Last night had been amazing.  Simply the thought of it made Changjo smile, made him excited and horny and eager for more, sent him on a wild rush of memory: the sensual slide of L.Joe’s hands over his skin, the sound of L.Joe’s happy laughter, the tug at his heart every time L.Joe smiled, the slip of L.Joe’s lips over the head of his cock.  Everything about last night had been straight out of his fantasies.

            Ugh.  Not everything.  Not the part where L.Joe told him that he was too young and kicked him out.  That part made him want to punch the wall.

            It wouldn’t go that way tonight.  He wouldn’t let it.  He’d talk to L.Joe about it.  He wasn’t a child.  Maybe when they’d debuted, he’d been kind of young, okay.  Fine.  He got that.  But not anymore.  He and L.Joe were only two years apart.  Two years!  It wasn’t some insurmountable barrier.  How long did L.Joe expect to make him wait, anyway?  The hyungs had been playing around with him for a while now.  It was time to stop playing and get serious.

            He had all of his arguments ready.  He wasn’t a virgin.  He’d been with girls.  Okay, not a million girls, but enough.  He’d been with Ricky, too.  At one point or another, he’d seen all of his hyungs have sex with each other, so that was no big mystery.  He was pretty sure that he was at least as good at it as they were.  Maybe not at giving blowjobs, but he hadn’t had very much practice.  He was definitely willing to practice, though.

            Especially on L.Joe.  Especially if L.Joe would lean back in that boneless way, thighs spreading, mouth opening on a deep, breathless moan.  He wanted to feel L.Joe’s fingers threading through his hair, wanted to hear L.Joe’s breath catch, wanted L.Joe’s thighs to jerk against his hands, knees rising in spasmodic twitches.  Mmm, yeah, he could hear it now, “Maknae, maknae,” and L.Joe’s cock would be so hard and silky between his lips…

            Coming awake with a snort, Changjo blinked, orienting himself.  L.Joe still wasn’t back?  He checked the time.  After two.

            Shit.  With a dull twist of disappointment in his gut, he realized that L.Joe probably wasn’t coming back that night.  Grimacing, he got up, turning off lights.  Who was the lucky one that night?  Chunji again?  C.A.P.?  Niel?

            Turning off the TV, he wondered.  Then he texted their manager.  Hyung, L.Joe hyung isn’t in our room.  Is he okay?  Maybe their manager would send L.Joe back to him.

            A moment later, he had a reply: He’s fine.  Sleep.

            Ugh.  He considered trying to get Ricky to come and sleep with him, but Ricky was always a brat about being wakened “just for sex.”  Frustrated, his hopes for a monumental night dashed, he got into bed and turned off the lights.  He masturbated, but he just felt stupid and lonely and foolish.  Scowling and planning out all of the scathing things he’d never actually say to L.Joe, he fell asleep.

            Squinting, Changjo rolled over.  Pushing himself up on one elbow, he tried to make sense of what he was seeing.  A dim light was on, and L.Joe was by the closed door with…Park Chanyeol?  “What?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.  Was this a dream or a hallucination?

            “Is it okay?” Chanyeol asked L.Joe in the loudest whisper Changjo had ever heard.

            L.Joe elbowed him.  “Be polite.”

            Chanyeol laughed and bowed to Changjo.  “Hello, Changjo sunbaenim.”

            “What the hell,” Changjo said.

            L.Joe laughed at him.  “That’s not it!”  Pushing Chanyeol across the room - - toward the other bed - - L.Joe came towards him, already taking off clothes, shoes off, socks off, T-shirt off.  Smiling cheerfully, naked to the waist, L.Joe crawled onto his bed, on top of him, and touched his mouth, pinched his cheek, smoothed his hair back from his forehead.  L.Joe smelled like alcohol - - not soju, something else, something he couldn’t place - - and okay, L.Joe was drunk.

            “What are you doing?” Changjo asked.

            “Sshhh, maknae.”  L.Joe smoothed his hair again and kissed his forehead, kissed his cheek.  “Go to sleep, baby, go back to sleep.  Sleep well for hyung.  We’ll be quiet.”

            “I’m not a baby!  What are you-”

            “Ssshhh.”  L.Joe kissed him on the mouth.  “Go back to sleep.”  Then L.Joe was climbing off of him and he had no idea what to do.  What could he do?  Scream and throw a fit?  He was upset - - furious - - hurt - - that L.Joe had brought some random hoobae back to their room, but L.Joe wouldn’t have done it without their manager’s permission; if he acted up about it, Chanyeol wouldn’t be kicked out of the room, he would be.

            This put their manager’s text message into context.  That blithe, “He’s fine,” had really meant, “He’s out sniffing around EXO.  Which member do you think he should pick?  There are so many to choose from!”

            Damn it.  Damn EXO and damn Park Chanyeol and damn L.Joe and damn everybody.

            “Is it okay?” Chanyeol asked again.

            “Yeah,” L.Joe said.  He giggled.  “Why are you so tall?”

            “Sorry,” Chanyeol said, laughing.  L.Joe was speaking up to him; apparently he was older.  Damn it.  Changjo heard the drag of a zipper, heard the creak of bedsprings, and looked over.

            And immediately wished that he hadn’t.

            The lighting was horrible, so he couldn’t see much, but he hated everything about everything that he could see.  They were on top of each other, tangled around each other.  They were naked.  So much gorgeous, smooth, pale, bare skin.  L.Joe kept making sexy, soft, aching, breathy sounds, and Chanyeol kept moaning, loud and deep and annoying as hell.  They kept kissing and whispering and giggling, and he hoped that their stupid, drunken sex was sloppy and awful.

            Then L.Joe made a surprised noise.  “Where did you get that?”

            “My pocket.”

            L.Joe laughed.  “You keep that in your pocket?”

            Chanyeol’s laughter almost covered other sounds, a whispered crinkling, tearing.  “Don’t make assumptions!”

            “Unh - - oh, good, it’s good.”  L.Joe made the sexiest, raw, purring sound Changjo had ever heard, and while Changjo’s cock throbbed, he realized that they’d been talking about condoms, about lube.  L.Joe was making that sound because Chanyeol was - - fuck.

            He rolled away, he pulled pillows over his head, but he couldn’t get away from it.  He could hear them so clearly that it felt like his bed was vibrating with the rhythm of it.  They were fucking, Chanyeol was thrusting inside of L.Joe over and over and over again, his L.Joe, his hyung, their bodies making that unmistakable slap of skin against skin, and L.Joe was making a low, repetitive, half-gasping “unh-uh” sound like it felt incredible, and Chanyeol was making some deep, beastly noise that probably would’ve sounded really sexy if Changjo hadn’t wanted to punch him, and the whole room was hot with it, their sex, their musk, the steam rising from their rocking, sweating bodies.

            Changjo’s bed was a sauna, a swamp, the sheets wet with his sweat, his T-shirt twisted around him and clinging to him, his chest heaving like there wasn’t enough air in the room.  L.Joe was moaning, panting, “Unh, good, hyung, good, it’s so good…”  He clutched at the pillows, wanting to block it out, drown it out, the sound of it, the sex, the rhythm, but L.Joe was coming, coming, crying out, “Ha, ah, ah!” and gasping, and his hips were shoving against the mattress, pushing, humping, and he shuddered with orgasm as Chanyeol came.

            Sated and hurt, frustrated and angry, gratified and betrayed, all at once, Changjo stared at the wall.  He breathed as quietly as he could, in and out in carefully measured increments, his back to the other bed.

            He heard hushed, meaningless whispers.

            He wasn’t going to cry.  He wasn’t going to punch Chanyeol.  He wasn’t going to scream at L.Joe.  But he really, really wanted to.

            He heard kissing.  He heard shuffling, rustling.

            He wondered what last night had meant to L.Joe.  He wondered if last night had meant anything to L.Joe.

            He heard them say good-bye.  He heard the click of the door.

            He heard L.Joe’s familiar, sated sigh, that gorgeously relaxed sound that always did weird but wonderful things to his heart.

            L.Joe got up and went into the bathroom.

            He heard the shower start.

            He got up, yanked on his pants, and left.

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Copyright November 16, 2013
by Matthew Haldeman-Time