Chapter Text
9:25am. No fucking way.
Jisung blinks the unoccupied glaze out of his eyes, rubbing a fist into his eye socket for good measure. The blur of his vision refocuses itself back into the blinding LEDs of his phone and immediately darts to the top right corner.
His eyebrows furrow in disbelief, eye nearly twitching at the innocuous 9:25 staring back.
Okay, what? No way in hell that’s right. It can’t still be that early — it feels like he’s been lying in bed for hours abusing the pad of his thumb on any app that could hold his interest for longer than a few seconds. On the nth round of checking every social media he had, his brain had begun working on autopilot, refreshing feed after feed as his mind logged itself off and time ceased to exist.
It was amazement in itself that time could move so slow. Noon would be generous, but 9am?
His phone was busted. Glitching out on him? It overheated from how long he’d been staring at it, and he just didn’t notice?.. Not something he’d typically hope for, honestly, but he was petty enough to willingly cling onto whatever excuse his denial was feeding his brain.
Whatever. Broken or not, he couldn’t stomach the idea of looking at it another second. Jisung tosses it face down into the wrinkled depths of his sheets and huffs out a sigh. Now that he’s really not doing anything, he’s face-to-face with his bare, off-white wall and all too aware of the stifling twin size duvet overheating his lower half.
Jisung plants his hands at his sides and pushes himself to a seated position, letting the sheets pool at his middle. He immediately regrets going to twist his head, a sharp sharp sharp crick locking his tendons and sending a pulse of pain all through the back of his neck.
He smacks his hand over it with a wince, letting a humorless laugh escape through his nose. Ugh. This really was probably the longest he’s been consciously still in his entire career.
He feels fried blonde hairs at his nape where he gently rubs circles with the pads of his fingers, letting out a relieved half-lidded sigh when the A/C washes blasts of cool air over his skin. He’s finally worked out the crick enough to permit minimal, slow movements, and notes to thank his past self for never opening the curtains. Letting the sunlight in with all this heat was an act of suicide anyways.
Still, the faintest orange-yellow beams leak in, permeating the room in a glowing stillness that doesn’t help assist Jisung away from the idea that he’s stuck in some timeless, no-productivity limbo.
It’s just so.. quiet. Too quiet. Nothing’s moving, nothing’s dancing or laughing or speaking to him, not even the silent presence of another soul sleeping in the bed adjacent his own, or the comforting awareness that there’s someone hanging out in the kitchen, waiting to talk to him if he ever has one of his standard bouts of loneliness. It’s so foreign to be in the calm, and it’s not calming at all.
In the darkest corner of his room where the light can’t reach, a red dot makes way into Jisung’s periphery.
The time glares an aggressive shade of red from Jeongin’s little digital clock he's haphazardly placed on his nightstand, and the angle it’s at almost perfectly faces Jisung.
9:25, naturally. So much for denial.
The frustration that blooms hot in his chest almost immediately morphs into a pit of guilt that sinks low and cold in his stomach. This should be a good thing — the reminder that he still has an entire morning, afternoon and evening to do all the nothing he wants was a prospect most idols would probably kill for. Jisung had shared the sentiment once upon 15-ish hours ago when his manager sprung the news on him, a full day to himself, yet he could’ve never predicted just how fast the charm wore off. Apart from the added bonus of getting to sleep in as late as he wanted and the hottest, longest shower he’s had since before he was a trainee, there was a grating okay, what now? drilling into his skull as he ambled around his empty dorm, back into his equally empty room.
That was when he realized that he didn’t like just working, but simply loathed being unproductive. Anxieties allowed themselves in like they owned the place, and unbidden thoughts he was usually too distracted to entertain now occupied his entire focus. Thoughts of things he shouldn’t think about, thoughts of people, a person—
No no no no no. Jisung shook his head, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. He really needed something to do. Hell, he’d even take those 4am producing crunches with Changbin and Chan, all gathered around Chan’s computer scribbling a flurry of lyrics into his notepad while the other two tried to work out the kinks in their flow. It left him with puffy eyebags and a pulsing migraine, but at least he could say he was distracted.
Jisung can feel his eyelids going heavy as he sinks into the memory, but a speck of cherry red in his vision reels his focus back in. He really despises how this morning has gifted him a newfound talent for realizing just how fucking slow time passes.
Jeongin’s clock flickers.
Oh, look. 9:26.
Jisung pulls his lower half out from under his sheets and reaches down to pinch the free fabric in the sock that’s between his toes. He yanks it off, throwing it with as much exaggerated annoyance as he can towards the clock. It lands pathetically on the ground somewhere way off target, and Jisung can’t help but think this whole situation would probably be extremely hilarious if it was anyone but him.
A muffled ringing near his right leg startles him enough to have him clutching his hand over his heart before he recognizes the unmistakable notes of his ringtone. He digs through his sheets and retrieves his phone, feeling it vibrate in his grip.
Felix
Facetime Video…
It was probably the fastest Jisung’s ever accepted a call in his life. He takes the brief period the call uses to connect and flings his gaze skyward to thank Felix for being a literal angel sent from heaven.
Suddenly, the Facetime alert goes off, filling Jisung’s screen with a stuttering blend of pixels and distorted movement. Telltale studio wifi, go figure. Even though most details were difficult to make out, the blinding smile that took up most of the screen — accompanied by a litany of freckles — was clear as day.
“Jisung!” Felix beams, voice bright and broken with lag. “Hello!”
“Hey,” Jisung breathes, taking a quick self-conscious peek at the window of his face in the top-right corner. He relaxes back into his pillows, attempting to hide just how relieved he looks.
When he flicks his focus back to Felix everything is heaps and bounds more clear, even the stylists noonas and staff creating all the human traffic behind the seat he’s adjusting in. Right. The manager mentioned some sort of production-slash-shoot-slash-something would be happening today. Felix has enough experience under his belt to simply tuck his airpods in amidst the escalating background chaos, smile unwavering.
“So, what’s up? How goes the day off?” He inquires. His voice is still slightly laced with static, just a notch louder than the commotion behind him.
“It’s..” Jisung paused, idly picking at the skin around his nails. Absolute fucking hell was the immediate response in his head, but the integrity was fading now with Felix here and something — someone — to devote his focus to. He didn’t want to lie, but he didn’t want those surfacing thoughts to be true, either. Morning’s been good. Just chilling. Enjoying the peace and quiet.
“.. It’s alright.” He sighed, punctuating his composure with a half-smirk. “Just bored, I guess.”
“Hm, well..” Felix began, eyes shifting up in contemplation. “Have you showered?” He offered.
Jisung can’t help the laugh of disbelief that shoots out of him. “Duh.”
Felix brings an inquisitive hand up to his chin, brushing his thumb across the focused pout of his bottom lip that’s desperately fighting back a smirk. “I see. And have you eaten yet?”
Dude. “Lix, it’s like you don’t even know me.”
Felix erupts into a fit of giggles, burying his face in his shoulder. What remains visible of his smile is highlighted by the fluorescents in the studio’s vanity mirror, and god, Jisung needed that. Every peal of laughter he coaxes out of his members was a gold star of validation in itself, reminding him that he was useful, that he was productive, that he was doing something for the team.
Jisung can’t help but smile too. For the first time this morning, he feels like Jisung.
Felix rights himself, face flush with laughter and eyes morphed into joyful little crescents. He was definitely in one of his giddy little moods now, the ones that everyone had a hard time pulling him out of when it was time to be serious. Jisung never did.
“Alright, alright,” Felix starts again, humor escaping through his tone. “Well, um, maybe you could do some exercise? Work out?” He chokes out, not even believing himself.
“Work ou-..” Jisung starts, slipping into his playful side. Easy. He comically raises his brows, voice coming out in a pitched whine. Felix’s shoulders are already shaking again in silent laughter. “On a day off? What kind of person do you take me for?” He lets out a haughty scoff-laugh. “Changbin?”
“Pffft, right!” Felix replies, eyebrows lifting. “I’m so confused! Like, how does he do that? I can’t trust anyone who willingly gets out of bed before 7am. To exercise, no less.”
Jisung must have unintentionally undergone some Pavlovian experiment, because the instant he hears the mention of time, his eyes rip to the red, blurry dot sitting just out of his vision. The amused ramblings of Felix’s voice wash away into garbled static before drowning out entirely, leaving Jisung alone in a deafening tunnel where everything in reality ceased to exist except 9:29am.
9:29am.
9:29am.
9:29am.
He watches and waits, but forgets what he’s waiting for. Maybe for it to flip over to the next minute, but that feels like it should’ve happened an eternity ago. If he focuses hard enough, he can imagine it like the hand of an analog clock clicking by the second, a hypnotic pendulum of indefinite tick, tick, tick, tick, tick never going anywher—
-sung?
Jisung?
9:30am.
“..Jisung?”
Jisung turns his head slowly back to his phone and sees a bemused Felix staring back, the inner corners of his brows lifted in worry. “All good?” He asks, diffusing the weird tension with a shaky laugh.
Jisung notes how blank his face has gone in the top-right window and feels shame crawling up his neck. He probably spooked Felix with the uncharacteristic dip in mood. “I am, yeah,” Jisung reassures, gnawing at his bottom lip again. He knows he can trust Felix with anything — always the friend that would listen to any of your worries without an ounce of judgment or criticism. That’s why Jisung continues, “I’m just antsy being alone with nothing to do like this, I guess. Too much going on up here.” He gestures vaguely to his head, scrunching his face into a comical pout.
“Ah, okay, I gotcha.” Felix says in understanding, a gentle smile returning to his face. “Jeongin actually predicted you having a bad day today, oddly enough.”
Jeongin appears at the call of his name, shuffling in behind Felix just enough that his torso is partially visible on screen. “I did what?” Jisung barely makes out in the human whitenoise of the background.
Jeongin realizes what’s going on, leaning in to see who Felix is gossiping to. Jisung stares back with a sickeningly sweet smile and wave. Jeongin’s face instantly drops.
“Oh. Uh— haha, gotta go!” He says, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck as he makes a run for it off camera. Felix watches him go with a smile and eyes that scream pure confusion.
“What was that about?”
“When I heard the news I was going to have the day off today, my first thought was ‘oh, sick, I can’t wait to sleep in,’ right?” Jisung snorts, rolling his eyes at his own idiocy. “Well, I sort of forgot I was the only one with that privilege. Imagine the happy little surprise I get when Jeongin’s alarm starts blasting at 6am.”
Felix visibly winces as if reliving his own memory. “Yikes. I’m sorry.”
Jisung bats a dismissive hand. “S’okay. You should’ve seen the look on his face. Scared out of his mind. Fear knocks him back a few years, y’know? It was hard to not picture him in braces again.”
“Aw! Those were so cute.” Felix coos. “He must’ve not been too scared, though. When we got in the van this morning, he actually mentioned how weird it felt without you there.”
“Wh— really?” Jisung balked.
“Yeah. I mean, duh.” Felix scoffed as if it were the only reasonable reaction to have. A masked stylist came to his side and began preparing a spread of makeup and utensils Jisung never managed to remember the names of—
“—brighten our day.”
Jisung looks back to Felix. Blinks once. Twice. “Huh?”
“You brighten our day.” Felix enunciated, slow and deep. He laughed at Jisung’s frozen, agape stare. “Seriously! The ride was so quiet. You honestly don’t realize how necessary you are for group morale. Everyone only really starts loosening up once you’ve broken the ice for us, y’know? I’m pretty sure Jeongin fell asleep on the ride over this morning.”
The sheets underneath Jisung suddenly felt too hot. “Stop it, I’m gonna blush.”
Felix’s laughs bubbled out of him again, which prompted Jisung’s next words far too easily.
“Ugh, I miss you guys.”
He winced internally right after he said it. That probably sounded pathetic— he’d literally seen them all not even a day ago. Felix seemed to disagree, though his delighted cooing got quickly interrupted by the stylist noona attacking an eyelid with one of those tiny, fuzzy brushes.
“Miss this?” Felix quipped.
“Ha-ha. Of course. I miss it so much.” Jisung replied deadpan, laying the sarcasm on thick. Felix didn’t need to know he was telling the truth.
The rest of the conversation went like that, typical back-and-forths of banter and gossip while Jisung observed the step-by-step process of Felix getting dolled up. He was so invested in their conversation that he’d even forgotten his current predicament, which was perfect. Talking to Felix was a literal brain massage. Felix sighed in relief when he was allowed to open his eyes again and — okay, Jisung honestly didn’t miss that part. The stylist seemed to be on her last touch of lip tint before packing it up and calling it a day.
Catching shit in his periphery seemed to be Jisung’s lucky gift of the day.
A person walked behind Felix, no more than a pixelated blur of mere seconds in screen time, but Jisung’s eyes focused. Something about the chocolate brown hair and sharp side profile must have triggered the subconscious reaction to watch until he couldn’t, utterly dazed, only returning to reality when the figure went offscreen.
Was that Minho?
“Huh?” Felix responded, done with his makeup. He pouted his red-tinted lips in confusion, looking around.
Wait, did Jisung just say that out loud?
“Oh!” Felix said, gaze locking off to the right somewhere. Oh no. “Yeah, he’s right here. Minho! Come say hi!”
Oh fuck no.
As Felix removes one of his airpods, Jisung’s goldfish brain belatedly reminds him that he’d overheard their manager grouping Minho in with Felix and the others for whatever they’d be doing today and he promptly wishes to slam his forehead into a desk. Of course, he was probably too focused on the news of his day off to pay much attention to anything else. Biting the bullet for that mistake now, I guess.
Felix taps something on the screen as a toned arm comes into view, hand gripping the back of the seat. Jisung prays the camera didn’t catch his nervous gulp.
“You’re on speaker, Sungie.” Felix sing-songs, and Minho’s face finally dips into view, expressionless and unfairly gorgeous.
What a horrible day to have eyes. Even through all the pixels and jittery connection, Jisung can make out the subtle eyeshadow tinting his lids, the curve of his lashes against his high cheekbones when he blinks, catlike— his eyes are dark and unrelenting as if looking through him, reading every sick thought that’s ever passed through his brain in the years they’ve known each other.
Right, he has to respond.
“Hello hyung!” Jisung coos on automatic, drawing out the vowels in an annoyingly cutesy tone like he would any other day of the week. At least his teasing was one consistent thing about himself. “Jisungie misses you!”
Minho responds back with an exaggerated smile, tone saccharine and brutally condescending. “Oh really? I don’t.”
He tops it off with a polite wave before dropping the facade entirely and walking away, and Jisung’s conscience heaves a sigh of relief. He would expect nothing less from Minho in their dynamic, though he can’t help but be particularly grateful for his swift exit today.
Felix twists his head towards someone shouting words Jisung can’t quite make out, and the crestfallen look when he turns back to the camera has him already anticipating something bad.
“Jisung, I gotta go. It’s time to start shooting.”
A disenchanted oh.. is all Jisung manages out. He reads 9:44 at the top of his phone, suddenly envious of the Jisung from minutes ago that had forgotten time existed. He racks his mind for a game plan to help get him through the rest of the day, but keeps drawing blanks and disappointing, mental dead-ends.
He doesn’t notice Felix looking at him, mind on the same track. “Use my PC.”
“What?”
Jisung looks at him, briefly noticing the herd of people behind him already heading to the shoot. Felix goes with them, keeping Jisung on the line.
“I’ve got games on there,” Felix explains. “It’ll hold your attention better than just watching something, probably. I know how spacing out makes you frustrated.”
That was.. beyond thoughtful, honestly. “The almighty GameBok, letting a lowly commoner like me, use his gaming PC?” He grins. It was a rarity for Felix to be comfortable having an audience while he used his computer, let alone allowing someone else to touch it themselves.
Felix chuckles in reply, but his voice quickly sterns. “On one condition.”
“Oh no,” Jisung feigns worry in his voice, widening his eyes. “What is it?”
“You gotta play with me when I get back.” Felix states, and Jisung can tell he’s crunching on time because his attention is starting to be stolen from the call by various staff, be it giving him notes or pinning a mic onto the collar of his shirt. “— the shoot ends in a few hours.” He tacks on at the end.
“Lix,” Jisung deadpans. “You’re way better than me. I’ll lose, like, every time.”
“Better start practicing, then.” Felix replies before abruptly ending the call.
Jisung couldn’t help but part his lips in a miniature gape when he came face-to-face with Felix’s setup. He’d seen it before during the handful of times Felix was cool enough with letting him watch, but being alone with it — with the added knowledge he could touch — was just a teensy bit this side of daunting. It screamed “Pro Gamer” paraphernalia: oversized monitor, below it a mechanical, elevated keyboard, a mini army of cutesie video game figurines, damn, even one of those memory foam mouse pads that help prevent carpal tunnel.
The MLG wet dream. Still probably didn’t cost nearly as much as Hyunjin’s closet.
The PC tower itself was something else entirely. That behemoth of tech was so big that it could barely fit under the desk, let alone on top of it with the rest of the trinkets and collectibles. Jisung would be at a loss trying to find the power button if he hadn’t caught Felix doing it before. When he presses it the whole system sounds like it takes in a gust of air, purring to life like the engine of an exotic car. Also like an exotic car are the colors; a myriad of neon LED’s glow inside the tower and around the edge of the keyboard. Even the letters on the keys themselves pulse between blues, purples and pinks.
Jisung had seen it all before, obviously, yet now within the intimacy of his own head could he finally acknowledge the utterly ostentatious overkill of it all.
He pulls out Felix’s desk chair and sinks into the synthetic leather, batting away the realization that it was more comfortable than most first class seats he’d ever been on. He goes to turn on the monitor and type in the password Felix had texted him. Geez, the inner child in his brain is probably flipping out right now. All the glowing buttons in front of him make him feel like he’s piloting some sort of alien spaceship.
It’s an hour or two later, and okay, the game Felix recommended is fun. Like fun fun. Jisung sinks an unknown amount of time into focusing on it, and that’s perfect. He doesn’t want to know time exists.
After some newbie hiccups and a few deep-dive Google searches on the games mechanics, he’d say he was picking it up surprisingly fast. He chalked it up to being heavily invested when he got to watch Felix play, considering he was typically abysmal behind the controller with most games presented to him.
The silence of Chan, Felix and Changbin’s combined room got decimated by the aggressive clack-clack-clack of the keyboard. Jisung was apparently a shouter too, occasionally, when he suffered unfair losses or lucked on extremely beneficial wins — surprisingly, it was mostly the latter.
He had a double-triple-quadruple take at the scoreboard one particular round when he realized it was better than the best he’d ever seen from Felix, because haha? No way. Absolutely not.
He took a screenshot anyways. Not like logic could ever stop him from bragging.
Jisung [11:23]
[Image attached]
hey
hey
look at this
look at this complete show of skill
and bow before your new king
It takes a few minutes before his phone lights up with a notification, which Jisung expected. Must be around lunch break for them at the studio now.
Felix [11:31]
Jisung
Jisung [11:31]
i know
its hard to process
take ur time
Felix [11:31]
No
Jisung
Jisung [11:31]
do you think i can get the crown refitted
yknow
my head is kinda small
Felix [11:32]
My GUY
You are still on the TUTORIAL
Jisung stares down blankly at his phone.
Jisung [11:32]
what
Felix [11:32]
Dude
Look at the top left of the screen
It says you’re still on the beginners round
You’re supposed to go to the next one
when you finish that
Jisung looks up to confirm and immediately feels his face flush ten different temperatures of embarrassment. His sudden aptitude for gaming makes a lot more sense. He can’t believe he actually thought his desperation for focus somehow added to his skill and put him on level with someone like Felix. He can already hear the Aussie pricks cackles bouncing around in his head.
Felix [11:32]
How many times did you replay that round?
Jisung [11:33]
sorry w hat?
i do nt undrtsan d y ou
I tH ink we ‘re braekng up
Felix [11:33]
Jisung
We’re literally texting
Jisung [11:33]
iltlkto youalte o@-6?
goodbydye.
Jisung can’t exit the app fast enough before witnessing the assault of laughing emojis Felix bombards in their chat. His embarrassment simmers into a concentrated determination, happy to have something to occupy his time with and hopefully use to kick Felix’s cocky ass later.
When he goes to start a new — higher leveled, thanks — round, his stomach growls.
Right. It was nearly noon, and the last meal he’d managed today was a bowl of soggy 7am cereal that he ate too slowly in prayer for some illusion that time might pass quicker. He obeys his stomach's commands and goes to put the PC to sleep with the resolution that he’ll continue practicing after.
The second he stands from the desk chair, his entire ass aches in a shock of soreness, just now catching up with how many hours he’d spent sitting in the same position. He tries walking it off, figuring he may as well loosen up all his other limbs while he’s at it. The wooden floor of the hallway is cool under his de-socked foot, a complete contrast to his arms and torso hiding underneath his comfiest hoodie. He lifts them above his head in a stretch and lets out an unabashed groan from the relief in his joints.
Felix, Chan and Changbin’s dorm room is actually closest to the kitchen-slash-living area, so the trek doesn’t take long.
It’s still weird, though. The silence. Despite having the whole morning to adjust to it, Jisung still has a hard time acknowledging it without feeling like he’s in some apocalyptic alternate universe where he woke up and was suddenly the last human on earth.
Jisung brings his hands down from above his head and entwines them behind his neck, slowing down as he reaches the main room of the dorm. If he had to list a positive from this experience, he’d probably mention getting to see stuff he’d never noticed before:
Dawn made the walls shift off-white to amber, coaxed by the sun into a soft yellow near noon.
The television could actually be off.
The fridge stayed full.
There was this dark creature-thing sitting on the sofa.
“Fuck! Oh my—” Jisung shrieks before he can process it, body jolting backwards in panic. He hits the wall and feels the light switch panel digging into his skin through the material of his hoodie yet remains completely paralyzed by fear. He was supposed to be alone.
Whatever’s on the sofa doesn’t react. Jisung’s eyes fortunately adjust before he can begin asking too many mental questions or imagining his oncoming demise, and realizes this mega sinister “dark creature” was a head of chocolate brown hair.
That didn’t react to Jisung with even the smallest hint of surprise — didn’t even flinch.
Minho.
Jisung pushes down whatever excited fluttering shit is happening in his stomach and approaches the sofa from behind. He tentatively grips the back of it, letting the pads of his damaged fingers worry over the faux leather.
Minho’s sitting on the leftmost side, sporting some comfy loungewear instead of the more styled geddup he wore on the Facetime call. It looks good. He looks good in anything. He’s currently got a lap full of phone, alternating between scrolling through some cat-centric social media profiles and advanced looking choreography clips on Youtube. Nestled in the crevice between the arm of the sofa and his thigh is a full buffet of snacks and candies that he occasionally reaches for to nibble on.
Hello. How are you? How was the shoot? You’re here, right now; a human. You’re human. Are you real? It’s so fucking good to see you.
“You’re home.” Jisung breathes out instead. His voice is cracked and awkward, unlike himself.
“Mhm.” Minho hums simply around a candied piece of popcorn.
“I.. thought no one else was home.”
“Obviously,” Minho scoffs, swallowing the treat. When he continues, Jisung notes that his voice is at a calmer, deeper register than usual. “All the shouting. I could barely even hear myself think.”
“Oh, um,” Jisung felt shy even looking at the back of Minho’s head now. He’d heard all that? How long has he been home? He hadn’t come in to tell Jisung to quiet down, so it’s not like he needs to apologize. Minho was simply doing one of those things he usually did — get under Jisung’s skin, the back-and-forth of toying with each other.
Nothing was different, nothing’s changed, get it together.
Jisung sighs, eager to keep some semblance of interaction going. Minho continues to absently thumb at his screen.
“Well, uh, mind if I watch with you?” He tries. He can’t believe he actually feels nervous at the prospect of being rejected.
Minho’s response comes out nonverbally: he twists his wrist, the thin chain of his bracelet reflecting off the light coming in through the curtainless windows. The phone in his hand is now angled in Jisung’s direction — inviting.
Jisung takes no time hesitating, using his grip on the back of the sofa to vault over to Minho’s side. He lets out a little huff of exertion from attempting to land as softly as possible, to not jostle Minho or his horde of treats.
His first mistake is allowing his body to work on autopilot, because Jisung naturally maneuvers to slouch himself flush against Minho’s side. Despite being something he’d do on any other day, the loneliness of this morning has put his touch starvation through a complete reset. Minho seems unresponsive, still enraptured with the video on his phone, yet Jisung seems to feel everything with hypersensitivity. Even through the thick cotton of his hoodie he can feel surges of warmth from their points of contact, and his eyes zero in to stare at where their knees brush together.
Weird. Stop that, Jisung’s brain supplies when it finally catches up. He tears his fixed gaze away to look elsewhere, immediately regretting his next choice.
His second mistake: looking at Minho’s face.
Seeing him this morning in no way could have prepared him for right now. Jisung’s eyes absorb every detail of his side profile: the jutting ridge of his Adam's apple, tracing upwards into a sharp jaw. It’s contrasted by the soft curve of plush lips, up up up to the straight bridge of his nose into a fringe of mussed hair. The afternoon light pouring in from behind leaves his outline in a golden glow that doesn’t reach the vantablack void of his eyes, nearly hidden all the way by a curtain of lashes and hooded lids.
The last shred of immunity Jisung possessed relied on the barrier that existed between them during that call. Now he was here, with no pixels or makeup and the unrestrained realization that if he just slightly tipped his head forward and inhaled, almost all five senses would be entirely Minho.
“S’weird,” Minho comments, panicking Jisung out of his reverie. He’s lowered the volume of his video, eyes adrift over to Jisung’s feet that are resting on the edge of the coffee table.
“Hm?” Jisung replies, darting his gaze in the same direction. Minho’s even more perceptive than him — he hopes with everything he wasn’t caught staring, leering.
He regards his feet, one still sockless.
“Oh!” Jisung exclaims, using the arm that isn’t pressed into Minho to smack a hand over his forehead. “Yeah, uh, long story short, Jeongin’s clock can go fuck itself.”
There’s a subtle pout to Minho’s lips. “Not that,” he says, bringing his attention back to his phone to click on a new video. “You.”
Jisung blanks. “Me?”
“When did you start asking permission to hang out with me?” Minho accuses.
Jisung gives him one last glance before his eyes fall to his lap. Minho’s demeanor betrays nothing, but the tone he asked the question in has the shyest hint of amusement.
Jisung staggers over the excuses flooding into his brain, opening his mouth only for nothing to come out. He honestly doesn’t know, either. If Felix can identify his bigger shifts in behavior, Minho could probably read him like a fucking book. The thought alone had Jisung gulping.
He shakes the thoughts off, training his eyes on the video for some distraction. “I—.. don’t know,” He sighs, because it’s the truth. “I’ve felt weird ever since this morning. I didn’t do very well with the day off, I think. All the time alone made me sort of stir-crazy.” He sulks.
“Right,” Minho smirks, flicking Jisung casually on the forehead. “Because there’s times where you aren’t a total fucking nutcase.”
“Prick!” Jisung whines, weakly hitting Minho’s chest with a closed fist. “You don’t know how lonely it feels having a whole morning with nothing to do. I felt like a neglected Tamagotchi. I was dying, hyung. Dying.”
“Uh-huh.” Minho responds noncommittally, wrapping slender fingers around Jisung’s wrist to place his closed fist back in his lap.
Jisung huffs at his nonchalance, dropping his temple against Minho’s shoulder. His body relaxes as his attention shifts back to the video, practically sagging in relief. He’s proven his capability to transition back into some form of normalcy, which was a miracle considering his heart was still distantly pinballing from the feeling of Minho’s hand around his wrist.
Returning to the ‘Normal Jisung’ did not bless him with the gift of a longer attention span, however. After a few rounds of silently going through videos, he could feel himself starting to get antsy. He wanted to be able to sit comfortably and appreciate that he even had company now, but his brain was beginning to grab at new things to leech focus onto.
Jisung sighed, eyes falling down to Minho’s hands. His limbs had a statuesque stillness to them, a complete dichotomy to Jisung’s constant fidgeting. Minho’s wrists and fingers were no exception, unintentionally modelling his bracelet and the collection of rings he’d forgone removing when he got home. Jisung follows the way the shadows play against his knuckles and tendons when he flexes them, reaching for one of his snacks.
Jisung is full of dumb decisions and even more foolish desires, so he naturally follows the movement with a locked, reverent gaze. He’s twisted his head enough that he can feel the press of his cheek into the beginning of Minho’s bicep, and his lizard brain is doing some back-and-forth ping pong match of an argument for what he should be focusing on more. Minho’s hand wins, gently pressing a candy past pink and parted lips. Jisung watches the corner of his shadowed jaw flex with effort while he chews, eventually swallowed with a bob of his defined Adam's apple.
Jisung suddenly remembers — in every sense of the word — that he’s starving.
Bored and hungry is a vile combination. He could hypothetically get up now and go make himself something in the kitchen like he’d originally planned, leaving Minho to do whatever he wanted in peace, alone with his own array of food.
But that would only cure the hunger part, and where was the fun in that?
His enamored eyes simmer down into a mischievous glint when they lock onto Minho’s stash. They flicker over to the phone, and then innocently back up to Minho’s.
“Hey,” Jisung nudges, cheek squishing against his arm. “Could you turn up the sound a little?”
“Mm,” Minho acquiesces easily enough, clicking the volume button on the edge of the phone up a few notches. It’ll make the sound of digging through all the plastic a lot more muted, Jisung hopes. Minho’s eyes remain on the screen, and that’s when Jisung knows he can begin moving his hand.
He’s slow, tentatively ghosting it over both of their laps. He can feel the stray fibers of Minho’s sweater tickling his palms and worries that it’s reciprocated, but one brief glance up to Minho’s unconcerned face shows that he’s not caught onto anything. The pad of his fingers eventually reach the lid of a plastic opening, reaching around blindly for a piece of whatever’s closest. The volume of the video fortunately drowns out the crinkling of the material, and Jisung briefly praises himself for his mastermind tactics.
Then Minho’s hand surges forward, smacking the back of Jisung’s palm. His blasé expression stays fixed on the screen, and Jisung feels a slight sting on his skin when Minho’s hand draws back to its original position. Jisung retreats his own, wincing dramatically.
“Do you think you’re slick?” Minho asks. He goes to turn the volume back down like he’s known the plot from the second he’d been asked to up it.
Jisung scoffs petulantly. Screw this smart fuck. “I think I’m hungry.”
“Then go make yourself something, thief.” Minho chastises without a trace of actual venom in his voice.
“Aw,” Jisung curls into his side, slipping an arm around Minho’s, and raises his voice an octave. “Was gonna, but why would I when I can annoy my hyung for his snacks, hm?”
It’s clingy, overdramatic, teasing and entirely like Jisung to behave like this when they play-fight. Over-the-top shit like this usually has Minho cringing away in surrender unless he’s got a clever rebuttal up his sleeve. Jisung’s pretty sure he’s not in the mood to entertain his antics right now, and his brain is already revving up for his victory in their little match — he wants that candy.
But Minho doesn’t tense and concede like Jisung hopes. The opposite, actually.
He turns his head to where Jisung is hanging off his right bicep, and for the first time since they’ve both been home, physically mingling in each other’s space, he looks at him. Looks down at him like he’s finally considering Jisung, putting him in the burning spotlight of his attention. His gaze is dark and discerning and the angle they’re in makes Jisung feel below him in every sense of the word, stunned.
Minho looks particularly sadistic when he raises a brow, and his voice drops an octave. “Not gonna ask permission? Thought that was your thing now.”
Jisung blinks in surprise with panic, trepidation and a number of other darker feelings he doesn’t even begin to try unpacking. The match wasn’t ending, he realizes, it was just getting started. Jisung suppresses the heat rising in his cheeks on sheer willpower. Minho doesn’t need any more smug victories going to his head.
“Hyung,” he starts slowly, making sure every word drips with sarcasm. “May I please, please have one? Pretty please? I’m gonn-”
“‘Kay.” Minho responds.
Oh. That was easy.
Suspiciously easy.
Minho finally tears his eyes away from Jisung, using the arm that Jisung wasn’t wrapped around to reach into a carton of candied popcorn. Jisung frees Minho’s right arm and properly sits up, twisting his torso sideways when he realizes Minho is actually.. serious about just giving him one. He has a piece pinched between his fingers, and uses his freed right hand to move his phone over to the table, twisting his body towards Jisung.
“Say ‘aah,’ ” Minho requests, hand lifted between them. Jisung gives him a weird look, suspicious, but leans in anyways.
It’s a knee-jerk reaction when Jisung’s lids flutter closed as the edge of the treat hits his mouth. He parts his lips further, leaning just a bit further to take it in, but there’s nothing. He leans even further, still nothing. Instead of feeling the treat, brief puffs of air hit his face, and he opens his eyes in confusion.
He’s comically leaned forward, so much so that his hands are supporting him underneath. He’s dangerously close to Minho now, too, who’s laughing through his nose. Chewing.
“Asshole! That was mine!” Jisung whines, slapping the filthy trickster on the knee when he doubles over and laughs harder. He belatedly realizes their faces were close enough that he could feel Minho breathing and conceals the embarrassed panic in his eyes with a well-placed glare. “You’re evil. Pure evil.”
“Aw,” Minho parrots in the cutesy octave Jisung had done earlier after he came down from his giggle fit, eyes still crinkled in amusement. When he does it, it just sounds plain patronizing. Minho must be reading Jisung’s attempt to hide how flustered he is with anger as petulance, because he starts cooing at him like he’s a kid. “My little Sungie upset?”
That should be getting Jisung irritated. Pseudo-irritated, anyways, because they’re playing around right now and that’s how it goes. He can’t even believe himself when it gets him more flustered, forcing his eyes literally anywhere else.
Minho drops the voice, but fortunately doesn’t seem to catch on. “Alright, I’ll actually give you one this time.” He says, rolling his eyes when Jisung visibly perks up again.
His torso twists to grab another piece and Jisung’s eyes lock onto the way his earring dangles with the movement. It’s so easy to sink focus into every small detail about him, which is fucking weird, because he thought he got over that a little while ago after his social drought was cured. It even feels obsessive a bit; hyperfocusing on small, irrelevant things about a person so hard that time itself seems to slow down. Jisung’s psyche barks out a dark, ironic laugh: time was slowing down, and for the first time, he didn’t mind it — didn’t mind at all.
Jisung fixes his facade back on when Minho turns around, popcorn between a perfect thumb and index.
His eyes stay locked on Jisung’s when he brings it to his own mouth.
“Hyung,” Jisung groans. “I thought you said it was my turn.”
Minho ignores him, moving the piece past his lips, but that’s as far as it goes. He lodges it between his teeth, keeping it there. The edges of his lips gently cushion the top and bottom of it, and Minho’s slightly leaning forward, expectantly, before Jisung can process the majority of what’s going on.
Then Jisung gets hit with a startling wave of deja vu, and his memory screams.
This was a joke. It was a joke and Jisung was gonna wait out whatever clever punchline Minho had packed up his sleeve, screw all the ‘fool me once, fool me twice’ shit. He waits, waits, waits, incredulous. Minho remains, surprisingly serious, cocking his head to the side in challenge, and Jisung realizes too late that the punchline doesn’t exist. This is just Minho being Minho. Even by being upfront, he’s still caught Jisung off guard.
“Minho,” Jisung starts, so worried that he doesn’t even realize he’s dropped the honorific. He frantically peers over their shoulders like someone could be here, watching, listening in. “Is.. is this about the Two Kids Room thing?”
The Two Kids Room episode. It happened a little while ago, but the intensity of Jisung’s memory makes it feel like it was only yesterday.
Jisung really tried to keep his professional front up for all those cameras that day, and he was in the middle of some lighthearted conversation with Felix about something — birthdays, height, something to that degree. He can’t remember, all the potential innocence in that memory blurred into the background in some tipsy haze when Minho did what Minho does best: throw Jisung so hard off guard that he nearly slips up and premieres on the front of fucking Dispatch.
He was already using the majority of his focus to keep his attention in the appropriate places. Chat with Felix, get some laughs out, glance in Minho’s direction whenever he speaks. He’d improved generously at seeming unphased by Minho’s presence as their careers progressed, Having A Bunch Of Cameras On You being one of the major incentives. He’d say at this point he was nigh unclockable, the glances at his eyes and hands read inconspicuous enough.
But there’s Jisungs third and ultimate mistake: thinking Minho can be danced around. Predicted.
He brought the piece of popcorn to his mouth out of nowhere, zero segue, and Jisung’s eyes widened to saucers when Minho looked directly at him. He stumbled, brain short-circuiting and running on autopilot at the implications.
He saw Minho’s tongue brush against it. Fuck, fuck, panic.
“That’s dirty.” Jisung repeated with a shaky laugh, Felix joining in from his side.
Not much later Minho offers again, out of his hand this time. It’s not much better, and Jisung can still feel his heartbeat in his throat when Minho brings the fingers up against his lips, but rejecting this time would just look outright suspicious.
“That’s not right!” Minho had whined.
“Why?!” Jisung soft-yelled back, trying to stay as in-character as possible and not focus on the fact Minho had briefly touched his fucking mouth.
“You bit my fingernails!” Minho protested. Felix was smiling, clearly without a care in the world, and even goes to reach for some of the snack himself mid-Minsung argument.
“You tried to pass it mouth-to-mouth just now.” Jisung explains, voice coming out softer than he wanted. Fuck fuck fuck. His eyes briefly drop to Minho’s hands again. Minho absolutely saw that.
“From mouth-to-mouth is..” Minho had started, and the pause he takes to mull something over is so brief that Jisung wonders if he imagined it. His eyes return to Jisung’s. “..Hey, there are more germs on our hands. Am I right, or not?” He challenged.
Just another bit. It all meant nothing. “Well, that’s true.” Jisung acquiesced.
And it was true. Jisung had gone back and watched the video himself after it came out, mentally slapping himself for fabricating such a bullshit excuse. He tried to justify it once he saw how different the scene played out, far away with fixed camera angles through the tiny screen of his phone. It was so much different actually being there, panicked, in Minho’s space, breathing his air. The excuse just ripped out of him, and now that was the truth for everyone who’ll see it.
Well — maybe except one person.
“I thought you were hungry.” Minho manages out with the piece still between his teeth, the spitting image of what he looked like during the video. Except now there’s no cameras, nothing for Jisung to focus on except the ethereal, unreadable gaze from the even more ethereal, unreadable demon spawn of hell in front of him.
Jisung’s grip on the sofa is knuckle-white through the pregnant pause that happens between them, neither refusing to break eye contact for separate reasons: Jisung, in some borderline mad spur of denial, is still waiting for the punchline that isn’t coming. And Minho — Minho’s waiting for that excuse.
That isn’t coming, either.
So, what does Minho do? What he does best.
He hooks a hand into the juncture behind Jisung’s knee and pulls hard, manhandling him into his space until they’re close enough that Jisung’s forced to rest his leg atop Minho’s. Jisung lets out a breathless gasp, losing his grip, and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, can’t choose a location, because Minho’s still fucking looking at him.
Jisung feels briefly paralyzed in a similar manner to when he got scared earlier, and how ironic that Minho should be the cause of both. It’s different this time, however. It’s deliberate, and Jisung doesn’t miss the smug satisfaction gently shifting Minho’s features.
Then he squeezes the skin where he’s still got his slender fingers wrapped around Jisung’s leg, and Jisung gasps again. He internally curses his past self for choosing shorts today, because the direct skin-on-skin is leaving everywhere Minho touches with burning tingles that go straight to his — fuck, this is embarrassing.
“C’mon, Sungie. S’just food.” Minho challenges, eyes lidded and teasing.
Maybe for you. Jisung wants to supply, but the way Minho’s looking at him, pupils blown black and — and, dropping to look at his mouth, fuck, Jisung’s brain is going on shutdown. “Yeah,” is all he can choke out, barely above a whisper. “Y-yeah, okay.”
Minho looks back up with inky eyes and a lifted hand, leaning in, extending his middle and index in the come here gesture.
Jisung’s eagerness to obey the command is pathetically obvious when his torso leans forward on instinct, only becoming hesitant once he’s close enough to smell the remnants of body wash clinging to Minho’s skin. Minho lets out a stuttering puff of air through his nose in laughter at the faltering confidence, and brings a hand up to snake his fingers behind Jisung’s nape, pulling him the rest of the way in.
It’s hard for Jisung to remember why they’re doing this when there’s so many things going on at once. He feels it all at a heightened intensity, barely suppressing a whimper at the cold rings pressing into the back of his neck, the plush beginnings of Minho’s lips grazing his own, the warm breath mingling between their mouths. He barely registers his teeth gently receiving the popcorn, brain buzzing and heady.
Then the hand at his neck slips away, as does Minho’s mouth, and it’s already over before Jisung could process that it’d begun. Was.. was that a kiss? Did that count? Jisung brings the pad of this thumb up to brush over the pout of his bottom lip where it still tingles and feels the popcorn there instead. He pushes it past his mouth, feeling the slight dampness of it from Minho’s tongue.
Jisung opens eyes he didn’t notice he’d dreamily closed, rapidly blinking his vision back into focus. He swears between the flashing blur of those blinks somewhere that Minho looked focused, predatory, yet his face is completely composed when Jisung comes to.
In fact, going off the quirk in his brow and the pinch in his jaw, he seems.. irritated. Skeptical. He suddenly lifts the hand he had around Jisung’s leg and randomly slaps down on the skin there, filling the silence with a resounding smack.
“Ow!” Jisung shrieks, left cheek puffed out from the popcorn he was chewing. “What!? Why!? What was that for?”
“Consider it your penance, you liar.” Minho says, his tone reading more mischievous than angry.
“Penance?” Jisung winces, brushing his fingers over the tender skin. “Fuck, you hit hard.”
A smirk threatens the corner of Minho’s lips, opting to peek the tip of his tongue out to wet them instead. Minho watches Jisung’s eyes flicker down to the action and away, clearing his throat awkwardly. He can feel the burn of Minho’s gaze into the side of his head, realizing his heart still hasn’t calmed from the ki— from whatever just happened.
“What happened, Jisung? Change of heart?” Minho asks cryptically.
Jisung looks back to Minho, confused. He’s propped his elbow up on the back of the couch, resting his cheek against his closed fist. The stare he’s set on Jisung is scrutinizing and scarily dark, like he’s silently interrogating him, gauging every reaction he might have. Despite being almost the same height, Jisung feels terribly smaller right now.
“Wh-what?” Jisung’s voice comes out shaky and unsure, sinking into his seat. His brain is going through a serious Windows reboot. “You’re gonna have to explain.”
“I thought what we just did wasn’t something you wanted to do,” Minho replies, fingers lifting in lazy air quotes. “Too ‘dirty,’ remember?”
“Listen,” Jisung breathes, closing his eyes to gather his thoughts and the last threads of his sanity. “That’s what you wanted, right? I let you do your little mouth-to-mouth thing.”
“You did.” Minho says flatly, brows pulling into a slight frown.
The negativity in his face has an irrational sadness beginning in the pit of Jisung’s stomach. “W-was I not supposed to?” Jisung asks, worrying his bottom lip over and over against his teeth. “You’re saying that like it’s a bad thing.”
Minho is unrelenting. His glare shifts between Jisung’s eyes, morphing his expression, like he’s seeing things Jisung can’t see, picking him apart, picking up on new information with each passing second. His jaw is set, stoic, and Jisung is too scared to even begin wondering what third party conversation Minho is having in his own private, mental bubble.
“So why didn’t you do it before?” He asks, ignoring the question to provide his own.
Jisung parts his lips. Blinks. Stuck.
He’d like to call out Minho for avoiding his question outright, or even allow himself the privilege to shoot down his questions altogether, but he can’t. He knows he can’t, because it all leads to rousing more questions and suspicions for Minho to pick apart at Jisung until he’s left properly cornered and completely bare with shame.
That thought terrifies Jisung, and the thought Minho might be reading that on his face even moreso.
Jisung racks his brain for the hand of cards he’s still got left in this game and assumes the most casual expression he can. He looks at Minho and chuckles in disbelief, which Minho blankly stares at.
“Hyung, everyone feels weird doing that stuff on camera, y’know?-..” Valid, good, that’s true. “..-‘cept you, obviously. But you’re also, like, super weird. Plus Felix was there, and..”
“‘And’?” Minho leans slightly in, eyelids thinning to slits. He tilts his head, curious, not even attempting to conceal his smirk.
And I like you a lot.
And I think about you all of the time.
And—..
Jisung glares at Minho’s amused face when something dawns on him. Just how much of this conversation was Minho attempting to interrogate Jisung? He was more inquisitive now than he usually ever is with anyone on anything, usually being the member to really not give a fuck what happens interpersonally. He’d only do this if he was playing around, and he’d only do that if he knew the answer already.
‘Too ‘dirty,’ remember?’
‘Consider it your penance, you liar.’
Oh.
He knew.
And he was asking for the last thing to confirm it: Jisung admitting it.
For some reason — the threat of oncoming hysteria, perhaps — Jisung locks tight and redoubles his facade to give as much berth between the truth and Minho as possible. Minho was smart, maybe a touch too perceptive, but he wasn’t getting anything else. Jisung refused to pass what remained of his deck into those striking, presumptuous hands.
“And I think I need to go eat some actual food, now, so.” Jisung bites out with an attitude that toes the line between snarky and sweet. He can hear the phantom giggles of Hyunjin. He’d be proud.
He makes way to sit up, reacquainting his feet with the wooden panels of their flooring. He’s just on the brink of contemplating what’s left in their fridge when a force tugs him back by the hem of his hoodie, and his ass hits a cushion of the sofa with a gasp of air. He twists, and notices that the grip of Minho’s hand only loosens just so.
“Nuh-uh,” Minho tsks. His free hand is still in a casual fist against his cheek. “You’re gonna tell me what you’re thinking.”
Jisung snorts. “I’m thinking this is the first time I’ve ever seen you really ask anyone for something. It’s very adorable.” Jisung says, leaning over Minho’s midsection to grab a candy as payment for his overtime.
“Yeah, well, I’m cute.” Minho agrees.
“Mhm, I might vomit.” Jisung says, scrunching his nose for emphasis.
“Oh?” Minho mocks, grabbing Jisung’s forearm before he can eat the candy and shoving him back. He presses Jisung against the couch, effectively pinned and beginning to get his side attacked with tickles.
“Oh my god, no, please—“ Jisung can barely get out. The combined weight of Minho and all the laughter left him short on air. His torso twists and jolts, but his attacker doesn’t seem to be affected at all. He doesn’t cease until Jisung’s ribs ache, tapping out with three slaps against leather.
“Fuck,” Jisung pants, chest visibly rising and falling. Minho locks his thumb and forefinger around Jisung’s wrist, long enough that they overlap. “I get it! We all get it, you’re stronger than me. Damn showoff.”
Minho simply hums in response, wrapping his lips around the treat between Jisung’s fingertips. Jisung is so lightheaded that he’s been limited to basic thought. “No,” he whines. “I needed that, m’hungry. Gon’ starve to death.”
Minho rolls his eyes for the nth time this hour. “What a baby.”
“Gon’ be your fault.” Jisung says with a faked wheeze.
“Wonderful.” Minho returns.
“Murder, first degree.” Jisung hisses out.
“Nevermind baby, an entire fucking brat,” Minho quips when Jisung bats at his thigh. “Just like Doongie, I swear.”
Minho is reaching into the bags of one of his neon-colored snacks when Jisung finally retains appropriate lung capacity. He lifts his head until his chin grazes his sternum, watching the glimmering rings on Minho’s fingers return to view from his digging. He’s got a pea-sized blue shell in his hand, lifting it expectantly to Jisung, who flinches away.
“Take it.” Minho insists with an adamant hand.
“Hyung,” Jisung groans, back to full consciousness. He props himself up on his elbows. “Do you really think a piece of candy is actually gonna—”
Minho lets out a huff and Jisung barely has a second to process what’s happening before Minho has his elbow slightly digging into his rib, hand gripping his face. His stare is surprisingly blank, given the dig of his fingers into each side of Jisung’s chin: index and middle on one side, thumb on the other. He can feel his own flesh pressing against the bone of his jaw.
Jisung’s eyes are widening again. “Hyung?”
“Can you behave?” Minho grits out, and the unimpressed tone reminds Jisung of a veteran parent dealing with a toddler.
This is a fucking stretch on spontaneous behavior, even for Minho. Never once has he ever acted like this — never once has Jisung felt like this. What’s going on? If he weren’t in such a tight vise, he might shake his head to clear his thoughts.
“Open.” Minho orders, slightly pulling on his jaw. Force was unnecessary when the command itself already had Jisung’s jaw going slack and brain going completely pliant, like a switch had been flicked. His eyes remain round and motionless on Minho’s when he puts the piece of candy on his tongue, completely baffled by the casualness of it all.
He doesn’t even close his mouth. Doesn’t move his tongue. The acidity and sourness coat his taste buds, leaking neon blues into the saliva that pools underneath. He feels the burning fizzle in every nerve, yet can’t bring himself to speak at the sight in front of him.
Minho’s grip is off his jaw in favor of simply leaning against the couch, eyes locked, observing. The curious hint in his voice feels planned and predisposed. “Taste good?”
Blue raspberry, Jisung recognizes. The kind he used to scrape off his tongue with his teeth in blue waves as a kid. He brushes it against the roof of his mouth, feeling a clot of it coat his throat. Time has passed enough that the candy has completely liquified, and his look to Minho is wary. He nods.
The sugar is still coursing through the pockets against his gums when Minho absently shifts, some part of his body brushing against Jisung’s groin. Jisung can’t fight the broken stutter of breath that escapes past his lips, and Minho’s eyes immediately flicker over him in what’s clearly debauched intrigue.
His eyes glimmer in amusement when he experimentally squeezes Jisung’s thigh and receives a broken sigh in return that Jisung isn’t quick enough to force down. He proceeds to move his hands away, bringing them to his sleeves and bunching them up past his elbows. Jisung feels his composure slipping, eyes darting down unashamed to the expanse of his wrists and forearms, catching the way the veins tense with every clench and movement, protruding naturally.
“I don’t believe you.” Minho mutters.
Their eyes meet again. “What?” Jisung breathes.
Minho leans over him, planting a hand near one of the elbows Jisung’s propped up on. His other comes up to skim his thumbnail over the seam of Jisung’s lips where the smallest hint of blue is beginning to stain them, and Jisung’s breath hitches.
He’s close enough now that their noses almost touch with each movement, soft punches of air hitting Jisung with every mind-shattering word Minho says next.
“I think hyung should have a taste.”
Minho leans in slowly, closing the gap until all Jisung can or could ever feel was the warm plush of soft lips pressing against his own. It’s still, surprisingly still, vaguely reminiscent of the kiss scenes in dramas Jisung used to scrunch his nose at when he was younger. He wouldn’t have, if he knew it felt like this.
Jisung’s eyes finally slip shut, delayed by the surprise that — fuck, Minho was kissing him. Minho brings a hand to brush his thumb across Jisung’s jaw when his lips start to move, deftly snaking his fingers past it and into his hair to cradle the side of his head. Jisung sighs into the kiss, the subtle smacks when their lips briefly separate stirring a heat in his stomach.
As if he could read his mind, Minho begins to move his body. It’s brief, one painstakingly slow grind down onto Jisung, but it’s enough to have him parting his mouth open in a silent whine, eyebrows furrowing from the pressure. He pants out into Minho’s open mouth, eyes only squeezing shut tighter when the hand in his hair locks it in his fist in a possessive grip.
Jisung does audibly whine when Minho takes the opportunity to brush his tongue against Jisung’s, the sound muffled between them. Warm, wet and silken, nothing like he’d anticipated when his classmates boasted over it back when he was still a nervous, unkissed wreck in his school years. The number of kisses he’d had since then he could count on one hand. Chaste, girls.
Nothing had prepared him for this.
Maybe that would explain his hypersensitivity, already flushed and filling out in his shorts at every depraved lave, suck and bite Minho did against his tongue and lips. Minho’s pace only quickens, greedily licking into him over and over like he’ll never be satisfied until he’s taken every last crystal of sugar from Jisung’s mouth into his own. The broken moan Jisung releases is foreign even to his own ears, and even the smallest hint of friction from Minho’s jeans has him crying out.
The grip in his hair softens, much to Jisung’s resentment, until he realizes Minho is trailing it down, down, down, nails brushing past his face, his neck (Jisung shudders) and his side, which is suddenly not so ticklish anymore. Minho gives his hip a little attention, thumbing over the clothing at the bone there, before reaching the destination: Jisung’s thigh.
He grips the handful of soft flesh there appreciatively before hooking his fingers deeper underneath, hoisting Jisung’s leg over his hip. He can feel the hot exhale from Minho’s effort in his mouth.
Jisung, in some vague, blurry corner at the back of his conscience, wonders why Minho did that. It’s then that Minho begins to pull his lips away with Jisung’s bottom lip between his teeth.
Jisung mourns the loss of his kisses already, needily raising a hand to grab at Minho’s bicep. Minho only separates them far enough to allow himself to talk, lips brushing over Jisung’s with every word.
“You were right about something for once,” Minho whispers, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. “It does taste good.”
Minho presses back in and they’re kissing again before Jisung has time to even contemplate what he just said, roving his tongue over his as if to prove a point. He assumes complete control over the kiss and Jisung lets him lead, so in tune with each other that he can barely inspire embarrassment at his personal lack of experience.
Jisung feels the bicep beneath his palm suddenly harden and a hand at his thigh squeezing tight. He yelps in surprise when he realizes he’s being manhandled again, instinctively wrapping his arms around Minho’s neck. Minho’s free arm braces around the small of Jisung’s back, lifting him until he’s maneuvered into his lap. Jisung suddenly understands why his leg got hiked up, both knees now pressed into the cushions beside Minho’s hips.
It doesn’t go smoothly: the stash of Minho’s snacks get pushed out of Jisung’s way, forcing a scattered rain of candies to rattle and clack against the floor. Jisung absently notes it in the foggy recesses of what’s left of his brain, attention completely stolen by Minho who sucks insistently at his bottom lip. Whether the latter hadn’t noticed or even cared was entirely up for debate.
Now that it’d started, Jisung had a hard time accepting the fact it could eventually end. He would sit here for hours if Minho let him, caressing the soft miles of skin underneath his hands, kiss at every inch in reach. It felt like a dam had been broken, endless waves of pent up desire exploring the planes of Minho’s cheek and jaw, nipping the patch just below his ear as Minho threads his finger through the hair at the back of Jisung’s head with a pleased sigh.
Then it ends just as Jisung had feared. Minho pulls his head back enough that Jisung’s lips break away from the skin, enough for Minho to fix an amused gaze on him when Jisung tries to desperately return to where he’d left off.
“Eyes up here,” Minho orders as he holds him in place, and Jisung obeys, belatedly realizing he’d still been hyperfocused on Minho’s neck.
“Why—” Jisung sniffs, “—why’d we stop?”
Minho’s hand tightens when Jisung looks up at him under his lashes, and Jisung almost shivers at the cold metal of his rings pressing into his scalp. The harsh grip on his hair is a total opposite to the demeanor of Minho’s face, airily huffing at the question like Jisung should already know the answer.
“Confession,” Minho states, “I still want one.”
A delayed flash of realization colors Jisung’s features when he understands what Minho’s asking. It immediately fades into a blush coupled with avert eyes, straying to the press of their laps.
It’s a childish move. His memory rushes to instances when he was asked about his crushes back when he was a student.
Deflection is the obvious and most immediate answer when he feels the building heat gathering in his cheeks at Minho’s silent stare. “I don’t know what you’re asking, hyung.”
“Jisung,” Minho says gently, knocking his index against Jisung’s chin so his eyes return to him. “I asked you to behave. To be good for me,” He says, and Jisung can already feel his face flushing a pale pink. “So you’re going to tell me, right?”
Minho’s intense grip releases its thumb to brush softly against Jisung’s scalp. The difference in both behaviors at once has Jisung’s mind reeling, barely cohesive for the following words.
“I already know, Sungie. Just say it,” Minho purrs. “For me.”
“I—” Jisung starts, obedience locking up into a tight ball that his sanity is begging him to throw away. He can already feel the saliva pooling behind his lip, dazed. Be brave. Say it. He asked. He screams at himself internally, not even aware that his fingers are bunching so tight into the front of Minho’s sweater that the crescent indents of his nails might mark it underneath. Do it now, you never will later.
“I did it.. because I liked you—.. like you.” Jisung forces out, resisting the urge to wrap his arms around his own head, run to the corner and ball up, back up until his hips dig into the coffee table and hyperventilate — hide.
True to his word, Minho doesn’t seem surprised. The hand at the back of Jisung’s head softens, petting, combing over wave after wave of blonde. Jisung can hardly will his eyes to stay fixed on Minho’s, but he does. He’ll do anything for him, even — especially — when his tone goes condescending.
“Oh,” Minho says far too casually, thumbing the pooling spit past Jisung’s lips like he’s a doll. A toy. A mess of limbs and parts to be played with.
He rubs the saliva into his skin and Jisung’s gasps grow louder at the pressure. “So it wasn’t the germs that bothered you after all.” Minho notes absentmindedly, reviewing the slick glide of his work against Jisung’s chin.
“S’still gross,” Jisung murmurs under his breath, pathetically clinging to the last thread of composure that might hang in his favor between their conversation.
Minho sees through it easier than anything, because of course.
“Don’t think so,” Minho scowls, running his spit-glossed thumb over his cheekbone before he presses it back on Jisung’s lips. Jisung can feel his cock kick in his briefs when it slides past them, venturing knuckle deep until it’s pressed against the entirety of Jisung’s tongue. Jisung’s hand flies to Minho’s wrist, keeping him in a vise as he fights against his eyes to not roll to the back of his head.
“Think it turns you on.” Minho finishes with a knowing glare.
Jisung’s reaction is instantaneous, wrapping his lips around his thumb to suck. The grip on Minho’s wrist only tightens, refusing to let go, tongue beginning to work around the appendage in lazy swirls as his eyes slip shut.
His mind goes adrift when Minho curses under his breath, wondering what it would be like if he were given permission to suck on something else. On his knees at Minho’s feet, taking every thrust into his skull like Minho demands, tongue heavy with all of him and those fucking gorgeous fingers gripping his hair. He lets out a wanton whine at the thought, hips stuttering against Minho’s.
Minho must notice, because he’s pushing Jisung everywhere. His thumb presses down on the flat of his tongue, greedy and needing, and his free hand digs insistently at the small of Jisung’s back, slotting their crotches close enough that they’re right on top of each other and Jisung feels—
Minho. Achingly hard under all his tight denim. He whines around the thumb, the sound breaking apart when Minho brings his lips to Jisung’s jaw, mouthing at the corner of it between every word.
“C’mon, baby,” He says. “Don’t be shy.”
The moan that falls past Jisung’s mouth is downright obscene, tentatively grinding against him. He barely registers the thumb falling from his mouth because of all the heated friction, both of Minho’s hands rushing to slip under the fabric of Jisung’s hoodie and palm at his waist, encouraging it into a delicious rhythm.
Minho pauses his ministrations against Jisung’s neck to groan hot in his ear when the pace is set. “Good boy.”
Holy fuck.
“Hyung,” Jisung pants, high and breathless. He claws for purchase at Minho’s shoulders, the press of Minho’s hands at an unforgiving pace that has the confines of his cock rubbing against his every time. “Hyung, I—”
Minho interrupts him with a kiss, mouthing along his jaw until it finally returns to where it belongs. Jisung’s hands shoot up to loosely hold at the sides of Minho’s neck, sighing open into his mouth. The hands at his waist slow down their persistence, Minho savoring the messy glide of their tongues just as much as Jisung is.
When they separate, a string of pale blue spit stretches between them.
Jisung takes his time watching it, eyes fluttering up to the pair of bruised lips it’s connected to. Minho’s looking back at him with lidded eyes and a wet mouth, letting out the faintest pants with every slow roll of Jisung’s crotch against his.
It’s the most gorgeous he’s ever looked, Jisung decides. His eyes rove over every facet and detail the sunlight touches, his. It’s all his. Right now. His hands snake up the sides of Minho’s neck into impossibly soft hair, sighing out at the way it feels when it passes between his reverent fingers. The look on Jisung’s face when he openly stares at Minho is no better, probably, completely enraptured and willing to sit in the eternity of him, slowly pleasuring him, being good for him.
Without breaking eye contact, Minho’s grip at the skin of Jisung’s waist tightens. He’s coaxing out his grinds again, rougher this time, fingers digging in hard enough to leave a trail of red crescents once this is done.
Good, Jisung thinks. He doesn’t want to forget this.
Jisung tries his hardest to keep his gaze on Minho, to study every little breathless sigh he lets out when the rutting quickens, every beautiful muscle in his arms that stands out in the back-and-forth of Jisung’s ass over the outline of his cock, but he can’t. He vaguely notes his grip in Minho’s hair tightening, the roll of his hips growing harsher and needier. He’s grinding down on Minho incessantly, doesn’t even need the press of his hands to guide him anymore, moaning and fully clothed like a fucking teenager.
Minho observes Jisung’s eyes scrunching shut, how his head drops forward, chin almost hitting his sternum from how slack his body has gone from pleasure.
“Hyung making his little Jisungie feel good?” Minho teases.
Jisung can’t ignore the possessive edge to his voice, and that’s what causes his brain to finally surrender, head falling limp right against the junction of Minho’s neck. He feels the telltale heat building up somewhere deep in his stomach, his moans so high and whiny that he no longer recognizes himself.
“Hyung feels so good,” he pants against Minho’s neck, punctuating it with a messy kiss on his jugular.
“Yeah?” Minho grits out.
Jisung catches the whine lodged in his throat when Minho pulls his hands away from his hips. He’s only given a second of worry and confusion before they clap over his asscheeks, letting out a broken moan when they squeeze tight, forced into Minho’s erection.
“Hyung,” Jisung moans, nose digging harder into Minho’s neck. His lips press against the skin there with every word. The heat in his groin is more loud, now. Again and again and again and again. “Oh my god, oh my god — hyung, Minho hyung,” he whimpers.
“Fuck, I could listen to that all day,” Minho mutters against his hair. Jisung feels the pre-cum leaking out of himself immediately, wet against the fabric. His hairs stand on end when Minho’s lips return to his jaw, mouthing at what he can. “Want you under me,” he nips at the edge of his jawline. “Want that pretty little mouth begging to choke on me.”
Oh my god.
Jisung is lost entirely for witty rebuttals now, clinging hungrily to Minho’s hair and neck like he needs it to survive. The comments only have the pressure building faster, focus becoming the pinpoint of pleasure where the outline of Minho’s cock meets his own.
“Hyung— hyung,” he moans, thighs twitching from the tremors of— fuck, he’s gonna come.
Minho instantly stills his grip on Jisung, holding him in place, allowing his orgasm to gently fade away. The pathetic grind against Minho never happens, lost and empty in the pout Jisung dawns when he pulls away from Minho’s neck, confused. He was so close. He can feel the reminiscent ache and pulse of his cock throbbing under him, panicking internally at the sudden lack of friction.
Jisung only realizes how exhausted his body is when Minho moves him again, pliant beneath the hands pushing at his shoulders. He distantly recognizes he’s being shoved backwards into the sofa, the cold leather pressing chills into the back of his neck. His spine is taut against the material, releasing a gasp at the suddenness of it all.
His mind is short-circuiting, so enveloped in iwanttocome, ineedtocomerightnow that when he feels the brush of Minho against him, he nearly screams.
Minho’s straddling him now, clothed cock pressing firm between the aching bulge beneath Jisung’s shorts. So much more prominent at this angle. It’s the most intense mix of pleasure-pain he’s ever felt, craving release as he feels it slipping away with every passing second, but Minho doesn’t move.
In some last-ditch attempt to save his fading orgasm, his hips naturally buck up against Minho. He feels the spike of pain in his aching muscles from the effort, completely useless against Minho’s statuesque posture. He’s frozen there, just staring down at Jisung with rapt attention.
This motherfucker. Jisung wasn’t above using force to get what he wanted, either. His hands shoot to Minho’s hips to beckon them in a roll now, too, roles swapping.
Minho apparently expected this, because he grabs both of Jisung’s wrists in one hand and pushes them into the cushion above Jisung’s head, pinning them there. When Jisung tries to break free, the grip doesn’t even budge.
“Nope.” Minho denies him coyly, mouth slightly lifting at the edges.
Jisung wants to cry at the death of his orgasm, especially now when Minho looks like an absolute wet dream above him. The arm pinning both of his barely tenses with effort, and his eyes only sharpen with every try at escape, knowing he’s trapped him. Jisung feels the pre-cum leaking out of him when his gaze meets Minho’s behind the curtain of his brunette bangs, harsh. Predatory.
It makes his body squirm and writhe against such focused attention, but he can’t even have that. He’s trapped in a body-wide vise under Minho, all feeble attempts at movement met with total stillness.
“Why?” Jisung groans, voice laced with irritation.
The mirth in Minho’s eyes only grows stronger. He looks satisfied, as if he finally has Jisung right where he wants him.
Minho uses his free hand to trace along the curved pout of Jisung’s mouth and Jisung shudders, all of his skin buzzing with oversensitivity. Being pulled to the edge had him panting already, squeezing his eyes tight after a sharp inhale when he felt a nail sweep over the expanse of his bottom lip. “Why’d you stop? I was—” he sighs, “I was gonna—..”
The fingers dipping down to Jisung’s chin are uncharacteristically gentle, lightly squeezing each side when Minho puffs out the harshest scoff he has today. Jisung feels the fire returning in his stomach just from the sound.
“And not let me hear your pretty whines anymore?” Minho questions, eyes flickering like he can’t tell whether he wants to grant total focus to Jisung’s eyes or lips. “That’s no fun.”
He leans down, then, close enough that they’re directly inhaling one another. A curious index finger pulls up from the side of Jisung’s chin, hooking in past his mouth to part his lips. It’s barely a kiss when Minho presses his hot, open mouth against Jisung’s, letting the tip of his tongue leisurely dance against the edges there. Jisung yelps into the heat when Minho suddenly bites down on his bottom lip, pulling away with dark eyes and an even darker smirk.
Then he grinds down once, hard, rolling his hips slowly so every single nerve can feel the hard press of Minho’s bulge even through their layers and layers of clothing. It’s too much and not enough, the surprise flaring up Jisung’s body in squeezed eyes a wrecked moan. When he pathetically tries chasing the feeling with his hips again, he’s met with a laugh.
Jisung startles, opening his eyes.
The sight is breathtaking. Minho is.. smiling. Glistening rows of white peeking out underneath the messy pink of his lips, eyes beaming with such fondness that they begin to crinkle at the corners. Like Jisung, how he is just now, is something meant to be openly adored. It’s a sudden wave of whiplash that leaves Jisung’s brain lightheaded, buzzing just like the rest of his overstimulated body.
Minho’s voice comes out light and husky. “See, hear that?” He asks, removing his hand to prop up his elbow next to Jisung’s head.
Jisung’s mind is lagging behind, but Minho does good work of clarifying it for him immediately. The rare smile drops, and he presses back in to grind down again, rolling his hips directly over Jisung’s, dragging their clothed cocks together rougher this time. The punch of whiny, lost vowels bubbles out of Jisung before he can process it.
It only encourages Minho to go rougher, hips more frantic and mean.
“See?” He pants out again, eyes locked reverently and unblinking onto Jisung’s face. “So—” another frenzied grind, “— fucking—” Jisung’s whimpering at the next one too, nails biting into Minho’s wrist where they’re pinned, “—pretty.”
It’s no surprise that Minho begins to slow his ministrations once he’s got Jisung decently ruined and desperate again. It feels torturous; his cock is aching raw and rubbed in his briefs, uncomfortably slicking the fabric against his head with bead after bead of pre-cum.
Jisung hazily wonders how much more of this he can take before the beginning of hot tears begin to prick at his ducts. His words are sluggish and his eyes open blurry, so weak now that he can only lightly brush the pads of his fingers against Minho’s, who hums curiously above him.
“Please, fuck, hyung, I just wan’, just wan’..” he slurs.
He looks beyond the blurred figure of his spent eyes and heavy lashes at Minho as he readjusts himself, pushing back up to seat himself properly on Jisung’s crotch. He ‘moves around’ a bit to get himself comfortable. Jisung whimpers brokenly in the back of his throat.
The look Minho gives him is innocent, despite the light bend he still has to make to ensure his grip on Jisung’s wrists never wanes. “Sorry, didn’t hear you. You want what, exactly?”
Jisung deflates, letting a long sigh escape his mouth as he closes his eyes. No time for shame, anymore.
“I want to come so badly,” he whispers. “It hurts so much.”
Minho’s hand travels down slowly over Jisung, occasionally flipping so his knuckle can drag against the soft white cotton of the hoodie. “You know,” Minho starts, hand stopping once it reaches the destination of Jisung’s shorts. “I sort of figured that one out myself.”
Jisung wills his eyes open just a little bit more to shoot him a glare.
Minho laughs gently at that, thumbing at the hem of Jisung’s hoodie. “You will,” He confirms, briefly flickering his eyes up to Jisung’s. “Eventually.”
Then his eyes lock back to where his hand is. Jisung gulps when he feels his cool fingertips sneak under the hem there, touching at the toned flesh of Jisung’s stomach. Then his fingers go down, down far enough to where Minho’s thumb begins toying dangerously with the elastic waistband of Jisung’s shorts.
When he hooks under it and pulls, Jisung wonders if he’s going to reveal his cock. The bulge is painfully obvious there, but Minho ignores it. He simply drags down enough to reveal the sharp jut of his hip bone before doing the same on the other side.
Then he does the last thing Jisung expected: Minho brings his thumb to rub soothing circles over it, his pressure a feather touch of skin on skin, as if he were admiring a work of art. It’s a sort of affection Jisung had only witnessed in brief instances, like when he’d handled children or his cats. Minho looks hyper focused, like he’s committing every trace of skin to memory. Jisung’s happy he’s not looking at his face which is probably entirely flushed, heartbeat skyrocketing under his ribs.
Then Minho softly drags his knuckles back to the hem of Jisung’s hoodie, riding it up until his full stomach and the vague outline of his abs are exposed, stopping just below his chest. Jisung gulps at the loss of warmth, A/C blasting his skin until his limbs flare up with goosebumps.
When Minho brings a soft hand against his side, chimes of ticklish giggles embarrassingly escape Jisung’s lips. Minho looks back up at him, blinking slowly, before continuing his leisurely pace of ministrations along his stomach.
He takes forever, just looking at his body, fingers dipping into every curve, worshiping every ridge. Such focused attention looks weird on Minho, unlike him. Jisung has no doubt his fascination is sincere, but he’s positive a small percentage of why he’s taking forever is just to spite how needy and desperate Jisung feels.
Eventually, he’d said.
Jisung weakly huffs. “I can’t believe you chose now of all days to start being patient.”
Minho scoffs, finally lifting the hem of the hoodie to ghost past Jisung’s nipples. He takes the handful of fabric and folds it under Jisung’s chin.
“I’m always patient.” He glares. Just then, he brings his hand up to lightly roll a perked nipple under his thumb.
Jisung keens, the shock of sensitivity going straight to his cock. Minho grins, pinching and rolling the pink bud between his fingers, what’s not getting touched being blasted with cold air from the vents. He tries to steel himself once Minho slows down once again, taking in deep breaths, seeing the skin of his stomach rise and fall with every gust of air.
He wants to win — whatever this is. He’s playing exactly as Minho wants right now, pliant and receiving, because he’s letting him.
But something has to get Minho to break, right?
“Please,” Jisung whines, suppressing his smirk of victory when the begging get’s Minho’s cock nudging in interest against Jisung’s body. He must be getting through a little, because Minho’s eyes shoot up expectantly. He gives his best attention, the thumb grazing against his ribcage slowing.
“I’ll—”
Fuck, what would Minho want to hear?
“I’ll be good for you.” He tries — promises in the most sultry voice he can muster.
Minho looks at him for a long second, unreadable. He eventually brings his hand up to poke at the plush of Jisung’s cheek. “Cute.”
What? “Cute?!” Jisung frowns.
Minho runs his hand appreciatively over his torso, squeezing obscenely at his waist. “Fuck. Yes, look at you,” He groans out, scraping his thumbnail over the planes of unmarked skin. “All this gorgeous skin my Jisungie was hiding from me.”
Jisung nearly laughs, because that’s not entirely true. They’re idols — basic human privacy was lost on them the moment they signed up. The amount of times he’s had to see Chan and Changbin waltz around their kitchen shirtless was beyond counting, and Jisung was no different. Everyone had eventually exchanged glances of themselves half-naked one way or another, but maybe that’s not what Minho meant. Here, now, maybe it was different. Jisung was exposed in every way under Minho’s dominant gaze, submitting to every palm that dragged over the hints of his muscles.
He meant intimately. He wanted it to be intimate.
Jisung fought the blush creeping heavily in his neck.
It was useless when Minho continued, wracking heat over his entire frame. “So pretty,” he uttered, dancing his fingers farther along Jisung’s sternum.
When Jisung breathes, it comes out shaky. His torso quivers beneath Minho’s fingers, but the response he gets is no more reactive than a murmur.
“You do that often.” Minho’s eyes are crinkling again.
“Do what?” Jisung whispers.
“You shiver,” he muses, a hand coming down to squeeze at the slight curve of his waist. “Your little body, it shakes.”
“Because I’m cold.” Jisung denies petulantly.
“Because you’re turned on.” Minho claps back, gaze only breathing a confirming smile when Jisung can’t think of a witty quip to return, too busy trying to keep his breathing even.
“S’okay,” Minho comforts with a casual tone. “I like it — love it, even. You look like prey.”
Jisung releases a shocked shudder, eyes immediately widening. He wants to roll them to the back of his head when he feels his thighs quake in uneven tremors, barely jostling the amused Minho above him. He can feel the dark stain gathering underneath his shorts.
“Oh? Like that too, huh?” Minho coos filthily, leaning down to pinch at Jisung’s cheek as degrading as he can. Jisung can’t even tell if the whines he’s releasing are borne of pleasure or complaint when Minho keeps uttering curses and depraved words right against his ear, feeling the bruised lips brush right against the shell. His eyes finally roll back, digging his teeth into his bottom lip to constrain any sounds building in his throat.
Minho lifts up when he notices.
“Aw, look at that,” he says. “You’re biting your lip again. You always do that when you’re horny, too.”
Jisung’s brain burns evocatively. He’d truly figured himself discreet enough to hide that habit; the incessant gnawing at his bottom lip whenever Minho did anything that triggered the more immoral recesses of Jisung’s mind (way too often), the kind of shit that had him slightly rolling his groin back and forth in his seat. He’d justify it with Minho’s obvious nonchalance, then. He’d never see Jisung or look over at him in interest. Not like that.
He was so, so fucking wrong, apparently.
Minho proves his observance now, absorbing every hint of vulnerability in his face.
“You thought I never noticed?” Minho barks out with a chuff, tilting his head curiously. “That’s brave. All your tells are stupid easy.”
When he finds that Jisung can’t respond, scared silent, he continues. “You know,” Minho says when he leans down to the bottom of Jisung’s stomach, breaths fanning over his belly button, “I’ve always wondered something.”
He begins pressing lazy kisses up Jisung, smirking into the soft skin there when he feels that telltale shudder again. “Times in the past, when I saw you bite your lip,” he says, trailing the tip of his nose up Jisung’s ribs. “Or when you’d turn that face away from me when you’d start blushing,” he breathes. “Was always curious what it looked like while you got off. When you come.”
Minho’s eyes meet Jisung’s, who probably looks like a picture perfect memory of the blush Minho just described. He can feel the blood rushing hot up his neck from his startlingly honest words, and he’d probably be sickly pale in the face if the flush hadn’t reached his cheeks. He’s instantly reminded of all the nights he’d guiltily touched himself under his sheets, imagination pathetically clinging to the idea of what it’d be like if Minho was fucking him into them. Conjuring the view of Minho over him, composure slipping as he used Jisung to get himself over the edge, how it was exactly what did it for Jisung, instead.
“W-wanted to..” Jisung swallows thickly. “Um, yeah, I did— I do, too.”
“Oh?” Minho says with a curious tease to his voice. “You did? Tsk tsk, my innocent little Sungie.”
Jisung scoffs at that. “Hardly.”
Minho’s mouth dips back down to continue his presses against Jisung’s torso, though his blown pupils never waver. “Oh really, so you think about this often?” He challenges, letting his bottom lip drag up Jisung’s sternum. “Since when?” He asks against his chest before finally allowing his eyes to slip shut and suck a mark into it. He pulls away only after it turns a deep red, satisfied, leaving Jisung a panting and white-knuckled mess.
“Since debut?” Minho tries again, deliberately ghosting just out of reach of Jisung’s nipples. He glances down to one for a long second, contemplative, but decides against it and opts to rest his chin on Jisung’s pec, looking up at him under his lashes with a sadistic grin.
“Since you met me.” Minho purrs, not a question this time.
Jisung’s gonna faint if every blood cell in his body keeps running circles between his cheeks and his cock. The look on Minho’s face is pure evil now, so Jisung has to squeeze his eyes shut before he stares any longer and reaches some too-horny state of cardiac arrest.
It’s all the answer Minho needs. “Aw,” he coddles. “It’s an honor to be in the presence of Minsung’s biggest fanboy.”
“Oh my god, I actually fucking hate you.” Jisung whines out.
Minho responds to that by deftly flicking his finger over a pert nipple. Jisung’s eyes instantly open with a yelp at the sting, tucking his chin to look down at a pair of feline eyes that’ve been drained of humor.
“That wasn’t very nice,” Minho deadpans with a long-suffering sigh. “Apologize.”
Of course all his dominance and desire for control would carry over into more lewd scenarios. Minho had a natural affinity for staying aware of everything that always gave him the upper hand, one of Jisung’s major fears back before his feelings were revealed, whether Minho reciprocated or not. Now the playing field isn’t leveled anymore, and now they both know that, and now Minho knows Jisung fucking likes getting ordered around, with the way his cock keeps twitching with interest against Minho’s thigh.
Ugh. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” Jisung glares.
Minho hums, moving his mouth down to the abused nipple to lick away the sting. When Jisung releases a soft moan, the hand around his wrists tighten just so.
“Can’t complain.” Minho muses, puckering his mouth to blow cold air on the remnants of hot saliva. Jisung yelps again, feeling his chest erupt in chills and nipples impossibly harden further.
“I don’t know why I should apologize to an evil demon sent straight from— fuck —hell.” Jisung grits out between his teeth.
Minho gently brushes a row of teeth over his nipple in warning. “Because you said you’d be good, remember?” He asks. His free hand comes to brush a gentle thumb over the other bud, rolling it slow under the pad. Something about the softness in the action feels more patronizing than affectionate. “Or maybe you don’t. A little foreplay and it’s already got you fucking stupid, Sungie? That’s adorable.”
Oh my god.
“I’m sorry then, hyung,” Jisung tries with what little remains of his willpower before the scale finally spills over for good. He’s done for after this, he knows it. “I’m sorry you’re such an insufferable fucking tease.”
He was anticipating Minho to bite him like he’d threatened, maybe abuse his nipples until they went red and puffy and had Jisung streaming pathetic tears down his cheekbones and into his ears. Punish him here all afternoon like he desired and Jisung secretly craved, but he doesn’t.
Minho isn’t as patient as he claimed to be, and definitely not as unaffected as Jisung expected. He can feel his erection firm in his pants as he climbs the rest of the way up Jisung’s torso, face to face, towering over him. He grabs Jisung tight by the back of his head, wringing blonde strands as a vise between his fingers, and yanks it to the side so he can growl directly into the shell of his ear.
“Do I have to fuck the manners into you?”
Jisung can feel his own body go taut, almost pushed to the brink of orgasm again from that alone. He can feel Minho’s lips brushing against his piercings, waiting, but nothing comes out of Jisung’s throat, brain going lax.
Minho gives him one firm, warning squeeze. “Answer me.”
“Y-yes..” Jisung gets out, so breathless already.
“Then you should be a good boy and fucking beg for it, huh?” Minho grinds down once then, slowly, and the relief on Jisung’s aching cock is its own brand of nirvana despite the agonizing pace. Definitely not enough to get him over.
“Please,” Jisung pants.
“Please what?” Minho returns hotly in his ear.
“Please fuck me,” Jisung whines. “Pleasepleasepleaseplease, I want hyung so bad, I want—”
Minho handles his fingers in Jisung’s hair to have him directly facing Minho again, cutting him off with a kiss so hard their teeth clack together. Neither of them care, immediately licking into each other until they can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. Jisung groans when he realizes Minho’s tasted him so much that the traces of sugar on his tongue have entirely disappeared.
Minho slightly adjusts, ensuring they’re slotted together perfectly before he starts a leisurely roll of his hips. He doesn’t resist this time when Jisung attempts to grind up into him, and the whine Jisung lets out goes muffled between their mouths.
Minho moves his hand from Jisung’s hair to the back of his neck, dragging his lips until they press into the patch of skin under his ear. “Let me hear you, baby.” He purrs, picking up the speed of his hips to coax out every sound he possibly can.
Jisung can’t even close his mouth anymore between all the silent moans and loud whimpers, feeling the start of drool at the corner of his mouth with his cheek smashed against the sofa cushion. Minho begins sucking and biting all over the trace of his jawline, down the column of his neck, leaving a particularly hard bite when he thrusts hard enough to have Jisung getting jostled further up the cushions.
A full moan crashes through him, then, wanton like it belongs somewhere in the dark corners of pornography and not the innocuous quiet of their dorms living room. Minho bites down on him hard again, enough to leave teeth-shaped indents, breath fanning hot on his skin as he inches his lips back up to Jisung’s ear.
Then Jisung feels the pressure around his wrists leave. He’s momentarily puzzled, unable to process basic thought, before Minho brushes his nose against Jisung’s ear in a filthy whisper.
“Your reward,” he says, grabbing Jisung’s arms to wrap them around his neck. “For being good.”
Jisung fucking keens, barely aware of the dull ache as his wrists begin reprocessing all their circulation. He holds onto Minho tight, giving an appreciative kiss in the junction where neck meets shoulder before he begins panting into it.
Now with both hands free, Minho can get a lot more adventurous, Jisung realizes. One arm slips to brace under the middle of Jisung’s back as he returns to attacking his neck in wet, hurried kisses, and the other slips down his exposed torso.
Then it keeps going.
Those fucking gorgeous fingers slip past his waistband. “Fuck, fuck, hyung—” Jisung interrupts himself with a choked cry when he feels Minho thumb all the drooling pre-cum at the head of his cock, smearing it around and playing with it as he grins into Jisung’s collar.
“So wet for me, Sungie,” He purrs. “Wonder how desperate you were. Probably been dripping for me ever since you saw me on Facetime, hm?”
Fuck. Jisung could barely think anymore, clawing at Minho’s shoulders when his hips give way to allow fingers to snake around Jisung’s shaft. Minho tugs experimentally, basking in the sensitive whines Jisung releases right next to his ear.
In an embarrassingly short amount of time Jisung can already feel the telltale waves of heat building around his cock. There’s no shame left in his soul to feel shy about it, though. Reality itself has shrunk to a single pinpoint of consistent pleasure and the need to get pushed over the edge, mind a hazy blank and ears filled with nothing but Minho’s murmured, degrading comments, his own wrecked moans, the distant echo of a whistle somewhere in the hall outside their dorm—
Wait a fucking second.
Jisung’s eyes snap open and he uncharacteristically quiets himself, which Minho barely seems to notice in his ministrations on his dick and under his jaw. He hears the whistling better now, and his confusion is rapidly clarifying into a panic that distracts him even from the godly handjob he’s receiving.
His brain stops and restarts a few times, bringing a hand down to gently tug at Minho’s wrist while his mind works a thousand miles away.
Only their manager and other members come to this floor. Everyone’s out, right? The only person coming home with an early schedule, bar Minho, was—
“Felix,” Jisung whispers.
“What?” Minho breathes out distractedly.
“Felix, Minho,” Jisung says, lightly pushing and shaking his shoulder with his other hand. “Felix is coming.”
“Wow,” Minho deadpans into Jisung’s skin.
What the fuck? “He’s gonna see us?” Jisung shout-whispers as if Felix could hear them already. Minho doesn’t even flinch at the news.
“Mm, don’t care.”
The whistles get loud as they reverberate down the hall, close enough now that Jisung recognizes the tune as one of those Tik Tok songs Felix has been obsessed over recently. This is so fucking bad. Whether Minho didn’t mind an audience or not — which Jisung might find hot, in literally any other situation — Jisung will actually die of embarrassment if Felix even gets a glimpse at his leaking, erect cock.
The thought alone already has Jisung frightened and insistently pulling at Minho’s wrist. “Please, Minho, I’ll— fuck, I’ll do anything.” The words slip out before he even realizes what he’s saying. “I’ll let you do anything you want. Later.”
Minho stops immediately and lifts his head to stare down at him in disbelief, wiping Jisung’s pre-cum off on Jisung’s shorts. After he cocks up one brow after a beat of silence, maybe waiting for a punchline, Jisung finally understands the implications of what he’s just signed up for.
“Don’t tell me you’re that stupid.”
Well. Life was fun while it lasted.
Jisung’s gaze snaps away from their stare-off at the sound of a lock clicking open. He can practically feel the grip of Felix’s hand on that doorknob, walking in much too fast to find them right here, no excuses to justify the compromising position they’re in. His head whips back to Minho, eyes alight in panic and insistent hands now shoving at him in earnest.
“Is that another order? Get off.” Jisung begs, and his entire body nearly sags in relief when Minho lifts a knee to allow Jisung’s body to swing into a sitting position.
He’s in the middle of hurrying his hoodie back down over his bruised chest when the door opens in the distance. The fabric sags down the rest of the way when Jisung leans forward to stand up, but a hand stops him from leaving the second time that hour.
He flinches, eyes rushing back to Minho who’s now pressing a hand up the side of his neck. Those feline eyes dart there briefly before returning Jisung’s fixed gaze.
“You promise?” Minho asks. His thumb pets leisurely over Jisung’s Adam's apple, stroking too calmly given their current situation. Jisung feels like an idiot for actually slipping into some semblance of calm, because he immediately hears the front door close, and then the grip around his neck tightens this far of pain. A promise. “Anything.”
“Yes!” Jisung immediately cries, borderline sycophantic as he shifts between Minho’s shrinking pupils that instantly begin to stray from his own. The cuff of fingers around his neck goes limp, and Jisung takes the opportunity to shoot up to his feet and pull his hoodie down, covering what could remain of his boner.
He gives one last glance over his shoulder to Minho, too blurry and frantic to even commit any image to memory, before he’s rushing over to one of the chairs at their dining table to try and act natural. His hand darts out to a fresh orange in their ceramic fruit bowl, one of the plump ones from some island-based brand they got recently. He can peel it fast, maybe idle himself with stuffed cheeks full of wedges. He actually was hungry when he came out here in the first place, after all. It wasn’t even a lie. Felix would expect nothing.
He stuffs some in the pockets next to his gums when Felix rounds the corner. He’s dressed back in what he probably wore to the set; a baggy black tee with equally black track pants, two stripes of white lined from the hem at his hips all the way down to his ankles. It makes the stark white of his airpods stand out as he plucks them individually from his ears to tuck into his case.
Fucking fuck fuck fuck, so that means he heard nothing. Glory on Earth.
He turns the corner into the kitchen, coming face-to-face with Jisung who’s awkwardly smiling at him, cheeks stuffed with citrus and hands professionally clasped together like nothing could ever be any type of suspicious. No suspicion. Ever.
Felix’s eyes linger on him a little longer than Jisung feels safe with, but his face seems approachable as he makes way to one of the fridges.
“Hey!” He laughs, confused, yanking the handle open. “Thought you’d still be at my PC when I got back, what’re you doing out here?”
Jisung swallows down his mouthful of orange, biting back a recent memory when he feels a certain acidity leak down his throat. “Got hungry..” He replies blandly, too concerned with sounding as neutral as possible.
“Ah, well,” Felix says with his head buried in the refrigerator while his fingers drum against the handle. He scopes out a huge container of grape soda and takes it with his free hand at the neck of it. “We’ll play in a sec, just needa grab a drink.”
“Sure,” Jisung replies. As expected, Felix instantly goes for the cabinets above to fish out a glass. Jisung uses this time to cast a panicked glance over his shoulder at Minho.
He’s perfect. Pristine, even. His eyes are downcast on the phone he retrieved from the coffee table, thumbing through cat video after cat video. He looks exactly how Jisung had seen him before waltzing in and catastrophically shifting their lives with one another, like it had never happened, like it had meant nothing. Jisung zeroes in on his hair, the taut skin of his thumb, but the rattle of glass against the counter has his focus jerk immediately.
He’s back on Felix when both the container and glass clink against the counter. Hopefully he saw none of that.
His mind scrambles and his lips itch with the urge to say something. “So I have a question,” he tries.
“Mhm?” Felix returns, eyes never even reaching him. He’s screwing off the plastic cap on the container, small fingers budging against the ridges.
Jisung feels the hot burn of Minho’s existence against his back when he leans in. “Are you sure you’ll be able to handle the blow to your ego once I beat your ass at your own game?”
“Pfft,” Felix sputters, the laughter bubbling out of him too easily. Jisung witnesses his eyes twinkle, the pearly white of his teeth crest past his lips, the glug glug glug of soda being poured into the glass, the soft and amused eyes Jisung’s graced with when Felix’s finally meet his.
“Do you even remember—” Felix begins, then stops, eyes locking onto something beyond Jisung over his shoulder.
Jisung observes him attentively, the slight creases of confusion in his features. Sizzles of soda drowns out his ears and he can already feel his heart plummeting into his stomach.
“Hyung?” Felix calls out. “Why’re there so many snacks all over the floor?”
Jisung twists in his barstool at a comical level of slow to look at Minho. Despite his nonchalant appearance, there’s a rainbow of pellets and crumbs gathered around his feet from their earlier.. experience. Despite Jisung gnawing at the inside of his bottom lip, he was vaguely curious of what excuse Minho could make out of this one.
Yeah, what happened here? Jisung parades around in his head. You smug fuck.
“Jisung did it.” Minho replies cooly, never looking up from his phone.
Jisung gasp-garbles in some sort of affronted scoff, mouth agape and eyes even wider. That wasn’t even true. He suppresses a glare at Minho where somewhere, he knows, under that steely and aloof facade, he’s probably laughing his ass off.
“J-Jisung?” Felix asks in a light tone, even more confused. His brows are so furrowed now that the skin between them is creasing. His eyes dart back and forth between Minho’s distantly still form and Jisung like he doesn’t know if this will split into one of their lighthearted feuds he’ll have to pick a side with.
But it won’t. Minho knew that. Jisung’s so riled up on edge right now and he can still feel the fucking brush of fabric annoyingly teasing at his hypersensitive nipples with every move he makes. His nails discreetly dig into the heels of his palms, flexing, like he hasn’t been digging his nails into enough skin today already.
Think, please think. Think and then say something.
His eyes bore into the violet bubbles of fizz racing rapidly to the foam of Felix’s glass when he says, “Yeah. Um, yeah. I.. tripped.”
Oh my god, no, you idiot.
“On.. the sofa?” Felix blinks, twisting the cap back on the lid.
Jisung hopes that the cringe at himself plays well with whatever story he’s trying to build. He pokes uselessly at the peeled skins of his orange and chuffs out a laugh, hopefully sounding some usual combination of embarrassed, but like, trying to brush it off. “C’mon, Lix, are you surprised?”
Please take the bait, it’s right there.
Felix stalls over his features for a moment before lightly shaking his head, laughing—
Yes please yes.
—and turns around, going to put the bottle back in the fridge like he’s done with the conversation.
Yes yes yes yes yes.
“Guess not.” Felix sighs with a smile, kicking the fridge door closed. The glance he shoots back to Jisung hints of something apologetic. “You are super clumsy, no offense.”
Minho snorts.
Jisung’s drops the orange peel in his grasp at that when he moves it to the trash bin.
“Like, really clumsy.” Felix adds.
“Okay, kindly shut up, I’m gonna go whoop your ass now.” Jisung says when the bin rattles closed.
“Mhm.” Felix rolls his eyes with fondness, making way back to his room with a handful of purple glass, fogged out with condensation, and a nervous Jisung trailing hot on his heels. He fidgets quietly when he realizes he can see the burning outline of Minho’s body in his periphery, daring him to look.
He can barely believe he was under it less than five minutes ago.
A dark, horrid corner of his brain brings the “promise” to the forefront of his attention. He wonders what that entails. He wonders what he wants that to entail, but he really shouldn’t get carried away with those thoughts right now. His boner literally just died.
When they make it back to Felix’s room, Jisung is far too eager to shut the door closed behind them. The added thickness of walls between himself and Minho act to do the same for his brain, closing that chapter of his day so he can officially dedicate his time and focus to Felix.
Felix does a cheery skip-hop to his setup and shakes the mouse, rousing the computer out of its sleep mode. Jisung pulls out a neighboring chair while Felix sets them up on the game, effortlessly bouncing between adjusting the settings, grabbing some controllers and bantering with Jisung all at once, like he’s done this thousands of times over.
Jisung happily listens to everything, be it Felix ranting about the technical difficulties this morning making him do multiple takes or the progressive whining that nothing quite felt right without Jisung there. He’s trying to make him smile again, and it’s working, so Jisung offers him a loose half-hug with one arm as Felix finally finishes tweaking with something on the menu.
By the time it’s ready, Jisung is engrossed in the moment, fully prepared to sink into this chair for the next few hours and just let time slip away.
“So, you think you still have a chance at winning?” Felix asks, tossing him a controller. He hovers his cursor over a bright ‘PLAY’ button, pressing down once Jisung’s all hooked up. The clear boom of an announcer flies out of Felix’s speakers.
CHOOSE YOUR CHARACTER!
“You know what I think?” Jisung accuses, pointing the handle of his controller at Felix’s amused face. “I think you’re asking questions to stall because you’re avoiding the inevitable.” He declares profoundly like some Sherlock incarnate. Felix lets out a breath at such a sage realization, nodding.
“Ah, that’s it.”
“Avoiding the inevitable that I’m about to dethrone you of your precious title.” Jisung persists.
“Sure.” Felix says, and there’s this smug little smirk on his face that screams pure mischief. Jisung doesn’t like it. Felix keeps his eyes off Jisung and on the screen, locking in a character that Jisung knows he plays super often.
“Still,” Felix begins. “You do realize that I have, like, a hundred times more experience on this game than you, right?”
Jisung lets a smug tch sound escape his lips, going to lock in his own character he’s spent all morning getting used to. “You’re really hurting my ego here, dude. Like I’d need all that when I was gifted this godly level of focus.”
LOADING…
“Ah, right, the focus.” Felix nods slowly. He purses his lips, and they glow a vague white from the glare of the loading screen. “So if you have such great focus, distractions won’t bother you.”
“Nope.” Jisung says with confidence, making himself comfy and crossing his legs up on the chair.
“None?” Felix asks, smiling innocently.
“I’m getting that crown, buddy.” Jisung replies, already squinting his eyes at the screen.
“‘Kay, then can I ask one more question?”
“Be my guest.”
Felix’s smile spreads to a full grin, but Jisung doesn’t catch it in the reflection of the monitor as the game starts.
FIGHT!
“Did that ‘sofa’ also give you all those hickeys?”