Work Text:
Jisung’s fixation started from watching porn.
He could lie and say he doesn’t know where it came from, but he’s been trying to be more honest with himself since the start of this whole debacle.
To be clear, it wasn’t his first time watching. But usually, porn wasn’t, like… an immersive experience for him. He didn’t really need to picture himself in the situation, it wasn’t even all that useful to do it. Most of the time, it was just background noise because it added a little something.
Twitter was his primary source, obviously, because actual porn sites never had anything good and usually just left him disappointed. Even though Twitter came with the risk of uncharted—and unwanted—territory, he had better odds there.
What drew him in to his new favourite video first was the thumbnail: someone’s lips stretched obscenely around a cock, cheek bulging from the angle of it, hair fisted in their partner's grip. Jisung clicked so quickly that the app glitched a little.
It was fine at first. Standard, even. The noises were there and Jisung listened to them, appreciated the vibe they added to the whole getting off in the middle of the night to help yourself fall asleep easier because you have a 9am class thing, but then he looked.
Like, properly opened his eyes and watched. He tried to picture himself in place of the person recording the video. He did recall what it felt like to receive a blowjob even though it had been a really long time, but it didn’t do anything for him.
Instead, he zoned out staring at the cock on his screen, wondering what it would feel like. Did people really enjoy it that much? It embarrassed him to think about. To picture having his mouth full, gagging around someone else, feeling fingers in his hair and hearing quiet praises between moans, drooling all over himself—
Jisung’s hips stuttered up, and then he abruptly came all over his stomach.
He looked at his screen and swallowed dryly.
Jisung could have, should have, and even expected to just forget about it after that. Sometimes, in the heat of the moment, his mind wanders and something unexpected is what gets him off in the end. Whatever, it happens, he’s learned to go with the flow. Except it didn’t stop there.
Instead, the next morning, he’d woken up with a sticky mess in his underwear, the result of a dream where someone’s hand on the back of his head was guiding him through a blowjob. When they pushed too hard and hit the back of Jisung’s throat he woke up with a gasp, the first notes of his alarm shocking him back into reality.
But dreams are just dreams, right? He has no control over them, and this one probably only happened because of what he did before he fell asleep. Nothing more to it. He brushed it off the same way he brushed off the first incident, rolled out of bed and went on his merry way to work.
Except now it’s a problem. Now he recognizes that it’s going too far, because he’s sitting in a studio with a pen between his lips and sucking the cap into his mouth, running his tongue over the end of it and letting his thoughts drift. Far away from his half-finished lyrics and moving instead toward strong hands, veiny arms, webs of drool and swollen lips and glassy eyes and breathless praises.
He takes a deep, shaky breath. Then he pulls his phone out and turns down his brightness in case of hidden cameras, scanning over his chat history.
Seungmin and Jeongin are usually better to talk to face-to-face. Otherwise, he risks getting his number blocked. On the other hand, Felix indulges him so much that Jisung usually ends up making dumb, impulsive decisions. Chan and Changbin might take it too seriously, which is usually nice but probably not what he needs right now, and Minho…
For some reason, the thought of asking Minho about this makes him squirm in his seat, face heating up. Despite Minho being his closest friend, the idea makes his stomach feel all funny, and he can’t seem to figure out why. He’s already confused enough, so he brushes that thought aside and opens his chat log with Chan.
Jisung
hyung I think I have a problem
Chan
What’s going on
Jisung
I can’t stop thinking about sucking dick
like not in a gay way !!!
it’s just the other day I was watching porn and I was just thinking that it looks so fun and dicks are so pretty and it would probably be so nice to have my mouth full like that while a strong handsome man like holds me down and plays with my hair and calls me a good boy
or something
you know what I mean
Chan
Oh
Oh Jisung
Jisung
have u ever thought about it
Chan
Hahaha
Ummm
No I haven’t..
Are you home? Do you need to talk?
I can come pick you up
Jisung
no it’s ok
thanks anyway hyung
Jisung locks his phone and thumps his head against the table.
–
After the panicked texts, Chan didn’t bring it up again. He did, however, greet Jisung for lunch by saying he was there for him if he needed to get anything off his chest. He had an awkward, tight smile on his face the entire time, so Jisung decided to spare him by saying nothing.
The idea doesn’t leave him, though. In fact, he falls into a habit of scrolling through videos in search of those specific thumbnails, bookmarking stuff to find easily later on, and—most importantly—he starts having the best orgasms of his life.
He wonders if this is a normal experience. Surely, this curiosity is only natural. It comes back up one night when he’s on Minho’s couch, staring at his thighs instead of the TV where Minho is very attentively watching the ocean documentary Jisung chose for the night.
The only way to know if it’s normal is to ask, right? The thought of asking Minho hadn’t felt right before, for some reason. It made him shy to think about, even knowing that he’s always gone to Minho with his weirdest questions and thoughts and that he’d been indulged everytime. Minho is safe. Minho would never judge him.
With that in mind, Jisung relaxes. He clears his throat. “Hyung.”
Minho hums, still watching the screen and sipping on the milk tea Jisung had brought with him on his way over from work.
“Have you ever thought about sucking dick?” Jisung asks.
Minho chokes on his drink, turning to Jisung with eyes almost bulging out of his head. He swallows and wipes the tea off his mouth with the back of his hand. Jisung leans forward to pass him the tissue box.
“Um. What?”
Jisung sighs wistfully. “Sometimes I just think about it.”
“About… sucking dick?”
“Yeah,” he nods, “they look so— I don’t know. It seems like it would be fun.”
“Fun,” Minho echoes distantly.
Jisung nods again. He tucks his chin into his chest and starts fidgeting with his hands. Not because he’s uncomfortable, but because he’s accidentally thinking about it now. He sighs.
“Hey, Jisung,” Minho says, stretching his arm out so Jisung can shuffle sideways, closer, and lean into it. “It’s okay to be… um, curious. You know that, right?”
“I asked Chan-hyung about it,” Jisung admits. Minho tenses up against him, but he hums attentively anyway. “He got so awkward, hyung. It was kinda funny.”
When Minho doesn’t respond, Jisung looks down at his hands. The silence stretches between them for a few seconds, strained, which immediately makes Jisung uncomfortable.
He laughs loudly to compensate and looks up at Minho. “He got sooo awkward,” he repeats.
“What, um.” Minho swallows, shifting. “What’d you ask him?”
“I just told him that I couldn’t stop thinking about it,” he answers, smiling. “He just sent, ‘oh, Jisung,’ back like a disappointed dad.” Jisung giggles. “Then, at lunch, he said he’d listen if I had anything to get off my chest.”
Minho relaxes. “I see.”
“Which I did, by the way. But he looked like he was going to shit himself if I said the word ‘dick’ around him again.”
This finally gets Minho to laugh, and he squeezes his arm around Jisung’s shoulders to pull him in closer. He presses his nose into Jisung’s hair and inhales deeply. “You can talk to me too. You know that, right?”
“I know,” he smiles. He looks up from his spot on Minho’s chest. Their faces are so close that it startles him back a little, but Minho’s arm tightens up around him so he doesn’t get too far. Jisung laughs and lays his head back down, reaching up to lace his fingers with Minho’s over his shoulder. “Don’t get jealous now. You’re still my favourite hyung.”
Minho laughs, too. It sounds too tense to be natural, but Jisung doesn’t ask. Minho will talk when he’s ready. Instead, he stares at the bruises on Minho’s knuckles and the veins on his forearms and wonders.
–
Clarity comes to Jisung in the form of a dream. One that mirrors the conversation he had with Minho, except it has a very different ending.
A very different ending, he thinks, remembering how he woke up that morning with a wet spot in his boxers.
Surprisingly, he didn’t panic. Jisung has two functioning eyes, and a generally good sense of appreciation for the beautiful things on this planet. That means he’s not idiotic enough to deny that Minho is objectively the hottest person he knows.
This has always just been a fact of life. Jisung never thought about it too much, but it was also hard to ignore something that you were forced to face everyday. Sometimes, he would stare at Minho for several minutes, to the point where his eyes would start burning and tear up from lack of blinking, and he wouldn’t even realize what he was doing. Minho just has one of those faces.
All this to say, if there was someone he was going to explore his new curiosity with, it would be Minho. Right? It makes perfect sense. He trusts Minho, knows him well and is comforted by the fact that Minho knows everything about Jisung, too. It would be so easy.
Plus, he has what Jisung has been fantasizing about. The firm hands and strong grip. The soft voice that could guide Jisung through everything he’s wanted so beautifully and praise him for listening so well. Just the thought of it makes him start squirming.
He puffs out his cheeks in frustration and looks up from the counter, making eye contact with Seungmin who has been listening to him voice these exact thoughts for the past few minutes. “But I know he’s not an option, so.”
Seungmin looks a little sick, but he’s a good friend, and so he carefully returns his face back to its neutral state. Then, his brows pinch. “Wait. Remind me why he isn’t an option again?”
“Well, because,” Jisung gestures at himself from head to toe, “I’m a man. Obviously?”
“You… You do know that he’s into men too, right?”
Jisung gapes at him. “Seungmin!”
With an expression that Jisung can only interpret as pity, Seungmin shakes his head. “Jisung. Seriously?”
“You can’t— You can’t tell me that!” he exclaims. “That’s seriously messed up! That’s his business, you can’t just go around coming out for—”
“Dude. Minho-hyung has been out for years.”
“He has?”
Something shifts, deep in the dark corners of Jisung’s mind. There’s a strange sense of annoyance nagging him now. Frustration, maybe, at not knowing something about Minho—his best friend—that everyone else apparently already knew.
“Yes. What do you think he was doing with—” Seungmin pauses, analysing Jisung’s expression carefully. He shakes his head at whatever he sees. “Never mind. But yes, he has. I’m sure he thinks you already know, much like everyone else does.”
Jisung frowns. He and Minho have spoken vaguely about their sexual experiences before, but not in enough detail for him to know who exactly Minho has been with.
And, on nights out, he supposes he can remember some situations where Minho might’ve gone home with a guy, but he never paid much attention to things like that. The only person he ever actually saw leaving Minho’s apartment was a woman, so Jisung didn’t even think of the possibility that Minho could be anything other than straight.
A hard pat against his shoulder pulls him out of his head.
“Can we finish closing up now?” Seungmin says, bored. “If we don’t clock out within the next five minutes, I’m going to tell the manager to write you up for being,” his lips twitch, “dick-stracted.”
Jisung’s entire face scrunches up. “That was really bad.”
“More where that came from.” Seungmin throws a cloth at him. “Now get to work. The sooner you finish, the sooner you can see Minho-hyung.”
–
After they close up, Jisung doesn’t actually go to Minho’s, no matter how much he wants to.
Instead, he goes to his apartment and inspects every single area—including under the beds—to make sure no one is there, despite living alone. Calmly, he walks to the bathroom to relieve himself. Washes his hands and ignores how they’re trembling. Dries them carefully.
Then, he slips out of his pants, jumps onto his bed, lies on his stomach, and shoves a pillow between his legs. He doesn’t even need a video this time, his mind helpfully supplying images from his dream earlier, hips rolling forward like it’s a reflex, almost without permission.
He’s hurtling towards the edge, dazed with need, when he stops clutching the sheets in favour of slipping two fingers into his mouth. He swirls his tongue around them, pushes them in further, as far as they can go, until he gags. As soon as he does, he whimpers and spills inside his boxers, hips stuttering against his pillow.
“Fuck,” he pants, pushing his face into the sheets. He lets his body relax completely, melting into his mattress despite the uncomfortable wet spot he’s lying on. A few seconds of bliss pass, and then his stomach turns, chest swelling with something uncomfortable, close to guilt. “Fuck.”
What kind of friend is he? Dreams are one thing; those are out of his control. Willingly picturing his best friend’s cock in his throat while he’s getting off is entirely different. Jisung is the worst.
Okay. So Minho is into men, sure, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to indulge in Jisung’s new thing. Doesn’t mean he wants him. Doesn’t mean he wants to be the object of Jisung’s new fantasy. Doesn’t mean he wouldn’t feel offended, maybe disgusted, if he found out. Is Jisung a pervert?
He gnaws on his bottom lip until he tastes iron, then he lifts his head and reaches for his phone with his clean hand. He opens his texts with Minho and frowns at the last message Minho sent him. An innocent “miss u, have a good shift!” with a GIF of two cats cuddling.
God. Jisung is the worst.
His hands shake as he types out his message.
Jisung
Minho hyung
how would you feel if you found out that your best friend in the world thought of you
while jerking off
Minho
join the club
Jisung
you’ve thought of yourself while jerking off?
Minho
no
of you
Jisung gapes at his screen, laughing in disbelief. Oddly enough, his stomach clenches as he reads it over and over again, something hot and needy bubbling in his gut.
Minho
? sorry lol
of my best friend in the world*
Jisung
you don’t think it’s weird?
Minho
nah
it’s natural, bug
especially when your best friend in the world is as hot as mine ;)
Jisung
hyuuuung (,,>﹏<,,)
Minho
lmao
goodnight, Jisung-ah
don’t forget to wash your hands~
Somehow, he’s half hard again. Jisung takes a deep breath and rolls out of bed to take a cold shower and replace his pillowcase.
And wash his hands, of course.
–
“So is this, like, a gay awakening?” Felix asks.
Jisung hums and takes a thoughtful bite of his banana. “I think it’s more of a dick kink.”
“Ohhh.” Felix nods. “That makes sense.”
“Does it?” Seungmin interjects, looking up from the table he’d been thumping his head against throughout this conversation. “Does it really make sense, Felix?”
Felix makes an expression that Jisung can’t be bothered to decipher right now, so he looks away and continues eating, ignoring their conversation entirely.
Dick kink seems like the most reasonable explanation. Or, at least, the easiest one. He doesn’t know how else to classify his recent obsession with the concept of having a dick in his mouth. Seungmin just doesn’t get it, obviously, because every time Jisung has brought it up in front of him, he’s either plugged his ears and repeated “lalala”, or he’s started headbutting the nearest surface.
Clearly, he’s not super invested.
Anyway. The dreams about Minho still haven’t stopped. If anything, they’ve become even more frequent after Minho basically gave Jisung explicit permission to fantasize about him. His brain took that conversation and ran with it, inserting Minho into every vulgar, diabolically horny thought it manages to come up with when Jisung is getting off.
Which has been very often. He doesn’t even try anything else anymore. No orgasm he’s ever had comes close to how good it feels to cum with his fingers in his mouth, the image of Minho holding his head down flashing through his brain.
So, what does that say about him?
It says that he needs to suck a dick. Like, desperately. What had started as mere curiosity has morphed into an obsession, possessing all his thoughts. Every vaguely phallic-shaped thing he touches becomes a metaphor for the real thing. He can’t do this anymore.
“I think I need to suck Minho-hyung’s dick.”
“Bro.” Felix scrunches his nose and puts his own banana down. “We moved on like, five minutes ago,” he says, shaking his head with disappointment. “Also. Just ask him. I guarantee you he will say yes.”
Asking sounds like a nightmare. Asking and getting rejected? Even worse.
Jisung sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. Maybe he’ll just buy a dildo and use that to satisfy his urges instead.
–
Despite his best efforts—which really isn’t much—Jisung can’t let it go. Now that the seed has been planted, it’s like he can’t imagine exploring this with anyone but Minho. It certainly doesn’t help that he’s been indulging so frequently, letting the seed turn into a sprout and soon enough a full-grown tree if he doesn’t get this under control.
It had never been an issue before because he didn’t let himself see Minho like that. He had always appreciated Minho’s beauty in an objective, platonic sense, but… he’s looking at him ‘like that’ now. A lot.
He’s started zoning out, head fuzzy and face hot and ears ringing as he gapes at Minho’s thighs, his hands. Staring when Minho wears grey sweats, wondering why he has to manspread almost constantly everywhere he goes. Jisung might be losing it. A dildo could never suffice.
Jisung knows, in the back of his mind, that this was the conclusion he was always going to come to. His best friend is hot and cool and has always gone along with his craziest ideas. Minho is like the personification of jumping off a bridge just because his friend told him to, as long as that friend was Jisung and maybe if said friend begged a little bit just because he’s a freak like that.
No matter how long it took him to build up the courage, he would’ve ended up here: sitting on Minho’s couch sideways, knees to his chest, watching Minho scowl in frustration at the game he’s playing on his phone and wondering how the hell he’s supposed to ask.
It helps that he’s already brought it up to Minho before. Not that they’ve talked about it since, but Jisung hopes it won’t shock him like it did the first time if he brings it up casually again. He clears his throat and sits up straighter.
Super casual. He’s got this.
“Hyung,” he says, poking Minho’s thigh with his toes. Minho hums. “I really want to try sucking dick.”
“You should,” Minho murmurs. “It would probably heal something in you.”
“Hyung.” Jisung kicks Minho lightly, then kicks him again, slightly harder, just so Minho will catch him by the ankle and hold his leg still. He swallows dryly. “Minho-hyung, would you ever let someone suck your dick?”
Minho looks up from his phone. There’s a curious little twinkle in his eye, like Jisung just suggested that they jump off a bridge together. “You know that I already have.”
“Oh. Yeah. Duh.” Jisung shifts, twisting his fingers together. Minho only lifts his eyebrows, then returns his attention to his phone. “Well I bet… I bet I could do it really well.”
“Do what?”
“S-Suck— um.” Jisung freezes when Minho puts the phone down, giving his full attention now. “Uh. Your dick.”
Minho snorts, though his hand tightens around Jisung’s ankle. “You kidding?” He grins in disbelief. “You’d choke and give up two minutes in.”
“No,” Jisung scowls. “I’d stop two minutes in ‘cause you’d— you’d be done already.”
“You’d go, ‘Hyuuuung,” Minho whines mockingly, “‘my jaw hurts!’ and then I’d have to go to the bathroom or something and jerk off while you’re here. Like a pervert.”
“You are a pervert.”
“Uh huh.”
Jisung presses his lips together. If there’s one thing he’s driven by, it’s spite. Not that he didn’t already want to do this, but his pride is on the line now. If this is the image Minho has of him, he has to correct it immediately. Duh.
He tries to pull his leg out of Minho’s hand, but Minho tightens his grip even more. Jisung wriggles, whining and thrashing until he’s finally released, and then he sits up and shuffles across the couch to sit himself in Minho’s lap.
“Oh.” Minho blinks, hands landing on Jisung’s thighs. Then he moves them, putting both on the couch again. “Hey.”
With a delighted smile, Jisung realizes that the tips of Minho’s ears are bright red, and confidence shoots through him. He traces his finger over one gently, trying not to giggle. Minho wants this too. “Hyung. Do you think I can?”
The ear that Jisung is still touching feels warm, turning even pinker somehow. Minho rapidly scans Jisung’s face, blinking rapidly. For a brief second, he looks at Jisung like he’s never seen him before. Then, he smiles and he tilts his head to the side, humming.
“Let me see,” he says, suddenly grabbing Jisung’s face.
He uses two fingers to pry Jisung’s lips apart, ignoring his sounds of protest. He hums, running the pads of his fingertips over the roof of Jisung’s mouth. He pushes them into the inside of his cheek, watching it bulge out, and grins.
Jisung sits very still on his lap, horny and confused.
“Hmmm,” he hums seriously, pausing. He prods at the back of Jisung’s throat and giggles when he chokes. “Concerning gag reflex,” he finally determines, “but overall, there’s hope for you.”
He pulls his fingers out and wipes them on Jisung’s cheek. Jisung’s stomach does three backflips. His dick twitches. When did he even get hard?
“Hyung.” Jisung blinks harshly. He focuses on Minho’s red ears and takes a deep breath to regain his confidence. “Do you wanna bet that I can do it?”
“You don’t have to prove anything, Jisung,” Minho says carefully, more serious now. “I was— I was joking. You were too, weren’t you?”
“What if I wasn’t?” he pouts. He draws a trail from the tip of Minho’s ear down to his neck, pressing his finger down and watching the flushed skin turn white under the pressure. “Then what would you say?”
Minho puts his hands back on Jisung’s thighs and squeezes. He catches his bottom lip between his teeth and takes a deep breath through his nose. “Then I would ask what we’re betting on.”
With a victorious clap, Jisung slides off Minho’s lap to settle on his knees in front of the couch. Sue him for being excited. “We can decide after,” he says, resting his hands on Minho’s glorious thighs and squeezing. Gosh, why hasn’t he thought of doing this before?
“Oh,” Minho chokes out. “You meant like. Now?”
“No time like the present,” Jisung says distantly. He’s too busy eyeing Minho like a piece of meat to be fully focused.
Now that he’s down here, staring up at Minho, the rush of confidence he’d gotten evaporates into thin air. Minho doesn’t say anything, only watches him back with amusement lacing his features. He looks so confident like this, legs spread wide, arms resting on the back of the couch, sitting like he’s on his throne. He’d look completely unaffected if it weren’t for the bulge in his pants—gray sweat shorts—and the way he’s still flushed down to his neck.
Jisung exhales shakily.
Then, Minho leans over to grab a pillow and tosses it unceremoniously onto the floor. Jisung stares until Minho snorts, gesturing at it. “Put your knees on that so they don’t hurt,” he instructs. “Jesus, have you never done that for someone before? You have no blowjob etiquette.”
“I don’t— I haven’t— whatever,” Jisung scowls. He shuffles forward until his knees are cushioned. It does feel a lot better this way. He looks up at Minho, who inhales sharply. “Um, what should I do?”
Minho laughs at him again. “Probably take it out first?” he suggests teasingly.
Heat floods Jisung’s entire face. The back of his neck starts sweating a little. The idea of taking his clothes off briefly crosses his mind, but doing this naked feels way too vulnerable, so he’ll deal with the unbearable heat.
With a tilt of his head, Minho smirks down at him. “Are you too shy to take it out?”
“No,” Jisung pouts. “I can definitely, um, take it out.”
“Okay.” Minho leans back on his hands. “Do it, then.”
Jisung’s hands tremble when he reaches up toward Minho’s waistband, but he’s determined. This is really embarrassing, but deep down, he knows it’ll be worth it. He just has to get through this awkward part first, and then he’ll be in dreamland. Plus, Minho is his best friend, so what could possibly go wrong?
He takes a deep breath and slowly pulls Minho’s sweats down, making sure to take the boxers with him so it’s done in one go. Minho’s cock slaps against his stomach, smudging precum against his shirt, and Jisung’s eyes go wide. An awkward, squeaky sound escapes him immediately.
“What?”
“You’re big,” Jisung clarifies. For some reason, he covers his eyes. “Hyung. I don’t think I— This is my first time.”
Minho bursts into laughter, reaching down to knock Jisung’s hand off his eyes. He squishes his cheeks and shakes his head side to side in a way that could be described as aggressive if the fondness wasn’t radiating off Minho’s face in waves.
“Oh, my Jisungie,” he coos. “So cute. Are you giving up on the bet already?”
“No.” Jisung tries to scowl despite his face still being in Minho’s grip. And still being shaken. He bats the hands on his face away. “I was just surprised.”
Minho’s smile stretches wider, somehow. “So you can take it?”
Jisung’s eyes flick back down. Minho is thick. Thicker than Jisung and longer, too, but not enough to put Jisung off entirely. There’s a prominent vein branching up the underside, which Jisung traces over with hungry eyes until he gets to the tip, already glistening with beads of precum.
He’s seen enough dicks by now to know this one can be classified as pretty. Pretty enough that Jisung can take it. Or, at the very least, he’ll go down trying.
Too overwhelmed to keep looking, Jisung closes his eyes and swallows the spit pooling in his mouth. “Yes, hyung,” he mumbles through a pout. “I can take it.”
“Mm, good boy,” Minho says, gently raking his fingers through Jisung’s hair until his eyes flutter open. “Show hyung how well you take it then.”
Jisung shudders, heat licking up his spine. His head feels fuzzy already, the same way it starts to feel when he has his own fingers in his mouth. It takes a second for his brain to catch up to his body, and then he finally leans forward, tentatively pressing a kiss to the head of Minho’s cock. A bead of precum smudges against his bottom lip and he licks it off, trying not to scrunch his face as Minho exhales harshly through his nose.
It’s not that bad, he realizes. A little salty, but nothing he can’t get used to, so he leans forward and licks at the head again, tongues at the slit to taste it again. Then he goes lower, licking a stripe up from base to tip.
Minho sits patiently and lets him explore, the only sign that he’s not completely ignoring Jisung being the quiet hums he lets out when Jisung does something that feels particularly good. Eventually, his patience runs thin, because he runs his hand through Jisung’s hair again and tugs lightly.
“It’s not a lollipop, Jisung,” he jokes.
He’s obviously trying his best not to make Jisung feel bad, keeping his voice light and teasing, but Jisung knows him well enough to see through it. If this wasn’t Jisung’s first time, Minho might’ve teased him with harsher words. Meanly told him to get on with it already. The way he’s clenching his free hand into a fist at his side and chewing his lip proves that he’s holding himself back.
Jisung pouts up at him, frustrated and guilty. His heart is racing again at the thought of taking the entire thing in his mouth; a mix of excitement and nerves that makes him feel a little sick, but he wants—no, needs—to do this. If he chickens out, he’ll never forgive himself.
“Tell me what to do,” he demands quietly. It comes out as more of a question.
“Just do what you think will feel good,” Minho says. “I’ll tell you if it doesn’t. Remember to breathe, open wide, and keep those teeth covered.”
“What the hell does that even mean?” Jisung whines. “How do I cover my teeth?”
Minho smiles in the same way he does when he watches Jisung eat, right before he squishes his entire face or bites his arm or something equally insane. He loosens his grip on Jisung’s hair and pets his head, which helps Jisung to relax again, reminding him that this is just Minho.
His hand drifts lower, cupping the side of Jisung’s face, and then he swipes a thumb over his bottom lip. The smile twitches, fades into something hungrier. Jisung starts squirming again.
“Okay. Spit on it first,” Minho finally says. Jisung tries to comply immediately, except he’s so nervous that his throat has gone dry and his tongue feels like sandpaper, and his attempt at spitting kind of just bubbles over his bottom lip and then evaporates. Minho makes a sound halfway between a laugh and a groan.
There are fingers in Jisung’s mouth again before he can even whine about it. He latches onto them this time, wraps his lips around them and sucks so eagerly that Minho laughs. He presses down on Jisung’s tongue, pushes his fingers in deeper, looks at him with sparkling eyes.
“See?” He pulls his fingers out and pushes them back in. “You’re a natural.”
Jisung doesn’t understand the purpose at first. For a brief moment, he thinks that maybe this is supposed to be practice, but then Minho is pulling his fingers out of Jisung’s mouth, and a thick string of spit keeps them connected. It clicks then; Minho is getting his mouth wet.
“Good. Now, spit on it,” Minho repeats.
Jisung should be embarrassed. He’s not. He’s excited, probably a little too eager as he leans forward and spits, watching it drip out of his mouth slowly like syrup.
Minho watches it for a second, then wraps a hand around the base of his cock and strokes upwards slowly. He smiles down at Jisung, who’s staring attentively, leaning forward with wide eyes and digging his fingertips into Minho’s thighs.
He has got to reel it in.
“You excited?” Minho asks, voice breathy and teasing. Jisung fails to reel it in, nods enthusiastically instead, tongue running over his bottom lip. “Mm, you’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?”
Yes, he has, and being read so easily is what finally embarrasses him, except it’s the kind of embarrassment that makes his entire body shake and his stomach clench. He nods again, and Minho rewards him by angling his dick toward Jisung’s mouth, the tip grazing Jisung’s bottom lip.
Minho pauses, an amused smile on his face as he rubs it there again like he’s putting lip gloss on Jisung.
“Hyung,” Jisung shifts, rubbing his thighs together. He blinks up at Minho. “Please.”
The smile slips off Minho’s lips almost immediately. He curses under his breath, and then scoots to the edge of the couch, gently instructing Jisung to open his mouth.
“Wider, Jisung-ah,” he coos, feeding it to him, and finally, finally, Jisung’s lips close around the tip.
He whimpers, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Okay?” Minho asks, running a gentle hand through Jisung’s hair. Jisung hums in what he hopes is reassurance, but Minho’s hips buck forward immediately after. Minho makes a panicked noise. “Fuck— Fuck, fuck, sorry.”
Jisung pulls off, coughing violently, hand held to his throat. “Be careful!”
“You’re the one moaning around it like a slut!” Minho defends. Jisung squawks in disbelief, and Minho takes a deep breath. “Sorry. I— Okay. Sorry. Try again?”
Jisung kind of liked it, which will have to be something he mentions later or maybe keeps to himself and explores in privacy. He’s learning so much about himself these days! For now, he focuses on what’s in front of him, letting Minho guide himself back into Jisung’s mouth.
In all the times Jisung had imagined this, he’d hoped that he would be able to use the things he’d seen in the many videos to guide him. He quickly realizes that it’s harder than he thought, especially when his head is so fuzzy, when he feels like he could float out of his own body if it wasn’t for the weight on his tongue keeping him grounded on the floor of Minho’s living room. He can’t even remember to breathe, only realizing that he’s holding it when Minho softly reminds him to.
He tries to keep his eyes open, especially when he hollows his cheeks and bobs his head just barely, and it’s enough that Minho finally reacts. He moans with his bottom lip caught between his teeth, tilting his head back to watch Jisung through half-lidded eyes. He looks pretty like this. Pleased.
The fact that it’s because of him makes Jisung preen; it gives him the motivation to take it deeper. He definitely can’t take Minho all the way just yet, only gets halfway down before he gags and has to pause there. He breathes deeply through his nose like Minho told him to, so that he doesn’t panic and pull off again.
“There you go,” Minho sighs. “Good boy, Jisung,” he says, reaching forward. “Open your mouth wider and give me your hand.”
Jisung obeys, blinking up at Minho in what he hopes is an obvious apology for his failure to keep his teeth away. Minho only smiles at him and takes the hand that Jisung is holding up, then he wraps Jisung’s fingers around the base of his cock and slowly begins stroking himself, watching carefully for Jisung’s reaction.
He guides their movements with their hands still joined, using Jisung’s drool to make the glide smoother. When Minho’s knuckle brushes Jisung’s face on the upstroke, it reminds him of what he’s supposed to be doing.
With his free hand, he grips Minho’s thigh tighter and tries to match the bobs of his head to the pace of the strokes that Minho sets. Jisung’s jaw does hurt, to be honest, but it hurts in a weirdly pleasant way, one he could get used to.
Especially when Minho finally starts moaning each time Jisung sinks down again. Like, properly moaning, soft and airy and breathy. Jisung closes his eyes and lets himself go.
He can still hear Minho’s voice. Mostly praising him, but every now and then he gives Jisung an instruction—“try using your tongue more,” and “ah, watch the teeth,”—and Jisung listens, eager to please.
His mouth fills with saliva until it spills between them and drips over his chin, the wet noises muffled in his ears. He should be embarrassed. He doesn’t care. He sucks on the tip, swirls his tongue messily. He floats. Almost wants to smile, probably would if he wasn’t so preoccupied with finally having Minho’s cock in his mouth.
“Fuck, look at me,” Minho moans. Jisung forces his eyes open and looks up, meeting Minho’s gaze. He feels something wet trickle down the sides of his face when he blinks, and can’t tell if it’s tears or sweat or both.
“Shit,” Minho laughs, almost delirious. “You’re so fucking pretty. Hah, I should just keep you like this from now on.”
Jisung’s body jolts from the words. It shouldn’t. He should be humiliated. Maybe even offended.
Minho catches it, because of course he does. “You want that?”
His eyes twinkle again. He tightens his hold on Jisung’s hand to speed up their pace, groaning. “Want me to keep you on your knees for me? I’ll train your throat. Teach you how to take cock like— mmf, like a proper slut.”
Everything happens so fast that Jisung doesn’t process it right away.
He moans, garbled with the way his mouth is stuffed full, and his dick twitches. It twitches again, then his hips jerk forward. He feels wetness seep into his underwear and finally realizes what’s happening. He’s shameless about it at this point, lets himself ride the high with his head in the clouds.
With his free hand, Minho tangles his fingers in the hair at the top of Jisung’s head.
Instead of pushing like Jisung expects—and maybe hopes for—he pulls him off, startling another moan out of him. He’s just about to complain when the first rope of cum lands across his cheek. He flinches, squeezing his eyes shut again, even though he wishes he could watch this. His tongue lolls out of his mouth like a newly discovered instinct.
Minho is moaning, a long string of curses that sounds like the prettiest thing Jisung’s ever heard. Jisung makes sure to keep the pace of their strokes consistent when Minho’s movements stutter, smiling when the next spurt lands on his tongue.
The feeling makes Jisung’s hips roll forward into nothing again. The smallest sense of shame creeps into his chest at the fact that he’s enjoying this so much; something that should feel so degrading, but his brain seems to understand it as a display of affection. He forces his eyes open, breath hitching at the sight of Minho, any of the negativity he felt immediately shoved out of the way by desire.
He’s flushed from his ears to his neck, chest heaving as he catches his breath. He moves his clean hand from Jisung’s hair and wipes the cum off his nose, off his cheek. Jisung tilts his head to catch Minho’s thumb in his mouth.
“Fuck,” Minho huffs. He stares as Jisung sucks it clean, then huffs again, this time in a mix of amusement and disbelief. “Fuck,” he repeats.
Jisung pulls away. He smiles up at Minho. “Was I— Was it good?”
“Yeah. Fuck, Sung. You’re perfect,” he says. He sits up again from where he had slumped over. “Come here. Let me help you out now.”
“Oh,” Jisung says, embarrassed. He shifts on his knees. “I. Um. I already…” he trails off, gesturing down vaguely.
Minho blinks. “Oh my god.”
“Sorry, I—”
“Don’t apologize,” he says sharply. Jisung snaps his mouth shut. “If I could cum again right now, that would’ve done it for me.”
Jisung giggles pathetically. “Okay, hyung.”
He leans his head on Minho’s thigh, overwhelmed. There’s a confusing mix of relief and confusion swirling around in his head. He did it. He tried it. He liked it so much. Maybe too much, is it normal for him to have enjoyed it that much?
Minho brings a hand up to stroke his hair comfortingly. Jisung takes a deep breath and lets his entire body melt.
Maybe it doesn’t have to be so complicated. It’s just Minho, after all.
–
Jisung is falling asleep on the couch when Minho returns with a wet cloth and a water bottle. They don’t talk. Instead, Jisung gulps down water until the bottle is empty, and then leans his head against the back of the couch so Minho can wipe off all the fluids drying on his face and neck.
Now, Minho finally says, “I’m sorry, bug.”
“For what?”
“Uh. Calling you a slut,” he coughs, “and the whole. You know. 'Training you' thing. Kinda freaky.”
Jisung tugs on Minho’s arm until he finally sits on the couch next to him. “It’s okay,” he smiles. He wants to curl into Minho’s side, but it feels inappropriate now, so he sits on his hands instead. “I liked it.”
“Still.” Minho leans back and exhales deeply, eyes slipping shut. “Oh god, and sorry for coming on your face without asking.”
“I liked it, hyung,” Jisung laughs.
Minho stays quiet for so long that Jisung briefly thinks he might’ve fallen asleep. Then, he sighs again. “I liked it too.”
“Good.” Jisung smiles. “Um… All of it?”
“All of it,” he confirms. “You’re a quick learner.” He finally lifts his head from the back of the couch, watching his expression closely. “And such a good boy, Jisung-ah.”
Jisung flushes. He squirms against the couch, feeling familiar heat building in his gut again. Jisung could get closer if he wanted to, could throw his leg over Minho’s hip and climb into his lap and—
“Sh-Shut up,” he stammers, snapping himself out of it. Minho snorts, letting his head thump against the couch again. Jisung checks the time on his phone and realizes how late it is. “I should get going, hyung.”
“Yeah,” Minho sighs. He stretches his arms, his entire face scrunching like a displeased cat. “Alright. Want a ride?”
Jisung stares at Minho’s thighs. “Please.”
He doesn’t move again until he hears Minho’s car keys jingling, like an evil reality check. He spends the silent drive home thinking of other rides he would’ve preferred.
Minho sends him off with a slap to his ass and a flying kiss. Jisung stumbles inside, waiting for the icky feeling that usually seeps into his chest after hookups.
Thirty minutes later, it still hasn’t come.
An hour later, Minho sends a picture of his nostrils and says dream of me, and Jisung falls asleep with a dumb smile on his face instead.
–
The point of sucking Minho’s dick was simple. Jisung had one goal in mind, which was to get it out of his system and then go back to normal.
Minho has done great at that part—going back to normal—and that’s a pleasant surprise. Jisung worried very briefly that things would be awkward the next day, but they weren’t. At all. He had woken up to a video of Minho playing with his cats, and when he managed to send a normal response, Minho invited him out for coffee like nothing had happened the night before.
Which is good, of course. What makes it even better is that, since then, Minho hasn’t brought it up. Jisung is coping perfectly well with that. He’s very unbothered. In fact, he doesn’t want to talk about it either!
He whines into the arms he has folded on the counter. “I want to suck his dick again soooo bad, dude.”
“Hi there!” Jeongin says loudly, giving Jisung an aggressive side-eye. Jisung looks up and makes eye contact with the customer standing awkwardly at the register. He sighs and drags his feet to the stack of cups in the corner, trying not to visibly sulk as he scoops pearls out of the cooker to make his hundredth milk tea of the day.
Briefly, he considers fucking up the drink as revenge for disturbing his moral support session, but then he notices Jeongin watching him. He has a quick vision of a potential future where his music doesn’t take off like he hopes it will and Chan drops him for it, and he can’t afford studio time anymore, and now he doesn’t have his lame boba shop side gig either, and—
He dutifully pops the plastic cup into the lid sealer with a bright smile on his face instead.
“Have a nice day!” he grins widely, thrusting the drink forward. The customer gives him a weird look, probably because Jisung’s grin is actually not friendly at all and maybe looks more like he’s baring his teeth.
The bell above the door jingles, and the store empties again. Jisung puts his arms on the counter, drops his head between his shoulders, and groans.
He has never been normal about anything in his life; he doesn’t know why he thought this would be different. Once could never be enough. His hunger only grew worse, especially because there are parts of his fantasy that he still didn’t get to experience.
It’s so important that he even started making a list! For example: Minho was (mostly) gentle with him, which Jisung appreciates, but it also means that he didn’t pull Jisung’s hair. He didn’t hold his head down, didn’t roll his hips up to make Jisung take more. Which is nice, and it makes sense. Of course, Minho wouldn’t do that, not for Jisung’s first time.
Instead, he gave him a nice introduction, a way to get him used to it. But what’s the point of getting used to something if he won’t get to do it again?
It feels a bit like he’s only seconds away from stomping his feet and yelling about wanting more. He groans again, louder this time.
Jeongin pinches the bridge of his nose. “Please just ask him, hyung.”
“I can’t!” Jisung whisper-yells, standing up straight again. “I asked last time. If I ask again, then he’s gonna be like ‘damn, Jisung is so desperate, haha,’ and then I’m going to look pathetic!”
“You are desperate and pathetic.” Jeongin pats his shoulder solemnly. “But that’s okay, you know why?”
Jisung shakes his head, pouting.
“Because Minho-hyung is into that, for some reason,” he says. “So text him and say… I don’t know, actually. Just be yourself, that always works on him.”
“Ha, you’re—” Jisung laughs nervously. “You’re making it sound like we’re— Like we’re dating or something.”
Jeongin raises an eyebrow at him. “Aren’t you?”
“No! What? Haha. No.” Jisung shifts on his feet, eyes flicking around the store. “This is just… Uh, exploration of my newfound dick fetish.”
“Right.” Jeongin smiles sweetly. Jisung hates the way it makes him feel for some reason, like a naive child being indulged. “Well, either way. You’re kind of a loser and that’s what he’s into, so embrace it.”
Jisung almost scowls reflexively, but then he freezes. The words don’t hit him like an insult, and, actually, they are kind of true. The image of flushed ears and trembling hands flashes in his brain, sending a giddy feeling through his chest.
Minho wanted it. Bad. Jisung can be sure of that, at least. And Jeongin is right! What better way to play it cool than to super casually and normally ask again?
“If he says no, I’m telling him you dared me to.” Jisung wiggles his finger in Jeongin’s face.
Jeongin’s entire face scrunches up. “Please don’t involve me in your freaky shit.” He smacks Jisung’s finger away, pulling off his apron and walking to the break room. Before the door shuts, he shouts, “And also, grow up!”
–
“Penises for fingers or a finger for a penis?” Jisung asks, peeling his banana.
Minho looks up at the ceiling, humming thoughtfully. “I’d rather have a finger for a penis, I think.”
“Aw.” Jisung pouts. “But you have such a wonderful penis.”
“You don’t know how wonderful my fingers can be, Jisung-ah,” Minho says, wiggling said fingers in Jisung’s face.
Is that a threat? Jisung isn’t sure, but it kind of sounds like a threat. And a promise, all tied up in one. He tries not to think about it anymore, but the darkest part of his brain has already dug its claws into it.
He stares at Minho’s hands and takes a very slow bite of his banana. “Your turn, hyung.”
They’ve had quite a wonderful day today. Minho picked him up in the morning because they both had the day off. Even though Jisung was ready to sleep for at least twelve hours straight, Minho said that the weather was nice, so it would be a waste to stay inside. Jisung guessed that was true; it was April after all, the days were brighter and longer and warmer, and so he dragged himself out of bed.
A walk along the Han River, a picnic under the sun with the breeze ruffling their hair and strawberry juice making their fingers sticky. Jisung shielded his eyes from the sun so he could stare at Minho, but that almost hurt just as much, for some reason.
He’s not thinking about it.
“Hmm.” Minho taps his chin, staring at the banana in Jisung’s mouth. “You won the bet last time.”
Pulling the banana away, Jisung squints at him. “Yeah, so?”
“So…” Minho lifts his eyebrows expectantly. “What were we betting on? Aren’t you gonna claim your prize?”
“Oh.” This isn’t a would-you-rather question at all. He squirms. “Anything?”
Minho looks him up and down. Nods once. “Within reason.”
An outrageously expensive dinner. New headphones. Shoes to replace Jisung’s favourite ones, which are so scuffed the sole is probably going to fall off soon. Bragging rights. Rides to and from work every day for a week.
So many possibilities, and yet.
“Can I… try again?”
“Wow,” Minho scoffs. “I offered anything, and that’s what you chose?”
Jisung scowls. “Hyung.”
Minho tilts his head, lips stretching into a smirk. “You liked it that much?” he asks, reaching over to tug on Jisung’s arm, pulling him onto his lap. He squeezes Jisung’s hips. “You did,” he says smugly. “Liked it so much you came in your pants, remember?”
“Hyung,” Jisung chokes, folding forward to hide his face in Minho’s shoulder.
“Don’t be like that,” he coos, slipping a hand under Jisung’s shirt to pinch his side. “I think it’s hot.”
Jisung’s face is going to melt off. “It’s embarrassing.”
“It’s not.” Minho tangles his fingers in Jisung’s hair and pulls lightly until he sits up again. He looks Jisung straight in the eye and says, “Jisungie. Hyung thinks it’s so, so sexy that you came from having your mouth full. From making me feel good. Okay?”
He sounds so sure of himself. So honest. Minho doesn’t lie, not about stuff like this, so Jisung nods.
“Okay,” he breathes. “Hyung. This time, I want— Could you—”
Minho hums encouragingly. Jisung groans in frustration, wishing Minho could just read his mind.
“Could you hold my head down a bit or something?” he finally says. Minho stares at him for long enough he gets nervous and blurts, “I bet I could deepthroat it this time. If you do.”
Minho raises a condescending eyebrow. “I thought this was your prize for winning the first bet?”
“We can double it,” Jisung says. “Whoever wins this one. Uh. The next prize is doubled.”
That makes no fucking sense, is what Jisung expects Minho to say. Is what Minho should say. Instead, he nods.
“Yeah, okay.” He grins. “Sure.”
–
“What do you do if you need a break?”
“Smack you,” Jisung huffs. “Hyung! Can we get on with it already?”
Minho stares down at Jisung, shaking his head. "Tap me. Not smack. Show me.”
Begrudgingly, Jisung reaches up and taps Minho’s thigh twice.
“Good boy.” Minho smiles, scratching the underside of Jisung’s chin. “You’re like a little kitten, pawing at me like that.”
“You told me to,” he argues weakly, eyes trained on Minho’s hands untying the string on his sweatpants. Jisung pushes the hands away to untie them himself, and he really feels like he’s only feeding into the ‘pawing like a cat’ thing. He scowls before Minho can say anything. “Don’t. If anyone here is a cat, it’s you.”
“Sure, kitty,” Minho coos, “I think you like it.” He pets Jisung’s hair, then scratches behind his ear. “You gonna meow for me?”
A zap of electricity shoots down Jisung’s spine. His eyes flutter shut, something hot coiling in his stomach. This shouldn’t be working on him. Why is it working on him?
Minho, mercifully, does not comment on the obvious reaction Jisung just had. Or maybe he does. Jisung can’t hear over the blood rushing in his ears, especially when Minho knocks Jisung’s hand out of the way and slips his own hand under his waistband, palming himself underneath his sweats.
The urge to whine for Minho to let him watch is strong, but Jisung knows how this goes. Minho finds Jisung’s impatient complaints amusing. He does everything he can to provoke more out of him, and Jisung knows that if he gives in, he’ll never get what he wants.
Instead, he folds his hands in his lap and waits patiently. Minho keeps his eyes on Jisung as his hand moves again, jaw tensing before a small sound slips from between his lips.
“Already drooling,” Minho notes, voice light and airy. He taps the bottom of Jisung’s chin, and only then does Jisung realize he’s gaping as he watches. He closes his mouth, embarrassment making him squirm again.
Minho grins. “Didn’t even have to finger you this time.”
“Why would you say it like that?” Jisung shouts. “What is wrong with you?”
Underneath the complaint is desire, burning hot in his gut. Minho is obviously referring to the way he practically finger-fucked Jisung’s mouth last time when it dried out from nerves. Jisung’s brain, evil as it is, has morphed his words into something completely different.
The image Minho just created—one where Jisung is on his stomach, hips in the air, drooling into a pillow with Minho’s hand between his legs—flashes through Jisung’s brain. He was doing such a good job of pushing the thought away, leaving it with that evil, dark part of his brain, but now he can’t stop seeing it. Even when he squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head quickly as if he can fling it out, it’s still all he can think of.
Minho is smiling like he knows what his words did. He hooks his thumbs into his waistband and pulls his sweats off, letting them drop to his ankles while Jisung’s brain tries to catch up with the knowledge that he was wearing nothing underneath. The distraction is a relief.
“Hyung,” he whimpers.
After kicking the pants off fully, Minho ignores him and cups his hand below Jisung’s chin. “Spit.”
Jisung leans forward and spits into his palm.
He sits up again, licking his lips and watching with rapt attention as Minho languidly strokes his cock, watching Jisung right back, and Jisung doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to this view. He stares at Minho’s teeth peeking through his parted lips, how his tongue darts out every now and then. His eyes trail down to Minho’s flushed neck, and Jisung almost wishes he’d take his shirt off, wondering how low the flush goes.
God. His best friend is so hot.
“Please, can I—” he starts, swaying forward on his knees. Minho reaches up with his free hand, raking his fingers through Jisung’s hair before tightening his grip to hold him in place.
Jisung whines, leaning forward despite the sting. His tongue lolls out of his mouth as he attempts to lick any part of it he can reach.
Minho catches his bottom lip between his teeth and starts stroking himself faster, ignoring Jisung’s pleas. He’s leaking so much that Jisung can hear it, and the insides of his cheeks start tingling like he’s just eaten something sweet.
“Hyung, please,” he whines again.
“Fuck,” Minho huffs. “You really want it.”
Jisung doesn’t know if that was a question or an observation, but he nods anyway. “Want it so bad, hyung. Please.”
“Open up then,” Minho says. Jisung parts his lips and lays his tongue over his teeth. Minho hums in approval, and taps his cockhead against it. “That’s it. Just like hyung taught you to.”
He’s smug about it this time, smirking as he presses himself into the inside of Jisung’s cheek, thumbs over the bulge with his other hand. Slaps his cock against Jisung’s tongue again once, twice, then pulls back to laugh when Jisung chases it with his tongue out.
“My pretty little slut,” he says fondly. Completely casually, like the words don’t make Jisung’s eyes roll back and his hips jerk forward violently.
Maybe he knows what he’s doing, if the satisfied expression on his face is anything to go by.
When he’s finally had his fill of teasing, he guides his cock into Jisung’s mouth, then laces both hands through Jisung’s hair. He stills when he’s halfway in, letting Jisung adjust, tonguing at it as much as he can with his mouth full like this, held in place by Minho while his own trembling fingers hold Minho at the base.
Jisung likes this. He really, really likes this. Likes it even more when he relaxes his tongue and looks up at Minho, and Minho twitches in his mouth in response. He wants to do it again after this, wishes Minho would stay hard forever so Jisung could sit here with his mouth full and never have to do anything else ever again. Wants to do it again tomorrow and every day after until Minho’s sick of him.
“Breathe,” Minho says, voice cutting sharply through Jisung’s fuzzy thoughts. Jisung breathes through his nose and feels his entire body relax. “Ready for more?”
Jisung hums, refusing to pull off for a reason as stupid as nodding or saying yes, and Minho understands, because of course he does. He gives an experimental thrust, slow and careful, and Jisung reflexively pulls off at the first sign of his throat spasming, gasping for air.
“Sorry,” he heaves, coughing wetly.
“It’s okay,” Minho coos, petting Jisung’s head. “You’re doing well.”
“Hold my head down next time, hyung.”
Minho clicks his tongue. He scratches gently at Jisung’s scalp, smiling when Jisung’s eyes flutter. “Don’t wanna hurt you, baby.”
Baby. A voice inside Jisung’s head sighs dreamily, his heart gives a weird little kick. He sways forward on his knees, lightheaded, and only manages to sit up straight again because of Minho’s hands in his hair.
“You won’t,” Jisung says. His voice sounds just as dreamy and dazed as the one in his head. “You said I can— I can tap you if it hurts, right?” He leans forward to plant kisses along the length of Minho’s cock, then mouths lazily at the tip. “Please, hyung?” He makes his eyes big and blinks up at Minho. So much for his anti-cat agenda. “I wanna take all of it.”
Minho takes a deep breath and looks away. He’s pretty and flushed again, which does wonders for Jisung’s confidence. Precum beads at his tip and Jisung licks it off immediately, humming at the taste.
“Alright,” Minho finally says, “but you let me know as soon as it’s too much, okay?”
“Okay, hyung.”
“I mean it, Jisung,” he says firmly. “Otherwise, we’re not doing this again.”
Jisung nods. Yes, he’ll tell Minho if it’s too much; yes, he’ll tap out if he needs a break; yes— wait, again?
He doesn’t have time to think about it, the question immediately being shoved out of his mind because Minho’s pushing into his mouth again, this time with only one firm hand at the back of his head, keeping him in place.
When Jisung’s throat tightens this time, Minho stops pushing in further, but his hand stops Jisung from pulling off again. Jisung’s dick twitches.
“Breathe,” he repeats. His free hand strokes Jisung’s face, wipes a tear off his cheek. “Don’t tense up on me.”
Jisung gags and briefly panics at the thought of throwing up from this, mortified by the sound his throat makes, but he doesn’t tap out. Instead, he closes his eyes and focuses hard, wanting to scratch the itch that’s been steadily building since the last time he did this. The one that seems to be located at the back of his throat, that apparently only Minho’s cock can scratch by… well, doing this.
More importantly, he wants to be good for Minho. Wants to know the sound he’ll make when Jisung takes him all the way. That thought alone helps him control himself, his tongue and throat relaxing again.
“Good boy,” Minho murmurs. He resumes pushing the back of Jisung’s head down until the tip hits his throat, until Jisung’s nose is pressed to his skin. They both moan at the feeling.
Holy shit. Holy shit, he actually did it.
Jisung blinks his eyes open to watch Minho again, even though the angle hurts his eyes a bit. It’s worth it. Minho looks gorgeous like this, thighs spread, head tilted back, peering down at Jisung with half-lidded eyes and lips swollen from the way he can’t stop biting them. He throbs in Jisung’s mouth and Jisung squirms, moaning around him desperately.
Minho pulls out slightly and thrusts into his throat again, guiding Jisung’s head with strong hands in his hair. It’s everything Jisung wanted. All of his wettest dreams come to life, he’s never felt better. He doesn’t have to think anymore like this, doesn’t have to worry if he’s doing anything right or if he looks good, just has to keep his mouth open and his jaw relaxed and let Minho use him.
The sounds his throat is making don’t embarrass him anymore, not when Minho is clearly enjoying them, when he starts moaning, when his thrusts get a little harder— no, they make him needier now. Jisung likes this so, so much. He feels dirty. He feels pretty. He feels more wanted than he’s ever felt before. His throat aches and the only thing he worries about is whether he’ll still feel it tomorrow, or if he’ll wake up and convince himself it was all a dream.
Minho is less concerned now, too. Still paying attention to Jisung, still being careful, but he lets himself go a little. He tugs at Jisung’s hair, pushes his head down and holds him there while Jisung’s throat convulses, constricting as he swallows around Minho’s cock.
“Mm, fuck,” he moans, light and airy. He finally pulls Jisung off to give him a breather, letting him gasp for air and wipe at the drool running down his chin in thick strings with the backs of his hands. His thighs are wet with it too, and he’s glad he took his sweats off this time, even though it felt embarrassing. He’s self-aware enough now to know that he gets messy.
Anyway, air isn’t really that important anymore. Jisung probably can’t breathe that well through his nose anymore either, not with the way it’s stuffy and running from how he’s literally choking on Minho’s dick—god, that thought should not make him feel as warm as it does—but it doesn’t matter.
Still, Jisung goes eagerly next time, takes Minho’s cock into his mouth himself. Minho’s guiding hand is more of a backup plan, he doesn’t really need it anymore. Doesn’t need to be held down, even when his throat convulses; he knows to stay in his place, loves the way it makes his heart jump a little, his stomach clenching.
Minho’s hand tightens in his hair. He makes a devastating sound that Jisung wishes he could record. “Gonna cum down your throat, baby, you want that?”
Jisung swallows around Minho with a desperate moan—more like a gurgle—and tries to take Minho even deeper somehow. He wants it so bad he really might cry if he doesn’t get it. He looks up in his best attempt to beg with his eyes, knowing it’s worked on Minho before.
“Fuck,” he repeats, a huff of a laugh this time. He rolls his hips again with Jisung’s nose still pressed to his groin, sighing with pleasure when Jisung gags loudly, when he sputters around him and spit leaks out of the corners of his mouth.
It only takes a few more thrusts for Minho to spill down his throat. Jisung chokes again, trying his best to swallow all of it, but there’s so much that some ends up dribbling out. Minho looks pleased anyway, chest heaving as he swipes his thumb through whatever Jisung didn’t manage to catch, pushing it between his lips.
When Minho pulls his thumb out, Jisung licks his lips and smacks his lips together. “You taste good,” he says. His voice is hoarse and scratchy. He wonders what it’ll sound like tomorrow.
“There’s no way you think that tastes good,” Minho snorts.
“I do!” Jisung defends, voice cracking, eyes going wide. “It really does!”
Minho tilts his head with a smile and strokes his wet thumb over Jisung’s cheekbone. “I think you’re just a cockslut, baby.”
“Oh,” Jisung says. His skin burns, his stomach flutters pleasantly.
“Do you like that, Sungie?” Minho asks softly, still caressing his face. “You wanna be hyung’s little cockslut?”
Jisung shudders. He nods.
Minho huffs softly through his nose, amusement dancing across his features. He snatches his sweats off the ground and pulls them back on, then looks down at Jisung again. “Come here,” he says, reaching down to tug Jisung’s arm until he rises from his spot on the floor.
His legs are a bit numb, but he doesn’t have time to agonize over it when he’s being pulled into Minho’s lap immediately. Jisung shifts to straddle him properly, a knee on each side of his hip, and gasps when Minho palms him through the soaked fabric of his boxers.
“This okay?” Minho asks, dipping his fingertips beneath the waistband. Like a tease. A horrible tease. As if he can’t see the wet spot, the bulge. As if he can’t tell Jisung is seconds away from bursting.
Jisung digs his nails into Minho’s arms and whimpers, hips jerking forward. “Please,” he whispers, close to tears. “Please, please hyung.”
Luckily, Minho seems to be impatient too, tugging Jisung’s underwear out of the way just enough to pull his cock out. He thumbs at the tip and hums. “God, you’re wet,” he muses, dragging his thumb lower, spreading precum over his length.
Jisung flushes but doesn’t say anything, too enraptured with the way Minho’s staring at him. He’s shameless, looking directly into Jisung’s eyes as he spits into his hand and wraps his fingers around Jisung’s shaft, giving it a slow stroke.
“Good?” Minho asks, twisting his wrist on the next upstroke. It’s already too much. Jisung groans and drops his head, watching how Minho fists his cock, how the head disappears and reappears with every stroke.
That’s his dick. In Minho’s hand.
“Oh fuck,” Jisung chokes, hips stuttering. “Fuck, fuck— faster, hyung, please.” He looks up again, eyes brimming with tears.
Minho listens, speeding up his movements wordlessly. Jisung’s jaw drops, and Minho’s gaze follows the movement, lips twitching when Jisung gasps and releases it in a shaky moan.
He’s already so close, and looking directly at Minho really isn’t helping his case, but he does it anyway. Scans over Minho’s face, the flush on his cheekbones and his dilated pupils and the way his lips are parted as he breathes heavily.
Jisung sways forward, his forehead knocking into Minho’s. He leaves it resting there, too dizzy to hold himself up. “Feels so good, hyung.”
He feels Minho’s puff of laughter against his own mouth. “Yeah?”
“Mhm,” he whimpers, squeezing his eyes shut. “I like— I like it a lot.”
“First time?” Minho teases. He knows it’s not—Jisung has talked about his experience vaguely before—but he doesn’t expect Minho to get it.
Jisung doesn’t get it either, not really. He doesn’t know why this feels so much better than anything he’s ever felt before. It must be because he’s been teetering on the edge for so long. Maybe because Minho indulged his new fetish earlier, fucked his throat until Jisung was all leaky and desperate. There’s got to be an explanation. He’ll think about it later. Probably.
“‘M not gonna last,” he warns. His body jerks forward when Minho’s hand tightens around him, and his heart thuds when their lips brush together.
“You don’t have to,” Minho whispers back. His other hand drifts from his lower back to grip his ass, helping him move in time with Minho’s strokes like he’s coaxing him over the edge.
Jisung feels Minho’s lips against his own again and it’s too close. Way too close. His entire face tingles, goosebumps rising on his arms at the thought of pressing them together properly, at the idea of slotting their lips together and moaning into Minho’s mouth when he cums.
He has to redirect, burying his face in Minho’s neck instead, whining as his hips jerk and he spills into Minho’s hand. Minho works him through it, only stops when Jisung is twitching in oversensitivity and batting his hand away.
“Fuuuuuck,” Jisung groans, slumping against Minho completely. “Fuck. Hyung. What the fuck.”
“Hey,” Minho says, nudging Jisung until he sits up again. He lifts his hand to Jisung’s mouth. “Clean up your mess.”
Jisung startles. He’s used to just wiping it on whatever surface is nearest to him, or using a tissue, but Minho is looking at him so expectantly, still holding his cum covered hand up to Jisung’s mouth.
He gulps, leaning forward to lick at Minho’s palm. He doesn’t think about anything except Minho’s pleased expression, especially when Jisung wraps his lips around two of Minho’s fingers and takes them fully into his mouth, tongue swirling around them.
“Good job, kitten,” Minho jokes, breaking whatever tension had built up. Jisung makes a weak sound of protest, but he keeps sucking on Minho’s fingers. “Jesus,” he laughs. He hooks his fingers behind Jisung’s bottom teeth and pulls his mouth open. “Did you give yourself an oral fixation?”
“Don’t know,” Jisung says, but the words come out incoherent.
Don’t care, he wants to add. As long as I get to keep doing this with you.
Minho slips his fingers out of Jisung’s mouth and rubs them over his bottom lip absently.
“It’s a penis fetish,” Jisung says. Minho tilts his head in question. “Not an oral fixation.”
“Ah, right,” he snorts.
“Get it right, hyung.”
Minho grins. “Of course, my mistake.”
Jisung’s eyes drift to Minho’s mouth, then he looks away just as quickly and clears his throat.
“I need water and a toothbrush,” he declares. “My mouth feels and tastes horrendous.”
Minho raises an eyebrow. “I thought you said it tasted good?”
“Yours does, not mine,” Jisung blurts, only realizing what he said when Minho bursts into laughter. His face turns red. “Shut up, hyung! Stop it!”
“Ah, Jisungie. You’re cute,” he sighs. He stands abruptly, lifting Jisung with him. “Let’s go get you cleaned up.”
Jisung kicks his feet lightly as Minho carries him to the bathroom. His brain feels like it’s vibrating with all the questions he wants to ask. Did he do well? Better than last time? Was he good? Would Minho do it with him again? He doesn’t know how to ask though, feeling embarrassed at the idea of asking for that kind of reassurance.
It shouldn’t matter anyway, he thinks as Minho sets him down on the counter. He’s only doing this to explore his new kink, right? In a safe way, with a safe person, in a safe place. Why does it matter if he has Minho’s approval or not?
More importantly, why did Minho get him off? Not that Jisung is complaining, but that certainly wasn’t part of the deal.
Ah, well. Here comes Minho with a fresh water bottle. He shoves all his questions away, deciding to examine them at another time.
–
Jisung stays the night.
According to Minho, tonight was rough and Jisung seems a little out of it, which makes him concerned enough that he wants to keep an eye on him. Jisung doesn’t know how accurate that analysis is, but he accepts it anyway. Especially because Minho follows up immediately by giving him princess treatment, which he will never say no to.
Minho holds the water bottle with Jisung because his hands are too shaky, and wipes it off his neck and his chest when he drinks too fast and it spills over his chin. He brushes Jisung’s teeth for him and carries him back to bed, and this time Jisung doesn’t hesitate to lie down on top of him, resting his head on Minho’s chest to hear his heartbeat.
“You took it well today, Jisungie,” Minho says softly, stroking Jisung’s hair.
Jisung flushes. He threads his fingers through the hair at Minho’s nape. “Really?”
“Mm.” Minho slips his free hand under Jisung’s shirt to scratch his back lightly, making him shiver. “You really are a cockslut, though.”
“I’ve only ever taken yours,” Jisung giggles. “Doesn’t that just make me your cockslut?”
The steady movement of Minho’s hand pauses, his breath stuttering. “Yeah,” he sighs heavily. “Mine.”
Huh, Minho must be really into this cockslut thing. Jisung giggles again, already drifting off to sleep.
–
“So let me get this straight,” Changbin says. “You wanted to try sucking dick so you asked Minho-hyung, your platonic soulmate, and then you liked it so much you did it again, and now you want to do it again, but… This is still just ‘exploration’?”
Jisung nods.
“Okay.” Changbin looks around, like any of the staff in the coffee shop can save him. “I think. Jisungie, I think you might just be into guys.”
“What!” Jisung laughs sharply. “No, man. I’m straight.”
“You aren’t straight,” Changbin says slowly. “If you had a sexual encounter with another man and you enjoyed it, you literally cannot be a heterosexual man.”
Jisung shifts in his seat. “But… It’s a penis fetish.”
“No, it’s not!” Changbin exclaims, laughing in disbelief. “Minho is a man, Jisung!”
It’s so hard to have such an obscure kink. No one gets it! Jisung spent a lot of time researching, and he found that there are many people with thoughts similar to his, particularly on Reddit. Although, those guys mostly reported that they didn’t enjoy it when they experimented with a penis (and the man attached to it), but that probably just means they don’t have the fetish. Unlike Jisung, who obviously does.
Right?
Right. It’s all very logical, you see.
Jisung shakes his head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he scoffs. “Human sexuality is complex. You can’t just make conclusions like that based on nothing. It’s very narrow-minded.”
“Yes, human sexuality can be complex,” Changbin replies. Jisung nods happily in agreement, ready to accept Changbin’s apology. “But yours is actually very simple, and it’s based on everything you’ve told me: You like men.”
“No!”
“Listen, Jisung.” Changbin pinches the bridge of his nose. “Would you, I dunno, kiss a man?”
Jisung thinks about how it would feel to kiss Minho. It’s not the first time the thought has crossed his mind, and he’s certainly not opposed to it. Minho has pretty lips, pillowy and soft and pink, they’d feel nice against Jisung’s own. He’s probably experienced with that too, would take the lead the same way he does with their… other activities.
“Would you go on a date with a man?” Changbin asks, cutting through his thoughts.
An image flashes through Jisung’s brain of him and Minho on a romantic dinner date. They go on ‘dates’ all the time, friendship ones, and Jisung always has fun with him. But in this image, they’re holding hands. Minho is opening doors for Jisung, and Jisung is pulling the chair out for Minho at the table, and they’re pretending to fight over the bill even though they both know that Minho will pay in the end anyway because Jisung likes feeling spoiled even if he won’t admit it.
Oh. They already do all that, too.
Well, okay, but their ‘dates’ don’t include kisses at Jisung’s front door. When Minho picks Jisung up, he doesn’t come with a bouquet of roses, and when he drops him off again, he doesn’t walk him up to kiss him goodnight. Would Jisung hate it if he did? No, he wouldn’t, but that doesn’t mean anything. Like he said, Minho is handsome and has pretty lips and would probably be a great kisser.
“What if Minho asked to go further?” Changbin presses. “Would you be interested? Is that part of the fetish, too?”
Pursing his lips, Jisung hums. He nods confidently. “Straight men get pegged all the time—”
“Jisung!” Changbin laughs. “For the last time, Minho-hyung is a man!”
“Yes, I am,” Minho says, appearing out of thin air and making them both jump. “What are we talking about?”
“Hyung!” Jisung beams, leaning into Minho’s hand when it comes up to pat his head. “I missed you.”
Minho smiles down at him. “I missed you too, bug.”
Changbin buries his face in his hands and groans.
“Jisung was just telling me—” he starts, and Jisung looks at him with wide eyes that he hopes convey how necessary it is for Changbin to be quiet about this. It seems to work, because Changbin looks back at Minho and says, “—that he thinks you guys should go as Teeniepings for Halloween.”
Minho raises an eyebrow. “Why’s that an issue?” he asks. “We’d look great in dresses.”
“Exactly. See?” Jisung points his nose to the ceiling. He needs to send Changbin, like, a million won for covering for him.
“My Jisungie is so smart,” Minho coos, running his fingers through Jisung’s hair again. Jisung shivers, ignoring Changbin’s deadpan stare in favour of trying not to purr like a cat. He probably could, but Minho would never let him live it down. “Come with me, I wanna order a coffee.”
Changbin looks over his shoulder. He snorts and says, “The counter is like, two feet away.”
Shooting him a glare, Jisung hops out of his seat and turns a sweet smile on Minho, hoping he can talk his way into a muffin or another Americano.
Minho wraps an arm around Jisung’s waist, pulling him in closer as they walk. Jisung wonders if that feeling he always gets when Minho gets so touchy would mean anything in Changbin’s analysis of Jisung’s sexuality, but he decides not to think about that too much. There’s no point in turning something so simple into something stressful and complex.
At the counter, he stares at the side of Minho’s face while they wait in line. The only thing that manages to pull him out of his daze is a loud gasp and then an enthusiastic, “Jisung!”
The barista looks familiar, Jisung should know who she is for sure. He squints a little bit, but then realizes he’s letting the silence go on too long, surely letting her know that he doesn’t remember her. Not at all, actually.
Her face is familiar enough though, so he smiles. “Oh, hey!”
“Wow, how long has it been since I’ve last seen you?” she laughs, tucking her hair behind her ear. Jisung grimaces. He really wishes he knew, because maybe then he’d remember where he knew her from. Her eyes scan him head to toe. Or, head to hip. As far down as they can go with the counter obstructing her view. She smiles softly. “You look so—”
She’s interrupted when Minho loudly clears his throat, just as Jisung feels a hand slide into his back pocket. He turns to Minho, blinking in surprise.
Minho’s already looking back at him, smiling. So casual that Jisung has to look over his shoulder to make sure it is actually Minho’s hand on his ass and not some other random person behind them.
We’re such good friends, Jisung thinks, trying desperately to rationalize Minho’s irrational behaviour.
Still unbothered, Minho asks, “You want anything, baby?”
“Um,” Jisung says. He blinks again.
The hand in his pocket squeezes lightly. Minho turns back to the barista, and his smile shifts. Still on his face, but not the same one it was half a second ago. “Two iced Americanos, please.”
“Right,” she says, eyes flickering between Minho and Jisung. “Right! Yes, of course, sorry. Anything else?”
It’s silent as Minho pays, or maybe not, Jisung can’t really hear. You know when you know you’re about to faint and your ears start ringing until you literally can’t hear anything else? Yeah, that. He’s experiencing the kind of head rush he gets when he stands up way too fast, he’s pretty sure he’s actually swaying on his feet.
And he’s still staring at the side of Minho’s face, too, blinking at him in surprise, and unsure why his skin is suddenly flushing pink when he’s never gotten shy ordering for them before.
–
“Do you recognize that girl at the counter?” Jisung asks, breaking off a piece of his muffin and shoving it in his mouth. Everything tastes so much sweeter when it’s from Minho, who’s suddenly tensing up next to him.
Changbin looks over at the counter. “Oh, Sunhee?” he says. “Yeah, of course. Why?”
Even though she definitely can’t hear them from here, Jisung’s voice drops to an almost-whisper. “Where do I know her from?”
Beside him, Minho laughs loudly, a sharp “hah! ” that startles even Changbin. Jisung ignores him because he’s probably only laughing at something on his phone, that silly hyung.
He carries on unperturbed, leaving Minho to his TikToks. “She was like ‘Jisung, I haven’t seen you in so long!’ as if we were best friends. I feel so bad that I can’t remember her.”
Changbin looks at him, then briefly looks at Minho. Something in his expression shifts, almost mischievous, scheming, but then he seems to consider his sudden thoughts and changes his mind.
“Don’t feel bad,” he says. “She’s Chan-hyung’s ex, if you can even call her that. You only met her properly, like, twice. It was a short-lived relationship.”
“She seemed awfully comfortable for someone who’s only met him twice,” Minho comments dryly, but he finally settles and relaxes into his seat.
That same expression comes back to Changbin’s features, lips curving in amusement. “She took the older-sister-by-association role very seriously. She was very fond of our Jisungie, based on what she heard of him from hyung.”
Minho hums, unimpressed.
Changbin looks at Jisung, raising his eyebrows very pointedly. Jisung has no idea what that means or what the deal is with the sudden tension, so he turns his head down to the table and continues eating his muffin.
–
They fall into a routine after that. Minho initiates it the third time, when they’re on the couch watching a movie. He looks up from where he’s lying back against Jisung’s chest and says, “I bet you can’t make me cum in under five minutes,” and Jisung scrambles to get on his knees so quickly he gets a friction burn.
Jisung doesn’t know who wins. They forget to set a timer. It doesn’t really matter anyway, because he still has his wins from the first two times, and he never cashed them in.
The fourth time, Jisung sucks Minho off in his car (“I bet you wouldn’t be able to focus on driving if I sucked your dick right now,” which was basically asking for a disaster, but Minho somehow agreed). The fifth time, he tries to do it in the shower without drowning himself. The sixth time, he almost sucks him off at work—the second, less important job—until he makes eye contact with a glaring Seungmin and realizes he’d overheard the whole thing. They were betting they could do it without getting caught, so it kind of ends before it even starts.
It’s working great. The whole arrangement is frighteningly easy, and Jisung has always been fond of a good, reliable routine. Routine is good. Routine means predictability.
Routine means Jisung thinks he knows what’s coming when Minho stretches his arms dramatically, and then his hand lands on Jisung’s inner thigh.
Except he should know better, really.
“Smooth,” he snorts.
Minho smiles sweetly, turning his attention back to his phone as he rubs idly at the skin of Jisung’s thigh. Jisung stares, but Minho looks completely innocent, face neutral as he continues watching his video.
This is fine. This is normal. Jisung is used to this; physical affection is nothing new between them, even before this whole thing started. He smiles to himself and looks back down at his phone, pleased with Minho’s sudden affectionate mood.
Then, Minho’s hand travels higher. Jisung shivers, goosebumps pricking his skin, but he stays quiet. If Minho wants to initiate something, then he should be straightforward, like Jisung always is, not—
Minho’s pinky dips into the leg hole of Jisung’s shorts, short-circuiting Jisung’s brain. He leans sideways and noses at Jisung’s neck, inhaling deeply. “You smell good.”
“Of course you’d say that.” Jisung tips his head to give Minho more space. “I used all your stuff.”
Showering at Minho’s place is a rare occasion for Jisung. He’s very particular about the things he uses, and Minho—aside from the few things Jisung has forgotten when he spends the night here—doesn’t have any of it.
Today it felt good though, going straight to Minho’s after his terribly long day and using his shower, lathering himself in stuff that smelled like Minho and slipping into clothes that smelled like him. Jisung doesn’t know why he loved it so much, but Minho takes another deep inhale like he loves it too, so whatever.
Minho makes a pleased noise and places a wet kiss on Jisung’s neck. He laughs when Jisung visibly shudders. “Come here,” he says, sitting up and patting his thigh.
Routine. It’s great.
Jisung shifts to straddle Minho’s lap, only slightly surprised by how familiar the position feels, and sets his hands on Minho’s shoulders. When Minho leans in to kiss his neck again, Jisung tilts his head back and sighs. “You’re being mean, hyung.”
“Am I?” Minho asks. He slides his hands down Jisung’s waist to grab his hips instead. “How come?”
“You’re teasing me,” Jisung whines. He squirms on Minho’s lap and squirms harder when Minho’s grip tightens. “Hyung, please. Can we?”
One of Minho’s hands slides back to grab Jisung’s ass, pulling him closer. The friction makes Jisung gasp. His hips jerk, chasing it, and it feels so good that he doesn’t care when Minho laughs at him for it.
“Thought you were tired,” Minho comments absentmindedly as he starts guiding Jisung’s movements with one hand on his ass and the other on his hip.
“‘M not tired,” Jisung pants. “I’ve never been tired in my life. I’m soooo awake right now, hyung.”
After a final, departing kiss to Jisung’s neck, Minho leans his head back against the couch. He watches with an amused expression, letting Jisung do most of the work, but helps him out when he gets too eager and loses his rhythm.
Eventually he gets restless, impatient maybe, and his grip tightens enough to bruise. He starts to grind up to meet Jisung’s movements. His ears are turning red again, breaths getting heavy—butterflies start fluttering around in Jisung’s stomach when he processes this, and it sinks in that Minho’s really into it.
Jisung is, too. Very much into it. He likes that Minho is so worked up from nothing more than having Jisung rutting against him deliriously. He likes sitting on Minho’s lap while he rolls their hips together, and he likes feeling Minho get hard underneath him. He shifts his position just to feel Minho’s bulge press against his ass, and decides he likes it even more.
He really might cum from this. That would be really embarrassing.
“Hey, Jisung-ah,” Minho murmurs. He drags his lips over Jisung’s jawline, his cheek. Licks at his ear.
Jisung’s entire body shivers even if the sensation would normally make him wince. He doesn’t say anything, because any attempt at speaking right now would result in him making a very undignified sound instead.
Minho bites his earlobe, then continues when Jisung stays quiet. “I bet I can make you cum with just my fingers.”
“Hyung,” Jisung gasps. His body jolts, humiliatingly obvious, pathetically desperate. He wouldn’t be able to play it cool if he tried. “Please, I want— want that. I want it.”
“Yeah?” Minho laughs, squeezing Jisung’s hips. He drags them forward again, and Jisung spasms.
“Please,” he says. “Please. Hyung.”
“No need to beg yet, sweetheart,” Minho teases. “Save that for when I’m inside you.”
At the image that flashes through his head, Jisung’s breath leaves him in a heavy exhale. Minho isn’t even teasing, technically, and that makes arousal burn hot in Jisung’s stomach, setting his entire body on fire.
“Minho-hyung,” he whimpers, incapable of saying anything else.
Minho laughs again. “Okay. Get up, then,” he says, patting Jisung’s leg until Jisung slides off his lap.
Just as he’s about to lie down on the couch, Minho reaches down to take his hand instead, pulling him up and towards the bedroom. Jisung realizes they’ve never done anything in there before. Despite defiling almost every room in both their apartments—and even Minho’s car, and almost Jisung’s workplace—Jisung has yet to experience this.
‘This’ being Minho laying him on the bed, sliding a pillow under his hips, pulling his thighs apart. Assertive but gentle, like he always is with Jisung. He stares down like Jisung is a gift to be unwrapped, hunger clouding his eyes.
Jisung has to cover his face when Minho starts undressing him. It’s overwhelming, despite Minho having already seen him like this, because it’s— it’s technically the same, but it’s also not at all. He’s never been splayed out on Minho’s bed like this, legs spread wide open with the knowledge that Minho is going to be between them soon. That Minho is going to touch him there, somewhere he’s been so curious about but only felt brave enough to entertain for a few seconds, and then never again.
He takes a deep breath and makes a weak, low sound into his trembling hands.
“Can’t take your shirt off with your arms in the way like this.” Minho clicks his tongue, tugging at Jisung’s wrists gently. “Stop hiding from me, baby.”
Jisung obediently drops his arms with a whine. “This is embarrassing, hyung.”
“Nothing to be embarrassed about, bug.” Minho smiles softly. He pulls Jisung to sit up and tugs his shirt over his head, throwing it somewhere over his shoulder. “You’re so pretty, Jisung-ah,” he says, ducking down to kiss Jisung’s chest. “Prettiest boy I’ve ever seen.”
The praise makes Jisung glow. Everything slows down, the rapid beating of his heart settling into something much more manageable. The rattling in his brain turns muffled, then completely silent.
Minho shuffles lower, peppering Jisung’s torso in kisses and pushing him to lie back down as he goes. He stops at his hip bones, hooking his fingers into the waistband of Jisung’s boxers. “Okay?”
“Okay.” Jisung nods. “Please.”
Minho pulls them off slowly, and Jisung has to actively fight the urge to slam his legs shut. He feels so exposed like this, especially when Minho spreads his legs again and stares directly between them, a muscle in his jaw twitching.
“Fuck,” he mumbles appreciatively.
Without hesitation, he reaches down to dig his thumbs into Jisung’s skin, to spread him open further, and Jisung has to avert his eyes to the ceiling at the sight of Minho licking his lips.
“Stop staring,” he whines.
“Sorry,” Minho says unapologetically. “It’s a great view.”
Jisung huffs and tries not to squirm when Minho leans over to grab the lube from his top drawer. He’s not nervous at all, for some reason. Just excited; a little embarrassed, too, but if he’s being honest with himself, that only adds to the whole thing.
Two of Minho’s wet fingers circle his hole. Jisung gulps.
“Have you ever done this before?” Minho asks conversationally, like Jisung’s brain isn’t about to melt out of his ears. “To yourself, I mean.”
“N-No,” Jisung shakes his head, clutching the sheets in anticipation. “No, I— I tried but it didn’t— didn’t feel right.”
Minho hums. He pulls his hand away to spread more lube over his fingers. “Hyung will make it good for you,” he says, running his clean hand over Jisung’s thigh.
He sounds so confident, so sure of himself, that Jisung has no choice but to believe him. Not that he had any doubts. So far, Minho has made all of it good, has known exactly how to handle Jisung, how to give him exactly what he needs. Jisung trusts him. Completely.
So he goes pliant. His body melts into the mattress, muscles relaxing, legs falling open for Minho.
Minho eases the first finger in, and Jisung starts squirming again almost instantly.
“Relax, Jisung.”
“Feels weird.”
“Of course it does,” Minho snorts. “My finger is in your asshole.”
“Oh my god.” Jisung clenches around the finger and whimpers. “That’s so hot, hyung.”
Minho blinks at him. “You’re a freak,” he says.
Pot, meet kettle.
Hypocrite, Jisung thinks, and just as he opens his mouth to say this, Minho starts moving. Any words Jisung was about to say dissolve into a broken groan.
“Okay?” Minho asks again. Jisung nods frantically so there’s no risk of Minho stopping, because he thinks if Minho did, then the entire world would end and Jisung would implode.
Minho looks back down at where his finger is pressed inside of Jisung and moves again, in and out slowly, eyes flickering up every few seconds to watch Jisung’s reaction. Jisung smiles at Minho’s focused expression, at the way his ears are tinged red.
It doesn’t take long for Jisung to adjust, his hips rolling up to meet Minho’s finger, not nearly enough anymore. Minho places his other hand on Jisung’s hip and presses down gently, making a reprimanding sound.
“Stay still,” he says softly. “I’ve got you.”
“More,” Jisung breathes, rolling his hips again weakly. Minho doesn’t say anything, but Jisung feels a second finger prodding at his rim shortly after. He huffs with impatience. “More.”
“I’m trying to be thorough, Jisung.” He glares. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t,” Jisung whines, nudging Minho with his ankle. “I’ll tell you if you do, hyung. Please. Give me more.”
Minho exhales shakily. He pulls the finger out and, on the next thrust, presses two into him.
It’s a tight fit. The stretch is overwhelming in a way that makes Jisung’s body clench and his toes curl. It doesn’t hurt, exactly—Minho wouldn’t let it—but it’s a lot. Jisung has to reach down and hold Minho’s wrist so he doesn’t move yet, tongue too tangled in his mouth to form any words.
“Breathe,” Minho soothes, rubbing Jisung’s thigh. “You look so good like this, baby,” he adds. An attempt at distracting Jisung as he gets used to the intrusion, probably. “Even prettier than I imagined.”
“You— You imagined me like this?”
“Mhm. Like this, or bent over, or on top of me,” he admits casually. Jisung gasps, a shudder wracking his body before he melts into the mattress again. Minho starts moving his hand again, keeping his pace slow. “I think about it all the time, Jisung-ah.”
Jisung swallows. “What else do you think about?”
Minho turns his head to bite Jisung’s inner thigh. “Marking you up all over, working you open just like this.” He moves up to plant a wet kiss on Jisung’s hip bone. “Making you cum on my tongue, my fingers,” he continues, quickening the pace of his hand. “And then,” he plants his clean hand next to Jisung’s side to hover over him. “Folding you in half. Splitting you open on my cock. Making you ride me until you can’t hold yourself up anymore— God. You’d look so good, Jisungie.”
“Hy-ung ,” Jisung chokes, voice cracking on the second syllable. He can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed, hands scrabbling at the sheets and back arching so he can take Minho’s fingers deeper, somehow.
“Do you want that, baby?” Minho coos. “You want hyung to fuck you?”
Jisung is going to explode. Jisung is going to pass out. He’s lightheaded and overwhelmed and it’s so hard to keep his eyes open, but he can’t look away from Minho’s face. Smug, flushed all the way down to his chest.
He pictures it in a different context. Minho, still on top of him, but naked. Jisung’s legs bent as far back as they’ll go, or maybe hooked over Minho’s shoulders. Minho, just as careful, just as smug, but instead of his fingers he’s fucking Jisung with fluid rolls of his hips, with this same level of focus.
The way Jisung’s stomach twists answers the question for him. He nods frantically. “Yes, hyung, yes.”
“Say it,” Minho says. Their faces are dangerously close; Jisung has to squeeze his eyes shut to fight the urge to kiss him. He feels Minho’s lips brush against the shell of his ear. “Tell hyung what you want.”
“Want you inside,” Jisung breathes. “I want you to fuck me, Minho, p-please.”
Minho groans into his ear. He shifts, and then curls his fingers and brushes over something that makes Jisung squeak out a high-pitched noise he’s never made before. His feet kick out, but Minho sits up quickly to hold one of Jisung’s thighs down as he fucks his fingers in again, prodding at that same spot almost eagerly.
“What— Hyung, ngh, h-hyung, oh my god,” Jisung whines, high and needy. His nails dig into Minho’s forearm and his entire body trembles.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Minho asks with a laugh, voice teasing. Jisung forces his eyes open when he nods, just to prove how much he means it. His vision is blurry with tears, and when one drips down the side of his face, Minho’s dark gaze follows it. His lips curl into a soft smirk. “There you go, baby,” he murmurs, pleased. He leans down and licks the teardrop, then moans. Like a fucking freak. “Let go, sweet thing. Cry for me.”
Jisung sobs helplessly. He moves his hands to hold onto Minho’s shoulders, partly to ground himself and partly as a reminder that he isn’t supposed to touch himself. Minho promised he’d make him cum untouched, and Jisung kind of wants to let him win this one.
Not that they’re actually keeping track, he remembers, but Minho curls his fingers again and wipes every thought clean out of Jisung’s head.
Sweat starts to bead on Minho’s forehead now, above his upper lip. The veins in his arms are protruding and Jisung hungrily watches his muscles work, watches how Minho’s fingers disappear inside of him. Everytime Minho fucks his fingers in again, there’s an embarrassing loud, wet sound, one that makes Jisung’s cock—which is steadily leaking onto his stomach—throb with need, pressure building in his gut.
Every exhale comes out as a moan or a whimper, and Minho is watching like Jisung is the most interesting thing he’s ever seen, pupils blown and expression amused. Jisung gives up on trying to talk coherently, or move, or do anything but lie there and take it. It feels so good. He’s quickly realizing how much he loves this, how much he wants to do it again. Minho is so fucking perfect, so good at reading him; so attentive, so careful even when he’s not being gentle, even when the pace he sets is enough to slightly jostle Jisung’s body on every thrust.
Jisung’s orgasm washes over him very suddenly, a wrecked moan leaving him before he can even process it. His entire body tenses up, jaw dropping on a silent moan and breath getting stuck in his chest as he cums all over his stomach. Minho works him through it, runs his free hand over Jisung’s chest and reminds him to breathe. When Jisung does, every breath comes out as a high-pitched whimper.
“Good boy,” Minho praises softly, easing his fingers out. Soothingly, he pets Jisung’s hips, his sides, his heaving chest. “My good boy, my baby. So pretty, you took it so well.”
Fuck butterflies; an entire fucking zoo comes to life in Jisung’s stomach at the possessive tone Minho’s words take on.
Wow, he must be really out of it.
“Hyung, I—” he croaks, then pauses to swallow all the saliva in his mouth and clear his throat. He thinks very carefully about his next words and settles on, “I think my feet are numb.” He wiggles his toes as Minho tilts a water bottle over a towel and starts cleaning the cum off Jisung’s stomach. “Oh wow. Yeah. Definitely numb.”
Minho laughs. “Come here, baby,” he says, holding his arm out. The mattress dips when he flops onto the mattress next to Jisung, yanking him closer. Jisung throws his leg over Minho’s hip and cuddles into his side, rubbing his nose into Minho’s t-shirt. “You okay?”
Jisung nods sleepily. “Yeah. I feel great. Thank you, hyung.” He shifts to get even closer to Minho, and feels something hard nudge against him. His eyes fly open. “Oh. You’re still…”
Minho catches the hand that Jisung reaches out in an attempt to palm him through his shorts, intertwining their fingers and resting them on his stomach instead. “Shhh,” he soothes, “don’t worry about me.”
Jisung pouts and stares pointedly at Minho’s bulge. “But.”
“Quiet, Jisung-ah,” he scolds softly, guiding Jisung’s head back to his chest. “Sleep for a bit. Then you can take a shower.”
“When I wake up—” Jisung cuts himself off with a loud yawn, “—I’ll get you back.”
Minho hums absentmindedly, and then he leans down and firmly presses his lips to Jisung’s forehead, his cheekbone, the top of his head. He starts carding his fingers through Jisung’s sweaty hair. “Sleep, bug.”
Jisung’s heart tries to leap out of his chest. Distantly, he wonders if Minho feels it—the aggressive thump, thump, thump—but he’s out like a light before he can figure out.
–
The next morning, Jisung wakes up before Minho, which is a really rare occurrence. Minho is an early bird and Jisung will sleep until the very last second possible, which means he doesn’t often get to experience small pleasures like this: watching Minho while he sleeps.
This is kind of creepy, right?
Probably. But it’s hard for Jisung to stare at him freely on a normal day because Minho will usually catch him, raising his eyebrows in question, and Jisung never has an answer. Or he’ll stare back intensely enough that Jisung gets flustered and has to look away first, or he’ll say something outrageous like stop looking at me like that or I’m going to kiss you and that’s just— that’s just crazy, isn’t it? So Jisung will burst out laughing and laugh so hard his cheeks turn red, and he’ll avert his eyes respectfully. Minho’s just so silly.
Jisung’s eyes drift down to Minho’s lips, tracing over his pout. He sighs wistfully. Minho hasn’t made that joke since they started—uh, hooking up, or whatever it is they’re doing—but if he did, Jisung thinks he’d keep staring now. Maybe he could say are you really? I bet you won’t, and Minho would definitely do it after that, because it gives him something to prove, this game of theirs.
He almost wants to reach out and trace his thumb over the shape of them, tuck his thumb into the little opening where they’re parted to see if Minho would bite him in his sleep, somehow.
“Why are you staring at me?” Minho mumbles suddenly.
Jisung jumps, gaze shooting up to meet Minho’s. His eyes are still closed, so Jisung stays quiet in case he’s just sleep-talking. Then, he starts smacking his lips together in that way he does when he’s coming out of sleep, and his eyes flutter open again.
“You were talking in your sleep,” Jisung lies.
What else is he supposed to say?
I’m thinking about what it would feel like to kiss you bro, obviously dude, as most people do with their best friends, especially the kind and selfless ones who offer up their dicks for kink exploration purposes without question and also give great prostate orgasms without even asking for anything in return.
Sure.
Jisung doesn’t like the uneasy feeling that’s suddenly seeping into his chest.
Minho hums, then he stretches with a groan until all his joints crack. He turns his head to Jisung and eyes him curiously. “How are you feeling?”
“Good!” Jisung says too loudly. “I’m—I'm good. I feel. Yeah. I feel great.”
Minho narrows his eyes. “You sure?”
“Yes.” Jisung rolls out of bed before Minho can analyze his face for too long and realize he’s lying. He’s always been able to read Jisung incredibly well, it’s scary. “Um. I have work today, so… I should probably go.”
“Call in siiiick,” Minho groans. “Stay with me.”
“I can’t call in, hyung,” Jisung argues, digging through Minho’s closet to find clothes he can borrow. “Do you want me to get fired?”
He can definitely call in. Technically, he doesn’t even have to physically be in the studio tonight, and his shift at the boba shop isn’t until way later. So really, he could find someone to cover it and stay here, but. Something weird is building up in his chest, and he’d rather deal with it far, far away, where Minho doesn’t have to see it.
Minho groans again, then Jisung hears shuffling as he changes into his stolen outfit for the day. Arms wrap around his waist suddenly. Jisung stands very still. Not because he hates it, but because he might cry.
Or get hard.
Both would be mortifying. In this context, at least.
“Do you want a ride?” Minho asks. His breath hits the back of Jisung’s neck and Jisung shudders, leaning into him. Minho holds him tighter and starts swaying them side to side gently. “Jisung-ah?”
A ride would be nice, then he doesn’t have to pay for a taxi, or worse, take the bus. Jisung should’ve just agreed to call in. He sighs miserably and sags further into Minho’s arms. “Yes, please,” he says, because if he changes his mind now, then Minho is going to get suspicious.
“Okay.” Minho releases him and lands a harsh smack to his ass. “Might as well start paying me if you’re gonna treat me like a chauffeur.”
Jisung spins around, laughing. “You offered!” When Minho only points his nose to the ceiling stubbornly, Jisung crosses his arms. “Fine. I’ll finally get my license soon anyway, and then you won’t have to anymore.”
“You won’t, but that’s okay.” Minho pokes his nose. “I’m happy to drive you around. All you have to do is say: ‘I love being hyung’s pretty passenger princess,’ and I’ll give you a 100% discount.”
“Mm.” Jisung purses his lips, looking up at the ceiling. “How much does it cost otherwise?”
“Fifty million won.”
Jisung bursts into giggles. Giggles. God, he’s becoming so pathetic. “Fine.” He smiles wide, bats his lashes dramatically, frames his face with his hands, and makes sure to use his cutest voice so this is less embarrassing. “I love being hyung’s pretty passenger princess.”
It’s still humiliating. Minho is smiling at him, eyes crescenting and practically sparkling with amusement. His ears are tinged red with what Jisung can only assume is secondhand embarrassment. Jisung is never going to live this down. He drops his hands to his sides and pouts.
Suddenly, Minho’s entire face scrunches up into something that looks painful, but Jisung could not possibly decipher it. Then, his expression goes completely blank. He blinks at Jisung once, twice, then spins on his heels and marches to the bathroom.
Jisung thinks what the fuck as the door slams shut, then he snaps out of his confusion to chase after Minho.
He knocks on the bathroom door, which is now firmly locked. “Hyuuuung! ” he whines, banging his fist against the wood annoyingly. “Do I get the discount or not?”
“You’ll have free rides for the rest of our lives, bug,” Minho calls back, tone very serious like this whole thing wasn’t a joke. “Now go away. Let me piss in silence.”
Jisung walks away, still giggling to himself. The weird feeling in his chest has dissipated completely, which is a relief. Minho’s great at that, saying random things to distract Jisung when he can tell something’s off, and no matter how weird it is, it always works.
He should probably figure out why he felt that way in the first place—self-reflection and emotional awareness is important and all—but then, Minho is swinging the door open again and walking out all bright and happy, and Jisung has to focus all his attention on not swooning.
‘What the fuck?’ the voice in his head asks for the second time. This time, fully directed at him, and very judgmental.
–
They don’t talk during the ride, but Minho drives with one hand so Jisung can play with the fingers on his free one, and also lets him control the music. It’s nice and comfortable and makes Jisung feel like everything is okay.
He likes it so much that he doesn’t want to leave when Minho pulls up to his building.
“Thanks, hyung,” he says, pulling his bag off the floor and onto his lap.
“Hey, Jisung,” Minho says. Jisung freezes where he’s about to push the door open, turning to look at Minho.
Minho leans forward, resting his elbow on the console to cup the side of Jisung’s face and scan his expression carefully. When their eyes meet again, he smiles softly and strokes his thumb over Jisung’s cheek.
A tense moment passes between them. Or maybe it’s only Jisung who thinks so, but he swears Minho’s eyes flick down to his lips.
Jisung holds his breath.
Say it. He thinks. Please, please say it.
“Stop looking at me like that,” Minho finally says, his gaze soft.
This is it. Jisung’s chance. He keeps his eyes on Minho and exhales shakily. “Or what?”
Alarms start blaring in his head. Come on, coward, say it! he thinks more aggressively, in hopes that it’ll reach Minho then. Aren’t they supposed to have freaky soulmate telepathy or something?
Minho huffs through his nose. He presses his thumb into Jisung’s cheek one more time, then removes his hand altogether. “Or you’re going to be late,” he says.
“Oh... Yeah,” Jisung says, using the excuse of checking the time on his phone to back away. “Hah. Duh.”
Minho catches his hand as he turns to leave. “Still wanna come over tonight?”
Despite his disappointment, Jisung smiles. Minho’s cute when he tries to pretend like he doesn’t care about their plans. “Of course, hyung.”
“Okay.” Minho squeezes his hand, then lets go. “See you later, Jisung-ah.”
Jisung forces his legs to move. As he shakily punches in the access code for the building, Minho rolls down his window and wolf whistles at him. “Nice ass, man!”
The girl standing to Jisung’s side, leaning against the wall and scrolling through her phone, scrunches her face. Jisung buries his flaming face in one hand and uses the other to flip Minho off.
–
Minho
no, really though
it’s a great ass
inside and out <3
Jisung
hyung!!!! (ง •̀_•́)ง
–
It seems that Minho really was subduing the weird feeling of dread Jisung woke up with, because now that they’re apart, Jisung is feeling antsy as hell. Like, he’s probably going to explode if he doesn’t talk to someone about this immediately.
Here’s the thing: last night was great. He enjoyed it thoroughly, but he’s stuck on the details. He tries to recall who initiated it. If he even offered to get Minho off in return or if he just fell asleep right after his orgasm, while Minho was left to clean him up and probably jerk off because Jisung is the worst, Jisung is selfish, Jisung let himself get greedy even though he tried so hard not to be—
“I have to tell you something,” he blurts, sitting on his hands.
Seungmin looks up. He scans Jisung up and down, then marks his page and sets his book down on the counter. There, that’s it, no take backs. There’s no way he can get out of this now. He eyes Jisung with concern. “What happened?”
“Minho fingered me,” Jisung says. His legs start bouncing. “Last night. I went over, and I thought we were just going to do things like we usually do, but then he fingered me.”
Seungmin twists his lips. “And you liked it so much you finally realized how gay this whole thing is?”
Jisung turns his head down and shrugs miserably.
“Oh.” Seungmin blinks. His eyes go wide. “Oh, Jisung—”
“I liked it so much, Seungmin,” Jisung groans, burying his face in his hands. “Then I woke up before him this morning, so I was watching him sleep. I know that sounds weird, but he looked so cute and I just felt, like, this really scary thing happening in my chest, and I kept thinking about kissing him for some reason, I don’t know, but—”
“Jisung.”
“—I feel like I’m losing the plot a little, haha, like I might really be going a little crazy, man,” Jisung finishes. Then he thinks of something else, curse his racing mind, so he points an accusatory finger at Seungmin. “I think it’s you guys. You keep saying crazy stuff, and it’s getting to my head, and now I’m hallucinating.” He pauses when the words are out, shaking his head. “No. It’s definitely not that. I’m being an asshole right now.”
“Jisung,” Seungmin repeats calmly. “I think you should talk to Minho.”
“No way. I can’t do that.” Jisung’s eyes go wide. His knee bangs the counter, and he barely winces. “I already feel guilty enough. He can’t know about this, Seungmin. Ever.”
“Guilty over what?”
Jisung flinches. How sadistic to make him say it out loud.
“He’s already giving me so much, and I still want more,” he says quietly. “I want— Like. I want to kiss him for real, dude, and. Fuck.” He closes his eyes,
Seungmin hums. “I’m sure he’d be happy to kiss for real and fuck.”
Jisung snaps his eyes open again and scowls. “Not ‘fuck’ like that. It was a filler word.”
“A sign of low intelligence,” Seungmin says, even though that’s literally not true and they both know it. He sighs— not in frustration, but it’s something similar. Something soft and almost sad. “What’s the problem, Jisung? I’m really not following.”
Jisung shifts in his seat. “I don’t even know if, like… he wants this as much as I do,” he says carefully. “Not that I think he doesn’t wanna do it, but just— I feel so selfish that I keep dragging it on and I just wonder what he’s getting out of it, you know?”
Deep down, Jisung knows that if anything was wrong, Minho would talk to him. If he wasn’t having fun anymore, he’d put an end to things. Like always, they’d talk about it. Sure, it’d be awkward and stilted, but they both do a good job when there’s something to settle between them, forcing their way through it even if it feels like peeling their skin off because they love each other that much (platonically!), which makes it worth it.
But. There’s very obviously an elephant in the room, very clear to both of them, even though they’re both doing an admirable job ignoring it. Sometimes, after they clean up, the silence stretches between them to the point of getting awkward, and he almost thinks Minho will say it—‘what the fuck are we doing, exactly?’—but then instead, he cracks a joke or says something nonsensical, Jisung laughs, and everything is okay again.
Now that Jisung is talking about it, he just can’t stop. Seungmin sits across from him and listens, barely reacting as Jisung talks about his greed and his hunger and how he’s become insatiable at this point, always wanting Minho’s attention on him, Minho’s hands on him. Anything Minho will give. All for him. He sounds insane, but at least he’s self-aware.
“It’s not fair to him,” he says finally. “It’s not what we agreed on.”
Because what they agreed on is for Jisung to try sucking his dick, just once, just to satisfy his curious little urge and then get over it, but now Jisung wants so much more and he’s taking so much more and Minho is just giving it with no complaint, because he’s too good, he’s too nice, he’s—
“It kind of seems like your original agreement just changed,” Seungmin interrupts with a shrug. As if it’s that simple. “Minho’s an adult, you know. He can say no to you, as much as we joke about him not being able to.”
Jisung scowls.
Seungmin snorts, then he sits up straight and sighs that same soft, sad sound. “Let me ask you something, Jisung.”
“Do you have to?” Jisung scrunches his nose. At the deadpan stare he receives in response, his shoulders slump, and he makes a noise of resignation. “Okay.”
“How do you think this ends?” Seungmin asks. “You know, like, assuming Minho doesn’t do it first, when are you going to put a stop to things?”
Jisung swallows. His throat feels tight all of a sudden. “I don’t know,” he says, even though he really wants to say that he wants it to never end.
He likes it. Not just because of… well, the sex, but also because he likes being close to Minho in this way. He likes the added affection and the way it brought them even closer, somehow. He likes waking up next to Minho more often than not, and spending all his free time with him, and seeing Minho flushed from pleasure, shy from compliments, puffy from sleep. He likes being able to loudly express his desire for Minho, even when it grows and becomes so overwhelming it might suffocate him, and he likes knowing that it’s returned. Parts of it, anyway.
He thinks of a future where he and Minho go back to the way they were before—or maybe not the same, maybe it would never be the same now—and his heart sinks.
“I don’t think I would,” he admits quietly. “End things, I mean.”
“Do you really think it’s still an experiment, then?” Seungmin asks. “Or do you think that means you got your answer?”
It takes him a second to process Seungmin’s words. When it finally clicks, he looks up with wide eyes. “Holy fuck,” he says. “Am I gay?”
–
When Jisung clocks out and goes home, he does a gay test. Not that he thinks it’s that simple. Obviously, it won’t give him the answers he so badly wants, but it’s an enlightening experience.
There are a lot of questions about attraction, duh. Have you ever thought of kissing a man (yes), do you find men sexually attractive (yes), have you ever thought of having sex with a man (I already have and I enjoyed it), and so on.
The more interesting questions ask about romantic feelings, like ‘could you see yourself settling down with a man?’ and Jisung finds that when he thinks of a future with Minho where they share a home, rings on their wedding fingers, and maybe a beautiful garden and also cats to raise together, it makes his heart swell with an unexplained emotion and kind of makes him want to cry. It’s a very odd feeling, the acceptance of the fact that he’d genuinely be happy and content like that.
It’s also confusing because when he thinks of any other person—man or woman—in Minho’s place, even a nameless, faceless one, he feels sick to his stomach.
So he doesn’t know what that means. The test tells him that he’s ‘probably at least a little gay.’ Unsurprising, but Jisung had been thinking about Minho for every question, so he doesn’t know how generalizable the results are.
He sighs, rubbing his fingertips over his temples where the pulses of a headache are starting up. Everything just keeps getting more confusing.
All because of his stupid penis fetish.
–
A week later, Jisung has the worst day of his life.
Okay, dramatic, but it’s a really bad day. He was up all night ruminating on The Minho Situation, so he slept in and woke up to Chan and Changbin blowing up his phone, telling him he was late for the studio and they needed him and it was urgent. He shot up in bed, dizzy and lightheaded and freaking out because yeah, they were supposed to be working on his song today, and he had everything for it and didn't show up on time, and they had probably been sitting there waiting forever, bored and angry and plotting how to kick Jisung out because he couldn’t be trusted with anything.
His heart pounded the entire ride over to the studio, but when he got there, no one exploded. Worse, they just looked at him, and Chan sighed—Jisung recognized the disappointment—and then they got right down to business. But the song didn’t work; it wasn’t fully ready, Jisung needed to work on it more. There was too much constructive criticism, truly helpful feedback that, in Jisung’s state at the time, felt like insults and failure and even more disappointment, so he had cried and yelled and walked out, and even slammed the door.
When he came back only five minutes later, there was a bag of takeout waiting for him and he had broken down in tears again, apologizing and groveling and dishing out hugs to Chan and Changbin like it was the last time he’d ever see them. And they didn’t even hold it against him, just hugged him and patted his back and made sad, confused eyes at each other while they said we love you too, of course we love you too Jisung-ah, it’s okay.
He was sent home early. Then, instead of his usual closing shift with Seungmin or Jeongin, he was scheduled with Doyun, a newer employee who takes his job way too seriously and doesn’t seem to realize he’s being paid minimum wage.
When he clocked out, there was a dull ache in his lower back from standing all day—a dumb rule that he had to follow lest Doyun snitch on him for pulling out the stool—and he felt sticky and gross. The only thing that got him through his shift was knowing he had plans with Minho that night, which made him panic a little at first, but then he realized that he’s actually always felt this way about seeing Minho. So it’s fine.
At first, it felt stupid that this terrible, horrible day was happening, and all Jisung could think of was that he was going to get to see Minho. Incredibly selfish, honestly. Disrespectful to everyone who was affected, even. But it was true.
He’s had a lot of time to ponder. Seungmin’s words from their last conversation haven’t stopped looping in his brain. An experiment that had started as one thing, then turned into a confirmation of something else. Is that what it is? Does Jisung really have feelings for his best friend?
The pondering was helpful but also endlessly frustrating, and he thinks that's what led him to the outburst anyway, to being so sensitive to the fact that he had to stand up for a shift at his job. Poor Doyun; Jisung knows he’s a college student and that he probably takes it so seriously because it’s keeping a roof over his head and ramen in his pantry, or whatever.
He’s relaying all this to Minho now—minus the parts about The Minho Situation, of course, choosing to instead call it ‘a personal matter’—and Minho isn’t saying much but he’s making sympathetic noises and saying things like “ah, that’s hard,” and that’s all really Jisung wants.
Until Minho wraps his arms around him so tightly that it feels like he’s squeezing the bad day out of Jisung. Then, Jisung decides, this is all he wants.
When they finally pull apart, they’re awfully close. Jisung can feel Minho’s breath on his own lips, and their noses are brushing with every small movement. Jisung’s heart is ruthless in the way it’s thumping against his chest, rattling his ribcage and making him feel sick.
He almost feels hopeful, and then he remembers the routine.
“Hyung, wait,” he says, voice full of panic. Minho draws back immediately, but he keeps a hand on Jisung’s knee. “Can we— do you think we can do something else tonight?”
“Of course, bug.” Minho smiles. His thumb rubs over Jisung’s knee; not suggestive, only reassuring. “Like what?”
“I dunno,” Jisung whispers. “I’m just really tired today.”
So he’s taken into Minho’s arms again, his limbs being gently rearranged so they can cuddle comfortably on the couch, and Minho turns the TV on and plays Howl’s Moving Castle without Jisung having to ask.
It’s nice. It’s peaceful. It’s so calm that Jisung doesn’t understand why his mind is racing, why he can’t sit still, why he feels like he has so much to say.
He lasts all of five minutes before it becomes too much.
“Hyung,” he starts carefully. Minho hums against his chest, still watching the screen. “When did you, um. Realize that you like men?”
Minho looks up at Jisung. A tense moment passes between them. Jisung suddenly wishes he could use the remote for real life, to rewind back to before he asked that question. Instead, Minho grabs it and pauses the movie. He sits up and crosses his legs, facing Jisung.
“I don’t think there was a specific moment,” Minho says softly. “I just liked a boy one day. And I thought, okay, cool, I guess I like boys.”
Jisung chews on his bottom lip, brows pinching in frustration. “But how did you, like… know that you like-liked him?” he asks. The words feel juvenile. Jisung can’t get himself to feel embarrassed about it; he feels awfully young right now.
“It was a crush,” Minho shrugs. “You know. Butterflies, feeling nervous around him, wanting to be with him all the time, thinking about him more than I would a friend.” He pauses to pinch the red tip of his ear, suddenly shy. “I know you’ve had a crush before, Jisung. You’ve felt it.”
Yes, Jisung has. He knows what Minho’s talking about; the type of ‘like’ he’d first felt in elementary school, young and giddy and overwhelming at the time. It’s just that when he looks at Minho now, he doesn’t really feel that. He feels so much more, calling it a crush almost feels offensive.
Most of that is probably because of their closeness. He tries to think back to when they first met, in Jisung’s first year of university. He remembers feeling frustrated, almost angered by how cool he thought Minho was. Minho was handsome, he was funny, he was smart and talented. He carried himself with so much confidence that it rubbed off on Jisung when they were together, so wrapped up in Minho he couldn’t even bother to remember that other people existed around them.
He remembers seeking Minho out on campus, finding excuses to talk to him, asking “ will Minho be there?” when he was invited out because the possibility of seeing him made leaving the dorm more worth it. He would see a funny video and send it to Minho, heart racing as he stared at their texts and waited for a response to see if Minho found it funny, too. He wanted his approval badly; the closeness even more.
“It’s different for everyone, you know,” Minho continues, using that same soft, soothing voice. “I think I had it pretty easy, but it’s because I kind of just accepted the crush for what it was, and I didn’t think about it more than that.”
Jisung shifts uncomfortably as the next question pops into his head. He wonders if this is going to sound like an admission. “But, what if— Say you’ve only had crushes on girls. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, you think you like a guy. How do you know if that’s. Like,” he winces, “...real?”
“Everyone’s gotta start somewhere, right?” Minho smiles. “Or maybe you just hadn’t thought about it that seriously before. Sometimes with crushes, they kind of just fade away and you forget about them, right?” Jisung nods. “But then you get one and it’s… so much that it just grows and grows, and it doesn’t stop, so you have to think about it then. You know what I mean?”
Jisung swallows. He thinks back to his early friendship with Minho and how much it’s grown since then.
Admiration, he’d called it at the time. It’s starting to look like something else.
Jisung swallows. He deflects because he doesn’t know what to say to that. “Have you talked to any of our friends about this?” he asks. “What we’ve been doing, I mean.”
“No, of course not.” Minho shakes his head, places his hand on Jisung’s knee. “It’s not my thing to tell.”
That feels heavy. That feels like a lot for something that’s just supposed to be two friends messing around. Jisung told them, almost immediately spilling to Seungmin because it was supposed to be nothing. But Minho hadn’t. Not now, but more importantly, not back when it had first started either.
“I did talk to Hyunjin, actually,” he says. Hyunjin, Minho’s coworker and friend from the dance academy he teaches at. Jisung has met him before, but he doesn’t really know him intimately like that. Minho starts playing with his ear again. “Felix was there, too. I only said that I’m… hooking up with someone. I didn’t mention any names.”
Hooking up? Jisung frowns, not liking how the words sound. Not exactly liking that Minho didn’t name him either, like he’s some sort of secret.
“Hyunjin kept telling me I needed to get laid. To relax a little,” he continues when Jisung doesn’t answer. “Apparently, my dry spell went on for too long, so he started trying to play wingman for me with his friends.”
Jisung’s frown deepens. That makes him unhappy too, for some reason. Unhappy, bitter, and— and jealous, he realizes. He doesn’t want to think about Minho with anyone else. He doesn’t want Minho to be with anyone else at all, actually, even if Jisung doesn’t know about it. Especially then.
“And? Did it work?”
“Of course not.” Minho smiles. “I told you, I talked to him so he would stop.” He pinches Jisung’s cheek, scratches the underside of his chin. “I have you. I don’t need anyone else, bug.”
Jisung inhales, sharp and shuddery. He smiles back at Minho, blinking fast because his eyes are stinging, and he really doesn’t want to cry because he wouldn’t have an explanation right now. He grabs a pillow and hugs it to his chest, taking deep breaths.
“I talked to, like, everyone in our friend group about it,” he admits. Minho hums, but beyond that, he doesn’t react at all. “And they all keep saying I’m gay.” Jisung squirms at Minho’s silence, his unchanging expression. “What do you think of that?”
“I don’t know? No one else can really know that except for you, Jisung-ah,” Minho says with a little laugh. He scoots closer to Jisung. “And you don’t need to put a label on it if that’s not something you want. It’s okay to just like who you like and leave it at that.”
“That would drive me crazy,” Jisung laughs weakly. It is, currently, actively driving him crazy. “Not knowing such a huge part of my identity.”
Minho shrugs. “I’ve never labelled mine.”
Jisung thinks of the woman he saw leaving Minho’s apartment that one time. The memory makes him irrationally angry. How peculiar.
“Doesn’t mean I don’t know who I like, it just means I don’t need a name for it,” Minho adds. “But you can have one if that’s what works for you. Gay, bi, something else. You can look into it. There are resources.”
Jisung nods. He looks up from the pillow he’s been clutching to meet Minho’s eyes and almost startles at the intensity in his gaze. “Um,” he breathes. His heart starts racing again.
His phone vibrates on the table. They both jump, turning to face it, and Jisung frowns when he sees the time. “Ah, shit.” He locks the screen and hides his face in his hands, trying to calm his heartbeat down. “It’s really late.”
Fuck his stupid jobs. He should quit and move in with Minho and be his stay-at-home best friend.
“Call in sick tomorrow,” Minho deadpans. When Jisung turns to him in surprise, he laughs weakly. “Kidding. I’ll walk you out.”
Jisung would have. Instead of admitting that, he stands up and pockets his phone, trailing behind Minho to the door. He sighs when Minho turns to face him.
“Thanks for tonight, hyung,” he says, rocking on his heels. “For the food and the show and the, um. The talk.”
Minho smiles and pulls him into a hug, rubbing Jisung’s back with gentle and soothing hands. “Anytime, baby.”
Jisung closes his eyes and lets Minho sway them from side to side. He feels safe like this, wrapped in Minho’s arms and surrounded by his scent. He pretends to sniffle just to get more of it in. In the clothes he’s been wearing all day, postponing his shower until after Jisung leaves, free from the smell of laundry or cologne, he just smells like Minho .
It calms him down so much that he sags further into Minho’s arms, sighing with contentment. Maybe something else, something more painful that makes his chest feel like it's caving in, though he can’t really place what it is right now. He never could, but he didn’t care to before, really. It feels much more significant now.
He inhales again, deeper, and the feeling goes away, retreats into the back of his mind where it usually sits.
They sway until Jisung’s phone buzzes in his pocket again, reminding him that he should get going if he wants to catch the bus. He squeezes his arms around Minho’s shoulders one last time before pulling away.
Except Minho doesn’t let go. He keeps his arms firmly wrapped around Jisung’s waist, which stops him from pulling too far back.
Jisung frowns in confusion. He pulls back just to see what Minho will do, stomach fluttering when he pulls him in even closer, until their chests are pressed together. “Hyung? What are you—”
“You know I love you, right?” he asks quietly.
Jisung gulps. “Y-Yeah, of course. I love you too, hyung.”
Minho stares at him, something calculating in his gaze. Five seconds pass. Ten seconds, and Minho sighs through his nose harshly. He finally says, “Okay.”
“Okay,” Jisung echoes. He stares up at Minho, unable to look away from his facial expression, trying to figure out what it means.
It melts away before he can. Turns into something softer, fonder. Minho moves an arm from Jisung’s waist to hold his face, rubbing his thumb over Jisung’s cheekbone.
Jisung’s breath hitches, lashes fluttering. Then he holds his breath.
“Stop looking at me like that,” Minho says immediately. His voice has a teasing lilt to it, eyes twinkling like he knows exactly what Jisung is thinking.
He keeps his eyes on Minho and exhales shakily. “Or what?”
Come on, he thinks. Hold my hand. Jump off the bridge with me.
Minho’s eyes drop down to Jisung’s lips, his tongue darting out to wet his own. “Or I’m going to kiss you, Jisung-ah.”
Jisung keeps his eyes on Minho stubbornly. He very pointedly looks down at Minho’s lips, then back up to his eyes.
A small puff of air leaves Minho’s nose. “Yeah?” he asks.
Jisung is going to die.
“Yeah,” he breathes, digging his fingertips into Minho’s shoulders.
Minho tilts his head. He brushes their lips together. “You sure?”
“Please.” Jisung nods so fervently he thinks he feels his brain rattling around in his skull.
Minho moves slowly. He keeps his hand on the side of Jisung’s face, eyes trained on his until they’re close enough that it’s awkward not to close them. Jisung squeezes his eyes shut and feels his head spin when Minho finally kisses him.
The first press of their lips together is tentative, almost shy. Minho’s lips are soft, just as Jisung expected, pillowy against his own. He barely has time to think soft before Minho draws back, just enough to look at his face again.
Jisung takes a shaky breath. He balls his hands into fists, clutching the fabric of Minho’s shirt. “Again,” he demands.
Minho laughs, and then he leans in. Their lips slot together like puzzle pieces this time, a perfect fit. Jisung gasps into it and his heart leaps pathetically, like he didn’t expect Minho to actually do it.
A small tingle starts in his lower stomach, then spreads throughout his entire torso, sending goosebumps to the skin on his arms. It’s not the same feeling he’s used to with Minho, this is something softer, giddier. It’s not the one that makes him feel urgent, hot all over, frantic in his movements. This is so much warmer. He doesn’t have to think at all, their lips parting and coming back together so naturally that Jisung almost forgets this is their first time.
Minho’s lips are so, so soft, and his kisses are even softer. When his hands drift away from Jisung’s face to hold his waist instead, to back him against the door, Jisung shivers and sighs into it happily. He moves his useless limbs to drape his arms over Minho’s shoulders, to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. This time, Jisung is the one keeping Minho close, stopping him from moving away and putting an end to their kiss.
Their kiss.
Holy shit, they’re kissing.
Jisung hiccups and doesn’t realize why until Minho pulls away and thumbs at the tear on his cheek. There’s a smile on his lips, so soft and sweet that the lump in Jisung’s throat grows and grows until it’s suffocating, until it forces a sob out of him. He hides his face in Minho’s neck.
“Oh, baby,” Minho coos, rubbing Jisung’s back.
Why the fuck is he crying? Actually— why isn’t Minho questioning it?
“Sorry,” Jisung chokes out, nearly incoherent. “Sorry, I don’t know why I— why I’m—”
“It’s okay,” Minho says. He wipes Jisung’s cheeks again and holds his head still, pressing kisses to his forehead, his cheeks, his mouth. Then, he grins. “It’s because I’m such a good kisser, right?”
Jisung snorts. It’s wet and snotty and gross. “Uh-huh,” he says. “Life-changing. I’ll never be the same.”
Painfully honest. That sounded way too sincere. Jisung doesn’t get to panic about it because Minho makes a helpless, endeared noise and backs him into the door.
This time, there’s no buildup. This time, Minho kisses him so harshly that his head thumps back against the door. He puts one hand on Jisung’s hips to keep him still and lifts the other to the side of his face to tilt his head, and Jisung surrenders. Lets Minho move his head however he pleases, opens up obediently when Minho brushes his tongue along Jisung’s lips.
Gone is the careful Minho who had kissed Jisung so gently before. This Minho breathes harshly through his nose, smiles when Jisung whimpers, nips at Jisung’s bottom lip and keeps it between his teeth when Jisung tries to pull away. He snakes his hands under Jisung’s sweatshirt to scratch the skin of his stomach, to pinch his waist.
Jisung can’t breathe. Does he need to? Minho pulls away, and the string of saliva connecting their lips breaks, hits Minho’s lip and drips to his chin, and he decides no, he doesn’t. He can probably live just off this forever and if he can’t, then at least he’d go out happy.
He surges forward to kiss Minho again. Clumsy, desperate. He doesn’t know how long they kiss for. His phone vibrates again, and Minho reaches down without breaking the kiss to pull it out of his pocket and press the lock button, silencing the vibrations.
Probably a notification for the next earliest bus. Jisung definitely missed the one he was supposed to take. Maybe he won’t leave, maybe he should stay here with Minho instead of going to his stupid job. The missed bus, a sign from the universe. Definitely not the consequences of Jisung’s own actions.
“You drive me fucking crazy,” Minho mutters. Says the words right into Jisung’s open, panting mouth and dips his tongue in for another taste, moaning softly when Jisung whines. “God. Fuck. What am I going to do with you?” His hands squeeze Jisung’s hips again. He presses a wet kiss to the side of Jisung’s mouth, then his bottom lip.
Jisung thinks of so many answers at the same time that his head hurts. He doesn’t say any of them, opting to blink owlishly at Minho instead until he kisses him again.
“Stay,” Minho whispers against his lips.
“Okay,” Jisung whispers back. “Okay, hyung. I will.”
–
Later, when Jisung is teetering on the edge of alert and asleep, he feels another kiss on his lips. He hears, “I love you,” followed by lips pressed to his cheek, his forehead.
He feels so light and fuzzy that he can’t tell if he’s dreaming or not. Just in case, he hums and tucks himself further into Minho’s side, hoping he understands.
–
When he wakes up in the morning, he watches Minho sleep. Admires the slope of his nose and his unbelievably long eyelashes that Jisung wishes he could count one by one. Looks at his mouth and shivers, remembering he knows what it feels like to kiss him now.
He almost wonders if the kiss was a dream.
When Minho wakes up, he proves it wasn’t. He props himself up on his elbow, holding Jisung’s chin between his thumb and his index finger, and kisses him until he feels like he’s melting through the mattress.
It’s the best kiss Jisung has ever had, morning breath and all. He realizes he’s probably a little bit in love with Minho, and also that he’s kind of dumb.
Jisung goes through the motions of getting ready for the day in a dream-like state. He touches his lips while brushing his teeth with the toothbrush he always keeps at Minho’s. They’re still numb, still red and swollen, and Jisung’s heart flutters wildly in his chest.
He lingers in the doorway of Minho’s bedroom when he finishes, fiddling with his hands behind his back. He clears his throat. “At this point, I might as well just move in.”
Minho looks up from his phone. He pushes himself off the dresser he was leaning against and approaches Jisung with a dumb smile on his face, one that says Minho might be a bit in love with him, too.
He wraps his arms around Jisung’s waist and sighs. “I really wish you would.”
Jisung’s heart stutters. He thinks of matching rings and flower gardens and automatic cat feeders.
Minho leans forward and kisses him again, like it’s normal. Like it’s the new routine. He smacks Jisung’s ass on his way to the bathroom and Jisung waits for the sound of the door shutting before he covers his face and squeals.
–
Today, Jisung visits the cafe again. Sunhee is working again, and she apologizes profusely for the situation last time, swears that she was just surprised by how grown up and healthy he looks now. She smiles, embarrassed, and says, “Apologize to your boyfriend for me too, seriously.”
Jisung is so taken aback by it all he doesn’t even correct her. Partly because he doesn’t want to, and partly because he can’t believe how oblivious he is.
The hand in his pocket. Jealousy. Of course. Minho, trying to assert his status as the boyfriend. Of course.
He smiles and nods and assures her that it’s okay, his boyfriend wasn’t angry, then makes his way back to the table as fast as he can without being impolite, his face flaming.
Setting their plates down on the table, Jisung smiles when Felix hums happily at the sight of chocolate. He lets him eat his slice of cake peacefully for now, picking at his own in silence.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jisung finally asks. “That you know about me and Minho.”
Felix stops chewing. Then he resumes, doing it very slowly, before finally swallowing. He widens his eyes. “You mean to tell me you’re the mystery hookup guy?”
Stop calling me a hookup, Jisung wants to snap. He doesn’t, because that would be crazy, and also that’s exactly what he is. At least for now.
Felix laughs. “Kidding,” he says, voice soft. “Of course it’s you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It couldn’t be anyone else, Jisung,” Felix says. He sets his fork down. “One time we went out together, all the dance instructors, and I asked him how he wasn’t sick of being celibate yet, and he told me he’d never be sick of waiting for you.”
Jisung’s eyes go wide.
A sheepish smile appears on Felix’s face. “Well, he didn’t name you specifically, he just said ‘him,’ but I’m not blind,” he explains. “He was drunk, but it’s the most honest he’s been with me about the whole thing. Everything after that was very vague and ominous, especially after you started fucking around for real.”
“But you still didn’t tell me,” Jisung says. “And— And not about the night out, either.”
“I didn’t want to tell you anything and disturb the flow of the universe, or whatever.”
“Okay. Why tell me now, then?”
Felix shrugs. “It seems like the universe has done its thing,” he says simply. Like he’s all-knowing. “Minho-hyung is in love with you.”
“I know,” Jisung breathes, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. “I know he is.”
He does, even if he was unsure, even if it took him forever to realize, even if he was in denial and tried to convince himself he was imagining things. Denial is a strange thing, it makes you act crazy.
Hearing it confirmed by someone else makes him giddy in ways that he can’t even begin to explain.
Felix tilts his head, eyebrows raised as if to say see? The universe and all. Jisung wishes it had made the journey easier for him.
“And you’re in love with him?”
“Yeah, I am,” Jisung says. “I’m in love with him.”
The conversations in the cafe continue. Outside, the birds chirp, the squirrels chase each other around, a very angry driver honks at another angry driver, and they start yelling at each other through rolled-down windows.
Jisung looks down. The floor hasn’t fallen out from beneath his feet; his scuffed-up shoes are still pressed against coffee-stained tiles. Maybe that’ll change when he says it to Minho’s face.
“I’m in love with him,” Jisung says again, to get used to the words in his mouth. Everything is the same. Everything is simultaneously different. He swallows, and it tastes like relief.
Felix sucks coffee through his straw and gulps it down loudly. “You can go,” he says. He smiles, radiant and encouraging. “I won’t be offended. Promise.”
–
Jisung goes home first. He has so much pent-up energy that he takes the stairs and then does laps around the living room like an over-energetic puppy, repeating phrases to himself such as: I’m not straight. I’m in love with my best friend. Minho-hyung, I love you.
Then he thinks about what exactly his plan is when he gets there. Is he supposed to just… say it? ‘I love you,’ and that’s it? People usually have, like, romantic speeches and grand gestures when they confess, don’t they? And Minho deserves that, he definitely does, fuck, Jisung should’ve planned something or at the very least stopped to buy flowers. He has an argument with himself in his living room and feels grateful that his walls aren’t thin.
The debate continues in the shower, where he spends way too long cleaning himself and realizes he really doesn’t need to be doing all this. Minho knows him, Minho has seen him in his worst state already, he’s got nothing left to hide.
Still, it’s nice to think of. Smelling good for Minho, looking a bit prettier than usual, and… if the situation calls for it, then, feeling extra smooth and clean. That’s a big if . He can’t think about it for too long without getting lightheaded.
His time in the shower helps his nerves settle, and by the time he’s done his skincare and starting to pack glitter onto his eyelids, he’s basically back to normal. His heart is still racing, still beating in a slightly irregular rhythm, but he doesn’t feel like he needs to run a marathon anymore, so that’s good at least.
And then he hears the front door swing open. There’s rustling in the kitchen, the sound of keys and a plastic bag.
“Jisung-ah!” Minho calls, and Jisung freezes up completely. “I brought din…ner.”
Jisung jumps to his feet, turning to Minho with wide eyes. What is he doing here? This wasn’t part of the plan at all. He wasn’t supposed to show up here; Jisung was supposed to go to him when he was ready. He was supposed to stop for flowers on the way over.
Here, now, he can only stand very still and hope that Minho won’t notice what he’s doing, so that he doesn’t have to explain himself.
“You going somewhere?” Minho asks, even though Jisung is so, so still. His eyes trail down lower, burning holes in Jisung’s skin, and Jisung remembers very belatedly that he didn’t even get fully dressed after his shower.
“Um,” Jisung replies, crossing his arms over his stomach. “No.”
Minho hums. “No?” He takes a step forward, tilting his head, scanning over Jisung’s body again. “Just getting all pretty for no reason?”
Distantly, Jisung remembers the coffee shop, the hand in his pocket. He thinks he’d rather die than be the reason Minho ever feels any negative emotion again, even if the concept of a jealous Minho makes him a little hot under the collar. It’s a very confusing mix of emotions, but he’s accepted that he’s in the self-discovery stage of life.
“For you,” he blurts, because he’d like to make it very clear that Minho has nothing to worry about.
Something takes over Minho’s features, smug and pleased and fond all at once. Jisung starts bouncing on his heels like he’s about to take off, and he’s suddenly very aware of the way his heart is pounding. Minho steps forward again.
“Hyung,” Jisung gasps. He runs his mouth when he’s nervous. “Hyung, I was gonna come see you, you know. We had plans tonight, remember? So I wanted to— oh,” he chokes suddenly, breath hitching.
Minho’s right in his face now, hands settling on his bare waist. Jisung blushes when he realizes he’s covered in goosebumps.
He clears his throat awkwardly. “Your hands are cold,” he lies. Some dignity would be nice.
“Are they?” Minho asks softly. He runs his hands up and down Jisung’s skin. “I think you’re just flushed, baby.”
The back of Jisung’s neck goes so hot he’s probably going to start sweating any second now. His first instinct is to lie again, to find any other explanation for the weird physical reaction he’s having to Minho’s hands being all over him. Something about old habits dying hard, but, well. Jisung likes being touched like this, and he wants to kiss Minho so bad it hurts.
“Can I kiss you?” Jisung asks. Because he thinks he’s allowed to do that now, since that’s their new normal, and he’s pretty sure Minho is thinking the same thing anyway.
Minho laughs weakly. His gaze is unbearably fond, almost enough for Jisung to avert his eyes, but then— has Minho always looked at him like this? He has, he has. Jisung has been so blind.
“Yeah, bug,” he says. The smile on his face looks like it aches. “You can kiss me.”
Very quickly, Jisung leans forward, squeezing his eyes shut. He gives Minho a chaste kiss and pulls back quickly, eyes wide, palms sweating.
“Um. Cool. Thanks,” he says, voice cracking.
Minho stares at him. Then he bursts into giggles, arms squeezing painfully around Jisung’s torso. “Thanks?”
“Hyung.” Jisung pouts, face heating up. “Stop making fun of me.”
“I’m not making fun of you!”
“You’re laughing at me.”
“Okay, okay. Sorry,” Minho concedes, pressing his lips together. “That was really cute. Give me another one.”
Because Jisung is brave—and because he really wants another kiss—he does it. This time, one of Minho’s hands comes up to cradle his face, holding him in place, and Jisung melts into it with a pleased sigh.
He thinks he’ll never get used to this, even if he’s still kissing Minho in ten years, it’ll feel new every time. He’s pretty sure this out-of-body-experience type of thing just comes with the Lee Minho package.
It’s almost distracting enough for him to forget his mission. And then it is distracting enough, Minho parting his lips and using his tongue to part Jisung’s, licking into his mouth insistently. Jisung’s brain goes offline for a few minutes, and when Minho pulls away with a wet sound, it completely shuts down and reboots.
“Hyung,” he declares, eyes crossing as he watches the string of spit still connecting them snap. “I have to—” he cuts himself off with a gasp, tilting his head back when Minho ducks down to mouth at his neck. “I— I have to tell—”
“Hyung wants to fuck you today, Jisung-ah,” Minho interrupts, leaving Jisung’s neck alone to look him directly in the eye. To watch him implode in real time, probably. “Is that okay?”
Jisung’s eyes roll back. He lets Minho kiss him again, and again, going pliant in his arms and opening up for him so easily.
“A-Ah, hyung,” he chokes, powerless against Minho’s ministrations.
If he was stronger, he would say yes, but. He would say I have something to tell you first, he would pull away and resist because he has a much more important task first. But Jisung’s muscles are for vanity purposes. And he is especially weak in the presence of pretty men like Minho.
So instead of doing any of that, he does what he does best:
“Please, please, please, please, please. Please, hyung, please—”
His begging becomes muffled against Minho’s mouth, against his teeth when Minho refuses to pull away even through giggles. Jisung is guided backwards, and he’s pretty sure he’s still begging until his back hits the mattress, words getting caught in his throat as he stares up at Minho.
“Please,” he repeats weakly.
Minho sighs dramatically, trailing his fingertips down Jisung’s chest slowly, smiling when he shivers. “You know,” he starts, palming Jisung’s cock through his boxers. “I came here with the most innocent intentions.”
“Uh-huh.” Jisung nods furiously, hips thrusting toward Minho’s hand.
“Just wanted to have dinner with my best friend,” he continues. Jisung scowls at the title, and also because Minho removes his hand immediately. “Only to find said best friend dolled up and half-naked in his room.”
Mindlessly, Jisung whispers, “Dessert.”
Minho’s eyes flick up, lips curling in amusement. He hums, hooking his fingertips in Jisung’s waistband. “Is that right?”
His tongue peeks out from the corner of his mouth, so quickly, just enough for Jisung to see it and lose all coherent thought. When his eyebrows lift expectantly, Jisung nods anyway, eager to get on with it already.
If Jisung thought being spread open on Minho’s bed was vulnerable, then being spread open on his own is like peeling his skin off and letting Minho poke around freely. He’s done some crazy shit in here. This is the same bed he was on when he humped a pillow and thought about Minho.
Even though Minho might not be thinking about that right now, he technically knows, right? They talked about it. Jisung wonders if he’s looking around thinking of what other freaky shit he’s gotten up to in here, if he’s somehow reading Jisung’s mind and seeing everything he’s done in here play out in high definition.
Jisung turns his head away in embarrassment when Minho slips his underwear off, only to meet his own eyes in his mirror. It’s humiliating.
“I’m so fucking horny right now,” he breathes. He can’t stop staring at his blown pupils, his flushed cheeks.
Minho follows his gaze and snorts. “Yeah?”
“M-hm,” he confirms, breath hitching as Minho starts pressing firm kisses to his skin, his collarbones, between his pecs, above his belly button. Lower, still.
The next kiss lands on the tip of his cock. Jisung chokes on his spit.
“Hyung,” he squeaks. Minho hums, kitten licking precum off the slit. “You can’t, you can’t, I’m— I’m gonna die. Oh my god, I’m gonna cum.”
“In that order?”
“Yes!” Jisung yelps, already out of it.
Minho ignores him, eyes fluttering shut as he takes Jisung into his mouth fully. He hollows his cheeks and sucks, and Jisung has to puff out his cheeks and tense his entire body to stop his hips from jerking forward. Minho’s mouth is so fucking hot, both literally and figuratively, Jisung is genuinely worried he might cum from this.
“Hhhh ohmygod.” His toes curl into the sheets. The visual of Minho’s head bobbing between his legs becomes too much, so he turns away, catching sight of their reflections again. His stomach twists. He can’t look away. “Hyung, please.”
Minho pulls off with a wet, slurping sound that Jisung responds to with another pitiful sound. He wipes his glistening lips with the back of his hand and grins. “You like watching yourself?”
“What?” Jisung’s eyes go wide. “N-No, I—”
“Maybe I’ll fuck you right in front of the mirror next time,” he muses, absently stroking Jisung’s leaking cock with his fingers curled into a loose ring. Jisung covers his face and half-whines, half-groans. “You want that?”
Jisung nods into his hands. Stage of self-discovery, and all.
With a borderline hysterical giggle, Minho leans over the edge of the bed and pulls Jisung’s drawer open like he owns the place. He shuffles through the mess for a few seconds, then sighs through his nose.
“Where’s your lube?”
Jisung drops his hands and pouts. “I don’t have any.”
“You don’t have any?” Minho narrows his eyes. “How do you…”
“I don’t need it,” he explains, brows pinching in confusion. “We do everything at your place.”
Minho exhales a soft, breathless hah and turns a beautiful shade of pink. He moves forward so abruptly that Jisung jumps a little, and it takes him a second to realize he’s being kissed again. He doesn’t know why, feels like they got a little sidetracked, but whatever. He licks Minho’s top lip and kicks his feet with joy.
“Are you gonna be mad if I say I brought lube with me?” Minho mumbles against Jisung’s mouth. He gives him another chaste peck.
Jisung laughs. “Presumptuous of you, but no.”
“Gotta be ready for my cockslut at all times,” Minho teases, pinching his side lightly. He finally manages to drag himself away and pouts when Jisung chases his lips. “Wait here, I’ll be quick.”
With Minho out of the room, Jisung closes his eyes and tries to calm himself down. Sure, he got a bit distracted, but that’s fine. It happens! There’s nothing wrong with getting dicked down a little before telling the love of your life about your feelings.
Oh god. Jisung is going to get dicked down. His stomach twists at the thought of it. He’s made so much progress; not that long ago, he was moving through life with repressed feelings and mediocre orgasms. That one homemade porn video on Twitter might be the best thing that’s ever happened to him.
Should he have done more to prepare for this? Not that he thinks Minho would purposely hurt him, but, well. A phantom ache builds in his throat as he remembers Minho’s size.
He rolls over, groaning into his sheets, his hips jerking. He’s so excited. Minho is so big, and he’s so gentle and careful that Jisung just knows he’ll make it good. He remembers how intimidating the stretch of his fingers was at first, but Minho made sure it was nice the entire time, so attentive and caring about it that all Jisung felt was pleasure.
The stretch was good. Thinking about how it’ll feel this time has Jisung making more helpless noises, grinding against the mattress impatiently.
“Are you having fun?” Minho sings, setting the newly acquired bottle down on the nightstand.
Jisung’s hips jerk again. “‘M so hard.”
“Mm, me too,” Minho hums. He smooths one hand over Jisung’s side and then moves to hover over him, kissing the side of his neck and pressing his bulge into Jisung’s hip. “You have no idea what you do to me, Jisung-ah.”
“Please,” Jisung gasps, arching toward Minho and angling his hips, hoping Minho will grind against his ass instead. “Please, hyung, I need you.”
“Hyung’s got you, baby.”
The soothing feeling of Minho’s hands on Jisung’s skin helps him relax. He feels like a cat being petted right now, doted on so thoroughly. Minho keeps rubbing his back, his shoulders, his legs. He only stops when Jisung fully relaxes, basically becoming one with the mattress.
He’s so chill right now, though his dick is still about to explode. He’s trying his best to be patient. Even the sound of the cap popping off the lube bottle doesn’t make him nervous this time, he doesn’t need reminders to breathe at the feeling of wet fingers prodding at his hole.
“Arch your back a little bit for me,” Minho instructs softly. Jisung obeys, making a weak, embarrassed noise as he does. Minho hums, spreads him open with his clean hand, then hums again. “Good boy.”
“Stop it, hyung.”
“Do you really want me to?” he asks, amusement in his voice. Jisung grumbles into his arms. “I don’t think you do,” Minho says, easing the first finger inside. “Jisungie likes being told he’s good, isn’t that right?”
Stubbornly, Jisung keeps his mouth shut. He’s also focused on getting used to the feeling of the first finger. It’s not as weird this time, a little more familiar since he’s already felt it once before, but it still takes him a second.
“Isn’t that right?” Minho repeats, pulling his finger out to tap at Jisung’s hole instead, nipping at his ass cheek.
Jisung’s body goes hot. Hotter.
“Yes, hyung,” he squeaks, arching toward Minho’s hand again impatiently.
Minho laughs. He pulls away completely, which is terrifying, but then he pats Jisung’s butt lightly and sighs. “Good. Turn over.”
Jisung shuffles and wiggles around until he can flop onto his back. Minho stuffs a pillow under his hips and comes back with two fingers this time, insistent and slow and wetter, eyes trained on Jisung’s face.
The attention is too much. Jisung loves it, holding Minho’s gaze with determination even if the embarrassment of it sears through his skin.
Minho smiles sweetly, then presses his fingers in deeper and curls them up.
“Hyung.”
“Hm?”
“Feels— It feels—” Jisung gasps when Minho fucks his fingers in again, then he chokes on his own spit. His entire body is tingling, his vision is going blurry. How does this feel even better than last time? “Ah, I feel so good, hyung,”
“Good,” Minho says, using his free hand to rub Jisung’s thigh. “You look good, too.”
Jisung’s dick twitches. Minho laughs, delighted, then comes up to kiss Jisung while he works him open. It’s languid, sloppy, mostly just Minho licking into Jisung’s mouth while Jisung holds onto his arms for dear life and puts great effort into earning himself a noise complaint from his neighbours.
Three fingers are a whole new sensation to adjust to, but Minho distracts Jisung with open-mouthed kisses to stop him from squirming around. Minho is relentless, curling his fingers in inconsistent periods, repeatedly coaxing Jisung to the edge, then yanking him away before he can tip over it. He leaves marks on his neck and whispers filth into his ear too, calls him a needy slut and tells him he’s so good, so pretty. Praises the way he clenches around Minho’s fingers even if it’s completely involuntary.
“Minho-hyung,” Jisung whimpers, nails digging into Minho’s forearm. “Fuck me, please. Please, please, I can’t— Hngh, p-please.”
Jisung is so lightheaded, probably seconds away from passing out, overwhelmed and hot all over. He wants to cry when Minho finally pulls his fingers out, out of relief and also misery over how empty he feels now.
Minho wipes his fingers on Jisung’s sheets and rolls off the bed, pulling his clothes off quickly like they personally offended him. He swipes the lube bottle off the nightstand on his way back. As soon as Minho is close enough, Jisung props himself up on an elbow at the edge of the bed and reaches out to wrap a hand around Minho’s cock.
It’s not a new sight. Jisung has seen it before, many times even, but it’s different now that he knows it’s going inside him. His mouth is watering as he jerks him off, tongue lolling out of his mouth to lick at the precum beading at the tip. They both moan, and then there are fingers threading through Jisung’s hair and pulling him right off again. Jisung’s hand drops to grip Minho’s thigh instead.
“Stop that,” Minho scolds. “Unless you want me to cum all over your face right now.”
Jisung looks up at Minho, opening his mouth to encourage him—is that a promise?—and then he stops to trail his eyes over Minho’s body again. He realizes belatedly that he’s never seen Minho fully naked before, and he takes a second to thank whatever higher power led him here.
Shamelessly, openly, Jisung ogles him. Minho seems to notice if the way he stands up a bit straighter is anything to go by. He’s beautiful, thick and strong and broad and soft all over, flushed down to his chest. Jisung wants to climb him like a tree.
“Fuck me,” he says urgently. He lies back down on the bed and spreads his legs, blinking up at Minho. “Fuck me now. Please.”
Tilting his head back to look at the ceiling, Minho laughs, weak and helpless. “I think I’m dreaming.”
“Oh, you have dreams like this often?” Jisung teases, lips stretching into a cocky smile, trailing his fingertips over his inner thighs and trying not to shiver.
Minho’s throat bobs when he swallows. “Yeah,” he whispers. Something passes over his face, too brief for Jisung to decipher, then his expression turns smug again. “I already told you.”
“Told me what?” Jisung asks absently. He’s too distracted watching Minho’s thigh muscles flex as he moves onto the bed again, and then he’s even more distracted because Minho pours lube onto his palm and starts to stroke himself.
“That I think about you like this,” he answers, guiding Jisung’s legs up and around his hips. He lowers himself to his elbows, brushing their lips together. “All the time.”
“All the time?”
Minho snorts, almost sardonically. “You have no fucking idea.” Jisung’s breath hitches when the head of Minho’s cock bumps against his rim. “I haven’t stopped wanting you since the day we met.”
A grand statement. Basically a confession. Jisung gasps, eyes stinging, and while he tries to process the weight of those words, Minho shifts onto one elbow, angling his cock and pressing inside with a moan, soft and breathy.
It’s so much. It’s so much. Jisung greatly underestimated the difference between the stretch of three of Minho’s fingers and the stretch of his cock. It’s barely more than the tip and he feels like he’s being split open, clutching onto any part of Minho he can reach and making sure he keeps breathing.
When Jisung’s body tenses up he pauses, smiling and rubbing comforting little circles into his hipbones with his thumbs. “How lucky am I, hm?”
“Not luckier than me,” Jisung says, shivering. It’s so cheesy. When did he get so cheesy and mushy and soft? Maybe he’s always been like this with Minho.
With a little moan, Minho pulls out and gently rolls his hips forward, fucking Jisung with shallow thrusts. Jisung whines, arches his back, grits his teeth. It doesn’t hurt. It feels good. Jisung’s body is practically sucking him in, greedy for it. Minho repeats the movement, and each time he pushes inside a little deeper, so gently, letting Jisung get used to the stretch.
Minho is silent until he fully sinks into him. Then, he sighs. He’s running his hands all over Jisung’s body like he can’t get enough, pinching and squeezing, smiling at the goosebumps that rise on his skin.
“You feel so good, baby,” he says. He pulls back and gives his first full thrust, knocking the air out of Jisung. “So tight for me.”
“Ngh,” Jisung replies. He puts a hand on his stomach, delirious enough to believe he might be able to feel Minho there. “Hyung, you’re so— so big.”
It almost feels dirty to say. Like a line from a corny porno, an exaggeration for the sake of dirty talk, maybe even getting a little slutty to give Minho an ego boost. But it’s true. He’s so big. It’s overwhelming, and Jisung can’t stop clenching around him every time he moves, which only makes it even more overwhelming.
Minho huffs out an amused noise that tapers into a small moan. “Size queen,” he says, and Jisung nods even if it’s not true. Minho seems to like it, because he shifts onto his knees to put one of Jisung’s legs over his shoulder and kisses his ankle.
Jisung braces himself by holding onto Minho’s arms, then blinks at him. He’s trying his best attempt at unimpressed, even though he’s pretty sure he could cum just from having Minho inside him for long enough. Whatever. He raises his eyebrows and says, “Come on, fuck me.”
Bold words for someone who was about to cum from nothing more than Minho’s gentle thrusts; he should’ve known better. Minho’s lips stretch into a small smirk before he snaps his hips forward. The new angle makes Jisung cry out immediately, hands scrabbling to grab anything they can.
Any semblance of challenge or disinterest flies out of the window. There are noises coming out of Jisung that he didn’t know he was even capable of making, being fucked out of him with every thrust. Both of them give up on forming any coherent words, Jisung only managing a desperate pleasepleaseplease when Minho’s cock slips out of him.
Pressure builds in Jisung’s gut and at the base of his cock so quickly he briefly thinks he might pass out. Minho’s holding him in place as he pounds into him properly now, grunting while sweat beads on his forehead, and Jisung gives up on trying to form any coherent thought.
It’s like sensory overload. The sound of their skin slapping together makes him hot all over, but then Minho curses and fucks into him harder, and the sight of him sends Jisung catapulting toward his orgasm. He’s sweaty and flushed and his eyes are trained down, toward where he’s stretching Jisung around him, where he’s fucking into him, where Jisung’s cock is leaking and bouncing uselessly against his stomach.
“M-Minho,” Jisung whimpers. Minho’s eyes snap up. He looks a little crazed, red lines on his arms from Jisung’s nails and pupils blown. “You— ah, a-ah, hyung—”
He gives up again, not that he had anything to say that was more important than this. Minho is relentless, doesn’t slow down, just digs his nails into Jisung’s thigh where he’s still gripping it like that’s supposed to be comforting. It kind of is. Minho knows him so well, he almost wants to sigh dreamily.
“You look so fucking pretty like this,” Minho grits out through clenched teeth. Jisung arches his back and moans, completely helpless. Minho lifts Jisung’s other leg and yanks him back onto his cock. “And you sound so good too, f-fuck.”
Jisung’s vision blurs with tears. He thinks he’s ascending. He can see sounds and hear colours. He’s ruined forever.
He opens his mouth again. He means to say: hyung, I’m close. Means to warn, means to ask if he can cum. Instead, he says:
“Hyung, I’m not straight.”
Minho's thrusts slow, then stop altogether. He leans down to brush the sweaty hair out of Jisung’s face, basically folding him in half. “I know, baby.”
Well. This is less romantic than Jisung envisioned, but there’s no time like the present. He takes a deep breath.
“And— And I’m in love with you.”
Minho moans, eyes fluttering. He rolls his hips and grinds into Jisung’s prostate. “I know that too, baby.”
Jisung’s body jerks. He whines, half-pleasure and half-confusion. “Hngh, wh-what do you—”
“I am, too,” Minho says simply. He lowers Jisung’s legs and laces their fingers together, pressing Jisung’s hands into the mattress. His hips start moving with slow but harsh thrusts that have Jisung squeezing his hands and crying out. Minho brushes their noses together and snaps his hips forward again. “Fuck, I love you so much.”
Jisung doesn’t get to process that. Minho leans down to kiss him, so gently in contrast to the way he’s fucking him again like he has something to prove. His breaths are coming out as harsh exhales through his nose, consistent grunts punctuating every thrust. When Jisung clenches around him, he moans, loud and almost overwhelmed. Jisung wants to kick his feet and maybe make a 10-hour audio loop of it.
“Please,” Jisung whispers into his mouth. “Can I— mmh, c-can I cum? Please?”
“Fuck,” Minho huffs incredulously. “Yeah, baby.” He releases Jisung’s hands to balance himself on his elbow and reaches down with his other hand to jerk Jisung off, matching the steady pace of his thrusts. “That’s it, pretty thing. Cum on my cock.”
Jisung sobs, curling his hands into fists on his chest, completely overwhelmed. “Thank you,” he hiccups, “th-thank you, I love— ngh, love you, Minho-hyung.”
The heat in Jisung’s stomach becomes unbearable. His brain whites out completely, legs trembling as waves of pleasure wash over him. Distantly, he hears his overwhelmed noises, hears Minho curse, feels the strings of cum spurting over his stomach. He’s too far away to really process any of it, floating on cloud nine. Cloud ten, maybe.
When his ears stop ringing he realizes he’s still making sounds, a constant stream of humiliating ‘mmm’s and ‘uh-uh’s being fucked out of him, mingling in the air with Minho’s soft praises and guttural moans. He’s sensitive now, the overstimulation is bordering on painful, but Jisung’s brain seems to be lacing it with pleasure, and it ends up hurting so good that he doesn’t want it to end yet.
More importantly, he still has someone to take care of. He wraps all his limbs around Minho like a koala and rises up to press wet kisses everywhere he can reach. He licks the sweat off Minho’s pouty upper lip and hums happily.
“Inside,” he whispers, threading his fingers through Minho’s sweaty hair, admiring the way his eyes roll back. “Y-You can. I want you to, hyung. Please, cum inside me.”
Minho’s hips stutter, and then he moans. He grips Jisung’s hips tightly and pants against his mouth as he fucks him again. Jisung loves him, loves that he trusts him to know his own limits, loves that he doesn’t hesitate to chase his own pleasure now that Jisung gave him the green light.
“Feels so good, hyung,” he says, muffled against Minho’s lips. “Love this. I love you.”
“Fuck,” Minho chokes. His teeth catch Jisung’s bottom lip, digging in like he’s trying to draw blood. His grip tightens enough to bruise, thrusts faltering until he tenses up and spills inside of Jisung. Jisung clenches around him, feels Minho’s cock throbbing, feels the final twitch before Minho’s entire body sags and he pulls out cautiously, flopping to the side like a fish after.
“Holy fuck,” Jisung sighs. Minho’s cum starts to leak out of his hole. The feeling is a little sad, he already misses being full. Minho hums, rubbing his hand over Jisung’s stomach, uncaring of the mess he’s spreading over his skin. “That— That was—”
“Good enough for you to finally admit you’re in love with me?” Minho mumbles into the sheets, laughing to himself.
Jisung’s face flushes. “I was going to anyway.”
“Mm.”
“I was!”
“When? On your deathbed?”
“Hyung.” Jisung pouts. “I was. That’s why I— I was, like. Getting ready.”
Minho opens his eyes. “Oh,” he says, a pleased expression taking over his features. “You got all pretty to give me a grand confession?”
“Yes!” Jisung nods emphatically, eyes wide, because it’s the truth and he needs Minho to know. “But then you distracted me.”
“You were half-naked,” Minho says, sitting up. “Take responsibility. You even called yourself dessert.”
“That was after— You didn’t even eat me!”
Minho raises his eyebrows. “There’s still time, you know.” His eyes flick down to his stomach. Lower, to his puffy, leaking hole. “And you’re all creamy now. It’s perfect.”
“You’re so weird,” Jisung laughs. Minho’s so, so, perfect. “I love you.”
“Love you.” Minho leans over to give him a quick kiss. “Now, let’s go wash you off before I take your challenge seriously.”
Jisung shrieks a laugh, rushing off the bed to the bathroom with Minho hot on his heels.
Despite his best efforts, he ends up pinned to the shower wall anyway, with Minho on his knees and his tongue between Jisung’s legs until the water runs cold. Not that he’s complaining, he could get used to this.
Will get used to it; he’s already dug his claws in. Literally. The proof is in the red lines on Minho’s arms.
–
They talk about it properly, after the shower, while they’re eating the reheated takeout Minho brought.
Jisung can’t help his curiosity. He stares intensely at the side of Minho’s face while he chews his fried chicken, remembering the words he said when Jisung blurted out his confession.
“When did you know?” he asks.
“Know what?”
“That I have, like, super gay feelings for you.”
Shoulders tensing, Minho laughs. His face goes through a series of emotions, then settles somewhere between startled and amused. “Um. A while.”
Jisung narrows his eyes. “Like… Before we started fucking around?”
“Yeah.” Minho tilts his head. “We were basically dating, Jisung-ah.”
Jisung hums thoughtfully. He’d come to the same conclusion earlier, when he realized that nothing they were doing was even close to friendly, even before his whole fixation started and he basically propositioned Minho.
There was a reason none of their friends batted an eye when Jisung announced that they were— ugh, ‘hooking up.’
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Minho snorts. “Seriously?” He raises an eyebrow. “No offense, but what do you think would’ve happened if I sat you down and tried to explain your own feelings to you before you were ready, Mr. Not In A Gay Way?”
Jisung ducks his head and presses his lips together. Touché.
“It’s okay,” Minho says, squeezing his thigh with a soft smile. “You got there, didn’t you?”
“Yeah,” Jisung nods. “It was really hard. Even after the first time, I was like. Woah, I’m feeling weird things. I want to do that again, with Minho specifically. It was confusing.”
“Since the first time?” Minho asks, surprised. Jisung nods again and starts fidgeting with his fingers. Minho reaches out and holds one of his hands. “Why have you been holding out on me, baby?”
“I just...” Jisung groans in embarrassment, throwing his head back. “You’ve been so cool about everything the whole time, and I haven’t been at all, and I didn’t want to be, like. A freak.”
Minho barks out a laugh that startles them both. “Cool?” he scoffs. “Han Jisung, I’ve never been ‘cool’ about you a day in my life.”
A warm, giddy feeling spreads throughout Jisung’s chest. He ducks his head again, this time to smile shyly. “Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh,” Minho echoes. He shuffles around and then drags Jisung onto his lap, wrapping his arms around his waist. “I’m obsessed with you,” he gives Jisung a chaste kiss, “I’ve been in love with you for a ridiculously long time.”
Jisung giggles. He wraps his arms around Minho’s neck and kisses him again, pulling away before he can get too wrapped up in it and let Minho distract him again.
“Hey, hyung.”
Minho smiles, presses a kiss to the corner of Jisung’s mouth. “Yeah?”
“Bet I can take you on the best date of your life.”
Minho’s breath hitches, his ears turning red so rapidly that Jisung gets a little concerned. “And if you win?”
“Then— Then we’ll be boyfriends?” he rushes out. It’s so scary that he immediately has to joke it off. “For real this time, not just in your head.”
Minho’s jaw drops dramatically. “You’re calling me delusional?”
“Well…”
“This is a horrible start to our relationship, I’ll have you know.”
“Hyung,” Jisung giggles again, burying his face in Minho’s neck and squirming. He’s so overwhelmed with joy that he doesn’t know what to do with himself. “Seriously. Let me take you out.”
With a hand tangled in his hair, Minho guides Jisung out of his hiding spot. He kisses him once, twice, both of them dissolving into laughter again on the third one.
“Yeah, bug,” he sighs. “I’ll bet on it.”
–
In the morning, Jisung wakes up to the smell of breakfast and the sight of a shirtless Minho. He’s lucky his mouth is so dry, because he would’ve started drooling all over himself otherwise.
Minho smiles, slowly making his way to the bed. “Morning, baby.”
“Morning,” Jisung croaks. He scrubs his hands over his face and rubs his eyes with his knuckles. Sure enough, the sight in front of him is real. His own arm is also slightly red from how many times he pinched himself last night to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.
“You want breakfast?”
Jisung nods instantly, sitting up. He knee-crawls to the edge of the bed, steadying himself with his hands on Minho’s shoulders when he’s close enough. He can’t help but squeeze, basically chewing his lips off as he feels Minho up. He’s so strong. Jisung’s mouth isn’t as dry anymore.
“Yeah?” Minho grips him by the back of the thighs as he swoops in to kiss him.
“Mhm,” he hums, hands stopping halfway on their path to Minho’s hips to squeeze his pecs instead. “Hyung,” he looks up through his lashes, “can I suck your dick in a really, really gay way?”
A devastating giggle bursts out of Minho like it was involuntary. He’s so cute, so fucking cute, Jisung wants to kiss his face off and bend over for him right this second. “So no breakfast?” he asks, still giggling.
“This is my breakfast,” Jisung says hungrily, only half-joking as he pulls at Minho’s arms to get him in bed again.
It’s different this time. Jisung doesn’t drop to his knees, doesn't rush to pull Minho’s cock out and shove it in his mouth like he usually would. He gets to take his time, gets to hover over Minho’s body and kiss his flushed chest and mouth at his nipples—sensitive, Jisung notes—and bite his thighs. He can stare at Minho as much as he wants, wide-eyed and fascinated and in disbelief that he gets all this.
There’s no more concern about whether he’s being too much or not enough. Minho loves him, Jisung knows that now, and Minho knows Jisung loves him too. So he can be too much, he can breathlessly call Minho pretty, he can move to kiss Minho when his heart threatens to burst out of his chest, he can tell Minho he’s never been happier than he is like this, with him.
When he swallows Minho’s cum and shuffles up to ride his thigh, he can tell Minho that no one’s ever made him feel this good, he can shiver when Minho calls Jisung his, he can cry a little when he cums, panting yes, yes, yours into Minho’s mouth as he makes a mess between them.
Minho thumbs his tears away and kisses him, unbothered, like his emotions are normal. Maybe they are, to Minho at least. Maybe that’s why they work so well together.
“How many times are you going to distract me from having a meal with you?” he asks fondly, massaging Jisung’s hips.
“Forever,” Jisung replies, thinking of matching rings, a flower garden, and an automatic cat feeder.
–
“This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Jisung moans softly, lightly pulling at Minho’s hair as he licks into his mouth. He loves Minho’s mouth, the taste of it and the feeling of his soft lips and even the way his teeth feel against Jisung’s tongue. He wishes he could kiss him all day, forever, every day of his life.
“This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Minho’s hands slide over his back, cupping his ass through his jeans as he presses him further into the counter. The way it digs into Jisung’s lower back is a bit painful, but he can ignore it in favour of this.
“They’re kind of cute if you don’t watch for too long,” Felix says, stabbing his straw through the plastic lid of his milk tea loudly. “Do you think they can even hear us right now?”
Seungmin sighs loudly. “No.”
Minho pulls away with a wet sound, giggling when Jisung chases his lips with his mouth still open. “Okay, I’m gonna go now.”
“Okay,” Jisung mumbles. He moves forward to kiss Minho again.
“Helloooo,” Seungmin says. “He said he wants to leave.”
Minho puts a hand on Jisung’s jaw and pulls away again. He stares at Seungmin blankly. “I only said that because he’s cute when he gets like this,” he says. Jisung doesn’t know what’s going on, he’s puckering his lips and trying to push past Minho’s grip. “If you ruin this for me, I’ll put tapioca pearls up your nose while you sleep.”
“Hyung,” Jisung whines quietly. He nuzzles Minho’s neck and fists the fabric of his t-shirt. What could be more important than this?
It’s always so easy to get Minho’s attention. He’s being kissed again before he can complain twice. Minho’s hands drift lower, gripping the backs of his thighs and lifting him onto the counter. Jisung moans.
Seungmin shrieks. Jisung gets so startled he almost falls backwards, he’s never heard Seungmin make a sound so loud before.
“We are at work!” he says loudly. “We serve customers here!”
Jisung looks around. “I don’t see any customers here.” He looks at Minho. “Do you see any customers, jagi?” Minho shakes his head to the tune of Seungmin’s gagging noises. “Lix, do you see any customers?”
Felix laughs hysterically. “Nope. Just me, and I don’t really mind.”
A triumphant smile takes over Jisung’s face. Minho kisses it instantly.
Eventually, Seungmin threatens to report Jisung to their manager, so Minho does the responsible thing and leaves, even though Jisung makes his eyes big and pouts at him. He even takes Felix with him, offering to give him a ride to the dance studio since they’re both working today. Double betrayal.
The door chimes when Minho swings it open on his way out. Jisung waves dramatically, still pouting. Not even on purpose this time. “Jagiya, I love you!”
Minho waves back, just as dramatic. “Love you too, bug!”
He doesn’t stop waving until the door closes and Minho is out of sight. Then he sighs and hops off the counter, shoulders sagging.
“This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me,” Seungmin says again. “I wish you stayed oblivious and kept him in the friendzone.”
Jisung looks up. Seungmin is wiping the counter where Jisung was sitting, and the side of it that Minho pressed him up against. There’s a big, dumb smile on his face.
“You’re happy for us,” Jisung accuses, pointing a finger at him.
Seungmin looks up, scowling, but Jisung can see the smile still lingering underneath. He shrugs. “I guess so.”
Jisung coos, moving forward to wrap his arms around Seungmin and trap him in a hug. “Aw, Seungminnie. You love us.”
“Get off me,” Seungmin grumbles, thrashing in Jisung’s arms. When Jisung lets him go, he sighs and gives him a small smile. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m happy for you guys.”
“Awww! Seungminnie—”
Seungmin’s face goes blank again. “Watching this happen was like, the worst thing ever. You both suck,” he deadpans. “You deserve each other.”
“Yeah. I love him,” Jisung sighs dreamily. He cringes at the sudden sincerity in his voice. “No homo.”
“Right.”
“We’re soulmates,” Jisung continues. “Like in a friend way.”
“Please stop.”
“Fated to be. Platonically.”
“Please.” Seungmin winces. “I’m getting flashbacks.”
Jisung pouts. “Was I really that bad?”
The laugh he receives in response is enough of an answer, but Seungmin makes sure to walk him through the entire course of his friendship with Minho just to make it extra clear. Gosh, Jisung’s coping skills are almost admirable.
He pulls his phone out of his pocket and texts Minho. I love you lots, it says. Full homo.