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"Shhh!"
"Don't tell me to shhh. Why the hell doesn't it work?" Minho growls, violently smacking his hand down on the photo booth's touch screen while Jisung attempts to silence him.
"Min—" Jisung lets out a helpless laugh as Minho continues to abuse the contraption. "Minho, stop, you're gonna break it."
"Good!"
Eventually, Jisung gives up on trying to be sensible and lets his head fall onto his best friend's shoulder, though his laughter doesn't decrease in volume. Minho cusses under his breath, defeated.
"I'm not sober enough for this," Jisung sighs after a few seconds of glum silence, rubbing his cheek against Minho's shirt, only to be rudely shoved off by the older boy. "Hey!"
"You had one drink."
"I'm me."
Minho is the one to laugh now, shoving Jisung again and cackling when the younger fails to keep his balance, too disoriented by the beer settling in his system.
"You're so mean," he groans. "And stupid. Let me try." He leans forward to investigate the photo booth's system, smiling when Minho slings an arm over his shoulders even after aggressively pushing him away.
He squints, blinking a few times to try and regain his focus, then eyes a promising-looking red button to the side of the screen. This has to be it—Minho is seriously an idiot for not noticing it.
Flashing a cocky grin, he proudly smacks the button, ready to tease his best friend and graciously accept another shove—then instantly regrets it.
It suddenly sounds like the photo booth is in the middle of a fire drill.
Minho and Jisung both scream at once, instinctively jumping to huddle and covering their ears while the horrifying, merciless HONK HONK HONK pierces their ears.
"What the hell?" Jisung cries with a flinch, eyes widened in alarm. Minho elbows him hard, which only causes him to scream louder.
"What's wrong with you?" the elder yells, butting his head against Jisung's chest despite the fact that they're now tangled together. "What'd you do that for?"
"I didn't mean to, asshole!" Jisung yells back, but he giggles in spite of himself when they make eye contact, squeezing himself even closer to bury his face in Minho's neck.
"Stop laughing and turn the damn thing off!" Minho whines, though he quickly joins in on the laughter, the two of them tiredly slumped against each other as the honking persists. It's unbearable, like something you'd hear after breaking into a car or robbing a store (not that Jisung has tried either of those things, of course).
Amid their laughter, the photo booth's curtain draws back, a head popping into view and causing the two to huddle together and shriek all over again—only to sigh in relief when they realize the intruder is no threat.
"It's just me, chill!" Hyunjin yells over the noise, eyes narrowed. "What did you guys do this time?"
"Jisungie doesn't know how to turn this thing on. He almost got us killed—"
"Like you didn't fail either!"
"I can barely even hear you. Would you fucking turn it off already?"
"No, you do it. I'm the one that turned it on, which means you have to turn it off."
"That makes no fucking sense!" Minho shouts, kicking Jisung in the shin. "Fuck, fine, let's do it togeth—"
Before they can come to a compromise, the booth falls silent, Minho's voice trailing off. Both boys startle, gawking as they zero in on Hyunjin's hand retracting from the booth and realize that he was the one to make it stop.
"There," he says.
"That's no fair," Jisung mutters. "Minho and I were gonna do it."
"Didn't look like it," Hyunjin says under his breath. "Why'd you press it in the first place?"
"Great question," Minho says. sending a pointed glare at Jisung, though he's practically curled up in his lap after the scare. "Why did you?"
"I told you I didn't know," Jisung whines back defensively. "And why the hell is that even in here? What could we possibly need it for?"
"Why are you asking me?" Minho huffs, but his grumbling is quickly replaced by an ear-shattering laugh that strikes Jisung as a lullaby compared to what they just heard. Minho melts into his side, body shaking with giggles. "Maybe you press it if the pictures come out too ugly," he muses while his arm resumes its position around Jisung's shoulders. "I guess I'll have to press it when we take ours, since I'm stuck with you."
Jisung scowls, offendedly shoving Minho away like the elder had done to him earlier. "Asshole—and we're not even taking pictures. This piece of crap is clearly—"
"What the hell are you guys on about?" Hyunjin cuts in.
"Stupid photo booth doesn't work," Minho explains with a tired sigh, detangling himself from Jisung and attempting to stand—this, of course, fails in an instant, sending him crashing back down onto Jisung and breaking into a fit of giggles when the younger yells at him and tries to push him off.
Hyunjin stares at the two blankly, waiting until they're done bickering to speak. "Are you kidding me? How much did you both drink?"
"Pffft." Minho rolls his eyes, decidedly throwing his legs over Jisung's lap to make himself comfortable after accepting the fact that he's too tipsy to move. "Barely a sip."
"Yup," Jisung goes along with the lie, cuddling against Minho as though the two haven't been screaming at each other since the beginning of this experience. He glowers at Hyunjin, then. "Hey, why don't you try to turn it on, huh?"
Hyunjin's eyes flicker between the two almost disbelievingly, and then he sighs, turning toward the touch keyboard and tapping it with his index finger.
It lights up instantly.
"Wha—?" Minho splutters, arm leaving Jisung's shoulders so he can grab Hyunjin by the shirt and shake him threateningly. "I already tried that! How the fuck...?"
"You were probably tapping it too hard, dumbass," Hyunjin mumbles, jumping away from the booth with a nervous laugh when Minho throws him a murderous glare. The last they hear from him is a muffled ‘ Have fun!’ before they're left in awed silence.
Minho fixes Jisung with the murderous glare next. "Unbelievable."
"Why are you looking at me like that? You're the one who spent two minutes hitting the damn thing."
"Oh, do you want a turn?" Minho replies, raising a fist, but they both laugh again, Jisung's hand covering Minho's fist like they're playing rock, paper, scissors—the threat instantly forgotten. (Either way, Minho's threats never hold any weight; he's far softer for Jisung than he'll ever admit.)
"All right," Jisung sighs once their giggles fizzle out, letting go of Minho's hand to try and focus on their mission again. "Let's just—hey!"
Black. The screen is black again.
Minho thumps his head on the back of the booth. "Seriously?"
"Why us?" Jisung sighs tiedly, then sticks his head out of the photo booth to call for help. "Hey, Hyunji—!"
Minho yanks him back inside before he can summon anyone, slapping a hand over his mouth for good measure. "Quiet!" he snaps. "We don't need him—I can do this."
Jisung squints, unconvinced. "You sure about that?"
"Wanna bet on it? If I can—"
"No, no," Jisung mumbles, head falling onto Minho's shoulder; the elder doesn't shake him off this time. "Just get on with it. I'm getting sleepy."
"Then wake up," Minho mutters. Regardless of his biting tone, he wraps his arm around Jisung and pulls him closer. "Here we go. Watch and learn."
He moves at a snail's pace, finger hovering above the screen hesitantly, both boys squeezing their eyes shut as he lowers his hand to give the screen a gentle tap like Hyunjin.
Finally, they meet success.
Jisung sits up excitedly with a cheer, the booth illuminating Minho's proud grin.
"I'm a legend," the elder brags, squeezing Jisung's shoulder. "You owe me ten coffees now."
"Huh?"
"Shhh, quiet," Minho hushes (like he hasn't been embarrassingly loud from the start). "Quick, let's pick the filters or whatever."
They're anything but quick. At least five minutes pass, consisting entirely of the two indecisively tapping through the different themes, drunken giggles fogging up the screen.
"C'mon, we've gone through them all, like, ten times or so," Jisung points out after a while.
"Fine, you pick, then."
He hums thoughtfully, leaning forward to squint at the options. Technically, he should be sobering up more and more by the minute, but somehow, being stuck in this damn photo booth with Minho only makes him feel more intoxicated. It's probably the same for Minho, seeing how he keeps swaying back and forth restlessly and giggling in Jisung's ear every time he whines out in complaint.
"You're taking too long," he groans, his own head on Jisung's shoulder, now. He pinches the younger's side. "I should've asked someone else to come in here with me."
"As if," Jisung scoffs, hardly offended by the words, knowing fully that they're a lie. "You're in love with me."
"Me? Don't think I forgot about when—"
"All right, this one," Jisung cuts him off, nodding at the screen, pleased with his choice. He bumps his knee against Minho's and offers him a bright smile. "Puppy love."
It's pretty cute, in Jisung's opinion—a little over the top, but all the filters are—decorated by a border of cartoon dogs, the words PUPPY LOVE splayed across the top in shiny cursive. He's just about ready to confirm the selection when Minho speaks.
"That's disgusting, Jisung."
"What? Why?"
"Do I look like a dog to you?"
"All right, all right," Jisung sighs, swiping to the next filter—similar to PUPPY LOVE but with cats, titled FELINE FRIENDS. "There you go. You're a kitty, aren't you?" He reaches over to pet Minho's hair for emphasis, laughing hard when Minho shoves him away.
"Get off of me," he whines. Jisung almost shoves him back in revenge, but instead he inches in closer, examining the side of Minho's head.
"Hey!" he giggles and cups Minho's ear. "Your ears turned red. Is it cause I said you're a—"
"Don't touch my ears!"
"You're a kitten!" Jisung cackles, trying to reach for Minho's ear again, only for Minho to beat him by a second and block it protectively.
"And you're a little shit," he hisses, but Jisung can still make out his smile. "Wait, you don't even like cats. See? You're in love with me."
"Am not."
Jisung ignores Minho's attempts to continue the argument, fearing that the screen will turn black again if they take too long, and cautiously taps on their chosen filter. Thankfully with no complications, it transfers to the big screen ahead of them, showcasing the two of them staring dumbly at the camera with sparkling ears drawn above their heads and cartoon cats dancing around the border of the screen.
They look hideous.
"Ha! We look perfect," Jisung says, Minho humming in agreement. "I look way better, though."
"What? No," Minho argues. "I'm the cat here, loser."
"Told you so," Jisung sings, letting out a wicked laugh when Minho realizes he was just baited. He manages to scratch under the older boy's chin for a split second before his hand is smacked away, then shifts to sit properly so they can finally start their mission. "Come on, kitty. Picture time."
"I don't even wanna take pictures with you anymore," Minho mutters, yet his eyes scan the touch screen while they figure out where the hell the camera button is. "Ah, shit. I need another drink." He stretches with a yawn, abruptly giving up on figuring out the controls and pressing his forehead to Jisung's shoulder. "Go on, you do the camerawork."
"Useless cat," Jisung snickers, then flails when Minho jabs his fingers into his side with a ‘Hey!’
Minho only makes a happy noise at the reaction, arms wrapped tightly around him. "We didn't plan our poses," he mumbles. "What are we gonna do?"
"I dunno, cute shit," Jisung says. "It better be extra cute since it took so fucking long. Kiss my cheek, maybe?"
"Hell, no," Minho huffs, straightening up and then immediately falling back into Jisung's side. "Oh god, I can't move."
"Fuck, who gave us alcohol?" Jisung laughs, both of them working hard to sit Minho up properly.
"Chan did."
"All right, I'll kill him in the morning. C'mon, don't throw up on me. We can do this."
"Mm, okay." Minho successfully sits up again, but he drags Jisung down in the process. "Jisungie, get up. We gotta start."
"You're the one that keeps pulling me down!" Jisung snaps, but he still smiles at the sound of Minho's giggles, snaking an arm around the older boy's waist while Minho's remains around Jisung's shoulders, the two of them forming some kind of support structure. "Ready?"
"No," Minho mumbles. "We still haven't decided our poses."
"Too bad," Jisung says, not waiting to tap the START button. He shifts around in excitement when the ten second countdown appears—except for some reason, he feels something close to nervousness swirl in his stomach while they wait, almost like he's in front of a crowd or something.
"Three seconds," Minho whispers frantically, sounding just as unreasonably anxious. "Peace signs?"
"Works for me."
Both of them rush to move closer, heads pressing together and hands shooting up to pose. Jisung feels Minho stiff against him while they wait for the flash, the two of them exhaling sighs of relief when the first picture is captured.
"Why are we so tense?" Jisung blurts, shifting around and trying to get rid of the awkward tension in his shoulders as they wait for the second timer to go off.
"Shit, I don't know," Minho says, a high-pitched giggle leaving his throat when Jisung tickles his sides in an attempt to loosen him up. "Jisung, stop it."
"No, you."
"I'm not even doing anything!" He makes a significant effort to wrestle Jisung back, but neither of them are exactly at peak strength in their current states. "I swear to God, I'll throw you out—"
There's a sudden flash, cutting Minho's threat short. Both boys whip their heads to face the screen and, sure enough, there's a photo of the two of them mid-quarrel, Minho's face twisted into something between a scowl and a laugh while Jisung's is downright evil, a pair of crappy, sparkly cat ears slapped poorly over their heads.
"You're joking," Minho hisses, smacking Jisung's knee. "Look what you did!"
"I was just trying to help!"
"Some help you are," Minho mutters. "That's the ugliest picture I've ever seen."
"Whatever, the next one will be better," Jisung says, curling into Minho's side again. "Let's do a heart."
"I don't wanna do a heart."
In spite of his words, he hardly hesitates to press his cheek to Jisung's and hold out his hand to form the heart, their fingers intertwining slightly while they hold the pose and wait for the third photo to be taken.
"Smile, for fuck's sake," Jisung mutters, then barks out a laugh when Minho plasters most ridiculously fake smile on his face, eyes completely devoid of emotion, right before the flash goes off. Jisung's jaw drops. "Oh my god, you made me laugh!"
"Who cares? It was probably cute," Minho sighs tiredly, fingers still intertwined with Jisung's as they wait for the photo result.
Jisung's jaw drops even further once it appears. "What the hell?"
"How the fuck did we both manage to blink?"
"I don't even remember blinking. God, this one's even uglier!"
Minho bangs his head on Jisung's shoulder in frustration, groaning between pitiful laughs. "Let's just leave. Forget it. We failed."
"No, no," Jisung protests, wrapping his arm around Minho to hold him in place. "Last one, come on. We made it this far. Let's make it count."
"We don't even have a pose."
"You could always kiss my cheek—"
"Fuck it, I'm out of here," Minho says, moving to leave again.
"No!" Jisung demands, swinging a leg over Minho's thighs to hold him in place. "Here." Before Minho can try to abandon him again, he grabs his chin and maneuvers his face so they're looking directly at each other.
"What the hell is this?" Minho mumbles, squirming.
"It's cute," Jisung argues. "Come on, just do it." He places his hand under Minho's chin and gives him an expectant glare until the older boy relents and mirrors the pose.
"This—This is stupid," he says under his breath, averting his eyes when the countdown starts.
Jisung bites his lip to conceal a smile. "Are you blushing?"
"No," Minho argues, smacking Jisung's chin.
"You can't even look me in the eye."
"Yes I can!" Minho grits his teeth, locking eyes with Jisung to prove his point. "You're obnoxious."
Jisung only smiles, suppressing a laugh at the awkwardness of the eye contact and the intensity of the close proximity. To distract himself, he soaks in Minho's features, thinks how pretty he is even in the shitty photo booth lighting, sparkling eyes staring into his.
"Look how pretty you are," he cooes aloud, intently focused on the countdown and barely registering how Minho's eyes grow a little wider, how his lips part just slightly.
"Shut up," the elder mutters. Jisung also fails to register the choked edge to his voice.
"Ready?" he breathes, leaning forward to bump their noses together and just barely containing a laugh after seeing Minho's horrified features. (It isn't too often that he's able to catch him off guard like this.)
He's just starting to become aware of the peculiar, unwavering look in Minho's eyes, drawing his face back just the slightest to observe him more carefully when the flash finally illuminates them and causes them to jump apart.
Momentary concern forgotten, Jisung spins to face the screen and inhales while impatiently awaiting the final photo, tapping Minho on the arm when he doesn't budge, his head still turned to the side and eyes still fixed on Jisung.
"Oh, come on," Jisung groans, a strangled cry of agony leaving his throat. "Of fucking course it came out blurry—fuck, we gotta try this some other time, when we aren't about to fall over." He laughs despite his disappointment, shifting to fact Minho again. "This is going to be the worst photo strip anyone has ever—"
Apparently, Minho doesn't care about what he has to say regarding the photo strip, because he cuts Jisung off in an instant.
Cuts him off with his lips.
Out of sheer instinct and impaired decision making-skills, Jisung's eyes flutter shut the moment he processes the warm pressure on his mouth, his hands moving on their own to find Minho's waist and steady the two of them while the elder's lips part against his. Before their mouths can make it too far, though, they're struck with sudden darkness—signifying the end of their photo fun and distracting them from their kissing.
Wait.
Why the fuck are they kissing?
Just as Jisung is about to pull back, eyes large and perplexed, Minho tilts his head to the side and brushes his tongue up against his lips, and strangely enough, Jisung feels no need to stop him.
He figures there's some sort of reasoning—his brain is just too foggy to dwell on it right now.
Moving a hand to cup Minho's face, he hums against his mouth and helps deepen the kiss, tasting the vodka off his tongue and wondering if it might make him more drunk, or if kissing Minho in general might make him more drunk.
It isn't until their chests begin to heave that Minho disconnects their mouths and backs away, eyes enlarged and slowly lifting to Jisung's while the two of them wait for their lungs to work properly again.
That doesn't happen, though, not when they initiate the most awkward eye contact Jisung has ever experienced in his life and simultaneously burst out laughing, straining their respiratory systems even more. Gasping for breath, Jisung's body slumps against Minho's like nothing is out of the ordinary, shaking with laughter like he would any other night, any night where his lips aren't tingling from the aftertaste of Minho's tongue.
"What the fuck was that?" he practically wheezes, exhaling deeply once his breaths even out, and dizzily lifts his head to gaze into Minho's eyes again.
"I—I don't know," Minho says with a soft groan. He pats Jisung's cheek affectionately, and he thankfully looks significantly more relaxed than he did before they kissed, though his eyes are dark and shining mysteriously. "I'm kind of tipsy... and your face was really close."
Jisung supposes that explains things pretty well.
"Makes sense," he hums, body warm, unable to stop smiling despite the circumstances. "Anyway, wanna see how the photo strips came out?"
"Not really."
Jisung blinks at Minho in question, but instead of an answer, he feels Minho's breath warm on his face, lips nearly grazing his again. He stiffens—either out of surprise or anticipation, he really can't tell—but Minho pulls back after just a second, eyes boring into his.
"Unless... you want to?"
It's a hidden question. Can we keep doing this?
Jisung can't see why not.
"The photo strips can wait," he breathes, suddenly worried that the opportunity to kiss Minho will disappear forever if he doesn't grab it now, so this time he's the one to connect their mouths, his lips curiously, almost eagerly seeking to taste him again.
It seems Minho is just as eager—or Jisung hopes he is—because the older boy's hands rest firmly on his jaw and send warm jitters through his skin, much like what he would feel if they were at home cuddling—though with some other, newer feelings added into the mix.
His fingers bunch up in the fabric of Minho's shirt, both grounding himself and pulling the elder closer, as close as possible, like Minho will be yanked out of his reach if he lets so much as an inch separate them. He feels warmth seeping through Minho's clothes—he's always so warm, somehow—and squeezes his waist tightly to chase that warmth, body tensing for just a second when he catches the soft sigh that escapes Minho's mouth into his before relaxing again.
Sliding his tongue against his best friend's is somehow easy, easier than it should be, easy as breathing, and he would easily agree to exchange saliva with him all night long if they weren't drunk in a dark photo booth with people wandering outside of it.
Alas, they are drunk in a dark photo booth with people wandering outside of it, and for that reason, Jisung is forced to pull back and reluctantly tears his eyes away from Minho's pretty features to throw a nervous glance at the photo booth's curtain.
"What is it?" Minho mumbles, appearing genuinely confused by how Jisung has put an end to this odd occurrence. He wets his lips and gazes at the younger inquisitively, and Jisung swallows, using every bit of brain he has left to avert his eyes from Minho's distracting mouth so he can compose himself enough to find words.
"I mean, shouldn't we, like...?" He gestures to the curtain. "We're, like, in a photo booth."
"So?" Minho smiles, tilting his head to the side. "Am I a bad kisser, Jisungie?"
"No," Jisung huffs. "I didn't say that—"
He's cut off by lips for the second time tonight—the very lips he's been carefully avoiding—teasing against his for a split second before retracting. Minho watches him closely, then, eyes sparkling prettily even in the shitty, dark photo booth, soft mouth twisted into a daunting smile, cheeks tinted rose, either from drunkenness or Jisung.
Every feature on his face is telling, though he's silent as he waits for the younger to decide what he wants to do.
It's either drunkenness or Minho that brings him to his decision.
This time, he doesn't hold back, crashing his lips into Minho's so he doesn't have to see that chilling gaze anymore, grabbing the elder's waist more firmly and pulling him in close once again. Minho hums into his mouth, and this curiously drives Jisung toward the brink of insanity, sends his weakly gathered thoughts spiraling, almost makes him want to devour his best friend, in a way.
And that's a little weird—even in his current state, he knows that. But Minho's lips molded to his own feel right in every way, and the fingers caressing the back of his neck send a shockwave down his spine, and it's all too easy.
Minho kisses differently than he imagined (yes, he's imagined it—every person entertains the thought of making out with their best friend at least once, right?). His movements are a little messier, a little more desperate. It could be the alcohol that has his tongue frantically licking into Jisung's mouth and teeth tugging at his lower lip; Jisung wouldn't know, has nothing to compare it to.
Perhaps he can find out another time—when they're both sober.
As soon as he thinks they're beginning to calm down, falling into a smooth rhythm of short kisses which still render him breathless, Minho surprises him once again with a leg thrown over his thighs, and then all too suddenly, without any room for the younger to process, he's perched in Jisung's lap.
"Wha—?" Jisung lets out a choked noise, narrowly avoiding toppling over in alarm, yet he's unable to stop his lips from moving against Minho's even as his head starts to rapidly spin.
"Wha?" Minho whispers, seemingly mocking him, then shifts his mouth to pepper kisses across Jisung's cheek and down his jawline—and oh shit, that feels way too good.
And oh shit, Minho's teeth are nipping at his skin, and his thighs are tightening on either side of Jisung's lap, and his fingers are running through Jisung's hair, gently pulling in a way Jisung had no idea he would like so much.
"Shit," is all he can say, eyes falling shut so he can process each sensation better. It really does feel good, almost too good for him to be worrying about anything else, but the way Minho is shifting around, moving on his lap, pressing in dangerously close, keeps Jisung on his guard.
It probably—definitely—isn't a laughing matter, but he chokes back a laugh wondering what would happen if Minho ended up too close.
Minho seemingly grows tired of him sitting there pliant, because he soon grabs one of Jisung's hands and guides it until it's lingering by his head, a silent request that has Jisung withholding a giggle. Fully understanding what Minho refuses to say out loud, he threads his fingers through the elder's hair, stroking the soft strands while Minho continues mouthing at his neck, both of them letting out hardly audible sighs every now and then.
"You really are a kitten," Jisung whispers to break the silence. He spoke the words affectionately, warm and fuzzy, but apparently they don't strike Minho as warm and fuzzy because the noise that escapes his throat has chills rushing across every inch of Jisung's skin.
He tenses, swallowing hard as Minho continues to brush his lips over every accessible part of his neck, and desperately tries to ignore the way he won't stop shifting around on his lap for even a second. Sure, it's a tight fit—but this is getting to be a bit much.
All of it is a bit much, really, but Jisung doesn't have it in him to care.
"Shut up," Minho finally responds, then lifts his head and reconnects their lips, tasting every part of Jisung's mouth he possibly can while the younger attempts the same in return.
He additionally tries to ignore how Minho lets out little whines every time Jisung runs his fingers along his scalp, not to mention how his body is burning hot against the younger's, or how his touch is searing when he suddenly begins to slide his hands up Jisung's chest.
This is starting to feel like a little more than drunken kisses in a photo booth, and Jisung doesn't know how to cope with that feeling. His body doesn't know how to cope with that feeling.
He's suffocating in the best way possible, but when Minho's hips somehow inch even closer to his, he's left with no choice. He has to stop this before things fly out of control, before he lands himself in an awkward situation that probably even the alcohol won't be able to excuse. They are considerably tipsy, but it definitely isn't enough to wipe their memories in the morning.
"Shit, Minho," he breathes, face flaming and body trying to fight against him as he separates their mouths. "We—We probably..."
For once, Minho is patient, only tilting his head to show that he's listening and blinking cutely. But when Jisung opens his mouth to keep speaking, no words come to mind.
What the hell is he supposed to say? This has been fun and all (and maybe we can do it again sometime), but we should probably stop before my dick gets hard and our friendship is melted into an awkward puddle.
How does he say something like that to his best friend?
He doesn't.
He doesn't have to say anything at all, because Minho is now squirming in his lap as he waits for a response, and holy shit.
Holy shit, is he...?
Is he in the same situation?
"You in there?" Minho murmurs with a gentle smile, acting like he doesn't notice the existential crisis flashing in Jisung's eyes—but the younger knows he notices it, notices each and every thing about Jisung.
"Yes," Jisung replies softly, an unnecessary amount of heat circulating in the pit of his stomach as Minho continues to stare, practically pressed up against him, close enough to feel...
His fingers twitch, begging him to let them move, and he blames that on the fact that he's halfway out of his mind right now despite having an inkling that it's due to something else entirely. He continues to blame when he reaches out, blames when his hands splay out across Minho's knees, blames and blames and blames when they slowly inch up his thighs—
But then Minho's breath hitches, his eyes pupils dilate, his fingers flex in the material of Jisung's shirt, and Jisung forgets entirely why he was trying to blame anything at all.
"Jisungie," comes Minho's voice, quiet but sharp, gaze so intense Jisung can practically see the thoughts bouncing around in his head. Until he can't see at all—because his hands come to a halt and his thumbs graze Minho's inner thighs in a way that could be perceived as casual, except—
Except Minho clearly doesn't perceive it that way, or maybe he's just tired of waiting. Whatever the reason is, he yanks Jisung forward so fast, lightning-fast, fast enough that Jisung doesn't even have a chance to gasp in shock before Minho's lips crash into his.
Jisung kisses back hard, hands leaving Minho's thighs but finding his hips and indulgently pulling him closer despite the way it makes them both gasp, makes the hole he's dug himself into even deeper. He can feel Minho right there, right against him, and it feels inexplicably good.
(He wonders if Minho feels the same. He's too scared to ask.)
"Jisungie," comes Minho's voice again, still fisting the fabric of Jisung's shirt. It's hardly audible, but it's enough that Jisung thinks he knows the answer—and it's more than enough to turn the heat in his stomach into violent flames.
"Tell me if you want me to stop," he cautions, trying to keep the flames at bay before he inevitably explodes. Minho says nothing in response, only watches him with wide, sparkling eyes, and so he dives forward without another moment of hesitation, capturing Minho's lips and winding his arms around his waist suffocatingly tight.
Minho gasps against his mouth, fingers gripping his hair for purchase as their lips move frantically, as their bodies press closer and closer together. Jisung lets a hand slide down to one of Minho's thighs again, knowing it's unwise to rile either of them up much but too desperate to see Minho's reactions to stop himself.
Minho jolts at his touch, pushing their bodies flush against each other, until Jisung can feel every inch of him vividly—until he can feel that Minho really is just as affected by all of this as he is, and God, is this really happening?
"Please," Minho mumbles into his mouth, sending a new flood of heat through his body, fingers curling up in the younger's hair like he's scared to let go of it. "Jisung, please, do something."
At this point, Jisung can admit to himself that he wants to do something—he admits it a little too easily, to be honest—but can he really do something in here? It's cramped enough just with Minho sitting in his lap, and he isn't sure exactly what Minho has in mind—
As if sensing his confusion, there's a sudden hand trailing down Jisung's torso, Minho's fingers slipping through the narrow space between his body and Jisung's and landing in a place that Jisung never, not in a million years, not in a million lifetimes, expected them to be.
"Oh, fuck," he chokes out, hips thrusting forward on autopilot, hot electricity coursing through every cell in his body, overheating and overwhelming his senses. "Fuck."
Minho lets out a soft laugh and pecks Jisung's lips, retracting his hand so he can rock his own hips forward instead. He sends Jisung's entire world spiraling like it's nothing, draws breathy noises from both of them like it's second nature.
"Minho," Jisung chokes out, fingers digging hard into his thigh and his waist. "We..." He trails off, forgetting what he wanted to say before he can even get the words out, and instead kisses a path down Minho's neck, irrationally desperate to get his mouth on every inch of Minho's skin he possibly can, while the elder continues his torturous movements. He has to be trying to kill Jisung; he just has to be.
Minho confirms the fact when he leans in close, breath hot against the shell of Jisung's ear—and his voice is so intoxicating, it makes the alcohol in their blood seem weak in comparison—before he whispers something that makes Jisung’s entire body catch fire.
Minho is hot and heavy in his lap, burning through his clothes like coal, and suddenly, Jisung has never felt so sober in his life. Suddenly, he's never wanted something as much as he wants this.
But he can't have it, not here. Or not anywhere—if he were normal, if this were a normal friendship. (It just so happens that Minho and Jisung are about as far from normal as any pair of best friends can be.)
“Minho, fuck,” he groans. “We—We can’t, I mean... What if someone...?” He trails off once again, reluctant to continue, because part of him is still scared to step out of the photo booth and let this night slip through his fingers.
In spite of his words, he shifts his hips forward, eyes squeezing shut when the needy sound Minho makes echoes in his head at full volume. His breaths are heavy against Minho's collarbone, and his entire body is aching with a sensation he can't put a name on, and he knows deep down that no matter how much common sense his brain tries to offer him, it won't take much for him to give in and let the flames—let Minho—consume him fully.
“We won’t know unless we try,” Minho whispers shyly once Jisung finally lifts his head, eyes twinkling, brimming with want, and that's all it takes.
Alcohol or water, Jisung knows deep down he would never be able to deny those eyes. Or maybe it isn’t deep down at all, because Minho’s lips curve into a soft smirk like he can read every thought in his mind—read them faster than Jisung can, even—just as Jisung moves in to press their mouths together again.
The way Minho touches him does nothing to dispel that theory. He touches him like he’s been planning each movement, like he’s stayed up every night memorizing the things that he knew would drive Jisung out of his wits.
Jisung’s hands are desperately clutching his hips, and Minho’s fingers are dancing along his jeans, and he wonders how this would feel sober—no, he needs to know.
Minho’s hands slide against his skin, hungrily, almost like he’s been longing for this. Of course, that’s probably a stretch—as far as he lets his thoughts spiral, Jisung's well aware that what happens in this photo booth tonight will likely be left here, with nothing more than a shitty photo strip to remind him how much hotter Minho’s touch was when Jisung held him like this.
For some reason, he can’t help but hope that’s not the case, and at some point while he feels Minho searing beneath his palms and leaving trails of heat along his skin, he understands why.
Maybe he’s been longing, too.