thanh (misspause) wrote in amology,
thanh
misspause
amology

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all the vanilla cups you want

kris / lu han
nc-17, 4.7k


for kujo_arisa who curses the lack of slow krishan porn (with none of the unnecessary emotions, she said) on the net.







Lu Han has habits. For one, he grew up in a threateningly frugal household, so even though June is hot enough for the air to visually simmer, he omits the aircon and plugs in the electric fan instead.

Another one of his habit is to seat himself cross-legged in front of the fan, mouth opened wide and making a steady sound that is butchered by the whirring of the fan’s blades. Behind him, the door opens and shuts back, signalling that Lao Gao is back from refilling the electricity quota. The click-click tack-tack of keys and metal disturbs his peaceful symphony of fan-noises, but Lu Han is determined to break his 64-second record, choosing to ignore Lao Gao. That is, until:

“Half-fifty and still stupid, I see.”

And Lu Han chokes on the propelled dusts, coughing. That voice is far from Lao Gao’s. Huge hands come to Lu Han’s shoulder and back, further confirming the intruder’s identity.

“Fuck you,” Lu Han greets as Yifan laughs. Grumbling, he shoves Yifan until Mr. A-List Actor falls flat on his ass. “Where’d you get my keys?”

Yifan grins. Lu Han stands up.

“I’m calling the police.”

“No, you won’t,” Yifan dismisses, grabbing for Lu Han’s calves until Lu Han topples down to the wooden floor. Yifan is a sneaky bastard, so he exploits the chance to pin Lu Han down, tickling his sides until Lu Han curls up cackling, slapping his arms.

“Oh my god.” Lu Han shrieks between laughter. “Stop,” but he laughs again, being very unconvincing. “You big asshole.”

Eventually, merciful Wu Yifan stops. He climbs off Lu Han and leans back on his palms, laughing at the way Lu Han flushes beet red from the torture.

“You look like an EXO Next Door female protag,” Yifan comments, because of course Yifan has time to watch that show. Of course.

Lu Han sits up, grimacing. “Ugh. No thanks. Chanyeol’s not my type.”

“Really?”

Gosh, Lu Han really, really hates Yifan’s smug face. “Yeah. Tall awkward guys. Definitely not my type.”

There’s no more cheeky really? from Yifan, but he snorts and even after years of knowing Yifan, throws Lu Han off guard when he leans forward and kisses Lu Han’s jaw.

It’s a natural reaction for Lu Han to shove him aside. “Asshat,” he conjures up another insult for the day. Yifan just laughs. “Seriously though. Where did you get my keys?”

“Lao Gao, genius.” Yifan is still laughing. Lu Han is still tomato-sauce red. Yifan explains more, “Bumped into him in the elevator.”

“Why didn’t he just come with you?”

Yifan shrugs. “He asked me what I was doing. I said I wanted to spend time with you. Then he gave me the keys and just… didn’t get off the elevator?”

“Wow. I apologize that my childhood friend is a pervert.” Lu Han sighs. He stands safely now, pointing at the electric fan. “You scared the shit out of me, though. I nearly broke my record, man.”

The fact that Yifan promptly understands what he’s talking about suggests that their relationship has clearly overstepped the boundaries. “Um, sorry I interrupted your freaky fan rituals? I brought ice cream.” Yifan smiles sheepishly and lifts a plastic bag Lu Han’s just noticed like an offering.

“Is that a bribe, Wu Yifan? You’re cheap.” Moving up, Yifan follows him on the L-shaped couch, and Lu Han receives the bag to inspect further inside. There’s a heat-resistant bag to keep the ice cream from melting rapidly. Oh. Häagen-Dazs minicups. Half a dozen of them, too. All of them are vanilla, though. Figures, since it’s no secret that Lu Han always ends up devouring the vanilla ones anyway. “Okay. Häagen-Dazs. So you’re not that cheap. Still. What makes you think you can buy me out with sweets? Do I look like Sehun?”

Their thighs are touching on the couch. Even in June, Yifan wears awfully tight black pants and a hoodie over his button-down, which most likely has another layer of t-shirt/wifebeater underneath. Yifan takes a deep breath for his comeback: “First of all, you kind of do. And second of all, despite all the things that I bought Sehun—hey you’re right it’s a lot now that I think about it—none of them are done out of ill intentions.”

Lu Han crooks his eyebrows. “So you have ill intentions towards me, then?”

“You want me to have the same intentions towards Sehun as I do towards you?”

The nail hits, then, and Lu Han scrunches his face his disgust. “Okay. Ew. Ew, ew, ew.” He scoots away from Yifan instantly, backing up until his back meets the armrest, both of his legs on the couch and folded towards him as if he’s making a barrier between Yifan and him.

“Aw, you jealous?” Yifan laughs too much. He sets the plastic bag of Häagen-Dazs aside on the floor and hauls Lu Han across his lap by his legs. It hasn’t been too long since they last met but Yifan’s manhandling still gets him everytime.

Lu Han knees him on the stomach. When Yifan doubles up in pain, he reverses their position so that he can straddle him, reasserting his dominance. It seems like Lu Han’s got something to say, but whatever it was evaporates on his tongue the moment Yifan’s eyes meet his. Yifan blinks. His fingers toy with the fabric of Lu Han’s shorts coyly.

“You wanna do what Lao Gao thinks we’re doing?” finally Yifan asks, and Lu Han kisses his eyelid.

Yifan laughs breathily, kissing Lu Han back on the tip of his nose, until Lu Han decides, “Okay. No more of this bullshit,” and goes straight for Yifan’s lips. Soft, at first. They always go soft. It’s physically impossible to start out rough like those raunchy pornos when Wu Yifan is involved, no matter how keen Lu Han can be at times. He’s parting his lips slightly now, and Yifan gives in, too, letting Lu Han’s tongue slip into his mouth.

Soon, Yifan is reciprocating, surging forward with a hand behind Lu han’s neck to keep him still, and Lu Han hums contentedly. “Aren’t you hot?” he asks when the kiss breaks apart for a scant while. Yifan closes the distance immediately, chewing at Lu Han’s lips. Yifan tastes like expensive lip balm and Lu Han tastes like a full June day of not wearing any.

Lu Han tugs at Yifan’s hoodie, so Yifan makes that job easier by getting his hands off Lu Han for a second, stripping off the hoodie and slinging it on the back of the couch. He even helps unbutton his silly shirt that he’s done up to the collar, their lips still attached. Kisses get neater, Lu Han thinks. Once, once, it’s funny that Lu Han still remembers when, their kisses used to be way messier, their pace unsynchronized and Lu Han far too eager. Now he knows. Yifan knows. They know where to lick, when to graze teeth across lips, how to suck at each other’s tongues in a way that gets them both breathless.

Lu Han’s right. Yifan’s got a white wifebeater underneath the shirt. Lu Han pushes him back just to stare down at Yifan and roll his eyes.

“Take a fashion tip: wear a t-shirt.” Lu Han deadpans. Unlike Yifan, he doesn’t bother and just flicks the dress shirt aside, careless to how it will crease.

“What sort of advice is that? You’re better off not following it, Lu Han.” Yifan sits back as Lu Han laughs, pulling off his own washed-out t-shirt way back from his high school days.

The shirt’s off, and Lu Han’s about to continue where their make-out session was interfered, but Yifan holds him still, much to his consternation. That one’s cleared up when Yifan flips him over, though, pinning Lu Han to the couch as Yifan himself slides off, knees on the floor.

“I like your hair,” says Lu Han in a passing whilst he runs his fingers through Yifan’s hair. It’s a nice hairstyle, short and black and utterly boyish. Yifan spreads his palms on Lu Han’s thighs. (Lu Han likes to think he’s thickened, but God do they look like chopsticks again under Yifan’s hands.) He just smiles, fingertips tucking into the waistband of Lu Han’s basketball shorts. Lu Han lifts his hips slightly so that Yifan can drag them down and off.

“I like your thighs,” Yifan responds as if he can read Lu Han’s insecurities.

“Then we’ve gotten ourselves in a great arrangement, haven't we?” Lu Han cards his fingers through Yifan’s unbleached strands. Yifan places a brief kiss on the inside of Lu Han’s thigh, his hand palming Lu Han’s cock to full hardness.

When he does this, Yifan is attentive. He mouths at Lu Han’s stomach, his hipbones, hand massaging his thigh, his knees, his cock. Like every part of Lu Han deserves the attention. Yifan’s thumb slips inside Lu Han’s briefs, brushing his balls slightly and the sensitive, shaven skin.

Lu Han licks his lips. The tip of his cock is peaking out of the tight briefs, and Yifan kisses that, too.

“It’s not fair,” protests Lu Han while Yifan is peeling the last article of clothing on Lu Han’s skin. “I want to have black hair, too.”

Yifan is tidier, so he leaves the briefs over the back of the couch, too. He’s got Lu Han’s cock in a loose fist, pumping it to start him off. “You had black hair awhile ago.”

“Not as long as you did.”

“Stylist demands?” Yifan licks a stripe across the underside and Lu Han groans a bit, resting his nape on the cushions.

“They said, ah, I’d look younger with color. Like. I don’t get them. I’m a quarter a century and they want to like embalm me as jailbait, I can’t believe this nation.” That’s true, though. Yifan takes him into his mouth and the faint chuckle tickles a bit, making Lu Han buck up, his fingers tightening around the strands of Yifan’s soft, soft hair. There’s not much that Yifan can reply with a mouth full of cock. Not that Lu Han can find it in himself to be upset about that, though, especially not when Yifan is closing his lips and sucking him in like that.

Yifan’s mouth is familiar. Reminds Lu Han of how long they’ve been going at this, how warm and wet it is inside that small mouth. Yifan is good because he knows Lu Han so well, bobbing his head as he splays his hands across Lu Han’s (regrettably narrow) hips. Yifan doesn’t play around much, deepthroating him when he’s sure Lu Han is ready and then swallowing right after, drawing a set of whines from Lu Han.

But then Lu Han’s pushing him off, seizing Yifan’s wrist to drape the big guy over him. “Can you fuck me, today?” Lu Han asks and he’s so honest. Yifan stares at him dazedly, nodding. His mouth is still wet and Yifan wants to wipe the trail of saliva down a corner of his lips but Lu Han beats him to it with a gleeful kiss.

Lu Han pulls him forward by his belt (why is Yifan always so overdressed) until Yifan straddles him, both hands on the back of the couch on either side of Lu Han’s head. “Don’t have any condoms, though,” Lu Han adds unhelpfully.

“I brought a couple,” Yifan says. He digs them those two and a packet of lubricant out of his pocket and tosses them on the couch.

“Urgh, you’re so full of yourself.”

Yifan laughs. That’s what sex is mostly about with them, really. Laughs and laughs and laughs. Back in the dorms, nobody even noticed. They all thought Yifan and Lu Han joked a lot. Well, until Jongdae overheard Lu Han moaning fuck me fuck me until I can’t think anymore yes unabashedly at four a.m., and since then it became an Exo-M secret.

They also kiss a lot. Because Yifan is a sappy bastard. He’s licking into Lu Han’s mouth, only to inch away the next moment. “How do you want it, young master?”

“Don’t patronize me, dumbfuck,” complains Lu Han. “God, and I’m in the mood for a slow one, too.”

“Hm. A slow one, huh?”

“Yeah. Just… rest me on the couch and fuck me like I’m the royalty you said I was, won’t you?”

Right now, Yifan’s lips are so close to his earlobe. “Yeah, sure,” he says and the rumble of his laughter is so clear from there, too, that Lu Han just has to shiver, trembling as he unbuckles Yifan’s belt. That one comes off rather difficult, and Lu Han doesn’t get the chance to even lay his hand on Yifan’s zipper since Yifan’s already lifting him up and spreading him over the lounge part of the couch, leaving barely-there marks on the back of Lu Han’s ear down to his neck and collarbones.

Lu Han helps by spreading his legs, taking the lube packet and ripping it open while Yifan is busy marking him in reds and pinks, his thumbs swirling a circular motion on the back of Lu Han’s knees.

“You’re really pretty,” Yifan praises. “I can’t even… you’re really pretty, Lu Han.”

“Get that a lot,” Lu Han teases. Pretty. Lu Han’s grown. Knows that when Yifan says pretty it doesn’t mean you’re pretty like a girl and I’m glad you look like a girl in a discouraging, confused way. Knows that pretty doesn’t exclusively refer to a girl. Knows that even so, there’s nothing wrong with looking like a girl. That there’s nothing wrong with being so pretty and that is alright to be pretty boy and to want a big, hard cock deep inside of him.

Yifan’s, to be more specific.

Yifan trails his mouth dangerously close to Lu Han’s dick; Lu Han braces his hand on Yifan’s shoulder. “Don’t suck me off anymore,” he tells him. “I just want you. I want you inside me first.”

Lu Han takes his hand and places the ripped packet of lube on his palm, practically guiding him through it. Yifan looks up and his eyes are so shy. All these years and his eyes are still so fucking shy. It’s infuriating because Yifan is the shy one but Lu Han is the bashful one, cheeks easily tinting in red. A hitch of breath is all that Lu Han lets when he feels a slick finger slip into him, another prodding at his pucker, smearing cold lube. Yifan buries his head on the crook of Lu Han’s neck, breathing in his scent (dust, wood, and condensed milk, Lu Han bets). His lips nip at the skin gently, not to distract Lu Han. No, he doesn’t need any of those, they’ve been doing this for too long. It’s just Yifan. Yifan and his incessant need to please, Yifan and the way he’s eager to map every inch of Lu Han’s skin with his lips, feel it melt and thaw and bruise.

Lu Han tilts his neck, allowing Yifan. His hand reaches for Yifan’s elbow and another long finger fits into him, pressing in knuckle-deep. Yifan spreads them just so, curls them and feel the tight muscles flutter under the touch, how Lu Han responds to the intrusion in minute twitches. The last time they did this was April. And Lu Han only had two fingers as Yifan blew him; Yifan was the bottom that day. (They don’t really have a fixed top-bottom dynamics, as they realized is present in many same-sex couples they knew. They just go depending on their moods, and if they happen to clash, Lu Han is always a sucker for rock-paper-scissors.) Last time Lu Han bottomed was after Chinese New Year’s, when he’d gained an extra two pounds from New Year’s feast and too damn lazy to move, moaning Yifan’s name in wails to the pillow, loud enough for Yifan to warn him, your mother is right outside, Lu Han.

“I should go see your wax figure sometimes.” Lu Han gasps, because Yifan is opening him up for a third finger, stretching his rim way more than he ever can by himself. “I wanna see how they make your fingers.”

“Don’t worry. I personally ordered them extra large,” ensures Yifan. His teeth graze the bone on Lu Han’s shoulder, his other hand holding Lu Han’s thigh still on the couch (Lao Gao’s couch, just thinking about it is already too funny to Lu Han. Sorry Gao.)

“Yaoi hands,” Lu Han mumbles.

“Weaboo.”

Lu Han flinches. Their eyes meet and Lu Han makes sure Yifan watches the disgust spilling over Lu Han’s face. “I am offended that you know that word.”

Sap. Yifan thinks everything can be solved with a kiss. Lu Han is forgiving with tongues are involved, though. “I am offended that you’re still so eloquent with three fingers in.”

“Save the debauching for later.” Lu Han groans. His hand reaches down to push Yifan’s fingers deeper, hips grinding against them. Impossibly, they go even deeper and Lu Han exhales in relief.

“And later is?”

“When it’s actually my place and not my friend’s? Got any plans?” Yifan’s found his spot and Lu Han’s thighs move to close involuntarily.

“Haven’t fucked you into the mattress for awhile. How bout that? Ass up begging for my cock? If you let me do it raw I’ll rim you in the showers. Bath, if you don’t want to stand anymore.”

Shit. Later. Lu Han folds the idea way in the back of his head, he’s not letting Yifan’s plans ruin his. At the moment, Yifan keeps his thigh open with his weight, hearing Lu Han draw out a pleased moan when he nudges his fingers against that spot, kissing him with a parted mouth after the voice tunes out with Lu Han’s breath. “Wu Fan… Wu Fan, God, I want it now. You haven’t even taken your fucking pants off yet you jerk do you want me or not?”

Lu Han is whining and Yifan laughs to his mouth. But, he listens, because finally, he gets that ridiculous heat-absorbing pants off him, kicking them aside to join Lu Han’s sorry excuse of house clothes on the floor. “I want you. You don’t even know, god I want you.” Yifan’s voice is hot and heavy and everything Lu Han needs and that tearing sound better be the condom he’s ripping open. He tucks himself out of his briefs and Lu Han’s mouth waters because god is unfair and Yifan just needs to be big everywhere, especially his dick.

“Let me.” Lu Han grunts, pushing himself up to his elbows. “Let me put it on you.”

Again, Yifan laughs. (He always put lols in his chats and at this point Lu Han doesn’t think it’s because he’s awkward anymore it’s just because Yifan does laugh too fucking much.) “You just want an excuse to touch me, don’t you?” he teases, but hands Lu Han the condom anyways.

“Hush.” Lu Han shushes him. He gives Yifan a couple of tugs that the man completely does not need, before rolling down the latex on his dick. “I hate you.”

“You’re not so small, Lu Han.”

“Everybody is compared to you, jerkface.” God, he’s salivating because he kind of really wants to put Yifan in his mouth, but his ass is already desperate. They better have so much more laters. “Like, look at it. Look. It’s wider than a microphone. How many centimetres is this? Have you ever like measured it?” It’s silly, prattling on like that while he squeezes out the last of the lube to coat Yifan, so he lets Yifan laugh this time.

“With what? A ruler?”

“So sorry you missed middle school, man.”

“No, I haven’t measured it.” Yifan surrenders to the topic.

“Good. Don’t.” Lu Han pecks the tip of Yifan’s nose, heaving Yifan closer by his ass and bucking his own hips up. Like usual, Yifan keeps his briefs on. He has something against doing it completely naked, but Lu Han doesn’t mind though, as long as it doesn’t get in the way of their fucking. He lines Yifan to his entrance, pulling him into him like he wants it so bad. Yifan’s got both of his hands on Lu Han’s ass cheeks, kneading the firm flesh and lifting Lu Han up so that the angle meets just right. “Don’t want a, ugh, fucking numerical validation.”

Yifan pushes in, Lu Han’s muscles giving in as he slips deliciously through the ring of muscles. Lu Han’s hands make their way to hang onto Yifan’s arm, legs spreading wider. It’s been awhile. He nuzzles to Yifan’s neck, brushing his lips on the skin that’s quickly catching sweat.

“God, turn on the aircon, Beijing Gal,” Yifan says, sticking to the the Exo Next Door joke just as Lu Han makes the observation. Lu Han doesn’t listen to him, grunting in response to get Yifan’s absurdly huge cock to settle snug inside him. To feel this full is comforting, Lu Han thinks. He’s asked Yifan to take him slow, so he doesn’t demand him to move.

Sitting back on his toes, Yifan lugs Lu Han to his lap, reaching for a cushion to sweep under the small of Lu Han’s back. It’s more comfortable now, for the both of them, kinder on his spine when Yifan pulls back to thrust back in just as gently.

“Thank god you’re a sap,” remarks Lu Han. He’s holding Yifan’s head by that soft hair, again, kissing him tidily. “You’re the best at this, I swear.”

Yifan hums, chasing his tongue. His thrusts are shallow, languid, his thighs meeting Lu Han’s ass plush and sweet. Lu Han likes Yifan slow more than fast, sometimes, because Yifan’s size is too much to be wasted in a hurry. Like this, he can feel every inch, every slight move, how Yifan’s head rubs against his prostate modestly.

“It hurts me that you’re implying comparison.” Yifan pouts. Lu Han digs his thumbs to his scalp and bites the corner of his lips.

“You took too long to grow guts.”

“Don’t blame me that you had a rather adventurous pre-20.” Yifan shifts his angle just right and yes, that hits the spot flawlessly. Lu Han gets him to do all the work, lolling back placidly on the couch when Yifan decides for longer, fuller strokes. His eyes are set on Lu Han’s ass, his hole red and open for Yifan’s taking, and yeah, it’s good that Yifan finally blushes at this.

He circles his hips and Lu Han rewards him with a whimper, turning to a relaxed moan when Yifan holds him, pressing that prick into Lu Han’s tight heat, deep and patient. Lu Han can feel Yifan up to his stomach, to his chest.

“Fuck, your ass is perfect,” Yifan says. His hands roam, nails catching onto the outline of Lu Han’s ribs.

“Way to ruin the moment.” Lu Han turns his head aside, but Yifan follows, dragging open Lu Han’s mouth with his teeth, claiming his swollen lips. He does something with his hips, rubbing Lu Han’s prostate generously. “Ah, Wu Fan.”

“That way?” Yifan repeats the motion. His thumbs flick at Lu Han’s nipples, pinching the nub. Lu Han can feel him all over, his lips, hands, on Lu Han’s chest, on his belly, on the inside of Lu Han’s thighs, the side of Lu Han’s knees, his calves, his ankles. And Yifan’s cock. So full and wide inside him, churning him inside out, that’s the best part.

Yes.”

Lu Han grapples the couch for the condom wrapper, so Yifan lends him a hand. He holds it between Lu Han’s teeth and Lu Han tears it for him. Lu Han lies back, takes Yifan’s leisured strokes as Yifan rolls the condom down his cock. Because it’s Lao Gao’s couch and Lu Han hates to spill, hates to wipe himself, too, even. Too much work.

Yifan wraps his hand around Lu Han’s cock and Lu Han permits him two loose strokes before he grasps Yifan’s wrists and guides his hands to Lu Han’s face. “Make me come from just you. I want just you.” Yifan lets out a breath at that. His eyes are glazed through; he pries Lu Han’s lips apart with his, delving his tongue in to taste. Dust. Sun. Milk.

He gives more to his thrusts. They grow more intent, but aren’t too harsh, aren’t too fast. Just as Lu Han wants. Yifan rocks his hips like he wants to feel it, too, to savour every inch inside Lu Han, every bit of warmth, how tight Lu Han is, yet how easy he takes all of Yifan. Like he’s made for it. Made to be fucked by Yifan, just Yifan. Lu Han throws his arms around Yifan’s neck, moans out in a steady string. Until his voice blankets the room, trickles down Yifan’s spine, pulling him in deeper. More. More and more.

“You’re, ah, you’re too much…” Yifan laughs to his collarbone. Lu Han extends his arms, curls his fingers. His thighs are aching, splayed so wide and obscene to fit Yifan’s hot cock inside him, having it plunge inside him countless of times. “I’m close.”

“A bit more. Wu Fan,” Lu Han repeats his name. He locks his ankles and whimpers. Yifan sinks into him one more time, the crown of his dick pressing down onto Lu Han’s prostate and Lu Han lets go. The tension. The bottled up emotion of Wu Fan Wu Fan Wu Fan. He spills into the condom untouched, whining high and smooth.

Lu Han’s eyes are damp. His mouth makes the shape of Yifan’s name. Yifan takes him again. Again and again. Lu Han clings to him, bursting with pleasure. His walls are clamping around Yifan’s cock, and Yifan crushes their lips together, drowning his hungry moans as he comes inside, the sensation like voltages alit under his skin.

“Aircon,” is the first thing Lu Han says after they ride out their high. Yifan chuckles in relief to his cheek, hands cleanly peeling the condom off Lu Han’s limp dick. Lu Han blinks out the lasts of his daze and snatches it from Yifan’s hand before Yifan makes a mess. He ties that and dumps it above his ugly t-shirt on the floor.

Yifan pulls out, sticky from the lube, and Lu Han mewls. He straightens and shifts his legs. He’s sweaty, but is he sweaty enough for a shower? Lu Han ponders. Yifan kisses his chin and hands him the other dirty condom.

“Help me out?” Yifan pleas with a boyish grin.

God, why is Lu Han so easy. “You’re hopeless,” he protests, knotting close Yifan’s condom with skill that Yifan obviously lacks. “Aircon,” Lu Han demands.

Yifan only rolls off of him, gathering Lu Han’s smaller frame in his gigantic one for a cuddle. “‘M tired. Did all the work.”

Cue the banter, Lu Han elbows his chest to no avail. “Topping isn’t as tiring.”

“Who says.”

“Says someone who’s been fucked by your cock.” Lu Han shoves him away. “Jeez, you hurt so bad, jerk. Ripped me open.”

“If that’s ripping you open how about my plan?”

“I’m such a pathetic masochist, aren’t I?” Lu Han sighs dramatically, kicking Yifan aside. “Get off me, you’re a furnace. Turn on the aircon. Clean this shit up, too, will you?”

Yifan huffs; he stands up anyway. “You owe me.”

“I love you.”

“Material things, Lu Han,” Yifan suggests. He powers on the aircon, and cleans up methodically. Throwing the condoms to the bin, first. Then picks up all the stuff on the floor. Throws Lu Han’s sweat-soaked clothes into the hamper. He even washes his hands and wipes them with the tissue that he piles to cover the condoms in the bin. Puts on his pants and wifebeater. Being the caring one, he brings more tissues to wipe Lu Han down. The breeze from the aircon is pleasant, has Lu Han curling up to him when Yifan comes to gather him.

“Thanks,” says Lu Han after Yifan helps dress him in clean clothes (‘from the usual place’, informs Lu Han). “I’ll get you anything. All the vanilla cups you want 'cos you’re a boring person who only consumes the most basic of flavors.”

Yifan spoons him on the couch. His feet hang off the edge because he’s too tall but Lu Han feels too good to let go. “Want some ice cream,” mumbles Lu Han.

“Oh. They’re in the freezer.”

“Why?” demands Lu Han petulantly.

“Waited for us too long.” Yifan laughs. It’s the subtlest of implications, but Lu Han blushes anyway.





Tags: f: exo, p: kris/luhan, r: nc-17, shortfic
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