

It was your turn to raise an eyebrow back at him. Your fingers still in his hair, you tried a tentative tug, only craning his head back an inch or so. His fingers squeezed your waist appreciatively in return. “You think you want to say sorry for getting overly eager with me a second ago?”

Chan scoffed. “What, when I got a little too fresh with you? Yeah it turned out to be too much but–”

“But you can just say sorry like I asked,” you chided him, your voice syrupy sweet while you tugged his hair more sharply.

His hissed inhale was cute. “Yes, baby,” he gritted out, “I’m sorry.”

“I like the way you say baby,” you cooed. “Was that okay?”

“Yeah,” Chan nodded, halfway dazed, “yeah, that was definitely okay”

“Plenty more where that came from,” you assured him, cupping his cheek.

How long had the elevator been stationary at Minho’s floor?

Well, you’d definitely stalled a little.

You took Chan’s hand and led him down the hall to Minho’s flat. A deep breath stagnated in your lungs. There was really no going back from this.

Then again, there was really no going back from the moment you let Chan sit next to you at the club.

No, you reminded yourself. You wanted this. And the fact that Minho wanted this, too, was even better. You really felt unstoppable like this.

The doorknob gave way easily when you turned it, Minho making sure there’d be little to no barrier when you arrived. Chan followed close behind, still holding your hand. Like you planned, the flat was fairly dark, only some candles and dim lamps lighting the living room. You stopped in front of the chaise on the wall opposite Minho’s bedroom. Chan’s eyes were still wandering, trying to glean any hints to Minho’s identity in the decor. Thankfully, you’d thought to stow all his photos for the night, and the dark room meant it was difficult to tell if an innocuous item like a vase was sentimental or purely decorative.

You gently but pointedly pulled down on Chan’s hand so he'd sit beside you on the lounge. He was still ridiculously distracted. You cupped his face so he would look at you.

“Weren't you waiting for something?” you patiently asked.

Chan’s pout was going to kill you.

“Waiting–? Oh, I mean, yeah–”

“Then close your eyes and put this on, handsome.”

You held up a necktie, magically producing it from its hiding place in the couch and Chan wavered momentarily before he closed his eyes. He leaned forward, letting you knot the necktie into a blindfold, but not without Chan markedly pausing. His nose pointed towards the tie. You wondered if Chan recognized Minho’s cologne. Maybe it was simply familiar, but the idea that the scent jogged his memory made you ache in your growing desire.

It was cute to imagine Chan hadn't done this in years, following someone else’s lead… If not ever. He didn't really strike you as the type. Your reading led you to believe Chan was always calling the shots.

The tinkling of a whiskey rock in a lowball glass signaled you to Minho’s presence, and you weren't the only one. Despite the blindfold, Chan clearly perked up at the noise. Minho leaned against the doorway of his bedroom, taking a sip from his drink while he watched you both. His shirt was opened by a couple buttons, and he'd abandoned his jacket so he could roll up his cuffs. Knowing him, this wasn't his first drink since he got home, and he was already warm. He shared a sweet, proud smile with you.

“He wants you to kiss me,” you told Chan, stroking your fingers through his hair again.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” he asked in return.

Minho shook his head into his drink. You already loved how much Chan pushed all his buttons without even meaning to.

“Of course I do, sweetie,” you laughed. “Now quit making me wait.”

Chan nodded, his own hand searching out your cheek and pulling you close. His breath was hot against your lips, a single moment of hesitance before he kissed you. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the poignant rise and fall of Minho’s deep inhale swelling his chest. He moved to sit down in his favorite chair in front of his bookcase.

Meanwhile, that first kiss was the only barrier Chan needed to pass, from what you could tell. Instantly, he was right back to his previous boldness, pulling you close and exploring your mouth with his tongue. This was already a delicious change of pace. Whereas Minho liked to push and pull with you, Chan was plain hungry. Every inch you gave him became a mile. You started running down the list of things you and Minho agreed on, all the things you wanted to do and he wanted to see. The moment you led Chan’s hand to your knee, he immediately grabbed your leg and pulled you over so you were sitting on his lap, his tongue still in your throat and ravenously trying to get more and more of you. Barely a second had passed before his hands were already moving from your waist to your hips to the curve of your ass. Your skirt strained where your knees were parted to straddle him and instead you grabbed onto the collar of his shirt, reeling him in while you leaned back to recline on the couch. Chan followed, blind and dutiful, and swallowed a breath when he felt you lead his hands to the zip of your skirt. He paused then, a hand on your hip waiting for any positive signal until you writhed up into his palm. You hummed contentedly while he slowly pulled the zip down, raising your hips to allow him to shimmy the garment down and off of you. This left you in your heels, your sheer panties, and the flirty corset top.

Across the room, Minho methodically swirled his glass in one hand while he watched, his other strategically resting on the visible bulge in his slacks.

Chan was surprised when you stopped him, his hands paused by your own. You led him to sit up beside you again, and then stand. First you slipped off your blazer, carelessly dropping it to the floor. He turned his head slightly, following the sound of your heels on the hardwood when you stepped behind him. His broad shoulders tensed when you ran your hands over them. You slipped off his suit jacket, folding it and dropping it on the coffee table. Next was the shirt, easy work with most of the buttons already undone. You simply unclipped his expensive cufflinks, dropped them into his shirt pocket, and this joined the jacket on the table as well. Not too long ago, you nearly lost Minho’s favorite cufflinks in this very room after being too rushed. You peeked over Chan’s shoulder to catch Minho absolutely devouring your date for the night with his eyes. Right now his gaze was firmly locked on Chan’s cut form, his defined pecs and rippling abs. You couldn't blame him. Chan shivered when you reached around his middle to get a teasing feel of his abdomen. You leaned your lips up to Chan’s ear from behind, all the while your hands now sank down to the zip of his suit pants.

“Okay, baby,” you smiled, “tell us why we brought you home.”

Chan sucked in a breath at the sound and feel of you slowly pulling down his zipper. “Because you want me?” he answered, surprisingly on the brink of timid.

“Right,” you nodded. “And why do we want you?”

Chan's ears were pink again. You brazenly ran a hand down to get a quick squeeze of him. He shivered, curling in on himself with his inhale.

“Because, heh – mmh – I'm hot?” he tentatively asked, trying to keep that cocky edge intact.

“Very hot,” you praised. Meanwhile, Chan surreptitiously stepped out of his shoes, but froze when you actually opened and dropped his slacks. He was down to his stupidly expensive boxer briefs. His hand covered yours.

“W-wait,” he stopped you. “I didn't get a chance to say yet, but… I can blow my shot real fucking easy if I'm not careful.”

Minho arched a curious eyebrow.

You placed a comforting kiss on the nape of Chan’s neck. “Oh, baby,” you soothed, “you say that like it's a bad thing.”

“No, not at all,” he flustered, “I just, I mean – what I'm trying to say is – there's usually a whole process to this.”

“You have a routine?” you teased. Minho watched you sink back down onto the lounge.

If your ears didn't lie, Chan almost whined. “When you put it like that–”

“Underwear off,” you pleasantly demanded.

The swirling of Minho’s ice in his glass sped up when Chan complied.

Guy was built. Cute back dimples and everything. Needed some work in his legs, but who didn’t?

You spread your knees, patting the upholstery between them. “Come here. Sit back down, baby.”

Chan carefully lowered himself between your legs. You lifted your heels, hooking them inside his knees from behind to spread him open.

Minho watched intently the first time you touched Chan’s bare cock. It wasn’t thick, it wasn’t long, but it did feel just as handsome as the rest of him. And if Chan was pink, then the head was almost red, you mused. You wistfully imagined Minho was wishing it was his own hand on it. Chan choked out a groan, almost like he’d been holding his breath, and immediately relaxed into your chest. He was fully exposed for your boyfriend, getting his dick stroked while he moaned and sighed.

“Tell me what the whole process is,” you directed towards his ear. “Tell me why else we brought you home.

“I go down,” he immediately answered. “I always get them there first, feels so fucking good and helps me last longer.”

Minho almost sat up straighter and you knew why. Despite having both taken turns going down, plenty of times, neither of you could really say it was your favorite activity.

You put your open palm under Chan’s full lips. “Spit, handsome.”

Chan didn't hesitate, immediately letting a good drip of saliva drop into your hand. He threw his head back when you reapplied your newly lubed hand to his strained erection.

“And then what,” you asked him, “you get to be hot and attentive and then what.”

“Hmn, oh shit,” he cursed when you sped up, “then I get mine.”

“Yeah?” you smiled. “That’s it? They get theirs and then you get yours? Let’s see what that looks like.”

Chan nervously giggled. “Never said the process was complex, it just– oh fuck,” he croaked, his breath shaking while you fisted his leaking cock. Just like that, Chan dropped his head back onto your shoulder while he came. The way you held his length aimed it low on his belly.

From the magical hiding spot in the chaise came one of Minho’s pocket squares. You mused for a moment if these also smelled like your boyfriend while you cleaned Chan up enough to keep going. One last swipe left a bead of cum on your forefinger. You lifted this up to Chan’s lips, only for him to automatically poke his tongue out and hungrily taste it.

“Oh, I knew it,” you gushed. “I didn’t even have to ask.”

Chan was simply rosy and catching his breath when you wrapped your fingers into his perfect hair. He turned his attention to you. “Now what, baby, tell me what's next.”

You led him down to kneel in front of the chaise. “You like to go down? I wanna see.”

Minho had already freed himself from his slacks and was lazily palming himself, licking the whiskey off his lips while he watched Chan blindly feel for your knees so he could work his way up to the waistband of your scant panties. His fingers were careful with the delicate fabric. Properly bared for him, he spread you nice and wide on the chaise before slinging your legs over his shoulders. First, Chan kissed and nipped at your abdomen, leaving a couple little love bites on his way down between your thighs. He breathed you in before taking one sampling taste of you. You both shivered at the first feel of his tongue on your wet clit.

When you noticed Chan’s pause, you sat up. Minho looked on expectantly. Chan was waiting.

“More,” you urged him.

Chan dove into you then, licking and tasting every inch of your hot pussy that he could reach. He felt out all of your favorite little spots, too. Your back arched, your breath hitching in your throat when he pressed into you with his tongue. You stopped him now. If he kept this up you’d be a goner. You threaded your fingers into his hair and yanked him back, loving how he groaned for you. He caught his breath, waiting for you to give him the next direction when he felt your hand on his half-hard cock, this time with Minho’s pocket square wrapping around him.

“Think you can cum again while you’re down there?” you challenged him.

Chan paused, pouty lips shiny wet with you. “You want me to?”

You cracked a smug grin. “I want you to go until you hit empty.”

You could’ve sworn he blushed at that, too. It felt like half the words out of your mouth were nothing he’d ever heard before. Minho nodded in agreement behind him.

“Yes, baby,” Chan dutifully answered, taking over from your grip on his quickly regrowing erection before diving back into you, herding you back onto the chaise so he could lick you again.

You were coming apart under Chan’s tongue. Minho was amazing at it but something about Chan told you that, apparently, someone could really love eating pussy. He held onto your hips and thighs, grinding his moaning breath into you while he jerked himself off. Within minutes, he shivered as he came again. You shot up to support yourself on your straightened arms.

“Did you just–?”

“You told me to,” Chan panted, as if it were obvious. He lifted the blindfold to gaze up at you. His flushed cheeks and chest were adorably shiny with perspiration by now.

You and Minho glanced at each other, doe eyed.

“And can you… go again?” you tentatively asked.

He nodded emphatically. “Yeah, baby.”

“Oh my god,” you marveled. You gently grabbed him by the chin and led him back to your heat.

Chan got right back into it, licking you while clearly giving his cock a moment to rest before you could feel him gently stroking it again.

Good Christ, you groaned internally, could you imagine edging him?

The thought alone was getting you to your peak even faster than before.

And it was like Chan knew.

“Baby,” he pleaded into your pussy, “tell me I can touch you.”

You felt the fingertips of his free hand tease your hot entrance. He rode the line without ever crossing it.

“Yeah,” you nodded, “I wanna feel it.”

For a moment, you were worried you’d be thrown off by the change of pace, but Chan was surprisingly astute with how he approached it. His fingertips slowly, slowly rocked into you, in pace with the grinding of his tongue. The stretch was almost too natural, and before you knew it, he was pumping his fingers right into your spot. You let out a breathy whine at how pliant yet attentive Chan was being. When he clearly hit the right rhythm, he never let up. Before too long, your peak was right there. With the blindfold still lifted up, his eyes were locked on you in determination.

Your fingers were in his hair again, getting his attention. “Baby,” you urgently sighed, “you’re gonna make me–!”

You threw your head back into the chaise with the force of your orgasm, your thighs spasming and clenching onto Chan while he moaned into you. He licked you up until you pushed him off, fighting for breath, gripping onto the cushions of the lounge.

“Holy shit,” you breathed, dazed.

“Good, right?” Chan eagerly asked, still panting.

“Yeah,” you nodded, a little more lucidly. “Did you–”

“No,” Chan almost whimpered. “I haven't gone this many times in years.”

“But you still can?” you verified.

“I need to,” he insisted.

“Good,” you smirked, slipping his blindfold back down and dipping your thumb in between his lips. He automatically began sucking on it, until you curled your fingers around his jaw and pulled, hauling him up onto the lounge beside you.

Chan gasped and whined when you immediately threw a leg over his lap and straddled him. You dragged a fingernail down his toned chest.

“What now?” he asked, hushed anticipation filling his voice.

Minho was teasing his fingertips over the dripping head of his erection.

You seated yourself right on Chan’s hardness, enveloping him in your soft heat and getting a broken groan out of him. “We’re just finishing this one off, baby,” you assured him.

“How’re you–oh Jesus Christ–”

Chan clawed into the chaise when you pulled all the way off of him. You sank him inside again, repeating the motion, taking him all the way to the hilt and then lifting completely off of him.

“You love getting fucked, don’t you, baby,” you mewled.

This poor man was quivering under you. “Yes – fuck – god, yes, baby, I do,” he babbled.

You slid your hot pussy onto his cock and right back off again. Just for the added torture, you reached up and tweaked his nipples. Chan let out a garbled curse.

“Oh,” you simpered while you maintained the same arduous cycle, “what a perfect slut. So good for me.”

Chan whimpered again. “Baby, baby,” he panted, “I can’t, I have to–”

“Not yet,” you scolded him, pinching his nipple again. “Tell him how good it is.”

“Him–?” Chan asked, almost too dazed to understand at first. You looked behind you. Minho was panting, groaning while he touched himself.

“Him,” you repeated. “My boyfriend wants to know how good it is. Tell him I'm gonna make you cum.”

“Fuck, she’s so good,” Chan immediately commended, “her pussy’s fucking perfect, she’s gonna make me fucking bust–”

“Do it, then,” you instructed. “Fucking bust, slut.”

“God damn,” Chan hissed, “yes, baby, whatever you want–”

He shut up again when you hesitated for a moment. You'd still been keeping up the same torturous cycle of never properly riding him, only teasing his whole length inside you before pulling off. This time, you paused for a second before taking him back inside. This, apparently, was nearly all he needed. Chan writhed under you, needy and desperate, until you rode him properly, grinding him upwards inside your heat. He was fully moaning out loud now, not stopping until his breathing hitched.

“Fuck,” he whimpered, “I’m gonna, I’m gonna–”

When you pulled off of him again at the last second, you could've sworn he almost sobbed, bucking his orgasming cock into nothing and coating his stomach in his cum again.

The incredible thing was, however, Chan was still hard. Even when you let him catch his breath for a good minute.

“You bitch,” Chan wheezed out a laugh while you cleaned him up.

“Was it that bad?” you pretended to pout.

He shook his head. “No, it was weird. Interesting might be a better word for it, but that was a weird fucking orgasm.”

“Want a better one?” you propositioned.

Chan lifted his head off the chaise to look at you, humorous with the blindfold still on. “Wait. Seriously?”

You glanced behind you. Even Minho seemed surprised, but his sly grin communicated a persistent pride.

Minho knew you loved impressing him.

“Yeah,” you insisted, letting him feel you climb off of him so you could melt down beside him onto the lounge. “I wanna wring you dry. Come here and fuck me properly.”

“Oh hell yeah,” Chan blurted. He instantly scrambled off the chaise and fell back onto his knees on the floor.

“Now?” you stalled, suddenly bashful from his eagerness.

Chan yanked the blindfold down now that he wasn’t facing Minho’s direction and roughly grabbed his cock. “Look at me,” he goaded you, crazed, “I'm ready to go. Let me fuck you properly.”

You nodded dumbly, a bit gobsmacked by how he retained this edge to him even when he was bordering on submissive. Chan scooped a hand under you to sit you up. His other spread your knees and scooted your ass to the edge of the chaise.

“Please kiss me again, baby,” he gruffly pleaded.

You grabbed onto the makeshift blindfold, now a makeshift leash. Chan grunted when you pulled him closer together. “You want it?” you asked sweetly.

“I need it,” Chan clarified. “Please, baby, please kiss me.”

You nodded, closing your eyes while you reeled him in, the meeting of your lips coinciding with him sliding into you again. He groaned hot and urgent into your mouth, and already his hands were all over you. Chan fucked you firm but not too rough. He doubled the thrust by pulling you onto his sensitive cock at the same time, his fingers clutching your ass while he sloppily nipped and kissed your neck.

“Is your boyfriend getting off on this?” Chan asked sweetly into your ear.

Over his shoulder, you could see Minho spit into his own palm to lube up his erection, his head lolling back into the easy chair while he touched himself.

“Yeah baby,” you nodded, already fucked dumb yourself.

“And you?” he teased. “You like your boyfriend watching you get fucked?”

“Yeah,” you whined desperately, thrusting back.

“Who’s really the little slut– oh fuck–” Chan cursed roughly as you tugged hard on the necktie wrapped around his throat. Your back arched, getting a sordid moan out of both of you when this created more of a grinding angle in your hips.

“No question about it,” you breathlessly taunted, “only a little slut can go three times.”

“If you keep that up,” Chan whimpered, “it’s gonna be four.”

“Fuck,” you whined pathetically, “Channie, you're hitting my spot–”

“Channie?” he repeated, nosing his lips up to your ear. God he was insatiable. “Oh, I like that. You like Channie pounding into your g-spot, baby?”

“God, you're annoying,” you cutely ribbed him. “Make me cum, Channie.”

“Give it to me,” he pleaded. “You gotta tell me so I can pull out and finish–”

“Pull out?” you questioned.

Chan raised his eyebrows at you. “You don’t want me to?”

“I said,” you repeated with a measured amount of menace, “I want to wring you dry.”

It was Chan's turn to look a bit gobsmacked. That multiplied when you wrapped your legs around him, hooking your ankles behind his back. You were getting that headrush back. He craned his neck when you pulled at the necktie again. “You’re going to make me cum, Channie,” you explained, “and when I do, you're going to fill me up.”

“Yes, baby,” he desperately nodded. He was still grinding into you. “Just like this?”

You nodded, stealing a kiss from him. “Yeah, Channie, I love it. You want me to cum all over your cock?”

“Please,” he growled into your mouth, “come on baby, let me cum inside your perfect pussy.”

Your goddamn vision was going hazy from how fast Chan was getting you there. Everything went so fast when you hit your peak. Your nails raked into Chan’s biceps when you finally unraveled, your cries and moans indecipherable from his own when your hearing dropped out momentarily. He hit his high right after you, clutching you tight against him while his hips stuttered with the force of his orgasm. Minho's empty whiskey glass hit the floor while he tried to stifle his curses, biting into his knuckles while he sprayed right onto the hardwood. Thankfully, the glass didn't shatter, only traveling a handful of inches to the floor.

There was only gasps and sighs for air in the ensuing silence. Minho caught his breath for a moment before he would make his planned return to his bedroom. You collapsed back onto the chaise, stroking Chan's hair where he’d crumpled on top of you. He was hugging you tight around the middle.

“That was amazing,” you appreciated, punctuating this with a kiss to the crown of his head.

“The feeling is mutual,” Chan chuckled. He kissed you beside your navel when he straightened back up. “Can’t say I saw this coming when I went out tonight.”

There was a shy quiet while Chan plucked his shirt up off the table behind him. It was almost romantic, the way he was still inside you.

“So do I get to meet this mystery man?” he asked casually, fishing his cufflinks out of his shirt pocket.

“He’ll prefer to keep his privacy,” you smiled sympathetically. “I’m sure you understand.”

Behind him, Minho finally arose from his chair, picking up his glass and ready to head back to the bedroom.

“Sure,” Chan nodded. “So do you think he’d mind a date, then? Just me and you?”

You stared, mouth agape. Minho paused too. His hand was tight around the glass.

“You’re joking, right?” you carefully laughed.

“No!” Chan laughed back. Was he serious or was he trying to get his way and see Minho? “I’m sure he won't mind,” he continued. “We already fucked. I already made you cum. Twice, may I add. I'm sure he’d understand if I want to see you again.”

“Careful, Channie,” you tried to playfully warn him.

“What,” Chan teased back, taking his sweet time easing out of you. “Maybe he’d like it. He already like watching us fuck in his apartment. Maybe he'd like sharing you–”

“Don’t be dumb, handsome,” you warned him again. Minho fully faced away from the bedroom now. “How do you know it’s not my apartment?”

“It’s clearly not your apartment,” Chan persisted. “But I can show you mine if you show me yours–fuck!”

You’d wondered how long Minho would last, and the answer was not very long at all. He marched right over, kicking a foot up under Chan’s arm to punt him onto the floor. Chan cursed and sat up, quickly grabbing his trousers to cover himself and discover Minho standing over him.

The two men stared at each other, Minho’s glare meeting Chan’s wide-eyed panic.

Instead of backing down, though, Minho did what he was best at. He squared his shoulders back, unyielding.

“I tried telling her, hyung, sometimes you refuse to shut the fuck up.”

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