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It’s Jisung’s first time meeting Minho, but he wants him like he’s known him all his life.
Chan is between them, and the rest of their mutual friends are all around, packed into the finished basement of Changbin’s stuffy, suburban house. Under the fog of smoke in the dark and the heavy bass pouring from the speakers, he feels good. But he thinks Minho could make him feel even better.
He takes a long drag from the joint between his fingers and offers it to Chan, letting the smoke sit in his lungs until it burns and then pushing it out through his nose. Chan raises his hand passively, already easily the most faded of all of them with how his head is lolling against the back of the couch and he won’t open his eyes. Jisung looks past him and finds Minho already looking at him, eyelids heavy and a lazy smirk on his mouth. It’s been there all night.
Jisung reaches over Chan to pass it to Minho who, instead of taking it from him, leans forward with parted lips so that Jisung can put the joint in his mouth for him. They hold eye contact while Minho breathes it in, and Jisung licks his chapped lips like an invitation. He falls back so he can smoke the last of it before he stamps it out in the ash tray on the side table.
The sound of the basement door swinging open startles Jisung into nearly dropping the baggie as he starts rolling another, everyone’s heads turning to see an inebriated Seungmin at the top of the stairs. “Sunwoo and Hyunjae are fighting again,” he slurs. A crash of something from upstairs, something made of glass and a few million won, makes Changbin hop to his feet. “Felix is crying.”
The room empties in a matter of moments, pack of nosy stoners following a pissed off Changbin upstairs so they can see the fight. Jisung thinks he wants to see it, too, but Minho isn’t getting up. So he’s not, either.
There’s a few people still around, occupied in corners of the room on their phones or wrapped up in each other. Someone’s asleep. Jisung doesn’t mind. He glances over at Minho and mirrors his tempting little grin, letting a giggle slip under his attention.
“What?” Minho smiles wider now, enough to show his teeth and gums.
“What yourself,” Jisung says, going back to the rolling paper in front of him. “You’ve been looking at me all night.”
“You’d have to be looking at me all night to know that.”
Jisung breathes out another laugh. He licks the wrapper and twists the end tightly, but forgoes lighting it. With a once over of Minho’s body where it’s sunken into the leather sofa, Jisung gets up so he can swing a leg over Minho’s lap and settle onto it, looking down at him from his new seat. Minho’s pleasantly surprised, one of his hands coming to rest on Jisung’s little waist hidden by the material of his too-big denim jacket.
“Open,” Jisung’s face is close enough to him that Minho can hear him over the blaring rap track pouring from the stereo without having to yell now. Minho watches Jisung’s face with a raised brow and lets his jaw fall softly so that Jisung can tuck the blunt between his perfect, pink lips. He lights it for him and admires the way his cheeks hollow as he sucks, how his lips curve around it, how he won’t take his eyes off of him.
When Jisung pulls it away, he leans in just centimeters from Minho’s face so that the elder can blow the smoke into his waiting, open mouth. Jisung inhales deeply, pushes the excess out, and accepts a tender kiss. He melts.
Jisung lets Minho take the joint from him so he can put it out and free their hands, Jisung chasing his mouth when he detaches. Minho chuckles at that but doesn’t keep Jisung waiting for more — he uses both hands on Jisung’s waist to draw him nearer, Jisung’s arms rounding his neck, and kisses him again. Deeper, more fervent. He tastes vaguely like pineapple, chapstick, beer on his tongue. Jisung feels like he’s floating somewhere way above the clouds, but Minho’s hands slipping into the back pockets of his jeans brings him back.
“You’re so hot,” Jisung mutters between rolls of their tongues, Minho’s teeth sinking into his lower lip. “It’s fucked up how hot you are.”
The sound of Minho’s laugh goes straight to Jisung’s steadily hardening dick. Jisung’s already getting desperate after a little bit of making out, and Minho seems to want to get him as bothered as possible considering how he’s started biting and sucking at Jisung’s neck with his hands squeezing his ass. Jisung mindlessly grinds down against Minho’s thigh, a needy little noise in his throat.
“Such a whiny baby, aren’t you?” Minho teases. He lifts his head from the bruise he’s just put on Jisung’s throat so he can reconnect their swollen lips. He guides Jisung’s hips to do that again and again until they’ve built up a slow and steady rhythm of Jisung essentially humping his thigh.
Jisung swears under his breath, hands leaving Minho’s body so that he can grip onto the back of the couch and the arm rest beside them to brace himself for how it’s starting to feel almost unbearably good. He peers down to see how he looks riding Minho’s leg, his thick thigh just a vessel for him to get off and Minho’s so willing to be used. The friction of his jeans and Minho’s muscled leg rubbing against his throbbing cock and the way Minho’s watching him like he’s prey has Jisung moaning out loud, soft and pretty. Minho starts kissing him again as if he can tell that Jisung’s about to start getting too loud.
“You want me so bad you’d hump my leg like a fucking puppy in front of these people,” Minho says into his mouth. He’s suddenly far more aware of the few people that stayed behind when everyone left, but he’s too gone to let that deter him even though his cheeks are burning with humiliation. Jisung whines louder, losing control over his movements as he inches closer and closer to creaming his pants right here in Changbin’s basement. Minho helps him, though, guiding him to ride him harder and quicker. “You’re so cute, Jisung.”
It takes a lot for Jisung to find his voice, and when he does, it’s unsteady and high. “Y-You should see how c-cute I am when I’m getting fucked.”
Now Minho’s the one that groans, and it sounds so nice in complement to Jisung’s own pathetic noises. Jisung hides his face in the crook of Minho’s neck and murmurs, “I’m coming,” against his skin. Minho tenses his thigh so Jisung can grind against something even more firm. Everything feels so amazing, so light but crushing at the same time, burning hot. Jisung tears up a little.
“That’s it,” Minho coos, warm breath in Jisung’s hair. Jisung cries out in a string of profanities and choked off moans. The small wet spot that had already formed in Jisung’s underwear spreads, his entire body buzzing when the wave crashes over him and carries him out to sea. He feels like jelly against Minho, so sated and gooey in his arms, just a puddle of melted Jisung parts. Minho presses his forehead against Jisung’s and smiles fondly at him, red-rimmed eyes trying to speak to his own.
Jisung cups his jaw with both hands and kisses him like he’s thanking him, mostly tongue and teeth. He’s snaking his hand down to Minho’s crotch, feeling over the obvious outline of his boner in his tight jeans when a chorus of voices descending the stairs pulls their mouths apart. Changbin goes over to cut the stereo, and when he turns back around, his eyes settle on the sight of his friends in a compromising position on his sofa. He seems somehow angrier now.
“Party’s over, get the fuck out,” he yells over all of the people gathering their stuff and gabbing about the fight. It sounds like one of Changbin’s neighbors might have called the cops. “I don’t care where you bastards go but you gotta get the hell out of my house.”
Jisung looks down at Minho and bursts into laughter with him, catching his lips in one more kiss. Minho pats him on the ass as a gesture for him to get up, and Jisung slinks off of him so he can gather his stuff. Minho shrugs his jacket on and waits by the foot of the stairs for Jisung to come along, leading him up and out of the house with the flow of guests.
Minho throws an arm around Jisung’s shoulders and Jisung wraps one around MInho’s waist, stumbling through the freshly cut grass of the lawn. Jisung tries to kick a blue Solo cup out of his way and nearly trips over it. He has no idea where Chan is but he was his ride here. Not that he really planned on going home with him once he’d set his sights on Minho.
“I think we should go get McDonald’s,” Jisung suggests, following Minho down Changbin’s street in presumably the direction of his car, judging by the jingle of him pulling his keys out of his jacket pocket. “And you should take me home and put your dick in me.”
Minho laughs again, and it’s quickly becoming a sound Jisung wants to hear a lot more often. “Bet.”