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Renjun sees Jeno Lee for the first time in his 10 AM Comparative Politics class junior year, and immediately decides that he hates him.
“That guy took my seat,” he whispers under his breath. Suddenly, the coffee he’d desperately needed to get before this doesn’t seem so necessary at all.
Next to him, Ryujin blinks. “This class is open seating,” she says, stating the obvious. “We don’t have assigned seats.”
It’s a cardinal rule of college that even in open seating classes—especially in open seating classes—that after three instances of sitting in the same seat, it becomes yours. Ryujin should know this. Renjun knows this. Jeno Lee—his name card reads—should know this, too.
Jeno meets his eye and smiles. With a scowl, Renjun turns back around in his seat. Beautiful men just think they can do anything and get away with it. Talk about entitlement.
“I’ve been sitting there for the past four classes,” Renjun hisses. He’d chosen that particular seat carefully for its optimal location—close enough to the chalkboard that he didn’t have to wear his glasses to see what was written on it, but far enough that he didn’t get an ache in his neck from having to look up right at it. Its proximity to an outlet was a plus, because Renjun’s Macbook Air is 5 years old and on its last leg and constantly dying on him. “It was my seat.”
“I guess he just added the class this week,” Ryujin says, clearly not grasping the gravity of the situation. “You should’ve gotten here earlier.”
Easier said than done, considering his 9 AM class is halfway across campus and his professor has a propensity to go over-time with his lectures. “Maybe I will,” he says in a huff, because Renjun Huang does a lot of things but Renjun Huang does not back down from a challenge, and he certainly does not let pretty boys go unchecked when they take something that’s supposed to be rightfully his.
After three instances of sitting in the same seat, it becomes yours. Renjun is going to do everything in his power to get his seat back before it can become Jeno’s. Silently, he does the math in his head. 9 AM lectures end at 9:45, which gives him a solid 15 minutes to make the trek across campus to reclaim what is rightfully his. It’s plenty of time, Renjun tells himself, craning his neck to look up at the chalkboard. Plenty of time indeed.
The Friday after that one, Renjun is out of his seat and halfway out the door the minute the clock strikes nine forty-five, Professor Byun’s Social and Political Philosophy lecture be damned. He speed-walks a respectful 0.5 miles and arrives at Comparative Politics five minutes early, and—Jeno is there, with his name card all set up and his notebook in front of him and three perfectly-sharpened pencils lined up in a row. He smiles at Renjun again. Renjun does not smile back.
Determined not to be beaten out again, Renjun leaves ten minutes early from Professor Byun’s class the following week, and actually runs instead of speed-walking. Jeno is already in his seat when he arrives, panting and out of breath. “Would you like some water?” he asks Renjun. It’s humiliating, mostly because Jeno looks like the type of man who could run a half-marathon without breaking a sweat, but Renjun can’t run uphill half a mile without feeling like his lungs are on fire.
“I’m good,” Renjun says through gritted teeth. “Thanks.”
On the next Friday—the Dawn of the Final Day—Renjun skips his 9 AM altogether and shows up to his 10 AM a grand total of 45 minutes early. Jeno is, of course, somehow, infuriatingly, already there too. “Oh,” he says to Renjun, grinning. “You’re here early.”
Renjun’s eye twitches. “I sure am. You’re here even earlier than me, though.”
Jeno continues to smile. “I like to do my readings here before class starts.”
“I see,” Renjun says, and nothing more. He’s busy seething, mostly. He stays busy seething for so long that he hardly notices Ryujin sliding into the seat next to him, or the clock ticking over from fifty nine into double zeros, or Professor Kim taking her place at the front of the class.
It’s unfortunate. Mostly because if he noticed any of that, he might have also noticed Professor Kim say pop quiz, as the TAs begin to pass out papers. By the time he comes to, everyone else is heads down, focused on their respective quizzes. Renjun looks down at his paper blankly. Did it say in the syllabus we would be getting pop quizzes? Didn’t we all collectively agree to leave these in high school?
A pen. He needs a pen, or a pencil, or anything to write with. That would be a good start. Renjun rifles through his bag as quietly as he can, and comes up empty, only realizing he’d left his pencil case on his desk at home that morning in his haste to get to class. Renjun’s going to have to humiliate himself by raising his hand and asking the fucking professor for a pencil, and really, none of this would be happening if it weren’t for Jeno. This is Jeno’s fault, and—
“Hey,” Jeno is whispering, barely audible, and Renjun’s head whips up. And there he is, sitting in what should be Renjun’s rightful seat, holding out a pen with that same smile on his face. He looks every bit the life saver that he is.
Renjun’s neck is still permanently sore. And Jeno Lee still has absolutely no regard for the unspoken conventions of college seat-choosing etiquette. But maybe Renjun judged him too hastily. “Thank you,” he says under his breath, and Jeno grins harder at him, like that’s physically possible.
He gets an A on the quiz. After that, Renjun decides he probably doesn’t hate Jeno at all.
❣️
Renjun sees Jeno Lee for the tenth time at Sig Mu’s Halloween open house, and immediately decides that he wants him.
“I want him,” he declares out loud to Donghyuck, and Donghyuck sputters into his Keystone Lite. A few droplets of beer land on his not-quite pristine white shirt.
“My shirt,” Donghyuck whines, though it comes out muffled on account of the fake fangs in his mouth. Renjun is pretty sure that’s just what he deserves for wearing a white shirt to a frat party. The devil horned headband on his head is slightly askew. Renjun reaches out to fix it for him. “Who are you talking about?”
Renjun nods his head in Jeno’s direction in what he hopes is a vaguely subtle way. He’s leaning against the wall and wearing a set of puppy ears that suit him maybe a little bit too much. He also looks like he was dragged here against his will. Renjun can relate to that feeling very well.
“Cute. Nice arms,” Donghyuck says approvingly. Then, “Wait—do you even know him?”
Renjun stares down at the drink in his hand. It stares right back at him ominously. Almost as though it’s taunting him. Sig Mu’s signature jungle juice is offensively red, the same shade as the solo cup he’s drinking it out of, and has both the taste and mouthfeel of cherry cough syrup. He’s trying very hard not to think about what else is in it, but there’s about six handles of Everclear near the makeshift bar, so it’s not hard to put two-and-two together.
Shrugging, he takes a sip anyway. Halloweekend is about making poor decisions, and Renjun crossed that threshold several shots ago. “He stole my seat in Comparative Politics.”
“I’d like to take a seat,” Donghyuck says dreamily. “On his face.”
“Donghyuck,” Renjun splutters.
Donghyuck side-eyes him. “What? You barely know him. He’s free real estate.”
“You have a boyfriend,” Renjun says, and Donghyuck only waves his hand, as if to say who cares? “And I do know him, we’ve talked before! He lent me a pencil once, too—”
“Great,” Donghyuck says dryly. “Lending you a pencil in class. That’s like, second base for you. What, did he walk you to your seventh grade algebra class after that?”
“Shut up,” Renjun replies. He and Jeno haven’t talked since then, really, nothing beyond a greeting before class here or there, but that doesn’t mean anything. The world is his oyster. “And put that beer down. We need to find something stronger if I’m gonna go talk to him.”
Liquid courage is the best sort of courage there is, and Renjun’s comes in the form of two more Everclear-heavy cups of jungle juice. Plus one shot of something Kunhang calls blackout punch, which can’t be good, but after a certain point of drunkenness, you’ll drink anything. Renjun has learned this the hard way several times.
He’s feeling pretty good about himself by the time he and Donghyuck have gone their separate ways—the inevitable result of fundamental and insurmountable differences in motivation. Donghyuck was in search of the snack bar, Renjun was in search of some dick. Different priorities. Renjun will see him at brunch tomorrow to hear the sordid, unnecessarily explicit details of his night with Mark, anyway.
With any luck, Renjun will have some details of his own to share, too. A quick scan of the crowd shows that Jeno is across the room, still leaning against that same wall, looking at his phone. He hasn’t moved, which Renjun takes as a sign from God that maybe he was meant to do this all along. Renjun makes his way over on unsteady feet, and he might be drunk, but he doesn’t need the clearheadedness that comes with sobriety to recognize the look that flashes across Jeno’s face when he lifts his head to see Renjun approaching.
Jeno pockets his phone and straightens his back. “Hey,” he says.
“Hi,” Renjun says, maybe too-loudly, because it can be difficult to be heard over the music. He feels a little light-headed in the good sort of way. It will turn into a hangover tomorrow, but that is Tomorrow Renjun’s problem. “I know you.”
“Yes, Renjun,” Jeno laughs, and god, his voice is nice, all low and raspy. How did Renjun ever think he hated this man? Hated the perfect build of his body maybe, or his 0% body fat, maybe. “We do know each other. I like your cat ears.”
Renjun touches the headband atop his head. Honestly, he’d nearly forgotten they were there. He’s never liked dressing up for Halloween, but the Facebook invite for this party had been pretty clear: show up in a costume, or get turned away at the door. The cat ears had been Donghyuck’s last minute addition to his low-effort black jeans and black shirt outfit combo.
They’re not exactly high quality. Renjun had the distinct feeling they’d been fished out of the Party City $5-discount-bin when he saw them, because they were. So Jeno is either being nice, or he’s flirting. Renjun hopes it’s the latter. “Thanks,” he says. “If you scratch them right, I might even purr.”
Jeno blinks. “Sorry, what?” he asks. “It’s kinda loud. I didn’t hear what you just said.”
Renjun doesn’t even remember what he just said. Jeno’s leaning in very close, now, and the scent of his cologne is almost enough to make his knees buckle. “I said I like your dog ears,” he says. He has to tiptoe up to talk into Jeno’s ear just to be heard above the noise, which is—incidentally—a great excuse to be leaning into his personal space. He braces one hand on Jeno’s bicep. Donghyuck was right. Nice arms.
Jeno’s hands land on Renjun’s waist to steady him. He has big hands, Renjun notices. They feel nice on him. He’s willing to bet they’d feel nicer elsewhere, too. “Oh, you do?”
“They’re cute,” Renjun says, reaching a hand up to thumb over one of the fabric ears. “And I’m not usually a dog person, either.”
“My bark is bigger than my bite,” Jeno offers, his breath warm against Renjun’s neck. Renjun tries and fails to suppress a shiver. He’s not one hundred percent sure what that means, exactly, but Jeno says it with the tone and cadence of a flirtation, so he’s willing to take it as a positive sign.
Renjun takes a stab in the dark. “I don’t mind you biting. As long as you don’t leave marks.”
“No?” Jeno asks, lips brushing over the shell of his ear (the human one, not the cat one). “None at all?”
“Well,” Renjun says, considering. “Maybe if you’re a really good puppy.”
Jeno chokes on a laugh, his eyes glittering. “God,” he says. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”
A pause. “I’d like to find out,” Renjun says, and he’s not sure if he leans in first or if Jeno does, but someone leans in, and then his hands are in Jeno’s hair and Jeno’s hands are pulling him closer until their bodies are pressed flush together.
Jeno’s kisses start slow, experimental, and surprisingly sweet. His lips are a little dry but they part easily when Renjun swipes his tongue over the seam of his mouth, and from there on it’s not sweet at all. He makes a soft, surprised noise when Renjun takes his lower lip between his teeth, his hands tightening around his waist. It’s cute. Really cute, and Renjun would like to hear it again. Renjun would also like to keep kissing him forever, but that’s not particularly realistic, even though the way Jeno is holding onto him has Renjun thinking maybe the feeling is mutual.
It’s crowded, but not crowded enough to justify Renjun feeling the firm line of another body fully pressed against his back. There’s not a lot that could probably convince him to stop kissing Jeno right about now, not when Jeno’s thumb is stroking circles into his hip like that, but Renjun’s annoyed enough with the stranger who can’t respect personal space that he eventually has to pull back.
Still in Jeno’s arms, Renjun turns to crane his neck to get a look at the stranger, and—oh, he’s actually cute. As cute as Jeno, even. The movement makes his head spin—though it’s entirely possible that his world’s been spinning off its axis this entire time and Jeno’s lips were the only thing keeping him grounded.
“You two seem like you’re having fun,” the cute stranger says. He’s holding two drinks in his hands. “I’m Jaemin.”
“Hi Jaemin,” Renjun says. “I’m Renjun. I like your bunny ears. We kind of match.”
“Hi, Renjun,” Jaemin echoes with amusement. “I like your cat ears. And also, you’re kissing my boyfriend.”
Well, that’s sobering. Somewhat.
“Took you long enough to come back,” Jeno says. He continues to hold Renjun. Renjun is vaguely aware that this seems like an odd thing to do in front of his boyfriend.
“Looks like you managed just fine without me,” Jaemin laughs. “Got yourself a cute little kitty to play with, and everything.”
Renjun frowns. He wouldn’t have made out with Jeno if he’d known he was dating someone. He’s not in the business of homewrecking, no matter how fun it looks in movies. “I’m sorry,” he says, his hands falling from Jeno’s shoulders. Jeno is a little slower to withdraw his own hand. “Are you mad at me?”
Jaemin hums, passing one of his cups to Jeno. “Do I look mad?”
Renjun’s vision might be a little blurry at the edges, but even through his alcohol-induced haze he can tell that Jaemin is—again, cute. Really cute. And he’s smiling, too, and he’s barely even looking at Jeno at all right now, just giving Renjun his full attention.
Three shots ago, Renjun probably would’ve just apologized again and took himself home. But three-shots-ago Renjun is a loser who gets no bitches, and three-extra-shots-in Renjun apparently does.
“You don’t look mad,” Renjun says. “But I think I should probably kiss you just to make sure.”
“What?” Jaemin says.
“What?” Jeno asks.
So Renjun rocks forward onto his tiptoes and kisses Jaemin, too. He seemed surprised just now, but his reaction time is almost startlingly quick. Unlike Jeno, he doesn’t waste a second before licking into Renjun’s mouth, and though one of his hands is occupied holding a drink, the other quickly occupies itself with the right back pocket of Renjun’s jeans.
It turns out Jaemin, like his boyfriend, is a disgustingly good kisser. Isn’t it unfair, Renjun thinks, dizzy with the feel of a second set of hands sliding around his hips. That two disgustingly good kissers would date each other and deprive the rest of the world from being able to experience this.
There are lips at the nape of his neck and a voice whispering low into his ear. Renjun can’t tell if the muffled whine he hears is coming from himself or Jaemin, whose kisses are becoming increasingly insistent.
“Do you want to come home with us?” Jeno asks.
Renjun doesn’t remember what he answered. He doesn’t remember anything after that, really, except for brief flashes—Jeno holding him upright as they walked Renjun back to his apartment. Jaemin digging around in the back pocket of Renjun’s jeans for his keys. Jeno, again, brushing his bangs back for him while Renjun threw up into a toilet. Jaemin, again, tucking him into bed with a bottle of water and a kiss on the forehead.
There are approximately fifty text notifications on his phone. Against his better judgment, Renjun checks the two most recent conversations.
The humiliation of it all is almost too much to bear. He kissed Jeno, who he barely knows, and then also kissed his boyfriend too, and then forced them to take care of him for the rest of the night. Before Renjun can register what he’s doing, he blocks both of their numbers. He’s so ashamed to face Jeno that he doesn’t even show up to Comparative Politics for the rest of the semester.
Ryujin gives him a very unimpressed look when he informs her why he will no longer be showing up to class. “Attendance is 20% of our grade,” she says.
“Yes,” Renjun tells her. “I know.”
She shakes her head in disbelief. “I get that you were drunk. But what exactly was going through your mind when you decided to kiss his boyfriend, too?”
“I guess I thought they would cancel out. Like, two negatives make a positive, or whatever.”
“Two negatives don’t make a positive. Did you pass math?”
Barely. “Just send me your notes. Please?”
“Fine,” she sighs. “But you can’t run from your problems forever.”
“Well,” Renjun hesitates. “It’s worked for me so far, hasn’t it?”
❣️
Renjun sees Jaemin Na for the first time in his 11 AM International Relations class senior year, and immediately decides that he wants nothing to do with him.
It’s unfortunate that the feeling doesn’t seem to go both ways. Renjun settles into a seat at the very back of the classroom, far enough that even with his glasses he needs to squint, and throughout the entire class, Jaemin makes it a point to turn around in his seat every five minutes and stare very conspicuously at him. Okay. Maybe Ryujin was right. Maybe it isn’t possible to run from your problems forever, especially when you and your problems happen to share a major and a college campus.
But Renjun managed to run for almost half a year, and that’s pretty impressive, isn’t it? They should make a participation trophy for that. Congrats, you semi-successfully avoided the boy you kissed and his boyfriend, who you also kissed, for an entire academic semester, and then some.
He pulls out his phone underneath the desk to text Donghyuck.
He is, predictably, no help at all.
Jaemin continues to stare.
By the end of class, Renjun is determined to pack up as quickly as possible just to avoid accidentally having to bump into Jaemin. He shoves his notebook into his bag and glances up, just long enough to confirm that Jaemin is no longer at his seat, and heaves a sigh of relief.
“Boo,” a voice says, right in his ear.
Renjun shrieks.
“That’s not a very nice way to greet a friend,” Jaemin says, leaning back. He’s as unfairly attractive as Renjun remembers him being, and his love of blatantly disrespecting Renjun’s personal space has clearly not waned.
Jeno is the type of beautiful where Renjun can’t quite look away from him. Conversely, Jaemin is the type of beautiful where Renjun can’t look at him for too long.
“Are we friends?” Renjun asks. Either Jaemin has a very different definition of what a friend constitutes, or he’s just trying (and succeeding) to make Renjun’s life miserable.
“You’ve had my tongue down your throat,” Jaemin says, voice syrupy sweet. His smile is wide and unsettling. “So I think we are, yes.”
Death would be kinder at this point. Renjun’s cheeks are uncomfortably hot. He can’t look Jaemin in the eyes for more than three seconds at a time without breaking into a sweat. “Sorry, do you need something?”
Jaemin’s smile grows wider. “Weren’t you listening to the professor?”
Were you? Renjun wants to counter. It seemed like you were busy trying to kill me with your eyes the entire time, not actually being an attentive student.
“There’s a group project this semester. He asked us to pick our partners. I pick you.”
What the fuck? “Sorry,” Renjun says, grappling for an excuse. “I, ah. I already have a partner.”
“Oh,” Jaemin says, eyes glinting. “Who?”
Renjun points across the room. “Um. That guy.”
Across the room, the guy blinks in confusion.
“That’s Jaehyun,” Jaemin says. “He’s our TA.”
“Oh,” Renjun says this time, and wishes the ground would open up beneath his feet and swallow him whole. “I’ll just work by myself, then.”
“You want to do a fifty-page research paper by yourself?” Renjun remains silent. “Yeah, I thought so. I’ll go ahead and let her know we’ll be working together, then.”
And really, what choice does Renjun have? “Okay,” he says weakly. “I…look forward to working with you this semester.”
Jaemin leans in closer than is strictly necessary, in Renjun’s opinion. “Trust me,” he says. This close up, Renjun finds the long sweep of his eyelashes very distracting. “The pleasure is all mine.”
❣️
“So drop the class,” says Chenle. “If you don’t want to work with him that badly.”
“I can’t,” Renjun groans, slumped over his desk. “I need it for my major. And we’re past the drop deadline now, anyway.”
Chenle smiles placidly. “Okay. So don’t drop the class.”
“But if I have to work with him, I’ll kill myself.”
“Okay. So drop the class.”
“I can’t.”
“Okay. So don’t—”
Renjun drops his head into his hands. He can already feel the headache coming on. Chenle always has that effect on him. It’d probably be a good idea to invest in some painkillers. “I hate you. I wish you were never born.”
“Too late for that,” Chenle cackles. “Just like it’s too late for you to drop the class.”
Jisung, who’s been quiet up until now, hums thoughtfully. “What I don’t understand is why Jeno didn’t just tell you from the start that he had a boyfriend. Or why he kissed you back, for that matter.”
“Yeah, me too, buddy,” Renjun says. If there were an easy explanation for either of those mysteries, he would have found them by now. As it stands, though, the facts remain the same:
- Jeno has a boyfriend.
- Jeno did not tell Renjun he had a boyfriend.
- Jeno kissed Renjun back, and maybe even kissed Renjun first.
- Renjun kissed Jeno, and then kissed Jeno’s boyfriend, and now he will have to work on a project with Jeno’s boyfriend for the rest of the semester.
“You should probably unblock their numbers now,” Chenle says.
There’s no headache coming on. Renjun already has a headache, and its name is Chenle Zhong, and there is no remedy for it.
❣️
Jeno would love to see you.
“I need a second opinion,” Renjun says, and shoves his phone into Donghyuck’s face without any further warning. “What do you think this means?”
Donghyuck squints. He always complains that Renjun’s screen brightness is set way too high, as if it’s Renjun’s fault that he’s half-blind. “It means they want to have sex witth you. I hope this helps.”
It does not help.
“You should probably wax, just in case.”
That helps even less.
❣️
It’s just before sundown when Renjun arrives at their doorstep. Whether he waxed or not is his business and his business alone.
Jaemin opens the door before Renjun even has a chance to knock, which is either a lucky coincidence or slightly freakish. Renjun is willing to bet on the latter when it comes to Jaemin. “Come in, come in,” he says eagerly, ushering Renjun indoors.
“Thanks for having me,” Renjun mumbles, looking around. The apartment is warm. Cozy. You can tell a lot about a person from their home. There’s a tiny herb garden growing on the windowsill in the kitchen, a very impressive collection of coffee table books, a framed photo of a younger Jeno and Jaemin in what look like graduation robes. Not a speck of dust to be found.
Their apartment screams we are a very happy and well-adjusted couple, somehow, despite being in our early twenties. Renjun’s apartment, with its mismatched furnishings and sparse decoration, screams I bought an air fryer last month and that’s pretty much the best thing that happened to me all year. Jeno isn’t even home. Renjun suddenly feels very stupid for entertaining Donghyuck’s nonsense at all—of course this wasn’t a ploy to have sex with him. There are easier ways to have threesomes.
And if it’s not that, it can only mean this is Renjun’s worst fear realized, and Jaemin is going to exact revenge on him for kissing his boyfriend last Halloween. Just as Renjun’s imagination starts to spiral, Jaemin turns on him with a smile.
“I was just about to make something to drink. Would you like coffee or tea?”
“Um,” Renjun says intelligently. “Coffee?”
Jaemin’s nod is approving. “A man after my own heart,” he says. “You can go ahead and wait in the living room, I’ll bring a mug out for you in a bit. I started putting together a pretty basic outline already if you want to take a look at that.”
It turns out that Jaemin makes a surprisingly good cup of coffee and that basic is an understatement—half the work’s basically been done, sources and potential arguments all laid out for him. It’s shocking mostly because Jaemin doesn’t necessarily come off as the studious, hardworking type, but Jaemin isn’t offended by Renjun’s surprise, and working together actually goes unexpectedly well. It’s fun, even. By the time the sun sets and the sky’s gone dark, they’ve clearly defined their division of work and have moved on to doing some of the research itself, which is already further than Renjun ever thought they’d get in a single day.
“You should stay for dinner,” Jaemin says, toying with one of the rips in Renjun’s jeans. Renjun has come to realize over the past few hours that Jaemin is…generous with his touches, to say the least. Likes to play with Renjun’s hair or squeeze at his thigh when he laughs or lean the full weight of his body against him. “I’m an excellent cook, you know.”
Renjun isn’t sure why he hesitates. “I should probably get going,” he starts to say, and gets cut off by the sound of the front door opening. “Okay, yeah, I should really go—” He’s not ready to face Jeno. Jaemin was one thing, but Jeno is—
Jeno is sweaty. He’s clearly just come back from the gym, and he’s wearing a butchered hoodie that might’ve had a hem a long time ago before someone (Jeno, presumably) cut it off. Along with the sleeves. “Oh,” he says, smiling. “Hi, Renjun.”
Renjun waves meekly.
“I was just telling Renjun he should stay for dinner,” Jaemin says, a hand dropping to his knee. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”
A drop of sweat rolls from Jeno’s temple to the hollow of his throat. Renjun follows it with his eyes, and doesn’t realize he’s been staring for the better part of half a minute until Jeno opens his mouth again. “We would love to have you,” he says to Renjun earnestly. “Assuming you don’t have any other plans, or anything.”
“I promise to make it worth your while,” Jaemin says, and Renjun isn’t sure if he imagines the way his voice seems to drop lower.
The combination of Jeno’s steady-eyed kindness and Jaemin’s less-than-subtle flirtation is downright debilitating. “Uh, alright. I’ll stay.” They’re just being friendly, he tells himself. Dinner couldn’t hurt.
Dinner stretches for a few hours—Jaemin cooks, occasionally asking Renjun to taste something or to help him prep ingredients here or there. Because Jeno is hopeless in the kitchen, he says good-naturedly, and Renjun can’t help but laugh as Jeno pouts and Jaemin kisses it away. After they’ve eaten, Jeno mentions offhandedly that he’s rented a horror movie to watch but that Jaemin can’t stand anything in the non-romcom genre. So Renjun stays to watch the movie, too, sandwiched between the both of them on their couch, and even though he cowers from the screen more than once he’s nowhere near as bad as Jaemin, who spends half his time hiding into Renjun’s shoulder and the other half of his time whining at Jeno for forcing him to watch this.
“I didn’t force you, babe,” Jeno says, reaching across Renjun to squeeze Jaemin’s hand. Renjun’s fingers twitch on the impulse to do the same. “You didn’t have to watch the movie with us.”
“And just let you keep Renjun all to yourself? I don’t think so.”
“You had him all to yourself for this entire afternoon, don’t be selfish.”
Even as heat rises to his cheeks, Renjun tells himself it doesn’t mean anything. Maybe they flirt with all their friends this way. Jaemin did say they were friends, didn’t he?
This thought is only vaguely comforting when it comes time for him to leave and they both insist on driving him home. “Sleep over next time,” Jeno says as he pulls into the parking lot. “Just bring a sleeping bag.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jaemin says from the passenger seat. “He can share our bed, it’s big enough for three.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Renjun tells them, out of embarrassment alone, but he does file away that piece of information for later.
❣️
It becomes something of a regular occurrence for Renjun to find himself in their apartment. Renjun tells himself it’s a matter of convenience more than anything else. His own apartment is far from campus, and Jeno and Jaemin are—surprisingly—homebodies, so at least one of them is always home, if not both. Jaemin is a good cook, and Jeno is good company, and as a bonus, he and Jaemin have managed to make a fair bit of progress on their project. And to Renjun’s delight, they do not speak of last year’s Halloween party. So really, it’s a win-win-win situation.
“What do you give them in return?” Chenle asks, the first time Renjun blows him and Jisung off to hang out at their apartment instead. “Like, sure, you get free meals out of it, but what do they get out of having you around so often?”
A year ago, Renjun would have been offended, but he’s learned since then that this is only Chenle’s way of complaining about a perceived lack of attention. “Friendship?” he guesses. “Scintillating conversation? Eye candy?” The last one is mostly a joke.
Chenle wrinkles his nose. “I liked it better when you didn’t know you were hot.”
Renjun can’t lie and say the thought hasn’t crossed his own mind before, though. On paper, it’d probably look to anyone else like he was just third wheeling a couple too nice to kick him out of their own home. But then Jeno will offer to pick him up on his way back from class or Jaemin will bring back Renjun’s coffee order alongside his and Jeno’s without being prompted or they’ll pull him onto the couch to cuddle during a movie, and though they’re not shy about their PDA with each other, Renjun never feels like their third wheel at all.
Eventually, he gets lulled into a false sense of complacency, which is easy to do when you are surrounded by two beautiful men who continually lavish you with attention. On a normal night like any other, Jaemin picks up a later shift at the library, and so Jeno and Renjun, left to fend for themselves, decide to order takeout instead of trying to brave the kitchen.
“You have a bit of sauce there,” Jeno says, pointing at the corner of Renjun's mouth with his chopsticks. Renjun dabs at the spot with a napkin. “Further to the left.” Renjun tries again. “No—here, just let me.”
He leans in and kisses Renjun as though they’ve done it a million times, swipes a tongue over his lower lip and says, “There. Got it.” Then sits back in his seat and continues to eat like nothing happened. Like it’s the most casual thing in the world.
Renjun blinks rapidly. Did he imagine that just now? It felt so real. “Uh,” he says, searching for words. “Thanks.”
“Your food is going to get cold if you don’t eat,” Jeno points out, after Renjun’s sat there for a minute, unmoving.
“You can have the rest of mine,” Renjun says, pushing his plate towards him. “I’m not very hungry.” He would’ve never thought Jeno to be the cheating type, though—maybe it’s not cheating? Maybe they have an open relationship sort of deal going on? Maybe it was just a friendly gesture, and meant nothing at all?
It weighs heavy on his mind. He can hardly look at Jaemin in class the next day, though he’s not sure if Jaemin notices at all, given his intense focus on the lecture. It’s a stupid thought, because Renjun should know better than to think anything could escape Jaemin’s observation.
“Is everything okay, Renjun?” Jaemin asks after class, his eyes full of worry. “You seemed…a bit out of it today.”
“I’m fine, I just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.” Renjun fake-yawns to really sell the lie. Oscar incoming. “I think I should just go home, get some rest.”
“You’re not coming over, then?” Jaemin reaches down, twines their fingers together. Guilt sits heavy in the pit of Renjun’s stomach. “Jeno will be so sad. We’re going to be so lonely without you.”
Renjun’s shoulders stiffen. Lonely? But you have each other. “I’m sorry. But I’ll see you both tomorrow.” Wednesday wine nights are a regular occurrence too, though it’s not like Renjun’s ever needed any specific excuse to drink.
“I’m kidding,” Jaemin laughs, squeezing his hand, and Renjun suddenly feels very silly. Of course he was only kidding. Why wouldn’t he be? “Go home and get your beauty sleep. Jeno and I will pick you up from your last class tomorrow.”
Jeno. I kissed Jeno. Or, more accurately, Jeno kissed me. “Jaemin,” Renjun finally says, unable to bear it any longer. “I—”
“I have to get to the library. Text me when you’re home safe?” Jaemin says, effectively cutting him off. Then he leans down and kisses Renjun, too, just as short and sweet as Jeno had.
“Okay,” Renjun says, suddenly breathless and extremely confused. “I will.”
Jaemin beams at him, presses another kiss to his cheek, and then he’s off. Renjun stands there and watches as he disappears into the distance for a very, very long time.
“I told you they were trying to have sex with you,” Donghyuck crows, a little later.
“In some cultures,” Renjun says, trying to keep his composure. His mind is still reeling. He can’t make sense of any of it at all. “A kiss can be a goodbye.”
“So I suppose Jeno was saying goodbye, too, then?”
Renjun presses his lips together thinly and does not speak.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
❣️
“Hold on,” Renjun says. He feels as though he’s finally coming to his senses. “Are you guys trying to have sex with me?”
Jeno, kissing up one side of his neck, pauses. Jaemin, kissing down the other side, does not. “We have been for months,” Jeno says with a smile. “But thank you for noticing.”
“Okay, wait—seriously, Jaemin, wait—” Renjun fists one hand into Jaemin’s hair and tugs back sharply. “Really? This entire time?”
Jaemin looks up with doleful eyes. Renjun has no doubt that he will be able to see imprints of his teeth in his shoulder tomorrow when he looks in the mirror. “Well, yeah. Is that really such a surprise?”
Renjun feels just about as lightheaded as he did that first terrible must-not-be-spoken-of Halloween night, except he can’t blame his sudden dizziness on alcohol this time, because they haven’t even been drinking. He’d showed up with his requisite bottle of wine, found the door unlocked, figured he might as well let himself in, heard noises from the bedroom, and, well. He doesn’t remember how he got from the doorway to their bed, but he did, and they’d managed to rid him of his cardigan and his shirt somewhere between that too. Efficient.
“I thought we were being obvious,” Jeno says. His hands on Renjun’s waist are burning hot, and Renjun can’t help but arch into the touch. “I mean, if you hadn’t kissed us both at that party back then, I probably would’ve guessed you weren’t into us at all.”
Renjun’s face reddens at the reminder. “I am. A lot. I just—I didn’t know. I’ve never—” He starts, then stops. He’s wholly out of his depth here, and he hates it. He’s the sort of person who wants to control everything, and it’s impossible to control everything when you hardly know what’s going on. Inexperience isn’t sexy, is it?
Renjun is not a virgin. Renjun’s pretty far from a virgin, if they’re being honest, so it’s not like he’s not comfortable in this position. But the logistics of having three people involved are still beyond him. “I mean, I have, but not with two—”
“We haven’t either,” Jaemin says, seeming amused. “Do you think we bring every boy who kisses both of us into our bed? We’re not that easy.”
Jeno groans as his head falls to Renjun’s shoulder. “What Jaemin means,” he says, giving his boyfriend a meaningful glance. “Is that we’re serious about this—about you—even just beyond the sex. This is new to us, too. We can figure it out together.”
It’s a lot to take in all at once, and it does not help that Jeno is already shirtless and Renjun can’t stop staring at the faint flexing of his muscles as he breathes in, evidence of the hours Renjun knows he’s spent at the gym. It also does not help that Jaemin is equally shirtless and equally beautiful and attempting to maul Renjun’s neck like it’s committed a personal offense against him. There will be time to figure this out later. “Okay. Together,” Renjun echoes.
“Would you like to watch us, first?” Jaemin asks, pressing one final kiss to the column of his throat before he draws back. Jeno’s soft breath is still huffing at his neck, like he can’t quite bring himself to move away entirely. “That’s usually more my thing, if I’m being honest with you. But I suppose we could take turns.”
“How generous,” Renjun says flatly, but he can’t lie and say that the thought of it isn’t appealing to him. He sits back on his haunches, cock resting heavy between his legs, and waits.
Jeno makes a soft noise as Jaemin slides a hand around the nape of his neck, going pliant in an instant. His eyelashes flutter double-time. Jaemin leans in to kiss him, open-mouthed and unrestrained, and it’s too easy to just get caught up in the sight of them alone, because Renjun knows how it feels to kiss them—both of them. It’s just about the only thing from that night he can recall with clarity. He sees them kiss each other and he knows how it feels to have Jeno’s gentle hands sitting at his waist, Jaemin’s plundering tongue in his throat, Jeno’s lips warm against his, Jaemin’s teeth sinking into the plush of his lower lip. Feels it like a phantom sensation.
Jeno whimpers, louder, and Renjun can’t help the way it shudders through him. It’s mesmerizing to see how intimately they know each other. Jaemin’s hand curves over Jeno’s spine and Jeno jolts, arches into his touch almost like he was expecting it there. Jeno tips his head back just slightly, and Jaemin moves into the space he creates to bite down the column of his neck. They anticipate each other’s needs, each other’s reactions. It’s as natural as breathing for them, a well-choreographed dance they’ve already had years to learn.
Some part of Renjun wonders if he’ll ever know them that well, too.
“You will,” Jeno promises, and Renjun flushes at having said it aloud without realizing.
“We talk about you almost every time we fuck, you know,” Jaemin says casually. Jeno whines, but does not deny this.
Just imagining it is enough to make Renjun’s breath stutter. Jaemin on top of Jeno, Jeno on top of Jaemin—whatever—thinking about him. Talking about him. Wanting him. It’s a little bit of an ego boost. He must’ve done something really, really good in a past life to be experiencing this right now. He digs a palm between his legs, half to give himself something to rut against and half to just ground himself. “What kinds of things do you say?”
“You know what kinds of things we say,” Jeno says, and keens as Jaemin kisses down his chest, grazes his teeth over a nipple. “You just want to hear us say it out loud.”
Jaemin reaches out, hooks his thumb into the elastic band of Renjun’s boxer briefs, pulls him back into orbit. “Is that it?” he asks, voice sticky-sweet and warm and dangerous. “You want to hear me say we couldn’t stop talking about how pretty your mouth would look stretched around my cock? Or that Jeno came untouched, once, just from thinking about you fucking him? Or that we’d imagine what kinds of sounds you might make when—”
Jeno’s hands are tugging greedily at Renjun’s jeans, and Renjun’s had enough of just watching. He fists a hand into Jaemin’s hair and kisses him with all the pent-up aggression bottled up from three months of unresolved sexual tension, and he feels more than sees the grin that spreads across Jaemin’s face before he’s responding in kind. As it turns out, Jaemin isn’t shy about taking the lead in bed, not that Renjun’s necessarily surprised by this fact. He’s shameless about it, even, coaxes Renjun’s mouth wide open with his tongue and grips his chin between his fingers, angling Renjun this way and that to kiss him deeper, filthier.
“Okay, my turn,” Jeno says, and then he’s tugging Renjun away from Jaemin and into his lap. It feels terrifying and earth-shattering to actually have Jeno’s body underneath his hands, to feel the broadness of his shoulders and the thin taper of his waist, crushing all the expectations Renjun has held in his head for so long. Longer than he’d like to admit, because he’d been adamant to Donghyuck that they weren’t coming onto him, but that didn’t mean he never hoped despite it. “You know, I happen to think it’s unfair that you kissed him first just now, when I’m the one who’s liked you for over a year.”
Renjun tries to do the math in his head, but it’s a little hard to focus once Jeno’s gotten his lips on him, too, his hand coming down to fasten tight to his waist. His grip is iron hot, and Renjun moves into it without meaning to, without knowing how not to. “Over a year,” he says between breaths. “So that means—”
Jeno huffs a laugh against his mouth before pulling away. “I wanted you from that first time I saw you in class and you stared at me like you were trying to kill me with your eyes. You looked mean as fuck. It was hot.”
“I wasn’t—” Renjun tries to say, but any defense he can come up with would be a lie, anyway, and Jaemin is pressed up against him now and kissing up his spine. Being able to form words at all is a feat in itself right now. “You stole my seat.”
“Seems to me like you have a pretty good seat yourself right now,” Jaemin murmurs into his ear, his breath warming the air around them. Renjun’s skin prickles with goosebumps as he trembles involuntarily. “But maybe we should have him make it up to you, huh?”
Jeno’s hands squeeze at Renjun’s thighs where they’re bracketing his hips. “I’m good at that,” he says, cheeky, and beams up at Renjun, ten-thousand-kilowatts bright.
Renjun isn’t quite sure what that means, but he knows he’d like to find out. “So Jaemin likes to watch,” he says, his hands braced on Jeno’s shoulders. “What do you like?”
“Me?” Jeno asks, still smiling sunnily. His grip on Renjun's thighs turns bruising. Renjun notes with some degree of awe that his hands are nearly wide enough to span the circumference of his leg. “It turns out I like an audience.”
“I can show you what else he likes,” Jaemin offers, ever magnanimous.
I want to know what he likes. I want to know what you like, too. I want to know all of it, Renjun thinks, and for a second it’s overwhelming.
Jeno tilts his head up to press his lips right underneath Renjun’s jaw, and he must be able to feel the slight tension coiled into his body, because he says, “We don’t have to do anything more than this tonight, if you don’t want to.” He’s holding back now, hands falling away as if suddenly made aware of the reddening marks his fingers are leaving on Renjun’s skin, like a brand. His thighs tremble underneath the spread of Renjun’s legs.
It’s not a question of want—Renjun has never wanted anything more in his entire life. He’s also never been so nervous in his entire life. He breathes in, takes in a lungful of air before he can lose his nerve. “No,” he says, resolute. “I want this. I want you. Both of you.”
There’s an almost sadistic smile spreading across Jaemin’s face as Renjun turns meets his gaze. “Good,” he croons, almost melodic, and thumbs over Renjun’s wet bottom lip. “Now let’s get you out of those clothes.”
The rest of their clothes, few as they are, come off in a blur. It’s a strangely methodical process, but Renjun remembers the weight of their gazes on him most of all. Jaemin looks like he’s observing prey. Jeno looks like he’s going to jump out of his skin if no one touches him within the next five seconds. The entire time, their eyes do not waver in their combined and very obvious hunger.
“Come here,” Jeno says, breathless and hopeful, and the sudden rush of affection Renjun feels is possibly not normal.
When he falls back into bed, he barely gets a moment to breathe before they’re back on top of him, putting hands and mouths all over his bare skin. Jaemin’s fingers splayed against his sides, Jeno’s lips trailing up the soft skin of his stomach. The sensation of their touches is immense in its intensity, and if Renjun falls any further, he won’t be able to tell whose hands belong to who.
Not that it matters. He wants to give everything over to them—to both of them—so what difference does it make?
Renjun is a new variable in the well-balanced equation that is their relationship, but Jeno and Jaemin both work around him—no, with him—with ease. It’s new, and somewhat strange, and foreign, but it also feels natural to be here, wedged between the two of them.
He fits. There’s space for him here, carefully carved out and thoughtfully placed. The thought is strangely comforting, warms his chest and flutters outward. Jaemin brushes a lingering kiss over his collarbone, then his jaw.
“What happened to watching?” Renjun asks, though it’s not a complaint, and Jaemin’s eyes flicker up to meet his, dark and unmoving.
“Give me something worthy of watching,” he says, sitting back against the headboard. It comes off a little cocky, a lot self-assured, and Renjun is disappointed with himself for being attracted to it.
The slightest bit of irritation flares up before Renjun tamps down on the feeling, but he knows this is all purposeful. He can be avoidant when it comes to dealing with complexity, but he does not back down from a challenge, and this one is as simple as they come. He turns to Jeno, seeking confirmation.
“I want what you want,” Jeno says simply. His broad hand comes to rest at the curve of Renjun’s hip. “What I want is to make you feel good, whatever that involves.”
“Give me your fingers,” Renjun says, without thinking, and this must please Jeno, because his smile grows impossibly warmer, almost indulgent.
Jaemin smiles, too, and stares at them like he’s forgotten how to blink. His hand curls into a loose fist around his cock. Renjun’s mouth is not watering.
It should be obvious just from looking at him, but Jeno is strong, overeager, almost like a puppy that’s outgrown his size and does not quite know his own strength yet. As if to prove this point several times over, Jeno shoves Renjun onto his back and slots his knee between his legs to spread them apart. The stretch burns.
“Oh,” Jaemin says, delighted. He leans forward, places a hand on Renjun’s knee to stretch his legs out wider. “Flexible. Good to know.”
“I can do the splits,” Renjun says, because his therapist says he needs to share more about himself with people, and sometimes his flexibility makes for a good party trick. But Jeno groans into his sweat-damp neck and ruts into his hip and from there it’s easy for Renjun to realize that statement could be skewed in a much less innocent direction.
Jeno’s eyes slide over Renjun’s head and find Jaemin’s. Renjun isn’t privy to whatever nonverbal exchange happens between the both of them, but Jaemin digs into the drawer of their nightstand without any further prompting, fishing out a bottle of lube. It gets tossed unceremoniously a couple inches away from them. “We’ll explore that later,” Jeno says, like a promise. Renjun’s breath hitches into a whine as Jeno’s hand drags up the full length of his cock, his hips twitching up futilely where they’re pinned beneath his weight. “Thoroughly.”
Renjun had demanded his fingers, but Jeno takes his sweet time getting there. He’s not going to last very long at this rate at all, not with all the buildup, not with the way Jeno sets his mouth to work over the length of Renjun’s body. His lips close around a nipple, his tongue drags a scorching hot line down his sternum, into the dip of his bellybutton, grazing his teeth over the soft skin of Renjun’s hip right above where his hands are pinning him in place. Renjun shudders, his spine curving off the mattress in response to each touch.
If he were any more lucid he’d be embarrassed at how easily he allows himself to be rearranged. One leg thrown over Jeno’s shoulder, the other pressed up against his chest with a hand to the back of his knee. Jeno slides a hand up the inside of his thigh, squeezes at the handful of flesh he finds there and asks, sweetly, “Can I suck you off?”
“Jeno’s a little bit of a cumslut,” Jaemin says. His tone is fond, and Renjun has never heard the word cumslut spoken like a term of endearment, but there is a first time for everything. “Talented with his mouth.” He leans forward, squeezes a generous dollop of lube into Jeno’s waiting hand.
“Prove it,” Renjun says, a whimper building in his chest.
The first finger slides into him right as Jeno tongues at the head of his cock. It’s been a while since Renjun’s really hooked up with anyone, and even just one of Jeno’s fingers is larger than what he’s used to, but he barely registers any of the telltale stinging that usually comes with the first stretch, too distracted by the wet heat suddenly surrounding him. He makes a sound caught halfway between the world’s loudest cry and the human equivalent of a keyboard smash, his hand flying into Jeno’s hair on instinct. In response, Jeno makes a pleased little noise in the back of his throat, presses another finger alongside the first before he’s swallowing down Renjun’s cock with a practiced ease. Renjun manages a half-thrust into his mouth before he remembers his manners and stops himself, an exceedingly difficult task when Jeno is hollowing his cheeks around him and his fingers are searching,
“You can be rough with him,” Jaemin says, sounding distant. His breath is escaping him in short, harsh pants. It’s the only indication that he’s affected at all. “Tell him how it feels, baby, don’t be shy. He likes knowing when he’s doing a good job.”
The last of Renjun’s inhibitions evaporate with Jaemin’s vague approval, and his hips snap up as he tugs Jeno further onto his cock. Jeno doesn’t flinch, even moans around Renjun like he’s enjoying it, and the vibrations send a jolt of pleasure racing up his spine, electric. “It feels—” Indescribable, like I’ve died and gone to heaven, like nothing else I’ve ever felt before. “It feels good, god, Jeno please—”
“Just good? You can do better than that, can’t you?”
“No, I can’t,” Renjun snaps, because he can barely even think right now. Every nerve in his body feels like it’s on fire, set alight, every muscle is begging him to move in a different direction—up into Jeno’s mouth or back onto his fingers or maybe off to the side to make Jaemin a participant instead of just a spectator—and he’s not tipsy but he might as well be, with how his head is spinning. “It feels fucking really fucking good, okay, I just—”
Jeno adds a third finger, curls all three of them upwards at the exact right moment, and Renjun makes a noise he's never heard himself make before, near animalistic. His nails dig into Jeno’s scalp, any remaining composure he has turns to dust. There are tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, which should be humiliating, but all Renjun can focus on is the heat building in the pit of his stomach and the overwhelming need to come. He turns his hazy, unfocused gaze towards Jaemin.
His eyes are wild, his hand still unmoving. “If you think this is good, imagine how it’ll feel next time when I let you fuck him.”
Fuck. Renjun sinks his own teeth into his lower lip, his thighs clenching weakly around Jeno’s head where he’s caught between his legs. “Jeno,” he tries to warn him. “Jeno, I’m—”
A fourth finger drags across his rim. There’s no way that’ll fit, he wants to say. But Jeno looks so eager, and Renjun, despite knowing better, wants it.
Jaemin must be able to recognize this in his face, because he says, “Give it to him.”
Jeno looks up at Renjun through half-lidded eyes, his lashes dark and wet. Renjun nods, the only reassurance he can manage, and then he’s suddenly so full he can hardly breathe, coming down Jeno’s throat with a strangled sob. He thinks he might actually be crying; his vision is blurry, so he closes his eyes. The wetness of someone’s tongue—Jaemin’s, Renjun realizes distantly, given that Jeno is still licking at the head of his cock like he’s savoring the taste of it—laps up a stray tear that’s rolled down his cheek.
“You’re cute when you cry,” Jaemin says, stroking a warm hand through his hair. Another tear falls, and Jaemin follows its trail with his mouth as quickly as it comes.
“Shut up,” Renjun says weakly. One orgasm is enough for him to be feeling boneless, too exhausted to do anything much other than lay there. “Don’t call me cute when you’re trying to fuck me.”
Jeno pulls off his cock and nuzzles into the crease of his hip. “Technically, I’m the one who’s going to fuck you.” His voice is hoarse, his lips are slick and glossy, and maybe it’s gross, but Renjun really wants to kiss him.
“I really want to kiss you,” he says aloud, and Jeno, still as eager as he was when they first started, nearly crushes Renjun underneath his weight in his haste to scramble up the bed and press their lips together greedily. It’s impressive, really, how much energy he seems to have—Renjun can barely keep up with him. Jeno kisses fiercely, messily, all tongue and teeth, like he’s trying to lick the taste of himself out of Renjun’s mouth. Renjun is pretty sure his lips will be bruised tomorrow if they aren’t already. Admittedly, he enjoys it more than he thinks he should.
Jeno’s reply is hardly audible, given that he can’t bear to detach his lips from Renjun’s for longer than a few moments at a time. “I really want to make you come again,” he says, and Renjun’s cock, already spent, twitches against his thigh.
“You know what to do then, puppy, don’t you?” Jaemin slides a hand between their bodies, palm sweeping up over both their dicks as they moan in tandem. “Show him how good you can be.”
Renjun has just enough time to blink, and then he’s being rearranged again, this time by Jaemin, onto his knees, as Jeno’s hands fall to his hips. It takes an almost herculean amount of effort to hold himself up, his arms trembling. Part of him thinks he should put up some sort of token protest at being handled like some ragdoll, at least for appearances’ sake, but part of him knows it would only invite a callout from Jaemin.
You like being treated like this, though, don’t you? He might ask, with that signature self-assured smile on his face, and Renjun would have no choice but to tell him the truth. Better for his pride to remain silent.
A curse spills out of his throat as Jeno pushes into him without warning, his fingers curling into the wrinkled sheets. Every inch of Jeno’s cock displaces more and more of the air in Renjun’s lungs and by the time he’s bottomed out, his hips pressed flush against his ass, Renjun’s chest is heaving with exertion with each shortened breath he takes. The burn of the stretch fades quickly as pain gives way to pleasure, but if he thought he felt full before, it’s nothing compared to this.
“Fuck,” Jeno whines, his hands fastening around Renjun’s waist. “Renjun, please, can I move, please, please, please—”
“Yes,” Renjun manages. He looks back over his shoulder, presses his hips back slow and deliberate. “Give it to me.”
Permission is all the encouragement Jeno needs, apparently, because his first thrust is so forceful that it nearly sends Renjun barreling into Jaemin’s chest face-first before he catches himself, his elbows digging into the mattress. There’s no slow building of rhythm, no steady escalation. Jeno fucks into him fast, frenzied, his grip around his waist growing tighter every time he pushes back in. Renjun’s toes curl and his thighs shake and he’s fresh off his first orgasm, but he somehow feels as though a second one could come any minute, refractory periods be damned.
Renjun turns unfocused eyes towards Jaemin. He’s not sitting as far away as he was before, still within arms’ reach, watching his boyfriend fuck Renjun like it’s a fucking nature documentary. He strokes up the length of his own cock leisurely, soundlessly. The lack of reaction pisses Renjun off a little.
Jaemin meets his eyes, and before Renjun can process his own words, he’s begging, “Come here.”
“Not enough for you?” Jaemin asks, the corner of his lips twitching up with amusement. “You can’t be happy with just one?” He reaches a hand out towards Renjun. His thumb circles the plush of his lips, dips shallowly inside just to press down on his tongue and let saliva trickle down his chin. With his other hand, he continue to touch himself with measured flicks fo his wrist. “You’re so greedy.”
Jeno snaps his hips forward, and Renjun makes a vague noise in response as his mind goes blank.
“Say it,” Jaemin demands. He places one finger under Renjun’s chin, angling his attention back where he wants it.
“I’m greedy,” Renjun cries, his voice wrecked. Jaemin’s pleased smile is somehow worth the embarrassment. Behind him, Jeno whimpers, folding himself over his back to press his mouth to the nape of Renjun’s neck. A broad palm presses down on Renjun’s stomach, and Renjun feels every sensation heightened tenfold—the pressure at his abdomen, the scrape of Jeno’s teeth over his skin, Jeno’s abs flexing against his back with each thrust, and now—
Now, Jaemin rubs the head of his cock over Renjun’s lips filthily, gets them slick and shiny before he pushes in. He says Renjun’s name like he’s savoring the feel of it in his mouth, breathes it out like a prayer, and Renjun says nothing at all—not like he could, even if he wanted to, not with his mouth full.
Full is the operative word. There’s no other adjective to describe the feeling as Renjun pushes his hips back to meet Jeno halfway, and how Jeno knocks Renjun further forward onto Jaemin’s cock with every press forward of his hips. It’s overwhelming, focusing on so many things at once. Jaemin is by no means small, and it takes a good deal of concentration to blow him properly. Renjun curls his tongue against the tender spot beneath the tip, works his mouth up and down the length of him as Jeno rolls his hips up in short, quick strokes. He has to remind himself more than once to not let his mouth fall slack enough for his teeth to be exposed. But this is all still doable, because Renjun historically excels at multitasking and he is not a fucking quitter. It’s doable, but it’s maddening too, because Jaemin takes everything Renjun gives with nothing more than soft exhales and a gentle hand at the back of his neck. Guiding, but not pushing. The line of his jaw is tense, his pupils blown wide, his Adam’s apple bobs, but other than that, he gives no indication at all that he’s affected. It’s not good enough. Renjun wants a proper reaction, damn it.
“It’s okay, baby,” Jaemin says, tone even. He looks so smug that Renjun has half a mind to bite down. “Just take as much as you can.”
From anyone else, these words would be a gentle reassurance. From Jaemin, Renjun recognizes it for what it is—another fucking challenge. Don’t push yourself, it’s too much for you, isn’t it? Renjun would be annoyed if he wasn’t already so turned on he could fucking cry. He breathes in deep through his nose, tries to relax, and pushes forward until his nose is pressed into Jaemin’s skin and his cock is nudging the back of his throat.
And finally, a real moan tears out of Jaemin. Satisfaction, sharper and headier than anything Renjun has ever known, makes its way into his veins.
Deepthroating is a difficult art, and Jeno does it like it’s effortless. Renjun knows this from experience, so he also knows that compared to Jeno, his own technique might be a little lacking. It probably also doesn’t help that his legs grow momentarily weak and his eyes roll into the back of his head every time Jeno grinds his hips up. But Renjun is determined and more than that he’s prideful, and his pride won’t allow him anything less than this—Jaemin, biting his bottom lip in a poor attempt to conceal his own moans as Renjun pulls back and tongues the vein running up the underside of his cock, then pushes back forward all over again.
Renjun’s coordination is not the best, so the way he gags on Jaemin’s cock is not-quite playful, but he tries to pass it off as intentional when Jaemin starts moving his hips in earnest. His fingers tighten in Renjun’s hair, and this—this, Renjun can work with. He learns Jaemin likes it sloppy, which is not necessarily unexpected, but it’s a welcome discovery anyway. Everything is slick and messy and there’s spit running down his chin, which should be gross, but Jaemin seems to enjoy it, if the way his thighs tremble is any indication.
The first hairline fracture in Jaemin’s composure leads to several more cracks before it shatters altogether. He’s saying something—either directed at him or Jeno, either sweet praise or filthy degradation, Renjun isn’t sure about any of it at all because Jeno has managed to angle his hips so that every upstroke has the head of his cock rubbing against Renjun’s prostate. His elbows and knees give out at nearly the same time, and if not for Jaemin’s hands in his hair and Jeno’s hands around his hips, holding him up, Renjun would have collapsed flat onto the mattress. His throat spasms as he chokes out a whimper—all his body knows is that he needs air and that he needs more, and it turns out it’s difficult to remember to breathe, let alone how to breathe properly.
“Pretty,” Jaemin remarks, looking right at Renjun, his voice broken. Jeno makes what sounds like a whimper of agreement.
Renjun wonders what he looks like, reflected through their eyes. He’s sure that he’s full body blushing at this point, the warmth on his cheeks spreading down to his chest and even his thighs. His eyes are still wet and he’s sure his hair has seen better days, too, and Renjun is not sure that any of that is necessarily pretty. But Jeno presses a kiss to his shoulderblade and Jaemin takes a moment to brush his sweat-damp bangs back from his forehead, and Renjun decides it doesn’t matter what he looks like, because he feels beautiful.
He closes his eyes for what he thinks might be just a second but must be longer, too, because a few moments pass and then there are wet noises coming from above him. One of Jaemin’s hands has moved from Renjun’s hair to Jeno’s, instead, tugging him in for what might possibly be the world’s filthiest kiss. Jeno, pliant and responsive, matches Jaemin with every movement while managing not to break his rhythm driving into Renjun. The sight alone is enough to make Renjun whimper, and he suddenly realizes he’s fully hard for the second time that night, his cock heavy between his legs. He’d been so focused on getting Jaemin off he hadn’t even noticed.
Jeno’s lips slide over a particularly sensitive patch of skin at his neck and he whimpers what sounds like Renjun’s name, and it’s all Renjun needs to push him over the already steep edge he’d been teetering over. He pulls off the head of Jaemin’s cock with a soft, wet sound and positively wails as his elbows collapse beneath him and his vision blurs at the edges. The aftershocks of his orgasms seem to last nearly forever, his come streaking his chest and stomach and probably also ruining the sheets beneath him. He’s shaking, from exertion and overstimulation and everything in between. He might be drooling on the sheets, too, but all he processes is Jeno’s cock slipping out from inside him and Jaemin’s voice in his ear, sweet and soothing.
Every single sensation is confusing right now. He’d been so full just a few seconds ago and now he’s spent but aching and empty. Even the slight breeze of the air conditioning in their room is enough to raise goosebumps on his skin, leave him shuddering in his oversensitivity. It’s too much, but it’s not enough either. As his sight comes back into focus he turns his head to look over his shoulder in time to catch Jeno throwing the used condom aside.
Despite himself, Renjun whimpers. “Get back here,” he says miserably. Shame has long since left the building. “Come inside.”
Jeno’s expression twists into something half-concerned, half-unsure, half-wanting. If the math doesn’t add up, Renjun blames the haziness of his post-orgasm mind. “It’s okay. You don’t h—”
Jaemin’s hand smooths over the curve of his jaw, feather-light. Renjun squeezes his eyes shut and says, “Please.”
As soon as the word has left his mouth, Jeno is back at his side in an instant and manhandling Renjun into laying on his back again. His mouth works at his neck, hot and relentless, and all Renjun can do is grasp weakly at Jeno’s arms as he slides back inside. His sticky thighs clench around his waist, his lashes flutter involuntarily.
Renjun turns his face to the side to try and hide the pink in his cheeks. “How do you h—” He hiccups on a moan. “How do you still have so much energy.”
“He has good stamina,” Jaemin says brightly. “From the gym.”
From where his head is buried into Renjun’s shoulder, Jeno seems to nod. Renjun’s fingers dig into his biceps as Jeno’s hips slam forward. His poor arms are going to be covered in bruises tomorrow, but Renjun can’t let go; it’s the only thing grounding him at all.
His eyes roll up. Jaemin is still visibly hard, his cock resting heavy against his thigh. Renjun, without thinking, parts his lips. His tongue lolls out of his mouth in a silent invitation.
Jaemin laughs weakly, one hand wrapped around the base of his dick, the other stroking upwards, angles towards Renjun’s mouth. “You really are greedy,” he says. His breath comes in quick, shallow pants, like he’s just run a marathon.
Jeno offers very little warning before he comes, just shoves his face into Renjun’s neck as his hips stutter forward. Being full while oversensitive is one thing, but being filled while oversensitive is another thing altogether, and Renjun scratches helplessly down Jeno’s back and whimpers as Jeno spills into him, trembling with the force of his own orgasm the whole time. Impossibly, Renjun’s cock is beginning to twitch again where it’s trapped between himself and Jeno.
Jaemin and Jeno rarely do anything apart, and it turns out orgasms must not be an exception to that rule, because it only takes a few short pumps after Jeno pulls out before Jaemin is screwing his eyes shut and coming, too. Renjun manages to catch most of it in his mouth; some lands on his chin, across his cheek, and Jeno leans up to lap it up eagerly.
A little bit of a cumslut, Jaemin had called him. Renjun is beginning to understand why he’d said it with so much fondness.
The mattress lifts and then dips again, presumably with the subtraction and then addition of Jaemin’s weight. He jolts and cries out in surprise as Jaemin reattaches himself to his side, one hand wrapping around both his and Jeno’s cocks. It burns, and he jerks away from Jaemin’s touch only to find his range of motion limited by Jeno’s hand pressing down on his hip.
“One more,” Jeno encourages him, sounding like a motivational speaker and not an insane person trying to coax a third orgasm out of Renjun in under half an hour. “Give us one more, baby, you can handle one more, can’t you?”
“I can’t,” Renjun sobs, but his grip on the sheets tightening and the blood filling out in his cock tells a different story.
Jaemin, suddenly considerate, stills his hand. “Do you want me to stop?”
The steady circle of Jeno’s fingers drawn on his hips is the only thing keeping Renjun from drifting away right now. His cheeks are wet and his lashes clumped together, and Jeno isn’t much better. He’s been reduced to flushed cheeks, shaky breaths, his expression caught between desperation and impatience. Renjun is sure he looks just about the same.
“No,” he says, shuddering. His skin is sticky with sweat and he has to squirm away when Jeno licks up the side of his neck. “Don’t stop.”
Jaemin presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth indulgently. “Good,” he whispers. “You’re both doing so well. My beautiful boys, both of you.”
Jeno preens under the praise, and Renjun either shies away from it or starts preening, too. Everything is still confusing; he’d normally hate hearing such embarrassing things said out loud, but somehow, with Jeno on top of him and Jaemin thrown against both their sides, it doesn’t seem so bad.
Renjun’s mouth falls open on a whine as Jaemin swipes his thumb across both their heads. His hips flex up, up, up and he’s close again already, humiliatingly enough.
“Shh,” Jeno says, licking across his lower lip in an attempt to quiet him. His hand finds Renjun’s, twisted in the sheets, lacing their fingers together. It’s sweet, in a way, even though Renjun is on the verge of tears already and seeing stars behind his closed eyelids.
It’s not clear who comes first—Jeno for the second time or Renjun for the third—but either way, Renjun feels it like a double-edged sword, almost more pain than pleasure now. His heart seems to stutter in his chest; his entire body quivers like it’s trying to reject the sensation even while working through it. Jeno, having zero consideration for Renjun’s sanity, rubs his fingers through their combined mess on Renjun’s stomach and sucks them into his mouth.
“Fuck,” Renjun gasps, and is momentarily shocked by how wrecked his voice sounds, even to his own ears.
“Cumslut,” Jaemin says again, still fond. “Didn’t I tell you?”
Renjun is half frightened Jaemin will make him go for a fourth orgasm, suddenly. Instead, he kisses both him and Jeno on the cheek and disappears only long enough to procure a wet washcloth to wipe them both down. It’s—nice. A first for Renjun. He thinks he could get used to this.
“How are you feeling?” Jeno asks, nuzzling into his cheek.
Renjun wonders if you’re supposed to feel different after you’ve had a threesome for the first time, the same way people seem to think losing your virginity seems to make you a whole new person. He doesn’t feel much except a growing soreness between his legs and the dull throb of bruises scattered across his body.
He feels something else, too, but he’s too scared to put a name to it yet. “Tired,” he says, and the soft laugh Jeno lets out in response makes Renjun’s cheeks flush.
“Maybe we’ll take it easier on you next time,” Jeno yawns.
“No,” Jaemin promises, with a grin that Renjun can only describe as predatory. “We won’t.”
❣️
Jaemin’s mouth tastes like Keystone Lite.
“Your mouth tastes like Keystone Lite,” Renjun informs him between kisses, and Jaemin presses a thigh between his legs in response.
“Well your hands keep knocking my bunny ears off my head,” he whines, his hands smoothing over the curve of Renjun’s back. “You don’t see me complaining about that.”
His lips slide over Renjun’s jaw. Renjun pushes his face away, because the first rule he set with Jaemin as far as boundaries went was nothing below the lips in public. “I think you just did, actually.” Jaemin reattaches his lips to his neck next, and Renjun squirms.
Renjun can hardly even hear Jaemin above whatever Monster Mash remix is playing over the speakers, but that’s never stopped him from bickering with him, either way. Sig Mu’s Halloween open house is as crowded as it always has been, but it’s not crowded enough to justify Renjun feeling the firm line of another body fully pressed against his back.
“Excuse me,” a voice comes. “That’s my boyfriend you’re making out with.”
Still in Jaemin’s arms, Renjun turns to crane his neck to look at Jeno, whose lower lip is pushed out in a pout, and is somehow managing to balance three cups in his hands all at once. His puppy ears are lopsided, and Renjun reaches out to adjust them for him. “He’s my boyfriend, too. You both are, remember?”
Jaemin slides a hand into the pocket of Jeno’s jeans and squeezes shamelessly. “What are you gonna do about it?” he asks.
“I’m going to block both of your numbers,” Jeno says, very seriously. “And probably avoid both of you for an entire semester for good measure, despite sharing a class with one of you.”
Jaemin cackles. Renjun scowls and squirms away from Jaemin’s embrace. “Shut up.”
Jeno passes them each a cup, then winds his free hand around Renjun’s waist and tucks his chin over his shoulder. He always wants to be touching in some way, usually holding hands or linking arms. Renjun had learned this quickly. “We could’ve been having sex an entire semester earlier if you’d just replied to our texts, you know.”
“Are you guys ever going to let that go?” Renjun’s scowl deepens. He chokes down half of Kunhang’s blackout punch in one mouthful. “That was over a year ago now.”
Jaemin kisses his flushed cheek. “Absolutely not,” he says. “But maybe wear those cat ears in bed tonight, and we’ll consider it.”