you can hurt me

by minslick (imkirauwu)

Summary:

In which Han Jisung discovers his kink, his sexuality, and the love of his life all at once.

And he's panicking.

Notes:

This is my first ever posted fic for Minsung or Skz in general!! The idea came from one single brain worm that involved Jisung having a kink for Minho slapping him in the face while wearing metal rings. It turned into way more than that.

BIG THANK YOU to the most wonderful friend Logan for betaing this monster for me and reassuring me through the whole process that it did indeed make sense and didn't suck lmfao. Also big thank you to Em, Neli, and Ash for hyping me up even when I was nervous to put his out there!<3

“Minho?”

 

“Hm?”

 

Jisung fidgets in his seat.

 

“If I asked for a favor, you’d do it, right?”

 

“Depends.”

 

Jisung frowns. “Fine okay. Can you do me a favor?”

 

“ Depends.”

 

Minho has yet to look up from his phone. The two of them planned a chill evening in, the perfect wind down after the chaos of their comeback. Neither of them have had a break in months—possibly years at this point— and despite having spent every day together during that time, they still gravitate to a shared space. Though, it’s a bit difficult to avoid when they live together.

 

Jisung groans in frustration. Asking things of Minho is never exactly easy, but he’d like to think the two of them are close enough that he could get through a single request without imploding. That said, the subject matter might be a bit unhinged. God, why is he even doing this?

 

“ Okay. ” Jisung sucks in a deep breath, fidgeting with his hoodie sleeve before blurting out, “can you hit me?”

 

It’s like fucking whiplash the rate at which Minho’s phone is locked and discarded to the coffee table in front of them, deserted amongst the numerous empty takeout containers from earlier that evening.

 

“Oh, that I can do. Sure.” 

 

“Uhhh,” Jisung startles. “You’re too eager. Nevermind, I take it back.”

 

He shouldn’t have asked. What is he thinking .

 

“Huh? You asked.”

 

“Yeah, I mean,” Jisung groans into his palms, his face heating up way too quickly. “Forget it, though. I didn’t ask.” 

 

“No,” Minho starts, turning his body towards Jisung to really drive the point home. Even the five foot distance between them feels suffocating as Jisung eyes him through the space between his fingers. At least the blush on his cheeks is covered. “You asked if I would do you a favor and the favor is something I can do quite easily, actually.”

 

“What?!” Jisung is done with this conversation. He shouldn’t have brought it up. He can’t even remember why he wanted this to begin with, except he actually can, but if he thinks about that too hard right now he’s not going to be able to keep hanging out with Minho like this for the foreseeable future.

 

“I said I can do that!” Minho blurts. “So when are we doing this? Right now?” He starts stretching out his arms the way Jisung has seen him before an intense strength work out, and suddenly Jisung’s entire body is buzzing. Nope, that’s enough Minho for the night.

 

“We’re not doing this, oh my god!” Jisung cries. “What, do you want to kill me?? Should I sleep with one eye open tonight?!” 

 

“Don’t you always? Aren’t you, like, afraid that someone’s going to sneak into your room and mess with you or something?” Minho’s stretching his arms towards the ceiling, the slightest bit of skin exposed where his shirt raises along with them, and it’s definitely time for Jisung to head to bed. 

 

“Years of sleeping in the presence of you and the others has instilled immense fear in me, yes.” Jisung quips as he jumps to his feet and starts padding towards his room. “I’m locking my door tonight!!” 

 

“What, you’re going to bed?” Minho’s confused, and rightfully so. Jisung pretty effortlessly turned a chill night into a whole crisis. At least, on his end. Minho seems a bit too damn normal for the subject matter, and that only has Jisung spiraling more.

 

“I’m exhausted, man.” It’s all he can really come up with, and it’s definitely true. He would have liked to spend more time with Minho, had planned to, but thanks to his weird thoughts successfully bleeding into reality, somewhere they really should never venture, Jisung is now confined to his room to think about what he’s done. Even the stupidly sincere “okay, goodnight Jisungie” had caused his stomach to turn as he closed his bedroom door behind him, unlocked despite his threats, and he can’t stop thinking about that stupidly determined expression Minho wore just minutes prior. 

 

This all started in the dumbest way, and Jisung knows it. He lies on his back on his still-made bed, eyes focused on the blank ceiling of his new dorm. There really should be something more interesting there to look at, Jisung thinks, but he’s barely even had time to breathe since moving in. Well, it’s not the best excuse considering that he’s had plenty of time to obsess over Minho’s hands. At first it was innocent, it really was. Jisung hadn’t meant to notice, but self-discovery bites everyone in the metaphorical ass at some point, and it appears his time had finally arrived. 

 

Amongst their group, Minho has been dubbed “the butt hunter.” It’s a silly little running joke, the fact that the guy is properly obsessed with slapping every member’s’ butts for the camera, relishing in their reactions. It’s always in good fun, everyone whooping and laughing any time he fixates on a new victim. Jisung has been chosen numerous times, sometimes he feels like it’s him most of the time, but even so he plays it up big for the recording, dutifully the entertainer they all know and love. 

 

It really was out of the blue, like a switch had flipped suddenly, and now its firmly bolted in place, never to be reversed. Jisung was normal, he swears he was so normal before The Great Ass Slap of 2024—he has to use humor to cope or he’s going to go completely insane. He might already be insane, actually, and he doesn’t want to find out what’s beyond that. Which is exactly why he shouldn’t be dwelling on what happened that day when Minho was being totally normal—if you can call ass-slapping your bros “normal”— and delivered a pretty modest slap to which Jisung gasped and complained about as usual. It was normal by every single account, except for the way it absolutely electrified Jisung. 

 

It’s actually beyond embarrassing to think about how worked up Jisung was for days following the incident. It was like his body had broken out in a bad case of internal fireworks, and he could nearly combust any time Minho was in the vicinity. It hadn’t gone unnoticed by any of the members how jumpy Jisung had suddenly become, but especially not by Minho, which is the worst because that man feeds on weakness. 

 

Why so jumpy, Hannie? It replays in his mind over and over, the casual teasing, the way Minho winds up his arm like he’s about to strike, only to burst into laughter at Jisung’s flinching when he stops short of actually making contact. It was a silly game. It was normal. Everything and everyone was and is completely normal. Except Han Jisung, he is decidedly not normal.

 

Then came phase two of Jisung’s gradual and ongoing meltdown. Everywhere they went, everything they did, he couldn’t help noticing Minho’s hands. Nothing changed about his hands, it was entirely Jisung that had changed. His perspective, the things he focuses on, for whatever ungodly reason, had suddenly shifted. The slightest of touches became major events in Jisung’s day. Minho casually tapping on his phone. Minho rifling through sheet music during rehearsals. Minho high-fiving him during dance routines. Minho doing absolutely any activity that engages the use of his hands. Jisung finds himself mesmerized. It’s such a weird and random fixation, he thinks. It’s not like he has some weird fetish—he thinks. He just can’t stop thinking about that slap. The one that changed it all. And in some cruel twist of fate Minho has now decided it’s funnier to only threaten the follow through, and never actually do so. 

 

It’s concerning on its own that this is disappointing to Jisung, actually. That’s a thought he can’t afford to entertain tonight. So, instead of doing so, he wriggles himself beneath his covers, leans to shut off the light, and resigns himself to chasing away thoughts of “why” and “what if” until he finally, mercifully, falls into a slumber.

 

Days after the most awkward conversation of Jisung’s life, things are unfortunately exactly the same. Not the same as they were pre-slap, but for sure the same as they have been since Jisung decided he’s fucking broken. Except now, there’s this great new feature that causes Jisung to feel something along the lines of wanting to strangle his fellow band members any time they get a slap from the notorious “butt hunter.”. It’s a real conundrum, truthfully, and Jisung is just as exasperated with himself as the others probably are when he storms out in the middle of practice to tame his temper before he completely exposes himself. Once any of them, especially Hyunjin, catches wind of how weird he’s been acting, it’s over. He’ll not only be forced to address this issue head on, but he’s also going to have to share it with all of them. That sounds exactly like one of those dreams where he shows up to practice but realizes he’s completely naked, except this would make him feel even more exposed. 

 

The only thing about all of this that is a little merciful is the fact that Minho hasn’t brought up Jisung’s request at all since that night. But, even though he’s not complaining in the slightest, isn’t that kind of strange? It naturally leaves him feeling a bit on guard, wondering exactly what that devil man is planning, but he’s not going to look a gift horse in the face—or whatever the saying is. 

 

“Han, you’ve been staring at that spot on the wall for like a solid 15 minutes.” Hyunjin elbows him in the ribs, knocking him out of his trance. 

 

“It’s a good spot, I guess,” Jisung grunts, rubbing his eyes and refocusing into reality.

 

“Uh, right…but it’s just a blank wall?” Hyunjin’s expression is his typical brand of judgmental, and Jisung figures yeah, that makes sense considering how weird he’s been lately.

 

“What, you mean you don’t see it?” Jisung feigns genuine shock, cocking his head to the side. Hyunjin squints at him, then at the wall, then back at him.

 

“Are you like…losing it or something?” 

 

Yup. That’s exactly what it is. He’s totally losing it…or something.

 

“Bro, I can’t believe you don’t see that. It’s like, the coolest thing I’ve ever seen. You should get your eyes checked, Hyunjinnie.” Jisung presses both palms against Hyunjin’s cheeks and squeezes, focusing in on his startled eyes. “Woah, I can actually see how bad your eyes are getting.” 

 

Hyunjin pushes his hands away, frowning and slapping him on the knee. “My eyes are perfect, shut up.” 

 

“Hannie, why are you torturing Hyunjin?” Chan casually appears behind the couch they’re sitting on, sporting a curious frown. He’s always around when he suspects something’s up with any of the members, and Jisung hasn’t missed the way he’s had a particularly watchful eye on him over the past few weeks. 

 

“I’m just worried about our Hyunjin, here! Surely his eyesight is deteriorating if he can’t see—” Han turns to point directly at the wall behind them, “—that!” 

 

Chan squints at the spot, really trying, really earnestly trying to understand what is so interesting about a blank, studio wall. 

 

“It just looks like—”

 

“The best wall I’ve ever seen .” Chan’s interrupted by a woefully familiar voice. Jisung shivers, suppressing an exhausted groan. It’s not that he doesn’t like being around Minho—of all the members, he’s who Han is closest to—but boy is this getting exhausting. How is he supposed to continue being as normal as normal can be if he’s constantly reminded of this weird ass crisis he’s currently navigating? 

 

Chan deadpans, looking between the three of them surrounding him and sighs. “Actually, I don’t wanna be involved.” 

 

That seems to be Hyunjin’s cue, as well, considering his eyes roll so far back into his head they nearly disappear as he stands and announces, “I’ll leave you two to your soulmate stuff or whatever.” 

 

The choice of words makes the hair on Jisung’s arms stand on end, but it’s immediately mellowed by the way Hyunjin peeks inquisitively over his shoulder at the blank wall before finally taking his leave. Ha, got him. 

 

His condition is yo-yoed right back as Minho takes a seat on the couch, their knees brushing just the slightest breath of a touch, and Jisung mostly suppresses the way it makes his body jerk. Mostly. Unlucky for him, Minho is way too intuitive for both their goods. It’s strange, because most of the time Jisung is wishing for more of Minho’s attention, whining for him to put his phone down, tugging on him to pay attention to him instead of everyone else, but right now there’s not much he wouldn’t do for a distraction.

 

“Let’s talk.” Minho’s arm is thrown over the back of the couch, hovering over Jisung’s shoulders as he grins invitingly. Being with Minho is warm and familiar. It’s going home after a long day, it’s a warm home-cooked meal, it’s lying in a sunspot with a good book…except for when it’s not like that. Right now, it feels like being preyed on. Hunted. Jisung feels small, he feels like whatever comes out of Minho’s mouth next will decide his fate, change the course of his entire life. 

 

“O-okay.” Jisung manages, not cool in the slightest, but he spoke so it counts for something.

 

“You’re being weird.” Minho cocks his head to the side, squinting as he holds intense eye contact. “Well, weirder than usual.” 

 

“Hyung, did you come over here to insult me?” Jisung manages to quip, crossing his arms and pushing his bottom lip out in that way he knows does something to Minho. What? He’s not sure. But it always seems to get him to change his tune.

 

Not this time, apparently.

 

“Nope. Pointing out the obvious.” Minho holds firm, drilling his gaze through Jisung like if he tries hard enough he’ll actually be able to see the answer inside that thick skull of his. It won’t work, though, because not even Jisung knows. It’s all dust and cobwebs up there, buddy.

 

“What’s obvious? That I’m perfectly fine?” Jisung continues to pout, but more petulantly. Truth be told he’s playing with fire, but it’s his normal with Minho, and he figures if he’s going to get through this he’s got to at least pretend that nothing is out of the ordinary. 

 

“Hm.” Minho hums, not inquisitively or knowingly in any way. Just a plain, flat ‘hm’. It’s actually more unsettling than anything else he could have done. 

 

“Well, alright.” Minho shrugs, and Jisung feels a brief jolt of panic in his gut. “Guess you’re fine.” 

 

Why does Jisung feel like he lost, somehow? Isn’t that exactly what he wanted? For Minho to drop the subject? For him to let Jisung spiral in peace? Then why does it feel so…frustrating?

*

“I’m ordering. Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

 

Jisung enters the room just as Minho is tapping on his phone, placing their dinner order at the restaurant they had agreed on earlier that day.

 

“What, am I marrying my dinner?” Jisung treads through their living space and towards the laundry room, empty basket in hand. “Just surprise me.” 

 

Minho hums, a few more taps to his phone screen and then he’s placing it down on the table. He sits back, arms crossed, and there’s an eery silence between them.

 

“Uh, ordered, then?” Jisung questions. He can’t stand silence, but especially not lately. It just feels like a sign that something is about to happen. That if he can’t fill that empty space, it leaves too much up to possibility.

 

“Mhm.”

 

Minho has been suspiciously short with him over the past few days. It had definitely not gone unnoticed, but Jisung has tried to delude himself into believing the guy’s just tired.

 

“There an ETA?” With the basket now full of clean clothes, Jisung begins his trek back to his room, but it’s particularly arduous with Minho’s far too intense gaze tracking him every step of the way.

 

“20 minutes.”

 

“Oooookay, guess I’ll be back in 20.” 

 

As Jisung makes it back to his room, he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. 

Dinner is perhaps the most painful 30 minutes he’s ever spent with Minho. Yes, that includes all the times he’s delivered an atomic slap to Jisung’s ass, as well as the couple of times he ran Jisung completely over during dance rehearsal. It’s a pain – something like psychological torture that grows so big and all-consuming that it circles right back around to the physical. He swears he can actually feel his stomach throbbing as if someone had just punched it. 

 

Except, it’s just Minho. It’s just his presence right now. He’s too quiet, too expressionless, too uninterested. Jisung clears his throat when Minho reappears, having just collected the empty containers and taken them off to the trash. Minho looks at him blankly, just responding to the sound, and Jisung frowns a bit. It lacks that usual spark of interest that he’d become so accustomed to. 

 

“Got any further plans tonight?” Jisung asks, his legs crossed in the cushy armchair he’s perched in. He waves the remote in his hand and grins. “There’s a new mafia movie. Sounds fun, right?” 

 

Minho returns to his previous seat on the couch, nodding in agreement. “Sure.” 

 

Jisung can’t help but feel a little giddy. The response was dry at best, but Minho stayed. He’ll admit that he has this part of him that needs reassurance. It’s something he’s always hated about himself, and it’s why he never allows it to burden anyone else. If he can gain that reassurance through more conspicuous means, he’s all for it, and he’s taking Minho’s willingness to hang out with him a bit longer as a sign that he doesn’t suddenly hate him now. Some of the pressure in his chest releases at the thought, and he has a brief moment of thinking why was I ever so worried in the first place ?

 

That reprieve doesn’t last long, though. Not at all. Because the movie they’re watching, while exactly the kind of thing Jisung enjoys on a regular day, was not his smartest selection in light of recent, crisis-related events. It takes him completely off guard, watching with horrified attention as a mob boss slaps the ever-loving shit out of some other dude’s face, leaving an open wound on the apple of his cheek. Droplets of blood drip from the cut, the man wincing in pain before he’s grabbed roughly by the throat. It’s nothing out of the ordinary. This is par for the course for this genre, and Jisung would actually be disappointed if it lacked the gritty scenes like this one. What actually horrifies him is the way his skin pricks with electrified interest, and just as he reaches for a throw pillow to cover the absolutely unbelievable situation stirring in his lap, he makes eye contact with Minho.

 

How long has he just been staring like that? Jisung’s face heats up in record time, and he can’t even pretend like it isn’t happening. Because Minho has seen it, his face practically radiating red, and Jisung sinks back into the armchair as if he could disappear within it if he tries hard enough. Maybe he could. Maybe if he closes his eyes and dissociates long enough, pretends he’s somewhere else, or hell maybe he’s someone else, he just needs to not be Han Jisung in this particular situation right now. He’d prefer absolutely anything else. Because this? It is decidedly not normal. It is weird. He is weird. He thinks he used to be normal once, but at this rate he can’t remember what that feels like. But god, Minho had clocked him. He read him like a book, and now he has all the proof he needs to support his claims. Because this reaction right now, to the movie he chose, to a scene that should not have him stiff as a fucking board, is the weirdest fucking thing he could do.

 

Somewhere along the line his palms had darted to cover his face, and now all Jisung can hear through the darkness is the racing of his thoughts and the bitter pounding of his heart in his ears. The movie drones on, and he’s really not even sure how long he’s been like this, but eventually he hears a chuckle from the other side of the room.

 

He startles, but the interruption is frankly welcomed as it is way more pleasant than the constant panic running through his mind. Lowering his hands, he dares a glance at Minho who is still—or again—looking at him. 

 

“You picked the movie but you’re the one hiding your face?” Minho grins a bit too fondly. “Weirdo.” 

 

“I’m not the weirdo, you're the weirdo!” Jisung blurts out without thinking. “Get back to watching the movie, yeah? Why are you looking at me?!” 

 

It feels good the way they are able to fall right back into their familiar dynamic, and the sincere smile on Minho’s face is a welcomed change from their interactions over the past few days. The fact that they’re able to finish the movie on a somewhat normal note is a big enough win for Jisung, and he goes to bed feeling content despite the trauma of hiding his violence-induced erection from his roommate.

*

Pain, sharp and explosive, shoots across Jisung’s face. His right cheek, to be exact. It burns, and his skin feels wet with the scent of iron. Everything’s dark, like he’s just bathed in the sensation of pain alone, like it’s his whole world, and then it turns a bit more ravenous. He can hear his own voice, somewhat distant, sobbing, begging, the words barely beginning to take shape. There’s another voice, sterner, darker, and Jisung feels a sudden spark of desperation shoot through him at its recognition. 

 

It’s Minho.

 

He can finally make out his own words. He’s asking for more. Not asking, imploring. Nearly graveling, and the closer the voices get, the brighter his vision becomes. It’s a prickle of light at first, then it’s opening up on a scene: Jisung on his knees on a dirty floor, hands tied behind his back. Minho stands above him, hands in his pockets, dressed in a crisp black suit. He’s smirking devilishly, not unlike him, and his gaze on Jisung is predatory. It’s a bit familiar, but still too distant, and just as Jisung makes out the full scene before him, his consciousness snaps into his body. He’s seeing the scene through his own eyes, looking up at Minho through wet lashes, feeling the painful sting concentrated on his right cheek bone, noticing how devastatingly hard he is between his legs. 

 

His head tilts upwards but not of his own volition—he’s just along for the ride—and he exhales shakily as Minho kneels in front of him. The fabric of his dress pants stretches around his muscular thighs and Jisung’s mouth goes particularly dry. Minho’s holding that intense eye contact again, but his expression looks threateningly provocative, like he’s daring him to say what he’s surely about to say.

 

To Jisung’s surprise, he does. He gathers all the strength in his gut, but the words still come out shakily. 

 

“Please, punish me more.”

 

The feral smile that graces Minho’s features is the perfect precursor to what comes next, Jisung realizes. It isn’t until this moment that he notices in his peripheral that Minho is sporting multiple, heavy metal rings on his left hand. By the time he has the wherewithal to flinch, not that he has any control over it to begin with, Minho’s hand is making devastating contact with his cheek, and everything goes black.

 

Jisung wakes with a startle, shooting up in bed and his hand immediately darting to rub at his cheek. There’s no pain, no wound, just a bit of sweat and the indent of the seam from his pillow case. He catches his breath, willing his heart to stop pounding, when he realizes he’s sitting in something wet and sticky. 

 

What the fuck?

Jisung is in the shower. Jisung is also thinking about what the fuck just happened, and what the fuck is wrong with him. It’s like he’s finally come to a crossroads however many weeks after this entire ordeal was set into motion. The days all blur together at this point, one agonizing second after the last as Jisung puts as much energy as possible into simply waiting this out. Apparently that wasn’t the move, because all it has done is lead him to this point. Felix always told him that it’s best to confront his feelings head on. That pushing them down deep and running the other direction will only catch up to him tenfold. Yeah, Jisung has a habit of doing so. It’s not that he doesn’t believe Felix and his “be in touch with your emotions” gospel, but this particular situation had been, frankly, too overwhelming to confront. Jisung wouldn’t have known where to start even if he had wanted to.

 

Well, that’s not entirely true, though, is it?

 

Because he had started somewhere. He started with Minho. He hadn’t thought about it at all, he just blurted it out without regard for what he might do next, and the moment Minho was agreeable, Jisung was spooked. What was he even hoping for? Even now, he can’t parse through what has possessed him. No part of it, before, during, or after, is a clear path for Jisung, and he lands on the notion that maybe that was always the point. Acting on impulse is the only way he can get anything done, and Minho had felt safe enough to chance that with. 

 

A knock on the bathroom door startles Jisung out of his thoughts, and the voice that follows makes his skin break out in goosebumps considering everything he just went through.

 

“Jisungie, you almost done?” 

 

Not really! He feels like he will probably never be done sorting through whatever this is, but he figures that’s the point he just arrived at. The problem is overthinking, and Jisung has no problem doing that until he’s properly wound himself up so tightly he’s bound to burst at any moment. Apparently this time, the moment had been just this morning during his sleep.

 

“Yup!” He calls back to Minho, abruptly shutting off the water since he has technically been done washing for a solid 15 minutes now. 

 

Exiting the shower feels like a new start. Like he had left all the baggage and confusion of the situation behind to be washed down the drain, leaving him stripped of his worries and onto a path paved with confronting his feelings head on—or something like that. It’s most certainly wishful thinking, but as Jisung dries his hair in the bathroom mirror, he resolves to stop overthinking, go on impulse, and take what he wants without asking—whatever that is!

*

A short 8 hours later, Jisung realizes belatedly that perhaps he was being a bit too optimistic. Actually it’s a little more than a bit, because Jisung has properly “impulsed” himself into a situation that he’s not sure how to turn back from. Primarily, he picked a fight with Minho. Not a fake one just for the fun of getting under each other’s skin. No, a real, honest to god, fight with his best friend and roommate Lee Minho. The only one of the 7 other members of their group that Jisung has never fought with.

 

It was all fun at first. They were throwing innocent jabs out about each other’s living space etiquette. Just regular roommate things. It was exhilarating in its own way, and Jisung chalked it up to falling into a usual banter with his favorite person. He followed that feeling, the fire blazing hotter in his gut with every bit of feigned anger spewing from Minho. Looking back now in the heat of it all, Jisung can’t exactly recall when it had all gone wrong, except for that it had.

 

“What’s up with you lately, huh?” Minho seethes, his arms crossed in an angry, closed off stance that makes Jisung want to disappear into the floor. 

 

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Jisung spits back, staring at the wall behind Minho and purposefully not meeting his gaze. “I’m just fine. You’re the one acting out right now.” 

 

“Me?” Minho gasps, incredulous. “Dude, you’ve had something tormenting the fuck out of you for the past month and it’s starting to really piss me off that you won’t acknowledge it.” 

 

Jisung startles at the call out. Not just that, but the notion that Minho is angry with him. Especially that, actually. A stinging pricks at the corners of Jisung’s eyes, the threat of fresh tears looming, and he sucks in a shaky breath. It’s no use, though, and as the dam begins to break Jisung twirls around to face his back towards Minho. Everything just became way too real, too painful , and he still has no idea what it is that’s even wreaking such havoc on him. All he knows is it’s something he wants from Minho. That he can’t stop being weird around him, thinking weird things about him, dreaming weird things about him, and that the only real explanation for it all is just that he’s broken. 

 

“I’m fine.” Jisung’s voice comes out all wobbly, and now he’s crying even harder at the embarrassment of it all. There’s a deafening silence that goes on for just a beat too long, but it’s followed by a soft, defeated sigh.

 

“Jisungie…” Minho’s voice is laced with pity. It’s something Jisung never wanted, especially not from him. Weakness is ugly, he always thought, and the fact that Minho is seeing him in his ugliest state is almost too much to bear right now. If he wasn’t wedged between the kitchen counter on one side and Minho on the other, Jisung would certainly make a break for his room.

 

“Hey.” Minho places his hand on Jisung’s shoulder, his voice settling back to the soft tone that’s more familiar, and again, just like all the other times over the past weeks, Jisung flinches.

 

“Seriously, what is up with you?” Minho sighs, wrapping his arms around Jisung’s midsection and pulling him close, chest to back. “You ever gonna actually talk to me about this? Did I do something wrong?” 

 

“No.” Jisung’s eyes are squeezed shut, focusing on holding it together.  

 

“No, you’re never going to talk to me about this, or no, I didn’t do anything wrong?” Minho offers a comforting squeeze, and Jisung settles just a little more into the position.

 

“Yes.” 

 

Minho groans in frustration, resting his forehead on the back of Jisung’s head gently. “Look, I don’t like fighting with you for real. Fucking with you is fun, but this isn’t like us, ya know?” 

 

Jisung nods.

 

“I think we should talk about whatever has been going on with you, okay?”

 

Jisung nods.

 

“I don’t read minds, you know.”

 

Jisung nods.

 

“Jisung, can you j—”

 

“Minho,” Jisung starts abruptly, like the words forced themselves out of his mouth without any forethought whatsoever. “Are you gay?”

 

“Am I…” Minho repeats thoughtlessly, as if he surely heard him wrong.

 

“Gay.” Jisung finishes for him, opening his eyes for the first time in quite a few minutes. He wipes the residual tears away, drawing from some newfound confidence that he is by no means going to question when he’s finally getting the words out.

 

“What…but wh—” 

 

“Because I think I am.” Jisung doesn’t let him finish. It makes sense that he’s confused. It’s not like this has ever come up before. Why would it have, really? They’ve always been physically affectionate with each other and the other members. Hell, they’ve cuddled in the same bed more times than Jisung can count, but what he’s come to find out in the past few weeks is that there’s another level to how he feels about Minho. It might be new, or maybe it had just laid dormant, or maybe Jisung is just an oblivious idiot, but now that he’s set this train into motion there’s no turning back.

 

Jisung can practically hear the gears in Minho’s head turning as he processes the sudden confession. It’s not even that Jisung had confessed to being gay for him, though that’s most likely where this conversation is going, but he still deserves to take all the time he needs to adjust.

 

“Ahh, okay. I get it.” Minho coaxes Jisung to turn and face him, letting his arms fall to his side. “That’s why you wanted me to hit you.”

 

“Wait.” Jisung startles. “H-how did we get back to this, now?” It’s a genuine question. Clearly he had lost the plot of his crazy mixed up gay awakening somewhere along the way, but since he values Minho’s skills of deduction, he gives it an honest consideration.

 

“I mean, okay hold on, let me think,” Jisung stutters, thinking back to the time he asked Minho for an extremely out of the ordinary favor. “Woah, wait a minute—”

 

“We can settle it right now.” Minho’s rolling up the sleeve of his right arm, twisting his wrist around and stretching across his chest. 

 

Alarmed, Jisung backs up against the counter top, looking side to side frantically for an escape, but Minho has him expertly caged in. 

 

“It’ll be fine, just let me know if you’re feeling particularly gay after this, yeah?” 

 

This situation is absolutely absurd. Jisung would be laughing if he didn’t feel so mortified. Is he really going to hit him? Is he serious? Does he really think this is going to tell them anything about Jisung’s sexuality—

 

It hurts. It definitely hurts when Minho’s palm slaps forcefully against Jisung’s cheek. The prickles of pain bloom across his skin even seconds after, leaving heat in their wake. Jisung nearly falls over at the shock of it all, thankful for the countertop that he braces himself against. But that’s not even the most shocking part of the whole experience. No, it’s the fact that Jisung moans .

 

Minho is wide eyed as he stares back at him, scanning Jisung’s body from head to toe as if to check that he’s still in one piece. And he is, that’s for sure. In fact, some pieces of him are a bit too present, and Jisung hopes to all that is holy that Minho doesn’t notice anything amiss between his legs.

 

After a few more beats, Minho bursts into a fit of laughter. Jisung pouts, his face heating even more than it already was. 

 

“Shut up! Don’t claim you’re helping me if you’re gonna laugh!” 

 

Minho regains his composure, and it’s as if something with his demeanor flips.

 

“Not making fun, Jisungie. I just get it now.” Minho grins self-assuredly. He shoves his hands in his pockets, and he looks way too cocky for Jisung’s comfort.

 

“You don’t know shit,” Jisung mumbles. Yes, he knows what just happened. He’s also reeling a bit at the realization, himself. But he’ll be damned if he just admits it to the dude who just slapped him across the face to test if he’s gay. 

 

Minho inserts himself just a bit more into Jisgung’s personal space. “I know that you’re a little pain slut.” 

 

Jisung gasps, covering his eyes as he feels his cheeks flush. “ HYUNG , you can’t just say that!!”

 

“What, did I get it right?” Minho smirks, caging Jisung in with an arm on each side of him, hands pressed against the countertop. 

 

Now this is a side of Minho that Jisung has only ever experienced in his dreams, and having him right in front of him feels a bit surreal. It’s like this somehow isn’t the Minho he knows, but he figures they’re both learning a lot about each other tonight.

 

“You never answered me.” Jisung’s still flustered, but he removes his hands to capture Minho’s strong gaze like he’s daring him to do something about it. Maybe he hopes he does.

 

“Of course I’m gay.” Minho chuckles, like it’s the easiest answer in the world. 

 

“Oh.” Jisung feels like there should be more to that conversation. Like, since when? Why hasn’t he said anything? How is he so comfortable talking about it now? But even as Jisung is going over it in his head, he doesn’t dare ask.

 

“Mm,” Minho searches Jisung’s expression, reading him like a book in real time just like he always does. “I just didn’t know how you’d take it.” 

 

“Oh.” Jisung is a broken record, but he has no idea what else to say. His initial reaction is that he hates that Minho thought he couldn’t share such an important part of himself. But there’s another more selfish side of him that wonders whether he would have figured this out about himself sooner had Minho said something.

 

“This is great, though, right?” Minho’s face just seems to be getting closer, slowly but surely, and Jisung can now feel the guy’s breath brushing hot against his lips. 

 

They’re so, so close.

 

Jisung stands firm, willing himself not to lean away, to hold Minho’s gaze, to face this head on because despite the way his limbs are trembling and his heart is probably going to burst right out of his chest, Jisung is feeling absolutely entranced. 

 

“How so?” He challenges, and there’s a spark behind Minho’s eyes that doesn’t go unnoticed.

 

“Do I really have to say it?”

 

Jisung can swear Minho’s lips brush against his for the quickest of moments, and it’s because of this that he just doesn’t answer his question. In fact, if this kind of situation becomes anything close to normal for them, Jisung may never speak again.

 

Lucky for him, he doesn’t have to answer because Minho is closing the gap, pressing their lips together, sliding his hands down Jisung’s sides and grabbing his waist. He’s pulled flush against Minho’s front as their lips slide over one another slowly, becoming more confident by the second. At least, Jisung is. Minho seems plenty confident to begin with as he’s upping their speed, tilting his head to the side and applying more and more pressure, kissing Jisung like he’d been waiting his whole life for the chance. 

 

Jisung kinda hopes he had been, and as he comes to terms with the realization of that fact, he winds his fingers into Minho’s hair and presses in closer. The realizations just keep surfacing as Jisung melts into the moment. Minho’s lips on his, Minho’s hands on his waist, their body heat mingling, the powerful sense of belonging that has Jisung thinking oh, of course.

 

He had been so stupid. Now that it’s become clear, he can’t believe he wasted so much time being so weird. Because there’s nothing weird about this. In fact, there couldn’t be anything less weird in the world. Minho is his person. It’s something Jisung already knew, but somehow it evolved so gradually, naturally, that he had settled into the feeling without actually registering its existence. All this inner turmoil, the need and the apprehension, the anxiety paired with longing. Jisung needs Minho, for better or worse, the push and pull of leaning into something so devastatingly beautiful but recoiling before the perceived fall. But now, he’s ready.

 

Jisung is ready to tumble.

 

“Minho—” Jisung pants against his lips, out of breath despite the slow nature of their kiss. Minho shushes him, squeezing his hips reassuringly. Their eyes lock and Jisung loses the moment in Minho’s shimmering gaze.

 

This time it’s Jisung who crashes their lips together. It’s the most sure of anything he’s ever been, which is saying something. Jisung isn’t in the habit of feeling “sure”, if his whole however many weeks long crisis has anything to say about it. No, he’s always overanalyzed, second guessed, agonized over details, searched desperately for understanding…but some things don’t come with understanding. Some things just are. What he has with Minho just is, and Jisung leans into that comfort as his lips part slightly to make way for Minho’s tongue. Their kiss is hot and dizzying, and Jisung grips onto Minho’s shoulders for stability. He wants to touch as much of Minho as he can manage, experience him, but Jisung is certain if he lets go of him now his knees will promptly buckle. This is nothing short of overwhelming, the way their tongues are swirling over each other, the sweet taste of Minho’s after-dinner mint candies, and Minho’s palms caressing his sides. Jisung takes it all in, grips his shoulders tighter, presses his lips against Minho’s more desperately. Fuck he needs everything he’s missed out on for so long. His teeth dig into Minho’s bottom lip and draw out a gravely moan. Jisung sneaks a peek just in time to see Minho’s eyes roll back briefly before he rights himself and his gaze goes dark.

 

“So, we’re doing this?” Minho purrs, his breath hot against Jisung’s ear where he leans in close.

 

“Doing what?” Jisung gasps, failing pretty miserably at appearing clueless. Minho is wasting no time nibbling at his ear lobe, laving his tongue over it and kissing down his jaw and neck. He nips at Jisung’s collarbone and slots a thigh between his legs, pressing forcefully against his crotch, and Jisung shivers.

 

A shaky “mmm” is the only response Jisung can muster, but it gets the point across, because Minho is hooking his hands beneath his thighs and hoisting him up. Jisung yelps, flailing his limbs a bit clumsily before wrapping his legs around Minho’s waist and his arms behind his neck. “H-hey!”

 

Minho chuckles, striding across their apartment with his usual air of confidence. He doesn’t seem to be having a bit of trouble, and it only excites Jisung more. He feels small, like a dainty little thing, like he could be so easily overpowered. It results in his face feeling hot, and he’s retreating into the crook of Minho’s neck to hide how affected he is. He can imagine the self-assured grin Minho must be wearing, and it only serves to fluster him more, but he’s only able to hide for so long with Minho nosing at his ear, demanding his attention.

 

“Jisungie~,” Minho coos, his tone laced with mischief as his nose nuzzles the hair on the back of Jisung’s head. “Jisungie, you embarrassed?” 

 

“Like hell,” Jisung mutters, muffled against Minho’s neck. It’s oddly comforting as far as hiding spots go, but unfortunately he’s not able to remain concealed for long. Next thing he knows, the arms holding him up give way, and he’s falling, but only for a quick second and Minho’s catching him again. 

 

“Fuck, HEY!” Jisung throws his head back in a panic, clawing at Minho’s back and wrapping his legs around him tighter. He blinks, his sight refocusing to take in an environment totally different than where he started. They’re now standing in the middle of their living room, a couple feet from the couch. Most importantly, Jisung is now face to face with the guy who so cruelly scared the shit out of him moments ago. 

 

“There you are,” Minho grins devilishly. Fucking hell, this dick.  

 

“If you drop me I’m moving out.”

 

Minho laughs even harder, but Jisung’s more mesmerized with the way his cheeks scrunch up beneath his eyes. God, he’s so attractive. 

 

“Alright, beautiful,” Minho starts, his gaze too intense, too predatory. “Tell me all about it.” 

 

“About?” Jisung cocks his head to the side, eyes wide, and positively reeling over the sudden compliment. 

 

“What you’ve been thinking about all this time.” Minho’s eyebrow is raised in that cocky way it always is when he’s feeling particularly intrigued. It’s paired with a matching, signature smirk and a gaze that holds far too much expectant energy. Jisung feels crushed beneath it, like even if he knew how to put all his desires into words he wouldn’t be able to eke them out, anyways. It’s like his lungs are being restricted, which is totally absurd considering he’s exerting absolutely zero energy to support his body at the moment, which has also really done a number on his sanity.

 

“I, uh,” Jisung stutters, lost completely in whatever the fuck this position he’s found himself in is. “I, I mean, well, it’s kind of…obvious?”

 

“Nope.” Minho retorts. His stare has sharpened, all his features strong and unwavering as he waits for answers that will likely never come. Jisung has forgotten every word he has ever known, in every language, and possibly every word he will ever know, because Minho won’t stop fucking looking at him like he’s about to eat him. Maybe he is, and Jisung will simply succumb to the life of being prey to the most alluring, terrifying man he has ever had the pleasure of knowing. It would be natural, at this point, considering he is already being properly manhandled without complaint. And, fuck, Jisung forgot they’re having a conversation. He’s just staring at Minho with wide, uncertain eyes that surely say he has no idea where to go from here. The only thing that comes to mind is I never expected to get this far.

 

The silence seems to linger for longer than Minho’s patience is built for because he cuts it with a “fine” before pressing a quick kiss to the corner of Jisung’s mouth and turning to sit down on the couch nearby. “Let’s try this, then.”

 

Jisung’s whole world changes in a matter of seconds. They’ve only gone a couple of feet from where they were, but it feels like he’s been transported to a different location entirely. One so new and unfamiliar that he finds himself blinking to regain his focus only to be overwhelmed by his reality. One where he now finds himself straddling Minho’s lap, lolling his head sideways to bare his neck, and the wet slide of Minho’s plump lips grazing over his pulse point. It was so automatic that he hadn’t even registered his own movements, like they had just reverted to factory settings and fallen into what they’re merely programmed to do. 

 

This is by far not the first time they’ve been this close. Jisung finds himself in Minho’s lap probably more often than should be considered normal, but it’s just how their relationship has always been. That’s just them. There has never been any reason to question the normalcy of something that made so much sense–something that is entirely “who they are” as a whole. But as Jisung takes stock of his body, feels Minho’s firm thighs between his legs, his broad shoulders where Jisung now grips onto for stability, and the rapid beating of his own heart in his chest, he can hardly claim that even he himself is familiar. The gasp that escapes him at the hot swipe of Minho’s tongue over the expanse of his neck feels distant, like it had come from someone else entirely, and he’s suddenly very aware of his breathing and how it has picked up significantly from just moments ago–back when he was still in the world he thought he lived in.

 

“Sweetheart,” Minho purrs, his voice smooth like honey but laced with something distinctly dark. “Out of your head.” 

 

And his body obeys. It’s eerily similar to his dream from a couple nights ago, the way his consciousness snaps back to his body at the sound of Minho’s voice. Like this man is what quite literally tethers him to the world, keeps him planted firmly on solid ground, like he’s the only thing keeping Jisung from floating away up into the stratosphere where he so often believes he actually belongs.

 

“Sorry” is all Jisung can manage as a response, having totally lost himself in the expanse of processing his current position. It’s quickly followed by a yelp at the sudden sharpness against his neck where Minho’s teeth sink into the sensitive skin. “Don’t apologize.” He demands sternly, then makes up for it by soothing the sore spot with a gentle kiss. Then he’s continuing his journey down Jisung’s neck, never breaking contact even to speak. Jisung can map out every syllable like this, and he certainly does as Minho follows up with, “now answer hyung.” 

 

There’s warmth spreading through Jisung’s body like thick molasses, the way it makes his limbs feel heavy, slow-moving just like his wit as Minho’s teeth drag across his bare skin. Fuck, it’s hard to think. But, hyung asked him a question, and Jisung wants to answer. God, does he want to. In fact, he wants to be good for him so badly, answer every question, make him smile and wrap his arms around him tighter and keep his mouth on him the way it is now and in every other fashion that it could be…he has to stop thinking so much. It always comes to this, and he knows that Minho knows. The way he knows him so well is just another factor that makes this moment so incredibly surreal. That they had been existing together, like this but not like this, for so long. Years have gone by, countless moments of lounging in Minho’s lap, Minho’s arms around him, Minho’s chest as his safe space, Minho’s forehead kisses, Minho’s touch, Minho’s everything. Just Minho. It was always there. God. This has always been them.

 

“Mm, I just, well,” Jisung starts, and every word that leaves his mouth slowly begins to sound more and more real. More like himself, as if he’s regaining control. It’s the difference between his dream and the real life situation he now finds himself in. Jisung is real. Minho is real. What’s happening between them is real , and Jisung is in the driver’s seat. He’s not a passive participant in his own life, something that he has absolutely believed before. His words hold weight, and if he could just bypass the part where he obsesses over every single one of them before they die in his throat and become nothing more than a fleeting bout of wishful thinking, then maybe he could finally fucking get somewhere .

 

“I had a…dream.” 

 

Realization must hit Minho immediately as he exhales heavily against Jisung’s skin. It makes Jisung’s whole body shiver, and he grabs hold of the confidence boost of it all before his mind wrestles the reins back from him. “One where you, well, you looked so good, hyung.”

 

Minho hums in some kind of aroused acknowledgement before lifting his head to pin Jisung with an absolutely crushing gaze. “What kind of dream was this, Jisung?” But he knows. They both know for certain that Minho knows exactly what kind of dream this was, and he just can’t help himself but to put pressure on the point, to watch Jisung squirm and suffer through the explanation all the while knowing exactly what the answer will be. This is also classic Minho, but the added arousal of it all ups the tension in a way that Jisung should not be shocked–at this point–has his neurons buzzing.

 

It’s in that moment that something else clicks–he’s been having a lot of realizations in the past 20 minutes–and if all his insides were visible from the outside he’d imagine it looks like the final two pieces of some chaotic 1,000+ piece mystery puzzle finally slotting together. Jisung grins devilishly at the resulting uptick in his confidence before pursing his lips into a pout and diverting his eyes as far to the side as he can without actually turning his head. Petulant.  

 

“Maybe I want to keep that private.” 

 

The air is suddenly thick, a change in atmospheric pressure that could only be described as oppressive as he catches Minho quirk an eyebrow at him. It’s one of his stares that very much appears to be saying “go on, try me,” and Jisung has almost always taken him up on that. Their back and forth dynamic is easy, Jisung pushes and Minho reacts. It’s likely to be the same here, yet there’s an added air of danger– desire –that coats the inside of Jisung’s lungs in burning cinders as he inhales a shaky breath. Minho is daring him, and it’s an outright invitation to finally indulge in what he had longed for these past weeks, what had quite literally haunted his dreams, wreaked some sort of twisted, horny havoc on his mind and body for perhaps longer than he’s ready to admit. 

 

Jisung’s surprised yelp even startles him when Minho roughly grips his chin and jerks it towards him. A shiver runs through Jisung, and when he meets the dark gaze boring through him, there’s something new. Sharp and piercing . It’s like being at the point of a predator’s blade facing certain slaughter. The way it makes him feel small, hunted , is absolutely thrilling.

 

“Brat,” Minho mumbles, so low it’s barely audible, as if it were just an afterthought. His eyes have thinned to slits, his lips slightly parted. It shouldn’t be possible to look this beautiful while also so threatening, but it seems the two go hand in hand when you’re Lee Minho. Jisung gasps softly at the mild pain where Minho’s fingertips dig into his waist, the moment dragging on until he nearly feels himself giving into it. There’s no time, though, before Minho’s leaning in slowly, his tongue slipping out to wet his lips as he nears closer, their noses nearly brushing before he instead leans towards Jisung’s ear, just out of touching distance. “Are you testing me?” 

 

The breath against Jisung’s ear feels searing, and he exhales as a shiver wracks through him. Yes, he absolutely is testing him. Testing this new thing between them, seeking whatever might lie ahead. It’s a thrilling game, even as his limbs feel weak and he trembles under Minho’s touch. He’s really pushed himself past the limits of his usual confidence, but something about it being Minho has him feeling comfortable despite it. Despite feeling overwhelmed, Jisung feels safe with Minho. Always perfect with Minho.

 

Jisung hums teasingly, a clear refusal to answer the question. He’s met with a frustrated huff, a quick exhale through Minho’s nose, just like when he is angry but trying to hide it around the other members. It’s all the confirmation Jisung needs that what he’s doing is working. His little act is having the exact effect he was hoping for. The one he was expecting, based on how he normally interacts with Minho, and it’s encouraging to know that even now he has the upperhand in getting exactly what it is he wants. But it won’t be without its challenges, he realizes, as Minho’s lips travel devilishly down the expanse of his neck. The sensation is dizzying as he latches on and sucks with purpose at the base of Jisung’s neck. He hardly notices the way Minho’s fingers hook beneath his shirt collar, pulling the thin fabric to the side to expose more of his honey skin, fresh for marking. His skin stings at the site, surely bruising.

 

“H-hyung, hey,” he stutters, fingers twisting into Minho’s hair, but he’s only met with a muffled growl rumbling against his neck. “We’re on schedule this week. Don’t–”

 

“Good.” Minho snaps, maneuvering Jisung’s shirt to lay more marks along his shoulder. “Let them see.”

 

It’s hot. It’s so fucking hot considering the notion that Minho would risk it all just to be possessive. He’s always been possessive, not in this exact way, but in others that make Jisung feel special. It’s present in the way Minho is constantly just there, like Jisung’s shadow. Like he never has to look too long, reach too far, before he’s found him. It’s the way that Minho is somehow always there to cut in when Jisung’s become too close to one of the other members, when the skinship becomes a little too intimate. It’s Minho’s hands on his waist, his arms around his shoulders, their fingers intertwining at every opportunity. He had never quite clocked it as possessive. Maybe protective. Definitely comforting. Even now, Jisung feels all those things and more.

 

Jisung chokes on a groan as he leans his head back, zeroing in on the prickling sensation of Minho kissing, nipping, and sucking his way across his collarbone. He yelps when he feels cool fingers brush against the bare skin of his stomach, a feather-like touch journeying upwards so slowly that Jisung nearly stops breathing in anticipation of what exactly the destination might be. Until now, he hasn’t been quite sure what to do, where to put his hands, how exactly to reciprocate all the attention he’s receiving. It’s a mixture of being far too flustered but also inexperienced. Jisung doesn’t do this. He’s never been this close with someone in his entire life. In fact, before today the only person he had ever been the closest with physically was Minho. Looks like nothing much has changed there, at least. But as a wandering finger brushes over Jisung’s chest and catches on the sensitive nub there, his body moves on instinct.

 

A low chuckle rumbles against Jisung’s shoulder as his hips jolt in response to the sudden sparks of pleasure shooting through him. He’s noticing now how hard he is, how completely desperate for something to relieve this tension that’s been building. Everything Minho is doing is so slow and deliberate, as if he’s trying to pick Jisung apart piece by piece, and it feels like it’s working. Jisung is nearly crumbling, hanging onto his last threads of control for as long as possible.

 

“You’ve always been sensitive,” Minho purrs, pressing a chaste kiss to Jisung’s shoulder and sitting upright. His half-lidded eyes hold so much longing that it makes Jisung’s heart flutter, and he hopes that his own are also reflecting that sentiment. “Excitable, too.” 

 

“What does that even mean?” Jisung puffs his cheeks out, pouty, even as he squirms impatiently. Minho just grins, a spark of something mischievous flashing across his face before he grabs Jisung’s waist and rolls his hips forcefully.

 

“Haaa,” Jisung groans, his head falling forward to rest on Minho’s shoulder. “What the hell, Hyung?” It’s borderline embarrassing the way he’s panting just from this. His cock isn’t even really getting direct contact, but the friction of Minho’s erection against him is unbelievably arousing even with multiple layers of clothing between them. 

 

“See? Excitable. ” Minho repeats, his voice deep and breathy. “Jisung-ah, you’re being so difficult today.” Adjusting their position, he tilts Jisung’s hips forward slightly before guiding him to grind down again. Jisung could swear he sees stars burst across the inside of his eyelids at the sensation of his cock rubbing against Minho’s with every movement. But it’s short-lived, Minho squeezing his waist roughly and holding him in place, nuzzling his nose into Jisung’s hair. “A little too excitable, perhaps.”

 

Jisung whines, exasperated, catching his breath. He huffs, breathing in the scent of Minho’s t-shirt against his face. It soothes him with the familiar scent of their shared laundry detergent and Minho’s natural, sweet and musky scent. It reminds him of how close Minho is, how he wants to take as much of him as he can, and how deeply he desires him. Despite his attempts to rock his hips, he’s locked in place by too strong hands binding him in a bruising grip. “Me? I’m literally just sitting here.”

 

“Mmhm,” Minho hums in mock agreement, his fingertips certainly bruising the skin with how they grip tightly to Jisung’s midsection. “Sure, sweetheart.” It’s so patronizing the way he tuts at Jisung like he’s simply trying to placate him, and it makes him feel small, inferior somehow. 

 

To his shock, it deepens his desperation, but it morphs into frustration as he’s locked in place, blocked from seeking any sort of relief. “Ugggh, Minho hyung come on. ” Clawing at the hands holding him in place, Jisung whines and complains, attempting to free himself. Minho doesn’t relent, only humming with amusement, smirking as Jisung squirms under his grip. 

 

“Cute.”

 

“Unfair.” Jisung quips, throwing his head back and sighing in frustration. “You’re loving this.”

 

“Hm? Am I?” Minho feigns innocence, his head cocked to the side, eyes wide and blinking, plump lips slightly parted. Jisung levels him with an unimpressed gaze, pursing his lips and dropping his hands to his sides, defeated. Unfortunately, he’s never been more aroused.

 

It’s obvious just how much Minho really is enjoying himself as he seamlessly repositions them, dragging Jisung to straddle his thigh. He grunts softly as he gets comfortable, rubbing Jisung’s sides soothingly with his palms. “What I’d really enjoy, honey, is if you’d be good for me.” He punctuates his words with a slow drag of Jisungs hips, over his thigh, flexing the muscle and pressing his leg up to meet the momentum in a way that makes Jisung whimper. 

 

“Ahhh, oh my god .” Jisung’s moans are near breathless as Minho guides him to grind again, and again, resting their lips together softly to breathe in each other's air. 

 

“You can do that, yeah?” He flicks his tongue on Jisung’s bottom lip and grins when Jisung nods back at him, frantic. “Of course you can.” The words sound muffled as Jisung focuses on the warmth quickly building in his abdomen. He grinds his hips frantically against the hard muscle of Minho’s thigh, grabbing his shoulders tightly for stability, groaning at Minho’s teeth sinking into his bottom lip. Fuck, it’s overwhelming. And he’s so close that his hips begin to stutter, limbs shaking, moans flying out of him until suddenly his hips come to another devastating stop.

 

Jisung’s quite alert, his eyes going wide with shock. “What–” He had been so close, and now the sensations are crashing down, bottoming out and leaving behind a sickening feeling of desperation in his gut. “Fuck, why?” Jisung cries, squeezing Minho’s shoulders in frustration. 

 

“You said you’d be good, Jisungie.” Minho’s words drip with disappointment as he speaks softly but resolutely. “Good boys don’t get off when they can’t even answer their hyung’s simple question.”

 

Jisung flinches at the twisting sensation in his stomach. “It’s embarrassing…”

 

The notion earns an amused laugh out of Minho. “Embarrassing? What could be embarrassing when you’re literally grinding on my leg right now?”

 

He has a point, but it doesn’t keep Jisung’s cheeks from burning hot. It just reminds him of the humiliating position he’s in right now, horny and drawn to the closest piece of Minho he can make contact with. He would fuck just about any part of him at this rate if given the chance. Pathetic. Embarrassing . 

 

“Okay it was kinda like…” Jisung starts, heart pounding in his chest. It’s a wonder his skin hasn’t completely combusted with the heat consuming him from the inside out, painting him in a deep flush. “Well, remember that movie we watched the other night?”

 

Minho hums in acknowledgment, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into Jisung’s hips despite his bruising grip. Jisung avoids asking just how much he remembers about that night. 

 

“It was like that in a way. Like…” He pauses, reorganizes his thoughts. His gaze veers to the side, focused on the empty wall behind them rather than Minho’s overwhelming stare. “Okay so you were wearing a suit—“

 

“Oh my god, Jisung, spit it out.”

 

Jisung clears his throat. “Sorry.” He wants to be good. He does. He wants it more than anything. Maybe it’s just not in his bones to be good. It takes strength, he’s finding. Confidence. Things he definitely knows he possesses. But here, with Minho’s strong hands and expectant gaze on him, he’s never felt so lacking. 

 

But Jisung can do just about anything with the right encouragement. Including spilling his deepest most depraved fantasies to the very object of said fantasies. God, the ways he’s pictured himself with Minho in these last weeks has got to be some new inhuman level of filthy, and he can’t help the fact that it makes him feel all stupid-headed to even consider saying the words out loud. But when Minho takes brief pity on him, pulls his hips flush against his thigh, coos against his cheek when Jisung’s moans send him folding over into his embrace, he’s suddenly ready to be good—the best. 

 

“Fuck, you were punishing me, Minho.” His voice is ragged and needy. “I was on my knees on the dirty ground.”

 

Minho growls, dragging Jisung’s hips, controlled, pressure building. “Mm you were acting like a brat. Deserved it, didn’t you?” Jisung’s legs are shaking, firelight crackling beneath his skin. 

 

“I-I don’t know. I just mmmmnngg— “

 

“Don’t lie. You tested my patience.” Another tug of his hips, forceful. “Like you have today.” 

 

“I didn’t mean to.” Jisung whines, breathy and euphoric. The heat is back in his gut, pooling and near overflowing. 

 

“You always mean to.”

 

Jisung shivers at the severity of Minho’s tone, his voice feral yet unwavering. It would unnerve him if it weren’t for the sudden lightness of his hips, set loose to rut against the bulging surface of Minho’s thigh. He’s free to take and oh –he’s never felt so wild with pleasure. Minho chuckles, tugging him in for a kiss by a firm grasp of his chin. “Go on and cum, if you think you’ve earned it.” He can’t be sure, but Jisung is in no state for complex thought at the moment as his hips are frantic with desperate thrusts. Minho’s breath is hot against his lips, breathing words of encouragement and fondness into his burning skin. It’s enough, more than enough, to send Jisung soaring. 

 

“So hot, Sungie,” Minho coos, softly kissing his cheek. “You’re so pretty. God.” 

 

The praise has Jisung glowing, panting as he grinds against Minho’s leg to ride out his high as long as possible. He could swear he ascends straight to heaven, and if he were to open his eyes and find himself surrounded by God’s angels he would think that makes perfect sense. Because everything about what just happened was otherworldly. Jisung can’t remember the last time he felt so good, and it’s no small part due to the way Minho handles him. Rough and direct.

 

“Fuck, hyung.” Jisung catches Minho’s lips in a slow kiss, leaning in deeply and basking in the afterglow. His cheeks feel wet, either with sweat or tears, but he doesn’t care which. The taste of Minho on his tongue only intensifies the moment as every inch of him is sensitive to touch, zeroing in on every point of contact. It’s why he gasps at the feeling of Minho’s palm gently caressing his face, his thumb tracing slow circles over the plump apples of his cheeks. His other hand mirrors the gesture, both sides of his face cradled in warmth and delicate touches that quickly turn more deliberate. 

 

“Your cheeks are so damn gorgeous. You know that, honey?” His palms press harder, the flesh squishing beneath them as he pulls back and eyes them pointedly. “So perfect and smooth. Unmarked.” Minho appears mesmerized as he withdraws one hand slightly, bringing it back in a light smack. His next exhale comes out shaky, and Jisung’s eyes widen.

 

“You could be…a little rougher…” Jisung offers, a bit sheepishly. It’s what he’s wanted for some time now–among other things that he was clearly avoiding. Given the way Minho slapped him with no hesitation before, there’s no reason he should hold back now. Yet, there’s the slightest bit of uncertainty settled on his face, right between his eyebrows where they furrow in consideration. 

 

“We’re on schedule. Would it really be okay?” Minho frowns, fingers still roaming. Jisung’s flesh quivers beneath the touch, like all the cells in his body are screaming for more . It’s devastating how much Jisung wants to be slapped around by these perfect hands–they’re what started all of this after all. 

 

Jisung scoffs, teasing, his expression clearly aghast. “You didn’t seem to care when you were marking my neck up! What, this is different because I’m the one asking for it?” 

 

Minho purses his lips, his expression serious. “If you think I don’t want this, you haven’t been paying attention.” 

 

Jisung rolls his eyes, draping his arms over Minho’s shoulders and settling in a bit more. 

 

“I just don’t want to get you in trouble, honey. Marks on your face are harder to hide.” Sincerity sparkles in his eyes, and Jisung knows he does truly care. That right now Minho is being the truest form of himself–caring and selfless when it comes to those in his circle. He’s always taken care of Jisung, down to anticipating what he needs before Jisung even knows himself. But he’s going to need him to give a little less of a fuck about his well-being right now.

 

He shrugs. “I’ll just say I tripped and fell. Or something.” 

 

There’s a brief silence, Minho’s expression flat and his eyes blinking, processing what Jisung just said before his eyes widen in that way they do when the gears suddenly click into place. “Oh, yeah. Good point. That’ll be believable.” 

 

“Hey what the fuck?” Jisung gasps, smacking him playfully on the shoulder. Minho’s gleeful laugh makes Jisung’s chest squeeze with fondness. It’s his favorite thing in the world, joking around with Minho. It makes the moment feel so much more blissful.

 

Minho shushes him, a bright smile on his face as he smacks his cheeks a couple times each on both sides, more playful than intentional. “Okay, on your knees, then.”

 

It should probably be a bit alarming how quickly Jisung scrambles to seat himself between Minho’s feet. Especially considering the mess he now registers soaking through the the fabric of his shorts that he was far too fucked out to notice before. But he left shame back at the kitchen counter. He’s past that now as he looks up between Minho’s legs, knees aching against the hard wooden floor of their apartment, and his cock twitching back to life despite the oversensitivity still lingering. Truthfully, he’s giddy. There’s a rush of excitement that wracks through him at the sight of Minho looking down at him, gaze pointedly darker with a streak of pity punctuating it. His black hair falls into his face at this angle, partially obscuring his eyes and framing him with an air of intimidation. 

 

“Good boy,” he purrs, offering a crooked grin as he sits forward, resting his forearms on his knees. He’s looming over Jisung in this position, their breaths mingling in the small space left between them. It’s hot. Everything is hot. It hadn’t stopped being hot for what now feels like forever, but Jisung especially feels like he’s about to burn up right now. This is what he had dreamed of and somehow, by some powers greater than his own, he’s actually living it.

 

Jisung squirms under the weight of Minho observing him. He’s never felt under such scrutiny–not even in the survival show days, which is saying something. Singing, rapping, dancing, those are all things he can do. On some level, he knows he’s talented, even back before he was filling stadiums full of adoring fans. But here, he feels stripped raw, under a microscope with all his components on full display. Studied. Exposed. 

 

There’s an added tension between them that comes from knowing where this is going. Knowing but not quite acknowledging, perhaps. Because despite that conversation having just happened moments ago, Jisung’s stomach twists with a sick sort of anticipation that leaves his judgment feeling clouded. As if he can’t actually be sure what’s going to happen. What Minho might do to him. What Minho might want to do to him. It’s that thought that makes Jisung’s blood start pumping thick through his veins and his throat running dry. Because he hadn’t had time to consider–to process –the reality that Minho wants him. Everything they had done seemed to happen so fast, like he was simply on autopilot, his brain completely tuned out of the reality of it all. He had felt feverish, chasing whatever remedy was within reach without any second thought. But now, it’s all coming to the forefront as he feels the cum between his legs, sticky and cooling where it soaks through his clothing. The goosebumps rising on the surface of his forearms certainly alerts him to the present, and he doesn’t dare look away from Minho’s gaze despite the way it makes him feel like he’s about to be crushed beneath it. 

 

He has no idea how long it has been at this point, but suddenly Minho adjusts his position on the couch, and the jostling of his crotch makes Jisung’s breath hitch. This angle is something straight out of Jisung’s wildest wet dream–the one from the other night to be exact. Despite the differences, the feeling is the same. Jisung is small, helpless, weak, inferior. Sure, he’s here out of his own volition. He quite literally lowered himself below Minho, and he was giddy while he did it, too. Sure, he could resist the humiliation of it all, whine and complain and be a brat just the way he’s so skilled at, but what good would that do when he actually wants this? Besides, he knows that if Minho wanted to, he could effortlessly restrain him. He’d be pinned to the floor before he could even think twice about being petulant. The thought almost makes him want to try it, but the sharp gaze Minho has weighing on him activates every submissive instinct in his body. He couldn’t move if he tried, only wait there and greedily take whatever comes next.

 

“Pretty boy.” Minho hums as he tilts his head to the side, eyes roaming over Jisung’s body. It’s like he can physically feel the path they take against his skin, over his shoulders, down his chest, his torso, settling between his legs. “You look even better on your knees for me.” His eyes flit back up with a pitying smirk. “But you’re impatient, aren’t you?” 

 

Jisung nearly falls over at the sudden pressure between his legs. The ball of Minho’s socked foot presses against his cock, sparking sensitivity that has Jisung gasping. 

 

“Couldn’t wait for hyung, could you? So cock hungry you had to cum on my leg like a dog.” He digs his foot in harder, twisting, and Jisung groans pathetically. It hurts, but it’s also so good. He can feel tears welling in his eyes, threatening to fall, and perhaps Minho is hoping they will as his eyes sparkle with interest at the sight. “Fuck, you love this so much.” And Minho’s right, he does. The way his cock hardens beneath the pain and embarrassment of it all proves that tenfold. But, what’s really devastating, almost like a cruel joke, is how he’s so incredibly hyper aware of the way Minho’s hands are completely unmoving.

 

For weeks Jisung has feared Minho’s hands. Where they are, what they would do, how he would react. But now, it’s their stillness that makes him feel wired. It’s like there’s a gravitational pull between them, Jisung feeling so connected to their trajectory that he feels unnerved when nothing happens. It’s a complete turn around from before, but Jisung doesn’t exactly have time to process what that means for him. For now he can only focus on the way his body feels caged between Minho’s knees, beneath his scrutiny, and bound by the stillness of hands that he is now desperate to touch him in whatever fashion he does or doesn’t deserve.

 

In the next moment, Jisung’s stomach twists along with Minho’s expression. Disgust settles on his face as he scrunches his nose, withdrawing his foot from between Jisung’s legs and lifting it slightly into view. Jisung’s face bursts into hot flames as he locates a dark, wet spot on Minho’s gray sock. Jisung trembles, stuttering a desperate “I-I’m so sor–” before he’s interrupted by a sudden burst of pain against his cheek.

 

Jisung’s body erupts with electricity as a moan rips from him. His eyes are squeezed shut as the lingering tears finally fall, leaving wet paths over his cheeks. When he peers up, vision clouded, Minho’s expression appears feral. Quite literally he looks like he’s about to devour him, and Jisung’s head spins at the prospect of it. “Fuck, hyung. Please…oh my god.” Jisung is babbling. He’s not even paying attention to the words he allows to slip out. Minho is observing him silently, smirking, his offending hand now resting on his own knee. Unmoving. Jisung needs it to move. He’s so tuned into it that he catches a couple twitches, doubtful that they’re even intentional, and his stomach swirls with a sick desire. “Minho-hyung please .”

 

Minho hums, rolling his eyes to the side lazily to focus elsewhere. Anywhere else feels like a devastating loss to Jisung. He’s totally zeroed in, practically drooling as Minho chews on his bottom lip. Jisung wishes he could read minds, wants to know what’s going through his head, how much longer he’s going to make him wait. “ Hyung. ”

 

“Stop whining.” Minho sighs in annoyance and leans forward, eyes roving over the reddened skin of his own making. He lingers there briefly, admiring. “Red’s your color,” he drawls thoughtfully, then clears his throat. He adjusts his hips, drawing Jisung’s attention to his lap and the prominent bulge there. God, he’d love to reach out and run his fingers over the notably huge outline. He feels dizzy with the knowledge that this is all affecting Minho, too. That Jisung isn’t just a sick fuck getting his kinks tended to by his best friend who couldn’t care less about the weird things that get him off. He can’t help but wonder what part of all of this is getting Minho worked up. Is it Jisung’s begging, is it the cum seeping through his shorts, or perhaps the most arousing possibility: is it inflicting pain?

 

God, Jisung hopes that’s it. 

 

Minho’s fingertips roam over Jisung’s skin gently, as if checking that he’s okay. His eyes have softened as he inspects the cheek, still stinging from the impact. When their gazes meet, Jisung detects a hint of concern and he offers a reassuring smile. “Please Hyung, again?” This time his tone is less desperate, more like an offer, and he’s sure to tack on, “you can be meaner.” 

 

Minho’s eyes widen at that, his fingertips twitching in Jisung’s peripherals. Ah, he must have hit the nail on the head.

 

“You sure, honey?” Minho’s demeanor has shifted and it’s incredibly endearing, the way he can go from harsh to loving in a snap. It’s what really makes this so good, the fact that Jisung can trust him so completely. To know that even as he’s roughing him up, he still has his well-being at heart.

 

“Yeah, put your rings on.” 

 

Minho immediately chokes at the suggestion. It’s adorable. Jisung smiles fondly at him as he waits for him to catch his breath, gripping onto his calves and scooting himself forward, nestling deeper between his devastatingly muscular thighs. He’ll have to remember to nibble on them whenever he gets the chance. Fuck.

 

“Is that…are you really going to be okay?” Minho’s hesitance isn’t all that surprising. It’s a bit of a harsh request, but Jisung is sure. He’s so sure that he could just about cum untouched by thinking about it alone. He basically had in his sleep the other night, so he can hardly imagine how the real thing will feel. 

 

“Hyung my dick is going to explode just talking about it. Please just do it.” 

 

Minho snorts at his wording, but it seems like it’s enough to convince him, or maybe it wasn’t going to be a difficult sell to begin with. He digs into his pocket and produces three metal rings. They’re familiar, ones that Jisung is used to seeing him wear often, even outside of performing and promotional shoots. They’re all silver intricate looking bands of varying weights and thicknesses, smooth with none of them sporting any extra bumps or flair. Jisung probably wouldn’t mind even if they were a bit more torture weapon-esque, but this is a good start. He can nearly feel his face tingle with anticipation as he watches the rings slide onto Minho’s fingers, applying brief pressure as they pop over his knuckles and settle into place. The muscles in his hand flex as he opens and closes them a few times, getting used to the added weight, and then he reaches up to caress Jisung’s cheek. 

 

“You ready, baby?” It feels like he’s drawing this out on purpose now, especially as he makes sure to slowly drag the cool metal over Jisung’s sensitive skin. Jisung gasps at the sudden sensation, his lips parting prettily and his eyes round and pleading as he answers with a shaky, “yeah.” 

 

“You’re gonna look so pretty with those cheeks all marked up,” Minho purrs and his gaze darkens. “I’ve wanted to see it for so long.”

 

Jisung’s breaths are becoming pressured with anticipation, and Minho’s confession is certainly not making it any easier to compose himself. “O-oh. Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.” 

 

“Wow that’s,” Jisung exhales. It comes out all wobbly. “Ugh, that’s so hot.”

 

The pressure against his crotch returns, and Jisung whines, hanging his head and trying to compose himself. He’s already hard again, and Minho’s foot pressing against him feels overwhelmingly good as he grinds himself against it. The sparks that fly through his abdomen make him feel woozy, and he gasps, bringing his hips up again. “F-fuck.” 

 

Minho sighs, grabbing Jisung’s chin and jerking his face up to meet him. “You’re so greedy. I haven’t gotten off once yet and you’re going for another?” Without warning, his palm claps against Jisung’s face, much more forcefully than the last time. Jisung’s vision briefly flashes white and he fails to suppress a strangled moan, tears flowing hot and persistent down his cheeks. There’s nothing he can do to stop the way his hips jerk, and despite his admonishing, Minho’s foot holds steady, pressing in slightly on every thrust to meet him. His cheek feels especially hot, pinpricks of tingling pain where the rings had made contact with his skin. It feels divine, makes his cock kick with desperation as he focuses on it, the way his skin stings from Minho’s punishment. Minho’s hands. Fuck.

 

“Please, again, hyung.” Jisung babbles. “Please please please.” It’s so degrading, on his knees, sobbing, rolling his hips, begging to be hit. But it’s everything he’s ever wanted. He can’t imagine anything more blissful than this. “Fuck, Minho .” 

 

Minho growls at the sound of his name. “That’s right, baby.” He presses his own palm between his legs, and Jisung can see the way the bulge in his pants strains desperately against the fabric. “Who’s are you? Do you belong to me?” 

 

Jisung nods frantically, panting and biting back his sobs. “Yes. All yours, hyung.”

 

“Say who, Jisung.” 

 

“M-Minho.” He groans, getting so close as his hips pick up their pace. “Belong to you hyung. Always have.” 

 

“Always?” There’s a smirk that Jisung can barely make out through teary eyes, but there’s no mistaking it in the way Minho’s tone shifts. “Can’t believe I’ve been missing out all this time.” 

 

“Me too.” Jisung means it, he has genuine regret. “Been missing out…too.” He sighs, heavy and wanton as he feels his limbs begin to tremble, his hips stuttering. He grabs onto Minho’s calves to hold himself steady as he nearly reaches his peak. In the next second, Minho withdraws.

 

“W-why??” Jisung gasps, whines, nearly screams. His legs feel weak as he crashes from his high and his body slumps forward. Minho catches him with an open hand on his chest, supporting him upright and landing another harsh slap to the same cheek. There’s pain upon pleasure rolling through him as he screams, tears bursting from his eyes. He shakes as he sobs, hiccuping through the intensity of it as his head falls forward. It’s really a wonder he didn’t cum right there, untouched, as his body shivers with the overwhelming sensation of it all, like firecrackers bursting from inside his body and out his pores. Drool slips past his lips and drips down his chin, as he pants, catching his breath, and he gasps at the sudden feeling of warm fingers brushing over his cheek.

 

“Good boy, you take it so well.” Minho tilts his face up, pressing a light kiss to a spot particularly abused by the metal. “So beautiful when you cry, baby.” 

 

“For you,” Jisung mumbles, hardly able to get it out through the tears. “A-all…for y-you.” 

 

“I know, baby.” Minho hums sweetly, carding the hair out of Jisungs eyes and leaning down to meet them. “Can you be good a little longer for me?” 

 

Jisung knows it’s not a question, more like a command, as he watches Minho fidget with the waistband of his sweats until it’s stretched around his thighs. He strokes himself slowly, a little gasp escaping as he does so. Being this close, Jisung can even hear the subtle wet noises of Minho’s palm sliding over his shaft. It’s mesmerizing watching his thumb brush over the tip, thick and plush and blushing a deep red. Fucking hell. Jisung licks his lips. He’s already so fucked out, but it’s not lost on him how reality bending it feels to finally be seeing Minho’s cock. He has thought about it way too many times, but never considered what that might actually mean. Over the years he has become pretty good at deluding himself into believing it is pure curiosity the way that normal bros harbored about the state of their other bros’ dicks. Maybe that’s not as normal as he thought.

 

“Open for me, darling.” 

 

He does, parting his lips as Minho guides his tip to slot between them. It’s thick, but Jisung can take it. He’ll make damn sure of that. This may be his first time ever sucking cock, but there’s nothing he wouldn’t do if it’s with Minho. He’s confident he could move literal mountains if it would make Minho happy.

 

It’s also not completely lost on him–the technique, that is. Jisung has watched enough porn to know how to open wide, relax his jaw, cover his teeth, flatten his tongue, the works. He does so almost as if it were familiar, moaning as Minho’s dick slides deep towards the back of his throat. 

 

“ Fuck, Sungie. Feels so fucking good.” Minho rests a beat to let Jisung adjust before pulling back and thrusting in again. Jisung gags slightly, recovering and shifting his focus to breathing through his nose. He can only imagine how completely wrecked he looks gazing up at Minho with wide, tear-soaked eyes and his lips stretched around his cock. “Baby if you look at me like that I won’t last.” Minho groans, tilting his head back to point his gaze towards the ceiling. He tangles his fingers in Jisung’s hair, holding him steady as he jerks his hips experimentally and gasps, “oh god.” 

 

It feels like a victory, the way Minho’s breathing picks up when his tip hits the back of Jisung’s throat. Like he’s finally being good, he’s being the best . So much in fact that he’s rewarded with pleasured sounds falling from Minho’s lips, his limbs trembling, sweat collecting at his brow. He will never need to be good at anything else ever again if he could just stay here, living endlessly as Minho’s good little fuck toy, witnessing the way he falls apart so beautifully that it’s hardly believable that he exists at all.

 

When Minho pushes him backwards, Jisung goes easily, steadying himself with his palms on the floor behind him. His thighs fall open as Minho slots himself between them, leaning over him and reaching a deeper angle that has Jisung sputtering and huffing. 

 

“Breathe, baby.” Minho wipes tears from Jisung’s face with his thumb and caresses his cheek lovingly. It’s a gentle comfort, a stark contrast to the feral hunger stewing in his eyes. “Take it well and I’ll reward you.” 

 

His next move is anything but gentle. The back of Jisung’s head presses against the top of their wooden coffee table, pinned by the persistence of Minho’s hips as he sinks deeper. He’s held steady by fingers tangled in his hair, tugging at his scalp and maneuvering to just the right angle. Then, Minho’s hips snap.

 

Minho fucks the way he dances: powerful, confident, proficient. Like he’s allergic to missing a beat. As if somehow it’s prewired in his being to move his body in just the right way to make an impact. Jisung can’t breathe. His face is wet with a mix of sweat and tears. He can’t move. His hips attempt to cant into nothing but empty space. Desperate. He wants to beg. If he were able to use his words he would. Hyung please, it hurts. I wanna cum. But the words can’t make it past his lips. All he can do is pray that the sentiment reaches him. 

 

“Doing so well, honey,” Minho purrs through pleasured gasps. “You’re so fucking perfect.” 

 

Jisung figures Minho should be winded, but that stamina he’d always found so impressive is holding up in a dizzying way. He does stutter, though, when Jisung moans and he can see Minho visibly shiver.

 

“O- oh. ” He hangs his head, thrusting harder, quickening his pace. Jisung gasps, chokes, focuses on breathing through his nose, and then hums again. This time he draws it out, squinting through tears to watch Minho’s reaction. 

 

His fingers tighten in Jisung’s hair and his hips stagger. “Shit. Trying to hurry things along?” He grips either side of Jisung’s face and tilts his head back further before landing a harsh thrust. “Works for me, baby. Hold on tight.” 

 

The pace he sets is brutal. Jisung would hardly be able to hold himself up against the force if it weren’t for the table supporting him. He sputters around Minho’s cock fucking hard into his throat and inhales sharply at the sudden foot pressing between his legs.

 

Minho smirks as Jisung desperately ruts against him and his composure falters at the moans rumbling around him. “ Shit , Sungie. I’m close.” 

 

So is Jisung. It only takes one, two more thrusts before he’s cumming a second time, adding to the mess in his pants, riding it out on Minho’s foot. His whole body trembles, slumped against the coffee table, his throat squeezing around Minho’s cock as he pounds into him. Black dots spot his vision as he looks at Minho above him, his brows knitted together, eyes glazed, black hair hanging in his face, sweat gathering on his forehead. His skin is tinged red to match his kiss-bitten lips that are slightly parted. Jisung has never seen him look so devastatingly taken apart. He looks beautiful. 

 

Minho retracts his hips and quickly presses his thumb to Jisung’s bottom lip. “Open.” Jisung obeys, opening his mouth wide and sticking his tongue out on instinct. “Fuck, yeah, good boy.” The phrase makes Jisung’s heart jump. Your good boy , he thinks, then tucks the thought away for later.

 

Minho lets out a raspy, broken moan as he strokes himself and spills all over Jisung’s face. His cum is hot as it splatters over Jisung’s lips and tongue, dripping down his cheeks and chin to mingle with the spit already there. His eyes roll back in his head as he takes it all in. The feeling, the taste, the scent, it’s all Minho.  

 

Minho tastes completely unlike what Jisung had expected he might. It’s worlds better. He had always heard cum tasted unpleasant and just assumed the instances of it tasting sweet or enjoyable were lies made up for porn. But Minho’s taste is anything but unpleasant. Jisung wonders if Minho might think the same about him.

 

Jisung whimpers at how euphoric it all feels. They’re catching their breath, panting into the small space between them. Minho brings his hands to cup the side of Jisung’s face, dragging his thumbs through the cum on his cheeks. His breath is shaky and he hums, mesmerized. “So fucking pretty, Jisung.” 

 

“You keep saying that,” Jisung whispers, gripping onto Minho’s forearms for stability. 

“Cause it’s true. Fuck, with my cum all over your cheeks like that. All red and marked up.” Minho leans in to press a kiss against his lips, his tongue swiping out to taste the cum on Jisung’s tongue. “It’s like you’re mine.”

 

The squeezing in his chest is back and Jisung gasps as it catches him off guard.

 

“I am,” he blurts, without much forethought. “Minho, I am. Yours, I mean.” He knows he said it earlier and maybe it was all in the heat of the moment, but right now he really means it. 

 

Minho’s eyes go wide before he’s sitting back on the couch, helping Jisung off the floor and dragging him into his lap.

 

“Did I go too hard?” Minho reaches for the tissues in the cute cat holder on their coffee table and gets to work wiping both of them off. Jisung juts his bottom lip out in a pout. Impatient.

 

“Are you going to just ignore what I said?” 

 

Minho’s smile reaches his eyes. “Jisung I’m not having this conversation while you’re covered in my cum.” He laughs brightly. “And yours.” 

 

Jisung can feel his cheeks burn as he notices the mess seeping through his shorts, and he gets it. Suddenly he is very uncomfortable and needs a shower, a new set of clothes, a snack, and a fuzzy blanket, at minimum.

 

“Yeah, okay. Heard.” 

 

Minho continues to laugh like he’s the literal sun in Jisung’s otherwise dark world as he hoists him up and carries him to their shared bathroom. He turns on the water, adjusting for the perfect temperature, and leaves Jisung to clean himself off. Before he can close the door, Jisung grabs his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. “I…no, for the record.” His blush has reached levels unknown by man. “You didn’t. Go too hard.”

 

Minho smirks, cocking an eyebrow at him in the way that always makes Jisung’s stomach flutter. “I, um,” Jisung starts quietly. He clears his throat and looks away before quickly adding, “liked it.” 

*

The scent of chamomile fills the living room as Jisung wraps himself in a blanket and gets comfortable on the couch. It’s definitely nice to be clean and fresh, even despite the looming conversation he knows is coming. Maybe he should be more excited, but his nerves can’t help but be at the forefront with this particular topic.

 

Everything feels like it happened so fast. Before, Minho was just his best friend, roommate, band mate, “soulmate.” Somehow that last one had never set off alarm bells before, but thinking back now on all the time they’ve spent together Jisung can see his feelings for Minho have always been complicated.

 

It’s not bad to be complicated. In fact, the best music is spawned from the most complex states of being. It leaves the lyrics full of realness, the rich undertones of being alive. Jisung believes being complicated is beautiful. What he’s been feeling for Minho all this time is beautiful.

 

Minho enters silently, offering a soft smile and a warm mug of tea before taking his spot on the couch. It’s the same as always, lifting Jisung’s legs and draping them over his lap. Except this time, the closeness makes Jisung’s heart soar. He smiles. “Hey.”

 

“Hey.” Minho looks serene, munching on a plate of fresh fruit he prepared. “Eat.” 

 

Jisung hums, popping a strawberry in his mouth. It’s sweet. Minho always picks out the ripest fruits. It’s why they both prefer he does the grocery shopping. He just has an eye for those things. “So, how long? For you.” 

 

The implication is implied. Minho answers without missing a beat. “2017. JYP trainee studio.”

 

“W-what?” Jisung stutters. “When exactly?” 

 

“Some guy walks in. Cocky.” Minho grins as he recalls the day they met. “I thought there must be something about him. He’s probably really fucking good at something .” 

 

Jisung is frozen. It’s a realization…that the day they first met each other was the day Minho knew he wanted him. It’s been so many years. He nearly whispers, captivated, “and? Were you right?”

 

“Nah,” Minho chuckles. Jisung frowns, but Minho continues. “He wasn’t good at something. He was fucking incredible. At everything. ” 

 

Jisung slaps him playfully on the arm, blushing at the praise. “Shut up.”

 

“No for real!” Minho laughs. “I was so pissed off! How can one guy be this talented?? And look that good while doing it?” He shakes his head. “You’re infuriating, Han Jisung.” 

 

“For the record you pissed me off too!” Jisung crosses his arms, careful not to spill his tea. “I had never seen someone so attractive in my life . I couldn’t tell if I was jealous or just generally pissed off that someone like you was allowed to exist.” 

 

“Those were your only two options?” Minho cackles, throwing his head back against the couch.

 

“Look, I didn’t know, okay?” Jisung groans. “I hadn’t thought about romance a day in my life at this point. I was locked in, ya know? Focused on being,” he waves his hand around to punctuate, “talented~.”

 

“So you’ve thought about romance since then?” Minho lightly traces the outline of Jisung’s legs beneath the blanket. 

 

“Off and on,” Jisung considers. “I mean I think about it when I write songs. And you know I like my shows.” Minho nods, rolling his eyes.

 

“Yes, yes. The shows where people quite literally switch relationships like they’re public transit.”

 

Another playful smack.

 

“I guess I always just thought…I’m a fan of love. That’s all.” There’s something sad about it when he says it out loud. Minho must think so too with the way he’s looking at him. Not pitying, but somewhat solemn. 

 

“Hannie, if there’s anyone in this world that deserves love, it’s you.” 

 

It’s like those words hit him like a train, and Jisung feels tears streaming down his cheeks. “Fuck, I–” He didn’t mean to cry. He doesn’t even know why he is. But what he does know is that he feels so much, so deeply, and seeing Minho sitting across from him the way he does every single day now holds some new meaning.

 

“I probably knew a long time ago. Hell, I probably knew that day, too.” Minho leans in and wipes his tears. “You scared the shit out of me. But you were my person. It’s like I didn’t even choose that. Like something in the universe just stuck us together and then never programmed a way to unstick us.” 

 

“Chopsticks.” 

 

Jisung grins.

 

“Yeah, chopsticks.

 

“So on the topic of whether or not you’re mine…” Minho squeezes his thigh, and Jisung shivers. There’s only one answer to that question and both of them know it.

 

“As if I have a choice.” Jisung rolls his eyes. “Unless I, like, quit music and learn to be a universe programmer so I can finally find a way to unstick from you.”

 

“Not a chance. Then I’ll become a universe hacker and sabotage all your efforts.” Minho grins devilishly, popping a piece of melon in his mouth.

 

“Fuck, then I guess it can’t be helped.” 

 

“Can’t be helped,” Minho agrees, shrugging.

 

“So, nothing changes?” Jisung asks over the rim of his mug. “I mean, other than like, we kiss and stuff?”

 

“And stuff?” Minho teases. “What stuff, Jisung? You know I have a terrible memory.”

 

Jisung sighs, playfully exasperated. “If you forget our most precious moments together that’s on YOU.” 

 

Minho cackles joyfully, the two of them cuddling close on their couch, in their shared apartment. It may seem like not much will change, but in reality Jisung knows a lot will. His heart soars thinking about not only witnessing love, but experiencing it, and doing so with the one person in this world that he can never separate from. 

Notes:

THANK YOU FOR READING! I'd really love to hear your thoughts!<3

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