“…you’ll have to protect me, won’t you?” Chanyeol is too close. Baekhyun’s hips cant upwards, almost of their own accord. He freezes as they brush against Chanyeol’s, the press of jeans rough against his groin, “Baekhyun,” Chanyeol murmurs. “Stop.”
But—and this is unbelievable, frankly absurd, Chanyeol is hard. Baekhyun feels it through his pants, hot and bulging against his hip, Chanyeol’s eyes squeezed shut, cheeks flushing. So Baekhyun does it again, canting awkwardly, dragging his body deliberately along Chanyeol’s.
Chanyeol pulls away. “We should get to work.”
Baekhyun feels the electricity budding in his body surge. He leans up and kisses Chanyeol, mouth still thick and heavy from the morning’s drink of ambrosia. “Fuck me,” he whispers, panicking slightly. “Please, Chanyeol.”