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“Fuck,” Bomin breathes as he sinks down.
Jangjun’s hands feel like steel on his thighs, keeping him in place, helping him move. Slow, so slow. Bomin hates it.
A gentle hand brushes the hair away from his face, and he tears his eyes from Jangjun’s iron focus to Jibeom’s soft smile.
“You need a break, babe?”
“No,” Bomin grits, glaring when Jangjun laughs. “I want both of you to stop treating me like I’m fine porcelain.”
Jibeom’s gentle touch turns bruising and within moments, Bomin is pushed all the way down. He regrets opening his big mouth, goddamn it. It doesn’t hurt, not really, he’s been prepped too well for that, but Jangjun is so much bigger than Bomin is used to. Breathing is such a complicated concept all of a sudden.
“Easy,” Jangjun says, although to him or Jibeom, Bomin has no idea.
“He can take it,” Jibeom replies, back to stroking Bomin’s sweaty hair away from his face. “Can’t you, love?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” Bomin babbles, trying in vain to move his hips. Jangjun’s grip is way too tight. “I can, I can, please? I can take it, please, I’ll be so good.”
Jangjun growls under him and, god, there will definitely be bruises later. Bomin is moved, through no effort of his own, lifted up slowly, then brought back down. It’s so much and the fog in his brain is getting thicker by the second.
The novelty of being split open doesn’t quite dissipate but Jangjun thrusts faster, deeper, keeping Bomin in place all throughout. He could probably let go, go completely lax in their hands and it would change nothing, Jangjun wouldn’t stop and Jibeom would just keep him in place until he decides it’s enough.
Bomin is dimly aware of the noises he’s making, heavy pants and cut-off cries, of Jibeom’s soft hands and Jangjun’s good, you’re so good like this. It gets to his head and Bomin lets his eyes slip shut.
A mistake. Jibeom’s fingers are suddenly in his hair, yanking back so hard Bomin’s eyes fly open and he cries out, loud and unbidden this time.
“Who told you you could do that? You said you’d be good, didn’t you?” The icicles in Jibeom’s voice cut through Bomin’s entire being.
He shakes his head, desperate, eyes trained on Jibeom now. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’ll do better, please!”
What is he even begging for? But Jangjun’s going faster still and this time Bomin does go lax, head thrown back and mouth open, careless of the litany of pleasepleaseplease that spills out.
He was right - it changes nothing.
Except there are fingers ghosting around his cock now and Bomin does know what he’s begging for.
“Do you think you deserve it, hm?” Jibeom asks, nonchalant, as if Bomin isn’t up in flames before him.
“Please,” Bomin begs, yet again. Whatever he meant to say next is caught in his throat, comes out as a choked whimper as Jangjun moves just so, makes him see stars.
He doesn’t realize he’s crying until one of Jangjun’s hands moves up from his thigh, wipes stray tears off his cheeks. “Pretty,” Jangjun mutters.
He’s holding him with just one hand now but it doesn’t matter, and Bomin just cries harder. “Please, I’ve been so good, please, please-”
Jibeom finally, finally touches him and Bomin screams, tries his best to hold on to whatever scraps of sanity he has left because Jibeom hasn’t said anything yet. It will be so, so much worse if Bomin messes up now.
“Go on, then.” Jibeom’s mocking tone rings, the most beautiful song to Bomin’s ears. “I thought you wanted to come?”
Finally, finally Bomin allows the flames to consume him whole. The world fizzles out of existence, his body tied to reality by Jangjun and Jibeom’s hands alone.
It feels like eternity before he floats back into the real world but Jangjun’s hips are still snapping into him, so it’s probably mere minutes. It’s a strange feeling, now that the fog over Bomin’s thoughts is lifting, a little overwhelming but he revels in it all the same.
There are soft whimpers, puffs of breath with barely any sound in them, and belatedly he realizes it’s him making the noises. Jibeom is no longer touching him so Bomin leans forward, braces his hands on Jangjun’s shoulders instead. Jangjun uses this as an invitation to suck bruises into his neck, scrape his teeth over Bomin’s skin, just this side of painful. He can’t wait to press his fingers into the bruises later.
For all his usual self, Jangjun is almost completely silent as he comes, so Bomin cries out for both of them.
There are fingers in his hair again, and Bomin turns to see Jibeom smiling at him. His hand is covered in white and so is his stomach, and Bomin pouts when he realizes he missed seeing him come.
“Greedy, aren’t you?” Jibeom laughs, as if Bomin said it out loud.
Bomin shakes his head, still a little floaty. “I’m good. I was good, wasn’t I?”
“So good,” Jangjun says, hands no longer bruising, just gently roaming over his back instead.
“The best,” Jibeom nods.
Bomin beams at both of them, doesn’t protest as he’s moved off of Jangjun and into the bed proper. There are probably things he should be doing - bath, for one. But he’s been good, Jibeom and Jangjun both said so, he can be a little bad now.
He knows they’ll take care of him regardless.