Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

⟡⋆

When Did It All Start?

It began the way some of the best stories do - by not starting well at all.

High school. Two boys from different worlds: Chan, the wealthy Australian music prodigy, and Mingyu, the golden boy of the town, tall, magnetic, charming, and very athletic. They butted heads immediately.

“You know we’re not in music class right now, right?” Mingyu scolded Chan during practice because Chan was making beats while sitting on the bench.

“And you know you’re not the Lacrosse coach, right ?” Chan shot back.

Annoyed. Impressed. Both, maybe.

It took a bruising season of Lacrosse to shift the tides. Skinned knees, shared victories, bitter losses - they started to look at each other differently. The locker room jabs turned into inside jokes. Eventually, it wasn’t uncommon to see them walking home together, sweaty and laughing, tossing their sticks between them like brothers.

Their bond deepened when Mingyu invited Chan over on a Sunday, introducing him to his family. They prayed over dinner, accompanied by hymns in the background, a kind of solemnity that surprised Chan.

“My dad’s a pastor,” Mingyu had said, almost apologetically. “I figured,” Chan replied, eyeing the Bible verse above the fireplace. “So what, I gotta start saying grace now?”

Mingyu chuckled. “Wouldn’t kill you.”

It was after one Lacrosse practice in the cramped, noisy locker room that their friendship faced its first strange test.

The team was in the middle of one of those immature conversations about porn and sex - typical, loud, and careless.

“I don’t watch that stuff,” Mingyu said, putting on his hoodie. "I don't even masturbate." That other line triggered united gasps.

Someone laughed. “You? Man, you’re the last person who needs to lie.”

“I’m not lying. It’s not just about sex. It’s about what it teaches. About people. About using people. I don’t want any part of that.”

Chan glanced over, curious. “Is this the part where you say God will smite us all?” Mingyu smiled faintly. “No. But I do think saving yourself for something better is worth it.” It caught Chan off guard-how sincerely he said it. No judgment, just quiet conviction. Chan respected it, even if he didn’t fully get it.

And when someone asked, “What about you, Chan? Ever been with anyone?” Chan just shook his head. “Relationships aren’t really my thing.”

No one really understood it, but they stopped asking after a while.

College didn’t change much, not where it counted. Chan and Mingyu both ended up at Dartmouth. Different majors, different dorms, same team. Still inseparable. Their backgrounds couldn’t have been more different. Chan from wealth. Mingyu from nothing but effort and hope. But that didn’t matter. Never did.

Late-night study sessions, shared playlists, and coffee runs before dawn became the new rhythm. Mingyu started dating here and there, in short-term relationships that were never serious and never physical beyond a kiss or two. Second base at best. Still keeping his promise to himself.

Chan didn’t date at all. Still not interested.

Which is probably why the prank had the intended effect.

It happened after practice one day. The locker room was loud, damp, and chaotic. Chan walked out of the showers, heading for his locker. When one of the guys, giggling, called out to him. And before Chan could react, another yanked his towel away.

It took a split second.

A sharp gasp, the sound of laughter, then silence.

Chan's body was exposed. In a surprising twist, where one might expect to find male genitalia, there instead rested a smooth, hairless vagina.

Everyone saw it. The realization crashed over the team like cold water. Staring. Confusion. A few muttered curses. One guy stepped back like he’d seen a ghost.

Mingyu saw it, too, just a glimpse before instinct took over. His heart dropped. Dumbfounded, as if his brain couldn’t register what his eyes had just seen. But he moved fast.

“Get out!” He shoved people aside as he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around Chan. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Mingyu shouted, glaring at the ones who had laughed first. “You think that’s funny?!”

“Dude, it was just a prank—”

“No,” Mingyu growled, fists clenched. “You humiliated him. All of you. You don’t even know what you just did.” Before anyone could stop him, Mingyu lunged. Fists flew. Bodies hit lockers. It wasn’t just anger - it was rage. Protective, furious, unthinking rage.

Chan, red-faced and shaking, pulled Mingyu off one of the guys. “Mingyu! Stop. Please.”

“But, he—”

“They didn’t know,” Chan spoke, barely keeping it together. “I-It’s okay. I’m okay.”

But he wasn’t. Not really. Not that day.

The next few days were brutal. Whispers spread across campus. Rumors. Theories. People stared in hallways and fell silent when Chan walked by.

Chan started skipping meals. He stayed in his dorm. His music, usually echoing softly through the hall-was silent.

“You’re thinking of leaving,” Mingyu said one night, finding him sitting alone outside the dorm. Chan didn’t answer.

“If you go,” Mingyu said quietly, “I go. I’ll walk away from everything. My scholarship. Lacrosse. All of it.” Chan turned. “Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not letting you do this alone,” Mingyu stated. “Whatever you are, whoever you are, you’re my best friend. That hasn’t changed. Never will.” And it hadn’t. If anything, it cemented something profound.

⟡⋆

In the months that followed, Chan didn’t just endure—he rose. He made the Dean’s List. Again and again. Played better on the field. Worked twice as hard on every school activity.

And Mingyu, who was barely scraping by, found himself driven by Chan’s quiet fire. “You’ve always been the strong one,” Mingyu expressed during another late-night study session, flipping flashcards.

Chan looked up, surprised. “You think I’m strong?”

“You didn’t run. You didn’t break. You showed everyone who you were. And you made me better, too.” Mingyu was beaming. That made Chan's insides flutter.

Everything was on track. Chan was on a roll. Mingyu was making strides in his studies. However, just before graduation, life threw a curveball.

Mingyu’s parents split up. A nasty divorce. His father, a pastor, was caught having an affair. The fallout was swift and ugly. Very ugly. And to make matters worse, his depressed mother's cancer came back. Stage 4.

Mingyu was compelled to juggle everything: finals, Lacrosse, debt, and the slow, brutal unraveling of his family.

And through it all, Chan never left his side. Not once.

Chan took notes in class while Mingyu sat in the hospital. Cooked (not well) when Mingyu forgot to eat. Held him when the weight of it all broke through. “Why are you doing this?” Mingyu asked once in the hospital's billing department, eyes glassy from lack of sleep.

Chan smiled gently. “Because you would’ve done the same.”

He was Mingyu's person, and no one could tell Mingyu otherwise.

 

Days turned to weeks. Exams were over. Mrs. Kim made it to graduation. Just like she promised. Mingyu cried into her arms in front of the whole crowd.

But joy doesn’t always last.

She passed a few months later. Quietly. Painfully. Mingyu didn’t say much during the funeral. He just stood beside Chan, numb.

After the last guest left, Mingyu lingered by her grave, staring at the stone. “I feel empty,” he whispered, on the verge of tears. Chan, standing beside him, lovingly reached for his hand, their fingers intertwining. “Then let me carry you,” he said. “Until you feel whole again.”

Mingyu turned, eyes red.

He didn’t say it. But something shifted then.

🍂

For most people, it would’ve been easy to label them: best friends, thick as thieves. And for the most part, that’s precisely what they were.

Except for when they weren’t. Especially after Mingyu's mom passed.

Some moments didn’t fit the script, slipping past logic and normalcy. Like how Chan hugs Mingyu after a gruesome day, and it lasts just one breath too long, or when Mingyu started sleeping over at Chan’s place so often, it stopped being “sleeping over” and became “sleeping there.”

Mingyu said it was because the house he shared with his mom felt too empty now, too quiet. But truth be told, it was because Chan’s place felt like the only home that didn’t echo with grief.

The Bangs eventually just began setting an extra plate at dinner. They even sat Mingyu down one night, beaming, and asked if he wanted to be adopted into the family—legally. Mingyu laughed, choking a little on his rice. “You want to adopt a six-foot-tall gym rat with emotional baggage? That’s brave.”

“We just want you to have a family,” Mrs. Bang said. “I already do,” Mingyu answered. “You all are family.” Then, trying to cut the tension, he added, “I mean, I could always marry Chan to make it official.”

The room burst into laughter. No one actually objected. Not even the parents. "Just kidding. That'll never happen. We're brothers." Mingyu darted to Chan, panicked. Chan was bright red. And for a second, they locked eyes across the table and looked away just as fast.

Things didn’t stay lighthearted for long.

Not when Brian came into the picture. Handsome, wealthy, annoyingly talented, and, worst of all, kind. Like too much.

He was the firstborn of a close Bang family friend. Mingyu remembered the first time he saw him, perfectly coiffed, with teeth so white it seemed like he flossed with angel hair.

Brian stared at Chan, the way you look at art that makes your chest hurt.

And Chan? Chan noticed.

Mingyu pretended not to care. Pretended so hard it nearly tore him from within. How could he compete with Brian? Brian had money, connections, a smile that sold records, and the voice of a literal Disney prince. All Mingyu had were massive pecs and a mom-shaped hole in his life.

“Should I marry him?” Chan asked out of nowhere one afternoon while they were in a cafe. Mingyu was lost in thought, his coffee halfway to his lips, heart racing from the unexpected question.

He could’ve told the truth. That he couldn’t breathe, imagining it. It made his stomach knot and his hands shake. Instead, he forced a laugh. “Honestly? It’s a match made in heaven. You love music, he loves music. You both look good on a poster.”

Chan stared at him for a long second, a hint of concern shining in his gaze. Mingyu could tell he was bothered. Then Chan nodded slowly.

“Right. That’s what everyone says.”

The engagement was announced three months later. A modest post online. A photo of hands in a lover's grip, accompanied by a caption that reads: Forever starts here.

Mingyu saw it during a shift at the gym. He didn’t cry. Just walked into the staff bathroom, stared at the wall, and punched the paper towel dispenser.

Enter Dokyeom. The gym’s ray of human sunshine.

Dokyeom barged in mid-crisis with a protein shake in one hand and a donut in the other. “You okay, bro?”

Mingyu didn’t answer.

Dokyeom handed him the donut as if it were medicine. “Eat. Cry. Bench press your emotions later.”

"Oh, I'll do more than eat and bench press, bro," Mingyu replied. That night, Mingyu drank. A lot. Dokyeom stayed with him the whole time.

“You know what your problem is?” Dokyeom said, helping Mingyu off the floor and towards the toilet. “You’re hot and broody, but you don’t monetize it.”

“I’m not an OnlyFans model, DK,” Mingyu mumbled, face planted on the bathroom rug.

“Tragic.” Dokyeom tched.

Being a gym trainer wasn’t Mingyu’s dream job, but he was damn good at it. Buff, reliable, focused. Clients loved him. But nothing filled the void.

Not when Chan married someone else. Not when Mingyu stood beside him as his best man, heart-shattering in real-time, witnessing how Chan smiled at Brian as if he meant it.

Mingyu smiled at them both like he didn’t want to evaporate right there. This would be the perfect time for Thanos to snap his fingers.

And Brian? Of course, Brian was fantastic. A walking, breathing TED Talk. Even Mingyu wanted to hate him, but he couldn’t. Not really. Brian was the next best thing, as Dokyeom always said. And maybe, just maybe, that was true.

⟡⋆

The years passed.

Chan soared. He became THE Bang Chan - the golden name behind soundtracks that made people cry in dark theaters. He swept every award that mattered: the Oscar. Grammy. Pulitzer. Grawemeyer.

Mingyu couldn’t even pronounce that last one.

He watched it all from a cheap TV mounted in the corner of his gym locker room, a damp towel hung on his shoulders, still smelling like sweat and protein powder. And the worst part? Brian’s rock band, helped and produced by Chan, was insanely good, too. Their music played constantly in the gym. It haunted Mingyu in cardio sessions and during core training.

Every chorus was a reminder of what he lost. What he gave up. Who he didn’t fight for.

Amidst the disarray, Mingyu realized that he needed a change. Sticking to his routine wasn’t going to solve any of his problems. While working at the gym felt safe, it wasn't enough to cover his mounting debt.

He tried. Really. Mingyu applied to every job his business degree could stretch toward. Interviews, rejections, more interviews, more silence. Chan even offered him a job, a couple of times, something on a movie set. Mingyu said no. Too much pride. Too many feelings. Too hard to stand in Chan’s light and pretend it didn’t blind him.

As time went on, Mingyu found himself in a tight spot - he needed to pay off his debt, as his regular bills were piling up.

He was broke. Tired. Lost.

Then came the rainy night.

He was driving home from yet another failed interview when his second-hand car coughed, sputtered, and died in the middle of the road. Rain hammered the windshield like fists as if mocking his misfortune.

📞 Mingyu called Dokyeom. “Bro. I’m stranded.”

📞 “Shit. The boss is here, man. I can’t leave now. But my cousin works at TowGo- he’ll come. Stay in the car. Don’t die. I repeat, don’t die.”

📞 “Got it. Thanks, DK.”

Pushing the car to the side, bathed in rainwater, Mingyu collapsed into the seat. "AHHH!" He punched and screamed into the steering wheel.

Everything hurt.

He didn’t think. Couldn't. Maybe he wasn’t even there anymore.

The next thing he knew, he was in an Uber headed for Beverly Hills. Everything inside him was unraveling. Running to the only person he wanted, the only person who had ever known how to put him back together - Chan.

The mansion glowed like a memory.

Mingyu stumbled to the front door, soaked to the bone. Rain dripped from his eyelashes. His body was shaking from cold, shame, and hopelessness.

He rang the doorbell, praying Brian wouldn’t answer.

It took a couple of minutes. Long. Agonizing.

Then, the knob turned. The door opened.

“Gyu?”

Mingyu blinked.

There he was - his best friend, standing barefoot in his silk PJs, eyes wide, mouth half-open. Drops of water cascaded down Mingyu's face, breath forming white clouds in the air.

His lips trembled, but no words came.

“What's going on?” Chan asked, stepping forward, concern etched across every inch of his face.

Mingyu just stood there.

Frozen.

Drenched.

Lost.

But found.

・・・

Chapter Text

⟡⋆

“Gyu?” Chan stood at the doorway, confused and concerned. “What’s going on?”

But Mingyu couldn’t speak. His mouth moved a little, but no sound came. He just looked - really looked at Chan, thinking that if he stared long enough, the chaos in his head might resolve itself. But all he saw was the man he’d loved for years, encased in soft lamplight, standing there in silk pajamas, heart open.

Then something inside Mingyu cracked. He dropped to his knees. His body had finally given up, pretending it was fine. Tears spilled down his face like the rain outside climbed inside him.

“Gyu - hey, hey,” Chan rushed to him, kneeling on the floor without a second thought, ignoring the soaking wet clothes and the growing puddle on the hardwood. He held Mingyu like he’d never let go. Mingyu clung to him, face buried in Chan’s shoulder. They stayed there for a while until Chan was able to convince Mingyu to come in.

The guest room smelled like lavender detergent and polished wood. Chan handed him a bundle of clothes, including boxer shorts and a white tee, and left with a gentle, “Take your time.”

Mingyu’s shower was long and steaming. He let the heat hit him until he could breathe properly again. But even then, his chest still felt hollow. Still… lighter, now that he’d broken open.

He found Chan in the music room afterward. The familiar hum of quiet melodies leaked from Chan’s headphones. The walls were lined with awards, gold, glass, and framed certificates.

Chan turned as Mingyu entered. “Hey.” He looked him over bare legs, that plain shirt stretched over carved muscle, smiled, a little flustered. “I forgot how annoyingly hot you got.”

“This is your shirt, right?” Mingyu ever so humbly brushed the compliment off. Chan wavers. “Brian’s, technically. But you wear it better. Don’t tell him I said that.”

A soft chuckle passed between them. Mingyu padded inside, taking a seat on the plush couch. His eyes wandered: Chan’s sleek, black tank top, his bare arms, fair, flawless skin, and then - lower.

He paused and gaped. “Are you—?” Mingyu asked, eyes dropping involuntarily.

Chan didn’t flinch. “Yes. Lace. They're comfortable. Shut up.”

“I wasn’t judging,” Mingyu said, cheeks blooming red. “You look like...a Calvin Klein ad from an alternate timeline.”

“Well, welcome to the studio slash runway.” Chan snorted. "Besides, you totally have that Calvin Klein model vibe going on, way more than I do!" He pointed at a bento box and a bottle of water. “Eat. I cooked that while you were in the shower.”

“You cooked?”

“I cook now. Brian and I take turns. Still not as good as your stuff, though," Chan shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. "Maybe you can give me lessons?”

That tiny comment, so casual, hit like a brick.

“You still remember my cooking?”

“Of course I do,” Chan enunciated. “Some things stick.”

The food smelled like warmth. Mingyu picked up the chopsticks and took a bite - teriyaki chicken, fluffy rice, just the right hint of sweetness. It wasn’t perfect. But it was full of care. Mingyu didn’t know how hungry he was until that moment. He chewed more slowly. Felt it warm his stomach.

Chan's headphones were half-on, tweaking a melody, muttering about a score being too “crescendo-heavy.”

But Mingyu barely heard him.

His eyes wandered back to Chan. The slope of his shoulders. The curve of his waist. The way his legs folded beneath him like he’d done this a thousand times. That tank top, those damn lace panties barely containing Chan's plump ass. The sight would’ve been funny if it weren’t so maddeningly beautiful.

Then it struck him - a tidal wave of all the years he’d been holding his breath finally crashed into the shore.

He wasn’t okay.

Not because of the food, the car, or the jobs he didn’t get. But because he’d spent years pretending he didn’t love Chan this way. And now, here he was, back under his roof, drinking in everything like a man starving.

The tears came again - silent, sudden. Mingyu tried to hold them back. He didn't want to trouble Chan further or seek pity. His fingers gripped the bento box so tightly that the wood creaked.

“Gyu?” Chan’s voice cut through. The chair swiveled. Chan saw the shaking shoulders and the bowed head. The tears dripped off Mingyu’s jaw. “Oh, Mingyu…” He crossed the room and docked one knee on the couch, hunched, pressing Mingyu's face against his abdomen.

And Mingyu broke, fully this time.

He clutched Chan without thinking - an arm wrapping around the dip of Chan’s back, the other sliding lower, reeling him in like he was scared Chan would disappear. His face was soaked with tears. Chan’s shirt was damp as his hands shamelessly searched for a place to hold, his fingertips curling into the soft skin, grasping tight as if it were the only thing anchoring him.

Chan didn’t flinch. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’m here," he cooed over and over. "I’ll never leave you." A kiss landed on the crown of Mingyu’s head. Gentle. Familiar. Dangerous.

And it was everything.

Mingyu wanted to freeze the moment. Bottle it. Keep it under his pillow. Instead, all he felt was time speeding up again - pulling them toward something neither could pretend wasn’t happening.

It was the most comforting feeling, enough to tame Mingyu's sobs, yet his chest still heaved against Chan’s body. Every breath soothes the hurt. While his arms stayed locked around Chan, loving the subtle rise and fall of Chan’s breast on his cheek. "Shh, shh," Chan hummed, slowly stroking his hair, neck, and nape, causing Mingyu's thoughts to spiral.

He’s married. He’s married. He’s not yours.

But his body wasn’t listening. His hands curled tighter. His cheek tilted slightly, the barest shift brushing against the line where Chan’s stomach met his hip. Skin to skin. He shouldn’t feel this. Shouldn’t want more. But every small detail was driving him mad. He held on, fumbling into places he had no right to touch, no right to claim.

Guilt and desire bled into each other until he couldn’t tell which one was louder. He was quivering again - but not from despair. Not anymore. As something old and buried clawed its way back to the surface. That wanting. That fear. That knowing.

Chan hadn’t said a word or moved away, and that was the scariest part. Mingyu knew he was about to violate every religious belief he had been taught. He was about to play with fire, and for the first time in 28 years, he would let it fester and consume him.

・・・

Chapter Text

⟡⋆

The moment didn’t ask for permission; overwhelming emotions took control. Life has placed Mingyu in a chokehold for so long, and this was his reward. The floral scent, innately Chan, swathed around him like a melancholic memory as his religious foundations crumbled. His entire life of shame, of restraint, of praying things away, collapsed beneath the weight of need. No longer the son of a pastor or the golden boy of high school, destined for greatness. At that moment, he was simply a man yearning for the love of his best friend, Chan.

All the tears Mingyu cried over his failures were gone, thanks to Chan's embrace. He felt a familiar comfort as their connection ignited. Mingyu ran his fingers along the dip of Chan's backside, feeling the lace of his panties beneath his fingertips. He groped one ass cheek while the other hand slipped underneath Chan's tank top, traveling up his spine.

Despite being married, Chan didn't resist or tell Mingyu to stop. Instead, he buried his nose in Mingyu's hair, taking deep breaths as their unspoken desire took over. No words were necessary.

Mingyu tilted his head, lips hovering at the crook of Chan’s neck, and let a slow breath escape onto bare skin. He felt Chan react, emitting an audible "Mmmhhh," a weight shift, and his chest pressing closer, exhaling warmth over Mingyu’s crown. It was wrong in every way. Chan belonged to someone else. And not just someone, but a kind, loyal, deserving man. That made it worse and somehow made it more desirable.

Still, Mingyu couldn’t stop - couldn’t pull back. Years of silence and restraint bled into hunger, making him wonder if Chan had been feeling it, too. The way Chan’s hands lingered, the way he didn't stop him, not even as Mingyu’s lips ghosted upward, kissing a gentle path from neck to jaw, stopping only at the arc of his ear. He made sure to let Chan hear it—the sound of his breath, the need in it.

Still, no resistance came.

Mingyu’s hands moved freely now. Exploring. Possessive. His fingers brushed over Chan's crotch, feeling the fabric that no longer served its purpose. A half-moan slipped from Chan, like a confession, and Mingyu’s body tensed in response. There, against the delicate underthings, was proof: damp and growing wetter.

He had known, since that locker incident in college, what lay beneath. Just a glimpse of it had haunted him. No one knew, but, Mingyu rutted his dick into the sheets for countless nights spurred by wet dreams in which Chan starred. And still, he had never truly seen it - never touched it.

What does it look like?

The thought alone made his knees weak, blood racing to his groin. Years of pious waiting, of denying himself, suddenly made sense - Mingyu had always believed in saving himself for marriage, not knowing that all this time, he had been saving himself for a married man: for Chan.*

His gravity.

His undoing.

His only.

He needed to hear it again, that soothing, involuntary moan that had undone him the first time. So Mingyu let his fingers drift down once more, tracing the dip of lace where heat gathered, and there it was, another seductive whimper escaping Chan’s lips like a secret too good to keep.

"Should I keep doing it?" Mingyu didn’t have to wonder long.

Chan answered for him, guiding his hand and pressing it back to where the warmth throbbed through the soaked fabric. The dampness grew with every pass of his fingers, and it drove Mingyu to the edge. The trust, the reaction, the impossibility, it was overwhelming--

He’d never experienced anything like it. His world had been censored, clean. A life of restraint. Of late-night guilt and imagination barely fed by fragments from mature shows on HBO Max and Netflix. But this-this was real. And Chan wasn’t pulling away but was guiding him, offering more, parting the veil until Mingyu’s thumb hovered over his clothed clit. Circling gently, had Chan twitching - enough to make Mingyu burn.

The moans Chan tried to swallow just made it far more unholy. The struggle to remain quiet, the flutter of his lashes, the way his lips glistened from being chewed too hard. Witnessing Chan like this rendered beads of sweat to gather at Mingyu’s temple despite the cold hum of the air conditioning.

And then, Mingyu’s curiosity veered. The opportunity has presented itself. He wanted to see. Not just feel. Not imagine. So, carefully, reverently, he moved the lace aside.

Time stopped. An inaudible gasp comes from his throat.

It was more than he ever dreamed - plump, smooth, unnaturally flush with arousal. His breath hitched, mouth parting unconsciously. Years of fantasies couldn't compare to this: the pure pinkness, the way it pulsed with want. He wet his lips, then ran his fingertips along the exposed slit. Chan’s body quivered with the motions, clutching his head tighter, telling Mingyu everything he needed to know.

Each pass went deeper, his thumb never leaving that sensitive bud. Skin against skin now, the lust was almost unbearable. Then, without warning, his fingers found the entrance. A soft gasp from above. A reinforced grip around the ball of his shoulders.

That was all the invitation he required.

Two fingers eased in, slowly, cautiously, until the warm, wet walls of Chan’s cunt wrapped around him like a vice. Hot. Silken. Alive.

He didn’t dare breathe. Not yet.

He just wanted to feel. Relish.

They still hadn’t said a word to each other, but they didn’t need to. Mingyu’s quickening breath and Chan’s desperate little gasps said enough. They were both in it. Mingyu’s thumb was moving fast over Chan’s clit, fingers deep inside, curling just right. He wanted to ask Chan if he was doing okay and if it felt good, but then he saw Chan rising onto his toes and heard the staggered moans and breathy catches in his throat. Then he felt it - Chan compressing his fingers, warm slick coating his hand, and dripping down to his wrist. That was the explanation he sought. He’d made Chan come.

Chan moaned louder, body shuddering as he clutched Mingyu’s head to his belly. Mingyu gave him a few seconds - just a few - before his fingers moved without waiting, pumping back in, rubbing Chan’s clit harder this time. Chan groaned, almost in protest, but didn’t pull away. He was squirming now, still on his toes, his voice shaky as he muttered, a faint, “Please.” Mingyu didn’t know if that meant stop or keep going.

He did not question, nor desire to spoil their development, so Mingyu, out of instinct, squashed his face between Chan’s legs, slurping through the slickness, his fingers still working. Chan let out a sharp cry as Mingyu licked up his wet pussy, the taste-making him dizzy. When did he become good at this? Chan barely had time to think - the only thing he could focus on was Mingyu, finger fucking his cunt, and the profane squelches that rang clear. “Ahh, ahh, ahh,” Chan whined, clenching around Mingyu’s tongue and fingers until he came again! Slick gushed out, squirting across Mingyu’s face.

Chan blushed, about to apologize, but Mingyu didn’t give him the chance. He was already licking it up, fingers still slowly stroking inside him, letting him ride it out.

They stayed like that for a moment, until Mingyu looked up. Chan looked down, their eyes meeting. He bent forward, and they met halfway, mouths grazing, their breaths mingling. Chan’s tongue slid along Mingyu’s lips, tasting himself there.

Mingyu never knew pussy could taste this good. Maybe he’d just never cared to find out, or perhaps it only tasted this addicting because it was Chan. Either way, one thought stuck in his mind:

What happens next?

The answer was coming sooner than he thought.

・・・

Chapter Text

⟡⋆

A soft thud sounded from the couch as Chan pushed Mingyu. His weight sank back, legs parted, spine half-curved against the cushions. Brian's shirt stretched, tenting with obscene clarity - not at the waistband, but particularly high, near his ribs. The fabric clung to a damp, growing stain, the cotton darkening around the swollen crown of Mingyu's cock. A wet patch right where the head pressed, pushing the fabric up like it had no business being held in.

Chan could not help but stare.

Even hidden, it was apparent that size didn’t make sense. The tip reached Mingyu’s upper abdomen, even though he was nearly reclined. Chan’s thoughts short-circuited - "How much of it was left beneath?"

He'd heard the jokes back then - locker room teasing, the “third leg” comments, but jokes never felt like this. Jokes never pulsed under someone’s shirt, leaving wet marks like a broken faucet. Maybe he caught a glimpse once in the showers after Lacrosse practice. But that was a blur. This wasn’t.

Chan shifted forward and swung a leg over. The couch creaked from the shift of weight. Mingyu’s eyes didn’t waver, watching Chan spit into his palm before wrapping his hand around the slick-saturated crown through the shirt. His fingers squeezed, then twisted. Squeezed and twisted.

A gruff noise tore from Mingyu’s throat. His hips jerked as more wetness bloomed across the cotton. Chan kept going. The head throbbed against his palm with every pulse, precum soaking through like a slow spill.

Every squeeze made the shaft flex harder. Chan ogled, fascinated, as more of the bulge defined itself with every twitch. His own breathing mirrored Mingyu’s now - faster, shallower. It was like touching something sacred. Forbidden.

Then, suddenly, Mingyu halts the motion by grasping Chan's hand as if telling him he didn't want to finish like this.

Chan paused.

Stillness.

Then, a small nod.

That was all it took.

Chan sat back on his heels to make room. His fingers found the hem of Mingyu’s borrowed white tee. The fabric peeled upward, inch by inch. What emerged was nothing short of jaw-dropping.

Thicker than a beer can. Hefty, just like every part of Mingyu. Veins crawled like roads down its dark, tan length. The mushroom head flared, angry and wet, glistening with precum that slid in thick beads toward his abdomen. It slapped faintly against Mingyu's abs with each twinge, and still, it hadn’t stopped rising.💢

It was lewd. A freak of nature. Beautiful.

Mingyu’s cock was over a foot long, fully hard, pulsing with a pang of hunger it hadn’t learned to tame. And below it, his concealed nuts hung full and high, round as tennis balls, visibly tight, heavy with years of repressed lust.💢

Chan’s heart thudded in his chest. He had seen big. Brian was big. But not this. This was something else entirely.

That said, he knew Mingyu rarely masturbated - something ingrained since high school when he'd called it a sin. He also knew Mingyu was a virgin. Sure, he'd fooled around with women in college, but never went all the way. And most of all, Mingyu had never been with a guy - specifically not someone like him, who had a pussy instead of a dick.

All this pointed to one likely outcome: Mingyu was inexperienced. He might even cum prematurely. But Chan didn’t care if Mingyu lasted ten minutes or ten seconds, especially not after seeing what his best friend was packing.

⟡⋆

Mingyu’s eyes locked downward, unblinking, as Chan hovered just hairsbreadths above him. The air was suffused with anticipation, nerves sparking. "Is any of this real? Or was this another fever dream?"

Chan’s hand planted firmly over Mingyu’s chest, anchoring against the muscle that flexed spontaneously under the touch. He slid the laced fabric of his panties aside with a seductive flick, revealing wet, flushed folds, still swollen from earlier. Pink. Slick. Pulsing. Mingyu’s mouth parted, breath catching as saliva pooled on his tongue. His gaze glued to the sight, jaw slack, unable to look away as Chan took his rigid manhood and aligned it-

Then, contact.

The blunt, soaked head of Mingyu’s cock pressed into the slippery entrance, not pushing in, just gliding across. A smooth drag. A glistened swipe. Then another. And again.

Flesh against flesh.

Mingyu jolted. Every pass over Chan’s slit sent an electric tremor through his thighs, through his gut. His hips bucked in short bursts, instinct overpowering thought. No words were spoken - just heavy breathing, the soft slap of wet skin, and the faint, racy squelch of precum meeting slick folds.

"It's happening," Mingyu froze, guilt crashing over him. They hadn’t gone all the way to penetration, not yet-so maybe, just maybe , they have not violated the seventh commandment. He grasped Chan’s wrist, the same one that encased his throbbing cock, trying to pull back to stop this before they crossed the line.

Chan met his eyes and saw the conflict burning behind them. But he was already too far gone - Right and wrong no longer mattered. Only Mingyu did. For a moment, the rhythm stuttered. But Chan didn’t stop - just slowed. Guided. Swiped the head again, slower this time, letting the tip ride from entrance to clit, and back again.

Mingyu groaned, struggling not to cum. Fist clenched at his side.

His body wanted relief so badly that his legs trembled. His jaw tensed. Each glide of Chan’s heat over his tip drew another low sound from his throat, deeper, rougher. Slickness spilled from both of them now, clear and warm, coating his long shaft, sliding down to his nuts, gluing itself to his trimmed pubes in sticky strings.

His cock was drowned in pre-ejaculate and slick. Not a part of it was dry.

Never in his life had it looked like this - veins bulging, skin taut, angry with arousal. 28 years of never feeling this kind of hunger, and it was all pouring out at once.

The pleasure rose, steep and fast. No way to stop it now.

A sharp breath. Mingyu's sac pulled up tight. Every muscle in his lower body locked up, and then— "Aaahhhngnhh!"

The first rope shot straight into Chan’s open folds. Then another. And another.

Hot.

Thick.

Too much.

He kept spurting, kept pumping, the slit of his cock painting Chan’s cunt in pulses of white. The couch squeaked from Mingyu's involuntary spasms. Cum trickled down Chan’s inner thighs in lazy trails, pooling under.

Even so, Chan dragged the still-leaking head back over his soppy entrance, circling his clit, teasing the pulsing tip as it continued twitching and dribbling dollops of spooge. Mingyu rasped from the sheer intensity, like his cock had a mind of its own, as it kept ejecting viscid ribbons of cum.

It should’ve been over.

But it wasn’t.

His cock stayed hard - rock hard - pulsing still, still ready. The load he’d just dumped didn’t soften him. If anything, witnessing Chan's pussy drenched in his essence only added fuel to the fire.

Chan’s palm gripped the stocky base, slick and messy, stroking once more, spreading the fresh semen and slickness up and down the length. Gliding effortlessly, like the monstrous phallus had been dipped in oil.

Mingyu’s breath hitched as Chan’s eyes lowered. Sinister. Studying his crimson cock.

"Would it fit?"

Only one way to find out.

・・・

Chapter Text

⟡⋆

Mingyu’s head sank onto the couch’s headrest, eyes fluttering shut as the aftershocks of his orgasm persisted. His brain was a mishmash of delinquency, shock, and the screwed-up pleasure that still clung to his skin. He just came - on Chan, with Chan - and he couldn’t believe how good it felt to have his cock rub against Chan’s clit, then explode all over those dripping folds. It was mind-blowing. Life-changing even.

Still, the guilt clawed at him.

But there's no penetration. No actual sex. That means it doesn’t count, right? That’s what he kept telling himself, adhering to the technicality of this depravity. Chan is married, for fuck’s sake. And yet here they were - half-naked, sticky, and way too close to crossing that definitive line of becoming full-blown sinners.

Mingyu was still lost in thought, a dazed clutter of logic and lust, when something warm and impossibly tight suddenly nudged around his sensitive cockhead.

His eyes snapped open. Terror.

Chan was straddling him now, face twisted in a mix of pain and stubborn need, pushing down slowly. Mingyu could feel it - how Chan was EXERTING himself to take him in. Bare. His large tip was breaching the tiny, soaked opening. "Oh, crap," Mingyu shot Chan a conflicting gaze as if telling him to think it through, but Chan only moaned faintly and kept going. And going. Chan quite literally felt like he was being taken for the first time all over again. Yes, he was doused with slick, which helped, but it was still a struggle. The hardest part was the sheer thickness - Mingyu was unbelievably wide. Chan's folds stretched more than they ever had, straining to take him in.

His lace panties were still on, the crotch just pushed aside as he lowered himself inch by trembling inch.

Mingyu panicked. Fuck, fuck, fuck. His cock was greased with wads of cum from earlier. Unprotected. And if Chan could get pregnant... God. This wasn’t just cheating anymore - this was risking everything. But Mingyu cannot deny how damn good it felt. How... FUCK-his awareness retracted when his bulbous tip popped in, and Mingyu almost lost it!

Chan's insides gripped him like a velvet vice, hot and wet and ungodly tight. Mingyu groaned, unable to stop his hips from propelling upward just slightly, eyes wide in awe and horror when he did.  "Nghhh, ahh, " Chan winced, biting his lip, but his familiar, steady, heartbreaking eyes were shining with something more profound than lust. It was WANT-bursting at the seams.

They didn’t have to say it. This ain't a random hook-up. This had been brewing between them for over a decade, and now, it was happening for real.

Chan’s pussy stretched around Mingyu’s incredibly thick shaft, the slow drag inwards causing squelches and tension with every added inch. Each second felt like torture, yet it merged into ecstasy. His cock was burning, tingling, drowning in sensation - he'd just come, and yet the pressure was building again as Chan took a third in his cunt. His panties stayed bunched to the side, thighs wobbly, endeavoring to take more of Mingyu’s massive appendage.

It took another hot minute. Chan had to pause occasionally to adjust and keep his sanity, but then he gritted his teeth and fitted another whopping inch with a whimper. That sudden move made Mingyu’s abs tense, his thighs flexing as he held his breath, fighting the rising tide simmering within. No. He cannot cum, not while he's inside Chan.

So, he TRIED to pull out, trying to lift Chan off. But Chan resisted. He grabbed Mingyu’s shoulders and forced himself lower with a shaky cry, taking him deeper.

You can see the dread in Mingyu's dilated pupils when it hit. That sharp, volcanic pressure - detonated straight from his spine to his cock.

“Oh my— fuck,” He hissed, feeling the orgasm tear through him without warning. It was the first few, clear words he uttered during their unholy union.

His muscle-bound body jerked, attempting to pull out one more time even though he was not fully in yet. Not even halfway. But Chan clenched and held him tight.

Too late. Mingyu's cock jolted and pulsed inside, and with a low, masculine moan, he released again - hot spurts of thick jizz flooding into Chan’s already stretched cunt. The heat spread up Chan’s belly, and they both felt it: the grotesque quantity, the fullness, the risk.

Their moans tangled into one filthy, breathless note.

Mingyu’s large hands swathed around Chan’s waist instinctively, biceps protruding with each pulse of his cock. He could feel it - his own cum leaking out, running down his vein-stricken erection, pooling at the base, while Chan’s walls quivered, milking him for more.

Mingyu was still cumming - pumping out thick shots when Chan began to move. Slow bounces at first, then steadier, fucking himself on the still-pulsing shaft that couldn’t stop releasing. Chan moaned breathlessly, rolling his hips in smooth, practiced motions, clearly chasing more despite the gobs of semen already filling him.

He could only take about half of the monstrous length. Chan ceased to try once he reached that point - that's when Mingyu's scrambled brain, vulnerable from the back-to-back orgasms, cut through the haze. "Brian must be smaller. That’s probably why Chan couldn’t take more than this." That thought sparked a primal pride deep in his chest. "Of course, I’m bigger. I can wreck him like no one else can!"

Chan looked like a dream - cheeks flushed, lips wet and parted, sweat trickling from his temple down the side of his neck. His sculpted frame was glistening, squirming every time Mingyu’s cock rubbed against his bundle of nerves. Eyes unfocused, his head lolling back, Chan looked downright ruined. A filthy disorder of incoherence. Straight out of a porno. Yet, still needy.

And still riding. Couldn't get enough of Mingyu's cum-gorging pisser.

“Oh, fuck - you're still cumming in me,” Chan slurred, his tone ragged. “I'm so fucking full! Stuffed with your cum, oh~shit!” Mingyu moaned low in his throat. The sight, the slick heat, the way Chan’s cunt spasmed with every downward thrust - it was sensory overload.

Chan’s pace began to falter. His legs shook, hips slowing. Eventually, his forehead pressed against Mingyu’s, both of them gasping, damp skin meeting damp skin. The cool AC air didn’t matter - sweat poured from their bodies. Skin ablaze. Feverish.

Then it dawned on Mingyu - they were in Chan’s soundproof studio. No one could hear them. And it seemed like Chan realized it too because his voice suddenly rang out — “Fuck me hard and deep, Gyu,” he cried. “Fuck me like my husband never could! Rip me open with that fat cock!”

Mingyu growled, his concrete, foot-long meat twitching harder. He didn’t think he could get turned on any more than he already was - but those words? From Chan?

He felt like an animal being unleashed.

He groped Chan’s dumpy ass, spreading the cheeks wide, fingers sinking into the soft, sweaty flesh-using them as leverage to fuck upward, each slam producing lewd, wet slaps. The blend of Chan’s slick and Mingyu’s cum was frothing around the trimmed base, creating tacky, white rings every time Chan lifted even an inch.

Chan threw his head back farther and sobbed out a moan. “It hurts, it hurts so fucking good!”

Their grunts, moans, and the rhythmic slap of flesh against flesh filled the enclosed space. Chan’s ripped body was shuddering all over, nipples hard through the drenched fabric of his tank top. His six-pack flexed with each bounce, pecs jiggling from the ferocity of the movement. Mingyu’s wide build was bucking beneath him, bulky muscles taut, dribbling sweat that ran down his sides, off his brow, and chin.

Amid the passionate coitus, Mingyu leaned forward, raised Chan's arm, and licked languid stripes across his perspiring pits before closing around an exposed nipple that had slipped out from his tank top. He bit, sucked, and tugged like a hungry predator.

Chan keens, constricting down hard around Mingyu’s cock. “Good God, my p-pussy— fuck, she’s never been this loud,” he panted, drool seeping from his lips. “She loves your dick, Gyu. She’s so full, she’s screaming!”

Guilt had long been driven asunder. All that was left was need.

“You’re so far up inside me,” Chan whimpered.

Their eyes dropped to his defined abdomen.

And there it was.

A cock-shaped bulge jutting out just under Chan’s ribs, clearly visible through his sweat-slick stomach. It looked wrong, obscene, and so undeniably hot. Mingyu was not even balls-deep yet, and he was already deforming Chan’s guts. Chan stared at it in shock, then his legs gave out, ass slapping down into Mingyu’s lap - burying the entire length in consequence.

And in the instant, Mingyu’s eyes rolled back.

Chan’s whole body convulsed.

A strangled cry ripped from Chan’s soul as his back arched and his pussy clamped particularly hard. The gush that followed was wild- liquid heat spraying in rapid succession around Mingyu’s lodged cock as Chan squirted, full-body spasms rocking him like a seizure.

That sent Mingyu straight over the edge.

His manhood throbbed inside the tight walls, and then he was hosing into Chan’s already-flooded cunt. Rope after rope of hot, viscous seed rushed upward, surging deep. Mingyu didn’t just cum - he emptied himself. All the years of repression, of holding back, of never masturbating - all of it boiled down to this moment!

So inhumanly profuse that Chan’s belly visibly puffed out, the swollen paunch looking almost pregnant with how much cum was trapped inside. And still, Mingyu’s cock thumped, dumping more into him, his huge dick practically vibrating from how hard he was climaxing.

It was a fucking mess.

Chan trembled violently in his arms, mouth open in a silent scream. His strained, plugged pussy kept convulsing, gushing again and again on Mingyu's dick, as rivers of white-hot liquid oozed from the overstretched entrance and trickled down onto the couch, pooling between Mingyu’s legs, eventually flowing to the floor.

They were bathed in sweat, cum, slick, and raw heat.

Chan wouldn’t stop shaking. He looked like he was possessed. So Mingyu did the only thing he could, pulled him closer into a sweet embrace, holding him tight, his hips still jerking, still crammed deep inside.

It was over.

Or rather… it finally happened.

Chan and Mingyu - best friends since high school, through college, through every high and low, finally became one.

But as the scent of sex lingered in the cool, quiet studio…

The question remained.

Where do they go from here?

・・・

Chapter Text

⟡⋆

Mingyu and Chan were still tangled together, bodies pressed close, breath mingling. Mingyu remained inside Chan, his release still pouring in slow blobs, an intimate echo of everything that just transpired. Time felt suspended, the studio stagnant with the weight of their choices. Chan was married. Mingyu knew it deeply, and yet he let himself get pulled under, letting emotions take the wheel. Dregs of guilt resurface, but so does Chan's warmth.

He wanted to say something. Anything. Apologize. Justify. But Chan hadn’t moved either. He was still coming down, twitching around Mingyu’s cock. Then suddenly, the door swung open.

Mingyu jolted, heart dropping. And there, walking in with calm certainty, was Brian, in a silk robe. Chan’s husband. He walked straight in and sat on Chan’s gaming chair like he belonged there, which, of course, he did. Mingyu quickly looked away, eyes darting to the floor. Brian sat with his legs spread, composed and confident, watching Mingyu without flinching. And there Mingyu was - still fully sheathed in his spouse, both of them sweaty from what they'd done.

The silence was cruel, mainly for Mingyu, until Brian broke it.

“So,” he said, his tone unsettlingly steady. “How does it feel? Finally doing what you've wanted for years?”

Mingyu was stumped. Shame crept in fast. He couldn’t find the words. The son of a pastor, reduced to this? But then Brian kept talking.

“You didn’t even let me watch in person.”

Wait—what? That didn’t make sense. Mingyu was downright confused. Watch? What did he mean by "watch?"

Brian sighed. “I had to sit in our room and jerk off watching you guys on the TV.”

Mingyu’s eyes shot to the ceiling. And there they were. Cameras. One in each corner of the studio. The realization landed like a punch. Brian knew. He’d always known. Everything he and Chan had done here had been seen.

Before Mingyu could ask anything, Chan gently turned his face back. “It’s okay, Gyu,” he whispered, soothing in his delivery. Then, Chan came out clean and told him the truth—

"Brian and I had wanted this all along."

"Wanted what?" Mingyu blinked.

“To invite you,” Chan said quietly. “Into a relationship with us. A polyamorous one.”

Mingyu’s thoughts scrambled. Polyamory? With them? He grew up being taught that even touching himself was sinful. Twenty-eight years of celibacy - gone in one night. And now this? His best friend, the man he had just committed adultery with, wanted more. They wanted more.

His heart raced. First, he’d crossed a sacred boundary he never thought he would. Now, they were asking him to stay on the other side of it. He felt the panic creeping in, but Chan held his gaze again. As if quelling the storm within his bewildered soul.

“I’ve loved you since we were kids,” Chan said, vulnerable, voice cracking slightly. “Since that day, you bandaged my knee in Lacrosse. Since you defended me in college.”

Mingyu’s mind flashed back - back to that awful prank in the locker room. Back to the moment when he saw what others weren’t supposed to see and how he reacted, fists flying, loyalty on full display. He hadn’t questioned it. He only wanted to protect Chan.

“So Brian… has known? This whole time?” Mingyu asked, glancing over Chan’s shoulder.

"Mm-hmm," Chan hummed in acknowledgment. “It was his idea to invite you, actually. If you hadn’t shown up tonight, we were planning to come find you this weekend.”

That stunned him. Brian, the man he had secretly resented for marrying Chan, had wanted this too. Mingyu always thought Brian had taken Chan away. But now... now it seemed like he was offering something back.

He barely had time to process it when Chan asked, “So, Gyu… are you in?”

The question hit hard, specifically because Mingyu was still (very much) inside him. Was that a pun? Probably.

“I, uh…” Mingyu stammered, catching movement out of the corner of his eye. Brian had opened his robe.

Mingyu was surprised. He and Chan had always been gym rats. It came with the territory - Mingyu worked as a personal trainer, and Chan had always kept his body lean and defined.

So he was caught off guard by Brian. He wasn’t cut like them, not as defined, but there was something undeniably sexy about him. He had a solid chest, a hint of abs starting to form, and a relaxed confidence. Mingyu’s eyes dropped lower - Brian was hanging heavy, his cock thick, still slick with traces of cum. His pubic area was completely shaved. Chan preferred waxing, while Mingyu kept himself neatly trimmed; however, Brian was smooth, bare, and unbothered.

Mingyu gulped, overwhelmed. Then Chan drew his attention: “You were saying?”

And without waiting for an answer, Chan began to move. Hips shifting. Stirring Mingyu back to full hardness with slow, grinding motions.

Mingyu groaned, cock throbbing incessantly, breath unstable.

“Is that a yes?” Chan asked with a glint of mischief in his eye.

Mingyu innocently nodded, like the big puppy that he was. “Yes,” he mumbled. Then louder, as Chan repeatedly bounced high on his lap - “Yes. Yes. Yes!”

Chan beamed from ear to ear, kissed him hard, deep, and unashamed, right in front of Brian.

“Good,” Brian said with a smirk, spitting into his palm and stroking his thickening cock. The wet sound of it echoed in the studio, drawing Mingyu’s gaze.

Brian was hard now - 8 solid inches long, thick, pulsing.💢 He was not quite as massive as Mingyu (whose foot-long, beer-can-thick meat was still buried inside Chan), but he was impressive in his own right. And he was attentively watching, entertained - eyes locked on Chan’s immaculate, round ass and how it clapped against Mingyu’s slick shaft. The scene in front of him was exactly what he had fantasized about. His husband was being taken and thoroughly wrecked.

Everything was unfolding.

Brian’s fantasy was realized.

Chan’s long-held dream is fulfilled.

Mingyu’s impossible love finally returned.

Somehow, in this mess of confessions and twisted fate, something strange and beautiful had happened. After years of pain - his parents’ divorce, his mom’s death, failed interviews, dead-end jobs, even a busted car - this moment, right here, was Mingyu's unexpected reward.*

And maybe, "just maybe," it meant something true.

Because you know what they say:

All’s well that ends well. ♡

🔚