If Walls Could Talk
So you know how Yunho and Donghae are cute? And Hyukjae and Junsu are cute? And Donghae and Hyukjae are cute? Yeah? Well, it turns out that cute + cute + cute = nasty!smut. ...I don't know either; apparently, that's just what I do now.

If Walls Could talk
pairings: Yunho/Donghae, Hyukjae/Junsu, implied Donghae/Hyukjae

"Fuck," Yunho hisses, and he is in, all the way in. Donghae feels his mouth open in an unvoiced moan, feels Yunho's hands run soothingly over his back before coming to rest on his hips. Then the grip tightens and the strokes start, long and smooth, and Donghae's knees almost buckle. It has been so long. He arches his back and lays his forehead against the cool wall in between his hands, gritting his teeth against the heady shock of each thrust.

When the pace becomes quicker and the strokes rougher and one of Yunho's hands reaches up to grab his shoulder and pull him back, the words burst out of Donghae's mouth unbidden, quiet and rough and obscene.

"Shit. Just...yeah, oh fuck—"

And then the hand on his shoulder has snaked around his neck and tilted his head around and the words are lost in Yunho's mouth, shattered by the counterpoint of hips and tongue. It is an awkward position, but Donghae will hold it. He will not lose Yunho's fingers splayed lightly across his Adam's apple, Yunho's lips sliding against his, Yunho's cock sinking deep enough to make him growl.

They both freeze, though, when they hear the muffled thuds, one after the other, against the wall Donghae had been leaning against.

"What was that?" Yunho breathes against his cheek.

"Nothing, it was nothing," Donghae whispers quickly. "Now come on—"

"You're sure no one's home?"

Donghae twists further so that he can see into Yunho's eyes. "I'm sure," he says. His voice is like molten steel. "Now fuck me." When Yunho licks his lip nervously, Donghae snarls. "I said, fuck me." He slams his hands against the wall, one after the other, to punctuate the words, then gasps when Yunho thrusts into him again, hard.

***

"Is this how you fuck him?" Junsu pants, breath hot in Hyukjae's ear, arms tight around his neck. Hyukjae is holding him up against the wall, grasping his thighs in his hands and pushing into him in short, sharp thrusts.

Hyukjae doesn't answer at first; instead, he smiles and runs his tongue lightly up Junsu's jawline, takes Junsu's earlobe between his lips and flicks his tongue over it. Then, in a single fluid motion, he pins Junsu up against the wall with his body and slams Junsu's arms against the wall above his head, one after another. Junsu's legs struggle to hang on around his waist and Hyukjae lets one hand drop down to cup Junsu's ass and starts thrusting again. He pushes their foreheads together, feels their sweat commingle.

When Junsu's eyes are wide and his breath is fitful against Hyukjae's lips, Hyukjae gives him the answer.

"No," he says, smiling. "This is how he fucks me," and Junsu shudders and comes, hard enough that Hyukjae is sure he misses the two muffled thuds against the wall behind his head.

They are not meant for him, anyway.