Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There’s something wrong with Chan.

You notice immediately, trying to stay discreet as you watch through the window at the boys as they wander out of the forest, stretching limbs, ruffling dishevelled hair.

You’re still getting used to the whole werewolf thing.

It had only been a few months ago that you had returned from a semester abroad to find that your life-long best friend, Felix, had been bitten by some sketchy creep at a beach bonfire.

There’s no…lingering guilt about not being there. Or anything.

You’re fine.

But Chan isn’t. That’s what you’re so focused on right now.

His expression is guarded, shoulders tense as he walks just a few steps behind the rest of the group. You watch Felix hang back a second, talking to him, saying something you can’t hear through the window. You see Chan shake his head, patting him on the shoulder, and when Felix says something else, he moves his hand to the back of Felix’s head, scratching it affectionately.

You know objectively that Chan taking in Felix was one of the best things to happen for him. From the little you’ve gleaned about werewolves, you know that packs work like a support network. A new family. It’s good for him.

It just…chafes a little that you’re not a part of it. It feels unfair that the only way to regain that position you once held in Felix’s life would be to get bitten too, suffer through the painful transition, disconnect from society, spend days and weeks and months of your life as a mindless animal ready to attack and maul any living thing in sight–

Chan’s limping.

You catch it. Just barely.

You don’t think anyone else has noticed. You think you only caught it because Chan hasn’t noticed you looking.

Hasn’t noticed you.

You were surprised when Chan approached you a few weeks ago with a proposition. It was a simple enough request – staying at their cabin while the full moon happened, house-sitting while they spent the better part of three days doing their wolf stuff. You could catch up on your schoolwork, spend a few days alone to collect your thoughts.

It was nice. Quiet. Maybe a little lonely. But still nice.

You just didn’t see why you were needed. And Chan didn’t really do much to make you feel wanted either.

The other boys like you, you think. Felix obviously adores you, and the others joke around with you and share smiles and try to give you teasing little compliments when they think they can break you down, make you blush. It hasn’t worked so far, but it’s cute that they’re trying.

But Chan’s different. So warm to his boys, so committed to the role as pack leader – but there’s something off in the way he acts with you. Being a wolf, being a leader, is so intrinsic to his being and it’s all meaningless to you. He has no authority over you. He has nothing in common with you.

And he’s intimidating as fuck.

The first of the group finally make it to the door, filing in as they laugh raucously about some inside joke Felix might catch you up on later.

“Is there anything to eat?” Jisung asks, eyes alight.

You scowl. “Why are you asking me? You think I waited around all weekend, cooking you guys dinner?”

You had made it clear from day one that you weren’t going to be some house mother to these guys, some kind of Wendy to their Lost Boys. You had your own life, and you were doing them a favour just by agreeing to stay in such an isolated cabin, miles away from the rest of civilisation.

But as Jisung’s face slowly turns guilty, his gaze shifting to the floor as he is undoubtedly recalling this same conversation, you can’t help but sigh. “…I tried following Felix’s cookie recipe yesterday. There’s some left in the fridge.”

Jisung’s face lights up, and you try hard to keep your expression neutral when he leans in and kisses your cheek. “Cute.”

You shove him away, scowl firmly back in place. “Only the burned ones are left. Fucking help yourself, asshole.”

Jisung just laughs, already heading for the fridge.

Hyunjin, who had followed right behind him, gives you a smile as he takes a seat at the kitchen counter, attempting to tease out a stray twig knotted in his hair. “Thanks for staying.”

You shrug. “Eh. I got some quiet time. Managed to finish outlining my dissertation. It wasn’t the worst weekend, I guess.”

Seungmin is the next to wander through, and you notice the rips in his shirt, the way his right sleeve hangs off his arm in tatters. Felix has informed you of the perils of clothing as a werewolf, how easily things can rip and snag when you don’t quite have the transformation under control yet. It’s hard to undress when you’re literally in the middle of turning in to a big scary man-sized wolf, you suppose.

Jeongin’s shirt is open, every single button apparently a casualty of transforming, seams along his sleeves and sides burst. He passes you by with a sheepish grin, hair mussed, shoulders straightened out just a touch at the sight of you.

Felix throws his arms around you as soon as he walks through the door, shouting his greeting in your ear. He’s practically vibrating, still on the high of adrenaline from whatever wolfy things he did this weekend. Chased deer? Howled at the moon, maybe?

“-so cool, he just pounced on this bear, you wouldn’t believe it. Our Jeonginnie’s getting so strong!”

You close your eyes, burrowing your face in Felix’s shoulder for a second as he recounts the weekend’s escapades in breathless excitement.

Definitely lonely, you think. This weekend has definitely felt lonely.

When you open your eyes, you catch sight of a pair of thick black boots, marching past you. By the time you glance up, you only catch the barest glimpse of Chan’s back retreating from you as he heads up the stairs in silence.

“What’s up with Chan?” You ask, blinking.

“Huh?” Felix pulls away from you to turn, following your gaze to the now-empty staircase. “Uh, nothing much. He always gets kind of quiet after we transform back. It’s kind of intense, especially for him. He’ll be fine.”

You think back to that limp, the way Chan’s body had faltered when he thought no one was looking.

These boys are tough. You know that they’re strong, resilient and heal supernaturally fast. You’ve maybe seen them hurt once or twice, with bruises or scrapes that heal up in about an hour.

You have never seen Chan, the great and fearless pack leader, hurt – and you have definitely never seen him limping like that.

It piques your curiosity.

“Just give me a sec,” you murmur, squeezing Felix’s arm. You turn to the rest of the room, barely sparing a glance at the way Changbin opened the snack cupboard with so much force that he almost ripped the handle clean off. “You guys eat. Maybe wash up a little. I don’t wanna use the phrase ‘wet dog’ but–”

Minho flashes you a grin, and throws up one long, delicate middle finger in your direction.

You purse your lips, blowing him a kiss, before turning on your heel and heading up the stairs after Chan.

His room is at the very end of the hallway. You pass by the bathroom on the way to it, and in a moment of inspiration, you quickly stop there to grab the first-aid kit you kept stocked under the sink.

Chan’s bedroom door is, of course, firmly shut when you arrive. You knock, gently at first, at least making the attempt at politeness. When he doesn’t answer, you try again even harder.

No response.

You resort to pounding your fist against the door. “Chan?”

“…Not now,” finally came the response, the irritation in his tone clear even through the muffling of the wood.

“Chan–”

“Not in the fucking mood.”

You blink at his terse response, before scoffing. Rude.

“Channie,” you sing-song, unable to resist winding him up just a little. “Channie, are you in there?”

“Leave me alone.”

You actually take a step back, staring in shock at the door.

You’ve only heard Chan use that voice on a handful of occasions before. Felix described it as Chan’s ‘alpha voice’ (even after you tried to explain to him that the concept of alpha wolves had already been disproven in science decades ago, “just ask David Mech–”) reserved only for the most serious of situations.

It was something only leaders had, a tone of voice that could bend the will of his pack members, force them to obey whatever he commanded.

Of course, with you not being a werewolf, that ‘alpha voice’ did jack-fucking-shit.

“Oh, scary. Chan’s all grumpy today,” you drawl, stepping forwards again. “I’m not leaving until you let me in, asshole. Now open the fucking door.”

There’s a pause. A long pause.

And then a sigh.

You’re already smirking when the lock turns, and the door slowly swings open to reveal Chan’s thunderous expression. “What do you want?”

“The pleasure of your company,” you retort, already trying to muscle your way in through the gap in the door.

Your shoulder makes contact with his side, shoving against it, and you jolt in shock when Chan reels back, wincing as his hands immediately flew to his ribs.

Oh, fuck.

Something was wrong.

You shut the door behind you, expression softening as you take in the sight of him.

His white shirt is streaked with dirt and grass stains, possibly salvageable with a long hot wash, nothing out of the ordinary. There’s a bright sheen of sweat covering his skin, clinging to the hair at his temples. His jaw is clenched, his nose flaring as he tries to breathe deeply. His whole body is tensed up.

He’s in pain.

You falter, unsure exactly how to deal with this situation now that you had forced your way into it.

“…What happened?”

Chan makes a face, turning away from you as he straightens up, pulling his hands away from his side. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit. You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing. Leave it.”

“No.”

Chan closes his eyes, letting out another long sigh through his nose. “Has anyone ever told you how irritating you are?”

“Frequently. It’s one of my charms. What happened?”

His eyes open, and he fixes you with one long, appraising stare. “…You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“The boy catches on fast,” you comment. “What was it? Felix said something about a bear–”

Chan actually chuckles at that – well, you can almost call it a chuckle. A sharp exhale of air that sounds amused as Chan rolls his eyes. “No, it wasn’t the bear,” he says, like it’s obvious.

“So, what was it?”

He falls silent again.

You frown, eyes narrowing at his stubbornness.

Well, two can play at that game.

You turn away from him, wandering over to his neatly made bed and dropping your rear onto it with a graceless thud. You sit there on the edge, legs crossed. You raise an eyebrow, challenging him.

The message is clear – you’re not leaving until you get answers.

Chan’s expression is unreadable as he eyes your new position. “…Get off my bed.”

You smile, and lean back, planting your hands into the soft sheets behind you. “Maybe if you tell me what’s wrong.”

He just stares at you, eyes burning.

You decide to change tactics. Voice softening, you tilt your head as you look up at him. “This is…this is how I show concern. OK? I’m concerned.”

Your words draw out the slightest hint of softness in Chan’s eyes, and you know immediately. Got him.

He swallows, and with a final sigh, he shifts his weight from one foot to another. “Jeongin…he’s getting strong. Maybe too strong. I was trying to help him transform back, and he…caught me.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, your eyes widening in shock.

He quickly clarifies himself. “By accident, obviously.”

“And the others…haven’t noticed?”

Chan shrugs, then immediately hisses at the pain of it, tensing again for a few moments until he manages to regain his composure. “…They noticed. I just told them I was fine.”

“Of course you did.”

Chan has a talent in persuading people. He’s got this raw charisma about him, the kind that could make you believe anything he wanted if he gave you enough attention, said just the right things.

“How bad is it?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“That’s nice. How bad is it?”

Your tone is sharp, sickeningly sweet. There’s something in you that takes a grim kind of pleasure in condescending to Chan, that enjoys disrespecting him when so many of his pack members seems to worship the ground he walks on.

It’s also the precise way to really push his buttons – which, of course, is a big part of the fun.

Instantly, his expression hardens, and his eyes are back to that burning kind of fury as he glares across the room at you.

Then, he finally notices the first-aid kit in your hand, and he changes.

The corners of his lips turn up, twisting into a smirk. He raises his chin, one eyebrow arching at the sight of you. It’s a smug, quietly dangerous look from Chan that you’ve never seen before. One that sets your nerves on edge, has the hairs on the back of your neck standing up.

“Why?” Chan asks, and his hand drifts up to rest on his top button. “Are you here to play nurse?”

His tone is mocking, pointed – a perfect reflection of your own.

He accompanies his words with the slow unbuttoning of his first button, hands already drifting down to his second.

He’s trying to intimidate you, scare you into submission, send you running out the door.

You grip the kit even tighter in your hand, and watch as he pops open his second button.

“Oh, no. Not skin, Channie,” you remark, voice just a touch too strained for your liking. “Anything but that.”

He ignores you, moving onto the third and then the fourth, shirt gaping open to reveal more and more of his torso as his hands travelled.

This is starting to venture into unfamiliar territory.

But you hold your ground regardless, watching as more and more of his body became exposed.

It’s…it’s a nice body. Lean. Defined. Chan clearly takes care of himself. Works out.

You’re unable to resist following the lines of an emerging six-pack, fading and sharpening with each of his breaths.

You swallow. “…Chan, if you’re just trying to show off–”

He slips the shirt off entirely, and your words catch in your throat.

You stare.

He’s so broad. It’s one thing to see him under clothes, but it’s entirely different to see him stripped so bare, to see the meat of his shoulders and biceps, to see just how big he is.

And normally, your attention would be all over that.

But it’s not.

Because your gaze is caught on the marks on his chest, some still bleeding, some turned shiny and pink as Chan heals himself.

You rise up from the bed immediately, almost jumping to your feet, at the sight.

Chan pauses for just a fraction of a second at your sudden movement. “Wh–”

“Get on the bed,” you order him, no trace of humour in your tone. It is all business, all urgency.

Chan blinks at your words, mouth opening to respond.

“Now,” you snap, looking him over again. “They need to get cleaned out before they heal over, genius. Get on the bed.”

It takes a second for your words to sink in, and his expression shifts when he finally grasps what you’re trying to tell him.

And then, Chan makes the very smart decision to do what you say, brushing past you as he walks towards his own bed and slowly sits down with a wince. “…Go on, then.”

You nod, making your way back to the bed and climbing up onto the mattress, crawling around Chan to check out the damage to his back.

…Fuck.

You’re faced with scores of angry claw-marks, cuts still oozing blood as they decorate his shoulders, his ribs, even the small of his back.

“What the fuck, Chan?” You hiss under your breath, fingers fumbling with the zip of the first-aid kit as you scramble to open it.

“Is it bad?” He asks, his voice so fucking casual.

You can’t even form a response, thoughts too tangled up in the state of his back. You dig for the antiseptic wipes, not exactly ideal for the situation but probably the best thing you had for cleaning these wounds.

“This is going to sting,” you warn, barely giving Chan time to brace himself before you press the wipe to the first of the cuts.

He grunts at the pain, teeth gritted as he tries to bite back any more sound. Of course he’s trying to tough this out.

You’re silent as you try to fix up the worst of his cuts, making do with what you have. The best thing would be to get him under running water – less of a chance of damaging the skin that way.

But considering you had enough of a time just convincing him to let you help him, you doubt you’d be able to persuade him to leave the safety of his bedroom and chance an encounter with his packmates on the way to the bathroom.

So, antiseptic wipes it is.

You finish off the back, applying appropriate dressing to the worst of the cuts. The muscles of his back still tense under your touch, twitching under your fingers. As your panic slowly eases with each treated wound, it’s getting harder and harder not to notice the way he’s built, the grooves and dips of each muscle.

You swallow at the sight. It’s a…it’s a strong back, you suppose.

Gently, very gently, you run your fingers across the planes of his back, paying close attention to the way it shifts underneath. “Any…like, muscle pain? Tightness? Aches?”

“…No. Honestly, it doesn’t even hurt much now. I’ll be fine in, like, an hour.”

You nod, moving your hand away. You’ve seen the effects of wolf healing first-hand. “OK. I’m…I’ll do your front now.”

Chan pauses, before shifting backwards by just a few inches. You shuffle on your knees to his side, watching as he finally settles, before turning his face to meet your gaze. He holds it, very carefully, before slowly leaning back, expression neutral.

Leaving more than enough room for you on his lap.

This feels like another test, you think to yourself, as you eye him with suspicion. Another power-play, meant to throw you off.

You think Chan doesn’t like it when he’s not in control. He’s not used to it.

“What?” Chan says, breaking you out of your trance. “You said you’d do my front. Don’t you need to hurry, before they close up?”

There’s a layer to his tone, the barest hint of challenge, and it has you straightening up in seconds, ready to face him head-on.

Fine. If he really thought he could break you like this, he had another thing coming.

With all the grace and self-assurance you could muster, you crawl back over to him, swinging one leg over him to plant both knees either side of his hips, straddling him without even batting an eye.

“Stay still,” you demand, gripping his shoulder with one hand as you shift your weight around, trying to get comfortable as you hover just a few inches above his lap.

Chan is silent, and somehow that’s even worse than when he was trying to provoke you earlier. You can feel his breath ghost against your ear, hear the tiniest little noises he made whenever you reached a new wound.

And fuck, his chest. His shoulders. His abs. Everything. Just…there’s a lot to take in. If you’re not careful, you’re going to get distracted.

Swallowing, you dab at one of the shallow cuts near his collarbone and finally speak up. “I guess I should say thanks for letting me stay here this weekend. I managed to get a shit-load of essay-reading done.”

Chan hums, and you feel the vibrations under your fingertips. “Good. Thanks for looking after the cabin while we were gone.”

“I still don’t think it was necessary,” you can’t help but add, trying to keep your tone light. “I didn’t really do much.”

“…Felix is always talking about wanting to spend more time with you,” Chan comments, and you pause at his words. “And you get on well with the others. You’re a good influence. Having you here seemed…like a smart idea at the time.”

“Seemed like? At the time?” You repeat, picking up on the subtle implications of his words. “Are you saying it wasn’t smart?”

“There are always risks,” Chan states, non-committal, eyes flickering to look at you. Naturally, your faces are incredibly close in this position – no more than a few inches apart. “Complications.”

“Like what?”

“We always have to stay careful around you, especially around a full moon. You’re more fragile than we are.”

“That’s me,” you retort, sarcasm dripping from your every word. You bring your hand up to his chest to steady yourself as you move on to the next scratch. His skin is warm under your fingertips, smooth. “Delicate little flower that I am. Gotta handle me gently, or I’ll break.”

Chan hesitates before he answers, and when the words do come out, they’re very carefully spoken. “…I don’t know. Maybe you could take a little more.”

“No shit,” you say absently, finishing up the last of his cuts by his shoulder. All pretty superficial, guaranteed to heal in the next hour. “I’m tougher than I look, Channie. I can take a lot.”

Chan doesn’t respond, and when you glance up, you see that his eyes have fluttered shut. He’s taking slow, deep breaths – like he’s meditating, or about to fall asleep.

There’s the tiniest of scratches on his cheekbone.

Gently, very gently, you lift one hand to rest against his face – and his eyes snap open in panic to stare at you.

“You got a thing,” you manage to blurt out, pointing towards the scratch. “There. Just gonna…yeah, clean it. You don’t want something getting infected on your face.”

Honestly, a cut that small is probably not going to get infected – especially with how quickly Chan can heal.

But…well…

You’re a completionist.

Chan stares at you, and for a brief moment, panic starts to take hold in your gut. Have you gone too far?

But instead, he just says. “You’re not usually this…nice.”

“You’d be amazed how nice I can be when you don’t avoid my very reasonable questions.”

“You mean, when you get your own way?”

“That too.”

Chan laughs, eyes still fixed on you. “You’re a bit of a brat, aren’t you?”

He probably just means it innocently, but the way he says ‘brat’, the tone of his voice…

You take a deep breath, fighting back the flush that threatens to creep into your face. “Sometimes. It’s another one of those charms I was talking about.”

Chan doesn’t have a response to that. Maybe he wasn’t expecting you to agree.

You shift again, as your attention turns to the next set of scratches, and by sheer accident, your fingertips catch his nipple. You feel him tense under you, breath escaping him in one sharp exhale, and he hisses. “Careful.”

“Sorry,” you mumble, but you can’t help but examine this new piece of information about Chan with amusement. Sensitive nips. How unexpectedly…cute. “You OK?”

“Mm-hm. Just finish this up quickly,” he says, and there’s an edge of urgency in his tone, a desire to really see you end this as soon as possible.

It sounds foolish, but it’s really only then that you realise just how compromising this position is. Like, objectively, you had known the whole time that you had been straddling Chan – but it had still felt like a game, a competition, a statement.

The idea that he just wanted this over with should feel like victory, but you find yourself a little caught off-guard.

You’re so caught up in these thoughts that you don’t think through your next action. You’re so focused on reaching for that last wound snaking around his rib, just a touch too low for you to reach with your legs in their current position. You just need to lower them, then you can reach, then you can finish. Easy.

That’s why you don’t think twice before you lower yourself onto his lap completely, completely intent on just cleaning the cut and moving on.

And then you feel it.

Something in his lap, not quite pressing up into you, but certainly there. Interested. Insistent.

Chan is getting hard.

Your eyes snap up to meet his, watching as he swallows, struggling to hide the new flush in his face.

“Ignore it.”

“I–”

“It happens sometimes, after a transformation. Body’s still trying to recover, hormones are all over the place. Ignore it.”

“…OK,” you nod, giving him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he’s right, it does make some kind of logical sense that his body is still all out of whack from changing. Physiological reactions happen. Dudes pop boners for literally no reason sometimes. It’s fine.

Of course, you’d been around Felix several times after his transformations, ready with water and clean clothes and some good old-fashioned moral support. And never once had this happened.

You can’t help but comment on it – which maybe spoke volumes for your own self-preservation instincts. “I mean, it definitely can’t be the cute girl in your lap or anything.”

Chan stills at your words, and his response is definitely evasive. “…You’re calling yourself cute now, huh?”

“You say it like it’s not the objective truth,” you respond, gently dabbing at that deceptively deep cut on his ribs. He tenses with the pain, and in your new position, you can feel the way his thighs squeeze and harden, the way his breath cuts short. You swallow, feeling a little warm. “I’m decently attractive. I’m very aware of this. It seems you’re aware of it too.”

“What makes you so sure of that?”

You smile sweetly at the man under you, the picture of innocence. “Channie, your dick is literally poking me in the leg.”

To your surprise, he flushes at your words, quickly averting his gaze as he tried to keep his expression under control. “…It’s a wolf thing, not a you thing.”

You’re not so sure about that.

You don’t know what to do with this new knowledge. Chan – big, scary, pack leader Chan – finds you attractive. It fills you with a sense of…power. You have to fight to keep the smirk off your face, but there’s no mistaking the smugness growing inside of you with every passing second. “For a wolf thing, you’re very flustered.”

“Maybe it’s because you keep talking about my dick,” Chan mutters.

“You want me to stop?” You ask, only half-teasing. You’re not here to push any limits, make anyone feel uncomfortable.

And again, Chan’s response is evasive. “Are you actually capable of stopping?”

…Interesting.

Testing a theory, your hand returns to the cut on his side, and carefully, you press down.

Chan makes the tiniest pained groan, hand flying up to grab at your hip, squeezing. The sudden contact is enough to jar you slightly, pushing you forward along the slowly growing bulge in Chan’s pants. His grip on your hip tightens.

“You did that on purpose,” Chan hisses through his teeth.

“Keeping pressure on that deep of a wound is important,” you say, shrugging. “I’m sure you can handle it, big guy.”

He growls – a low, rumbling sound from deep in his chest – and you roll your eyes.

“Calm down.”

You expect Chan to respond immediately, but he doesn’t. He’s quiet – no, he’s silent. His eyes stay fixed on you, and you’re starting to find the attention a little…much.

“You’ve never been scared of us,” Chan finally notes. “Have you?”

You blink. “Not particularly, no.”

And you really haven’t. As much as you’re aware of the danger they pose, the strength they possessed – hell, just look at the marks Jeongin left on Chan, by accident – you still found it difficult to summon any kind of real fear of them. They were just…dorky young men. Loud. Funny, in their own bizarre ways.

“I trust you,” you add, quietly.

Chan stares back at you, eyes widening just slightly.

You tilt your head. “You seem surprised.”

“I just…didn’t think you liked me very much.”

“…You’re OK, I guess.”

Chan raises an eyebrow at you.

“What you’ve done for Felix…you know, makes up for your personality.”

You’re being a little meaner than usual – probably to compensate for the growing warmth in the pit of your stomach every time you looked too long at Chan’s naked torso, or thought too hard about what you could feel beneath you.

Chan doesn’t seem to even notice.

Instead, he suddenly tilts his head, eyeing you very intently. His eyes narrow slightly.

“Huh.”

“What?” You ask.

“You said you’re not scared?” Chan says, suddenly serious. Intent on something.

You’re somewhat wary when you reply. “Yeah. Of course I’m not.”

You jump, because suddenly Chan’s other hand slides around your neck. Not in a choking position – there’s no pressure at all, his palm is only covering the side of your neck, and his thumb is resting just under the corner of your jaw instead of anywhere near your windpipe.

It’s unexpected enough to render you completely silent for a moment, blinking at him in confusion.

And then you see the corners of his mouth turn up in that familiar smirk, and you feel the pad of his thumb press just a little more firmly into your skin.

“Thought I heard something,” Chan muses, vaguely, and it takes you a few seconds to realise…

His hand. His thumb.

He’s checking your pulse.

…Oh, stupid fucking wolf senses. Of course he could hear how hard your heart was beating – the one tell you couldn’t control.

It feels a little unfair, honestly.

He knows he has the upper hand now, and his entire body language changes with this information. He’s relaxed, open, ten times more confident as he watches you with that teasing smirk. “So, if you’re not scared, why–”

“Shut the fuck up,” you snap, fuming that he’s managed to one-up you with this stupid little supernatural advantage he has.

“I don’t think I will.”

The hand on your hip shifts just slightly, and his thumb presses into the dip of your hipbone, rubbing slow circles into the soft flesh there.

It’s irritatingly effective. You find your own thighs starting to twitch, core clenching.

Chan hums again, this time in amusement, and continues this movement. His other hand drops from your neck to rest on your other hip. It’s a strange balance – there’s no pressure there, his touch is so light but it’s almost…possessive.

The two of you are starting to drift a little close to the edge of something.

Chan is now unmistakeably hard, and you can feel him pressing up into your inner thigh – just a few inches off from your core. It’s taking a lot of willpower to stop yourself from shifting slightly over and getting that pressure right where you needed it. You’re glad you wore jeans today instead of a skirt – there would be no hiding the effect he was having on you without the extra layer of denim separating you from his lap.

“It seems like you’re done with that,” Chan notes, nodding his head towards the first-aid kit by your side, which has sat untouched for a while now.

You look down at it. “…Yeah, I’m finished. You’re all set.”

Despite your words, you make no attempt to leave his lap.

Chan notices, and his grip tightens around you. Not pulling you down onto him, but just…holding. Tightly.

There’s a moment of silence that settles between the two of you. You’re fixated on each other, like two opponents in a game of chess, regarding the other’s every move.

Being the first to give in almost seems like a defeat, an admission of weakness. But if you’re going to go down, you’re going to go down swinging.

Your hand snakes up into his hair, tangling itself in the roots and tugging his head up to meet yours when your lips come crashing down on his.

Chan groans into you, and that’s when he finally relents, squeezing your hips with his hands as he grinds you down onto him. The friction is enough to make you whimper, the embarrassing sound muffled but still painfully audible.

When you finally pull away for breath, Chan is already attacking your throat with kisses, insatiable. You imagine he’s this close to openly rutting up against you – and it’s that desperation that soothes your ego, allowing you to believe you’re saving face here. Does it really count as a defeat when Chan is so clearly the more eager one?

You barely get the chance to savour this thought, before one of Chan’s hands leaves your hip to slowly slide under your shirt, taking his time. He reaches your bra, and you feel him stroke the lacy edge of the cup.

You pause, still shivering with delight as Chan’s mouth finds the sensitive spot just under your ear, and gently mouths at it. “Chan–”

“Just let me know if you want to stop, baby,” Chan murmurs in your ear, breathy. His hand is still on the cup itself, and he makes no attempt to slip his hand underneath just yet.

“Of course I fucking will,” you bite back. It’s like a switch flipped in Chan the second you kissed him – suddenly so intent on taking control, on treating you like something delicate. Where’s the Chan from five minutes ago who wrapped his hand around your neck to prove a point, and argued with you over how his scratches needed treating?

It’s clearly time for you to flip that switch back.

Grabbing his chin firmly, you lifted his face back to yours to initiate another kiss. The hand on his chin slid up to cup his jaw, and you allowed him a few seconds to enjoy himself before you plucked up the courage to execute the first step of your plan.

You let your lips part under the pressure of his, and then suddenly nipped at his bottom lip, not quite drawing blood but certainly adding some pain to his pleasure.

Chan jolts back in shock, eyes blown ride as he reaches up and touches his bottom lip.

“Like I said,” you remind him, resettling your weight across Chan’s hips, ignoring the way he sucks in a breath when your movement sparks another delicious wave of friction. “Tougher than I look. Don’t start being gentle with me now.”

You accompany your words with a roll of your hips, dragging yourself across the front of his pants and this time Chan grips you hard enough to bruise.

You suppress a grin, and instead pat him on the shoulder, condescending. “I mean, unless you can’t handle it–”

Chan cuts you off, crushing his lips to yours, and the hand still on your hip slides around to slip down your jeans and grab at your ass-cheek. An embarrassing squeak escapes your lips, which only makes him even more smug when he murmurs. “Such a fucking brat.”

“Brat? What happened to ‘baby’?”

“Maybe if you start behaving again.”

You get a particularly strong urge to pout, but you figure that would only prove him right, so instead you do the next best thing.

You run one hand down his front, careful to avoid any lingering injuries, and find the button to his jeans. You manage to pop it open with one hand – a surprising display of dexterity, and you’re a little miffed that Chan isn’t suitably impressed – and you only fumble a little with the zipper as you tug it down.

You’re interrupted momentarily when Chan finally decides it’s time to slide his hand under your bra cup, and you bite down a whimper when the rough pad of his thumb brushes over your nipple.

Chan catches on, and focuses all of his attention on teasing that area, again and again. It’s a little embarrassing, how many sounds as he can draw out of you with just one fucking hand on your breast, but at this point, it’s getting a little too difficult to care.

You close your eyes, letting your head dip forward to rest against his, losing yourself in the feeling for just a little while.

You don’t notice that your hand has fallen completely away from his zipper, instead moving to grab at his thigh.

But, of course, Chan does. “Hm? Weren’t you trying to do something there?”

You open your eyes.

This bitch.

It’s probably a bit of a dirty tactic, but you can’t help yourself.

You drop your gaze, taking in a breath before biting your bottom lip. “I…uh…”

Chan blinks at this sudden change in your body language, and pauses. He doesn’t quite withdraw his hand from your breast fully, but his fingers start stroking patterns into your side. “You OK?”

“I’m fine, I’m good,” you make sure to clarify with him, before swallowing. “I’m just…a little worried.”

Already, Chan is settling back into his ‘leader’ role, preparing himself to reassure, to comfort. “What are you worried about?”

You try to keep a straight face. You fail miserably.

“You’ve been hard for so long, I’m worried you’re gonna cum in your pants the second your dick gets touched.”

You finally chance a look up at his face, lips pressing together as you try to contain your smirk.

And there it is, that fire in his eyes.

You definitely don’t have to worry about him going gentle with you now.

In the blink of an eye, Chan flips the two of you. Your back hits the mattress with a thud, and you barely have time to readjust before he’s got both hands on your hips again. Only this time, he’s lifting your ass up off of the bed, legs in the air, and in one smooth motion, pulls your jeans clean off.

Oh, that was hot.

That was…pretty fucking hot.

And now that your jeans are off, Chan has a clear view of just how much he’s been affecting you.

“Oh, baby,” he croons, sliding one hand up your inner thigh, coming to a rest at the edge of your soaked underwear. “Look at you.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

He just laughs, and your breath catches when he leans in. His hand moves away, and you feel his lips replace it, planting a kiss just off to the side of where you need it most.

It’s truly a sight, seeing Chan – shirt off, pants unbuttoned, shoulders tensing as he holds himself up by his forearms – between your legs.

You’re not going to beg this man.

Definitely not.

…But you might find it in you to ask politely.

“Ch-Chan–”

Suddenly, to your horror, there’s a knock at his bedroom door.

Chan jolts up, sitting back on his knees, looking down at you with pure panic.

The same thought runs through both your minds.

Shit. You didn’t lock the door.

Changbin’s voice comes through, muffled. “Hey, dude? You in there?”

Chan launches himself at the door, pressing both hands to it before Changbin can even attempt to open it. “Just a second!”

He turns back to look at you, hair mussed, eyes wide with panic.

You’re pretty sure the same can be said for you.

After a moment of blind panic, Chan has the sense to do up his jeans. You see the way his jaw tightens, eyes squeezing shut for a second when he has to dig his hand into pants to shove his erection down one side. It doesn’t do that much to hide what’s going on – and you feel yourself twitch at the thought of how fucking big Chan seems to be down there – but it’s better than nothing.

With one last futile attempt at fixing his hair, Chan lets out one last deep breath, and cracks open the door. “Yeah?”

You know you’re out of sight in your current position – with how small that gap is in the door, Changbin only has a narrow view of the far wall – but you still tense. Your legs quickly snap together, but you don’t risk trying to reach for your jeans to put them back on.

You hear Changbin speak once again. “Have you seen…oh, well obviously, you have–”

“What?” Chan interrupts, and you fight the urge to face-palm at how panicked he sounds.

“It looks like she’s patched you up,” you hear Changbin say, his voice slow, careful. He’s definitely picked up on something. “Did she say anything about going out? She’s not in her room, and the guys want to make dinner as a big thank you thing.”

It is so like the guys to decide to do something so sweet for you at exactly the wrong time.

“Nope. Not seen her,” Chan lies, forcing a shrug.

There’s a pause. A long pause.

Oh, shit.

“…Do you still have those headphones I lent you on the car ride here?” Changbin asks, sounding ever so innocent.

Chan swallows, and makes the mistake of looking behind him at the desk in the corner of the room. You spot the headphones resting there. “Yeah?”

“Can I grab them?”

“…Uh, don’t worry about it. I-I’ll get them for you now.”

Another pause, and you hear Changbin make one single step towards the door. Chan tenses, and pulls the door closer towards him, blocking even more of the room from sight. This time you do face-palm, as quietly as you can.

You see Chan staring ahead at what you can only assume is a Changbin who is slowly putting the pieces together, and there’s a long moment of silence before Changbin finally speaks. “…You know what? I don’t need them right now. You can just give them back tomorrow.”

Whatever Changbin’s expression is, it’s enough to send a pink flush up Chan’s neck. You hear him retreat back down the hallway, and Chan immediately slams the bedroom door shut, reaching for the lock and turning it. He even tries the handle again, pulling, just to make sure.

And then, finally, he turns to give you the most sheepish of looks.

You stare back.

And then your eyes slide back down to his jeans, which are still looking just as extraordinarily tight as before. Looks like Changbin’s interruption did very little to kill the mood for him.

And honestly, as the panic fades but the adrenaline still lingers – and this new sense of taboo, of getting away with something – you find yourself realising the exact same thing.

Slowly, you open your legs again, keeping your gaze fixed on Chan as his eyes drop to follow your movements.

Your voice is sweet, honeyed, only a little bit teasing.

“Weren’t you trying to do something there?”

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