Chapter Text
Moving to Los Angeles had sounded exciting in theory. In reality, it took less than a week for Sehun and Jongin to discover that finding affordable housing near UCLA was a nightmare.
Sharing a two bedroom apartment in Westwood hadn’t been part of the plan, but neither of them had enough money to be picky. The apartment sat on the third floor of an aging brick building, small but comfortable enough for two college students trying to survive in one of the most expensive cities in the country.
The contrast between their rooms was almost comical. Sehun’s room was neat and organized, with communication textbooks lined up on shelves, expensive headphones resting on his desk, and barely a thing out of place. Jongin’s room looked like a storm had passed through it. Oversized hoodies hung from chairs, dance sneakers were scattered across the floor, and the faint scent of peach scented body wash always seemed to drift out whenever his door was open.
They had been inseparable since kindergarten. They had shared lunchboxes, survived the brutal Korean education system together, and eventually found themselves navigating culture shock side by side after moving to the United States. For as long as Sehun could remember, he had been the responsible one. Jongin, meanwhile, somehow managed to lose important things, forget deadlines, and fall asleep anywhere if left unattended for more than five minutes.
Three months ago, however, their friendship had become a lot more complicated.
It had happened on a miserable Tuesday night halfway through winter quarter, with rain tapping relentlessly against the apartment windows. Jongin’s heat cycle arrived a full week earlier than expected, catching him completely off guard while Sehun was in the kitchen preparing meals for the week.
The shift was impossible to miss. The familiar scent of peach and honey that usually lingered faintly around Jongin had suddenly grown stronger, filling the apartment with an unmistakable sense of distress. By the time Sehun rushed to check on him, he found Jongin curled up tightly on his bed, wrapped in a makeshift nest built from clothes he had shamelessly stolen from Sehun’s laundry basket.
He was trembling from head to toe, cheeks damp with tears, looking utterly miserable. Seeing his lifelong best friend in that state had wiped every other thought from Sehun’s mind. But when Jongin had reached out through the haze of his fever, clawing at Sehun’s shirt with tear stained cheeks, begging for his childhood best friend to just make it stop, Sehun’s alpha wiring had snapped.
That night was a blur of raw, unbridled friction. There was no slow burning romance, just the desperate needy sounds of a slick drenched omega taking his alpha best friend’s length on the mattress for three straight days, anchoring themselves to each other until the fever finally broke.
Neither of them had intended for things to change. Yet when everything was over and the haze finally lifted, there was no dramatic argument, no panicked attempt to pretend it had never happened, and certainly no emotional confession worthy of a romance movie. They knew each other too well for any of that.
Instead, they found themselves sitting at the kitchen island the next morning, sharing a stale box of Pop-Tarts and discussing the situation with surprising practicality.
The conclusion they reached was simple.
Friends with benefits. No romance. No possessive scent marking. No jealousy at college parties. Just two best friends getting off behind closed doors because the American college experience was stressful enough on its own.
“Dude, if you don’t pass the ball right now, I’m going to throw this entire console out the window,” Jongin grumbled, his thumbs flying across his PlayStation controller with aggressive speed.
It was a late Friday night, and the living room was illuminated only by the harsh, flashing blue glow of the television screen running FIFA. Jongin was sitting crosslegged on the shaggy gray carpet, his back resting heavily against Sehun’s shins. Sehun was slouched back on the sofa, his long legs stretched out on either side of Jongin, his own controller held loosely in his large hands.
Jongin was wearing a thoroughly washed-out, thin white graphic t-shirt—another one of Sehun’s discarded shirts that he had claimed as lounge-wear—and a pair of loose gray sweatpants. His sun-kissed neck was completely exposed, showing the smooth, unmarred skin where a mated collar should be.
“Calm down, dude. Your positioning is terrible,” Sehun muttered in his signature, monotone drawl, though a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. He deliberately executed a fakeout on the screen, steering his digital avatar away from Jongin’s character.
“Oh Sehun, you absolute piece of shit!” Jongin groaned, throwing his head back in frustration. The back of his skull thudded right against Sehun’s hard kneecap, causing the alpha to let out a low huff of amusement. “I’ve been practicing in the dance studio for six hours straight today. My thighs are literally trembling, my coordination is shot, and you’re out here playing like a toxic cyberbully.”
“If your thighs are trembling, you shouldn’t be playing video games. You should be in bed,” Sehun remarked, his dark eyes tearing away from the television screen for a split second to look down at the crown of Jongin’s messy brown hair.
From this angle, Sehun’s sharp alpha senses could pick up the shift in the room’s atmosphere. Jongin was warm—unusually warm even for someone who had been exercising earlier. The scent of peach and honey, usually subtle and clean when Jongin was on his regular suppressants, was beginning to take on a heavier, almost syrup-like density. It wasn’t the sharp electric pull of a heat cycle, but it was thick enough to make the air inside the apartment feel distinctly hazy.
“I don’t want to go to sleep yet. Scenting your stupid laundry isn’t working today,” Jongin muttered, his voice dropping into a softer, slightly whiny cadence that he only ever used when they were completely alone. He shifted his weight, his lower back rubbing against Sehun’s shins in an unconscious gesture of seeking physical comfort.
Sehun’s jaw tightened slightly. The loose collar of the thin white shirt had slipped slightly over Jongin’s shoulder, revealing the smooth, tan curve of his collarbone. But it wasn’t the skin that caught Sehun’s attention. It was the way the thin cotton fabric was clinging to Jongin’s chest.
Ever since they had started their fwb arrangement three months ago, Sehun had noticed a peculiar, subtle transformation in his best friend’s anatomy. While Jongin had always been lean and muscular from years of rigorous contemporary dance, his omega traits seemed to be maturing at an accelerated rate now that he was being regularly exposed to Sehun’s dominant alpha pheromones. His waist felt slightly wider when Sehun gripped it from behind, his skin was softer to the touch, and his chest...
There was a distinct, supple curve developing right beneath the cotton of his shirt. A pair of small soft mounds that definitely hadn’t been there when they were teenagers playing soccer in Seoul.
“Jongin,” Sehun called out, his voice dropping an octave, losing its playful edge and replacing it with a low raspy vibrato.
“Hmm?” Jongin didn’t look back, his eyes still glued to the screen as he tried to score a pity goal. “What? If you’re going to tell me to do the dishes, it’s your turn this week—”
“Drop the controller.”
The command wasn’t laced with alpha authority—Sehun never used his voice to force compliance on his friend—but the sheer heavy gravity in his tone made Jongin’s fingers freeze. Jongin slowly lowered the plastic controller to the carpet, his breathing stuttering for a fraction of a second as the thick woodsy scent of Sehun’s cedar pheromones suddenly flared in the space between them.
Jongin turned his torso around, his large, expressive eyes looking up at Sehun with a mixture of confusion and a deeply buried, instinctual submission. “What is it? Are you getting weird again?”
Sehun didn’t answer with words. He tossed his own controller onto the sofa cushion, reached down, hooked his hands beneath Jongin’s armpits, and pulled the dancer straight onto his lap.
“Whoa!” Jongin gasped, his hands instinctively catching Sehun’s shoulders to steady himself. Sitting spread-eagle over Sehun’s thighs, his entire frame went soft the moment their chests pressed together. His sweatpants dragging against the rough denim of Sehun’s jeans.
Being an omega of high athletic caliber, Jongin’s first instinct should have been to wrestle his way out of the grip, but the moment his chest came into direct contact with Sehun’s solid chest, his entire frame went soft.
“You’re radiating heat like a broken radiator,” Sehun murmured, his large palms sliding down from Jongin’s armpits to settle heavily on his hips, squeezing the soft flesh through the sweatpants. “And your scent is turning into literal candy. Are you sure your suppressants aren’t expiring?”
“They’re fine,” Jongin breathed out, his eyelids already growing slightly heavy as he inhaled the comforting, intoxicating scent of cedar right from Sehun’s collarbone. He leaned forward, burying his face into the crook of Sehun’s neck, his nose nuzzling against the hot pulse point there. “I checked the bottle. The campus pharmacy gave me the regular dosage. I think... I think I’m just tired. My body feels heavy.”
“Your body feels heavy because you don’t know how to rest,” Sehun growled softly, though his hands were doing the exact opposite of helping Jongin rest. His long calloused fingers began to slide up from Jongin’s hips, slipping beneath the hem of the thin white t-shirt, making direct contact with the bare burning skin of his waist.
Jongin let out a low, shivering sigh at the touch. Sehun’s hands were always cool, a perfect contrast to the restless, simmering heat that always seemed to pool in Jongin’s lower abdomen whenever they were within arm’s reach of each other.
“Sehun...” Jongin whispered, his lips brushing against the alpha’s skin as he spoke. “We said only two times a week for the benefits part. We already did it on Wednesday.”
“The contract has an emergency clause for roommate exhaustion,” Sehun countered smoothly, his deadpan humor completely intact even as his heart began to hammer heavily against his ribs. His hands slid further up Jongin’s ribcage, his palms mapping the smooth flawless architecture of his friend’s torso.
But as his hands reached the upper chest, Sehun’s fingers paused.
The sudden weight in Sehun’s hands caught him completely off guard. Jongin’s chest was swollen and tight, pressing hard against his palms. The second Sehun’s thumbs brushed the centers, a breathless, high-pitched gasp ripped out of Jongin’s throat, his spine arching as he instinctively tried to pull away from the overwhelming touch.
“Ah! Wait—stop, don’t touch there! It hurts!” Jongin hissed, his eyes flying open, bright and watery with a sudden spike of physical discomfort.
Sehun’s alpha instincts flared at the sound of pain, his grip instantly softening but not releasing. He looked down at Jongin’s chest, his brow furrowing in genuine concern. “What do you mean it hurts? Did you strain a pectoral muscle during dance practice?”
“No, it’s not a muscle strain,” Jongin whimpered, his face flushing a deep, furious shade of pink that extended all the way down his neck. He tried to pull his shirt down, his arms suddenly looking very defensive over his chest. “It’s been like this since this morning. They feel... tight. Like they’re being squeezed from the inside. Even the friction of the shirt moving against them is driving me crazy.”
Sehun stared at him, his analytical mind trying to process the information. He reached out, his thumb and forefinger gently catching the edge of Jongin’s loose collar, pulling the white cotton away from his chest to get a clear look under the dim blue light of the television.
What he saw made the alpha’s breath completely lock in his throat.
Jongin’s chest wasn’t flat. The pair of soft curves were visibly swollen, the skin looking tight and flushed with a delicate pink hue. But the most striking detail was the areolas—they were slightly darker than usual, puffy, and the twin peaks were standing completely rigid, glistening with a faint, strange moisture that was beginning to seep into the inner fibers of the white cotton shirt.
“Jongin...” Sehun’s voice was barely a whisper, completely stripped of its usual deadpan sarcasm. “What the hell is this?”
“I don’t know!” Jongin cried out softly, hiding his face in Sehun’s shoulder once more out of pure, completely mortification. “It’s just sensitive! Don’t look at it, it’s embarrassing!”
Sehun didn’t listen. His hand moved back to the bare skin of Jongin’s ribcage, his large palm slowly cautiously sliding upward until he fully compressed the soft mound of Jongin’s left tit. He gave it a gentle exploratory squeeze, just a soft experimental pressure to check for any abnormal lumps.
“Sehun... stop—ah!” Jongin screamed softly, his hips hitching forward on Sehun’s lap as a sudden intense wave of relief and pleasure shot through his chest from the pressure.
But as Sehun squeezed, a peculiar patch of darkness began to bloom rapidly on the outside of the white t-shirt. Right over the peak of Jongin’s left tit, the cotton was turning transparent, soaked through by a warm, thick liquid that was rapidly escaping from the rigid nipples.
Sehun froze, his eyes widening to the size of saucers. He pulled his hand back, staring at his palm, then back at Jongin’s shirt.
The liquid wasn’t clear like sweat, nor was it sticky like slick. It was a rich opaque white dripping slowly from the peak of Jongin’s chest, tracing a thin, creamy line down the honey skin of his stomach. The sudden, overwhelming aroma of warm sweet milk—like fresh vanilla cream mixed with peach and honey—instantly exploded into the air of the living room completely drowning out the scent of cedar.
For three long seconds, the only sound in the room was the ambient crowd noise buzzing from the FIFA game on the television.
“Oh Sehun,” Jongin whispered, his voice trembling as he looked down at his own soaked shirt, his eyes wide with absolute horror. “Tell me I did not just leak juice from my chest.”
Sehun, the communications major who was supposed to have an answer for every conversational scenario, could only stare at his best friend’s chest like a complete idiot. He slowly extended his forefinger, dabbing it right into the warm white puddle on Jongin’s shirt, and brought it to his lips.
He tasted it. It was warm, thick, and unbelievably sweet—tasting distinctly of rich cream, natural sugars, and the undeniable raw essence of Jongin’s omega biology.
Sehun swallowed, his throat clicking in the silence. He looked up, his dark alpha eyes flashing with a sudden primitive and thoroughly unhinged hunger.
“Jongin,” Sehun said, his voice entirely flat but vibrating with a terrifying intensity. “That’s not juice. You’re lactating.”
“I’m what?”
Jongin’s voice hit a pitch that Sehun hadn’t heard since they were twelve and Jongin accidentally dropped his ice cream cone into a storm drain. The omega scrambled backward on Sehun’s lap, his hands flying to his chest as if he could physically block the white fluid that was currently soaking through the graphic on his t-shirt.
“Lactating,” Sehun repeated. He looked down at his own index finger, which still carried a faint glistening sheen of white, then back up at his best friend. “As in, milk. You are producing actual milk, Jongin. And before you ask, no, I didn’t secretly get you pregnant during our last ‘roommate emergency’ session. I know exactly where I finish, and your birth control is digital.”
“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” Jongin chanted, his face burning so hot Sehun could practically feel the heat radiating off him from a foot away. He stared down at his chest, where the white shirt was now completely translucent over his left tit, sticking to the swollen, puffy shape of his areola. “This is a glitch. My body is having a technical error. Sehun, do something! Call a doctor—no, don’t call a doctor! What if they put me in a lab? What if they think I’m a medical anomaly?”
“Hey, calm down,” Sehun said, though his own heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. The sweet, warm aroma of vanilla cream and peach was getting thicker by the second, filling the small living room until the air felt heavy, almost intoxicating to his alpha senses. “First of all, nobody is putting you in a lab. Second of all, look at it. It’s not stopping.”
As if on cue, a heavy droplet of warm milk escaped the fabric of Jongin’s shirt, falling straight onto the bare thigh of his gray sweatpants.
Jongin let out a small, pathetic whine, his shoulders slumping. “It feels so heavy. It’s tight. Like... like someone stuffed a pair of water balloons under my skin. It hurts to even breathe deeply.”
Seeing the discomfort on Jongin’s face immediately pushed Sehun’s shock aside. He had spent most of his life looking after Jongin in one way or another, and old habits were hard to break.
With a quiet sigh, he reached out and gently took hold of Jongin’s wrists, guiding his hands away before he could make himself any more uncomfortable.
“Hey, look at me. Don’t press on them like that, you’ll just make it leak faster,” Sehun murmured, his voice softening into that low grounding rumble that always managed to anchor Jongin during his worst anxieties. “Take off the shirt. Let me see what we’re dealing with.”
Jongin bit his lower lip, his eyes flickering away for a moment. Embarrassment burned across his face, made worse by the fact that he still had no idea what was happening to him.
Still, there was little point in being shy around Sehun. They had known each other for most of their lives, and privacy had long since become a flexible concept between them.
After a brief hesitation, Jongin hooked his fingers under the hem of his damp shirt and pulled it over his head. The discarded fabric landed on the floor beside their forgotten PlayStation controllers, neither of them paying it much attention anymore.
Sehun’s breath caught in his throat.
Without the barrier of the fabric, Jongin’s chest was fully exposed under the dim flickering blue light of the television. The change in his anatomy was undeniable. The soft supple tits were noticeably fuller, rounder, and heavy with fluid, bouncing slightly with every shallow breath Jongin took. The skin was pale and stretched tight, with delicate blue veins faintly visible beneath the surface, tracing lines toward the enlarged puffy areolas.
Right at the peak of his left tit, a tiny, pearlescent bead of milk was forming, glistening like a jewel before it slowly trickled down the smooth tan slope of his pectoral.
“Fuck, Jongin...” Sehun muttered, his jaw tightening. His alpha pheromones flared instinctively—thick and heavy cedar wood rushing out to wrap around the trembling omega, trying to soothe his anxiety.
“Don’t stare at me like I’m a freak,” Jongin whispered, his gaze locked onto Sehun’s shoulder, his cheeks a permanent shade of red.
“I don’t think you’re a freak,” Sehun said honestly. He shifted his position on the sofa, pulling Jongin back into the space between his thighs. “I think you’re an idiot who probably forgot to read the fine print on his omega health manual. But right now, we need to get that pressure out before you get a fever.”
Jongin blinked, looking up. “Get the pressure out? How? I don’t have a pump, Sehun! I don’t even have a baby!”
“We don’t need a pump,” Sehun said, a dark primal glint suddenly flashing in his eyes. He leaned forward, his hands sliding up to cup the sides of Jongin’s ribs, his thumbs resting just beneath the swollen curves of his chest. “We have an alpha. And according to basic biology, I’m highly qualified to help you empty these.”
Jongin’s heart did a violent flip against his ribs. “Wait, you mean you’re going to—ah!”
Before Jongin could finish his sentence, Sehun’s large warm hands moved, fully palming the heavy tits. He applied a gentle, steady upward pressure, lifting the weight of the tits. The relief was so immediate, so intensely sharp, that a loud, embarrassing gasp tore out of Jongin’s throat, his spine arching instinctively toward the touch.
“Better?” Sehun asked, his thumbs slowly wiping away the stray milk that had trickled down Jongin’s skin.
“Ngh... yes,” Jongin whimpered, his fingers clawing into the denim of Sehun’s jeans for support. “But it... it feels hot. Inside.”
“Then let’s fix it.”
Sehun didn’t hesitate. He leaned down, his shadow falling over Jongin’s torso as he brought his lips directly to the engorged peak of Jongin’s left tit. He opened his mouth wide, capturing the entire puffy areola and sealing his lips around it.
“Oh!” Jongin shivered, his hands flying to Sehun’s short blonde hair, his knuckles turning white as he held on for dear life.
Sehun began to suck. He used a slow, deep, rhythmic suction, mimicking the natural instinct of a newborn but with the structural power of an adult alpha. Almost instantly, the tight, painful blockage inside Jongin’s tits seemed to break. A thick steady stream of sweet warm milk flooded directly into Sehun’s mouth, rich and heavy with the pure, concentrated taste of Jongin’s essence.
“S-Sehun! Ah!”
Jongin’s head snapped back against the sofa cushion, his eyes rolling back as a wild, electric heat shot straight from his nipple down to his lower abdomen. It wasn’t just physical relief from the pressure—it was a heavy, intoxicating rush of pure lust. Having Sehun’s mouth actively sucking him dry instantly short-circuited his lower body, his lap growing heavy as a thick wave of hot slick began to soak through his sweatpants.
Sehun swallowed the mouthful of sweet milk, his throat clicking loudly in the quiet room, before immediately latching back on. He used his hands to gently massage the outer edges of the breast, working out the hardness, pushing the rich fluid toward his own waiting mouth. He swallowed again, and then again, completely unbothered by the absurdity of the situation, entirely consumed by the intoxicating taste of his best friend.
“Sehun... f-fuck, it’s too much,” Jongin mumbled, his hips twitching restlessly against Sehun’s lap. “It feels too good, stop... no, don’t stop, keep doing it, please...”
After a few more deep dragging pulls, the left breast finally began to soften, the angry redness fading into a flushed relaxed pink. Sehun reluctantly pulled his mouth away, a thin milky thread stretching from his lower lip to Jongin’s glistening swollen nipple.
Sehun wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes completely dark, his pupils blown wide with arousal. “The other side is still hard. Lean back.”
Jongin couldn’t even argue. His brain had been completely turned to mush by the intense nipple play. He slumped back against the sofa armrest, his legs tangling with Sehun as the alpha shifted his attention to the right tit.
The second Sehun’s mouth closed around the right nipple, Jongin let out a broken sob. His hands roamed blindly across Sehun’s broad shoulders, pulling him closer, anchoring himself against the intense waves of pleasure rolling through his body. Sehun worked with total dedication, his tongue swirling around the base of the rigid peak before sucking deeply, draining the second reservoir with a slow, heavy rhythm that had Jongin whimpering like a lost puppy.
By the time Sehun finally pulled away, both of Jongin’s tits were soft, supple, and completely drenched in a mixture of saliva and sweet milk. Jongin was gasping for air, his chest heaving, his entire body trembling from the sensory overload.
“There,” Sehun breathed out, his voice incredibly rough and deep. He looked down at Jongin, his hands still resting on the dancer’s narrow waist. “The swelling is down. Do they still hurt?”
Jongin shook his head weakly, his eyes half-closed. “No... they don’t hurt anymore. But... but now somewhere else hurts.”
Sehun smirked, a low, rumbling sound vibrating in his chest. He looked down. Through the thin gray fabric of Jongin’s sweatpants, a very prominent, hard cock was pressing outward, and the sweet, unmistakable scent of omega slick was beginning to bleed through the cotton, mixing with the heavy aroma of vanilla milk.
“Well,” Sehun murmured, his fingers slipping beneath the waistband of Jongin’s sweatpants, finding the skin of his hips completely burning to the touch. “We can’t leave a roommate in a state of emergency. That’s against the contract.”
“Screw the contract," Jongin gasped, reaching down to grab the front of Sehun’s shirt, pulling the alpha down until their lips were barely an inch apart. “Sehun... I’m so hot. Touch me. Please.”
Sehun didn’t need to be told twice. He hooked his hands under Jongin’s knees and pulled him off the sofa, sliding down until they were both on the thick, shaggy gray carpet of the living room floor. He stripped Jongin’s sweatpants and underwear off in one fluid motion, exposing his long toned dancer’s legs to the cool air of the room.
Jongin was already completely prepared, his length dripping with clear fluid, and his thighs were glistening from the sheer volume of slick his body was producing in response to the lactation.
They hadn’t brought any lube out to the living room, and despite his hunger, he refused to hurt his friend. Instead, Sehun quickly unbuttoned his own jeans, releasing his thick, fully hardened length into the open air.
He grabbed both of Jongin’s thighs, lifting them up and pressing them tightly together. He aligned his own wet length right in the middle, sandwiching himself between the smooth muscular friction of Jongin’s inner thighs.
“Ah!” Jongin cried out, his hands slamming into the carpet above his head as Sehun slammed his hips forward, sliding his length smoothly through the tight slick drenched valley of Jongin’s thighs.
The friction was unbelievable. Because Jongin’s legs were so toned from years of dance, the grip around Sehun’s cock was incredibly snug, mimicking the tight warmth of a real penetration. Every time Sehun thrust forward, the tip of his cock rubbed directly against the base of Jongin’s stomach, smearing the excess omega slick and stray droplets of milk across their skin.
“Sehun... oh god, Sehun, faster,” Jongin begged, his head tossing from side to side on the carpet. He lifted his hips, trying to meet Sehun’s heavy rhythmic thrusts, his own cock rubbing against Sehun’s hard abs with every movement.
The sound of their skin smacking together echoed loudly in the dark living room, competing with the background noise of the television. Sehun was relentless, his broad shoulders shifting as he drove his hips forward in a fast brutal rhythm. His hands moved back up to Jongin’s chest, his fingers ruthlessly pinching and twirling the sensitive, milk drenched nipples to keep Jongin right on the edge of delirium.
“Don’t touch—ah! It makes me want to... it makes me feel like I’m going to burst again!” Jongin screamed, his toes curling as Sehun gave his left breast a sharp squeeze.
A tiny, sudden squirt of white milk sprayed out from the nipple, landing directly on Sehun’s cheek.
Instead of slowing down, the sight of Jongin lactating under his touch drove Sehun completely over the edge. His alpha instincts went entirely feral. He leaned down, his teeth lightly grazing the skin of Jongin’s neck—not hard enough to leave a permanent mate mark, but hard enough to claim him for the night.
“You’re so loud,” Sehun growled, his hips moving in a blind, frantic blur, friction generating an intense burning heat between their bodies. “Look at you. Covered in your own milk and dripping slick all over the rug. Who’s the freak now?”
“I am... ah! I am, just make me cum, Sehun, please!”
Jongin’s thighs tightened convulsively around Sehun’s cock, the friction hitting a breaking point. With a loud, shattered cry, Jongin’s body went completely rigid. His cock twitched, spurting a thick load of white release all over his own stomach and Sehun’s chest. At the exact same moment, his tits gave one final, sympathetic contraction, sending a twin spray of warm vanilla milk across his caramel skin.
Jongin’s damp skin was gripping his cock way too tight. Sehun didn’t even have the breath to make a sound. He just shuddered, driving his weight forward one last time before spilling completely between Jongin’s locked thighs. The sudden, wet rush of it glued their skin together, leaving them both completely drained on the floor.
The living room fell into a dead, heavy silence, broken only by the sound of their ragged breaths.
Sehun collapsed forward, burying his face in the crook of Jongin’s neck, his chest rising and falling rapidly against Jongin’s wet torso. Jongin’s legs slowly unclasped from Sehun’s waist, falling limply onto the carpet, completely spent.
For a long time, neither of them moved. The flashing blue light of the television illuminated the chaotic scene. Discarded controllers, a soaked white shirt, and two best friends with benefits covered from head to toe in sweat, cum, and fresh breastmilk.
Finally, Jongin let out a weak raspy laugh, his fingers lazily stroking the back of Sehun’s neck.
“Hey, Sehun?”
“Yeah?” Sehun muttered into his skin.
“We are definitely going to need a new rug.”
Sehun huffed, a faint smile brushing against Jongin’s neck as he finally lifted his head. “I’ll put it on our shared Walmart list for tomorrow. Right next to the sports bras.”