Chapter Text
“Aren’t they heavy?” Jisung asks, genuinely curious, and Changbin reflexively goes to press his arms across his chest.
“Why on earth do you think they’re heavy?” Changbin replies, and his face is warm with self-conscious embarrassment.
“Well, hyung, you. You, uh,” Jisung stumbles through a response. “You hold them. When you jump.”
Changbin is taken aback by the announcement of it, confused about how they even got here in their conversation. Chan’s been out grabbing coffee for them, so it’s only Jisung and him in the studio.
The statement hangs in the dead air, even the metronome that they’d had on has stopped since.
“I’m not gonna talk to you about the weight of my pecs, Jisung, we have work to do.” He gestures to the mostly empty track displayed on the monitor, simply an isolated drum beat and hummed out melody sample.
Jisung looks almost mousy from his place on the couch. He shrugs and rubs at the back of his neck. “Fair enough,” He starts, and then mumbles something under his breath. Changbin can tell that he’s still talking only because his lips are moving.
“What’s that? What did you say?” Changbin doesn’t know why he’s even asking, clearly experience has told him he patently does not want to know whatever Jisung says under his breath, ever. He resists the urge to roll his eyes.
“Oh, you know. I just said that’s fair enough, hyung. We do have work to do.” Jisung is looking everywhere but at Changbin, raising his eyebrows as he continues to nervously fidget.
“Yeah, Jisung-ah, I heard that part. What did you say after ?”
“You could just let me hold them for you. So I’ll know how heavy they are.” Jisung pauses, long enough that what he’s saying has enough time to sink in. “You won’t have to tell me, Binnie-hyung, if you let me hold them.”
Changbin is silent, trying to understand what crazy shit Jisung has spouted this time.
He figures it must be one of Jisung’s convoluted jokes, the ones where the punchline has about two hundred different ways to be interpreted. “Very funny, Hannie. What kind of porn are you watching these days, huh?” Changbin attempts a laugh, if only to give Jisung enough validation to move on.
Jisung finally looks back up at Changbin. But, it’s not like he’s holding back some giggles. He’s chewing on his bottom lip, eyes open wide.
“You’re serious.” Changbin says. “You want to hold up my pecs while I jump?” He’s incredulous.
“No, well, I mean, yes. But it doesn’t have to be when you’re jumping. I just want to hold them, hyung. They look pretty heavy and, um, full.” Jisung fingers are twisting into his sweatpants.
The studio walls seem stifling all of a sudden. Changbin’s hyperaware, now, of the way his t-shirt is pulling across his chest, the way the fabric is taut across his nipples.
They look at each other and-
Chan returns; his warm, friendly smile pulled over his teeth, “Iced americano, anyone?” oblivious to the tension that made the air electric.
-
If he keeps trying to act normal, maybe Jisung’ll forget what he said. It’s unlikely, because a week later, he’s still openly staring at Changbin’s chest. It’s stupid that he’s trying to implicate Jisung as the sole person responsible for this, because he’s the one that hasn’t picked out a loose shirt to wear all week.
He doesn’t want to read into it.
It’s so hard, though, when Jisung has almost made it his mission to remind him. He even offered to go to the gym with Changbin today, which he never does. Chan was going to accompany Changbin, anyway, so it’s not like he even needs a spotter. He finds himself saying yes regardless.
It goes about as well as Changbin expected, really. Jisung’s absently picking up dumbbells and not paying any attention to his own sets in favor of ogling Changbin throughout his upper body workout. Chan and Changbin have been spotting each other, while Jisung just looks on.
“Hannie-ah,” Chan calls to him. “I think you’ve done enough bicep curls for the next month. Will you come over here and spot Binnie’s chest press?”
Changbin glares at the back of Chan’s stupid, curly head. Jisung looks delighted. Changbin has to close his eyes and count to ten while Jisung approaches. He lays down on the bench.
He opens his eyes to Jisung peering down at him. “Hey, hyung.” He’s smiling softly, sweet face making Changbin even more annoyed. “This looks really heavy, are you sure I’m qualified?”
“You just have to make sure it doesn’t crush me.”
“Yeah,” Jisung’s gaze trails down to his chest, lingering, “It’d be a shame to crush you there.” He sounds breathless, and Changbin feels exhausted even though he hasn’t even done a set.
He reaches up, grabbing the bar and hoisting it off its rest, and pulls the bar down to his chest, before pushing it back up slowly. He’s careful not to lock his elbows and he brings it back down again, sucking a gradual breath in.
Changbin continues through his set, wanting at least eight of these reps. On the fourth push upwards, he grunts in effort. Even breath in, and out, still groaning on the exhale.
“You’re doing great, hyung.” Jisung says, and Changbin tries for a glance at his face. Jisung’s eyes are glued to his pecs, and his ears are so, so red. Changbin wore his sweat-wicking top to the gym today, the one that clings to his skin. “Just a few more to go.” Jisung must be squirming.
He exerts himself past eight reps, Jisung’s attentions motivating him. He would never admit it.
Changbin puts the barbell back on the rack, feeling his blood pulsing throughout his chest. He takes some deep breaths, and looks over to Chan at his own machine.
Chan’s not even in motion, mouth hanging open slightly at their display. It must have been more charged than Changbin thought.
At least all the mirror reflections tell him there’s no one else in the gym.
-
If Changbin thought things were weird at first, he certainly did not prepare for this. The three of them haven’t been alone since the morning at the gym, but that hasn’t kept the remaining members of 3racha from looking at him. Chan’s, at least, a little more decent than Jisung in his admiration.
It’s sweet, almost, the goofy way that he and Chan interact with each other being buoyed with this tension. Chan’s still always up in his business, smiling and handsy, but it’s different now. Chan avoids his chest, even though it never used to matter. Every bit of Changbin used to be real estate for Chan to rub and burrow in and grab onto.
Jisung, on the other hand, has only gotten more daring. He’s been smoothing Changbin’s shirts, adjusting accessories for performances, and leaning into him when they’re seated together.
Changbin feels wound tight, coiled like a twisted spring. He’s still wearing close-fitting shirts.
They’ve got time slotted for the studio today, and they’re supposed to use it for working on a remix to a title track.
Chan’s already seated in his chair, and Jisung’s already settled into his corner of the couch, by the time Changbin arrives. His shirt is white today. In the bathroom lighting, he could see the outline of his nipples through it.
“Hey Binnie,” Chan smiles, genuinely, as usual. It always made Changbin’s stomach float with butterflies, warm under the blanket of Chan’s unabashed affection.
“Any snacks?” Jisung pipes up, patting Changbin’s butt with both hands as he walks by to his half of the couch.
“Aish, can’t a hyung just bring himself?”
“Course.” Jisung’s bold today, probably bolstered by something he and Chan had discussed. “Especially when hyung looks like that .”
Changbin rolls his eyes. They’re all bare-faced and casually dressed, the same way they’ve seen each other for years. “So, Channie-hyung,” he puts his drink on a coaster that rests on Chan’s huge desk in front of him. “What’ve we got? What were you thinking?”
“About that..” Chan makes an awkward face, and Changbin’s once again questioning why he joined a rap unit with two introverted little weirdos. If only he didn’t love them both so much. “Jisungie’s a little frustrated, uh, he’s told me, um…”
“You didn’t answer me the other day, hyung.” Jisung interrupts. Chan and Changbin both turn to him. “I can’t concentrate because I need an answer.”
Changbin could play dumb, could string this out like he hasn’t been thinking about it as much as these two have. He can feel his face heat up. It’s so embarrassing.
“Okay.” Changbin whispers, barely audible. “You can, Jisungie.” He has to look away. His shirt feels so constricting as his lungs fight for a full breath.
For all his bravado, Jisung scoots down the couch and gingerly touches Changbin’s thigh. “Tell me if you want to stop.”
Changbin can only nod.
Jisung runs his hand softly up Changbin’s thigh, trailing his fingers up Changbin’s torso over his shirt. It tickles slightly, but Changbin can’t react when he’s practically vibrating with the feeling. He hadn’t allowed himself to imagine this, fearful that it would plague him. It’s already overwhelming.
Jisung’s sat near him, leaning over sideways. The angle’s a bit strange, but Jisung is going for it. His thumb and forefinger of each hand reach out first, and slide under each of his pecs. They push against his ribs as they cup under the muscles. And then in unison, on Jisung’s shaky exhale, they lift up.
Changbin lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. Amazingly, the weight on his ribcage does let up a bit. The feeling absurdly makes him lightheaded with arousal. He picks up his head and is met with the predatory stares of his friends, his brothers.
From the way Chan’s sat in his chair, Changbin is surprised to see that he’s half-hard, track pants pulled lightly across his crotch.
Changbin feels small between them. It gives him a head rush. His eyelids flutter closed as Jisung slides his fingers up and squeezes . He hears a high moan and startles, looking at them before he realizes it was him. He’s moaning from his pecs being played with. He’s got a lot to sort out.
“Bin,” Chan huffs, “Can we see?” He pulls at his own shirt to illustrate.
Changbin turns to Jisung, who isn’t faring much better. His pupils are blown, fingers twitching as he pulls his hands back to let Changbin pull his shirt off.
He knows he could end it here. Tell them he’s uncomfortable and they’d take a breather before they got to work. They wouldn’t bother him about it again. It wouldn’t be true, though. He wants this, even though it makes nervous to think about.
Changbin leans forward to take off his shirt, reaching towards the back to pull it over his shoulders and head. He sits back, shirtless and exposed in front of two of his most trusted friends. His nipples respond to the chill of the room. He knows what he looks like without it; his shoulders and arms are corded with muscle, his pecs rounded out, and his stomach toned with a soft exterior.
“Fuck,” Jisung mutters, as if this isn’t his eightieth time seeing Changbin shirtless.
No one moves or says anything for a few moments, and there’s no sound except their breathing.
“Let me up, hyung. Need a better angle.” Jisung says, tapping Changbin’s thighs.
“Okay,” Changbin says, again, too dumb to be eloquent. He adjusts his knees to be easier to sit on.
Jisung climbs on his lap, spreading his legs in a straddle and Changbin can see, too, that he’s getting hard.
The sound of Chan’s chair moving against the floor draws both of their attention. They all seem to be thinking the same thing, Changbin thinks. Or, maybe he’s outnumbered. Maybe Chan and Jisung had already hatched this plan.
Changbin doesn’t care.
Jisung reaches out again, wasting no time to fully grope at his chest, lifting and squeezing. It’s clear that Jisung’s thought about this before, thought about how he’d touch Changbin, imagined it as he jerked himself off alone in his new room.
Changbin can’t help but moan at the image, noises escaping without his permission. He sounds desperate, wanton in his desire for his chest to be violated. It’s too much, too embarrassing.
Jisung finally brushes his thumb against a nipple, deliberate. Changbin chokes. By now, he can feel himself fully hard, and Jisung’s sitting just a few inches away, with his cock in the same state.
“Hyung, hyung-” Jisung licks his lips, dried out from his mouth hanging open, “You’re so hot, huh? Letting me touch your chest. Letting Channie-hyung watch. You want this so bad, I know.” His hips are starting to grind, moving with the rising heat in the room.
Changbin can see out of the corner of his eye that Chan has started touching himself, rubbing his palm over his track pants.
“Jisungie, please,” He doesn’t even know what he’s going to ask for, until his own fingers itch to fit themselves around something, around Jisung’s hardness. “Can hyung touch you? Can I jerk you off?”
It’s Jisung’s turn to moan, pausing in his efforts rubbing over Changbin’s chest.
“Hyung wants me? Wants to make me come while I touch his tits?” Jisung gets closer to say this, and the words set Changbin on fire.
Changbin hears Chan bite off his own noise, and start to snake his hand into his pants.
“Alright, then, Binnie-hyung. How sweet, huh?” Jisung leans back to pull his cock out of his pants, hard and just the perfect size for him, and Changbin immediately goes to hold Jisung’s waist to steady himself. “Go ahead and jerk me off, hyung. I’ll keep holding your pretty tits for you.”
“Shit, Jisung,” Chan curses, “Where did you learn to talk like that?”
“I don’t want you to think of me differently, Channie-hyung.” Jisung says.
“Bit late for that,” Chan replies, and Jisung laughs, but doesn’t respond.
Instead, he goes back to tracing his fingers against Changbin’s pecs, alternating between groping and pinching.
Changbin, meanwhile, gathers up the courage to touch Jisung’s cock, sliding his palm across the wet head of it, smoothing the precome down the shaft. He keeps one hand clasped onto Jisung’s waist, marveling at his size. Changbin feels like he has to treat him delicately.
It’s hard to not thrust towards Jisung, careful to not unseat him from where he is feeling Changbin up. There’s sounds of two cocks being worked over, easily heard even through Changbin’s desperate little whines.
Jisung is surprisingly composed while Changbin is jacking him off, eyelids fluttering and lip bitten, but otherwise focused.
“Would you let me dress you up, hyung? Let me get you something cute to hold your tits when I can’t?” Jisung teases, breathless. “Our dwaekki, how cute would he be then, Channie-hyung?”
“So cute, Binnie. You'd look so cute.” Chan doesn’t sound nearly as composed, the noise of him pulling himself off is loud despite his pants muffling the sound.
“I’ll get you a lacy one, really pretty against your tits, yeah? Would you like that, Binnie-hyung?”
Changbin stutters through a breath, “Yeah, yes, Jisungie. Please.” He’s squeezing his hand up and down Jisung quickly, increasing the pressure at his head.
“I’m gonna come,” Chan says, “So hot, Changbin, letting Sung touch you like this. So beautiful, I-”
Chan comes first, if his heaving breath is anything to go by.
“You look so good, you made Channie-hyung come.” Jisung says, pinching both his nipples, “I’m gonna come, too. You’ll let me fuck your tits next time, huh?”
The seam of Changbin’s pants catches against the head of his cock perfectly, and he comes, totally untouched, into his underwear like a teenager. His hiccuping moans don’t drown out the sound of Jisung coming a few moments after.
The studio cools gradually with them, the air is hazy with the scent of sweat and sex. It’s heady, it’s distracting. Changbin can feel his wits gradually return to him.
Changbin holds his hand up uselessly, Jisung’s come spread over it. Jisung has the decency to look sheepish. Chan hands him a tissue from the desk. It’s enough to start Jisung giggling, smacking a kiss to Changbin’s cheek, who doesn’t have time to lean away.
“That was really hot.” Jisung says simply, resting back against the couch. Changbin and Chan share a look, almost telepathically chastising him.
“Will you though, Changbin-hyung? Let me?” Jisung never lets any question go unanswered, typical.
“Guess I’ll need that bra first, Jisungie.” Changbin tries to go for a joking tone, but it just sounds breathy and shameless.
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