Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chan isn't sure when it started.

Or rather, when it stopped. When he stopped. He's not sure what, exactly. Stopped caring doesn't sound right, Chan has always cared about Jeongin, he'd sooner drop dead than disregard his feelings. Nothing could ever stop him from caring.

Stopped thinking isn't quite it either. Every second of his life, Chan has spent overthinking. About his career, about his members, about the way he looks, sounds, talks, walks, breathes; about how he organizes his toiletries in the bathroom and where he needs to put his conditioner and shampoo so they're always right next to each other. 

This... whatever this is, is no exception. There isn't a moment where Chan doesn't think about the implications of it all. Not a moment where he doesn't think it never should've begun in the first place.

Maybe Chan simply stopped having control. But in this case, he knows exactly when this happened.

One second he allowed himself not to think. One word out of line. One stupid comment that was misinterpreted and blown way out of proportion, and acid rain poured down on him all over the internet. Grilled to the bone by every insane fan of every fandom that was waiting for an excuse to unleash hellfire on him and his band. Over nothing, again. An infuriating feeling of déjà vu shook him to the bone as he stood up straight, gritted his teeth, and took the scolding from his superiors in silence, just like he always did. He bowed. Apologized. Accepted his punishment.

Calm. Collected. Like always, right? A perfect leader. A perfect idol.

When he got back to the dorm that day, he made a beeline for his room, threw himself onto his bed and screamed. Dragged his nails down the bedsheets, then fisted and pulled at them hard enough to tear. Ideally, he would've punched the walls until he heard his knuckles crack, until he saw blood. But he couldn't have that. It would've only added fuel to the fire if he appeared with bruised fists in some candid photo, or in their next talker.

His loud, ragged breathing prevented him from hearing his door creaking open and footsteps in his room. It's only when he felt a heavy human blanket drape itself over his back that he realized Jeongin was there. Chan didn't have it in him to lift his face off his pillow.

"Hyung," Jeongin whispered into his ear, "if you ever need to use me to unwind, in any way, I'm always here. You know that, right?"

There. That's when he lost it.

The first time it happened was that very same day. Chan grinded his hips back against Jeongin until he fucked him raw into the mattress, and all of a sudden Chan could contain his anger again. Could be perfect. Focus on work without his mind being plagued with urges to break his laptop in half or bust his fucking head against his desk.

So he did it again, the next time he felt angry about something. Walked into the dorm, slammed the door closed hard enough to make Jeongin jump in his seat at the dinner table, then wordlessly headed towards him, dropped to his knees and took Jeongin's cock into his mouth.

Over time, his reasons for needing to use Jeongin became less and less noble. It became less about unbearable anger that was hard to contain and more about minor inconveniences. Feeling homesick. A voice crack on stage that no one even noticed. A minor sound system dysfunction. Anything was an excuse. Any small emotion Chan didn't like feeling led to him taking his frustration out through Jeongin. "One last time" stretched into days, then into weeks.

And Jeongin never said anything. Never asked questions. Never commented on anything that was going on, not even with the other members—Chan would've known. They practically grew up together, he can read them like an open book, he would've noticed if they were made aware of his and Jeongin's little unspoken arrangement. They would've looked at him differently, for sure.

No, Jeongin simply gave him what he needed and then acted like nothing happened. Took matters into his own hands when Chan wanted to be roughed up, or simply laid still when Chan needed to be in charge.

Today is one of those days.

Chan can't focus. Earlier, at the airport, he couldn't keep his composure when a fan managed to squeeze an arm between their security guards and pulled on Felix's shirt hard enough to nearly make him trip, so Chan pushed her away himself. It was justified. Harmless. He wasn't too rough with it, simply made her stumble back into the crowd and away from Felix; but Chan is nothing if not paranoid. The amount of phones and cameras pointed at him could have caught any angle. A bad crop of the video and a misleading caption could tell any story. Which is why he hasn't been able to spend more than two minutes working without needing to check his phone, and hasn't made an ounce of progress on his song.

It's a problem.

Initially, he was hoping to come home with Jeongin and... fix it, but Jeongin exceptionally stayed back at the company building to rehearse a little longer and ask Minho for pointers on parts of a choreo he has a harder time getting right—ever the diligent worker. Chan's proud of him. But Chan's also fucking pissed that he can't stop fidgeting like an addict in withdrawal.

A click in the front door resonates through the dorm. Chan shoots up and practically runs out of his room.

Jeongin's toeing his shoes off at the door, skin still shiny with sweat, rosy cheeks from the exertion. The second his eyes meet Chan's, his expression shifts and his pupils seem to nearly double in size.

"Can I shower first?"

Chan bunches up the fabric of his shorts in his fists. Swallows. "...Yeah."

Jeongin's lips tug into a soft smile. "So, no. Okay. I'll be right there."

God. How delirious does he look that Jeongin was able to see through him so fast?

Shoes are kicked off beside the door. A bag is thrown carelessly on the floor. Keys, wallet, phone, tossed onto the couch. All things that would usually irk both of them, but none of that matters when Jeongin finally gets close enough that Chan can feel his breath on his lips.

Still as a doll, pliant as a puppet, Jeongin never initiates anything Chan doesn't ask him for, but when his gaze flits down to his leader's lips, a shaky sigh escapes him it's like a dagger to his chest when Chan realizes that he's never kissed him.

It's what prompts him to grab Jeongin by the nape and lick into his mouth like the only oxygen he can breathe needs to be sucked out of his lungs. A sharp inhale, a rough push of Jeongin's face against his, and Chan briefly thinks Jeongin might snap and pin him up against the wall to fuck him right there, but he doesn't. The lustdrunk, predatory stance is quickly reeled back to the usual relaxed, pliant form Jeongin always takes when Chan uses him. But until now, Chan had assumed he was always like this.

He never thought Jeongin held himself back to let Chan take exactly what he needs from him.

Chan kisses him harder. A soft whine slips out of Jeongin as his strong arms curl around Chan's waist to pull him close. It's his last straw.

"Get on the bed," Chan groans into his mouth.

Jeongin gets on the bed.

"Take your shirt off."

Jeongin takes his shirt off.

"Lie down."

Jeongin lies down.

It's easy to get lost. Too easy to let the strange, twisted power he seems to have over Jeongin get to his head. It's also easy to wonder where it came from, when Chan has always fought tooth and nail to make sure him being a leader doesn't create some sort of power imbalance between him and the youngest. Letting him eat first. Letting him get away with more than the others. Spoiling him so much he's watched him grow confident and strong, bratty, full of mischief, never going a day without teasing or biting back at his fellow members. They all acted as family, as friends, as equals, because Chan wouldn't let it be otherwise.

But as he straddles Jeongin's lap and watches his eyes glaze over, something dark lying beneath those brown irises, Chan starts to think that he may not be the only one to have lost control. And for some reason, it makes the brambles of his guilt twist a little harder around his chest.

Ironically, though, the only coping mechanism he seems to have found for those feelings is lying right under him with a growing hard-on rubbing against his ass.

Chan doesn't even bother undressing them fully. He pulls his shorts and boxers down to the middle of his thighs with urgency, waistband stretching around his muscles and dipping into the skin. Then he pumps lube out of the bottle on his nightstand and lathers Jeongin's fingers with it before bringing two of them to his hole and nudging them in. The stretch has his arms buckling and he ends up with his face in Jeongin's neck, tang of his sweat deliciously intoxicating on his lips, and he can't help but lick a stripe up from his collarbone to a tender spot under his jaw Chan sinks his teeth in when Jeongin curls his fingers just right.

A shift of Jeongin's face. Then there's a low, honey-laced voice in Chan's ears that rises goosebumps all over his skin. "How do you want it?"

Chan gulps. Tries to form a coherent sentence through the lust clouding his mind. "You never tell me what you want."

"I want you to use me." The answer is immediate. Like he doesn't even have to think about it.

"That can't be the only—"

"Hyung," Jeongin gently cuts in, wrenching a moan out of Chan as he slides his long fingers into him deeper. "I want you to use me. Your anger. Your sadness. Your frustration. Whatever it is, if you need me to fuck it out of you, I'll do it. You don't have to ask anything. Just keep taking what you need."

Just like that, whatever brief moment of clarity Chan was graced with vanishes into thin air and he can't think about anything but splitting himself open on Jeongin's cock.

"Fingers out." 

Jeongin pulls his fingers out. Doesn't comment on the fact Chan may not be prepped enough, that this is gonna hurt. Chan is grateful that he doesn't.

He pushes Jeongin's sweatpants just enough to free his cock, already rock hard as it slaps against the younger man's stomach. A few pumps of lube, a half-assed jerk of his length to slick him up, then Chan's sinking down and feeding Jeongin's cock to his tight hole inch by inch. The burn of the stretch not being half as bad as he expected it to be makes Chan distantly realize just how frequently he started using Jeongin like this.

Jeongin's eyes have fluttered closed. As he bottoms out, Chan digs his nails into Jeongin's chest and scratches down the damp skin hard enough to watch his abs tense and his mouth open around a moan. Missing the proximity, Chan cages Jeongin's face between his arms and presses their lips together. Gentle hands travel up his ribs and fingers tangle into the messy curls of his mullet, pulling him closer, and Jeongin's hips twitch underneath him impatiently.

Chan lifts his ass up, then roughly sinks back down once. Twice. Over, and over, and over, fucking himself on Jeongin's cock slow but hard, unforgiving, exactly the way he wants. Their breaths pick up in tandem, their kissing becomes heavy panting into each other's mouth, desperate attempts to keep going often ending in more teeth than tongue, but it doesn't stop them from trying anyways.

The warmth of Jeongin's body is deeply missed as soon as Chan sits up, but all is forgotten when he leans back, placing his hands on the bed for balance, and rides him in that angle. His cock rubs right against his prostate every time, pouring pure, hot pleasure into the pit of Chan's gut to the point where his legs start shaking so much he can barely hold himself up.

"Fuck me. Move." Chan means it to be an order, but it sounds much closer to a plea.

The speed with which Jeongin starts snapping his hips up betrays how pent up he truly is, how equally affected he is by this whole thing, and if that wasn't enough, one glance at Jeongin's face gives Chan whiplash from the contrast between the adoration in his eyes and the ruthlessness of his thrusts. Chan tries not to read too much into it.

Jeongin's hands snake up Chan's thighs and settle around his hips, fingers digging in with bruising force as he seems to rein himself in to the slower and rougher pace Chan was riding him in, chasing Chan's pleasure before his own. It's cute, the way he frowns, like it's taking every ounce of his willpower to hold back.

"Don't slow down," Chan purrs, tilting his head to the side. Loose curls fall before his eyes and he swiftly pushes them back to have a full view of Jeongin's face as it twists in confusion. "Fuck me faster. Just like you were earlier. Felt so good."

Jeongin opens his mouth like he wants to say something. Like he wants to ask Chan if he's sure. He doesn't. Shut his mouth and starts fucking Chan into oblivion.

"Thank you," is all Jeongin says, choked out and short of breath, and Chan can't help the fond smile that stretches across his lips.

Chan's head is blissfully empty as his orgasm creeps up on him. His neglected cock is indecently wet with precum, but he still pretends to need more slick just for an excuse to shove his fingers into Jeongin's mouth and make him drool all over them, before he starts furiously jerking himself off in time with Jeongin's thrusts.

"I'm close," Chan groans, "I'm so close, fuck, fuck."

When Chan comes, Jeongin sits up to kiss him hungrily, and for the first time since their strange ritual started it feels like he's taking rather than giving. Stealing Chan's breath. Crawling into his space without waiting for Chan to ask him to. Holding him tight, close, closer, always closer, as Chan goes limp against him and shakes with all his might.

Chan's hand still drips with his own cum as it cradles Jeongin's cheek, and Jeongin turns to lick it clean.

"Fuck..." Chan watches, hypnotized, dizzy, and begins to roll his hips on Jeongin's cock again. "Fuck," he repeats, this time in a breathy, pained whimper.

"I'm okay," Jeongin says, but the way his arms tighten around his leader's waist betray him. "I can get myself off."

"I'm still using you."

Jeongin blinks. "What...?"

"I'm still—" Chan's voice cracks into a scratchy moan. He's so overstimulated he could cry. "I'm still using you. I'm not done. Need you to come inside me. This isn't enough."

Selfless in his selfishness.  What a joke of an egoist Chan is. As the dreadful voice of his consciousness rings in the back of his mind, telling him that he's playing a dangerous game, that this thing they have may not just be about unwinding but rather about Jeongin, he shuts them up by hurting himself a little more on his pretty dormmate's cock. His thighs are weak, spent from the mindnumbing orgasm he barely allowed himself to come down from, and everything hurts, but he doesn't care. The pain is a bonus.

"Lay me down and fuck me however you like until you come."

Jeongin doesn't have to be told twice. The next second Chan is on his back, clawing at his bedsheets as Jeongin ruins him with all his might, sweat dripping from his body and onto Chan's own. The pair of gentle fox eyes diving into his is too much to handle, it rises unpleasant warmth in his chest that feels uncomfortably close to the heat of a branding iron descending onto a heart he has worked too hard to keep shielded, so Chan throws an arm over his face.

Hips stuttering. Warmth blooming inside Chan. A dragged-out moan, music to Chan's ears. Teeth sinking into his neck, hard for a second, then soft. It makes Chan chuckle, a little bitter. Even in his most vulnerable moments, Jeongin is always mindful of their perfect idol image. Chan hates that he wishes he wasn't. Hates how much he wants that mark on his neck.

Hiding his face doesn't matter anymore when Jeongin tries to move and Chan instinctively throws his arms around him and tightens his legs around his hips to keep him there. It goes against everything they've ever done until now, but Chan couldn't care less. Jeongin always does this. Always kindly assumes that once Chan's satisfied, he'd want to clean up and left alone to throw himself into what he couldn't focus on before. It may have been true, at first. It might be true again some day, when Chan finally gaslights himself into thinking this is purely transactional. But not now. Not for a while. 

Right now, Chan feels like the only thing holding him together is Jeongin. Like he'll shatter into a million pieces if he lets go.

Jeongin's eyebrows twitch, but he doesn't say anything. Silently, he relaxes into Chan's hold, lets his leader nuzzle his neck. If he hears Chan breathe him in, he doesn't say anything about it. Neither does he comment on the way the silence and proximity seem to rise their heartbeats to their ears, both rumbling like thunder in their chests even after they've relaxed and come down.

"Are you okay?" Jeongin asks after a while.

"Mmh," is the only answer he gets. Chan hopes he takes it as a yes.

Lips to Chan's temple. A kiss so soft it's almost cruel. Chan reciprocates with a kiss to Jeongin's neck and hopes that his feelings don't seep into his skin deep enough for him to understand.

"Feeling ready to be the best leader again?" Jeongin chuckles.

The joke is too sweet to taste so bitter on Chan's tongue. He ignores it. "Yeah."