Pairing: Lu Han/Everyone
Rating: NC-17; Warnings: Kinks (highlight to see): bondage, breathplay, bloodplay, knifeplay, fireplay, feet worship, s&m
Summary: Lu Han fucks everyone in EXO because he is the bicycle. PWP. There is really not much else I can say.
Word Count: ~6,500
a bicycle isn’t just for riding (because sometimes, it rides you too);;-
// lu han gets off from pleasing people. there are eleven other boys in his group. guess what happens. //
// lu han gets off from pleasing people. there are eleven other boys in his group. guess what happens. //
o. lu han; bicycle
Lu Han’s not an easy person, by any means.
Sure, he likes to touch his members’ thighs a lot in public. And okay, he might like it when someone sidles up to him and slings an arm around his shoulder—and really, really like it when he’s the one sliding a hand around another member’s waist, slipping fingers up under their shirt, and they react with a shiver or a jerk or a shy laugh—but that doesn’t make him easy. It just gets him hard and hot to know that he’s the one making their bodies react like that; that he’s the reason they have to keep their hands in front of their crotch and voices low for an entire interview.
No, Lu Han’s definitely not easy. He just gets off from pleasing people.
i. jongin; narratophilia
Jongin loves it when people whisper dirty things into his ear while fucking him. Not just words or growls or other incomprehensible noises (like the screeches that come from Joonmyun’s laptop late at night when he thinks the other members are asleep)—he likes stories. Jongin revels in the brush of lips against his ear, the hushed whisper of imaginary scenarios filled with sex and want, dotted with obscenities.
So, Lu Han obliges. Lu Han always obliges—it wouldn’t be like him to do otherwise.
With his barely accented Korean and a hand curled lazily around Jongin’s cock, Lu Han whispers things into Jongin’s ear, things like “imagine how Taemin squirms in his bed,” and “he has his hand on his cock, and he’s touching himself.”
Jongin breathes shakily and tries to control himself, his heartbeat, the images flashing in front of his eyes, but Lu Han’s at it again, breathier this time, stroking him up and down with a building insistency—“He’s so hard, Jongin, and he can barely control himself, and he’s kicking the sheets off the bed and arching into the air. He’s pumping harder, harder—all for you, Jongin-ah.”
Lu Han strokes his cock once more, and Jongin is gone.
ii. minseok; coitus more ferarum
Unlike Jongin, Minseok is nice and vanilla, but there is one thing that really turns him on, and he has absolutely no idea why.
“Maybe it’s because you’re part puppy,” Lu Han suggests to him, patting him on the thigh with a sweet smile. The edge of his tongue sticks out, and Minseok thinks that Lu Han looks more like a puppy than he does. “You are pretty cute. I mean, your face is cute and round and...tender.”
“Don’t call me that.”
It’s embarrassing to admit, but Minseok really likes it when he’s behind someone, doing it doggy style, holding their hips, thrusting in to the rhythm that he sets—so when Lu Han casually offers to fuck Minseok one drunk night, he lets Minseok push him to the floor and enter from the back door while he’s on all fours.
Minseok grips Lu Han’s hips tightly, working in a steady rhythm. He caresses Lu Han’s thighs, constantly asking if Lu Han’s okay, if it hurts, and Lu Han just rolls his eyes and tells him to shut up and go harder, harder, until Minseok’s coming inside him with a grunt.
Minseok apologises the next morning, all flushed and red faced and panting. He covers himself with their clothes, discarded messily across the room, feeling embarrassingly self-conscious.
Lu Han just laughs it off and lets Minseok shout him ice-cream—of the vanilla kind.
iii. zitao; hypoxyphilia
Zitao’s always been more interested in martial arts than sex, but when he finds himself pinned to the ground one day in an under-16s martial arts tournament with his opponent’s bamboo stick pressed roughly against his throat and finds himself going hard, he knows something’s not right.
Zitao experiments—hesitant fingers curled around his own cock and own throat, constricting his breathing as he jerks himself off in the shower cubicle; collars he pretends he’s buying for his cousin’s dog at the local pet shop—but he keeps it a secret, an admirable feat when he’s around eleven other boys for more than twenty hours a day.
So, he’s a bit mortified when Lu Han walks in on him in the training room late one night, while he still has one hand clamping a wooden stick to his neck and one hand down his pants.
“Ah, ge, I—”
Lu Han look him up and down, scarily unfazed. Zitao’s frozen in confused panic, hand still down his pants—he’s sure he’d locked the door after he came in, so how did Lu Han even get in? He can only imagine what a sight he must look to Lu Han right now.
Zitao blinks. “Excu—“
And then Lu Han’s straddling him, holding the stick down tightly against his neck, and Zitao snaps out of his daze with a rush of adrenaline. His heart thuds, sending blood pounding to his head and right down to his cock. Lu Han licks his lips and presses the wooden stick down right on Zitao’s Adam’s apple, cutting off his airflow.
Zitao didn’t know that Lu Han had this much strength in that small-framed body of his. Lu Han’s movements are always quick, lithe, at times dulled at the edges from laziness, but never as powerful as the force he’s feeling on his neck right now. That lingering thought fleets from his mind though, as Lu Han releases one hand from the stick and sneaks it down to where Zitao’s hand is still curled around his own cock.
“Lu Han ge,” Zitao chokes out, the sudden rush of oxygen to his lungs from the loosening pressure around his neck leaving him feeling light-headed and harder than ever.
Lu Han folds his fingers over Zitao’s and guides them up and down his erection, leaning down to press his body weight against the stick again. At that moment, Zitao forgets everything, forgets dance practise, forgets that he’s in the training room and there’s every possibility that someone else could burst in on this scene, and just loses himself in the burn in his lungs, the panicked euphoria rising in him, the heady rush that comes with every curl of Lu Han’s fingers around his cock and every heated touch Lu Han leaves on his body.
He comes just as he’s on the cusp of blacking out.
“Call me if you ever need me again.” Lu Han gets up and stretches, chucking the stick down next to where Zitao’s slumped against the mirror. “Have fun practising.”
Zitao doesn’t regain the strength in his legs for another ten minutes.
iv. wu fan; mixophilia
Wu Fan’s handsome, and he knows it. Usually, he doesn’t make much fuss out of it (at least, he doesn’t count his thirty minutes of nightly preening a fuss, no matter how much Yixing pokes fun at him for it), but when he’s having sex, it’s a different matter.
Through years of half-failed sexual encounters, spanning three countries no less, Wu Fan’s discovered that he can’t have sex without a mirror. He gets off from watching him and his partner through it, all skin and sweat and lust, facial expressions pure and unmasked.
So when Lu Han sidles up to him one night when he’s feeling particularly frustrated and needy and unstable and offers to fuck him, mirror and all, Wu Fan says yes too eagerly. He seats himself in front of a body-length mirror and doesn’t do anything until Lu Han has stripped in front of it and touched himself half-hard. It’s a bit of a ritual really, him just sitting there, one leg crossed over the other, fully clothed, as he makes Lu Han strip down his garments one by one, touch himself, slick a lubed finger into himself—and only then, Wu Fan makes his move. Wu Fan pins Lu Han face down in front of the mirror and fucks him hard; watches his own body heave with effort as he pounds in, flesh on flesh; watches Lu Han buck up underneath him, desperate eyes meeting his own through the mirror, and he comes with a groan inside Lu Han and Lu Han comes onto the carpet, shaking under him.
After that, Wu Fan flips Lu Han on his back, licks the remainder of Lu Han’s come off Lu Han’s chest and kisses him, deep and sensuous and caring. It’s his way of saying thank you, he supposes. Lu Han might like playing around, but at the same time, Wu Fan feels a similar neediness resonating within Lu Han, reflected for Wu Fan to see.
“You’re so vain,” Lu Han murmurs, rolling on top of him and looking back into the mirror. He cocks his head. “But then again, we are pretty good looking.”
Wu Fan laughs softly. He can taste the bitter saltiness of Lu Han still lingering on his lips, and he looks back into the mirror and sees a reflection of sweaty satisfaction.
v. chanyeol; ablutophilia
It’s both a convenience and a problem that Chanyeol finds baths and showers so sexually arousing.
The convenience is that he doesn’t have to stock his laptop up with videos of busty European girls to get off every day, like Joonmyun does—he only needs a showerhead and three minutes—but the problem is that there are twelve boys sharing the dorm, two bathrooms, and only ten minutes left before they need to be out the door for schedules this particular morning.
On Wu Fan’s orders, to make ‘things easier’, they’ve been ushered into the bathrooms to shower in pairs.
It doesn’t make anything easier for Chanyeol, actually. It makes things considerably harder. Considerably harder, when Lu Han strips off his clothes and turns on the shower tap, the splashing sound of water echoing in the small bathroom and sending a rush of pleasure straight to Chanyeol’s cock.
Chanyeol turns around, trying to hide himself from Lu Han’s sharp eyes, but Lu Han wouldn’t be Lu Han if he didn’t catch onto things fast, and Lu Han wouldn’t be Lu Han if he didn’t use that information to his advantage.
“You okay there, Channie?” Lu Han asks nonchalantly, at the same time sliding a washcloth down Chanyeol’s back, to the groove of his hipbone, lightly brushing at the skin just below his stomach. Damn Lu Han. “You seem a bit tense.”
Chanyeol grunts back in response, wanting to just shower as fast as he can and make a dash out of there before Lu Han decides to have his fun, but he’s finding it very difficult to muster up the will to leave with Lu Han’s hands roaming over his body and each gentle splash of water on tile making his cock react in ways he does not want right now.
Lu Han’s hands move down to Chanyeol’s thighs, and he presses his lips to Chanyeol’s ears. “I’ll make it fast.”
Anywhere else, he would’ve refused, but right now Chanyeol can’t really complain because he’s already hard from the shower, and Lu Han, fucking Lu Han, with his wet hair and half-lidded eyes and pink tongue catching the droplets of water running down his face from his bangs, is making him unbearably hard.
“Y—yeah,” Chanyeol manages. “Fast.”
Lu Han promptly gets down on his knees, sliding Chanyeol’s cock into his mouth and sucking it with practised expertise, hands gripping Chanyeol’s hips. Chanyeol leans against the tiles, gripping the washcloth tightly as the hot stream of water runs through his hair and trickles down the nape of his neck, dripping from his body to Lu Han beneath him.
Chanyeol inhales. The bathroom’s now shrouded in a cloud of steam, swirling in white, misty patterns. It feels a bit like the shower cubicle is floating in the air—and Chanyeol thinks that he wouldn’t mind dying if this was what heaven felt like. Lu Han hums gently, the tip of Chanyeol’s cock barely grazing the back of his throat, and Chanyeol grips tightly at Lu Han’s wet hair, bracing himself against the slippery walls. Lu Han hums again, louder, with more insistency, and Chanyeol can’t contain himself anymore and he’s coming at the back of Lu Han’s throat with a low groan.
It’s been less than a minute. Lu Han really wasn’t lying when he said he’d make it fast.
vi. baekhyun; algalagnia
It’s always the innocent-looking ones who are the worst.
Baekhyun’s well aware of how he pure he looks when he breaks out his smile (perfected from hours of practising in front of bathroom mirrors, to the annoyance of the other members who actually need to use the bathroom for proper bathroom things), but out of the twelve members, he’s probably the worst offender in terms of unconventional sex—even worse than the cruelty Lu Han likes to inflict on Yixing, and that’s saying something.
Baekhyun likes to tie his partners up in chains and go down on them, nice and slow. He likes chaining them up, immobilising them, but what he likes more is pain—inflicting it, receiving it, and being in control of it.
But see, the problem is that it’s hard to actually find someone who doesn’t flinch at ‘chains’ and run away at the word ‘whips’. Baekhyun’s had some successes (Sunkyu, for one, had seemed quite interested when Baekhyun had pulled out the box of leather whips), but many, many more failures.
So when Lu Han finds Baekhyun sorting out his collection and drops hints about how he likes chains and whips, Baekhyun picks up on it fast enough, and soon enough Lu Han’s spread face-down on the bed, Baekhyun sitting on top of him wrapping a length of metal links around Lu Han’s arms.
Baekhyun can feel Lu Han steel himself as he tightens the chains around Lu Han’s wrists, fingers lingering on Lu Han’s equally long fingers. He likes how Lu Han doesn’t question, doesn’t ask him where the hell he’d gotten all his accessories (the truth is he’d bullied Chanyeol into visiting a dodgy sex store downtown together, mainly so Chanyeol could help him carry his haul), just gets right to the point, quietly and efficiently.
“Are you good to go?” Baekhyun asks, nibbling on the lobe of Lu Han’s ear, and Lu Han nods, clenching his fist when Baekhyun runs his tongue up his back, from the dip at the base of his spine up to the nape of his neck.
Baekhyun takes out the cat o’nine tails and lashes it across it on Lu Han’s back, gently at first, then brings it down hard with a loud crack. Lu Han cries out, bucking against the chains, and Baekhyun clamps a hand over Lu Han’s mouth and trails a finger over the lashes, drawing out a pained hiss. The marks are slightly raw and red, just starting to rise up and form welts.
“Does it hurt?” Baekhyun asks. He’s well aware the answer is right in front of his eyes, in the form of bleeding marks, but he wants to hear Lu Han’s voice confirm it for him.
“No,” Lu Han says between gritted teeth, all shaky and breathy. Baekhyun brings the whip down again, hard, and Lu Han arches his back with a groan, a mixture of both pleasure and pain. Baekhyun lashes him again, this time immediately digging the pads of his fingers into the fresh red marks, wanting to hurt Lu Han, really hurt Lu Han, make him thrash against the chains in pain, cry out to stop, beg for release, but Lu Han doesn’t give in so easily.
“You’re gonna have to—ugh—try harder,” Lu Han moans, as Baekhyun curls his fingers and digs a nail in. “Like that,” Lu Han finishes, biting into the pillow. He mutters something in Chinese that Baekhyun can’t catch, and Baekhyun scratches down Lu Han’s back.
“Lu Han hyung, repeat that in Korean for me?” He punctuates the last word with a harsh twist of Lu Han’s pale skin. Baekhyun runs a tongue over Lu Han’s back wounds, wrapping the cord of the whip around Lu Han’s neck when he starts to protest.
“Fuck, Baekhyun, that hurts.” Lu Han cranes his head to look back at Baekhyun, and Baekhyun notices a trail of blood coming from his lower lip, dotting the white pillowcase with a trail of red. Lu Han darts his tongue out to lick at the bite wound, but Baekhyun gets there first, lips pressed against bloody lips, mouth parting slightly to let Lu Han’s tongue in. It tastes vaguely metallic, and Baekhyun shivers, a heady rush hitting him as the metallic tang spreads in his mouth. He’s getting hard.
Baekhyun breaks away and takes off his pants, erection pressing against Lu Han’s marred back. He finds a tube of lube under the pillow, squeezes some onto his fingers and moves to lie next to Lu Han so he can watch Lu Han’s face as he rubs at Lu Han’s entrance and slicks a single finger in. Lu Han shivers, mumbling something like “it’s cold,” into the pillow.
“Good.” Baekhyun moves in to kiss Lu Han again, two fingers pushing inside him, feeling around his walls. He curls his fingers inside Lu Han, searching for a spot, and he knows he’s found it when Lu Han clamps his teeth down on Baekhyun’s tongue really hard, drawing blood, a breathy moan making its way out of his lips. Baekhyun reels from the pain and keeps curling his fingers, keeps hitting Lu Han at the same spot, over and over, tasting his own blood between their lips.
He clambers on top of Lu Han just when Lu Han squeezes his eyes shut, on the brink of orgasm, and guides his own cock inside. He thrusts, pressing at the darkening marks on Lu Han’s back, thrusts, Lu Han’s moaning filling the room, thrusts, running a hand to Lu Han’s chest and pinching harshly at his nipples, down to stroke his cock, thrusts, and Lu Han clenches around Baekhyun and shivers and gasps as he reaches his orgasm, and Baekhyun comes inside Lu Han in a flash of white before his eyes.
“Korean,” Baekhyun demands, pulling out of Lu Han. The sheets are a mess. Lu Han shoots Baekhyun a half-glare as he undoes the chains, then grabs Baekhyun by the arm and pins him down to the bed.
“Byun Baekhyun, just be glad you’re not in China.”
vii. yixing; hornophilia
Yixing is an easy target.
Ever since he was young, he’d always been the butt of the jokes with his friends, but it’s not really like he particularly minds, because it’s all in the name of good fun. He concedes to people; lets other people have their way, sits there smiling stupidly when insults are thrown his way, and sits there smiling stupidly when unconventional things are suggested to him.
Unfortunately, that just makes him the perfect target for Lu Han.
Lu Han’s similar to him in the sense that they both like to fool around, but where Yixing is laid-back and lets things happen to him in a passive daze, Lu Han acts positively. That’s why when it’s just him and Lu Han, and Lu Han’s feeling particularly bored, Yixing gets the brunt of Lu Han’s experiments, often with gags and bindings and an assortment of sex toys.
The other day, Lu Han had obtained a sex toy of some kind that looked like a unicorn horn, and convinced Yixing with twinkling eyes and an overly-sincere voice that he would feel ‘absolutely great’ with that inside him—and Yixing’s sure that Lu Han’s just making fun of him, with his ridiculous ‘stage animal’, but curiosity wins him over and he finds himself lying on Lu Han’s bed, butt naked, Lu Han waving the horny toy in front of his face.
“Are you sure this is safe?” Yixing asks, eyeing said horn dubiously. Lu Han slathers lube onto it, getting onto his knees and hooking Yixing’s legs over his shoulders. The horn glints gold in the light. “It looks quite...pointy.”
“Oh, don’t be such a scaredy-cat,” Lu Han admonishes, pressing a finger to Yixing’s hole. Yixing shivers, still wary. “It’s made out of silicone, it’ll bend inside you...I think.”
It doesn’t bend. Two days later, Yixing is still walking with a limp.
viii. kyungsoo; dacryphilia
And then there’s Kyungsoo, who shrieks and cries like a pterodactyl when he climaxes.
At least, Kyungsoo is probably what pterodactyls would sound like if they actually existed, because it’s a sound that no actual existing animal can make. It’s too screechy to be a chicken, and too shrill to be a pigeon, and too pained to be a cow. He can’t help it, really—it’s not that he wants to cry—it’s just that both the tears and the sounds come out involuntarily when he’s jerking himself off.
“I think you need to work on your inside sex voice,” Lu Han casually suggests to him one day, when they’re lazing around the dorm reading manga. Kyungsoo stares at him wide-eyed, hugging his book to his chest. Lu Han quirks an eyebrow. “I can hear you from the other room, you know. Actually, I’m pretty sure the neighbours can hear too. And maybe the opposite block. And the block after that.”
Kyungsoo huffs indignantly. He’s well aware of how loud he is. “I—I’m not that bad, am I?” he stutters, trying to defend himself. “I mean, Joonmyun hyung’s laptop is louder...right?”
Lu Han shakes his head sadly. “I think you beat his laptop by a few hundred decibels. I can help you though,” he offers, rolling onto his stomach and closing his book. “You know, training so you’re not so loud. You can save that for performances.”
Kyungsoo doesn’t know why he agrees.
The next time Lu Han walks into Kyungsoo’s room, he’s armed with a bag and a cardboard container.
“What is that?” Kyungsoo asks, eyeing the bag and container fearfully. Lu Han shrugs and pushes Kyungsoo down.
“You’ll find out. Let’s do this.” Lu Han begins to strip Kyungsoo, who’s lying on the bed as stiff as a board, half-panicking and wishing he’d never agreed to something like this in the first place. Lu Han curls his fingers around Kyungsoo’s cock, giving it a slow pump, and Kyungsoo lets out an involuntary screech.
Lu Han looks somewhat amused. “So early? Try to keep quiet,” he says, and he keeps stroking Kyungsoo, rubbing a thumb at the head. Kyungsoo clamps his teeth down, biting his lips, but lets out an even louder, more pained squawk when Lu Han fits his lips over Kyungsoo’s cock and sucks gently.
“And you said you weren’t that bad,” Lu Han says, tutting. He opens the bag and pulls out a pink-glazed donut, shoving it directly into Kyungsoo’s mouth without warning.
“Mmph—wow, I’m on a diet,” Kyungsoo protests, taking the donut out of his mouth, horrified. “Couldn’t you have chosen like, carrots or something?”
“Fruits and vegetables are expensive,” Lu Han says, shrugging and stuffing the donut back in. “I was on a budget. Oh, don’t swallow, and don’t scream, you’ll choke.”
Kyungsoo nods sadly and chews despondently on the donut, tasting the strawberry flavour spreading in his mouth as Lu Han goes back to pumping him. Tears form at the corner of his eyes as he gets harder, and he diligently manages to suppress his urge to scream until Lu Han scrapes his teeth down Kyungsoo’s cock and he spits out the half-chewed donut with a choked squawk, tears streaming uncontrollably down his face. He jerks up into Lu Han’s mouth, alternating coughing violently and screeching violently, vision blinded by tears.
Lu Han curses as he gets off the bed. “Okay, that...didn’t work. Plan B.”
Kyungsoo’s barely recovered from his coughing fit when he sees what Lu Han takes out of the bag—essentially a huge black rubber ball, with straps coming out of the sides—but he’s lost his chance to protest because Lu Han instantly fits the rubber ball into Kyungsoo’s mouth and tightens the strap around his head.
“This should help,” Lu Han says, trailing a hand back down to Kyungsoo’s crotch. He cups Kyungsoo’s balls and squeezes gently, and Kyungsoo whines, unable to get much sound out past the rubber in his mouth. “Now keep as quiet as you can.”
Except the problem is, Kyungsoo has a really strong set of teeth.
He ends up chewing the strap off and letting out an impossibly deafening screech interspersed with wracking sobs as he comes with a shudder over Lu Han’s hand. Lu Han’s silent after that, eyes narrowed and lips pursed.
“Nevermind,” Lu Han says, sighing. He chucks the gag away, perplexed, and Kyungsoo wants to bury himself in a hole. “You’ll just have to squawk for the rest of your life.”
ix. jongdae; podophilia
Jongdae’s always somewhat left out, left behind, lagging half a step behind the rest, because he was the last one to join them. It makes sense that he doesn’t know too much about his members, and his members really don’t know that much about him either—especially his sex life. He hears about the things that go on between Lu Han and Yixing, Lu Han and Baekhyun, and hears (literally) the things that go on in their leader’s laptop, but he keeps this knowledge to himself, and certainly doesn’t reveal his kinks.
Jongdae, quiet, reserved Jongdae, sometimes snarky Jongdae, smiling-in-the-background Jongdae, goes crazy over feet.
That’s fine, because most of the members like to wear socks around the dorm, which means Jongdae can’t actually see their feet, but certain problems do arise when he happens to open the bathroom door and chance on members inside.
Lu Han, actually, sitting in the bath, one leg up in the air, scrubbing his right foot.
That’s when Jongdae realises he has a problem, because he knows his immediate reaction should be to get the fuck out and close the door, but Lu Han has very pretty feet, and he’s standing there mesmerised, thinking that all he wants to do at this moment is suck on Lu Han’s toes.
“Jongdae,” Lu Han says, cocking his head to the side. “Is something wrong?”
Jongdae tears his gaze away and panics, mumbling a convoluted apology. He slams the bathroom door shut and buries his head in his hands outside, slumping against the wall.
Lu Han seeks him out right after his bath, just as Jongdae’s trying to distract himself with elementary Learn Chinese books—which theoretically should be very effective, except it’s a chapter on body parts and ‘feet’ just conveniently happens to be on the page in front of him.
“Jiao,” Lu Han says, pointing to the picture. “Feet. Jiao.”
“Yes,” Jongdae says tersely, watching as Lu Han settles on the bed next to him, crossing his legs so his foot is brushing against Jongdae’s thigh. There’s a glint in Lu Han’s eyes, and Jongdae knows his actions are not accidental. “Thank you.”
It would probably be the best idea for Jongdae to rush out of the room right now lest he builds up inconvenient feelings again, but Lu Han’s very good at this coaxing people to do things, so instead of exiting the room like a sane person, Jongdae’s somehow dropped down to his knees in front of Lu Han, and he’s kissing the soles of Lu Han’s feet. Not that he’s complaining, really, because it’s getting him harder than anything else ever has.
Lu Han braces himself on his elbows, robe parting to reveal an expanse of thigh as Jongdae sucks on his toes, drawing patterns over the sole of his foot. Jongdae makes a sound in his throat as Lu Han wiggles a big toe in his mouth, feels the heat build at the base of his torso, his cock pressing against the fabric of his sweatpants.
“You’re pretty hard,” Lu Han remarks, undoing his robe. He’s naked underneath, and the sight of Lu Han’s half-hard cock sends a strange tingle through Jongdae’s body. Lu Han moves his right foot to brush against Jongdae’s cheek, trace the shell of his ear, and Jongdae keeps sucking on Lu Han’s left toe, watching intently as Lu Han touches himself. Lu Han lets out a choked gasp as he pumps himself and curls his toes inside Jongdae’s mouth.
It’s too much to handle.
Jongdae comes embarrassingly in his pants, sticky and hot, without even touching himself. He throws his head back, eyes squeezed shut in climax, and opens his eyes to see Lu Han staring back at him, the corner of his lip raised in a half-smirk. Jongdae looks down to his grey sweatpants, soaked at the crotch with a spreading stain, and subsequently wants to disappear off the face of the earth.
Lu Han ties up his robe, looking duly amused. He brushes his feet against Jongdae’s cheeks once more. “Anytime, Jongdae.”
x. joonmyun; pyrophilia
Joonmyun’s not who others think he is.
Onstage, Joonmyun is all reserved smiles and consistency and reliability, but that’s only a fraction of who he is. That’s only what he’s showing, refined through seven years of gruelling training—the rest is hidden behind a mask. Joonmyun wishes there were times he could be more volatile, impetuous, but he’s so afraid of cracking that carefully crafted mask that he doesn’t dare take the risk.
So Joonmyun feigns normalcy.
He plays videos late at night on his laptop that he knows are too loud, that he knows the members will hear and roll their eyes at in the morning while mimicking the obscene moaning sounds, because it’s what’s expected of a normal guy his age. As much as he tries though, he can’t enjoy them, because in every video, he sees the careful choreography, feels the presence of the person behind the camera—and he’s reminded all too much that he’s just like the girl lying on the bed in those videos with her legs spread open, the object of the gaze, just like he’s the object of scrutiny by the masses.
Joonmyun doesn’t want careful. He doesn’t want choreography. He wants skin on skin, passion, breaking free from the restraints. Joonmyun wants a battleground.
Lu Han makes it a battleground.
Lu Han might act clueless and harmless most of the time, but he’s unusually perceptive of things, of people, and the silent, half-smiling knowing look he gives Joonmyun every time they’re alone gets Joonmyun on edge. When Lu Han corners him and takes it to the bedroom, they’re both fighting for control; Lu Han for control over Joonmyun, and Joonmyun for control over himself.
Their clothes are discarded in piles on the ground, strewn over the dresser, the door not even fully shut. Lu Han pins Joonmyun down against the mattress, chucks a knife at him, and pulls out a lighter.
“You take the knife. I’ll take this,” he says, flicking it on. The orange flames burn blue at the centre, and Joonmyun feels a thrill run through him as he grips the knife handle, all the way to his toes. It’s exactly what he needs. Fire’s uncontrollable. Volatile. He wants to feel it on his skin.
Lu Han flicks the lighter against Joonmyun’s nipple, burning him slightly, as Joonmyun hisses and grabs Lu Han’s hair roughly in pain. Lu Han flicks the lighter again, holding it there for longer, and Joonmyun cries out. The blade in Joonmyun’s left hand makes its way to Lu Han’s neck, and they’re in lockdown, breathing hard.
Joonmyun hooks his leg against the crook of Lu Han’s knees and flips them so that he’s straddling Lu Han, knife still against Lu Han’s neck. There’s a wild look in Lu Han’s eyes, which Joonmyun’s sure he’s mirroring in some form.
“Harder.” Lu Han gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing against the blade.
Joonmyun applies more pressure. A thin line of blood trickles down from Lu Han’s neck as Lu Han flicks the lighter open again and holds the flame right under Joonmyun’s wrist, a warning glare in his eyes, seeing who can withstand the pain the longest. Joonmyun steels himself, feeling the prickling heat on his skin, the red mark growing, becoming painfully hot, unbearable, and yet he’s getting harder and harder as he fights for control.
A wave of pleasure courses through him as he finally can’t take it anymore and jerks his hand away, knuckles white on the hilt of the knife. He grinds down into Lu Han, their cocks brushing against each other’s. Lu Han moans beneath him, reaching a free hand down to rub their cocks together, spreading the precome over Joonmyung’s slit in small circular motions with his thumb.
“Fuck,” Joonmyun curses, running the knife down Lu Han’s sternum, making a small, skin-deep incision. The burn on his wrist is now throbbing, and he swears his fingers are getting numb.
Lu Han slides his hand up and down Joonmyun’s cock, grips both their cocks in one hand, and flicks the lighter on again with his free hand, this time quickly trailing it down Joonmyun’s collarbone to his belly-button before stopping to hold it against the metal of the knife in Joonmyun’s hand. The blood on the edge of the blade sizzles, turning black, and Lu Han knocks the knife out of Joonmyun’s hands and presses the hot metal against the sensitive skin just above Joonmyun’s cock without warning, pumping him simultaneously.
Joonmyun arches his back, letting out a groan of pained pleasure. It’s this feeling that he’s yearned for, the point where he’s beyond control, unrestrained, unthinking, the only things running through his mind the burning heat of the knife on his torso, Lu Han’s soft hand stroking his cock, Lu Han’s cock hard on his, and he comes, comes, over Lu Han’s stomach and chest. It’s a sensation Joonmyun’s never felt so intensely before, shaking him from his fingertips to his toes, a whirlwind before his eyes. Lu Han groans and drops the knife as he comes moments later, sticky white strings mingling with the drying red blood on his chest.
“Thank you,” Joonmyun says to Lu Han. It’s like Lu Han’s managed to take off Joonmyun’s seven-year mask and let him breathe. A weight’s been lifted from his shoulders. “Thank you.”
xi. sehun; tantololagnia
Sehun doesn’t like to admit it, but every time a post-it passes under his nose asking him about “Lu Han hyung” at a fansign, he feels a little proud satisfaction grow inside him. Lu Han on one hand might shy away from it in public, denying their closeness and insist on keeping an image, but Sehun likes knowing that there are hundreds of others who see Lu Han as his.
“Don’t fuel the fans,” Lu Han says. Sehun scowls, and Lu Han shrugs. “It’s not real,” he says, but that doesn’t seem to be the case when Sehun’s pressed against Lu Han, legs open, Lu Han’s fingers inside him.
(Sehun’s perfectly okay with that. Lu Han is a tease. And he likes being teased.)
“I’m keeping an eye on your interviews,” Lu Han says casually as he gently caresses Sehun with a lube-slicked finger up his ass, fingertips brushing his sweet spot. “You still have a lisp. You shouldn’t speak so much.”
“But—” Sehun protests, and Lu Han cuts him off with a curl of the finger. “Hyung”
“What did I say about speaking?”
Lu Han presses his fingers in again, and Sehun chokes mid-sentence. “Tell you what, let’s do a little speech training. Every time you say a word properly, I reward you.”
Lu Han positions himself on top of Sehun, hitching Sehun’s legs over his shoulder. He slides his finger out of Sehun’s ass and slides his cock in. “Start with ‘suck’.”
Sehun’s not very successful.
“Thuck,” he says, and Lu Han stays still inside him. “Hyung, come on,” Sehun whines, “I thaid it properly.”
“Fuck, hyung, suck”
Lu Han thrusts in, palming Sehun and pumping him up once, just once, no more. Sehun groans and tries to buck up, wanting more friction, wanting Lu Han to move.
“Good job,” Lu Han says, rubbing his thumb over the head of Sehun’s cock lightly. “Now try ‘suspension’.”
“Thu—fuck you hyung—thuth—suspension,” Sehun forces out, hands gripping Lu Han’s upper arms as Lu Han works up a rhythm, sliding a hand up and down Sehun’s cock faster this time.
“Now say ‘Mississippi’. Go.”
Sehun grits his teeth as Lu Han thrusts in and out slowly, refraining from hitting that spot inside him. “Mith—”
“Missi-fucking-ssipi,” Sehun spits out, trying to concentrate with Lu Han hot inside him. “Can you pleathe—please?”
Lu Han smirks and angles himself so he’s brushing against Sehun’s prostate every time he enters. He goes faster and faster, until Sehun is incoherent and coming in sticky strings all over Lu Han’s hand.
“I hate you, hyung,” Sehun groans, as Lu Han comes inside him. Sehun clenches around Lu Han, drawing out the last of his come. “I hate you.”
“Don’t hate me,” Lu Han says lightly, pressing a kiss to the corner of Sehun’s lips. “You’ll thank me for this.”
Except Sehun doesn’t find himself one bit thankful, not when a post-it with the word ‘Mississippi’ on it is shoved before his nose during a fansign and he finds himself going unbelievably hard.
a/n: gonna get judged so hard for absolutely ridiculously unrealistic scenarios l-o-l i give up on life tbh. throws things at feixing
ALSO! one of the above philias is not real. GUESS WHICH ONE! (it should be pretty obvious because crack and because i abuse him too much). also have quite blatantly disregarded m/k dorming divisions and logicality for sake of. things.